The Forrest City times., 1899-09-29
In Love with a Painter
The Romance Of q Portrait.

III whose NEUROLOGICAL pictures have
"a most delightful modern air. His
Grecian goddesses look like Pari.
siennes; their wind-blown hair, their
bigh-heeled sandals and peculiar twirl
to their drapery have captivated the
Partisan ladies. So they crowd jacques
studio and implore him to let them sit
for Dianas and Andromedas. But he is
most unromantic fellow, and is
swayed by no considerations other
than those of gain. Although he is but
80, he has gained fame and some for
tune; and he is so industrious that he
flies from useless words and time-con-
sumers-that is to say, women and
borcs.
A year ago, just after the art exhibit
closed. Jacques determined to go on
a sketching tour. So he packed his
trunk, assisted by his friend. Eugene
de Lassi, and was bidding adieu to his
studio, when the servant entered with
a note. 1t was nice little note, dainti-
ly perfumed, and the address was writ
ten in the most delicate hand imagin-
able. He read it, frowned, and, crump-
ling it up, threw it on the floor.
"Confound the women!" he cried.
whats the matter?" asked his
friend.
"Why, I'm such an unlucky fellow"
replied Jacques. "There's always some
woman or other bothering me, writing
about how she admires my paintings.
and how she'd like to see me, and all
that sort of thing. just as if q man
should say he would like to see my
paintings because he admired the cut
of my beard. Look" said he, picking
up the letter, address Nine. Leonie.
such street and number
But" said Eugene, who was reading
the note, Its very well written, / as
sure you, full of most delicate wit.
What are you going to do with it?'
"Oh, you literary men!" groaned
Jacques. What am going to do with
it? Why, burn it, of course. What do
you suppose l am going to do with il ?'
I'm tell you what to do with it," said
Eugene, you're going away"
"Yes."
'Then give it to me-"
''Why, whatll you do with ito" said
jacques, with stare.
well, I'll play painter" replied Eu-
gene. I'm not much of one, but can
daub little-enough, at all events, to
deceive woman in love. And I'll find
out who Nine. Leonie' is-that's only
part of her name, I'm sure"
So it was settled. Jacques Bruhiere,
painter, set off for Switzerland, and
Eugene de Lassi, man of letters, re-
manned to personate him. But only for
Nine. Leonie. Other visitors were told
the truth-that the master was gone.
At last she came. Eugene's roman
tic fancy had painted her as young
and beautiful. But she was more than
that-she was divine. She was bru-
nette, and had the most delightful
nose, the most sparkling eyes, the most
glorious hair and the most adorable
little hands and feet that Eugene had
ever seen. He flattered himself that
he was correctly made up for his role.
His velvet blouse and jaunty cap were
a little too clean, perhaps, but that was
a good fault.
Nine. Leonie wanted her portrait
painted, and it was very difficult for
her to decide how it should be done.
She wavered long. One day she would
be Omphale; the next she had decided
that to be represented as Salome was
necessary to her peace of mind. But
when Eugene had made his prepara-
tions, his tickle goddess decided that
Delilah was the character that suited
her. And then she would wander
around the studio, and drape herself
with the barbaric stuffs used by long
gone models, and handle the curious
weapons, and examine the porcelains.
And then she would say that she was
WARY, and would come the next day.
And she would go, leaving Eugene de
Lassi deeper in love than ever.
AS for him, he was in a dream. He
had retired from the world. At his own
quarters His door war daily stormed