St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1899-09-02
A DANAE IN sABoTs.
n RIVE to the Bois."

- The English coachman knew
by the way his master slammed the
door of the coupe that the wsrld did
not wag well with him.
Henry Duval leaned back on the seat
and impatiently slapped his gloves on
his knee, staring blankly out of the
window as the carriage rolled down
the broad avenue, gay with equipages
and pedestrians. Ordinarily he would
have noted each riders skill, and even
the clothes he wore, and would have
had smile for every woman of his ac-
quaintance, but this morning he was
overshadowed by sense of defeat, at
which lie was as much surprised as con-
founded.
70 think that il was only yesterday
Ia few fieeting hours ago-that he
held his head high among his con-
freres, and now. What mattered it if
all Paris still echoed bravo when she
had criticised his ''Danae, picture
that had aroused the envy and enthusi-
asm of the artistic world?
III vain he sought to forget her
words. to cry out that one foolish wom-
ans Judgment could not count against
the public praise which he had reaped
as his Just reward after years Of work.
The reason for her criticism is what
stung him most. Her words still rang
In his ears:
.You fail, Henri, in achieving the
highest; you depict the body. and not
the soul. This Danae is beautiful flesh
and blood, but the charm of the alle-
CORY is lost. The beauty that wins a
divinity should possess an Inspiration
beyond that born of flesh tints and
curves. 1t is this lack, mon ami, that
makes me ice to your fame. My late
husband was brutal sensualist; you
have dimly outlined my years of pen
ance with him. You are refined SEN
sualist; you would not throw your
boots at my head in a drunken frenzy.
or parade your mistress before me in
public, but your nature lacks the ideal
ity | need now more than ever. You
plead your old friendship as sure
precursor of unending love. Alack.
Henri. the boy once played with has
vanished, never. to return. Around the
man 1 now know cling affectionate
memories of the past, but he is not
to me the possibility of faithful
spouse for the future. Unless you can
prove to me that your fortune has not
degraded your art, that in luxurious
life you rise above yourself. above self
ishness, we cannot be one in either
Thought or heart. When ! see can
vas signed by you bearing the imprint
If . noble soul. as well as a trained eye
and skilled hand, then, Henri. may lis
ten to your ardent wooing.
He could see her as she stood beside
him. calm and thoughtful, her hand
resting for a moment upon his arm
vet with an impalpable something
separating her utterly from him. il
brought little solace to his soul to
know that ten years before. if he had
hut spoken to the fair girl he knew
M well, she might have been his; be
fore her parents had hurried her into
the marriage with that rich old count
whose death at last was the sole com
fort his wife ever derived from hel
marriage with him.
Henri Duval had loved the maider
well. but the young wife better, though
her irreproachable life shielded hel
from even an attempt on his part Il
.xrress his devotion. So he dreamt hi:
drrams and lived his easy life. reserS
inc always, in the depths of his being
! nnre place for her image, while M
a.;lv entourage was favored with th'
bohemia of art and Partisan youth. Hi
nlebeiar grandfather had amassed
fcrtune and the marriage of his father
Nth the penniless daughter of a duk'
s,.el lowered him with the right Il
aoinob with the mighty ones OF tn
1.nd. SO that Henri had found his pat!
8 life 4 rosy one. Rich. clever ant
!. q ,.1soine. he was immensely popular
l;ttle spoilt by adulation and yer.
.ensitisc to praise or criticism.
The contemplation OF marriage ha'
,,rst escaped E;s thoughts, but he feare'
ehat he wouH grow weary OF domest'
:,r. and the women he met wer
sssher too frivolous or too serious-al
ereept the one of his dreams, who's
s. s..r,S;are had caused him to feel dis
u SS.e3 oesse Of loss In bis life. a thou