The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1899-12-30


Jacques Bruhiere Is an artist whose
NEUROLOGICAL pictures have most de-
| lightful modern air. His Grecian god
desses look like Parisiennes. Their wind
| blown hair, their high heeled sandals aud
| a peculiar twlrl given to their drapery
have captivated the Partisan ladies. So
they crowd Jacques studio and implore
him TO let them sit for Dianas and An
| dromedas. But he is a 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 consumers
that Is to say, women and bores.
A year ago, just after the art exhibit
closed, Jacques determined TO go on a
sketchng tour. So he packed his trunk,
assisted by his friend, Eugene dc Lassi,
| and was bidding adieu to his studio when
the servant entered with a note. 1t was
a nice little note, daintily perfumed, and
the address was written in the most deli
cate hand imaginable. He read 1t, frown-
| ed and, crumpling it up, threw it on the
floor.
"Confound the women" he cried.
"What's 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 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
II nin ctr md
ber."
But" said Eugene. who was reading
the note, cts very well written, assure
you, full of most delicate wit. What are
you going to do with it?''
"Oh, you literary menu groaned
Jacques. What am going to do with
it? Why, burn it Of course. What do
you suppose am going to do with tit"
I'm tell you what to do with it," said
Eugene. "You're going away
yes"
"Then give ii TO me-"
"Why, what'n you do with it?" said
Jacques, with a stare.
"Well, I'll play painter" replied Eu-
gene. I'm not. much of one, but l can
daub a little-enough, at all events, to
deceive a 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 BruHere,
painter, set off for Switzerland, and Eu-
gene de Lassi, man Of letters, remained
TO personate him, but only for Nine. Le-
onie. Other visitors were told the truth
that the master was gone.
At last she came. Eugene's romantic
fancy had painted her as young and
beautiful, but she was more than that.
She was divine. She was brunette 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 fattered
himself that he was correctly made up
for his role. His velvet blouse and jaun-
ty cap were little too clean perhaps,
but that was a good fault.
Nine. Leonie wanted her portrait paint
ed, and il was very difficult for her to de-
eide how it should be done. She wavered
long. One day she would be Omphale,
the next she had decided that to be rep
resented as Salome was necessary TO her
peace of mind. But when Eugene had
made his preparations his tickle goddess
decided that Delilah was the character
that suited her. aud then she would wan
der 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 weary
and would come the next day, and she
would so. leaving Eugene de Lassi deep
er in love than ever.
As for him, he was in a dream. He
had retired from the world. At his own
quarters his door was daily stormed by
Ii. tkr~ V-tnfn n
boys, by creditors and by friends. But
no one knew where he had gone. He had
told his servants he was going away, but
had not told them where. 1t was wrong,
decidedly wrong, but he took a certain
ferocious Joy In it when he thought how
he himself had once pursued these same
editors and managers.
Eugene had at last discovered that his
inamorata was widow, wealthy and Of
good family. Her full name was Leonie
de Nores. He had never told his love,
but that she was blind to 1t was impossl-
Bile, yet she was certainly blind to his
painting for she expressed her admira-
| ton of it with an enthusiasm that made
Eugene vince. But one day, when he
was, as usual, attempting to transfer her
| TO canvas, a particularly atrocious tree
which he introduced in the background
attracted her attention.
Jacques" said she, "don't you think
that you are-that you are-well, that
you're losing little of your skillT'
"Whatw shouted Eugene.
81 mean-that is-I'm afraid that l
keep you from your work SO much
that
81 only hope that you may keep me
from it forever" returned the amorous
Eugene. And SO the dangerous moment
passed.
But this state of affairs could not last
forever. One fine day as Eugene was
seated upon divsn thinking Of his lady
love. who had just departed. who should
enter but Jacques Bruhiere. Yes, there
he was, with his attendant carrying his
umbrella. his sketch books, his camp
stools, his baggage, a true artist just
from the country. The false one trem-
bled as he thought that his dream was
over. Had he been Borgia he would
eIotx Ia f.fn A H. - H..