Herald and news. [volume] (West Randolph, Vt.) 1878-1943, 1900-08-23
A DANAE IN SABOTS.

IN RIVE to the Bois."
, IL The English coachman knew
by the way his master slammed the
door Of the coupe, that the world 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 a smile for every woman Of mis- ac-
%quaintanee, but this morning he was
overshadowed by a sense of defeat, at
which he was as much surprised as con
founded.
To think that it was only yesterday
"a 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," a picture
that had aroused the envy and enthusi-
asm Of the artistic world?
In 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 stil rang
In his ears:
You fail, Henri, in achieving the
highest; You depict the body, and not
the sou. This Danae is beautiful flesh
and blood, but the charm Of the ale
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, hat
makes me ice to your fame. My late
husband was a brutal s~ensualist: Won
have dimly outlined my years Of pen
anee with him. You are a refined SEN
sualisti you would not throw your
boots at my Lead in a drunken frenzy.
or parade your mistress before me Ia
public, but your nature lacks the IDEAL
lty l need now more than ever. You
plead your old friendship as a sure
precursor of %unending love. Alack!
Henri, the boy once played with has
vanished, never TO return. Around the
man l now know cling a~ffeetionate I
memories of the past, but he is not {
10 me the possibility OF a faithful i
spouse for the future. Unless you can
prove 10 me that your fortune has not
degraded your art, that in a luxurious
life you rise above yourself, above self
shness, we cannot be one in either
thought or heart. When / see a can
7as signed by you bearing the imprint
If a noble soul. as well as a trained eve
skilled hand, then, Henri, l may lis
en- TO your ardent wooing."
He could see her as she stood beside
i'm, calm and thoughtful. her hand
for a moment upon his arm
ct with an impalpable something
separating her utterly from him. Ii
lrought little solace 10 his soul TO
now that ten years before, if he had
ut spoken to the fair girl be knew
o well, she might have been his; be-
ore her parents had hurried her into
he marriage with that rich old count
whose death at last was the sole com
ort his wife ever derived from her
marriage with him.
Henri Duvai had loved the maiden
ELL but the young wife better, though
er irreproachable life shielded her
even an attempt on his part 10
Npress his devotion. So he dreamt his
realms and lived bis easy life. r~eserv-
always, in the depths Of his being.
pure place for her image, while his
ally encourage was favored with the
1hemia Of art and Partisan youth. His
grandfather had amassed a.
'rtuue and the marriage Of his father
ith the Penniless daughter Of a duke