The Bellefontaine Republican. [volume] (Bellefontaine, Logan County, Ohio) 1855-1905, 1904-11-25
monsieur. she replied simply.

Deen schoolmiStresS, but had always
loved literature, and from the time
she was a little girl had amused her
self writing stories
My uncle, a professor in a pro-
vincial school. has written many books
on education she went on, and my
father. too, has written
'Ah, your father?'
1t was some time ago. He does
not write any more now
She changed the subject quickly
and naturally. l did not insist
Presently she seemed more at ease
and talked readily of her plans for
the future. She was not ignorant of
the difficulties of literary life; rather.
she exaggerated them.
She pleased me. She was capable
OF the greatest enthusiasm, but was
without the slightest trace of envy or
bitterness.
We parted warm friends. She took
her manuscript with her. for she
wished to make a few changes. The
very next day | set about finding an
editor for her work.
1T was easier than had hoped The
first review to which | wrote needed
shorter novel TO bring in between
two long ones. The editor, happy over
his coming promotion in the Legion of
Honor. interrupted me at once:
1 accept anything on your recon-
mendation, old man. Bring on your
George Sand
Il fastened to send the good news
to Jean Seguin, begging her to send
me the novel at once. as the review
was waiting for 1t To my keen sur
prise, the young girl did not come to
my office, nor did she send me any re-
ply. The days passed. wrote again.
Then l received the following tele-
gram:
| Pardon me, monsieur. but pray for
get about my book. My father is very
sick just now and / cannot leave him
for a moment
More than a moment passed. The
editor of the review found another
novel, and l must confess l had almost
forgotten Jean Seguin, when one morn
ing Constant brought me her card.
THE young girl entered, shook
hands and sat down. There before me
was still the same face. kind and in
telligent, but worn, almost lined, with
WEAKNESS. and sorrow. She smiled
sadly.
My father has heart trouble she
explained, and these attacks are al.
ways terrible. But. for the present
he is out Of danger
And The Mortal Test?" Have
you brought me nothing?
"She looked me straight into my
eyes, bit her lips with amusing hesi
tation and then, as repeated my
question, she suddenly burst into q
flood Of tears. She sobbed, gasping
out the words:
" 1t is finished-I-I-I can-nevel
publish it,
AT last, when she grew calmer, she
wiped her eyes and said:
Forgive me, monsieur have
been foolish to give way so-but yor
have been so kind owe you an ex
planation. l should not like you tC
think me fool. Only ask silence OF
your part. My real name is Georgett,
L@
"She told me name that you woult
all recognize, the name of a man ia
nous in our fathers time. Bitterl,
jealous, he had quarreled with thu
other members OF his sect and sine,
then he had lived. solitary and lonely
with. his daughter. or rather she hat
supported him.
THE thin. yellow face. the raspin:
voice of this wretched man rose be
fore me as I listened to the voice o
his daughter. She explained why
had not received The Mortal Test an
why her novel would never be pub
! lished.
Her father. spiteful in his home, a
among his confreres. had alway
mocked the idea Of his daughter eve
J writing. But, overcome with Joy a
! the good news l sent her, Georgett
! had rashly told the story of her success
to her father.
I thought he would suffocate o.
the spot she said. simply. He fel
back in his chair. tearing the cola
of his shirt. For several moments
could not speak.
When at length he found his voic
he buried me beneath the horror of hi
wrath, accusing me of bribing the ed
-, tor and yourself, monsieur, Then cam
I fresh suffocation and for a week hi
life was In the greatest danger.
Then I arranged with the doctol
: who is one of his old friends an
knows him well, story of how IN
: hopes had been dashed and the edito
i OF the Review no longer wanted m
manuscript. Papa saw that I wa
heartbroken; II did him good. He gre
slowly better.
: Now he is all right, only he SUI
poets me. He has locked up my mani
scripts of THE Mortal Test" and b
y watches me closely whenever he SEE
Z: a pen in my hand
L" But what will you do?' l aske
her.
What is there left for me? sha
q remain a schoolmistress'
"And two big tears rolled slow
y down her cheeks. At her very sta
: she had met the bitterest enemy
9 woman writers in all Parish,
y father,"-From the French. in N.
I Sun.
5, Naming the Czars.
a