The Brandon news. (Brandon, Miss.) 1892-1961, 1907-01-31

Lady Featherstone enjoyed, not I'M
/ Justly, the reputation Of being one OF
| the most eclectic hostesses in London,
and had for some years occupied that
position In society to which her birth.
her wealth, her accomplishments, and.
last but not least, her undoubted
beauty entitled her. At Lady Feath-
erstons's house at her little social
assemblies, her soirees, her occasional
dinner parties-one might be sure OF
meeting only those people upon whom
the caehet Of unQuestioned breeding
had been set.
A woman herself Of unerring taste.
of the most delicate ethical discrimin-
alton, and Of fastidious fancy, she
was never able to tolerate In Others
the least DETECTION from her own high
standard of criticism and culture. She
was clever enough to admire clever
people, yet not stupid enough to pass
for being clever herself; she was q
widow with two young daughters. a
large income, and, as it seemed, con-
siderable capacity for enjoying It; and
people said-those people who always
SAY" things-that the fact Of this
explained the other fact Of Lady
Featherstone remaining a widow. To
give up several thousand q year, an
assured position in society, and her
liberty would be much to expect of a
woman in return for the questionable
advantage Of second husband. SO
people said. They knew that Lady
Featherstone had made a brilliant
marriage at an early age; that she was
enviable becuse she was rich, and hap
py because she was enviable. But,
oddly enough, Lady Featherstone was
not always happy; and on particular
afternoon in January she sat alone in
her drawing room, with look Of
singular sadness upon her beautiful
face; her chin rested ON her hand, her
gray eyes were bent wistfully on the
fire. and now and again she sighed
softly to herself, as though mood of
memories were on her.
She sat alone. Perhaps this con-
sciousness-th consciousness that she
was "alone"-had. something to do
with the stirring OF those secret emo
tons which retrospect of the past
will often evoke; perhaps it was this
retrospect itself that made the con-
seriousness more acute; but, at least,
the burden of solitude seemed to weigh
heavily on her soul. Her children
were too young to be companions to
her-too young to fill quite that void
in the heart of woman of thirty-five,
which looks for some other and fuller
source of repletion; her friends-but
woman's friends, what are they?
Yet it was not usual for Lady Feath-
erstone to indulge a morbid train of
fancies, and in this very evening, the
evening of one of her darge dinner
parties, it seemed curious that her
thoughts should have carried her into
SO melancholy groove, that the faint,
far off chord of early memories should
have been suddenly struck by the
sound Of a French name-the name of
q stranger, the name of one of her
! guests, the Count de Serillac, whom
the French Ambassador was bringing
with him to her dinner party.
Except that he was distinguished
dfplomatist, Lady Featherstone knew
nothing of M. de Serillac and cared
less: but that he was Frenchman
awakened in her heart the sudden
memory of another compatriot-a
Frenchman, poor and obscure, but Of
noble bearing and an exquisite man
ner, tender and gallant, handsome and
debonair, who once had loved her.
Once, fifteen years ago, when she was
twenty, and he had been her drawing
mastepn He had loved her, this
French artist with the earnest face and
the inexpressible air of nobility SO
oddly at variance with the nature of
his calling-he had loved her, this
drawing master; and yet what in an
other similarly situated would have
seemed the acme of arrogance, in him
seemed but the assertion of a natural
prerogative, carrying with it nothing
bizarre, nothing presumptuous, nothing
Inappropriate. He had loved her, and
she had loved him; SO there was but
OAC luluS " w, duu Lie uIdWluS ul<tS-
ter did THE went from her presence
forever, for he was gentleman Only
this he had said on parting:
"Mademoiselle, go, but leave my
heart herewith you. Treat it as
you will, Mademoiselle, keep it or cast
1t away, think of me or forget me, but
remember that, if ever the day comes
when I may return to you, shall re-
turn; and then, Mademoiselle- then,
IL it is In your power to bestow what
It may be in my power to ask, I shall
demand Of you the happiness which
only you can give me. I live now
for that day--for that day alone!''
And, with tears in her eyes, she had
pleaded, girl like, that he should not
leave her. and for reply, he had taken
her hand very tenderly and pressed
Il to his lips.
"Mademoiselle," he had murmured,
II must! FAREWELL"
| M. Gressioner never returned, and