Evening star., 1912-01-21

is for Mademoiselle to decide and follow
her-I, Geneviever
| A sharp knock came on the door. "Gene-
We've, what are you doing here9 Mademoi-
selle Lady Muriel is asking for you.
| Genevieve gritted her teeth and went.
But she left an idea in my brain, which some
how fitted in like key with all the other
I'm not poor: I've six thousand francs, all
my own, to spend as choose. I'm not ugly:
I'm beauty-at least, outside of my dear
France Turn my back on the prison they
propose for. me and run away with Gene
We've into the big world to try my fortune
why not? But where, where should we go!
Not to London, because Aunt Elizabeth her
self is going there, and she would soon find
me and bundle me off to the old lady in the
forest ten miles around. Not to my dear
France because my Vauquieres relations
are so sharp they'd catch me before week
was out and pack me off to Aunt Elizabeth's
again-Aunt Elizabeth, who after all doesn't
want me- For money is scarce, cruelty
scarce, in this splendid old chateau, and girls
are plentiful l-cruelly plentiful. I'm a bur
den here, taking the bread and butter out of
my cousins mouths and in danger evidently
of taking away their husbands before they
even have them.
"Not Wanted" the mark l saw
on pile of trunks on the steamer when
crossed the Channel; and that's the mark
that Lii wears, as plain as print, here at
Brent And at Lady Lucretia's S who can tell
if it would be different, even if could make
up nv mind to stand the life there? To
spend all the years of my youth in the coun-
try, reading English books aloud to a deaf
old lady, and counting the leaves on the
fresno, l can't, can't! I'm living
creature, not pink, bony statue like Portia
and Ermentrude. Aunt Elizabeth this after
noon called me Carmen. That's all very
good; but l don't think | could ever break
my word to anyone the way Carmen did,
and certainly she came to bad end-but
while she lived, she lived. All, love and de-
light and passionate despair-ah, dancing
and tears and laughter! That's what life is
made up of: not long, slow years of doing
nothing and being nothing, petrifying before
you re dead, like Portia! No, won't stay
| III run away tomorrow!
PUT where? That was the question to
= which found no answer. | opened my
writing desk and took out Papas miniature,
the one he had made when he was young
man, the one love best of all, and say my
prayers to when I'm in trouble
| Darling Papa I whispered nobody
wants your Lii here, nor cares whether she
| is good or Dad alive or dead. lhey re send
ing her off into prison-oh don't say she has
to go! Tell her where thou wouldst have
her 60, my adorable little Papa
1t seemed to me that the miniature smiled
at me-the dear old familiar smile. The
tears came into my eyes, and as l tried to
wink them back my glance fell-fell on the
bundle of old letters that | had used to prop
up the little portrait. There, where my eye
fell, was written an address, in delicate,
old fashioned hand, faded but as plain as
print:
IA East 1Oth-st., New York City
OF course | am not superstitious-I who
am trying to be philosopher. But those
words came to me like an answer from Papa,
and l could not but take it as such. Har-
riet's address! Why had never thought of
her before? The lady who had known Papa
and loved him; and whom he had loved
oh, SO faithfully! In all the world where
could hope to find better friend than herr
To be sure there was the name signed to
the letters, "She who loves YOU HARRIET
and once HARRIET WILSON" with the adj
dress as plain as any directory. And in her
own house would not my name be enough
took up her miniature and looked at it for
a long time How tender her SMILE how
kind her eyes! Yes | could trust her, of so
| II, -111 L, i -,