Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1913-03-04

waiting for his filthy, plebian dollars!
And now, the letter. You shall write,
and 1 will dictate"
He goes to an escretoir, brings writ
, ing materials, and places them on a
buhl table by her side. She has fallen
back on her sofa, and looks as cold
and passive as stone. She takes the
pen mechanically, and writes as he
bids sher-supplicating her father to
settle without delay an income Of fif-
Ity thousand dollars upon her dear
and honored husband, Count Otto, to
whom she owes so much Of supreme
happiness. This sum Is to be for his
sole use, his exclusive benefit. She
begs Cullen Sardis, for the love which
he bears to her, his only child and
heiress, to do this, as the count Is sue-
fering from pecuniary embarrassments
very unpleasant to one Of his exalted
rank.
She writes all this without fiinching,
and signs her name.
"Goodi" says the count.
But he Is premature in his speech;
for as she meets his exultant eyes, a
wave of color flashes into her pale
face. She suddenly tears the letter in
atoms and tosses 1t from her.
For two years I have been your
wife," she cries. clasping her hands as
II in intolerable agony-"for two
years I have suffered every sort Of
neglect, humiliation and misery, and
have kept it, as best I coult, from
my father, my friends, and the world;
but to call you dear. to call you hon
ored, to say that / owe you anything
but shame and grief and unutterable
disappointment-this Is too much! You
must excuse me; I cannot make the
request tonight, Count Otto-some
other time, perhaps, but decidedly not
tonight"
Never did she look so grand, so
queenly as at this moment. He grows
pale with wrath; but he knows how to
contro! himself when 1t Is to his In
terest to do so.
"You are severe, countess-you
wound me to the heart. 1t will be ne
cessary for you to attend to this mat
ter-if not tonight, then tomorrow. |
fear you are not well. Shall I ring for
your maid?"
mo! wish to be alone"
"Adieu, then. I kiss your beautiful
hand"
He lifts her cold, reluctant fingers to
his lipsI then turns and leaves the
room.
And Ethel? She stands by the buhl
table like a statue Of despair. What
memories throng upon her!-what
thoughts! She is a proud woman, and
for weeks and months she has suffered
land made no sign; but now her
strength gives way suddenly. In her
rich evening dress she sinks upon her
knees, and hides her face In the silken
pillow Of the sofa. ...
"Merciful Heaveni" she murmurs,
wringing her hands above her bowed
head, what life i lead My pun
lishment is greater than can bear!"
This marriage, contracted by one
party for money, and the other for
the qualification Of pride and ambition
has turned out badly enough-perhaps
no one but the countess herself knows
how badly. The first tears that she
has shed for many a day fall on her
pillow. with a bitter sense Of being
utterly shipwrecked-of having lost
all that makes life worth keeping, she
kneels there under the wax-lights,
crying out, as the young and despair
ing always cry, II wish I were dead!'
A faint tap at the glass door open
ing into the little garden. She does not
hear 1t. 1t is repeated. She looks up
then, and with a thrill Of surprise,
sees a human figure standing without,
gazing into the salon. She rises to her
feet. The figure makes an eager
movement, a deprecatory gesture, and,
pushing back the door, softly steps
Into the presence of the countess.
She wears a black shawl and bon
net and a coarse black gown. The
wax lights show Ethel her dark, stolid
face and eager eyes, as bright as a
hawks It Is a late hour for visitors,
and this unceremonious way OF enter
ing madame's apartments is somewhat
startling.
Pardon, madame" says the intru-
der do you know me?"
Ethel has by this time regained her
composure She looks steadily at the
speaker; then sends her thoughts
backward for two years and more, and
exclaims, in voice Of surprised recog-
nition:
"Finette!"
She makes deep obeisance, and an
other entreating gesture.
Yes, 1t is. beg madame's pardon.
Her servants would not let me enter
they bade me come tomorrow. An,
III could not do that was too anX1-
Gus; so I found my way into the little
garden. I have been waiting there for
hours madame, to have one word with
you"
says Ethel, in French. DO you come
from America-from New York.
mo, madame, returned to France
two years ago, just after left the SER
vice of your mother. All, you know
about that, do you not? 1 pitied the
pretty mademoiselle, because she was
pining in prison-because Madame
Sardis would make her marry the man
she did not love. opened her door
l set her free, and lost my place. Tell
me, madome, did do wrong?"
Ethers pale face is stained with
sudden flush.
moi" she answers, with vehemence,,
"a thousand times, no! You did right
quite right, Finette! Through your
instrumentality Beatrix is today
happy and a blessed woman"
Thanks, madame. Well, then, ! re-
turn to Paris, as said before. AT YER
rieres Is the cottage Of my brother
geese, make his butter; but now he
has taken a wife, and needs me no
more. often I have seen madame driv-
ing in the Bois, or along the boule-
wards; and today I hear with Joy that
her waiting-maid Is to wed soldier
and go to Algiers; and I say to my
self, madame has kind heart-it is
possible that she may give me tne
place-that mon Dieu! she will not
blame me for the help 1 bestowed on
little mademoiselle in New York"
Blame you!" murmurs Ethel, bit
terly; and Finette knows that she has
lplayed a trump card.
Madame, 1 beg you to take me
again into your service; yes, go down
on my knees to YOU"
She suits the action to the word. Her
brown face is quivering with excite
ment, her eyes are preternaturally
bright. She lifts Ethel's cold hand to
her lips.
Madame, for the wages I care moth
ing; ask only to be near you. Recall
my ways in the past-did I not serve
you faithfully two years ago? Were
not these hands skillful? Ah ciel!
cannot you trust me?"
Ethel looks down on the kneeling,
limportunate woman who has forced
herself into her presence at that late
hour, and makes a sudden determina-
ton.
TT is quite true that Marie my maid,
LEAVES me in a few days to marry
soldier" she says, "and her successor
lis not yet engaged. Yes, I can trust
YOU, Finette, and l am glad that you
came to me tonight. Because Of the
aid you rendered to my cousin-be-
cause you did not hesitate to suffer In
L.. oorea rajoice tO he Of helm TO