"If She So Abide."

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 211, 5 September 1900, Page 6

"If She So Abide."

By; yiOLA TEYELU,

CHAPTER XII. MONSIEUR JEAN POLET. is love without wings/ Old French Proverb. Six months passed and it became mown that the projected alliance beitween Madame la Marquise de la Valle and Monsieur Gaspard Duchene had been broken off, owing- to the persis,tent ill-health and rumoured disfigurement oi the former. But if this were so Gaspard bore himself bravely, and no one dared to question him about ithe matter. Once more the grey turrets of the Chateau de la Valle raised themselves proudly to the sky; once more the gaily flaunting flag floating on the highest tower announced that madame had turned to her country residence, (together with her useful retinue of Servants and officials. Once more the neighbouring noble families on seeing (the said flag, which betokened that the marquise was "at home," drove over in their handsome equipages to renew their state calls. To one and fall the same answer was given—that .though madame was at home, the state of her health still precluded her from seeing visitors. Most people grew tired of coming to inquire after .this persistent ill-health, and left madame to the seclusion that she so jevidently desired. Therefore, in another six months' time not a soul ever came to ring the huge bell that hung above the lodge gates and ask if mafiame "received" to-day. The flag still 'fluttered daily, and would probably never cease to do so, since madame .•was "at hiome" in the sense that she never meant to be elsewhere—that she had chosen her life and meant to abide toy that choice. Profound stillness reigned over the tehatea-u. The gorgeously clad menials <who stood behind madame's chair and lesciorted her to her carriage every time she chose to drive abroad—on .which occasions she was always thickly veiled—every now and then became rebellious, railed against the intolerable monotony iof their lives, and gave notice. Every now and then, < therefore, a fresh face appeared m the great silent house, but no other change [took place. ' , Of all the crowds who had bowed before her beauty and done homage Ao her wealth and rank, one person only remained who took any interest in her after; her withdrawal from the world. This t.was her. former suitor, of whom Gaspard had spoken so lightly—the Baron le Gendre. He had written to .her ..frequently since her accident to implore her to Bee Mm, if only once, to be assured of his fidelity. But the marquise had had enough trials of men's ness, and had once and for all definitely refused to ever see him again. She wrote to him at last in reply to one of his many letters on the sub]ect of her strange withdrawal from society "You have heard of my unhappy accident doubtless, but perhaps it is impossible for you to guess how much altered by it I have become. I will add also that it is impossible f,or you to guess that my pride and vanity are such that I could never again hold i;p the head I once carried so high it wherever I went I knew that I shocked people's eyes and offended their fastidious taste. Spare me the additional mortification (you cannot guess how deep a one it is to a woman) o± reading in your eyes, too, dear friend, the uncontrollable and shrinking horror that you are sure to feel on first beholding me. Let me remain, myour memory, at any rate, the same that I ;was before this occurred." " After this letter of hers the Baron teased to correspond further. Although this was what she desired, Jrma, with all a woman's inconsequence, regretted it bitterly. Fate bad not left her even a friend. The Chateau de la Valle had been rebuilt, and—as nearly as could belief urnished as before. There was one teincrular exception to this rule, however There were no mirrors in any faf the rooms likely to be occupied or Entered by the marquise herself, lo gaze daily on her ruined beauty was more than she could bear. ■Her life passed evenly and monotonously on. She rode, played, painted tond'sang. She read quantities ot books, and sought, by absorbing herself in fictitious sorrows, to drown the remembrance of her own. One dayone dismal, dismal day, when the rain dripped from the castle terraces <and formed little pools in the pleasure gardens below; when the house seemed quiter and more dreary than ever; .when the view from the windows only consisted of a forest of soaking brown (trees and a bit of stony gray hill—a Blight interruption came to disturb iher even life. . Father Goupil was taken ill. • He had been in failing health for Borne time past, and now he could keep .up his usual duties no longer. Irma, with' her usual kindness of heart, went to him at once. She found him 'even worse than she expected, and that'night shfe sat up with him herself. Toward morning the doctor came and pronounced it to be merely a case of extreme weakness, augmented by a slight attack of fever. It was not a dangerous case, he assured the marquise, but perfect rest for a long time to come would be absolutely essential. With this message, therefore, the marquise- visited his beUside once. more. "I ami only grieved for your sake, daughter," said the sick man, with a faitft smile. "Otherwise I am not sorry that my illness has made it necessary for the little Kaoul to have a younger and less staid preceptor than myself." "He could not be an better hands, father," said Irma, frownin- a little. "Forgive me, daughter,, but I sometimes i'ancy your own taste for seclusion has blinded you to what is good for the child. You must have another and a younger tutor." •"I dislike any changes, as you know." •

[(Author of "A: Russian Eomance," "Master and Man," etc.)

"I feel that I shall never be strong enough to devote the energy I should to teaching him again. I shall always be your priest and friend, Irma, but my strength will permit of nothing more." She was silent for a moment. "How is the man to be procured?" she asked, in a tone that showed how distasteful the whole idea was to her. "Leave that in my hands, daughter. In a few days I hope to be strong enough to write. A friend of mine in Paris, whom I can thoroughly trust, will, I know, help me in the matter." "You will, I am sure, be careful, father, as to whom you choose. Remember that Kaoul is a de la Valle, and that his tutor must be a worthy gentleman in every way." "When I have fixed on a candidate for the office, my daughter, you shall appoint a time and see him and judge for yourself." "A personal interview, father? Surely that is unnecessary?" asked Irma, shrinking. "You must conquer this morbid horror of seeing a strange face, Irma. After all, you need only see him once." She sighed and changed the subject. Later on she broke the news to Eaoul. He was a beautiful, fair-haired boy of seven, with large blue eyes and a.n expression on his face rather too grave and pathetic for his years. He climbed up into her lap, and leaned his head against her breast as she talked to him. "Poor Father Goupil is ill, darling, and he is afraid he will never again be strong enough to teach you. Shall you like to have a new tutor, Eaoul?" "Ilov c Father Goupil," said the little marquis reflectively, "but sometimes I wish he were not quite so old. He walks so slowly, mamma, and often he forgets that I am talking- to him." Irma s heart smote her. Truly the priest was right. The life Eaoul had been leading- was neither healthy nor natural for a young" "child. His surroundings were too grave and quiet. Surely she had been selfish. "You shall have someone younger, Raoul, someone who is~nOt too old to ride and play with you. Shall you like that?" "Very much, mamma," answered Eaoul, submissively. And so when, three days later, a footman announced to file marquise that a. gentleman who gave the name of "Polet" was waiting her pleasure in the library, she went to him at once, forgetting for the time her own sen^ sitiveness about her altered features. The stranger was standing looking out of the window as she entered the room, .and he turned from it to make her a profound bow. Certainly there was nothing in the expression of his face to remind Irma of her misfortune. She never once thought of it. "You are going to be kind enough to undertake the education of my little Ison, monsieur, Father Go>upil tells me?" she said, with that sweet graciousness of manner that had won so many hearts. "Pray be seated, monsieur, while we talk together." Monsieur Polet bowed again in silence and took the chair she indicated •with a, motion of her -gloved right hand. •;: Irma gave a piercing glance at him as she did so. She saw that he was tall and dark,'with a profusion of brown hair, streaked with grey; a thick, short beard and a pair of eyes protected by blue glasses. Not a gay Lothario evidently; just the very man for. the post, provided he did not err on the side of gravity. "Monsieur le Marquis is very young yet—only seven," said Irma, with a little wistful smile. "His instruction hitherto has been entirely in the hands of my honoured friend Fatner Goupil. I need hardly say that my son would not now have been removed from his personal supervision had not time and illness told upon him lately. ' She paused for him to reply, and Monsigneur Polet said politely. "Father GoupiPs great learning and many accomplishments would make him an acquisition to any household. It was the first time he had spoken, and again Irma shot a keen, disturbed glance at: him, which he withstood with imperturbable calmness. ' "You are quite right, Monsieur Polet. I have the highest opinion of Father Goupil, and anyone suggested by him needs no further recommendation in my eyes. We will look upon the matter as settled. Father Goupil will instruct you in your duties. I trust, however, that you will not object to accompanying Monsieur; le Marquis in his rides and making yourself a companion to him." "I am at Monsieur le Marquise's service in everything," replied Monsieur Polet with the same politeness as before. "One thing more, monsieur,' said Irma, stopping him as he moved towards the door. "You are aware that I live in profound seclusion. I do not wish to impose upon anyone the conditions of life which I may observe myself. If at any time you should wish to have your friends here the chateau, with the exception, of course, of the part in which I live myself, is at your disposal." "You are very good,, madame, said Monsieur Polet, "but I am notlikely to trespass sq. far on your hospitality. I have no friends." Madame la Marquise looked at his , unmoved face curiously. . "That is a sad position to be in,, monsieur." , "I do not know, madame. It is a matter of individual taste, I suppose. The world and I have nothing in common, and I have learned the hollowness of friendship." He bowed again and left the room. Irma followed him with her eyes. She also had learned the hollowness of ■friendship. Already there seemed to be a bond of sympathy between herself arid the unknown stranger. But .was; this grave, bearded man, with his ;cynical ideas of the world and his bitter thoughts a much gayer companion i for her little son than the gentle, kindly man who lay-ill in a distant chamb'e"r of the chateau? ' / ■ (To be Continued.), '••;