"If She So Abide."

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 213, 7 September 1900, Page 6

"If She So Abide."

By VIOLA TRYELU.

CHAPTER XIV.

LOUISE DE CHARENTEi'S LAST*

APPEAL.

"Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth, Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth." Tennyson. "I cannot imagine why Eugene will persist in burying himself in one of his gloomy old country chateaux, when he ought to be in Paris, giving balls and dinners. A man like that owes a duty to society," said the Comtesse de Charente fretfully, "and, besides, I want to see him on business. Really one hardly knows if one's letters reach him, he answers them so seldom. How long is it since we have seen him, Louise?" "Quite three months, mamma," said the daughter gloomily. "I think Eugene must have quite given us Up." "What nonsense you talk, child! Engene would never give us up. But he has probably got some silly fad or other in his head. Writing a book on Egyptology, very likely—people always seem to do that when they want a fuss made about-themselves. All I know is that ho is making things very awkward for me —and for you too, Louise. You will have to decide what you are going to do very soon. I am ; sure I don't want you to marry that hateful old Comte de Laurent —I am the last woman in the world to sacrifice my only child —but he seems to be the only man who has taken a genuine fancy to you. And if you don't marry him I am sure I don't know what to do, Louise. You have been out three years now, and I am about at the end of my tether." "Of course one never marries the man one loves," said Louise de. Charente, with listless resignation, "and it may just as well be the Comte de Laurent as anybody else. After all, he is enormously wealthy and tremendously devoted. I shall not have the humiliation of asking Eugene for a dowry if I many him." "He is over seventy," said the Comtesse de Charente, putting the tips of her little white fingers together and gazing reflectively at the ceiling above, whereon were depicted little Cupids clad in garlands of roses, "and it stands to reason he won't live long. I suppose it seems a little heartless to say so, but I am sure the poor old man would.be better dead." "I had better marry him first, mamma," said Louise mockingly. "It is evidently his duty in life to make me a widow." "My dear child, what a way of put ting things," said the Comtesse, piously shocked. "I would not shorten his life by a single day, of course —but if it is to be, it is to be. I don't want him to live to be a hundred, to give you thirty years of nursing to do." Louise shuddered a little. "One must run one's chances, I suppose," she said after ji while, philosophically, "but really, if I thought that gruesome thirty years of nursing were at all likely to occur I would not marry him if he were twice as rich." "Very few people live to be a hundred nowadays," said the Comtesse consolingly, "and he has simply no constitution. Jndeed, now I come to think of it, Louise, I really do strongly advise you to marry him as soon as possible. That is, i|, you can make up your mind to go through with it. He is sure to be very indulgent to you. These old husbands always are. And the De Laurent diamonds are the finest in France. After all, it is better to be an old man's darling than a young man's slave. And you really needn't see much of him once you are married to him, you know. Nothing, fortunately, is considered so bour-g-eoise as to be perpetually seen with one's husband." "He is coming this afternoon for a final answer," said Louise pensively. I "I shall be really glad to have the affair definitely settled. There is some- j thing rather humiliating in not being; engaged when one is three and twenty."

"Yes, I was married at eighteen," | said her mother. "Your poor, dear I father was not the best of husbands, but he was a very handsome man, and everybody envied me. We used to quarrel dreadfully—the poor darling had a most shocking temper—but we were always the beat of friends in public. It is such bad taste to flaunt one's little marital squabbles in the face of one's friends. And, after all, he left \ me a good deal oE liberty." Lom.se was not deeply interested in the story of her mothers married life. She knew well enough that the husband and wife had not been happy together. She herself could remember the constant recriminations, tears, reproaches. The heartless gayety of the father, the still more heartless flirtations of the mother-—these were imprinted on her childish mind. The Comte de Charente was young and handsome, yet he had made his girl wife wretched. At least the Comte de Laurent would not err for lack of devotion. He was very likely to be tor« fond of her. And, as the Comtesse de Laurent, she would take her place at once as one of the leaders of Parisian society. With such a,n immense fortune at her back she was sure of many social triumphs. ■ As a young\ married woman she would have perfect and absolute freedom. On the whole she decided that the Comte's offer was not to be despised. . # He came that afternoon and was duly accepted. He. stooped his • old white head to impress ft fervent kiss on Louise's fair forehead and told her that no young husband could ever be so devoted to her as ho would be. Louise was quite aware of this, and could do with a. good deal less affect:<ui than he was prepared to bestow. Biit all these little lessons would have to be taught him later on. The rich elderly suitor must not be discouraged. So she cast down her eyes and blushed and murmured that he was ever so much too good to her, and allowed him to pass on her slender third finger the most magnificent diamond ring that she had ever seen.

(To be Continued.)

'(Author of "A Russian Romance," "Master and Man," etc)

The betrothal was publicly announced, and Louise was feted and caressed on all sides by the gay world. She sent a little private letter to Eugene as a sort of last resource, hoping that the fact that she was actually affianced to the old Comte de Laurent would add : piquancy to the hoped for pursuit of her. Louise knew that other men's sweethearts and other men's wives were delightful forbidden fruit to most men. And we all know that there is a sweetness and a lusciousness about forbidden fruit that is found in no other fruit in the world. So she wrote an artistically pensive' note to her [ cousin Eugene, hoping tha.t he would ! come to rescue her at the last moment, as Perseus had come to rescue Andromeda of old. History does not tell us if Perseus had money, but it is quite certain that the fair Andromeda had none, therefore, so far, their histories were parallel. The note was delivered to the baron le Gendre as he was sitting at an open window in front of a fair stretch of stately trees and placid meadows, and with the warm June wind ruffling his hair and the hum of bees and the sorig of birds vibrating through the air. The very perfume of the delicately tinted notepaper seemed to bring the tainted breath of vicious Paris with it, and he opened the dainty missive" with distinct feelings of repugnance. "My dear Eugene," the letter ran, "you have by this time, I daresay, received the news of my formal betrothal to the Comte de Laurent. You will remember that I asked your advice about marrying- him last time we met, and you could not, or -would not, help me in the matter. I have been driven to this step, and now that I have taken it I am broken-hearted. But I cannot bear to see my dear mother so harassed with anxiety. "I am missing the greatest thing in life—alove marriage. Yet what am I to do? By a cruel irony of fate the only man for whom I ever cared is indifferent to me. If he is not—and, oh, Eugene, how my poor heart leaps at the° thought—l sometimes say to myself, 'Perhaps when he hears how desperately broken hearted and unhappy I am he will come to the rescue at the last moment and. .spare me the awful anguish of marrying this monster whom I detest. Will he—will he? I do not know. I can only hope. Ah, Eugene, you little know with what despair in my heart I have taken this fatal step. Write to me; comfort me, if you can, for I am very, very miserable. You are the only person to whom I can turn, to whom I dare show my poor, bleeding heart. I shall await your reply with,_ oh, such anxiety. —Ever yours, Louise." The baron read the letter through once and smiled grimly; a second time, with an expression of disgust; a third tj me _and he tore it into a thousand fragments. He knew her meaning -well enough. She meant, "Won't you come and marry me yourself, dear Cousin Eugene, and save me from selling my youth and beauty to a man whom no«decent woman can look upon without a shudder? ' You are rich, Cousin Eugene, and I am pretty, and I love you and I love your money, and I hate being poor." As he tore the last scrap of paper in pieces his mouth took up a hard look. "Why are such women made?" he considered. "Women who will sell that which they should most honour for a carriage and pair and a diamond necklace or two? A 'love marriage, forsooth! . She would never know what real love was if she were to live to be fls old as the Comte de Laurent himself." Another face flitted across his vision, and his own softened at once. Indeed, .it took on a happy expression and he leaned out of the pretty window and let the soft wind play among his hair, and forgot Paris and its vices and Louise and her woes, in a long and' blissful day dream, which, judging from his expression, looked as though some day it would ihave a very happy ending. Never mind where the window was that he looked out of, oh reader. From it he saw a fair vista of future happiness. From it he saw the goal which, once won, would give him his heart's desire. i He remained musing smilingly ■over the pleasant scene. Then he turned away, and taking up his pen, replied to Louise's letter, which had already been two days on its journey. His answer was cold and formal. He deeply regretted that she had seen fit to accept the proposal of the Comte de Laurent. He was extremely grieved to hear that she still cherished a secret passion for a man, who, according to her own showing-, was indifferent to her. He hoped she would be happy in the life she had chosen, though he confessed he did not see how she could expect much from such a beginning. He regretted that for private reasons he should be unable to be present at the wedding", which he understood was to take place almost immediately, and he took advantage of his cousinly rights to order for her what he ventured to think would be the handsomest parure of diamonds in the whole of France. He subscribed himself as her always affectionate cousin, and hoped that if ever his services could be of use to her she would not hesitate to command them.

When Louise received the letter she tore it into a thosand pieces with a feeling of impotent fury.