SEALED LIPS.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 292, 8 December 1900, Page 3 (Supplement)

SEALED LIPS.

CHAPTER XV,

OUTBURST OF SARCASM,

At last it was ended

Often Patrice would go over in his mind the tortures of that long half hour, and think how if he had known of them in advance he could never have braved them. He would have disappeared without saying- a word, and let events take care of themselves, removing by his departure all obstacles that Godefroid could consider him responsible for. But to see what

he had just seen, to complete the work that would make his heart bleed to

the end of his life, to lie with such cruelty, to sacrifice with such merciless barbarity! No, never, had he foreseen it, would he ever have undertaken such a task.

While Jenny cried bitterly, over her j heart but just awakened, now dead, her executioner, who was twice as much to be pitied, because he killed ; at the same blow two victims, was walking away quickly from the house, like a person whose instinct gtiides rather - than the will. He walked for a long time, crossed squares, followed avenues, passed bridges, carriages grazed him, men with heavy bundles let fly imprecations at this fanatic who jostled against them. Pretty women, walkingout wrapped up in their furs, sought in vain for a look from this young mai/with such a strange expression. ■ But he seemed unable to see and hear anything. The sole being who could arouse him from his sorrowful thoughts was a poor lost dog, who was dying of hunger, cold, and fatigue. In the angle of a wall, where the cold wind blew clouds of dust, the little creature was shivering curled up in a heap, upon some pieces of paper tossed there by the wind, the only bed that he could find as he wandered in his agony, not- having1 strength to search for his master, unconscious even, of the passers by, he laid there waiting his last gasp. Patrice was affected by this extreme suffering. He stooped down and took the dog up, intending to carry him away with him to make a companion oi! him, and one from which no love or duty could separate him. But he was too late. A grateful look from two kind, faithful eyes, an attempt at a caress from the already paralysed little tongue, and that was all. One being less to suffer here below, . Then the one who suffered yet walked away, thinking of Hie words that he had heard a weeping woman say: "I am nothing to you, not as much as a dog that one caresses before giving away." . Soon after he entered Godefroid's library and found him radiant with , smiles, and looking ten years younger. "Guess the reply!" exclaimed the musician, joyfully. "I know it," sadd Patrice, falling into a seat. "How do you know it?" "I should say that I suspect it in seeing you so happy." "For the time being," said Godefroid, speaking* with singular volubility, "she leaves the final answer for a week. But her mother —that woman is goodness personified —has taken care to remove all uneasiness from my mind. This delay of eight days is merely for propriety's sake." •ft suppose,", said Patrice, "that in case's like this a young lady ought not to seem to decide too quickly." He spoke* .vith an involuntary touch of sarcasm. But Godefroid had become very philosophical now that philosophy was not needed, and shrugged his shoulders with an indulgent Smile. ' "Ah! You make me angry without intending it," said he. "In reality if any one rejoices at my happiness it is you, I am sure of that. But you can admit it to an old friend. Mademoiselle Sauval seemed to—-to honour you more than others. And in such cases the least conceited of us do not enjoy seeing that they were mistaken." "Do you still return, to that?" interrupted Patrice, wearily. "Truly, lam wrong to do so. If there was ever any need of it the mother's confidences about her daughter would take away the least shadow of doubt." "Then you, are happy—perfectly happy?" "My happiness is so great that I dare not fathom it for fear that I shall be ingulfed in it. If I appear partially calm to-day it is because I am somewhat stupefied. I cannot yet fully realise it. But you can understand how I feel when you think of what I said to you yesterday. I repeat it again—herself or that." He pointed with his trembling hand to a revolver hanging upon the wall. Patrice's only reply was a deep sigh. "Now," continued Godefroid, "would you like to know my plans?" The young man could not resist this insinuation, "Madame Sauval's plans, for your mother-in-law knows them better than you do, I presume." "You will judge her less severely when you know her better," prophe- j sied Godefroid, to whom everything looked rose-coloured at this moment. Then he told of the arrangements already made for the future. His first care would be to cancel the singer's engagement. As for himself, for a year or so he should rest, following his pwn inclinations and the state of his health as to when he should >write again. This period of rest would be peased at some distance frOm Paris on an estate that Madame Sauval and her daughter owned in Beam. "An estate!" interrupted O'Farrell. "I supposed that they had no forl tune." "Oh! as to that, I imagine that this estate costs more than it brings, and that it has fewer crops than mort- ■ gages. But we will attend to that. We will live there like happy country people, looking after our fields and vines, contented with our own society. It seems, however, that it is a Very pleasant neighbourhood." j "Then it is finita la musica?" ! "Music!" interrupted Godefroid, yith the look of passionate inspiraion that he formerly had, but with

[Translated from the French of Leon de Tinseau.]

a more terrestrial light now. "Music! | Now I shall begin to write the true and only music of my life. Would you like to know what I think? I wish I had your belief that I could thank l God for the happiness that has*come to me. I feel overwhelmed with grati-, tude and without knowing who to j thank for it. How good God is, if He j exists!" ! When O'Farrell returned to his room j and thought over his own affairs he ; felt gratified that fatigue of body and I mind was benumbing him. This douI ble and distinct exhaustion gave him ! the impression that he was two dis- , tinct beings. One, Godefroid's and Jen-; ny Sauval's Patrice, was doomed to' sacrifices and great unhappiness and ; superhuman undertakings. The other 'was commonplace Patrice condemned |by force of circumstances to occupy i himself unceasingly with the vulgar but imperious necessities of this life, j This Patrice of inferior position, to • speak frankly, was not, the one whose affairs were in the worst condition) just now. However, if Godefroid was making plans it was time that his companion—for a short time only— should begin to make his. **What a pity that I sold my island," thought he, "and above all "that it is four thousand miles away. I would have slept there to-night. Still I should have no right to do so, as II promised her that I would see her tomorrow." ' The next day Madame Sauval had • no suspicions of O'Farrell, for she ] could see by her daughter's low spirits, that the new ally had acted in earnest, j Probably he had reasons of his own! for desiring this marriage to take j place. The best thing for her to do I was to allow him to continue his work, I since her homilies produced so little effect. The young girl was alone when O'Farrell presented himself, shivering at the thought of what he had endured , at his preceding* visit. But at the first j glance he saw that the same thing would not happen this time. Jenny was very calm, but evidently much exhausted with fatigue. She offered her hand without glancing at him, and invited him to seat himself before her. In. twenty-four hours her expression—always more serious and grave than comported with her age— had assumed that oppressed immobility that a secret and hopeless trouble gives one. Patrice seeing- that she wished to speak first remained silent. After a moment's silence she commenced: "You surprised me so much yesterday that I lost all control of myself. I said certain things that I regret and that you must forget. Or rather— what is the use of not being frank?— I wish that it was possible for you to remember all your life what you know now, but" to forget what you learned from my lips. This being! granted, let us, as my mother would say, talk practically. Your constancy as'regards myself has produced a. result which surpasses, I am sure, anything that you could have expected. The shock has transformed me. I have reflected during the night. Cunning motherly arguments have done the rest this morning. Truly, you might as well not have troubled yourself." There was sk) much bitterness shown in this ironical speech that Patrice j O'Farrell clenched his fists and uttered I a low imprecation: j With a, covert glance Jenny watched! him, for she had an end in view. She j wished to clear up a remaining doubt in her mind. Since the night before she had thought: "He pretends to have only a moment of enthusiasm. I cannot believe it. He must be lying. But if he loves me he will betray himself." Seeing that the sphynx kept silent she continued: "Three ways are open before me _to follow my profession marry your friend, or let Prince Kemeneff carry me away with him; he offered to do so some time ago. You probably will judge me harshly, but of these three ways the first is the one that pleases me the least." "Great Heaven! is it you who are talking in this way?" groaned Patrice. "At the very thought of putting on a costume, paint, and powder, and going before a crowd of people, to go over again for money the scenes that I have played au natural with you alone to save my life, and with no j warning . Ah, no, never! Never - again will they see Jenny Sauval pray ■ and struggle, strike her breast and , wring her hands for the amusement j of others. I never had any liking for the stage; to-day I detest it. There remains Godefroid or Kemeneff. More than one in my place would not hesitate." "Stop!" -exclaimed the exasperated young man; "now you are playing a miserable comedy." "In another way. Repulsed in sentiment, I take refuge in reality. Ker- j eneff or Godefroid—l repeat it, there is no medium, for I Jim too religious to kill myself, and unfortunately notenough so to become a nun. You, it ' ,is understood, of course, are for Godefroid. But do you not believe that the prince loves me, too?" "Not enough to marry you." "Not enough to have trouble with the Czar by marrying me. But if | Godefroid was obliged to lose his I place at the Court of Russia by marrying a singer we. would see. However that may be, I ask myself what will be your reply if I say to you, 'One man only can save me from the prince, and that is not Godefroid!'" . .. I "I should reply that you told an untruth. I know you. I know, I feel that you are incapable of such infamy." Their eyes met. It needed all her will power to keep from throwing herself at his feet -and thanking him for tlie words that he had just spokeu. But she knew that she could never , obtain any admission from him only | by surprise. She continued, keeping | her mask of irony: j "Thanks for your gtood opinion.; Between us you speak of it entirely : at .your ease, for putting aside the ; millions, the prince—after one other man —is the one who is nearest to having my heart. But if you should be deceived on my account? If you should hear this morning that Kemeneff was'the one preferred, now, then, would it not cause you to beat your breast?"

Pa (rice had his hind on that place, but it was not to perform the act of contrition. "I do not recognise you," said he. "->or I myself any longer. But I shall know myself still less when I am I Madame Godefroid. All the same, I think I shall take that name. What can I do against three persons? Nevertheless, my mother assures me as you do, that I shall be very happy, and make your friend very happy. That will be a pleasure for you, will it not, to contemplate our happiness? For, you know, it will be your work." "Yes, but I shall not see it. You know very well that I am coin---away." h "Oh, not before our marriage," said she, imperiously, "if you leave it will , not take place. It is a condition sine ! ; cpta non, You will, be your friend's I ; witness." > | "It is impossible," stammered Pat- I i rice. "I must—l cannot " I Jenny's eyes sparkled, her face was animated with a supreme hope. She seemed to wait for one word, one gesture from this man that she. loved. Seeing that he would say nothing, she . continued: ' < "Then we are of one opinion. All is ended, and well ended. Now listen to what I am going to tell you, take good notice; you know that I do not "love Godefroid; I shall tell him so, rest assured; you know that I love another ; man. Very well, at the very last mm;- --; ute, no matter what time or place, even if in the Mayor's oflice, you have only to do like this" (she moved her finger in the air), "and I shall remain Jenny Sauval." "Ah! poor Godefroid!" exclaimed the young man, putting his hands before his eyes. "Have no fears about hint. I will oblige you to admit that I am good for something. You will be obliged to i esteem me. -More yet —when you hear I your friend say that 1 am good and | faithful you will think: She would have done like this if she had been at the end of the world—to obey me. 1 And if he writes you some day, Jenny jis dead, you will think " I "For the love of heaven." interrup- ; ted Patrice, "have pity upon me." j "You are right. I was really bei coming sentimental. Let us drop the ' subject. For Hie last time Jenny Sauval has told the secret of her heart, betrayed, but all in vain. Adieu!" - When the young man had disappear- ' ed she bowed her head, and thought j over all that had passed during the last hour:

"I have extorted nothing from him but a little compassion," thought she. "But I shall always suspect; I "

CHAPTER XVI

SEPARATION,

When. Patrice left Jenny he was careful not to repeat his exhaustingwalk of the nig-ht before. He did not wish to expose himself to the ordeal of another hour like that, and then, too, it was necessary to busy himself about his future, for he was resolved to leaA*e Paris the day of Godefr-oid's marriage. For the hero of a classical romance situated as he was, to leave Paris meant to go home,givehis valet orders, be driven to the station, dine in the refreshment room, if the appetite had ;not been destroyed with hope, and at last to establish himself in a sleeping compartment engaged in advance, looking at the porter with an envious eye, thinking that he was destined to grow old without any of these troubles. But this kind of a comfortable, elegant suicide is not within reach of us* all. For more than one reason Patrice, could not think of affording this. Ho was something like those desperate | creatures very anxious to pay for the, i rope tha.t is to hang them. The firs; } thing was to find the rope, that is to I say, some business that would enable ihim to live elsewhere, and which would pay in advance the expenses of the journey, for now from a feeling easily understood the young man would not accept aid from his friend's purse. He did not have to search long; thanks to the friends that he had made among people in colonial enterprises, he found a situation that under less dramatic circumstances he would have disdained. It concerned the direction lof a forest in Algeria, granted to a society whose administrators were more or less millionaires, and consequently amateurs in quiet life, in no haste to leave the boulevard or the opera for the mountains. Three clays after his last visit to Rue de Vienne, Patrice was in the heat of business transactions, and saw Godefroid only at dinner. Then the conversation between the two frienda was of such a wearisome character that neither felt the slightest desire to prolong it longer than necessary, j The composer was secretly annoyed at | his companion's obstinacy in not ! speaking to him of his approaching ; marriage, and in this affected silence ;he thought he saw auger or disapproi bati.n. He, to retaliate, avoided questioning the man as to his own plans. | Patrice, although he had other griefs more bitter, was deeply hurt at his want of interest. Finally, the day arrived that Mademoiselle Sauval was to give her definite response. "Has she replied yet?" O'Farrell would ask himself as he 'went from office to bank. "Has the final answer been spoken? Will some supreme revolt make her hesitate? It seems to me I I must have taken away the slightest I hope from her. Oh, my stars! Let us hope that I shall not be forced again to stamp this love under my feet. I could not do it. There are resolutions that one cannot keep but once." ( When he returned at night there was no need to ask if Mademoiselle Sauval had given her reply, Godefroid was so disturbed in looks and appearance. He thought at first by his friend's tragic air that the response had been in the negative. He hesitated to ask a question, knowing- the storm to which he would expose himself, but Godefroid without offering him his hand as usual thundered out I upon him with angry looks: j "How you must have laughed at me the other night!" | Greatly discouraged to think that he had ..suffered so much for nothing, . O'Farrell asked: "Then she has refused you?" ! "Oh, no! Rest easy in your mind. All goes as you wish. This afternoon in the presence of her mother she gave me her consent." ' "Well, what then?" , "She gave me her hand with the polite regret that she could not give me more. 'My heart is not free,' she said, after the most approved and consecrated style. And I, ridiculous fool that I was, I consoled you for her having forgotten you so soon. You could not but laugh, or rather you ought to have laughed at my simplicity." '

"Did she tell you that she loved me?" j "Not so foolish! She gave no I name. You have nothing to reproach her with. She was discretion itself." I "Do you know that I have seen her i twice?" * "And that to obey you she marries me. Yes, T know it. Probably you thought that I should be affected, and admire your self-denial. You are mistaken; I see clearly now; I understand everything. Ah, you are cuuning* creatures! Others would have made a fool ot the-husband, vulgarly speaking. You two people, honest after a fashion, you wait; the future is before you. What could you do now for Jenny Sauval? You have nothing but a. stainless name, which would lose its immaculateness if the Countess | O'Farrell should continue on the i stage, a necessary sacrifice, if she. j should marry you". larrange all. I i take your beloved from the theatre, I give her my name and money, at least you expect it. Certainly the'widow of Godefroid, the composer, is not a brilliant match for a gentleman of a» good blood as you are, but honour is safe, and I do not look like a man who ■would make you wait very long." "Admit now that you are not the one who has imagined all this," said Patrice, with a , flash of anger from , his eyes. "I should think that I heard Madame. Sauval speaking. Admit that she was the one that suggested this ignoble suspicion. It would be less hard to bear." Godefroid turned away his eyes, ashamed of himself, but muttering between his teeth with an angry look. The young man drew near him, and placing his hand upon Ids shoulder he sighed: , "Oh, my friend! how unhappy we are. Our friendship, our esteem, our confidence, which is almost, as old as we are, totters and almost threatens to crumble away. Why? because a woman has glanced at us and the folds of her dress have rustled between us. This woman is the most noble and loyal of creatures. I love her more Hum anything else in this world. But I never have thought of disputingfor her with you. How would it be if I were your rival? Listen! the future is greater than we. But before we penetrate into the unknown by two entirely different routes, we must take care to leave behind us no doubt as to the great affection that has existed between us for so long a time. We are going to part, to meet again, I hope, lint if it should be otherwise, if one of us should die suddenly, we must not add to the sorrow nt the loss of a friend, you, remorse, for having misjudged me, and I, grief at having submitted to such injustice. Listen —if you die before I do your wife shall never become mine. Receive my solemn oath, and may it take away all suffering from you. Now, you will believe, will you not, that I am not speculating' Upon your death or fortune?" "You will never know," replied Godefroid. without raising' his head, "how small I feel before you. There is only one thing greater in my life, that is love. It is that I drink, breathe, and eat; it replaces sleep, for I have not slept for a long time; it replaces music, which was my God, but it also replaces, one might say, my reason and conscience. Now then ~t is fortunate that I am not separated from Jenny by a crime." "Nothing can separate you," said O'Farrell, uneasy at this over excitement. "She will be yours. Be happy but above all be calm. To make her love you, to give her the happiness that she merits, you must be very kind and sensible, too. A little while ago you were not so " "How could I know that it was not you that she meant? Oh, that name. . Why did she not speak it? Perhaps it is yours?" "Other men have approached her much more likely to please than I." "It is Prince Kemeneff, doubtless?" "Now, then! Calm yourself. Respect the young girl's secrets. All have, them. Do not punish us, her for being frank ,and me for having striig--gled and conquered her scruples. Oh, my friend, do not forget, that I am your surety for. the happiness that you must give her. And now enough of agitation. We have work before us. You to prepare for your marriage and I for my journey, and yet," (he tried to laugh) "you have Madame Sauval to assist you, and I have nobody." "When do you leave, and where are you going?" asked Godefroid, as if this idea was entirely unexpected to him. "I am going to Algeria to cut wood, but I do not run any risk of losing money. My head aud my arms are all that I put in this business. This time I shall succeed." "Ah!" groaned Godefroid, as he passed his hand over his forehead, "I am the one that obliges you to leave. To have this woman I sacrifice my only friend. What name do you give to what I am doing?" "Love," said O'Farrell, slowly. "And you, would you sacrifice me to gratify your 10ve?" * "No, with the help of God," replied the young man. These words, said in a, low tone, framed the only reproach that Antoine Godefroid ever heard from his friend's mouth. Only death, ivhich is more powerful than dove even, could break this friendship. This short response penetrated to the very heart of the one who heard it. He arose and started to walk away, but he tottered, for he was far from having regained his health. As he leaned on the table for support his eyes met the smiling face of Patrice's mother in its golden frame. He looked at it for some time without speaking. It was the picture of his benefactress. Taking it from its case he placed his lips upon its tarnished exterior for the last time. Then bending toward Patrice with an humble, almost abashed attitude, he presented him with this precious relic of a never-to-be-forgotten time, but ended now forever. , "Take it with you," said he. "I ha.ye no longer a, rig-ht to keep it. Now leave me, I wish to be alone." Thus their separation was consummated, waiting for the final parting. Three weeks passed before the mar-riage-day arrived; they were long ones for all. Fortunately, the various steps to be taken and plans to be arranged kept them apart during the day, and Godefroid passed the greater part of his evenings with Jenny. Every time lie -went there he found her more beautiful, and felt that he was to be pitied; as time went on, this unfortunate Pygmalion thought he could see his marble idol harden. The journals announced the marriage, and it made quite a stir, although the composer was in a fair way to be forgotten, and' Ids intended

j had never been completely "the j fashion." The public, or at least that part of it who pretended to be interested in music, were not deceived as to Godefroid's future. Everybody considered that he had written his last note, and to be just many people deplored "this • premature eclipse of undoubted talent," to speak after the manner of critics.

Others auirmed that lie was "drained" when "Constantin" was written, and that he made the great mistake ox his life the day he left off writing operettas, to which he owed his success, and took up grand opera. The envious trampled on their j enemy's body, peddling the blackest of lies. According to the imagination of these story-tellers, he was first a child found in a farmer's cabin, then the cleverly disguised proof of some great lady's weakness. As to the ' music, of "Constantin," he did not j; write it, but a comrade who died in '■ his arms when at the college in Rome, , and from whom he had stolen it, with- j out the slightest scruples. Among his devoted partisans, for he I was not without them, the greater j part, his physician in particular, thought his future more gravely af- J fected physically than morally, and spoke of this idea of marriage, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. Thank Heaven, Godefroid heard only a small part of these unpleasant I rumours, but he partly suspected the | rest, and the joy mixed with agony ' that he found in his new happiness ; was seasoned with innumerable mor- • titications. The saying, "That the hours that precede an unexpected hap- . , piiiess are more delicious than the happiness itself," was not true in his ; I ease. On the morning* of the first of ! May the three persons most concerned iin our story were not sleeping. The only one who was completely and peaceably happy was Madame Sauval. ; Everything had come out as she had I patiently and cunningly prepared for jit. Her daughter was not a princess, i I not yet, but she was to marry a rich ; man, who would leave her his money without doubt, and of whom the physician had said the night before to '. this model of mothers-in-law: "We have prolonged his life, as one draws out a metal wire in thinning it. Beware of sudden shocks. Luckily, if he does leave a young and beautiful widow for you to look after, you will i not have tlie trouble of caring for his ■ orphans." ' But Madame Sauval's gratification did not end there. In one of his confidential moments Godefroid, who was ' desirous of taking away all suspicion of his friend's disinterestedness, told her of a certain stormy interview followed by a solemn vow, and the Roumanian was immediately reassured. When the hour came Kemeneff would have no competitor. Everything was working for the best. Pomeyras would receive the newly married couple the next day. After a few days she would rejoin them to pass the summer there. She could already see herself lady of the house, a role that she had played so little, that if not perfectly satisfactory, would at least freshen her ambition while waiting for better. This "better" was just now in Russia, trying* to console himself as little as possible about the marriage. This justice is due Kemeneff. . (To be continued.)