TWIXT LOVE AND HATE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXIX, Issue 8842, 2 April 1892, Page 3 (Supplement)

TWIXT LOVE AND HATE.

BY BERTHA M. Cf.AY, Author of " Between Two Hearts," "Marjorio Deans," '*for Another's Sin," "Thrown 011 the World," etc.

CHAPTER I. AT MADAME RIROTS. In tho parlour at Madame Ribot's very exclusive school for young ladies, there stood one afternoon a smiling gentleman a very smiling, one might almost have said, a grinning gentleman, his smile was so settled and persistent. Before him stood a littlf girl of twelve years of ago, who did not seem to find \ciy great comfort in the perpetual smilo of hei father—for that was the relation of the gentleman to her. Behind her drooping and quivering lashes was hidden almost terror, and her little hands played nervously with each other. At a little distance from these two stood Madame Kibot herself, her face betraying at one and the same moment an overflowing affection for her pupil and a profound respect for Monsieur du Bois, tho parent. Finally, in 0110 corner of tho room, her hand resting carelessly 011 an open piano, stood a young lady, remarkable for three thin;,'*—a singular beauty of face and form, a neat but threadbare gown, and an air of proud but studied indifference. "1 am pleased, Yvonne," Monsieur du Bois was saying suavely to his daughter, "that 1 hear so good an account of you from Madame Ribot," bowing impressively to that lady, and from Mademoiselle Chestaire"— her name was Chester—"and 1 hope 1 shall always have the same report. If I might put a question to Mademoiselle Chestaire ?" and he looked in polite appeal from Madame Ribot to the silent and motionless young woman. " Mademoiselle Chestaire will be honoured,"answered Madame Kibot. graciously, to him, and then said curtly to her assistant. Monsieur du Bois will ask you a question." Mademoiselle Chester merely inclined her head with a halt-haughty indication of having heard, and at once resumed her indifferent air. Madame Ribot seemed to be exasperated by the manner of her assistant, and cried out, in a sharp tone : " It you will be so good as to come forward where you can be seen. The girl's "under lip quivered a moment, then she pressed it sharply with her little white teeth, and answered, slowly : "I can hear, I can answer from where I am. lam listening." Oh, what a pride there was in the clear, tuneful young voice ! Madame Ribot. quivered with wrath and with the sense that she was powerless to control the speaker. Monsieur du Bois looked across the room at the assistant who had dared to brave her employer, and his smile grew more pronounced. '• 1 would merely ask Mademoiselle Chestaire if there is any promise that my dear child"the dear child seemed to repress a shudder at finding herself referred to— "will have a voice—for singing, I mean ?" '• Your daughter's voice is now of good qualitv —pure and sweet. J. do not know what it may be later."

The answer was given in uncompromising! v precise terms, and was as curt as it could possibly be. Madame Ribot turned pale with anger, but Monsieur flu Boi.s si erne.i highly gratified, and said to his daughter:

"You hear, my little Yvonne? Your voice is pure an.l sweet. That is how a little gill's heart should be. Cultivate your heart, cultivate your voice ; be attentive to what Mademoiselle Chestaire tells you, and some day you may have such a voice as hers, which will always be a pleasure to listen to.'"

He bowed with his hand on his heart, in token probably of his sincerity. Mademoiselle Chester maintained her indifferent air, quite as if she had not heard the compliment. " And now, my little Yvonne," he went on, "embrace your papa and go to your studies."

The fear that shone in the eyes of Yvonne when .-he kissed her father was in marked contrast with the smiling playfulness of his manner; but was rather more in harmony with the words he muttered in her ear as he bent over her :

"And be sure you hold your tongue, or you know what I will do to you." " Yes, papa." faltered the child, and looked hesitatingly from him to Madame Ribot for further direction.

" Mademoiselle Chestaire," said Madame Ribot. loftily," will you be good enough to take Mademoiselle Yvonne to her classroom ?''

Mademoiselle Chester without a word crossed to the child and led her from the room, making barely enough acknowledgment of the courteous salute of Monsieur du Bois to save herself from being rude.

The eyebiows of Monsieur du Bois arched up a lit He higher, and the '.'host of a smile flickered on his lips. He watched the you ladv until the door closed behind her, his black eyes tilled with unconcealed admiration.

" Such impudence !" exclaimed Madame Ribot. " I hasten to assure you, Monsieur du Bois, that it is the last time one of my valued patrons shall be so treated in my establishment. Mademoiselle Chestaire shall go." Madame Ribot seemed to swell to twice her natural size, in her indignation, and that was quite needless, for she was already of that plumpness which prosperity and good living so often bring to the French matron. Monsieur du Bois merely made a grimace of deprecation, and said, suavely: "Ah ! you .-peak as a Frenchwoman, to whom politeness and grace come by nature. Mademoiselle Chestaire is English, 1 think."

Be looked as if it did not matter to him what the answer to his question might bo, but he listened as if he attached a great deal of importance to it. " You are right," responded madam, her tone and manner full of disdain; " she is English. At least her father is English." "And her mother i-< not?" queried Monsieur du Bois, with indifferent curiosity. Madam hesitated a moment, evidently in some embarassment. Monsieur, eyeing her covertly, pretended to think that mademoiselle's birth was a subject to be avoided, and said, hastily : "Ah ! poor girl ! Well, never mind !" "Oh! 1 assure you, monsieur," cried Madame Ribot, in horror, "you misunderstand me. Do you suppose 1 would betray the confidence of my patrons by having their daughters under the instruction, even in music, of one whose birth was in question '! If I hesitated it was only because the mother was an Italian opera singer—a lawful wife, I beg you believe."

"Oh! oh!" ejaculated monsieur, in a tone tint left anything to be imagined.

"Bub the father," went on madam, volubly, " although English, is all that could he desired by the most fastidious — the second son of an Earl ! the Honourable Horace Chester. His father was the Earl of Carlowe. Very aristocratic! very ancient. And—and—the girl's mother is dead. Under the circumstances, I thought she would he unobjectionable. Bui —" "Ah !" interrupted monsieur, "sheseoms very proud " "As proud as Satan," cried madam, indignantly "Oh, she gets that from her father, who, for all his miserable poverty, carries, his head as high as any pear in France. He, indeed !" she went on, with increased warmth, as if the subject were one of her heaviest crosses ; " why, he has not paid me a sou for two years for his daughter's education. Not a sou ! and you you see how proud she is !" Monsieur du Bois smiled more than ever at this betrayal of family secrets. "And for that reason," ho said, suavely, "you let her pay for her education by assisting you ; is it not so?" Madam flushed at finding how she had betrayed hor real relations with Miss Chester.

" Ye e?," she replied, "she can help me in the musical department because she is a {/enius in that. Wonderful!" and sho clasped he hands enthusiastically. You shall hear her sing and perform if you will honour me with another visit." 1 " J shall not fail to do so," he answered. The father, you say, is alive ?" ho added, Carelessly. "Is ho here in Paris ?" \i no knows where he is, unless it be .Mademoiselle Cheataire, and you might as

well question a graven image as hor when she does not choose to speak." Madam spoke with such asperity that it was evident that she had endeavoured to learn something from her assistant and had failed. Monsieur stroked his moustache.

"1 would suppose," ho said, "that if tho grandfather is an earl he must havo wealth."

•'Oh," answered madam, "ho lias wealth enough ; he is e-enormously rich, but he did not like, the marriage, and so he cast his son adrift and told him to starve or live on his wife's earnings. And tho miserable wretch ! he did live on her earnings as long as she lived, Row—"

She stopped suddenly, as if she thought she had said enough of her assistant and her family affairs. Monsieur was interested, however, and said, in his smooth, insinuating way : " And now ?''

"Mow he would havo EnidMademoiselle Chestnire, go 011 tho stage and earn money for him to waste at the gaming table." " I'oor girl ! and she prefers teaching?" said monsieur, softly. " Why," answered madam, chafing under a cross-examination even when so skilfully conducted, " I do not know what she prefers, but in tho end sho will do what her father wishes.'

Just why Monsieur du Bois was so interested in the affairs of Enid Chester he did not betray, but took his departure, saying he would soon make another visit, to inquire of the progress made by his dear little Yvonne in her general studies, and in her music above all.

As for madam, she sought her teacher of music, and accosted her angrily : " You will lose me my patrons !" Oil," said the girl, with a singular sort of haughty weariness, "do not try to have a scene. You knew I would act as I did when you spoke to me. Why did you do it ? You always forgot that lam hero to teach music, and not to exhibit myself to your vulgar patrons." Vulgar ! vulgar patrons!" almost screamed tho irate Frenchwoman. "Because your grandfather—" " We will not discuss my grandfather," said the girl, with as imperious an air as if she stood in her own drawing-room.

A hundred times since Enid Chester ad been brought a little girl to the establishment of Madame Kibot had she and that lady tried conclusions together, and always with the same result : the girl's indomitable pride of blood and strong will had made her subdue the older womar.

If she had not been so useful to madam she would not have been retained in the school a day after the Honourable Horace Chester had ceased to send tardy and inadequate remittances, but with her genius for music, derived from her mother, her perfect English, and equally perfect French, she was a veritable prize to madam. Only madam could not forgive tho pride that made the girl as haughty as a veritable countess, when she was but the granddaughter of one, and she would persist in trying to mortify and subdue a pride which never yet had yielded a hair's breadth. " Mot discuss your grandfather?" she repeated shrilly. " Whom, then, shall we discuss? Your father, your mother?" ft was more than she had ever before ventured to say to the girl, and the instant the words were out of her mouth she betrayed her real respect for her teacher of music by turning pale and looking frightened.

And Enid Chester justified Madame Ribot's fear by turning on her with such a blaze of wrath in her violet eyes, as seemed to scorch the very soul of the little Frenchwoman.

" Do not presume, do not dare to discuss any of my family !" she cried. Upon which Madame Ribot, having reached the pinnacle of her own anger, began, like weak persons of her sort, to descend very swiftly into a propitiatory mood.

" Why, there !" she began, smiling doprecatingly, " how hasty you are, my dear"

" You give me shelter and food," interrupted Enid, scornfully, "and I give you my services a3 a teacher of music. You know how the balance stands between them. You know why I am willing to ask no questions about the compensation, and if you are wise you will let me and my family rest. If I choose to remain here, where I am unknown and unnoticed, you will be foolish not to take advantage of the pride which is incomprehensible to you. You have acted as if you believed I considered myself a dependant. I know that I have only to say the word to make a career 011 the stage, where my poor mother wasted her sweet life." Madam was overwhelmed by the scorn of the girl, and tried to make her peace with her, but Enid waved her aside with the impetuous pride of eighteen, content to have for once revealed herself to ihe vulgar, self.seekir.g woman, who had fancied she was successfully imposing on her. CHAPTER 11. AT MO X T E CARLO. Monsieur du Boi.s meantime did not forget the beautiful teacher of music. He not only thought a great deal of her, with his smile deepening as he thought, but he thought, too, of her father, th« Honourablo Horace, who was said by madam to be quite willing to live on the earnings of the (laughter, as he had lived once on the earnings of his beautiful young wife. And for the sake of the money it would yield to him he was urging the beautiful girl to sacrifice her pride and take her loveliness and her voice to tho operatic stage, where they would be worth so much. Monsieur du Bois smiled more and more as he thought how the Englishman was willing to offer up his daughter as a sacrifice on the altar of hit selfishness, but beseemed anxious as well as amused, and more than once, more than fifty times during the'week following his visit to Madame Ribot he muttered to himself: "I must find him without delay." At the end of a week he made some excuse for presenting himself at the school again. He had been deeply impressed, he said, by what Mademoiselle Chestaire had told him of the character of his dear Yvonne's voice, and he had come again to inquire if it might not be well to devote more attention to it. Of course such a question necessitated the presence of mademoiselle, and she was sent for. She was cool, distant, and precise. Ho was suave, respectful, and complimentary, but he was quite unable to break down the by barrier of her reserve. She seemed unconscious of him, answering his questions almost as if he had not been present; but she left him, when he could think of no more questions to ask, with a feeling of resentment against him, for there was in his manner something indefinable that was annoying, nearly insulting to her. " Are you vexed with me, mademoiselle ? Have I done something stupid?" asked little Yvonne, timidly, as they returned together to the class room. She worshipped the beautiful teacher of music who was silent and cold to everybody, but who had been kinder to hor than anyone else had ever been. For a moment the feeling against the father was extended to the innocent child, but when Enid turned her proud blue eyes down on the upturned, anxious faco of Yvonne a singularly sweet smile drove the frown away, and she answered gently : " No, dear, I am not vexed with you, and you are nob stupid." That was all she said, bub it was enough to flood little Yvonne's day with sunshine, and to set her wondering, as she often wondered, how she could find some way of showing the adoration she had for Mademoiselle Chestaire. Perhaps the time for that was to come. In the meanwhile Monsieur du Bois was making his way to his object in his serpentine, tortuous fashion. When the door had closed after his daughter and the teacher of music he turned to Madame Ribot, his shoulders shrugged, his eyebrows lifted, and his palms turned outward. Madame Ribot sighed heavily. " I suppose," she said, " it is the English way." " Ah, yes," he responded, "the English are so cold, so icy. Bub it does nob seem possible that one whose father is, as you say, a sorb of wanderer, can be so proud. You say you do nob even know where the father is ?" Who could have supposed that he attached a vital importance to the answer to his suggestion ? He looked only grinningly sympathetic when he spoke, and there was no betrayal of his joy when she answered, save in the sudden sparkle of his black eyes. " I did not know when I spoke to you before," was madam's answer, in a shrill tone of triumph, " but I do know now. She received a letter from him only yesterday

postmarked Monaco. And lam sure he demanded money from her."

" It is a shame !'' said Monsieur du Bois, with mild but quite virtuous indignation. " Well, let her ho proud if she can. It does not anger mo to see her so. In truth she interests me. Well, I will no longer take your valuable time. By the way, it may bo that I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you soon again. Business of importance will take mo from Paris for some weeks perhaps. I leave my treasure, my child, in your keeping, with perfect confidence."

Madame Ribot bade him a respectful adieu, impressed by his general goodness, and by his particular appreciation of her. Ho walked down the street with that jaunty, self-assured air which middle-aged Frenchmen know so well how to wear. But when ho was well out of t.lio view of anyone at, Madame Ribot's, his shoulders went up, his lip curled, and he muttered :

"Ha ! that woman is like a public fountain. So ! lie is at .Monaco, and he wishes money. Very good. Then lie knows nothing. Alia ! aha ! Now. Alphonso du Bois, to make tho great stroke of your life ! And fho is very lovely ! Cold, proud, disdainful, and wilful ; but I think I know a euro for these failings. Ha, ha! A euro? Oh, yes, I know a cure."

Hi grin as he soliloquised and muttered these things was a, most malevolent distortion of his features, and gave to his rather handsome faco the appearance of a wolf about to bite.

There is a sort of gambler who is too familiar in fact, and fiction to need any detailed description; it is the 0110 who is ahvay unsuccessful, but is always hopeful. The Honourable Horace Chester was one of that sort. He obtained money in all sorts of ways in order to put it 011 the green table, being as certain each time that he must, win as he was during that first famous run of luck of his, which started him 011 his tijitis fatuu chase.

He was quite too much of a gentleman to do any sort of work, though not, as lias been seen, too much of a. gentleman to let his wife work for him. However, she was not a lady—only an operatic singer. He had, indeed, written privately to his father that he would give up his wife and return homo on the old terms of idleness and a liberal allowance, but the old earl had answered grimly, in very homely and unaristoeratic English, that his son had made his bed, so he must lie on it.

That was tunny years ago, soon after the fun of the runaway marriage, with the furore of the season, was over. tlo was a handsome ami debonnair young man, and in spite of what his life had been, had grown into a prematurely aged, it is true, but handsome and courtly man of middle age, or past. lie borrowed money of strangers on the strength of his line manners and family connection, and always resented, as insulting, any demand for payment. He lost, his money with composure, and pocketed his occasional winnings with equal composure, and, in short, conducted himself as he conceived a Chester should. He had his own rather shabby notions of what a man should be : but in justice it should be said that he lived up to them. There were not many cities on the Continejit that he was free to visit, owing to the vulgar notion of the tradesmen he had dealt with that they liked to be paid what was due them, but he had kept himself clear in all the great gambling towns, and spent his whole existence in flitting from oiu to the other. He knew all the croupiers by their given names, and they, who estimated a man solely by his demeanour at the green table, looked upon him as a credit to the institution of gaming. He had had a turn of luck at Monte Carlo, and was winning, but no one would have suspected it to see his imperturbable, high-bred face as he swept the piles toward him, or staked them 011 the checkered board. Monsieur du Bois, who was watching him and his play, knew that he was winning, but monsieur evidently knew something of the game, which begins with the whirring of the little bail on the revolving basin, and ends suddenly with the click of the ball as it drops into its fateful stall. "Ah,'' said monsieur, gnawing gently at the end of his jet black moustache, "he wins now. Presently he will lose. Then he will believe more than ever in his system, and will do anything to get the money to test it. for the thousandth time. I will have time to study him." Yes, he had time to study him. For a week he watched him at the table, ana saw his fortune vary until the last penny was gone, and there was nothing loft to stake. lie saw the Honourable Horace rise from the table with a very good assumption of being wearied with tho game, and walk along the saloons and past the various tables. " He is looking for some acquaintance to borrow' from," said monsieur to himself. Evidently he found no one, for having scanned each table in its turn the Honourable Horace turned from the fascinating spectacle and wandered out to one of the balconies, where ho stood motionless, gazing out on the landscape, and seeing nothing of it. lie was not, in fact, thinking of landscape, but of his daughter, to whom lie had written and from whom ho had recently received an answer. Having thought for some moments he drew the letter from his pocket and read it. There was a great deal in it that did not interest him —that annoyed him, indeed. What, wss it to him if the lonely girl was so hungry for his love that she devoted many wistful, longing words to the expression of it. He was interested in but few words of the daughter's letter. " I send you a hundred-franc note, dear father. I wish I could send more, but 1 cannot. Please do not urge me to seek an engagement on the stage, and <it) not think me unloving or undutiful. Heaven knows there is nothing I would not do to prove my love and devotion, or to gratify you; but there is something revolting to mo in the course you propose. I know my darling mother was an actress and singer, and 1 honour her memory as I would if she had been a royal princess, but I am your daughter as well as tiers, and I cannot conquer the feeling that makes the stage a step downward. Can you think of no other way of making it possible for us to be together? I can think of nothing I would not do to be with you — nothing. I will even go on the stage if you insist." If he had known his daughter better he would have understood what a sacrifice it cost her to say that she would go on the stage to please him, but lie did nob know her, .and he would have accepted tho sacrifice if he had known it would have cost her twice the tiering. "Silly girl !" he muttered. "Does she suppose I have the revenues of Carlowethat I can support her in idleness? I must live somehow, and she must not think herself better than her mother. Besides," he wont on, apologising to himself, so to speak, " it will not be for long. With the first thousand francs I shall bo able to give my system a fair trial, and with the money 1 shall inevitably gain—she shall have her reward, and leave tho stage. She is a Chester after all, and shall nob remain on the stage a moment, longer than is necessary. Yes, she must go on tho stage. Anyhow it is an outrage that she should bo drudging in that wretched school. I know what is best for her. Yes, yes, she shall go on the stage." lie knew in his heart that he was doing a shameful thing in insisting on his daughter's going into a career so distasteful to her, but he had long accustomed himself to justifying anything lie did or wished to do, and he was far too selfish to let Enid's happiness weigh for anything against his own comfort. [To be continued.]