SHORT STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIII, Issue 13324, 2 November 1906, Page 3

SHORT STORY.

TWO REFLECTIONS. Louise Bairikr stood before a small cracked mirror, her thin, nervous hands clasped very closely together, her anxious eyes fixed on their own reflection. She was realising to the full the cruel fact that she was the most pathetic of all created thingsa plain woman. Ugliness confers distinction, and for that reason would have been easier to bear; but plainnessbah! it is the curse of the evil, one! She took a severe mental inventory of her features one by onethe anaemic complexion, the short nose with its wide nostrils, the nondescript hair and unattractive teeth. It was a heart-breaking task. A sudden frenzy possessed her—a passionate resentment against the fate that had marked and set her apart for ever from the sweet joys of girlhood. She raised her clenched hand, and, smiting the mirror with all her force, left a fract'ure like a starfish on its surface. Then she walked across her poor sittingroom and gat down dully before the small fire in the armchair that had once been her mother's. Despair held her in its grim clutch. Envy of others more highly favoured than herself made her sick and ashamed ; for by nature she was not envious. Once her looks had scarcely troubled her at true, she had always known she was not beautiful, but the good little mother (a blessed saint now) had loved her just as well for that—better perhaps. And then a different kind of love had come into the life of Louise humble yet triumphant adoration—in the light of which she realised with a sharp, unnatural vividness all her imperfections. Now she constantly contrasted herself with the other girls in the place of business where both she and the object of her worship were engaged. Marie Roix (who served in the same department as herself) could always attract men to her side; she had bright eves, a mass of hair, and a vivacious manner. Then Clothilde Damaure possessed—how does one express it?—the sentimental air; pale cheeks she had it is true, but such delicate hands and such expression! Then Cainille, Berthe, and Honoire all had their special points, all could take their place in the feminine struggle for existence—and love only she, Louise, was a hopeless failure. Yet more than once Gustave had spoken kindly to her —looked at her aln.o*t tenderly, too. Bah! it was his good heart! He was ever compassionate and courteous. Why should sallow cheeks and nondescript hair hold a man who could have cream and roses and burnished locks for the asking? Yes, without doubt, Gustave pitied her. Oh! the pain of it! Unhappily, plain though she was, her capacity for love was immense. For many night:; now she had not slept for thinking of it. Sobs rose and would not be denied ; they racked her thin frame, and yet they brought relief, too, for in a few moments she had cried herself to an uneasy slumber—a slumber which she sadly needed. She awoke suddenly, feeling (she knew not why) strangely comforted. An exhilaration as of undefined hope warmed her. Instinctively she got up, stretching herself almost luxuriously, and looked about her. She was quite conscious of expecting to find something unusual in the room, yet nothing unusual presented itself. Stay!--yes. What was that pushed away under a roll of serge? She had not observed it before, but it was an envelope, directed, as she soon perceived, in an unfamiliar hand. She picked it up, and, tearing it open, found it contained it short letter and a note* Tor a hundred francs. I

Louise uttered a little cry, and her face shone. Had Heaven, indeed, opened before hi>r;' Here was Providence answering her unspoken prayer. A hundred francs! It seemed unlimited wealth. What would not a hundred francs do? With eyes that scarcely saw and a brain that scarcely realised she read the letter. It bore an unknown name, but came from a gratelul customer—a lady of fashion who had lost a purse a few days before in the department of the emporium in which Louise served. Louise had found the purse

and had given, it in at the Twiixiiu, ami, as such finds were not uncommon, had forgotten all about, it. This was, then, the reward of her- honesty .' <'".«, ~■; > . „ How often lately had she y«umed 'for wealth ! —for wealth is. all-powerful. It, can buy (in Pari*;, at least) wren , good looks. " # . There are salonssalons: which Louiije had often passed with reluctant deps m\d longing glances—salons in which the homely face can be changed and the 1113lovely features transformed. ~Tc. be beautiful! Men Dmsu! could life hold f"a thought more delicious? To wait into the emporium with the assurance which only a good . appearance can bring! To attract Guatave's love—mot his pity! Eneffable rapture! : ; Truly there was not a momimt to he lost. The day chanced to be tit holiday, owing to the interment of ':old'i Monsieur Souterre. the founder of the emporium. Such holidays were rare. With a beating heart- Louise caught up the crisp paper, and, running downstairs; threaded Iher wsy quickly through a labyrinth of .small streets til! she came to the fashionable quarters of Paris. There was one beauty specialist whom she passed every morning on her way to work. His smart maisonette and hiring advertisements had many a. time tilled her with futile longings. He professed -.to straighten the nose, add a rosi-- ■ blush to the. cheeks, and impart lustre/to the hair. To this great man she. bent her steps. As she Hew along, she seemed neither to see nor hear, she was conscious of nothing—the poor, ignorant Loui'm?--save that the raid to good looks and the road also to Gustavo lav open before her. The smart maid who had acted as doorkeewr to Monsieur Phnchard. masseur, manicurist, and beauty specialist, was not at first inclined to admit the bourgeois© figure, but the girl was so obviously in earnest* that she finally consented to do ho, Louise received the impression of velvet loungis. soft draperies, ami waving palms, and then monsieur himself entered. He frightened her to death, of course, so grand, -.;-•«> pompous was he. At first he ivas rude and patronising, but- the sigftl. of tile money made him at once urbane ■: ?.! " Curiously enough, to transform lonise would, he found, just cost a hundred francs. "It was true that mademoiselle's complexion was far from clear, bv,f a' complexion— pouf! that for a complexion! Mademoiselle's eye;: were quite pood, and her nose—would mademoiselle alow him his own way with her nose? Ah! then they would see." And so in trembling rapture mademoiselle submitted to .many things—in h'r intense excitement she scarce knew w'aafc; such mouldings, patting*, and sprinklings, Valid rubbing as made the poor girl quite giddy. After what might have been several hours or several weeks Monsieur bade ier survey herself in a mirror. Monsieur was full of triumph and flourishes. Then fir Louise Banner came th; culminating moment, of life, when all existence seemed gathered up into one sublime, glorious thrill of perfect bliss. For the second time that day ;<he saw her own reflection— ah! what, a difference! Now she could scarcely b.dieve her . eyes. No nece.ssiv to smite the mirror this time; rather should she caress sncl fondle it. Instead of a miserable story it told lief a brilliant tale. Louise held her breath lor very ecstacy. What if the hundred francs had melted into nothing— ' hundred francs that would have done so 'much'in ether ways? What if Monsieur had : t<ld her (after his labours) that the results would only last a moot!:, unless—another hundred francs could be found. '~ She was beautiful at last—beautiful! beautiful! beautiful! A delicately tinted, brilliant creature—more radiu,nt t:a,»- Mario Iloix, more spirituelle than ClothiMe Damaure! Oh! the bliss of it!. Louise stretched forth her hands to the dear, kind looking-glass, laughing ; from sheer happiness. Ah! but why'did the looking-glass melt into a silver in.;' jtr*>. Why did Monsieur and his shrugging ' shoulder's recede and grow small and still idnalhrr Where were the velvet chain), thai curtains the palms which decked the maiuor-ette of the. beauty specialist? Gona—all gone' '!'■ .* Louise started up with a sharp cry, »nd looked wildly around her. Her gaze f»ll yon a little table 1 covered witli^TfVeofiw' doth, a roll of serge, and a crazkod mirror— then she understood. She rot very, very still. t[m terrible weight of crushing disappointment made her feel numb and sick. To have rained (lie cup of perfection to one's lips, only o feel it dashed away! Ye ;saints, it was - torture—a very refinement of,cruelty' Then, as she sat, v clutching thil arms of her chair, gazing straight before her with glazed, unseeing eyes, someone;.iame-and aid a, hand on her shoulder," someone * who bad come in silently, and stood smiling befund the chair at the awakening, ,}/., The girl started up. " Onstage I", she - whispered, and .i little dull colour cams into her transparent cheeks. Tl; is, then < was to be the crowning pain of ill: The young man came nearer. "Little one," he said, "I had looked in to suggest a day at Versailles; but I had not calculated on playing prince to a sleeping beauty." , ] The girl's ; quivering face grew wistful, her eyes sought his. "Ah! Gustavc," she said, "do not mock me.' - "But you are beautiful," he persisted tenderly, " to me!" A glowing, transfigured look swept over Louise's- commonplace "' features, leaving them calm and holy, and, in truth, almost handsome. - - ■ ; . - "If I could but believe it!" she breathed. "And why not, rnignonne?" He was holding her closely now. " I l we you, do you see, for the gentleness of your soul and the sweetr.-,s of your nature, though I had not meant to tell you so till the stars came out to-nigh;.—and love makes everything beautiful." . , ' *. And, with her hand in her lover's, for the second time that day, Louise wept. Chris Si: well, in ALA.P.