THE SHOW GIRL.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13926, 7 December 1908, Page 3

THE SHOW GIRL.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY MAX PEMBERTON. Author of " The Iron Pirate." " Red Morn,"

"A Puritan's Wife." "The Hundred Days," Etc. i

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. The opening chapter consists of a letter from Henry Uastonard, of the Mafcon tin bon Tabac at, Paris, to his friend Paddy O'Connell. of Glendalough, County Wicklow, 'in which Gastonard explains to his friend how he had been attracted by Muni Le Godicbe, otherwise. Muni the Simpleton, whom lie had seen performing on a platform with a Juggler and a clown. The incident had raised a scandal, to which Gastonard paid no attention, and he paid as little attention to the suggestions of some of his friends that Mimi had stolen a diamond cigarette-case. He knew his friend Taddy would not question his motives, and he wrote at considerable length to tell Paddy how Mimi recovered the diamond cigarette-box from a thief and how the recovery of it led to a vulgar riot in a cafe, in which Gastonard, Mimi, and one'Jean-le-Mont, the thief, were the central figures. Gastonard had a fortune of £7000 a year left by his father, but by his father's will he would lose, this absolutely unless at the ago of 25 he was earning £500 a year by his own labour and talent. In the second chapter Paddy replies to.Gastonard's letter briefly, to the effect that Uastonard is making a fool of himself.

CHAPTER 111. [A letter from the same brief author addressed to the Reverend Arthur Warrington, of Beldon, Suffolk.] Glendalough, County Wicklow, May 18th, 1905. Reverend Sir,—Your request that I would favour you with suck, news as I may from time to time receive from my friend, Henry Gastonard, permits me to assure you that he is now established in Paris, and appears, by his diligent habit and assured gifts, to be doing all that will presently entitle him to the permanent possession of the fortune, conditionally bequeathed to him by his late father, Henry Gastonard, of London and Bordeaux.My dear sir, yours very faithfully, The O'Connell, of Glendalough. CHAPTER IV. [Henry Gastonard continues the story in a letter to hie friend Paddy O'Connell.] The Hotel St. Paul, Paris. May 24th, 1905. Dear Paddy,—Permit me to ignore the flattering document I had the honour to receive from you three days ago. Friendship, my dear Paddy, calls for something more than a pious expression of opinion upon the reason or conduct of a friend. It demands a sympathetic endeavour to understand, and an unshaken determination to accept such facta as are confided to us and call for our judgment. To tell a man he is a fool is often to tell him the truth. But I am not aware of many who have become less foolish for the knowledge, or have derived any consolation whatever from so bald an utterance. Now, Paddy, you know as well as I do that you are all agog for further news of Mimi La Godiche ; and were you in Paris this little chit of the booths would have your warm friendship, and you would lay scalps upon the green should any defame her. Cannot I see you with your feet upon an historic mantelshelf, and your eyes (so far as tobacco smoke will permit) upon a regal ceiling, reading that same letter for a second time, and willing to baiter all Ireland and the people thereof for one week of the Butte, one month of this rolling world of gilt and tinsel and all its spangled joys Admit the truth of it, and write me something . sensible. For, Paddy, I have need of you—there is the devil to play, and the game grows interesting. You will remember that I left Mimi La Godiche .upon my hearthrug. Barrymore had left us; the time was the early morning of the day; the canaille of the assassins had gone God knows where. Save for the old soldier, who is at once my valet-de-chambre, butler, cook, housemaid, and scullery wench, there was no one with me in the Maison du bon Tabac. Depict the scene, Paddy, and bear with a recital of my virtues. A room as large as an opera box; about its walls the drawings of Caran d'Ache, Henri Riviere, and Willette ; a couple of armchairs, as ragged as the beggars at the door of St. Euetache; a yacht's piano bang against the wall ; a buffet with all the drinks that are not good for us ; the very worst novels littering all the tables ; cigarettes and cigars everywhere; pipes in all the niches —such is the mountain home of Henry Gastonard, gentleman. , And upon the hearthrug of this charming apartment, style Louis de Montmartre, the tousled-haired Mimi squatting like any lady of the harem, her legs crossed, her feathered bat in her hand, her cheeks as rosy as a pictu rferom a Christmasbook. Now, Paddy, I have told you something of .Mimi, the Simpleton; but, to be as frank as the priest of Clanconnell, 'tis precious little that I myself know of her, anyway. I can no more tell you whether she be virtuous or otherwise than recite ten chapters of the Koran. This is a difficulty, to be sure, which my friends of the hill will never understand. I can hear the roar of laughter which would attend its expression either in the neighbourhood of Neuilly or in that of la Galette. Mimi La Godiche virtuous! Then was Catherine of Russia a latter-day saint, and Lucretia herself as misunderstood as all the historians would now have us to believe. This would be the opinion of the Butte and of Neuilly. It is not my opinion— I cannot tell you why ; nor do I trouble myself for reasons. She sat upon my hearthrug, I say, betlegs crossed and her great feathered hat in her hand. When I questioned her, her answers were often monosyllables sometimes nods and smiles ; long sentences hut rarely. Of her past she appeared to knownothing at all. Her birthplace she named as Vendomo, but was not sure of it. She could tell me nothing of her childhood ; the fair she spoke of with dread ; the liontamer Cassadore stood to her for all terrors, past, present, and to come. She would have burned her hand in the fire rather than return* to him. " Have you no remembrance of your father?" I asked her. She shook her head • many times, as one who wished to think but could not.

" And your mother?" " There was someone at Orleans, Monsieur Honry, and after that Cassadore. Oh, Cassadoro always, I assure you." " You must be able to tell me more than that, Mimi. Somewhere, somewhere in your life there was a woman who was kind to you. Now, don't you remember when?" " ] remember a very old lady, Monsieur Henry—that would have been at Orleans. And then the road, the great, white, open road-—so many days, so many nights .... and after that Cassadore always until you came. Monsieur Henry." "Why did you not run away, Mimi?" "To whom should 1 run?" " Anywhere away from Cassadore. You are.young . . • . . you can work; why did you not leave him?" " It was impossible, monsieur—as well ask the Abbe" to run away from hie church." ~,'•' " You mean that the life had become necessary to you?" " Yes,' yes, I mean that—would you put me in the kitohen, Monsieur Henry?" " Certainly not, Mimi—but, you see, you can't stop any longer in Montmartre, and what then?" Her face clouded, but only for an instant.- ' ~■■• "I shall go away with you, Monsieur Henry." "Why should you go with mo? " Because I do not wish to go with Cassadore." "There are plenty of others who would take you away, Mimi. Why do you.think of me?" • . . " I cannot tell you, Monsieur Henry—you must know yourself why it is." "And if I do, what then? Suppose I cannot take you away?"

" I shall ask Mr. Barrymore." I Oh, Barrymore would not be of any use to you." / "Then I shall go back to Cassadore." " It wouldn't be safe for you to stop in Montmartro now—-I suppose you understand that much, Mimi?' She laughed a little at the suggestion. " Jean-le-Mont is very angry," she said, "I am afraid of Jean-le-Mont." "When did you steal my cigarette case, Mimi; how did you know that Jean-le-Mont had it?" . - "He came- to Mr. Barrymore's atelier three days ago —the Italian who makes the models told me that Jean had the box. At the Lapiu Agil I gave him a rose, Monsieur Henry, and then put my arms about his neck. Ah, the droll—lie discovered it at once, but he did not wish to tell because the- others would know and rob him afterwards. Then Mr. Barry more came in because ho saw me there, and I told him, and we sent for you" "And this was the first time you have stolen anything, Mimi?" Monsieur Henry, you know that it is." Observe, Paddy, the reiteration of this. I know that she is virtuous; I know that she is honest. No reasons given or asked, as they say in the thieves' advertisements. Upon my word of honour, the good faith of it is astonishing! For Ido know, Paddy. . . and I would stake my fortune (or what is loft of it) upon the truth of my astonishing creed. I shall not fatigue you with further particulars of this amazing morning. For a couple of hours, perhaps, I slept upon my bed,'and Mimi 1 upon the hearthrug; but at six o'clock I waked her, and stopping only for coffee and a roll, I was out of the house by seven and upon my way to the Paris of law and of civilisation. * All my instinct told me that the thieves of the Butte would "make short work of Mimi La Godiche if she remained in their neighbourhood. Let her go to the old haunt this night, and a knife in the back or a. collarette of rope would certainly be her reward. You know Montmartre; you know the particular kind of blackguard and of blackguardess it can vomit from its cavernous and detestable mouth. From these I fled with Mimi at my —whither the great Saint Christopher, patron of travellers, alone might tell me. You are aware that I have an apartment at the Hotel St. Paul, and thither first I took the child in the hope that inspiration would come and a swift solution of a pretty problem be found. Be sure the excellent patron stared not a little, and that madame, his wife, sniffed more of the morning air than had filled her ancient lungs for many a day. But a better entertainment was that provided by Narisse of the Faubourg St. Honore, who came round with his hand-maidens to dress her, and must take my directions three times before assuring himself finally of the madness of this English traveller. Oh, Paddy, cannot you hear this man as he exclaims "to heaven upon the feathers of Montmartre, and sees a national infamy in the fine, if tattered stuffs of Belleville? No doubt I should have gone not to Chez Narisse but to the Magazin du Louvre; there bought not silk and chiffon but goo", honest serges, a hat to fit a governess and lace suitable to the deaconess of a Sundayschool. But, Paddy, I am a man, and I know the name but of one costumier in all Paris, and he is Narisse, and he made of Mimi La Godiche a veritable beauty in less time than you or I could finish a rubber of bridge at the club. Ah, these mad Englishmen— they still exist it appears, and blessed is -Paris because of them! And what shall be said for the girl herself, and what must she do upon the instant but sing the man a song after the fashion of Jehan Rictus, just because of the clothes ho had put upon her back. Believe me, when I tell you that the models themselves cam© near to joining in the chorus, and that Narisse was speechless before the end of the second verse.

Mimi, then, is dressed and in her right mind. Will you follow me as I lead her forth about the hour of twelve o'clock, and ask myself, what nest? There are many in Paris who know me, and not a few who stared with some astonishment. Whatever the costumier's art, my dear Paddy, it cannot disguise the walk, the airs, the manner of the Butte. Inm a person -of some sensibility out of doors, and I object to that freedom which grips you hysterically b'' the arm, at odd intervals,, to drag you to ft shop window and exclaim upon a rope of pearls which would ruin a Maharajah, or an emerald bracelet none hut a Rothschild could buy. It is not .a joy to me when my companion has the wit and the language which silences enterprising cabmen or calls for the retort discourteous of the foot-pas-senger who has been obstructed. Publicity has no charms for -me; I prefer to give the wall to the humorists and to go in obscurity. We lunched at the Cafe of the Cascade in the Bois. There was a goodly company present, and " her . ladyship" fell in love with the Baroness Sechard, who was with Pechala, of the Spanish Embassy. I think the grand manners of many of these far from grand dames somewhat astonished her; but the size of the asparagus tickled her sense of humour, and the bill was ever in her mind.

"What will happen to us if you cannot pay the bill, Monsieur Henry?" "We shall go to prison, Mimi." "Cassadore went to prison once—at Cha-lons-sur-Marne —I do not wish to go to prison, Monsieur Henry." "Then we must try to find some money, Mimi. How much have you now?" The question should not have, been put, for Mimi carries her money where she carried my cigarette case, and made no secret of the matter."

I was but just in time to prevent a dieplay which might have brought us the bill on the spot, and, as it was, Ktienne, the waiter, grinned from ear to ear as he floatcd to us with a sole a la Victorine. "Did they not tell you in the ItuePigallo that I am rich, Mimi?" "You could never be rich, Monsieur Henry; you are not clover enough." "But, Mimi, am I not a sculptor?" This appeared to her a droll saying. She laughed quite honestly and again appealed to my candour.. "You know that you will never he a sculptor; you have no talent, Monsieur Henry; even I have more talent than you. Besides, if you were"—she added wisely— "how poor we should be." "It is not good to be poor in Paris, Mimi."

"It is not good to be poor anywhere, Monsieur Henry." ■, " But if one has no way to get a living as I have not, what then, Mimi?" "Ofi, then one sleeps at tho Hotel of the Belle Etoile. I have stayed thero often when I used to go to the Fotos. It is a very large hotel, and you. can sec the stars while you lie in bed." "Would you go back there, Mimi?'" "Jesuno; why do you speak of it when one is no longer hungry, Monsieur Henry?" (To be continued daily.)