THE SPRIGHTLY ROMANCE OF MARSAC.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1263, 14 May 1896, Page 39

THE SPRIGHTLY ROMANCE OF MARSAC.

By Molly Elliott Seawj-11. (Continued.) CHAPTER IV. Some weeks now passed, but not in tho happiness which might havo been expected, when it was at last certain that Fontaine and Claro could freely love oaoh other. Old Duval had returned late the night he hud driven with Mmo. Floury to Paris, and his conduct since had boon such as to make tho family miserable. Under pretence of having some repairs made in the Pussy villa-, lie had brought them all back to Paris, in the heats of May, and it was tolerably certain that this move was in order to bo nearer Mmo. Floury. Clare, was wretched at this idea, and, although being a timid girl, sho dared not question her father, she had every reason to suspect his infatuation for tho widow, who had come so near wrecking Fontaine's life. As for Fontaine, although ho daily and hourly got tho benefit of his reputed two millions, yet all the money ho made wont like wildfire in the effort to keep up the delusion of a great fortune, lie spent his principal and the world thought ho was spending his income. Resides, ho feared seriously the effect his deception might have upon Clare when she found it out, which she must, some time or other. Then, he began tc havo a morbid fear of the real Undo .Maurice turning up ; and, last and worst of all, he was now saddled with a reputation lor brilliancy, founded upon the play, the speech and the picture—all Maisac's work—which had been ably sustained by tho series of powerful articles signed by him and written by Mar.sac. which was simply- maddening.

Fontaine, who was of an extremely honest and simple nature, suffered agonies from this false reputation, but tho embarrassed manner and sickly smilo with which he received compliments on his achievements was taken for modesty, and ho passed, therefore, as tho most modest as well as tho most gifted young man in Paris.

As for Mar.sac and Delphine, they were tormented in a hell of their own making. Each profoundly in love with the other, and each smarting under tho supposed contempt of the other, they grew sharper in their attacks on iovo and marriage, aad suffered accordingly.

One morning, Marsac happening to go to M. Duval's quite early, for they wero now upon the most intimate terms at the house, bo found Fontaine sitting alone in a little drawing-room that communicated with the conscrvatoiy and overlooked the trees and fountains in tho Luxembourg gardens. The morning papers lay on a table before him, but Fontaine was not reading them ; sunk in a deep arm-jha'r, ho was a picture of misery. Marsac, seeing Fontaine's gloomy mood, began iovially and jauntily - ' I say, old man, what a good time you must have had last night.' ' Why?' asked Fontaine, sulkily. ' Booausc you aro so blue this morning.' ' You would be blue, too, in my placo,' answered Fontaine, sullenly. ' Here I am, spending every fivi.no J make in the protonco of a fortune l haven't got, and when I toll tho truth to Clare, whom I love from the bottom of my heart, sho will hate me for the fraud I have practised upon her.' This view had not occurred so forcibly to Marsac before. He took a turn about the room, and then said, in an agitated voice ' is it possible that Uncle Maurice was not a happy invention r'

'ltamn Undo Maurice,' almost shouted Fontaine. 'Marsac, you are tho host follow in the world, but you have been just a little 100 (.'lever this time, bed le.; giving me a fictitious fortune, yon have made me out to bo the most brilliant man in Paris, and I can toll you it is simply killing me, trying to live up to the character. If that picture hadn't been so deuced good ; if that speed] hadn't been so devilish funny ; if that play hadn't been so damnably bright -ah, hell and all its futies !' Fontaine rolled about his chair in anguish, while Marsac sat silent and appalled ;.t tho result of his own ingenuity. 'And,' cried Fontaine, his head buried in tho pillows of his chair, 'suppose that infernal old Undo .Maurice of mine .mould turn up from America ?' ' No, no,' Slid Marsac ' '1 hat is impossible, lie Could not have !ii' I !'■'!•; .■.-:>:>';, v.<■■■.<,n filteen cents a, day. No, no. Fate inn imi; such a cruel 11 i',v in : tore for us. Ii is just as rational to suppose that, the other no • n • and aniit i 1 gave you should ;r-!ivoriaii-eand i-.cmo A kno-k at the do r sta.tli d theia ho;h. If was ao. ordinal'}' enough km» k, sn-di ass might precede a, I'ooroi i>: < r a iradosm m, but; to Marsao and Fontaine, whose norves- had be.oi a- good deal wrought Upon in t e ]&«V fow exciting month;, it ponndcl liko tii&

crack of doom. Both of them sat, with pale faces, and neither could say the ordinary words, ' Come in.'

But the person knocking came in after a moment. He was a little old man—a shabby little old man—clutching a rusty travelling bag in his trembling hands. He stood in the centre of the room and looked about awkwardly and timidly. Marsac felt n. 3 if lie were frozen to his chair. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and ho could feel his hair rising on his head. Not Frankenstein, when his monster came to life, could have felt more horror. Fontaine, with one wild look, seemed inspired with the motion that was denied Marsac, and darted into the conservatory. The old man advanced, still holding on to his shabby bag.

'I was told,' ho said, hesitatingly, 'that this is the house of M. Duval, and I would find my nephew, M, Augusto Fontaine, here. The lackeys below didn't want to let me up. I suppose I am not so well dressed as I ought to be. 1 am Augusto's uncle, just from America. lam M. Maurice Fontaine.'

Had the fiend appeared and said, calmly, 'I am Beelzebub, Prince of Darkness, just from Hades,'he "ould not have disconcerted Marsac more. Ho rose to his feet, but found himself incapable of speech. This, then, was Uncle Maurice. Like the foolish man who lot the genie out of the trunk, tha apparition had grown and grown, until it wa-i now unmanageable. And here was the substance—the actual man. Marsac felt a kind of acquaintanceship, and even kinship, with Uncle Maurice. And through it all he had a dim sensation of pity for the poor old man standing there, holding on apparently to all his few worldly possessions, and looking so deprecating, so apologetic, so blankly disappointed. Uncle Maurice began to speak again, trying to smile, but his cyn.-i meanwhile filling with tears.

' Perhaps I counted too much on this homecoming- -and and -it's ridiculous, you know, for a poor old man to expect a very warm welcome. I haven't had a single hand held out to me vet, since I landed.'

A wave of pity swept over Marsac. Terrible as this ib:n<>i."iiivnil was, the old man's disappointment touched him, and Marsac had one of tii" best hearts in the world. ' My dear M. Fontaine,' he said, a Ivancing, and trying to speak in a natural voice, 'you .shall not say that again ; here is my hand, and 1 guarantee that Fontaine, who is my best friend—my brother, in fact -will not fail to welcome you. I have often heard him speak of you, and in the kindest terms.' 'Did he?' asked the old man, delightedly, grasping Marsac's hand. ' That was good of the boy. I daresay he heard that false report that I was dead.'

'He did,' answered Marsac, ' and he put on mourning for you, and did not go into society for several weeks.'

That seemed to overjoy the poor old man. 'Good lad, good fellow. I'll not forget that. There's no better proof of read respect. And you—what is your name, may 1 ' Marsac, and at vour service.'

' YV"ell, M. Marsac, since you are so kind, iell me more about my nephew ; you know he is iny only near living relative.' 'He is a noble fellow, and ho is engaged to |ue married to the daughter of the owner of (this house—a lovely girl—Ml'.e. Clare Duval.' The old man seated himself, and, with his precious bag between his knees, drank in eagerly Maisac's every word. Marsac saw the advisability of preparing M. Maurice Fontaine for the state of affairs that he must presently find out. " When Fontaine went in mourning for you, which, 1 am glad to see, there was no occasion for 'And 1 am glad, too— go on.' 'Some miscreant started the report that you had left him a fortune. It got into the newspapers and everybody believed it, even Clare. Fontaine—foolishly, i think--did not conlide to her frankly how it was, and he was telling me just now ids distress at having to confess his deception to Clare. She is a sweet girl, though, and I believe his confession will not alter his affection in the least, f will go and fetch Fontaine'

Marsac went into the conservatory. There stood Fontaine, as white as a sheet and wildeyed. ' Come in and see your uncle,' whispered Marsac.

'I can't; 1 won't,' answered Fontaine desperately. 'But you must. 'J he best and only linn;,'' now is to face the music. And, besides, you would feel sympathy lor the old man, he is BO humble, so gentle, and seems so grateful for even the small kindness I have shown him.'

• lie has wrecked my life !' was Fontaine's angry reply.

'Rubbish ! You are twenty times better off for him. Come along!'

And Fontaine, never having resisted Marsac in his life, could not do so now, and went, obediently into the drawiusr-roora to greet affectionately tin nun whoso very existence lie conceived was an injur;, to him. Uncle .Maurice was charmed with the reception he got from Fontaine and immediately began joking with hiai about Clare. 'And she thought von had a rich old uncle who had died and left you a fortune ! Ila ! hn !' he chuckled. ' Well, perhaps, after all, you will be just as happy when the truth is known.' Fontaine ;ou)d scarcely stand this, but luckily Uncle Maurice concluded he would make himself u little presentable before being introduced to Clare. • I have some better clothes than these,' he Raid, apologetically, ' though t haven't the,a in my bag with me. • .Never mind,' (-.aid Mai -ae. cordi ill.-.' : go to our <pi irters, just, arouu 1 if- c uner. Hoioaro ,nv 1. ■/-: gc-c any Liang wu Want linen, eU.tb'.'s. cigar.-., Ihpi-u.- and come bi< k very so -a..-o wo can piv.--.cni you to • l.iro and hereon :a Ueiphii:e. Wc will wail for you here.'' ' Let me assist yen,' said Fontaine, trying •v ; , no, no!' cried Uncle Maurice, with CM , c ..,'• • I've got to hold on to that ; it has till my HUle savings in it.' And the old man went oft, promising to rc- " | . ■•; :i ].,.io, Marsac and Fontaine avoided Gacli oll.er':; gi-J-.c ae.i .end not a word. Lan-<jm!i/-"'could not express the depth, the ?. ■ .],. fj, :.,.,>..,!(.!, ~f the catastrophe that / ;. '■ .;]■',. ,i ..'.,• -.:. ':et th r.v wee uueoniably .y. .. .. , : : - h, ... ;;' Lucie Maurice had never P. i. After a long and painful pause, Marsac ' v y,,!, must confess at once to Clare, and I clov't believe it will change her affection for "','..' ttniiiO bad 1:0 time to reply, for at that ;, -!,-.. n't Clara and Delphino entered the room " \i7 a -.'i lain that they were distressed

about something, and Delphine's first words were—

' Wc are in very great trouble.' 'All is not bright for us, either,' gloomily replied Marsac. ' Ours is a vciy real trouble,' began Clare, half crying. 'We have found out that papa spends half his time with Mine. Floury. He writes to her, and to-day came a bill for thirty bouquets in three weeks for her. If he should marry her—oh, oh!—the thought is too dreadful!' And Clare burst into tears. Fontaine took her hand tenderly and, obeying a look from Marsac, led her into tho conservatory. Marsac and Delphino were nowleft alone, and he at once saw the necessity of taking her into his confidence about Undo Maurice.

' What do you suppose Fontaine is now telling Clare?' ho asked, nervously. ' That she is the dearest girl in tho world, I presume. That seems to be the staple of their conversation.'

' lie is telling her more. What do you think, Mademoiselle—what would you think if I were to tell you that Fontaine's Uncle Maurice was not dead, after all, but has just arrived at our lodgings, and will very soon present himself in this room!'' Delphine's mouth came, open with astonishment, and her first question, when she had recovered from the shock cf her surprise, was — ' And how about the fortune? 1

Marsac shook his head lugubriously. ' 1 can tell you nothing. That fortune is involved in the deepest mystery. There arc indications of a plot, tho most extraordinary you can conceive. I know nothing, except that M. Maurice Fontaine is alive and is in Paris, and will be here shortly.' And then, to divert her from so perilous a subject, he said, ' Put we are consumed with anxiety regarding M. Duval and the Comtessc do Floury. If will be terrible for you and Clare if she succeeds in capturing M. Duval.' Delphine's answer was artfully contrived—

' If that dreadful woman should succeed in marrying my uncle this could no longer be a home for mo.'

Here was an opportunity at once for Marsac to declare himself, if he had a spark of tenderness for her. The tenderness, amounting to adoration, was there, but Marsac, the ready, the witty, the glib, the daring, was silent and abashed in the presence of the master passion. His silence, which was really one of deep emotion, was naturally misunderstood by Delphino. Just as he had nerved himself to take what he thought a desperate chance, by telling her of his love, her face hardened, she deliberately turned her back to him, and, picking up some fancy work on the table, seated herself. There was nothing left for Marsac but the newspaper, which Fontaine had dropped. He took it. and for half an hour no sound wr>s heard except the rattle of tho sheets as they were turned. Delphino stitched in silent anger and disappointment. Suddenly the silence was broken by Marsac jumping up, flourishing the paper like a lunatic and bawling, at the top of his lungs, 'Bliss! peace! happiness for all! Where is my hat? A person 1 thought dead is not dead at all!' And seizing his hat, he rushed out, exclaiming, ' I can't tell you all now, but I will come back in a little while and reveal everything !' Delphino sat as if paralysed. The only thing which occurred to !»cr was that some woman Marsac had once loved and thought dead was alive. Ihe dread became a certainty, as women's fears will. She sat, pale ami distrait, gazing at the spot where, a moment before, he had sat.

Then came a rustle of draperies from the conservatory, and Clare flitted in with Fon tainc. One look at their happy faces told that Uncle Maurice's fortune had made no figure in their love affair. ' What <'o you think, Delphino! ? asked Clare, with her hand still lying in Fontaine's. ' This foolish boy has not a fortune, after all, and he has known it for some time, and dared not toll me. It seems that when the report of his Uncle Maurice's death canio some one started tho story in tho newspapers about the fortune, and Augusto did not have the nerve to contradict it. Besides, it might have been true, for he had an Uncle Maurice in America. And this very morning Uncle Maurice arrived in Paris, and was directed here to find Augusto. And Augusto say 3 the old man looks very poor and friendless, but cheery and glad to get back to France ; and, dear, kind M. .Marsac was so good to the old man, and made Augusto kind to him, too. So In has gone to their apartments to make ready to come and see us. I shall be just as nice to him as I can be, and I shall make papa be the same.' 1 Clare, you have the dearest tear!, in the world!' burst out Delphino,'and I love and respect you the more for not caring whether Augusto has a fortune or not.'

' But, with his talents,' answered Clare, proudly,'a fortune will lie his. Wc can live well enough on his pictures, his plays and his articles in the newspapers.' Fon! tine al nost groaned alo.id at this, and just then a footman entered and handed him a card. One look was enough.

•It is .Mine. Floury!' ho cried. ' Don't let her uo.' [hit he was 100 late. Mme. Fleury walked into the drawing-room on the heels of her messenger, and said to the servant, in an authoritaf ivc manner • ' 'fake my card to >.l. Duval !' Never had the gentle Clare shown haughtiness to any human creature before, but, when face to face with .Mine. Fleury she drew her siiiriit figure up. and in a tone of quiet disdain .-aid- ' 1 lhink. Madame, that f. my father's daughter, have some rights in this house, and I foiled my servant to take your card.' 'And I think,' suavely replied Mine Henry, 'that your father, master of his hou e. has some rights here, too; so ' A look at the footman finished the sentence. Tim man went ( ,u\ with the. card. (..'hire, with a heightened colour, turned to Delphino, rj lying - ; Sua 11 we withdraw ':' i!y no means,' answered Delphino, coolly ; 'that would, inlecl.be a surrender.' They both, therefore, stood their ground. Fontaine, who was glad to keep out of tho melee, had prudently kept in the background during this, but .Mme. Fleury would not let him rent there. ' M. Fontaine,' she asked, in her smoothest voice, ' do you remember a certain document winch we both signed, referring to the 15th of May r' ' I do, to my eternal sorrow,' was Fontaine's reply, but b jforc he could say anything more M. Duval bustled in, looking flurried and nervous, l.ai elated with tho elation of a stupid ol i in in ■■, ho fin !.s himself an object of interest to a hand. 01112 young- woman. 'Good morning, Ms-lame!' ho criod. 'I am delighted to see you !' ' It is more than your daughter and niece wore,' answered Mme. Fleury, smiling.

'How is this?' sternly asked M. Duval, wheeling around upon the two girls. Clare, who dearly loved her father, could not utter a word, but Delphino was equal to the situation.

' Of course, wo were not delighted to aeo her, and, Undo, pardon me, but a man of your ago should know better ' 'M. Duval,' interrupted Mme. Fleury, ' your age is one of your greatest charms in my eyes.' 'And yet,' coolly continued Delphino, M. Fontaine's youth was no objection to him. Anything between the cradle and tho grave seems to suit this—person.' M. Duval felt called upon to say, reprovingly— ' Delphino !' Put tho next moment he weakened and muttered, ' 1 wish Marsac were here. He is tho only one that can manage all of vou.'

1 1 wish he was, too,' said Mine. Fleury. ' I was just speaking of a valuable paper 1 took with me to P&ssy that evening 1 was there. By an unfortunate oversight on my pait M. .Marsac got hold of it and tore it into bits, which he afterward tried to burn up. I saved the scraps, but I was not able to put the charred pieces together. Therefore, T gave an expert one hundred and fifty francs to restore it. He has just returned it to me, and I have not yet had a chance to open it, but 1 will do so now, and I would like M. Marsac to see how much cleverer I am than he is.' Mme. Fleury produced an envelope from her card-case," tore it open, and then stood petrified for a moment. ' Why—it is -it is ■' she stammered. 'A bill of Panda is, the tailor,' maliciously put in Fontaine. ' That's what he tore up.' 'And what you paid one hundred and fifty francs to have restored,' Delphino chimed in. ' Mme. Fleury,' said Fontaine, determinedly, ' I have put up with this hounding of me as long as I intend to. 1 shall to-day icport it to the police and ask protection.' Instead of Hying into a rage at this, Mme. Fleury executed a masterly coup. Pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, she almost fell upon old Duval's shoulder, crying—- ' M. Duval, will you stand by and see me so affronted?'

1 No, Mme. Fleury,' sturdily answered M. Duval, with his arm halt around her waist. ' .Never mind, Mme. Fleury ; if he, reports you to the police, Mine. Fleury, ho will have to reckon with me, Mme. Fleury. I know I'm old enot'gh to be your father, but if you'll marry me, Mine. Fleury, you'll find 1110 a great improvement on that rascally count you married first; and you may be Mme. Duval any day you like.' At this a faint shriek burst from the two girls, and Fontaine, who had not dreamed the old man capable of such folly, could not repress an exclamation. However, he took Clare's hand and said to her, tenderly—- ' Well, my dear one, tho only thing for you to do now is to trust mo and become my wife at tho earliest moment possible.' Clare felt at this moment as if she had but one earthly dependence. She clung to Fontaine, and, weeping, cried—- ' I will marry you whenever you like, for I cannot and never will ountenancc my father's marriage to this creature.' 'And even I would marry to escape living with this woman,' said Delphinc, in much agitation. ' I would marry M. Marsac, or commit suicide even, rather than live in the house with her.'

Delphino was scarcely conscious of what she said, but a gleam of wicked amusement in Mine. Fleury's eyes showed her that she had made a dangerous slip. Steps wore heard outside in the hall, as if of two or even three persons, but when tho door opened only Marsac entered. He wore a look of jaunty expectation, wdiich seemed only to bo increased by the startling spectaclo before him— Mine. Fleury holding on to M. Duval's arm, tho old man pulling, blowing, smiling and frowning, with alternate spasms of rage and delight; Clare clinging to Fontaine and in great distress ; while Delphino, pale and defiant, stood alone in the centre of the group.

(To be concluded.)