The Princess Of Asnelles

I. Mr. George Byrne ?' 'That is my name.' 'I thought so - give me your hand. George gave his hand, seeing no reason to refuse the request, albeit he could not remember having met his visitor before. 'I am glad to make your acquaintance, George.' He held George's hand ürmly while he spoke, and looked him full in the face. 'I like the look of you; no humbug; no nonsense in you- that is no more than one may rationally expect to find in a young man nnder thirty.' Then dropping his hand with a final pressure, he looked round the studio and said,' 'This is your workmanship. Yuii don't draw much from the life, I see.' 'íTo, l'm not a figure mau.' 'Then you ought to be. You have some idea of color, but you can't dra,w, George. George was half inclined to resent his visitors freedom, half inclined to iaugh at the oddity of his position. 'May I ask where I have seen you before?' he asked. 'When I saw you last you were in your eradle, George, but I don't think you took much notice of mp, for you were chiefly interested in a bottle at the time. Ho w oíd are you now ?' 'Five and twenty.' 'Five and twenty! that makes me close upon flfty.' 'And will you teil me who gave you my address?' ♦Your mother. I daresay you have heard of an únele named Richard Barton.' 'My mother'sbrother? - yes, I have heard of him occasionally.' 'Not often, I warrant. His name would be used perhaps to point a moral, but never to adorn a tale. He waa not a credit to the family, for the family on your father's side was clerical to a man, and this Dick was a loóse vagabond with a taste for wit. He was generally hated at Tunbridge, except by your mother - she stuck to her graceless brother through thick and thin, and suffered niuch on his account, poor soul. He saw at last that he was not wanted at Tunbridge, and so one morning he gave his sister a farewell kiss and started off for Bohemia with half a crown in one pocket and poor Bob's 'Siege of Troy' in the other. He stayed in London until one by one the old tribe of wit3 died out, and then he lef t the country altogether. You may have heard that he carne to the end of his career by fereaking the Sabbath; but he didn't. He lived abroad for twenty years and never went near Tunbridge until - the day before yesterday.' 'And you are he. - 'I am. I found everything as I ex pected - ii little older but otherwise unehanged. Your mother was just as sweet, and oontradictory, and womanly as ever, and Stephen as a bishop no less priggish than Stephen as a cúrate. I arrived at an important moment was overjoyed to see me, and after a brief explanation the rest of the fainily party forgave me in a truly Christian spirit, and took meinto their confidence. For you see, I wear respectable clothes, I am no longer a Bohemian, and I have twenty thousand pounds in the bank ; in addition to which I may now add a presentation copy of the collected serïnons of your uncle the bishop, as delivered by him in the last twenty years.' Andmuch good may they-do you.' growled George. Richard Barton smoothed his shaven cheeks between the fingers au' thumb of his leit hand as if to represa their smile, and continued: 'ïhe subject of family discussion was your welfare, George.' It seems that your úneles intended you for the church, and that your uncle Stephen especially has devoted his energi.es to the training of your mind. But, notwithstanding their endeavors, you have followed your inclinations and adopted a mode of life which in their opinión cannot fail to result in your ruin. Sit down and listen to me, for I am sent as a kind of reformed sinner to wam you by my experience against tbe dangers of wilfulness. I sympathize with your mother, and think her feelings ought to be consiered. It is chiefly on her account that I undertook this mission. It seems, George, that you nearly broke the heart of a young lady in Tunbridge.' 'Oh a stupid little flirtation. She found another sweetheart the week af ter we separated, and I believe we are both heartily glad the flirtation ended as it did.' 'A man who has been a fooi in Tunbridge may easily befoolishin London, and I am not astonished at your mother's anxiety on your behalf.' 'I have given her my word of honor to ally myself to nobody unworthy to be her daughter. That should satisfy her. I have never told a lie to her.' 'And I believe yoa never will knowingly. But remember, a young man is apt to overrate the worth of the gift he loves- especially if he is a generous, honest young fellow.' 'I shall not get into a mess again. And look here, Uncle Dick- why does mother want me lo return to Tunbridge, where I have already been led astray ?' 'Because she believes she has a counter attraction that will keep you in the straight path. She has a visitor - a young lady - whom I believe she would like you to know - with a view to mar'riage as they say.' 'Oh, I know the young lady before I see her. A face like this'- George executed a rapid and not very flattering representation of a f emale face - 'and f eet like that?' 'No, George, your portrait is clever but not true. 1 have seen the young lady, and her head and f eet are not in the least like your drawing. She is pretty- at least I think so!' 'Oh, I know her - one of the Budge's lot. Fair and freckly, with as much brain as there is in that piaster cast - a namby-pamby-ladelah. 'But her name is not Budge, and she's neither fair nor freckly. I am told she is decidedly clever!' The fact is, I intend to have no passion beyond my art; and I have resolved to live and die a bachelor.' 'This is bad news to take back to Tunbridge. I shall carry disappointrnent to your uncle, your mother and ber visitor. 'Will you be good enough to teil me whó she is ?' 'She is my daughter, George.' 'Then no wonder she is irresistible,' said Goorge with a sly laugh, for Uncle Dick, with his shaven face, bis large mouth and leaden skin, was not beautiful to look at. At the end of the month however, Gteorge crossed the Channel and landed at Havre. There was nothing there to detain him, so carrying out his original mtantion he went on to Trouville. 'ïhese resorts of pleasure have now no charms for me,' he said, and then wwidering where on earth he should go to escape from the cutting wind and he dreariness of pleasurable resorts in the month of May, he thought of Uncle Dick's remark about Asnelles and its )retty girls. A.s he knew of nothing etter, why should he not go to Asnelles and see what it was like? To get there ie must engage a voiture particuliere. lather from the ardent desire to leave jourseuelles than in eagerness to reach Asnelles. he ordered the vehicle to be )rought forth early the foüowing mornng, and went to bed in low spirits. But in the night the wind dropped ; he air in the morning was soft and sweet, and George took his seat beside he driver. The horse was strong and active, the country improved with every foot of ground they traversed, ard ,he voiturier was gay and communieative. He knew Anselles well, and assured George that he would be pleased with it. There was no hotel, but an excellent epicerie where Monsieur could get refreshment. Anselles was a wonderful place for health. No one was ever ill there - except in the time of cholera, when the birds and even the insects forsook it. The women were certainly beautif.i- real country people. 'Look you!' said the voiturier - the prettiest girl in Calvados.' And she was a pretty girl - even at a distance George was satisfled of that ; straight and well made, with a face tinted like a rose ; she wore the short, full, dark skirt of the peasantry, knitted woolen stockings, a white camisole with the sleeves well turned up over her brown shapely arms. She led her cow by a chain to a fresh pasture, and then, having üxed the peg attached to the chain in the ground, süe took up a heavy mallet with a handle four feet long, and swinging it round drove the peg into the dry earth witb a cuuple of blows. 'My faith ! she has the talent !' exclaimed the voiturier with admiration. George was too deeply interested in the girl to pay atteition to hia companion. She had thrown down the mallet, and with a sharp turn that whisked her short petticoat aside and gave a fair view of her neat ankles and pretty, well-shod feet, she walked off briskly to fetch a milking stool and a round brazen vessel that stoo-l a little distance away. A more grac 'ui, supple figure, a better carriage, a nore picturesque costume, Georgo had . ever seen, even on the boards of a t :eatre She had her back to the road r ui they were now in a line with her ; he wished she would turn her face that he might see her features. The same üesire must have animated the voitwier, for at that moment he gave his whip a vigorous crack, causing her to look over her shoulder. For a moment she flxed her eyes upon them, her curiosity naturally excited by the appearance of a stranger at this early time of the year, and then as the voitturier, checking his horse and taking off his hat, ventured in the most polite terms to wish her good-day, she gave her heai a disdainful toss, and walked away to her stool. 'Ah , they may well cali her la eruelle !' said the voiturier with a sigh, as he replaced his hat and allowed his horse to resume the trot. 'What do they cali her?' a3ked George. 'Many names, Monsieur;' 'the cruel," "heproud " "thePrincess of Asnelles," are among her titles.' 'Then she lives in Asnelles ?' 'In the pretty house over there, with the respectablejoerstennes to the windows, and the manure heap and the eowshed quite removed f rom the kitchen.' 'Bui you spoke to her in French.' 'Oh, she has received a grand education. She is considerably educated, and can write as well as read. She disdains to talk the patois except to the servants and the old people.' 'Has she parents?' 'A mother, Monsieur, who is very devout and never fails to attend the mass.' They were descending a valley at the foot of which lay the little village - a pretty village of graystone and brown thatch nestled among apple orchards, with the sea beyond it, which like a mirror reflected the colors of the sky above. George fancied he had never seen a more charming spot in all his life, but as be looked at it f rom an artisticpoiut oL view, filling the foregrouud in imagination with the Princesa and her cow, it is possible that an observer without his imaginativo faculty might have differed in opinión with him. Artists are not as other men. As a fruiterer surveys the proportions of a perfect peach without feeling any temptation to dig his teeth into it, or as a florist looks over hie garden with no deaire to piek the blooms, or bury his nose in the fragrant roses, so an artiat regards his pretty model withan appreciative eye for her perfeetions of form and color, but confines his feelings within the strict limits of his seathetic business, and never suffers from the contingent emotions which bewilder less cultivated rainds under like conditions. If it were otherwise, an artist could no more succeed in painting beautif ui women than a fruiterer could sell his damaged fruit, or a florist his faded flowers. This was the argument with which George satisfled his conscience that there was no danger in making the acquaintance of the Princess of Asnelles., and afterward in painting so many portraits of her. He worked hard. The odor of herrings, and soap, and candles and coffee that rose from the epicerie was unnoticeable when you came near George's rooms, so powerful, not to say foul, was the reek of mástic and turpentine that escaped from his canvases. There were, at least, eight 'studies' before the end of June in which the subject was that one pretty girl of Asnelles. In 'A Girl and a Cow,' 'Going a-Milking.' and 'A Village Beauty,' the portrait is unmistakable. The second of these, was an admirable picture. The Princess is seated upon a donkey between two wooden panniers carrying the large round-bodied brass vessel in which the milk is collected; she is knitting. The face and pretty feet, and knitted woollen stockings, are rendered with great fldelity and delieacy. 'And why should I not make studies of the Princess? She is a willing Bitter' - her smiling portraits showed that. 'If it is an artist's objects to seek beauty and copy it, why, having found it, should he give over copying it bef ore his subject is exhaustedi" George asked himself , in reply to certain questions which conscience was begining to put to him. Conscience was not satisüed with this leply, and suggested that there was sotnething of greater importance even than the f ulfilment of an artist's mission, hinting at the same time that his modei's happiness deserved some consideration. He did not think she cared very deeply for him ; but be admitted that he could not quite uuderstand her. She was capricious and changeable as a spring day. At one time she was impulsive, at anotherreserved; sometimes she was aren and winning, sometimes coy and teasing ; often she was heavy, dull and irrespective ; often by word and action she betrayed an intelligence of a high order. She was never two days alike either in the expression of lier features or the mood oí her mind. She certainly did like him, but George was accustomed to being liked by most people, and he might fairly attribute ihe pleasure with which she met him, the readiness with which she gave her time to pose for him, to the fact there was no other young fellow in the place to whom she could or would talk, and to her vanity in having her portrait taken. Certainly those three bad pictures were founded upon facts in the history of their acquaintance. Coming by an unexpected path, he had found her craning her neck and standing on tiptoe to look over a hedge and down the road. One day they parted in a little quarrel ; and he, returning to make a generous confession of his fault, had found the traces of tears upon her long dark lashes ; and afterward, when he said by mistake 'adieu' for the usual 'a deinain' her eyes had opened wide, her lip fallen, and her face assumed an appearance of ineffable grief and surprise. But no serious sentimental scènes had been enacted. There had been no kissing - and this was due to the activity of the Princess in avoiding him, rather than to any backwardness on liis part - and there was nothing which called him as a man of honor to leave Asnelles and the Princess at once. So he lingered on ; and the morning meeting was earlier, and the evening parting later and longer, and she grew less coy and provoking, and when he put his arm about her she put her hand on his to remove it from her waist, but let it, stay there, and only hung her pretty head when he kissed her. Af ter that George painted worse than ever, and suffered from a severe attack of conscience. Conscience said emphatically : 'You must marry the Princess or go and leave her for another to make happy.' The idea of leaving her for another man to marry was hard to entertain. For himself he could never find so able a girl, never meet anyone who could revive the sweet delighte of the past few weeks with the Princess. The suffering he must endure was terrible to think of. Where could he find another place so charming as Asnelles ? Would not Paradise itself be ahowling wilderness without the Princess, with the recollection of her sweetness and beauty, and the reüection that the other man was making her happy ? But he had given his solemn promise to his mother not to marry a wife beneath his position, and he had repeated the vow to Únele Richard. He boasted of never having told a lie; but the question recurred to him : What is my position? In what am I superior to thé Princess ? And then he began to entertain views with regard to rank identical with thoseof Bobert Burns, but diametrically opposed to those of his uncle, the bishop. That fine oíd Conservativo would have shuddered at the republican principies that were rapidly gaining toot In the mental part of his degenerate nephew. George carne to tbe conclusión, after a deal of thinking, that it wou!d be no violation of nis promise if he did marry the Princesa, provided she was respectably connected and f aithf ui in her love. With regard to her love he had no misgiving, but her iamily connections were open to speculation. The fact was that the De Benis were not a presentable lot. There was a De Beni who sold the pigs at Bayeux, and got drunk with the regularity of Silenus; another DeBeni who minded the sheep waa much better ; De Beni the carter, and De Beni the ploughman were idle, ragged, unlettered rascáis, and a female De Beni who scoured the brass milk vessels and performed other scullery duties had the finger of scom pointed at her. There wasn't one of the f amily, the Princes3 excepted, who could read or write, and they probably kept their places simply because of their relationship to Madam De Beni. It was a fact that reflected credit upon the humanity of Madame de Beni that every servant on the farm was a De Beni. There was not a single member of the household except Marie and her mother whom ho could present to his úneles or even to nis mother without wincing. Even Marie ref used to have any communication with them beyond what was necessary for the ordering of affairs. And Maria herself, the Princesa - dared he take her over to England and present her in Tunbridge? With her short skirts and cotton bonnet she would look as if she had come' f rom the Globe Theatre in her stage costume. It was but natural that these reflections should make George gloomy. Marie detected the presence of same trouble on his mind ten minutes after he had given her the greeting kiss, which she had held up her cheek to receive as if she were already his aflianced wife. 'What grievesyou, George?' she asked, putting such a soft, sweet accent upon his name that it sounded quite pretty. 'Marie,' he said, going straight to the root of the matter at once, 'I am afraid we must separate.' 'Sépante, George? - now?' 'Yes, Marie, we must separate,' George repeated. 'WJiy?' opening her beautiful eyes wide, and laying her hand upon his. 'Do I cease to please you ?' 'Xo, Marie; you never looked more beautiful; but the fact is, I am beginning to love you.' 'That is a droll reason for wishing to separate,' 'If I stayed here I should have to marry you; for an Englishman - an Eaglishman - well, he loves for always!' Passing over the doubtf ui generality, Marie responded softly: 'Ánd so do we Frenen women, so why shouldn't we marry and live always together?' 'Y"ou see, Marie dear, we English men can't always do as we like. We must study our families.' 'That is quite right.' 'A.nd my family is composed nearly of parsons. 'Oh, how delightful for poor mamma.' 'But you see, Marie, English parsons have strong prejudiees; and although you are to me the very best and sweet est girl in the wide world, they - they-' 'They might not think so,' said the Princess, coming to bis assistance. 'I see the difficulty. They want you to marry a girl like tho.36 they married.' 'Exactlyso. That is just what I wished to say.' 'You shall teil me of all my faults, and I will correct them. You shall teil me of all an English lady's excellences and I will learn them. Begin, George.' 'Well, in the first place, said George, scratching his whiskers, 'there's your dress.' '1 can alter that to-night. There are English ladies come to Asnelles in the season, and I know how they dres3. That is easy. Whatnext?' 'I don't know how you are to learn the manners of an English girl.' 'Have they any?' Marie asked with the utmost innocence. '"When they're at home, dear, they have undoubtedly. They are alinost as polite as Parisians.' 'If I learn to be quite as polite - ' 'Oh, you couldn't be more graceful and delicate than you are; but I meant by manners, the habita and ways of English girls.' 'Teil me their habits.' 'Well, their habits of neatness and order, and their habits of - of - ' George after trying to flnd the essentially characteristic habit of an English girl, cencluded in desperation - 'of - of - washing in large basins.' 'They teil me London is so foggy and dirty that much water is necessary. But that does not signify. I will wash in a very large basin, and be still more tidy in my ways.' 'You dear little soul! Whyshouldl try vainly to show you a means of improving. You are perfect, you darling!' 'But still, dear George, there are things which English girls do and I do not. They speak English; you shall teach me the language. And I have heard that every young lady plays the piano. 'Yes, hang them! And nine out of twelve would make you repent that they can' 'I will learn to play - for I love music. And this very night I will make a dress like the English ladies'.' And Marie was true to her word. The next morning she appeared before Tom's astonished eyes in a waterproof, an ancient and unsightly straw hat, a pair of heelless boots, several sizes too long for her pretty feet, and carrying an umbrella under one arm and a carpet bag under the other. The Princess went back in tne article of dress. She burst Luto tears when George laughed at her too faithful imitation of the English lady abroad, and was only to be consoled by kisses, and a supplication that she would change her waterproof and boots for her picturesque skirts and shoes - but she got on rapidly with her accomplishments. There was an old piano in the pretty house, at which George lieard her practising indefatigably, and every day she brought him the Engliah exercises he had set her, completed and without error. They had just got to that first exquisite active verb, to love, when George received this telegram f rom his mother: 'Your Únele Richard insista upon our taking advantage of this magniflcent weather to come over and see what you are doing. We shall be with you in a few days.' What was he to do? He by this time loved the Princess so deeply that he was proud of her f aults, and should have little hesitation in facing his mother's anger and Richard's satire on her account. If they could not see that Marie de Beni was the most estimable of young women, so mueh the worse for them. But he feit some repugnance in introducing his mother to the D Beni family. It was true that Paul De Beni, the most objectionable representative, had been sent to prison but there still remained the shepherd, the carter and the young person in the scullery, to raise the blush of shame upon his face. If the weather had only been a little showery; if there had been a single case of measles in the village, he might have been justifled in returning alarming telegrams of tempesta and epidemics. But there was nothing contagiou3 except mirth and happinessin the village, for the sun shone in splendor, and brought visitors by every voiture. He was half minded to wrap the Frincess in her waterprojf and carry her off to the English cburch at Geneva, and be married while his uncle and mother were overcoming the first shock of his departure, bat the course was repugnant to him, and he resolved to stay and 'have it out' as soon as possible. Following the telegram carne a letter from Uncle Dick - a stupid letter, 'for when people try to be funny, you know' - George concluded the sentence withashrugof his shoulders. Uncle Dick hoped he had been stieking to landscape, and had not found anj drover's daughter in Asnelles to tempt him from vigorous application to the purpose of his life, which was, he concluded, to be a Bachelor or Art. What a foolish, silly old joke. The telegram he translated to the Princess; the letter he merely mention ed, and then waited to see if her ready wit could help him out of the difficulty. But far from sharing his dismal forebodings, she seemed ODly to derive pleasure from the intelligence he conveyed. She clapped her hands joyf ully, and cried : 'I kae w something pleasant must happen, for I have dreamed three times consecutively of your mamma, and now I atn to see her and one of your úneles. Will there be anyone else ?' George mentioned that his uncle had a daughter who would probably ba of the party. The Princess grew anxious at once, and cross-questioned him closely about her. He could teil her but little. He had not seen her - indeed he had hurried his departure from Eugland to eseape meeting her. Her father said she was pretty, but then fathers were not impartialjudges; he had also heard that she was clever. His mother, he believed, wished him to marry the girl. Bat you will not do that, George - you cannot,' said the Princess earnestiy. 'I would die rather. I haven't seen her, but I detest her as much as if I had. She is clever, and I detest clever girls.' 'Don't you think that I am clever ?' 'Why, yes, to be sure, you are clever, dear,' replied George with a little em barrassment, for he was not quite certain upon that point, 'but yours is not the kind of cleverness that this precious cousin of mine pretends to be. Sbe is a kind of would-be actress, and you are such a dear, sweet little ingenue that couldn't act if you tried'Do you think your cousin plays the piano?' 'Oh, of course she does in the ordinary mechanica), maddening manner.' 'Do I play iu the ordinary manner, George?' 'That you certainly do not, dear.' He did not hesitate in affirming that. 'Then I shall not hesitate to play to your inamm. There is a beautif ul piano at the hotel, and they will go there of necessity. l shall play what I know of the "Marseillaise." ' 'Hem, you don't quite know the baas, do you, Marie?' 'Not quite, but I will. "We must inake a sacriflee to please your mamma, and so instead of meeting you to-morrow, I will stay at home and practico on the piano until I know the " Marseillaise" perfectly. For I want you to be quite proud of me, George.' 'You, dear, sweet, good- ' and the remainder of George's expression of admiration was not to be rendered in words. Tho next day, as Marie was not to be indueed to forego her pianoforte lesson, George shouldered hiseasel and walked over the hills to Byes, where he settled himself down to thefirst unimpassioned study of nature he had made for many weeks. On his way home he met Richard Barton. 'I have come to look after you,' said he, 'for there is no peace at the hotel; tbe ladies are dy ing to see yeu.' (George suppressed a groan). 'I was told you bad gone over to Ryes.' 'I must go home with my trap3, and have a wash,' said George, hoping to get a word with the Princess before going to the hotel. 'Certainly. I will go with you and wait while you dress; I daré say I can amuse myself with looking at your studies.' Knowing the kind of amusement these studies would afïord, George said: 'On second thoughts, my apartment is a little out of the way, and I can ba ve a room at the hotel.' 'To be sureyoucan - there's mine at your service,' said Únele Richard in the most obliging tone. What have you been doing here?' 'Oh, you will see to-morrow, George thought he might as well have out every thing in one day rather than make a protracted scène of it. 'How does London look?' he asked, to turn the subject. I can hardly tell you. I have been in Paris these past six weeks.' 'J'hen you left London bef ore Idid!' 'A week. Business required my return.' 'You live in Paris?' 'I have lived there f or five-and-twenty years, and seldom leave it. But the theatre was closed for redecoration, so I got a f ortnight to run to England, and make my long-intended reconciliation with the f amily.' George opened his eyes wide in astonishment, and looking sidelong on his uncle's large mouth and shaven cheek, said: 'You are an actor, then.' 'Yes, not much of an actor, but rather more of a lessee. You have heard of '"Spot?" ' 'Of thfOrpheeV Únele Richard nodded and said; 'I am he.' George whistled. 'That did not assist in conciliating my úneles, did it ?' 'I showed them my bank account, and they prudently refrained from asking questions. And to teil you the truth, George, I wanted to see your mother and not her brothers. I am rather indifferent to their opinión now. For a man of my age is almost as difflcult to guide and manage as - one of your age.' George laughed; he began to sympathize with nis unele and like him. 'I found soine one to play my part for a couple of nights, and ran clown to Havre to meet your mother. My daughter is with her in the hotel there. My sister and I still hope you may like her well enough to think of marryiDg her.' 'It is impossible, unele; you rnustunderstand that at once. I can never marry her.' 'Why not?' 'Beeause I love another.' 'Ah, I heard something about that at the hotel; but what does it matter, George; it is not the flrst that you have loved and left, you know.' 'But surely you wouldn't have me marry your daughter, knowing that at this very moment I love a girl here with all my heart and soul ?' 'Oh, we order these things so differently here. Fathers don't expect their sons-in-law to be immaculate, and provided their family connections are good and their habits not scandalons, they are accepted.' 'But I am so English that I can never bring myself to a heartless marriage de convenance - ' 'Don't be rash, George. ' First of all see your cousin, and when you find that she surpasses your present sweetheart as much as your present sweetheart surpassed the draper's daughter, you may alter your mind again.' George' s face flushed with anger and shame. Unele Dick took no notice or seemed to take none. 'I asaure you the girl is pretty, and she has had an excellent education. At six she went to Englund; at niue she left the school there and went to Germany; at twelve she wentto Italy, and the last three years she has divided fairly - six months in Paris, six months in the country. I have kept her away from my own theatrical set of people, and I think when you see her andknow her, you will admit that she will be a more suitable wife for a man cf taste and culture, than a merely pretty peasant, who, wheD she ceased to be young, must degenerate into a stupid, dull, uuinterest g partner, and a clog to your social and professional advancement.' 'Sir, I have given my word of honor to marry this girl, and be it for ill or good I must keep it.' 'Unless she gives you a release.' 'That she will never do.' 'She would scorn your offer. Her love is holy - disinterested.'