Jacqueline -- Volume 2

uld not take Jacqueline with us to Italy

after a long silence at the breakfast-tab

xt, fixing a keen look upon her stepmother.

ther strove to maintain that calmness which comes to some people in a moment o

n ami', but Jacqueline, I

efer to stay,"

eved by this response, c

gular," said

pass a month or six we

going to be marrie

ff until we come bac

lk of going away on the eve of an event she considers so important. Besides, she has so little regard for me that I should th

e of Giselle's witnesses, but people don't take my position i

carelessly, "your journey must coin

ghtly change color. Madame de Nailles was pouring out f

t you see that your teapot has no tea in it? Yes," she went on, "it must be delightful to travel in Italy in company with a great

cruel hold she has upon me!" Jacqueline continued, carelessly- "Picture-galleries I don't care for-I like nature a hundred times bett

illes was no

th our alpenstocks in our hands-it wo

f her hands, she seemed to sen

mise me

deserve it," said her father, seve

as handed to him with one from his mother, whose letters always awaited him at every stopping-place, the blood flew to his face, his heart beat violently, he could have cried aloud but for the necessity of self-command in the presence of his comrades, who had already remarked in whispers to each other, and with envy, on the pink envelope, which exhaled 'l'odor di femina'. He hid his treasure quickly, and carried it to a spot where he could be alone; then he kiss

ES, Octob

DEAR

mother and myself at Lizerolles. Oh, if you were only here it would be different! In the first place, we should talk less of a certain Fred, which would be one great advantage. You must know that you are the subject of our discourse from morning to night; we talk only of the dangers of the seas, the future prospects of a seaman, and all the rest of it. If the wind is a little higher than usual, your mother begins to cry; she is sure you are battling with a tempest. If any fishing-boat is wrecked, we talk of nothing but shipwrecks; and I am asked to join in another novena, in addition to those with which we must have alr

sure that if you were in my place, you could kill time without killing game; but I am at the end of my small resources when I have played a little on the piano to amuse your mother and have read her the 'Gazette de France'. In the evening we read a translation of some English novel. There are neighbors, of course, old fogies who stay all the year round in Picardy-but, tell me, don't you find them sometimes a little too respectable? My greatest comfort is in your dog, who loves me as much as if I were his master, though I can not take him out shooting. While I write he is lying on the

elieve me. Those that I know, the mothers of my friends, are for the most part trying to appear as young as their daughters-nay, prettier, and of course more elegant. When they have sons they make them wear jackets a l'anglaise and turn-down collars, up to the age when I wore short skirts. Have you noticed that nowadays in Paris there are only ladies who are young, or who are trying to make themselves appea

ome back soon, and tak

ed

ing what for, with a great outburst of sympathy, and an honest desire to do anything in the world to make her happy. Was it really possible that she could have been enduring any grief that summer when she had seemed so madly gay, so ready for a little flirtation? Young girls must be very skilful in concealing their inmost feelings! When he was unhappy he had it out by himself, he took refuge in solitude, he wanted to be done with existence. Everybod

etter which he carried day and night on his breast and made it crackle as it lay there, when he laid his hand on the satin folds so near his hea

ted observation, though with him it was only reverie. He would stand with his eyes fixed upon some distant point, whence he fancied he could

that he is heart and soul in his profession, that he cares for

nuscript, the leaves of which were of all sizes, over which he had poured

when his packet had been sent. His only comfort was in the thought that he had hypocritically asked

another letter, sky-blue this time, much longer than

content with Saint-Augustin. Still, the toilettes, as they pass up the aisle, even there, are very effective, and the decoration of the tall, high altar is magnificent. Toc! Toc! First come the beadles with their halberds, then the loud notes of the organ, then the wide doors are thrown open, making a noise as they turn on their great hinges, letting the noise of carriages outside be heard in the church; and then comes the bride in a ray of sunshine. I could wish for nothing more. A grand wedding in the country is much more quiet, but it is old

ta stiffly swathed in cloth of gold, as becomes her dignity, and looking crushed by it? Giselle's gown was of point d'Alencon, old family lace as yellow as ancient parchment, but of inestimable value. Her long corsage, made in the fashion of Anne of Austria, looked on her like a cuirass, and she dragged after her, somewhat awkwardly, a very long train, which impeded her movement as she walked. A lace veil, as hereditary and time-worn as the gown, but which had been worn by all the Monredons at their weddings, the present dowager's included, hid the pretty, light hair of our dear little friend, and was supported by a sort of heraldic comb and some orange-flowers; in short, you can not imagine anything more heavy or more ugly. Poor Giselle, loaded down with it, had red eyes, a face of misery, and the air of a martyr. For all this her grandmother scold

on: 'If you knew, dear, how I love you! how I love all my friends! really to love, people must have been brought up together-must have always known each other.' I don't think she was right, but everybody has his or her ideas about such things. I tried, by way of consoling her, to draw her attention to the quantities of presents she had received. They were displayed on several tables in the smaller drawing-room, but her grandmother would not let them put the name of the giver upon each, as is th

not very numerous. There were a few friends of Monsieur de Talbrun's, however-among them, a Monsieur de Cymier, whom possibly you remember having seen last summer at Treport; he led the cotillon divinely. The bride and bridegroom drove away during the evening, as they do in England, to their own house, which is not far off. Monsieur de Talbrun's horses-a magnificent pair, harnessed to a new 'caleche'-carried off Psyche, as an old gentleman in gold spectacles said near me. He was a pretentious old personage, who made a speech at table, very inappropriate and much applauded. Poor Giselle! I have not seen her since, but she has written me one of those little notes which, when she was in the convent, she used to sign Enfant

my pen run on. I sha

g my thin paper. But t

-ship, and this accou

d thank

old

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t! thank her for giving him over even in thought to Giselle

h he flung into the sea, hating himself for having been so foolish as to let himself be caught by the first lines, as a foolish fish snaps at th

ed to be witty, to be droll, to write gossip without any reference to him to whom her letter was addressed. That we who some day would make a triumphal entry into St. Augustin would be herself and some other man-some man with whom her acquaintance had been short, since she did not seem to feel in that matter like Giselle. Some one she did not yet know? Was that sure? She might know her future husband already, even now she might have made her choice-Marcel d'Etaples, perhaps, who looked so well in uniform, or that M. de Cymier, who

nt also. She had been taken to the Institute to hear M. Legouve, and what was better still, in December her stepmother would give a little party every fortnight and would let her sit up till eleven o'clock. She was also to be taken to make some calls. In short, she felt herself rising in importance, but the first thing that had made her feel so was Fred's choice of her to be his literary confidant. She was greatly obliged to him, and did not know how she cou

ay, I should like to ask you whose are those soft eyes, that silky hair, that radiant smile, and all that assortment of amber, jet, and coral occurring so often in your visions? Is she-or rather, are they-black, yellow, green, or tattooed, for, of course, you have met everywhere beauties of all colors? Several times when it appeared

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that he was speaking of herself. Ah! there was nothing to be done now but to forget her. Fred tried to do so conscientiously du