LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 659, 31 July 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

♦ 'MADAME LA FONTAINE—TB.OISIEME ETAGE.' ( Concluded.) 1 Poor woman!' ' Ah ! poor indeed, for in my madness I lost everything. Home, love, child. At last I found, in my husband's desk, letters that I believed to have been written by a rival. Again the tempter was at my side, and I left my husband's home. An accident, however, proved to me that I had been deceived. The tempter dropped a copy of one of the fatal letters, and then I saw I had 'been duped. The villian admitted the deception, and pointed out that my course was taken ; it was then too late to retrace my steps. He was only half right. It was too late to return to my husband—it was not too late to save my honor—the honor I would have sacrificed for revenge. I left the man who had so bitterly deceived me, and would have gone back to my home, had I dared. But my husband's scorn seemed

too hard to bear. I could not look upon my child to find that he had been taught to turn away from me as I called him to my bosom with outstretched arms. It was too late. I sold my jewels, lived how I could, hurried from table to table, gambled, called gamblers to me—and you see me here. Tell me, do you think my husband would have forgiven me had he known all V ' Were he such a man as my father was—a thousand times yes.' She sighed a sigh of deep relief, and murmuring * I must tell him now,' said, 'And now, Frank, I have to unfold a secret involving the happiness of your whole life.' ' You have a secret to tell me,' he exclaimed. She hesitated painfully. ' Frank, supposing your mother was such as 1? suppose she, too, had left her home—had sunk lower and lower, until you found her here?' ' Madame,' he cried, rising angrily to his feet, ' you insult me !' ' You are angry with me V 'Yes,' he said, and his cheeks glowed. ' You have dared to breathe the name of a saint. You ! who who stand self-accused, degraded, an outcast, and a sinner !' ' I do not understand you.' 'Heaven forgive me,' he continued, passing his hand over his brow,*' for speaking of her in a house such as this ! Pure as an angel, she floats before my eyes in the glory of an ideal—of an ideal only, alas ! as I never knew her. ' Of whom do you speak ? ' He replied with infinite tenderness, 'I speak of my mother !' Her heart was beating, her cheeks a feverish red. She could scarcely stand. At last she said: ' Your mother—an angel—a saint ?' ' Yes,' he continued, speaking rather to himself than to her, 'howoften have I heard the story of her noble life I She was the guide, the better angel of my father. How bitterly he grieved when she left him !' ' She did leave him ?' she said quickly. ' Yes—at my birth, to join the angels in heaven. My poor mother! although you have been dead to me, your gentle spirit has watched over me. Even now her memory recalls me to my better self. Why do I stay in this hateful house ? ' She was crying now. She said, 'Who told you of this noble life—of your mother V ' My father.' She sank upon her knees, crying bitterly. She thought, 'He has spared my memory—that memory so dearly prized by our Bon. I cannot claim my heritage of shame !' ' You are crying,' he said gently. You are thinking of my want of gratitude in wishing to leave this house, where you have nursed me so tenderly. You must forgive me. lam selfish and inconsiderate. Pardon me, and make excuses for me. Kemember I am an orphan.' Her face remained buried in her hands. She was crying bitterly as she murmured : ' He is near me, and yet I dare not clasp him in my arms. Heaven have pity upon me.' He approached her, and said ' But you told me just now you possessed a secret involving the whole happiness of my life.' She paused a moment, and then rose with supernatural calmness. ' The gentleman who was with me this morning brought good news.' * You mean Dr Blunt ? ' ' I mean Dr Blunt. He came to tell me that the consent of the father of your fiancee had been obtained.' As she said these words his eyes sparkled with joy. He seemed to be gaining new life with every moment. *ls it really true 1' he cried. ' All my strength comes back to me. Kate, my darling, my love ! ' ' How soon he forgets me!' she murmured. 'And when shall I see Dr Blunt?' he asked excitedly. 'lshe to come back ? ' ' He has promised to be back in half an hour.' He arose without assistance, and walked towards the door. ' I must be ready to leave with him. See, I am quite strong. Bless you for the glorious news you have brought to me I' When she was alone she knelt down and poured out her whole heart. *He does not know me !' she cried. 'Oh Heaven I how heavily am I punished 1' * You see I am here.' It was the Doctor who had just entered the room. She rose with her eyes red with weeping, her bosom heaving with emotion. He looked at her with pity, and said : ' You have spoken with your son V * I have spoken with my son.' ' And he knows 1 ' 'Nothing.' He took her hand. 'You have acted bravely. Believe me, it is for the best. But you are suffering.' ' I cannot live long, I know, she murmured. ' But silence before him. Let him think that his mother really died.' ' You have my promise,' replied the Doctor earnestly. 'But we must not leave you now—you are very ill.' * No, no !' she said hurriedly. ' Hush ! he is here not a word before him.' Frank entered the room, and strode to* wards the Doctor with outstretched arms. 'I am overjoyed !' he cried. 'Oh Doctor, is it really true V 'Yes,' said his guardian, bluntly, 'You may be married as soon as you please.' ' I congratulate you,' murmered Madame La Fontaine -her voice seemed to be growing weaker and weaker. ' And so you are going to leave me—and why not? Our roads of life from thia moment are separate.' 'ls there nothing I can do to show my gratitude V ' Nothing. lam very happy. You are going to marry the girl you love—before yon is a lull life of hope. It would have pleased your poor mother to have known this—your mother who was so good—your mother, who died long ago.' She paused, and placed her hand to her heart. She spoke with difficulty. ' But before you go, I want you to say four words : " Mother, I forgive you." Come, it is not asking you for much.' Frank looked at the Doctor, and the Doctor whispered, ' You had better humour her.' He took her hand, and their eyes met: ' Mother, I forgive you !' She kissed his hand : ' Heaven bless you !' Then she turned to the Doctor, and whispered, ' He must never know.' ' Water,' cried Frank, alarmed at the change which had come over her face. ' Quick ! she has fainted.' 'You are wrong,' said Dr Blunt, with tears in his honest, manly eyes. ' She has not fainted, Frank. Poor woman!—she is dead !'