LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 911, 26 May 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MICNONNE,

(Concluded.)

' Oh, some day. Your mother is speaking to you. ' The studio remained in its accustomed place; but it missed its lately frequent Visitor. For some days Philip Winterhalter did not appear at it. Rut one sunny afternoon when Mignonno sat working at the open window of her little bed room, feeling all sad and lonely, a gay and grand carriage dashed up to the 'lvrase. Mignonne saw silks and feathers,yVaud looked from the window.

' Some visitors for Jack,' she thought.

But at tbat moment she caught sight of Philip Winterhalter - he had been hidden by the parasols. He was looking handsomer than ever, as he got out of the carriage and handed out a tall, bright young lady, dressed

in the height of fashion. The other lady, an elder one, seemed to say she should not get, out, but wait in the carriage, and the two came into the house together. ' Mrs and Miss Winterhalter,' thought Mignonne. And she was right. The latter and Philip found John Chandon at his work. He left it to show Miss Winterhalter his pictures. She went into raptures over them; wondered, admired, and criticised : after the manner of young ladies in artists' studios. Jack thought how pleasant she was ; he liked her almost as much as he liked Philip. «Yon have a little sister, T hear, Mr Chandon, she said, drawing her flimsy mantle over her shoulders to depart. ' Philip has told me of her. I was in hopes I should sec her to-day. ' I'll go and find her, s id Jack. But he could not find her—and her bedroom door was bolted. Old Becky said she thought M ss Margot must have a headache and be lying down : she never fastened her door. , . So, as no Mignonne could be found. Miss Winterhalter was obliged to content herself with a look at the sketch which her cousin i roduced from some mysterious hiding-place. ' I really wish you painted portraits,' was her last gracious remark to Jack, ' I should surely "have mine painted.' And so she departed—her shimmering silks—her filroly laces, her dainty gloves, and her almost impossible bonnet, making her the centre of attraction everywhere ; and Philip attended her, and shared her glory. The days went on. And, from only a a chance* look-in now and then, Philip Winterhalter grew to visit the studio and Jack again very frequently. He kept Ins secret well; never giving a hint that he and his cousin wore, or would be, more than cousins Was he satisfied with that prospect himself? He did not say. But, one thing was certain : whenever he could escape from the fashionable world and from his relatives' fashionable house and entourage, be did ; and took refuge in the artist's plain home. Frederica was nice, charming, m every way a model fiancee, hut, somehow, he never felt, quite at case with her. There was nothing childish, unformed, for fresh about her ; she had been " in society" until she was perfectly acquainted with its entrances, exits, and complications : and was a thorough young lady of the world in all respects. Her cousin admired her, appreciated her beauty, her manners, and her conversation, and had fallen into the family arrangements without a murmur ; for the family had made up the match, not he and she. He had been congratulated as a e lucky fellow' by his envious friends, and had taken it for ; granted that he was one indeed, without j exerting himself to think much about it in any way. Latterly however he had begun ; to see things a little differently . to suspect that it was not in Frederica his happiness lay. Altogether, he was in a most uncertain frame of mind, and was glad to escape to Jack's for consolation. ' I d"n't know what I should do without a little friend like you,' he said to Mignonnc, during one of these hours of recuperation. ' It's solid comfort to run away from everybody and come here for a while.' ' Away from everybody,' repeated Mignonnc with wondering eyes. ' Away from Miss Winterhalter'?' ' Miss Winterhalter ? What makes you bring up her name, Mignonnc ? ' ' When Captain Blair was in the studio the other day, he said you were always with Miss Winterhalter ; 'that you thought her divine, and that she was so ' ' Captain Blair's a fool. I'd rather be here child than with Miss Winterhalter, divine though she is. One gets a bit of quiet here.' ' Yes, it is quiet,' sighed Mignonne. ' And sometimes very lonely.' « Lonely !' echoed Philip. ' Well I daresay you do find it s\' he added ; nobody but Jack and old Becky—and he always in his painting room. Would you like to go to the opera, Mignonne ? ' An eager flash from the sweet blue eyes. He could not mistake the silent answer they g. lve —the momentary pleasure that illumined them.

' There is to be a grand performance on Thursday evening next. I will take you to it, child - if we can unearth Jack from his shell, and get his consent Will you go ?' ' Oh. yes, if Jack will but agree !' she cried. ' What is the opera to be ?' " The Fonnambula '

1 Oh, I like it 1 I know some of the airs. That last one is beautiful- 'Do not mingle one human feeling.' My aunt never would take me to operas ; she said they were not jjood for little girls, and too expensive, besides.'

' We will go then, Mignonne.' Jack's favour was gained ; J aclc consented to be at the trouble for once of putting himself into an evening coat and necktie. He demurred at first ; but Mr Winterhalter said a few judicious words about poor Mignonne's very few pleasures. So Philip secured a box and appointed to bring a carriage and call for them.

' But if your aunt and cousin should want you to take them the same night—what then ?' asked Mignonnc.

' My aunt and cousin will not be in town. The? are going out oil Thursday morning to stay till Saturday.' Andperhaps —who knew 1— in that absence lay the secret of Philip's offer to take them. At the appointed hour Philip came, left the carriage, and ran np to the studio. It was locked ; and he turned to the little sitting room ; m which sat -lack Chandon. ' Beady, Jack? Where's Mignonne?' The opening of the door answered him. Philip stared. A young lady stood at it: but—was that Mignonne ? Mignonnc of the cotton frocks and undressed hair ? Mignonne, the little girl? Jt Avas Mignonne's face, certainly, and Mignonne's golden hair. But the hair was no longing behind, a silky mass of waves : it was braided and twisted in some glorious manner about her pretty he ad: one or two silken locks falling here and there over her shoulders. The cotton frock was supplanted by a prettily fashioned dress, which trailing behind her in soft folds, gave a new state!iness to her slender figure, and as she stood there blushing and smiling, a sudden unaccountable pain smote Philip Winterhalter's heart, Mignonne was a child no longer ; he had lost his little friend for over.

'Do you not like me as well?' she said, putting out her hand half timidly. ' Jack did not know me at fust. The dressmaker says I ought not to go on wearing those childish things—l am too oil for them.' ' I don't believe you are too old for them/ rejoined Philip, in a sudden storm.

'I am quite nineteen, you know,'—this rather defiantly. ' And so—and so—here I am.' ' How beautiful she is,' thought Philip, as he took her hand for a moment; and then—with a flash of dismay and anger, ' What a fool I have been ! —what a fearful and wonderful simpleton ! She is not a child, as I have been foolishly pretending to myself; she's a woman. I love her better than the whole world. And there's Frederica .'—and what on earth will come of it ? ' All that evening he watched the lovely face as though in a dream. Not one word that was spoken around him, not one air sung on the stage did he hear or understand; he even answered Mignonne at random, and grew almost irritable when she laughed at his preoccupation, although he begged her pardon most humbly a minute after. ' See,' she said suddenly, at the olo j e of the first act, ' there is your cousin, Mr Winterhalter. She is bowing to you.' Truly there was Frederica, languidly waving her fan in an opposite box, and smiling upon him graciously -looking at his companion meanwhile, through her glasses, with a certain sharp, curious admiration. • How very beautiful she is,' said Mig nonne. ' But I thought you said they would be out of town ? '

He was bowing to his cousin and aunt with an air of constraint. It struck Mignonne forcibly. All in a moment an instinct came to her —she knew lie did not care, for some reason or other, to be seen there with her, now that Frederica was present. A crimson Hush mantled to her very temples ; hot tears filled her eyes. ' Oh, Mr Winterhalter !' she cred,' in the moment's impulse, her lips quivering, ' I am so sorry ! I wish we had not come. But we can go home again—now.' He turned to her quite sharply ; vexed that she should have read him so clearly. But he smoothed his face and told her she was quite misunderstanding him. What ou earth had brought those relatives of his here tonight, he wondered. Their visit out of town must have been put off He tried tojlook at his ease, and to pay attention to the opera. Frederica kept smiling and nodding to him in the intervals of her conversation with Captain Blair—who sat by Frcdrica as he often did. At the end of the next act, Philip, leaving Jack and Mignonne, made his way to their box, and Captain Blair quitted it. Mrs Winterhalter looked rather grimmer than usual. Frederica was gracious in the extreme. ' Who is that, that you are with, Philip ?' asked she.

' John Chandon.' ' I know him. I mean the young lady.' ' His sister.' 'Why, you told me he had but one sister I' • He has but one.' ' Is she the one you call Mignonne ? ' Philip nodded. ' Then what made you say she was a little girl ?' ' I thought she was—till this evening,' cried poor Philip, uneasily. ' She wore cotton frocks, and had her hair down her back.'

Frederica laughed. ' I don't see how you could have mistaken yonder young lady for a little girl, though she did wear her hair down her back, and a cotton frock.' 'l'm sure I did,' he said. ' I don't believe you, Philip. You are telling me a wretched story.' And Miss Winterhalter flirted her fan saucily and looked inquisitively into his eyes. Whether he had told her a wretched story or not, he himself was feeling wretched —he knew that.

* Mamma,' said she, ' I am going for a few minutes to that opposite box. Yonder young lady is Jolui Chandon's sister—and a name of Philip's, I fancy. Philip, you must take me.' There was no resisting her will. Mrs Winterhalter sourly demanded to know what her daughter meant, and what she could be talking of But Frederica coolly put her arm within her cousin's, and walked out of the box with him.

Miguonnc, getting over licr first shyness, was soon at ease with Miss Winterhalter. Jack stood at the back of the box while she stayed. Philip never opened his lips. Philip Winterhalter sat communing with himself. How the world had changed to him in the last few hours I How bitterly hard it would be to go on with the old life ? Frederica? Yes, he liked her very much as his cousin—but he should not like her as his wife, for he loved that child Mignonne. ' I will call and see you to-morrow at the studio, Miss Chandon,' said Frederica, as she rose to return. ' And you must conic to see me ; Philip will bring you. I hope we shall be good friends. •How little she knows!' thought Philip.

' What in the name of wonder makes you so silent, Philip ?' quoth she, as the box door was closed by Jack behind them and they found themselves in the lobby. ' Am I silent ?'

' You stupid fellow ! As if you did not know you were—and know the cause al:-io. You are in love, sir, with that sweet girl.' ' For goodness' sake don't talk nonsense, Fredrioa.?

'* Nonsonso, you call it ! Look here : why should you not honestly avow the truth to met I am not goiug to have you, you know.'

' What do you mean V ' I will confess to you, as you won't to me, Inm engaged to somebody else. I daresay you can guess who it is." His face and lips were; working with emotion. ' Are—are yauplaying with me? 1 he hoarsely asked. ' Now, Philip, don't protend to misunderstand me. No, sir, lam not playing with you. It was all very well for our two wise mothers to make up a match between us : but I think they might have paid us the compliment to consult us rirst, don't you ? You have not cared tonne, sir, and I'm sure I have not cared —in that way- for you. Philip, 1 am serious,' she added, brushing away a tear. ■ I like, and have long liked. somebody else. And I only wonder you have not seen it long ago.' ' Captain Blair '.'

' Just so. He and I would not each have anybody else for the world. We are privately engaged—and I hope my mother won't quite die of it. He is not as rich as you are, Philip- but he has enough—aud lam an heiress, you know, in a small way. He means to ask you to be his bast man.' ' If we were not in this public place, I should like to give you a shower of cousin's kisses,' breathed Philip, a strange joy iu his tone.

1 Keep them for Mignonne,' laughed she ' I have suspected you : and so has Arthur Blair—lie lias seea you with her at the

' studio. But we must go in, Philip: mamma will be sending the boxkeeper after me.' Captain Blair was with Mrs Winterhalter again. Philip pressed his hand : ' Your best man,' he whispered. ' Heaven prosper and bless you both !' ' All right,' nodded Captain Blair. ' The same to you old friend.' Philip Winterhaiter went baek to his own box by.and-by. Jack, leaning over Mig nonne's shoulder, was listening attentively to the singing. The opera was approaching its close.

'Jack,' he whispered, 'she's a woman now, not a girl.' ' I know it - I see it, said Jack, rather ruefully. ' I'm afraid I shall have to get the old aunt to livf with us.'

' No. you will not -don't fash yourself. Will you give her to me.' 'What, the old aunt?'

'Mignonne ' 1 Give Mignonne —to you !' uttered Jack, from the depth of his astonishment. ' What do you mean ?' ' Only that. 1 want a wife, Chandon, and I want that wife to be Mignonne.' ' But you are going to marry Miss Winterhalter. ' ' Not a bit of it. Miss Minterhalter marries somebody else—yon martial cavalier by her side. I must have Mignonne —or nobody.' ' Well, I never !' exclaimed Jack Chanhon, too much amazed for other words. ' Little Mignonne !'

Mr Winterhalter was already whispering into Mignonne's ear He watched the changing of the sweet countenance, as she listened to him ; the blushes, pink as rosy morn, that tinged her cheeks the gladness stealiug into the eyes. ' But - poor Jack ?' she faintly breathed. ' How lonely he will be. And there's his housekeeping !—and the accounts ! Becky's nobody.' ' You shall go and see Jack every d y,' he answered. 'Jack shall be my brother as well as yours, Mignonne. And we will keep his accounts together.' The house was rising. The final air which she so loved, and to which she only knewthe English words, floated ou her ear—- ' Do not mingle one human feeling With the blisses o'er each sense stealing ' Ah, never before had the song brought to her heart this rapture ! never hereafter would she love any other song as she loved this. A. L. F. POETRY. BETTER IN THE MORNING. (fjbom tiik concord monitor.) " You can't help the baby, parson, But still I want ye to go Down an' look in upon her, An' read an' pray, you know. Only last week she was skippin' round A pullin' my whiskers 'n' hair, A climbin' up to the table Into her little high chair. '' The first night that she took it, When her little cheeks grew red When she kissed good night to papa, And went away to bed — Sez she, • 'Tis headache, papa, Be better in mornin' —bye ;' An' somethin' in how she said it Jest made me want to cry.

'' But the mornin' brought the fever, And her little hands were hot, An' the pretty red uv her little cheeks Grew into a crimson spot. But she laid there jest ez patient Ez ever a woman could Taking whatever we give her Better'n a grown woman would.

'' The days are terrible long an' slow An' she's growin' wus in each ; An' now she's jest a slippin' Clear away out uv our reach. Every night when I kiss her, Tryin' hard not to cry. She says in a way that kills me—- ' Be better in morning—bye !'

"She can't get thro' the night, parson, So I want yc to come an' pray, And talk with mother a little— You'll know jest what to say— Not that the baby needs it, Nor that we make any complaint That God seems to think he's ncedin' The smile uv the little saint."

I walked along with the corporal ;. To the door of his humble home, ,| To which the silent messenger | Before me had also come ; l And if he had been a titled prince, ■ I would not have been honored more j. Than I was Avith hi 3 heartfelt welcome To his lowly cottage door. |

Night falls again in the cottage ; They move in silence and dread Around the room where the baby Lies panting upon her bed. " Does baby know papa, darling " And she moves her little, face, Willi answer that .shows she knows him But scarce a visible trace

On her wonderful infantile beauty Remains as it was before ; Tho unseen, silent messenger Had waited at the door. " Papa—kiss baby ; I's—so —tired." The man bows low his face, And two swollen hands arc lifted In baby's last embrace. And into her father's grizzled beard The little red fingers cling, While her husky whispered tenderness Tears from a rock would wring, '' Baby is so sick papa— But don't want you to — cry ;'"' The little bands fall on the coverlet—- •■ Be—better in —mo-nun' bye !" And night around baby i • falling, Settling down dark and dense • Doe. c : God need tbtir darling in heaven That Ho must carry her hence "? I prayed, with tears in my voice, As the corporal solemnly knelt With such grief as never before His great warm heart had felt.

Oh ! frivolous men and women ! Do you know that around you, and nigh— Alike from the humble and haughty Groeth up evermore the cry : "My child, my precious, my darling, How can I let you die ?" Oh ! hear ye the white lips whisper—- '' Be—better——in rooimu' ■ ■»■ bye!"