LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1238, 22 February 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MY HEROINE. Argosy. (Continued. ) I promised nothing; but when he had gone I thought seriously of his recommendation. The danger was not worth thinking of. Herve would not repeat his attempt; and in any ca<e I was forewarned. But the talk of a little town like Dieppe was to be dreaded. Would it not ricochet from me to Annette, from Annette to Herve, confusing us all in one of those medleys of scandal that delight the provincial mind ? Had I not been given to understand that the attention of the commissary had already been called to No. 13 Rue de la Poissonnerie ? I saw myself confronted with the fisher-lad in a dingy office of the Mairie. I saw sensational paragraphs *in the "Gazette des Tribunaux." The doctor was right. I must vacate my present quarters. And then recurred that terrible problem of pounds, shillings, and pence —the Sphinx with the hieroglyphics A s. d. that frowas us down into ' men of business' in our fiercest moment of heroism, in our fairest hour of poesy. My illness, I took it, must have singularly complicated my financial position. Labours that were to provide for the immediate future had been neglected ; letters had been left unanswered; all the rapid machinery ;i (the mill is full of cranks and wheels, though it occasionally grinds no grain) of a literary life had been stopped, andthe result was somethiug e momentary bankruptcy. Lwas engaged in an inquiry into my liabilities, when Annette appeared. She was watching me quietly when I first perceived her in the doorway. I fancied her smile when our eyes met was less joyous'and infantine than usual.

' Are you looking for letters?' she said. I drew her to a seat. I must explain the reason of my inquiry ; bat explanation was difficult for a simple lover who had never mentioned worldly goods to his future wife. ' Yon see, Annette,' I began, 'I am not rich. My illness must have been expensive.' I assumed a light tone, which did uot make her smile. 'And I fi;d I must leave the Pollet for a while ; so I want to settle my accounts.' This last with an audacious rush. ' Leave us !' was all she said. ' Not *' n*, ,! then ; leave this room—not the dear girl that gladdens it.' After that I think our conversation took a highly lyrical tone. But lyricism ended in this case as it seldom does.

4 Hillo !' I cried, 'why I (have thirty - three pounds left 1' ' Vaai !' said Annette, looking over my shoulder and pinchmg me vehemently. ' Vrai !' I was perfectly serious—suspicious even. K There was not more than forty pounds in that bag when—well, when I fell ill. What have yiu been doing?' I turned on her fiercely, poor child. I fancied a thousand humiliating things-a thousand intolerable sacrifices. She smiled confidently. 1 Oh, you don't know the value of a five franc piece ! 0 ce mi-lord !' And she indulged in a gesture that I had seen Theresa excel in. hut I did not like it, in spite of its artistic antecedents. I was pulled. I had excellent reasons for supposing that M. le Houx did not consider rheumatic fever an excuse for not paying one's debts, liy bills had been regularly presented and paid. Thete they were among my papers, bearing the comforting ■pour acquit and sprawling signature. Annette observed my perplexed countenance with evident amusement. She was ga)'er than I had yet seen her. ' Alloys,' she said, ' you are a fine writer' —this with a bewitching little cnrtsy — < but you are shamefully ignorant of bookkeeping.' 'Annette, you have not interfered in this ? It would be wrong —very wrong—and most painful to me ' • What a child he is! No, no. I have no money to give. And do you imagine that I have been thinking about (If- gros sous while you were lying there? It's bad—it's bad of you !' I could not comprehend ; but I had faith. I must have misca ! culated, forgotteu, or lost sight of a bank-note in some corner of the bag. Or else my fever had troubled my memory. I returned to the hotel. . Herve remained invisible. Annette and I met often on the bleak road to Puys, and as her character unfolded itself to me i began to lose all

anxiety as to her reception in the onlysociety for whose verdict I cared. Heaven knows how the little witch had learnt many things that are not taught in the Pollet. One day she would mention Gounod's ' Faust' with an unmistakable knowledge of its legend and its .music, though I am afraid she openly professed a preference for Lecocq. But I have met far greater ladies who sinned in the same way. Then her perception was quick where her knowledge was slight. She understood allusions to current events and historical examples. If a parallel between Monk and VfacMahon didnot present itself to her mind with perfect distinctness, she guessed its meaning in a trice. She knew that Dumas had written the ' Dame aux iCamelias' and "Victor Hugo * Qaatre-vingt-treize.' She knew that Walter Scott was an historical novelist, and Milton a religions poet. I doubt whether she bad ever read any really famous or valuable book, whether she had ever attained a clear reasonable conception of an historical event; but she had read books and newspapers that dealt with such things lightly and amusingly, gathered crumbs and sbreds of knowledge from chance conversation?, aud shtjhad scqoired the most valuable art of making a knowledge of names pass for the knowledge of things. In a word she had the supreme social virtue -tact. My novel was finished. I was expecting the last proof-sheets. The first announcement, 'Heady this day,' was to bnng me back to town. And in April I was to return, and carry home my wife. I issued from the Grand Cafe one afternoon with my fiiend the lieutenant, and met Annette le tfoux at the corner of the fishmarket I made no sign. It was arranged that I should act thus. But planting himself in the middle of the pavement, and exibitiDg his bust to ths best advantage, M. le Lieutenant made an elaborate and seductive bow. Annette, colouring, had passed ere his salutation was completed. ' That is my former landlord's daughter,' I said carelessly, and with a fierce desire to piok a quarrel with the lieutenant on the spot.

' Mdllo. le Hoax j yes.' And my friend assumed his lackadaisical Boulevard air. ' You know her ?' 1 A litfc'e. We have met before. Beau Hen de fille, hein V I will nut say what thoughts, wbat dreams, I had. The utter vulgarity of my story appals me. Bat on the morrow I rose late, feeling unreasonably angry, and ashamed of my anger. It was market-day. The bells of Ssint Pierre seemed to ring ceaselessly, and 1 could not, for the life of me, help setting preposterous, meaningless sentences to the monotonous tune. The market-place was full. The hideously ancient dames with brilliantly bandaged heads, the countrymen in their pleated and embroidered Sunday blouses, the fisher-folk in their usual inflexible attire, formed the moving, crying, gesticulating background of a scene I was by this time tolerably familiar with. 1 had painted it with the most realistic colours on my palette, but to-day, somehow, the colours seemed to have faded. Ino longer cared to observe the canny Norman haggling, over a soil or a carrot, the little tricks and juggleries of the small haberdashers to force their ribbons and staylaces upon a red> deoing and reluctant farm-wench, the melodramatic tone and gesture of the fish auctioneer, the piou-piou's vacant gazes with his hands in his pockets -it was all stale and wearisome, and I wondered how a man could write half a page about it. There, at the corner of a stall, hedged in by two stalwart women-porters, I came face to face with Herve Je Houx. His morning had been spent at the wine-shop, I could see. This was our first meeting; and I, the vie! im, was certainly more embarrassed than the assassin. 1 was passing without appearing to notice him when he turned towards me, as though a sudden idea had struck him. ' He, Monsieur FAnglais !' I supposed he was senselessly drunk, and, dreading a scene in the market-place, made no reply. But, not boisterously—not even discourteously even—he came nearer, and said tranquilly,

(ZV> he continued.}