THE ROMANCE OF THE HOTEL OF THE STAR.

Patea Mail, Volume VIII, Issue 1049, 20 June 1883, Page 4

THE ROMANCE OF THE HOTEL OF THE STAR.

LITERATURE.

She was silent for a minute, looking past me with distended eyes. ‘ I was an only, child, and I never knew my parents; my mother died in giving me birth, my father followed six months after; my only v relative, an uncle, was unmarried, and he sent me to the Convent at Treilles; there I remained until I was seventeen years of age, poorly fed, poorly clad, and badly taught, or, to tell the truth, not taught at all; growing'up amid universal neglect and despite. I often wonder now, looking back at that time, that,!-! lived through 'it; and ofteuer still ■ I wish that I had not. At seventeen I was taken from the convent to be married to my late husband, M. Malines; I can remember with what feelings I received the news of my approaching release ; I was going to exchange a prison for a paradise —a loveless existence for one santified by love ; I believed men loved their wives then, Mr Gordon ; I was only seventeen That was the disillusion ; the world remembers ray late husband with reverence as a scholar and man of genius; his wife remembers him with loathing, as a cruel and niggardly tyrant; by marrying him I exchanged one prison for another; the neglect of many for whom I had no feeling for the neglect of one whom I strove to love and honour, but who repelled me with cold suspicion; at the convent I had been despised for my poverty; in the world I was, received with fulsome flattery, the meed of my high position and my husband’s wealth ; I wore jewels duchesses envied, drove horses which were the admiration of Paris, lived on the Boulevard des Ilaleans, and at the grand hotels of Nice and Baden ; and I went to bed in the dark to save the expense of a candle, and spent the greater, part of my mean allowance of pocket money in supplementing my meagre meals served on solid silver by half a dozen flunkeys.” She spoke of these sordid details of her married life with a calm voice and manner, with only the slow-burning fire in her eyes to speak the passionate contempt she felt. ‘I had at hand the remedy which other women in my then position often take. I have been told that I have more than the common share of beauty often enough to believe it; and such love as the brainless fops who throng Parisian drawingrrooms have to give, such love as our novelists write of so flowinly, I might have had ; will you believe me, Mr Gordon—l find it difficult to believe myself sometimes, remembering that time—that I was true to my husband in word, and deed, and thought?’ There was no capacity of vulgar crime in the soul which found expression in her eyes, and I believed her; she went on? with her story calmly still. ‘ The uncle of whom I have spoken was rich. I had been taught so well, by him and others, that a creature in my friendless condition should be only too thankful for any help at all, that the idea that some part of his riches might have beeh used for the softening of my hard lot at the convent never crossed my mind; I was grateful for the care which had found me even so mean an asylum from actual hunger and nakedness which would, I was taught to believe, have been my portion but for my uncle; well, Mr Gordon, I learned by his death-bed confession, when the cowardice which he, and the priest who attended him, called repentance, forced him to confess the wrong he bad done me, that my parents had been rich, and that their wealth was mine, and that he had robbed me of it; that, so far, Mr Gordon, has been my experience of men ; my only kinsman, the brother of my dead father, robbed me of my childhood ; ray husband robbed me of my youth; and now when a woman’s life should be just beginning mine is ended.” ‘ We are such fools, we women,” she went on, with a self-scorn very terrible to see, ‘ that to the end of the chapter, let us be deceived as we may, we must love, and hope for love. I know your errand here., I can guess pretty fairly the means yon will use to fulfil it. You will pay me the doubtful compliment of saying that your friend is unworthy of me. You cannot know that better than I; it is emblematic of my whole life that I should fix my love upon a creature I despise. It is more emblematic still that the shadow of happiness I seek in him should be denied me. I have told you I despise him; I do; but I love him too. Oh I Mr Gordon, think what that means, and have some pity for me.” The emotion with which 'she made this appeal—an emotion which touched me deeply—-had faded from face and voice before she spoke again, though the pause was but a short one. * I have already learned to know sorrow and disappointment so well, and have learned, too, to appreciate at their true value those illusions which happier people have but to believe to. convert into realities, that no sorrow or disappointment that life may have in store for me can hurt me much. There can be no question between such a one as I and any creature who has yet to learn what life means. This girl—Walter’s fiancee -—you know her too ?’ ‘ I have known her all her-life; I am her guardian.”

‘ She loves him ?’ 1 Dearly ?’ * And he ?’ I hesitated in my reply; Madame Malines smiled bitterly. * Yon are delicate, Mr Gordon, without cause. He does not love me. He would marry me, perhaps $ but not from love. You may speak freely.’ ‘ I think,’ I answered, ‘ that be loves her as well as such nature can love anything ; it is an unfortunate business, Madame Malines ; I hardly know which to pity most, you or her.’ ‘ You" are unfavourable to the match.’ ‘ Yes; I have done all that was possible to prevent it.’ ‘ Don’t look at things too gloomy, Mr

Gordon/ said my companion ; ‘a good woman may do woriders—a good woman may reform Walter; he will follow any leader; let her lead him in the right direction." Five minutes before I had been vainly seeking for some word of comfort for the woman who now spoke, comforting me. 1 Of one thing at least you may be sure ; you need fear nothing from me.’ She rose and struck a gong upon the chimneypiece, and then hurriedly traced a few words upon a sheet of paper. ‘ Tell Adele to pack everything, and forward to that address.” There was not a tremor in the hand which extended the paper. ‘ Order my carriage at once ; I shall be ready in ten minutes.” She left the room without another word. Presently I heard the roll of wheels and tramp of hoofs again, and the red carriage-lamp glared through the mist outside. I walked to the door. Madame Malines, her face thickly veiled, gave me one swift pressure of the hand ; the carriage Jurclied- and-Fattled away, and as the wheels left the stones and struce upon the soundless leaves beyond, a hand fell upon my shoulder. I turned, and saw Walter beside me. ‘ Who...was, that ?’. he .asked, with a nod in the direction; of the lessening sound. ‘ Madame Malines.” ■ The next train for Luxembourg, imonsicnr ? To-morrow morning at six o’clock,” (To he continued.)