THE ROMANCE OF THE HOTEL OF THE STAR.

Patea Mail, Volume VIII, Issue 1040, 22 June 1883, Page 4

THE ROMANCE OF THE HOTEL OF THE STAR.

LITERATURE.

( Concluded.') The official bustled away, the horn sounded, and the train which had deposited us upon the platform of the little station of Pastal steamed slowly away. ‘ Your luggage, messieurs !’ inquired a bloused and flat-capped porter, bearing upon his arm with which he pointed a brass plate, on which was inscribed ‘ Hotel cle I’Etoile.’ ‘ Yes.’ ‘ The messieurs go to the hotel !’ ‘ I am not sure,’ I answered. ‘ Walter, one moment; we will be back directly, Mary.’ I led Walter aside, and as I looked at him I saw the trouble in my face was reflected in his own. ‘ls there any other hotel in the place?’ ‘No.’ His face was white, and he pulled bis moustache with an uneasy hand. ‘ Then there is no choice,’ I said ; we must go to the Etoile.’ ‘ Yon may go,’ he answered— ‘ I won’t. I’d rather spend the night in the fields.’ I was angry at his cowardice, and showed it. ‘ It is five years since we were here—since we met Madame Malines. Of all unlikely things in the world, it is the least likely that she will be here ; and even if she is, we may avoid her ; you surely have no fear of yourself at this time of day ; be a man. We must find a shelter for Mary, and you must go with ns.’ He yielded to my arguments, and we mounted the remarkable carriage, the very same as had borne me that day five years ago, to rny first and last interview with Madame Malines. Changes had come about since then. Walter and Mary were married, and happier together than I had ever dared to hope. We were on our fourth yearly excursion to the Continent in each other’s company, and bad discovered, when to late, that the only route from Brussels to Luxembourg lay through Pastal. Walter had been so discomfited by the discovery that he had aroused Mary’s anxiety, and explanation was impossible, as we bad long since made a compact never to mention the name of Madame Malines in her presence. We proceeded in almost unbroken silence to the hotel. As we entered I could not help glancing hurriedly at the place where the remarkable woman who had dwelt so much in my thoughts had last stood in my presence. The room was empty, save for the hotel servant, who came forward to welcome ns. It was close upon the hour of dinner; and after a short retirement to our separate chambers to clear away the stains of travel, we returned to the room to find that meal in progress. The guests were of the ordinary type of Belgian summer visitors respectable native tradesmen from Mechlin and Brussels and Namur, with their wives and children, with a sprinkling of Germans, French, and English, whose warring tongues created a veritable Babel. At the conclusion of dinner the majority of guests betook themselves to a neighbouring room, to listen to the strains of a piano presided at by a young Englishwoman, and to lounge and chat and flirt,, after the immemorial custom of miscellaneous assortment of humanity in general. The hotel garden, {seen through the glass doors, looked peculiarly cool and refreshing after the sultry heat of the day; and, ordering a cup of coffee and a cigar, I went thither and took my seat at a little iron-topped table, hidden behind a boquet of rhododendron and myrtle.

The moon, lay down in the violet of the evening sky, was at the full, the air was still as death, and an occasional muffled note from the little wood which clothed the swelling rise of the hill, whose thick-growing clumps of leafage were gilded by the evening beam, was all that broke the brooding silence of the summer night. It was a time and place for peaceful dreams, and my thoughts were happy. But suddenly, half-dozing in my deep content, my ear caught a rustle of the boughs near at hand, and, as I turned, a form gilded into the moonlight before me, and a voice fell on my ear. ' ‘ Good evening, Mr Gordon.’ I sprang to my feet, half doubting my waking state. The voice laughed. ‘You have forgotten me, then, and your memory is no better than other people’s.’ ‘ Madame Malines ?’ ‘ The same. Are yon glad or sorry to meet me Mr Gordon ?’ I did not answer the query in my trouble, and she laughed again. Troubled as was by her sudden apparition, I thought I detected something in her laugh which was not all bitterness or sell-mockery, though it was principally prompted by those sorrowful emotions. I was about to appeal to her, when she spoke again. ‘ Yon need have no fear of me, Mr Gordon. 1 will not harm the pretty pair. I saw them with you when you came, and avoided you till I found this chance of speaking to yon alone.’ She took a seat beside me, and went on calmly. ‘ They are happy, and my own sorrows have taught this much—that happiness is so rare a thing, and lasts so short a time, that it should be left to live out its own brief life. Trouble will come to them, as to all, soon enough. You need not think that any act of mine will hasten it. They are happy, I hope ?’ ‘They are happier, I answered, ‘ than in the old days I ever dared to hope.’ ‘ When do yon go V ; she asked, suddenly, after a minute’s silence. ‘ By the first train to-morrow morning,’ I answered. ‘ So soon ? Then, will yon promise me one thing, Mr Gordon ?’ ‘Certainly.’ ‘ I have something to show you. Will you come to ray sitting-room, and see it ? No, not now,’ she said, as I halfrose, ‘ to-morrow morning, before you

start ? Do not think it will be too early ; I shall be waiting for you. Yon promise? Yery many thanks.’ I promised, wondering what • this might mean; and she went away, as quietly as she had come, after giving me the number of her room. Her hand, as it touched mine at parting, was like ice.

When I went within, my face betrayed that something unexpected had happened, I suppose, for both Walter and Mary questioned mo as to my disturbed appearance. I put them off with some commonplace reply, and soon retired to bed, but not to sleep, passing the night in thinking of the strange hazard which hap again thrown me in the path of this strange woman. Early in the morning I rose and performed ray toilet, looking forward to the coming interview with -feelings of doubt and ? wonder. What could it be that she had to show me ? I asked myself again and again. At last, weary of asking and finding no answer, I left my room, and passed along the corridor leading to the chamber in which my rendezvous was appointed. The door stood half open. I knocked lightly and received no answer, though I repeated the summons some three or four times. I entered, and looked about me. Through the half-closed shutters fell one broad band of golden light upon, the floor. The place was empty. There was a faint, sickly perfume in the air, which assuredly was not born of the flowers whose petals trembled in the morning light, Stay, what was that 1 It lay back, shrouded in the shadow, on a sofa in the farthest corner of the room. Scarce daring to recognise the fear which filled my heart I advanced toward it, A mass of waving black hair lay on the pillow, a-nd streamed about the white face, whose moveless eyes stared through the tangled locks. 1 drew the frail covering aside, and saw —Madame Malines.