CHAPTER XVII.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 180, 27 November 1886, Page 8

CHAPTER XVII.

A PORTRAIT WITH A HISTORY. Mr Forest's business detained him at Havre for teveral days, during which time Arthur occupied hif» time much as u°ual iv seeking his own pleasure. But he did not appear to be in aa good spirits as usual ; something seemed to worry and dopress him although he strove to conceal it from his friends, and at times assumed a gayety •which, even to them, seemed forced and unnatural. One day, shortly after the return of Mr Forest, Mrs Houghton arranged for a trip to Versailles. Mr Forost and Arthur Avsro invited to join the paity, also Louis and some young friends of Mrs Parker, and Ada and the merry company started forth one bright morning, all eager to visit that wonderful palace, around which there dust rs so much of thrilling romance and tragedy. Tho day was perfect, and the ten miles drive over the lovely roads wa3 one never to be forgotten. They reached the royal palace about noon, having stopped on the way thither to view the house of Saint Cloud, the magnificent aad favourite residonco of Napoleon Third ; and here they roamed in pleasure through its marble halls, its vast apartments, and galleries, ffatuary, and curiosities of every description. Thenco to Le Gi and Trianon, whore Napoleon resided with Josephine, and whore he conceived the infamous plan of sacrificing that lovely woman to his inordinate ambition. From there they went to Le Petit Trianon, the charming residence of the ill-fated Queen Marie Antoinette; then to the royal stables, where, in empty and silent state, stand the elegant though ponderous vehicles once used for the pleasure of the imperial household. Then came a stroll through the beautiful park, adorned with magnificent statuary, sp-ukling with fountains, its walks winding through romantic grottoes, beneath the shadows of moss grown rocks and along the margins of rippling streams, or the shores of quiet and beautiful lakes, and through groves of orange, and myrtle, and pine. To our young lovers, Louis and Margaret, this was a day of unalloyed delight ; and to Margaret the beauties of the park were les=! interesting than the curiosities ■within the palace, and finally telling Mra Houghton that they were going back to the picture gallery in Le Petit Trianon, they slipped away unobserved by the rest of tho party, found a guide to whom they made known thoir desire, and were soon deep in the study of those rare and beautiful pictures that adorn the walls of that lovely Ailla. During a tour of the main gallery they came upon a picture, evidently the portrait of a remarkably lovely woman, which they had not noticed before. She was young, scarcely twenty, one would judge, and a vision that once seen could never be forgotten. A beautifully shaped head was re upon a pair of graceful shoulders ; a wealth of rich brown hair was gathered back from a pure white forehead, save a few delicate rings which lay lightly upon it ; the eyes were lavge, dark, and liquid, and seemed to hold one with an expression which was difficult to fathom. The nose was email, the nostrils peculiarly delicate ; the smiling mouth was arch, yet wonderfully sweet and tender, the whole face a pure and perfect oval, the chief charm of which, however, lay in the fascinating ejres. " Where have I seen such eyes before ?" murmured Louis, meditatively. " There is a glory, and beauty, and tenderness in them that thrill me strangely." Margaret glanced up at him as he said this. He had bared his head, and stood gazing at the wonderful picture with wistful earnestness. Margaret Houghton'a own beautiful face paled a trifle. She started— glanced from him to tho picture, from the picture back to her lover again. "Where?" she breathed, in a low, startled tone. " Louis, go to the glass over i yonder and look into your own eyes ; mark the shape of your head, your brows, the contour of your whole face You will find the counterpart of this picture in the reflection of your own countenance, only, of course, it is not quite so effeminate." "Margaret, what are you saying? Smely you cannot mean anything so absurd !" ths young man exclaimed. "Go look," she repeated, giving him «• gentle push toward a lofty pier glass on the opposite side of the room. He went smiling, yet with a strange sensation at his heart. There had been something in the portrait that he had recognised, and now he had a vague idea that it was something like him. But as he stood before the glass and looked at his reflection his face became grave, hi 3 heart grew quick and heavy in its pulsations. But those glorious eyes opposite— ho could see them in the glass behind him, and now they eeemod to meet, and hold his almost with a look of recognition — might have been painted for his own. That brow, though a tiiflo more delicate and refined, was the exact outline of his own ; and the head, though not so massive and strongly developed, was the very counterpart of that reflected in the glass. "It is wonderful ! he said, going back to the side of ot his betrothed. "You see the resemblance, then?" the fair girl said. "Of course — I cannot help it." "I wonder who she was?, Perhaps," Margarot added, more lightly and smiling, " you will yet find that you belong to the; nobilty of la belle France." "Nonsense, dear ;it is only one, of those circumstances which people term a remarkable coincidence," he answered, sceptically. '* I do not believe it," MatgareJ; returned positively while her eyes rested studiously upon the fair face looking dowp .upon them from the ca,nvas. "I am impressed, t Louis, i that you, are in some- way connected with thjtejbeautjfulwoman. The door opened while she was speaking, and her mother, followed by several of their party, entered the room, " Do come here, mamma, Mr Forest," she continued, eagerly turning toward them, '

" and tell me if , you do not think Mr Dunbar's resemblance to this picture something wonderful. Look," she went on excitedly, " at those eyes — the shape, colour, and expression are identical ! see the peculiar curve of the brows — the Bhape of the head." '•Really, Mr Dunbar, it is strangely like you,' Mrs Houghcon obeerved with surprise. "Ah 1 Mr Forest, you [observe it also," Margaret said, as that gentleman came forward, looked up at the picture, gave a violent start and then turned eagerly toward Louis. " It is wonderful !" he said, after gazing into the young man's eyes for a moment, but they all noticed that he spoke in a strained, unnatural voice, and wondered that he should turn so abruptly away afterward. Others of the party gathered around and commented upon the resemblance, and so no one saw, for the moment, Arthur Aspinwall, who had entered the room last, nor the frightened start which he had given upon seeing the picture and hearing the conversation regarding it. No one had seen him grow deadly pale and suddenly clutch at his neck-tie as if it were choking him ; nor the fierce light that had leaped into his oyes as they fell upon Louis ; neither had they heard the lowbreathed imprecation that had escaped him a«», glancing fiorn tho protrait to the young man, he seemed to find in the strange likeness between the two a deadlier cause than ever for hatred toward hi 3 old-time enemy. But he quickly recovered himself and came forward to join the circle. "Humph!" he ejaculated, sceptically, " it is simply what one would call a ' freak of nature.' That woman, one can see at a glance, was French, through and through, while any one cannot doubt that Dunbar is of Scotch descent, as his name indicates." Margaret Houghton's cheok reddened at his sneering tone. "I own," she said, turning to him with cold dignity, " that Mr Dunbar has the &plendid physique of the Scotch race, but that does not prove that some of his ancestors may not have been of Fronch descent. However that may havo been, I never saw a more vivid resemblance between two faces. ' Mr Forost, who hat] been butily engaged in turning the leaves of his guide-book, now came forward atjain. " I have been looking for tho name of the picture," he said ; "it is simply catalogued as the 'Portrait of a Lady-in-waiting to Marie Antoinette " " That is very unsatisfactory," said Margaret, looking disappointed. " I am exceedingly curious to know her name. Ah, there is the gentleman who explained some of the curiosities in the library to ua," she added, as an elderly gentleman entered the room. "I am going to ask him about it." She approached him in her sweet, gracious way, and aeked him if he could tell them anything about the picture that had interested them so much. " What is the nurnbor ?" he asked. " Number 22, and the guide-book merely says ifc is the ' Portrait of a Lady-in waiting to Marie Antoinette.' We are particularly interested in ib," Margaret added, " because one of our party resembles the picture so strikingly— that gentleman standing near it with his hat off " The beautiful girl's face flushed a lovely colour as ehe thus called attention to her lover, who stood there looking so grand, and manJy, and handsome. " Oni, oui i" responded the Frenchman, his eye 3 now riveted with astonishment upon the young man. " Oui, oui !" ho ropeated ; " I tell mademoiselle presently," and turning abruptly, he trotted into a corner of the room, whe>*e there stood an ancient-looking desk of solid ebony richly inlaid with gold. Drawing a key from bis pocket, he unlocked a compartment of it, and took thence a book. Opening it at a certain pTge, he found a paragraph headed "No. 22," and handing the book to Margaret with a polite bow, lie remarked that it was a descriptive and historical catalogue, and the paragraph would doubtless give her the information she desired. With her beautiful eyes gleaming and her face all aglow, Margaret took the precious book and went back to her friends, and read aloud^tho follow ing : - "Number 22. Portrait of Mile. Louis de Brienze, Lady-in-waiting to Marie Antoinette in 1790-3. Youngest daughter of M. Lomenie de Brienze. tihe was the special favourite of the queen, and the acknowledged beauty of the court. At the outbreak of the revolution she alone of all her family escaped an J fled to Scotland. Marie Antoinette was deeply attached to her and very proud of her beauty, giving an order in 1791 for her portrait to be painted by the court painter. ' "Oh, dear!" sighed Miss Houghton, lifting her wistful eyes and speaking in a tone of regret, as she finished reading the abovo ; "I vi ish I could learn moro about her— l want to know what became of her after she escaped to Scotland." " I am afraid, Margie, you are weaving a very disappointing romance in that fertile brain of yours," Mrs Houghton remarked, smiling, a3 she saw her daughter's eyes rove again to tho picture and then to her lover's face. " Perhaps I am, mamma," Margaret re sponded, thoughtfully; "but somehow I am impressed that this woman is in some way connected with Louia." Arthur Aspinwall, standing near, heard this reply, although it was intended only for Mrs Houghton's ears, and he started as she uttered Louis's name so familiarly. Surely matters must have progressed more rapidly than he had any idea of, if she had already learned to call him by his Christian name. It did not promise well for his suit. His face grew dark with sullen anger, as he glanced from one to the othor with jealous 6yes. If ho could not win her himself, he could not enduro the thought that the man he hated should succeed where he had failed. " Is there no other record that will tell us anything more of this lady V Margaret asked, turning again to the gentleman who had found the book for her. "Mademoiselle is interested very much," he eaid, smilingly into her bright eager face. "Yes, yes ; I would so like to know if she is married, or what became of her after she went to Scotland, ehe returned. "Did mademoiselle notice any figures' besides the certain words in the record ?" "No;' and she turned eagerly back to the passage that she had read. "Ah ! yes ; here is a figure 1 after the word Scotland," Misa Houghton replied, her face brightening. "It refers to a note at the back of the book," the man informed her, and, taking the volume from her hand, he turned the pages hurriedly, found what he was searching for, and passed it back to her again. With her face kindling into strange beauty, she read : ' • ' " • Mile, Louise de Brienze, after'flying from France, being the on,ly surviving member of her family, fell into the care of some distant relatives in Edinburgh, 'with whom Bhe remained' until her marriage with'— oh 1 , mamma '!— Louis '—'the great grandson of the poet William l)unbar— one Wallace Dunbar, a gentleman of literary pursuits and great learning.' " (To be Continmi.)