A.:. ".., : ,:.ff ,■>•,, -^ '/' "^^ '\ ■■' 
 
 EMASS 
 
 
 •^^^. 
 
 
 ?r.'"'.AV
 
 ■7^*'gA "^ 
 
 OF THL 
 UN IVERSITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 M584n 
 
 W:m^ 
 
 <i^M
 
 
 t"^'
 
 NELLY JOCELYN, WIDOW.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/nellyjocelynwido01midd
 
 xNELLY JOCELYN, 
 WIDOW. 
 
 BY 
 
 JEAN M I D D L E M A S S, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 'DANDY,' 'sackcloth AND BROAECLOTH,' 
 
 'GIRL LV A THOUSAND,' 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 /X THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 F. V. WHITE & C O., 
 31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C 
 
 [All Fights reservcii.l
 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 COLSTON AND COMPANY 
 
 PRINTERS
 
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 -~- CHAP. 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 i 
 
 J 
 o 
 
 
 Her Debut, 
 
 Cazalet, 
 
 The Boulaxgerie Axglaise, 
 
 Who is She? 
 
 The Titans of Art, 
 
 Only Friends, . 
 
 A Daring Schemer, 
 
 Marian in Clover, 
 
 The Power of Love, 
 
 Which loved Him Best? 
 
 Saxs a diet, 
 
 On a Calais Steamer. 
 
 The Wanderer's Return 
 
 Trampled Down, 
 
 Dead, 
 
 To the Bitter End, 
 Out of the Hubbub, 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 i6 
 29 
 44 
 59 
 74 
 87 
 
 130 
 146 
 160 
 
 175 
 190 
 2c6 
 219 
 
 234
 
 "SELECT" NOVELS. 
 
 Crown Svo, clothe 3^-. (^d. eadi. 
 AT ALL BOOKSELLERS AND BOOKSTALLS. 
 
 By FLORENCE MARRYAT. 
 THE HEIR-PRESUMPTIVE. HER WORLD AGAINST A LIE. 
 
 THE HEART OF JANE WARNER. PEERESS AND PLAYER. 
 UNDER THE LILIES & ROSES. FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS. 
 
 MY OWN CHILD. | A BROKEN BLOSSOM. 
 
 MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. 
 By ANNIE THOMAS (Mrs Pender Cudlip). 
 HER SUCCESS. I JENIFER. 
 
 KATE VALLIANT. I ALLERTON TOWERS. 
 
 FRIENDS AND LOVERS. 
 By LADY CONSTANCE HOWARD. 
 MATED WITH A CLOWN. [ MOLLIE DARLING. 
 
 ONLY A VILLAGE MAIDEN. I SWEETHEART AND WIFE. 
 
 By MRS HOUSTOUN, Author of "Recommended to Mercy." 
 Barbara's warning. 
 
 By MRS ALEXANDER ERASER. 
 
 THE MATCH OF THE SEASON. | A FATAL PASSION. 
 
 A PROFESSIONAL BEAUTY. 
 By IZA DUFFUS HARDY. 
 ONLY A LOVE STORY. | NOT EASILY JEALOUS. 
 
 LOVE, HONOUR AND OBEY. 
 
 By JEAN MIDDLEMASS. 
 
 POISONED ARROWS. 
 
 By MRS H. LOVETT CAMERON. 
 IN A GRASS COUNTRY. | A DEAD PAST. 
 
 A NORTH COUNTRY MAID. 
 By DORA RUSSELL. I By LADY VIOLET GREVILLE. 
 
 OUT OF EDEN. I KEITH'S WIFE. 
 
 By NELLIE FORTESCUE HARRISON, Author of "So Runs my Dream. 
 FOR ONE man's PLEASURE. 
 
 By EDMUND LEATHES. 
 
 THE A C T O r'S WIFE. 
 
 By HARRIETT JAY. 
 
 A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE.
 
 NELLY JOCELYN, WIDOW.
 
 NELLY JOCELYN, WIDOW. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HER DEBUT. 
 
 ^SS she coming to-night?' 
 
 ' Who do you mean by 
 she?' 
 
 ' Ah, madame, you know 
 full well. Of course I mean the beauty 
 who has rendered me sleepless for the 
 last few nights.' 
 
 ' And yet you have only seen her photo- 
 graph ! I did not know you were so 
 susceptible, or I should have been more 
 careful.' 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 Nelly Jocelyn, Widoiv, 
 
 ' But, tell me, madame, do you expect 
 her here to-night ?' 
 
 ' If Madame d'Albin has not got a cold : 
 she is to come with her.' 
 
 ' Bah ! Madame d'Albin has always 
 got a cold.' 
 
 Madame de Brissac's answer was a 
 ringing laugh, and she turned away from 
 M. Felix de Gourlay, a little dandy, who 
 was known amongst his intimates as le 
 papillon triste, for the reason that he was 
 perpetually in love with some new beauty ; 
 but, unlike men of his changeable mood, 
 instead of sipping pleasure from every 
 blooming flower, he was made absolutely 
 miserable by each fresh passion that 
 took possession of him. Madame de 
 Brissac, the presiding genius of one of 
 the most celebrated salons in Paris, did 
 not turn away from Felix de Gourlay be- 
 cause he bored her ; on the contrary, she 
 was a genial, amusable woman, and the 
 account of Felix de Gourlay's desperate 
 despairs afforded her immense satisfaction ; 
 but, being hostess, she turned from him to 
 greet an individual of a very different type.
 
 Her D^biit. 3 
 
 He was a big man, of whose face but little 
 was seen, it was so shrouded by dark hair, 
 but a pair of eyes, keen as a hawk's, yet 
 soft in expression as a dove's, denoted at 
 once brilliancy of mind and a latent fund 
 of lovine-kindness that bubbled over, even 
 to weakness, at every turn. 
 
 Paul Cazalet was the lion of the hour. 
 He was a geuj-e painter who for some 
 months past had been turning men's 
 heads, and making connoissettrs of both 
 sexes proclaim him a genius. 
 
 Worshipped, flattered, petted, still he 
 had not been spoiled, but w^as a thoroughly 
 good, genial fellow. 
 
 How meek Is real genius, and that Paul 
 Cazalet was a genius, there is little doubt ! 
 Madame de Brissac had received at her 
 well - known Thursdays more than one — 
 nay, more than a hundred — nineteenth- 
 century stars of every country and char- 
 acteristic ; yet to none of them had she 
 ever extended her hand with more real 
 cordiality than to Paul Cazalet. * She 
 positively delighted in him as a man, and,' 
 she was wont to tell her Intimates, ' if she
 
 4 Nelly Jocelyn, VVidoiu. 
 
 had been thirty, instead of sixty, would 
 have given her heart to him altogether.' 
 
 No wonder, then, though intensely 
 amused by Felix de Gourlay's chatter, 
 she ceased to remember even his exist- 
 ence, at the approach of Paul Cazalet. 
 A groan from the injured butterfly, when 
 he saw the man he, in the plenitude of 
 his conceit, called his rival, moment- 
 arily recalled Madame de Brissac to a 
 recollection of his presence. 
 
 ' Allez, Monsieur Felix,' she said pleas- 
 antly ; ' make the tour of the rooms, and 
 bring me word if the new beauty has 
 arrived.' 
 
 Monsieur Felix departed, with a bow, to 
 do her bidding, very certain that he could 
 not fail to recognise the woman whose 
 photograph he had seen in Madame de 
 Brissac's boudoir three days ago, and 
 about whom he had ever since been 
 making himself quite ill. 
 
 Having ridded herself of Felix de Gour- 
 lay, who became a bore when he ceased to 
 be a plaything, Madame de Brissac said, 
 with much seriousness, to Paul Cazalet, —
 
 Her Ddbut. 5 
 
 * You received my note begging you to 
 make an effort and come here to-night ? ' 
 
 ' It is never an effort to come and see 
 you, madame.' 
 
 ' A truce to nonsense, Paul. Treat me 
 as an old woman, which I am.' 
 
 ' A charming woman has no age,' he 
 interrupted. 
 
 ' Tiens ! tiens ! where have you been 
 taking lessons ? One would think you were 
 a Frenchman, and the world says you are 
 a bear.' 
 
 ' Ay, an English bear,' and he laughed ; 
 * but remember I have lived in Paris nearly 
 all my life, and had the honour of your 
 acquaintance for at least six months.' 
 
 ' That is true. But do not take lessons 
 from the people by whom I am sur- 
 rounded : their manners are detestable 
 and insincere. You thoroughly know the 
 value of words, my friend ; never allow 
 that value to be depreciated. Better to 
 be rough — as a bear, if you like — than to 
 indulge in meaningless flattery. Women 
 will love you more deeply if you do not 
 always praise them ; while men — but I
 
 6 Nelly Jocelyn, Widozv. 
 
 don't think you are polite to -men, so I'll 
 stop my little sermon at the women.' 
 
 ' And may I ask if I was sent for here 
 to-night simply to be scolded ? ' 
 
 * No, dear Paul, no ; but to be pre- 
 sented to the new beauty. She is English, 
 like yourself; but, unlike yourself, she is 
 quite uninitiated in the ways of our gay 
 capital.' 
 
 ' And you are going to appoint me her 
 esquire. As I have often told you, I have 
 no talent for understanding the whims of 
 fine ladies. I was born in a very humble 
 class. My father still keeps a boulangerie 
 in the Batignolles. He will not give it up, 
 though I have offered him a good income 
 if he will do so. We are of a proud race, 
 we Cazalets, though we are of the people. 
 " Let every one stick to his trade, and be 
 independent of his fellows," is my father's 
 motto.' 
 
 ' And he has passed it on to you, big 
 bear. Still, for all that, although I do not 
 command you to be the esquire of this 
 desolate beauty, I command you to go 
 mad on the subject of her loveliness.'
 
 Her Debut. 7 
 
 ' Desolate beauty ! What a triste ap- 
 pelation ! ' 
 
 * She Is a widow.' 
 ' Young ? ' 
 
 ' Why, of course — not more than twent}- 
 four.' 
 
 ' Her name ?' 
 
 ' Mrs Jocelyn. She has been in Paris 
 a year — Hving in retirement on account of 
 her mournine.' 
 
 * And she is coming to-night ?' 
 ' Is already here.' 
 
 And Madame de Brissac crossed the 
 room, followed by Paul Cazalet, whose 
 curiosity had been somewhat aroused. 
 Madame d'Albin, whom he knew by 
 sight, w^as in the doorway. She was 
 a woman about twenty-six, dressed in 
 exquisite demi-toilette, w'hich was de 
 7'igue7tr at Madame de Brissac's Thurs- 
 days. She was a brunette of prepossess- 
 ing appearance, and, as a rule, attracted 
 a good deal of attention wherever she 
 went. On this occasion, however, she 
 was well-nigh overlooked, for every eye 
 was fixed on the English girl following
 
 8 Nelly yocelyn. Widow. 
 
 her — Mrs Jocelyn. Just a year ago since 
 her husband had died, people whispered, 
 and this was her first appearance on a 
 so-called festive scene. She still clung 
 to the mourning habiliments which pro- 
 claimed her solitary state^ — clung to them 
 the more pertinaciously because they added 
 not a little to the setting off of her wondrous 
 beauty. 
 
 Her dress was of soft black silk, with- 
 out furbelow or tournure, thus aiding the 
 expression of every bend of her graceful 
 figure, while her height was increased by 
 the long, trailing skirt. The body fitted 
 to perfection, and cut rather low at the 
 neck, it was filled up with a quantity of 
 soft white tulle, among which nestled a 
 riviere of diamonds. 
 
 Masses of auburn hair were coiled and 
 twisted into endless rolls of such pictur- 
 esque confusion that they needed no 
 ornaments, but were themselves as an 
 aureole to the sweet young face. 
 
 Paul Cazalet accompanied Madame de 
 Brissac half way across the room, then he 
 stood for a second or two gazing on the
 
 Hei^ Ddhd. 9 
 
 newcomer — nor was he the only one who 
 gazed, as it were, spellbound. 
 
 The sensation Madame de Brissac had 
 calculated on had in no way fallen short of 
 her expectations. Mrs Jocelyn's reputa- 
 tion as a beauty was established. The 
 effect of it on Paul Cazalet was, more- 
 over, of so marked a nature, that it sav- 
 oured of strangeness. It was evident that, 
 beholdinor her, the courag^e of the stronor 
 man failed him, for when Madame de 
 Brissac, the first gush of her reception 
 over, turned to present him to her En- 
 glish friend, he was gone, only the dismal 
 butterfly, with eager, longing eyes, was at 
 her elbow waiting. 
 
 She was provoked, so provoked that 
 the sight of Felix de Gourlay irritated her, 
 and, unheeding his whispered petition for 
 an introduction, she treated him as though 
 she saw him not, and begged Mrs Jocelyn 
 to come into an adjoining room, where 
 Barri, the great tenor, was going to sing. 
 Mrs Jocelyn, quite composed and at her 
 ease in the new role, which she felt she 
 would play from that night henceforth, ac-
 
 lo Nelly yocelyn. Widow. 
 
 companied Madame de Brissac into the 
 music-room, talking pleasantly to her the 
 while. 
 
 She noted full well the admiring glances 
 of the other guests, but she behaved as 
 though she saw them not, and chatted on 
 very glibly in French. 
 
 Whence Nelly Jocelyn came, or what 
 her name was before she married, no one 
 exactly knew, but during the year of her 
 retirement she had not lost one single op- 
 portunity of perfecting herself in the lan- 
 guage of the country in which for a time 
 she had elected to dwell. She did not 
 speak with the rapidity and gesticulation 
 of a native, but there was a charm about 
 her manner of expressing herself, that was 
 wellnigh as fascinating as her beauty. 
 
 A place was found for her near the 
 piano. Madame de Brissac had set the 
 report in circulation that Mrs Jocelyn loved 
 art. Poor little half-educated Nelly a 
 patroness of the fine arts! Till a year 
 ago, her playing never exceeded a polka, 
 and her painting a daubed panel on 
 which it was difficult to decide whether
 
 Her Ddbui. 1 1 
 
 the objects were trees or clouds ; but a 
 new epoch had commenced in her life ; 
 she had been studying painting with a 
 respectable amount of success ; and she 
 had learnt to talk musical jargon, though 
 she would never be a performer herself. 
 It is astonishing, with a will such as Nelly 
 possessed, what a year will effect ! 
 
 BarrI sang a grand Italian solo, and 
 with his luscious voice added to the 
 intoxication Mrs Jocelyn's arrival had pro- 
 duced, while as for himself, he acknow- 
 ledged afterwards that never, even on the 
 most crowded, applauding opera night, had 
 he felt the wild turbulence of excitement 
 agitate him so strongly as when he re- 
 ceived the thanks and plaudits of the 
 lovely Englishwoman, who had sat listen- 
 ing to him as in a trance. 
 
 She had taken off her long black glove, 
 and her white arm, unjewelled, with its 
 large, shapely hand, was resting on the 
 piano while she spoke. It was uncon- 
 ventional, but Nelly neither then nor ever 
 would understand the word conventionality. 
 
 To enjoy and be at her ease was her
 
 12 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 one idea of life, and the set of people 
 among whom she had made her ddbut in 
 Paris belonged for the most part to the 
 artistic — that is, to the Bohemian — world, 
 marshalled as they were by Madame de 
 Brissac, herself the daughter of a painter, 
 married to an old general, now long de- 
 ceased. The prefix to her name, the 
 sprinkling of people with prefixes who at- 
 tended her soirSes, gave them just an 
 aristocratic tinge, keeping them from be- 
 coming in the least rowd}^ or familiar. 
 
 A pretty Englishwoman would be highly 
 appreciated in Madame de Brissac's set, 
 and here seemed offered to Nelly the op- 
 portunity to reign for which she had been 
 hankering ever since she was old enough 
 to rule the inmates of the home to which 
 she never alluded, and about which no one 
 seemed to ask, accepting her beauty as 
 passport. 
 
 On a sudden, as she sat by the piano 
 she was attracted by a pair of eyes that 
 were riveted on her from a doorway at 
 the farther end of the room from the one 
 by which she had entered.
 
 Her Debut. 13 
 
 The eyes never closed nor blinked, but 
 remained fixed on her face, fascinating- her 
 to such an extent that she felt she must 
 get up and go towards them. 
 
 Giving way to the impulse, she started 
 up, and was about to cross the room, when 
 she was suddenly stopped by Madame de 
 Brissac, who had been at last tormented in- 
 to presenting the Vicomte de Gourlay. Un- 
 fortunate Felix ! the moment was scarcely 
 an auspicious one. Nelly surveyed him 
 from head to foot with a contempt that, in 
 a more guarded moment, she would have 
 concealed, merely vouchsafed a bow of her 
 pretty head, and then asked Madame de 
 Brissac, speaking very rapidly, — 
 
 ' Who is that standing in the doorway 
 yonder ? ' 
 
 'Cazalet.' And the hostess's countenance 
 beamed when she saw the painter. 
 
 ' Cazalet — Paul Cazalet, who painted 
 " Les Orphelmes ? " — introduce him.' 
 
 There was no escape for Paul now, 
 another second and he felt himself bow- 
 ing over Nelly's ungloved hand, which was 
 lying in his, while she told him that for
 
 14 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 months past, ever since she had seen his 
 marvellous picture, she had longed for this 
 introduction. 
 
 He looked at her, and smiled. 
 
 ' Ah ! there is some joy in your face,' 
 she v^hispered. ' I had almost feared it 
 was all sorrow. Why did you look so sad 
 as you stood in the doorway ? ' 
 
 ' Did I look sad ? It was probably 
 because a great fear lay at my heart.' 
 
 ' A fear — of what ? ' 
 
 ' That a page was about to be turned 
 over in my life, on which I should scarcely 
 find the word peace.' 
 
 ' Yet report says you are a philosopher.' 
 
 ' Ay, but there are some passions which 
 are stronger than philosophy, and kill it.' 
 
 'Indeed!' 
 
 And she opened her large ingenuous 
 eyes in wonder. 
 
 He did not reply to her ejaculation, 
 except by saying, ' Late hours kept him 
 from work in the morning. This was the 
 last soirde he should come to ; he bade her 
 a very good night.' 
 
 She laughed as he left her ; he heard the
 
 Her Ddbtit. 1 5 
 
 laugh, and through the long, wakeful, silent 
 hours of the night it haunted him. 
 
 She, however, turned to a bystander. 
 
 ' So that is Cazalet; — strange, whimsical 
 nature ; no wonder his work surpasses that 
 of most people.' 
 
 * Pity he does not stop in his atelier and 
 draw bears.' 
 
 It was the slis^hted butterfly who ven- 
 tared on this remark. 
 
 But Mrs Jocelyn shook her head, — 
 
 ' Nay, not bears — heroes ! '
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 C A Z A L E T. 
 
 JAZALET is in his studio, of 
 which he has closed, even 
 double locked, the outer door 
 — his mood is morose. 
 He is, as a rule, scarcely a congenial 
 man — that is, with men, and he does not 
 encouraee the idlers, sometimes brother- 
 artists, sometimes dilletantes who not in- 
 frequently pass their time in studios. 
 
 To work with Cazalet means to think, 
 not chatter ; still there are some who are 
 admitted there occasionally for an hour's 
 serious talk, but even against these has 
 Cazalet closed his outer door to-day. 
 
 Yet he is not working, he is standing
 
 Cazalet. 1 7 
 
 gazing on a canvas on which some figures 
 have only been sketched in roughly. Is 
 he thinking of those figures while he looks 
 intently at them ? It would scarcely seem 
 so, for he never adds or diminishes a 
 stroke. Work and he seem strangely at 
 odds, yet the mid-day sun is streaming 
 floods of winter light into the studio, and 
 there is no apparent reason for idleness. 
 It overcomes him, however, none the less 
 powerfully, for its seeming w^ant of cause, 
 and he finally sets the canvas dowm with 
 its face to the wall, and lighting a cigar, 
 begins to smoke vigorously. 
 
 ' Where have I seen that face before ? ' 
 he asks himself, betw^een the puffs. ' Is 
 it in dreams or in the substantial land 
 of reality ? Paul Cazalet, if you were not 
 both knave and fool, you would pack up 
 your knapsack and run from this atdlie7' of 
 yours as if hard-hearted creditors w^ere be- 
 hind you. Yet, wherefore ? My picture 
 for the Salo7i, my order from the Vien- 
 nese banker — is all to be relinquished on 
 account of a woman's eyes and a shock 
 of auburn hair, that I have only seen 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 1 8 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 once ? Certainly not. I will stand my 
 ground, — lock the door, — refuse all invita- 
 tions, and be in reality the bear men 
 choose to call me. Ah ! you may knock 
 away, persistent intruder, there will be no 
 admission.' 
 
 And he sat down beside the open 
 window of an inner room, and taking up a 
 pencil began to sketch on a piece of paper 
 lying beside him. 
 
 Paul Cazalet's quarters in the Rue 
 Mignon consisted of a large studio, where 
 he as a rule spent every hour of daylight, 
 but which, unlike the studios of most men 
 who had reached Cazalet's fame, was 
 totally unornamented. It was a mere 
 workshop — no silken curtains, no tapestry, 
 no rare china set about in cabinets to 
 create effect ; the walls, except for a 
 picture or two he had hung up out of the 
 w^ay, were bare, scarcely even clean ; the 
 high raftered roof was cobwebby ; the few 
 chairs the place contained rickety and 
 unworthy of a corner in a rich man's 
 kitchen. 
 
 Cazalet had no time to waste on fal-lals
 
 Cazalet. 19 
 
 or trumpery, he was wont to say, when 
 asked why he did not decorate his atdlier 
 as others did. 
 
 Free - spoken detractors — and Paul 
 Cazalet was too independent a man not 
 to have his detractors — averred that it was 
 sheer conceit that made Cazalet so seem- 
 ingly careless about his surroundings ; 
 that he believed his pictures were grand 
 enough to crown the most dismal hole 
 with glory. 
 
 In this they were scarcely mistaken ; 
 but, like most gossips, they were too small- 
 minded to be able to form any judgment 
 of the character of such a man as Cazalet, 
 who in his simplicity did not understand 
 hidden meaninors. 
 
 He was engrossed in his work, and 
 whether his atdlier was decorated or not, 
 in truth he scarcely knew. 
 
 Born among the people, he had not 
 strayed often enough into aristocratic 
 haunts to have formed Caproean tastes. 
 
 Adjoining the studio there was a smaller 
 room, in which Cazalet sat, received his 
 friends occasionally in an evening, and
 
 20 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 remained sometimes for half the night 
 reading wonderful old romances that fired 
 his imagination and kept alight his love 
 for the ideal. Out of this room there was 
 a cabinet de toilette where he slept, and in 
 neither the one nor the other was there 
 one article of furniture, one luxury more 
 than was absolutely necessary. 
 
 These rooms were scrupulously clean, 
 for his old nurse Justine was admitted to 
 them. She had her kitchen and her little 
 sleeping den across a passage at the back 
 of the apartment, and was allowed to 
 expend as much energy as she listed In the 
 sitting-room, but into her master's atdlier 
 she never dared penetrate without his 
 permission. 
 
 Good Justine — she had been Paul 
 Cazalet's foster-mother — what would he 
 have done without her ? She mended 
 his clothes, and prevented him from being 
 the subject of much jealous criticism on 
 his tatterdemalion appearance ; and, better 
 still, she kept away doctor's bills, by look- 
 ing after his meals and setting dainty 
 morsels before him, which he, ungrateful
 
 Cazalet. 2 1 
 
 monster that he was, devoured without 
 even knowing what he was eating. But 
 Justine wanted no thanks — she had become 
 a second mother to Paul, when his own 
 EngHsh mother died, and as long as he 
 was well, and his fame increased, she was 
 content ; nor ever pressed her society or 
 her remarks upon him. 
 
 Justine was one of the few golden 
 women there are in the world, who do all 
 that is necessary, without putting them- 
 selves obtrusively forward, and diminish- 
 ing their own value by constantly jarring 
 against nervous, irritable temperaments. 
 
 Naturally a woman of few words, even 
 when she felt that talking was necessary 
 for her wellbeing, it was never Paul she 
 selected for a victim. 
 
 She came into the little salon now, 
 where he was sitting smoking by the win- 
 dow. To the tip of her tongue rose the 
 query, why he was not at work, but she 
 judged it expedient to repress it, and with- 
 out a single remark set the cloth for his 
 dejeuner^ with as much complacency as 
 though she usually found the great artist
 
 2 2 Nelly yocelyn, Widow. 
 
 sitting calmly by the window at that 
 hour. 
 
 It was Cazalet himself who broke the 
 silence. 
 
 * Justine, ma mie, have you been into 
 the Batignolles lately ? ' 
 
 ' Seen your father, do you mean ? ' she 
 asked, still following her occupation of 
 cloth laying. 
 
 He nodded his head. 
 
 ' Three days ago I saw him. He looks 
 old and ill.' 
 
 * Why did you not tell me ? ' 
 
 * Why should I ? I made two or three 
 little things he likes, and sent them by the 
 boy who brings the bread.' 
 
 ' I will go and see him myself,' and Paul 
 reached down a big felt hat from a peg 
 close by. 
 
 *No, no, Paul. Have your dejeuner first.' 
 
 It was so seldom she interfered with 
 him, that he looked surprised 
 
 There were tears in the good woman's 
 eyes. 
 
 * My omelette/ she said, ' it will be 
 quite spoiled.'
 
 Cazalet. 23 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 ' Ah, it is your omelette, not my 
 stomach, you are thinking about.' 
 
 And he sat down, like the child he was, 
 in obedience to her wishes. 
 
 Something, however, seemed to have 
 interfered with his usually good appetite : 
 perhaps it was what she had told him 
 about his father. To Justine's annoyance, 
 he eat a very scanty breakfast, and then 
 set the soft felt hat firmly on his brow, 
 with the air of a man who was determined 
 to be off 
 
 Justine, true to her silent instincts, 
 looked on and wondered ; nothing she had 
 said could have caused this precipitate 
 start, she thought. The old man had been 
 ailing for some time ; he was getting into 
 years like herself, only he was not so 
 tough — w^hy this sudden anxiety on his 
 behalf .> 
 
 ' The at (flier door is locked, Justine ; it 
 is doubtful if I shall be back before dark. 
 I don't feel inclined to work to-day. I 
 am going to see my father — and Lili.' 
 
 *PoorLili!'
 
 24 Nelly Jocelyn^ Widow. 
 
 ' Why do you say poor Lill in that 
 tone of voice ? Is she ill too, by chance ? ' 
 
 ' No, Monsieur Paul, no. I did not 
 mean to speak. I was only expressing 
 my thoughts aloud. It was a mistake — 
 pardon me.' 
 
 * Having made the mistake, perhaps 
 you will remedy it by explaining.' 
 
 ' There is nothing to explain. You 
 know Lili's story. You must dot the i's 
 for yourself.' 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and elevated 
 his bushy eyebrows, as though he either 
 did not, or did not wish, to understand, 
 and then he strode off out by the back 
 way, through Justine's kitchen. 
 
 Paul Cazalet's rooms were on the ground 
 floor, and visitors only came in through the 
 atdlier. Justine, her apron thrown over 
 one arm, followed him to the door, and 
 stood watching him till he was out of sight, 
 mutterinof to herself meanwhile. If she 
 did not talk to Paul, she made up for it 
 during her solitary hours. But then she 
 was only a woman after all. 
 
 * There is something wrong,' she decided.
 
 Cazalet. 25 
 
 • I would give my best fete day gown to 
 know what it is. Something has stepped 
 between him and his work. Poor Paul ! 
 He is as good as gold, and as soft as milk. 
 Pity he has not a more confiding nature ! 
 So he has gone to see the old man and 
 the child. There must be something sorely 
 amiss when Paul flies aw^ay from here and 
 goes back to the old nest for shelter. It 
 is not Le Vieiix that will eive him much 
 help or consolation — he is too rough and 
 hard. But Lili — I love that child almost 
 as well as I do Paul — she is a little angel! 
 Ah, when Paul and Lili are married — for, 
 of course, they will marry — that will be a 
 happiness for us all ! I would even give 
 up Paul, and go and look after the old 
 man, to see Lili and Paul married. After 
 all Le Vieux cannot live for ever; and then 
 there will be the babies to look after, bless 
 them ! ' 
 
 And the deep affection with w^hich old 
 Justine's nature was so rife, went forth in 
 a spontaneous gush towards the fledglings 
 yet unborn. And she pattered on, bask- 
 ing in the sun's rays, and so thoroughly
 
 26 Nelly Jocelyn, Widozv. 
 
 engrossed in her thoughts of, and specu- 
 lations for, Paul, that it never occurred to 
 her that several neighbours were watch- 
 ing her, and making scoffing remarks to 
 each other about the madwoman — mad 
 since she never gossiped with them — 
 that Paul Cazalet, the great artist, was 
 eccentric enough to keep for a house- 
 keeper. Nor while she was standing 
 there did she hear a loud knock at the 
 atdlier door, even though it was repeated 
 several times ; she would not probably 
 have heard it, had not one of the neigh- 
 bours called out, — 
 
 ' Au feu^ 7nere Justine! 
 
 Then she ran into the atdlier wringing 
 her hands, and as she exclaimed, ' Dieu 
 des Dieux, what a commotion ! ' threw open 
 the door. 
 
 A victoria, with two ladies seated in 
 it, was before it. One of them called out, 
 laughing,— 
 
 * Has Monsieur Cazalet become deaf, or 
 what has happened ? ' 
 
 ' Monsieur Paul is out, madame.' 
 
 ' Out ! At this hour ? '
 
 Cazalet. 27 
 
 ' It is true. He has gone to see mon- 
 sieur his father, who is ill.' 
 
 ' What ill luck ! And we especially 
 wished to see Monsieur Paul. When will 
 he be back ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know ; but he will not work 
 any more to-day.' 
 
 ' May we come in and see the pictures?' 
 
 ' In Monsieur Paul's absence, I cannot 
 give you leave.' 
 
 * Don't be foolish. You know me. I 
 am Madame de Brissac. I want to show 
 them to my English friend.' 
 
 Justine made a civil curtsey. 
 
 ' If madame will take it upon herself to 
 come in, she is welcome; but I give no leave.' 
 
 ' Is Paul so very formidable ? ' 
 
 ' He likes to be master, as do all men. 
 I never thwart him.' 
 
 ' Wise woman, you love peace. If we 
 were like you, and let men have it all 
 their own way, should we be happier? Eh, 
 Nelly?' 
 
 Nelly, for Madame de Brissac's com- 
 panion was Mrs Jocelyn, shrugged her 
 shoulders, and said, very softly, —
 
 2 8 Nelly Jocelyn, WidoiL 
 
 ' In Monsieur Paul's absence, I think it 
 would be better not to go into his atdlier! 
 
 ' Oh, Paul won't mind ! ' 
 
 * Perhaps not ; but I would rather he 
 showed me the pictures himself.' 
 
 ' As you will, as you will, my love. 
 Possibly it is the man, not the pictures, 
 you wish to see.' 
 
 The Englishwoman did not answer, and 
 Madame de Brissac, with a good-bye to 
 Justine, and a promise to come again, told 
 the coachman to drive on. Justine grum- 
 bled to herself as she closed the principal 
 door, and bolted it. 
 
 ' Madame de Brissac, I know ; but the 
 other ? Dieu, how beautiful she is ! I 
 wonder if Paul knew she was coming, and 
 that is why he has gone out to-day '^. ' 
 
 Then Justine became as idle as Paul, 
 for she sat down with her hands folded 
 in her lap, and thought for a long, long 
 while.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BOULANGERIE ANGLAISE. 
 
 FTER a rapid walk of about 
 twenty minutes, Paul Cazalet 
 reached the outlying- part of 
 Paris, where his father still 
 carried on the brisk business dignified by 
 the name of * The English Bakery.' He 
 was standing by the door when his son 
 arrived, smoking his pipe, and resting 
 after the somewhat arduous task of de- 
 spatching the numerous carts, which daily 
 started for the different parts of Paris 
 and its environs. 
 
 Le Vieux, as Cazalet senior was uni- 
 versally called, was, like Paul, a big,
 
 30 Nelly yocelyn, Widow. 
 
 genial-looking man ; in fact, in type and 
 feature, the father and son strongly re- 
 sembled each other, * especially on Sun- 
 days,' as the old man was wont to say, 
 when he had doffed his white habiliments 
 and appeared as a gentleman. 
 
 The old fellow, however, had been look- 
 ing considerably aged of late. He was 
 barely sixty, but such hard work as 
 father Cazalet had done, frequently adds 
 ten or even twenty years to a man's life. 
 Paul observed his father closely while he 
 walked up the street, before he himself 
 was seen, and wondered how it was he 
 had not noted this increasing decrepitude 
 before it was brought to his mind by 
 Justine. Ah, the reason was soon ap- 
 parent, when he beheld the change that 
 came over the old man's features when 
 he saw his son. 
 
 Such joy and delight — such pride he 
 had in his talented boy, that the sight 
 of him seemed to take, as by magic, the 
 weight of care off his brow. 
 
 *' Hullo, Paul ! I scarcely expected you 
 at mid-day — quel cJiance, quel chance, 7non
 
 The Boulangerie Anglaise. 31 
 
 gargon ? ' and he shock Paul's extended 
 hand till he nearly wrung it off. 
 
 Then he asked, more temperately, — 
 
 * But what brings you, boy — no ill news, 
 I trust ? ' for he thought he saw a cloud 
 on Paul's brow. 
 
 * No, no, father, — a little overworked, 
 that is all ; so I thought I would take 
 a day's rest and come and see you. How 
 are you } ' 
 
 ' Fanieux^ 7non gargo7i — -fameicx ! ' 
 
 The lingo the Cazalets talked with each 
 other was a stranore mixture of Enorlish 
 and French. 
 
 Old Cazalet had lived in Paris for thirty- 
 five years, and though he had never learnt 
 to speak grammatically, yet he chattered 
 with the fluency of a native, often finding a 
 French word more readily than an English 
 one ; while as for Paul, no Parisian ever 
 had a better accent or a purer diction. 
 
 The two men passed through the shop 
 into a large back room, looking on to a 
 tolerably productive garden. 
 
 * Where is Lili ? ' asked Paul, seeing 
 that the room was empty.
 
 32 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 The old man, with his stentorian voice, 
 called out, — 
 
 ' Lili, Lili ! quick, my child ; here is our 
 Paul come to spend the day ! ' 
 
 From the bottom of the garden, much 
 in haste when she heard these words, 
 arrived a young girl of about eighteen. 
 There was a bright colour on her cheeks, 
 a warm glow in her dark eyes, neither of 
 which were wont to be there, since Lili's 
 face was usually of alabaster whiteness, 
 and her eyes deep-thinking and sad ; but 
 at this moment she was more animated 
 than usual, for she had been running — 
 and she saw Paul. 
 
 Paul — who was her hero, her king, her 
 one hope in life and death. 
 
 For Lili was not Paul's sister, but an 
 orphan niece old Cazalet had adopted and 
 brought to the bakery to live with him 
 about two years before, when her mother 
 died. 
 
 From the moment of her arrival, the 
 two men had made a sort of idol of Lili ; 
 they had had no women-folk belonging 
 to them to love before ; it was so many,
 
 71ie Boidangerie Anglaise. 2>?> 
 
 many years since Paul's mother had died, 
 they had both wellnigh forgotten her. 
 Of course Le Vieux had made up his 
 mind that Paul should marry Lili : and 
 so, for the matter of that, had every one ; 
 and though no actual promise had been 
 given on either side, yet it was a tacit 
 understanding firmly believed in by all 
 concerned, except Lili herself. 
 
 She knew her uncle had no ambitious 
 views about Paul marrying some great lady 
 from the sphere into which his genius had 
 taken him, nor did she think that Paul had 
 any ideas of the sort for himself ; still from 
 the very worship she had for him, from the 
 very strong love she bore him, she could 
 not make herself believe that she was 
 worthy of him ; and yet she felt and knew 
 that to lose him would be certain death. 
 Torn, then, by these conflicting emotions 
 about Paul, poor little Lili made herself 
 very miserable, and, though the two men 
 never guessed it, she passed many hours 
 of her time in such mental agony as was 
 wellnigh wearing her out. Assuredly they 
 would have told her that she was only a 
 VOL. I. c
 
 34 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 foolish child, giving way to doubts and 
 fears for which there was not the slighest 
 occasion, since Paul loved her very sin- 
 cerely, and thought her by far the most 
 beautiful maiden he had met in his path 
 through life. 
 
 Perhaps Lili was sentimental, and wanted 
 some pages out of a chivalrous romance to 
 be enacted on her behalf, since this sort 
 of passive love scarcely satisfied her or 
 made her happy. 
 
 Meantime the sight of Paul had 
 brought the crimson colour to her 
 cheeks ; and the expression of her face 
 was little short of radiance when he drew 
 her to his heart and kissed her, more 
 affectionately, she thought, than he had 
 done for long. 
 
 For awhile she stood there, his arm still 
 round her, looking up into his face in 
 adoring worship, yet wondering why there 
 were wrinkles on his brow. 
 
 He smiled on her, and did not attempt 
 to break the spell of her querying silence, 
 until the colour had quite faded from her 
 cheeks and her face had resumed its
 
 The Boiilangerie Anglaise. 35 
 
 habitual marble hue and calm, statu- 
 esque repose ; nought lit up the delicately 
 chiselled features save the deep dark eyes 
 and the lustrous, plainly-braided blue-black 
 hair. 
 
 Then he said gently, — 
 
 * Wake up, Lili. Smouldering fires die 
 out sometimes ; you should not keep your 
 energies so pent, my child. Spontaneity is 
 one of woman's most attractive attributes.' 
 
 * Spontaneity,' she repeated, shaking her- 
 self away from his encircling arm. ' I am 
 not clever like you, Paul. I scarcely know 
 what spontaneity means. If it means to 
 battle and cry out when you are hurt, and 
 find fault and scold — oh ! no, I can never 
 do that. What I have to suffer I will 
 suffer silently.' 
 
 Paul laughed. 
 
 * Not quite a correct definition of spon- 
 taneity, he said, 'or, rather, a very dark 
 one. What I mean is, why don't you 
 ask endless questions, interest yourself in 
 everything that does not concern you, as 
 most girls do ? ' 
 
 ' Because it does not interest me, I sup-
 
 36 Nelly yocelyUy Widow. 
 
 pose. Except for you and my uncle, I care 
 for no one on earth.' 
 
 * Yet you have not asked me one ques- 
 tion about my life in Paris.' 
 
 * Perhaps I am afraid of hearing more 
 than I care to know.' 
 
 It was a mere shot, but it told ; the 
 wrinkles on Paul's brow deepened almost 
 into furrows, and a sad expression that 
 occasionally lingered there became set 
 with painful intensity, making his face 
 look fixed and stern. 
 
 Poor little Lili ! She almost cried aloud 
 when she saw it. To suffer and be silent 
 was not quite so easy as she imagined. 
 She succeeded, however, in controlling the 
 outward show of her emotions, and said, 
 speaking even more gaily than was her 
 wont, — 
 
 ' Ah ! Paul, you know you would not 
 like me or any one to ferret out all your 
 doinofs in Paris. If I were to cross- 
 examine Justine, for instance.' 
 
 * She could tell you nothing, child, you 
 may not know — nothing.' 
 
 The assurance was a complete one ; yet
 
 The Boulangerie Anglaise, 2)7 
 
 the tone in which it was uttered scarcely 
 pleased Lili, or, perhaps, Le Vietcx, for 
 he apparently thought it wise to change 
 the conversation, by asking, — 
 
 ' Well, little housewife, are you not 
 going to give this big, hungry Paul some- 
 thing to eat ? ' 
 
 ' I breakfasted before I came, on one of 
 Justine's superb omelettes. At dinner, I 
 will test Lili's powers.' 
 
 ' The best the house can afford you shall 
 have, Paul,' and she ran off into the kitchen 
 to give some orders to a stolid-looking 
 Normandy peasant, who composed Le 
 Vieux establishment. 
 
 If it had not been for this peasant, who, 
 notwithstanding her phlegm, was a very 
 capable, worthy person, Lili would often 
 have been terribly disconcerted. She 
 lived in a sort of dreamland of her own, 
 knew but little of housekeeping duties, 
 and had, moreover, a very superficial 
 acquaintance with the French language. 
 Till she came to her uncle, she had been 
 brought up at a third-rate English board- 
 ing-school ; and she had certainly not
 
 38 Ahlly Jocelyn, Widoiv. 
 
 broken the ground, during a two years' 
 residence in France, that Nelly Jocelyn 
 had done in scarcely half the time. 
 
 But then, though Lili was very sweet, 
 and loving, and gentle, she had neither the 
 spirit nor the determination of the young 
 English widow. She would always strive 
 to do the best she could for those she 
 loved, as she did her uncle and Paul ; but, 
 while her love gave her more pain than 
 pleasure, it would ever be terribly difficult, 
 and with much secret trouble, that she 
 would be able to carry out the little 
 schemes in their behalf which her affec- 
 tion prompted. Even now it was the 
 Normande who planned the dinner, and 
 started Lili down the street with a basket, 
 to buy one or two little accessories she 
 required. 
 
 As soon as Lili was gone, the two men 
 wandered round the garden, pipes in 
 mouth, chatting, at first on general sub- 
 jects ; then Paul drew an English cheque 
 from his pocket, and handed it to his father. 
 
 ' Seven hundred and fifty pounds! Why, 
 Paul, what is this ? '
 
 The BoiUangerie Anglaise. 39 
 
 ' The price of a picture. I received it 
 this morning. I want you to let me buy a 
 little house in the country with it, for }ou 
 and Lili to live in, and give up this 
 business.' 
 
 The old man looked at his son for a 
 moment, and then burst out crying. 
 
 * No, boy, no. I will never be a tax on 
 you or any one. I have enough and to 
 spare for my small wants, and there will 
 be a dot for Lili when I am gone. Do 
 not ask me to give up my work, Paul. I 
 should be as a child without playthings if 
 I had no work.' 
 
 ' It is too much for you, father. You 
 have often refused to come and live with 
 me ; but in a little farm of your own, you 
 would have your pigs and poultry, and — ' 
 
 ' Best let me bide where I am, Paul, 
 till the end comes. You were born here, 
 your mother died here — I could not bear 
 to leave the old spot.' 
 
 ' Then have a foreman, father. Do not 
 get up in the middle of the night to see 
 to the baking yourself, and stand till the 
 sun is high in the heavens starting the carts.
 
 40 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 ' There wouldn't be much money in the 
 till if I had a foreman, lad. No, let me go 
 on the old way ; at all events, for a bit 
 longer. When I am old — any one would 
 think I was old now — then we will see,' 
 and he laughed ; ' there, take your cheque 
 and bank it, my boy. It will serve to pay 
 expenses when your marriage with Lili 
 takes place.' 
 
 ' My marriage with Lili ! ' 
 
 This was the first time the subject had 
 been actually referred to in plain words, 
 and the sound of them seemed scarcely to 
 give Paul as much pleasure as might have 
 been expected. 
 
 ' My marriage with Lili ! ' he repeated ; 
 ' ah, that day is a long way off. I will 
 never take Lili away from you, father. 
 We must wait — ' 
 
 ' But, Paul—' 
 
 * Hist ! here she comes. Another time 
 we will discuss this matter.' 
 
 And it seemed as if he were anxious to 
 put the discussion off till another day. 
 Yet he was very tender and gentle with 
 the girl, talking more to her than to the
 
 The Boulangerie Anglaise, 41 
 
 old man during the hour they all three 
 chatted together before dinner. 
 
 That repast was no sooner over than 
 Paul started up. 
 
 ' I must be off.' 
 
 ' So early — why, it is scarcely eight.' 
 
 * I have an appointment at the " Cercle 
 de Boheme " at half-past.' 
 
 ' Ah, Paul, I told you you would not 
 like your life to be looked into too closely.' 
 
 It was Lili who spoke, while she sought 
 to laugh off her disappointment at his 
 going so early. 
 
 ' This is simply a business appointment 
 connected with my work,' he answered, 
 speaking seriously ; ' but perhaps, to an 
 extent, you are right. No man's life, in 
 every detail, is calculated to give those 
 who love him pleasure. I am not better 
 than the rest. Ate revoir, ynignomie ; 
 come to breakfast, both of you, on Sunday.' 
 
 He was already at the outer door, to 
 which they accompanied him, watching 
 him along the street as far as the darkness 
 would permit. 
 
 ' Good boy, Paul ; good boy,' muttered
 
 42 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 the old man ; ' few fathers are blessed with 
 a son Hke that. Thank God for it. Why, 
 LiH, what is the matter 1 Why are you 
 crying, child ? ' 
 
 She wiped away her tears, and tried to 
 look up smiling into her uncle's face. 
 
 ' Paul always seems so far away from 
 us,' she said ; * he is like some bright, 
 glorious sun that comes to gladden us for 
 a little while, and then goes for months to 
 shine on another world that we have never 
 seen.' 
 
 ' True ; yes, that's true. There are two 
 sides to Paul's life. But you have no need 
 to fear, little one ; you will shine beside 
 him on the bright one.' 
 
 Lili shook her head. 
 
 ' I shall never share Paul's glory ; the 
 dazzling brightness would blight me. Best 
 leave me where I am, to serve and love 
 him in the gloom.' 
 
 ' Three days till Sunday, when we shall 
 see him in his own house ; no gloom there. 
 Little one, you must put away these foolish 
 thoughts. I tell you all will be gladness 
 for you and Paul.'
 
 The Boulangerie Aftglaise. 43 
 
 She kissed him and did not contradict, 
 but as she went upstairs to her own room, 
 she murmured, — 
 
 ' Can the same glorious sun ever shed 
 its rays on me and Paul ? '
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHO IS SHE? 
 
 HO is Mrs Jocelyn ? ' 
 
 It is a question that one 
 half of fashionable Paris is 
 asking the other half, with- 
 out, however, obtaining any very satis- 
 factory answer ; for since the night of 
 her appearance at Madame de Brissac's, 
 Nelly's fame has spread, and many of 
 those who have not yet met her are 
 craving for a sight of the new beauty. 
 
 Her apartment is modest by comparison 
 with the princely residences that surround 
 it, but where it is wanting in expensive 
 luxury, artistic taste and a little well- 
 manipulated paint and drapery have pro-
 
 Who is She ? 45 
 
 duced effects which hundreds of francs at 
 command would have failed to do with 
 less clever fingers. 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn, whatever her antecedents, 
 is by no means a fine lady, and she is 
 never idle. During the year she had 
 already been in Paris, when, being in deep 
 mourning, she had lived in close seclusion, 
 she had never found time difficult to kill, 
 because from brush to pen, from pen to 
 needle, from needle to book, she had 
 passed in such swift succession that the 
 hours seemed to fly, and the very few 
 given to sleep were grudged. 
 
 She was absolutely on the threshold of 
 life, although a widow, but she gave out 
 that she had not the slightest intention 
 of re-marrying, and resolved that, having 
 stated this fact very plainly, she would 
 make the most of her opportunities, and 
 with the word ' Enjoy ' in large letters 
 as a heading to the first chapter of her 
 book of events, conduct her story through 
 as few disagreeable vicissitudes as possible; 
 and while she filled its pages with man\- 
 charming and agreeable people, yet she
 
 46 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow, 
 
 meant to avoid all melodramatic situations 
 and episodes that could in any way link 
 her name with the word adventuress. To 
 be careful, then, while she sipped nectar 
 from every bud, lest a drop of poison might 
 accidentally fall on her reputation, was 
 Mrs Jocelyn's plan. She little knew how 
 difficult was the task she had assigned 
 herself, — how almost impossible it is for a 
 woman to divide sweets from bitters when 
 she takes the ruling of her destiny into 
 her own guidance. She had, however, 
 begun well in placing herself under the 
 chaperonage of Madame de Brissac, and in 
 being seen in public with Madame d'Albin. 
 Nelly was not the sort of woman to take 
 delight in female friendship, or in fact 
 to have any predilection for or belief in 
 woman at all ; but she was clever enough 
 to know that if she wished to take her 
 place in the upper artistic ranks of 
 Parisian society, she must do it in con- 
 junction with the female stars who already 
 shone there. Naturally the effect she 
 had made on her first appearance at Ma- 
 dame de Brissac's Thursday had afforded
 
 Who is She ? 47 
 
 her no little satisfaction, increased in 
 a great degree as it was by her 
 meeting with Paul Cazalet. He had 
 fascinated her there was little doubt ; 
 there was something so strange, almost 
 uncanny, in his manner to her, that an 
 instinctive feeling had crept over her 
 that this man was to play an important 
 7^6le in her life. 
 
 She had, at Madame de Brissac's sug- 
 gestion, accompanied her to his studio, but 
 she had felt relieved, nay, almost thankful 
 when Justine had told them that the great 
 painter was not at home. Still more did 
 she rejoice when the faithful servant 
 demurred about admitting visitors during 
 her master's absence ; to Nelly it would 
 have seemed almost like profanity to have 
 penetrated into the secret mysteries of 
 Cazalet's studio when the high-priest was 
 not by. 
 
 Now, having returned from her drive 
 with her richer friend, she is sitting alone 
 surveying with much satisfaction the 
 fabric of her own good taste in decoration 
 and luxury, but she is thinking meanwhile
 
 48 Nelly Jocclym, Widow. 
 
 of Paul Cazalet, and wondering whether 
 he will ever come to see her in those 
 quarters on which she has bestowed so 
 much care, and, if so, whether he will 
 approve her taste. 
 
 For a wonder Nelly is absolutely doing 
 nothing, some embroidery is in her lap, 
 but her fingers refuse to be made use of 
 after the usual nimble fashion. 
 
 Madame de Brissac had invited her to 
 come home with her and pass the rest of 
 the day in sociable converse, but Nelly 
 had refused ; a craving to be alone, for 
 which she could in no way account, was 
 upon her, and if she had not actually 
 barred her door, it was because she did 
 not imagine that her range of acquaint- 
 ances in Paris was sufficiently extended 
 for it to be likely that any one would call, 
 especially as the short November day was 
 waning. 
 
 No candles had been lighted — that might 
 be the reason Nelly did not go on with 
 her work. She was lying back on a chaise 
 longiie, her feet resting on the fender, be- 
 hind which a bright wood fire was crack-
 
 Who is She ? 49 
 
 ling joyously, and casting fitful gleams on 
 many a pot or cup of rose du Barri or 
 blue Sevres, which Nelly had picked up 
 during some of her many wanderings in 
 the outskirts of the great town. 
 
 On a sudden she hears the unexpected 
 sound of voices, and starts up in wonder- 
 ing amaze as to who the intruders may be. 
 Before the dainty maid has time to an- 
 nounce, Madame d'Albin rushes in with 
 a glad exclamation, — 
 
 ' So delighted to find you, cherie ! I 
 was afraid you would have gone to the 
 Rue Tronchet with Madame de Brissac. 
 I heard you planning a drive last night' 
 
 ' She asked me to go, but I refused. I 
 felt as if I must have solitude this evening.' 
 
 ' Solitude ! — only listen to her, Felix 
 — solitude ! ' 
 
 And with a gay laugh, that rang reson- 
 antly in the highly-draped room, Madame 
 d'Albin turned to the Vicomte de Gourlay, 
 who, standing in shadow behind his more 
 majestic cousin, Nelly had not till now 
 perceived. 
 
 Nor did the sight of him afford her any 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 Nelly Jocelyti, Widow. 
 
 apparent satisfaction, for her eyebrows 
 momentarily contracted. She had not been 
 favourably impressed on the preceding 
 evening, and Felix de Gourlay — vicomte 
 though he was — was scarcely a welcome 
 guest. Blanche d'Albin, though, was her 
 friend, with whom she could not afford to 
 quarrel, since it was entirely to Madame 
 d'Albin that she owed any social status 
 she might as yet have obtained in Paris. 
 
 They had met at a dressmaker's, and 
 became acquainted in the most irregular 
 fashion ; but Madame d'Albin had been so 
 attracted by the young English w^idow, 
 that she had set at nought all the laws of 
 conventionality, and held out the hand 
 of amity, without any other knowledge 
 of her new friend save that she was 
 really the widow of an English country 
 gentleman. Madame d'Albin was a 
 pretty ailing woman, who lived to be 
 amused. Nelly amused her, and they both 
 decided that they would not be shackled 
 with any laws of caste or clique. Such 
 being the case, how could Mrs Jocelyn 
 appear annoyed by an invasion at an un-
 
 JV/w is She ? 5 [ 
 
 usual hour, or at her friend being accom- 
 panied by a man she had set down on her 
 introduction to him as a bore and an idiot. 
 
 The voice, however, in which she asked 
 — ' Into what do you wish to change my 
 solitude?' was scarcely in Nelly's most 
 dulcet tones ; nevertheless, it hardly ap- 
 peared to affect Madame d'i\lbin, except 
 to make her laugh yet more merrily. 
 It was evident that she ascribed Nelly's 
 sullenness to the unexpected arrival of 
 the little vicomte, and for this she did 
 not care one scrap, since it was her 
 fixed determination to elicit an immense 
 amount of fun out of the idolatry Felix 
 de Gourlay was quite prepared to lavish 
 on the new English beauty. 
 
 About that other man, whose strange 
 behaviour had set Nelly thinking, Blanche 
 d'Albin knew nought. Friend though she 
 had been to Nelly, she was scarcely the 
 sort of woman to whom a sensible person 
 would make an unnecessary confidence, 
 and that Nelly was both sensible and 
 far-seeing, there is little doubt. 
 
 ' We are going to the theatre,' she 
 
 liNIVERSITY OF ILLIN0I5 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 Nelly Jocelyii, Widow. 
 
 replied, when she had got over her 
 merriment, ' to see Bernhardt in her 
 new part. FeHx has got a box ; but 
 monsieur, my husband, who, as you 
 know, is most careful of me, will not 
 let me go unless you can accompany me, 
 so you must come.' 
 
 * To the theatre ? I have never been 
 to a theatre in my life.' 
 
 ' So much the better. What a new ex- 
 citement. Why, Nelly, you are to be 
 envied. Never been to a theatre, eh, 
 Felix ? What do you say to that ? ' 
 
 ' That I rejoice in being the individual 
 to whom it has been reserved to be- 
 stow on Madame Jocelyn so great a dis- 
 traction.' 
 
 ' But I have not yet said that I will go 
 — indeed I cannot.' 
 
 And Nelly, her white brow puckered 
 Into something like a frown, sat down 
 once more in the chair from which she 
 had risen on their entrance. 
 
 'Not go, Nelly! you are mad; why 
 should you not go ? Your mourning need 
 not keep you from the theatre, since you
 
 Who is She ? 53 
 
 were at Madame de Brissac's party last 
 night.' 
 
 ' Oh it is not my mourning — but — ' 
 
 ' But what ? ' 
 
 ' I believe I have got a headache. I 
 feel terribly out of sorts to-night.' 
 
 ' Bah ! you never looked better in your 
 life.' 
 
 ' Madame is exquisitely beautiful,' put in 
 Felix, with an adoring glance. 
 
 ' Am I ? Then in case I should prove 
 too overpowering, I really think I had 
 better stay at home.' 
 
 * And thereby oblige us to stay here 
 too, for Albert is positive that I am not 
 to go alone to the theatre with Felix, and 
 I have no intention of passing my evening 
 in the solitude you so ardently crave.' 
 
 ' Since il fatU is the order, I suppose 
 there is nothing left me but to obey,' and 
 Nelly got up ; but she showed very little 
 alacrity, and felt as if a hidden power was 
 seeking to prevent her from running into 
 a dangerous path that night. 
 
 ' That is right ; now Nelly is her bright 
 self once more, ready for anything that the
 
 54 Nelly yocelyn, Widow. 
 
 whirlpool of events may cast up. Quick, 
 get ready, dear, — first, dinner, which Felix 
 has gallantly ordered for us at a restaur- 
 ant he is acquainted with, that eclipses 
 every — ' 
 
 ' Not at a restaurant. We are not going 
 to dine with Monsieur de Gourlay at a 
 restaurant ? ' 
 
 ' Since we are two. and Albert does not 
 object, why should you.^ Surely, Nelly, you 
 were elected a Queen of Bohemia when you 
 appeared at Madame de Brissac's last night.' 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn sighed, but attempted no 
 farther objections^ — perhaps she saw they 
 would be useless. 
 
 Ay, she had joined the Bohemian phalanx, 
 which was a step up the social ladder, if 
 her new friends only knew what her past 
 had been ; still it scarcely pleased her to 
 think that her ddbul in the new world 
 was to be made under the auspices of this 
 puppy De Gourlay, and she kicked sorely 
 against the pricks as she went into her 
 room to put on her bonnet. 
 
 Ah, if their companion had been Cazalet; 
 but the people one really cares to have
 
 Who IS S/ic ? 55 
 
 near one, are invariably the individuals 
 who but rarely come to the front ! 
 
 At twenty- four Nelly had already be- 
 come acquainted with this fact. 
 
 Once equipped, however, and launched 
 on the enterprise from which she would 
 so gladly have escaped, she would not be 
 sullen or disagreeable. 
 
 She would shine always, even if despair 
 was at her heart — that was her resolve — 
 and, to the utter distraction of Felix de 
 Gourlay's peace, she not only looked more 
 beautiful than any one he had ever seen 
 before, but she chatted so merrily that, 
 even wath a modicum of loveliness at com- 
 mand, she w^ould have made a far less 
 susceptible man than De Gourlay her 
 p7'eitx chevalier for ever. 
 
 Once drawm out of herself, and induced 
 to make the best of a situation in which 
 she found herself rather against her will, 
 Nelly, to all appearance took a delight in 
 tormenting De Gourlay. She was no dul- 
 lard about discovering his ardent admiration 
 for herself, and at once she informed him, 
 as she did all men, that she had no inten-
 
 56 Nelly Jocelyii^ Widow. 
 
 tion of ever marrying again ; then she con- 
 sidered she had taken the honest, honour- 
 able course, and from henceforth might 
 play with him, when she was disposed for 
 a little sport. 
 
 So the dinner passed most cheerily, and 
 the trio went off to the theatre in the best 
 of spirits. Nelly absolutely looked forward 
 to her first appearance there and to witness- 
 ing the performance of the great * Sarah,' 
 of whom she had heard so much. 
 
 The play was Fedora — a more power- 
 ful one could scarcely have been chosen for 
 Nelly's ddbut. 
 
 From the moment Fedora rushed on 
 to the stage, and was received by the audi- 
 ence with deafening acclaim, Nelly was 
 entranced. In vain did either Madame 
 d'Albin or Felix make a remark to her- — 
 she heard them not, but, as one transported 
 into another world, she sat there, following 
 every incident with an interest, and a 
 sensation of creepiness, that made the 
 whole thing most horribly real. So changed 
 did the expression of her face become, so 
 ashen her colouring, as she sat there shiv-
 
 Who is She ? 57 
 
 ering, though the theatre was hot almost 
 to suffocation, that Madame d'Albin sug- 
 gested in a whisper to Felix that perhaps 
 it would be wiser to depart, before Mrs 
 Jocelyn became so ill that she would have 
 to be carried out. 
 
 Go ! Merciful powers ! was it likely 
 that she would think of going ? and 
 Nelly's blanched, emotional face looked 
 round on them for one moment, while she 
 firmly expressed her determination to 
 stay. 
 
 The words had scarcely passed her lips 
 before she uttered a cry, and looked so 
 rigid, that Madame d'Albin thought she 
 was in a fit. 
 
 * Nelly, cherie, what is it ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing, — a mere spasm — it is past — 
 the curtain is going up on the last act. 
 Hush!' 
 
 Her two companions shrugged their 
 shoulders, they could do nothing with this 
 obstinate woman but wait the end of the 
 play. To their astonishment, however, 
 Nelly's attention was by no means so fixed 
 on the stage as it had been, but every
 
 58 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 now and again her large eyes wandered 
 restlessly about the house. 
 
 Who could it be that she had seen 
 there ? 
 
 * Paul Cazalet/ murmured Madame 
 d'Albin at last, after watching the direction 
 of Nelly's eyes, with much attention. ' Is 
 it possible that she — but no, she is only 
 excited by a performance that has the 
 effect of electrifying even old playgoers.' 
 
 And Paul Cazalet, how came it that he 
 had waived the business at the Club, and 
 found himself at the Porte St Martin ?
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE TITANS OF ART. 
 
 URING the whole of the day 
 after the marvellous perform- 
 ance at the Porte St Martin, 
 Nelly remained in her own 
 apartment, with closed doors. She was 
 under the charm of a new experience, and 
 she wished to rest in it till she had drunk 
 of it to the fill. 
 
 Wise little Nell, she seemed to know by 
 intuition that a really exciting, pleasurable 
 event is so rare that to lose one ray of 
 the impression it affords were madness. 
 
 No, she would not have her emotions 
 trampled upon for worlds ; above all, she 
 did not wish to see Blanche d'Albin, in
 
 6o Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 whose nature there was no depth. Nelly 
 felt that her gay laugh would jar, her light, 
 surface talk, teeming as it did with dis- 
 praise, be maddening; for Madame d'Albin, 
 like many people who wish to pose for a 
 cleverness they do not possess, invariably 
 discovered a blameable side in every event 
 which presented itself, and, with her ready 
 tongue, knew full well how to turn it into 
 ridicule. On most occasions this amused 
 Nelly, who was herself by no means back- 
 ward when facetious criticism was in 
 question. But Nelly had a serious side to 
 her character, which Madame d'Albin had 
 not, and her every pulse had been stirred 
 by the marvellous representation she had 
 witnessed last night for the first time ; it 
 seemed as if she had only just discovered 
 the strong, latent power of feeling pleasure 
 and pain which she possessed. Assur- 
 edly the sense of pleasure Bernhardt's 
 wonderful performance had produced was 
 so exquisite that it became almost a 
 pain. 
 
 Blanche d'Albin would have hinted at 
 the appearance of Paul Cazalet in the dis-
 
 The Titans of Art. 6i 
 
 tance, but she would have been wrong. 
 He had nought to do with the torture of 
 delight that Nelly was suffering. 
 
 Nelly was interested in Paul Cazalet, 
 more interested in him than in any man 
 she had ever seen. His great genius had 
 impressed her before she even saw him, 
 and the knowledge that he, the man she 
 saw and spoke to, was that incarnate 
 genius, filled her with wonder and awe, 
 even distracting her at times to look from 
 Bernhardt's performance into his face ; 
 perhaps she would fain note the effect such 
 acting made on him. 
 
 But Nelly Jocelyn was not in love with 
 Paul Cazalet. She did not intend that the 
 shackles of love should burden her. She 
 was independent, and she meant to range 
 the world at will, sip the pleasure from 
 every nectar-charged petal she saw, but 
 give no crenie de cceur in return. Such an 
 exchange would be too weak, she judged, 
 and self-reliant Nelly had every intention 
 of being strong. 
 
 She did not feel very strong the day 
 after the performance of Fedora. But
 
 62 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 these emotions must be only fleetln^L^ ; 
 she would be her own vigorous, care-for- 
 nothine self on the morrow. Still she 
 went, in imagination, over and over each 
 act of Fedo7'a, nor did she tire of her new 
 pastime till the garish hours of day paled 
 into nieht. No visitors had come to 
 break upon her solitude — the name of 
 Cazalet had never been mentioned — yet 
 by some means it occurred that he played 
 the hero in all the dramatic scenes her 
 fancy represented. 
 
 The evening, however, brought a very 
 different train of thought to Nelly. 
 
 By the mail from England arriving 
 about seven, there was a letter — not a 
 black-edged epistle, which might possibly 
 be the bearer of some unlooked-for family 
 calamity, yet the sight of it made Nelly 
 Jocelyn's cheek pale, and her lips quiver. 
 
 She placed it in her lap for a while, and 
 sat gazing at it while it lay on her black 
 gown, as though the idea of opening it 
 brought a fear to her heart that she could 
 not master. 
 
 The maid came back into the room with
 
 The Titans of Art. 63 
 
 some wood, of which the fire was In need, 
 and looked in surprise at her mistress ; 
 she was accustomed to see her so alert, 
 that she could not understand this seem- 
 ingly passive indifference to the contents 
 of a letter which evidently came from afar, 
 since it was covered with strange and 
 illegible postmarks. 
 
 The room was too dark, she thought, 
 for Mrs Jocelyn to see to read, so she 
 took up a wax match, and proceeded to 
 liorht some candles on the mantelshelf. 
 
 ' I do not want those lights — put them 
 out, and go,' Mrs Jocelyn said, in an un- 
 natural voice, which made the maid stare 
 at her again, believing that some very 
 dreadful thing must have happened, her 
 mistress looked so unlike herself. 
 
 She did not dare, however, to intrude 
 farther after the order she had received, 
 and once more Nelly was alone, with that 
 unopened letter lying in her lap. 
 
 ' Am I to be ever followed by this 
 curse ? ' she muttered. * What is the use 
 of life if there is to be no release, no for- 
 getfulness of the bonds which, however
 
 64 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 loosely they may entangle one's fettered 
 limbs, are still bonds ? ' 
 
 And then, in a sort of frenzy of despair, 
 she tore the envelope open, and read 
 through the missive, which was not a long 
 one. 
 
 * Poor wretch/ she murmured to herself, 
 with a sigh, when she had finished it. 
 ' Yet what can I do ? — how help ? It is 
 cruel to torture me with these complaints. 
 I have not done the ill for which, God 
 knows, I have been made to suffer too se- 
 verely ! Have been made to suffer ! Will 
 the suffering ever cease ? But it shall ! 
 I am creating for myself a pleasant, almost 
 happy, existence in Paris, and by the 
 force of my own will I will be free. Hard- 
 heartedness, as far as this matter is con- 
 cerned, is necessary. I will shake off all 
 connection with the past as thoroughly in 
 reality as I do in outward appearance. 
 Ay, so far I have been successful — I will 
 carry my success through with a mighty 
 hand.' 
 
 For a moment she held the letter over 
 the wood fire, as though she would destro)-
 
 The Titans of Art. 65 
 
 it and Its recollection for ever, but with a 
 second's reflection she withdrew It. 
 
 * I must answer It,' she said ; •' cruel 
 words alone will tell ; silence will only pro- 
 duce another maudlin appeal such as this is.' 
 
 Once more she read It through from be- 
 ginning to end, and the look of Intense 
 scorn that came Into her face scarcely 
 supplemented the beauty of which men 
 raved ; but it speedily softened into an 
 expression of sadness, almost of despair, 
 as she sat down at her writing-table, and 
 took up a pen. 
 
 ' In self-preservation it must be done,' 
 she decided. ' My ruin cannot be pro- 
 ductive of another's gain ; and that I shall 
 lose every step I have attained, if I am not 
 strong now, there Is little doubt.' 
 
 The letter she wrote was scarcely longer 
 than the one she had received, and it did 
 not take her long to write ; yet, to judge 
 from her exhausted condition when she 
 had finished it, it would seem as If the ink 
 she had expended on its vigorously-written 
 page was her very life blood. 
 
 She folded it, placed it in an envelope, 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 Nelly Jocelyn, JVidow. 
 
 and referred to the missive she held 
 tightly in her hand for the address. 
 
 * My God ! how can I ever post it ? To 
 post this may bring about detection ; and 
 yet it must be risked.' 
 
 Finished at last, she secreted it in the 
 folds of her dress, and locked the letter 
 she had just received in a secret drawer of 
 her writing-table. Why she did not burn 
 it she scarcely knew, but perhaps it might 
 be wise to keep it for a time. 
 
 Her labours over, she sat down once 
 more before the fire, and sought to join 
 the thread of her life which the arrival of 
 this letter had broken in the midst of a 
 most tranquillising reverie. 
 
 But in vain. The charm of Fedora 
 paled before the stern reality that stalked 
 in naked truth ; nor throughout the entire 
 evening did peace condescend once more 
 to visit her hearth. 
 
 Almost prostrate at last from the tumul- 
 tuous ravings of her own thoughts, she 
 went to bed, hoping that sleep would come 
 and banish some of her mental sufferings. 
 
 In Nelly's dreams, however, they bore a
 
 The Titans of Art. 67 
 
 prominent place, mixed up strangely with 
 Cazalet and Bernhardt's Fedora ; in fact, 
 so agitated had been her sleep, that when 
 she looked at herself in her mirror in the 
 morning, she decided that the shadow 
 that had fallen on her face was scarcely 
 becoming, — she must go out into the fresh 
 air and get rid of those ugly lines. 
 
 It was Sunday — all Paris was astir ; 
 and in and out the churches crowds of 
 worshippers were passing and repassing. 
 Nelly was scarcely a religious woman, 
 that is, in creeds and dogmas she was 
 by no means versed. She bowed rever- 
 ently before the Great Father of the 
 universe ; but whether she knelt in prayer 
 in a Catholic cathedral or a Noncon- 
 formist chapel was alike to her ; nor, to 
 speak truly, did she consider that she had 
 infringed her code of duty to any extent if 
 she did not go to church at all. 
 
 To-day she resolved to go to two 
 o'clock vespers at the Madeleine : the sort 
 of mental lassitude in which yesterday's 
 emotions had left her, made her feel as 
 though she wanted the fillip of a religious
 
 68 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 service ; besides, she could post her letter 
 as she went. 
 
 Dressed then in a black cashmere dress, 
 over which — the day, though bright, being 
 cold — she had thrown a large black mantle 
 such as only Parisian fingers can fabricate, 
 and wearing a simple black straw bonnet 
 covered by a large gauze veil, she sallied 
 forth alone to join the throng of worshippers 
 in the great church, more crowded than 
 usual as it was to-day, since Monsignor 
 Brechemin, of world-wide renown, was to 
 preach. 
 
 It was a mere accident that had brought 
 Nelly there : she had never even heard 
 Monsignor Brechemin's name before, or 
 perhaps she would scarcely have come. 
 Emotions had wellnigh worn her out 
 during the last few hours, and she might 
 have feared a fresh one ; It was In order to 
 be calmed and soothed that she had 
 directed her steps to the Madeleine ; 
 rebellious Nelly had seldom received much 
 consolation from sermons. 
 
 No sooner, however, had the preacher 
 uttered three sentences, than she felt that
 
 The Titans of Art. 69 
 
 the power of a great mind was upon 
 her, and that if she could only follow the 
 precepts and the teachings he so ably- 
 set forth, the many troubles that were 
 for ever surging up in her life would 
 be at an end, and peace would come. 
 
 Peace ! 
 
 Ay, in the abstract, it was a comfort 
 breathing word ; but would real peace 
 ever make busy, conflict-loving Nelly 
 perfectly happy ? There are some natures 
 that require agitation and warfare. Was 
 not Nelly's one of these ? 
 
 She thought not, as, her hands clasped 
 on her knees, she sat there, gazing into 
 the preacher's attenuated face, while with 
 an eloquence that was a gift given to few, 
 he beeped each of them to choose the 
 better part. 
 
 Ah, if she ' could only give up the ter- 
 rible world-combat, and join the phalanx 
 of those whose only hopes were in the 
 unending bliss beyond the grave,' she 
 thought, as she listened, and she rejoiced 
 that she had come here to-day to hear 
 those words of peace and joy.
 
 yo Nelly Jocelyn^ Widow. 
 
 The voice ceased. The ororan burst 
 forth in glad strains. The candles on 
 the altar were all alight, and the bene- 
 diction service began. Nelly knelt in 
 prayer till the congregation rose to leave 
 the church ; then she also rose and fol- 
 lowed the throng. Her veil, thrown back 
 off her face, hung down her back. She 
 was too engrossed to heed the admiring 
 glances that were directed to her, or she 
 would at once have concealed her face ; 
 but she felt as if air were necessary to her, 
 in order that she might breathe. 
 
 When, after pushing through the jost- 
 ling crowd, she at last stood by a small 
 side exit, she remained for a moment or 
 two, as though anxious to receive a full 
 flow of fresh air into her lungs before 
 startinof on her walk home. 
 
 Thus she allowed several people to pass ; 
 among others, an old man and a young 
 girl. 
 
 Struck by something in the old man's 
 face that awakened a memory, she looked 
 at him attentively. 
 
 Where had she seen him before ?
 
 The Titans of Art. 71 
 
 A voice at the back of her spoke the 
 answer. 
 
 ' You, too, have been attracted by 
 Monsignor Brechemin's eloquence, Mrs 
 Jocelyn ? ' 
 
 She looked round. It was Paul Caza- 
 let who spoke ; and as he did so, the 
 crimson blood rushed even to the roots 
 of her auburn hair. 
 
 ' Is he not wonderful ? ' she murmured. 
 ' He has touched me to the very quick.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I see you are highly impres- 
 sionable, — you can appreciate those on 
 whom the gods have bestowed royal 
 gifts.' 
 
 ' Some, yes ; if they are really magi- 
 cians.' 
 
 ' The Titans of art. Like the represen- 
 tative of Fedora and this preacher, for 
 instance/ 
 
 ' And, above all, Paul Cazalet,' she 
 whispered. 
 
 ' Nay,' he said, ' do not group me with 
 them. I cannot play on your imagination 
 — I am a realist.' 
 
 * Yet no one, believe me, has taken a
 
 72 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 more powerful hold of my imagination 
 than you have.' 
 
 He bowed. 
 
 ' You came with Madame de Brissac to 
 criticise my pictures. I am sorry I was 
 out.' 
 
 * I was sorry too. May I come again ? * 
 
 ' My studio is open to all my friends.' 
 
 He meant his answer to be impersonal. 
 She, however, did not take it in that spirit ; 
 but said, in a very low voice, — 
 
 ' Thank you, for including me among 
 your friends.' 
 
 An expression, that was almost one of 
 alarm, came over Paul's face ; and looking 
 at his father and Lili, who were standing 
 in the street, he said rapidly, — 
 
 ' Good-morning, Mrs Jocelyn, I must 
 not keep my good father and my cousin 
 waiting any longer.' 
 
 They did not shake hands, and like a 
 flash he was gone ; not, however, before 
 Nelly Jocelyn and Lili had exchanged 
 glances, which could scarcely be called 
 satisfactory to either. 
 
 And Monsignor Brechemin's discourse
 
 The Titans of Art. 
 
 73 
 
 — how much of It did Nelly remember ? 
 How many of the good resolutions she 
 had formed while listening to it would 
 be put into practice ? 
 
 In very truth, Paul Cazalet has more 
 to answer for than he in the least suspects.
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 
 ONLY FRIENDS. 
 
 USTINE, while she moves about 
 the Jittle kitchen in the Rue 
 Mignon, is muttering rapidly, 
 taking herself into the confi- 
 dence which, wise woman that she is, she 
 so grudgingly bestows on others. 
 
 ' Coffee — coffee now. Four struck ten 
 minutes ago. I never knew Paul have 
 coffee at this hour ; a chasse after breakfast, 
 good ; but now — not that I grudge him a 
 cup of coffee. Bless him, he might have 
 one every hour of the day, if only she was 
 not here. Three times lately has she 
 been to sit for the new picture : I don't 
 like such sitters. Why can't he have a
 
 Only Friends. 75 
 
 professional model ? Not but that she is 
 beautiful. Dien, therein lies all the danger ! 
 Why, she is a feast even to my old eyes. 
 I could sit and look at her for ever ; still, 
 she should not be here. It will be the talk 
 of the whole place soon. Paul, who al- 
 ways kept his atelier to himself, and scarcely 
 let in his near friends, now opens it at all 
 hours whenever this lady chooses to knock 
 at the door, and ask, in that winning voice 
 of hers, ''Am I intruding, ]\I. Cazalet ? "' 
 Poor Lili ! — poor unhappy Lili ! For if 
 ever a grirl loved Paul, that orirl is Lili. 
 But there, Justine, you have no right to 
 go on prating of what you know nothing. 
 Why should I doubt Paul ? He has al- 
 ways been noble and honourable ; surely 
 this strange woman's beautiful face is not 
 going to change my Paul into what I 
 should be ashamed of.' 
 
 Then she poured the richly-scented 
 Mocha into a silver coffee-pot, which had 
 been a gift to Paul, and placing it, with two 
 cups, and some cakes of her own baking, 
 on a tray, she proceeded to carry it into 
 the usually forbidden atdlier.
 
 76 Nelly Jocelyn, Widozv. 
 
 Paul, habited in a suit of dark blue 
 flannel, which, though not altogether of 
 the freshest, was, notwithstanding, his very 
 best working suit, was standing before a 
 large canvas, painting diligently. Seated 
 in a chair by the wood fire was Mrs 
 Jocelyn, a dark cushion placed under her 
 head, which rested there reposefully. 
 
 She was not sitting as models sit — that 
 is, not according to Justine's views. She 
 managed to peep over Paul's shoulder, 
 however, and saw that he was in reality 
 reproducing Nelly's face in his picture, 
 which was some little consolation to her 
 in her trouble over the lovely widow's 
 presence. Justine set the coffee down on 
 a table near the fire, and then went very 
 slowly out of the room ; for, worthy creat- 
 ure though she was, she was, nevertheless, 
 not above being anxious to pick up any 
 crumb of the conversation that mio-ht be 
 allowed to fall. But Mrs Jocelyn and Paul 
 were evidently indulging in the sociability 
 of silence, for neither of them uttered a 
 word while Justine was within hearing. 
 No sooner, however, had she taken her-
 
 Only Friends. j-j 
 
 self off, and closed the door behind her, 
 than Paul threw down his brush, and, 
 drawing a chair to the fire, began after so 
 gauche a fashion to pour out the coffee 
 that Nelly, laughing as she raised herself 
 from her half-recumbent position, took the 
 coffee-pot out of his hand. 
 
 * You will never make a domestic man, 
 M. Paul ; you should marry, and have 
 some one to do these things that are be- 
 neath your great genius.' 
 
 He looked at her very fixedly for a 
 moment or two, as though seeking to dis- 
 cover if these words were of any value. 
 Then he asked, speaking quite seriously, — 
 
 * Would you really like me to marry ? ' 
 The crimson colour came rapidly, as it 
 
 very often did now, into Nelly's face, and 
 she said, — 
 
 ' Great men are seldom happy when 
 they are married.' 
 
 ' Not unless they marry congenial 
 spirits. Art and study bore most women 
 — they crave the attention we workers 
 have no time to bestow. But you your- 
 self, Mrs Jocelyn, have scarcely a high
 
 "]?> Nelly Jocelyn, IVidow. 
 
 opinion of marriage, since you have given 
 out your intention not to marry again.' 
 
 * On the contrary — on the contrary; but 
 I am afraid I love my independence better 
 than anything else in life. If I were not 
 independent, how could I be sitting here 
 with you to-day ? It is scarcely conven- 
 tional, you must admit.' 
 
 ' Oh ! an artist's studio is privileged 
 ground.' 
 
 * Not yours, Cazalet, since I understand 
 you have lived till now with closed doors.' 
 
 ' Do you wish me to open them ? ' 
 
 ' No ; but I sometimes wonder why you 
 opened them to me.' 
 
 ' A power over which I had no control 
 drew back the bolts ; besides, did you 
 not promise to sit for La Ve^ieziana ? ' 
 
 ' And the great picture being finished, 
 it will be a case of " Adieu, Nelly ! " ' 
 
 * Nay, Mrs Jocelyn ; do you think I could 
 ever say adieu to you ? ' 
 
 ' That depends on your masculine fickle- 
 ness ; but seriously, I will try and make 
 myself so useful to you that you will never 
 want to get rid of my friendship — for we
 
 Only Friends. 79 
 
 are friends, are we not, Paul, — staunch 
 friends, as though we were men ? ' 
 
 He laughed as he looked admiringly at 
 her, and contemplated how little like a 
 man she looked. She, however, went on, 
 resolved not to see his meaning, — 
 
 ' I shall delight in a real staunch, honest 
 friendship — with a man ; it is a boon from 
 the gods for which all my life I have 
 craved ; — no silly love-making, no despair- 
 ing glances — faugh ! how I detest men 
 of the sorrowful butterfly type.' 
 
 ' And you think I am not of such ? ' 
 
 ' You ! You are grand, and great, and 
 noble, like your pictures. You would never, 
 by word or deed, do a dishonest or dis- 
 honourable act. You — ' 
 
 ' Hush ! for pity's sake, Mrs Jocelyn, 
 
 your eulogium far surpasses my merits. 
 
 You are, I am afraid, but a poor reader 
 
 of character, or you would have discovered 
 
 how weak I am. With every desire to 
 
 act for the best, strength of purpose is 
 
 so often wanting.' 
 
 * You mistake lovinor-kindness for weak- 
 en 
 
 ness, my friend. If you do not stride on
 
 8o Nelly Jocelym, Widow. 
 
 the straight path regardless of events, it 
 is because you are afraid of crushing some 
 humble fly in your path.' 
 
 * Nay, do not be resolved to make a 
 hero of me. I cannot accept such an at- 
 titude ; believe me, you are blinded. I 
 may have the gift of painting — I think 
 and hope I have — but there anything god- 
 like about me ends. I am a frail mortal, 
 whose character is full of inconsistencies. 
 I am, in fact, more liable to fall short of a 
 high standard than most men ; the gods, 
 when they made an artist of me, forgot 
 to make me what you will persist in think- 
 ing me — a hero.' 
 
 ' Do you wish me to believe that you 
 are a bad man ? ' 
 
 ' Far from it, dear lady. I try to be a 
 good one ; but what we will in the abstract, 
 and what we are in detail, does not always 
 coincide.' 
 
 * Notwithstanding the character you give 
 yourself, I will take you for a friend, and 
 trust you.' 
 
 And she held out her hand to him. 
 
 ' On your own responsibility be it,' he
 
 Only Friends. 8 1 
 
 replied, grasping the soft, lissome fingers 
 in his own broad hand. 
 
 And with the last sip of fragrant Mocha, 
 the daylight seemed to depart, and Mrs 
 Jocelyn, rising, tied a tiny, unassuming 
 straw bonnet over her auburn hair, and 
 declared she must get home before it 
 was quite dark — there could be no more 
 painting done to-day. 
 
 Paul said if she would w^ait five 
 minutes till he changed his painting suit 
 for a more seemly garb, it would give 
 him the greatest pleasure to accompany 
 her. 
 
 She looked at him in surprise, and for 
 a moment meant to refuse, half dreading 
 the talk it would occasion if she were seen 
 perambulating the streets in the semi- 
 darkness with Paul. Then the pleasure 
 she took in his society got the better of 
 discretion, and with a brief ' Be quick 
 — then,' she agreed to let him accompany 
 her. 
 
 And why should they not walk together.-^ 
 They were friends, even as men are friends. 
 Mrs Jocelyn had expressly told him that 
 
 VOL. I, F
 
 82 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 their intimacy was to be strictly on these 
 terms. 
 
 Such being the case, it was quite un- 
 necessary for Paul to mention Lili. What 
 had his private life, his family affections, 
 to do with Mrs Jocelyn ? She was simply 
 2, gj^ande dame^ who, inspired with a strong 
 love of art, had sauntered for a while into 
 his life, and held out the right hand of 
 fellowship to him, more as a patroness 
 than a comrade. No ; he would talk pic- 
 tures to her, — even teach her to daub, if 
 she listed, but beyond that what was Mrs 
 Jocelyn to him, that he should confide 
 to her any of his hopes and fears for the 
 future ? She had told him nothing of her 
 past life, and, except in stating the fact 
 that she did not intend to marry again, 
 never alluded to the future ; in being silent, 
 he would only be following her example. 
 Lili — why should he speak of Lili to her ? 
 La Veneziana finished and hung on the 
 walls of the Salon, all Paris would bow 
 in homage to the beauty of the new pic- 
 ture ; but the real Veneziana, more beauti- 
 ful than anything his brush could create,
 
 Only Friends. Z^) 
 
 would pass away out of his life as suddenly 
 as she had entered it. She would be 
 tired of his companionship by then. And 
 later on he would marry Lili, — have his 
 coffee poured out en regie, and settle down. 
 
 Settle down ! 
 
 Paul Cazalet laughed orrimly as he re- 
 peated the words — for such was the tenor 
 of his thouo^hts as he wandered back to 
 the Rue Mignon, after leaving Mrs 
 Jocelyn at her own door. 
 
 As he had himself told Nelly, though 
 he ever strove to act for the best, where 
 women were concerned, most assuredly he 
 was not strong. 
 
 He did not wish to give pain to Lili by 
 this friendship with Mrs Jocelyn ; he did 
 not wish to annoy Mrs Jocelyn by bring- 
 ing any allusion to his future marriage 
 with Lili into his conversation with her — 
 so he determined to keep them both utterly 
 and entirely separate. 
 
 If a man had asked Paul Cazalet to 
 commit any slippery or not perfectly 
 straightforward action, he would have 
 spoken out boldly, and resented the sug-
 
 84 Nelly yocelyn, Widow. 
 
 gestlon as an insult ; but he could not 
 see that, in keeping silence now, he was 
 heaping up not only perplexity and diffi- 
 culty, but probably pain, if not disgrace. 
 The force of circumstance, he considered, 
 had thrown him, almost against his will, 
 into Mrs Jocelyn's society ; chance, that 
 unreliable ally to which so many people 
 trust, would, he hoped, get him out of any 
 painful position into which his acquaintance 
 with her mieht lead him. Since their first 
 meeting at Madame de Brissac's Thurs- 
 day, wherever he had gone he had met 
 her, as if by a fatality ; and when at last 
 he was compelled to receive her in his 
 studio at the instance of his old friend and 
 patroness, he resolved, longing though he 
 was to reproduce her beautiful face on 
 canvas, that nothing should persuade him 
 to ask her to sit. Then again strong cir- 
 cumstance stepped in, and it was Madame 
 de Brissac who said, — 
 
 ' Confess. Paul, that I have brought you 
 La Veneziana. The dream of years will be 
 accomplished, if Mrs Jocelyn can only be 
 persuaded to sit for the fair Venetian.'
 
 Only Friends. 85 
 
 Ay, was she not his ideal, though he had 
 not dared to own it even to himself; but 
 Madame de Brissac had spoken it, and 
 he could not contradict. Besides, Nelly 
 was willing. 
 
 ' To sit for La Veneziana ! What 
 greater pleasure could be in store ? 
 Painted by Paul Cazalet ! hanging on 
 the walls of the Salon I ' 
 
 Little Nelly, in her peeps into life, 
 never, even when imagination was at the 
 highest, peeped into such a rose-tinted 
 vista as this. 
 
 And thus it came about that the sittings 
 Justine so severely censured were inaugu- 
 rated, and with them a bond of friendship 
 was linked, the shackles of which were 
 already beginning to weigh somewhat 
 heavily on Paul ; and if he had followed 
 his own strong impulse, he would fain 
 have torn them asunder for ever, and 
 blotted the word friendship out of his 
 vocabulary. 
 
 When they weighed more heavily than 
 usual, as they did to-night, he would go 
 to the Boulangerie, and, passing an hour
 
 86 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 with the old man and Lili, try to forget 
 that Nelly Jocelyn's wondrous eyes, and 
 the soft perfume that pervaded that glori- 
 ous auburn hair, had ever come between 
 him and his sweet little dark-browed 
 love. 
 
 It was late when he returned ; Justine, 
 who had seen him go out with Nelly, was 
 still up watching. 
 
 The soft light that shone in Paul's eyes 
 as he entered, troubled her not a little ; it 
 was not till he said, ' I have been spending 
 the evening with Le Vieux and Lili, and 
 they sent many affectionate messages to 
 you,' that Justine gave utterance to a 
 single word. 
 
 Then, in the fulness of her heart, she 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 * God is good, and will keep you safe 
 and true to Lili, my brave Paul ! '
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A DARING SCHEMER. 
 
 EVERYONE is busy In the 
 Bo7ilanger2e Anglaise except 
 Lili, who is walking about the 
 garden airing herself in the sun- 
 shine, as though she had nought to do with 
 this world's work. 
 
 A voice in the distance calls her three 
 times, and on hearing it she at once 
 wends her steps to the bottom of the 
 garden, where she stops and looks over 
 the hedge. 
 
 Another idler basking in the sunshine ! 
 A girl in a large flapping hat is waiting 
 for Lili in the adjoining garden, which is 
 a far larger one than that belonging to
 
 88 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 the Boulangerie, and reaches, studded with 
 shrubs and trees, up to a somewhat pre- 
 tentious white villa. It is evident that 
 Lili's friend is well-to-do, or, at all events, 
 has the appearance of being so. 
 
 She is a bright, clever-looking girl, but 
 scarcely a beauty, for her complexion is 
 sallow, and her eyes, though at times very 
 sparkling, are wicked-looking, and do not 
 inspire confidence. 
 
 By some means, however, she has won 
 Lili's trustinor love. But then that is not 
 very surprising, considering that Lili is 
 scarcely a physiognomist, and that Marian 
 Wallis is English, or, at least, comes of an 
 English - speaking race ; though she has 
 never been in the old country in her life. 
 
 Her father, who passes for a rich man 
 — and is certainly a vulgar one — brags of 
 having made a considerable fortune in 
 Australia ; and he has now come to Paris 
 ' to set his daughter up in French, and his 
 wife in clothes,' as he says ; also to do a 
 little trading on his own account in the 
 way of bric-a-brac, which he sends out to 
 a large house in Sydney.
 
 A Daring Schemer. 89 
 
 Mr Wallls is a fussy, talkative man, 
 and has insisted on more than one occa- 
 sion on smoking the pipe of intimacy with 
 old Cazalet ; but it is only under severe 
 pressure that the worthy baker can be 
 induced to put up with Mr Wallis' 
 society. 
 
 He hates shams, he is wont to grumble, 
 and this man is a sham, if ever he saw 
 one in his life. 
 
 Accustomed to dealings with men of 
 many types, Le Vie2ix is not wanting in 
 penetration ; but somehow he fails to ex- 
 tend his capability for character-reading to 
 the dauo^hter. 
 
 ' The girl isn't as bad as her father,' he 
 says ; ' and if it amuses Lili to talk to her, 
 all right. I don't mind ; only keep me 
 from Wallis.' 
 
 In this, however, Le Vietix was quite 
 wrong. Wallis was a swaggering, bluster- 
 ing vulgarian. But there was no harm in 
 him ; while Marian, though decidedly of 
 a more refined type than her father, was 
 a born schemer, and never put herself in 
 the least out of the way without an especial
 
 90 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 motive. That she did put herself out of the 
 way to win Lili's friendship and affection, 
 there is Httle doubt. LiH was of far too 
 retiring a disposition to run after Marian 
 WaUis, glad though she was to have a 
 friend who spoke her own language. She 
 was under a strong impression, too, that 
 Marian was far above her in social con- 
 dition ; and this of itself would have 
 prevented Lili from making any ad- 
 vances. 
 
 Poor little humble-minded Lili! To see 
 the two girls as they stood together talk- 
 ing in a gap they had themselves made in 
 the hedge, there was little doubt which was 
 the higher born of the two. 
 
 Whatever her parentage, Lili, in her 
 simple black stuff gown, with its plain 
 white linen cuffs and collar, looked like a 
 young princess. Marian, clad in a large- 
 patterned plaid, much bedizened about the 
 body and sleeves with imitation lace, would 
 be nowhere in a match for grace and dis- 
 tinction. Yet she had a fine glib tongue, 
 and she could make her mark with repar- 
 tee, and hold her own when Lili's less
 
 A Daring ScJiemer. 91 
 
 striking characteristics might be passed 
 over. Women of Lili's type are not in- 
 frequently as * caviare to the general.' 
 
 ' Why, Lili, you look quite rueful this 
 morning ! ' Marian exclaimed, as soon as 
 the accustomed kiss had been exchanged. 
 ' What is the matter ? Is the handsome 
 cousin too cold to please you ? ' 
 
 * Paul ! Oh, he was here yesterday, and 
 brought me a basket of lovely violets.' 
 
 ' What a melancholy flower ! Did you 
 ask him if you could take me to see his 
 pictures ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and he said in a few weeks.' 
 ' A few w^eeks ! What a horrible pro- 
 crastinator ! ' 
 
 * He has got an unusual model — a lady 
 of position is sitting ; and he does not 
 wish to be interrupted in his work.' 
 
 ' Poor Lili ! ' 
 
 * Marian, what on earth do you mean ? ' 
 
 * Oh ! nothing ; only beware of ladies of 
 position. Is she a beauty .-^ ' 
 
 ' Naturally, or Paul would not have her 
 to sit to him.' 
 
 'What is the subject of the picture ? '
 
 92 Nelly Jocelyn^ Widow. 
 
 ' A Venetian girl. It is for the Salon.' 
 
 ' And have you seen this lady ? ' 
 
 ' Yes — coming out of the MadeHne two 
 
 Sundays ago. There is no doubt she is 
 
 very beautiful' 
 
 ' What is her name ? ' 
 
 ' Mrs Jocelyn.' 
 
 ' And M. Paul told you all this ? ' 
 
 * Not all ; I heard some of it from 
 Justine.' 
 
 ' Poor Lili ! ' 
 
 ' Marian, this is the second time you 
 have pitied me. Do you know anything ? ' 
 
 * Only, my love, that if you don't hold 
 your own a little more cleverly than you 
 do, you will go to the wall.' 
 
 * Do you think Paul loves — this — this 
 Mrs Jocelyn ? ' And there was a sob in 
 Lili's voice as she spoke. 
 
 ' Love is a strong word ; but one never 
 knows where this sort of thing may end.' 
 ' Oh, Marian, what shall I do ? ' 
 Marian shruu^cred her shoulders. 
 
 * If I told you, you would not follow my 
 advice.' 
 
 ' Why not ? '
 
 A Daruio- Scheme 
 
 ^> 
 
 ;'. 
 
 * You haven't got the pluck.' 
 
 ' No, I have not much pluck where Paul 
 is concerned.' 
 
 ' Yet if you would keep him, you must 
 assert your rights, or this English beauty 
 will oust you.' 
 
 ' Do you know her ? ' 
 
 * Well — no, I don't exactly know her, 
 but I know about her. She has taken 
 Paris by storm : all the men are raving 
 of her, — the illustrated papers have antici- 
 pated M. Paul, and published her portrait ; 
 besides, I have heard a lot from — ' 
 
 * Gracious ! Whom do you know in 
 that set ? I thought — ' 
 
 * That M. Paul kept all the plums to 
 himself. No, Lili ; one manages occasion- 
 ally to clutch one off the tree. You know 
 the little Vicomte de Gourlay ? ' 
 
 * I have heard you speak of him.' 
 
 ' Well, he is acquainted with j\Irs Joce- 
 lyn, and raves about her till I get so angry 
 I should cut him, if I did not think him a 
 good stepping-stone into French society.' 
 
 ' I thought this De Gourlay was your 
 especial property ? *
 
 94 Afelly Jocelyn^ Widow. 
 
 ' Bah ! He wants to marry money, and 
 fancies I am an heiress, so he got the 
 Faudels, the bankers in the Rue St Honore, 
 to introduce him to papa, who is highly 
 dehghted and amused. As for me, if I 
 thought it would be any benefit to become 
 Vicomtesse de Gourlay, there is no saying 
 but I might do so, though I thoroughly 
 despise the little idiot.' 
 
 ' Oh, Marian ! ' 
 
 ' No righteous indignation, dear. I am 
 not going to marry him unless everything 
 else fails. He is too rapturous over the 
 beauty of Mrs Jocelyn. Ye powers ! how 
 I hate her. And, let me tell you, for your 
 edification, dear, that he is frightfully 
 jealous of handsome Paul.' 
 
 Lili thought very intently for a few 
 seconds, then she said, — 
 
 ' I do not believe that Paul loves this 
 Mrs Jocelyn, though he may be fascinated 
 with her for a time. He is too good, too 
 gentle to rne for there to be any love 
 between them. Paul is thoroughly honest, 
 and could not play so base a part.' 
 
 * Little you know about men — nothing
 
 A Daring Schemer. 95 
 
 wakes them up to be considerate and kind 
 like the knowledge that they are acting 
 falsely. It is a sort of salve wherewith 
 they quiet their consciences, I suppose ; 
 but it is all right, if you are satisfied. You 
 will ask me to the wedding, I hope.' 
 
 'I do not think I shall ever marry Paul.' 
 
 Marian burst out laughing. 
 
 ' Lili, you are an utter little fool. You 
 love this man till the love you have for 
 him is nearly killing you, and yet you 
 quietly let some one else walk in and 
 carry him off, without putting out even 
 your little finger to retain him.' 
 
 ' It is not that ! it is not that ! I have 
 told you I do not believe Paul to be false ; 
 but I have a presentiment that I shall 
 never be his wife.' 
 
 ' A truce to presentiments — they are 
 folly ; instead of living in visions, which 
 will never show you anything tangible, 
 look after the real flesh-and-blood Paul, 
 and put a spoke in Mrs Jocelyn's wheel.' 
 
 ' But I don't know how.' 
 
 ' Go up to the studio, and sit there 
 yourself. I am sure your head would
 
 96 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 make as good a study as hers, and you 
 can take me with you to play foil if you 
 like. I'll sit. I don't mind — there must 
 be some ugly people even in the most 
 beautiful pictures.' 
 
 Lili smiled, but she shook her head. 
 
 * How angry Paul would be ! ' 
 
 * Never mind his anger — who cares for 
 that as long as we get our way ? and if he 
 is the good-natured, kindly man you re- 
 present him to be, surely we can distance 
 that red-haired woman, and have all the 
 p^round to ourselves.' 
 
 Almost unperceived by Lili, Marian 
 had begun to say ' we ' in speaking of the 
 attack she recommended should be made 
 on Paul, and which it was very evident 
 she did not intend should take place with- 
 out her. 
 
 In truth, Marian Wallis cared very little 
 whether Lili or Mrs Jocelyn was first 
 favourite with the great painter, her object 
 was to distance them both if possible, and 
 come in at the winning-post herself. 
 
 To this end she decided that a quarrel 
 between them was the most likely way
 
 A DaiHng Schefner. 97 
 
 to bring about the result she desired ; for 
 the peace-loving Paul would close his 
 doors and his heart on both, while she, 
 if any good luck attended her, would very 
 probably step into the breach. This 
 scheme of Marian's was not only a wicked 
 but a daring one ; but what cared she. 
 * Life without spice would be far too flat,' 
 she often said. And carrying off the great 
 painter, with whom as yet she had not 
 exchanged a word, from these two women, 
 who in their several ways she believed to 
 be devoted to him, was exactly the sort of 
 game for which it pleased Marian to throw 
 a large stake. She had seen Paul Cazalet 
 several times, and watched him from afar 
 when he had come to the Boulangerie ; 
 and once she had met him at the LouvTe, 
 accompanied by Mrs Jocelyn ; and about 
 him, from Lili and De Gourlay, she had 
 heard enough to fill reams of paper. Yes, 
 decidedly, before she was even introduced, 
 she had fallen in love with Cazalet — as 
 much in love, that is, as Marian was 
 capable of being with any man : his posi- 
 tion and his appearance suited her. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 ' It would be quite cJiic to win him,' she 
 made up her mind ; but how was she to 
 do it, unless she urged this foolish little 
 Lili into desperate acts ? Lili must get 
 rid of Mrs Jocelyn, and then it rested only 
 with herself to get rid of Lili — that was 
 easy enough.' 
 
 From which same observations of 
 Marian, it may be inferred that the bonds 
 of friendship between Paul Cazalet and 
 Mrs Jocelyn had been strengthened of 
 late. And yet it was only a friendship — 
 strange it should have become so rapidly 
 strong, that it was before this friendship 
 Marian Wallis quailed, not before the love 
 Paul ever professed for his sweet young 
 cousin. 
 
 In order to distance the 'red-haired 
 woman,' as Marian expressed it, she was 
 resolved to act in strict combination with 
 Lili. A difficult impediment, however, 
 was placed in the way, by Paul having 
 postponed for a few weeks the permission 
 for Lili to bring her friend to the Rue 
 Mignon. 
 
 If, however, Paul would not give leave,
 
 A Daring Schemer. 99 
 
 they must take the law In their own hands, 
 and go to the studio without it. 
 
 ' Oh, Marian, I don't dare ! ' cried timid 
 Lili. 
 
 * Nonsense, child ; leave it to me ; I'll 
 manage it. We'll go there as if it was 
 the most natural thing in the world, and 
 even Paul himself will not be angry, — go 
 there too when the high priestess is sit- 
 ting on her throne worshipping at the 
 painter's shrine.' 
 
 ' Oh, Marian ! ' 
 
 * No objections, if you please, Lili. I 
 will not hear them. Can't you trust 
 me?' 
 
 ' Yes, I think and believe you are very 
 clever, but cleverness is too alarming 
 sometimes.' 
 
 'Foolish Lili. Give me a kiss and have 
 faith in me. There is M. Cazalet calling 
 you ; run along, and leave me to mature 
 our plans.' 
 
 Lili left her to go to her uncle, but she 
 went very slowly ; all the alacrity she 
 usually displayed In obeying his summons 
 seemed suddenly to have died out ; it was
 
 lOO Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 as if a great fear was holding her back and 
 crushing both Hfe and spirit. 
 
 Meanwhile Marian Wallis, as she saw 
 her saunter slowly up the garden, muttered 
 to herself, — 
 
 ' She is a fool, — a beautiful fool, but she 
 is not altogether as plastic as one might 
 wish ; still it will be odd if I cannot con- 
 trive to mould her.'
 
 CHAPTER VIII, 
 
 MARIAN IN CLOVER, 
 
 O you are seriously contemplat- 
 ing matrimony, — why, Felix, 
 if you told me that the stars 
 had descended to the earth 
 and ceased to shine in the celestial hemi- 
 sphere, I should not be more surprised,' 
 and Madame de Brissac laughed gaily. 
 
 The little Vicomte shrugged his shoul- 
 ders and looked injured. 
 
 * Why should I not marry and become 
 a domestic character — a family man?' he 
 asked. 
 
 ' Why not ? But what are we to do for 
 our butterfly ; besides, being a butterfly.
 
 I02 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow, 
 
 how do you expect to remain constant to 
 one flower ? ' 
 
 * I do not mean to try.' 
 
 * Mon cher, what morality.' 
 
 ' This marriage, dear Madame de Bris- 
 sac, will be what hundreds of marriages 
 are every day, simply a marriage of con- 
 venience. The young lady has money, 
 which I have not. I have a name and a 
 good position, which she has not.' 
 
 ' Tiens ! Papillon, you have more sense 
 than I gave you credit for ; and the girl, 
 does she agree to this ? ' 
 
 ' She has not committed herself to either 
 yes or no ; like all her countrywomen, she 
 requires time to consider; but tliere is no 
 doubt she smiles on me.' 
 
 ' And she is presentable, you say/ 
 
 ' Quite.' 
 
 ' I should like to see her.' 
 
 ' That is exactly the favour I have come 
 to ask you.' 
 
 * You want her to come to my Thurs- 
 days ? ' 
 
 He bowed his head affirmatively. 
 Madame de Brissac went on, —
 
 Mariaji in Clover. 103 
 
 * I am very extended in my Ideas, — not 
 particular enough, some people call it ; but 
 I should prefer looking at this young lady 
 before I give her carte blanche to come 
 here every week. Besides, have you con- 
 sidered the matter well ? Her presence 
 may quite upset your chances with la belle 
 Nelly ; ' and again Madame de Brissac 
 laughed. 
 
 * Bah ! She has no eyes for any one 
 but the big bear Cazalet. ' Dieic, how I 
 hate him ! But, please, do not distract my 
 thoughts to Mrs Jocelyn : it disturbs my 
 peace. Will you, accompanied by me, do 
 me the favour to call on Mademoiselle 
 Wallis and Madame her mother.' 
 
 * No, not with you. I will call by my- 
 self. Your presence would hamper me. 
 Go and tell them I will call to-morrow 
 afternoon between three and four.' 
 
 And Madame de Brissac kept her word. 
 Several times after Felix de Gourlay left 
 her she sat down to write and tell him she 
 had changed her mind, and would rather 
 have nothing to do with these strangers. 
 A hidden power, for which she could not
 
 T04 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 account, seemed to hold her back, but she 
 would not allow what she considered her 
 free will to be conquered by a mere senti- 
 ment, so the note was not sent to De 
 Gourlay, and the visit was paid to the 
 Wallises, who, of course, were in full dress 
 to receive her, rather shocking Madame de 
 Brissac by the gaudiness of their attire. 
 
 She made allowance for it, however, by 
 the fact that they were English colonists, 
 and trusted that a little instruction on her 
 part might mend matters, at all events as 
 far as the girl was concerned. On the 
 mother Madame de Brissac could do little 
 more than gaze, seeing that her knowledge 
 of the English language and Mrs Wallis' 
 aptitude for French were about on a par. 
 
 Marian's French, if not grammatical, 
 was fluent, and she chatted away to the 
 great lady who had condescended to call 
 on them, with an ease and flow that was 
 almost pert. 
 
 No ; assuredly Madame de Brissac was 
 not impressed by Miss Marian Wallis. 
 She had mixed far too extensively in 
 society not to know pure gold from dross,
 
 Marian in Clover. 105 
 
 and that Marian Wallis was dross there was 
 Httle doubt. Still good-natured Madame 
 de Brissac tried to persuade herself that 
 her instincts were at fault, — that the girl 
 only wanted polishing, etcetera. It would 
 be such a good thing for Felix de Gour- 
 lay to marry a rich wife ; for his sake 
 she must make the best of these people, 
 and do all in her power to promote his 
 interests. 
 
 Marian had wisely suppressed her father 
 for the day : the sight of him might have 
 thrown in the casting-vote against the 
 Wallises. But with the assurance that 
 ' Mamma never goes out in the evening ; 
 she can't speak French, and it bores her,' 
 Madame de Brissac said, she hoped Made- 
 moiselle Wallis would come to her next 
 Thursday evening. 
 
 The moment the invitation had left her 
 lips she felt she had made a mistake, but 
 it was too late to recall it, and besides, Felix 
 would be so grateful. 
 
 By Marian's gushing acceptance, it was 
 evident that she was grateful too. 
 
 Ah, if Madame de Brissac, worldly wise
 
 io6 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 though she was, could only have guessed 
 how that very invitation she had so con- 
 siderately given on Felix's account was 
 calculated to retard rather than promote 
 a marriage between him and the scheming 
 Marian, she would probably have allowed 
 her acquaintance with the Wallises to begin 
 and end with that visit. Strange how not 
 unfrequently our good actions — those on 
 which we bestow our greatest care and 
 thought — turn out in exact contradiction 
 to all we hoped and looked for. Marian 
 Wallis, in having Madame de Brissac's 
 doors thrown open to her, had obtained 
 the entrance she craved ; if she succeeded, 
 as she fully expected to do, in making 
 her own way, there would be no need to 
 marry De Gourlay. If she did not suc- 
 ceed, well, the little idiot would always be 
 there to fall back on. 
 
 Thus she reasoned, even while she was 
 saying pretty, gracious speeches to her 
 new acquaintance ; and no sooner was the 
 great lady gone, before even her victoria 
 was out of sight, than Marian ran down 
 the garden in search of Lili, to confide to
 
 Marian in Clove 7\ 107 
 
 her — well, not exactly all her hopes and 
 fears — Marian was too clever a schemer 
 not to know when to ofush and when to 
 be reticent — but all she chose to tell, 
 especially that she was going into society 
 where she should meet M. Paul and his 
 new model, this English lady, and that, 
 of course, she should have her friend's 
 interests dearly at heart. 
 
 The news, however, did not give Lili 
 the pleasure Marian had anticipated. Lili 
 liked Marian's companionship — felt thank- 
 ful that she had some one to talk to who 
 spoke her own language ; but she was too 
 pure and true - hearted unreservedly to 
 place all trust in Marian. Confiding 
 though Lili was by nature, there were 
 moments when she wondered if Marian 
 was altogether quite reliable, — whether 
 she would act in a perfectly straight- 
 forward manner, if placed in a difficult 
 situation. Something of this temper was 
 on Lili to-day, while she listened to 
 Marian's gushing talk about all she 
 hoped to obtain from her introduction to 
 Madame de Brissac.
 
 io8 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 Scarcely then did Lili feel pleased that 
 this so - called friend of hers should be 
 continually meeting Paul, and be able to 
 twist opportunity as she listed. 
 
 Had Lili a presentiment that Paul was 
 not wholly uninteresting to this girl, who, 
 as yet, had not spoken to him ? Was this 
 poor little Lili afraid of discovering another 
 rival when she looked into the animated 
 face of Miss Marian Wallis ? 
 
 Alas ! alas ! for the sensitive tempera- 
 ment, the tender, loving heart to whom a 
 man crowned by genius occasionally throws 
 a blossom from his tree of love. What 
 pain the tending and cherishing of the 
 carelessly-gathered fragrant bloom not un- 
 frequently costs ! What tears, what heart- 
 breakings, leading even into the very 
 shadow of death ! 
 
 But Lili's blossom was not dead. Paul 
 loved her still ; only a few hours ago he 
 had held her to his heart and called her 
 his ' Sweet-eyed darling.' 
 
 ' Yet why was this English woman ever 
 at his side, — why did Marian W^allis twit 
 her by telling her she should meet Paul
 
 Marian in Clover. 109 
 
 and would reason with him ? Was it not 
 rather her right to be there, since one day 
 she would be his wife ? Oh, it was very 
 very hard to bear! If only she could go 
 mad or die, then these things would cease 
 to trouble her ! ' 
 
 Suffering, loving Lili felt she could not 
 bear to be left much longer in the cold, 
 pining for Paul's love. And yet he in the 
 vigour of his strength saw no trouble for 
 her or danger to himself in the course he was 
 pursuing, since it was only friendship that 
 existed between him and INIrs Jocelyn ; and, 
 of course, at that future day when events 
 should ripen into fulfilment, he would 
 marry Lili and give the loving child a 
 home with him in the Rue Mignon. 
 
 That Lili even knew of the existence of 
 Mrs Jocelyn, Paul scarcely thought. 
 
 ' Who should tell her aught of that 
 nothing there was to tell '^. ' 
 
 Little did he dream how her friend 
 Marian Wallis was magnifying what he 
 called ' nothing ' into a jealousy of such 
 gigantic dimensions that it was wearing 
 away sweet Lili's life, and that even Le
 
 1 1 o Nelly Jocelyii, Widow. 
 
 Vieux noticed that each day she looked 
 more ill and frail, while with a melancholy 
 shake of the head he set her ailments 
 down as hereditary, saying her father 
 came of a weakly race. 
 
 It never for a moment occurred to old 
 Cazalet that Paul had anything to do with 
 the change in Lili, and that it was for his 
 undivided love she was pining. 
 
 Much as Le Vieux loved Paul, proud 
 as he was of his talent and renown, 
 certainly he would have given him a 
 right down stern, fatherly lecture had 
 he in the least suspected what was going 
 on. 
 
 But, taken up with his business, kindly 
 old Cazalet knew nought of heartburnings, 
 and though Lili's white face haunted him, 
 even while he was poring over his ledgers, 
 it would never be within his province to 
 bring events to a crisis. Marian Wallis 
 flattered herself that the pulling of the 
 cords of circumstances rested with her, 
 and that she would pull them to her own 
 advantage there was little doubt. 
 
 She donned what she considered her
 
 Marian in Clover. iii 
 
 prettiest frock — it was a pink and blue 
 shot silk, which scarcely suited her sallow 
 complexion — and started, unaccompanied, 
 to Madame de Brissac's Thursday. 
 
 It never entered Marian's head that she 
 required a chaperon, and the self-willed 
 girl certainly did not intend to be shackled 
 by the presence of either her father or 
 mother. It was the first real party she 
 had ever been at, and her eyes glistened 
 with delight when she saw the crowded, 
 well-lit rooms, and heard the rare music, 
 for which Madame de Brissac's parties 
 w^ere renowned. Thev orjistened still more 
 
 J o 
 
 brilliantly, however, when she saw Mrs 
 Jocelyn come in, which she did rather late, 
 looking about her with querying glances, 
 as though asking each person she met if 
 Cazalet was there. 
 
 No one had seen him, which was 
 strange, since he had promised Nelly to 
 come. She must make the best of it. 
 however, and not look too much as if she 
 missed him, so she even entered into con- 
 versation with the butterfly, who, charmed 
 at this public testimony of Mrs Jocelyn's
 
 112 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 favour, was so engrossed by it that he en- 
 tirely forgot the presence of Miss Marian 
 WalHs, and how necessary her money-bags 
 were to the sustaining of his Vicomte's 
 coronet. 
 
 Marian, however, was not jealous ; she 
 cared too little about De Gourlay to be 
 otherwise than amused at his fluttering his 
 pretty wings about this dangerous flame. 
 She would use his neglect of her to her 
 own advantage — of that she was resolved, 
 so she sat down in a corner near Mrs 
 Jocelyn, and put on the most woebe- 
 gone, miserable expression that could well 
 be. 
 
 A first-rate actress Marian would have 
 made. 
 
 More than one person noticed the little 
 stranger's unhappy face, and addressed 
 observations to her, but she did not want 
 their pity ; at last some one drew Madame 
 de Brissac's attention to her, and she im- 
 mediately said a word to the butterfly 
 which recalled him to a sense of the ex- 
 pedient. Another moment and he was 
 by Marian's side ; but she bade him leave
 
 Marian in Clover. 1 1 
 
 her in peace — how could she compete with 
 such beauty as Mrs Jocelyn possessed ? 
 She had come into that corner on purpose 
 to feast her eyes on it. If she could only 
 look on a face like that for ever, she 
 should be quite happy. What would she 
 not give if she dare speak to and make 
 acquaintance with that lovely woman ? 
 
 Here was an opportunity for De Gour- 
 lay to repair his neglect and be forgiven. 
 Another minute, and, with Nelly's per- 
 mission, he had introduced the little, 
 strange Mees from the Colonies, who had 
 gone mad on the subject of Mrs Jocelyn's 
 beauty. Of course Nelly was flattered — 
 a woman's tribute to beauty is always 
 worth having ; it is so much rarer than 
 a man's — and, being flattered, she was 
 wholly taken in by Miss Wallis. 
 
 The girl being, like herself, a stranger 
 in Paris, w^as another link between them ; 
 of course she would befriend her as much 
 as she could ; she must come and see her, 
 and they would be able to arrange ways 
 and means for a little amusement. 
 
 Marian did not look miserable now : 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 the clouds had cleared thoroughly from 
 her brow, and the sunshine was so bril- 
 liant that it could not grow brighter, even 
 when Paul Cazalet himself appeared on 
 the scene, and Mrs Jocelyn, after shaking 
 hands with him most cordially, said, in 
 her low, rich voice, — 
 
 ' Mon ami, this is an English girl — Miss 
 Marian Wallis. She is lonely in Paris ; 
 I have promised her a little pleasure.' 
 
 Paul Cazalet looked at her for a second, 
 and then, with a cold bow, received the 
 gush of enthusiasm over his talent, which 
 Marian knew so well how to bestow. 
 
 He remembered at once that this 
 Marian Wallis was Lili's friend, and he 
 wondered what complication her acquaint- 
 ance with Mrs Jocelyn might bring about.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE POWER OF LOVE. 
 
 HE morning after Marian Wallis' 
 introduction to Madame de 
 Brissac was bright and clear 
 and frosty. Just the winter's 
 day in which a painter revels. 
 
 Paul, absorbed in his art, had forgotten 
 all the complications and combinations his 
 friendship with Mrs Jocelyn might oc- 
 casion, and, for the time being, though 
 she was lying dreaming in the armchair 
 by the fire, — her auburn hair in heavy 
 masses about her shoulders, her large, 
 soft eyes fixed on him, — he forgot the 
 woman in the model ; and all the per- 
 turbations of mind which had troubled
 
 1 1 6 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 him so much of late, were merged into 
 the object he had so desperately at heart 
 — to idealise Mrs Jocelyn's beautiful face 
 till the world should cry aloud in rapture 
 when it beheld La Veneziana. 
 
 Nelly, meanwhile, was gazing at the 
 man, not the artist. She was wondering 
 if she had met Paul Cazalet before life 
 had began with her in earnest — -whether 
 their friendship would have ripened into 
 love. 
 
 It did not occur to Nelly, even while 
 she was analysing her feelings as she lay 
 there watching Paul, that there was some- 
 thing very nearly akin to love in the deep 
 interest she took in this man. 
 
 If he were suddenly to start off on a 
 long journey and leave her alone in 
 Paris, would she drift back into the 
 happy, independent woman she had been 
 before she met him, or feel that with 
 Paul Cazalet the brightest joy in her 
 life had departed ? If Nelly had at- 
 tempted to picture what she would be 
 without Paul, she would have shuddered 
 in dismay at the despair his absence
 
 The Power of Love. 117 
 
 would produce ; but her dreams were 
 retrospective rather than of the future. 
 Why should she contemplate the future, 
 since the present was so happy ? only 
 she could not help feeling that, with 
 another past, all might have been quite 
 different. As far as Nelly knew, there 
 was no woman's face between her and 
 Paul. 
 
 ' He was her very own dear, kind 
 friend, only her independent will pre- 
 vented him from being anything nearer ; 
 that story in the past which made her 
 resolve to eschew love in the future. 
 No ; she would have nothing changed 
 in one tittle ; she gloried in her freedom ; 
 she delighted in having Paul Cazalet for 
 a friend — of what greater happiness could 
 the most exacting woman dream ? Be- 
 sides, Paul did not love her : his first 
 and only real love was his art ; she 
 could not bear to have the second place 
 in his heart, whereas, being only a friend, 
 there was no cause for jealousy. Ay, she 
 had chosen wisely ; with a man of Paul 
 Cazalet's calibre, it would be absurd to
 
 1 1 8 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 expect the impossible ; and that he should 
 descend from the pedestal of his genius 
 and bestow all his time and thouofht on 
 a woman, would be quite impossible. 
 Look at him now ; does he know 
 whether she is a real flesh and blood 
 creature, or a mere lay figure from which 
 he is painting ? ' 
 
 Thus did Nelly dream on, and seek to 
 persuade herself that all was for the best 
 in her relations with Paul ; still, for all 
 that, there is little doubt but a passionate 
 glance from his keen eyes, a tender pres- 
 sure from his kindly hand, would have 
 fired her into enthusiasm, and the strong 
 feeling for him which was only slumbering 
 in her heart, waiting for him to awaken it, 
 would have cried aloud with glad spon- 
 taneity, — 
 
 ' My only love — through life till death — 
 my Paul ; my only love ! ' 
 
 But Paul Cazalet's emotions were re- 
 strained by a stronger power than Nelly 
 dreamed of. Was he not fighting to retain 
 his allegiance to Lili, — not to forget in his 
 friendship for one woman that his love
 
 The Poiuer of Love, 1 19 
 
 was promised to another ? What Mrs 
 Jocelyn thought mere play for him, while 
 it almost amounted to acute pain for her, 
 was nevertheless deep-rooted mental agony 
 to Paul. 
 
 Yet painting there, intensely interested 
 as he was in his subject, who could guess 
 that at any moment the man might assert 
 himself, and in an outburst of intoxication 
 set aside alike his honour and the strict 
 principle of right and wrong to which he 
 was ever striving to hold fast. For Nelly 
 was bewitchingly lovely as she reclined 
 there with her bright eyes fixed on his 
 face ; and if Paul, struggling as he was 
 to be free, could not help loving her, was 
 he to be blamed or accounted wholly a 
 base and worthless man ? 
 
 Oh the power of love ! the power of 
 love ! How well-nigh impossible it is to 
 resist it, and yet what misery and suf- 
 fering it brings to the weak and the 
 cowardly. 
 
 And yet to be valiant and strong in the 
 presence of the woman whose beauty sheds 
 a lustre over his life, to say with strong
 
 1 20 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow, 
 
 resolution, ' Be silent, loudly-beating heart, 
 I will listen to none of your promptings — 
 this beautiful being, who, as my wife, 
 would gladden my onward journey as 
 the sun's rays gladden the earth, shall 
 never be more than a sister or a familiar 
 friend, because in loving her I am bringing 
 unhappiness and misery to another,' was 
 almost more than to mortal man was 
 possible. 
 
 Still for this end Paul was struggling ; 
 would he triumph, armed, as he believed 
 himself to be, with an artist's strength ; 
 or, throwing down his palette and brush, 
 would he cry out in his heart, — 
 
 * Her beauty has conquered me, even in 
 the stronghold of my honour ! ' 
 
 There had been a long, long silence ; 
 the clock on the mantel-shelf had ticked 
 away well-nigh an hour ; but he who 
 dreamed over his work, and she who 
 dreamed of him, alike unheeded time. 
 The dead quiet was at last growing 
 oppressive. 
 
 Paul stepped back from his picture. 
 
 ' Are you tired, Nelly ? Sitting so
 
 The Poiuer of Love, 121 
 
 lono^ In one attitude must surely have 
 cramped you.' 
 
 They had long, as comrades should, 
 been Nelly and Paul to each other. 
 
 She did not move, only smiled on him. 
 
 ' Watching you, dreaming of your 
 genius, how can I be tired ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 The glad light as of deep joy came 
 into his eyes at her words, but it faded 
 away, to be succeeded by such a sad, 
 agonised expression, — that Nelly cried 
 aloud. 
 
 * What is it, Paul ? What pains you — 
 are you ill ? ' 
 
 * No, no ; not ill. But there are 
 moments when a sudden dimness and an 
 unaccountable sense of trouble come over 
 me.' 
 
 And he threw open the window, and 
 let some of the fresh outer air into the 
 heated studio. 
 
 Nelly was by his side in a moment. 
 
 ' My friend, you are overworking your- 
 self ; you shall put your painting away 
 for a while, and see a doctor.'
 
 122 Nelly Jocelyn^ Widow. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' I must finish La Veneziana, and I will 
 see no doctor. He would not understand 
 my complaint.' 
 
 * Nay, but, Paul, you surely do not 
 wish to make me anxious, — to pain me 
 by seeing you suffer } ' 
 
 ' It is not suffering, it is joy,' he whis- 
 pered. ' The pleasure of having you with 
 me is so intense, that in trying to realise 
 it, I stagger. Do such emotions ever 
 kill, Nelly?' 
 
 ' Dear Paul, how good you are to me ! ' 
 
 And her words came out richly, as 
 though the pleasure Nelly felt was totally 
 unallied to pain. Nor was there a shadow 
 of regret mixed with her feeling for Paul. 
 Why should there be ? Something in 
 his manner, as he stood there inhaling 
 the fresh outer air, almost made her 
 think he loved her. Well, and if he did, 
 what then ? To be loved by Paul — must 
 not every other sensation pale before it. 
 
 Ah, the past, the past — she had already 
 forgotten it, and with the first revelation 
 in Paul's eyes she was living in the future
 
 The Power of Love. 123 
 
 with all her friendship as dead as the by- 
 gone buried years. 
 
 His arm was round her now ; her head 
 was on his shoulder ; the perfume from her 
 auburn hair intoxicating him, till the very 
 existence of Lili faded from his mind. 
 
 Yet he did not ask Nelly to be his wife ; 
 for the present moment to know they loved 
 each other was enough — shackles would 
 come all too soon. 
 
 ' No more work to day,' so Nelly said. 
 
 But Paul would not listen to this decree, 
 it was not work to him to paint her sweet 
 face. La Ve7ieziana must be finished 
 while the inspiration was upon him ; it was 
 to be his masterpiece, — the great work on 
 which his fame as a painter would rest. 
 
 She must not let his pleasure in her 
 beauty rob him of a part of his glory. 
 His glory! was it not dearer to her than 
 to himself '^. — was it not his genius she had 
 worshipped, before she loved the man ? 
 For that she did love Paul Cazalet, love 
 him as she had not known till now that 
 she was capable of loving, there is little 
 doubt.
 
 124 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 So they lingered for a while by the 
 window talking, not of the future, with its 
 hopes and fears, not of the past, with its 
 long train of regrets, but of the present, 
 teeming with delight as it ever is at the 
 first flush of love's young dream ; and then 
 at last they went back to their respective 
 positions, he to his easel, she to her re- 
 clining chair, from thence to gaze into 
 each other's eyes, till the swiftly-flying 
 hours of daylight should be shrouded by 
 the veil of night. 
 
 No one came to interrupt them, not 
 even Justine. Since they had ordered no 
 coffee, why should she bring it ? 
 
 Coffee ! In the ecstasy of a new passion 
 dawninor for the first time in both their 
 lives, what room was there to bestow a 
 thought on material subjects ? 
 
 They wanted neither food, nor gold, nor 
 shelter, — nothing in the wide world but 
 each other. 
 
 Would not even the cravinor for Paul's 
 glory set now that the brighter sun of love 
 had risen high in the heaven they had 
 made for themselves ? Six brief hours
 
 The Power of Love. 1 2 5 
 
 since Nelly had entered that studio a 
 seemingly free, independent woman, with 
 a strong friendship for the great painter, 
 and now what a change had been effected. 
 Whole years have stretched themselves 
 between the Nelly of the morning and 
 the Nelly who at last ties the black bonnet 
 over the auburn hair, and, freeing herself 
 from Paul's encircling arms, bids him stay 
 where he is in the studio — she will go home 
 alone. Emotion is wellnigh overbalancing 
 her reason — the cool evening air and soli- 
 tude are tonics necessity compels. 
 
 He obeys her, for he too has need of 
 quiet ; conscience has already begun to 
 torture him with a recollection of Lili's 
 prior claims. ?^Irs Jocelyn does not seek 
 to open the studio door, w^hich Paul always 
 locked when he w^as at w^ork, but went 
 into the sitting-room intending to say a 
 rapid good-evening to Justine as she passed 
 the kitchen on her way into the street. 
 
 She felt somewhat like a thief, creeping 
 out of Paul's house in the gloaming : it was 
 the last time she must come there, she 
 decided. As a sitter to an artist, it was
 
 126 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 a mere business transaction ; but now that 
 the artist was no longer a friend but a 
 lover, they must meet only on neutral 
 ground, or occasionally in her own draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 She had not yet told Paul that this was 
 her determination, but her woman's in- 
 stincts prompted it none the less decidedly 
 on account of her silence. Mrs Jocelyn 
 was fully capable of strong, staunch, pas- 
 sionate love, and its very depths had been 
 stirred by Paul as they had never been 
 before and never would be again by any 
 living man. But to be true to the man 
 she loves — a woman must be true to her- 
 self — no breath of slander must rest on her 
 fair fame, no injurious suspicion sully her 
 purity. But Nelly by no means gauged 
 how difficult this would be. As long as 
 she walked along a straight path, she 
 cared nought for the remarks with which 
 evil tongues are ever ready, nor was it 
 the dread of gossip that would keep her 
 in this path. She was one of those women 
 who, naturally proud and high minded, 
 would so have loathed herself for any
 
 The Powe r of L ove. 127 
 
 divergence from the path of virtue that 
 her Hfe from that hour would have be- 
 come such a terrible reproach as not to 
 be worth the living. 
 
 No ; the pleasant dawdlings in Paul 
 Cazalet's studio, few though they had 
 been, were already at an end. She 
 would, alone in her own apartment, revel 
 for that one evening over her love for 
 the great painter ; and in the morning 
 she would arrange some plan which 
 should keep both herself and him from 
 harm. Even as she stumbled through 
 the little sittinor-room in the semi-dark- 
 ness, she made up her mind to this, 
 and a sort of craving for some one to 
 protect her from herself was upon her. 
 She had closed the door leading from 
 the sitting-room to the atelier, leaving 
 Paul alone ; when she opened the second 
 door on the opposite side of the room, 
 she heard voices in the kitchen — Justine 
 was not alone, and a bright paraffin lamp 
 was burning glaringly ; she would walk 
 hurriedly on, without looking to the 
 right or left ; her nerves were at too
 
 128 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 high tension to bear conversation with 
 Justine's gossiping acquaintances. 
 
 To get away unseen was, however^ not 
 so easy as she had expected. 
 
 * Ah, Mrs Jocelyn, we have been wait- 
 ing here for you to come out — we did 
 not hke to interrupt the sdance! 
 
 Compelled to stop, Nelly stared in a 
 bewildered way at the speaker, as though 
 striving to remember where she had seen 
 her before. 
 
 ' Miss Wallis,' she murmured at length, 
 the name and the girl's features suddenly 
 comincr back to her recollection. 
 
 ' Yes ; and this is Lili, my intimate 
 friend, and M. Paul Cazalet's fiancdel 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn turned her eyes, with an 
 almost stony stare, from Marian Wallis' 
 face to Lili's ; she seemed to drink in, 
 as it were, one long — to her fevering — 
 draught of the girl's pale, wondrous 
 beauty ; then, as though she did not 
 wish anything to come between her and 
 the melancholy sadness of Lili's face, 
 without speaking one word more, she 
 strode forth into the now absolute dark-
 
 The Power of Love. 
 
 129 
 
 ness of the early winter's night, and, 
 with an even deeper darkness over- 
 whelming her own heart with its chill 
 gloom, she stumbled rather than walked 
 through the streets till, as it were by 
 intuition, she reached her own home. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHICH LOVED HIM BEST 
 
 ELLY JOCELYN'S feelings 
 had been stirred to their very 
 depth during her recent in- 
 terview with Paul. Marian's 
 sudden statement, conveying, as it prac- 
 tically did, a revelation of the utter 
 duplicity of the man she had been 
 robing in ideal glory, was almost more 
 than, for some time, she could alto- 
 gether grasp. 
 
 The capability of thinking seemed to 
 be absolutely stagnated ; and, as one in 
 a dream she met the exigencies of the 
 moment, without thoroughly understand- 
 ing what was going on.
 
 Which loved Him Best ? 131 
 
 She had promised to dine at Madame 
 d'Albin's, and, hke an automaton wound 
 up to perform a certain amount of work, 
 she dressed and went — nay, more, she 
 so far restrained her natural feehngs 
 that she managed to talk and laugh so 
 successfully that for a time no one 
 even guessed that there w^as aught amiss. 
 But the high pressure told at last, and 
 before the evening was over most of 
 Nelly's sentences ended in a hysterical 
 sob, and it was obvious that she was 
 suffering acutely. 
 
 She must go home, she said ; a 
 night's rest would put her all right ; she 
 had been doing rather too much of late. 
 
 A night's rest ! If sleep would only 
 come to her pillow and chase away 
 thought ; but alone once more in the 
 solitude of her own room — away from 
 the many curious eyes which would, as 
 it were, look into her very soul — the 
 pent-up agony burst forth, and without 
 even taking off her long black, trailing 
 skirts, she wandered up and down the 
 room like one distraught, till the grey
 
 132 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 dawn peeped in through the crevices of 
 the shutters. What mattered that the 
 night had been cold, and the silver 
 hoar-frost lay on the hardened earth ? 
 Nelly did not even throw a shawl over 
 her shoulders, but continued her rapid 
 walk backwards and forwards with mono- 
 tonous precision. 
 
 At last the sounds of awakening traffic 
 penetrate even her dulled senses, and 
 she lets in the daylight. Cold and un- 
 inviting is the aspect of that early 
 morning — not becoming, either, to Nelly's 
 beauty ; there are black lines round her 
 eyes, her face and lips are absolutely 
 colourless, and the auburn hair hangs 
 about her shoulders in dishevelled masses, 
 which are scarcely picturesque. Nelly 
 looks at her watch — it is half-past eight. 
 She knows full well what she intends 
 to do, but the day is, as yet, too young. 
 She smiles grimly as she looks from her 
 watch to the looking-glass, and says, — 
 
 * If he had seen me thus, I might not 
 have been taught to suffer.' 
 
 Even in her utter despair woman's in-
 
 Which loved Him Best ? 133 
 
 stinct to make the best of advantages does 
 not wholly desert her. 
 
 She takes off her evening toilette, wraps 
 herself in a warm dressing-gown, rolls her 
 hair up into a knot, and finally rings the 
 bell. 
 
 ' A fire, a hot bath, and some strong 
 tea.' 
 
 The maid who answers her summons is 
 somewhat surprised to see her mistress on 
 the alert at so early an hour, but she makes 
 no comment. There is something in Mrs 
 Jocelyn's face that forbids remark. By 
 eleven o'clock, though the colour has not 
 come back to her cheeks, nor the light of 
 beauty to her eyes, yet she looks a sad and 
 lovely woman as she stands ready to go 
 out, — the simple black bonnet tied under 
 her chin, her long gauze veil floating be- 
 hind her. The maid supposes she is go- 
 ing to sit as usual for her picture, and is 
 somewhat surprised, as she watches her 
 from the window, to see that she walks 
 briskly down a street quite opposite from 
 the one that she would take to go to the 
 Rue Mignon.
 
 134 Nelly Jocelyn^ Widow. 
 
 Exactly the route she ought to follow 
 she does not know herself ; but she has 
 got the words Boulangerie Aftglaise firmly 
 eneraven on her mind, and she makes no 
 doubt that when she reaches the Arc de 
 Triomphe some one will tell her where it is. 
 
 On, on, then she wanders, her aching 
 brow refreshed by the cool morning air, 
 her whole thoughts concentrated on a meet- 
 ing with Lili, and a thorough laying bare 
 of the unvarnished truth, at all events as 
 far as Paul is concerned. 
 
 Meantime Paul, in total ignorance of the 
 meeting between the two girls and Mrs 
 Jocelyn, is standing gazing in rapt ad- 
 miration at the half- finished Venezia7ia 
 wondering every now and again why his 
 beautiful love does not come, yet almost 
 welcoming her absence, since it teaches 
 him how dreary life would be without her, 
 — how his very being is merged in hers. 
 
 As for Lili, he scarcely bestows a thought 
 on her ; and when he does, he quiets his 
 arguing conscience by saying that, after all, 
 he has never made very serious love to 
 her ; and though he has told his father that
 
 Which loved Him Best ? 
 
 oo 
 
 he would marry her some day, and give her 
 a home, surely such a promise is not bind- 
 ing. She shall have a home with him and 
 Nelly when Le Vietix dies ; and no doubt 
 so undemonstrative a beine as Lili will be 
 quite content. 
 
 ' But why does not Nelly come ? ' 
 
 And he began to pace restlessly about 
 the room, and look ever and a^ain with 
 longing eyes out of the window. Well is 
 it that we cannot penetrate the mists that 
 shroud our omniscience. 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn had reached that part of 
 Paris where she believed the Boulangerie 
 to be. She was not long before she saw 
 the shop itself, and the honest baker stand- 
 ing at the door giving orders to his men, 
 who were loadinor the carts with bread. 
 
 She stood and contemplated him for a 
 few seconds. 
 
 Her Paul's father ! There was a gentle- 
 ness and a probity about his countenance 
 which made her heart bound as she thought, 
 — ' Surely in the son of a man like that, 
 there can be no deceit.' 
 
 Suppose she went straight to him for
 
 J 
 
 6 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 information. But no ; she would not pain 
 the good, doating father by throwing even 
 a momentary doubt on his son's honour. 
 And she half turned away in indecision. 
 
 Fate, however, had so intended it that 
 Mrs Jocelyn should not have come so 
 far for nothing. Looking back from the 
 Boulangerie, on which her attention had 
 been fixed, she saw that she was watched 
 — watched by an individual whom, during 
 the last twelve hours, she had learnt to 
 hate. 
 
 Miss Marian Wallis, tripping along 
 in search of any adventure chance might 
 bring about, scarcely in her wildest imagin- 
 ings hoped for such a promising one as 
 the appearance of Mrs Jocelyn in those 
 regions foretold. To let it slip would be 
 to belie her character for ready cleverness. 
 So she bowed, and smirked, and held out 
 her hand. 
 
 ' Are you looking for our villa, Mrs 
 Jocelyn ? I hope you are. It is just at 
 the back of M. Cazalet's. We can ^o 
 through his garden : it is much nearer.' 
 
 Without waiting for an answer she
 
 Which loved Him Best ? 
 
 al 
 
 opened a gate which led down an alley by 
 the side of the shop, to the Cazalets' garden. 
 ?.Irs Jocelyn followed, led on by a sort of 
 mysterious power, but she did not utter 
 one word. Her one overwhelming thought 
 at the moment was of Lili. Would she 
 see Lili there, and find her willing to 
 answer truthfully any questions she might 
 put. 
 
 Yes ; Marian knew full well that Lili 
 Avas in that garden, or she would not have 
 invited Mrs Jccelyn to come into it. 
 
 A few seconds more and the two rivals 
 for Paul Cazalet's love stood face to face, 
 Marian watching them with a sort of 
 mocking sneer. But Mrs Jocelyn could 
 scarcely say what she had to say before 
 Marian Wallis, so she asked her to go on 
 to the villa, — she had a message for Lili, 
 when she had delivered it, she would 
 follow her. 
 
 To allow any part of the game to be 
 played without her immediate supervision 
 was scarcely Marian's intention ; but Mrs 
 Jocelyn's manner was peremptory — she was 
 perforce compelled to obey her.
 
 138 Nelly Joe ely 11, Widow. 
 
 A message for Lili ! What could it 
 be? 
 
 Both the girls were wondering, though 
 with very different feelings agitating them 
 the while. 
 
 Marian out of sight and earshot, Mrs 
 Jocelyn took Lili's hand, and gazed into 
 her eyes, as though by their means she 
 would look into her very soul. 
 
 'Is it true,' she asked, 'that you are 
 the affianced wife of Paul Cazalet ? ' 
 
 * Yes,' Lili said in a clear voice, speaking 
 very low. ' What have you come to tell 
 me. Has he sent me a message — is it that 
 he would be free '^ ' 
 
 'Free!' answered Mrs Jocelyn. ' Is it 
 possible ever to be free from a given 
 promise ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes, Mrs Jocelyn ; and rather than 
 he should be unhappy, I will give him 
 back his promise, though the loss of him 
 should kill me. I love my cousin Paul — 
 God only knows how I love him — still I 
 know he is far, far above me. I am not 
 a fitting wife for him, yet I thought and 
 believed he loved me, but now — ' her
 
 Which loved Him Best ? 130 
 
 sentence ended in a sob, and she fairly 
 broke down. 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn looked at her almost ten- 
 derly as she said, — 
 
 ' My poor child, I wonder whether Paul 
 Cazalet is worth these tears ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, Mrs Jocelyn, and they told me 
 you loved him ! ' 
 
 ' Love him ! Has even he, gfreat eenius 
 though he is, the right to make the misery 
 of two hearts. Is winning love, that he 
 may squander it, a privilege which even 
 Paul Cazalet can dare to claim ? ' 
 
 ' He has not sought to win my love. 
 Oh, Mrs Jocelyn ! you are mistaking his 
 great, noble nature. I gave him my love, 
 gave it without the asking. It was my 
 uncle Le Vieicx who arranged that Paul 
 should marry me and he w^ho never refuses 
 his father anything, simply acquiesced.' 
 
 ' My child, you are deceiving yourself, 
 and trying to deceive me. Either M. Paul 
 Cazalet has asked you to marry him, or he 
 has not done so — there can be no middle 
 course in such a matter.' 
 
 ' Still I will never marry Paul for it to
 
 140 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 be a misery to him. If they had only left 
 me in England to work or beg for my daily 
 bread — here I am only in Paul's way, — 
 standing between him and a great lady 
 like yourself. Oh, if it would please God 
 to take me ! ' 
 
 There were tears in Nelly Jocelyn's 
 eyes as she looked at Lili, in surprise at 
 the great sacrifice so grandly, because so 
 simply, offered. 
 
 ' I cannot take Paul from you, my poor 
 Lili. I have no right ; besides — 
 
 Lili's dark eyes beamed for a moment 
 as a sort of glow, shed by Paul's love, 
 seemed to come over her at these words ; 
 a chill blast, however, quickly swept it 
 away, and she asked, — 
 
 ' Besides what ? ' 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn seemed about to speak 
 unrestrainedly, then she pulled herself 
 suddenly together and said coldly, — 
 
 ' I have ceased to esteem a man who 
 can offer me the deep love of his whole 
 heart when he has already promised it to 
 another.' 
 
 There was no gleam of joy in Lili's
 
 Which loved Hwi Best ? 141 
 
 eyes now. It was as though she had 
 received her death-warrant ; and the ao^onv 
 of a sudden spasm contracted her fragile 
 frame till she was bent nearly double ; she 
 managed, however, to stammer, — 
 
 ' Paul — Paul — has — done — this.' 
 
 And then she sat down on a seat close 
 by, and leaning her head on a leafless 
 lilac-bush, she looked as if life were well- 
 nigh extinct. 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn was seized with a sudden 
 fear. This girl had evidently got a heart 
 complaint, and the shock of her statement 
 might prove fatal. 
 
 She went towards her and tried to take 
 her hand ; it was icy cold, but the flame 
 that was still burning in Lili's lamp of 
 life, though feeble, was not incapable of 
 emitting a sudden, strong light. 
 
 She repulsed Mrs Jocelyn so vigorously 
 that she did not persist in offering her 
 unwelcome attentions. 
 
 * I am not ill,' she said, ' only troubled. 
 No one can help me — least of all you. 
 What can there be between you and me ? 
 — best that we had never met.'
 
 142 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 ' Nay,' answered Mrs Jocelyn, who, now 
 that Lili had spoken, recovered from her 
 temporary fright, — ' nay, it was necessary 
 that we should meet — the truth demanded 
 it.' 
 
 ' The truth. I wonder if the truth ever 
 kills.' 
 
 ' It is rather falsehood that kills.' 
 
 ' Yet I have not been false. I have ever 
 striven to be true.' 
 
 ' My child, you will surely not be the 
 victim of this great wrong.' 
 
 Lili shook her head. 
 
 ' What I am suffering now is more than 
 I can bear; — please leave me; — why do you 
 look at me like that ? You are great and 
 noble — loving too — but you cannot help 
 me. You will get over your disappoint- 
 ment in Paul — for you cannot love him as 1 
 do. Get over it, did I say ? you will be 
 with him — at his side sharing his glory, 
 while I — ' 
 
 ' Lili, for mercy's sake do not talk like 
 that ! Do you think I could ever forgive 
 Paul the suffering he has dealt out to both 
 of us ?'
 
 Which loved Hi7Ji Best ? 143 
 
 * We always forgive those we love ; 
 if we could not forgive we should not 
 love.' 
 
 ' Impossible ! — this man has behaved too 
 disgracefully.' 
 
 ' There must be no disgrace cast on the 
 name of Paul Cazalet. If I can suffer 
 silently so that he may be great, surely 
 you will agree to be silent too.' 
 
 ' I wish I had never come here, never 
 come,' muttered Nelly, 'but had borne my 
 burden patiently. For your sake, LiH, I 
 wish this — not for his.' 
 
 This time Lili held her hand out to 
 her. 
 
 * You have not harmed me ; it is by a 
 sterner decree than yours that I am suffer- 
 ing. Now go, and do your best for Paul. 
 He should know nothing of this meeting. 
 I will not tell him.' 
 
 Nelly, angry even to madness at what 
 she was pleased to call Paul's deception, 
 was silenced before this lowly girl's simple 
 devotion. 
 
 She stooped and kissed the white brow, 
 w^hich did not shrink from her lips, and
 
 144 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 when at last she turned and left the gar- 
 den, going not towards the villa but out 
 by the alley through which she had entered, 
 it was with Lili's not her own wrong that 
 her heart was filled. 
 
 And Lili did not attempt to move after 
 Mrs Jocelyn left her ; as one crushed, she 
 sat on there, leaning against the lilac-bush ; 
 even thought seemed dead, everything but 
 her great love for Paul, which lay like a 
 heavy weight at her heart. 
 
 At last Marian Wallis, tired of waiting 
 so long for Mrs Jocelyn, and wondering 
 whether this troublesome message would 
 ever be delivered, came through the gap 
 in the hedge into the garden to see what 
 they were about. 
 
 ' Lili; good gracious! what is the matter? 
 — where is Mrs Jocelyn ?' 
 
 But Lili made no answer, nor moved 
 when Marian approached her. 
 
 Even when her friend shook her some- 
 what impatiently she did not respond, and 
 Marian, in alarm at her comatose condition, 
 called out, bringing La Normande forth- 
 with on the scene.
 
 Which loved Him most ? 
 
 145 
 
 Their combined efforts could not, how- 
 ever, rouse Lili ; so very quietly, fearing 
 lest Le Vietix should hear them and be 
 anxious, they carried her up to her room 
 and put her into bed, hoping that warmth 
 and rest would restore animation. Before 
 long they discovered that all their efforts 
 were unavailing ; it was necessary to in- 
 form Le Vieux of Lili's illness, and to send 
 for the nearest doctor. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 K
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 SANS ADIEU. 
 
 His 
 
 LL through the morning Paul 
 waited for Nelly, passing the 
 time in dreaming and impati- 
 ence by turns, 
 untasted d^jeicner had been re- 
 moved by Justine, with many a grunt and 
 groan over the change that the acquaint- 
 ance with this English widow had entailed 
 — for that her Paul was not the same man 
 Justine saw full well. 
 
 As for painting, that was quite out of 
 the question ; he could not get on without 
 Nelly, and why she did not come per- 
 plexed him greatly. 
 
 At last he threw off his blouse, put on
 
 Sans Adieu. 147 
 
 his soft felt hat, and wandered forth to 
 inquire the reason of her absence. 
 
 Madame was out, the maid said, had 
 been out some time, and she knew nothing- 
 of where she had gone. 
 
 Back, then, to the Rue Mignon to wait 
 a w^hile longer Paul decided to go ; doubt- 
 less Nelly would come to him as she re- 
 turned from her mysterious expedition. 
 
 His mind full of Nelly, he walked on 
 without looking round ; if he had done so, 
 what chancres miofht have been effected in 
 both their lives ! As Paul sauntered dis- 
 consolately off in the direction of the Rue 
 Mignon, Mrs Jocelyn arrived at her own 
 door from the opposite direction. 
 
 For a while she stood and watched 
 Paul till he gradually retreated from her 
 sight, then very slowly she crawled through 
 the porte cochere up the stairs which led 
 to her apartment. 
 
 The scene of the miorning seemed to have 
 put such a barrier between her and her love 
 that she was powerless to call out to him 
 to render her an explanation of his strange 
 and seemingly most dishonourable conduct.
 
 148 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. ' 
 
 And as Paul walked slowly home, a 
 strong belief in affinities was upon him, 
 and he felt, though he could not have 
 defined how, that Nelly was near him, 
 but that some powerful agency was hold- 
 ing them apart. 
 
 It was a horrible, nightmarish feeling, 
 and he tried to shake it off, explaining it 
 by saying that of course Nelly was near 
 him — was she not ever by his side, her 
 spirit ever pervading the very air he 
 breathed ? Yet, what was keeping her 
 away ? — ah, if she would only come back, 
 and, casting her loving arms about his 
 neck, tell him she would leave him never, 
 never more, how happy it would make 
 him. 
 
 But the day wore on, the silence of 
 night once more succeeded the sun's 
 radiance, and still Nelly did not come. 
 
 Paul by this time was utterly wretched ; 
 still he would not humble himself by go- 
 ing again to her door. Perhaps he was 
 afraid of injuring Nelly, or perhaps he 
 was just a little bit angry himself — angry 
 and despondent by turns, as lovers are
 
 Sa7is Adieu, 149 
 
 wont to be — since she had promised to sit 
 to him as^ain, and had neither come nor 
 sent a hne of excuse. 
 
 Would he not dine — he had eaten no 
 breakfast? Justine asked at last, breaking 
 her rule of silence in despair, as she 
 dashed suddenly into the studio where 
 Paul was sitting, listless and unhappy, in 
 the gloom. 
 
 Dine ? He did not know. Was it 
 time for dinner ? How the day had worn 
 away. He was not hungry — perhaps he 
 was ailing. 
 
 ' Ay, ailing — heartsick,' muttered Justine, 
 * a disease from which it would be well to 
 be cured quickly.' 
 
 He did not heed or hear her grumblings, 
 but rousing himself as with an effort, said 
 he would go out to dine ; he wanted dis- 
 traction — a meeting with some of his com- 
 rades at a restaurant would cheer him and 
 do him good. 
 
 Justine could scarcely contradict this 
 assertion, though in reality she had no 
 belief in Paul's intention to have any 
 dinner at all.
 
 150 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 She was not sorry when, just as they 
 were discussing the subject, a loud knock 
 came at the aUlier. 
 
 Paul Cazalet grew deadly pale. 
 
 ' Nelly, or a messenger from her,' he 
 decided at once. 
 
 Meantime Justine, whose head was not 
 filled with Mrs Jocelyn, as Paul's was, 
 threw open the door. Just what she hoped 
 and wished for ; one of Paul's artist friends 
 had come to invite him to share a friendly 
 repast at the 'Barbe Noire ^ an establish- 
 ment in great Bohemian repute, so called 
 after its black-bearded chef I 
 
 Naturally Paul's first impulse was to 
 refuse the proffered hospitality, but some- 
 thing in Justine's eyes compelled him to 
 accept. To escape comment and inquiry 
 from Justine was Paul's first object at 
 that moment. After all, he need not eat, 
 he thought, and as soon as dinner was 
 over, would get away, under the pretext 
 that he was going to Le Vieux. 
 
 To the ' Barbe Noire,' then, the two ac- 
 quaintances adjourned, and many were the 
 nods of recognition Paul received as he
 
 Sails Adieu. 151 
 
 passed sundry small tables in search of a 
 place ; for Paul Cazalet was an enormous 
 favourite in the art fraternity, all of whom 
 exalted him to a high position, both for 
 genius and honour. 
 
 There was not a man in that room but 
 would have quoted Paul Cazalet as the 
 beau-ideal of goodness and high principle ; 
 and yet, oh, inconceivable human w^eak- 
 ness ! how near he was to falling from his 
 high estate. 
 
 For the first time, perhaps, in his artist 
 life, these jovial companions and good 
 fellows failed to cheer Paul, and, simply 
 because he himself was out of tune, their 
 jokes fell flat, and the viands and wines 
 offered him were insipid. 
 
 If he could only get away, was his con- 
 stant craving ; his anger had disappeared, 
 his pride was conquered ; he must go to 
 Nelly Jocelyn's, find out what had become 
 of her, and beg for an assurance that what- 
 ever should befall, through weal and woe 
 she would love him to the end. 
 
 Nine o'clock, and they w^ere still at 
 table, jokes that he seemed to have heard
 
 152 Nelly yocelyn. Widow. 
 
 fifty times, tales that he declared were 
 worn out with age, were still going the 
 round, and Paul was thoroughly bored. 
 
 Truly the fault lay with him, for in wit 
 and humour no coterie in sparkling Paris 
 could match the habitues of the ' Barbe 
 Noire. ' 
 
 At last, a man pleaded an appointment 
 and rose ; Paul did not delay in following 
 suit. The rest sought clamorously to re- 
 tain him ; but his father kept early hours, 
 — would be in bed if he did not hasten, he 
 said. 
 
 When they finally gave him his free- 
 dom, like an emancipated schoolboy, no 
 sooner was he out of sight of the loiterers 
 about the door, than in the most undig- 
 nified manner he took to his heels and 
 ran, wonderfully swiftly too for a heavy 
 big man as Paul Cazalet was. 
 
 It was a good mile and a half from the 
 restaurant where he had been dining to 
 the quartier in which Mrs Jocelyn dwelt, 
 and it would have seemed simpler to have 
 taken a cab, but Paul was too restless to 
 sit any longer, and, moreover, was accus-
 
 Sans Adiett. 153 
 
 tomed to trust for locomotion to the use 
 of his own strong Hmbs. 
 
 Half-past nine was striking by a neigh- 
 bouring clock when he stood under the 
 porte cochere from whence Nelly had 
 watched him in the morning. 
 
 Without speaking to the concierge, he 
 intended to pass upstairs, and once more 
 interview Mrs Jocelyn's maid, but this 
 time the old man who was Cerberus at 
 the lodgfe laid his hand on his arm. 
 
 'La dame Anglaise n est pas Id! 
 
 ' Not there. Has she not come in ? ' 
 
 ' Elle est partie! 
 
 ' Gone ! ' 
 
 And great drops of sweat stood on Paul's 
 brow as he pronounced the one word 
 which was as a deathblow to his hopes. 
 
 ' Gone ! Why had she gone ? Where 
 had she gone ? ' 
 
 The co7icierge shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' The maid, is she upstairs, can she tell 
 anything '^. ' went on Paul. 
 
 ' The maid has accompanied madame, 
 the apartment is quite deserted — I have 
 the key.'
 
 154 Nelly Jocelyn^ Widow. 
 
 Strange ! And no word, no line ; yet 
 they had parted in perfect friendship. 
 What could it all mean ? 
 
 And Paul, propped up against the door- 
 post of the concierge s lodge, seemed in- 
 capable of either speaking or moving. 
 The concierge, who, although he did not 
 know who Paul was, had on more than 
 one occasion seen him accompany Mrs 
 Jocelyn to the door, guessed that some 
 lovers' quarrel had occasioned her de- 
 parture. 
 
 Sorry for the man, who seemed to be 
 utterly broken down by the intelligence 
 he had just received, he invited him to 
 come and sit down for a little in his room. 
 
 Paul accepted by dropping heavily into 
 the wooden armchair the old man pushed 
 towards him. For a few minutes he sat 
 there without speaking, the concierge con- 
 templating him the while. Suddenly Paul 
 looked up, and noting the man's face, 
 seamed with wrinkles as it was, remem- 
 bered that Nelly had more than once 
 spoken of this old man as being a quaint 
 and extraordinary character.
 
 Sans Adieu. 155 
 
 * Charon in very fact,' Paul's painter 
 instinct decided. 
 
 That he would make friends with him, 
 since he might be very useful, was his next 
 impulse. 
 
 The little mental effort the sight of old 
 Andre's face had produced, brought Paul 
 back to some sense of the actual. 
 
 He threw a five franc piece on the table. 
 
 ' Get a bottle of wine, mon h^ave, and 
 drink to the health of the lady who has 
 gone, and to her speedy return.' 
 
 Greedy of gold, as his race usually are, 
 Andre being an Auvergnat, his eyes glis- 
 tened as he looked at the piece of money ; 
 but he did not touch it, — only stood waiting, 
 as though to learn what he was expected 
 to do for this eift. To Andre it was im- 
 possible that anything should be given for 
 nothing ; nor was he wholly mistaken. 
 
 * When did madame go ? ' asked Paul, 
 after another very short silence. 
 
 * About seven. By the night mail to 
 England.' 
 
 ' To England, mon Dieit! Has she gone 
 for good .^ '
 
 156 Nelly yocelyn, Widow. 
 
 And once more large beady drops came 
 to Paul's brow. 
 
 ' She has left all her effects. The maid 
 said some relation was ill or dead ; but no 
 ddpeche arrived to my knowledge.' 
 
 And Andre looked at the five franc 
 piece, as much as to say, ' Now I have 
 earned it.' 
 
 His meaning, however, was quite lost 
 upon Paul, who went on, — 
 
 ' And she left no word, no note for me ? 
 You are quite sure, nothing for me, Paul 
 Cazalet } ' 
 
 ' Tenez. You are Paul Cazalet, the 
 painter ? ' 
 
 And old Andre, his mouth wide open, 
 stood looking at his visitor as though only 
 now he saw him for the first time. 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; tell me, is there not a mes- 
 sage, — a scrap of paper } ' 
 
 Andre only shook his head, and pushed 
 the five franc piece back to Paul. 
 
 ' If you are Paul Cazalet, I cannot take 
 your money.' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' 
 
 ' Genius is exempt from paying.*
 
 Sans Adieu, 157 
 
 Paul, notwithstanding his trouble, could 
 not refrain from laughing. 
 
 ' What do you know about genius, my 
 friend ? ' 
 
 ' I have seen your pictures, Monsieur 
 Cazalet — Hens/ '' The Peasants Dancing 
 the Bo2tr7'ee cT Atroei'gne " — cest viag- 
 nifique I ' 
 
 * Ah, you have seen that, have you, and 
 it pleased you ? ' 
 
 ' Diablement, I have always wanted to 
 see the painter — -pardie, and you are M. 
 Paul Cazalet. E7npochez voire piece de 
 cent votes y and shake hands.' 
 
 Paul held out his hand, and gave old 
 Andre a vigorous shake ; but, of course, 
 he did not take up his money. 
 
 The man's delight at having touched the 
 hand of the great Cazalet was boundless, 
 and, under other circumstances, would have 
 amused Paul vastly. 
 
 As it was, he said, — 
 
 ' Look here, v7on brave, how would you 
 like to sit to me yourself ? ' 
 
 Andre hesitated for a moment, as 
 though he thought Paul was joking, then
 
 158 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 he nodded his head and laughed, thus 
 deepening all the wrinkles of his face. 
 
 * Un vieiix Auvergnat — Andre Bichot 
 handed down to posterity by Paul Caza- 
 let' 
 
 ' All right,' said Paul, rising to take his 
 departure. 'Come to the Rue Mignon 
 when you can be spared from here in the 
 daylight, and we will see ; ' then looking 
 back again when he was already in the 
 street — ' if you have news of her, let me 
 know.' 
 
 He did not wait for Andre's answer. 
 He was gone, leaving the concierge to 
 mutter alone, — 
 
 * She is beautiful cette Anglaise, and 
 Paul Cazulet loves her. Strange she 
 should go without a word ; and Dieu ! how 
 ill and triste she looked.' 
 
 While he talked to himself he wrapped 
 the five franc piece up in an old envelope, 
 and put it away in a drawer. 
 
 Natural avarice prevented him thrusting 
 it back on Paul, but that he looked upon 
 it as different from all other money there 
 is little doubt ; and if he had known how
 
 Sans Adieu. 159 
 
 to write, he would probably have inscribed 
 name and date on the wrapper. 
 
 Meantime Paul, thinking little of Andre 
 but much of Nelly, wandered slowly back 
 through the oft-trodden streets to the 
 Rue Mignon. The key of the atdier 
 door was in his pocket, but he went in 
 by the back way. Justine was stand- 
 ing in the little passage waiting for 
 him. 
 
 ' I thought you were never coming,' she 
 said. ' There is a message.' 
 
 * From Nelly — from Mrs Jocelyn ?' 
 
 * Sacre nom ! Can you think of no one 
 now — but this Englishwoman ? If we 
 were all — all your family dead and buried, 
 I don't believe you would care.' 
 
 Paul scarcely heeded her reproach, but 
 asked more vehemently, — 
 
 ' What is it ? Tell me, Justine.' 
 
 * A message from Le Vieux. You are 
 to go to the Bottlangerie at once.' 
 
 * Is my father ill ?' 
 
 * No, not your father, but Lili.'
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ON A CALAIS STEAJ^IER. 
 
 HAT sudden impulse had induced 
 Nelly Jocelyn to take flight, 
 even before she allowed her- 
 self a night's reflection on the 
 matter ? Was it that she was even more 
 afraid of herself than she was of Cazalet ? 
 — afraid of the weakness that would make 
 her forgive him his disloyalty, and having 
 forgiven him would she not seek to hold 
 the place she already felt she possessed 
 in his heart, and so supplant poor little 
 Lili, who indubitably had the only right 
 to reign there ? 
 
 Blame Paul ! — ay, she had blamed him
 
 On a Calais Steamer, i6i 
 
 bitterly and remorselessly for having set 
 her up as an idol before he had cast down 
 the shrine in which he had encased 
 another love. 
 
 If she had told him all her story, as 
 one day — had she become a part of his 
 life — she would have been compelled to 
 do, doubtless in turning over its dark 
 pages there would have been many a 
 strong reason for recrimination ; but that 
 she only loved Paul and no other living 
 man, would she aver as solemnly as though 
 she were registering a vow before God ! 
 In this lay Paul's disloyalty, so Nelly 
 felt. A hundred torturinof difficulties 
 might prevent his marriage ; the very 
 ruin that a domestic life mi^ht brine to 
 his art was in itself a strong objection to 
 the matrimonial state ; but that he should 
 love another — that that little fluttering 
 soft-eyed dove should come between her and 
 her great god-like artist, was an obstacle 
 Nelly's passion could not overcome; unless 
 with one supreme thrust she could banish 
 the flutterer for aye, and herself reign tri- 
 umphant in Cazalet's heart and studio. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 1 62 Nelly yocelyn, Widow. 
 
 It was to save herself from this that 
 Mrs Jocelyn fled to England. She had 
 been absent from the old country for many 
 a month ; the sight of it again, and of some 
 familiar faces which were never forgotten, 
 might quell the raging fire that was de- 
 vouring her ; and having learnt once more 
 to see life from a reasonable aspect, she 
 would be better able to wend her footsteps 
 along that sensible path from which she 
 had sworn to herself there should be no 
 digressions. 
 
 It was an intensely cold, though not a 
 stormy night, that Mrs Jocelyn selected 
 for her flight from Paris. By the time 
 she reached Calais, the stars were shining 
 brightly, and the moon, which had risen 
 during the last half-hour, showed plainly the 
 icicles that hung on window ledge and car- 
 riage roof. But the fire that burned fiercely 
 in Nelly Jocelyn's heart prevented her from 
 feeling the outside cold ; and though she 
 had never even sought her bed on the pre- 
 ceding night, she jumped out of the train 
 with the expressed determination that she 
 would pass the time allotted for crossing the
 
 On a Calais Steamer. 163 
 
 Channel on the deck of the steamer. In 
 vain the maid expostulated that she would 
 catch her death — she was resolute. 
 
 ' You can do as you like, Marie, — go 
 below, if it pleases you ; I intend to stay 
 where I am.' 
 
 To be cramped up in a small cabin 
 would, she felt, be more than her agitated 
 nerves could endure. 
 
 All, then, that Marie could prevail on 
 her mistress to do, was to allow herself 
 to be covered up with the rugs and wraps 
 that were to hand ; and then the abigail 
 left her, to see if she could not End a fire 
 and some more comfortable quarters for 
 herself in the downstairs regions. 
 
 There was not a large number of pas 
 sengers — the night was too bitter for any 
 one to think of travelling except those 
 who were absolutely compelled — thus Mrs 
 Jocelyn was the only lady on board ; and 
 not a little surprise was expressed by 
 more than one man pacing the deck, 
 that, if obliged to cross the Channel, she 
 had not chosen a warmer position. For 
 a while after the boat left the harbour
 
 164 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 she remained so passive under the shawls 
 that the other passengers almost forgot 
 her existence, till at last inaction oppressed 
 her, and, standing up, she too began to 
 walk about. 
 
 To unconventional Nelly it did not seem 
 that she was doing anything to court 
 remark. Why sit, if it suited her fancy 
 to walk about .^ As to her beauty ex- 
 citing attention, that never gave her a 
 thought — since Paul had passed out of 
 her life for ever, there was no one else 
 to heed it. 
 
 She was mistaken, however. Standing 
 near the wheel there was a small, dapper- 
 looking man of somewhat sinister mien, 
 though the world chose to call him good- 
 looking. He was wrapped in a large 
 Inverness cape, with a drab travelling 
 cap to match, the flaps of which were 
 tied down over his ears. Not a particu- 
 larly becoming attire ; in fact, it was 
 almost a disguise. Save for a certain 
 sharp opening and shutting of his little 
 beady eyes, his most intimate friends 
 would not have known him, since one
 
 Oil a Calais Steamer. 165 
 
 of the strong characteristics of this man 
 was an excessive dandyism in all matters 
 of dress ; yet he was not effeminate or 
 mawkish, like the butterfly ; on the con- 
 trary, he was business-like in his habits, 
 and very decided in tone and gesture. 
 
 He watched Nelly Jocelyn as she took 
 two or three turns up and down the 
 deck, then as she once more approached 
 where he was standing, he held out his 
 hand to her. She started away ; but then, 
 as plainly as the cold, searching moonlight 
 revealed her features to him, so plainly 
 did she see his, and, recognising them, 
 gave a low, frightened cry, as of pain. 
 
 ' John Wisden,' she said ; ' what has 
 brought you here to-night ? ' 
 
 ' Fate, I suppose, since I have been 
 looking east and west for you without 
 success.' 
 
 ' And what would you with me ? I 
 am not aware that we have aught in 
 common.' 
 
 ' Not so fast, brave Nelly, not so fast.' 
 
 ' I must request, sir, that you will not 
 presume to call me by my Christian
 
 1 66 Nelly yocelyn, Widow. 
 
 name. It is a privilege I only grant 
 to my friends.' 
 
 He laughed, and, taking a fusee box 
 from his pocket, proceeded to light a 
 cigar, saying, between the puffs, — 
 
 ' Well, am I not your friend ? I 
 assure you it were wiser to have me for 
 a friend than a foe ; besides, I do not 
 know by what other name you elect to 
 call yourself.' 
 
 'I am Mrs Jocelyn,' she said briefly, 
 turning away as if to bring the inter- 
 view to an end. But he would not 
 have it so, and slipping round to the 
 other side once more faced her. 
 
 ' Ah, you have not changed your name, 
 as I was told you had done. It would 
 have been wiser.' 
 
 * Why should I ? No one knows that 
 wretched story but you ; and since the 
 name he bore for all business purposes was 
 not his own, why should I change mine "^ ' 
 
 ' No, not his own, and no one knows 
 the story but me ; best, then, to treat 
 me well, and confide in me — don't you 
 think so, Mrs Jocelyn ?
 
 On a Calais Steamer. 167 
 
 * What have I to confide ? ' 
 
 * Why are you scampering about the 
 universe, as if Old Nick were at your 
 heels, — crossing the Channel alone on 
 such a bitter night as this ? ' 
 
 ' My maid is downstairs — I am simply 
 travelling like any other private indi- 
 vidual. I have been living in Paris 
 since my widowhood, — am going to 
 England to see my mother, who is ill. 
 Now, are you satisfied, though I do 
 not know what right you have to ask 
 questions ? ' 
 
 His answer was a growl ; for if John 
 Wisden had said what he really thought, 
 it would have been that he did not 
 believe one word of her statement. 
 
 ' Your mother ? ' he asked ; ' what does 
 she know^ ? ' 
 
 * Nothing, save that I am a widow 
 with a moderate income.' 
 
 ' Moderate ! You managed to possess 
 yourself of a very fair allowance. Clever 
 woman, Mrs Jocelyn — very clever woman!' 
 
 She stamped her foot with a little 
 irritable gesture.
 
 i68 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 ' Now, since you know all about my 
 affairs, will you inform me what you 
 want with me ? ' 
 
 ' Simply that I do not wish to lose 
 sight of a lady for whom I have always 
 had the very greatest reverence and re- 
 spect.' 
 
 ' Bah ! ' 
 
 ' Nay, you had best not flout me ; I 
 may be very useful to you. I know 
 your secret, you see.' 
 
 ' I cannot see that it can be otherwise 
 than most damaging to me to be seen 
 even speaking to a man like you.' 
 
 'How so? — how so? You are quite 
 mistaken. My worldly reputation is ab- 
 solutely unblemished.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! Then I can't say much for the 
 world's cleverness in detecting knavery.' 
 
 He did not wince at the word, only 
 laughed, and asked her if she intended 
 to return to Paris. 
 
 ' I do not know : it depends on my 
 mother's health. I shall probably stay 
 with her for a time.' 
 
 * Ay ; better under the shadow of your
 
 On a Calais Steamer. 169 
 
 mother's wing. It is a dangerous thing 
 for a young and beautiful woman, even 
 though she be a widow, to be escapading 
 about the world alone,' 
 
 There was a jeer in his voice that dis- 
 pleased her vastly ; but except for a 
 visible irritation of manner, she did not 
 answer him directly. 
 
 ' I see the lights of Dover,' was her 
 next remark ; ' thank goodness ! we shall 
 soon arrive there.' 
 
 ' And you think you will be quit of me, — 
 for that is what you mean ; but not so fast ; 
 it shall be the object of my life to watch 
 over you, and keep you from harm.' 
 
 * I must request, Mr Wisden, that you 
 will not persecute me with your attentions : 
 I am perfectly capable of taking care of 
 myself.' 
 
 ' Of course you think you are — women 
 always do ; but do you mean to tell me 
 you have not got even into one little bit 
 of a scrape since you have been living 
 alone ? ' 
 
 The hot blood coursed for a moment over 
 Nelly's pale face, at the recollection of all
 
 170 Nelly Jocelyn, Widoiv. 
 
 she had left behind in Paris, and Wisden, 
 seeing it, went on, — 
 
 ' Exactly ; I knew it ; no woman can be 
 trusted with the management of her own 
 affairs. I'll manage them for you, and 
 then whenever I see you are getting 
 into hot water I'll remind you of that 
 secret I hold, and after that we shall sail 
 along quite calmly and smoothly.' 
 
 * I decline to be interfered with ; I would 
 rather drain to its dregs the deepest cup 
 of misery it is possible to drink, than 
 have peace meted out to me at your 
 hands.' 
 
 A glare, as of a lioness at bay, came 
 into her eyes while she spoke, which made 
 her look as if, with a little more perse- 
 cution, she would spring at this wretched 
 man and kill him on the spot. 
 
 For a moment he quailed, then he said, 
 assuming a soothing tone, — 
 
 * Come, come, come, no melodramatics. 
 I daresay we shall arrive at understanding 
 one another. I'll give you your head — 
 never doubt it — if you'll be gentle and 
 kindly with me, and toss me an occa-
 
 On a Calais Steame7\ 171 
 
 sional doucetir to help me over the rugged 
 bits of life.' 
 
 ' Money, so it's money you want ; I 
 miofht have known it from the first. To 
 extort money from a woman is what one 
 might expect of a man like you, and good- 
 ness knows I have little enough to give.' 
 
 ' Those diamonds,' he suggested,' they 
 would realise a large sum.' 
 
 ' What diamonds ? ' 
 
 ' Now, don't look blank, and pretend you 
 have not got them, because they are gone, 
 and no one but you could have taken 
 them.' 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn had worn diamonds among 
 the folds of her white tulle the first Thurs- 
 day she had gone to Madame de Brissac's, 
 but she answered very coldly and deliber- 
 ately, — 
 
 ' I have no diamonds. What few jewels 
 I saved out of the wreck are gone long 
 ago for necessaries. I strive to keep up 
 a fair appearance, but I am far poorer 
 than people think.' 
 
 * I wonder if you are speaking the truth,' 
 he said insolently.
 
 172 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 Once more she tried to walk away from 
 him, but again he stopped her. 
 
 * Look you, Mrs Jocelyn, let us settle 
 matters before you go. However small 
 your income, you can manage to throw an 
 occasional crumb to those in want. I am 
 an unfortunate, impecunious individual — 
 and I hold your secret. I won't press you 
 now, but I'll call at your mother's house 
 for a fiver ; if you give it to me, well and 
 good ; if you don't, you know the conse- 
 quences.' 
 
 For a moment it was on Nelly's lips to 
 say,— 
 
 ' I care nothing for this secret, — tell it 
 on the housetops ; I have done no harm.' 
 
 Had she said so, John Wisden would 
 have been powerless, and she would 
 have been free, but woman's weakness 
 prevailed. 
 
 ' O God, if Cazalet should get to 
 know the truth, and from this wretched 
 man's lips ! ' She could not bear it. 
 ' No, better starve to give him gold 
 than that.' 
 
 ' You can do as you like,' was her only
 
 On a Calais Steamer. 173 
 
 reply out loud, and It was uttered in such 
 a tone that the inference was palpable — 
 she would give the money to win his 
 silence. 
 
 By this time they were close to Dover 
 harbour, and in the hurry and fuss of 
 landing no further allusion was made to 
 the subject. 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn's modicum of baggage was 
 labelled through to Charing Cross, so, 
 except a handbag that the maid had 
 charge of, there was nothing to look after 
 at Dover. In that handbag was the 
 diamond riviere about which John Wisden 
 had been inquiring, and anent the ex- 
 istence of which Nelly had told such a 
 ready falsehood. 
 
 Yet Mrs Jocelyn, as a rule, was a truthful 
 woman, but she knew John Wisden well 
 enough to be aware that these diamonds 
 would not be long out of his possession if 
 he discovered their existence. 
 
 ' I am glad I brought them,' she thought 
 to herself, ' for I'll turn them into money 
 in London ; they'll help to meet this 
 wretch's requirements.'
 
 174 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 They did not travel in the same carriage 
 to London, for John Wisden had said his 
 say, and for the moment he preferred his 
 cigar to Mrs Jocelyn's society ; but they 
 met again at Charing Cross, and as he saw 
 Mrs Jocelyn's luggage put on a cab he 
 whispered, — 
 
 * You are going back to Paris — be- 
 ware ! ' 
 
 ' What does he know, what can he 
 possibly suspect ? ' she murmured over 
 and over again while she drove to her 
 mother s house, which was at Fulham.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE wanderer's RETURN. 
 
 ^,7y^^^T was just six o'clock as Nelly 
 7^ ^v^ Jocelyn drove up to her mother's 
 ^Vjh§^ door. The moon and the stars 
 which at Calais had shone so 
 brightly in the cold sky had all disappeared, 
 and in their place a murky darkness en- 
 shrouded the earth, through which, as yet, 
 did not gleam one ray of dawn. 
 
 Nelly had telegraphed her intended ar- 
 rival, or certainly she would have found 
 the household sleeping. As it was, they 
 were on the alert, and there were lights in 
 more than one window. 
 
 The Retreat, where Mrs Strickland, 
 Nelly's mother, lived, was a dismal-look- 
 ing place — at all events externally. It
 
 176 Nelly yocelyjtj Widow. 
 
 stood back out of the main road, from 
 which it was completely hidden by a belt 
 of trees that environed it, and whose heavy 
 branches in summer time hung even on to 
 its very roof, but from which Mrs Strick- 
 land would scarcely allow even a leaf to be 
 pruned. 
 
 Now they stood gaunt in the winter 
 gloom, and as skeletons stalking out of a 
 dead past they seemed to Nelly as she 
 shiveringly approached them on that chill 
 January morning. 
 
 As soon, however, as the door was 
 thrown open, and the inside of the house 
 was revealed, there were some symptoms 
 of warmth and welcome. 
 
 A middle-aged woman, who had opened 
 the door, and who was Mrs Strickland's 
 maid, seemed glad to see the traveller, who 
 had not crossed the threshold of that house 
 for more than two years ; but she had no 
 time to give her greeting words. A pair 
 of soft young arms were round Nelly's 
 neck, and kisses fell thick and fast on her 
 cold, colourless cheek. 
 
 * My darling, darling sister, I am so
 
 The Wanderer s Retu7'7i. 177 
 
 glad you have come back to us at last ! 
 Why not before ? Why not in all your 
 trouble, Nelly ? You know how we love 
 you.' 
 
 And then the girl, Dot, as she was 
 familiarly called, held Mrs Jocelyn at arms' 
 length, and tried to read her face with 
 questioning eagerness. What she saw 
 there evidently gave her but little satis- 
 faction, for she went on murmurinor — 
 
 * Why not before ? But it is not too 
 late. If our love can make you happy, 
 you shall have it lavishly, my poor, dear 
 sister.' 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn was too heavily freighted 
 with trouble to brook pity. She answered, 
 almost snappishly, — 
 
 * Nonsense, Dot. I am all right ; only 
 cold and starving. How is my mother ? 
 You look bonnie enough.' 
 
 Ay, Dot was a bonnie, winsome-looking 
 girl — the very counterpart of her sister 
 Nelly, only in miniature. She was, how- 
 ever, by no means convinced of Nelly's 
 happiness. They had been too much to- 
 gether till the elder sister married, for her 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1 jS Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 not to be able to read signs and lines. 
 She shook her head sadly, while she an- 
 swered, — 
 
 * Mother is pretty well for her. She is 
 not up yet; but said you were to be brought 
 to her as soon as you arrived.' 
 
 So they went upstairs together into Mrs 
 Strickland's bedroom, where there was a 
 fire and a light in expectation of Nelly's 
 coming, and the old mother sat in bed, 
 propped up with pillows, waiting. And a 
 very fragile old lady she looked, to be the 
 mother of these two young beauties. Still 
 there were traces of Mrs Strickland having 
 been a beauty too in her youth. But since 
 that time she had been very ailing, and 
 was, in consequence, probably, of her 
 ailments, a very querulous w^oman. 
 
 All the roundness of life in Mrs Strick- 
 land had been fretted away, and there was 
 nothing left but rough and ragged edges. 
 
 She had been pining for months to see 
 Nelly again, — had been much delighted 
 when she received the telegram announc- 
 ing her coming ; yet the reception she 
 gave her was scarcely a genial one.
 
 The Wanderer s Return. 179 
 
 ' So you have come at last, Helen. I 
 suppose you thought the old mother must 
 die before lonor.' 
 
 ' Oh ! mother, I never thought of such 
 a thing. I only felt that I should like to 
 see you and Dot. So with my usual im- 
 petuosity I started off and came.' 
 
 ' You never gave us the opportunity of 
 helping you in your sorrow.' 
 
 ' You could not help me, mother, and 
 my trouble would only have pained you.' 
 
 ' Now, I suppose, you have got over it 
 all — have forgotten the dead '^ ' 
 
 o 
 
 ' There are some troubles in life that v/e 
 never forget — they haunt us like spectres 
 for ever.' 
 
 ' It isn't your love for your dead husband 
 then, or you would not have been flirting 
 about in Paris as you have been doing 
 lately. By the way, there has been a 
 man here more than once of late, John 
 Wisden, he has asked frequently after you ; 
 but I did not give him your address, since 
 you requested me not to do so. I suppose 
 you had some motive ?' 
 
 ' Thanks, mother ; but I have seen John
 
 i8o Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 WIsden ; I met him on the Calais boat 
 by chance. He is coming here to-morrow, 
 he says.' 
 
 As she spoke it seemed as if Dot's face 
 was illumined with a strange light, which 
 so blinded Nelly that she clutched a chair 
 that stood near her for support. 
 
 But she showed no other sign, — did not 
 ask a single question, or, in fact, utter a 
 sound ; Dot, though, had noticed her mo- 
 mentary weakness. 
 
 * Come, Nelly, and have some breakfast, 
 you look faint and tired out.' 
 
 ' Yes, child, eat and rest ; about eleven 
 o'clock I will see you again, and you shall 
 give me full details of all that has happened 
 since we parted.' 
 
 ' Full details ! ' Full details of her life 
 to her mother ! What should she tell her ? 
 how get away from the truth ? Verily 
 with all her heart she wished that she had 
 not been a coward and run away from 
 Paris. Already she had stepped into 
 troubled waters by her meeting with John 
 Wisden, and the lie she had told him 
 about the diamonds.
 
 The Wanderer s Return. 1 8 1 
 
 Oh what would the end be ? — and that 
 light that had come into Dot's eyes, what 
 did that mean ? 
 
 Such were the thoughts that coursed 
 Hke wildfire through Nelly Jocelyn's brain 
 while Dot poured out the hot coffee, and 
 heaped her sister's plate with an amount 
 of viands that she would not eat in a 
 week. 
 
 In the turbulent stream of events into 
 which Nellysuddenly found herself plunged, 
 there was not even time to think of Cazalet. 
 
 His countenance, much as she loved 
 him, seemed to have faded away, the place 
 it once occupied in her mind to be filled 
 by the more ignoble and set features of 
 John Wisden, exemplifying the fact that 
 dread is oftentimes a stronger feeling than 
 love in the human heart ; and that Mrs 
 Jocelyn, for some reason, had a strong dread 
 of John Wisden was obvious. 
 
 There would have been a certain amount 
 of pleasure to her in coming back again 
 to her mother and sister, whom she had 
 not seen for nearly three years, had not 
 John Wisden's inopportune appearance
 
 1 82 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 seemed to cast aside every thought but 
 that produced by the fear of him ; especi- 
 ally as, from what she had already gathered, 
 he was a tolerably frequent and not alto- 
 gether unwelcome visitor at the Retreat, 
 though for what reason he came there 
 she had yet to learn, and feared to ask. 
 At all events she would put off the ques- 
 tion, and, as much as possible, the recol- 
 lection of John Wisden till, the first flush 
 of her arrival over, she had resumed the 
 place she had so long vacated in the 
 family circle. 
 
 Breakfast over, a bath and an hour or 
 two of repose was what she craved the 
 most before that dreaded interview with 
 her mother, in which she felt the cross- 
 questioning would be a more terrible ordeal 
 than any through which she had been 
 called on to pass. 
 
 Nelly Jocelyn was by nature truthful 
 and straightforward in her dealings, hating 
 deceit and fraud as all honest men hate 
 vice ; but, owing to circumstances over 
 which she had, if any, a very remote 
 control, she had been forced into a vortex
 
 The Wanderer s Return. 183 
 
 where lying reigned triumphant, and from 
 which she had not the courage to free 
 herself by a plain and open statement of 
 what was the true state of affairs. It was 
 because she feared the world's verdict that 
 she subjected herself to the endurance of 
 many painful hours, none more painful 
 perchance than those in which she con- 
 templated that coming interview with her 
 mother, during which she felt prevaricat- 
 ing and romancing must take the place 
 of truth. Her torture of mind kept the 
 so-much-needed rest from her body, and 
 when she came out of the room where 
 Dot had left her, as she hoped, to sleep 
 peacefully, there was little of the so-much- 
 vaunted beauty left on Nelly's face, for 
 its hue was almost ghastly ; the beautiful 
 eyes refused to shine in the midst of the 
 dark hoops that encircled them, and looked 
 dim and sad. 
 
 Even Mrs Strickland, who but rarely 
 heeded any one's sufferings save her own, 
 could not help being struck with the altera- 
 tion in her child, and exclaimed, with more 
 spontaneity than she was wont to exhibit, —
 
 184 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow, 
 
 ' My poor Nelly, I never gave you 
 credit for so much feeling.' 
 
 At her mother's remark Nelly burst 
 into tears, and laying her head on the 
 back of the armchair in which the old 
 lady was sitting, remained there sobbing 
 silently for some seconds, till Mrs Strick- 
 land drew her face down to her and kissed 
 her. 
 
 ' Poor child, poor child, tell me all about 
 it : it will relieve your mind.' 
 
 * There is nothing to tell, mother, but 
 what you know ; please don't ask me to 
 go over that sad, sad story.' 
 
 'Ah, well, perhaps it will only pain 
 you ; still I believe it is wiser to give 
 sorrow words.' 
 
 ' Yes, dear, another time I will talk of 
 it — not to-day. I am weary from the 
 journey and having been up all night.' 
 
 'Why you travelled in that crazy way 
 I can't think ; but you always were im- 
 petuous and self-willed.' 
 
 ' Oh, mother, if I had been self-willed 
 I should never have married Arthur 
 Jocelyn. It was to please you I did it.'
 
 The Wanderer s Return. 185 
 
 ' And yet his death seems to have 
 brought you to the very verge of despair. 
 I am surprised, especially too as they 
 told me you were going in for all the 
 festivities of wicked Paris.' 
 
 * They told you — who knows aught of 
 me ? Who told you ? ' 
 
 * Ah, people who live in a quiet neigh- 
 bourhood like this hear more than you 
 think of, Nelly. Who is Cazalet ? ' 
 
 Nelly started from her kneeling position 
 as if an adder had stung her. It was her 
 turn to ask questions now : — 
 
 ' Who told you of Cazalet ? What have 
 you heard ? ' she said. 
 
 Mrs Strickland turned round and stared 
 at her with scrutinising eyes. 
 
 ' Then there is some truth in the report ? ' 
 she said. ' Unhappy as you would have 
 me believe you are about your husband's 
 death, love passages do exist between you 
 and this Cazalet.' 
 
 'It is a lie,' answered Nelly, speaking 
 rapidly, and as though the words choked 
 her ; * there are no love passages between 
 me and Cazalet, He is merely a great
 
 1 86 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 painter to whom I have been sitting for 
 a picture. He is engaged to be married 
 to his cousin. I am as nothing in his 
 life.' 
 
 Mrs Strickland did not speak for a 
 second or two, then she said, rather 
 severely, — 
 
 *I cannot believe this statement, else 
 why did you show so much emotion ? ' 
 
 ' Because it is unkind of people to 
 couple my name with Cazalet's — it is these 
 promiscuous pairings that ruin a woman's 
 reputation.' 
 
 ' Women should not put themselves In 
 a position to arouse the voice of scandal — 
 where there is no fire there can be no 
 smoke.* 
 
 ' There is neither fire nor smoke. As 
 you love me, mother, do not believe those 
 who gossip of me.' 
 
 ' Prove their falseness, Helen, by stay- 
 ing on here with me.' 
 
 In that triste house, with no society 
 save an occasional visit from John Wisden, 
 whom she loathed ; cut off even from the 
 knowledge of what Cazalet was doing, —
 
 The Wanderers Rettir7i. 187 
 
 no, Nelly felt this was too much to expect 
 of her. But she was not yet sufficiently 
 sure of her ground to venture on an out- 
 break, so she answered reservedly, — 
 
 * I am gomg to stay here for a time, 
 of course ; but my home — my household 
 gods are in Paris. I must return there 
 later on.' 
 
 ' You will stay here till the spring ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, if you wish it. Three — perhaps 
 even six months ; we must be guided by 
 circumstances.' 
 
 So the mother was satisfied. That 
 there could not be much danoer from a 
 love affair with Cazalet, if Nelly could 
 be content to stay away from Paris for 
 even three months, she felt almost con- 
 vinced. 
 
 To the poor old lady it never occurred 
 that absence sometimes streno^thens love, 
 particularly when the absence is a forced 
 one, because the love is stronger than the 
 power to fight against it. 
 
 For the present, then, Nelly had 
 smoothed away difficulties with her 
 mother ; but their conversation had
 
 1 88 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 brought back the recollection of Cazalet 
 with a force that was well-nigh madden- 
 inof. 
 
 She once more got rid of Dot's solici- 
 tude with the assurance that she must 
 absolutely be alone to rest ; and then, 
 throwing herself on the ground, she lay 
 for a while writhing in an agony of de- 
 spair, which, if it had not been accompanied 
 by torrents of tears, would well-nigh have 
 banished reason from its throne. 
 
 That jealousy of a little, pallid-faced 
 mignonne like Lili could have effected 
 this, none of her friends in Paris would 
 have believed, and they would have been 
 right. There was a more potent cause 
 for Nelly's despair than any ordinary 
 individual would have deemed possible. 
 
 At last the storm that for a while 
 raged so furiously began to quell itself, 
 and Nelly dragged herself up from her 
 crouching attitude, and opened her travel- 
 ling-bag to get out some eau de Cologne, 
 in order to bathe her fevered temples. 
 
 As she opened the bag, the diamonds 
 fell at her feet. Like a guilty thing she
 
 The Wanderer s Rehuni. 1S9 
 
 snatched them up, and huddled them out 
 of sight. The He she had told about their 
 possession seemed to start before her as 
 an omen of coming misery. She would 
 turn them into money the very first time 
 she could manage to get out alone — of 
 that she was resolved. Meantime, not a 
 living being should know of their existence. 
 That the time would come when she 
 would bitterly regret the hour she had 
 appropriated them, alas ! poor Nelly did 
 not then dream.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TRAMPLED DOWN. 
 
 HROUGHOUT the rest of the 
 day on which she arrived at 
 the Retreat, Nelly Jocelyn sat 
 in a darkened room and pleaded 
 headache as an excuse for silence ; but 
 towards evening exhausted nature could 
 no longer stand out against the repeated 
 storms of feeling she had indulged in, 
 and being prevailed on by Dot to go 
 to bed early, she sank into a heavy 
 sleep, from which she did not awake 
 till Marie, accompanied by the little sister, 
 stood beside her bed with a tempting-look- 
 ing breakfast-tray. At twenty-four sleep 
 speedily banishes the ravages caused by
 
 Trampled down. 1 9 1 
 
 emotion. Mrs Jocelyn on the morrow was 
 a totally different being from the dejected, 
 pallid, heavy-eyed individual who had 
 leant against Mrs Strickland's chair on 
 the previous day. 
 
 ' Now I recognise you at last,' cried 
 Dot joyfully, stroking back the auburn 
 locks which clustered on her sister's brow ; 
 * now you are my very own dear cheery 
 Nell.' 
 
 * No, never cheery again, dear Dot.' 
 
 ' Well, never mind the cheeriness,' cried 
 Dot, sorry she had alluded to her sisters 
 trouble ; ' you look ever so much better. 
 But, do you know, it is twelve o'clock ; 
 even mother is up, and in the drawing- 
 room.' 
 
 ' Twelve o'clock, is it ? Well, there is 
 nothing very special to hurry up for, is 
 there ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, you lazy Nell ! Are those the 
 hours you keep in Paris ? Besides, you 
 yourself said Mr Wisden is coming. He 
 will be disappointed if he does not see 
 you.' 
 
 Nelly started up as she heard these
 
 192 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 words, and a death-like pallor once more 
 overspread her face ; while Dot's, as she 
 spoke, had become as red as a peony. 
 
 * Ah, I forgot. Yes, I must see that 
 horrid Wisden.' 
 
 * You do not seem to have any partiality 
 for Mr Wisden,' remarked Dot, in a sub- 
 dued tone. 
 
 * I hate him ! ' was the fierce answer. 
 
 * Oh, Nelly ; and he was your husband, 
 Arthur Jocelyn's, most intimate friend.' 
 
 ' What do you know about the friend- 
 ship that existed between John Wisden 
 and my husband, eh, Dot ? ' 
 
 And the look of searching inquiry that 
 accompanied these words made Dot quail, 
 while she answered hesitatingly, — 
 
 * Only that they were friends. Mr Wis- 
 den told me. There is nothing for you to 
 be annoyed about, Nelly.' 
 
 ' I am annoyed that John Wisden should 
 come here at all. There should be nothing 
 in common between him and the inmates 
 of this house.' 
 
 * You are prejudiced, my sister, for some 
 reason that I know nothino- of. But never
 
 Trampled down, 1 93 
 
 mind John Wisden now. Eat your break- 
 fast, and get up. It is you, not us, that 
 he is coming to see, remember.' 
 
 ' For a paltry five-pound note ; what a 
 cur he is,' muttered Nelly to herself. 
 
 When once more alone, she proceeded 
 with her toilette, and she was only dressed 
 just in time. A knock came at the door, 
 and she was told that Mr Wisden had 
 called to see her. 
 
 He was talking to Mrs Strickland in 
 the drawing-room when she went in, and 
 Nelly w'ondered how he would dare, before 
 her mother, to broach the subject which 
 had brought him to the Retreat. She did 
 not yet know John Wisden, if she was not 
 aware that he invariably managed to find 
 ways and means to effect any end he had 
 in view. 
 
 The object he had in view at this par- 
 ticular juncture was a far more astounding 
 one than Nelly was in any wise prepared 
 for. 
 
 Platitudes were discussed for a while, 
 and then in the most natural manner 
 possible John Wisden led the way to 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 a conservatory that opened out of the 
 farther end of the room, and in which 
 the bright-hued blossoms were an attrac- 
 tive feature, in contrast to the dull, chill 
 appearance of external objects. 
 
 Nelly followed him, impelled onwards 
 by a power she could not control, the 
 five - pound note clutched in her left 
 hand. She was resolved to pay him, 
 and get rid of him for the present, in 
 the hope that their meetings in the future 
 would be of the rarest. 
 
 Mrs Strickland did not appear to think 
 it strange that they should seek a tHe-d- 
 tHe interview, or she would without doubt 
 have given utterance to one of her little 
 tart remarks. 
 
 To John Wisden's admiration of some 
 chrysanthemums, which rivalled in beauty 
 even those of Temple Gardens' fame, 
 Nelly merely responded by holding out 
 the sum he had asked for, and said, — 
 
 * Here is what you want — go ! We 
 have nothing in common, you and I.' 
 
 He burst out laughing, and pushed her 
 hand away.
 
 Trampled dow7i. 195 
 
 ' Do you really believe that I would 
 take little wretched sums of money, as if 
 I were an absolute mendicant ? ' 
 
 Nelly looked in astonishment at the 
 change that had come over him, and he 
 went on, — 
 
 ' I simply put the matter in this light 
 to try you. Now that I have seen to 
 what extent I have power over you, I 
 intend to make my own terms.' 
 
 ' I pray God that they may be such 
 that will keep you out of my sight for 
 ever.' 
 
 ' On the contrary ; they w^ill tighten the 
 bonds that unite us, and make us as one 
 happy family.' 
 
 ' What in Heaven's name do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Well, it is no use beating about the 
 bush. I will come to the point at once. 
 I love your sister, bright-eyed, dimpled 
 Dot, and I — ' 
 
 ' You — love — my — sister '^. No, it is im- 
 possible ! Fearful things have happened, 
 but not that. Say that it is not true.' 
 
 ' Really, Mrs Jocelyn, you are not com- 
 plimentary. I am disappointed. I had
 
 196 Nelly Jocelyn^ Widow. 
 
 reckoned upon having you for a firm ally ; 
 but you will not fail me, though I would 
 rather your consent to our marriage had 
 been given without pressure/ 
 
 ' I will never consent to your marriage 
 with Dot. I will proclaim on the house- 
 tops what a vile, contemptible wretch you 
 are — ' 
 
 * Not so fast, rapidly-sailing Nelly ; not 
 so fast. There are some things people 
 are forced to do in this world, whether 
 they will or no. Of course, you have 
 the choice of two paths open to you ; 
 either that I should tell your story and 
 you should tell mine, or that we should 
 clasp the hand of amity and swear eternal 
 silence. Pray choose — naturally, I should 
 prefer the latter, but it shall be even as 
 you will.' 
 
 'What have I done — what have I done, 
 that I should be thus tried ? That I 
 should suffer for my own sins, I can 
 understand, but that I have been forced 
 into acting a living lie, that was planned 
 and put upon me by another, is more than 
 human patience can endure.'
 
 Tra nip led down. 1 9 7 
 
 ' That you benefit by the He there Is 
 no doubt, else you would not so persist- 
 ently dread the unmasking,' said Wisden, 
 in a jeering tone. 
 
 'It is difficult to retreat when you 
 have once gone through the gap,' she 
 replied shortly. 
 
 ' Ay is it. You are right. Go on 
 valiantly, and hold your head high. I will 
 be by your side.' 
 
 ' And the price of this Is that my sister, 
 my loving, gentle Dot, should be given 
 to you ? ' 
 
 ' Even so.' 
 
 ' It Is impossible. I wonder what you 
 take me for.' 
 
 ' A desperate woman, who has some 
 difficulty in keeping her head up out of 
 deep and troubled waters.' 
 
 ' And supposing, for Dot's sake, I elect 
 to sink Into these same troubled waters, 
 and make no farther effort to save myself 
 
 ' You will not do this, because you 
 cannot sink without dragging her down 
 with you Into the abyss. Your disgrace 
 revealed becomes her disgrace too.'
 
 198 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 *What a hard verdict. Why, she does 
 not even know that disgrace exists/ 
 
 * It would be the world's, and, such 
 being the case, your sacrifice would in no 
 way benefit Dot. Best make for the 
 shore, Mrs Jocelyn, and walk daintily 
 along it with Dot and my humble self 
 by your side.' 
 
 * If I only knew what to do,' she 
 murmured ; ' if I only knew what to 
 do.' 
 
 * Poor tempest-driven woman ; but you 
 will not take advice when it is offered.' 
 
 * Not yours — not yours.' 
 
 * And yet there is no other human being 
 on the wide earth whose advice you dare 
 ask.' 
 
 ' Look here, John Wisden, give me 
 twenty - four hours to think. You shall 
 have my answer at this time to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Best settle it now. I have Mrs Strick- 
 land's consent, and, of course. Dot's. It 
 will be injurious to my prospects if they 
 should imagine you have cause for hesi- 
 tation.' 
 
 'If I had not chanced to come here,
 
 Trampled dozun. 199 
 
 yon would not have asked my consent, 
 I presume ? ' 
 
 ' I told you I had been looking for 
 you east and west,' he replied ; I fancied 
 vou were in Brussels, and I had been 
 over there in search of you when I met 
 you. I meant to — ' 
 
 She struck suddenly into the middle of 
 his sentence. 
 
 ' I will never give my consent to this 
 marriage.' 
 
 * Exactly ; I scarcely expected you to 
 go as far as that, but you will be silent. 
 The past, as far as we are both concerned, 
 shall be a closed book, and you will shut 
 your eyes and let things take their course.' 
 
 She shivered from head to foot like 
 one stricken with palsy, and then sat 
 down among the flowering shrubs to 
 recover herself. 
 
 * My Dot ! — my poor little Dot ! ' she 
 murmured. 
 
 A dark scowl gathered on John Wis- 
 den's brow. 
 
 ' There has been enough of this maudlin 
 nonsense,' he said savagely. ' You know,
 
 2 00 Nelly Jocelyii, Widow, 
 
 as well as I do, that you 77mst let me 
 marry your sister if I choose, and that it 
 is mere putting off the time to discuss the 
 matter. What I know about you is, after 
 all, more dangerous than what you know 
 about me. I have been a fool to ask your 
 silence when I could dare you to break it.' 
 
 * But you are very poor, you say ; how 
 will you keep my sister from want ? ' 
 
 * Oh, I daresay we shall manage to live ; 
 the old shop affords some resources yet ; 
 and, like you, she has a fortune, you know.' 
 
 * Her fate, then, is to be even as mine ; 
 we were born under the same luckless 
 star.' 
 
 ' Bah ! I look upon the matter as settled ; 
 and since you wish it to be put in that 
 light, I dare you to tell any one what you 
 know of me. I have learnt more of your 
 secrets too, during the last half-hour ; it 
 strikes me you would scarcely like Paul 
 Cazalet, the great Paris painter, to hear all 
 the truth.' 
 
 Nelly held out her hands deprecatingly 
 — this last taunt was almost more than 
 she could bear.
 
 Tra mpled down. 201 
 
 ' Leave me,' she said ; ' do what you like 
 with life, but leave me now.' 
 
 He burst into a fit of laughter, which to 
 Nelly's overstrung nerves sounded like the 
 laughter of a fiend, and then, revelling in 
 a sort of yell of triumph, he strode out of 
 the conservatory to rejoin Mrs Strickland 
 in the drawing-room, leaving Nelly in an 
 almost lifeless state cowering: amone the 
 shrubs. 
 
 For a long time she remained there, the 
 sound of voices in the room just reaching 
 her, and jarring on every nerve, w^hen now^ 
 and again Dot's gay, untroubled laugh fell 
 on her ear, till slowly a consciousness of 
 what was required of her came to her by 
 degrees. 
 
 She must rise and be doing or she would 
 court poignant observations. John Wisden 
 or fate had beaten her, and tied her tongue 
 so that she dared not speak or Cazalet 
 would know the truth. 
 
 Well, and if he did. What was Cazalet 
 to her? He w^as as far removed from her 
 as was the brightest star in heaven. Lili 
 was his love ; he would marry Lili and
 
 202 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 settle down into a humdrum domestic 
 character — what could it matter to her 
 whether he knew her secret or not ; and 
 yet for Cazalet's sake she would rather 
 plunge a dagger into her heart, and die 
 there at once among the flowers, than that 
 he should guess the dark, dark secret of 
 her life. 
 
 Such beinor the feelinors under which she 
 
 o o 
 
 laboured painfully, she raised her weary 
 body from its recumbent position, and once 
 more stood erect ; it was as if there were 
 chains about her ankles binding her feet 
 when she strove to walk, yet struggling 
 with their weight she moved slowly on till 
 she reached the door by which she had 
 entered the conservatory. 
 
 So quietly had she come, trailing her 
 soft black train along the floor, that no 
 one had heard her. For a moment she 
 stood leaning against the portal, watching 
 the group by the window. Mrs Strick- 
 land was seated in her armchair with her 
 back to the conservatory, Dot stood before 
 her, a whole heaven of happiness shining 
 in her eyes, while John Wisden's arm was
 
 Trampled down. 203 
 
 round her shoulders ; he seemed to be 
 drawing her towards him, while he told 
 the mother how he would shield her from 
 sorrow in the future ; but they were Mrs 
 Strickland's words that Nelly heard as she 
 stood there eazine on the scene. 
 
 ' Thank God that my Dot has found an 
 honest man like you to love her ; may this 
 marriage bring all the happiness in which 
 poor Helen's failed.' 
 
 With an agonised cry she could not 
 repress, Nelly seemed to protest against 
 this speech, and then she fell forward on 
 the ground in a dead faint, thus startling 
 and dispelling the group whose unity had 
 filled to overflowing her cup of bitter 
 pain. 
 
 Vain were their efforts — for a time con- 
 sciousness absolutely refused to be recalled ; 
 and when at last Nelly's long slumbering 
 senses came slowly stumbling back to a 
 knowledge of what was going on around 
 her, it was already evening, and she was 
 lying in the white-curtained bed where 
 she had slept every night of her happy 
 childhood. Dot and Marie were beside
 
 204 Nelly Jocely^i, Widow. 
 
 her, and a grave-looking, kindly doctor 
 was pouring some strong mixture into a 
 glass ; even Mrs Strickland, who but 
 rarely left her armchair, was flitting about, 
 and anxiety reigned on every counte- 
 nance. 
 
 'That man, that horrid, black-haired man, 
 where is he?' murmured Nelly, too weak 
 to conceal the thoughts that agitated her 
 troubled brain ; but no one particularly 
 heeded her remarks, which they set down 
 to a sort of wandering delirium ; for there 
 was no doubt that Nelly was very ill. 
 
 She was not, however, delirious, and in 
 a few minutes, with the aid of Dr Gregory's 
 potion, she rallied sufficiently to remember 
 that she must be silent ; and as for being 
 ill, and told that she must lie quietly in bed 
 for a while and not trouble her head about 
 anything that was going on, she accepted 
 the decree with thankfulness, since it would 
 prevent her from being present during John 
 Wisden's visits, and keep her from hearing 
 the subject of his hateful love for Dot dis- 
 cussed freely in her presence. So Nelly 
 lay there prostrate, tired out bodily and
 
 Trampled down. 205 
 
 mentally, through many weary days and 
 nights, only getting up very occasionally 
 to sit by the fire for a while, and steadily 
 refusing all invitations to come downstairs 
 once more. 
 
 Nor during this painful time did she 
 write one letter to any of her Paris ac- 
 quaintances, or receive a single line, since 
 no one knew where she was. 
 
 At last it became imperative that some 
 communication should be made — rent had 
 to be paid, and, moreover, Nelly had 
 started with a very small stock of wearing 
 apparel, so she resolved to send Marie over 
 to Paris to bring what was necessary and 
 settle various little business matters. From 
 the time Marie started till her return, which 
 was to be in a week, Mrs Jocelyn was on 
 tiptoe with expectation. Till Marie's de- 
 parture she remained passive, with no 
 knowledge of what was going on ; now 
 that there was a chance of hearing some- 
 thing, she did not feel as if she had the 
 patience to wait for it ; and, to Dot's in- 
 tense surprise, her excitement knew no 
 bounds.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 DEAD. 
 
 RS JOCELYN had slumbered 
 away nearly six weeks at the 
 Retreat before she thought it 
 necessary to send Marie back 
 to Paris, * for a week,' as she said. 
 
 But Marie had friends to see in Paris, — 
 things to do for herself as well as her mis- 
 tress, and the week became a fortnight ; 
 still she had not returned. Nelly, who, 
 since Marie's departure, had taken to going 
 out and promenading about the still deso- 
 late and leafless shrubberies, was beginning 
 to imagine that the girl had proved false, 
 and was not coming back at all, when sud-
 
 Dead. 207 
 
 denly one day, when she was least expected, 
 she put in an appearance. 
 
 Dot was out ; she had gone into town to 
 have her wedding garments tried on ; she 
 was taking advantage of John Wisden's 
 absence abroad on business to look after 
 her trousseau, not at all understanding why 
 her sister, though she was ill, showed so 
 very little interest in whether her new 
 clothes were pretty or ugly. 
 
 It had been such a reprieve to Nelly of 
 late that John Wisden should be absent, 
 that she perpetually waived the subject 
 whenever his name was mentioned, and it 
 was owinor to his absence that she had been 
 indulging in walks in the grounds. It was 
 a reprieve too now that Dot was in Lon- 
 don when Marie returned, for she knew 
 the questioning she would receive from 
 Dot about Paris details would be endless. 
 Nelly tried to put on as off-hand and 
 jaunty a manner as possible when she saw 
 Marie, asking carelessly, while she glanced 
 at the outsides of a bundle of letters she 
 had brought, — 
 
 * Well, I suppose you found everything
 
 2o8 Nelly Jocelyn. Widow. 
 
 all right ; but you might have come back 
 sooner.' 
 
 A long explanation on Marie's part of 
 the numberless little nothings that had de- 
 tained her, interrupted by Nelly with the 
 question, — 
 
 ' Had no one called ? Did you ask the 
 concierge ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes. Madame de Brissac and 
 Madame d'Albin several times.' 
 
 ' No one else ? ' 
 
 ' Monsieur de Gourlay, I think old 
 Andre said, and — ' 
 
 ' And ? Go on.' 
 
 ' Monsieur Paul Cazalet. Oh, madame, 
 Andre w^as so delighted to have seen the 
 great Monsieur Cazalet. He was quite en- 
 thusiastic on the subject. Fancy, Monsieur 
 Cazalet asked him to sit for his portrait ! ' 
 
 ' And did he ? ' 
 
 Nelly cared very little whether the 
 painter took old Andre s portrait or not ; 
 but she wanted to draw Marie on to talk 
 about Cazalet. 
 
 * Monsieur Cazalet has not been paint- 
 ing lately.'
 
 Dead. 209 
 
 • Not painting ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I forgot, madame does not know 
 the dreadful thing that has happened.' 
 
 ' What dreadful thing, Marie ? Speak 
 quickly. You are driving me mad ! ' 
 
 ' Did madame know that Monsieur 
 Cazalet had a little cousin called Lili ? * 
 
 ' Yes, yes. I have seen her. What of 
 her?' 
 
 ' She is dead.' 
 
 * Dead ! Lili dead ! but it is impossible.' 
 ' Alas ! madame, it is very true. I think 
 
 it was on the very night we left Paris 
 Monsieur Cazalet was sent for, because 
 she was very ill. She did not get better. 
 They sent for another doctor, and still 
 another doctor. Monsieur Paul spared no 
 expense, for it appears he loved Made- 
 moiselle Lili very dearly ; but she never 
 got better, but gradually sank, till at last, 
 after about a fortnight, she went to sleep 
 for ever in his arms. But madame looks 
 quite distressed and faint.' 
 
 And Marie, while she spoke, pushed a 
 chair to her mistress, who sank heavily 
 into it as one stunned. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 2IO Nelly yocelyn, Widow. 
 
 ' This is terrible news,' she murmured, 
 ' very terrible news ; and Paul — Monsieur 
 Cazalet, has any one seen him since Lili's 
 death ? ' 
 
 * No, madame, no one that I know of ; 
 I hear he is heartbroken. It is said that 
 he blames himself for her death, — says 
 that he neglected her.' 
 
 * Blames himself! ' 
 
 And there was such a wild, strange look 
 in Nelly's eyes that Marie was quite fright- 
 ened, and terribly sorry that she had told 
 her mistress anything about the calamity 
 that had happened to the Cazalets. 
 
 Another second, and Marie's breath was 
 wholly taken away, for Nelly started sud- 
 denly up. 
 
 * Quick ! pack up my things, get every- 
 thing ready without delay ; we will go 
 back to Paris at once.' 
 
 To Marie, who disliked England, this 
 was festive intelligence, yet it's tone struck 
 her with a dreary chill. That sorrow 
 would come to her mistress in the future 
 by this mixing herself up with Paul Caza- 
 let's life she fully believed ; but it was
 
 Dead. 211 
 
 not her place to impede her, nor did she 
 beheve it would be possible to do so even 
 if she tried. 
 
 ' Back to Paris, madame ? You can do 
 no good ; the poor child is dead more than 
 a month ago.' 
 
 ' I can comfort the survivors ; I can 
 make their sorrow mine — Paul and the 
 poor old man. Quick, Marie, quick ! the 
 thought of them maddens me.' 
 
 IMarie shrugged her shoulders, and 
 without offerinof farther details of what 
 business she had transacted for her 
 mistress, she proceeded to do her bid- 
 ding. 
 
 Meanwhile Nelly tied on her bonnet, 
 with its long gauzy veil, as though she 
 intended to start that very moment. 
 
 As soon as Marie had left the room, 
 she opened her bag, the key of which she 
 always carried on a piece of cord round 
 her neck, and taking out the diamonds, 
 she put them in her pocket. 
 
 Then she seized a pen and scrawled a 
 hasty note, which she addressed to John 
 Wisden.
 
 2 12 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 ' I am compelled to return to Paris on 
 urgent business. Whatever you may hear, 
 make the necessary excuses, as you value 
 my silence. H. J.' 
 
 Having carefully enclosed this scrap of 
 paper in an envelope, she went with it in 
 her hand into Marie's room. 
 
 ' Meet me at Charinor Cross Station in 
 time for the night boat. I have business 
 in London, and shall not come back here.' 
 
 She went downstairs, and told her 
 mother's servant to eive her note to Mr 
 Wisden as soon as he came back. This 
 settled, came the difficult question, — what 
 was she going to tell her mother ? 
 
 For a second or two she paused to con- 
 sider the matter, and having come to a con- 
 clusion, she went into the drawing-room. 
 
 ' I am obliged to go to town, mother, on 
 business in connection with a letter Marie 
 has just brought. I may have to go over 
 to Paris for a few days. You must not 
 mind. I shall hope to be back soon.' 
 
 She stooped over her mother's chair, 
 kissed her, and before Mrs Strickland
 
 Dead. 2 1 3 
 
 could recover from her astonishment she 
 was gone, out through the conservatory 
 into the shrubbery, from a side gate of 
 which she could reach the main road that 
 led to the station. 
 
 It was a happy chance that took her that 
 way if her object was to get off unob- 
 served, for before she had even reached 
 the side gate Dot came in at the front 
 door, accompanied by John Wisden, who 
 had just returned from abroad. 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn reached the Charing Cross 
 Station, for which she was bound, without 
 any interference. It was nearly five o'clock 
 by the time she got there, and as the Paris 
 train started at seven, she had not too 
 much time if she had any amount of busi- 
 ness to transact. She seemed to know 
 exactly where she was going, and started 
 off along the Strand as briskly as the vast 
 amount of traffic would allow. 
 
 After walking about half-a-mile she 
 turned up a side street, examined the nujn- 
 bers with care, and then went up on to 
 the first floor of a house which had a 
 wooden frame of names on its doorpost.
 
 2 14 Ndlly Jocelyn, Widow, 
 
 Straight into a sort of back office she 
 walked, where a stupid-looking boy was 
 lounging over a desk. 
 
 ' Mr Varley at home ? ' she asked. 
 
 The boy raised his head and nodded. 
 
 ' Can I see him ? ' 
 
 ' He don't see no one who ain't got a 
 name.' 
 
 She took up a piece of paper and a 
 pencil, scribbled two or three words, and 
 despatched the boy with this communica- 
 tion to his master. 
 
 In a few minutes she was ushered into 
 the presence of a little keen-eyed man, 
 who wore a velvet skullcap, and looked 
 so wizened with age that you would 
 scarcely have been surprised had you been 
 told that he was born in the Middle Ages. 
 He uttered a grunt of recognition when 
 Nelly walked in, making it evident that 
 this was not the first business transaction 
 they had had. She did not speak — pro- 
 bably she had discovered that Varley was 
 a man of few words. She merely laid the 
 diamonds down before him on the table. 
 
 His eyes glistened for a moment when
 
 Dead. 2 1 5 
 
 he saw them ; evidently he was a rare 
 judge of jewels, and the diamonds were 
 of the first water. Speedily, however, his 
 brow clouded, and he sniffed the air con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 ' Don't say they are worth nothing/ she 
 said rapidly, ' for you know as well as I 
 do that they are.' 
 
 ' Two hundred sovereigns.' 
 
 ' Bah ! six hundred at least.' 
 
 * My dear lady, what did you give for 
 them ? Where is the receipted bill ? ' 
 
 ' I did not buy them. They came to 
 me.' 
 
 ' They came to you — ay — ay. From 
 whom you do not care to say. You see, 
 a diamond without a pedigree is dangerous 
 ware to traffic in.' 
 
 ' You know their pedigree, Varley. 
 Why do you force me to speak ? ' 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 ' I will give you three hundred pounds 
 — not one penny more.' 
 
 She snatched up the jewels. 
 
 ' All right,' he went on ; * but they are 
 safer with me than in a pawnshop, and I
 
 2 1 6 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 don't believe they would give you as much. 
 Besides, they would want a name and 
 address.' 
 
 ' I am not ashamed of my name and 
 address.' 
 
 ' No. Still it does not look well on a 
 pawn-ticket. Nasty, troublesome business 
 dealing with pawnbrokers, especially when 
 they are suspicious.' 
 
 And while he spoke he opened a drawer 
 and took out a handful of gold, which he 
 began to count as though to tempt her. 
 Varley and Mrs Jocelyn were not wholly 
 unknown to each other, and he believed 
 her to be more impecunious than she 
 really was. 
 
 It was not of the gold in this instance 
 that she stood in so much need, as to be 
 rid of the diamonds, since John Wisden 
 had been inquiring about them. 
 
 She let him count his gold for a minute 
 or two while she thought, then she threw 
 the diamonds down before him. 
 
 ' Three hundred. I suppose I must 
 take it, but you are a hard bargainer.' 
 
 ' Notes or gold ? ' was all he asked.
 
 Dead. 2 1 7 
 
 * Notes ; gold is too heavy.' 
 
 He counted her out a roll, which she 
 carefully counted after him, possessing but 
 little belief in his rectitude, and then with 
 a simple, — 
 
 ' Good-afternoon, Mr Varley,' she w^as 
 gone. 
 
 Could she have seen the intense pleas- 
 ure with which he scanned the diamonds 
 after her departure, it would scarcely have 
 afforded her much satisfaction. 
 
 ' A good day's w^ork — a very good 
 day's work,' h-e repeated to himself, as 
 he finally locked them away in a strong 
 iron safe. 
 
 Nelly, meanwhile, felt happier in her 
 mind since she had left those diamonds 
 on old Varley's table, and w^ith the notes 
 tucked inside the body of her dress she 
 sped once more along the Strand till she 
 saw a quiet - looking restaurant, where 
 she ordered a light dinner, and sat play- 
 ing with and daw^dling over rather than 
 eating it till the time approached when 
 she hoped to meet jMarie on the Charing 
 Cross platform. It was just twenty
 
 2i8 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 minutes to seven when, her dinner over, 
 she passed into the station. She went 
 into the ticket-office, and took two through 
 tickets to Paris, then she turned to look 
 for her maid and the luggage. 
 
 There was Marie, where she expected 
 to find her, but to Nelly's no small con- 
 sternation and dismay, by her side stood 
 John Wisden.
 
 CHAPTER XV L 
 
 TO THE BITTER END. 
 
 HEN Mrs Jocelyn perceived John 
 Wisden, her first impulse was 
 to beat an immediate retreat. 
 But she was too late ; he had 
 scarcely been behind her in observation. 
 
 She must resign herself to her fate, she 
 presumed, for that she would be, metaphori- 
 cally speaking, handcuffed and taken back 
 to the Retreat, she fully believed. 
 
 She was, however, mistaken. John 
 Wisden was only too thankful to be rid 
 of her ; her acted, if not outspoken, dis- 
 approval of his marriage with Dot an- 
 noyed him to such a degree that he could
 
 2 20 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 gladly dispense with her presence ; but 
 the note she had left for him at the Retreat 
 was, he considered, a move on her part to 
 arrive at a compact. 
 
 To find out what her game was, and 
 have that compact ratified, was the object 
 of his appearance at the Charing Cross 
 Station. 
 
 He had gathered enough from a cross- 
 examination to which he had subjected the 
 unwilling Marie, to have discovered that 
 a death that had happened in Cazalet's 
 family was the reason of Nelly's sudden 
 determination to return to Paris. 
 
 He wanted then to ascertain how stronor 
 was her love for Cazalet, because he knew 
 full well that the farther it carried her out 
 of the depths of prudence, the stronger 
 would be his own power over her, and, 
 consequently, his freedom to act as he 
 pleased without any interference on her 
 part. 
 
 It was in a jeering tone that he accosted 
 her when they met at the station. 
 
 ' So weakness is as usual stronger than 
 strength — the poor moth is returning to
 
 To the Bitter End. 2 2 i 
 
 the flame that is waiting to burn it up,' 
 he remarked. 
 
 ' If you mean me, I am simply going 
 to my home ; I have been away from it 
 more than six weeks.' 
 
 ' Exactly. Flying from the Retreat as 
 though some one had offended you is 
 an unusual manner of simply going home.' 
 
 * My mother is so difficult to manage 
 without a manoeuvre. I should have to 
 remain there for ever.' 
 
 * Nonsense, Mrs Jocelyn ; don't take 
 the trouble to fence with me. You came 
 away from Paris because you discovered 
 that Paul Cazalet had ^ fiancde who stood 
 between you and him. It was a wise 
 and womanly precaution to leave the field 
 free to her. She is dead, and you are 
 rushing back to possess yourself of the 
 vacant place by his side. Still, the 
 difficulties that hem you in are scarcely 
 fewer than they were before. A word 
 from my lips would upset your dream 
 of bliss. You see it is not with one but 
 with all your secrets that I am acquainted.' 
 
 She looked at him for a moment as
 
 222 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 though she were utterly bewildered ; 
 and she did not attempt, as usual, to 
 scorn and flout him, only said very 
 quietly, — 
 
 * This is not wholly true ; my dream 
 is of misery, not bliss. You know it is 
 little enough I can do for him or any 
 man ; but he is labouring with a sorrow 
 for which I am partially to blame : it 
 would be unloyal to leave him to bear it 
 all alone.' 
 
 John Wisden burst out laughing. 
 
 ' I did not know you were such a 
 sophist,' he said scofiingly ; * but how you 
 reconcile this matter with your conscience 
 has nothing to do with me. I am only 
 an onlooker at your game of life, and as 
 long as you do not interfere with mine, 
 I will make no remarks about what I 
 may see or hear. It was to shake you 
 by the hand in all faith, and assure you 
 of my agreement to your proposed ar- 
 rangement, that I took the trouble to 
 accompany Marie here this evening.' 
 
 Nelly kept both her hands under the 
 long black cloak she wore, and turned
 
 To the Bitter Bjid. 223 
 
 away, Instead of clasping his extended 
 palm. 
 
 * Devil ! ' she muttered, between her 
 clenched teeth — loud enough, however, 
 for him to hear it. 
 
 * Devils get the best of it in this life,' 
 he said gaily ; 'let me carry some of the 
 packages, and come quickly, or you will 
 lose the train. Shall I take your bag } 
 Are the diamonds in it ? ' 
 
 ' I have no diamonds.' 
 She spoke so positively that he believed 
 her. 
 
 * I am sorry,' he replied, looking some- 
 what annoyed ; ' for since you have not got 
 them, they may have fallen into hands that 
 will cause their re-appearance when one 
 least cares to see them.' 
 
 Mrs Jocelyn did not answer this, but 
 she shivered as though not even her heavy 
 cloak would keep out the chill evening 
 air, and then she got into the railway 
 carriage, the door of which a porter was 
 holding open. 
 
 ' Don't have any anxiety about Dot 
 — her money shall be settled upon herself,'
 
 224 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 said John Wisden, looking in at the 
 window when she was seated. 
 
 * I have no anxiety on that score,' she 
 answered coldly ; ' the Married Woman's 
 Property Act is in force.' 
 
 He tossed his head with a slight ges- 
 ture of scorn, and without re-attempting to 
 shake hands with her, merely observed, — 
 
 ' We shall soon meet again. I will 
 bring Dot to Paris on our wedding-tour.' 
 
 ' Not Paris ; the world is large — why 
 should you choose Paris ? ' 
 
 * Because she wants to see the gay 
 French capital, poor child — because you 
 will be there.' 
 
 The train glided off as he uttered these 
 last words, and any further expostulation 
 on Mrs Jocelyn's part was useless ; but 
 the promise of the speedy arrival in 
 Paris of her sweet little Dot as his wife, 
 afforded her no consolation. 
 
 Since circumstances drove her into 
 tacitly permitting this marriage to take 
 place, she would gladly have forgotten 
 that either of the contracting parties 
 existed.
 
 To the Bittei' End. 225 
 
 The heavy load that lay on her con- 
 science had prevented her of late from 
 enjoying her sister's society as she would 
 otherwise have done, and now if John 
 Wisden was going to bring her to Paris, 
 it was merely that poor Dot might be a 
 walking reminder of how much she her- 
 self was in his power ; and thus by threat- 
 ening her every act, he would render her 
 life a curse and a misery. 
 
 No, it was impossible that she could 
 bear the weight of so much sin. Except 
 in keeping silence, what had she done 
 for which such a burden of ever re- 
 proaching scruples should be cast upon 
 her? 
 
 In what other way could she have acted, 
 without involving in a tangled mass of 
 difficulty those with whose lives she had 
 no right to meddle. Even Dot would 
 lose rather than gain if Nelly uttered a 
 few outspoken words, and would probably 
 marry John Wisden after all, since it was 
 indisputable that she loved and believed 
 in him. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding all this false 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 226 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 reasoning with which Nelly sought to 
 quiet the tormenting reproaches of her 
 sleepless conscience, she had a strong 
 inclination to get out of the train at the 
 first station at which it stopped, and to 
 return to the Retreat and state to her 
 mother the whole truth of what had hap- 
 pened in the past. 
 
 But the iron hand of fate retained her 
 with a firm grip : two people got into the 
 carriage and took the seats nearest to the 
 door. She had not the courage to pass 
 them and tell them that she had changed 
 her mind and meant to go back to 
 London. 
 
 ' Such vacillation had no sense/ she 
 decided. ' Having made up her mind to 
 go through with her miserable story to 
 the bitter end, she must now leave its 
 workings to unravel themselves as best 
 they could.' 
 
 Besides, was she not going to Paul 
 Cazalet — Cazalet, who was free, and, in 
 his deep sorrow, would receive her mini- 
 strations with an affection that she felt 
 even under bereavement would be almost
 
 To the Bitter End. 227 
 
 glad. Why should she set up another 
 obstacle between herself and Cazalet by 
 publishing the miserable story of her life ? 
 
 Thus mile after mile she journeyed 
 on, and no farther thought of turning 
 back disturbed the even course of her 
 journey. 
 
 She reached her apartment just at 
 daybreak ; and old Andre muttered num- 
 berless oaths under his breath at being 
 awakened at that early hour ; but when 
 he saw Mrs Jocelyn, his anger turned to 
 pleasure, for she was a great favourite 
 with Andre, and as he looked in her 
 face he knew, if none of her fashionable 
 acquaintances could guess, what had 
 carried her away out of Paris in so im- 
 pulsive a manner, and why as suddenly 
 she had returned. 
 
 Good was the fabricated story that her 
 mother had been ill, and was now better ; 
 it m.ight fit the requirements that society 
 demanded ; but Andre knew that a far 
 deeper reason for Nelly's apparently 
 strange conduct lay beneath that surface 
 one.
 
 2 28 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 Ugly, almost to picturesqueness, as in 
 outward appearance Andre was, his face 
 seamed by the hand of time, still he was 
 as romantic and devoted to a real love 
 affair as any young man of five-and- 
 twenty. 
 
 An interest he had always taken in 
 Mrs Jocelyn on account of her beauty ; 
 that interest was doubled now that he 
 guessed how her strong love for Cazalet 
 was wearing away her life ; for that Nelly 
 Jocelyn was much changed since she had 
 left her apartment in Paris, no one could 
 help remarking. 
 
 Andre grieved over it, as he helped 
 Marie upstairs with the luggage, and then 
 set to work to light a fire, and perform 
 several little menial offices which were 
 by no means included in his duties as 
 concierge. 
 
 How could he know that it was not 
 only her love for the great painter, against 
 which she had for a time combated so 
 vigorously, that had effected this change 
 in Nelly, but the miserable story of her 
 own life that was weighing her down ?
 
 To the Bitter End. 229 
 
 She had been brought up by a mother 
 who, querulous and sharp of speech, could 
 scarcely be called an amiable woman ; but 
 who was, nevertheless, kindly and con- 
 siderate for her children. She allowed 
 them, as far as education was concerned, 
 to learn pretty much what they liked, 
 because she professed to have in horror 
 the over-education of women ; yet Mrs 
 Strickland had bestowed on both her 
 girls a thorough religious training, and 
 the difference between right and wrong 
 had been so forcibly drilled into them, 
 that whatever the vicissitudes through 
 which they would have to pass, it would 
 be strange if they ever wholly forgot 
 their mother's lessons and their mother's 
 warnings. Truthful and sincere by 
 nature, till Nelly married she had 
 never even contemplated the existence 
 of lies and deceit. No sooner, however, 
 had she put her future into x\rthur Jocelyn's 
 keeping, and left her mother's house, than 
 she found herself in a very vortex of de- 
 ception. Yet this man was of Mrs Strick- 
 land's choosing, not Nelly's. She had
 
 230 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 persuaded her child into the marriage, be- 
 cause, forsooth, she thought the suitor had 
 money, and was of a good family ; more- 
 over, by his wiles he had gained her sym- 
 pathy ; and she praised him so persistently 
 that at last poor Nelly began to think she 
 cared for him, and finally consented to 
 marry him. When once he was her hus- 
 band she found he was her master, and 
 that far from the ample means he had 
 told Mrs Strickland that he possessed, his 
 riches were of a visionary nature, some- 
 times abundant, sometimes they did not 
 exist at all, except on paper. 
 
 He was of a good family, it was true, 
 but he was the black sheep of that family, 
 and Nelly discovered by degrees that his 
 aliases were numerous, and his fraudulent 
 practices neither few nor far between. 
 
 The only green spot in this man's char- 
 acter was his love for his beautiful wife ; 
 the only honest thing he had done for years 
 was marrying her in his real name. 
 
 It was Arthur Jocelyn's love for her 
 that in the first instance subjugated Nelly 
 and moulded her to his will ; besides, it
 
 To the Bitter E^id. 231 
 
 was only gradually that she learnt some 
 of his dark secrets, and found how she 
 herself was involved in his duplicity. 
 
 From the first discovery she had shown 
 herself to be a coward — she could not bear 
 that people should know what Arthur 
 Jocelyn really was, and to shield him she 
 strayed a few steps out of the track of 
 honour ; and though each time that she 
 did so the fierce strife with her conscience 
 that the delinquency occasioned was no 
 mean one, yet a few more steps and yet 
 a few more were trodden, till Nelly began 
 to perplex herself as to where the boundary 
 of honour lay ; disturbed and put out of 
 its even course as the line ever was 
 in any conversation on the matter that 
 arose between her and her husband or 
 \{\s fidics Achates John Wisden. 
 
 That she was not treading the path of 
 honour now, she was fully aware. She 
 had strayed so far away from it of late 
 that she scarcely knew her way back 
 from the byways of silence and deceit — 
 groping among the brushwood to seek the 
 light of truth was dreary, depressing work,
 
 232 Nelly Jocelyn, Widoiu. 
 
 for which Nelly seemed to have lost all 
 energy and courage, and much though 
 the sin of deceit vexed and troubled her 
 once loyal spirit, yet now she told her- 
 self she was too involved to free herself, 
 and with mistaken sophistry she per- 
 suaded herself that it was as much 
 for Dot's advantage as her own that 
 she should keep back the history of the 
 past. 
 
 The ravages these tormenting thoughts 
 committed upon her beauty would tell 
 sorely if she did not manage by some 
 means to quiet her conscience : a glance 
 at her mirror reminded her of this fact, 
 and she resolved to rest for a while, — take 
 chloral, if need be, before she underwent 
 any fresh emotions. 
 
 Andre s unusual zeal in her service sug- 
 crested an idea. 
 
 She bade him go, as soon as people 
 were astir, to Cazalet's, to inquire how 
 he w^as, and ask him at what hour he 
 would come and pay her a visit. 
 
 Till her messenger returned she would 
 put off the chloral and the rest.
 
 To the Bitter End. 233 
 
 When would real, true rest ever come 
 to her ? she wondered. 
 
 At last, by the time she had drunk the 
 hot coffee Marie prepared, and was sitting 
 warm and comfortable by a bright wood 
 fire, r\ndre came back. She saw at once 
 from the expression on his face that he 
 was the bearer of evil tidings, but she 
 did not cry out, only waited patiently till 
 he spoke. 
 
 ' Monsieur Cazalet is gone, madame.' 
 
 * Gone, Andre ! Where .^ ' 
 
 * Xo one knows ; the place Is all locked 
 up, dark and dismal.' 
 
 * And Justine — the bon7ie ? ' 
 
 * She too has disappeared. I could get 
 no news of them from any one save that 
 Monsieur Paul has not been seen in the 
 Rue Mlgrnon since Mademoiselle Lill 
 died.'
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 OUT OF THE HUBBUB. 
 
 WILD, rock-girt coast, a raging 
 sea, dashing with tempestuous 
 fury over a jutting promontory, 
 gulls screeching, their white 
 wings standing out in relief against the 
 black angry sky ! 
 
 Everywhere storm and fury — Nature in 
 one of her angry moods buffeting against 
 the progress of civilisation ; for more than 
 one fishing-boat that had gone out on the 
 previous evening on calm and placid 
 waters is riding painfully over the foam- 
 ing waves, at a terrible risk of never 
 reaching the dangerous rocky shore. 
 
 The dawn has only just crept up out
 
 Oiit of t lie Hubbub. 235 
 
 of the east, but the whole village which 
 lies down in the bay is on the alert ; and 
 many a wife and mother, her infant in her 
 arms, may be seen standing watching, 
 with eager, streaming eyes, some tiny 
 craft on the vast ocean, in which the 
 father and bread-winner is combatine with 
 the storm for life. 
 
 On a high hill above the village there 
 is a small chapel where the devout fisher- 
 folk attend mass on Sundays and holidays, 
 and where many a prayer is offered for the 
 absent strugglers on the deep ; for the 
 Bretons are a religious race, and no 
 new-fangled doctrines have reached their 
 primitive villages to trouble the old time- 
 honoured faith. 
 
 Beside the chapel door two men are 
 standing watching the storm and the 
 battling boats with as much interest and 
 excitement as though they too had en- 
 trusted the lives of their nearest and 
 dearest to the mercy of the fickle elements. 
 Yet they are merely sojourners in Avreux 
 for a while, — have come there to forget, if 
 possible, the cares and disappointments
 
 236 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 of life ; and far away from the tramp and 
 hubbub of the world in which they have 
 their place, they hope to become recon- 
 ciled to a crreat and grievous calamity that 
 has fallen upon them. 
 
 No one in that Breton village knows 
 aught of their origin and calling ; they are 
 free to come and go unheeded as they 
 list. 
 
 In the summer-time the fisher folk at 
 Avreux are accustomed to the arrival of 
 an occasional visitor, who, for the sake of 
 the wild beauty of the place, puts up 
 with the meagre accommodation it affords, 
 but they think it perhaps just a little 
 curious that these two strangers should 
 have selected the winter months for their 
 coming, and February is scarcely on the 
 wane. They ask no questions, however, 
 and beyond knowing that the two men 
 are very kindly and generous — bestow- 
 ing many a twenty sous piece where 
 they see that it is wanted, they know 
 nothing about them, not even their 
 names. 
 
 Yet that of the younger man has re
 
 Out of the Hjibbiib. 237 
 
 sounded through the length and breadth 
 of France, for he is none other than Paul 
 Cazalet the great painter, who, accom- 
 panied by Le VieuXy has fled away from 
 Paris after Lili's death to court the sym- 
 pathy of solitude. 
 
 Paul, as he stands there by his father's 
 side, seems to have aged ten years since 
 the day Nelly and he lingered at the 
 studio window, and he told her that all the 
 passion of his heart had gone forth in 
 a wild pining love for her. 
 
 Does he ever think of Nelly now, or 
 does he seek to banish her for ever from 
 his mind, as a penance for the grievous 
 wrong he believes that his love for Nelly 
 brought to the poor, devoted child, whose 
 descent into the tomb had been hastened 
 by her deep grief at Paul's desertion '^ 
 
 Alas ! alas ! there are strong passions 
 that take such deep root in the heart that 
 neither time nor absence will efface them. 
 Paul's love for Nelly was one of these ; 
 strive as hard as he could, and he did 
 strive very hard, he could not forget 
 her.
 
 238 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 Even in the darkest moments of his life 
 she was present, and that he was con- 
 stantly now environed by as black mental 
 clouds as those that lay athwart the 
 angry threatening waters, God and his 
 conscience knew full well ; still, an oc- 
 casional gleam of hope would ever and 
 aofain break like a silver streak on the 
 leaden horizon. 
 
 ' He was a free man, and why should 
 he not marry Nelly and be happy ? ' 
 
 With electrical swiftness he would 
 banish the alluring light of what he was 
 pleased to call his temptation, and the 
 clouds would close once more over the 
 streak of hope. 
 
 He had forfeited Nelly for ever by 
 his sin in causing his poor little cousin 
 to suffer and die. 
 
 It was rather a sentimentalist's than a 
 strong man's view of life ; but strongly 
 imbued with the artistic temperament as 
 Paul ever was, recent events had worked 
 on him so powerfully that his entire nervous 
 organisation was unstrung. 
 
 If Nelly had appeared to him in the
 
 Old of the Hubbub. 239 
 
 flesh during this period of probation, the 
 chances are that, with extended arms, he 
 would have received her, and, lulHng his 
 conscience to sleep, would have forgotten 
 ever}'thing save that she was the one 
 woman to whom his heart had o^one forth 
 in a wild cry of passionate love. 
 
 But Nelly had passed out of his life ; 
 she had run away from the misery his 
 faithlessness had wrought, and unforgiving 
 because she believed that only a portion 
 of his heart was hers, she had gone into 
 exile, and left no trace by which he knew 
 whither to follow her. 
 
 ' Ay, it was best so. He would carry 
 his burden of remorse silently, — best 
 that she should think him a heartless 
 flirt, comparable only with the Butterfly, 
 whom he held in such sovereign contempt. 
 
 To be thus judged by Nelly would be 
 something like penance for his fault. In 
 vague disconnected fragments, some such 
 thoughts as these agitated his brain, even 
 while he watched the raging storm, whose 
 fierceness seemed in such strange unison 
 with his present frame of mind.
 
 240 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 After a time the fate of a tiny craft, 
 towards which all eyes were directed, was 
 too critical for personal feelings to obtrude 
 themselves, and even conscience-tortured 
 Paul Cazalet forgot his private griefs while 
 he was carried away by the general excite- 
 ment over the fate of the little boat. 
 
 Wave after wave dashed over it, and it 
 was apparently gone^ to rise, however, 
 once more to the surface and ride again 
 the foaming waves, its temporary rescue 
 being received by such a loud shout of joy 
 from the onlookers that even in that 
 hurricane it made itself heard. Again the 
 tiny bark was engulphed, again to appear 
 triumphant out of the bosom of the deep. 
 
 A wild wave, more tempestuous than the 
 rest, dashed it with fury almost as it seemed 
 against the shore ; but it was a deep moan 
 of despair, rather than a shout of joy, that 
 greeted its rising. 
 
 Those who knew the coast were sensible 
 of the existence of hidden rocks that ren- 
 dered all approach from the side to which 
 the boat had been tossed absolutely im- 
 possible.
 
 Out of the Hiibbub. 241 
 
 They were right — the boat was shivered 
 to atoms — and the next sight that met the 
 view of the onlookers was the heads of the 
 two fishermen as, thrown to a great dis- 
 tance by the furious, dashing waters, they 
 made a violent strues^le for the life which, 
 however troubled and humble his condi- 
 tion, is still dear to most men. 
 
 Paul Cazalet and Le Vieux grew so 
 excited by the scene and the uncertain 
 fate of these men, that to remain longer 
 mere passive spectators on that promin- 
 ence was impossible to them. They felt 
 they must do something, though there 
 was little to do that called for action, — 
 nought, in fact, but trust to the great God 
 who governs the universe. 
 
 With mutual consent, and without a 
 spoken word — they could not in truth 
 have heard each other's voices — they ran 
 down the steep incline into the village. 
 Quite five minutes passed before they 
 reached it, for they too were bufTeted from 
 side to side by the cruel driving wind. 
 When they did arrive it was to see women 
 standing by the doors wringing their hands 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 Nelly Jocclyn, Wide 
 
 ow. 
 
 in an agony of despair, and uttering such 
 wails of sorrow as no feeling heart would 
 ever foreet so lone as it was allowed to beat. 
 
 'What has happened?' asked Paul. 
 * What has happened since we left the 
 hill?' 
 
 But a straightforward answer was 
 unattainable. 
 
 * The best - looking young fellow in 
 Avreux, the pride of his father, the con- 
 solation of his mother, and Clementine 
 Berthier's fiancd to boot — Dieu des Dieux, 
 but it is terrible — poor Baptiste ! ' 
 
 ' He is not dead ? You do not mean 
 that this young fellow is drowned ? ' 
 
 * Go forward to the crowd there on the 
 strand. Monsieur can judge for himself. 
 Perhaps monsieur is a doctor, and can 
 give some help.' 
 
 Paul pressed forward — he begged Le 
 Vieux not to follow him ; he would save 
 him if possible the pain of a terrible sight ; 
 but the old man would not be held back, 
 and together they elbowed their way, 
 through the crowd, to the beach where 
 Baptiste lay.
 
 Out of the Hubbub. 243 
 
 Baptlste, in the full vigour of youth, and 
 strength, and manly beauty, his limbs 
 rigid, his face still and pallid, even with 
 the stillness and pallor of death ; beside 
 him was the body of an old man, the 
 patriarch fisherman of Avreux, his head 
 had evidently struck a rock as he had 
 been tossed on to the shore, for his face 
 was blood-stained, and his features scarcely 
 recognisable. 
 
 A young girl, his grand-daughter, knelt 
 beside him and wept silently ; but it was 
 over ' le beatt Baptiste' that the multitude 
 mourned as they stood there panic-stricken 
 under the weight of the great misery that 
 had fallen on Avreux. 
 
 It was reserved for Paul Cazalet to re- 
 store some order to their scattered senses. 
 
 With a glance at the old man he saw 
 that life was extinct, but that there was 
 a chance of saving Baptiste he felt almost 
 sure. 
 
 ' Some blankets and a mattress, and 
 quickly ! ' he said, in a master's voice, 
 which commanded prompt attention. 
 
 And in a few seconds Baptiste was
 
 244 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 raised from the beach, where the fisher folk 
 would have let him die, even while they 
 wailed, and was placed in a warm bed in 
 the nearest cottage, Paul himself using 
 every appliance that he thought would be 
 of any avail, or of which in his conversa- 
 tion with scientists he had ever heard. 
 
 And the first throb of joy that his heart 
 had felt since Lili died came to it when 
 Baptiste began to breathe heavily, and 
 opened his eyes, looking about with a 
 vacant stare. The young fisherman was 
 saved. The news was received with such 
 loud acclaim by the assembled crowd out- 
 side the cottage door, that it almost deaf- 
 ened the inmates of the little room, and 
 Paul was compelled to go out himself 
 to silence the many voices, which were 
 exciting his rallying patient. 
 
 He little anticipated the greeting he 
 would himself receive — the men doffed 
 their caps to him, the women knelt to kiss 
 his hand, or even his garment ; in fact, the 
 whole population of Avreux was prepared 
 to treat him as a supernatural being. 
 
 In vain Paul Cazalet, who ever avoided
 
 Out of the Hubbub. 245 
 
 homage and a scene, told them he had 
 done nothing miraculous, only the best he 
 could according to his light, they would 
 not desist from reg^ardino- his work as a 
 miracle, and adoring him as if he were a 
 god. And when, at last, feeling that his 
 services were no longer required by Bap- 
 tiste, he returned, accompanied by Le 
 Vieux, to the humble quarters which were 
 the best that Avreux afforded them, the 
 whole fisher folk followed them to the 
 door, and Paul felt that if he would have 
 peace and silence to muse over his lost 
 happiness, he must travel afield ; for in 
 Avreux all chance of an incognito was at 
 an end. 
 
 For that day, however, he must be 
 content to remain where he was. On the 
 morrow, perchance he might induce Le 
 Vietix to make a start, — the storm had 
 abated considerably in fury, Nature would 
 probably have re-assumed its usually tran- 
 quil appearance, and they would wander on 
 to some other spot where chance and the 
 people's ignorance would not, he trusted, 
 convert them into miraculous agents.
 
 246 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 For some time after Paul and his 
 father had retired into their own quarters, 
 people lingered outside the door of their 
 habitation ; then at last, slowly, one by 
 one, they returned to their houses, and 
 quietude was once more fully restored. 
 
 The shades of evening crept up early 
 on the short winter day, and Paul, taking 
 advantage of them, stole out once more, 
 muffled in a large cloak, to have a look 
 at his patient. 
 
 The villaee seemed still to be more or 
 less in a state of confusion as he passed 
 along the back way to Baptiste's cottage, 
 but he did not give the matter much 
 heed, imagining that the excitement of the 
 morning had not wholly died away, and 
 that preparations were moreover being 
 made for the old fisherman's funeral. 
 
 He reached Baptiste's abode at last by 
 a circuitous route, and found the fine 
 young fellow sitting up by the fire, having 
 almost entirely recovered the vitality 
 which was so nearly gone for ever. 
 
 His gratitude to the man who, every 
 one said, had saved his life was by no
 
 Out of the Htibbtib. 247 
 
 means so demonstrative as that of his 
 friends and relations ; but it was none the 
 less real on that account. 
 
 A life for a life was Baptiste's idea of 
 repayment, and in sincere but simple words 
 he bade Paul remember that his services 
 and his life were his to command, if ever 
 in the unseen future they could avail him 
 aught. 
 
 There was nothing melodramatic in the 
 situation : it was true and honest ; and the 
 two men clutched each other by the hand 
 as friends, Paul, no less than Baptiste, 
 feeling that he should gain by this fellow- 
 ship. And then they sat for a long while 
 chatting of Baptiste's hopes in life — to 
 Paul's there was no allusion : ' they were 
 dead,' he would have told Baptiste. Be- 
 sides, what did this young fisherman 
 know of artists and their aspirations, or 
 of a saddened life history, since his own 
 lay clear and serene before him ? 
 
 Yet the talk with Baptiste benefited 
 Paul ; and when he at last rose to go, 
 he promised to see the young man again 
 in the morning, and resolved to postpone
 
 243 Nelly Jocelyn, Widow. 
 
 his departure for a few days, in order to 
 learn more of a character in which there 
 was so much of simple, honest faith that, 
 as he wended his way back to le Vieux, 
 he could not help likening Baptiste to the 
 fishers of old who cast their nets into the 
 sea of Galilee. 
 
 His meditations were interrupted as he 
 reached his temporary home by the sight 
 of more light in the sitting-room than that 
 in which Le Vieux was wont to indulge, 
 and by the sound of voices. That some 
 ovation had been prepared for him he 
 almost dreaded ; but he pushed the door 
 open manfully to face it. 
 
 A woman, who was certainly not an 
 Avreux fishwife, was in the little sitting- 
 room in close conversation with Le Vieux. 
 
 She turned her head when she heard 
 Paul's footfall ; but the expression of his 
 face as he beheld her features was scarcely 
 one of joy, and he simply exclaimed, with- 
 out one word of welcome, — 
 
 'Miss Marian Wallis ! ' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. 
 
 )
 
 r-f?^
 
 'i'y'V^RSITY OF ILUNOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 05139874ft