A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE

(UK HARIAGE DAKS LE MOKDE), By Octave Fbuillbt,

Translated from the French and Carefully Bevlaed.

Chaptee I,

Madame de la Veyle, widow of Vice-Ad miral de Lauris, had espoused, on her second marriage, a General named tbe Marquis de la Veyle. Well content with both experiments, the Marchioness made it a duty and an amusement to propagate a taste for an institution which she herself had reason to praise. She em braced with ardour the profession of match-making. Her own social position, her influential connections, and the suc cess which her diplomacy had achieved in some arduous matrimonial transactions insured her a large measure of public confidence. Moreover, she had, as she used to say a taking sign over the shop door, meaning her daughter-in-law, Louise de Lauris. Monsieur de Lauris was an officer of the navy, whose frequent and protracted terms of absence placed his youn^ wife in a rather delicate position, wherein, however, she acquitted herself with a cleverness which reflected credit on her mother-m-l.aw's discernment.

Madame de la Veyle received on Thursday evenings. Although there was always music, her Thursdays were not gay. A sense of mystery clogged the air. Utter strangers, in white cravats, would be seen fitting through the rooms, anon vanishing to return no more. Young ladies, without apparent cause, would burst suddenly into tears. All that sort of thing chil's the atmosphere of a draw ing-rooin. On this particular evening the Marchioness was performing an act of simple charity, the marriage then on the stocks belonging to an humble category from which she could expect little satis faction beyond a contented conscience. A poor cousin of the General's, who went by the name of Eddy in the family, was to be introduced to the daughter of a Professor at Sainte Barbe College. Eddy was an awkward, bashful young man, of slender physical attractions which he had not learned the knack of displaying with effect. He however, a musician, playing tolerably well upon the flute, Madame de la Veyle had therefore deter mined that he should present himself in that character. ' I know the flute is not an instrument that electrifies the imagination, still it is poor Eddy's strongest point.' So it was arranged hat Eldy. in the course of the evening, should play an air upon the flute, accompanied by the General and Madame de Lauris. At a Riven momem Madame de Lauris struck 'la* on the piano while the General drew the same note from his violincollo. Eddy, after vainly struggling to catch the key, suddenly crossed the drawing-room with a diffident step, kneeled down before the fireplace, took his flute apart and held the pieces cautiously to the fire. ' What is all this ?' said Madame de la Veyle, while the Professor's daughter exchanged an anxious glance with her own friends. * What do you mean by this, my., dear? A most extraordinary performance! What are you cooking your flute for?' 'To raise its tone,' said Edward, meekly. 'What! you believe that? What a funny idea! Now, it seems to me very unreasonable, very improbable, my dear. However, anything is possible.' Oppressed by the chilling silence of the spectators, Eddy sprang up rather abruptly and tried once more to take the key which the General and Madame de Lauris struck for him with unwearied patience. But his ear was not yet quite satisfied, he resumed his humble posture before the fire-place, and once moro ex posed parts of his flute to the warmth of the fire. At this unlucky delay a sub dued buzz, half murmur and half giggle, began to circulate. The Professor's daughter, red as a tomato, bent an eye of entreaty on her mother; whereupon the Marchioness interfered :

'My dear Edward, that will do ! We cannot spend our evening watching you cook your flute; you must see that it is out of the question. Better renounce the performance —let it be for another time, my dear—another time !' After this painful incident, conversation could but languish. The Professor's family took leave early. Poor Edward put his flute sadly back in its leather box, wiped his moistened brow and disappeared. ' A fine session !' pronounced the Gen eral, withdrawing soon after to his private apartment. Bat one person was now left in the drawing-room beside Madame dela Veyle and her daughter-in-law. This was a yountr man of some thirty years, well made, elegant, and with a distinguished air. The vicissitudes of the evening seemed to have escaped his notice. His cold, proud features had vouchsafed no sign of interest, or even attention to the minor drama we have just been sketching. He had not observed Edward or the Professor's family leave the room, only rose slightly from his chair when the General withdrew, then went on quietly sketching profiles in an album. • Monsieur de Rias,' Madame de Lauris exclaimed abruptly, 'by the way, my verses—when shall I have them ?'

' This instant, madame, if you like.' ' Oh, an impromptu then —bravo!' She set before him an album reserved for poets, aud the yonng man a,fter a moment's

reflection, scribbled rapidly some lines. Then, with an inclination of the head, he presented the book to Madame de Lauris. ' What does he find to say to you ?' inquired Madame de la Veyle, breaking away from sombre reflections. ' This, mamma!' said the younger lady, and gravely read the following nonsense :

'The damsel whi appeared to-night, M nch 10 my godmother's dalight. View'd with no friendly «ye the suit _ Of Jtdw»rd and hisenchaited flute.

« You bad boy !' said the Marchioness, ' Instead ot stabbing me with that flute you would do better to explain your own conduct, which is certainly peculiar.'

• Why so, madame ?' 'Indeed, Lionel, I don't overrate my Thursdays. I know they can't have much attraction for you, when you could let two years go by without recalling their exis tence. Still I could understand that. But of late you haven't missed a single one, and this, I confess appears mysteri ous. Come, frankly, my dear, what is your motive? For whom, or what, this assiduity ? Ho you come here to fascin ate my daughter-in-law—or to look out for aeood match ?' ' Well, in the first place,' said Lionel, have I the choice ?' ' Must I leave the room, mamma ?' cried Madame de Lauris, gayly lifting her pretty head from her embroidery. ' My dear godmother,' said M. de Rias, keep Madame de Lauris with you, I en treat! Since you intend, apparently, to preach the beauty of marriage, don't forego such a potent argument.' 'What, really—? You do mean it, then ?' exclaimed vhe Marchioness, with kindling eyes. * Well, lam charmed with you—positively charmed. This is indeeda delightful compensation for this evening's annoyances. I need not say, my dear Lionel, how zealously I shall devote my self to your service, out of friendship in the first place, and then from remembrance of your poor mother; but seriously, my dear—since we have such grave matters to discuss—if my daughter-in-law incom modes you — ?' Madame de Lauris, half-rising, assumed an attitude of arch-inquiry and meek submission. * No, no, I conjure your,' returned Lionel, 'the presence of Madame de Lauris is not merely agreeable, but useful to me. She supports me under this test: she shows me marriage in such a captivating light —' ' Excuse me, my dear,' interrupted the old Marchioness, I don't propose you shall make love to Madame de Lauris under pretence of a feigned marriage. You cannot hoodwink me with that game. ' A* o.H ovonto you may at ay. nlj- daughter ; we shall soon see.'

' I obey,' said the younger lady, and betook herself to her embroidery.

• Come, dear Lionel,' pursued Madame de li Veyle,' 'are you sincere? Have you made up your mind to change ?' ' I have no special need to change,' explained M. de Rias, modestly ; ' but it was always my intention to marry one day, that being rather a custom in my family. Now lam thirty years old, and I deem it prudent and becoming to present myself ao the alter while I am still presentable. That is all. Ler me add—to appease Madame de Lauris, who is darting a terrible glance in my direc tion—that I am also capable of being attracted to marriage by considerations of a less practical nature ; that I am not quite a stranger to some honest and tender sentiments, although I may not care to parade them ; that I am some times haunted, like other men, by dreams of kindly intimacy and domestic happi ness ; that the thought of finding, on coming home, a graceful, faithful young head inclined beneath the library lamp, or over an embroidery frame, is by no means indifferent to me ; that, in short, I should be happy to see filled, in so happy and charming a way. the void left by my mother in my household.' • Why. that is admirable,' said the elder lady; 'I protest you move me—your hand, dear child.' M. de Rias kissed respectfully the hand she offered him, then proceeded, laughing, ' Now for the objections !' 'But what objections, my dear? At all events, don't detail them — your objections. I know them by heart. Some marriages turn out badly, isn't that it! There are some uncomfortable house holds in the world—'

' You might say—a good many,' put in Lionel.

•Well, what of it? What can you make of that? Of course there are ill-natured men —silly men —men without tact —so much the worse for them.'

" You scarcely mean me to suppose, madame, that, it depends exclusively on the man whether his home shall be happy or wretched ?'

' I beg your pardon—l mean just that, for it's the truth. Look, my dear, at the wives of sailors. Why are they all such models of correct deportment and good conduct ? (You may well bow, my daughter.) Because their husbands are not at home to aggravate them.'

.' Now, my dear godmother, you will surely admit that there are women who are simply monsters, and whom husbands, present or absent, cannot influence a jot.' ' Not at all, my dear ; monsters do not exist, or at least they are rare —extremely rare. That's a mania men have nowadays to maintain that women are all born mon sters. Convenient, at all events —makes them irresponsible ! However, you may be sure I will not furnish you a monster.

So much I'll answer for. Louise, she continued, turning to her daughter-in-law. 'do you Inow whom I have in my mind for him ? The ycunger lady looked up thought fully a noraent; then turning her fine eyes abruptly on her mother, exclaimed, ' Marie ? 'Am I not right ? You can almost see them together—the very idea fascinates you—lon? ago, for that matter, I had that match mede in my mind.' ' Marie,' said M. de B,ias, that's a pretty name when worthily borne ; but allow me one question, is Mademoiselle Marie a Parisienne ?' , ' X es, in the fullest and highest sense, said Madame de Lauris. _ j ' Enough ! I reject the nomination. ' Because—?' inquired the Marchioness. ' Because I am aware how young ladies are brought up in Paris, and without yielding over much to illusions respecting country innocence, I believe I secure some chances in my favor by taking a wife from the provinces, ' Ah. my dear, don't do that,' exclaimed the Marchioness; * for heavens sake, don't do that! What an idea—to send to the country for a wife, as you do for servants. Do you know how servants turn out who come up from the provin ces ? Paris inebriates them, addles their brains, leaves them worse than others. You will have an ill-bred wife who'll not know how to dress, who'll have red hands, who'll put you to shame, and deceive you all the same—like any other woman ! No; dent you see, my dear, to be candid with you, there are dangers everywhere. Let us choose, at all events, the least ridiculous.' ' But, my dear Marchioness,' cried Lionel, with ludicrous violence, * I fail to understand you. I imagined you were about to stimulate, encourage me, whereas every word you utter is fraught with terror,' ' I mast confess, mamma,' said Madame de Lauris, laughing heartily, ' that you are by no means reassuring.' ' My dear giW, what should I say ? He would like, of course—with all his sex f )T that matter—to have us hand him on a silver salver a marriage without a flaw—without risks, without a chance of misfortune. Well, I have none of that sort to offer, becausj they don't exist. But, my dear boy, I have one rule. It is to bring together only such persons as satisfy reasonable conditions of propriety and happiness. I know, for instance, a young lady, well born, well endowed by nature, who would make an admirable wife. I know, on tbe other hand, a young man of distinction, of stainless honor, quite charming, in fact (I mean you, in parenthesis)—well, I make a match between them; .there my part ends. What follows is their own affair. I marry you in baste, you can repent at leisure. Besides, listen to me, dear Lionel : at the point of life you have reached, your reflections, objections, arguments and so on are wholly bootless. You have told us your symptoms—they are decisive. You are ripe, suffer yourself to be culled with out too much coyness.' ' But, seriously,' persisted Lionel in a sober tone, ' I am not so decided as you would make me, and I want to consider the matter longer.'

' You may do so, my dear ; only while you are considering the precious bird may fly away,' ' Well, let it fly,' said the young man, grasping his hat as if about to withdraw, he did not go, however, but leaning against the mantelpiece drew a long breath and went on in a sort of menlacholy whisper—' I marry ? WeM, so be it! But I don't need to be married to-morrow

morning

The old Marchioness turned to Madame de lauris and said with comic gravity,

'You are witness, my daughter, of a pathetic scene—the last agonies of an old bachelor.'

Lionel laughed, • Tell me then,' he con tinued, 'how has she been brought up, this young lady of yours ?' ' My dear,' said the old Marchioness, ' she was brought up in a tower—by fairies —does that suit you ?' ' Is she a friend of yours ?' inquired the young man of Madame de Lauris. ' Oh, yes, I'm very fond of her,' ' Well, that is something.'

* Oh my dear !' cried the Marchioness, swe need not mystify him. She's not only a friend of Louise but a cousin, and the first letrers of her name are — Mademoiselle Fitzgerald.'

' Mademoiselle Fitzgerald ?' ' Yes —what do you say to that?' ' That it would be an alliance both honorable and advantageous—but are you sure there is a young lady Fitzgerald ? I vaguely remember seeing a child at the Fitzgeralds', but I fancied it was a boy.' ' Not at all. It is a girl.' ' And where, pray, may people see her ?' ' People may see her anywherfe where people are visible—but only within the last two years, 'tis true —since you have been in mourning; so she may, naturally, be unknown to you.' ' Do you remember,' said Madame de Lauris, 'my poir little sister-in-law ?' ' Madame de Kevern ? Perfectly. Poor young creature ! She was charming. ' Well, Marie Fitzgerald is something in that style. Indeed. I think she resembles her personally, don't you, mamma ?' 'If you like,' said the Marchioness. 'In a word, she is very pretty. For that matter, my dear Lionel, you shall soon judge with your own eyes, for I mean to perform an act of heriosm in your behalf. Marie and her mother just now are at

their country place near Melon. Poor ■R-evern mv daughter-in-law s brother, has Se sh'Jting-Lx in their nighbothood which he placed at our disposal during his absence. It is not a region lam fond S but I shall take Louise and msta myself there for a few days. You wil Sme and see us, and the introduction will take place naturally. Is it agreed V 'lam overcome by so much kindness, said Lionel, ' and yet I could wish that this proceeding might not absolutely bind

'O what a man! Nobody is going to marry you against your will! Be at ease on that score. For that matter on your own part, you may very possibly fail to please. You look surprised, my dear; but I repeat, you may very possibly fail i» please. So nobody w bound. Will you me, dear Lionel ? Come again to-morrow in the course of the day, and we will finish our plans?' ___„_._ Monsieur de Rias renewed his thanks, made his adieux and withdrew, leaving Madame de la Veyle and her graceful daughter-in-law a prey to that gentle excioe ment which all ladies, young and old, experi ence when they are involved, however remotely, in adventures wherein love seems called upon to play a part.

Chapter 11.

Madame Fitzgerald, the widow of a Council lor of Soate, had been extremely handsome, and was so still, although she had reached the age of forty-five. "'ien, under the early suns of March or April, she emerged from her furs, aud, accompanied hy her daughter, consented to descend the boulevard from the Rue de la Paix to the Madeleine, the saunterers who drew aside from her path with involuntary deference were enabled to form a conception of Parisian elegance in its supreme refinement. The mother and the daughter, though little accustomed to walk ing, advanced with a sure, firm step, cleaving the crowd with a sovereign indifference, and exchanging a word now and then in a crisp, high tone, precisely as if they had been alone in their own park. Their toilettes, while marvellously adjusted to their respective years, had yet some subtle and charming points of affinity; their notions were in exquisite accord ; they left behind them in their path a certain perfume of hot-house flowers ana seemed to purify the asphalt they trod on. Foreign ladies were wont to study with a jealous eye the dress, the movements and the regal bearing of these two Pi»risienDes traversing their empire, and despaired, not without reason, of reproducing them.

Although left a widow in early life, an! in all the splendour of her beauty, Madame Fitzgerald bad succeeded in doubling the cape =of maturity with a reputation perfectly intact. Without being armed with princi ples specially sannd or lofty, she possessed in a consummate degree that religion of the ermine fox and well-bred women—a horror of stains. She applied to her moral conduct the same tastes and aversions which con trolled her in the care of her person. Any thing like disorder or defilement was repugnant to her instincts and her habits. Wickedness to her was not merely wicked ness, but something worse-an impropriety. If we must not exaggerate the moral worth of that phase of sentiment, neither should we underrate its delicacy or its practical value. It is the one sole safeguard of many women. It is a charm which resembles virtue.

An uncle of her husband, Count Patrick Fitzgerald, had devoted himself with chival rous courtesy to the young widow's service, and constituted himself her guide and pro tector in society up to the day when she brought out her daughter. From that moment Count Patrick had returned with satisfaction to his manor of Fre3nes, where his niece formed a habit of passing several months of the summer.

Here it wa3 that Madame Fitzgerald, one fine morning in July, received an intererest ing communication for which a mysterious missive from the Marchioness had partially prepared her. This matrimonial proposal was received with a degree of rapture hardly disguised by that reserve which the occasion required. Madame Fitzgerald affected to murmur that her daughter was still young ; that she was scarcely 19, in fact; that, more over, she was greatly admired and in a position to make a deliberate choice. But forgetting etiquette, at last, in a gush of maternal tenderness, she threw her arms around her old friend's neck and burst into tears. The fact was that Lionel de Rias, by his name, his fortune, intrinsic worth and personal attractions, was one or those sons in-law whom mothers love to invoke in dreams. Of course Count Patrick was called into council, and showed himself equally favour able to the projected match. Some days were spent in leisurely chat and in discussing questions of interest and propriety. The Marchioness was installed in a pleasant country house called the Pavilion, which belonged to her daughter-in-law's brother, and the Pavilion being only a mile or two from Fresnes. they were able, thanks to the informal relations of neighbours, to secure divers private conferences respecting this delicate theme without arousing the curiosity of Mademoiselle Fitzgerald or interesting her feelings. She might fail to please Lionel, or Lionel might fail to please her. It was there fore of the utmost importance to spare her an excitement cartainly premature, and, at all events, unbecoming v yountf lady. While the elder relatives were engaged in these discussions, ib devolved on youag Madame de Lauris to entertain Marie, and she per formed the task most conscientiously, being herself toe prudent and discreet to tell tales out of school.

In this way they had reached the day fixed for the first meeting of the two young people, with the delightful certainty that Mademoi selle Marie wonld encounter that test with head and heart free from all embarrassment. No precaution, however, was neglected to divest the interview ot any formal character, and give it the aspect of an impromp'u affair. Although a visit of M. de Kias to hi 3 god mother, occurring among numerous arrivals and, departures, was iv itself perfectly natural,

the following noteß, concerted befew.l, were exchanged between the Pavili the Manor-house of Fresaes during fl.. 00 ing of that memorable day : "^

MADAME DE LA VEYLE TO MADAME ITTZOm,! My Dear Olarisse : Doa'c count on* dinner to-day—some guests have j^ by train. They are delightful peonl*^! true, but they might have chosen *LM day, or at least forewarned me. T j"m surprises, however agreeable. Sin^ll grets, my dear. w I MADAME FITZGERALD TO MADAMg * I VEYLB. * j] Bring your delightful people withy;- J dear friend. Only tell me ho w many « M I may arrange my table. A thoiuandljyl MADAME DE LA VEYLB TO MADAm 3 GERALD. ll§ My delightful people, dearest, cojjjJ one. It is my godson Lionel de Biaiy| can't leave him to dine alone and flan'tijl him with me. He only came for ada» j brought no dress-coat. Despairingly %_ MADA3IE EITZGERELD TO MADAME d, VEYLE. My Dear : Bring Monsieur deßijgL iMy uncle will wear a morning-coat.^. him at his ease. Come early, and.%e^J a stroll. Yours for ever. MADAME DE —A. VEYLE TO MADAjjj Jt GERALD. It is all arranged then, dear. yf t M come to you about 3 o'clock—that v,§ General, Louise and I. As for MoniieJ, II Kias, he has some calls to pay in theneig™ hood. But he has taken one of theG^J horses, and will join us about six, , i. Madame Fitzgerald was careful }o'j^Jj to her daughter each item of tml'V3| correspondence, and had reason to rcoajml| late herself on the absolute indifference M which Mademoiselle Marie followed vicissitudes. . ■ That evening, nevertheless, about | after five, a young girl might have b^ei | walking alone along the terrace ef a j which commands the road from Melm Fontainebleau. From time to.tinw checked her swift, light step, seemed to a some far-off sound, aud leaned forwatdt the road through one of the arched Iflpejj in the thick curtain of vines that failed terrace. Then she would recommsnoe walk, falling unconsciously into the bourn step that women have when about to j into a waltz. jrj Just as she had decided to risk anoll furtive glance through one of the green irS she drew abruptly back and let fall a m mured word between lips half opened a dreamy smile.' There could be heard diafiji ly on the dry, hard road the crisp ygtfttjg step of one of those blood steeds comai reserved for riders of distinction. Tbey« girl, Btill smiling, hid herself from view, i with a trembling hand contrived a tiiiy }i hole in the wall of foliage. As the honet passed she scanned him with an interaf keen that her very breathing seemed m ded. For the first time she beheldMoai de Rias, with his quiet elegance, virilegt and his delicate, proud features just then dered somewhat pale by excitement. 1 When the horseman had paaßed she 81$ fastened her bright blue eyes a momeiil the sky, then dropping them slowly^ ward whispered two words, 'My husbi At the novel sound her face grew rbsy she was fain to cover it with her handi remain motionless an instant, notunlikei statue of modesty ; after which Madenuji Fitzgerald retraced with hasty step tbe'] leading to the manor.

She found them waiting for her withj impatience, for, to the despair of tl» Marchioness, Monsieur de Rias had aire entered the court. ' Where in the wiftl Marie?' she went on repeating to Mad

Fitzgerald, who was posted besidehOTatJ of the drawing-room windows. ' Lionel lot so well on horseback. I bad planned to b her see him for the first time in all his gk —for first impressions, you know, weijij — bub here he has arrived, and our littlej is not to be found. I call it a downrii calamity. ' Mv dear Marchioness,' replied Madtt Fitzgerald, ' you know we were particiW anxious that Maiie should conceive no it picion. Besides, I think your god-son quite! attractive on foot as in the saddle. Soi have lost nothing.' When Mademoiselle Marie condeacsi to appear in the drawing-room, she fos Monsieur de Rias already accJimated,B

securely lodged in the good graces of Mad* Fitzgerald and Count Patrick. Tbeyoi man was duly presented to her, bat she plied to his profound bow with an inclioii

of the head so slight and negligent as tote} upon impertinence. Lionel was a little» prised, his good looks commonly insurisgiij better treatment from the sex, and warfc to attribute his cool reception to some m of his own. By dint of torturing hisiaiji! nation he fancied that he had hit .'oil Madame de la Veyle had shown hitflj diplomatic correspondence of the monin and while he approved the general to«,l had deemed the point about his clothes r»t!« a mistake. He conceived the idea thapj demoiselle Fitzgerald, herself an expert! etiquette, had been quite shocked at 1 circumstance, and that a man who conldrt about fronjf country-house to country-kW without an evening coat, had appearedMln a ridiculous creature.

This chimera, yon observe, wat:M worthy of a lover. But was Lionel i&M already 1 Indeed he was, and tbat, too; wl be saw Mademoiselle Fitzgerald, for altpH in men of his years the unknown w^lj marriage awakens some secret terrors, W§ is at least in that unknown worldMj luminous point, one charm at once novels substantial, which exerts a potent fasciniwj I mean the perspective of a species of |fl and if I may venture to say so, of .plfNji such as their previous life, however riof sensations of the kind, has never knownjJJ is the mirage, if you like, of some pure'Sj tain wherein the tired heart and exh»o!»j senses may plunge and renew their yoOft!' in baths of refreshing dew. It is, in sM, that ideal ima^eof a young being, immaciwi as Pygmalion's marble, whose virgin Wi| reserves for them its maiden blush. H

Evening Star Supplement, January 15, 1576.