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had insisted on his attending her to a brilliant
party, to which both were invited by one of those
moths of fashion who love to surround themselves
with the celebrities of the day. Mademoiselle was
celebrated for her. beauty more than for her talent ;
besides, she had been much talked of lately, and the
noble host would have deemed his circle incomplete
without her.
_ Although they had to pass the surgeon’s house
on their way to the splendid villa of their host, the
heartless woman had refused him permission to
alight, even for an instant, observing “that there
would be time on their return.” - And her dupe
obeyed.
“ Eugenie, c'est mot!” said the signor.
Madame rose from her knees, and unbarred the
oor.
Heartless as he was, Alberto felt a momentary
pang when his eyes fell upon the corpse of his son
—his first-born—stretched like a flower, untimely
withered upon the bed before him. He did not
dare to raise them from the dead to the living: he
dreaded to meet her gaze.
« Dead!” he faltered; « dead!” a :
« And without once pronouncing your name, or
expressing a wish to see you !’’ observed his wife,
in a bitter tone. “He felt that you had forgotten
him, and his ”
She could not complete the reproach; she felt a
rising weakness in her throat—a swelling at her
heart—and she had resolved to be calm as an accu-
sing angel's voice. . .
«low strange and sudden! Who would have
supposed? Poor boy—poor boy!”
Not knowing what else to do, the hypocrite pre-
tended to weep, and, approaching the bed, would
have imprinted a kiss upon the brow of his son.
«Do not touch him! Do not profane the majesty
of death—the sanctity of innocence !” almost shrieked
Madame Garrachi. He died upon my bosom!
His mother’s kiss was the last his lips received! Do
not stain them by a less holy one!”
« Eugenie, I do not understand you!”
« God !”” exclaimed the unhappy woman, clasping
her hands and sinking on her knees by the side of
the bed; “has this thing no heart?”
Overwhelmed with shame and remorse—for he
did feel at last—the Italian attempted to raise her ;
she shuddered at his touch.
« Eugenie!” he said, vainly attempting to soothe
“her; “I have been wrong—negligent, perhaps—but
not culpable! . You know I ‘ove you, and idolised
poor Felix!” Let me entreat of you to quit this
room! Think of your health!” he added, for the
first time perceiving the damp state of her dress;
* for heaven's sake, think of your voice!”
The scornful laugh which broke from the lips of
the singer startled him. She rose in an instant to
her feet, and stood erect and pale before him. Tis
last words had revealed to her all for which he had
ever sought or valued her. :
** My voice!’ she repeated; “it has rained gold
for you, and misery for me! ‘Would it had been
changed to the raven’s note whéh first you ‘heard it
—I had then escaped your snaré! ' Shall'I tell you,
Alberto, the nature of the lové'ydu'beat' to. me—
paint it in its true, mercenary tolors—compress it
in one word—calculation? My 'vdice'! it Was a-tor-
tune to you—-enabled you to indulge your tastes—
‘our appetites—your sensual‘luxury!" It has left
me!” she added; ‘and the tie which united! us) is
broken! Whether I live or die, starve in.a foreign
land, or not, will give you-nosetohd thought or
care!” Maes a :
«« Eugenie!’ ~ us lupe se
« Leave me,” she continued, « with! the dead—
with the wreck of hopes and dréains—with a wound
for which time has neither balm nor ‘cure!:" Leave
me—and—no—no—I cannot’ curse you—memory.
one day will avenge me !"” vido nde
«This is jealoasy—madness !” exclaimed Signor
Alberto, beginning to feel’ seriously alarmed—for
his interests were at stake. |. :
* Jealousy!” said his wife, becoming suddenly
calm, “ Man—man—how littl¢ do'you' know»me!
I could as soon be jealous of the dead, as of the love
which can change and change, or a wanton’s- smile
lure from me! Go!” she added, advancing to.the
window, and throwing it ‘suddenly open; «your
companion, sir, is waiting for you!” . moot
At the sound occasiétiéd” by ‘the! raising of the
sash, Mademoiselle Cherini, who whs'’stated dn an
open carriage at the door, looked up, and the eyes
of the injured wife and’her rival: met! “She could
not endure the gaze of thé wotnati she had ko cruelly
outraged—a suspicion; that'death was in the room
suddenly occurred to her. 3! 3) **,
Lie
FRANK LESLIE’S NEW YORK JOURNAL.
«Home !’”’ she exclaimed to the coachman.
The man gave bis horses the lash, and she felt
remind her that there was a future.
Like an instrument whose cords have suddenly
given way, the nerves of the sufferer yielded to the
long-suppressed: agony of her heart, and she sank
helpless as a child by the window. A brain fever
followed, and it was weeks before: the desolate
woman recognised the. tearful face of Fanny, who
had been her patient attendant.
As for her worthless husband, he was punished
in the only point on which his selfish nature was
vulnerable: her voice was gone—its wondrous flexi-
bility,.its pure, flute-like tone destroyed—a hoarse-
ness had settled upon her, lungs, which ‘neither
science, change of climate, nor that still greater
change which time scarce fails to bring, ever could
remove; it sounded, if ever she attempted to bring
forth a note, as if it came from beneath a pall.
Then it was that the triumph of Mademoiselle
Cherini was complete—she had no longer a rival to
dispute her supremacy.. True, the audience at His
Majesty’s Theatre listened at first with coldness to
her efforts—for they still remembered her predeces-
sor; but this coldness gradually wore away. The
town required to be amused—excitement was a
necessity to the Aabitués of the Opera—and they
created it.
Before the close of the season, half London was
at her feet, and many began to wonder how they
had ever admired Madame Garrachi.
« Well!” said her confidante and adviser, as they
drove home from the Opera, after a performance
which had been little less than an ovation; “I trust
you are satisfied?”
«1 am satisfied !’”” murmured her pupil.
«© And will dismiss that indolent, imbecile Al-
berto!’’ continued the ex-prima donna. ‘ « It‘is‘long
since Chave been tired of witnessing his‘ affected
airs and graces! The idiot imagines himself a vic-
tor, where he is only the dupe!’’ >
Mademoiselle made no reply.
Come!’ resumed the speaker, it is folly to
affect a passion with me! I know that you despise
him!” yee
“True !”? muttered the artiste.
“ And are tired of his love!” *
“That is by no means so sure!” replied Made-
moiselle’ Cherini; ‘your advice has proved fatal to
more than one! True, I have'succeeded in destroy-
ing my rival—in taking her place in the favor of
the public; but it has not been without a wound
«What??,. © > -
“Igve him!”
*‘ Heaven help you, then!’ exclaimed the female
Machiavel, with an ominous shake of the head.
«You are even more to be pitied than the rival you
have so cleyerly crushed !” - 4
‘« How so?” demanded the singer.
. Her agany is over—yours ts yet to come!’?
«Her companion shuddered. .There was something
oracular in the cold, sneering tone in which the
prediction was pronounced: she remembered the
presentiment which had seized her when her glance
encountered that of the woman she had injured at
ithe window; perhaps, too, her conscience whis-
pered her that she merited such a fate.
i} Signor Garrachi, during the illness of his wife,
made several—and we need not say unsuccessful—
attempts to.discover what had become of her dia-
monds! his rage and disappointment at not finding
‘| them may be better conceived than described. It
wag in vain that he questioned her waiting-maid
and the people of the house—he could elicit no in-
formation ; and for the best of all possible reasons—
they had none to give ;‘he even had the baseness to
attempt drawing the secret from his victim during
the access of delirium. | ce 2
A vacant laugh and the name of her boy were the
only replies he could draw from her. .
, She must have suspected my intention,’ he
thought, “when she surprised me with her écrin,
and has concealed them!” ves ates
To discover where, became doubly important,
iwhen he recollected that the fortune of his ill-used
wife was in France+where, ‘happily for. the gifted
artiste, the law protects the civil rights of. woman.
In France a wife is the partner—not the slave—of
her husband; has an equal. right with him in the
joint estate—can sue and be sued on account of her
separate property, and even withdraw her dower
from ; his hands, on. showing cause before the
tribunals, = * .
The possession of the jewels would haye repaired
Cot AR RET ee
ee Ty
259
all—but they had escaped him; and when the
| Italian reflected on his position, he came to the con-
relieved that the menacing glance of Madame Gar- ,clusion that he’had overreached himself—for he
rachi was no longer fixed upon her: it seemed to|began to entertain serious doubts whether the love
—heaven forgive us for prostituting the word—of
Mademoiselle Cherini might not change with his
altered fortune.
hope of a reconciliation with madame was
vain: she had declared her intention to separate
from him. In this resolution she was firmly sup-
ported by the advice of Miss Mellon, who during
her illness had been unremitting in her kindness.
Much to the annoyance of her husband—who
calculated on and wished his: wife’s death—the
kind-hearted actress had insisted upon calling in
the most eminent medical advice—had placed in the
sick room of her protegée two English nurses, in
whose fidelity she could place implicit trust: so
that Madame Garrachi was never for a single instant
alone.
Little Fanny, who had eyes and ears for every~
thing which might affect either the health or safety
of her benefactress, reported all that passed.
Signor Alberto began to hate the child.
In order to have his victim more completely in
his power, he had arranged to remove her to the
house of one of his countrymen, who resided a few
miles from London. The pretext of change of air
was quite sufficient for the people of the hotel—and
as for any opposition on the part of his wife, that
he considered might be easily overcome, or ex-
plained by attributing it to the wandering of her
brain. woe
On the very morning on which he had calculated
on putting this.fiendlike project in execution, the
carriage of Miss Mellon drove up to the door of the
hotel at an earlier hour than usual. Bitterly did
the Italian, as he saw her alight, laden with flowers
and fruit for the poor invalid, curse her officious
friendship. : .
As she entered the hall, Fanny whispered a few
words in her ear, .
«We shall see!” said the actress, compressing her
beautiful lips—for they were beautiful then; «he
does not know me yet!”
The fair speaker possessed a hold over the worth-
less man which she had pledged her word to her
old friend, Mr. Coutts, to employ only at the last
extremity. a
England, it must be remembered, at the period of
which we write, was still at waf with France—for
the short-lived peace of Amien’;had been broken,
and the laws regulating the residence and corres-
pondence of aliens were stringent in the extreme:
a mere suspicion was sufficient to cause a man to
be sent out of the country, or to consign him to a
rison,
Colonel de Lille—a pretended emigré, but in
reality a spy of the French, Emperor—had just been
sent to Newgate: so well hdd the impostor acted
his part, that he had obtained access to the best
English society. Many.ptrsons who had known
him refused to credit the proofs of his delinquency,
and one noble lord, at whose house he had been a
frequent gue-t, carried his, confidence so far as to
demand from his place in Parliament the reasons of
the minister for ordering his arrest.’ When pro-
duced, the reply was ovérwhelming—‘iever had the
aristocracy of England been more completely duped
than by the cunning-Frenchman, :
There were grave reasons to suppose that Alberto
had been’ one of his agents—for’ he had’ cashed
several checques at the banking-house' of Mr.
Coutts, which: the colonel had drawn upon a firm
in Holland... : .
The Italian «vas too much a man of the world to
display his, ill-humor—your true gamester seldom
shows his cards; on the contrary, he received his—
or rather his wife’s—visitor in his blandest ‘man-
ner—declared, with a profusion of compliments, .
. |that her kindness would never be effaced from his
memory—and announced, as‘if it were the most
matter-of-course affair, his intention to remove
madame from London. ~* . ;
, “ Where to?’ inquired the lady, drily. <" *
“To a cottage belonging to a friend of mine, a
short distance from town,” replied’ the signor;
«« where every attention that friendship can bestow’
will be lavished, to lead her to forget her loss 1”:
1 There are losses, replied- Miss Mellon, «« which
never can be forgotten—even,” she ‘added, in a!
pointed tone, ‘that of the affection we once
prized!’ . soothes,
The gentleman cclored deeply: this was'no fenc-''!
ing, but a home-thrust—a downright honest, ear- -
nest blow. . De tee
You have not replied to my question,
soe ce bee
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