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i II PROVIDENCE AND THE GUITAR —By Robert Louis Stevenson I ~r rliamed one day that Moneleur and Madame Berthelini ileeeendeil with two boxes and a guitar In a fat caae at the utatlon at the little town of Caetel-le-Oaehle. and the omnibu. car ried them With their effect* to the hotel Of the ftlack Heart. The land lord, a tragic per.on in a large .e.t hat, roeo from a bualnc* table under the key- rack and came forward removing hi* hat with both hand* a* he did *o. ••Sir. 1 salute you. May I Inquire what 1* your charge for artiste?" Inquired Iterthellnl, with a courteay at once splendid and Insinuating -For artiste'.- said the landlord HI* coun tenance fell and the smile of welcome disap pears,i "Oh, a Ulster he said, brutally; "four francs a day." And he turned hi* back upou then* inconsiderable customer}*. Atcustomed as he wa* to the rubs of hi* pro fession. Berthelini was unpleasantly affected by the landlord'* manner. ••Elvira." aald he to hla wife, "mark my wrords Caatel-le-tiachla Is a tragic folly." •Eel ua ask for breakfast” eeld ehe. with a woman's tael. The commissary of police of Oasttl-ls-Gachis wa* a large, red commissary, pimpled, and sub 3ect to a strong cutaneous transpiration. I have repeated the name of hla ofTloe because he wiu ao much more a commissary than a rnan. The spirit ©f his dignity had entered Into him "I have the honor," Leon asked, "of meeting Monsieur le Commissaire?” The commissary was affected by the nobility hla address. He excelled Leon In the depth if »ot In the airy grace of hie salutation. "The honor," he said, "is mine!" "I am," continued the strolling player, “i am. •ir. an artist. and I have permitted myself to in lerrupt you on an affair of business. To-night I give a trifling musical entertainment at the cafe mi the Triumph* of the Plow--permit me to offer you thia little programme- and I Iiave oome lo oak you for the necessary authorisation." At the word "artist'’ the commissary had re placed his hat with the air of a person who, hsv Ing condescended too far, should suddenly re member the duties of his rank. "Put up your bills If you choose," Interrupted the commissary. "In an hour or eo 1 will ex amine your papers st the office. Rut now go; 1 am busy." The preparations were soon mail* the bills peeted, programmes laid on the dinner table of every hotel in the town, and a stage erected at ana end of the cafe of the Triumphs of the Plow, tout when Leon returned to the office the commis pat y was once more abroad. "He is like Madsine Benolton," thought Leon, fflehu commissaire!’’ And just then he met the man face to face. "Here, sir," said he, “are my papers Will you toe pleased to verify?" "No use" he replied, "no use; I am busy, 1 am quite satisfied. Give your entertainment." The audience was pretty large, and the pro prietor of the cafe made a good thing of It In Seer. But the Berthellnis exerted themselves In tain Leon whs radiant in velveteen; he had a rakish *way of smoking a cigarette between songs that was worth money in Itself; He was at the top of his register, with his head thrown back and his mouth open, when the door was thrown violently open and a pair of new 'romers marched noisily Into the cafe. It was the commissary, followed by the garde champetre. "How does It happen, sir,” said the commis Vary, swelling In person, "that I And you mount® banking In a public cafe without my permls lion?” "Without .” cried the Indignant Leon “Permit me to remind you"- "Come. come, sir!" said the commissary, "I de sire no explanations." "I care nothing about w hat you desire,'' re turned the singer. "1 choose to give them. and I ■will not be gagged. 1 am an artist, sir, a distinc tion that you cannot comprehend. I received tout permission and stand here upon the strength of it; Interfere with me who dare." "l’ou have not got my signature, l tell you." •ried the commissary. "Show me m\ signature! Where is my signature?" That was just the question where was his nIk nature? Leon recognised that he was in a hole, hut his spirit rose with the occasion, and he blu< fared nobly, tossing back bis curls. ‘Another word," cried the commissary, "and J arrest you." "Arrest me'.’ shouted Leon. "I defy you!" "I am the commissary of police, said the official. "So it would appear " The point was too refined for Caatsl-le-Uachts. It did not raise a smile; and as for the commis sary, he simply bade the singer follow him to his office, and directed his proud footsteps toward the door. There was nothing for It but to obey. Leon did so with a proper pantomime of Indiffer ence, but it was a leek to eat and there was no flenylng It The roaire had altpped out and was already Waiting at the commissary’s door. Now the roaire, in France, Is the refuge of the oppressed. He stands between his people and the boisterous rigors of the police. He cat: *. .netimea under stand what is said to him; he is ,ot always puffed ap beyond measure by his dignity. 'Tls a thing worth the knowledge of travelers When all teems over, and a man has made up his mind to injustice, he has still, like the heroes of a romance, a little bugle at his belt whereon to blow, and the maire, a comfortable deus ex onachina, may still descend to deliver him from the minions of the law. The maire of Castel-le- Gachis, although Inaccessible to the charms of music as retailed by the Berthellnis, had no heal nation whatever as to the rights of the mattei He instantly fell foul of the commissary in ver> high terms, and the commissary, pricked by this humiliation, accepted battle on the point of fact. The argument lasted some little while with vary ing success, until at length victory Inclined so plainly to the commissary’s side that the maire v as fain to reassert himself by an exercise of authority. He had been out argued, but he was still the maire. And so. turning from his inter locutor, he briefly but kindly recommended Leon • to go back instsnter to his concert. Leon did not wait to be told twice He re turn*«i U* the cafe of the Triumphs of the Plow n ith all expedition. Alas! the audience had melted a way during his absence. Elvira was sitting In a very disconsolate attitude on the guitar box, • he had watched the company dispersing by twos and turees, and the prolonged spectacle had «*. cue what overwhelmed her spirits. Each man. *. • reflected, retired with a certain proportion of n< r earnings in his pockets, and she saw to night’s board and to-morrow's railway expenses, and Anally even to-morrow's dinner, walk one • fler another out of the cafe door and disappear »nto the night. 'What was it she asked, languidly It’s a lost battle." aald he and then, taking the money box. he turned it out. ’Three ! seventy-five! ’ he cried, as against four of and six of railway fares and no time for P&mboL !.i\lt:i this N V a! < : fct us £**t the things together *mi i.« ..fr w k.l.eh Elvira We Slight t r another *.mc hut there Is not six halfpence In the room.’* As they crossed the market place the church bell rang out eleven. It was a dark, mild night and there was no one In the streets. "It is all very flne," said Leon; "but I have a presentiment. The night is not yet done." The Black Head presented not a single chink of light upon tho street, and the carriage gate was closed. "This is unprecedented." observed Leon. "An inn closed at five minutes after eleven! And there were several commercial travelers In the cafe up to a late hour. Elvira, my heart mis gives me. Let us ring the bell.” "This is your fault," said Elvira! "this Is what comes of fancying things'." Again Leon pulled the bell rope; again the solemn tocsin awoke the echoes of the inn; and ere they hart died away a light glimmered in the carriage entrance, and a powerful voice was hoard, upraised and tremulous with wrath. "What’s all this?" cried the tragic host through the spars of the gate. "Hard upon twelve, and you come clamoring like Prussians at the door of a respectable hotel? Oh!" he cried, "I know you now! Common singers! People in trouble with the police! And you present yourselves at mid night like lords and ladles? He off with you!" You will permit me to remind you," said Leon, in thrilling tones, "that 1 am a guest in your house, that I am properly inscribed, and that 1 have deposited baggage to the value of four hun dred francs." "You cannot get In at this hour," returned the man "This is no thieves’ tavern for mohocks and night rakes and organ-grinders." "Brute"’ cried Elvira, for the organ-grinders touched her home "Then T demand my baggage," eald l^eon, with unabated dignity. "I know nothing of your baggage," replied the landlord. "You detain my baggage? You dare to detain my baggage?’’ cried the singer. "Who are you?" returned the landlord. "It Is dark—I cannot recognise you." "Very well, then—you detain my baggage,' concluded Leon. "You shall smart for this. I will weary out your life with persecutions; I will drag you from court to court; If there is justice to be had in France It shall be rendered between you and me. And I will make you a by-word—I will put you in a song—a scurrilous song an lnde cent song—a popular song -which the boys shall sing to you In the street, and come and howl through these spars at midnight!" He had gone on raising his voice at every phrase, for all the while the landlord was very placidly retiring; and now, when the last glim- mar of light hud vanished from the arch, and the last footstep died away In the interior, Leon turned to his wife with a heroic countenance "Elvira.’’ said he, "I have now a duty in life 1 shall destroy that man as Eugene Hue destroyed the concierge. I*et us come at once to the gendarmerie and begin our vengeance." He picked up the guitar case, which had been propped against the wall, and they set forth through the silent and 111 lighted town with burn ing hearts. The gendarmerie was concealed beside the tele graph office at the bottom of a vast court, which whs partly laid out in gardens; and here all the shepherds of the public lay locked in grateful sleep. It took a deal of. knocking to waken one; and lie, when he came at last to the door, oould And no other remark than "it was none of his business." "Very well," said Leon, "then we shall go to the commissary." Thither they went; the office was closed and dark, but the house was close by, and Leon was soon swinging the bell like a madman. The commissary’s wife appeared at a window She whs a thread-paper creature, and Informed him that the commissary had not yet come home. "Is he at the inaire's demanded Leon She thought that was not unlikely. And ho set out to find the malre’s. It took him some ten minutes wandering among blind lanes, ami when he arrived It was already half an hour past midnight. A long white garden wall over hung by some thick chestnuts, a door with a let ter box. and an iron bell-pull, that was all that could be seen of the inaire’s domicile. Leon took I he hell pull ill both hands and danced furiously upon the sidewalk. The bell Itself was just upon 1 he other side of the wall. It responded to hia activity, and scattered an alarming clangor far and wide Into tho night. A window was thrown open In s house across the street, and a voice inquired the cause of this untimely uproar "1 wish the inaire," said Leon. "You will never make him hear." responded the voice. "Tho garden is of great oxtent, the house is at the further end, and both the inaire and his housekeeper are deaf." "Aha!" said Leon, pausing. "The maire is deaf, is he? That explains." And he thought of the evening's concert with a momentary feeling of relief. "Ah!" he continued, "and ao the maire is deaf, and the garden vast, and the house at the far end?" And he made off again at his best pace for the commissary’s Elvira was still walking to and fro before the door. "He has not come?" asked Leon. "Not he," she replied. "Good." returned Leon. "I am sure our man's inside. Let me see the guitar-case. I shall lay this siege in form, Elvira; T am angry, I am In dlgnant; 1 am truculently Inclined; but T thank my Maker I have still a sense of fun. The unjust Judge shall be Importuned in a serenade, Elvira Set him up set him up.” He had the case opened by this time, struck a few chords, and fell into an attitude which was irresistibly Spanish. "Now." he continued, "feel your voice. Are you ready? Follow me!" The guitar twanged, and the two voices up raised. in harmony and with s startling loudness the chorus «»f a song of old Beranger's The commissary, if he was not the first, whs not the last of the neighbors to yield to the In Auence of music and furiously throw open the window of his bedroom He was beside himself with rage. He leaned far over the window sill, raving and gesticulating; the tassel of his white nightcap danced like a thing of life; he opened his mouth to dimensions hitherto unprecedented, and yet hie voice, instead of escaping from it in a roar, came forth shrill and choked and tottering. A little more serenading, and it was clear he would be better acquainted wit'll the apoplexy. Leon tried to explain his predicament, but he received nothing but threats of arrest by way of answer. "If I come down to you!" cried the commissary. • Ay," said I^eon, “do!" "I will not!" cried the commissary. You dare not!" answered Leon. At this tho commissary closed his w indow All Is over," said the singer. "The serenade was perhaps Ill-judged These boors ha\e no sense of humor." \ud taking the guitar In one hand and tii* « ,.se in the other, he led the \vh> with something too precipitate to he merely called precipitation front the Mtiio of this nhaurd adventure T«* 'he * of <'ast*-Me < iachla four rows of venerable lime-trees formed In this starry night a twilight avenue with two sldo aisles of pitch darkness. Here and there stone benches were dis posed between the trunks. There was not a breath of wind; a heavy atmosphere of perfume hung about the alleys; and every leaf stood stock- atill upon Its twig. Hither, after vainly knock ing at an inn or two, the Berthellnis came at length to pass the night. After an amiable con tention, Leon insisted on giving his coat to El vira. and they sat down together on the first bench in silence. Leon made a cigarette, which he smoked to an end, looking up into the trees, and, beyond them, at the constellations, of which he tried vainly to recall the names. The silence was broken by the church bell; It rang the four quarters on a light and tinkling measure; then followed a single deep stroke that died slowly away with a thrill; and stillness resumed its empire. "One,” said Leon. "Four hours till daylight. It Is warm; it Is starry; I have matches and to bacco. Do not let us exaggerate. Elvira—the ex perience is positively charming. I feel a glow' within me; I am born again. This is the poetry of life. Think of Cooper’s novels, my dear." "Leon," she said, fiercely, "how can you talk such wicked, Infamous nonsense? To pass all night out of doors—it Is like a nightmare! We shall die." "You suffer yourself to be led away," he re- lst; follow your heart, In short, and do some thorough work before you die." "And do you call these things art?" inquired Stubbs. "Why, certainly!" returned Leon. "Are they not all branches?" "Oh! I didn’t know," replied the Englishman. "I thought an artist meant a fellow who painted." The singer stared at him In some surprise. "It is the difference of language," he said at last. "This Tower of Babel w'hen shall we have paid for It? If I could speak English you would follow me more readily." "Between you and me I don’t believe I should," replied the other. "You seem to have thought a devil of a lot about this business. For my part, I admire the stars, and like to have them shin ing—it’s so cheery—but hang me if I had an idea it had anything to do with art! It’s not in my line, you see. I’m not intellectual; I have no end of trouble to scrape through my exams., f can tell you! But I’m not a bad sort of bottom," he added, seeing his interlocutor looking dis tressed even in the dim starshlne, “and I rather like the play, and music, and guitars, and things." Leon had a perception that the understanding was Incomplete. He changed the subject. "And so you travel on foot?" he continued. "How romantic! How courageous! And how are you pleased with my land? How does the scenery affect you among these wild hills of ours?" "The guitar twanged and the two voices upraised the chorus of an old song.” pi ted soothingly. "It is not unpleasant here; only you brood. Come, now. let us repeat a scene. Shall vt o try Alceste and Celimene? No? Or a passage from the 'Two >rphans?’ Come, now, it will occupy your mind; l will play up to you as I have never played before; I feel art moving in my bones." And without waiting for an answer he began to strum the symphony. The first chords awoke h young man who was lying asleep upon a neigh boring bencl). "Are you camping out here, too?” he asked, with a strong English accent. "I’m not sorry for company." Leon explained their misadventure; and the other told them that he was a Cambridge under graduate on a walking tour, that he had run short of money, could no longer pay for his night’s lodging, had already been camping out for two nights, and feared he should require to con tinue the same maneuvro for at least two nights more. "Luckily, It’s Jolly weather,” ho concluded. "Yes," returned the undergraduate, sitting down, "It’s rather nice than otherwise when once you're used to it; only it’s devilish difficult to get washed. 1 like the fresh air and these* stars and things." "Aha!” said Leon, "monsieur Is an artist." "An artist?’’ returned the other, with a blank stare. "Not if I know it!" "You have an artist's nature, however, Mr. . I beg your pardon; may 1, without indiscretion. Inquire your name?" asked Leon. "My name is Stubbs," replied the Englishman. "1 thank you," returned Leon. "Mine is Berthe- lini—Leon Herthellni, ex-artlst of the theatres of Montrouge, Belleville, and Montmartre. Humhle ns you see me, T have created with applause more than one Important role. The press were unani mous In praise of my Howling Devil of the Moun tains. in the piece of the same name. Madame whom I now present to you, Is herself an artist, and. I must not omit to state, a better artist than her husband. Hhe also is a creator; she created nearly twenty successful songs ut one of the principal Tarlatan music halls. But. to continue. 1 was saving you had an artist's nature, Mon sieur Stubbs, and you must permit me to be s Judge in such a question. I trust you will not falsify your Instincts, let me beseech you to fol low the career of an artist." "Thank you," returned Stubbs, with a chuckle "I'm going to be h banker." "No," said Leon, "do not say so. Not that. A man with such a nature as yours should not derogate so far. What are a few privations hero and there, so long us you are working for a high and noble goal?" "This follow s mad," thought Stubbs; "but the woman's rather pretty, and he’s not bad fun for himself, If you come to t Hat.” What he said was different. "I thought >ou said you were an actor?" "I certainly did so." replied I.eon. "1 am one, or, alas! 1 was." "And so you waut me to be an actor, do you?’ continued the undergraduate "Why, man, I t-ould never so much ns learn the stuff; i: ^ mem ory's like a sieve; and as for acting. I’ve no more Idea than a cat." The stage is net the onl> course." said Leon, "in s sculptor. l.*e h darn er. h« a i«»et. or n novel "Well, the fact is," began Stubbs—he wan about to say that he didn’t care for scenery, which was not at all true, being, on the contrary, only an athletic undergraduate pretension; but he had begun to suspect that Berthelini liked a different sort of meat, and substituted something else. "The fact is, I think it jolly. They told me it was no good up here; even the guide-book said so; but 1 don’t know what they meant. I think it Is deuced pretty—upon my word, I do." At this moment in the most unexpected man ner, Elvira burst into tears. "My voice!" she cried. "Leon, if I stay here longer I shall lose my voice!" "You shall not stay another moment," cried the actor. "If I have to beat in a door, if I have to burn the town, I shall find you shelter." With that, he replaced the guitar, and com forting her with some caresses, drew her arm through his. "Monsieur Stubbs," said he, taking off his hat "the reception I offer you is rather problematical; but let me beseech you to give us the pleasure of your society. You are a little embarrassed for the moment; you must, Indeed, permit me to ad vance what may be necessary. I ask It as a favor, we must not part so soon after having met so strangely.” "I don’t quite see my way out of it," thought the undergraduate; and then, after a pause, he said, aloud and ungraciously enough, "All right. I—I’m very much obliged, of course." And he proceeded to follow them, thinking In his heart, "But it's bad form, all the same, to force an obli gation on a fellow'." Leon strode ahead, as if he knew exactly where he w'as going; the sobs of madame were still faintly audible and no one uttered a word. A dog harked furiously in a courtyard as they went by. then the church clock struck two. and many domestic clocks follow ed or preceded It in piping tones. And just then Berthelini spied a light. It burned In a small house on the outskirts of the town, and thither the party now directed their steps. "It is always a chance." said Leon. The house In question stood back from the street behind an open space, part garden, part turnip field; and several outhouses stood forward from either wing at right angles to the front. One of these had recently undergone some change. An enormous window, looking toward the north, had been effected In the wall and roof, and Leon began to hope It was a studio. "If It's only a painter,” he said, with a chuckle, "ten to one wo get as good a welcome as w-e want." 'T thought painters were principally poor," said Stubbs. "Ah," cried Leon, "you do not know’ the world as I do. The poorer the better for us.” And the trio advanced Into the turnip field. The light was In the ground floor; as one win dow* was brilliantly illuminated and two others more faintly, it might be supposed that there was a single lamp in one corner of a large apart ment: and a certain tremulousness and temporary dwindling showed that a live fire contributed to the effect. The sound of a voice now became audible; and the trespassers paused to listen. It was pitched In a high, angry key. but had still h good, full and masculine note in it. The utter ance was voluble, too voluble even to be quite distinct; a sueam of words, riiilng and falling. with ever and again a phrase of words out by Itself, as if the speaker reckoned on Its virtue. Suddenly another voice Joined In. This time it was a woman’s; and if the man were angry, the w’oman was Incensed to the degree of fury. There was that absolutely blank composure known to suffering males; that colorless unnatural speech which shows a spirit accurately balanced be tween homicide and hysterics; the tone in which the best of women sometimes utter words worse than death to those most dear to them. If Ab- stract-Bones-and-Sepulcher w'ere to be endowed with the gift of speech, thus, and not otherwise, would It discourse. Leon was a brave man, and I fear he was somewhat skeptically given (he had been educated in a Papistical country), but the habit of childhood prevailed, and he crossed himself devoutly. He had met several women in his career. It was obvious that his instinct had not deceived him, for the male voice broke forth instantly in a towering passion. The undergraduate, who had not understood the significance of the woman’s contribution, pricked up his ears at the change upon the rnan. "There’s going to be a free fight,” he opined. There was another retort from the woman, still calm but a little higher. "Hysterics?" asked Leon of his wife. "Is that the stage direction?’’ "How should I know?" returned Elvira, some what tartly. "Oh, woman, woman!" said Leon, beginning to open the guitar-case. "It Is one of the burdens of my life, Monsieur .Stubbs; they support each other; they always pretend there Is no system; they say it’s nature. Even Madame Berthelini, who Is a dramatic artist!" "You are heartless, Leon," said Elvira; "that woman Is In trbuble.” "And the man, my angel?" inquired Berthe lini, passing the ribbon of his guitar. "And the man, my love?” "He Is a man,” she answered. "You hear that?" said Leon to Stubbs. "It is not too late for you. Mark the intonation. And now," ho continued, "what are we to give them?" "Are you going to sing?" asked Stubbs. "I am a troubadour,” replied Leon. “I claim a welcome by and for my art. If I were a banker could I do as much?" "Well, you wouldn’t need, you know," answered the undergraduate. “Egad," said Leon, "but that’s true, Elvira, that Is true." "Of course it is," she replied. "Did you not know it?” "My dear." answered Leon, impressively, "I know nothing but what is agreeable. Even my knowledge of life is a work of art superiorly composed. But what are we to give them? It should be something appropriate.” Visions of "Let dogs delight" passed through the undergraduate’s mind; but it occurred to him that the poetry was English and that he did not know the air. Hence he contributed no sug gestion. "Something about our houselessness.'' said Elvira. "I have It,” cried Leon. And he broke forth Into a song of Pierre Dupont’s. The inhabitants were plainly flustered; the light moved to and fro, strengthening In one window, paling In another; and then the door was thrown open, and a man In a blouse ap peared on the threshold carrying a lamp. He was a powerful young fellow, with bewildered hair and beard, wearing his neck open; his blouse was stained with oil colors In a harlequinesque disorder, and there was something rural In the droop and bagginess of his belted trousers. From immediately behind him, and indeed over his shoulder, a woman’s face looked out into the darkness; it was pale and a little weary, although still young; it wore a dwindling, disappearing prettiness, soon to be quite gone, and the ex pression was both gentle and sour, and reminded one faintly of the taste of certain drugs. For all that, it was not a face to dislike; when the prettiness had vanished, It seemed as If a certain pale beauty might step In to take Its place; and as both the mildness and the asperity were characters of youth, it might be hoped that, with years, both would merge into a constant, brave, and not unkindly temper. ■'What is all this?" cried the man. Leon had his hat in his hand at once. He came forward with his customary grace; it was a moment which would have earned him a round of cheering on the stage. Elvira and Stubbs advanced behind him, like a couple of Admetus’ sheep following the god Apollo. "Sir,” said Leon, "the hour is unpardonably late, and our little serenade has the air of an impertinence. Believe me, sir, it is an appeal. Monsieur is an artist, I perceive. We are here three artists benighted and without shelter, one a woman—a delicate woman—in evening dress— in an interesting situation. This will not fall to touch tho woman’s heart of madame, whom I perceive Indistinctly behind monsieur her hus band, and whose face speaks eloquently of a well-regulated mind. Ah! monsieur, madame— one generous movement, and you make three peo ple happy! Two or three hours beside your fire— I ask it of monsieur In the name of art—I ask It of madame by the sancity of womanhood.” The two, as by a tacit consent, drew back from the door. "Come in,” said the man. “Entrez, madame,” said the woman. The door opened directly upon the kitchen of the house, which was to all appearance the only sitting-room. The furniture was both plain and scanty; but there was one or two landscapes on the wall handsomely framed, as if they had al ready visited the eommittee-room of an exhibi tion and been thence extruded. Leon walked up to the pictures and represented the part of a connoisseur before each in turn, with his usual dramatic Insight and force. Tho master of the house, as If irresistibly attracted, followed him from canvas to canvas with the lamp. Elvira was led directly to the fire, where she proceeded to warm herself, while Stubbs stood In the middle of the floor and followed the proceedings of Leon with mild astonishment in his eyes. "You should see them by daylight," said the artist. *T promise myself that pleasure,” said Leon. "You possess, sir. if you will permit me an ob servation, the art of composition to a T." "You are very good,” returned the other. “But should you not draw nearer to the fire?" "With all my heart," said Leon. And the w’hole party soon gathered at the table over a hasty and not an elegant cold supper, washed down with the least of small wines. No body liked the meal, but nobody complained; they put a good face upon It, one and all, and made a great clattering of knives and forks. To see Leon eating a single cold sausage was to see a triumph; by the time he had done he had got through as much pantomime ns would have suf ficed for a baron of beef, and he had the relaxed expression of the over-eaten. As Elvira had naturally taken a place by the side of Leon, and Stubbs hs naturally, although I believe unconsciously, by the side of Elvira, the host and hostess were left together. Yet it was to be noted that they never addressed a word to each other, nor so much as suffered their ejf* to meet. The interrupted skirmish still sur- vived In Ill-feeling; and the Instant the guests departed It would break forth again as bitterly as ever. The talk wandered from this to that subject—for with one accord the party had de clared it was too late to go to bed; but those two never relaxed toward each other; Gonerfl and Regan In a sisterly tiff were not more bent on enmity. "I beg your pardon," said Leon, suddenly. * I see no use In pretending. Before we came In here we heard sounds Indicating If I may so express myself—an Imperfect harmony." “Sir f began the man. But the woman was beforehand. "It is quite true," she said. "I see no cause to be ashamed. If my husband Is mad I shall at least do my utmost to prevent the consequences. Picture to yourself, monsieur and madame," she went on, for she passed Stubbs over, "that this wretched person—a dauber, an incompetent, not fit to be a sign-painter—receives this morning an admirable offer from an uncle—an uncls of my own, my mother’s brother, and tenderly be loved—of a clerkship with nearly a hundred and fifty pounds a year, and that he-»~plcture to your self*—he refuses it! Why? For the sake of art, he says. Look at his art, I say—look at It! Is it fit to be seen? Ask him—is it fit to be sold? And it is for this, monsieur and madame, that he condemns me to the most deplorable existence, without luxuries, without comforts, in a vile j suburb of a country town. Oh no!” she crieck "no, I can not keep silent—it is impossible! I take these gentlemen and this lady for judges—is this kind? Is it decent? is it manly? Do I not deserve better at his hands after having married him and” (a visible hitch)—"done everything in the world to please him?” I doubt if there w r ere ever a more embarrassed company at a table; every one looked like a fool; and the husband like the biggest. "The art of monsieur however,” said Elvira, breaking the silence, “Is not wanting in dis tinction.” "It has this distinction,” said the wife, “that nobody will buy it.” "I should have supposed a clerkship" began Stubbs. “Art is art,” swept in Leon. “I salute art. It Ms the beautiful, the divine; it is the spirit of the world, and the pride of life. But” And the actor paused. “A clerkship” began Stubbs. 'Til tell you what it Is,” said the painter. "I am an artist, and as this gentleman says, art Is this and the other; but of course, If my wife Is going to make my life a piece of perdition all day long, I prefer to go and drown myself out of hand.” "Go!” said his wife. "I should like to see you!” “I was going to say,” resumed Stubbs, "that a fellow may be a clerk and paint almost as much as he likes. I know a fellow in a bank who makes capital water-color sketches; he even sold one for seven-and-six^” Leon arose. "Art Is art,” he repeated, sadly. "It Is not water-color sketches, nor practicing on a piano. It is a life to be lived.” "And in the meantime people starve!” observed | the woman of the house. "If that’s a life, it’s not one for me.” "I’ll tell you what,” burst forth Leon; “you, madame, go Into another room and talk It over with my wife; and I’ll stay here and talk it over with your husband. It may come to nothing, but let's try.” "I am very willing,” replied the young woman; \ and she proceeded to light a candle. “This way if you please.” And she led Elvira upstairs into a bedroom. “The fact is,’’ said she, sitting down, “that my husband cannot paint.” “No more can mine act," replied Elvira. “I should have thought he could,” returned the other; "he seems clever." "He Is so and the best of men besides,” said Elvira, "but he cannot act.” "At least he Is not a sheer humbug like mine; he can at least sing.” "You mistake Leon,” returned his wife, warmly. "He does not even pretend to sing; he has too fine a taste; he does so for a living. And believe me, neither of the men are humbugs. They are people with a mission—which they cannot carry out.” “Humbug or not," replied the other, "you came very near passing the night in the fields; and, for my part, I live in terror of starvation. I should think It was a man's mission to think twice about his wife. But it appears not. Noth ing Is their mission but to play the fool. Oh,” she broke out, “Is It not something dreary to think of that man of mine! If he could only do it, who would care? But no—not he—no more than I can!” “Have you any children?” asked Elvira. "No; but then I may.” "Children change so much," said Elvira, sighing. And just then from the room below there flew up a sudden snapping chord on the guitar; one followed after another; then the voice of Leon Joined In; and there was an air being played and sung that stopped the speech of the two women. The wife of the painter stood like a person transfixed; Elvira, looking Into her | eyes, could see all manner of beautiful memo ries and kind thoughts that were passing in and out of her soul w’ith every note; It was a piece of her youth that went before her; a green French plain, the smell of apple-flowers, the far and shining ringlets of a river, and the words and presence of love. “Leon has hit the nail,” thought Elvira to her self, "I wonder how r .” i "Pardon me, madame," said tk* painter's wife, “your husband sings admirably well." "He sings that with some feeling.” replied Elvira, critically, although she was a little moved herself, for the song cut both ways in the upper chamber; “but it is as an actor and not as a musician.” “Life is very sad,” said the other; "it so wastes away under one’s finpers.” “1 have not found it so,” replied Elvira. "I think the good parts of it last and grow greater every day.” "Frankly, how would you advise me?” “Frankly I would let my husband do what he wished. He is obviously a very loving painter; you have not yet tried him as a clerk. And you know—if it were only as the possible father of your children—it is as well to keep him at his best." “He Is an excellent fellow," said the wife. • • • • • They kept It up till sunrise with music and aiJ manner of good-fellowship; and at sunrise, white the sky was still temperate and clear, they sep arated on the threshold with a thousand excellent w l8hes for each other’s welfare. Castel-le-Gachis was beginning to send up its smoke against the golden east; and the church bell was ringing six. "My guitar is a familiar spirit," said Leon, as he and Elvira took the nearest way toward the inn; "It resuscitated a commissary, created an English and English tourist and reconciled a man and wife." Stubbs, on his part, went off into the morning # with reflections of his own. “They are all mad" thought he, all mad but wonderfully decent."