The Old Blood

of French accent. America was vast, distant, noisy, and little concerned her. Nothing much concerned her except her comfort. Her small, shrewd eyes served the ends of a sluggish disposition. In gi

They were days that she never mentioned. Possibly they had brought prematurely the wrinkles which, in a lat

her death or till she married again. There had been a grandfather who lived in a villa overlooking the Mediterranean. He had been fond of Henriette and said that his

between their parents in an apartment in Paris, which they overheard from an adjoining room without knowing what it meant. Later, the

p Henriette;" and the grandfather added: "Yes, sh

, Madame Ribot settled in the chateau at Mervaux and Henriette's money maintained a small apartment in Pari

er only lessons were from an old artist who had become interested in her when she was

e his last words, "and don't bother if

hey walked beside the Seine, went to the Louvre, browsed in old print shops, and he criticised her work, her miserable charcoals, as she called them. When he died Helen felt that s

nge, moody Helen better than the beautiful, gracious Henriette, and they liked to pose for her. Mère

exchanged reminiscent letters with men and women who had belonged to the early period of her life. One might think that she was preparing to marry again, but the peasants and the servants knew better. They had dismissed the go

th an indirection which was the most delicate flattery and the General with the brusqueness of a soldier, which had the charm of contrast with the Count's method. The two vying in gallantries of an old-fa

r of Truckleford, she was not uninformed of the statue in the square at Longfield; and she was not without pride in her blood. Her American mother had not been of the nouveaux, and from what Henriette said about Phil she grasped that he was of that br

throat and shoulders bare and her figure worthy of her features. Thus she herself had looked in youth, she knew. If she had only had Henriette's eyes! She was pleased that her daughter had fine eyes, yet almost envied them. Still, Henriette

e Sanfords. Helen, who had written only once and at other times sent love through Henriette, had not mentioned it, which was more suspicious still.

vil!" exclaime

not finish it. The recollection of three days which she had once spent nursing her husband in a hotel room, when they were travelling in Algeria where no nurse

and it meant that Helen would be established quite independently some distance from home and earning her living in an honourable way. Not that she ha

grit!" thought Madame Ribot.

ad kissed Henriette on both cheeks and embraced her, while giving the other daughter a dab on one cheek. Helen was breathing very hard and holding the letter so tight in her fingers that it trembled. She had read it

y charcoals to see if I have enough for an exhibition. If I have that means I

had spoken. They seemed startled

elen asked, suddenly

glad if not I?" said

ed her arm arou

you've worked so long and har

shoulder and drew deep, long breaths,

pointed," she said. "M. Vailliant says if there are enough t

d worth while! We'll see-you will help me to decide. I'll bring them all down

awings which she had kept-for she had destroyed many in moments of depres

e so many!" she exclaimed, in am

twenty times!"

d Henriette stood by perfunctorily, while Helen turned severe critic. None of them seemed good to her, as

o wear a white cap and feed people broth and keep their temperature c

riette, "that charco

y-poly little man, with close-cropped beard and eyes as shrewd as Madame

fear, any faith she might have had in her charcoals shrivelling in his presence. M. Vailliant bowed to both, his glance swiftly moving about the

he said, with still another bow to Henriette. And

ctively paid to Henriette, some of whose paintings were on the walls. Indeed, they were everywhere about the chateau. "I am rather fond of th

ette, the art dealer breathed an "Ah!" in a way that implied

f your work," he sai

e enough pictures now," went on Madame Ribot. "There are othe

nt's face. Helen remained beside her pile of charcoals, trying to resist the desire to fly to the fields away from the whole business. She could feel her heart pounding an

of paintings-that is a great undertaking. One of the big houses

hibition, not I," said Henriette casually

ing with the modest pretensions of my establishment. Quick

tte, as she drew aside to allow him to return to the other

ave a nervous shrug. The dealer looked from the beautiful to the plain girl wit

?" he asked, almo

started on a career by making the most of his personality. But when she was conscious of how poor her drawings

for the least bad," she s

ce, as he looked them through

e I had seen-better drawin

th. There would be no exhibition. She fe

, looking at a time-coloured bo

oo awful-some of them j

O

applied the same process to those on the table, without question or comment. Helen did not know what to make of him. She was dizzy with curiosity and hope. When he was through, still

had missed some against t

h while!" said Helen. "Caricatures, perh

toons twice, still keeping up that motion of his lips as if he

r tried etchi

it, but-I--"

so very matter-of-factly that she

. His shrewd eyes were

ything that

hes of colour. I see colour that

e the whole shop w

tried etching and wanted to see this painting which she drew from under a pile of clothes on the cupboard shelf. Well, if the great art dealer had come from Paris to see

ining to M. Vailliant as they waited for Helen's return

o see what ideas of colour she had. Why not?" M. Vailliant mused, as he picked out two from the pile o

ight through the mist, he took it from her with a casual nod and having set it on the mantelpiece stepped slowly backwa

some of her colours and splotched, as I

mpressionistic!" between

t I should say!"

e was laughing, her chin up, the regular teeth showing in a white line. If ever eyes had invited any critic to shoot his

say something emotional; then rubbed his chin and ste

oceeded, forcing her measure a trifle. "Isn't it wonderful to find a

g on the back wall to lighten up the gallery-good contrast, line and colour," he went on. "T

it! You

le, in her quick impulse, she took his hands in hers. He felt their pressure tighten so that his sof

g drawing these things?" And as suddenly as she had seized his hands she drew aw

ed fingers, horror written on his face. "Giving sick people medici

gh she stood motionless, such w

must decide! I can't

is chin again and bec

war. War! That's the end of everything-no art sold then. And the news is bad, very bad to-day.

r work for three years on the regular commission basis. H

g. "Well, even if there is going to be war I'll buy these two top draw

thout rubbing his chin; and he kept on smiling

the show and we'll have a talk together, young woman, about the future. If there is war"-he gav

. Not until he was out of the grounds did he permit himself a long-drawn breath of satisf

k there is more to come. As for the other's painting-faint stuff, without soul; teacher-taught-me stuff-pouf! But if Mlle. Helen only had her sister's beauty I'd have a dry point of her for the exhibition, introduce her about-surely would be a go. But no beautiful woman can ever paint. Everybody admires her so much as a subjective work of art that she can never improve in her objective art. Why should she? One good thing that Mlle. Helen is so plain-no danger of her ever marryin

she leaned against the wall. Relief, joy, gratitude! Through a mist she saw her mother and Henriette looking at her, their strange, puzzled expression not defined. She grasped

me!" gasped

ll you, Henriette!" and she

you would!" ga

e is foreign to your n

gly to you sometimes, because I couldn't help drawing and knew I ought to

oosing as she raced along, she struck the fields and through the village, calling out to all the people she knew, but not stoppi

People were not going to look at her, but at her pictures. Her face need never hurt her again. She did not know that she had a face when she was drawing. She was young, with the long span of years stretching straight before he

harcoal of him. She would, while Henriette painted him. With no idea of the time that had elapsed, dust-covered

Madame Ribot. "Do chan

looked into her mirror wi

e. "Five fingers like everybody else and they can hold a crayon or a brush! Silly!" She laugh

your charcoals," said Henriette at table,

ry surprising," s

ll set up a studio in Paris, a tiny one in a garret, and get my own meals-thrifty me! And I'll be a

unconscious that Henriette and even