The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 264: what you’re looking at

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THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. 252 The young girl still bore her sire’s treatment in uncomplaining silence, and with an air of dull and listless apathy. He resolved to remain at the public-house until his brother should return; and thus a week wént by. During this interval Finette was most attentive to her father in all the ministrations which as a daughter she could display: but she never once answered him when he reproached her—nor did she again beseech his forgiveness. He began to think that he had mis- taken her disposition—that she was not really in- different nor apathetio—but that her spirit was broken. He therefore thought that he had said enough to her—probably too much; and he sud- denly desisted from his upbraidings, though he was of too dogged and morose a nature to volanteer the pardon which was now no longer asked. The brother returned from Paris, having expe- rienced a considerable pecuniary loss by the busi- ness which had taken him thither. He himself was of a rugged and unfeeling disposition, devoted to money-grubbing pursuits: he showed no incii- nation to assist his brother with his purse, though he was ready enough to proffer his counsel], and likewise to lecture Finette severely for her own misconduct. He somewhat churlishly said that his relations might stay with him for a short time, until they could settle themselves in some manner; and thus they shifted their quarters to his house from the tavern where they had been staying. Finette’s father had in the meanwhile been looking aboat for some employment: but he could find no- thing that suited him. There was a shop doing a good little business to be disposed of; and it was in a trade which the ex-turnkey and his daughter could manage: but the purchase-money was fifty pounds, and Finette’s father had only about fifteen left. His brother would not advance him s single franc; and thas he found himself compelled to renounce the hope of obtaining a business which would have afforded him a better livelihood than even that post of turnkey from which ho had so lately been discharged. One afternoon—abont ten days after the arrival of Finette and her father in the town of which we are speaking—the young damsel strolled forth in @ very disconsolate mood. Feeling that her parent and herself were regarded as a burden upon the means of,ber avaricious uncle, she longed to use her own industry for the purpose of earning some- thing. She had on the previous day applied in various quarters for needle-work—but without _ being enabled to obtain it. She now renewed her applications—but still without success. At two or three warehouses which she entered, she experi- enced overtures on the part of insolent clerks or masters which brqught the blood up to her cheeks ; and on one occasion 90 gross was the insult she re- ceived, she burst into tears and went weeping along the street. Perceiving that she was the ob- ject of attention with the passers-by—and unable to restrain her sobs—she issued out of the town towards a grove which bounded it in that particular direction. There she sat down upon a bank where some autumnal flowers bespangled the grass; and wiping away her tears, she fell into a profound reverie. We have already ssid that Finette was exceed- ingly pretty; and it was distressing to think that m young girl endowed with so many personal charms, and whose errors had been those of the head rather than of the mind, should now expe- rience so much deep affliction. Bat thus it was. She felt that her father was almost ruined; and she herself as the cause. Apart how- ever from these self-upbraidings, there was some- thing brooding in her mind—an idea which for several days past she had rivetted her attention upon,—an idea which she longed to carry out, but for which p she knew not the means. Finette had been seated for perhaps about half- an-hour on that flower-bespangied bank, em- bowered amidst the verdure of the grove,—-when she heard footetepe approaching; and looking up, she beheld a strange figure. It was a tall man, with his face clean shaven—wearing an ample brown wig, indifferently frizsed, and surmounted by a hat with slouching brims. His apparel wes of the very shabbiest description, and scarcely seemed to have been originally made for him. His linen was far from the cleanest; and altogether he looked not one who might be classed amongst the number of fortune’s favour- ites. We need hardly inform the reader that this was none other than De Margaux. The troop of strolling players had arrived in the town that very morning, and were to exhibit them- selves at the theatre in theevening. De Margaux —who took no share in the stage-performances, but only managed to render himeelf useful bebind the scenes—was invariably accustomed to seek as much privacy as possible during the daytime, for fear lest at any town where they stopped he might encounter an officer sufficiently lynx-eyed to pene- trate through his disguise. Thus, on the present occasion, he had left his companions at the tavern where they put up ; and quitting the town, he had sought the grove with the intention of plunging into its depths and reposing himeeclf until the shades of evening closed in. While threading his way into the midst of the wood, he beheld a female seated upon a bank: and before she herself had raised her countenance, he had recognised Fi- nette. It immediately struck De Margaux that the young girl had either been compelled by circum- stances, or else prompted by her infatuation, to abandon her home and launch herself forth in the world in search of him. His natural pride and conceit engendered this belief in a moment; and in other respects it was certainly natural enough, when he found her so far from her native placo— the more especially as it never struck De Margaux that her father might have lost his situation | through his daughter's imprudence. He did not however immediately advance towards her: he stood still for a few moments to see if she recog- nised him. But after simply glancing at De Margaux, Finette averted her eyes: she had not the remotest suspicion that in the comparatively miserable object before her, she beheld the hand- some, elegant-mannered, fascinating individual who for several hours had obtained over her heart a de- gree of inflaence such as in ordinary cases an acquaintance of months and years could scarcely have engendered. De ux looked around: Finette was evi- dently alone: she had relapsed into her gloomy reverie—she was apparently in a distressed ste of mind. De Margaux therefore felt convisved COMME HOG cS) (CO