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36
TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
same way that he had painted that fatal picture years before. The present subject was of the same type — there was a little of ever-present sameness in everything about her.
The fascination grew daily upon him — the way she had of casting down her eyelids, and of flashing quick glances at him, pointed with flame that melted into soft smiles instantly. And then, one afternoon, when he was a little late in returning to the studio, he found her at the piano, playing softly, and her eyes with all the discomforting fires of
MARION HAD BEEN ACCIDENTALLY SHOT AT THE DUEL
hatred gone from them. At length, she threw her head upon her arm with a sigh that stole thru the crevices of his heart like a knife-blade.
Carl had come to love the woman madly. The message was in his voice as he spoke. ' ' Mademoiselle ! ' '
The girl drew her head up quickly. Into her eyes sprang a look of halfwild defiance, as tho the man were forcing her into some compact against her will.
"Monsieur — I have been waiting for you" — now the soft half -promises came into her expression that had been leading him by the heart-strings day by day — "to begin your work. But I am feeling a little out of sorts
just now, and think, after all, I shall not sit today. ' '
At the suggestion of her feeling badly, Carl's mad desire to confess his passion resolved itself into a wave of profound sympathy.
"I am sorry, very sorry, that mademoiselle is feeling badly,' ' he condoled, in a voice so tender that she gave him a quick, enigmatical look that again struck fire in his breast.
* ' But tomorrow I shall come and be your perfect subject — yours to command at will." She passed to the doorway, where she paused and turned. Their eyes met. She slowly came toward him where, in another moment, he seemed about to clasp her in his arms. But she stopped, almost with a jerk, when within a pace of him and coolly extended her beautiful hand. Before he could press it to his lips, she had taken it away again and rushed to the doorway once more. ' ' Adieu — until tomorrow ! ' ' There was challenge, promise and
Carl stood where she had left him, his mind in a whirl, until he heard the hall-door close softly.
"Tomorrow/' he repeated, again, and again, taking his stand before her half-finished picture, and studying the expression he had there limned on her face. At length, he sprang back with a glad cry. "Her soul cannot lie — and here I have caught her soul — her soul loves!"
The girl was swiftly motored to a suburb of Paris, and then driven thru the grilled gates of a foliage-hid chateau. She hastily alighted before the footman could assist her, and ran quickly up a grand stairway, and thence to a little room whose interior was a showery mass of pink silk and chintz. Without pausing to remove her wraps, she quietly turned the key in the door, threw herself on a dainty couch, and began sobbing, softly.
It might have been twenty minutes later that she became aware of some one tapping on the door. She rose, listlessly, and opened the door without ado.
Her father drew back in amazement. . ' Beatrice, what is the matter ? ' '