Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

THE CARNIVAL. 101 cony?" Jerome asked, with a sneer, and the girl shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Nevertheless, I wish to speak with Fifine." "M. Jerome is unreasonable — she is not here I" the actor Jean remarked, smiling, and filling a glass, with a gesture invited Jerome to drink. "Then," the husband said coldly, as he declined the proffered glass, "her scarf should not be." Amid a tense silence he picked up the piece of silk that, unnoticed by the others, had remained hanging across the back of Fifine's chair, placed it in his pocket, and bowing, left them. Fifine crawled from her place of concealment, genuine fright showing in her white face. Gaston offered her a glass of wine, and grinned. "As those so unique Americans say, he has the materials on you, Fifine,'' he said. A reckless laugh burst from the girl. "As for that — pouf !" she cried, and snapped her fingers. "I will sing you a song," she added, and drained the glass. For a while Fifine was apparently' the gayest of the gay, hut in truth the tears were just beneath the laugh. Despite her years, hers was a child's heart only, and it ached to feel that she had caused Jerome real bitterness. She could sympathize with his pain, tho she could not thoroly understand it. She would go to him, would cling about his neck, and coax smiles to his lips. He would forgive her, of course, and perhaps purchase the necklace she desired. They would be happy. Impulsively she rose, and rapidly prepared for the street, shaking her head alike to entreaties to remain and to Gaston's proffered escort. She passed up the long stairs with flying feet, but somewhat hesitatingly she pushed open the studio door. The room was flooded with moonlight, and seemed strangely empty and silent. Vaguely alarmed, she found matches, and lit a lamp, then called softly, "Jerome !" There was no answer, and catching up the lamp she hurried thru the adjoining rooms. They, too, were untenanted. The bed was untouched,beside it stood the cradle, empty. Back in the studio, her eyes fell upon the scarf, which proved to her that Jerome had returned home. As she caught it up, a letter fell out. With hands that trembled, she opened it and read: "Fifin [<:,"' the firmly written words ran: "This is good-bye. The life we have led is unbearable, and your deceit tonight has convinced me that it is best we part forever. Do not fear but I shall provide amply for you, thru my attorney. That your pursuit of pleasure may be unhampered, 1 take my child with me. Jerome." For a while she stared dully at the paper, while her stiff lips unconsciously framed words : " 'His child V " Yes, it was -true. Tho she had given it life, in what respect had she acted as a mother? Her pursuit of pleasure? Ah, would ever the sunlight seem fair again? Gropingly she rose and held out her arms. "Oh, Jerome, my husband !" she cried, and fell, a little heap of crumpled finery, upon the floor. Italy is a land of golden dreams, but to see the visions one must bring to her a heart of youth, and that of Jerome was filled with dead ashes. For three years he had seen the sunshine throw a halo of glory over Venice : had, with a skill that never faltered, transferred to his canvasses the things that his eyes saw. while Louis, from a helpless infant grew to be a brown-faced, sturdy child. At last Jerome grew to hate the sunlight gleaming on the ancient palaces, the gay laughter that on still evenings floated up Prom (he Grand Canal. Wearily he packed his canvasses, and a week later was established in a coldly comfortable studio in Paris. Before the first day had passed, little Louis, boldly faring forth, had made friends with the happy English family on the floor below, and returned to Jerome filled with cake and questions. "A prettv lady !" he declared. French, Italian and English words bubbling indiscriminately from his lips. "And a