Part 14 (2/2)

”Oh, I see,” he said, quite satisfied with the excuse.

In reality, Adele had not seen the preferred hand; she was busy with her thoughts just then. His manner seemed repulsive to her; she knew not why. She opened the front door and showed him into the parlour.

Her father was there, evidently expecting Tom, for he received him with a warmth which he had not shown for a long time. She left them to themselves and was proceeding towards her parterre when her father called out to her.

”What! are you going, Adele, when Mr. Soher is here; come and keep us company.”

The girl retraced her steps. What could her father mean? He had not told her a word about her cousin's visit, and yet, it was evident he was expecting him.

”Where's your violin?” questioned her father.

Adele fetched the desired instrument. She felt very much like an instrument herself. ”Father takes me for a toy,” she thought, and then as she looked at the two men engaged in close conversation, a sudden light beamed upon her--he was going to force her into a _marriage de raison_, as the French call it. Everything had been arranged beforehand.

It was all conjecture on her part, but she felt it to be the truth.

The more she thought over it, the more she felt convinced of the fact.

”Oh, it's disgusting,” she thought; and a sickening sensation crept over her.

”Will you give us a tune?” said Mr. Rougeant.

”Do;” entreated Tom.

Adele took the violin from the table upon which she had placed it, pa.s.sed the bow over the strings to ascertain if it was properly tuned, then slowly began playing.

It was a simple piece, which did not demand exertion. She did not care what to play. ”They cannot distinguish 'Home, Sweet Home' from 'Auld Lang Syne,'” she thought. Besides, they were not half listening; why should she give them good music.

She felt like the painter, who, having completed a real work of art, refuses to exhibit it to the public, on the ground that it is a profane thing to exhibit it to the gaze of unartistic eyes.

When she had finished playing, Tom looked at her. ”That's capital music,” he said, a.s.suming the air of a connoisseur, then he added: ”I s'pose you practice a good bit.”

”The grin,” thought Adele, ”it's awful; and his eyes resemble those of a wild cat. I wonder if he has a soul; if it s.h.i.+nes through those eyes, it cannot be spotless;” then, recollecting herself, she said: ”I have been practising now for ten years.”

”No wonder you can rattle it,” was the rejoinder.

Now Tom was not half so ugly as Adele imagined him to be. Indeed, he looked well enough this evening, for he had come on purpose to exhibit himself, and was as a matter of fact as well dressed up as he could. His manners were not refined, but they were not absolutely rude.

But the girl, whose whole being revolted against this scheme of her father's fabrication, felt naturally indignant and could not help exaggerating his faults.

She felt greatly relieved when her father told her to prepare the supper.

It may here be noted that Mr. Rougeant had now altogether dispensed with his Breton servant. Now that Adele was growing up, a servant was altogether superfluous, he said. The truth was that this enabled him to save a few pounds every year.

When the table was laid, the three sat down to supper. It being over, the two men returned to the parlour. Adele was a long, very long time in putting away the supper things.

Her father noticed this, and when she entered the parlour, he remarked: ”You've been long enough.”

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