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Updated: June 14, 2025
"Oh! is it right," she thought, "for parents to persist in keeping a young girl forever in her cradle, so to speak?" Time passed too quickly to please Jacqueline. Her portrait was finished at last, notwithstanding the willingness Marien had shown or so it seemed to her to retouch it unnecessarily that she might again and again come back to his atelier. But it was done at last.
She was amusing herself by fingering the dumb-bells and the foils; she lingered long before some precious suits of armor. Then she was taken up into a small room, communicating with the atelier, where there was a fine collection of drawings by the old masters. "My only luxury," said Marien.
One of the most agreeable is on the summit of the hill, near the little chapel of St Mary, called Marien Kirche, under the Kalvarienberg, and from which the eye looks over the whole town and the plain which stretches towards Pesth, and through which the Danube winds like a vast silver serpent, till it is lost in the far woods and dim distance.
"Oh!" repeated Jacqueline, more shocked than ever. "I can alter it," said the painter, much amused by her extreme despair. But Marien thought that Jacqueline had not in the least that precocious air which her father attributed to her, when standing before him she gave herself up to thoughts the current of which he followed easily, watching on her candid face its changes of expression.
"Yes," he said, "your mamma is right. We have made a deplorable mistake in what we have done. Besides, you must know that this unlucky picture is not in the least like you. Marien has made some use of your features to paint a fancy portrait so we will let nobody see it. They might laugh at you."
It seems to me that I have seen it somewhere." "No doubt you have," replied Jacqueline, who had quite recovered from her first shock, and was now ready to talk; "it is the dress mamma had made some time ago when she acted in a comedy." "So I thought," growled Marien, biting his lips. The dress recalled to his mind many personal recollections, and for one instant he paused.
Oh! why had she not been a better daughter, more loving, more devoted? why had she ever cared for anything but to make him happy? She sobbed aloud, while Madame de Nailles, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, stood at the foot of the bed, and the doctor, too, was near, whispering to some one whom Jacqueline at first had not perceived the friend of the family, Hubert Marien. Marien there?
The attitude of coldness and reserve that the young girl had adopted in her intercourse with Marien, her stepmother could see, was no evidence of coquetry. She showed, in her behavior to the friend of the family, a freedom from embarrassment which was new to her, and a frigidity which could not possibly have been assumed so persistently.
"On the contrary, I shall miss you very much," said Marien, quite simply; "I have grown accustomed to see you here. You have become one of the familiar objects of my studio. Your absence will create a void."
We read the paper and it ran thus: "When I was a child my father had a slave who taught me to pray the Christian prayer in my own language, and told me many things about Lela Marien.
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