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PAGE 3

Olympe and Henriette
by [?]

He inspired a heavenly passion in this poor girl who, considering her situation, had no more right to experience this than Eve had to taste of the divine fruit of the Tree of Life. From that day onwards all her duties were forgotten. Everything fell into disorder and confusion. When a girl has her head filled with love—the game is up !

And as for her sister—alas! the noble Henriette was now bending, as it were, beneath the burden!Sometimes she used to clasp her head between her hands, with grave doubts of everything, of the family, of principles, of society even! “They’re nothing but words!” she exclaimed. One day she had met Olympe clothed in a little black dress, bare-headed, with a small tin milk-basin in her hand. As she passed, Henriette had said to her, without any appearance of recognizing her: “Sister, your conduct is unpardonable. You might at least have some respect for appearances!”

By these words she perhaps hoped for a return to propriety.

All was in vain. Henriette felt that Olympe was lost. She blushed, and passed on.

The fact is that there had been gossiping in the celebrated room. When she arrived alone in the evening, Henriette’s welcome was no longer the same. She noticed differences, and humiliating ones. She was remarked to be colder since the news of Olympe’s downfall. Proudly she smiled, like the young Spartan with the fox gnawing at his vitals, but, deep within that sensitive and upright heart, all these blows told. To the truly delicate, a trifle will often hurt more keenly than a gross outrage, and in this respect Henriette had the most sensitive of feelings. How she must have suffered!

And the evenings too, at the family supper!The father and mother, with bowed heads, ate in silence. Not even one word passed of the absent one. With the dessert, when the moment for the liqueur came, Henriette and her mother would exchange a quick, secret glance, wipe away each a tear, and clasp hands silently under the table. And the old door-keeper, completely upset, then tugged unbidden at the cord, to conceal a tear. Sometimes, turning away his head, he abruptly put his hand up to his buttonhole as if to tear away some vague decorations.

On one occasion the porter even made an attempt to reclaim his daughter. Gloomily he took it upon himself to mount the several flights of stairs where the young man lodged. Arrived there, he sobbed: “My poor child, I want her!”

“Sir,” answered Maxime, “I love her, and I beg you to grant me her hand.”

“Wretch!” exclaimed Bienfilatre as he hurried off, revolted by this “cynicism.”

Henriette had drained the cup to the dregs. One last attempt was necessary, and so she resigned herself to risking everything, even scandal. Learning one evening that the deplorable Olympe was to go to the cafe to settle some small debt remaining from the old days, she warned the family, and a procession was made towards the illuminated cafe.

Like Mallonia dishonoured by Tiberius, and presenting herself before the Roman senate to lay accusation against her violator before stabbing herself in despair, Henriette entered the room of the austere. The father and mother, from a sense of dignity, remained by the door. Coffee was being drunk. At the sight of Henriette faces lengthened gravely and with a certain severity, but when it was seen that she wanted to speak, the long panels of the newspapers were lowered on to the marble tables, and there fell a religious silence: there was question of a judgment.

In a corner. ashamed and making herself almost invisible, Olympe and her little black dress could be distinguished at a small isolated table.

Henriette spoke. During her speech one could catch glimpses of the Bienfilatres, uneasy, watching without hearing. At last the father could bear it no longer. He pushed the door ajar, and leaning forward with attentive ear, one hand on the door-handle, he listened.

And shreds of phrases reached him whenever Henriette raised her voice a little: One should keep to one’s own sort…. Such conduct… it was putting all respectable folk against one… A silly boy who doesn’t give a brass farthing… ! A good-for-nothing… !The weight of ostracism on her…. Throwing off her responsibilities…. A girl who has flung away her reputation… who stares like a stupid… and only a little while ago… could keep her end up with anyone…. She hoped that the words of these gentlemen, which had more authority than hers, that the counsels of their enlightened experience… would bring her back to saner ideas, more practical…. One isn’t in this world for one’s amusement…. She implored them to intervene…. She had appealed to memories of childhood… !To the call of the blood!All in vain!Not one answering chord could be struck in her. A lost girl!And what an aberration… !Alas! Alas!