Caught In The Net | Page 3

"If I only dared,"
mused she, with a sigh,--"ah, if I only dared!" For a time she sat deeply
immersed in thought, with her face buried in her hands, until she was
aroused from her meditations by the sound of an active and youthful
step upon the creaking stairs. "He has come back," she gasped; and
with the agile movement of a cat she again concealed the letter in its
hiding-place, and she had scarcely done so, when Paul Violaine entered
the miserable room. He was a young man of twenty- three, of slender
figure, but admirably proportioned. His face was a perfect oval, and his
complexion of just that slight olive tint which betrays the native of the
south of France. A slight, silky moustache concealed his upper lip, and
gave his features that air of manliness in which they would have
otherwise been deficient. His curly chestnut hair fell gracefully over a
brow upon which an expression of pride was visible, and enhanced the
peculiar, restless glance of his large dark eyes. His physical beauty,
which was fully equal to that of Rose, was increased by an aristocratic
air, popularly believed to be only found in the scions of noble families.
The landlady, in her moments of good humor, used to assert her belief
that her lodger was a disguised prince; but if this were the case, he was
certainly one that had been overtaken by poverty. His dress, to which
the closest attention had been paid, revealed the state of destitution in
which he was,--not the destitution which openly asks for alms, but the
hidden poverty which shuns communication and blushes at a single
glance of pity. In this almost Arctic winter he wore clothes rendered
thin by the constant friction of the clothes brush, over which was a light
overcoat about as thick as the web of a spider. His shoes were well
blacked, but their condition told the piteous tale of long walks in search
of employment, or of that good luck which seems to evade its pursuer.
Paul was holding a roll of manuscript in his hand, and as he entered the
room he threw it on the bed with a despairing gesture. "A failure
again!" exclaimed he, in accents of the utmost depression. "Nothing
else but failures!"

The young woman rose hastily to her feet; she appeared to have
forgotten the cards completely; the smile of satisfaction faded from her
face and her features, and an expression of utter weariness took its
place.
"What! no success?" she cried, affecting a surprise which was evidently
assumed. "No success, after all your promises when you left me this
morning?"
"This morning, Rose, a ray of hope had penetrated my heart; but I have
been deceived, or rather I deceived myself, and I took my ardent
desires for so many promises which were certain to be fulfilled. The
people that I have been to have not even the kindness to say 'No' plain
and flat; they listen to all you have to say, and as soon as your back is
turned they forget your existence. The coin that passes around in this
infernal town is indeed nothing but idle words, and that is all that
poverty-stricken talent can expect."
A silence of some duration ensued, and Paul was too much absorbed in
his own thoughts to notice the look of contempt with which Rose was
regarding him. His helpless resignation to adverse circumstances
appeared to have turned her to stone.
"A nice position we are in!" said she at last. "What do you think will
become of us?"
"Alas! I do not know."
"Nor I. Yesterday Madame Loupins came to me and asked for the
eleven francs we owe here; and told me plainly that if within three days
we did not settle our account, she would turn us out; and I know
enough of her to be sure that she will keep her word. The detestable old
hag would do anything for the pleasure of seeing me on the streets."
"Alone and friendless in the world," muttered Paul, paying but little
attention to the young girl's words, "without a creature or a relative to
care for you, or to lend you a helping hand."

"We have not a copper in the world," continued Rose with cruel
persistency; "I have sold everything that I had, to preserve the rags that
I am wearing. Not a scrap of wood remains, and we have not tasted
food since yesterday morning."
To these words, which were uttered in a tone of the most bitter
reproach, the young man made no reply, but clasped his icily cold
hands against his forehead, as though in utter despair.
"Yes, that is a true picture of our position," resumed Rose coldly, her
accents growing more