MAL MOULÉE.
A Novel.
BY
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX,
AUTHOR OF
"POEMS OF PASSION," "MAURINE,"
ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK:
COPYRIGHT, 1885, BY
_G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers._
LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO.
MDCCCLXXXVI.
Stereotyped by HENRY M. TOBITT,
SAMUEL STODDER, PRINTER,
42 DEY STREET, N. Y. 42 DEY STREET, N. Y.
PREFACE.
It is more than two years since the outline of this simple story first
suggested itself to me, and since the first chapters were written.
Many times since then, conscious that I possessed no talent as a
novelist, I have resolved to abandon the work. Yet an unaccountable and
mysterious impulse (which no doubt my severe critics will declare as
unfortunate, as unaccountable) compelled me to complete it.
I have attempted no fine descriptions, no rare word-painting, no flights
of eloquence. These things lie not within my province. As simply and
briefly as possible, I have endeavored to relate such events as occur
almost daily in our midst.
In Percy Durand, I have described, and possibly, somewhat idealized, a
type of man to be found in any of the cities of America.
In Dolores King, the unfortunate and undesired offspring of a loveless
marriage _fletrie avant sa naissance_.
In Helena Maxon, my ideal of
"The perfect woman, nobly planned
To counsel, comfort and command."
In my selection of a title, I could find no suitable English term which
would express the meaning I wished to convey in unison with the leading
idea in the book. Therefore, I was obliged, not without reluctance, to
use a French term.
To avoid many personal inquiries, I would say, in the beginning, that
while I have known nearly all the experiences herein related to occur,
in actual life, I do not, at the present time, know of any person or
persons who answer to the characters I have created.
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
_Meriden, Ct., December, 1885._
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I. Two Girls 11
II. Two Girls and a Doll 21
III. A Fatal Impress 32
IV. A Startling Valedictory 49
V. A Young Cynic 61
VI. A Mother's view of "Women's Rights." 72
VII. The Lovely Cynic meets her Fate 81
VIII. Sweet Danger 93
IX. Journalistic Discussions 103
X. A Discourse on Suicide 118
XI. A Freak of Fate 132
XII. An Exciting Ice-boat Adventure 142
XIII. A Star Falls 156
XIV. One Man and One Woman 169
XV. Sudden Flight 182
XVI. A Man and Two Women 190
XVII. A Man, a Woman, and Spirits 208
XVIII. Apples of Sodom 220
XIX. A Story and a Revelation 231
XX. The Harvest of Tares 245
XXI. A Strange Marriage 259
XXII. Dead in her Bed 274
XXIII. Bitter Sweet 287
MAL MOULÉE.
CHAPTER I.
TWO GIRLS.
Helena Maxon stood at the window which looked out on the tennis court,
weeping softly, when her mother's arm encircled her, and her mother's
voice, tremulous with tears unshed, addressed her.
"Lena, darling," she said, "you must control yourself. Madame Scranton
will return in a moment, with the young lady who is to be your roommate
and companion, during the next year. She is a lovely and charming girl;
and I do not want my own sweet darling's face to be utterly disfigured
by weeping when her new friend first beholds it. I am certain, my dear
daughter, that you will be very happy here, and perfectly content after
the first loneliness wears away."
"I can never be happy and contented away from you and Papa!" cried the
young lady passionately. "I should feel like a wicked, cruel hearted
creature, if I became contented and happy when separated from you. I
know I shall die of home-sickness before I have been here one term," and
her tears dripped anew.
Mrs. Maxon choked down a lump in her own throat, and forced a smile to
her lips.
"You will, I know, try to be happy dear," she continued, "when you
realize that the happiness of your parents depends upon your own. We
have selected this academy as the most desirable institution in which to
place you, and Madame Scranton is a lady in every way suited to guide
and direct a young girl's mind. It will be very hard for us to live
without you, but we know it is for your good, and you will one day thank
us for it. Here comes Madame, and the young lady; dry your eyes, dear
child, and greet her pleasantly." And while Lena was bravely striving to
stem the upward-welling tide of tears with a very moist bit of cambric,
she heard Madame's deep contralto voice following her mother's tremulous
soprano tones:
"Miss Maxon, let me present your future companion and I trust, friend.
Miss Dolores King--Miss Helena Maxon."
As the two girls looked in each other's eyes and clasped hands, no
faintest premonition came to either young heart of the strange and
tragic destiny which was to link their future lives.
Helena's first thought was, "What a beautiful creature--a perfect
Aphrodite." While Miss King was saying to herself, "Rather a nice little
body--and almost pretty if she had not disfigured herself by crying."
An artist might have found the two girls a fine study for opposite
effects.
Miss King was nearly twenty; tall, and so slight as to seem almost
fragile. Her face was exquisitely beautiful in contour, quite classic
in its perfectly-chiseled features, and interesting from its mingled
expression of pride and melancholy. In color her hair was a pure, pale
shade of yellow, like the under side of a canary bird's wing; her skin
that firm, yet delicate white, of the calla lily blossom. Her long
heavily-fringed eyes were as darkly blue as the heart of a violet--the
flower she best loved. A rare, wonderful face, a face that might become
a priceless fortune or a blighting curse to its possessor.
Helena Maxon was full half a head below her new friend in stature, and
though three years her junior, her figure was much more voluptuously
developed. A round face, a clear brunette complexion, a coil of dark
hair that exactly matched the color of her eyes--eyes peculiar, from the
fact that at times they seemed veiled with a delicate film, which gave
the appearance of one in a trance or somnambulic state--a nose which no
phrenologist could classify, which we must therefore call irregular (and
which was just now swollen and reddened with much weeping), lips too
full for beauty, yet a mouth so luscious in bloom, and so sweet in
expression, that the beholder instantly forgave it for being large. This
comprises a fair pen picture of Helena Maxon, on that September
afternoon as she stood in the stiff and orderly reception room of Madame
Scranton's Select Academy for young ladies.
"Miss King will show Miss Maxon to her apartments," said Madame, after
the two girls had exchanged greetings. "We will join you there,
presently." Then, turning to Mrs. Maxon as soon as the young ladies had
left the room, she continued: "I wish to assure you, my dear madame,
that your daughter could not have a more desirable companion, in this
her first absence from you, than the young person you have just seen.
Miss King is quite a rare character; I consider her the most reliable
pupil in my charge. I have never known her to disobey a rule during the
three years she has been with me. I regret that she remains only another
year."
"She is very beautiful," Mrs. Maxon said, musingly; "but her face
impresses me as a sad one."
"Her nature is tinged with a seriousness which is almost melancholy,"
Madame replied. "Her mother died when she was but a few months old: her
father married a second time, and unhappily, I believe: at all events,
Dolores has made her home with an uncle--a peculiar and austere man; he
has given her every advantage, as he is a man of wealth, but she seems
prematurely grave and serious-minded, from her association with him. She
is very thoughtful, and of marked originality, and absolutely devoid of
the vanity one might naturally expect so beautiful a girl to possess.
She is wholly indifferent to admiration, and seems to have none of the
sentimental weaknesses of youth. I am sure she can only be an advantage
and benefit to your daughter. She is, too, a member of an Orthodox
church in good standing."
"I am pleased with what you tell me of this young lady," Mrs. Maxon
replied. "I fully realize the great dangers to which parents expose
their daughters in sending them from home to boarding-schools: it
requires the utmost care and surveillance, to surround them with the
right influences. The choice of instructors and companions for a
daughter at this critical period of her existence, is a matter of vital
importance; and one not sufficiently considered. Many a young girl's
mind has been poisoned, and her future warped by injudicious
companionship at boarding-school. Too often the most careful instructors
are utterly ignorant of their pupil's thoughts and conversation outside
the class room."
"Quite true: too true," Madame Scranton assented. "But I endeavor as
much as possible to render myself the confidant of my pupils: to lead
them to talk to me on all subjects as they would talk with their
mothers. Having a limited number of young ladies in my charge, this is
possible for me, while it could not be successfully done in a larger
establishment."
"And that is the reason why Mr. Maxon and myself decided upon bringing
Helena to you," Mrs. Maxon continued. "We were convinced that you would
exercise a wise supervision over her character and conduct. She is of a
strongly affectionate and emotional nature, full of love for humanity,
and belief in her fellow beings. I do not want her affections chilled,
nor her confidence checked by worldly counsels, or a premature knowledge
of the baseness which exists in the world: let her keep her beautiful
faith and loving impulses while she may. Only guard her from being led
into folly or imprudence. As I grow older I am more and more convinced
that the people who constantly strive to impress the mind of the young
with distrust for humanity are the people who are themselves unworthy of
trust: or else those who have become embittered by sorrows they have not
understood. I believe it possible to keep a nature like Lena's sweet and
wholesome forever."
"But there are infinite disappointments and bitter experiences in store
for a nature such as you describe," Madame suggested. "That beautiful
trust must be rudely shattered."
"Shocked, but not shattered;" corrected Mrs. Maxon. "And I think it
better in this life to be often wounded through too great faith in our
fellow-beings than to embitter our minds with an early distrust.
"I have tried to impress her with the belief, that whatever pain is sent
to her, comes as an ennobling and purifying lesson; not as a punishment.
I want her to think of her Creator as a Benefactor; not as an Avenger.
Her heart is free now, from all envious or jealous emotions, as a
carefully tended flower-bed is free from weeds. But she has never been
exposed to the constant friction of association with her own sex: and I
tremble when I think what emotions evil influences may implant in that
fresh soil.
"I want you to teach her, as I have done, that envy is a vice, and
jealousy and unkind criticism are immoralities, certain to destroy the
noblest character. We warn our sons from the gaming-table and the
wine-cup, with loud voices; but too many of us sit silent while our
daughters contract habits of malicious speaking and envious criticism,
which are quite as great evils in society to-day, as intemperance or
gambling.
"You will forgive my lengthy dissertation, my dear Madame, when you
remember how precious the trust placed in your care. And now I must bid
her a last farewell and take my departure. Poor child! she has never
been separated from me a week in her life. The parting will be very hard
for both of us."
"Remember, my sweet child," was Mrs. Maxon's last injunctions to her
weeping daughter, "that you are always to make me your first confidant
in all things. Hear nothing, say nothing, do nothing, which you cannot
tell your mother, who will ever strive to be your best adviser. And now,
God's angels guard you, dear, and good-by."
And Mrs. Maxon turned hastily from the clinging arms of her daughter,
and hurried away, while Helena threw herself upon the couch in a wild
passion of uncontrolled tears.