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Show THE DEATH OF VENUS. By CHARLES H. ROBINSON. (Copyright, 1902, by Daily story Publishing Co.) Chavanne. "You remember her?" "Ah !" ejaculated Landelle ' "I noticed something familiar ,n the face, but the features were so glorified glori-fied that I could not realize its identity." iden-tity." "Shortly after you went away, Julie would not pose for any of us; the American was the only one,' you know. He was particular about his models. By and by he wouldn't have anybody but Julie. No there was no attachment, at least on his part. He was engaged to a young lady in New York, it seems, though we did not know it at the time, and he was cold " 'Child I -would die for her sake. K love weaker than that Is nothing.' "Then you will be very unhappy should you fail?' she said gently. " 'My whole life will be blighted,' answered Metcalf. " 'Well, then, you shall be happy said the girl, with a bright smile, and choking, back a sob in her throat, 'You shall paint the death of Venus from the reality. Nay do not look so doubtful. I have a plan. I am Interested Inter-ested in your success, for am I not the model? I never told you I was an actress. Yes, indeed, I have studied many parts. Now, my plan is this: I will come to-morrow prepared to enact the role of a dying Venus, but you will have to paint very fast, my friend. You will promise me that, for it will be a terrible strain upon me, you understand.' un-derstand.' "During that night Julie's companion compan-ion awoke to find the girl kneeling by the window, gazing up at the bright stars. She vas praying This also, we learned afterward, Paul, always afterward, you notice. Her accents were broken, but this much was heard : . " 'Dear God, forgive me for what I mean to do. It is for his sake, and for the sake of her across the water. She loves him and he is all hers, while I he said tnat a love not wcrth dying for was nothing dear God, forgive me.' "The next morning, Julie was calm and smiling. She made light of her trouble of the night before, and har roommate thought she had forgotten the cause of it This was the reason why we were not told, Paul. "Well, Julie posed, and Metcalf painted fast, for the painting was completed as you see it, about three in the afternoon. At that hour there was a commotion in the American's studio, and frantic calls for help. We rushed in, and there was the American Ameri-can kneeling before Julie, rubbing uer face and trying to revive her from an apparent faint. We all thought, at first, that fatigue had -overcome her, but J laid my hand upon her forehead and it was so cold I suspected worse. A iuick examination and I arose with the remark: " 'This is a case for the police, monsieur.' mon-sieur.' And so it turned out to be. "Julie had opened an artery in her left arm, carefully concealing It In the heavy drapery, and while the artist was painting her 'acting,' she was slowly dying. Metcalf was so absorbed ab-sorbed in painting her changing expressions, ex-pressions, that he was not aware of anything extraordinary until he laid down his brush and danced for joy before the completed picture. - "An American millionaire paid him half a million francs for the painting, agreeing to leave it i exhibition' at the Salon for a rea. ,iiable" "time, and Put left immediately for the United States to marry his betrothed." I""" II I H si m ii Minimi iai, wMwM "The model who posed for that picture pic-ture expired under the finishing touches of the painter's brush. No one ever imagined so realistic a death agony." The trained eye of the artist saw more in the painting than any of the crowd that stood spellbound before it . There was au indefatigable something about it which compelled a sensation of reverential awe in the breast of the average spectator, but the art Instinct In-stinct immediately detected the cause. "It represents a tragedy," he said Tialf aloud as he shifted his position to one more favorable for a further and more critical inspection. It was the portrait of a beautiful woman in a semi-veclining pose against a mass of faintly outlined cushions. There was nothing in her shapely, well-rounded limbs to indicate indi-cate disease, nothing in the surroundings surround-ings to manifest the approach of death, yet it was apparent, even to a novice, that the woman was dying. Her left arm, in the dark background, back-ground, was pressed close along her body, while the right arm, in the foreground, fore-ground, was flung out listlessly, the hand clutched tight as if to nerve herself her-self up to the consummation of some supreme act which .her will was bent upon committing. The lower limbs appeared cold in the pallor of death, and one could almost al-most see the dread shadows slowly creeping up toward the sfcat of life. Masses of raven hair, tumbling in disorder dis-order around her head, were dank with perspiration, and upon a clammy brow stood drops of sweat like clusters clus-ters of beads. The lips of a half-open mouth were colorless and cold, and through the film gathering over her eyes shone the flickering brightness of a soul about to leave its mortal tenement. The gaze of the eyes was on the line of vision and followed the spectator whichever way he turned, with so pathetic a look of concentrated con-centrated entreaty that more than one strorg man turned away in de-' de-' spairing helplessness, and feminine eyes filled with tears of sympathy. Overspreading her pallid, death-shadowed death-shadowed countenance was a smile of ineffable content, as pure and joyous as that of a martyr who sees the heavens opening to receive her racked spirit and relieve her body from earthly earth-ly torture. Turning mechanically to bis cata-" logue, the artist read: "The Death of Venus. P. Metcalf." "Can that be our little American, Put Metcalf?" he queried aloud In his surprise. "Our little Put and no other," whispered whis-pered a friend at his elbow, who added: add-ed: "What do you now think of American genius, Paul?" ' "I take off my hat to it," replied Landelle, suiting the action to the Kneeling before Julie, rubbing her face to every other woman. He wanted to become famous for her sake to make a bold stroke with a new subject." "Yes, I remember," interrupted Landelle, "it was the death of Venus, the title of this painting." " 'I will paint that subject or no other,' oth-er,' he kept saying. 'Where will you get a model?' he was asked, but he did not know; he knew only one thing, which was, that he was going to rest his fame on that subject alone. Every day for two months, Julie posed for him, but he got no farther along than when he began; his Venus wouldn't die, you know. He was more than kind to his model who could not come up to his concept; he sympathized sympa-thized with her for her failure to respond re-spond to his brush. He was so kind and gentle ah, yes, that, is where models make a mistake. "Late one afternoon, Julie went home woebegone, and throwing herself her-self upon a couch began to sob hysterically. hyster-ically. Her roommate drew the cause of the trouble out of her piecemeal. From her we learned it but afterward, after-ward, Paul, after the the sacrifice you have suspected." "It seems that the American, that afternoon, had thrown down his brush in despair. "'It's no use, child, I can never paint my ideal with you for a model. You are growing lovelier every day. Instead of posing for the death of Venus vou are a glorious model for the birth of love. See for yourself.' " 'But can you not put in the proper colors to represent death?' she asked, with a timid look into his face, but he was unconscious of her gaze. '"Pshaw! You do not comprehend, child?' he replied. 'The reality must be before the artist,- or exist In his mind. Looking at you destroys the reality, the concept. No, I must give it up and then give up all.' "'Does failure mean much to you? queried the girl. "'Much?' echoed Metcalf. il means everything I hold dear on earth. It means the loss of her I love, my promised wife, who expects me to uc-ceed.' uc-ceed.' 'The woman you love, your promised prom-ised wife?' repeated Julie, in a trembling trem-bling voice and paling HpB, scarce comprehending. ) "Certainly, my Charlotte. She lives In New York City, and we are to lurried as soon as I shall have finished this picture. I have prom-fed prom-fed to complete it and she 1. waiting wait-ing for me to keep my word. - "Do you love her so very muchr persisted the girl with dry Hps. v Do you love her so very much?" persisted per-sisted the girl, with dry Hps. words; "but I see a fearful sacrifice In Its awakening." . "You have interpreted the painting correctly." said Chavanne, "do you know the story?" "How can I when I have been sketching In the land of the midnight un for the past six months. "Julie Coomans was iue model who posed for that painting, Paul, began I |