My
adventure was dramatized by three illustrious play-makers, but
never saw theatrical daylight; for the censorship forbade the
introduction on the stage of a correct copy of the gambling-house
bedstead.
One good result was produced by my adventure, which any
censorship must have approved: it cured me of ever again trying
_"Rouge et Noir"_ as an amusement. The sight of a green cloth,
with packs of cards and heaps of money on it, will henceforth be
forever associated in my mind with the sight of a bed canopy
descending to suffocate me in the silence and darkness of the
night.
Just as Mr. Faulkner pronounced these words he started in his
chair, and resumed his stiff, dignified position in a great
hurry. "Bless my soul!" cried he, with a comic look of
astonishment and vexation, "while I have been telling you what is
the real secret of my interest in the sketch you have so kindly
given to me, I have altogether forgotten that I came here to sit
for my portrait. For the last hour or more I must have been the
worst model you ever had to draw from!"
"On the contrary, you have been the best," said I. "I have been
trying to catch your likeness; and, while telling your story, you
have unconsciously shown me the natural expression I wanted to
insure my success."
NOTE BY MRS. KERBY.
I cannot let this story end without mentioning what the chance
saying was which caused it to be told at the farmhouse the other
night.
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