Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1866-01-17

IIuc, hOlSItur hOuOlpHe, L never
think of anything. l must learn to
read and write to help my aunt said
the poor girl, seriously, so much alb
sorbed by the charming picture of this
peaceable life, that she believed III its
realities. After your lessons, you will
work at the linen of the house, or YOU
will make yourself a pretty peasant
bonnet. At two o'clock you will go
to your writing, and then you will
take long walk with your aunt, see
the haymakers in summer, and the la
borers in the fall; you will return
quite fatigued, bringing with you a
handful of sweet herbs that you have
culled in the meadows for Musette.'
For we will return by the meadow,
won't we, Mons. Rodolphe 2 With
out doubt: there is a wooden bridge
over the river. At your return, bless
me, it is six or seven o'clock, and a
fine brisk fire is blazing in the large
kitchen OF the farh.; you go there and
warm yourself, and have a talk with
the good folks just returned from the
work Of the farm; then you dine with
your aunt. Sometimes the curate, or
some old friend of the house, sits
down to talk with you. After that,
you read or work, while your aunt has
her game of cards. At ten o'clock
she kisses you, and you retire to your
chamber. The next morning you be-
gin again
i could live for a hundred years in
that manner, and never be tired, Mon
sieur Rodolphe.'
But all this is nothing to the Sun
days and holydays.'
And those days, Monsieur Ro-
dolphe?'
You will make yourself look very
fine you will put on your pretty peas
ants dress, and the little round cap
that becomes you so well; then YOU
will get in the basket-wagon with your
aunt and James, the farmboy, to 90 to
grand mass at the village; after that
during the summer, you will not fail
to go with your aunt to all the fetes
Of the surrounding parishes. You
are SO kind, so good, such a nice house
keeper, your aunt loves YOU so much,
the curate will give such a good ac-
count of you, that all the young farm
ers of the environs will wish to dance
with you, because that is the way all
marriages begin. Thus, by-and-by
you will perceive one-and-
ROdOlphe astoniShed at the silence
of the young girl, turned to look at
her; the poor girl could hardly re
strain her sobs; for a moment deceiv-
ed by the words of Rodolpe, she had
forgotten the present, and the contrast
Of this present with a dream, a pic
ture so charming and delightful, re-
called the horrors Of her position.
Maria, what is the matter?'
All! Monsieur Rodolphe. without
intending it, you have caused me much
chagrln. For q moment | believed
in this paradise But, poor child
this paradise exists-look, look-stop
cOachman The coachman stopped
Maria mechanically raised her head
She found herself on the top of hill
what was her astonishment, her amaze
ment! The pretty village built OF
the hillside, the farm, the meadows
the cows, the little river, the chestnut
trees, the church in the distance-thC
picture was before her eyes; nothing
was wanting, even to Musette, beau
tiful white heifer, the future favoritt
of Maria. The charming Landscape
was lighted up by a fine November
sun. The purple and yellow leaves
still covered the noble chestnut-trees
standing out in bold relief from til,
blue and smiling sky.
We'll Maria, what say you? An
| a good painter? said Rodolphe
gayly.
Maria looked at him with surpris
| and inquietude; it seemed to her al
most supernatural.
How is this, Monsieur ROdolphe
but, my God is this a dream it al
most makes me afraid. How wha
you have told me is
Nothing is more simple, my child
, The fermiere' is my nurse wa
brought up here. | wrote her thi
!, morning that [ should come to-day t.
see her; | only painted after nature
'Ah! it is true, Monsieur Rodolphe
, said Maria, with a profound sigh.