Marshall County Republican. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1856-1878, 1868-01-23

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grayenc 4-f@te s4H NrS afi4
my little wife," replied the hus
band in a dismal tone, "my deares
wife, mother Castinoja, you know
has removed to the other end of tn,
city, near the gate Foncarral, ant
we are in the qusrter Lavapie; tn,
night is very cold, and if the CUTTERS
do not deceive me. the rain is pour
ing in torrents Even should / fine
mother Castinoja, do you think she
would come to see you through thi:
terrible stormp / remember the last
time you had this complaint, she cur
ed You with two ounces of treacls
boiled in the rind of half an orange
Let me 90 to the apothecary's and
get this for you. Compose yourself
a little, and do not force me to take
such long journey, which l am sure
will be of no use, and L shall only
get a worse malady than yours"
At this, Casilda began again ia
pour forth the most bitter lamenta-
tons. "Good heavens. see what q
husband the -Fates have given me!
i To hear him would not one suppose
that l was demanding impossibilities;
that l was asking him to be buried
with me; that / was claiming the sac
rifice of his blood, or of halfh for
tune? j only ask him to- 60 for a
nurse, at the risk of wetting his
shoes, and he refuses. But i well
know what it is you want; you wish
to be widower; you long to live
over again your bachelors life. At
every cry that pain forces from me,
your heart leaps with joy. All! Tn
dying! q priest. the confession! 1 am
poisoned"
Morales, really believing that his
wife was at the last extremity, and
fearing, if she died, that the accuse
tons she had thrown out against
him might have serious consequen-
ces, endeavored to soothe her by a
few caresses, and proceeded to light
lantern, which the darkness of the
night rendered very necessary. He
then drew on pair Of stout boots,
threw q large cloak over his Shout
ders, pulled the cape over his head.
and manfully set forth on his noctur-
nal expedition in search of mother
Castinoja. The painter knew that
the dame in question dwelt some
where in the rue Foncarral, but of
the precise location of her residence
he was totally ignorant. The rain
fell in torrents, and he met not soul
from the time he left the rue Lavapie
until he reached the quarter to which
his steps were directed The night
was as dark as Egypt, and Morales
cursed from the bottom of his heart,
the day on which he married. 1t may
be imagined that in such mood he
was not likely soon to find the object
of his search.
But while he is cropping along The
streets, and getting soaked to the
skin, let us return to the sick lady.
No sooner did she see her husband
fairly off upon his expedition than
she summoned her brother and few
chosen friends, who were lying hid
in the cellar. In twinkling they had
the old street-door off its hinges. and
its place supplied by the one bought
for the occasion, which fitted as if it
had been made on purpose. Above it
they placed huge white sign, on
which was displayed in large letters,
the following Inscription: "Hotel Of
the Cid. Good entertainment
for man and horse" This done, a
large party of friends in the neighbor-
hood, who had been let into the
secret, were speedily assembled. Cas-
tanets and guitars were put in requi-
sition, a repast was prepared, and the
merry guests began to eat, and drink,
and dance, by way celebrating the
dismal expedition of the poor hus-
band. who had gone in search Of
Dame Castinoja.
Meanwhile, having proceeded from
street to street, knocked at more
than fifty doors, and reused and
angered the whole neighborhood, our
good painter was atlength obliged to
return homevard without the nurse.
He was drenched to the skin. and his
patience was completely exhausted.
On approaching his home, the sound
of musical instruments, and singing,
and peals of laughter burst upon his
astonished ears. Thinking he had
made a mistake, he raised the lantern;
anu discovring a different door from
his own, with the sign Of hotel
over it, became completely bewil-
dered, and began to traverse the
pavement anew at is indeed the |
Rue de Lavapie, said he" "Here
is the bookstore of Pedro Trappal;
there is the fruiter's shop; and this is
the house of Diego lie Boiteux; and |
then surely comes mine; for on the |
other side there is that Of Lucas
Moreno, the changer" He
recognized the doors of all his neigh
bors; each one was familiar; his alone
was changed. Heaven help mel"
said he, making fifty signs Of the
cross, "this indeed must be my
house. 1t is but an hour and a half
sinceI left it. Ny wife was then
weeping, and grooming with pain,
and now they are singing and dan
cling. And yet we were living alone
in the house. The door. it is true,
needed little repair; but / am GER
tain it was not changed when 1eft
home. Beside, have never noticed
q tavern in this street, and surely it
is not in my house they would es-
tablish one. Am ! dreaming? That
cannot be. My eyes are wide open,