The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1870-04-28

lecture which she took in very
part. She never would believe that h
had not made some secret profit by th
transaction.
The very first morning after her Al
rival, Catharine, who was outside upo1
the terrace, heard the stormy voices 0
Monsieur le Mares clients comm,
shrill and excited from the kitchen
where Fontaine often administered jus
tico. From tho little embankmen
Catharlne could see the sea and the
village street descending, and the 1aua
toire, where the village women in thei,
black stockings. and white coifs, and
cotton nightcaps were congregated,
scrubbing, and tapping, and chattering
together. The busy sounds came in
gusts to Catharine in her garden, the
fresh sea-brcezes reached her, scented
by rose-trees. On fine days she could
make out in the far distance the faint
simmer of the rocks of the Calvados
out at sea, where the Spanish galleon
struck. 1t struck and went down, and
all On board perlshsd, the legend runs,
and the terrible rocks were called by
its name for a warning. But row.a-
days all the country round is christened
Calvados, and the name is SO common
that it has lost its terror.
Fontaine sometimes administered
justice in the Kitchen, sometimes in
dark draughty Office, where he kept odd
pieces OF string, some ink, some sealing
wax, and some carpenter tools. The
chalet was more picturesque than COM
Portable as habitation. The winds
came laundering against the thin walls
and through the chinks and crevices;
the weathercocks would 60 twirling
madly round and round, with sound
like distant drums. In the spring tides
Justine had said, the water would come
up over tho EN- bankment and spread
over the marguerite beds and rose-trees,
and the rain falling from the cliff
would make pools in front Of the din
ing-room door. The drawing.room was
up stairs. It was a room of which the
shutters were always closed, the covers
tied down tightly over the furniture,
the table-cloths and rugs rolled up, and
the piano locked. The room was nev-
or used. When Monsieur Merard was
there they were in the habit Of sitting
in his bedroom of an evening, Fontaine
told his wife. "C'est plus snog, CONNIE
7ous dites," he said. Catharinc de-
INJURED at this, and begged to be al
lowed to open the drawing-room, and
make use of it aud of tho piano. Fon-
taine agreed what would he not
have agreed that she wished ?-but it
was evidently pang to him, aud he
seemed afraid of what Madame Msrard
might say.
Tie second day seemed little long
er to Cathaline than the first at the
chalet, and the third little longer
than the second. Not to Fontaine, who
settled down to his accustomed occupa.
tions, came, went, always taking care
that Catharine should not beleft for any
time alone. Now aud then, as days went
on she wished that she could be by her.
self a little more; she was used to soil
tude, and this constant society and at
tention was little fatiguing. All that
was expected Of her was, eyes mon
ami" "Non, mon ami" At the end
of a month it became just little weari-
some; for, counting the fortnight at
Rouen, Cathariae had now been mar
ried month. Petitport had begun to
put on its nightcap; scarcely any one
remained shutters were put up, and
there was silence in the street. She
walked up to the farm, but RENE had
been away at Caen for some time, DOM
Unique told her. One day was like an
other. Nobody came. Fontaine talk
ed on, and Catharine almost looked for
ward to the arrival Of Toto's grandpa
rents to break the monotony.
"Ce qui coute le plus pour plaire,
c'est de cacher quo Pom s'ennuie."-
Catharine had read this somewhere in
a book Of French maxims, and the
words used to jangle in her ears long
afterward, as words do. Sometimes she
used to think Of them involuntarily in
those early days in the beginning OF
her married life, when she would be
sitting by her own 6resids alone with
Fontaine. Monsieur le Marie was gen.
orally bolt upright on a stiff:backed
chair by the table, Delightfully."- contem-
plating the realizstions Of his dreams !;
while Madame Fontaine, on low little
seat by the fire, with her work falling
upon her lap, was wondering, perhaps,
whether this could be her own self and
the end of all her vague ideals. The
little gold ring upon her finger seemed
to assure her it waa indeed so. This
was her home at last. There sat her
husband, attentive; devoted, irreproach.
able, disoursive-how discursive Con-
versation was Fontaine's forte, his
weakness, his passion, his necessity.
The most utterly uninteresting and un-
likely subjects would suggest words to
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