The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1872-01-11

ing finished her nighttoilet, in the
severe simplicity Of which she looks at
least twenty years older than in her day
ono.
eff you had rad novels less, and
your Murray more, you would not have
needed to ask that question:" replies
Lenore, rolling her head about. "A
pardon is sort Of religious tete ; very
dull I do not doubt, but"-with tired
sigh-'it all comes in the days work ;
let US gov'
CHAPTER XII. ="
WHAT JENNA SAYS.
We are at Guingamp. We have
been here two hours. Two hours ago
We arrived hot and angry; hustled by
thronging groups Of peasants, that ere
pressing into the little town to receive
the annual pardon Of their sins, aud
open fresh account with God. The
Hotel de France brims oyer with
guests insomuch that We have been
relegated to stuffy little chamber an
quatrteme into which the afternoon sun
beats full hotter then ten thousand
Christmas fires. Just now We asked for
hot water, to wash our dirty faces !; ana
woman in huge starched white col
lar, and clear cap, brought iu some in
tiny teapot. This has put tho culma-
mating point to our despair. It is one
Of those days when ones very soul is
hot, and longs to throw off the heavy
cloak of the body;a day when one
would faiu take off ones flesh, and sit
in ones bones, according to Sydney
Smyth's time-honored wasgsry. It il
not winaless; on the contrary, there is
very perceptible air but it is such
air as meets you at the mouth Of fur
mace. Lenore has abandoned the strug.
gle with circums tauces. She has &C.
knowledged herself beaten, and lies al
along, in EXTREMIST dishabille, on the
/ nsrrow bit of parquet between the two
beds, wbere the hard oak communi.
Gates little coolness to the back. Her
head rests on a pillow that she ha,
pulled down a white dressing gown is
loosely wrapped ABOUT her; and he'
small bare feet wander about impatient
ly in tho vain search for cool spot OF
the hot boards. Now and again,
odd, sluggish, beetleish animals, with
s!ate-colored bodies, crawl ovet her out
flung arms. She has just enough energ,
left to shake them of, and call piteously
| to me to come and kill them with my
| shoe-heel. Our two windows and ou1
door are open; We are trying to believe
that we are in a draught. A regi
ment is passing through Guiogamp
the officers are billeted on our hotel
Every now and then one hears the clint
Of a sabre, and the sound Of heavy fee
coming down our corridor.
"Heavens, Jemima shut tho door =
cries my sister, unwilling to be exposed
in her present sketchy toilet to the gaz
of the French army. I spring forward
and close it; and as soon as the large
busted, small-waisted hero, in his ho
red trousers and tight epauletted frock
coat, has passed, fling it wide again.
have been unpacking, my head buried ii
my small canvas covered box ; it is nor
than woman born of woman can bear
I rise aad lean out of tho window. Out
side lugubrious horn is playing "Part
ant pour la Syrie," very slowly; th
omnibus is just driving into the court
yard.
"Poor omnibus poor horses !" cry
compassionately, chow many times bav
they been down to the station to-day
What heap of luggage
"Jemim., my head is not big
enough yet give me your pillow too !!
calls out Lenore, lsmentably, from th
floor. I comply, and then return
the window, and look again At th
omnibus, which is just beginning t
empty its load.
"Good Heavens r. calculate I, Wit
animation. "Why, Lenore, there
, Mr.. LIE Mesurier getting out !! He b.
a puggry round his hat; how odd b
looks !"
Il Lenore is disposiug two pillows an
: a bolster to her mind she gives gre'
> start, but her head is turned from m
u ~ wish he would get a new por
> manteau," pursue I, soliloquizing, 18th
, p. LIE NJ. on his is getting nearly e
, faced with age"
, The omnibus still disgorges: an o]
priest in a broad felt hat, and limp sas
round his huge waist, with q yello
t face and black teeth, yawnins prodis
susly. A pe,sant-woman with que'
baby in tight calico skull.cap; the
3 another gentleman in q puggry.
"The plot thiokens," cry I, with
sprightly air. "Lenore, I think tt
+ friend has turned up at last, I bega
5 to fancy that he was sort Of Mrs. Ha
. rls; but seeiog is believing, and bel
I he is |"
, Silence.
"How good.looking!' say I, und'
3 my breath, as the second geatlema
joins the first, and indicates his world