The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1872-01-18

CHAPTER XIII.
WHAT THE AUTHOR SAYS.
II hope you are better, Miss L.
nore," says Paul, leaving his friend
and his acquaintance together, and
threading his way between the kneel-
ing country.people to where the young
girl stands with Der back resolutely
turned to him, and her eyes as resolute.
ly fixed upon the high alter, aaame with
lights and laden with flowers.
"Better of what ?" she asks, brusque-
ly, not turning toward him.
II always think there must be some.
thing radically wrong with a person
who forsgoes her dinner in a land
where luncheon is unknown. he aos-
wers, trying to get peep round the
corner into her averted face.
"How do you know that I forewent
my dinner 7" she irquires, sharply
glancing at him for an icstant, and then
looking away again as quickly.
II saw your sister, and I did not see
you"
"1 dined upstairs" she answers,
shortly. He looks at her doubtfally.
"Did you, really? Why?
II hate talking in church," she says
flashing round impatiently at him =; ''it
is irreve.ent."
$50 do [; the incense gets into ny
head. Let us go outside"
"You may 60, if you choose" she
says, setting her back against pillar,
and resolutely ignoring his presence.
~ prefer to stay here"
A little child kneeling at her feet in
a close calico cap, with a rosary be-
tween its little fingers, stares up won.
deringly, with wide eyes, at the mon.
sieur and the madame, standing so erect
and chattering 50 irrcverently in the
great solemn church.
"Your sister and Scropo are going
down the steps now," he says, STOPPING
little to whisper to her iu Difference to
the sacred place, while an amused
gleam flashed in his eyes. "The pro.
cesslon. will begin 10 a quarter Of an hour
Come !"
She makes . half movement of com
pliance.
"Mind," she says, looking At him
dc6antly, II am coming, not in the
least because you ask me, but because
I do not want to miss this fine sight.'
The street is fuller than ever. Tht
dusk is drawing on. Gendarms il
cooked hats and tail-coats ; tight.be
red-legged soldiers, leaving tho mass O.
peasants. A woman at q stall selling
candles candles as thick as your waist
candles as thick as your wrist ; candle
no thicker than your finger. Every on
is buying, each person laying down hi
francs or oentimes, and walking proud,
off with Follow taper as tall as him
self.
"You have not forgiven me YET
then I" says LIE Mesurier, Is he elbows
way for his companion between the WOO
eu.shawled woman and embroidered
ljaoketed men.
~"Forgive you for what 2" she asks
resolutely obtuse, while her cheek
show sudden rivalship with the pop
py.bunch in her hat.
"For my-my unlucky embassy" b
answers, with rather awkward laugh
She looks away from him to the i
Illuminated church, At once bright an
dark against the warm gloom of Jun
twilight.
II thought it was very oficious .
you" she answers, coldly.
II "O0;ciou." echoes he, quickl,
while his own tanned cheeks catch th
pretty angry poppy hue. "Do you sal
pose did 1t for my own pleasure
. Do you suppose that ever, in all m
life, had JOB that 1 hated more"
"Why did you undertake it,. then
asked the girl, dryly.
"Because I was living in the SAN
house with him because I had u
peace day or night; because I was sic
Of the sound Of your name; because
poor little beggar!-he cired -ye
actually cried! If said NO once,
said it hundred times.''
"It was pity that you did not 81
it hundred aud one times"
d II not only" continues Paul, bec6u
ing exssperated, aud consequent
D spitefnl, While his usually, quiet ey
give cold FASH" II not only deoli
ed the Office for myself, but l did .
4 could to dissuade him from sskil
you himself"
"Thaak Joa!".