Litchfield enquirer., 1874-03-05

The stranger bows. ssYes, Monsieur, am from Paris, and my name is Hippo. iyte Laborde; at your service" and then the two men take of their hats and bow, as only Frenchmen can bow in similar circumstances. "I am q writer, Mon sleur, and have come into your charming country for fresh air and fresh ideas, and l snail be sorry to leave it. I have been wishing to dance, he looks as innocently as possible into the face of the Miller, di- vlnlng that he is the father of Eugenie, put there is no chance, all the young people seem old acquaintances, and new eomer is left in the 1urch."
 The Miller laughs at the strangers rue full expression. < R5 sszs7
 Come, cheer up, Monsieur; it is the first time ever knew Parisian modest. Why, friend, the gods help those who help themselves. Here is my daughter. Eugenle will give you a chance, though now she comes to be sitting down I don't understand. Art thou tired, little one?'' Eugenle's heart throbbed with delight, put stlli she wishes the stranger to ask her for himself.
 um afraid must not dance." she said calmly. 'T told Monsieur Poiret I was tired, and it IS the same waltz.''
 "But Monsieur is dancing again tbe stranger speaks eagerly. s.I was waiting till Mademoiselle had reposed herself to have the honor of claiming her hand"
 Is she dreaming again, or is this reality and has the life that she has passed through since that delicious vision been the dream? Eugenie only knows that she could waltz on for ever, and then, at each pause in the dance, as she stands with her partner little apart from the rest. and listens to the words so like those she lis- tens to In her dream, words which grad ually grow more and more full of fervent meanlng,-it seems to her that till now life has been empty, and that the joy of this afternoon is too intense to last.
 Presently they are standing still near her father again, and she hears him ask her partner if he is staying at La Mail leraye.
 'I am not staying anywhere. l reach ed Candebeck, yesterday, heard of the fete here to-day, and came over in mere ldle- ness"
 ''Then you must come and see my mill tomorrow Jacques slaps him on the shoulder, "and our chateau, too;-we at Veron are visited by all travellers. There is no such mill as the mill of Veron," he says in low voice, Gin the North of France"
 It is two months since the fete at La Mailleraye. The little village of Veron is all astir, and crowd of idlers is waiting round the church porch. Outside the crowd just beyond Mon sieur Furet's garden-gate, Margot stands looking eager and restless. Her black eyes glitter with fierce triumphant light She is safe, for at this moment Eugenie is being welded to Monsieur Hippolyte La borde, and there is no fear that she will ever reign over the naenGge of Monsieur Furet.
 sLittle credulous fool! She believed the tale told, and so she gave up my poor besotted master. He'll banker af- ter her though. to the day of his death. See him now!'
 She shrugs her shoulders in disd ain, and shelters herself behind huge country man, who is hanging on the skirts of the crowd.
 Monsieur Furet has just come out of | church. He is the first of the bridal par ty who has appeared in the porch; most of the others are busy signing names in the vestry.
 4uOAS1cuI uToG lS SmIlIuS, anu lie uOluS a large boquet in his hand. There is buzz of voices, and the child ren cry Co voila, and out comes Eugenie, yelled from head to foot, and leaning on her husbands arm.
 He is looking so fondly at the blushing face under the veil that he does not see Monsieur Furet. But the ec-avocat places himself in Eugenie's path.
 Madame" he says, with much dignity, '.I wish you all happiness. Monsieur, he looks at Hippolyte, "you have a wife who is wise, as well as lovely. Yes, wiser than heads much older than her own"
 He bows and stands aside to let them pass, offering the boquet gallantly to Eu- genie.
 There is no fool like an old fool," said Margot. "I should not wonder if he leaves her his money. after all"