The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1874-10-30
VOLUME 2.


For, she argued, if the worst should
come, there was at least that little hoard
of the good mothers in the cid bureau.
Jean was safe. But, as the time of the
eonseription approached, Jean himself
was strangely restless and discomposed-
Mariette observed it, and did her best to
rally him out of his depression.
There is no doubt that you will be
able to get a substitute, Jean" she had
asked one day, little anxiously.
'No-no,' with sigh.
The next day was the one which was
to decide so many fates. The whole viii
lage was swarming and crowded with
gendarmes. Mariette dismissed her hus-
band with words of cheer.
The little Barbette was that day not
we'll, SO her mother was forced to remain
at home as nurse. But when Jean was
fairly out of the house Mariette's heart
failed her. IF he should be drawn-if
a substitute could not be found-if-but
no. One look at the old bureau reas
sured her. The remembrance Of her
mothers loving care seemed to stand as
a bulwark between her and all possible
trouble Thanks to the good mother,
all will be right she murmured, though
her tears fell.
She was almost a child still.
1t was late in the evening before Jean
returned home, and the first sight of his
wan, white face almost frightened Mari
ette out of her senses.
what is 1t?' she asked. What has
happened"
1T is all over, Mariette. must go
am drawn
you go-you?' echoed the young wife.
Are you mad, Jean? Is it possible that
you can get no substitute? Jean, answer
me, for PHYS sake as he still made no
reply.
'Yes-yes, if 1 could pay him, there
is Joseph, the woodman's son, would
willingly take my place, but
But why talk of money, Jean? Where
is the key of the bureau? Don't delay a
moment, cried Mariette, excitedly.
The key-oh! yes-the key. It-that
is, I forgot
No, no, Jean, here it is. What are
you thinking of? Here it is round your
neck
But as her fingers touched the key,
jeans hand grasps hers and holds it so
tightly that he hurts her.
Jean, what is it?'
For a second their eyes met, and then
there crosses the young wife's heart such
a spasm of terror and doubt that she
calls out as if in pain. Jean drops hel
hand.
1T is no good looking, Mariette,' he
said, after a moments pause, in strange
hoarse voice. You would find nothing
The money is spent
Mariette could only gaze at him in 3;
kind Of blank stupor.
Spent, Mariette. Do you hear? Dc
you understand? and suddenly Jean
leaning his head on his hands, burst into
a storm of passionate tears. God for
give mel he cried, Il have robbed tn,
child and ruined US all. Why don't vol
speak, Mariette? Say something, if onl,
to reproach me-
Then Marriette found words-not o
reproach but of loving, wifely counse
, and help. In moment she seemed
transformed. A child no longer, the ol'
things were put away forever. The OLE
spirit of careless happiness, of blind re
lance, was indeed fed, but in its place
nobler spirit had taken up its abod
: within her-a spirit that could suffel
: and dare and endure. She was woman
at last.
A woman very full of strong, earnes
purpose, one would have said who say
3 her the morning after these events, leav
| ing her houses at daybreak, stealing
, away from her still sleeping husband
: her child by her side, and on her arm
f basket in which were carefully stowe
. away all the small treasures which sh
possessed-her cross of Breton work
y her gold earrings, and her silver chair
s Jean, We must find the money! sh
e said to her husband the night befor,
e when he became calmer.
:, Where" Jean had asked, drearily.
: One hundred, ay, even perhaps tw
n hundred, francs it might be possible yt
: to raise upon the farm, he had said afte
e awhile; but three hundred-no--thel
: was no help for it, he must go.
For the sake of hundred franc
h No, no, JEAN Mariette had returne
cheerily. Il will get you that-leave
Il to me-
!. But to her utter CONSERVATION, whe
# all are disposed of-cross, earring
n chain, and even her wedding shawl
e she Is not yet half way toward the hui
10 dred francs. What can she do? To +
,. turn home without the money is impos
v ible-impossible, she repeats as 81
e walks wearily up and down the OIL
street of the little market town whe
IL she had taken her wares. She stops o
4 posite a window that had attracted h
more than once. 1t is that of the art
d tatc en- cheUou1. Mariette's hair had q
ways been considered one of her speci
j. beauties. Now the thought comes to b
e. again and again that by it she mig
~ raise the required sum. But could s.
~ possibly bring herself to make this sa
III rifce? She hesitates; draws back; it is
save her husband-she will.
lg Clasping her child's hand tightly
hers as if for protection she enters t
a shop, and before the old artistic can a
ou her pleasure let's fall mass of 81
IN, brown silk about her shoulders.
lst What will you give me fer it?' S
lie asks, with beating heart.
Is Sixty francs, Madam" returns t
he old man, after a critical inspection.
is the sum she wants.
r. Cut it, cut it, and be quick she or
eagerly.
ng The work of destruction does not ia
/ a long. A few moments in the barbe
IA chair q faw oIips of tho soiSeOrc opd (