The Portland daily press., 1876-08-12
not SO very different, after all, she thought,
/ from Normandy's

Ouo udy, eiItlH5 Ou Tue steps Ol Il Stie, sue
sung one of Beranger's loveliest chansons to
company of haymakers in the field. They
shared their luncheon with her, and then for
first time in her life she drank English beer.
When she left them they shook hands with
her. Thou art a brave-hearted, harmless
lass" said one brown-fsted, leather-faced,
old falmer. ''Here's halfcrown to buy
thee another ribbon to pass round thy neck.
Fve heard no better music-no, never! /
speak of thy voice, for the words pass me be-
in forum. Bein' thou sung them, l take
them to be worthy" She blushed and looked
humble. She never forgot him or his words,
Once, too, this wandering warbler lost her
way. She had quite heedlessly wandered
from the highway, and, far from any human
dwelling, night fell upon the poor, frightened
strayling. However, she said her prayers.
and then curled herself on mound of hay
in the open field. There she covered the
long night through, alone under the scented
summer sky. 81 never knew till then how
many stars there WERE" she said naively ;
land o how many-how very many-there
there seemed to be that night! And then,
frightened as was at my situation, l could
not help laughing, thinking they had all
come out, big and little, TO peep at the little
weeping figure curled up on the hay in that
great solitary English meadow.
Thus the time sped by, and La Fleurette
went singing with it. She grew stronger and
lither. Her step became brisk; her slender
limbs were rounded to frmer outlines; her
dark cheeks took roster, healthier tinge of
color; and her splendid sunshine-sifted hair
shone, tossed on her shoulders. She asked
herself sometimes if one might not be always
happy, travelling thus, en- troubadour, from
hamlet to hamlet.
She was sauntering dreamily one morning,
when, aimlessly looking up, she saw coming
along the highway towards her drove of
large white oxen. They were being driven
by their owner to a neighboring estate.
Doubtless they were harmless enough, but
they looked terribly ferocious and threaten
ing to the slight, timid girl. She clasped her
hands together and cried out, while every
drop of blood in her body seemed to be
There was no refuge. On one side was a
thick-set, prickly hedge; on the other high
park fence, with a glimpse of water in the
| distance. On came the oxen, their massive
hoofs making the earth quake, tossing their
heads up and down, and clashing their great
curled horns. La Fleurette turned and ran
back few steps, then, fascinated by terror,
she stopped and fixed her great, dilated eyes
on the dreaded animals.
1t was just at the moment when her
strength seemed failing that the huge crea-
GuACo, otdlGiCu pClhdpo Wy tAC WdLCa-uOS Dc-
hind them, broke into run and came dash
| ing on. Surely. surely destruction was GER
tain now. The little troubadour clasped her
hands in helpless petition; her limbs grew
weaker; her eyes closed like the petals of a
| lily, and she sunk down. Yet as she sunk,
dimly through her swimming senses she felt
that deliverance was approaching. She
heard the thunder of hoofs as horseman
| galloped up the highway behind her. Nearer
he came. The kneeling girl did not stir; she
dared not. The borseman braced himself
| for action. Leaning forward and stretching
| out his arm, he swooped the little helpless
| figure up as he passed, and, swinging her to
the saddle in front, few like lightning on his
way. As he drew rein under the elms by the
riverside he saw that the girl was in a dead
| faint. When the little troubadour opened
her eyes, she felt herself lying along the
turf, with her head supported on somebody's
| arm. Water from wet handkerchief on
| her forehead was trucking down her face.
| All! what had happened? She tried to rise.
| She put up her hand. The wig of glossy
| golden curls was displaced and flung disdain-
| fully to one side, and her own luxuriant
| abundance of soft, bronze-brown wavy tresses
was streaming 10 unbound beauty on her
| neck and bosom. She started up confusedly,
| gave one look into her deliverer's grave face,
then she sunk down again.
Monsieur Bertrand" she stam-
mered.
"Ah! Ninon, | have found you again. You
| are better nowr'
He helped her to sitting posture. Why
| was his face so grave? She struggled up
| from his arms. s'You know me, then? /
| am dscoVeredp she said, humbly; and her
thoughts flew back to that other day when
she first stepped on English soi-to the brok-
en- guitar-strings, and the peril from which
he had then rescued her.
81 suspected you, that other day." he an
swered, "but was not quite certain. There
were times when l was sure twas you, and
| then, the next moment, l said to myself I
| was fool for thinking of such thing. But
what does it all mean~this masquerade and
disguise? Why are yon here alone?'
Lieut.. Bertram. as he asked these ques-
tions, looked at the little troubadour gravely.
He remembered the beautiful marquise
whom he had left in Normandy. He recalled
her wealth, her position. He thought of her
luxuriant surroundings -her tiny, satin-lined
| nest of boudoir, pictured and perfumed-
| where she had toyed with her guitar and
sung to him like bird in its bower.
"Why are you here thus, alone ?" he asked
again.
''Why?" The little songbird's pale face
flushed guilty as she thought to herself tru-
ly. "Why?" Simply for love of him!
II thought to earn my bread thus" she
stammered. had my voice-my one poor
gift of music. Why should 1 not make it
serve me?'
''But, Mademoiselle d'Etoilep' interrupted
the lover, astounded.
''No, Henri; not Mademoiselle d'Etoile
any more" she cried impatiently. She was
vexed, tired, mortified. She had hard work
| to keep back her tears, She was ready to re-
| nounce the whole world now: everybody
| everything---was so stupid. And he would
| why could he not see?
II am only poor little singing-grl now,"
she cried, starting up, proudly determined.
81 shall never be Madame la Marquise
again.
Henri's face frightened. Her words limo
Gently deceived him. There was no vulgar
| freak, then-no bold caprice. He recalled
what she had told him, that day, in Nor
mandy, of the cousin who might return one
day, and reclaim his hereditary wealth.
And so he had concise soon! And how
nobly this fragile, untaught girl had acted,
thus taking the burden of life into her own
delicate hands! Henri took one of those
| tiny, sun-browned hands in his own.
Dear Ninon, at least. If you cannot be.
Madame La M arquise d'Etoile any longer,
you will be my wife and the mistress of Der
tram court" And then, after he had said
that, breeze and bird and woodland and
water sung the old, tender tune of youth
and happiness together-love, love, love
IT'S beautiful tune, easily learned, they
say.
'But would you marry me thus, in this
dress-the poor little troubadour?" she asked
by and by, "And my poor faithful guitar,
too?''
''Would I not marry you in that dress far
more proudly than in any other?" was the
happy answer.
She looked at him with eyes full of pride
and exultation. Ali that was where the
full pathos of the situation revealed itself.
To be welded like this-for love, pure love
"Ah! love-" she chirped out like bird.
'You could not kiss me with such smile
as that if you were deceiving me-" be said.
'Put your hand in mine, Ninon, and swear
that no disgrace lies behind this masquerade
of yours
She put her hand, unhesitatingly in his,
.,'There is no disgrace. swear it by my love
for you, HenriP'
And so in due time they were married. They
have two homes now-one in Normandy, and
one in England, where Ninon is the happy
mistress of Bertram court. But think the
children love the old chateau, the white
capped peasants, and the apple of
St. Lo best. They love to drink the yellow