The Portland daily press., 1880-10-16
THF PRESS.
A Substitute for a Lover.
Chambers journal.

not feel at the time. are beginning to tell on
me. am "low' and neryous--a very I'M
usual state of things with me-aid my kind
ami CHEEKY doctor has persnptoriiy desired
me to Fly to her climea." 81 don't much
care where you go,' he says, provided the
climate is bracing and that you can be a
great deal In the open air. Go to bed early,
sleep and eat ano drink well and in fort
night you will be looking a different wo-
man." and he departs, leaving me to solve
the knoity point as to 'where" by myself.
'sBracing ar and rest" repeat mentally
to myself as 1 watch his figure disappearing
down the garden walk. "Where shall find
the combination?" And run over in my
mind the names of different places where
people usually go to seek health; but re-
ject them all. One is too gay; another too
cold; another too relaxing; others too ugly,
too far or too near. But memory has started
on its travels, and in another moment has
hung before me picture, at sight OF which
I exclaim, ''The very place! 1 will go to
the Trois Etoiles at st. Pourcain. 1 will
cest; will drink in deliciously bracing air
and will sketch"
So ring the bell, order my box to be
packed and in three days time l find my
self in the coupe of the numbering diligence
toiling up the steep picturesque street OF
the little Norman village which l have seen
only once before, but which | am destined
now to know intimately. A year ago had
been on sketching tour through Normandy
with fr;end-I am an artist in dilettante
amateurish sort of way-and we had passed
through this village and been much struck
by its quaint beauty; but we were then hur-
rying home and had only time for peep,
promising ourselves that we would come at
some future time aud make longer stay at
the little inn shere we had found ourselves
so comfortable during our briof sojourn.
am the only passenger for st. Pourcain
SO the c0nducteaT deposits me and my box
at the Trois Etoiles, and with smile and a
"Bon jour ct bonnie sante, Madame" pro-
ceeds ON his jocrney, while l turn to the
pleasant looking hostess who comes forward
to meet me.
"Ah, how Madame must be tired" she
exclaimed. ''That diligence is of slowness
ah ciel, of slowness! And Madame has
been i'll and demands repose." had said
so in writing to engage rooms. mo is
quite ready for Madame-the chamber she
occupied when she and her SO charming
ftiend were here, there is now year. And
what of goodness on the part of Madame to
remember herself of the Trois Etoiles, and
to come there to seek for rest and fresh air.
Everything shall be done to ensure Ma
danes comfort. Will Madame give herself
tuc pain W luOult W nv. II
Madame does give herself the pain, and
follows the voluble little woman, talking all
the way. into charming room, fresh and
bright as the hostess herself. The vine
wreathed lattice stands open, and on the
table is bouquet of freshly gathered flow
ers. The bed furniture is white as the driv-
en- snow; and the bright blue paper OH the
walls, and the gay clock and vases of flow
ers on the mantlepiece are as refreshing to
Al. IL -. -
which sink my tired body.
"Madame is quite exhausted" says Ma
dame Petit. 'She NUT descend no more
to-nigh. What would Madame take before
she retires? Perhaps un the would refresh
Madame, and there is galdtine of the most
delicious, or the wing of chicken"
decline the tea, much to Madame Petit's
surprise; l am an old traveller, and know
what straw-eolored infusion of scented hay
would be presented to me. But 1 express
my desire to test the excellence of the gatat-
inc accompanied by coffee. And soon the
table is spread with snowy cloth, and l
am making meal with much more appe-
tite than could have dreamed of three days
ago. Madame has not Over-praised the
galatine-made by her own fair hands, and
the coffee is-French coffee. The table is
drawn into the window, whence 1 can look
into the sunny little court yard, with its gay
flowers, its vine-wreathcd windows, the
lime tree under which stand a comfortable
seat; and its pump, the handle of which is
never STILL for moment. The clatter of
Babette's wooden shoes makes pleasant
click-clack as she goes too and fro over the
stones between the kitchen and the pump.
The sinking sun sends a level ray through
the open door, and see the copper stew
pans shining and glinting ruddily on the
wall, carved wooden beam runs across it,
dark with age; tall oaken press stands i'll
q corner and the red brick floor makes bit
of warm color where it touched by the sun.
1t is a pretty picture, and Babette's quaint
costume and high Normandy cap adds to the
charm.
81 remember Babette when was here be-
FORE" remark.
ooh! certainly" says Madame Petit,
smiling, "Babette was here last Iyear. and
no doubt will remain for many more, until
she finds husband, which Madame will
comprehend, Is not so easy for a moor girl.
Nothing changes much in st. Ponrcain."
"AhP'I say without thinking, II sur
pose there are not so many manageable
young men since the war; but you must
seen many changes during that terrible
time"
regret the words almost as soon as l
have uttered them, for the little woman's
ldSC iOoCo ITO DliSutuCoo ACl CAC5 Will
tears, and she gances down at her black
dress. "Ah, indeed; yes, Madame" she
says, with sigh. 81 had three sons, and l
gave two to France. And was not alone.
Many mother in st. Pourain sent her boys,
full of hope and longing for glory, to fight
the Prussians. But alas, alas! but few of
them returned"
take her hand and press it in symoa' by.
Your two boys were in the army then?"
ask.
'No, Madame" she replies sadly: "they
were drawn in thessecond general conscrip-
ton, and no substitutes were permitted to
be purchased. Besides" she says proudly,
though her tears fall fast, ''my Jean and my
Henri were no towards, and they were W lid
to get at those Prussians."
"But you have one left?" | say.
"Yes, Madame" she replies, frightening
Sand good son he is, my Oscar; and the
good God be praised! he can never be drawn
for he is the only son of his mother, and she
Is widow. 1t is great mercy, for there
will be drawing in our commune in two
young fellow enters the court yard, with the
blue eyes and light curly hair SO often seen
among'the Norman peasantry. ''Ah, there
he is, she exclaims, her vivacity returning
as if by magic. 81 must go and give him
his supper, if Madame will excuse"
Left to myself soon seek my couch and
after the fatigue of journey, sleep more
soundly than l have done for many a
night.
The next morning while 1 am dressing
hear the sound of the rumo, and gay laugh
ter in girlish voice, ACCOMPANIED by a
mans deeLer tones. / look out and see
pretty ricture. A young girl-she might
have sterped of one of Greuze's can
vases, SO fair. so fresh, so innocent is her
facets holding some salad with both hands
under the num,', her slew, s tucked ur, ard
showing the dim les in the soft round ell
bows; while Madame's son is ung ing as
hard as he can, and gazing with very evil
dent admiration on the damsel beside him.
80. Oscar, how thou art awkward!' she
says with coquettish glance from under
her dark eyeIashes as a harder swing of his
shoulder sends bright st cam of water
right over the rounded arms. ''Thou hast
wetted all my sleeves and made me so I'M
tidy"
He stoors forward and WHISPERS some
thing in her ear which l do not catch, but
which makes her smile and blush.
''Chut, chut! my Children" says Madame
from the kitchen door. "The English lady
sleeps yet and must not be disturbed. She
+