The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1881-04-06
A RACE FOR A WIFE.
TFrom the French of Jules claretie.l

beams, ahospitable house, If ever there was
one Poor folks knew the way to it. They
entered with their wallet empty and Eent
away with ii full. We were all seated one
night at the fireside; my father was smok-
ing his pipe and watching the fire burn, my
mother was ironing and 1 was reading
when we heard q noise at the door, and saw
enter boy with frightened looks
''What is the matter?''
1t is a soldier very tired who tas Just
fallen exhausted before the door,"
My father loved soldiers he rose
brusquely, ran out and there he wes, before
/ had taken a step, coming in again with 4
young soldier leaning upen him, or, rather,
my father had taken him up and was carry
ing him like a sack of corn.
Ny mother FASTENED DO draw the big arm
chair up to the FIRE The soldier was made
to sit, or rather 10 recline mat. and my
father said, looking at the poor fellow:
SIS it possibleI Walking in that staten'
The fact is that the soldier was very thin
and pale, his hair fattened on dis forehead,
the veins of his Temples big as your little
finger, his face black with dust. We were
then in the month OF October, and the
weather was beginning to grow fresh, but
the poor fellow was, nevertheless, sweating
big drops as if it had been dog days. He
must have had long tramp; his shoes were
in shreds; you could see where the stones
had torn the leather the left foot was bleed
ing The soldier did not move but re
manned in the srRt-chair with his head
thrown back, his eyes half open and white
as a sheet.
Ny mother had already put some soup on
the fire and q pan fall of VIM.
Bah" said my father, 1.-The frstthing to
be looked after is the feet T"
And kneeling down he began to tear and
cut away the Shreds of heather. The sol
dier's feet, all swollen and full of blisters,
looked like the feet OF the martyrs, swollen
with pain and weSled by hard cortls, which
we see in the pictures of the Spanish paint
ers.
Ny father dipped his handkerchief in vim
egar and washed the wounds
"YOu," he said TO me, make sOae lint"
And began to tear up sOmeOld linen that
my mother had taken out of the big cup
board.
Meanwhile the soldier had come to himself.
He looked at us, at my father, mother and
myself, and the two or three neighbors who
had come in one after the other. His wan
dering eyes seemed to interrOgate every
thing. 1t was no longer the road, thestones
the great deserted woods that he saw before
him, but gay room, with ceiling of shin
ing oak, a cloth on the table, a knife and
fork laid, and brown earthenware soup
bowl emitting savory smell OF cabbage
soup.
Then he raised himself up, leaning on the
arms of the chair and said tor ny father, with
confused emotion:
"Ahl monsieur But you do not know
mei''
"Ahl well that does not matter; We will
become acquainted at table"
We had already dined, but nay father
wished to bear the soldier company. He sat,
down to table opposite him, as it were brood
ing over him, and looking at the regimental
buttons that shone on his cloak. The sol
der ate and ate heartily; my mother served
him. Ny father took charge of the wine,
and the glass did not long remain empty.
We'll, said my father, suddenly, point
ing to the tin box that the soldier carried
slung on a cord, lyon have finished your
time, for there is your congo. Then why
do you go and kill yourself by tOiling along
the highway? l see how the matter stands.
You have no money to pay for the dill
gence?r
'.I?'i replied the soldier. II have received
my pay and my bounty, and my mother
had sent me enough to pay for place in the
coupe if had liked. But / could notl'
IL understand" said my father, who did
not understand at all. Then he asked for
another bottle of wine.
When the meal was over the soldier tried
to walk. He tOttered, uttered q smOthered
cry and fell back into the chair. i then saw
tear in his eve. He was a young man,
rather thin, but nervous, dark and with an
energetic look. He was not a man to shed a
tear for a little and that tear puzzled me-
All" he said with a mOyementin-Y which
there was little anger and good deal of
grief, 81 shall not be able to walk until to-
morrow mOrningi"
Walk cried my mother, terrified.
The soldier shook his head.
You don't know, you; l must"
1t was a VOW.
In our Ardennes these primitive souls
have respect and faith. / saw my father
look at the young man in the face without
astonishment and with mute interrogation.
Eyes" said the soldier, II will tell you
the whole story. You have, perhaps, saved
my life; ought at least, to tell you who /
am. NY name is Jean Chevaucheux, and
my father is a wood splitter at Mezieres He
is an honest man, like you, monsieur. Seven
years ago, when drew for the CONSUMPTION,
/ was madly in love with Marguerite
Servan, good hearty girl and pretty one.
had already asked her in marriage and
her father had not said no; but, you see,
Pierre Puvioux had asked her in marriage
at the same time that / did. Pierre Pu-
vioux is a man of my age, who carries his
heart in his hand, as the saying is, gay and
well-looking. / ought to have detested
him, and he has remained my friend?
Well, Father Servan said to me as he held
out his hand:
"'You are worthy to be my son-in.law.
my lad; but first of all you must please my
daughter. / will ask her.
Marguerite when asked, said that she
would gladly consent to be my wife. But
she said the same when they talked to her
about PuviOux. She loved both of us, one
as much as the other; she hesitated, she did
not dare to decide But she could not marry
both of US.
'Time went on. When the time of the
consumption came we drew lots, Puvioux
and /, on the same day. / had number
three and he had number seven. and so we
both OF us became soldiers. For a moment
L was in a state of great fright, confess.
People at Mezieres said that Puvioux had
rich aunt, and that she would buy him off.
If Puvioux did not join the army, Puvioux
would marry Marguerite, and /, knowing
that / should be obliged to go. for was
poor-I thought already heard the fiddler
at the wedding, rending my ears and my
heart.
81 must tell you that Marguerite Servan
has not her equal. If lost her now, after
having waited seven years for her, upon my
honor, think should blow out my brainsl
Luckily. Pierre Puvioux was not bought
off. His aunt died, leaving debts instead of
a fortune. He had not penny any more
than / had! We were obliged to shoulder
our guns, and we were expected on our way
bill every moment. One night Father Ser
van took US each by the arm and led us to
an inn, and this is what he sale to us as we
emptied bottle of Moselle wine:
MY boys, you are good and honest Ar