The Red Cloud chief., 1881-05-12
A RACE FOR A WIFE.

4 RACE FOk \ WIFE.
NV father used to live at Rethel. in
the high street, in n house l can still
see before my eyes with its slate roof
and projecting beams. a hospitable
house if eve there was one. Poor
folks knew the way TO it. They entered
with their wallet empty and went away
with it full. We were all seated one
night AT the fireside; my father was
smoking his pipe and watching the fire
burn, my mother was ironing and was
reading. when we heard a noise at the
door. and saw enter a boy with fright
ened looks.
.'What is the matter?"
at is a soldier very tired who has
just fallen exhausted before the door"
MY father loved soldiers. He rose
brusgucly, ran out, and there he was,
before had taken a step, coming in
again with a young soldier leaning upon
him, or, rather, nv father had taken
him up and was carrying him like sack
of corn.
NV father fastened 10 draw the big
armchair up 10 the fire. The soldier
was made to sit or rather to recline in
il, and my father said, looking at the
poor fellow:
AS it possible. Walking in that
stateI'
The fact is that the soldier was very
thin and pale, his hair flattened on his
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 begin
ming to grow fresh, but the poor fellow
was. nevertheless. sweating bigdrops as
if it had been dog DAYS. He must have
had n long tramp; his shoes were in
shredS; you could see where the stones
had torn the leather; the left o was
bleeding. The soldier did not move
} but remained in the arm chair with his
head thrown back, his eyes half open
and white as a sheet.
NV mother had already put somes soup
on the fire and a pan full of wine.
Bah" said NV father. 1.-The first
thing to be looked after is the feet"
And kneeling down he began TO tear
and cut awav the shredS of leather.
The soldiers feet, all swollen and full
of blisters. looked like the feet of the
martyrs. swollen with pain and wealed
by hard cords, which we see in the pict-
ures of the Spanish painters.
My father dipped his handkerchief in
vinegar and washed the wounds.
You" he sand to me-, ''make some
lint"
And | began to tear up some old linen
that nv mother had taken out of the
big cupboard.
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 i'm one
after the other. His wandering ewes
seemed to interrogate everything. 1t
was no longer the road. the stones. the
great deserted woods that he saw be-
fore him, but a gay room with a ceiling
of shining oak, a cloth on the table. a
knife and fork laid and a brown earth
enware s%oup-bowl emitting a sayory
smell of cabbage soup.
Then he raised himself mp, leaning on
the arms of the chair, and said to my
father, with confused emotion:
"Ah. monsieur! But you do not
know mer'
"Ah! well, that does not matter; we
viii become acquainted at table"
4 We had already dined. but my father
wished to bear the soldier company.
He sat down to table opposite him. as
it were brooding over him. and looking
at the regimental buttons that shOne on
his cloak. The soldier ate, and ate
heartily; my mother served him. NV
father took charge of the wine. and the
, glass did not long remain empty.
: WELL" said my father, suddenly.
mounting to the tin box that the soldier
carried slung on a cord, ''you have
finished YOUR time, for there is Your
conpe. Then why do you GO and kill
Yourself BY toiling along the highway?
/ see how the matter stands. You have
no money t o pay for the diligence?"
..I?' replied the soldier. II have
received nv pay and my bounty, and
4 nv mother had sent me enough to pay
for a place in the coupe, if 4 had liked,
but / could not"
Il understand" said my father, who
did not understand at all. Then he
asked for another bottle of wine.
When the meal was ove the soldier
tried 20 walk. He tottered. uttered
asmothered cry and fell back into the
chair. l then saw a tear in his eye. 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.
..Ah," he said with a movement in
which there was a little anger and a
rood deal of grief, 81 shall not be
able to walk until tomorrow morning!'
WALK" cried my mother, terri
fed.
The soldier shook his head.
..You don't know, you; l must"
1t was a VOW.
In our Ardennes those primitive
souls have respect and faith. l saw
nv father look at the young man in the
face without establishment and with
mute interrogation.
YES" said the soldier, Il will tell
YOU the whole story. You, have, per-
haps, saved my life; fought, a~tleast. to
tell YOU who 1 am. My name is Jean
Theyaueheaux, and my father is a
Wood-snlitter at Mezieres. He is an
honest man, like you, Monsieur. Seven
wears ago, when l drew for the con-
scription, 1 was madly in love with
Marguerite Servan, a good hearty girl
and a pretty one 1 had already asked
her in marriage, and her father bad