The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1882-04-19
RACE FOR A WIFE.
By JULES cLA2ETiE.

Gle one udf Wntll VIC MCAC t<AihiAs
of the hazards oflife, more astonish
ing and more romantic hundred
times than the inventions OF fiction
He had seen this little drama devel
op itself, he still knew the actors in
ii. IL will present you," he said
to me, "and We will go together to
Mezieres, where We shall find one o.
the heroes of this narrative still liv-
ing. All the romances have moi
been written the most marvellous
have still to be published. And
who knows how many romances
each one of us takes away with him
profoundly buried in the secrecy
of his conscience, painfully sinoth'
cred under the tombstone ?" Eu.
gene Decary did not know how true
his words were. and the story Of
Jean Chevancheux was the last that
he told me. 1t is he who will tel
YOU he story.
Nv father used to live at Rethel
in the high street, in house car
still see before my eyes with its
slate roof and projecting beams, q
hospitable house il ever there was
one. Poor folks knew the way to it
They entered with their wallet emp
ty and went away with it full. We
were all seated one night atthe fire
side; my father was smoking hi:
pipe and watching the fire burn, my
mother was ironing, and | was read
ing. when we heard a noise at the
door, and saw enter q boy with
frightened looks.
what is the matter 2"
at is soldier very tired who has
Just fallen exhausted before The
door"
NV father loved soldiers. HI
rose brusquely, ran out, and there
he was, before / had taken q step
coming in again with young sol.
dier leaning upon him or rather my
father had taken him up and was
carrying him like sack of corn.
My mother hastened to draw the
big armchair up to the fire. The
soldier was made to sit or rather to
recline in it, and my father said
looking at the poor fellow:
rs it possible Walking in that
state y
The fact is that the soldier was
very thin and pale, his hair fat
tened on his forehead, the veins o.
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 never
theless sweating big drops as lift had
been dog-days. He must have hads
long tramp; his shoes were in shreds
you could see where the stones
had torn the leather; the left
foot was bleeding. The soldier
did not move but remained in the
armchair with his head thrown
back, his eyes half open, and white
rs sheet.
My mother had already put some
soup on the fire and pan full of
wine.
"Bah," said my father, "the first
thing to be looked after is the feetp
And kneeling down, he bgan te
tear and cut away the shreds Of
leather. The soldiers feet, all swol.
len and full of blisters, looked like
the feet of cords, which we see in
the pictures of the Spanish paint
ers.
My father dipped his handker
chief in vinegar and washed the
wounds.
"You," he said to me, "make som,
lint
And / began to tear up some ole
linen that my mother had taker
ont of the big cupboard.
Meanwhile the soldier had come
TO himself. He looked at us, at my
father, my mother and myself, and
the two or three neighbors who hac
come in one after the other. Hi,
wandering eyes seemed to interro
gate everything. 1t was no longel
the road, the stones, thegreat desert
cd woods that he saw before him
but a gray room, with a ceiling o.
shining oak, a cloth on the table, ;
knife and fork laid. and brown
earthenware soup-bowl emitting 8
savory smell OF cabbage soup.
Then he raised himself up, lean
ing on the arms of the chair, ant
said to my father, with confused
emotion
"Ah. monsieur. But You do no
know me :"
"Ah well that does not matter
we will become acquainted a
table"
We had ;lready dined, but m,
father wished to bear the soldie
company. He sat down to otable op
posite him. as it were brooding owe
him, and looking at the regimenta
buttons that shone on his cloak
The soldier ate, and heartily; m,
mother served him. Ny father tool
charge of the wine, and the glasse
did not long remain empty.
"Well," said my father suddenly
pointing to the tin box that the sol
dier carried slung on a cord, "yo,
have finished your time, for there j
your congo. Then why do you g
and kill yourself by toiling alon.
the highway? l see how the matte
stands. You have no money to pa,
for the diligence ?"
"I?" replied the soldier. II hav
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 not II
Il understand said my father
who did not understand at all
Then he asked for another glass o
wine.
When the meal was over, the sol
dier tried to walk. He tottered, nj
tered a asmothered cry, and fell bacl
into the chair. l then saw a tear il
bis eye. He was q young man rath
er thin, but nervous. dark and Will
an energetic look. He was not
man to shed a tear for little, ant
that tear puzzled me.