Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1882-09-28
&*. Storg Teller.
A RACE FOR A WIFE.
BY JULES CLARETIE.

have this story from friend who was
dear to me. He related it to me one day when
we were talking of the hazards Of life, more
astonishing far than the inventions of fiction.
He had seen this little drama develope ltsef,
he still knew the actors in it. II will present
you,,' he said to me, land we will go together
to Mezieres, where we shall find one of the
heroes of this narrative still living. All the
romances have not yet 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
secrecy of his conscience, painfully smothered
under the tombstone p" Eugene Decary did
not know how true his words were, and the
story Of Jean Chevaucheux was the last that ne
told me. 1t is he who will tell you the story.
NV father used to live at Rethel, in the high
street. in q house can still see before my eyes
with its slate roof and projecting beams, hos
pitable house ifever there was one. Poor folks
knew the way to it. They entered with their 1
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 barn, my mother was ironing, and was
reading. when we heard noise at the door,
and saw boy enter with frightened looks.
'tWhat is the matter 20
ssIt is soldier very tired who has just fall
en- exhausted before the uOOr."
Ny father loved soldiers. He rose brusqe.
ly, ran out, and there he was, before had
taken step, coming in again with young
soldier leaning upon him, or rather my father
had taken him up and was carrying MIN
like sack of corn.
Nv mother fastened to draw the big arm
chair to the fire. The soldier was made to sit,
or rather recline in it, and my father SAID,
looking at the poor fellow:
ssIt is possible Walking in that state %
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 beginning to grow fresh, put tne poor poor
fellow was nevertheless sweating big drops
as if it had been dog-days. He must have had
a long tramp; his shoes were in shreds; you
could see where the stones had torn the leath-
er: the left foot 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 some soup on
the fire and pan of wine.
ssBah," said my father, ''the first thing TO
be looked after is the feet!''
And kneeling down, he began to tear and
cut away the shreds of leather. The soldier s
", oA1SeSASt
like the feet of the martyrs, swollen with pain,
and wealed by hard cords, which we see IN the
pictures of the Spanish painters.
MY father dipped his handkerchief IN vlne-
gar and washed the wounds.
HYou, - he said to me, ''make some lint.
. And began to tear up some old 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; my mother ana
myself, and the two or three neghbors who
had come in one after the other His wander
ing eyes seemed to interrogate everything. 1t
was no longer the road, the stones, the great
deserted woods that he saw before hfnr,,- But
CAV room, with ceiling of shining oak, a
cloth on the table, knife and fork laid, and
a brown earthenware soup bowl emitting 4
savory smell of cabbage soup.
Then he raised himself up, leaning on the
arms of the chair, and said to my father, with
confused emotion:
"Ah! monsieur! But you do not know
mel"
sAh! well that does not matter we will
become acquainted at the table,"
we have already dined, but my father wish
ed to bear the soldier company. He sat down
to table opposite him, as it were brooding
over him, and looking at the regimental but
tons that shone on his cloak. The soldier,
ate, and ate heartily my mother served him.
Ny father took charge Of the wine, and the
glasses did not long remain empty.
''Well," said my father suddenly, pointing
to the tin box that the soldier carried slung
on cord, ''you have finished your time, for
there is your congo. Then why do you 60
and kill yourself by toiling along the high
wayp 1 see how the matter stands. You
have no money to pay for the diligence ?"
~" replied the soldier. 81 have received
my pay and my bounty, and my mother had
sent me enough to pay for place in the coupe,
if I had liked. But could not"
II 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 tired
to walk He tottered, uttered a smothered
cry, and fell back into the chair. / then saw
tear in his eye He was young man, rather
thin, but nervous, dark, and with an energet-
ic look. He was not a man to shed tear Tor
little, and that tear puzzled me.
"Ah," he said, with movement in which
there was a little anger and a good deal of
grief; II shall not be able to walk until to-
morrow morningn'
'Walk !" cried my mother, terrified.
The soldier shook his head.
"You don't know, tell you, must
It was a VOW.
In our ArdenneS those primitive SOUS
have respect and faith. l saw my father look
at the young man in the face without aston
ishment, and with mute Interrogation.
eyes" said the soldier, 81 will tell you the
whole story. You have, perhaps, saved my
life &; ought at least tell you who am. My
name is Jean ChevaucheuX, and my father is
wood-splitter at Mezleres. Seven years ago,
when drew for the conscription, l was mad
ly in love with Marguerite Servan, a good
hearty girl and pretty one. l 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 did
Pierre PuyiOuX is a man of my age, who car
ried his heart in his hand, as the saying is, gay
and well-looking Well, farmer Servan saiC
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 dausll
ter. L will ask her.
marguerite, when asked, said that sht
would gladly consent to be my wife, But sht
said the same when they talked to her abou
Puvioux. She loved both of us, one as muci
as the other she hesitated, she did not dare
to decide. But still she could not marry botl
of us. =, ~.
ssTime went on. When the time for tn
conScriptiOn came we drew lots, PuVloul
and I, on the same day. had number ant
he had number I, and 80 we both of us becam
soldiers, For a moment l was in state o
great fright, l confess. People at Meziere
said that Puvioux had rich aunt, and tina
she would buy him off. If Puvioux did no
ioin the army, Puvioux would marry Marguer
ite. and I. knowing that Ishould be obliged t.
90. for was poor, thought already hear
the fiddler at the wedding, rendlng my ear