The pioneer express. [volume] (Pembina, Dakota [N.D.]) 1883-1928, 1883-11-23
"A FRENCH HLoyE STORY.
Alphonso and Hyacinthe.


From the Texas sifti1gs.
Why do the flowers bloom in spring?
Why do the soft winds sigh? Why dc
the birds sin,?
The mysteries of nature are not told
e everybody, neither to me nor to you.
In Enquire Within for Everything,' u
you will find many things; but not that
not By any means.
They sat under . tree in the old forest
Of Vraimont. M
Oh!how the birds did sing! How the
flowers did bloom! The sun shone dowr
on the p. asant nilkmaid and the cheer.
ful COW. And the milkmaid smiled, and
the COW kicked out and sent the milk.
maid on her back, all among the dainty
daisies. -
We have much to be thankful for,
that nature thus makes us happy.
Eh, bieu! let me go on with my story
Lie is short:
They sat under a tree. They we're
young, and their lips met. Why should
they not have done SO? No one was
looking, and the sweet, shy daisies could
never have had it in their hearts to up,
braid them.
II love you, Alphonse," said Hya.
cynthe. One would have fancied that
sweet, clear voice to be the washing ol
tho wafer on the pebbles of The
brook, or Of the flannel petticoats
in the rude cottage of the peas.
ants.
"Alphonse," she said, 81 love you."
Then all the world wus Joy 10 that
young man. In the words of tho great
Shakespeare it was lam" also. We
have no that word in French, but we can
borrow it from the false, cold English
|ksYbSns VI visit 1t. = g 81.
And then she said 4 that size loved him
they arose and looked around the beau.
tiful temple of nature.
She was young. Fresh from the pen.
sion. Yet she was wise, rs are the
daughters of Paris. She had read
NJ. Zola's "Assommoir." She bad
partly tasted what life was, this shy
maiden.
"Hyacinthe." he faltered out, tremb.
ling with passion, "you are my life, my
love, my heart, my joy!"
And again they kissed. And he left
the mark of his Honeroise. powdered
moustarhe upon those sweet lips, and
the pearl powder from her cheeks
Was transferred to his classic chin.
1t was nature, and nature must
be right. Why so? We cannot tell.
ignorant one. Look in the diction.
"Let US walk home, dear Hyacinthe, !"
SAID Alphonse.
"There is not q fiacre to be had" she
answered, "and If there were, you are
poor, and have no money to pay for )"
and she burst into tears and laid her
heal on his shoulder. So they wan
dered through the woods, did these
young ones. And the birds sang. And
tie COWS, seeing them, and seeing how
much. they loved each. other, frisked
gaiiy over the sward and butted the
gardes champetres into the bitches.
And the lark singing in the skies sang
more loudly.
But they had not thought of homie.
"Ah!' she said, 'twhat will the good
mere say? 1t is late. Alphonse. She
will give me the spanks, and, oh, Al
phonse! for young maidi is not sweet
to be spanked" and she sigheL deeply.
"But you will love me forever" he
asked.
II will, core of my hearth she an.
swered; and again she wiped some pearl
powder off as she clung to him.
They reached the gates of the park of
NJ. le Baron Suclue Absinthe.
"Will the fates be good to us2" he
said.
"They will not!m cried stern voice
and the mother of Hyacinthe stood be-
fore them.
She was one of the ancient regime,
was the Baroness. She had been a beau
ty once; now she was old, and held a
cane in her hand.
81 will fetch you un oner," she said in
in the old familiar patois Of the noun.
tains of Boulogne, where she had dwelt
in her youth, and had met the wealth
and rank of Angleterre, and mixed with
them, calm, cold people though they
were
Tonight" she almost sbrieked' "yor
marry the aged Tarenton!" and she tore
her daughter away.
AlPhonss stood outside the park and
listened to tile shrill screams OF the un
happy one. Then lie went back 10 Pari.
and joined bis regiment, and departed
for Algiers. j
So closes the first chapter of theil
young lives. She was spanked.
He went away. Love can be dividee
sometimes, aud you can split your dish
es at the restaurant of Paris. We know
the world.
"a - s. 10 s.
1t was the salon of Nine. de Tarenton
The spirit Of Paris was there. Wha
is the spirit of Paris?-Absinthe?
No, that is sort of liquid cordial-ol
something of she kind.
The spirit of Paris is wit and sweet
ness, and genteel compliment and rail
cry.
Madame de Tarenton had somewha
neglected her guests, and was eittin
alone. She was the fine woman, th,
fine woman to perfection. The exoti
of the salon, perhaps. A fiower-ai
azalea, il you will. But no matter:
There wasa look Of melancholy o.
her face. There had been high word
with the baron that day.
"That bill of Worth's, madame" h,
had said, sis more than on: million fiy'
hundred thousand francs!"
ga woman cannot dress in Paris I'll
der one hundred thousand francs
month, Would you have me- 60 as
| begyar, or would you have me wear in In
salJn the bathing costume Of Erou Vile?
and she laughed mocking laugh.
A husband is always in the way VI
less there is bill to be paid. Ha! Ii,
Who are there in the whole world lik
the Parisians?
Yet che had dressed aud dined an
had received.
A woman must conceal her care ill