The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1883-11-23
4 FRENCHLOV STORY.
Alphonso and Hyacinthe.

From the Texas sifti1gs.
Why do the flowers bloom in spring?
Why do the soft winds sigh? Why do
the birds sing?
The mysteries of nature are not told
to everybody, neither to me nor to you.
In Enquire Within for Everything"
you will find many things; but not that,
not by any means.
They sat under tree in the old forest
OF Vraimont.
Oh! how the birds did sing. How the
flowers did bloom! The sun shone down
on the pe easant m;kmaid 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 60 on with my story
Life is short:
They sat under tree. They were
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-
sweet, clear voice to be the washing of
the wafer on the pebbles of the
brook, or of the flannel petticoats
in the rude cottage Of the peas
ants.
"Alphonse," she said, II love you"
Then all the world was JOY TO that
young man. In the words of the great
Shakespeare it was liam" also. We
have no that word in French, but we can
borrow it from the false, cold English
when we wish it.
And then she said that she loved him
they arose and looked around the beau
tiiul temple of nature.
She was young Fresh from the pen
sion Yet she was wise, as are the
daughters of Paris. She had read
NJ. Zola's "Assommoir." She had
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 Hongroise. powdered
moustache upon those sweet lips, and
the pearl powder from her cheeks
1t was nature, and nature must
be right. Why so? We cannot tell,
ignorant one. Look in the diction.
ary.
"Let us walk home, dear Hyacinthe,"
sai0 Alphonse.
"There is not @ fiacre to be had" she
answered. "and if there were, YOU are
poor, and have no money to pay tor it,"
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
the COWS, seeing them, and seeing how
much they loved each other, frisked
gaily 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 home.
"Ah.' she said, what will the good
mere say? 1t is late. Alphonse She
will give me the spanks, and, oh, Al
phonse! for a young maidi is not sweet
to be spanked, and she sigheu deeply.
''But you will love me forever" he
asked.
IL will, core of my heart" she an
swered; and again she wiped some pearl
powder off as she clung to him.
They reached the gales Of the park of
NJ. lie Baron Sucque Absinthe.
"Wil the fates be good to us?" he
said.
''They will notw cried stern voice
and the mother of Hyaci stood be-
fore them.
She was one of the ancient regime,
was the Baroness. She had been beau
tv once; now she was old, and held a
cane in her hand. -''
- f.A, ~,
in the old familiar patois of the noun
in her youth, and had met the wealth
and rank of Angleterre, and mixed with
them, calm, cold people though they
were
"To-night," she almost sbrieked' "you
marry the aged Tarenton!" and she tore
her daughter away.
Alphonss stood outside the park and
Listened to the shrill screams OF the un-
happy one. Then he went back to Paris
and Joined his regiment, and departed
for Algiers.
So Closes the first chapter of their
Young lives. She was spanked.
He went away. Love can be divided
sometimes, and you can split your dish
es at the restaurant Of Paris. We know
the world.
Oh! yes.
It was the salon of Nine. de Tarenton
The spirit of Paris was there. What
ia the spirit of fParis?-Absinthe?
No, that is a sort of liquid cordial-or
something of she kind.
The spirit of Paris is wit and sweet
ness, and genteel compliment and rail
cry. -
neglected her guests, and was sitting
alone. She was the fine woman, the
fine woman to perfection. The exotic
of the salon, perhaps. A fower--an
azalea, if you will. But no matter.
There was look Of melancholy on
her face. There had been high words
with the baron that day.
..That bill of Worth's, madame" he
had said. sis more than on. million five
hundred thousand francs!"