The pioneer express. [volume] (Pembina, Dakota [N.D.]) 1883-1928, 1883-11-23

The heatt may DO TOO fall OF moi
thoughts sometimee. ~ tho sn0ush may
be of soup. Both must be got rid Of.
but how? It is awkward.
Ihose spanks your mother gave you
must have hurt you, Hyaclnthe, y he said
with a faint sigh.
You must not call me Hvacinthe, -
she answered sighlng deeply; "but ]
own truly, mon ami, that the mere was
dreadful spanker." w.
They then looked at one another.
| Remember that this iB Partisan nov.
ell. not English. They had a right ia
look at one another.
"Alphonse," she said, "go! NY heart
can contain itself no longer. Leave ms!'i
;. Alphonse had raised his hand to her
Hips. The General, her husband stood
before them.
.Ha!" cried he, "a little conedy!"
and he laughed with the laugh Of the
Sllenus Of tho coulisses. IAN old friend; :
he said; "an old friend, Madame?"
there was q scornful smile upon the
young mans face. "Sbe is your wife .
he continued; ''she is somebody else's
wife. This is the and of Ftance; have
l not the right to love her?"
And Hyacinthe burst into tears. The
general glared>sternly at Alphonse; but
outside the dancing was going on;
tho heart may break, but the world must
whirl round. The Partisan appetite
for pleasure is Unsuitable.
"You say this to my face, monsieur
You say that YOU love my wife? You
dare to say that you love her? You tell
me that you will take her from me? You
laugh at mel You derde me? You
cay to mo, you are old?' And all this
In my own house?"
II do! Ido!"
'.Then MONSIEUR" said the general
with whitening glance, ~ wish you
good day. My house is at your disposal.
trust that you will pardon my alb.
sence."
There was dignity in the general as
he thus spake and left the room. 1t was
truly rarisian.
But Hyacinthe and Alphonse parted.
~ will not love you Alphonse," she
said. "tlie memory of the voice of the
good mere and OF the spanks still lovers
over me, and tells me that it would be
wrong. / will become a devotee, l will
attend mass. will give money to the
poor and 90 on pilgrimaHes,"
She fell OH the floor in a deep, dead
swo)n
After blowing his nose he dashed
wildly from the room, and in another
hour was on the desolate shores of Afri-
ca.
| 4.
It vas at Trouville, and young man
Vas being wheeled along IN chair.
Ills tare was pale. Yet he vas watch-
ed attentively by all the beauty of Paris
staying there.
'iPoor Captain Charrette; our own AL.
phonse," had said the Comtesse de
Char-a Banc, he is not long to stay
among us. Too gentle u spirit is his tor
this cold earth; he has been so wounded,
too, by the wicked Arabs. His arms are
broken and tied to his sides. Poor
youth, poor youth"
| And Hyacinthe would meet him as he
was wheeled along, and sweet and fair
women stood beside him and pitied
him.
And she wept.
But her husband saw her and smile
fitted across his thin lips,
Alphonse was resting in his chair in
remote corner OF the sea beach. No one
was near him aud he locked at the sea,
which spoke to him in silent tongue.
He heard q step upon the sand. Look
ing around he saw the General coming
toward him.
"You are well, my friend?" he asked
81 am not" said The young man; "my
arms are tied to my Sides"
care you sure of tllat?" said the Gem
eral. But what was that light in the old
mans eyes?
II sa ear 10 it," answered the young
man.
With wild laugh the General tore n
feather from his coat pocket. He ap.
preached the young man, placed it un-
der his nostlils and twiddled it about.
Leave OF! leave oft, and spare me-"
The man was fiend.
He was more.
He was husband!
This is a French novel, and the bus.
band must be wrong. e
SO he t~iddled the leather more and
more, and wild laughs and shrieks float
ed OIL the breeze.
But no :, one at TTouyille heard b them.
"Why do you weep?" said the Com
tesse de Char.a-Banc to Hyacinthe.
He is dead, my only love!'' she an.
swered and burst into tears.
The general kept his guilty secret Ia
the last.
"Oh! why should we love. and why
should other men have wives?"
Solve the problem.
Ha! =f.
Oh!
And Hyacinth lived on. She did not
die. No; your true woman does not die
of love, neither does your true Parisian
In the wood of Vraimont is shrine
By that shrine woman passes at mid.
day. She strews flowers upon that
shrine. "Oh, yes!
She murmurs, "Alphonsep
And the trees seem to whisper AL.
phonse. And the brooks babble AL.
ph"nse. And the cows low Alphonse.
And all is Alphonse.
Let US weep.
-Ronntlaho,it in Texas Sift;nvs I3l