Connecticut western news., 1884-10-08
The Mute.
A STRANGE STORY.

"Bah the peasants r exclaimed Charles. "Have nothing to do with them. During the war they treated the PruSsians better than they treated US. The sharpsllooters hated them worse than they hated the plague.
 "You are wrong, my good fellow," said Pierre Nerot, who was leaning against the mantel.
 "Ah you know better than I ?" asked Charles.
 "Yes. An occasion arose recently which proved to me that during the terrible year true French hearts throbbed under the blouse as well as under the uniform
 There were eight or ten members of the circle grouped about Pierre Nerot.
 "A story l" they all cried.
 ''Last summer," said Nerot, II was with an old college friend, Dubreul, who had established himself as physi- elan at his home in little place in the Voeges. We had risen from the table one day and were about to go for walk in the neighboring wood. Dabreuil had lighted his pipe and my cigar, and we were already on the steps when the sound of footsteps made us turn our heads. There is the postman,' said my companion. Wait for me second. I have letter to give him. I left it up stairs on my bureau Saying this he re-entered the house.
 ''I looked at the new conner. He was 8 young man of twenty-six or twenty seven years, apparently of pleasant yet energetic disposition, with an open countenence and bright glance. When he saw me he inclined his head slightly in salutation. 'Ah,' I said to myself, this is not garrulous person. He does not even say good-day.' Then address ing him, said:-
 cit IS hard work, is it not, running about in such warm weather2'
 He nodded his head in assent. An, thought, he does not know how to speak. The young man read my surprise in my looks. He smiled, somewhat sadly, and then, putting two fingers to his lips, he shook his head. This time l under stood.
 " You are dumb, my poor fellow? ? said.
 'At this moment Dubreuil returned with his letter in his hand. He had heard my question.
 ".Yes, he said, he is dumb, pool Jean Barrot. But that does not pre- vent him from performing his duties we'll, since he can read and write and can hear all that is said to him.
 "'Then he was not born dumb, as he is Dot deaf r
 No, he was not born dumb
 "'Did he become so by accident ?
 "'Accident is, perhaps, not the right word. Is it, JeanP'
 "The young man smiled in an embar. rassed manner. He extended his hand for the letter which Dubreu1l held. The latter laughed.
 "Ah, my boy, that annoys you. You know l am going to tell your story, ant you do not wish to remain to hear it Very well, I will not detain you. vii not tell it till you have gone.
 "And Dubreuil, giving him the letter pressed his hand warmly.
 'The young man saluted us, turned his back and departed with long strides Then DubreuiI took my arm and told m the following story, as he led me towar the wood whose verdure seemed to slum Der in the white light of the Angus sun.
 Jean Barrot, he informed me, wa fifteen years old little before the out break of the war His father, alread old, lived with his two sons in an ol . house in the corner of the field. Jea twas the younger of the brothers, Lou being tan years his senior. Jean bein