The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1884-07-18
Monsieur lie Pasteur.
CHAPTER I.

Service was over. The last hvmn had
deem sung with all the Vlg0r or noun
tain lungs; the last wooden shoe had
clattered down the paved aisle; the last
voice had died away on the still, pine
scented air, and then the minister lift
ion of the high, narrow pulpit, and
came slowly down the steps into the
church.
Outside, among the hills, the sun
shine lay in belts from peak to peak,
and the Sabbath stiffness was unkroken
save for the hum of bees or the far-oH.
slumberous twitterings Of birds; but the
four whitewashed walls of the ugliest
building in the whole canton held only
STRAIGHTFORWARD pine-woOd pews, home
ly and inartistic, and square, ill-fitting
windows that dinmed the daylight
without owning the power to exclude
chill draughts Of keen Northeasters.
The minister sighed as he lifted his
hat off the little deal table fronting the
pulpit, and went slowly out into the
sunshine. Perhaps the unloveliness of
his surroundings forced itself with
scarcely recogni7ed intruslveness on his
notice; perhaps his thoughts, following
his heart, had escaped his control, and
were far away.
On the narrow path between the
patches of scanty turf belonging to the
still church-yard among the pines the
old sexton paced slowly, summing HIM
self in sabbatical solemnity.
You are waiting to lock up, Cartonp"
Eyes, SIR"
"There was very good congregation,
to-day"
ayes, SIR"
ut is lovely weather even for Au-
gust"
"Yes. indeed, SIR"
Having uttered the familiar words of
salutation which, week in. week out,
scarcely varied. the minister passed on
between the Lowry graves that lay to
either side Of him, and approached tho
high road.
lie Was IL man of seven or eight and
twenty, or thereahOuts. slight. dark,
delicate-looking. with an indefnable
something about him speaking of Gull
ture and Scholarships something odd
and out of place in the remote little
parish on the upper ranges Of the habi-.
table Alps, where a score or two OF
peasants loved him and called him IN.
le PaSteur." Of co Srse they did not un.
derstand him, but thorough comprehen-
sion is not an essential of reverence,
and they understood enough to know
that he was very wise and learned, and
so far above them that he must be very
close to heaven.
Chased by the unusual warmth of that
Summer day, the mists had shrunk and
and shriveled into obscure corners Of the
valley. In the higher air a score of
larks caroled joyously; from the neg
lected turf on the quiet graves the
bright-eyed daisies raised their innocent
faces smilingly.
Nature was fair there for once, and
yet he shivered as he looked around
him. Did not even the beauty speak
of loss, and isolation, and death?
"You have kept me here so long! 1
thought you were never coming"
. .. you wait for me?"
"How good of you! Inever thought
of that"
He had lifted his hat hurriedly, aud
was standing bare-headed before the
girl who had addressed him.
I'VE shall part for good so soon, and
you have avoided us so much OF late,
that must make occasions Of seeing
YOU"
"You are very kind"
'Kind to myself, yes. Do you think
I am so little grateful as to owe you all
l do without-loving you somewhat in
returnp"
Loving himl She had said the word
quite simply, translating into her sweet,
hesitating French, yet he quivered as
needlessly and stupidity as though he
had misunderstood.
He muttered something in his throat,
not looking at her, but at the ghostly
mists in the valley.
do you know why waited for you
here?" she went on. looking at him
with mingled laughter and sorrow in
her sweet blue English eyes. Because
it was here met you first, and here it
seems fitting somehow to talk with you
last when l am so sorry. 1t is nearly
year since we came here, mother and /,
and took possession of you, because we
were strangers, and you were the only
civilized inhabitant in our newly-dis-
kind-do you remember? l knew at
once that l should like you, though L
did not guess how dear everything here
would grow"
He could not speak. lie was leaning
on the rustic gate, with his haggard
face resting on his hand and his eyes
averted.
"And you took us to the sweet old
chateau-do you remember?-and told
us you knew Madame la Baronne, and
that she would let us have her house
while she was in Italy. And do you re-
member how anxious mother was that
you should be quite sure we were not
adventuresses, and how she referred
you to the Ambassador at Berne, and
how you set all explanation aside with
the perfect courtesy that is only learn
ed in the schools of France?"
II remember something of all this"
''But am sure you don't remember
all the pleasure you gave; how you used
to read to us by the fire and play the
organ to us in the old hall, and teach us
to forget all the JOY and pain of Eng
land" -
"Don't!"
He raised his hand with gesture as
though he would avert a blow. And
the vague sadness in his face had ex-
pressed itself ut last, and it was pain.
How cruel she was in her sweet kind
ness, how cruel to remind him of all he
had gained, of all he was soon to lose!
All, those dear dead days in which she
had been all the world to him, those
long bright evenings in the old, shad-
owy, fragrant rooms of the castle, amid
the mellow lights of the wide hearth
n Al