Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1885-09-26


du disappeared. she shook her head
sadly and muttered @Panvre enfant
pauvre enfantlg Then the milk-cart
came up and her nominations were in
terrupted.
AS he walked an the houses were
more scattered. Open lots and dilapi,
dated fences became more frequent
!, The city lay behind him and the
:. course OF the street became more diff
cult to follow. Then he came to the
open commons, and he stopped under
tree to rest. The grass looked so
> cool and green, and the landscape SO
different from the city. He lay down
at iull length, and, resting his chin in
his hands, gazed out at the level plain
as one who had not seen the fields for
many day. The live oaks of the park
we're to him the chestnut trees in the
park at Goberoy, the COWS the same he
knew as Il boy, and lore mulberry
recalled those lofty trees that over
looked the walls OF the convent at home.
The cool breeze that came briskly over
the common refreshed him, and us no
one was near, he hummed in deli
cate falsetto, "Ma Normandie." There
was touch of sadness in the voice, a
tremulous quaver IN some OF the notes
that indicated weakness on the part OF
the singer, but with q rub OF his sleeve
across his eye, he stood up and started
again on his walk.
He inquired his way from time to
time, and receiving answers in his
own language, he felt quite ut home.
1t is true, the men he met driving
COWS in the fields spoke the tongue OF
the lower provinces, away down in
Gascony, yet they were French, and
that warmed his heart toward them.
He was now far out from the city, and
looking back he could see the spires
of the churches, the smoke of the fac
tories, and here and there the tall
masts of the vessels in the great river.
As he went along he talked to the cows.
as he used to do when boy. He
called them by the names OF his
fathers herd. The he fell to singing
again. Why should not he be happy
The years OF hardship, OF toll, Of wait
ing were over. lie was about to reach
the realization OF his ife's dream. All
what voice she had in those old days
And those eyes-large, dreamy, dark
ones-whose gaze made one tremble
with delight.
"Ah! chere," he whispered to him
SELF, "you do not know how near | am
to YOU"
At last he reached the park, and was
astonished at the size OF the oaks.
They were larger than the big chest
nut at home. He looked down the
road for the little house beside the |
dairy. A surly-looking man OH horse
back told him there was such house !
further down. lie would find Nine |
Pierrot, who lived there, at home, and |
the man rode on.
He hurried toward the place. The |
house was small, OF three rooms only. |
with u garden in front and a horseshoe
nailed to the step to keep witches away.
A small dog was sleeping OH the steps.
He knocked on the door with his
stick, and looked around. Everything
was so quiet, the silence weighed upon
him. From the distance he could |
hear the lowing OF the cattle and the
Growing of the cocks, but around him
everything was still, save the monotone
of the cieadse. The pendant moss of
the great oaks swung TO and fro in the
breeze, but its motion was noiseless.
He did not like the feeling that came
over him. And yet was not this the
brightest day OF his life?
"Entrez" came from within.
No more doubts now. No more
weary hours of waiting. That voice in
a million he would recognize. 1t was
the voice of the little girl under the
mulberries IN Normandy. The cicad8
in the oaks overhead sung a livelier
tune. The moses danced to a gayer
rhythm in the breeze.
lie opened the door. There before,
him stood the owner of the voice. In
her hand she held punches of crisp
lettuce, whose apple-green color re-
hected a brighter light over her face.
Her jet black hair was twisted into
knot on the back of her head, leaving
bare the brow, which was low and
broad. She was plainly dressed, but
there was something i'll her quiet man
ner and eomely lace that left the inn
preston that her position was new to
her
When she saw the young man with
the blouse she was surprised, startled,
but she did not scream. AS rule,
the most tempestuous moments OF Il
woman's life, the climaxes OF her fate,
are met with silence and compressed
lips. The strongest billows OF emotion
are not capped with foam.
There Was Il moment OF silence, ami
then the stranger rushed toward the
pale woman. "Mon Ange Celestine."
4 motion OF her hand kept him back.
She withdrew to the other side OF IL
table that stood in the middle OF the
floor, covered with fresh vegetables.
lie impetuously advanced, but she
held him off with look, and in a low
voice said "Too late!" He stood look
my at her as one i'll dream. lie did
not speak. He did not move. He was
repeating her words over and over
again. The lustre seemed to have left
his eyes, and his hands, tanned and
ruughened with work, became so white
the linger nails seemed purplish by
contrast.
At length he asked in Il calm voice,
what do you mean, Celestine p
81 am married"
"Yes?"
at WAS two months ago"
"And you forgot me then p
The woman looked out of the win {
dow across the green commons. A
man on Il little sOrrel pony was there
amongst the COWS. She sees the lump
of mulberry trees in the distance, and
she WAS again on the lane leading
from Goberoy, in Normandy. A veil
of mist or tears, which was it? OBJ
scured the vision She turned to her
visitor saying, II did not hear from
you for SO long, thought you dead"
IL wrote"
"The letters never came"
"rhen all hope is gone"
"All."
"And can not stay here?"
"No. My husband, who knows all,
would not like it. He has just left
here ON his horse"
"Ah, yes ? / saw him."
"Well, you had better go. Adieu, :
Alike"
"Adieu Celestine;;" and with some
thing like the grace Of the courtier of
the old Louis time he stopped and
kissed the brown fingers of the mis-
tress of the dairy Without looking
up he went out OF the door and !
turned down the road.
When she saw him disappear be-
l.;0I a, EtfIo ,yr0vo eha loft tho WiO1OW !