Los Angeles daily herald., 1886-11-25
I'm VINTAGE TIME >

"hs ubohuE BAND
Since she was wee, toddling babe,
Lucette had been worker in the vine.
yards. So had her mother and her
grandmother before her. Once their
family had been noble, even great; but
one of those mighty convulsions which
have so often shaken France robbed their
greatest ancestor of everything save his
wife and children. After that they were
peasants, hut remnant of the proud old
blood still ran in their veins, now and
then burning in one or another of them
as it did in the days of the family's an.
cient glory. So it was with Lucette.
From the days of her childhood, when,
beside her mother, the purple fruit had
been slowly and YEARLY stripped from
the vines by her little fat brown hands,
she was never like the children of the
other peasants, and never like her own
brothers and sisters.
At no time would she gambol, sport
and frolic with those who sought her for
play or companionship, and there was
ever a flash in her eyes and curl in her
lips which forbade familiarity.
So, like some hermit or foundling forest
bird, she grew up by herself-alone.
Except in the cold months she always
lived out of doors; so her health was per-
feet. Despite the rough life she lived
and all her toiling in the vineyards she
was daintily and exquisitely shaped, and
her hands were as tiny and symmetrical
as those of any princess. True, they
were brown with the SUNSHINE, and so
were her arms away above her elbows
for that matter; but no artist or sculptor
would ever have passed them by unno.
ticed without paying that fervent tribute
which is always the award of genius to
elegance and beauty.
Still no one up to her twentieth year
had ever dared tell her that she had un.
usual beauty and grace. There was that
degree of regality about her every move
ment, and that cold, quiet tirmness in
her voice, which prevented pretty
speeches, even from her own family.
''You must unbend," said her mother
one day, "else you will never get hus-
band"
"What do want with husband? No
man shall ever call me wife!" she cried.
her eyes glowing like the eyes of serpent.
"How else shall you live?" rejoined
her mother, a coarse woman. in whom
there was only plebeian blood and who
had only plebeian instincts. "How
shall you live without husband. Your
father and l cannot keep you always"
"Keep mel" exclaimed Lucette. ''Keep
ME! When my work in the vineyard is
not enough to pay you and my father
for the little have from you, tell me so,
and will go away-but not with hus.
band"
After that she was let alone, but her
mother thought it extremely unreasona-
BILE and ungirl. likein Lucette not to wan,
husband Many a handsome, strap.
ping young peasant was madly in love
with her, and she might have looked
even higher if she wished, for sons Of
some of the gentlefolk were far from
blind to her stately charms. But that
same stateliness, and her cold face, firm
mouth and dauntless eyes kept wide
impossible distance between Lucette and
her admirers.
Her parents and sisters made constant
latter about her stubbornness, bat,
ave that once, when the girls angry
eyes seemed to burn into her mothers
soul, they were careful that none OF
their grumbling should reach the ears OF
Lucette.
Sometimes. when she was apart by
herself, in some shady corner of the
vineyard, where the fragrant grapes and
their broad green leaves hid her from
the curious eyes which otherwise were
ever bent upon her, warm, soft, yearn-
ing tenderness would rout all her pride
and hauteur, and leave her face radiently
beautiful. Rarely, very rarely, some
one saw her thus; and if it chanced to
be man, ceaseless tumult came into her
heart.
Strangers passing through the country
and pausing among the vineyards, struck
with her queenliness, would turn away
with q sigh, when, in answer to their
questions, they were told that she was
"ouly q common peasants daughter"
One of them, however, Casaban, a
Spanish sculptor, sighed so deedly that
lis heart chords never again ceased vi.
rating. But he was great artist, and
le of grand old family, whose pulses
obbed with the crimson tide of roy
ty, his grandfather having been king
. Casaban's pride checked the passion
e words he would otherwise have said
Lucette. He hurried away from her,
t he carried with him her image in his
art and in his eyes, through all his
,nderings. Italy. and even Spain, his
IN beautiful country, failed to solace
m. The splendors of his home seemed
m ok him, and the light words of his
lends and companions, whose jest
ribaldry once amused him, now
,nded him like SO many knives. In
he locked himself in his studio with
chisels and marble; he could only
link of the bronze woman whom he had
net among the merry grape.strippers of
france.
She had only deigned to give him one
.ook and that was such look as o lion
hight give mouse. Hoping to make
er talk he asked her some question
bout the vintage, which she answered
5riefy and coldly, and then turned away
md walked off with firm steps and her
.ound shoulders drawn up proudly-just
IS some high-born queen might have
gone from her lowest menial. The Wo-
man of Bronze, he had called her she
was SO like the statue of some unknown
goddess whom the fates had endowed
with life; yet, when he went away, he
left his heart in her keeping.
The months came and went more
SLOWLY than ever before, it sesmed to
him, and vintage time was coming again.
The nearer the anniversary of his last
glimpse at Lucette approached the more
Casaban's melancholy deepened.
"You are in love. my son." paid his
mother one day near mid
But his pride still deferred him from
acknowledging the truth, even to him
self, SO he frowned and swore that she was
mistaken. Though he was in measure
deoeiving himself he failed to deceive her
'If you are not in love, You must be
speedily made to fall in love-" she con