Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1886-04-21

would convey him within q few miles
of his old quarters in the little town Of
F.. The sun had set; there was
only a flood of golden glory, rapidly
changing to crimson. to show where no
had gone down; it fell in long, gleam-
ing track upon the softly-heaving beau
tiful bay, and tinged the heavy, sable
robes OF one who sat gazing wistfully
toward the golden west.
ut Is she," said Monsieur Max.
A child-a little girl-played at her
side under the care of nurse.
"Her child, her very image" he
muttered. ut is enough; il is enoughr'
He had never hoped; how. therefore,
could he now feel disappointment
Yet when after time-he never could
tell you how long-the remembrance OF
her mourning attire came to him. with
the questions: For whom was il worm
his heart leaped with great, wild
throb which could have been neither
hope nor exultation, and was, there
fore-what? He turned and APP
preached her TO find that her eyes had
already discovered him. His limbs
trembled and flood of dark crimson
rushed to his brow; but Bertha's beau
tiful face was quite untroubled, and
she held out her hand with tranquil
smile.
"But had almost sent Martha to re-
call to monsieur's recollection his little
pupil, so wicked and troublesome.
He bowed silently over the white
fingers, not venturing this time to
press them to his lips. Bertha made
room for him beside her and continued
speaking without seeming to notice
his lack of reply. There are times
when woman is grateful for ten years
experience of the world and if even
this training can not keep the new
light out of her eyes, the modesty of
such a man as Monsieur Max is bet
ter veil than the gathering twilight or
the longest of silken lashes. Only once
did she falter, and that was when mon
sieur, having recovered the power of
speech. used it to address her as
MADAME.
"But no." she answered, softly; mo,
monsieur lie Professeur, am still only
demoiselle.
"God be thanked" said monsieur,
involuntarily, and watched, with eyes
of incredulous Joy, the soft rose-tint
creep over check and brow. Only for
"A moment; then she spoke with all her
former composure of the ten years
that had passed since their parting;
and, as he listened and answered. mon
sieur asked himself whether he had
dreamed of that beautiful blush.
He learned that Aunt Letitia still
rocked, knit and dozed at the Grove;
that the golden-haired child was
Bertha's motherless niece, the daughter
of Henry Clayton, whose wife had
been dead for nearly a year; and that
Bertha herself was now on her way to
spend the rest of the summer at the old
homestead which he remembered so
tenderly.
And monsieurp" asked Bertha,
kindly.
"Mademoiselle, need rest; and in
=, in the home where ! was once
so happy, it is my hope to find it.
Then you will come to the Grove,
monsieur You will be our gucstP You
will let me care for youp"
But Monsieur Max drew up his slen-
der figure proudly, though his eyes
were very tender, as he answered.:
mot now, mademoiselle; not yeti"
and Bertha did not urge him nor ask
the meaning of his strange reply.
So the old days seemed to come
again to the Grove. There were again
the mornings in tho old school-room,
now Bertha's study and the pleasantest
room in the house, as monsieur and
she concurred in saying. Nor was the
term "study" misnomer. Much
work had been done within those four
walls; and the dark, bright eyes of
Monsieur Max often shone with pleas
urc to see how the girlish mind he
had helped to train had grown and de-
veloped. She was now, if not fully
his intellectual equal, at least able to
comprehend and sympathize with him;
and when one has lived alone and
lonely, as had Monsieur Max, one per-
ceives the charm of sympathy from
such eyes and life.
Happy, indeed, were the mornings in
the old scbool-room; the drives and
rambles along the shady, roso-trimmed
country roads, and through wood and
meadow; happy, too, the evenings in
the great square parlor, where Mon
sieur and Aunt ::Letitia contested the
honors of the chess-board in many a
hard-fought battle. while Bertha played
softly on the worn. old piano. But
happicst of all, perhaps, were Mon
sieur's walks to and from the little
town--walks which were not lonely,
since Memory and Hope accompanied
him; nor desolate, since Fancy had
full permission to deck his path with
her most brilliant flowers.
And perhaps the fragrance of these
still hung about him and bewildcred
him one afternoon, when he found
Bertha sitting, with her embroidery,
under great oak which had strayed
from the forest into the old-fashioned
garden.
Monsieur, you look dazed-som-
nambulistic, she said, as he silently
took the seat beside her.
"SomnambulisticP All! indeed, l
have walked hithcr in sweet dream,
mademoiselle; perhaps only to be
awakened"
"But is not truth better than q
dream, Monsieur"
She had stolen one swift glance at
his face, and her cheek was crimson,
her voice tremulous. Monsieur Max
answered her slowly and sadly:
80 say the wise; but when the
dream is so bright and beautiful 1t is
hard to be a philosopher. May tell
it you, mademoisellep"
She bowed her head in silence. while
her fingers shook over her work as
though the dainty silks had been iron
cables.
1T began, can scarce remember
how many years ago." said Monsieur
Max, with my love for little child.
saw her, so good, so beautiful and SC
defenseless; and vowed to my own
soul to stand between her and harm, to
train and to teach her in all that was
good, until could resign her TO other
hands, which might be worthier, bu,
could not be moro faithful. But the