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

From the world. yes! but thine eyes
are very clear. petite; they look not
upon this diable de visage; they pierce
to the core of the heart. And there Is
none-no, not in all tho worldwide
will love thee like this poor old Max.
Yet--yet-it Is he who leaves thee; and
to what. all, mon Dieu to tohom?'
For Monsieur Max knew the use an
unprincipled man might have made of
his own opportunities; and as the
thought-the doubt-arose in his mind
whether the next to whom Aunt Letitia
might carelessly intrust his darling
would be equally strong against temp
tation, he hid his face in his hands and
groaned. Ought he to 60 awayp he
questioned; ought he not rather, laying
aside all thought of himself, to remain
and watch over his pupil, his child,
who needed him so sorelyP But the
soul of Monsieur Max was too true,
too simple, to be thus beguiled; and he
could not blot from his memory the
blush upon that beautiful check or the
look in her sweet, blue eyes.
1.-The only man thou carest to
please Am truly SO, ma mignonnep"
he murmured, tenderly; but his resolu-
ton never faltered. II leave thee be-
cause love thee, petite! First of all I
must guard thee against myself. |
leave thee-Sdfc-in the hands of the
| good God"
He did not 60 to the grove next
morning, but sent note to Aunt Lett
tia saying, in his clear, beautiful hand
| (Which does not tremble like his poor
hearty, that troubles of family nature,
into which he was not at liberty more
particularly to enter, demanded his
immediate attention. He was pierced
to the soul-ah! poor Monsieur Maxi
thus suddenly to quit those enchant-
ing places where one had been so
happy.
| Two days later monsieur, arrayed
for the occasion, like true French
man, in his best attire, walked out TO
the grove to say goodbye. Aunt Lett
tia was angry and indignant but it
was the trustful, confiding grief of
Bertha that wrung the heart of Mon
sieur Max.
ut must be right, since il is monsieur
who does it; but, an! what misfor-
tune! How shall l support the absence
of monsieur"
Thou wilt forget me, all! so soon!"
said Monsieur Max
Forget monsieur? never! There is
no one like him-this naughty mon
s.eur, who leaves his little child all
alone-no one in the whole wide
world"
He gave low, tremulous laugh
They were delicious words, and yet
The whole wide world is very wide,
my child"
1T will seem very empty when mon
sieur is gone"
The lips under monsicur's heavy
moustache grew white and tense with
the response he longed to utter. ST.
lently he extended his hand; not to
hold and keep her for his own, all, no!
only to say farewell. She was very
near him; he could feel her fingers
culver within his own, could see the
quick rise and fall of the folds of white
upon her breast and the tears in her
blue eyes. They were alone, and it
seemed to Monsieur Max that it would
be no wrong to any one were he to
touch with his lips that fair, pure, beau
tiful brow. Was she not his child, his
love, his treasure, whom he was resign
ing forever? One word from him
nay, only the opening of his arms
and the golden head would nestle upon
his bosom, and clinging fingers rest in
his for life. But
IF thy kisses were mine, petite,
should not claim them all? | will
not rob thee, then, who art but child,
and knowest nothing
"A Dieu," said Monsieur Max. He
| Ill L.. oil Il
slant, then raised it suddenly to his
lips and was gone out at the vine-clad
door and down the garden walk which
so often they had trodden together
with STOPPING shoulders, bent head and
fresh June rose above the heart that
throbbed with such fierce agony.
''She is but child she will soon for
get me-" murmured Monsieur Max
whether as solacc or in anguish who
shall dare TO say? "Soon, soon, o very
soon, mon ame," he said, treading
more heavily than was his wont through
the dust of the country road. His lips
were parched-there was film before
his eyes but he tramped on bravely,
while the sun burned down and the
dust rose in clouds above his head. still
murmuring with those pale, dry lips
Thou art but child, my best beloved;
thou knowest nothing, and thou wilt
soon forget"
Ten years.
The time seems short enough as one
reads the two words there upon the
paper, but when the days must be lived
through, moment by moment, it is &
very different matter; yet Monsieur
: Max lived on for ten long, weary years
before he saw his pupils face again.
He had obeycd, upon leaving her
the universal Aryan impulse; he went
West. In little town not far from
: from one of the great lakes he set uI
, his modest household goods. But pu
: pills were slow to come in. His temper
had never been an idle one, however
: and his need was great of work tc
deaden the cry of his longing heart
Moreover, the innocent winged life o.
the insect world had always been hi
J delight. To this, therefore, he turned
for comfort in his hour of trouble
Working az man will who tries will
toll to fill an empty heart, it is small
! wonder that the result of his observa
tons was well received by the scientific
| world, aud that Monsieur Max fount
! himself in a fair way to become ia
} nous; and, as a principal result of hi
} growing celebrity was offered Pro
lessons chair in recently founded
5 neighboring college. Monsieur &C
cepted with cagcrness. The very
youthfulness and untried strength o
the infant institution endeared it tn,
more to his heart, and it vas to hin
+ an Alma Fila, whose efforts to grow
up with the country he seconded will
. untiring zeal.
Ii was about this time that he sub
scribed to New York society papel
and scanned its columns in search o
one name which he failed to find.
I ''She is dead, or perhaps-mdrried