Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-03-06
CHAPTER XVII.

So it came to pass that Bebess day in the big forest came and went as simply almost as any day that she had played away with the Varnhart children under the beech shadows of Cambre woods
 And when he took her to her hut at sunset before the pilgrims had returned there was great bewildered tumult of happiness in her heart, but there was no memory with her that prevented her from looking at the shrine in the wall as she passed it, and saying with quick gesture of the cross on brow and bosom:
 "Ah, dear Holy Mother-how good you havo been! and am back again, you see and will work harder than ever because of all this joy that you have given me-"
 And she took another moss rose and changed it for that of the morning, which was faded, and said to Flamen:
 "Look-she sends you this. Now do you know what 1 meana One is more content when she is coHtent!"
 Ho did not answer, but he held her hands against him a moment as they fastened in tho rosebud.
 Not a word to the pilgrims Bebee-you remember!''
 "Yes I will remember. do not tell them every time pray-it will be like being si- lent about that-it will be no more wrong than that''
 But there was @ touch of anxiety ill the words; she was not quite certain she wanted to be reassured. Instinct moved her not to speak of him. but habit made it seem wrong to her to have any secret from tho people who had been about her from her birth.
 He did not reassure her; her anxiety was pretty to watch and he left tho trouble in her heart, like bee ill the chalice of lily Besides, the little wicket gate was between them; he was musing whether he would push it open once more.
 Her fate was in the balance, though she did not dream it; he had dealt with her ten derly, honestly, sacredly all that day al most as much so as stupid Jeannot could have done. He had been touched by her trust in him, and by the unconscious beauty of her fancies, into 6 mood that was unlike all his life and habits. But after all, he said to himself
 After all!-
 Where he stood in the golden evening he saw the rosy curled mouth, the soft troubled eyes, the little brown hands that still tried to fasten the rosebud, the young peach like skin where the wind stirred the bodice, she was only a little Flemish peasant, this poor little Bebse, little thing of the fields and the streets, for all the dreams of God that abode | with her. After all-soon or late-the end l would be always the same. What matter! | She would weep a little tomorrow, and she | would not kneel any more at the shrine ir | the garden wall; and then-and then-she would stay here and marry the good boor Jeannot, just the same after awhile; or drift | away after him to Paris, and leave her two little wooden shoes, and her visions of Christ in the fields at evening, behind her for ever. more, and do as all the others did, and take not only silken stockings but the Cinderells slipper that is called Gold, which brings al other good things in it's train; what matter | He had meant this from the first, becaus, she was so pretty, and those little wooder sabots ran so ithely over the stones; thougf he was not in love with her, but only idly stretched his hand for her as child by in stinct stretches to fruit that hangs in tn, sun q little rosier and little nearer than tn, l rest.
 l What matter-he said to himself-sh, loved him, poor little soul, though she die not know it-and there would always b, Jeannot glnd enough of a handful cf brigh French gold.
 He pushed the gate gently against her; hel hands fastened the rosebud and drew opel the latch themselves
 "Win you come in ittle7' she said, witl the happy light in her face. "You must no stay long, because the flowers must b