The Pioche weekly record. [volume] (Pioche, Nev.) 1877-1900, 1891-01-17
True TO MADELINE.
A Pretty Story Told by Emile lola, Ma
ter of French Fiction.

A Pretty Story Told by Emile lola, Mas
ter of French Fiction.
You remember, my friends, that sweet
spring-time when we went to see him in
his little house at Clamart? Jacques
met us with his amiable smile and we
dined under the arbor covered with vir-
gin vines, while Paris beyond murmured
in the falling night.
You never knew his life. /, whogrew
up side by side with him, can tell you
of his heart. lie lived at Clamart for
two years with his little blonde wife,
who died SO quietly. 1t is history sad
and heart-breaking.
Jacques had mot Madeline at the fete
at st. Cloud. He began to love her be-
cause she was sad and suffering. He
wished before that poor child was laid
away in the ground to give.her two sea-
sons of love. So he went to hide him
self with her in that little plot of ground
at Clamart, where tho roses crowded
each other like flowers gone crazy.
You know tho house. 1t was very
modest, all white, hidden like nest in
the green foliage. Jacques little by lit
tie was possessed with an infinite love
for the dying one. lie watched the NAL
ady gaining ground daily with bitter
tenderness. Madeline, like wax night
taper which throws a brilliant light just
before it goes out, illumined the white
house with her blue eyes.
During two seasons the child seldom
81 u1nn
with her charming spirit, her light
robes, her gentle footballs. 1t was she
who planted those wild gilly flowers
from which she made us bouquets; and
the geranium. the heliotrope, the
rhododendrons only lived through her
and for her.
She was the soul Of that corner OF
nature.
Then autumn came. You remember
Jacques came to us anu said huskily:
''She is dead"
She had died under the vine-grown
arbor like an infant that falls asleep, at
that hour when the sun is sinking to
rest. She had died in the midst of those
yerdures in the wild gap where love
had soothed two years of her agony.
never saw Jacques again.
| know that he still lived on at Cla-
mart, under the arbor in memory of
Madeline.
Soon the siege commenced. was so
broken with fatigue that | thought no
more of him. But the morning of the
18th, learning that they were fighting
on the side of Mendon and Sevres, saw
again in memory the little white house
hidden by green foliage.
So left tho gate of Waves and
walked on. The roads were encountered
with wounded, SO l arrived at Mouli-
neaux, where | heard OF our victory;
but when turned the wood and entered
the sap terrible emotion tore my
heart. y
Before ME on the ravaged ground l
saw no longer the little white house,
only mass of blackened timbers and
stone where the torch of the incendiary
had passed. ~
descended the hill with tears in my
eyes.
All! my friends, what terrible catds-
trophe had taken place. You remem-
Der the hawthorn hedge, it was RACED to
the ground by the cannon. The great
gilly flowers, the geraniums, the rhodo-
demons, torn, faded, scattered. felt a
real pity for them, as If they were the
torn members of friends OF mine.
The house was torn on one side, dis
nj ri ~ cd
that had been closed since her death.n
This room, opened brutally by the
cannon of the Prussians, this alcove of
| love, from which one could see the
whole range of the valley, made me
think that stood in the cemetery OF
my youth.
The sun covered the debris with a
golden glory, bringing into brighter
prominence the devastation. Jacques
must have abandoned the house when il
was fired upon.
| walked on. -. -77r-
entered the green arbor where we
had dined together. By miracle it re-
manned intact.
There on the ground in the midst of q
pool of blood Jacques slept, his breast
wounded by twenty bullets.
He had not fled from the virgin vines
he loved; he died where Madeline died
picked up at his feet his empty cart
ridge box, his broken rifle, and i saw
that his poor dead hands were black
with powder Jacques for Ave hours
alone with his gun had defended the
white phantom of Madeline!