The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-10-18
Ernest DaudGt Tells a Touching Story Of
French Village Life.
Unaware That His Wife Is Dead, Husband
Falls Asleep on His Wife's Grave-Aroused
by His Daughter-A Parting Kiss.

which was yelled by the Veruure Oh moss'
Over the thick grass rising around the
crosses floated q penetrating warmth satu-
rated with the perfume of box and laven-
der. 1t filled the contracted garden where
the dead reposed, the streets OF the village,
at that moment deserted, and spread into
the distance as far as the edge of the for
ests, in the shade OF which it vanished.
Every where reigned silence, the vibrating
silence of soltudes upon which no sound
can fall without awaking echoes. At times
the Growing of a cock or the bleatlng OIL
lamb traversed it. mlngling with the notes
of n cracked organ which, through the par
TALLY opened windows, came from the
church, accompanying the sacred chants.
And nothing could be more impressive than
those accents of prayer which filled the
sorority of the atmosphere, as they passed
over the tombs and were cOnfounded Win
the confused noises of space.
THE sLUMBERING TRAMP.
Hidden in the grass. among the tomb
stones, a man was lying upon his Dack, MS
hands crossed behind his head, his lace
scarcely shaded by the brim of his hat,
felt formerly gray, but now all out OF shape,
the color of which had been destroyed by
bad weather by covering 1t with stains OF
mud AID water. His garments were ike
his hat They revealed past OF ease, but
time had frayed, worn and s0lled them; they
were merely rags. Through the gaps in his
dusty and dowu-at-heel shoes his bare feet
could be seen.
Beneath these tatters, the man who was
sleeping there could not long conceal his
status from whoever might see him. He
was vagabond, who had come there, or
rather fallen, to rest, perhaps to die. What
the drawn-down brim of his hat permitted
to be seen Of his features warranted the as
hat in c,Nif nf rIp Il lag
grayish hair, he was not an old man. But
suffering is more pernicious to the body
than age and without doubt he had suffered
much, for everything about him. even to the
agitation of his Sleep bore witness to an
Overwhelming WEAKNESS and violent bat
tie with life from which he had emerged
conquered.
Nevertheless. he slept; he slept feverish
and heavy sleep which shook his poor broken
body as if the cruel privatiOns he had long
endured had survived even the restorative
slumber be had come to this spot to seek.
His heavy chest Missed and, as if under the
influence of painful dream, grOans escaped
from his lips. But no one heard them. The
voice Of the priest who, inside the church,
was reading the Scriptures, dominated them
and prevented them from getting beyond the
walls of the little cemetery, where they were
stifled.
THE ORGAN GIRL
Enclosure of the dead, appeared the slight
silhouette of woman, peasant to Judge
from the dress, but of distinguished bear
ing and appearance. She was clad IN black
and the orphans veil gave somber cast TO
the lace cap, without either ribbons or How
ers, placed upon her brown locks. beneath
the shadow of the Grape her vlsage looked
very pale and traces of tears were upon her
wan cheeks. Her eyes were young; her
glance was pure-the glance of a maiden.
But grief seemed fixed there and rendered
its expression tone hing.
With slow and bent form the newcomer
advanced among the tombs. Her steps led
her 10 the place where the sleeping man
was stretched. Up to this moment and dur
ing the short advance she bad made she had
not seen him. She did not see him, so tail
was the grass amid which he was lying,
until she was close up to him. And, at first,
his big motonleSs body. covered with grmy
garments and having the air of corpse,
terrified her Suddenly seized with fright
she uttered little cry and drew back, clasp
ing her hands. Then she grew treasured,
took a better look, measured with her eye
the outcast who was barring her way. real
lied that he WAS asleep and made out that
he was so weak and exhausted that she
ceased to fear him.
She stopped and touched him on the
shoulder.
.Monseurl" murmured she. But the man
Monsieur! MONSIEUR
Without moving he opened his still sleepy
eyes and, in dragging voice, muttered:
"What do you want of me?'
''Get out of the way, monsieur; go further
along. l want 10 kneel on the spot where
you are"
"Why this more than anothere Was it
worth while to wake me for thisy'
A STARTLING REVELATION.
"You are lying upon my mothers grave"
At these words he raised himself up and
glanced at the place where his head had
rested upon a tuft of lavender which was
climbing along cross. And on this cross,
the narrow shadow of which had for a
moment shaded his sleep, he read:
HERE RESTS MADELEINE LESCor.
With bound he was on his feet.
"You are the daughter of Madeleine
Leseot she was called little Jeanne"
At these nterrogating accents which PEN
etrated her soul, she gave start.
you knew my motherp demanded she
in bewilderment.
Grown calIner, he replied.
"a long, very long time ago, you were a
baby, I soldier. An order for lodging
took me to your parents house. l was
there only n short while. So fer as they
were concerned | was and remained an I'M
known, person whom one never sees
again. But / have kept warm recollection
OF their welcome, and the name inscribed
upon that cross revived that remembrance
with that of happy and regretted DAYS.
Pray, child, and pardon me for having oc-
cupied moment place which belongs to
you alone.
DYING OF HUNGER.
And he seated himself further away, upon
a white stone, where he remained with his
elbows en- his knees and his forehead in his
hands.
Jeanne knelt down to pray But the
nearness of the vagabond. his voice, which
still resounded in her ears, and his glance
which she felt was fastened upon her
troubled her devotons. She shortened her
prayer ana soon arose to 90. Suddenly the
man stopped her With y, q question on,
nit me TO follow you home and give me
something to eat? am dying Of hunger"
"Ah! come. comel' cried Jeanne.
Now in one of the houses Of the village
the man was seated at table. Some pork,
cheese, bread and cider composed his repast
"a modest bill of fare.
But, for an outcast, unused to eating
when hungry and drinking when thirsty,
this menu was that of king. The vag-
aoond did not eat-he devoured. Jeanne
stood silently before him. A while ago she
was afraid OF him. Now she feared BIN m no no
longer, for in the glances which he Stealthily
cast upon her, she had surprised the express
sion of an affpctionate interest, something
like respectful and hidden caress, and so
pure, so chaste, tina. she was neither
troubled nor alarmed by it. But when he
had satisfied his hunger, again he ques-
toned her.
PROBING THE PAST.
HAS your mother been dead long2"
"Three years"
"Of what did she dieP"
cot grief at having lost her husband"
SIS he dead also?"
"No; but, forgetful of his duty, one day
he went away with another woman, aban-
doning his wife, and, with her, his child"
"Did the deceased forgive him?"
Before dying she cursed him."
"And you-did you follow her example?
Did you also curse him?"
My mother made me swear never to for
give him. But why should l forgive?
never knew the wretch. BE never kissed
me and never heard his name uttered only
amid my mothers tears aud despair. My
heart contains no recollection which de-
tends him. owe him only grief and mis-
fortune. If lave grown up in sorrow and
mourning it is thanks to him, it is thanks
to him that | am alone in the world. l have
hnan fouuht nuly tn hate him -