The Portland daily press., 1892-01-18
Il And Y.

They met at the Mont de Piete. This
Office of pledges and redemptions-thi
Partisan shrine of poverty and central
altar of official usury-was crowded. A
long line like torpidly winding serpent
stretched itself lazily far out into the
Rue DIES Blancs- Manteaux. For several
hours the clerk behind his grated win
dow has droned out the numbers as he
bent his worn face above the greasy
book in which he is busy inscribing
names and addresses.
Again? So soon? And still pretty?''
with q vicious smile. "Lace pin-with
small diamond-hum! Twenty francs
for H. Pass on quickly! Next! Well!
And you? A carved cruciix. Ivory? No.
Five francs for 72.'
'sNo lnore:"
"No more. Take or leave. You detain
others. Decide"
No. 72 hesitates. Suddenly rough
hand tugs at her shabby shawl. She
turns. 1t is No. II. A moment later
the two girls stand side by side in the
street.
'sHere! Take this" mutters II. 81
insist. l stole your luck by my odd
number. Besides-it is to cheat the
devil. No? Why? What little fool"
No. u has face like a pale flame.
Her lips are blue, and much shivering
has rounded her thin shoulders. II is
ready, facile, a feminine gamin. She
thriyes on Paris as dandelion faunts
from the crevice of paving stone. The
one is smiling, yet dumb with amaze
ment. The other talks, laughs, yet will
never smile again.
''Tut! A few francs! What are they
to me? And I shall redeem my pin to-
morrow, while YOU a glance COM
pleted the sentence.
''And lit was that might celebrate
Pauls fete day."
"You live"-
CAT No. =, an attic in the Rue Sainte
Marguerite. He-Paul-works at the
theater. 1t is a good position, but it re-
quires that he appear well to keep it.
This eats his earnings as moth eats
feathers. We are from the south-Paul
and l. He is happy here-but p
"Amuse yourself by starving that he
may--oh! l comprehend. Herey"-and
she draws her into wine shop. "Waiter!
A basket Now fill it! First-a bottle
of wine, then sugared loaf-then d
pate-so1ne of those. IT'S 1 who shall
supply Paul's feast. But on one con-
dition, my friend-that you eat your
half. And the wine is for you" Paying
the waiter, II drops the change into the
loaded basket.
''And 1 who accept this-do not yet
know your name" No. 70 is grateful,
but there are no tears. Tears are lux
ury with the poor.
"Call memo. H."
81 shall call you-my saint"
Anything but that, my girl. Well
72-I shall see you again And she
watches her stagger away beneath her
burden.
s'Mademoiselle is generous" ventures
the waiter, who has followed them out
side the shop.
Nonsense! 1t is my caprice! She is
dying-that girl. 1t is written. And
her Paul? A fine, selfish scamp, I'll war
rant" And with a laugh and whirl
on her heel she hurries away.
y y
One year in Partisan garnet. One
year Of green country quiet exchanged
for the lullaby of Paris-that mother
who too often sings her babies to their
deaths. To be sure, there has always
been Paul, and looking in his eyes
Jeanne could forget her homesickness.
And with his arm for pillow, her
straw had not seemed hard bed. But
he was forced to be at the theater early
and late. And nowadays his absences
were growing longer. Jeanne fancied
at times that he was less tender. Paul
was tired-tired of being poor. Was it
that Poverty was pinching Love to
death? She did not know-but felt a
chill about her heart-a dangerous thing
when the body is also cold.
Some one else would beat the ragout
on Paul's next fete day. But Paul came
and went and noticed nothing.
One night in his sleep Jeanne heard
him utter name.
She leaned to listen, but he said no
more, only smiling in his sleep. She
thought it was ''Susanne." In the morn
ing she questioned him.
Il was dreaming. What of it," said
he, staring FORWARD.
Before he went away that morning he
drew her fondly toward him and ten
derby kissed her rough and Redeemed
slender hands. 1t was a revival of love,
Jeanne thought, and sang softly to her.
self all of that day. Life was easier
after this. Paul grew more kind, and a
new pleasure was also hers.
She did not know that it is a mans
way when he loves one to kiss the other
dumb.
And every day at noon her "saint"
came for an hour. Every day, in some
small way, Jeanne's small wants grew
smaller Every day II sat by 72 upon
the low straw pallet and laughed and
jested until Jeanne grew merry from
sheer contagion.
eve will thank her together-when
you are we'll again, my Jeanne, and find
out also her real NAME" Paul would
I,,c o1> lid