The Dalles daily chronicle. [volume] (The Dalles, Or.) 1890-1948, 1892-01-07

ways, stretched itself toward the clus-
ters of ilacs and roses that had always
bought there.
No, mademoiselle,' said L, sit is a
cluster for the corsage, if you please,
this EVENING"
".Ahr
'She regarded me smilingly, her soft,
frank eyes turning from side to side,
seeking another cluster of flowers. See.
monsieur, how is this?
"A little large-is it not? mademoi-
selle,' said 1, in truth caring nothing for
the size of the bunch, but seized with
desire to hnger indefinitely in that bower
Of verdure, become all at once para
dise-of green, red and white
"And when that pretty young girl, all
in black and so pale and amiable, said
SO gently, placing the cluster against the
bosom of her own robe, 'Oh, no, mon
sieur, it is not, you see, too largep
could scarcely restrain myself from cry-
ing aloud: Keep it there, mademoiselIe,
| beseech you. An honest bouquet from
the hand of an honest grill 1t goes SO
well with your manner, modest and
goodr
''She would have found too odd this
profession of faith. I took my flowers,
therefore, and went my way, but Mile.
Bertha, when l arrived, lad already pro-
vided herself with corsage cluster:
Being unable to count upon yours
said she calmly, carelessly throwing
upon table the one had brought her.
80 much the better-I would utilize
it myself, apd the single blossom took
from the heap and pinned in my button
hole lay upon my breast and kept my
heart warm during the whole of that in
terminable dinner.
THAT beastly dinner, during which it
seemed to me that the little Angelo be-
side me played n pointless role and saw
opposite to me perpetually the Madonna
profile and the serious air of my little
flower girl. She it was that should have
been the fiancee. The fianceel Surely,
if the word had color, that color would
be white, all white, like the rose on my
breast.
''The denouement, the denouement
wait it approaches.
Gradually, as Ifrequented that white
and gilt salon the little Bertha made me
afraid. yes, actually afraid. And like
wise, as frequented my florists shop
told myself that it was there 1 should
find the companion, the friend, the true
THAT charming child! Poor. it was
true; doubtless an orphan, living alone
and possibly destined to marry some
shoplnan or railroad employee, or to
turn-as turned to the wind of Paris
all those homeless beings who had no
support. How good it would be to draw
that child from this risk by drawing her
from the condition itself, by-making
her. NJ
swear it. l swear that never thought
of it.
My wife, then? All, if only 1 had
daredl And while not daring, slowly,
gently, politely, 1 detached myself from
Mile. Bertha Brivard-I had nearly said
of the Bouffes Parisiennes. left her to
her father. her white and gilt salon and
her gay 'Remontoir. I sought DELAYS,
pretexts, excuses. In short, when one
evening M. Bergeot said to me plumply.
We can no longer leave my friend
Brivard with his nose in the water
great naturalists, these notaries; SIS it to
be yes or no? this time, my faith, an
swered:
"sEh, bien! No, then! am not
made for narryingr
'sAnd | did not, as usual, set out for
the Brivard domicile All the same, the
same evening saw me at my florists
shop. La place of my little flower girl
there stood another one; this one red
headed, pretty also and also polite, but
she was not the one sought. She, they
told me, had gone away to relations in
Bourgogne. They had recalled her to
marry her. 70 what sot? To what beer
keg? To what vine dresser? I know
nothing-I shall never know anything.
'tOf my little brown flower maid /
never had known anything-her name,
her age, her life. Nothing, nothing
whatever, save that she was ravishingly
pretty, with an honest air, deep eyes,
and that she handed me bouquets of
lllacs and roses with a hand white and
slender. which, on my soul, would
have supplicated her to give me, and
which, at all events, hindered me from
taking another.
"Behold my adventurel A very sim
pie one-eh, bieni yes; but have never
in my life had more agreeable one. 1t
seems to me that have gathered in the
midst of our hothouse existence a flower
of the fields, whose perfume have still
on my fingers, its sweet odor still in my
nostrils.
"Ah! ! grow elegiac; but God bless
her, wherever she be, my little brown
flower maid, who, compared to my COCO
dette of the Boulevard Malesherbes, was
like rose on a green stem beside tulip
on wire one.
mile. Brivard, by the way, 1narries
tomorrow young and skillful tinancier,
who has found a way to shape fortune
that has ruined others; they will be very
happy.
Gas for me, depart this evening for
Monaco. 1 have lost my little Aower
maid, but shall perhaps win at roulette
-unlucky at love, etc.-Translated from
the French of Jules Clareti by e. c.