The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1892-01-22
II AND ~.

rive AA0ALS III 80
NO more:
NO more. Take or leave. You detain
others. Decide"
No. y hesitates. Suddenly a rough
hand tugs at her shabby shawl She
turns. 1t Is No. II. A moment later
the W girls stand side by side in the
street.
Here. Take this, mutters Il. !
insist. | stole your luck by my odd
number. Besides-it is TO cheat the
devil. No? Why: What I. little fool.7
No. - has a face like a pale fame.
Her lips are blue, and much shivering
has rounded her thin shoulders. II Is
ready, facile, a feminine gamin. She
thriyes on Paris as a dandelion haunts
from the creyiee Of a paving stone. The
one is smiling. yet dumb with amaze
ment. The other talks, laughs, yet viii
never smile again.
Tut. A few francs. What are they
to me? And | shall redeem my pin to-
morrow, while you a glance com
pleted the sentence.
"And lit was that l might celebrate
Paul's fete day"
You i've
cat No. =, an attic in the Rue Sainte
Marguerite. He-Paul-works at the
theater. Il Is a good position, but it re-
quires that he appear well to keep il.
This eats his earnings as a moth eats
feathers. We are from the south-Paul
and |. He Is happy here-but r
"Amuse yourself By starving that he
may-oh. l comprehend. Here!"-and
she draws her into a wine shop. Waiter.
A basket! Now fl it! First-a bottle
Of wine, then a sugared loaf-then i
pate-some OF those. It's | who shall
supply Paufs 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 l who accept this-do not yet
know your name,' No. - is grateful,
but there are 10 tears. Tears are a lux
ury with the poor.
Call memo. IL
4 shall call you-my saint"
Anything but that, my girl. Well
T2-I shall see you again" And she
watches her stagger away beneath her
burden.
.Mademoiselle is generous ventures
the waiter, who has followed them out
side the shop.
Nonsense. 1t is my caprice. She is
dying-that girl. It is written. And
her Paul: \ fine, selfish scamp, III war
rant And with a laugh and a whirl
on her heel she hurries away.
One year in a Partisan garnet. o.
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 a pillow, her
straw had not seemed a 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 10
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 a name.
She leaned to listen, but he said no
more, only smiling in his sleep. She
thought it was 'S~usanne." In the morn
ing she questioned him.
Il was dreaming. What Of it, said
he, staring foorward.
Before he went away that morning he
drew her fondly toward him and ten
derby kissed her rough and reddened
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 u
new pleasure was also hers.
She did not know that it is a mans
way when he loves one to kiss the other
lumb.
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 - upon
the low straw pallet and laughed and
jested until Jeanne grew merry from
sheer c~ontagion.
1--WE will thank her together-when
you are well again, my Jeanne, and find
out also her real name" Paul would
say in his absentminded way.
When Jeanne was well again!
One morning she seemed suddenly SO
weak that Paul found it impossible to
leave her. For the first time he became
uneasy. She did not complain, merely
remaining strangely quiel And her
ayes shone as on that night beneath the
lindens long ago. The night they first
spoke Of a marriage-their own.
"But IL is nothing" she murmured
while her starry eyes looked past him
across the glaring roofs so coldly bright
in the wintry sunlight. 1t was broad
day in Paris, but in Jeanne's life candle
time had ONE
Paul.
MY Jeanne.'
"You love me-"
my little one! How can you ask?
You break my heart.!'
LAS dearly as ever, Paul?'
CAS- dearly as ever" And Paul softly
stroked a very happy face.
Just then, above the lullaby with which
Paris was singing Jeanne to sleep. some
rollicking. distant bells rang ont the