The Yakima herald. [volume] (North Yakima, W.T. [Wash.]) 1889-1914, 1893-07-13

t>tcked OUT he prettfeSt ana best dressed
girl In the place.
The girl blushed as she answered.:
81 do not understand, SIR"
Pardon me, lady, or / am told
should say 'citizenessF All, me. how
things are changed for me as for
Francer' Here he heaved deep sigh
and threw himself with picturesque
grace upon rustic bench.
Then the whisper began to grow and
grow that this was q returned emigre.
and from henceforth his personal dig
nifty. his noble bearing and his lofty as
pect generally became in Charmont-sur-
Point almost articles of religion.
At first with some diffidence, but aft
erward with larger measure of freedom,
as they recognized that he was not I'M
approachable, one and all began to prof
fer their services. He was tired, he was
hungry, he had come far and was in
need Of rest. He must allow some one
to be his host. Anything that could be
done for him would be a privilege for
them also ran the expression of the
hospitality in the old world. fashion of
these simple people.
The stranger received the proffered
hospitality in silence, whereupon it was
straightway doubled. Then one began
to vie with the other in pressing on him
to stay. putting forward the most tempt
ing opportunities Of repose.
The willy vagabond listened carefully,
although he did not seem to notice. He
observed, however. that the general
strain of invitation was In the direction
of a certain Farmer Beaumont, whom by
O chance reference he found to be the
father Of the pretty girl to whom he had
spoken.
His mind was soon made up. and rising
to his feet he made graceful bow and
said to the little crowd with an air of in
finite condescension:
MY good friends, one and all, thank
you. have been 80 long a stranger to
the sweet entertainments Of the tender
hospitality of our dear France that l did
not realize at the first the genuine kind
ness Of your welcome. Let me now
atone. Let me put on record my sincere
opinion that the jewel which sought in
vain in the court of France and among
the noblest courts of Europe have found
here enshrined In this loveliest casket Of
natures own devising. But enough of
this. The wayworn stranger thanks
you from the bottom Of his weary heart.
My friends, do not seek to know your
affairs--nay. do not even know your
names. am content to receive you al
you are, without guarantee Of any sort
or kind. You are honest, like myself.
You are perhaps, some Of you, in trouble
and have suffered even as have myself.
You ask no questions. ask no ques-
tons. We are from henceforth friends,
and as such I mingle with You freely.
Here and hereafter am slmp.o vas.-v..
Of Charmont-sur-Pont."
No better instance could DO given Of
the absolute guilelessness of these simple
folk than the fact that they received In
faith and with gratitude this appalling
piece Of sheer impotence. They all
made low bows or courtesies and re-
joiced in their hearts and on their coun.
tenances.
Presently he said:
1.-The night comes on, and must stay
somewhere. You mentioned the name
think, IL my memory served me right
of one Beaumont, at whose house you
thought it well that should rest. Is he
here. or shall some Of you conduct me to
himg'
This speech settled the matter. Not
only had he deftly quartered himself In
the most desirable spot in the village and
by the public desire. but he had in an in.
direct way by renewing the matter of his
accommodation himself given a gentle
reproof for their hardness. How could
any one after this venture to ask him
any questions, although all were burn
ing with curiosity TO know something Of
him? As yet they did not know even hi
name.
So 1t was that the stranger became in
stalled In the best house in the village a
an honored guest. Farmer Beaumon
made much of him, producing for hi
benefit the best wine he had, while hi
wife and their daughter-an only chill
now. for the hov and 0irl who had pre