The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1893-08-11

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Or living. When she was of age, at the
end of the year, then she would know.
Her beauty expanded. Her eyes were
deeper, her form rounder, her skin
6rmer, with a glow like polished marble.
She carried her head with q saucy tilt,
her lips melted into smiles, her cheeks
dimpled. They called her Fanchette
the lovable.
When II months had passed, she put
her arms about her newly found father.
She murmured Jacques name with an
information like a ringdove in her voice,
and a frown corrugated the old mans
handsome brow. He flung her aside.
''~Ingrate!" he cried stormily.
Fanchette kissed him sadly and crept
away. Just at that moment she longed
for the st~arlighted land, the coins that
Father Badeau threw to the poor turkey
driver and the curses Of Mother Hugot
with a h~eartsickness that terrified her.
She never mentioned Jacques name
again. She stole from her home one
night at the hour of IL. She paused be-
yond in the corridor and gave one glance
behind at the luxury wrapped nest she
had quilted. She saw the gilded panels,
shining mirrors rejecting painted cell
ings hung in roses with a frieze of Gu
pids, soft, rich carpets and lace hung
bed where dreams Of Jacques had cir
cled round her drowsy head.
She saw her tiny satin shoes, subtly
suggestive of Incidence and with Il
touch of personality seeming to cling
about them still as they lay discarded on
the white fur rug before the scented fire.
Her glance wandered to an open chest
of antique wood hard by, heaped up with
the choicest treasures of the milliner's
art. Here a fan coquetted with an opera
cloak, there a dainty ball gown spread
its fimsy founces over a Partisan bonnet
laden with purple violets.
She dropped a tear, she burst into a
sob. Her woman's heart cried out after
all this luxury. Her better nature whis-
pered Jacques name into her ear. The
tear became rs a rainbow touched by
her smile. She turned and fled, crying.
"The world is well lost for love, my
Jacques! leone! 1 comet"
In the old familiar trysting spot at
last, waiting for her lover, she echoed
those words. She crouched down and
kissed the turf and the star eyed mar
guerites and laughed to herself softly
and gleefully.
She heard his step at last. She arose
with a new shyness born of her fresh
beauty and her solemn JOY.
"Jacques"
"What,' F~anchette! You! What! Fan
Ghetto in the rags of the turkey girl?" he
stammered.
"Oh, yes, Jacques, yes! The turkey
girl, Fanchette, whom you love. Not
the lady Fanchette ever again! I am
yours, Jacques, yours!"
He dropped his hat from his hand. His
rugged face paled and his lips quivered.
She thought his joy unnamed him.
He put both hands over his face and
stood so, abashed before her dewy eyes.
She brushed his hands with her red lips
and whispered to him:
"Look up, my Jacques! Surely you
will speak to your own Fanchette? Oh,
fe, friend Jacques, tears for joy, for
sooth! Methinks that is worthy Of a
oma What! Will you not look at
me? They say that I am greatly changed
"a beauty, Jacques, your little Fan
Ghetto! Are you not glad?"
She was sobbing and laughing and
clinging to him, the moon showing her
dimples, and her soft, quivering lips,
and her new great beauty to him in a
maddening way. Her hair fell around
him, her warm arms were laid upon his
shoulders, she was leaning against him,
delicious in her womanly gladness. But
he did not touch her after the first invol-
untary caress. He dropped upon one
knee at her feet and laid his face against
her hand.
Their star on high looked down upon
them benignly.
"Look, Jacques, look-our star! Do
not kneel to me, my own Jacques, do
not, I pray! See, it is smiling at us-it
is happy, too. The year is past, is past,
Jacques, let US thank the good God to-
gether. But first will you not kiss me?
Am I to sue for it, then? Dear friend,
do not give way thus. I am here, close
beside you, Jacques. I will never, never
leave you now, love, unless you bid me
go?"
81 bid you go"
The voice was hoarse, agonized with
deathly anguish in its modulations.
"Jacques"
II am married."
He caught her, held her to him as her
eyes closed and cursed himself.
"Fanchette, Fanchette, look up and
listen! My God, I hate myself! mar
ried Rosamond Cartier six months ago.
Thought you would not come back.
Father influenced me-
"Don'tw Fanchette said.
She seemed more beautiful than ever
when she stood up again. But Jacques
could not bear to look at her.
She slipped away from him over the
grass toward Mother Hugot's house.
"Come to our house, Fanchette," he
pleaded.
But she shook her head. lifted the latch