The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1893-09-28
RIO B E.RT M A G A I r e
From first page
The girl blushed as she answered:

The girl blushed as she answered:
81 do not understand. SIR"
Pardon me, lady, or am told /
should say 'citizenessr All, me, how
things are changed for me as for
Francer'A Here he heaved q deep sigh
and threw himself with picturesque
grace upon rustic bench.
Then the whisper began to grow and
grow that this was returned emigre,
and from henceforth his personal dig
nifty. his noble bearing and his lofty as
pect generally became in Charmont-sur-
Pont almost articles Of religion.
At first with some difidence, but aft
erward with larger measure Of freedom.
as they recognized that he was not un-
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 wo,:,d be q privilege for
them also r.n tho expression Of the
hospitality il tho old worll fashion of
these simple people.
The stronger received the rroffered
hospitality in si..ence, v-kercupcn it was
straightway doubled. Then ono 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 certain Farmer Beaumont, whom by
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, I thank
you. have been 50 long stranger to
the sweet entertainments of the tender
hospitality of our dear France that did
not realize at the first the genuine kind
ness of your welcome. Let me now
stone. 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, I do not seek to know your
afairs-nay. do not even know your
names. am content to receive you as
you are, without guarantee of any sort
or kind. You are honest, like myself.
You are perhaps, so1he of you, in trouble
and have suffered even as have myself.
You ask no questions. ask no ques-
lions. We are from henceforth friends,
and as such I mingle with Won freely
Here and hereafter am simple citizen
of Charmont-sur-Pont."
No better instance could be 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 impudence. They all
made low bows or courtesies and re-
joiced in their hearts and on their coun-
tenances.
Presently he said:
''The night comes on, and must stay
somewhere. You mentioned the name,
think, if 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
ihim?'
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 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 his
name.
So it was that the stranger became in
stalled in the best house in the village as
an honored guest. Farmer Beaumont
made much Of him, producing for his
benefit the best wine he had. while his
wife and their daughter-an only child
now, for the boy and girl who had pre-
coded her had both died young-prepared
tasty supper and spread for his bed their
finest sheets.
The supper and the wine, especially
the latter, seemed to thaw the strangers
reserve, for without being asked he told
them his name, doing it in such man.
ner that he seemed to be comforting "a
vor.
''You will doubtless, my good friends,
like to know my name. Well, a man, no
matter who he may be, must not be a
churl to those who have taken him to
their hearts,"
Here Marie blushed and turned away
her head.
"You may call me-remember that I
say it freely-you may call me Robert!''
Robert what or Robert who?" asked
the farmer.
"Easy, my good friend! Such knowl-
edge might be of inestimable value. But
why, I say again, should scruple to tell
even such thing to one who for aught
any of us can tell may some day be close
to my heart, through some one he loves,
even as I feel am close to his and to the
hearts of those dear to him?' 80
Here the farmer scratched his head.
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