The morning call., 1893-04-14

ing and ofmature age, and as the man lifted
the lantern 10 see who spoke the woman
cried:
''It Is the Countess of Dammarin who
lodges tonight under the stars. Often
have seen you in your coach. while l was
trudging through he mud. bat now we are
equal, as before God. Ask charity Of me
again, my pretty lady"
"CharityP' repeated the Countess very
humbl
1T does me good" said the other, ITO
hear YOU beg and refuse you aims
What have l ever done TO yOu?' asked
Jeanne that was the name OF the Count -.
Nv bat have done 10 yOu~
Her voice tremb bed She searched eNner
memory for some forgotten crime she might
have committed. And the woman uttered
harsh, ferOcOus laugh:
ou were rich ami we were poor. Isn't
that enough?-say, isn't that enOugh?"
The man looked kindly at Jeanne. and his
eyes kindled as an evil smile played about
his coarse mouth. Pushing aside his wife,
he pat his arm around the shoulder Of the
Countess. and he felt his vinons breath
upon her cheek.
"She's pretty, all the same" said he, and
as the young woman, frozen with terror. hid
her head against her child, he tried to lift il
with his great hands and was about to kiss
her. But the woman, growing jealous,
pulled him away with many abusive words.
In her movements she saw on Jeanne's
shoulder the great clasp of the mantle. all
OF gold and ruDies. that shole in the feeble
gimmer of the lantern.
Heres something worth more than
Kisses" cried she, and she wrenched it from
the mantle so roughly that the Countess fell
as If dead on the heap of stones. When she
Teopened her eyes she saw the two beggars
going off arm in arm, singing, laughing and
staggering together.
great sigh escaped from her heart for
she no longer had any hope.
Suddenly mans voice demanded frnm
the road. Who is that weeping under the
hedge?"
Jeanne. terrihed did not reply.
The man advanced.
"What are you doing ?" said he.
And she perceived in the uncertain light
thickset man, his face almost hidden by a
blinde beard. His voice was so frank and
kind that she took courage.
The child is going TO die" she said
|"Come with me-" he responded.
And seeing that she hesitated: 'Fear
nothing. | am Anih0ine le Fort, a laborer
of the Count Of Dammartin. am an honest
mau, and by the soul of my mother You
have nothing to fear. You will find in my
cabin fire, some milk and good bed of
rushes"
Jeanne said nothing
Come" he repeated, holding out his
hand.
She replied, 81 cannot; | am too weary.
Then he carried her in his arms through
The darkness across the fields until they ar
rived at last at a little hut made of logs.
plastered with mud, very small and hunt bic,
close to the ground in a corner OF field,
like lark's nest. Entering, he placed his
burden Oh the heap of rushes that served
him for bed. From the rigidty and
silence OF the young woman he judged she
must have tainted. But the cry of The sick
child continued.
Anthoine had not seen the face of the
woman he had carried through the woods
for the moon was behind the clouds. When
he lighted the logs on the hearth he saw
that she was young, delicate and mourn
fully beautiful. To see her thus, with the
pale gold of her hair scattered over the
brown rushes, her great mantle stiff with
precious stones, and the child pressed
against her breast, one would have called
her sleeping Madonna. Suddenly he rec
ognZed the Countess of Dammartin, the
wife Of his llege lord, and this seemed
stranger yet But as the child still cried
Anthone ventured To take him up, and TAX
ing him in his smock frock ne carried him
to the fire and gave him bowl OF warm
milk.
The child ceased TO cry ard the mother
opened her eyes that said. "Where am II"
and then seemed treasured. She looked at
the child. who was eating. She looked long
at the man by the ireside with the child
upon hts knees. Then her eyes grew
troubled, and In supplicatng voice said,
do not drive me away"
Anthoine arose.
MADAM, thirty years ago, when l was
still but child. | fought before Paris under
the banner Of the Count OF Dammartin, in
the army OF the glorious Pucele. l am for
ever bis llegeman."
Jeanne smiled. 1t was sweet to feel that
In their past there had been glorious things,
and not crueties and villaiaies alone. And
| she undei stood at this moment what the
| souls Of the dead must feel when before the
| throne OF God they hear, with boundless
| amazement, the evil and tie good they have
done.
| All day long Anthoine was absent In the
| fields where he labOred. Jeanne remained
| alone with her enild AS she did not know
| how to sew or COOK or wash the dishes or
| perform any of the duties familiar to
women Of the lower class, her clothing fell
| into dsrepair and the cabin remained rongh
| and uDtidy.
| AS she had neither book nor lutte, neither
| palette nor palfrey, her days seemed long,
| although she tried to beguile the time by
| telling her child stories OF the -Four Sons
| OF AymoD" aud the "Romaunt Of the Rose"
| And sometimes she made rondeaux and bal
lads. for in her first youth she had been la dy