The Portland daily press., 1893-01-07

but sud1e444, 4s fearless IoCa-n1s
strange smile-aWoke in her Then
quite abruptly her father, taking her
with him, left for one of his castles in
the depths of Auvergne.
At last she summoned up her courage
and asked for news of her betrothed,
and the old duke, purple with rage, had
sternly ordered her never to speak again
his name before him. She had obeyed,
grief stricken, understanding nothing,
until one day when by chance she saw
newspaper and then first learned of a
horrible duel fought by Lord Cavendale,
ia which he had killed his man; of the
shameful trial. and then the dates, the
frightful dates.
After that she remembers a long i'll
ness and the name Of Douglas repeated
in her delirium, and the troubled star of
the night lamp twinkling family out
from the midst of clouds of insomnia;
then she recalls the heartrending walks
taken during convalescence in autumn
on the castle terrace. looking out toward
the grand mountain panorama, while
the plane trees sadly strewed the ground
with their great yellow leaves. and how
melancholy she felt while following
with her eyes the fight of the clouds
chased by the northwest wind, which
ragged even to the SUBMITS.
Then she took the great step of her
life, and in spite of her fathers grief,
in spite of the advice of her uncle. Mgr.
de Cardaillan, who came with all pos
sible haste from his diocese, she took the
veil of sister of charity, and for six
years she had dressed wounds that
seemed to her less incurable than that
one inflicted uron her own heart She
had watched with the dying, whom she
almost envied because they could leave
this world before herself. But suddenly
she remembers that if dead to the world,
as she believes herself to be, she still pre-
serves and yet wears around her neck
the little medal, blessed by the pope,
which Lord Cavendale had brought back
to her on his return from short visit to
Italy.
The weakness of woman who has
once been in love! just at this moment
her companion softly touched her arm.
believing her to be asleep.
wake up, sister; we have just reached
the place"
Mile. Annette de Cardaillan, in her re-
ligious life Sister St. Ursula, opens her
eyes and sees just in front of her that
poor woman with her little boy on her
knees. who had been the involuntary
cause of her dream.
Quickly putting her hand to her throat,
after some difficulty she succeeded in
inserting two of her fingers under the
stiff starched calico of her stom-
acher and drawing out a small gold
medal held in place by fine cord,
which she hurriedly snapped. She placed
it, yet warm with the heat of her body,
in the working woman's hand, saying:
won't you please accept, madame, this
remembrance and hang it around your
little sick boys neck? 1t is a medal
which our good father, the pope, blessed
at Rome six years ago"
And disengaging herself from the ex-
cited mothers half stammered thanks
the sister of charity followed her stout
companion. who had already got down
from the bus and was walking bravely
along through the mud.
The conductor had a great desire to
say word or two. but he was an old
infantry corporal who had had part of
his ear cut off by a Russian bullet at
Balaklava and who felt the deepest re-
spect for women. Besides, the poor
mother was looking at the blessed medal
with very serious and moved express
sion. French and soldier SO runs
the song. and the conductor contented
himself with smiling behind his gray
mustache while he muttered to himself,
"Oh. these women-these womenr'-
Translated for Boston Transcript from
the French of Francois Coppee.