The Portland daily press., 1894-03-30
An AGED COUPLE.
"a letter, Father Azan?"
eyes. monsieur, from Paris. !"


He was very proud that it came from
Paris, this good Father Azan-but so was
I. Something told me that this Partisan
intruder from the Rue Jean Jacques, fall
ing Unexpectedly on the table SO early in
the morning, was going to make me lose
my whole day. was not mistaken, as
you may see for yourself
"You must do me service, my friend.
Close your mill for day and go imme-
diately to Eygnieres 1t is large village
about three or four leagues from you-a
good walk. On arriving ask for the con-
rent Of the orphans. The first house after
The convent is little low one, with gray
shutters and small garden behind Enter
without knocking-the door is always open
and on entering cry loudly: Bon jour,
good people lam Maurices friend Then
you will see two little old people-oh, SO
old, old, superannuated-stret forth
their hands to you from their armchairs,
and you will EN- brace them for me with all
your heart, as though they were your own.
They will talk of nothing but me. They
will relate thousand foolish things, which
you must listen to without laughing. You
will not laugh?
'They are my grandparents, two beings
of whom / am the life, and who have not
seen me in 10 years. Ten years is long
time, but Paris holds me, and their great
age keeps them. They are SO old that, if
they should come to see me, they would
fall apart on the way.
Happily you can go down there, my
dear miller, and in EN- bracing them they
will perhaps almost believe that it is I. !"
I arrived at Eygnieres about o'clock.
The village was deserted. Everybody was
in the fields. Grasshoppers were singing
drowsily in the elms of the courts, white
with dust. There were, to be sure, dom
key summing himself in front of the may
or's house and flock of pigeons on the
fountain in front of the church, but no
one to show me the orphanage. Fortunate
ly an old fairy appeared to me all OF
sudden, squatting in the corner of her
door, spinning. I told her what I was
looking for, and as she was very power
full fairy. all she did was to raise her dis
taft, and the convent of the orphans loom
ed up in front of me-a great dingy, black
house, very proud of the old red sandstone
cross, with a Latin inscription upon it,
which surmounted the portal.
Just beyond this house I perceived q
smaller one, with gray shutters and back
garden. I recognized it at once and en-
tered without knocking.
At the end Of the passage to the left,
through an open door, one heard the tick
tack of great clock and child's voice,
the voice of child at school who reads,
stopping at each syllable: "Then-St.-
I-re-nee- cried -am-the-wheat-
of the-Lord. I-must-be-ground-by
e-teeth-of-thos Observation-Disclosures
approached the door softly and looked
in.
In the calm and half light of little
room little, rosy checked old man, wrin
killed. to the tips of his fingers, slept in a
great armchair, his mouth open, his hands
on his knees At his feet a small girl,
dressed in blue, in large cape and round
cap, the costume of the orphans, read the
life of ST. Irenee from book bigger
than herself. This reading of miracles had
operated on the entire house. The old
man slept in his chair, the flies on the cell
ing, the canaries in their cage over by the
window. The fat clock snored tick-tack,
tick-tack. There was nothing awake in the
whole room but wide band of light,
which fell white and straight between the
closed blinds, full of living sparkles and
microscopic waltzes.
In the midst of the general drowsiness
the child continued her reading with
solemn air, ePres- -ly-two-li-Ons
-sprang in-and-de-youred-
him."
1t was at this juncture that entered.
St. Eenee's lions preeipitating themselves
into the room could not have produced
greater bewildernlent than did. 1t was
a regular theatex stroke. The little one
gave cry, the big book fell, the canaries
end the flies woke up, the clock struck, the
old man sat up with start, thoroughly
scared, and I, little disconnected, paused
on the threshold, crying loudly: bon
jour, good peoplel am Maurice's friend"
All, then, if you had seen him, the poor
old fellow, if you had seen him come to-
ward me with outstretched arms, embrace
me, press nv hands, then run wandering
round the room saying: sMon Dieu! Mon
Dieul"
All the wrinkles of his face smiled. He
was red. He stammered, "Ah, monsieur
-ah, monsieurP'
Then he went to the other side, calling,
"Mamette!'
A door opens; there is little mouse trot
in the hall-it is Mamette Nothing could
OASt
man, with her shell-like bonnet, her Car
melite frock and the EN- broidered hand
kerchief which she held in her hand to
honor me, after the old style. 1t was
touching fact that these two resembled
one another. With one turn and bon
net he could have been called Mamette
too The real Mamette must have wept
great deal during her life, for she was still
more wrinkled than he. Like him. she
had an orphan near her, little guardian
in blue pelerine, who never left her. 10
see these poor old people protected by the
two orphans was the most affecting th1ng
imaginable.
On entering, Mamette had commenced
by making me low reverence, but with
a word the old man cut it in two. sit is
Maurice's friend"
Then, behold, she trembles, she weeps,
loses her handkerchief, becomes red in the