Santa Fe daily New Mexican., 1895-06-12
and she knew that she would die of grief
10 partod from him

and she knew that she would die Of grief
if parted from him.
One day messengers came to him with
tidings that the infidels ravaged once
more in Provence, destroying the cities
and fields and carrying the people into
slavery. Then the lord of Theoule
without daring to turn his head, re-
mounted his charger, and in silence and
tears the lovers parted.
Long time unwsariedly, without vain
lamentations, straining her poor eyes
until they grew dim with watching from
dawn till twilight the always empty
road and changeless horizon, Bathilde
awaited the return of her hearts lord.
Days and weeks went by, yet no It'd
ings came. Seated at the window from
which she had first seen him in the
shadows of the summer evening, she
wept in silence, and so many and bitter
were her tears that twin burrows showed
themselves in her cheeks She slept 10
more, but wandered through the vast
halls and the forest like an uneasy
spirit She became, little by little, SO
thin and pale that her garments hung
fiuttering upon he-: She felt neither
hunger nor thirst, and her brain held
no other thought than that he loved her
no more or was dead, and her heart grew
lifeless under this double wound.
She ordered thrown into the sea all
her mirrors of silver and Of steel. The
reflection of her face frightened her like
that Of specter. She started at the
least noise and grew faint with appre-
hension whenever q band Of horsemen
showed itself at the turning of the high
way. In person she questioned every
pilgrim and traveller and beggar that
came to the castle gate. Kneeling upon
the hard, cold flagstones of the church,
she prayed to God and the Virgin and
the saints with ardent fervor for the re-
turn of him she loved. She emptied her
Golfers in aims and pious donations to
the abbeys and the monks. She arrayed
the images of the Virgin in her robes Of
silk and brocade, giving with such fe-
verish haste that she was soon reduced to
clothe herself in coarse cloth and went
as miserably clad as a beggar.
One day, after she had given until
she had nothing more left to bestow-
neither ring nor golden belt nor sack of
coins-a monk, escaped by miracle
from the Moors, told her that the lord
of the isles, surprised in an ambuscade,
as was Of old the valiant Roland at
Ronoesvalles, alone against hundred
and weakened by ten wounds, had fallen
into the hands of his eternal enemies,
and that they demanded for his ransom
thousand golden pieces and ten boxes
of precious stones.
What could she do? How could she
gather SO much gold and jewels? He
lived, he pined for her. He felt but the
one passion every hour, and she could
not succor him. She could not find such
sum. After rejecting two days and
nights, fasting alone like one who walks
in sleep, Bathilde descended to the city
1t was Palm Sunday. The bells rang
full peal The sun shone from cloud
less sky upon the calm, blue sea. The
pennons adorning the masts Of ships
futtered joyously in the gentle breeze
In the city's streets and squares and
along the harbor wall the fresh, bitter
odor Of broken olive and laurel branches
and the scent Of sweet marjoram foated
upon the soft, warm air of the morning
Maidens were. singing. The common
people were in gala dress. But as the
crowds came to the great open porch Of
the cathedral all-soldiers and priests
commoners and mobiles alike-gatheref
about u single object.
Kneeling among the wretched men
dicants, the crippled, the insane and tn
blind, into whose eyes no longer entered
the blessed daylight, was woman, pale
as one who has been stricken dead with
shame and horror. She held out her
hands imploring aims in voice broken
with sobs, begging the ransom of Foul.
ques the Fair.
All knew the supplicant. They el-
bowed each other to catch glimpse Of
the naughty Countess Bathilde, who
had been SO hard and merciloss, who
had abused them as if they had been
beasts, who had ruled over them as the
proud towers Of her castle seemed to
over the land and sea-
Growing bold, believing her mad,
they assailed her with insults and rail.
ing. They derided her as they threw in
her face pieces Of copper and bits of flint
and burst into laughter at her figure
bent in anguish, and her fevered, star
ing eyes, where the wells of tears had
run dry.
But suddenly her features, her hair,
her poor garments shone with deiied
splendor, and there was a sound In the
sky above her like the beat of mighty
wings. The copper coins turned to
broad pieces of shining gold, and the
f1ints became flaming sapphires, rubies
and amethysts. About her head blazed
an aureole Of dazzling splendor.
Then all the people cried out in won
der, and as she rose followed, singing
and glorifying her as saint. She had
become more radiantly beautiful than
when, with the lovelight in her eyes,
she had first greeted him whom she
adored, and with sweet, grave gesture
Of adieu she passed from their sight,
bearing in her tattered beggar's robe
the ransom Of Foulques the Fair.
TWAS thus that the Countess Bathilde
saved from shame and death the lord Of
the isles. From the French For Short
Stories.
PATHS Voice.
PATHS voice is Of only moderate