The Madisonian. (Virginia City, Mont.) 1873-1915, 1895-05-25

herself humble before him. For his
amusement che would have burned the
CITY and the ships straining at their
moorlng rings, and she used every art
she knew to keep him with her and
turn his thoughts from war and fill his
heart with her increasing love.
And Foulqucs loved her in return as
much as she worshiped him, suffering
himself To listen to her voice, clear and
vibrant al q violin, instead Of to the call
OF duty, and dreanlily gazing into the
iathomiess depths Of her glorious eyes,
W5'er" bis image was reflected. He felt
that he could not live without Bathilde,
and She knew that she would die Of grief
il parted from him.
One day messengers came to him with
tidings that tllo intidels 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, Unweariedly, without vain
lamentations, straining her poor eyes
until thcy grew dim with watching from
dawn till twilight the always empty
road and changel0ss horizon, Bathilde
awaited the roturn 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 il the
shadows OF the summer evening, she
Wept i'll silence, and SO many and bitter
were her tears that twin burrows showed
themselves in her checks. She slept no
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
fluttering upon her. She felt neither
hunger nor thirst, and her brain held
no other thought than that he loved her
nomore or was dead, and her heart grew
lifeloss 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 q specter. She started at the
least nOiso and grew faint with appro-
honsion whenever q band Of horsemen
showed itself at the turning Of the high
way. In person she questioned every
pilgrim and traveller and bogear that
came to the castle gate. kneeling upon
the hard, cold fiagstOnes Of the church,
she prayed to God and the Virgin and
the saints with ardent feryor 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
{in i,1o roc of thn NIroi,, ~, bo,, ,cIoc ~
silk and brOcade, giving with such fe-
verish haste that she was soon reduced to
ClOtho 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 q miracle
from the Moors, told her that the lord
Of the isles, surprised III an ambuscade,
as was Of old the valiant Roland at
Roncesvalles, alone against a hundred
and weakened by ten wounds, had fallen
into the hands of his eternal enemies,
and that they demanded for his ransom
a 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
Il 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 a cloud
less sky upon the calm, blue sea. The
pennons adjoining the masts Of ships
futtered ~jOyOuSly in the gentle breeze.
In the oity's streets and squares and
along the harbor wall the flesh, bitter
odor of broken olive and laurel branches
and the scent of sweet marJoram floated
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 ,lll-soldiers and priests,
commoners and mobiles alike-gathered
about a single object.
Kneeling among the wretched men,
dicants, the crippled, the insane and the
blind, into whose eyes no longer entered
the blessed daylight, was a woman, pale
as one who has been stricken dead with
shame and horror. She held out her
hands imploring aims in a voice broken
with sobs, begging the ransom of Foul
ques the Fair.
All knew the supplicant. They ell
bowed each other to catch a glimpse of
the naughty Countess Bathilde, who
had been SO hard and merciless, who
had abused them as if they had been
beasts, who had ruled over them as the