Evening star., 1896-03-28

into the parlor, that coZy, pretty parlor he
vas so proud of when things had still some
interest for him, and looks at the clock.
1t is only II o'clock, and Bourgueil. who has
a fine appetite this morning, feels cross at
the thought Of eating only at II. Soon
Mother Bourgueil returns from church with
a large bunch of box plant. She places it
on little side table, and suddenly the whole
room is filled with the strong, fresh odor.
BOurSueil is no poet; he has not a very re-
fined nature. Yet he is impressionable for
all that-like you or me-and the sight of
the green branches recalls far-off memories
While the old woman is busy taking apart
the twigs to decorate the rooms with them
the penetrating perfume affects his old
heart. He remembers a certain Easter
nlorning-ah, long, long ago-when he
was still workman, and his young wife a
dressmakers apprentice. 1t was their hon
eymoon, for they had married a few days
before Lent. Then, too, she had returned
from church with a fragrant burden and
made their only room bright and festive.
How pretty she looked, and how he loved
her! And by a rapid effort of Imagination
he recalls in an instant their long years of
married life; she has ever been so indus
trious. SO thrifty so devoted. And now he
tortures her-this good, brave woman--he
makes her suffer on account Of his wicked
son.
But is Edward really so wicked as all
that? OF course fellow ought to honor
his father and mother. and obey them;. but
then, are not youth and love sufficient eX-
crses for many a fault? He watches
Mother Bourgueil with moist eyes, as she
gees to place a spray of box above Edwards
picture on the wall-a picture of their boy
in his college suit, when they felt so proud
of him and Of his studies.
What is the matter? The old mason hard
ly knows what he is about. His head
swims; 1t is that strong odor of the plant
doubtless. But his heart fills with some
thing tha- seems very much like mercy and
pardon. He goes up to his wife, takes her
he nds. and looking at the picture, NUT
{e,., hi,
''Say, Clemence, shall we-forgive him ?"
All; the cry of joy that bursts from the
mothers lips! And he has called her "Clem-
ence,' just as in their young days. He has
rot given her that name for more than fif
teen years. And she understands that he
loves her still-her husband, her old COM
panion.
She throws herself in his arms and kisses
| him frantically, all over his face, takes his
| head in both her hands, and whispers in
| his ear. The other day-she couldn't help
| it, realiy-she went to see their boy. He IS
! SO unhappy to have offended them. And If
| he has not come a hundred times to beg
| their forgiveness. it is simply because he did
not dare. "You' know" she adds-and her
know have seen his wife, and you really
| cannot blame him for loving her. she is 80
| sweet and as fresh as a rose. She Just
| Worships our Edward-one can see that at
I Gree; and she keeps their little home in such
| apple-pie order. Yes. yes. I know; her past
| But if Edward loves her as she island
| after all, We are not of the fashiona BILE
world and in our class one is not so par
| ticular."
Bourgueil feels oppressed-he is choking.
Putting trembling finger on his wife's
| lips: That will dop he says "Send for
cab. Let us take some Of these sprays
to them in sign of peace, and bring them
| home with us!'
| And while the old mother, stunned with
joy. falls sobbing on her husbands shoul-
der Bourgueil=the Roman the old Brutus-
begins to cry softly, like child.