The Yale expositor. (Yale, St. Clair County, Mich.) 1894-current, 1899-03-31
"BRAVO, FATHER BOURGEUIL."
that it was frightul to condemn his son

that it was frightul to condemn his son
to death.
Easter Sunday came with its bright
sun and chilly wind. In spite OF the
cold Paris had holiday appearance.
The women whose winter toilets looked
so dingy in the sunlight had punches
OF lockwood protruding from their
muffs. There was lockwood every
where; even the horses on the cabs
had little sprigs Of it on their brides.
NJ Bourgeuil, who had stayed at the
cafe until midnight the night before,
awoke late. He was in a wretched
humor. At dinner the previous even
ing his wife had again spoken to him
OF Edward and had tried to excite his
sympathy. She had been making in
quiries and had learned that the wife
of their son-for after all they could
not deny that he was their son-was
not at all a good-for-nothing, as they
had thought at first. A poor girl, with
out doubt, who had been a corset
maker. But then, what were they, the
parents? Successful working people,
and that was all. They had never ex-
pected to introduce their son into the
Faubourg Saint German. When Ed
ward had first become acquainted with
his Angelina silly name, but that
was not her fault-she was rather
giddy. But since her marriage moth
ing had been said against her. Would
he not have a little indulgence for
those unfortunate children?
For, my dear" she concluded, "they
are in want; yes, in want! l have
learned from the insurance company
where our Edward works how much he
gets. Two hundred francs month is
all; not so much as you spend for your
cigars and at the cafe. Oh, do not
ask you to see them. Only help them
a little. Since we have so much, would
it not be right to do SOP"
The poor old lady took courage as
her husband did not reply, but
thoughtfully twirled the glass he had
Just emptied. She rose from her place
and went around to the other side of
the table and placed her hand timidly
on the shoulder of the formidable head
Of the family. Vain effort! Papa Bour-
geuil, all at once remembering that he
was a Roman" burst into maledic-
tions and ended with his eternal
Never"
Still this morning the master mason
was singularly sad. He was nervous,
too, and cut himself twice while shay
ing. No, indeed He would not be
soft enough to give sou to his gen
tleman son. He was Roman"
He went down to the parlor; that
parlor that interested him so much
when anything interested him. He
looked at the clock. 1t was only IL,
and the good man impatiently thought
of how he would have to wait until
noon for his breakfast.
Then Mother Bourgeuil came back
from mass, carrying a great bunch of
lockwood which she laid down on the
table, and whose fresh, strong odor
filed the room.
Father Bourgeuil was no poet;
neither did he have a sensitive nature;
but he had sensations, like all mortals,
and with him as with others these
sensations awoke membranes.
AS the old lady separated the
branches to decorate the room the
pungent odor disturbed the old mans
mind. He recalled an Easter morning
long. long ago-when he was still an
apprentice, and when his wife went
out to sew. 1t was their honeymoon.
for they had been married just before
Lent. AS to-day, she had brought from
church some sprigs of lockwood and
had hung them around their poor lit
tie room. How pretty she was, and
how he loved herl Then In a moment
his memory ran over their long years
OF Wooded life during which she had