The Forrest City times., 1899-08-04

I do not know your name.- | NOT yours. so that is A bond of | sympathy. Let us." went on in n glo,v oi inspiration, imagine that we have been introduced at dance. One never knows the names in such cases." lie was certainly to blame."
 certainly. If a man willingly walks one or paradise he must be either a fool | or" 'oo' lie will come back" Tn that case" I began. r;s;nc ona taking my hat from the chair.
 Really" she answered, "a man who willingly walks off," But l don't" objected. q 20 with the greatest reluctance" It IS very warm in the sun. mon- sieur."
 | Madame, I greatly fear sunstroke. 1t IS disease which has had remark able fatality for our family" replaced my hat upon the chair on which l had previously seated myself. and seated myself upon the chair on which l had previously placed my hat. That chair was nearer to madame bv | over a foot.
 Monsieur is prudent" she said, and smiled. l should have been perfectly happy if her gaze did not so often wan ! der through the window frame and seek the sunshine outside. Nay, I fear" I murmured, looking at her ardentiy, "imprudent." That is hardly in the nature of a compliment"
 Because" l went on boldly, ''in the | Joy of a moment, a minute, an hour, I peril my future peace." She beat another solo upon the floor, and again looked into the sunshine. My eyes followed the direction of hers, and l thought saw hat. The hat was se- we're, nay rigid, it was masculine hat. "Is the peril so great?" she asked. She spoke so softly that pushed my chair a little nearer to her and leant | forward.
 "The answer is entirely in your hands, madame" said. '"There may be no peril" she pouted, flor who knows what tree of love may spring from this mere grain of barely ten minutes?"
 She glanced at me sideways. Have you noticed the roses at the window?"
 "No," I answered. "They are there, no doubt-roses are often at windows but have eyes for you only" "There is one, almost bud. covet it. I must have it." She rose and passed swiftly to the window. Again thought saw the hat. 1 rose. 1 followed her. I stood behind her as she raised her ungloved hand-a dainty, slender, white hand; a hand that any man might not tire of kissing easily. She caught the bud, broke its stem and gave faint cry. You have hurt yourself" said. "A thorn," she answered, hurriedly; ''it has pricked melt is still in, fear" l took her hand in mine. I have had some experience with thorns in connec. tion with little hands, and did not look for any deep wound, yet must confess to some considerable surprise when found none at all, and even after minute search no visible impression upon the satin of her skin.
 Madam" said, falteringly, 1T can see nothing"
 Stupid" she cried pettishly, yet moi loudly. Look again. tell you have hurt my hand badly. You cannot see we'll. Hold it to the light"
 held it to the light. 1 looked at it very carefully-the hand was really worth looking at-I bent lower over it lower still. Then suddenly glanced upward. She was smiling. I saw | challenge in her eyes. l kissed hei, hand.
 | 'Clotilde," said voice over my head. It was strange voice, and it seemed out in the garden little above me. looked up and recognized the rigid, se- he observed me; he looked penitent when he gazed upon madame. | "Henri," she cried, "I have thorn in my finger. This gentleman is clumsy he cannot discover it."
 She glanced at me scornfully, and StTttcHeQ ouI ucI pSilSCtiy hCoithy hand to the owner of the rigid hat, who took it. Then, in that hand, innocent of scratch or mark, he found thorn. plucked it out, and kissed the place where it had been. think, though. the wound was after all not in her hand and if did not find it was not useless in the healing.
 Then suddenly remembered that had not summoned the landlord, and rectifed my forgetfulness in a violent | manner. When mine host entered he was in time to see the rigid hat bend ! ing under parasol somewhat down the road.
 "Ah. they have made it up again" he l cried, with evident satisfaction. "l am | glad of that, for the wedding is to be in the early part of next week, and am | to supply the wine for the ceremony Everyone seemed satisfied but myself. I continued my walk to Pourville, hay | ing remembered my sister who was waiting.-Chicago Times-Herald.