The Saint Paul globe., 1900-01-28
An Episode in the Captivity Of Marie Antoinette
BY IMoGEN CLARK.
lThe New York Evening Post.l

you? He was good for naught, with the
mind of a child. despite what the woman
has said. He plated a few baskets and
dreamed dreams, that's all. Long as his
life has been, It's but dot upon the page
Of God-there is no record. He lived apart
from all of us, and he had no kith nor
kin"
But who was Veuve Capet?" Marie
Picquard interrupted. HE was talking of
her when 1 came away. 1 tell you.
had to come. was so dog-tired, and
there was. indeed, no reason to remain
longer. In the morning early | shall go
again. and UTrsule will look in during the
day. If he lasts SO long. In the meantime
he wants nothing. and he does not know
one; 1t is all of that other he talks.
ITEMS he says. I must gather the prirn-
roses for Veuve Capet.'
Pere Duval, his slow wits kindled at
last struck the floor impaiently with his
stick.
''Will the woman never leave OFF," he
CRIED Chatter, chatter chatter, SO that
a man may not even think. Like the.
noise of the sea yonder Is that voice or
thine, Marie Picquard, never ceasing, nev-
er resting Twas on my tongue to tell
you concerning this person OF whom he
speaks; there was some story. Well. It's
gone, and yet he told me word for word
when 1 was a youth.
"Old Jean-a story? Nay. tbs Nkeller
that the sea will become dry land before
morning than that could be. Thou art
dreaming
But it is so I swear. Walt, let me
think; have not thought of it for years.
Ali 1t comes back. 1t comes back. II was
In the spring time of the year that was
sixteen not yet man, but with mans
thoughts in my breast, and was coming
home from my uncle's, he who lived In
the next village; thou'll remember,
Michel, he died in the black plague-God
rest his soul! My way lay through strip
of woodland and there l saw old jean
he went by that name even then, ne was
so bent and white-sitting On a log. was
for passing without speaklng-Id OUT
grown the time of jeering at him-When
he called to me and bade me<tarry. IL
was an unusual thing for him to do. ne
scarcely ever had a word for a soul; but
I suspect that something in the soft air,
which opens all mems hearts, mace MIN
long for companionship. So at down py
him, glad enough to rest and spoke OF
the springs coming through the lana,
and how welcome it was after the nara
winter At that he smiled as IL nad
found the key to his thoughts, and stoop-
ing he picked up the basket which lay at
his feet and took thence little hover
which he held towards me. It was as
if he were showing me the riches or the
world: / could tell that by his race. But
the flower was like a weed to me.
know no more of flowers to this day than
a child unborn; one is just like the other,
I have no use for them. A potalo, look
YOU, or a cabbage-ah! there IS some
sense in their being. They nourlsh man
body, but the flowers are the oVerpluS
of Gods kindness-the embroidery on the
r no nth
Give me the warmth, I say, and let them
that will. the simple. and women ana
children. have the fripperies. l care not
for them All that was in my NINA tnar
day but because it had not come TO ma
turity I did not speak, and something
else. perhaps, kept me silent. Ola jean
was so happy it would have been IKE
knocking down child's house or sheils
II I had spoken; saw that myself, and
so T held NV peace. Besides, 1t was as
IF he was showing me his inmost heart.
and the sight know not why-made me-
tender as a woman.
: "'It is a primrose-the first PRIMROSE
he said softly, but I call 1t her HOW
er--, ,vs.-
=" eWhose?' 1 asked.
."'Why hers-Veuve Capet, you know.
"But did not know, and so he tolo
me very slowly. very simply. 1t was
though not in his own words, for L have
not thought on them these many years;
vet the story is clear in my mind from
start to finish.
II.
"He was Breton-born, old Jean, and
his mother before him; his father-nay,
he knew naught of him. save that he was
some gay nobleman from the court for
it was In the days of kings who, be-
ing a few idle weeks on the coast. made
! pastime Of love and won the heart
of her whom Jean called mother, USED
her for his pleasure, and then left her 10
be the mock of the country round. wen,
she would believe no Ill Of him, for she
| loved him-some women are TOOLS ike
| that! But when two years had passed,
and he did not return as he had prom
ised, she took her little one and went to
| find the father in that wonderful city
! he had told her of-the pulse Of France.
| All this was long ago, before this CEN
| tury was born, you understand Sne
was many months in making her journey
and she never came back again. No. She
| found him she sought, but he pretended
that he knew her not. and laughed her
| to scorn before his companions when she
accosted him at his door. SO she crept
away with her child and lived-God
knows how-in that strange city. Those
were hard days, bitter days then. 1t
was a. time of oppression throughout the
land and riots and turbulence such as
never had been before, but child eats
little, and mother. who works for his
bread, eats less. Moreover, they were
together and one was happy. Is not
that enough?
| so they lived until the boy, Jean, was
nine years old; then there came a
change, The mother sickened and died
without a struggle, went out like lamp
that lacks oil. He did not understand;
here one day, gone the next; his crying
could not wake her They tore him
! away from her and carried him to her
brother. who was in the same city. 1t
was her wish. He had not been good
to her in her life. he had taunted her
with her shame. but what would you!
He was her brother after all. In death
one forgets many things, and the child
had to live Besides. the mother had
said: There is nobody like my little
| Jean; he has a face like one OF Coo
| angels-so pure-his uncle will love him
for that Imbecile AS If she could tell
The uncle was a busy man. and had nc
time for loving. He was soldier and
belonged to the national guard. which
made him much Of Importance, as any
4 one with sense would have known. And
| when Jean went to him he had just been
appointed to keep watch over woman
In prison-this Veuve Capet, for 1t was
She"
.'Veuve Capet In prison! Mother of GOD
what a wicked woman She must nave