The Jennings daily record. [volume] (Jennings, La.) 1900-1903, 1902-03-18

The Story Of Henri.

Copyright, 1902. by Dali

The child lived In an old chateau.
built of some soft, gray stone that
time had mellowed to exquisitely ten
der tints. Old poplars rustled drow-
silly, broad terraces, kissed by the sun,
sloped down to a clear brook that lol-
:ered through the green fields and the
woodlands until it sharply turned to-
wards the village. The child often sat
On the bank in moonlight nights and
watched the stars, reflected in the
stream. Then he would wonder whence
It came and whittier it would go and
wish it would tell it's secrets to him
instead of to the round, white peb-
bles in its bed and to the waving
blades of grass, that bent to listen.
But in daytime he would wander noise
essly through the darkened rooms OF
the chateau. In the picture gallery
.ay of sunshine sometimes stole
through the barred shutters and danced
On the opposite wall. The child
thought that the boys and girls in the
dark frames must be tired OF their
fixed positions. Their elders, doubt
less, liked the dignified repose but
surely little Marie-Eustachie, in the
pink brocade, would sometimes long to
lay down her rose and the small
Charles Louis would gladly take his
hand from the sword-hilt he had
pressed so long. The child knew the
names of all-Tante Amelie had told
him-Tante Amelie, who, in her sun
ny room at the top of the tower. con-
tinually unused and prayed. But some
times she would speak OF the Saints
their holy lives and blessed Marty
doms.
Are there saints now?" he once
asked.
"Oui, mon enfant, holy men of God
driven forth from their f1ocks, hunted
like wild beasts And a martyred king,
the son of Saint Louis
These stories thrilled him with a
mixture of exaltation and awe. He
knew they dared not venture to the
village lest evil men should harm
them. And in the long days and
nights he dreamed of martrydom, OF
the short, dreadful wrench from life
and its quiet round, then of the celes-
tial joy and the peace of God that
passeth all understanding.
The whole commune was pressing
around the door of the blacksmith's
forge. Women, holding their babies
were gossiping shrilly, peasants home
from a long days work in the wheat
were gathered in small groups, vague
ly curious as to the cause that had
brought d municipal officer from Stras-
burg to their peaceful village. Jean
Walther, the blacksmith, stood in his
doorway; his tall figure in all its awk-
ward strength doomed dark against the
red glow of the fire behind him. The
Marie was the strongest man for miles
around, none but himself could lift the
large hammer which he always called
mon fils," and now he lowered over
the small figure of his visitor.
Friends" he shouted in his big
voice. 1.-The citizen here has something
TO say to u.s."
The Citizen here" paused for a mo-
ment, then began in a thin. high
pitched tone that sounded like the
echo Of the Mares shout. He told of
the good fortune the Revolution had
brought, the glories of 'Liberte, Ega-
lite, Fraternite," then continued:
And now that our liberty is won,
now that we, Tree people, RUE Tree
country, it is our duty to cleanse our
selves of the old stain. Priests, spies,
ci-devants, the emissaries of foreign
tyrants, all must be eXterminated.
With sorrow we have heard that you,
citizens, are harboring consplrators
against the nation. That den of mi
guilty. he pointed towards the cha
teau, that lurking-p place of oppressors,
holds a dangerous band of plotters,
who would bring back the priests who
cheated us with lies and the profit
gates who fatten on the spoils of their
fellowmen. Will you suffer this crime =?
Nay, rather shall we fire that accursed
house of traitors and drag the evil
doors to Justice"
There was no answering murmur
! much to the orators surprise. He
scorned these simple peasants and
their lives of unchanging toll. They
had no smouldering sense of injury
that a breath could kindle into flame;
the Revolution had abolished the ga
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