Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1903-03-14

her forehead was bright and broad be-
meath 1t, her lips marveiously red. There
was no one like her In all the hills of
Cevenne from Mende to Beziers. Oh. yes
the red-and-white stranger girl she had
seen-she knew this Frances Wildwood.
She would go and wait for her in the
| market place. The damask rose is not
afraid of the scentless immortelle.
So she rose unceremoniously iii the midst
of the sermon, laid her stool against a
pillar, and with the air and carriage of
queen, passed serenely out into the hot
sudden caressing of the sunlight, venting
a great sigh of relief as the fresh warmth
of the forenoon breathed upon her face.
The true. spirit of 4Yvette Foy returned
to her as soon as she had left the dank
morning heaviness of the little church be-
hind her. Glooms and fervors of the sp r
ftual sort she had none about her, and, in
deed, she recognized such in others only as
useful factors in the game she loved to
play. With all her bright cleverness. with
her knowledge of men. books and women.
IN spite OF the glimpseS she had had OF
another life. the base of her nature was es-
sentfally desire for the physical we'll
being of an animal Herein lay the differ
ence between the two girls. Flower-o'-the
Corn loved everything in nature. 1t was
all fair and sweet to her-the green waving
fodder-g grass with the wind passing over
it in swirls and waves of color changeful
as the sheen of shot silk-the keen yerditer
of the bitter artemisia, the barbaric brill
lance of pomegranate blossom splashed
scarlet against turquoise sky. These
seemed part of herself They made her life
vivid That she lived on plain camp fare
that she had done SO all her days and never
expected to do otherwise. detracted nothing
from the pleasure she felt in being with her
father. in making him happy. and in glad
dening with ready graciousness all whose
lives came across hers. Every blown blade
of grass on the meadow leas, every head
OF sorrel sowing its plain song russell seeds
every ascendant gossamer with it's little air
borne traveller was part Of the eternal glad
ness of life to Flower-o -the-Corn. These
things were as parts of her deepest re-
lfgion. and she prattled of them gaily to
her father. who did not even shake his
head.
Now, though Yvette, the daughter Of
Martin Foy, the Camisard. loved some of
these natural things also, she loved them
otherwise. She rejoiced in the sunshine
because in 1t her being expanded. The very
tissues of her bond changed with a sense
Of physical enlargement and well-being
She hated the winter. but when at last
the spring came and the life juice made
the world new Yvette had strange thrill
ings and impulses through her body, as If
She too. were kin to all that bourgeoning
greenery and pink blossoming orchards.
But she rejoiced in them merely as
part Of the necessary well-being of the
world-the warm-aired. full-blooded gusto
of things of which she had her part as a
creature who loved eating and drinking
and lying long warm abed, as others love
truth and self-sacrif1ce and the word of
God.
Thus it was with these two who were
now to face each other in the warm, cop
perry glow Of the little market place, across
which the early morning shadows still lay
long and blue.
At the stalls there were not many things
to be Sold-no great choice for the good
wives of La Cavalerie-a lamb or two from
the Causes, long-legged and spare of rib,
eggs in plenty. with late fruits and vege-
heels by their baskets. or with their small
stores outstretched regularly on the ground
onions, leeks, garlic, potatoes ranged side
by side. while calf. tied insecurity to
freedom of the reugh-legged lambkin,
which in |. reality wasaoS die as soon as he
Praise to the Hottest IN the height,
And in the depthsEbe praise!
From the little Caphsard temple came the
chant, weighty and solemn. The market
women inclined their heads with willing
reverence. They were all GOT the way and
would gladly have been present, but-what
would you? The pot at home must be
boiled and who but they in these times
could win the wherewithai to fill it.
At last the worshipers were coming out
Martin Foy came out last of all, lingering
little on the threshold for a word with the
old man, who looked not a little gray and
weary after preaching. g
But Martin Foy, though g. disciple both
willing and attentive, lost his grip even of
the divine DEGREES, at the sight which met
his eyes in the warm slantwise pour of the
sunlight.
There in. the little iGrande Place of La
Cavalerie, the sun shining equally upon the
sentinels on the walls and on the market
women sitting like brooding hens in the
white dust along the western wall, in the
midst of a silence like that Of Eden. there
had happened thing which was to affect
the lives and happiness Of all those with
whom this history concerns itself far more
than the decisions of cabinets and the sue
cessions of great kingdoms.
OF her own accord Yvette Foy had cross
ed the road and was holding out her hand
to Frances Wildwood.
1t was near the great door Of the Bon
Cretein, and as these two stood thus hand
in-hand the Judas tree in the courtyard,
wind-stirred, flung down a last belated
blossom, red as the lips which In the morn
ing sunshine smelled their sweetest upon
Flower-o the-Corn.
She took Yvettes hand and smiled also.