Omaha daily bee., 1903-04-05
CHAPTER XVIII

Brother and sister is by a great deal the
most dangerous game which young people
can set themselves to play.
Yet by the hre in the little dressing
room Maurice Raith, alias Pierre. the wag-
oner, drew of his wet socks and with signs
OF prodigious comfort endued himself with
the consolation OF warm woolen upon his
feet, not hurrying himself greatly In so
much as he wished to think over certain
things before he betook him TO the warm
parlor and sisterly tete-a-tete to which ne
had been invited
That he did not love Yvette Foy and
that he did love Fiower-o' the -Corn-so
much was clear to him. But all the same
there was feeling in his heart both angry
and Indignant What had he done that
she should thus treat him as an outcast-
hold him not only at a distance, but refuse
10 come near him. as though he carried the
pestilence about with him?
Yet there was in him no thought Of un-
truth No. he was all in favor OF pure
"sisterly affection and the commerce OF
souls, without knowing (poor lad that
these things are vain between men and
women unless provided for by the family
circle and the parish register.
Yvette Foy, on the contrary, had no such
fraterno -sororial illusions. She understood
making love. its beginning, middle and end
as II were its high, low, jack and gamel
But as to anything milder-no. thank you!
she would leave that for girls Hke-weH,
like Frances wellwood. whom they called
Flower o. the Corn.
And she looked in the mirror as she ar
ranged her hair, Just long enough to catch
the scarlet dash Of her red ripe lips upon
the ivory Of her face. They were smiling
scornfully and she liked TO see them so.
She looked across to where Frances Well
wood was busily reading books out OF her
fathers library in which (strange as IL
may appear, she found at that time her
chiefest 'diversion.)
she looked up at her friend looping up
ana arranging cunnlngly the great dark
masses of her hair.
why have you to go down agaln?' she
asked, "sureIy you have had enough to fret
you this dayl And you will not let me DO
anything to help you. could cry for very
idlenessl"
Yvette went over to Frances wellwood
quickly and kissed her.
Dearest" she said, "I did not bring you
hither but for to give you such rest, and
peace as you need. Rest thee then, honey
swestness! I am but a poor innkeeper's
daughter and II behooves that attend upon
my guests. Pardon me that leave you!"
Aud So snatching up the warm socks and
slippers from the hearth. she went out.
'sFor my father and his friends" she said,
'they want me-"
And 80 she vanished with a lovely and
loving smile upon her face. And Frances
Wildwood thought within herself that never
since the world began had there been given
to any girl a friend so dear and unselhsh
AZ this Yvette Foy of the village of La Cav
Alerie.
And as she thought a tear stole slowly
down from under her long dropped lashes--
perhaps for the love she bore her friend
perhaps for the lack of something which
was not in her life, but which, even in It's
own despite, her soul longed
Then peacefully and sweetly Yvette. as
ever did any maiden. went down She had
told no lie with the tongue. Her father
was beneath, and she had gone to attend
on the needs of his guests.
She found Maurice Raith with the radiant
face which unexpected kindness always pro-
duces upon the unspoilt and really simple
minded.
"why are you so kind to me?" he said
quickly.
Impulsively and like a young girl Yvette
held out both her hands for him to take.
Because" she said frankly. 'T have nc
friend here who can understand me-and
need one sol"
But the pastors daughter-Mistress
wellwood?" suggested Maurice.
Instinctively Yvette knew that to say q
word against Flower-o the-Corn would
undo all that had been done.
She looked about wildly and then, speak
ing as IL constrained TO utterance, she
murmured; Must confde in you?"
He looked at her straight-eyed, quiet, re-
u -
either OF his own and other peoples.
Well" she whispered in his ear, "thi'
is a secret which must'be kept-most OF all
from Frances wellwood. Her father II
here as a spy and traitor!"
Maurice gasped.
''Impossiblel" he began. II have knowI
him He stopped He was but Pierre
the wagner. and had no right to reveal tn,
secPets of the late chaplain Of Ardmillan
regiment.
II believe IT," she said. II have dis
covered his past--all OF It. l know whenc
he came and that he is here without an!
authority from his superiors. either OF tn
church or of the army!''
She waited for her words to take efiec
and then continued. The sentences. as I
driven from her by the stress OF circum
stances. we're punctuated by the great sal
tears dropping uoNn her- cneeks.
81 cannot tell his daughter-I cannot
eannot She Is so sweet and good, /
would kill her, / dare not tell the Cam
isards chiefs or Jean Cavalier or my father
They would have his life on the instant
And-oftentimes (do not think hardly Q
NEIL am so driven that l know not wha
to Do. I am only girl. you see!"
She was sobblng now undisguisedly, tn
great throat-rending gasps almost Tx
those OF a man shaking every part Of he
frame. Maurice stepped forward qulokl
and caught her about the slender body. N
man. least Of all no brother, could hav
done less.
do nOt-do not" he stammered eagerly
perhaps you do the man wrong"
"oh. indeed II | could believe II. ho'
happy would l bel" sighed Yvette, but
have here frst-hand evidence Of the man
guilt He e in correspondence with tn
Mareehal de Montrevel. Behold his sigma
turelr
And on the back OF an unopened envelop
sealed with a coat Of arms, appeared IN
signature Aug de la Baume" the famil
Aame and style OF the Marquis and MarechG
Of France.
Maurice turned the missiye thoughtful
over and over in his hand. His brow dsrl
ened.
The missive was clearly addressed