Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1903-03-07


certain of her attractive bower Give her
but silk for serge. red heels for hone cob
bled shoes. and there had not been a proud
er or fairer court lady under the raging
splendor Of the Elde-Boeuf.
The balcony upon (which Maurice and
Yyette Foy emerged was not proper to his
room alone. 1t went all about the house.
except. that is. on che side which over
the corner where they were most remote
from observation, and pointing the young
man to chair, leaned her elbows negli-
clasped hands.
She looked up into his eyes a long while
steadily, and in spite of himself he felt
his soul being drawn from him. For so 1t
Is when eyes that are great and large have
that In them which needeth not speech
So she said slowly, without withdraw
ing her eyes from his face or allowing the
spell to be broken. have You come so far
For me. do not know what you mean"
he said uneasily.
But all the same he did not look at her.
And Yyette Foy. the innkeeper's daughter.
laughed that low, resonant laugh like the
gurgling of water underground
No." she said, sit is not hid from me,
as you think. And that thing that has
brought you here is not. as they think, to
bring them few guns. a little powder and
the greetings Of their dear friends and
noble allies, who, unless 1t suited them,
would not stretch out so much as their lit
tie finger to help If they were dying of
hunger and torture. The poor silly fools
are all agog with the hope that next week
Marlborough and the Prince Eugene will
be camping out on the ridge there and
King Louis and all the marshals of France
sleeping in their deep graves. A wonder
ment to such deceit! No. and you would
not but that you came here-for what? To
follow that pale pink-and-white daffydown-
dilly girl the daughter of the Geneyan
Stoa Is ;o1a
a frozen rush from the water edge She
knows neither what it is to love nor what
it Is to hate"
And know BOTH" she added suddenly.
her voice was hardly louder than whisper,
vet far-reaching like an echo in a great
cathedral.
She rose up suddenly and fronted Maui
rice.
Eyes. know both-to love and to hate
she repeated, and as she spoke she slowly
approached him where he stood. All about
the terrace the creepers were red and pur-
pie The pair were almost wholly hidden
behind them.
Listen" she said in the same low.
thrilling voice. 81 have not spoken to
man-at least not in this barred prison
house-for five months What are these
yammerers to me? You-you-!'' she seized
him with quick, vivid hands that left ner-
Vous impressions upon his wrists you who
come from camps and courts and the so.
ciety of the living-you know. These arc
not my equals These are no COMPANIONS
for me-"
But" began Maurice slowly. "is it not
possible that after all-that-"
She would not allow him to continue
II know-I know" she cried, almost
f1ercely, you would say that these men
and-their women-are better than L!
Granted! You are right. Infinitely better,
higher, purer. But the being they call
God made me I might have been like
your China-of-Dresden maid down there
and seen good in all things. Only 1 am not.
1t was not SO ordained My father sent me
to Paris to be educated-finished. The
school was a kind of Protestant convent
without the dresses and without the masses
so much the duller therefore. But there
was another maid in that prison house-her
name, Eugene La Gracieuse Her father
is now in the Marshal de MontrevePs army.
And so long as she remained she and l
found a way to evade most of the res.ric-
lions of the place" s..,,f
She paused to let her memory run over
the leaves of the past
Il was there four happy years. I saw the
great world. 1 heard men speak-men who
We're men-men like YOU And at the end of
1t, came back-to this-to this!'
And with a great sweep of dsdain she In
closed with her arm the circle of little high
rooted houses that constituted the fortified
village of La Cavalerie
She looked wondrously lovely to Maurice,
this girl, vivid, pitiful, of an astonishing
and most magnetic beauty. Suddenly some
thing seemed to melt in the young mans
heart 1t appeared to him that he had been
sent on special mission from the great world
to comfort this forlern girlEeducated, made
to taste the pleasures Of life, and then torn
from them to be plunged in a solitude. Also
her eyes were certainly wonderful that
olive skin. at once clear and mat, without
polish Of service or flush of color save only
the wondrous lips of cardinal red laid like
leaves of autumnal scarlet upon the ivory
Of her face Above her heaped hair in dark
loose masses eyes deep and lustrous!
10. ,adn O. n~I no.
Foy started and a flush of something like
triumph momentarily Redeemed her cheek.
The moist suffuson of her eyes brimmed
over. A tear ran slowly down her cheek.
had kerchief in his left hand He knew
not whence he had obtained it. But he
was wiping away that slowly trucking
drop. TWO great eyes, moist and luminous,
He seemed to grow dizzy in a mist of per-
fumed breath. The carnation lips were
nearer still. The sight and thrill of them
seemed to swallow up all else.
When suddenly beneath these two, stand
ing thus rose the singing note of a mar
Vicious voice. Maurice let the handkerchief
drop. He started back. Yvette Foy, left
unsupported, staggered and would have
fallen had it not been for the iron of the
balcony which she clasped with both hands,
Her red lips grew ashen pale with anger.
From the balcony Maurice Raith looked
down. 1t was childs funeral.
HSl III the procession CdIHe TIE Ola Hill
lister, the late chaplain of Ardmillans regi-
ment in his bands and Genevan gown, the
book open in his hand.
Then, all clad in white, fair and tall like
an angel, Flower-o'- the-Corn followed. car
rying (as was the custom) the babe in her
arms, dead, sinless also@clad in white. 1t
was her voice which Maurice had heard
leading the burial psalm. He was too far
away to hear the words Of the French
psalter, but he well remembered the tune.
1t was that which had always accompanied
the ancient Scottish words Of the 121st
Psalm, the Psalm Of assured peace and
purity. And they rose to his heart and well
nigh to his lips as he listened to the clear
voice Of Frances Wildwood, whom he had
called F'lower-o'-the-Corn. 80 ~
to the hills will lift mine eyes,
From whence doth come mine aid.
My safety cometh from the Lord.
Who heaven and earth hath made.
Thy foot he'll not let slide, will
He slumber that thee keeps,
Behold, He that keeps Israel
He slumbers not, nor sleeps.
Maurice lifted himself up with a certain
heave of relief. Many things, the imagina-
lions of the heart of a man, which had run
like millra before had grown suddenly