The Washburn leader. [volume] (Washburn, McLean County, N.D.) 1890-1986, 1914-01-02

tnerS chateau In the upper town. b
high wall covered with vines was am
pie protection from the passerby. and
the tender shade Of the poplars served
to shield her from the sun On q rustic
table stood her breakfast tray, an
equipage for two.
Betty was not alone. One was there
with her.
As she sat with Anny's letter spread
out before her she heard the tinkle Of
the fountain On the terrace. the cav
ing of the rocks in their nests. the
click of the sabots on the pavement
of the court where the. servants were
at work; and likewise Betty heard the
voice Of her companion.
She saw. too. all these people and
things. felt the wonderful balm of the
breeze perfumed by the flowers from
the little beds around her; felt the un-
erring and complacent peacefulness of
her environment: the superb self sufh-
cheney that exists in some corners of
the world. a self suficiency so COM
plete that it has. in certain instances.
the strange and subtle power of erasing
the storms and stresses of those who
come beneath it's influences.
For twelve times twelve months
Betty. radiant, irresponsible, laughing.
dancing. willful Betty had lived on at
Limoges. AS has been set down 1t is
no part Of this simple narrative to tell
what she went through during her So
journ in the France where she had
once so longed to live.
But the outward quiet had been hers.
The dull and perhaps deadly average
had seemed to set its seal upon Colonel
Revere's daughter.
Peter had never written. Peters
checks came every month and as regu-
larry were filed away by his father-in-
law, but never presented for payment;
never once Z
That morning the charm of the pop
lars. and the gardens, and the river
below. with it's lazing craft; the faint
azure Of the sky: the drone Of the
windmill; the hum of the bees in the
fields of violets on the other side of
her terrace; the distant song of a shep-
herd on the hills with his flocks: v e
the voice Of the One who vas her COM
panion; all suddenly were blurred. blot
ted. stamped out of sound. vision, and
even remembrance by the overpower
Of Anny's news.
"Peter Van Zandt has volunteered
for the army; his regiment has been
ordered to the 'front.'"
She got up from her seat, threw her
tMmble. scissors. the garment she was
making. to the table. walked to the
little gate in the wall. opened it and
stepped forth to the road.
Shading her eyes with her hand. she
looked to the west. +
Yes. to the west, where her husband
was.
"Husband?" Well. yes. certainly.
And across from the west there
seemed to Betty out Of the immeasur-
able blue to stretch toward her soul a
yearning cry. It was not q sob, not an
%articulated conference; a strange some.
thing that made to say. Come" as
nearly as she could define it herself.
Then as her arms. her soul, her
mind. answered this the gate behind
her was pushed wider open. and the
One who was her companion came
through and with tender words lured
Betty back into the safety Of the gar
dens and into a semblance Of the inert
ness of the days before Anny's letter
mad arrived.
Which lasted for a long. long time.
It was a the close Of the var in
America when another of Anny's let
ters came. To be sure there had been
scores between. but no mention of, Pc
ter Van Zandt in any one of these IN
til now Amy wrote: Perhaps you will
have seen by the papers. dear. II In
deed they reach you. that Peter Van
Zandt was taken prisoner by the
south. He was in Libby for months. If
not for a year. but has recently been
exchanged with health so impaired by
the prison that u fever Of some sort
has set in. and he lies In Washington
city In a hospital. whether in dan
ger or not l don't find out" /
1t was winter when this letter Of
Anny's came. 1t was Christmas eve.,S
and the town was resounding with mu-
sic and bells and jollity. Betty sat be-
fore the porcelain stove: the One who
was with her sat very near on a velvet
stool Mt her feet. Outside the chateau
could be heard the Christmas hymns
being sung in preparation by the serv-a
ing people. 4
1t was intensely cold. the panes
were covered with the exquisite trace
cry of the frost even in the very teeth
of the. piled up stoves at either end of
the long salon. Il
But to Betty 1t was burning. Her
veins seemed filed with fire. the
languid December sun slanted in with
Its calm, yellow streaks on the polish
ed floor. She threw down the EN-
%broidered band she was working on
and walked to the window at the
west.
All. yes. the vest. She opened the
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