The Palatka news and advertiser. [volume] (Palatka, Fla.) 1908-19??, 1917-07-20

through maze OF pain tnat SCENE
to diminish in the sheer magic of he
radiant presence.
Often she discovered an old az
quaintance among the manned an
suffering men who filled the crowde
hospital wards. But for friend an
stranger alike the little voluntee
nurse, who lacked even the most III
dimentary knowledge of dressings an
antiseptics, found words of comfOr
which seemed to those of US who look
ed on, no less than inspired, an
which bore results so amazing tina
| had best not describe them at all
lest l should be discredited. The the
rapeutic value of bewitching smile
may not be recorded in any pharmaco
poeia, but there was something abou
Flore Marise.
Courage, mon pauvre," she would
whisper, in her velvety little voice
with its indescribably tender inhec,
tons, "it is for la patrie, is it not ?
My heart is with you"
One knew instinctively the moment
she entered hospital ward, for eyes
frightened and features, distorted
with pain, relaxed into contcntmcnt.
Never was hospital nurse so unethical
in speech and manner and never sure
ly was one so adored by her patients
as Flore Marise.
Jules, is it your" l heard her cry
in joyous recognition of a friend of
happier hours; it "is you, my little SOL
der? Ma fol, how brave you've been,
and Pm proud of you Soon you
shall be well again. Is it a bit of
hole from the shrapnel, perhaps ?"
And she offered both her hands to
him, with a pretty gesture of cam.
araderie.
The face of poor Jules, which had
been like tallow, went crimson, and he
offered no hand to her in response, al
though he muttered brokenly. "Ma-
rise! Ma belle! If you only knew"
"Alas, Mademoiselle," whispered 4
comrade in the next bed, che has no
hand to give to you!"
The hot color had left Jules face,
and two big tears, gathering slowly,
trickled unchecked down his sunken
cheek "And I a painter, Marisc,"
he muttered huskily. "Alas, petite,
it is like yesterday, that l sew you
dancing to the violin of Antoine, and |
AuguSte Marchant was with me, and
while | made little crayon sketches
of you, Auguste wrote verses! Some
thing it was that began, Stars Of
Silvero How well | remember it. But
now-Mon dieu. 1t is Ia fortune DIES
armcG!"
"Mon brave!" Marise st2mmorcd;
that I could suffer with you!' Then,
with the shrug Of the shoulders
lad learned to know so well. Some
INES" she reproached him. "you are
quite foolish, my little soldier! Have
you not two strong feet to stand up
IN? And there are so many things I
. man cgn do with his feet! Ii YOU t
IRE an artist, my Jules, are You not
,rtist all over? 1t ls not with the {
lands alone, think. You will learn ]
o be artist with those great feet Of f
ours. ! shall teach you! You will c
ot do foolish little dances like mine f
ot flower dances, no-no, you will d. s
ig ones! All, but we shall be happy I
earning them, And we shall cell o
hem-Ticns. | have it. Because +
on are 4 soldier, we call one OF ,heA
1 danse de Ia belle France. and be-
ause You are an artist and once work
d in colJrs, we call one the dance OF
he tricolor! Yes, yes, that is what we
ill do, mon pauvre"
All of which may seem idle chatter
nough, but if the lower court of
ules Bounet's head rendered such 4
crdict, the supreme court of his heart
lre!v reversed the decision.
"Alas, miGnonne," murmured the
1mrade in he next bed, who led adj
rcssed her before, "and what of me?
come from Burgundy, near Dion
GU should see the vineyards at har-
oSt time, and then the wine presscs!" 81
is voice grew husky, 81 could not a.
low last autumn that | should never 81
cad the wine presses again" W