Indiana daily times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1914-1922, 1921-07-16
See the frs dance in the breezes,
Hear Pan blowing at her reed.

"Hear us calling from the tree tops,
See us swoop upon your flock;
Yield US wool to make our nests warm
In the branches of the"
IF it please your majesty" interrupted
or two of this rhymster. There is little
time to spare. I crave pardon, sire, II
my anxiety for your safety, offends.."
2 The loyalty" said the king. of the
Duke d'Aumale is too well proven to
give offense." He sank into his chair
5 and the film came again over his eyes
First" said the Duke. Il will read
you the letter he brought:
, Tonight Is the anniversary of the
dauphin's death. If he goes as is his
custom, to midnight mass to pray for
at the corner Of the Rue Esplanade. Ii
this be his intention, set red light in
t the upper room at the southwest corner
z of the palace, that the falcon may take
heed
Peasant" said the Duke. sternly, you
have heard these words; Who gave you
s., MY Lord Duke" said David, sincersly
said her mother. was i'll, and that this
writing would fetch her uncle to her
bedside. I don't know the meaning of
the letter, but l will swear that she is
beautiful and good"
/ Describe the woman" commanded the
Duke. land how you came to be her
, dupe."
Describe herr said David with a
tender smile "You would command
, is made of sunshine and deep shade. She
is slender, like the alders, and moves
with their grace. Her eyes change while
you gaze into them; now round, and then
half shut as the sun peeps between two
clouds. When she comes, heaven is al
about her when she leaves. there is chaos
and a scent of hawthorn blossoms. She
came to me in the Rue Cont, number
: twenty nine"
at is the house, said the duke, turn
ing to the king that we have been
watching. Thanks to the poets tongue
we have a picture Of the infamous Coun-
tess QuebedauX."
Sire and my lord duke" said David,
J earnestly, Il hope my poor words have
done no injustice. I have looked into
that lady's eyes. will stake my life
that she is an angel letter or no letter.
The duke looked at him steadily. Il
will put you to the proof he said,
slowly. Dressed as the king. you shall,
yourself. attend mass in his carriage at
midnight. Do you accept the testF
David smiled. II have looked into her
eyes," he said. Il had my proof there.
Take yours how YOU viii"
Half an hour before twelve the Duke
d'Aumale, with his own hands, set q
red lamp in southwest window or the
palace. At ten minutes to the hour
David, leaning on his arm. dressed as
the king from top to toe. with his head
, bowed in his cloak, walked slowly from
the royal apartments to the waiting
carriage. The duke assisted him inside
, and closed the door. The carriage
whirled away along its route to the ca
. thedral
On the qui vive IN a house at the cor
ner of the Rue Esplanade was Captain
Tetreau with twenty men, ready to
pounce upon the conspirators when they
should appear.
Eut it seemed that, for some reason
the plotters had slightly altered theil
plans. When the royal carriage had
reached the Rue Christopher, one square
nearer than the Rue Esplansde, forth
. from it burst Captain Desroies with
sailed the equipage. The guards upon
, the carriage, though surprised at the
premature attack, descended and fought
valiantly. The noise Of conflict al
and they came pelttng down the street
TO the rescue. But. In the meantime
the desperate Desrolles had torn opeT
the door Of the Kings carriage, thrust
his weapon against the body OF the
I dark figure inside, and fired.
Now. with loyal reinforcements at hand
the street rang with cries and the rasp Of
, steel but the frightened horses hat
dashed away. Upon the cushions laJ
the dead body of the poor mock king ana
poet. slain BY a ball from the pistol o.
Nonseigneur. the Marquis de Beauper
tugs.
THE MAIN ROAD.
Three leagues, then, the road ran, and
. turned into a puzzle. 1t Joined viii
: another and a larger road At right angles
/ David stood uncertain, for a while. and
then sat himself to rest upon its side.
Whittier those roads led he knew not
Either way there seemed TO lie q great
world fun of chance and peril And
then, sitting there, his eye fel upon
bright star one that he and YTonne
had named for theirs. That set hin
thinking of Yvonne, and be wondered
IL he had not been too hasty Why
should he leave her and bis home be
J cause q few hot words had come be
! tween them? Was love so brittle =
. thing that Jealousy. the very proof Of
it, could break IT. Mornings Away
. brought a cure for the little heartache'
: ( Of evening There was yet time for hin
10 return home without any one In the
! sweetIy sleeping village OF VernOy being
! the wiser His heart was Yyonne's
there where he had lived always he could
write his poems and find his happiness
Dave rose. and shook of his unrest and
the wild mood that had tempted him
He set his face steadfastly back along
the road he had come. By the time he
had retraveled the road to Vernoy, his
desire 10 rove was gone. He passed the
sheepfold. and the sheep scurried. with d
drumming hutter. at his late footsteps
warming his heart by the homely sound
He crept without noise into his little
room and lay there, thankful that his
feet had escaped the distress of new
roads that night
How well he knew woman's heart. The
next evening Yyonne was at the well in
the road where the young congregated in
order that the cure might have bust
ness The corner of her eye was en-
gagged In a search for David, albeit her
set mouth seemed unrelenting. He saw
the look; braved the mouth. drew from 1t
| a recantation and, later. q Kiss as they
walked hOmeward together.
| Three months afterward they were mar
| ried. David's father was shrewd and
| prosperous. He gave them a wedding
that was heard of three leagues away.
Both the young people were favorites in
the village. There was a procession Ill
the streets a dance on the green; they
had the marionettes and a tumbler OUT
from Dreux to delight the guests.
Then a year, and David father died.
The sheep and the cottage descended to
him He already had the seemliest wife
In the village. Yvonne's milk pals and
her brass kettles were briught-Ouf!
they blinded you in the sun when yop
passed that way But you must keep your
eyes upon her yard, for her flower Leds
were so neat and gay they restored to
you your sight. And you might hear her
| sing aye as far as the double chestnut
tree above Pere Gruneaus blacksmith
forge.
But a day came when David drew out
paper from a long shut drawer, and be-
gan to bite the end of a pencil Spring
had come again ard touched his heart.
Poet he must have been, for now Yvonne
was we'll nigh forgotten This fine new
loneliness of earth held him with its
her woods and meadows stirred him
stra ngaly Daily had he gone forth with