TH H atJBTTSR WATCHMAN, Established April, 1850.
Consolidated Ang. 2, 1881.1
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THK TR?B SeVTErRON, E?tabllehetf Jm, 1S?#
SUMTER, S. C., WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 1892.
New Series-Yoi. XI. No. SO.
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B
S
flBRADFI ELD'S
FEMALE
REGULATOR
CA 8TEKSVTLXIX, April 26, ISSGu
?%Ie wiQ certify that two members of my
fm mediate family, siter having suffered for
ye irs from MUMtroal Irregularity,
ne JO? treated without benefit by physicians.
?ff??Tfe truly wonderful- J. W. STKASTGE.
Bask to " VTGSUJSr* maitaiFREE, which contains
BRADFIELD REGULATOR CO.,
ATLANTA. GA.
JFte^AJg BY AJLIt &BU&&ISTS.
Are You Interested ?
? R . JW"
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neys heart trouble, nervousness, sleepless?
ness, etc. Or. Holt's Dyspeptic Elixir wil!
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W. A. Wright, the Comptroller General of
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Judge R F, IzUr, Macon, Ga., says, Holt's
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" J.. E. Pallin, Pt. Gaines. Ga., writes: "I
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ATJX, EOSERTSOX, M. TX,
10572d Ave., New York.
knowledge and observation
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Lowell, Mass.
?HxCrxTArK COMPANY, 77 Murray Street; N. Y.
THE SHdRBS NATION IL BASK,
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Aug 21. . _
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Office Hoars-9 to 1:30 ; 2:30 to 5.
April 17-o-_
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For sale by all leadiug Druggists.
MADELAINE LEROUX.
By KATHABDSO S. MACQ^OUX
She turned Ground and saw an enormous
pig.
The white road that leads from Cau
debec to Villequier mounts for a short
way very -steeply, until itis some height
above the little meadow beside the Seine.
On the right is a wooded hill, and the
top of the descent to the meadow is bor?
dered by silver stemmed, slender armed
birch trees, which at evening time look
weird and ghostly.
At the foot of this road, on the side
nearest the town of Caudebec, there
stands a pleasant looking white house,
with a high roof and two huge chimney
stacks. . The porch and a bay window
are covered with climbing roses, which
have stretched their branches to reach
an upper row of lattices. -
A large grass plot, with a slated path
running around it, is in front of the
house: and this path continues on the
left and is soon lost to sight in a shrub?
bery, backed with trees, that leads to a
garden behind. On the other side a low
stone wall, so old that it is many col?
ored with moss and lichen, divides both
front and back garden from the orchard
which slopes up the hill beside the
white road.
The river makes a sudden bend out?
ward after it has passed the house, FO
that its steep green bank borders the
road just opposite Mademoiselle Chau
melle's dwelling. Only a few days ago
the high autumn tide of the Burra swept
furiously over this bank, across the
road, and through the tall iron entrance
gates, till it flung a shower of yellow
foam and stones and twigs against Mad?
emoiselle Chaumelle's windows.
The river looked quiet enough this
morning, half veiled :n a soft mist th;*t
gave warning of coming frost. The trees
far on the left, where the river takes a
dark bend toward Caudebecquet, looked,
much less dense than they had looked
yesterday; so many brown and gold
leaves had fallen under cover of the
darkness.
The lattice above the bay window
opened, and a bright girls face looked
ont For a moment her earnest, dark
eyes gazed lovingly across the Seine, and
then leftward toward the mist veiled
bend, but Madelaine-Leroux was practi?
cal, and she knew that if she meant to
gather Ann Virginie a nosegay before
breakfast, s>e had little time to spend in
admiring the view from her window.
The few remaining blossoms on the
Gloire de Dijon rose below her window
were out of reach, and so were some
creamy noisette roses on the porch.
When she reached the g::rden the lar?
der flowers that had looked so gay from
her window proved themselves to be de?
ceptions; the tall white daisies, on which
she had reckoned, had blackened tips,
and the etirysanthemum petals were
nipped brown. She gave a little cry of
triumph as she looked around. Just
against the iron fence in front of the
house she spied a bunch of China roses, so
exquisitely varied in their rosy tint that
they seemed too lovely to be real. Ma?
delaine thought this as she stood looking
at them; she was so absorbed by their
beauty that a sudden grunt made her
start.
She turned around and saw an enor?
mous pig in the middle of.the grass plot.
It was grouting both with its fore feet
and with its snout in search of some
treasure which it evidently expected to
find nuder the turf, and it grunted as it
grouted.
"Go away, go away, you nasty, greedy
creature!" the girl cried in a frightened
voice. "Yon are spoiling Aunt Vir?
ginie's grass plot. Go, I say!" She
swished her pule blue skirt at the in?
truder. For an instant it left off grout?
ing, but it stared at Madelaine with such
fierce little red eyes that the girl drew
back in alarm.
' "What shall I do? I believe pigs bite
when they are savage." Then she shout?
ed: "Joseph! Elise! come, come! Jo?
seph, make haste! The garden will be
spoiled!"
The huge pig liad gone back with a .
grunt to its grouting, but the girl's cries
seemed to irritate it; it came toward
her, shaking its huge sides and grunting,
looking, she thought, still more savage;
it was between her and the house, and
as it continued to advance on her Made?
laine suddenly lost courage and she fled
to the entrance gates.
A passer by stopped as she reached
them.
"Help me!" the girl said breathlessly,
and she opened the gate. "Please drive
the pig away; 1 am afraid of it.*
She scarcely looked at the stranger,
she only saw that he was a man, and she
felt sure that he would help her.
The stranger seemed young and strong,
but the pig took no heed of his raised
walking stick. Seeing this, he rained a
shower of blows on the back of the ngly
brute, which drew forth a hideous series
of grunts and squeaks, and to Made?
laine's relief the creature trotted out
into the road, its enormous sides shaking
an accompaniment to its clamor.
Two women servants and a man ran
into the jrarden. There was a buzz ci
questions and Madelaine saw her aunt
come out into the porch.
"Come in. monsieur, come in the7?,
I beg of yon. Let me thank yon a thou?
sand times for stopping mischief. Eh!
then, monsieur, it is the fault of my
careless gardener, Joseph, to whom, if
you will believe me, 1 have more than
once pointed out the necessity of mend?
ing that hole in the wall beside the
orchard. Ah! monsieur, you are indeed
a friend in need. It was well that you
came to the rescue, for that was the
Bavage sow of the Alarais, and it is a
wonder she did not fly at you. Were
you much frightened, my precious Made?
laine?"
By this time Mademoiselle Chaumelle
had come np with Madelaine and her
champion, and the stranger could not
help smiling at the contrast between the
aunt and the niece. _
The round bail of a woman, with her
happy, smiling face, seemed shorter than
she really was, as she stood patting the
slim, tall girl's shoulder. Jnst now
Madelaine's dark, gypsylike face was
bent down, and her slender figure
seemed to be crouching with shame at
the remembrance of her cowardice; for
she thought that a really formidable ani?
mal would not have been so quickly
routed; she thought, too, that her aunt
was unnecessarily gushing in her grati?
tude for such a service.
Madelaine had only arrived late on the
previous evening, and then Monsieur le
Cure had come in to supper; so there had
not been time for a comfortable ^alk
alone with Aunt Virginie.
Madelaine Leroux had a father and au
excellent stepmother. Her own mother,
her Auut Virginie's sister, had died when
the girl was still an infant; but though
her stepmother loved her very dearly,
Ma-lame Leroux did not spoil Madelaine
as Mademoiselle Chaumelle did, and the
girl was alwa3Ts ready to go and stay at
Caudebec. She had come this time to
take her aunt's advice on a very impor?
tant subject, and she was uneasy till their
talk had taken place.
14 ls monsieur making ? stay in Caude?
bec?" Mademoiselle Leroux asked the
stranger.
"I shall be here a few days," he an?
swered; and theu he glanced toward the
porch as if he wanted to be asked in?
doors.
Mademoiselle Chaumelle was looking
at him with a very mournful expression
.in ?er eyes.
....^'Pardon me, monsieur," she said, and
Madelaine thought her aunt's voice
sounded broken, "but you remind me so
much of some one 1 knew yeajg. ago.
May I venture to ask your name?"
Madelaine looked hard at the stran?
ger, and she thought she had never seen
that grave, almost stern, face before.
Dark gray-blue eyes looked out frank?
ly under well marked eyebrows; the
nose and the forehead reminded the
girl of an ancient coin, and the
mouth, though partly hidden by
a brown mustache, was sharply cut and
full of character. Madelaine decided
that the stranger must be very severe,
and she felt sure he must think her aunt
foolish. The part of his face she liked
best was his broad, square forehead, and
the crisp waves of rich brown hair above
it. He looked, she fancied, surprised at
her aunt's question, but he answered at
once:
"My name is Maurice Henri, made?
moiselle. 1 live at present in Paris, but
1 shall probably settle in Rouen som-?
day."
Mademoiselle Chaumelle looked dis?
appointed.
"My friend's name was not Henri,
monsieur; but it is strange that one of
his Chnstian names was Maurice. Mon
l.sienr must permit me to say that the !
i likeness 1 see makes me feel as if he
; were an old acquaintance. Will he bj
so amiable as to come in and breakfast
with us thisnnoming?"
Monsieur Henri bowed. He had break?
fasted before he came out, but the
spinster's read}' hospitality pleased him,
and, besides, he wanted to talk to her
silent niece. Madelaine was not inclined
to talk, and after several attempts Mon?
sieur Henri devoted himself entirely to
his hostess.
Madelaine felt so cross and contradic?
tory that she preferred to be silent. She
was so much accnstomed to be in the
right with every one that it rarely oc?
curred to her to question her own wis?
dom, but after a few minutes she re?
gretted her silence and the abrupt way
in which she had answered this gentle?
man, who had spoken politely to her.
And then she told herself that it was
quite natural that she should feel upset
by his presence; she knew that she should
not be allowed to stay long at Caudebco
and she had to discuss with her aunt tho
unpleasant and important subject that
j troubled her beforeshe went home. It was
j true that she had already made up her
i mind on this marriage proposed to her
by her father and her stepmother. She
did uot want to be married, and she had
said so; they had smiled in answer, and
told her she must not decide hastily.
Madelaine felt sure she was right, but
she wanted to be justified by her auut's
assent to her opinion. Aunt Virginie
always agreed with her. "We think so
much alike," the girl said to herself, as
she ate her breakfast, perfectly uncon?
scious that she had as yet never yielded
up her own will to that of Aunt Vir?
ginie.
She could not help enjoyiug Monsieur
Henri's talk, it sounded so interesting,
i and at last, when he gave an account of
a jonrney he had made in Switzerland
that summer, her cheeks flushed and her
eyes glowed as he related his Alpine ad?
ventures, for Mademoiselle Chaumelle
had tbe gift of drawing out conversa
I tion from others..
Madelaine's eyes strayed to the vis
I ?tor's face and she saw how truly it ex?
pressed his feeliugs. He looked so deter?
mined, so in earnest, aud yet there was
a sweet, kind look in his eyes that fas?
cinated her in spite of herself. Her ob?
servations were quickly interrupted.
Monsieur Henri seemed to feel that
her eyes were fixed ou him. He looked
up so suddenly that he met them full.
Madelaine turned away with an angry
flush at the admiration she saw in Mon?
sieur Henri's face. She did not kuow
how much of it had been provoked by
the absorbed interest he had read in
hers. Her impatience caine back. She
felt indignant with her aunt. She was
certain that her mother would not ap?
prove of such a sudden acquaintance,
for Aunt Virginie went on talking to
this stranger as though he were an old
friend.
"1 shall tell her," Madelaine thought,
"that German story mother gave me to
read, where the heroine dances and talks
with a stranger all through the evening
of a masked ball, and then after supper,
when every one unmasks, the unknown
cavalier turns out to be the common
hangman. Yes, indeed, 1 shall scold
Aunt Virginie for her imprudence."
Madelaine drew herself up with a
pretty air of dignity that delighted the
observant guest on the opposite side of
the table.
IL
Days passed away, and yet no sn
mons came to Madelaine from Rou
She was enjoying herself far too mt
to take count of the days as they slipi
pleasantly by; she simply lived in 1
present; and even when she remembei
? the object of her visit she shrank fri
the unpleasant subject and tried to f
get it
Un that first morning she had beg
to lecture her aunt as soon as Monsii
Henri went away, and then Madem
selle Chaumelle had stopped her, a
had made a most touching confessh
She told Madelaine in simple, pathe
words the love story of her youth
story which till now her niece h
never suspected. Madelaine had inde
?winges of remorse as she listened
.he tender little narrative; till now de
old Aunt Virginie had seemed too un;
tractive to l>e the heroine of such a 1
manee. The girl listened with full sy:
pathy; she had never felt so mu
interested. It was plain to her tl
Aunt Virginie's betrothed had been
hero: it was very, very sad that dea
had stepped in to part such a pair
lovers.
The giri wondered, while she listen*
whether special qualities belonged
special features, and whether Monsie
Henri, who, according to Mademoise
Chaumelle, was the living portrait
her dead Maurice, possessed his heit
nature.
Since that first day it had been dh
cult for either aunt or niece to think
any one but Monsieur Henri, he h
taken such complete possession of the
both. He came to see them every eve
ing, and before he left them he plann
some delightful expedition for the ne
day.
One morniug he persuaded them
drive to Jumieges, and they had din?
at the little inn there, and driven hot
in the dusk.bedside the river. Anotb
day they went in the Seine steamer
Havre, and visited Trouville. Tod;
they were embarked on a much long
journey.
They had driven over to Lillebonn
and after seeing its lions they were no
bound for Taucarville, a pretty little v
l?ge with an old castle beside the Sein
Monsieur Henri had assured them th?
could lodge at Tancarville, as the da;
were now too short for them to retui
to Caudebec the same evening. Mad
laine thought the plan delightful,
seemed to her like some happy fairy tai
When they were leaving Lillebonn
Mademoiselle Chaumelle had great!
surprised Monsieur Henri.
"Do you miud exchanging places wit
me, monsieur? 1 will sit beside tl
driver," said the old lady; "I shall get
better view of the country."
Madelaine felt pleased ; she had grow
tired of her role of listener. Since th?
first day Monsieur Henri h;id talked e:
elusively to her aunt, answering any rt
mark of her own as briefly as possibli
Madelaine thought he was unforgiving
but then she felt sure she had been rnd<
she waa glad of this chance of showin
that she knew how to behave. Moi
sieur Henri looked as if he also liked th
change, as he seated himself beside hei
and the girl smiled back at him. ?Sh
was so happy today that everytt?in
pleased her.
"ls it a long drive to Taucarville?" sh
asked.
"About the same distance*we cam
this morning; but you will find it plea*
anter, I think: the country is so mue
prettier."
"It will be about the last dri**e w<
shall have," she said. " "I must soon g
back to Rouen." -
He looked at her very earnestly.
"I suppose you will be glad to g
home, will you not?"
Madelaine thought he said this a littl
sadly.
"Glad-oh, dear, no. I am so fond o
being at Caudebec with my aunt Be
sides"- She hesitated, and there cairn
a pause of silence,
"Do you mean," he said presently
"that you ?are happier here than yoi
would be at Rouen?"
Madelaine gave an impulsive sigh
She longed to tell her trouble to Monsieui
Henri. In these four days spent to
gether she bad seen as much of him ai
she would have seen in a much longei
?eries of occasional visits; she liked hin
very much, though he did not seem t<
care about her, and she was sure that hi
j might be trusted.
He looked at her inquiringly, but ex?
cept by her sigh she did not answer him.
"That was a heavy sigh," he said at
last; "it sounded as if some trouble were
waiting for yon at Rouen."
Madelaine darted a swift glance at him,
and she saw that he was smiling.
"Yon say that as a joke," she said.
"Suppose it happens to be real earnest?
Suppose there is trouble-something hor?
rible waiting for nie when I yo back to
Rouen?'
There was such a pathetic reproach in
her dark eyes that Monsieur Henri
looked grave at once,
j "I am so sorry/' he said; and Madelaine
thought how full of sympathy his voice
I was. "I wish I knew the nature of this
'horrid' thing: because I might perhaps
be able to help you."
"Thank you ever so much."
She gave him a grateful glance, and
Monsieur Henri thought he had never
seen her look so sweet; till today he had
had so little talk with her, and it was
when she talked that Madelaine's face
became expressive and sweet. Every
moment he grew more fascinated with
his companion.
"Will you not tell me?" he said.
"I should like to tell you*'-she looked
frankly at him, then her voice faltered
and her eyes fell under his, ' but I am
afraid I must not, because it is not quite
my own trouble-it belongs also to my
parents."
"I wonder how old you are," he said.
"You look very young to beso discreet'
Madelaine laughed.
"1 am nineteen; bus, monsieur, I think
tVat a girl much younger than I am
knows when to speak and when to hold
her tongue."
He laughed.
"Yon must pardon my indiscreet re?
mark," he said.
"Why d'd Monsieur Henri laugh?"
Madelaine asked herself. She was not
vexed with him, but she could not help
wondering what he could find to laugh
at in her words.
Ile was silent after this, and she, too,
had lost her wish to talk: it was a new
and delightful feeling to have him there
beside her. She did not care how long
the journey might prove: she was not in
a hurry to reach Tancarville; this drive
was pleasant enough to go on forever.
Meantime Aunt Virginie had become
very tired of the box seat. The driver
was so deaf that she soon gave up any
attempt at conversation with him. and,
though the country was pretty, the suc?
cession of green fields and trees, with an
occasional bit of blue distance, had be?
come monotonous. All at once she
broke into the delicious silence of her
fellow travelers.
"1 saw 'five' marked on tho last stone,"
she said. "J\> you think, monsieur, wo
are still ?vr- kilometers from Tancar
viller
"About that, I should say;" then he
called to the driver to stop. "Your aunt
must be tired- of sitting up there," he
said to Madelaine. "I had better take
her place."
Mademoiselle Chaumelle protested a
little, but she allowed herself to be
helped down and placed by the side of
her niece, lt was really a great relief to
her to find herself once more in her
proper place, lt had seemed to her only
kind and natural to give Monsieur Henri
the chance of talking to the bright young
girl instead of always being perched up
on the box seat, but while she sat there
in silence it had occurred to Mademoi?
selle Chaumelle that, although Monsieur
Henri evidently admired her niece, he
had not spoken to her on the subject,
and her brother and sister-in-law might
justly blame her for giving him this op?
portunity with their daughter when
perhaps he was not in their eyes a suit?
able husband for Madelaine, even if he
had any serious intentions regarding the
girl.
Mademoiselle Chaumelle felt far more
pleased at the exchange of seats than
her niece did, now that the chance was
snatched from her. Madelaine remeta
l>ered ever so many things she would
have liked to talk to Monsieur Henri
about; perhaps they might not be left
together again; and though Aunt Vir?
ginie was so nice, it was quite different
to talk before a third, person, the girl
thought. The summons home might
come any day, and Madelaine knew that
it would probably come in the shape of
her father, who would arrive without
giving any previous notice, and ask her
to pack up and return to Rouen with
him. Life was not as happy as it had
seemed in the morning; the remem?
brance of that deferred consultation
with Aunt Virginie, and of her father's
probable insistence, had destroyed the
glamor of her fairy tale.
Presently she gave a cry of delight.
She caught a glimpse of the Seine, and
Monsieur Henri had told her they would
not see this again till jost before their
arrival at the inn at Tancarville. Very
soon they had passed the ruined castle
and were driving down the steep, tree
bordered road that leads to the little inu
lying snugly at the foot of the castle
crowned cliff. It was doubly sheltered,
for a tall, white headed cliff rose up on
its farther side and at the back it was
surrounded by huge forest trees, already
showing gold and russet among their
green leaves. Between the inn and the
shining river lay a grass plot with flower
beds, and in the middle was a bean ar?
bor made by training runner beans over
osiers.
The party had left the carriage at the
back of the house, and being told that
the mistress was in the garden, they
came through the kitchen and found the
stout Norman woman mounted on a
ladder, gathering a last dish of cherries.
Madelaine went on to the river bank.
She was delighted with the beauty of the
scene, and she proposed that they should
dine under the bean arbor; but when she
went up to explore the ruins the girl's
happiness received another check. Sb?
learned that the landlady had declared
herself unable to give more than one
bedroom to the visitors. There were but
two in the little inn, and the other one
was occupied. Monsieur Henri had
therefore settled to ride over on one of
the landlord's horses to Saint Romain, to
sleep there, and to return the next
morning to accompany his friends back
to Cau debee.
UL
She sat thinking o?vr every word that he
liad saul U> lier.
Madelaine left her aunt chatting with
Madame Ivonssel and went up to her bed?
room. The girl felt dissatisfied with
herself; it seemed ungrateful when so
much amnsement had been provided for
her to feel discontented, and yet as soon
as she reached the room which she was
to share with her aunt she began to cry.
What should she do, she asked herself,
when she went back to Rouen, if Mon?
sieur Henri never came to see her, and he
would not because he did not know her
father and mother, and also because she
had heard him tell her aunt that he must
soon return to Paris.
"I wish I had never seen him, aod
then I should not have cared."
She sat thinking over every word
that he had said to her, and she remem?
bered how strangely he had hinted at
her trouble.
"And yet he knew nothing about it, cr
he would not have asked me to tell
him."
The stairs creaked under her aunt's
footsteps, and Madelaine quickly slipped
on her dressing jacket and began to un?
fasten her long, dark coils of hair. It
occurred to her that tonight would be a
good opportunity of asking her aunt's
advice. She did not feel able to listen
to Aunt Virginie's favorite subject-the
praises of Monsieur Henri.
"It would be dreadful if 1 were to cry
before her," the girl thought. "She is
so romantic there is no saying what she
might not do. "
While lier aunt was busy examining
the arrangement of sheets and t ho quali?
ty of the mattresses, Madelaine said
suddenly, "Aunt Virginie, do you re?
member what I said in my letter before
I came?"
j "You said you wanted some advice,
child." Mademoiselle Chaumelle looked
at her niece, but she could not see her
face. Madelaine was seated beside her
bed, and the solitary candle only shed a
faint light; besides, the girl had pur?
posely brushed her hair over her eyes.
Frank, straightforward Madelaine had
all at once become crafty.
"Yes, aunt." She paused. "Have
father or mother written to teil you
about it?"
Mademoiselle Chanmelle smiled.
"About what?" she said. "They cer?
tainly have not told me any news about
you, dear child."
"Not that they have found a husband
for rae?"
Madelaine could not help laughing r>t
the sudden alarm she saw in her aunt's
face.
"Oh, my dear! my dear! you should
have told me this sooner," and Made?
moiselle Virginie clasped her hands in a
sort of despair.
"Why, what difference would it have ,
made?" '
But Mademoiselle CUaUineJle waa not
going to make any unwise admissions.
"Tell me," she said gravely, "does
this plan please you, Madelaine*/*1
"No! oh, no! I said I was too young
'to marry; and they said I must not le
im a hurry, so 1 asked if I might not go
to see voa; but I am afraid my father
wishes it very much."
"And your mother, does she wish it
too?"
"She is so good, you know," said Made?
laine sadly; "she always wishes tue same
as my father. It was she who told me
he had long been thinking about this,
and waiting till I was old enough. I'm
sure," she said in a heartbroken tone,
"I am much to yoting to marry a man
ever so much older than I am."
"How old is this proposed husband,
and what is his name?"
"He is Mousieur Devrient. My mother
:eaid he was about thirty, but I saw him
from the window the day I left home
and I am. sure he looked more than
fifty."
"My dear Madelaine, are you sure of
this?" Aunt Virginie felt indignant with
her brother-in-law and his wife.
"I could not be mistaken. I saw this
gentleman come up the steps, and he
staid a long time with father in his
study; then, when I had seeu him go
away, I asked Victoire who it was, and
she said it was Monsieur Devrient."
"I wish I had known; oh, how I wish
it!" Aunt Virginie broke out so peni?
tently, that her niece looked hard at
her. She longed to ask a question, and
yet she shrank from uttering it; she
went on brushing her hair in silence till
she saw that her aunt was ready to go
to bed.
"Good night, my dear ^child," her
aunt said.
Madelaine swiftly crossed the room
and put both arms around her.
"No, Aunt Virginie, thai is cowardly!
You should not go to bed lill you have
given me your opinion; you know 1
came to Caudebec on purpose to get it."
Then she hid her hot face on her aunt's
shoulder and whispered, "Did yon mean
that if you had known it you would
have been less hospitable than you have
been lately?"
Mademoiselle moved her shoulder SD
that she might see her niece's face. And
what she sa"* did not reassure her. She
kissed Mad*, laine lovingly and patted
her shoulder.
"Courage, dear child, and try to
sleep," she said. "The fault has been
mine; I sha!, therefore take the blame
on my old shou' lers. No, Madelaine,
for once you must do what I tell you; go
to bed now and go to sleep."
Aunt Virginie could not sleep. She
had seen that evening the parting be?
tween Monsieur Henri and her niece, and
she felt sure that, as she expressed it,
the mischief was done. "If I had only
known!" she repeated to herself; but
after awhile she reflected that this re?
gret was a tacit reproach to the creature
she loved best in the world-her darling
Madelaine. No, it was her own im?
pulsiveness that had done tile mischief.
If Madelaine had not seen so much of
Monsieur Henri the child would no
doubt have gone home, and after a time
would have accepted the husband chosen
for her by her parents; now that would
be impossible.
"What can I do? I have just made
life miserable for her by my folly," and
she sobbed herself to sleep long after
Madelaine had entered into kaleidoscope
dreams, in all of which Monsieur Henri
figured.
Madem giselle Chaumelle exerted her?
self to be cheerful at breakfast, but
Madelaine thought her aunt's manner
to Monsieur Henri had changed sines
yesterday, she was so much more polite
and ceremonious.
He did not seem to notice the change,
but he devoted himself almost entirely
to Mademoiselle Chaumelle till it was
time to start homeward. The sky looked
so dark and threatening that Aunt Vir?
ginie decided to have the carriage closed
for homeward journey, and as there was
only room for two inside this prevented
any talk with their escort. Annt Vir?
ginie told her niece that she had not
slept well, and should try to get a nap
ii9 they drove home; she was really plan?
ning a way'out of this terrible dilemma.
The only plan she could think of-and
that seemed a feasible one-was to ac?
company her niece to Rouen and to con?
fess her fault to her brother-in-law.
Surely if this proposed husband had
never seen Madelaine his offer could be
declined, and the child might for the
present be left free.
Monsieur Henri is evidently in a po?
sition to marry; and surely they must
wish for their child's happiness above all
things.
When they reached Caudebec and
found a letter from Monsieur Leroux
saying that he should come in-xt morn?
ing to fetch his daughter. Madelaine felt
how true her forebodings had been.
She was dismayed to hear her a im t sa y to
Monsieur Henri: "Good night, monsieur,
and thank yon for all your kindness. Do
not think nie inhospitable if I say that
we are engaged this evening, but it is
the truth."
Madelaine thought that Monsieur
Henri looked mortified, and she tried to
be extra friendly.
"Goodin*," she said. "It is really
'goodin-* this time; I am going home
tomorrow."
"Goodby." He held her hand for a
moment: but he spoke quite calmly, she
thought. "Some day or other I have a
fancy that we shall meet again."
IV.
"You ayr s>trpr}v><I to sec 7>w herc"
Monsieur Leroux, a quiet, sensible
faced man. a rived just as the aunt and j
niece had begun breakfast. Ii-- was un?
usually bright and cheerful. Madelaine
thought; and when his sister-in-law
asked for a few words with him, he
smiled blandly as he followed lier out cf
the room.
"You will be ready to r?tart very soon,
I hope," he said to Madelaine, as he went
out.
The girl felt in a dream: she iHipposed j
she should wake np when sin? reached j
li?ue?, then she mest t?H her parents 1
sile could never murry Aioiititeur JU
rient, and everything would lie mis
able, unless, indeed, Aunt Virginie's
monstrances touched her father. I
she had small space to think i?. Th
was Joseph carrying down her lngg;
before she had put cn her cloak and h
she had only time to gather one 1
rose as a memory of her happy visit,
kiss and bug Aunt Virginie, who coi
hardly check her tears at parting; to 1
adieu to the quaiut old servants, a
then she was on her way to the stati
at Yvetot, for in those days the old gi
town beside the river had not been
vaded by a nil way.
Her father met with an acquaintai
in the Yvetot diligence, who was a
bound for Rouen, and Madelaine h
plenty of time for thinking before f.
reached home.
Monsieur Leroux lived in one of t
new streets of Rouen, in a eoinfortal
bm; very unpicturesque house-a e
contrast, Madelaine thought, to 1
aunt's rose covered home. Her st<
mother's affectionate greeting, bowen
made the girl feel rather happier.
She was in her room putting away t
things she had unpacked and looki
around at all her belongings, when a t
came at the door of her room.
It was Madame Leroux, and s
looked, Madelaine thought, unusual
serious. The girl's hopeful nature w
already struggling against her feai
and the worry she saw on her ste
mother's usually serene face roused h
cheerfulness.
"What is it, little mother? I see y<
want me at home again to keep up yo
spirits. Has Josephine been puttii
chicory in the coffee? Has the cana
got out of its cage? Tell me what h.
happened?
She kissed Madame Leroux as st
spoke and put her arm around her.
Madame Leroux returned her kiss
and smiled at her, but it was a poor <
ort.
"I am not vexed about anything, dei
child. Perhaps I look serious because
have a message for yon from your fathe
sit down an., listen to it, my darling,
am to say to you -that your father wish
3'ou to look as well as possible this eve
ing as some friends have been asked
diue with ns. We thought it would 1
pleasanter for you to meet Monsiei
Devrient for the first time among other
but your father wishes you to bet rea/
in advance. He will come down earl
too, ;is he wants a few words with y<
before our guests arrive."
Madelaine hail changed color rapid
while sh** listened.
"I do n^t understand, mother. Wh;
is the nse of ?ny seeing this gentlema:
Surely 3'on remember that I said 1 di
not want a husband; and then you a<
vised me not to decide hastily, and
asked to go to Caudebec. I have nev<
j said I was willing to marry Monsiei
I Devrient; ? cannot, I will not, man
I him."
"Hus1., dear child!" Madame Leroi!
spoke soothingly; "do not excite youi
i self. You will soon get to like Moi
sieur Devrient. You have been awa
more than a week, and your father h*
taken your silence for consent; if yo
meant him to decline this gentleman
offer you should have written at once."
;4My father is"- Madelaine bega
vehemently, then she looked angrily :
Madame Leroux. "Why did not m
father tell me all this before he brough
I me away from Caudebec? I should hav
refused to come with him."
Madame Leroux rose from her chair.
"I was afraid you would not be rea
sonable, Madelaine, and that was why
looked serious. Have patience, dea
child; you will think differently by an
by. Why do yon not trust your fathe
with your happiness? He has alway
been good to you. I am sure if, whe;
yon have seen Monsieur Devrient, roi
still say you cannot be happy with him
your father will leave you free."
"I will go and speak to my father u
once," Madelaiue said quickly "1 sav
Monsieur Devrient the da}' I left boin
as he was going from the house; he is to<
old for
"That was the father of Monsieu:
Devrient. Be reasonable, Madelaine
you cannot see your father; he has gow
out. We are to dine at five, remember
and now I must go out to buy fruit aw
flowers. Yon will find that I have har
your white frock freshly trimmed foi
this evening."
She went away without waiting foi
au answer, and Madelaine was glad tc
be alone. She was too angry to be un
happy; her father's treatment of liei
seemed to her too tyrannical for belief
and it was wholly unlike him. She wa?
not angry with Madame Leroux; she
knew that so devoted a wife would thins
it her duty to side with her husband.
Madelaine wondered for a moment
whether her father's talk with Aunt
Virginie had decided him to take thid
imperative course; but no, this dinner
had evidently been arranged before her
father came to Caudebec
She sat, lost in sad thought, till it was
almost time to dress; she had not moved,
even to look at the "freshly trimmed
frock" which was doubtless hanging in
her wardrobe; she thought of it once
with a feeling of disgust. "1 would
much rather make myself look ugly."
she said.
Snppose, after all, she should find her?
self unable to dislike Monsieur Devrient.
What would happen? Could she find
courage to say to her father that she
could not marry this gentleman because
she was always thinking of some one
else?
She hid her hot face in her hands
Even if she could say this it would not.
she thought, be accepted as a reason, for
she could not plead that Monsieur Henri
cared for her. She would simply dis?
grace herself if she confessed iiow easily
she had been won to think constantly of
a man who had parred from her almost
as though she had been a mere acquaint?
ance.
Heavy footsteps outside her door roused
her to decide on her conduct. Her step?
mother bad sent Victoire to warn her
that it was time to dress, and the maid
staid to help her.
Victoire hehl ont the frock to be ad?
mired, and Madelaine saw that it was
channing, but ?*he pushed it aside and
told Victoire ?he did not want to talk.
An idea had come io her which she con?
sidered an inspiration.
She would try, when shs paw her fa?
ther, to convince him that she ivas un?
willing to marry Monsieur Devrient, and
she thought if" *he disliked this gentle?
man all might go smoothly, but some?
thing warned Madelaine that her stet
mother's kindness and truth had never
yet failed, and she could not forget the
glowing ienns in which Madame Leronx
had described the proposed fiance. But
she was determined not to marr)- him;
that eon hi never ?>e. She knew that
there was an early train to Yvetot, and
tomorrow, Jong before her father and
mother were stirring, she should be safe
with Aunt Virginie, and she should re?
fuse to come home until her father
promised to leave her ip peace on ti)*?
SU oject ul .vioiioieur Devrient.
While she was-dressing Madelaine-had
become impatient ftrtfoeiulferview with?
her father.
"*Thrhgi> always seem worse-at a dis?
tance,*' she thought as she went dow?t?
stairs. She met Madame Leroux in*
the entrance hall, and she* blipped her
hand under her stepmother's ann.
"You are coming witb" mr, r- am sa
glad."
"Your father is no? in the drawing'
room, child. One of onr visitors has coiner
very emly, so we must go in and receive
hiru."
Madelaine's ha?d was on" the locl?
and she opened the door and went in,.
She did not notice that Ma-lame Le rou*
had stopped to s?>eak to? Victoire, she
stood still, too much surprised to more
forward. Monsieur Henri was in the
room, facing lier; he looked as bright
and happy as possible. He teok both?
her hands in his and drew her to a chair;
in her intense surprise it did not occur
to Madelaine that there was anything
unusual in his doing so.
?But how-what?" She hesitated; she
saw he was dressed for dinner, he was
evidently an invited guest
.Yon are surprised to see me hore; f
have the jm-asure of knowing your
father," he said; and then Madame Le~
roux came ii*, and greeted her visitor a#
if he were very welcome. She soon left
him to Madelaine and wenf away to that
window of the inner room
"Why did you not tell mey?ffkne^
them?" Madelaine said reproachfully.
"Why this mystery?"
He smiled at her.
.*I had several reasons for my silenotfi
For one thing, you never asked' me-in'
deed, I may say that at the beginning of
our acquaintance you so completely ig?
nored me that I wa? obliged to talk only
to Mademoiselle Chaumelle." Madelaine
blushed with shame. Monsieur Henri
went on: "When we really segan tor
talk, there was so much else to bt said;
but now. before the other guests ar?
rive, I have something- to say May I
say itr
Madelaine felt strangely agitated;,
she did not? know what was the mattes'
with her; it seemed to her that she must
laugh and cry both at one?.
.What is UT sire said faintly. She
was sure now that he did not care for*
her; he was so calm and sr if possessed,
while she was quivering from head to
foot with the joy of seeing him agata.
*I have found out your secret," he
said, in too low a Voice to reach Madame
Leroux, who, good i illustrious woman
that she was. had taken a bit of em?
broidery from her pocket and was sew?
ing busily. Madelaine longed to ran
away. She fixed her eyes ow her hands,
which lay clasped in ber lap. She
thought that nu less she looked np at
him be could not read her feelings io
her face. "Yes." he repeated, "I have
found ont what yon refused to tell me
on the way to Tancarville. The 'horrid
something' is a husband."
"Well?" She still kept ber eye? fixed
on her fingers
-May i ask one question?"
Madelaine nodded.
"Tell me, is your objection to Molt*
sieur Devrient or tc* the mere fact of a
husband?**'
She looked up at last
He was not laughing at her and he
seemed very much in earnest "For in?
stance"-he lient over her-"if a friend
you could trust-if I were to put myself
in the place of Monsieur Derrien t,**ro*ald
yon think me 'horrid,' Madelaine?"
Madelaine's tongue seemed stiffened:
she could not get ont a word.
Monsieur Henri apparently read an an?
swer in her eyes; he took her hand in h?,
just a? the door oi>ened and Monsieur
Leroux came in
He looked at the lovers and then he
bent down and kissed Madelaine an?)
snook hand? with Monsieur Henri
"Ah, 1 see it TS all settled," he said,
"I own frankly that your plan was a
much better one than mine, Devrient.
*ritb snch a difficult young woman."
Madelaine started. She looked with
frightened eyes from her father to Mon?
sieur Henri. Her father was smiling,
but her lover w;is very serious.
"Pardon me. my friend," he said to
Monsieur Leroux, "but 1 had not come
to that." Then he turned to Madelaine
and once more took ber hand in his.
"You thi.^fc yon have been cheated,*"
he said, "and treated like a child, but it
is not really so: you must not think it.
1 had seen j oli, but yon bad not seen
me, and 1 told your father I wished you
to form your own opinion and to choose
for yourself, as girls do in England, but
1 could not ask you to be my wife until
you knew the truth."
"Come here, Leroux," his wife said,
"your tie is crooked; let me straighten
it" Then she whispered, "They will
never get right while yon stand staring1;
at them both."
"Am I forgiven?" Henri Devrient
whispered.
Madelaine tried to frown and then to
pout, bnt Monsieur Devrient did not
seem alarmed hy these efforts, and as ho
drew her to him very tenderly she hid
her face on his shoulder.-Atalanta.
A Thrifty .Maine Klan.
In Oldtown is a man who is making
money fast out of clams, though he is at
present feeding the clams to his pigs.
He keeps a hotel and h;is bonded a clara
fiat down around Mount Desert His
clams arrive each day. He keeps them
two weeks, feeding them on celery meal
and Indian meal. They laugh and grow
fat Then he boils them, a bushel at a
time. He puts in a quart of water and
tikes ont eight quarts. The water is
strained and set aside for a day in a re?
frigerator. Then it is heated, seasoned
with salt and pepper and sohl for ftvt
cents a glass. He bas a big trade.
A bushel of clams delivered costs sil?
ty cents. He feeds them forty cents*
worth. He gives a four ounce drink.
There are thirty-two drinks in a gallon,
and sixty-four drinks are secured from a
bushel of clams. Net profit on a bushel
of clams, $2.20, and he sells on some
days six gallons. Many try to imitate
him, but no one knows how to feed the
clams as he does. His pigs grow feat,
moreover.-Boston Transcript
Good Looks.
Good lo< Ic? are more than .?kfn deep. depend,
?ng upon II hen! th v condition of xii ehe rifa" nr
gsns. If the Liver be iaacrive. y?i har? a
Bilious Look, if tour stomach ?* dj?*.rHer??l
you Kare a Dyspeptic Look aw?! ff 'ytmr Kidnej*
be nffected you have a pinched L-??>k *?*Mfe
ir<>od hcaith and yon wtJIhavegood 'mk' Electrbt
Bittern ls the great alterative an l T--K ?ri*
directly on these ?ital orgxro. Cure* Pimpl?#,
t?lofcbei?. Boils and gire.-? ? good e- mrJexioti,
Sold at J. F. W. DeLoftte'* Drug flore, 60e.
per betti?. 1
Answer This Question.
Wbv do so many people we see around n?
seems to prefer to suffer and be made mimable
by In fgestion, Constipation, DitsioeM lew
of Appetite, Coming up of the Food, Yellow
Skip, when for 75c. we will sell them Shih h'f
Vit.slizer, guaranteed to cure ?bern. Sold by
A. J. Chios, Somier, S. C. %