The Home Of Two Widows

A writer in Lipincotts' Magazine tells the story related by Eustache, tlie j ostilHon, to a party who was visitmg Belle-iale, near the coast of Bnttany. He said. "Five years ago Hubert Pichet married Francoise Albert. They were neither of them very young, for Hubert was at least 30, and Francoise was nearly as old. But it was quite a suitable marriage; they had always lived in the parish of Bangor, and had known each other quite well since they were children. Hubert had been a lobster-flshernian since he was a boy, and had saved a good deal of money to marry upon, for he was not like some men that perhaps monsieur has seen who never can lay by a franc. He had a brother who was a year or two older than I was at that time (I am 23 now,) and he had asked Jeannette Lanf ranc of Port Phillippe to marry him. Others, it may be, haii asked her similar questions, but Christopher Pichet was the one she pref erred above all others." . "Was she pretty'i" Rollie interposes. "Monsieur, she was then, and is still Dhe most beautif ui girl m Jieüeisie-enMer-" and the glqam in the young man's eyes tells us more tlian his lips. "Christopher and Jeanette," he continúes, "were to have been married six months af ter Hubert, but not long before the wedding day the two brothers went off on a flshing trip, to be gone two days. But the two men never came back ;" and Eustache's handsome face is quite sad as he says this. "A dreadful storm came up and the vessel was wrecked. The other men on board of her were picked up by a foreign steamer, but Hubert and Christopher were washed ashore next day at the f oot of the cliffs here below us. Ah, mademoiselle, that was a sorrowful day for the two poor women! It was Ion g bef ore they could be consoled, but after a time Francoise bought this little cottage that you see, and invited Jeanette, who was an orphan, to live with her, so they could always be near the spot where the two brothers were found. They have lived in the cottage ever since, supporting themselves by knitting and such work, which they sell at Palais on market day. As Francoise was really a widow and Jeannette was so soon to be married, the place where they live is always called 'The Home ot tne jlwo ïïiuuw. Eustache pauses here, but looks as if he had more to say ; so Eollie asks him if he knows the two widows. "But yes, monsieur, I know them well. Jeannette is a distant cousin of mine, and I frequently visit them to see if I can do any little thing f or them. It was partly to see Jeannette that I suggested to monsieur the driving here to-day." And Eustache blushes justa little. "If monsieur and mademoiselle must know," he resumes, "I have loved Jeannette f or many years, evenbefore Christopher Pichet asked her to marry him. I think she has always liked me, but not in the way I wished. But it is so long since Christopher died that 1 think she f eels differently toward me now, and it is very lonely for her here, witn omy r raucoise" for company. I am not quite poor, monsieur. I have some money, and il Jeannette would marry me we might live very comfortably in Palais. But last month, when I said this to her, she said she could not leave Francoise, and Francoise said when she herself came here that she should stay here always." "Could you not persuade Francoise tochangeher mind" I suggest. "It would not be well for her to live In this lonely spot entirely by hersfilf . hut if she would go and make her home with you and Jeannette in Palais, do you not think Jeannette would consent to marry you'i" A pleasant light comes into the young fellow's eyes. "Perhaps, mademoiselle," he says hopef ully ; and then we all get iöto the carriage. Our road leads us by the cottage, and as we approach it a beautiful girl, to whom Eustache lifts his hat, appears at the door. "That is Jeannette," he tells us a little proudly. "If the young monsieur," he says with evident embarrassment, "would kindly consent to drive for a short distance along the road, and then return, I could stop f or a few moments at the cottage." Who could ref use a lover this little request? Bollie cannot, at all events, and he willingly takes the reins. Eustache thanks him very gratefully, and, leaving thecarrlage, is soon walking up the little patli that leads to the cottage door. A short distance f urther on we notice the entrance to a beautiful valley which seems to extend across the island, and turning up this we flnd our route so charming that neariy an hour elapses before we return to the cottage. As we come in sight Of it again we see Eustache waiting for us and looking very happy. "Has she consented?" Rollie questions. "But yes, monsieur," the happy fellow responds ; "it is all settled. Francoise says that if Jeanette wishes to marry me she will come and live with us in Palais ; so Jeanette says she will have me, good-f or-nothing f ellow that I am. And it will be very soon," he fds as he takes the reins. "How soon ?" we both ask. "Intwo weeks," Eustache answers gleef ully ; "and if mademoiselle and the young monsieur could come to the wedding we should feel very much honored, Jeanette and I." "We could come over f rom Auray again," my nepbew suggests eagerly. "I do not know that I care to undertakethe journey again," I answer; "but you certainly might if ït woulü give Eustache any pleasure." "All right, Aunt Sue!" and as the invitation is accepted on his part, Eustache looks, if possible, more happy thanbefore, „ The young Frenchman tells us all about himself and Jeanette on the homeward drive, and we cannot help becoming exceedingly interested in liimself and his fortunes. "Heisa betterfellow even, Bollie savs to me on our return, "than Jean Kernrad, whose wedding we attendeü at Ouimper, you remember." "You think so because he is nearer your own age, I imagine, Roland. The next day, when I propose leaving for Auray.ourgood landlords face is the picture of dismay. "Leave Belle-isle-en-Mer without havmg enioyed the bathing ! Mademoiselle must be joking. ís she not aware that peopie come f rom all parts of Trance for thebathing? And she will go away without even thinking of it! Monsieur Paradol has unconsciously I raised his voice with each sentence, and the last one is almost a shriek. It is hard not to laugh, the little man is so very dramatic in his manner and gestares. I hesitare, ana jxumsieui i Paradolsees that I do. From that ] moment I am lost. And my nephew j only aids and abets our voluble landlord by suggesting that as I am fond 1 of bathing I might as well stay here andenjoy it until after Eustaches i wedding, and lf anytbing is wanted from Auray we can send for it by tne "Ánd the month that we were to be at Auray?" I say to him. But I submittomy nepliew, as I have done all along in the course of our travels m Brittany, and consent to reman m Belleisle. Monsieur Paradol is delighted; his little gray-green eyes gleam with pleasure. "Mademoiselle and the young monsieur shall not repent their decisión, he assures us with much unction as he leaves us, bowing low ; and the dmner that he sets bef ore us that day is one to be affectionately remembered. There are but few guests at Monsieur Paradol's establishment, and his wish to retain us as long as possible is quite natural. Still, I am bound to say that hu armears strictly honest, and our hotel bilí is perf ectly reasonable in its charges. A few more days go by very pleasantly. There is the bathing so much extolled by our landlord, and the drives una the walk to occupy our time, and the eveiúngs Rollie improves by writing long letters to school Iriends in A.merica . But worthy Monsieur Paraaol has evidently an uneasy f eeling lest time should hang heavy on our hands, and oneevening he appears at our open door with a tray f uil of books, which he deposita on a chair bef ore speaking "It is but to-day that I said to myself , says the little man retrospectively as he smiles graciously at us, 'that it might be that even with the batning mademoiselle and the young monsieur might weary of our Belleisle-en-Mer, and wish to leave. I am djstracted with the idea. I say to myself, 'What shall I do?' Alas! I can think of nothing; I am miserable. I say to my sistpr 'The Americans have seen everything on the island ; there is nothing but the bathing left, and it may be they will not care to stay for that. 'Then my sister says, 'Auguste, you can take them your books ;' and here mademoiselle will observe that I have done as my sisuji auvioro. j-j not many, but if"- and he includes us both in a gracious bow and wave oí the hand- "but if you will wúl condescend toread them, they will occupy the time." I thank Monsieur Paradol tor nis attention, and assuring him that we intend to remain a week longer ït is probable, he departs, looking much relieved. It is a miscellaneous collection he has brought- volumes left behind by several generations of travel ers, I imagine, as so many different tastes are represented. Chateaubriand s "Átala" is thefirst book I took up, then a volume of Alfred de Musset, and next a paper-covered copy of the "joiiscript. i "If it should rain to-morrow, I sav - to Rollie, "we could pass the day vei., 1 comfortably with Monsieur Parad ol s books." The morrow, however, proves to be bright and sunny, and my nephew and I go out for a walk towards the city walls, intending after dinner to have Eustache drive us out to the Baneor lighthouse, which we were to have visited the day we went to the Boman camp, but f orgot about it till too late in the day. Our walk about the town and its massive walls absorbs most of the morning, as we proceed quite leisurely, talking meanwhile ftrst of the walls and Vauban their bunder, and then of our pleasant Frenen driver and his approaching marriage. "1 am going to Auray to-morrow.' Rollie says, "to purchase something f or a wedding present f or him ; that is if you do not mind me leaving you f or a day, Aunt Sue," he adds. We see no one about the passage or the court yard as we enter the hotel on our return, but when we appear at dinner, two hours later, Monsieur Paradol greets us with a very grave grace. He says but little, however, and we are left to wonder what has come over our .ïcmailv vivacious landlord till alter the dessert, when, as we are leaving the dining room, Monsieur Paradol says entreatingly, "Will mademoiselle and monsieur stay but for a moment? I have something to say." As we pause to listen to him he continúes, addressing me: "Ah, mademoiselle, it is as i f a son of my own were taken away. Only this mornmg l said to my sister, 'When Eustache marries Jeannetie Lafranc I will give him 800 francs, and I will have him to take my place at dinner ;' and now, mademoiselle, it will never be. Eustache Frentin is gone ; he is dead ;" and a tear glistens on Monsieur Paradol's red cheek. "Dead?" I exclaimed in painful surprise. "How did it happen ?" "Dead?" cries Rollie, his lip quiyering. "Oh, it cannot be! Monsieur Paradol, you cannot mean it! Why he was looking forward to taking uj. to Bangor this afternoon, and he took off his cap to us with such a pleasant smile as he drove off with those people from Vannes early this morning. "But yes, Monsieur, it is all true. The two ladies from Vannes wanted tiim to drive to the clifïs near the samps of the Romans; and as one of them took off her glove to piek some flowers near the edge lier ring came off with it, and botli rolled over the edge and lodged in a little hollow a few feet down Eustache was always so polite- mademoiselle must know that- andhe said that he woulcl climbdown andget them. The ladies said that it was too danserous and that he must not, but Eustache said it could be very easüy done. And so, Mademoiselle, it could have been on some days, f or I know the place, and when a boy I used of ten to climb down a little way to gather a beautiful grass that grew there and nowhere else ; but this time a strong wind must have been blowing toward the land and have sent the waves higher up than usual, for the ladies said the rocks looked very wet and süppery. Mademoiselle sees how it must have been with poor Eustache. ■Ritrht bef ore their eyes he lost his hold and feil into the sea. 'Jeannette! Jeannette! they heard him cry as he f 11, and then they heard only thenoise of the waves." Monsieur Pardol pauses just here, much agitated, but in a moment he recovers himself and continúes his sad story. "There was no way to help poor Eustache ; there was no men or boats at hand ; and so the ladies drove back I and sent the flrst men they could flnd tolookfor the body of monpauvre Eustache. Then they carne and told me. Ah, mademoiselle, I am an old man and I have seen much trouble, I i_ __.l j-_ j ir, 4-n nf all m V llff JUT LO-Qiy is wie sauurau ui " "j j Eustaclie was like a son to me, and when he was but a boy I brought lnm here;" and the good man's voice tremMy own eyes are f ast fllling with tears, and as f or Kollie, he has gone to his room, unable to hear more. "Mademoiselle will pardon me tor telling her what is only my own sad affair, but when I was a young feil o w like Eustache I loved his rnother, but she did not know it, and before I could summon courage to teil her she married Pierre Frentin. Ah, that was long ago!" and Monsieur Paradol sighs. I think it best not to ask more about tilia, but inquire if Jeannette Lafranc knows of what has happened. "But no, mademoiselle, although it happened so near her. I am wretched when I think of her," he exclaims, coming back to the present moment. "Ah, geod mademoiselle," he resumes, as a thonght strikes him, -'it is you who shall teil the sad news." "It" I exclaimed in dismay. The task is one that I would rather leave n but, linón Monsieur dol's again soliciting me, I consent, and he drives over with me an hour later to the cottage of the "two widows." Francoise meets us at the door, courtesying and smiling. Jeannette, she tells us, lias gone out, jCor a little walk, but will return soon. Thinking that Francoise could bp.at break the news to her companion, I teil what has Defallen Eustache, and she, though much overeóme, promises to teil Jeannette as gently as she can. But it is not from Francoise that Jeannette hears the srory, As we drive home by the eliff near the camp of the Romans we see Jeannette standing on the very edge, a rough looking fisherman near her, and both are looking down into the sea. "She knows already, I fear," 1 say to Monsieur Paradol. Leaving our carriages, we go toward the two, and looking down, as they were doing, we are just in time to see three or four fishermen lifting the poor bruised body of Jeannette's lover from a hollow in the rocks, where a eareless wave had tossed it. There are no tears in her eyes as she stands watching those below, but as they take up their drippingburdena sudden light comes :„4- un Krt.mfi-fni nula fa.rp_ n.nd she IltU ilci UcaULll-Ul, Jaiív awvw, i w.- iprings forward as if she would leap iiito the sea, which has proved so cruel to her and those she had loved. Quick 3,3 her movement had been, the fisherman by her side has been quicker, and his strong arm holds her back. Tvo days more, and Eustache's funeral is held at the chureh in Pal ais where he was to have been married. Every one in Palais knew the handsome Eustache Frentin, and the chureh is filled with sorrowing friends. The two ladies from Vaunes are there closely veiled, ltollie and I are beside Monsieur Paradol and his sister ; and just bef ore us is Jeanette, weeping and suüDOrted bv Francoise. The aged priest's voice trembles as he proceeds with the service, and the clear, sweet tones of the choir falter sometimes as they utter their responses. That evening Rollie tells me that he has puid the priest to say masses for poor Eustache for a month. "Not that I believe in that sort of thing," he adds; "but if it will dothe poor fellow any good, Aunt Sue - " And I have not the heart to remonstrate. ïhe next day but one we go to Auray, taking Jeanette with us. She can no longer bear to live near the sea, she tells us, and I think of finding a home for her with some friends in America. Francoise goes to live at Monsieur Paradol's and assist his sister in her household cares, and so the home of the "Two Widows" at Belleisle-en-Mer is left empty and desolate. Many years ago, in the days of the old State banking system, there lived in one of the large towns in Western New York an eccentric tavern-keeper named Gumble. He had "a grudge" against the local bank, and to avenge himself, he quietly bought up a thousand dollars oí' its bilis, and swooped down unexpectedly upon the concern with a demand for specie. The bank president heard the demand with provoking complacency, and began at once to count out the required coin. While thus engaged he greatly excited the wrath of Gumble by inquiries for his health and the health of his fawily. To these repeated inquiries Gumble replied only, "Onus bonus ad separandum, Sir." Presently the whole thousand dollars had been redeemed, and Gumble, with his basket of coin on his arm, went away, flinging back at the bewildered banker as he lef t, the mysterious "Onus bonus ad separandum, Sir." A crowd of curious loungers awaited Gumble's return to the tavern "stoop," and as he approached, a member of the party said,"We see you have got the specie. What did you say to the president?" % "I said, 'Onus bonus ad separandum, Sir, " " Well, what did he say ?" "He could say nothing: he feit the want of an education, Sir."