The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 7 April 1910, Page 523

The Storyteller

AT THE ST. JEAN BAPTISTE (Concluded.) Then Toussaint thought of what the father had said, and his heart sank. There was no means by which that objection could be overcome. He did not attempt to urge her any further. He turned the horse’s head in the direction of Aurore’s home. The afternoon was a beautiful one, and the drive would have been pleasant but for the circumstances which cast a painful constraint over both. On the homeward way they came to a field thickly covered with the pale blue of Aurore’s favorite flower, and the girl could not repress an exclamation of delight. Toussaint, without a word, put the reins into her hand, and, getting down plucked for her a large bunch of the fragile blossoms. ‘ It is to be regretted,’ he said, ‘ that these flowers do not last. * they will last a little while,’ she said gratefully; and I thank you very much for the trouble you have, taken. ‘lt .nothing,’ the young man replied; and he said no more till he bade her good-bye at her father’s door. It may be supposed that the gossips gossiped and gossiped concerning that drive, some going so far as to expect to hear the banns called the following Sunday. '■ IV. When the St. Jean Baptiste came round the next year everything in the sacred edifice was as before; for the church is always the same, and in that way is a small imago of eternity. But in other respects Aurore found a change. She had not been chosen to pass the St. John’s Bread, but received it from another. She blessed herself; and, while eating it, could not help stealing a glance at Toussaint, who sat bolt-upright, and likewise consumed his portion of the festal cake, but never turned in her direction. When the services were over, he made not even the slightest movement toward her; but, getting into his handsome waggonette, drove away. It was outside the door that Aurore heard the great news that was agitating all the groups, and which the gossips were not slow to bring to her, that they might observe the effect. It was certain, said they, that Toussaint was to be married to the daughter of M. Prefontaine up at the Mountain. She would bring him a large dot. Aurore grew a little pale as she listened, and felt a slight constriction at her heart. There was no one to delay her departure that day, and no one to ask her to drive. On the way home she beheld a field of her favorite blue flowers, and the sight of them caused the constriction at her heart to grow more pronounced. They reminded her of last year, and how her suitor had worn one in his buttonhole as a message to her, and had plucked bier a large bunch of the perishable blossoms. When they had driven some distance, the horse cast a shoe, and her father bade her alight and -wait, while he drove to the nearest blacksmith. Her brothers elected to walk the rest of the way; so the girl was left alone, and somehow she felt that her loneliness weighed upon her. She sat down on the grass under the shade of a hedge, with a maple tree bending till its branches almost touched her. The day was lovely, with its balmy air, exquisite scents, the singing of birds, and the joyous hum of insects. Aurore covered her face with her hands, and a tear stole down her cheeks. After all, what did a name signify She had perhaps been foolish, and she hated to think that that other girl at the mountain was now probably going out for a drive in her place. She was startled by a step and a voice near her. It was Toussaint, who stood and regarded her intently. He was not slow to perceive the paleness of her face and the tear upon her cheek. So, Ma’amselle Aurore,’ he said, ‘a year has gone by, and it is again the feast which brings to some in this village joy and lasting happiness.’ Aurore fancied that he spoke of his own coming marriage. She rallied bravely and answered ‘ For sure, yes, it is the feast and I hope it has brought you happiness.’ ‘ We drove together last year,’ the young man observed reflectively. It was a fine day, and to-day is almost as beautiful. Do you not think so?’ ‘ Yes,’ said Aurore, simply. ‘ I thought of going up to the Mountain,’ continued Toussaint. The girl’s heart beat. ‘I know you would not go,’ her former lover added; ‘ and I can not ask you, since I have another engagement.’ He paused again before he said: If you had accepted me last year you would have made me very happy; but as it is ’ * You are doing very much better,’ answered Aurore, with fine spirit. ‘ls not that so. Monsieur La Mort?’ This time she quite forgot to omit the surname, and Toussaint noticed the circumstance. He looked at her •intently, and then said slowly: •-

• ‘lt is a pity I have made that engagement; for the day is of the finest, and that drive of last year made me very happy.’ ■ . • * she perceived that > her whilom admirer wore once more in his buttonhole a blue flower. ‘You have not changed your mind about marrying?’ Toussaint asked. We will have your wedding first,’ answered Aurore, laughing, though her heart was sore. ‘That can not be, Ma’amselle Aurore!’ he exclaimed with emphasis. ‘ When mine is, then also must be yours ; for I will never marry another.’ ft is a . pity you have made that engagement for the Mountain,’ remarked Aurore, irrelevantly, with a laugh and a blush. Does that mean,’ cried Toussaint eagerly, ‘ that you would perhaps come for a drive Aurore nodded shyly. ‘Does it mean anything more?’ asked Toussaint; and this time his tone was beseeching. ‘ Does it mean that you could forget my ugly name and become ’ ‘“Madame La Mort,” ’ assented Aurore, ‘since Love has conquered Death.’ ' And Toussaint did not know that the jest was her father’s. —Ave Maria.