Bonaventure

change. They had gone for a conscri

t dishes. La vieille-the mother-was spinning cotton. Le vieux-Sosthène-sat sewing up a rent in a rawhide chair-bottom. He paused by and by, stretched, and went to the window. His wife caugh

gazing out through the glass for a moment, and then, without moving, swore a long, slow

m. The wife asked what they were, but Sosthène made no reply; he was counting them: twelve, thirteen

drew his glance upon Zoséphine. "Diable!" He glared at her weeping eyes, his manner demanding of her insta

re!"-"You

nd was sitting upright, his blue eyes widened, his face pale, and his

against the window-pane, "ah, Sosthè

d one another, watching the body of horse as it drew nigh.

dismounts. The commander exchanges a smiling word or two with him, and the youth passes through the gate, and, while his comp

ave guessed it; he goes in his father's s

, Bonav

se strides up to the bed and looks at o

de?"-"Is

id the aunt. (Il a

stands dry-eyed, smiling on her father. As the youth comes her eyes, without turning to him, fill. He puts out his hand. She lays her own on it. He gazes at her for a moment, with beseeching eye-"Adjieu." Her eyes m

r. Why should the boy look so strange? Was

venture?"-"Whereabo

ches."-"Going to

ded la vieille, still in the

short, dim, dark streak, creeping across the field of vision like some slow insect on a window-glass. A spot just beyond it was a grove that would presently shut the creeping line finally from sight. They reached it, passed beyond, and disappeared; and

-r-ra! O

n unwonted noise, went to Bonaventure's bedside

am," she said; for he

when he spoke and smiled. In the pocket of his cassock there was always a deck of cards, but that was only for the game of solitair

Elisha kind, as against the Elijahs; a man of the domestic sympathies, whose influence on man was personal and familiar; one of the sort that heal bitter waters with a handful of salt, make poisonous

en's personal wants, and every one's distinctively from every other one's. So that to everybody he was an actual personal friend. He had been a long time in this region. It was he who buried B

thers contemplated from across the deep mud of the street these two interesting representatives of sword and gown. Two such men standing at that time must naturally, one would say, have been talking of the strengt

ré; "and if he could, no one a

r promised to

"does Sosthène's li

n some things he will be an infant as long as he lives; in others, he has been old from the

out all right," sa

e start what they are going to be. Be they much or little, they are complete in themselv

instance," said

on who and what has the building of it into form. What he may turn out to be at last will be no mere product of circumstances; he is too original for that. Oh, he's a study! Another boy under the same circumstances might turn out entirely different; and yet it wil

is t

I can tell you what it will do; it will either sweeten his whole nature more and more, or else make it more and more bitter, from this time

ll you; if Sosthène and his wife will part with him, and you will take him to live with

it," said

ht; but when the curé promised Sosthène that he would teach the lad to read and write, and then pr

er, to see the arrangements made. She bec

e. [It will be bully to know how to read.] Aie ya yaie!"-she stretched her eyes and bit her lip with delight-"C'est t'y gai, pour savoir écrire! [That's fine to know how to write.] I will tell you a

oked at her mournful

who can play the fiddle. There, now, I have told you! And when you have learned those things, I will be proud of you! And besides

none. He went with silent docility, and without a tear; but also without a smile. When in his new home the curé fr

here is to be any bad news of him, I hope, for the sake of this boy'