THE SORCERESS'S PROPHECY.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 98, 22 May 1909, Page 4

THE SORCERESS'S PROPHECY.

(Translated from the French.) I* Vinette is a beautiful Tillage. You might search through France and hardly find a prettier. How. indeed, could it be otherwise, with it? fruitful vineyards, its substantial white farmhouses,' and its streets lined nn either side with fruittrees? Everything looks so comfortable and homelike, so expressive of peaceful plenty, that it is no wonder that the traveller, as he passes through the village, permits his eye to rest with pleasure upon its neat appearance, and exclaims:

"Surely, it is a little paradise!'' After all. 1 have not named il< chief recommendation. Xowherc will you find prettier maidens than those of T,a Yniette To be sure, they are not highborn, nor versed in the elegant aecoinI plishments. since there i»' 7iot one amongst them of higher rank than a farmer's daughter. Fortunately, however, beauty and high birth are not always inseparable, nor do they always go together. At least, there is many a countess who would count no price too great by which she might purchase the charms of-Marie Maillanl.who outshone all the other maidens of l,a j Vinette. as the sun does the star.-'. For ! all (hat. Marie was a great favorite ' wiili all her companions. l'iicon«eious 01 I: -r own superiority, she did not ob-tni-'f ii offensively upon others. 1 <».-,,• afternoon it chanced that Marie and several of her companions were returning merrily from the vineyard, whither they had 'been to estimate the probable amount of the coming vintage. All at once one of them espied in the roail an old woman walking along the road by the help of a -staff, which she held in her right hand. She turned towards them and awaited their coming. ''What tan we do for von. good mother r" enquired Marie. " "Cross my hand with a piece of silver,)

my pretty maid, and I will tell you you r fortune." '•Villi must lie a witch, then!" slid Marie, gaily. '•You may call me so. It is given to me to sec, ere they arrive, the chnncm which fortune mayihave in store." They looked at her with griwh'.' reverence, despite her tattered garmcnls and unprepossessing face, hut none spoke at firs't. However much one inav wish to know what is to happen to hiai oilier, he cannot avoid feeling a little reluctance—a little disposition to defer the eventful moment. 'Here, mother." .said Tnzetto. at length, one of the gayest of the party, holding out her hand to the old crone, "you may tell me my fortune. Bill I must toll von beforehand that you need not take the trouble to provide' mc with a husband, as I have vowed to be an old , maid." I The sibyl took the hand of Ihe laugh- { lug maiden, and. after a single glance. fixed her nenetratins eves upon her. I "I see." she said, slowly, "a bridal' train marching slowlv to' the village I church. Flowers are strewn along the \ way. over which pass the bridal nn>. Xced I mention the -name of the bride?" || Lizette drew back with a blush: the J j Sorceress was right, for on that dav ) ( wevk she was to stand at the altar. An-

other took her place, and still another, till .Marie alone remained.

''Come, Marie," said the girls, impatiently; "don't keej) us waiting. We want to know what your fortune will be. It should be a good one."

Marie came forward and submitted her hand to the interpreter of fate. The sibyl started, as if suspicious that her art liad failed her. But a moment's survey dissipated her doubts, and she murmured, as' if to herself: "Maiden, a brilliant destiny awaits you. You will wed a title and become the mistress of a fair estate. Servants shall be in waiting to do your bidding, and wealth will pour forth its choicest offerings at your feet. Such is the decree of destiny." "Mother," said Marie, in extreme astonishment, "you have certainly read wrong for once. Such a fate is not for me, and I would not that it were. Enough for me that 1 settle down iu the same position that I now occupy, surrounded hy my friends' and acquaintances."

"No matter," said the ■fortune-teller, composedly; "you cannot change tlhel course of events. Wait patiently for their unfolding. Be not apprehensive of evil, for this line," and she placed her ■withered finger on Marie's palm, "betokens a long life and a happy one." "I am much obliged to you, mother, said the latter, laughing, "for your favorable prediction, and when I become a countess, I will take care that you are provided for." •'You owe me nothing," was the reply. "I am but th« mouthpiece of fate. I may demand the fulfilment of your promise sooner than you think.' "Be it so, mother. When you arc entitled to make it, be' sure that I shall not withdraw from my engagement. When the old woman had hobbled away, richer by some francs than before Marie* was' bantered not a little by her companions on the destiny which had been marked out for her. '■Which shall it 'be, Madame La Duchesse, or Madam La Countesse?" enquired Lizette, gaily. . „. "I have a good mind," said Marie, in return for your malice, to steal away vour Philip, and marry .him. myself. In that case, at least, the prediction Lizette, who would have been very unwilling for Marie to attempt in earnest what she threatened in jest, thought i best to drop the bantering tone she ha. at first assumed. As for Mane, slu thought little of the prediction, lo hei mind it was so altogether improbab that she did not think it worth while tt

waste a thought upon it. The soil of La Vinctte is somewhat uneven, thougli it contains no very high hills in the northern part there is a little brook flowing over a rocky bed with considerable impetuosity. Over this stream, which is, however, too shallow to be dangerous, there is a narrow foot- ' bridge for the accommodation of pas--1 scngers. ~ It eo chanced that about a week aitvi ; the events above described, Mane, who was just returning from a visit to a ' neighbor on the other side of the stream, ! had occasion to pass over the bridge. 1 Doubtless her thoughts were preoccupied or she would have been more care- " Jul.' As it was, her foot slipped when 1 she was halfway across, and she fell in It was not a very serious alfair, but she 1 felt awkward enough, and vexed at the necessity which compelled her to wade • through the water. She had hardly I picked herself up when a pleasant voice was heard at her s ide, saying: 3 "Mademoiselle, ■ permit me to escort you to the other side." Marie looked up and encountered the fc respectful gaze of a young man drewed in working'attire, with a broad-brimmed ■ straw hat upon his head. She had fun", • though it was but a moment, to per- - ceive that he had line black eyes and a i' most prepossessing countenance. >~ot being disposed to prudishness or .- coquetry, she accepted without hesita- • tion the in-offered aid, and was soon |: upon the bank. ■'l am much indebted to you for your e kind assistance," said she, casting down |> her eyes, and she could not avoid noticil I ing that those of lilie young man were a fixed upon her in admiration. II "There is no need, mademoiselle. The t obligation is on my side," was the reply. c '-Will you be kind enough to inform k me," be added, alter a pause, "whether j there is anyone in the village who would i- be likely to employ me upon his farm? Pardon my troubling you, but I am a i- stranger, and know no one here." e "I think," said Marie, after some hvsis tation, "that I heard my father so' e lately that lie wished to secure addi5, tional assistance. Jf you would like to t enquire, you can accompany me." I "Thank you," said the young man;

'•nothing would please me better." They walked along together, conversing sociably. Marie learned incidentally that her companion's name was Henrique Arinand. and that he was the only son of a widowed mother, living in a village some twenty miles away, and that it was for the purpose of relieving her necessities and placing her-in a more comfortable situation that he was now about to hire himself out. Thin information led her to regard Henrique with still greater favor, and she could not help wishing that her father might engage him. Fanne r Mnillard was also prepossessed in favor of Henrique, and as he really wished to hire someone to gather in the vintage and aid in the other farmwork, it was not long before u ibargain was struck and the newcomer was installed as a member of the household.

Henrique's aflercourse did not belie these impressions'. It was .not long liefore ilie became a general favorite. When the labors of the day were over, he would get his llute or guitar, for he was versed in the use of both instruments, and play for the entertainment of those who were attracted to him. Occasionally he would accompany himself on the guitar, ina. peculiarly rich and melodious voice. These songs were so pleasing that a repetition would often be demanded. On one occasion, having rehearsed a popular song to the general satisfaction, lie mas pressed to sing it through once

"Xo," said ho, "I will not do that; but if you like I will sing you one of my own composition." This proposal was received with evident pleasure, and after a moment's pau*e he commenced:

'Know'st thou my love? Her dark blue eyes Shine with a soft and pleasant glow. As if the eolor of the skies Had found its way to earth below.

"Know'st thou my love? When morning comes, And sunbeams on her pathway fall, ■She trips along the llowery meads, Herself the fairest flower of all. "Know'st thou my love? Full well I know -Vo fairer dwells beneath the sun; Ah! would that our divided lives Might in one peaceful current run." The rich voice of the singer tat much Kweetness to the pimple words of the song. All applauded the effort—all except Marie. She stood apart from the rest with a pensive and abstracted air, and said nothing. "Don't you like it, Marie?'' asked one of her companions. "It was very pretty." she replied, in a constrained voice. "M. Armand is a good dinger." So saying, she went into the house, Henrique not appearing to notice the movement. "Kut are the words true? Have you really a lady-love, M. Armand?" asked a lively maiden of fifteen. "Come, describe her. What does she look like?" "Von are altogether too fuel." said the young man, smiling. "Don't you know that we poets' are not obliged to adhere strictly to the truth? In fact, I have usually noticed that those who 1 are in love are the very la«t to write songs about it. flow <i<, you know but i it niav be so willl me?'' -I ,1,„,-i i„.i;...... ;. ... .11 -. ...: i ~ „

"1 don't believe it at all." said the young girl, shaking lu-i- head. "You sang with too much I'ccUg for that. Depend upon it, 1 will find out who it is—this love of yours—if 1 can." From this time Marie treated Henrique iwith less familiarity and more coolness that she had been accustomed to Her spirits' liecame less buoyant anil I more sedate. One afternoon, Henrique, ill passing through the garden, saw her sitting in an arbour at its foot, with her eyes fixed musingly on the ground. "It is a fine day. Mademoiselle Marie.'' said he, approaching her. ' J She started, for she had not been aware of his approach, and murmured an affirmative. J| P |.,jj ,j oun |,j H | mm ; n g. knife, ami. stepping into the arbour, rial ' down- on a rustic heneh at her s'ide. It was .now lii s turn to look embarrassed, u •'.Marie,".said lie, after a pause, "there '■ is a question I wish to ask von, hut 1 hardly know how to set about it. Will ; yon promise not to be offended?" "I do not think vou would ask any question which would r ler it'neees- ' isiiry.'' : "Tell me. then, whv for home days ' past you have seemed l„ avoid me and < when in my pres'ence. have shown a re- ' serve and constraint altogether different from the friendly manner vou used to evince. Have I offended in any , W av? 11

If so, I will gladly make reparation, for J 1 value your regard and good opinion highly." "There is nothing in which you have offended me," ,said Marie, in a. tremulous voice.

"I am glad of it," said Henrique, his face brightening, "for it emboldens me to make still another request. 1 love you, Marie," he added, impulsively; "1 love you most devotedly. You must have noticed it iu my looks and every action. Do you remember the evening when 1 sang by request a song, 'ivnow'st thou my love I' It was one of my own composition, as 1 said. Did you not divine, dear Marie, that it was of you 1 was singing'i" Marie started with surprise, and a blush of pleasure mantled her features. "Was it indeed of me that you wero singing? I thought—that is, I did not' know "

Marie did not finish the sentence. Henrique perceived at a glance that herein lay the secret of her apparent estrangement, but with true delicacy he forbore to speak of it. •'May I hope," he asked timidly, "that I am not wholly indifferent to you? 1 am poor, it is true, but the recent legacy of a relative has given me the means of supporting you in comfort." "If you t."ink me worth taking," said Marie,' with engaging frankness, "you may have me." When the engagement of Henrique and Marie became known, it was universally pronounced to be an excellent match." It was a moot question which was the more fortunate, the bridegroom or the bride. "1 shall never more believe in fortunetelling," said Marie, one day, to Honrique, as she sat busily employed in preparations for her approaching marriage. "Why not?" ''Because," was the reply, "it was foretold of me that I should wed a title and become mistress' of a fair estate."

"Was that the prediction?" he asked, in surprise. "Wiho told you ?"

"A fortune-teller who was passing through the village. But 1 put no credit in it. I told her .that if ever it should come to pass X would provide for her." "And arc you sure that you do not regret the non-fulfilment of the prediction?" "Can vou ask?" said she, reproachfully. It was the bridal morning. The sun shone out with more than ordinary splendour, as if to do .honor to the occasion. Before 'the altar of the humble village church stood reverently Henrique and Marie, and the "white-haired priest pronounced with trembling voice the sacred words which united them. The nuptial blessing was scarcely over when an old woman, bent with infirmity, I passed up the aisle ami stood before the bride.

•t have come to claim your promise," said she. It was the old sorceress. "But," said Marie, in a .low voice, "it was dependent on my marrying a title. Vou we I have not done so. You were wrong." "Rather," said the old woman, raising her voice, "it is you who are wrong, Madame l>a Comtessc." "What can she mean?" asked Marie, looking towards her husband with surprise. , "She is right, Marie," said he, gently, "hi me behold not Henrique Armand simply, but Count Henrique Armand, the possessor of much wealth, but of none more precious than yourself. Listen, and I will explain all Being desirous of seeing country life in its varieties and mingling in it without being known, I found my way to your pleasant village. The rest you know. Will you forgive me!" It is needless to say that pardon was accorded, and that .Marie graced Uie high station to which she had been elevated. Her promise to the old sorceress was carried out to the letter.