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PLATTSMOUTH SEMI-WEEKLY JOURNAL. THURSDAY. DECEMBER 25. 1313 PAGE e. Copyright, 1912, by Moffat, The Story by Chapters. Chapter I. What Betty Revere Wrote to Anny de Peyster. Chapter II. Her Woman Will; His Man's Way. Chapter III. When the Birds Came Home. Chapter IV When the Violin Man Came. Chapter V. Where Betty Went. Chapter VI- What Peter Did. Chapter Vll When the West Called to the East. Chapter VIII. Betty's Carts de Visite. Chapter IX. What Peter Saw Passing His Door. Chapter X. Where Little Pe ter Found the Key. Chapter Xl What Peter Van Zandt Saw. Chapter XII. When the Lit tle Master Unlocked -the Door." Chapter XIII. Little Peter's Mistake. Chapter XIV. Peter and the Little Marquis Make a Secret. Chapter XV. Two Days Be fore Christmas. Chapter XVI. "And a Little Child Shall Lead Them." CHAPTER VII. When the West Called to the East. T was a quiet life that Betty led in Limoges; a wholly provincial life with faroff echoes of Paris ami farther off echoes still of all the rest of the world. There were quaint families living in the old town 4iear the stone bridge, families who were royalist to the finger tips: to whom the Corsican and his whole brood were anathema: stately person ages of noble blood and lineage: ladies with wonderful graces and compli ments; gentlemen of an almost exag gerated courtesy. Then there were the people of the city, the traders and exporters: the enamel makers, heads of the great lotteries, manufacturers, dealers and their wives and daughters and sons. There were the voyagers, who came and went at the consulate, but these Betty eschewed. "What the months and years did with her in their detail of rising and setting of suns and moons. New Years. Christmases and the like, it Is not the province of this record to state, ftnt even to i.imoges there did comt Dfws one day of the great war that had broken out in the United States. Following fast on this there arrived one of Anny de Peyster's letters in which there was this paragraph: "Peter Van Zandt has volunteered for the army; his regiment has been order ed to the front." Mrs. Van Zandt. as she rend this, was sitting In the garden of her fa thers chateau in the upper town, the Filgh wall covered with vines was am file protection from the passerby, and the tender shade of the poplars served to shield her from the sun. On a rustic table stood her breakfast tray, an equipage for two. Betty was not alone. One was there with her. As she sat with Anny's letter spread put before her she heard the tinkle of Vie fountain on the terrace, the caw ing of the rooks in their nests, the click of the sabots on the pavement of the court where the servants were nt work; and likewise Betty heard the voice of her companion. She saw. too. all these people and things, felt the wonderful balm of the breeze perfumed by the flowers from he little beds around her; felt the un erring and complacent peacefulness of her environment; the superb self suffi ciency that exists In some Corners of the world, a self sufficiency so com plete that It has. in certain instances, the strange and subtle power of erasing the storms aud stresses of those who come beneath its influences. For twelve times twelve months Betty, radiant. Irresponsible, laughing, dancing, willful Betty had lived on at I.imoges. As has been set down it Is no part of this simple narrative to tell what she went through during her so journ in the France where she bad once so longed to live. But the outward quiet had been hers. The dull and perhaps deadly average had seemed to set its seal upon Colonel Bevere's daughter. Peter had never written. Teter'a checks came every month and as regn- larlv were filed away by his father-in law, but never presented for payment; Yard and Company. never once. That morning the charm of the pop lars, and the gardens, and the river below, with Its lazing craft: the faint azure of the sky; the drone of the windmill; the hum of the bees in the fields of violets on the other side of her terrace: the distant song of a shep herd on the hills with his Hocks: even the voice of the One who was her com panion; all suddenly were blurred, blot ted, stamped out of sound, vision, and even remembrance by the overpower of Anny's news. "Peter Van Zandt has volunteered for the army; his regiment has been ordered to the front." She got up from her seat, threw her thimble, scissors, the garment she was making, to the table, walked to the little gate in the wall, opened it and stepped forth to the road. Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked to the west. Yes. to the west, where her husband was. "Husband':" Well. yes. certainly. And across from the west there seemed to Bettv out of the immeasur able blue to stretch toward her soul a yearning cry. It was not a sob. not an articulated coherence; a strange some thing that made to say. "Come," as nearly as she could define it herself. Then as her arms, her soul, her mind, answered this the gate lehind her was pushed wider open, and the One who was her companion came through and with tender words lured Betty back Into the safety of the gar dens and into a semblance of the inert ness of the days before Anny's letter had arrived. Which lasted for a long, long time. It was near the close of the war In America when another of Anny's let ters came. To be sure there had been scores between, but no mention of Pe ter Van Zandt in any one of these un til now Anny wrote: "Perhaps you will have seen by the papers, dear, if in deed they reach you, that Peter Van Zandt was taken prisoner by the south. He was in I.ibby for mouths. If not for a year, but has recently been exchanged with health so Impaired by I the prison that a fever of some sort has set in. aud he lies In ashington city now in a hospital, whether in dan ger or not I don't find out." It was winter when this letter of Anny's came. It was Christmas eve. and the town was resounding with mu sic and bells and Jollity. Betty sut be fore the porcelain stove; the One who was with her sat very near on a velvet stool at her feet. Outside the chateau could be heard the Christmas hymns being sung in preparation by the serv ing people. It was Intensely cold, the panes were covered with the exquisite trac ery of the frost even in the very teeth of the piled up stoves at either end of the long salon. But to Betty it was burning. Her veins seemed filled with fire, the languid December sun slanted in with its calm, yellow streaks on the polish ed floor. She threw down the em broidered band she wa3 working on and walked to the window at the west. Ah. yes, the west She opened the casements, both iuner and outer, and the blast blew in scattering her reels and skeins over the floor. To be sure, her companion picked them up. And again the west cried over to Betty's heart, and her heart answered, and uothing that the One could do or sny could prevent her this time. On Christmas day she left Llnioges alone for Havre, for America, for New York. Twelve days later she landed, and in an hour more she was at the front door on the side street of the old double house. T- had been a day of snow, gray. dark and melancholy. The street lamps were long since shining when Betty reached her home, and glancing up as she got out of the coach she saw that every window of her old rooms was aWaze. Who was there? nad Peter been fetched home ill unto death, or was he straight and well and able and with his house full of guests for the holiday season? While she had these flashing thoughts the coachman had rung the bell, and Shaddle had opened and beheld his mistress. Supple was behind her swain. Supple ran down the stoop and took Betty's reticule, the same reticule (the same trunks, one of them. too, was on the box), and Betty's long shawl, and gave her arm to her mis tress quite as if her absence had been merely a matter of a few days. "You see. madam, the master's or ders were to keep your rooms always in readiness and always lighted up ev ery evening until morning; so all is quite as you would like, we hoe," so said Bridget, while the butler stood tall and pomious dealing with the cab man as to the trunk. When the coach had rolled away Again the West Cried Over to Betty's Heart, and Her Heart Answered. over the snow Mrs. Van Zandt. who had paused in the hall, turned to Brid get and asked. "Is Mr. Van Zandt at home?" "No. madam: Mr. Van Zandt has never been in this side of the house since vou were called away, and he hasn't been in the other side for above three yea is now. Mr. Van Zandt is In a hospital in the south somewheres. We don't know anything more than that The tears were in Miss Supple's eyes. Betty inclined her head. Then she went up the stairs to her rooms. The Christmas greens were still fresh and pretty all about, for it had been Peter's orders to dress her rooms with them every year, no matter where he might be. and this order the faithful pair had always carried out with reverent, wist ful care. Bridget went down. Shaddle beck oned to her from his pantry. "Biddy," he said, noting the tear traces in her eyes, "the young mistress has come back, and now the banns" "Shaddle:" Miss Supple's tone was that of one horror struck by the other one's audacity, upon whom she placed an eye of fire. "The mistress is here, but where's our young master?" And Shaddle. of course, beat a re treat. Shaddle seemed to himself to be always beating retreats before the ob ject of his affections. Years made no odds for him. Bridget, obdurate as the unappeased gods, would listen to no nuptial overtures and generally con cluded these amatory colloquies by leaving the butler much of the opinion that he waR an unnatural wretch to think of marrying under the conditions existing In his master's family. Betty had been home for eight days before she let Anny De Peyster know of her arrival. In those eight days there was no word got by her of Peter Van Zandt's well or ill fare. It was just to wait and wait. Would he come? Was he dying? nad he forgotten her? Va there some other, fairer, sweeter woman whom his heart now rested in? Why not? Then, when she sent Anny a note by Shaddle. Anny came at once. She had news of Peter; of course Betty had it too? No. Well. Ned Davies had got back from Wash ington the night before; he had seen Peter. If you please, none the worse for his I.ibby Imprisonment; none the worse of his fever and hospital: quite splendidly well and usual, stopping at Willard's aud asking Ned how soon he and Anny were going to be tied up. Betty listened, said not a word and turned the talk wholly toward the pa tience of Ned Davies and the charms of life in a quaint French town like Limoges. And when do yon go back. dear, or don't you go back at all?" Anny had asked gently of her friend. "On Saturday." Betty replied. "And when you and Ned are married you must make the wedding journey over the sea to me. will you?" Anny promised quizzically. She had been putting off that wedding of hers so long that it looked to her now like an agreeable ignis fatuus. or a delight ful Jest, although, to be sure. Ned Da vies had always to be counted with and sometimes he did allow himself a restiveness incompatible with Anny's holding out many more years. So Mrs. v an Zandt sailed away again on the Saturday. She had left the house on the square for the ship at noon. The sailing was scneauiea ior i o'clock. At 9 that evening Mr. Van Zandt arrived from Washington. Shaddle and Miss Supple had a con ference iu the kitchen, the result of which was that the butler when he re moved the dessert and set out the cheese aud celery and refilled his mas ter's glass took covert occasion to slip beneath this last a scrap of paper care fully contrived by his own and the die tatiug hand of Bridget. It ran this way: "Honored sir and master we duti fully enforme you that our mistress Mrs. Van Zandt. retimed home on the six of Jan. and saled off this fifteenth day of same month, your respectfull and obedient servants Shaddle and Bridget." Shaddle did not remain in the dining room after he had placed the cheese. etc. He. in fact, got awnj to his pan try. down his little corkscrew back stairs and into the kitchen as quickly as he could, where Bridget awaited him. He sat bravely In her rockln chair, a lilterty he seldom allowed himself, and swayed back and forth "Wh fit's the matter. Shad?" asked the serving woman. "The matter is." Shaddle spoke with an un won tea asperity, "tnac u ine master only could have reached home before the mistress left, the banns' "Shaddle. I'm surprised at you. Hush:" Shaddle hushed. CHAPTER VIII. Betty's Carte de Visite. C II AT night, or rather it was about - u. in., when all the little household slept, Mr. Van Zandt. who had made not even a feint of lying down, put on his rng lan and hat. and went out into the street: merely to step up to the corner and around it; a few paces further to where the two big horse chesnut trees were casting their gaunt winter shadows across the moonlit sidewalk; up the stoop of Mrs. Van Zandt's half of the house; the key he had never ceased to carry in his pocket, out, and fitted to the latch; the door pushed softly back and closed; the master within the precinct of the mistress. He stood still; his glance going first to the archway and Its curtains behind which he supposed the brick wall to have been built all those years ago. Then to the staircase; the clock ticking on; the niche with the statue of Ceres in It. the landing where she had stood. She had been there. Not a dozen hours since. Betty, his wife, had come down where he was now going up. for Feter went up to the second floor, where the flood of radiance from the open doors of Mrs. Van Zandt's room greeted him. He halted in the wide hall and lean ed at her threshold. He did not enter. His eyes took in all the old, familiar. sweet things she had used the chair that was her favorite, the vases from Nanking that were her pleasure, the silver candlesticks on her dressing ta ble. the trinkets, the hand mirrors, the tictures. the Christmas wreaths, the mahogany bedstead, with its tall carv ed headboard close to the door, its down quilt u little disturbed, a pillow to one side, something Just projecting from under the pillow. A card! Could Betty have left there another message? His hand shook as he reached in aud drew the scrap from under the pillow, for Peter Van Zandt did not cross the sill of that room. It was a little carte de visite. as the photographs of that day were called. and it was. yes. It was Betty. Chang ed? Not so much. Older? Not an hour. But most serene, her smiles just at the corners of her mouth. Yes. Bet tv. and yet. no: not quite entirely. Perhaps It was the style of dress. Sev enteen years make differences in a wo man's gown. This Betty wore a short skirt with some arrangement looping it on the hips called, he believed, pan niers. and a sack of fur with hauging sleeves, a cap of fur on top of her curly head. . Feter turned it over. To be sure, if he needed confirmation there it was In Betty's own handwriting. "Betty Van Zandt.. Limoges. Oct. 1G. IS." Taken only about two month ago. lie slipped it into his pocket, turned around, went down and weut out. cau tiously as a thief in the night, around into his own portion of the old house. When Betty reached Limoges no one was at the station to meet her. because no one at the chateau knew that she was to arrive. When she got to the chateau, driving up in a sleigh in great Jingling of bells and calls of the driv er who rode the smallest of his lean beasts, the One was at the step to welcome her with such a wealth of warmth as made her coming back a joy. By and by. when these two were alone together in the long salon, for the colonel had much business down in the city at the consulate, of course. Betty was told a story. By the One? Of course. A story as sweet, as tender, as full of happiness. hope, as had been the story Peter Van Zandt had told her more than seven teen years before. And Betty listened? Yes: she listened, and the comfort and pleasure of that which the One told her was inexpressibly grateful: not as had been the comfort of Peter's story, but as the later shadow of that first Eden. Y'es; Betty listened and was content. While Betty, in Limoges, was listen ing to nil the One had to tell her day In and day out. night in and night out. Teter Van Zandt was in India. Two days only, after bis odd. stealthy visit to Mrs. Van Zandt s side of the double house, the master had left. There seemed a fatal kind vl unrest on him. lie could not stop in acy land long. It was India, then China, Russia, down into France. Ah, yes, Into France! In Paris he met some people he knew a rew men. One of them said, "ou rememoer Ashleigh?" "Yes; I do remember Ashleigh, the first secretary of the English embassy years ago." "Exactly. I ran agninst him here the other day. He asked for you." "Did lie? A comfortable British husband by this time. 1 suppose?" "Not in the least. En route to Limo ges. I think yes, Limoges, to marry. he said, the most beautiful woman in the world." "Who?" Peter's heart throbbed. "Could one ask: My dear boy. when a chap talks like that, you know!" This man laughed; they shook hands and parted. Peter went Into a cafe and surrepti tiously took out the carte de visite of Betty and looked at it. But Betty could not marry; of course not. What a-faQ.l-.be-"fa3- K.t. .she n-Jgbtj .there might have been some sort of wny by which, she had freed herself. Ashleigh had wanted to marry Betty, he knew that. He would go at once to I.imoges. No. he would do nothing of the kind. Instead, he went to South Africa, deep in the mines and digged and sweated and became grimy, aud at eventide, frantic with the unspent forces that even the spade and the pickax and the shovel could not seem to exhaust, be would lie down under the stars and awake soaked with the damps; and let the sun make him dry; and rise up again to eat coarsely, drink deeply and fall down again at twilight like the beasts, all for the sake of a woman. Then at the end of six years he got a belter hold or himself and washed and thrashed his soul and put on the harnesses of civilization and got back to England. He stopped there a twelve month and ench thirty-one days found Peter Van Zandt more in the power of the memory of Betty, his wife, than the preceding thirty-one. fie met Ash leigh and his wife, a charming French irl. and dined with them. But the close of the seventh year fetched him back to the United States, to the old double bouse his father had so wisely built. What was it that urged him? A jealous rage, a fierce pang at his heart; the perhaps belated strangest 1 phase of that which we call love; not the pretty envying of any praise or worship she might have won from other men. but the insatiable desire to pit his worship against that of all the other men in the world. and so to win her over again. This was the goad that lashed Peter's soul aud tent him home to America. Mrs. Van Zandt had never returned. The faithful servants were as they had been, quite as If only yesterday the young master had gone away. And over in Limoges? The chateau was for rent; there had to be a new consul general. While the shepherd sang on the hillsides a song of the early autumn: while the lily fields were still white and the poplars whis pered to the wind; while the ever green's dream was of Christmas and while the sabots clicked on the paths; when the harvest was being gathered and when the grapes were in the press, Betty, with strange, difficult new stirrings iu her woman's heart. drew all that belonged to her about her and set sail again from France for New York. CHAPTER IX. What Peter Saw Passing His Door. 8 IDDY" Shaddle said the day after Mrs. Van Zandt came back. what shall we do?" '. Miss Supple " shoot her bead. "We must let the master know. Bid dy; mustn't we?" ; "We'll write him the same as we did before. Shad, and say that Mrs. Van Zandt is back.' Yes. but" The butler cast a dubi ous eye upon his betrothed "Leave the buts out of.lt altogether. Shad. Don't say nothln. Don't write nothin except what we did the first time. "All right, Bridget, you know best." "Let him find it all out for himself," Bridget added, as she adjusted her Turkey red dusting cap. "Ah. It's glad I am this day, I wheedled the boss builder Into not puttin up the wall on the parlor floor." Shaddle regarded Miss Supple with that veneration which is always be coming in his sex and proceeded out to sweep his sidewalk. The note, a counterpart of Its prede cessor, was written ana. cauiiousiy placed beneath the finger bowl doily this time, when the master was about to finish his dinner. He saw and read it. He did not finish his dinner. lie rose from the table, took his coat and hat aud went out. Around the corner on the opposite side of the street, from there he could see tie lights In her windows, see even her shadow as she crossed. . Well, it was he was evenly balanced enough to admit to himself a magnifi cent thing to have lived to feel as he did. At forty-seven Peter felt as he never had before. What he had ex perienced at twenty-one was a child's play in comparison. She was up there. ' One roof would cover them both that night. Was it not a splendor to know so touch? She had not sought to marry another man. His name was her name. She had come home. The knowledge thrilled to his, soul and the rapture of it raised him to those seventh heavens which are erroneously supposed to be re served, for the young in years. Which is quite an untruth, for they are untraveled roads to the young in years, and only he Who has lived awhile on has ever become at all Inti mate with the gardens of the gods through which these paths pass. By and by Peter went over to the Union League club; by and by again he came home by way of her windows assuredly. Days afterward Mr. Van Zandt was standing on his stoop buttoning his gloves, about to go downtown, when he saw a little boy just passing his area gate a little boy with the bluest eyes and the softest dark curls and the straightest little legs in velvet leg gings, lie carried a violin case, and very likely that and a certain air of distinction and courage about the boy caused Mr. Van Zandt to touch his hat and speak. Good morning, little man "Good morning, monsieur!" The rel- vet cap was entirety off the curly heart with a bow of mingled courtesy and aloofness the salute of one gentle per son to another when both are stran gers. "On the way to school. I suppose?" Mr. Van Zandt was by this down the stoop and on the sidewalk. "No, monsieur, on the way to take my violin lesson." "Aha, I see yon don't go to school? They were already taking steps togeth er toward the parade ground. "No. monsieur. Grandmamma says I shall not go to the school until an other year." 'You are a French boy. sir?" 'Yes. monsieur." looking up with wide inquisitive eyes, "but I am to be an American man." Indeed, how is that?" 'I will learn to be one here; grand mamma says so." M hope you may. Now. do yon turn here?" "Yes. monsieur. I cross the park and go on to the Cottage place. No. i'i Signer Prati lives there. He is the teacher of mv violin." Peter lingered: why. he did not know. The !oy loitered; the reason for it he, of course, did not seek. Then Peter jsaid. "Do you pass this way every day. sir?" "No. monsieur; all the every other 4-n-r And yon love the violin, of course?" The child's small tshoulders raised themselves quite expressively. "It was with me. monsieur, the piano; but grandmamma!" again the little shoul ders went up "would not have it so. It must, for her be the violin, always the violin; so I study it carefully, but 1 do not like the noise sometimes." "But to please your grandmamma. eh?" Mr. Van Zandt was frankly in terested now in this child. Children had not appealed to blm: iu fact, they had hardly been observed factors in the life he had so far led. and the fret. a. naive expression of this one charmed and amused him. at any tate fur the moment. : . . . "Ah. monsieur, yes. to please grand mamma 1 would do whatever it was." Hp raised bis cap and. glancing at the clock, hurried away. Peter had an image of the boy and of the boy's grandmother In his mind. Some stately, white Laired old lady In a stiff, sage green brocade, with a cape and fringes; a snowy lace kerchief crossed on her breast, a cap with lilac ribbons and a reticule full of smelling salts aud spectacles: quite a graude dame and from France, of course. This was Peter's mental iortrait of this lit tle boy's grandmother. Then Peter got into an omnibus and rode down to Nassau street, for he bad lately resumed his law practice. The following morning, by an In stinct or impulse which he did not rec ognize with sufficient deflniteness to analyze. Mr. Vuo Zandt found himself as he left for his office glancing np and down the street for a glimpse of that little boy. He did not see him. The little boy did not go for violin lew sons every day. to be sure not. When Mr. Van Zandt came home about ft o'clock he also looked for that little boy. but did not see him. He bad a mind to go around the corner and get just a glimpse of Mrs. Van Zandt's win dows, of Mrs. Van Zandt's shadow; but. no. be went iDto hi nous itn something rather like a sigh. Peter lived in the front of his house, lie had never In all these years gone to the rear, where he might have looked out upon the garden. The gardeu. bo argued, was Betty's, and not even bis eyes" bhouTu ry iT po n TX e I u lb.- fLe shade, the flowers or the vines in sum mer; on the broad, unflecked reaches of the snow, the frozen pool of the fountain la winter. lie would deny himself even one glance over the high wall which he had built, giving to her the most part of the ground. He was thinking along these lines when the vision of that little boy with the violin entered in aud took quiet pos session of his mind. Thst little boy seemed to blm in bis fantasy to be standing near Betty. Ah. to be sure! That was because the little French lad's eyes were blue and bis curls dark, his cheeks bursting In bloom of rose, bis lips coral. Of course. What odd fancies a man can hare! ' But again the next day and the next Peter Van Zandt searched the street for the little boy. At last he espied him. running as fast as his small legs couJdtear but, .omIng to a "in halt, cap off. as he beheld Peter Van Zandt. "Good morning, monsieur." lie was quite breathless. "Good morning, sir. You are in a hurry. Yon are late." "No, monsieur. I am early, but lam running away so that Stradlvnrlu can't follow me." "Indeed. Stradlvartns is a playmate of yours. I take It another little boy?" "No, monsieur. I find no boys here yet to play with. Grandmamma says by and by it will be different, but now my playmate is grandmamma and also the pussy eats." "Is Stradlvarlus a pussy ciH?" Peter inquired, wishing ardently to know, to commune with this child and feeling awkward and ill at ease with the per fect novelty of his situation. "Yes. monsieur. There is also Ole Bull and Paganlnl." "Very nice. I am sure. May I walk along with you. sir, to SIgnor Pratl's?" "Yes. monsieur. If you will. They have these names because, grandmam ma says, their singing at night, you know, in the garden is much like the way my violin cries when I punish it with my bad playing." "I see!" Mr. Van Zandt found the little French boy adorable and enter taining both. "And your grandmaro ma is your playmate? For tin old lady J tjjaj; Isetnarkr.'ble, sir." "Oh. mons'enrr Trie lad'. muni eyes opened to their widest. "Grand mamma L not d. not at all." be laughed a little. "Ob, but nc! Tot fcbou!d see her play with ragar.lM Figure to yourself. monsieur. SI-. runs for him with a ball and string, quite like I dor "Is It possible?" Mr. Tan Zard:' imaguVion took shape with Ue eld lady Iu the brocade and kerrhlef trip- ring somewhat stiffly for the ei: Sta tion of the pussy cat and the boy. "And what Is your name, sir, may I ask;" The child looked at th man askance, with the iinronsclous arpnLwl of chllbood. TLen be answered frankly. Tierre de la CJierenti. monI-ur. "Pierre." repeated Mr. Van Zandt itli a smile. "Yes. monsieur. Tor the English. It Is Peter. Grandmamma calls rue reter sometimes. Monsieur my father the "Marquis de la Qurao. but grard motrraa says tfcere are no marqnl here." "And your father? Why dU reter Van Zandt question this atrarer lad? No matter; lie did. The child raised Lis cap from hi head aud stood stllL "It gout, m o aleur. to look for my mamma. Hi bonny eyes were gazing up. cp u.u the tiesr Line of the November sky. Mr. Van Zandt took off his bat. ar.d for a moment the two stood barehead ed, silent, in the leaf strewn wa.k of the old parade ground. "You and madame. your grar.d1 mam ma, then, are all alone, sir? "Ye, monsieur, icept the cats." "Except the cats? Would y.i Uv me t call you by your tit: 7 for f.w tlt i yours, sir. In this country as well as In Trance." "No. monsieur." II e shook hi besl Tehetaently. and Mr. Van Zandt's fa. expressed the query which his lips dM net frame. The lad felt tiU. II u, to be sure, but a young lad. on. sev n or so. but perhaps precociocs from always havtng lived wita grownup people. "It la like tUs. monsieur. Tters Is grandpapa." He. f poke softly, tenderly. "Ah. yon tava a!o your granJrar Tfcat Is good." The little boy ahoolc fata bead at vig orously as lefore. "But, no. monsieur, we have not. He win an Amerlcaa gentleman, both of blm. On of blai I also gone away." Again the child looked up; again both man and Lwy bared their beads for a moments si lence. "The other one Z hava cot seen, lie was an American also. Craiut roamma has his picture. I think" ipoke with a doubtful emphasis "in a gold frame around her neck. I don't know, but I am to be as they were. monsieur an American." H tock a long breath, resting attr the many worda bis unaccustomed Hp had ipoken. Childhood Is staccato, and he was tired with the continuity. "I se. sir. This U Cotlif place. Do we turn In here?" "Yes, monsieur. SIgnor Pratl win be In the little balcony waiting. Hart: Yon hear him playing on tl vWln. x That i very beautiful when one Is ft cmster of it. but I! The tW; is tie master of rce" "It Is a dTflcult Instrument-" Mr. Van Zecdt was almost accompanying the child to tie gate of No- !i "Monsieur. If you do me make It your slave It shrieks aol bowls anl makes crazy everybody near It- Peter regarded the boy. He was a strange boy. he thoaght. Bat perhaps all children were odd. Teter d.d not know. "Tl:i monsieur then r.Ur and see Slg-adr Prati?" lib aa.aU Land wxi & the latch. "No. ale; bo, I thank joa. X must be getting down to my ofict." The same thought was in the m!ol of each. Why did not "monaleur ted bad name to the child? Van Zandt f:t keenly his own breach of etiquette. Lot not as Keenly at the boy felt It. TUer was even an eipectaat. heattant pan at the wkket. then the man put vut his hand and said. "I hope to rcert you soon again, sir. Torty-seven t innumerable reservations. And the lad said, disappointed, txt gallant: "Good morning, monsieur. I ttank you." CHAPTER X. Where Little Peter FsunJ the "0 UT. grandmamma. I am sirs tola Is a fine, true gr&tie wan. -Why? What makes ya think so, I'eterT "Because Le calls me 'air. and be the only gentleman her who sir to me." "It is not the custom, dear." "But this gentleman makes the cu tczn for himself. Ah. graad-Basa;a. I am so sorry I displease you. but It l a gentleman I like to tear talk." "I know, dear, but gTandmamma t told yon. don't you koow, not to apeit to strangers, not to answer Ln strangers speak to you in the sire-- It Is different here from la Umoe New York U a great city, and per' don't know one another as tier do la France. Won't you try t rac-'f next time any s tranter speaks to y o or ahall I have Shaddle r witA you tJ SIgnor Prati'a? Mrs. Van Zandt he spoke laid her band on I'tt'e '' ter's head. "No. grandmamma. I ana to be 3 American. 1 can oey. I wish nt ',r Shaddle. I know the way t Cofw place entirely. I would be ata now to have Shaddle. I wlU go around by the next street." j -ZQ dxr, dn't, J? tj-jt; TJf. "