And thus it was that Pierre Petibon returned to St. Cloud. Thus it came about that in the tiny gardens built impossibly on the steep hillsides, at the windows overlooking the narrow streets or opening toward distant views, and in the little shops where the people gathered for petty barter and endless gossip, the fact was eagerly discussed. The little old town was aglow with communicable news. And was it not news, indeed! Pierre Petibon had returned - had returned successful-with money! were The Pavillon Petibon quickly became famous and rivalled the Pavillon Bleu. Wedding parties flocked to it in the afternoons, and in the evenings it was soon a favorite resort, for Parisians loved to come there and sit on its balconies and listen to the soft-stringed music and look out over the Seine. And Pierre Petibon was honored and loved by the little town. And one brilliant day in June there more wedding parties than had ever before come on any day in the history of St. Cloud. The open place and the broad avenue sloping up from it past the barracks were thick with carriages, and Pierre Petibon watched with pride as party after party were ushered in. The orchestra played with an enthusiasm which left them little time to circulate among the guests for the customary pourboires. Round and round, with short and mincing steps, never reversing, the dancers waltzed. At the tables others ate and drank in gay happiness. The gold-laced chasseurs proudly received one company after another, and ceremoniously led them to chairs and settees. chatter of parties coming and parties going, of general talk and laughter and gayety, was pleasant to hear; but to Pierre Petibon there came, with the pleasure and with the pride, a sense of sorrow and of loss. Another party! And they threw confetti from their carriages, and a throng of spectators surrounded them, and chasseurs from the different establishments ran to greet and win them, and a goldcapped chasseur from the Pavillon Petibon led them on in triumph. Pierre drew back a little as the leading carriage came up; and from it first descended, splendidly uniformed, Lieutenant Lebrun-and then Yvonne! And gayly laughing, and amid shouts of glee and the waving of wedding-favors, the delicately gowned women and the blackgarbed men and the glittering Lieutenant made their way into the hall through the little crowd that had gathered at the door. "This is my wedding-day!" cried Lebrun to old neighbors that he knew. Yvonne Yvonne and St. Cloud!Yvonne and Lebrun! And so it was thus that Fate had decreed the blow should fall. Yvonne and Lebrun! Not married long ago, as Pierre had thought, but only to-day-this very day. And ever the waltz went dreamily, sweetly, lovingly on. Pierre Petibon walked with outward composure into the hall, but his heart was swiftly beating, and in his eyes were signs of fierce and gusty passion. Yvonne and Lebrun were dancing, and there was a murmur of applause, so charming and beautiful was she, gowned in white, and so brave to look upon was the man beside her. The music stopped, and Lebrun proudly led Yvonne to a seat. And then, still The outwardly calm, but with a look in his eyes such as had been there on the day of the scene in the barracks-yard, Pierre Petibon crossed the room and stood at Yvonne's side. He walked to the entrance of the pavillon. He looked at the crowded street, at the coachmen and the horses decked with wedding-favors, at the bridal carriages lined with white, and a desolate feeling came over him. Never for him were there to be wedding-favors and bride. And the musicians, inside of the pavillon, struck into a dreamy waltz, which dimmed his eyes, for it told of his dreams of the past and of Yvonne. With a little cry of surprise, she looked up at him, and her face grew very pale. He looked at none but her. "It is my dance, Yvonne," he said, and without a word she arose, and the music again began-a waltz more sweet, more dreamy, more full of love than before; and Pierre Petibon for the first time in his life held in his arms the woman that he worshipped. “I love you, I love you," he said, and the music wailed and sang. "I love you, I love you; I have hungered for you, thirsted for you, longed for you. Yvonne, Yvonne, I love you!" The music was speaking to their hearts. "Yvonne, Yvonne, come with me!" His eyes looked far down into hers in a compelling eagerness, and his words came fierce and warm, and she murmured, "Pierre, Pierre, I will go with you." They whirled near the entranceway -he so tall and handsome, and she so white and dainty and sweet-and in a moment they were out-of-doors. None heeded them, for Lebrun was already dancing with another, and it appeared merely as if Pierre and Yvonne had stepped outside for cooler air. "Into this carriage;" and Yvonne, in a great wonder at this metamorphosed lover, who had so unexpectedly appeared and taken possession of her, unquestioningly obeyed. "Do you love me, Yvonne?" he said. "Do you love me?" And, "I have always loved you, Pierre," she simply replied. "To the upper station," said Pierre to the driver; " and quick!" He knew that a train was almost due. "We will go to America, Yvonne anywhere-to the end of the world!" "Yes," she said; "if you want me to, we shall go to the end of the world." It was pleasant to be guided by this masterful man. Then, "Pierre," she said, after a little pause, as the horses slowed, setting themselves at the steep hill-" Pierre -do we need to-" He sharply interrupted her, but the sharpness was for himself and not for her. He was already beginning to fear that he was acting an unmanly part, that he was leading her into ultimate misery. Are you sorry, Yvonne?" And he added, but almost as if speaking to himself: "It is not too late-it is not yet too late." The gust of passion had gone, and all that remained was deep and humble love. He stirred wearily, and spoke as if awaking from a dream. "It is not too late, Yvonne. We had better go back." Bewildered thus to be dismissed, she burned with mortified amazement, and with a little shiver drew away from him. "I love you, Yvonne, but I must notOh, Yvonne, decide for me - for us! If you had not married Lebrun-if this were yesterday and not to-day-if you were free-if—” He boggled his words, and then, with an effort, spoke with more of steadiness. "I have been yielding to my selfishness, Yvonne; yielding to a selfish love. It was a mistake—” He looked away from her to avoid the look that she bent upon him. He moved restlessly, and dared not even glance at her. "Yvonne, Yvonne, I love you so,” he murmured, but not a word did she say in reply. In a few moments she opened the carriage door. "We wish to return," she said, composedly. And in silence the two were driven back. At the Pavillon Petibon the carriage stopped, and the door was swung wide by an eager chasseur. Pierre cast one hopeless look at Yvonne, and, bewildered, saw that her eyes were brimming with fun. "Yvonne!" he gasped. "This is the wedding-day of Monsieur Lebrun, and I am the bridesmaid, and promised him the first dance," she said, with the demureness that he so well knew. She laughed merrily, so droll was the face of Pierre Petibon, with traces of disappointed passion still upon it, mingled with blank amazement at this incomprehensible turn. "Lieutenant Lebrun learned long ago that it was not for him I cared, and so, like a sensible man, he did not mope, but found consolation elsewhere. And if you will take that look of bewilderment from your face, monsieur," she laughed again, but checked herself demurely,-" and if you will look a little more as if you would like it, you may have the next dance and without going to the end of the world, monsieur!" The Favorite, the Beggar, and T the King BY ARTHUR COLTON 'HERE was a man whom a king loved, and heard With smiles his swift step and impetuous word There sat a beggar in the market-place, Of sullen manner and a surly face, Who caught him by the cloak; that with a stone Leaving the beggar, fallen, grim, and still. Sudden as the king's favor is his wrath; Ben Ali on the morrow was restored VOL. CVII.-No. 637-3 And sending for the beggar, softly said: "This is that stone." The beggar bowed his head: "And this my head which is among the lowly, As thine is high, and God is just holy," And threw himself lamenting on the floor. Ben Ali pondered then a moment more. The beating of thy head will not heal mine, Into a pit and ask return of thee." Once more Ben Ali was brought low, to see The king's clenched hand, fixed look and rigid frown, "Who sayeth, God is just, speaks not of me; Who calleth thee a fool, means none but thee," Ile answered. "Being wise I understood To pay the evil back and keep the good Is increase of the good in merchandise. Therefore I keep the dinar and am wise." Which thing was brought to the king's ear, and he And giving to Ben Ali, gave command To those who waited for his word: "Bring stones |