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a 7 7 V 

r ^3 'J 



r 



HE WHITE TERROR 



A ROMANCE OF THE 

FRENCH REVOLUTION 

AND AFTER 



TRANSLATED FROM THE PROVENCAL OF 

FELIX GRAS 

AUTHOR OF THE REDS OF ThI MIDI AND THE TERROR 

BY 

CATHARINE A. JANVIER 




NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1900 



Copyright, 1899, 
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 



All rights reserved. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPT8R PAGB 

PROLOGUE I 

I.— THE COMING OF THE WHITE TERROR TO 

AVIGNON 

II. — ADELINE'S PERIL 

III. — SOME RAGGED REGIMENTS . 

IV. — A STORY OF TWO COWARDS . 

V. — THE ARRIVAL AT MALEMORT . 



21 
29 

38 

45 
54 

VI. — AT THE HOUSE OF MONSIEUR RANDOULET 65 



VII. — THE PARTING AT MALEMORT . 
VIII. — LA PATINE AND OLD PASCAL . 

IX.— STRANGE FLITTINGS IN THE NIGHT . 
X. — THE VISIT TO PASCAL AND LA PATINE 

XL — BRAVE MARGAN 

XII. — THE AFFAIR OF VALMY . 
XIII. — THE BATTLE OF JEMAPPES 



XIV. — HOW FRENCHMEN FOUGHT FOR FRANCE I4I 



XV. — THE FLIGHT FROM THE GENDARMES 

XVI. — IN THE crows' CHAPEL . 

XVII. — A PERILOUS WALK THROUGH THE FOREST 1 7 1 

XVIII. — AT PÈIRE-AVON FARM 

XIX. — IN THE CAVE WITH THE TWO HOLES 

XX. — THE EDGE OF THE STORM 

XXI. — ON THE devil's DYKE 

XXH. — BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 2l8 

• • • 

111 



76 
85 

93 
102 

1 1 1 

120 

131 



154 
162 



182 
191 
201 
209 



157456 



iv QUie tol)ite Qintot 

■ ■ ■ ■ ' ■ » 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIII. — A LIFE LAID DOWN .... 22^ 

XXIV. — THE BURNING OF BÉDOIN . . . 23I 

XXV. — WHITE TERROR REIGNS . . . 240 

XXVL— THE COMPANIONS OF JEHU . . . 249 

XXVII. — A DARK NIGHT'S WORK . . . 257 

XXVIII. — THE SERPENT AND THE WREN . . 265 

XXIX. — THE DEVIL SERVES THE MASS . . 273 

XXX. — A SACRILEGIOUS SACRAMENT . . 280 

XXXI. — WITHIN CONSECRATED WALLS . . 289 

XXXII. — A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE . . . 299 

XXXIII. — BY FAIR MEANS OR BY FOUL . . 308 

XXXIV. — THE LORD BISHOP OF AVIGNON . . 316 

XXXV. — A PRAYER TO SAINT URSULA . . 326 

XXXVI. — THE PRICE OF VICTORY . . . 336 

XXXVII. — ASH-WEDNESDAY EVE .... 344 

XXXVIII. — THE VEIL OF SAINT URSULA . . • «355 

XXXIX. — SLOW-PASSING YEARS .... 363 

XL. — ONCE MORE WHITE TERROR REIGNS . 370 

XLI. — SANCTUARY 380 

XLII. — A GRENADIER OF THE EMPEROR'S 

GUARD 390 

XLIII. — INTO A DESERT LAND .... 399 

XLIV. — THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW . . 40Ò 

XLV. — **FAREWELL, PASCALET! " . . . 412 

XLVI. — THE WHITE FLAG OF SHAME . . 420 

XLVII. — ** AFTER ALL STRIVING — PEACE" . 428 



THE WHITE TERROR 



PROLOGUE 

When I went back, after the holidays, to the 
little seminary of La Sainte Garde — in which, 
without any regard to how / felt about it, my 
parents were bent upon keeping me shut up for 
my mind's improvement — I no longer ranked as 
a new boy. All of a sudden I had become an 
oldster; and on top of that, my advanced rating 
making me eligible to the high office, my com- 
rades gave me another push upward in the 
world by electing me game-master of the 
school. 

This was an eagerly coveted position that 
carried with it both honours and privileges. 1 
was the custodian of the rackets, of the bowls 
and pins, and of the weighted balls which 
we use in our great Provencal game oiboules. 
These I dealt out at the beginning of our play- 
time, and collected again and took charge of 
when our play-time came to an end. The re- 
sponsibilities of my office gave it dignity ; but 
its especial charm lay in the fact that it provided 



Qiì)t tol)iu QLcxxox 



me with a delightful den that was all my own. 
1 alone had a key to the little room in which our 
play-gear was kept, and whenever I pleased I 
could hide away there and lock the door against 
the world. Many and many a time, whilst my 
school-fellows were tussling painfully with the 
dead languages, I was stowed away at my ease 
in my snug retreat — where no ushers nor 
other objectionable creatures could bother me — 
munching comfortably at a juicy leek or a fat 
red onion that I had filched from the steward's 
stores. And after my feast 1 could enjoy in per- 
fect safety my reed pipe charged with potato- 
skins — or even sometimes, and this was the 
height of my guilty pleasures, with the fag-end 
of a real cigar! Ah, but it was a fine place, that 
little room ! 

But more honours were in store for me. 
Presently I was appointed sacristan of our school 
Brotherhood of Saint Louis Gonzaga. That was 
a position worth having — for in discharging its 
duties I got out of a good two hours of school 
work every day ! In the morning I left Vergil 
behind me while 1 served the mass with Mon- 
sieur l'Abbé Jan; and in the evening 1 threw 
aside Lhomond's grammar that 1 might go and 
light the candles on the altar of Saint Louis 
Gonzaga in readiness for the gathering there of 
our little Brotherhood. Moreover, with the ease- 
ments of this office went most pleasing emolu- 



{Iroiogne 



merits. As we were forbidden to carry matches 
in our pockets (1 will not assert that the order 
was obeyed scrupulously) I had a good excuse 
for going every evening to the kitchen to light 
the spill with which I then went onward to 
light the altar candles; and seldom was it, the 
cook being a kindly creature, that I failed to 
carry away with me from the kitchen a little 
gift — a half dozen of olives, a handful of nuts, a 
juicy apple — that later made a feast for me in 
my den. 

And then came the climax of my good for- 
tune. Seeing how well and faithfully I dis- 
charged my various duties — and knowing noth- 
ing about my secret feasts on the cook's presents 
and on my stolen leeks and onions, or about my 
still more criminal pipe-smoking — our head 
master. Monsieur l'Abbé Fléchaire, made me a 
monitor. Now that was something like ! Being 
a monitor was almost the same thing as being 
an usher — for in the usher's absence the monitor 
was clothed with his authority in the matter of 
keeping order, and that gave him a fine chance 
to make things lively for the other boys! But 
he also had bothersome duties — among which 
were teaching their catechism to the boys under 
him, seeing to it that they said their prayers duly 
and properly, and even endeavouring to promote 
their moral welfare by preaching sermons to 
them. 



She fiDI)iU Serror 



Twice a week the whole school was taken 
out for a tramp in the country, and during 
the walk each of us monitors had especial 
charge of ten or a dozen of the smaller boys. 

These were the occasions on which our ser- 
mons were preached. At a signal from Mon- 
sieur TAbbé Fléchaire, we monitors would 
clap our hands: and at that our boys would 
stop their games and gather around us, each 
little group being well separated from all the 
others. Then we would tell our beads to- 
gether, and when our prayers were finished 
the sermon — **the lecture" was our school 
name for it — would be preached: a little talk 
about the saint of that particular day, or about 
the chief feast of that particular week, or about 
any other suitable religious matter that God 
was pleased at the moment to put into our 
small minds. 

But I found it very difficult — and so, I don't 
doubt, did the other preachers — to hold my 
audience. Sometimes the little fellows would 
listen .to me and sometimes they wouldn't. 
Generally they wouldn't. All about us, there 
on the countryside, were interesting creatures 
which flew or jumped or crawled — birds and 
butterflies, excited crickets, long processions of 
earnestly laborious ants. You see, sermons — 
even better ones than mine — were plentiful in 
the Seminary ; but we had only two half holi- 



ProloBtte 5 

days a week to spend out in the fields with the 
good little beasts of God ! 

And so while I preached away, seated on a 
big stone and trying my best to look like the 
cure in his pulpit, it usually happened that I 
found myself preaching in the desert ! One of 
my little auditors would be giving his whole 
soul to the goings on of a goldfinch; another 
would be lost in wonder because the sound of 
the axe-blows of a wood-cutter across the ravine 
came to his ears so long after the sight of the 
blows came to his eyes; another, with his hand 
in his pocket, would be counting his marbles — 
in a word, they all would be looking anywhere 
but at me, and would be thinking of anything 
but my sermon : while they sucked their lungs 
full of the sharp pure air, sweet with the smell 
of the wild herbs — thyme and sage and lavender 
— that were crushed beneath their feet, and 
thought only of getting away from me and my 
preaching and at play again on that great beau- 
tiful open countryside. And yet 1 preached 
most instructively and told many edifying things 
about the doings of the greatest saints in Para- 
dise! 

My self-esteem being hurt by the persistently 
wandering wits of my disciples, the thought one 
day occurred to me that I might secure their at- 
tention by bribery. On this thought I acted. I 
told them that if they really would listen to my 



QLìtc fiDI)ite Cettor 



I 



sermon to the end, would listen to every ^vor 
of it, 1 then would go on and tell them a story 
not a made-up story, but the true history of 
dear old man who lived in my own village c 
Malemort, and about those who had been h 
enemies and his friends. That there might b 
no doubt as to the quality of my wares I gav» 
them a sketch of the beginning of my story ou 
of hand — telling them that Pascalet (as old Pas 
cal was called when he was a boy) was the soi 
of a wretchedly poor peasant named Pascal, am 
of his wife La Ratine, who lived in the time o 
the great Revolution in our village of Malemort 
which in those days was owned, as were all th( 
people in it, by the Marquis d'Ambrun, it beinj 
a part of his estate of La Garde ; that the Mar- 
quis's game-keeper, a wicked creature namec 
Surto, tried to murder Pascalet; that Pascale 
managed to escape from him and get safe t( 
Avignon ; that there he enlisted in the famoui 
Marseilles Battalion and went on with it to Paris; 
and that afterwards he fought gallantly in the 
French army through the Great Napoleon's wars. 
Well, when I had told them that, I saw tha' 
1 had hitched my donkey to the right post 
last ! So eager were they for the story that they 
clustered about me like a covey of partridges 
and begged that 1 would begin my sermon right 
away. And they listened to it loyally. T 
birds and the butterflies flew about us unnoticed. 



{Iroiogne 



The crickets and the ants did not attract a single 
wandering glance. My disciples sat still as little 
igels, telling their beads with downcast eyes 
and then listening to my little sermon with a 
devout attention most edifying to behold. And 
I kept my promise as exactly as they kept theirs. 
When my sermon was finished I went on — and 
to the watchful eyes of Monsieur l'Abbé Flé- 
chaire, who was seated out of ear-shot, I seemed 
still to be preaching — to tell them the story that 
was their agreed upon reward. 

Pascalet and his father and mother, I told 
them, were the very poorest of the poor — living 
miserably upon black bread made of beans and 
acorns, and not getting near enough even of 
that, and dwelling in a wretched little cabin: 
that seemed all the more wretched because it 
was close by the Chateau de la Garde, the splen- 
did home of the Marquis and the Marquise and 
their daughter the little Comtessine Adeline. 
This little girl was just about Pascalet's age, and 
she was the only person in Malemort — excepting 
his own father and mother and the kind-hearted 
cure. Monsieur Randoulet — who ever was good 
to him. 

And then I told that one day Pascalet caught 
the game-keeper, Surto, kissing the Marquise, 
and heard him promise her that he would mur- 
der the Marquis her husband. That was why 
Surto tried to kill Pascalet. But Pascalet man- 



8 ®l)e tol)iu flterror 

aged to get to the house of the good cure and s 
was safe. 

But of course he wouldn't be safe long 
Malemort with Surto about; and so the kind W 
Randoulet sent him away by night to Avignc 
— after giving him a suit of new clothes, ani 
three silver crowns, and a letter to a priest ii 
Avignon, Canon Jusserand, that was to mak 
everything all right for him.' Things wen 
crookedly, though, and the Canon would no 
have anything to do with him ; and then, whei 
he was all lonely and despairing, a soldier c 
the National Guard named Vauclair befriendei 
him — getting him enrolled as a soldier in thi 
Guard, too, and giving him houseroom in hi 
own home. Vauclair's wife. Lazuli — a womar 
who was just as good as good bread — was aj 
kind to Pascalet as her husband was. She waj 
almost like a mother to him — though he was i 
trifle too old to be her son — and took as gooc 
kind care of him as she did of her own litth 
boy, Clairet. And so, although it looked ai 
first as though he hadn't, Pascalet fell on hi 
feet when he came to Avignon, after all. 

When 1 got that far in my story, telling i 
with a good deal more detail than 1 have told i 
here, I had to stop short. All the other moni- 
tors had finished their sermons, and suddenly 1 
saw that Monsieur l'Abbé Fléchaire was coming 
toward us — evidently to find out why in the 



Ij^xoio^nc 



world my sermon lasted so long. And if he had 
found out ih?at 1 was not preaching at all, but 
was telling âr story that had for its hero a Red of 
the Revotu^jon, there certainly would have been 
a terrible ailing of fat in the fire! 

Three days later, when we took our next 
country wVlk, my story went on again — and we 
all were in such a hurry to get to it that it really 
did seern as though we were tempted away 
from our religious duties by the devil himself 
As for our beads, we did not tell the half of 
them; and when it came to my sermon 1 made 
it not much more than three words long. But, 
to speak frankly, aves and paters were not a 
bit to my liking in those days — and story-tell- 
ing was. 

I made my hearers shudder finely by telling 
them that Surto tracked Pascalet to Avignon, 
and caught him there, and shut him down in a 
vault to be starved to death; and then cheered 
them by adding that the Comtessine Adeline 
opened the trap door and got him out of the 
vault and helped him to get safe away. And 
after that Pascalet, along with Vauclair, left the 
National Guard and enlisted in the Marseilles 
Battalion— and away they went to Paris to be- 
siege King Louis Capet in his castle and to tear 
down his throne. As for Adeline, Surto was in 
such a rage with her for having helped Pascalet 
'o escape that he gave her into the hands of a 



10 a[|)c tol)iu ffierror 



she-dragon named La Jacarasse t " ~ rried off 
to Paris and killed. ^ ^^^^ ^ 

Some of the little boys fair at the 

thought of Adeline being killed, i ^^^^ *' >n con- 
soled them by telling that Lazuli *'^"^ ^ led her 
from the claws of La Jacarasse, and *^ ^ craway 
in safety in Paris in the house of a ' i-hearted 
joiner named Planchot — where Pi. P let^Ved 
also, and where he and Adeline fell ■-, ivwith 
each other. And while they were fa j in love 
with each other the Marseilles Battalion — Pasca- 
let fighting in it bravely, and Planchot helping 
too and killing a lot of people with his joiner's 
axe — took the King's castle and made the King 
a prisoner; and a little later, during the Terror, 
Surto murdered the Marquis d'Ambrun, and then 
he and the Marquise, Adeline's wicked r other, 
took possession of the fortune that belonged to 
Adeline herself. 

It was hard on Adeline to lose her fortune, 
but presently she lost something that she valued 
a great deal more — and that was Pascalet. One 
day some of the men of the Battalion coaxed 
him to go on a spree with them; and when he 
got over it and was sober again he was ashamed 
to go back and face Lazuli and Adeline. With- 
out telling anybody what he meant to do, he 
enlisted in the Army of the Revolution and was 
sent off all in a moment to the frontier; and not 
until he was clear away from Paris with his reg- 



Prolcgtte 



II 



iment \ ^i -'''^^ ^"^ ^^^ others know what 
had t ^g ^ f him. Vauclair did not get the 
news 1 ^.^ ^ while, for he had started for the 
South'^ ,pi yith the Battalion — leaving Lazuli 
and AÌ ío follow him by the coach. 

And^ ■! my story took a blood-curdling 
turn that? iade the boys all over goose-flesh. 
Surto af ILa Jacarasse found out that Adeline 
was hie h in Planchot's house, and tried to 

r 

steal her'J^ay from there to murder her; and 
while they did not succeed in their attempt, both 
she and Lazuli fell for a while into the clutches 
of a worse villain still. This was a man named 
Calisto des Sablées, a foundling whom the Comte 
de la Vernède had adopted and brought up al- 
most as his own son — and who had rewarded 
his be fiefactor by mui*dering him and taking 
possession of his property and of his honourable 
name. Being a very clever scoundrel, this 
Calisto played a double game with La Jacarasse 
and Surto : pretending to help them to carry off 
Adeline from Planchot's house, but really man- 
aging matters so that he succeeded in making 
her, along with Lazuli and little Clairet, take 
refuge in the house in the Rue de Bretagne which 
had been his master's and which he had begun 
to call his own. 

Calisto's game was a large one. He had se- 
cured to himself his master's property, which 
carried with it his master's name and title, and 



12 Sl)e lDI)ite Scrror 

so counted upon being a great nobleman when 
the troublous times should have passed by. But 
he knew that his position would be a great deal 
stronger were he married to a lady of undoubted 
rank having also a fortune of her own. There- 
fore he was determined to marry the Comtessine 
Adeline d'Ambrun. That was why he sheltered 
Adeline from Surto. But while the Terror lasted 
he professed himself the most ferocious of sans- 
culottes, and so managed both to run with the 
hare and to hold with the hounds. Marat was 
his friend, and from Marat he obtained death 
warrants against Surto and La Jacarasse, to be 
used when he wanted to get rid of them ; against 
the Marquise, that he might terrify her into giv- 
ing him her written permission to marry Adeline, 
and later get rid of her ^Iso; and even against 
Adeline, that he might have ready a threat that 
would compel her by foul means to marry him 
in case fair means failed. 

Just as 1 had come to this most exciting point 
in my story, and while all my hearers were 
crowding close about me and listening eagerly, 
Monsieur T Abbe Fléchaire tapped on his breviary 
as a signal that the sermons should end. It was 
hard on all of us, but the signal had to be obeyed. 
Had our little circle held together, Monsieur 
l'Abbé certainly would have guessed that some- 
thing was wrong and would have come to hear 
what 1 was preaching about — and a pretty kettle 



Prologue 13 



of fish that would have been ! And so we scat- 
tered to our play. 

But one by one my boys came back to me, 
begging that I would tell just a little more. 
They even offered me presents of tops and mar- 
bles if 1 would go on. But I held out firmly 
against their entreaties and their bribes, telling 
all of them that not another word of the story 
would they have from me until we took our 
next walk. And so you may be sure that 1 had 
a very eager audience clustered about me at ser- 
mon time on the day when that walk came off. 

I remember very well that it was Thursday 
in All-Saints' week, and that the day was cloudy 
and raw. Monsieur l'Abbé Fléchaire had taken 
us up the side of the mountain of Saint Gens, 
close to the Fountain of Vaucluse, and had 
halted us for our prayers and sermons in a wood 
of evergreen-oak where we were sheltered from 
the nipping wind by a deep ravine. All my 
boys were around me in an instant, in a snug 
corner well off from the other groups, and then 
away we dashed into our prayers and out of 
them in a jiffy — fairly gulping our paters, and 
"scamping" our aves at the rate of five, four, 
three, to the ten! As for my sermon, 1 let it 
slip altogether — starting off with my story the 
moment that what we were pleased to call our 
devotions were at an end. 

But my congregation that day included an 



14 S^t iD^iu StrroT 

unusual and a dangerous member. This was a 
molly-coddle of a boy whom we called "the 
Fifi'' — partly because he wasn't much bigger 
than a wren, and partly because he had a wren's 
little hopping ways and also a good deal of a 
wren's pertness. "The Fifi *' belonged to my 
group of boys, but usually in our walks he stucî 
close to Monsieur l'Abbé Fléchaire — who found 
the little sneak useful in keeping order in the 
school because of his habit of tale-telling, and 
who therefore made a prime favourite of him. 
Had we not been so eager to get on with cnsr 
story we would have realized the f>eril of per- 
mitting "the Fifi * to listen to it: but neither I 
nor the other fellows ever gave a thought to him 
— and so away we went to f>erdition as hard as 
we could go ! 

In a thrilling fashion I told how Adeline and 
Lazuli and little Clairet managed to escape bj 
night from the house in the Rue de Bretagnc; 
and found shelter once more under the wings 
of the eood Planchots: and how. after a while 
in spite of Calisto and Surto and La Jacarasse; 
they succeeded in getting safe away from Paris 
— on the very day that the King was executed — 
in the kind charge of a good carrier named Je 
dritous, who had been sent by Vauclair 
bring them back in his cart to Avignon. 1 t 
what a good fellow this Oritous was, and he 
he was in love with a beautiful girl nam 



Prologue 15 

Genevieve, the daughter of another Avignon 
carrier; and how he broke off his intended mar- 
riage because he found that her father, old Bas- 
tian, had stolen a cargo of treasure — gold and 
silver vessels and ornaments from the churches 
in Provence — that the Government officers in 
Marseilles had entrusted to him to carry up to 
the Paris mint. For Jean Caritous was an honest 
man who would not take with his wife such a 
thieves' dowry. 

And then, coming back to the main story, I 
told how Calisto found out what had gone with 
Adeline, and came down to Avignon in search 
of her — after he had turned over the Marquise 
her mother and Surto and La Jacarasse to the 
guillotine — and how, when he discovered where 
she was sheltered, he denounced the good Vau- 
clair and Lazuli as traitors who were harbouring 
an Aristocrat; and then, that plan failing to 
catch her for him, how he got General Jourdan 
"Chop-head" to order a search for Aristocrats 
to be made in every house in Avignon — feeling 
sure that by that menns he would find Adeline 
and get her again into his power. 

There was a general shudder at this turn in 
my story, but my hearers grew more comfortable 
again as I went on to tell how Vauclair and La- 
zuli — although they were driven almost crazy by 
grief at the thought of being looked upon as 
traitors — still were too much for Calisto. 1 told 



1 6 Qlì)t tol)iU fficrror 



how they dressed Adeline in boy's clothes — in 
the very suit that she had made with her own 
hands, and that good Monsieur Randoulet, the 
cure of Malemort, had given to Pascalet — and 
so let her work for a while in that disguise with 
a rope-maker in Avignon; and how, on the 
dreadful night when the search for Aristocrats 
was made, Jean Caritous hid her under his cart 
in his wagon-shed and so kept her safe. And 
then I told how she and Lazuli and little Clairet 
escaped from Avignon : how, in the grey dawn 
of the morning following that vain search, Cari- 
tous hid them in the lading of his cart and so 
got them out of the city, and. then went onward 
with them toward Malemort — the little out-of- 
the-way village in the mountains — where they 
knew that the good Monsieur Randoulet would 
care for them, and where they hoped to be safe 
from harm. And I told how Vauclair, having 
in this way provided for the welfare of his dear 
ones, proved that he was no traitor, but a brave 
patriot, by enlisting again in the Marseilles Bat- 
talion and going off once more to the wars. In 
company with the other recruits for the Battalion, 
he also started for Avignon on that same morn- 
ing; and I told how he and his fellow-soldiers 
stopped to rest on the heights above the Rhone 
westward, and how in the morning light he 
saw the cart — far away on the other side of the 
city, so far that it looked no bigger than an ant 



Prologue 17 



— going briskly along the highway and bearing 
those dear ones of his to peace and safety. 

While I told all this my hearers listened 
breathlessly. Their hearts quaked as they heard 
about Adeline's perils, and beat warm again 
when her safety once more seemed to be as- 
sured. Impatient to know what was coming 
next, they pressed close upon me. All around 
me were wide open, eager, wondering eyes! 

And then, suddenly, I became aware that 
those searching eyes were not looking at me, 
but beyond me; and in the same instant — as 
though the Gorgon's head were just over my 
shoulder — the eager and wondering look faded 
out of them and in its place came a stony look 
of frozen fear. I turned to see what direful 
cause had produced this change so instantaneous 
and so horrifying; and, turning, I also saw the 
Gorgon's head and I also was turned to stone. 
For there, among the oaks behind me, almost 
at my elbow — brought thither softly by that 
despicable sneak of a '^Fifi" — stood in awful 
majesty Monsieur l'Abbé Fléchaire! 

As a cat lifts and carries a kitten — but with 
a snatching roughness of which no cat would 
be guilty — he grabbed me by my collar, raised 
me into the air, and holding me at arm's length 
(Ai! Ai! Ai! but it was horrible!) carried me 
sprawling and kicking away! All the school 
beheld my humiliating tragedy! All saw my 



1 8 dlje tDI)ite ©error 

disgraceful transportation through space — that 
ended in my being plumped down hard upon 
an isolated rock and bidden to remain upon that 
bad eminence, kneeling, until it was time for 
us to go home! **Stay there on your bended 
knees, sacrilegious little wretch that you are!** 
cried Monsieur TAbbé, speaking not in Provencal 
but in formal French, so great was his indigna- 
tion. *' Stay there on your bended knees, and 
do not dare to utter a single word! " 

And I stayed there — with the look of a rep- 
robate Little Samuel remonstrantly at prayer! 

It was pretty bad, that punishment — that in 
an instant changed me from a centre of flatter- 
ingly acute interest to a centre of ribald ridicule 
— but very much worse was to come. When 
we had been marched back to the school again 
I was haled by Monsieur l'Abbé before the 
Principal, and in that dread presence the sum of 
my evil doing was revealed. And then Fate 
fairly laid me by the heels! Solemnly the Princi- 
pal passed sentence upon me: I was to do five 
thousand lines out of school hours; I was to 
lose my position as game-master, and along 
with it the use of my beloved den ; I was to be 
deprived of my office of sacristan of the Brother- 
hood, and with that went (though the Principal 
did not know it) its valuable emoluments; and, 
finally, I was warned that if I told even one 
single word more of my profane story to a single 



Prologtie 19 



one of my companions I would be expelled from 
the school! 

Well, I lived through it, that frightful sen- 
tence — and even managed to be fairly cheerful 
under it after the shuddering tremors of its first 
shock had passed away. I did not take so very 
long to do my five thousand lines, for I used one 
of the extraordinary pen-holders that we had a 
way of making out of reeds tied together — 
affairs into which we stuck three or four sepa- 
rate pens, and so contrived to write three or four 
lines at a time. And while 1 never quite got 
over the loss of my den, I still was able — what 
with poaching and begging — to have an onion or 
an apple, or a handful of almonds or olives, now 
and then. But from the hardness of that clause 
of my sentence which forbade me to finish my 
story there was neither escape nor easement. 
In face of the Principal's warning, I dared not 
go on with it. The consequences of disobedi- 
ence were too terrible for me to defy them — 
bold though my young spirit was! And so my 
companions never knew the end of Pascalet's 
and Adeline's adventures ; though they did 
know, of course, that Pascalet had lived through 
them — because 1 could tell them that he still 
was living in my own village of Malemort : an 
old, old man whom everybody loved. 

And now, at last, here is the end of my his- 
tory — and I write it in no dread of punishment. 



20 ffilje tì3l)ite ffiertor 

for the worthy Principal has been for these ten 
years past dead and buried (God rest him!) 
and his writ no longer runs. Just where I left 
off all those years ago I begin again — starting 
afresh from that break in my history which came 
when 1 looked over my shoulder and saw among 
the oak branches the Gorgon's head apparition 
of Monsieur r Abbe Fléchaire! 

FELIX Gras. 



CHAPTER I 

THE COMING OF THE WHITE TERROR TO AVIGNON 

In the grey dawn of morning, the morning 
following upon that fierce night when all the city 
was turned upside down in the search for Aris- 
tocrats, a monster went raging like a hungry 
wolf through the streets of Avignon. House 
after house he entered and ransacked, only to 
emerge from each in turn empty handed and 
still more furious. '* Til have her, I'll have her! 
She shall be mine! " he cried. '*Tell me where 
she is hidden ? Tell me, or the whole city shall 
burn!" It was Calisto des Sablées, mad with 
anger because Adeline had slipped through the 
meshes he had woven around her. 

But his search, like the great search of the night 
before, was useless. Adeline was gone, even Joy 
was gone — his own good old servant whom 
Vauclair had put with his own dear ones in the 
way of safety. And finding his plans frustrated 
and his hopes broken, Calisto's gall burst and 
he became as one possessed. Like the fox who 
bites his spine crushed by the hunter's bullet, he 
dragged out his hair and tore himself with his 
nails. He howled in his blind rage, he cursed 
his ill-luck with a savage bitterness, with great 
oaths he swore to avenge himself with fire and 
sword. And at last, with his hands clinched 

21 



22 ®|)e tX)l)ite Serror 

and grinding his teeth, he set off for the Pope's 
Palace to try conclusions with the man whom 
he believed to be the author of his misfortunes: 
Jourdan Chop-head, the commandant of Avi- 
gnon. 

Past the guards he rushed without a word. 
They dared not stop him. They knew the pow- 
er that was behind him — that he was the shadow 
of Marat the Death. Without knocking, he burst 
in upon the commandant. Even Jourdan, the 
terrible Jourdan Chop-head, felt a momentary 
shiver of fear that made him grasp his pistol hur- 
riedly as he beheld Calisto's furious face and 
heard him cry in a voice broken by passion: 
** It is you who have hidden her. Tell me where 
she is!" 

** Citizen, you do not know to whom you 
are speaking. Remember that I am General 
Jourdan." 

*M do know to whom I am speaking — it is 
to a friend of the Aristocrats! " 

** And that is why they call me * Chop-head,' 
I suppose," Jourdan ansvi^ered, with a smile that 
did not seem to come easily. 

'' They may call you what they please. It is 
you who have saved the daughter of the Mar- 
quis d'Ambrun. Tell me, I say, where she is?" 

*' 1 don't know what you are talking about," 
Jourdan answered coldly. ** What I do know 
is that last night we arrested five hundred Aris- 
tocrats — men and women and children, a round 
half thousand of them. Go and look if the 
daughter of your ci-devant Marquis is in the lot. 
As for me, 1 do not care a fig what becomes of 
her — or of you." 



doming of tlje IXJljite ©error to iS^tiignon 23 

**She is not among the prisoners, and you 
know it — you who have rescued her! " 

** Citizen, do you want to be bled? You 
are very near to it! " 

** And you, do you want to lose your head ? 
It is shaky on your shoulders just now! " 

** I have told you to remember that you are 
speaking to General Jourdan." 

** I am speaking to a traitor! " Calisto shout- 
ed. And he looked Jourdan full in the eyes as 
he added: ** And I can prove what I say! " 

The General paled a little, but answered in a 
strong voice: **I arrest you. You are a mur- 
derer and a robber." As he spoke he levelled 
his pistol at Calisto's head. 

For answer Calisto drew his own pistol 
and raised it; and so they stood for an instant, 
each facing a black muzzle ready to spit out 
death. 

But it was only for an instant that they held 
their threatening positions. Suddenly the drums 
in the courtyard and the drums at the gateway 
burst out together in a tremendous rattle with 
the générale, and in the same moment the tocsin 
began to ring on all the Avignon bells. Out- 
side, in the stone-paved passageways, was a 
buzz of excited voices and a great trampling of 
feet. Commotion was everywhere. The whole 
Palace was astir. 

The two men lowered their pistols. *' We'll 
settle this matter later," said Jourdan grimly; 
**and I'll catch you without running after you, 
all in good time." 

'* When you please," Calisto answered; and 
as he spoke a dozen soldiers burst into the room 



24 íîl)c tì3l)ite Scrror 

in a disorderly crowd — all in great excitement 
and all shouting at once. 

*'They are here! " 

*' Twenty thousand of them! *' 

*'A11 our men are dead!" 

** They have crossed the Durance! ** 

** We must run for it! " 

'' Silence, you fools! " cried Jourdan sharply. 
** Now let some one of you with a scrap of sense 
in his head tell me what all this is about." 

**I was there!" panted out breathlessly a 
National Guard — a big fellow all covered with 
sweat and dust. 

**0h, you *were there/ were you? Very 
well, then, speak up — and let the rest of you 
hold your tongues." 

** It was this way," the National Guard went 
on, speaking with a dry throat huskily and pant- 
ing out his words: **As you ordered, General, 
we were patrolling our bank of the Durance, on 
the lookout for the Federalist army. About 
dawn their vanguard showed on the other side 
of the river, near Bonpas. We shouted to them 
that they might stay where they were — that 
Avignon was not going to be ordered about by 
Marseilles; and the only answer they gave lis 
was a volley that stretched out six of our men 
under the willows. We did the best we could, 
General. Not counting the boys' battalion, there 
were only a hundred and fifty of us — and there 
must have been twenty thousand of them. We 
sheltered ourselves behind the dyke and cracked 
away at them, trying to keep them from getting 
possession of the rope-ferry — and the more that 
we shot at them the more they came on, crowd- 



doming of tlje toljite ©error to í^tiignon 25 

ing down to the water side like ants pouring 
Dut ofahill." 

** Who commands them ?" Jourdan inter- 
:*upted. 

**They say, General, that it is the citizen 
Rebecqui." 

**Rebecqui? my friend Rebecqui ? and 
where could he have got together such an army 
as you say this is ? " 

**I don't know. General. All I know is 
what I heard. They say that all sorts of people 
are in it. They say that the whole of the Mar- 
seilles Battalion is there — the Battalion that went 
up to Paris last year." • 

** That's a lie," Jourdan struck in. **The 
Marseilles Battalion was disbanded long ago, 
and it cannot have been reorganised because 
almost every man who was in it has joined the 
Republican army and is fighting foreigners on 
the frontier." 

**Well, maybe you're right, General. This 
crowd don't look lil<e good Reds — the sort those 
Marseilles boys were. We could see priests 
among them, and some of our men said they 
recognised nobles they knew along with the 
priests. They have the look of a crowd got 
together to undo all the goqd work of our beau- 
tiful Revolution — a lot of priests and nobles and 
deserters and stuff like that. Well, anyhow, 
there they were over on the other side of the 
"iver, and for all our shouting they kept coming 
on — pouring down to the river bank like a 
>warm of ants, just as I have said, and going 
>traight for the ferry-boat in spite of our fire. 
And then one of our men did a good thing — and it 



26 QH)t toljite ffierror 

was n't a man either, it was a boy : little Viala, 
only twelve years old, his little hide still full of 
his mother's 'milk as you might say. Well, tl 
little chap, seeing the enemy getting hold of tne 
boat, jumped up from where we lay under cover 
and made a dash into the open to the post where 
the cable of the ferry was made fast. Out came 
his sword — it was longer than he was — and he 
went to chopping at the rope with both hands. 
In an instant there was a storm of bullets upon 
him. We could hear them cutting through the 
leaves above us with a patter-patter like the nuts 
falling from a shaken almond tree. And then, 
all of a sudden, we saw his hands go up in the 
air, and saw him spinning around like a top. 
* They've hit me,' he cried, 'but I'm dying 
for liberty ! ' and down he fell in a heap on the 
stones of the Durance. 

**That shamed us, and we broke cover and 
ran down to him to bring him in. But he was 
dead before we got to him, that glorious boy- 
lying there with his heart's blood glowing in the 
sunshine. And we saw that there was nothing 
left for the rest of us but to run for it — seeing that 
there were not enough of us to stand off such a 
crowd. So back we came to tell you what has 
happened. But we brought little Viala along 
with us. We bedded him on laurels and so 
fetched him home — that young glory of Avignon 
who died that the Republic and the Revolution 
may live ! " 

*' Order my horse ! " cried Jourdan. 

'Mt's useless for you to go. General," said 
the soldier. ** You can't stop them. There are 
thousands and thousands of them. Don't go! " 



rominj of tlje IXJljite ©error to !^t)ignon 27 

Jourdan was very pale and his hands were 
haking. ** Order my horse ! " he cried again, 
nd as he spoke he began to snatch up from the 
ibie his pistols and papers and everything that 
e could lay hands on. 

*M tell you it's no use, General," repeated 
le soldier. *Mt's death for you to go. It's 
ertain death — it's just the same as jumping into 
le Rhone." 

But Jourdan, still calling for his horse, dashed 
ut of the room and down into the courtyard. 
1 five minutes he was mounted and ready to 
et away. The gendarmes and National Guards 
ressed around him, trembling with eagerness 
) be led against the enemy — more than ready 
) die, if by dying they could check the Fed- 
'alist advance. Without a word to them he 
purred his horse and galloped off. But it was 
ot toward the advancing Federalists that Jour- 
an galloped ! No, his back was turned to the 
lemy, and away he went as fast as his horse 
Duld carry him — across fields and through by- 
ways — to Sorgues. Late that night he reached 
friendly farm-house ; and there he staid, hid- 
en in a hayloft, through all the time that the 
/hite Terror reigned in Avignon. 

For it was the White Terror that began that 
ay. Overpowered completely, Avignon fell 
ito the possession of that strange army which 
ît forth from Marseilles a small body of orderly 
eds — whose purpose was to march to Paris to 
/enge the death of the Marseilles deputy, Bar- 
aroux, executed with the Girondists, and to 
'ing the Convention once more into line with 
epublican doctrines — and which became before 
3 



28 ffil)e tì3l)iu ®err0r 

it reached Avignon a turbulent horde of Wh 
bent upon destroying the Republic and u 
restoring the tyrant to his throne. In that s 
march the Federalist force commanded by 
becqui was completely swamped by the sue 
gathering around it of a far greater body of t 
patriots : dogs of nobles, deserters, malconte 
and camp-followers who cared only for plui 
and for blood. It was the most curious o 
the sudden, irrational, impossible, transfor 
tions which took place even in those time 
accomplished irrational impossibilities in Fra 

The White Terror reigned when that 
throat horde had Avignon in its grasp. In 
White quarter — in the Rue du Limas, about 
Porte du Rhone, in the Rue Fustarié — the í 
patriot sneaks came swarming together as ' 
realized the change that was upon them ; e 
man with his knife hidden but ready, an( 
eager for their work to begin. Presently it 
begin, and Avignon was in the murderers' ha 
Rebecqui and his men, the honest Federals, \ 
powerless to maintain order. Patriots war 
flight. Ruifians were kniving the people, 
scum of nobility was on top again. The 
of the Revolution were under heel! 

The Federalists left Marseilles shouting **^ 
la patrie ! Vive la République ! " and they ent 
Avignon shouting ** Vive l'étranger ! Viv 
roi ! " Oh the pity of it ! Oh the shame ! 
wonder that Rebecqui, the brave Federalist c 
mander — broken-hearted and despairing bee 
he could not hold in check this legion of d' 
— flung himself into the Rhone! 






CHAPTER II 

ADELINE'S PERIL 

Undismayed by the danger from which Jour- 
an Chophead frankly had run away, Calisto kept 
is wits about him. He knew that the coming 
f the Whites meant a quick flight or a quick 
irning of coats for all the Reds who wanted to 
eep their heads on their shoulders ; and, as he 
/as far too clever to turn his coat prematurely, 
was obvious that he must be off from Avignon 
without delay. But even in his hurry he stopped 
) make sure of the safety of what so far had been 
is winnings in the big game. 

Having seen to it that a horse would be in 
/aiting for him at the post-house, he went on 
uickly to the house in the Rue du Limas of the 
anon Jusserand — the priest to whom this bas- 
ird, who claimed the Comte de la Vernède as 
is father, in reality owed his existence ; and. he 
rus not surprised, being arrived there, to find 
lat that wide-awake prelate already had doffed 
is red cap and had resumed his breviary. And 
len, together, this worthy couple carefully hid 
A^ay the papers and the valuables of the Comte 
2 la Vernède, and along with them the treasure 
lat Calisto had stolen from the family of the 
larquis d'Ambrun — the whole making a very 
retty provision against a rainy day! 

29 



30 QLï)t toljitc terror 

Grass was not growing under their feet while 
they attended to this matter; and the moment 
that it was finished Calisto was off. Mounted 
on his horse, away he galloped from Avignon — 
going out by the gate of Saint Lazare, and along 
the very same white road over which Jean Cari- 
tous in the ilawn of that same morning had car- 
ried Adeline and Lazuli and old Joy in his cart 
But among the many evil powers with which 
the master of all evil had dowered him, Calisto 
did not possess the witches' power of divination. 
Unconscious that only a few leagues separated 
him from those whom he so longed to snare, he 
galloped sharply along the road; and when he 
came to where it branched, at Le Pontet, he 
bore to the left, for Paris, and followed no farther 
the innocents on their safe way to Malemort. 

Yet as he galloped on, away from them, he 
was in truth pursuing them. In his mind al- 
ready was formed a fresh scheme for their cap- 
ture. Before the Convention, in Paris, he would 
denounce Jourdan Chop-head as a coward and a 
traitor; he would sound such an alarm in the 
Convention that presently the whole South 
would be ravaged with fire and sword in beat- 
ing down the White anti-patriots; and in that 
time of battling and of wild commotion would 
come his opportunity — for then, surely, every 
secret hiding-place would be discovered, and 
somewhere or another Adeline certainly would 
be found! 

Meanwhile, safely out of reach of this devil 
who was ready to fire a whole country-side in 
order to catch them, the little company in the 
cart of Jean Caritous gladly journeyed onward. 



^òdinc'B Peril 31 

In spite of all that they had gone through during 
the dreadful night just passed, and in spite of 
the dangers which at any moment might be 
upon them, Lazuli and Adeline and old Joy and 
little Clairet were very happy as they sat to- , 
gether under the cart-tilt. They laughed and 
chattered as though dangers had no existence ; 
so joyful were they because they were free again, 
and were journeying in the gay July sunshine 
to where they would be. 

•* Oh, how enchanting! " cried Adeline, clap- 
ping her hands. *'I shall see my village of 
Malemort and my Chateau de la Garde ! " 

''Gently, gently, darling," said Lazuli. 
" Going to the Chateau may not be safe for us. 
We may have to keep in hiding even in Male- 
mort." 

** But cannot we go to see La Patine — Pas- 
calet's mother .î^" 

**That we will know when we see 
Monsieur Randoulet. We must do what the 
good priest tells us to do. He is prudent, and 
he will know what is best." 

**If I never am to see my own mother 
again," Adeline went on, ** I would like to take 
Pascalet's mother to live with me. And then, 

when Pascalet comes home again " She 

stopped suddenly. They all were looking at 
her, smiling, and on the face of Caritous was a 
broad grin. 

** You talk about your Pascalet," said Cari- 
tous with a laugh, as his desire for teasing got 
the better of him. '* You talk about your Pas- 
calet, but I'll be bound that last night — when 
you were curled up in the tray under the cart. 



32 flttje tOtjite Serrcr 

while the sans-culottes were close beside you — 
your teelh were just chattering with fear and 
you never once thought about him. Eh, my 
pretty, isn't that so?" 

** Indeed it isn't," Adeline answered ear- 
nestly. ** It isn't so at all," and as she spoke 
she looked straight into Jean's eyes. 

**Come, come now. Do you mean to say 
you were thinking about Pascalet even while 
the gendarmes were there right beside the 
cart?" 

**! am always thinking about him — and 
most of all when 1 am in danger." 

** Well, if that's so, you certainly had a 
right to think about him last night, for if ever 
you were in danger in your life you were in 
danger then. Let me tell you just what hap- 
pened. Lazuli. So far you've only heard about 
It in scraps and by fits and starts. Now here's 
the whole story from beginning to end: 

** You see, it had got along to two o'clock 
in the morning, and I'd pretty much come to 
the conclusion that our house wouldn't be 
searched at all. I had tucked Adeline away in the 
tray under the cart, hiding her well under a lot 
of horse-blankets, and had left the little dog 
watching beside her. My mother had taken her 
lamp and gone off to bed, and I'd just lighted 
my lantern and was going off myself to sleep in 
the hayloft. And just then — bang! bang! bang! 
— came three thumping knocks at our door. 

*M went to the door in a hurry — for the 
quicker 1 was the less it would look as if I had 
something to hide — and when 1 had unbarred 
and opened it 1 found four big red-faced gen- 



iJlbeline's JJeril 33 



darmes standing outside. All four of them had 
their skins full of wine. Their legs went all 
crooked, and so did their talk. In they stag- 
gered, almost tumbling over each other, and 
struck across the courtyard to the shed where 
the cart was. There they pulled up, right be- 
side it, and the least drunken of the lot said: 
'Listen to me, Jean Caritous!' and there he 
stopped short 

• '* 'What do you want with me.^' 1 asked, 
and began to move on, for 1 was dreadfully 
anxious to get them away from near the cart. 

**' Listen to me here,' said the fellow, * we 
needn't go any farther for what 1 have to say.' 

** *1 don't know what you have to say,' I 
answered, * but, whatever it is, come along and 
say it in. the house.' 

** 'Don't want no house,' he mumbled. 
* Want to stay right here.' Then he caught me 
by the shoulder and leaned back against the 
cart to steady himself; and went on : * See here, 
Jean — we're good friends, ain't we ? ' 

*''Yes, of course we are,' says I. 'But 
what's that got to do with it ? What do you 
want wilh me, anyway.?*' 

" ' Want to know somethin' right here,' says 
he. ' Now just you say out whether you want 
to give her up or not ? ' 

"'But 1 haven't got anybody to give up,* 
says I, and 1 was so flabbergasted that if any of 
'em had been sober my looks would have given 
the whole thing away. 

" 'That's all right,' says he. ' But we know 
all about it, an' we mean to do the right thing 
by you. If you want to give her up, just say 



34 ffilje tOtjite ttettor 

■ ■■■■■■■M ■■■■■! I ■■■■■■■ ■ ■l^^^M— — ^^^i^l^l^— — ^ 

SO, and that's th' end of it. But if you don't, 
you've only to say so and we'll fix it for you. 
We'll get our claws on her — you not bein* sup- 
posed to know nothin' about it — and fetch her 
along. And then the other fellow may go 
scratch himself ! ' 

** He gave me a drunken wink as he spoke, 
and they all of them looked at me with drunken 
grins. As for me, I couldn't make head or tail 
of this queer talk. 

*' * But 1 haven't anybody to give up, I tell 
you,' says 1. * You may hunt the house from 
garret to cellar and you won't find a soul in it — 
only my old mother, who's asleep in bed.' 

***No, no — no huntin' here,' says he. 
'You're all right, Jean. You're good patriot, 
you are. No huntin' here. But you've got 
good wine about the place, and you've got a 
good deal more than four crowns. But some 
wine and four crowns — and that's only one apiece 
for us — will do it, Jean. That's all we ask. So 
don't you waste time making a pious fraud of 
yourself, but just say the word.' 

** ' Say what word ? ' says I, and I really was 
at my wits' end to know what they were driv- 
ing at. 

*'*0h, come off!' says he. *You know 
what the word is, and you know where the girl 
is — and so do we. We'll catch her for you — 
here's the rag to keep her mouth shut and the 
rope to keep her still — and after that the other 
fellow can hunt for her till he's tired! ' 

** * What other fellow ? ' says 1. And if ever 
a man was puzzled 1 was then. They might as 
well have been talking Greek. 



!a,ìreíine'ô JJcriI 35 

^*^™^^^— ^ 

** Suddenly the drunkest one of the lot 
lurched himself up in front of me. He was so 
drunk that he swayed about like the top of a 
cypress when the mistral is blowing. * Y' know 
all *bout it/ says he. 'Y'know jushashwell 
ash we do I ' And with that he gave a sudden 
heavy lurch, tried to steady himself and didn't, 
and then with a long stagger down he went 
right under the cart. As he fell he fairly got his 
hand on the hay where Adeline was hidden — 
an inch farther and he'd have touched her with 
his hand! And he might have found her, any- 
how, if it hadn't been for the little dog. The 
dog went for him like a little devil — and it only 
looked as if 1 was trying to keep him from being 
bitten when 1 jerked him by his legs and so got 
him safe away. And just wasn't 1 in a state of 
mind ! 1 believed that 1 was in for a fight with 
them, and without saying anything 1 got my 
hands on the cross-bar of the cart. 

** And then the least drunk one, the one who 
had been doing the talking, let in some daylight. 
* See here, Jean,' says he, *you know as well as 
we do that Tiston, Cazat's son, is after Genevieve 
and means to marry her before Saint Magdalen's 
day. Are you the man to let him do that ? 
Just speak up and we'll fix him for you — and fix 
her too ! Give us a drink and four crowns — only 
a crown apiece, Jean — and we'll fetch her right 
here now. We can do it easy on a night like 
this. And when we've fetched her here the 
game's in your hands! ' 

*• Then, at last, 1 did understand — and as that 
rotten hound spoke Genevieve's name 1 seemed 
to feel the sweat break out upon me, and my 



36 ®t)e tOtjite Qiettot 

heart stood still. Why, for a minute, I felt so 
weak that little Clairet, there, might have knocked 
me down! But I remembered that the first 
thing to be done was to save Adeline, and with 
that I pulled myself together and took up the 
talking again. 

" * Well,' says I, * come along and have the 
drink, anyway. This isn't a thing to settle oflf- 
hand. We'll talk about it while we're warming 
our insides.' 

**They were ready enough for that, you may 
be sure; and so 1 led them across the courtyard 
and into the kitchen, and then 1 got out a bottle 
of Cartagena brandy strong enough to eat the 
lining out of a copper pot! * We're all friends,' 
says 1, filling a cup of the stuff for each of them 
— and before I could make a show of filling a 
cup for myself they'd taken it off. It began to 
get in its work on them almost the minute it 
was down! * We're all friends,' says I, filling 
up for them again ; and as they guzzled I went 
on : * And we're all good patriots — friends of the 
Revolution and haters of the Tyrant. Well, now, 
among friends, among patriots, one can speak 
out one's mind freely, eh ?' 

'' * Cershingly one can,' said the least drunken 
fellow — which wasn't saying much, for the Car- 
tagena had made them all pretty near blind. 

'* 'Then 1 will speak my mind,' says I, 'and 
here it is: You are the four dirtiest hounds that 
God ever made — and as to your offer, I spit it 
back into your four faces at once! ' 

** * Didn't 1 tellyousho ? 'said the talking one. 
* Didn't 1 tell you hish noshuns wash too nish 
for our game?' and he fell to blubbering. As 



^ò^tîne's Peril 37 

for the others, they were too far gone to know 
what it all was about 

** * Too nice! ' says 1, with a bang of my fist 
on the table. * Yes, 1 am too nice! And as for 
you four, you are blackguards from the word 
go — it would serve you right if the Tyrant were 
back on his throne again and you were back 
where you were before the Revolution came 
and had to beg your bread from door to door! ' 

''At that the talking one fell to weeping as if 
his heart would break, and said between his 
sobs: *He's right — Jean Caritoush ish right! 
We're badsh we can be! Itsh too bad we're 
sho bad! ' and then he put down his head and 
sobbed. 

** Well, I didn't want the show to go on all 
night; and so, as I was sure that there was 
nothing more to fear from the fellows, I gave 
them another drink all round and then bundled 
them out of doors. It was like rolling logs to 
move them. They went down like nine-pins as 
they struck the night air! But I can tell you 
that I drew a long breath when at last I had 
them fairly out into the street again, and the 
door barred behind them — with Adeline still 
safe under the cart, and my dear old mother still 
safe in her bed upstairs! " 



CHAPTER III 

SOME RAGGED REGIMENTS 

As Caritous told his story his auditors by 
turns shivered and laughed over it, and it was 
punctuated by their exclamations in its more 
thrilling parts. When it was finished, Lazuli 
and old Joy flung themselves upon Adeline and 
hugged her and Kissed her with all their might. 

**My own dear one." cried Lazuli, **how 
awful it would have been had that drunken 
wretch found you when he tumbled down ! " 

**Whatdidthe gendarmes want with you, 
Adeline ? " asked Clairet, his eyes as big as 
saucers. 

*' Can such things be ! " exclaimed Joy, clasp- 
ing her thin old hands. 

'* But, really, I wasn't very much frightened, 
you know," said Adeline, trying to reassure 
them. **Just hearing Jean's voice all the time 
was a comfort to me ; and then I felt sure, some- 
how, that he and Vauclair never would let them 
carry me off." 

** Had you eaten up all the jam, Adeline ?" 
asked the puzzled Clairet. '* Was that why the 
gendarmes wanted to carry you off.^" 

'*And I was thinking, too, as I have told 
you, about my Pascalet who would come from 
the ends of the earth to save me. No, I was not 
38 



gome îlaggeb îlegimentô 39 

badly frightened — and, anyhow, what is past is 
past, so don't let us talk any more about it. I 
am only full of happiness now — here with you 
who are so dear to me and out among the lovely 
fields of the good God. 

**Ah, but it is good to be in the country 
again," Adeline went on. ** Look at that har- 
vester over there. See how his sickle glitters 
in the sunshine, and look at his binder following 
him, with her big straw hat to keep off the sun. 
How happy she must be! See how she hugs 
up the sheaf as though she were lifting her baby 
for a kiss. See how her brown hands twist the 
straw rope around it, and how she lays the sheaf 
on the stubble and ties it while she steadies it 
with her knee. Yes, they must be very hajjpy, 
those poor peasants. Nobody envies them — 
except me! Ah, how happy I would be were I 
that woman, and were Pascalet that man! " 

**Good Heaven!" cried old Joy in horror. 
** Whatever can you be thinking about, Made- 
moiselle la Comtessine, to say such things! " 

**Joy, never call me Mademoiselle la Com- 
tessine again. Calisto called me that, and 1 hate 
to hear it. It makes me think of him." 

Joy crossed herself as if a thunder-storm had 
broken over them. ** Don't say his wicked 
name. Mademoiselle. Hearing it makes me feel 
as if in another minute he'd be jumping up from 
behind that hedge. And, listen! Just speaking 
it has brought ill luck. They are ringing the 
tocsin in Avignon ! " 

Very faintly they could hear the alarm that 
was sounded on the far-away bells. Down the 
wind it came to them, a low clear whisper of 



40 St|c tDt|itc Sutmn: 

distant sound. Presently, with the tinkling 
whisper came the sharper sound of musketry 
and the boom of cannon. 

*'What on earth can it be, Jean?*' asked 
Adeline. 

*' God only knows," Jean answered. 

*'But here are some fellows who are likely 
soon to have a hand in it. whatever it is." 

As he spoke, there came around a bend of 
the road ahead of them, under a cloud of dust, a 
hundred or more National Guards. They 'were 
well armed, all with guns and swords, and 
were swinging along rapidlv toward Avignon. 
As they neared the cart Jean hailed them: 
" Hello, comrades! where are you bound ? " 

'* Vive la Montagne! " shouted the marching 
men. 

*' Oh, it's that way, is it ? So you are going 
to join the Federalist army.''" 

"Down with the Aristocrats! Down %vith 
the- Ft^dcralists! " shouted the whole company. 

" But if you are neither Aristocrats nor Fed- 
eralists, what are you — and where do you come 
from y Jean askecl. * 

**We are the patriots of Védènes/' a ser- 
geant answered. *' We ar« hurrying to the res- 
c ue of the Avignon Montagnards. Vive la Mon- 
tagne! Vive la Convention Î " And in another 
nioMKMU the whole company had passed. 

But while the cloud of dust they raised still 
showed down the road, another cloud of dust 
came in sight up the road; and before long Jean 
and the others could make out another body of 
men Cuming toward them — which proved to be, 
as it drew nearer, a force of four or five hundred: 



Some l&aggeb l&egimcnts 41 

with mounted officers, beating drums, some 
pieces of cannon — a regular little army. These 
men also were marching rapidly. Presently 
they were passing the cart. 

** Hello, there, comrades! Where are you 
going at such a pace ?" Jean called out. 

' * Vive la Plaine ! Vive les Fédéralistes ! Down 
with the Convention ! " they cried, as they swept 
onward. 

**Then you're off to join the Federalists, are 
you.^" Jean asked. 

** We're off to make the Avignon Monta- 
gnards behave themselves!" one of the men 
answered grimly. And away went the col- 
umn, with cries of ** Hurrah for the Comtat!" 
*' Hurrah for Carpentras ! " *' Hurrah for the 
Pope!" 

*Mf those fellows catch up with the other 
fellows," said Jean, ** there'll be trouble. They 
don't seem to have the same ideas! " 

And then they saw still a third company 
coming toward them — a little poor company of 
not more than thirty men, but few of whom 
were armed. But small though this company 
was, there were two parties in it — one from 
the village of Bausset, and one from the hamlet 
of La Roque-sur-Pernes. Chance had brought 
them together on the road to Avignon, and 
without asking questions they had joined forces. 
Poor starved peasants they were, the whole of 
them. A few of them had guns. Most of them 
had only pitchforks. But every man Jack of 
them, intent upon pilfering, carried a bag. 

** And what party do you hold with, com- 
rades.^" Jean called out as he came abreast of 



42 Srtje totjite Setter 

them — and much to his astonishment he got 
two very different replies. 

** Vive la Plaine! '* cried the wolf-hunters of 
La Bausset. 

*' Vive la Montagne! " cried the bean-eaters 
of La Roque-sur-Pernes. 

More astonished than Jean were the men by 
whom these clashing war-cries were uttered. 
The poor devils really had been thinking more 
of plunder than of politics, and it had not oc- 
curred to either party to sound the other as to 
its political faith. But being thus apprised that, 
however friendly they might be as robbers, as 
patriots they were enemies, they suddenly drew 
apart from each other and began an angry war 
of words — and in another minute or two had 
passed on to blows. With their fists and their 
feet and their sticks they went at each other. 
But, luckily, they were too poor for powder, and 
the few who had guns could use them only as 
clubs. 

The cart had passed on, the travellers stand- 
ing up in it and looking back at this sudden 
strange conflict. Caritous put what they all 
were feeling into words. **It twists one's 
heart," he said, *'to see those poor starving 
devils going on like that." 

** We ought to go back and separate them,*' 
cried Adeline. *'Just see how they are pound- 
ing each other! " 

*' Yes," Jean answered, ** they are pounding 
hard — but if we tried to stop them they'd pound 
us harder," and he cracked his whip over the 
backs of the horses that they might hurry away 
from the pitiful sight. 



Some l&aggeb l&egimcnts 43 

** But see here," put in Lazuli, ** we cant 
leave them trying to kill each other. It isn't 
Christian/' 

**1 tell you,'* Caritous replied, **that we 
can't stop them ! Whoever tried to would get 
a whack on his head. They're just senseless 
wild beasts in a hungry rage." 

** Caritous! my dear Caritous!" Adeline 
said earnestly, clasping her hands in entreaty. 
**Stop the horses! Stop the horses for just a 
moment and let me go back to them. You'll 
see that I'll make the poor things listen to reason 
and behave themselves." 

Jean's good heart was not less moved than 
the women's hearts were by this sad senseless 
fighting. His wits were working to find some 
way of stopping it, and at Adeline's appeal his 
resolution was formed, 

**I think that 1 can stop them," he said, 
drawing the rein and bringing the horses to a 
halt. ** But if 1 do it you'll all have to go hun- 
gry until we get to Malemort." 

At that the three women cried out that they 
were willing to go hungry that day and the next 
day too if only he would bring the fight to an 
end. Clairet alone protested — and Adeline 
silenced his protests with a big apple that kind 
mother Caritous had slipped into her pocket 
when she was coming away. 

**Very well," said Caritous. ''Now you 
will see what you will see," and he opened the 
locker of the cart and took out from it three 
great loaves of home-made bread covered with 
a mouth-watering crust. With the loaves under 
his arm, off he went down the road. 



44 ®l)e ÍDtjite QLttxox 



By this time the fight had become serious. 
A half dozen of the hungry weak creatures had 
been knocked into the ditch, and ,fnost of the 
others were losing their thin blood from their 
broken heads. But all of them who could stand 
were at it still. 

As Jean drew near them he began to slice 
off big chunks of bread which he threw into the 
thick of the crowd. *'What are you fighting 
about, any way .?*" he called out. ** Aren't we 
all brothers in these days ? You are just making 
asses of yourselves fighting like that among 
yourselves, instead of all going together to fight 
against the tyrants! " 

While he spoke, the fight ended. As the 
poor devils saw the chunks of bread falling 
among them they let go of each other . and 
eagerly snatched at the food — for their teeth 
were long with hunger, and many a day had 
passed since a chance to eat bread had come to 
them. For most of them the chance to eat such 
bread as that was never had come at all! 

Jean stepped backward toward the cart 
slowly, cutting more chunks of bread and scat- 
tering them along the road. After him trailed 
the whole starving company. As each man 
seized his piece he sat down by the roadside to 
eat it. By the time that Jean got back to the cart 
they all were seated in a straggling double line, 
friends and enemies together, their fight forgot- 
ten in their joy that they had found food. 



CHAPTER IV 

A STORY OF TWO COWARDS 

As the cart went on again through the hot 
sunshine the cigales were rasping out their pierc- 
ing buzz from every tree. The day was ad- 
vancing, and Malemort still was far off, hidden 
in the flanks of Mont Ventour. Yet close above 
them, as it seemed, towered the great mountain. 
They could see the black lines of its fearfully 
deep favines and the great black masses of its 
forests, and high over all its bare summit capped 
with clouds. 

On they went, crossing the green streams of 
the Sorgues and the marsh lands of Entraigues. 
Ahead of them they caught glimpses of the bell- 
towers of Monteux ; and far beyond Monteux, 
looming up like a great stone heap, was the 
Papal city of Carpentras — where, unlike all other 
cities in Christendom, there were no bell-towers 
at all! 

While they were crossing that level country 
they fell in with another little army: a company 
of three hundred or more, all well armed with 
guns and swords. 

**We needn't ask where those mincing- 
looking fellows, with their stealthy side-looks, 
are going," Jean said as he cracked his whip 
angrily. 

45 



46 ®l)e tDtfiU derrcr 

** Who are they, Jean ? " asked Lazuli. 

** And what are they wearing on their 
breasts ? " added Adeline. ** It looKS like a red 
field-poppy." 

**They are the Whites of Monteux," Jean 
answered. **And if you'll look closer you'll 
see that what they're wearing is a red fleur- 
de-lys." 

*'So it is!" exclaimed Lazuli. **And, see, 
they all of them have a holy image stuck in 
their hats." 

** That's their great saint, Saint Gens. For 
the Monteux folks he's about the only saint in 
Paradise. In fact, according to their notions, he 
takes the lead of the good God ! They never 
dream of praying to anybody but Saint Gens 
the Ploughman. He's good enough for them, 
they say! And now listen to what they'll 
answer when I ask them where they're off to." 
And Jean called out: "Hello, comrades! Where 
are you bound ? To help the. Montagnards in 
Avignon ?" 

** Hurrah for Saint Gens! Hurrah for the 
Pope! Down with the Montagnards! Hurrah 
for Saint Gens!" the Monteux men roared in 
chorus, and roared in so droll a way that Jean 
fairly burst out laughing. But this was unlucky, 
for his laughter went down the wrong way with 
the roarers, and they angrily clustered around 
the cart — shaking their fists at Jean while they 
roared still louder for their great Saint Gens. In 
a moment one of them had clambered up on the 
shafts, and with his bare sword at Jean's breast 
cried out in a sputtering rage: *' You Avignon 
thief! Just you cry * Hurrah for Saint Gens!* 



^ St0rg of Qimo Comoros 47 

and be quick about it — or I'll run my sword 
into you and make you spew out your dirty 
soul!" 

But Jean Caritous was not the man to take 
orders from anybody, least of all from a parcel 
of miserable Aristocrats! He had his hand on 
his club in an instant; and in another instant 
there would have been some very lively fighting, 
had not old Joy — who knew the canticles of all 
the saints and saintesses in Paradise — suddenly 
been moved to put a spoke in his wheel by pip- 
ing up in her thin old voice: 

'* Honour to Saint Gens we bring — 
Let us all together sing 
That pure song to his glory 
Which artlessly pleads 
The magnificent story 
Of all his good deeds ! " 

''Bravo! Bravo!" cried all the Holy-wafer- 
eaters of Monteux together; and the angriest of 
the lot — the one who had his sword at Jean's 
breast — fairly was melted to tears. Back went 
his sword into its scabbard, and in another in- 
stant he was hugging old Joy in thanks for her 
canticle about his beloved great Saint Gens. 
And so the danger passed, and the cart went 
safely onward. For a long while those in it 
could hear behind them the Monteux men 
singing 

" A I'ounour de Sant Gent 
Cantèn toutis ensèn 
Aquén pious cantico 
Que conto sans façoun 
L'istòri magnifico 
De si santis acioun ! ^* 



48 (îl)e iî)l)ite aerror 

**Well!" said Jean, **did you ever see a 
man in such a temper about nothing as that 
fellow was! " 

**I never saw a man nearer to having a 
sword run through him, my dear Jean," Lazuli 
answered, in a voice that trembled a little. 

** Nonsense, Lazuli! You don't suppose Vd 
have let him, do you ? " 

'* You might have stopped that one, but you 
couldn't have stopped them all. If Joy hadn't 
blessedly taken to singing, you'd have been 
dead by this time, Jean ! " 

** Nonsense! " said Jean again. And added: 
'* It's plain you don't know anything about the 
Monteux folks, Lazuli. Talk about the cowards 
of Avignon! All I've got to say is, when you 
want to get hold of a real coward you've got to 
go to Carpentras or Monteux." 

**But even cowards are dangerous when 
there are three hundred of them against one 
man," Lazuli insisted. 

**No, they're not," Jean answered — "at 
least, not when they're that kind of cowards. 
I tell you that if I'd shown fight, and given one 
or two of them a taste of my stick, oflF they'd 
all have scampered — like the hares they are ! 
You don't believe me. Lazuli — I can see that in 
your looks. Now I'll just tell you a story that'll 
prove what I say is true. Here we are now 
coming into Carpentras, and I couldn't have a 
better place to tell it — because it is something 
that I saw when I came here two years ago 
with Jourdan Chop-head's army to lay siege to 
Carpentras in form. But I must say," Jean 
added, ** that, one of our Avignon men don't 



% Storg of Stu)0 CTotDorbs 49 

show up very well in my story. In fact, there 
was a pair of cowards that day." 

** Well, I'm sorry that one of them was from 
Avignon," said Lazuli. ** But go on with your 
story, Jean." And as the cart entered Carpentras 
by the Monteux gate Jean began: 

*Mt was this way, you see. Our army was 
camped on the stony hill that we crossed less 
than half a league back, and we were waiting 
to be ordered to the assault ; and we were to 
make the assault on this very gate that we have 
just come through. But General Jourdan didn't 
want to make it until he knew a little more: 
and so he called for a volunteer who would take 
his life in his hands as a spy and find out if the 
enemy had cannon posted at that gate, and also 
if they had made any extra preparations against 
an attack on that side. Well, he hadn't one 
volunteer, but a hundred ; and among them all 
he chose a little silk-weaver named Agricola, 
who went by the nickname of ' Shuttle-Griccy * 
— a little chap from the Rue du Crucifix who 
could outtalk and outbrag any six men in our 
whole army. He set up to be a great wrestler, 
among other things, and according to his own 
account he'd had bouts with all the stevedores 
on the Avignon quays and had thrown every 
one of them ! What Shuttle-Griccy had to say 
about himself never was small ! 

** Well, early in the morning this little chap 
— he wasn't much taller than a well-grown cab- 
bage — buckled on his sword, and loaded him- 
self with his gun, and two braces of pistols, and 
with his red sash dangling away he went; and 
all of us who could find room in them climbed 



50 QLïit ÌS)ï)iit Qienox 

up into trees to watch him and see how he got 
along. He started out all right — getting down 
into a deep ditch that ran in a straight line from 
the Monteux gate right down through our camp, 
and away he went along the bottom of it with 
his gun and his pistols and his sword. The 
ditch was dry — dug to mark the line between 
two estates — and about halfway between us and 
the town there was a break in it, left to make a 
crossing-place for carts. Shuttle-Griccy would 
have to mount this break, and then go down 
into the ditch again ; and, of course, until he 
was over it he couldn't see anything on the other 
side. . 

** Now as luck would have it — and luck does 
some queer things now and then ! — the Carpen- 
tras folks had the same notion that we had; 
and, at the very moment that we started our 
man to spy on them, they started one of their 
men to spy on us. And he took to the ditch 
too! So there the two of them were — each of 
them creeping toward the other, and neither of 
them having the least notion in the world that 
the other fellow was anywheres around! 

**From where we were, up in the trees, we 
could see the whole thing. Lord, but it was 
funny to watch them getting nearer and nearer 
that way — with the certainty that when they did 
meet they were bound to go off with a bang! 
* Well, it won't be our Avignon Shuttle-Griccy 
who'll turn tail!* our men kept saying; but as 
for me 1 kept my mouth shut — for I couldn't 
help thinking to myself that our silk-weaver 
would be more likely to have real grit if he had 
a shorter tongue. And yet, while we could not 



^ Stonj of 9rtD0 (SotDarìTô 51 

help laughing, we were worried about our man 
too — for he was too far away for us to warn him 
or help him, and when the shooting time came 
there was a big chance that he might get killed. 
But we just had to let him take care of himself — 
while we sat there watching with all our eyes. 

** At last, just as if they'd settled it all before- 
hand, the two men got to the opposite sides of 
the break in the ditch at the same moment. 
We lost sight of the other man then ; but we 
knew he was crawling up his side of the bank 
just as our man was crawling up our side, and 
we knew that in another minute they'd have 
their noses pointing straight at each other across 
the cart track — not six feet apart! Our hearts 
got right up into our mouths, 1 can tell you! 
There would be shooting, that was dead sure ; 
and even if our man killed the other man the 
chances were that our man would be killed too 
— and Shuttle-Griccy, for all his big talking, was 
too good a little fellow to be done to death like 
that. And then the meeting came! At the 
very instant Shuttle-Griccy got his head above 
the top of the bank we saw the other man's 
head come up — and the next instant Shuttle- 
Griccy rolled over backward and came tumbling 
down into the ditch again, and the head of the 
other fellow went out of sight on his side! 

** We all gave a yell together at that, being 
clear taken aback and lost in surprise! Could 
they have killed each other ? we wondered. If 
they had, how had they done it ? — for neither of 
them had fired, and we had seen no flash of a 
sword. For about ten seconds we were the 
most puzzled lot of men you ever saw! 



5' She tDhÌic Senor 



" Wfll, it wasn't long before we found thai 
our man wasn t dead, anvwav. Shuttle-Griccv 
hadnt much more than got to the bottom of the 
ditch, all in a bundle, than he had his legs un- 
tangled and was up on them, and was coming 
back toward our camp on a dead run — and then 
we saw the other fellow going it for all he was 
worth the other way, along the ditch back to 
the town! 

"But the best of the whole joke was that 
while thi'V were running away from each other 
that way. with a solid wall of earth between 
them, they took to banging off their guns 
and pistols backwurds^the ditch was full of 
sninke where they ran. and we could see the 
tlust living from the bank between them where 
it was struck bv the balls 1 In all the days of my 
life 1 never shall laugh as I laughed then! 

•■They never stopped running, those two, 
until thev were safe home. We saw the other 
fellow rush in through the city gate, and a mo- 
ment later Shutlle-Griccy came bolting into our 
camp and vfHed luii, as wl-II .is ìil' could yell 
anything with his wind all gone: ■ To arms! 
To" arms! The enemy is on us! There are 1 " 
thousand of them running down that dite*" 
attack our camp! ' And tlitn. all of a sUf 
as he found everyboJ: ■ ■ ■_■ ■ . i I aighitu 
CTiight on to the fad 
himself, and before i 
himself to be a cnw.i 
'■Well, I'm hour 
things so hoi I'-ir Slu 
it. He got SKL'h ÍI re 
the ten thousand 



% StotB "^ ^^° Ctoroarïrfl 53 

he never held it up again. All his brag w;is 
knocked clean out of him. He fell into a low 
way and got thin and miserable. After a whik- 
he fairly took to his bed— and I'll be shot if iIk: 
poor little humbug wasn't dead inside of a 
year!" 

■'Poor Shuttle-Griccy! ' exclaimed Adeline. 
' ' It was cruel to be so hard on him ! " 

"But who in the world ever would have 
thought," said Jean, ''that serving a man out m, 
he deserved to be served out would have killed 
him ? I'm sorry, of course; but I don't Nevtlutt 
we were to blame." 

"You might have known," -iaid l.ii/uli, 
"that in one way what he did wis not hit 
fault. Courage is a gift from (iod — and it vou 
haven't it, you haven't it. The poor ntitn 
couldn't help being a coward." 

"That's true enough," Jean answertt 
"But being a coward, and knowing H, wiaz 
business had he to be always bfíV£ípaf abatSim 
being :i brave man ■" " 

'■ No matter how mm.! l 
no right to drive him to io 

■■ Oh, if we'd known 




"^Ì^ 



Ffêlf. "You 
iveeping bitter- 
t! But in spite 
^^you. One of us can 
~T two. For your own 



CHAPTER V 

THE ARRIVAL AT MALEMORT 

As they went onward, Adeline was thrilled 
with delight at every turn by the sight of famil- 
iar things. The trees, the farms, the hills, the 
mountains, all were dear to her because they 
were a part of the land where she was born. 

**See," she cried, ** there's the farm of La Lego. 
My foster-mother lived there, dear kind Rouseto 
— God rest her soul! And there's the hill of 
Pié-Marin. Many a time I've been to the very 
top of it. I used to go up there with my foster- 
brother to gather broom-flowers. And over 
there, on that slope, under that pine tree, is the 
cave of the Fourteen Robbers. Ah, how good 
it is to see all these home places again! " 

Lazuli was comforted by Adeline's happi- 
ness, and just then she needed comforting — ^for 
sharp pricks of longing were hurting her sore 
heart. Only a few hours had passed since 
her Vauclair had left her, but already she felt 
as if months had wasted since he had gone 
away. But Lazuli was no weakling; and there 
was other comfort for her, too. When the pain 
of her longing grew very sharp she would take 
her Clairet in her arms and hug him close to her 
breast as she kissed him. And she would say 
to herself: **My Vauclair is right — and. I am 

54 



ffil)e 'S^rritîal at iïlalemort 55 

wrong to want him back again. He has gone 
to his duty, and I am glad that he has gone. 
Country and Liberty are first of all ! " And then 
the flash of her eyes would dry the rising tears. 

Presently they rounded a turn of the road, 
and Adeline flung herself on Lazuli's breast quite 
wild with joy. 

*' Lazuli! Lazuli!" she cried. **Atlastwe 
are almost home! When we are at the top of 
this very next hill we shall see Malemort, and 
the height on which stands the Chateau de la 
Garde ! " And then, as she caught Clairet in her 
arms, she added : *' You shall go with me to the 
Chateau, Clairet, and you shall have every pear 
in the garden. Think of that — you shall have 
every single pear! And as for you, Joy," she 
went on, with her arms about the old woman's 
neck, ** you've worked long enough, and you 
never shall work any more ! You shall stay with 
me always and 1 will take care of you." Had she 
dared to, Adeline even would have hugged 
Jean Caritous — so full was she of gladness be- 
cause once more she was among her own peo- 
ple and close to her own home. 

Old Joy clasped her hands and laughed and 
cried at the same time; while Clairet capered in 
the cart and shouted: ** Yes, yes, all the pears 
are for me, and all the apricots, and all the 
cherries too! " But Lazuli only smiled tenderly, 
for in her heart were many sad thoughts. 

**Poor child!" she said to herself. **You 
are happy now, but you will be weeping bitter- 
ly, presently, when we must part! But in spite 
of your tears I must leave you. One of us can 
lie hidden here, but not two. For your own 



56 ffil)í Ú)ì\itt fficrror 

■ 

safety I must leave you before Calisto is on our 
tracks again. He wants your life and very likely 
mine too — for we know his crime, and he feels 
he is not safe while we live. He and Surto and 
La Jacarasse may come here together to rob the 
Chateau — just as they robbed the house in the 
Rue des Douze Portes. But whether they come 
or not, it is certain that they have vowed our 
death." But Lazuli was not to be cast down 
by dread of danger, and soon her thoughts took 
a more hopeful turn. ** After all," she went on 
in her mind, ** these bad times must pass away. 
Our brave soldiers will drive off the Germans 
and the Austrians and all the outsiders who are 
fighting against us, and then our country will 
be set in order again — with the rascals who are 
ruling us sent to keep company with the tyrants 
who ruled us before the rascals came. And 
then reason will be reason, and justice will be 
justice, and our land will have peace." 

These were the thoughts that were in Lazu- 
li's mind as the cart mounted the long hill slow- 
ly. Very slowly they went, the horses dripping 
with sweat under the blazing sun. From the 
almond trees and the olive trees beside the road 
the cigales were rasping out their loud shrill 
song. The radiant hot air was all a-quiver and 
a-tremble over the distant plains — where **the 
old woman was dancing" with a vengeance as 
she shook out mirage after mirage. At last they 
came to the top of the hill, and Adeline cried 
eagerly: ** 1 see it! 1 see it! There is the bell- 
tower of Malemort, and I begin to see the hill 
of La Garde!" 

On the hill-crest Jean stopped his horses to 



Stl)e ía.rrit)al ot iïlolemort 57 

breathe them, and from there the view was 
clear. Below, in the hollow between seven 
green hills, the travellers saw the pretty little 
town. There, surrounded by her white walls 
pierced with three gates, Malemort sat like a 
white wag-tail on a tuft of grass. They were 
silent, and their eyes filled with tears, as they 
gazed on this safe refuge — where could be only 
quiet and deep peace. Far away from great 
cities and travelled roads, it lay at the foot of 
the mountain, lost in the midst of untrodden 
valleys and lonely woods. Surely, the noise 
and tumult and horror of the Revolution never 
could come to disturb the easy-going life of that 
still little town ! 

Caritous cracked his whip and they went 
onward, and almost before they knew it were 
down the hill and through the gate and at a halt 
beside the fountain — where Caritous, as though 
he had come to a relay house, cracked his whip 
again. Over the fountain towered a Liberty 
Tree. 

It was harvest time and few people were in 
the town — only very little children and the old 
men and women who were care-takers of the 
houses while the others worked in the fields. 
At the crack of Jean's whip, and at the sound 
of bells and wheels, a few shutters opened and 
a few heads were thrust out for a moment; but 
after a sour glance or two at the travellers stand- 
ing in the blazing sunshine the old heads went 
in again and the shutters were closed. It was 
comforting to know that no one had recognised 
Adeline in her boy's clothes; but it was not 
comforting to stand there pierced by the cruel 



58 QL\)c tt)l)ite ffierror 

sun-darts, with no other sound than the gurgle 
of the fountain as the water flowed into its big 
stone shell. They felt as though they \vere out- 
casts in a desert land. 

Jean went on with the cart to the little inn. 
As he started, Lazuli took Adeline's hand and 
said briskly: ** Now, child, lead us to the house 
of Monsieur Randoulet " — and off they started 
up the crooked street toward the church. Pres- 
ently they reached it, and Adeline pointed to 
the Curacy door: with the feeling that she 
was pointing to the home where goodness 
and charity abode, for at that door, in the dark- 
ness of night, and in the darkness of fear, Pas- 
calet had knocked and had found shelter and 
safety. 

Lazuli knocked and felt her heart sink within 
her — as Pascalet's heart had sunk — when no 
answer came. There was no sound of stirring 
within. The shutters remained tight closed. 
The thought came to her that Monsieur Randou- 
let had fled — as so many cures were fleeing in 
those days — yet, surely, there could be no dan- 
ger for so good a man ! And then, suddenly, 
her heart gave a bound as she heard the creak- 
ing of a sash above — and she and Adeline looked 
upward in the hope of seeing the good cure 
smiling down on them. 

But what they saw was a big coarse red 
face, with a red nose in the middle of it, and a 
red cap stuck awry on a tangled shock of hair 
that matched a shock of tangled beard. And 
then a drunken voice asked: ** Who's there? 
What do you want ?" 

**We want Monsieur Randoulet," Lazuli 



ffil)e í^rrit)al at Ulaletnort 59 

answered ; and, in spite of herself, she spoke in 
a trembling voice. 

** Citizen Randoulet don't live here any 
more,'* the red-nosed man answered. 

** I mean Monsieur Randoulet, the good cure 
of Malemort," Lazuli said, trying hard to steady 
her voice and speak clearly. 

'* There's no cure here any more, I tell you," 
the man grumbled out. And then he shut the 
window with a bang. 

Bewildered and dismayed, the three women 
looked at each other for a moment without 
speaking. Then Adeline began to sob. 

**Well, now," said old Joy. *'This is a 
pretty fix, isn't it! What are we going to do.^ 
Must we go back to Avignon .^" 

'* Don't talk about going back to Avignon," 
Lazuli answered. ** That isn't to be thought of 
at all. But we mustn't take to worrying. 
We've been in worse holes before, and got out 
of 'em, just as we'll get out of this one. Won't 
we, Adeline dear ? '* And as she clasped Ade- 
line's hand she added: **Now we'll go to the 
inn and see what Caritous has to say about it. 
And then we'll get something to eat, and that 
will put strength m us. All will be right. Don't 
you fear!" 

** Why can't we go to the Chateau?" Joy 
asked. '*We'd have a roof over our heads 
there, at any rate — and the farmers surely 
would take care of us if they knew who we 
were." 

**rm afraid they wouldn't, Joy," Adeline 
said sadly. ** Don't you know who that man 
at the window was ? " 

5 



6o (3:1)0 iDI)Ue QTerror 

''I? How should I? I don't know any- 
body here." 

"Well, I know him. That man was our 
own farmer up at the Chateau. For a moment 
I forgot that I wasn't myself any longer — ^and I 
was just going to speak to him when he shut 
the window." 

** Heaven keep you, child, from letting any- 
body know who you are ! " cried Lazuli, in alarm. 
**You can trust nobody in these days. It is 
hard, very hard, to have things turning out in 
this way. We thought we had reached para- 
dise, and yet here we are almost at the mouth 
of hell." And then, sadly, they walked on to 
the inn. 

It was a very little inn, standing near the 
fountain in the quartier des Bugades — as unlike 
as could be to the great inns, thronged every 
night with travellers, on the Marseilles and Pans 
road. In that tiny town, on a road leading no- 
where, it was a wonder if as much as one trav- 
eller came in a week ; and in the bad season of 
the year often a whole month would pass with- 
out any travellers coming at all. But they were 
good souls who kept it, Aimable and his wife 
Melio — simple folk, as mountain dwellers are apt 
to be, but as good and as kind as the Apostles 
themselves. 

The little party entered the kitchen, where 
the tight-drawn curtains made a cool darkness. 
Coming from the strong sunlight, they did not 
at first see that the host was sleeping there. 
Not until their eyes were accustomed to the 
shadow did they make him out: a big fat man, 
with his head down on the table, taking a com- 



ffil)e ^rrítîal at Makmoxt 6i 

fortable snooze through the heat of the day. 
Kind-hearted people sleep like saints. Aimable 
did not waken when they entered. Just as 
Lazuli was about to rouse him they heard Jean 
talking to some one outside; and in another 
minute he and Melio, the hostess, came in to- 
gether. 

**WelI, here we are, Jean," said Lazuli. 
** Aren't you surprised to see us so soon again ? " 

'*No, I'm not. Monsieur Randoulet isn't 
living in the curacy any more," Jean answered. 

** If you knew that, why in the world didn't 
you tell us ? " Lazuli asked a little sharply. 

** There! there! Gently now!" struck in 
the innkeeper's wife. ** I've only just told him. 
He's not to blame." She spoke pleasantly, this 
good Melio: a fine bounce of a woman, who 
really ran the inn — while her husband snored on 
the table, or joined his guests in a game of cards. 

** Do you know what has become of him ?" 
Lazuli asKed. ** Why he had to go away ?" 

** I'll tell you all about it presently,' Melio 
answered. **The first thing to do is to give 
you some food." As she spoke, she drew back 
the red and white checked curtains and let some 
light into the room. 

'* I'm afraid that I can't do very well by you," 
she went on, ** for the hearth's stone cold. "Who 
ever would expect any body to come at this 
time of day ! But there's plenty of good fresh 
bread, and there's honey from the comb, and 
there are the nice little spicy cheeses they bring 
down from the mountain. You won't starve, 
anyway. There's enough, such as it is — and 
my man, here, will draw you some wine." 



62 ffilje tDl)lu fitetrot 

She bustled over to her husband and began 
to shake him. **AimabIe, you sleepy-head, 
wake up!*' she cried. **Here are some good 
people come from ever so far who want some- 
thing to eat and drink in a hurry 1 Wake up, I 
say. * 

The innkeeper grunted, yawned, stretched 
himself, half rose — and then down he flopped 
again on the table with his head on the other 
arm. 

Melio gave him a harder shaking. *'Was 
there ever such a man ! *' she exclaimed. 
** Wake up, 1 say. Here are travellers come, 
and you've got to draw some wine for them. 
Rouse up and hurry, you lazy-boots! If you 
keep on this way, there'll be time to kill a 
donkey with fisticuffs before they're served. 
Get awake! get awake!" 

Slowly the sleepy-head arose, rubbing his 
eyes and making sleepy excuses for himself ; 
and then picked up the jug and slowly went off 
with it to the cellar. When he ha'd left the 
room Melio laid a finger on her lips and said in 
a low voice : * * Not a word before my man as to 
what you have come here fon Talk of anything 
you please, so long as you don't talk of Monsieur 
le Cure. As soon as you have had something to 
eat I will take you to where the good priest is 
living — but my taking you there mustn't be 
known." 

** Don't you trust your own man?" Lazuli 
asked. 

*'My own .man? Well, you see, he's just 
the best fellow in the world — but he's got a 
mighty loosely hung tongue, and if he get's only 



ffilje 3lrrit)ttl at iitlaUnt0rt 63 

a drop in him his tongue will wag! He 
wouldn't do any harm himself, but his talking 
might do a good deal — now that we have these 
new laws about * suspects.' Herein Malemort 
all of us, Red and White, think the world of 
Monsieur Randoulet; but if it got about that 
strangers had come to see him there's no telling 
what might happen. Somebody might talk 
about it in Carpentras, and from Carpentras the 
talk might go on to Avignon, and then there 
might be trouble here. No, before my man — 
since he can't hold his tongue — you must hold 
yours. But I know who you are and what you 
want — Caritous has told me — and I'll do all I can 
for you. With me you're safe." 

While she talked, Melio opened the press 
and brought forth a white table-cloth which 
filled the room with a fresh smell of lavender as 
she shook out its folds. She spread the table 
with it, set out yellow earthenware cups and 
plates with blue lines around their edges, and 
then brought out a great loaf, well baked, and 
the little cheeses and a long dish in which the 
honey-comb lay oozing in its sweetness. She 
placed the jug of wine on the table, and added 
last of all another jug fresh-filled with cool water 
from the well. 

But only Jean and Clairet did justice to the 
meal. In spite of Jean's urgent advice to follow 
his good example, the women were too much 
worried to do more than nibble at their food. 
However Jean and Clairet managed between 
them pretty well to clear the table — and Clairet 
had to be fairly dragged away from the honey 
or he would have eaten it all ! 



64 ttl)e toljiu tterror 

**Now then," said Jean, snapping to his 
knife, '' we must.be up and ofiF. Are you ready, 
hostess, to take us to see that good man ? *' 

''Vm all ready," Meiio answered, ** and I've 
sent my chatterbox to the stable to look after 
the horses, and so he's safe out of the way. 
And this is a good time to go, for nearly every- 
body's off at the harvesting in the fields. All 
the same, we had better not talk. Now, come 
along." 



CHAPTER VI 

AT THE HOUSE OF MONSIEUR RANDOULET 

Following Melio's lead, they went out into 
the deserted streets and through them until they 
came to a steep and narrow lane. At the mouth 
of the lane Melio stopped and silently pointed 
up it to a little house — a wretched little ruin of 
a house with but a single window. She gave a 
nod of her head, as much as to say ** that's it " 
— and then turned and went back to the inn. 

**Good heavens! What a poverty-stricken 
place!" Lazuli said under her breath as they 
walked the few steps up the lane to this miser- 
able dwelling. She did not knock, but raised 
the latch by the latchstring and opened the crazy 
door. Before them was a little square lobby, up 
from which went a dark stair — a rope fastened 
to the wall at one side serving for a balustrade. 
In a trembling voice Lazuli called softly: **Is 
any one up there .^" 

Clip-clop came the sound of sabots, as Jane- 
toun, the Cure's old servant, crossed the upper 
floor to the head of the stair; and then, in her 
harsh voice, Janetoun called down through the 
darkness: ** What do you want ?" 

** Monsieur le Cure Randoulet," Lazuli an- 
swered : speaking in a still lower voice as she 
uttered the Cure's name. 

65 



66 ®l)e tol)iu terror 

'*Who are you?" 

** You don't know me." 

** What do you want?" 

** To ask a favour." 

Then lighter steps were heard above, and 
Monsieur Randoulet's kind voice called down : 
'* Here I am, good woman. Come up the stair." 
He had heard what Lazuli said, and when he 
found that help of some sort was needed he 
shut his breviary and hurried to give it. 

As old Janetoun heard so many footsteps on 
the ricketty stair she clasped her head in her 
hands and exclaimed: '* Heavens and earth! 
Who can they be, and wherever am 1 going to 
find seats for them ? They'll just have to stand 
on their own legs! " 

As the visitors came up, one after the 
other, Monsieur Randoulet welcomed each of 
them; and when they all were in the little 
kitchen he said cordially: '* Sit down, friends. 
Sit down and rest yourselves. You must be 
tired — it is so hot outside." 

*Mt's all very well to say *sit down,'" 
grumbled Janetoun ; *' but what are four people 
to sit on when there's only a bench with a 
broken leg and three chairs ? " 

''That's more than we need, my good 
woman," said Caritous. *'We haven't come 
here to settle ourselves until the silk-worms are 
full-grown." 

''You are welcome to stay as long as you 
will," Monsieur Randoulet said warmly. ** You 
can see for yourselves that my house is a very 
little one, but to honest folk it is open all day — 
and all night too!" 



^t tl)e ^onsc of iîlonsieur Banboulet 67 

Poor Monsieur Randoulet, the change that 
had come to him was a sad one— fit to bring 
tears to the eyes of those who had known him 
as he dwelt in pontifical state, in his comfort- 
able curacy in former times! And he had 
changed sadly with his new sad surroundings. 
His long curly gray hair had thinned and had 
turned white, falling scantily over his shoulders 
as the snow comes down from the crest of Mont 
Ventour. His plump rosy cheeks had lost their 
plumpness and their rosiness and were pale and 
writikled, and his comfortably rounded paunch 
— over which his robe had stretched smoothly 
— had so fallen away that his robe fell in 
deep folds everywhere. His hands still were 
beautifully white and smooth, but they had lost 
their chubbiness and were lean and wrinkled 
and long. Only his eyes remained unchanged : 
they flashed as of old — and, as of old, the flash 
was tempered by the sweetest benignity. But 
for his shining eyes and his gentle voice, Adeline 
would not have recognized him. On his side, 
naturally, there was no recognition. The 
thought did not enter his mind that the boy 
before him was Mademoiselle la Comtessine 
d'Ambrun. 

** Well, good friends," he began in his kindly 
voice, ** what can I do for you ? I am " 

** Monsieur Randoulet," Lazuli interrupted, 
'Mt is for the sake of this child that we have 
come to you. You do not know her, and I 
don't wonder. She is " 

And then old Janetoun broke in with a gasp: 
**It's Mademoiselle Adeline — the Comtessine! 
Oh Monsieur Randoulet, it's she for sure! She's 



68 ari)e toljitc 8Ccrr0r 

wearing the very clothes that she made herself 
to be given to one of your poor people, and that 
you gave to little Pascalet. It's she! It's she! " 
And the old w^oman made to Adeline the same 
reverent courtesy that she had been used to 
make to her in the old days. 

Monsieur Randoulet was so utterly aston- 
ished that for a moment he was unable to 
speak, then tears came to his eyes, and he said, 
brokenly: ** Mademoiselle! You! What mis- 
fortune has overtaken you that you come to me 
dressed in those clothes which you made With 
your own charitable hands ?" 

Adeline flushed painfully, without replying, 
and Lazuli answered for her: ** Monsieur le 
Cure, this child's story is a long one and a sad 
one. Every possible misfortune has happened 
to her since she went away from here a year 
ago. And now she has come back here trusting 
to you for help." 

*' AH the help that 1 can give her," Monsieur 
Randoulet answered earnestly, *'she shall have. 
All that 1 possess, and all of the little that re- 
mains of my life and strength, are hers. I am as 
poor, now, as the Prophet Job; but while I live 
she shall share my water and my bread to the 
last drop and the last crumb. That may not be 
for long. For me nothing remains but to ask 
God in his mercy to forgive me my sins and to 
take me to Him in His bright Paradise! " 

** Rather may God long preserve you on this 
earth, to console and to guard people as unhappy 
as we are!" Adeline answered in her sweet 
clear voice, and added: ** Monsieur le Cure, we 
greatly need your help." 



^t ti)e ^onsc oî SSXoneunx ^anòonlet 69 

'* Yes, Monsieur le Cure," said Lazuli, **we 
need your help in hiding this poor child away 
from those who seek her life. But, to make it 
all clear to you, I must tell you what has hap- 
pened to her in this dreadful year. Shall I tell 
you now ? I warn you that I shall not soon be 
done." 

*' Go on, my daughter," Monsieur Randoulet 
answered, with a warm note of sympathy in his 
gentle voice. ** The calls upon my time are few 
now; but even were they many I would listen 
to you willingly for as long as you please." 

And then, beginning with their meeting in 
the stage-coach when La Jacarasse was carrying 
off the Comtessine to Paris, Lazuli told of Ade- 
line's perils from that day onward in Paris and 
in Avignon — perils which still continued, since 
Calisto still was searching for her; and inter- 
woven necessarily with this narrative was much 
about Pascalet and her own Vauclair. 

Save for a question now and then, Monsieur 
Randoulet let her tell her story in her own 
way. But his tears fell as he listened ; and old 
Janetoun kept up at first such a series of groans 
and exclamations that she had to be silenced. 
After that she listened quietly, standing in a 
corner and from time to time wringing her old 
hands. 

**And now. Monsieur le Cure," Lazuli ex- 
claimed indignantly, when at last she had fin- 
ished, '* what do you think of all this ? How 
is it possible that a God who is just and good 
can leave the breath in such wretches as La Ja- 
carasse and Surto and Calisto ? And how is it 
possible that the men of the Conventionf sent 



70 (ïl)e tlJljiU Qicxxor 

there by the people to put an end to tyranny, 
have become tyrants themselves ? Tnev are 
worse than tyrants! In the name of Liberty 
and Fraternity they rule over us., yet they make 
use of monsters who only care to rob and kill! 
In a pretty state of topsy-turveydom things are 
now — ^when we, the loyal Liberals and good 
Republicans, are treated as 'suspects'; when 
innocent people like this child here — with the 
very clothes on her back showing how kind and 
charitable she is — must hide themselves for fear 
of these unchained murderers' knives ! Oh how, 
I say, can a wise and a merciful God let such 
things be ! " 

Speaking very quietly and calmly. Monsieur 
Randoulet made answer to Lazuli's outburst. 
** My daughter," he said, ** I believe that all that 
has happened had to happen. I believe that 
God has willed it to happen because He is just 
and righteous. The great ones of the earth, 
the kings and the rich men in power, long 
enough have been suffered to drain the blood 
from the veins of the people. God wished to 
put an end to that injustice, and he raised the 
mighty tempest of the Revolution. When a 
fierce wind blows through the orchards both the 
green fruit and the ripe fruit are torn from the 
branches; and both, falling, are sorely bruised. 
So, also, the rushing storm of the Revolution, 
beating upon the unjust, has not spared the just 
wholly. 

**Do not blame man for this. Man is the 
instrument of the Most High — but not a perfect 
instrument. Wrong has been done by these 
men of the Convention whom you would curse; 



^t ti)e f ottee of Monnient Vianòonlct ii 

but they have done, they are doing, more right 
than wrong. They are making over our un- 
just laws into just laws. They are gathering 
armies to defend and to protect our land. The 
kings, the emperors, all the tyrants of the whole 
world, are banded together to destroy us. 
What is worse, for it is the shame of our coun- 
try, the sons of France not only have deserted 
her in her peril, but are fighting against her. 
With the strangers who come to spoil our land 
come also Frenchmen — the 'runaway nobles 
come back to claim again their rights which 
were the people's wrongs. It is just that the 
heads of those rotten nobles should be cast 
dc/wn into the bloody mire. If injustice is done 
also, we must not complain. No, no, my 
daughter, repine not ! The tempest of Almighty 
God is blowing through the land. His will be 
done! His scales will weigh the guilty, and 
they will not escape. Those who seek to kill 
this innocent child that they may keep safely 
their stolen gain will come to their reckoning. 
They, and such as they, will perish by the fiery 
sword of God! " 

Monsieur Randoulet was silent for a moment 
when he had ended this impassioned utterance; 
and then, speaking in a quieter tone, continued : 
"And now for you, my dear children, from this 
time forth my house is your home. All that is 
mine is yours. I regret only that 1 have so little 
to ofifer you — but I have fallen, as many others 
have fallen, upon evil times." 

" I knew that we had knocked at a door that 
would open wide to us," Lazuli answered, in a 
voice that trembled because Monsieur Ran- 



72 ®l)í tobite QitTtot 

doulet's warm charity touched her to the very 
heart. ** But it is not for all of us that I ask ref- 
uge — only for this dear persecuted child. And 
it is enough that you shelter her ; she must not 
be a burden on you too. Only this mpming, 
Monsieur le Cure, my husband left me that he 
might go off to fight for the Republic in the 
army of the Pyrenees. But he did not leave me 
quite in poverty. Mite by mite, we have saved 
up some sous; and all that he saved he gave to 
me for our baby and for our Adeline. ' Keep 
it all,' he said, *for you'll need it for yourself 
and the children. As for me, never fear but Til 
find wells enough for my thirst and crusts 
enough for my hunger. Why, just fighting for 
country and for liberty is food and drink for a 
man in these days! ' Not a sou would he take, 
my brave good man, my patriot — not a single 
sou! And so, Monsieur le Cure, what my 
Vauclair left with me for Adeline I leave here 
with you." 

And then, as she fumbled in her pocket, 
Lazuli fairly broke down — sobbing and weeping 
like the Magdalen at the thought of leaving 
Adeline, and of Monsieur Randoulet's goodness, 
and of the hurt of her parting with her Vauclair. 
Still in tears, she drew out a handkerchief knot- 
ted at the corner; and when the knot was loos- 
ened laid upon the table a little heap of silver 
coin. 

All this so moved Jean Caritous that sud- 
denly he burst out crying too — big tears roll- 
ing down his nose while his hand went to 
his pocket under the skirt of his blouse. 
** Don't mind my going on this way, please, 



3lt tl)e %use of itlonsieur Banbonlct 73 

Monsieur le Cure," he said. *' I'm no cry-baby, 
but somehow you're so good and so kind, and 
you say such beautiful things, that it's more than 
I can stand ! And you sha'n't take the bread out 
of your own mouth to feed our little dear if 1 
can help it. Tve carted her from Paris to Avi- 
gnon, and I've carted her from Avignon here, and 
every hour that I've been with her I've grown 
to be more fond of her — until now she's come 
to be dearer to me than the light of my own 
eyes. And so, Monsieur le Cure, I'll just leave 
with you for her what I have in my bag. I 
wish there was more to leave. But I'll manage 
to send some more later on." As Jean pulled 
out his purse his tears streamed down upon his 
blouse, and his big coarse hands so shook that 
he had trouble in untying the thong. But he 
got it loose at last, and poured out upon the 
table a little stream of silver pieces beside La- 
zuli's offering. 

Monsieur Randoulet, rising, pushed away 
the silver spread out on the table before him. 
'*0f what are you thinking !" he exclaimed. 
''Take it back! 1 do not need it. There are 
still, thank God, charitable folk about us here 
who will not let us suffer for lack of food. Take 
it back, I say." 

Adeline also had risen. Clasping Lazuli in 
her arms she said brokenly: '* Do you mean then 
to leave me, and to give me your last sou ? No, 
no, dear Lazuli, that must not be. You must 
stay with me here, where we shall need little, and 
we will make our home in my Chateau de la 
Garde. In the Chateau there is room for all of 
us and to spare." 



74 ®l)^ tol)iu ttcrror 

While this talk went on Janetoun scarcely 
could contain herself. She had the peasant's 
love for money, and she knew how bitterly 
money was needed just then. Adeline's speech 
was too much for her, and she broke out 
sharply : ** Mademoiselle la Comtessine, I'm 
sorry to have to tell you that you haven't got 
any Chateau. This new government has got 
its claws on it. It isn't any longer yours at 
all. They are quite right, this Dame Lazuli and 
this man, in wanting to leave here for you a 
few sous." 

**Come, come, Janetoun," said Monsieur 
Randoulet, ** where there's enough for two 
there's enough for three. We do not need that 
money. We can get along without it, never 
fear." 

** That's all very well for you to say, Mon- 
sieur le Cure, "Janetoun answered ; '*but 1 who 
make the pot boil know what goes into the pot. 
Many a time 1 split a clove of garlic so that I can 
make our broth with it for two days, and I cut 
our bread into wafer slices to make one loaf last 
as long as two." As she spoke, she was sidling 
toward the table, with her apron held up by the 
corners, devouring the money with her sharp 
old eyes. 

Jean Caritous settled the matter in his own 
way. With one of his big hands he swept the 
money off the table into the other, and then 
flung the whole of it into Janetoun's apron. 
Her eyes gleamed as it jingled there. In an in- 
stant, tightly clutching ner apron, she had van- 
ished behinâ the curtain of the alcove. 

"Janetoun! Janetoun!" Monsieur Randou- 



^ì ti)e ^onee of monsieur Ranbonlet 75 

ît called after her, *' this won't do at all! Bring 
ack that money. These good folks need it 
lemselves!" But she paid no attention to his 
rder. They could hear the rustling she made 
bout the bed as she hid away her lean treasure 
ifely in the straw. 



CHAPTER VII 

THE PARTING AT MALEMORT 

Lazuli's heart was heavy, for at last the mo- 
ment had come when she and Adeline must 
part. Very tenderly she took the young girl in 
her arms. 

''My darling child/* she said, *' I must leave 
you now, but you know that it is not of my 
own wish that I go. It is for your safety. 
You can be safely hidden here alone, but if Clai- 
ret and Joy and I staid in Malemort, it would be 
to your peril. That wretch who is tracking you 
surely would find you again. And so we are 
going away from you — to Malaucène, where my 
own people are. There 1 shall stay until these 
cruel times are ended, and then 1 will come for 
you again. And do not fear that I shall not find 
you, for I am leaving you irh kind and holy 
guard. You will be close in my heart all the 
time, and I am sure I shall be close in yours. 
And when the better times come, as they surely 
will come, Vauclair and I will care for you — for 
we look upon yoU as our own dear child. If 
what Janetoun says is true, if your house and 
your lands have been taken away from you, 
you still shall not want for a home. Never fear 
but that we will work for you, just as we shall 
work for our own Clairet." 
76 



®l)e Parting at iWaletnort 77 

At this mention of his own name the bewil- 
dered thoughts in Clairet's little head took form 
in speech, and he piped up suddenly: **I won't 
give my sister Adeline to Monsieur le Cure!" 
and with an outburst of tears he caught Adeline 
in his little arms. 

Too broken for words, Adeline pressed the 
child to her breast and covered him with kisses. 
Then she embraced the others — old Joy, so 
stunned with all these strange doings that she 
was speechless; big Jean Caritous, who fairly 
blubbered like a child ; and at last Lazuli again. 
Close-clasped they held each other, weeping — 
until at last, gently loosening the poor child's 
hold, Lazuli turned to go. That she might not 
see them leaving her, Adeline bent down over 
the table, sobbing, her face in her hands. But 
she could hear, though she could not see, and 
the simple words of parting cut her like knives. 

** Good-bye, good friends," said Monsieur 
Randoulet in his kind voice. "God care for 
you on your journey. Take shelter early. Do 
not let nightfall overtake you on the road." 

** Thank you, Monsieur le Cure. We shall 
be prudent. Do not fear for us," Lazuli an- 
swered. ** And you, I trust you to watch over 
my dear child. The bundle on the table has her 
own clothes in it — her right dress as a girl. If 
she sorrows too bitterly you must get word 
to me, and I will manage somehow to come to 
her. You will promise to get word to me. Mon- 
sieur ? " 

**I promise, my daughter. God be with all 
of you. Adessias!" And the door closed. 
Outside, for a moment, was the sharp clicking 



78 QLÌ)t tol}ite tterror 

of Jean's hob-nailed shoes on the cobbie-stofies. 
Then all was still. 

Old Janetoun, come back from hiding the sil- 
ver in Monsieur le Cure's straw mattress, saw the 
bundle lying on the table and was more inter- 
ested in it than in the sobbing girl to whom it 
belonged. Like all of her sex, Janetoun was 
full of curiosity. Presently she had her hands 
upon the bundle, feeling it searchingly; and 
then, as she could make nothing of ituiat way, 
she loosened the string and opened it. Ail that 
she found was a plain little black frock and some 
linen, and she threw the garments down on the 
table with a sniff that seemed to say: ** Well, is 
that all!" 

But as the frock fell upon the table there was 
a clear jingling sound, not to be mistaken, that 
made the covetous old creature snatch it up 
again and search in the pocket eagerly. And 
there she found three silver crowns — the very 
three crowns that Pascalet had received when 
he enlisted in the army of the Republic, and that 
he had sent by William the Patriot to Vauclair! 
At that instant Monsieur Randoulet turned, and 
saw her with the bundle open before her. 
**What are you doing there, Janetoun?" he 
asked. 

''Only looking at this old frock, and the tat- 
ters that are with it, Monsieur." 

"They must be hidden away carefully, Jane- 
toun. Mademoiselle Adeline has come here 
dressed as a boy, and as a boy she must for the 
present remain. But that dress must be kept 
safely in case she should need it again." 

** Certainly, Monsieur," Janetoun answered 



Sl)e parting at itlaUtnort 79 



submissively. "Ì will put it away most care- 
fully. Your orders shall be obeyed." As she 
spoke, she began to fold up the little frock again 
— when Monsieur Randoulet caught the glint 
of the silver pieces only partly hidden in her 
hand. 

** What's that in your hand, Janetoun.^" he 
asked. 

** That ? Oh, nothing worth speaking about. 
Just a piece or two of monev that I found. 
Nothing at all." 

** Where did you find it.^" Monsieur Ran- 
doulet went on, in a tone most unusually and 
most uncomfortably stern. 

** It was in the pocket of this old frock. Mon- 
sieur! " 

As Adeline heard this, and realized suddenly 
that Janetoun had taken possession of those 

Precious three crowns which had come from 
ascalet, her first impulse was to spring upon 
the old woman and snatch them away from her. 
She half rose — and then, ashamed of her impulse, 
she dropped her head into her hands again and 
said piteously : ** Oh please don't take my three 
crowns from me! " 

**Give back to Mademoiselle her money! 
Give it back to her instantly !" cried Monsieur 
Randoulet with such energy that he fairly made 
old Janetoun jump. 

"No, no, Monsieur le Cure," said Adeline, 
her head still in her hands, * Met Janetoun keep 
it. I did wrong in asking for it back again." 

**You did right in asking for it, my child, 
for it is yours. Do not think for a moment that 
I would even dream of allowing to be taken 



So ai)e tol)ite ©error 



away from you what is your own. God knows 
that the day may come soon when you will need 
those three crowns." 

"It is not as money, Monsieur, that I am 
thinking of them," sighed Adeline. ''They 
have another value to me. They are more to 
me than all the money in the world! " 

Monsieur Randoulet did not pry into Ade- 
line's mystery. Stroking her head gently he 
said: ''Well, they are safe now. See, Janetoun 
has put them back into the pocket of your frock 
again, and there they shall stay safely. And 
now dry your eyes, my daughter, and we will 
take a little walk together before the setting of 
the sun. A walk in these quiet fields in harvest 
time, here in your own birthplace, will take the 
fever out of your blood and give you rest." 

The thought of a walk in the fields in fulf 
harvest time, and in these dear fields of her own, 
acted like magic upon Adeline. She stood up 
instantly, and smiling through her tears ex- 
claimed: *'And may we walk toward La 
Garde .^" 

"Certainly, my child, if you wish to." 

* ' You are very good to take me there, 
Monsieur le Cure. I long to see my own home 
again." 

"I cannot take you to see it quite as you 
mean, my child. We can only walk round 
about it. You forget that no one must know 
who you are. God keep you from being recog- 
nised — and you might be if we went to the 
Chateau." 

Adeline's face clouded for a moment, and 
then brightened again. " But we may go to 



ffil)e ^parting at Maltmott 8i 

the hut of La Garde — where the Pascals live — 
may we not ?*' 

'* We had better not do that either, to-day," 
Monsieur Randoulet answered. ** To-day we 
will take no risks, and by what happens we 
will know what will be safe to do later. And 
now let us be off." 

As he spoke. Monsieur Randoulet picked up 
his breviary, and then they went out together 
into the little town. Presently they passed in 
front of the church, where the Cure paused for 
a moment, and crossed himself. 

/'See, my child," he said sadly, ''my 
church is closed to me. I no longer am permit- 
ted to say mass there. The clubs meet in the 
church, and what was my own house has been 
turned into a prison. Alas! alas! Oh God that 
such a change should come! " 

With his little clerk beside him the good 
Cure went on in sad silence — out through the 
gate of St. Felix and then, to Adeline's delight, 
upward by the Pramàri road toward La Garde. 
Her heart thrilled as she trod again that stony 
road over which she had passed so often — 
sometimes on foot, sometimes riding, some- 
times in the great coach. Every flower, every 
bush, every tree, even the very stones of that 
road, were dear to her! She could have kissed 
the field poppies on the roadside, glowing rich 
red in the rays of the sun, and the other flowers 
which she gathered. The blackberries which 
she plucked from the hedge-tangle had the 
sweet taste of home. And through the hedges 
she peered eagerly, hoping to catch a glimpse 
of the hut in which her Pascalet had lived. 



82 Cirije tol}ite tterror 

Monsieur le Cure had opened his breviary 
and was reading it almost aloud. He walked 
very slowly, that he might not stumble against 
the stones or into the ruts of the rough road. 
From time to time he looked up to heaven and 
crossed himself on his lips with his thumb. 
The last prayer in his service he said aloud, 
kneeling on the stony ground. 

They were high up on the hillside, far 
above the village. Adeline, who had run on 
ahead, stopped in the road and waited for him 
to finish his prayer and join her again; and 
while she waited gazed out over the great plain, 
that had the look of being flecked with gold- 
dust as it lay in the light of the low-hanging 
sun. Suddenly, with the skip of a little Kid, 
she mounted the roadside banfc and clapped her 
hands in delight as she exclaimed: *M see 
them ! Look, Monsieur le Cure ! Look ! " 

**What is it, my child?" Monsieur Ran- 
doulet asked as he came toward her. "What 
do you see that makes you so happy ?" 

** There! there !" Adeline answered, point- 
ing eagerly. ** There on the road beyond the 
village, a long way off. Don't you see ? " 

**See what, my child?" M. Randoulet 
asked as he mounted the bank and stood be- 
side her, and shading his eyes with his hand 
from the nearly level sun-rays looked in the 
direction in which she pointed. 

** It is the cart, Monsieur. It is Jean's cart. 
Lazuli and Clairet are in it, and dear old Joy I" 

** Truly, I do see a cart," said Monsieur Ran- 
doulet slowly. ** Do you think it is Jean's ? " 

*' 1 am sure of it. See, it is covered, and it 



St)e |)attin9 at Makmoxt 83 

has two horses, and as the sun strikes it you 
can see it is blue. Oh yes, it certainly is his ! " 
And Adeline stood watching the distant cart, 
her heart throbbing with both joy and sorrow 
as she thought of the dear ones who were leav- 
ing her and as she wondered if ever she would 
see them again. Then the cart dipped in aniong 
the almond trees around the base of the hill of 
Serre; showed again for a moment — and then 
was gone ! 

As she turned with a long sigh, Monsieur 
Randoulet laid his hand on her arm gently. 
** Come child," he said. '* Since you so long to 
see Pascal's hut we will, at least, walk past it. 
But we cannot stop there, and we must go on 
quickly, for the sun will soon be down. Re- 
member," he added warningly, ** we are only 
to say good day in passing. We cannot stop 
to talk; and, above all, you must not give the 
least sign of who you are." 

From the road they turned into a narrow 
path that wound up among the olive trees. 
Long shadows lay about them. The goats, 
tethered here and there beside the grass-grown 
faces of the terraces, bleated as they came near 
— ^for goat bedtime was at hand and the people 
from the village soon would be coming to take 
the creatures home. Below the orchards were 
the harvest fields, where work for the day was 
almost at an end. A few peasants still were 
tying and shocking the last sheaves. More 
were under the oaks, getting together their 
coats and water-bottles and wallets. Some 
already had started for the village in little 
groups: the panniered ass ahead, the man with 



84 Qíììc toliite ffietror 

his sickle on his shoulder following, behind him 
his wife, the children leading the goat in the 
rear — all going down the narrow pathways in 
single file through the level sun-rays. 

Adeline's heart beat faster and faster as they 
drew near and nearer to the hut of La Garde — 
her Pascalet's home! Through the olive vistas 
she could see, rising from among the great elms 
and oaks, the red-tiled roof and turrets of the 
Chateau. From time to time the harsh cry of 
the white peacocks there sounded through the 
silence of sunset. Over the trees she saw the 
pigeons flying backward and forward before 
settling for the night — flashing out red-gold 
in the sunshine, turning to blue-black in the 
shadows, and then flashing out red-gold again 
as they whirled once more into the sunshine 
and came in sweeping curves to perch on the 
glazed tiles roofing the pigeon-tower. As they 
sat there, beating their wings in the last blood- 
red sun-rays, it seemed as though the high 
shining peak of the tower had burst into a flut- 
ter of flame. 

And so, surrounded by these home sights 
which filled her heart with mingled joy and 
sorrow, and with an undercurrent of sweet 
thoughts about her Pascalet, she went onward 
with Monsieur Randoulet toward the hut of La 
Garde. 



CHAPTER VIII 

LA PATINE AND OLD PASCAL 

*'GoD be with you, La Patine!" Monsieur 
Randoulet called out cordially, as they passed 
in front of the open door of the hut and saw 
Pascalet's mother bending over the fire-place 
within. But he walked on without stopping, 
leading Adeline by the hand. 

This was not at all to La Patine's liking. Her 
life was a lonely one up there on the hillside, 
where rarely a soul came near her, and she 
dearly loved a chance to talk. Leaving her pot 
to boil itself, she bustled to the doorway, crying 
out: **Dear! Dear! Is that you, Monsieur le 
Cure ? Why, how fast you walk ! Surely you 
can stop for a moment. Just think how long it 
is since I've laid eyes on you! " 

Monsieur Randoulet halted, but answered 
over his shoulder without turning: ** It's getting 
late, my good Patine. I must hurry home. I 
no longer have twenty-year legs, you know- 
It does not do for me to go stumbling along 
these rough paths after dark." 

But La Patine, who was not to be put off 
with excuses, came toward them. *' And so," 
she said, looking at Adeline, *'you have caught 
a little clerk." 

** Yes, I have caught a little clerk," Monsieur 

85 



86 aije tol)ite Serror 

Randoulet answered. As he spoke he put his 
arm on Adeline's shoulder and drew her toward 
him ; seeking in that way, under cover of a 
caress, to hide her face. 

La Patine came closer. ** What a dear little 
boy he is! " she said. ** But he is as pale and 
delicate looking as a young lady." And then 
she sighed sadly and added: ** Whenever 1 see 
a boy of about that age, a nice boy like this one, 
it seems to me that I see my own Pascalet! Ah 
me, who knows where that poor innocent is 
now!" 

**God is guarding him," Monsieur Randou- 
let answered. *' He will send him safe back to 
you. Some day when you least are expecting 
him, back he will come — proud as Artaban ana 
gay and well!" 

**God grant it!" La Patine said reverently, 
and as she spoke she stroked Adeline's cheeK. 
The young girl thrilled with her touch and 
longed to kiss her rough old hand. **Tell me, 
my pretty boy, do you know how to sing the 
mass?" she asked. 

*' It does not make much difference whether 
he knows or not," Monsieur Randoulet inter- 
posed quickly, fearful that Adeline's voice would 
betray her. ** There is no mass to sing, now. 
God's home no longer is for God's servants. It 
is the home of those who hearken not to his 
word." 

La Patine looked affectionately at Adeline — 
this boy who made her think of her own Pasca- 
let. She fumbled in her pocket for something 
that she might give to him. There was little in 
her pocket — only two acorns and a nut and a 



£a |)atine axib ®li pascal 87 

dry bean. She had found them and was treasur- 
ing them against some day when she should 
have no other food. But she was shy about 
making her poor little gift; and presently Mon- 
sieur Randoulet moved on with Adeline and 
said: **Well, well. Good-bye, La Patine. We 
shall see you another day." 

Then she plucked up courage, and drawing 
the nut from her pocket said: '' Here, my pretty 
boy. This is all that i have to give you, this 
single nut. But it is a good nut. So here it is 
for you." 

** Thank you! " said Adeline in a trembling 
voice — and then she and Monsieur Randoulet 
walked on. 

La Patine stood watching them, puzzled — 
until a hissing sound inside the hut made her 
run quickly to the fire-place to safeguard her 
over-boiling pot of vetches. But as she lifted 
the pot off the fire she muttered to herself, still 
puzzled: ** Surely I've seen that face somewhere, 
and surely IVe heard that voice! " 

Adeline and Monsieur Randoulet hurried 
downward along the stony path. Far off, at 
the end of the great plain, the sun was setting. 
Only half of it remained above the horizon — 
arching like a huge fiery bridge over the crest of 
the Cévennes. 

Among the olive-trees, coming home from 
his gleaning, they met La Patine's husband, old 
Pascal. All day long, hungry and thirsty, he 
had gleaned in the hot sunshine behind the 
binders. On his shoulder was the poor little 
sheaf that he had gathered — the few grains 
which he had saved from the ants and the field- 



88 tl)e 1DI)ite Serror 

mice and the birds. It was a very leari sheaf, 
but from it would be made the best bread of his 
year. As he came close to Monsieur Randoulet 
and his little clerk he stepped out from the path 
to make way for them, holding his cap in his 
hand and bending his head reverently as he said: 
*'Good evening to you, Monsieur ie Cure — to 
you and your company." 

'* God be with you, Father Pascal! " Monsieur 
Randoulet answered, and they passed on. 

Adeline longed to call *' Adessias! "after him, 
but the sight of his scarred old face had brought 
such a lump into her throat that she could not 
speak. For those scars were the traces of the 
cruel whip-strokes which her own brother and 
Surto had given the poor old man only a year 
before ! The pity of it wrung her heart. 

In silence they went onward — hurrying 
through the olive orchards, and hurrying still 
faster when they came out on the wide Pramàri 
road. Dark was upon them, and Monsieur Ran- 
doulet was eager to get home before darkness 
fell. 

** But surely, Monsieur," Adeline said, "there 
is no danger here from the bad people of the 
Revolution ?" 

''Do not call the Revolutionists bad, my 
child," the Cure answered. " The Revolution is 
necessary and right, and there is nothing to fear 
from those who are loyal to its principles: they 
are carrying out the commandment of God! 
Whom I fear are others of a very different sort: 
the men who are seeking to destroy God's good 
work, to undo what the Revolutionists have 
done. There are many of these — men like Surto 



£a patine axib (Bïò Pascal 89 

and Calisto des Sablées, who were Aristocrats 
yesterday and who will be Aristocrats again to- 
morrow if the wind turns that way; men who 
take advantage of these troublous times to fur- 
ther their own ends by any sort of crime. Them 
I fear greatly, and the more because the honest 
men of the country are not here to stay their 
hands. You must remember, my child, that 
almost every patriot who can carry a gun is fight- 
ing on our frontiers. The flower and the strength 
of France is at war with the foreigners who seek 
to conquer us — only the feeble and the old remain 
at home. That is why we are at the mercy of 
these criminals who oppress us — hypocrites who 
shelter themselves under liberty caps, cowards 
who hide away in the forests that they may not 
have to fight against our country's enemies, 
Aristocrats who bide their time. These prowl 
by night like wolves, robbing and murdering; 
these serve the cause of the Tyrant to whom we 
owe every one of the many bitter troubles which 
are weighing us down to-day ; these are the pur- 
suers of such innocents as you and Lazuli; these 
are they who are ready to drown France in blood 
in order to set up the Tyrant again and to bring 
us once more under the heel of a despot ruling 
by brute force! But let us not blame, for the 
sins of these wretches, the patriots of the Con- 
vention — whom God has commissioned to give 
back to the people their liberty and their rights ; 
let us not condemn the Revolutionists because 
with the great rights they have won for us we 
must suffer for a season a few wrongs." 

As Monsieur Randoulet ceased speaking they 
passed through the gate of Saint Felix, and pres- 



90 Sl)e tDliiU Serror 

ently were come safely to the forlorn little house 
again. Janetoun was awaiting them anxiously, 
knowing ail the perils which might beset them 
after nightfall in those dangerous times. She 
was the very soul of faithfulness, this old woman, 
in spite of her grasping nature and her rough 
tongue. To save her master, she would have 
faced bravely the National Knife. 

** Well, this is a pretty time o' day to be 
coming home! " she said crossly. 

'* There, there, Janetoun, don't scold us," 
Monsieur Randoulet answered. **The wolves 
haven't eaten us. Here we are." 

** No, the wolves haven't eaten you," the old 
woman grumbled, ** but it's more by good luck 
than good management that they haven't 
What's the good of being out at night when 
you don't have to ? — it's bad enough when your 
holy duties call you abroad! *' 

Monsieur Randoulet laid his finger on his 
lips and frowned. **We will not talk about 
those matters," he said. And as Janetoun 
stopped short he added : ** Are your chick-peas 
well cooked and ready for us ? " 

** 1 don't know how well cooked they are, but 
they're ready for you," she answered sourly: and 
as she spoke she poured the reddish soup from 
the pot mto a dish in which were slices of black . 
bread. 

*• Let us thank God we have good teeth, my 
child ! " Monsieur Randoulet said with a smile to 
Adeline. But before Adeline could answer him 
Janetoun broke in with: *'Good teeth, indeed, 
Monsieur le Cure! So that's the way you talk 
about my cooking ! And those peas soaked in 



£a |)atine anb 0iò pascal 91 

lye and boiled in rain water! Why, they'll fairly 
melt in your mouth! " 

And so they did, and Monsieur Randoulet and 
Adeline made a good meal upon them, washed 
down with cool water fresh from the well, it 
all was in sharp contrast with the old curacy, 
where both larder and cellar always had been 
well filled and where there had been always 
the fragrance of incense mingled with an ap- 
petizing kitchen smell. But there was enough 
of wholesome food to stay their hunger, and it 
was sweetened by Monsieur Randoulet's gentle 
gaiety and the kind words coming from his good 
heart. 

Tired out after her sleepless night and her 
long day of journeying and excitement, Ade- 
line's eyes were blinking before she fairly had 
finished her simple meal. *' Now you must be 
off to sleep, my child," the Cure said. *'But 
first we will pray." Standing, and the others 
standing with him, he said the prayer, ** Pater ^ 
noster qui es in cQeli"---to which, when it was ^ 
ended, Adeline anoT^nefouh together said 
** Amen! " And then he made with his thumb 
upon Adeline's forehead the sign of the cross. 
** Sleep soundly, my child," he said. ** To- 
morrow we will take"^ another walk in the fields 
among God's beautiful flowers." 

Adeline kissed his kind hand, and as he left 
them and went behind the white curtains into 
his little alcove Janetoun spread a mattress upon 
the floor. ** That's for you, Mademoiselle," she 
said shortly. ** As for me, I'll sleep in my big 
armchair." And without another word she blew 
out the light. 

7 



92 QLÌ)c u)t)Ue Serror 

Feeling her way in the dark, Adeline stretched 
herself upon the mattress. But no sooner was 
she at rest than the sleep which had been weigh- 
ing upon her vanished and she was wide 
awake. For a few minutes there were little 
sounds about her — Monsieur Randoulet moving 
in his alcove, Janetoun settling herself in her chair 
— then all was silent save their regular breathing 
telling that they slept. The church clock struck 
the hour. From the street came a faint sound 
of footsteps. Then, for a long while, silence. 
As she grew used to the very faint light she 
could see dimly the white curtains of the alcove, 
and then the shadowy figure of Janetoun asleep 
in her chair. Ten o'clock struck — eleven — mid- 
night! "Oh heavens," said the poor child to 
herself, ** shall I never fall asleep!" 

She tried not to think — but thoughts went 
racing through her mind: of Lazuli and Clairet 
and Caritous and old Joy; of Calisto and Surto 
and La Jacarasse — setting her to shivering with 
fright; and then came a sweet vision of herself 
and Pascalel — Pascalet come back from the wars 
and living with her in the Chateau de la Garde. 
This comforting vision brought to her mind her 
visit that afternoon to Pascalet's mother, and 
she remembered the nut that La Patine had 
given her. Slipping her hand gently into the 
pocket of her jacket she found the nut and 
brought it to her lips and kissed it. It made 
company for her; it soothed her; at last she 
felt herself dropping away into sleep. 



CHAPTER IX 

STRANGE FLITTINGS IN THE NIGHT 

Suddenly Adeline was wide awake again — 
startled by hearing Monsieur Randoulet moving 
in his alcove. A moment later she heard Jane- 
toun moving also; and dimly saw the old 
woman rising from her chair, stretching herself, 
and then tying up her petticoat and setting her 
cap straight as though morning had come. 
But Adeline knew that morning had not come. 
Only a little while before she had heard the 
clock strike twelve. What could it mean ? she 
wondered. But she did not speak nor move. 

In a few minutes Monsieur Randoulet came 
out from his alcove dressed — but dressed in so 
extraordinary a costume that Adeline said to 
herself: *M am not seeing straight because of 
the darkness — or else it is a dream ! " For the 
good Cure, instead of wearing his coat and his 
neat knee-breeches, was dressed in woman's 
clothes ! He took a big staff from the corner, 
and Janetoun threw a shawl over his shoulders; 
and then the two, without speaking, tip-toed to 
the door, opened it softly, and as softly closed it 
behind them. She heard them creeping down 
the stair; heard the outer door very softly opened 
and closed again ; and then all was still ! With 
a little gasp, she drew the covers over her head 

93 



94 9LÌ)t tDt)ite Serror 



and lay trembling — full of fear at finding herself 
thus strangely alone. 

** Where can they have gone ? " she thought. 
** No one came for them. No one called. And 
why was he dressed as a woman ? What was 
the big stick for ? Are they leaving me ? Do 
they want to forsake me ? Oh, no, no — that is 
not possible! Had they been like that, Lazuli 
would not have left me with them. And 
Monsieur Randoulet is a very saint — he never 

would let me come to harm! And yet " 

And then the poor child cried out in the dark- 
ness: **0 God, have mercy on me!" and fell 
to shaking again with fear. 

The clock struck one — then, an age later, 
two. The hours seemed interminable. From 
time to time she pushed the covers from about 
her head to see if day were coming — and drew 
them up again quickly that she might shut away 
the darkness from her eyes. She tried to think 
out what she should do should daylight come 
and find her still forsaken. But she could come 
to no conclusion. At first she planned to go to 
La Patine — telling about the friendship that was 
between herself and Pascalet, and for Pascalef s 
sake asking shelter. But that project had to be 
given up when she remembered how poor they 
were, La Patine and Pascal; how, no matter 
how hard she worked, she still would be a 
burden upon them. Then the better thought 
came to her that she would go to Malaucène, to 
Lazuli and Joy. It was not so very far, she re- 
flected. She could walk there in a day ; or, at 
most, in a day and a night. Her only dread was 
that she might lose her way — and she tried to 



Strange iTlittings in tlje Nigl)! 95 

remember all that she had heard Lazuli say and 
had heard Caritous say about the road. 

And then, suddenly, as she lay thinking, she 
heard in the intense silence the very gentle open- 
ing of the outer door. Footsteps sounded on 
the stairs — so mingled with the thumping of her 
own heart that a whole crowd of people seemed 
to be ascending. Her head went under the cov- 
ers again as the door of the room opened, and 
she lay rigid. In another instant she heard Mon- 
sieur Randoulet say in a very low voice: ** The 
child never has wakened at all!" And to this 
Janetoun answered in a gruff whisper: ** Young 
folks sleep like logs." 

Adeline's fear was gone, but her wonder 
remained. Since their belief that she was asleep 
seemed to be a relief to them, she did not speak ; 
but her mind was employed busily in trying to 
solve the mystery of their night-time flitting and 
of Monsieur Randoulet's strange disguise. Try 
as she might, she could make neither head 
nor tail of it all; and while she racked her 
brain over these strange doings Monsieur Ran- 
doulet quietly went back to his alcove again, 
and Janetoun settled herself again in her chair. 
To Adeline's simple and straightforward mind 
the thought did not occur that good deeds 
sometimes must be done in deep secrecy: and 
because what she had seen was so unaccount- 
able a flock of evil suspicions assailed her which 
she could not drive away — though she grew 
angry with herself because she harboured them. 

Then, in the silence, she heard Monsieur 
Randoulet moving in his bed as one who can- 
not sleep, and presently heard him murmuring 



96 St)e tXlt)ite Serror 

very softly: **Our Father who art in Heaven, 
hallowed be Thy name — *' and so onward to 
the end of that first and all-inclusive Christian 
prayer. That sufficed to still all her doubts and 
to give her peace. With a long sigh, her tense 
mind and ngid body relaxed and a holy calm 
came into and possessed her heart. Her weari- 
ness asserted itself. In another moment, smiling 
at the angels, she fell into a deep sweet sleep. 

When she awoke, broad daylight had come 
and Janetoun was at work setting the house in 
order for the day. Through her half-opened 
eyes she saw Monsieur Randoulet sitting at the 
open window reading his breviary. From out- 
side came a great chirping and twittering from 
a swallow's nest under the eaves — where a brood 
of little swallows, almost fledged, were getting 
their breakfasts. What with the going and 
coming of the father and mother, and the talk 
of all the family, it seemed as though she were 
hearing the clatter of a whole town of birds. 
Only the sturdy sleep of youth and innocence 
could have gone on amidst such noises, and the 
noises that Janetoun was making too. All the 
doubts and terrors of the night were forgotten 
as Adeline looked upon the Cure's kind good 
face, and heard his kindly greeting when he saw 
that she was awake at last, and had his morning 
blessing before Janetoun gave her her morning 
meal. 

The day passed quietly. They remained in 
the house until late in the afternoon, when M. 
Randoulet took her for a walk. Again they 
passed by the hut of La Patine, and again La 
Patine was sorely disappointed because they 



Strange iTliuinBs in tl)e îíigljt 97 

would not stop and give her a chance to wag 
her tongue with them — and was only partly 
consoled by the promise that they would come 
and pay her a good long visit soon. Returning, 
they had their supper of soup and bread; and 
when Janetoun had settled matters for the night 
they disposed themselves as before : Adeline on 
her mattress, Monsieur Randoulet in his alcove, 
and Janetoun in her chair. 

Adeline fell asleep, but with a haunting 
memory of the strange doings of the previous 
night that disposed her to waken easily. When 
she had been asleep for some hours, as it seemed 
to her, her wakening came. Again she heard 
Monsieur Randoulet and Janetoun stirring; 
again dimly saw the Cure emerge from his 
alcove in woman's dress with his big staff in 
his hand; again saw Janetoun throw the shawl 
over his shoulders; and again saw them softly 
steal away together into the night. A shiver 
of fear ran through her because of the strange- 
ness of it all ; but she was sure that they would 
come back to her, and so escaped the agony of 
dread which had racked her the night before. 
With a little prayer now and then, that soothed 
and comforted her, she waited through the 
hours of their absence; and fell asleep calmly 
when at last they returned. Again she slum- 
bered until Janetoun and the swallows waked 
her, long after broad day had come; and again, 
as she opened her eyes, she saw Monsieur Ran- 
doulet seated at the window reading his breviary 
— the swallows whirling outside in the sun- 
shine making a flashing of light that seemed 
like a halo about the holy man's head. 



çS St)e tDt)ite (terror 

So the days went by peacefully, and the 
nights strangely, until near a month nad passed. 
Adeline grew accustomed to Monsieur Randou- 
let's and Janetoun's night-flittings, and while 
she did not cease to wonder about them they 
no longer caused her anxiety or fear. One 
regret she had, and that was a keen one: that 
the Cure did not take her to pay the promised 
visit to La Patine — whose gentle-heartedness 
made her think of Lazuli, and with whom she 
longed to talk about Pascalet. But she did not 
venture to ask that this visit which she so 
yearned for might be paid. 

One night their ordinary routine was broken 
in upon. After they had prayed together, as 
usual, Monsieur Randoulet paused before going 
into his alcove and said to Adeline: '* My child, 
almost a month has passed since you came here, 
and in all that time you have not heard the holy 
mass. To-morrow will be the Feast of Our Lady 
of August, and you shall go with me to the 
service that I shall hold. Now sleep soon, and 
soundly, for your sleep must be short." 

This promise so delighted Adeline that she 
skipped for gladness like a little kid. "Oh 
thank you, Monsieur," she exclaimed ; and she 
would have gone on eagerly to ask questions 
had not Monsieur Randoulet retired into his 
alcove, and had not Janetoun promptly put out 
the light. Her excitement kept her from obey- 
ing the Cure's injunction to go to sleep quickly; 
and at midnight she waked of her own accord 
— as she did usually when the others arose to 
go upon their mysterious expeditions. But, as 
usual, she lay silent. Presently she dimly saw 



Strange iFlittings in tlje Nifll)t 99 

Monsieur Randoulet come out from his alcove, 
but wearing his own priestly dress — not 
woman's clothes. And then her shoulder was 
grasped and she was shaken roughly, and a 
rough voice said: **Come now, get up at 
once!" 

Adeline jumped up with a scream ; and then, 
recognising Janetoun's voice, but still startled, 
asked fearfully: **What is it? What is the 
matter ? " 

** There is nothing to frighten you, my 
child," Monsieur Randoulet said gently. **But 
you must get up now and come with us. Don't 
you remember what I told you before you went 
to sleep ? We are going to the holy mass of 
our Lady of August. Get up, my child." 

Being thus reassured, and fully awake, Ade- 
line hurriedly began to put on her jacket. But 
Monsieur Randoulet stopped her. *'No," he 
said, **you need not be dressed as a boy to- 
night. Put on your frock. It will be safe. We 
shall be back again before dawn." 

**At this rate, we'll never get off at all!" 
Janetoun grumbled, as she went to the chest to 
bring out Adeline's bundle. But with the old 
woman's help — while Monsieur Randoulet knelt 
in the alcove, reciting his credo and saying his 
morning prayer — the young girl slipped so 
quickly into her frock that she was ready when 
the Cure rose from his knees. 

Together they went out softly into the star- 
lit night; groping their way through the narrow 
streets — dark as pockets — but easily making out 
their path by the star-shine when they had come 
out upon the open country-side. Adeline did 



loo a;t)e tDt)ite S^rror 

not venture for some time to ask any questions, 
but in her heart she wondered greatly where 
they could be going: for she knew that outside 
of the village there was not even a chapel, still 
less a church, for miles and miles. This puzzle 
held by her as they went onward, silently, 
through the quiet fields. The roadside crickets 
chirped at a great rate. Off in the valleys night- 
ingales were singing. Now and then from a 
farmhouse came the barking of a dog. Once 
they heard the dismal hooting of an owl. At 
last, when they turned from the broad path that 
they had been following into a narrow rough 
way leading up the hillside of the Castelnau, 
her curiosity got the better of her discretion. 
** Is the church far off.^" she asked. 

**No talking!" Janetoun said in a cross 
whisper. 

** We'll soon be there now, my child," Mon- 
sieur Randoulet answered, speaking in a very 
low tone. 

Up the steep ascent they went in single file, 
the Cure leading and Janetoun in the rear, be- 
tween thickets of thorny dwarf-oaks and tufts 
of flowery broom. The higher that they mount- 
ed the narrower became the path, and the 
thicker the tangle through which it ran. At 
last it stopped short, in front of a clump of 
bushes overgrowing a long-ruined and forgotten 
sheep-fold. The roof covering one end of the 
ruin still remained. This was the church ! 

In the sheltered corner, on the stone where 
of old the shepherds had spread salt for their 
sheep, a candle was burning, and before this 
improvised altar knelt a group of peasants, more 



« > I h 
» ' *• • 



Strange iTlUtings in tlje Nigljt loi 

women than men, waiting for the mass to be- 
gin. As Monsieur Randoulet entered the ruin 
one of the women arose, and from a basket 
brought out a bottle of wine, a slice of white 
bread, and a tall glass goblet. These she placed 
upon the altar. And then, with old Janetoun 
serving as his clerk, the good Cure said the 
mass of our Lady of August in the midst of that 
little flock of faithful ones, before that strange 
altar around which through the centuries flocks 
of another sort had gathered to receive their dole 
of salt. 

Quickly, but with all reverence, the service 
was concluded; and when it was ended the 
candle was extinguished and the little congre- 
gation vanished away silently into the darkness 
of the night. Back again down the narrow 
path, and thence through the fields and the 
olive orchards. Monsieur Randoulet and Adeline 
and Janetoun returned to Malemort. Far off 
over the mountain tops the pale light of dawn 
was glimmering as they entered safely their poor 
little home. 



CHAPTER X 

THE VISIT TO PASCAL AND LA PATINE 

Before she lay down to rest, in the grey 
dawn. Monsieur Randoulet told Adeline that he 
would take her that day to pay the visit to La 
Patine to which she had been looking forward 
so eagerly ; and this delightful promise, and the 
excitement following her strange night, kept 
sleep from her eyes. But she was not weary. 
The thought of a long visit to Pascalet's mother, 
and of the talk that they surely would have to- 
gether about Pascalet, gave her sweet rest 
through the exquisite solace that filled her heart. 

She lay quite still upon her little bed, 
watching the window brightening in the dawn. 
Presently the swallows woke up, and she heard 
their drowsy twitterings. Then she saw the 
old birds fly away, foraging for a breakfast for 
their little ones, as the first sun-ray fell upon 
their nest beneath the eaves. Because of the 
loving thoughts that filled her heart, making 
peace and happiness there, her love went out 
to those happy little birds. 

As the daylight filled the room she saw a 
big bundle upon the table wrapped up in Jane- 
toun's apron, and fell to wondering what it was. 
Then she remembered thatjanetoun had gone 
about among the little congregation the night 

I02 



@ri)e bi6Ìt to llaecal anò £a {latine 103 

before, while the last prayer was being said, as 
though making some sort of a collection. What 
she had collected no doubt was in the apron, 
Adeline thought — but that did not explain what 
was there. 

In a moment or two her curiosity was satis- 
fied. When the swallows began to twitter, but 
before the noise they made had aroused Mon- 
sieur Randoulet, Janetoun stirred in her chair, 
stretched herself a little, sat up slowly — and 
then went quickly to the table and untied her 
apron. That Adeline should be awake, and 
watching her, evidently did not cross her mind. 
The bundle being opened, Adeline saw a little 
heap of vegetables, a great loaf of white bread, 
a melon, and a bottle of wine. These the old 
woman took hurriedly to the cupboard and 
there stowed away. She moved very softly, 
but not so softly but that Monsieur Randoulet 
was aroused. Looking out between the cur- 
tains he saw what she was doing, and said 
sharply: ** Janetoun, you have been levying 
tribute upon my poor people again. 1 have told 
you that you must not do that." 

Janetoun was disconcerted by the Cure's 
discovery, but answered crossly: *' It's all very 
well for you to give your orders. But it is 1, 
not you, who must keep the pot boiling." 

** 1 have told you," Monsieur Randoulet re- 
peated, *'that you must ask nothing from these 
poor people." 

** Poor people, indeed! "Janetoun grumbled. 
" And what are you ? Can anybody be poorer 
than you are nowi Anyway, I can't make you 
soup out of stones! "' 



I04 ®l)c tìJljite S^rror 

Giving up the argument, Monsieur Randoulet 
arose and came to his seat beside the window 
and betook himseh' to his breviary — while be- 
hind him the swallows flew back arid forth, 
casting flying shadows upon his open book. In 
silence Janetoun went on with her morning 
work. 

Soon, when the morning meal was finished, 
the Cure and Adeline set off for the hut of La 
Garde; taking with them some of the tribute 
that Janetoun had levied, stowed in a leather 
wallet, to serve for their midday meal. 

Adeline was filled with happiness, for it 
seemed to her that this visit to Pascalet's mother 
was almost the same thing as a visit to Pascalet 
himself. And her heart was still more glad- 
dened because she was carrying a present to La 
Patine that, for a while at least, would make 
her life and old Pascal's life easier. From the 
moment that the visit was planned, the child 
had cast about in her mind for some way of 
helping these poor people who had only black 
bread to live upon, and not enough even of 
that ; and the good thought had occurred to her 
that she would give them her precious three 
crowns. After all, they were Pascalet's three 
crowns : and who could have a better rijght to 
them than his own father and mother ? There- 
fore she hid her little treasure in the pocket of 
her jacket and set forth with Monsieur Ran- 
doulet joyfully : glad because of the happy day 
that was before her, and glad because of the 
good that she could do to these poor people 
whom she loved. 

Remembering the old times, it seemed 



atlje biôit to îPaôcal anò Ca Jíatine 105 

strange to her, as they went upon their way, 
that nowhere were there any signs that this 
great feast day — the Feast of Our Lady of August 
— was being observed ! No bells were ringing. 
The church was closed. Instead of clustering in 
the village in holiday dress, the people were at 
work as usual. As they passed through the 
fields the harvesting was going on. At the 
threshing floors the men were swinging their 
flails and the women were winnowing the grain. 
But Monsieur Randoulet was too broad-minded 
to take offence at an infraction of the merely 
human commandments of the church. As they 
passed the groups of workers he had kindly 
words for all of them, and asked with interest 
how the harvest was coming on. The answers 
to his greetings and to his questions also were 
kindly. But Adeline had another shock in hear- 
ing them address him as ** Citizen Randoulet" 
— for the phrase ** Monsieur le Cure'.' had no 
place in those strange new times. 

What talk took place was no more than the 
interchange of greetings, and of questions and 
answers, as they walked on rapidly. Monsieur 
Randoulet did not wish to seem to be hiding 
Adeline; but neither did he wish the villagers 
to come to close quarters with her. The risk of 
her being recognised, in her boy's dress, was 
not great; but still it was a risk that had to be 
guarded against. Naturally, there had been a 
good deal of talk as to who this boy could be 
whom Citizen Randoulet had picked up. Some 
said that he was an emigre's son ; others said 
that he was a bastard of the Avignon Legate. 
But as no one knew anything certainly, and as 



io6 (St)^ tDt)iU Cerror 

the people of Malemort for the most part were 
well-disposed toward their late Cure, they were 
content — as we say here in Provence — to let the 
water run. 

Having left the grain fields and entered the 
olive orchards, Monsieur Randoulet and Adeline 
met no one until they were come to the hut of 
La Garde — where they found Pascal and La Pa- 
tine hard at work threshing out the little harvest 
of wheat that they had gleaned. Very meagre 
was their harvest, poor souls ! But, such as it 
was, they were beating out the grain — threshing 
is too large a word for what they were doing — 
on a broad flat stone : Pascal with a stick, La 
Patine with one of her sabots, and it was pitiful 
to see how careful they were to pick up each 
single grain that happened to fall from their little 
threshing-floor to the ground ! A whole tragedy 
of starvation was told in their eagerness to save 
each tiny scrap of food! 

La Patine, who was not a dull woman, un- 
derstood the meaning of the sorrowful -smile 
on Monsieur Randoulet's face as he watched 
them, and was grateful for it. **We must be 
careful, Monsieur le Cure," she said. **We 
poor people cannot afford to let even a grain 
be lost." 

** But it makes me sad. La Patine, to see you 
going down on your knees and searching for 
those single grains when I think of the many 
great granaries which are heaping full." 

*' Well, after all, Monsieur le Cure, those great 
granaries are all filled with many single grains. 
They must be gathered and saved, one at a time. 
And my old grandmother — God rest her soul! — 



(Sl)e l)i6it to pascal anh ta |)atine 107 

used to say that one grain of wheat was worth 
more than a whole loaf of bread, than very many 
loaves of bread, and that to waste it was a sin : 
because when you had eaten the bread that was 
the end of it; but from the wheat grain you 
could grow a spear of wheat, and from the spear 
a shea^ and from the sheaf a shock — and so on 
until you grew enough to feed the whole world 
until the heavens fall." 

** You are right, La Patine. Who throws a 
handful of wheat into the fire is more of a spend- 
thrift than one who throws a handful of gold 
into the sea! " 

**And my grandmother used to tell me, 
Monsieur," La Patine went on, **that in the old 
times the spears of wheat were much fuller and 
much longer than they are now. Why, she said 
that in the old times, in the very old times, the 
spears were the length of the whole blade — and 
a strange story she had to tell about the way in 
which they became small! " 

While Monsieur Randoulet only smiled at 
La Patine's simplicity, Adeline — always eager to 
hear a story — broke in with: ** And what was 
it that made the spears of wheat become small, 
La Patine.^" 

**Well, I only know what my old grand- 
mother told me about it, and what she told was 
this: Once upon a time there was a woman 
who went with her husband to gather in their 
crops. They had a field of wheat as red as gold, 
and every blade was covered thick with grain 
from the top to the very ground. The woman 
had brought her baby with her, and she laid 

him on a woolen cloth in a nice shady place 
8 



io8 QTlje iSH)itt (terror 



under an olive tree, while she followed her hus- 
band with his sickle, and bound up the sheaves. 
After a while the baby began to c^, and the 
woman went to him — ^thinking that he was cry- 
ing because he was hungry. But the baby 
was crying because he had soiled himself and 
the woolen cloth on which he lay. And what 
do you think that spendthrift worhan did ? She 
stripped one of the long beautiful blades from its 
root in the ground to within a handbreadth of 
its top, and used the blessed bearded grains as a 
brush to make things clean again. Now it hap- 
pened that the good God was passing that way 
just then ; and when he saw what the woman 
was doing he scolded her well for her wicked 
wastefulness. And then the woman — who 
didn't know that it was the good God who was 
scolding her — told him shortly to mind his own 
business and she would mind hers. And the 
good God said no more to her and passed on. 
But the next year, when the wheat grew again, 
it grew no more along the whole length of the 
blade. Only so much grew at the top of the 
blade, a mere hand-breadth, as the woman had 
left there — as it has grown ever since, and as it 
grows now. And then there was a famine in 
the land, the first famine that ever was known; 
and from that time onward there never has been 
wheat enough in the world for all the hungry 
mouths. For the good God does not forget, and 
in that way he punished that wasteful woman 
for her sin!" 

La Patine was interested in her own story, but 
she was still more interested in Adeline's face — 
and she was cudgelling her brains to find out 



9ri)e t)isit to pascal anh £a |)atine 109 

where she had seen this boy, and where she 
had heard his familiar voice. But she could 
make nothing of it all, and was beginning to 
think that she would venture on a plain ques- 
tion — when another matter intervened that 
diverted her thoughts. 

Adeline also had given to the curious folk- 
story a divided interest. While listening to it 
she had been gazing very intently at the lower 
slope of the hill below La Garde. Her look 
grew more and more anxious, and just as the 
story ended she went pale suddenly and cried 
out: ** The gendarmes! The gendarmes! " 

* * Nonsense ! " exclaimed Monsieur Ran- 
doulet. ** There is nothing to bring the gen- 
darmes here. You must be mistaken, child!" 
But he rose hurriedly, and with a troubled 
face looked in the direction toward which Adeline 
pointed. 

La Patine and Pascal went on quietly with 
their work. **I never have seen a gendarme 
about here yet," said La Patine; and added: 
** Robbers don't come prowling around the 
houses of the poor." 

**No, I am not mistaken. Monsieur," Ade- 
line answered. ** Look where I am pointing. 
Look carefully. Do you see that olive-tree — 
that one higher than the rest, near the wall ? 
Well, the gendarme I saw is on the path that 
comes out beside that tree. You will see him 
in a moment, now. There! There he comes! 
Look ! " 

**Yes, yes. I see him!" Monsieur Ran- 
doulet said excitedly. And then added, in a 
much calmer tone: ** But he is not a gendarme, 



no (2:1)0 tl31)iu (terror 

my child, and we have nothing to fear. He is 
a soldier — not a National Guard, though; and 
not wearing a uniform that I know at all." 

'* A soldier! " cried La Patine, starting to her 
feet. '* A soldier! And coming here! It's my 
Pascalet! It's my own Pascalet come home 
from the wars! " 

At this old Pascal also jumped up. But 
when he had taken a look at the oncoming 
soldier he said in tones of conviction : **No, 
that's not our boy. He's too tall. And he 
hasn't our boy*s walk." 

'*Pedasa!" exclaimed La Patine. ''He's 
been growing since he went away." 

**0h, if it were Pascalet! " cried Adeline. 

" It seems to me that he has only one arm," 
said Monsieur Randoulet. ** Yes, I am sure he 
has only one arm. And I think he has a band- 
age about his head, too." 

Adeline saw that Monsieur Randoulet was 
right, and gave a gasp that was almost a sob ; 
while La Patine burst out: *'Oh Mother of 
Heaven ! My boy to come back to me with only 
one arm ! " And she hid her face in her hands. 

** I tell you it isn't our boy," old Pascal said 
with energy. '* Look at him for yourself." 

The man, coming onward at a good pace, 
had drawn close enough for them to see him 
plainly. La Patine took her head out of her 
hands for another look and exclaimed : "God 
be praised ! Look at the big beard of him ! It 
isn't my Pascalet at all! " And Adeline gave a 
long thankful sigh. 

Then they waited in silence while the man 
came on. 



CHAPTER XI 

BRAVE MARGAN 

*' Greeting to you! " said the soldier as he 
joined them. *' Fraternity — or Death ! " 

For all that he had a pock-marked face like 
a honey-comb, he was a fine-looking fellow, 
well set up and strong. He wore a cocked hat, 
a green uniform turned up with red, and white 
gaiters. His right sleeve hung empty, and 
under his cocked hat was a bandage across one 
eye. A soldier he looked, every inch of him — 
but a soldier who never would fight again!» 

*'I think you must have mistaken your 
way, friend," Monsieur Randoulet said when 
they all had answered his greeting. ** The path 
that you are on leads nowhere. This is the 
end of it." 

** Mistaken my way. Citizen ? Not a bit of 
it ! Isn't this the hut of La Garde ? " 

'*Why of course it is," La Patine answered. 

** And perhaps you're La Patine ? " 

** You've said it." 

** And this is your good man ? " 

** That's mv Pascal." 

**Well then, my marching orders were 
right, and so am I. And now for the other 
side. I am Margan of Marseilles — your sons 
comrade. He and I went up to Paris together 

III 



112 Qri)e ÌSH)iìt QLextOT 

in the Marseilles Battalion ; and then we went 
off together to fight foreigners in Holland — a 
God-forgotten country in the north, where 
there's snow all the year round. And here am 
I, now, come to give you news of how your 
youngster's getting on." 

"He's not dead, then! " cried La Patine. 

* ' Dead ! Well, I should say he wasn't ! He*s 
as bright as a sword-blade and as lively as an 
eel!" 

'*But why didn't he come.^ Oh, my little 
Pascalet, I'll never see you again ! " and La Patine 
broke forth into sobs. 

** Sit down, good soldier," said Pascal, '* and 
tell us what you have to tell about our boy.*' 

'* But first you must have some refreshment," 
put in Monsieur Randoulet. " A cool drink 
will comfort you after your hot walk." 

**Pecaire!" exclaimed La Patine. **rve 
nothing to give you but water! " 

** But we have something better than water 
in our wallet," Monsieur Randoulet answered — 
and as he spoke he brought forth the bottle of 
red wine that Janetoun had captured at the mass. 
In a moment it was opened; and in another 
moment Margan was giving it a long kiss that 
left it only half full ! 

** Ha! that's something worth swallowing! " 
the soldier said as he set down the bottle and 
wiped his mouth with the back of his one re- 
maining hand. '* That's not like the slops and 
soapsuds we got to drink up there in the North ! " 

*' And you've brought us news of our boy ? " 
said La Patine eagerly. 

** Yes, and fresh news, too. Why, it's only 



BratJe Mat%an 113 



a month since I was talking to him, nose to 
nose, just as I'm talking to you now! We've 
been together, that boy and 1, all through this 
past year — ever since the day that he enlisted 
in our Battalion in Avignon. We went up to 
Paris together, and we took King Capet prisoner 
together; and when that job was finished we 
went ofif together as volunteers to fight for the 
Republic up in the north. For six months we 
fought Austrians and Germans in that vile Hol- 
land. And we'd have been at it together yet if 
our General hadn't turned traitor. Its to him, 
that dirty dog of a Dumouriez, that I owe the 
loss of my arm and my eye! " 

'*Pecaire! how it must have hurt!" ex- 
claimed La Ratine. ''And my Pascalet — was 
he wounded too ? " 

''Not a bit of it! He's always in the thick 
of the fighting, and yet he always manages to 
come out with a whole-skin. It looks as if he 
knew how to frighten the bullets away ! Many 
a time we fellows have said, ' When the smoke 
clears away there'll be nothing of Pascalet left 
but scraps!' — and then the smoke would drift 
off, and there would be Pascalet as lively as a 
flea ! And very likely a bullet hole through his 
hat, and his coat torn by bayonets and slashed 
by swords. Some of our fellows swear that he's 
bewitched! " 

" Oh holy Mother of Heaven ! My boy don't 
know what he's doing. They'll kill him for me, 
sure ! What did he ever go into those armies 
for — away off there .^" And again La Patine 
began to sob. 

" I'd be glad to be there myself, all the same," 



114 St)^ tDt)ite Setter 

said Margan. **If I'd only lost my eye I'd be 
at it yet, fighting for the Republic with the rest 
of them. But with my right arm gone, Sarni- 
pabiènne! what can I do? If it had been the 
left arm, I'd have stuck to my trade. You see, 
that devil of a cannon ball passed me on the 
wrong side. And it went in a hurry, I can tell 
you! Why, Pascalet said to me 'Your arm's 
gone, Margan!' almost before I knew it my- 
self." 

*' But how did you and Pascalet get into the 
army of the North at all ? " asked Monsieur Ran- 
doulet. ** How was it that you didn't stay in 
the Marseilles Battalion, and come home with 
it when it came home ? " 

** Well, you see, it was just a sudden notion 
that took hold of us when our heads were a bit 
askew. We enlisted on the very day that the 
Battalion started for home again. The afternoon 
before that day, when we'd got our marching 
orders and everything was settled, some of us 
went off on a spree — Pascalet and I and one or 
two more. We went it hard — sampling one 
dram-shop after another until we saw nens with 
three heads everywhere! By the time that 
night caught us we were all tangled up in the 
thick of Paris and didn't know which way to 
turn. We did manage to get back to the bar- 
racks at last, somehow or other, but Pascalet 
drifted off from us and got lost. We didn't 
know that he had not come back with us till 
the next morning; indeed we didn't know till 
the next morning that we'd got back ourselves. 

**Well, the next morning Vauclair came 
hunting for him — it was Vauclair, you know, 



Braue Jïlargan 115 



who picked him up in Avignon when he was 
driven out from here, and he loved the boy 
dearly. Vauclair gave it to us hot for taking 
him off with us that way, and when I found 
what had come of it I felt pretty bad myself— 
and I made up my mind that as I'd helped to 
lose him I wouldn't leave Paris until I'd found 
him again. And so I went off to hunt for him, 
and 1 let the Battalion march without me while 
1 hunted Paris high and low. 1 hunted and I 
hunted without finding him. Along in the after- 
noon 1 got all tired out, and went into a bar- 
rack that 1 happened to be passing to sit down 
and rest myself. And all of a sudden 1 heard 
Pascalet's voice — I was sure it was his voice 
singing the * Marseillaise.' Round 1 turned like 
a flash — and, sure enough, there he was! The 
hugging that I gave him was near to cracking 
the ribs of him; and then 1 found what he was 
doing there — that he had joined that morning 
one of the new battalions of the Army of the 
North. 

'* * Come right along back with me to where 
you belong,' says I, 'and come home with the 
rest of us to Marseilles.' 

*'*No,' says he, like the brave patriot that 
he is, * no, Margan, I've enlisted in the army of 
the Republic, and if you dare to say another 
word about my desertmg— you're a dead man! ' 
and he ups with his gun ! 

'* ' Right you are,' says I, *and wrong I am ! 
Vive la Revolution! Vive la République! In- 
stead of my taking you back to Marseilles, you 
shall take me off to fight along with you for 
Liberty! ' And with that I enlisted in the same 



ii6 a;i)e tol)ile ttertor . 



battalion — and within another hour Pascalet and 
I were off together for the northern frontier. 

'* What a march it was that we made to ihe 
Army of the North ! In the early evening the 
brigade of which we were a part got away from 
Paris, Pascalet and I shouting out the * Marseil- 
laise. ' The other fellows of our own battalion 
— Parisians, Normans, Bretons — at first only 
opened their mouths to laugh at us. But it 
didn't take long for the tune of our song to get 
into their heads and the fire of it into their bones, 
and we all were roaring it out together before 
we'd gone half a league. Through the darkness 
we marched singing; and when a thunder-storm 
came banging over us — with rain by the bucket- 
ful that drenched us through — we fairly outroared 
the thunder with our * Marseillaise ' ! Not until 
toward morning — when we were pretty well 
dead beat with wet and cold — did we call a halt. 
And even then, chilled and drenched and hungry 
and tired out though we were, every little while 
a hoarse voice would croak : 

' Aux armes citoyens! Formez vos bataillons! * 

We made our halt under the lea of a stiflF little 
hill close to the road side, along with a battalion 
of Maine-and-Loire men who led us on the 
march. We all were wet as frogs together, and 
when at last the sun came up we all gave a 
shout of joy. As for our breakfast, we made it 
mainly on shouting * Vive la République!' — that 
really did seem filling, somehow — and on the sun- 
shine that set our jackets to smoking and made 
us warm once more. There were eighty in our 
battalion, and as many more of the Maine-and- 



Bratïe Jïlatgan 117 

Loire men, and for the lot of us we hadn't above 
a dozen loaves of bread all told. So we munched 
our little scraps slowly, to make the most of 
them, and drank water from the pools that were 
everywhere — but oh how good a clove of garlic 
would have tasted then ! 

'* While we waited for our order to march 
again, three young fellows on horseback came 
galloping down on us along with a pack of 
hounds. They were going out coursing, and 
pulled up to a walk as they passed us. * Hello, 
draggle-tails, where do you come from ? ' one 
of tihem called out as they rode by. * Vive la 
Revolution ! ' we shouted in answer. ' Chicken- 
stealing looks to be your business,' the fellow 
said, and he and one of his comrades struck 
spurs in their horses and were off with a laugh. 
But the third, a handsome lad, pulled up short 
and his eyes filled with tears. Off came his hat 
in a handsome bow to us, and * Vive la Nation ! ' 
he cried in a voice that rang true. ' I'll join you, 
if you'll let me, comrades,' he cried; and with 
that we all gave him a rousing cheer. And he 
did join us. Our lieutenant enrolled him right 
there; and when we got on to Arras the munici- 
pality saw to his being armed and equipped. 
And he was only one of a good many who en- 
listed with us as we went onward — glad of the 
chance to go along and fight for holy Liberty. 
When we joined Dumouriez at last we were 
more than three thousand strong. 

**I never shall forget our march up to the 
General's quarters — all of us storming out the 
* Marseillaise ' at the tops of our voices, and the 
men of the Army of the North shouting * Vive 



iiS Stie tDl)ite Carrot 

la République! * and cheering us as we came on! 
We marched past the General, and counter- 
marched, and formed up while he made a 
speech to us. 

***Boys/ says the General, 'you've come 
at just the right time! To-morrow you shall 
taste Prussian plums. They are over in that 
village in front of us, the Prussians are, and the 
woods are full of them. 1 haven't counted 'em, 
but I'll not be far out if I say that there are forty- 
five thousand of 'em — and now that you've got 
here we're about eighteen thousand strong. 
And that's just about right — for one soldier of 
the Republic ought to be able to account for 
three of the hirelings of the Prussian Kinff! ' and 
then the General cried 'Vive la Republiquel* 
and we cried ' Vive la République! ' and every- 
body cheered. 

*' Well, I can tell you it just made us proud 
to be talked to that way, and joyful that our 
chance to fight for Liberty was to come so soon. 
We hugged each other all round, as if we hadn't 
met for years; and then we went to hugging 
the soldiers we didn't know at all as if they'd 
been our long lost brothers; and we shouted 
and yelled! The fine young fellow who'd left 
his hunting to join us was wilder than anybody, 
he was so glad. He was a good one, he was. 
He gave his horse to the General; and although 
he was a gentleman born and had a lot of yellow- 
boys in his pockets he munched blaclc bread 
with us, and at night lay down with us on the 
hare's mattress, without ever saying a word! 
He took a great fancy to your Pascalet, and he 
seemed to like me too. * Pierre Jacques,' he 



Brave SXlaxian 119 

told us to call him, and we did; but some of 
the other recruits said that that wasn't his name, 
and that he was the son of a ci-devant noble. 
But that didn't matter to us — for our * Pierre 
Jacques' had no part nor lot with the nobles 
any more. The star of the Republic guided 
him, and the sun of Liberty lighted up his beau- 
tiful soul!" 



CHAPTER XII 

THE AFFAIR OF VALMY 

"Our General hadn't lied to us," Margan 
went on, ** when he told us we were to taste 
Prussian plums that day. The Prussians were 
ready for us and we were ready for them, and 
while the dawn was breaking our drums beat 
the pas de charge — and at it we started, singing 
the 'Marseillaise/ 

*M saw that there was hot work ahead of 
us, and before it began I turned to Pascaiet and 
said : * See here, Kiddy, we're going to the bum- 
ble-bee's high mass again — and this time we've 
got to handle not a few fellows in King Capet's 
castle but the whole army of the King of Prus- 
sia. He's as bad a tyrant as Capet was, and a 
better fighter. Do your best, my Pascaiet — ^and 
remember that we've got to show these north- 
ern volunteers that the Reds of the Midi don't 
back down ! ' And that brave little fellow an- 
swered : ' If you see me doing any backing 
down, Margan, blow my brains out! ' And then 
a devil of a cannonading began that put a stop 
to any more talk. 

** We had been eating some bits of bread — 
but we had to stop biting bread and take to 
biting cartridges; and cartridges are not belly- 
filling, 1 can tell you. The cannon were bang- 

120 



dlje ^Saix of baltna 121 

ing away at us at a great rate. We could hear 
the balls whizzing over us, hissing like angry 
snakes, and we could see the branches of trees 
falling — but the gunners had not got our range. 
As far as we could see, off in front of us, the 
ground was just black with Prussians. Their 
base was a village that they were holding, and 
right into the thick of them we had to go and 
take that village. If we didn't, it would be the 
other way about — and then there would be no 
Army of the North to hold the frontier, and the 
King of Prussia would come marching into 
France, and on he would march to Paris and set 
up the tumbled-down throne again. And then 
— well, then it would be good-bye to Revolu- 
tion and Republic and all! 

** So we ragglety-bobtails stood to our work 
— ^though the gunners had got our range and the 
musket-ball bees were buzzing around us — and 
did what we could for France. Go back we 
wouldn't, and go ahead we couldn't, for our or- 
der to charge did not come. So we just bit 
our cartridges and fired and fired into the black 
heap of Prussians out there in front of us on the 
plain. 

'*And then, suddenly, through the whirl- 
winds of smoke and the whirlwinds of dust 
ploughed up by the balls, we saw General Du- 
mouriez on horseback right in front of the bat- 
tle; and we saw that our line was wavering, and 
that the General was trying to steady it and to 
lead a charge. But the line broke, in spite of 
him, and our red-plumed boys began to go the 
wrong way. And then what we had taken to 
be a line of pine woods, far off on the plain, 



122 Slie feDl)iU Serror 

suddenly became a line of Prussian reserves — 
that came forward to the blare of trumpets, 
bringing the whole Prussian army along with it, 
on the heels of our flying boys. Well, it did 
look just then as though we'd lost everything — 
the battle and our honour, too! 

** It was more than we fellows could stand. 
We didn't care what happened to us — if only 
we could save the day. So down went all our 
heads together, under the storm of balls and 
bullets, and like so many butting billy-goats we 
went into the fight at a double quick, our drums 
beating the pas de charge. Like a wedge our 
brigade jammed itself in between the runaways 
and the oncoming black battalions: and then 
General Dumouriez, who was crying with shame 
over it all, found that he had some men behind 
him whom he could lead! It was hot work 
that he led us to ! From the Prussian line came 
a hurricane of bullets and cannon-balls and grape 
that levelled everything — trees, bushes, horses, 
men, all went down together, as though a great 
scythe had swept over the plain ! 

**But when the red-haired Prussians, the 
slaves of the Prussian King, saw us coming — 
charging on at them through everything, roar- 
ing out the ' Marseillaise ' — they halted, formed 
up their lines, and met us with a still more 
deadly fire. But this fire only made us hurry 
forward so that we might come to grips with 
them. * Never mind the Prussian plums,' 1 
called out to Pascalet, who was just ahead of 
me. ' Have your pitchfork ready — ^this is our 
threshing-floor, and we're going to toss the 
straw! ' Pascalet's face was one black grime of 



©lie Qlffair of bûlmg 123 

powder and smoke. He never answered me a 
word, for at that moment we were in on the 
Prussian line. But he did what I told him to 
do. * Tremblez, tyrans, et vous, perfides ! ' he 
yelled — and he tossed on his bayonet a Prussian 
gunner who must have weighed three times as 
much as he weighed himself ! 

** And then the straw began to fly, I can tell 
you ! We were in a fury of killing, arid we killed 
and killed ! They tried to run from us — but the 
big heavy louts were no match for our nimble- 
ness, and they stumbled over each other in their 
clumsy way. When they stood up to us we 
spitted them in the breast; when they were 
down we gave it to them in the back or the 
belly or the buttocks, just as it chanced — and on 
we went, leaving behind us a sheet of dead and 
wounded spread over the plain. 

**And what we were doing brought the 
others up to the collar and made them pull their 
pound. Our own runaways, seeing Dumou- 
riez dashing on at the head of us raggle-tails, 
were shamed out of their panic. General Kel- 
lermann, another good fellow, got them re- 
formed; and at the head of them waved his 
sword and shouted out the * Marseillaise ' — and 
with heads down and fixed bayonets they 
charged the Prussians on a full run, like so many 
wolves ! 

** Well, amongst us all, we settled the mat- 
ter. But we got so twisted up in doing it that 
our right wing was our left wing by the time 
we were through. That didn't make any dif- 
ference, though. At the end of the battle, when 
the multitude of Prussians was scampering in 
9 



®l)e í^ffair of balmg 127 

for armies to help them to invade their own land 
of France. What is more, these cowardly rene- 
gades had managed so well — being backed by 
the traitor Capet, who paid for the job with his 
head — that they had at their heels in Belgium 
such an army of Austrians as I don't believe ever 
before marched out under the cape of the sun ! 
Forty thousand of them, there must have been ; 
and forty thousand horses, and how many thou- 
sand cannon I really don't know! There were 
generals and commandants and captains of this 
host: that was made up, as I say, of forty thou- 
sand men, and forty thousand guns, and forty 
thousand bayonets, and forty thousand swords 
— every one of them brand new: sharpened, 
shining, glittering! 

* * Our army was of another sort. At Valmy, 
half of us had no bayonets to our muskets and 
half of us had no swords. Half of us went bare- 
foot, and the rest of us had cracked sabots that 
wouldn't stick to ourfeet. And many a time 
our bellies were erpïi5ty when we lay down to 
sleep in the mud or on the bare stones. But we 
didn't care ! Though we went hungry, we had 
a flame that fed us: our faith in Liberty! 
Though our arms were poor and shabby, we 
had a weapon more terrible than red-hot can- 
non balls and glittering swords: our * Mar- 
seillaise ' ! 

**WeII, over we went into Belgium, and 
through Belgium we went hunting for that ter- 
rible army of Austrians. But we couldn't find 
it! Our generals, to hearten us up, kept say- 
ing : * We'll meet them to-morrow ' — only it kept 
on being * to-morrow, ' until we got sick and tired 



128 Siie feDi)ite Serror 



of marching to that fight that never came oflF ! 
To tell the truth, we almost lost heart over it. 
Some of our fellows said : * There can't be any 
army for us to fight. An army isn't a pin — you 
can't lose it in the grass!' But others toolc a 
blacker view of the matter, and said gloomily : 
* We are betrayed ! ' 

**Our Pascalet was among the few who 
never lost heart nor courage. He kept up the 
spirits of the doubters, and when any man talked 
about our being betrayed he would give that 
man a shaking that brought him back to reason; 
and then he would burst out with 



* Aliens, enfants de la Patrie, 
Le jour de gloire est arrive! ' 



And all together we would take up the glo- 
rious song, and our hearts would swell again 
with hope. 

**One morning we were grunting worse 
than ever. For three days we had been march- 
ing through a forest As we fell in, at dawn, 
cold and hungry, to keep on with our march 
you could hear from one end of our line to the 
other only growls. It seemed as though we 
never were going to get out from among those 
endless trees ! But when we had formed for the 
march General Dumouriez forced our column 
and called out to us as he waved his sword : 
' Citizen soldiers of the Republic ! The sun shall 
not set before you have seen the army of the 
Austrian tyrant! Vive la Nation! ' 

*' Those words, you may be sure, put fresh 
life into us. All together, in a great roar, we 
shouted: *Vive Dumouriez! Vive la Nation!' 



aClie !3lffûir of bultng 129 

— and swung forward, still cheering, eager to 
lessen the distance between us and the enemy. 
And presently, just as the sun rose, we came 
out into the open — and that miserable forest at 
last was left behind! 

*'But what we saw before us dashed our 
hopes again. Below, out in front of us, stretch- 
ing away to the horizon, was what seemed to 
be the ocean — with little waves upon its surface 
which caught the sunlight and sent bright 
flashes into our eyes. *The sea!' we cried. 
*We are at the end of the earth! We have 
missed the Austrians! Back we must go 
through the forest for another three chill nights 
and days ! ' Utter discouragement settled down 
upon us. Even Pascalet had not the heart to 
strike up the 'Marseillaise.' Only our comrade 
Jacques Pierre — who was a northern man, you 
know — didn't seem disheartened a bit; and as 
he listened to our growls and groans he only 
grinned. And Jacques Pierre was right to grin 
that way, for we were a pack of fools! 

** As the sun rose higher above the hills, and 
the heat of his rays grew stronger, all of a sud- 
den a new picture was before our wondering 
eyes. Like a cloud of smoke melting away and 
vanishing, what had seemed like the glittering 
waves of the ocean were dissolved in the sun- 
shine — and before us was a great marshy plain 
across which the Austrians, horse and foot and 
artillery, were marching toward the hills near 
Jemappes where they were to make their stand. 
And then, in a flash, we understood the mistake 
that we had made. The layer of thick mist, 
rising just a little higher than the head of a man 



I30 Si|e tDI)iU Serror 

on horseback, had hidden everything but the 
glistening bayonet-tips and the glistening crests 
of the cavalrymen's helmets — and these, sway- 
ing regularly with the regular motion of the 
march, had seemed to us numskulls the spark- 
ling wavelets of the sea! " 



CHAPTER XIII 

THE BATTLE OF JEMAPPES 

"Well," Margan went on, *Mf ever there 
was a lot of delighted men it was us just then. 
We were not permitted to make a noise — for 
we were under cover of the wood and the ene- 
my had not seen us — and so we could not take 
to yelling the * Marseillaise,' as we wanted to. 
But we stuck our red caps on our bayonets and 
waved them about, and danced silent rigadoons 
together — until, presently, the order .came for 
us to march back into the wood again, to some 
marble quarries, that we might lie hidden there. 

*'Back we went to the great marble quar- 
ries, and there we lay snugly out of sight — like 
so many wolves in a den. Then we had our 
breakfast of bread, and precious dry and hard it 
was ! The men all growled over it and said we 
might as well be eating stones. Pascalet man- 
aged it better than the rest of us, for he has 
jaws and teeth fit to crack steel. ' What are 
you growling about ? ' he asked. * To-morrow 
we'll have bayonets for breakfast, and they'll be 
harder still!' And the notion of having "bayo- 
nets for breakfast set us all to laughing, and to 
longing for the next day to come. 

** To fill in the time, for it was dull work 
waiting idly, we cleaned up our muskets and 

131 



132 Sl)e tDi)ite Setror 

pistols and sharpened our swords ; and we 
watched General Dumouriez and General Kel- 
lermann and the two deputies from the Con- 
vention sitting together with a map spread out 
in front of them, planning how the battle was 
to be fought. It was comfortable down there 
in the deep quarries, dry and warm — ^the best 
camp we'd made on the whole march. And yet 
when night came — though we were used to 
sleeping anyhow and anywhere — we couldn't 
sleep at all! Every minute somebody would 
be asking: * Isn't it almost daylight? Isn't it 
time to start ? ' 

** Well, from the time that we turned back 
into the wood until we started out again we 
had twenty hours of waiting. I tell you it did 
us good when at last we got the order to fall 
in! We laughed and joked over what was 
coming, and some of us took to dancing a faran- 
dole! Pascalet, coming from the farandole 
country, ought to have been in that; but he 
wasn't, and when I hunted around for him I 
found him standing on one side looking as glum 
as you please. * What's the matter ? ' says I. 
' Oh, nothing,' says he. * Yes there is/ says 1. 
* What is it.^' Mt's nothing, I tell you/ says 
he — and then we fell in, and the column began 
to move. It was the dusk of very early morn- 
ing. Our drums were silent. As quietly as 
possible we marched toward the position to 
which we had been assigned. 

*'To make Pascalet tell me what was the 
matter with him, 1 pretended to be angry with 
him and made a show of joining the next rank. 
We always had marched side by side, like 



Sl)e Bank oí Jfemappes 133 

brothers, and he couldn't stand that. As I 
stepped away from him he put his hand on my 
shoulder and said: *Stay with me, Margan/ 

** 'Then speak up,' said I. *I don't know 
you. Pascalet, when you're like this.' 

**1 took my place beside him again, and as 
we marched on together he said to me in a 
voice so low that only I could hear him : * Mar- 
gan, I'm not afraid of death. I'd give my life 
twenty times over, if I could, for the Republic 
and for Liberty.' 

'' * Well, nobody doubts that,' said I. * But 
what's the matter with you? Has anybody 
said anything to hurt you ? ' 

'**No, no. It's nothing of that kind,' he 
answered. He was quiet for a minute, and 
then he went on: *See here, Margan, it's an 
easy thing for a sword to split your head open, 
or a musket bullet to make a hole through you, 
or a cannon ball to knock you to bits. I've 
been thinking that something like that may be 
going to happen to me — that in the next couple 
of hours or so I may be killed.' 

*'*WeIl,' said I, *you won't be the only 
one. And, anyway, what's to be done about 
it ? When a man's dead, he's dead — and that's 
all there is about it. It's a kind of sickness 
there's no cure for.' 

*' * I'm not laughing,' said he. 'If I die, if 
my life goes out for our just Revolution, I want 
you to do something for me, Margan. Will you? ' 

*' 'Speak up,' said I. * I'll do anything you 
want me to do — always supposing I don't 
sneeze out my little butterfly of a soul ahead of 
yours.' 



134 Si)^ Ì)3l)iU Serror 

*** Please don't make fun/ said the poor 
boy, with a long sigh. * Tm in earnest, Mar- 
gan. I'm very much in earnest. I want you 
to promise me that if I die, and you get home 
all right, you'll go and see my mother.' 

'' ' Why, of course I will,' said I. And then 
I gave him a slap on the shoulder and said : 

* Cheer up, youngster! Something tells me 
you're not going to die to-day.' 

** ' But that's — that's not all I want you to 
do for me, Margan,' he went on in a queer sort 
of way. 

'^'Well, out with the rest of it/ said I. 

* I'll do whatever you want.' 

'**When I'm — \yhen I'm dead,' said he, 
' here in this pocket over my heart you'll find a 
bright medal of Notre Dame de bon secours. 
1 want you to take it, and to take great care of 
it ; and when you go home I want you to give 
it to one whom I love, to one who perhaps 
loves me — whose face always is before my 
eyes as clear as when I saw her, the bird-song 
of whose sweet voice always is ringing in my 
ears as plain as when I heard her ! ' 

** * But who is she ? ' I asked. 

*' * Oh,' said he, * you can't possibly mistake 
her. She's the very best and the most beauti- 
ful girl in all the world ! She's the flower of 
the world! She's an angel from Paradise. 
She's as dazzling as Liberty ! And you'll say to 
her, please : ' * Poor Pascalet, when he died for 
his country, was thinking of you. He was 
thinking of you when he shed his last drop of 
blood. He told me to bring to you, that you 
might keep it in memory of hint, this medaí of 



Sl)e Battle of Scma^pcQ 135 

Notre Dame de bon secours — the only thing 
that he owned in all the world! " * 

** *Now see here, Pascalet/ said I, 'do you 
think I'm a wizard ? She's the most beautiful 
and the best, and a flower and an angel, and as 
dazzling as Liberty 1 That's all very well. But 
that's the way they all are — all the girls who 
make us fall head over heels in love with 'em. 
If you want me to do this for you, you've got to 
tell me your girl's name.' 

** All the time that we were talking we were 
going forward at a good pace, and by that time 
we were down on the great mist-covered plain, 
that we had taken for the sea the day before, 
and were marching through the mist ourselves. 

'* Pascalet did not answer me, and to make 
him give me something that I could go by I said 
to him, short and sharp : * I don't believe you 
know her name yourself ! ' 

*' He turned red and said: * Vauclair will tell 
you who it is.' 

'* * But where am I to find Vauclair ? ' I asked. 
' Don't you suppose that Vauclair's oflF on the 
frontier too — fighting the foreigners along with 
all the other good Reds of the Midi ? ' 

** Mf you can't find Vauclair,' he said, * Vau- 
clair's wife, Lazuli, will tell you. She rescued 
us both from misfortune and took us home to 
live with her. And she guessed our child-love 
— when she saw us playing with the fire that's 
burning in me now, and that will burn in me 
always while I hve.' 

**Then I gave him a cut that I was sure 
would bring the truth out of him. * Oh,* said 1, 
* I see how it is — you're ashamed to tell me her 



J 



6 íli\)c tohite Serror 



name. Its some good-for-nothing baggage in 
Paris ' 

***Hush! Hush! Margan!' he exclaimed. 
* You must not talk that way. 1 will tell you 
her name. It is Adeline, and she is the daugh- 
ter of the Marquis d'Ambrun.' And as- he got it 
out at last he took a step ahead of me so that 1 
could not see his burning cheeks. 

**At that very moment the sun came up 
above the hills — and as though the sun had set 
the world on fire there burst upon us a hellish 
cannonade! All the batteries began an awful 
fire upon us: belching out round-shot and grape 
and flashings an^ thunderings without a single 
stop, until we were in the very thick of a rain 
of lead and iron! As we stood ther^ in the 
centre of the plain, with the cannon blazing 
away at us, it seemed as if every stone and tree 
and bush, even the very tufts of grass, on all the 
mountains and hills round about us were loaded 
with powder and shot and all were going off 
together to sweep us away from the face of the 
earth ! 

''Tangled up as we were in the fog, it was 
more than we could stand. Our battalions 
shivered, wavered, broke! An awful confusion 
was upon us. Through the fog we ran without 
knowing where we were running. We tram- 
pled over our own wounded — whose shrieks 
and howls made things a thousand times worse. 
Our two squadrons of cavalry, in the van, lost 
their heads and came crashing back right through 
our ranks. We didn't know where to turn nor 
what to do. We couldn't see our generals. We 
heard no orders. The rain of lead and iron fell 



®i)e Battle of 3cmappcii 137 

faster and faster. It looked as if it was going to 
be the very ruin of ruin — as if our army of the 
Republic was to be wiped out for good and all! 
And Pascalet was gone from beside me. I called 
to him — * Pascalet! Pascalet!' There was no 
answer — and all around me the ground was cov- 
ered with dead and dying men ! " 

Margan stopped in his story suddenly and 
exclaimed: ** Why, what's the matter with the 
boy?" As he spoke, Adeline gave a gasping 
cry and fell over sidewise in a dead faint on 
Monsieur Randoulet's knees. 

** Water! Quick, water!" cried Monsieur 
Randoulet, as he raised her tenderly in his 
arms. 

** Here's something that will do more good 
than water," said Margan — and drew a flask 
from his pocket and held it to Adeline's lips. 
The strong stuff revived her in a moment. Her 
eyes opened, the colour returned to her face, and 
she sat erect again. Then her memory partly 
came back, and she asked brokenly: **But— - 
but he was not killed, the brave Pascalet?" 

* * Not a bit of it ! " Margan answered. * ' And, 
what is more, it was he who got us out of our 
scrape." 

Being assured by Adeline's quick revival that 
her fainting was not a serious matter, the mem- 
bers of the little party settled down again — their 
mouths as wide open as horse-collars — to listen 
to the rest of the story of the battle ; and Mar- 
gan, having put his flask back into his pocket, 
went on : 

**! thought, just as the boy here thought, 
that our Pascalet had swallowed a bullet the 



138 íl)e toljite terror 



wrong way — for I couldn't see him anywhere. 
And things were in a devil of a mess generally. 
Our line was wavering; and our officers, in- 
stead of steadying us, were giving us orders at 
cross purposes — our captain ordering us to lie 
down, and our major waving his sword and 
ordering us to charge. With the mist blinding 
us, and with death all around us, it was more 
than any soldiers could stand. In another min- 
ute or two we should have broken our ranks 
and run for it — and if we had done that I don't 
believe a man of us would have pulled through 
alive. And then, suddenly, our courage, our 
patriotism, every bit of go that was in us, came 
to the top as we heard — heard it above the in- 
fernal roar of the firing — a voice that we knew 
storming out: 

* Allons, enfants de la Patrie 
Le jour de gloire est arrive! 
Centre nous de la tyrannic 
L'étendard sanglant est levé ! ' 

**Just as though our Hymn of the Revolution 
had magic in it, as those words rang out the 
mist rose from about us and we could see what 
we were doing and where we were. And there, 
right in front of us, singing the glorious 'Mar- 
seillaise,' we saw our Pascalet — his bayonet at 
a charge, his head down like an angry bull, 
going off at a run to capture all the Prussians 
with his own two hands! That settled things 
for us. Off we went after him — ^by tens, by 
hundreds, by thousands. In an instant our 
whole division, thundering out the * Marseillaise,' 
was streaming along toward the nearest hill that 



Sri)e Battle of 3tmapptB 139 



was spitting out at us fire and iron and death! 
Bent close to the ground, we rushed onward — 
the balls whistling over us as the wind whistles 
over a field of ripe wheat when the ears are 
heavy and hang low. Our whole army caught 
our song and our spirit and came on with us. 
Like a league-long wave, our line of battle surged 
across the plain and up the hillside with a great 
roar of 

* Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons! ' 

''Up the hillside, a resistless tide, this roar- 
ing wave mounted higher and higher — dashing 
up the steep slopes, plunging over the walls, 
crushing flat the bushes — until it came full and 
strong against the fiery barriers that were thun- 
dering forth iron death. Over those barriers 
we poured — standing upright, at last, after our 
charge of near half a league — and down on the 
other side of them we rushed like wolves into 
the enemy's close-pressed ranks. And then 
such a killing began as never was seen ! They 
were packed together, the Prussians, like bees 
in a swarm. We were against them and among 
them, in such a jumble that you could not tell 
whether we were killing them or hugging them. 
It was so thick that when you had spitted a 
man with your bayonet you scarcely could get 
it out of him again — until we unshipped our 
bayonets and took to stabbing with them at 
short arm. That answered. Down went the 
Prussians all around us in heaps of dead flesh. 
Presently they all were dead or running — and 
the battery was ours! 

*i It was that way along the whole line. 
10 



I40 Sri)e tí)i)ite Serror 



Everywhere the Prussians gave way before us — 
for who could withstand the soldiers of the Re- 
public ? — and in less than two hours we had 
carried all the fortified hills and were holding 
the centre of the Prussian position, the village 
of Jemappes. And that meant that at a single 
gulp — in just about as long as it takes to yoke 
the oxen and plough a long furrow — we"d con- 
quered Belgium!" 



CHAPTER XIV 

HOW FRENCHMEN FOUGHT FOR FRANCE 

Margan paused for a moment, while a buzz 
of talk went up from the little company. Then 
he went on again : 

*'Tè! I clean forgot to tell you that, in the 
thick of it all, a beast of a garde-de-corps wiped 
out my eye with a pistol shot. Things like that 
happen in a battle, you know. It was lucky 
that he did not wipe off the top of my head! 

** As for Pascalet, I kept track of him pretty 
well while the fighting was going on, and I 
saw that he came through it all right. Every 
now and then I heard him shouting out a bit of 
the * Marseillaise ' — by way of keeping the bat- 
talion up to its work, I suppose — and then I'd 
say to myself: * Aha, the little cock still is cock- 
a-doodling. No need to worry about him yet ! ' 
And while I had both my eyes on duty I'd take 
a look at him, when the chance came, and every 
time I saw that he was doing his work with a 
will — going at it in as tearing a hurry as a goat 
among the grape-vines in May-time! 

** After the battle we carne together on the 
little Place of Jemappes. There he saw that my 
eye was gone — and. Lord, but he was in a tak- 
ing! He made me come with him to the foun- 
tain, and there he washed my hurt and then 

141 



142 Cl)e tí)l)ite ïerror 

bound it up with a poultice of some sweet- 
smelling plant that he found on the hillside — 
something that he knew about that would do 
me good, he said; and it did. Why, a doctor 
couldn't have done a better job! " 

** Poor, poor Margan! '* exclaimed La Patine. 

" How dreadfully it must have hurt you!" 
said Adeline. 

**0h, well," Margan answered, "I did have 
a headache in the night. But we had to go to 
fighting again the next day, and I didn't have 
time to feel it or to think about it. You see, the 
whole country was full of broken divisions of 
Prussians and Austrians, and we had to hunt 
them out and thrash the whole of them — and to 
take all the forts and all the towns where they 
tried to make a stand. And we did it with a 
whizz! On we went from victory to victory — 
until all the forces of the enemy were conquered 
or scattered, all their generals dead or prisoners, 
and we had the whole country flying the Re- 
publican red, white and blue. 

''But for all our victories," Margan went 
on, speaking slowly and gravely, ''we came 
near to being ruined by a black misfortune. 
Just because of our victories, I suppose, Dumou- 
riez had his head turned — to say no worse of 
him — and thought that he could do what he 
pleased. That man, whom we had carried on 
the palms of our hands, whom we would have 
followed to the end of the earth against our 
country's enemies, fancied that he could use us 
for his own purposes — that he could conquer 
Holland with us, and then march us to Paris 
md sweep out the Convention and make himself 



§om irrencl)nten iTougl)! fur Stance 143 



I don't know what: King or Emperor, perhaps; 
or perhaps the power that would put back the 
Tyrant on his throne. Madness it all was, and 
worse than madness — it was a crime! 

**Well, as long as he led us against our 
honest enemies he had no trouble with us. 
Into Holland we followed him, shouting ' Vive 
la République ! ' and all of us as pleased as we 
could be. But one dismal day he plumped us 
down into the middle of a Dutch swamp; and 
there he kept us, with never a shot fired at any- 
body for days and weeks — and what was the 
meaning of it we did not know ! * I don't un- 
derstand it,' says I to Pascalet. 'Here every- 
body's grumbling — and everybody has a right 
to grumble, for Dumouriez isn't Dumouriez any 
more!' 

***A Republican can't be a traitor!' says 
Pascalet back to me., short and sharp. * It's all 
right, Margan.' But that wasn't the way that I 
felt about it, and it wasn't the way that most of 
us felt about it — and, as the end showed, we were 
right and Pascalet was wrong. 

* ' Well, one day, four Deputies from the Con- 
vention came riding into our camp — we were 
camped in a village called Bois Saint-Amand — 
to make Dumouriez talk things out with them ; 
for, it seems, the folks in Paris had got wind of 
what he meant to do. It was about nightfall 
when they came into camp, and DumoUriez had 
them brought straight to his tent — where he 
was ready for them, with a lot of officers who 
were of his mind. The next thing those four 
Deputies knew, they were prisoners; and the 
next thing after that, they were handed over, as 



144 fltlje tí)l)iu aterror 

prisoners, to the Austrian General — as Dumou- 
riez and the Austrian had arranged between 
them in advance! Think of it! Think of the 
shame of it! After Valmy, after Jemappes, the 
soldiers of the Republic to be betrayed! But, 
God be praised! it isn't easy to chew nettles; 
and, even when you have chewed 'em, they 
swallow hard ! Dumouriez found out the truth 
of that saying before he was a much older man! 

** As soon as the four Deputies had been sent 
across our lines to the enemy, the order was 
given that we were to break camp and march 
at once. It was cloudy, and as dark as pitch, 
but we knew our business and presently we 
were in marching order and in line. Dumou- 
riez and his staff passed up our line, to head the 
march, and some of our men swore there were 
Austrians with him. But that could have been 
no more than guess-work — for though they 
passed within twenty paces of us I could see 
only a black huddle of men and horses showing 
faintly against the black sky. But about what 
the General said when he got to the head of the 
column there was no guess-work. In the still- 
ness of that black night we heard every one of 
his black words. * Soldiers of France, ' he cried. 
' Follow your General who always has led you 
to victory ! He leads you now to deliver your 
country! Long live France! Down with the 
Convention ! ' 

** Thunders of hell! When 1 heard that 
traitor shouting out his treason 1 couldn't hold 
myself in ! ' Vive la République ! ' 1 shouted — 
and all the army shouted it after me in a mighty 
roar that fairly shook the black clouds. 



§om irrencl)men iTouglit for £rantt 145 

*Mn the lull of silence following that great 
shout, our brave Jacques Pierre called out in a 
tone of bitter contempt that cut through the 
darkness like a knife: *A fig for Dumouriez!* 
Again the army took up the cry, and * A fig 
for Dumouriez! ' went rolling down our line. 

** Dumouriez was in a frenzy. Stammering 
with rage, he shouted : * If the man who said 
that is not afraid of death, let him tell his name! ' 

*' For a moment there was a silence so deep 
that our breathing seemed to jar on it. Then, in 
a full strong voice, our comrade answered: *It 
was I who said **A fig for Dumouriez!" I, 
^ acques Pierre Cambronne, a volunteer of the 
Republic in the Maine-et- Loire Battalion! ' — and 
as he spoke he brought his piece to his shoulder 
and fired at the traitor General in the dark ! 

**In an instant there was a crackle of mus- 
ketry. I was firing at Dumouriez, so was Pas- 
calet, so were a score more! But there was no 
taking aim in that pocket of darkness, and as 
the plum was not ripe that was to finish him he 
got safe away. We heard a rush of galloping 
horses, then the sound of hoof-beats growing 
fainter and fainter, then only the buzz of our 
own angry talk. That was the last of him. 
We never again laid eyes on that traitor who 
had tried to lead us out of the bright road of 
glory into treason's foul and crooked path ! 

**The whole of that dismal night we spent 
in cursing Dumouriez and in bemoaning our 
shame; and then, for breakfast, we fought the 
Austrians — who thought that they could make 
mincemeat of us because we had lost our General ; 
and who did not give up that notion until we 



146 QHfc toljite QLttxor 



pretty well had made mince-meat of them ! We 
showed them that soldiers of the Republic, with 
a general or without one, cannot be conquered: 
because their flight is made against tyrants for 
holy Liberty and for the brotherhood of men! 

**Ifit had not been for our strong faith in 
the cause we were fighting for we never could 
have got ourselves out of the hole in which Du- 
mouriez left us. There we were in front of the 
Austrian and Prussian armies — who had new 
recruits coming up all the while to take the place 
of the men we killed for them, and who had a 
plenty of ammunition, and who were never 
short of food. As for us, we were in want of 
everything. For days together there would not 
be enough bread to go round among us. Some 
of us were hungry all the time. Worse than 
that, we were short of ammunition — not many 
powder-sausages for our cannon, and no balls 
at all. Why, we fought ever so many battles 
just with our muskets and bayonets and with 
never a cannon shot fired! That we were 
hungry did not make much difference; but it 
played the very devil with us to have our poor 
cannon fairly crying for food! 

**By the same token, it was along of the 
hunger of our cannon that I got rid of my arm. 
It happened this way : We were under the walls 
of Valenciennes — we'd got out of Holland by 
that time — and the Austrians had batteries every- 
where. From all of them they blazed away at 
us at their ease, and not a gun could we serve 
back at them. All that we had to answer with 
was little lead peas from our muskets — and for 
all the good they did they might as well have 



iÇotD iTrenclinten £on%ì:\t for Stance 147 



been real peas, and boiled ones at that! Our 
men were pretty nearly desperate. Some of 
them tore their hair, some wept in their rage, 
some shook their fists in the face of HeÌfÉ^n! 
But what good did that do ? On came the s^m^ 
of Austrian balls ! 

** Then it was that Pascalet had a wild devil 
of an idea'. * Friends,' he cried, * we've got 
faith in what we're fighting for, and we've got 
courage and strength for our fight. ' But we 
haven't cannon balls, and we've got to have 'em 
— and I'm going to show you how they can be 
had. Mark my words, in an hour or two the 
Austrians will be running away ! ' 

*' We all thought, of course^ that he had gone 
clean crazy. But he hadn't. Standing his mus- 
ket, bayonet down, in the earth, away he ran to 
a sandy slope into which the Austrian cannon- 
balls were dropping like hail. And what did 
that little rascal do but grub three balls out of 
the sand and come running back with 'em to 
our dumfounded cannoneers! 'Here,' says he 
— ' here's something to feed your cannon with. 
Feed 'em, and crack away! ' 

'**Vive Pascalet! Vive Pascalet!' we all 
roared together, while the gunners rammed 
down the Austrian balls into their guns and then 
sent them flying back into the Austrian lines! 

*' Well, you may be sure that when Pascalet 
had shown us how to play that game he was 
not left to play it alone. Off we went to the 
sand hill, with a skip and a jump — each of us in 
a hurry to dig our potatoes to feed our guns! It 
was lively work, I can tell you! As we would 
be grubbing up one ball, down would plump 



148 Sl)e tXII)ite Setror 

another close beside it, half blinding us with the 
dust that it sent flying. But we didn't mind a 
little thing like that! * Vive la République! ' we 
shouted — and on we went with our game! I 
tell you, 1 fairly cried like a baby as I saw how 
all of a sudden our men had got oack their fight- 
ing spirit — and were just dancing with eager- 
ness to follow in the wake of the cannon-balls 
and rush the Austrian line! 

** My one eye got so full of tears that I couldn't 
see to do my digging. 1 tried to put up my 
hand to wipe my tears away, and — I hadn't any 
hand ! It wasn't there any longer — and my arm 
was gone too! 'This is as strong as pepper!' 
says 1, but what 1 was saying 1 scarcely knew. 
Then, in a dim sort of way, 1 saw Pascalet, his 
face all over dust and streaked with sweat, 
standing beside me; and from ever so far off, as 
it seemed, 1 heard him say: *Margan — ^your 
arm!' 

*' Then things got clearer. * Holy Saint Per- 
lipopette!' says I. Mt's gone! A cannon ball 
must have sliced it off! ' 

'*And that was just what had happened! 
One of those cursed Austrian balls had cut it off 
close to the shoulder — and so quickly that I 
didn't feel it go! 1 did feel something, to be 
sure — a sharp rap, as it seemed to me, as if one 
of my comrades had hit against me by accident, 
but that was all. 

*' Well, I don't mind telling you that I was a 
sort of flabbergasted. It takes a man's breath 
away, a little, to lose his arm like that — without 
knowing anything about it! But it gave me 
something fresh to think about, and put a stop 



^ou) iTrencljmen Ion%ì:\t íox Stance 149 

to my tears. ' Well, ' says I to Pascalet, * here's 
a pretty go ! ' 

'' Pascalet was more cut up about it, I think, 
than I was. But he wanted to make things 
pleasant for me, and so he said: ' Well, it's only 
an arm, Margan. It's lucky it wasn't your head ! ' 
And he talked away to comfort me — while the 
balls came bouncing down all around us — and 
set to work to plug me up, so as to stop the 
blood that was pouring out of me in a stream. 
The best that he could do was to pack dry sand 
from the hillside on my stump, and that did stop 
the bleeding. At least, 1 think it did. Just as 
he was finishing, and I was trying to say ' Thank 
you,' all of a sudden 1 seemed to tumble down 
into darkness — and then I didn't know anything 
at all! 

"An hour, two hours, I don't know how 
long after that, I felt something cool on my face 
and found that my. wits were coming back to 
me. 1 opened my eye, and the first thing I 
saw with it was that kind little mug of Pascalet's. 
The Austrians had cleared out, the battle was 
over, and that good little youngster had come 
back to find if anything was left of me — and 
Cambronne, another good fellow, had come with 
him to lend a hand. 

** * Margan ! Margan ! ' he cried. * It's all right. 
We've whipped the Austrians! ' 

'' ' Vive la République! ' I said back to him, 
and tried to put out my right arm and get up. 
It was queer to find that I hadn't any! Pascalet 
and Cambronne had to help me up between 
them, and when I was on my legs 1 saw that I 
still had something to be thankful for. ' I'm 



150 ®l)e toljite QLtxxor 



blind of one eye,' says I, ' and one arm 's gone. 
But I've got my two legs left to stand and fight 
on! Vive la République!* You see 1 thought 
that with a good pair of legs, and a good eye, 
and a good arm, I still might go on fighting for 
holy Liberty. But, pecaireT they wouldn't 
have me any longer in the ranks! I begged and 
prayed to stay, and Pascalet begged and prayed 
for me — saying that my left arm was worth 
more than any ten right arms he'd ever seen. 
But it wasn't any good. I had to clear out. My 
fighting for Liberty was at an end! 

"Pascalet and Cambronne bore me com- 
pany, sadly, to the cart full of wounded men in 
which 1 was sent to Paris. We hugged all 
around — though my hug was a poor one — and 
we parted with full hearts." Margan paused, 
and then choked a little as he added : "It will 
be a long hunt that anybody will have before 
finding any two comrades as true to each other 
and as close to each other as Pascalet and me! " 

Margan was silent for near a minute. Then, 
in a light tone that was a little forced, he went 
on: '*Well, all that is over and done with. 
They got my stump in good order in Paris, and 
then on 1 came to Avignon. The first thing I did 
in Avignon was to go to Vauclair's house m the 
Place du Grand Paradis. A pretty state of things 
I found there! The house was empty, and 
sacked, and half in ruin. There was no Vau- 
clair, no Lazuli, no sign of the girl that Pascalet 
thinks such a heap of and sent the message to. 
1 was brought up with a round turn and didn't 
know what to do with myself— until the notion 
came into my head that I'd walk on out here 



§om iTrenrljttten ibugl)! for JTranre 151 

and give you news of your boy. Like enough 
he'll be coming back to you himself before long. 
The war up there is ended by this time. Our 
soldiers of the Republic saw the heels of the last 
Austrian, and I have heard that our army is on 
its way back to Paris. There's a good chance 
that Pascalet will be with you for the chestnut- 
ting at Martinmas — or for the Calends of Christ- 
mas, anyway." 

** Truly, do you think he will come back to 
us ? " asked La Patine, in a quavering voice that 
told how deep was her feeling. 

** I'm as sure of his coming back to you as 
I'm sure of the five fingers on my left hand!" 
Margan answered heartily. 

''And oh," cried Adeline, *Mf he comes at 
Christmas time we'll all lay the yule log together 
on Christmas Eve! " 

**It will be a fine day," sighed old Pascal, 
* * that brings home again my boy — who got into 
trouble and had to go away all along o' me ! " 
The simple old man fell to crying as he spoke; 
and, as his strong emotion sent his blood to his 
head, the scars left by the Vicomte's whip-lash 
on his poor old face stood out with a ghastly 
distinctness. Adeline's heart went chill as she 
saw those cruel scars, and knew that the whip 
which had made them had been in her own 
brother's hand! 

"Well, well," said Margan kindly, '^that 
fine day is coming, and is coming soon. It 
won't be long before you have your Pascalet 
back again from the wars, safe and sound. 

** And now, friends," he went on, ** I must 
be marching. I've got the Grande Combe to cross 



152 ffilje toljite ffietror 

before nightfall^ and must be off. So good-bye 
to you all." 

'* But you must not leave us without break- 
ing bread with us," said Monsieur Randoulet; 
**and you must have, too, another sup of wine 
before you go." 

''As to the drink," Margan answered, "you 
may be sure I'm not for refusing it; but the 
bread, by your leave, I'll put in my pocket and 
make my supper on it as I go along." 

Adeline opened the wallet and brought out 
for him a good chunk of sweet bread, and as 
many almonds as his pocket would hold — ^giv- 
ing him gladly all her own share, for it seemed 
to her that in a way she was giving food to Pas- 
calet himself. Monsieur Randoulet handed him 
the bottle, and with a nod to the company he 
kissed it long and lovingly — standing straight 
as a cock, with his nose in the air and his eyes 
fixed on the blue sky. *' That was to our good 
luck, and to our meeting soon again," he said as 
he put down the bottle. ** And now I'm off." 

They all embraced him and kissed him on 
the cheek — La Patine and Adeline weeping like 
Magdalens, because it seemed to them that they 
were kissing Pascalet — and then Monsieur Ran- 
doulet walked with him a little way to set him 
on his road. 

"You go down by this path," said Monsieur 
Randoulet, ''into the valley of the Nesque, and 
you follow the dry bed of the river through the 
gorge below the Crows' Chapel." 

"The Crows' Chapel, Monsieur. What is 
that?" 

"It is a cave, high up the mountain side. 



§om irr^nclimen iTonjlit for fxantt 153 

Our country people have given it that name. 
There, at the mouth of the gorge, you turn to 
the left — passing an old tow^er on a little hill at 
the foot of the mountain and leaving on your 
right, high up among the rocks, the village of 
Venasque. You v^ill know it by the pointed 
belfry of its church tow^er, to which you will 
see — if your eyes are sharp — wolves' heads nailed 
fast. There, at the entrance to the Grande Combe, 
the valley will open out wide before you ; and 
you will go on through La Grande Combe to 
Sénanque. About midway you will come to the 
Dripping Rock. Since the world began that 
rock never has ceased to drip; and the drops of 
water, ever falling, have hollowed out from the 
hard stone a little basin to which all the birds of 
the mountains come to slake their thirst. But 
hurry past it, do not let night catch you there." 

**Yes, yes," Margan answered, ''1 under- 
stand. There are wolves." 

** No, 1 do not warn you against the wolves. 
Worse than wolves are there — the Whites! " 

**0h, if it's only the Whites I don't mind. 
Let 'em come! " and with these words Margan 
was ofif at a good pace down the steep path. 



CHAPTER XV 

THE FLIGHT FROM THE GENDARMES 

Monsieur Randoulet came back to the 
others. For a while they were silent as they 
turned over in their minds all that Margan had 
told. The Cure was the first to speak. " Well," 
he said, **we didn't bring our wallet of food 
along just to look at. We brought it to eat — 
and we'd better eat it now." 

At his word Adeline brought out what was 
left of the loaf and divided it into four portions, 
of which she kept the smallest for herself. She 
had no desire to eat. An exquisite emotion filled 
her — a joy that she scarcely could control. But 
there was a touch of bitterness in it because she 
was forced to keep it to herself; because she 
could not ask for sympathy in the glad thoughts 
of Pascalet which filled her heart. And also, 
because of the intensity of her happiness, a 
shadow of dread hung over her: as though joy 
so great must be paid for promptly with pain. 

As they finished their little repast the sun 
was edging down toward the plain. Monsieur 
Randoulet put the empty bottle back into the 
wallet, and then rose from his stone seat. Fil- 
lipping the dust from his breeches with his fin- 
gers, he said: ''Come, child, now we must go 
home to Janetoun." 

154 



8i;i)e -flight ítom tl)e (&tnòatmc6 15s 

As he spoke, they all heard, from far off 
among the olive-trees, a sound as of some one 
calling. La Patine, who had gone back to the 
threshing of her little harvest, stopped pounding 
the wheat ears with her sabot and listened in- 
tently. ** I think some one is calling you, Mon- 
sieur le Cure," she said. 

Presently the calling came again, nearer and 
louder. They all heard the words: '* Monsieur 
Randoulet!" 

*' That's Janetoun," said the Cure; and he 
stood on tip-toe, the better to see down the 
path. 

**Yes, it is,'* said La Patine. **I can see 
her now. She's got a bundle. Goodness, 
what a hurry she's in! " 

*'Ah," sighed Adeline, ** she's bringing us 
bad news! " 

** Most likely some dying man has sent for 
me," said Monsieur Randoulet. He walked 
quickly down the path; and the old woman, 
seeing him, came stumbling still faster to meet 
him. '* Softly! softly, Janetoun!" he called 
out to her. ** Don't run like that. And with a 
bundle, too! You*ll make yourself ill." 

Janetoun did not try to answer. She kept 
what little breath she had left in her until she 
was come close to him ; and then she panted 
out: ** The gendarmes! They're here! They've 
come for Adeline, and for you too! " 

** Impossible! " exclaimed Monsieur Randou- 
let. ''Who told you?" 

'*No one told me," Janetoun gasped out. 
*'I saw them. 1 saw them coming along the 
Carpentras road. They are at the inn. Melio, 
II 



156 Slje tDljite Sertor 

the innkeeper's wife, came to warn me that 
they've come for you and Adeline. Hurry! 
Hurry ! You've barely time to get away ! " 

Monsieur Randoulet, speechless, raised his 
clasped hands for an instant in supplication to 
heaven. Then, with Janetoun panting behind 
him, he hurried back along the path. As he 
neared the little group of anxious watchers he 
called to Adeline: **The gendarmes are search- 
ing for us, my child. My good Janetoun has 
brought us warning. We must get away from 
here, and into hiding, at once." 

**It is Calisto who is seeking me again," 
cried Adeline. ** I am sure of it! 

**Yes, yes," exclaimed Janetoun, "that is 
the name. That's the very name, Calisto, that 
Melio said! He's got twelve gendarmes with 
him, and an old man with a red cap. And 
they've come to arrest Monsieur Randoulet and 
you!" 

Adeline turned very white as Janetoun spoke, 
but she did not lose either her courage or her 
strength. Taking Monsieur Randoulet's hand 
in hers, and kissing it, she said: ** Monsieur 
Randoulet, kind and good friend, you must not 
and you shall not suffer for my sake. I shall go 
alone into the mountains. Perhaps the wolves 
there will settle all for me! " 

*' Hush, my child," the Cure answered. ** 1 
know my duty, and 1 shall do it. Those who 
make a prisoner of you must also make a pris- 
oner of me." And then, turning to Janetoun, he 
added: '*Tell me, do those who are searching 
for her know that Adeline is here, at the hut of 
La Garde ? " 



atlje flijljt from tlie Oenbarmeg 157 

**No — but they are looking for her every- 
where and are questioning everybody. They 
are certain to learn that you passed along the 
Pramàri Road. They are very likely to learn 
that you came on up here." 

** Yes. But vv^ho can tell them that it is Ade- 
line w^ho is vv^ith me ? Everybody believes that 
she is a boy." 

'*Not now. Not any longer. This Calisto 
knows all about her being in boy's clothes. He 
told the innkeeper's wife that it was a girl in 
boy's clothes they were looking for. And he 
said that she was Mademoiselle la Comtessine 
d'Ambrun." 

Old Pascal and his wife, listening to this talk, 
stared in wonder. And when Janetoun plumped 
out that the pretty boy they had grown to be so 
fond of was their own Comtessine, down they 
both went to her on their knees. 

But there was no time to talk with them 
about this wonder. Monsieur Randoulet knew 
that Janetoun was right, and that for himself and 
Adeline the only chance for safety was in instant 
flight. 

** Get up," he said to the kneeling peasants. 
*'Get up and give us charity. We are God's 
poor — a priest and a Comtessine who ask alms 
of you to help them to save their lives. If you 
have a loaf, give it to us: for we must get away, 
this instant, into the mountains; and if we are 
happy enough to escape death at the hands of 
the Whites and at the fangs of the wolves, we 
must not die for want of food." 

La Ratine was on her feet and off into the 
hut before he had ceased speaking. In a mo- 



£.K* CDbiU {error 



v.. 

.1 ii . :i 



\\\ r.\ \.j. 'Lilcd j'^wn the last of her black 

- • u A :icr-' :t a as hunis: to a rafter, that 

> •:.:/:[ ^.'i 7:::ich :t — and had come back 

% . . ' i y:nc:s. '■ Here is all that we have. 

i. ^.. . J .\::'.. <hti <i.id. "and I give it to 

•.-.ù v.::ì>v:!t '.v:!! return it to you." Mon- 

\. .C'."-.;lI iitswered. and turned away 

'. .;\ti -he :ni:j:ht not see his tears. 

v....::'e :\:.:\'^ herself into La Ratine's arms 

':;.>>-».à jiose atiainst her heart. But it was 

•iisiant that their embrace lasted. 

'.-.v.: x noantain side, far below the olive- 

^^>, ML'iîNicLir Randoulet had caught a flashing 

,..::?.\nc a armed horsemen on the Pramàri 

<■...: :1c seized Adelines hand and drew her 

:' toward the narrow path which led 

■ÌC '.isrr^L'Sses of the mountains. There 

w .N -.'i \ :'.rn:eiu to lose! 

iv: \ ;:e:oun. still panting, walked with 

vv i 'e\v s:eps as she said farewell. She 

\' :v:::ole that she had brought into Ade- 

: . N \;.!»>ÌN. s-:\i:*ir. *"This is your frock, 

\i..v ^ .'U'.N.ik-; .i:\l she believed that still in 

î. \ \. .■ \\».iv Adc'liiie's three silver crowns. 

■ !. .' r. \s\'n: oIo soul gave to Monsieur Ran- 

X 'v\u\i i'i>i \:\ a handkerchief, the little 

. i x\ î.vo 1 . 1. "..'.: .i:\l Jean Caritous had left 
,^ ;t.> •, , ! *>o ihooi:ht or" what would happen 
u> lu.sx.i. Vii s le;t moneyless, never crossed 
In I iii;:i,î 1 îìv'Jí she turned back sadly toward 
i..< iii.t ..Ni b\ iho nine that she was come to 
n- ni,;.;i\vN îì.ui Jîs.ippeared among the thick- 
Mil/* I'.ixlK-N .in J trees. Strong gusts of 
J \\i:i- isximiMii; to blow through the for- 



* ^1 

I 
" V 



QLì)c iFlijlit from tlie ®enbarmes 159 

est, and the low-hanging sun was sinking into 
a mass of black clouds touched here and there 
by an angry red. After that long hot day a 
storm was rising. Far away, down the wind, 
was the growl of thunder. Old Pascal wel- 
comed the storm. * M t will give them a chance, '* 
he said. ** Monsieur le Cure, who knows every 
foot of the country side, can find his way in the 
dark. These strangers cannot follow him. Yes, 
it will give them a chance! " 

Old Pascal was right. Calisto and the gen- 
darmes, when they reached the hut and found 
that those for whom they searched had vanished, 
wasted no time in words, in a moment they 
had scattered and were beating through the 
bushes and trees — hurriedly and eagerly, be- 
cause of the thickening darkness and the rising 
storm. Had they known it, only a few steps 
away from them, down in the valley of the 
Nesque, Monsieur Randoulet and Adeline were 
crouching close against a rock — fearful to move 
lest they should be seen. Visibly the anger of 
God showed itself in the black cloud, swollen 
with rain and hail, that rose above Mont Ven- 
tour. From the mountains sounded faintly the 
dismayed barking of foxes and the deeper howls 
of wolves. But Calisto, a fiercer beast than any 
wolf, was not put back from his cruel work by 
the storm and the darkness. From a little 
height he directed the searchers, shouting to 
them to do their work well. The searched-for 
ones could see him, his figure outlined black 
against the sky, and could hear his words: 
'*Zòuî Zòu! Zòu! Stick your swords into all 
the bushes — and draw them out red!" It 



i6o Slje tDljiU Serror 

seemed to those hunted ones that he certainly 
must see them also. They crouched closer; 
and still closer as they heard the tread of horses 
coming directly toward them down the ravine. 
God himself seemed to have loosed the furies of 
hell upon them. They were desperate. With 
clasped hands they knelt together. All hope 
left them. Together they murmured: "Our 
Father who art in Heaven, Thy will be done! " 

They prayed, and it seemed as though a 
wrathful God heard and disdained their prayer! 
At that instant the whole mountain side was 
aglare with a tremendous flash of lightning — 
so vivid that for an instant the black ravine of 
the Nesque was as light as day. Calisto and his 
men saw them, and with a shout came rushing 
toward them — while the thunder crashed in a 
deafening peal ! 

But that dazzling flash, which seemed to 
bring their ruin, brought their salvation. In the 
darkness that succeeded it — for black night by 
this time was upon them — their pursuers for a 
moment were at fault. Monsieur Randoulet 
saw his opportunity and seized it. In spite of 
his age and his feebleness, he raised Adeline — 
half dead with fear — in his arms, and bore her 
away rapidly down the ravine. He knew the 
ground thoroughly. Often had he wandered 
there, reading his breviary. Among the bushes, 
and between the fragments of rocK which en- 
cumbered the dry bed of the torrent, he steered 
a true course. While the gendarmes still 
were fumbling in the darkness about the spot 
where he and Adeline had been revealed by the 
flash of lightning, he was come safely to the foot 



Slie iTUj lit from tlie ©enbarmes i6i 

of the steep slope leading upward to the Crows' 
Chapel — the deep hollow in the mountain side 
high up among the wild crags above the Nesque. 

To carry Adeline up that steep ascent was 
impossible. He laid her down gently on the 
perfumed lavender growing there, and stood 
panting beside her — listening the while to the 
distant shouts of the gendarmes. They seemed 
to have gone the other way along the ravine. 
That meant, for the moment at least, safety. 
Presently Adeline sighed gently, and then spoke: 
*' Are you here, Monsieur Randoulet ? Have we 
got away from them?" And then she heard 
the distant shouting of the gendarmes, and gave 
a frightened little cry. 

** Courage, my child !" the Cure answered. 
'*They have missed us and here we are at the 
foot of the path leading up to the Crows' Chapel. 
If once we can get up there we may be saved. 
I know a hidden way among those rocks that 
even the goats have never found." 

'*! can be strong unto death, Monsieur le 
Cure," Adeline answered. **A11 that I ask of 
God is that he will not let me fall into the hands 
of that murderer. Come, let us start at once. 
You will see how strong I am." As she spoke, 
she got upon her feet and began to mount the 
ascent rapidly — catching at the tufts of thyme 
and lavender growing beside the path. Mon- 
sieur Randoulet followed her, but slowly and 
with shortening breath. About them the light- 
ning played in vivid flashes, and the roar of the 
thunder echoed from side to side of the ravine 
and set the whole mountain to trembling be- 
neath their feet. 



CHAPTER XVI 

IN THE crows' chapel 

At last they reached the top of the long slope, 
wearied and breathless, and paused for a mo- 
ment before they pressed on through the tan- 
gled growth which screened the mouth of the 
Crows' Chapel. As they halted, great drops of 
rain began to fall, and in the wind was a sudden 
chill — the chill that comes, in our mountains, 
before a cloud-burst. But they were safe at last, 
and Monsieur Randoulet raised his hands grate- 
fully toward heaven as he exclaimed: ** Oh God, 
I thank thee for this deliverance! '* 

*'Qui vive.^" came in a rough voice from 
among the bushes — and as they turned in fright 
toward the sound a flash of lightning showed 
them a man in a cocked hat, a gendarme they 
took him for, standing half hidden among the 
branches in the mouth of the cave. 

** Qui vive ?" the man repeated — ^and by an- 
other lightning-flash they saw that he covered 
them with a pistol. 

** We are honest people, and we mean you 
no harm," Monsieur Randoulet said firmly. " If 
you also are honest, you will let us enter and 
shelter ourselves here from the storm.*' 

**I am the Revolution!" the man answered. 
'* I abhor priests! 1 abhor Aristocrats! If you 
162 



3n tl)e (ErotDS' (Eliaticl 163 

are of these, and advance another step, I'll kill 
you as I would kill a dog! " 

*'Well then, wretch, kill me as you would 
kill a dog," Monsieur Randoulet exclaimed. ** I 
afn a priest — a priest of the most high God ! " 

*' And 1," exclaimed Adeline, **am an Aris- 
tocrat — forsaken and miserable. I wish to die. 
Kill me, and you will save me from worse than 
death!" 

Monsieur Randoulet held aside the branches 
as he spoke and advanced into the thicket, Ade- 
line following him closely. At that instant came 
a flash of lightning so vivid that the mountain 
side was all ablaze with it, and Adeline and the 
Cure and the dark gendarme could see each 
other as plainly as though it had been broad day. 

*' Monsieur Randoulet! " exclaimed the gen- 
darme. And Adeline and the Cure cried out to- 
gether '*Margan!" 

**Well, come now," said Margan, stuffmg 
his pistol back into his sash, '* why didn't you 
say it was you.^" 

** Who could imagine that you could be here, 
Margan ?" Monsieur Randoulet answered. 

** You told me that there was a cave here- 
abouts," Margan explained, ''and when 1 saw 
the storm coming I remembered about it. Says 
1 to myself: * I'll get the good of that cave for the 
night and keep dry there. That'll be better than 
getting lost in these big mountains and soaked 
in weather that is the curse of God ! * And so I 
cast about for the path, and found it — and here 
I am. But why you two are here, who could 
have a good roof to shelter you, is more than I 
can understand!" 



1 64 Slje tDI)Ue Serror 

* * 1 will make that clear to you, and more 
beside," Monsieur Randoulet answered. ** I did 
not tell you our secret this afternoon. Then 
there was no need for it. There is a need for it 
now. She whom you saw with me dressed as 
a boy, she who is beside you now, is the girl to 
whom Pascalet sent his message — Adeline, the 
daughter of the murdered Marquis d'Ambrun. 
Her unhappy mother has deserted her. She is 
pursued by her father's servant, who was his 
murderer, and by another like him, who seek to 
kill her and so to gain possession of her estates. 
Against these the good Vauclairs gave her shel- 
ter while they could ; then, being no longer able 
to protect her, Vauclair's brave wife Lazuli 
brought her to Malemort and gave her into my 
care. Here we thought that she would be hid- 
den and in safety. But we were wrong. Bare- 
ly had you left us this afternoon when we had 
warning that the gendarmes were come to Male- 
mort in search of her. They followed her to 
the hut of La Garde. They almost had their 
hands upon her. Only by the grace of.God did 
we escape from them and get safely here.*' 

''And do you mean to say," Margan burst 
out, ''that these are men of the Revolution 
who are persecuting the girl whom Pascalet, a 
good Revolutionist, loves with his whole heart 
— whom he lives for, and for whom he would 
die.?" 

"So they call themselves, my good Margan, 
but they are false to their name — the name. that 
they have taken as a cloak under which they 
may undo what the Revolution has done. They 
are traitors who, as I verily believe, are paid by 



Jin tl)e (Erorns' ffiljapel 165 

the Aristocrats to bring the cause of holy Liberty 
into disrepute — to cast discredit on our new 
gospel, written in paraphrase of the older gos- 
pel, that we call * The Rights of Man ' ! " 

** But what's the Convention doing?" cried 
Margan angrily. **Are guillotines so scarce 
that they can't kill off this vermin of spies ?" 

''Do not cast stones at the Convention. The 
Convention is sublime — for it is France, it is the 
Republic, it is our all. Should the Convention 
fall, everything would fall. Then the kings of 
Europe would march conquering against us. 
Then the mire of Paris would spread over all 
France. Then the dogs of Aristocrats and their 
foul following would rise out of the earth like 
serpents and scorpions. All would be lost. On 
the ruins of the Republic once more would rise 
a tyrant's throne! Oh holy Convention! Oh 
glorious Convention ! Oh vengeful arm of God ! 
Finish to the full your work of justice! " 

Under the great arch of the cavern — of which 
a whole mountain peak was the keystone — with 
the lightning playing about him, Monsieur Ran- 
doulet Stood erect, commanding: speaking in a 
vibrant voice which rose above the roar of the 
tempest and which only the volleying thunder 
drowned. The storm was upon them in its 
wildest fury. A mighty and a rushing wind 
tore through the forest, uprooting huge oaks and 
rending away branches with a snapping like 
musketry. The cloud-burst had filled the bed 
of the Nesque with a tumultuous torrent which 
swept tree-trunks and rocks before it. The 
heavens were aflame with lightning, and the 
crashing thunder shook the great mountain to 



1 66 Qiìft Úìïfiìc Serror 

its base. The solid earth seemed to be crum- 
bling before devouring water and devouring 
fire. 

But the very fury of the tempest carried it 
soon away from them. Onward it swept across 
the mountain tops toward the dark Luberon. 
Presently the clouds thinned a little, and then 
broke suddenly — and in the rifts shone stead- 
fastly the placid stars. Between the claps of 
distant thunder they listened anxiously for the 
sound of voices, but heard only the gurgling of 
water in the gorge below them and the sough- 
ing of the wind. Then they knew that their 
pursuers had been turned backward — had fled 
before the wrath of God ! 

*'We must leave you now, Margan," said 
Monsieur Randoulet. ** This is our opportunity. 
Before daylight comes we must be in a sure hid- 
ing place, where we will be safe from those wild 
beasts of men." 

'* But you are not going to leave me at all. 
I am going with you," Margan answered; and 
added: ''Do you think that I am going to let 
you go off by yourselves.^" 

**No, no, Margan. You have your own 
furrow to plough. What you offer us from 
your good heart we cannot take. Remember, 
too, that we are out of danger now." 

**A11 the same, I'm going along with you," 
said Margan sturdily. *'I shall make sure that 
you really do get safe away from that dog of the 
devil who is following you, and then Til come 
back and give him the dressing that he deserves. 
But where are you heading for ? Why not come 
on with me to Marseilles .^ That's the town for 



3rt tl)e díxomQ' (ÍLì)apú 167 



you. It's crammed with good honest foiks as 
full as it will hold!" 

**No, no town is safe for us," Monsieur 
Randoulet answered. *Mn the great labyrinth 
of the city of Paris those who are seeking this 
unhappy girl found her; in the town of Avignon 
they found her again; to-day they once more 
have found her in the little village of Malemort. 
Our only chance of safety is here in the moun- 
tains among the wolves and foxes. Here we 
may hope that she will not be tracked and found. 
I have in mind a refuge for her — a lonely farm- 
house not far from the village of Bédoin, high 
up on the slope of Mont Ventour. Good people 
live there who will shelter us and protect us. 
But we must hasten, now while the way is open 
to us. Our chance for safety lies in getting to 
that haven before the coming of the dawn. 
Come, my little -Adeline, we must be off! " 

** Monsieur le Cure," said the poor girl sadly, 
'* 1 wish most that 1 might die! " 

** Die ? That is a wicked word — and not the 
word that I expected from a brave girl like you. 
Courage, my child! We must submit to the 
will of God. Who knows what He may have 
in store for you ? He may be saving you now, 
in order that some day you may save Pascalet. 
Come, we will start at once." 

** Forgive me, Monsieur. It was wicked in 
me to have that thought. I am ready." 

** Yes, and so am I," said Margan. ** 1 will 
go with you, at least, until we are in sight of 
Bédoin. 1 am in no hurry to get to Marseilles. 
The bowl of bouilleabaisse that 1 meant to sup 
to-morrow on the Cannebière will wait for me 



1 68 9H)e tX)l)ite Serror 

— as it has waited for many a long day. A 
pretty thing it would be for Pascalet to hear 
that 1 had let his Adeline go off without me into 
the loneliness of these mountains and into the 
darkness of this night." 

** If you insist upon going with us," said 
Monsieur Randoulet, hesitatingly, **it is not for 
me to refuse your oíïer. But — —'' 

** All right, then. Monsieur," Margan struck 
in, '*oíï we go together. I'll carry the little 
one's bundle; and I'd carry that loaf of bread, 
too, if only I had another hand." 

**As to the bread," said Monsieur Randou- 
let, * * perhaps I had better break it, that we each 
may eat a piece as we go along." 

But breaking the bread was easier said than 
done. Even with a stone Monsieur Randoulet 
could not crack it; and when he flung it against 
the side of the cavern with all his strength it 
bounded back like a ball! 

**Oùh!" cried Margan. "We had loaves 
like that up in the Dutch country of marshes, 
where we waded in mud to our thighs. We 
took our swords and our bayonets to it — but 
here we have neither bayonet nor sword." 

"We do not need it now," Monsieur Ran- 
doulet said, ** and our time is too precious to be 
wasted." 

** March, then!" Margan cried cheerily, and 
they set off down the steep slope — digging their 
heels into the hillside and sending a hail of little 
stones, loosened by the rain, slithering down 
into the foaming torrent which filled the bed of 
the Nesque. Their way still was down the val- 
ley of the Nesque, but the walking was difficult 



3rt iì)c ffiroujô' €l)apel 169 

because they no longer could follow the bed of 
the stream. As best they could, they forced a 
passage through the bushes growing on the 
mountain side — coming now and again to a 
ravine down which a little torrent poured to join 
the greater one below. Across these streams 
Monsieur Randoulet carried Adeline, while Mar- 
gan walked beside the Cure steadying and 
supporting him. And so, at last, they came to 
the bridge at Méthamis and crossed the river. 
Thence onward the way was easier — through 
the forest of Blauvac, and between the hills of 
Villes and of Mormoiron — and as dawn was 
breaking they came in sight of the village of 
Bédoin. 

Hidden away in the forest which in those 
days covered the whole slope of Mont Ventour, 
this village was a refuge for the persecuted — for 
*' suspects," for Moderates, for Whites. It was 
a forlorn place, built on the sides of a crusty little 
conical hill, crowned by a great church and a 
graveyard. A wall surrounded it, and outside 
of one of its gates was planted a liberty Tree. 
But for all that the village had a reputation for 
tolerant friendliness, they gave it a wide berth — 
passing on by the Moustier (where, as they 
learned later, mass was said every night, and 
where was a regular place of meeting for the 
many fugitives hidden in the mountains round- 
about) and so to the top of the hill beyond. 

'*And now, Margan," said Monsieur Ran- 
doulet, stopping short, **you must leave us. 
Day is breaking, and we are within two gun- 
shots of the end of our journey — the farm of 
Fèire-Avon in the mouth of the Combe de Cur- 



CHAPTER XVII 

A PERILOUS WALK THROUGH THE FOREST 

For a moment or two Monsieur Randoulet 
and Adeline stood watching Margan's tall figure 
stalking away in the early morning twilight 
through the cool shadows of the forest ; then 
they turned their backs on him, and by another 
path went on toward the Combe de Curmier. 

It was a lucky thing for Margan that he had 
taken the Cure's advice and had left them when 
he did. They were separated from him by only 
a little distance when they heard the sound of 
many voices singing together, off ahead of them 
among the trees. The sound grew louder and 
clearer, and presently they could distinguish the 
words : 

*' Let us, adoring, praise 

God whose strong arm 
Virtue and innocence 

Shields from all harm. 
Our sweet Saint Genevieve 

Knew his kind care — 
Let us through her to Him 

Make now our prayer! " 

** It must be people returning from the mass," 
said Monsieur Randoulet. But he spoke doubt- 
ingly, and looked about him for a thicket that 
might serve them for a hiding-place. However, 
there was no time for hiding. In another mo- 
12 171 



172 Sl)e tX)l)iU Serror 

ment the singers rounded a bend in the path but 
a few steps away, and the next instant Adeline 
and the priest were in the midst of a crowd of 
ill-looking young men — all armed in one way or 
another, and all wearing red fleur-de-lys in their 
hats and red crosses on their breasts. 

And it was no mass that this ruffian party of 
Whites had come from ! They were returning 
from robbing the house of the tax-gatherer of 
Caromb ; and because the poor tax-gatherer had 
fought bravely in defense of the money of the 
Republic they had brought him along with them 
— his hands tied behind him, and a rope made 
fast to one of his ankles as though he were a pig 
being taken to market. The tax-gatherer had 
lapsed into the silence of despair, but the sight 
of the good priest gave him a little heart again 
and he fell on his knees among his captors and 
began afresh his entreaties. **Tf not for my own 
sake," he cried, ** grant me mercy for the sake 
of my three little children who have no mother! 
The oldest of them is only nine years old! 
What will become of them without me? 
Mercy, oh mercy!" 

But his captors — save to cuflf him into silence 
— paid no attention to him. Crowding around 
Adeline and Monsieur Randoulet, brandishing 
their clubs and shouting **Vive le roi!" and 
**Down with the Republic!" they asked threat- 
eningly: *'Who are you? Whence do you 
come?" 

** We are honest travellers," Monsieur Ran- 
doulet. **I am the Cure of Malemort, We 
ask nothing from you. Let us pass on in 
peace." 



^ perilous toalk t^rougl) tl)e foxtBt 173 

**The Cure of Malemort,'* cried one of the 
crowd. '' Why, he's a Blue! " 

** He's not. He's a Red! " shouted another. 

*M am neither a Blue nor a Red," said Mon- 
sieur Randoulet. '* I am, as every one of you is, 
a servant of the omnipotent God! " 

At that a brutal-looking fellow, who seemed 
to be the captain of that vile company, pressed 
forward exclaiming: ** You are one of the rascal 
turncoat priests who took the oath to the Re- 
public! You'll come along with us — and we'll 
give you the hanging that you deserve! " 

Before Monsieur Randoulet could make any 
reply, Adeline sprang in front of him and cried: 
**Lou Mourre, how dare you! You shall not 
harm a hair of his head! 1, Adeline d'Ambrun, 
forbid you! " 

The man shrank back, instinctively obeying 
this word of strong command. But Monsieur 
Randoulet, laying his hand on Adeline's shoul- 
der, said gently: '*Hush, my child. 1 must 
speak to these men, I have a proposal to make 
to them." And then, turning to the others, 
went on : ** Listen ! Hang me, if you will. My 
death will injure no one. But, in exchange for 
my life, promise me that you will set this poor 
man free; and promise me that you will take 
Adeline d'Ambrun safely to the farm of Pèire- 
Avon — where she may rest secure until peace 
comes back among men. In the name of hu- 
manity and of brotherhood, grant me what 1 
ask!" 

** Didn't I say that he was a Blue?" called 
out one of the company. ** Now you see I'm 
right. If he wasn't a Blue he wouldn't try to 



174 Clje tDhUe^Serror 

save the tax-gatherer's life. Let's up with *em 
both on the same tree ! " 

** Silence!" cried the captain. "I am the 
one to give orders here. For the sake of my 
mistress the Comtessine he shall finish his work. 
Let him loose, to follow his road — and may he 
never have the ill-luck to fall in with us again! " 

**But first we'll search him," said the man 
who carried on his shoulder the bag of money 
stolen from the tax-gatherer. ** His pockets are 
not likely to be empty, and he may have papers 
about him that we ought to see." 

To this reasonable suggestion no one object- 
ed, and the search was made quickly and thor- 
oughly. They found no papers; but they did 
find the handkerchief into which Janetoun had 
knotted the silver left by Lazuli and Jean Cari- 
tous, and this, and the loaf of hard bread, they 
took with a laugh. Then off they went — spay- 
ing no heed to Monsieur Randoulefs entreaties 
to take him and to hang him in the poor tax- 
gatherer's place. As suddenly as they came, they 
went again into the forest — singing all together: 

*' Let us, adoring, praise 
God whose strong arm 
Virtue and innocence 
Shields from all harm! " 

Monsieur Randoulet knelt down in the leaf- 
strewn path and prayed: **My Lord God, have 
pity on them and forgive them what they do! 
I forgive them freely for the wrong which they 
have committed in taking from me the money 
and the bread. 1, thy priest, in thy holy name 
which is blessed forever, absolve them from that 



^ PerU0nô tOalk tl)r0ti8l) tl)e Soxcei 175 

sin! " As he spoke, he made with two fingers 
the sign of the cross in the direction whence 
came, fainter and fainter, the sound of the holy 
song. 

**That man was Lou Mourre, our swineherd 
at La Garde," said Adeline. **Itwas he who 
gave Pascalet a savage beating one day, long 
ago, when the hungry little fellow tried to snatch 
a cabbage stalk from our pigs." 

**Yes, 1 remember him now," Monsieur 
Randoulet answered; **and 1 remember that he 
always was harsh and cruel. The poor tax- 
gatherer! There is no hope for him!" And 
Monsieur Randoulet's lips moved in prayer as 
they walked on toward the farm of Pèire-Avon. 

Daylight had come. The starlings and the 
linnets and all the other little birds olFthe forest 
were flying out from the clumps of holm oak 
and were off, singing, to the plains. Far away 
sounded the barking of a hound, telling of a 
hunter come early to the chase. Now and again, 
through the openings between the trees, the 
peak of Mont Ventour was visible — tinted like 
a may-flower by reflections from the rosy 
clouds. 

** Hark! " said Monsieur Randoulet, stopping 
short. ** 1 think 1 hear the sound of sheep-bells. 
We are close to the farm now." 

They stood still, listening. In the leaves 
above them they heard the soft thrill that comes 
at sunrise. Then the chatter of a jay, grating 
harshly on that deep forest silence. And then, 
with the clearness of a clarion, sounded the 
crowing of a cock. A moment later a dog 
barked sharply, and when the barking ceased 



176 Si)e tX)l)ite Serrcr 

they heard the creaking of a pulley and the 
splash of a bucket in a well. 

** Come on," said Monsieur Randoulet cheer- 
ily. **Here we are at last." But, instead of 
following the path, he approached the farm- 
house cautiously through the thick bushes. 
Adeline followed him closely, warding oflf the 
back-springing branches with her upraised 
arms. From the wet leaves the rain-drops came 
down on them in little showers. 

In a few minutes they were standing just 
within the edge of the forest and saw close in 
front of them, surrounded by a high stone wall 
pierced by a single arched gateway, the great 
farm-house: a large and comfortable building 
roofed with red tiles and having above its roof 
a massive stone pigeon-house as big as a church 
bell-tower. Although the sun still was behind 
the mountains, the little rosy clouds which told 
of his coming had signalled to the living things 
of the farm establishment that it was time to 
wake up. Already the chickens and the pigeons 
were picking up their breakfasts; on the well- 
curb stood the peacock, as motionless as though 
he were made of enamelled bronze; from the 
long low sheep-fold — into which the sheep had 
been penned because of the furious storm — came 
a low tinkling of bells. Presently a shepherd 
hid came out from the farm-house; and the 
sheep, recognising his footsteps, set up a pro- 
digious baa-ing: an anxious chorus in which 
were blended the deep bass-notes of the rams, 
the trembling higher notes of the ewes, and the 
clear treble of the lambs. When the door of 
the fold was opened, out they came in a hurry — 



^ Petilotta toalk tl)r0tt8l) tì\t Soxcet 177 

«^' ■ ■ " ■ ' ' ■ " — " ' M. ■■■■--■ 1» ■ ■ ■■■■»■■ ■^-■■■^ »■■■■■ I 

eager to nibble at the fresh grass — and with the 
shepherd lad following them moved toward the 
edge of the forest where Adeline and Monsieur 
Randoulet were hidden among the trees. 

All was so peaceful that the Cure no longer 
hesitated. Coming out from the bushes, with 
Adeline close behind him, he advanced toward 
the shepherd, saying: **God be with you, little 
friend." 

For a moment the boy was startled. Then, 
with a smile, he said: "Good morning, Mon- 
sieur le Cure. The Master will be glad to see 
you, though he'll wonder how you got here at 
this time of day from Malemort." 

*' How do you know we come from Male- 
mort.í^" 

**Why, Monsieur, don't you know me? 
I'm Cadoche, your own Janetoun's nephew. 
It would be a pretty thing if 1 didn't know 
where you came from — our own Cure! " 

'* Cadoche ? So you are. But how you've 
grown! You are quite a man," and Monsieur 
Randoulet laid his hand kindly on the lad's 
shoulder. 

**Yes, Monsieur, I'm almost grown up, 
now," the lad answered, much flattered by 
Monsieur Randoulet's recognition of his manli- 
ness. '* Why, only yesterday — what do you 
think? I killed a hare ! " 

**0h, come now, not really a hare. No 
doubt it was a leveret." 

'*No, Monsieur, it was not a leveret. It 
was a hare. A nine-pound hare! It is in the 
house now. Tell the Master to show it to 
you!" 



178 ®l)e tìîl)iu tterror 



** Well, well, we will go and see this won- 
derful hare," and smiling kindly at the boy 
Monsieur Randoulet and Adeline went on to- 
ward the farm-house. 

**1 remember Cadoche very well," Adeline 
said, a little hesitatingly. *'He and Pascalet 
made their first communion together. He is 
wearing the very same suit of clothes that he 
wore that day." 

** How can you know that, child .î^'* 

'*Very easily, Monsieur. 1 made those 
clothes myself, and you gave them to him. I 
knew them at once, although now they are all 
in rags. They are just like the clothes that I 
made for Pascalet — the clothes that I have on 
now. Suppose the people here notice that ? 
It makes me feel ashamed! " And tears began 
to trickle down Adeline's cheeks, and she flushed 
a little, as she thought of her far-oflF Pascalet and 
of what these strange people might say. 

** Come, my child, this will never do! You 
, must not get foolish fancies into your head» and 
you must not show yourself to these good 
people with tears in your eyes. They will not 
notice your clothes, 1 promise you — ^and this 
very day you may put on your frock again, for 
1 shall tell them who you are." 

Monsieur Randoulet's words comforted Ade- 
line and soothed her. They halted for a few 
moments outside the arched gateway, while she 
dried her eyes and grew calm again; then they 
entered the court-yard and crossed it to the farm- 
house door. As is the custom in Provence in 
summer, the door was open and in the doorway 
hung a curtain to keep out flies. The Cure 



^ Pcrilctts toalk tl)r0ti8l) tl)e foxtst 179 

raised the curtain, and said as they entered what 
was at once the kitchen and the living-room: 
** God be with you, Mèstre Tòni, and with all 
your house!" 

In the room the whole farm family was at 
breakfast: MèstreTòni; his wife, Jeanne-Marie; 
five sons and two daughters. The eldest son, 
Marius, was a man of thirty years; the young- 
est, little Dodo, the nestling, was not yet twelve. 
The father and his sons were seated, the mother 
and her daughters were standing, at the long 
table on which were a big loaf of bread and a 
little barrel of anchovies and a jug of water — all 
of them ** killing the worm," as our Provencal 
saying goes, before beginning the work of the 
day. 

** Monsieur le Cure!" exclaimed Jeanne- 
Marie. "Good day to you! Good day to 
you!" 

** Monsieur Randoulet!" exclaimed Mèstre 
Tòni. *'Adessias, Monsieur. Why, where did 
you come from so early ? Surely not from 
Malemort! But wherever you come from, you 
are welcome!" and he rose from the table and 
held out cordially his big hard hand. 

"Yes, we have com.e from Malemort, my 
good Tòni," Monsieur Randoulet answered. 
"We have been walking almost the whole 
night long." 

" Then I'm afraid that trouble of some sort 
is brewing. But sit down, sit down and have 
some breakfast. You must be starving! Jeanne- 
Marie, bring plates." As Mèstre Tòni spoke he 
moved up a little on the long bench on which 
he and his sons were seated, and motioned to 



i8o ®|)e tobite Cterrcnr 

his sons to move down. Into the space thus 
made Monsieur Randoulet and Adeline squeezed 
themselves — their backs to the wall. In front 
of them .was the huge chimne^-pIace, high 
enough for a man to stand upnght within it 
and wide enough to hold a whole tree-trunk. 
Against the rear wall stood the dresser, covered 
with shining vessels, and beside it the cupboard 
of waxed walnut wood — its iron lock and hinges 
shining like silver, and the great copper cal- 
drons on its top as bright as the setting sun. 
In the front wall was a glazed window, hung 
with a blue and white checked curtain, through 
which and through the open doorway the morn- 
ing light streamed in. 

** Indeed I shall sit down very gladly," said 
Monsieur Randoulet, **and so will this poor 
child. We both are tired out after our long 
walk, and hungry too." 

Adeline cast down her eyes before all these 
peasants who stared at her. She had said good 
day when she entered, but in so low a voice 
that no one had heard her. She sat absolutely 
silent — not daring even to glance at her lively 
little neighbour. Dodo : a little scamp no higher 
than a cabbage stalk who gave himself the airs 
of a man. 

** Monsieur le Cure," said Mèstre Tôni, "in 
good time you will tell us why you have *come 
here, and if you need our aid. If you do, you 
shall have it — that you know well. But the 
first thing for you to do is to eat your breakfast. 
Now then, who will cut the bread for these 
guests of ours ?" 

'* 1 will," cried little Dodo, jumping up from 



^ Pmbtiô toalk tlirongl) tl)e -f0reôt i8i 

his place. *M will, with my new knife." He 
seized the sweet big loaf, almost as big as he 
was himself, and made over it — as he had seen 
his father do — the sign of the cross. Then he 
cut two great chunks from it and laid them be- 
fore Monsieur Randoulet and Adeline. 

But the Cure did not touch his portion, nor 
the toothsome anchovy that was set before him 
— smelling deliciously with its touch of vinegar, 
and lying in olive-oil as clear as moonlight. 
Shaking his head sadly, because of the sorrow 
that was in his heart, he turned to Mèstre Tòni 
and said: ** Before 1 break bread with you, my 
poor Tòni, 1 must speak. You must know whv 
we are come here. Listen ! The times are barf, 
are full of dangers for us all. This child and I 
are in peril. We are obliged to hide ourselves." 

** 1 understand," Mèstre Tòni answered. ** 1 
understand quite well. You are, as the saying 
goes nowadays, * suspects.'" 

**Yes, friend, in part you are right. But 
with this poor child the matter is far worse. 
This innocent creature is condemned to death ! " 



CHAPTER XVIII 

AT PÊIRE-AVON FARM 

As Monsieur Randoulet spoke these words, 
sadly and gravely, there was a momentary si- 
lence and the eyes of the whole family were 
turned upon Adeline. It seemed impossible 
that the death sentence could have been pro- 
nounced upon one so innocent and so young. 

Mèstre Tòni was the first to speak. "Are 
you in earnest, Monsieur ! " he asked in aston- 
ishment. *' Is this really true ? " 

*' Yes, it is really true," Monsieur Randoulet 
answered sorrowfully. *'But I have more to 
tell you. This poor child is not a boy, but a 
girl. She is the daughter of the Marquis d'Am- 
brun, who was lord of Malemort. A detach- 
ment of gendarmes, led by a murderer, is search- 
ing for her. Only last evening they were close 
upon us. In the darkness and the storm we 
escaped from them, and all night long we have 
been walking among the mountains. We do 
need your help, if you can give it without dan- 
ger to yourself What we ask of you is a safe 
hiding-place.' 

The women shivered and went white as 

Monsieur Randoulet spoke, but Mèstre Tôni 

kept both his courage and his presence of mind. 

Speaking quite calmly, he said: **Run, Dodo, 

182 



^t |)Hre-ía.t)on farm 183 

and throw down some hay to the horses and 
mules — and as you come. away lock the stable 
door," and as the little fellow went off nimbly 
to execute his order he added to the Cure: 
"There are four gendarmes asleep in the hay- 
loft. They are searching the mountains for de- 
serters and stopped here for the night. But 
don't be uneasy. The key will be turned on 
them in a moment and they will not trouble you. 
We have them here often, and as I always treat 
them well they do us no harm." 

For all that Mèstre Tòni spoke so quietly and 
so easily, Monsieur Randoulet was alarmed — not 
for his own safety, but for the safety of his host. 
Rising from the table, and taking Adeline's hand, 
he said earnestly : ** My good Tôni, this will not 
do. We shall compromise you. We must leave 
you at once! " 

**What do you mean!" cried the farmer, 
with a bang of his big fist on the table. ** Don't 
you know me well ? Do you think that I'm 
going to let you go wandering off into the forest 
again — you and that innocent child ? Oh no, 
that is not the wood I'm made of! If a whole 
brigade of gendarmes was at the door we'd 
stand them off — me and my five sons! Do you 
see that row of guns hanging in the chimney- 
throat.^ With pepper-pots like that all handy 
we're not afraid of gendarmes ! " And then, 
more quietly, he added: **But there's no need 
for fighting now. Those fellows in the hayloft 
did not get here until midnight, and unless 1 
wake them they'll snore away till noon. Long 
before that time you'll be in a place that all the 
gendarmes in France might look for without 



1 84 Slje toïfitt Serror 

finding. So sit down, Monsieur le Cure, and 
eat your breakfast in peace. When you have 
finished it comfortably, Dodo will lead you to 
the hiding-place I'm talking about." 

**Why, where is Dodo.^" Monsieur Ran- 
doulet asked, as he took his place again at the 
table. ** What's become of him ? " 

'* He's doing what I sent him to do," Mèstre 
Tòni answered. ** He's up in the big pear tree 
beside the threshing-floor watching that no 
strangers surprise us until you are safe away." 

** But hell lose his breakfast" said the kind- 
hearted Cure in a tone of remonstrance and 
regret. 

**Oh no he won't. He took a big piece of 
bread along with him, and he'll eat it very com- 
fortably up there among the birds. Presently, 
when you have finished your meal, and when 
he has made sure up there that no one is coming, 
he will lead you to where you are to be hidden 
— the Cave of Two Holes. There, with the 
good souls, three poor nuns from Avignon, al- 
ready in hiding, vou will spend the day. When 
night comes I will fetch you back here again, to 
sup and to sleep." 

*-Bul is not the danger by night as great 
as the danger by day .^" asked Monsieur Ran- 
doulet. 

*Mt is greater," the farmer answered, "but 
not here for us and for you. As 1 have told you, 
when the gendarmes come I treat them well, 
and they deal with me kindly. At night, if they 
stop here to rest, 1 put them in the hayloft — 
where some of them are now. They do not 
enter the house. In the morning I give them a 



^t lIMre-^ltJon laxm 185 

good breakfast and they go. As for the others, 
they fancy that 1 side with them and they let me 
alone. But 1 am fortunate. For most people 
living in lonely places, and for all people unlucky 
enough to be overtaken by darkness in the forest, 
the night is full of peril. Bands of deserters, 
bands of Aristocrats, are abroad then — pillaging 
and burning and killing in the King's name. 
They call themselves the 'Companies of Jehu ' 
— this rabble; and they claim to be Royalists or 
Papalists. But it is not the King nor the Pope, 
but the devil, whom they serve— as they go, 
gun in hand, knife in teeth, with rosaries about 
their necks, doing evil as does the hail! It is 
more than I can understand why they all are not 
swept from the earth by the thunder of God! " 

**Not two hours ago," said Monsieur Ran- 
doulet, ** we met with one of these companies. 
They had been robbing the tax-office at Caromb 
and were dragging away with them the tax- 
gatherer, bound as they should have been bound 
themselves." 

'* By this time he is a dead man," said Ma- 
rius. ** They have strung him up to an oak, and 
under him have lighted a fire." 

** Impossible! " exclaimed Monsieur Randou- 
let, and his horror was so great that he turned 
very pale. 

*'No, Monsieur," Mari us answered, ** it is not 
impossible — it is the terrible truth. That is what 
these wretches do. Lucky are the unfortunates 
who are hanged before the fire begins to blaze! 
While the fire burns they dance around it, shout- 
ing ' Hurrah for the King! Hurrah for the Aus- 
trians! Down with the Republic!' and then 



1 86 QTlje tDljiU terror 



fall to yelling like the fiends that they are. Often 
have we heard their cries — and later, have found 
the half-charred body of a man swinging from 
an oak-branch above the still-smouldering em- 
bers of a fire! " 

** And they come," exclaimed Monsieur Ran- 
doulet, **outof the earths rottenness! Those 
whom we met this morning were commanded 
by a cruel brute who once was the swineherd 
at La Garde ! Yet even he was not wholly given 
over to evil. At the command of his young 
mistress here, the Comtessine, he suffered us to 
go free. " And then, as he remembered another 
phase of the encounter, the Cure added: "What 
little money I had about me was taken. You 
will have to suffer us to be your debtors, my 
good Tòni, for our food." 

**You forget, Monsieur," interrupted Ade- 
line, ** I still have my three crowns. With those 
we can pay the good Mèstre Tòni-^at least, we 
can pay him in part." 

** There, that is enough," said Mèstre Tôni* 
very decidedly. ** Money is not a thing to be 
talked about here! " and with that he shut his 
knife with a snap. When the master of a Pro- 
vencal household shuts his knife it means that 
the meal is ended, and at that sign all who were 
seated at the table arose. 

**And now," he went on, **you and this 
pretty boy-lady must be going, Monsieur. If is 
not that 1 wish to get rid of you, as you well 
know ; but with those four gendarmes asleep in 
the hayloft, it is only prudent that you should be 
hidden away before they wake up. Dodo, here, 
will lead you to the cave ; and you must be sure 



!Xt î[)Hre-!XtJ0tt £axm 187 

not to venture out of it until I come for you to- 
night." 

Never in all his good life had Monsieur Ran- 
doulet been in hiding! Tears came to his eyes, 
and in his heart he cried: ** My God, what have 
1 done to offend thee that I must hide myself in 
caverns with the foxes and the wolves ! " But 
he set a strict guard upon his lips and uttered 
no complaining word. 

Presently they were off— Dodo, called down 
from his watch-perch, leading them and carry- 
ing a fat wallet stuffed with food for their mid- 
day meal. Up they went along a steep and 
stony path through a thick growth of beeches. 
The wild mint and the flowering broom, grow- 
ing near by, filled the air with an aromatic per- 
fume as the strong rays of the sun — by this time 
well risen above the mountains — fell on them 
hotly. Now and again a covey of partridges 
would fly up suddenly, with a loud br-r-r-r! 
Off on the left of the path rose the great crest of 
'Mont Ventour, bare rock against the sky. Lower 
down, the mountain was clad with a growth of 
big trees — oak and beech and ash and larch. 
Here and there upon its flanks were wide spaces 
overspread with box and thyme and lavender 
and wild flowers smelling sweet. Along the 
pathway — among the leaves which gave cover 
also to sleeping vipers — bloomed white violets. 

To Adeline the flowers were a delight — her 
friends, her little sisters who were smiling on 
her. She ran hither and thither gathering them 
— here a gillyflower, there a bunch of white vio- 
lets, yon a branch of wild-roses whose delicate- 
ly gay pink blossoms seemed like laughing baby 
13 



1 88 eije tDI)iu (torror 

faces. Monsieur Randoulet and Dodo, walk- 
ing on steadily, drew farther and farther away 
from her. At last a turn in the path hid them 
from her altogether, and a Bttle thrill of fear 
went through her as she realized suddenly that 
she was alone. She hurried on after them — 
and her thrill of fear became terror as she saw, 
through an opening in the forest that gave her 
a glimpse down the mountain side, a man with 
a gun on his shoulder coming rapidly up the 
path. In an instant she was off at a run ; and 
m a few moments had overtaken the others. 
"A man is following us!" she panted. "A 
man with a gun ! " 

They all stood still, listening intently. At 
first they heard nothing. Then, as the man 
came to a rocky part of the path, they heard 
through the silence of the forest the sound of 
footsteps and the rattle of little stones. The 
forest about them was open. There were no 
bushes which would serve as a hiding-place. 
They could only hurry on — hoping either to dis- 
tance their pursuer, or to come to some cover 
that would shelter them while he passed them 
by. But the forest was more and more open as 
they ascended, and in a few minutes they left it 
altogether and came to a part of the path which 
curved around one of the peaks of the mountain 
— ^following a narrow ledge, just wide enough 
to walk on, with a sheer wall of bare rock rising 
above it and a sheer drop of a hundred feet or 
more to the ravine below. To look into that 
dark depth made Adeline's head swim. With 
closed eyes she followed Monsieur Randoulet, 
holding fast to his hand. Their feet sent stones 



^i Ij^Hxc-^von farm 189 

from the path rattling down into the gulf. In a 
minute or two they heard the sound of other 
stones falling, and knew that the man was 
close behind them. 

*'Dodo/' said Monsieur Randoulet, *'you 
and Adeline must go on without me. Take her 
to the cave quickly. 1 shall stand guard here." 

** Do not send me away from you," Adeline 
entreated. *' I will meet this danger with you," 
and she kept a tight hold upon the Cure's hand. 

**You must obey me, and instantly! " said 
Monsieur Randoulet, in a tone of severe com- 
mand that Adeline never had heard him use. 
As he spoke, he stood at the outer edge of the 
path and held fast above her head to a projecting 
rock. **Go on!" he said sternly. In another 
instant she had passed him. Then she went 
onward, holding Dodo's hand. 

Monsieur Randoulet gave his soul into God's 
keeping and waited. The footsteps were com- 
ing very close to him. He did not believe that 
he had many more minutes to live. Suddenly 
the man coming on around the curving path 
began to sing : 

*' Turn the wheel, my gossip Jane, 
Spin away! 
Turn the wheel, my gossip Jane, 
Night and day! " 

Monsieur Randoulet's tight-drawn heart-strings 
relaxed as he heard this old country-side song. 
**Aman bent upon evil does not sing songs 
like that!" he thought. He was right. In 
another moment he was face to face with 
Marius, the farmer's eldest son! 



I90 (îl)e tDljiU Setror 



**Why, Monsieur Randoulet!" exclaimed 
Marius. **What are you doing here alone? 
Where are the others ? " And then, as he saw 
how pale the Cure was, he added: "1 do be- 
lieve I've frightened you! " 

** You have," Monsieur Randoulet answered 
simply. **1 thought that you were a White. 
I sent the others on ahead and waited here. " 

There was a tone of respect in Marius's voice 
as he answered: ** Whites are not dangerous by 
day, Monsieur. They prowl by night — ^along 
with the other wild beasts. Now I will tell 
Dodo that there is no cause for fear," and he put 
his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply 
twice. **Dodo must have been crazy," he 
added, as they walked on together, **to bring 
you by this path. We call it * the Devil's Dyke' 
— it is the worst of all." 

**Then there are others?" said the Cure, 
sighing thankfully. 

''Certainly. There are two others — one 
over the mountain top and the other down 
there in the ravine. The little scamp should be 
spanked for bringing you this way." 

Dodo undoubtedly did deserve a spanking 
for his bit of mischief— it was just that — ^and he 
certainly would have got one had not Monsieur 
Randoulet begged him off. As it was, Marius 
gave him such a talking-to that he was a very 
sober and crestfallen little lad for the rest of 
the walk! 



CHAPTER XIX 

IN THE CAVE WITH THE TWO HOLES 

They all went on together a little farther, 
and then Marius halted the party where a thick 
clump of terebinth and a big black bunchy juni- 
per grew together on the mountain side a little 
above the path. ** Here we are! " he said. 

** Where are we?" asked Monsieur Ran- 
doulet blankly. 

''At the mouth of the Cave with Two 
Holes, Monsieur." 

** But 1 do not see even one hole! " 

*Mt is here, Monsieur — hidden by the tere- 
binth. Show them the way in, Dodo." 

*'Wait a moment," said Monsieur Randou- 
let. **Now that I know where the entrance is, 
let me try to find it for myself" But he could 
not find It, though he searched about the tere- 
binth and the juniper carefully. 

With a laugh. Dodo opened out the thick- 
growing branches of the juniper and, stepping 
in among them, disappeared! 

*Mt is a safe hiding-place, Monsieur," said 
Marius. **The entrance to the cave is there 
under the branches; and as the juniper is an 
evergreen the opening always is concealed. No 
one knows about the cave save ourselves, and 
one or two people in Bédoin, and the wild 

191 



192 €bt tDbiu Cnror 



creatures of the forest. As my father told vou, 
a!l the ^íendïrmes in France might come There 
in j search for it in vain. And there is plenty 
<A room do^^•n there. You go a little way along 
y narrow passage, and then you come to'a large 
cavern that is dimly lighted from this opening: 
beyond it, at the end of another passage, is a 
stiil larger cavern that is lighted by a hole high 
up in its vault — a hole on the bare j>eak of the 
mountain that cannot be reached from the out- 
side by anything but a bird. And now. Mon- 
sieur, if you please, we will go in.** 

Marius led the way, holding the branches 
aside for Adeline and helping her to descend 
through the narrow opening which they so well 
concealed. Monsieur Randoulet followed. In- 
side they found iJodo waiting for them. To- 
gether they passed through the dimly lighted 
outer cavern, and the passage beyond it, and so 
came to the well-lighted inner cavern — where 
they found the three nuns who, as the fanner 
hacl told them, were in hiding there. These 
holy women, who were refugees from the Ursu- 
liiie (Convent in Avignon, very gladly welcomed 
as companions in their prison-like retreat a con- 
secrated priest and — when the secret of her dis- 
guise was revealed to them — a sweet young 
^irl as pure and as lovely as the saints in Para- 
dise. 

I )odo deposited the wallet of food on a rude 
mass OÍ rock in the centre of the cavern that 
served for a table, and then the brothers turned 
to go away. 

"Stopi Marius," said Monsieur Randoulet, 
** you are forgetting your gun." 



3n tt)e (Have t»itl) tl)e QLmo i^oles 193 

* ' I am not forgetting it, Monsieur. I am 
leaving it here for you." 

'* For me ? What need have I for a gun ? " 

*'Guns have their uses, Monsieur — and es- 
pecially in these bad times. Keep it here, and 
should you go out from the cave I beg of you 
always to carry it with you. You would find 
out your need for it in a hurry should you chance 
to meet a gendarme! " 

'* But 1 would not use it even though I did 
meet a gendarme. God preserve me from the 
sin of killing a man ! " 

** You need not kill any one, Monsieur. But 
a gun, even an empty gun, is a good thing to 
frighten people with. Should you go out from 
the cave, carry it with you — that is my last 
word. And now good-bye until evening." 

Monsieur Randoulet made no reply aloud, 
but as Marius left the cave he exclaimed in his 
heart: **Agun! Holy Mary! How wicked is 
man! How cruel! But in my hands, at least, 
this gun will do no harm. It will not be the 
Cure Randoulet who will kill a fellow man ! " 
Then he stood the gun in a corner of the cave 
and turned to talk with the three nuns. 

They had had a hard time of it, these poor 
Sisters. The youngest of them. Sister Margai, 
had been the turkeyherd at Pèire-Avon as a 
child; and when thejr escaped from Avignon 
she led the others — Sister Dorothy and Sister 
Scholastica — to the shelter of her old home. For 
three nights they had walked in dread, and for 
three days they had lain hidden in the bushes or 
among the growing grain. Their black habits 
and their black veils were torn by the briers, 



194 Sl)e tDI)iu Serror 

— - - - — • • ~ 

their white coifs were soiled and limp, their 
leather belts — from which their rosaries hung— 
were fretted by the twigs and thorns. Sister 
Dorothy, whom the others called Mother Doro- 
thy, was an old woman. But for the help that 
they had given her she could not have accom- 
plished this hard journey. Even with that help 
it had made her suddenly much older, and all of 
them had reached the haven of the farm-house 
haggard and worn. For more than two months 
they had been in hiding, sleeping in the farm- 
house and spending their days in the cave. The 
kindness of the farm-people had done much to 
restore their cheerfulness, and their coifs were 
spotless again — but the carefully darned rents in 
their veils and in their habits matched outwardly 
the scars that were in their hearts. Against the 
wall of the cave they had fastened up a picture 
of the blessed Magdalen in her hermitage-cavern 
of the Sainte Baume — not two days' journey from 
the cavern in which they were lying hid — and 
to this great Provencal Saint, to whom the earth 
had given shelter as to themselves, they made 
their daily prayers. 

For a while Saint Mary of Magdala was for- 
gotten when Monsieur Randoulet told them that 
his young companion was not a boy but a girl, 
and that this girl was the Comtessine d'Ambrun. 
In a moment they had ranged themselves before 
her and were making her profound courtesies 
and formal compliments. They were her ser- 
vants, they said ; and gave effect to this declara- 
tion by v\/aiting upon her when, at* noon-time, 
they ate their midday meal. When they found 
that the bundle that she had brought with her 



In tt)e (Have t»itt) tl)e Qimo ^oIcq 195 

contained her frock, they packed Monsieur Ran- 
doulet off to the outer cave and delightedly 
dressed her in it — taking a lively interest in its 
still pretty trimming of Paris lace. At night 
when Dodo came for them, he was mightily as- 
tonished to find that the boy whorn he had 
scared so well on the Devil's Dyke was a girl ! 

Dodo did not venture to repeat that trick. 
He led them by the safe path in the valley, to 
which they descended by a safe and not very 
difficult way. It was a pleasant path, bordered 
by thyme and box and lavender and wild-flow- 
ers, and overhung by many trees. The two 
journeys that they took along it daily were the 
delight of the cave-dwellers, the brightest break 
in their dull lives. Adeline and the nuns sighed 
for the freedom of that sweet solitude in the 
hours of sunshine, and found very tantalizing 
the glimpses that they had of it in the morning 
and the evening dusK. **Ah," Sister Scholas- 
tica would say, *Mf only we could spend our 
days in this flowery woodland, where all is 
peace and tranquility and where there are noi 
men! It is like a beautiful convent made by 
God's own handsJ " 

They never could be made to understand, 
these poor nuns, why it was that they had been 
compelled to run away from Avignon and hide 
themselves. They only knew that one day ^ 
some of their friends had come to their convent 
saying **La Guillotine has come! You must 
run away from her this instant! " — and had hur- 
ried them off. **La Guillotine," they thought, 
must be some wicked woman. But everything 
was hazy and uncertain in their minds. 



19^ Slje tDljUe Sertor 

Monsieur Randoulet tried to explain matters 
to them, but quite in vain. The Revolution was 
a hopeless mystery that they could not pene- 
trate. They could see no reason why the poor 
should not keep on starving in quiet, as they 
always had done; why, suddenly, they should 
make such a fuss about it. Still less could they 
understand how the King could have been cast 
into prison, and thence brought out again to 
have his head cut off. What were people do- 
ing, they asked, that such things were suffered 
to be.^ Where were the estrapados and the 
racks, the prisons, the galleys, the gallows .^* 
Those were what was wanted when starving 
wretches, daring to become troublesome, showed 
their teeth and took to snapping with them — 
like hunger-driven wolves! Nor could they un- 
derstand why, since it had been done for centu- 
ries, the King and his nobles were committing 
wrong in treating the serfs of the soil as though 
they were beasts and worse than beasts. They 
could not grasp even the rudiments of Monsieur 
Randoulet's meaning when he told them that 
God Himself had breathed Holy Liberty into the 
handful of clay out of which He made man. No 
matter how much Monsieur Randoulet explained 
and expounded, in the end it always was the 
same. The Sisters rested firm in their convic- 
tion that their good King and their good nobles 
could do no wrong. 

Sometimes these talks went on in the even- 
ings at the farm-house — the nuns busy with 
their needlework, the farm women with their 
spinning — and then Mèstre Tòni would take 
part in them. He was one of those sound and 



3n tije (íavt mti) ti)e Qimo i^oles 197 

true and temperate Republicans who were the 
very salt of the Republican faith — of whom, alas, 
so 'many were sent to the guillotine precisely be- 
cause they were so good and charitable and truly 
wise ! What Monsieur Randoulet said, he agreed 
with; and he had much of the same sort to say 
for himself. It annoyed him that the good Sis- 
ters were so dull of understanding; and one 
evening, when they were even more than usu- 
ally obdurate, be blurted out suddenly: *'You 
think that they can do no wrong, these over-lords 
of Qurs ? Now let me tell you what one of them 
did to me, to me myself, when I was living in 
Malemort. Just listen to my story, and when I 
have finished it I shall be glad to hear what you 
have to say! This happened not more than 
twenty years ago, and everybody at Malemort 
still remembers it and can tell you that it is 
true." 

**I, for one, remember it very well," said 
Monsieur Randoulet, who knew what was com- 
ing, **and you may believe every word that 
Mèstre Tòni says." 

** Well," continued Mèstre Tòni, ** what hap- 
pened to me was this : My people, working hard 
for the money, had managed to save enough to 
buy a little bit of waste land up there behind the 
chateau of Saint Felix : the chateau belonging to 
the Bishop of Carpentras, to which he and his 
canons used to come with certain of their friends 
— whom we won't talk about — to amuse them- 
selves. Naturally enough, this fine lot did not 
like having anybody close to their walled in- 
closure. They wanted to be alone up there; 
and so, one fine day, what does the Bishop do 



iqS 6ri)e tDi)Ue Cerror 

but send word to me that each time I wanted to 
work on my bit of land I must get his leave to 
come there! That was much more than I could 
swallow, and I sent back word to him that if he 
wanted to buy my land I would have it valued 
and he could take it at the valuer's price; but 
that until he did buy it it was mine, and that 
while it was mine 1 should work on it when 1 
pleased. 

**Well, 1 thought that settled the matter, 
and two or three days later I put my hoe on my 
shoulder and went up to hoe the vetches I had 
planted on my land. As I went along up the 
Saint Felix road 1 met a woman I knew. She 
began to giggle when she saw me and asked : 
' Are you going to hoe your vetches, Tôni?' 

** ' Yes,' says I. * They need hoeing badly.* 

*** You'd better go back home,' says she, 
* the crows have eaten them all up,* and she fell 
to giggling again. But I only laughed at her 
and went on. 

*' A little farther up the road I met one of my 
neighbours who was carrying to Monsieur le 
Marquis — to whom they belonged by right — 
the tongue and the jowls of a pig he had just 
killed. When he saw me he took to snigger- 
ing and called out: * Going to hoe your vetches, 
eh Tòni ?' 

** *Yes,' says I. 

*'*No you're not,* says he. *No you're 
not — the crows have gobbled the whole of 
'em ! * And he gave me a queer sort of look and 
passed on. 

** Well, I concluded that he and the woman 
were trying to put some sort of a joke on me. 



Jin tije dLavc toiti) tije Stoo i^oles 199 

and 1 hurried along to my vetches, thinking that 
when I saw them I'd know what the joke was. 
And I did know what it was — but the joke was 
not one that made me laugh! What do you 
think ? When I got to my piece of land I found 
a gang of masons at work on a nine-foot wall 
that inclosed it completely and made it a part 
of the inclosure of the Bishop's chateau! Well, 
I was in a fury! I raged and I menaced! The 
masons laughed at me and went on with their 
work. They were good-natured fellows or I 
should have fared worse. I heard later that they 
had been ordered to stone me off my own land ! 

'* Nor is that the whole of the wrong which 
was done me. That evening there came to my 
house in the village a halberdier who brought 
to me an order from the Bishop to leave Male- 
mort before the following daybreak. 1 and all 
my family must go, and instantly, the fellow 
said, or I would be put in the strapado and my 
tongue would be pierced with a red-hot iron — 
because, he explained, I had used menaces 
against the Bishop and because in my anger I 
had taken the name of the Lord in vain! There 
was nothing for me but obedience. Remon- 
strance with that scoundrel Bishop only would 
have made matters worse. In the night we left 
Malemort, carrying as we could what we most 
valued with us — my wife heavy with child. By 
God's blessing. Monsieur de St. Croix, who 
owned this farm, took pity on us and gave us 
shelter here — and here, ever since, we have 
remained. 

*' And now, Mother Dorothy, what have you 
to say that is good of an over-lord like that ? " 



200 Si)e tDi)iU Cfrror 

asked Mèstre Tòni in conclusion, at the same 
time bringing his fist down on the table with a 
thunderous bang! 

But Mother Dorothy did not venture to say 
anything; and until Monsieur Randoulet and 
the farmer began to talk again there was only 
the click-clack of the winder and the roun-roun 
of Jeanne-Marie's wheel. 

Often, though — for in that quiet nook among 
the mountains it was hard to realize that over 
France a tempest was raging — the evening talk 
was of a lighter sort. The farmer and his sons 
would tell stories of hunting expeditions into 
the mountains; the good Sisters would wander 
through rather pointless anecdotes of their placid 
life in the convent; late in the evening — spin- 
ning slowly, or altogether stopping her wheel 
— ^Jeanne-Marie would bring out from her pack 
of country-side lore some grisly legend — ^as that 
of the hell-hound Dog of Cambaud — which 
would send the young folks to bed with creeps 
down their backs and staring eyes! 

So the days lengthened mto weeks, and the 
weeks into months; and while the quiet life at 
Pèire-Avon now and then was disturbed, it 
never was interrupted, by the rumour of the 
mighty tempest which was crashing and rend- 
ing over the length and breadth of France. 



CHAPTER XX 

THE EDGE OF THE STORM 

From time to time Marius, the eldest son, 
went down from the mountains to Carpentras 
to sell some of the farm produce or a batch of 
sheep and lambs. There he would hear what 
was going on in the world and would bring 
back news of it. But it was not easy for the 
dwellers at Pèire-Avon to believe in the stories 
of horrors which he brought back with him, 
and still less easy, to believe that these stories 
had any meaning for themselves. Even when 
Marius brought the news that Maignet, the ter- 
rible Auvergnat, had come down to Avignon 
they did not feel that this was a matter which 
concerned them — it all was so hazy and seemed 
so far away. 

To be sure, Maignet's red record was not 
made then. It was he who set up the Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal in Orange that did its work 
without procèS'Verbaux or juries; that in less 
than two months — between the ist Messidor 
and the 17th Thçrmidor of the year 11 — sent 
three hundred and thirty-two persons to the 
guillotine. It was he who arrested the famous 
Jourdan Chop-head and denounced him — of all 
things in the world for a man with such a nick- 
name! — for ** moderation," and so brought him 
under the knife. 

201 



202 îije tDhite 8error 



From his next visit to Carpentras Marius 
came back pale and trembling. At supper he 
sat silent, unable to eat. To the questions 
which were put to him — was he ill ? was he in 
trouble? had he been robbed .> — he made no 
answer. From time to time his eyes would rest 
on Monsieur Randoulet and Adeline, and then 
he would grow still paler and would shake as 
though a fever had him in its grasp. 

His mother followed him to his bed-room, 
taking with her a cup of good borage-tea that 
she made him drink piping hot; and then, sit- 
ting on his bed-side, she got the truth out 
of him. 

** We are lost, mother!" he said in a low 
and frightened voice. **The end has come 
for us!" 

** How are we lost? You are wandering, 
my child." 

'* No, mother, it is the truth. To-day I saw 
posted up on the church door in Carpentras a 
list of the * Suspects.' In that list are the names 
of Monsieur Randoulet and Adeline. Their de- 
nunciation is signed by one Calisto. It declares 
that they are known to have fled toward Bédoin, 
and that they probably are hidden in some 
farm-house on Mont Ventour." 

'' But we know all this, my son. Even our 
good nuns are * suspects.' Don't be frightened 
ior so little. No one will come after any of 
them here." 

** But there is more, and worse, mother. It 
seems that a company of Whites, the other 
night, came out from the forest and seized two 
loads of ammunition going forward to the army 



QH\t (£ò%t of ìì)t Storm 203 

and tumbled them into the waters of the Ouvèze. 
Then they went on to Sarrians and robbed the 
tax-office. Then they came to Bédoin — where 
they robbed the tax-office, and tore down and 
trampled in the mud the decrees of the Conven- 
tion, and cut down the Tree of Liberty outside 
the Porte Saint Jean." 

*' Yes, we heard about that. But what has 
it got to do with us ? " 

'' It has a great deal to do with us. When 
that wolf-hound of a Maignet heard about it he 
fell into one of his wild rages and swore a dread- 
ful vengeance. He has given orders that all the 
people of Bédoin shall be arrested, that the town 
shall be destroyed utterly, that the very ground 
on which it stood shall be left forever waste. 
And all this is to be done, mother," Marius went 
on in a trembling voice, **this very night! A 
detachment of gendarmes is on its way to Bédoin 
now, and with it is a whole battalion from the Ar- 
dèche. They are to arrest every one ; they are 
to search the town; then they are to burn it. 
After that they are to search all the farm-houses 
round about. They will come here, mother — 
and what will happen then ? We are lost, 1 tell 
you! We are lost! " 

Jeanne-Marie had turned as pale as her son. 
She left him hurriedly, and went back to the 
kitchen to tell the dreadful news. 

**Well, how's the boy?" asked Monsieur 
Randoulet. 

**The boy wouldn't go badly. Monsieur, if 
things went well." 

** What do you mean by that?" asked Mès- 

tre Tòni. 

Id 



204 Ci)e tDi)Ue Cerror 



**1 mean," burst out Jeanne-Marie, "that 
the gendarmes, and a whole army alon^ with 
them, will be here to-morrow. I mean that the 
whole country-side is to be searched. 1 mean 
that everybody in Bédoin is to be arrested and 
cast into prison, and that the town is to be burned 
to the ground! " 

All the women shrieked together, and Mèstre 
Tòni sprang to his feet with a bound. " Male- 
diction of God!" he exclaimed. "What sort 
of justice is this ? Are we, the good people, to 
pay for the sins of the bad ? What is that Con- 
vention at Paris doing that such things should 
be?" 

** Peace, MèstreTòni!" said Monsieur Ran- 
doulet in a tone grave and solemn. "Peace! 
Do not blame the Convention ! The Convention 
is patriotic and just. In its justice it abolished 
the laws of the Tyrant; in its patriotism it is 
guarding the frontiers of France against strangers 
in league with her own traitor sons. It has 
done its duty, even, when in its passion it 
drenched the scaffold with the impure blood of 
Aristocrats. Its one error — and this error may 
prove to be its ruin — has been in sitting in Paris': 
that royal city, that tyrant city, that city of anti- 
patriots and cowards! Paris is a torch which 
lights the world — but it is a torch set in a muck- 
bed where swarm the foulest of the foul! There 
thrive such creatures as Surto and Calisto, who 
slay and plunder. There thrive such creatures 
as 'Hébert and Henriot and their like, who dread 
the honest patriotism of the Girondists and who 
have sent Danton — the patriot Danton who led 
our Marseillais to the storming of the Tyrant's 



®l)e (ïbge of tlje Storm 205 

castle — to the guillotine. Think of it, Danton ! 
He who, a sprig of thyme in his mouth, pro- 
claimed the Republic; who abolished those laws 
of the Tyrant under which a bishop could con- 
fiscate the poor man's scrap of ground; who 
was the very soul of our holy Revolution ! They 
laid him where they had laid Louis Capet, on 
the very same plank; with the very same knife 
that had beheaded the Tyrant they beheaded that 
great patriot! " 

For a moment Monsieur Randoulet was silent. 
Then, with his hands clasped and raised toward 
heaven, and in a tone still more impassioned, he 
continued: **Oh Lord my God, thou who art 
the Father of all; thou who orderest the stars in 
the firmament and biddest to swell the tides of 
the sea ; thou whose eyes are lightning, whose 
voice is thunder, whose frowning is the tempest; 
thou who art the source and the beginning of all 
life, from the life of man even unto the life of the 
smallest earth-grown herb; thou, oh holy and 
merciful God, show thy pity to us and give us 
thy help! If — even as the roses need thy dew 
and thy rain — the Tree of Liberty, overthrown 
by the wicked, needs the blood of man to make 
it rise again and put forth new branches, take to 
the last drop the red stream that is in my veins. 
Willingly, that good may come, will I go to the 
guillotine as to thine altar — blessing thy name 
because thou art thyself Justice, who boldest in 
thine hand the balance of Equality! " 

The women sighed heavily. Mèstre Tôni, in 
a sad tone but with firmness, said simply: *' You 
are right. Monsieur. If the bread of bitterness 
is to be our portion, we will eat it. If we must 



2o6 a!:i)c tUhiU CerroT 

burn the harvest to rid the earth of evil weeds, 
so shall it be!" 

The children — Adeline and Dodo and Ca- 
doche — came in from the sheep-fold in a state of 
great excitement. ** There's something wrong 
over at Bédoin," said Dodo eagerly. "We 
heard the drums beating the alarm." 

'•And 1," said Cadoche, '* thought I heard 
people shrieking. But I couldn't be sure." 

** I didn't hear anything at all," said Adeline. 
**I was inside the sheep-fold playing with the 
lambs." 

** Well, we'll find out what it means in the 
morning," said Mèstre Tòni. **Nowbe off to 
bed, the whole lot of you. It's time for every- 
body to be asleep." 

The household obeyed him — ^the boys going 
off to the hayloft, Adeline and the nuns to the 
mattresses which were laid for them in the gran- 
ary, and the farm women to their beds. But 
Mèstre Tòni and Monsieur Randoulet staid in the 
kitchen, keeping watch and guard. 

Nothing came to disturb them. From time 
to time the deep silence of the mountains was 
broken by the barking of a fox or the hooting of 
an owl; and about midnight they heard the 
drums beating again in Bédoin, and a confused 
murmur as of wails and cries. Later, they heard 
cries clearer and more distinct, as though from 
people fleeing toward the forest pursued by the 
gendarmes. Mèstre Tôni drew the inference 
that the ravaging of the village was completed 
and that the gendarmes were beginning the 
search of the outlying farm-houses. It would 
not do, he said, for Monsieur Randoulet and the 



®l)e ^bge of tl)e Storm 207 

rest to wait until dawn, as usual, to go to their 
hiding-place; they must get away and be safely 
hidden while yet it was black night. 

Adeline and the Sisters were roused out of 
sleep, and the good Jeanne-Marie — whom dread 
had kept wakeful — was called to get together a 
supply of food that would last them all for three 
or four days, in case the search should be so hot 
that they could not safely be sent for at night to 
come back to the farm. Dodo also was waked, 
to go along with them and carry the bag of 
food. To the provisions Mèstre ïòni added a 
gourd full of powder and a handful of balls — but 
against taking these Monsieur Randoulet re- 
belled. ** Keep your powder and your balls, my 
good Tòni," he said, '* 1 have no use for them." 

'* But you have a gun. Monsieur. And what 
good win your gun do you, when once you have 
fired it, unless you can load it again ?" 

** But never shall I fire that gun! I am will- 
ing to carry it, because 1 may frighten some one 
with it; but fire it, I tell you, I never shall!" 
Yet in the end, as the easiest way to quiet Mès- 
tre Tòni's importunity, he slipped the balls into 
his pocket and carried the gourd along. 

As though the good Cure felt the shadow of 
evil approaching him, he lingered behind the 
others and made his parting with the farmer a 
very serious one. *Mn case we never meet 
again, my good Tôni," he said, as he held the 
farmer's hand in a tight clasp, **I want you to 
know that I thank you from my heart for your 
great charity. Ana, believe me, what you have 
rendered unto us God will render again unto 
you." 



2o8 Kl)c tohile arertûr 



** Uo not talk about our not meeting again, 
Monsieur," the farmer answered. "It is true 
that for two or three days, very likely, we shall 
not see each other. I shall not send for you 
until this pest of gendarmes has passed away 
and you may come again in safety. But then 
you will come back to us once more, and all will 
be well." 

** God grant that it may be as you say. And 
may He, whatever happens to us, always guard 
and protect you!" And Monsieur Randoulet 
slowly relinquished his grasp of the farmer's 
hand, and then hurried to catch up with the 
others on the path. The night was dark, al- 
though the stars were shining, and very still. 
They went on upward through the forest in 
silence, save that the nuns murmured softly 
their prayers. From time to time came faintly 
the sound of shrieks or of hoarse shouts from 
the direction of Bédoin. 



CHAPTER XXI 

ON THE devil's DYKE 

Dawn was dose at hand when they reached 
the terebinth and juniper, and through the thick- 
growing branches groped their way into the 
cave. Being inside, Monsieur Randoulet lighted 
the candle that he had carried with him and led 
the way to the inner cavern ; and there Dodo 
put the bag of food on the rock table and turned 
to go. 

Monsieur Randoulet, with tears in his eyes, 
embraced the little fellow and kissed him. 
** You are a good boy, Dodo," he said. ** You 
have helped those who are in trouble, and for 
that God will reward you. The Whites stole 
everything from me. I have nothing to give 
you — I wish I had. Stop, though! I have a 
little picture of Saint Maximin. Perhaps you 
would like that,'* and he pulled the leaden balls 
and the little gourd of gunpowder from his 
pocket and gave them to Sister Scholastica to 
hold while he searched for the picture. 

*' 1 have three crowns," said Adeline, and she 
laid her precious three crowns on the rock. But 
Dodo turned his head away quickly, as though 
the sight of the silver hurt his eyes. ** Thank 
you! Thank you!" he said. ** Indeed I don't 
want anything at all." 

209 



2IO QHfc tDi)iu Cerror 

** And here is my rosary," said Sister Doro- 
thy. ' ' 

**And here is a little leaden image of the 
Virgin," said Sister Margai. 

** Oh how unhappy T am ! " exclaimed Sister 
Scholastica. **lhave nothing at all that I can 
give to this good little boy who has been so kind 
to us!" 

** Indeed, indeed, 1 do not want anything," 
Dodo repeated. 

'* Will you not take my picture of Saint Max- 
imin ?'' asked Monsieur Randoulet 

Dodo shook his head. 

** Nor Mother Dorothy's rosary ? " 

Dodo shook his head. 

**Nor Adeline's three crowns?" 

Dodo shook his head most emphatically. 

'' Well then, take the little leaden Virgm." 

** Yes, take it," said Sister Margai eagerly, 
and she put the image into Dodo*s hand and 
kissed him. ** Don't you remember," she added, 
** how you used to want this very image, long 
ago when I was the turkeyherd here at the 
farm ? Well, now it is yours! " 

Dodo did not refuse this offering. He seemed 
to be thinking very earnestly, his eyes fixed 
upon Sister Scholastica standing there with her 
hands full of powder and balls. '* I am so sorry. 
Dodo," Sister Scholastica repeated, ** that 1 have 
nothing to give you." 

** Perhaps," said Dodo, insinuatingly, *'you 
will give me a little powder from the gourd?" 

**That 1 will!" said Sister Scholastica, de- 
lighted to give the boy anything; and before 
Monsieur Randoulet could stop her she had un- 



(Dn ti)e {Oemra lOske 211 

corked the gourd and had filled with powder 
Dodo's outstretched hand. 

*'But what do you want with powder?" 
asked the Cure. 

" To load my pistol." 

**You have a pistol .î^ Surely you do not 
want to kill anybody ?" 

**0h no, Monsieur. I want to get the 
eaglets that are in the nest on the very top of 
the Combe de Curmier. With my pistol I can 
keep away the old birds. Now I shall have the 
eaglets for sure ! And this is the very time for 
it — when the old birds fly out from their nest in 
the early day! " Chuckling with delight, Dodo 
said ** Adessias," and was gone! 

They were silent for a moment after he had 
left them, and then Mother Dorothy said shortly : 
*' That boy will go climbing into some dreadful 
place and get killed!" 

** Sister Scholastica would have done better 
had she thought a little before giving him the 
powder," said Sister Margai, primly. 

Poor Sister Scholastica was covered with 
confusion and did not say a word. 

'' 1 know where the nest is," said Adeline. 
'* I heard Dodo talking to Cadoche about it yes- 
terday. It is in a very dreadful place, just as 
Mother Dorothy says. It is up on the precipice 
above the Devil's Dyke — that awful path along 
which we came that first day. Dodo never can 
climb up there. He will tumble down into the 
gulf and be killed ! " 

Monsieur Randoulet was very seriously per- 
turbed. In a way he felt that he was respon- 
sible for the peril mto which the boy was going; 



212 (3;i)c U)l)Ue Serrot 

that he should have prevented the gift of gun- 
powder which made the eaglet-hunting possible. 
He walked backward and forward in the cave 
uneasily, while the shadows thinned as the 
morning light came pale through the opening 
high above him. He tried to read his breviary: 
but his mind ran neither on the Lord nor on the 
Saints of the Lord — but on little Dodo, whom he 
seemed to see dropping backward from the face 
of that great precipice, and flashing downward, 
and lying mangled on the cruel rocks below. 

At last he could stand inaction no longer. 
He felt that it was his duty to go after the boy 
and to try to save him — no matter what the 
peril to himself might be. In spite of the en- 
treaties of the nuns and of Adeline not to take 
so great a risk — at the very moment when the 
gendarmes were scouring the mountains — he 
shouldered the gun that had stood for so long 
in its corner and went out from the cave. 

Full day had come, and as he stepped out 
from the branches of the juniper he was fairly 
dazzled by the brilliant May sunshine. But the 
sunshine, of which for so long he had seen so 
little, was delightful; and he gave a sigh of 
happiness as he breathed the fresh sweet air. 
For a minute or two he stood quite still, listen- 
ing. But only the soft noises of the forest were 
about him, and he went on toward the Devil's 
Dyke quite at his ease. As he walked, he 
prayed in his heart that Dodo might be turned 
back by a wholesome fear from his dangerous 
enterprise; and then the comforting thought 
came to him: ''After all, he forgot to ask for 
ball, it would do him no good to charge his pis- 



®n tl)e HJernrs UJake 213 

tol with powder alone." But with this thought, 
suddenly, came another thought : ** Why was he 
so eager to have the little leaden image of the 
Virgin ? " And in an instant the Cure perceived 
the whole of Dodo's naughty scheme. Cut with 
a knife into little pieces, the leaden Virgin would 
serve to charge the pistol very well indeed ! In 
point of fact, that was precisely what Dodo had 
done with his Virgin as soon as he was fairly 
outside of the cave ! 

Very anxiously Monsieur Randoulet listened 
as he began the "passage of the Devil's Dyke. 
The curve of the path around the mountain pre- 
vented him from seeing along it for more than 
a few feet. He listened for some sound of 
Dodo's scramblings, and so earnestly that he 
did not think at all about gendarmes. The nest, 
as Adeline had explained to him, was above the 
path at a point where a fig-tree grew out from 
a crevice in the rock and overhung the precipice. 
There the path was at its narrowest, a ledge but 
a few inches wide. A couple of rods above it 
was another ledge that joined the path farther 
along, toward the farm-house. It was broader 
than the path, and a stranger would be apt to 
follow it — until he found that it ended in the air! 

The Cure came in sight of the outgrowing 
fig-tree, and gave a sigh of thankfulness because 
Dodo was not visible — and then drew a quick 
breath, as he thought that Dodo already might 
be lying dead in the gulf below! He paused — 
uncertain as to whether he should search farther 
for the boy or should return at once to the cave. 
While he stood irresolute, a little stone came 
rattling down the mountain side and shot past 



214 ^\)t U)l)Ue detror 

him into the chasm. He looked up quickly. On 
the ledge above him, watching him fixedly, stood 
a gendarme! 

Monsieur Randoulet did not know about the 
false path, but he did know that for him to turn 
back and to make for the shelter of the cave 
would be to betray those who were hidden 
there. Escape down the mountain side was 
possible only for a bird: yet, involuntarily, he 
glanced downward — and a fresh terror seized 
him as he saw another gendarme coming up the 
valley. To go ahead was his only course. The 
upper path, where the first gendarme stood 
watching him, must join the path on which he 
was, he reasoned — if he could reach that junc- 
tion first, and get on past it, there was a chance 
that he might reach the cover of the thick 
woods. Once in the woods, he very well might 
lie hidden until nightfall. Then, without endan- 
gering the others, he might be able to get back 
to the cave. And so, as fast as he dared to walk 
in that perilous path, he hastened onward, his 
heart beating hard and sweat pouring from him. 
In a minute or two he came to the out-jutting 
mass of rock where the fig-tree grew and where 
the path was but a span wide. Holding fast to 
the knobs and crevices of the rock, he rounded 
the projecting rock — and found himself face to 
tace with a third gendarme! 

Had he been alone, this gendarme — cum- 
bered with his gun and his sword and his big 
boots with their long spurs — would not have 
been very dangerous. He had slung his mus- 
ket over his shoulder by its strap, and was 
holding fast to the mountain side for dear life 



®n th^ JDemrg JUgke 215 

as he slowly worked his way along the ledge. 
He was not used to work of that sort, and he 
was a badly scared man. But he was a worse 
scared man when Monsieur Randoulet — old in- 
stincts reviving in him — took advantage of a 
better bit of standing room to unsling his own 
gun and to level it. The gendarme went pale 
as death at that. As he tightened his grip upon 
the rock he gasped in a frightened voice: *' The 
Law!" 

**For whom are you searching.^" asked 
Monsieur Randoulet. 

In the same gasping and frightened voice the 
man answered: **For the Cure of Malemort 
and for the daughter of the ci-devant Marquis 
d'Ambrun." 

**1 am the Cure of Malemort!" Monsieur 
Randoulet answered. 

*M arrest you!" said the gendarme, his in- 
stinct of duty for an instant getting the better of 
his fears. Then he turned still whiter, as he 
realized what was likely to result from his 
words. 

Monsieur Randoulet's finger was upon the 
trigger of his piece. He had but to twitch that 
finger and the gendarme, who sought to lead 
him to a prison out of which he would go to the 
guillotine, would be a dead man — crashing down 
into the chasm with a bullet through his heart. 
But Monsieur Randoulet, a true priest of God, 
was not of those who manned the racks of the 
Inquisition and did to death their fellow crea- 
tures in the narne of the Most High. His instinc- 
tive act of self-defense was checked as he remem- 
bered the stern Commandment: Thou Shalt not 



2i6 Qri)e ÌDI)iU Serror 



Kill! In another moment he lowered his piece 
from his shoulder, and said in the tone of a man 
who utters his own death-warrant: ** I give my- 
self up to the Law!" 

At that instant there was a burst of smoke 
among the branches of the fig-tree above them, 
the sound of a shot that went echoing along the 
mountain sides — and the gendarme, with the 
point of his cocked hat shot away and his face 
torn and bloody, fell sidewise along the face of 
the rock with a shriek, caught for a moment on 
the ledge, went over it, and then stopped again 
as by sheer chance he grasped a juriiper stump, 
and so hung above the abyss. 

Looking up into the fig-tree Monsieur Ran- 
doulet saw Dodo perched among the branches, 
his still-smoking pistol in his hand. '*Run! 
Run, Monsieur!" cried Dodo. **The blessed 
Virgin has saved you! He can't hold on for a 
minute. You can get safe away! " 

But while Dodo was speaking Monsieur 
Randoulet had stepped cautiously and quickly 
to where his enemy was dangling above the 
jaws of death. The man was utterly panic- 
stricken — so lost in his desperate fear that he 
had not heard Dodo's voice, and was sure that 
the Cure had fired upon him. His wound, how- 
ever, was not a serious one. Dodo's blessed 
Virgin had given him a good peppering, but had 
done him no great harm. 

*' Hold fast for a moment longer," said Mon- 
sieur Randoulet. '* With my hand under jrour 
shoulder you will be able to get up again into 
the path." These words gave the gendarme a 
little courage. His desperate grip, which was 



®n tl)e JDemrs SUgke 217 

beginning to loosen, grew firm again. Helped 
by Monsieur Randoulet's strong grasp — given at 
the immediate peril of his life, for a false move 
would have sent them down the cliff together — 
the gendarme slowly raised himself to safety; 
and then, still helped, crawled along to where 
the path broadened and he could seat himself 
with his back against the mountain side. Kneel- 
ing beside him, the Cure wiped the blood from 
his face. Presently the man got back his breath 
and his understanding. Grasping Monsieur 
Randoulet's shoulder he said: ** I arrest you! " 
**That," said Monsieur Randoulet, as he con- 
tinued to wipe away the blood, '* is your duty.'* 



CHAPTER XXII 

BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 

On hearing the pistol shot, the gendarme in 
the valley below and the gendarme on the 
mountain side above hastened to their comrade. 
Finding him wounded, and finding the gun 
that Monsieur Randoulet had left in the path, 
they drew a natural conclusion. '* Murderer! 
Wretch ! " they cried. ** How dare you fire on a 
gendarme of the Nation ? " In a twinkling they 
had bound him fast with cords, as a murderer 
would have been bound. 

One of them put the muzzle of his pistol 
to the Cure's forehead. **I don't see why 1 
shouldn't blow «your head off," he said. ** You 
are one of the gang who cut down the Tree of 
Liberty. You are of the traitors who are wait- 
ing for the Austrians to put a Tyrant once more 
on the throne!" 

'*We might as well tumble him over the 
cliff," said the other, **and so have done with 
him!" 

Monsieur Randoulet — fearful for Dodo, who 
was shivering up in the fig-tree, just around a 
turn in the path — made no reply. So long as 
they thought that he had fired the shot Dodo 
was safe. Even should they go back and pass 
beneath the fig-tree, the path there was so diffi- 
218 



Before tï\c VitvoiniionatQ ffiribunal 219 



cult and so dangerous that there was little chance 
of their looking upward. But they did not go 
back. They went forward. One of the gen- 
darmes helped along his wounded comrade; the 
other walked behind Monsieur Randoulet, pistol 
in hand. There was no need for a pistol. Car- 
rying his old gun slung on his back, where the 
gendarmes had hung it, the good Cure went 
with them as meekly as a lamb. 

When they got to the end of the Devil's 
Dyke, instead of keeping on toward the farm- 
house, they turned into the forest and made 
directly for Bédoin. Through the openings be- 
tween the trees, off across the valley, they could 
see the little town distinctly; but all was still 
there ; the drum-beating and the cries and shrieks 
had ceased. The sun shone out strongly. 
Threads of gossamer floated in the air waver- 
ingly, showing against the pale blue sky like 
star-rays. The only sound was that of their 
own rustling footsteps and of the buzzing of 
wild bees about the rosemary blossoms. There 
was no clicking of .hoes from the fields below 
in the valley. As they crossed the valley they 
found it deserted. It seemed like a Sunday. 

As they neared Bédoin pitiful sights met their 
eyes. Many of the villagers had been arrested 
and shut up in the great church which crowned 
the conical hill whereon the village was built ; 
but many more, outcast from their homes, were 
congregated in miserable groups in the near-by 
fields. They had brought with them some of 
their belongings. Here was a little heap of house- 
furniture, there a little pile of linen; goats and 
donkeys were tethered to posts ; chickens strayed 
15 



220 Qi;i)e U)l)iu Serror 



around. Most of the women were on their 
knees, weeping and begging for mercy, their 
terrified children clinging fast to them. The 
men, stupefied, stolid, sat with their elbows on 
their knees and their chins in their hands watch- 
ing the preparation for their utter ruin. For, 
coming and going among them, the soldiers of 
the Fourth Ardèche Battalion were bringing great 
fagots of holm-oak from the neighbouring hill- 
sides and were piling these fagots in the houses, 
in the streets, everywhere — making ready for 
the fire which that evening was to destroy the 
town. Nothing was to be lett of it. Bédoin 
the infamous was to be wiped out in flame from 
the sight of man ! 

But these broken men and women were 
better off than those which the village still held 
— the *' suspects," before whom was a terrible 
death: a death compared with which the guillo- 
tine was merciful and a gun-shot grace. As 
these were passed, with a mere show of trial, 
before the Revolutionary Tribunal they were 
dragged up to the crest of the town and thrust 
into the great church — facing the open space 
known as the Plan de Maudène — there to wait 
for the coming of night-time and the coming of 
the flames! To make this hellish work of de- 
struction the more sure, a barrel of gunpowder 
had been placed in the church, with a slow- 
match leading down from it to the Portail du 
Catarin. And then, in the fields around the vil- 
lage, were the wives and the fathers and the 
mothers of those who were to die in this horri- 
ble fashion — watching the building of the death- 
pyre, and unable to lift a hand ! 



Ì3eforc the UeDolntionarg Stibnnal 221 

Guarded by the gendarmes, Monsieur Ran- 
doulet passed through this dismal company. 
The fagot-carrying soldiers laughed when they 
saw him. ** Hello, Aristo! " cried one, ** we're 
going to boil you!" **So you hadn't wood 
enough to warm yourself without cutting down 
the Tree of Liberty, eh ? " said another. ** Well, 
you shall have wood and warmth a-plenty 
how!" Even the villagers cried out against 
him — believing that he really was one of the 
Whites who had drowned the wagon load of 
gunpowder and cut down the Bédoin Liberty 
Tree, and so had brought destruction to their 
homes. They cursed him as he passed, they 
threw stones at him ; they tore his clothing. 
Presently he was bleeding and in rags. Si- 
lently he went onward, praying in his heart 
for uod's mercy. 

The gendarmes led him into the long and 
narrow room in which the Revolutionary Tribu- 
nal was sitting — the three judges on a dais, a 
tightly packed crowd below. As he entered, 
one of the judges glanced at him sharply and 
then rose in his place. ** Was this man alone 
when you captured him ?" he called out to the 
gendarmes. 

*' He was quite alone." 

*' That cannot be. There must have been a 
girl with him — the daughter of an Aristocrat." 

*' He was alone," the gendarme repeated. 

*' Citizen," said the President of the Tribunal, 
addressing his fellow Judge, '* we will look after 
this fellow when his turn comes. Give your 
vote now for the one before us. He is accused 
of 'Moderation,' and of having in his posses- 



'^ -yf 



Qiï\c tni)itc Serrot 



sion — contrary to the decree of the municipality 
of Carpentras — more than half a pound of sugar 
and more than a quarter of a pound of oil. 
What is your verdict ? " 

** Death," answered the Judge in an absent- 
minded tone, as he continued to stare at Mon- 
sieur Randoulet. 

** Death," said the other Judge. 

*' Death," said the President. *• The verdict 
is unanimous." 

The condemned man uttered a deep groan. 
In a moment he was hurried away to the church, 
to die that night in the flames. 

**1 demand," said the still-standing Judge, 
**that this Aristo just brought in by the gen- 
darmes be tried at once." 

A murmur of approval ran through the 
crowd. For some reason they believed that 
this was the very White who had cut down 
their Liberty Tree and so had brought upon them 
overwhelming disaster. 

**So be it," said the President; and Mon- 
sieur Randoulet was brought to the bar between 
the two gendarmes, the third gendarme, with 
blood-smeared face, coming forward as a wit- 
ness. *'0f what is he accused?" asked the 
President. 

** He is a priest," answered the standing 
Judge, leaning forward with his fists on the 
table and glaring at Monsieur Randoulet sav- 
agely. 

*' 1 have taken the oath of allegiance to the 
Republic, and 1 have remained true to my oath." 

** Why were you carrying that gun which is 
slung over your shoulder?" 



Before tl)e Ectjolutionurg (îribttnûl 223 



'' To protect myself against the Whites, who 
haunt the mountains.'' 

**'You lie!" cried the wounded gendarme. 
** It was to Tire on the gendarmes of the Nation. 
Look at my face!" 

*' I never have fired a shot at a fellow crea- 
ture. It is God's command that man shall 
not harm his fellow men. 1 have kept that 
law." 

** 1 am the proof that he lies," said the gen- 
darme, and he thrust himself forward that the 
judges the better might see his wounds. 

** The proof that 1 am telling the truth," said 
Monsieur Randoulet, speaking in a calm voice, 
'' is very easily produced. If you will examine 
this gun you will find that it still is loaded, and 
that it has not been fired off for a long, long 
while." 

One of the gendarmes, thinking to confound 
him, snatched the gun trom his shoulder. But 
the gendarme himself was confounded. The in- 
side of the barrel was rusty and dusty. When 
he ran in the ramrod he found the charge in 
place. He gave a low whistle, and passed the 
gun on to his comrade who had been wounded. 
The wounded man, also testing the gun, was 
lost in amazement. '* But if it wasn't you, who 
was it ?" he asked, blankly. 

Monsieur Randoulet evaded this question. 
*' Had it been I who fired upon you, friend," he 
asked, *'why should I have saved you from 
certain death when you were falling over the 
precipice .^" 

^'I'm sure I don't know!" answered the 
puzzled gendarme. 



2 24 St)t ÌDI)Ue Scrror 

The standing Judge broke in sharply: "Then 
some one was with you ?" 

** I was walking alone," replied the Cure. 

** Miserable wretch! Will you swear that 
you do not know where is hidden Adeline, the 
ci-devant Comtessine d'Ambrun?" 

** 1 will not swear," Monsieur Randoulet 
answered. 

* That is enough," said the standing Judge. 
**That answer settles the matter," and he sat 
down. 

*'Then you confess," said the President, 
severely, "that you fled into the mountains 
with the daughter of the ci-devant Marquis 
d'Ambrun?" 

Monsieur Randoulet made no reply. 

The President turned toward the Judge who 
had just seated himself and asked: "Citizen 
Calisto, what is your verdict ? " 

♦* Death." 

*' Death," said the other Judge, without 
waiting to be asked. 

'' Death," said the President. "The verdict 
is unanimous." 



CHAPTER XXIII 

A LIFE LAID DOWN 

A MOMENTARY stif of Satisfaction went 
through the crowd, and then all eyes were 
fixed on the next in line to come before the 
judges. But the President, instead of ordering 
Monsieur Randoulet off to the church, where 
the other condemned men were, said to him: 
" Have you anything to reveal that may be of 
service to the Republic ? The Tribunal permits 
you to speak." 

**Yes," Monsieur Randoulet answered, 
speaking slowly and gravely, **I have a reve- 
lation to make; and, also, I wish to point out 
to you the yawning chasm into which there is 
danger that the Republic may plunge." Paus- 
ing a moment, he continued : *' There are hypo- 
crites, villains, tools of the Tyrant, who traitor- 
ously profess to serve the Republic to the end 
that they may destroy her. I, Citizen Randou- 
let, Cure of Malemort, faithful to the Constitu- 
tion, can name and deliver up to justice one of 
these traitors! " 

** Don't listen to that old wind-bag," cried a 
man in the crowd. He was not a Bédoin man, 
but a stranger who had come along with the 
soldiers for the sake of plunder. Wrapped in a 
cloth he carried a silver pyx that he had stolen 

225 



220 ^])e t])l)ite S^rror 



from the church. As he spoke, he inverted the 
pyx above Monsieur Randoulet's head and show- 
ered over him the holy wafers that it contained. 

** Let him go on,' cried a dozen persons in 
the crowd, eager to hear the revelation. The 
President stopped in his work of writing out 
the formal condemnation and regarded Monsieur 
Randoulet, covered with the holy wafers, fixedly. 
Judge Calisto, impatient with this interruption, 
leaned back in his seat and gnawed his nails 
savagely. The third Judge took advantage of 
the lull in the proceedings to lay his head upon 
the table and go to sleep. 

**This traitor to the Republic," Monsieur 
Randoulet went on calmly, **is a nobleman's 
servant. He has murdered his master, and he 
has stolen his master's money and lands and 
name. He was of those who plotted to rescue 
the Tyrant on the day that he was executed. 
Under menace of death he has compelled a ci- 
devant Marquise to sign a paper consenting to 
his marriage with her daughter. By this show- 
ing, he is at once a murderer, a robber, a traitor, 
and a coward. Now, to-day, this monster has 
put on the red cap of Liberty, and in the name 
of Liberty has denounced as a ' Moderate ' one 
who has helped to thwart his marriage with the 
daughter of the Marquise. 1 can name this 
Aristocrat in disguise, this tyrant's tool. I can 
cause his arrest and his execution : for the wretch 
carries on his person the proof of his crime. A 
murderer, a robber, a traitor, he is thrice deserv- 
ing of death!" 

As Monsieur Randoulet ceased speaking he 
fixed his eyes on Calisto. Those eyes, usually 



% £ife Caiìr tHomn 227 

so gentle, glowed with a holy anger that made 
them burn into Calisto's breast. Involuntarily 
his hand went to his pocket to draw out and to 
throw away the paper signed by the Marquise 
d'Ambrun. Then the futility of his action be- 
came apparent to him. With his hand grasping 
the paper he sat still, scarcely daring to breathe. 

** Speak," said the President. ** Denounce 
this traitor!" 

** I shall not denounce him," Monsieur Ran- 
doulet answered, his eyes still fixed upon Calisto. 

** If you refuse to denounce him, you share 
his crime — you become a traitor yourself." 

'* I dare not cause a fellow creature's death." 

**By denouncing him you may win a par- 
don for yourself." 

**It is better that I should die, and that this 
wicked man should have time for such repent- 
ance as will win for him the pardon of God! " 

The President, out of all patience, brought 
down his fist on the table with a bang. ** Gen- 
darmes! "he cried, ** take this condemned man 
out of my sight! " 

Calisto drew a long breath of relief. He 
smiled grimly, as his hand came out of his 
pocket and fell by his side. The third Judge, 
aroused from his slumber by the bang on the 
table, raised his head drowsily and said: *M 
vote for death! " 

A chattering broke forth in the crowd as way 
was made for the condemned man to pass. ** If 
what he says were true," said some, ** he would 
speak out." ** We know him," said others — 
** he is not a man to lie. He has his own rea- 
sons for keeping silence." The wounded gen- 



C2l Chr tDhilr Cfrror 



ciirm*: I'.Ji'ktd :iftf :■ tht Curt in a state of complete 
bfNAiidfrrritT.t. ■•\^■h:It /want to know." he 
Siiid. ■■ IS vho peppert-d my face! " 

bti'jrt tht Tr:bur.:il the work of arraigning 
c'.d c'jndtrr^rir.i: v trit on. By nightfall sixt>*- 
t: rt-: ptrs'jns r.:«c bttr. sentenced to death and 
vv J' -p in I'r.t chjrcK c»i btdoin. Among them 
■•^ ft ■>:>; nobit>. lour notaries, rwk'o nuns, and 
b.y. p-it.is. All the rest were hard-working 
I.c-asar:is— mc'S* of \^'hom could not tell for what 
li.ey hi.d httn condemned. Tliese last were the 
br-n/est o: bll Without trembling, they waited 
i'jr de::iih. The nobles, arrested the day before 
in The gor^rtb of Mont \'entour. held themselves 
iil'X'f t\tn in their extremity from the peasants. 
With the ftjr of death marked on their faces, 
they rnijde :i irroup apart in the choir — ^where, 
presently, they v^ere joined by the priests and 
the nuns. Monsieur Randoulet alone of the 
I'ri'rsts. remained among the poor — ^the inno- 
cent martyrs in a cause that was not their 
ov.n. 

As the hours passed on many of the peasants, 
|.'-rcírivin;í their hopelessness, gave themselves 
r/.'':r io iir^^rry despair and fell to cursing the 
i:fj\)U's ;ind the priests who had led them into 
ill" p-voh which was ending so miserably. 
" Would thai God had willed, as He might have 
v/iilird. thai I never had laid eyes on you!" 
shouted an old peasant, shaking his fist at the 
nohies. " You dragged my plough out of my 
liand, my good plough that fed my wife and 
( liildren, and you gave me a knife to kill my 
hrr^thcrs with! And you, you priest, you lied 
whtMi you told me that the King was the right 



^ Cife Caiìr tHamn 229 

arm of God and that Liberty was the daughter 
ofhell!'* 

From the nobles and the priests came no 
answer to this impassioned cry; but it served to 
fire the rage of the other peasants — who by force 
or fear had been led by the Aristocrats into their 
bitter strait. ** Wretches!" they howled, 'Ms 
this what you promised us ? Where is the Aus- 
trian army that was to bring the King back to 
us ? Where is the God who was to work a 
miracle and protect us ? Mt is you who have 
brought us into this snake's nest. While a little 
life is left in our bodies we will pay you for hav- 
ing befooled us — we will pay you with our 
hands! We will tear out the tongues that have 
lied to us I We will choke you to death before 
we ourselves die! " With yells of hate the half- 
crazed creatures pushed toward the cowering 
nobles and priests. In another moment they 
would have made good their words. 

Hurrying forward, Monsieur Randoulet 
checked this furious advance. ** Brothers!" 
he cried. ** Brothers! The hour of death is 
the hour of repentance, of forgiveness — not the 
hour of revenge! God is good! God is just! 
If in true penitence you ask His mercy, He will 
remit your sins and forgive you. But He com- 
mands that you also forgive these who have 
sinned against you; whose falsehoods have led 
you along the way of error to the gates of 
death. In sign of your repentance, I exhort 
you to say with me *Amen!' — that, in His 
name, I may absolve you from your sins! " 

Monsieur Randoulet raised his hand in 
blessing and the peasants wavered. Suddenly 



230 ®l)e tDljiu fierror 

from the depths of the choir one of the priests 
called out: ** Trust not in him. He is for- 
sworn. God denies him ! ** 

But the peasants halted. 

*'He is a Republican. He has denied his 
religion." 

The peasants clasped their hands and bowed 
their heads, waiting for the benediction. 

** He is a * Blue.* Long live the King! " 

At the words **a *Blue,*" the peasants 
raised their heads again and recoiled from the 
good priest as though he had been a scorpion. 
To these poor Royalists, a priest who was false 
to the King seemed a creature utterly execrable. 
They cursed him and hooted him. But his 
intervention had saved, for the moment, the 
lives of those in the choir. Satisfied with that, 
he withdrew from among the angry peasants 
and in a corner of the church knelt in prayer to 
await the death that was coming to all of them 
so soon. He prayed for his fellow prisoners, 
and for the peace of his own soul; but most 
earnestly did he pray for the safety of those 
whom he had left behind him that morning, 
hidden in the cave. ** Lord! Have mercy upon 
them, and guard them, and save them!" he 
cried from the depths of his tender and troubled 
heart. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

THE BURNING OF BÉDOIN 

Those for whom Monsieur Randoulet, with 
the shadow of death upon him, thus earnestly 
prayed, the nuns and Adeline, were torn with 
anxiety when the cave grew dusky with the 
gloom of evening and still he did not return. 
Soon after he had left them they had heard, and 
had been terrified by, the sound of a shot. 
Through the long day they had sat huddled 
together, thrilling with fear. It was worse 
when night came. God seemed to have for- 
gotten them. Their prayers became supplicat- 
ing moans. 

Suddenly the hole in the top of the cave, 
through which the sweet peace of the stars had 
been shining like a smile from God, grew blood- 
red — and the stars vanished in the crimson 
glare. 

**God in heaven! What can be the mean- 
ing of that ? " cried Adeline in a tone of terror. 

" It is a sign of death ! " moaned Sister Scho- 
lastica. ** It is a sign of death! " and she buried 
her face in her hands that she might not see the 
crimsoned sky. 

But Sister Margai, whose childhood had 
been spent among those mountains, took the 
matter more coolly. ** You are foolish. Sisters," 

231 



232 dljc tïJljite (ïcrror 

she said. *'It is only a fire lighted by some 
shepherd up on the heights of Mont Ventour. 
The shepherds and the farmers often make sig- 
nals to each other by lighting fires." 

** Who knows, then/* said Mother Dorothy, 
*' if it be not our dear Cure — lost in the moun- 
tains and asking that way for help ? " 

At this suggestion Adeline rose to her feet. 
**I shall go in search of him," she said. And 
added, speaking very quietly and very firmly: 
*Mn trying to serve' Monsieur Randoulet I am 
not afraid of gendarmes nor of wolves — not 
even of Calisto himself '* They were in the outer 
cave. As she spoke, she began to ascend by 
the narrow passage to the cave's mouth. The 
Sisters followed her. In another minute they 
were standing on the open mountain side — 
broadly overlooking the great plain of Provence 
and the Comtat, and directly overlooking Bédoin. 
So hellish was the sight before them that horror 
struck them dumb! The whole of the little hill 
on which Bédoin was builded was encircled by 
a mighty girdle of fire! 

Over the devoted village hung high a black 
pall of smoke. Below, writhing everywhere like 
serpents, were huge tongues of flame. For a 
moment the flames would shoot upward and 
disclose toppling blackened walls; then they 
would fall again and hide everything in a devil- 
ish glare. The smoke was rising higher and 
higher — to the very stars — like a black water- 
spout. In the reflected light of this fury çf red 
flame the seven spines of dark Ventour were 
bathed in crimson — and the intervening gorges 
were as black leeches wallowing in blood. 



aClje Burning of Siboin 233 



While they watched, the three gates of the 
town fell blazing — and the outer flames rushed 
through the openings and charged into the 
masses of brushwood piled everywhere in the 
streets. In an instant, it seemed, a vast pillar 
of flame mounted upward and pierced with 
a murderous crimson the overhanging black 
smoke canopy. Then the brushwood within 
the five hundred houses caught, with a sudden 
terrible puff of flame ; and after that the doors 
and window-frames and floors and rafters of the 
houses themselves — and a very mountain of 
flame ascended with a mighty roar. Higher 
still rose a whirlwind of flying sparks, that 
flecked the smoke-blackened heavens with 
crimson stars and that churned the outer ed^s 
of the smoke-cloud into a bloody foam. To 
the very gates of heaven seemed to be mount- 
ing the fires of hell ! 

In the midst of that glowing furnace, the 
great church on the crest of the hill remained 
unconsumed. Its thick walls reddened in the 
intense heat and fell away in fiery fragments, 
but their mass stood firm — until the barrel of 
gunpowder did its work. Suddenly there was 
a dull roar, a quaking of the earth — and then 
through the shattered rose- window and through 
the shattered windows of the aisles came black 
clouds of smoke so mighty and so dense that 
for a time they darkened the furiously glaring 
flames. 

At that climax of that devil's work there 
sounded a merry rolling of drums — and the 
watchers on the mountain side saw black shad- 
ows capering against the dazzling brightness as 



234 í£l)e feOliiU Sertor 



the destroyers of Bédoin danced about it ar 
exultant farandole! Outside the line of faran- 
dolers, plainly visible in the fire-glare, were th( 
desolate ones whose homes were vanishing ir 
smoke and flame. 

Spellbound, Adeline and the three nuns stooc 
shivering with horror as they gazed at this mos 
awful spectacle — until they were aroused by i 
close peril of their own. 

**Look! Look!" Adeline exclaimed in í 
frightened whisper. **Over there in th( 
bushes! Surely there is a man there — a mar 
with a gun ! " 

They held their breath while they peerec 
into the bushes and listened intently. The) 
saw nothing, but in a moment they distinctl} 
heard a rustling among the branches. The nexi 
instant a man emerged from the bushes and ad- 
vanced toward them. His figure loomed black 
against the brightness beyond. He carried í 
gun on his shoulder. Dazzled by the glare be- 
hind him, they could not see his face. With í 
scream they turned to run. 

*'Stop! Stop!" cried the man. **Do noi 
be frightened. It is I, Marius!" 

** Oh, how you scared us! " said Sister Mar- 
gai as Marius joined them. 

*' 1 could not come to you sooner," Marius 
explained. *' All day long the gendarmes have 
been searching the mountains. It would have 
betrayed your hiding-place to them had 1 come 
before 1 was quite sure that they were gone." 

**Tell us," asked Mother Dorothy, **wha1 
all this means ? And tell us what has become 
of our dear Cure ? Is he at Pèire-Avon ? " 



aClje Burning of Béòoin 235 

Marius shook his head sadly. **My poor 
Sisters, my poor Adeline," he said, *' I fear that 
never again will you behold him ! " 

** What do you mean ?" Adeline asked in a 
tone that thrilled with dread. 

** I mean," Marius answered brokenly, **that 
early to-day the gendarmes found him and car- 
ried him away prisoner. He — he was brought 
before the Revolutionary Tribunal. By now 
that holy man has perished — off there in those 
flames of hell!" 

As Marius spoke these awful words Adeline 
fell into the arms of Mother Dorothy, her teeth 
clinched and her eyes fixed in a stare of horror. 
Her senses left her. She grew cold and rigid. 
She seemed a dead woman as they carried her 
back into the cave and laid her on a bed of 
leaves. 

When, after a long while, life came back to 
her, her reason was gone. The shock of Mon- 
sieur RandoLilet's dreadful death — of which, as 
it seemed to her, she was the cause — had turned 
her brain. She babbled senselessly — calling: 
**Pascalet! Pascalet! Come and save our dear 
Cure, who is dying for me!" Shivering fits 
seized her. Sweat poured from her. She half 
rose, crying: **I see him! I see him! Come 
quick, Pascalet, and save him from Calisto! Oh, 
come quick! Come quick!" And she shook 
her fist at the nuns who were ministering to 
her, as though they were the Cures mur- 
derers. 

The nuns strove to soothe her, holding her 
gently in their arms. *' Yes, yes, dear child," 
said Mother Dorothy. *' Pascalet is coming to 
16 



23^ Sl)e tDI)ite Sartor 



save him. Pascalet will be here presently, and 
he never will leave you again ! " 

** Hell never leave me again," Adeline an- 
sv^ered. **No, he'll never leave me again. 
Never! " And she laughed shrilly. But her 
laugh v^as only with her lips. Her eyes re- 
mained fixed in a horrified stare. 

Toward morning she grew quieter. Her 
eyes softened, and the few words that she 
spoke showed that her reason was coming 
back to her. As daylight began to thin the 
shadows in the cave she grew drowsy; and 
the nuns, weary from their sad vi^l, nodded to 
each other as much as to say: ** It is over, now." 
And then, suddenly, through the stillness of the 
early morning came the roll of drums beating 
the alarm ; and a little later the sound of firing, 
volley upon volley, crashed upon the sunrise 
silence. Adeline started up from her bed of 
leaves with a shriek. Agam she grew rigid, 
and again the fixed look of horror came into her 
eyes. With a gasp she fell back, swooning. 
When her long swoon ended her mind was a 
clouded blank ! 

Well might the sound of that firing craze 
her, for it meant that over in Bédoin the last 
touch was being put to the devil's work that 
had stained that night with an immeasurable 
crime. When morning came, and the village 
was a smouldering mass of ruins, the great 
church still stood guard upon the hilltop. The 
gunpowder had riven its walls, the flames had 
consumed the wood-work in the belfry and had 
brought the bell crashing to the ground, but the 
building was not destroyed. Therefore there 



(îlje i3urning oí Béòoin 237 

— _ ^ 

was a chance that some of those who had been 
shut up in it before the town was fired still 
might be alive. Calisto was not a man to leave 
* anything to chance in working out his revenge. 
He had sworn the death of Monsieur Randoulet 
— who stood between him and Adeline — and 
he meant to make that death sure. Taking 
with him some men of the Ardèche Battalion, 
he passed upward along the hot street through 
the smoke of the ruins and entered the church 
through the smoke-blackened open doorway. 

Calisto's move was a prudent one. While 
the sixty-three prisoners in the church had suf- 
fered all the pain of a most dreadful death, they 
still were alive. The soldiers found them 
stretched upon the stone pavement, as they had 
fallen when the smoke and heat bereft them of 
consciousness — rriany cruelly wounded by the 
volley of stones that had been discharged among 
them by the exploding gunpowder. As the 
heat died down, and as the fresh morning air 
came in through the gaping windows, they 
slowly were reviving, breathing heavily and 
uttering moans of pain. Monsieur Randoulet 
had not been hurt by the explosion. He had 
risen to his feet and was standing in one of the 
side chapels. Calisto saw him in a moment, 
and in another moment had seized him and had 
dragged him outside. To the soldiers he gave 
the order to bring all the prisoners down to the 
little open space in front of the Porte St. Jean. 
There, over the stump of the Liberty Tree, had 
been set up the guillotine. 

Half supported, half dragged by the soldiers, 
the miserable prisoners— uttering piteous cries 



23^ Sl)e tDI)iu Sertor 

and entreaties — were brought down through 
the wreck of Bédoin. Some of them, still stupe- 
fied by the heat and smoke, walked worider- 
ingly, as in a dream. Others, crying out, re- 
sisted fiercely and had to be driven onward by 
force. Monsieur Randoulet alone made no re- 
sistance and uttered no sound. As they were 
halted, beside the guillotine, he was in the front 
rank. The executioner, leisurely turning up his 
sleeves, was standing beside the knife. 

The Cure was the first to mount the scaffold. 
**The Tree of Liberty has been cut down," he 
cried in a firm voice, ** but in the ground below 
me its root remains. May my blood water that 
root. May the Tree of Liberty grow again ; and 
God grant that it may throw out fresh branches 
which shall shelter humanity from the injustice 
of tyrants! " 

Guided, not forced, by the executioner, he 
took his place. There was an instant of deep 
silence. Then the drums rolled, the knife fell — 
and the root of the Tree of Liberty was watered 
with the blood of a just man! 

The six nobles followed. When their heads 
had fallen the head-basket was full. The execu- 
tioner coolly carried the basket to a near-by 
gully and emptied it. Then came the priests, 
and after them the two nuns. The knife was 
dulled. To sever the head of the second nun 
the executioner was compelled to drop it twice. 
A shiver of horror went through the soldiers on 
guard, with arms presented, about the scaffold. 
Iheir commander, Suchet (he who became a 
Duke of the Empire under Napoleon, and under 
Louis XVIII a peer of France) showed a little 



ffllje Ì3ttrnín9 of Sifboin 239 

mercy. By his order, the remaining prisoners 
were shot. Ranged against a wall, the soldiers 
fired volley after volley until all were dead. 
The sixty-three bodies were thrown into the 
watercourse that was the common sewer of 
Bédoin. 



CHAPTER XXV 

WHITE TERROR REIGNS 

Weeks and months passed before reason re- 
turned to Adeline. One morning she awoke 
smiling, no longer frenzied with fear, no longer 
shrieking for Pascalet to protect her against Surto 
and Calisto and La Jacarasse. To her astonish- 
ment she found herself in a bare little room 
exquisitely neat and clean. Against the wall 
hung a holy- water font in which was a spray of 
blessed olive leaves. Sister Margai was bending 
over her. ** Where am I?" she asked — half 
believing that she dreamed. 

**Dear Adeline," Sister Margai answered, 
** you are in God's own house. You are in the 
Convent of Saint Ursula of Avignon. When 
we came back ourselves we brought you with 
us. Here you are in safety. Our troubles are 
over. The evil times are at an end." 

Sister Margai spoke what she believed to be 
the truth. While Adeline's consciousness had 
slumbered momentous changes had been worked 
in France. A new order had been established. 
The Red Terror had been overthrown. The 
wave of the Revolution upon which Robespierre 
had risen had ended by sweeping him away. 
He who had guillotinea the Monarchy in the 
person of the King, and the Moderate Republic 
240 



iIJI)ite Qíetxox tteigns 241 

in the persons of the Girondists, and the Demo- 
cratic Republic in the person of Danton the Just, 
himself had kissed the block. With him had 
perished the fierce patriot Saint Just, and 
Couthon the friend of the poor. 

But with the passing of the Red Terror, the 
reign of the White Terror had a clear field. 
Forth from their hiding-places poured the ver- 
min of the monarchy — dogs of nobles and cant- 
ing bigots who prayed to their false god that 
the armies of the stranger might conquer their 
own land of France. In their wake came compa- 
nies of thieves and murderers — who robbed, 
who killed, who burned the harvests, who did 
all in their power to weaken France and give 
the foreigners an easy victory. The guillotine, 
that sharp knife of justice, worked in God's 
sunshine; but these Companies of Jehu — with 
the cross on their breasts and the fleur-de-lys in 
their hats — did their vile work in darkness, as 
became beasts of prey. 

Calisto, a thief and a murderer, naturally 
consorted with these murderers and thieves. 
He was one of the very first — when France was 
shaken by the fall of the knife of the Ninth Ther- 
midor — to whip off his red cap, and with a 
fleur-de-lys cut from it sewed to his breast to 
get at the head of a robber company. With 
them he joined in the shout: **Long live the 
King! Death to the Republic!" — a shout that 
rang from end to end of France. Had there 
been but one Calisto, he easily could have been 
disposed of. But there were men like him 
everywhere, who in the name of God and the 
King robbed and murdered and destroyed. In 



242 Qiiit tl3i)iu SerroT 



the North, under the leadership of Ribot, they 
were called Chauffeurs — because every Repub- 
lican who fell into their hands was burned over 
a slow fire, as in the time of the Inquisition. In 
Central France, Moneuse led the ravagers of the 
Maine and Loire. In the South, Trestaillon was 
the chief leader of these infamous battalions. 
Better were the days of the Red Terror, when 
— though the wheat perished also — the tares 
were uprooted. The tribunals of the Revolution 
were no more. In their place was ungovemed 
crime ! 

You may go up to the frontiers, brave Reds 
of the South, to die for France and for Liberty — 
but while you are defending the flag of your 
country against the foe in front, you are power- 
less against the foe in your rear. While you 
fight your glorious battles the Whites are mur- 
dering your old father and your old mother and 
are ravishing your sister. If by chance you do 
not leave your bones on the battle-field, death 
awaits you at the hands of the Whites when 
you come back to your own homes. On the 
frontier the flag of the Revolution still waves 
defiantly — the tri-colour that has struck terror 
into the breasts of tyrants and that has dazzled 
the world. But in the heart of France floats the 
horrible white flag dotted with fleurs-de-Iys — a 
ghastly shroud ready to enwrap Justice and Lib- 
erty and Honour! In the heart of France White 
Terror reigns ! 

To Calisto the turn in the tide was welcome 
that enabled him to end hissans-culotte masquer- 



iDl)ite at^rror Reigns 243 

ading and to be a fine gentleman once more. 
With his garments of silk he assumed the title 
that thenceforward he was determined to bear. 
A clever shuffling of words permitted him to 
make an essay in nobility that asserted this title 
without committing him to it. Changing the 
Provencal Calisto into the French Caliste, and 
abbreviating the French, he began to sign his 
name '* Cte. de la Vernède." It went very well 
— in those days when many a Bastian clipped 
his name into '* baron,"* and many a Marius be- 
came a *' Marquis"! 

But his aspiration to nobility was a matter of 
the daytime. Other matters engaged his atten- 
tion at night. That time of anarchy was a good 
time for turning a dishonest penny, and it also 
was a good time for paying off old scores. Ca- 
listo was not the man to let chances in either of 
these directions slip away; and, also, he was 
burning with a passionate eagerness to get his 
grip upon Adeline before that season of lawless- 
ness should be ended and she should be safe 
against him under the protection of re-established 
law. To help him to search for her, and to seize 
her when she was found, and to help him in his 
revenges and his robberies, his company of cut- 
throats was of prime use to him. It was made 
up of men whom he had selected carefully. So 
long as there was profit in his service he knew 
that he could trust them to serve him faithfully 
— and to do him an unpaid villainous service 
now and then from sheer goodwill. Avignon 
was the best centre for his search for Adeline 
and also for his other operations, and therefore 
to Avignon he came — establishing himself in the 



244 Sl)e tDI)ite Serrot 

house in the Rue du Limas where dwelt Canon 
Jusserand, who also had whipped oflF his red 
cap in a hurry and was wearing his black frock 
again. There his men came to him by night — 
masked or with blackened faces, heavily armed 
— and thence he sallied forth to his searches or 
to his robberies or to work his revenge. His 
score against Jean Caritous was the first that he 
settled — and the story of how he settled it ex- 
hibits a fair sample of what he and others like 
him were doing in those times. 

Calisto's men could fight when fighting was 
necessary, but they preferred that the odds 
should be on their side. Therefore they watched 
and waited until the departure of Father Caritous 
and his other sons with a wagon train for Mar- 
seilles left Jean and his mother in their home 
alone. That gave them even more fighting 
than they wanted, but at least they were sure 
how the matter would end. And so, in the 
blackness of night, they came bravely to Jean's 
door. 

The hour was not late, and Calisto knocked 
at the door as a neighbour would have knocked 
— a friendly and not too vigorous knock, yet a 
knock that had in it insistence. The little lou- 
bet, asleep on guard under the cart, smelt vil- 
lainy and in an instant was awake and was 
barking furiously. Jean, just finishing his sup- 
per, would have opened to such a knock with- 
out hesitation ; but the barking of the loubet, in 
whose judgment he reposed a deserved confi- 
dence, made him waver a little. He went to 
the door slowly, and asked **Who is there?" 
before he made any motion to take down the bars. 



tot)ite ffi^rror fieigns 245 

The answer came instantly: **Vauclair's 
friend, Sergeant Bérigot. Vauclair's wife is in 
trouble and it is on her account that I am here." 

But as Caritous did not recognise the voice, 
and as the loubet was growling angrily, he still 
did not take down the bars. 

** Don't you remember me ?" continued the 
man outside. *Mt was I who sent Vauclair to 
you to arrange about bringing his wife down 
from Paris. If you still are his friend, and hers, 
open to me. They need your help again." 
Then Caritous, hesitating no longer, took down 
the bars and opened the door. 

In an instant two men had seized him, while 
a third clapped a handful of tow over his mouth 
as he cried out for help. In another instant he 
was bound as well as gagged. A kick from one 
of the men got rid of the poor little dog — break- 
ing his ribs, and sending him to gasp out his 
faithful little life in a corner of the court. Then 
the door was closed and barred again, and four 
of the ruffians lifted Caritous and carried him 
into his own house. With a shriek of terror 
Mother Caritous greeted the incoming of this 
masked and armed company, bearing her son 
bound. Then her distaff fell from her hand and 
she fainted away. 

Without paying the slightest attention to 
Mother Caritous, the men seated Jean on a chair 
in front of the cheerfully blazing fire and re- 
moved the gag — as Calisto held a pistol to his 
head and said: ** Republican dog! It was you 
who brought from Paris the wife and the child 
of that other Republican dog, Vauclair; and 
with them the Comtessine d'Ambrun! " 



246 9Hit tiìt\itt Serror 

** Yes, I did," Jean answered, trying to peer 
over the barrel of the pistol to see what had be- 
come of his mother. **And I did well!" 

** For that alone you deserve death, but you 
committed still another crime: you carried them 
away from Avignon and helped them to find a 
hiding-place in the village of Malemort." 

*'Yes, 1 did," Jean repeated, "and in that 
also 1 did well." 

'' You served the Republic, brigand that you 
are!" 

'*1 did my duty." 

** You committed treason against the King! " 

** The King himself was a traitor! " 

** Well, never mind that. If you will tell me 
where Lazuli and Adeline are to be found 1 will 
give you your life." 

** 1 couldn't tell you if 1 wanted to. I don't 
know. 1 wouldn't tell you if 1 did! " 

"Why.?" 

* * Because you are a murderer, and I don't 
betray my friends to murderers." 

*' You do not know who 1 am." 

** Yes, 1 know you through your mask. You 
are Calisto des Sablées, the bastard of Canon 
Jusserand. You murdered your master, the 
Comte de la Vernède, and you stole his estate." 

''Scoundrel! Do you dare, you who in a 
moment will die, to speak such words to me! " 

"The truth is worse for you than a pistol- 
shot or a knife thrust. It is I who am killing you." 

" That is enough. Tell me where Lazuli and 
Adeline are hidden. Refuse to tell me, and you 
and your mother shall burn together here in your 
own house! " 



tì31)ite ffi^rror Reigns 247 

** Shoot me, burn me, do what you like with 
me, but do not hurt my mother. Surely you 
would not hurt my mother ? But, to be sure, 
you never had one. You don't know what a 
mother is!" 

*' Stop your jabber and tell us what we want 
to know," broke in one of the masked men. 
** Speak up, and in a hurry. We can't fool, 
away a whole night on you." 

Caritous was startled by the man's voice. 
Speaking to Calisto he said: *' Would you like 
to make a good bargain with me ? " 

'* What is your bargain ? " 

*Mt is this : If you will promise to let my 
mother alone 1 will tell you where you can find 
a big treasure. After that you may kill me as 
soon as you please." 

** Yes, I will make that bargain. Speak." 

**You promise that you will not hurt my 
mother ? " 

** Yes, I promise." 

** Well, that man who has just spoken, who 
is in such a hurry to see me dead, is a robber like 
yourself. His name is Bastian. He has stolen 
a lot of treasure from the churches. It is hid- 
den " 

But Bastian threw himself on the bound and 
helpless man and seized him by the throat. 
*M'll tear your lying tongue out!" he shouted. 
And added, to the others : * ' 1 would not give him 
my daughter Genevieve in marriage, and this is 
how he is trying to revenge himself on me. He 
is telling rotten lies," and he thrust back the gag 
into Jean's mouth. Then, that he might torture 
the son through the mother, he dragged Mother 



243 Si)e tDliiu (terror 



Caritous from where she had fallen to toast her 
before the fire. With an oath, half of anger and 
half of fear, he loosed his hold upon her and she 
fell heavily to the floor. He was balked of his 
cruelty, fright and shock had done their work. 
She was dead. Her son had no time in which 
to mourn her. Furious that he refused to give 
up his secret, Calisto seized an axe and with a 
single blow split open Jean's head. 

Then the pillage began, the best of it being 
ten bags of crowns which they found hidden 
under a heap of rubbish beneath the stair. They 
divided the money hurriedly, and then heaped 
the furniture in the centre of the room, above 
the bodies, and fired it. With a shout of " Vive 
le roi ! " they were off into the blackness of the 
night. 

The next day the charred bodies of Jean and 
his mother were taken from the ruins of that 
hospitable home. In the smouldering stable 
was a shapeless mass that once had been the 
famous white-footed horse. In the court-yard 
was the little dead dog. 

To preserve appearances, the Procureur de la 
Justice went through the form of an official in- 
quiry — but nothing came of it. The neighbours 
were careful not to tell that they had heard the 
furious barking of the dog, that they had heard 
unusual noises in the house; and most of all 
were they careful not to tell that they had heard 
a shout of '•' Vive le roi! " They were wise in 
their generation, the neighbours. They had 
heads of their own which might be split open, 
and houses of their own which might be burned ! 



CHAPTER XXVI 

THE COMPANIONS OF JEHU 

While the Procureur de la Justice made his 
abortive inquiry, Calisto promenaded the Place 
de I'Horloge dressed in his suit of silk and ele- 
gantly twirling his gold-headed cane. His 
henchmen, less elegant, made merry with their 
loot of silver crowns. They found the proceed- 
ings of the Procureur vastly amusing — and they 
continued their robbings and their killings with 
a good heart. 

But Calisto was too much an amateur of 
such sport not to have a hand in the larger kill- 
ings which were going on in the South in those 
days, and too kindly in his nature not to give 
his men the pleasure of hearing about them 
when he returned from his jaunts. Moreover — 
his men being of the opinion that killing with- 
out robbery, save in isolated cases, was a waste 
of time — Calisto, who was a patriot, wished to 
enforce upon them his own statesmanlike con- 
viction that the killing off of the King's enemies 
presently would bring the King to his own 
again : and so there was a moral to the stories 
which he told. 

** You think that there is no sense in a kill- 
ing that isn't paid for," he said. *' Now listen 
to what I am going to tell you, and you will see 

249 



250 (lilt tl3l)ite Sertot 

that you are wrong. Last week, down at Mar- 
seilles, I was present at the great executions 
which took place in Fort Saint Nicholas and 
Fort Saint Jean. Well, of the one hundred and 
thirty wretches whose account was settled, no 
less than eighty were men who had belonged 
to the infamous Marseilles Battalion — ^those ex- 
ecrable Reds of the Midi who went up to Paris 
to besiege the King's castle and who murdered 
the brave Swiss defenders of our King ! Yes, 
eighty of those brigands perished! Now wasn't 
that magnificent ? Wasn't that the justice of 
God ? It is true that there was no money in it, 
but there was something almost as good as 
money — for those monsters were more to be 
feared than wolves in a fold. Though they 
were fettered and shut up in the dungeons of 
the fort, and though we were armed, we had 
to lay a regular siege to them ; and they fought 
like the brigands that they were. Why, one of 
them — a one-armed and one-eyed fellow named 
Margan — managed to snatch an axe from one 
of our people and went to work with it like a 
fiend incarnate. He got his back against the 
wall and cut and slashed with his axe at such a 
rate that we only got the better of him by pin- 
ning him through at long range with our bayo- 
nets. And even then, dying on our bayonets 
and with his blood spurting out in streams, he 
defied us by crying * Vive la République ! ' 
Now, 1 put it to you, wasn't it worth while to 
kill off a hound like that just for the good of the 
cause and without pay ? 

' ' Coming back from Marseilles 1 had a hand in 
another game of the same sort in Tarascon. Shut 



Sl)e (frompaniond of 3tì)n 251 

up there in King Rene's Castle were thirty more 
of the brigands — not members of that infamous 
Red Battalion, to be sure, but almost as bad. 
Some of them belonged in Tarascon, the rest 
came from Graveson and Barbentane and the 
other roundabout towns. Of course it was ab- 
surd to keep alive in a comfortable prison a 
parcel of scoundrels who ought to be dead and 
broiling in hell. Some honest friends of mine 
were quite agreed with me as to what ought to 
be done, and we set to work and did it — posting 
a proclamation that the prisoners had mutinied 
and were about to break out from the Castle, 
and ending it with a call to the loyal Whites of 
Tarascon to crush the mutineers. In no time 
we had half a hundred brave fellows together, 
all belonging to the Companions of Jehu or to 
the Companions of the Sun. That was as many 
as we wanted, and away we went to the 
Castle. It was between nine and ten at night, 
and the full moon gave us almost the light 
of day. 

* * We knocked at the Castle gate, and when 
the keepers opened to us we clapped pistols to 
their heads and shut them fast in an out-of-the- 
way room in their own jail. Then there was 
nobody to bother us, and we went at our work 
comfortably. The brigands were in the two 
towers overlooking the Rhone, twelve in one 
tower and eighteen in the other. We got rid 
of the twelve easily and quickly. They were 
asleep on a heap of straw. We went in quietly, 
and before they knew what had happened we 
had finished them with bayonets and iron bars. 
Then we carried them, dead or wounded, to 
17 



252 Si)e tDliiu Serror 

the top of the tower and pitched them over the 
battlements into the Rhone. 

** In the other tower, though, it was another 
song. The groans and the cnes of some of .the 
fellows we were carrying up the stair, and the 
splashing they made as they struck the water, 
had waked up the eighteen rascals and had put 
them on their guard. They twisted the legs off 
a big table that they had in their room and so 
armed themselves with clubs, and with the rest 
of the table they barricaded the door. Then 
they sung out to us that if we wanted a fight to 
come on. But we weren't going to risk our 
skins unless we had to, and we tried a trick on 
them. The Procureur was with us, and as some 
of them were likely to know his voice we made 
him talk. 

'* *lt is I, the Procureur du Roi,' he called 
through the key-hole. M am here to let you 
out of prison and to send you to your homes. 
Why have you barricaded the door ? Open it, 
and you shall go free.' 

* ' * Yes, ' a brigand inside answered, * we 
shall go free as our brothers have gone — into 
the Rhone!' 

** * It is precisely to save you from that fate 
that 1, the Procureur du Roi, am here. Open to 
me. 1 have come to set you free.' 

** * You lie, and you know you lie! ' answered 
the brigand. * 1 know you! ' 

***And 1 know you. You are Lieutard 
of Graveson. You sent your two sons off" to 
fight in the army of the Republic. You deserve 
death, for you are a traitor to your King! * 

*' 'If I deserve death, come and kill me!' 



®i)e dLomvaniotííi of Jíel|tt 253 

shouted the insolent brute — and then all of the 
insolent brutes together set to yelling ' Vive la 
République ! ' till they drove us almost wild. 

.; ** After that, since they knew what we 
wanted, there was no use in mincing matters; 
so we got up axes and tried to smash in the 
door. But the door was lined with iron and 
we couldn't smash it in. Our men were furious. 
* Death to the brigands ! ' they shouted, while 
the brigands answered us with * Death to the 
Tyrant!' And for a while we yelled at each 
other through the door that they wouldn't open 
and that we couldn't break in. 

'* Then one of our men, a mason, had a good 
idea. * From the floor above,' he said, ' we can 
take out the keystone of the vault of this room. 
Then we can throw down burning tow and fire 
the straw that serves them for a bed— and so 
smoke them out, as you smoke a fox out of his 
hole ! • 

** Up the stair we all scrambled with a shout; 
and there we found, by a miracle of God, that 
the keystone was loose and could be lifted out 
from its setting — having been arranged that way 
of old, so that the prisoners in that chamber 
could be spied upon from above. Then we had 
indeed the upper hand; and when the brigands 
saw us looking down at them through the hole 

' they changed their tune and went to singing 
small. They promised to open to us provided 
we would spare their lives; and we, ready to 
promise anything, told them that their lives 
should be spared provided they would come out 
one by one, stark naked, and with nothing in 
their hands. And to that they agreed. 



^û • -> kaw 1 .•»• ^w*«^« 



' ■ I 

■ ■ 

1 



. : : .-;..-.:-- -'t ::-ì: ~ir. We 

: .'- ' • - ':i :: :: ::' the tower. 

' / :'-: v. -: i'.ir. t keep him for 

'■' • : - ' •■: -*. :.'.: r.-jjr: we forced him 

' : .: "/.'. — \r.t7. :r. went the knife. 

.'. ':.r *■■,'//. :'r.-j t::'ïte for bread out of 

.. : .. •' •:•; h.jVi-.ments he went into the 

A:.' /j it went with them — up the 

.i.r ;::. : '//':r ♦:.*: battlements — until the room 

7/'- li;i'lii Î ki!pt Cijreful count of them, as 
//!• .li'iuM li.'ivc done, but to some of us it 
'iinrd tli;it we'd only polished ofiF seventeen ; 
iiid while we were talking about it the Pro- 

iirciii '..lid that he was sure that we had missed 

kiiI.ikI the worst villain of them all. * I can't 
T ini'.ijkcii,' said the Procureur. * That brigand 
'I .1 I.iciiiiird looks like nobody but himself. 

il know iiirn anywhere by his big black beard. 
" Well." said 1. Mt's easy enough to settle 
hi' in.itici. Thev all came out naked. We 

111 loiiiii liieii shirts. If there are eighteen 
.IniiN wv'll know tor sure that we've linishei 

!\»- ^:^dìl.\•î1 HUM!.' 

■ ■ Mv^:^s\';:: \c c'omto is right/ said :he Pr:- 

>■ \« vi v.v \^.. >i^ >^^.>. •it.wa kVb-..»wk. .. « 

, . . ' ■ \ , ^ \\ »■ " .'■■«•»•.».> «^ .-^' "^^ .1-^^ • -. •• "^ c ~ 

■ ^ I V \ \\v,^ V.^..«k^..V.'. 4«.^...* ... «_ ^_ 

.X .,■.,■"' N- ..-■■»» .^ .""N» '«■-••^ C--^-'^- 

\\ . , ■/ w . '. 

.'.. .V. .>\\^ W^ ;. i^...:. ..- r 

- e'" 



Sl)e €omi)anions of Ji^t)tt 255 

ing * Vive la République! ' and as we looked up 
in a hurry we saw a big black-bearded naked 
man standing on the battlements of the tower. 
The next instant he went flashing down through 
the moonlight and shot with a great splash into 
the Rhone! Back we hurried to the river bank, 
and in a moment we saw him swimming away 
strongly toward the Beaucaire shore. Those of 
us who had guns cracked away at him ; but we 
could not make him out well in the broken 
water, and the rush and the swirl of the river 
swung him about at such a rate that he was not 
a good mark. After awhile, though, we lost 
sight of him ; and were sure that one of our balls 
had hit him and had done for him. We waited 
awhile, listening; but we heard only the gur- 
gling murmur of the little whirlpools — as they 
boiled up and broke in that strong current hur- 
rying on to the sea. At last we turned away — 
and just then what did we hear but * Long live 
the Republic! Death to the Tyrant! ' coming in 
a faint shout from the Beaucaire shore! The 
next day we went back to the Castle and found 
out how he had managed to get away from us. 
Then, in broad daylight, we could see that there 
was a lot of fresh soot and broken scraps of 
mortar in the fireplace. What he had done was 
to strip himself, and then wriggle up the chim- 
ney to the roof of the tower. And so," said 
Calisto in moralizing conclusion, **that time 
the devil took care of his own! " 

** And is that infamous brigand still alive ?*' 
' asked Lou Pounchu, one of the worst of Calisto's 
Oimflfians. 'Mf he is, let us find him and kill him 
thei.once!" 



256 Sl|e tì)l)iu (íertúr 

**He is alive," Calisto answered; *'l 
will be dead before another daybreak, 
lead you to him to-night — and you will 
what to do when you have him in your I 
We will kill him for the good of the c 
there will be no chance in his case for ro 
But you shall not come back empty-hi 
When we have finished with him we wil 
in upon our friend Bastian and ask hin 
friendly way to give us a share of his swa| 
the churches. He has not behaved towi 
as a good comrade should behave- Since 
tous told us about his treasure we have n- 
eyes on him For him to forsake our cor 
in this fashion is as uncivil as his faili 
divide with us is unfair. To-night, then, 
are agreed, we will pay him a friendly cal 
doubt we can induce him to apologize to 
a practical way ! " 

**No doubt we can!" said Lou Po' 
grimly. And he and the others fingered 
knives. 



CHAPTER XXVII 

A DARK night's WORK 

Calisto did not know where the patriot 
Lieutard was hidden, and he did not intend to 
take his men in search of him. But he did mean 
to take them to a killing, and he had told his 
story with the deliberate purpose of inflaming 
their minds. There still was one man in Avi- 
gnon who he believed might be able to tell him 
where Lazuli and Adeline were hidden, and that 
was Vauclair's friend Sergeant Bérigot. It was 
to Sergeant Bérigot's house that his men were 
to be led. 

When they came together at the house of 
Canon Jusserand, after nightfall, Calisto had 
doffed his fine clothes and was dressed, as were 
the others, coarsely. Each man wore on the 
breast of his carmagnole — his rough woollen 
jacket — a red cross; and on his hat a red fleur- 
de-Iys. AH of them were armed with knives 
and pistols. When they had put on masks, or 
had blackened their faces, they were ready to 
start. 

Calisto led them to the Rue du Pont Troué and 
halted them before a sorry little house of which 
the door stood ajar — as is the custom with the 
houses of the very poor. There was a light in 
an upper window, and from the room where the 

257 



258 Slic ttDI)ite Ztxxox 

light was came the ron-ron of a winder, and the 
quick click-clack of a silk- weaver's loom. With 
these sounds came also the fretful whimperings 
of a sleepy child, and the soft melody of a lul- 
laby: 

Baby's 50 sleepy ! 

Baby, wants Sleep ! 
Why won't Sleep come to him? 

Come, naughty Sleep ! 

'* Here we are," said Calisto. "Follow me 
softly," and he pushed the door open gently and 
crept up the stair with his men at his heels. In 
spite of their caution, their groping hands and 
stumbling feet gave the alarm. The sound of 
the loom and of the winder stopped. So did 
the lullaby. As Calisto felt in the dark for the 
door-latch a man's voice cried out sharply: 
'* Who's there?" 

Calisto had found the latch. He flung the 
door open, and crying "Yield to the King's jus- 
tice! " tried to rush into the room. But the lit- 
tle room was crowded so full by the loom and 
the winder and the cradle that there barely was 
space to squeeze into it past the partly opened 
door. His men could not follow him. Being 
inside, he could not get around the loom to Ser- 
geant Bérigot without shutting the door again 
and so cutting himself off from his support He 
drew his pistol and levelled it at the sergeant — 
whose wife had flung herself, screaming, upon 
the cradle to protect the child. 

Sergeant Bérigot, who had not served in the 
National Guard for nothing, kept his wits about 
him. As Calisto raised the pistol he blew out 
the light. Taking the chances, Calisto fired in 



% SDark Nigljfô toork 259 

the dark. There was a sound of scuffling on 
the floor that made him believe that he had hit 
his man. But he had not. Bérigot had dropped 
to the floor and was crawling under the loom. 
The next instant Calisto's legs were jerked from 
under him, and in an instant more Bérigot had 
squeezed him through the doorway and had 
flung him down stairs on the heads of his own 
men. Then worse happened. In the pitch 
darkness his men thought that they had got 
hold of the escaping Sergeant. ** I've got him ! " 
cried Lou Pounchu, and he settled his fingers 
into Calisto's throat in what was meant to be a 
death-grip. 

Sergeant Bérigot himself undeceived them. 
With his weaver's bar he hammered away from 
the top of the stair, breaking so many heads 
that the cowards — not venturing in that black 
pocket to use their pistols, for fear of hitting 
each other — fairly took to their heels. Down 
they came with a rush, trampling on Calisto, 
and down came Bérigot, brandishing his bar, 
after them. He too trampled on Calisto, and 
fancied that he had been lucky enough to kill 
one of his assailants. He did not stop to make 
investigations. On he went after the others, 
and fairly chased them to the end of the street. 
Then, very short of wind, he came back to have 
a look at the dead man on his stair. 

But, alas, it was no dead man ! Calisto was 
badly bruised, but he was very much alive. He 
was just leaving the house when he heard the 
sound of Bérigot's returning footsteps. Drawing 
his other pistol, he hid himself behind the door. 
And God was not watching ! God was not there ! 



26o Sde totiite Cerror 



Bérigot entered the house, stepping gingerly 
in the darkness because of the dead body that 
he thought was lying there. " Don't be fright- 
ened, dearie," he called to his wife. "I've dnven 
off the Royalist murderers. We're safe now." 
And he began to ascend the stair. 

And then, behind him, a voice shouted : 
** Brigand! Long live the King! " For the sec- 
ond time a pistol shot shook the little house, 
and this time it was a shot that killed. The ball 
struck Bérigot between the shoulders. He fell 
forward on his own stair, dead. 

Having made sure in the darkness that his 
work was accomplished, Calisto left the house 
and slowly and painfully made his way toward 
the Rue du Limas. Presently he met his men — 
grown braver when Bérigot's back was turned 
on them — coming back to look for him. It gave 
them sincere pleasure to learn that Bérigot was 
dead. Their heads were aching from the ham- 
mering that he had given them with his devil 
of a weaver's bar. 

** And now," said Rocofort — a Rhone porter 
who had given up porterage for robbery — " we'll 
pay our visit to friend Bastian." 

**Yes," said Lou Pounchu. '* We'll go to 
him really as friends and ask him to divide. 
And he'd better meet us as friends and make a 
fair division — if he don't, he'll have to cut his 
stick like the others, and we'll take the whole! " 

Just then there was a noise that made them 
all shiver. It sounded like the roll of a drum; 
and the music of drums — with which patrols 
were apt to be associated — was not pleasant in 
their ears. It drew nearer steadily, and though 



^ mark Nigljt'ô ttJork 261 

it sounded less and less drum-like, it was a 
noise that they could not account for and that 
thrilled them with a lively fear. As it came 
quite close, they squeezed themselves into a 
deep doorway ; and so waited until the danger, 
whatever it was, should pass. They were a 
little ashamed of themselves when there came 
around the corner a man wheeling a rumbling 
wheel-barrow. But in another moment, forget- 
ting their fears and remembering their business 
duties, they had lined up across the street and 
Lou Pounchu called sharply: '* Halt! Long live 
the King!" 

"Long live the King!" answered the man 
with the wheel-barrow. 

All of them recognised the voice. ** Why! " 
exclaimed Rocofort, *Mt is our good friend Bas- 
tian ! And what in the world are you wheeling 
around in your wheel-barrow at this time of 
night, Bastian ? Is it your church treasure that 
you have here under the manure ? " 

**Yes," Bastian answered, perceiving that 
he was caught and must make the best of it. 
** 1 was taking it off to hide it in a fresh place, 
where 1 was going to bring you to divide it 
with me. But since we've happened to meet, 
this way, we might just as well divide it now." 
In truth, Bastian was in a hurry to make the 
division and so get rid of them. If he could 
satisfy them with this small part of his treasure, 
the rest would be safe. 

In a moment they all were crowded close 
about the wheel-barrow, the covering of manure 
was scratched away, and each snatched up the 
biggest piece of silver that he could lay hands 



202 Stie tDt|ite Serror 

on. **Stop, comrades, stop!" said Calisto. 
**We must divide evenly. This is a game at 
which we must play fair." And then, turning 
to Bastian, he added: "You know just what 
you've got here, Bastian. Sort it out into six 
parcels of about equal value. Then we'll settle 
the ownership of each by drawing lots." 

**Into six parcels?" Bastian grumbled. 
** Don't you mean me to have a share of what 
is all my own ?'* 

**Yes, that's only fair," said the others. 
** Bastian ought to have a share of his own 
swag." 

The finest piece of the treasure was a mag- 
nificent monstrance — a great golden sun richly 
studded with precious stones. By common 
consent, this was set aside as the share of 
•'Monsieur le Comte." What remained — ^the 
pyxes and chalices and salvers and basins and 
ewers — was sorted out by Bastian into six little 
heaps, ranged in a row on the cobble stones of 
the street and showing dimly as here and there 
the polished silver caught the reflection of the 
stars. Then Lou Pounchu turned his back on 
the heaps, and Rocofort pointed to one of them 
and asked: '* Whose is this one ?*' 

'• Mine! " Lou Pounchu answered promptly, 
and there was a little laugh at his eagerness to 
make sure of his own. The remaining five were 
disposed of in the same fashion, and then, by 
way of a joke, Rocofort pointed to Lou Poun- 
chd's knife, that had dropped beside the wheel- 
barrow, and asked: **To whom does this be- 
long ? " Puzzled by the question, Lou Pounchu 
turned around to see at what Rocofort pointed. 



^ SDark Mgljfo tUork 263 

'*0h," he answered, entering into the joke, 
**that belongs to the Republic. She shall have 
it in her heart!" 

They separated, each with his share of the 
spoil ; and Calisto slowly and painfully — for his 
bones were aching and his monstrance was a 
heavy load — made his way to the house of the 
Canon Jusserand. Although the hour was late 
the Canon had not gone to bed. Hearing Ca- 
listo unlocking the door and locking it again, he 
came shuffling out in his slippers to meet him — 
and stopped in astonishment when he saw by 
the light of the lamp in the passage what Ca- 
listo bore in his arms. With a seemly reverence 
he bent his knees before the monstrance and 
very devoutly made the sign of the cross. As 
he arose he asked in wonder: **How did that 
holy treasure come into your hands ? " 

**By the will of God," Calisto answered, 
with an admirable reverence of tone and a com- 
prehensive disregard of fact. ** 1 was searching, 
as I am always searching, for the Comtessine — 
and in the house of a Republican brigand 1 found 
this sacred vessel. As it was more fit that I 
should have it than he, I brought it away. The 
wretch had it hidden in a pile of dung! " 

** Sacrilege!" exclaimed the Canon, raising 
his eyes to heaven. And then, lowering his 
eyes, he asked: **And the Comtessine.^ Did 
you get news of her ? " 

**No, none," Calisto answered in a melan- 
choly tone. ** 1 am satisfied that she cannot be 
in Avignon. She still must be hidden some- 
where in the mountains, among the wolves." 

** She is not hidden in the mountains," said 



204 8t|e toliite Serror 



the Canon, speaking slowly and earnestly. 
**She is here in Avignon. I saw her, 1 spolce 
with her, this very day!" 

Calisto sprang to his feet "Impossible!" 
he cried. 

** No, it is not impossible. What I tell you 
is true. She is in the Convent of Saint Ursula. 
To-morrow you shall see her for yourself, I 
will take you with me there to serve the mass." 

Canon jusserand arose from his seat, knelt 
again before the monstrance and crossed him- 
self; and then, without another word, shuffled 
off to bed ! 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

THE SERPENT AND THE WREN 

Calisto's delight was so great that it quite 
confounded him. In a maze he listened to the 
lessening sound of the Canon's shuffling steps. 
When he heard them no longer he half fancied 
that he must be dreaming, and pinched himself 
and rubbed his eyes. Could it be possible, he 
asked himself, that Adeline really was found .^ 
That she was there in Avignon, close to him ? 
That on the coming morning he would see her, 
perhaps speak to her ? That presently he would 
bring her away from her convent, and would 
carry her as his bride to the Chateau de la Ver- 
nèdê ? His mind was in a whirl! 

As. he grew calmer, and realized that his 
happiness was founded in very truth, thoughts 
of his glad future went softly through his mind. 
Ah, he would be so good to her, so gentle with 
her! He had had enough of his robber and 
murderer life. Peace and tranquility in the 
companionship of that innocent and beautiful 
young girl would be welcome to him ! Thence- 
forward his life should be that of a worthy cit- 
izen and an honourable nobleman. He had 
promised to join the Royalist army that had 
proclaimed the King at Carpentras, that was 
ravaging all the region thereabouts and spilling 

. 265 



266 QTlie tOì^iìt Serror 

the blood of the Reds in streams. Well, that 
promise should be cancelled. Others should 
punish the Reds for their treason. His part in 
the new order of things should be worthily to 
maintain the traditions of the nobility upon his 
own estates. And all was such plain sailing 
before him. Adeline was safe in a convent, 
clear away from the malignant influence of the 
Vauclairs; he had her mother's written com- 
mand that she should marry him ; if she ven- 
tured to resist that command he had Canon 
Jusserand, her confessor, to tell her that it was 
the will of Heaven that she should obey. His 
position was impregnable. What he wanted 
he surely would have. Ah, life was opening 
fairly to him at last! 

Tired out by the galloping of these thoughts 
through his brain, and sore and weary from his 
night's work, he went to his bed. But sleep 
would not come to him. In the darkness his 
bright hopes left him and in their place came 
black memories of his crimes: the murder of 
Bérigot that very night ; of the prisoners in Mar- 
seilles and Tarascon the week before; of six 
peasants at Caromb, whom he had forced to dig 
their own graves and then had caused to be 
shot while their wives and children stood close 
by ; of old Bern us de Mazan — so old, over ninety 
years, that he had been carried forth from his 
home ip his big arm-chair. His own son, a 
priest, had been forced to confess and to absolve 
him, and then to stand by while Calisto thrust 
a knife into the old man's heart. And so, from 
crime to crime, his memory went back to the 
first of all: when he murdered his kind old 



mnd, ®l)e Berpent anb tlje tDren 267 

lh^)s ! — ^— 

'"En^ster, the Comte de la Vernède. There in 
!j? 'vfe darkness he feit again the hot blood spurt- 
mn.t ^ into his face from the three deep stabs that 
9^ ' th gave to the man who had been a father to 
''■ ''eili. No water ever could w^sh away the taint ' 
woii ofijgt blood — and because he was tainted by 
hantiehe thought with a shivering groan, never 
« tijd the Comtessine consent to lay her pure 
o' '■>yald in his.. 

"■^g'lditThat dismal conviction changed the current 
P ^'tiafiis thoughts and sent him ofTinto a frenzy of 
J^J^fi tie against the Vauclairs — by whom, as he be- 
rniecr ed, Adeline had been told of his crime. 
rh^]A "t^^ting his intended reformation, he was 
l^iUdteai with a fierce desire to murder all three of 
j ^veoj. ,_(hg father, the mother, the brat of a 
Ì"fî^['^°'- With them well out of the way he be- 
'oid iiebef that he couid convince Adeline. Canon 
j"^"- '.alind helping him. that all which they had 
L .^y" tor ;ibout him was a parcel of lies. " And 



^ad beei 



.>Oi|ie said to himseli, "everything would 



^""'•^.sf^iowith me. 1 would prove to her that I 
nm 1 ^*"^ hi her mother's friend and confidant; 1 
■nnH "«*'o ow her that 1 was unselfish by restor- 
,""""" a-tha her chateau and her estates; 1 would 
Sbt/ tttr to believe in my virtue by my good 
^teem nieer * a citizen and by my charity to the 
"e her lovje ft could not but respect me, and then 
Day ■w-po'''*; in the end, surely, she would give 
street theood*,!" 

■walking crimes beginning to break. Out in the 
»ng gre€ stay/ captains of the Rhone boats were 
his attet poyto the near-by wharves, shouting morn- 
Aings to each other. Calisto gave over 
Tipt to sleep and got up — moving stiffly 



268 Slie totiite Serror 

because of his bruised body, but very ligh 
heart. He had business to transact before gc 
with the Canon to serve the mass in the C 
vent of Saint Ursula — a message to send of 
inform Lou Pounchu that he would not go 
that night with the Verdets. This was on 
the larger robber companies. It took its n; 
from the green ribbon worn on the arm of í 
of its members, and its usual field of action 
Lower Provence. By preference, it preyed u 
Reds and Moderates ; but its members were 
rigorously bound by the ties of politics and 
broad-minded way robbed wherever mo 
was to be found. 

Calisto's decision not to go out with 
Verdets was based in part in his newly-fc 
intention to lead the hfe of a reputable ci 
But for some little time he had been dr 
toward that same intention for reasons of í 
sort. With each passing month a certai 
eral Bonaparte was becoming more and 
a power in the affairs of France, anc" 
would use his power in the intere 
Royalists seemed to be utterly in 
There even were whispers that he ^ 
his power for himself alone; that he * 
set the Directorv and make himself ' *^ 
France. That he could do this if he y 
do it, the keen-sighted Calisto did ^'^ 
Already Bonaparte had done a grea ' ^ 
had taken Avignon back from the ^ 

he had wrenched Toulon from the 
and the English; he had routed five 
armies and one Piedmontese army, ; 
compelled the rulers of Sardinia and i 



QH)c Qcxptnt anb tl)^ ÍÎJr^n 269 



id Tuscany and Austria and the Pope himself 

sue for peace; he had set up beyond the Alps 

new Republic. Such a devil of a man as that 

bviously could do anything. Therefore it was 

Dt all for love that Calisto was disposed to put 

Ì the garments of good citizenship. That was 

neutral garb. Being clad in it, he could await 

: outcome of events in safety. If the King 

ime to his own again, well and good. In 

lat case Calisto would be the stanchest of 

.oyalists, and would claim Royal protection in 

Iding his title and his estates. If this man 

Dnaparte came to the front, then Calisto would 

the stanchest of the supporters of what- 

er form of government happened to be 

up — and would claim protection in his 

ites certainly, and in his title if titles sur- 

îd. 

Monsieur le Comte de la Vernède was far 

I being singular in holding fast to this highly 

:ical patriotism. And as we look through 

ice to-day we see ample proof that his policy 

a policy that paid. Many a titled gentle- 

who now wears the fleur-de-lys got his 

and his estate to support it, from a grand- 

• who stole them both. The points may 

ged that these Royalist grandsons of thieves 

-day the supporters of religion and of order ; 

under any circumstances, that they are not 

nsible for their grandfathers' crimes. And 

3se points the answer may be made that 

J blood of these respectable rich men is the 

. of crime ready to germinate. While their 

es stay by them they well may be honest. 

: let poverty come to pinch them and we need 



270 QH)t Úìì)itt SerroT 

not doubt that off they will go, every one of 
them, to their old trade! 

But no such moral reflections as these 
troubled Calisto on that morning which followed 
the night of Sergeant Bérigof s murder. His 
face was set forward, and the murder of poor 
Bérigot was a thing already of the past. Light 
of heart, he sent off the servant with his mes- 
sage to Lou Pounchu; and then set himself to 
dressing in his finest suit of silk, to making his 
person elegant with powder and pomade, 
that he might be ready betimes to go with 
Canon J usserand to serve the mass. The thought 
of the happiness so soon to come to him thrilled 
him with delight. Already he felt Adeline's 
hand in his as he led her over the threshold of 
the Chateau de la Vernede in the forest of 
Aramon. There she would be his very own; 
there this lily of virtue would hide the dung- 
heap of his crimes! He was impatient to be off 
to the convent. He chafed at each moment of 
delay. 

But Monsieur le Chanoine Jusserand was 
sleeping like a saint! He had no reason for ris- 
ing especially early that morning, and he slum- 
bered on as slumbers one whose conscience is 
at ease. In point of fact, it was at ease. That 
fanatic for King and Pope was satisfied with 
his own doings. Acting in perfect good faith, 
when the Pope's Legate ruled in Avignon, he 
had presided over the tribunal which condemned 
poor wretches to have their tongues pierced 
with red-hot irons, and then to pass on to the 
galleys, for the sin of taking God's name in vain ; 
which condemned the father of a family to the 




®l)e Berpent anò the ÍÎJrcn 271 

strapado or the rack for the crime of walking the 
streets at night without a lantern. In the same 
good faith, when the Royalist order came from 
Coblenz, he had put on the red cap and had 
helped Maignet — that wolf of the Terror — to 
guillotine moderate Republicans and those who 
were lukewarm for the Pope. Heaven and the 
Pope himself approved of every means which 
would restore the country to the King and the 
Church to its rights again; therefore he felt that 
he was doing his duty in furthering excesses of 
cruelty which would hasten reaction in favour 
of his temporal and spiritual lords. And the 
men of the Terror were so blind that they suf- 
fered this game to be played! They suffered 'a 
priest who had spit at the banner of the Rights 
of Man to disguise himself in a red cap and to 
make tools of them to send the reddest of Reds 
to the guillotine! 

It was a game that was played not alone in 
Avignon. By a priest, jourdan Chop-head was 
denounced as an Aristocrat and brought to the 
scaffold. Jourdan Chop-head an Aristocrat! 
He who got his name because it was believed 
that he had cut off" the head of the Governor of 
the Bastille ; who led the peasants to the sack- 
ing of the monks* granaries in Avignon; who 
was charged with the massacre of the sixty- 
three Aristocrats shut up in the tower of La 
Glacière! But the priest who compassed Jour- 
dan's death acted, according to his lights, in 
good faith and did not consciously commit a 
sin. 

It was the men of the Convention who 
sinned. Blindly they gave themselves as tools 



272 Sh^ tì)t)ite Serrot 

to fanatical priests — the Grégoires, the Jusse- 
rands, the Sieyés — who gained their ends by 
professing a creed which they hated; who re- 
mained always the venomous nettles of the In- 
quisition that they always had been! The men 
of the Revolution, too blind to see the trick 
that was put upon them, perished with the 
Revolution. The grave that they dug for the 
Tyrant was their own crave also ; the banner of 
the Rights of Man which they had raised was 
their dazzling shroud. They died, but the ban- 
ner which was their shroud did not rot with 
them. It has survived, glorious and imperish- 
able — being woven with a warp of Reason and 
a woof of Justice, as were the Commandments 
given on Mount Sinai amidst lightning and 
thunder by the hand of God. 



CHAPTER XXIX 

THE DEVIL SERVES THE MASS 

At daybreak, when the shuttles of the early- 
rising silk-weavers began to clatter in their 
looms, Canon Jusserand awoke from his saintly 
slumber, crossed himself, joined his hands 
meetly, and devoutly recited his angelus. 
While he dressed he mumbled prayers to all the 
saints in Paradise: for the peace of his own soul, 
for the well-being of his holy father the Pope, 
for the speedy uplifting to power of Louis XVII, 
his king. Being dressed, he knelt before his 
ivory crucifix and implored most holy Christ to 
aid the army of the outland allies of the Royal- 
ists to conquer the army of the Republic; to 
sound, if need be, the trumpet of the Last Judg- 
ment to scatter the Republican battalions — as the 
chaff of the threshing-floors is scattered by the- 
blast of the mistral. Then, rising from his 
knees and again crossing himself, he kissed his 
scapulary and his medals and went forth from 
his room. 

In the passage outside he found Calisto im- 
patiently awaiting him. ** Oh," said the Canon, 
in a tone of surprise, **are you up already.^ 
Well, well, I understand. Your brain is quite 
turned by the thought of seeing the little Com- 
tessine!*' 

273 



274 9LÌ]c tl3t)ite QLtxTOt 



**And well it may be," Calisto ans>vered. 
**This is an eventful day for me. I swore to 
her mother that I would take the Comtessine 
to myself and that I would guard and cherish 
her. That promise begins to be fulfilled to- 
day." 

**Let us now go to the convent," said the 
Canon. " And thank God that you have found 
her at last.'* 

As they left the house they covered their 
mouths with their hands to guard against breath- 
ing freely the tainted air that rose from the foul 
streets and mingled with the still low-lying 
morning mist. They walked rapidly, and in a 
little while had covered the short distance be- 
tween the Rue du Limas and the Rue Annanelle 
and were come to the Convent of St. Ursula. 
The Canon knocked at the garden portal, the 
little gate through which the lay Sisters came 
and went, and through which the service of the 
convent was carried on. It was Sister Margai, 
one of the lay Sisters, who opened to them — 
after first peeping through a grating to make 
sure that she was opening to their own almoner 
• come to say the morning mass. 

Sister Margai stood aside as they entered, and 
bowed before the Canon's hastily bestowed 
blessing. Calisto followed the priest, his eyes 
downcast, his hands slipped into . his sleeves 
nnd folded upon his breast in proper ecclesiasti- 
cal style. As he passed Sister Margai he bowed 
slightly, and his lips moved as though in prayer. 
Then the door was locked and bolted behind 
them, and in the faint light of early morning 
they walked along the garden path. Behind 



QLÌ)t {Heml Served i\]c MaM 275 

them came Sister Margai, her gown rustling 
softly, her bunch of keys jingling a little, and 
her olive-pit rosary makmg a faint rattling as it 
swung against her knees. 

As they walked up the path they heard the 
murmuring of voices alternating with what 
sounded like a sighing groan; and this, as they 
drew close to the convent, resolved itself in the 
words of the morning prayer, the Litany of the 
Saints. A single voice uttered the invocation : 

**San;(a Maria, Mater Dei!" 
Then all the nuns answered together: 

**Ora pro nobis!'' 
And then the single voice: 

** Sarjjta Maria Magdalena! '* 
And then the voices: 

**Ora pro nobis!" 
It was the recurrent ** Ora pro nobis! " which 
had the sound of a sighing groan — a deep-drawn 
cry in which were blended the hoarse aiid qua- 
vering voices of old women and the clear sweet 
voices of young girls. A thrill went through 
Calisto's heart as he listened. It seemed to him 
that among those girl voices he could distin- 
guish the voice of Adeline! But his thoughts 
just then were not wholly sentimental. From 
the moment that he had entered the garden he 
had been scanning closely the convent windows 
and the convent walls. The sound of that sweet 
voice only made his examination the keener. If 
that voice could not be his by the fair means of 
asking, he was resolved to make it his by the 
foul means of force! 

With these thoughts in his mind, he was 
disappointed because they did not enter the 



276 Qiï\c tt)t)itc (Ecrror 



convent — as he had counted upon — but passed 
along at the side of it and entered the chapel by 
an outer door. There Sister Margai, bowing to 
another benediction, left them, and they went 
into the silent, incense-scented oratory alone. 
Canon Jusserand dipped the tips of his fingers 
into the font beside the entrance and oflFered the 
holy water to Calisto — who accepted it, on the 
same hand that a few hours before had mur- 
dered Sergeant Bérigot, and crossed himself with 
a becoming grace. 

They went on into the sacristy — half kneel- 
ing as they passed before the altar — ^and there 
found the vestments for the mass duly laid out 
While the priest robed himself, to a muttered 
accompaniment of prayers, Calisto went back- 
ward and forward between the sacristy and the 
sanctuary — making a show of arranging the 
altar, but in reality peering about him keenly 
with his snake-like black eyes. The darkness 
of the chapel disconcerted him. The only light 
— very faint, the sun barely being risen — came 
through a single high-up window, and even 
this light was dimmed by the richly coloured 
glass. Unless Adeline sat in the very front row 
of chairs he would not see her. He was not 
sure that he could see her even then. He was 
surprised, also, that the nuns should so delay 
their coming. While in the sacristy, he fancied 
that he heard the sound of soft footsteps and a 
little rattling of rosaries; but when he hurried to 
the sanctuary, as though to set the missals in 
order, the seats still were bare. 

Much more to his astonishment, the seats 
were bare when the Canon — bearing the chalice 



Sl)e Wcmi íSctvtQ tl)e Mas^ 277 

and the paten — motioned to him to follow and 
told him to ring the bell. **The church is 
empty/' he remonstrated. But as the Canon 
motioned to him imperatively to do as he was 
bid, he picked up the bell and rang it as they 
entered the sanctuary. Instantly there came, 
seemingly from the empty nave, a bustle of 
little noises — chairs slightly moved, suppressed 
coughs, the rattle of rosaries — and then a soft 
murmur, as of many voices in whispered prayer. 
Calisto could not at all understand whence these 
sounds came. Nor could he turn his head to 
investigate into them — as he knelt,* facing the 
altar, in the rear of Canon Jusserand, and made 
the responses while that worthy priest said the 
Introit and the Confiteor and went on with the 
mass. Even when he was free to rise and to 
look about him the puzzle continued. His eyes, 
searching the deep shadows of the nave, assured 
him that not a human being was in the church 
beside themselves. 

So intent was he upon resolving this mys- 
tery that he forgot his duties. Suddenly he 
realized that the priest had finished the reading 
of the Epistle and was waiting for him to move 
the Missal before the reading of the Gospel 
should begin. Hurriedly he performed this 
office — carrying the Missal across, with the 
due genuflection, to the Canon's left. At the 
first words of the Gospel there was the sound 
of movement again: and then he discovered 
whence the sounds came. 

In the side of the church was a large grating 
over which was drawn a black curtam — a cur- 
tain of thin fabric — through which he could dis- 



278 She tì)l)ite QTerror 



cern, faintly and confusedly against dim light 
coming from windows in the wall beyond, 
the standing figures of the nuns. To distin- 
guish individuals was impossible. Old and 
young, all were alike there — mere vague shades. 
He perceived that even were the curtain drawn 
it would be almost impossible for him to recog- 
nise Adeline. The faint light, coming from be- 
hind, cast the faces of all the nuns into shadow. 
When they knelt, their heads were bowed upon 
their hands. Still, rigid, they seemed less like 
living women than bowed statues in marble 
carved above a tomb. 

Again he forgot his duties. When the mo- 
ment for the Offertory came the priest was com- 
pelled to recall his wandering attention by a 
loud ** Ahem ! " and to signal to him vigorously, 
at the Elevation, that he must ring his oell. At 
the tinkling of the bell the Sisters prostrated 
themselves, and remained prostrate until that 
portion of the rite was ended and the Mother 
Superior signalled to them to rise. 

The light behind the curtain had grown 
much brighter as the sun, rising above the 
house tops, shone full upon the windows be- 
yond. The individual figures of the nuns could 
be distinguished plainly, and Calisto scanned 
them with a very eager gaze. But he only 
could see that some were short and some tall. 
Adeline might be among them, or she might 
not. He could not in the least be sure. He 
was growing rather desperate as his hope of 
seeing her faded away. His thoughts went 
back to the possibility of breaking into the con- 
vent and carrying her off by force. He was 



6ri)e {Uml Qtxvcfí tl)e MaM 279 

glad to perceive, in the stronger light, that the 
grating in the wall of the chapel was not of iron 
but of wood. That tended to simplify matters. 
Getting into the chapel would be easy. Still 
easier would it be to break through that old 
wooden grating. And then the way into the 
convent would be clear! 

A loud **Ahem!" from Canon Jusserand 
once more aroused him. The Canon was mo- 
tioning to him to take the candlestick and the 
napkin. At the same moment there was a soft 
rustling, accompanied by a sudden increase of 
light, as the curtain covering the grating was 
drawn aside; and then the sound of a bolt shot 
back and the creaking of a rusty hinge. A little 
door in the centre of the grating had been 
opened that the nuns might receive the Sacra- 
ment. Bearing the sacred elements, the Canon 
went from the altar to this opening. Calisto 
followed him, carrying the candle and the nap- 
kin in his hands. 



CHAPTER XXX 

A SACRILEGIOUS SACRAMENT 

The black- veiled nuns were ranged in a line, 
ready to advance to the opening in the grating. 
At the head of the line was the Mother Superior, 
Sister Dorothy ; then came the Sisters in order 
of age, the very old ones pale and wrinkled and 
with wax-like hands as thin and as colourless 
as the hands of the dead; then the lay Sisters; 
and last of all three young girls wearing worldly 
dresses and white veils. The veils of all were 
lifted aside, in readiness for the Sacrament 
Through the jessamine-wreathed windows, 
opening on the garden, a flood of sunshine 
poured into the room. At last Calisto beheld 
the face that he longed so eagerly to see : one 
of the white-veiled young girls was Adeline! 

Standing beside the priest, Calisto held up 
the napkin of the holy table as each of the nuns 
received the Sacrament. Unguided by his eyes, 
fixed upon Adeline, his hand moved awk- 
wardly. His body swayed a little, and his 
breath came short. One by one the women 
knelt in front of the opening in the grating, 
Adeline last of all. Instinctively, as she took 
her place, he shrank away a little, fearful lest 
she should recognise him. But her eyes were 
downcast: she saw only the hand of the priest 
280 



!X SacriUgioiiô Sacrament 281 

extending the wafer to her above the napkin. 
She. raised her head slightly, but not her eyes, 
as she opened her rosy lips to receive the angels' 
bread. Calisto's blood-stained hand almost was 
touching her beautiful white throat. A shiver 
went through him, and his hand so trembled — 
the hand which firmly had thrust a knife into 
his master's quivering flesh — that he let the 
napkin fall. He stood for a moment stupefied — 
his strong fingers close to that delicate throat, 
as though to seize it in a death-giving grasp. 
Having received the Sacrament, her eyes still 
downcast, Adeline passed on. Monsieur Jus- 
serand went back to the altar. Calisto, bearing 
the candlestick, followed him automatically. 
Behind him he heard the creaking of the hinge 
and the rattle of the bolt as the door in the grat- 
ing was closed; then the soft swish of the cur- 
tain as it was drawn behind the bars. When 
he was come to the altar, and turned to look 
again, all beyond the grating once more was 
vague and shadowy. He could see only that 
the nuns were prostrate — like the sheaves in a 
reaped field. 

**Iti missa est," intoned the priest, turning 
toward the nave with outstretched hands. 

** Deo gracias," responded the murderer. 

And so the mass went on to its end. When 
the Canon went into the sacristy to disrobe, 
Calisto remained to extinguish the candles and 
to set in order the altar. He did this very slow- 
ly, his eyes fixed on the dimly seen figures of 
the nuns. As the little procession filed away, 
passing from the oratory back into the convent, 
his heart thrilled as he clearly distinguished — 



282 Q|;i)e tDt)Ue Serror 

against one of the brightly sunlit windows — ^the 
figure of Adeline. She was walking between 
the two other young girls, and her more deli- 
cately elegant form and more graceful carriage 
made her seem a queen attended by her maids. 

Calisto, blood-stained criminal though he 
was, felt his soul stirred and softened as he 
gazed at this pure young creature whom he so 
deeply loved. He longed to call to her, to tell 
her that he gave himself to her utterly, soul and 
body, to do with as she pleased; to promise 
anything, everything, for a kindly glance from 
her beautiful eyes, for a kindly touch, for a kind- 
ly word. For a moment the love for her that 
tore his heart conquered his wild-beast instincts 
and made him tender and pitiful! 

But it was only for a moment that this mood 
lasted. As Adeline disappeared into the con- 
vent the wild beast was aroused again. In the 
unreasoning rage of a wild beast whose prey 
has succeeded in escaping, he flung himself 
against the grating and shook it violently — mad 
to follow her, to seize her, to make her his own ! 
The noise that he made recalled him to his 
senses. He trembled a little as he reflected how 
much his imprudence might have cost him. He 
was farther chilled by the sound of talking in the 
sacristy, and by the thought that whoever was 
in there with Canon Jusserand might have seen 
his crazy act. Meekly, with downcast eyes, he 
turned to the altar and collected the sacred ves- 
sels; and then, with the devout air of one who 
has just partaken of the Sacrament, carried them 
into the sacristy. 

Canon jusserand was in the act of taking off 



!X Sacrilcjiotxô Qacxamtnt 283 

his stole, which he kissed as he laid it down. 
Sister Margai was with him. She had brought 
a pewter tray on which were two cups of milk 
and two buttered rolls for the breakfast of the 
priest and his assistant. There were tears in 
her eyes, and she was trembling like a reed. 
Her agitation filled Calisto with alarm. Perhaps 
she had seen him beating at the bars! But in a 
moment he was reassured. 

** They have taken him to be a conscript ? " 
the Canon asked. 

•**Yes, Monsieur," Sister Margai answered 
brokenly, **to be a conscript. The gendarmes 
came and took away our good Pierre. Oh, holy 
Mother of Heaven ! The evil days are coming 
back again! And they say. Monsieur, that all 
the young men over sixteen are to go. Ai ! Ai ! 
Ai ! Who's going to pasture our cows ? " And 
Sister Margai sobbed aloud. 

**lt is to General Bonaparte that we owe 
this," said the Canon. ** Why could he not have 
staid in Egypt and died there of the plague!" 
He sighed deeply, and crossed himself with the 
hand in which he held his buttered roll. 

As Calisto realized that he himself was in 
peril if a general conscription had been ordered, 
a fear of a more practical sort possessed him. 
' ' Are you sure that your Pierre was taken as a 
conscript ? " he asked. ** May he not have been 
a deserter ? " 

'* No, no. He was not a deserter. He never 
was in the army at all. Oh, he was such a nice 
boy. He was no more in the way than if he 
had been a girl! " 

"Some one must have denounced him, then. 
19 



284 dì^t tDI|ite Serror 



There are plenty of those Republican brigands 
who would be glad to get a convent servant into 
trouble." 

**No, Monsieur, I don't think that anybody 
denounced him. You see, the gendarmes are 
searching one house after the other, and wher- 
ever they find a man — or a poor boy like our 
Pierre — who can serve in the army they just 
snatch him away. It was dreadful when they 
came, the gendarmes! The street was full of 
them, with their bavonets and their guns! Oh 
our poor Pierre! Oh our poor cows! What 
will become of them now ! " Sister Margai 
broke forth into sobs again, and with upraised 
arms left the sacristy by the little door tnrough 
which she had come. 

Canon Jusserand and Calisto looked at each 
other anxiously, but they were silent until the 
sound of the nun's retreating footsteps had died 
away. Then the Canon, as he dipped his roll 
into his cup, said thoughtfully: ''This may 
make trouble. It will be safer for you to re- 
main here while I find out what the gendarmes 
are doing." 

*' But what will the Sisters say to my stay- 
ing here .^" 

*M will arrange that. They will make no 
objections. Now listen. If 1 find that you may 
return to the house without danger, 1 will send 
for you. But if it is not safe for you to return, 
you must spend the day here, and in the even- 
ing 1 will have a carriage at the garden door to 
convey you to the Chateau de la Vemède. 
There you may be safely hidden — if necessary, 
under another name." 



!3l SacriUgiotxô gocrament 285 

**1 want no better name than the one to 
which 1 have a legal right. The title deeds 
which I received from my poor good master 
before he died give me the right to the name of 
the Comte de la Vernède." 

** Yes, that is true enough. The title goes 
with the estate. But we need not bother about 
names and titles just now. The important mat- 
ter is to make sure that you are not snapped up 
as a conscript, to serve in this outlaw army of 
the Republic against our good Austrian and Ger- 
man allies who are fighting for our good King. 
That is why it may be best for you to be off 
into hiding at the Chateau." 

Calisto did not answer in words, but he 
shook his head doubtingly. 

*' Well, doesn't my plan suit you ?" 

*' In one way it suits me very well indeed, 
but in another way it doesn't suit me at all. If 
1 go off and hide myself at the Chateau, what 
becomes of my marriage with the Comtessine ? 
Suppose that some one else wants to marry her ? 
Suppose she leaves the convent ? " 

*' Don't worry about that. You forget that 
I shall be here, and that nothing can be done 
without consulting me. I am the director and 
the confessor of the Comtessine. I shall know 
all that is going on." 

'*And then those Vauclairs! They may 
come back and take her to live with them again. 
If she gets into the hands of those brigands 
there isn't much hope for me ! And oh, to leave 
her at all, to go away from her now that at last 
I have found her, is bitter hard! " 

**What difference does your going away 



286 tl)e tDl)iU ïertúr 



make when I tell you that I hold her in my hand 
like a nestling ? I am here to watch over her. 
to tell her that she is in danger of damnation if 
she does not obey her mother's command to 
marry you." 

** 1 would rather see her dead than married 
to another — perhaps to some brigand Republi- 
can! " 

** She shall belong to you or to no one, never 
fear. But hush! Here comes Sister Margai 
again. I hear her sobbing for her lost cow-herd 
and her unhappy cows." As he spoke, Sister 
Margai re-entered the sacristy, with upraised 
arms and in tears. ** Well," he continued, ad- 
dressing the sorrowing Sister, '* what is it now ? 
Have the gendarmes come back again ?" 

*'No, no. They're gone, and our Pierre is 
gone with them. They've gone to search every 
house in Avignon. We are left desolate — we 
and the cows! " 

** Never mind about the cows now, Sister. 
Listen, 1 have something to say to you. I am 
going out alone. Monsieur le uomte de la Ver- 
nède, my relative — who was good enough to 
come with me to serve the mass — will remain 
here for a time, possibly for the whole day. 
You easily will understand that he does not wish 
to be taken off by the gendarmes to fight for this 
carrion Republic against our good German and 
Austrian allies. Therefore he will stay here 
until it shall be safe for me to send for him. I 
leave him in your hands. Should he tire of the 
sacristy, you will permit him to walk in the 
garden. Tell the reverend Mother Superior that 
I have authorized this." 



^ Sacrilegious Sacrament 287 

**What you have ordered, Father, shall be 
done," Sister Margai answered, bending her 
head that the priest might make the sign of the 
cross over it and crossing herself when this 
blessing had been conferred. And then turning 
to Calisto, as the Canon left them, she added : 
*' Monsieur le Comte. 1 am at your commands." 

*'Tell me," Calisto asked, ''was I mistaken 
in believing that Mademoiselle la Comtessine 
d'Ambrun was with you just now at the holy 
mass?" 

*'No, Monsieur, you were not mistaken. 
She was with us." 

*' How strange! Never did I expect to see 
her a nun." 

**But she is not a nun. Monsieur; and she 
never will be one, I assure you." 

"You astonish me. If she is not a nun, 
and is not to be one, why was she wearing a 
white veil .^" 

*Mt was her veil for the Holy Communion, 
Monsieur." 

''Surely, though, she is here in the convent 
with the Sisters. She is one of you." 

"No, Monsieur le Comte, you are mistaken. 
The Comtessine is with us only at the time of 
our services. She lives in a house in the garden 
that is not cloistered like the convent." 

"Ah, for the moment, no doubt. But she 
is not likely to dwell apart from you long. She 
has no one left to her on earth, poor child! 
Presently she will join your holy Sisterhood and 
be at peace." 

"Oh, don't you believe that, Monsieur le 
Comte. The Comtessine is not alone in the 



288 a:t)e tDt)iu Serror 

world. She has " and then, suddenl>r realiz- 
ing that she was talking something very like 
gossip, Sister Margai stopped short. In confu- 
sion, she hurriedly picked up the breakfast tray 
and turned to go. 

Calisto detained her. "Has she then any 
relatives left alive t " he asked. " 1 thought that 
in the dreadful days of the Terror all were lost" 

After all, Sister Margai was a woman. What 
she had to tell was too delightful not to be told. 
She hurried away with the tray, but paused for 
an instant on the threshold as she threw these 
words behind her before she clapped to the 
door : * * Mademoiselle la Comtessme is be- 
trothed ! " 



CHAPTER XXXI 

WITHIN CONSECRATED WALLS 

Sister Margai's announcement left Calisto 
thunderstruck. Adeline betrothed ! It seemed 
impossible ! To whom could her troth be given ? 
He was in a ferment. The heavy scent of in- 
cense in the chapel seemed to stifle him. He 
went hastily to the door opening upon the gar- 
den that he might breathe the fresh outer air. 

Save for the sparrows flying about in search 
of their breakfasts, the sunny garden was de- 
serted. Glancing about him shrewdly, he 
walked out among the roses. The restful quiet 
of that sweet place soothed him and he grew 
calmer. Presently, down at the far end of the 
convent, he caught sight of two unbarred win- 
dows which overlooked an adjoining garden, 
separated from the one in which he was by a 
high wall. **The home of the Comtessine is 
behind those unbarred windows," he said to 
himself— and walked softly, keeping close 
beside the convent, until he was come to the 
dividing wall. 

Just then a door was opened with a bang 
that sent the frightened sparrows flying up to 
the roofs, and that for a moment alarmed Calisto 
also. In an instant, he was at ease again, as 
there came from the other side of the wall the 

289 



290 Qrije tDI)ite Serror 



sound of girlish laughter and gay cries and hand- 
clappings and running steps — and he was almost 
sure that among the voices he recognised that 
of the Comtessine. Then there was a pattering 
sound, as of dancing feet, and the girts* voices 
sang together a gay round beginning: 

Old Nick is ailing, 

He's complaining to-night. 

It was the round that Adeline and old Joy 
and little Clairet had sung so often in the garden 
of the house in the Rue de Bretagne; and as 
Calisto heard the familiar words he was abso- 
lutely certain that she whom he was hunting 
with a wild beast's ardour and eagerness was 
within a few feet of him, on the other side of 
that wall. Her nearness, and her inaccessibility, 
made so maddening a combination that he bit 
his thin lips and dug his nails into the palms of 
his hands. For a long while he stood there, 
listening, in a dull rage. At last a bell rang. 
Then the gay sounds on the other side of the 
wall stopped abruptly, there was a little bustle 
of retreating steps, the door slammed again — 
and then all was still. 

Slowly he returned to the sacristy of the 
chapel and there seated himself— his face in his 
hands, his elbows on his knees — to chew the 
cud of those bitter words: "The Comtessine is 
betrothed ! " He was torn and pierced by a sharp 
pain that he could not explain to himself; that 
his cruel and unnatural heart did not recognise 
as the stinging pain of love. This bastard» who 
was acknowledged by no parent, who possessed 
no friend, felt his eyes filling with tears. He 



tì)itl)in ffionsecrateb tDalls 291 

knew not why he wept. He was ashamed of 
his weakness. **Can it be I, the Comte dela 
Vernède," he cried aloud, ** who is crying like 
a baby because the Comtessine is betrothed to 
some one ? What do I care for that, and what 
difference does it make ? Now that I have found 
her, she is mine. I have her here, locked up in 
a convent, as safe as though she were locked up 
in a prison. She cannot escape from me. I 
have her fast. Betrothed ? Yes, she is betrothed, 
but to me — or to Death ! " 

He stood erect as he spoke these words, his 
eyes, still wet with tears, flashing with anger — 
and almost fell backward as he saw standing 
directly in front of him, pale and motionless as 
a statue, the Superior of the convent. Mother 
Dorothy! He knew that she must have heard 
every syllable that his lips, giving voice to the 
thoughts of his black heart, had uttered. For 
an instant he was in utter confusion. Then he 
rallied — and before Mother Dorothy had time to 
speak he had flung himself on his knees before 
the great crucifix. 

'*0h holy Christ," he cried, "have pity on 
me ! I am a sinful man made mad by rage. The 
fire of love that burns in my veins is fire from 
hell. Have pity on me, my Saint Christ! 1 
sin because I look with longing eyes upon that 
innocent girl, that virgin of delight, who seeks 
no spouse but Thee ; who desires no wedding 
garb but the habit of sweet Saint Ursula. For- 
igive my sin, oh my Saint Christ, and take her 
to Thyself— while 1, unworthy of her, shall hide 
away in pain in the forests of La Vernède, as a 
wounded wolf hides himself in his lair! " 



^ 



292 (£ì]t tDhiU Serror 



Calisto arose from before the crucifix and 
knelt to the Mother Superior, sayinç pleadingly: 
** Forgive me, holy and reverend Mother! The 
Comte de la Vernède is at your feet — so shamed 
that he dares not raise his eyes to yours because 
in this house of virtue he has suffered to escape 
from him the cry of his wretched flesh ! Forgive 
me, holy Mother. My cry of the flesh was 
wrung from me because I am suflFering the tor- 
tures of the damned. Forgive me! " 

Mother Dorothy's feeling of alarm and horror 
was changed to a profound pity by this appeal. 
** Monsieur le Comte,'* she said soothingly, 
** my heart bleeds for you in your sorrow. But 
do not sorrow despairingly. God is good. He 
is not jealous of His creatures. The Comtessine 
is bound as yet by no vows. Perhaps God has 
sent you to our convent to withdraw her from 
the devil's claws — for her heart also is hurt and 
torn." 

Calisto's fears were allayed by Mother Dor- 
othy's display of so kindly a sympathy. He 
listened eagerly as she continued: ** Sometimes 
we speak to the Comtessine about becoming a 
nun. We urge upon her that her relatives all 
are dead and that she is alone in the world, that 
the title deeds to her estate have vanished and 
that she has no home." 

** And what does she answer?" 

'* That she is betrothed." 

**To whom ? " 

*'That she does not say. But we know.« 
It is to a peasant boy from her own estate. A lad 
who was with her in Paris in the awful days of 
the Revolution." 



> 



tX)itl)in dLon&etxateò tDalls 293 

** Ah, the poor Comtessine! " sighed Calisto. 
*Mt is evident that she knows nothing of her 
dead mother's acts and commands. Before that 
holy woman was led away to the scaffold she 
confided the title deeds to Ambrun to my keep- 
ing; and to me she confided also her written 
command that the Comtessine, her daughter, 
should be my wife. It is impossible that she 
should be betrothed to any other than me. Be- 
fore God, and by the will of her dead mother, I 
am her affianced husband! " 

** Monsieur le Comte!" exclaimed Mother 
Dorothy in amazement. '*It is God himself 
who sends you here! Your coming brings 
peace and happiness to our little Comtes- 
sine." 

*' Yes, reverend Mother; and peace and hap- 
piness will come to me also. When you found 
me, just now, in the rage of despair it was be- 
cause I had heard from the Sister porteress what 
you have told me : that the Comtessine was be- 
trothed. I feared that I had lost her, and I be- 
came as one mad. But now that I know to 
whom she is betrothed — a Republican brigand 
— and am sure of your help in saving her from 
such a misalliance, my fear is gone. The Com- 
tessine " 

A rumble of wheels in the street, that 
stopped at the garden door of the convent, cut 
short his words. In that quiet quarter the sound 
was a most unusual one. Calisto and Mother 
Dorothy listened anxiously; and still more anx- 
iously when there came a loud knocking at the 
door. By a common impulse they left the sac- 
risty and went quickly to the door of the chapel 



•• I.' 



294 9iì]t tDhite Serror 

— and then their anxiety was relieved by hear- 
ing the voice of Canon Jusserand. A moment 
later the Canon joined them. *' The carriage is 
here," he said to Calisto, '*and you must get 
away at once — either to the Chateau de la Garde 
or to La Vernède." 

*Mn broad daylight?" Calisto questioned. 
** Surely, with Avignon alive with gendarmes, 
that will be to fling myself into the wolfs 
jaws! " 

**No, this is the very moment to escape. 
The gates are open, and are not kept. To-night 
they will be shut and guarded. Decide at once 
where you will go — to La Garde or to La Ver- 
nède." 

** Unless I can take the Comtessine with me 
I will not go to either! " 

**What folly! Where can the Comtessine 
be better off than in this cloistered convent ? 
Where can she wait more safely for the day 
when 1 shall join you together in the sight of 
God ? " 

** How do 1 know that I shall find her here 
when the evil days are past ? She may be spir- 
ited away by that brigand of a Republican to 
whom she says she is betrothed." 

**God preserve us from that!" exclaimed 
Mother Dorothy. ** What, a miserable peasant 
steal away our Comtessine! No such sacrilege 
as that will be permitted here, Monsieur le 
Comte, that 1 promise you! " 

* * Better should she die than disobey the 
command of her sainted mother," added canon 
Jusserand. 

*' But if 1 go into hiding," persisted Calisto, 



tì)itl)ín (íonQttxattb tìJallo 295 

** when can we be married ? Think how long 
I may have to wait!" 

**How long does a storm last? A day," 
said the Canon. *'How long does a plague 
last ? A month. At the worst, that Bonaparte 
will not last a year. He has re-opened the 
churches, but his fight is not made for our good 
King. He fights for this carrion of a Republic," 
and the Canon spat upon the ground. 

Calisto made no answer, but he shook his 
head as much as to say: ** Who claims, claims. 
Who holds, has!" 

*' And, no matter what this Bonaparte does 
or does not do," continued the Canon, *M will 
see to it that you shall have what you want. 
One of these days, or one of these nights, I will 
carry the Comtessine up to the Chateau de la 
Garde — where the gendarmes are not likely to 
look for you, or for her either — and there I will 
bless your marriage, and so fulfil the wish of 
the sainted Marquise d'Ambrun." 

*'0h happy Comtessine," exclaimed Sister 
Dorothy. *Mhus shall she be snatched from 
the claws of that brigand who even now may be 
fighting with Bonaparte against our good Kmg ! 
And until that bright day comes, I shall guard 
her well ! " 

Calisto looked at Sister Dorothy with a look 
so piercing and a smile so evil that she shud- 
dered in the very marrow of her bones. She 
seemed to hear him say: '* You have promised 
to guard her. Woe be to you if your promise 
is not kept!" 

Monsieur Jusserand was in boiling oil, so 
anxious was he to get Calisto away before he 



.*■'■ 



296 (£l)e tDhite Cerror 



should be snapped up for a conscript by the 
gendarmes. Seizing him by the arm, he half 
led half dragged him down the garden to the 
gate, and there fairly thrust him into the waiting 
carriage and closed the door with a bang. 
** Drive Monsieur le Comte to Malemort, to the 
Chateau de la Garde," he said to the coachman. 
**Take the road through Femes, not through 
Carpentras. It is shorter and safer. " And then, 
as the carriage drove away, he re-entered the 
convent garden and returned to Mother Dorothy 
in the sacristy of the chapel. As he walked up 
the garden path he drew out his snuflF-box and 
took a big pinch of snuflF slowly and comfort- 
ablv. He entered the sacristy smiling a satisfied 
smile. 

Mother Dorothy still was trembling with ex- 
citement over all these strange happenings, but 
she grew calmer as Monsieur Jusserand came 
smiling back to her — and then was startled in 
a different way. In his eyes was a roguish 
glint such as she had seen there first years and 
years before, when they both were young — he 
a young abbe and she a young nun. Curious 
memories thrilled her. As he continued to 
smile at her, still with the roguish glint in his 
eves, she also smiled — but blushed a little and 
cast her own eyes down. 

"Well,' said the Canon, **what do you 
think of him .^" 

''Of whom .^" 

"Of that young man." 

"He seems to be a very worthy and pious 
young man. A little too quick-tempered, per- 
haps." 




tDitl)in dLotiíittxatzò tDalld 297 

1-,^ 

** Didn't your heart say anything to you 
when you saw him ?" 

**I do not understand. Why should my 
heart say anything to me ? " 

Smiling still more roguishly, Canon Jusse- 
rand drew close to her and gave her a little dig 
with his elbow as he asked: ** Didn't you no- 
tice his resemblance to somebody whom you 
know ? " 'Í 

Mother Dorothy drew away a little. ** What 
mystery is this, Monsieur J usserand ?'' she asked. 

''Come, come. If you looked at him at all 
you must have seen that he is the very image of 
me, as I was twenty-three years ago." 

** 1 do not in the least Know what you are 
talking about. Monsieur," Mother Dorothy an- 
swered. Her voice shook a little. Her hands 
were clasped together tightly. Her eyes were 
fixed upon the floor. 

**Then I will tell you. Twenty-three years 
ago, when that young man was a little child, he 
was abandoned — may God forgive us for it! — 
at Les Sablées, in Aramon. By a miracle, that 
must have been worked by our patron Saint 
Ursula, he was found by the Comte de la Ver- 
nède — who took him to his Chateau, who 
adopted him, who bequeathed to him his estate 
that carries with it a noble title. That is much 
for an outcast and a foundling. But now he 
wants more, and it is only just that we should 
aid him to accomplish this marriage which will 
give him happiness and which will make his 
position in life secure." 

In Mother Dorothy's breast were strangely 
blended feelings, but the dominant feeling was 



298 Che tX)l)iU Scrror 



happiness. At last her mother-instinct, that for 
years had filled her heart with longing, had 
been gratified: she had seen her child! For a 
moment she hid her face in her hands. Then 
she knelt before the altar — to thank God for the 
joy that He had given her, and for the thousandth 
time to* ask forgiveness for her sin. 

Canon Jusserand softly left her. He was 
satisfied that he could count upon her helping 
to bring about the marriage of Calisto and the 
Comtessine. 



CHAPTER XXXII 

A MIDNIGHT CONFfRENCE 

It was well for Calisto that Canon Jusserand 
had hurried him away to the Chateau de la 
Garde. When that worthy priest returned to 
his home in the Rue du Limas he found the 
gendarmes in the act of searching it. What 
was more, they were led by Sergeant Vauclair 
— who had returned the day before from the 
army and who had brought them to where he 
believed that Calisto would be found. But be- 
yond turning the house pretty well upside down, 
the search produced no result. 

Disconcerted by having led the gendarmes 
on a wild-goose chase, Vauclair betook himself 
to his little house in the Place du Grand Paradis 
and began to put in working order his saws and 
planes. He was taking up his trade again ; and 
Lazuli — come back with Clairet from Malaucène 
— was setting in order once more their disman- 
tled home. Old Joy no longer was with them. 
The good old woman had died in Malaucène. 
peacefully and happily, and they had left her at 
rest in the little graveyard on the north slope of 
Mont Ventour. The people living round about 
the Place du Grand Paradis received them kind- 
ly — having added, as time passed on, a good 
deal of 'Water to their wine. 

20 299 



300 aije tDI)Ue QTerror 



Indeed, the Red Terror and the White Terror 
being ended, both Reds and Whites had quieted 
down amazingly. They were surprised, and 
they were still more pleased, by finding them- 
selves in peace and quiet once more. And, also, 
the fact must be acknowledged that the victories 
which General Bonaparte was winning — victo- 
ries so brilliant that men of all parties >vere daz- 
zled by them — were making for good citizenship 
by creating some sort of solidarity in France. 
Out of these large causes came to the Vauclairs 
the result that they could live again peacefully 
among their neighbours. Vauclair had plenty 
of work to do, and for him and for Lazuli and 
for Clairet — growing to be a fine big boy — ^time 
slipped away very happily in their comfortable 
little home. 

Meanwhile, up in the Chateau de la Garde, 
time did not slip away happily for Calisto. On 
the contrary, he grew desperately tired of a life 
in which the only excitement was his dread of 
the coming of the gendarmes. As the weeks 
lengthened out into months he became more 
and more restless, and his head was full of 
wilder and wilder plans for gaining his ends. 
The simplest and the most practicable of these 
was to get his band of ruffians together some 
dark night, scale the wall of the convent, and 
carry Adeline off by force. That would be both 
direct and effective. But he knew that it would 
be less effective, in the long run, than any plan 
that would make Adeline come to him willingly. 
Even at the cost of longer waiting, it was better 
that she should yield gradually to the pressure 
that Canon Jusserand and Mother Dorotny were 



% iStliònigljt Conference 301 

exercising upon her — and the thought occurred 
to him that this pressure might be greatly in- 
creased by adding to it the command of the 
Lord Bishop of Avignon. It would not be diffi- 
cult, he decided, to enlist the services of that 
dignitary by a handsome gift toward the resto- 
ration of his dismantled cathedral; and a word 
from the Lord Bishop surely would compel Ade- 
line to obey her mother's written command. 

And so — while he meditated plans which 
sometimes were foul, and which sometimes in 
a way were fair — the time dragged on. The 
summer passed, the autumn passed, winter was 
well advanced. Still nothing happened, still he 
was virtually a prisoner in the lonely Chateau. 
At last he could stand inaction no longer. At 
any risk he decided to make a move. He would 
steal into Avignon by night and see for himself 
what could be done there. If nothing could be 
done, he was ready to fire the convent and burn ^. 
Adeline to death, and all the nuns along with fe? 
her, rather than that his maddening waiting 
should go on and on! 

Therefore there came a knock, one wintry 
midnight when the mistral was blowing fiercely, 
at Canon Jusserand's door. The Canon, snug 
in his warm bed, paid no attention to it. Some 
dying person wanted absolution, he thought. 
Well, they must get a younger priest to give it. 
He would not risk his old body out of doors on 
a night like that merely because some silk- 
weaver had the bad taste to choose weather of 
that sort in which to die. And he settled his 
night-cap more comfortably and drew the warm 
covers well about his ears. 



302 e:i)e tSljite Serror 



But his old servant looked at the matter dif- 
ferently. It would be mortal sin, she believed, 
if she failed in any way to help a dying man to 
receive absolution ; and she slipped on a petti- 
coat and a shawl and went to her window, 
which overlooked the street door. The mistral 
had set to dancing every star in heaven, and by 
the starlight she saw a man muffled in a cloak 
raising his hand once more to the knocker. " If 
I did not know that Monsieur le Comte is at his 
Chateau," she said to herself, '* 1 would say that 
it was he for sure." And then she called down: 
•' Whos there .^" 

**It is I," Calisto answered. He did not 
dare to speak his name. The wind was blow- 
ing hard enough to carry words, like dead leaves, 
all over Avignon. 

The old woman recognised his voice and 
hurried down to let him in — calling out, as she 
passed the Canon's door, **It*s Monsieur le 
Comte de la Vernède." 

** Impossible! " the Canon answered from 
the depths of the bed-clothes. But added, as 
he roused himself: *Mf it is he, he's gone stark 
staring mad! " 

The servant went on down the stairs and 
opened the door. Calisto, half frozen, entered 
— and along with him a blast of bitter cold wind 
that blew out the light. * ' Ugh ! " he said. "It 
is a night for wolves! " And groping his way 
past the servant he went up the stair. 

By the time that he had reached the upper 
landing the Canon had come out to meet him — 
muffled in a wrapper, his feet in slippers, a lamp 
in his hand. *' Unlucky boy !" exclaimed the 



^ iEtltònijljt (tonUtcntc 303 

Canon. "What brings you here? Do you 
want to be seized by the gendarmes ?" 

**Vm sick of the^ life that I'm leading, that's 
why I'm herç. Haven't you a fire anywhere ? 
I'm half dead with cold." 

*'This is madness! Sheer madness," the 
Canon answered. But he led Calisto into his 
sitting-room, and started a blaze by throwing a 
fagot on the embers, still alight under the 
ashes, of his fire. He set the lamp upon the 
credence — where stood the great golden mon- 
strance from Bastian's wheel-barrow, sparkling 
in the light. ** Yes, this is sheer madness," he 
repeated. **Talk about the folly of children! 
Well, what does it all mean.^" He settled 
himself into his big chair and with his elbows 
on its arms joined the tips of his fingers before 
his mouth. His lips moved, as though he were 
reciting a prayer. 

Calisto threw his cloak upon the sofa and 
drew close to the fire. **I have come to the 
conclusion," he said, *'that there is truth in the 
proverb that if you want a good drink you must 
pour it out for yourself ! I had your promise to 
bring my affair with the Comtessine to a good 
end, and I relied upon it. You promised me 
that you either would arrange matters as I 
wanted them arranged here, or that you Nvould 
bring the Comtessine to the Chateau and there 
marry me to her. Months and months have 
passed, and you have done neither of these 
things that you promised to do. Waiting has 
become utterly hateful to me, I am sick and 
tired of straining my eyes in search of what 
never comes to me. Waiting longer in that 



304 Sl)c tDI)ite Sertot 

wolfs solitude was impossible. And so here I 
am — come to pour out for myself the drink that 
1 must and will have! 

**But vou must not suppose, Monsieur le 
Chanoine/' he continued, **that Ì have for a 
moment doubted your good faith. I know that 
the papers and the money which I have left 
with you are absolutely secure; and I am satis- 
fied that everything that you could do for me 
you have done. What 1 have doubted» and 
what I do doubt, is the part that Mother Dorothy 
is playing. She knows that you have in your 
keeping the Comtessine's title deeds, to give 
them to her if you see fit. It may be that she 
is working in the interest of her own convent — 
that she is trying to bring the property to the 
convent by inducmg Adeline to become a nun." 

Monsieur Jusserand smiled behind the tips of 
his fingers and shook his head at this suggestion, 
but he made no reply in words. 

Calisto, growing more excited, continued: 
*M do not wish to resort to violence. It is my 
desire to gather the flower without shaking the 
branch. Most of all, I wish .to obey you. But 
there is a limit to my endurance, and if I find 
that Mother Dorothy is trying to rob me of my 
bride — if I find that, be assured, Monsieur le 
Chanoine, that violence, and very terrible vio- 
lence, will be used. For 1 am accustomed when 
any person tries to hinder me to remove that 
person from my path ! " And Calisto, his eyes 
blazing, made the gesture of one who stabs. 

Monsieur Jusserand never had seen his Calisto 
thus given over to rage. The old man was not 
frightened, but in spite of himself a shiver ran 



^ illibniglit Conference 305 

through him. He dropped his upraised hands 
and clasped tightly the arms of his chair. 
** Come, come," he said, ** you are talking fool- 
ishly. The reverend Mother Dorothy has done 
her duty by you. I fear that she may even have 
done a little more than her duty. If nothing has 
been accomplished, it is the fault of the Comtes- 
sine herself and of those miserables the Vauclairs. 
The hold that ihose creatures have upon. her is 
inexplicable. Vauclair is one of the brigands 
who went up to Paris with the Marseilles Bat- 
talion. His wife must be of the same sort. No 
doubt they wish to marry her to one of their 
own vile kind and so get their share in plunder- 
ing her. 

** Indeed," continued Monsieur Jusserand, 
*M have just discovered that immediately after 
her coming to Avignon they contrived to make 
her give a little house and a scrap of land to the 
mother of that Pascalet who so sticks in her 
memory. 1 have put a stop altogether to her 
seeing them. The woman Lazuli almost made 
a scandal because she was refused admittance to 
the convent. However, 1 arranged the matter 
quietly — though at the cost, I fear, of burdening 
Sister Margai's conscience with a few lies. She 
began by telling the creature that the Comtes- 
sine was ill. That was true. She worried her- 
self ill because her friends did not come to see 
her. Then Sister Margai said that the Comtes- 
sine was at death's door; and, finally, that she 
was dead. That settled the matter. But you 
see, my Calisto, we have been obliged to go 
pretty far in order to calm the Comtessine's 
disturbed mind! 



3o6 Qi:i)e tDt)iU Certor 



"But with it all," the Canon concluded, 
" the unhappy girPs head still is full of that dirty 
peasant Pascalet. His name always is on her 
lips. In answer to whatever we say to her it 
always is *My Pascalet! I shall wait for my 
Pascalet!'" 

'* But what does she say when you speak to 
her about me — the Comte de la Vemède ? " 

**Well, she is not very encouraging. We 
told her that the Comte de la Vernède was the 
rich and generous nobleman whom her sainted 
mother had commanded her to marry." 

** And what did she answer ?" 

"That she knew of but one Comte de la 
Vernède and that he was dead — murdered in 
the prison of the Abbaye. But if there were a 
living and a true Comte de la Vernède, she went 
on, or a marquis or a duke or even a prince, she 
would have none of them. Only her Pascalet 
should put the wedding-ring on her finger — 
only he! But, after all, she is only a child — 
and this is only childish talk." 

"You think, then, that she may break her 
promise to her dirty Pascalet?" 

* * Think it ? I am sure of it ! Very likely he's 
dead by this time, anyway. If he isn't, you 
have only to show yourself, and to tell her how 
much she will owe to you, to win the game. 
How can she refuse you — you so gallant, so 
handsome, who generously restore to her her 
fortune, who are set apart as her husband by 
her dead mother's command ? And if she still 
hesitates I am not at the end of my resources. 
Means stronger than we have used can be em- 
ployed!" 



^ lîlibni8l)t (Eonfetence 307 



*' Yes," Calisto answered, **and I am ready 
to employ them! " 

** Gently! Gently! You misunderstand me. 
Marriage is a sacrament that requires common 
consent. What I mean is that she shall hear a 
higher voice than ours.'* 

** Whose.?" 

*'The voice of the Lord Bishop of Avignon. 
That can be gained easily. To put the matter 
in train, I already have spoken to him about you. 
I have told him that you are disposed to make a 
donation toward supplying his cathedral with 
the holy vessels which the Revolutionists stole 
away," and the Canon gave a meaning glance 
toward the magnificent monstrance. 

** You have uttered what has been my own 
thought!" Calisto exclaimed delightedly. 'M 
long to consecrate a portion of my wealth to 
the Church. As for this monstrance, it shall be 
the first of my gifts. I will take it to the Lord 
Bishop myself, and offer it to him as I kneel at 
his feet. Whatever else he needs he shall have. 
I will give him everything he wants! " 

"Well, we can talk all this over in the 
morning. Now we will go to bed. You know 
where your room is. Marianne will give you 
her lamp. All will come right in time, do not 
fear. Good night, and God bless you! " • 

The Canon called Marianne, and then 
shuffled away in his slippers to bury himself 
again in his comfortable bed. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

BY FAIR MEANS OR BY FOUL 

Caltsto's brain was in such a ferment that 
sleep was impossible. Resisting old Marianne's 
entreaties to go to his bed, he wrapped himself 
in his cloak and lay down upon the sofa. There 
he tossed and turned, while his fevered mind 
burned with longing to gain his end quickly by 
carrying Adeline away from the convent by 
force. From time to time the fire would blaze 
up for a moment, casting a red light upon the 
ceiling and throwing upon the golden sun of the 
great monstrance a crimson glow. 

He longed for the sleep that would not come 
to him. He longed for morning, and cursed the 
slow flight of time. Time moved the slower 
because he could not keep track of it When 
Jacquemart, up in his tower, pounded on his 
bell, the mistral flung the sound all over Avi- 
gnon and made counting the strokes impossible. 
The furiously blowing wind filled tne night 
with noises, by turns mysterious and violent. 
In the house were strange creakings and stranger 
whisperings, and now and again from the chim- 
ney would come a dull roar. Outside, the shut- 
ters banged and rattled, and at intervals a great 
crash would tell of a chimney dashed bodily into 
the street below. Then would come a moment 
308 



Bg iTûir itleans or bg Sonl 309 

of iibsolute silence, as though the mistral were 
pausing to draw a long breath — and then a fresh 
outburst of rattles and crashes and bangs. And 
so, wildly but very wearily, the night went on. 

At last thin rays of pale light began to show 
through the cracks in the shutters, and with 
the coming of dawn the wind died down. The 
noises caused by the mistral ceased, but other 
and stranger noises began. Calisto fancied that 
he heard the hoof-beats of a galloping horse. A 
litile later Jacquemart's bell pealed forth loudly 
— bourn! boum! boum! But it was no hour 
that Jacquemart was striking — it was the alarm ! 
Then there was the sound of windows and 
doors opened hurriedly, and of shouts and calls. 
Calisto opened his shutters a very little way and 
peeped out, listening eagerly to the cries which 
went from window to window among the 
neighbours. 

''What is it?" 

" I don't know. Very likely a fire." 

"No, that's not the way Jacquemart talks 
when there's a fire. Just hear how he bangs! " 

"I'm afraid that it's another of that Bona- 
parte's victories," cried an old fanatic from his 
fourth floor. 

" Heaven grant that it's the coming of our 
good King! " cried another of the same stripe. 

The matter was set at rest for a moment by 
a woman who seemed to know all about it. In 
her shift, with her hair hanging loose, she leaned 
forth from her window. Clapping her hands 
she cried loudly: " Long live the King! Long 
live the Pope! Bonaparte's dead! " 

Royalists and Papalists were thick in that 



310 Sl)c tohite Scrror 



quarter of Avignon. The woman's cry was 
taken up joyfully. From all the windows came 
glad shouts of ** Long live the Pope! Long live 
the King! " Somebody put out the white flag 
— and in five minutes the fleur-de-lys was every- 
where. The people came pouring forth from 
their houses mto the street. Some of them 
caught hands. Then more. Then away they 
all went in a farandole. The street rang with 
their cheers. Everybody was shouting ** Long 
live the Pope ! Long live the King! " 

Monsieur Jusserand and Marianne, their 
clothes tumbled on anyway, came running to 
the window in the thick of an ar^ment. 

** I tell you it's true," cried Marianne. ** Bona- 
parte's dead. I'm going to put out our flag." 

** Softly! Softly!" said the more prudent 
Canon. *' Wait a little with the flag until we 
make quite sure." 

The big bell of Notre Dame des Doms— 
one of the few bells not sent off to be cast into 
cannon — began to ring loudly, sending over all 
the city deep sonorous waves of melody. ** Ah," 
exclaimed Monsieur Jusserand, ** if híbtreDame 
des Doms rings her bell it must be for the 
triumph of our King! Spread out the white 
fl:i.ir, Marianne. Spread out the flag for our 
Kin<x!" And turning to Calisto he went on: 
"No more running and hiding for you now! 
Bonaparte is dead! God be praised for deliver- 
ing us from that curse of a man! " 

Calisto was overjoyed. His mind was full 
of delightful fancies. He saw himself, with his 
Comtessine, living a life of elegance at his Cha- 
teau de la Vernède. He saw all his enemies 



î3b fair iíleanô or bg Sonl 3" 



cast down without his having to raise his hand. 
The Republican Prefect of Avignon would have 
to run for his life — and in a hurry ! Should he 
delay, the Rhone that night would be carrying 
his body to the sea! The gendarmes of the Re- 
public would be replaced by the Garde Royale, 
commanded by noblemen. Instead of the gen- 
eral conscription, the army would be made up 
of peasants and labourers, again with noblemen 
in every post of command. All these pleasant 
thoughts went whirling through Calisto's head 
as he hung out from the window a white silk 
flag embroidered with fleurs-de-lys ; and like 
thoughts were in the heads of the others who 
were putting out flags from the windows round 
about him. The whole Royalist quarter was 
draped with the fleur-de-lys to its very ears! 
Everywhere throughout the quarter rose the 
shout: **Long live the Pope! Long live the 
King!" 

But over in the Republican quarter of Avi- 
gnon Jacquemart's bell and the bell of Notre 
Dame des Doms were telling a very different 
story — for, as we say in Provence, every man 
turns the water on his own mill. Over there 
everybody believed that the bells were ringing 
for another great victory won by the Republican 
army. Over there they believed not that Bona- 
parte was dead, but that he had won another 
battle greater than Marengo — that he had set the 
tri-colour on the towers of Milan and of Venice 
and had at his feet the whole of conquered Italy ! 
Th^ Republicans also got out their flags and also 
shouted and also danced farandoles — but their 
flag was the red, white and blue, and their 



312 Slje tì)l)iu Cerror 



shouts were Vive la République, and along with 
their farandoles went the strains of the •' Mar- 
seillaise." 

And so the sun came up and shone blithely 
on one half of Avignon rejoicing under the 
fleur-de-lys and the other half under the tri- 
colour. But the rejoicing under the tri-colour 
was that which was destined to last 

**This news fits us," Canon Jusserand said 
to Calisto, with a very wrong notion of what 
the news really was, "as a ring fits the finser. 
Now you can come with me to the Lord Bishop 
in perfect safety. Conscriptions are ended, and 
Republican gendarmes are a thing of the past! 
Dress yourself in your best We will go to- 
gether to the holy mass that his Lordship will 
celebrate. When the mass is ended we will 
ask an audience of him, and then present to him 
our rich offering." 

But even as he spoke, old Marianne — ^who 
had been out to gossip about the good news 
with her cronies — came tearing up the stair cry- 
ing out: '*We are lost! We are lost!" Out 
of breath and pale as chalk, she flung herself on 
the sofa and began to groan. 

**What on earth's the matter with you?" 
exclaimed Monsieur Jusserand. "Lost? What 
do you mean ?" 

** Oh I Oh ! " moaned Marianne. "The good 
news is not about our good King at all! It's 
about that vile Bonaparte. He's won another 
victory over more emperors. We are lost, I 
say! We are lost!" 

** Nonsense!" cried the Canon angrily. 
*' Who has been telling you this trash ?" 



jBg iTttir JHeans or bg Sonl 313 

'' Hush ! Listen ! " said Calisto. " Yes, I'm 
right! Don't you hear the drums beating the 
générale?" 

The Canon listened for a moment ; then, 
with something very like a curse on his lips, 
ran to the window and snatched in the white 
flag. Calisto rolled up the flag hastily and hid 
it away. Through the open window came 
clearly the strains of the ** Marseillaise " ! They 
looked out together. They had been no quicker 
than the others. In all the length of the Rue du 
Limas not a white flag was to be seen. 

There was an awkward silence, which the 
Canon broke. ** Well, there is no sense in stick- 
ing here and making owls* eyes at each other. 
We had better try to find out the whole truth." 

Calisto made no answer. The sudden change 
in the situation had both frightened and angered 
him. With his eyes cast down he glistened 
moodily to the sounds which came in through 
the open window — the shouts from the crowd 
assembling in the Place du Palais des Papes, the 
rattle of drums, the strains of the '* Marseillaise." 

** Don't lose your head," the Canon con- 
tinued. 'M've told you a dozen times that we 
must play fast and loose with this Bonaparte 
until our good King puts him out of the way for 
good and all. For the moment we must play 
fast with him. What has happened is more 
likely to do us good than harm. To-day, in all 
this excitement, the gendarmes will not bother 
themselves to hunt for conscripts. You can go 
in safety with me to the Episcopal Palace; and 
when we get there we are certain to find the 
Lord Bishop in a very amiable mood. His 



314 Sl)e tl)l)ite Serror 



Lordship is a rabid Bonapartist, and he has 
good reason to be. Not very long ago he was 
the poor priest of a poor little parish down in 
the Var — one of the priests who had taken the 
oath to the Republic. They say that down 
there he entertained Bonaparte very hospitably 
at his curacy — it was when the little Corsican 
was on his way to Toulon to drive out the 
English — and that a great friendship was struck 
up between them. Anyhow, when Bonaparte 
became First Consul he made the poor parish 
priest of the Var the Lord Bishop of Avignon. 
And so, you see, his Lordship is certain to be in 
a good humour to-day if it is true that his patron 
has won a fresh great victory. Therefore we 
will go to him as we have planned to go — ^but 
what we had planned to say to him we will 
change a little. I shall tell him, of course, that 
you are. a devoted servant of the Church, and 
that you desire to aid him with your wealth and 
with your influence in building up again the 
strength of the Church in Avignon. But I shall 
add that, in spite of your noble birth, you are an 
enthusiastic supporter of the cause of the First 
Consul. Do you understand ì'* 

** 1 understand," said Calisto gloomily, "that 
neither to-day nor to-morrow shall I possess the 
Comtessine. And 1 also understand," he went 
on in a savage tone, **that if 1 chose, and if 
Mother Dorothy chose to help me, in an hour 
from now I could have the Comtessine inside of 
a tight-closed carriage and could be galloping 
away with her to La Vernède! This Bishop of 
yours is one of those Liberals who forever are 
talking about people's rights and the majesty of 



jBg fair McatíB ox bg fonl 315 

the law — that you can't do this, and you niustn't 
do that, and it's wrong to do the other! He's 
one of the kind that never can give a square yes 
or a square no! " 

** You forget how strong is the appeal that 
we shall make to him. It is a great deal that 
the Comte de la Vernède should offer his sub- 
mission to the First Consul. In return for that 
submission his Lordship cannot refuse you what 
you ask." 

** Can't he, though ! By your own showing, 
he's a Liberal — he's taken the oath to the Repub- 
lic. He's a friend of the brigands, and he'll fol- 
low their ways. Mark my words : he will give 
the Comtessine to me if she consents to be given. 
If she don't, he won't. It will be shorter and 
quicker, now while the way is open, for me to 
take her for myself by force." 

** Listen, my Calisto. It is better to catch a 
butterfly by luring it with a rose than by clutch- 
ing it in a grasp that will crush its wings. Let 
us try the gentle way first. Monseigneur Estève 
has the power to make the Comtessine obey her 
mother's command. Let us endeavour to per- 
suade him to exert it. Should he fail us — well, 
in that case there may be something in the plan 
which you propose. Now go and dress yourself 
for our visit. We should start in half an hour." 

'' Will it ever be? " Calisto muttered between 

his teeth as he left the room. Adeline must 

know that he was a murderer. Vauclair surely 

had told her. For an instant a vision of three 

ghastly wounds flashed before his eyes — the 

three cruel knife-thrusts that he had given to his 

kind master the Comte de la Vernède! 
21 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

THE LORD BISHOP OF AVIGNON 

It was because the Peace of Lunéville had 
been signed that the bells of Avignon were 
ringing. After the battle of Marengo, the 
soldiers of the Republic led by Bonaparte had 
chased the armies of the Emperors through Italy 
into Austria, and in such fright that they ran like 
rabbits at the first note of the "Marseillaise"! 
Then General Moreau, up in the north — ^with 
the help of Augerau and Macdonald and Brune 
— fought an army of Austrians and Emigres and 
won the battle of Hohenlinden. It was after 
that great victory that the brave General Brune 
— who came frorn the Limousine — cracked one of 
the jokes that he was so full of on a prisoner, an 
Emigre, who came from the same country and 
spoke the Limousine dialect. "Til give you 
your life, you poor wretch who fight against 
your own country, " he said, "on one condition : 
that you go to your Austrian Emperor and tell 
him that if he does not instantly bring the keys 
of his capitol to General Bonaparte I, Brune, 
cadet of Brives-la-Gaillarde, will give my black 
horse his dinner of oats off your Emperor's own 
table in your Emperor's own palace! " History 
is silent as to whether or not the traitor saved 
his life on these terms. But it is certain that the 
316 



®l)c toxò Ììi0l)op of í^mgnon 317 

very next day the Emperor of Austria sued for 
peace; and that he sealed it by signing the 
famous Treaty of Lunéville — which gave to the 
French Republic the Rhine frontier and the 
Ionian Islands, and which erected the Cisalpine 
Republic and so spread liberty under the tri- 
colour over the whole of Central Europe! It 
was for that great treaty that the bells of Avi- 
gnon were set a-ringing, and for which cannon 
thundered from the Rocher des Doms! 

The bells still were pealing and the cannon 
still were booming when Calisto and Monsieur 
Jusserand — followed by old Marianne, carrying 
the gold monstrance wrapped in a napkin — came 
out into the Rue du Limas on their way to the 
Bishop's palace. The street was absolutely 
deserted — the discomfited Royalists having 
hidden away in their holes again — but the very 
houses were shaking with the banging of the 
cannon and the clatter of the bells and the roar 
of the near-by crowd. 

Presently, when they were come to the Place 
du Palais des Papes, they were a part of the 
crowd themselves — and what a crowd it was ! 
All the Reds of Avignon were there, shouting 
at the top of their lungs; and shouting with 
them were hundreds of others who were making 
a demonstration for the sake of prudence and 
who much more gladly would have cheered for 
the King. The swarm was so thick that they 
got through it with the utmost difficulty — 
Calisto, leading, trying to make a way by the 
vigorous use of his elbows; the Canon doing his 
best to follow; Marianne, red as a poppy, her 
cap all awry, carrying the big monstrance like a 



3i8 ai)e toljite QLctxov 

baby, lagging along in the rear. Gendarmes 
were among the multitude; and, although it 
was quite certain that the very last thing they 
were thinking about was the conscription, Ca- 
listo shivered at the sight of them and did his 
best to give them a wide berth. The constant 
stops that they were compelled to make added 
to his nervousness. At each he felt that he was 
being stopped purposely, and that in another 
instant he would feel on his shoulder the grip of 
a gendarme's hand. 

Suddenly he felt some one twitch his coat 
from behind, and at the same moment a child's 
voice said **Bonjour, Monsieur Calisto!" He 
faced about hurriedly, but there was no familiar 
face among those near him and for an instant he 
thought that his ears must have played him a 
trick. Then, looking down, he caught sight of 
a little boy wriggling away among the legs of 
the crowd and lookmg back in evident dread 
that Calisto might be following him. The little 
chap wore a red cap and a cockade, quite with 
the air of a man; but for all that he had grown 
a good deal in the years that had passed since 
Calisto had seen him, Calisto knew him for 
Vauclair's son, Clairet. 

The sight of this child, the son of the man 
who already had put the gendarmes on his track, 
sent a thrill of fear through Calisto that made 
him forget everything but his own safety. -His 
nearest and most secure place of shelter for the 
moment was the Bishop's palace. Leaving 
Monsieur Jusserand and old Marianne to look 
out for themselves, he squirmed his way through 
the crowd like a viper and with an astonishing 



aije £orò Bishop of íJlmgnon 319 

celerity gained the palace door. Two gendarmes 
stood guard there drowsily, paying no attention 
to the many priests and monks who were 
hurrying past them into the building; but when 
Calisto joined the ingoing throng one of these 
drowsy-looking guards clapped a hand on his 
shoulder and halted him shortly. This was a 
shivering experience, but Calisto retained his 
presence of mind. **Do not touch me," he 
said, ** I am the Comte de la Vernède." 

** Can't help who you are. Orders are that 
only priests or people with priests go in. Stand 
back!" 

By that time Monsieur Jusserand had come 
up, Marianne following him. ** Monsieur le 
Comte is in my company," he said to the gen- 
darme. 

*'Then it's all right. Pass, citizen!" And 
as the Canon and his companions entered the 
doorway the gendarme resumed his position 
and his drowsy look. 

AH the priests and monks of Avignon — most 
of whom heartily wished Bonaparte in the 
depths of hell — were crowding to pay their 
compliments to Monseigneur upon his illustri- 
ous friend's achievement. The ante-room was 
packed full of them. But it was a silent com- 
pany, as silent and as grave as though the ante- 
room had been a church — as, indeed, it had a 
little the flavour of being because of the faint 
scent of incense from the near-by oratory. 
Among the black-frocked priests and the 
brown-gowned and grey-gowned friars Calisto, 
clad in bright-hued silks set off by gold buttons 
and fine lace, was a brilliant figure. A little 



320 aije ÌDt)ite ^exxot 

sigh of admiration went up from the young 
abbes as they stood on tip-toe to look at him ; 
when the name of ** Monsieur le Comte de la 
Vernède " was called the older priests and the 
dignitaries of the religious orders, clustered 
before the door of the audience chamber, 
drew back and bowed respectfully to let him 
pass. 

Monseigneur d' Avignon himself was not a 
little moved when his usher called this aristo- 
cratic name. Since he had been raised to the 
Episcopal chair of the ancient capitol of Christen- 
dom not a single member of the old nobility 
had crossed his threshold. From afar they had 
looked askance upon him — knowing that he 
had been raised from his little parish to his 
bishopric because of the friendship of the brig- 
and Bonaparte. Having no liking for a bishop 
made in that way, they had let him severely 
alone. 

Therefore his Lordship's cordial smile was 
very genuine as he came forward to welcome 
the Comte de la Vernède, and his satisfaction 
was very genuine as that nobleman kissed his 
ring. It was a great deal that such a member 
of the aristocracy should come to him at all; it 
was more that he should come bringing so mag- 
nificent a gift; but it was most of all that he 
should come with congratulations upon the 
great achievement of General Bonaparte. And 
his Lordship was pleased, also, that with him 
should come such a seeming irreconcilable Roy- 
alist as the Cancn jusserand. Altogether, the 
incident was a most gratifying one. In the 
names of the Republic and the First Consul he 



ffilje £orb iîiôljop of í^tîignon 321 

accepted the congratulations; in his own name 
and in that of the Church he accepted the 
splendid monstrance; and ended by inviting 
his two so- welcome visitors to a private audi- 
ence later in the day, and to be a part of his 
suite — upon the conclusion of the public recep- 
tion — at the Te Deum that was to be sung in 
the cathedral. He was perfectly honest in it 
all, this good Bishop. His own soul was pure 
and his nature upright and generous. But be- 
cause he was so ready to believe that others 
were like himself, because he was so unsus- 
picious of his kind, a curious thing happened: 
On the 27th Pluviose of the Year X the people 
of the Papal City saw in the cortege of the Lord 
Bishop of Avignon, listening with a seemly de- 
votion to the Te Deum that was sung in the 
cathedral church of Notre Dame des Doms, a 
murderer who also was as thorough a scoundrel 
as ever the earth had borne ! 

Later in the day, at the friendly private audi- 
ence which Monseigneur gave to Monsieur le 
Comte de la Vernède and to Monsieur le Cha- 
noine Jusserand, the more personal matter was 
brought forward and was dealt with in the most 
satisfactory way. The written command of the 
Marquise d'Ambrun that her daughter should 
marry Calisto des Sablées de la Vernède was 
produced, and was accepted at its full face 
value. His Lordship, rightly enough, declared 
that such a command was final and should be 
obeyed; and he promised that he himself would 
visit the Comtessine in the Ursuline Convent 
and would endeavour to bring her to repentance 
and a better mind. 



322 St)e tDt)ite Cerror 

The very next day he fulfilled this promise, 
and his unannounced arrival at the convent 
turned that placid but easily excited religious 
establishment quite upside down. The whole 
Sisterhood was in commotion when it was 
known that the Lord Bishop's carriage was be- 
fore the convent door. The bells were set 
a-ringing, and there was a lively discussion and 
a violent clashing of opinions as to how and 
where he should be received. This discussion 
came to nothing. While it still was in prog- 
ress the cause of it had knocked at the little 
door and had been admitted by the porteress, 
Sister Margai. In utter confusion and abase- 
ment, Sister Margai led his lordship along the 
garden path, absolutely without knowing — as 
she subsequently stated — whether she were 
standing on her head or on her heels! 

Monseigneur Estève perceived her tribulation, 
and with a kindly desire to put her at her ease 
began to talk to her. ** Tell me, Sister," he said, 
**what is our Comtessine d'Ambrun doing in 
these days?" 

This carelessly put question was a searching 
one. * * Monseigneur, " Sister Margai replied with 
a deep reverence, **1 cannot answer you with- 
out committing the heavy sin of lying!" 

** What can you possibly mean, my child ?" 
the Bishop said kindly. ** Answer me at once. 
Do not tremble that way. You have nothing to 
fear." 

** Monseigneur, I have been ordered to say 
that the Comtessine is dead." 

**That is very extraordinary! Why were 
you ordered to say that she was dead ? " 



ffil)e £orb iîisljop of í^tîignon 323 

**Monseigneur, I do not know." 
**But you have said that she was dead ?*' 
*'Monseigneur, I have!" and Sister Margai 
heaved a very deep and a very sorrowful sigh. 

** My Sister," said the Bishop gravely, **you 
have committed a great sin. For your penance, 
I order you to go to whomsoever you told that 
the Comtessine was dead and to tell them that 
you have lied to them and to ask them for for- 
giveness." 

Monseigneur would have pressed the matter 
farther, but at that moment they came to the 
chapel door. Inside the chapel the nuns were 
in waiting for him. As they caught sight of 
the little Bishop — he was a lean little man, with 
one shoulder higher than the other — they fell 
prostrate, their faces close to the stone floor. 
As he said **Benedicat vos!" and made the 
sign of blessing them, they arose and ranged 
themselves in two lines. Between these lines 
he passed on to the altar slowly, extending his 
hand to right and to left that the Sisters might 
kiss his ring. The older nuns performed this 
act of homage with downcast eyes; but the 
younger ones could not help glancing up at him 
from under their veils — and one light-minded 
little nun, when he had passed her, whispered 
to her neighbour: '*Mon dieu ! How little 
he is!" 

Monseigneur Estève, who was quick-eared 
and fond of a joke even at his own expense, 
turned about briskly. **And also just a trifle 
hump-backed! " he added; and, with a smile at 
the poor little nun as she went quite scarlet, 
passed on to the altar. At the altar he became 






324 Sl)e tDt)ite Cerror 

grave again — delivering there a short address to 
the Sisters and then dismissing them. 

These formalities being accomplished, Adeline 
was brought to him in the bishop's room of the 
convent and in the presence of the Mother Supe- 
rior he had a long talk with her. He reasoned 
with her gravely, as a father might have done, 
pointing out to her the scandal that would ensue 
should she disobey her mother's command ; and 
with the coaxing tenderness of a father he 
stroked her cheeks and patted gently her hands. 
But neither to his reasoning nor to his coaxing 
would she in the least yield. To all his urgings 
she opposed a firm negative. 

Adeline no longer was a child. She was a 
tall and slender and very beautiful woman, and 
she had a woman's will. With her beauty was 
an indefinable charm that compelled not only 
admiration but respect. The Bishop yielded to 
this charm, in spite of himself, and found the 
work cut out for him extremely difficult. At 
the end of his final appeal she remained unshaken. 
Her rich sweet voice rang clear as she answered : 
** Never shall I give my troth to any one but my 
Pascalet! " As she spoke the words ** my Pas- 
calet" she was transfigured — the flush oi wild 
roses was in her cheeks, her eyes flashed like 
the dawn! 

Monseigneur d'Avignon, a wise man in his 
generation, for the time being gave up the con- 
flict. '*The world wasn't made in a day," he 
said to himself; and said aloud to Adeline that 
he begged her to reflect upon what he had 
urged upon her, and to be ready to give him a 
final answer in a fortnight's time. Then, the 



aije £orb jSi0l)op of í^tîignon 325 

nuns buzzing about him, he left the convent 
and returned to his palace — whence he des- 
patched to the Canon Jusserand a brief report 
of how his interview with the Comtessine 
had gone. 



CHAPTER XXXV 

A PRAYER TO SAINT URSULA 

When the Bishops messenger, Joselet, came 
to Canon Jusserand's house he found there only 
old Marianne — and a terrible taking he found 
her in ! Before she had the door fairly open she 
burst out: **Oh how the seven gendarmes 
frightened me when they came here last night! 
I'm all in a tremble over it still! " 

** That's very bad," said Joselet sympathiz- 
ingly. He was a simple soul, with just about 
enough wit to come into the house when it 
rained, and to light and to put out the altar 
candles. 

**No, it's not so very bad," Marianne an- 
swered, ** for they were after Monsieur le Comte, 
and they didn't get him." 

'* Ah, that's very good," said Joselet. 

'*No, it's not very good, for Monsieur le 
Comte had to crawl out of the cellar window in 
the dead of night and fly for his life." 

** That's very bad indeed." 

*'No, it's not very bad, for the Porte de 
rOulle wasn't shut and he was able to get safe 
away to his Chateau." 

** That's very good indeed." 

'*No, it's not very good, for Monsieur le 
326 



ÍX Prager to Saint Hrsula 327 

- - -- - - - — - -^- ■■ . — — - - - _ — ■ ■ -- ^ 

Chanoine had to go off with the gendarmes to 
the Hotel de Ville and try to smooth things 
over and make explanations." 

Joselet's slow wits were put completely out 
of tune by this boxing back and forth of his 
sympathies. '* Heaven for your good luck, and 
hell for your bad luck," he said shortly. ** Here, 
take this letter and give it to Monsieur le Cha- 
noine when he returns." And Joselet twisted 
about on his heel and went away. 

It was Clairet who had brought about Calis- 
to's midnight flight from Avignon. The little 
scamp had spent the whole day away from 
home, doing so much more than his share to 
help celebrate the Peace of LunéviUe that when 
night came he found himself in an awkward 
dilemma: he was very hungry and wanted his 
supper; he was in dire fear that his whole day's 
absence from home would be rewarded with a 
spanking! Pushed forward by his hunger and 
pulled backward by his dread, he approached 
his home slowly. Just on the threshold a bril- 
liant plan for creating a diversion occurred to 
him. Instantly he dashed into the house and 
burst out with : * * Mother ! Father ! Such news ! 
You'll never guess it! I've seen Monsieur 
Calisto!" 

Clairet's plan worked to a charm. Vau- 
clair started up from the supper-table as though 
a thunderbolt had fallen. *' Where did you see 
him.^" he exclaimed. **Are you sure that it 
was he ?" 

**I saw him on the Place du Palais. I'm 
quite sure that it was he. I called out to him 
* Bonjour, Monsieur Calisto,' and he turned 



328 ®l)e toljite aterrar 

around and glared at me horribly. Then I ran 
away. It was he for sure! " 

In spite of Lazuli's entreaties to finish his 
supper, Vauclair grabbed his hat and dashed off 
to the Hotel de Ville. * ' I won't wait a minute ! " 
he cried. ** Murderer and shirking coward that 
he is, I must start the gendarmes after him this 
instant! At last I've got him — and I've got him 
fast!" 

But, as the event proved, Vauclair had not 
got him fast. Again Óalisto slipped away from 
the gendarmes, and this time hid himself at the 
Chateau de la Vernède. There, with his peas- 
ants keeping sharp watch for him, he was safe; 
and there he went through another season of 
waiting even more irksome than that which 
he had passed at La Garde. A whole month 
dragged slowly on without news coming to him 
from Avignon. He was in a rage with every- 
body; but his liveliest rage was against the 
Bishop, who he believed was playing him 
false. 

However, Monseigneur d'Avignon was not 
to blame in the premises. His second visit to 
Adeline had been as fruitless as his first visit. 
Equally fruitless had been his third visit. The 
more that he lectured the Comtessine upon the 
sin of disobedience, the more vigorously did she 
assert her intention of obeying only her own 
heart. She would marry Pascalet, or she would 
marry nobody. On that she made her stand. 

Mother Dorothy and Canon Jusserand, satis- 
fied that neither persuasion nor argument would 
have any effect upon her, resorted to measures 
of a sterner sort. They shut her up in a cell: 



J 



!3l ^rager to Saint Erôula 329 

to give her an opportunity, they said, to reflect 
upon her evil courses, and to pray to Saint Ur- 
sula to set her in the right way. She was to 
make a novena, Mother Dorothy' told her. 
When her novena was ended Monseigneur 
would come to receive her final answer. If the 
answer was not what they hoped that it would 
be, she would be sent — so Mother Dorothy inti- 
mated — in a closed carriage to La Vernède and 
there delivered to the husband chosen for her by 
her sainted mother the Marquise. 

Shut fast in her cell — lighted by a single high- 
up window, bare save for the agonized Christ 
upon His cross hung against the wall, with only 
her rosary and her book of hours — Adeline's no- 
vena was one long torture: with the coarser 
torture imminent of being delivered over at the 
end of it to a man utterly unknown to her — very 
likely old and cruel and jealous — who would 
make her life as hard as the very stones. But 
she was resolute. Never, never would she 
yield, she said to herself again and again. 
Sooner would she die. Before the crucifix she 
cast herself in prayer. But the eyes of the ago- 
nized Christ were turned upward and away 
from her — He did not seem to hear. Then she 
invoked the grace of sweet Saint Ursula — but no 
grace came. Even her human friends had for- 
saken her. Lazuli and Vauclair no longer came 
to see her. She prayed again, this time that 
these good friends might come to her. They 
came not. And Pascalet ? Now that there was 
peace again why did he not come and deliver 
her.^ She prayed for his coming. He did not 
come. God, the saints, her friends, her lover, 



33^ ®l)c tDt)itc QLtxxox 



seemed all to have deserted her. Creeping into 
her heart came cold despair! 

As this agonizing novena drew close to its 
end Monsieur Jusserand and Mother Dorothy 
decided to make one more strong effort to break 
Adeline's stubborn will. On the last evening of 
her seclusion — the evening preceding the day on 
which she was to receive the Lord Bishop and 
give him her final answer — the Canon brought 
to the convent the title deeds to her estate and 
the written command, signed by her mother, 
that she should marry Calisto des Sablées de la 
Vernède. It was his hope that when she saw 
these papers with her own eyes, and was assured 
that the title deeds were to be restored to her by 
the man whom she was to wed, she at last 
would yield. 

When Canon Jusserand and Mother Dorothy 
softly entered Adeline's cell they found her on 
her knees before the crucifix — praying, but 
praying almost hopelessly, to the impassive 
Christ whose eyes were turned upward and 
away. They began their attack on the side of 
worldly interest. They spread out before her 
the documents which made good her title to the 
estate of La Garde, and declared with a con- 
vincing earnestness that on the day of her mar- 
riage these documents would be surrendered 
into her keeping. Her answer completely cut 
the ground from under their feet. Wealth and 
rank were nothing to her, she said. It was her 
desire to be one of the people. She wished to 
be as her Pascalet was. That would please him 
most when he returned to her. She was sure, 
she added., in a voice that shook a little, that he 



31 ÎJ}raBcr to Saint Mrsula 33^ 

would return to her very soon — very soon in- 
deed, now that the peace was signed. 

Baffled by this reply, that made any attempt 
at argument hopeless, Canon Jusserand ad- 
vanced his second line of attack — on the side of 
filial duty — by placing in her hand the paper 
signed by her mother. Adeline tried to read 
the paper, but at the first glance she saw only 
the signature; and the sight of her mother's 
name, written in her mother's hand, so over- 
came her that her eyes filled with tears and she 
could not read the words to which that signa- 
ture was affixed. She pressed the signature to 
her lips. It seemed as though she heard her 
mother calling to her. She trembled from head 
to foot. Then, as she looked at the paper again, 
she saw another name — a name that checked 
her tears and that made her see clearly. With 
eyes not tearful, but flashing, she read : 

I, the Marquise Adelaide d'Ambrun, give in marriage my 
daughter, the Comtessine Adeline d'Ambrun, to the faithful 
Calisto des Sablees de la Vernède. I believe that my daugh- 
ter will carry out my wishes, and so will show her obedience 
to her unhappy mother, Adelaide d'Ambrun. 

As Adeline read these words the whole 
horror of the situation was clear to her. Her 
clenched hands, holding the paper, fell to her 
sides — tearing it into two pieces. Her face be- 
came a dead white. Her breath came in gasps. 
In a broken voice, shrill with dread, she cried; 
''That man! That man the Comte de la Ver- 
nède! That is no Comte de la Vernède! That 

is Calisto — the murderer!" And with a pierc- 
22 



332 St)e tDl)ite Serror 

ing cry that went ringing through the whole 
convent she fell to the floor. 

The first cure of Canon Jusserand and of 
Mother Dorothy was to force open Adeline's 
clenched hands and to secure possession of the 
torn paper. This being accomplished, they 
picked her up between them and laid her on 
her bed. Then Mother Dorothy went out into 
the passage and called sharply for Sister Margai 
— who, alarmed by the cry that she had heard, 
came up the stairs two steps at a time. When 
she saw the Comtessine, dead white, stretched 
out upon the bed she fell on her knees, with 
clasped hands, exclaiming: **0h my Adeline, 
it was you who gave that dreadful cry — it was 
you, giving yourself up to death! Oh great 
Saint Ursula of Jesus, have pity on her!" 

** Nonsense ! '* said Mother Dorothy. "The 
child is not dead. She is only in a faint. She 
must be put to bed at once and well wanned. 
See to that, Sister Margai, and be quick about 
it. I will send you vinegar and orange-flower 
water. " The Mother Superior hurried out of the 
room. Canon Jusserand, after making the sign 
of the cross with his thumb upon Adehne's fore- 
head, followed her, murmuring a prayer. 

Being left alone with the apparently lifeless 
body, Sister Margai resorted to treatment which 
— though less practical than emotional— was 
effective. '* Oh Adeline! Adeline! " she cried, 
clasping her arms about the neck of the fainting 
girl. ''You cannot be dead! I shall not let 
you be dead ! Wake ! Monseigneur d'Avignon 
is coming!" 

At that name a little tremor went through 



!X Prager to Saint Ersnla 333 

Adeline's rigid body, her eyelids closed for an 
instant over her staring eyes and then opened 
naturally. In a voice that was the merest whis- 
per of sound, she said tremulously: **The mur- 
derer! The murderer, Monseigneur! Deliver 
me from him ! " 

**My Adeline, there is no murderer here. 
You are safe with me, with Sister Margai who 
loves you ! '* That Adeline had spoken, although 
so wildly, comforted Sister Margai greatly. 
Adeline h^d had another such attack as that 
which had overcome her reason once before, 
the kind-hearted nun concluded; and as she 
had recovered then, so would she again recover 
if given rest and care. All the same. Sister 
Margai was puzzled. It was the shock caused 
by the burning of Bédoin, and the death — as she 
believed — of Monsieur Randoulet in the flames, 
that had unhinged Adeline's mind that other 
time. What fresh shock could she have had 
when only Monsieur Jusserand and Mother Dor- 
othy were with her? What had caused her 
woeful cry ? What had set her to praying to be 
delivered from a murderer ? Sister Margai had 
much to think about — as she sat in the gather-^ 
ing dusk beside Adeline, talking to her sooth- 
ingly and gently stroking her hands. Her 
thoughts were so painfully perplexing that she 
was'glad to have Sister Scholastica come hurry- 
ing into the room, bringing the vinegar and 
orange-flower water and bringing also a lamp. 
She had been sent by Mother Dorothy — who 
herself was engaged with Canon Jusserand in 
trying to piece together the paper that Adeline 
had torn. Should the Bishop require sight of it 



334 ®l)e ttïljite Serror 

again, and find it in two fragments, he might 
ask awkward questions. 

The tender and soothing ministrations of 
these two good Sisters, who loved her very 
dearly, in a little while restored Adeline's mind 
to its balance and brought back some of her 
strength again. And then their sympathy, and 
her own need of unburdening her soul of the 
sorrow that was crushing her, led her to tell 
them of the desperate strait in which she was: 
that she either must consent to be married to a 
murderer, or must commit the sin of disobeying 
her dead mother's express command. She told 
them the whole story — and as they heard it the 
good Sisters also became desperate and gave 
way to tears and groans. When it was finished, 
by a common impulse, they fell on their knees 
and implored the holy Saint Ursula of Jesus, 
patroness of the convent, to show them a way 
of escape; to* open a door through which her 
servant might pass and be in safety. 

The Sisters, at least, believed that Saint 
Ursula heard and completely answered their 
prayer. To all of them, as they prayed, came 
the same thought: safety could be reached 
through the door of Saint Ursula's own con- 
vent; protection perpetual could be found be- 
neath the veil which Saint Ursula and her eleven 
thousand companions, virgins and martyrs, 'had 
worn ! To Adeline, although she also accepted 
it, this answer was at once harrowingly incom- 
plete and cruel. It was true that beneath the 
veil of Saint Ursula she would find safety, but 
for her love it would be a shroud. Death in 
life was before her, or insufferable dishonour — 



Î2l Pragcr to 0aint îîrsttla 335 

( „^.^_ 

the shelter of the pure cloister, or the arms 
of a creature foul with crime. **God and 
Saint Ursula help me," she whispered. **I 
choose that which my Pascalet would have me 
choose!" 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

THE PRICE OF VICTORY 

When the convent bell rang matins Adeline 
was sleeping so peacefully that Sister Scholastica 
and Sister Margai did not hesitate to leave her 
— that they might join the other Sisters in the 
chapel in singing the three anthems and the 
three psalms. For this Mother Dorothy reproved 
them ; and in answer was assured that not only 
had Adeline recovered from her seizure, but that 
the blessed Saint Ursula had put a high and a 
holy purpose in her heart. When Monseigneur 
d'Avignon came to visit her, they added, he 
would be surprised and edified by finding how 
willingly she would make her submission to the 
will of God. 

This good news brought to the reverend 
Mother Dorothy a profound happiness. Evi- 
dently, ail was going as she wished that it 
should go. The marriage which she so longed 
for would take place ; and by helping to bnng 
it about she would have atoned, she felt, for 
the sin of her youth. When the child who had 
been abandoned in the sand-pits of Aramon 
should be firmly established as the lord of Ara- 
mon, then indeed would the erring father and 
mother of that child have done their duty by 
him to the full. She turned back into the 
336 



®l)e JJrice of bictorg 337 

chapel and knelt alone at the altar, pouring out 
her thankfulness to God that he had permitted 
her at last to set right the wrong that she had 
done. To her, Adeline's cry that Calisto was a 
murderer was the mere raving utterance of a 
disordered mind. With joy and gratitude in 
her heart the Mother Superior returned to her 
cell. The other Sisters already had gone back 
to the boards that served them for beds. Pres- 
ently the convent was silent again, wrapped in 
its midnight repose. 

One nun did not sleep, and soon a strange 
dull noise broke the silence — a soft sound, yet 
penetrating, made by the lashing of tender flesh. 
No one paid any attention to it. Rarely did a 
night pass undisturbed by this sound — some- 
times from one cell, sometimes from another, 
but always the same. It would last while a 
miserere would be recited. Then it would stop, 
and silence would come again. That night the 
sound lasted longer than usual, and it came 
from the cell of Sister Margai. In that poor 
nun's breast, very tender and human, Adeline's 
passionate lamentations for her lost love had 
wrought havoc — stirring up nettle memories of 
a spring-time over which the winter of the 
cloister unavailingly had cast its snows. Ade- 
line's vivid talk of Pascalet had brought vividly 
into her own mind her little heart-romance 
when she was the turkey-herd at the farm of 
Pèire-Avon ; had set clearly before her eyes that 
younger son of Tònis who jollily had kissed 
her behind the yew-tree once in the long, long 
ago. To holy Saint Ursula she prayed to hide 
from her this betraying vision. But Saint Ursula 



33^ £1)^ tDI)iU Serror 

heard not her prayer. It was then, prayer fail- 
ing her, that she exorcised her vision with the 
seven-knotted scourge. That day, when Mon- 
seigneur d'Avignon knocked at the gate of the 
convent, the Sister who opened to him had eyes 
wan and sunken and a face as pale as the wax 
of the ahar candles — ^and as pure. 

Mother Dorothy, on the contrary, as she 
hastened to meet the Lord Bishop, had a face so 
bright with happiness that she seemed suddenly 
to be younger by a good ten years. So full 
was she of the glad news that she had for him 
that she began to tell it before she fairly had 
risen from kissing his ring. 

**Monseigneur," she said joyfully, "the no- 
vena has borne good fruit! Saint Ursula herself 
has touched the heart of the Comtessine. At 
last she is willing to obey! " 

**God be praised!" exclaimed the good 
Bishop earnestly. 

"Yes, Monseigneur," Mother Dorothy con- 
tinued, **the devil who has been tempting her 
to disobedience fled from her body last night. 
In the presence of this your servant, and of the 
Canon Jusserand, he forsook her — but with such 
wrathful violence that for a time we feared that 
he had bereft her of her mind." 

*'Poor child! Poor innocent child," Mon- 
seigneur said pityingly. 

**Then it was," Mother Dorothy went on, 
"that our holy Saint Ursula of Jesus appeared 
to her and drove the evil spirit utterly away. 
Suddenly, in an instant, the Comtessme had 
back again her reason. And then, in the pres- 
ence of Sister Margai and Sister Scholastica, 



ffil)e IJrice of bictorg 339 

who were caring for her, she holily declared 
her willingness to submit to the will of God." 

As the Mother Superior set forth these edi- 
fying facts they were advancing, preceded by 
Sister Margai, through the corridors of the con- 
vent, and as she reached her satisfactory conclu- 
sion they came to the door of Adeline's cell. 

** Benedicatas Domino!" called Sister Mar- 
gai. 

*VDeo gratias! " came the answer in Adeline's 
voice, as sweet and as clear as the song of a 
bird. 

Together the Lord Bishop and the Mother 
Superior entered the cell. The door behind 
them was closed. 

Left in perilous proximity to the key-hole, 
Sister Margai found herself beset by that form 
of the sin of curiosity which manifests itself in 
eavesdropping. To combat her temptation she 
had resort to her rosary — ^telling her beads aloud, 
with intent to set up the sound of her own voice 
as a barrier between what she should not hear 
and her too-eager ears. This system of defense 
was not wholly effective. She did not hear the 
words spoken within the cell, but she did hear 
the tones of the three voices. At first, these 
were gentle and friendly ; but presently, after a 
moment of silence, the voice of Mother Dorothy 
rose shrill and loud and menacing; then the 
voice of the Bishop interposed to check her out- 
burst; and with these evidently conflicting utter- 
ances came the sound of Adeline's sobs. The 
Bishop's remonstrances were ineffectual. Mother 
Dorothy's voice rose louder and shriller — never 
had Sister Margai heard it so fierce and so terri- 



340 9l)e tDl)ite Serror 

ble. She seemed almost to bark, to howl, in 
her rage. The Bishop's voice became deeper 
and sterner. Adeline's voice was raised in a 
frightened cry. Sister Margai, as a final measure, 
resolutely put her fingers in her ears. At last 
the door of the cell opened and the two came 
out. Sister Margai unstopped her ears, as was 
her right, and so without sin heard the Lord 
Bishop say these extraordinary words: "Sister 
Dorothy, the devil that was cast out from the 
Comtessine's body surely must have entered 
into yours!" 

** Pardon, Monseigneur! " cried the Mother 
Superior, kneeling before him. 

** Sister, ' the Bishop answered, "when you 
have done a sufficient penance you will win 
your pardon from God! " He made the sign of 
the cross over her and walked on. 

Mother Dorothy arose and followed him and 
knelt to him again, asking: "Monseigneur, 
what penance must I do.^" 

Still walking onward, the Lord Bishop said 
in a tone deep and sad and grave: " You must 
become the serving-sister of the convent. And 
you must sew the robe and the veil in which, 
on this coming Ash Wednesday, the nun 
Adeline will take upon her Saint Ursula's 
vows! " 

Leaving her kneeling there, overwhelmed by 
her shame, Monseigneur d'Avignon passed on 
and left the convent. Not until she heard the 
wheels of his departing carriage did the stricken 
and humbled Sister Dorothy, Mother Superior 
no longer, rise from her knees. She staggered 
to her cell, utterly broken by the sentence passed 



®l)e JJrice of bictorg 341 

upon her to become the serving-sister of the 
convent over which for so many years she had 
ruled ! 

Being come again to his palace, the Lord 
Bishop despatched thence two writings. One of 
these was a letter to theCanon Jusserand, inform- 
ing him that there could be no marriage between 
the Comtessine d'Ambrun and the Comte de la 
Vernède — for the sufficient reason that the Com- 
tessine, by the grace of God, had decided to 
profess religion in the Order of Saint Ursula and 
so would be relieved from obedience to the 
command of her sainted mother the Marquise. 
Beyond making Canon Jusserand furiously angry 
with the brigand of a Republican Bishop who 
had played him false, this letter produced no im- 
mediate result. In a little while, conveyed by a 
trusty messenger, it was on its way to Calisto 
at La Vernède. 

His Lordship's other writing was a parch- 
ment, duly signed and sealed, which formally 
appointed Sister Scholastica to be Mother Supe- 
rior of the Convent of Saint Ursula in Sister 
Dorothy's place. This produced a result both 
immediate and violent. The whole convent 
fairly was set in a whirl by it. Most of the Sis- 
ters, quite inconsequently, took to weeping; 
and they all chattered like so many pies. When 
the commotion a little had subsided, they car- 
ried out the command of the Bishop in their own 
way. They escorted their late Mother Superior 
from her cell to the chapel ; and there, while the 
convent bell was tolled, they sung the Miserere 
and the De profundis — quite as though they 
were conducting her funeral. Then, weeping 



342 Cl)c tDI)iU Cerror 

over her, they led her to the kitchen and put on 
her the apron that as serving-sister was her 
badge of office : and left the poor shamed crea- 
ture there charged with the duty of making 
ready a dish of carrots and a dish of greens. 
They had cried, **The Queen is dead!" but 
they still had to cry "Long live the Queen!" 
In the kitchen they lefl their tears and their long 
faces. The moment that they were out in the 
corridor they became all gaiety, chirping with 
laughter and fairly dancing a "round" that car- 
ried them to the door of tne new Mother Supe- 
rior's cell. Thence, while the convent bell rang 
out gaily, they escorted Sister Scholastica to the 
chapel and sang a Te Deum in her honour and 
otherwise gave thanks to God. Being thus in- 
stalled in her new office. Mother Scholastica 
began her reign by an act of grace : to all the 
Sisters she granted an hour of recreation in the 
garden — and away they all went to work oflf 
some of their surplus high spirits by scampering 
about in the open air. 

Adeline thankfully went into the garden with 
the others, eager — after her seclusion of more 
than a week — to be again in the blessed sun- 
shine. But amidst the gaiety of the frolicsome 
Sisters she was most bitterly sad. She had 
saved herself, she believed, from worse than 
death, but her salvation had been won at the 
cost of breaking her heart. She would not be 
defiled by the foul love of a murderer, but the 
sacrifice of the pure love of her Pascalet was the 
price that she had paid for her deliverance. Sit- 
ting in a quiet place apart, she gave way to her 
cruel sorrow. She longed for sympathy, and 



ílje Price of bictotg 343 



looked about her for Sister Margai — who knew 
her trouble, and whose tender heart was full of 
compassion. Sister Margai was not in the gar- 
den. While the hour of sunshine lasted, Ade- 
line nourished her grief alone. 



CHAPTER XXXVII 

ASH-WEDNESDAY EVE 

Sister Margai was not in the garden because 
she was ministering, a little tardily, to the wel- 
fare of her own soul. Monseigneur had ordered 
her to do penance for the lie that she had con- 
fessed to him by confessing it also to whom- 
soever she had told it. The discharge of that 
penance, as Sister Margai well knew, would in- 
volve her, and instantly, in very serious trouble 
with Mother Dorothy. Therefore she made what 
terms she could with her conscience and put the 
matter off. To her credit be it said that at the 
first possible safe moment — that is to say, the 
moment that Mother Dorothy!s degradation was 
accomplished — she made use of the liberty that 
was hers, as a lay Sister, to leave the convent 
and hurried off to confess her lie to the Vau- 
clairs. 

Her confession, coupled with her statement 
that Adeline would be free to see them without 
restriction until she took the vows, caused a 
whirlwind of happiness in the little house in the 
Place du Grand Paradis — and Sister Margai found 
her sin forgiven her because of her bringing of 
such good news. Lazuli was quite frantic with 
delight. Vauclair was only a touch less frantic. 
In an instant they were bustling into their best 

344 



iXslj-toebnesbaa €tJe 345 

clothes. ** We will take her her Christmas nou- 
gat!" cried Lazuli. **And we will tell her," 
Vauclair added, **that we did not keep Christ- 
mas because we thought that she was dead!" 
Lazuli scraped a few coins together. On their 
way to the convent they bought the very best 
nougat that was to be had in the pastry-cook's 
shop at the corner of the Place du Change. 

It was a tempest of a meeting that they all 
had in the convent parlor. Adeline flung her- 
self into Lazuli's arms and cried with happiness 
on that tender mother-heart. Vauclair, finding 
her grown to be a tall young lady, dignified and 
beautiful, felt shyly uncertain whether he should 
address her with' the formal **you" or the fa- 
miliar **thou" — until he also found himself 
caught close in her arms. Clairet, grown to be 
a big boy, was confused — and a little incensed 
— when this beautiful lady kissed him quite as 
though he were a little chap of only three or four 
years old. And when these kisses and em- 
braces were ended, they immediately were be- 
gun all over again. It seemed as though they 
never would have done ! 

At last they were able to settle down and to 
talk coherently; and then Adeline told them of 
the struggle through which she had passed : of 
the machinations of the Canon Jusserand and 
Mother Dorothy to compel her to marry Calisto; 
of the part that Monseigneur d'Avignon had 
taken in the matter; of her final escape from the 
horror that threatened her by promising that 
in a fortnight's time, on the coming Ash 
Wedjnesday, she would take the veil. And 
as she ended her story she flung herself once 



346 Q[|)e tDt)iU Setrût 

more into Lazuli's arms and sobbed brokenly: 
** And so never, never may I meet my Pascalet 
agam ! 

Vauclair could not contain himself. Al- 
though the holy walls of a convent were about 
him, and the Blessed Virgin's image in plaster 
was in the niche close behind him, and a picture 
of Saint Ursula hung on the wall above his head, 
his rage had to find vent. **Sacré nom de pas 
Dieu! " he cried. ** 1 must rid the earth of that 
accursed creature ! Of him, and of that accursed 
Canon too! " 

**Hush! Hush, my Vauclair!" exclaimed 
Lazuli. ** What dreadful words for you to be 
saying here!" 

** Where is he now, this Calisto?" Vauclair 
asked sharply, giving no heed .to Lazuli's re- 
monstrance. 

*M don't know where he is," Adeline an- 
swered. ** 1 only know that he knows where 1 
am. In spite of being sheltered here behind 
bolts and bars, 1 tremble when I think of him. 
1 feel that my only secure shelter against him is 
the shelter of Saint Ursula's veiL" 

'' Poor Pascalet! " sighed Lazuli. 

**My heart dies within me when I think of 
Pascalet," and Adeline, sobbing, covered her 
face with her hands. 

*' Did you know that he went through Avi- 
gnon while you were hidden in the cave of Cur- 
mier, and while I was in Malaucène?" Lazuli 
asked. 

** No. How could 1 know it ? Ah, to think 
that he was so near! " 

*'Yes, lie was here," Lazuli continued. 



^si)'-tDeibnesibas (Rvc 347 

**The neighbours told me about his visit to our 
house." 

** Those neighbours who were so cruel to 
you?" 

** Yes, but they are sorry now. They know 
now that they were wrong. They told me that 
he came here with a battalion on its way to join 
the army of General Bonaparte in Italy. The 
battalion was halted here for the night. He 
came to our house and knocked and knocked, 
and called for all of us by name — for you, for 
me, for Vauclair. He sat on our step, they said, 
the whole night through — hoping, no doubt, 
that we were gone somewhere on a visit and 
might at any moment return. At daybreak, 
when the drums of the battalion beat the as- 
sembly, they saw him go away. Then he went 
on to Italy. 1 feel in my heart that he never will 
return!" 

"And I feel in my heart," said Adeline very 
earnestly, '*that he surely will return! 1 shall 
pray to Saint Ursula of Jesus, our holy patroness, 
that I may have sight of him again on earth — 
though it be only through the convent grating 
— and 1 am sure, I am sure. Lazuli, that sweet 
Saint Ursula will grant my prayer!" And 
again Adeline wept upon Lazuli's breast. 

Vauclair's good heart was. full of pain for 
Adeline. As he could not think of anything 
comforting to say, he attempted a diversion. 
*' Isn't there something in that basket of yours, 
Lazuli ? " he asked. 

"Of course there is," she answered, per- 
ceiving his kindly purpose, "and I ought to be 
ashamed of myself for forgetting i> " 

23 



348 «Ije toljite QTerror 



"You see," said Vauclair, "we couldn't 
keep Christmas last year, when we thought that 
you were dead. And so " 

"And so," Lazuli broke in, "we have 
brought you your Christmas nougat now. Here 
it is — red noueat and white nougat. It will 
make you think of our Christmas Eve in Paris, 
in William the Patriot's house, with the dear 
Planchots." 

Vauclair's diversion was a success. Adeline, 
a true Provençale, was quick to smile through 
her tears. " Oh, how good of you to think of 
it!" she cried happily. "Come, Clairet," she 
went on, "one of these bars is for you. I 
haven't forgotten how fond you are of nougat, 
you see!" 

But Clairet, in growing to be a big boy, had 
left his little greedy ways behind him. He 
reddened and drew back. Adeline could not 
induce him to accept the bar of nougat She 
had to keep the whole of it for herself. 

All too soon, when the convent bell rang for 
service, Sister Margai came to call Adeline away. 
But the parting was not a sorrowful one — ^be- 
cause the Vauclairs were to come again, and as 
many times as possible, in the course of the re- 
maining fortnight during which they would not 
be separated from her by iron bars. 

When the visitors had left the convent, Vau- 
clair said shortly: " 1 have business to attend to. 
1 am going to the Hotel de Ville and to the Rue 

du Limas " and so walked off briskly, leaving 

Lazuli and Clairet to go home alone. Lazuli 
did not try to dissuade him, but she had small 
hope that he would accomplish anything. 



^si)'-tDeibnesibas <Et)e 349 

**That clever scoundrel is on his guard," she 
said to herself. ** It will not be to-day, nor yet 
to-morrow, that he falls into the hands of the 
gendarmes!" 

Lazuli was right, as she was very apt to be. 
Calisto was safe m his Chateau ; and as Vauclair 
turned into the Rue du Limas he actually saw — 
without knowing what he saw — Canon Jusse- 
rand's messenger, bearing the Bishop's letter, 
starting for La Vernède. But Vauclair was con- 
vinced that the game that he was after was not 
far away; and he impressed his conviction so 
strongly upon the Commandant of Gendarmes 
that the search was continued keenly and widely 
from that time on. 

It was with a wild outburst of rage that 
Calisto read the Bishop's letter. But a letter 
from Canon Jusserand, that accompanied it, not 
only quieted his rage but filled him with a fierce 
hope again. **lf you still are determined, in 
spite of all, to marry the Comtessine," Monsieur 
Jusserand wrote, **you will be helped to ac- 
complish your purpose. On the eve of Ash 
Wednesday the convent door will be opened to 
you, and the Comtessine will be delivered into 
your hands to do with as you please." Calisto 
wanted nothing better than that! With Lou 
Pounchu and Rocofort he arranged his plans. 

At the other end of the line, in Avignon, 
Canon Jusserand arranged plans with the serv- 
ing-sister of the convent. Sister Dorothy. They 
were quite simple. On the eve of Ash Wednes- 
day she was to procure and to give to him the 
key of the door, opening upon the Rue Porte- 
Evêque, of the uncloistered apartment in which 



35^ 9l)e tDI|ite Cjerror 

Adeline was housed. Also, the Canon gave 
some useful information to Lou Pounchu and 
Rocofort — when those worthies, taking advan- 
tage of the carnival, wandered masked in the 
vicinity of the convent and made themselves 
familiar with the ground. Finally, on the eve 
of the fast, he confessed Adeline and congratu- 
lated her upon the holy act which she would 
accomplish on the ensuing day — ^and then re- 
ceived the key from Sister Dorothy and carried 
it to his friends in waiting outside. 

Off in the Chateau de la Vemède, that same 
afternoon, Calisto was putting the finishing 
touches to the apartment which he had prepared 
for Adeline's reception. It was a prison, but he 
had striven to make it a beautiful prison. He 
had caused it to be fitted with the most sump- 
tuous furniture that the Chateau contained, the 
richest carpets and laces and silks, and he had 
flooded it with balmy perfumes. Against one 
wall he had raised a httle altar, adorned with 
wax candles and with flowers, on which he had 

E laced the silver image of the Virgin from the 
ouse in the Rue de Bretagne — ^the very image 
before which Adeline and Lazuli had knelt in 
prayer. This altar was his master-stroke. He 
had taken infinite pains to make perfect its 
appointments. Before it he would stand with 
Adeline while Canon Jusserand performed the 
sacrament that made them man and wife. 

These preparations being completely fin- 
ished, Calisto devoted himself to making his 
own toilet. The sun still was high, he had 
ample leisure, and he was slow in choosing 
among the elegant garments which he brought 



forth from the wardrobes and strewed about the 
room. When his choice at last was made, he 
brought a gold-stoppered bottle from the dress- 
ing table and scented his linen delicately with 
essence of jessamine. The subtle perfume 
seemed to go to his head. His blood leaped 
through his veins. His brain seemed to be on 
fire. 

The waning sunlight recalled him to his 
senses a little and warned him that he must 
hurry. On his dressing-table, set in front of a 
big window that commanded the main avenue 
leading to the Chateau, he spread out his shav- 
ing apparatus and the heater and irons for curl- 
ing his hair. He lathered his face, and shaved 
the half of it carefully — but the other half of his 
face did not get shaved that day ! As he read- 
justed himself before the mirror he chanced to 
glance out of the window. Down at the far 
end of the avenue he saw a sight which made 
him drop his razor in a hurry, with a shrill cry 
of fear. Coming up the avenue at a gallop was 
a squad of mounted gendarmes ! 

There was not an instant for him to lose. 
Just as he was — in his shirt sleeves, with one 
half of his face covered with lather — he bolted. 
Racing down a back stair, through the offices 
of the Chateau and thence through the chicken- 
yard, he gained the forest. The gendarmes 
turned the whole place upside down, and had 
a regular battue in the forest afterward. But 
they did not find their game ! 

While the gendarmes searched vainly for 
Calisto in the forest round about Aramon, cer- 



352 aCI}e tDI|ite Cerrcrr 

tain of his friends waited for him vainly in 
Avignon. 

Night had come, and everybody was in 
readiness for the abduction of Adeline save the 
abductor in chief. Lou Pounchu and Rocofort, 
wearing the masks and dominos of the Carni- 
val, were at their post beside the door on the 
Rue Porte-Evêque, key in hand. Near by, in 
the shadow cast by the ramparts, was a close 
carriage drawn by swift horses — all in order to 
go galloping off through the moonlit night to 
La Vernède. Inside the carriage was Canon 
Jusserand, ready to perform the marriage cere- 
mony when they should be come to the Chateau. 

As the time slipped away, and still Calisto 
came not, the Canon's emotions underwent a 
series of disagreeable changes — shifting from 
pleased anticipation to nervousness, from nerv- 
ousness to anger, and from anger to a lively 
alarm. As for Lou Pounchu and Rocofort, the 
comments which they passed in whispers upon 
the situation became constantly of a more and 
more lurid and vigorous sort. All three of them 
realized that some untoward accident must have 
intervened to disarrange their carefully concerted 
plan ; and they all knew that unless this acci- 
dent should be set right very quickly their plan 
must fail. A main factor in their chances of 
success was the disorder of the last night of the 
Carnival — when the city was gaily turbulent; 
and when the city gates, carelessly guarded, 
were open until unusual hours. When quiet 
came, and when the gates were closed, they 
could do nothing. Quiet came all too quickly 
for them. The rattle of drums, beating the 



^slj-toebttesbag (ítíe 353 

lively measure of the farandole, grew less and 
less; the roar of voices diminished as the faran- 
dolers grew weary and went home to bed. 
Now and again would come an outburst from 
some belated company of revellers, reeling 
through one of the near-by streets, chanting the 
dirge of Carmentran : 



Good-bye, poor soul ! 

Good-bye, poor soul! 

Good-bye, poor Carmen 



)d-bye, poor soul! 
•bye, poor Carmentran ! 



Before long even these scattered noises ceased. 
The only sound that broke the stillness of the 
night was the gurgle of the dark waters of the 
Sorgue — which came out from a black archway 
beneath the houses on the Rue Calade, ran in 
an open canal along the middle of the Rue An- 
nanelle, and passed out through an archway 
beneath the ramparts to the Rhone. A foul 
stench came up from the canal through which 
these foul waters ran. All manner of vileness 
was there, including the dead bodies of ani- 
mals. Not seldom the bodies of human beings 
were found there too — hacked to pieces beyond 
recognition. Murderers had a liking for the 
Sorgue. 

Canon Jusserand knew that farther waiting 
was useless; that the night was too far ad- 
vanced to permit the execution of their project, 
even though Calisto still should come. Very 
sorrowfully he leaned out from the window of 
the carriage and ordered the coachman to drive 
away. The coachman had risen to his feet and 
was staring hard at the archway through which 
the Sorgue passed beneath the ramparts. The 



354 Stje tDtjite Settor 

Canon also looked down at the archway, and 
saw two men there pushing at something with 
poles. ** Are they murderers?" he asked in a 
low tone, while a shiver ran through him. 

** Smugglers, more likely, Monsieur — ^trying 
to bring in a barrel of brandy." 

''Equally sinners!" responded the Canon, 
who had a great respect for the law. " We will 
wait no longer," he added. " Drive home! " 

As the carriage drove away, Lou Pounchu 
and Rocofort sulkily following it, the convent 
bell rang matins — pealing forth sweetly, joy- 
fully, triumphantly, upon the stillness of the 
moonlit night 



CHAPTER XXXVHI 

THE VEIL OF SAINT URSULA 

At daybreak the bell rang gladly again, and 
then began within the convent a bustle of prep- 
aration for the Ash- Wednesday services and for 
the reception into the community of a new Sis- 
ter. Later, the bustle within had its counter- 
part in a stir without. A bevy of gay young 
girls came with a big basket containing a muslin 
gown and a flowing veil of tulle, all white as 
the snow on Mont Ventour. After them came 
the pastry-cook from the Place du Change, 
bringing two great bags of sugared almonds — 
such as are thrown to the crowd at weddings 
in Provence. A group,. that increased in num- 
bers rapidly, assembled in waiting for the chapel 
door to be opened. In the front rank were 
Lazuli and Vauclair and Clairet in their Sunday 
clothes. They were the very first to come; 
and it was well that they came early, for five 
minutes after the door was opened the nave of 
the chapel was crammed full. Then came 
priests, canons, monks, abbes, and a company 
of little choir-boys in their little purple capes 
and their white albs. The chapel was like a 
hive of bees ! 

At last, to the accompaniment of a prodi- 
gious ringing of the convent bell, came his Lord- 

355 



35^ » QCbe {Dl|ite Cetrcr 

ship the Bishop of Avignon. The gorgeous 
beadle struck his halberd three times on the 
stone pavement, the congregation knelt to re- 
ceive the Episcopal blessing. Almost before 
they knew it, this part of the ceremonies was 
over — for the Lord Bishop, thin and nimble, 
went up the nave at such a rate that his pursy 
Vicar ueneral could not keep pace with him ; 
and he scattered his blessings to left and to right 
so briskly that they went flying about like little 
birds! Truly, Monseigneur Estève was not a 
show bishop, puffed up with pride in his own 
dignitv. Good man that he was, he followed 
humbly in the steps of the Apostles. In his See 
of Avignon he was just what he had been in 
his little parish in the Var — where half the time 
he had to ring his own bell for the mass, and to 
light his own altar candles, and to take a hand 
in bearing the dead to their graves. In a twink- 
ling he was at the altar, robed and mitred, and 
was intoning the Magnificat. 

As the incense arose in a sweet-smelling 
cloud there was a little stir and rustle at the 
grating and the black curtain was drawn aside. 
Behind it, surrounded by the black-robed nuns, 
stood Adeline — radiant as the sun. In her white 
wedding dress, under her shimmerinc white 
veil, she was as lovely as Our Lady of urace! 

Throughout the chapel there was a stir. 
Every one turned to look at her. A fluttering 
sigh of admiration arose from the gazing crowd. 
Lazuli — although close to the grating, the closest 
of all to her — could not see her clearly, for La- 
zuli's eyes were dim with tears. Even Vauclair, 
the mustachioed sergeant who had done his gal- 



QLÌ)t beil of Saint Hrstila 357 

lant share of fighting, had a great lump in his 
throat and was wiping his eyes with the back 
of his hand. 

Monseigneur, candle in hand, advanced from 
the altar to the wicket in the grating and there 
recited the prayers for the ordination. Adeline 
stood before him tall and beautiful, and then 
knelt humbly as he put his stole upon her head. 
Her sweet voice sounded clearly through the 
chapel as she answered ** Amen! 

The convent bell had been ringing blithely. 
The ringing ceased. Then, instead of its gay 
carillon, the bell tolled dismally. At that instant 
the Lord Bishop tore away the white veil and 
the crown of white flowers from Adeline's head 
and threw them aside. From a silver plate held 
by one of his attendants he took a pair of iron 
scissors and severed quickly, at the level of her 
shoulders, the two long plaits of her golden 
hair. As she heard the crisp sound of cutting 
she uttered a deep sigh and sank almost fainting 
upon her knees. The stillness in the chapel 
was broken by a choking sob from Lazuli, who 
was kneeling, utterly grief-stricken, her face 
buried in her hands. Vauclair knelt beside her 
— not since his first communion had he been 
upon his knees — weeping silently. In the choir 
arose the chant of the miserere. To the sound 
of its desolate lament the black curtain behind 
the grating was drawn. Monseigneur returned 
to the altar. The mass went on. 

Little attention Was given to the mass. Every 
one was waiting with unconcealed eagerness for 
the black curtain to be again drawn aside. La- 
zuli and Vauclair could not take their eyes from 



35 8 ^ì)c toljiu Qiexxov 

the grating. Their hearts were breaking with 
the thought that when they saw Adeline again, 
in only a few moments more, she would be 
clad as a professed nun — ^separated forever from 
the world ! 

Clairet, being but a child, did not take the 
matter seriously. He had cried a little, partly 
because he did not like to see Adeline shut be- 
hind a grating, but more because his father and 
mother were crying and he was for keeping 
them company. But his eyes dried as he 
watched the conduct of the mass, and with 
most interest the part that the choir-boys took 
in it. To be a choir-boy must be very aelight- 
ful, he thought — ^to wear a purple robe, and 
lace, and a red cap ! And what fun it must be 
to swing a censer and send the sweet-smelling 
smoke flying all around! Oh, he would like 
that best of all ! 

Once more the convent bell rang out joy- 
fully. To its glad sound the black curtain was 
drawn back disclosing Adeline standing at the 
wicket in the grating habited as a nun. Very 
lovely was her beautiful face under the fine white 
woollen veil, across her forehead a starched linen 
band ; and the grace of her tall form was not 
lost wholly beneath the black robe. Beside 
her stood Mother Scholastica and Sister Margai, 
whom she had chosen to bear her company at 
her first communion in Saint Ursula's hoû^ garb. 
When she and they had partaken, the office be- 
ing celebrated by the Lord Bishop, the others 
followed until all had communed. 

All save one ! One nun, hidden in a comer, 
thrilling with a hopeless shame, dared not ap- 



aClje beil of Saint ttrstila 359 

proach the holy table. It was Sister Dorothy — 
who all night long had waited impatiently for 
Calisto's coming, that she might give into his 
blood-stained hands this pure lily which now, 
by God's grace delivered from him, bloomed 
securely in the walled garden of the Lord ! 

When the ceremony was over, when Mon- 
seigneur and his attendants had partaken of the 
collation served to them by Sister Margai and 
had departed, when the crowd had left the 
chapel, the Vauclairs still lingered: for them 
there still was something more to do. Going 
to the great door of the convent, they passed to 
the parlour and there waited for Adeline's com- 
ing — that they might be the first, after those 
who were become her sisters, to give her words 
of loving cheer. It was the same room in which 
so often they had talked with her, but this time 
she could not come close to them and be clasped 
in their arms. When she appeared, clad in her 
habit, the double grating was between them. 
With their arms extended to the utmost, they 
barely could touch each others' hands. 

For some moments none of them could 
speak. Their hearts were very full; and, in 
addition to her deep feeling, Adeline felt a curious 
shyness as she stood before her friends in a dress 
so strange to herself and to them. Lazuli per- 
ceived this shyness, and dealt with it in a 
womanly way. ** What a charming nun," she 
cried. ** Never would I have believed that the 
robe of Saint Ursula could be so becoming to 
you!" 

*' Really ? " exclaimed Adeline jovfully. 

"Really!" Lazuli answered. **lf only you 



360 atlie ÌDI)ite Cerrcrr 

could see yourself you would see how perfectly 
charming you are!" 

Adeline was smiling with pleasure. "Is it 
really the truth that she is telling me, Vauclair ?" 
she asked. 

Vauclair could not speak easily. The lump 
was in his throat again. He gave a gulp and 
answered: **She is telling you the truth, 
Madame. You are as lovely as ever. No one 
could be more beautiful than you are!" 

** Oh Vauclair, how can you speak to me so 
formally ? Why do you call me ' Madame ' ? 
Am 1 not always your Adeline — ^your own 
child ? '' 

**Yes, yes," cried Lazuli, "you are indeed 
our own child — as much our own child as Ciai- 
ret, here, or Pascalet." 

The smile faded from Adeline's face and her 
eyes filled with tears. *' Oh Pascalet! Pascalet! " 
she exclaimed. ** What would he say could he 
see me a nun! But oh, Father in heaven, for- 
give me for speaking his name! Never more 
may I think of him — save in my prayers. For 
him I may pray to my sweet Samt Christ — that 
He will guard' him from the perils of war, that 
He will bring him home in safety to gladden his 
old mother's heart!" 

*'Come, come," said Vauclair. ''Before 
long he'll be back again from the wars, safe and 
sound. And then I'll bring him here to see you. 
For that I give you my word." 

'' Ahem ! " came a little short dry cough that 
made them all start. It came from behind the 
curtain, and was uttered by an old and rather 
particular nun whose business it was to keep the 



Qrt)e beil of Saint Hrsnia 3^1 

talk between the Sisters and their visitors within 
due bounds. 

Adeline understood the signal and blushed a 
little. Crushing down the pain that was in her 
heart, she changed the subject by saying to 
Clairet: ** And you also, Clairet, must come to 
see me when the others come." 

** Yes, Madame," Clairet answered, speaking 
shyly and with downcast eyes. 

**What, * Madame 'from you too? Why, 
Clairet, I'm your sister — your sister Adeline. 
You must not call me * Madame ' ! " Her heart 
was wrenched as she realized how these her 
dear friends, whom she loved so tenderly, sud- 
denly seemed to be far away from her — and at 
the very moment when she needed most their 
close affection and support. By a quick impulse 
she grasped the grating as though she would 
tear it away! In a moment she had conquered 
herself and was calm again. 

As Clairet was too shy to answer her, she 
continued: ** You must not be afraid of me, my 
Clairet. Come, look at me! And, see! Even 
if you have grown to be a big boy I am sure that 
you still like nice things, and 1 have some for 

ÍOU. To-day is the great festival of my life, 
b-day 1 take the veil that marries me to Jesus ! " 
Her voice broke into a sob and she trembled. 
Again she steadied herself, and added — while 
she searched in her unfamiliar dress for her 
pocket: ** You must have some of the sugared 
almonds that are a part of my wedding feast. 
Ah, here they are. 1 brought them on purpose 
for you." As she spoke, she drew from her 
pocket a packet tied daintily with white and 



362 Sl)t tDI|ite Strtor 

blue ribbons and handed it to Clairet through 
the bars. 

*' Benedicamus Domino" came in a low 
voice from behind the curtain. It was the sig- 
nal that the interview must end. 

** Deo gratias," Adeline answered obediently. 

Her hand, outstretched through the grating, 
met and pressed each of their outstretched hands 
in turn. *' Adessias ! " she said. ** Adessias! " 
they answered. And so she left them. 

While they could hear the clicking of her 
rosary and the sound of her retreating footsteps, 
they stood listening in sad silence. Then, still 
with hearts too full for speech, they went home- 
ward to the Place du Grand Paradis. 



CHAPTER XXXIX 

SLOW-PASSING YEARS 

Sister Adeline took up the burden of her 
conver^t life and bore it bravely. She who, as 
a child, had shared her bread with little Pascalet, 
was filled with a sweet spirit of charity — that 
made her zealous to serve with her whole 
strength and eager to minister to the happiness 
of those about her. She did her share, and 
more than her share, of the convent work ; she 
nursed tenderly the sick ; even to Sister Dorothy, 
at her rough toil in the kitchen, she lent a help- 
ing hand. In her seemed to live again Saint 
Ursula's spirit of helpfulness and self-sacrifice. 

Her one concession to herself was her half 
hour, each Sunday, with the Vauclairs. Never 
did they fail to come to her, bringing always 
some little gift — a melon, a big pear, a bunch of 
grapes — that was not a trifling gift because it was 
charged with their love. The visits of these 
dear friends gave her a deep happiness, and a 
deeper happiness because she could talk with 
them about Pascalet. Always they spoke of 
him cheerfully — of his coming back to Avignon 
a tall and gallant mustachioed soldier whom at 
first sight they would not know. But always 
with their cheerful talk went an undercurrent 
of doubt and dread — as they thought of what 

24 363 



364 ffil]e 'tol]ite Strtor 

might have happened to him amon^ the many 
evil chances of war. These talks, independently 
of the boding thoughts that went with them, 
left Adeline with a soul so disturbed — ^so thrill- 
ing with hopeless memories and with still more 
hopeless longings — that she could win her way 
to calm again only by earnest beseechinff in 
prayer. Always her prayers ended, as did those 
which she said ni^ht and morning, with the 
appeal: ** Sweet Saint Ursula, quench the fire 
that burns my poor heart, but grant that once 
more 1 may see him before 1 die!" 

For the dwellers in the outer world in that 
stirring epoch time passed quickly; but for 
Sister Adeline, shut in her convent, striving 
always to keep a dead hope buried in its grave 
the march of those great years was despairing 
slow. And with their lingering weariness wî 
pain. Every time that the bells of Aviimi 
rang out for a fresh victory, and they rang < 
the hope arose in her heart that they were m 
ing for peace — and so for her Pascalet*s hor 
coming. Always this hope was false. As 
perished, always would come the cruel und 
thought: *' Perhaps in that great battle he v 
killed!" 

But Pascalet was not killed. As a grenadi 
of the Guard his old luck stood by him and 1 
bullets did him no harm. With the army 
Bonaparte he marched triumphant, as he hLj 
marched with the army of the Republic; in 1 
breast burned always the flame for Libert 
Equality, Fraternity; his strong arm heli>ed 
carry forward the tri-colour, and with it 1 
Banner of the Rights of Man; his voice in bai 



/ 



/ 



Qiom'paBBin% ^ears 365 



le ** Marseillaise." He did not forget 

s i le. She had his heart — but his honour 

de n stand fast by the colours of France. 

the French flag went, he went: over 

B jwy steeps of Mont Saint Bernard, across 

idge of Areola, through the burning heat 

e Egyptian desert; then back to Europe 

i, in time to plafit the tri-colour on the bell- 

er of Marengo at the cost of a desperate 

'e-slash across his forehead; then to Austria 

•where he, who had danced on the day that 

le Tuileries were stormed in the bed-chamber 

f the Austrian woman, boiled his bit of meat 

1 Vienna beneath the walls of the Imperial 

palace; and so onward to the heroic day of 

Austerlitz — when the shadow cast by the Great 

Army of France extended from the olive-orchards 

of Italy in the South to the pine-grown slopes 

of the Urals in the frozen North ! 

And while he marched triumphant the bells 
of Avignon rang out for the victories that he 
helped to win — and in an Avignon convent one 
in sore trouble prayed: ** Sweet Saint Ursula, 
quench the fire that burns my poor heart, but 
grant that once more I may see him before I 
die!" 

As Adeline bent over her work, in the hours 
of silence, often did she neglect to recite to her- 
self her rosary — while her thoughts wandered 
far afield to Pascalet, trying to picture him in 
her mind. Could she have made her picture 
true to life she would have been well pleased 
with it. Her little Pascalet had ^grown to be 
tall and strong, as strong as an ash tree on the 
flanks of Mont Ventour. His face, bronzed by 



V 



366 ®|]e tol]Ue QLtxxot 

the sun of Egypt, had become resolut 
more resolute because of the gallant Si many 

his brow. His clear honest black eyt i% 

with dancing specks of gold. His curr » 

tache had grown bravely, hiding his lat 
red lips. Two long tresses of dark hair 
down at the sides of his face to his shoui 
In a word, he had become the very handsoi 
soldier in the Emperor's Guard! It was 
surprising, when he served in Spain, that 
maidens of Zaragoza smiled upon him as i 
passed beneath their balconies ; that they too 
the rosebuds from between their lips and threv 
them to him with a kiss! 

But Adeline could not create a true picture 
of him in her mind; and to create any picture 
of him that at all satisfied her grew more and 
more difficult as the months and the years went 
by with a leaden slowness — while the storm of 
victory tossed him hither and thither about Eu- 
rope, but never toward his home. 

In that great time the armies of France, 
which had been the soul of the Revolution, 
went and came from one end of the continent 
to the other — from the Rhine to the Danube, 
from the Danube to the Guadalquivir — turning 
up the old world as the soil is turned up by the 
ploughman as he ploughs among the vines. In 
a single year Napoleon's white horse quenched 
his thirst in the grey waters of the Spree, in the 
muddy waters of the Danube, in the sparklingly 
clear waters of the Ebro! 

When Napoleon's gigantic task was accom- 
plished, when the last cannon had thundered, 
when the last spark had flashed from the sabres 



SlctD-íjassing ^ears 367 



French cavalry, the Corsican Emperor — 
^^ soul was that of a corsair — still was 

sfied. Seated upon his white horse, he 
i for an enemy to crush, for a capital to 
, for a crown to strike off. But before him 
behind him and around him was only a 
I plain. From the west to the east the liar- 
was complete. Everywhere, duly bound 
1 set in order, lay the reaped sheaves. Be- 
id his white horse crouched dukes, arch- 
kes, princes, kings, emperors, even he who 
ore the triple tiara — and his white horse 
/itched their faces with his tail. In his saddle- 
:s were the fourteen sceptres of those who 
been kings! 

Then it was that he, the son of the Revolu- 

►n, he who had been the friend of Robespierre, 

t shame of his own origin and turned traitor. 

len it was that he took in marriage the daugh- 

r of one of his conquered emperors; that upon 

ance — the France of the Revolution that had 

lit justice to Marie Antoinette — he imposed 

rie Louise, another Austrian of the tyrant 

)od, as Empress! 

From that time onward the Great Army of 

mce, the army, stern and terrible, born of the 

public of 1792, the army of Valmy and Je- 

ppes — no longer fought for Liberty, for Equal- 

, for Fraternity ; no longer bore through the 

)rld the Banner of the Rights of Man. From 

It time onward the Great Army of France was 

defend beneath the tri-colour all the bare- 

)ted tramps who had become barons and 

ikes and princes; and, alas! grown drunk 

nth the fumes of victory and blinded by the 



368 Qiï\t tol]Ue ffierror 

rays of glory, that army which had crushed a 
king-tyrant was to perish for an emperor- 
tyrant ! 

Into the huge maelstrom of fighting the 
youth of France was carried down. Levees en 
masse came again and again, calling to the col- 
ours even lads of no more than sixteen years. 
Clairet did not wait for the conscription. A 
brave boy and a good patriot, as his father had 
been before him, he was eager to pay his blood- 
debt to his mother-land. When the force was 
massing for the campaign in Russia, off he went 
as a volunteer. And then, presently, the bells 
of Avignon rang for new victories — ^for Smo- 
lensk, where Marshal Ney, the son of a cooper, 
became a prince; a little later for the fall of Mos- 
cow. 

In those days the Vauclairs were sad-hearted 
when they paid their Sunday visits to Adeline, 
and they were less ready to talk about Pascalet 
than about their own boy — far away in that 
Russia so cruelly cold. But one Sunday when 
they came to her — not a very long while after 
the Moscow victory had been celebrated — they 
had little to say even about Clairet, so full were 
they of matters of importance close at home. 

What had happened no one seemed to know 
certainly ; but it was quite certain that rumours 
of disaster to the French army were flying about 
thickly, and that on the strength of these ru- 
mours the Whites were showing themselves as 
they had not shown themselves for years. The 
next day Adeline had further evidence that the 
order of things was changing. Canon Jusserand. 
who for a very long time had not entered the con- 



Slotx)-}jassing gears 369 

vent, paid a visit of full two hours to Sister Dor- 
othy — and went away with a smile of satisfac- 
tion on his old face, as though he had been im- 
parting to her information of an exceptionally 
pleasing sort. That night the nuns heard a 
great shouting in the streets of *'Down with 
the Blues! Long live the King! " 



CHAPTER XL 

ONCE MORE WHITE TERROR REIGNS 

• 

Even in her convent shelter Adeline felt the 
eddying of the whirlwind that then was loosed 
upon France: that brought into the land con- 
quering foreign armies, that crushed the tyrant 
Emperor, that raised the tyrant King to the 
throne once more, that cast him down again, 
that brought back the Emperor for the Hundred 
Days. These great events which convulsed 
France with passion had their passionate echo 
in Avignon. In Avignon the Whites once more 
gained the ascendency, and once more White 
Terror reigned ! 

News of these great happenings the Vau- 
clairs brought to Adeline when they paid her 
their weekly visits. Suddenly — this was after 
the Hundred Days began — their visits stopped, 
and a quick thrill of dread for their safety came 
into her heart. When a second Sunday passed 
without their coming to her, her anxiety was 
more than she could bear. She besought Sister 
Margai, the lay Sister who was free to go out 
from the convent, to get news for her of these 
her friends; and Sister Margai — well knowing 
that the rules of the Order expressly forbade 
such service, and that in doing it she fell into 
sin — consented to Adeline's request. ** Saint 

370 



®nce m0re iJJI]ite Qittxox Eeigns 371 

Ursula will forgive me," she said to herself, 
**and the confessional will clear my sin away." 

When she was come back again from her 
mission — ^that was accomplished while she was 
supposed to be doing the convent marketing — 
the look on her face told that she brought black 
news. Breaking still another rule of the Order, 
Adeline drew her within her cell and bolted the 
door. **What has happened?" she asked 
eagerly, but with a thrill of fear in her tone. 

** Dreadful things have happened!" Sister 
Margai answered. * ' The Whites are farandoling 
away all over the city. The windows and bal- 
conies are full of white flags. All the poor Reds, 
all the poor soldiers coming back home from 
the wars, are being murdered ! " Great drops of 
sweat were on her forehead. She was very 
pale. She paused for a moment to fan herself 
with her apron. Then she added: **0h poor 
Lazuli! Oh poor Vauclair! " 

Adeline also was very pale. **What has 
happened to them?" she asked. **Did you 
see them ? Answer me, Sister Margai. An- 
swer me quickly! " 

**No, I did not see them. Their house is 
locked up and deserted. I knocked, but no one 
came. And then, as 1 was coming away — back 
through the Place des Grands Carmes — I saw 
something that was terrible. First I heard what 
sounded like the shrieks of women and children. 
Then I saw a lot of men running, carrying the 
white flag. Then I saw — oh God in heaven ! — 
a crowd that filled the whole width of the street : 
men foaming at the mouth, yelling and howling, 
their eyes starting out of their heads. Some of 



372 a:i]c i])|)ite fficrror 

them were dragging something along on the 
ground, and others of them were beating that 
dragged thing with clubs. They came on, 
straight toward me., and I was shoved on one 
side and pushed against the wall. Then I saw 
the awful thing that they were doing. They 
were dragging along the body of a dead soldier 
— a soldier they had killed in the Porte Saint- 
Lazare, just as the poor innocent was coming 
into the city. The body was being knocked 
out of all shape as they hammered at it with 
their clubs. Along where it passed it left a 
trail of blood. As they beat it they yelled * To 
the Rhone! To the Rhone!' And then they 
began to shout : * To the Place du Grand Para- 
dis ! ' A gentleman seemed to be leading them 
— a gentleman dressed in a fine blue coat with 
lace cuflfs and carrying a yellow cane with a sil- 
ver handle. He shouted, and the crowd of mur- 
derers shouted after him : * Long live the King! ' 

** After they had passed, and I was standing 
there shaking like a reed, there came hobbling 
along a horrible little old lame woman. * Aha, 
did you see him ? ' she said with a chuckle that 
froze my blood. * That's the way they're ail to 
go — every one of them, every single one! We'll 
revenge our good King! ' 

** * Who was it .^' 1 asked, all in a tremble. 

''* Don't you know.^' said she. 'Why, 
that's the son of that good-for-nothing jade in 
the Place du Grand Paradis — the one who went 
up to Paris with her husband to guillotine our 
good King. Now they're served out for what 
they did. It's her son, just back from Bona- 
parte's army, that we've killed!'" 



®nce more iJJljUe terror fieigns 373 

Adeline gave a cry of horror, but Sister Mar- 
gai had more to tell. **The lame little old 
woman caught sight of the blood-stains on the 
stones and beat them with her stick. Then she 
went limping away, crying out: * I'm off to see 
what they're doing in the Place du Grand Pa- 
radis. Our Monsieur le Comte de la Vernède, 
who's at the head of everything, has promised 
us that before nightfall the Rhone shall be car- 
rying the father and the mother, along with the 
son, beyond the bridge of Trinquetaille. Oh, 
there's rare sport afoot! And to-morrow we're 
going to cut the tongue out of one of Bonaparte's 
generals who's coming here. Rare sport, I say 
— rare sport! ' And she hobbled away." 

**0h holy saints in heaven! " cried Adeline. 
** It is Clairet, my dear little Clairet whom they 
have killed! And it is the false Comte de la 
Vernède, it is Calisto, who is doing this — who 
is killing the brave soldiers. Oh Sister Margai, 

Gray with me, pray with me to our own Saint 
Irsula, that Pascalet may not fall into the hands 
of those murderers! And I, who every day for 
years have prayed that he might be brought 
back here and my eyes given sight of him once 
more, will pray that he may be kept away from 
this accursed land — away from this Calisto 
whom God permits to live on in crime! " 

**Ah," said Sister Margai, **if our brave sol-^ 
diers who come back from the wars to be killed 
in their homes had only Calisto and his wretches 
to reckon with, the end soon would come. 
But he is only one of the many evil doers who 
spread terror throughout the land. In the moun- 
tains between Malemort and Bédoin is Pastour's 



374 Sl|t tDI)ite Sertor 

band — that mercilessly kills the Reds and plun- 
ders and burns their homes. Round about 
Aries is the Syphonier's band, that casts the 
Reds and the poor soldiers into the Rhone. And 
Trestaillon's band, over by Nîmes, is the worst 
of all. There are hundreds and thousands of 
them, and they sack and ravage everywhere, 
and without pity they throw Reds and soldiers 
and Huguenots all together into the flames!" 

'*0h Sister Margai," moaned Adeline, 
** these times are worse than the time of ter- 
ror that kept us hidden in the cave — ^the time 
when our good priest Monsieur Randoulet was 
lost to us." 

** Worse ! " echoed Sister Margai. ** Indeed 
they are worse! Our butcher has just come 
back from the fair at Uzès, and what he told me 
made my blood run cold. He said that some 
of Trestaillon's men came murdering to the 
farm of Chambaud, near Aramon. They found 
the farmer's wife alone in the house, and they 
seized her and asked her if she was a good 
Catholic. The poor woman, ready to drop 
with fear, said that she was. 'Very well 
then,* they said, * prove it by saying your 
paternoster and your Ave Maria.' They held 
their knives at her heart, and of course she was 
too scared to say a word. *0h, so you're 
lying,' they said — and in a moment they had 
stabbed her to death! The farm servant, at 
work in the garden, heard the noise and came 
in to see what was the matter. They seized 
him and asked him if he were a Catholic or a 
Huguenot. He said that he was a Huguenot. 
' Then you shall die for it,' they said, and killed 



®nce mote tol]ite terror Eeigns 375 

him too. Then they set fire to the farm-house 
and came away. 

** Our butcher told me," Sister Margai went 
on, **that when he was in Uzès he saw Tres- 
taillon himself—his real name's not Trestaillon, 
it's Dupont — and some of his men with him : 
one named Graffan, and one they call Quatre- 
taillons, and some more. And our butcher saw 
them fetch out of the prison at Uzès five Hugue- 
not Liberals who had been shut up there for 
their own safety, and drag them along to the 
front of the Bishop's Palace and there murder 
them — and the King's Sous-préfet all the while 
looking on ! Then, in mockery, Trestaillon 
propped them up on their knees, with their 
faces toward Nîmes, and put spectacles on their 
noses — and then jeered at them : * Do you see 
help coming from the Gard ? ' '* 

Adeline only partly listened to Sister Mar- 
gai's stories of horrors. In her heart was bitter 
grief for the dead Clairet, and bitter dread that 
already Vauclair and Lazuli might be dead also; 
and a still keener fear beset her as she thought 
of her Pascalet's peril should he chance — as was 
only too likely — to come back to Avignon in 
that wild time. And then, suddenly, Jacque- 
mart began to sound the tocsin, and almost in 
the same moment they heard a great outcry in 
the street and shouts of ** Death! Death to 
him ! To the Rhone ! To the Rhone ! " 

They could see nothing. They could only 
hear. There was the angry roar of a crowd. 
The trampling of horses' feet. Louder cries 
of ** Death to him!" and **To the Rhone!" 
Then the shrill singing, in which the voices of 



376 ai:i]e tol]iu îerror 

women and children joined, of the song of the 
White Terror: 

** No one shall we spare! 
So Trestaillon commands. 
Our knives make the law! 

Long live the King! 
All the brigands shall die! 
Long live the Queen ! " 

Then a strong voice shouted loud above the 
tumult: **To the Rhone with him! To the 
Rhone with the sans-culotte who carried the 
head of our Princesse de Lamballe on his pike!" 
And then the crowd passed on, and the noises 
grew fainter and fainter. 

With white faces and with wildly beating 
hearts the two nuns gazed at each other with 
wide open terrified eyes. It seemed to them 
that they had been listening to the cries of 
devils let loose on earth to do the work of 
hell! 

And it was the work of hell that was done 
by that crowd, presently, on the Place of the 
Porte de I'Oulle. There, in the broad daylight 
of an August sun, in the name of the King and 
in the presence of the King's officers with the 
King's Préfet at their head, that crowd of thou- 
sands of Royalists — impudent cowards, led by 
a coward clad in a blue coat and carrying a 
silver-headed cane — compassed the death of a 
Marshal of France ! And, be it noted, this Mar- 
shal of France was a valiant soldier of the 
Empire, who for twenty years had braved the 
cannon-balls of the Prussians and the Austrians 
in the defence of his country and of Liberty. 
He was one of the heroes of Areola, he was the 



(îínct more tol)Ue ffierror tteigns 377 

conqueror of Holland, he was the terror of the 
foreigner — he was Marshal Brunei 

Yei it did not come easily, this killing. 
Consent to it was given by the Juge d'lnstruc- 
tion, one Piot (may his name be held in shame !), 
a wolf-faced man, who sat on the fender-stone 
in the Porte de I'Oulle quietly waiting to draw 
up a procès-verbal when the crime had been 
committed; and consent to it was given by the 
Procureur du Roi, one Verger (may his name be 
held in shame!), a fox-headed monster, who 
passed and repassed through the crowd, eager 
to insult the dead body of the Marshal and to 
shield his murderers. Yet, in spite of this offi- 
cial sanction, in spite of this strange mingling 
of law with lawlessness, no one seemed to have 
courage enough to attack the brave soldier. 
Jallès had not — the treacherous postillion who 
forcibly brought him from Orgon to Avignon. 
Goulier had not — the man who snatched away 
his plume with the sneer: ** You are a brigand, 
unworthy to wear a marshal's plume ! " Calisto 
had not — the man who had given currency to 
the lie that Marshal Brune had carried on a pike 
the head of the Princesse de Lamballe. In all 
that horde of Royalists — from the Préfet, Saint- 
Chamans (may his name be held in shame!), to 
the poorest of the fanatical Royalist shop-keepers 
and silk-weavers — there were to be found but 
three wretches who were brave enough to com- 
mit the crime. 

These three were Lou Pounchu, Farge, and 
Grindon, called Rocofort — all of Trestaillon's 
band. They were the better able to accomplish 
the work to which they set themselves because 



íbe iDbiu Ìrrror 



ÌT.ty -Acre frequer.ters rjx iht inn of the PjLìîs 
R /.a:, into wi'.ich \brshal Brune had shut hrm- 
ici:. Knowir.ii the iriterlor arrangement of the 
h '---.e. they knocked a hole through the floor of 
the room above that in which he was. and se- 
re ^cheJ him. BLit before the piercing giance of 
the hero those who faced him stopped thunder- 
strijck. Loj Pounchu so trembled that his nnger 
co_ld r.ot draw the trigger of his piece. Farge 
fired his pistol, but ainied so badly that the ball 
merelv irrazed the Marshal — who. calm as he 
h.'id been on the bridge of Areola, said coolly: 
*• What awkwardness ! "' Barely had he uttered 
these words when Rocofort, who had stolen 
behind him. fired a ball into the back of his 
head — and Marshal Brune fell for>*'ard. a dead 
man Î As he fell, the three ran to the window. 
flourishing their still smoking pieces, and cried 
to the crowd below: "Justice has been done! 
l-oni( live the King! ' 

The maddened crowd fell to dancing a fa- 
randole, and at the same time sang loudly: 

"No one shall we spare ! 
So Tre<:tai11on commands. 
Our knives make the law! 
Long live the King Î " 

^;thers of the crowd — mainly women, Papal- 
i t . Koyalists, rich bourgeois — shouted out a 
(loí/^'í rel verse that somebody on the spur of 
th'- ííjoment improvised: 

"A wide-awake angel 
Put in his gun 
Thi.* excellent prune 
That killed Marshal Brune ! "* 



CDnce more tol)iu SLtxxox tteigns 379 

At the sound of the shots, the Juge d'ln- 
struction rose from his seat in the Porte de 
rOulle, his portfolio under his arm. Accompa- 
nied by the Procureur du Roi, and followed by 
a crowd of thieves and murderers, he entered 
the inn and went to the room in which the dead 
body lay. There, with ink that was the scum 
of lies and hypocrisies, he drew up a false 
procès-verbal which declared that the Marshal 
had blown out his brains with his own hand. 
In the presence of these officers of the law, the 
crowd rifled the pockets of the dead Marshal, 
tore off his gold sword-knot, and insulted his 
body. 

When the procès-verbal was finished, the 
two officers left the body in the fierce custody 
of the crowd — and then was to be seen a dead 
Marshal of France dragged shamefully through 
the streets of Avignon! Papalists, Royalists, 
emigres, deserters, allies of the Prussian and 
of the Austrian, robbers, murderers, crowded 
around the body and larded it with their knives. 
At last they carried it to the river — and there, 
over the parapet of the bridge that had been the 
scene of many a gay farandole, they tossed the 
body of a Marshal of France, mangled but still 
noble, into the Rhone ! 



25 



CHAPTER XLI 

SANCTUARY 

Trembling with fear, Adeline and Sister Mar- 
gai had cast themselves on their knees before 
the crucifix. There they remained, uttering 
broken prayers, while that foul murder was 
done. Faintly they could hear the shouts and 
. yells from the crowd. At the sound of the firing 
they shivered and crossed themselves. Sud- 
denly, with less volume, the noise grew sharper 
and clearer. They heard fewer voices, but the 
voices were drawing nearer to them rapidly. 
They could make out the trampling of feet. In 
another moment the crowd had turned the cor- 
ner and was in their own street. The shouts 
ceased to be a confused roar and became distinct 
words: ** Kill him! Kill the brigand! To the 
Rhone with him ! To the Rhone!" 

The two nuns had risen to their feet and 
were listening — breathless, terrified. Their ter- 
ror was increased tenfold when, along with .the 
shouting, came a violent banging at the convent 
door. It was an irregular knocking, as though 
made with clubs or stones, but so loud that it 
rang through the corridors and set the windows 
to rattling. With it came a clatter of bolt^, as 
the frightened Sisters fastened themselves into 
their cells. Adeline turned a dead white, and 

380 



BanctuatB 3^1 



again fell upon her knees before the crucifix. She 
fancied that she heard the voice of Calisto. The 
dreadful thought came to her that he meant to 
break into the convent and to carry her off by 
force ! 

To Sister Margai came another thought: that 
the one whom the crowd was bent upon killing 
was beating at the door of their convent in the 
hope of finding refuge there. She also was a 
dead white and was shaking with terror. But 
stronger than her terror was her brave sense of 
duty. She was the porteress of the convent. 
It was her duty to respond to that knocking by 
opening the door. Sister Margai crossed herself 
and said a little prayer. Then, holding the cross 
of her rosary in her hand, she went along the 
corridor — past the fast shut doors — to the stair, 
and down the stair to the door. Shaking with 
fear and upheld by courage, she took down the 
bar and shot back the bolts. Then she opened 
the door, saying tremblingly: *'Benedicamus 
Domino! " 

Sister Margai had a glimpse of the howling 
and roaring crowd over on the other side of the 
street — cut off by the canal of the Sorgue from 
their prey. But it was only a glimpse. As the 
door swung open a soldier — bloody, dizzy, half- 
fainting — pitched forward bodily into her arms. 
In an instant she had managed to drag him 
inside; and then, leaving him lying anyhow, she 
clapped to the door and made it fast again with 
bolt and bar. 

For some moments, panting hard, she stood 
listening. ** Will they try to break in?" she 
thought, in an agony of dread. But the crowd 



3^2 Cl|e tDhiU CcTTor 



of men — as fickle as they were cruel — gave up 
the chase. Had they caught the soldier whom 
they had been stoning they would have made 
short work of him — not only because of the uni- 
form that he wore, but because he had raised his 
voice brave! V against the foul murder of Marshal 
Brune. But since they had not caught him, 
since the Sisters had seen fit to give him shelter, 
olTthey went again — hurrying to join their fel- 
lows who were dragging the Marshal's body 
about the streets of Avignon before they tossecl 
it into the Rhone. 

Sister Margai would have been not a little 
embarrassed at finding herself of a sudden alone 
in the convent vestibule with a strange man, 
and a soldier at that, had not the poor strange 
man so evidently and so urgently needed her 
aid —as he lay quite still where she had dropped 
him. the blood streaming from a gash in his 
Ibrchoad where he had been cut by a stone. 
Theivfore, thinking only of how she could get 
hor broken man mended again, she set herself to 
ministoring to his needs. 

His first need, clearly, was to be lifted out 
o\' I he hoap in which he was lying on the floor 
Mu\ to W laid upon something that would enable 
liiin li> rost comtbrtably; therefore she managed 
W\\\ii as stroni: of body as she was stout of 
hvMii tii draii him into the convent parlour and 
to yy\ iiiin upon a straw-covered sofa; where he 
roulJ hlood as much as he pleased, she thought 
to luM ;i'lt. without making a mess that wouldn't 
r.isilv wash up again. He revived a little as 
,shr propped his head on the sofa and looked up 
tl lUM ,viraielully with a pair of very handsome 



Qancimt^ 3S3 



black eyes. *' Thank you, holy Sister," he said 
in a weak voice. ** Don't bother about me. I'll 
be all right again presently." 

** Now do you lie there without stirring till 
I come back," Sister Margai commanded. ''Vl\ 
make you as comfortable as it's possible to make 
you, you poor soul!" And away she dashed 
for cold water and clean rags, and for orange- 
flower water to refresh her poor soldier with 
when she had washed and tied up his wound. 
All the cell doors still were shut fast and bolted, 
but her isolation was not painful at all. In a 
twinkling, with both hands full, she was back 
again beside her wounded man. 

**Here 1 am," she said with great cheerful- 
ness. **Now keep quiet while I wash away 
all this dreadful blood. Heavens, what a cut 
it is!" 

The soldier smiled faintly. 'M've known 
worse cuts than this, holy Sister — very much 
worse. Why, this is only a scratch ! Give me 
the basin, please. I'm nearly all right now. I'll 
wash away the blood myself." 

** Indeed you won't do any such thing!" 
Sister Margai said decidedly. ** You'll lie per- 
fectly still, just as you are, and you'll let me 
attend to it!" And, suiting her action to her 
words, she began to wash away the blood from 
his forehead very tenderly — refreshing him not 
more with the cool water than with the kindly 
touch of her soft hand. As she fingered the 
torn flesh, setting it in place, it was she, not 
the soldier, who winced and cried *' Ai! " 

The young fellow laughed a little, by way 
of putting heart into her. ** You see," he said. 



3^4 9l)e tX)l)Ue Setror 

**it's an old wound that that dog of a Royalist 
has dug open again with his stone. I had a 
sabre-cut there once that made a good deal of a 
mess — and would have made a worse mess if 
my head hadn't been so jolly hard! " 

His laugh, and his stronger voice, and the 
mocking note in his words, united to comfort 
Sister Margai amazingly. Evidently, he had 
a lot of life left in him. Fears on his behalf were 
quite superfluous. All that he needed to make 
him sound again was a little care. In giving 
him this care she found a rather perilous self- 
satisfaction. All blood-stained, she had thought 
him handsome — she thought him still handsomer 
when she had finished her tenderly gentle wash- 
ing and the blood was gone. A little unruly 
thrill stirred the heart of this good Sister as she 
looked from under her eye-lashes at her soldier 
whose life she had saved: at his fine strong 
face, set off by long plaits of hair falling to his 
shoulders and by a strong mustache, and most 
of all by a pair of dancing black eyes! And 
how very becoming to him, she thought, was 
his uniform of a grenadier of the Guard, with 
its white gaiters and its gallant red epaulettes! 
Her fingers tingled as she touched him. And 
her touch was so very gentle as to be danger- 
ously close to a caress ! 

' ' Sister Margai ! Sister Margai ! " she said to 
herself sharply, ** this won't do at all! You are 
giving pain to the good God ! See to it that you 
punish yourself. To-night, after matins, you 
must have a dose of the seven-knotted scourge! *' 
So steadying herself, she set about binding her 
soldier's wound with fine linen. Now that the 



Sanctuars 3^5 



blood was gone the scar on his forehead showed 
plainly. **Mon Dieu!" she cried. *'What a 
dreadful sword-cut that must have been! The 
scar goes all the way across! '* 

**The Emperor said to me," the soldier 
answered, his eyes brightening, **that a scar 
like that is a star of the brave! " 

'*Oh," exclaimed Sister Margai, **to think 
of that ! To think that the Emperor himself has 
spoken to you! " She was so overcome by the 
honour that had been done to her soldier that 
she finished binding up his wound without 
uttering another word. He lay quite still — ^as a 
good child ministered to by its mother — while 
she set the bandage in place closely and firmly, 
and smiled gratefully as she ended by smoothing 
back his hair. **Nòw you shall have a glass of 
orange-flower water," she said. **It will re- 
fresh you and do you good." 

As the soldier took the glass from her hand 
and raised himself on one elbow to drink, he 
glanced inquiringly around the room. '' Thank 
you," he said as he gave back to her the empty 
glass, '*that was delicious. And now will you 
tell me, holy Sister, where I am ? What is that 
double grating, with a black curtain behind it ? 
Am I by chance in a prison ?" 

**Oh no, no!" Sister Margai answered. 
"Of course you're not in a prison! You are in 
God's own house — in a convent of cloistered 
nuns, whom you may not see, but who will 
take good care of you until you are quite well 
again and can go on your way! " 

*' My good Sister, do you think I mean to 
sit here until the silk-worms are grown up ? 



3^^ Qihc tol)ite flCerror 

You've put me in capital order, and I'm very 
much obliged to you — but now I must be off 
after those rascals who have murdered my Mar- 
shal Brune." 

**You want to go back into that crazy 
crowd ? Good heavens, you must be crazy 
yourself ! You mustn't even dream of such a 
thing! What you are to do is to stay here 
quietly until your wound begins to heal. Then, 
when you are fit to go about again, you can slip 
away some night and be off safely to your 
home." 

The soldier was not by any means disposed 
to accept this programme which Sister Margai 
so authoritatively laid down for him. But he 
found — when he tried to stand, and suddenly 
grew dizzy and had to lie down again in a hurry 
— that he should have to accept it, at least in part 
The bleeding from the cut in his forehead had 
been prodigious, and had left him very weak in- 
deed. ** 1 believe I must rest here a little longer," 
he said in a grumbling tone. "To think," he 
added, **that one of the Emperor's marshals 
should be murdered, and that 1 shouldn't be 
able to raise a hand! " 

Sister Margai was able to accept the situation 
quite resignedly. * * Now promise me that you'll 
be good, that you won't move," she said. " I 
must go and tell our reverend Mother Superior 
about your being here — ^but I won't be gone long. 
Now don't you move! " And off she went to 
tell her wonderful piece of news. She was very 
eager to tell it, yet was she also rather anxious 
about the reception that would be given to it. 
What she had done, though for the saving of 



Banctttarg 3^7 



human life, was a glaring infraction of a most 
serious rule ! 

Naturally, her report caused a very lively stir 
in the Sisterhood. ** Heavens! " cried a devout 
old nun. ** A man in our convent! " 

** And a soldier! " exclaimed another, cross- 
ing herself. 

*'Anda brigand !" snarled Sister Dorothy, 
shaking her fist. 

But Mother Scholastica, being merciful and 
abounding in charity, took a broader view of 
the matter. ** God will bless you for what you 
have done. Sister Margai," she said earnestly; 
' * and what God blesses I cannot ban. There can 
be no harm in breaking a rule of our convent 
if in that way a man's life can be saved. And 
you must continue your ministrations. Sister. If 
he needs nourishment, give it to him. He must 
be made strong enough to get on to his home. 
Is his home here in Avignon, do you know ? " 

**No, I don't think he lives here in Avignon. 
He's a soldier just come here from the Emperor's 
army, but 1 don't think this is his home." 

"Didn't you ask him his name ? " questioned 
Adeline. 

* * Ask him his name ! Goodness me ! I had 
enough to do to wash the blood off and bind up 
his wound. It didn't come into my head that 
he had a name — though 1 suppose he has." 

Adeline drew Mother Scholastica a little aside 
and spoke to her eagerly. ** Reverend Mother," 
she said, ** perhaps that soldier may have known 
little Pascalet and may be able to give me news 
of him. Will you not take me to the grating 
that I may ask ? *' 



388 atbe tol)ite terror 

** Hush, my child," the Mother Superior an- 
swered, ** to-day it is too late — we must go now 
and recite the office for nones. But to-morrow, 
after the holy mass, during the time for recrea- 
tion, you shall come with me to the grating. 
Then we will get him to tell us about himself, 
and we will ask him for news of the little sol- 
dier from Malemort." 

Some of the other Sisters had drawn near and 
heard the Mother Superior's concluding words. 
At once there was an outcry of '* And me too! " 
** And me too, Reverend Mother! " '* Let us all 
go and hear what the poor soldier has to tell! " 
And in the end Mother Scholastica, to whom 
refusing a favour did not come easily, gave her 
consent that they all should take part in the ad- 
venture. **But remember. Sisters,*' she said, 
*' while you may hear him you may not see 
him. We shall stand at the grating, but the 
curtain shall not be drawn. We must* not set 
our great Saint Ursula to weeping up in heaven 
because the sin of curiosity is rife among her 
nuns!" 

Just then — ^jingle, jingle-jingle! rang the little 
bell for nones. Off sped the nuns to their cells 
to recite the office, scattering like a flock of 
sparrows frightened by the discharge of a gun. 

Adeline's mind was so full of the soldier 
from whom she might be able to get news of 
Pascalet that she sadly bungled her prayers. 
Nor could she close her eyes the whole night 
long. Over and over she framed the questions 
that she would ask in the morning. Over and 
over she conjured up visions of Pascalet himself. 
Always her vision was the same: of Pascalet as 



Sanctttarg 3^9 



she last had seen him, on that far-back day in 
Paris when he had said good-bye to her at the 
Planchots' and had gone off to the barracks to 
draw his pay. She knew that he must have 
changed greatly, but how he had changed she 
could not know at all. And so her only certain 
picture of him was the one that lived in her 
memory: of a bright-eyed stripling whose 
laughing face was as smooth as the face of a 
girl. 



CHAPTER XLII 

A GRENADIER OF THE EMPEROR'S GUARD 

When, at last, the morning angelus rang, 
Adeline was up and dressed in a moment. 
Then, very quietly, she opened her door a crack 
and waited for the coming of the porteress. 
Presently Sister Margai began her morning round 
— knocking at the door of each cell and call- 
ing **Benedicamus Domino!'* and receiving a 
drowsy '*Deo gratias!'* in reply. Adeline also 
answered "Deo gratias! " — ^but opened her door 
and in a low voice asked hurriedly: "Tell me, 
Sister, did the soldier say anything to you about 
Pascalet ?" 

"No," Sister Margai answered, "he didn't. 
But I think it likely he's met him, for that young 
man seems to have made a point of gomg to 
every battle that ever was fought. If s heavenly 
to hear him tell about 'em ! You feel as if you 
were right in 'em yourself ! " And Sister Mar- 
gai went on down the corridor with her "Bene-- 
dicamus Domino!" — rousing the Sisters for the 
morning service of the mass. 

To Adeline that mass seemed interminable. 
The worthy Monsieur Peru—their almoner in 
the place of Monsieur Jusserand — was a truly 
holy man, but at all times his slowness was 
marvellous. On that particular morning it was 
390 



Ql ©renabier of tlje (fmperor's (&naxò 391 

almost miraculous. While he said his **Domi- 
nus vobiscum " there was time enough to kill a 
donkey with fisticufifs! Adeline fretted and 
twisted and turned. It seemed as though he 
never would get to the end ! 

At last, somehow, he managed to arrive at 
his **lta missa est" — and the dismissed Sisters 
hastened thankfully to the refectory and ate their 
light morning meal in a scamper, being only 
less eager than Adeline to hear what their soldier 
had to tell. Then the whole community — ex- 
cepting Sister Dorothy, who refused to have 
anything whatever to do with **the brigand" 
— flocked in the wake of Mother Scholastica to 
the convent parlour and ranged themselves, 
with a soft rustling of robes and a little clicking 
of rosaries, behind the black curtain that veiled 
the bars. The Mother Superior's command was 
stringent that no one but herself should speak 
to their guest. A flutter went through the 
gentle-hearted company as this most exciting 
interview began. 

** God be with you, brave soldier," said Sister 
Scholastica. ** How is your wound to-day .^" 

** God be with you, holy Sister," the soldier 
answered in a cheerful voice. '*My wound is 
doing very well indeed. You must not worry 
about it at all." 

'* We will pray to God, and to our holy Saint 
Ursula, to make your cure speedy and to bring 
you quickly to your own home." 

*' Well, Tm not familiar with Saint Ursula, 
though I dare say she's obliging. But God knows 
me, and twice he has worked a miracle in my 
behalf." 



39^ S^t tDI)itt (terror 

At this there was a little buzz of admiration 
among the nuns as they whispered to each 
other: '*0h, what a worthy soldier!" "Oh, 
what an excellent young man ! " Adeline's eyes 
were full of tears and her heart was in a tumult. 
She was not thinking about the soldier's display 
of piety; she was thinking only that he might 
have Known, and that in a moment or two 
more he might be giving her news of her 
Pascalet ! 

*Mndeed, 1 may say — counting this last one 
— that God has worked three miracles for me," 
the soldier continued. He had heard the mur- 
mur of approval called forth by his pious words 
and was disposed to intensify the good impres- 
sion that he was making. ** The first one was 
more than twenty years ago in Paris, and the 
second was less than three years ago among 
the snows of Russia, and the third was right 
here yesterday — when your good Sister Margai 
opened the door just in time to save me from 
being stoned to death by the assassins of Mar- 
shal Brune." 

Again there was a buzz of approbation, in 
the midst of which Mother Scholastica said: 
**Then you have been in close peril of death 
three times, and a kind Father in heaven 
has " 

* * Three times ! " the soldier interrupted. " It 
is more like a hundred times that 1 have felt 
blowing on me the chill wind of death! It is 
the duty of a grenadier of the Emperor's Guard, 
you must remember, to meet death a good deal 
more than half-way; to get into the places 
where the cannon-balls and the bullets are 



% Orenaòier of íl)e (ffmperor'g ®uarò 393 

thickest — as they were that day at Waterloo 
when we marched through the fire of eighty 
thousand Englishmen under Wellington on one 
side of us and of a hundred thousand Prussians 
under Blucher on the other side of us, at the 
battle of Mont Saint Jean. Under that cross-fire 
we had to go through the famous hawthorn 
hedge and take the farm-house beyond it by 
assault. If I didn't die then, my Sisters, I don't 
see how I ever can die. Just let me tell you 
about it, and you'll think so too. 

* * You see, the hedge was a huge one, very 
high and very wide. In an orchard behind it 
the English were hidden by thousands, and as 
we came down on them they fought like lions 
and tigers — for they knew that to kill every man 
of us was the only way to stop a charge of the 
grenadiers of the Guard. When we got to 
within twenty paces or so of the hedge each 
separate leaf and flower of it seemed to be spit- 
ting fire at us. Down its whole length was a 
glare, as dazzling as lightning, that almost 
blinded us as we halted to pour in a volley and 
then went on again steadily. Just then I glanced 
backward, and instantly was filled with shame 
— for up on the hill of La Belle Alliance I saw 
the Emperor, and he was looking straight at 
me/ 1 blushed crimson at the thought that he 
should see me looking the wrong way. Then, 
along with my comrades, in I went among the 
hawthorn blossoms with a bound. As we strug- 
gled through the close-knit thorny branches the 
fire of the English, in our very faces, was ter- 
rible. All the same, with that deadly fire whip- 
ping us like hailstones, each of us managed to 



394 Sl)e {ni)ite Serror 

pull a sprig of hawthorn — and out we came on 
the other side of the hedge and fell to on the 
English, every one of us with a spray of haw- 
thorn blossoms in his mouth. We made short 
work of them. The killing went on until not 
one of the enemy in the orchard was left alive! 

** Among the dead bodies which covered 
the ground we lined up — our bayonets bent, 
our wrists sprained, our flesh torn by the 
hawthorns, many of us wounded— ^while we 
shouted * Long live the Emperor ! ' and our 
drums beat victory. But our victory was not 
to last. Barely were we formed when our 
commander, General Cambronne, called out to 
us: *Now that you have shouted **Long live 
the Emperor!" my boys, you may shout with 
me *' Long live Death! *' — for the hour is come 
to die for our country and for Liberty!' And 
then we saw on all siáes of the orchard, sweep- 
ing down upon us like a hurricane, black masses 
of Prussians. The hills around us suddenly 
were black with them. They seemed to rise up 
out of the earth. From right to left, from east 
to west, their black battalions were closing in 
upon us. We were surrounded, blocked, be- 
trayed — we were lost ! Once again I looked 
over at the hill of La Belle Alliance — but there 
was only a dense cloud of smoke where the 
great Napoleon had been! 

" Desperately we formed in square about our 
brave General, who held aloft the tri-colour. 
From our four fronts blazed out a withering fire 
upon the oncoming black battalions.. The grime 
of gunpowder, the smears of blood, gave us the 
look of monsters. And we fought, and fought! 



^ ®renaòier of tl)e (ïmperor's ®ttarìr 395 

We fought, so furious were we, showing our 
teeth like wolves; and we shouted hoarsely the 
cry that our General had given us: * Hurrah for 
Death ! ' The dense black battalions — surround- 
ing us and cutting us to pieces with grape- and 
round-shot — did not dare to charge us. Pru- 
dently they kept back from that hawthorn hedge 
that we had carried so gaily an hour before! 

** In one of those moments of silence which 
sometimes come in battle — when it seems as 
though the cannon are taking a breathing spell 
— the English general coming down on us from 
the north cried shrilly: ' Give up the flag! ' 

** At that our General Cambronne, standing 
breast-deep among dead bodies, raised his 
sword, opened his mouth wide, as if he wanted 
to bite the heavens, and in a wild yell shouted 

But 1 will not tell you what he shouted. 

It is not a word to be uttered within convent 
walls ! 

** And then all the pistols, all the muskets, 
all the cannon, all the bombards, of the black 
battalions belched forth at short range so awful 
a fire from their iron bellies that the flowering 
hawthorn hedge was mowed down — and be- 
yond it was mowed down the remnant of us 
who stood around our General and our flag. 
As for me, 1 felt a sudden blow in my breast as 
if a horse had kicked me. It spun me around 
like a top. Then I fell, my face to the ground ! 

** There 1 was, under a heap of dead bodies, 
all night. And there I might be still, I suppose, 
had I not been roused when morning came by 
a sharp pricking in my hand. My hand stuck 
out, somehow, from among the dead fellows on 

26 



39^ ®l)^ tol)ite ®crr0r 



top of me, and as I woke up I felt as though 
somebody was jabbing a knife into it. * Ai ! ' I 
cried, as I opened my eyes and turned my head 
a little — and then I made out that a raven was 
perched on my hand and was pecking at it. 
He flew away at the sound of my voice, and I 
managed to crawl out from among the dead 
people. As 1 felt myself, to find out where 1 
was wounded, a piece of iron dropped from my 
breast where it had lodged under my knapsack 
straps. It was this that had bowled me over 
without cutting my flesh. 1 was very sore and 
very shaky, but 1 was not wounded at all. 

**The sun was rising clear from behind the 
hills of La Belle Alliance and Rossonne. Far off 
1 could see the English and the Prussian bat- 
talions marching away. At last I got on my 
feet — not being very steady on them — and looked 
about me for my brave General and for the flag. 
But there was no General, there was no flag — 
both were gone ! And then, my Sisters, to tell 
you the truth 1 fell to crying like a baby. 
Around me all my companions were lying deaà; 
my General was wounded or a prisoner; my 
flag was in the hands of the English ; my Em- 
peror was vanished in a cloud! There seemed 
nothing left for me but to blow out my brains! " 

** Oh! " sighed all the nuns together, as they 
heard these desperate words. 

** But the thought came to me," the soldier 
went on quickly, **of my old mother, -and of 
another very dear to me — and for them 1 lived. 
Off 1 started across the hills, and walked all day 
among dead bodies — because I went back by 
Quatre-Bras and Ligny, where the brave. Mar- 



^ ©renobier of tl)e (Smperor's ®ttarò 397 



shal Ney had beaten the English and where the 
Emperor had beaten the Prussians. And on 
and on for thirty days and thirty nights 1 walked 
alone. On that long march I, a grenadier of the 
Emperor's Guard, have had to beg my bread! 
When I come here to Avignon it is to see mur- 
dered Marshal Brune, a great soldier of France! 
Because I tried to protect his dead body from 
insult, I am stoned by dogs of Aristocrats — and 
would have been killed had I not found refuge 
here ! Oh my Sisters, when I think of all this it 
is only your presence that keeps me from bel- 
lowing out: * Sacré-nom-de-Dieu ! ' " 

As the soldier undoubtedly had bellowed 
out precisely those words, all the Sisters uttered 
a shuddering **Oh! " and fell to crossing them- 
selves vigorously — while the Mother Superior 
said in a reproving tone: ** Brave soldier, do 
not blaspheme the name of the good God who 
three times has worked a miracle to save your 
life!" 

** You are right, my Sister, and I am wrong. 
It is true that three times God has kept me alive 
by miracles. And I don't count as a miracle, 
you must understand, what I have just been 
telling you about. That was all in the day's 
work. Now it was another matter in Russia. 
If ever anybody got a miracle anywhere, I got 
one there! " 

**Will you tell us about it?" Mother Scho- 
lastica asked. **That is," she added, checking 
herself, ** if talking so much will not tire you 
and make you feverish. Perhaps you had better 
rest now." 

Behind the curtain were vehement whisper- 



39^ <C^e to^ite aCerrúr 

ings of **Oh, don't stop him!"' "Please let 
him go on!" **Do let him tell us about his 
miracle! " — and Adeline, pressing Mother Scho- 
lastica's hand, begged hardest of all that the 
soldier might talk on. The soldier, hearing these 
buzzing tones of entreaty, settled the matter. 
*' There is no danger of my getting feverish," 
he said briskly, ** because already I am well 
again. This little cut on my head àon't amount 
to anything. We soldiers of the Great Army 
have skins that sew themselves together of their 
own accord! " And to show that he really was 
well he began to walk up and down the room 
with firm strides, curling his mustachioes as he 
walked. Even through the curtain, the nuns 
could see the outline of his tall and well-knit 
figure passing and repassing before the win- 
dows, and they followed his motions with a 
very eager gaze. 

Mother Scholastica was quite as keen as the 
others were to hear the story. ** Is it possible," 
she asked, ** that you have been in closer peril of 
death than when you faced that dreadful haw- 
thorn hedge .^" 

''You shall judge for yourself. Listen to 
what happened to me up there in that execrable 
land of snow." 



CHAPTER XLIII 

INTO A DESERT LAND 

** Russia is off at the very end of the earth, 
my Sisters," the soldier began, **and is an evil 
region that God only looks on at night. It is a 
land barren and desolate. Never a good blade 
of* grass grows on its bleak hillsides and endless 
plains, and there is a town or a hamlet only 
about once in every thousand leagues. Why, 
when we marched into that huge wilderness, 
although there were close to half a million of us, 
we fairly were lost ! 

**But it seemed, to begin with, as if we 
never would get there at all. For thirteen long 
weeks we marched on and on — across our old 
battlefields in Germany, where we had stripped 
the double-headed eagle of his plumes; through 
Warsaw, where General Murat had hoisted the 
tri-colour over the Cathedral of Saint John seven 
years before ; and then on into a country over 
there toward the sunrise that we didn't know at 
all. Every day we thought that we must come 
to the end of the world. We crossed rivers 
and we crossed mountains and we never seemed 
to get anywhere. Always before us was a land 
bare and dumb. Where were the Russians ? 
we asked each other. What had become of 
the enormous army that we had seen at Auster- 

399 



400 lî^e iMljite fiTerror 



litz ? Why did we not fall in with some of 
those shaggy bearskin-clad lancers on their little 
red horses who so many times had pestered us ? 
We stared and we stared — but always before us 
was emptiness. In endless succession we 
crossed vast bare plains on which not a tree, not 
even a bush, grew; on which the very grass 
was thin and dry; over which, ahead of us, the 
sun rose pale in the morning; over which, behind 
us, the sun set red at night — always hopelessly 
the same! Some said: 'We'll end by leaving 
the sun behind us for good and all!' Others 
said : * We'll never find our way hpme again! ' 
Everybody grumbled. It was enough to break 
your heart ! Ahead of us, on his white horse, 
rode the Emperor — standing out clear against 
the sky, around him the flags and the eagles. 
There was no turning back possible while he 
led us. We followed him as a shepherd is fol- 
lowed by his flock. 

"At last, one morning at sunrise, we saw 
far ofl" on the horizon a long black line. What 
it was — town, forest, army — we did not know; 
but we did know that it was something that 
broke the endlessly dull sameness of our march. 
And so the whole four hundred and fifty thou- 
sand of us gave a shout that made the stars 
tremble! All day long we marched toward 
that bhick line. AVhen night came it seemed to 
be no nearer to us — and when the sunrise came 
again it was gone! In bitter disappointment 
we marched on, dumbly following the Emperor 
and the flags. Late in the day we saw it again, 
and at first only half believed in it. But that 
time it was clearer and firmer in its outlines, and 



Jnto a desert tanò 401 

became more real with each hour of our advance. 
Walls, towers, domes, uprose against the grey 
sky of evening. At last we were certain of it. 
That time it was a real city — not a mirage. 
Without waiting for orders we quickened our 
pace. We were in a hurry to get to it; for 
there, at last, the Russians must be. When 
there came a burst of flame and a thunderous 
report from the ramparts, and we saw the earth 
in front of our army ploughed up by cannon- 
balls, we fairly roared for joy! 

**We embraced each other, we wept with 
delight. Those cannon-balls were manna to us 
in our desert. With a good will we could have 
hugged the cannoneers. At last we had the 
Russian army in front of us and within reach; 
no longer were we in utter loneliness, lost at 
the very end of the world. Then our artillery 
talked back for a little while to the Russians, 
and when we had made them our compliments 
with cannon-shots our bugles sounded the ad- 
vance and our drums beat the pas-de-charge. 
Away we went, shouting * Vive la France! ' and 
* Vive I'Empereur! ' Presently we had sent the 
enemy flying — and Smolensk, the Holy City, 
was ours ! 

** But more than the soldiers whom we had 
been fighting had fled. Everybody had fled! 
The city was deserted utterly, as sad and as 
silent as a grave-yard. Worse than that, we 
found in it nothing to eat. The Russians had 
destroyed everything. Not a handful of oats 
was left for our horses, not a handful of wheat 
for ourselves. And the country had been cleaned 
as bare as the town. Grain, hay, everything 



402 Sl)e incite Serror 



that would keep life in men or in horses, had 
been burned. Our victory had gained for us 
only an empty city and an empty land! 

** To Moscow! To Moscow!" we shouted 
— and off we started again, with our Emperor 
and our flags and our eagles in the van. 

** On and on and on we marched. We fol- 
lowed in the tracks of the retreating enemy — 
who would not make a stand and give us a 
chance to fight him, who always managed to 
keep beyond our reach no matter how fast we 
marched. We passed villages and towns, and 
found every one of them empty and deserted — 
just as Smolensk had been. The people had 
fled with everything that they could carry away. 
What they could not carry away they had 
burned. The fields had been burned over. We 
found them black and barren. Always about 
us smoke filled the air. For three weeks we 
marched through that abomination of desolation. 
Then we came to the banks of the river Moscowa, 
near a village called Borodino, and there the 
Russians gave us battle again. 

* * We fought them there through a whole 
long day. The rising sun was too late to see 
the beginning of our fighting, and the setting 
sun was too early to see its end. But after the 
sun had left us there was a flash of light of an- 
other sort — when all the sabres of Marshal Ney's 
fifteen thousand cavalrymen flashed out together 
as they charged ! Oh, good Sisters, if you could 
have seen that flash, when those fifteen thou- 
sand sabres all at once leaped from their scab- 
bards and dazzled the densely massed battalions 
on which they fell! Nothing could stand be- 



Jínto a tSeBcxt ^anà 403 

fore that charge! The Russians cowered, 
wavered, broke — and fled like a frightened herd 
of bulls ! They abandoned everything — artillery, 
ammunition, the whole of their baggage train. 
And they left the road before us, straight into 
Moscow, clear and free! On we marched along 
that road for seven days. Always around us 
was desolation. Always the smoking land was 
bare. Then we reached, at last, the capital of 
Russia — the only capital in Europe over which 
had not waved the French flag! 

*'We were at the end of our vastly long 
march, and we held the city to conquer which 
we had come so far. When we saw the great 
palaces, and the wonderful Kremlin, and the 
churches with their gilded domes, we were sure 
that we should find food in plenty and that our 
hardships were at an end. But we were wrong. 
Moscow was as clean-swept as all the towns 
had been along the road. Everything had been 
carried off or destroyed. Even the people were 
gone. We found only a few old men and 
women, and a few children, who came to us 
crying for food. To save them from starving 
we gave them the bread from our own mouths. 
I can't tell you for how far around the city the 
land had been laid waste.^ As far as we could 
see, the fields were smoking. The smoke hung 
over the city, nearly suffocating us. We were 
put on short rations, and were glad to kill and 
eat our own disabled horses and the few miser- 
able beasts which the Russians had left behind 
them. We cooked our lean meals in the open 
squares of the city. We grenadiers of the 
Guard were camped on the square before the 



404 8íl)e ini)itc QLttxot 

palace of the Senate. When wood ran short we 
boiled our pots over fires fed with the gilded 
chairs of the Senators. 

**Then came winter — a horrible winter of 
darkness and bitter cold! The sun showed 
himself for no more than two hours a day — 
hanging low down on the far horizon, pale, 
giving out no heat, like a big moon. And with 
the cold always was hunger. Without sun- 
light, without warmth, without bread — death 
was not far away! 

*'One night we were wakened from our 
sleep, as we lay huddled close together for 
warmth in the palace of the Senate, by what 
seemed to be volley-firing; and as we opened 
our eyes we were dazzled by a glare of brilliant 
red light which poured in through the windows 
and danced upon the ceiling and walls. We 
thought that the enemy must be upon us. De- 
lighted to get to grips with him, we snatched 
up our arms and rushed out of doors. But the 
enemy that confronted us was Fire! A great 
wave of fire thunderously was overwhelming 
the city. What we had taken for the sound of 
musketry was the crackling of houses and 
churches and palaces in the flames. To the 
heights of heaven that awful conflagration rose! 

" We had to run for it, and to run fast. All 
in a jumble — infantry, cavalry, artillery — we got 
away, the fire howling after us so close that the 
backs of our necks were singed. Suddenly we 
found ourselves in the midst of a tremendous 
rush of water. On one side of us the enemy 
had started the fire. On the other side he had 
turned the river into the streets. We were 



3nta tt Desert Canb 405 

caught between the two — and there went up 
from that confused and bewildered multitude a 
great woeful cry. Some of the horses, fairly mad- 
dened, turned backward and plunged with their 
riders into the flames. For an instant horse and 
man would flare up like tow, and then would 
be a black twisting thing that dwindled to 
nothing in the blaze. That's the way it must 
be in the seven throats of hell ! 

** The water was up to our waists, and how 
we got through it and away from the fire I'm 
sure 1 don't know. But we managed, somehow 
or other, to do both — and at last found ourselves 
on a little height where the fire could not follow 
us and where the water could not come. We 
made no halt. There was nothing to halt for. 
In the city that so coldly had sheltered us, every- 
thing was destroyed. Our one chance was 
to go out again by the road that had brought 
us into that desert land. Again the Emperor 
led us, surrounded by his flags and his eagles. 
By the huge light of burning Moscow we saw 
him at the head of our column — wearing his 
white coat, seated on his white horse — a pale 
figure cut out against the black sky!" 



CHAPTER XLIV 

THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW 

'*All that night," the soldier continued, 
** we went onward. When day came we saw 
two fires off there on the horizon, and we 
couldn't tell which was the red burning Mos- 
cow and which was the red rising sun. Nor 
did we care. Already we were careless of 
everything but our own pain. 

** On and on we marched, our flesh whipped 
blue by the bitter wind. Great clouds came 
down from the north and discharged upon us 
their lading of snow. Behind the clouds the 
piile sun was lost wholly. From the fallen 
snow came a faint and ghastly light by which 
we went on our way. Only we had lio way. 
At first the snow was to our ankles, 'then it 
was to our calves, then it was to our knees. As 
it fell it blinded us like needles, blown by the 
cruel wind that froze our very marrow; and in 
the strange pale light of it we could not tell 
when the night was with us and when the day. 
From time to time one of us, worn out with 
cold and hunger, would stagger a little and then 
pitch face downward into the snow. Nobody 
turned to pick him up. When we had marched 
on and left him we could hear the howling of 
406 



ffilje ttetreat from MoBcom 407 

the wolves. But we were not utterly hopeless, 
because our officers told us that when we got 
to Smolensk we would find food in plenty, 
along with shelter from the cold. We were too 
glad to believe them, and we looked forward to 
Smolensk as to Paradise. 

**WeII, we got to Smolensk — and the little 
black bread that we found there served us for 
just a single day! Then on we went again — for 
we had to go on, it was our only chance! On 
we went, I say, over that endless white plain 
under that endless grey sky. More and more of 
our men staggered out from the ranks, fell into 
the snow silently, and were left there for the 
wolves. When our horses died the wolves did 
not get a chance to eat them — we were thankful 
to eat them ourselves. But they were lean 
eating — having themselves been feeding upon 
nothing more nourishing than each others* tails 
and manes. 

**At last we reached the banks of a river 
called the Berezina, and there we had trouble. 
In September, in good weather, when we were 
well fed, we had crossed that river as jolly as 
fish ; but late in November, in icy winter, when 
we were famished, the crossing was another 
story. To be waist-deep in that ice-cold cur- 
rent, battling with great masses of floating ice, 
was a close fight with death for starving men. 
The Emperor ordered a bridge to be thrown 
across the river; and from a pine forest growing 
on its banks we soon got out all the timber that 
the engineers wanted. But just as we were 
starting our bridge there came down on us from 
the bluffs above the river a tremendous hail of 



4o8 QH)t tt)l)ite ^tttox 



lead and iron. Guided, as the wolves were, by 
the trail of dead that we left behind us, the 
Russians had been following our army in the 
hope of just such a chance as thev had found. 
There they were, fighting away with us — with 
all the odds on their side! They were at their 
ease on the heights above us. We were 
crowded together on the bank of the river, as 
good a target as need be for their plunging fire. 
Marshal Ney did his best to dislodge thenri with 
his weak cavalry ; and while he fought them we 
went on with our bridge-building — and nice 
work we had of it : standing in that ghastly cold 
water, in peril of death from the floating ice, in 
peril of death from the Russian fire! 

'*As for me, I got relieved from duty in a 
very extraordinary way. I was hammering 
down a pile which two men held steady against 
the fierce current, and in order to hammer it 
1 was standing on a beam which two other 
men held fast. Down the river I saw coming a 
huge block of ice, heading straight for us. I 
sung out to the men to dive and let the mass of 
ice pass over them. But they were not quick 
enough. In an instant the saw-like edges of the 
ice had cut off their heads and the heads were 
frozen fast to the ice-raft. The beam on which 
I was standing was broken by the shock and I 
barely had time to leap on the block of ice — 
and so to be carried down with the heads of my 
four comrades on the bow of my horrible raft! 

**On 1 was rushed by the swift current 
helped by the bitter wind. 1 lost sight of the 
army very quickly. The sound of the firing 
grew fainter as 1 was whirled down the stream. 



ffil)e Ketreat from HloscotD 409 

At last my ice-raft grounded, and 1 got on shore 
again more dead than alive. I had no arms but 
a pistol, I had only the clothes that I stood in to 
protect me against the dreadful cold. * Keep up 
your spirit! ' I said to myself. ' A grenadier of 
the Guard must never give in ! ' And so off I 
started to catch up with the army. I had not 
the sound of the firing to guide me. That had 
stopped, and I concluded that our men had 
beaten the Russians off. 

** Well, in that wilderness of snow it didn't 
take long for me to lose myself. Presently I 
could not tell anything about where I was 
going, and I just trusted to luck and walked on 
and on. Now and then I would pull a handful 
of dry grass from under the snow and chew it 
to keep down the pangs of hunger; but I got 
weaker and weaker as 1 was more and more 
starved with hunger and with cold. After a 
while I saw what 1 took to be a very big black 
object a long way off. 1 fancied it to be as big 
as the Kremlin in Moscow, as I saw it rising 
up before me out of the snow. But instead of 
being big and far away it was small and near 
to me. Almost in a moment 1 had come up 
with it, and it proved to be the dead body of a 
horse honeycombed by the gnawings of the 
wolves. Famished, I flung myself upon it, 
hoping to find some scraps of flesh. But it is 
ill gleaning after the wolves: there was nothing 
left but skin and bone. 

"With the anguish of death upon me I laid 
myself down beside the carcass, which at least 
sheltered me a little from the biting wind. Hope 
had left me, and I was ready to die, when 1 saw 



4IO (H)c tDI)iu ©error 

coming toward me a hairy monster that I took 
at first to be a bear but that I soon saw was a 
fur-clad man. He held a long stick, a sort of 
Cossack's lance, in his hand and was coming 
straight for me. I still had strength enough to 
draw my pistol, and with my numb fingers I 
managed to cock it. Just as I was going to fire, 
he threw aside the muffling of furs from about 
his head and I saw the gentle and kindly old 
face of a Russian pope. With a friendly smile 
in his blue eyes he pointed with his free hand to 
the Greek cross that he wore upon his breast, 
and as he evidently meant me no harm I let my 
pistol fall upon the snow. And then, all of a 
sudden, a mist came before my eyes, and what 
little strength 1 had left oozed out of me, and it 
seemed to me that I certainly was going to die. 
I surely should have died but for the help that 
that kind old man gave me. From his own 
body he stripped his fur coat and wrapped me 
in it — and then with his breath and with chafing 
he strove to warm my hands. 

"Years and years ago, when I was a little 
lad, the Bishop of Mendes gave me a medal of 
Notre Dame de Bon Secours, saying to me: 
* When you are in dire peril of death, take out 
this medal and the good Mother will rescue 
you.' It seemed to me that I never could be in 
direr peril of death than 1 was just then, and 
while the good pope was comforting me I 
slipped my hand into my pocket and brought 
out the medal. He took it from me and kissed 
it reverently. Then he unslung from his neck 
a little flask and gave me a drink of a strong 
cordial that was a veritable elixir of life. As 



QH\t ttetreat from lEtloscotD 411 

that cordial got down into my stomach and 
warmed me 1 suddenly felt as though I were 
made over new. And then that blessed old 
man brought from his wallet a loaf of bread that 
I simply devoured! I was quite mysef again. 
My eyes could see clearly and my legs were 
strong. 

*'The good old pope wanted to give me 
back my miraculous medal — but it had worked 
its miracle for me, and 1 signed to him to keep 
it as a token of my thankfulness and goodwill. 
And so he kissed it again in sign that he ac- 
cepted it — and by way of showing me still 
more of his goodness and charity he hung the 
little flask of wonderful cordial about mv neck 
and gave me another loaf of bread out of his 
leather bag. He pointed out the way in which 
I should go in order to find my comrades, and 
at the last, after he. had embraced me, he made 
the sign of the cross on my forehead with his 
thumb — just exactly as the Bishop of Mendes 
had done when, so long ago, he gave me the 
medal on the bridge of Saint-Jean d'Ardières! 

**Ofr I went as lively as a cricket — and 
within two hours after that miraculous meeting I 
caught up with the army again and was in my 
place in the van-guard close to the Emperor. 
My comrades, who were sure that 1 was dead, 
made such an outcry over me that the Emperor 
himself turned and saluted me! Think of that, 
my Sisters! The Emperor, the Great Napoleon, 
raised his hand and saluted me! And just 
didn't the boys shout over it! * Vive Pascalet! 
Vive Pascalet!' they roared." 

27 



CHAPTER XLV 

* * FAREWELL, PASCALET ! ' ' 

As Pascalet spoke these words, which sud- 
denly revealed his identity, a cry rang out be- 
hind the curtain and Adeline fell fainting into 
Mother Scholastica's arms. Instantly there was 
a bustle of confused movement, and with it a 
bustle of more confused talk. 

* * Heavens ! She's fainting ! " 

** Carry her into the chapel and lay her at 
the feet of Saint Ursula! '* 

** Call the Father Confessor! " 

* * Great Saint Marys of the Sea, take her soul 
into your keeping!" 

** We must get her to bed at once! " This 
last from the practical Sister Margai. 

Hearing all this stir, Pascalet could not re- 
sist the temptation to raise the curtain a little 
that he might see what was the matter. What 
he saw was a nun being borne away in the arms 
of her companions. For an instant he had a 
glimpse of a death-pale face so lovely and so 
beautiful that sight of it set his heart in a whirl. 
Then she was gone! 

Monsieur Peru was called in from reading his 

breviary in the garden to minister to the welfare 

of this troubled Sister's soul. He was startled 

by finding her in anything but the collapsed 

412 



state that the frightened Sister who called him 
had described. Her faint was past, and the 
ebbing tide of her life had flowed back strong 
and full. Her cheeks were a rich red, her beau- 
tiful large eyes had a flame in them that made 
the Father Confessor cast his own eyes down. 
In a tremble of excitement she fell on her knees 
before him and cried: ** Holy priest of a merci- 
ful God, hear the confession of the most unhappy 
of the Sisters of Saint Ursula of Jesus! In my 
poor heart is a love as piercing as a thorn from 
the sacred Crown. Since I was a child of fifteen 
years I have known that love's sweet bitterness, 
the sting of that dear thorn! Ah, foolish have I 
been! I thought that I could hide away from 
it behind Saint Ursula's veil. I thought that in 
eating the angel's bread of the Holy Sacrament 
I would forget the taste of the biead of love. I 
thought that the cry of my longing flesh would 
be silenced by the cry of my spirit before the 
altars. I thought that I should forget my earthly 
bridegroom when I became the bride of Christ ! 

'* But oh, my Father, I have forgotten noth- 
ing, and the thorn ever has sunk deeper and 
deeper into my heart. To-day all my blood 
cries out in love-hunger, and my soul chants not 
holy anthems before the altar but is lost in pas- 
sionate song. For to-day my earthly bride- 
groom has come back to me; and what 1 am 
forgetting — oh help me! help me to grace and 
mercy! — what I am forgetting is my promise to 
my God!" 

Monsieur Peru, old and wise and abounding 
in charity, had learned in the course of his long 
and good life how to touch aching hearts with 



414 £t)e tDI)iu Serror 



a loving tenderness that gave sure solace to their 
pain. **My child," he said gently, "for every 
sin there is the mercy of forgiveness. Despair 
not. To your soul the peace of God will return 
again, and your heart-hurt will be healed by the 
balm of prayer." 

** Never! Never!" cried Adeline wildly. 
**For my pain there is but one balm, for rriy 
hurt there is but one cure. In death alone can 
1 find rest and ease! " 

** My daughter," said the good priest, speak- 
ing very gravely, **do you doubt the infinite 
goodness of God ? " 

''If His goodness be infinite," Adeline re- 
sponded quickly, ** let Him give me that which 
will calm my pain; and then let Him cure it by 
taking me tá Himself ! " 

"What is it that will calm your pain, my 
daughter ? If what you desire may be had by 
a remission of your rules — not of your vows — 
you shall have it. Your rules were prescribed, 
and may be relaxed, by man. Your vows, be- 
ing taken of your own choice, are the inflexible 
will of God." 

"My Father," Adeline said eagerly, while 
her downcast eyes grew still brighter and her 
cheeks a warmer crimson, " may Saint Ursula — 
whom I may be setting to weeping in heaven 
— pardon me for what I ask of you; and may 
God pardon me — and send me death quickly 
when you have granted me my prayer." She 
paused for a moment and then, hiding her glow- 
ing face in her hands, continued falteringly: 
" My earthly bridegroom has come back to me. 
He is here, close beside me — under this very 



roof. What I ask is that I may touch for one 
single moment his dear hand ; that I may say to 
him one single word : * Farewell ! ' If that much 
may be granted to me, dear Father, I give you 
my promise that with the scourge I will conquer 
my flesh, and that hence onward until my death 
I will remain the faithful spouse of Jesus my 
Lord!" 

Out of the very depths of her heart she had 
asked for this mercy and she waited in agony 
for her reply. She had no long suspense. In a 
moment Monsieur Peru answered her, speaking 
very gently and tenderly: **My daughter, you 
may be sure that Saint Ursula is smiling lovingly 
upon you and that our Lord Jesus blesses you. 
Dry your eyes and praise God. Without fear 
of damnation, or even of the pains of purgatory, 
you may have what you desire. You may 
touch the hand of him whom you love while 
you say farewell to him ; but you may neither 
see him nor be seen by him, nor in any way 
make yourself known to him — and this is rather 
for his sake than for yours. It would be cruel 
that the quenching of the flame which is in your 
heart should be won at the cost of filling his 
heart with a hopeless fire! " 

Quite overcome by the joy that this permis- 
sion gave her, Adeline laughed and cried in the 
same breath and was unable to utter a single 
^word of thanks. To set her at ease Monsieur 
Peru spoke to her in a lighter tone. '* After all, 
my child," he said, as he drew out his snuff- 
box, **your scruples, since there is no possibil- 
ity of sin in this matter, are rather too finely 
drawn. You are almost as bad," he went oh 



4i6 ari)e U)l)iU flCerror 



with a smile, ** as that goose of a Sister Margai: 
who woke me up at four o'clock the other 
morning to confess what she said was a sin of 
gluttony — and which turned out to be a desire 
to eat some grapes that she had seen on an 
arbour but had not even touched! " And with 
these words he snuffed the snuff into his nostrils 
and went sneezing away, leaving Adeline radi- 
antly happy — but hardly knowing whether she 
were dreaming or had heard true. 

Her happy doubts were not long lasting. 
In a few moments, sent by Monsieur Peru, 
Mother Scholastica came to her cell and said 
briskly as she opened the door: ** Hurry, Sister, 
if you want to say good-bye to our soldier. 
He's going now." And then she stopped short 
— a little surprised by finding Adeline bending 
over the chest in which she kept her belongings, 
and the contents of the chest for the most part 
strewn upon the floor. There was her black 
frock with its trimming of Paris lace, her fichu, 
her young giri's cape, and — most precious of all 
— the boy's clothes which had been Pascalet's 
and which later had been her own. All of these 
garments were folded with an exquisite neat- 
ness. From them came a delicious odour of 
lavender. She touched them in the reverent 
fashion that she would have touched holy relics. 
Her eyes were soft with tears. As the Mother 
Superior entered the cell she had unfolded Pas- 
calet's little carmagnole, the jacket of the pre- 
cious suit of clothes, and was feeling for some- 
thing in the pocket. Confused at being come 
upon when thus employed, she blushed and 
looked down. 



"iTaretDeU, pascalet!" 417 

**Are you looking for something, Sister? 
Can I help you?" Mother Scholastica asked in a 
kindly tone that set Adeline at her ease. 

** Thank you, reverend Mother," she an- 
swered, as she drew from the pocket of the 
jacket a little object that she held hidden in her 
hand, '* 1 have just finished. I am ready now." 
Her voice broke a little as she spoke. Under 
her white wimple her heart was beating fast. 
She swayed in her walk, and was thankful to 
have the' support of Mother Scholastica's arm. 
Together they went through the corridors to the 
parlour, and heard as they entered it Pascalet's 
clear rich voice as he spoke to Sister Margai. 
But the black curtain was drawn close over the 
grating, and while Adeline could hear she could 
not see. 

*' Brave soldier," said the Mother Superior, 
'*I have brought to say good-bye to you the 
Sister who fainted a little while ago. We did 
not wish you to go away thinking that your 
story of the wars had made her ill." 

Pascalet brought his hands together with a 
cheerful clap, and said heartily: *' Holy woman 
of God, that is real thoughtfulness ! You don't 
know how much good you're doing me. I'm 
just as much obliged to you as I can be — and if 
it wasn't for this confounded grating I'd prove 
it to you with a good hug! It worried me to 
think of that poor nun fainting that way. I 
should have hated to have gone away without 
knowing that she was all right again — as I do 
now." 

'* Thank you, brave soldier Pascalet," said 
Adeline, **for your kind thought about me; 



41 8 ïl)e ttJljUe Ccrror 

and since you were troubled a little on my ac- 
count I am very glad that I have come to say 
good-bye to you. I have a little present for 
you. With the permission of our reverend 
Mother, here beside me, I give to you these three 
little silver crowns. Perhaps you may be 
pleased to buy with them something that will 
please your old mother. You must tell her that 
in the Convent of Saint Ursula of Avignon there 
is a Sister who night and morning never will 
fail to pray for her and for her handsome boy 
Pascalet. You must tell her " 

*' Forgive me, holy woman," Pascalet inter- 
rupted, **but why should you give these three 
crowns to me ? Keep them for your convent." 

'*No, no! They are for you. They are 
yours. Take them." Remember, I am under 
the vow of poverty, and for me to keep them 
would be a black sin. Soldier Pascalet, you 
would not wish me to commit sin ? Come, if 
you will not take them for yourself, you will 
hot refuse to take them for your old mother ? " 

**0h, for my mother — that is another mat- 
ter. For her 1 cannot refuse them. 1 take them 
gladly. Ah, my dear old mother! Who knows 
if I shall find her still alive ? I was fifteen years 
old when 1 left her — and that was twenty years 
iigo! Think of it, for twenty years I have not 
seen my mother! Even if she be living, she 
will not know me — me, her son!" 

As he spoke, Pascalet grasped Adeline's 
slender hand in his two strong hands and kissed 
it and wept over it as though it had been the 
hand of his mother. Burning hot it was as he 
pressed it and kissed it! Adeline was thrilled 






"iTaretDell, |)ascalet!'' 419 

from head to foot by this caress of her Pascalet. 
She trembled as in a fever as his silky mustache 
brushed softly against her hand and against her 
delicate white wrist. At last, reluctantly, he 
relinquished that burning hand — and as it was 
withdrawn behind the black curtain the three 
silver crowns fell ringing to the floor at his feet. 
Then from behind the iron grating that the cur- 
tain covered came a sweet voice saying: ** Fare- 
^vell, Pascalet! Forever, farewell!" 

**God keep you, my Sister," Pascalet an- 
swered; **and may He reward you for all that 
you have done to me! " 

On the inner side of the grating there was 
the sound of soft footsteps retreating. Pascalet 
noticed, with ears trained to the cadence of 
rhythmic marching, that the footsteps went ir- 
regularly. But he turned from the grating 
without giving the matter a second thought. 

Sister Margai had picked up the three crowns. 
She handed them to him, but she did not ven- 
ture to look at him nor to speak. To her the 
whole of that lightly-passing tragedy had been 
clear and her heart was bursting with pity and 
with grief. Still without speaking, she unbarred 
the door and held it open. ** Good-bye, dear 
kind Sister," Pascalet said to her — and so stepped 
across the threshold and was gone. When she 
had closed the door behind him she burst out 
crying like a child. Adeline was very dear to 
her, and she wept for Adeline's unhappy love — 
a love that was hopeless enough to die of ! 



V 



CHAPTER XLVI 

THE WHITE FLAG OF SHAME 

Dusk was falling as Pascalet came out upon 
the Rue Annanelle and headed resolutely for the 
Place du Grand Paradis. He knew the danger 
that he risked, wearing the uniform of a soldier 
of the Empire, in walking the streets of Avignon. 
He knew what was liEely to happen to him 
should he he caught again by the dogs of the 
nobility, the murderers of Marshal Brune. But 
he who had dared death for twenty years on the 
great battlefields of Europe was not to be fright- 
ened from his purpose by the hounds of the 
White Terror. To see Vauclair and Lazuli and 
Clairet again — Clairet, almost a man grown by 
this time — he would have fought his way through 
an army ! Little did he know that Clairet, on 
the very day of his home-coming, had been 
slain by Papalists and traitors and cast into the 
Rhone! And so, with his hand on the loaded 
pistol stuck in his sash, the dusk favouring him, 
Pascalet walked on firmly toward the home of 
his friends. 

The August evening was clear and warm. 
Up in the elm trees in the little parks the cigales 
still were siníçing. Children were playing in 
the streets. Groups of women sat in the door- 
ways, fanning themselves with their aprons and 
420 



ffil)e tol)Ue iTlag of 0l)ame 421 

trying to get a breath of fresh air. Pascalet 
walked with his head bent down, without look- 
ing about him — that he might not see floating 
from almost every window the hated fleur- 
de-lys: the flag of traitors, of the friends of 
the Germans and Austrians — the white flag 
of shame! Everywhere hung this rag of na- 
tional dishonour: on the public places, in the 
streets, even in the little alleys. From the doors 
and windows of rich and poor were out-thrust 
its guilty folds ! His blood boiled at the thought 
that it waved above him. Only by a great 
effort could he keep himself from shouting: 
*• Down with the cowards and traitors! Down 
with the King!" 

** Isn't that man wearing the uniform of Bona- 
parte's brigands ? " he heard a woman say as he 
passed one of the doorway groups. 

**He can't be," another answered. '*He 
wouldn't dare to show himself that way in the 
streets of Avignon." 

*Mf he is," said a third, **it won't be long 
before a patrol will be making him swallow the 
soup with twelve plums in it! " 

*'To think," said a fourth, **that such 
lA^retches could be found to fight against our 
yood allies — the Germans and the Austrians and 
:he English ! Monsters like that cannot be born 
of women — they must have been brought forth 
n a pig- sty! " 

Pascalet heard these words without realizing 
their meaning; without perceiving that the mon- 
ster these women were talking about was him- 
self! 

On the Plan de Lunel he came upon a faran- 



42 2 (îhe VDhite Serror 

dole made up of children — for the most part 
little tots of three and four years old. Tney 
carried white flags, and as they farandoled gaily 
their shrill little voices piped out: 

** No one shall we spare ! 
So Trestaillon commands." 

On the Place de l'Horloçe, when he came to 
it, he found matters still worse. There the 
Whites of Avignon were assembled in force; 
and there this poor brave soldier — who had 
risked his life in a hundred battles with foreign 
foes — saw the ladies of the nobility and of the 
bourgeoisie welcome with hand-clapping and 
cries of ** Vive le roi!" two battalions of Ger- 
mans and Austrians who had just arrived to oc- 
cupy the city. Shame and confusion! 

Poor Pascalet saw those good-for-nothing 
marchionesses and countesses fling themselves 
upon the necks of the more or less drunken 
Germans and Austrians smelling of rancid pork 
— the characteristic odour of that red-haired race! 
He saw these women putting their hands upon 
the arms of the soldiers and drawing them into 
their houses. Following them were the cow- 
ards who had skulked in caves and in forests 
when France was in danger. Those identical 
cowardly deserters carried the knapsacks and 
the muskets of the Prussian soldiers and fol- 
lowed like lackeys their wives linked arm-in- 
arm with those dirty-beards! Never, since the 
world was a world, did any nation swallow 
such shame! 

From everywhere on the Place de THorloge 



QH)c CDl)ite iTlag of Bljame 423 

)se shouts of **Long live the King!" **Long 
ve the Allies! " With these was roared out: 

*' No one shall we spare ! 
So Trestaillon commands. 
Death to Republicans — 
Who all are rogues." 

uch was the excitement caused by the coming 
f the foreign soldiers that no one noticed the 
rave fellow wearing the red epaulettes of the 
rand Army of France. That was good luck 
it him. Had they realized what uniform he 
'ore they would have torn him to pieces — and 
irown his fragments into the Rhone to keep 
)mpany with Marshal Brune. 

Confounded by what he saw, his heart filled 
'ith rage, Pascalet went by the dark Rue 
3 la Poulasseri toward Vauclair's home. He 
let no more Austrians or Germans; and the 
'hite flag — which at first flaunted him every- 
where — was less in evidence as he neared the 
lace du Grand Paradis. As he walked on rap- 
.\y he said to himself: ** What can the Reds of 
le Midi be thinking about ? Where is the Na- 
Dnal Guard .^ Where is Bérigot — who, when 
3 crossed himself, used to say: Mn the name 
' Liberty and Equality and Fraternity!' ? And 
auclair and Peloux and all the rest of the 
arseilles Battalion, surely they cannot all be" 
tad?" 

But these thoughts were forgotten as he 
ime out upon the little Place and looked up 
igerly, hoping to see in those well-remem- 
îred windows a friendly light. Yet he could 
Dt see very clearly. In anticipation of this 



4^4 Sh^ u)t)ite (terror 



happy meeting, after a parting of twenty years, 
tears dimmed his eyes and his heart was beat- 
ing hard. 

He stopped short, while there went through 
him a pang of pain keen as that of a knife- 
thrust. There was no light in the windows— 
because there were no windows! Before him 
in the dusk was only the charred skeleton of 
what had been so warm-hearted a living home. 
Four blackened and partly fallen walls remained, 
a curiously-clinging scrap of the tiled roof, a few 
charred ends of beams. That was all! Stand- 
ing before that doorway which had opened to 
give him such generous shelter, he looked 
through it — and through where floors and roof 
had been — right upward to the stars! 

He was overwhelmed! confounded! stunned! 
As he rallied a little the thought came to him 
that he might not be in the Place du Grand 
Paradis at all. But a glance about him sufficed 
to put that faint hope to flight. There was the 
chapel of the Violet Penitents where the Patriot 
Club used to hold its meetings; there was the 
potter's house; there were the shops of the 
butcher and the fishmonger; there was every- 
thing just as he remembered it — save the one 
thing that he remembered best of all! And then 
to his bitterness of sorrow was added the bitter- 
ness of shame. From the distant crowd sounded 
faintly shouts of ** Long live the Allies! " "Long 
live the King! " With these hateful cries came 
the sound of children's voices, near him, sing- 



ing: 



" No one shall we spare ! 
So Trestaillon commands." 



@CI)e ÍDljite iFlag of Bljame 425 

His heart full almost to breaking, he turned 
from that desolate place and walked quickly 
away through the darkness. Passing across 
the Place des Grands Carmes, along the Rue 
de la Carréterie, he went out from the city 
by the Porte Saint- Lazare : and so found him- 
self upon the high-road by which he had come 
up from Malemort to Avignon twenty years 
before — with Monsieur Randoulet's letter in his 
pocket, along with his fortune of three silver 
crowns. 

For a while, as he walked onward through 
the warm quiet of the August night, troubling 
noises followed him. Faintly he could hear the 
shouts of the vile creatures who were welcom- 
ing the white-coated Austrians and the green- 
coated Germans; less faintly could he hear the 
shrill voices of the innocent little children sing- 
ing the foul song that they had been taught: 

** No one shall we spare ! 
So Trestaillon commands. 
Death to Republicans — 
Who all are rogues ! '* 

But as he went onward these sounds grew 
less and less — dwindling to the mere hum of 
gadflies, and ceasing altogether when he had 
passed the oratory of Paradou. Then he had 
with him only the croaking of the frogs in the 
ditches by the roadside and the cheery chirping 
of the crickets in the fields. These were sooth- 
ing noises, and as he listened to them he real- 
ized how weary he was — weary with the strain 
of emotion far more than with bodily fatigue — 
and was glad to seat himself and rest. In deso- 



426 g:i)c toljitc îcrror 



late sorrow, his head held between his hands, 
tears dropping from his eyes, he thought of that 
wrecked home in which Vauclair and Lazuli 
once had lived. As his mind turned to what 
probably had happened to them his blood ran 
cold — and then his desire for certain knowledge, 
and for revenge, aroused in him a mad longing 
to go back to the Place de I'Horloge and there 
to grip by the throat the first Aristocrat that he 
could lay hands on and to squeeze out of him 
all that he could tell. The end of it, of course, 
would be that he would be torn to pieces. But 
that did not matter much — and while they were 
killing him he could get in some good killing of 
his own on that traitor crowd ! 

As he raised his head from his hands he was 
startled by seeing in every direction about him 
great blazing fires. On the hills of Vedènes, on 
the garigues of Pernes, on the mountains of 
Venasque. ricks and farm-houses were burning. 
The country side was lighted up as though on 
the eve of St. John. 

Alas, those were the bonfires of the White 
Terror! Ail Liberals, all Republicans, all sol- 
diers who had shielded their country in her dan- 
ger, all whose sons had served in the army, 
alike were punished: their farmsteads robbed 
and burned, their crops destroyed, their vines 
uprooted, their olive trees and their fruit trees 
cut down. And the poor patriots themselves, 
with their wives and sons and daughters, were 
slabbed to death with pitchforks and thrown 
into the flames! 

Suddenly Pascalet realized the meaning of 
these íìres — as he saw men dancing about a 



®l]e tol)ite iFlag of 0l)ame 427 



near-by burning farm-house and heard them 
singing: 

" No one shall we spare ! 
So Trestaillon commands. 
Death to the Republicans — 
Who all are rogues ! " 

As he heard the words of this vile song a 
shudder of dread seized him. What was being 
done there before his eyes no doubt was being 
done elsewhere also. His own old mother 
might be in danger — because her son had fought 
for twenty years for France! In another mo- 
ment he was walking on again rapidly toward 
Malemort. As he went onward the night was 
riven by cries for help, and was lighted by 
blazing homes. From Entraigues, from Mon- 
teux, from Carpentras, rang out the cruel words : 

"So Trestaillon commands." 



28 



CHAPTER XLVII 

"after all striving — peace" 

Pascalet had left Carpentras behind him 
when the sky above the mountains eastward be- 
gan to brighten with a tender light, as though it 
were powdered with green gold. Valley and plain 
still were in darkness, and in deepest silence— 
for even the croakings of the frogs and the chirp- 
ings of the crickets had died out softly as the 
stars grew pale suddenly in the ghostly glow of 
dawn. 

On he went, walking faster and faster as he 
drew near to the hillsides of Malemort, his 
heart beating hard ! So soon would he see them 
— his mother, and his brother Lange upon 
whom, though he was a man grown, he never 
had laid eyes! Very likely his mother would 
not know him. How should she know him, 
after all these twenty years ? But he would 
make her feel that it was her own Pascalet come 
back to her! Ah, he would hold her so close 
in his arms, he would so weep with joy, that 
she would have no doubt of him ! And if she 
still had doubt, he would go to good Monsieur 
Randoulet (Alas!) the kind priest — he would 
make her understand that it was her own Pas- 
calet, at last come home! He walked faster 
428 



**!a,ftcr all Strimng —JJcace '' 429 

and faster. The nearer that he came to the vil- 
lage the longer seemed the road. 

Day was breaking. He began to see about 
him, and to recognise with delight the old land- 
marks which he remembered so well. There 
was Claude's vineyard. There were Monsieur 
Jullian's poplars. There was Lou Materoun's 
olive-orchard. And there, crowned with the 
great oaks which surrounded the Chateau, was 
the hill of La Garde. Just below those oaks, 
hidden among the olive trees, was the hut where 
his father and his mother had lived — in which 
he himself had been born ! He walked faster — 
faster ! 

Behind him on the road he heard the hoof- 
beats of a galloping horse. He did not turn 
— his eyes were searching in the dim light for 
the spire of the village church — but as the 
sound came nearer he drew aside to leave 
the way clear. He looked up as the horse 
came abreast of him — and started back sud- 
denly! The rider held a pistol in each hand 
levelled straight at him, as though to blow 
out his brains ! 

Quick as a cat, he sprang up the roadside 
bank and whipped out his own pistol and 
pointed it. ** What are you up to ?'' he cried. 
**Go your way, and let me go mine. Or 
^lse " 

* 'Oùh ! " exclaimed the horseman, as he reined 
in to a walk. ** In this blinking twilight I took 
you for one of those miserable Royalists. Pray 
forgive me, good soldier." 

The man's face had a familiar look to Pasca- 
let, and his voice had a familiar ring. /*You 



43^ Ct)c tX)t)ite Serror 



don't know me," he said, as he came down into 
the road again, "but I'm pretty sure I know 
you. Aren't you father Pantalin — who used to 
live at the farm of the Engarrouïnes, not very 
far from our poor hut of La Garde?" 

** Why, you do know me, and that's a fact 
Who are you, anyway ? " 

* * I am the son of Pascal and of La Patine. 
Don't you remember me, Pascalet?" 

*'What!" cried the astonished Pantalin. 
He turned in his saddle, rested a hand on the 
flank of his horse, and so leaned down and 
stared at Pascalet hard. "No," he said slowly, 
"you can't be little Pascalet de la Patine. It's 
quite impossible!" 

"But why is it impossible?" Pascalet 
asked. 

* * Because poor little Pascalet de la Patine is 
dead. He died of the plague, off there in Egypt 
with Bonaparte's army, a good fifteen years ago. 
Celégré, who was a drummer out there, brought 
the news. You can't have come to life again — 
after your mother and your brother wearing 
mourning for you, and having masses said for 
your soul ! " 

"Then my mother, my dear mother, still is 
alive?" 

" Your mother! Oh, come now, it isn't 
right to make fun like that. The poor old 
woman's had sorrow enough as it is! ' 

"But I'm not making fun — anymore than 
I'm dead of the plague, or of anything else. HI 
prove it to you. Listen now ! Don't you re- 
member one day, close upon thirty years ago, 
when you and Big Satraman were setting a 



**ía,fter all Btrimng— JJeare " 431 



boundary post between your pastures ? Well, 
I was there, playing about with my pocket full 
of cigales, watching you. I didn't understand 
what you were doing, but it seemed to me very 
interesting. You planted the stone post in the 
deep hole that you had dug, and at the sides of 
it you buried some broken glass and the two 
halves of a tile — a tile cracked across carefully, 
so that the bits would come together again in a 
perfect joint. When you had quite finished, 
you turned suddenly on me and gave me a box 
on the ear that sent me spinning like a top and 
almost knocked me down; and then, while I 
still was spinning, Big Satraman gave me just 
as hard a box on the other ear that sent me 
spinning the other way! Then you said to me: 

* Little man, you are young. As long as you 
live you'll remember that Big Satraman and I 
together set this stone ! ' And I do remember 
it, you see, very well indeed! " 

** Tron -de - pas - goi ! " shouted Pantalin. 

* * Every word of that is true — and now I do 
believe that you didn't die of the plague and 
that you're Pascalet! Well, that's good news 
for your old mother. I'm off to be the first to 
tell her! Hurrah!" and Pantalin slashed his 
horse into a gallop and away he went like a 
whirlwind up the road ! 

Pascalet followed him almost on a run, his 
heart very full. Day was coming fast. He 
began to see clearly. ** That's Toni Breca's 
window," he said to himself. ** That's Tou- 
massoun's chimney." ** That's the roof of the 
town-hall." Almost everybody seemed to be 
still asleep. Smoke came from only a few 



432 Sh^ tDt)itt (terror 

chimneys — the thin blue smoke that comes from 
poor people's fires. 

Pantalin dashed through the open gateway 
of the village and disappeared. Pascaiet, fairly 
running by this time, kept his eyes fixed upon 
the gateway — but not seeing clearly, because 
his eyes were full of tears. On he went, paying 
no attention to the dogs that came out from the 
houses scattered along the roadside and barked 
at his heels. His sole thought was that his dear 
old mother was alive, and that in only a very 
little longer he should have her in his arm's ! 

And then through the gateway, uncertainly 
because of the distance and because his eyes 
were tear-dimmed, he saw something white 
fluttering. It was not a flag, it was moving— 
and moving toward him. It crossed the PUce 
de la Porte, came through the gateway, came 
fluttering — a strange little ghost of a thing— 
toward him along the Carpentras road. He 
rubbed the tears from his eyes and saw more 
clearly. It was a little old woman, all in white, 
trotting along as fast as ever her thin little old 
legs could be made to go. And then there came 
a cry to him that pierced his very heart: ** Pas- 
calet! My Pascalet!" In another moment old 
Patina — in her shift, her thin grey hair stream- 
ing down her shoulders — plunged breathless into 
his arms! 

As the labourers watered their mules and 
asses at the gate-fountain, there in the early 
morning, they saw the strong young son pass 
by them carrying his old mother in his arms — 
as though she were the little weak child. They 
held each other clasped tight, without a word— 




'' after all Strimng— |)eare " 433 

so sweet and sharp and strong was the joy that 
thrilled their reunited souls! 

For more than fifty years Pascal de la Patine 
— for so, thenceforward, did the village folk call 
him — was an exemplar of upright living to the 
whole countryside. He was the joy and the 
solace, the friend and the counsellor, of three 
generations. 

A simple peasant, he drew his living /rom 
the earth and earned it by the sweat of his brow. 
Through the long days he toiled, but while his 
body was bowed down his soul ranged high. 
At daylight he started for his field, and not until 
dark did he return again — seated side wise on his 
grey mule. Summer and winter, with his good 
grey mule helping him, he cultivated the land 
that Adeline had given to his mother and that 
later became his own. 

Once in every year, in the glad Christmas 
time, did Pascal give himself a holiday. Regu- 
larly, when the last Sunday in Advent came, he 
put on his best suit of good rough cloth and his 
well-greased thick leather shoes ; and then, with 
his pear-tree staff in his hand, off he started be- 
fore daylight for Malaucène — to spend the eight 
days of the blessed Christmas season with his 
friends Lazuli and Vauclair. 

When Pascalet — to them he always was Pas- 
calet — reached Malaucène, Vauclair took off his 
apron, put aside his plane, and locked his shop 
door. Seated through the bright day on the 
sunny bench sheltered by the garden wall, 
seated through the evening before a rousing 
fire, the three would talk and talk together 



434 St)e tDt)itt Cetror 

about old times. Sad talk it would be about 
the little house that fire had eaten in Avignon, 
about the little lad who died so cruelly just as 
he had grown to be a man ; but the talk would 
become glad, and Lazuli would dry her tears | 
and smile again, as it turned upon the good 
Planchots, and upon the years of quiet comfort 
there in Malaucène. They were not rich, those 
good Vauclairs — but neiuier did they fear that 
the wolf would come snarling at their door. 
Vauclair was a master-workman and trade was 
brisk with him. Lazuli, a very Martha, kept 
their little house as shining as a ring. 

For the Christmas feast with Pascalet out 
would come the dusty bottles of Muscat de 
Baume and of the wine of the Popes | on the 
spit would turn a turkey smelling deliciously of 
the truffles of Mont Ventour! But even in the 
Christmas feast there would be always a note of 
sadness. When they had drunk to each other, 
clinking glasses, they would sit silent — ^until 
their bitter-sweet memories of the two who 
were not with them, of Clairet and of Adeline, 
moved them to tears. 

And then, the Christmas holiday being ended, 
Pascalet would embrace Vauclair and Lazuli, 
take his pear-tree staff in his hand, and he 
off again to Malemort saying: "Until next 
year ! " 

It was while Pascal still was in his pontifical 
in his full strength and power, that 1 had Ihe 
happiness of hearing him tell the story of his 
life — of his childhood, of his battles in the great 
wars. He told us freely of his joys and of his 
griefs, but the mystery of his love for Adeline 



''^íUt all Btrimng— Pcare " 435 

he kept always shut within his heart. Did any 
one speak of her, he had no word to say. 

Poor Adeline ! After that day when she 
parted for ever from her Pascalet in the convent 
of the Ursulines — when she gave back to him 
the three silver crowns which she had treasured 
for twenty years, when her hand and her whole 
being thrilled with his ardent kisses — the end 
came soon ! She had barred the door of her 
heart, and only a little while her life lingered 
behind those bars. Thanking God that He had 
permitted her once more to be with her Pascalet, 
she loosed her hold upon a world that held for 
her no happiness. In the May-time, when the 
aubépine bloomed white and sweet, she passed 
away! 

Pascal de la Patine was worthy of this chaste 
love. God had created him with a heart as loyal 
as his soul was delicate and pure ! 

Even when Pascal had begun to nibble into 
his ninetieth year his probity was an example to 
us. He felt the earth calling to him, and over and 
over again he said to us : * * Dear friends, I shall die 
soon ; I certainly shall die soon ; and when I die 
my brother Lange will die too — and then who 
will take care of the mule ? " Then the thought 
of his good grey mule went from his clouded 
mind and his complaint changed. Over and 
over again he said: ** I am a wicked man! My 
soul is damned ! I merit death ! I am a wicked 
man!" 

One day, having slipped away from those 
who cared for him, he made his way to the roof 
of his house. From there we heard him calling: 
*'Look out below! I don't want to hurt any 



43^ ffihe ÍDbite terror 



one! I merit death, and death must come to 
me. But I don't want to hurt anybody. Look 
out below! '' And there we saw our dear good 
old Pascal all ready to throw himself into the 
street ! We saved the old man by calling to him 
eagerly that he surely would hurt some one if 
he threw himself down. That appeal touched 
him. Back he went through the attic window, 
and presently was down among us, safe and 
sound. 

We tried for a long while in vain to find out 
why he believed that his soul was damned and 
that he deserved to die. But at last out it came: 
and — of all things in the world — his crime was 
that, nearly eighty years before as he marched 
through Pierrelatte with the Marseilles battalion, 
he had spitted a hen on his bayonet and had not 
paid for it! It was the thought of that theft 
that had come back to him in his old age and 
had filled him with remorse! Argument had no 
effect upon him. He had stolen that hen, he 
said, and therefore he was damned and deserved 
to die! 

At last, as the only way to clear his con- 
science of this crime, I — I who am telling you 
this story — harnessed up our old red horse to 
our cart and carted the simple good old man 
over to Pierrelatte to pay his debt. I will not 
say that I found the man to whom that long- 
dead hen had belonged. But I did hunt up a 
very old man, and in Pascal's presence explained 
to him that we had come to pay for a hen that 
had been stolen almost eighty years before! He 
could make nothing of my story. But into his 
hand 1 thrust a crown, willy-nilly, and we came 



*":^fter all Strimng— |ïeace '' 437 

away leaving him bewildered. At any rate, we 
accomplished what we went for. Feeling^that 
at last his crime was atoned for, dear old Pascal 
was satisfied and at peace. 

When death had taken this good, old man 
the whole village thronged to his funeral. On 
our way to the grave-yard, as it chanced, we met 
the young Comte de la Vernède, Calisto's son, 
riding up to his Chateau of La Garde. ** Who's 
dead, that such a lot of you are turning out to 
the funeral ?" he asked. 

*Mt is Pascal, the son of La Patine." 
Without raising his hat he spurred his horse 
and rode on, muttering between his teeth: 
**One scoundrel Red the less, then! " 



THE END 



p, 

<"^} 



'I- ^ 

n.- 1 



vr: 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 



BY ANTHONY HOPE. 

HTHE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. 
-^ With photogravure Frontispiece by S. W. Van Schaick. 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

** No adventures were ever better worth recounting than are those of 
Antonio of Monte Velluto, a very Bayard among outlaws. . . . To all those 
whose pulses still stir at the recital of deeds of high courage, we may recom- 
mend this book. . . . The chronicle conveys the emotion of heroic adven- 
ture, and is picturesquely written." — London Daily JSews. 

" It has literary merits all its own, of a deliberate and rather deep 
order. . . . In point of execution * The Chronicles of Count Antonio' is the 
best work that Mr. Hope has yet done. The design is clearer, the work- 
manship more elaborate, the style more coloied." — Westminster Gazette. 

"A romance worthy of all the expectations raised by the brilliancy of 
his former books, and likely to be read with a keen enjoyment and a 
healthy exaltation of the spirits by every one who takes it up." — The 
Scotsman. 

*' A gallant tale, written with unfailing freshness and spmt"—Lût.don 
Daily Telegraph. 

*' One of the most fascinating romances written in English within many 
days. The quaint simplicity of^its style is delightful, and the adventures 
recorded in these * Chronicles of Count Antonio ' are as stirring and ingen- 
ious as any conceived even by Weyman at his best." — New York World. 

** No adventures were ever better worth telling than those of Count 
Antonio. . . . The author knows full well how to make every pulse thrill, 
and how to hold his readers under the spell of his magic." — Boston Herald. 



HTHE GOD IN THE CAR. New edition. Uniform 
-^ with ** The Chronicles of Count Antonio." i2mo. Cloth, 

$1.25. 

** 'The God in the Car' is just as clever, just as distinguished in style, 
just as full of wit, and of what nowadays some persons like better than wit 
— allusiveness — as any of his stories. It is saturated with the modem at- 
mosphere ; is not only a very clever but a very strong story ; in some 
respects, we think, the strongest Mr. Hope has yet Mrritten." — London 
speaker. 

"A very remarkable book, deserving of critical analysis impossible 
within our limit; brilliant, but not superficial; well considered, but not 
elaborated ; constructed with the proverbial art that conceals, but yet allows 
itself to be enjoyed by readers to whom fine literary method is a keen pleas- 
ure." — London World. 

"The book is a brilliant one. . . . *The God in the Car' is one of the 
most remarkable works in a year that has given us the handiwork of nearly 
all our best living noweWsts."— London Standard. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 



GILBERT PARKER'S BEST BOOKS. 
Uniform Editioa. 

"J^HE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. Bang the 

-^ Memoirs of Captain Robert Moray, Sometiine an Officer 

in the Virginia Re^ment, and afterwards of Anilwnt*i 

Regiment. Illustrated, fi.sa 

"Another historical romance of die viridne» and intemkjr of'Tbi 
Seats of the Mighty ' has never come from the pen of an Amencac Mr. 
Parker's latest vvork may with >ut he&itation be set down ai ibe best he kM 
done. From the first chapter to the last word interest in tfie book never 
wanes ; one finds it liifficult to interrupt the narrative with breatfung qiaoe. 
It whirls with ezciiemei.t ^md strange adventure. . . . All of the lOeDCS do 
homa»;e to the genius of Mr. Parker, aud make ' The Soais of the lli^aj' 
one of the bookjs of the year." — Chicago Rrcord, 

"Mr. Gilbert Parker is to be congratulated on the exoellenoe of his 
1 itest Ntory, ' The Seats of the Miçhty,' and his leadenare to be oongntu- 
b -ïd on the direction which his talents have taken therein. ... It is so 
go 1 that we do n'-it stop to think of ibs literature, and the penonality of 
I >uitaire is a masterpiece of creative arL" — ^Vnv York Midi rnttd Sj^tum, 

"J^HE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. A NooeL 

" Mr. Parker here adds to a reputadon already wide, and anew demon- 
strates his p^jwer of pictorial portrayal and of strong dramatic aitnatk» and 
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" 1'he tale holds the render's interest from first to last, for it k fall of 6re 
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'J^IIE TRESPASSER, $1.25. 

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read tlie great masters of romance — breathlessly." — T/u Critic, 

" Gilbert Parker writes a strong novel, but thus fiu- this is his master- 
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y^IlE TRAXSLATION OF A SAVAGE. $1.25. 

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.... . ,■■..■ m I - yji m ■■Mii^P^>-<w^^w^<pB^^p 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 



^HE SE VEN SEA S. A volume of poems by 
-^ RuDYARD Kipling, author of " Many Inventions," 

•* Barrack-Room Ballads," etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50; 

half calf, $3.00 ; morocco, $5.00. 

" The spirit and method of Kipling's fresh and virile song have taken 
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* The Seven Seas,' liow imaginative it is, how impassioned, how superbly 
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elements to our song. . . . The true laureate of Greater Britain." — £. 
C. Stedtnafty in the Book Buyer. 

** The most original poet who has appeared in his generation. . . . His 
is the lustiest voice now lifted m the world, the clearest, the bravest, with 
the fewest false notes in it. ... I do not see why, m reading his book, we 
should not put ourselves in the presence of a great poet again, and consent 
to put off our mourning for the high ones lately dead." — fp^. D. Howelis. 

" ' The Seven Seas ' is the most remarkable book of verse that Mr. 
Kipling has given us Here the human sympathy is broader and deeper, 
the patriotism heartier and fuller, the intellectual and spiritual insight 
keener, the command of the literary vehicle more complete and sure, than 
in any previous verse work by the author. The volume pulses with power 
— power often rough and reckless in expression, but invariably conveying the 
effect intended. There is scarcely a line which does not testily to the 
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acteristic lines. The surpassing strength, the almost violent originality, 
the glorious swish and swing of his lines— all are there in increased meas- 
ure. . . . The book is a marvel of originality and genius— a brand-new 
landmark in the history of English letters." — Chicago Tribune, 

'A/fANY INVEMTIOATS. By Rudyard Kipling. 
-^ ^ Containing Fourteen Stories and Two Poems. i2mo, 427 
pages. Cloth, $1.50. 

"j Many Inventions' will confirm Mr. Kit>ling's reputation. . . We 
would cite with pleasure sentences from almost every page, and extract 
incidents from almost every story But to what end? Here is the com- 
pletest book that Mr. Kipling has yet given us in workmanship, the 
weightiest and most humane in breadth oïvvtvt:*— Pall Mall GazetU. 

"Mr. Kipling's powere as a story-teller are evidently not diminishing. 
We advise everybody to buy ' Many Inventions,' and to profit by some of 
the best entertainment that modem fiction has to offer."— iV^w York Sun. 

" • Many Inventions ' will be welcomed wherever the English language 
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conjures up incident as if by magic, and who portrays character, .^c«-nfrv. 
and teeling with an ease which is only exceeded by the boldness of force " 
— Boston Globe 



D. APPLETON AND COAIPANY. NEW YORK. 



A 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 

By a. CONAN DOYLE. 
Uniform edition, xamo. Cloth, $1.50 per volume. 
DUET, WITH AN OCCASIONAL CHORUS, 



" Charming is tlie one word to describe this volume adequately. 
Dr. Doyle's crisp style and his rare wit and refined humor, utilized with 
cheerful art that is perfect of its kind, fill these chapters widi joy and 
gladness for the reader." — Philadelphia Presi. 

'* Bright, brave, simple, natural, delicate. It is the most artistic and 
most original thing that its author has done. . . . We can heartily recom- 
mend ' A Daet ' tu ail classes of readers. It is a good book to put into the 
hands of the young of either sex. It will interest the general reader, and 
it should delight the criuc, for it is a work of art. This story taken with 
the best of his previous work gives Dr. Doyle a very high place in modem 
letters." — Chicago Times- lie raid, 

T TNCLE BERN AC, A Romance of the Empire, 

^^ " Simple, clear, and well defined. . . . Spirited in movement all 
the way through. ... A fine example of clear amdytical force." — Boston 

Herald. 

nrHE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD, 
-*■ A Romance of the Life of a Typical Napoleonic Soldier. 

" Good, stirring tales are they. . . . Remind one of those adventures in- 
dulged in by 'Ihe Three Musketeers.' . . . Written with a dash and swing 
that here and there carry one away." — New York Mail and Ejcpres*. 

DODNEY STONE. 

-^ *■ "A notable and very brilliant work of %tm\i&**-~ London Speaker. 

*' Dr. Doyle's novel is crowded with an amazing amount of incident 
and excitement. ... He does not write history, but shows us the human 
side of his great men, living and moving in an atmosphere charged with the 
spirit of the hard-living, hard-fighting Anglo-Saxon."— Aira; york Crihc. 

OUND THE RED LAMP, 
Being Facts and Fancies of Medical Life, 

" A strikingly realistic and decidedly original contribution to modem 
literature." — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 

n^HE STARK MUNRO LETTERS, 

Being a Series of Twelve Letters written by Stark Munro, 
M. B., to his friend and former fellow -student, Herbert Swan- 
borough, of Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884. 

" Cullingworth, ... a much more interesting creation than Sherlock 
Holmes, and I pray Dr. Doyle to give us more of him." — Richard U Gal^ 
lienne, in the London Star. 



R 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 



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3;jMf3 



JUL 19 193 



UNIVERSITY OF MICNIQAN 



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