436 files changed, 24866 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/26678-8.txt b/26678-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d499db1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,8230 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Village of Vagabonds, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Village of Vagabonds
+
+Author: F. Berkeley Smith
+
+Release Date: September 21, 2008 [EBook #26678]
+Last updated: March 3, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as
+faithfully as possible; please see detailed list of printing issues at the
+end of the text.
+
+
+
+
+A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS
+
+
+By F. BERKELEY SMITH
+
+Author of "The Lady of Big Shanty."
+
+
+
+ A. L. BURT COMPANY
+ PUBLISHERS  NEW YORK
+
+ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
+ INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
+ PUBLISHED MAY, 1910
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1910, BY SMITH PUBLISHING HOUSE
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                         PAGE
+
+     I. The House by the Marsh                       3
+
+    II. Monsieur le Curé                            35
+
+   III. The Exquisite Madame de Bréville            63
+
+    IV. The Smugglers                               91
+
+     V. Marianne                                   120
+
+    VI. The Baron's Perfectos                      151
+
+   VII. The Horrors of War                         186
+
+  VIII. The Million of Monsieur de Savignac        213
+
+    IX. The Man with the Gun                       245
+
+     X. The Bells of Pont du Sable                 274
+
+    XI. The Miser--Garron                          308
+
+   XII. Midwinter Flights                          339
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS
+
+      [Illustration: house by the marsh]
+
+A Village of Vagabonds
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER ONE
+
+THE HOUSE BY THE MARSH
+
+
+It was in fat Madame Fontaine's little café at Bar la Rose, that Norman
+village by the sea, that I announced my decision. It being market-day
+the café was noisy with peasants, and the crooked street without jammed
+with carts. Monsieur Torin, the butcher, opposite me, leaned back
+heavily from his glass of applejack and roared.
+
+Monsieur Pompanet, the blacksmith, at my elbow, put down his cup of
+black coffee delicately in its clean saucer and opened his honest gray
+eyes wide in amazement. Simultaneously Monsieur Jaclin, the mayor, in
+his freshly ironed blouse, who for want of room was squeezed next to
+Torin, choked out a wheezy "_Bon Dieu!_" and blew his nose in derision.
+
+"Pont du Sable--_Bon Dieu!_" exclaimed all three. "Pont du Sable--_Bon
+Dieu!_"
+
+"_Cristi!_" thundered Torin. "You say you are going to _live_ in Pont du
+Sable? _Hélas!_ It is not possible, my friend, you are in earnest!"
+
+"That lost hole of a village of _sacré_ vagabonds," echoed Pompanet.
+"Why, the mud when the tide is out smells like the devil. It is
+unhealthy."
+
+"Père Bordier and I went there for ducks twenty years ago," added the
+mayor. "We were glad enough to get away before dark. B-r-r! It was
+lonely enough, that marsh, and that dirty little fishing-village no
+longer than your arm. Bah! It's a hole, just as Pompanet says."
+
+Torin leaned across the table and laid a heavy hand humanely on my
+shoulder.
+
+"Take my advice," said he, "don't give up that snug farm of yours here
+for a lost hole like Pont du Sable."
+
+"But the sea-shooting is open there three hundred and sixty-five days in
+the year," I protested, with enthusiasm. "I'm tired of tramping my legs
+off here for a few partridges a season. Besides, what I've been looking
+for I've found--a fine old abandoned house with a splendid old courtyard
+and a wild garden. I had the good luck to climb over a wall and discover
+it."
+
+"I know the place you mean," interrupted the mayor. "It was a
+post-tavern in the old days before the railroad ran there."
+
+"And later belonged to the estate of the Marquis de Lys," I added
+proudly. "Now it belongs to me."
+
+"What! You've bought it!" exclaimed Torin, half closing his veal-like
+eyes.
+
+"Yes," I confessed, "signed, sealed, and paid for."
+
+"And what the devil do you intend to do with that old stone pile now
+that you've got it?" sneered Jaclin. "Ah! You artists are queer
+fellows!"
+
+"Live in it, messieurs," I returned as happily as I could, as I dropped
+six sous for my glass into Madame Fontaine's open palm, and took my
+leave, for under the torrent of their protest I was beginning to feel I
+had been a fool to be carried away by my love of a gun and the
+picturesque.
+
+The marsh at Pont du Sable was an old friend of mine. So were the desert
+beach beyond the dunes, and the lost fishing-village--"no longer than
+your arm." I had tramped in wind and rain and the good sunlight over
+that great desert of pasty black clay at low tide. I had lain at high
+tide in a sand-pit at the edge of the open sea beyond the dunes, waiting
+for chance shots at curlew and snipe. I had known the bay at the first
+glimmer of dawn with a flight of silver plovers wheeling for a rush over
+my decoys. Dawn--the lazy, sparkling noon and the golden hours before
+the crisp, still twilight warned me it was high time to start back to
+Bar la Rose fourteen kilometres distant. All these had become enchanting
+memories.
+
+Thus going to Pont du Sable for a day's shooting became a weekly
+delight, then a biweekly fascination, then an incorrigible triweekly
+habit. There was no alternative left me now but to live there. The
+charm of that wild bay and its lost village had gotten under my skin.
+And thus it happened that I deserted my farm and friends at Bar la Rose,
+and with my goods and chattels boarded the toy train one spring morning,
+bound for my abandoned house, away from sufficient-unto-itself Bar la
+Rose and its pigheaded inhabitants, the butcher, the blacksmith, and the
+mayor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is such a funny little train that runs to my new-found Paradise,
+rocking and puffing and grumbling along on its narrow-gauge track with
+its cars labelled like grown-up ones, first, second, and third class;
+and no two painted the same colour; and its noisy, squat engine like the
+real ones in the toy-stores, that wind up with a key and go rushing off
+frantically in tangents. No wonder the train to my lost village is
+called "_Le petit déraillard_"--"The little get-off-the-track." And so I
+say, it might all have come packed in excelsior in a neat box, complete,
+with instructions, for the sum of four francs sixty-five centimes, had
+it not been otherwise destined to run twice daily, rain or shine, to
+Pont du Sable, and beyond.
+
+Poor little train! It is never on time, but it does its best. It is at
+least far more prompt than its passengers, for most of them come running
+after it out of breath.
+
+"Hurry up, mademoiselle!" cries the engineer to a rosy-cheeked girl in
+sabots, rushing with a market-basket under one arm and a live goose
+under the other. "Eh, my little lady, you should have gotten out of bed
+earlier!" laughs the conductor as he pulls her aboard.
+
+"Toot! Toot!" And off goes the little get-off-the-track again, rocking
+and rumbling along past desert stretches of sand dunes screening the
+blue sea; past modern villas, isolated horrors in brick, pink, and baby
+blue, carefully planted away from the trees. Then suddenly the desert is
+left behind! Past the greenest of fields now, dotted with sleek, grazing
+cattle; past groves of pine; past snug Norman farms with low-thatched
+roofs half-smothered in yellow roses. Again the dunes, as the toy train
+swings nearer the sea. They are no longer desert wastes of sand and
+wire-grass, but covered now with a riot of growing things, running in
+one rich congested sweep of orchards, pastures, feathery woodlands and
+matted hedges down to the very edge of the blue sea.
+
+A sudden turn, and the toy train creeps out of a grove of pines to the
+open bay. It is high tide. A flight of plover, startled by the engine,
+go wheeling away in a silver streak to a spit of sand running out from
+the marsh. A puff of smoke from the sand-spit, and the band leaves two
+of its members to a gentleman in new leather leggings; then, whistling
+over the calamity that has befallen them, they wheel again and strike
+for the open sea and safety.
+
+Far across the expanse of rippling turquoise water stands a white
+lighthouse that at dusk is set with a yellow diamond. Snug at the lower
+end of the bay, a long mile from where the plovers rise, lies the lost
+village. Now the toy train is crawling through its crooked single
+street, the engine-bell ringing furiously that stray dogs and children,
+and a panicky flock of sheep may have time to get out of the way. The
+sheep are in charge of a rough little dog with a cast in one eye and a
+slim, barelegged girl who apologizes a dozen times to monsieur the
+engineer between her cries to her flock.
+
+"They are not very well brought up, my little one--those sacred mutton
+of yours," remarks the engineer as he comes to a dead stop, jumps out of
+his cab, and helps straighten out the tangle.
+
+"Ah, monsieur!" sighs the girl in despair. "What will you have? It is
+the little black one that is always to blame!"
+
+The busy dog crowds them steadily into line. He seems to be everywhere
+at once, darting from right to left, now rounding up a stubborn ewe and
+her first-born, now cornering the black one.
+
+"Toot! Toot!" And the little get-off-the-track goes rumbling on through
+the village, past the homes of the fishermen--a straggling line of low
+stone houses with quaint gabled roofs, and still quainter chimneys, and
+old doorways giving glimpses of dark interiors and dirt floors. Past the
+modest houses of the mayor, the baker, the butcher and Monsieur le
+Curé; then through the small public square, in which nothing ever
+happens, and up to a box of a station.
+
+"Pont du Sable!" cries the conductor, with as much importance as if he
+had announced Paris.
+
+I have arrived.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was no doubt about my new-found home being abandoned! The low
+stone wall that tempered the wind from courtyard and garden was green
+with lichens. The wide stone gateway, with its oaken doors barred within
+by massive cross-hooks that could have withstood a siege; the courtyard,
+flanked by the house and its rambling appendages that contained within
+their cavernous interiors the cider-press and cellars; the stable with
+its long stone manger, and next it the carved wooden bunk for the groom
+of two centuries ago; the stone pig-sty; the tile-roofed sheds--all had
+about them the charm of dignified decay.
+
+But the "château" itself!
+
+Generations of spiders had veiled every nook and corner within, and the
+nooks and corners were many. These cobwebs hung in ghostly festoons from
+the low-beamed ceiling of the living room, opening out upon the wild
+garden. They continued up the narrow stone stairway leading to the
+old-fashioned stone-paved bedrooms; they had been spun in a labyrinth
+all over the generous, spooky, old stone-paved attic, whose single eye
+of a window looked out over the quaint gables and undulating tiled roofs
+of adjoining attics, whose dark interiors were still pungent with the
+tons of apples they had once sheltered. Beyond my rambling roofs were
+rich orchards and noble trees and two cool winding lanes running up to
+the green country beyond.
+
+Ten days of strenuous settling passed, at the end of which my abandoned
+house was resuscitated, as it were. Without Suzette, my little
+maid-of-all-work, it would have been impossible. I may say we attacked
+this seemingly superhuman task together--and Suzette is so human. She
+has that frantic courage of youth, and a smile that is irresistible.
+
+"To-morrow monsieur shall see," she said. "My kitchen is clean--that is
+something, eh? And the beds are up, and the armoires, and nearly all of
+monsieur's old studio furniture in place. _Eh, ben!_ To-morrow night
+shall see most of the sketches hung and the rugs beaten--that is again
+something, eh? Then there will be only the brass and the andirons and
+the guns to clean."
+
+Ten days of strenuous attack, sometimes in the rain, and when I hammer
+my fingers in the rain I swear horribly; the average French saw, too,
+would have placed Job in a sanitarium. Suzette's cheery smile is a
+delight, and how her sturdy, dimpled arms can scrub, and dust, and cook,
+and clean. When she is working at full steam she invariably sings; but
+when her soufflé does not soufflé she bursts into tears--this good
+little peasant maid-of-all-work!
+
+And so the abandoned house by the marsh was settled. Now there is charm,
+and crackling fires o' nights within, and sunny breakfasts in the garden
+without--a garden that grew to be gay with flowers, and is still in any
+wind, thanks to my friend the lichen-stained wall over which clamber
+vines and all manner of growing things; and sometimes my kitten with her
+snow-white breast, whose innocent green eyes narrow to slits as she
+watches for hours two little birds that are trying to bring up a small
+family in the vines. I have told her plainly if she even touches them I
+will boil her in oil. "Do you hear, Miquette?" and she turns away and
+licks her pink paw as if she had not heard--you essence of selfishness
+that I love!
+
+Shall I tell you who is coming to dine to-night, Green-eyes? Our
+neighbours! Madame Alice de Bréville who spoils you, and the Marquis de
+Clamard who does not like pussy-cats, but is too well-bred to tell you
+so, and the marquise who flatters you, and Blondel! Don't struggle--you
+cannot get away, I've got you tight. You are not going to have your way
+all the time. Look at me! Claws in and your ears up! There! And Tanrade,
+that big, whole-souled musician, with his snug old house and his two big
+dogs, either one of which would make mince-meat of you should you have
+the misfortune to mistake his garden for your own. Madame de
+Bréville--do you hear?--who has but to half close her eyes to make
+Tanrade forget his name. He loves her madly, you see, pussy-kit!
+
+Ah, yes! The lost village! In which the hours are never dull. Lost
+village! With these Parisian neighbours, whose day of discovery
+antedated mine by several years. Lost village! In which there are jolly
+fishermen and fishergirls as pretty as some gipsies--slim and fearless,
+a genial old mayor, an optimistic blacksmith, and a butcher who is a
+seigneur; gentle old women in white caps, blue-eyed children, kind dogs,
+fresh air, and _life_!
+
+There is a mysterious fascination about that half-hour before the first
+glimmer of dawn. The leaves, this September morning, are shivering in
+the dusk of my garden; the house is as silent as my sleeping cat save
+for the resonant tick-tock, tick-tock, of the tall Norman clock in the
+kitchen, to which I tiptoe down and breakfast by candle-light.
+
+You should see the Essence of Selfishness then as she purrs around a
+simmering saucepan of milk destined for my coffee, and inspects the
+toast and jam, and sniffs at my breech-loader, well greased with
+neatsfoot-oil, and now the ghostly light in the courtyard tells me to
+hurry out on the bay.
+
+Low tide. Far out on the desert of black clay a colony of gulls have
+spent the night. Their quarrelsome jargon reaches me as I cautiously
+raise my head over the dunes, for often a band of plover is feeding at
+dawn out on the mud, close enough for a shot. Nothing in view save the
+gulls, those gossiping concierges of the bay, who rise like a squall of
+snow as I make a clean breast of my presence, and start across the
+soggy, slippery mud toward the marsh running out to the open sea. A
+curlew, motionless on his long legs, calls cheerfully from the point of
+sand: "Curli--Curli!" Strong, cheerful old bird. The rifts of white mist
+are lifting from the bay, thinned into rose vapour now, as the sun
+creeps above the green hillsides.
+
+Swish! Three silver plovers flash back of me--a clean miss. If we never
+missed we should never love a gun. It is time now to stalk the bottoms
+of the narrow, winding causeways that drain the bay. Their beds at low
+tide are full of dead mussels, dormant clams, and awkward sputtering
+crabs; the old ones sidling away from you with threatening claws wide
+open for combat; the young ones standing their ground bravely, in
+ignorance.
+
+Swish again! But this time I manage to kill them both--two fat golden
+plovers. The Essence of Selfishness shall have her fill at noon, and the
+pupils of her green eyes will contract in ecstasy as she crunches and
+gnaws.
+
+Now all the bay is alive. Moreover, the sea is sweeping in, filling the
+bay like a bath-tub, obliterating the causeways under millions of
+dancing ripples of turquoise. Soon my decoys are out, and I am sunk in a
+sand-pit at the edge of the sea. The wind holds strong from the
+northeast, and I am kept busy until my gun-barrels are too hot to be
+pleasant. All these things happen between dawn and a late breakfast in
+my garden.
+
+Suzette sang all day. It is always so with Suzette upon the days when
+the abandoned house is giving a dinner. The truth is, Suzette loves to
+cook; her pride and her happiness increase as the hour appointed for my
+guests to arrive approaches. With Suzette it is a delightful event.
+
+The cracked jingle-bell over my stone gateway had jingled incessantly
+since early morning, summoning this good little Norman maid-of-all-work
+to slip her trim feet into her sabots and rush across the court to open
+the small door piercing my wall beside the big gates. Twice for beggars,
+once for the grocer's boy, three times for the baker--who had, after
+all, forgotten the _brioche_; again for the baker's boy, who invariably
+forgets if he thinks there is another chance in his forgetting, of
+paying a forgotten compliment to Suzette. I heard his mother scolding
+him yesterday. His bread, which he kneads and bakes himself before dawn,
+is losing its lightness. There is little harmony between rising yeast
+and a failing heart. Again the bell jingles; this time it is the Mère
+Marianne, with a basket of quivering, iridescent mackerel just in from
+the night's fishing.
+
+Mère Marianne, who once was a village belle, is now thirty-three years
+of age, strong as a man, fair-haired, hatless, bronzed by the sun,
+salt-tanned, blue-eyed, a good mother to seven fair-haired, blue-eyed
+children; yet a hard, amiable drinker in her leisure hours after a good
+catch.
+
+"_Bonjour_, my all beautiful!" she greets Suzette as the door opens.
+
+"_Bonjour_, madame!" returns Suzette, her cheeks flushed from her
+kitchen fire.
+
+The word "madame" seems out of place, for Mère Marianne wears her man's
+short tarpaulin coat cinched about her waist with a thin tarred rope.
+Her sinewy legs, bare to the knees, are tightly incased in a pair of
+sea-soaked trousers.
+
+"So monsieur is having his friends to dinner," she rattles on
+garrulously, swinging her basket to the ground and kneeling before it.
+"I heard it as I came up the road from Blancheville's girl, who had it
+from the Mère Taurville. _Eh ben!_ What do you think of these?" she adds
+in the same breath, as she turns up two handsful of live mackerel. "Six
+sous apiece to you, my pretty one. You see I came to you first; I'm
+giving them to you as cheap as if you were my own daughter."
+
+"Come, be quick," returns Suzette. "I have my lobster to boil and my
+roast to get ready; four sous if you like, but not a sou more."
+
+"Four sous! _Bon Dieu!_ I would rather eat them myself. They only lack
+speech to tell you themselves how fresh they are. Look at them!"
+
+"Four sous," insists Suzette. "Do you think monsieur is rich enough to
+buy the _république_."
+
+"_Allez!_ Then, take them at four sous." And Mère Marianne laughs, slips
+the money into her trousers pocket, and goes off to another bargain in
+the village, where, if she gets two sous for her mackerel she will be
+lucky.
+
+At six Suzette lifts the Burgundy tenderly from its resting-place in a
+closet beneath the winding stone stairs--a stone closet, low, sinister,
+and dark, that suggests the solitary dungeons of feudal times. Three
+cobwebbed bottles of Burgundy are now carefully ranged before the
+crackling blaze in the living room. At six-thirty Suzette lays the
+generous dark-oak table in lace and silver, thin glasses, red-shaded
+candles, and roses--plenty of roses from the garden. Her kitchen by this
+time is no longer open to visitors. It has become a sacred place,
+teeming with responsibility--a laboratory of resplendent shining copper
+sauce-pans, pots and casseroles, in which good things steam and stew and
+bubble under lids of burnished gold, which, when lifted, give one a
+rousing appetite.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I knew Tanrade's ring--vigorous and hearty, like himself. You would
+never guess this sturdy, broad-shouldered man has created delicious
+music--fairy ballets, pantomimes, and operettas. All Paris has applauded
+him for years, and his country has rewarded him with a narrow red
+ribbon. Rough-bearded, bronzed like a sailor, his brown eyes gleam with
+kindness and intelligence. The more I know this modest great man the
+more I like him, and I have known him in all kinds of wind and weather,
+for Tanrade is an indefatigable hunter. He and I have spent nights
+together in his duck-blind--a submerged hut, a murderous deceit sunk far
+out on the marsh--cold nights; soft moonlight nights--the marsh a mystic
+fairy-land; black nights---mean nights of thrashing rain. Nights that
+paled to dawn with no luck to bring back to Suzette's larder. Sunny
+mornings after lucky nights, when Tanrade and I would thaw out over our
+coffee in the garden among the roses.
+
+Tanrade had arrived early, a habit with this genial gourmand when the
+abandoned house is giving a dinner, for he likes to supervise the final
+touches. He was looking critically over the three cobwebbed bottles of
+his favourite Burgundy now warming before my fire, and having tenderly
+lifted the last bottle in the row to a place which he considered a safer
+temperature, he straightened and squared his broad shoulders to the
+blaze.
+
+"I'll send you half a dozen more bottles to-morrow," he said.
+
+"No, you won't, my old one," I protested, but he raised his hand and
+smiled.
+
+"The better the wine the merrier shall be the giver. Eighteen bottles
+left! _Eh bien!_ It was a lucky day when that monastery was forced to
+disband," he chuckled, alluding to the recent separation of the church
+from the state. "_Vive la République!_" He crossed the room to the
+sideboard and, having assured himself the Camembert was of the right
+age, went singing into Suzette's kitchen to glance at the salad.
+
+"Bravo, my little one, for your romaine!" I heard him exclaim.
+
+Then a moment's silence ensued, while he tasted the dressing.
+"_Sacristi!_ My child, do you think we are rabbits. _Hélas!_ Not a bit
+of astragon in your seasoning! A thousand thunders! A salad is not a
+salad without astragon. Come, be quick, the lantern! I know where the
+bed is in the garden."
+
+"Ah, monsieur Tanrade! To think I should have forgotten it!" sighed the
+little maid. "If monsieur will only let me hold the lantern for him!"
+
+"There, there! Never mind! See, you are forgiven. Attend to your
+lobster. Quick, your soup is boiling over!" And he went out into the
+garden in search of the seasoning.
+
+Suzette adores him--who does not in the lost village? He had rewarded
+her with a two-franc piece and forgiven her with a kiss.
+
+I had hardly time to open the big gates without and light the candles
+within under their red shades glowing over the mass of roses still wet
+from the garden, before I heard the devilish wail of a siren beyond the
+wall; then a sudden flash of white light from two search-lights
+illumined the courtyard, and with a wrenching growl Madame Alice de
+Bréville's automobile whined up to my door. The next instant the tip of
+a little patent-leather slipper, followed by the trimmest of silken
+ankles framed in a frou-frou of creamy lace, felt for the steel step of
+the limousine. At the same moment a small white-gloved hand was
+outstretched to mine for support.
+
+"_Bonsoir_, dear friend," she greeted me in her delicious voice. "You
+see how punctual I am. _L'heure militaire_--like you Americans." And
+she laughed outright, disclosing two exquisite rows of pearls, her soft,
+dark eyes half closing mischievously as she entered my door--eyes as
+black as her hair, which she wore in a bandeau. The tonneau growled to
+its improvised garage under the wood-shed.
+
+She was standing now in the hall at the foot of the narrow stone stairs,
+and as I slipped the long opera-cloak of dove-gray from her shoulders as
+white as ivory, she glided out of it, and into the living room--a room
+which serves as gun room, dining room and salon.
+
+"Stand where you are," I said, as madame approached the fire. "What a
+portrait!"
+
+She stopped, the dancing light from the flames playing over her lithe,
+exquisite figure, moulded in a gown of scintillating scales of black
+jet. Then, seeing I had finished my mental note of line and composition,
+she half turned her pretty head and caught sight of the ruby, cobwebbed
+row of old Burgundy.
+
+"Ah! Tanrade's Burgundy!" she exclaimed with a little cry of delight.
+
+"How did you guess?"
+
+"Guess! One does not have to guess when one sees as good Burgundy as
+that. You see I know it." She stretched forth her firm white arms to the
+blaze.
+
+"Where is he, that good-for-nothing fellow?" she asked.
+
+"In the garden after some astragon for the salad."
+
+She tripped to the half-open door leading to the tangled maze of paths.
+
+"Tanrade! Tanrade! _Bonsoir, ami!_" she called.
+
+"_Bonsoir_, Madame Punctual," echoed his great voice from the end of the
+garden, and again he broke forth in song as he came hurrying back to the
+house with his lantern and his bunch of seasoning. Following at his
+heels trotted the Essence of Selfishness.
+
+"Oh, you beauty!" cried Alice. She nodded mischievously to Tanrade, who
+rushed to the piano, and before the Essence of Selfishness had time to
+elude her she was picked up bodily, held by her fore paws and forced to
+dance upon her hind legs, her sleek head turned aside in hate, her
+velvety ears flattened to her skull.
+
+"Dance! Dance!" laughed Alice. "One--two, one--two! _Voilà!_" The next
+instant Miquette was caught up and hugged to a soft neck encircled with
+jewels. "There, go! Do what you like, Mademoiselle Independent!"
+
+And as Miquette regained her liberty upon her four paws, the Marquis and
+Marquise de Clamard announced their arrival by tapping on the window, so
+that for the moment the cozy room was deserted save by Miquette, who
+profited during the interval by stealing a whole sardine from the
+hors-d'oeuvres.
+
+Another good fellow is the marquis--tall, with the air of a diplomat,
+the simplicity of a child, and the manners of a prince. Another good
+friend, too, is the marquise. They had come on foot, these near-by
+neighbours, with their lantern. Was there ever such a marquise? This
+once famous actress, who interpreted the comedies of Molière. Was there
+ever a more charming grandmother? Ah! You do not look it even now with
+your gray hair, for you are ever young and witty and gracious. She
+clapped her hands as she peered across the dinner-table to the row
+before the chimney.
+
+"My Burgundy, I see!" she exclaimed, to my surprise; Tanrade was gazing
+intently at a sketch. "Oh, you shall see," added the marquise seriously.
+"You are not the only one, my friend, the gods have blessed. Did you not
+send me a dozen bottles this morning, Monsieur Tanrade? Come, confess!"
+
+He turned and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Impossible! I cannot remember. I am so absent-minded, madame," and he
+bent and kissed her hand.
+
+"Where's Blondel?" cried Clamard, as he extracted a thin cigarette-case
+from his waistcoat.
+
+"He'll be here presently," I explained.
+
+"It's a long drive for him," added the marquise, a ring of sympathy in
+her voice. "Poor boy, he is working so hard now that he is editor of _La
+Revue Normande_. Ah, those wretched politics!"
+
+"He doesn't mind it," broke in Tanrade, "he has a skin like a
+bear--driving night and day all over the country as he does. What
+energy, _mon Dieu_!"
+
+"Oh!" cried Madame de Bréville, "Blondel shall sing for us 'L'Histoire
+de Madame X.' You shall cry with laughter."
+
+"And 'Le Brigadier de Tours,'" added Tanrade.
+
+The sound of hoofs and the rattle of a dog-cart beyond the wall sent us
+hurrying to the courtyard.
+
+"_Eh, voilà!_" shouted Tanrade. "There he is, that good Blondel!"
+
+"Suzette!" I cried as I passed the kitchen. "The vermouth!"
+
+"_Bien_, monsieur."
+
+"Eh, Blondel, there is nothing to eat, you late vagabond!"
+
+A black mare steaming from her hot pace of twelve miles, drawing a
+red-wheeled dog-cart, entered the courtyard.
+
+"A thousand pardons," came a voice out of a bearskin coat, "my editorial
+had to go to press early, or I should have been here half an hour ago."
+
+Then such a greeting and a general rush to unharness the tired mare, the
+marquis tugging at one trace and I at the other, while Tanrade backed
+the cart under the shed next to the cider-press, Alice de Bréville and
+the marquise holding the mare's head. All this, despite the pleadings of
+Blondel, who has a horror of giving trouble--the only man servant to the
+abandoned house being Pierre, who was occupied at that hour in
+patrolling the coast in the employ of the French République, looking out
+for possible smugglers, and in whose spare hours served me as gardener.
+And so the mare was led into the stable with its stone manger, where
+every one helped with halter, blanket, a warm bed, and a good supper;
+Alice de Bréville holding the lantern while the marquise bound on the
+mare's blanket with a girdle of straw.
+
+"Monsieur, dinner is served," announced Suzette gently as she entered
+the stable.
+
+"Vive Suzette!" shouted the company. "_Allons manger, mes enfants!_"
+
+They found their places at the table by themselves. In the abandoned
+house there is neither host nor formality, but in their stead
+comradeship, understanding, and good cheer.
+
+Blondel is delightful. You can always count on him for the current
+events with the soup, the latest scandal with the roast, and a song of
+his own making with the cheese. What more can one ask? It all rolls from
+him as easily as the ink from his clever pen; it is as natural with him
+as his smile or the merriment in his eyes.
+
+During the entire dinner the Essence of Selfishness was busy visiting
+from one friendly lap to another, frequently crossing the table to do
+so, and as she refuses to dine from a saucer, though it be of the finest
+porcelain of Rouen, she was fed piecemeal. It was easily seen Tanrade
+was envious of this charity from one shapely little hand.
+
+What a contrast are these dinners in the lost village to some I have
+known elsewhere! What refreshing vivacity! How genuine and merry they
+are from the arrival of the first guest to the going of the last! When
+at last the coffee and liqueurs were reached and six thin spirals of
+blue smoke were curling lazily up among the rafters of the low ceiling,
+the small upright piano talked under Tanrade's vibrant touch. He sang
+heartily whatever came into his head; now a quaint peasant song, again
+the latest success of the café concert.
+
+Alice de Bréville, stretched out in the long chair before the fire, was
+listening intently.
+
+And so with song and story the hands of the tall clock slipped by the
+hours. It was midnight before we knew it. Again Tanrade played--this
+time it was the second act of his new operetta. When he had finished he
+took his seat beside the woman in the long chair.
+
+"Bravo!" she murmured in his ear. Then she listened as he talked to her
+earnestly.
+
+"Good!" I overheard her say to him with conviction, her eyes gleaming.
+"And you are satisfied at last with the second act?"
+
+"Yes, after a month's struggle with it."
+
+"Ah, I am so glad--so glad!" she sighed, and pressed his hand.
+
+"I must go to Paris next week for the rehearsals."
+
+"For long?" she asked.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "For weeks, perhaps. Come," he
+said, "let us go out to the wall--the moon is up. The marsh is so
+beautiful in the moonlight."
+
+She rose, slipped on the dove-gray cloak he brought her, and together
+they disappeared in the courtyard. The marquise raised her eyes to mine
+and smiled.
+
+"_Bonne promenade_, dear children," she called after them, but they did
+not hear.
+
+An hour later Alice de Bréville was speeding back to her château;
+Blondel and his mare were also clattering homeward, for he had still an
+article to finish before daylight. I had just bid the marquis and the
+marquise good night when Tanrade, who was about to follow, suddenly
+turned and called me aside in the shadow of the gateway. What he said to
+me made my heart leap. His eyes were shining with a strange light; his
+hands, gripping me by both shoulders, trembled.
+
+"It is true," he repeated. "Don't tell me I am dreaming, old friend.
+Yes, it is true. Alice--yes, it is Alice. Come, a glass of wine! I feel
+faint--and happy!"
+
+We went back to the dying fire, and I believe he heard all my
+congratulations, though I am not sure. He seemed in a dream.
+
+When he had gone Suzette lighted my candle.
+
+"Suzette," I said, "your dinner was a success."
+
+"Ah, but I am content, monsieur. _Mon Dieu_, but I do love to cook!"
+
+"Come, Miquette! It's past your bedtime, you adorable egoist."
+
+"_Bonsoir_, Suzette."
+
+"_Bonsoir_, monsieur."
+
+Village of Vagabonds! In which the hours are never dull! Lost village by
+the Normand sea! In which lies a paradise of good-fellowship, romance,
+love, and sound red wine!
+
+      [Illustration: train]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: the little stone church]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWO
+
+MONSIEUR LE CURÉ
+
+
+The sun had just risen, and the bell of the little stone church
+chattered and jangled, flinging its impatient call over the sleeping
+village of Pont du Sable. In the clear morning air its voice could be
+heard to the tops of the green hills, and across the wide salt marsh
+that stretched its feathery fingers to the open sea.
+
+A lone, wrinkled fisherman, rolling lazily on the mighty heave of the
+incoming tide, turned his head landward.
+
+"_Sapristi!_" he grinned, as he slipped a slimy thumb from the meshes of
+a mackerel-net and crossed himself. "She has a hoarse throat, that
+little one."
+
+Far up the hillside a mile back of the churchyard, a barelegged girl
+driving a cow stopped to listen, her hood pushed back, her brown hands
+crossed upon her breast.
+
+Lower down, skirting the velvet edge of the marsh, filmy rifts of mist
+broke into shreds or blended with the spirals of blue smoke mounting
+skyward from freshly kindled fires.
+
+Pont du Sable was awake for the day.
+
+It is the most unimportant of little villages, yet it is four centuries
+old, and of stone. It seems to have shrivelled by its great age, like
+its oldest inhabitants. One-half of its two score of fishermen's houses
+lie crouched to the rambling edge of its single street; the other half
+might have been dropped at random, like stones from the pocket of some
+hurrying giant. Some of these, including the house of the ruddy little
+mayor and the polite, florid grocer, lie spilled along the edge of the
+marsh.
+
+As for Monsieur le Curé, he was at this very moment in the small stone
+church saying mass to five fishermen, two devout housewives, a little
+child, an old woman in a white cap, and myself. Being in my
+shooting-boots, I had tiptoed into a back seat behind two of the
+fishermen, and sat in silence watching Monsieur le Curé's gaunt figure
+and listening to his deep, well-modulated, resonant voice.
+
+What I saw was a man uncommonly tall and well built, dressed in a rusty
+black soutane that reached in straight lines from beneath his chin to
+his feet, which were encased in low calf shoes with steel buckles. I
+noticed, too, that his face was angular and humorous; his eyes keen and
+merry by turns; his hair of the colourless brown one sees among
+fisherfolk whose lives are spent in the sun and rain. I saw, too, that
+he was impecunious, for the front edges of his cassock were frayed and
+three buttons missing, not to be wondered at, I said to myself, as I
+remembered that the stone church, like the village it comforted, had
+always been poor.
+
+Now and then during the mass I saw the curé glance at the small leaded
+window above him as if making a mental note of the swaying tree-tops
+without in the graveyard. Then his keen gray eyes again reverted to the
+page he knew by heart. The look evidently carried some significance,
+for the gray-haired old sea-dog in front of me cocked his blue eye to
+his partner--they were both in from a rough night's fishing--and
+muttered:
+
+"It will be a short mass."
+
+"_Ben sûr_," whispered back the other from behind his leathery hand.
+"The wind's from the northeast. It will blow a gale before sundown." And
+he nodded toward the swaying tree-tops.
+
+With this, the one with the blue eyes straightened back in the wooden
+pew and folded his short, knotty arms in attention; the muscles of his
+broad shoulders showing under his thick seaman's jersey, the collar
+encircling his corded, stocky neck deep-seamed by a thousand winds and
+seas. The gestures of these two old craftsmen of the sea, who had worked
+so long together, were strangely similar. When they knelt I could see
+the straw sticking from the heels of their four wooden sabots and the
+rolled-up bottoms of their patched sail-cloth trousers.
+
+As the mass ended the old woman in the white cap coughed gently, the
+curé closed his book, stepped from the chancel, patted the child's head
+in passing, strode rapidly to the sacristy, and closed the door behind
+him.
+
+I followed the handful of worshippers out into the sunlight and down the
+hill. As I passed the two old fishermen I heard the one with the blue
+eyes say to his mate with the leathery hand:
+
+"_Allons, viens t'en!_ What if we went to the café after that dog's
+night of a sea?"
+
+"I don't say no," returned his partner; then he winked at me and pointed
+to the sky.
+
+"I know," I said. "It's what I've been waiting for."
+
+I kept on down the crooked hill to the public square where nothing ever
+happens save the arrival of the toy train and the yearly fête, and
+deciding the two old salts were right after their "dog's night" (and it
+had blown a gale), wheeled to the left and followed them to the tiniest
+of cafés kept by stout, cheery Madame Vinet. It has a box of a kitchen
+through which you pass into a little square room with just space enough
+for four tables; or you may go through the kitchen into a snug garden
+gay in geraniums and find a sheltered table beneath a rickety arbour.
+
+"Ah, _mais_, it was bad enough!" grinned the one with the leathery hand
+as he drained his thimbleful of applejack and, Norman-like, tossed the
+last drop on the floor of the snug room.
+
+"Bad enough! It was a sea, I tell you, monsieur, like none since the
+night the wreck of _La Belle Marie_ came ashore," chimed in the one with
+the blue eye, as he placed his elbows on the clean marbletop table and
+made room for my chair. "_Mon Dieu!_ You should have seen the ducks
+south of the Wolf. Aye, 'twas a sight for an empty stomach."
+
+The one with the leathery hand nodded his confirmation sleepily.
+
+"_Hélas!_" continued the one with the blue eye. "If monsieur could only
+have been with us!" As he spoke he lifted his shaggy eyebrows in the
+direction of the church and laughed softly. "He's happy with his
+northeast wind; I knew 'twould be a short mass."
+
+"A good catch?" I ventured, looking toward him as Madame Vinet brought
+my glass.
+
+"Eight thousand mackerel, monsieur. We should have had ten thousand had
+not the wind shifted."
+
+"_Ben sûr!_" grumbled the one with the leathery hand.
+
+At this Madame Vinet planted her fists on her ample hips. "_Hélas!_
+There's the Mère Coraline's girl to be married Thursday," she sighed,
+"and Planchette's baby to be christened Tuesday, and the wind in the
+northeast, _mon Dieu!_" And she went back to her spotless kitchen for a
+sou's worth of black coffee for a little girl who had just entered.
+
+Big, strong, hearty Madame Vinet! She has the frankness of a man and the
+tenderness of a mother. There is something of her youth still left at
+forty-six; not her figure--that is rotund simplicity itself--but in the
+clearness of her brown eyes and the finely cut profile before it reaches
+her double chin, and the dimples in her hands, well shaped even to-day.
+
+And so the little girl who had come in for the sou's worth of coffee
+received an honest measure, smoking hot out of a dipper and into the
+bottle she had brought. In payment Madame Vinet kissed the child, and
+added a lump of sugar to the bargain. From where I sat I could see the
+tears start in the good woman's eyes. The next moment she came back to
+us laughing to disguise them.
+
+"Ah, you good soul!" I thought to myself. "Always in a good humour;
+always pleasant. There you go again--this time it was the wife of a poor
+fisherman who could not pay. How many a poor devil of a half-frozen
+sailor you have warmed, you whose heart is so big and whose gains are so
+small!"
+
+I rose at length, bade the two old salts good morning, and with a
+blessing of good luck, recovered my gun from the kitchen cupboard, where
+I had reverently left it during mass, and went on my way to shoot. I,
+too, was anxious to make the most of the northeast wind.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There being no street in the lost village save the main thoroughfare,
+one finds only alleys flanked by rambling walls. One of these runs up to
+Tanrade's house; another finds its zigzag way to the back gate of the
+marquis, who, being a royalist, insists upon telling you so, for the
+keystone of his gate is emblazoned with a bas-relief of two carved
+eagles guarding the family crest. Still another leads unexpectedly to
+the silent garden of Monsieur le Curé. It is a protecting little by-way
+whose walls tell no tales. How many a suffering heart seeking human
+sympathy and advice has the strong figure in the soutane sent home with
+fresh courage by way of this back lane. Indeed it would be a lost
+village without him. He is barely over forty years old, and yet no curé
+was ever given a poorer parish, for Pont du Sable has been bankrupt for
+generations. Since a fortnight--so I am told--Monsieur le Curé has had
+no _bonne_. The reason is that no good Suzette can be found to replace
+the one whom he married to a young farmer from Bonville. The result is
+the good curé dines many times a week with the marquis, where he is so
+entertaining and so altogether delightful and welcome a guest that the
+marquise tells me she feels ten years younger after he has gone.
+
+"Poor man," she confided to me the other day, "what will you have? He
+has no _bonne_, and he detests cooking. Yesterday he lunched at the
+château with Alice de Bréville; to-morrow he will be cheering up two old
+maiden aunts who live a league from Bar la Rose. Is it not sad?" And she
+laughed merrily.
+
+"Monsieur le Curé has no _bonne_!" _Parbleu!_ It has become a household
+phrase in Pont du Sable. It is so difficult to get a servant here; the
+girls are all fishing. As for Tanrade's maid-of-all-work, like the
+noiseless butler of the marquis and the _femme de chambre_ of Alice de
+Bréville, they are all from Paris; and yet I'll wager that no larder in
+the village is better stocked than Monsieur le Curé's, for every
+housewife vies with her neighbour in ready-cooked donations since the
+young man from Bonville was accepted.
+
+But these good people do not forget. They remember the day when the farm
+of Père Marin burned; they recall the figure in the black soutane
+stumbling on through flame and smoke carrying an unconscious little girl
+in his strong arms to safety. Four times he went back where no man
+dared go--and each time came out with a life.
+
+Again, but for his indomitable grit, a half-drowned father and daughter,
+clinging to a capsized fishing-smack in a winter sea, would not be
+alive--there are even fisherfolk who cannot swim. Monsieur le Curé saw
+this at a glance, alone he fought his way in the freezing surf out to
+the girl and the man. He brought them in and they lived.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But there is a short cut to the marsh if you do but know it--one that
+has served me before. You can easily find it, for you have but to follow
+your nose along the wall of Madame Vinet's café, creep past the modest
+rose-garden of the mayor, zigzag for a hundred paces or more among
+crumbling walls, and before you know it you are out on the marsh.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The one with the blue eye was right.
+
+The wind _was_ from the northeast in earnest, and the tide racing in.
+Half a mile outward a dozen long puntlike scows, loaded to their brims
+with sand, were being borne on the swirling current up the river's
+channel, each guided at the stern by a ragged dot of a figure straining
+at an oar.
+
+As I struck out across the desolate waste of mud, bound for the point of
+dry marsh, the figure steering the last scow, as he passed, waved a
+warning to me. With the incoming sweep of tide the sunlight faded, the
+bay became noisy with the cries of sea-fowl, and the lighthouse beyond
+the river's channel stood out against the ominous green sky like a stick
+of school-chalk.
+
+I jerked my cap tighter over my ears, and lowering my head to the wind
+kept on. I had barely time to make the marsh. Over the black desolate
+waste of clay-mud the sea was spreading its hands--long, dangerous
+hands, with fingers that every moment shot out longer and nearer my
+tracks. The wind blew in howling gusts now, straight in from the open
+sea. Days like these the ducks have no alternative but the bay. Only a
+black diver can stand the strain outside. Tough old pirates
+these--diving to keep warm.
+
+I kept on, foolish as it was. A flight of becassines were whirled past
+me, twittering in a panic as they fought their way out of sudden
+squalls. I turned to look back. Already my sunken tracks were
+obliterated under a glaze of water, but I felt I was safe, for I had
+gained harder ground. It was a relief to slide to the bottom of one of
+the labyrinth of causeways that drain the marsh, and plunge on sheltered
+from the wind.
+
+Presently I heard ducks quacking ahead. I raised my head cautiously to
+the level of the wire-grass. A hundred rods beyond, nine black ducks
+were grouped near the edge of a circular pool; behind them, from where I
+stood, there rose from the level waste a humplike mound. I could no
+longer proceed along the bottom of the causeway, as it was being rapidly
+filled to within an inch below my boot-tops. The hump was my only
+salvation, so I crawled to the bank and started to stalk the nine black
+ducks.
+
+It was difficult to keep on my feet on the slimy mud-bank, for the wind,
+true to the fishermen's prediction, was now blowing half a gale.
+Besides, this portion of the marsh was strange to me, as I had only
+seen it at a distance from the lower end of the bay, where I generally
+shot. I was within range of the ducks now, and had raised my hammers--I
+still shoot a hammer-gun--when a human voice rang out. Then, like some
+weird jack-in-the-box, there popped out from the mound a straight,
+long-waisted body in black waving its arms.
+
+It was the curé!
+
+"Stay where you are," he shouted. "Treacherous ground! I'll come and
+help you!" Then for a second he peered intently under his hand. "Ah! It
+is you, monsieur--the newcomer; I might have guessed it." He laughed,
+leaping out and striding toward me. "Ah, you Americans! You do not mind
+the weather."
+
+"_Bonjour_, Monsieur le Curé," I shouted back in astonishment, trying to
+steady myself across a narrow bridge of mud spanning the causeway.
+
+"Look out!" he cried. "That mud you're on is dangerous. She's sinking!"
+
+It was too late; my right foot barely made another step before down I
+went, gun, shells, and all, up to my chin in ice-cold water. The next
+instant he had me by the collar of my leather coat in a grip of steel,
+and I was hauled out, dripping and draining, on the bank.
+
+"I'm all right," I sputtered.
+
+"Come inside _instantly_," he said.
+
+"Inside? Inside where?" I asked.
+
+He pointed to the hump.
+
+"You must get your wet things off and into bed at once." This came as a
+command.
+
+"Bed! Where? Whose bed?" Was he an Aladdin with a magic lamp, that could
+summon comfort in that desolation? "Monsieur," I choked, "I owe you a
+thousand apologies. I came near killing one of your nine decoys. I
+mistook them for wild mallards."
+
+He laughed softly. "They are not mine," he explained. "They belong to
+the marquis; it is his gardener who pickets them out for me. I could not
+afford to keep them myself. They eat outrageously, those nine deceivers.
+They are well placed to-day; just the right distance." And he called the
+three nearest us by name, for they were quacking loudly. "Be still,
+Fannine! There, Pierrot! If your cord and swivel does not work, my good
+drake, I'll fix it for you, but don't make such a fuss; you'll have
+noise enough to make later." And gripping me by the arm, he pushed me
+firmly ahead of him to a small open door in the mound. I peered into the
+darkness within.
+
+"Get in," said he. "It's small, but it's warm and comfortable inside.
+After you, my friend," he added graciously, and we descended into a
+narrow ditch, its end blocked by a small, safe-like door leading into a
+subterranean hut, its roof being the mound, shelving out to a
+semicircular, overhanging eyebrow skirting the edge of the circular pool
+some ten yards back of the line of live decoys.
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Monsieur le Curé, "you should have seen the duck-blind I
+had three years ago. This _gabion_ of mine is smaller, but it is in
+better line with the flights," he explained as he opened the door. "Look
+out for the steps--there are two."
+
+I now stood shivering in the gloom of a box-like, underground anteroom,
+provided with a grated floor and a low ribbed ceiling; beyond this,
+through another small door, was an adjoining compartment deeper than the
+one in which we stood, and in the darkness I caught the outline of a
+cot-bed, a carved, high-backed, leather-seated chair, and the blue glint
+of guns lying in their racks. The place was warm and smelled, like the
+cabin of some fishing-sloop, of sea-salt and tar.
+
+It did not take me long to get out of my clothes. When the last of them
+lay around my heels I received a rubbing down with a coarse sailor's
+shirt, that sent the blood back where it belonged.
+
+"_Allons!_ Into bed at once!" insisted the curé. "You'll find those army
+blankets dry."
+
+I felt my way in while he struck a match and lighted a candle upon a
+narrow shelf strewn with empty cartridges. The candle sputtered, sunk to
+a blue flame, and flared up cheerfully, while the curé poured me out a
+stiff glass of brandy, and I lay warm in the blankets of the _Armée
+Française_, and gazed about me at my strange quarters.
+
+Back of my pillow was, tightly closed, in three sections, a narrow
+firing-slit. Beside the bed the candle's glow played over the carved
+back of the leather-seated chair. Above the closed slit ran a shelf, and
+ranged upon it were some fifty cartridges and an old-fashioned fat
+opera-glass. This, then, was Monsieur le Curé's duck-blind, or rather,
+in French, his _gabion_.
+
+The live decoys began quacking nervously. The curé, about to speak,
+tip-toed over to the firing-slit and let down cautiously one of its
+compartments.
+
+"A flight of plovers passing over us," he remarked. "Yes, there they go.
+If the wind will only hold you shall see--there will be ducks in," his
+gray eyes beaming at the thought.
+
+Then he drew the chair away from the firing-slit and seated himself,
+facing me.
+
+"If you knew," he began, "how much it means to me to talk to one of the
+outside world--your country--America! You must tell me much about it. I
+have always longed to see it, but----" He shrugged his shoulders
+helplessly. "Are you warm?" he asked.
+
+"Warm?" I laughed. "I never felt better in my life." And I thanked him
+again for his kindness to a stranger in distress. "A stranger in luck,"
+I added.
+
+"I saw you at mass this morning," he returned bending over, his hands on
+his knees. "But you are not a Catholic, my friend? You are always
+welcome to my church, however, remember that."
+
+"Thank you," I said. "I like your little church, and--I like you,
+Monsieur le Curé."
+
+He put forth his hand. "Brother sportsmen," he said. "It _is_ a
+brotherhood, isn't it? You are a Protestant, is it not so?" And his
+voice sank to a gentle tone.
+
+"Yes, I am what they call a blue Presbyterian."
+
+"I have heard of that," he said. "'A _blue_ Presbyterian.'" He repeated
+it to himself and smiled. Suddenly he straightened and his finger went
+to his lips.
+
+"Hark!" he whispered. "Hear their wings!"
+
+Instantly the decoys set up a strenuous quacking. Then again all was
+silent.
+
+"Too high," muttered the curé. "I do not expect much in before the late
+afternoon. Do you smoke?"
+
+"Yes, gladly," I replied, "but my cigarettes are done for, I am afraid;
+they were in the pocket of my hunting coat."
+
+"Don't move," he said, noticing my effort to rise. "I've got
+cigarettes." And he fumbled in the shadow of the narrow shelf.
+
+I had hardly lighted my own over the candle-flame, which he held for me,
+when I felt a gentle rocking and heard the shells rattle as they rolled
+to the end of the shelf, stop, and roll back again.
+
+"Do not be alarmed," he laughed, "it's only the water filling the outer
+jacket of my _gabion_. We shall be settled and steady in a moment, and
+afloat for the night."
+
+"The night!" I exclaimed in amazement. "But, my good friend, I have no
+intention of wearing out my welcome; I had planned to get home for
+luncheon."
+
+"Impossible!" he replied. "We are now completely surrounded by water. It
+is always so at high tide at this end of the bay. Come, see for
+yourself. Besides, you don't know how glad I am that we can have the
+chance to shoot together. I've been waiting weeks for this wind."
+
+He blew out the candle, and again opened the firing-slit. As far as one
+could see the distant sea was one vast sweep of roaring water.
+
+"You see," he said, closing the firing-slit and striking a match--"you
+_must_ stay. I have plenty of dry clothes for you in the locker, and we
+shall not go hungry." He drew out a basket from beneath the cot and took
+from it a roasted chicken, two litres of red wine, and some bread and
+cheese, which he laid on the shelf. "A present," he remarked, "from one
+of my parishioners. You know, I have no _bonne_."
+
+"I have heard so," said I.
+
+He laughed softly. "One hears everything in the village. Ah! But what
+good children they are! They even forgive my love of shooting!" He
+crossed his strong arms in the rusty black sleeves of his cassock, and
+for some moments looked at me seriously. "You think it strange, no
+doubt, irreverent, for a curé to shoot," he continued. "Forgive me if I
+have shocked the ideas of your faith."
+
+"Nonsense!" I returned, raising my hand in protest. "You are only human,
+an honest sportsman. We understand each other perfectly."
+
+"Thank you," he returned, with sincerity. "I was afraid you might not
+understand--you are the first American I have ever met."
+
+He began taking out an outfit of sailor's clothes from the locker--warm
+things--which I proceeded to get into with satisfaction. I had just
+poked my head through the rough jersey and buckled my belt when our
+decoys again gave warning.
+
+Out went the candle.
+
+"Mallards!" whispered the curé. "Here, take this gun, quick! It is the
+marquis's favourite," he added in a whisper.
+
+He reached for another breech-loader, motioned me to the chair, let down
+the three compartments of the firing-slit, and stretched himself out
+full length on the cot, his keen eyes scanning the bay at a glance.
+
+We were just in time--a dozen mallards were coming straight for our
+decoys.
+
+Bang! thundered the curé's gun.
+
+Bang! Bang! echoed my own. Then another roar from the curé's left
+barrel. When the smoke cleared three fat ducks were kicking beyond our
+deceivers.
+
+"Take him!" he cried, as a straggler--a drake--shot past us. I snapped
+in a shell and missed, but the curé was surer. Down came the straggler,
+a dead duck at sixty yards.
+
+"Bravo, Monsieur le Curé!" I cried.
+
+But he only smiled modestly and, extracting the empty shell, blew the
+lurking smoke free from the barrels. It was noon when we turned to half
+the chicken and a bottle of _vin ordinaire_ with an appetite.
+
+The northeast wind had now shifted to the south; the bay became like
+glass, and so the afternoon passed until the blood-red sun, like some
+huge ribbed lantern of the Japanese, slowly sank into the sea. It grew
+dusk over the desolate marsh. Stray flights of plovers, now that the
+tide was again on its ebb, began to choose their resting places for the
+night.
+
+"I'm going out to take a look," said the curé. Again, like some gopher
+of the prairie, he rose up out of his burrow.
+
+Presently he returned, the old enthusiastic gleam in his eyes.
+
+"The wind's changing," he announced. "It will be in the north again
+to-night; we shall have a full moon and better luck, I hope. Do you
+know," he went on excitedly, "that one night last October I killed
+forty-two ducks alone in this old _gabion_. _Forty-two!_ Twenty mallards
+and the rest Vignon--and not a shot before one o'clock in the morning.
+Then they came in, right and left. I believe my faithful decoys will
+remember that night until their dying day. Ah, it was glorious!
+Glorious!" His tanned, weather-beaten features wrinkled with delight; he
+had the skin of a sailor, and I wondered how often the marsh had hid
+him. "Ah, my friend," he said, with a sigh, as we sat down to the
+remainder of the chicken and _vin ordinaire_ for supper, this time
+including the cheese, "it is not easy for a curé to shoot. My good
+children of the village do not mind, but----" He hesitated, running his
+long, vibrant fingers through his hair.
+
+"What then? Tell me," I ventured. "It will go no further, I promise
+you."
+
+"Rome!" he whispered. "I have already received a letter, a gentle
+warning from the palace; but I have a good friend in Cardinal Z. He
+understands."
+
+During the whole of that cold moonlight we took turns of two hours each;
+one sleeping while the other watched in the chair drawn up close to the
+firing-slit.
+
+What a night!
+
+The marsh seen through the firing-slit, with its overhanging eyebrow of
+sod, seemed not of this earth. The nine black decoys picketed before us
+straining at their cords, gossiping, dozing for a moment, preening their
+wings or rising up for a vigorous stretch, appeared by some curious
+optical illusion four times their natural size; now they seemed to be
+black dogs, again a group of sombre, misshapen gnomes.
+
+While I watched, the curé slept soundly, his body shrouded in the
+blankets like some carved Gothic saint of old. The silence was
+intense--a silence that could be heard--broken only by the brisk
+ticking of the curé's watch on the narrow shelf. Occasionally a
+water-rat would patter over the sunken roof, become inquisitive, and
+peer in at me through the slit within half a foot of my nose. Once in a
+while I took down the fat opera-glass, focussing it upon the dim shapes
+that resembled ducks, but that proved to be bits of floating seaweed or
+a scurrying shadow as a cloud swept under the moon--all illusions, until
+my second watch, when, with a rush, seven mallards tumbled among our
+decoys. Instantly the curé awakened, sprang from his cot, and with sharp
+work we killed four.
+
+"Stay where you are," he said as he laid his gun back in its rack. "I'll
+get into my hip-boots and get them before the water-rats steal what
+we've earned. They are skilled enough to get a decoy now and then. The
+marsh is alive with them at night."
+
+Morning paled. The village lay half hidden behind the rifts of mist.
+Then dawn and the rising sun, the water like molten gold, the black
+decoys churning at their pickets sending up swirls of turquoise in the
+gold.
+
+Suddenly the cracked bell rang out from the distant village. At that
+moment two long V-shaped strings of mallards came winging toward us from
+the north. I saw the curé glance at them. Then he held out his hand to
+me.
+
+"You take them--I cannot," he said hurriedly. "I haven't a moment to
+lose--it is the bell for mass. Here's the key. Lock up when you leave."
+
+"Dine with me to-night," I insisted, one eye still on the incoming
+ducks. "You have no _bonne_."
+
+His hand was on the _gabion_ door. "And if the northeast wind holds," he
+called back, "shall we shoot again to-night?"
+
+"Yes, to-night!" I insisted.
+
+"Then I'll come to dinner." And the door closed with a click.
+
+Through the firing-slit I could see him leaping across the marsh toward
+the gray church with the cracked bell, and as he disappeared by the
+short cut I pulled the trigger of both barrels--and missed.
+
+An hour later Suzette greeted me with eyes full of tears and anxiety.
+
+"Ah! Mother of Pity! Monsieur is safe!" she cried. "Where has monsieur
+been, _mon Dieu!_"
+
+"To mass, my child," I said gravely, filling her plump arms with the
+ducks. "Monsieur le Curé is coming to dinner!"
+
+      [Illustration: flying ducks]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: a château]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER THREE
+
+THE EXQUISITE MADAME DE BRÉVILLE
+
+
+Poor Tanrade! Just as I felt the future was all _couleur de rose_ with
+him it has changed to gloom unutterable.
+
+_Ah, les femmes!_ I should never dare fall in love with a woman as
+exquisite as Alice de Bréville. She is too beautiful, too seductive,
+with her olive skin, her frank smile, and her adorable head poised upon
+a body much too well made. She is too tender, too complex, too
+intelligent. She has a way of mischievously caressing you with her eyes
+one moment and giving an old comrade like myself a platonic little pat
+on the back the next, which is exasperating. As a friend I adore her,
+but to fall in love with her! _Ah, non, merci!_ I have had a checkered
+childhood and my full share of suffering; I wish some peace in my old
+age. At sixteen one goes to the war of love blindly, but at forty it is
+different. Our chagrins then plunge us into a state of dignified
+desolation.
+
+Poor Tanrade! I learned of the catastrophe the other night when he
+solemnly entered my abandoned house by the marsh and sank his big frame
+in the armchair before my fire. He was no longer the genial bohemian of
+a Tanrade I had known. He was silent and haggard. He had not slept much
+for a week; neither had he worked at the score of his new opera or
+hunted, but he had smoked incessantly, furiously--a dangerous remedy
+with which to mend a broken heart.
+
+My poor old friend! I was so certain of his happiness that night after
+dinner here in the House Abandoned, when he and Alice had lost
+themselves in the moonlight. Was it the moonlight? Or the kiss she gave
+him as they stood looking out over the lichen-stained wall of the
+courtyard to the fairy marsh beyond, still and sublime--wedded to the
+open sea at high tide--like a mirror of polished silver, its surface
+ruffled now and then by the splash of some incoming duck. He had poured
+out his heart to her then, and again over their liqueur and cigarettes
+at that fatal dinner of two at the château.
+
+All this he confessed to me as he sat staring into the cheery blaze on
+my hearth. Under my friendly but somewhat judicial cross-examination
+that ensued, it was evident that not a word had escaped Alice's lips
+that any one but that big optimistic child of a Tanrade could have
+construed as her promise to be his wife. He confided her words to me
+reluctantly, now that he realized how little she had meant.
+
+"Come," said I, in an effort to cheer him, "have courage! A woman's
+heart that is won easily is not worth fighting for. You shall see, old
+fellow--things will be better."
+
+But he only shook his head, shrugged his great shoulders, and puffed
+doggedly at his pipe in silence. My tall clock in the corner ticked the
+louder, its brass pendulum glinting as it swung to and fro in the light
+of the slumbering fire. I threw on a fresh log, kicked it into a blaze,
+and poured out for him a stiff glass of applejack. I had faith in that
+applejack, for it had been born in the moonlit courtyard years ago. It
+roused him, for I saw something of his old-time self brighten within
+him; he even made an attempt at a careless smile--the reminiscent smile
+of a philosopher this time.
+
+"What if I went to see her?" I remarked pointblank.
+
+"You! _Mon Dieu!_" He half sprang out of the armchair in his intensity.
+"Are you crazy?"
+
+"Forgive me," I apologized. "I did not mean to hurt you. I only
+thought--and you are in no condition to reason--that Alice may have
+changed her mind, may regret having refused you. Women change their
+minds, you know. She might even confess this to me since there is
+nothing between us and we are old friends."
+
+"No, no," he protested. "You are not to speak of me to Madame de
+Bréville--do you understand?" he cried, his voice rising. "You are not
+to mention my name, promise me that."
+
+This time it was I who shrugged my shoulders in reply. He sat gripping
+the arms of his chair, again his gaze reverted stolidly to the fire. The
+clock ticked on past midnight, peacefully aloof as if content to be well
+out of the controversy.
+
+"A drop more?" I ventured, reaching for the decanter; but he stayed my
+arm.
+
+"I've been a fool," he said slowly. "_Ah! Mon Dieu! Les femmes! Les
+femmes! Les femmes!_" he roared. "Very well," he exclaimed hotly, "it is
+well finished. To-morrow I must go to Paris for the new rehearsals. I
+have begged off for a week. Duclos is beside himself with anxiety--two
+telegrams to-day, the last one imperative. The new piece must open at
+the Folies Parisiennes the eighth."
+
+I saw him out to the gate and there was a brave ring in his "_bonsoir,
+mon vieux_," as he swung off in the dusk of the starlit road.
+
+He left the village the next day at noon by the toy train, "the little
+get off-the-track," as we call it. Perhaps he wished it would and end
+everything, including the rehearsals.
+
+Bah! To be rehearsing lovelorn shepherds and shepherdesses in sylvan
+dells. To call a halt eighteen times in the middle of the romantic duet
+between the unhappy innkeeper's daughter and the prince. To marry them
+all smoothly in B flat in the finale, and keep the brass down and the
+strings up in the apotheosis when the heart of the man behind the baton
+has been cured of all love and illusion--for did he not tell me "It is
+well finished"? Poor Tanrade!
+
+Though it is but half a fortnight since he left, it seems years since he
+used to come into my courtyard, for he came and went as freely at all
+hours as the salt breeze from the marsh. Often he would wake me at
+daybreak, bellowing up to my window at the top of his barytone lungs
+some stirring aria, ending with: "Eh, _mon vieux!_ Stop playing the
+prince! Get up out of that and come out on the marsh. There are ducks
+off the point. Where's Suzette? Where's the coffee? _Sacristi!_ What a
+house. Half-past four and nobody awake!"
+
+And he would stand there grinning; his big chest encased in a
+fisherman's jersey, a disreputable felt hat jammed on his head, and his
+feet in a pair of sabots that clattered like a farm-horse as he went
+foraging in the kitchen, upsetting the empty milk-tins and making such a
+bedlam that my good little maid-of-all-work, Suzette, would hurry in
+terror into her clothes and out to her beloved kitchen to save the rest
+from ruin.
+
+Needless to say, nothing ever happened to anything. He could make more
+noise and do less harm than any one I ever knew. Then he would sing us
+both into good humour until Suzette's peasant cheeks shone like ripe
+apples.
+
+"It is not the same without Monsieur Tanrade," Suzette sighed to-day as
+she brought my luncheon to my easel in a shady corner of my wild
+garden--a corner all cool roses and shadow.
+
+"Ah, no!" I confessed as I squeezed out the last of a tube of vermilion
+on the edge of my palette.
+
+"Ah, no!" she sighed softly, and wiped her eyes briskly with the back of
+her dimpled red hand. "Ah, no! _Parbleu!_"
+
+And just then the bell over my gate jingled. "Some one rings," whispered
+Suzette and she ran to open the gate. It was the _valet de chambre_ from
+the château with a note from Alice, which read:
+
+
+      DEAR FRIEND: It is lonely, this big house of mine. Do come
+      and dine with me at eight.
+                                 Hastily,   A. de B.
+
+
+Added to this was the beginning of a postscript crossed out.
+
+Upon a leaf torn from my sketchbook I scribbled the answer:
+
+
+      GOOD DEAR CHARITABLE FRIEND: The House Abandoned is a
+      hollow mockery without Tanrade. I'll come gladly at eight.
+
+
+And Suzette brought it out to the waiting _valet de chambre_ whom she
+addressed respectfully as "monsieur," half on account of his
+yellow-striped waistcoat and half because he was a Parisian.
+
+Bravo, Alice! Here then was the opportunity I had been waiting for, and
+I hugged myself over the fact. It was like the first ray of sunshine
+breaking through a week of leaden sky. For a long time I paced back and
+forth among the paths of the snug garden, past the roses and the
+heliotrope down as far as the flaming geraniums and the hollyhocks and
+the droning bees, and back again by way of some excellent salads and the
+bed of artichokes, while I turned over in my mind and rehearsed to
+myself all I intended to say to her.
+
+Alice lonely! With a château, two automobiles, and all Paris at her
+pretty feet! Ha! ha! The symptoms were excellent. The patient was doing
+well. To-night would see her convalescent and happily on the road to
+recovery. This once happy family of comrades should be no longer under
+the strain of disunion, we should have another dinner soon and the House
+Abandoned would ring with cheer as it had never rung before. Japanese
+lanterns among the fruit-trees of the tangled garden, the courtyard full
+of villagers, red and blue fire, skyrockets and congratulations, a
+Normand dinner and a keg of good sound wine to wish a long and happy
+life to both. There would be the same Tanrade again and the same Alice,
+and they would be married by the curé in the little gray church with the
+cracked bell, with the marquis and the marquise as notables in the front
+pew. In my enthusiasm I saw it all.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The lane back of the House Abandoned shortens the way to the château by
+half a kilometre. It was this lane that I entered at dusk by crawling
+under the bars that divided it from the back pasture full of gnarled
+apple-trees, under which half a dozen mild-eyed cows had settled
+themselves for the night. They rose when they caught sight of me and
+came toward me blowing deep moist breaths as a quiet challenge to the
+intruder, until halted by the bars they stood in a curious group
+watching me until I disappeared up the lane, a lane screened from the
+successive pastures on either side by an impenetrable hedge and flanked
+its entire length by tall trees, their tops meeting overhead like the
+Gothic arches of a cathedral aisle. This roof of green made the lane at
+this hour so dark that I had to look sharp to avoid the muddy places,
+for the lane ascended like the bed of a brook until it reached the
+plateau of woodlands and green fields above, commanding a sweeping view
+of marsh and sea below.
+
+Birds fluttered nervously in the hedges, frightened at my approaching
+footsteps. A hare sniffing in the middle of the path flattened his long
+ears and sprang into the thicket ahead. The nightingales in the forest
+above began calling to one another. Two doves went skimming out of the
+leaves over my head. Even a peacemaker may be mistaken for an enemy. And
+now I had gained the plateau and it grew lighter--that gentle light with
+which night favours the open places.
+
+There are two crossroads at the top of the lane. The left one leads to
+the hamlet of Beaufort le Petit, a sunken cluster of farms ten good
+leagues from Pont du Sable; the right one swings off into the highroad
+half a mile beyond, which in turn is met by the private way of the
+château skirting the stone wall surrounding the park, which, as early
+as 1608, served as the idle stronghold of the Duc de Rambutin. It has
+seen much since then and has stood its ground bravely under the stress
+of misfortune. The Prussians hammered off two of its towers, and an
+artillery fire once mowed down some of its oldest trees and wrecked the
+frescoed ceiling and walls of the salon, setting fire to the south wing,
+which was never rebuilt and whose jagged and blackened walls the roses
+and vines have long since lovingly hidden from view.
+
+Alice bought this once splendid feudal estate literally for a song--the
+song in the second act of Fremier's comedy, which had a long run at the
+Variétés three years ago, and in which she earned an enviable success
+and some beautiful bank-notes. Were the Duc de Rambutin alive I am sure
+he would have presented it to her--shooting forest, stone wall, and all.
+They say he had an intolerable temper, but was kind to ladies and
+lap-dogs.
+
+It was not long before I unlatched a moss-covered gate with one hinge
+lost in the weeds--a little woebegone gate for intimate friends, that
+croaked like a night-bird when it opened, and closed with a whine.
+Beyond it lay a narrow path through a rose-garden leading to the
+château. This rose-garden is the only cultivated patch within the
+confines of the wall, for on either side of it tower great trees, their
+aged trunks held fast in gnarled thickets of neglected vines. It is only
+another "house abandoned," this château of Alice's, save that its bygone
+splendour asserts itself through the scars, and my own by the marsh
+never knew luxury even in its best days.
+
+"Madame is dressing," announced that most faithful of old servitors,
+Henri, who before Alice conferred a full-fledged butlership upon him in
+his old age was since his youth a stage-carpenter at the Théâtre
+Français.
+
+"Will monsieur have the goodness to wait for madame in the library?"
+added Henri, as he relieved me of my hat and stick, deposited them
+noiselessly upon an oak table, and led me to a portière of worn Gobelin
+which he lifted for me with a bow of the Second Empire.
+
+What a rich old room it is, this silent library of the choleric duke,
+with its walls panelled in worm-eaten oak reflecting the firelight and
+its rows of volumes too close to the grave to be handled. Here and there
+above the high wainscoting are ancestral portraits, some of them as
+black as a favourite pipe. Above the great stone chimney-piece is a
+full-length figure of the duke in a hunting costume of green velvet. The
+candelabra that Henri had just lighted on the long centre-table,
+littered with silver souvenirs and the latest Parisian comedies, now
+illumined the duke's smile, which he must have held with bad grace
+during the sittings. The rest of him was lost in the shadow above the
+chimney-piece of sculptured cherubs, whose missing noses have been badly
+restored in cement by the gardener.
+
+I had settled myself in a chintz-covered chair and was idly turning the
+pages of one of the latest of the Parisian comedies when I heard the
+swish of a gown and the patter of two small slippered feet hurrying
+across the hall. I rose to regard my hostess with a feeling of tender
+curiosity mingled with resentment over her treatment of my old friend,
+when the portière was lifted and Alice came toward me with both white
+arms outstretched in welcome. She was so pale in her dinner gown of
+black tulle that all the blood seemed to have taken refuge in her
+lips--so pale that the single camellia thrust in her corsage was less
+waxen in its whiteness than her neck.
+
+I caught her hands and she stood close to me, smiling bravely, the tips
+of her fingers trembling in my own.
+
+"You are ill!" I exclaimed, now thoroughly alarmed. "You must go
+straight to bed."
+
+"No, no," she replied, with an effort. "Only tired, very tired."
+
+"You should not have let me come," I protested.
+
+She smiled and smoothed back a wave of her glossy black hair and I saw
+the old mischievous gleam flash in her dark eyes.
+
+"Come," she whispered, leading me to the door of the dining room. "It is
+a secret," she confided, with a forced little laugh. "Look!" And she
+pinched my arm.
+
+I glanced within--the table with its lace and silver under the glow of
+the red candle-shades was laid for two.
+
+"It was nice of you," I said.
+
+"We shall dine alone, you and I," she murmured. "I am so tired of
+company."
+
+I was on the point of impulsively mentioning poor Tanrade's absence, but
+the subtle look in her eyes checked me. During dinner we should have our
+serious little talk, I said to myself as we returned to the library
+table.
+
+"It's so amusing, that little comedy of Flandrean's," laughed Alice,
+picking up the volume I had been scanning. "The second act is a jewel
+with its delicious situation in which François Villers, the husband, and
+Thérèse, his wife, divorce in order to carry out between them a secret
+love-affair--a series of mysterious rendezvous that terminate in an
+amusing elopement. _Très chic_, Flandrean's comedy. It should have a
+_succès fou_ at the Palais Royal."
+
+"Madame is served," gravely announced Henri.
+
+Not once during dinner was Alice serious. Over the soup--an excellent
+bisque of _écrevisses_--she bubbled over with the latest Parisian
+gossip, the new play at the Odéon, the fashion in hats. With the fish
+she prattled on over the limitations of the new directoire gowns and the
+scandal involving a certain tenor and a duchess. Tanrade's defence,
+which I had so carefully thought out and rehearsed in my garden, seemed
+doomed to remain unheard, for her cleverness in evading the subject, her
+sudden change to the merriest of moods, and her quick wit left me
+helpless. Neither did I make any better progress during the pheasant and
+the salad, and as she sipped but twice the Pommard and scarcely
+moistened her lips with the champagne my case seemed hopeless. Henri
+finally left us alone over our coffee and cigarettes. I had become
+desperate.
+
+"Alice," I said bluntly, "we are old friends. I have some things to say
+to you of--of the utmost importance. You will listen, my friend, will
+you not, until I am quite through, for I shall not mention it again?"
+
+She leaned forward with a little start and gazed at me suddenly, with
+dilated eyes--eyes that were the next minute lowered in painful
+submission, the corners of her mouth contracting nervously.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_" she murmured, looking up. "_Mon Dieu!_ But you are cruel!"
+
+"No," I replied calmly. "It is you who are cruel."
+
+"No, no, you shall not!" she exclaimed, raising both ringless hands in
+protest, her breath coming quick. "I--I know what you are going to say.
+No, my dear friend--I beg of you--we are good comrades. Is it not so?
+Let us remain so."
+
+"Listen," I implored.
+
+"Ah, you men with your idea of marriage!" she continued. "The wedding,
+the aunts, the cousins, who come staring at you for a day and giving you
+advice for years. A solemn apartment near the Etoile--madame with her
+afternoons--monsieur with his club, his maîtresse, his gambling and his
+debts--the children with their English governess. A villa by the sea,
+tennis, infants and sand-forts. The annual stupid _voyage en Suisse_.
+The inane slavery of it all. _You_ who are a bohemian, you who
+_live_--with all your freedom--all my freedom! _Non, merci!_ I have seen
+all that! Bah! You are as crazy as Tanrade."
+
+"Alice," I cried, "you think----"
+
+"Precisely, my friend."
+
+She rose swiftly, crossed the room, and before I knew it slipped back of
+my chair, put both arms about my neck, kissed me, and burst into tears.
+
+"There, there, _mon pauvre petit_," she whispered. "Forgive me--I was
+angry--we are not so stupid as all that--eh? We are not like the stupid
+_bourgeoisie_."
+
+"But it is not I----" I stammered.
+
+She caught her breath in surprise, straightened, and slowly retraced her
+steps to her vacant chair.
+
+"Ah! So it is that?" she said slowly, drawing her chair close to my own.
+Then she seated herself, rested her chin in her hands, and regarded me
+for some moments intently.
+
+"So you have come for--for him?" she resumed, her breast heaving. "I am
+right, am I not?"
+
+"He loves you," I declared. "Do you think I am blind as to your love for
+him? You who came to greet me to-night out of your suffering?"
+
+For some moments she was silent, her fingers pressed over her eyes.
+
+"Do you love him?" I insisted.
+
+"No, no," she moaned. "It is impossible."
+
+"Do you know," I continued, "that he has not slept or hunted or smoked
+for a week before he was forced to go to Paris? Can you realize what he
+suffers now during days of exhausting rehearsals? He came to me a
+wreck," I said. "You have been cruel and you have----"
+
+Again she had become deathly pale. Then at length she rose slowly,
+lifted her head proudly, and led the way back to the library fire.
+
+"You must go," she said. "It is late."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the little boy of the fisherman, Jean Tranchard, was not to be
+found playing with the other barelegged tots in the mud of the village
+alleys, or wandering alone on the marsh, often dangerously near the
+sweep of the incoming tide, one could be quite sure he was safe with
+Tanrade. Frequently, too, when the maker of ballets was locked in his
+domain and his servant had strict orders to admit no one--neither
+Monsieur le Curé nor the mayor, nor so intimate a comrade as
+myself--during such hours as these the little boy was generally beside
+the composer, his chubby toes scarcely reaching to the rungs of the
+chair beside Tanrade's working desk.
+
+Though the little boy was barely seven he was a sturdy little chap with
+fair curly hair, blue eyes, and the quick gestures of his father. He had
+a way of throwing out his chest when he was pleased, and gesticulating
+with open arms and closed fists when excited, which is peculiar to the
+race of fishermen. The only time when he was perfectly still was when
+Tanrade worked in silence. He would then often sit beside him for hours
+waiting until the composer dropped his pen, swung round in his chair to
+the keyboard at his elbow, and while the piano rang with melody the
+little boy's eyes danced. He forgot during such moments of ecstasy that
+his father was either out at sea with his nets or back in the village
+good-naturedly drunk, or that his mother, whom he vaguely remembered,
+was dead.
+
+Tanrade was a so much better father to him than his own that the rest of
+his wretched little existence did not count. When the father was
+fishing, the little boy cared for himself. He knew how to heat the pot
+and make the soup when there was any to make. He knew where to dig for
+clams and sputtering crabs. It was the bread that bothered him most--it
+cost two sous. It was Tanrade who discovered and softened these hard
+details.
+
+The house in which the fisherman and the little boy live is tucked away
+in an angle of the walled lane leading out to the marsh. This stone
+house of Tranchard's takes up as little room as possible, since its
+front dare not encroach upon the lane and its back is hunched up
+apologetically against the angle of the wall. The house has but two
+compartments--the loft above stored with old nets and broken oars, and
+the living room beneath, whose dirt floor dampens the feet of an oak
+cupboard, a greasy table, a chair with a broken leg, and a mahogany bed.
+Over the soot-blackened chimney-piece is a painted figure of the Virgin,
+and a frigate in a bottle.
+
+Monsieur le Curé had been watching all night beside the mahogany bed.
+Now and then he slipped his hand in the breast of his soutane of rusty
+black, drew out a steel watch, felt under a patchwork-quilt for a small
+feverish wrist, counted its feeble pulse, and filling a pewter spoon
+with a mixture of aconite, awakened the little boy who gazed at him with
+hollow eyes sunken above cheeks of dull crimson.
+
+In the corner, his back propped against the cupboard, his bare feet
+tucked under him, dozed Tranchard. There was not much else he could do,
+for he was soaked to the skin and half drunk. Occasionally he shifted
+his feet, awakened, and dimly remembered the little boy was worse; that
+this news had been hailed to him by the skipper of the mackerel smack,
+_La Belle Élise_, and that he had hauled in his empty nets and come
+home.
+
+As the gray light of dawn crept into the room, the little boy again grew
+restless. He opened the hollow eyes and saw dimly the black figure of
+the curé.
+
+"Tanné," he whimpered. "Where is he, Tanné?"
+
+"Monsieur Tanrade will come," returned the curé, "if you go to sleep
+like a brave little man."
+
+"Tanné," repeated the child and closed his eyes obediently.
+
+A cock crowed in a distant yard, awakening a sleek cat who emerged from
+beneath the bed, yawned, stretched her claws, and walked out of the
+narrow doorway into the misty lane.
+
+The curé rose stiffly, went over to the figure in the corner and shook
+it. Tranchard started up out of a sound sleep.
+
+"Tell madame when she arrives that I have gone for Doctor Thévenet. I
+shall return before night."
+
+"I won't forget," grumbled Tranchard.
+
+"I have left instructions for madame beside the candle. See that you
+keep the kettle boiling for the poultices."
+
+The fisherman nodded. "_Eh ben!_ How is it with the kid?" he inquired.
+"He does not take after his mother. _Parbleu!_ She was as strong as a
+horse, my woman."
+
+Monsieur le Curé did not reply. He had taken down his flat black hat
+from a peg and was carefully adjusting his square black cravat edged
+with white beneath his chin, when Alice de Bréville entered the doorway.
+
+"How is his temperature?" she asked eagerly, unpinning a filmy green
+veil and throwing aside a gray automobile coat.
+
+Monsieur le Curé graciously uncovered his head. "There has been no
+change since you left at midnight," he said gravely. "The fever is still
+high, the pulse weaker. I am going for Doctor Thévenet after mass. There
+is a train at eight."
+
+Tranchard was now on his knees fanning a pile of fagots into a blaze,
+the acrid smoke drifting back into the low-ceiled room.
+
+"I will attend to it," said Alice, turning to the fisherman. "Tell my
+chauffeur to wait at the church for Monsieur le Curé. The auto is at the
+end of the lane."
+
+For some minutes after the clatter of Tranchard's sabots had died away
+in the lane, Alice de Bréville and Monsieur le Curé stood in earnest
+conversation beside the table.
+
+"It may save the child's life," pleaded the priest. There was a ring of
+insistence in his voice, a gleam in his eyes that made the woman beside
+him tremble.
+
+"You do not understand," she exclaimed, her breast heaving. "You do not
+realize what you ask of me. I cannot."
+
+"You must," he insisted. "He might not understand it coming from me. You
+and he are old friends. You _must_, I tell you. Were he only here the
+child would be happy, the fever would be broken. It must be broken and
+quickly. Thévenet will tell you that when he comes."
+
+Alice raised her hands to her temples.
+
+"Will you?" he pleaded.
+
+"Yes," she replied half audibly.
+
+Monsieur le Curé gave a sigh of relief.
+
+"God be with you!" said he.
+
+He watched her as she wrote in haste the following telegram in pencil
+upon the back of a crumpled envelope:
+
+
+      MONSIEUR TANRADE, Théâtre des Folies Parisiennes, Paris.
+
+      Tranchard's child very ill. Come at once.
+
+                A. de Bréville.
+
+
+This she handed to the priest in silence. Monsieur le Curé tucked it
+safely in the breast of his cassock. "God be with you!" he repeated and
+turned out into the lane. He ran, for the cracked bell for mass had
+ceased ringing.
+
+The woman stood still by the table as if in a dream, then she staggered
+to the door, closed it, and throwing herself on her knees by the bedside
+of the sleeping boy, buried her face in her hands.
+
+The child stirred, awakened by her sobbing.
+
+"Tanné," he cried feebly.
+
+"He will come," she said.
+
+Outside in the mist-soaked lane three toothless fisherwomen gossiped in
+whispers.
+
+Almost any day that you pass through the village you will see a chubby
+little rascal who greets you with a cheery "_Bonjour_" and runs away,
+dragging a tin horse with a broken tail. Should you chance to glance
+over my wall you will discover the tattered remnants of two Japanese
+lanterns hanging among the fruit-trees. They are all that remain of a
+fête save the memory of two friends to whom the whole world now seems
+_couleur de rose_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Hi, there! wake up! Where's Suzette? Where's the coffee! Daylight and
+not a soul up! _Mon Dieu_, what a house! Hurry up, _Mon vieux!_ Alice is
+waiting!"
+
+      [Illustration: three toothless fisherwomen]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: smuggler ship]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FOUR
+
+THE SMUGGLERS
+
+
+Some centuries ago the windows of my house abandoned on the marsh looked
+out upon a bay gay with the ships of Spanish pirates, for in those days
+Pont du Sable served them as a secret refuge for repairs. Hauled up to
+the tawny marsh were strange craft with sails of apple-green, rose,
+vermilion and sinister black; there were high sterns pierced by carved
+cabin-windows--some of them iron-barred, to imprison ladies of high or
+low degree and unfortunate gentlemen who fought bravely to defend them.
+From oaken gunwales glistened slim cannon, their throats swabbed clean
+after some wholesale murder on the open seas. Yes, it must have been a
+lively enough bay some centuries ago!
+
+To-day Pont du Sable goes to bed without even turning the key in the
+lock. This is because of a vast army of simple men whose word, in
+France, is law.
+
+To begin with, there are the President of the République and the
+Ministers of War and Agriculture, and Monsieur the Chief of Police--a
+kind little man in Paris whom it is better to agree with--and the préfet
+and the sous-préfet--all the way down the line of authority to the
+red-faced, blustering _chef de gare_ at Pont du Sable--and Pierre.
+
+On off-duty days Pierre is my gardener at eleven sous an hour. On these
+occasions he wears voluminous working trousers of faded green corduroy
+gathered at the ankles; a gray flannel shirt and a scarlet cravat. On
+other days his short, wiry body is encased in a carefully brushed
+uniform of dark blue with a double row of gold buttons gleaming down his
+solid chest. When on active duty in the Customs Coast Patrol of the
+République Française at Pont du Sable, he carries a neatly folded cape
+with a hood, a bayonet, a heavy calibred six-shooter and a trusty
+field-glass, useful in locating suspicious-looking objects on marsh or
+sea.
+
+On this particular morning Pierre was late! I had been leaning over the
+lichen-stained wall of my wild garden waiting to catch sight of him as
+he left the ragged end of the straggling village. Had I mistaken the
+day? Impossible! It was Thursday and I knew he was free. Finally I
+caught sight of him hurrying toward me down the road--not in his working
+clothes of faded green corduroy, but in the full majesty of his
+law-enforcing uniform. What had happened? I wondered. Had his stern
+brigadier refused to give him leave?
+
+"_Bonjour_, Pierre!" I called to him as he came within hailing distance.
+
+He touched the vizor of his cap in military salute, and a moment later
+entered my garden.
+
+"A thousand pardons, monsieur," he apologized excitedly, labouring to
+catch his breath.
+
+"My artichokes have been waiting for you," I laughed; "they are nearly
+strangled with weeds. I expected you yesterday." He followed me through
+a lane of yellow roses leading to the artichoke bed. "What has kept you,
+Pierre?"
+
+He stopped, looked me squarely in the eyes, placed his finger in the
+middle of his spiked moustache, and raised his eyebrows mysteriously.
+
+"Monsieur must not ask me," he replied. "I have been on duty for
+forty-eight hours; there was not even time to change my uniform."
+
+"A little matter for headquarters?" I ventured indiscreetly, with a nod
+in the direction of Paris.
+
+Pierre shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Monsieur must ask the
+semaphore; my lips are sealed."
+
+Had he been the chief of the Secret Service just in possession of the
+whereabouts of an international criminal, he could not have been more
+uncommunicative.
+
+"And monsieur's artichokes?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
+
+Further inquiry I knew was useless--even dangerous. Indeed I swallowed
+my curiosity whole, for I was aware that this simple gardener of mine,
+in his official capacity, could put me in irons, drag me before my
+friend the ruddy little mayor, and cast me in jail at Bar la Rose, had
+I given him cause. Then indeed, as Pompanet said, I would be "A _sacré_
+vagabond from Pont du Sable."
+
+Was it not only the other day a well-dressed stranger hanging about my
+lost village had been called for by two gendarmes, owing to Pierre's
+watchful eye? And did not the farmer Milon pay dearly enough for the
+applejack he distilled one dark night? I recalled, too, a certain
+morning when, a stranger on the marsh, I had lighted Pierre's cigarette
+with an honest wax-match from England. He recognized the brand
+instantly.
+
+"They are the best in the world," I had remarked bravely.
+
+"Yes," he had replied, "but dear, monsieur. The fine is a franc apiece
+in France."
+
+We had reached the artichokes.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_" exclaimed Pierre, glancing at the riot of weeds as he
+stripped off his coat and, unbuckling his belt with the bayonet, the
+six-shooter and the field-glass, hung them in the shade upon a
+convenient limb of a pear tree. He measured the area of the unruly
+patch with a military stride, stood thinking for a moment, and then, as
+if a happy thought had struck him, returned to me with a gesture of
+enthusiasm.
+
+"If monsieur will permit me to offer a suggestion--that is, if monsieur
+approves--I should like to make a fresh planting. Ah! I will explain
+what I mean to monsieur, so monsieur may see clearly my ideas. _Voilà!_"
+he exclaimed. "It is to have the new artichokes planted in three
+circles--in three circles, monsieur," he went on excitedly, "crossed
+with the star of the compass," he continued, as the idea rapidly
+developed in his peasant brain. "Then in the centre of the star to plant
+monsieur's initials in blue and red flowers. _Voilà!_ It will be
+something for monsieur's friends to admire, eh?"
+
+He stood waiting tensely for my reply, for I shivered inwardly at the
+thought of the prospective chromo.
+
+"Excellent, my good Pierre," I returned, not wishing to hurt his
+feelings. "Excellent for the gardens of the Tuileries, but my garden is
+such a simple one."
+
+"Pardon, monsieur," he said, with a touch of mingled disappointment and
+embarrassment, "they shall be replanted, of course, just as monsieur
+wishes." And Pierre went to digging weeds with a will while I went back
+to my own work.
+
+At noon Pierre knocked gently at my study door.
+
+"I must breakfast, monsieur," he apologized, "and get a little sleep. I
+have promised my brigadier to get back at three."
+
+"And to-morrow?" I asked.
+
+Again the shoulders shrugged under the uniform.
+
+"Ah, monsieur!" he exclaimed helplessly. "_Malheureusement_, to-morrow I
+am not free; nor the day after. _Parbleu!_ I cannot tell monsieur _when_
+I shall be free."
+
+"I understand, Pierre," said I.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Before sundown the next afternoon I was after a hare through a maze of
+thicket running back of the dunes fronting the open sea. I kept on
+through a labyrinth of narrow trails--crossing and recrossing each
+other--the private by-ways of sleek old hares in time of trouble, for
+the dunes were honeycombed with their burrows. Now and then I came
+across a tent-shaped thatched hut lined with a bed of straw, serving as
+snug shelters for the coast patrol in tough weather.
+
+I had just turned into a tangle of scrub-brush, and could hear the
+breakers pound and hiss as they swept up upon the hard smooth beach
+beyond the dunes, when a low whistle brought me to a leisurely halt, and
+I saw Pierre spring up from a thicket a rod ahead of me--a Government
+carbine nestled in the hollow of his arm.
+
+I could scarcely believe it was the genial and ever-willing Pierre of my
+garden. He was the hard-disciplined soldier now, under orders. I was
+thankful he had not sent a bullet through me for not halting more
+promptly than I did.
+
+"What are you doing here?" he demanded, coming briskly toward me along a
+trail no wider than his feet.
+
+Instantly my free hand went to my hunting-cap in salute.
+
+"After--a--hare!" I stammered innocently.
+
+"Not so loud," he whispered. "_Mon Dieu!_ If the brigadier should hear
+you! Come with me," he commanded, laying his hand firmly upon my arm.
+"There are six of us hidden between here and the fortress. It is well
+that you stumbled upon me first. They must know who you are. It is not
+safe for you to be hunting to-day."
+
+I had not followed him more than a dozen rods before one of his
+companions was at my side. "The American," said Pierre in explanation,
+and we passed on down through a riot of stunted growth that choked the
+sides of a hollow.
+
+Beyond this rose the top of a low circular fort overgrown with
+wire-grass--the riot of tangle ceasing as we reached the bottom of the
+hollow and stood in an open patch before an ancient iron gate piercing
+the rear of the fort.
+
+Pierre lifted the latch and we passed through a wall some sixteen feet
+thick and into a stone-paved courtyard with a broad flight of steps at
+its farther end sweeping to the top of the circular defence. Flanking
+the sunken courtyard itself were a dozen low vaultlike compartments,
+some of them sealed by heavy doors. At one of these, containing a
+narrow window, Pierre knocked. The door opened and I stood in the
+presence of the Brigadier Bompard.
+
+"The American gentleman," announced Pierre, relieving me of my gun.
+
+The brigadier bowed, looked me over sharply, and bade me enter.
+
+"At your service, monsieur," he said coldly, waving his big freckled
+hand toward a chair drawn up to a fat little stove blushing under a
+forced draft.
+
+"At yours, monsieur," I returned, bowed, and took my seat.
+
+Then there ensued a dead silence, Pierre standing rigid behind my chair,
+the brigadier reseated back of a desk littered with official papers.
+
+For some moments he sat writing, his savage gray eyes scanning the page,
+the ends of his ferocious moustache twitching nervously as his pen
+scratched on. Back of his heavy shoulders ran a shelf supporting a row
+of musty ledgers, and above a stout chest in one corner was a rack of
+gleaming carbines.
+
+The silence became embarrassing. Still the pen scratched on. Was he
+writing my death-warrant, I wondered nervously, or only a milder order
+for my arrest? It was a relief when he finally sifted a spoonful of fine
+blue sand over the document, poured the remaining grains back into their
+receptacle, puffed out his coarse red jowls, emitted a grunt of
+approval, and raised his keen eyes to mine.
+
+"A thousand pardons, monsieur," I began, "for being where I assure you I
+would not have been had I known exactly where I was."
+
+"So monsieur is fond of the chase of the hare?" he asked, with a grim
+smile.
+
+"So fond, Monsieur le Brigadier," I replied, "that my enthusiasm has, as
+you see, led me thoughtlessly into your private territory. I beg of you
+to accept my sincere apologies."
+
+He reached back of him, took down one of the musty ledgers, and began to
+turn the leaves methodically. From where I sat I saw his coarse
+forefinger stop under a head-line.
+
+"Smeeth, Berkelek," he muttered, and read on down the page. "Citizen of
+_Amérique du Nord_.
+
+"Height--medium.
+
+"Age--forty-one.
+
+"Hair--auburn.
+
+"Eyes--brown.
+
+"Chin and frontal--square.
+
+"No scars."
+
+"Would your excellency like to see my hunting permit and description?" I
+ventured.
+
+"Unnecessary--it is in duplicate here," he returned curtly, and his eyes
+again reverted to the ledger. Then he closed the book, rose, and drawing
+his chair to the stove planted his big fists on his knees.
+
+I began to breathe normally.
+
+"So you are a painter?" said he.
+
+"Yes," I confessed, "but I do not make a specialty of fortresses, your
+excellency, even in the most distant landscapes."
+
+I was grateful he understood, for I saw a gleam of merriment flash in
+his eyes.
+
+"_Bon!_" he exclaimed briskly--evidently the title of "excellency"
+helped. "It is not the best day, however, for you to be hunting hares.
+Are you a good shot, monsieur?"
+
+"That is an embarrassing question," I returned. "If I do not miss I
+generally kill."
+
+Pierre, who, during the interview, had been standing mute in attention,
+now stepped up to him and bending with a hurried "Pardon," whispered
+something in his coarse red ear.
+
+The brigadier raised his shaggy eyebrows and nodded in assent.
+
+"Ah! So you are a friend of Monsieur le Curé!" he exclaimed. "You would
+not be Monsieur le Curé's friend if you were not a good shot.
+_Sapristi!_" He paused, ran his hand over his rough jowls, and resumed
+bluntly: "It is something to kill the wild duck; another to kill a man."
+
+"Has war been suddenly declared?" I asked in astonishment.
+
+A gutteral laugh escaped his throat, he shook his grizzled head in the
+negative.
+
+"A little war of my own," said he, "a serious business, _parbleu!_"
+
+"Contraband?" I ventured.
+
+The coarse mouth under the bristling moustache, four times the size of
+Pierre's, closed with a snap, then opened with a growl.
+
+"_Sacré mille tonnerres!_" he thundered, slamming his fist down on the
+desk within reach of him. "They are the devil, those Belgians! It is for
+them my good fellows lose their sleep." Then he stopped, and eyeing me
+shrewdly added: "Monsieur, you are an outsider and a gentleman. I can
+trust you. Three nights ago a strange sloop, evidently Belgian, from the
+cut of her, tried to sneak in here, but our semaphore on the point held
+her up and she had to run back to the open sea. Bah! Those _sacré_
+Belgians have the patience of a fox!"
+
+"She was painted like one of our fishing-smacks," interposed Pierre, now
+too excited to hold his tongue, "but she did not know the channel."
+
+"Aye, and she'll try it again," growled the brigadier, "if the night be
+dark. She'll find it clear sailing in, but a hot road out."
+
+"Tobacco?" I asked, now fully alive to the situation.
+
+The brigadier spat.
+
+"Of course, as full as she'll float," he answered. He leaned forward and
+touched me good-humouredly on the shoulder. "I'm short of men," he said
+hurriedly.
+
+"Command me," I replied. "I'll do my best. I shall return to-night." And
+I rose to take my leave, but he instantly raised his hand in protest.
+"You are under arrest, monsieur," he declared quietly, with a shrug of
+his shoulders.
+
+I looked at him wide-eyed in astonishment.
+
+"Arrest!" I gasped.
+
+"Do not be alarmed," he replied. "It will only be temporary, I assure
+you, but since you have so awkwardly stumbled among us there is no
+alternative but for me to detain you until this _sacré_ affair is well
+over. I cannot, at all events, let you return to the village to-night."
+
+"But I give you my word of honour, monsieur," I declared, "I shall not
+open my lips to a soul. Besides, I must dine at eight to-night with
+Madame de Bréville. Your excellency can well understand."
+
+"I know you have friends, monsieur; they might be inquisitive; and
+those friends have servants, and those servants have friends," was his
+reply. "No, it is better that you stay. Pierre, give monsieur a carbine
+and a place ten metres from your own at sundown; then report to me he is
+there. Now you may go, monsieur."
+
+Pierre touched me on the shoulder; then suddenly realizing I was under
+orders and a prisoner, I straightened, saluted the brigadier, and
+followed Pierre out of the fort with the best grace I could muster.
+
+"Pierre!" I exclaimed hotly, as we stood again in the thicket. "How long
+since you've held up anything here--contraband, I mean?"
+
+For a moment he hesitated, then his voice sank to a whisper.
+
+"They say it is all of twenty years, perhaps longer," he confessed. "But
+to-night monsieur shall see. Monsieur is, of course, not exactly a
+prisoner or he would now be in the third vault from the right."
+
+"A prisoner! The devil I'm not? Didn't he tell me I was?" I exclaimed.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ What will you have, monsieur?" returned Pierre excitedly,
+under his breath. "It is the brigadier's orders. I was afraid monsieur
+might reply to him in anger. Ah, _par exemple!_ Then monsieur would have
+seen a wild bull. Oh, la! la! When the brigadier is furious----Ah,
+_ça!_" And he led the way to my appointed ambush without another word.
+
+Despite my indignation at being thus forced into the service and made a
+prisoner to boot--however temporary it might be--I gradually began to
+see the humour of the situation. It was very like a comic opera, I
+thought, as I lay flat on the edge of the thicket and pried away a small
+opening in the tangle through which I could look down upon the sweep of
+beach below me and far out to sea. Thus I lay in wait for the smuggling
+crew to arrive--to be blazed at and perhaps captured.
+
+What if they outnumber us? We might all perish then, with no hope of
+quarter from these men whom we were lying in wait for like snakes in the
+grass. One thing, however, I was firmly resolved upon, and that was to
+shoot safely over anything that lay in range except in case of
+self-defence. I was never of a murderous disposition, and the thought of
+another's blood on my hands sent a fresh shiver along my prostrate
+spine. Then again the comic-opera side of it struck me. I began to feel
+more like an extra super in a one-night stand than a real soldier. What,
+after all, if the smugglers failed us?
+
+I was pondering upon the dangerous effect upon the brigadier of so
+serious a stage wait, when Pierre crawled over to me from his ambush ten
+metres from my own, to leave me my ration of bread and wine. He was so
+excited by this time that his voice trembled in my ear.
+
+"Gaston, my comrade, the fifth down the line," he whispered, "has just
+seen two men prowling on the marsh; they are, without doubt,
+accomplices. Gaston has gone to tell the brigadier." He ran his hand
+carefully along the barrel of my carbine. "Monsieur must hold high," he
+explained in another whisper, "since monsieur is unaccustomed to the gun
+of war. It is this little machine here that does the trick." He bent his
+eyes close to the hind sight and screwed it up to its notch at one
+hundred and fifty metres.
+
+I nodded my thanks, and he left me to my bread and wine and crept
+cautiously back to his ambush.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A black night was rapidly settling. Above me in the great unfathomable
+vault of sky not a star glimmered. Under the gloom of the approaching
+darkness the vast expanse of marsh to my left lay silent, desolate, and
+indistinct, save for its low edge of undulating sand dunes. Only the
+beach directly before me showed plainly, seemingly illumined by the
+breakers, that gleamed white like the bared teeth of a fighting line of
+wolves.
+
+It was a sullen, cheerless sea, from which the air blew over me damp and
+raw; the only light visible being the intermittent flash from the
+distant lighthouse on Les Trois Loups, beyond the marsh.
+
+One hour passed--two hours--during which I saw nothing alive and moving
+save a hare foraging timidly on the beach for his own rations. After a
+while he hopped back to his burrow in the thicket, a thicket of silence
+from which I knew at any moment might break forth a murderous fire. It
+grew colder and colder, I had to breathe lustily into the collar of my
+jersey to keep out the chill. I began to envy the hare snug in his
+burrow. Thus I held my vigil, and the night wore on.
+
+Ah! my friend the curé! I mused. Was there ever such an indefatigable
+sportsman? Lucky curé! He was not a prisoner, neither had he been
+pressed into the customs patrol like a hired assassin. At that moment I
+knew Monsieur le Curé was snug in his duck-blind for the night, a long
+two miles from where I lay; warm, and comfortable, with every chance on
+such a night to kill a dozen fat mallards before his daylight mass. What
+would my friend Madame Alice de Bréville, and that whole-souled fellow
+Tanrade, think when I did not appear as I had promised, at madame's
+château, to dine at eight? Cold as I was, I could not help chuckling
+over the fact that it was no fault of mine.
+
+I was a prisoner. Alice and Tanrade would dine together. It would be
+then a dinner for two. I have never known a woman as discreet as Alice.
+She had insisted that I dine with them. In Paris Alice might not have
+insisted, but in the lost village, with so many old women with nothing
+to talk about save other peoples' affairs! Lucky Tanrade!
+
+I could see from where I lay the distant mass of trees screening her
+château, and picture to myself my two dear friends _alone_. Their
+chairs--now that my vacant one was the only witness--drawn close
+together; he holding her soft, responsive little hand between the soup
+and the fish, between the duck and the salad; then continuously over
+their dessert and Burgundy--she whom he had held close to his big heart
+that night after dinner in that once abandoned house of mine, when they
+had gone out together into my courtyard and disappeared in the shadows
+of the moonlight.
+
+Dining alone! The very thing I had tried to bring about. But for the
+stern brigadier we should have been that wretched number--three--to-night
+at the château. Ah, you dear human children, are you conscious and
+grateful that I am lying out like a vagabond, a prisoner, that you
+may be alone?
+
+I began to wonder, too, what the Essence of Selfishness, that spoiled
+and adorable cat of mine, would think when it came her bedtime hour.
+Would Suzette, in her anxiety over my absence, remember to give her the
+saucer of warm milk? Yet I knew the Essence of Selfishness would take
+care of herself; she would sleep with Suzette. Catch her lying out on
+the bare ground like her master when she could curl herself up at the
+foot of two fuzzy blankets in a tiny room next to the warm kitchen.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was after midnight when Pierre crawled over to me again, and pointed
+to a black patch of mussel rocks below.
+
+"There are the two men Gaston saw," he whispered. "They are waiting to
+signal the channel to their comrades."
+
+I strained my eyes in the direction he indicated.
+
+"I cannot see," I confessed.
+
+"Here, take the glass," said he. "Those two humps behind the big one are
+the backs of men. They have a lantern well hidden--you can see its glow
+when the glass is steady."
+
+I could see it all quite clearly now, and occasionally one of the humps
+lift a head cautiously above the rock.
+
+"She must be lying off close by," muttered Pierre, hoarse with
+excitement. Again he hurriedly ran his hand over the breech of my
+carbine. "The trigger pulls light," he breathed. "Courage, monsieur! We
+have not long to wait now." And again he was gone.
+
+I felt like a hired assassin weakening on the verge of a crime. The next
+instant I saw the lantern hidden on the mussel rocks raised and lowered
+thrice.
+
+It was the signal!
+
+Again all was darkness save the gleaming line of surf. My heart thumped
+in my ears. Ten minutes passed; then again the lantern was raised, the
+figures of the two men standing in silhouette against its steady rays.
+
+I saw now a small sloop rear itself from the breakers, a short, squat
+little craft with a ghostly sail and a flapping jib. On she came,
+leaping and dropping broadside among the combers. The lantern now shone
+as clearly as a beacon. A sea broke over the sloop, but she staggered up
+bravely, and with a plunge was swept nearer and nearer the jagged point
+of rocks awash with spume. Braced against the tiller was a man in
+drenched tarpaulins; two other men were holding on to the shrouds like
+grim death. On the narrow deck between them I made out a bale-like
+bundle wrapped in tarpaulin and heavily roped, ready to be cast ashore.
+
+A moment more, and the sloop would be on the rocks; yet not a sound came
+from the thicket. The suspense was sickening. I had once experienced
+buck-fever, but it was nothing compared to this. The short carbine began
+to jump viciously under my grip.
+
+The sloop was nearly on the rocks! At that critical moment overboard
+went the bundle, the two men with the lantern rushing out and dragging
+it clear of the swash.
+
+Simultaneously, with a crackling roar, six tongues of flame spat from
+the thicket and we charged out of our ambush and over the crest of the
+dunes toward the smugglers' craft and its crew, firing as we ran. The
+fellow next to me stumbled and fell sprawling in the sand.
+
+In the panic that ensued I saw the sloop making a desperate effort to
+put to sea. Meanwhile the two accomplices were running like rabbits for
+the marsh. Close to the mysterious bundle their lantern lay smashed and
+burning luridly in its oil. The brigadier sprang past me swearing like a
+pirate, while his now thoroughly demoralized henchmen and myself
+stumbled on, firing at random with still a good hundred yards between us
+and the abandoned contraband.
+
+At that instant I saw the sloop's sail fill and then, as if by a
+miracle, she slowly turned back to the open sea. Above the general din
+the brigadier's voice rang out, bellowing his orders. By the time the
+sloop had cleared the breakers his language had become unprintable. He
+had reached the mussel rocks and stood shaking his clenched fists at the
+departing craft, while the rest of us crowded about the bundle and the
+blazing lantern. Every one was talking and gesticulating at once as
+they watched the sloop plunge away in the darkness.
+
+"_Sacré mille tonnerres!_" roared the brigadier, sinking down on the
+bundle. Then he turned and glared at me savagely. "Idiot!" he cried,
+labouring for his breath. "_Espèce d'imbécile. Ah! Nom d'un petit
+bonhomme._ You were on the end. Why did you not head off those devils
+with the lantern?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders helplessly in reply. He was in no condition to
+argue with.
+
+"And the rest of you----" He choked in his rage, unable to frame his
+words. They stood helplessly about, gesticulating their apologies.
+
+He sprang to his feet, gave the bundle a sound kick, and snarled out an
+order. Pierre and another jumped forward, and together they shouldered
+it between them. Then the remainder of the valiant guard fell into
+single file and started back to the fort, the brigadier and myself
+bringing up the rear. As we trudged on through the sand together he kept
+muttering to himself. It only occurred to me then that nobody had been
+hit. By this time even the accomplices were safe.
+
+"Monsieur," I ventured, as we regained the trail leading to the fort,
+"it is with the sincerest regret of my heart that I offer you my
+apologies. True, I might have done better, but I did my best in my
+inexperience. We have the contraband--at least that is something, eh?"
+
+He grew calmer as the thought struck him.
+
+"Yes," he grumbled, "there are in that bundle at least ten thousand
+cigars. It is, after all, not so bad."
+
+"Might I ask," I returned, "when your excellency intends to honour me
+with my liberty?"
+
+He stopped, and to my delight held out his hand to me.
+
+"You are free, monsieur," he said roughly, with a touch of his good
+nature. "The affair is over--but not a word of the manoeuvre you have
+witnessed in the village. Our work here is for the ears of the
+Government alone."
+
+As we reached the gate of the fort I saluted him, handed my carbine to
+Pierre in exchange for my shotgun, and struck home in the mist of early
+dawn.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The morning after, I was leaning over the lichen-stained wall of my
+garden caressing the white throat of the Essence of Selfishness, the
+events of my night of service still in my mind, when I saw the coast
+patrol coming across the marsh in double file. As they drew nearer I
+recognized Pierre and his companion, who had shouldered the contraband.
+The roped bundle was swung on a stout pole between them.
+
+Presently they left the marsh and gained the road. As the double file of
+uniformed men came past my wall they returned my salute. Pierre shifted
+his end of the pole to the man behind him and stood at attention until
+the rest had passed. Then the procession went on to inform Monsieur the
+Mayor, who lived near the little square where nothing ever happened.
+
+Pierre turned when they had left and entered my garden. What was he
+going to tell me now? I wondered, with sudden apprehension. Was I to
+serve another night?
+
+"I'll be hanged if I will," I muttered.
+
+He approached solemnly and slowly, his bayonet gleaming at his side, the
+warm sunlight glinting on the buttons of his uniform. When he got near
+enough for me to look into his eyes he stopped, raised his hand to his
+cap in salute, and said with a smile:
+
+"Now, monsieur, the artichokes."
+
+      [Illustration: bundle of contraband]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: Marianne]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FIVE
+
+MARIANNE
+
+
+Monsieur le Curé slid the long chair up to my fire, bent his straight,
+black body forward, and rubbing his chilled hands briskly before the
+blazing logs, announced with a smile of content:
+
+"Marianne is out of jail."
+
+"_Sacristi!_" I exclaimed, "and in mid-winter! It must be cold enough in
+that hut of hers by the marsh--poor old girl."
+
+"And not a sou to be earned fishing," added the curé.
+
+"Tell me about this last crime of hers," I asked.
+
+Monsieur le Curé's face grew serious, then again the smile of content
+spread to the corners of his firm mouth.
+
+"Oh! Nothing very gruesome," he confessed, then after a moment's silence
+he continued slowly: "Her children needed shoes and warm things for the
+winter. Marianne stole sixty _mètres_ of nets from the fishing crew at
+'The Three Wolves'--she is hopeless, my friend." With a vibrant gesture
+he straightened up in his chair and flashed his keen eyes to mine. "For
+ten years I have tried to reform her," he declared. "Bah!"--and he
+tossed the stump of his cigarette into the blaze.
+
+"You nursed her once through the smallpox," said I, "when no one dared
+go near her. The mayor told me so. I should think _that_ would have long
+ago persuaded her to do something for you in return."
+
+"We go where we are needed," he replied simply. "She will promise me
+nothing. One might as well try to make a faithful parishioner of a gipsy
+as to change Marianne for the better." He brought his fist down sharply
+on the broad arm of his chair. "I tell you," he went on tensely,
+"Marianne is a woman of no morals and no religion--a woman who allows no
+one to dictate to her save a gendarme with a warrant of arrest. Hardly
+a winter passes but she goes to jail. She is a confirmed thief, a bad
+subject," he went on vibrantly. "She can drink as no three sailors can
+drink--and yet you know as well as I do," he added, lowering his voice,
+"that there is not a mother in Pont du Sable who is as good to her
+children as Marianne."
+
+"They are a brave little brood," I replied. "I have heard that the
+eldest boy and girl Marianne adopted, yet they resemble their mother,
+with their fair curly hair and blue eyes, as much as do the youngest
+boys and the little girl."
+
+"Marianne has had many lovers," returned the curé gravely. "There is not
+one of that brood of hers that has yet been baptized." An expression of
+pain crossed his face. "I have tried hard; Marianne is impossible."
+
+"Yet you admit she has her qualities."
+
+"Yes, good qualities," he confessed, filling a fresh cigarette paper
+full of tobacco. "Good qualities," he reiterated. "She has brought up
+her children to be honest and she keeps them clean. She has never
+stolen from her own village--it is a point of honour with her. Ah! you
+do not know Marianne as I know her."
+
+"It seems to me you are growing enthusiastic over our worst vagabond," I
+laughed.
+
+"I am," replied the curé frankly. "I believe in her; she is afraid of
+nothing. You see her as a vagabond--an outcast, and the next instant,
+_Parbleu!_ she forces out of you your camaraderie--even your respect.
+You shake her by the hand, that straight old hag with her clear blue
+eyes, her square jaw and her hard face! She who walks with the stride of
+a man, who is as supple and strong as a sailor, and who looks you
+squarely in the eye and studies you calmly, at times disdainfully--even
+when drunk."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was late when Monsieur le Curé left me alone by my fire. I cannot say
+"alone," for the Essence of Selfishness, was purring on my chest.
+
+In this old _normand_ house of mine by the marsh, there comes a silence
+at this hour which is exhilarating. Out of these winter midnights come
+strange sounds, whirring flights of sea-fowl whistle over my roof, in
+late for a lodging on the marsh. A heavy peasant's cart goes by,
+groaning in agony under the brake. When the wind is from the sea, it is
+like a bevy of witches shrilling my doom down the chimney. "Aye, aye,
+'tis he," they seem to scream, "the stranger--the s-t-r-a-n-g-e-r."
+One's mind is alert at this hour--one must be brave in a foreign land.
+
+And so I sat up late, smoking a black pipe that gurgled in unison with
+the purring on my chest while I thought seriously of Marianne.
+
+I had seen her go laughing to jail two months ago, handcuffed to a
+gendarme on the back seat of the last car of the toy train. It was an
+occasion when every one in the lost village came charitably out to have
+a look. I remembered, too, she sat there as garrulous as if she were
+starting on a holiday--a few of her old cronies crowded about her. One
+by one, her children gave their mother a parting hug--there were no
+tears--and the gendarme sat beside her with a stolid dignity befitting
+his duty to the _République_. Then the whistle tooted twice--a coughing
+puff of steam in the crisp sunlight, a wheeze of wheels, and the toy
+train rumbled slowly out of the village with its prisoner. Marianne
+nodded and laughed back at the waving group.
+
+"_Bon voyage!_" croaked a little old woman, lifting her claw. She had
+borrowed five francs from the prisoner.
+
+"_Au revoir!_" laughed back Marianne, but the words were faint, for the
+last car was snaking around the bend.
+
+Thus Marianne went to jail. Now that she is back, she takes her return
+as carelessly and unblushingly as a _demi-mondaine_ does her annual
+return from Dinard.
+
+When Marianne was eighteen, they tell me, she was the prettiest girl in
+Pont du Sable, that is to say, she was prettier than Emilienne Dagèt at
+Bar la Rose, or than Berthe Pavoisiér, the daughter of the miller at
+Tocqueville, who is now in Paris. At eighteen, Marianne was slim and
+blonde; moreover, she was as bold as a hawk, and smiled as easily as
+she lied. At twenty, she was rated as a valuable member of any fishing
+crew that put out from the coast, for they found her capable during a
+catch, and steady in danger, always doing her share and a little more
+for those who could not help themselves. She is still doing it, for in
+her stone hut on the edge of the marsh that serves as shelter for her
+children and her rough old self, she has been charitable and given a
+winter's lodging to three old wrecks of the sea. There are no beds, but
+there are bunks filled with marsh-hay; there is no furniture, but there
+are a few pots and pans, and in one corner of the dirt floor, a
+crackling fire of drift wood, and nearly always enough applejack for
+all, and now and then hot soup. Marianne wrenches these luxuries, so to
+speak, out of the sea, often alone and single-handed, working as hard as
+a gull to feed her young.
+
+The curé was right; Marianne had her good qualities--I was almost
+beginning to wonder to myself as I pulled drowsily at the black pipe if
+her good qualities did not outweigh her bad ones, when the Essence of
+Selfishness awakened and yawned. And so it was high time to send this
+spoiled child of mine to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Marianne called her "_ma belle petite_," though her real name was
+Yvonne--Yvonne Louise Tournéveau.
+
+Yvonne kept her black eyes from early dawn until dark upon a dozen of
+the Père Bourron's cows in her charge, who grazed on a long point of the
+marsh, lush with salt grass, that lay sheltered back of the dunes
+fronting the open sea.
+
+Now and then, when a cow strayed over the dunes on to the hard beach
+beyond to gaze stupidly at the breakers, the little girl's voice would
+become as authoritative as a boy's. "_Eh ben, tu sais!_" she would shout
+as she ran to head the straggler off, adding some sound whacks with a
+stick until the cow decided to lumber back to the rest. "_Ah mais!_"
+Yvonne would sigh as she seated herself again in the wire-grass, tucking
+her firm bronzed legs under a patched skirt that had once served as a
+winter petticoat for the Mère Bourron.
+
+Occasionally a trudging coast guard or a lone hunter in passing would
+call "_Bonjour!_" to her, and since she was pretty, this child of
+fifteen, they would sometimes hail her with "_Ça va, ma petite!_" and
+Yvonne would flush and reply bravely, "_Mais oui, M'sieur, merci._"
+
+Since she was only a little girl with hair as black as a gipsy's, a
+ruddy olive skin, fresh young lips and a well-knit, compact body,
+hardened by constant exposure to the sea air and sun, no one bothered
+their heads much about her name. She was only a child who smiled when
+the passerby would give her a chance, which was seldom, and when she
+did, she disclosed teeth as white as the tiny shells on the beach. There
+were whole days on the marsh when she saw no one.
+
+At noon, when the cracked bell in the distant belfry of the gray church
+of Pont du Sable sent its discordant note quavering across the marsh,
+Yvonne drew forth a sailor's knife from where it lay tucked safe within
+the breast of her coarse chemise, and untying a square of blue cotton
+cloth, cut in two her portion of peasant bread, saving half the bread
+and half a bottle of Père Bourron's thinnest cider for the late
+afternoon.
+
+There were days, too, when Marianne coming up from the sea with her
+nets, stopped to rest beside the child and talk. Yvonne having no mother
+which she could remember, Marianne had become a sort of transient mother
+to her, whom the incoming tide sometimes brought her and whom she would
+wait for with uncertain expectancy, often for days.
+
+One afternoon, early in the spring, when the cows were feeding in the
+scant slanting shade of the dunes, Yvonne fell asleep. She lay out
+straight upon her back, her brown legs crossed, one wrist over her eyes.
+She slept so soundly that neither the breeze that had sprung up from the
+northeast, stirring with every fresh puff the stray locks about her
+small ears, or the sharp barking of a dog hunting rabbits for himself
+over the dunes, awakened her. Suddenly she became conscious of being
+grasped in a pair of strong arms, and, awakening with a little scream,
+looked up into the grinning face of Marianne, who straightway gave her
+a big, motherly hug until she was quite awake and then kissed her
+soundly on both cheeks, until Yvonne laughed over her fright.
+
+"_Oh, mon Dieu!_ but I was frightened," sighed the child, and sat up
+straight, smoothing back her tumbled hair. "Oh! la! la!" she gasped.
+
+"They are beauties, _hein!_" exclaimed Marianne, nodding to an oozing
+basketful of mackerel; then, kneeling by the basket, she plunged her red
+hands under the slimy, glittering mass of fish, lifting and dropping
+them that the child might see the average size in the catch.
+
+"_Eh ben!_" declared Marianne, "some day when thou art bigger, _ma
+petite_, I'll take thee where thou canst make some silver. There's half
+a louis' worth there if there's a sou!" There was a gleam of
+satisfaction in her eyes, as she bent over her basket again, dressed as
+she was in a pair of fisherman's trousers cut off at the knees.
+
+"One can play the lady on half a louis," she continued, covering her
+fish from the sun with her bundle of nets. "My man shall have a full
+bottle of the best to-night," she added, wiping her wet hands across her
+strong bare knees.
+
+"How much 'cake' does that old crab of a Bourron pay thee?" she
+inquired, turning again to the child.
+
+"Six sous a day, and then my food and lodging," confessed Yvonne.
+
+"He won't ruin himself," muttered Marianne.
+
+"They say the girl at the Three Wolves gets ten," added the child with
+awe, "but thou knowest how--she must do the washing besides."
+
+Marianne's square jaw shut hard. She glanced at Yvonne's patched skirt,
+the one that had been the Mère Bourron's winter petticoat, feeling its
+quality as critically as a fashionable dressmaker.
+
+"_Sacristi!_" she exclaimed, examining a rent, "there's one door that
+the little north wind won't knock twice at before he enters. Keep still,
+_ma petite_, I've got thread and a needle."
+
+She drew from her trousers' pocket a leather wallet in which lay four
+two-sous pieces, an iron key and a sail needle driven through a ball of
+linen thread. "It is easily seen thou art not in love," laughed
+Marianne, as she cross-stitched the tear. "Thou wilt pay ten sous for a
+ribbon gladly some day when thou art in love."
+
+The child was silent while she sewed. Presently she asked timidly, "One
+eats well there?"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"But thou knowest--_there_."
+
+"In the prison?"
+
+"_Mais oui_," whispered Yvonne.
+
+"Of course," growled Marianne, "one eats well; it is perfect. _Tiens!_
+we have the good soup, that is well understood; and now and then meat
+and rice."
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed the child in awe.
+
+"_Mais oui_," assured Marianne with a nod, "and prunes."
+
+"Where is that, the prison?" ventured the child.
+
+"It is very far," returned Marianne, biting off the thread, "and it is
+not for every one either," she added with a touch of pride--"only I
+happen to be an old friend and know the judge."
+
+"And how much does it cost a day, the prison?" asked Yvonne.
+
+"Not _that_," replied Marianne, snipping her single front tooth
+knowingly with the tip of her nail.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ and they give you all that for nothing?" exclaimed the
+child in astonishment. "It is _chic_, that, _hein!_" and she nodded her
+pretty head with decision, "_Ah mais oui, alors!_" she laughed.
+
+"I must be going," said Marianne, abruptly. "My young ones will be
+wanting their soup." She flattened her back against her heavy basket,
+slipped the straps under her armpits and rose to her feet, the child
+passing the bundle of nets to her and helping her shoulder them to the
+proper balance.
+
+"_Au revoir, ma belle petite_," she said, bending to kiss the girl's
+cheek; then with her free hand she dove into her trousers' pocket and
+drew out a two-sous piece. "_Tiens_," she exclaimed, pressing the
+copper into the child's hand.
+
+Yvonne gave a little sigh of delight. It was not often she had two sous
+all to herself to do what she pleased with, which doubles the delight of
+possession. Besides, the Mère Bourron kept her wages--or rather, count
+of them, which was cheaper--on the back page of a greasy book wherein
+were registered the births of calves.
+
+"_Au revoir_," reiterated Marianne, and turned on her way to the village
+down the trail that wound through the salt grass out to the road
+skirting the bay. Yvonne watched her until she finally disappeared
+through a cut in the dunes that led to the main road.
+
+The marsh lay in the twilight, the curlews were passing overhead bound
+for a distant mud flat for the night. "_Courli! Courli!_" they called,
+the old birds with a rasp, the young ones cheerfully; as one says
+"_bonsoir_." The cows, conscious of the fast-approaching dark, were
+moving toward the child. She stood still until they had passed her,
+then drove them slowly back to the Père Bourron's, her two-sous piece
+clutched safe in her hand.
+
+It was dark when she let down the bars of the orchard, leading into the
+farm-yard. Here the air was moist and heavy with the pungent odour of
+manure; a turkey gobbler and four timid hens roosting in a low apple
+tree, stirred uneasily as the cows passed beneath them to their stable
+next to the kitchen--a stable with a long stone manger and walls two
+feet thick. Above the stable was a loft covered by a thatched roof; it
+was in a corner of this loft, in a large box filled with straw and
+provided with a patchwork-quilt, that Yvonne slept.
+
+A light from the kitchen window streamed across the muddy court. The
+Père and Mère Bourron were already at supper. The child bolted the
+stable door upon her herd and slipped into her place at table with a
+timid "_Bonsoir, m'sieur, madame_," to her masters, which was
+acknowledged by a grunt from the Père Bourron and a spasm of coughing
+from his spouse.
+
+The Mère Bourron, who had the dullish round eye of a pig that gleamed
+suspiciously when she became inquisitive, had supped well. Now and then
+she squinted over her fat jowls veined with purple, plying her mate with
+short, savage questions, for he had sold cattle that day at the market
+at Bonville. Such evenings as these were always quarrelsome between the
+two, and as the little girl did not count any more than the chair she
+sat in, they argued openly over the day's sale. The best steer had
+brought less than the Mère Bourron had believed, a shrewd possibility,
+even after a month's bargaining. When both had wiped their plates clean
+with bread--for nothing went to waste there--the child got up and
+brought the black coffee and the decanter of applejack. They at last
+ceased to argue, since the Mère Bourron had had the final word. Père
+Bourron sat with closed fists, opening one now and then to strengthen
+his coffee with applejack. Being a short, thickset man, he generally sat
+in his blouse after he had eaten, with his elbows on the table and his
+rough bullet-like head, with its crop of unkempt hair, buried in his
+hands.
+
+When Yvonne had finished her soup, and eaten all her bread, she rose and
+with another timid "_Bonsoir_" slipped away to bed.
+
+"Leave the brindle heifer tied!" shrilled madame as the child reached
+the courtyard.
+
+"_Mais, oui madame_, it is done," answered Yvonne, and crept into her
+box beneath the thatch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At sixteen Yvonne was still guarding the cows for the Bourrons. At
+seventeen she fell in love.
+
+He was a slick, slim youth named Jean, with a soapy blond lock plastered
+under the visor of his leather cap pulled down to his red ears. On fête
+days, he wore in addition a scarlet neck-tie girdling his scrawny
+throat. He had watched Yvonne for a long time, very much as the snake in
+the fable saved the young dove until it was grown.
+
+And so, Yvonne grew to dreaming while the cows strayed. Once the Père
+Bourron struck at her with a spade for her negligence, but missed.
+Another night he beat her soundly for letting a cow get stalled in the
+mud. The days on the marsh now became interminable, for he worked for
+Gavelle, the carpenter, a good three _kilomètres_ back of Pont du Sable
+and the two could see each other only on fête days when he met her
+secretly among the dunes or in the evenings near the farm. He would wait
+for her then at the edge of the woods skirting the misty sea of pasture
+that spread out below the farm like some vast and silent dry lake,
+dotted here and there with groups of sleeping cattle.
+
+She saw Marianne but seldom now, for the latter fished mostly at the
+Three Wolves, sharing her catch with a crew of eight fishermen. Often
+they would seine the edge of the coast, their boat dancing off beyond
+the breakers while they netted the shallow water, swishing up the hard
+beach--these gamblers of the sea. They worked with skill and precision,
+each one having his share to do, while one--the quickest--was appointed
+to carry their bundle of dry clothes rolled in a tarpaulin.
+
+Marianne seemed of casual importance to her now. We seldom think of our
+best friends in time of love. Yvonne cried for his kisses which at
+first she did not wholly understand, but which she grew to hunger for,
+just as when she was little she craved for all she wanted to eat for
+once--and candy.
+
+She began to think of herself, too--of Jean's scarlet cravat--of his new
+shoes too tight for him, which he wore with the pride of a village dandy
+on fête days and Sundays--and of her own patched and pitifully scanty
+wardrobe.
+
+"She has nothing, that little one," she had heard the gossips remark
+openly before her, time and time again, when she was a child. Now that
+she was budding into womanhood and was physically twice as strong as
+Jean, now that she was conscious of _herself_, she began to know the
+pangs of vanity.
+
+It was about this time that she bought the ribbon, just as Marianne had
+foretold, a red ribbon to match Jean's tie, and which she fashioned into
+a bow and kept in a paper box, well hidden in the straw of her bed. The
+patched skirt had long ago grown too short, and was now stuffed into a
+broken window beyond the cow manger to temper the draught from the neck
+of a sick bull.
+
+She wore now, when it stormed, thick woollen stockings and sabots; and
+another skirt of the Mère Bourron's fastened around a chemise of coarse
+homespun linen, its colour faded to a delicious pale mazarine blue,
+showing the strength and fullness of her body.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+She had stolen down from the loft this night to meet him at the edge of
+the woods.
+
+"Where is he?" were his first words as he sought her lips in the dark.
+
+"He has gone," she whispered, when her lips were free.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"_Eh ben_, he went away with the Père Detour to the village--madame is
+asleep."
+
+"Ah, good!" said he.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ but you are warm," she whispered, pressing her cheek
+against his own.
+
+"I ran," he drawled, "the patron kept me late. There is plenty of work
+there now."
+
+He put his arm around her and the two walked deeper into the wood, he
+holding her heavy moist hand idly in his own. Presently the moon came
+out, sailing high among the scudding clouds, flashing bright in the
+clear intervals. A white mist had settled low over the pasture below
+them, and the cattle were beginning to move restlessly under the chill
+blanket, changing again and again their places for the night. A bull
+bellowed with all his might from beyond the mysterious distance. He had
+evidently scented them, for presently he emerged from the mist and moved
+along the edge of the woods, protected by a deep ditch. He stopped when
+he was abreast of them to bellow again, then kept slowly on past them.
+They had seated themselves in the moonlight among the stumps of some
+freshly cut poplars.
+
+"_Dis donc_, what is the matter?" he asked at length, noticing her
+unusual silence, for she generally prattled on, telling him of the
+uneventful hours of her days.
+
+"Nothing," she returned evasively.
+
+"_Mais si; bon Dieu!_ there _is_ something."
+
+She placed her hands on her trembling knees.
+
+"No, I swear there is nothing, Jean," she said faintly.
+
+But he insisted.
+
+"One earns so little," she confessed at length. "Ten sous a day, it is
+not much, and the days are so long on the marsh. If I knew how to cook
+I'd try and get a place like Emilienne."
+
+"Bah!" said he, "you are crazy--one must study to cook; besides, you are
+not yet eighteen, the Père Bourron has yet the right to you for a year."
+
+"That is true," confessed the girl simply; "one has not much chance when
+one is an orphan. Listen, Jean."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Listen--is it true that thou dost love me?"
+
+"Surely," he replied with an easy laugh.
+
+"Listen," she repeated timidly; "if thou shouldst get steady work--I
+should be content ... to be..." But her voice became inaudible.
+
+"_Allons!_... what?" he demanded irritably.
+
+"To ... to be married," she whispered.
+
+He started. "_Eh ben! en voilà_ an idea!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Forgive me, Jean, I have always had that idea----" She dried her eyes
+on the back of her hand and tried hard to smile. "It is foolish, eh? The
+marriage costs so dear ... but if thou shouldst get steady work..."
+
+"_Eh ben!_" he answered slowly with his Normand shrewdness, "I don't say
+no."
+
+"I'll help thee, Jean; I can work hard when I am free. One wins forty
+sous a day by washing, and then there is the harvest."
+
+There was a certain stubborn conviction in her words which worried him.
+
+"_Eh ben!_" he said at length, "we might get married--that's so."
+
+She caught her breath.
+
+"Swear it, Jean, that thou wilt marry me, swear it upon Sainte Marie."
+
+"_Eh voilà_, it's done. _Oui_, by Sainte Marie!"
+
+She threw her arms about him, crushing him against her breast.
+
+"_Dieu!_ but thou art strong," he whispered.
+
+"Did I hurt thee?"
+
+"No--thou art content now?"
+
+"Yes--I am content," she sobbed, "I am content, I am content."
+
+He had slipped to the ground beside her. She drew his head back in her
+lap, her hand pressed hard against his forehead.
+
+"_Dieu!_ but I am content," she breathed in his ear.
+
+He felt her warm tears dropping fast upon his cheek.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+All night she lay in the straw wide awake, flushed, in a sort of fever.
+At daylight she drove her cows back to the marsh without having barely
+touched her soup.
+
+Far across the bay glistened the roof of a barn under construction. An
+object the size of a beetle was crawling over the new boards.
+
+It was Jean.
+
+"I'm a fool," he thought, as he drove in a nail. Then he fell to
+thinking of a girl in his own village whose father was as rich as the
+Père Bourron.
+
+"_Sacré Diable!_" he laughed at length, "if every one got married who
+had sworn by Sainte Marie, Monsieur le Curé would do a good business."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A month later Père Bourron sold out a cartful of calves at the market at
+Bonville. It was late at night when he closed his last bargain over a
+final glass, climbed up on his big two-wheeled cart, and with a face of
+dull crimson and a glazed eye, gathered up the reins and started swaying
+in his seat for home. A boy carrying milk found him at daylight the next
+morning lying face down in the track of his cart, dead, with a fractured
+skull. Before another month had passed, the Mère Bourron had sold the
+farm and gone to live with her sister--a lean woman who took in sewing.
+
+Yvonne was free.
+
+Free to work and to be married, and she did work with silent ferocity
+from dawn until dark, washing the heavy coarse linen for a farm, and
+scrubbing the milk-pans bright until often long after midnight--and
+saved. Jean worked too, but mostly when he pleased, and had his hair
+cut on fête days, most of which he spent in the café and saw Yvonne
+during the odd moments when she was free.
+
+Life over the blacksmith's shop, where she had taken a room, went
+merrily for a while. Six months later--it is such an old story that it
+is hardly worth the telling--but it was long after dark when she got
+back from work and she found it lying on the table in her rough clean
+little room--a scrap of paper beside some tiny worsted things she had
+been knitting for weeks.
+
+"I am not coming back," she read in an illiterate hand.
+
+She would have screamed, but she could not breathe. She turned again,
+staring at the paper and gripping the edge of the table with both
+hands--then the ugly little room that smelt of singed hoofs rocked and
+swam before her.
+
+When she awoke she lay on the floor. The flame of the candle was
+sputtering in its socket. After a while she crawled to her knees in the
+dark; then, somehow, she got to her feet and groped her way to the
+door, and down the narrow stairs out to the road. She felt the need of a
+mother and turned toward Pont du Sable, keeping to the path at the side
+of the wood like a homeless dog, not wishing to be observed. Every
+little while, she was seized with violent trembling so that she was
+obliged to stop--her whole body ached as if she had been beaten.
+
+A sharp wind was whistling in from the sea and the night was so black
+that the road bed was barely visible.
+
+It was some time before she reached the beginning of Pont du Sable, and
+turned down a forgotten path that ran back of the village by the marsh.
+A light gleamed ahead--the lantern of a fishing-boat moored far out on
+the slimy mud. She pushed on toward it, mistaking its position, in her
+agony, for the hut of Marianne. Before she knew it, she was well out on
+the treacherous mud, slipping and sinking. She had no longer the
+strength now to pull her tired feet out. Twice she sank in the slime
+above her knees. She tried to go back but the mud had become ooze--she
+was sinking--she screamed--she was gone and she knew it. Then she
+slipped and fell on her face in a glaze of water from the incoming tide.
+At this instant some one shouted back, but she did not hear.
+
+It was Marianne.
+
+It was she who had moored the boat with the lantern and was on her way
+back to her hut when she heard a woman scream twice. She stopped as
+suddenly as if she had been shot at, straining her eyes in the direction
+the sound came from--she knew that there was no worse spot in the bay, a
+semi-floating solution of mud veined with quicksand. She knew, too, how
+far the incoming tide had reached, for she had just left it at her bare
+heels by way of a winding narrow causeway with a hard shell bottom that
+led to the marsh. She did not call for help, for she knew what lay
+before her and there was not a second to lose. The next instant, she had
+sprung out on the treacherous slime, running for a life in the
+fast-deepening glaze of water.
+
+"Lie down!" she shouted. Then her feet touched a solid spot caked with
+shell and grass. Here she halted for an instant to listen--a choking
+groan caught her ear.
+
+"Lie down!" she shouted again and sprang forward. She knew the knack of
+running on that treacherous slime.
+
+She leapt to a patch of shell and listened again. The woman was choking
+not ten yards ahead of her, almost within reach of a thin point of
+matted grass running back of the marsh, and there she found her, and she
+was still breathing. With her great strength she slid her to the point
+of grass. It held them both. Then she lifted her bodily in her arms,
+swung her on her back and ran splashing knee-deep in water to solid
+ground.
+
+"_Sacré bon Dieu!_" she sobbed as she staggered with her burden. "_C'est
+ma belle petite!_"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+For weeks Yvonne lay in the hut of the worst vagabond of Pont du Sable.
+So did a mite of humanity with black eyes who cried and laughed when he
+pleased. And Marianne fished for them both, alone and single-handed,
+wrenching time and time again comforts from the sea, for she would
+allow no one to go near them, not even such old friends as Monsieur le
+Curé and myself--that old hag, with her clear blue eyes, who walks with
+the stride of a man, and who looks at you squarely, at times
+disdainfully--even when drunk.
+
+      [Illustration: sabots]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: a Normande]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SIX
+
+THE BARON'S PERFECTOS
+
+
+Strange things happen in my "Village of Vagabonds." It is not all fisher
+girls, Bohemian neighbours, romance, and that good friend the curé who
+shoots one day and confesses sinners the next. Things from the outside
+world come to us--happenings with sometimes a note of terror in them to
+make one remember their details for days.
+
+Only the other day I had run up from the sea to Paris to replenish the
+larder of my house abandoned by the marsh at Pont du Sable, and was
+sitting behind a glass of vermouth on the terrace of the Café de la Paix
+when the curtain rose.
+
+One has a desire to promenade with no definite purpose these soft
+spring days, when all Paris glitters in the warm sun. The days slip by,
+one into another--days to be lazy in, idle and extravagant, to promenade
+alone, seeking adventure, and thus win a memory, if only the amiable
+glance of a woman's eyes.
+
+I was drinking in the tender air, when from my seat on the terrace I
+recognized in the passing throng the familiar figure of the Brazilian
+banker, the Baron Santos da Granja. The caress of spring had enticed the
+Baron early this afternoon to the Boulevard. Although he had been
+pointed out to me but once, there was no mistaking his conspicuous
+figure as he strode on through the current of humanity, for he stood
+head and shoulders above the average mortal, and many turned to glance
+at this swarthy, alert, well-preserved man of the world with his keen
+black eyes, thin pointed beard and moustache of iron gray. From his
+patent-leather boots to his glistening silk hat the Baron Santos da
+Granja was immaculate.
+
+Suddenly I saw him stop, run his eyes swiftly over the crowded tables
+and then, though there happened to be one just vacated within his
+reach, turn back with a look of decision and enter the Government's
+dépôt for tobacco under the Grand Hotel.
+
+I, too, was in need of tobacco, for had not my good little
+maid-of-all-work, Suzette, announced to me only the day before:
+
+"Monsieur, there are but three left of the big cigars in the thin box;
+and the ham of the English that monsieur purchased in Paris is no more."
+
+"It is well, my child," I had returned resignedly, "that ham could not
+last forever; it was too good."
+
+"And if Monsieur le Curé comes to dinner there is no more kümmel," the
+little maid had confessed, and added with a shy lifting of her truthful
+eyes, "monsieur does not wish I should get more of the black cigars at
+the grocery?"
+
+I had winced as I recalled the last box, purchased from the only store
+in Pont du Sable, where they had lain long enough to absorb the pungent
+odour of dried herring and kerosene.
+
+Of course it was not right that our guests should suffer thus from an
+empty larder and so, as I have said, I had run up from the sea to
+replenish it. It was, I confess, an extravagant way of doing one's
+marketing; but then there was Paris in the spring beckoning me, and who
+can resist her seductive call at such a time?
+
+But to my story: I finished my glass of vermouth, and, following the
+Baron's example, entered the Government's store, where I discovered him
+selecting with the air of a connoisseur a dozen thin boxes of rare
+perfectos. He chatted pleasantly with the clerk who served him and upon
+going to the desk, opened a Russian-leather portfolio and laid before
+the cashier six crisp, new one-hundred-franc notes in payment for the
+lot. I have said that the Baron was immaculate, and he _was_, even to
+his money. It was as spotless and unruffled as his linen, as neat, in
+fact, as were the noble perfectos of his choice, long, mild and pure,
+with tiny ends, and fat, comforting bodies that guaranteed a quality fit
+for an emperor; but then the least a bank can do, I imagine, is to
+provide clean money to its president.
+
+As the Baron passed out and my own turn at the desk came to settle for
+my modest provision of Havanas, I recalled to my mind the current gossip
+of the Baron's extravagance, of the dinners he had lately given that
+surprised Paris--and Paris is not easily surprised. What if he had "sold
+more than half of his vast estate in Brazil last year"? And suppose he
+was no longer able or willing "to personally supervise his racing
+stable," that he "had grown tired of the track," etc. Nonsense! The
+press knows so little of the real truth. For me the Baron Santos da
+Granja a was simply a seasoned man of the world, with the good taste to
+have retired from its conspicuous notoriety; and good taste is always
+expensive. His bank account did not interest me.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I knew her well by sight, for she passed me often in the Bois de
+Boulogne when I ran up to Paris on just such errands as my present one.
+She had given me thus now and then glimpses of her feverish
+life--gleams from the facets, since her success in Paris was as
+brilliant as a diamond. Occasionally I would meet her in the shaded
+alleys, but always in sight of her brougham, which kept pace with her
+whims at a safe but discreet distance.
+
+There was a rare perfection about her lithe, graceful person, an ease
+and subtlety of line, an allure which was satisfying--from her trim
+little feet gloved in suède, to the slender nape of her neck, from which
+sprang, back of the loveliest of little ears, the exquisite sheen of her
+blonde hair.
+
+There were mornings when she wore a faultless tailor-made of plain dark
+blue and carried a scarlet parasol, with its jewelled handle held in a
+firm little hand secreted in spotless white kid.
+
+I noticed, too, in passing that her eyes were deep violet and
+exceedingly alert, her features classic in their fineness. Once I saw
+her smile, not at me, but at her fox terrier. It was then that I caught
+a glimpse of her young white teeth--pearly white in contrast to the
+freshness of her pink and olive skin, so clear that it seemed to be
+translucent, and she blushed easily, having lived but a score of springs
+all told.
+
+In the afternoon, when she drove in her brougham lined with dove-gray,
+the scarlet parasol was substituted by one of filmy, creamy lace,
+shading a gown of pale mauve or champagne colour.
+
+I had heard that she was passionately extravagant, that she seldom, if
+ever, won at the races--owned a little hotel with a carved façade in the
+Avenue du Bois, a villa at Dinard, and three fluffy little dogs, who
+jingled their gold bells when they followed her.
+
+She dined at Paillard's, sometimes at the Café de la Paix, rarely at
+Maxim's; skated at the Palais de Glace on the most respectable
+afternoons--drank plain water--rolled her own cigarettes--and possessed
+a small jewel box full of emeralds, which she seldom wore.
+
+_Voilà!_ A spoiled child for you!
+
+There were mornings, too, when, after her tub, as early as nine, she
+galloped away on her cob to the _Bois_ for her coffee and hot _brioche_
+at the Pré Catelan, a romantic little farm with a café and a stableful
+of mild-eyed cows that provide fresh milk to the weary at daylight, who
+are trying hard to turn over a new leaf before the next midnight. Often
+she came there accompanied by her groom and the three little dogs with
+the jingling bells, who enjoyed the warm milk and the run back of the
+fleet hoofs of her saddle-horse.
+
+On this very morning--upon which opens the second act of my drama, I
+found her sitting at the next table to mine, chiding one of the jingling
+little dogs for his disobedience.
+
+"_Eh ben! tu sais!_" she exclaimed suddenly, with a savage gleam in her
+eyes.
+
+I turned and gazed at her in astonishment. It was the first time I had
+heard her voice. It was her accent that made me stare.
+
+"_Eh ben! tu sais!_" she repeated, in the patois of the Normand peasant,
+lifting her riding crop in warning to the ball of fluff who had refused
+to get on his chair and was now wriggling in apology.
+
+"Who is that lady?" I asked the old waiter Emile, who was serving me.
+
+"Madame is an Austrian," he confided to me, bending his fat back as he
+poured my coffee.
+
+"Austrian, eh! Are you certain, Emile?"
+
+"_Parbleu_, monsieur" replied Emile, "one is never certain of any one in
+Paris. I only tell monsieur what I have heard. Ah! it is very easy to be
+mistaken in Paris, monsieur. Take, for instance, the lady in deep
+mourning, with the two little girls, over there at the table under the
+lilac bush."
+
+"She is young to be a widow," I interposed, glancing discreetly in the
+direction he nodded.
+
+Emile smiled faintly. "She is not a widow, monsieur," he returned,
+"neither is she as Spanish as she looks; she is Polish and dances at the
+Folies Parisiennes under the name of _La Belle Gueritta_ from Seville."
+
+"But her children look French," I ventured.
+
+"They are the two little girls of her concierge, monsieur." Emile's
+smile widened until it spread in merry wrinkles to the corners of his
+twinkling eyes.
+
+"In all that lace and velvet?" I exclaimed.
+
+"Precisely, monsieur."
+
+"And why the deep mourning, Emile?"
+
+"It is a pose, monsieur. One must invent novelties, eh? when one is as
+good-looking as that. Besides, madame's reputation has not been of the
+best for some time. Monsieur possibly remembers the little affair last
+year in the Rue des Mathurins? Very well, it was she who extracted the
+hundred thousand francs from the Marquis de Villiers. Madame now gives
+largely to charity and goes to mass."
+
+"Blackmail, Emile?"
+
+"Of the worst kind, and so monsieur sees how easily one can be mistaken,
+is it not so? _Sacristi!_ one never knows."
+
+"But are you certain you are not mistaken about your Austrian, Emile?" I
+ventured.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders as if in apology for his opinion, and I turned
+again to study his Austrian. The noses of her little dogs with the
+jingling bells were now contentedly immersed in a bowl of milk.
+
+A moment later I saw her lift her clear violet eyes and catch sight of
+one of the milkers, who was trying to lead a balky cow through the court
+by a rope badly knotted over her horns. She was smiling as she sat
+watching the cow, who now refused to budge. The boy was losing his
+temper when she broke into a rippling laugh, rose, and going over to the
+unruly beast, unknotted the rope from her horns and, replacing it by two
+half hitches with the ease and skill of a sailor, handed the rope back
+to the boy.
+
+"There, you little stupid!" she exclaimed, "she will lead better now.
+_Allez!_" she cried, giving the cow a sharp rap on her rump. "_Allez!
+Hup!_"
+
+A murmur of surprise escaped Emile. "It is not the first time madame has
+done that trick," he remarked under his hand, as she crossed the
+courtyard to regain her chair.
+
+"She is Normande," I declared, "I am certain of it by the way she said
+'_Eh ben!_' And did you not notice her walk back to her table? Erect,
+with the easy, quick step of a fisher girl? The same walk of the race of
+fisher girls who live in my village," I continued with enthusiastic
+decision. "There is no mistaking it; it is peculiar to Pont du Sable,
+and note, too, her _patois_!"
+
+"It is quite possible, monsieur," replied Emile, "but it does not
+surprise me. One sees every one in Paris. There are few _grandes dames_
+left. When one has been a _garçon de café_, as I have, for over thirty
+years, one is surprised at nothing; not even----"
+
+The tap of a gold coin on the rim of a cold saucer interrupted our talk.
+The summons was from my lady who had conquered the cow.
+
+"_Voilà_, madame!" cried Emile, as he left me to hasten to her table,
+where he made the change, slipped the _pourboire_ she gave him into his
+alpaca pocket, and with a respectful, "_Merci bien_, madame," drew back
+her chair as she rose and summoned her groom, who a moment later stood
+ready to help her mount. The next instant I saw her hastily withdraw her
+small foot from the hollow of his coarse hand, and wave to a passing
+horse and rider. The rider, whose features were half hidden under the
+turned-down brim of a panama, wheeled his horse, reined up before her,
+dismounted, threw his rein to her groom and bending, kissed her on both
+cheeks. She laughed; murmured something in his ear; the panama nodded in
+reply, then, slipping his arm under her own, the two entered the
+courtyard. There they were greeted by Emile.
+
+"Madame and I will breakfast here to-day, Emile," said the voice beneath
+the panama. "The little table in the corner and the same Pommard."
+
+He threw his riding crop on a vacant chair and, lifting his hat, handed
+it to the veteran waiter.
+
+It was the Baron Santos da Granja!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hidden at the foot of a plateau skirting the desert marshes, two miles
+above my village of Pont du Sable, lies in ruins all that remains of the
+deserted village known as La Poche.
+
+It is well named "The Pocket," since for years it served as a safe
+receptacle for itinerant beggars and fugitives from justice who found an
+ideal retreat among its limestone quarries, which, being long
+abandoned, provided holes in the steep hillside for certain vagabonds,
+who paid neither taxes to the government, nor heed to its law.
+
+There is an old cattle trail that leads to La Poche, crossed now and
+then by overgrown paths, that wind up through a labyrinth of briers,
+rank ferns and matted growth to the plateau spreading back from the
+hillside. I use this path often as a short cut home.
+
+One evening I had shot late on the marshes and started for home by way
+of La Poche. It was bright moonlight when I reached a trail new to me
+and approached the deserted village by way of a tangled, overgrown road.
+
+The wind had gone down with the rising of the moon, and the intense
+stillness of the place was such that I could hear about me in the tangle
+the lifting of a trampled weed and the moving of the insects as my boots
+disturbed them. The silence was uncanny. Under the brilliancy of the
+moon all things gleamed clear in a mystic light, their shadows as black
+as the sunken pits of a cave.
+
+I pushed on through the matted growth, with the collar of my leather
+coat buttoned up, my cap pulled down, and my hands thrust in my sleeves,
+hugging my gun under my arm, for the briars made tough going.
+
+Presently, I got free of the tangle and out to a grassy stretch of road,
+once part of the river bed. Here and there emerged, from the matted
+tangle of the hillside flanking it, the ruins of La Poche. Often only a
+single wall or a tottering chimney remained silhouetted against the
+skeleton of a gabled roof; its rafters stripped of tiles, gleaming in
+the moonlight like the ribs and breastbone of a carcass.
+
+If La Poche is a place to be shunned by day--at night it becomes
+terrible; it seems to breathe the hidden viciousness of its past, as if
+its ruins were the tombs of its bygone criminals.
+
+I kept on the road, passed another carcass and drew abreast of a third,
+which I stepped out of the road to examine. Both its floors had long
+before I was born dropped into its cellar; its threshold beneath my feet
+was slippery with green slime; I looked up through its ribs, from which
+hung festoons of cobwebs and dead vines, like shreds of dried flesh
+hanging from a skeleton.
+
+Still pursuing my way, I came across an old well; the bucket was drawn
+up and its chain wet; it was the first sign of habitation I had come
+across. As my hand touched the windlass, I instinctively gave it a turn;
+it creaked dismally and a dog barked savagely at the sound from
+somewhere up the hillside; then the sharp, snappy yelping of other dogs
+higher up followed.
+
+I stopped, felt in my pockets and slipped two shells into my gun,
+heavily loaded for duck, with the feeling that if I were forced to shoot
+I would hold high over their heads. As I closed the breech of my gun and
+clicked back my hammers to be ready for any emergency, the tall figure
+of a man loomed up in the grassy road ahead of me, his legs in a ray of
+moonlight, the rest of him in shadow.
+
+"Does this road lead out to the main road?" I called to him, not being
+any too sure that it did.
+
+"Who is there?" he demanded sharply and in perfect French; then he
+advanced and I saw that the heavy stick he carried with a firm grip was
+mounted in silver.
+
+"A hunter, monsieur," I returned pleasantly, noticing now his dress and
+bearing.
+
+It was so dark where we stood, that I could not yet distinguish his
+features.
+
+"May I ask you, monsieur, whom I have the pleasure of meeting," I
+ventured, my mind now more at rest.
+
+He strode toward me.
+
+"My name is de Brissac," said he, extending his hand. "Forgive me," he
+added with a good-natured laugh, "if I startled you; it is hardly the
+place to meet a gentleman in at this hour. Have you missed your way?"
+
+"No," I replied, "I shot late and took a short cut to reach my home." I
+pointed in the direction of the marshes while I searched his face which
+was still shrouded in gloom, in my effort to see what manner of man I
+had run across.
+
+"And have you had good luck?" he inquired with a certain meaning in his
+voice, as if he was still in doubt regarding my trespass.
+
+"Not worth speaking of," I returned in as calm a voice as I could
+muster; "the birds are mostly gone. And do you shoot also, may I ask?"
+
+"It is an incorrigible habit with me," he confessed in a more reassured
+tone. "I have, however, not done so badly of late with the birds; I
+killed seventeen plovers this morning--a fine lot."
+
+Here his tone changed. All his former reserve had vanished. "Come with
+me," said he; "I insist; I'll show you what I killed; they make a pretty
+string, I assure you. You shall see, too, presently, my house; it is the
+one with the new roof. Do you happen to have seen it?"
+
+This came with a certain note of seriousness in his voice.
+
+"No, but I am certain it must be a luxury in the débris," I laughed;
+"but," I added, "I am afraid I must postpone the pleasure until another
+time." I was still undecided as to my course.
+
+Again his tone changed to one of extreme courtesy, as if he had been
+quick to notice my hesitation.
+
+"I know it is late," said he, "but I must insist on your accepting my
+hospitality. The main road lies at the end of the plateau, and I will
+see you safely out to it and on your way home."
+
+I paused before answering. Under the circumstances, I knew, I could not
+very well refuse, and yet I had a certain dread of accepting too easily.
+In France such refusals are sometimes considered as insults. "Thank
+you," I said at last, resolved to see the adventure out; "I accept with
+pleasure," adding with a laugh and speaking to his shadowy bulk, for I
+could not yet see his face:
+
+"What silent mystery, what an uncanny fascination this place has about
+it! Even our meeting seems part of it. Don't you think so?"
+
+"Yes, there is a peculiar charm here," he replied, in a more cautious
+tone as he led me into a narrow trail, "a charm that has taken hold of
+me, so that I bury myself here occasionally; it is a rest from Paris."
+
+From Paris, eh? I thought--then he does not belong to the coast.
+
+I edged nearer, determined now to catch a glimpse of his features, the
+light of the moon having grown stronger. As he turned, its rays
+illumined his face and at the same instant a curious gleam flashed into
+his eyes.
+
+Again the Baron da Granja stood before me.
+
+Da Granja! the rich Brazilian! President of one of the biggest foreign
+banks in Paris. Man of the world, with a string of horses famous for
+years on a dozen race tracks. What the devil was he doing here? Had the
+cares of his bank driven him to such a lonely hermitage as La Poche? It
+seemed incredible, and yet there was not the slightest doubt as to his
+identity--I had seen him too often to be mistaken. His voice, too, now
+came back to me.
+
+He strode on, and for some minutes kept silent, then he stopped suddenly
+and in a voice in which the old doubting tones were again audible said:
+
+"You are English?"
+
+Here he barred the path.
+
+"No," I answered, a little ill at ease at his sudden change of manner.
+"American, from New York."
+
+"And yet, I think I have seen you in Paris," he replied, after a
+moment's hesitation, his eyes boring into mine, which the light of the
+moon now made clear to him.
+
+"It is quite possible," I returned calmly; "I think I have seen you
+also, monsieur; I am often in Paris."
+
+Again he looked at me searchingly.
+
+"Where?" he asked.
+
+"At the Government's store, buying cigars." I did not intend to go any
+further.
+
+He smiled as if relieved. He had been either trying to place me, or his
+suspicions had been again aroused, I could not tell which. One thing was
+certain: he was convinced I had swallowed the name "de Brissac" easily.
+
+All at once his genial manner returned. "This way, to the right," he
+exclaimed. "Pardon me if I lead the way; the path is winding. My ruin,
+as I sometimes call it, is only a little farther up, and you shall have
+a long whiskey and siphon when you get there. You know Pont du Sable, of
+course," he continued as I kept in his tracks; the talk having again
+turned on his love of sport.
+
+"Somewhat. I live there."
+
+This time the surprise was his.
+
+"Is it possible?" he cried, laying his hand on my shoulder, his face
+alight.
+
+"Yes, my house is the once-abandoned one with the wall down by the
+marsh."
+
+"Ah!" he burst out, "so you are _the_ American, the newcomer, the man I
+have heard so much about, the man who is always shooting; and how the
+devil, may I ask, did you come to settle in Pont du Sable?"
+
+"Well, you see, every one said it was such a wretched hole that I felt
+there must be some good in it. I have found it charming, and with the
+shooting it has become an old friend. I am glad also to find that you
+like it well enough to (it was I who hesitated now) to visit it."
+
+"Yes, to shoot is always a relief," he answered evasively, and then in a
+more determined voice added, "This way, to the right, over the rocks!
+Come, give me your gun! The stones are slippery."
+
+"No, I will carry it," I replied. "I am used to carrying it," and though
+my voice did not betray me, I proposed to continue to carry it. It was
+at least a protection against a walking stick with a silver top. My mind
+being still occupied with his suspicions, his inquiries, and most of all
+his persistence that I should visit his house, with no other object in
+view than a whiskey and siphon and a string of plovers. And yet, despite
+the gruesomeness of the surroundings, while alert as to his slightest
+move, I was determined to see the adventure through.
+
+He did not insist, but turned sharply to the left, and the next instant
+I stood before the threshold of a low stone house with a new tiled roof.
+A squat, snug house, the eaves of whose steep gabled roof came down well
+over its two stories, like the snuffer on a candle. He stepped to the
+threshold, felt about the door as if in search for a latch, and rapped
+three times with the flat of his hand. Then he called softly:
+
+"Léa!"
+
+"_C'est toi?_" came in answer, and a small hand cautiously opened a
+heavy overhead shutter, back of which a shaded lamp was burning.
+
+"Yes, it is all right, it is I," said he. "Come down! I have a surprise
+for you. I have captured an American."
+
+There came the sound of tripping feet, the quick drawing of a heavy
+bolt, and the door opened.
+
+My little lady of the Pré Catelan!
+
+Not in a tea-gown from the Rue de la Paix--nothing of that kind
+whatever; not a ruffle, not a jewel--but clothed in the well-worn
+garment of a fisher girl of the coast--a coarse homespun chemise of
+linen, open at the throat, and a still coarser petticoat of blue, faded
+by the salt sea--a fisher girl's petticoat that stopped at her knees,
+showing her trim bare legs and the white insteps of her little feet,
+incased in a pair of heelless felt slippers.
+
+For the second time I was treated to a surprise. Really, Pont du Sable
+was not so dead a village after all.
+
+Emile was wrong. She was one of my village people.
+
+My host did not notice my astonishment, but waved his hand courteously.
+
+"_Entrez_, monsieur!" he cried with a laugh, and then, turning sharply,
+he closed the door and bolted it.
+
+I looked about me.
+
+We were in a rough little room, that would have won any hunter's heart;
+there were solid racks, heavy with guns, on the walls, a snapping wood
+fire, and a clean table, laid for dinner, and lastly, the chair quickly
+drawn to it for the waiting guest. This last they laughingly forced me
+into, for they both insisted I should dine with them--an invitation
+which I gladly accepted, for my fears were now completely allayed.
+
+We talked of the neighbourhood, of hunting, of Paris, of the new play at
+the Nouveautés--I did not mention the Bois. One rarely mentions in
+France having seen a woman out of her own home, although I was sure she
+remembered me from a look which now and then came into her eyes that
+left but little doubt in my mind that she vaguely recalled the incident
+at the Pré Catelan with the cow.
+
+It was a simple peasant dinner which followed. When it was over, he
+went to a corner cupboard and drew forth a flat box of long perfectos,
+which I recognized instantly as the same brand of rare Havanas he had so
+extravagantly purchased from the Government. If I had had my doubt as to
+the identity of my man it was at rest now.
+
+"You will find them mild," said he with a smile, as he lifted the
+tinfoil cover.
+
+"No good cigar is strong," I replied, breaking the untouched row and
+bending my head as my host struck a match, my mind more on the scene in
+the Government's shop than the quality of his tobacco. And yet with all
+the charm that the atmosphere of his place afforded, two things still
+seemed to me strange--the absence of a servant, until I realized
+instinctively the incident of the balky cow, and the prompt bolting of
+the outside door.
+
+The first I explained to myself as being due to her peasant blood and
+her ability to help herself; the second to the loneliness of the place
+and the characters it sometimes harboured. As for my host, I had to
+admit, despite my mental queries, that his bearing and manner
+completely captivated me, for a more delightful conversationalist it
+would have been difficult to find.
+
+Not only did he know the art of eliminating himself and amusing you with
+topics that pleased you, but his cleverness in avoiding the personal was
+amazingly skilful. His tact was especially accentuated when, with a
+significant look at his companion, who at once rose from her seat and,
+crossing the room, busied herself with choosing the liqueurs from a
+closet in the corner of the room, he drew me aside by the fire, and in a
+calm, sotto voce said with intense earnestness:
+
+"You may think it strange, monsieur, that I invited you, that I was even
+insistent. You, like myself, are a man of the world and can understand.
+You will do me a great favour if you will not mention to any one having
+met either myself or my little housekeeper" (there was not a tremor in
+his voice), "who, as you see, is a peasant; in fact, she was born here.
+We are not bothered with either friends or acquaintances here, nor do we
+care for prowlers; you must excuse me for at first taking you for one.
+You, of course, know the reputation of La Poche."
+
+"You could not have chosen a better place to be lost in," I answered,
+smiling as discreetly as one should over the confession of another's
+love affair. "Moreover, in life I have found it the best policy to keep
+one's mouth shut. You have my word, monsieur--it is as if we had never
+met--as if La Poche did not exist."
+
+"Thank you," said he calmly, taking the tiny liqueur glasses from her
+hands; "what will you have--cognac or green chartreuse?"
+
+"Chartreuse," I answered quietly. My eye had caught the labels which I
+knew to be genuine from the Grenoble printer.
+
+"Ah! you knew it--_Dieu!_ but it is good, that old chartreuse!"
+exclaimed my hostess with a rippling laugh as she filled my glass, "we
+are lucky to find it."
+
+Then something happened which even now sends a cold chill down my spine.
+Hardly had I raised my glass to my lips when there came a sharp,
+determined rap at the bolted door, and my host sprang to his feet. For
+a moment no one spoke--I turned instinctively to look at my lady of the
+Pré Catelan. She was breathing with dilated eyes, her lips drawn and
+quivering, every muscle of her lithe body trembling. He was standing
+erect, his head thrown back, his whole body tense. One hand gripped the
+back of his chair, the other was outstretched authoritatively toward us
+as if to command our silence.
+
+Again the rapping, this time violent, insistent.
+
+"Who is there?" he demanded, after what seemed to me an interminable
+moment of suspense.
+
+With this he slipped swiftly through a door leading into a narrow
+corridor, closed another door at the end of the passage, broke the key
+in the lock and returned on tiptoe as noiselessly as he left the room.
+Then picking up the lamp he placed it under the table, thus deadening
+its glow.
+
+Now a voice rang out, "Open in the name of the Law."
+
+No one moved.
+
+He again gripped the back of the chair, his face deathly white, his jaw
+set, his eyes with a sullen gleam in them.
+
+I turned to look at her. Her hands were outstretched on the table, her
+dilated eyes staring straight at the bolt as if her whole life depended
+on its strength.
+
+Again came the command to open, this time in a voice that allowed no
+question as to the determination of the outsider:
+
+"Open in the name of the Law."
+
+No one moved or answered.
+
+A crashing thud, from a heavy beam, snapped the bolt from its screws,
+another blow tore loose the door. Through the opening and over the
+débris sprang a short, broad-shouldered man in a gray suit, while three
+other heavily built men entered, barring the exit.
+
+The woman screamed and fell forward on the table, her head buried in her
+clenched hands. The Baron faced the one in gray.
+
+"What do you want?" he stammered in the voice of a ghost.
+
+"You, Pedro Maceiö," said the man in the gray suit, in a low, even tone,
+"for the last trick you will pull off in some years; open up things, do
+you hear? All of it, and quick."
+
+The Brazilian did not reply; he stood behind his chair, eyeing sullenly
+the man in gray, who now held a revolver at a level with his heart.
+
+Then the man in gray called to one of his men, his eye still on the
+banker. "Break in the door at the end of the passage."
+
+With the quickness of a cat, the Brazilian grabbed the chair and with a
+swinging blow tried to fell his assailant and dash past him. The man in
+gray dodged and pocketed his weapon. The next instant he had his
+prisoner by the throat and had slammed him against the wall; then came
+the sharp click of a pair of handcuffs. The banker tripped and fell to
+the floor.
+
+It had all happened so quickly that I was dazed as I looked on. What it
+was all about I did not know. It seemed impossible that my host, a man
+whose bank was well known in Paris, was really a criminal. Were the
+intruders from the police? Or was it a clever ruse of four determined
+burglars?
+
+I began now to gather my wits and think of myself, although so far not
+one of the intruders had taken the slightest notice of my presence.
+
+One of the men was occupied in breaking open the door at the end of the
+corridor, while another stood guard over the now sobbing, hysterical
+woman. The fourth had remained at the open doorway.
+
+As for the prisoner, who had now regained his feet, he had sunk into the
+chair he had used in defence and sat there staring at the floor,
+breathing in short gasps.
+
+The man who had been ordered by his chief to break open the door at the
+end of the corridor, now returned and laid upon the dinner table two
+engraved metal plates, and a handful of new one-hundred-franc notes;
+some I noticed from where I sat were blank on one side. With the plates
+came the acrid stench of a broken bottle of acid.
+
+"My God! Counterfeiting!" I exclaimed half aloud.
+
+The Baron rose from his seat and stretched out his linked hands.
+
+"She is innocent," he pleaded huskily, lifting his eyes to the woman. I
+could not repress a feeling of profound pity for him.
+
+The man in gray made no reply; instead he turned to me.
+
+"I shall escort you, too, monsieur," he remarked coolly.
+
+"Escort me? _Me?_ What have I got to do with it, I'd like to know?" I
+cried, springing to my feet. "I wish to explain--to make clear to
+you--_clear_. I want you to understand that I stumbled here by the
+merest chance; that I never spoke to this man in my life until to-night,
+that I accepted his hospitality purely because I did not wish to offend
+him, although I had shot late and was in a hurry to get home."
+
+He smiled quietly.
+
+"Please do not worry," he returned, "we know all about you. You are the
+American. Your house is the old one by the marsh in Pont du Sable. I
+called on you this afternoon, but you were absent. I am really indebted
+to you if you do but know it. By following your tracks, monsieur, we
+stumbled on the nest we have so long been looking for. Permit me to hand
+you my card. My name is Guinard--Sous Chief of the Paris Police."
+
+I breathed easier--things were clearing up.
+
+"And may I ask, monsieur, how you knew I had gone in the direction of La
+Poche?" I inquired. That was still a mystery.
+
+"You have a little maid," he replied; "and little maids can sometimes be
+made to talk."
+
+He paused and then said slowly, weighing each word.
+
+"Yes, that no doubt surprises you, but we follow every clue. You were
+both sportsmen; that, as you know, monsieur, is always a bond, and we
+had not long to wait, although it was too dark for us to be quite sure
+when you both passed me. It was the bolting of the door that clinched
+the matter for me. But for the absence of two of my men on another scent
+we should have disturbed you earlier. I must compliment you, monsieur,
+on your knowledge of chartreuse as well as your taste for good cigars;
+permit me to offer you another." Here he slipped his hand into his
+pocket and handed me a duplicate of the one I had been smoking.
+
+"Twelve boxes, Maceiö, were there not? Not expensive, eh, when purchased
+with these?" and he spread out the identical bank-notes with which his
+prisoner had paid for them in the Government store on the boulevard.
+
+"As for you, monsieur, it is only necessary that one of my men take your
+statement at your house; after that you are free.
+
+"Come, Maceiö," and he shook the prisoner by the shoulder, "you take the
+midnight train with me back to Paris--you too, madame."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And so I say again, and this time you must agree with me, that strange
+happenings, often with a note of terror in them, occur now and then in
+my lost village by the sea.
+
+      [Illustration: cigar]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: soldiers]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SEVEN
+
+THE HORRORS OF WAR
+
+
+At the very beginning of the straggling fishing-village of Pont du Sable
+and close by the tawny marsh stands the little stone house of the mayor.
+The house, like Monsieur le Maire himself, is short and sturdy. Its
+modest façade is half hidden under a coverlet of yellow roses that have
+spread at random over the tiled roof as high as the chimney. In front,
+edging the road, is a tidy strip of garden with more roses, a wood-pile,
+and an ancient well whose stone roof shelters a worn windlass that
+groans in protest whenever its chain and bucket are disturbed.
+
+I heard the windlass complaining this sunny morning as I passed on my
+way through the village and caught sight of the ruddy mayor in his blue
+blouse lowering the bucket. The chain snapped taut, the bucket gulped
+its fill, and Monsieur le Maire caught sight of me.
+
+"_Ah bigre!_" he exclaimed as he left the bucket where it hung and came
+forward with both hands outstretched in welcome, a smile wrinkling his
+genial face, clean-shaven to the edges of his short, cropped gray
+side-whiskers, reaching well beneath his chin. "Come in, come in," he
+insisted, laying a persuasive hand on my shoulder, as he unlatched his
+gate.
+
+It is almost impossible for a friend to pass the mayor's without being
+stopped by just such a welcome. The twinkle in his eyes and the hearty
+genuineness of his greeting are irresistible. The next moment you have
+crossed his threshold and entered a square, low-ceiled room that for
+over forty years has served Monsieur le Maire as living room, kitchen,
+and executive chamber.
+
+He had left me for a moment, as he always does when he welcomes a
+friend. I could hear from the pantry cupboard beyond the shivery tinkle
+of glasses as they settled on a tray. He had again insisted, as he
+always does, upon my occupying the armchair in the small parlour
+adjoining, with its wax flowers and its steel engraving of Napoleon at
+Waterloo; but I had protested as I always do, for I prefer the kitchen.
+
+I like its cavernous fireplace with its crane and spit, and the low
+ceiling upheld by great beams of rough-hewn oak, and the tall clock in
+the corner, and the hanging copper saucepans, kettles and ladles, kept
+as bright as polished gold. Here, too, is a generous Norman armoire with
+carved oaken doors swung on bar-hinges of shining steel, and a
+centre-table provided with a small bottle of violet ink, a scratchy pen
+and an iron seal worked by a lever--a seal that has grown dull from long
+service in the stamping of certain documents relative to plain justice,
+marriage, the official recognition of the recently departed and the
+newly born. Above the fireplace hangs a faded photograph of a prize
+bull, for you must know that Monsieur le Maire has been for half a
+generation a dealer in Norman cattle.
+
+Presently he returned with the tray, placing it upon the table within
+reach of our chairs while I stood admiring the bull.
+
+He stopped as he half drew the cork from a fat brown jug, and looked at
+me curiously, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.
+
+"You never were a dealer in beef?" he ventured timidly.
+
+I shook my head sadly.
+
+"_Hélas! Hélas!_ Never mind," said he. "One cannot be everything.
+There's my brother-in-law, Péquin; he does not know a yearling from a
+three-year-old. It is he who keeps the little store at Saint Philippe."
+
+The cork squeaked out. He filled the thimble glasses with rare old
+applejack so skilfully that another drop would have flushed over their
+worn gilt rims. What a gracious old gentleman he is! If it be a question
+of clipping a rose from his tidy garden and presenting it to a lady, he
+does it with such a gentle courtliness that the rose smells the sweeter
+for it--almost a lost art nowadays.
+
+"I saw the curé this morning," he remarked, as we settled ourselves for
+a chat. "He could not stop, but he waved me an _au revoir_, for he was
+in a hurry to catch his train. He had been all night in his
+duck-blind--I doubt if he had much luck, for the wind is from the south.
+There is a fellow for you who loves to shoot," chuckled the mayor.
+
+"Some news for him of game?" I inquired.
+
+The small eyes of the mayor twinkled knowingly. "_Entre nous_," he
+confided, "he has gone to Bonvilette to spray the sick roses of a friend
+with sulphate of iron--he borrowed my squirt-gun yesterday."
+
+"And how far is it to Bonvilette?"
+
+"_Eh ben!_ One must go by the little train to Nivelle," explained
+Monsieur le Maire, "and from Nivelle to Bonvilette there lies a good
+twenty kilometres for a horse. Let us say he will be back in three
+days."
+
+"And the mass meanwhile?" I ventured.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ What will you have? The roses of his old friend are sick.
+It is the duty of a curé to tend the sick. Besides----"
+
+Here Monsieur le Maire leaned forward within reach of my ear, and I
+caught in whispers something relative to a château and one of the best
+cellars of Bordeaux in France.
+
+"Naturally," I replied, with a wink, and again my eyes reverted to the
+prize bull. It is not wise to raise one's voice in so small a village as
+Pont du Sable, even indoors.
+
+"A pretty beast!" affirmed the mayor, noticing my continued interest in
+live stock. "And let me tell you that I took him to England in
+'eighty-two. _Ah, mais oui! Hélas! Hélas!_ What a trip!" he sighed.
+"Monsieur Toupinet--he that has the big farm at Saint Philippe--and I
+sailed together the third of October, in 1882, with forty steers. Our
+ship was called _The Souvenir_, and I want to tell you, my friend, it
+wasn't gay, that voyage. _Ah, mais non!_ Toupinet was sea-sick--I was
+sea-sick--the steers were sea-sick--all except that _sacré_ brute up
+there, and he roared all the way from Calais to London. _Eh ben!_ And
+would you believe it?" At the approaching statement Monsieur le Maire's
+countenance assumed a look of righteous indignation. He raised his fist
+and brought it down savagely on the table as he declared: "Would you
+believe it? We were _thirty-four hours_ without eating and _twenty-nine
+hours, mon Dieu!_ without drinking!"
+
+I looked up in pained astonishment.
+
+"And that wasn't all," continued the mayor. "A hurricane struck us three
+hours out, and we rolled all night in a dog's sea. The steers were up to
+their bellies in water. Aye, but she did blow, and _The Souvenir_ had
+all she could do to keep afloat. The captain was lashed to the bridge
+all night and most of the next day. Neither Toupinet nor myself ever
+expected to see land again, and there we were like calves in a pen on
+the floor of the cabin full of tobacco-smoke and English, and not a word
+of English could we speak except 'yes' and 'good morning.'" Here
+Monsieur le Maire stopped and choked. Finally he dried his eyes on the
+sleeve of his blouse, for he was wheezing with laughter, took a sip from
+his glass, and resumed:
+
+"Well, the saints did not desert us. _Ah, mais non!_ For about four
+o'clock in the afternoon the captain sighted Su-Tum-Tum."
+
+"Sighted what?" I exclaimed.
+
+"_Eh ben!_ Su-Tum-Tum," he replied.
+
+"Where had you drifted? To the Corean coast?"
+
+"_Mais non_," he retorted, annoyed at my dullness to comprehend. "We
+were saved--_comprenez-vous?_--for there, to starboard, lay Su-Tum-Tum
+as plain as a sheep's nose."
+
+"England? Impossible!" I returned.
+
+"_Mais parfaitement!_" he declared, with a hopeless gesture.
+"_Su-Tum-Tum_," he reiterated slowly for my benefit.
+
+"Never heard of it," I replied.
+
+The next instant he was out of his chair, and fumbling in a drawer of
+the table extracted a warped atlas, reseated himself, and began to turn
+the pages.
+
+"_Eh, voilà!_" he cried as his forefinger stopped under a word along the
+English coast. "That's Su-Tum-Tum plain enough, isn't it?"
+
+"Ah! Southampton!" I exclaimed. "Of course--plain as day."
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated the mayor, leaning back in his chair with a broad smile
+of satisfaction. "You see, I was right, Su-Tum-Tum. _Eh ben!_ Do you
+know," he said gently as I left him, "when you first came to Pont du
+Sable there were times then, my poor friend, when I could not understand
+a word you said in French."
+
+Then, as if a sudden thought had struck him, he called me back as he
+closed the gate.
+
+"Are those gipsies still camped outside your wall?" he inquired,
+suddenly assuming the dignity of his office. "_Bon Dieu!_ They are a bad
+lot, those vagabonds! If I don't tell them to be off you won't have a
+duck or a chicken left."
+
+"Let them stay," I pleaded, "they do no harm. Besides, I like to see the
+light of their camp-fire at night scurrying over my wall."
+
+"How many are there?" inquired his excellency.
+
+"Seven or eight, not counting the dogs chained under the wagons," I
+confessed reluctantly, fearing the hand of the law, for I have a
+fondness for gipsies. "But you need not worry about them. They won't
+steal from me. Their wagons are clean inside and out."
+
+"_Ah, mais!_" sighed the mayor. "It's just like you. You spoil your
+cat, you spoil your dog, and now you're spoiling these rascals by giving
+them a snug berth. Have they their papers of identity?"
+
+"Yes," I called back, "the chief showed them to me when he asked
+permission to camp."
+
+"Of course," laughed the mayor. "You'll never catch them without
+them--signed by officials we never can trace."
+
+He waved me a cheery _au revoir_ and returned to the well of the
+groaning windlass while I continued on my way through the village.
+
+Outside the squat stone houses, nets were drying in the sun. Save for
+the occasional rattle of a passing cart, the village was silent, for
+these fisher-folk go barefooted. Presently I reached the public square,
+where nothing ever happens, and, turning an iron handle, entered Pont du
+Sable's only store. A box of a place, smelling of dried herring,
+kerosene, and cheese; and stocked with the plain necessities--almost
+everything, from lard, tea, and big nails to soap, tarpaulins, and
+applejack. The night's catch of mackerel had been good, and the small
+room with its zinc bar was noisy with fisher-folk--wiry fishermen with
+legs and chests as hard as iron; slim brown fisher girls as hardy as the
+men, capricious, independent and saucy; a race of blonds for the most
+part, with the temperament of brunettes. Old women grown gray and
+leathery from fighting the sea, and old men too feeble to go--one of
+these hung himself last winter because of this.
+
+It was here, too, I found Marianne, dripping wet, in her tarpaulins.
+
+"What luck?" I asked her as I helped myself to a package of cigarettes
+from a pigeonhole and laid the payment thereof on the counter.
+
+"_Eh ben!_" she laughed. "We can't complain. If the good God would send
+us such fishing every night we should eat well enough."
+
+She strode through the group to the counter to thrust out an empty
+bottle.
+
+"Eight sous of the best," she demanded briskly of the mild-eyed grocer.
+"My man's as wet as a rat--he needs some fire in him and he'll feel as
+fit as a marquis."
+
+A good catch is a tonic to Pont du Sable. Instantly a spirit of good
+humour and camaraderie spreads through the village--even old scores are
+forgotten. A good haul of mackerel means a let-up in the daily struggle
+for existence, which in winter becomes terrible. The sea knows not
+charity. It massacres when it can and adds you to the line of dead
+things along its edge where you are only remembered by the ebb and flow
+of the tide. On blue calm mornings, being part of the jetsam, you may
+glisten in the sun beside a water-logged spar; at night you become a
+nonentity, of no more consequence along the wavering line of drift than
+a rotten gull. But if, like Marianne, you have fought skilfully, you may
+again enter Pont du Sable with a quicker eye, a harder body, and a
+deeper knowledge of the southwest gale.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Within the last week Pont du Sable has undergone a transformation. The
+dead village is alive with soldiers, for it is the time of the
+manoeuvres. Houses, barns and cow-sheds are filled by night with the
+red-trousered infantry of the French _République_. By day, the window
+panes shiver under the distant flash and roar of artillery. The air
+vibrates with the rip and rattle of musketry--savage volleys, filling
+the heavens with shrill, vicious waves of whistling bullets that kill at
+a miraculous distance. It is well that all this murderous fire occurs
+beyond the desert of dunes skirting the open sea, for they say the
+result upon the iron targets on the marsh is something frightful. The
+general in command is in a good humour over the record.
+
+Despatch-bearers gallop at all hours of the day and night through Pont
+du Sable's single street. The band plays daily in the public square.
+Sunburned soldiers lug sacks of provisions and bundles of straw out to
+five hundred more men bivouacked on the dunes. Whole regiments return to
+the little fishing-village at twilight singing gay songs, followed by
+the fisher girls.
+
+    Ah! Mesdames--voilà du bon fromage!
+    Celui qui l'a fait il est de son village!
+    Voilà du bon fromage au lait!
+    Il est du pays de celui qui l'a fait.
+
+Three young officers are stopping at Monsieur le Curé's, who has
+returned from the sick roses of his friend; and Tanrade has a colonel
+and two lieutenants beneath his roof. As for myself and the house
+abandoned by the marsh, we are very much occupied with a blustering old
+general, his aide-de-camp, and two common soldiers; but I tremble lest
+the general should discover the latter two, for you see, they knocked at
+my door for a lodging before the general arrived, and I could not refuse
+them. Both of them put together would hardly make a full-sized warrior,
+and both play the slide-trombone in the band. Naturally their artistic
+temperament revolted at the idea of sleeping in the only available place
+left in the village--a cow-shed with cows. They explained this to me
+with so many polite gestures, mingled with an occasional salute at their
+assured gratefulness should I acquiesce, that I turned them over for
+safe keeping to Suzette, who has given them her room and sleeps in the
+garret. Suzette is overjoyed. Dream of dreams! For Suzette to have one
+real live soldier in the house--but to have two! Both of these
+red-eared, red-trousered dispensers of harmony are perfect in
+deportment, and as quiet as mice. They slip out of my back gate at
+daylight, bound for the seat of war and slip in again at sundown like
+obedient children, talk in kitchen whispers to Suzette over hot cakes
+and cider, and go punctually to bed at nine--the very hour when the
+roaring old general and his aide-de-camp are toasting their gold spurs
+before my fire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The general is tall and broad-shouldered, and as agile as a boy. There
+is a certain hard, compact firmness about him as if he had been cast in
+bronze. His alert eyes are either flashing in authority or beaming in
+gentleness. The same play between dominant roughness and tenderness is
+true, too, of his voice and manner.
+
+"Madame," he said, last night, after dinner, as he bent and graciously
+kissed Alice de Bréville's hand, "forgive an old savage who pays you
+homage and the assurance of his profound respect." The next moment my
+courtyard without rocked with his reprimand to a bungling lieutenant.
+
+To-night the general is in an uproar of good humour after a storm, for
+did not some vagabonds steal the danger-posts intended to warn the
+public of the location of the firing-line, so that new ones had to be
+sent for? When the news of the theft reached him his rage was something
+to behold. I could almost hear the little slide-trombonists shake as far
+back as Suzette's kitchen. Fortunately, the cyclone was of short
+duration--to-night he is pleased over the good work of his men during
+the days of mock warfare and at the riddled, twisted targets, all of
+which is child's play to this veteran who has weathered so many real
+battles.
+
+To-night he has dined well, and his big hand is stroking the Essence of
+Selfishness who purrs against his medalled chest under a caress as
+gentle as a woman's. He sings his favourite airs from "Faust" and "Aïda"
+with gusto, and roars over the gallant stories of his aide-de-camp, who,
+being from the south of _La belle France_, is never at a loss for a
+tale--tales that make the general's medals twinkle merrily in the
+firelight. It is my first joyful experience as host to the military,
+but I cannot help being nervous over Suzette and the trombonists.
+
+"Bah! Those _sacré_ musicians!" exclaimed the general to-night as he
+puffed at his cigarette. "If there's a laggard in my camp, you may be
+sure it is one of those little devils with a horn or a whistle. _Mon
+Dieu!_ Once during the manoeuvres outside of Périgord I found three of
+them who refused to sleep on the ground--stole off and begged a lodging
+in a château, _parbleu!_"
+
+"Ah--indeed?" I stammered meekly.
+
+"Yes, they did," he bellowed, "but I cured them." I saw the muscles in
+his neck flush crimson, and tried to change the subject, but in vain.
+
+"If they do that in time of peace, they'll do the same in war," he
+thundered.
+
+"Naturally," I murmured, my heart in my throat. The aide-de-camp grunted
+his approval while the general ran his hand over the gray bristles on
+his scarred head.
+
+"Favours!" roared the general. "Favours, eh? When my men sleep on the
+ground in rough weather, I sleep with them. What sort of discipline do
+you suppose I'd have if I did not share their hardships time and time
+again? Winter campaigns, forced marches--twenty-four hours of it
+sometimes in mountain snow. Bah! That is nothing! They need that
+training to go through worse, and yet those good fellows of mine,
+heavily loaded, never complain. I've seen it so hot, too, that it would
+melt a man's boots. It is always one of those imbeciles, then, with
+nothing heavier to carry than a clarinet, who slips off to a comfortable
+farm."
+
+"_Bien entendu, mon général!_" agreed his aide-de-camp tersely as he
+leaned forward and kindled a fresh cigarette over the candle-shade.
+
+Happily I noticed at that moment that the cigarette-box needed
+replenishing. It was an excuse at least to leave the room. A moment
+later I had tiptoed to the closed kitchen door and stood listening.
+Suzette was laughing. The trombonists were evidently very much at ease.
+They, too, were laughing. Little pleasantries filtered through the
+crack in the heavy door that made me hold my breath. Then I heard the
+gurgle of cider poured into a glass, followed swiftly by what I took to
+be unmistakably a kiss.
+
+It was all as plain now as Su-Tum-Tum. I dared not break in upon them.
+Had I opened the door, the general might have recognized their voices.
+Meanwhile, silly nothings were demoralizing the heart of my good
+Suzette. She would fall desperately in love with either one or the other
+of those _sacré_ virtuosos. Then another thought struck me! One of them
+might be Suzette's sweetheart, hailing from her own village, the
+manoeuvres at Pont du Sable a lucky meeting for them. A few sentences
+that I now hurriedly caught convinced me of my own denseness in not
+having my suspicions aroused when they singled out my domain and begged
+my hospitality.
+
+The situation was becoming critical. By the light of the crack I
+scribbled the following:
+
+"Get those two imbeciles of yours hidden in the hay-loft, quick. The
+general wants to see the kitchen," and slipped it under the door,
+coughing gently in warning.
+
+There was an abrupt silence--the sound of Suzette's slippered feet--and
+the scrap of paper disappeared. Then heavy, excited breathing within.
+
+I dashed upstairs and was down again with the cigarettes before the
+general had remarked my tardiness to his aide. At midnight I lighted
+their candles and saw them safely up to bed. Then I went to my room
+fronting the marsh and breathed easier.
+
+"Her sweetheart from her own village," I said to myself as I blew out my
+candle. "The other"--I sighed drowsily--"was evidently his cousin. The
+mayor was right. I have a bad habit of spoiling people and pets."
+
+Then again my mind reverted to the general. What if he discovered them?
+My only consolation now was that to-day had seen the end of the
+manoeuvres, and the soldiers would depart by a daylight train in the
+morning. I recalled, too, the awkward little speech of thanks for my
+hospitality the trombonists had made to me at an opportune moment
+before dinner. Finally I fell into a troubled sleep.
+
+Suzette brought me my coffee at seven.
+
+"Luckily the general did not discover them!" I exclaimed when Suzette
+had closed the double door of my bedroom.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ What danger we have run!" whispered the little maid. "I
+could not sleep, monsieur, thinking of it."
+
+"You got them safely to the haymow?" I inquired anxiously.
+
+"Oh! _Mais oui_, monsieur. But then they slept over the cider-press back
+of the big casks. Monsieur advised the hay-loft, but they said the roof
+leaked. And had it rained, monsieur--"
+
+"See here," I interrupted, eyeing her trim self from head to foot
+savagely. "You've known that little devil with the red ears before."
+
+I saw Suzette pale.
+
+"Confess!" I exclaimed hoarsely, with a military gesture of impatience.
+"He comes from your village. Is it not so, my child?"
+
+Suzette was silent, her plump hands twisting nervously at her apron
+pocket.
+
+"I am right, am I not? I might have guessed as much when they came."
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" Suzette faltered, the tears welling up from the depths
+of her clear trustful eyes.
+
+"Is it not so?" I insisted.
+
+"Oh! Oh! _Mon Dieu, oui_," she confessed half audibly. "He--he is the
+son of our neighbor, Monsieur Jacot."
+
+"At Saint Philippe?"
+
+"At Saint Philippe, monsieur. We were children together, Gaston and I.
+I--I--was glad to see him again, monsieur," sobbed the little maid. "He
+is very nice, Gaston."
+
+"When are you to be married?" I ventured after a moment's pause.
+
+"_Ben--eh ben!_ In two years, monsieur--after Gaston finishes his
+military service. He--has a good trade, monsieur."
+
+"Soloist?" I asked grimly.
+
+"No, monsieur--tailor for ladies. We shall live in Paris," she added,
+and for an instant her eyes sparkled; then again their gaze reverted to
+the now sadly twisted apron pocket, for I was silent.
+
+"No more Suzette then!" I said to myself. No more merry, willing little
+maid-of-all-work! No more hot mussels steaming in a savory sauce! Her
+purée of peas, her tomato farcies, the stuffed artichokes, and her
+coffee the like of which never before existed, would vanish with the
+rest. But true love cannot be argued. There was nothing to do but to
+hold out my hand in forgiveness. As I did so the general rang for his
+coffee.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_" gasped Suzette. "He rings." And flew down to her kitchen.
+
+An hour later the general was sauntering leisurely up the road through
+the village over his morning cigar. The daylight train, followed rapidly
+by four extra sections, had cleared Pont du Sable of all but two of the
+red-trousered infantry--my trombonists! They had arrived an hour and
+twenty minutes late, winded and demoralized. They sat together outside
+the locked station unable to speak, pale and panic-stricken.
+
+The first object that caught the general's eye as he slowly turned into
+the square by the little station was their four red-trousered legs--then
+he caught the glint of their two brass trombones. The next instant heads
+appeared at the windows. It was as if a bomb had suddenly exploded in
+the square.
+
+The two trombonists were now on their feet, shaking from head to foot
+while they saluted their general, whose ever-approaching stride struck
+fresh agony to their hearts. He was roaring:
+
+"_Canailles! Imbéciles!_ A month of prison!" and "_Sacré bon Dieu's!_"
+were all jumbled together. "Overslept! Overslept, did you?" he bellowed.
+"In a château, I'll wager. _Parbleu!_ Where then? Out with it!"
+
+"_Pardon, mon général!_" chattered Gaston. "It was in the stone house of
+the American gentleman by the marsh."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We lunched together in my garden at noon. He had grown calm again under
+the spell of the Burgundy, but Suzette, I feared, would be ill.
+
+"Come, be merciful," I pleaded.
+
+"He is the fiancé of my good Suzette; besides, you must not forget that
+you were all my guests."
+
+The general shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "They were lucky to have
+gotten off with a month!" he snapped. "You saw that those little devils
+were handcuffed?" he asked of his aide.
+
+"Yes, my general, the gendarme attended to them."
+
+"You were my guests," I insisted. "Hold me responsible if you wish."
+
+"Hold _you_ responsible!" he exclaimed. "But you are a foreigner--it
+would be a little awkward."
+
+"It is my good Suzette," I continued, "that I am thinking of."
+
+He leaned back in his chair, and for a moment again ran his hands
+thoughtfully over the bristles of his scarred head. He had a daughter of
+his own.
+
+"The coffee," I said gently to my unhappy Suzette as she passed.
+
+"_Oui! Oui_, monsieur," she sighed, then suddenly mustering up her
+courage, she gasped:
+
+"_Oh, mon général!_ Is it true, then, that Gaston must go to jail? _Ah!
+Mon Dieu!_"
+
+"_Eh bien_, my girl! It will not kill him, _Sapristi!_ He will be a
+better soldier for it."
+
+"Be merciful," I pleaded.
+
+"_Eh bien! Eh bien!_" he retorted. "_Eh bien!_" And cleared his throat.
+
+"Forgive them," I insisted. "They overslept. I don't want Suzette to
+marry a jail-bird."
+
+Again he scratched his head and frowned. Suzette was in tears.
+
+"Um! Difficult!" he grumbled. "Order for arrest once given--" Then he
+shot a glance at me. I caught a twinkle in his eye.
+
+"_Eh bien!_" he roared. "There--I forgive them! Ah, those _sacré_
+musicians!"
+
+Suzette stood there trembling, unable even to thank him, the colour
+coming and going in her peasant cheeks.
+
+"Are they free, general?" I asked.
+
+"Yes," he retorted, "both of them."
+
+"Bravo!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Understand that I have done it for the little girl--and _you_. Is that
+plain?"
+
+"Perfectly," I replied. "As plain as Su-Tum-Tum!" I added under my
+breath as I filled his empty glass in gratefulness to the brim.
+
+"Halt!" shouted the general as the happiest of Suzettes turned toward
+her kitchen.
+
+"Eh--um!" he mumbled awkwardly in a voice that had suddenly grown thick.
+Then he sprang to his feet and raised his glass.
+
+"A health to the bride!" he cried.
+
+      [Illustration: The general]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: a formal garden]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER EIGHT
+
+THE MILLION OF MONSIEUR DE SAVIGNAC
+
+
+The bay of Pont du Sable, which the incoming tide had so swiftly filled
+at daylight, now lay a naked waste of oozing black mud. The birds had
+gone with the receding sea, and I was back from shooting, loafing over
+my pipe and coffee in a still corner among the roses of my wild garden,
+hidden behind the old wall, when that Customhouse soldier-gardener of
+mine, Pierre, appeared with the following message:
+
+"Monsieur de Savignac presents his salutations the most distinguished
+and begs that monsieur will give him the pleasure of calling on him _à
+propos_ of the little spaniel."
+
+What an unexpected and welcome surprise! For weeks I had hunted in vain
+for a thoroughbred. I had never hoped to be given one from the kennels
+of Monsieur de Savignac's château.
+
+"Enchanted, Pierre!" I cried--"Present my compliments to Monsieur de
+Savignac. Tell him how sincerely grateful I am, and say that he may
+expect me to-morrow before noon."
+
+I could easily imagine what a beauty my spaniel would be, clean-limbed
+and alert like the ones in the coloured lithographs. "No wonder," I
+thought, as Pierre left me, "that every peasant for miles around spoke
+of this good Monsieur de Savignac's generosity. Here he was giving me a
+dog. To me, his American neighbour, whom he had never met!"
+
+As I walked over to the château with Pierre the next morning, I recalled
+to my mind the career of this extraordinary man, whose only vice was his
+great generosity.
+
+When Monsieur de Savignac was twenty-one he inherited a million francs,
+acquired a high hat with a straight brim, a standing collar, well open
+at the throat (in fashion then under Napoleon III.), a flowing cravat--a
+plush waistcoat with crystal buttons, a plum-coloured broadcloth coat
+and trousers of a pale lemon shade, striped with black, gathered tight
+at the ankles, their bottoms flouncing over a pair of patent-leather
+boots with high heels.
+
+He was tall, strong and good-natured, this lucky Jacques de Savignac,
+with a weakness for the fair sex which was appalling, and a charm of
+manner as irresistible as his generosity. A clumsy fencer, but a good
+comrade--a fellow who could turn a pretty compliment, danced better than
+most of the young dandies at court, drove his satin-skinned pair of bays
+through the Bois with an easy smile, and hunted hares when the shooting
+opened with the dogged tenacity of a veteran poacher.
+
+When he was twenty-one, the Paris that Grévin drew was in the splendour
+of an extravagant life that she was never to see again, and never has.
+One could _amuse_ one's self then--ah! _Dame, oui!_
+
+There is no emperor now to keep Paris gay.
+
+What suppers at Véfour's! What a brilliant life there was in those days
+under the arcades of the dear old Palais Royal, the gay world going
+daily to this mondaine cloister to see and be seen--to dine and
+wine--to make conquests of the heart and dance daylight quadrilles.
+
+Paris was ordered to be daily _en fête_ and the host at the Tuileries
+saw to it that the gaiety did not flag. It was one way at least from
+keeping the populace from cutting one another's throats, which they did
+later with amazing ferocity.
+
+There were in those good old days under Louis Napoleon plenty of places
+to gamble and spend the inherited gold. Ah! it was Rabelaisian enough!
+What an age to have been the recipient of a million at twenty-one! It
+was like being a king with no responsibilities. No wonder de Savignac
+left the university--he had no longer any need of it. He dined now at
+the Maison Dorée and was seen nightly at the "Bal Mabille" or the
+"Closerie des Lilas," focussing his gold-rimmed monocle on the flying
+feet and lace _frou-frous_ of "Diane la Sournoise," or roaring with
+laughter as he chucked gold louis into the satined lap of some
+"Francine" or "Cora" amid the blare of the band, and the flash of
+jewels strung upon fair arms and fairer necks of woman who went nightly
+to the "Bal Mabille" in smart turnouts and the costliest gowns money
+could buy--and after the last mad quadrille was ended, on he went to
+supper at Bignon's where more gaiety reigned until blue dawn, and where
+the women were still laughing and merry and danced as easily on the
+table as on the floor.
+
+What a time, I say, to have inherited a million! And how many good
+friends he had! Painters and musicians, actors and wits (and there
+_were_ some in those days)--no king ever gathered around him a jollier
+band.
+
+It was from one of these henchmen of his that de Savignac purchased his
+château (long since emptied of its furniture)--from a young nobleman
+pressed hard for his debts, like most young noblemen are--and so the
+great château close to my Village of Vagabonds, and known for miles
+around, became de Savignac's.
+
+What house parties he gave then!--men and women of talent flocked under
+his hospitable roof--indeed there was no lack of talent--some of it
+from the Opéra--some of it from the Conservatoire, and they brought
+their voices and their fiddles with them and played and sang for him for
+days, in exchange for his feudal hospitality--more than that, the
+painter Paul Deschamps covered the ceiling of his music room with chubby
+cupids playing golden trumpets and violins--one adorable little fellow
+in the cove above the grand piano struggling with a 'cello twice as high
+as himself, and Carin painted the history of love in eight panels upon
+the walls of the old ballroom, whose frescoes were shabby enough, so I
+am told, when de Savignac purchased them.
+
+There were times also when the château was full to overflowing with
+guests, so that the late comers were often quartered in a low two-story
+manor close by, that nestled under great trees--a cosey, dear old place
+covered with ivy and climbing yellow roses, with narrow alleys leading
+to it flanked by tall poplars, and a formal garden behind it in the
+niches of whose surrounding wall were statues of Psyche and Venus, their
+smooth marble shoulders stained by rain and the drip and ooze of
+growing things. One of them even now, still lifts its encrusted head to
+the weather.
+
+During the shooting season there were weeks when he and his guests shot
+daily from the crack of dawn until dark, the game-keepers following with
+their carts that by night were loaded with hares, partridges, woodcock
+and quail--then such a good dinner, sparkling with repartee and good
+wine, and laughter and dancing after it, until the young hours in the
+morning. One was more solid in those days than now--tired as their dogs
+after the day's hunt, they dined and danced themselves young again for
+the morrow.
+
+And what do you think they did after the Commune? They made him mayor.
+Yes, indeed, to honour him--Mayor of Hirondelette, the little village
+close to his estate, and de Savignac had to be formal and dignified for
+the first time in his life--this good Bohemian--at the village fêtes, at
+the important meetings of the Municipal Council, composed of a dealer in
+cattle, the blacksmith and the notary. Again, in time of marriage,
+accident or death, and annually at the school exercises, when he
+presented prizes to the children spic and span for the occasion, with
+voices awed to whispers, and new shoes. And he loved them all--all those
+dirty little brats that had been scrubbed clean, and their ruddy cheeks
+polished like red apples, to meet "Monsieur le Maire."
+
+He was nearing middle life now, but he was not conscious of it, being
+still a bachelor. There was not as yet, a streak of gray in his
+well-kept beard, and the good humour sparkled in his merry eyes as of
+old. The only change that had occurred concerned the million. It was no
+longer the brilliant solid million of his youth. It was sadly torn off
+in places--there were also several large holes in it--indeed, if the
+truth be told, it was little more than a remnant of its once splendid
+entirety. It had been eaten by moths--certain shrewd old wasps, too, had
+nested in it for years--not a sou of it had vanished in speculation or
+bad investment. Monsieur de Savignac (this part of it the curé told me)
+was as ignorant as a child concerning business affairs and stubbornly
+avoided them. He had placed his fortune intact in the Bank of France,
+and had drawn out what he needed for his friends. In the first year of
+his inheritance he glanced at the balance statement sent him by the
+bank, with a feeling of peaceful delight. As the years of his generosity
+rolled on, he avoided reading it at all--"like most optimists," remarked
+the curé, "he did not wish to know the truth." At forty-six he married
+the niece of an impoverished old wasp, a gentleman still in excellent
+health, owing to de Savignac's generosity. It was his good wife now, who
+read the balance statement.
+
+For a while after his marriage, gaiety again reigned at the château, but
+upon a more economical basis; then gradually they grew to entertain less
+and less; indeed there were few left of the moths and old wasps to give
+to--they had flown to cluster around another million.
+
+Most of this Pierre, who was leading me through the leafy lane that led
+to de Savignac's home, knew or could have known, for it was common talk
+in the country around, but his mind to-day was not on de Savignac's
+past, but on the dog which we both were so anxious to see.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Monsieur has never met Monsieur de Savignac?" ventured Pierre as we
+turned our steps out of the brilliant sunlight, and into a wooded path
+skirting the extensive forest of the estate.
+
+"Not yet, Pierre."
+
+"He is a fine old gentleman," declared Pierre, discreetly lowering his
+voice. "Poor man!"
+
+"Why _poor_, Pierre?" I laughed, "with an estate like this--nonsense!"
+
+"Ah! Monsieur does not know?"--Pierre's voice sunk to a whisper--"the
+château is mortgaged, monsieur. There is not a tree or a field left
+Monsieur de Savignac can call his own. Do you know, monsieur, he has no
+longer even the right to shoot over the ground? Monsieur sees that low
+roof beyond with the single chimney smoking--just to the left of the
+château towers?"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"That is where Monsieur de Savignac now lives. It is called the
+garçonnière."
+
+"But the château, Pierre?"
+
+"It is rented to a Peruvian gentleman, monsieur, who takes in boarders."
+
+"Pierre!" I exclaimed, "we go no farther. I knew nothing of this. I am
+not going to accept a dog from a gentleman in Monsieur de Savignac's
+unfortunate circumstances. It is not right. No, no. Go and present my
+deep regrets to Monsieur de Savignac and tell him--tell him what you
+please. Say that my rich uncle has just sent me a pair of pointers--that
+I sincerely appreciate his generous offer, that--"
+
+Pierre's small black eyes opened as wide as possible. He shrugged his
+shoulders twice and began twisting thoughtfully the waxed ends of his
+moustache to a finer point.
+
+"Pardon, monsieur," he resumed after an awkward pause, "but--but
+monsieur, by not going, will grieve Monsieur de Savignac--He will be so
+happy to give monsieur the dog--so happy, monsieur. If Monsieur de
+Savignac could not give something to somebody he would die. Ah, he
+gives everything away, that good Monsieur de Savignac!" exclaimed
+Pierre. "I was once groom in his stables--_oui_, monsieur, and he
+married us when he was Mayor of Hirondelette, and he paid our
+rent--_oui_, monsieur, and the doctor and...."
+
+"We'll proceed, Pierre," said I. "A man of de Savignac's kind in the
+world is so rare that one should do nothing to thwart him."
+
+We walked on for some distance along the edge of a swamp carpeted with
+strong ferns. Presently we came to a cool, narrow alley flanked and
+roofed by giant poplars. At the end of this alley a wicket gate barred
+the entrance to the courtyard of the garçonnière.
+
+As we drew nearer I saw that its ancient two-story façade was completely
+covered by the climbing mass of ivy and yellow roses, the only openings
+being the Louis XIV. windows, and the front door, flush with the
+gravelled court, bordered by a thick hedge of box.
+
+"Monsieur the American gentleman for the dog," announced Pierre to the
+boy servant in a blue apron who appeared to open the wicket gate.
+
+A moment later the door of the garçonnière opened, and a tall, heavily
+built man with silver white hair and beard came forth to greet me.
+
+I noticed that the exertion of greeting me made him short of breath, and
+that he held his free hand for a second pressed against his heart as he
+ushered me across his threshold and into a cool, old-fashioned sitting
+room, the walls covered with steel engravings, the furniture upholstered
+in green rep.
+
+"Have the goodness to be seated, monsieur," he insisted, waving me to an
+armchair, while he regained his own, back of an old-fashioned desk.
+
+"Ah! The--little--dog," he began, slowly regaining his breath. "You are
+all the time shooting, and I heard you wanted one. It is so difficult to
+get a really--good--dog--in this country. François!" he exclaimed, "You
+may bring in the little dog--and, François!" he added, as the boy
+servant turned to go--"bring glasses and a bottle of Musigny--you will
+find it on the shelf back of the Medoc." Then he turned to me: "There
+are still two bottles left," and he laughed heartily.
+
+"Bien, monsieur," answered the boy, and departed with a key big enough
+to have opened a jail.
+
+The moment had arrived for me to draw forth a louis, which I laid on his
+desk in accordance with an old Norman custom, still in vogue when you
+accept as a gift a dog from an estate.
+
+"Let your domestics have good cheer and wine to-night," said I.
+
+"Thank you," he returned with sudden formality. "I shall put it aside
+for them," and he dropped the gold piece into a small drawer of his
+desk.
+
+I did not know until Pierre, who was waiting outside in the court, told
+me afterwards, that his entire staff of servants was composed of the boy
+with the blue apron and the cook--an old woman--the last of his faithful
+servitors, who now appeared with a tray of trembling glasses, followed
+by the boy, the dusty cobwebbed bottle of rare Musigny and--my dog!
+
+Not a whole dog. But a flub-dub little spaniel puppy--very blond--with
+ridiculously long ears, a double-barrelled nose, a roly-poly stomach and
+four heavy unsteady legs that got in his way as he tried to navigate in
+a straight line to make my acquaintance.
+
+"_Voilà!_" cried de Savignac. "Here he is. He'll make an indefatigable
+hunter, like his mother--wait until he is two years old--He'll stand to
+his day's work beside the best in France----"
+
+"And what race is he? may I ask, Monsieur de Savignac."
+
+"Gorgon--Gorgon of Poitou," he returned with enthusiasm. "They are
+getting as rare now as this," he declared, nodding to the cobwebbed
+bottle, as he rose, drew the cork, and filled my glass.
+
+While we sipped and chatted, his talk grew merry with chuckles and
+laughter, for he spoke of the friends of his youth, who played for him
+and sang to him--the thing which he loved most of all, he told me.
+"Once," he confessed to me, "I slipped away and travelled to Hungary.
+Ah! how those good gipsies played for me there! I was drunk with their
+music for two weeks. It is stronger than wine, that music of the
+gipsies," he said knowingly.
+
+Again our talk drifted to hunting, of the good old times when hares and
+partridges were plentiful, and so he ran on, warmed by the rare Musigny,
+reminiscing upon the old days and his old friends who were serious
+sportsmen, he declared, and knew the habits of the game they were after,
+for they seldom returned with an empty game-bag.
+
+"And you are just as keen about shooting as ever?" I ventured.
+
+"I shoot no more," he exclaimed with a shrug. "One must be a philosopher
+when one is past sixty--when one has no longer the solid legs to tramp
+with, nor the youth and the digestion to _live_. Ah! Besides, the life
+has changed--Paris was gay enough in my day. I _lived_ then, but at
+sixty--I stopped--with my memories. No! no! beyond sixty it is quite
+impossible. One must be philosophic, eh?"
+
+Before I could reply, Madame de Savignac entered the room. I felt the
+charm of her personality, as I looked into her eyes, and as she welcomed
+me I forgot that her faded silk gown was once in fashion before I was
+born, or that madame was short and no longer graceful. As the talk went
+on, I began to study her more at my ease, when some one rapped at the
+outer door of the vestibule. She started nervously, then, rising,
+whispered to François, who had come to open it, then a moment later rose
+again and, going out into the hall, closed the door behind her.
+
+"Thursday then," I heard a man's gruff voice reply brusquely.
+
+I saw de Savignac straighten in his chair, and lean to one side as if
+trying to catch a word of the muffled conversation in the vestibule. The
+next instant he had recovered his genial manner to me, but I saw that
+again he laboured for some moments painfully for his breath.
+
+The door of the vestibule closed with a vicious snap. Then I heard the
+crunch of sabots on the gravelled court, and the next instant caught a
+glimpse of the stout, brutal figure of the peasant Le Gros, the big
+dealer in cattle, as he passed the narrow window of the vestibule.
+
+It was _he_, then, with his insolent, bestial face purple with good
+living, who had slammed the door. I half started indignantly from my
+chair--then I remembered it was no affair of mine.
+
+Presently madame returned--flushed, and, with a forced smile, in which
+there was more pain than pleasure, poured for me another glass of
+Musigny. I saw instantly that something unpleasant had passed--something
+unusually unpleasant--perhaps tragic, and I discreetly rose to take my
+leave.
+
+Without a word of explanation as to what had happened, Madame de
+Savignac kissed my dog good-bye on the top of his silky head, while de
+Savignac stroked him tenderly. He was perfectly willing to come with me,
+and cocked his head on one side.
+
+We were all in the courtyard now.
+
+"_Au revoir_," they waved to me.
+
+"_Au revoir_," I called back.
+
+"_Au revoir_," came back to me faintly, as Pierre and the doggie and I
+entered the green lane and started for home.
+
+"Monsieur sees that I was right, is it not true?" ventured Pierre, as we
+gained the open fields. "Monsieur de Savignac would have been grieved
+had not monsieur accepted the little dog."
+
+"Yes," I replied absently, feeling more like a marauder for having
+accepted all they had out of their hearts thrust upon me.
+
+Then I stopped--lifted the roly-poly little spaniel, and taking him in
+my arms whispered under his silky ear: "We shall go back often, you and
+I"--and I think he understood.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A few days later I dropped into Madame Vinet's snug little café in Pont
+du Sable. It was early in the morning and the small room of the café,
+with barely space enough for its four tables still smelt of fresh soap
+suds and hot water. At one of the tables sat the peasant in his black
+blouse, sipping his coffee and applejack.
+
+Le Gros lifted his sullen face as I entered, shifted his elbows, gripped
+the clean marble slab of his table with both his red hands, and with a
+shrewd glint from his small, cruel eyes, looked up and grunted.
+
+"Ah!--_bonjour_, monsieur."
+
+"_Bonjour_, Monsieur Le Gros," I replied. "We seem to be the only ones
+here. Where's the patronne?"
+
+"Upstairs, making her bed--another dry day," he muttered, half to
+himself, half to me.
+
+"She will stay dry for some days," I returned. "The wind is well set
+from the northeast."
+
+"_Sacristi!_ a dirty time," he growled. "My steers are as dry as an
+empty cask."
+
+"I'd like a little rain myself," said I, reaching for a chair--"I have a
+young dog to train--a spaniel Monsieur de Savignac has been good enough
+to give me. He is too young to learn to follow a scent on dry ground."
+
+Le Gros raised his bull-like head with a jerk.
+
+"De Savignac gave you a _dog_, did he? and he has a dog to give away,
+has he?"
+
+The words came out of his coarse throat with a snarl.
+
+I dropped the chair and faced him.
+
+(He is the only man in Pont du Sable that I positively dislike.)
+
+"Yes," I declared, "he gave me a dog. May I ask you what business it is
+of yours?"
+
+A flash of sullen rage illumined for a moment the face of the cattle
+dealer. Then he muttered something in his peasant accent and sat
+glowering into his empty coffee cup as I turned and left the room, my
+mind reverting to Madame de Savignac's door which his coarse hand had
+closed with a vicious snap.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We took the short cut across the fields often now--my yellow puppy and
+I. Indeed I grew to see these good friends of mine almost daily, and as
+frequently as I could persuade them, they came to my house abandoned by
+the marsh.
+
+The Peruvian gentleman's boarding house had been a failure, and I
+learned from the curé that the de Savignacs were hard pressed to pay
+their creditors.
+
+It was Le Gros who held the mortgage, I further gleaned.
+
+And yet those two dear people kept a brave heart. They were still giving
+what they had, and she kept him in ignorance as best she could,
+softening the helplessness of it all, with her gentleness and her
+courage.
+
+In his vague realization that the end was near, there were days when he
+forced himself into a gay mood and would come chuckling down the lane to
+open the gate for me, followed by Mirza, the tawny old mother of my
+puppy, who kept her faithful brown eyes on his every movement. Often it
+was she who sprang nimbly ahead and unlatched the gate for me with her
+paw and muzzle, an old trick he had taught her, and he would laugh when
+she did it, and tell me there were no dogs nowadays like her.
+
+Thus now and then he forced himself to forget the swarm of little
+miseries closing down upon him--forgot even his aches and pains, due
+largely to the dampness of the vine-smothered garçonnière whose
+old-fashioned interior smelt of cellar damp, for there was hardly a room
+in it whose wall paper had escaped the mould.
+
+It was not until March that the long-gathering storm broke--as quick as
+a crackling lizard of lightning strikes. Le Gros had foreclosed the
+mortgage.
+
+The Château of Hirondelette was up for sale.
+
+When de Savignac came out to open the gate for me late that evening his
+face was as white as the palings in the moonlight.
+
+"Come in," said he, forcing a faint laugh---he stopped for a moment as
+he closed and locked the gate--labouring painfully for his breath. Then
+he slipped his arm under my own. "Come along," he whispered, struggling
+for his voice. "I have found another bottle of Musigny."
+
+A funeral, like a wedding or an accident, is quickly over. The sale of
+de Savignac's château consumed three days of agony.
+
+As I passed the "garçonnière" by the lane beyond the courtyard on my way
+to the last day's sale, I looked over the hedge and saw that the
+shutters were closed--farther on, a doctor's gig was standing by the
+gate. From a bent old peasant woman in sabots and a white cap, who
+passed, I learned which of the two was ill. It was as I had feared--his
+wife. And so I continued on my way to the sale.
+
+As I passed through the gates of the château, the rasping voice of the
+lean-jawed auctioneer reached my ears as he harangued in the drizzling
+rain before the steps of the château the group of peasants gathered
+before him--widows in rusty crêpe veils, shrewd old Norman farmers in
+blue blouses looking for bargains, their carts wheeled up on the
+mud-smeared lawn. And a few second-hand dealers from afar, in black
+derbys, lifting a dirty finger to close a bid for mahogany.
+
+Close to this sordid crowd on the mud-smeared lawn sat Le Gros, his
+heavy body sunk in a carved and gilded arm-chair that had once graced
+the boudoir of Madame de Savignac. As I passed him, I saw that his face
+was purple with drink. He sat there the picture of insolent ignorance,
+this pig of a peasant.
+
+At times the auctioneer rallied the undecided with coarse jokes, and
+the crowd roared, for they are not burdened with delicacy, these Norman
+farmers.
+
+"_Allons! Allons!_ my good ladies!" croaked the auctioneer. "Forty sous
+for the lot. A bed quilt for a princess and a magnificent water filter
+de luxe that will keep your children well out of the doctor's hands.
+_Allons!_ forty sous, forty-one--two?"
+
+A merchant in hogs raised his red, puffy hand, then turned away with a
+leer as the shrill voice of a fisher woman cried, "Forty-five."
+
+"Sold!" yelped the auctioneer--"sold to madame the widow Dupuis of
+Hirondelette," who was now elbowing her broad way through the crowd to
+her bargain which she struggled out with, red and perspiring, to the
+mud-smeared lawn, where her eldest daughter shrewdly examined the
+bedquilt for holes.
+
+I turned away when it was all over and followed the crowd out through
+the gates. Le Gros was climbing into his cart. He was drunk and swearing
+over the poor result of the sale. De Savignac was still in his debt--and
+I continued on my way home, feeling as if I had attended an execution.
+
+Half an hour later the sharp bark of my yellow puppy greeted me from
+beyond my wall. As I entered my courtyard, he came to me wriggling with
+joy. Suddenly I stopped, for my ear caught the sound of a tail gently
+patting the straw in the cavernous old stable beyond my spaniel's
+kennel. I looked in and saw a pair of eyes gleaming like opals in the
+gloom. Then the tawny body of Mirza, the mother, rose from the straw and
+came slowly and apologetically toward me with her head lowered.
+
+"Suzette!" I called, "how did she get here?"
+
+"The boy of Monsieur de Savignac brought her an hour ago, monsieur,"
+answered the little maid. "There is a note for monsieur. I have left it
+on the table."
+
+I went in, lighted the fire, and read the following:
+
+
+      "THE GARÇONNIÈRE, _Saturday_.
+
+      "Take her, my friend. I can no longer keep her with me. You
+      have the son, it is only right you should have the mother.
+      We leave for Paris to-morrow. We shall meet there soon, I
+      trust. If you come here, do not bring her with you. I said
+      good-bye to her this morning.
+
+              "Jacques de Savignac."
+
+
+It was all clear to me now--pitifully clear--the garçonnière had gone
+with the rest.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On one of my flying trips to Paris I looked them up in their refuge, in
+a slit of a street. Here they had managed to live by the strictest
+economy, in a plain little nest under the roof, composed of two rooms
+and a closet for a kitchen.
+
+One night, early in June, after some persuasion, I forced him to go with
+me to one of those sparkling _risquée_ little comedies at the Palais
+Royal which he loved, and so on to supper at the Café de la Paix, where
+that great gipsy, Boldi, warms the heart with his fiddle.
+
+The opera was just out, when we reached our table, close to the band.
+Beauty and the Beast were arriving, and wraps of sheen and lace were
+being slipped from fair shoulders into the fat waiting hands of the
+garçons, while the busy maître d'hôtel beamed with his nightly smile and
+jotted down the orders.
+
+The snug supper room glittered with light, clean linen and shining
+glass. Now that the theatres were out, it had become awake with the
+chatter with which these little midnight suppers begin--suppers that so
+often end in confidences, jealousy and even tears, that need only the
+merriest tone of a gipsy's fiddle to turn to laughter.
+
+Boldi is an expert at this. He watches those to whom he plays, singling
+out the one who needs his fiddle most, and to-night he was watching de
+Savignac.
+
+We had finished our steaming dish of lobster, smothered in a spiced
+sauce that makes a cold dry wine only half quench one's thirst, and were
+proceeding with a crisp salad when Boldi, with a rushing crescendo
+slipped into a delicious waltz. De Savignac now sat with his chin sunk
+heavily in his hands, drinking in the melody with its spirited
+accompaniment as the cymballist's flexible hammers flew over the
+resonant strings, the violins following the master in the red coat, with
+that keen alertness with which all real gipsies play. I realized now,
+what the playing of a gipsy meant to him. By the end of the waltz De
+Savignac's eyes were shining.
+
+Boldi turned to our table and bowed.
+
+"Play," said I, to him in my poor Hungarian (that de Savignac might not
+understand, for I wished to surprise him) "a real czardas of your
+people--ah! I have it!" I exclaimed. "Play the legend and the mad dance
+that follows--the one that Racz Laczi loved--the legend of the young man
+who went up the mountain and met the girl who jilted him."
+
+Boldi nodded his head and grinned with savage enthusiasm. He drew his
+bow across the sobbing strings and the legend began. Under the spell of
+his violin, the chatter of the supper room ceased--the air now heavy
+with the mingled scent of perfume and cigars, seemed to pulsate under
+the throb of the wild melody--as he played on, no one spoke--the men
+even forgetting to smoke; the women listening, breathing with parted
+lips. I turned to look at de Savignac--he was drunk and there was a
+strange glitter in his eyes, his cheeks flushed to a dull crimson, but
+not from wine.
+
+Boldi's violin talked--now and then it wept under the vibrant grip of
+the master, who dominated it until it dominated those to whom it played.
+
+The young man in the legend was rushing up the mountain path in earnest
+now, for he had seen ahead of him the girl he loved--now the melody
+swept on through the wooing and the breaking of her promise, and now
+came the rush of the young man down to the nearest village to drown his
+chagrin and forget her in the mad dance, the "Czardas," which followed.
+
+As the czardas quickened until its pace reached the speed of a
+whirlwind, de Savignac suddenly staggered to his feet--his breath coming
+in short gasps.
+
+"Sit down!" I pleaded, not liking the sudden purplish hue of his
+cheeks.
+
+"Let--me--alone," he stammered, half angrily. "It--is so good--to--be
+alive again."
+
+"You shall not," I whispered, my eye catching sight of a gold louis
+between his fingers. "You don't know what you are doing--it is not
+right--this is my dinner, old friend--_all of it_, do you understand?"
+
+"Let--me--alone," he breathed hoarsely, as I tried to get hold of the
+coin--"it is my last--my last--my last!"--and he tossed the gold piece
+to the band. It fell squarely on the cymballum and rolled under the
+strings.
+
+"Bravo!" cried a little woman opposite, clapping her warm, jewelled
+hands. Then she screamed, for she saw Monsieur de Savignac sway heavily,
+and sink back in his seat, his chin on his chest, his eyes closed.
+
+I ripped open his collar and shirt to give him breath. Twice his chest
+gave a great bound, and he murmured something I did not catch--then he
+sank back in my arms--dead.
+
+During the horror and grim reality of it all--the screaming women, the
+physician working desperately, although he knew all hope was gone--while
+the calm police questioned me as to his identity and domicile, I shook
+from head to foot--and yet the worst was still to come--I had to tell
+Madame de Savignac.
+
+      [Illustration: spilled bottle of wine]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: The man with the gun]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER NINE
+
+THE MAN WITH THE GUN
+
+
+It is at last decided! The kind and sympathetic Minister of Agriculture
+has signed the official document opening the shooting-season for hares
+and partridges in _La belle France_, to-morrow, Sunday, the thirtieth of
+September. Thrice happy hunters!--they who had begun to grumble in their
+cafés over the rumour that the opening of the shooting-season might be
+postponed until the second or even third Sunday in October.
+
+My good friend the mayor of Pont du Sable has just handed me my
+hunting-permit for the coming year bearing the stamp of the _République
+Française_, the seal of the prefecture, the signature of the préfet, and
+including everything, from the colour of my hair and complexion to my
+height, age, birth and domicile. On the back of this important piece of
+paper I read as follows:
+
+That the permit must be produced at the demand of all agents authorized
+by law. That it is prohibited to shoot without it, or upon lands without
+the consent of the proprietor having the right--or outside of the season
+fixed by the laws of the préfets.
+
+Furthermore:
+
+The father--the mother--the tutor--the masters, and guardians are
+civilly responsible for the misdemeanours committed while shooting by
+their infants--wards--pupils, or domestics living with them.
+
+And finally:
+
+That the hunter who has lost his permit cannot resume again the exercise
+of the hunt until he has obtained and paid for a new one, twenty-eight
+francs and sixty centimes.
+
+To-morrow, then, the jolly season opens.
+
+"_Vive la République!_"
+
+It is a season, too, of crisp twilights after brilliant days, so short
+that my lost village is plunged in darkness as early as seven, and goes
+to bed to save the candle--the hour when the grocer's light gleaming
+ahead of me across the slovenly little public square becomes the only
+beacon in the village; and, guided by it, I pick my way in the dark
+along the narrow thoroughfare, stumbling over the laziest of the village
+dogs sprawled here and there in the road outside the doorways of the
+fishermen.
+
+Across one of these thresholds I catch a glimpse to-night of a tired
+fisher girl stretched on her bed after her long day at sea. Beside the
+bed a very old woman in a white cotton cap bends over her bowl of soup
+by the wavering light of a tallow dip.
+
+"_Bonsoir_, monsieur!" croaks a hoarse voice from the dark. It is
+Marianne. She has fished late.
+
+At seven-thirty the toy train rumbles into Pont du Sable, stops for a
+barefooted passenger, and rumbles out again through the
+village--crawling lest it send one of the laziest dogs yelping to its
+home. The headlight on the squat locomotive floods the way ahead,
+suddenly illumining the figure of a blinking old man laden with nets
+and three barelegged children who scream, "_Bonsoir_, monsieur," to the
+engineer.
+
+What glorious old days are these! The wealth of hedged fields---the lush
+green grass, white with hoar frost at daybreak--the groups of mild-eyed
+cows and taciturn young bulls; in all this brilliant clearness of sea
+air, sunshine and Norman country spreading its richness down to the very
+edge of the sea, there comes to the man with the gun a sane
+exhilaration--he is alive.
+
+On calm nights the air is pungent and warm with the perfume of tons of
+apples lying heaped in the orchards, ready for the cider-making, nights,
+when the owls hoot dismally under a silver moon.
+
+When the wind veers to the north it grows cold. On such nights as these
+"the Essence of Selfishness" seeks my fireside.
+
+She is better fed than many other children in the lost village beyond my
+wall. And spoiled!--_mon Dieu!_ She is getting to be hopeless.
+
+Ah, you queen of studied cruelty and indifference! You, with your nose
+of coral pink, your velvet ears that twitch in your dreams, and your
+blue-white breast! You, who since yesterday morning have gnawed to death
+two helpless little birds in my hedge which you still think I have not
+discovered! And yet I still continue to feed you by hand piecemeal since
+you disdain to dine from my best china, and Suzette takes care of you
+like a nurse.
+
+_Eh bien!_ Some day, do you hear, I shall sell you to the rabbit-skin
+man, who has a hook for a hand, and the rest of you will find its way to
+some cheap table d'hôte, where you will pass as ragout of rabbit Henri
+IV. under a thick sauce. What would you do, I should like to know, if
+you were the vagabond cat who lives back in the orchard, and whose four
+children sleep in the hollow trunk of the tree and are content with what
+their mother brings them, whether it be plain mole or the best of
+grasshopper. Eh, mademoiselle? Open those topaz eyes of yours--Suzette
+is coming to put you to bed.
+
+The trim little maid entered, crossed noiselessly in the firelight to my
+chair, and, laying a sealed note from my friend the Baron beneath the
+lamp, picked up the sleepy cat and carried her off to her room.
+
+The note was a delightful surprise.
+
+"_Cher monsieur_: Will you make me the pleasure and the honour to come
+and do the _ouverture_ of the hunt at my château to-morrow, Sunday--my
+auto will call for you about six of the morning. We will be about ten
+guns, and I count on the amiability of my partridges and my hares to
+make you pass a beautiful and good day. Will you accept, dear sir, the
+assurance of my sentiments the most distinguished?"
+
+It was nice of the Baron to think of me, for I had made his acquaintance
+but recently at one of Tanrade's dinners, during which, I recall, the
+Baron declared to me as he lifted his left eyebrow over his cognac, that
+the hunt--_la chasse_--"was always amusing, and a great blessing to men,
+since it created the appetite of the wolf and was an excuse to get rid
+of the ladies." He told me, too, as he adjusted his monocle safely in
+the corner of his aristocratic aquiline nose, that his favourite saint
+was St. Hubert. He would have liked to have known him--he must have
+been a _bon garçon_, this patron saint of hunting.
+
+"Ah! _Les femmes!_" he sighed, as he straightened his erect torso, that
+had withstood so many Parisian years, against the back of his chair.
+"Ah! _Les femmes!_ But in zee fields zey cannot follow us? _Hein?_" He
+laughed, lapsing into his broken English. "Zey cannot follow us through
+zee hedges, ovaire zee rough grounds, in zee rains, in zee muds. Nevaire
+take a woman hunting," he counselled me sotto voce beneath his vibrant
+hand, for Alice de Bréville was present. "One can _nevaire_ make love
+and kill zee agile little game at zee same time. _Par exemple!_ You
+whispaire somezing in madame's leetle ear and brrrh! a partridge--_que
+voulez-vous, mon cher?_" he concluded, with a shrug. "It is quite
+impossible--_quite_ impossible."
+
+I told him leisurely, as we sipped our liqueur, of the hunting in my own
+country, of the lonely tramps in the wilderness following a line of
+traps in the deep snow, the blind trails, the pork sandwich melted
+against the doughnuts at noon, leaking lean-tos, smoky fires, and bad
+coffee.
+
+"_Parbleu!_" he roared. "You have not zee rendezvous? You have not zee
+hunting breakfast? I should be quite ill--you hunt like zee Arabs--like
+zee gipsies--ah, yes, I forget--zee warm sandwich and zee native nuts."
+
+He tapped the table gently with his rings, smiling the while
+reminiscently into his glass, then, turning again to me, added
+seriously:
+
+"It is not all zee play--zee hunt. I have had zee legs broken by zee
+fatigue. Zee good breakfast is what you say 'indispensable' to break zee
+day. Zee good stories, zee camaraderie, zee good kind wine--_enfin
+tout!_ But"--and again he leaned nearer--"but _not zee_
+ladies--_nevaire_--only zee memories."
+
+I repeat, it was nice of the Baron to think of me. I could easily
+picture to myself as I reread his note his superb estate, that
+stronghold of his ancestors; the hearty welcome at its gates; the
+gamekeepers in their green fustians; the pairs of perfectly trained
+dogs; the abundance of partridges and hares; and the breakfast in the
+old château, a feast that would be replete with wit and old Burgundy.
+How splendid are these Norman autumns! What exhilarating old days
+during this season of dropping apples, blue skies, and falling leaves!
+Days when the fat little French partridges nestle in companies in the
+fields, shorn to stubble after the harvest, and sleek hares at sunrise
+lift their long ears cautiously above the dew-bejeweled cobwebs along
+the ditches to make sure that the green feeding-patch beyond is safe
+from the man and the gun.
+
+Fat, garrulous Monsieur Toupin of the village becomes under the spell of
+Madame Vinet's best cognac so uproarious when he has killed one of these
+sleek, strong-limbed hares, that madame is obliged to draw the
+turkey-red curtain over the window of her small café that Monsieur
+Toupin may not be seen by his neighbours.
+
+"Suzette," I called, "my candle! I must get a good night's sleep, for
+to-morrow I shoot with the Baron."
+
+"_Tiens!_" exclaimed the little maid. "At the grand château?" And her
+frank eyes opened wide. "Ah, _mais_--but monsieur will not have to work
+hard for a partridge there."
+
+"And so you know the château, my little one?"
+
+"Ah, _mais oui_, monsieur! Is it not at La Sapinière near Les Roses? My
+grandfather was gardener there when I was little. I passed the château
+once with my mother and heard the guns back of the great wall. Monsieur
+will be content--ah, _mais oui_!"
+
+"My coffee at five-thirty promptly, _ma petite_!"
+
+"_Bien_, monsieur." And Suzette passed me my lighted candle, the flame
+of which rose brilliantly from its wick.
+
+"That means good luck, monsieur," said she, pointing to the
+candle-flame, as my foot touched the winding stairs.
+
+"Nonsense!" I laughed, for I am always amused at her peasant belief in
+superstitions. Once, I remember, I was obliged to send for the
+doctor--Suzette had broken a mirror.
+
+"Ah, _mais si_," declared Suzette, with conviction, as she unlatched her
+kitchen door. "When the wick burns like that--ah, _ça!_" And with a
+cheery _bonsoir_ she closed the door behind her.
+
+I had just swallowed my coffee when the siren of the Baron's automobile
+emitted a high, devilish wail, and subsided into a low moan outside my
+wall. The next instant the gate of the court flew open, and I rushed
+out, to greet, to my surprise, Tanrade in his shooting-togs, and--could
+it be true? Monsieur le Curé.
+
+"You, too?" I exclaimed in delight.
+
+"Yes," he smiled and added, with a wink: "I could not refuse so gamy an
+invitation."
+
+"And I would not let him," added Tanrade. "Quick! Where are your traps?
+We have a good forty kilometres ahead of us; we must not keep the Baron
+waiting." And the composer of ballets rushed into the house and
+shouldered my valise containing a dry change.
+
+"You shall have enough partridges to fill your larder for a month," I
+heard him tell Suzette, and he did not forget to pat her rosy cheek in
+passing. Suzette laughed and struggled by him, her firm young arms
+hugging my gun and shell-case.
+
+Before I could stop him, the curé, in his black soutane, had clambered
+nimbly to the roof of the big car and was lashing my traps next to
+Tanrade's and his own. At this instant I started to take a long breath
+of pure morning air--and hesitated, then I caught the alert eye of the
+chauffeur, who was grinning.
+
+"What are you burning? Fish oil?" said I.
+
+"_Mon Dieu_, monsieur----" began the chauffeur.
+
+"Cheese," called down the curé, pointing to a round paper parcel on the
+roof of the limousine. "Tanrade got it at daylight; woke up the whole
+village getting it."
+
+"Had to," explained Tanrade, as Suzette helped him into his great coat.
+"The Baron is out of cheese; he added a postscript to my invitation
+praying that I would be amiable enough to bring one. _Eh voilà!_ There
+it is, and real cheese at that. Come, get in, quick!" And he opened the
+door of the limousine, the interior of which was lined in gray suède and
+appointed with the daintiest of feminine luxuries.
+
+"Look out for that row of gold bottles back of you, you brute of a
+farmer!" Tanrade counseled me, as the curé found his seat. "If you
+scratch those monograms the Baroness will never forgive you."
+
+Then, with a wave to Suzette, we swept away from my house by the marsh,
+were hurled through Pont du Sable, and shot out of its narrowest end
+into the fresh green country beyond.
+
+It was so thoroughly chic and Parisian, this limousine. Only a few days
+ago it had been shopping along the Rue de la Paix, and later rushing to
+the cool Bois de Boulogne carrying a gracious woman to dinner; now it
+held two vagabonds and a curé. We tore on while we talked
+enthusiastically of the day's shooting in store for us. The curé was in
+his best humour. How he does love to shoot and what a rattling good shot
+he is! Neither Tanrade nor myself, and we have shot with him day in and
+day out on the marsh and during rough nights in his gabion, has ever
+beaten him.
+
+On we flew, past the hamlet of Fourche-la-Ville, past Javonne, past Les
+Roses. _Sacristi!_ I thought, what if the gasoline gave out or the spark
+refused to sparkle, what if they had----Why worry? That cheese was
+strong enough to have gotten us anywhere.
+
+Suddenly we slowed down, hastily consulted a blue iron sign at the
+crossroad, and swung briskly to the right.
+
+A noble forest and the roofs and _tourelles_ of the château now loomed
+ahead of us. We turned into a clean, straight road, flanked by superb
+oaks leading to an ancient stone gateway. A final wail from the siren,
+the gates swung open, and we came to a dead stop in front of the Baron,
+four setter dogs, and a group of gentlemen immaculately attired for the
+hunt. From their tan-leather leggings to their yellow dogskin gloves and
+gleaming guns, they were faultless.
+
+While the Baron greeted us, his guests stood waiting to be presented;
+their formal bow would have done credit to a foreign embassy during an
+imperial audience. The next moment we were talking as naturally together
+and with as much camaraderie as if we had known each other for years.
+
+"Make yourselves at home, my children!" cried the Baron. "_Vous êtes
+chez vous_; the ladies have gone to Paris."
+
+It was not such a very grand place, this estate of the Baron, after all.
+It had an air about it of having seen better days, but the host was a
+good fellow, and his welcome genuine, and we were all happy to be there.
+No keepers in green fustians, no array of thoroughbred dogs, but instead
+four plain setters with a touch of shepherd in them. The château itself
+was plain and comfortable within and scarred by age without. Some of the
+little towers had lost their tops, and the extensive wall enclosing the
+snug forest bulged dangerously in places.
+
+"You will see," explained the Baron to me in his fluent French, as our
+little party sauntered out into the open fields to shoot, "I do not get
+along very well with my farmer. I must tell you this in case he gives us
+trouble to-day. He has the right, owing to a stupid lease my aged aunt
+was unwise enough to sign with him some years ago, to exclude us from
+hunting over many fields contiguous to my own; above all, we cannot put
+foot in his harvest."
+
+"I see," I returned, with a touch of disappointment, for I knew the
+birds were where the harvest was still uncut.
+
+"There are acres of grain going to seed beyond us which he would rather
+lose than have me hunt over," the Baron confessed. "Bah! We shall see
+what the _canaille_ will do, for only this morning he sent me word
+threatening to break up the hunt. Nothing would please him better than
+have us all served with a _procès-verbal_ for trespassing."
+
+I confess I was not anxious to be hauled before the court of the
+country-seat time after time during a trial conducted at a snail's pace
+and be relieved of several hundred francs, for this is what a
+_procès-verbal_ meant. It was easily seen that the Baron was in a no
+more tranquil state of mind himself.
+
+"You are all my guests!" he exclaimed, with sudden heat. "That _sacré_
+individual will deal with _me_. It is _I_ who am alone responsible," he
+generously added. "Ah! We shall see. If you meet him, don't let him
+bulldoze you. Don't show him your hunting permit if he demands it, for
+what he will want is your name. I have explained all this to the rest."
+
+"_Eh bien!_ my dear friends," he called back to the others as we reached
+a cross-road, "we shall begin shooting here. Half of you to the
+right--half to the left!"
+
+"What is the name of your farmer?" I inquired, as we spread out into two
+slowly moving companies.
+
+"Le Bour," returned the Baron grimly as the breech of his gun snapped
+shut.
+
+The vast cultivated plain undulating below us looked like the
+patchwork-quilt of a giantess, stitched together with well-knit hedges.
+There were rectangles of apple-green clover, canary-yellow squares of
+mustard, green pastures of ochre stubble, rich green strips of beets,
+and rolling areas of brown-ribbed furrows freshly plowed.
+
+Time after time we were obliged to pass around companies of partridges
+that had taken refuge under the idiotic lease of the aged aunt. It was
+exasperating, for, from the beginning of the shoot, every bird seemed to
+know where it was safe from the gleaming guns held so skilfully by the
+_messieurs_ in the yellow dogskin gloves. By eleven o'clock there were
+barely a score of birds in the game-bags when there should have been a
+hundred.
+
+At the second cross road, the right and left party convened. It was what
+Le Bour had been waiting for.
+
+A sour old man in a blue blouse now rose up out of a hedge in which he
+had hidden himself, and came glowering toward us. As he drew nearer I
+saw that his gun swung loosely in his hand and was at full cock, its
+muzzle wavering unpleasantly over us as he strode on. His mean old eyes
+glittered with rage, his jaw trembled under a string of oaths. His
+manner was that of a sullen bull about to charge.
+
+There was no mistaking his identity--it was Le Bour.
+
+"_Procès-verbal_ for all of you," he bellowed; "you, Monsieur le Baron,
+and you, Monsieur le Vicomte," he snapped, as the Baron advanced to
+defend his guests. "I saw you cross my buckwheat," he declared pointing
+an ugly finger at the Vicomte.
+
+"You lie!" shouted the Baron, before the Vicomte could find his words.
+"I forbid you to open your head to my guests. Not one of these gentlemen
+has set foot in your harvest. What right have _you_ to carry a gun?
+Where is your hunting permit?" thundered the Baron. "Where's your
+commission as guard, that you should have the insolence to threaten us
+with a _procès-verbal_."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed the Baron, as the permit was not forthcoming, "I thought
+as much. I appoint you witness, Monsieur le Curé, the fellow has no
+permit." And we swelled the merriment with a forced sputter of ridicule.
+
+"Come, my friends, we shall leave this imbecile to himself," laughed the
+Baron.
+
+Le Bour sprang past him and confronted us.
+
+"_Eh ben_, my fine gentlemen," he snarled, "you'll not get away so
+easily. I demand, in the name of the law, your hunting permits. Come,
+_allons_! All of you!"
+
+At the same instant he tore open his blouse and displayed, to our
+dismay, an oval brass plaque bearing his name and the number 1247.
+
+"There!" cried the old man, white and trembling with rage. "There's my
+full commission as guard."
+
+My companion with the gloves next to me fidgeted nervously and coughed.
+I saw the Vicomte turn a little pale. Tanrade shrugged his shoulders.
+Monsieur le Curé's face wore an expression of dignified gravity. Not
+once, however, had Le Bour's eyes met his own. It was evident that he
+reverently excluded the curé from the affair.
+
+The Vicomte looked uncomfortable enough. The truth was, he was not known
+to be at the hunt. The Vicomtesse was shrewd when it came to the
+question of his whereabouts. A _procès-verbal_ meant publicity;
+naturally the Vicomtesse would know. It might even reach the adorable
+ears of Mademoiselle Rosalie, of the _corps de ballet_, who imagined the
+Vicomte safe with his family. The Baron was fuming, but he did not
+speak.
+
+"Your permits!" reiterated Le Bour, flourishing his license.
+
+There was an awkward silence; not a few in the party had left their
+permits at home.
+
+"_Pouf!_" exclaimed the Baron. "Enough of this! _En route_, my friends!"
+
+"_Eh, bien!_" growled the farmer. "You refuse to produce your permits on
+demand of a guard. It shall be stated," he threatened, "in the
+_procès-verbal_." Then Le Bour turned on his muddy heel and launched a
+parting volley at the Baron denouncing his château and everything
+connected with him.
+
+"Do not forget the time you stole the ducks of my uncle," cried the
+Baron, shaking a clenched fist at the old man, "or the morning--" But
+his words were lost on Le Bour, who had disappeared in the hedge.
+
+By eleven-thirty we had killed some two dozen birds and three hares; and
+as we were now stricken with "the appetite of the wolf," we turned back
+to the château for breakfast.
+
+Here a sponge and a rub-down sent us in gay spirits down to the
+billiard-room, where a bottle of port was in waiting--a rare bottle for
+particular occasions. It was "the last of a dozen," explained the Baron
+as we touched glasses, sent to the château by Napoleon in payment for a
+night's lodging during one of his campaigns. "The very time, in fact,"
+he added, "when the little towers lost their tops."
+
+Under the spell of the Emperor's port the Vicomte regained his nerves,
+and even the unpleasant incident of the morning was half forgotten while
+the piano in the historic salon rang merrily under Tanrade's touch until
+we filed in to luncheon.
+
+It was as every French shooting-luncheon is intended to be--a pleasant
+little fête full of good cheer and understanding; the good soup, the
+decanters of Burgundy, the clean red-and-white checkered napkins and
+cloth, the heavy family silver, the noiseless old servants--and what an
+appetite we had! What a _soufflé_ of potatoes, and such chicken
+smothered in cream! And always the "good kind wine," until the famous
+cheese that Tanrade had waked up Pont du Sable in procuring was passed
+quickly and went out to the pantry, never to return. Ah, yes! And the
+warm champagne without which no French breakfast is complete.
+
+Over the coffee and liqueurs, the talk ran naturally to gallantry.
+
+"Ah, _les femmes_! The memories," as the Baron had said.
+
+"You should have seen Babette Deslys five years ago," remarked one of
+our jolly company when the Baron had left the room in search of some
+milder cigars.
+
+I saw the Vicomte raise his eyebrows in subtle warning to the speaker,
+who, like myself, knew the Baron but slightly. If he was treading upon
+delicate ground he was unconscious of it, this _bon vivant_ of a
+Parisian; for he continued rapidly in his enthusiasm, despite a second
+hopeless attempt of the Vicomte to check him.
+
+"You should have seen Babette in the burlesque as Phryne at the
+Variétés--_une merveille, mon cher!_" he exclaimed, addressing the
+sous-lieutenant on his right, and he blew a kiss to the ceiling. "The
+complexion of a rosebud and amusing! Ah--la! la!"
+
+"I hear her debts ran close to a million," returned the lieutenant.
+
+"She was feather-brained," continued the _bon vivant_, with a blasé
+shrug. "She was a good little quail with more heart than head! Poor
+Babette!"
+
+"Take care!" cautioned the Vicomte pointblank, as the Baron re-entered
+with the box of milder Havanas.
+
+And thus the talk ran on among these men of the world who knew Paris as
+well as their pockets; and so many Babettes and Francines and other
+careless little celebrities whose beauty and extravagance had turned
+peace and tranquillity into ruin and chaos.
+
+At last the jolly breakfast came to an end. We rose, recovered our guns
+from the billiard-table, and with fresh courage went forth again into
+the fields to shoot until sunset. During the afternoon we again saw Le
+Bour, but he kept at a safe distance watching our movements with
+muttered oaths and a vengeful eye, while we added some twenty-odd
+partridges to the morning's score.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Toward the end of the afternoon, a week later, at Pont du Sable, Tanrade
+and the curé sat smoking under my sketching-umbrella on the marsh. The
+curé is far from a bad painter. His unfinished sketch of the distant
+strip of sea and dunes lay at my feet as I worked on my own canvas while
+the sunset lasted.
+
+Tanrade was busy between puffs of his pipe in transposing various
+passages in his latest score. Now and then he would hesitate, finger the
+carefully thought out bar on his knee, and again his stub of a pencil
+would fly on through a maze of hieroglyphics that were to the curé and
+myself wholly unintelligible.
+
+Suddenly the curé looked up, his keen gaze rivetted upon two dots of
+figures on bicycles speeding rapidly toward us along the path skirting
+the marsh.
+
+"Hello!" exclaimed the curé, and he gave a low whistle. "The gendarmes!"
+
+There was no mistaking their identity; their gold stripes and white duck
+trousers appeared distinctly against the tawny marsh.
+
+The next moment they dismounted, left their wheels on the path, and came
+slowly across the desert of wire-grass toward us.
+
+"_Diable!_" muttered Tanrade, under his breath, and instantly our minds
+reverted to Le Bour.
+
+The two officials of the law were before us.
+
+"We regret to disturb you, messieurs," began the taller of the two
+pleasantly as he extracted a note-book from a leather case next to his
+revolver. "But"--and he shrugged his military shoulders--"it is for the
+little affair at Hirondelette."
+
+"Which one of us is elected?" asked Tanrade grimly.
+
+"Ah! _Bon Dieu!_" returned the tall one; half apologetically. "A
+_procès-verbal_ unfortunately for you, Monsieur Tanrade. Read the
+charge," he said to the short one, who had now unfolded a paper, cleared
+his throat, and began to read in a monotonous tone.
+
+"Monsieur Gaston Emile Le Bour, agriculturist at Hirondelette, charges
+Monsieur Charles Louis Ernest Tanrade, born in Paris, soldier of the
+Thirteenth Infantry, musician, composer, with flagrant trespass in his
+buckwheat on hectare number seven, armed with the gun of percussion on
+the thirtieth of September at ten-forty-five in the morning."
+
+"I was _not_ in his _sacré_ buckwheat!" declared Tanrade, and he
+described the entire incident of the morning.
+
+"Take monsieur's denial in detail," commanded the tall one.
+
+His companion produced a small bottle of ink and began to write slowly
+with a scratchy pen, while we stood in silence.
+
+"Kindly add your signature, monsieur," said the tall one, when the
+bottle was again recorked.
+
+Tanrade signed.
+
+The gendarmes gravely saluted and were about to withdraw when Tanrade
+asked if he was "the only unfortunate on the list."
+
+"Ah, _non_!" confessed the tall one. "There is a similar charge against
+Monsieur le Vicomte--we have just called upon him. Also against Monsieur
+le Baron."
+
+"And what did they say?"
+
+"_Eh bien_, monsieur, a general denial, just as monsieur has made."
+
+"The affair is ridiculous," exclaimed Tanrade hotly.
+
+"That must be seen," returned the tall one firmly.
+
+Again we all saluted and they left us, recovered their bicycles, and
+went spinning off back to Pont du Sable.
+
+"_Nom d'un chien!_" muttered Tanrade, while the curé and I stared
+thoughtfully at a clump of grass.
+
+"Why didn't he get me?" I ventured, after a moment.
+
+"Foreigner," explained Tanrade. "You're in luck, old boy--no record of
+identity, and how the devil do you suppose Le Bour could pronounce your
+name?"
+
+Half an hour later I found the Vicomte, who lived close to our village.
+He was pacing up and down his salon in a rage.
+
+"I was _not_ in the buckwheat!" he declared frantically. "Do you suppose
+I have nothing better to do, my friend, than see this wretched business
+out at the county-seat? The Vicomtesse is furious. We were to leave, for
+a little voyage in Italy, next week. Ah, that young son of the Baron! He
+is the devil! _He_ is responsible for this--naturally." And he fell
+again to pacing the room.
+
+I looked blankly at the Vicomte.
+
+"Son? What young son?" I asked.
+
+The Vicomte stopped, with a gesture of surprise.
+
+"Ah! _Sapristi!_ You do not know?" he exclaimed. "You do not know that
+Babette Deslys is Le Bour's daughter? That the Baron's son ran away with
+her and a hundred thousand francs? That the hundred thousand francs
+belonged to Le Bour? _Sapristi!_ You did not know _that_?"
+
+      [Illustration: sign: CHASSE GARDEÉ]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: the yellow car]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TEN
+
+THE BELLS OF PONT DU SABLE
+
+
+The big yellow car came ripping down the road--a clean hard ribbon of a
+road skirting the tawny marsh that lay this sparkling August morning
+under a glaze of turquoise blue water at high tide.
+
+With a devilish wail from its siren, the yellow car whizzed past my
+house abandoned by the marsh. I was just in time, as I raised my head
+above the rambling wall of my courtyard, to catch sight of my good
+friend the curé on the back seat, holding on tight to his saucer-like
+hat. In the same rapid glance I saw the fluttering ends of a
+bottle-green veil, in front of the curé's nose and knew Germaine was
+driving.
+
+"Lucky curé!" I said to myself, as I returned to my half-finished
+sketch, "carried off again to luncheon by one of the dearest of little
+women."
+
+No wonder during his lonely winters, when every villa or château of
+every friend of his for miles around is closed, and my vagabond village
+of Pont du Sable rarely sees a Parisian, the curé longs for midsummer.
+It is his gayest season, since hardly a day passes but some friend
+kidnaps him from his presbytery that lies snug and silent back of the
+crumbling wall which hides both his house and his wild garden from the
+gaze of the passer-by.
+
+He is the kind of curé whom it is a joy to invite--this straight, strong
+curé, who is French to the backbone; with his devil-may-care geniality,
+his irresistible smile of a comedian, his quick wit of an Irishman, and
+his heart of gold.
+
+To-day Germaine had captured him and was speeding him away to a jolly
+luncheon of friends at her villa, some twenty kilometres below Pont du
+Sable--Germaine with her trim, lithe figure and merry brown eyes, eyes
+that can become in a flash as calm and serious as the curé's, and in
+turn with her moods (for Germaine is a pretty collection of moods) gleam
+with the impulsive devilry of a _gamine_; Germaine, who teases an old
+vagabond painter like myself, by daubing a purple moon in the middle of
+my morning sketch, adds a dab on my nose when I protest, and the next
+instant embraces me, and begs my forgiveness.
+
+I cannot conceive of anyone not forgiving Germaine, beneath whose firm
+and delicate beauty lies her warm heart, as golden in quality as the
+curé's.
+
+Ah! It is gay enough in midsummer with Germaine and such other good
+Bohemians as Alice de Bréville, Tanrade, and his reverence to cheer my
+house abandoned by the marsh.
+
+I heard the yellow car tearing back to Pont du Sable late that night. It
+slowed down as it neared my walled domain, and with a wrenching grunt
+stopped in front of my gate. The next instant the door of my den opened
+and in rushed the curé.
+
+"All of us to luncheon to-morrow at The Three Wolves!" he cried,
+flinging his hat on the floor; then bending, with a grin of
+satisfaction over the lamp chimney, he kindled the end of a fat
+cigarette he had rolled in the dark. His eyes were snapping, while the
+corners of his humorous mouth twitched in a satisfied smile. He strode
+up and down the room for some moments, his hands clasped behind him, his
+strong, sun-tanned face beaming in the glow of the shaded lamplight,
+while he listened to my delight over the pleasant news he had brought.
+
+"Ah! They are good to me, these children of mine," he declared with
+enthusiasm. "Germaine tells me there is a surprise in store for me and
+that I am not to know until to-morrow, at luncheon. Beyond that, she
+would tell me nothing, the little minx, except that I managed to make
+her confess that Alice was in the secret."
+
+He glanced at his watch, "Ah!" he ejaculated, "I must be getting to bed;
+you, too, my old one, for we must get an early start in the morning, if
+we are to reach The Three Wolves by noon." He recovered his hat from the
+floor, straightened up, brushed the cigarette ashes from the breast of
+his long black soutane, shiny from wear, and held out his strong hand.
+
+"Sleep well," he counselled, "for to-morrow we shall be _en fête_."
+
+Then he swung open my door and passed out into the night, whistling as
+he crossed my courtyard a _café chantant_ air that Germaine had taught
+him.
+
+A moment later, the siren of the yellow car sent forth its warning wail,
+and he was speeding back to his presbytery under the guidance of
+Germaine's chauffeur.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The curé was raking out the oysters; he stood on the sandy rim of a pool
+of clear sea-water that lay under the noonday sun like a liquid emerald.
+As Monsieur le Curé plunged in his long rake and drew it back heavy with
+those excellent bivalves for which the restaurant at The Three Wolves
+has long been famous, his tall black figure, silhouetted against the
+distant sea and sky, reminded me of some great sea-crow fishing for its
+breakfast.
+
+To the right of him crouched the restaurant, a low wooden structure,
+with its back to the breakers. It has the appearance of being cast there
+at high tide, its zigzag line of tiled roofs drying in the air and sun,
+like the scaled shell of some stranded monster of the sea. There is a
+cavernous old kitchen within, resplendent in shining copper--a busy
+kitchen to-day, sizzling in good things and pungent with the aroma of
+two tender young chickens, basting on a spit, a jolly old kitchen, far
+more enticing than the dingy long dining-room adjoining it, whose walls
+are frescoed in panels representing bottle-green lobsters, gaping
+succulent clams, and ferocious crabs sidling away indignantly from nets
+held daintily by fine ladies and their gallants, in costumes that were
+in vogue before the revolution. Even when it pours, this cheerless old
+dining-room at The Three Wolves is deserted, since there are half a
+score of far cosier little round pavilions for lovers and intimate
+friends, built over the oyster pools.
+
+Beyond them, hard by the desolate beach, lie the rocks known as The
+Three Wolves. In calm weather the surf smashes over their glistening
+backs--at low water, as it happened to be to-day, the seethe of the tide
+scurried about their dripping bellies green with hairy sea-weed.
+
+Now and then came cheery ripples of laughter from our little pavilion,
+where Germaine and Alice de Bréville were arranging a mass of scarlet
+nasturtiums, twining their green leaves and tendrils amongst the plates
+of _hors d'oeuvres_ and among the dust-caked bottles of Chablis and
+Burgundy--Alice, whose dark hair and olive skin are in strong contrast
+to Germaine's saucy beauty.
+
+They had banished Tanrade, who had offered his clumsy help--and spilled
+the sardines. He had climbed on the roof and dropped pebbles down on
+them through the cracks and had later begged forgiveness through the
+key-hole. Now he was yelling like an Indian, this celebrated composer of
+ballets, as he swung a little peasant maid of ten in a creaky swing
+beyond the pool--a dear little maid with eyes as dark as Alice's, who
+screamed from sheer delight, and insisted on that good fellow playing
+all the games that lay about them, from _tonneau_ to _bilboquet_.
+
+Together, the curé and I carried the basket, now plentifully filled with
+oysters back to the kitchen, while Tanrade was hailed from the pavilion,
+much to the little maid's despair.
+
+"_Dépêchez-vous!_" cried Alice, who had straightway embraced her exiled
+Tanrade on his return and was now waving a summons to the curé and
+myself.
+
+"_Bon_," shouted back the curé. "_Allons, mes enfants, à table_--and the
+one who has no appetite shall be cast into the sea--by the heels," added
+his reverence.
+
+What a breakfast followed! Such a rushing of little maids back and forth
+from the jolly kitchen with the great platters of oysters. What a sole
+smothered in a mussel sauce! What a lobster, scarlet as the cap of a
+cardinal and garnished with crisp romaine! and the chickens! and the
+mutton! and the _soufflé_ of potatoes, and the salad of shrimps--_Mon
+Dieu!_ What a luncheon, "sprayed," as the French say, with that rare old
+Chablis and mellow Burgundy! And what laughter and camaraderie went
+with it from the very beginning, for to be at table with friends in
+France is to be _en fête_--it is the hour when hearts are warmest and
+merriest.
+
+Ah, you dear little women! You who know just when to give those who love
+you a friendly pressure of the hand, or the gift of your lips if needs
+be, even in the presence of so austere a personage as Monsieur le Curé.
+You who understand. You who are tender or merry with the mood, or
+contrary to the verge of exasperation--only to caress with the subtle
+light of your eyes and be forgiven.
+
+It was not until we had reached our coffee and liqueur, that the
+surprise for the curé was forthcoming. Hardly had the tiny glasses been
+filled, when the clear tone of the bell ringing from the ancient church
+of The Three Wolves made us cease our talk to listen.
+
+Alice turned to the curé; it was evidently the moment she had been
+waiting for.
+
+"Listen," said Alice softly--"how delicious!"
+
+"It is the bell of Ste. Marie," returned the curé.
+
+Even Tanrade was silent now, for his reverence had made the sign of the
+cross. As his fingers moved I saw a peculiar look come into his eyes--a
+look of mingled disappointment and resignation.
+
+Again Alice spoke: "Your cracked bell at Pont du Sable has not long to
+ring, my friend," she said very tenderly.
+
+"One must be content, my child, with what one has," replied the curé.
+
+Alice leaned towards him and whispered something in his ear, Germaine
+smiling the while.
+
+I saw his reverence give a little start of surprise.
+
+"No, no," he protested half aloud. "Not that; it is too much to ask of
+you with all your rehearsals at the Bouffes Parisiennes coming."
+
+"_Parbleu!_" exclaimed Alice, "it will not be so very difficult--I shall
+accomplish it, you shall see what a concert we shall give--we shall make
+a lot of money; every one will be there. It has the voice of a frog,
+your bell. _Dieu!_ What a fuss it makes over its crack. You shall have a
+new one--two new ones, _mon ami_, even if we have to make bigger the
+belfry of your little gray church to hang them."
+
+The curé grew quite red. I saw for an instant his eyes fill with tears,
+then with a benign smile, he laid his hand firmly over Alice's and
+lifting the tips of her fingers, kissed them twice in gratefulness.
+
+He was very happy. He was happy all the way back in Germaine's yellow
+car to Pont du Sable. Happy when he thrust his heavy key in the rusty
+lock of the small door that let him into his silent garden, cool under
+the stars, and sweet with the scent of roses.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A long winter has passed since that memorable luncheon at The Three
+Wolves. Our little pavilion over the emerald pool will never see us
+reunited, I fear. A cloud has fallen over my good friend the curé, a
+cloud so unbelievable, and yet so dense, if it be true, and so filled
+with ominous mutterings of thunder and lightning, crime, defalcation,
+banishment, and the like, that I go about my work dazed at the rumoured
+situation.
+
+They tell me the curé still says mass, and when it is over, regains the
+presbytery by way of the back lane skirting the marsh. I am also told
+that he rarely even ventures into his garden, but spends most of his
+days and half of his nights alone in his den with the door locked, and
+strict orders to his faithful old servant Marie, who adores him, that he
+will see no one who calls.
+
+For days I have not laid eyes on him--he who kept his napkin tied in a
+sailor's knot in my cupboard and came to breakfast, luncheon, or dinner
+when he pleased, waking up my house abandoned by the marsh with his good
+humour, joking with Suzette, my little maid-of-all-work, until her fair
+cheeks grew the rosier, and rousing me out of the blues with his quick
+wit and his hearty laugh.
+
+It seems impossible to me that he is guilty of what he is accused of,
+yet the facts seem undeniable.
+
+Only the good go wrong, is it not so? The bad have become so
+commonplace, they do not attract our attention.
+
+Now the ways of the curé were always just. I have never known him to do
+a mean thing in his life, far less a dishonest one. I have known him to
+give the last few sous he possessed to a hungry fisherwoman who needed
+bread for herself and her brood of children and content himself with
+what was left among the few remaining vegetables in his garden. There
+are days, too, when he is forced to live frugally upon a peasant soup
+and a pear for dinner, and there have been occasions to my knowledge,
+when the soup had to be omitted and his menu reduced to a novel, a
+cigarette and the pear.
+
+It is a serious matter, the separation of the state from the church in
+France, since it has left the priest with the munificent salary of four
+hundred francs a year, out of which he must pay his rent and give to the
+poor.
+
+Once we dined nobly together upon two fat sparrows, and again we had a
+blackbird for dinner. He had killed it that morning from his window,
+while shaving, for I saw the lather dried on the stock of his duck gun.
+
+Monsieur le Curé is ingenious when it comes to hard times.
+
+Again, there are days when he is in luck, when some generous parishioner
+has had the forethought to restock his larder. Upon such bountiful
+occasions he insists on Tanrade and myself dining with him at the
+presbytery as long as these luxuries last, refusing to dine with either
+of us until there is no more left of his own to give.
+
+The last time I saw him, I had noticed a marked change in his reverence.
+He was moody and unshaven, and his saucerlike hat was as dusty and
+spotted as his frayed soutane. Only now and then he gave out flashes of
+his old geniality and even they seemed forced. I was amazed at the
+change in him, and yet, when I consider all I have heard since, I do not
+wonder much at his appearance.
+
+Tanrade tells me (and he evidently believes it) that some fifteen
+hundred francs, raised by Alice's concert and paid over to the curé to
+purchase the bells for his little gray church at Pont du Sable, have
+disappeared and that his reverence refuses to give any account.
+
+Despite his hearty Bohemian spirit, Tanrade, like most musicians, is a
+dreamer and as ready as a child to believe anything and anybody. Being a
+master of the pianoforte and a composer of rare talent, he can hardly be
+called sane. And yet, though I have seen him enthusiastic, misled, moved
+to tears over nothing, indignant over an imaginary insult, or ready to
+forgive any one who could be fool enough to be his enemy, I have never
+known him so thoroughly upset or so positive in his convictions as when
+the other morning, as I sat loafing before my fire, he entered my den.
+
+"It is incredible, _mon vieux_, incredible!" he gasped, throwing himself
+disconsolately into my arm-chair. "I have just been to the presbytery.
+Not only does he refuse to give an account of the money, but he declines
+to offer any explanation beyond the one that he "spent it." Moreover, he
+sits hunched up before his stove in his little room off the kitchen,
+chewing the end of a cigarette. Why, he didn't even ask me to have a
+drink--the curé, _mon ami_--our curé--_Mon Dieu_, what a mess! Ah, _mon
+Dieu!_"
+
+He sank his chin in his hands and gazed at me with a look of utter
+despair.
+
+I regarded him keenly, then I went to the decanter and poured out for
+him a stiff glass of applejack.
+
+"Drink that," said I, "and get normal."
+
+With an impetuous gesture he waved it away.
+
+"No, not now!" he exclaimed, "wait until I tell you all--nothing until I
+tell you."
+
+"Go on, then," I returned, "I want to hear all about this wretched
+business. Go slow and tell it to me from top to bottom. I am not as
+convinced of the curé's guilt as you are, old boy. There may be nothing
+in it more than a pack of village lies; and if there is a vestige of the
+truth, we may, by putting our heads together, help matters."
+
+He started to speak, but I held up my hand.
+
+"One thing before you proceed," I declared with conviction. "I can no
+more believe the curé is dishonest than Alice or yourself. It is
+ridiculous to presume so for a moment. I have known the curé too well.
+He is a prince. He has a heart as big as all outdoors. Look at the good
+he's done in this village! There is not a vagabond in it but will tell
+you he is as right as rain. Ask the people he helps what they think of
+him, they'll tell you 'he's just the curé for Pont du Sable.' _Voilà!_
+That's what they'll tell you, and they mean it. All the gossip in the
+world can't hurt him. Here," I cried, forcing the glass into his hand,
+"get that down you, you maker of ballets, and proceed with the horrible
+details, but proceed gently, merrily, with the right sort of beat in
+your heart, for the curé is as much a friend of yours as he is of mine."
+
+Tanrade shrugged his broad shoulders, and for some moments sipped his
+glass. At length, he set it down on the broad table at his elbow, and
+said slowly: "You know how good Alice is, how much she will do for any
+one she is fond of--for a friend, I mean, like the curé. Very well, it
+is not an easy thing to give a concert in Paris that earns fifteen
+hundred francs for a curé whom, it is safe to say, no one in the
+audience, save Germaine, Alice and myself had ever heard of. It was a
+veritable _tour de force_ to organize. You were not there. I'm glad you
+were not. It was a dull old concert that would not have amused you
+much--Lassive fell ill at the last moment, Delmar was in a bad humour,
+and the quartet had played the night before at a ball at the Élysée and
+were barely awake. Yet in spite of it the theatre was packed; a chic
+audience, too. Frambord came out with half a column in the _Critique des
+Arts_ with a pretty compliment to Alice's executive energy, and added
+'that it was one of the rare soirées of the season.' He must have been
+drunk when he wrote it. I played badly--I never can play when they
+gabble. It was as garrulous as a fish market in front. _Enfin!_ It was
+over and we telegraphed his reverence the result; from a money
+standpoint it was a '_succès fou_.'"
+
+Tanrade leaned back and for a few seconds gazed at the ceiling of my
+den.
+
+"Where every penny has gone," he resumed, with a strained smile, "_Dieu
+sait!_ There is no bell, not even the sound of one, _et voilà!_"
+
+He turned abruptly and reached for his glass, forgetting he had drained
+it. A fly was buzzing on its back in the last drop. And then we both
+smiled grimly, for we were thinking of Monsieur le Curé.
+
+I rang the bell of the presbytery early the next morning, by inserting
+my jackknife, to spare my fingers, in a loop at the end of a crooked
+wire which dangles over the rambling wall of the curé's garden. The door
+itself is of thick oak, and framed by stones overgrown with lichens--a
+solid old playground for nervous lizards when the sun shines, and a
+favourite sticking place for snails when it rains. I had to tug hard on
+the crooked wire before I heard a faint jingle issuing in response from
+the curé's cavernous kitchen, whose hooded chimney and stone-paved floor
+I love to paint.
+
+Now came the klop-klop of a pair of sabots--then the creak of a heavy
+key as it turned over twice in the rusty lock, and his faithful Marie
+cautiously opened the garden door. I do not know how old Marie is,
+there is so little left of this good soul to guess by. Her small
+shrunken body is bent from age and hard work. Her hands are heavy--the
+fingers gnarled and out of proportion to her gaunt thin wrists. She has
+the wrinkled, leathery face of some kindly gnome. She opened her eyes in
+a sort of mute appeal as I inquired if Monsieur le Curé was at home.
+
+"Ah! My poor monsieur, his reverence will see no one"--she
+faltered--"_Ah! Mais_"--she sighed, knowing that I knew the change in
+her master and the gossip thereof.
+
+"My good Marie," I said, persuasively patting her bony shoulder, "tell
+his reverence that I _must_ see him. Old friends as we are--"
+
+"_Bon Dieu, oui!_" she exclaimed after another sigh. "Such old friends
+as you and he--I will go and see," said she, and turned bravely back
+down the path that led to his door while I waited among the roses.
+
+A few moments later Marie beckoned to me from the kitchen window.
+
+"He will see you," she whispered, as I crossed the stone floor of the
+kitchen. "He is in the little room," and she pointed to a narrow door
+close by the big chimney, a door provided with old-fashioned little
+glass panes upon which are glued transparent chromos of wild ducks.
+
+I knocked gently.
+
+"_Entrez!_" came a tired voice from within.
+
+I turned the knob and entered his den--a dingy little box of a room,
+sunk a step below the level of the kitchen, with a smoke-grimed ceiling
+and corners littered with dusty books and pamphlets.
+
+He was sitting with his back to me, humped up in a worn arm-chair,
+before his small stove, just as Tanrade had found him. As I edged around
+his table--past a rack holding his guns, half-hidden under two
+dilapidated game bags and a bicycle tyre long out of service, he turned
+his hollow eyes to mine, with a look I shall long remember, and feebly
+grasped my outstretched hand.
+
+"Come," said I, "you're going to get a grip on yourself, _mon ami_.
+You're going to get out of this wretched, unkempt state of melancholia
+at once. Tanrade has told me much. You know as well as I do, the village
+is a nest of gossip--that they make a mountain out of a molehill; if I
+were a pirate chief and had captured this vagabond port, I'd have a few
+of those wagging tongues taken out and keel-hauled in the bay."
+
+He started as if in pain, and again turned his haggard eyes to mine.
+
+"I don't believe there's a word of truth in it," I declared hotly.
+
+"There--_is_," he returned hoarsely, trembling so his voice faltered--"I
+am--a thief."
+
+He sat bolt-upright in his chair, staring at me like a man who had
+suddenly become insane. His declaration was so sudden and amazing, that
+for some moments I knew not what to reply, then a feeling of pity took
+possession of me. He was still my friend, whatever he had done. I saw
+his gaze revert to the crucifix hanging between the steel engravings of
+two venerable saints, over the mantel back of the stove--a mantel heaped
+with old shot bags and empty cartridge shells.
+
+"How the devil did it happen?" I blurted out at length. "You don't mean
+to say you stole the money?"
+
+"Spent it," he replied half inaudibly.
+
+"How spent it? On yourself?"
+
+"No, no! Thank God--"
+
+"How, then?"
+
+He leaned forward, his head sunk in his hands, his eyes riveted upon
+mine.
+
+"There is--so--much--dire--need of money," he said, catching his breath
+between his words. "We are all human--all weak in the face of another's
+misery. It takes a strong heart, a strong mind, a strong body to resist.
+There are some temptations too terrible even for a priest. I wish with
+all my heart that Alice had never given it into my hands."
+
+I started to speak, but he held up his arms.
+
+"Do not ask me more," he pleaded--"I cannot tell you--I am ill and
+weak--my courage is gone."
+
+"Is there any of the money left?" I ventured quietly, after waiting in
+vain for him to continue.
+
+"I do not know," he returned wearily, "most of it has gone--over there,
+beneath the papers, in the little drawer," he said pointing to the
+corner; "I kept it there. Yes, there is some left--but I have not dared
+count it."
+
+Again there ensued a painful silence, while I racked my brain for a
+scheme that might still save the situation, bad as it looked. In the
+state he was in, I had not the heart to worry out of him a fuller
+confession. Most of the fifteen hundred francs was gone, that was plain
+enough. What he had done with it I could only conjecture. Had he given
+it to save another I wondered. Some man or woman whose very life and
+reputation depended upon it? Had he fallen in love hopelessly and past
+all reasoning? There is no man that some woman cannot make her slave. It
+was not many years ago, that a far more saintly priest than he eloped to
+Belgium with a pretty seamstress of Les Fosses. Then I thought of
+Germaine!--that little minx, badly in debt--perhaps? No, no, impossible!
+She was too clever--too honest for that.
+
+"Have you seen Alice?" I broke our silence with at length.
+
+He shook his head wearily. "I could not," he replied, "I know the
+bitterness she must feel toward me."
+
+At that moment Marie knocked at the door. As she entered, I saw that her
+wrinkled face was drawn, as with lowered eyes she regarded a yellow
+envelope stamped with the seal of the _République Française_.
+
+With a trembling hand she laid it beside the curé, and left the room.
+
+The curé started, then he rose nervously to his feet, steadying himself
+against the table's edge as he tore open the envelope, and glanced at
+its contents. With a low moan he sank back in his chair.--"Go," he
+pleaded huskily, "I wish to be alone--I have been summoned before the
+mayor."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Never before in the history of the whole country about, had a curé been
+hauled to account. Pont du Sable was buzzing like a beehive over the
+affair. Along its single thoroughfare, flanked by the stone houses of
+the fishermen, the gossips clustered in groups. From what I caught in
+passing proved to me again that his reverence had more friends than
+enemies.
+
+It was in the mayor's kitchen, which serves him as executive chamber as
+well, that the official investigation took place.
+
+With the exception of the Municipal Council, consisting of the baker,
+the butcher, the grocer, and two raisers of cattle, none were to be
+admitted at the mayor's save Tanrade, myself and Alice de Bréville,
+whose presence the mayor had judged imperative, and who had been
+summoned from Paris.
+
+Tanrade and I had arrived early--the mayor greeting us at the gate of
+his trim little garden, and ushering us to our chairs in the clean,
+well-worn kitchen, with as much solemnity as if there had been a death
+in the house. Here we sat, under the low ceiling of rough beams and
+waited in a funereal silence, broken only by the slow ticking of the
+tall clock in the corner. It was working as hard as it could, its brass
+pendulum swinging lazily toward three o'clock, the hour appointed for
+the investigation.
+
+Monsieur le Maire to-day was no longer the genial, ruddy old raiser of
+cattle, who stops me whenever I pass his gate with a hearty welcome. He
+was all Mayor to-day, clean shaven to the raw edges of his cropped gray
+side-whiskers with a look of grave importance in his shrewd eyes and a
+firm setting of his wrinkled upper lip, that indicated the dignity of
+his office; a fact which was further accentuated by his carefully
+brushed suit of black, a clean starched collar and the tri-coloured silk
+sash, with gold tassels, which he is forced to gird his fat paunch with,
+when he either marries you or sends you to jail. The clock ticked on,
+its oaken case reflecting the copper light from the line of saucepans
+hanging beside it on the wall. Presently, the Municipal Council filed in
+and seated themselves about a centre table, upon which lay in readiness
+the official seal, pen, ink and paper. Being somewhat ill at ease in his
+starched shirt, the florid grocer coughed frequently, while the two
+cattle-raisers in their black blouses, talked in gutteral whispers over
+a bargain in calves. Through the open window, screened with cool vines,
+came the faint murmur of the village--suddenly it ceased. I rose, and
+going to the window, looked up the street. The curé was coming down it,
+striding along as straight as a savage, nodding to those who nodded to
+him. An old fisherwoman hobbled forth and kissed his hand. Young and
+old, gamblers of the sea, lifted their caps as he passed.
+
+"The census of opinion is with him," I whispered to Tanrade, as I
+regained my chair. "He has his old grit with him, too."
+
+The next instant, his reverence strode in before us--firm, cool, and so
+thoroughly master of himself that a feeling of intense relief stole over
+me.
+
+"I have come," he said, in a clear, even voice, "in answer to your
+summons, Monsieur le Maire."
+
+The mayor rose, bowed gravely, waved the curé to a chair opposite the
+Municipal Council, and continued in silence the closely written contents
+of two official documents containing the charge. The stopping of an
+automobile at his gate now caused him to look up significantly. Madame
+de Bréville had arrived. As Alice entered every man in the room rose to
+his feet. Never had I seen her look lovelier, gowned, as she was, in
+simple black, her dark hair framing her exquisite features, pale as
+ivory, her sensitive mouth tense as she pressed Tanrade's hand
+nervously, and took her seat beside us. For an instant, I saw her dark
+eyes flash as she met the steady gaze of the curé's.
+
+"In the name of the _République Française_," began the mayor in measured
+tones.
+
+The curé folded his arms, his eyes fixed on the open door.
+
+"Pardon me," interrupted Alice, "I wish it to be distinctly understood
+before you begin, Monsieur le Maire, that I am here wholly against my
+will."
+
+The curé turned sharply.
+
+"You have summoned me," continued Alice, "and there was no alternative
+but to come--I know nothing in detail concerning the charge against
+Monsieur le Curé, nor do I wish to take any part whatever in this
+unfortunate affair. It is imperative that I return to Paris in time to
+play to-night, I beg of you that you will let me go at once."
+
+There was a polite murmur of surprise from the Municipal Council. The
+curé sprang to his feet.
+
+"Alice, my child!" he cried, "look at me."
+
+Her eyes met his own, her lips twitching nervously, her breast heaving.
+
+"I wish _you_ to judge me before you go," he pleaded. "They accuse me of
+being a thief;" his voice rose suddenly to its full vibrant strength;
+"they do not know the truth."
+
+Alice leaned forward, her lips parted.
+
+"God only knows what this winter has been," declared his
+reverence--"Empty nets--always empty nets."
+
+He struck the table with his clenched fist. "Empty nets!" he cried,
+"until I could bear it no longer. My children were in dire need; they
+came to you," he declared, turning to the mayor, "and you refused them."
+
+The mayor shrugged his shoulders with a grunt of resentment.
+
+"I gave what I could, while it lasted, from the public fund," he
+explained frankly; "there were new roads to be cut."
+
+"Roads!" shouted the curé. "What are roads in comparison to illness and
+starvation? They came to me," he went on, turning to Alice, "little
+children--mothers, ill, with little children and not a sou in the house,
+and none to be earned fishing. Old men crying for bread for those whom
+they loved. I grew to hate the very thought of the bells; they seemed to
+me a needless luxury among so much misery."
+
+His voice rose until it rang clear in the room.
+
+"I gave it to them," he cried out. "There in my little drawer lay the
+power to save those who were near death from sickness, from dirt, from
+privation!"
+
+Alice's ringless white hands were clenched in her lap.
+
+"And I saw, as I gave," continued the curé, "the end of pain and of
+hunger--little by little I gave, hoping somehow to replace it, until I
+dared give no more."
+
+He paused, and drew forth from the breast of his soutane a small cotton
+sack that had once held his gun wads. "Here is what is left, gentlemen,"
+said he, facing the Municipal Council; "I have counted it at last, four
+hundred and eighty francs, sixty-five centimes."
+
+There were tears now in Alice's eyes; dark eyes that followed the curé's
+with a look of tenderness and pain. The mayor sat breathing irritably.
+As for the Municipal Council, it was evident to Tanrade and myself, that
+not one of these plain, red-eared citizens was eager to send a priest to
+jail--it was their custom occasionally to go to mass.
+
+"Marianne's illness," continued the curé, "was an important item. You
+seemed to consider her case of typhoid as a malady that would cure
+itself if let alone. Marianne needed care, serious care, strong as she
+was. The girl, Yvonne, she saved from drowning last year, and her baby,
+she still shelters among her own children in her hut. They, too, had to
+be fed; for Marianne was helpless to care for them. There was the little
+boy, too, of the Gavons--left alone, with a case of measles well
+developed when I found him, on the draughty floor of a loft; the mother
+and father had been drunk together for three days at Bar la Rose. And
+there were others--the Mère Gailliard, who would have been sold out for
+her rent, and poor old Varnet, the fisherman; he had no home, no money,
+no friends; he is eighty-four years old. Most of the winter he slept in
+a hedge under a cast-off sail. I got him a better roof and something for
+his stomach, Monsieur le Maire."
+
+He paused again, and drew out a folded paper from his pocket. "Here is a
+list of all I can remember I have given to, and the amounts as near as I
+can recall them," he declared simply. Again he turned to Alice. "It is
+to you, dear friend, I have come to confess," he continued; "as for you,
+gentlemen, my very life, the church I love, all that this village means
+to me, lies in your hands; I do not beg your mercy. I have sinned and I
+shall take the consequences--all I ask you to do is to judge fairly the
+error of my ways." Monsieur le Curé took his seat.
+
+"It is for you, Madame de Bréville, to decide," said the mayor, after
+some moments conference with the Council, "since the amount in question
+was given by your hand."
+
+Alice rose--softly she slipped past the Municipal Council of Pont du
+Sable, until she stood looking up into the curé's eyes; then her arms
+went about his strong neck and she kissed him as tenderly as a sister.
+
+"Child!" I heard him murmur.
+
+"We shall give another concert," she whispered in his ear.
+
+      [Illustration: bell]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: The miser--Garron]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER ELEVEN
+
+THE MISER--GARRON
+
+
+We've had a drowning at Pont du Sable. Drownings are not infrequent on
+this rough Norman coast of France. Only last December five able
+fishermen went down within plain sight of the dunes in a roaring white
+sea that gave no quarter. This gale by night became a cyclone; the sea a
+driving hell of water, hail and screaming wind. The barometer dropped to
+twenty-eight. The wind blew at one hundred and twenty kilometers an
+hour. Six fishing boats hailing from Boulogne perished with their crews.
+Their women went by train to Calais, still hoping for news, and returned
+weeping and alone.
+
+At Boulogne the waves burst in spray to a height of forty feet over the
+breakwater--small wonder that the transatlantic liner due there to take
+on passengers, signalled to her plunging tender already in
+danger--"Going through--No passengers--" and proceeded on her way to New
+York.
+
+The sea that night killed with a blow.
+
+This latest drowning at Pont du Sable was a tragedy--or rather, the
+culmination of a series of tragedies.
+
+"Suicide?"
+
+"_Non_--_mon ami_--wait until you hear the whole truth of this plain
+tale."
+
+On my return from shooting this morning, Suzette brought me the news.
+The whole fishing village has known it since daylight.
+
+It seems that the miser, Garron--Garron's boy--Garron's woman, Julie,
+and another woman who nobody seems to know much about, are mixed up in
+the affair.
+
+Garron's history I have known for months--my good friend the curé
+confided to me much concerning the unsavory career of this vagabond of a
+miser, whose hut is on the "Great Marsh," back of Pont du Sable. Garron
+and I hailed "_bonjour_" to each other through the mist at dawn one
+morning, as I chanced to pass by his abode, a wary flight of vignon
+having led me a fruitless chase after them across the great marsh. At a
+distance through the rifts of mist I mistook this isolated hut of
+Garron's for a _gabion_. As I drew within hailing distance of its owner
+I saw that the hut stood on a point of mud and wire grass that formed
+the forks of the stream that snakes its way through the centre of this
+isolated prairie, and so on out to the open sea, two kilometers beyond.
+
+As shrewd a rascal as Garron needed just such a place to settle on. As
+he returned my _bonjour_, his woman, Julie, appeared in the low doorway
+of the hut and grinned a greeting to me across the fork of the stream.
+She impressed me as being young, though she was well on in the untold
+forties. Her mass of fair hair--her ruddy cheeks--her blue eyes and her
+thick strong body, gave her the appearance of youthful buxomness.
+
+Life must be tough enough with a man like Garron. With the sagacity of
+an animal he knew the safety of the open places. By day no one could
+emerge from the far horizon of low woodland skirting the great marsh,
+without its sole inhabitant noting his approach. By night none but as
+clever a poacher as Garron could have found his way across the labyrinth
+of bogs, ditches and pitfalls. Both the hut and the woman cost Garron
+nothing; both were a question of abandoned wreckage.
+
+Garron showed me his hut that morning, inviting me to cross a muddy
+plank as slippery as glass, with which he had spanned the stream, that
+he might get a closer look at me and know what manner of man I was. He
+did not introduce me to the woman, and I took good care, as I crossed
+his threshold and entered the dark living-room with its dirt floor, not
+to force her acquaintance, but instead, ran my eye discreetly over the
+objects in the gloom--a greasy table littered with dirty dishes, a bed
+hidden under a worn quilt and a fireplace of stones over which an iron
+pot of soup was simmering. Beyond was another apartment, darker than
+the one in which I stood--a sort of catch-all for the refuse of the
+former.
+
+The whole of this disreputable shack was built of the wreckage of honest
+ships. It might have been torn down and reassembled into some sort of a
+decent craft. Part of a stout rudder with its heavy iron hinges, served
+as the door. For years it had guided some good ship safe into port--then
+the wreck occurred. For weeks after--months, perhaps--it had drifted at
+sea until it found a resting place on the beach and was stolen by Garron
+to serve him as a strong barrier.
+
+Garron had a bad record--you saw this in his small shifty black eyes,
+that evaded your own when you spoke to him, and were riveted upon you
+the moment your back was turned. He was older than the woman--possibly
+fifty years of age, when I first met him, and, though he lived in the
+open, there was a ghastly pallor in his hard face with its determined,
+square jaw--a visage well seamed by sin--and crowned by a shock of black
+hair streaked with gray. In body he was short, with unusually broad
+shoulders and unnaturally long arms. Physically he was as strong as an
+ape, yet I believe the woman could easily have strangled him with her
+bare hands. Garron had been a hard drinker in his youth, a capable thief
+and a skilful poacher. His career in civilization ended when he was
+young and--it is said--good-looking.
+
+Some twenty-five years ago--so the curé tells me--Garron worked one
+summer for a rich cattle dealer named Villette, on his farm some sixty
+kilometers back of the great marsh. Villette was one of those big,
+silent Normans, who spoke only when it was worth while, and was known
+for his brusqueness and his honesty. He was a giant in build--a man
+whose big hands and feet moved slowly but surely; a man who avoided
+making intimate friendships and was both proud and rich--proud of his
+goods and chattels--of his vast grazing lands and his livestock--proud
+too, of his big stone farmhouse with its ancient courtyard flanked by
+his stone barns and his entrance gate whose walls were as thick as those
+of some feudal stronghold; proud, too, of his wife--a plump little
+woman with a merry eye and whom he never suspected of being madly
+infatuated with his young farm hand, Garron.
+
+Their love affair culminated in an open scandal. The woman lacked both
+the shrewdness and discretion of her lover; he had poached for years and
+had never been caught;--it is, therefore, safe to say he would as
+skilfully have managed to evade suspicion as far as the woman was
+concerned, had not things gone from bad to worse.
+
+Villette discovered this too late; Garron had suddenly disappeared,
+leaving madame to weather the scandal and the divorce that followed.
+More than this, young Garron took with him ten thousand francs belonging
+to the woman, who had been fool enough to lend him her heart--a sum out
+of her personal fortune which, for reasons of her own, she deemed it
+wisest not to mention.
+
+With ten thousand francs in bank notes next his skin, Garron took the
+shortest cut out of the neighbourhood. He travelled by night and slept
+by day, keeping to the unfrequented wood roads and trails secreted
+between the thick hedges, hidden by-ways that had proved their value
+during the guerilla warfares that were so successfully waged in Normandy
+generations ago. Three days later Garron passed through the modest
+village of Hirondelette, an unknown vagabond. He looked so poor that a
+priest in passing gave him ten sous.
+
+"Courage, my son," counselled the good man--"you will get work soon. Try
+the farm below, they are in need of hands."
+
+"May you never be in want, father," Garron strangled out huskily in
+reply. Then he slunk on to the next farm and begged his dinner. The bank
+notes no longer crinkled when he walked; they had taken the contour of
+his hairy chest. Every now and then he stopped and clutched them to see
+if they were safe, and twice he counted and recounted them in a ditch.
+
+With the Great Marsh as a safe refuge in his crafty mind, he passed by
+the next sundown back of Pont du Sable; slept again in a hedge, and by
+dawn had reached the marsh. Most of that day he wandered over it looking
+for a site for his hut. He chose the point at the forks of the
+stream--no one in those days, save a lone hunter ever came there.
+Moreover, there was another safeguard. The Great Marsh was too cut up by
+ditches and bogs to graze cattle on, hence no one to tend them, and the
+more complete the isolation of its sole inhabitant.
+
+Having decided on the point, he set about immediately to build his hut.
+The sooner housed the better, thought Garron, besides, the packet next
+his chest needed a safe hiding place.
+
+For days the curlews, circling high above the marsh, watched him snaking
+driftwood from the beach up the crooked stream to the point at the
+forks. The rope he dragged them with he stole from a fisherman's boat
+picketed for the night beyond the dunes. When he had gathered a
+sufficient amount of timber he went into Pont du Sable with three hares
+he had snared and traded them for a few bare necessities--an old saw, a
+rusty hammer and some new nails. He worked steadily. By the end of a
+fortnight he had finished the hut. When it was done he fashioned (for he
+possessed considerable skill as a carpenter) a clever hiding place in
+the double wall of oak for his treasure. Then he nailed up his door and
+went in search of a mate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He found her after dark--this girl to his liking--at the _fête_ in the
+neighbouring village of Avelot. She turned and leered at him as he
+nudged her elbow, the lights from the merry-go-round she stood watching
+illumining her wealth of fair hair and her strong young figure
+silhouetted against the glare. Garron had studied her shrewdly, singling
+her out in the group of village girls laughing with their sweethearts.
+The girl he nudged he saw did not belong to the village--moreover, she
+was barefooted, mischievously drunk, and flushed with riding on the
+wooden horses. She was barely eighteen. She laughed outright as he
+gripped her strong arm, and opened her wanton mouth wide, showing her
+even, white teeth. In return for her welcome he slapped her strong waist
+soundly.
+
+"_Allons-y_--what do you say to a glass, _ma belle_?" ventured Garron
+with a grin.
+
+"_Eh ben!_ I don't say no," she laughed again, in reply.
+
+He felt her turn instinctively toward him--there was already something
+in common between these two. He pushed her ahead of him through the
+group with a certain familiar authority. When they were free of the
+crowd and away from the lights his arm went about her sturdy neck and he
+crushed her warm mouth to his own.
+
+"_Allons-y_--" he repeated--"Come and have a glass."
+
+They had crossed in the mud to a dingy tent lighted by a lantern; here
+they seated themselves on a rough bench at a board table, his arm still
+around her. She turned to leer at him now, half closing her clear blue
+eyes. When he had swallowed his first thimbleful of applejack he spat,
+and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, while the girl grew
+garrulous under the warmth of the liquor and his rough affection. Again
+she gave him her lips between two wet oaths. No one paid any attention
+to them--it was what a _fête_ was made for. For a while they left their
+glasses and danced with the rest to the strident music of the
+merry-go-round organ.
+
+It was long after midnight when Garron paid his score under the tent.
+She had told him much in the meantime--there was no one to care whom she
+followed. She told him, too, she had come to the _fête_ from a hamlet
+called Les Forêts, where she had been washing for a woman. The moon was
+up when they took the highroad together, following it until it reached
+the beginning of Pont du Sable, then Garron led the way abruptly to the
+right up a tangled lane that ran to an old woodroad that he used to gain
+the Great Marsh. They went lurching along together in comparative
+silence, the man steadying the girl through the dark places where the
+trees shut out the moon. Garron knew the road as well as his pocket--it
+was a favourite with him when he did not wish to be seen. Now and then
+the girl sang in a maudlin way:
+
+    "_Entrez, entrez, messieurs,
+    C'est l'amour qui vous attend._"
+
+It was gray dawn when they reached the edge of the Great Marsh that lay
+smothered under a blanket of chill mist.
+
+"It is over there, my nest," muttered Garron, with a jerk of his thumb
+indicating the direction in which his hut lay. Again he drew her roughly
+to him.
+
+"_Dis donc, toi!_" he demanded brusquely: "how do they call you?" It had
+not, until then, occurred to him to ask her name.
+
+"_Eh ben_--Julie," she replied. "It's a _sacré_ little name I never
+liked. _Eh, tu sais_," she added slowly--"when I don't like a thing--"
+she drew back a little and gazed at him sullenly--"_Eh ben_--I am like
+that when I don't like a thing." Her flash of temper pleased him--he had
+had enough of the trustful kitten of Villette's.
+
+"Come along," said he gruffly.
+
+"_Dis donc, toi_," she returned without moving. "It is well understood
+then about my dress and the shoes?"
+
+"_Mais oui! Bon Dieu!_" replied the peasant irritably. He was hungry and
+wanted his soup. He swore at the chill as he led the way across the
+marsh while she followed in his tracks, satisfied with his promise of
+the dress and shoes. She wanted a blue dress and she had seen the shoes
+that pleased her some months before in the grocery at Pont du Sable when
+a dog and she had dragged a fisherwoman in her cart for their board and
+lodging.
+
+By the time they reached the forks of the stream the rising sun had
+melted the blanket of the mist until it lay over the desolate prairie in
+thin rifts of rose vapour.
+
+It was thus the miser, Garron, found his mate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Julie proved to be a fair cook, and the two lived together, at the
+beginning, in comparative peace. Although it was not until days after
+the _fête_ at Avelot that she managed to hold him to his promise about
+the blue dress, he sent her to Pont du Sable for her shoes the day
+after their arrival on the marsh--she bought them and they hurt her. The
+outcome of this was their first quarrel.
+
+"_Sacré bon Dieu!_" he snarled--"thou art never content!" Then he struck
+her with the back of his clenched fist and, womanlike, she went
+whimpering to bed. Neither he nor she thought much of the blow. Her mind
+was on the shoes that did not fit.
+
+When she was well asleep and snoring, he ran his sinewy arm in the hole
+he had made in the double wall--lifted the end of a short, heavy plank,
+caught it back against a nail and gripped the packet of bank notes that
+lay snug beneath it. Satisfied they were safe and his mate still asleep,
+he replaced the plank over his fortune--crossed the dirt floor to his
+barrier of a door, dropped an iron rod through two heavy staples,
+securely bolting it--blew out the tallow dip thrust in the neck of an
+empty bottle, and went to bed.
+
+Months passed--months that were bleak and wintry enough on the marsh for
+even a hare to take to the timber for comfort. During most of that
+winter Garron peddled the skins of rabbits he snared on the marsh, and
+traded and bought their pelts, and he lived poor that no one might
+suspect his wealth. He and his mate rose, like the wild fowl, with the
+sun and went to bed with it, to save the light of the tallow dip. Though
+I have said she could easily have strangled him with her hands, she
+refrained. Twice, when she lay half awake she had seen him run his wiry
+arm in the wall--one night she had heard the lifting of the heavy plank
+and the faint crinkling sound of the package as he gripped it. She had
+long before this suspected he had money hidden.
+
+Julie was no fool!
+
+With the spring the marsh became more tenable. The smallest song birds
+from the woods flitted along the ditches; there were days, too, when the
+desolate prairie became soft--hazy--and inviting.
+
+At daybreak, the beginning of one of these delicious spring days,
+Garron, hearing a sharp cry without, rose abruptly and unbolted his
+barrier. He would have stepped out and across his threshold had not his
+bare foot touched something heavy and soft. He looked down--still half
+asleep--then he started back in a sort of dull amazement. The thing his
+foot had touched was a bundle--a rolled and well-wrapped blanket, tied
+with a stout string. The sharp cry he had heard he now realized, issued
+from the folds of the blanket. Garron bent over it, his thumb and
+forefinger uncovering the face of a baby.
+
+"_Sacristi!_" he stammered--then leaned back heavily against the old
+rudder of a door. Julie heard and crawled out of bed. She was peering
+over his shoulder at the bundle at his feet before he knew it.
+
+Garron half wheeled and faced her as her breath touched his coarse ear.
+
+"_Eh bien!_ what is it?" he exclaimed, searching vainly for something
+else to say.
+
+"_Eh ben! Ça! Nom de Dieu!_" returned his mate nodding to the bundle.
+"It is pretty--that!"
+
+"_Tu m'accuses, hein?_" he snarled.
+
+"They do not leave bundles of that kind at the wrong door," she retorted
+in reply, half closing her blue eyes and her red hands.
+
+"_Allons! allons!_" he exclaimed with heat, still at a loss for his
+words.
+
+With her woman's instinct she brushed past him and started to pick up
+the bundle, but he was too quick for her and drew her roughly back,
+gripping her waist so sharply that he felt her wince.
+
+"It does not pass like that!" he cried sharply. "_Eh ben!_ listen to me.
+I'm too old a rat to be made a fool of--to be tricked like that!"
+
+"Tricked!" she laughed back--"No, my old one--it is as simple as
+_bonjour_, and since it is thine thou wilt keep it. Thou'lt--keep what
+thou--"
+
+The pent-up rage within him leaped to his throat:
+
+"It does not pass like that!" he roared. With his clenched fist he
+struck her squarely across the mouth. He saw her sink limp to the
+ground, bleeding, her head buried between her knees. Then he picked up
+the child and started with it across the plank that spanned the fork of
+the stream. A moment later, still dizzy from the blow, she saw him
+dimly, making rapidly across the marsh toward a bend in the stream. Then
+the love of a mother welled up within her and she got to her feet and
+followed him.
+
+"Stay where thou art!" he shouted back threateningly.
+
+The child in his arms was screaming. She saw his hand cover its
+throat--the next moment she had reached him and her two hands were about
+his own in a grip that sent him choking to his knees. The child rolled
+from his arms still screaming, and the woman who was strangling Garron
+into obedience now sank her knee in his back until she felt him give up.
+
+"_Assez!_" he grunted out when he could breathe.
+
+"_Eh ben!_ I am like _that_ when I don't like a thing!" she cried,
+savagely repeating her old words. He looked up and saw a dangerous gleam
+in her eyes. "_Ah, mais oui alors!_" she shouted defiantly. "Since it is
+thine thou wilt keep it!"
+
+Garron did not reply. She knew the fight was out of him and picked up
+the still screaming baby, which she hugged to her breast, crooning over
+it while Garron got lamely to his feet. Without another word she started
+back to the hut, Garron following his mate and his son in silence.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Years passed and the boy grew up on the marsh, tolerated by Garron and
+idolized and spoiled by Julie--years that transformed the black-eyed
+baby into a wiry, reckless young rascal of sixteen with all the vagabond
+nature of his father--straight and slim, with the clear-cut features of
+a gypsy. A year later the brother of Madame Villette, a well-known
+figure on the Paris Bourse, appeared and after a satisfactory
+arrangement with Garron, took the boy with him to Paris to be educated.
+
+It was hard on Julie, who adored him. Her consent was not even asked,
+but at the time she consoled herself with the conviction, however, that
+the good fortune that had fallen to the lot of the baby she had saved,
+was for the best. The uncle was rich--that in itself appealed strongly
+to her peasant mind. That, and her secret knowledge of Garron's fortune,
+for she had discovered and counted it herself and, motherlike, told the
+boy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In Paris the attempt to educate Jacques Baptiste Garron was an expensive
+experiment. When he went to bed at all it was only when the taverns and
+cafés along the "Boul-miche" closed before dawn. Even then he and his
+band of idle students found other retreats and more glasses in the
+all-night cafés near the Halles. And so he ate and drank and slept and
+made love to any little outcast who pleased him--one of these amiable
+_petites femmes_--the inside of whose pocketbook was well greased with
+rouge--became his devoted slave.
+
+She was proud of this handsome devil-may-care "type" of hers and her
+jealousy was something to see to believe. Little by little she dominated
+him until he ran heavily in debt. She even managed the uncle when the
+nephew failed--she was a shrewd little brat--small and tense as wire,
+with big brown eyes and hair that was sometimes golden and sometimes a
+dry Titian red, according to her choice. Once, when she left him for two
+days, Garron threatened to kill himself.
+
+"_Pauvre gosse!_" she said sympathizingly on her return--and embraced
+him back to sanity.
+
+The real grain of saneness left in young Garron was his inborn love of a
+gun. It was the gun which brought him down from Paris, back to the Great
+Marsh now and then when the ducks were on flight.
+
+He had his own _gabion_ now at the lower end of the bay at Pont du
+Sable, in which he slept and shot from nights when the wind was
+northeast--a comfortable, floating box of a duck-blind sunk in an outer
+jacket of tarred planks and chained to a heavy picket driven in the mud
+and wire grass, for the current ran dangerously strong there when the
+tide was running out.
+
+Late in October young Garron left Paris suddenly and the girl with the
+Titian hair was with him. He, like his father, needed a safe refuge.
+Pressed by his creditors he had forged his uncle's name. The only way
+out of the affair was to borrow from Julie to hush up the matter. It did
+not occur to him at the time how she would feel about the girl; neither
+did he realize that he had grown to be an arrogant young snob who now
+treated Julie, who had saved his life, and pampered him, more like a
+servant than a foster-mother.
+
+The night young Garron arrived was at the moment of the highest tides.
+The four supped together that night in the hut--the father silent and
+sullen throughout the meal and Julie insanely jealous of the girl. Later
+old Garron went off across the marsh in the moonlight to look after his
+snares.
+
+When the three were alone Julie turned to the boy. For some moments she
+regarded him shrewdly. She saw he was no longer the wild young savage
+she had brought up; there was a certain nervous, blasé feebleness about
+his movements as he sat uneasily in his chair, his hands thrust in the
+pockets of his hunting coat, his chin sunk on his chest. She noticed
+too, the unnatural redness of his lips and the haggard pallor about his
+thin, sunken cheeks.
+
+"_Eh ben, mon petit_--" she began at length. "It is a poor place to get
+fat in, your Paris! They don't feed you any too well--_hein?_--Those
+grand restaurants you talk so much about. Pouf!"
+
+"_Penses-tu?_" added the girl, since Garron did not reply. Instead he
+lighted a fresh cigarette, took two long puffs from it, and threw it on
+the floor.
+
+The girl, angered at his silence and lack of courage, gave him a vicious
+glance.
+
+"_Hélas!_" sighed Julie, "you were quicker with your tongue when you
+were a baby."
+
+"_Ah zut!_" exclaimed the girl in disgust. "He has something to tell
+you--" she blurted out to Julie.
+
+"_Eh ben!_ What?" demanded Julie firmly.
+
+"I need some money," muttered the boy doggedly. "I _need it!!_" he cried
+suddenly, gaining courage in a sort of nervous hysteria.
+
+Julie stared at him in amazement, the girl watching her like a lynx.
+
+"_Bon Dieu!_" shouted Julie. "And it is because of _that_ you sit there
+like a sick cat! Listen to me, my little one. Eat the good grease like
+the rest of us and be content if you keep out of jail."
+
+The boy sank lower in his chair.
+
+"It will be jail for me," he said, "unless you help me. Give me five
+hundred francs. I tell you I am in a bad fix. _Sacré bon Dieu!_--you
+_shall_ give it to me!" he cried, half springing from his chair.
+
+"Shut up, thou," whispered the girl--"not so fast!"
+
+"Do you think it rains money here?" returned Julie, closing her red
+fists upon the table, "that all you have to do is to ask for it? _Ah,
+mais non, alors!_"
+
+The boy slunk back in his chair staring at the tallow dip
+disconsolately. The girl gritted her small teeth--somehow, she felt
+abler than he to get it out of Julie in the end.
+
+"You stole it, _hein?_" cried Julie, "like your father. Name of a dog!
+it is the same old trick that, and it brings no good. _Allons!_" she
+resumed after a short pause. "_Dépêche toi!_ Get out for your ducks--I'm
+going to bed."
+
+"Give me four hundred," pleaded the boy.
+
+"Not a sou!" cried Julie, bringing her fist down on the greasy table,
+and she shot a jealous glance at the girl.
+
+Without a word, young Garron rose dejectedly, got into his goatskin
+coat, picked up his gun and, turning, beckoned to the girl.
+
+"Go on!" she cried; "I'll come later."
+
+"He is an infant," said she to Julie, when young Garron had closed the
+door behind him. "He has no courage. You know the fix we are in--the
+Commissaire of Police in Paris already has word of it."
+
+Julie did not reply; she still sat with her clenched fists outstretched
+on the table.
+
+"He has forged his uncle's check," snapped the girl.
+
+Julie did not reply.
+
+"_Ah, c'est comme ça!_" sneered the girl with a cool laugh--"and when
+he is in jail," she cried aloud, "_Eh, bien--quoi?_"
+
+"He will not have _you_, then," returned Julie faintly.
+
+"Ah----" she exclaimed. She slipped her tense little body into her thick
+automobile coat and with a contemptuous toss of her chin passed out into
+the night, leaving the door open.
+
+"Jacques!" she called shrilly--"Jacques!--_Attends._"
+
+"_Bon!_" came his voice faintly in reply from afar on the marsh.
+
+After some moments Julie got slowly to her feet, crossed the dirt floor
+of the hut and closing the door dropped the bar through the staples.
+Then for the space of some minutes she stood by the table struggling
+with a jealous rage that made her strong knees tremble. She who had
+saved his life, who had loved him from babyhood--she told herself--and
+what had he done for her in return? The great Paris that she knew
+nothing of had stolen him; Paris had given him _her_--that little viper
+with her red mouth; Paris had ruined him--had turned him into a thief
+like his father. Silently she cursed his uncle. Then her rage reverted
+again to the girl. She thought too, of her own life with Garron--of all
+its miserly hardships. "They have given me nothing--" she sobbed
+aloud--"nothing."
+
+"Five hundred francs would save him!" she told herself. She caught her
+breath, then little by little again the motherly warmth stole up into
+her breast deadening for the moment the pain of her jealousy. She
+straightened to her full height, squaring her broad shoulders like a man
+and stepped across to the wall.
+
+"It is as much mine as it is his," she said between her teeth.
+
+She ran her arm into the hole in the wall, lifted the heavy plank and
+drew out a knitted sock tied with a stout string. From the toe she drew
+out Garron's fortune.
+
+"He shall have it--the _gosse_--" she said, "and the rest--is as much
+mine as it is his."
+
+She thrust the package in her breast.
+
+Half an hour later Julie stood, scarcely breathing, her ear to the
+locked door of his _gabion_.
+
+"A pretty lot you came from," she overheard the girl say, "that old cat
+would sooner see you go to jail." The rest of her words were half lost
+in the rush and suck of the tide slipping out from the _gabion's_ outer
+jacket of boards. The heavy chain clinked taut with the pull of the
+outgoing tide, then relaxed in the back rush of water.
+
+"Bah!" she heard him reply, "they are pigs, those peasants. I was a fool
+to have gone to them for help."
+
+"You had better have gone to the old man," taunted the girl, "as I told
+you at first."
+
+"He is made of the same miserly grizzle as she," he retorted hotly.
+Again the outrush of the tide drowned their words.
+
+Julie clenched her red fists and drew a long breath. A sudden frenzy
+seized her. Before she realized what she was doing, she had crawled in
+the mud on her hands and knees to the heavy picket. Here she waited
+until the backward rush again slackened the chain, then she half drew
+the iron pin that held the last link. Half drew it! Had the girl been
+alone, she told herself, she would have given her to the ebb tide.
+
+Julie rose to her feet and turned back across the marsh, unconscious
+that the last link was nearly free and that the jerk and pull of the
+outgoing tide was little by little freeing the pin from the link.
+
+She kept on her way, towards a hidden wood road that led down to the
+marsh at the far end of Pont du Sable and beyond.
+
+She was done with the locality forever. Garron's money was still in her
+breast.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the first glimmer of dawn the next morning, the short, solitary
+figure of a man prowled the beach. He was hatless and insane with rage.
+In one hand he gripped an empty sock. He would halt now and then and
+wave his long, ape-like arms--cursing the deep strip of sea water that
+prevented him from crossing to the hard desert of sand beyond--far out
+upon which lay an upturned _gabion_. Within this locked and stranded
+box lay two dead bodies. Crabs fought their way eagerly through the
+cracks of the water-sprung door, and over it, breasting the salt breeze,
+slowly circled a cormorant--curious and amazed at so strange a thing at
+low tide.
+
+      [Illustration: the upturned gabion]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: game birds on the marsh]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWELVE
+
+MIDWINTER FLIGHTS
+
+
+One dines there much too well.
+
+This snug Restaurant des Rois stands back from the grand boulevard in a
+slit of a street so that its ancient windows peer out askance at the gay
+life streaming by the corner.
+
+The burgundy at "Les Rois" warms the soul, and the Chablis! Ah! where
+else in all Paris is there such Chablis? golden, sound and clear as
+topaz. Chablis, I hold, should be drank by some merry blonde whose heart
+is light; Burgundy by a brunette in a temper.
+
+The small café on the ground floor is painted white, relieved by a
+frieze of gilded garlands and topped by a ceiling frescoed with rosy
+nymphs romping in a smoked turquoise sky.
+
+Between five and seven o'clock these midwinter afternoons the café is
+filled with its _habitués_--distinguished old Frenchmen, who sip their
+absinthe leisurely enough to glance over the leading articles in the
+conservative _Temps_ or the slightly gayer _Figaro_. Upstairs, by means
+of a spiral stairway, is a labyrinth of narrow, low-ceiled corridors
+leading to half a dozen stuffy little _cabinets particuliers_, about
+whose faded lambrequins and green velveted chairs there still lurks the
+scent of perfumes once in vogue with the gallants, beaux and belles of
+the Second Empire.
+
+Alice de Bréville, Tanrade, and myself, are dining to-night in one of
+these _intime_ little rooms. The third to the left down the corridor.
+
+_Sapristi!_ what a change in Tanrade. He is becoming a responsible
+person---he has even grown neat and punctual--he who used to pound at
+the door of my house abandoned by the marsh at Pont du Sable, an hour
+late for dinner, dressed in a fisherman's sea-going overalls of brown
+canvas, a pair of sabots and a hat that any passing vagabond might have
+discarded by the roadside. I could not help noticing carefully to-night
+his new suit of black broadcloth, with its standing collar, buttoned up
+under his genial chin. His black hair is neatly combed and his
+broad-brimmed hat that hangs over my own on the wall, is but three days
+old. Thus had this _bon garçon_ who had won the Prix de Rome been
+transformed---and Alice was responsible, I knew, for the change. Who
+would not change anything for so exquisite and dear a friend as Alice?
+She, too, was in black, without a jewel--a gown which her lithe body
+wore with all its sveltness--a gown that matched her dark eyes and hair,
+accentuating the clean-cut delicacy of her features and the ivory
+clearness of her olive skin. She was a very merry Alice to-night, for
+her long engagement at the Bouffes Parisiennes was at an end. And she
+had been making the best of her freedom by keeping Tanrade hard at work
+over the score of his new ballet. They are more in love with each other
+than ever--so much so that they insist on my dining with them, and so
+these little dinners of three at "Les Rois" have become almost nightly
+occurrences. It is often so with those in love to be generous to an old
+friend--even lovers have need of company.
+
+We were lingering over our coffee when the talk reverted to the new
+ballet.
+
+"It is done, _ma chérie_," declared Tanrade, in reply to an imperative
+inquiry from Alice. "Bavière shall have the whole of the second act
+to-morrow."
+
+"And the ballet in the third?" she asked sternly, lifting her brilliant
+eyes.
+
+"_Eh, voilà!_" laughed that good fellow, as he drew forth from his
+pocket a thin roll of manuscript and spread it out before her, that she
+might see--but it was not discreet for me to continue, neither is it
+good form to embrace before the old _garçon de café_, who at that moment
+entered apologetically with the liqueurs--as for myself, I have long
+since ceased to count in such tender moments of reward, during which I
+am of no more consequence than a faithful poodle.
+
+Again the garçon entered, this time with smiling assurance, for he
+brought me a telegram forwarded from my studio by my concierge. I opened
+the despatch: the next instant I jumped to my feet.
+
+"Read!" I cried, poking the blue slip under Tanrade's nose, "it's from
+the curé."
+
+"Howling northeast gale"--Tanrade read aloud--"Duck and geese--come
+midnight train, bring two hundred fours, one hundred double zeros for
+ten bore."
+
+"_Vive le curé!_" I shouted, "the good old boy to let us know. A
+northeast gale at last--a howler," he says.
+
+"He is charming--the curé," breathed Alice, her breast
+heaving--"Charming!" she repeated in a voice full of suppressed emotion.
+
+Tanrade did not speak. He had let the despatch slip to the floor and sat
+staring at his glass.
+
+"You'll come, of course," I said with sudden apprehension, but he only
+shook his head. "What! you're not going?" I exclaimed in amazement.
+"We'll kill fifty ducks a night--it's the gale we've been waiting for."
+
+I saw the sullen gleam that had crept into Alice's eyes soften; she drew
+near him--she barely touched his arm:
+
+"Go, _mon cher_!" she said simply--"if you wish."
+
+He lifted his head with a grim smile, and I saw their eyes meet. I well
+knew what was passing in his mind--his promise to her to work--more than
+this, I knew he had not the heart to leave her during her well-earned
+rest.
+
+"_Ah! les hommes!_" Alice exclaimed, turning to me impetuously--"you are
+quite crazy, you hunters."
+
+I bowed in humble apology and again her dark eyes softened to
+tenderness.
+
+"_Non_--forgive me, _mon ami_," she went on, "you are sane enough until
+news comes of those wretched little ducks, then, _mon Dieu!_ there is no
+holding you. Everything else goes out of your head; you become as mad as
+children rushing to a fête. Is it not so?"
+
+Still Tanrade was silent. Now and then he gave a shrug of his big
+shoulders and toyed with his half empty glass of liqueur. _Sapristi!_
+it is not easy to decide between the woman you love and a northeast gale
+thrashing the marsh in front of my house abandoned. He, like myself,
+could already picture in his mind's eye duck after duck plunge out of
+the night among our live decoys. My ears, like his own, were already
+ringing with the roar of the guns from the _gabions_--I could not resist
+a last appeal.
+
+"Come," I insisted--"both of you--no--seriously--listen to me. There is
+plenty of dry wood in the garret; you shall have the _chambre d'amis_,
+dear friend, and this brute of a composer shall bunk in my room--we'll
+live, and shoot and be happy. Suzette will be overjoyed at your coming.
+Let me wire her to have breakfast ready for us?"
+
+Alice laughed softly: "You are quite crazy, my poor friend," she said,
+laying her white hand on my shoulder. "You will freeze down there in
+that stone house of yours. Oh, la! la!" she sighed knowingly--"the leaks
+for the wind--the cold bedrooms, the cold stone floors--B-r-r-h-h!"
+
+Tanrade straightened back in his chair: "No," said he, "it is
+impossible; Bavière can not wait. He must have his score. The rehearsals
+have been delayed long enough as it is--Go, _mon vieux_, and good luck
+to you!"
+
+Again the old garçon entered, this time with the timetable I had sent
+him for in a hurry.
+
+"_Voilà_, monsieur!" he began excitedly, his thumbnail indicating the
+line--"the 12.18, as monsieur sees, is an express--monsieur will not
+have to change at Lisieux."
+
+"_Bon!_" I cried--"quick--a taxi-auto."
+
+"_Bien_, monsieur--a good hunt to monsieur," and he rushed out into the
+narrow corridor and down the spiral stairs while I hurried into my coat
+and hat.
+
+Tanrade gripped my hand:
+
+"Shoot straight!" he counselled with a smile. Alice gave me her cheek,
+which I reverently kissed and murmured my apologies for my insistence in
+her small ear. Then I swung open the door and made for the spiral
+stairs. At the bottom step I stopped short. I had completely forgotten I
+should not return until after New Year's, and I rushed back to wish
+them a _Bonne Année_ in advance, but I closed the door of the stuffy
+little _cabinet particulier_ quicker than I opened it, for her arms were
+about the sturdy neck of a good comrade whose self-denial made me feel
+like the mad infant rushing to the fête.
+
+"_Bonne Année, mes enfants!_" I called from the corridor, but they did
+not hear.
+
+Ten minutes later I reached my studio, dumped three hundred cartridges
+into a worn valise and caught the 12.18 with four minutes to spare.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Enfin!_ it is winter in earnest!
+
+The northeast gale gave, while it lasted, the best shooting the curé and
+I have ever had. Then the wind shifted to the southwest with a falling
+barometer, and the flights ceased. Again, for three days, the Norman
+coast has been thrashed by squalls of driving snow. The wild geese are
+honking in V-shaped lines to an inland refuge for the white sea is no
+longer tenable. Curlews cry hoarsely over the frozen fields. It is
+tough enough lying hidden in my sand pit on the open beach beyond the
+dunes, where I crack away at the ricketing flights of fat gray plover
+and beat myself to keep warm. Fuel is scarce and there is hardly a sou
+to be earned fishing in such cruel weather as this.
+
+The country back of my house abandoned by the marsh is now stripped to
+bare actualities--all things are reduced to their proper size. Houses,
+barns and the skeletons of leafless trees stand out, naked facts in the
+landscape. The orchards are soggy in mud and the once green feathery
+lane back of my house abandoned, is now a rough gash of frozen pools and
+rotten leaves.
+
+Birds twitter in the thin hedges.
+
+I would never have believed my wild garden, once so full of mystery--gay
+flowers, sunshine and droning bees, to be so modest in size. A few
+rectangles of bare, frozen ground, and a clinging vine trembling against
+the old wall, is all that remains, save the scraggly little fruit trees
+green with moss. Beyond, in a haze of chill sea mist, lie the
+woodlands, long undulating ribbons of gray twigs crouching under a
+leaden sky.
+
+In the cavernous cider press whose doors creak open within my courtyard
+Père Bordier and a boy in eartabs, are busy making cider. If you stop
+and listen you can hear the cider trickling into the cask and Père
+Bordier encouraging the patient horse who circles round and round a
+great stone trough in which revolve two juggernauts of wooden wheels.
+The place reeks with the ooze and drip of crushed apples. The giant
+screw of oak, the massive beams, seen dimly in the gloomy light that
+filters through a small barred window cut through the massive stone
+wall, gives the old pressoir the appearance of some feudal torture
+chamber. Blood ran once, and people shrieked in such places--as these.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+To-morrow begins the new year and every peasant girl's cheeks are
+scrubbed bright and her hair neatly dressed, for to-morrow all France
+embraces--so the cheeks are rosy in readiness.
+
+"_Tiens_, mademoiselle!" exclaims the butcher's boy clattering into my
+kitchen in his sabots.
+
+_Eh, voilà!_ My good little maid-of-all-work, Suzette, has been kissed
+by the butcher's boy and a moment later by Père Bordier, who has left
+the cider press for a steaming bowl of _café au lait_; and ten minutes
+later by the Mère Péquin who brings the milk, and then in turn by the
+postman--by her master, by the boy in eartabs and by every child in the
+village since daylight for they have entered my courtyard in droves to
+wish the household of my house abandoned a happy new year, and have gone
+away content with their little stomachs filled and two big sous in their
+pockets.
+
+And now an old fisherman enters my door. It is the Père Varnet--he who
+goes out with his sheep dog to dig clams, since he is eighty-four and
+too old to go to sea.
+
+"_Ah, malheur!_" he sighs wearily, lifting his cap with a trembling hand
+as seamed and tough as his tarpaulin. "Ah, the bad luck," he repeats in
+a thin, husky voice. "I would not have deranged monsieur, but _bon
+Dieu_, I am hungry. I have had no bread since yesterday. It is a little
+beast this hunger, monsieur. There are no clams--I have searched from
+the great bank to Tocqueville."
+
+It is surprising how quick Suzette can heat the milk.
+
+The old man is now seated in her kitchen before a cold duck of the
+curé's killing and hot coffee--real coffee with a stiff drink of
+applejack poured into it, and there is bread and cheese besides. Like
+hungry men, he eats in silence and when he has eaten he tells me his dog
+is dead--that woolly sheep dog of his with a cast in one fishy green
+eye.
+
+"_Oui_, monsieur," confided the old man, "he is dead. He was all I had
+left. It is not gay, monsieur, at eighty-four to lose one's last
+friend--to have him poisoned."
+
+"Who poisoned him?" I inquired hotly--"was it Bonvin the butcher? They
+say it was he poisoned both of Madame Vinet's cats."
+
+"_Eh, ben!_" he returned, and I saw the tears well up into his watery
+blue eyes--"one should not accuse one's neighbours, but they say it was
+he, monsieur--they say it was in his garden that Hector found the bad
+stuff--there are some who have no heart, monsieur."
+
+"Bonvin!" I cried, "so it was that pig who poisoned him, eh? and you
+saved his little girl the time the _Belle Marie_ foundered."
+
+"_Oui_, monsieur--the time the _Belle Marie_ foundered. It is true I
+did--we did the best we could! Had it not been for the fog and the ebb
+tide I think we could have saved them all."
+
+He fell to eating again, cutting into the cheese discreetly--this fine
+old gentleman of the sea.
+
+It is a pity that some one has not poisoned Bonvin I thought. A short
+thick fellow, is Bonvin, with cheeks as red as raw chops and small eyes
+that glitter with cruelty. Bonvin, whose youngest child--a male, has the
+look and intelligence of a veal and whose mother weighs one hundred and
+five kilos--a fact which Bonvin is proud of since his first wife, who
+died, was under weight despite the fact that the Bonvins being in the
+business, eat meat twice daily. I have always believed the veal
+infant's hair is curled in suet. Its face grows purple after meals.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A rough old place is my village of vagabonds in winter, and I am glad
+Alice did not come. Poor Tanrade--how he would have enjoyed that
+northeast gale!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two weeks later there came to my house abandoned by the marsh such
+joyful news that my hand trembled as I realized it--news that made my
+heart beat quicker from sudden surprise and delight. As I read and
+reread four closely written pages from Tanrade and a corroborative
+postscript from Alice, leaving no doubt as to the truth.
+
+"Suzette! Suzette!" I called. "Come quick--_Eh! Suzette!_"
+
+I heard her trim feet running to me from the garden. The next instant
+she opened the door of my den and stood before me, her blue eyes and
+pretty mouth both open in wonder at being so hurriedly summoned.
+
+"What is the matter, monsieur?" she exclaimed panting, her fresh young
+cheeks all the rosier from her run.
+
+"Monsieur Tanrade and Madame de Bréville are going to be married," I
+announced as calmly as I could.
+
+"_Hélas!_" gasped Suzette.
+
+"_Et voilà--et voilà!_" I cried, throwing the letter back on the table,
+while I squared my back to the blazing fire of my den and waited for the
+little maid's astonishment to subside.
+
+Suzette did not speak.
+
+"It is true, nevertheless," I added with enthusiasm, "they are to be
+married in Pont du Sable. We shall have a fête such as there never was.
+Ah! you will have plenty of cooking to do, _mon enfant_. Run and find
+Monsieur le Curé--he must know at once."
+
+Suzette did not move--without a word she buried her face in her apron
+and burst into tears:
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" she sobbed. "Oh, monsieur! It is
+true--that--I--I--have--no luck!"
+
+I looked at her in astonishment.
+
+"_Eh, bien!_ my child," I returned--"and it is thus you take such happy
+news?"
+
+"_Ah, mon Dieu!_" sobbed the little maid--"it is--true--I--have no
+luck."
+
+"What is the matter Suzette--tell me?" I pleaded. Never had I seen her
+so brokenhearted, even on the day she smashed the mirror.
+
+I saw her sway toward me like the child she was.
+
+"There--there--_mais voyons!_" I exclaimed in a vain effort to stop her
+tears--"_mais voyons!_ Come, you must not cry like that." Little by
+little she ceased crying, until her sobbing gave way to brave little
+hiccoughs, then, at length, she opened her eyes.
+
+"Suzette," I whispered--the thought flashing through my mind, "is it
+possible that _you_ love Monsieur Tanrade?"
+
+I saw her strong little body tremble: "No, monsieur," she breathed, and
+the tears fell afresh.
+
+"Tell me the truth, Suzette."
+
+"I have told monsieur the--the--truth," she stammered bravely with a
+fresh effort to strangle her sobs.
+
+"You do not love Monsieur Tanrade, my child?"
+
+"No, monsieur--I--I--was a little fool to have cried. It was stronger
+than I--the news. The marriage is so gay, monsieur--it is so easy for
+some."
+
+"Ah--then you do love some one?"
+
+"_Oui_, monsieur--" and her eyes looked up into mine.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Gaston, monsieur--as always."
+
+"Gaston, eh! the little soldier I lodged during the manoeuvres--the
+little trombonist whom the general swore he would put in jail for
+missing his train. _Sapristi!_ I had forgotten him--and you wish to
+marry him, Suzette?"
+
+She nodded mutely in assent, then with a hopeless little sigh she added:
+"_Hélas_--it is not easy--when one has nothing one must work hard and
+wait--_Ah, mon Dieu!_"
+
+"Sit down, my little one," I said. "I have something serious to think
+over." She did as I bade her, seating herself in silence before the
+fire. I have never regarded Suzette as a servant--she has always been to
+me more like a child whom I was responsible for. What would my house
+abandoned by the marsh have been without her cheeriness, and her
+devotion, I thought, and what would it be when she was gone? No other
+Suzette would ever be like her--and her cooking would vanish with the
+rest. _Diable!_ these little marriages play the devil with us at times.
+And yet, if any one deserved to be happy it was Suzette. I realized too,
+all that her going would mean to me, and moreover that her devotion to
+her master was such that if I should say "stay" she would have stayed on
+quite as if her own father had counselled her.
+
+As I turned toward her sitting humbly in the chair, I saw she was again
+struggling to keep back her tears. It was high time for me to speak.
+
+I seated myself beside her upon the arm of the chair and took her warm
+little hands in mine.
+
+"You shall marry your Gaston, Suzette," I said, "and you shall have
+enough to marry on even if I have to sell the big field and the cow that
+goes with it."
+
+She started, trembling violently, then gave a little gasp of joy.
+
+"Oh, monsieur! and it is true?" she cried eagerly.
+
+"Yes, my child--there shall be two weddings in Pont du Sable! Now run
+and tell Monsieur le Curé."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Monsieur le Curé ran too, when he heard the news--straight to my house
+abandoned, by the short cut back of the village.
+
+"_Eh bien! Eh bien!_" he exclaimed as he burst into my den, his keen
+eyes shining. "It is too good to be true--and not a word to us about it
+until now! _Ah, les rosses! Ah, les rosses!_" he repeated with a broad
+grin of delight as he eagerly read Tanrade's letter, telling him that
+the banns were published; that he was to marry them in the little gray
+church with the new bells and that but ten days remained before the
+wedding. He began pacing the floor, his hands clasped behind him--a
+habit he had when he was very happy.
+
+"And Suzette?" I asked, "has she told you?"
+
+"Yes," he returned with a nod. "She is a good child--she deserves to be
+happy." Then he stopped and inquired seriously--"What will you do
+without her?"
+
+"One must not be selfish," I replied with a helpless shrug. "Suzette has
+earned it--so has Tanrade. It was his unfinished opera that was in the
+way: Alice was clever."
+
+He crossed to where I stood and laid his hand on my shoulder, and though
+he did not open his lips I knew what was passing in his mind.
+
+"Charity to all," he said softly at length. "It is so good to make
+others happy! Courage, _mon petit_--the price we pay for love,
+devotion--friendship, is always a heavy one." Suddenly his
+face lighted up. "Have you any idea?" he exclaimed, "how much there is
+to do and how little time to do it in? Let us prepare!"
+
+And thus began the busiest week the house abandoned had ever known,
+beginning with the curé and I restocking the garret with dry wood while
+Suzette worked ferociously at house cleaning, and every detail of the
+wedding breakfast was planned and arranged for--no easy problem in my
+lost village in midwinter. If there was a good fish to be had out of the
+sea we knew we could rely on Marianne to get it. Even the old fisherman,
+Varnet, went off with fresh courage in search for clams and good Madame
+Vinet opened her heart and her wine cellar.
+
+It was the curé who knew well a certain dozen of rare burgundy that had
+lain snug beneath the stairs of Madame Vinet's small café--a vintage the
+good soul had come into possession of the first year of her own marriage
+and which she ceded to me for the ridiculously low price of twenty sous
+the bottle, precisely what it had cost her in her youth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is over, and I am alone by my fire.
+
+As I look back on to-day--their wedding day--it seems as if I had been
+living through some happy dream that has vanished only too quickly and
+out of which I recall dimly but half its incidents.
+
+That was a merry procession of old friends that marched to the ruddy
+mayor's where there was the civil marriage and some madeira, and so on
+to the little gray church where Monsieur le Curé was waiting--that musty
+old church in which the tall candles burned and Monsieur le Curé's voice
+sounded so grave and clear. And we sat together, the good old general
+and I, and in front of us were Alice's old friend Germaine, chic and
+pretty in her sables, and Blondel, who had left his unfinished editorial
+and driven hard to be present, and beside him in the worn pew sat the
+Marquis and Marquise de Clamard, and the rest of the worn pews were
+filled with fisherfolk and Marianne sat on my left, and old Père Varnet
+with Suzette beyond him--and every one's eyes were upon Alice and
+Tanrade, for they were good to look upon. And it was over quickly, and I
+was glad of it, for the candle flames had begun to form halos before my
+eyes.
+
+And so we went on singing through the village amid the booming of
+shotguns in honour of the newly wed, to the house abandoned. And all the
+while the new bells that Alice had so generously regiven rang lustily
+from the gray belfry--rang clear--rang out after us, all the way back to
+the house abandoned and were still ringing when we sat down to our jolly
+breakfast.
+
+"Let them ring!" cried the curé. "I have two old salts of the sea taking
+turns at the rope," he confided in my ear. "Ring on!" he cried aloud, as
+we lifted our glasses to the bride--"Ring loud--that the good God may
+hear!"
+
+And how lovely the room looked, for the table was a mass of roses fresh
+from Paris, and the walls and ceiling were green with mistletoe and
+holly. Moreover, the old room was warm with the hearts of friends and
+the cheer from blazing logs that crackled merrily up the blackened
+throat of my chimney. And there were kisses with this feast that came
+from the heart; and sound red wine that went to it. And later, the
+courtyard was filled with villagers come to congratulate and to drink
+the health of the bride and groom.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They are gone.
+
+And the thrice-happy Suzette is dreaming of her own wedding to come, for
+it is long past midnight and I am alone with my wise old cat--"The
+Essence of Selfishness," and my good and faithful spaniel whom I call
+"Mr. Bear," for he looks like a young cinnamon, all save his ears. If
+poor de Savignac were alive he would hardly recognize the little spaniel
+puppy he gave me, he has grown so. He has crept into my arms, big as he
+is, awakening jealousy in "The Essence of Selfishness"--for she hates
+him--besides, we have taken her favourite chair. Poor Mr. Bear--who
+never troubles her----
+
+"And _you_--beast whom I love--another hiss out of you, another
+flattening of your ears close to your skull, and you go straight to bed.
+There will be no Suzette to put you there soon, and there is now no
+Alice, nor Tanrade to spoil you. They are gone, pussy kit."
+
+One o'clock--and the fire in embers.
+
+I rose and Mr. Bear followed me out into the garden. The land lay still
+and cold under millions of stars. High above my chimney came faintly the
+"Honk, honk," of a flock of geese.
+
+I closed my door, bolted the inner shutter, lighted my candle and
+motioned to Mr. Bear. The Essence of Selfishness was first on the creaky
+stairs. She paused half way up to let Mr. Bear pass, her ears again flat
+to her skull. Then I took them both to my room where they slept in
+opposite corners.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lost village by the tawny marsh. Lost village, indeed, to-night! in
+which were hearts I loved, good comrades and sound red wine--Hark! the
+rush of wings. I must be up at dawn. It will help me forget----Sleep
+well, Mr. Bear!
+
+
+THE END
+
+      [Illustration: village]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at the
+price you paid for this volume
+
+  ANNA THE ADVENTURESS. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+  ANN BOYD. By Will N. Harben.
+  AT THE MOORINGS. By Rosa N. Carey.
+  BY RIGHT OF PURCHASE. By Harold Bindloss.
+  CARLTON CASE, THE. By Ellery H. Clark.
+  CHASE OF THE GOLDEN PLATE. By Jacques Futrelle.
+  CASH INTRIGUE, THE. By George Randolph Chester.
+  DELAFIELD AFFAIR, THE. By Florence Finch Kelly.
+  DOMINANT DOLLAR, THE. By Will Lillibridge.
+  ELUSIVE PIMPERNEL, THE. By Baroness Orczy.
+  GANTON & CO. By Arthur J. Eddy.
+  GILBERT NEAL. By Will N. Harben.
+  GIRL AND THE BILL, THE. By Bannister Merwin.
+  GIRL FROM HIS TOWN, THE. By Marie Van Vorst.
+  GLASS HOUSE, THE. By Florence Morse Kingsley.
+  HIGHWAY OF FATE, THE. By Rosa N. Carey.
+  HOMESTEADERS, THE. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+  HUSBANDS OF EDITH, THE. George Barr McCutcheon.
+  INEZ. (Illustrated Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.
+  INTO THE PRIMITIVE. By Robert Ames Bennet.
+  JACK SPURLOCK, PRODIGAL. By Horace Lorimer.
+  JUDE THE OBSCURE. By Thomas Hardy.
+  KING SPRUCE. By Holman Day.
+  KINGSMEAD. By Bettina Von Hutten.
+  LADDER OF SWORDS, A. By Gilbert Parker.
+  LORIMER OF THE NORTHWEST. By Harold Bindloss.
+  LORRAINE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+  LOVES OF MISS ANNE, THE. By S. R. Crockett.
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller
+at 50 cents per volume.
+
+  SPIRIT OF THE BORDER, THE. By Zane Grey.
+  SPOILERS, THE. By Rex Beach.
+  SQUIRE PHIN. By Holman F. Day.
+  STOOPING LADY, THE. By Maurice Hewlett.
+  SUBJECTION OF ISABEL CARNABY. By Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler.
+  SUNSET TRAIL, THE. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+  SWORD OF THE OLD FRONTIER, A. By Randall Parrish.
+  TALES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By A. Conan Doyle.
+  THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S. By Harold Bell Wright.
+  THROWBACK, THE. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+  TRAIL OF THE SWORD, THE. By Gilbert Parker.
+  TREASURE OF HEAVEN, THE. By Marie Corelli.
+  TWO VANREVELS, THE. By Booth Tarkington.
+  UP FROM SLAVERY. By Booker T. Washington.
+  VASHTI. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+  VIPER OF MILAN, THE (original edition). By Marjorie Bowen.
+  VOICE OF THE PEOPLE, THE. By Ellen Glasgow.
+  WHEEL OF LIFE, THE. By Ellen Glasgow.
+  WHEN WILDERNESS WAS KING. By Randall Parrish.
+  WHERE THE TRAIL DIVIDES. By Will Lillibridge.
+  WOMAN IN GREY, A. By Mrs. C. N. Williamson.
+  WOMAN IN THE ALCOVE, THE. By Anna Katharine Green.
+  YOUNGER SET, THE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+  THE WEAVERS. By Gilbert Parker.
+  THE LITTLE BROWN JUG AT KILDARE. By Meredith Nicholson.
+  THE PRISONERS OF CHANCE. By Randall Parrish.
+  MY LADY OF CLEVE. By Percy J. Hartley.
+  LOADED DICE. By Ellery H. Clark.
+  GET RICH QUICK WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester.
+  THE ORPHAN. By Clarence Mulford.
+  A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE. By Stanley J. Weyman.
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller
+at 50 cents per volume.
+
+  THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS. By Harold Bell Wright.
+  JANE CABLE. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+  ABNER DANIEL. By Will N. Harben.
+  THE FAR HORIZON. By Lucas Malet.
+  THE HALO. By Bettina von Hutten.
+  JERRY JUNIOR. By Jean Webster.
+  THE POWERS AND MAXINE. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+  THE BALANCE OF POWER. By Arthur Goodrich.
+  ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN KETTLE. By Cutcliffe Hyne.
+  ADVENTURES OF GERARD. By A. Conan Doyle.
+  ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By A. Conan Doyle.
+  ARMS AND THE WOMAN. By Harold MacGrath.
+  ARTEMUS WARD'S WORKS (extra illustrated).
+  AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+  AWAKENING OF HELENA RICHIE. By Margaret Deland.
+  BATTLE GROUND, THE. By Ellen Glasgow.
+  BELLE OF BOWLING GREEN, THE. By Amelia E. Barr.
+  BEN BLAIR. By Will Lillibridge.
+  BEST MAN, THE. By Harold MacGrath.
+  BETH NORVELL. By Randall Parrish.
+  BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER. By Randall Parrish.
+  BOB, SON OF BATTLE. By Alfred Ollivant.
+  BRASS BOWL, THE. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+  BRETHREN, THE. By H. Rider Haggard.
+  BROKEN LANCE, THE. By Herbert Quick.
+  BY WIT OF WOMEN. By Arthur W. Marchmont.
+  CALL OF THE BLOOD, THE. By Robert Hitchens.
+  CAP'N ERI. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+  CARDIGAN. By Robert W. Chambers.
+  CAR OF DESTINY, THE. By C. N. and A. N. Williamson.
+  CASTING AWAY OF MRS. LECKS AND MRS. ALESHINE. By Frank R. Stockton.
+  CECILIA'S LOVERS. By Amelia E. Barr.
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+  CIRCLE, THE. By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of
+    "The Masquerader," "The Gambler").
+  COLONIAL FREE LANCE, A. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+  CONQUEST OF CANAAN, THE. By Booth Tarkington.
+  COURIER OF FORTUNE, A. By Arthur W. Marchmont.
+  DARROW ENIGMA, THE. By Melvin Severy.
+  DELIVERANCE, THE. By Ellen Glasgow.
+  DIVINE FIRE, THE. By May Sinclair.
+  EMPIRE BUILDERS. By Francis Lynde.
+  EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD. By A. Conan Doyle.
+  FIGHTING CHANCE, THE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+  FOR A MAIDEN BRAVE. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+  FUGITIVE BLACKSMITH, THE. By Chas. D. Stewart.
+  GOD'S GOOD MAN. By Marie Corelli.
+  HEART'S HIGHWAY, THE. By Mary E. Wilkins.
+  HOLLADAY CASE, THE. By Burton Egbert Stevenson.
+  HURRICANE ISLAND. By H. B. Marriott Watson.
+  IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+  INDIFFERENCE OF JULIET, THE. By Grace S. Richmond.
+  INFELICE. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+  LADY BETTY ACROSS THE WATER. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+  LADY OF THE MOUNT, THE. By Frederic S. Isham.
+  LANE THAT HAD NO TURNING, THE. By Gilbert Parker.
+  LANGFORD OF THE THREE BARS. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+  LAST TRAIL, THE. By Zane Grey.
+  LEAVENWORTH CASE, THE. By Anna Katharine Green.
+  LILAC SUNBONNET, THE. By S. R. Crockett.
+  LIN MCLEAN. By Owen Wister.
+  LONG NIGHT, THE. By Stanley J. Weyman.
+  MAID AT ARMS, THE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
+possible, including obsolete and variant spellings. Obvious
+typographical errors in punctuation (misplaced quotes and the like) have
+been fixed. Corrections [in brackets] in the text are noted below:
+
+page 24: typo corrected
+
+    the courtyard, and with a wrenching growl Madame Alice de
+    Breville's[Bréville's] automobile whined up to my door. The next
+
+page 201: swapped words fixed
+
+    To-night the general is an in[in an] uproar of good humour
+
+page 225: spurious quote removed
+
+    this country. ["]François!" he exclaimed, "You may bring in the
+    little dog--and, François!"
+
+page 272: typo corrected
+
+    business out at the county-seat? The Vicomtess[e] is furious. We
+    were to leave, for a little voyage
+
+page 276: quote added
+
+    "All of us to luncheon to-morrow at The Three Wolves!["] he cried,
+    flinging his hat on
+
+page 277: quote added
+
+    morning, if we are to reach The Three Wolves by noon.["] He
+    recovered his hat from the floor,
+
+page 343: typo corrected
+
+    smiling assurance, for be[he] brought me a telegram forwarded from
+    my studio by my concierge.
+
+page 350: spurious comma removed; typo corrected
+
+    gone away content with their little stomachs[,] filled and two big
+    sous in their pockets.
+
+    and ten minutes later by the Mère Pequin[Péquin] who brings the
+    milk, and then in turn
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Village of Vagabonds, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 26678-8.txt or 26678-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/6/7/26678/
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/26678-8.zip b/26678-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0812cb4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-8.zip
diff --git a/26678-h.zip b/26678-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2c347cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h.zip
diff --git a/26678-h/26678-h.htm b/26678-h/26678-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..de0e28a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/26678-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,8390 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Village of Vagabonds, by F. Berkeley Smith.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
+<!--
+    p {  margin-top: .75em;
+         text-align: justify;
+         margin-bottom: .75em;
+         }
+    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {
+         text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
+         clear: both;
+         }
+    hr { width: 33%;
+	 margin-top: 2em;
+	 margin-bottom: 2em;
+         margin-left: auto;
+         margin-right: auto;
+         clear: both;
+       }
+
+    table {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; border-collapse: collapse; width: 600px;}
+     .tda {text-align: right; padding-right: .5em; text-indent: 0;}
+     .tdb {text-align: left; padding-right: .5em; text-indent: 0;}
+     .tdc {text-align: right; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: 0;}
+
+    body{margin-left: 12%;
+         margin-right: 12%;
+        }
+
+    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+            /*  visibility: hidden;  */
+                position: absolute;
+                left: 92%;
+                font-size: smaller;
+                text-align: right;
+              } /* page numbers */
+
+    .blockquot{margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;}
+
+    .trans_note       {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 4em;
+                       font-size: 0.9em; border: solid 1px;
+                       padding-bottom: .2em; padding-top: .2em;
+                       padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;}
+
+    .bb       {border-bottom: solid 2px;}
+    .bl       {border-left: solid 2px;}
+    .bt       {border-top: solid 2px;}
+    .br       {border-right: solid 2px;}
+    .bbox     {border: solid 2px;}
+
+    .center   {text-align: center;}
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+    .figcenter   {margin: auto; text-align: center;}
+
+    .poem             {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem br          {display: none;}
+    .poem .stanza     {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+    .poem span.i0     {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i2     {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i4     {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    // -->
+    /* XML end  ]]>*/
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Village of Vagabonds, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Village of Vagabonds
+
+Author: F. Berkeley Smith
+
+Release Date: September 21, 2008 [EBook #26678]
+Last updated: March 3, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<h1>A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS</h1>
+<div class="trans_note"><a name="top" id="top"></a>
+<p class="center"><big>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</big></p>
+<p class="noindent">
+Every effort has been made to replicate this text as
+faithfully as possible; please see <a href="#TN">list of printing issues</a> at the
+end.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 384px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="384" height="600" alt="cover" title="cover" />
+</div>
+
+<h1>A VILLAGE OF<br />
+VAGABONDS<br /></h1>
+
+<h2><i>By</i> F. BERKELEY SMITH<br />
+<br /></h2>
+<p class="center">Author of "The Lady of Big Shanty."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;">
+<img src="images/illo-title.jpg" width="141" height="140" alt="decoration" />
+</div>
+<p class="center">A. L. BURT COMPANY<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Publishers</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">New York</span><br />
+</p>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+<p class="center"><small>
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br />
+INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN<br />
+<br />
+COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY<br />
+PUBLISHED MAY, 1910<br />
+<br />
+COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1910, BY SMITH PUBLISHING HOUSE</small><br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="contents" id="contents"></a>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table summary="Table of Contents">
+<tr>
+
+<th class="tda">CHAPTER</th>
+<th class="tdc" colspan="2">PAGE</th>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td class="tda">
+I.</td>
+<td class="tdb">The House by the Marsh</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_ONE">3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">II.</td>
+<td class="tdb">Monsieur le Curé</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWO">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">III.</td>
+<td class="tdb">The Exquisite Madame de Bréville</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_THREE">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">IV.</td>
+<td class="tdb">The Smugglers</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_FOUR">91</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">V.</td>
+<td class="tdb">Marianne</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_FIVE">120</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">VI.</td>
+<td class="tdb">The Baron's Perfectos</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_SIX">151</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">VII.</td>
+<td class="tdb">The Horrors of War</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_SEVEN">186</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">VIII.</td>
+<td class="tdb">The Million of Monsieur de Savignac</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_EIGHT">213</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">IX.</td>
+<td class="tdb">The Man with the Gun</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_NINE">245</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">X.</td>
+<td class="tdb">The Bells of Pont du Sable</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_TEN">274</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">XI.</td>
+<td class="tdb">The Miser--Garron</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_ELEVEN">308</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tda">XII.</td>
+<td class="tdb">Midwinter Flights</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWELVE">339</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_VILLAGE_OF_VAGABONDS" id="A_VILLAGE_OF_VAGABONDS"></a>A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS</h2>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch1-1.jpg" width="600" height="303" alt="house by the marsh" title="house by the marsh" />
+</div>
+<h2>A Village of Vagabonds</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_ONE" id="CHAPTER_ONE"></a>CHAPTER ONE</h2>
+
+<h3>THE HOUSE BY THE MARSH</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was in fat Madame Fontaine's little café at Bar la Rose, that Norman
+village by the sea, that I announced my decision. It being market-day
+the café was noisy with peasants, and the crooked street without jammed
+with carts. Monsieur Torin, the butcher, opposite me, leaned back
+heavily from his glass of applejack and roared.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur Pompanet, the blacksmith, at my elbow, put down his cup of
+black coffee delicately in its clean saucer and opened his honest gray
+eyes wide in amazement. Simultaneously Monsieur Jaclin, the mayor, in
+his freshly ironed blouse, who for want of room was squeezed next to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
+Torin, choked out a wheezy "<i>Bon Dieu!</i>" and blew his nose in derision.</p>
+
+<p>"Pont du Sable&mdash;<i>Bon Dieu!</i>" exclaimed all three. "Pont du Sable&mdash;<i>Bon
+Dieu!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Cristi!</i>" thundered Torin. "You say you are going to <i>live</i> in Pont du
+Sable? <i>Hélas!</i> It is not possible, my friend, you are in earnest!"</p>
+
+<p>"That lost hole of a village of <i>sacré</i> vagabonds," echoed Pompanet.
+"Why, the mud when the tide is out smells like the devil. It is
+unhealthy."</p>
+
+<p>"Père Bordier and I went there for ducks twenty years ago," added the
+mayor. "We were glad enough to get away before dark. B-r-r! It was
+lonely enough, that marsh, and that dirty little fishing-village no
+longer than your arm. Bah! It's a hole, just as Pompanet says."</p>
+
+<p>Torin leaned across the table and laid a heavy hand humanely on my
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Take my advice," said he, "don't give up that snug farm of yours here
+for a lost hole like Pont du Sable."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But the sea-shooting is open there three hundred and sixty-five days in
+the year," I protested, with enthusiasm. "I'm tired of tramping my legs
+off here for a few partridges a season. Besides, what I've been looking
+for I've found&mdash;a fine old abandoned house with a splendid old courtyard
+and a wild garden. I had the good luck to climb over a wall and discover
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"I know the place you mean," interrupted the mayor. "It was a
+post-tavern in the old days before the railroad ran there."</p>
+
+<p>"And later belonged to the estate of the Marquis de Lys," I added
+proudly. "Now it belongs to me."</p>
+
+<p>"What! You've bought it!" exclaimed Torin, half closing his veal-like
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I confessed, "signed, sealed, and paid for."</p>
+
+<p>"And what the devil do you intend to do with that old stone pile now
+that you've got it?" sneered Jaclin. "Ah! You artists are queer
+fellows!"</p>
+
+<p>"Live in it, messieurs," I returned as happily as I could, as I dropped
+six sous for my glass <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>into Madame Fontaine's open palm, and took my
+leave, for under the torrent of their protest I was beginning to feel I
+had been a fool to be carried away by my love of a gun and the
+picturesque.</p>
+
+<p>The marsh at Pont du Sable was an old friend of mine. So were the desert
+beach beyond the dunes, and the lost fishing-village&mdash;"no longer than
+your arm." I had tramped in wind and rain and the good sunlight over
+that great desert of pasty black clay at low tide. I had lain at high
+tide in a sand-pit at the edge of the open sea beyond the dunes, waiting
+for chance shots at curlew and snipe. I had known the bay at the first
+glimmer of dawn with a flight of silver plovers wheeling for a rush over
+my decoys. Dawn&mdash;the lazy, sparkling noon and the golden hours before
+the crisp, still twilight warned me it was high time to start back to
+Bar la Rose fourteen kilometres distant. All these had become enchanting
+memories.</p>
+
+<p>Thus going to Pont du Sable for a day's shooting became a weekly
+delight, then a biweekly fascination, then an incorrigible triweekly
+habit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> There was no alternative left me now but to live there. The
+charm of that wild bay and its lost village had gotten under my skin.
+And thus it happened that I deserted my farm and friends at Bar la Rose,
+and with my goods and chattels boarded the toy train one spring morning,
+bound for my abandoned house, away from sufficient-unto-itself Bar la
+Rose and its pigheaded inhabitants, the butcher, the blacksmith, and the
+mayor.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>It is such a funny little train that runs to my new-found Paradise,
+rocking and puffing and grumbling along on its narrow-gauge track with
+its cars labelled like grown-up ones, first, second, and third class;
+and no two painted the same colour; and its noisy, squat engine like the
+real ones in the toy-stores, that wind up with a key and go rushing off
+frantically in tangents. No wonder the train to my lost village is
+called "<i>Le petit déraillard</i>"&mdash;"The little get-off-the-track." And so I
+say, it might all have come packed in excelsior in a neat box, complete,
+with instructions, for the sum of four francs <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>sixty-five centimes, had
+it not been otherwise destined to run twice daily, rain or shine, to
+Pont du Sable, and beyond.</p>
+
+<p>Poor little train! It is never on time, but it does its best. It is at
+least far more prompt than its passengers, for most of them come running
+after it out of breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Hurry up, mademoiselle!" cries the engineer to a rosy-cheeked girl in
+sabots, rushing with a market-basket under one arm and a live goose
+under the other. "Eh, my little lady, you should have gotten out of bed
+earlier!" laughs the conductor as he pulls her aboard.</p>
+
+<p>"Toot! Toot!" And off goes the little get-off-the-track again, rocking
+and rumbling along past desert stretches of sand dunes screening the
+blue sea; past modern villas, isolated horrors in brick, pink, and baby
+blue, carefully planted away from the trees. Then suddenly the desert is
+left behind! Past the greenest of fields now, dotted with sleek, grazing
+cattle; past groves of pine; past snug Norman farms with low-thatched
+roofs half-smothered in yellow roses. Again the dunes, as the toy train
+swings <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>nearer the sea. They are no longer desert wastes of sand and
+wire-grass, but covered now with a riot of growing things, running in
+one rich congested sweep of orchards, pastures, feathery woodlands and
+matted hedges down to the very edge of the blue sea.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden turn, and the toy train creeps out of a grove of pines to the
+open bay. It is high tide. A flight of plover, startled by the engine,
+go wheeling away in a silver streak to a spit of sand running out from
+the marsh. A puff of smoke from the sand-spit, and the band leaves two
+of its members to a gentleman in new leather leggings; then, whistling
+over the calamity that has befallen them, they wheel again and strike
+for the open sea and safety.</p>
+
+<p>Far across the expanse of rippling turquoise water stands a white
+lighthouse that at dusk is set with a yellow diamond. Snug at the lower
+end of the bay, a long mile from where the plovers rise, lies the lost
+village. Now the toy train is crawling through its crooked single
+street, the engine-bell ringing furiously that stray dogs and children,
+and a panicky flock of sheep <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>may have time to get out of the way. The
+sheep are in charge of a rough little dog with a cast in one eye and a
+slim, barelegged girl who apologizes a dozen times to monsieur the
+engineer between her cries to her flock.</p>
+
+<p>"They are not very well brought up, my little one&mdash;those sacred mutton
+of yours," remarks the engineer as he comes to a dead stop, jumps out of
+his cab, and helps straighten out the tangle.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, monsieur!" sighs the girl in despair. "What will you have? It is
+the little black one that is always to blame!"</p>
+
+<p>The busy dog crowds them steadily into line. He seems to be everywhere
+at once, darting from right to left, now rounding up a stubborn ewe and
+her first-born, now cornering the black one.</p>
+
+<p>"Toot! Toot!" And the little get-off-the-track goes rumbling on through
+the village, past the homes of the fishermen&mdash;a straggling line of low
+stone houses with quaint gabled roofs, and still quainter chimneys, and
+old doorways giving glimpses of dark interiors and dirt floors. Past the
+modest houses of the mayor, the baker, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>the butcher and Monsieur le
+Curé; then through the small public square, in which nothing ever
+happens, and up to a box of a station.</p>
+
+<p>"Pont du Sable!" cries the conductor, with as much importance as if he
+had announced Paris.</p>
+
+<p>I have arrived.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>There was no doubt about my new-found home being abandoned! The low
+stone wall that tempered the wind from courtyard and garden was green
+with lichens. The wide stone gateway, with its oaken doors barred within
+by massive cross-hooks that could have withstood a siege; the courtyard,
+flanked by the house and its rambling appendages that contained within
+their cavernous interiors the cider-press and cellars; the stable with
+its long stone manger, and next it the carved wooden bunk for the groom
+of two centuries ago; the stone pig-sty; the tile-roofed sheds&mdash;all had
+about them the charm of dignified decay.</p>
+
+<p>But the "château" itself!</p>
+
+<p>Generations of spiders had veiled every nook <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>and corner within, and the
+nooks and corners were many. These cobwebs hung in ghostly festoons from
+the low-beamed ceiling of the living room, opening out upon the wild
+garden. They continued up the narrow stone stairway leading to the
+old-fashioned stone-paved bedrooms; they had been spun in a labyrinth
+all over the generous, spooky, old stone-paved attic, whose single eye
+of a window looked out over the quaint gables and undulating tiled roofs
+of adjoining attics, whose dark interiors were still pungent with the
+tons of apples they had once sheltered. Beyond my rambling roofs were
+rich orchards and noble trees and two cool winding lanes running up to
+the green country beyond.</p>
+
+<p>Ten days of strenuous settling passed, at the end of which my abandoned
+house was resuscitated, as it were. Without Suzette, my little
+maid-of-all-work, it would have been impossible. I may say we attacked
+this seemingly superhuman task together&mdash;and Suzette is so human. She
+has that frantic courage of youth, and a smile that is irresistible.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow monsieur shall see," she said. "My kitchen is clean&mdash;that is
+something, eh? And the beds are up, and the armoires, and nearly all of
+monsieur's old studio furniture in place. <i>Eh, ben!</i> To-morrow night
+shall see most of the sketches hung and the rugs beaten&mdash;that is again
+something, eh? Then there will be only the brass and the andirons and
+the guns to clean."</p>
+
+<p>Ten days of strenuous attack, sometimes in the rain, and when I hammer
+my fingers in the rain I swear horribly; the average French saw, too,
+would have placed Job in a sanitarium. Suzette's cheery smile is a
+delight, and how her sturdy, dimpled arms can scrub, and dust, and cook,
+and clean. When she is working at full steam she invariably sings; but
+when her soufflé does not soufflé she bursts into tears&mdash;this good
+little peasant maid-of-all-work!</p>
+
+<p>And so the abandoned house by the marsh was settled. Now there is charm,
+and crackling fires o' nights within, and sunny breakfasts in the garden
+without&mdash;a garden that grew to be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>gay with flowers, and is still in any
+wind, thanks to my friend the lichen-stained wall over which clamber
+vines and all manner of growing things; and sometimes my kitten with her
+snow-white breast, whose innocent green eyes narrow to slits as she
+watches for hours two little birds that are trying to bring up a small
+family in the vines. I have told her plainly if she even touches them I
+will boil her in oil. "Do you hear, Miquette?" and she turns away and
+licks her pink paw as if she had not heard&mdash;you essence of selfishness
+that I love!</p>
+
+<p>Shall I tell you who is coming to dine to-night, Green-eyes? Our
+neighbours! Madame Alice de Bréville who spoils you, and the Marquis de
+Clamard who does not like pussy-cats, but is too well-bred to tell you
+so, and the marquise who flatters you, and Blondel! Don't struggle&mdash;you
+cannot get away, I've got you tight. You are not going to have your way
+all the time. Look at me! Claws in and your ears up! There! And Tanrade,
+that big, whole-souled musician, with his snug old house and his two big
+dogs, either one of which would make mince-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>meat of you should you have
+the misfortune to mistake his garden for your own. Madame de
+Bréville&mdash;do you hear?&mdash;who has but to half close her eyes to make
+Tanrade forget his name. He loves her madly, you see, pussy-kit!</p>
+
+<p>Ah, yes! The lost village! In which the hours are never dull. Lost
+village! With these Parisian neighbours, whose day of discovery
+antedated mine by several years. Lost village! In which there are jolly
+fishermen and fishergirls as pretty as some gipsies&mdash;slim and fearless,
+a genial old mayor, an optimistic blacksmith, and a butcher who is a
+seigneur; gentle old women in white caps, blue-eyed children, kind dogs,
+fresh air, and <i>life</i>!</p>
+
+<p>There is a mysterious fascination about that half-hour before the first
+glimmer of dawn. The leaves, this September morning, are shivering in
+the dusk of my garden; the house is as silent as my sleeping cat save
+for the resonant tick-tock, tick-tock, of the tall Norman clock in the
+kitchen, to which I tiptoe down and breakfast by candle-light.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>You should see the Essence of Selfishness then as she purrs around a
+simmering saucepan of milk destined for my coffee, and inspects the
+toast and jam, and sniffs at my breech-loader, well greased with
+neatsfoot-oil, and now the ghostly light in the courtyard tells me to
+hurry out on the bay.</p>
+
+<p>Low tide. Far out on the desert of black clay a colony of gulls have
+spent the night. Their quarrelsome jargon reaches me as I cautiously
+raise my head over the dunes, for often a band of plover is feeding at
+dawn out on the mud, close enough for a shot. Nothing in view save the
+gulls, those gossiping concierges of the bay, who rise like a squall of
+snow as I make a clean breast of my presence, and start across the
+soggy, slippery mud toward the marsh running out to the open sea. A
+curlew, motionless on his long legs, calls cheerfully from the point of
+sand: "Curli&mdash;Curli!" Strong, cheerful old bird. The rifts of white mist
+are lifting from the bay, thinned into rose vapour now, as the sun
+creeps above the green hillsides.</p>
+
+<p>Swish! Three silver plovers flash back of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>me&mdash;a clean miss. If we never
+missed we should never love a gun. It is time now to stalk the bottoms
+of the narrow, winding causeways that drain the bay. Their beds at low
+tide are full of dead mussels, dormant clams, and awkward sputtering
+crabs; the old ones sidling away from you with threatening claws wide
+open for combat; the young ones standing their ground bravely, in
+ignorance.</p>
+
+<p>Swish again! But this time I manage to kill them both&mdash;two fat golden
+plovers. The Essence of Selfishness shall have her fill at noon, and the
+pupils of her green eyes will contract in ecstasy as she crunches and
+gnaws.</p>
+
+<p>Now all the bay is alive. Moreover, the sea is sweeping in, filling the
+bay like a bath-tub, obliterating the causeways under millions of
+dancing ripples of turquoise. Soon my decoys are out, and I am sunk in a
+sand-pit at the edge of the sea. The wind holds strong from the
+northeast, and I am kept busy until my gun-barrels are too hot to be
+pleasant. All these things happen between dawn and a late breakfast in
+my garden.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Suzette sang all day. It is always so with Suzette upon the days when
+the abandoned house is giving a dinner. The truth is, Suzette loves to
+cook; her pride and her happiness increase as the hour appointed for my
+guests to arrive approaches. With Suzette it is a delightful event.</p>
+
+<p>The cracked jingle-bell over my stone gateway had jingled incessantly
+since early morning, summoning this good little Norman maid-of-all-work
+to slip her trim feet into her sabots and rush across the court to open
+the small door piercing my wall beside the big gates. Twice for beggars,
+once for the grocer's boy, three times for the baker&mdash;who had, after
+all, forgotten the <i>brioche</i>; again for the baker's boy, who invariably
+forgets if he thinks there is another chance in his forgetting, of
+paying a forgotten compliment to Suzette. I heard his mother scolding
+him yesterday. His bread, which he kneads and bakes himself before dawn,
+is losing its lightness. There is little harmony between rising yeast
+and a failing heart. Again the bell jingles; this time it is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>the Mère
+Marianne, with a basket of quivering, iridescent mackerel just in from
+the night's fishing.</p>
+
+<p>Mère Marianne, who once was a village belle, is now thirty-three years
+of age, strong as a man, fair-haired, hatless, bronzed by the sun,
+salt-tanned, blue-eyed, a good mother to seven fair-haired, blue-eyed
+children; yet a hard, amiable drinker in her leisure hours after a good
+catch.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonjour</i>, my all beautiful!" she greets Suzette as the door opens.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonjour</i>, madame!" returns Suzette, her cheeks flushed from her
+kitchen fire.</p>
+
+<p>The word "madame" seems out of place, for Mère Marianne wears her man's
+short tarpaulin coat cinched about her waist with a thin tarred rope.
+Her sinewy legs, bare to the knees, are tightly incased in a pair of
+sea-soaked trousers.</p>
+
+<p>"So monsieur is having his friends to dinner," she rattles on
+garrulously, swinging her basket to the ground and kneeling before it.
+"I heard it as I came up the road from Blancheville's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>girl, who had it
+from the Mère Taurville. <i>Eh ben!</i> What do you think of these?" she adds
+in the same breath, as she turns up two handsful of live mackerel. "Six
+sous apiece to you, my pretty one. You see I came to you first; I'm
+giving them to you as cheap as if you were my own daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, be quick," returns Suzette. "I have my lobster to boil and my
+roast to get ready; four sous if you like, but not a sou more."</p>
+
+<p>"Four sous! <i>Bon Dieu!</i> I would rather eat them myself. They only lack
+speech to tell you themselves how fresh they are. Look at them!"</p>
+
+<p>"Four sous," insists Suzette. "Do you think monsieur is rich enough to
+buy the <i>république</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Allez!</i> Then, take them at four sous." And Mère Marianne laughs, slips
+the money into her trousers pocket, and goes off to another bargain in
+the village, where, if she gets two sous for her mackerel she will be
+lucky.</p>
+
+<p>At six Suzette lifts the Burgundy tenderly from its resting-place in a
+closet beneath the winding stone stairs&mdash;a stone closet, low, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>sinister,
+and dark, that suggests the solitary dungeons of feudal times. Three
+cobwebbed bottles of Burgundy are now carefully ranged before the
+crackling blaze in the living room. At six-thirty Suzette lays the
+generous dark-oak table in lace and silver, thin glasses, red-shaded
+candles, and roses&mdash;plenty of roses from the garden. Her kitchen by this
+time is no longer open to visitors. It has become a sacred place,
+teeming with responsibility&mdash;a laboratory of resplendent shining copper
+sauce-pans, pots and casseroles, in which good things steam and stew and
+bubble under lids of burnished gold, which, when lifted, give one a
+rousing appetite.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>I knew Tanrade's ring&mdash;vigorous and hearty, like himself. You would
+never guess this sturdy, broad-shouldered man has created delicious
+music&mdash;fairy ballets, pantomimes, and operettas. All Paris has applauded
+him for years, and his country has rewarded him with a narrow red
+ribbon. Rough-bearded, bronzed like a sailor, his brown eyes gleam with
+kindness and intelligence. The more I know this modest <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>great man the
+more I like him, and I have known him in all kinds of wind and weather,
+for Tanrade is an indefatigable hunter. He and I have spent nights
+together in his duck-blind&mdash;a submerged hut, a murderous deceit sunk far
+out on the marsh&mdash;cold nights; soft moonlight nights&mdash;the marsh a mystic
+fairy-land; black nights&mdash;-mean nights of thrashing rain. Nights that
+paled to dawn with no luck to bring back to Suzette's larder. Sunny
+mornings after lucky nights, when Tanrade and I would thaw out over our
+coffee in the garden among the roses.</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade had arrived early, a habit with this genial gourmand when the
+abandoned house is giving a dinner, for he likes to supervise the final
+touches. He was looking critically over the three cobwebbed bottles of
+his favourite Burgundy now warming before my fire, and having tenderly
+lifted the last bottle in the row to a place which he considered a safer
+temperature, he straightened and squared his broad shoulders to the
+blaze.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll send you half a dozen more bottles to-morrow," he said.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No, you won't, my old one," I protested, but he raised his hand and
+smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"The better the wine the merrier shall be the giver. Eighteen bottles
+left! <i>Eh bien!</i> It was a lucky day when that monastery was forced to
+disband," he chuckled, alluding to the recent separation of the church
+from the state. "<i>Vive la République!</i>" He crossed the room to the
+sideboard and, having assured himself the Camembert was of the right
+age, went singing into Suzette's kitchen to glance at the salad.</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo, my little one, for your romaine!" I heard him exclaim.</p>
+
+<p>Then a moment's silence ensued, while he tasted the dressing.
+"<i>Sacristi!</i> My child, do you think we are rabbits. <i>Hélas!</i> Not a bit
+of astragon in your seasoning! A thousand thunders! A salad is not a
+salad without astragon. Come, be quick, the lantern! I know where the
+bed is in the garden."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, monsieur Tanrade! To think I should have forgotten it!" sighed the
+little maid. "If monsieur will only let me hold the lantern for him!"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"There, there! Never mind! See, you are forgiven. Attend to your
+lobster. Quick, your soup is boiling over!" And he went out into the
+garden in search of the seasoning.</p>
+
+<p>Suzette adores him&mdash;who does not in the lost village? He had rewarded
+her with a two-franc piece and forgiven her with a kiss.</p>
+
+<p>I had hardly time to open the big gates without and light the candles
+within under their red shades glowing over the mass of roses still wet
+from the garden, before I heard the devilish wail of a siren beyond the
+wall; then a sudden flash of white light from two search-lights
+illumined the courtyard, and with a wrenching growl Madame Alice de
+<a name="Page_24t" id="Page_24t"></a><a href="#Page_24tn">Bréville's</a> automobile whined up to my door. The next instant the tip of
+a little patent-leather slipper, followed by the trimmest of silken
+ankles framed in a frou-frou of creamy lace, felt for the steel step of
+the limousine. At the same moment a small white-gloved hand was
+outstretched to mine for support.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonsoir</i>, dear friend," she greeted me in her delicious voice. "You
+see how punctual<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> I am. <i>L'heure militaire</i>&mdash;like you Americans." And
+she laughed outright, disclosing two exquisite rows of pearls, her soft,
+dark eyes half closing mischievously as she entered my door&mdash;eyes as
+black as her hair, which she wore in a bandeau. The tonneau growled to
+its improvised garage under the wood-shed.</p>
+
+<p>She was standing now in the hall at the foot of the narrow stone stairs,
+and as I slipped the long opera-cloak of dove-gray from her shoulders as
+white as ivory, she glided out of it, and into the living room&mdash;a room
+which serves as gun room, dining room and salon.</p>
+
+<p>"Stand where you are," I said, as madame approached the fire. "What a
+portrait!"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped, the dancing light from the flames playing over her lithe,
+exquisite figure, moulded in a gown of scintillating scales of black
+jet. Then, seeing I had finished my mental note of line and composition,
+she half turned her pretty head and caught sight of the ruby, cobwebbed
+row of old Burgundy.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Tanrade's Burgundy!" she exclaimed with a little cry of delight.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"How did you guess?"</p>
+
+<p>"Guess! One does not have to guess when one sees as good Burgundy as
+that. You see I know it." She stretched forth her firm white arms to the
+blaze.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is he, that good-for-nothing fellow?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"In the garden after some astragon for the salad."</p>
+
+<p>She tripped to the half-open door leading to the tangled maze of paths.</p>
+
+<p>"Tanrade! Tanrade! <i>Bonsoir, ami!</i>" she called.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonsoir</i>, Madame Punctual," echoed his great voice from the end of the
+garden, and again he broke forth in song as he came hurrying back to the
+house with his lantern and his bunch of seasoning. Following at his
+heels trotted the Essence of Selfishness.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you beauty!" cried Alice. She nodded mischievously to Tanrade, who
+rushed to the piano, and before the Essence of Selfishness had time to
+elude her she was picked up bodily, held by her fore paws and forced to
+dance upon <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>her hind legs, her sleek head turned aside in hate, her
+velvety ears flattened to her skull.</p>
+
+<p>"Dance! Dance!" laughed Alice. "One&mdash;two, one&mdash;two! <i>Voilà!</i>" The next
+instant Miquette was caught up and hugged to a soft neck encircled with
+jewels. "There, go! Do what you like, Mademoiselle Independent!"</p>
+
+<p>And as Miquette regained her liberty upon her four paws, the Marquis and
+Marquise de Clamard announced their arrival by tapping on the window, so
+that for the moment the cozy room was deserted save by Miquette, who
+profited during the interval by stealing a whole sardine from the
+hors-d'&oelig;uvres.</p>
+
+<p>Another good fellow is the marquis&mdash;tall, with the air of a diplomat,
+the simplicity of a child, and the manners of a prince. Another good
+friend, too, is the marquise. They had come on foot, these near-by
+neighbours, with their lantern. Was there ever such a marquise? This
+once famous actress, who interpreted the comedies of Molière. Was there
+ever a more charming grandmother? Ah! You do not look it even now with
+your gray hair, for you are ever <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>young and witty and gracious. She
+clapped her hands as she peered across the dinner-table to the row
+before the chimney.</p>
+
+<p>"My Burgundy, I see!" she exclaimed, to my surprise; Tanrade was gazing
+intently at a sketch. "Oh, you shall see," added the marquise seriously.
+"You are not the only one, my friend, the gods have blessed. Did you not
+send me a dozen bottles this morning, Monsieur Tanrade? Come, confess!"</p>
+
+<p>He turned and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Impossible! I cannot remember. I am so absent-minded, madame," and he
+bent and kissed her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Blondel?" cried Clamard, as he extracted a thin cigarette-case
+from his waistcoat.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll be here presently," I explained.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a long drive for him," added the marquise, a ring of sympathy in
+her voice. "Poor boy, he is working so hard now that he is editor of <i>La
+Revue Normande</i>. Ah, those wretched politics!"</p>
+
+<p>"He doesn't mind it," broke in Tanrade, "he has a skin like a
+bear&mdash;driving night and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>day all over the country as he does. What
+energy, <i>mon Dieu!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" cried Madame de Bréville, "Blondel shall sing for us 'L'Histoire
+de Madame X.' You shall cry with laughter."</p>
+
+<p>"And 'Le Brigadier de Tours,'" added Tanrade.</p>
+
+<p>The sound of hoofs and the rattle of a dog-cart beyond the wall sent us
+hurrying to the courtyard.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh, voilà!</i>" shouted Tanrade. "There he is, that good Blondel!"</p>
+
+<p>"Suzette!" I cried as I passed the kitchen. "The vermouth!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bien</i>, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, Blondel, there is nothing to eat, you late vagabond!"</p>
+
+<p>A black mare steaming from her hot pace of twelve miles, drawing a
+red-wheeled dog-cart, entered the courtyard.</p>
+
+<p>"A thousand pardons," came a voice out of a bearskin coat, "my editorial
+had to go to press early, or I should have been here half an hour ago."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Then such a greeting and a general rush to unharness the tired mare, the
+marquis tugging at one trace and I at the other, while Tanrade backed
+the cart under the shed next to the cider-press, Alice de Bréville and
+the marquise holding the mare's head. All this, despite the pleadings of
+Blondel, who has a horror of giving trouble&mdash;the only man servant to the
+abandoned house being Pierre, who was occupied at that hour in
+patrolling the coast in the employ of the French République, looking out
+for possible smugglers, and in whose spare hours served me as gardener.
+And so the mare was led into the stable with its stone manger, where
+every one helped with halter, blanket, a warm bed, and a good supper;
+Alice de Bréville holding the lantern while the marquise bound on the
+mare's blanket with a girdle of straw.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur, dinner is served," announced Suzette gently as she entered
+the stable.</p>
+
+<p>"Vive Suzette!" shouted the company. "<i>Allons manger, mes enfants!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>They found their places at the table by themselves. In the abandoned
+house there is neither <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>host nor formality, but in their stead
+comradeship, understanding, and good cheer.</p>
+
+<p>Blondel is delightful. You can always count on him for the current
+events with the soup, the latest scandal with the roast, and a song of
+his own making with the cheese. What more can one ask? It all rolls from
+him as easily as the ink from his clever pen; it is as natural with him
+as his smile or the merriment in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>During the entire dinner the Essence of Selfishness was busy visiting
+from one friendly lap to another, frequently crossing the table to do
+so, and as she refuses to dine from a saucer, though it be of the finest
+porcelain of Rouen, she was fed piecemeal. It was easily seen Tanrade
+was envious of this charity from one shapely little hand.</p>
+
+<p>What a contrast are these dinners in the lost village to some I have
+known elsewhere! What refreshing vivacity! How genuine and merry they
+are from the arrival of the first guest to the going of the last! When
+at last the coffee and liqueurs were reached and six thin spirals of
+blue smoke were curling lazily up among the rafters of the low ceiling,
+the small upright piano <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>talked under Tanrade's vibrant touch. He sang
+heartily whatever came into his head; now a quaint peasant song, again
+the latest success of the café concert.</p>
+
+<p>Alice de Bréville, stretched out in the long chair before the fire, was
+listening intently.</p>
+
+<p>And so with song and story the hands of the tall clock slipped by the
+hours. It was midnight before we knew it. Again Tanrade played&mdash;this
+time it was the second act of his new operetta. When he had finished he
+took his seat beside the woman in the long chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo!" she murmured in his ear. Then she listened as he talked to her
+earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" I overheard her say to him with conviction, her eyes gleaming.
+"And you are satisfied at last with the second act?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, after a month's struggle with it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, I am so glad&mdash;so glad!" she sighed, and pressed his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go to Paris next week for the rehearsals."</p>
+
+<p>"For long?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "For <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>weeks, perhaps. Come," he
+said, "let us go out to the wall&mdash;the moon is up. The marsh is so
+beautiful in the moonlight."</p>
+
+<p>She rose, slipped on the dove-gray cloak he brought her, and together
+they disappeared in the courtyard. The marquise raised her eyes to mine
+and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonne promenade</i>, dear children," she called after them, but they did
+not hear.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later Alice de Bréville was speeding back to her château;
+Blondel and his mare were also clattering homeward, for he had still an
+article to finish before daylight. I had just bid the marquis and the
+marquise good night when Tanrade, who was about to follow, suddenly
+turned and called me aside in the shadow of the gateway. What he said to
+me made my heart leap. His eyes were shining with a strange light; his
+hands, gripping me by both shoulders, trembled.</p>
+
+<p>"It is true," he repeated. "Don't tell me I am dreaming, old friend.
+Yes, it is true. Alice&mdash;yes, it is Alice. Come, a glass of wine! I feel
+faint&mdash;and happy!"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>We went back to the dying fire, and I believe he heard all my
+congratulations, though I am not sure. He seemed in a dream.</p>
+
+<p>When he had gone Suzette lighted my candle.</p>
+
+<p>"Suzette," I said, "your dinner was a success."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but I am content, monsieur. <i>Mon Dieu</i>, but I do love to cook!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Miquette! It's past your bedtime, you adorable egoist."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonsoir</i>, Suzette."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonsoir</i>, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>Village of Vagabonds! In which the hours are never dull! Lost village by
+the Normand sea! In which lies a paradise of good-fellowship, romance,
+love, and sound red wine!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch1-2.jpg" width="500" alt="train" title="train" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_TWO" id="CHAPTER_TWO"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch2-1.jpg" width="400" height="282" alt="the little stone church" title="the little stone church" />
+</div>
+<h2>CHAPTER TWO</h2>
+
+<h3>MONSIEUR LE CURÉ</h3>
+
+
+<p>The sun had just risen, and the bell of the little stone church
+chattered and jangled, flinging its impatient call over the sleeping
+village of Pont du Sable. In the clear morning air its voice could be
+heard to the tops of the green hills, and across the wide salt marsh
+that stretched its feathery fingers to the open sea.</p>
+
+<p>A lone, wrinkled fisherman, rolling lazily on the mighty heave of the
+incoming tide, turned his head landward.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sapristi!</i>" he grinned, as he slipped a slimy thumb from the meshes of
+a mackerel-net and crossed himself. "She has a hoarse throat, that
+little one."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Far up the hillside a mile back of the churchyard, a barelegged girl
+driving a cow stopped to listen, her hood pushed back, her brown hands
+crossed upon her breast.</p>
+
+<p>Lower down, skirting the velvet edge of the marsh, filmy rifts of mist
+broke into shreds or blended with the spirals of blue smoke mounting
+skyward from freshly kindled fires.</p>
+
+<p>Pont du Sable was awake for the day.</p>
+
+<p>It is the most unimportant of little villages, yet it is four centuries
+old, and of stone. It seems to have shrivelled by its great age, like
+its oldest inhabitants. One-half of its two score of fishermen's houses
+lie crouched to the rambling edge of its single street; the other half
+might have been dropped at random, like stones from the pocket of some
+hurrying giant. Some of these, including the house of the ruddy little
+mayor and the polite, florid grocer, lie spilled along the edge of the
+marsh.</p>
+
+<p>As for Monsieur le Curé, he was at this very moment in the small stone
+church saying mass to five fishermen, two devout housewives, a little
+child, an old woman in a white cap, and myself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> Being in my
+shooting-boots, I had tiptoed into a back seat behind two of the
+fishermen, and sat in silence watching Monsieur le Curé's gaunt figure
+and listening to his deep, well-modulated, resonant voice.</p>
+
+<p>What I saw was a man uncommonly tall and well built, dressed in a rusty
+black soutane that reached in straight lines from beneath his chin to
+his feet, which were encased in low calf shoes with steel buckles. I
+noticed, too, that his face was angular and humorous; his eyes keen and
+merry by turns; his hair of the colourless brown one sees among
+fisherfolk whose lives are spent in the sun and rain. I saw, too, that
+he was impecunious, for the front edges of his cassock were frayed and
+three buttons missing, not to be wondered at, I said to myself, as I
+remembered that the stone church, like the village it comforted, had
+always been poor.</p>
+
+<p>Now and then during the mass I saw the curé glance at the small leaded
+window above him as if making a mental note of the swaying tree-tops
+without in the graveyard. Then his keen gray eyes again reverted to the
+page he knew <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>by heart. The look evidently carried some significance,
+for the gray-haired old sea-dog in front of me cocked his blue eye to
+his partner&mdash;they were both in from a rough night's fishing&mdash;and
+muttered:</p>
+
+<p>"It will be a short mass."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ben sûr</i>," whispered back the other from behind his leathery hand.
+"The wind's from the northeast. It will blow a gale before sundown." And
+he nodded toward the swaying tree-tops.</p>
+
+<p>With this, the one with the blue eyes straightened back in the wooden
+pew and folded his short, knotty arms in attention; the muscles of his
+broad shoulders showing under his thick seaman's jersey, the collar
+encircling his corded, stocky neck deep-seamed by a thousand winds and
+seas. The gestures of these two old craftsmen of the sea, who had worked
+so long together, were strangely similar. When they knelt I could see
+the straw sticking from the heels of their four wooden sabots and the
+rolled-up bottoms of their patched sail-cloth trousers.</p>
+
+<p>As the mass ended the old woman in the white cap coughed gently, the
+curé closed his book, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>stepped from the chancel, patted the child's head
+in passing, strode rapidly to the sacristy, and closed the door behind
+him.</p>
+
+<p>I followed the handful of worshippers out into the sunlight and down the
+hill. As I passed the two old fishermen I heard the one with the blue
+eyes say to his mate with the leathery hand:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Allons, viens t'en!</i> What if we went to the café after that dog's
+night of a sea?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't say no," returned his partner; then he winked at me and pointed
+to the sky.</p>
+
+<p>"I know," I said. "It's what I've been waiting for."</p>
+
+<p>I kept on down the crooked hill to the public square where nothing ever
+happens save the arrival of the toy train and the yearly fête, and
+deciding the two old salts were right after their "dog's night" (and it
+had blown a gale), wheeled to the left and followed them to the tiniest
+of cafés kept by stout, cheery Madame Vinet. It has a box of a kitchen
+through which you pass into a little square room with just space enough
+for four tables; or you may go through the kitchen into a snug garden
+gay <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>in geraniums and find a sheltered table beneath a rickety arbour.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, <i>mais</i>, it was bad enough!" grinned the one with the leathery hand
+as he drained his thimbleful of applejack and, Norman-like, tossed the
+last drop on the floor of the snug room.</p>
+
+<p>"Bad enough! It was a sea, I tell you, monsieur, like none since the
+night the wreck of <i>La Belle Marie</i> came ashore," chimed in the one with
+the blue eye, as he placed his elbows on the clean marbletop table and
+made room for my chair. "<i>Mon Dieu!</i> You should have seen the ducks
+south of the Wolf. Aye, 'twas a sight for an empty stomach."</p>
+
+<p>The one with the leathery hand nodded his confirmation sleepily.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Hélas!</i>" continued the one with the blue eye. "If monsieur could only
+have been with us!" As he spoke he lifted his shaggy eyebrows in the
+direction of the church and laughed softly. "He's happy with his
+northeast wind; I knew 'twould be a short mass."</p>
+
+<p>"A good catch?" I ventured, looking toward him as Madame Vinet brought
+my glass.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Eight thousand mackerel, monsieur. We should have had ten thousand had
+not the wind shifted."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ben sûr!</i>" grumbled the one with the leathery hand.</p>
+
+<p>At this Madame Vinet planted her fists on her ample hips. "<i>Hélas!</i>
+There's the Mère Coraline's girl to be married Thursday," she sighed,
+"and Planchette's baby to be christened Tuesday, and the wind in the
+northeast, <i>mon Dieu!</i>" And she went back to her spotless kitchen for a
+sou's worth of black coffee for a little girl who had just entered.</p>
+
+<p>Big, strong, hearty Madame Vinet! She has the frankness of a man and the
+tenderness of a mother. There is something of her youth still left at
+forty-six; not her figure&mdash;that is rotund simplicity itself&mdash;but in the
+clearness of her brown eyes and the finely cut profile before it reaches
+her double chin, and the dimples in her hands, well shaped even to-day.</p>
+
+<p>And so the little girl who had come in for the sou's worth of coffee
+received an honest measure, smoking hot out of a dipper and into the
+bottle <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>she had brought. In payment Madame Vinet kissed the child, and
+added a lump of sugar to the bargain. From where I sat I could see the
+tears start in the good woman's eyes. The next moment she came back to
+us laughing to disguise them.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you good soul!" I thought to myself. "Always in a good humour;
+always pleasant. There you go again&mdash;this time it was the wife of a poor
+fisherman who could not pay. How many a poor devil of a half-frozen
+sailor you have warmed, you whose heart is so big and whose gains are so
+small!"</p>
+
+<p>I rose at length, bade the two old salts good morning, and with a
+blessing of good luck, recovered my gun from the kitchen cupboard, where
+I had reverently left it during mass, and went on my way to shoot. I,
+too, was anxious to make the most of the northeast wind.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>There being no street in the lost village save the main thoroughfare,
+one finds only alleys flanked by rambling walls. One of these runs up to
+Tanrade's house; another finds its zig<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>zag way to the back gate of the
+marquis, who, being a royalist, insists upon telling you so, for the
+keystone of his gate is emblazoned with a bas-relief of two carved
+eagles guarding the family crest. Still another leads unexpectedly to
+the silent garden of Monsieur le Curé. It is a protecting little by-way
+whose walls tell no tales. How many a suffering heart seeking human
+sympathy and advice has the strong figure in the soutane sent home with
+fresh courage by way of this back lane. Indeed it would be a lost
+village without him. He is barely over forty years old, and yet no curé
+was ever given a poorer parish, for Pont du Sable has been bankrupt for
+generations. Since a fortnight&mdash;so I am told&mdash;Monsieur le Curé has had
+no <i>bonne</i>. The reason is that no good Suzette can be found to replace
+the one whom he married to a young farmer from Bonville. The result is
+the good curé dines many times a week with the marquis, where he is so
+entertaining and so altogether delightful and welcome a guest that the
+marquise tells me she feels ten years younger after he has gone.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Poor man," she confided to me the other day, "what will you have? He
+has no <i>bonne</i>, and he detests cooking. Yesterday he lunched at the
+château with Alice de Bréville; to-morrow he will be cheering up two old
+maiden aunts who live a league from Bar la Rose. Is it not sad?" And she
+laughed merrily.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur le Curé has no <i>bonne</i>!" <i>Parbleu!</i> It has become a household
+phrase in Pont du Sable. It is so difficult to get a servant here; the
+girls are all fishing. As for Tanrade's maid-of-all-work, like the
+noiseless butler of the marquis and the <i>femme de chambre</i> of Alice de
+Bréville, they are all from Paris; and yet I'll wager that no larder in
+the village is better stocked than Monsieur le Curé's, for every
+housewife vies with her neighbour in ready-cooked donations since the
+young man from Bonville was accepted.</p>
+
+<p>But these good people do not forget. They remember the day when the farm
+of Père Marin burned; they recall the figure in the black soutane
+stumbling on through flame and smoke carrying an unconscious little girl
+in his strong arms to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>safety. Four times he went back where no man
+dared go&mdash;and each time came out with a life.</p>
+
+<p>Again, but for his indomitable grit, a half-drowned father and daughter,
+clinging to a capsized fishing-smack in a winter sea, would not be
+alive&mdash;there are even fisherfolk who cannot swim. Monsieur le Curé saw
+this at a glance, alone he fought his way in the freezing surf out to
+the girl and the man. He brought them in and they lived.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>But there is a short cut to the marsh if you do but know it&mdash;one that
+has served me before. You can easily find it, for you have but to follow
+your nose along the wall of Madame Vinet's café, creep past the modest
+rose-garden of the mayor, zigzag for a hundred paces or more among
+crumbling walls, and before you know it you are out on the marsh.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The one with the blue eye was right.</p>
+
+<p>The wind <i>was</i> from the northeast in earnest, and the tide racing in.
+Half a mile outward a dozen long puntlike scows, loaded to their brims
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>with sand, were being borne on the swirling current up the river's
+channel, each guided at the stern by a ragged dot of a figure straining
+at an oar.</p>
+
+<p>As I struck out across the desolate waste of mud, bound for the point of
+dry marsh, the figure steering the last scow, as he passed, waved a
+warning to me. With the incoming sweep of tide the sunlight faded, the
+bay became noisy with the cries of sea-fowl, and the lighthouse beyond
+the river's channel stood out against the ominous green sky like a stick
+of school-chalk.</p>
+
+<p>I jerked my cap tighter over my ears, and lowering my head to the wind
+kept on. I had barely time to make the marsh. Over the black desolate
+waste of clay-mud the sea was spreading its hands&mdash;long, dangerous
+hands, with fingers that every moment shot out longer and nearer my
+tracks. The wind blew in howling gusts now, straight in from the open
+sea. Days like these the ducks have no alternative but the bay. Only a
+black diver can stand the strain outside. Tough old pirates
+these&mdash;diving to keep warm.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I kept on, foolish as it was. A flight of becassines were whirled past
+me, twittering in a panic as they fought their way out of sudden
+squalls. I turned to look back. Already my sunken tracks were
+obliterated under a glaze of water, but I felt I was safe, for I had
+gained harder ground. It was a relief to slide to the bottom of one of
+the labyrinth of causeways that drain the marsh, and plunge on sheltered
+from the wind.</p>
+
+<p>Presently I heard ducks quacking ahead. I raised my head cautiously to
+the level of the wire-grass. A hundred rods beyond, nine black ducks
+were grouped near the edge of a circular pool; behind them, from where I
+stood, there rose from the level waste a humplike mound. I could no
+longer proceed along the bottom of the causeway, as it was being rapidly
+filled to within an inch below my boot-tops. The hump was my only
+salvation, so I crawled to the bank and started to stalk the nine black
+ducks.</p>
+
+<p>It was difficult to keep on my feet on the slimy mud-bank, for the wind,
+true to the fishermen's prediction, was now blowing half a gale.
+Be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>sides, this portion of the marsh was strange to me, as I had only
+seen it at a distance from the lower end of the bay, where I generally
+shot. I was within range of the ducks now, and had raised my hammers&mdash;I
+still shoot a hammer-gun&mdash;when a human voice rang out. Then, like some
+weird jack-in-the-box, there popped out from the mound a straight,
+long-waisted body in black waving its arms.</p>
+
+<p>It was the curé!</p>
+
+<p>"Stay where you are," he shouted. "Treacherous ground! I'll come and
+help you!" Then for a second he peered intently under his hand. "Ah! It
+is you, monsieur&mdash;the newcomer; I might have guessed it." He laughed,
+leaping out and striding toward me. "Ah, you Americans! You do not mind
+the weather."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonjour</i>, Monsieur le Curé," I shouted back in astonishment, trying to
+steady myself across a narrow bridge of mud spanning the causeway.</p>
+
+<p>"Look out!" he cried. "That mud you're on is dangerous. She's sinking!"</p>
+
+<p>It was too late; my right foot barely made <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>another step before down I
+went, gun, shells, and all, up to my chin in ice-cold water. The next
+instant he had me by the collar of my leather coat in a grip of steel,
+and I was hauled out, dripping and draining, on the bank.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm all right," I sputtered.</p>
+
+<p>"Come inside <i>instantly</i>," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Inside? Inside where?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>He pointed to the hump.</p>
+
+<p>"You must get your wet things off and into bed at once." This came as a
+command.</p>
+
+<p>"Bed! Where? Whose bed?" Was he an Aladdin with a magic lamp, that could
+summon comfort in that desolation? "Monsieur," I choked, "I owe you a
+thousand apologies. I came near killing one of your nine decoys. I
+mistook them for wild mallards."</p>
+
+<p>He laughed softly. "They are not mine," he explained. "They belong to
+the marquis; it is his gardener who pickets them out for me. I could not
+afford to keep them myself. They eat outrageously, those nine deceivers.
+They are well placed to-day; just the right distance." And he called the
+three nearest us by name, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>for they were quacking loudly. "Be still,
+Fannine! There, Pierrot! If your cord and swivel does not work, my good
+drake, I'll fix it for you, but don't make such a fuss; you'll have
+noise enough to make later." And gripping me by the arm, he pushed me
+firmly ahead of him to a small open door in the mound. I peered into the
+darkness within.</p>
+
+<p>"Get in," said he. "It's small, but it's warm and comfortable inside.
+After you, my friend," he added graciously, and we descended into a
+narrow ditch, its end blocked by a small, safe-like door leading into a
+subterranean hut, its roof being the mound, shelving out to a
+semicircular, overhanging eyebrow skirting the edge of the circular pool
+some ten yards back of the line of live decoys.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Monsieur le Curé, "you should have seen the duck-blind I
+had three years ago. This <i>gabion</i> of mine is smaller, but it is in
+better line with the flights," he explained as he opened the door. "Look
+out for the steps&mdash;there are two."</p>
+
+<p>I now stood shivering in the gloom of a box-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>like, underground anteroom,
+provided with a grated floor and a low ribbed ceiling; beyond this,
+through another small door, was an adjoining compartment deeper than the
+one in which we stood, and in the darkness I caught the outline of a
+cot-bed, a carved, high-backed, leather-seated chair, and the blue glint
+of guns lying in their racks. The place was warm and smelled, like the
+cabin of some fishing-sloop, of sea-salt and tar.</p>
+
+<p>It did not take me long to get out of my clothes. When the last of them
+lay around my heels I received a rubbing down with a coarse sailor's
+shirt, that sent the blood back where it belonged.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Allons!</i> Into bed at once!" insisted the curé. "You'll find those army
+blankets dry."</p>
+
+<p>I felt my way in while he struck a match and lighted a candle upon a
+narrow shelf strewn with empty cartridges. The candle sputtered, sunk to
+a blue flame, and flared up cheerfully, while the curé poured me out a
+stiff glass of brandy, and I lay warm in the blankets of the <i>Armée
+Française</i>, and gazed about me at my strange quarters.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Back of my pillow was, tightly closed, in three sections, a narrow
+firing-slit. Beside the bed the candle's glow played over the carved
+back of the leather-seated chair. Above the closed slit ran a shelf, and
+ranged upon it were some fifty cartridges and an old-fashioned fat
+opera-glass. This, then, was Monsieur le Curé's duck-blind, or rather,
+in French, his <i>gabion</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The live decoys began quacking nervously. The curé, about to speak,
+tip-toed over to the firing-slit and let down cautiously one of its
+compartments.</p>
+
+<p>"A flight of plovers passing over us," he remarked. "Yes, there they go.
+If the wind will only hold you shall see&mdash;there will be ducks in," his
+gray eyes beaming at the thought.</p>
+
+<p>Then he drew the chair away from the firing-slit and seated himself,
+facing me.</p>
+
+<p>"If you knew," he began, "how much it means to me to talk to one of the
+outside world&mdash;your country&mdash;America! You must tell me much about it. I
+have always longed to see it, but&mdash;&mdash;" He shrugged his shoulders
+helplessly. "Are you warm?" he asked.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Warm?" I laughed. "I never felt better in my life." And I thanked him
+again for his kindness to a stranger in distress. "A stranger in luck,"
+I added.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw you at mass this morning," he returned bending over, his hands on
+his knees. "But you are not a Catholic, my friend? You are always
+welcome to my church, however, remember that."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," I said. "I like your little church, and&mdash;I like you,
+Monsieur le Curé."</p>
+
+<p>He put forth his hand. "Brother sportsmen," he said. "It <i>is</i> a
+brotherhood, isn't it? You are a Protestant, is it not so?" And his
+voice sank to a gentle tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I am what they call a blue Presbyterian."</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard of that," he said. "'A <i>blue</i> Presbyterian.'" He repeated
+it to himself and smiled. Suddenly he straightened and his finger went
+to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Hark!" he whispered. "Hear their wings!"</p>
+
+<p>Instantly the decoys set up a strenuous quacking. Then again all was
+silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Too high," muttered the curé. "I do not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>expect much in before the late
+afternoon. Do you smoke?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, gladly," I replied, "but my cigarettes are done for, I am afraid;
+they were in the pocket of my hunting coat."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't move," he said, noticing my effort to rise. "I've got
+cigarettes." And he fumbled in the shadow of the narrow shelf.</p>
+
+<p>I had hardly lighted my own over the candle-flame, which he held for me,
+when I felt a gentle rocking and heard the shells rattle as they rolled
+to the end of the shelf, stop, and roll back again.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not be alarmed," he laughed, "it's only the water filling the outer
+jacket of my <i>gabion</i>. We shall be settled and steady in a moment, and
+afloat for the night."</p>
+
+<p>"The night!" I exclaimed in amazement. "But, my good friend, I have no
+intention of wearing out my welcome; I had planned to get home for
+luncheon."</p>
+
+<p>"Impossible!" he replied. "We are now completely surrounded by water. It
+is always so at high tide at this end of the bay. Come, see for
+yourself. Besides, you don't know how glad I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>am that we can have the
+chance to shoot together. I've been waiting weeks for this wind."</p>
+
+<p>He blew out the candle, and again opened the firing-slit. As far as one
+could see the distant sea was one vast sweep of roaring water.</p>
+
+<p>"You see," he said, closing the firing-slit and striking a match&mdash;"you
+<i>must</i> stay. I have plenty of dry clothes for you in the locker, and we
+shall not go hungry." He drew out a basket from beneath the cot and took
+from it a roasted chicken, two litres of red wine, and some bread and
+cheese, which he laid on the shelf. "A present," he remarked, "from one
+of my parishioners. You know, I have no <i>bonne</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard so," said I.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed softly. "One hears everything in the village. Ah! But what
+good children they are! They even forgive my love of shooting!" He
+crossed his strong arms in the rusty black sleeves of his cassock, and
+for some moments looked at me seriously. "You think it strange, no
+doubt, irreverent, for a curé to shoot," he continued. "Forgive me if I
+have shocked the ideas of your faith."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" I returned, raising my hand in protest. "You are only human,
+an honest sportsman. We understand each other perfectly."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," he returned, with sincerity. "I was afraid you might not
+understand&mdash;you are the first American I have ever met."</p>
+
+<p>He began taking out an outfit of sailor's clothes from the locker&mdash;warm
+things&mdash;which I proceeded to get into with satisfaction. I had just
+poked my head through the rough jersey and buckled my belt when our
+decoys again gave warning.</p>
+
+<p>Out went the candle.</p>
+
+<p>"Mallards!" whispered the curé. "Here, take this gun, quick! It is the
+marquis's favourite," he added in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>He reached for another breech-loader, motioned me to the chair, let down
+the three compartments of the firing-slit, and stretched himself out
+full length on the cot, his keen eyes scanning the bay at a glance.</p>
+
+<p>We were just in time&mdash;a dozen mallards were coming straight for our
+decoys.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Bang! thundered the curé's gun.</p>
+
+<p>Bang! Bang! echoed my own. Then another roar from the curé's left
+barrel. When the smoke cleared three fat ducks were kicking beyond our
+deceivers.</p>
+
+<p>"Take him!" he cried, as a straggler&mdash;a drake&mdash;shot past us. I snapped
+in a shell and missed, but the curé was surer. Down came the straggler,
+a dead duck at sixty yards.</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo, Monsieur le Curé!" I cried.</p>
+
+<p>But he only smiled modestly and, extracting the empty shell, blew the
+lurking smoke free from the barrels. It was noon when we turned to half
+the chicken and a bottle of <i>vin ordinaire</i> with an appetite.</p>
+
+<p>The northeast wind had now shifted to the south; the bay became like
+glass, and so the afternoon passed until the blood-red sun, like some
+huge ribbed lantern of the Japanese, slowly sank into the sea. It grew
+dusk over the desolate marsh. Stray flights of plovers, now that the
+tide was again on its ebb, began to choose their resting places for the
+night.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going out to take a look," said the curé.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> Again, like some gopher
+of the prairie, he rose up out of his burrow.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he returned, the old enthusiastic gleam in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"The wind's changing," he announced. "It will be in the north again
+to-night; we shall have a full moon and better luck, I hope. Do you
+know," he went on excitedly, "that one night last October I killed
+forty-two ducks alone in this old <i>gabion</i>. <i>Forty-two!</i> Twenty mallards
+and the rest Vignon&mdash;and not a shot before one o'clock in the morning.
+Then they came in, right and left. I believe my faithful decoys will
+remember that night until their dying day. Ah, it was glorious!
+Glorious!" His tanned, weather-beaten features wrinkled with delight; he
+had the skin of a sailor, and I wondered how often the marsh had hid
+him. "Ah, my friend," he said, with a sigh, as we sat down to the
+remainder of the chicken and <i>vin ordinaire</i> for supper, this time
+including the cheese, "it is not easy for a curé to shoot. My good
+children of the village do not mind, but&mdash;&mdash;" He hesitated, running his
+long, vibrant fingers through his hair.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What then? Tell me," I ventured. "It will go no further, I promise
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Rome!" he whispered. "I have already received a letter, a gentle
+warning from the palace; but I have a good friend in Cardinal Z. He
+understands."</p>
+
+<p>During the whole of that cold moonlight we took turns of two hours each;
+one sleeping while the other watched in the chair drawn up close to the
+firing-slit.</p>
+
+<p>What a night!</p>
+
+<p>The marsh seen through the firing-slit, with its overhanging eyebrow of
+sod, seemed not of this earth. The nine black decoys picketed before us
+straining at their cords, gossiping, dozing for a moment, preening their
+wings or rising up for a vigorous stretch, appeared by some curious
+optical illusion four times their natural size; now they seemed to be
+black dogs, again a group of sombre, misshapen gnomes.</p>
+
+<p>While I watched, the curé slept soundly, his body shrouded in the
+blankets like some carved Gothic saint of old. The silence was
+intense&mdash;a silence that could be heard&mdash;broken only <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>by the brisk
+ticking of the curé's watch on the narrow shelf. Occasionally a
+water-rat would patter over the sunken roof, become inquisitive, and
+peer in at me through the slit within half a foot of my nose. Once in a
+while I took down the fat opera-glass, focussing it upon the dim shapes
+that resembled ducks, but that proved to be bits of floating seaweed or
+a scurrying shadow as a cloud swept under the moon&mdash;all illusions, until
+my second watch, when, with a rush, seven mallards tumbled among our
+decoys. Instantly the curé awakened, sprang from his cot, and with sharp
+work we killed four.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay where you are," he said as he laid his gun back in its rack. "I'll
+get into my hip-boots and get them before the water-rats steal what
+we've earned. They are skilled enough to get a decoy now and then. The
+marsh is alive with them at night."</p>
+
+<p>Morning paled. The village lay half hidden behind the rifts of mist.
+Then dawn and the rising sun, the water like molten gold, the black
+decoys churning at their pickets sending up swirls of turquoise in the
+gold.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the cracked bell rang out from the distant village. At that
+moment two long V-shaped strings of mallards came winging toward us from
+the north. I saw the curé glance at them. Then he held out his hand to
+me.</p>
+
+<p>"You take them&mdash;I cannot," he said hurriedly. "I haven't a moment to
+lose&mdash;it is the bell for mass. Here's the key. Lock up when you leave."</p>
+
+<p>"Dine with me to-night," I insisted, one eye still on the incoming
+ducks. "You have no <i>bonne</i>."</p>
+
+<p>His hand was on the <i>gabion</i> door. "And if the northeast wind holds," he
+called back, "shall we shoot again to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to-night!" I insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll come to dinner." And the door closed with a click.</p>
+
+<p>Through the firing-slit I could see him leaping across the marsh toward
+the gray church with the cracked bell, and as he disappeared by the
+short cut I pulled the trigger of both barrels&mdash;and missed.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>An hour later Suzette greeted me with eyes full of tears and anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Mother of Pity! Monsieur is safe!" she cried. "Where has monsieur
+been, <i>mon Dieu!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"To mass, my child," I said gravely, filling her plump arms with the
+ducks. "Monsieur le Curé is coming to dinner!"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch2-2.png" width="300" height="118" alt="flying ducks" />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p>
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_THREE" id="CHAPTER_THREE"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch3-1.png" width="500" alt="a château" title="a château" />
+</div>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER THREE</h2>
+
+<h3>THE EXQUISITE MADAME DE BRÉVILLE</h3>
+
+<p>Poor Tanrade! Just as I felt the future was all <i>couleur de rose</i> with
+him it has changed to gloom unutterable.</p>
+
+<p><i>Ah, les femmes!</i> I should never dare fall in love with a woman as
+exquisite as Alice de Bréville. She is too beautiful, too seductive,
+with her olive skin, her frank smile, and her adorable head poised upon
+a body much too well made. She is too tender, too complex, too
+intelligent. She has a way of mischievously caressing you with her eyes
+one moment and giving an old comrade like myself a platonic little pat
+on the back the next, which is exasperating. As a friend I adore her,
+but to fall in love with her! <i>Ah, non, merci!</i> I have had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>a checkered
+childhood and my full share of suffering; I wish some peace in my old
+age. At sixteen one goes to the war of love blindly, but at forty it is
+different. Our chagrins then plunge us into a state of dignified
+desolation.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Tanrade! I learned of the catastrophe the other night when he
+solemnly entered my abandoned house by the marsh and sank his big frame
+in the armchair before my fire. He was no longer the genial bohemian of
+a Tanrade I had known. He was silent and haggard. He had not slept much
+for a week; neither had he worked at the score of his new opera or
+hunted, but he had smoked incessantly, furiously&mdash;a dangerous remedy
+with which to mend a broken heart.</p>
+
+<p>My poor old friend! I was so certain of his happiness that night after
+dinner here in the House Abandoned, when he and Alice had lost
+themselves in the moonlight. Was it the moonlight? Or the kiss she gave
+him as they stood looking out over the lichen-stained wall of the
+courtyard to the fairy marsh beyond, still and sublime&mdash;wedded to the
+open sea at high <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>tide&mdash;like a mirror of polished silver, its surface
+ruffled now and then by the splash of some incoming duck. He had poured
+out his heart to her then, and again over their liqueur and cigarettes
+at that fatal dinner of two at the château.</p>
+
+<p>All this he confessed to me as he sat staring into the cheery blaze on
+my hearth. Under my friendly but somewhat judicial cross-examination
+that ensued, it was evident that not a word had escaped Alice's lips
+that any one but that big optimistic child of a Tanrade could have
+construed as her promise to be his wife. He confided her words to me
+reluctantly, now that he realized how little she had meant.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," said I, in an effort to cheer him, "have courage! A woman's
+heart that is won easily is not worth fighting for. You shall see, old
+fellow&mdash;things will be better."</p>
+
+<p>But he only shook his head, shrugged his great shoulders, and puffed
+doggedly at his pipe in silence. My tall clock in the corner ticked the
+louder, its brass pendulum glinting as it swung to and fro in the light
+of the slumbering fire. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>threw on a fresh log, kicked it into a blaze,
+and poured out for him a stiff glass of applejack. I had faith in that
+applejack, for it had been born in the moonlit courtyard years ago. It
+roused him, for I saw something of his old-time self brighten within
+him; he even made an attempt at a careless smile&mdash;the reminiscent smile
+of a philosopher this time.</p>
+
+<p>"What if I went to see her?" I remarked pointblank.</p>
+
+<p>"You! <i>Mon Dieu!</i>" He half sprang out of the armchair in his intensity.
+"Are you crazy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me," I apologized. "I did not mean to hurt you. I only
+thought&mdash;and you are in no condition to reason&mdash;that Alice may have
+changed her mind, may regret having refused you. Women change their
+minds, you know. She might even confess this to me since there is
+nothing between us and we are old friends."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," he protested. "You are not to speak of me to Madame de
+Bréville&mdash;do you understand?" he cried, his voice rising. "You are not
+to mention my name, promise me that."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>This time it was I who shrugged my shoulders in reply. He sat gripping
+the arms of his chair, again his gaze reverted stolidly to the fire. The
+clock ticked on past midnight, peacefully aloof as if content to be well
+out of the controversy.</p>
+
+<p>"A drop more?" I ventured, reaching for the decanter; but he stayed my
+arm.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been a fool," he said slowly. "<i>Ah! Mon Dieu! Les femmes! Les
+femmes! Les femmes!</i>" he roared. "Very well," he exclaimed hotly, "it is
+well finished. To-morrow I must go to Paris for the new rehearsals. I
+have begged off for a week. Duclos is beside himself with anxiety&mdash;two
+telegrams to-day, the last one imperative. The new piece must open at
+the Folies Parisiennes the eighth."</p>
+
+<p>I saw him out to the gate and there was a brave ring in his "<i>bonsoir,
+mon vieux</i>," as he swung off in the dusk of the starlit road.</p>
+
+<p>He left the village the next day at noon by the toy train, "the little
+get off-the-track," as we call it. Perhaps he wished it would and end
+everything, including the rehearsals.</p>
+
+<p>Bah! To be rehearsing lovelorn shepherds <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>and shepherdesses in sylvan
+dells. To call a halt eighteen times in the middle of the romantic duet
+between the unhappy innkeeper's daughter and the prince. To marry them
+all smoothly in B flat in the finale, and keep the brass down and the
+strings up in the apotheosis when the heart of the man behind the baton
+has been cured of all love and illusion&mdash;for did he not tell me "It is
+well finished"? Poor Tanrade!</p>
+
+<p>Though it is but half a fortnight since he left, it seems years since he
+used to come into my courtyard, for he came and went as freely at all
+hours as the salt breeze from the marsh. Often he would wake me at
+daybreak, bellowing up to my window at the top of his barytone lungs
+some stirring aria, ending with: "Eh, <i>mon vieux!</i> Stop playing the
+prince! Get up out of that and come out on the marsh. There are ducks
+off the point. Where's Suzette? Where's the coffee? <i>Sacristi!</i> What a
+house. Half-past four and nobody awake!"</p>
+
+<p>And he would stand there grinning; his big chest encased in a
+fisherman's jersey, a dis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>reputable felt hat jammed on his head, and his
+feet in a pair of sabots that clattered like a farm-horse as he went
+foraging in the kitchen, upsetting the empty milk-tins and making such a
+bedlam that my good little maid-of-all-work, Suzette, would hurry in
+terror into her clothes and out to her beloved kitchen to save the rest
+from ruin.</p>
+
+<p>Needless to say, nothing ever happened to anything. He could make more
+noise and do less harm than any one I ever knew. Then he would sing us
+both into good humour until Suzette's peasant cheeks shone like ripe
+apples.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not the same without Monsieur Tanrade," Suzette sighed to-day as
+she brought my luncheon to my easel in a shady corner of my wild
+garden&mdash;a corner all cool roses and shadow.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, no!" I confessed as I squeezed out the last of a tube of vermilion
+on the edge of my palette.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, no!" she sighed softly, and wiped her eyes briskly with the back of
+her dimpled red hand. "Ah, no! <i>Parbleu!</i>"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And just then the bell over my gate jingled. "Some one rings," whispered
+Suzette and she ran to open the gate. It was the <i>valet de chambre</i> from
+the château with a note from Alice, which read:<br /></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>: It is lonely, this big house of mine. Do come
+and dine with me at eight.</p>
+
+<p style="text-align: right">
+Hastily,   <span class="smcap">A. de B.</span><br />
+</p></div>
+
+<p>Added to this was the beginning of a postscript crossed out.</p>
+
+<p>Upon a leaf torn from my sketchbook I scribbled the answer:<br /></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Good Dear Charitable Friend</span>: The House Abandoned is a
+hollow mockery without Tanrade. I'll come gladly at eight.<br /></p></div>
+
+<p>And Suzette brought it out to the waiting <i>valet de chambre</i> whom she
+addressed respectfully as "monsieur," half on account of his
+yellow-striped waistcoat and half because he was a Parisian.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Bravo, Alice! Here then was the opportunity I had been waiting for, and
+I hugged myself over the fact. It was like the first ray of sunshine
+breaking through a week of leaden sky. For a long time I paced back and
+forth among the paths of the snug garden, past the roses and the
+heliotrope down as far as the flaming geraniums and the hollyhocks and
+the droning bees, and back again by way of some excellent salads and the
+bed of artichokes, while I turned over in my mind and rehearsed to
+myself all I intended to say to her.</p>
+
+<p>Alice lonely! With a château, two automobiles, and all Paris at her
+pretty feet! Ha! ha! The symptoms were excellent. The patient was doing
+well. To-night would see her convalescent and happily on the road to
+recovery. This once happy family of comrades should be no longer under
+the strain of disunion, we should have another dinner soon and the House
+Abandoned would ring with cheer as it had never rung before. Japanese
+lanterns among the fruit-trees of the tangled garden, the courtyard full
+of villagers, red and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>blue fire, skyrockets and congratulations, a
+Normand dinner and a keg of good sound wine to wish a long and happy
+life to both. There would be the same Tanrade again and the same Alice,
+and they would be married by the curé in the little gray church with the
+cracked bell, with the marquis and the marquise as notables in the front
+pew. In my enthusiasm I saw it all.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The lane back of the House Abandoned shortens the way to the château by
+half a kilometre. It was this lane that I entered at dusk by crawling
+under the bars that divided it from the back pasture full of gnarled
+apple-trees, under which half a dozen mild-eyed cows had settled
+themselves for the night. They rose when they caught sight of me and
+came toward me blowing deep moist breaths as a quiet challenge to the
+intruder, until halted by the bars they stood in a curious group
+watching me until I disappeared up the lane, a lane screened from the
+successive pastures on either side by an impenetrable hedge and flanked
+its entire length by tall trees, their tops meeting overhead <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>like the
+Gothic arches of a cathedral aisle. This roof of green made the lane at
+this hour so dark that I had to look sharp to avoid the muddy places,
+for the lane ascended like the bed of a brook until it reached the
+plateau of woodlands and green fields above, commanding a sweeping view
+of marsh and sea below.</p>
+
+<p>Birds fluttered nervously in the hedges, frightened at my approaching
+footsteps. A hare sniffing in the middle of the path flattened his long
+ears and sprang into the thicket ahead. The nightingales in the forest
+above began calling to one another. Two doves went skimming out of the
+leaves over my head. Even a peacemaker may be mistaken for an enemy. And
+now I had gained the plateau and it grew lighter&mdash;that gentle light with
+which night favours the open places.</p>
+
+<p>There are two crossroads at the top of the lane. The left one leads to
+the hamlet of Beaufort le Petit, a sunken cluster of farms ten good
+leagues from Pont du Sable; the right one swings off into the highroad
+half a mile beyond, which in turn is met by the private way of the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>château skirting the stone wall surrounding the park, which, as early
+as 1608, served as the idle stronghold of the Duc de Rambutin. It has
+seen much since then and has stood its ground bravely under the stress
+of misfortune. The Prussians hammered off two of its towers, and an
+artillery fire once mowed down some of its oldest trees and wrecked the
+frescoed ceiling and walls of the salon, setting fire to the south wing,
+which was never rebuilt and whose jagged and blackened walls the roses
+and vines have long since lovingly hidden from view.</p>
+
+<p>Alice bought this once splendid feudal estate literally for a song&mdash;the
+song in the second act of Fremier's comedy, which had a long run at the
+Variétés three years ago, and in which she earned an enviable success
+and some beautiful bank-notes. Were the Duc de Rambutin alive I am sure
+he would have presented it to her&mdash;shooting forest, stone wall, and all.
+They say he had an intolerable temper, but was kind to ladies and
+lap-dogs.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long before I unlatched a moss-covered gate with one hinge
+lost in the weeds&mdash;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>a little woebegone gate for intimate friends, that
+croaked like a night-bird when it opened, and closed with a whine.
+Beyond it lay a narrow path through a rose-garden leading to the
+château. This rose-garden is the only cultivated patch within the
+confines of the wall, for on either side of it tower great trees, their
+aged trunks held fast in gnarled thickets of neglected vines. It is only
+another "house abandoned," this château of Alice's, save that its bygone
+splendour asserts itself through the scars, and my own by the marsh
+never knew luxury even in its best days.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame is dressing," announced that most faithful of old servitors,
+Henri, who before Alice conferred a full-fledged butlership upon him in
+his old age was since his youth a stage-carpenter at the Théâtre
+Français.</p>
+
+<p>"Will monsieur have the goodness to wait for madame in the library?"
+added Henri, as he relieved me of my hat and stick, deposited them
+noiselessly upon an oak table, and led me to a portière of worn Gobelin
+which he lifted for me with a bow of the Second Empire.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>What a rich old room it is, this silent library of the choleric duke,
+with its walls panelled in worm-eaten oak reflecting the firelight and
+its rows of volumes too close to the grave to be handled. Here and there
+above the high wainscoting are ancestral portraits, some of them as
+black as a favourite pipe. Above the great stone chimney-piece is a
+full-length figure of the duke in a hunting costume of green velvet. The
+candelabra that Henri had just lighted on the long centre-table,
+littered with silver souvenirs and the latest Parisian comedies, now
+illumined the duke's smile, which he must have held with bad grace
+during the sittings. The rest of him was lost in the shadow above the
+chimney-piece of sculptured cherubs, whose missing noses have been badly
+restored in cement by the gardener.</p>
+
+<p>I had settled myself in a chintz-covered chair and was idly turning the
+pages of one of the latest of the Parisian comedies when I heard the
+swish of a gown and the patter of two small slippered feet hurrying
+across the hall. I rose to regard my hostess with a feeling of tender
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>curiosity mingled with resentment over her treatment of my old friend,
+when the portière was lifted and Alice came toward me with both white
+arms outstretched in welcome. She was so pale in her dinner gown of
+black tulle that all the blood seemed to have taken refuge in her
+lips&mdash;so pale that the single camellia thrust in her corsage was less
+waxen in its whiteness than her neck.</p>
+
+<p>I caught her hands and she stood close to me, smiling bravely, the tips
+of her fingers trembling in my own.</p>
+
+<p>"You are ill!" I exclaimed, now thoroughly alarmed. "You must go
+straight to bed."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," she replied, with an effort. "Only tired, very tired."</p>
+
+<p>"You should not have let me come," I protested.</p>
+
+<p>She smiled and smoothed back a wave of her glossy black hair and I saw
+the old mischievous gleam flash in her dark eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," she whispered, leading me to the door of the dining room. "It is
+a secret," she confided, with a forced little laugh. "Look!" And she
+pinched my arm.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I glanced within&mdash;the table with its lace and silver under the glow of
+the red candle-shades was laid for two.</p>
+
+<p>"It was nice of you," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall dine alone, you and I," she murmured. "I am so tired of
+company."</p>
+
+<p>I was on the point of impulsively mentioning poor Tanrade's absence, but
+the subtle look in her eyes checked me. During dinner we should have our
+serious little talk, I said to myself as we returned to the library
+table.</p>
+
+<p>"It's so amusing, that little comedy of Flandrean's," laughed Alice,
+picking up the volume I had been scanning. "The second act is a jewel
+with its delicious situation in which François Villers, the husband, and
+Thérèse, his wife, divorce in order to carry out between them a secret
+love-affair&mdash;a series of mysterious rendezvous that terminate in an
+amusing elopement. <i>Très chic</i>, Flandrean's comedy. It should have a
+<i>succès fou</i> at the Palais Royal."</p>
+
+<p>"Madame is served," gravely announced Henri.</p>
+
+<p>Not once during dinner was Alice serious.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> Over the soup&mdash;an excellent
+bisque of <i>écrevisses</i>&mdash;she bubbled over with the latest Parisian
+gossip, the new play at the Odéon, the fashion in hats. With the fish
+she prattled on over the limitations of the new directoire gowns and the
+scandal involving a certain tenor and a duchess. Tanrade's defence,
+which I had so carefully thought out and rehearsed in my garden, seemed
+doomed to remain unheard, for her cleverness in evading the subject, her
+sudden change to the merriest of moods, and her quick wit left me
+helpless. Neither did I make any better progress during the pheasant and
+the salad, and as she sipped but twice the Pommard and scarcely
+moistened her lips with the champagne my case seemed hopeless. Henri
+finally left us alone over our coffee and cigarettes. I had become
+desperate.</p>
+
+<p>"Alice," I said bluntly, "we are old friends. I have some things to say
+to you of&mdash;of the utmost importance. You will listen, my friend, will
+you not, until I am quite through, for I shall not mention it again?"</p>
+
+<p>She leaned forward with a little start and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>gazed at me suddenly, with
+dilated eyes&mdash;eyes that were the next minute lowered in painful
+submission, the corners of her mouth contracting nervously.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i>" she murmured, looking up. "<i>Mon Dieu!</i> But you are cruel!"</p>
+
+<p>"No," I replied calmly. "It is you who are cruel."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, you shall not!" she exclaimed, raising both ringless hands in
+protest, her breath coming quick. "I&mdash;I know what you are going to say.
+No, my dear friend&mdash;I beg of you&mdash;we are good comrades. Is it not so?
+Let us remain so."</p>
+
+<p>"Listen," I implored.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you men with your idea of marriage!" she continued. "The wedding,
+the aunts, the cousins, who come staring at you for a day and giving you
+advice for years. A solemn apartment near the Etoile&mdash;madame with her
+afternoons&mdash;monsieur with his club, his maîtresse, his gambling and his
+debts&mdash;the children with their English governess. A villa by the sea,
+tennis, infants and sand-forts. The annual <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>stupid <i>voyage en Suisse</i>.
+The inane slavery of it all. <i>You</i> who are a bohemian, you who
+<i>live</i>&mdash;with all your freedom&mdash;all my freedom! <i>Non, merci!</i> I have seen
+all that! Bah! You are as crazy as Tanrade."</p>
+
+<p>"Alice," I cried, "you think&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Precisely, my friend."</p>
+
+<p>She rose swiftly, crossed the room, and before I knew it slipped back of
+my chair, put both arms about my neck, kissed me, and burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, <i>mon pauvre petit</i>," she whispered. "Forgive me&mdash;I was
+angry&mdash;we are not so stupid as all that&mdash;eh? We are not like the stupid
+<i>bourgeoisie</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"But it is not I&mdash;&mdash;" I stammered.</p>
+
+<p>She caught her breath in surprise, straightened, and slowly retraced her
+steps to her vacant chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! So it is that?" she said slowly, drawing her chair close to my own.
+Then she seated herself, rested her chin in her hands, and regarded me
+for some moments intently.</p>
+
+<p>"So you have come for&mdash;for him?" she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>resumed, her breast heaving. "I am
+right, am I not?"</p>
+
+<p>"He loves you," I declared. "Do you think I am blind as to your love for
+him? You who came to greet me to-night out of your suffering?"</p>
+
+<p>For some moments she was silent, her fingers pressed over her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you love him?" I insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," she moaned. "It is impossible."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know," I continued, "that he has not slept or hunted or smoked
+for a week before he was forced to go to Paris? Can you realize what he
+suffers now during days of exhausting rehearsals? He came to me a
+wreck," I said. "You have been cruel and you have&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Again she had become deathly pale. Then at length she rose slowly,
+lifted her head proudly, and led the way back to the library fire.</p>
+
+<p>"You must go," she said. "It is late."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>When the little boy of the fisherman, Jean Tranchard, was not to be
+found playing with the other barelegged tots in the mud of the village
+alleys, or wandering alone on the marsh, often <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>dangerously near the
+sweep of the incoming tide, one could be quite sure he was safe with
+Tanrade. Frequently, too, when the maker of ballets was locked in his
+domain and his servant had strict orders to admit no one&mdash;neither
+Monsieur le Curé nor the mayor, nor so intimate a comrade as
+myself&mdash;during such hours as these the little boy was generally beside
+the composer, his chubby toes scarcely reaching to the rungs of the
+chair beside Tanrade's working desk.</p>
+
+<p>Though the little boy was barely seven he was a sturdy little chap with
+fair curly hair, blue eyes, and the quick gestures of his father. He had
+a way of throwing out his chest when he was pleased, and gesticulating
+with open arms and closed fists when excited, which is peculiar to the
+race of fishermen. The only time when he was perfectly still was when
+Tanrade worked in silence. He would then often sit beside him for hours
+waiting until the composer dropped his pen, swung round in his chair to
+the keyboard at his elbow, and while the piano rang with melody the
+little boy's eyes <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>danced. He forgot during such moments of ecstasy that
+his father was either out at sea with his nets or back in the village
+good-naturedly drunk, or that his mother, whom he vaguely remembered,
+was dead.</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade was a so much better father to him than his own that the rest of
+his wretched little existence did not count. When the father was
+fishing, the little boy cared for himself. He knew how to heat the pot
+and make the soup when there was any to make. He knew where to dig for
+clams and sputtering crabs. It was the bread that bothered him most&mdash;it
+cost two sous. It was Tanrade who discovered and softened these hard
+details.</p>
+
+<p>The house in which the fisherman and the little boy live is tucked away
+in an angle of the walled lane leading out to the marsh. This stone
+house of Tranchard's takes up as little room as possible, since its
+front dare not encroach upon the lane and its back is hunched up
+apologetically against the angle of the wall. The house has but two
+compartments&mdash;the loft above stored with old nets and broken oars, and
+the living room <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>beneath, whose dirt floor dampens the feet of an oak
+cupboard, a greasy table, a chair with a broken leg, and a mahogany bed.
+Over the soot-blackened chimney-piece is a painted figure of the Virgin,
+and a frigate in a bottle.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Curé had been watching all night beside the mahogany bed.
+Now and then he slipped his hand in the breast of his soutane of rusty
+black, drew out a steel watch, felt under a patchwork-quilt for a small
+feverish wrist, counted its feeble pulse, and filling a pewter spoon
+with a mixture of aconite, awakened the little boy who gazed at him with
+hollow eyes sunken above cheeks of dull crimson.</p>
+
+<p>In the corner, his back propped against the cupboard, his bare feet
+tucked under him, dozed Tranchard. There was not much else he could do,
+for he was soaked to the skin and half drunk. Occasionally he shifted
+his feet, awakened, and dimly remembered the little boy was worse; that
+this news had been hailed to him by the skipper of the mackerel smack,
+<i>La Belle Élise</i>, and that he had hauled in his empty nets and come
+home.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As the gray light of dawn crept into the room, the little boy again grew
+restless. He opened the hollow eyes and saw dimly the black figure of
+the curé.</p>
+
+<p>"Tanné," he whimpered. "Where is he, Tanné?"</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Tanrade will come," returned the curé, "if you go to sleep
+like a brave little man."</p>
+
+<p>"Tanné," repeated the child and closed his eyes obediently.</p>
+
+<p>A cock crowed in a distant yard, awakening a sleek cat who emerged from
+beneath the bed, yawned, stretched her claws, and walked out of the
+narrow doorway into the misty lane.</p>
+
+<p>The curé rose stiffly, went over to the figure in the corner and shook
+it. Tranchard started up out of a sound sleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell madame when she arrives that I have gone for Doctor Thévenet. I
+shall return before night."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't forget," grumbled Tranchard.</p>
+
+<p>"I have left instructions for madame beside the candle. See that you
+keep the kettle boiling for the poultices."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The fisherman nodded. "<i>Eh ben!</i> How is it with the kid?" he inquired.
+"He does not take after his mother. <i>Parbleu!</i> She was as strong as a
+horse, my woman."</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Curé did not reply. He had taken down his flat black hat
+from a peg and was carefully adjusting his square black cravat edged
+with white beneath his chin, when Alice de Bréville entered the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>"How is his temperature?" she asked eagerly, unpinning a filmy green
+veil and throwing aside a gray automobile coat.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Curé graciously uncovered his head. "There has been no
+change since you left at midnight," he said gravely. "The fever is still
+high, the pulse weaker. I am going for Doctor Thévenet after mass. There
+is a train at eight."</p>
+
+<p>Tranchard was now on his knees fanning a pile of fagots into a blaze,
+the acrid smoke drifting back into the low-ceiled room.</p>
+
+<p>"I will attend to it," said Alice, turning to the fisherman. "Tell my
+chauffeur to wait at the church for Monsieur le Curé. The auto is at the
+end of the lane."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>For some minutes after the clatter of Tranchard's sabots had died away
+in the lane, Alice de Bréville and Monsieur le Curé stood in earnest
+conversation beside the table.</p>
+
+<p>"It may save the child's life," pleaded the priest. There was a ring of
+insistence in his voice, a gleam in his eyes that made the woman beside
+him tremble.</p>
+
+<p>"You do not understand," she exclaimed, her breast heaving. "You do not
+realize what you ask of me. I cannot."</p>
+
+<p>"You must," he insisted. "He might not understand it coming from me. You
+and he are old friends. You <i>must</i>, I tell you. Were he only here the
+child would be happy, the fever would be broken. It must be broken and
+quickly. Thévenet will tell you that when he comes."</p>
+
+<p>Alice raised her hands to her temples.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you?" he pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she replied half audibly.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Curé gave a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>"God be with you!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>He watched her as she wrote in haste the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>following telegram in pencil
+upon the back of a crumpled envelope:<br /><br /></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Monsieur Tanrade</span>, Théâtre des Folies Parisiennes, Paris.</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent: 2em">Tranchard's child very ill. Come at once.</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent: 4em">
+<span class="smcap">A. de Bréville.</span><br /><br />
+</p></div>
+
+<p>This she handed to the priest in silence. Monsieur le Curé tucked it
+safely in the breast of his cassock. "God be with you!" he repeated and
+turned out into the lane. He ran, for the cracked bell for mass had
+ceased ringing.</p>
+
+<p>The woman stood still by the table as if in a dream, then she staggered
+to the door, closed it, and throwing herself on her knees by the bedside
+of the sleeping boy, buried her face in her hands.</p>
+
+<p>The child stirred, awakened by her sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>"Tanné," he cried feebly.</p>
+
+<p>"He will come," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Outside in the mist-soaked lane three toothless fisherwomen gossiped in
+whispers.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Almost any day that you pass through the village you will see a chubby
+little rascal who greets you with a cheery "<i>Bonjour</i>" and runs away,
+dragging a tin horse with a broken tail. Should you chance to glance
+over my wall you will discover the tattered remnants of two Japanese
+lanterns hanging among the fruit-trees. They are all that remain of a
+fête save the memory of two friends to whom the whole world now seems
+<i>couleur de rose</i>.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>"Hi, there! wake up! Where's Suzette? Where's the coffee! Daylight and
+not a soul up! <i>Mon Dieu</i>, what a house! Hurry up, <i>Mon vieux!</i> Alice is
+waiting!"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch3-2.jpg" width="400" height="280" alt="three toothless fisherwomen" title="three toothless fisherwomen" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_FOUR" id="CHAPTER_FOUR"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch4-1.jpg" width="600" height="298" alt="smuggler ship" title="smuggler ship" />
+</div>
+<h2>CHAPTER FOUR</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SMUGGLERS</h3>
+
+
+<p>Some centuries ago the windows of my house abandoned on the marsh looked
+out upon a bay gay with the ships of Spanish pirates, for in those days
+Pont du Sable served them as a secret refuge for repairs. Hauled up to
+the tawny marsh were strange craft with sails of apple-green, rose,
+vermilion and sinister black; there were high sterns pierced by carved
+cabin-windows&mdash;some of them iron-barred, to imprison ladies of high or
+low degree and unfortunate gentlemen who fought bravely to defend them.
+From oaken gunwales glistened slim cannon, their throats swabbed clean
+after some wholesale murder on the open seas. Yes, it must have been a
+lively enough bay some centuries ago!</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>To-day Pont du Sable goes to bed without even turning the key in the
+lock. This is because of a vast army of simple men whose word, in
+France, is law.</p>
+
+<p>To begin with, there are the President of the République and the
+Ministers of War and Agriculture, and Monsieur the Chief of Police&mdash;a
+kind little man in Paris whom it is better to agree with&mdash;and the préfet
+and the sous-préfet&mdash;all the way down the line of authority to the
+red-faced, blustering <i>chef de gare</i> at Pont du Sable&mdash;and Pierre.</p>
+
+<p>On off-duty days Pierre is my gardener at eleven sous an hour. On these
+occasions he wears voluminous working trousers of faded green corduroy
+gathered at the ankles; a gray flannel shirt and a scarlet cravat. On
+other days his short, wiry body is encased in a carefully brushed
+uniform of dark blue with a double row of gold buttons gleaming down his
+solid chest. When on active duty in the Customs Coast Patrol of the
+République Française at Pont du Sable, he carries a neatly folded cape
+with a hood, a bayonet, a heavy calibred six-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>shooter and a trusty
+field-glass, useful in locating suspicious-looking objects on marsh or
+sea.</p>
+
+<p>On this particular morning Pierre was late! I had been leaning over the
+lichen-stained wall of my wild garden waiting to catch sight of him as
+he left the ragged end of the straggling village. Had I mistaken the
+day? Impossible! It was Thursday and I knew he was free. Finally I
+caught sight of him hurrying toward me down the road&mdash;not in his working
+clothes of faded green corduroy, but in the full majesty of his
+law-enforcing uniform. What had happened? I wondered. Had his stern
+brigadier refused to give him leave?</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonjour</i>, Pierre!" I called to him as he came within hailing distance.</p>
+
+<p>He touched the vizor of his cap in military salute, and a moment later
+entered my garden.</p>
+
+<p>"A thousand pardons, monsieur," he apologized excitedly, labouring to
+catch his breath.</p>
+
+<p>"My artichokes have been waiting for you," I laughed; "they are nearly
+strangled with weeds. I expected you yesterday." He followed me <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>through
+a lane of yellow roses leading to the artichoke bed. "What has kept you,
+Pierre?"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, looked me squarely in the eyes, placed his finger in the
+middle of his spiked moustache, and raised his eyebrows mysteriously.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur must not ask me," he replied. "I have been on duty for
+forty-eight hours; there was not even time to change my uniform."</p>
+
+<p>"A little matter for headquarters?" I ventured indiscreetly, with a nod
+in the direction of Paris.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Monsieur must ask the
+semaphore; my lips are sealed."</p>
+
+<p>Had he been the chief of the Secret Service just in possession of the
+whereabouts of an international criminal, he could not have been more
+uncommunicative.</p>
+
+<p>"And monsieur's artichokes?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.</p>
+
+<p>Further inquiry I knew was useless&mdash;even dangerous. Indeed I swallowed
+my curiosity whole, for I was aware that this simple gardener of mine,
+in his official capacity, could put me in irons, drag me before my
+friend the ruddy little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>mayor, and cast me in jail at Bar la Rose, had
+I given him cause. Then indeed, as Pompanet said, I would be "A <i>sacré</i>
+vagabond from Pont du Sable."</p>
+
+<p>Was it not only the other day a well-dressed stranger hanging about my
+lost village had been called for by two gendarmes, owing to Pierre's
+watchful eye? And did not the farmer Milon pay dearly enough for the
+applejack he distilled one dark night? I recalled, too, a certain
+morning when, a stranger on the marsh, I had lighted Pierre's cigarette
+with an honest wax-match from England. He recognized the brand
+instantly.</p>
+
+<p>"They are the best in the world," I had remarked bravely.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he had replied, "but dear, monsieur. The fine is a franc apiece
+in France."</p>
+
+<p>We had reached the artichokes.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i>" exclaimed Pierre, glancing at the riot of weeds as he
+stripped off his coat and, unbuckling his belt with the bayonet, the
+six-shooter and the field-glass, hung them in the shade upon a
+convenient limb of a pear tree. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>measured the area of the unruly
+patch with a military stride, stood thinking for a moment, and then, as
+if a happy thought had struck him, returned to me with a gesture of
+enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>"If monsieur will permit me to offer a suggestion&mdash;that is, if monsieur
+approves&mdash;I should like to make a fresh planting. Ah! I will explain
+what I mean to monsieur, so monsieur may see clearly my ideas. <i>Voilà!</i>"
+he exclaimed. "It is to have the new artichokes planted in three
+circles&mdash;in three circles, monsieur," he went on excitedly, "crossed
+with the star of the compass," he continued, as the idea rapidly
+developed in his peasant brain. "Then in the centre of the star to plant
+monsieur's initials in blue and red flowers. <i>Voilà!</i> It will be
+something for monsieur's friends to admire, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>He stood waiting tensely for my reply, for I shivered inwardly at the
+thought of the prospective chromo.</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent, my good Pierre," I returned, not wishing to hurt his
+feelings. "Excellent for the gardens of the Tuileries, but my garden is
+such a simple one."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Pardon, monsieur," he said, with a touch of mingled disappointment and
+embarrassment, "they shall be replanted, of course, just as monsieur
+wishes." And Pierre went to digging weeds with a will while I went back
+to my own work.</p>
+
+<p>At noon Pierre knocked gently at my study door.</p>
+
+<p>"I must breakfast, monsieur," he apologized, "and get a little sleep. I
+have promised my brigadier to get back at three."</p>
+
+<p>"And to-morrow?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>Again the shoulders shrugged under the uniform.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, monsieur!" he exclaimed helplessly. "<i>Malheureusement</i>, to-morrow I
+am not free; nor the day after. <i>Parbleu!</i> I cannot tell monsieur <i>when</i>
+I shall be free."</p>
+
+<p>"I understand, Pierre," said I.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Before sundown the next afternoon I was after a hare through a maze of
+thicket running back of the dunes fronting the open sea. I kept on
+through a labyrinth of narrow trails&mdash;cross<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>ing and recrossing each
+other&mdash;the private by-ways of sleek old hares in time of trouble, for
+the dunes were honeycombed with their burrows. Now and then I came
+across a tent-shaped thatched hut lined with a bed of straw, serving as
+snug shelters for the coast patrol in tough weather.</p>
+
+<p>I had just turned into a tangle of scrub-brush, and could hear the
+breakers pound and hiss as they swept up upon the hard smooth beach
+beyond the dunes, when a low whistle brought me to a leisurely halt, and
+I saw Pierre spring up from a thicket a rod ahead of me&mdash;a Government
+carbine nestled in the hollow of his arm.</p>
+
+<p>I could scarcely believe it was the genial and ever-willing Pierre of my
+garden. He was the hard-disciplined soldier now, under orders. I was
+thankful he had not sent a bullet through me for not halting more
+promptly than I did.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing here?" he demanded, coming briskly toward me along a
+trail no wider than his feet.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly my free hand went to my hunting-cap in salute.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"After&mdash;a&mdash;hare!" I stammered innocently.</p>
+
+<p>"Not so loud," he whispered. "<i>Mon Dieu!</i> If the brigadier should hear
+you! Come with me," he commanded, laying his hand firmly upon my arm.
+"There are six of us hidden between here and the fortress. It is well
+that you stumbled upon me first. They must know who you are. It is not
+safe for you to be hunting to-day."</p>
+
+<p>I had not followed him more than a dozen rods before one of his
+companions was at my side. "The American," said Pierre in explanation,
+and we passed on down through a riot of stunted growth that choked the
+sides of a hollow.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond this rose the top of a low circular fort overgrown with
+wire-grass&mdash;the riot of tangle ceasing as we reached the bottom of the
+hollow and stood in an open patch before an ancient iron gate piercing
+the rear of the fort.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre lifted the latch and we passed through a wall some sixteen feet
+thick and into a stone-paved courtyard with a broad flight of steps at
+its farther end sweeping to the top of the circular defence. Flanking
+the sunken courtyard itself were a dozen low vaultlike compartments,
+some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>of them sealed by heavy doors. At one of these, containing a
+narrow window, Pierre knocked. The door opened and I stood in the
+presence of the Brigadier Bompard.</p>
+
+<p>"The American gentleman," announced Pierre, relieving me of my gun.</p>
+
+<p>The brigadier bowed, looked me over sharply, and bade me enter.</p>
+
+<p>"At your service, monsieur," he said coldly, waving his big freckled
+hand toward a chair drawn up to a fat little stove blushing under a
+forced draft.</p>
+
+<p>"At yours, monsieur," I returned, bowed, and took my seat.</p>
+
+<p>Then there ensued a dead silence, Pierre standing rigid behind my chair,
+the brigadier reseated back of a desk littered with official papers.</p>
+
+<p>For some moments he sat writing, his savage gray eyes scanning the page,
+the ends of his ferocious moustache twitching nervously as his pen
+scratched on. Back of his heavy shoulders ran a shelf supporting a row
+of musty ledgers, and above a stout chest in one corner was a rack of
+gleaming carbines.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The silence became embarrassing. Still the pen scratched on. Was he
+writing my death-warrant, I wondered nervously, or only a milder order
+for my arrest? It was a relief when he finally sifted a spoonful of fine
+blue sand over the document, poured the remaining grains back into their
+receptacle, puffed out his coarse red jowls, emitted a grunt of
+approval, and raised his keen eyes to mine.</p>
+
+<p>"A thousand pardons, monsieur," I began, "for being where I assure you I
+would not have been had I known exactly where I was."</p>
+
+<p>"So monsieur is fond of the chase of the hare?" he asked, with a grim
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>"So fond, Monsieur le Brigadier," I replied, "that my enthusiasm has, as
+you see, led me thoughtlessly into your private territory. I beg of you
+to accept my sincere apologies."</p>
+
+<p>He reached back of him, took down one of the musty ledgers, and began to
+turn the leaves methodically. From where I sat I saw his coarse
+forefinger stop under a head-line.</p>
+
+<p>"Smeeth, Berkelek," he muttered, and read <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>on down the page. "Citizen of
+<i>Amérique du Nord</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Height&mdash;medium.</p>
+
+<p>"Age&mdash;forty-one.</p>
+
+<p>"Hair&mdash;auburn.</p>
+
+<p>"Eyes&mdash;brown.</p>
+
+<p>"Chin and frontal&mdash;square.</p>
+
+<p>"No scars."</p>
+
+<p>"Would your excellency like to see my hunting permit and description?" I
+ventured.</p>
+
+<p>"Unnecessary&mdash;it is in duplicate here," he returned curtly, and his eyes
+again reverted to the ledger. Then he closed the book, rose, and drawing
+his chair to the stove planted his big fists on his knees.</p>
+
+<p>I began to breathe normally.</p>
+
+<p>"So you are a painter?" said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I confessed, "but I do not make a specialty of fortresses, your
+excellency, even in the most distant landscapes."</p>
+
+<p>I was grateful he understood, for I saw a gleam of merriment flash in
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon!</i>" he exclaimed briskly&mdash;evidently the title of "excellency"
+helped. "It is not the best <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>day, however, for you to be hunting hares.
+Are you a good shot, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is an embarrassing question," I returned. "If I do not miss I
+generally kill."</p>
+
+<p>Pierre, who, during the interview, had been standing mute in attention,
+now stepped up to him and bending with a hurried "Pardon," whispered
+something in his coarse red ear.</p>
+
+<p>The brigadier raised his shaggy eyebrows and nodded in assent.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! So you are a friend of Monsieur le Curé!" he exclaimed. "You would
+not be Monsieur le Curé's friend if you were not a good shot.
+<i>Sapristi!</i>" He paused, ran his hand over his rough jowls, and resumed
+bluntly: "It is something to kill the wild duck; another to kill a man."</p>
+
+<p>"Has war been suddenly declared?" I asked in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>A gutteral laugh escaped his throat, he shook his grizzled head in the
+negative.</p>
+
+<p>"A little war of my own," said he, "a serious business, <i>parbleu!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Contraband?" I ventured.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The coarse mouth under the bristling moustache, four times the size of
+Pierre's, closed with a snap, then opened with a growl.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacré mille tonnerres!</i>" he thundered, slamming his fist down on the
+desk within reach of him. "They are the devil, those Belgians! It is for
+them my good fellows lose their sleep." Then he stopped, and eyeing me
+shrewdly added: "Monsieur, you are an outsider and a gentleman. I can
+trust you. Three nights ago a strange sloop, evidently Belgian, from the
+cut of her, tried to sneak in here, but our semaphore on the point held
+her up and she had to run back to the open sea. Bah! Those <i>sacré</i>
+Belgians have the patience of a fox!"</p>
+
+<p>"She was painted like one of our fishing-smacks," interposed Pierre, now
+too excited to hold his tongue, "but she did not know the channel."</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, and she'll try it again," growled the brigadier, "if the night be
+dark. She'll find it clear sailing in, but a hot road out."</p>
+
+<p>"Tobacco?" I asked, now fully alive to the situation.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The brigadier spat.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, as full as she'll float," he answered. He leaned forward and
+touched me good-humouredly on the shoulder. "I'm short of men," he said
+hurriedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Command me," I replied. "I'll do my best. I shall return to-night." And
+I rose to take my leave, but he instantly raised his hand in protest.
+"You are under arrest, monsieur," he declared quietly, with a shrug of
+his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at him wide-eyed in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Arrest!" I gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not be alarmed," he replied. "It will only be temporary, I assure
+you, but since you have so awkwardly stumbled among us there is no
+alternative but for me to detain you until this <i>sacré</i> affair is well
+over. I cannot, at all events, let you return to the village to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"But I give you my word of honour, monsieur," I declared, "I shall not
+open my lips to a soul. Besides, I must dine at eight to-night with
+Madame de Bréville. Your excellency can well understand."</p>
+
+<p>"I know you have friends, monsieur; they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>might be inquisitive; and
+those friends have servants, and those servants have friends," was his
+reply. "No, it is better that you stay. Pierre, give monsieur a carbine
+and a place ten metres from your own at sundown; then report to me he is
+there. Now you may go, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>Pierre touched me on the shoulder; then suddenly realizing I was under
+orders and a prisoner, I straightened, saluted the brigadier, and
+followed Pierre out of the fort with the best grace I could muster.</p>
+
+<p>"Pierre!" I exclaimed hotly, as we stood again in the thicket. "How long
+since you've held up anything here&mdash;contraband, I mean?"</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he hesitated, then his voice sank to a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"They say it is all of twenty years, perhaps longer," he confessed. "But
+to-night monsieur shall see. Monsieur is, of course, not exactly a
+prisoner or he would now be in the third vault from the right."</p>
+
+<p>"A prisoner! The devil I'm not? Didn't he tell me I was?" I exclaimed.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i> What will you have, monsieur?" returned Pierre excitedly,
+under his breath. "It is the brigadier's orders. I was afraid monsieur
+might reply to him in anger. Ah, <i>par exemple!</i> Then monsieur would have
+seen a wild bull. Oh, la! la! When the brigadier is furious&mdash;&mdash;Ah,
+<i>ça!</i>" And he led the way to my appointed ambush without another word.</p>
+
+<p>Despite my indignation at being thus forced into the service and made a
+prisoner to boot&mdash;however temporary it might be&mdash;I gradually began to
+see the humour of the situation. It was very like a comic opera, I
+thought, as I lay flat on the edge of the thicket and pried away a small
+opening in the tangle through which I could look down upon the sweep of
+beach below me and far out to sea. Thus I lay in wait for the smuggling
+crew to arrive&mdash;to be blazed at and perhaps captured.</p>
+
+<p>What if they outnumber us? We might all perish then, with no hope of
+quarter from these men whom we were lying in wait for like snakes in the
+grass. One thing, however, I was firmly resolved upon, and that was to
+shoot safely over <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>anything that lay in range except in case of
+self-defence. I was never of a murderous disposition, and the thought of
+another's blood on my hands sent a fresh shiver along my prostrate
+spine. Then again the comic-opera side of it struck me. I began to feel
+more like an extra super in a one-night stand than a real soldier. What,
+after all, if the smugglers failed us?</p>
+
+<p>I was pondering upon the dangerous effect upon the brigadier of so
+serious a stage wait, when Pierre crawled over to me from his ambush ten
+metres from my own, to leave me my ration of bread and wine. He was so
+excited by this time that his voice trembled in my ear.</p>
+
+<p>"Gaston, my comrade, the fifth down the line," he whispered, "has just
+seen two men prowling on the marsh; they are, without doubt,
+accomplices. Gaston has gone to tell the brigadier." He ran his hand
+carefully along the barrel of my carbine. "Monsieur must hold high," he
+explained in another whisper, "since monsieur is unaccustomed to the gun
+of war. It is this little machine here that does the trick." He bent his
+eyes close to the hind sight and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>screwed it up to its notch at one
+hundred and fifty metres.</p>
+
+<p>I nodded my thanks, and he left me to my bread and wine and crept
+cautiously back to his ambush.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>A black night was rapidly settling. Above me in the great unfathomable
+vault of sky not a star glimmered. Under the gloom of the approaching
+darkness the vast expanse of marsh to my left lay silent, desolate, and
+indistinct, save for its low edge of undulating sand dunes. Only the
+beach directly before me showed plainly, seemingly illumined by the
+breakers, that gleamed white like the bared teeth of a fighting line of
+wolves.</p>
+
+<p>It was a sullen, cheerless sea, from which the air blew over me damp and
+raw; the only light visible being the intermittent flash from the
+distant lighthouse on Les Trois Loups, beyond the marsh.</p>
+
+<p>One hour passed&mdash;two hours&mdash;during which I saw nothing alive and moving
+save a hare foraging timidly on the beach for his own rations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> After a
+while he hopped back to his burrow in the thicket, a thicket of silence
+from which I knew at any moment might break forth a murderous fire. It
+grew colder and colder, I had to breathe lustily into the collar of my
+jersey to keep out the chill. I began to envy the hare snug in his
+burrow. Thus I held my vigil, and the night wore on.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! my friend the curé! I mused. Was there ever such an indefatigable
+sportsman? Lucky curé! He was not a prisoner, neither had he been
+pressed into the customs patrol like a hired assassin. At that moment I
+knew Monsieur le Curé was snug in his duck-blind for the night, a long
+two miles from where I lay; warm, and comfortable, with every chance on
+such a night to kill a dozen fat mallards before his daylight mass. What
+would my friend Madame Alice de Bréville, and that whole-souled fellow
+Tanrade, think when I did not appear as I had promised, at madame's
+château, to dine at eight? Cold as I was, I could not help chuckling
+over the fact that it was no fault of mine.</p>
+
+<p>I was a prisoner. Alice and Tanrade would <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>dine together. It would be
+then a dinner for two. I have never known a woman as discreet as Alice.
+She had insisted that I dine with them. In Paris Alice might not have
+insisted, but in the lost village, with so many old women with nothing
+to talk about save other peoples' affairs! Lucky Tanrade!</p>
+
+<p>I could see from where I lay the distant mass of trees screening her
+château, and picture to myself my two dear friends <i>alone</i>. Their
+chairs&mdash;now that my vacant one was the only witness&mdash;drawn close
+together; he holding her soft, responsive little hand between the soup
+and the fish, between the duck and the salad; then continuously over
+their dessert and Burgundy&mdash;she whom he had held close to his big heart
+that night after dinner in that once abandoned house of mine, when they
+had gone out together into my courtyard and disappeared in the shadows
+of the moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>Dining alone! The very thing I had tried to bring about. But for the
+stern brigadier we should have been that wretched
+number&mdash;three&mdash;to-night at the château. Ah, you dear <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>human children,
+are you conscious and grateful that I am lying out like a vagabond, a
+prisoner, that you may be alone?</p>
+
+<p>I began to wonder, too, what the Essence of Selfishness, that spoiled
+and adorable cat of mine, would think when it came her bedtime hour.
+Would Suzette, in her anxiety over my absence, remember to give her the
+saucer of warm milk? Yet I knew the Essence of Selfishness would take
+care of herself; she would sleep with Suzette. Catch her lying out on
+the bare ground like her master when she could curl herself up at the
+foot of two fuzzy blankets in a tiny room next to the warm kitchen.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>It was after midnight when Pierre crawled over to me again, and pointed
+to a black patch of mussel rocks below.</p>
+
+<p>"There are the two men Gaston saw," he whispered. "They are waiting to
+signal the channel to their comrades."</p>
+
+<p>I strained my eyes in the direction he indicated.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot see," I confessed.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Here, take the glass," said he. "Those two humps behind the big one are
+the backs of men. They have a lantern well hidden&mdash;you can see its glow
+when the glass is steady."</p>
+
+<p>I could see it all quite clearly now, and occasionally one of the humps
+lift a head cautiously above the rock.</p>
+
+<p>"She must be lying off close by," muttered Pierre, hoarse with
+excitement. Again he hurriedly ran his hand over the breech of my
+carbine. "The trigger pulls light," he breathed. "Courage, monsieur! We
+have not long to wait now." And again he was gone.</p>
+
+<p>I felt like a hired assassin weakening on the verge of a crime. The next
+instant I saw the lantern hidden on the mussel rocks raised and lowered
+thrice.</p>
+
+<p>It was the signal!</p>
+
+<p>Again all was darkness save the gleaming line of surf. My heart thumped
+in my ears. Ten minutes passed; then again the lantern was raised, the
+figures of the two men standing in silhouette against its steady rays.</p>
+
+<p>I saw now a small sloop rear itself from the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>breakers, a short, squat
+little craft with a ghostly sail and a flapping jib. On she came,
+leaping and dropping broadside among the combers. The lantern now shone
+as clearly as a beacon. A sea broke over the sloop, but she staggered up
+bravely, and with a plunge was swept nearer and nearer the jagged point
+of rocks awash with spume. Braced against the tiller was a man in
+drenched tarpaulins; two other men were holding on to the shrouds like
+grim death. On the narrow deck between them I made out a bale-like
+bundle wrapped in tarpaulin and heavily roped, ready to be cast ashore.</p>
+
+<p>A moment more, and the sloop would be on the rocks; yet not a sound came
+from the thicket. The suspense was sickening. I had once experienced
+buck-fever, but it was nothing compared to this. The short carbine began
+to jump viciously under my grip.</p>
+
+<p>The sloop was nearly on the rocks! At that critical moment overboard
+went the bundle, the two men with the lantern rushing out and dragging
+it clear of the swash.</p>
+
+<p>Simultaneously, with a crackling roar, six <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>tongues of flame spat from
+the thicket and we charged out of our ambush and over the crest of the
+dunes toward the smugglers' craft and its crew, firing as we ran. The
+fellow next to me stumbled and fell sprawling in the sand.</p>
+
+<p>In the panic that ensued I saw the sloop making a desperate effort to
+put to sea. Meanwhile the two accomplices were running like rabbits for
+the marsh. Close to the mysterious bundle their lantern lay smashed and
+burning luridly in its oil. The brigadier sprang past me swearing like a
+pirate, while his now thoroughly demoralized henchmen and myself
+stumbled on, firing at random with still a good hundred yards between us
+and the abandoned contraband.</p>
+
+<p>At that instant I saw the sloop's sail fill and then, as if by a
+miracle, she slowly turned back to the open sea. Above the general din
+the brigadier's voice rang out, bellowing his orders. By the time the
+sloop had cleared the breakers his language had become unprintable. He
+had reached the mussel rocks and stood shaking his clenched fists at the
+departing craft, while the rest of us crowded about the bundle and the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>blazing lantern. Every one was talking and gesticulating at once as
+they watched the sloop plunge away in the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacré mille tonnerres!</i>" roared the brigadier, sinking down on the
+bundle. Then he turned and glared at me savagely. "Idiot!" he cried,
+labouring for his breath. "<i>Espèce d'imbécile. Ah! Nom d'un petit
+bonhomme.</i> You were on the end. Why did you not head off those devils
+with the lantern?"</p>
+
+<p>I shrugged my shoulders helplessly in reply. He was in no condition to
+argue with.</p>
+
+<p>"And the rest of you&mdash;&mdash;" He choked in his rage, unable to frame his
+words. They stood helplessly about, gesticulating their apologies.</p>
+
+<p>He sprang to his feet, gave the bundle a sound kick, and snarled out an
+order. Pierre and another jumped forward, and together they shouldered
+it between them. Then the remainder of the valiant guard fell into
+single file and started back to the fort, the brigadier and myself
+bringing up the rear. As we trudged on through the sand together he kept
+muttering to himself. It only occurred to me then that nobody had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>been
+hit. By this time even the accomplices were safe.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur," I ventured, as we regained the trail leading to the fort,
+"it is with the sincerest regret of my heart that I offer you my
+apologies. True, I might have done better, but I did my best in my
+inexperience. We have the contraband&mdash;at least that is something, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>He grew calmer as the thought struck him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he grumbled, "there are in that bundle at least ten thousand
+cigars. It is, after all, not so bad."</p>
+
+<p>"Might I ask," I returned, "when your excellency intends to honour me
+with my liberty?"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, and to my delight held out his hand to me.</p>
+
+<p>"You are free, monsieur," he said roughly, with a touch of his good
+nature. "The affair is over&mdash;but not a word of the man&oelig;uvre you have
+witnessed in the village. Our work here is for the ears of the
+Government alone."</p>
+
+<p>As we reached the gate of the fort I saluted him, handed my carbine to
+Pierre in exchange <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>for my shotgun, and struck home in the mist of early
+dawn.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The morning after, I was leaning over the lichen-stained wall of my
+garden caressing the white throat of the Essence of Selfishness, the
+events of my night of service still in my mind, when I saw the coast
+patrol coming across the marsh in double file. As they drew nearer I
+recognized Pierre and his companion, who had shouldered the contraband.
+The roped bundle was swung on a stout pole between them.</p>
+
+<p>Presently they left the marsh and gained the road. As the double file of
+uniformed men came past my wall they returned my salute. Pierre shifted
+his end of the pole to the man behind him and stood at attention until
+the rest had passed. Then the procession went on to inform Monsieur the
+Mayor, who lived near the little square where nothing ever happened.</p>
+
+<p>Pierre turned when they had left and entered my garden. What was he
+going to tell me now? I wondered, with sudden apprehension. Was I to
+serve another night?</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'll be hanged if I will," I muttered.</p>
+
+<p>He approached solemnly and slowly, his bayonet gleaming at his side, the
+warm sunlight glinting on the buttons of his uniform. When he got near
+enough for me to look into his eyes he stopped, raised his hand to his
+cap in salute, and said with a smile:</p>
+
+<p>"Now, monsieur, the artichokes."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch4-2.png" width="300" height="168" alt="bundle of contraband" title="bundle of contraband" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_FIVE" id="CHAPTER_FIVE"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch5-1.jpg" width="400" height="216" alt="Marianne" title="Marianne" />
+</div>
+<h2>CHAPTER FIVE</h2>
+
+<h3>MARIANNE</h3>
+
+
+<p>Monsieur le Curé slid the long chair up to my fire, bent his straight,
+black body forward, and rubbing his chilled hands briskly before the
+blazing logs, announced with a smile of content:</p>
+
+<p>"Marianne is out of jail."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacristi!</i>" I exclaimed, "and in mid-winter! It must be cold enough in
+that hut of hers by the marsh&mdash;poor old girl."</p>
+
+<p>"And not a sou to be earned fishing," added the curé.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me about this last crime of hers," I asked.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Curé's face grew serious, then again the smile of content
+spread to the corners of his firm mouth.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Nothing very gruesome," he confessed, then after a moment's silence
+he continued slowly: "Her children needed shoes and warm things for the
+winter. Marianne stole sixty <i>mètres</i> of nets from the fishing crew at
+'The Three Wolves'&mdash;she is hopeless, my friend." With a vibrant gesture
+he straightened up in his chair and flashed his keen eyes to mine. "For
+ten years I have tried to reform her," he declared. "Bah!"&mdash;and he
+tossed the stump of his cigarette into the blaze.</p>
+
+<p>"You nursed her once through the smallpox," said I, "when no one dared
+go near her. The mayor told me so. I should think <i>that</i> would have long
+ago persuaded her to do something for you in return."</p>
+
+<p>"We go where we are needed," he replied simply. "She will promise me
+nothing. One might as well try to make a faithful parishioner of a gipsy
+as to change Marianne for the better." He brought his fist down sharply
+on the broad arm of his chair. "I tell you," he went on tensely,
+"Marianne is a woman of no morals and no religion&mdash;a woman who allows no
+one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>to dictate to her save a gendarme with a warrant of arrest. Hardly
+a winter passes but she goes to jail. She is a confirmed thief, a bad
+subject," he went on vibrantly. "She can drink as no three sailors can
+drink&mdash;and yet you know as well as I do," he added, lowering his voice,
+"that there is not a mother in Pont du Sable who is as good to her
+children as Marianne."</p>
+
+<p>"They are a brave little brood," I replied. "I have heard that the
+eldest boy and girl Marianne adopted, yet they resemble their mother,
+with their fair curly hair and blue eyes, as much as do the youngest
+boys and the little girl."</p>
+
+<p>"Marianne has had many lovers," returned the curé gravely. "There is not
+one of that brood of hers that has yet been baptized." An expression of
+pain crossed his face. "I have tried hard; Marianne is impossible."</p>
+
+<p>"Yet you admit she has her qualities."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, good qualities," he confessed, filling a fresh cigarette paper
+full of tobacco. "Good qualities," he reiterated. "She has brought up
+her children to be honest and she keeps them <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>clean. She has never
+stolen from her own village&mdash;it is a point of honour with her. Ah! you
+do not know Marianne as I know her."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to me you are growing enthusiastic over our worst vagabond," I
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"I am," replied the curé frankly. "I believe in her; she is afraid of
+nothing. You see her as a vagabond&mdash;an outcast, and the next instant,
+<i>Parbleu!</i> she forces out of you your camaraderie&mdash;even your respect.
+You shake her by the hand, that straight old hag with her clear blue
+eyes, her square jaw and her hard face! She who walks with the stride of
+a man, who is as supple and strong as a sailor, and who looks you
+squarely in the eye and studies you calmly, at times disdainfully&mdash;even
+when drunk."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>It was late when Monsieur le Curé left me alone by my fire. I cannot say
+"alone," for the Essence of Selfishness, was purring on my chest.</p>
+
+<p>In this old <i>normand</i> house of mine by the marsh, there comes a silence
+at this hour which <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>is exhilarating. Out of these winter midnights come
+strange sounds, whirring flights of sea-fowl whistle over my roof, in
+late for a lodging on the marsh. A heavy peasant's cart goes by,
+groaning in agony under the brake. When the wind is from the sea, it is
+like a bevy of witches shrilling my doom down the chimney. "Aye, aye,
+'tis he," they seem to scream, "the stranger&mdash;the s-t-r-a-n-g-e-r."
+One's mind is alert at this hour&mdash;one must be brave in a foreign land.</p>
+
+<p>And so I sat up late, smoking a black pipe that gurgled in unison with
+the purring on my chest while I thought seriously of Marianne.</p>
+
+<p>I had seen her go laughing to jail two months ago, handcuffed to a
+gendarme on the back seat of the last car of the toy train. It was an
+occasion when every one in the lost village came charitably out to have
+a look. I remembered, too, she sat there as garrulous as if she were
+starting on a holiday&mdash;a few of her old cronies crowded about her. One
+by one, her children gave their mother a parting hug&mdash;there were no
+tears&mdash;and the gendarme sat beside her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>with a stolid dignity befitting
+his duty to the <i>République</i>. Then the whistle tooted twice&mdash;a coughing
+puff of steam in the crisp sunlight, a wheeze of wheels, and the toy
+train rumbled slowly out of the village with its prisoner. Marianne
+nodded and laughed back at the waving group.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon voyage!</i>" croaked a little old woman, lifting her claw. She had
+borrowed five francs from the prisoner.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Au revoir!</i>" laughed back Marianne, but the words were faint, for the
+last car was snaking around the bend.</p>
+
+<p>Thus Marianne went to jail. Now that she is back, she takes her return
+as carelessly and unblushingly as a <i>demi-mondaine</i> does her annual
+return from Dinard.</p>
+
+<p>When Marianne was eighteen, they tell me, she was the prettiest girl in
+Pont du Sable, that is to say, she was prettier than Emilienne Dagèt at
+Bar la Rose, or than Berthe Pavoisiér, the daughter of the miller at
+Tocqueville, who is now in Paris. At eighteen, Marianne was slim and
+blonde; moreover, she was as bold as a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>hawk, and smiled as easily as
+she lied. At twenty, she was rated as a valuable member of any fishing
+crew that put out from the coast, for they found her capable during a
+catch, and steady in danger, always doing her share and a little more
+for those who could not help themselves. She is still doing it, for in
+her stone hut on the edge of the marsh that serves as shelter for her
+children and her rough old self, she has been charitable and given a
+winter's lodging to three old wrecks of the sea. There are no beds, but
+there are bunks filled with marsh-hay; there is no furniture, but there
+are a few pots and pans, and in one corner of the dirt floor, a
+crackling fire of drift wood, and nearly always enough applejack for
+all, and now and then hot soup. Marianne wrenches these luxuries, so to
+speak, out of the sea, often alone and single-handed, working as hard as
+a gull to feed her young.</p>
+
+<p>The curé was right; Marianne had her good qualities&mdash;I was almost
+beginning to wonder to myself as I pulled drowsily at the black pipe if
+her good qualities did not outweigh her bad <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>ones, when the Essence of
+Selfishness awakened and yawned. And so it was high time to send this
+spoiled child of mine to bed.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Marianne called her "<i>ma belle petite</i>," though her real name was
+Yvonne&mdash;Yvonne Louise Tournéveau.</p>
+
+<p>Yvonne kept her black eyes from early dawn until dark upon a dozen of
+the Père Bourron's cows in her charge, who grazed on a long point of the
+marsh, lush with salt grass, that lay sheltered back of the dunes
+fronting the open sea.</p>
+
+<p>Now and then, when a cow strayed over the dunes on to the hard beach
+beyond to gaze stupidly at the breakers, the little girl's voice would
+become as authoritative as a boy's. "<i>Eh ben, tu sais!</i>" she would shout
+as she ran to head the straggler off, adding some sound whacks with a
+stick until the cow decided to lumber back to the rest. "<i>Ah mais!</i>"
+Yvonne would sigh as she seated herself again in the wire-grass, tucking
+her firm bronzed legs under a patched skirt that had once served as a
+winter petticoat for the Mère Bourron.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Occasionally a trudging coast guard or a lone hunter in passing would
+call "<i>Bonjour!</i>" to her, and since she was pretty, this child of
+fifteen, they would sometimes hail her with "<i>&Ccedil;a va, ma petite!</i>" and
+Yvonne would flush and reply bravely, "<i>Mais oui, M'sieur, merci.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Since she was only a little girl with hair as black as a gipsy's, a
+ruddy olive skin, fresh young lips and a well-knit, compact body,
+hardened by constant exposure to the sea air and sun, no one bothered
+their heads much about her name. She was only a child who smiled when
+the passerby would give her a chance, which was seldom, and when she
+did, she disclosed teeth as white as the tiny shells on the beach. There
+were whole days on the marsh when she saw no one.</p>
+
+<p>At noon, when the cracked bell in the distant belfry of the gray church
+of Pont du Sable sent its discordant note quavering across the marsh,
+Yvonne drew forth a sailor's knife from where it lay tucked safe within
+the breast of her coarse chemise, and untying a square of blue cotton
+cloth, cut in two her portion of peasant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>bread, saving half the bread
+and half a bottle of Père Bourron's thinnest cider for the late
+afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>There were days, too, when Marianne coming up from the sea with her
+nets, stopped to rest beside the child and talk. Yvonne having no mother
+which she could remember, Marianne had become a sort of transient mother
+to her, whom the incoming tide sometimes brought her and whom she would
+wait for with uncertain expectancy, often for days.</p>
+
+<p>One afternoon, early in the spring, when the cows were feeding in the
+scant slanting shade of the dunes, Yvonne fell asleep. She lay out
+straight upon her back, her brown legs crossed, one wrist over her eyes.
+She slept so soundly that neither the breeze that had sprung up from the
+northeast, stirring with every fresh puff the stray locks about her
+small ears, or the sharp barking of a dog hunting rabbits for himself
+over the dunes, awakened her. Suddenly she became conscious of being
+grasped in a pair of strong arms, and, awakening with a little scream,
+looked up into the grinning face of Marianne, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>who straightway gave her
+a big, motherly hug until she was quite awake and then kissed her
+soundly on both cheeks, until Yvonne laughed over her fright.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Oh, mon Dieu!</i> but I was frightened," sighed the child, and sat up
+straight, smoothing back her tumbled hair. "Oh! la! la!" she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"They are beauties, <i>hein!</i>" exclaimed Marianne, nodding to an oozing
+basketful of mackerel; then, kneeling by the basket, she plunged her red
+hands under the slimy, glittering mass of fish, lifting and dropping
+them that the child might see the average size in the catch.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben!</i>" declared Marianne, "some day when thou art bigger, <i>ma
+petite</i>, I'll take thee where thou canst make some silver. There's half
+a louis' worth there if there's a sou!" There was a gleam of
+satisfaction in her eyes, as she bent over her basket again, dressed as
+she was in a pair of fisherman's trousers cut off at the knees.</p>
+
+<p>"One can play the lady on half a louis," she continued, covering her
+fish from the sun with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>her bundle of nets. "My man shall have a full
+bottle of the best to-night," she added, wiping her wet hands across her
+strong bare knees.</p>
+
+<p>"How much 'cake' does that old crab of a Bourron pay thee?" she
+inquired, turning again to the child.</p>
+
+<p>"Six sous a day, and then my food and lodging," confessed Yvonne.</p>
+
+<p>"He won't ruin himself," muttered Marianne.</p>
+
+<p>"They say the girl at the Three Wolves gets ten," added the child with
+awe, "but thou knowest how&mdash;she must do the washing besides."</p>
+
+<p>Marianne's square jaw shut hard. She glanced at Yvonne's patched skirt,
+the one that had been the Mère Bourron's winter petticoat, feeling its
+quality as critically as a fashionable dressmaker.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacristi!</i>" she exclaimed, examining a rent, "there's one door that
+the little north wind won't knock twice at before he enters. Keep still,
+<i>ma petite</i>, I've got thread and a needle."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She drew from her trousers' pocket a leather wallet in which lay four
+two-sous pieces, an iron key and a sail needle driven through a ball of
+linen thread. "It is easily seen thou art not in love," laughed
+Marianne, as she cross-stitched the tear. "Thou wilt pay ten sous for a
+ribbon gladly some day when thou art in love."</p>
+
+<p>The child was silent while she sewed. Presently she asked timidly, "One
+eats well there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where?"</p>
+
+<p>"But thou knowest&mdash;<i>there</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"In the prison?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mais oui</i>," whispered Yvonne.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," growled Marianne, "one eats well; it is perfect. <i>Tiens!</i>
+we have the good soup, that is well understood; and now and then meat
+and rice."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" exclaimed the child in awe.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mais oui</i>," assured Marianne with a nod, "and prunes."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is that, the prison?" ventured the child.</p>
+
+<p>"It is very far," returned Marianne, biting <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>off the thread, "and it is
+not for every one either," she added with a touch of pride&mdash;"only I
+happen to be an old friend and know the judge."</p>
+
+<p>"And how much does it cost a day, the prison?" asked Yvonne.</p>
+
+<p>"Not <i>that</i>," replied Marianne, snipping her single front tooth
+knowingly with the tip of her nail.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i> and they give you all that for nothing?" exclaimed the
+child in astonishment. "It is <i>chic</i>, that, <i>hein!</i>" and she nodded her
+pretty head with decision, "<i>Ah mais oui, alors!</i>" she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"I must be going," said Marianne, abruptly. "My young ones will be
+wanting their soup." She flattened her back against her heavy basket,
+slipped the straps under her armpits and rose to her feet, the child
+passing the bundle of nets to her and helping her shoulder them to the
+proper balance.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Au revoir, ma belle petite</i>," she said, bending to kiss the girl's
+cheek; then with her free hand she dove into her trousers' pocket and
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>drew out a two-sous piece. "<i>Tiens</i>," she exclaimed, pressing the
+copper into the child's hand.</p>
+
+<p>Yvonne gave a little sigh of delight. It was not often she had two sous
+all to herself to do what she pleased with, which doubles the delight of
+possession. Besides, the Mère Bourron kept her wages&mdash;or rather, count
+of them, which was cheaper&mdash;on the back page of a greasy book wherein
+were registered the births of calves.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Au revoir</i>," reiterated Marianne, and turned on her way to the village
+down the trail that wound through the salt grass out to the road
+skirting the bay. Yvonne watched her until she finally disappeared
+through a cut in the dunes that led to the main road.</p>
+
+<p>The marsh lay in the twilight, the curlews were passing overhead bound
+for a distant mud flat for the night. "<i>Courli! Courli!</i>" they called,
+the old birds with a rasp, the young ones cheerfully; as one says
+"<i>bonsoir</i>." The cows, conscious of the fast-approaching dark, were
+moving toward the child. She stood still until <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>they had passed her,
+then drove them slowly back to the Père Bourron's, her two-sous piece
+clutched safe in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>It was dark when she let down the bars of the orchard, leading into the
+farm-yard. Here the air was moist and heavy with the pungent odour of
+manure; a turkey gobbler and four timid hens roosting in a low apple
+tree, stirred uneasily as the cows passed beneath them to their stable
+next to the kitchen&mdash;a stable with a long stone manger and walls two
+feet thick. Above the stable was a loft covered by a thatched roof; it
+was in a corner of this loft, in a large box filled with straw and
+provided with a patchwork-quilt, that Yvonne slept.</p>
+
+<p>A light from the kitchen window streamed across the muddy court. The
+Père and Mère Bourron were already at supper. The child bolted the
+stable door upon her herd and slipped into her place at table with a
+timid "<i>Bonsoir, m'sieur, madame</i>," to her masters, which was
+acknowledged by a grunt from the Père Bourron and a spasm of coughing
+from his spouse.</p>
+
+<p>The Mère Bourron, who had the dullish round <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>eye of a pig that gleamed
+suspiciously when she became inquisitive, had supped well. Now and then
+she squinted over her fat jowls veined with purple, plying her mate with
+short, savage questions, for he had sold cattle that day at the market
+at Bonville. Such evenings as these were always quarrelsome between the
+two, and as the little girl did not count any more than the chair she
+sat in, they argued openly over the day's sale. The best steer had
+brought less than the Mère Bourron had believed, a shrewd possibility,
+even after a month's bargaining. When both had wiped their plates clean
+with bread&mdash;for nothing went to waste there&mdash;the child got up and
+brought the black coffee and the decanter of applejack. They at last
+ceased to argue, since the Mère Bourron had had the final word. Père
+Bourron sat with closed fists, opening one now and then to strengthen
+his coffee with applejack. Being a short, thickset man, he generally sat
+in his blouse after he had eaten, with his elbows on the table and his
+rough bullet-like head, with its crop of unkempt hair, buried in his
+hands.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>When Yvonne had finished her soup, and eaten all her bread, she rose and
+with another timid "<i>Bonsoir</i>" slipped away to bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Leave the brindle heifer tied!" shrilled madame as the child reached
+the courtyard.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mais, oui madame</i>, it is done," answered Yvonne, and crept into her
+box beneath the thatch.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>At sixteen Yvonne was still guarding the cows for the Bourrons. At
+seventeen she fell in love.</p>
+
+<p>He was a slick, slim youth named Jean, with a soapy blond lock plastered
+under the visor of his leather cap pulled down to his red ears. On fête
+days, he wore in addition a scarlet neck-tie girdling his scrawny
+throat. He had watched Yvonne for a long time, very much as the snake in
+the fable saved the young dove until it was grown.</p>
+
+<p>And so, Yvonne grew to dreaming while the cows strayed. Once the Père
+Bourron struck at her with a spade for her negligence, but missed.
+Another night he beat her soundly for letting <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>a cow get stalled in the
+mud. The days on the marsh now became interminable, for he worked for
+Gavelle, the carpenter, a good three <i>kilomètres</i> back of Pont du Sable
+and the two could see each other only on fête days when he met her
+secretly among the dunes or in the evenings near the farm. He would wait
+for her then at the edge of the woods skirting the misty sea of pasture
+that spread out below the farm like some vast and silent dry lake,
+dotted here and there with groups of sleeping cattle.</p>
+
+<p>She saw Marianne but seldom now, for the latter fished mostly at the
+Three Wolves, sharing her catch with a crew of eight fishermen. Often
+they would seine the edge of the coast, their boat dancing off beyond
+the breakers while they netted the shallow water, swishing up the hard
+beach&mdash;these gamblers of the sea. They worked with skill and precision,
+each one having his share to do, while one&mdash;the quickest&mdash;was appointed
+to carry their bundle of dry clothes rolled in a tarpaulin.</p>
+
+<p>Marianne seemed of casual importance to her now. We seldom think of our
+best friends <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>in time of love. Yvonne cried for his kisses which at
+first she did not wholly understand, but which she grew to hunger for,
+just as when she was little she craved for all she wanted to eat for
+once&mdash;and candy.</p>
+
+<p>She began to think of herself, too&mdash;of Jean's scarlet cravat&mdash;of his new
+shoes too tight for him, which he wore with the pride of a village dandy
+on fête days and Sundays&mdash;and of her own patched and pitifully scanty
+wardrobe.</p>
+
+<p>"She has nothing, that little one," she had heard the gossips remark
+openly before her, time and time again, when she was a child. Now that
+she was budding into womanhood and was physically twice as strong as
+Jean, now that she was conscious of <i>herself</i>, she began to know the
+pangs of vanity.</p>
+
+<p>It was about this time that she bought the ribbon, just as Marianne had
+foretold, a red ribbon to match Jean's tie, and which she fashioned into
+a bow and kept in a paper box, well hidden in the straw of her bed. The
+patched skirt had long ago grown too short, and was now stuffed into a
+broken window beyond the cow <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>manger to temper the draught from the neck
+of a sick bull.</p>
+
+<p>She wore now, when it stormed, thick woollen stockings and sabots; and
+another skirt of the Mère Bourron's fastened around a chemise of coarse
+homespun linen, its colour faded to a delicious pale mazarine blue,
+showing the strength and fullness of her body.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>She had stolen down from the loft this night to meet him at the edge of
+the woods.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is he?" were his first words as he sought her lips in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>"He has gone," she whispered, when her lips were free.</p>
+
+<p>"Where?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben</i>, he went away with the Père Detour to the village&mdash;madame is
+asleep."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, good!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i> but you are warm," she whispered, pressing her cheek
+against his own.</p>
+
+<p>"I ran," he drawled, "the patron kept me late. There is plenty of work
+there now."</p>
+
+<p>He put his arm around her and the two <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>walked deeper into the wood, he
+holding her heavy moist hand idly in his own. Presently the moon came
+out, sailing high among the scudding clouds, flashing bright in the
+clear intervals. A white mist had settled low over the pasture below
+them, and the cattle were beginning to move restlessly under the chill
+blanket, changing again and again their places for the night. A bull
+bellowed with all his might from beyond the mysterious distance. He had
+evidently scented them, for presently he emerged from the mist and moved
+along the edge of the woods, protected by a deep ditch. He stopped when
+he was abreast of them to bellow again, then kept slowly on past them.
+They had seated themselves in the moonlight among the stumps of some
+freshly cut poplars.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dis donc</i>, what is the matter?" he asked at length, noticing her
+unusual silence, for she generally prattled on, telling him of the
+uneventful hours of her days.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," she returned evasively.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mais si; bon Dieu!</i> there <i>is</i> something."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She placed her hands on her trembling knees.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I swear there is nothing, Jean," she said faintly.</p>
+
+<p>But he insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"One earns so little," she confessed at length. "Ten sous a day, it is
+not much, and the days are so long on the marsh. If I knew how to cook
+I'd try and get a place like Emilienne."</p>
+
+<p>"Bah!" said he, "you are crazy&mdash;one must study to cook; besides, you are
+not yet eighteen, the Père Bourron has yet the right to you for a year."</p>
+
+<p>"That is true," confessed the girl simply; "one has not much chance when
+one is an orphan. Listen, Jean."</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"Listen&mdash;is it true that thou dost love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely," he replied with an easy laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen," she repeated timidly; "if thou shouldst get steady work&mdash;I
+should be content ... to be..." But her voice became inaudible.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Allons!</i>... what?" he demanded irritably.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"To ... to be married," she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>He started. "<i>Eh ben! en voilà</i> an idea!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me, Jean, I have always had that idea&mdash;&mdash;" She dried her eyes
+on the back of her hand and tried hard to smile. "It is foolish, eh? The
+marriage costs so dear ... but if thou shouldst get steady work..."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben!</i>" he answered slowly with his Normand shrewdness, "I don't say
+no."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll help thee, Jean; I can work hard when I am free. One wins forty
+sous a day by washing, and then there is the harvest."</p>
+
+<p>There was a certain stubborn conviction in her words which worried him.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben!</i>" he said at length, "we might get married&mdash;that's so."</p>
+
+<p>She caught her breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Swear it, Jean, that thou wilt marry me, swear it upon Sainte Marie."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh voilà</i>, it's done. <i>Oui</i>, by Sainte Marie!"</p>
+
+<p>She threw her arms about him, crushing him against her breast.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dieu!</i> but thou art strong," he whispered.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Did I hurt thee?"</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;thou art content now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;I am content," she sobbed, "I am content, I am content."</p>
+
+<p>He had slipped to the ground beside her. She drew his head back in her
+lap, her hand pressed hard against his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dieu!</i> but I am content," she breathed in his ear.</p>
+
+<p>He felt her warm tears dropping fast upon his cheek.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>All night she lay in the straw wide awake, flushed, in a sort of fever.
+At daylight she drove her cows back to the marsh without having barely
+touched her soup.</p>
+
+<p>Far across the bay glistened the roof of a barn under construction. An
+object the size of a beetle was crawling over the new boards.</p>
+
+<p>It was Jean.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a fool," he thought, as he drove in a nail. Then he fell to
+thinking of a girl in his own village whose father was as rich as the
+Père Bourron.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacré Diable!</i>" he laughed at length, "if every one got married who
+had sworn by Sainte Marie, Monsieur le Curé would do a good business."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>A month later Père Bourron sold out a cartful of calves at the market at
+Bonville. It was late at night when he closed his last bargain over a
+final glass, climbed up on his big two-wheeled cart, and with a face of
+dull crimson and a glazed eye, gathered up the reins and started swaying
+in his seat for home. A boy carrying milk found him at daylight the next
+morning lying face down in the track of his cart, dead, with a fractured
+skull. Before another month had passed, the Mère Bourron had sold the
+farm and gone to live with her sister&mdash;a lean woman who took in sewing.</p>
+
+<p>Yvonne was free.</p>
+
+<p>Free to work and to be married, and she did work with silent ferocity
+from dawn until dark, washing the heavy coarse linen for a farm, and
+scrubbing the milk-pans bright until often long after midnight&mdash;and
+saved. Jean worked too, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>but mostly when he pleased, and had his hair
+cut on fête days, most of which he spent in the café and saw Yvonne
+during the odd moments when she was free.</p>
+
+<p>Life over the blacksmith's shop, where she had taken a room, went
+merrily for a while. Six months later&mdash;it is such an old story that it
+is hardly worth the telling&mdash;but it was long after dark when she got
+back from work and she found it lying on the table in her rough clean
+little room&mdash;a scrap of paper beside some tiny worsted things she had
+been knitting for weeks.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not coming back," she read in an illiterate hand.</p>
+
+<p>She would have screamed, but she could not breathe. She turned again,
+staring at the paper and gripping the edge of the table with both
+hands&mdash;then the ugly little room that smelt of singed hoofs rocked and
+swam before her.</p>
+
+<p>When she awoke she lay on the floor. The flame of the candle was
+sputtering in its socket. After a while she crawled to her knees in the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>dark; then, somehow, she got to her feet and groped her way to the
+door, and down the narrow stairs out to the road. She felt the need of a
+mother and turned toward Pont du Sable, keeping to the path at the side
+of the wood like a homeless dog, not wishing to be observed. Every
+little while, she was seized with violent trembling so that she was
+obliged to stop&mdash;her whole body ached as if she had been beaten.</p>
+
+<p>A sharp wind was whistling in from the sea and the night was so black
+that the road bed was barely visible.</p>
+
+<p>It was some time before she reached the beginning of Pont du Sable, and
+turned down a forgotten path that ran back of the village by the marsh.
+A light gleamed ahead&mdash;the lantern of a fishing-boat moored far out on
+the slimy mud. She pushed on toward it, mistaking its position, in her
+agony, for the hut of Marianne. Before she knew it, she was well out on
+the treacherous mud, slipping and sinking. She had no longer the
+strength now to pull her tired feet out. Twice she sank in the slime
+above her knees. She tried to go back but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>the mud had become ooze&mdash;she
+was sinking&mdash;she screamed&mdash;she was gone and she knew it. Then she
+slipped and fell on her face in a glaze of water from the incoming tide.
+At this instant some one shouted back, but she did not hear.</p>
+
+<p>It was Marianne.</p>
+
+<p>It was she who had moored the boat with the lantern and was on her way
+back to her hut when she heard a woman scream twice. She stopped as
+suddenly as if she had been shot at, straining her eyes in the direction
+the sound came from&mdash;she knew that there was no worse spot in the bay, a
+semi-floating solution of mud veined with quicksand. She knew, too, how
+far the incoming tide had reached, for she had just left it at her bare
+heels by way of a winding narrow causeway with a hard shell bottom that
+led to the marsh. She did not call for help, for she knew what lay
+before her and there was not a second to lose. The next instant, she had
+sprung out on the treacherous slime, running for a life in the
+fast-deepening glaze of water.</p>
+
+<p>"Lie down!" she shouted. Then her feet <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>touched a solid spot caked with
+shell and grass. Here she halted for an instant to listen&mdash;a choking
+groan caught her ear.</p>
+
+<p>"Lie down!" she shouted again and sprang forward. She knew the knack of
+running on that treacherous slime.</p>
+
+<p>She leapt to a patch of shell and listened again. The woman was choking
+not ten yards ahead of her, almost within reach of a thin point of
+matted grass running back of the marsh, and there she found her, and she
+was still breathing. With her great strength she slid her to the point
+of grass. It held them both. Then she lifted her bodily in her arms,
+swung her on her back and ran splashing knee-deep in water to solid
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacré bon Dieu!</i>" she sobbed as she staggered with her burden. "<i>C'est
+ma belle petite!</i>"</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>For weeks Yvonne lay in the hut of the worst vagabond of Pont du Sable.
+So did a mite of humanity with black eyes who cried and laughed when he
+pleased. And Marianne fished for them both, alone and single-handed,
+wrenching <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>time and time again comforts from the sea, for she would
+allow no one to go near them, not even such old friends as Monsieur le
+Curé and myself&mdash;that old hag, with her clear blue eyes, who walks with
+the stride of a man, and who looks at you squarely, at times
+disdainfully&mdash;even when drunk.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch5-2.png" width="250" height="155" alt="sabots" title="sabots" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_SIX" id="CHAPTER_SIX"></a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch6-1.jpg" width="450" height="250" alt="a Normande" />
+</div>
+<h2>CHAPTER SIX</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BARON'S PERFECTOS</h3>
+
+
+<p>Strange things happen in my "Village of Vagabonds." It is not all fisher
+girls, Bohemian neighbours, romance, and that good friend the curé who
+shoots one day and confesses sinners the next. Things from the outside
+world come to us&mdash;happenings with sometimes a note of terror in them to
+make one remember their details for days.</p>
+
+<p>Only the other day I had run up from the sea to Paris to replenish the
+larder of my house abandoned by the marsh at Pont du Sable, and was
+sitting behind a glass of vermouth on the terrace of the Café de la Paix
+when the curtain rose.</p>
+
+<p>One has a desire to promenade with no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>definite purpose these soft
+spring days, when all Paris glitters in the warm sun. The days slip by,
+one into another&mdash;days to be lazy in, idle and extravagant, to promenade
+alone, seeking adventure, and thus win a memory, if only the amiable
+glance of a woman's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>I was drinking in the tender air, when from my seat on the terrace I
+recognized in the passing throng the familiar figure of the Brazilian
+banker, the Baron Santos da Granja. The caress of spring had enticed the
+Baron early this afternoon to the Boulevard. Although he had been
+pointed out to me but once, there was no mistaking his conspicuous
+figure as he strode on through the current of humanity, for he stood
+head and shoulders above the average mortal, and many turned to glance
+at this swarthy, alert, well-preserved man of the world with his keen
+black eyes, thin pointed beard and moustache of iron gray. From his
+patent-leather boots to his glistening silk hat the Baron Santos da
+Granja was immaculate.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly I saw him stop, run his eyes swiftly over the crowded tables
+and then, though there <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>happened to be one just vacated within his
+reach, turn back with a look of decision and enter the Government's
+dépôt for tobacco under the Grand Hotel.</p>
+
+<p>I, too, was in need of tobacco, for had not my good little
+maid-of-all-work, Suzette, announced to me only the day before:</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur, there are but three left of the big cigars in the thin box;
+and the ham of the English that monsieur purchased in Paris is no more."</p>
+
+<p>"It is well, my child," I had returned resignedly, "that ham could not
+last forever; it was too good."</p>
+
+<p>"And if Monsieur le Curé comes to dinner there is no more k&uuml;mmel," the
+little maid had confessed, and added with a shy lifting of her truthful
+eyes, "monsieur does not wish I should get more of the black cigars at
+the grocery?"</p>
+
+<p>I had winced as I recalled the last box, purchased from the only store
+in Pont du Sable, where they had lain long enough to absorb the pungent
+odour of dried herring and kerosene.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Of course it was not right that our guests should suffer thus from an
+empty larder and so, as I have said, I had run up from the sea to
+replenish it. It was, I confess, an extravagant way of doing one's
+marketing; but then there was Paris in the spring beckoning me, and who
+can resist her seductive call at such a time?</p>
+
+<p>But to my story: I finished my glass of vermouth, and, following the
+Baron's example, entered the Government's store, where I discovered him
+selecting with the air of a connoisseur a dozen thin boxes of rare
+perfectos. He chatted pleasantly with the clerk who served him and upon
+going to the desk, opened a Russian-leather portfolio and laid before
+the cashier six crisp, new one-hundred-franc notes in payment for the
+lot. I have said that the Baron was immaculate, and he <i>was</i>, even to
+his money. It was as spotless and unruffled as his linen, as neat, in
+fact, as were the noble perfectos of his choice, long, mild and pure,
+with tiny ends, and fat, comforting bodies that guaranteed a quality fit
+for an emperor; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>but then the least a bank can do, I imagine, is to
+provide clean money to its president.</p>
+
+<p>As the Baron passed out and my own turn at the desk came to settle for
+my modest provision of Havanas, I recalled to my mind the current gossip
+of the Baron's extravagance, of the dinners he had lately given that
+surprised Paris&mdash;and Paris is not easily surprised. What if he had "sold
+more than half of his vast estate in Brazil last year"? And suppose he
+was no longer able or willing "to personally supervise his racing
+stable," that he "had grown tired of the track," etc. Nonsense! The
+press knows so little of the real truth. For me the Baron Santos da
+Granja a was simply a seasoned man of the world, with the good taste to
+have retired from its conspicuous notoriety; and good taste is always
+expensive. His bank account did not interest me.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>I knew her well by sight, for she passed me often in the Bois de
+Boulogne when I ran up to Paris on just such errands as my present one.
+She had given me thus now and then glimpses <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>of her feverish
+life&mdash;gleams from the facets, since her success in Paris was as
+brilliant as a diamond. Occasionally I would meet her in the shaded
+alleys, but always in sight of her brougham, which kept pace with her
+whims at a safe but discreet distance.</p>
+
+<p>There was a rare perfection about her lithe, graceful person, an ease
+and subtlety of line, an allure which was satisfying&mdash;from her trim
+little feet gloved in suède, to the slender nape of her neck, from which
+sprang, back of the loveliest of little ears, the exquisite sheen of her
+blonde hair.</p>
+
+<p>There were mornings when she wore a faultless tailor-made of plain dark
+blue and carried a scarlet parasol, with its jewelled handle held in a
+firm little hand secreted in spotless white kid.</p>
+
+<p>I noticed, too, in passing that her eyes were deep violet and
+exceedingly alert, her features classic in their fineness. Once I saw
+her smile, not at me, but at her fox terrier. It was then that I caught
+a glimpse of her young white teeth&mdash;pearly white in contrast to the
+freshness of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>her pink and olive skin, so clear that it seemed to be
+translucent, and she blushed easily, having lived but a score of springs
+all told.</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon, when she drove in her brougham lined with dove-gray,
+the scarlet parasol was substituted by one of filmy, creamy lace,
+shading a gown of pale mauve or champagne colour.</p>
+
+<p>I had heard that she was passionately extravagant, that she seldom, if
+ever, won at the races&mdash;owned a little hotel with a carved façade in the
+Avenue du Bois, a villa at Dinard, and three fluffy little dogs, who
+jingled their gold bells when they followed her.</p>
+
+<p>She dined at Paillard's, sometimes at the Café de la Paix, rarely at
+Maxim's; skated at the Palais de Glace on the most respectable
+afternoons&mdash;drank plain water&mdash;rolled her own cigarettes&mdash;and possessed
+a small jewel box full of emeralds, which she seldom wore.</p>
+
+<p><i>Voilà!</i> A spoiled child for you!</p>
+
+<p>There were mornings, too, when, after her tub, as early as nine, she
+galloped away on her cob <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>to the <i>Bois</i> for her coffee and hot <i>brioche</i>
+at the Pré Catelan, a romantic little farm with a café and a stableful
+of mild-eyed cows that provide fresh milk to the weary at daylight, who
+are trying hard to turn over a new leaf before the next midnight. Often
+she came there accompanied by her groom and the three little dogs with
+the jingling bells, who enjoyed the warm milk and the run back of the
+fleet hoofs of her saddle-horse.</p>
+
+<p>On this very morning&mdash;upon which opens the second act of my drama, I
+found her sitting at the next table to mine, chiding one of the jingling
+little dogs for his disobedience.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben! tu sais!</i>" she exclaimed suddenly, with a savage gleam in her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>I turned and gazed at her in astonishment. It was the first time I had
+heard her voice. It was her accent that made me stare.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben! tu sais!</i>" she repeated, in the patois of the Normand peasant,
+lifting her riding crop in warning to the ball of fluff who had refused
+to get on his chair and was now wriggling in apology.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Who is that lady?" I asked the old waiter Emile, who was serving me.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame is an Austrian," he confided to me, bending his fat back as he
+poured my coffee.</p>
+
+<p>"Austrian, eh! Are you certain, Emile?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Parbleu</i>, monsieur" replied Emile, "one is never certain of any one in
+Paris. I only tell monsieur what I have heard. Ah! it is very easy to be
+mistaken in Paris, monsieur. Take, for instance, the lady in deep
+mourning, with the two little girls, over there at the table under the
+lilac bush."</p>
+
+<p>"She is young to be a widow," I interposed, glancing discreetly in the
+direction he nodded.</p>
+
+<p>Emile smiled faintly. "She is not a widow, monsieur," he returned,
+"neither is she as Spanish as she looks; she is Polish and dances at the
+Folies Parisiennes under the name of <i>La Belle Gueritta</i> from Seville."</p>
+
+<p>"But her children look French," I ventured.</p>
+
+<p>"They are the two little girls of her concierge, monsieur." Emile's
+smile widened until it spread in merry wrinkles to the corners of his
+twinkling eyes.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"In all that lace and velvet?" I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Precisely, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"And why the deep mourning, Emile?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a pose, monsieur. One must invent novelties, eh? when one is as
+good-looking as that. Besides, madame's reputation has not been of the
+best for some time. Monsieur possibly remembers the little affair last
+year in the Rue des Mathurins? Very well, it was she who extracted the
+hundred thousand francs from the Marquis de Villiers. Madame now gives
+largely to charity and goes to mass."</p>
+
+<p>"Blackmail, Emile?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of the worst kind, and so monsieur sees how easily one can be mistaken,
+is it not so? <i>Sacristi!</i> one never knows."</p>
+
+<p>"But are you certain you are not mistaken about your Austrian, Emile?" I
+ventured.</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders as if in apology for his opinion, and I turned
+again to study his Austrian. The noses of her little dogs with the
+jingling bells were now contentedly immersed in a bowl of milk.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later I saw her lift her clear <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>violet eyes and catch sight of
+one of the milkers, who was trying to lead a balky cow through the court
+by a rope badly knotted over her horns. She was smiling as she sat
+watching the cow, who now refused to budge. The boy was losing his
+temper when she broke into a rippling laugh, rose, and going over to the
+unruly beast, unknotted the rope from her horns and, replacing it by two
+half hitches with the ease and skill of a sailor, handed the rope back
+to the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"There, you little stupid!" she exclaimed, "she will lead better now.
+<i>Allez!</i>" she cried, giving the cow a sharp rap on her rump. "<i>Allez!
+Hup!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>A murmur of surprise escaped Emile. "It is not the first time madame has
+done that trick," he remarked under his hand, as she crossed the
+courtyard to regain her chair.</p>
+
+<p>"She is Normande," I declared, "I am certain of it by the way she said
+'<i>Eh ben!</i>' And did you not notice her walk back to her table? Erect,
+with the easy, quick step of a fisher girl? The same walk of the race of
+fisher girls who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>live in my village," I continued with enthusiastic
+decision. "There is no mistaking it; it is peculiar to Pont du Sable,
+and note, too, her <i>patois</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is quite possible, monsieur," replied Emile, "but it does not
+surprise me. One sees every one in Paris. There are few <i>grandes dames</i>
+left. When one has been a <i>garçon de café</i>, as I have, for over thirty
+years, one is surprised at nothing; not even&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The tap of a gold coin on the rim of a cold saucer interrupted our talk.
+The summons was from my lady who had conquered the cow.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Voilà</i>, madame!" cried Emile, as he left me to hasten to her table,
+where he made the change, slipped the <i>pourboire</i> she gave him into his
+alpaca pocket, and with a respectful, "<i>Merci bien</i>, madame," drew back
+her chair as she rose and summoned her groom, who a moment later stood
+ready to help her mount. The next instant I saw her hastily withdraw her
+small foot from the hollow of his coarse hand, and wave to a passing
+horse and rider. The rider, whose features were half hidden <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>under the
+turned-down brim of a panama, wheeled his horse, reined up before her,
+dismounted, threw his rein to her groom and bending, kissed her on both
+cheeks. She laughed; murmured something in his ear; the panama nodded in
+reply, then, slipping his arm under her own, the two entered the
+courtyard. There they were greeted by Emile.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame and I will breakfast here to-day, Emile," said the voice beneath
+the panama. "The little table in the corner and the same Pommard."</p>
+
+<p>He threw his riding crop on a vacant chair and, lifting his hat, handed
+it to the veteran waiter.</p>
+
+<p>It was the Baron Santos da Granja!</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Hidden at the foot of a plateau skirting the desert marshes, two miles
+above my village of Pont du Sable, lies in ruins all that remains of the
+deserted village known as La Poche.</p>
+
+<p>It is well named "The Pocket," since for years it served as a safe
+receptacle for itinerant beggars and fugitives from justice who found an
+ideal retreat among its limestone quarries, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>which, being long
+abandoned, provided holes in the steep hillside for certain vagabonds,
+who paid neither taxes to the government, nor heed to its law.</p>
+
+<p>There is an old cattle trail that leads to La Poche, crossed now and
+then by overgrown paths, that wind up through a labyrinth of briers,
+rank ferns and matted growth to the plateau spreading back from the
+hillside. I use this path often as a short cut home.</p>
+
+<p>One evening I had shot late on the marshes and started for home by way
+of La Poche. It was bright moonlight when I reached a trail new to me
+and approached the deserted village by way of a tangled, overgrown road.</p>
+
+<p>The wind had gone down with the rising of the moon, and the intense
+stillness of the place was such that I could hear about me in the tangle
+the lifting of a trampled weed and the moving of the insects as my boots
+disturbed them. The silence was uncanny. Under the brilliancy of the
+moon all things gleamed clear in a mystic light, their shadows as black
+as the sunken pits of a cave.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I pushed on through the matted growth, with the collar of my leather
+coat buttoned up, my cap pulled down, and my hands thrust in my sleeves,
+hugging my gun under my arm, for the briars made tough going.</p>
+
+<p>Presently, I got free of the tangle and out to a grassy stretch of road,
+once part of the river bed. Here and there emerged, from the matted
+tangle of the hillside flanking it, the ruins of La Poche. Often only a
+single wall or a tottering chimney remained silhouetted against the
+skeleton of a gabled roof; its rafters stripped of tiles, gleaming in
+the moonlight like the ribs and breastbone of a carcass.</p>
+
+<p>If La Poche is a place to be shunned by day&mdash;at night it becomes
+terrible; it seems to breathe the hidden viciousness of its past, as if
+its ruins were the tombs of its bygone criminals.</p>
+
+<p>I kept on the road, passed another carcass and drew abreast of a third,
+which I stepped out of the road to examine. Both its floors had long
+before I was born dropped into its cellar; its threshold beneath my feet
+was slippery with green slime; I looked up through its <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>ribs, from which
+hung festoons of cobwebs and dead vines, like shreds of dried flesh
+hanging from a skeleton.</p>
+
+<p>Still pursuing my way, I came across an old well; the bucket was drawn
+up and its chain wet; it was the first sign of habitation I had come
+across. As my hand touched the windlass, I instinctively gave it a turn;
+it creaked dismally and a dog barked savagely at the sound from
+somewhere up the hillside; then the sharp, snappy yelping of other dogs
+higher up followed.</p>
+
+<p>I stopped, felt in my pockets and slipped two shells into my gun,
+heavily loaded for duck, with the feeling that if I were forced to shoot
+I would hold high over their heads. As I closed the breech of my gun and
+clicked back my hammers to be ready for any emergency, the tall figure
+of a man loomed up in the grassy road ahead of me, his legs in a ray of
+moonlight, the rest of him in shadow.</p>
+
+<p>"Does this road lead out to the main road?" I called to him, not being
+any too sure that it did.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is there?" he demanded sharply <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>and in perfect French; then he
+advanced and I saw that the heavy stick he carried with a firm grip was
+mounted in silver.</p>
+
+<p>"A hunter, monsieur," I returned pleasantly, noticing now his dress and
+bearing.</p>
+
+<p>It was so dark where we stood, that I could not yet distinguish his
+features.</p>
+
+<p>"May I ask you, monsieur, whom I have the pleasure of meeting," I
+ventured, my mind now more at rest.</p>
+
+<p>He strode toward me.</p>
+
+<p>"My name is de Brissac," said he, extending his hand. "Forgive me," he
+added with a good-natured laugh, "if I startled you; it is hardly the
+place to meet a gentleman in at this hour. Have you missed your way?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," I replied, "I shot late and took a short cut to reach my home." I
+pointed in the direction of the marshes while I searched his face which
+was still shrouded in gloom, in my effort to see what manner of man I
+had run across.</p>
+
+<p>"And have you had good luck?" he inquired with a certain meaning in his
+voice, as if he was still in doubt regarding my trespass.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Not worth speaking of," I returned in as calm a voice as I could
+muster; "the birds are mostly gone. And do you shoot also, may I ask?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is an incorrigible habit with me," he confessed in a more reassured
+tone. "I have, however, not done so badly of late with the birds; I
+killed seventeen plovers this morning&mdash;a fine lot."</p>
+
+<p>Here his tone changed. All his former reserve had vanished. "Come with
+me," said he; "I insist; I'll show you what I killed; they make a pretty
+string, I assure you. You shall see, too, presently, my house; it is the
+one with the new roof. Do you happen to have seen it?"</p>
+
+<p>This came with a certain note of seriousness in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"No, but I am certain it must be a luxury in the débris," I laughed;
+"but," I added, "I am afraid I must postpone the pleasure until another
+time." I was still undecided as to my course.</p>
+
+<p>Again his tone changed to one of extreme courtesy, as if he had been
+quick to notice my hesitation.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I know it is late," said he, "but I must insist on your accepting my
+hospitality. The main road lies at the end of the plateau, and I will
+see you safely out to it and on your way home."</p>
+
+<p>I paused before answering. Under the circumstances, I knew, I could not
+very well refuse, and yet I had a certain dread of accepting too easily.
+In France such refusals are sometimes considered as insults. "Thank
+you," I said at last, resolved to see the adventure out; "I accept with
+pleasure," adding with a laugh and speaking to his shadowy bulk, for I
+could not yet see his face:</p>
+
+<p>"What silent mystery, what an uncanny fascination this place has about
+it! Even our meeting seems part of it. Don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, there is a peculiar charm here," he replied, in a more cautious
+tone as he led me into a narrow trail, "a charm that has taken hold of
+me, so that I bury myself here occasionally; it is a rest from Paris."</p>
+
+<p>From Paris, eh? I thought&mdash;then he does not belong to the coast.</p>
+
+<p>I edged nearer, determined now to catch a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>glimpse of his features, the
+light of the moon having grown stronger. As he turned, its rays
+illumined his face and at the same instant a curious gleam flashed into
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Again the Baron da Granja stood before me.</p>
+
+<p>Da Granja! the rich Brazilian! President of one of the biggest foreign
+banks in Paris. Man of the world, with a string of horses famous for
+years on a dozen race tracks. What the devil was he doing here? Had the
+cares of his bank driven him to such a lonely hermitage as La Poche? It
+seemed incredible, and yet there was not the slightest doubt as to his
+identity&mdash;I had seen him too often to be mistaken. His voice, too, now
+came back to me.</p>
+
+<p>He strode on, and for some minutes kept silent, then he stopped suddenly
+and in a voice in which the old doubting tones were again audible said:</p>
+
+<p>"You are English?"</p>
+
+<p>Here he barred the path.</p>
+
+<p>"No," I answered, a little ill at ease at his sudden change of manner.
+"American, from New York."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"And yet, I think I have seen you in Paris," he replied, after a
+moment's hesitation, his eyes boring into mine, which the light of the
+moon now made clear to him.</p>
+
+<p>"It is quite possible," I returned calmly; "I think I have seen you
+also, monsieur; I am often in Paris."</p>
+
+<p>Again he looked at me searchingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Where?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"At the Government's store, buying cigars." I did not intend to go any
+further.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled as if relieved. He had been either trying to place me, or his
+suspicions had been again aroused, I could not tell which. One thing was
+certain: he was convinced I had swallowed the name "de Brissac" easily.</p>
+
+<p>All at once his genial manner returned. "This way, to the right," he
+exclaimed. "Pardon me if I lead the way; the path is winding. My ruin,
+as I sometimes call it, is only a little farther up, and you shall have
+a long whiskey and siphon when you get there. You know Pont du Sable, of
+course," he continued as I kept in his tracks; the talk having again
+turned on his love of sport.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Somewhat. I live there."</p>
+
+<p>This time the surprise was his.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it possible?" he cried, laying his hand on my shoulder, his face
+alight.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my house is the once-abandoned one with the wall down by the
+marsh."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" he burst out, "so you are <i>the</i> American, the newcomer, the man I
+have heard so much about, the man who is always shooting; and how the
+devil, may I ask, did you come to settle in Pont du Sable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you see, every one said it was such a wretched hole that I felt
+there must be some good in it. I have found it charming, and with the
+shooting it has become an old friend. I am glad also to find that you
+like it well enough to (it was I who hesitated now) to visit it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to shoot is always a relief," he answered evasively, and then in a
+more determined voice added, "This way, to the right, over the rocks!
+Come, give me your gun! The stones are slippery."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I will carry it," I replied. "I am used to carrying it," and though
+my voice did not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>betray me, I proposed to continue to carry it. It was
+at least a protection against a walking stick with a silver top. My mind
+being still occupied with his suspicions, his inquiries, and most of all
+his persistence that I should visit his house, with no other object in
+view than a whiskey and siphon and a string of plovers. And yet, despite
+the gruesomeness of the surroundings, while alert as to his slightest
+move, I was determined to see the adventure through.</p>
+
+<p>He did not insist, but turned sharply to the left, and the next instant
+I stood before the threshold of a low stone house with a new tiled roof.
+A squat, snug house, the eaves of whose steep gabled roof came down well
+over its two stories, like the snuffer on a candle. He stepped to the
+threshold, felt about the door as if in search for a latch, and rapped
+three times with the flat of his hand. Then he called softly:</p>
+
+<p>"Léa!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>C'est toi?</i>" came in answer, and a small hand cautiously opened a
+heavy overhead shutter, back of which a shaded lamp was burning.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is all right, it is I," said he. "Come down! I have a surprise
+for you. I have captured an American."</p>
+
+<p>There came the sound of tripping feet, the quick drawing of a heavy
+bolt, and the door opened.</p>
+
+<p>My little lady of the Pré Catelan!</p>
+
+<p>Not in a tea-gown from the Rue de la Paix&mdash;nothing of that kind
+whatever; not a ruffle, not a jewel&mdash;but clothed in the well-worn
+garment of a fisher girl of the coast&mdash;a coarse homespun chemise of
+linen, open at the throat, and a still coarser petticoat of blue, faded
+by the salt sea&mdash;a fisher girl's petticoat that stopped at her knees,
+showing her trim bare legs and the white insteps of her little feet,
+incased in a pair of heelless felt slippers.</p>
+
+<p>For the second time I was treated to a surprise. Really, Pont du Sable
+was not so dead a village after all.</p>
+
+<p>Emile was wrong. She was one of my village people.</p>
+
+<p>My host did not notice my astonishment, but waved his hand courteously.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Entrez</i>, monsieur!" he cried with a laugh, and then, turning sharply,
+he closed the door and bolted it.</p>
+
+<p>I looked about me.</p>
+
+<p>We were in a rough little room, that would have won any hunter's heart;
+there were solid racks, heavy with guns, on the walls, a snapping wood
+fire, and a clean table, laid for dinner, and lastly, the chair quickly
+drawn to it for the waiting guest. This last they laughingly forced me
+into, for they both insisted I should dine with them&mdash;an invitation
+which I gladly accepted, for my fears were now completely allayed.</p>
+
+<p>We talked of the neighbourhood, of hunting, of Paris, of the new play at
+the Nouveautés&mdash;I did not mention the Bois. One rarely mentions in
+France having seen a woman out of her own home, although I was sure she
+remembered me from a look which now and then came into her eyes that
+left but little doubt in my mind that she vaguely recalled the incident
+at the Pré Catelan with the cow.</p>
+
+<p>It was a simple peasant dinner which followed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> When it was over, he
+went to a corner cupboard and drew forth a flat box of long perfectos,
+which I recognized instantly as the same brand of rare Havanas he had so
+extravagantly purchased from the Government. If I had had my doubt as to
+the identity of my man it was at rest now.</p>
+
+<p>"You will find them mild," said he with a smile, as he lifted the
+tinfoil cover.</p>
+
+<p>"No good cigar is strong," I replied, breaking the untouched row and
+bending my head as my host struck a match, my mind more on the scene in
+the Government's shop than the quality of his tobacco. And yet with all
+the charm that the atmosphere of his place afforded, two things still
+seemed to me strange&mdash;the absence of a servant, until I realized
+instinctively the incident of the balky cow, and the prompt bolting of
+the outside door.</p>
+
+<p>The first I explained to myself as being due to her peasant blood and
+her ability to help herself; the second to the loneliness of the place
+and the characters it sometimes harboured. As for my host, I had to
+admit, despite my mental queries, that his bearing and manner
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>completely captivated me, for a more delightful conversationalist it
+would have been difficult to find.</p>
+
+<p>Not only did he know the art of eliminating himself and amusing you with
+topics that pleased you, but his cleverness in avoiding the personal was
+amazingly skilful. His tact was especially accentuated when, with a
+significant look at his companion, who at once rose from her seat and,
+crossing the room, busied herself with choosing the liqueurs from a
+closet in the corner of the room, he drew me aside by the fire, and in a
+calm, sotto voce said with intense earnestness:</p>
+
+<p>"You may think it strange, monsieur, that I invited you, that I was even
+insistent. You, like myself, are a man of the world and can understand.
+You will do me a great favour if you will not mention to any one having
+met either myself or my little housekeeper" (there was not a tremor in
+his voice), "who, as you see, is a peasant; in fact, she was born here.
+We are not bothered with either friends or acquaintances here, nor do we
+care for prowlers; you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>must excuse me for at first taking you for one.
+You, of course, know the reputation of La Poche."</p>
+
+<p>"You could not have chosen a better place to be lost in," I answered,
+smiling as discreetly as one should over the confession of another's
+love affair. "Moreover, in life I have found it the best policy to keep
+one's mouth shut. You have my word, monsieur&mdash;it is as if we had never
+met&mdash;as if La Poche did not exist."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said he calmly, taking the tiny liqueur glasses from her
+hands; "what will you have&mdash;cognac or green chartreuse?"</p>
+
+<p>"Chartreuse," I answered quietly. My eye had caught the labels which I
+knew to be genuine from the Grenoble printer.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! you knew it&mdash;<i>Dieu!</i> but it is good, that old chartreuse!"
+exclaimed my hostess with a rippling laugh as she filled my glass, "we
+are lucky to find it."</p>
+
+<p>Then something happened which even now sends a cold chill down my spine.
+Hardly had I raised my glass to my lips when there came a sharp,
+determined rap at the bolted door, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>my host sprang to his feet. For
+a moment no one spoke&mdash;I turned instinctively to look at my lady of the
+Pré Catelan. She was breathing with dilated eyes, her lips drawn and
+quivering, every muscle of her lithe body trembling. He was standing
+erect, his head thrown back, his whole body tense. One hand gripped the
+back of his chair, the other was outstretched authoritatively toward us
+as if to command our silence.</p>
+
+<p>Again the rapping, this time violent, insistent.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is there?" he demanded, after what seemed to me an interminable
+moment of suspense.</p>
+
+<p>With this he slipped swiftly through a door leading into a narrow
+corridor, closed another door at the end of the passage, broke the key
+in the lock and returned on tiptoe as noiselessly as he left the room.
+Then picking up the lamp he placed it under the table, thus deadening
+its glow.</p>
+
+<p>Now a voice rang out, "Open in the name of the Law."</p>
+
+<p>No one moved.</p>
+
+<p>He again gripped the back of the chair, his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>face deathly white, his jaw
+set, his eyes with a sullen gleam in them.</p>
+
+<p>I turned to look at her. Her hands were outstretched on the table, her
+dilated eyes staring straight at the bolt as if her whole life depended
+on its strength.</p>
+
+<p>Again came the command to open, this time in a voice that allowed no
+question as to the determination of the outsider:</p>
+
+<p>"Open in the name of the Law."</p>
+
+<p>No one moved or answered.</p>
+
+<p>A crashing thud, from a heavy beam, snapped the bolt from its screws,
+another blow tore loose the door. Through the opening and over the
+débris sprang a short, broad-shouldered man in a gray suit, while three
+other heavily built men entered, barring the exit.</p>
+
+<p>The woman screamed and fell forward on the table, her head buried in her
+clenched hands. The Baron faced the one in gray.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want?" he stammered in the voice of a ghost.</p>
+
+<p>"You, Pedro Macei&ouml;," said the man in the gray suit, in a low, even tone,
+"for the last trick <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>you will pull off in some years; open up things, do
+you hear? All of it, and quick."</p>
+
+<p>The Brazilian did not reply; he stood behind his chair, eyeing sullenly
+the man in gray, who now held a revolver at a level with his heart.</p>
+
+<p>Then the man in gray called to one of his men, his eye still on the
+banker. "Break in the door at the end of the passage."</p>
+
+<p>With the quickness of a cat, the Brazilian grabbed the chair and with a
+swinging blow tried to fell his assailant and dash past him. The man in
+gray dodged and pocketed his weapon. The next instant he had his
+prisoner by the throat and had slammed him against the wall; then came
+the sharp click of a pair of handcuffs. The banker tripped and fell to
+the floor.</p>
+
+<p>It had all happened so quickly that I was dazed as I looked on. What it
+was all about I did not know. It seemed impossible that my host, a man
+whose bank was well known in Paris, was really a criminal. Were the
+intruders from the police? Or was it a clever ruse of four determined
+burglars?</p>
+
+<p>I began now to gather my wits and think of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>myself, although so far not
+one of the intruders had taken the slightest notice of my presence.</p>
+
+<p>One of the men was occupied in breaking open the door at the end of the
+corridor, while another stood guard over the now sobbing, hysterical
+woman. The fourth had remained at the open doorway.</p>
+
+<p>As for the prisoner, who had now regained his feet, he had sunk into the
+chair he had used in defence and sat there staring at the floor,
+breathing in short gasps.</p>
+
+<p>The man who had been ordered by his chief to break open the door at the
+end of the corridor, now returned and laid upon the dinner table two
+engraved metal plates, and a handful of new one-hundred-franc notes;
+some I noticed from where I sat were blank on one side. With the plates
+came the acrid stench of a broken bottle of acid.</p>
+
+<p>"My God! Counterfeiting!" I exclaimed half aloud.</p>
+
+<p>The Baron rose from his seat and stretched out his linked hands.</p>
+
+<p>"She is innocent," he pleaded huskily, lifting <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>his eyes to the woman. I
+could not repress a feeling of profound pity for him.</p>
+
+<p>The man in gray made no reply; instead he turned to me.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall escort you, too, monsieur," he remarked coolly.</p>
+
+<p>"Escort me? <i>Me?</i> What have I got to do with it, I'd like to know?" I
+cried, springing to my feet. "I wish to explain&mdash;to make clear to
+you&mdash;<i>clear</i>. I want you to understand that I stumbled here by the
+merest chance; that I never spoke to this man in my life until to-night,
+that I accepted his hospitality purely because I did not wish to offend
+him, although I had shot late and was in a hurry to get home."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"Please do not worry," he returned, "we know all about you. You are the
+American. Your house is the old one by the marsh in Pont du Sable. I
+called on you this afternoon, but you were absent. I am really indebted
+to you if you do but know it. By following your tracks, monsieur, we
+stumbled on the nest we have so long been looking for. Permit me to hand
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>you my card. My name is Guinard&mdash;Sous Chief of the Paris Police."</p>
+
+<p>I breathed easier&mdash;things were clearing up.</p>
+
+<p>"And may I ask, monsieur, how you knew I had gone in the direction of La
+Poche?" I inquired. That was still a mystery.</p>
+
+<p>"You have a little maid," he replied; "and little maids can sometimes be
+made to talk."</p>
+
+<p>He paused and then said slowly, weighing each word.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that no doubt surprises you, but we follow every clue. You were
+both sportsmen; that, as you know, monsieur, is always a bond, and we
+had not long to wait, although it was too dark for us to be quite sure
+when you both passed me. It was the bolting of the door that clinched
+the matter for me. But for the absence of two of my men on another scent
+we should have disturbed you earlier. I must compliment you, monsieur,
+on your knowledge of chartreuse as well as your taste for good cigars;
+permit me to offer you another." Here he slipped his hand into his
+pocket and handed me a duplicate of the one I had been smoking.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Twelve boxes, Macei&ouml;, were there not? Not expensive, eh, when purchased
+with these?" and he spread out the identical bank-notes with which his
+prisoner had paid for them in the Government store on the boulevard.</p>
+
+<p>"As for you, monsieur, it is only necessary that one of my men take your
+statement at your house; after that you are free.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Macei&ouml;," and he shook the prisoner by the shoulder, "you take the
+midnight train with me back to Paris&mdash;you too, madame."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>And so I say again, and this time you must agree with me, that strange
+happenings, often with a note of terror in them, occur now and then in
+my lost village by the sea.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch6-2.png" width="250" height="173" alt="cigar" title="cigar" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_SEVEN" id="CHAPTER_SEVEN"></a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch7-1.jpg" width="550" height="280" alt="soldiers" title="soldiers" />
+</div>
+<h2>CHAPTER SEVEN</h2>
+
+<h3>THE HORRORS OF WAR</h3>
+
+
+<p>At the very beginning of the straggling fishing-village of Pont du Sable
+and close by the tawny marsh stands the little stone house of the mayor.
+The house, like Monsieur le Maire himself, is short and sturdy. Its
+modest façade is half hidden under a coverlet of yellow roses that have
+spread at random over the tiled roof as high as the chimney. In front,
+edging the road, is a tidy strip of garden with more roses, a wood-pile,
+and an ancient well whose stone roof shelters a worn windlass that
+groans in protest whenever its chain and bucket are disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>I heard the windlass complaining this sunny morning as I passed on my
+way through the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>village and caught sight of the ruddy mayor in his blue
+blouse lowering the bucket. The chain snapped taut, the bucket gulped
+its fill, and Monsieur le Maire caught sight of me.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ah bigre!</i>" he exclaimed as he left the bucket where it hung and came
+forward with both hands outstretched in welcome, a smile wrinkling his
+genial face, clean-shaven to the edges of his short, cropped gray
+side-whiskers, reaching well beneath his chin. "Come in, come in," he
+insisted, laying a persuasive hand on my shoulder, as he unlatched his
+gate.</p>
+
+<p>It is almost impossible for a friend to pass the mayor's without being
+stopped by just such a welcome. The twinkle in his eyes and the hearty
+genuineness of his greeting are irresistible. The next moment you have
+crossed his threshold and entered a square, low-ceiled room that for
+over forty years has served Monsieur le Maire as living room, kitchen,
+and executive chamber.</p>
+
+<p>He had left me for a moment, as he always does when he welcomes a
+friend. I could hear from the pantry cupboard beyond the shivery <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>tinkle
+of glasses as they settled on a tray. He had again insisted, as he
+always does, upon my occupying the armchair in the small parlour
+adjoining, with its wax flowers and its steel engraving of Napoleon at
+Waterloo; but I had protested as I always do, for I prefer the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>I like its cavernous fireplace with its crane and spit, and the low
+ceiling upheld by great beams of rough-hewn oak, and the tall clock in
+the corner, and the hanging copper saucepans, kettles and ladles, kept
+as bright as polished gold. Here, too, is a generous Norman armoire with
+carved oaken doors swung on bar-hinges of shining steel, and a
+centre-table provided with a small bottle of violet ink, a scratchy pen
+and an iron seal worked by a lever&mdash;a seal that has grown dull from long
+service in the stamping of certain documents relative to plain justice,
+marriage, the official recognition of the recently departed and the
+newly born. Above the fireplace hangs a faded photograph of a prize
+bull, for you must know that Monsieur le Maire has been for half a
+generation a dealer in Norman cattle.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Presently he returned with the tray, placing it upon the table within
+reach of our chairs while I stood admiring the bull.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped as he half drew the cork from a fat brown jug, and looked at
+me curiously, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"You never were a dealer in beef?" he ventured timidly.</p>
+
+<p>I shook my head sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Hélas! Hélas!</i> Never mind," said he. "One cannot be everything.
+There's my brother-in-law, Péquin; he does not know a yearling from a
+three-year-old. It is he who keeps the little store at Saint Philippe."</p>
+
+<p>The cork squeaked out. He filled the thimble glasses with rare old
+applejack so skilfully that another drop would have flushed over their
+worn gilt rims. What a gracious old gentleman he is! If it be a question
+of clipping a rose from his tidy garden and presenting it to a lady, he
+does it with such a gentle courtliness that the rose smells the sweeter
+for it&mdash;almost a lost art nowadays.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw the curé this morning," he remarked, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>as we settled ourselves for
+a chat. "He could not stop, but he waved me an <i>au revoir</i>, for he was
+in a hurry to catch his train. He had been all night in his
+duck-blind&mdash;I doubt if he had much luck, for the wind is from the south.
+There is a fellow for you who loves to shoot," chuckled the mayor.</p>
+
+<p>"Some news for him of game?" I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>The small eyes of the mayor twinkled knowingly. "<i>Entre nous</i>," he
+confided, "he has gone to Bonvilette to spray the sick roses of a friend
+with sulphate of iron&mdash;he borrowed my squirt-gun yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>"And how far is it to Bonvilette?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben!</i> One must go by the little train to Nivelle," explained
+Monsieur le Maire, "and from Nivelle to Bonvilette there lies a good
+twenty kilometres for a horse. Let us say he will be back in three
+days."</p>
+
+<p>"And the mass meanwhile?" I ventured.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i> What will you have? The roses of his old friend are sick.
+It is the duty of a curé to tend the sick. Besides&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Here Monsieur le Maire leaned forward within <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>reach of my ear, and I
+caught in whispers something relative to a château and one of the best
+cellars of Bordeaux in France.</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally," I replied, with a wink, and again my eyes reverted to the
+prize bull. It is not wise to raise one's voice in so small a village as
+Pont du Sable, even indoors.</p>
+
+<p>"A pretty beast!" affirmed the mayor, noticing my continued interest in
+live stock. "And let me tell you that I took him to England in
+'eighty-two. <i>Ah, mais oui! Hélas! Hélas!</i> What a trip!" he sighed.
+"Monsieur Toupinet&mdash;he that has the big farm at Saint Philippe&mdash;and I
+sailed together the third of October, in 1882, with forty steers. Our
+ship was called <i>The Souvenir</i>, and I want to tell you, my friend, it
+wasn't gay, that voyage. <i>Ah, mais non!</i> Toupinet was sea-sick&mdash;I was
+sea-sick&mdash;the steers were sea-sick&mdash;all except that <i>sacré</i> brute up
+there, and he roared all the way from Calais to London. <i>Eh ben!</i> And
+would you believe it?" At the approaching statement Monsieur le Maire's
+countenance assumed a look of righteous indignation. He raised his fist
+and brought <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>it down savagely on the table as he declared: "Would you
+believe it? We were <i>thirty-four hours</i> without eating and <i>twenty-nine
+hours, mon Dieu!</i> without drinking!"</p>
+
+<p>I looked up in pained astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"And that wasn't all," continued the mayor. "A hurricane struck us three
+hours out, and we rolled all night in a dog's sea. The steers were up to
+their bellies in water. Aye, but she did blow, and <i>The Souvenir</i> had
+all she could do to keep afloat. The captain was lashed to the bridge
+all night and most of the next day. Neither Toupinet nor myself ever
+expected to see land again, and there we were like calves in a pen on
+the floor of the cabin full of tobacco-smoke and English, and not a word
+of English could we speak except 'yes' and 'good morning.'" Here
+Monsieur le Maire stopped and choked. Finally he dried his eyes on the
+sleeve of his blouse, for he was wheezing with laughter, took a sip from
+his glass, and resumed:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the saints did not desert us. <i>Ah, mais non!</i> For about four
+o'clock in the afternoon the captain sighted Su-Tum-Tum."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Sighted what?" I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben!</i> Su-Tum-Tum," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Where had you drifted? To the Corean coast?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mais non</i>," he retorted, annoyed at my dullness to comprehend. "We
+were saved&mdash;<i>comprenez-vous?</i>&mdash;for there, to starboard, lay Su-Tum-Tum
+as plain as a sheep's nose."</p>
+
+<p>"England? Impossible!" I returned.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mais parfaitement!</i>" he declared, with a hopeless gesture.
+"<i>Su-Tum-Tum</i>," he reiterated slowly for my benefit.</p>
+
+<p>"Never heard of it," I replied.</p>
+
+<p>The next instant he was out of his chair, and fumbling in a drawer of
+the table extracted a warped atlas, reseated himself, and began to turn
+the pages.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh, voilà!</i>" he cried as his forefinger stopped under a word along the
+English coast. "That's Su-Tum-Tum plain enough, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Southampton!" I exclaimed. "Of course&mdash;plain as day."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" ejaculated the mayor, leaning back in his chair with a broad smile
+of satisfaction.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> "You see, I was right, Su-Tum-Tum. <i>Eh ben!</i> Do you
+know," he said gently as I left him, "when you first came to Pont du
+Sable there were times then, my poor friend, when I could not understand
+a word you said in French."</p>
+
+<p>Then, as if a sudden thought had struck him, he called me back as he
+closed the gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Are those gipsies still camped outside your wall?" he inquired,
+suddenly assuming the dignity of his office. "<i>Bon Dieu!</i> They are a bad
+lot, those vagabonds! If I don't tell them to be off you won't have a
+duck or a chicken left."</p>
+
+<p>"Let them stay," I pleaded, "they do no harm. Besides, I like to see the
+light of their camp-fire at night scurrying over my wall."</p>
+
+<p>"How many are there?" inquired his excellency.</p>
+
+<p>"Seven or eight, not counting the dogs chained under the wagons," I
+confessed reluctantly, fearing the hand of the law, for I have a
+fondness for gipsies. "But you need not worry about them. They won't
+steal from me. Their wagons are clean inside and out."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ah, mais!</i>" sighed the mayor. "It's just <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>like you. You spoil your
+cat, you spoil your dog, and now you're spoiling these rascals by giving
+them a snug berth. Have they their papers of identity?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I called back, "the chief showed them to me when he asked
+permission to camp."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," laughed the mayor. "You'll never catch them without
+them&mdash;signed by officials we never can trace."</p>
+
+<p>He waved me a cheery <i>au revoir</i> and returned to the well of the
+groaning windlass while I continued on my way through the village.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the squat stone houses, nets were drying in the sun. Save for
+the occasional rattle of a passing cart, the village was silent, for
+these fisher-folk go barefooted. Presently I reached the public square,
+where nothing ever happens, and, turning an iron handle, entered Pont du
+Sable's only store. A box of a place, smelling of dried herring,
+kerosene, and cheese; and stocked with the plain necessities&mdash;almost
+everything, from lard, tea, and big nails to soap, tarpaulins, and
+applejack. The night's catch of mackerel had been good, and the small
+room <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>with its zinc bar was noisy with fisher-folk&mdash;wiry fishermen with
+legs and chests as hard as iron; slim brown fisher girls as hardy as the
+men, capricious, independent and saucy; a race of blonds for the most
+part, with the temperament of brunettes. Old women grown gray and
+leathery from fighting the sea, and old men too feeble to go&mdash;one of
+these hung himself last winter because of this.</p>
+
+<p>It was here, too, I found Marianne, dripping wet, in her tarpaulins.</p>
+
+<p>"What luck?" I asked her as I helped myself to a package of cigarettes
+from a pigeonhole and laid the payment thereof on the counter.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben!</i>" she laughed. "We can't complain. If the good God would send
+us such fishing every night we should eat well enough."</p>
+
+<p>She strode through the group to the counter to thrust out an empty
+bottle.</p>
+
+<p>"Eight sous of the best," she demanded briskly of the mild-eyed grocer.
+"My man's as wet as a rat&mdash;he needs some fire in him and he'll feel as
+fit as a marquis."</p>
+
+<p>A good catch is a tonic to Pont du Sable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> Instantly a spirit of good
+humour and camaraderie spreads through the village&mdash;even old scores are
+forgotten. A good haul of mackerel means a let-up in the daily struggle
+for existence, which in winter becomes terrible. The sea knows not
+charity. It massacres when it can and adds you to the line of dead
+things along its edge where you are only remembered by the ebb and flow
+of the tide. On blue calm mornings, being part of the jetsam, you may
+glisten in the sun beside a water-logged spar; at night you become a
+nonentity, of no more consequence along the wavering line of drift than
+a rotten gull. But if, like Marianne, you have fought skilfully, you may
+again enter Pont du Sable with a quicker eye, a harder body, and a
+deeper knowledge of the southwest gale.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Within the last week Pont du Sable has undergone a transformation. The
+dead village is alive with soldiers, for it is the time of the
+man&oelig;uvres. Houses, barns and cow-sheds are filled by night with the
+red-trousered infantry of the French <i>République</i>. By day, the window
+panes shiver <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>under the distant flash and roar of artillery. The air
+vibrates with the rip and rattle of musketry&mdash;savage volleys, filling
+the heavens with shrill, vicious waves of whistling bullets that kill at
+a miraculous distance. It is well that all this murderous fire occurs
+beyond the desert of dunes skirting the open sea, for they say the
+result upon the iron targets on the marsh is something frightful. The
+general in command is in a good humour over the record.</p>
+
+<p>Despatch-bearers gallop at all hours of the day and night through Pont
+du Sable's single street. The band plays daily in the public square.
+Sunburned soldiers lug sacks of provisions and bundles of straw out to
+five hundred more men bivouacked on the dunes. Whole regiments return to
+the little fishing-village at twilight singing gay songs, followed by
+the fisher girls.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah! Mesdames&mdash;voilà du bon fromage!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Celui qui l'a fait il est de son village!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Voilà du bon fromage au lait!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Il est du pays de celui qui l'a fait.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Three young officers are stopping at Monsieur le Curé's, who has
+returned from the sick <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>roses of his friend; and Tanrade has a colonel
+and two lieutenants beneath his roof. As for myself and the house
+abandoned by the marsh, we are very much occupied with a blustering old
+general, his aide-de-camp, and two common soldiers; but I tremble lest
+the general should discover the latter two, for you see, they knocked at
+my door for a lodging before the general arrived, and I could not refuse
+them. Both of them put together would hardly make a full-sized warrior,
+and both play the slide-trombone in the band. Naturally their artistic
+temperament revolted at the idea of sleeping in the only available place
+left in the village&mdash;a cow-shed with cows. They explained this to me
+with so many polite gestures, mingled with an occasional salute at their
+assured gratefulness should I acquiesce, that I turned them over for
+safe keeping to Suzette, who has given them her room and sleeps in the
+garret. Suzette is overjoyed. Dream of dreams! For Suzette to have one
+real live soldier in the house&mdash;but to have two! Both of these
+red-eared, red-trousered dispensers of harmony are perfect in
+deportment, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>as quiet as mice. They slip out of my back gate at
+daylight, bound for the seat of war and slip in again at sundown like
+obedient children, talk in kitchen whispers to Suzette over hot cakes
+and cider, and go punctually to bed at nine&mdash;the very hour when the
+roaring old general and his aide-de-camp are toasting their gold spurs
+before my fire.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The general is tall and broad-shouldered, and as agile as a boy. There
+is a certain hard, compact firmness about him as if he had been cast in
+bronze. His alert eyes are either flashing in authority or beaming in
+gentleness. The same play between dominant roughness and tenderness is
+true, too, of his voice and manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame," he said, last night, after dinner, as he bent and graciously
+kissed Alice de Bréville's hand, "forgive an old savage who pays you
+homage and the assurance of his profound respect." The next moment my
+courtyard without rocked with his reprimand to a bungling lieutenant.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>To-night the general is <a name="Page_201t" id="Page_201t"></a><a href="#Page_201tn">in an</a> uproar of good humour after a storm, for
+did not some vagabonds steal the danger-posts intended to warn the
+public of the location of the firing-line, so that new ones had to be
+sent for? When the news of the theft reached him his rage was something
+to behold. I could almost hear the little slide-trombonists shake as far
+back as Suzette's kitchen. Fortunately, the cyclone was of short
+duration&mdash;to-night he is pleased over the good work of his men during
+the days of mock warfare and at the riddled, twisted targets, all of
+which is child's play to this veteran who has weathered so many real
+battles.</p>
+
+<p>To-night he has dined well, and his big hand is stroking the Essence of
+Selfishness who purrs against his medalled chest under a caress as
+gentle as a woman's. He sings his favourite airs from "Faust" and "A&iuml;da"
+with gusto, and roars over the gallant stories of his aide-de-camp, who,
+being from the south of <i>La belle France</i>, is never at a loss for a
+tale&mdash;tales that make the general's medals twinkle merrily in the
+firelight. It is my first joyful experience as host to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>military,
+but I cannot help being nervous over Suzette and the trombonists.</p>
+
+<p>"Bah! Those <i>sacré</i> musicians!" exclaimed the general to-night as he
+puffed at his cigarette. "If there's a laggard in my camp, you may be
+sure it is one of those little devils with a horn or a whistle. <i>Mon
+Dieu!</i> Once during the man&oelig;uvres outside of Périgord I found three of
+them who refused to sleep on the ground&mdash;stole off and begged a lodging
+in a château, <i>parbleu!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah&mdash;indeed?" I stammered meekly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, they did," he bellowed, "but I cured them." I saw the muscles in
+his neck flush crimson, and tried to change the subject, but in vain.</p>
+
+<p>"If they do that in time of peace, they'll do the same in war," he
+thundered.</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally," I murmured, my heart in my throat. The aide-de-camp grunted
+his approval while the general ran his hand over the gray bristles on
+his scarred head.</p>
+
+<p>"Favours!" roared the general. "Favours, eh? When my men sleep on the
+ground in rough <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>weather, I sleep with them. What sort of discipline do
+you suppose I'd have if I did not share their hardships time and time
+again? Winter campaigns, forced marches&mdash;twenty-four hours of it
+sometimes in mountain snow. Bah! That is nothing! They need that
+training to go through worse, and yet those good fellows of mine,
+heavily loaded, never complain. I've seen it so hot, too, that it would
+melt a man's boots. It is always one of those imbeciles, then, with
+nothing heavier to carry than a clarinet, who slips off to a comfortable
+farm."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bien entendu, mon général!</i>" agreed his aide-de-camp tersely as he
+leaned forward and kindled a fresh cigarette over the candle-shade.</p>
+
+<p>Happily I noticed at that moment that the cigarette-box needed
+replenishing. It was an excuse at least to leave the room. A moment
+later I had tiptoed to the closed kitchen door and stood listening.
+Suzette was laughing. The trombonists were evidently very much at ease.
+They, too, were laughing. Little pleasantries <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>filtered through the
+crack in the heavy door that made me hold my breath. Then I heard the
+gurgle of cider poured into a glass, followed swiftly by what I took to
+be unmistakably a kiss.</p>
+
+<p>It was all as plain now as Su-Tum-Tum. I dared not break in upon them.
+Had I opened the door, the general might have recognized their voices.
+Meanwhile, silly nothings were demoralizing the heart of my good
+Suzette. She would fall desperately in love with either one or the other
+of those <i>sacré</i> virtuosos. Then another thought struck me! One of them
+might be Suzette's sweetheart, hailing from her own village, the
+man&oelig;uvres at Pont du Sable a lucky meeting for them. A few sentences
+that I now hurriedly caught convinced me of my own denseness in not
+having my suspicions aroused when they singled out my domain and begged
+my hospitality.</p>
+
+<p>The situation was becoming critical. By the light of the crack I
+scribbled the following:</p>
+
+<p>"Get those two imbeciles of yours hidden in the hay-loft, quick. The
+general wants to see <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>the kitchen," and slipped it under the door,
+coughing gently in warning.</p>
+
+<p>There was an abrupt silence&mdash;the sound of Suzette's slippered feet&mdash;and
+the scrap of paper disappeared. Then heavy, excited breathing within.</p>
+
+<p>I dashed upstairs and was down again with the cigarettes before the
+general had remarked my tardiness to his aide. At midnight I lighted
+their candles and saw them safely up to bed. Then I went to my room
+fronting the marsh and breathed easier.</p>
+
+<p>"Her sweetheart from her own village," I said to myself as I blew out my
+candle. "The other"&mdash;I sighed drowsily&mdash;"was evidently his cousin. The
+mayor was right. I have a bad habit of spoiling people and pets."</p>
+
+<p>Then again my mind reverted to the general. What if he discovered them?
+My only consolation now was that to-day had seen the end of the
+man&oelig;uvres, and the soldiers would depart by a daylight train in the
+morning. I recalled, too, the awkward little speech of thanks for my
+hospitality the trombonists had made to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>me at an opportune moment
+before dinner. Finally I fell into a troubled sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Suzette brought me my coffee at seven.</p>
+
+<p>"Luckily the general did not discover them!" I exclaimed when Suzette
+had closed the double door of my bedroom.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i> What danger we have run!" whispered the little maid. "I
+could not sleep, monsieur, thinking of it."</p>
+
+<p>"You got them safely to the haymow?" I inquired anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! <i>Mais oui</i>, monsieur. But then they slept over the cider-press back
+of the big casks. Monsieur advised the hay-loft, but they said the roof
+leaked. And had it rained, monsieur&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"See here," I interrupted, eyeing her trim self from head to foot
+savagely. "You've known that little devil with the red ears before."</p>
+
+<p>I saw Suzette pale.</p>
+
+<p>"Confess!" I exclaimed hoarsely, with a military gesture of impatience.
+"He comes from your village. Is it not so, my child?"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Suzette was silent, her plump hands twisting nervously at her apron
+pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"I am right, am I not? I might have guessed as much when they came."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, monsieur!" Suzette faltered, the tears welling up from the depths
+of her clear trustful eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it not so?" I insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Oh! <i>Mon Dieu, oui</i>," she confessed half audibly. "He&mdash;he is the
+son of our neighbor, Monsieur Jacot."</p>
+
+<p>"At Saint Philippe?"</p>
+
+<p>"At Saint Philippe, monsieur. We were children together, Gaston and I.
+I&mdash;I&mdash;was glad to see him again, monsieur," sobbed the little maid. "He
+is very nice, Gaston."</p>
+
+<p>"When are you to be married?" I ventured after a moment's pause.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ben&mdash;eh ben!</i> In two years, monsieur&mdash;after Gaston finishes his
+military service. He&mdash;has a good trade, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Soloist?" I asked grimly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, monsieur&mdash;tailor for ladies. We shall live in Paris," she added,
+and for an instant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>her eyes sparkled; then again their gaze reverted to
+the now sadly twisted apron pocket, for I was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"No more Suzette then!" I said to myself. No more merry, willing little
+maid-of-all-work! No more hot mussels steaming in a savory sauce! Her
+purée of peas, her tomato farcies, the stuffed artichokes, and her
+coffee the like of which never before existed, would vanish with the
+rest. But true love cannot be argued. There was nothing to do but to
+hold out my hand in forgiveness. As I did so the general rang for his
+coffee.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i>" gasped Suzette. "He rings." And flew down to her kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later the general was sauntering leisurely up the road through
+the village over his morning cigar. The daylight train, followed rapidly
+by four extra sections, had cleared Pont du Sable of all but two of the
+red-trousered infantry&mdash;my trombonists! They had arrived an hour and
+twenty minutes late, winded and demoralized. They sat together outside
+the locked station unable to speak, pale and panic-stricken.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The first object that caught the general's eye as he slowly turned into
+the square by the little station was their four red-trousered legs&mdash;then
+he caught the glint of their two brass trombones. The next instant heads
+appeared at the windows. It was as if a bomb had suddenly exploded in
+the square.</p>
+
+<p>The two trombonists were now on their feet, shaking from head to foot
+while they saluted their general, whose ever-approaching stride struck
+fresh agony to their hearts. He was roaring:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Canailles! Imbéciles!</i> A month of prison!" and "<i>Sacré bon Dieu's!</i>"
+were all jumbled together. "Overslept! Overslept, did you?" he bellowed.
+"In a château, I'll wager. <i>Parbleu!</i> Where then? Out with it!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Pardon, mon général!</i>" chattered Gaston. "It was in the stone house of
+the American gentleman by the marsh."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>We lunched together in my garden at noon. He had grown calm again under
+the spell of the Burgundy, but Suzette, I feared, would be ill.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, be merciful," I pleaded.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"He is the fiancé of my good Suzette; besides, you must not forget that
+you were all my guests."</p>
+
+<p>The general shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "They were lucky to have
+gotten off with a month!" he snapped. "You saw that those little devils
+were handcuffed?" he asked of his aide.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my general, the gendarme attended to them."</p>
+
+<p>"You were my guests," I insisted. "Hold me responsible if you wish."</p>
+
+<p>"Hold <i>you</i> responsible!" he exclaimed. "But you are a foreigner&mdash;it
+would be a little awkward."</p>
+
+<p>"It is my good Suzette," I continued, "that I am thinking of."</p>
+
+<p>He leaned back in his chair, and for a moment again ran his hands
+thoughtfully over the bristles of his scarred head. He had a daughter of
+his own.</p>
+
+<p>"The coffee," I said gently to my unhappy Suzette as she passed.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Oui! Oui</i>, monsieur," she sighed, then suddenly mustering up her
+courage, she gasped:</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Oh, mon général!</i> Is it true, then, that Gaston must go to jail? <i>Ah!
+Mon Dieu!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh bien</i>, my girl! It will not kill him, <i>Sapristi!</i> He will be a
+better soldier for it."</p>
+
+<p>"Be merciful," I pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh bien! Eh bien!</i>" he retorted. "<i>Eh bien!</i>" And cleared his throat.</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive them," I insisted. "They overslept. I don't want Suzette to
+marry a jail-bird."</p>
+
+<p>Again he scratched his head and frowned. Suzette was in tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Um! Difficult!" he grumbled. "Order for arrest once given&mdash;" Then he
+shot a glance at me. I caught a twinkle in his eye.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh bien!</i>" he roared. "There&mdash;I forgive them! Ah, those <i>sacré</i>
+musicians!"</p>
+
+<p>Suzette stood there trembling, unable even to thank him, the colour
+coming and going in her peasant cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Are they free, general?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he retorted, "both of them."</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo!" I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Understand that I have done it for the little girl&mdash;and <i>you</i>. Is that
+plain?"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly," I replied. "As plain as Su-Tum-Tum!" I added under my
+breath as I filled his empty glass in gratefulness to the brim.</p>
+
+<p>"Halt!" shouted the general as the happiest of Suzettes turned toward
+her kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh&mdash;um!" he mumbled awkwardly in a voice that had suddenly grown thick.
+Then he sprang to his feet and raised his glass.</p>
+
+<p>"A health to the bride!" he cried.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch7-2.png" width="250" alt="The general" title="The general" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_EIGHT" id="CHAPTER_EIGHT"></a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch8-1.jpg" width="600" height="297" alt="a formal garden" title="a formal garden" />
+</div>
+<h2>CHAPTER EIGHT</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MILLION OF MONSIEUR DE SAVIGNAC</h3>
+
+
+<p>The bay of Pont du Sable, which the incoming tide had so swiftly filled
+at daylight, now lay a naked waste of oozing black mud. The birds had
+gone with the receding sea, and I was back from shooting, loafing over
+my pipe and coffee in a still corner among the roses of my wild garden,
+hidden behind the old wall, when that Customhouse soldier-gardener of
+mine, Pierre, appeared with the following message:</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur de Savignac presents his salutations the most distinguished
+and begs that monsieur will give him the pleasure of calling on him <i>à
+propos</i> of the little spaniel."</p>
+
+<p>What an unexpected and welcome surprise! For weeks I had hunted in vain
+for a thorough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>bred. I had never hoped to be given one from the kennels
+of Monsieur de Savignac's château.</p>
+
+<p>"Enchanted, Pierre!" I cried&mdash;"Present my compliments to Monsieur de
+Savignac. Tell him how sincerely grateful I am, and say that he may
+expect me to-morrow before noon."</p>
+
+<p>I could easily imagine what a beauty my spaniel would be, clean-limbed
+and alert like the ones in the coloured lithographs. "No wonder," I
+thought, as Pierre left me, "that every peasant for miles around spoke
+of this good Monsieur de Savignac's generosity. Here he was giving me a
+dog. To me, his American neighbour, whom he had never met!"</p>
+
+<p>As I walked over to the château with Pierre the next morning, I recalled
+to my mind the career of this extraordinary man, whose only vice was his
+great generosity.</p>
+
+<p>When Monsieur de Savignac was twenty-one he inherited a million francs,
+acquired a high hat with a straight brim, a standing collar, well open
+at the throat (in fashion then under Napoleon III.), a flowing cravat&mdash;a
+plush waistcoat with crystal buttons, a plum-coloured broadcloth <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>coat
+and trousers of a pale lemon shade, striped with black, gathered tight
+at the ankles, their bottoms flouncing over a pair of patent-leather
+boots with high heels.</p>
+
+<p>He was tall, strong and good-natured, this lucky Jacques de Savignac,
+with a weakness for the fair sex which was appalling, and a charm of
+manner as irresistible as his generosity. A clumsy fencer, but a good
+comrade&mdash;a fellow who could turn a pretty compliment, danced better than
+most of the young dandies at court, drove his satin-skinned pair of bays
+through the Bois with an easy smile, and hunted hares when the shooting
+opened with the dogged tenacity of a veteran poacher.</p>
+
+<p>When he was twenty-one, the Paris that Grévin drew was in the splendour
+of an extravagant life that she was never to see again, and never has.
+One could <i>amuse</i> one's self then&mdash;ah! <i>Dame, oui!</i></p>
+
+<p>There is no emperor now to keep Paris gay.</p>
+
+<p>What suppers at Véfour's! What a brilliant life there was in those days
+under the arcades of the dear old Palais Royal, the gay world going
+daily <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>to this mondaine cloister to see and be seen&mdash;to dine and
+wine&mdash;to make conquests of the heart and dance daylight quadrilles.</p>
+
+<p>Paris was ordered to be daily <i>en fête</i> and the host at the Tuileries
+saw to it that the gaiety did not flag. It was one way at least from
+keeping the populace from cutting one another's throats, which they did
+later with amazing ferocity.</p>
+
+<p>There were in those good old days under Louis Napoleon plenty of places
+to gamble and spend the inherited gold. Ah! it was Rabelaisian enough!
+What an age to have been the recipient of a million at twenty-one! It
+was like being a king with no responsibilities. No wonder de Savignac
+left the university&mdash;he had no longer any need of it. He dined now at
+the Maison Dorée and was seen nightly at the "Bal Mabille" or the
+"Closerie des Lilas," focussing his gold-rimmed monocle on the flying
+feet and lace <i>frou-frous</i> of "Diane la Sournoise," or roaring with
+laughter as he chucked gold louis into the satined lap of some
+"Francine" or "Cora" amid the blare of the band, and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>flash of
+jewels strung upon fair arms and fairer necks of woman who went nightly
+to the "Bal Mabille" in smart turnouts and the costliest gowns money
+could buy&mdash;and after the last mad quadrille was ended, on he went to
+supper at Bignon's where more gaiety reigned until blue dawn, and where
+the women were still laughing and merry and danced as easily on the
+table as on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>What a time, I say, to have inherited a million! And how many good
+friends he had! Painters and musicians, actors and wits (and there
+<i>were</i> some in those days)&mdash;no king ever gathered around him a jollier
+band.</p>
+
+<p>It was from one of these henchmen of his that de Savignac purchased his
+château (long since emptied of its furniture)&mdash;from a young nobleman
+pressed hard for his debts, like most young noblemen are&mdash;and so the
+great château close to my Village of Vagabonds, and known for miles
+around, became de Savignac's.</p>
+
+<p>What house parties he gave then!&mdash;men and women of talent flocked under
+his hospitable roof&mdash;indeed there was no lack of talent&mdash;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>some of it
+from the Opéra&mdash;some of it from the Conservatoire, and they brought
+their voices and their fiddles with them and played and sang for him for
+days, in exchange for his feudal hospitality&mdash;more than that, the
+painter Paul Deschamps covered the ceiling of his music room with chubby
+cupids playing golden trumpets and violins&mdash;one adorable little fellow
+in the cove above the grand piano struggling with a 'cello twice as high
+as himself, and Carin painted the history of love in eight panels upon
+the walls of the old ballroom, whose frescoes were shabby enough, so I
+am told, when de Savignac purchased them.</p>
+
+<p>There were times also when the château was full to overflowing with
+guests, so that the late comers were often quartered in a low two-story
+manor close by, that nestled under great trees&mdash;a cosey, dear old place
+covered with ivy and climbing yellow roses, with narrow alleys leading
+to it flanked by tall poplars, and a formal garden behind it in the
+niches of whose surrounding wall were statues of Psyche and Venus, their
+smooth marble shoulders stained by rain <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>and the drip and ooze of
+growing things. One of them even now, still lifts its encrusted head to
+the weather.</p>
+
+<p>During the shooting season there were weeks when he and his guests shot
+daily from the crack of dawn until dark, the game-keepers following with
+their carts that by night were loaded with hares, partridges, woodcock
+and quail&mdash;then such a good dinner, sparkling with repartee and good
+wine, and laughter and dancing after it, until the young hours in the
+morning. One was more solid in those days than now&mdash;tired as their dogs
+after the day's hunt, they dined and danced themselves young again for
+the morrow.</p>
+
+<p>And what do you think they did after the Commune? They made him mayor.
+Yes, indeed, to honour him&mdash;Mayor of Hirondelette, the little village
+close to his estate, and de Savignac had to be formal and dignified for
+the first time in his life&mdash;this good Bohemian&mdash;at the village fêtes, at
+the important meetings of the Municipal Council, composed of a dealer in
+cattle, the blacksmith and the notary. Again, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>in time of marriage,
+accident or death, and annually at the school exercises, when he
+presented prizes to the children spic and span for the occasion, with
+voices awed to whispers, and new shoes. And he loved them all&mdash;all those
+dirty little brats that had been scrubbed clean, and their ruddy cheeks
+polished like red apples, to meet "Monsieur le Maire."</p>
+
+<p>He was nearing middle life now, but he was not conscious of it, being
+still a bachelor. There was not as yet, a streak of gray in his
+well-kept beard, and the good humour sparkled in his merry eyes as of
+old. The only change that had occurred concerned the million. It was no
+longer the brilliant solid million of his youth. It was sadly torn off
+in places&mdash;there were also several large holes in it&mdash;indeed, if the
+truth be told, it was little more than a remnant of its once splendid
+entirety. It had been eaten by moths&mdash;certain shrewd old wasps, too, had
+nested in it for years&mdash;not a sou of it had vanished in speculation or
+bad investment. Monsieur de Savignac (this part of it the curé told me)
+was as ignorant as a child concerning <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>business affairs and stubbornly
+avoided them. He had placed his fortune intact in the Bank of France,
+and had drawn out what he needed for his friends. In the first year of
+his inheritance he glanced at the balance statement sent him by the
+bank, with a feeling of peaceful delight. As the years of his generosity
+rolled on, he avoided reading it at all&mdash;"like most optimists," remarked
+the curé, "he did not wish to know the truth." At forty-six he married
+the niece of an impoverished old wasp, a gentleman still in excellent
+health, owing to de Savignac's generosity. It was his good wife now, who
+read the balance statement.</p>
+
+<p>For a while after his marriage, gaiety again reigned at the château, but
+upon a more economical basis; then gradually they grew to entertain less
+and less; indeed there were few left of the moths and old wasps to give
+to&mdash;they had flown to cluster around another million.</p>
+
+<p>Most of this Pierre, who was leading me through the leafy lane that led
+to de Savignac's home, knew or could have known, for it was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>common talk
+in the country around, but his mind to-day was not on de Savignac's
+past, but on the dog which we both were so anxious to see.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>"Monsieur has never met Monsieur de Savignac?" ventured Pierre as we
+turned our steps out of the brilliant sunlight, and into a wooded path
+skirting the extensive forest of the estate.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, Pierre."</p>
+
+<p>"He is a fine old gentleman," declared Pierre, discreetly lowering his
+voice. "Poor man!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why <i>poor</i>, Pierre?" I laughed, "with an estate like this&mdash;nonsense!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Monsieur does not know?"&mdash;Pierre's voice sunk to a whisper&mdash;"the
+château is mortgaged, monsieur. There is not a tree or a field left
+Monsieur de Savignac can call his own. Do you know, monsieur, he has no
+longer even the right to shoot over the ground? Monsieur sees that low
+roof beyond with the single chimney smoking&mdash;just to the left of the
+château towers?"</p>
+
+<p>I nodded.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"That is where Monsieur de Savignac now lives. It is called the
+garçonnière."</p>
+
+<p>"But the château, Pierre?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is rented to a Peruvian gentleman, monsieur, who takes in boarders."</p>
+
+<p>"Pierre!" I exclaimed, "we go no farther. I knew nothing of this. I am
+not going to accept a dog from a gentleman in Monsieur de Savignac's
+unfortunate circumstances. It is not right. No, no. Go and present my
+deep regrets to Monsieur de Savignac and tell him&mdash;tell him what you
+please. Say that my rich uncle has just sent me a pair of pointers&mdash;that
+I sincerely appreciate his generous offer, that&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Pierre's small black eyes opened as wide as possible. He shrugged his
+shoulders twice and began twisting thoughtfully the waxed ends of his
+moustache to a finer point.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon, monsieur," he resumed after an awkward pause, "but&mdash;but
+monsieur, by not going, will grieve Monsieur de Savignac&mdash;He will be so
+happy to give monsieur the dog&mdash;so happy, monsieur. If Monsieur de
+Savignac <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>could not give something to somebody he would die. Ah, he
+gives everything away, that good Monsieur de Savignac!" exclaimed
+Pierre. "I was once groom in his stables&mdash;<i>oui</i>, monsieur, and he
+married us when he was Mayor of Hirondelette, and he paid our
+rent&mdash;<i>oui</i>, monsieur, and the doctor and...."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll proceed, Pierre," said I. "A man of de Savignac's kind in the
+world is so rare that one should do nothing to thwart him."</p>
+
+<p>We walked on for some distance along the edge of a swamp carpeted with
+strong ferns. Presently we came to a cool, narrow alley flanked and
+roofed by giant poplars. At the end of this alley a wicket gate barred
+the entrance to the courtyard of the garçonnière.</p>
+
+<p>As we drew nearer I saw that its ancient two-story façade was completely
+covered by the climbing mass of ivy and yellow roses, the only openings
+being the Louis XIV. windows, and the front door, flush with the
+gravelled court, bordered by a thick hedge of box.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur the American gentleman for the dog," announced Pierre to the
+boy servant in a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>blue apron who appeared to open the wicket gate.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later the door of the garçonnière opened, and a tall, heavily
+built man with silver white hair and beard came forth to greet me.</p>
+
+<p>I noticed that the exertion of greeting me made him short of breath, and
+that he held his free hand for a second pressed against his heart as he
+ushered me across his threshold and into a cool, old-fashioned sitting
+room, the walls covered with steel engravings, the furniture upholstered
+in green rep.</p>
+
+<p>"Have the goodness to be seated, monsieur," he insisted, waving me to an
+armchair, while he regained his own, back of an old-fashioned desk.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! The&mdash;little&mdash;dog," he began, slowly regaining his breath. "You are
+all the time shooting, and I heard you wanted one. It is so difficult to
+get a really&mdash;good&mdash;dog&mdash;in this country. <a name="Page_225t" id="Page_225t"></a><a href="#Page_225tn">François</a>!" he exclaimed, "You
+may bring in the little dog&mdash;and, François!" he added, as the boy
+servant turned to go&mdash;"bring glasses and a bottle of Musigny&mdash;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>you will
+find it on the shelf back of the Medoc." Then he turned to me: "There
+are still two bottles left," and he laughed heartily.</p>
+
+<p>"Bien, monsieur," answered the boy, and departed with a key big enough
+to have opened a jail.</p>
+
+<p>The moment had arrived for me to draw forth a louis, which I laid on his
+desk in accordance with an old Norman custom, still in vogue when you
+accept as a gift a dog from an estate.</p>
+
+<p>"Let your domestics have good cheer and wine to-night," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," he returned with sudden formality. "I shall put it aside
+for them," and he dropped the gold piece into a small drawer of his
+desk.</p>
+
+<p>I did not know until Pierre, who was waiting outside in the court, told
+me afterwards, that his entire staff of servants was composed of the boy
+with the blue apron and the cook&mdash;an old woman&mdash;the last of his faithful
+servitors, who now appeared with a tray of trembling glasses, followed
+by the boy, the dusty cobwebbed bottle of rare Musigny and&mdash;my dog!</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Not a whole dog. But a flub-dub little spaniel puppy&mdash;very blond&mdash;with
+ridiculously long ears, a double-barrelled nose, a roly-poly stomach and
+four heavy unsteady legs that got in his way as he tried to navigate in
+a straight line to make my acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Voilà!</i>" cried de Savignac. "Here he is. He'll make an indefatigable
+hunter, like his mother&mdash;wait until he is two years old&mdash;He'll stand to
+his day's work beside the best in France&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And what race is he? may I ask, Monsieur de Savignac."</p>
+
+<p>"Gorgon&mdash;Gorgon of Poitou," he returned with enthusiasm. "They are
+getting as rare now as this," he declared, nodding to the cobwebbed
+bottle, as he rose, drew the cork, and filled my glass.</p>
+
+<p>While we sipped and chatted, his talk grew merry with chuckles and
+laughter, for he spoke of the friends of his youth, who played for him
+and sang to him&mdash;the thing which he loved most of all, he told me.
+"Once," he confessed to me, "I slipped away and travelled to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> Hungary.
+Ah! how those good gipsies played for me there! I was drunk with their
+music for two weeks. It is stronger than wine, that music of the
+gipsies," he said knowingly.</p>
+
+<p>Again our talk drifted to hunting, of the good old times when hares and
+partridges were plentiful, and so he ran on, warmed by the rare Musigny,
+reminiscing upon the old days and his old friends who were serious
+sportsmen, he declared, and knew the habits of the game they were after,
+for they seldom returned with an empty game-bag.</p>
+
+<p>"And you are just as keen about shooting as ever?" I ventured.</p>
+
+<p>"I shoot no more," he exclaimed with a shrug. "One must be a philosopher
+when one is past sixty&mdash;when one has no longer the solid legs to tramp
+with, nor the youth and the digestion to <i>live</i>. Ah! Besides, the life
+has changed&mdash;Paris was gay enough in my day. I <i>lived</i> then, but at
+sixty&mdash;I stopped&mdash;with my memories. No! no! beyond sixty it is quite
+impossible. One must be philosophic, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>Before I could reply, Madame de Savignac <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>entered the room. I felt the
+charm of her personality, as I looked into her eyes, and as she welcomed
+me I forgot that her faded silk gown was once in fashion before I was
+born, or that madame was short and no longer graceful. As the talk went
+on, I began to study her more at my ease, when some one rapped at the
+outer door of the vestibule. She started nervously, then, rising,
+whispered to François, who had come to open it, then a moment later rose
+again and, going out into the hall, closed the door behind her.</p>
+
+<p>"Thursday then," I heard a man's gruff voice reply brusquely.</p>
+
+<p>I saw de Savignac straighten in his chair, and lean to one side as if
+trying to catch a word of the muffled conversation in the vestibule. The
+next instant he had recovered his genial manner to me, but I saw that
+again he laboured for some moments painfully for his breath.</p>
+
+<p>The door of the vestibule closed with a vicious snap. Then I heard the
+crunch of sabots on the gravelled court, and the next instant caught a
+glimpse of the stout, brutal <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>figure of the peasant Le Gros, the big
+dealer in cattle, as he passed the narrow window of the vestibule.</p>
+
+<p>It was <i>he</i>, then, with his insolent, bestial face purple with good
+living, who had slammed the door. I half started indignantly from my
+chair&mdash;then I remembered it was no affair of mine.</p>
+
+<p>Presently madame returned&mdash;flushed, and, with a forced smile, in which
+there was more pain than pleasure, poured for me another glass of
+Musigny. I saw instantly that something unpleasant had passed&mdash;something
+unusually unpleasant&mdash;perhaps tragic, and I discreetly rose to take my
+leave.</p>
+
+<p>Without a word of explanation as to what had happened, Madame de
+Savignac kissed my dog good-bye on the top of his silky head, while de
+Savignac stroked him tenderly. He was perfectly willing to come with me,
+and cocked his head on one side.</p>
+
+<p>We were all in the courtyard now.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Au revoir</i>," they waved to me.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Au revoir</i>," I called back.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Au revoir</i>," came back to me faintly, as Pierre and the doggie and I
+entered the green lane and started for home.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur sees that I was right, is it not true?" ventured Pierre, as we
+gained the open fields. "Monsieur de Savignac would have been grieved
+had not monsieur accepted the little dog."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I replied absently, feeling more like a marauder for having
+accepted all they had out of their hearts thrust upon me.</p>
+
+<p>Then I stopped&mdash;lifted the roly-poly little spaniel, and taking him in
+my arms whispered under his silky ear: "We shall go back often, you and
+I"&mdash;and I think he understood.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>A few days later I dropped into Madame Vinet's snug little café in Pont
+du Sable. It was early in the morning and the small room of the café,
+with barely space enough for its four tables still smelt of fresh soap
+suds and hot water. At one of the tables sat the peasant in his black
+blouse, sipping his coffee and applejack.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Le Gros lifted his sullen face as I entered, shifted his elbows, gripped
+the clean marble slab of his table with both his red hands, and with a
+shrewd glint from his small, cruel eyes, looked up and grunted.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!&mdash;<i>bonjour</i>, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonjour</i>, Monsieur Le Gros," I replied. "We seem to be the only ones
+here. Where's the patronne?"</p>
+
+<p>"Upstairs, making her bed&mdash;another dry day," he muttered, half to
+himself, half to me.</p>
+
+<p>"She will stay dry for some days," I returned. "The wind is well set
+from the northeast."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacristi!</i> a dirty time," he growled. "My steers are as dry as an
+empty cask."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like a little rain myself," said I, reaching for a chair&mdash;"I have a
+young dog to train&mdash;a spaniel Monsieur de Savignac has been good enough
+to give me. He is too young to learn to follow a scent on dry ground."</p>
+
+<p>Le Gros raised his bull-like head with a jerk.</p>
+
+<p>"De Savignac gave you a <i>dog</i>, did he? and he has a dog to give away,
+has he?"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The words came out of his coarse throat with a snarl.</p>
+
+<p>I dropped the chair and faced him.</p>
+
+<p>(He is the only man in Pont du Sable that I positively dislike.)</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I declared, "he gave me a dog. May I ask you what business it is
+of yours?"</p>
+
+<p>A flash of sullen rage illumined for a moment the face of the cattle
+dealer. Then he muttered something in his peasant accent and sat
+glowering into his empty coffee cup as I turned and left the room, my
+mind reverting to Madame de Savignac's door which his coarse hand had
+closed with a vicious snap.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>We took the short cut across the fields often now&mdash;my yellow puppy and
+I. Indeed I grew to see these good friends of mine almost daily, and as
+frequently as I could persuade them, they came to my house abandoned by
+the marsh.</p>
+
+<p>The Peruvian gentleman's boarding house had been a failure, and I
+learned from the curé that the de Savignacs were hard pressed to pay
+their creditors.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was Le Gros who held the mortgage, I further gleaned.</p>
+
+<p>And yet those two dear people kept a brave heart. They were still giving
+what they had, and she kept him in ignorance as best she could,
+softening the helplessness of it all, with her gentleness and her
+courage.</p>
+
+<p>In his vague realization that the end was near, there were days when he
+forced himself into a gay mood and would come chuckling down the lane to
+open the gate for me, followed by Mirza, the tawny old mother of my
+puppy, who kept her faithful brown eyes on his every movement. Often it
+was she who sprang nimbly ahead and unlatched the gate for me with her
+paw and muzzle, an old trick he had taught her, and he would laugh when
+she did it, and tell me there were no dogs nowadays like her.</p>
+
+<p>Thus now and then he forced himself to forget the swarm of little
+miseries closing down upon him&mdash;forgot even his aches and pains, due
+largely to the dampness of the vine-smothered garçonnière whose
+old-fashioned interior smelt of cellar damp, for there was hardly a room
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>in it whose wall paper had escaped the mould.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until March that the long-gathering storm broke&mdash;as quick as
+a crackling lizard of lightning strikes. Le Gros had foreclosed the
+mortgage.</p>
+
+<p>The Château of Hirondelette was up for sale.</p>
+
+<p>When de Savignac came out to open the gate for me late that evening his
+face was as white as the palings in the moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in," said he, forcing a faint laugh&mdash;-he stopped for a moment as
+he closed and locked the gate&mdash;labouring painfully for his breath. Then
+he slipped his arm under my own. "Come along," he whispered, struggling
+for his voice. "I have found another bottle of Musigny."</p>
+
+<p>A funeral, like a wedding or an accident, is quickly over. The sale of
+de Savignac's château consumed three days of agony.</p>
+
+<p>As I passed the "garçonnière" by the lane beyond the courtyard on my way
+to the last day's sale, I looked over the hedge and saw that the
+shutters were closed&mdash;farther on, a doctor's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>gig was standing by the
+gate. From a bent old peasant woman in sabots and a white cap, who
+passed, I learned which of the two was ill. It was as I had feared&mdash;his
+wife. And so I continued on my way to the sale.</p>
+
+<p>As I passed through the gates of the château, the rasping voice of the
+lean-jawed auctioneer reached my ears as he harangued in the drizzling
+rain before the steps of the château the group of peasants gathered
+before him&mdash;widows in rusty crêpe veils, shrewd old Norman farmers in
+blue blouses looking for bargains, their carts wheeled up on the
+mud-smeared lawn. And a few second-hand dealers from afar, in black
+derbys, lifting a dirty finger to close a bid for mahogany.</p>
+
+<p>Close to this sordid crowd on the mud-smeared lawn sat Le Gros, his
+heavy body sunk in a carved and gilded arm-chair that had once graced
+the boudoir of Madame de Savignac. As I passed him, I saw that his face
+was purple with drink. He sat there the picture of insolent ignorance,
+this pig of a peasant.</p>
+
+<p>At times the auctioneer rallied the undecided <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>with coarse jokes, and
+the crowd roared, for they are not burdened with delicacy, these Norman
+farmers.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Allons! Allons!</i> my good ladies!" croaked the auctioneer. "Forty sous
+for the lot. A bed quilt for a princess and a magnificent water filter
+de luxe that will keep your children well out of the doctor's hands.
+<i>Allons!</i> forty sous, forty-one&mdash;two?"</p>
+
+<p>A merchant in hogs raised his red, puffy hand, then turned away with a
+leer as the shrill voice of a fisher woman cried, "Forty-five."</p>
+
+<p>"Sold!" yelped the auctioneer&mdash;"sold to madame the widow Dupuis of
+Hirondelette," who was now elbowing her broad way through the crowd to
+her bargain which she struggled out with, red and perspiring, to the
+mud-smeared lawn, where her eldest daughter shrewdly examined the
+bedquilt for holes.</p>
+
+<p>I turned away when it was all over and followed the crowd out through
+the gates. Le Gros was climbing into his cart. He was drunk and swearing
+over the poor result of the sale. De Savignac was still in his debt&mdash;and
+I con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>tinued on my way home, feeling as if I had attended an execution.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later the sharp bark of my yellow puppy greeted me from
+beyond my wall. As I entered my courtyard, he came to me wriggling with
+joy. Suddenly I stopped, for my ear caught the sound of a tail gently
+patting the straw in the cavernous old stable beyond my spaniel's
+kennel. I looked in and saw a pair of eyes gleaming like opals in the
+gloom. Then the tawny body of Mirza, the mother, rose from the straw and
+came slowly and apologetically toward me with her head lowered.</p>
+
+<p>"Suzette!" I called, "how did she get here?"</p>
+
+<p>"The boy of Monsieur de Savignac brought her an hour ago, monsieur,"
+answered the little maid. "There is a note for monsieur. I have left it
+on the table."</p>
+
+<p>I went in, lighted the fire, and read the following:<br /></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p style="text-indent: 2em">
+"<span class="smcap">The Garçonnière</span>, <i>Saturday</i>.<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>"Take her, my friend. I can no longer keep her with me. You
+have the son, it is only <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>right you should have the mother.
+We leave for Paris to-morrow. We shall meet there soon, I
+trust. If you come here, do not bring her with you. I said
+good-bye to her this morning.</p>
+
+<p style="text-align: right">
+"<span class="smcap">Jacques de Savignac.</span>"<br />
+
+</p></div>
+
+<p>It was all clear to me now&mdash;pitifully clear&mdash;the garçonnière had gone
+with the rest.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>On one of my flying trips to Paris I looked them up in their refuge, in
+a slit of a street. Here they had managed to live by the strictest
+economy, in a plain little nest under the roof, composed of two rooms
+and a closet for a kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>One night, early in June, after some persuasion, I forced him to go with
+me to one of those sparkling <i>risquée</i> little comedies at the Palais
+Royal which he loved, and so on to supper at the Café de la Paix, where
+that great gipsy, Boldi, warms the heart with his fiddle.</p>
+
+<p>The opera was just out, when we reached our table, close to the band.
+Beauty and the Beast were arriving, and wraps of sheen and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>lace were
+being slipped from fair shoulders into the fat waiting hands of the
+garçons, while the busy maître d'hôtel beamed with his nightly smile and
+jotted down the orders.</p>
+
+<p>The snug supper room glittered with light, clean linen and shining
+glass. Now that the theatres were out, it had become awake with the
+chatter with which these little midnight suppers begin&mdash;suppers that so
+often end in confidences, jealousy and even tears, that need only the
+merriest tone of a gipsy's fiddle to turn to laughter.</p>
+
+<p>Boldi is an expert at this. He watches those to whom he plays, singling
+out the one who needs his fiddle most, and to-night he was watching de
+Savignac.</p>
+
+<p>We had finished our steaming dish of lobster, smothered in a spiced
+sauce that makes a cold dry wine only half quench one's thirst, and were
+proceeding with a crisp salad when Boldi, with a rushing crescendo
+slipped into a delicious waltz. De Savignac now sat with his chin sunk
+heavily in his hands, drinking in the melody with its spirited
+accompaniment as the cym<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>ballist's flexible hammers flew over the
+resonant strings, the violins following the master in the red coat, with
+that keen alertness with which all real gipsies play. I realized now,
+what the playing of a gipsy meant to him. By the end of the waltz De
+Savignac's eyes were shining.</p>
+
+<p>Boldi turned to our table and bowed.</p>
+
+<p>"Play," said I, to him in my poor Hungarian (that de Savignac might not
+understand, for I wished to surprise him) "a real czardas of your
+people&mdash;ah! I have it!" I exclaimed. "Play the legend and the mad dance
+that follows&mdash;the one that Racz Laczi loved&mdash;the legend of the young man
+who went up the mountain and met the girl who jilted him."</p>
+
+<p>Boldi nodded his head and grinned with savage enthusiasm. He drew his
+bow across the sobbing strings and the legend began. Under the spell of
+his violin, the chatter of the supper room ceased&mdash;the air now heavy
+with the mingled scent of perfume and cigars, seemed to pulsate under
+the throb of the wild melody&mdash;as he played on, no one spoke&mdash;the men
+even <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>forgetting to smoke; the women listening, breathing with parted
+lips. I turned to look at de Savignac&mdash;he was drunk and there was a
+strange glitter in his eyes, his cheeks flushed to a dull crimson, but
+not from wine.</p>
+
+<p>Boldi's violin talked&mdash;now and then it wept under the vibrant grip of
+the master, who dominated it until it dominated those to whom it played.</p>
+
+<p>The young man in the legend was rushing up the mountain path in earnest
+now, for he had seen ahead of him the girl he loved&mdash;now the melody
+swept on through the wooing and the breaking of her promise, and now
+came the rush of the young man down to the nearest village to drown his
+chagrin and forget her in the mad dance, the "Czardas," which followed.</p>
+
+<p>As the czardas quickened until its pace reached the speed of a
+whirlwind, de Savignac suddenly staggered to his feet&mdash;his breath coming
+in short gasps.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down!" I pleaded, not liking the sudden purplish hue of his
+cheeks.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Let&mdash;me&mdash;alone," he stammered, half angrily. "It&mdash;is so good&mdash;to&mdash;be
+alive again."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall not," I whispered, my eye catching sight of a gold louis
+between his fingers. "You don't know what you are doing&mdash;it is not
+right&mdash;this is my dinner, old friend&mdash;<i>all of it</i>, do you understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Let&mdash;me&mdash;alone," he breathed hoarsely, as I tried to get hold of the
+coin&mdash;"it is my last&mdash;my last&mdash;my last!"&mdash;and he tossed the gold piece
+to the band. It fell squarely on the cymballum and rolled under the
+strings.</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo!" cried a little woman opposite, clapping her warm, jewelled
+hands. Then she screamed, for she saw Monsieur de Savignac sway heavily,
+and sink back in his seat, his chin on his chest, his eyes closed.</p>
+
+<p>I ripped open his collar and shirt to give him breath. Twice his chest
+gave a great bound, and he murmured something I did not catch&mdash;then he
+sank back in my arms&mdash;dead.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>During the horror and grim reality of it all&mdash;the screaming women, the
+physician working desperately, although he knew all hope was gone&mdash;while
+the calm police questioned me as to his identity and domicile, I shook
+from head to foot&mdash;and yet the worst was still to come&mdash;I had to tell
+Madame de Savignac.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch8-2.png" width="400" height="370" alt="spilled bottle of wine" title="spilled bottle of wine" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_NINE" id="CHAPTER_NINE"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch9-1.jpg" width="600" height="336" alt="The man with the gun" title="The man with the gun" />
+</div>
+<h2>CHAPTER NINE</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MAN WITH THE GUN</h3>
+
+
+<p>It is at last decided! The kind and sympathetic Minister of Agriculture
+has signed the official document opening the shooting-season for hares
+and partridges in <i>La belle France</i>, to-morrow, Sunday, the thirtieth of
+September. Thrice happy hunters!&mdash;they who had begun to grumble in their
+cafés over the rumour that the opening of the shooting-season might be
+postponed until the second or even third Sunday in October.</p>
+
+<p>My good friend the mayor of Pont du Sable has just handed me my
+hunting-permit for the coming year bearing the stamp of the <i>République
+Française</i>, the seal of the prefecture, the signature of the préfet, and
+including everything, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>from the colour of my hair and complexion to my
+height, age, birth and domicile. On the back of this important piece of
+paper I read as follows:</p>
+
+<p>That the permit must be produced at the demand of all agents authorized
+by law. That it is prohibited to shoot without it, or upon lands without
+the consent of the proprietor having the right&mdash;or outside of the season
+fixed by the laws of the préfets.</p>
+
+<p>Furthermore:</p>
+
+<p>The father&mdash;the mother&mdash;the tutor&mdash;the masters, and guardians are
+civilly responsible for the misdemeanours committed while shooting by
+their infants&mdash;wards&mdash;pupils, or domestics living with them.</p>
+
+<p>And finally:</p>
+
+<p>That the hunter who has lost his permit cannot resume again the exercise
+of the hunt until he has obtained and paid for a new one, twenty-eight
+francs and sixty centimes.</p>
+
+<p>To-morrow, then, the jolly season opens.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Vive la République!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>It is a season, too, of crisp twilights after brilliant days, so short
+that my lost village is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>plunged in darkness as early as seven, and goes
+to bed to save the candle&mdash;the hour when the grocer's light gleaming
+ahead of me across the slovenly little public square becomes the only
+beacon in the village; and, guided by it, I pick my way in the dark
+along the narrow thoroughfare, stumbling over the laziest of the village
+dogs sprawled here and there in the road outside the doorways of the
+fishermen.</p>
+
+<p>Across one of these thresholds I catch a glimpse to-night of a tired
+fisher girl stretched on her bed after her long day at sea. Beside the
+bed a very old woman in a white cotton cap bends over her bowl of soup
+by the wavering light of a tallow dip.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonsoir</i>, monsieur!" croaks a hoarse voice from the dark. It is
+Marianne. She has fished late.</p>
+
+<p>At seven-thirty the toy train rumbles into Pont du Sable, stops for a
+barefooted passenger, and rumbles out again through the
+village&mdash;crawling lest it send one of the laziest dogs yelping to its
+home. The headlight on the squat locomotive floods the way ahead,
+suddenly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>illumining the figure of a blinking old man laden with nets
+and three barelegged children who scream, "<i>Bonsoir</i>, monsieur," to the
+engineer.</p>
+
+<p>What glorious old days are these! The wealth of hedged fields&mdash;-the lush
+green grass, white with hoar frost at daybreak&mdash;the groups of mild-eyed
+cows and taciturn young bulls; in all this brilliant clearness of sea
+air, sunshine and Norman country spreading its richness down to the very
+edge of the sea, there comes to the man with the gun a sane
+exhilaration&mdash;he is alive.</p>
+
+<p>On calm nights the air is pungent and warm with the perfume of tons of
+apples lying heaped in the orchards, ready for the cider-making, nights,
+when the owls hoot dismally under a silver moon.</p>
+
+<p>When the wind veers to the north it grows cold. On such nights as these
+"the Essence of Selfishness" seeks my fireside.</p>
+
+<p>She is better fed than many other children in the lost village beyond my
+wall. And spoiled!&mdash;<i>mon Dieu!</i> She is getting to be hopeless.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, you queen of studied cruelty and indifference! You, with your nose
+of coral pink, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>your velvet ears that twitch in your dreams, and your
+blue-white breast! You, who since yesterday morning have gnawed to death
+two helpless little birds in my hedge which you still think I have not
+discovered! And yet I still continue to feed you by hand piecemeal since
+you disdain to dine from my best china, and Suzette takes care of you
+like a nurse.</p>
+
+<p><i>Eh bien!</i> Some day, do you hear, I shall sell you to the rabbit-skin
+man, who has a hook for a hand, and the rest of you will find its way to
+some cheap table d'hôte, where you will pass as ragout of rabbit Henri
+IV. under a thick sauce. What would you do, I should like to know, if
+you were the vagabond cat who lives back in the orchard, and whose four
+children sleep in the hollow trunk of the tree and are content with what
+their mother brings them, whether it be plain mole or the best of
+grasshopper. Eh, mademoiselle? Open those topaz eyes of yours&mdash;Suzette
+is coming to put you to bed.</p>
+
+<p>The trim little maid entered, crossed noiselessly in the firelight to my
+chair, and, laying a sealed note from my friend the Baron beneath <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>the
+lamp, picked up the sleepy cat and carried her off to her room.</p>
+
+<p>The note was a delightful surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Cher monsieur</i>: Will you make me the pleasure and the honour to come
+and do the <i>ouverture</i> of the hunt at my château to-morrow, Sunday&mdash;my
+auto will call for you about six of the morning. We will be about ten
+guns, and I count on the amiability of my partridges and my hares to
+make you pass a beautiful and good day. Will you accept, dear sir, the
+assurance of my sentiments the most distinguished?"</p>
+
+<p>It was nice of the Baron to think of me, for I had made his acquaintance
+but recently at one of Tanrade's dinners, during which, I recall, the
+Baron declared to me as he lifted his left eyebrow over his cognac, that
+the hunt&mdash;<i>la chasse</i>&mdash;"was always amusing, and a great blessing to men,
+since it created the appetite of the wolf and was an excuse to get rid
+of the ladies." He told me, too, as he adjusted his monocle safely in
+the corner of his aristocratic aquiline nose, that his favourite saint
+was St. Hubert. He would have liked to have known <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>him&mdash;he must have
+been a <i>bon garçon</i>, this patron saint of hunting.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! <i>Les femmes!</i>" he sighed, as he straightened his erect torso, that
+had withstood so many Parisian years, against the back of his chair.
+"Ah! <i>Les femmes!</i> But in zee fields zey cannot follow us? <i>Hein?</i>" He
+laughed, lapsing into his broken English. "Zey cannot follow us through
+zee hedges, ovaire zee rough grounds, in zee rains, in zee muds. Nevaire
+take a woman hunting," he counselled me sotto voce beneath his vibrant
+hand, for Alice de Bréville was present. "One can <i>nevaire</i> make love
+and kill zee agile little game at zee same time. <i>Par exemple!</i> You
+whispaire somezing in madame's leetle ear and brrrh! a partridge&mdash;<i>que
+voulez-vous, mon cher?</i>" he concluded, with a shrug. "It is quite
+impossible&mdash;<i>quite</i> impossible."</p>
+
+<p>I told him leisurely, as we sipped our liqueur, of the hunting in my own
+country, of the lonely tramps in the wilderness following a line of
+traps in the deep snow, the blind trails, the pork sandwich melted
+against the doughnuts at noon, leaking lean-tos, smoky fires, and bad
+coffee.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Parbleu!</i>" he roared. "You have not zee rendezvous? You have not zee
+hunting breakfast? I should be quite ill&mdash;you hunt like zee Arabs&mdash;like
+zee gipsies&mdash;ah, yes, I forget&mdash;zee warm sandwich and zee native nuts."</p>
+
+<p>He tapped the table gently with his rings, smiling the while
+reminiscently into his glass, then, turning again to me, added
+seriously:</p>
+
+<p>"It is not all zee play&mdash;zee hunt. I have had zee legs broken by zee
+fatigue. Zee good breakfast is what you say 'indispensable' to break zee
+day. Zee good stories, zee camaraderie, zee good kind wine&mdash;<i>enfin
+tout!</i> But"&mdash;and again he leaned nearer&mdash;"but <i>not zee</i>
+ladies&mdash;<i>nevaire</i>&mdash;only zee memories."</p>
+
+<p>I repeat, it was nice of the Baron to think of me. I could easily
+picture to myself as I reread his note his superb estate, that
+stronghold of his ancestors; the hearty welcome at its gates; the
+gamekeepers in their green fustians; the pairs of perfectly trained
+dogs; the abundance of partridges and hares; and the breakfast in the
+old château, a feast that would be replete with wit and old Burgundy.
+How <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>splendid are these Norman autumns! What exhilarating old days
+during this season of dropping apples, blue skies, and falling leaves!
+Days when the fat little French partridges nestle in companies in the
+fields, shorn to stubble after the harvest, and sleek hares at sunrise
+lift their long ears cautiously above the dew-bejeweled cobwebs along
+the ditches to make sure that the green feeding-patch beyond is safe
+from the man and the gun.</p>
+
+<p>Fat, garrulous Monsieur Toupin of the village becomes under the spell of
+Madame Vinet's best cognac so uproarious when he has killed one of these
+sleek, strong-limbed hares, that madame is obliged to draw the
+turkey-red curtain over the window of her small café that Monsieur
+Toupin may not be seen by his neighbours.</p>
+
+<p>"Suzette," I called, "my candle! I must get a good night's sleep, for
+to-morrow I shoot with the Baron."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Tiens!</i>" exclaimed the little maid. "At the grand château?" And her
+frank eyes opened wide. "Ah, <i>mais</i>&mdash;but monsieur will not have to work
+hard for a partridge there."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"And so you know the château, my little one?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, <i>mais oui</i>, monsieur! Is it not at La Sapinière near Les Roses? My
+grandfather was gardener there when I was little. I passed the château
+once with my mother and heard the guns back of the great wall. Monsieur
+will be content&mdash;ah, <i>mais oui!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"My coffee at five-thirty promptly, <i>ma petite</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bien</i>, monsieur." And Suzette passed me my lighted candle, the flame
+of which rose brilliantly from its wick.</p>
+
+<p>"That means good luck, monsieur," said she, pointing to the
+candle-flame, as my foot touched the winding stairs.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" I laughed, for I am always amused at her peasant belief in
+superstitions. Once, I remember, I was obliged to send for the
+doctor&mdash;Suzette had broken a mirror.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, <i>mais si</i>," declared Suzette, with conviction, as she unlatched her
+kitchen door. "When the wick burns like that&mdash;ah, <i>ça!</i>" And with a
+cheery <i>bonsoir</i> she closed the door behind her.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I had just swallowed my coffee when the siren of the Baron's automobile
+emitted a high, devilish wail, and subsided into a low moan outside my
+wall. The next instant the gate of the court flew open, and I rushed
+out, to greet, to my surprise, Tanrade in his shooting-togs, and&mdash;could
+it be true? Monsieur le Curé.</p>
+
+<p>"You, too?" I exclaimed in delight.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he smiled and added, with a wink: "I could not refuse so gamy an
+invitation."</p>
+
+<p>"And I would not let him," added Tanrade. "Quick! Where are your traps?
+We have a good forty kilometres ahead of us; we must not keep the Baron
+waiting." And the composer of ballets rushed into the house and
+shouldered my valise containing a dry change.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall have enough partridges to fill your larder for a month," I
+heard him tell Suzette, and he did not forget to pat her rosy cheek in
+passing. Suzette laughed and struggled by him, her firm young arms
+hugging my gun and shell-case.</p>
+
+<p>Before I could stop him, the curé, in his black soutane, had clambered
+nimbly to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>roof of the big car and was lashing my traps next to
+Tanrade's and his own. At this instant I started to take a long breath
+of pure morning air&mdash;and hesitated, then I caught the alert eye of the
+chauffeur, who was grinning.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you burning? Fish oil?" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mon Dieu</i>, monsieur&mdash;&mdash;" began the chauffeur.</p>
+
+<p>"Cheese," called down the curé, pointing to a round paper parcel on the
+roof of the limousine. "Tanrade got it at daylight; woke up the whole
+village getting it."</p>
+
+<p>"Had to," explained Tanrade, as Suzette helped him into his great coat.
+"The Baron is out of cheese; he added a postscript to my invitation
+praying that I would be amiable enough to bring one. <i>Eh voilà!</i> There
+it is, and real cheese at that. Come, get in, quick!" And he opened the
+door of the limousine, the interior of which was lined in gray suède and
+appointed with the daintiest of feminine luxuries.</p>
+
+<p>"Look out for that row of gold bottles back of you, you brute of a
+farmer!" Tanrade counseled me, as the curé found his seat. "If you
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>scratch those monograms the Baroness will never forgive you."</p>
+
+<p>Then, with a wave to Suzette, we swept away from my house by the marsh,
+were hurled through Pont du Sable, and shot out of its narrowest end
+into the fresh green country beyond.</p>
+
+<p>It was so thoroughly chic and Parisian, this limousine. Only a few days
+ago it had been shopping along the Rue de la Paix, and later rushing to
+the cool Bois de Boulogne carrying a gracious woman to dinner; now it
+held two vagabonds and a curé. We tore on while we talked
+enthusiastically of the day's shooting in store for us. The curé was in
+his best humour. How he does love to shoot and what a rattling good shot
+he is! Neither Tanrade nor myself, and we have shot with him day in and
+day out on the marsh and during rough nights in his gabion, has ever
+beaten him.</p>
+
+<p>On we flew, past the hamlet of Fourche-la-Ville, past Javonne, past Les
+Roses. <i>Sacristi!</i> I thought, what if the gasoline gave out or the spark
+refused to sparkle, what if they had&mdash;&mdash;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>Why worry? That cheese was
+strong enough to have gotten us anywhere.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly we slowed down, hastily consulted a blue iron sign at the
+crossroad, and swung briskly to the right.</p>
+
+<p>A noble forest and the roofs and <i>tourelles</i> of the château now loomed
+ahead of us. We turned into a clean, straight road, flanked by superb
+oaks leading to an ancient stone gateway. A final wail from the siren,
+the gates swung open, and we came to a dead stop in front of the Baron,
+four setter dogs, and a group of gentlemen immaculately attired for the
+hunt. From their tan-leather leggings to their yellow dogskin gloves and
+gleaming guns, they were faultless.</p>
+
+<p>While the Baron greeted us, his guests stood waiting to be presented;
+their formal bow would have done credit to a foreign embassy during an
+imperial audience. The next moment we were talking as naturally together
+and with as much camaraderie as if we had known each other for years.</p>
+
+<p>"Make yourselves at home, my children!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> cried the Baron. "<i>Vous êtes
+chez vous</i>; the ladies have gone to Paris."</p>
+
+<p>It was not such a very grand place, this estate of the Baron, after all.
+It had an air about it of having seen better days, but the host was a
+good fellow, and his welcome genuine, and we were all happy to be there.
+No keepers in green fustians, no array of thoroughbred dogs, but instead
+four plain setters with a touch of shepherd in them. The château itself
+was plain and comfortable within and scarred by age without. Some of the
+little towers had lost their tops, and the extensive wall enclosing the
+snug forest bulged dangerously in places.</p>
+
+<p>"You will see," explained the Baron to me in his fluent French, as our
+little party sauntered out into the open fields to shoot, "I do not get
+along very well with my farmer. I must tell you this in case he gives us
+trouble to-day. He has the right, owing to a stupid lease my aged aunt
+was unwise enough to sign with him some years ago, to exclude us from
+hunting over many fields contiguous to my own; above all, we cannot put
+foot in his harvest."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I see," I returned, with a touch of disappointment, for I knew the
+birds were where the harvest was still uncut.</p>
+
+<p>"There are acres of grain going to seed beyond us which he would rather
+lose than have me hunt over," the Baron confessed. "Bah! We shall see
+what the <i>canaille</i> will do, for only this morning he sent me word
+threatening to break up the hunt. Nothing would please him better than
+have us all served with a <i>procès-verbal</i> for trespassing."</p>
+
+<p>I confess I was not anxious to be hauled before the court of the
+country-seat time after time during a trial conducted at a snail's pace
+and be relieved of several hundred francs, for this is what a
+<i>procès-verbal</i> meant. It was easily seen that the Baron was in a no
+more tranquil state of mind himself.</p>
+
+<p>"You are all my guests!" he exclaimed, with sudden heat. "That <i>sacré</i>
+individual will deal with <i>me</i>. It is <i>I</i> who am alone responsible," he
+generously added. "Ah! We shall see. If you meet him, don't let him
+bulldoze you. Don't show him your hunting permit if he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>demands it, for
+what he will want is your name. I have explained all this to the rest."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh bien!</i> my dear friends," he called back to the others as we reached
+a cross-road, "we shall begin shooting here. Half of you to the
+right&mdash;half to the left!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is the name of your farmer?" I inquired, as we spread out into two
+slowly moving companies.</p>
+
+<p>"Le Bour," returned the Baron grimly as the breech of his gun snapped
+shut.</p>
+
+<p>The vast cultivated plain undulating below us looked like the
+patchwork-quilt of a giantess, stitched together with well-knit hedges.
+There were rectangles of apple-green clover, canary-yellow squares of
+mustard, green pastures of ochre stubble, rich green strips of beets,
+and rolling areas of brown-ribbed furrows freshly plowed.</p>
+
+<p>Time after time we were obliged to pass around companies of partridges
+that had taken refuge under the idiotic lease of the aged aunt. It was
+exasperating, for, from the beginning of the shoot, every bird seemed to
+know where it was safe from the gleaming guns held so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>skilfully by the
+<i>messieurs</i> in the yellow dogskin gloves. By eleven o'clock there were
+barely a score of birds in the game-bags when there should have been a
+hundred.</p>
+
+<p>At the second cross road, the right and left party convened. It was what
+Le Bour had been waiting for.</p>
+
+<p>A sour old man in a blue blouse now rose up out of a hedge in which he
+had hidden himself, and came glowering toward us. As he drew nearer I
+saw that his gun swung loosely in his hand and was at full cock, its
+muzzle wavering unpleasantly over us as he strode on. His mean old eyes
+glittered with rage, his jaw trembled under a string of oaths. His
+manner was that of a sullen bull about to charge.</p>
+
+<p>There was no mistaking his identity&mdash;it was Le Bour.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Procès-verbal</i> for all of you," he bellowed; "you, Monsieur le Baron,
+and you, Monsieur le Vicomte," he snapped, as the Baron advanced to
+defend his guests. "I saw you cross my buckwheat," he declared pointing
+an ugly finger at the Vicomte.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You lie!" shouted the Baron, before the Vicomte could find his words.
+"I forbid you to open your head to my guests. Not one of these gentlemen
+has set foot in your harvest. What right have <i>you</i> to carry a gun?
+Where is your hunting permit?" thundered the Baron. "Where's your
+commission as guard, that you should have the insolence to threaten us
+with a <i>procès-verbal</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" exclaimed the Baron, as the permit was not forthcoming, "I thought
+as much. I appoint you witness, Monsieur le Curé, the fellow has no
+permit." And we swelled the merriment with a forced sputter of ridicule.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, my friends, we shall leave this imbecile to himself," laughed the
+Baron.</p>
+
+<p>Le Bour sprang past him and confronted us.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben</i>, my fine gentlemen," he snarled, "you'll not get away so
+easily. I demand, in the name of the law, your hunting permits. Come,
+<i>allons</i>! All of you!"</p>
+
+<p>At the same instant he tore open his blouse and displayed, to our
+dismay, an oval brass plaque bearing his name and the number 1247.</p>
+
+<p>"There!" cried the old man, white and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>trembling with rage. "There's my
+full commission as guard."</p>
+
+<p>My companion with the gloves next to me fidgeted nervously and coughed.
+I saw the Vicomte turn a little pale. Tanrade shrugged his shoulders.
+Monsieur le Curé's face wore an expression of dignified gravity. Not
+once, however, had Le Bour's eyes met his own. It was evident that he
+reverently excluded the curé from the affair.</p>
+
+<p>The Vicomte looked uncomfortable enough. The truth was, he was not known
+to be at the hunt. The Vicomtesse was shrewd when it came to the
+question of his whereabouts. A <i>procès-verbal</i> meant publicity;
+naturally the Vicomtesse would know. It might even reach the adorable
+ears of Mademoiselle Rosalie, of the <i>corps de ballet</i>, who imagined the
+Vicomte safe with his family. The Baron was fuming, but he did not
+speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Your permits!" reiterated Le Bour, flourishing his license.</p>
+
+<p>There was an awkward silence; not a few in the party had left their
+permits at home.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Pouf!</i>" exclaimed the Baron. "Enough of this! <i>En route</i>, my friends!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh, bien!</i>" growled the farmer. "You refuse to produce your permits on
+demand of a guard. It shall be stated," he threatened, "in the
+<i>procès-verbal</i>." Then Le Bour turned on his muddy heel and launched a
+parting volley at the Baron denouncing his château and everything
+connected with him.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not forget the time you stole the ducks of my uncle," cried the
+Baron, shaking a clenched fist at the old man, "or the morning&mdash;" But
+his words were lost on Le Bour, who had disappeared in the hedge.</p>
+
+<p>By eleven-thirty we had killed some two dozen birds and three hares; and
+as we were now stricken with "the appetite of the wolf," we turned back
+to the château for breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>Here a sponge and a rub-down sent us in gay spirits down to the
+billiard-room, where a bottle of port was in waiting&mdash;a rare bottle for
+particular occasions. It was "the last of a dozen," explained the Baron
+as we touched <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>glasses, sent to the château by Napoleon in payment for a
+night's lodging during one of his campaigns. "The very time, in fact,"
+he added, "when the little towers lost their tops."</p>
+
+<p>Under the spell of the Emperor's port the Vicomte regained his nerves,
+and even the unpleasant incident of the morning was half forgotten while
+the piano in the historic salon rang merrily under Tanrade's touch until
+we filed in to luncheon.</p>
+
+<p>It was as every French shooting-luncheon is intended to be&mdash;a pleasant
+little fête full of good cheer and understanding; the good soup, the
+decanters of Burgundy, the clean red-and-white checkered napkins and
+cloth, the heavy family silver, the noiseless old servants&mdash;and what an
+appetite we had! What a <i>soufflé</i> of potatoes, and such chicken
+smothered in cream! And always the "good kind wine," until the famous
+cheese that Tanrade had waked up Pont du Sable in procuring was passed
+quickly and went out to the pantry, never to return. Ah, yes! And the
+warm champagne without which no French breakfast is complete.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Over the coffee and liqueurs, the talk ran naturally to gallantry.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, <i>les femmes</i>! The memories," as the Baron had said.</p>
+
+<p>"You should have seen Babette Deslys five years ago," remarked one of
+our jolly company when the Baron had left the room in search of some
+milder cigars.</p>
+
+<p>I saw the Vicomte raise his eyebrows in subtle warning to the speaker,
+who, like myself, knew the Baron but slightly. If he was treading upon
+delicate ground he was unconscious of it, this <i>bon vivant</i> of a
+Parisian; for he continued rapidly in his enthusiasm, despite a second
+hopeless attempt of the Vicomte to check him.</p>
+
+<p>"You should have seen Babette in the burlesque as Phryne at the
+Variétés&mdash;<i>une merveille, mon cher!</i>" he exclaimed, addressing the
+sous-lieutenant on his right, and he blew a kiss to the ceiling. "The
+complexion of a rosebud and amusing! Ah&mdash;la! la!"</p>
+
+<p>"I hear her debts ran close to a million," returned the lieutenant.</p>
+
+<p>"She was feather-brained," continued the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> <i>bon vivant</i>, with a blasé
+shrug. "She was a good little quail with more heart than head! Poor
+Babette!"</p>
+
+<p>"Take care!" cautioned the Vicomte pointblank, as the Baron re-entered
+with the box of milder Havanas.</p>
+
+<p>And thus the talk ran on among these men of the world who knew Paris as
+well as their pockets; and so many Babettes and Francines and other
+careless little celebrities whose beauty and extravagance had turned
+peace and tranquillity into ruin and chaos.</p>
+
+<p>At last the jolly breakfast came to an end. We rose, recovered our guns
+from the billiard-table, and with fresh courage went forth again into
+the fields to shoot until sunset. During the afternoon we again saw Le
+Bour, but he kept at a safe distance watching our movements with
+muttered oaths and a vengeful eye, while we added some twenty-odd
+partridges to the morning's score.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Toward the end of the afternoon, a week later, at Pont du Sable, Tanrade
+and the curé sat smoking under my sketching-umbrella on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>the marsh. The
+curé is far from a bad painter. His unfinished sketch of the distant
+strip of sea and dunes lay at my feet as I worked on my own canvas while
+the sunset lasted.</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade was busy between puffs of his pipe in transposing various
+passages in his latest score. Now and then he would hesitate, finger the
+carefully thought out bar on his knee, and again his stub of a pencil
+would fly on through a maze of hieroglyphics that were to the curé and
+myself wholly unintelligible.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the curé looked up, his keen gaze rivetted upon two dots of
+figures on bicycles speeding rapidly toward us along the path skirting
+the marsh.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello!" exclaimed the curé, and he gave a low whistle. "The gendarmes!"</p>
+
+<p>There was no mistaking their identity; their gold stripes and white duck
+trousers appeared distinctly against the tawny marsh.</p>
+
+<p>The next moment they dismounted, left their wheels on the path, and came
+slowly across the desert of wire-grass toward us.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Diable!</i>" muttered Tanrade, under his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>breath, and instantly our minds
+reverted to Le Bour.</p>
+
+<p>The two officials of the law were before us.</p>
+
+<p>"We regret to disturb you, messieurs," began the taller of the two
+pleasantly as he extracted a note-book from a leather case next to his
+revolver. "But"&mdash;and he shrugged his military shoulders&mdash;"it is for the
+little affair at Hirondelette."</p>
+
+<p>"Which one of us is elected?" asked Tanrade grimly.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! <i>Bon Dieu!</i>" returned the tall one; half apologetically. "A
+<i>procès-verbal</i> unfortunately for you, Monsieur Tanrade. Read the
+charge," he said to the short one, who had now unfolded a paper, cleared
+his throat, and began to read in a monotonous tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Gaston Emile Le Bour, agriculturist at Hirondelette, charges
+Monsieur Charles Louis Ernest Tanrade, born in Paris, soldier of the
+Thirteenth Infantry, musician, composer, with flagrant trespass in his
+buckwheat on hectare number seven, armed with the gun of percussion on
+the thirtieth of September at ten-forty-five in the morning."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I was <i>not</i> in his <i>sacré</i> buckwheat!" declared Tanrade, and he
+described the entire incident of the morning.</p>
+
+<p>"Take monsieur's denial in detail," commanded the tall one.</p>
+
+<p>His companion produced a small bottle of ink and began to write slowly
+with a scratchy pen, while we stood in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Kindly add your signature, monsieur," said the tall one, when the
+bottle was again recorked.</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade signed.</p>
+
+<p>The gendarmes gravely saluted and were about to withdraw when Tanrade
+asked if he was "the only unfortunate on the list."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, <i>non</i>!" confessed the tall one. "There is a similar charge against
+Monsieur le Vicomte&mdash;we have just called upon him. Also against Monsieur
+le Baron."</p>
+
+<p>"And what did they say?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh bien</i>, monsieur, a general denial, just as monsieur has made."</p>
+
+<p>"The affair is ridiculous," exclaimed Tanrade hotly.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"That must be seen," returned the tall one firmly.</p>
+
+<p>Again we all saluted and they left us, recovered their bicycles, and
+went spinning off back to Pont du Sable.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Nom d'un chien!</i>" muttered Tanrade, while the curé and I stared
+thoughtfully at a clump of grass.</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't he get me?" I ventured, after a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Foreigner," explained Tanrade. "You're in luck, old boy&mdash;no record of
+identity, and how the devil do you suppose Le Bour could pronounce your
+name?"</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later I found the Vicomte, who lived close to our village.
+He was pacing up and down his salon in a rage.</p>
+
+<p>"I was <i>not</i> in the buckwheat!" he declared frantically. "Do you suppose
+I have nothing better to do, my friend, than see this wretched business
+out at the county-seat? The <a name="Page_272t" id="Page_272t"></a><a href="#Page_272tn">Vicomtesse</a> is furious. We were to leave, for
+a little voyage in Italy, next week. Ah, that young son of the Baron! He
+is the devil! <i>He</i> is responsible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>for this&mdash;naturally." And he fell
+again to pacing the room.</p>
+
+<p>I looked blankly at the Vicomte.</p>
+
+<p>"Son? What young son?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>The Vicomte stopped, with a gesture of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! <i>Sapristi!</i> You do not know?" he exclaimed. "You do not know that
+Babette Deslys is Le Bour's daughter? That the Baron's son ran away with
+her and a hundred thousand francs? That the hundred thousand francs
+belonged to Le Bour? <i>Sapristi!</i> You did not know <i>that</i>?"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 208px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch9-2.jpg" width="208" height="400" alt="sign: CHASSE GARDEÉ" title="sign: CHASSE GARDEÉ" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_TEN" id="CHAPTER_TEN"></a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch10-1.jpg" width="600" height="296" alt="the yellow car" title="the yellow car" />
+</div>
+<h2>CHAPTER TEN</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BELLS OF PONT DU SABLE</h3>
+
+
+<p>The big yellow car came ripping down the road&mdash;a clean hard ribbon of a
+road skirting the tawny marsh that lay this sparkling August morning
+under a glaze of turquoise blue water at high tide.</p>
+
+<p>With a devilish wail from its siren, the yellow car whizzed past my
+house abandoned by the marsh. I was just in time, as I raised my head
+above the rambling wall of my courtyard, to catch sight of my good
+friend the curé on the back seat, holding on tight to his saucer-like
+hat. In the same rapid glance I saw the fluttering ends of a
+bottle-green veil, in front of the curé's nose and knew Germaine was
+driving.</p>
+
+<p>"Lucky curé!" I said to myself, as I returned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>to my half-finished
+sketch, "carried off again to luncheon by one of the dearest of little
+women."</p>
+
+<p>No wonder during his lonely winters, when every villa or château of
+every friend of his for miles around is closed, and my vagabond village
+of Pont du Sable rarely sees a Parisian, the curé longs for midsummer.
+It is his gayest season, since hardly a day passes but some friend
+kidnaps him from his presbytery that lies snug and silent back of the
+crumbling wall which hides both his house and his wild garden from the
+gaze of the passer-by.</p>
+
+<p>He is the kind of curé whom it is a joy to invite&mdash;this straight, strong
+curé, who is French to the backbone; with his devil-may-care geniality,
+his irresistible smile of a comedian, his quick wit of an Irishman, and
+his heart of gold.</p>
+
+<p>To-day Germaine had captured him and was speeding him away to a jolly
+luncheon of friends at her villa, some twenty kilometres below Pont du
+Sable&mdash;Germaine with her trim, lithe figure and merry brown eyes, eyes
+that can become in a flash as calm and serious <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>as the curé's, and in
+turn with her moods (for Germaine is a pretty collection of moods) gleam
+with the impulsive devilry of a <i>gamine</i>; Germaine, who teases an old
+vagabond painter like myself, by daubing a purple moon in the middle of
+my morning sketch, adds a dab on my nose when I protest, and the next
+instant embraces me, and begs my forgiveness.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot conceive of anyone not forgiving Germaine, beneath whose firm
+and delicate beauty lies her warm heart, as golden in quality as the
+curé's.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! It is gay enough in midsummer with Germaine and such other good
+Bohemians as Alice de Bréville, Tanrade, and his reverence to cheer my
+house abandoned by the marsh.</p>
+
+<p>I heard the yellow car tearing back to Pont du Sable late that night. It
+slowed down as it neared my walled domain, and with a wrenching grunt
+stopped in front of my gate. The next instant the door of my den opened
+and in rushed the curé.</p>
+
+<p>"All of us to luncheon to-morrow at The Three <a name="Page_276t" id="Page_276t"></a><a href="#Page_276tn">Wolves!"</a> he cried,
+flinging his hat on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>the floor; then bending, with a grin of
+satisfaction over the lamp chimney, he kindled the end of a fat
+cigarette he had rolled in the dark. His eyes were snapping, while the
+corners of his humorous mouth twitched in a satisfied smile. He strode
+up and down the room for some moments, his hands clasped behind him, his
+strong, sun-tanned face beaming in the glow of the shaded lamplight,
+while he listened to my delight over the pleasant news he had brought.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! They are good to me, these children of mine," he declared with
+enthusiasm. "Germaine tells me there is a surprise in store for me and
+that I am not to know until to-morrow, at luncheon. Beyond that, she
+would tell me nothing, the little minx, except that I managed to make
+her confess that Alice was in the secret."</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at his watch, "Ah!" he ejaculated, "I must be getting to bed;
+you, too, my old one, for we must get an early start in the morning, if
+we are to reach The Three Wolves by <a name="Page_277t" id="Page_277t"></a><a href="#Page_277tn">noon."</a> He recovered his hat from the
+floor, straightened up, brushed the cigarette ashes <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>from the breast of
+his long black soutane, shiny from wear, and held out his strong hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Sleep well," he counselled, "for to-morrow we shall be <i>en fête</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Then he swung open my door and passed out into the night, whistling as
+he crossed my courtyard a <i>café chantant</i> air that Germaine had taught
+him.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later, the siren of the yellow car sent forth its warning wail,
+and he was speeding back to his presbytery under the guidance of
+Germaine's chauffeur.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The curé was raking out the oysters; he stood on the sandy rim of a pool
+of clear sea-water that lay under the noonday sun like a liquid emerald.
+As Monsieur le Curé plunged in his long rake and drew it back heavy with
+those excellent bivalves for which the restaurant at The Three Wolves
+has long been famous, his tall black figure, silhouetted against the
+distant sea and sky, reminded me of some great sea-crow fishing for its
+breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>To the right of him crouched the restaurant, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>a low wooden structure,
+with its back to the breakers. It has the appearance of being cast there
+at high tide, its zigzag line of tiled roofs drying in the air and sun,
+like the scaled shell of some stranded monster of the sea. There is a
+cavernous old kitchen within, resplendent in shining copper&mdash;a busy
+kitchen to-day, sizzling in good things and pungent with the aroma of
+two tender young chickens, basting on a spit, a jolly old kitchen, far
+more enticing than the dingy long dining-room adjoining it, whose walls
+are frescoed in panels representing bottle-green lobsters, gaping
+succulent clams, and ferocious crabs sidling away indignantly from nets
+held daintily by fine ladies and their gallants, in costumes that were
+in vogue before the revolution. Even when it pours, this cheerless old
+dining-room at The Three Wolves is deserted, since there are half a
+score of far cosier little round pavilions for lovers and intimate
+friends, built over the oyster pools.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond them, hard by the desolate beach, lie the rocks known as The
+Three Wolves. In calm weather the surf smashes over their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>glistening
+backs&mdash;at low water, as it happened to be to-day, the seethe of the tide
+scurried about their dripping bellies green with hairy sea-weed.</p>
+
+<p>Now and then came cheery ripples of laughter from our little pavilion,
+where Germaine and Alice de Bréville were arranging a mass of scarlet
+nasturtiums, twining their green leaves and tendrils amongst the plates
+of <i>hors d'&oelig;uvres</i> and among the dust-caked bottles of Chablis and
+Burgundy&mdash;Alice, whose dark hair and olive skin are in strong contrast
+to Germaine's saucy beauty.</p>
+
+<p>They had banished Tanrade, who had offered his clumsy help&mdash;and spilled
+the sardines. He had climbed on the roof and dropped pebbles down on
+them through the cracks and had later begged forgiveness through the
+key-hole. Now he was yelling like an Indian, this celebrated composer of
+ballets, as he swung a little peasant maid of ten in a creaky swing
+beyond the pool&mdash;a dear little maid with eyes as dark as Alice's, who
+screamed from sheer delight, and insisted on that good fellow playing
+all <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>the games that lay about them, from <i>tonneau</i> to <i>bilboquet</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Together, the curé and I carried the basket, now plentifully filled with
+oysters back to the kitchen, while Tanrade was hailed from the pavilion,
+much to the little maid's despair.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dépêchez-vous!</i>" cried Alice, who had straightway embraced her exiled
+Tanrade on his return and was now waving a summons to the curé and
+myself.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon</i>," shouted back the curé. "<i>Allons, mes enfants, à table</i>&mdash;and the
+one who has no appetite shall be cast into the sea&mdash;by the heels," added
+his reverence.</p>
+
+<p>What a breakfast followed! Such a rushing of little maids back and forth
+from the jolly kitchen with the great platters of oysters. What a sole
+smothered in a mussel sauce! What a lobster, scarlet as the cap of a
+cardinal and garnished with crisp romaine! and the chickens! and the
+mutton! and the <i>soufflé</i> of potatoes, and the salad of shrimps&mdash;<i>Mon
+Dieu!</i> What a luncheon, "sprayed," as the French say, with that rare old
+Chablis and mellow Burgundy!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> And what laughter and camaraderie went
+with it from the very beginning, for to be at table with friends in
+France is to be <i>en fête</i>&mdash;it is the hour when hearts are warmest and
+merriest.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, you dear little women! You who know just when to give those who love
+you a friendly pressure of the hand, or the gift of your lips if needs
+be, even in the presence of so austere a personage as Monsieur le Curé.
+You who understand. You who are tender or merry with the mood, or
+contrary to the verge of exasperation&mdash;only to caress with the subtle
+light of your eyes and be forgiven.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until we had reached our coffee and liqueur, that the
+surprise for the curé was forthcoming. Hardly had the tiny glasses been
+filled, when the clear tone of the bell ringing from the ancient church
+of The Three Wolves made us cease our talk to listen.</p>
+
+<p>Alice turned to the curé; it was evidently the moment she had been
+waiting for.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen," said Alice softly&mdash;"how delicious!"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It is the bell of Ste. Marie," returned the curé.</p>
+
+<p>Even Tanrade was silent now, for his reverence had made the sign of the
+cross. As his fingers moved I saw a peculiar look come into his eyes&mdash;a
+look of mingled disappointment and resignation.</p>
+
+<p>Again Alice spoke: "Your cracked bell at Pont du Sable has not long to
+ring, my friend," she said very tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>"One must be content, my child, with what one has," replied the curé.</p>
+
+<p>Alice leaned towards him and whispered something in his ear, Germaine
+smiling the while.</p>
+
+<p>I saw his reverence give a little start of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," he protested half aloud. "Not that; it is too much to ask of
+you with all your rehearsals at the Bouffes Parisiennes coming."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Parbleu!</i>" exclaimed Alice, "it will not be so very difficult&mdash;I shall
+accomplish it, you shall see what a concert we shall give&mdash;we shall make
+a lot of money; every one will be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>there. It has the voice of a frog,
+your bell. <i>Dieu!</i> What a fuss it makes over its crack. You shall have a
+new one&mdash;two new ones, <i>mon ami</i>, even if we have to make bigger the
+belfry of your little gray church to hang them."</p>
+
+<p>The curé grew quite red. I saw for an instant his eyes fill with tears,
+then with a benign smile, he laid his hand firmly over Alice's and
+lifting the tips of her fingers, kissed them twice in gratefulness.</p>
+
+<p>He was very happy. He was happy all the way back in Germaine's yellow
+car to Pont du Sable. Happy when he thrust his heavy key in the rusty
+lock of the small door that let him into his silent garden, cool under
+the stars, and sweet with the scent of roses.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>A long winter has passed since that memorable luncheon at The Three
+Wolves. Our little pavilion over the emerald pool will never see us
+reunited, I fear. A cloud has fallen over my good friend the curé, a
+cloud so unbelievable, and yet so dense, if it be true, and so filled
+with ominous mutterings of thunder and lightning, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>crime, defalcation,
+banishment, and the like, that I go about my work dazed at the rumoured
+situation.</p>
+
+<p>They tell me the curé still says mass, and when it is over, regains the
+presbytery by way of the back lane skirting the marsh. I am also told
+that he rarely even ventures into his garden, but spends most of his
+days and half of his nights alone in his den with the door locked, and
+strict orders to his faithful old servant Marie, who adores him, that he
+will see no one who calls.</p>
+
+<p>For days I have not laid eyes on him&mdash;he who kept his napkin tied in a
+sailor's knot in my cupboard and came to breakfast, luncheon, or dinner
+when he pleased, waking up my house abandoned by the marsh with his good
+humour, joking with Suzette, my little maid-of-all-work, until her fair
+cheeks grew the rosier, and rousing me out of the blues with his quick
+wit and his hearty laugh.</p>
+
+<p>It seems impossible to me that he is guilty of what he is accused of,
+yet the facts seem undeniable.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Only the good go wrong, is it not so? The bad have become so
+commonplace, they do not attract our attention.</p>
+
+<p>Now the ways of the curé were always just. I have never known him to do
+a mean thing in his life, far less a dishonest one. I have known him to
+give the last few sous he possessed to a hungry fisherwoman who needed
+bread for herself and her brood of children and content himself with
+what was left among the few remaining vegetables in his garden. There
+are days, too, when he is forced to live frugally upon a peasant soup
+and a pear for dinner, and there have been occasions to my knowledge,
+when the soup had to be omitted and his menu reduced to a novel, a
+cigarette and the pear.</p>
+
+<p>It is a serious matter, the separation of the state from the church in
+France, since it has left the priest with the munificent salary of four
+hundred francs a year, out of which he must pay his rent and give to the
+poor.</p>
+
+<p>Once we dined nobly together upon two fat sparrows, and again we had a
+blackbird for dinner. He had killed it that morning from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>his window,
+while shaving, for I saw the lather dried on the stock of his duck gun.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Curé is ingenious when it comes to hard times.</p>
+
+<p>Again, there are days when he is in luck, when some generous parishioner
+has had the forethought to restock his larder. Upon such bountiful
+occasions he insists on Tanrade and myself dining with him at the
+presbytery as long as these luxuries last, refusing to dine with either
+of us until there is no more left of his own to give.</p>
+
+<p>The last time I saw him, I had noticed a marked change in his reverence.
+He was moody and unshaven, and his saucerlike hat was as dusty and
+spotted as his frayed soutane. Only now and then he gave out flashes of
+his old geniality and even they seemed forced. I was amazed at the
+change in him, and yet, when I consider all I have heard since, I do not
+wonder much at his appearance.</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade tells me (and he evidently believes it) that some fifteen
+hundred francs, raised by Alice's concert and paid over to the curé to
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>purchase the bells for his little gray church at Pont du Sable, have
+disappeared and that his reverence refuses to give any account.</p>
+
+<p>Despite his hearty Bohemian spirit, Tanrade, like most musicians, is a
+dreamer and as ready as a child to believe anything and anybody. Being a
+master of the pianoforte and a composer of rare talent, he can hardly be
+called sane. And yet, though I have seen him enthusiastic, misled, moved
+to tears over nothing, indignant over an imaginary insult, or ready to
+forgive any one who could be fool enough to be his enemy, I have never
+known him so thoroughly upset or so positive in his convictions as when
+the other morning, as I sat loafing before my fire, he entered my den.</p>
+
+<p>"It is incredible, <i>mon vieux</i>, incredible!" he gasped, throwing himself
+disconsolately into my arm-chair. "I have just been to the presbytery.
+Not only does he refuse to give an account of the money, but he declines
+to offer any explanation beyond the one that he "spent it." Moreover, he
+sits hunched up before his stove in his little room off the kitchen,
+chewing the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>end of a cigarette. Why, he didn't even ask me to have a
+drink&mdash;the curé, <i>mon ami</i>&mdash;our curé&mdash;<i>Mon Dieu</i>, what a mess! Ah, <i>mon
+Dieu!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>He sank his chin in his hands and gazed at me with a look of utter
+despair.</p>
+
+<p>I regarded him keenly, then I went to the decanter and poured out for
+him a stiff glass of applejack.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink that," said I, "and get normal."</p>
+
+<p>With an impetuous gesture he waved it away.</p>
+
+<p>"No, not now!" he exclaimed, "wait until I tell you all&mdash;nothing until I
+tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, then," I returned, "I want to hear all about this wretched
+business. Go slow and tell it to me from top to bottom. I am not as
+convinced of the curé's guilt as you are, old boy. There may be nothing
+in it more than a pack of village lies; and if there is a vestige of the
+truth, we may, by putting our heads together, help matters."</p>
+
+<p>He started to speak, but I held up my hand.</p>
+
+<p>"One thing before you proceed," I declared with conviction. "I can no
+more believe the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>curé is dishonest than Alice or yourself. It is
+ridiculous to presume so for a moment. I have known the curé too well.
+He is a prince. He has a heart as big as all outdoors. Look at the good
+he's done in this village! There is not a vagabond in it but will tell
+you he is as right as rain. Ask the people he helps what they think of
+him, they'll tell you 'he's just the curé for Pont du Sable.' <i>Voilà!</i>
+That's what they'll tell you, and they mean it. All the gossip in the
+world can't hurt him. Here," I cried, forcing the glass into his hand,
+"get that down you, you maker of ballets, and proceed with the horrible
+details, but proceed gently, merrily, with the right sort of beat in
+your heart, for the curé is as much a friend of yours as he is of mine."</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade shrugged his broad shoulders, and for some moments sipped his
+glass. At length, he set it down on the broad table at his elbow, and
+said slowly: "You know how good Alice is, how much she will do for any
+one she is fond of&mdash;for a friend, I mean, like the curé. Very well, it
+is not an easy thing to give a concert <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>in Paris that earns fifteen
+hundred francs for a curé whom, it is safe to say, no one in the
+audience, save Germaine, Alice and myself had ever heard of. It was a
+veritable <i>tour de force</i> to organize. You were not there. I'm glad you
+were not. It was a dull old concert that would not have amused you
+much&mdash;Lassive fell ill at the last moment, Delmar was in a bad humour,
+and the quartet had played the night before at a ball at the Élysée and
+were barely awake. Yet in spite of it the theatre was packed; a chic
+audience, too. Frambord came out with half a column in the <i>Critique des
+Arts</i> with a pretty compliment to Alice's executive energy, and added
+'that it was one of the rare soirées of the season.' He must have been
+drunk when he wrote it. I played badly&mdash;I never can play when they
+gabble. It was as garrulous as a fish market in front. <i>Enfin!</i> It was
+over and we telegraphed his reverence the result; from a money
+standpoint it was a '<i>succès fou</i>.'"</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade leaned back and for a few seconds gazed at the ceiling of my
+den.</p>
+
+<p>"Where every penny has gone," he resumed, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>with a strained smile, "<i>Dieu
+sait!</i> There is no bell, not even the sound of one, <i>et voilà!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>He turned abruptly and reached for his glass, forgetting he had drained
+it. A fly was buzzing on its back in the last drop. And then we both
+smiled grimly, for we were thinking of Monsieur le Curé.</p>
+
+<p>I rang the bell of the presbytery early the next morning, by inserting
+my jackknife, to spare my fingers, in a loop at the end of a crooked
+wire which dangles over the rambling wall of the curé's garden. The door
+itself is of thick oak, and framed by stones overgrown with lichens&mdash;a
+solid old playground for nervous lizards when the sun shines, and a
+favourite sticking place for snails when it rains. I had to tug hard on
+the crooked wire before I heard a faint jingle issuing in response from
+the curé's cavernous kitchen, whose hooded chimney and stone-paved floor
+I love to paint.</p>
+
+<p>Now came the klop-klop of a pair of sabots&mdash;then the creak of a heavy
+key as it turned over twice in the rusty lock, and his faithful Marie
+cautiously opened the garden door. I do not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>know how old Marie is,
+there is so little left of this good soul to guess by. Her small
+shrunken body is bent from age and hard work. Her hands are heavy&mdash;the
+fingers gnarled and out of proportion to her gaunt thin wrists. She has
+the wrinkled, leathery face of some kindly gnome. She opened her eyes in
+a sort of mute appeal as I inquired if Monsieur le Curé was at home.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! My poor monsieur, his reverence will see no one"&mdash;she
+faltered&mdash;"<i>Ah! Mais</i>"&mdash;she sighed, knowing that I knew the change in
+her master and the gossip thereof.</p>
+
+<p>"My good Marie," I said, persuasively patting her bony shoulder, "tell
+his reverence that I <i>must</i> see him. Old friends as we are&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon Dieu, oui!</i>" she exclaimed after another sigh. "Such old friends
+as you and he&mdash;I will go and see," said she, and turned bravely back
+down the path that led to his door while I waited among the roses.</p>
+
+<p>A few moments later Marie beckoned to me from the kitchen window.</p>
+
+<p>"He will see you," she whispered, as I crossed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>the stone floor of the
+kitchen. "He is in the little room," and she pointed to a narrow door
+close by the big chimney, a door provided with old-fashioned little
+glass panes upon which are glued transparent chromos of wild ducks.</p>
+
+<p>I knocked gently.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Entrez!</i>" came a tired voice from within.</p>
+
+<p>I turned the knob and entered his den&mdash;a dingy little box of a room,
+sunk a step below the level of the kitchen, with a smoke-grimed ceiling
+and corners littered with dusty books and pamphlets.</p>
+
+<p>He was sitting with his back to me, humped up in a worn arm-chair,
+before his small stove, just as Tanrade had found him. As I edged around
+his table&mdash;past a rack holding his guns, half-hidden under two
+dilapidated game bags and a bicycle tyre long out of service, he turned
+his hollow eyes to mine, with a look I shall long remember, and feebly
+grasped my outstretched hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," said I, "you're going to get a grip on yourself, <i>mon ami</i>.
+You're going to get out of this wretched, unkempt state of melan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>cholia
+at once. Tanrade has told me much. You know as well as I do, the village
+is a nest of gossip&mdash;that they make a mountain out of a molehill; if I
+were a pirate chief and had captured this vagabond port, I'd have a few
+of those wagging tongues taken out and keel-hauled in the bay."</p>
+
+<p>He started as if in pain, and again turned his haggard eyes to mine.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe there's a word of truth in it," I declared hotly.</p>
+
+<p>"There&mdash;<i>is</i>," he returned hoarsely, trembling so his voice faltered&mdash;"I
+am&mdash;a thief."</p>
+
+<p>He sat bolt-upright in his chair, staring at me like a man who had
+suddenly become insane. His declaration was so sudden and amazing, that
+for some moments I knew not what to reply, then a feeling of pity took
+possession of me. He was still my friend, whatever he had done. I saw
+his gaze revert to the crucifix hanging between the steel engravings of
+two venerable saints, over the mantel back of the stove&mdash;a mantel heaped
+with old shot bags and empty cartridge shells.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"How the devil did it happen?" I blurted out at length. "You don't mean
+to say you stole the money?"</p>
+
+<p>"Spent it," he replied half inaudibly.</p>
+
+<p>"How spent it? On yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! Thank God&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How, then?"</p>
+
+<p>He leaned forward, his head sunk in his hands, his eyes riveted upon
+mine.</p>
+
+<p>"There is&mdash;so&mdash;much&mdash;dire&mdash;need of money," he said, catching his breath
+between his words. "We are all human&mdash;all weak in the face of another's
+misery. It takes a strong heart, a strong mind, a strong body to resist.
+There are some temptations too terrible even for a priest. I wish with
+all my heart that Alice had never given it into my hands."</p>
+
+<p>I started to speak, but he held up his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not ask me more," he pleaded&mdash;"I cannot tell you&mdash;I am ill and
+weak&mdash;my courage is gone."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there any of the money left?" I ventured quietly, after waiting in
+vain for him to continue.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I do not know," he returned wearily, "most of it has gone&mdash;over there,
+beneath the papers, in the little drawer," he said pointing to the
+corner; "I kept it there. Yes, there is some left&mdash;but I have not dared
+count it."</p>
+
+<p>Again there ensued a painful silence, while I racked my brain for a
+scheme that might still save the situation, bad as it looked. In the
+state he was in, I had not the heart to worry out of him a fuller
+confession. Most of the fifteen hundred francs was gone, that was plain
+enough. What he had done with it I could only conjecture. Had he given
+it to save another I wondered. Some man or woman whose very life and
+reputation depended upon it? Had he fallen in love hopelessly and past
+all reasoning? There is no man that some woman cannot make her slave. It
+was not many years ago, that a far more saintly priest than he eloped to
+Belgium with a pretty seamstress of Les Fosses. Then I thought of
+Germaine!&mdash;that little minx, badly in debt&mdash;perhaps? No, no, impossible!
+She was too clever&mdash;too honest for that.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen Alice?" I broke our silence with at length.</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head wearily. "I could not," he replied, "I know the
+bitterness she must feel toward me."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment Marie knocked at the door. As she entered, I saw that her
+wrinkled face was drawn, as with lowered eyes she regarded a yellow
+envelope stamped with the seal of the <i>République Française</i>.</p>
+
+<p>With a trembling hand she laid it beside the curé, and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>The curé started, then he rose nervously to his feet, steadying himself
+against the table's edge as he tore open the envelope, and glanced at
+its contents. With a low moan he sank back in his chair.&mdash;"Go," he
+pleaded huskily, "I wish to be alone&mdash;I have been summoned before the
+mayor."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Never before in the history of the whole country about, had a curé been
+hauled to account. Pont du Sable was buzzing like a beehive over the
+affair. Along its single thoroughfare, flanked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>by the stone houses of
+the fishermen, the gossips clustered in groups. From what I caught in
+passing proved to me again that his reverence had more friends than
+enemies.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the mayor's kitchen, which serves him as executive chamber as
+well, that the official investigation took place.</p>
+
+<p>With the exception of the Municipal Council, consisting of the baker,
+the butcher, the grocer, and two raisers of cattle, none were to be
+admitted at the mayor's save Tanrade, myself and Alice de Bréville,
+whose presence the mayor had judged imperative, and who had been
+summoned from Paris.</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade and I had arrived early&mdash;the mayor greeting us at the gate of
+his trim little garden, and ushering us to our chairs in the clean,
+well-worn kitchen, with as much solemnity as if there had been a death
+in the house. Here we sat, under the low ceiling of rough beams and
+waited in a funereal silence, broken only by the slow ticking of the
+tall clock in the corner. It was working as hard as it could, its brass
+pendulum swinging lazily toward <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>three o'clock, the hour appointed for
+the investigation.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Maire to-day was no longer the genial, ruddy old raiser of
+cattle, who stops me whenever I pass his gate with a hearty welcome. He
+was all Mayor to-day, clean shaven to the raw edges of his cropped gray
+side-whiskers with a look of grave importance in his shrewd eyes and a
+firm setting of his wrinkled upper lip, that indicated the dignity of
+his office; a fact which was further accentuated by his carefully
+brushed suit of black, a clean starched collar and the tri-coloured silk
+sash, with gold tassels, which he is forced to gird his fat paunch with,
+when he either marries you or sends you to jail. The clock ticked on,
+its oaken case reflecting the copper light from the line of saucepans
+hanging beside it on the wall. Presently, the Municipal Council filed in
+and seated themselves about a centre table, upon which lay in readiness
+the official seal, pen, ink and paper. Being somewhat ill at ease in his
+starched shirt, the florid grocer coughed frequently, while the two
+cattle-raisers in their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>black blouses, talked in gutteral whispers over
+a bargain in calves. Through the open window, screened with cool vines,
+came the faint murmur of the village&mdash;suddenly it ceased. I rose, and
+going to the window, looked up the street. The curé was coming down it,
+striding along as straight as a savage, nodding to those who nodded to
+him. An old fisherwoman hobbled forth and kissed his hand. Young and
+old, gamblers of the sea, lifted their caps as he passed.</p>
+
+<p>"The census of opinion is with him," I whispered to Tanrade, as I
+regained my chair. "He has his old grit with him, too."</p>
+
+<p>The next instant, his reverence strode in before us&mdash;firm, cool, and so
+thoroughly master of himself that a feeling of intense relief stole over
+me.</p>
+
+<p>"I have come," he said, in a clear, even voice, "in answer to your
+summons, Monsieur le Maire."</p>
+
+<p>The mayor rose, bowed gravely, waved the curé to a chair opposite the
+Municipal Council, and continued in silence the closely written contents
+of two official documents containing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>the charge. The stopping of an
+automobile at his gate now caused him to look up significantly. Madame
+de Bréville had arrived. As Alice entered every man in the room rose to
+his feet. Never had I seen her look lovelier, gowned, as she was, in
+simple black, her dark hair framing her exquisite features, pale as
+ivory, her sensitive mouth tense as she pressed Tanrade's hand
+nervously, and took her seat beside us. For an instant, I saw her dark
+eyes flash as she met the steady gaze of the curé's.</p>
+
+<p>"In the name of the <i>République Française</i>," began the mayor in measured
+tones.</p>
+
+<p>The curé folded his arms, his eyes fixed on the open door.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me," interrupted Alice, "I wish it to be distinctly understood
+before you begin, Monsieur le Maire, that I am here wholly against my
+will."</p>
+
+<p>The curé turned sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"You have summoned me," continued Alice, "and there was no alternative
+but to come&mdash;I know nothing in detail concerning the charge against
+Monsieur le Curé, nor do I wish to take <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>any part whatever in this
+unfortunate affair. It is imperative that I return to Paris in time to
+play to-night, I beg of you that you will let me go at once."</p>
+
+<p>There was a polite murmur of surprise from the Municipal Council. The
+curé sprang to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Alice, my child!" he cried, "look at me."</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes met his own, her lips twitching nervously, her breast heaving.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish <i>you</i> to judge me before you go," he pleaded. "They accuse me of
+being a thief;" his voice rose suddenly to its full vibrant strength;
+"they do not know the truth."</p>
+
+<p>Alice leaned forward, her lips parted.</p>
+
+<p>"God only knows what this winter has been," declared his
+reverence&mdash;"Empty nets&mdash;always empty nets."</p>
+
+<p>He struck the table with his clenched fist. "Empty nets!" he cried,
+"until I could bear it no longer. My children were in dire need; they
+came to you," he declared, turning to the mayor, "and you refused them."</p>
+
+<p>The mayor shrugged his shoulders with a grunt of resentment.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I gave what I could, while it lasted, from the public fund," he
+explained frankly; "there were new roads to be cut."</p>
+
+<p>"Roads!" shouted the curé. "What are roads in comparison to illness and
+starvation? They came to me," he went on, turning to Alice, "little
+children&mdash;mothers, ill, with little children and not a sou in the house,
+and none to be earned fishing. Old men crying for bread for those whom
+they loved. I grew to hate the very thought of the bells; they seemed to
+me a needless luxury among so much misery."</p>
+
+<p>His voice rose until it rang clear in the room.</p>
+
+<p>"I gave it to them," he cried out. "There in my little drawer lay the
+power to save those who were near death from sickness, from dirt, from
+privation!"</p>
+
+<p>Alice's ringless white hands were clenched in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>"And I saw, as I gave," continued the curé, "the end of pain and of
+hunger&mdash;little by little I gave, hoping somehow to replace it, until I
+dared give no more."</p>
+
+<p>He paused, and drew forth from the breast of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>his soutane a small cotton
+sack that had once held his gun wads. "Here is what is left, gentlemen,"
+said he, facing the Municipal Council; "I have counted it at last, four
+hundred and eighty francs, sixty-five centimes."</p>
+
+<p>There were tears now in Alice's eyes; dark eyes that followed the curé's
+with a look of tenderness and pain. The mayor sat breathing irritably.
+As for the Municipal Council, it was evident to Tanrade and myself, that
+not one of these plain, red-eared citizens was eager to send a priest to
+jail&mdash;it was their custom occasionally to go to mass.</p>
+
+<p>"Marianne's illness," continued the curé, "was an important item. You
+seemed to consider her case of typhoid as a malady that would cure
+itself if let alone. Marianne needed care, serious care, strong as she
+was. The girl, Yvonne, she saved from drowning last year, and her baby,
+she still shelters among her own children in her hut. They, too, had to
+be fed; for Marianne was helpless to care for them. There was the little
+boy, too, of the Gavons&mdash;left alone, with a case of measles well
+developed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>when I found him, on the draughty floor of a loft; the mother
+and father had been drunk together for three days at Bar la Rose. And
+there were others&mdash;the Mère Gailliard, who would have been sold out for
+her rent, and poor old Varnet, the fisherman; he had no home, no money,
+no friends; he is eighty-four years old. Most of the winter he slept in
+a hedge under a cast-off sail. I got him a better roof and something for
+his stomach, Monsieur le Maire."</p>
+
+<p>He paused again, and drew out a folded paper from his pocket. "Here is a
+list of all I can remember I have given to, and the amounts as near as I
+can recall them," he declared simply. Again he turned to Alice. "It is
+to you, dear friend, I have come to confess," he continued; "as for you,
+gentlemen, my very life, the church I love, all that this village means
+to me, lies in your hands; I do not beg your mercy. I have sinned and I
+shall take the consequences&mdash;all I ask you to do is to judge fairly the
+error of my ways." Monsieur le Curé took his seat.</p>
+
+<p>"It is for you, Madame de Bréville, to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>decide," said the mayor, after
+some moments conference with the Council, "since the amount in question
+was given by your hand."</p>
+
+<p>Alice rose&mdash;softly she slipped past the Municipal Council of Pont du
+Sable, until she stood looking up into the curé's eyes; then her arms
+went about his strong neck and she kissed him as tenderly as a sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Child!" I heard him murmur.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall give another concert," she whispered in his ear.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 173px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch10-2.png" width="173" height="400" alt="bell" title="bell" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_ELEVEN" id="CHAPTER_ELEVEN"></a></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch11-1.jpg" width="600" height="301" alt="The miser&mdash;Garron" title="The miser&mdash;Garron" />
+</div>
+<h2>CHAPTER ELEVEN</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MISER&mdash;GARRON</h3>
+
+
+<p>We've had a drowning at Pont du Sable. Drownings are not infrequent on
+this rough Norman coast of France. Only last December five able
+fishermen went down within plain sight of the dunes in a roaring white
+sea that gave no quarter. This gale by night became a cyclone; the sea a
+driving hell of water, hail and screaming wind. The barometer dropped to
+twenty-eight. The wind blew at one hundred and twenty kilometers an
+hour. Six fishing boats hailing from Boulogne perished with their crews.
+Their women went by train to Calais, still hoping for news, and returned
+weeping and alone.</p>
+
+<p>At Boulogne the waves burst in spray to a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>height of forty feet over the
+breakwater&mdash;small wonder that the transatlantic liner due there to take
+on passengers, signalled to her plunging tender already in
+danger&mdash;"Going through&mdash;No passengers&mdash;" and proceeded on her way to New
+York.</p>
+
+<p>The sea that night killed with a blow.</p>
+
+<p>This latest drowning at Pont du Sable was a tragedy&mdash;or rather, the
+culmination of a series of tragedies.</p>
+
+<p>"Suicide?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Non</i>&mdash;<i>mon ami</i>&mdash;wait until you hear the whole truth of this plain
+tale."</p>
+
+<p>On my return from shooting this morning, Suzette brought me the news.
+The whole fishing village has known it since daylight.</p>
+
+<p>It seems that the miser, Garron&mdash;Garron's boy&mdash;Garron's woman, Julie,
+and another woman who nobody seems to know much about, are mixed up in
+the affair.</p>
+
+<p>Garron's history I have known for months&mdash;my good friend the curé
+confided to me much concerning the unsavory career of this vagabond of a
+miser, whose hut is on the "Great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> Marsh," back of Pont du Sable. Garron
+and I hailed "<i>bonjour</i>" to each other through the mist at dawn one
+morning, as I chanced to pass by his abode, a wary flight of vignon
+having led me a fruitless chase after them across the great marsh. At a
+distance through the rifts of mist I mistook this isolated hut of
+Garron's for a <i>gabion</i>. As I drew within hailing distance of its owner
+I saw that the hut stood on a point of mud and wire grass that formed
+the forks of the stream that snakes its way through the centre of this
+isolated prairie, and so on out to the open sea, two kilometers beyond.</p>
+
+<p>As shrewd a rascal as Garron needed just such a place to settle on. As
+he returned my <i>bonjour</i>, his woman, Julie, appeared in the low doorway
+of the hut and grinned a greeting to me across the fork of the stream.
+She impressed me as being young, though she was well on in the untold
+forties. Her mass of fair hair&mdash;her ruddy cheeks&mdash;her blue eyes and her
+thick strong body, gave her the appearance of youthful buxomness.</p>
+
+<p>Life must be tough enough with a man like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> Garron. With the sagacity of
+an animal he knew the safety of the open places. By day no one could
+emerge from the far horizon of low woodland skirting the great marsh,
+without its sole inhabitant noting his approach. By night none but as
+clever a poacher as Garron could have found his way across the labyrinth
+of bogs, ditches and pitfalls. Both the hut and the woman cost Garron
+nothing; both were a question of abandoned wreckage.</p>
+
+<p>Garron showed me his hut that morning, inviting me to cross a muddy
+plank as slippery as glass, with which he had spanned the stream, that
+he might get a closer look at me and know what manner of man I was. He
+did not introduce me to the woman, and I took good care, as I crossed
+his threshold and entered the dark living-room with its dirt floor, not
+to force her acquaintance, but instead, ran my eye discreetly over the
+objects in the gloom&mdash;a greasy table littered with dirty dishes, a bed
+hidden under a worn quilt and a fireplace of stones over which an iron
+pot of soup was simmering. Beyond was another apartment, darker than
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>the one in which I stood&mdash;a sort of catch-all for the refuse of the
+former.</p>
+
+<p>The whole of this disreputable shack was built of the wreckage of honest
+ships. It might have been torn down and reassembled into some sort of a
+decent craft. Part of a stout rudder with its heavy iron hinges, served
+as the door. For years it had guided some good ship safe into port&mdash;then
+the wreck occurred. For weeks after&mdash;months, perhaps&mdash;it had drifted at
+sea until it found a resting place on the beach and was stolen by Garron
+to serve him as a strong barrier.</p>
+
+<p>Garron had a bad record&mdash;you saw this in his small shifty black eyes,
+that evaded your own when you spoke to him, and were riveted upon you
+the moment your back was turned. He was older than the woman&mdash;possibly
+fifty years of age, when I first met him, and, though he lived in the
+open, there was a ghastly pallor in his hard face with its determined,
+square jaw&mdash;a visage well seamed by sin&mdash;and crowned by a shock of black
+hair streaked with gray. In body he was short, with unusually <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>broad
+shoulders and unnaturally long arms. Physically he was as strong as an
+ape, yet I believe the woman could easily have strangled him with her
+bare hands. Garron had been a hard drinker in his youth, a capable thief
+and a skilful poacher. His career in civilization ended when he was
+young and&mdash;it is said&mdash;good-looking.</p>
+
+<p>Some twenty-five years ago&mdash;so the curé tells me&mdash;Garron worked one
+summer for a rich cattle dealer named Villette, on his farm some sixty
+kilometers back of the great marsh. Villette was one of those big,
+silent Normans, who spoke only when it was worth while, and was known
+for his brusqueness and his honesty. He was a giant in build&mdash;a man
+whose big hands and feet moved slowly but surely; a man who avoided
+making intimate friendships and was both proud and rich&mdash;proud of his
+goods and chattels&mdash;of his vast grazing lands and his livestock&mdash;proud
+too, of his big stone farmhouse with its ancient courtyard flanked by
+his stone barns and his entrance gate whose walls were as thick as those
+of some feudal <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>stronghold; proud, too, of his wife&mdash;a plump little
+woman with a merry eye and whom he never suspected of being madly
+infatuated with his young farm hand, Garron.</p>
+
+<p>Their love affair culminated in an open scandal. The woman lacked both
+the shrewdness and discretion of her lover; he had poached for years and
+had never been caught;&mdash;it is, therefore, safe to say he would as
+skilfully have managed to evade suspicion as far as the woman was
+concerned, had not things gone from bad to worse.</p>
+
+<p>Villette discovered this too late; Garron had suddenly disappeared,
+leaving madame to weather the scandal and the divorce that followed.
+More than this, young Garron took with him ten thousand francs belonging
+to the woman, who had been fool enough to lend him her heart&mdash;a sum out
+of her personal fortune which, for reasons of her own, she deemed it
+wisest not to mention.</p>
+
+<p>With ten thousand francs in bank notes next his skin, Garron took the
+shortest cut out of the neighbourhood. He travelled by night and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>slept
+by day, keeping to the unfrequented wood roads and trails secreted
+between the thick hedges, hidden by-ways that had proved their value
+during the guerilla warfares that were so successfully waged in Normandy
+generations ago. Three days later Garron passed through the modest
+village of Hirondelette, an unknown vagabond. He looked so poor that a
+priest in passing gave him ten sous.</p>
+
+<p>"Courage, my son," counselled the good man&mdash;"you will get work soon. Try
+the farm below, they are in need of hands."</p>
+
+<p>"May you never be in want, father," Garron strangled out huskily in
+reply. Then he slunk on to the next farm and begged his dinner. The bank
+notes no longer crinkled when he walked; they had taken the contour of
+his hairy chest. Every now and then he stopped and clutched them to see
+if they were safe, and twice he counted and recounted them in a ditch.</p>
+
+<p>With the Great Marsh as a safe refuge in his crafty mind, he passed by
+the next sundown back of Pont du Sable; slept again in a hedge, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>and by
+dawn had reached the marsh. Most of that day he wandered over it looking
+for a site for his hut. He chose the point at the forks of the
+stream&mdash;no one in those days, save a lone hunter ever came there.
+Moreover, there was another safeguard. The Great Marsh was too cut up by
+ditches and bogs to graze cattle on, hence no one to tend them, and the
+more complete the isolation of its sole inhabitant.</p>
+
+<p>Having decided on the point, he set about immediately to build his hut.
+The sooner housed the better, thought Garron, besides, the packet next
+his chest needed a safe hiding place.</p>
+
+<p>For days the curlews, circling high above the marsh, watched him snaking
+driftwood from the beach up the crooked stream to the point at the
+forks. The rope he dragged them with he stole from a fisherman's boat
+picketed for the night beyond the dunes. When he had gathered a
+sufficient amount of timber he went into Pont du Sable with three hares
+he had snared and traded them for a few bare neces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>sities&mdash;an old saw, a
+rusty hammer and some new nails. He worked steadily. By the end of a
+fortnight he had finished the hut. When it was done he fashioned (for he
+possessed considerable skill as a carpenter) a clever hiding place in
+the double wall of oak for his treasure. Then he nailed up his door and
+went in search of a mate.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>He found her after dark&mdash;this girl to his liking&mdash;at the <i>fête</i> in the
+neighbouring village of Avelot. She turned and leered at him as he
+nudged her elbow, the lights from the merry-go-round she stood watching
+illumining her wealth of fair hair and her strong young figure
+silhouetted against the glare. Garron had studied her shrewdly, singling
+her out in the group of village girls laughing with their sweethearts.
+The girl he nudged he saw did not belong to the village&mdash;moreover, she
+was barefooted, mischievously drunk, and flushed with riding on the
+wooden horses. She was barely eighteen. She laughed outright as he
+gripped her strong arm, and opened her wanton mouth wide, show<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>ing her
+even, white teeth. In return for her welcome he slapped her strong waist
+soundly.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Allons-y</i>&mdash;what do you say to a glass, <i>ma belle</i>?" ventured Garron
+with a grin.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben!</i> I don't say no," she laughed again, in reply.</p>
+
+<p>He felt her turn instinctively toward him&mdash;there was already something
+in common between these two. He pushed her ahead of him through the
+group with a certain familiar authority. When they were free of the
+crowd and away from the lights his arm went about her sturdy neck and he
+crushed her warm mouth to his own.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Allons-y</i>&mdash;" he repeated&mdash;"Come and have a glass."</p>
+
+<p>They had crossed in the mud to a dingy tent lighted by a lantern; here
+they seated themselves on a rough bench at a board table, his arm still
+around her. She turned to leer at him now, half closing her clear blue
+eyes. When he had swallowed his first thimbleful of applejack he spat,
+and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, while the girl grew
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>garrulous under the warmth of the liquor and his rough affection. Again
+she gave him her lips between two wet oaths. No one paid any attention
+to them&mdash;it was what a <i>fête</i> was made for. For a while they left their
+glasses and danced with the rest to the strident music of the
+merry-go-round organ.</p>
+
+<p>It was long after midnight when Garron paid his score under the tent.
+She had told him much in the meantime&mdash;there was no one to care whom she
+followed. She told him, too, she had come to the <i>fête</i> from a hamlet
+called Les Forêts, where she had been washing for a woman. The moon was
+up when they took the highroad together, following it until it reached
+the beginning of Pont du Sable, then Garron led the way abruptly to the
+right up a tangled lane that ran to an old woodroad that he used to gain
+the Great Marsh. They went lurching along together in comparative
+silence, the man steadying the girl through the dark places where the
+trees shut out the moon. Garron knew the road as well as his pocket&mdash;it
+was a favourite with him when he did not wish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>to be seen. Now and then
+the girl sang in a maudlin way:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"<i>Entrez, entrez, messieurs,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>C'est l'amour qui vous attend.</i>"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>It was gray dawn when they reached the edge of the Great Marsh that lay
+smothered under a blanket of chill mist.</p>
+
+<p>"It is over there, my nest," muttered Garron, with a jerk of his thumb
+indicating the direction in which his hut lay. Again he drew her roughly
+to him.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dis donc, toi!</i>" he demanded brusquely: "how do they call you?" It had
+not, until then, occurred to him to ask her name.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben</i>&mdash;Julie," she replied. "It's a <i>sacré</i> little name I never
+liked. <i>Eh, tu sais</i>," she added slowly&mdash;"when I don't like a thing&mdash;"
+she drew back a little and gazed at him sullenly&mdash;"<i>Eh ben</i>&mdash;I am like
+that when I don't like a thing." Her flash of temper pleased him&mdash;he had
+had enough of the trustful kitten of Villette's.</p>
+
+<p>"Come along," said he gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dis donc, toi</i>," she returned without moving.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> "It is well understood
+then about my dress and the shoes?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mais oui! Bon Dieu!</i>" replied the peasant irritably. He was hungry and
+wanted his soup. He swore at the chill as he led the way across the
+marsh while she followed in his tracks, satisfied with his promise of
+the dress and shoes. She wanted a blue dress and she had seen the shoes
+that pleased her some months before in the grocery at Pont du Sable when
+a dog and she had dragged a fisherwoman in her cart for their board and
+lodging.</p>
+
+<p>By the time they reached the forks of the stream the rising sun had
+melted the blanket of the mist until it lay over the desolate prairie in
+thin rifts of rose vapour.</p>
+
+<p>It was thus the miser, Garron, found his mate.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Julie proved to be a fair cook, and the two lived together, at the
+beginning, in comparative peace. Although it was not until days after
+the <i>fête</i> at Avelot that she managed to hold him to his promise about
+the blue dress, he sent her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>to Pont du Sable for her shoes the day
+after their arrival on the marsh&mdash;she bought them and they hurt her. The
+outcome of this was their first quarrel.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacré bon Dieu!</i>" he snarled&mdash;"thou art never content!" Then he struck
+her with the back of his clenched fist and, womanlike, she went
+whimpering to bed. Neither he nor she thought much of the blow. Her mind
+was on the shoes that did not fit.</p>
+
+<p>When she was well asleep and snoring, he ran his sinewy arm in the hole
+he had made in the double wall&mdash;lifted the end of a short, heavy plank,
+caught it back against a nail and gripped the packet of bank notes that
+lay snug beneath it. Satisfied they were safe and his mate still asleep,
+he replaced the plank over his fortune&mdash;crossed the dirt floor to his
+barrier of a door, dropped an iron rod through two heavy staples,
+securely bolting it&mdash;blew out the tallow dip thrust in the neck of an
+empty bottle, and went to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Months passed&mdash;months that were bleak and wintry enough on the marsh for
+even a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>hare to take to the timber for comfort. During most of that
+winter Garron peddled the skins of rabbits he snared on the marsh, and
+traded and bought their pelts, and he lived poor that no one might
+suspect his wealth. He and his mate rose, like the wild fowl, with the
+sun and went to bed with it, to save the light of the tallow dip. Though
+I have said she could easily have strangled him with her hands, she
+refrained. Twice, when she lay half awake she had seen him run his wiry
+arm in the wall&mdash;one night she had heard the lifting of the heavy plank
+and the faint crinkling sound of the package as he gripped it. She had
+long before this suspected he had money hidden.</p>
+
+<p>Julie was no fool!</p>
+
+<p>With the spring the marsh became more tenable. The smallest song birds
+from the woods flitted along the ditches; there were days, too, when the
+desolate prairie became soft&mdash;hazy&mdash;and inviting.</p>
+
+<p>At daybreak, the beginning of one of these delicious spring days,
+Garron, hearing a sharp cry without, rose abruptly and unbolted his
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>barrier. He would have stepped out and across his threshold had not his
+bare foot touched something heavy and soft. He looked down&mdash;still half
+asleep&mdash;then he started back in a sort of dull amazement. The thing his
+foot had touched was a bundle&mdash;a rolled and well-wrapped blanket, tied
+with a stout string. The sharp cry he had heard he now realized, issued
+from the folds of the blanket. Garron bent over it, his thumb and
+forefinger uncovering the face of a baby.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sacristi!</i>" he stammered&mdash;then leaned back heavily against the old
+rudder of a door. Julie heard and crawled out of bed. She was peering
+over his shoulder at the bundle at his feet before he knew it.</p>
+
+<p>Garron half wheeled and faced her as her breath touched his coarse ear.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh bien!</i> what is it?" he exclaimed, searching vainly for something
+else to say.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben! &Ccedil;a! Nom de Dieu!</i>" returned his mate nodding to the bundle.
+"It is pretty&mdash;that!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Tu m'accuses, hein?</i>" he snarled.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"They do not leave bundles of that kind at the wrong door," she retorted
+in reply, half closing her blue eyes and her red hands.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Allons! allons!</i>" he exclaimed with heat, still at a loss for his
+words.</p>
+
+<p>With her woman's instinct she brushed past him and started to pick up
+the bundle, but he was too quick for her and drew her roughly back,
+gripping her waist so sharply that he felt her wince.</p>
+
+<p>"It does not pass like that!" he cried sharply. "<i>Eh ben!</i> listen to me.
+I'm too old a rat to be made a fool of&mdash;to be tricked like that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Tricked!" she laughed back&mdash;"No, my old one&mdash;it is as simple as
+<i>bonjour</i>, and since it is thine thou wilt keep it. Thou'lt&mdash;keep what
+thou&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The pent-up rage within him leaped to his throat:</p>
+
+<p>"It does not pass like that!" he roared. With his clenched fist he
+struck her squarely across the mouth. He saw her sink limp to the
+ground, bleeding, her head buried between her knees. Then he picked up
+the child and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>started with it across the plank that spanned the fork of
+the stream. A moment later, still dizzy from the blow, she saw him
+dimly, making rapidly across the marsh toward a bend in the stream. Then
+the love of a mother welled up within her and she got to her feet and
+followed him.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay where thou art!" he shouted back threateningly.</p>
+
+<p>The child in his arms was screaming. She saw his hand cover its
+throat&mdash;the next moment she had reached him and her two hands were about
+his own in a grip that sent him choking to his knees. The child rolled
+from his arms still screaming, and the woman who was strangling Garron
+into obedience now sank her knee in his back until she felt him give up.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Assez!</i>" he grunted out when he could breathe.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben!</i> I am like <i>that</i> when I don't like a thing!" she cried,
+savagely repeating her old words. He looked up and saw a dangerous gleam
+in her eyes. "<i>Ah, mais oui alors!</i>" she shouted defiantly. "Since it is
+thine thou wilt keep it!"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Garron did not reply. She knew the fight was out of him and picked up
+the still screaming baby, which she hugged to her breast, crooning over
+it while Garron got lamely to his feet. Without another word she started
+back to the hut, Garron following his mate and his son in silence.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Years passed and the boy grew up on the marsh, tolerated by Garron and
+idolized and spoiled by Julie&mdash;years that transformed the black-eyed
+baby into a wiry, reckless young rascal of sixteen with all the vagabond
+nature of his father&mdash;straight and slim, with the clear-cut features of
+a gypsy. A year later the brother of Madame Villette, a well-known
+figure on the Paris Bourse, appeared and after a satisfactory
+arrangement with Garron, took the boy with him to Paris to be educated.</p>
+
+<p>It was hard on Julie, who adored him. Her consent was not even asked,
+but at the time she consoled herself with the conviction, however, that
+the good fortune that had fallen to the lot of the baby she had saved,
+was for the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>best. The uncle was rich&mdash;that in itself appealed strongly
+to her peasant mind. That, and her secret knowledge of Garron's fortune,
+for she had discovered and counted it herself and, motherlike, told the
+boy.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>In Paris the attempt to educate Jacques Baptiste Garron was an expensive
+experiment. When he went to bed at all it was only when the taverns and
+cafés along the "Boul-miche" closed before dawn. Even then he and his
+band of idle students found other retreats and more glasses in the
+all-night cafés near the Halles. And so he ate and drank and slept and
+made love to any little outcast who pleased him&mdash;one of these amiable
+<i>petites femmes</i>&mdash;the inside of whose pocketbook was well greased with
+rouge&mdash;became his devoted slave.</p>
+
+<p>She was proud of this handsome devil-may-care "type" of hers and her
+jealousy was something to see to believe. Little by little she dominated
+him until he ran heavily in debt. She even managed the uncle when the
+nephew failed&mdash;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>she was a shrewd little brat&mdash;small and tense as wire,
+with big brown eyes and hair that was sometimes golden and sometimes a
+dry Titian red, according to her choice. Once, when she left him for two
+days, Garron threatened to kill himself.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Pauvre gosse!</i>" she said sympathizingly on her return&mdash;and embraced
+him back to sanity.</p>
+
+<p>The real grain of saneness left in young Garron was his inborn love of a
+gun. It was the gun which brought him down from Paris, back to the Great
+Marsh now and then when the ducks were on flight.</p>
+
+<p>He had his own <i>gabion</i> now at the lower end of the bay at Pont du
+Sable, in which he slept and shot from nights when the wind was
+northeast&mdash;a comfortable, floating box of a duck-blind sunk in an outer
+jacket of tarred planks and chained to a heavy picket driven in the mud
+and wire grass, for the current ran dangerously strong there when the
+tide was running out.</p>
+
+<p>Late in October young Garron left Paris suddenly and the girl with the
+Titian hair was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>with him. He, like his father, needed a safe refuge.
+Pressed by his creditors he had forged his uncle's name. The only way
+out of the affair was to borrow from Julie to hush up the matter. It did
+not occur to him at the time how she would feel about the girl; neither
+did he realize that he had grown to be an arrogant young snob who now
+treated Julie, who had saved his life, and pampered him, more like a
+servant than a foster-mother.</p>
+
+<p>The night young Garron arrived was at the moment of the highest tides.
+The four supped together that night in the hut&mdash;the father silent and
+sullen throughout the meal and Julie insanely jealous of the girl. Later
+old Garron went off across the marsh in the moonlight to look after his
+snares.</p>
+
+<p>When the three were alone Julie turned to the boy. For some moments she
+regarded him shrewdly. She saw he was no longer the wild young savage
+she had brought up; there was a certain nervous, blasé feebleness about
+his movements as he sat uneasily in his chair, his hands thrust in the
+pockets of his hunting coat, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>his chin sunk on his chest. She noticed
+too, the unnatural redness of his lips and the haggard pallor about his
+thin, sunken cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben, mon petit</i>&mdash;" she began at length. "It is a poor place to get
+fat in, your Paris! They don't feed you any too well&mdash;<i>hein?</i>&mdash;Those
+grand restaurants you talk so much about. Pouf!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Penses-tu?</i>" added the girl, since Garron did not reply. Instead he
+lighted a fresh cigarette, took two long puffs from it, and threw it on
+the floor.</p>
+
+<p>The girl, angered at his silence and lack of courage, gave him a vicious
+glance.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Hélas!</i>" sighed Julie, "you were quicker with your tongue when you
+were a baby."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ah zut!</i>" exclaimed the girl in disgust. "He has something to tell
+you&mdash;" she blurted out to Julie.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh ben!</i> What?" demanded Julie firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"I need some money," muttered the boy doggedly. "I <i>need it!!</i>" he cried
+suddenly, gaining courage in a sort of nervous hysteria.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Julie stared at him in amazement, the girl watching her like a lynx.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon Dieu!</i>" shouted Julie. "And it is because of <i>that</i> you sit there
+like a sick cat! Listen to me, my little one. Eat the good grease like
+the rest of us and be content if you keep out of jail."</p>
+
+<p>The boy sank lower in his chair.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be jail for me," he said, "unless you help me. Give me five
+hundred francs. I tell you I am in a bad fix. <i>Sacré bon Dieu!</i>&mdash;you
+<i>shall</i> give it to me!" he cried, half springing from his chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Shut up, thou," whispered the girl&mdash;"not so fast!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think it rains money here?" returned Julie, closing her red
+fists upon the table, "that all you have to do is to ask for it? <i>Ah,
+mais non, alors!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>The boy slunk back in his chair staring at the tallow dip
+disconsolately. The girl gritted her small teeth&mdash;somehow, she felt
+abler than he to get it out of Julie in the end.</p>
+
+<p>"You stole it, <i>hein?</i>" cried Julie, "like your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>father. Name of a dog!
+it is the same old trick that, and it brings no good. <i>Allons!</i>" she
+resumed after a short pause. "<i>Dépêche toi!</i> Get out for your ducks&mdash;I'm
+going to bed."</p>
+
+<p>"Give me four hundred," pleaded the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a sou!" cried Julie, bringing her fist down on the greasy table,
+and she shot a jealous glance at the girl.</p>
+
+<p>Without a word, young Garron rose dejectedly, got into his goatskin
+coat, picked up his gun and, turning, beckoned to the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on!" she cried; "I'll come later."</p>
+
+<p>"He is an infant," said she to Julie, when young Garron had closed the
+door behind him. "He has no courage. You know the fix we are in&mdash;the
+Commissaire of Police in Paris already has word of it."</p>
+
+<p>Julie did not reply; she still sat with her clenched fists outstretched
+on the table.</p>
+
+<p>"He has forged his uncle's check," snapped the girl.</p>
+
+<p>Julie did not reply.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ah, c'est comme ça!</i>" sneered the girl with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>a cool laugh&mdash;"and when
+he is in jail," she cried aloud, "<i>Eh, bien&mdash;quoi?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"He will not have <i>you</i>, then," returned Julie faintly.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah&mdash;&mdash;" she exclaimed. She slipped her tense little body into her thick
+automobile coat and with a contemptuous toss of her chin passed out into
+the night, leaving the door open.</p>
+
+<p>"Jacques!" she called shrilly&mdash;"Jacques!&mdash;<i>Attends.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon!</i>" came his voice faintly in reply from afar on the marsh.</p>
+
+<p>After some moments Julie got slowly to her feet, crossed the dirt floor
+of the hut and closing the door dropped the bar through the staples.
+Then for the space of some minutes she stood by the table struggling
+with a jealous rage that made her strong knees tremble. She who had
+saved his life, who had loved him from babyhood&mdash;she told herself&mdash;and
+what had he done for her in return? The great Paris that she knew
+nothing of had stolen him; Paris had given him <i>her</i>&mdash;that little viper
+with her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>red mouth; Paris had ruined him&mdash;had turned him into a thief
+like his father. Silently she cursed his uncle. Then her rage reverted
+again to the girl. She thought too, of her own life with Garron&mdash;of all
+its miserly hardships. "They have given me nothing&mdash;" she sobbed
+aloud&mdash;"nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Five hundred francs would save him!" she told herself. She caught her
+breath, then little by little again the motherly warmth stole up into
+her breast deadening for the moment the pain of her jealousy. She
+straightened to her full height, squaring her broad shoulders like a man
+and stepped across to the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"It is as much mine as it is his," she said between her teeth.</p>
+
+<p>She ran her arm into the hole in the wall, lifted the heavy plank and
+drew out a knitted sock tied with a stout string. From the toe she drew
+out Garron's fortune.</p>
+
+<p>"He shall have it&mdash;the <i>gosse</i>&mdash;" she said, "and the rest&mdash;is as much
+mine as it is his."</p>
+
+<p>She thrust the package in her breast.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later Julie stood, scarcely breathing, her ear to the
+locked door of his <i>gabion</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"A pretty lot you came from," she overheard the girl say, "that old cat
+would sooner see you go to jail." The rest of her words were half lost
+in the rush and suck of the tide slipping out from the <i>gabion's</i> outer
+jacket of boards. The heavy chain clinked taut with the pull of the
+outgoing tide, then relaxed in the back rush of water.</p>
+
+<p>"Bah!" she heard him reply, "they are pigs, those peasants. I was a fool
+to have gone to them for help."</p>
+
+<p>"You had better have gone to the old man," taunted the girl, "as I told
+you at first."</p>
+
+<p>"He is made of the same miserly grizzle as she," he retorted hotly.
+Again the outrush of the tide drowned their words.</p>
+
+<p>Julie clenched her red fists and drew a long breath. A sudden frenzy
+seized her. Before she realized what she was doing, she had crawled in
+the mud on her hands and knees to the heavy picket. Here she waited
+until the backward <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>rush again slackened the chain, then she half drew
+the iron pin that held the last link. Half drew it! Had the girl been
+alone, she told herself, she would have given her to the ebb tide.</p>
+
+<p>Julie rose to her feet and turned back across the marsh, unconscious
+that the last link was nearly free and that the jerk and pull of the
+outgoing tide was little by little freeing the pin from the link.</p>
+
+<p>She kept on her way, towards a hidden wood road that led down to the
+marsh at the far end of Pont du Sable and beyond.</p>
+
+<p>She was done with the locality forever. Garron's money was still in her
+breast.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>At the first glimmer of dawn the next morning, the short, solitary
+figure of a man prowled the beach. He was hatless and insane with rage.
+In one hand he gripped an empty sock. He would halt now and then and
+wave his long, ape-like arms&mdash;cursing the deep strip of sea water that
+prevented him from crossing to the hard desert of sand beyond&mdash;far out
+upon which lay an upturned <i>gabion</i>. Within this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>locked and stranded
+box lay two dead bodies. Crabs fought their way eagerly through the
+cracks of the water-sprung door, and over it, breasting the salt breeze,
+slowly circled a cormorant&mdash;curious and amazed at so strange a thing at
+low tide.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch11-2.png" width="500" height="254" alt="the upturned gabion" title="the upturned gabion" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><a name="CHAPTER_TWELVE" id="CHAPTER_TWELVE"></a></p>
+
+
+<h2>CHAPTER TWELVE</h2>
+
+<h3>MIDWINTER FLIGHTS</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch12-1.jpg" width="600" height="311" alt="game birds on the marsh" title="game birds on the marsh" />
+</div>
+
+<p>One dines there much too well.</p>
+
+<p>This snug Restaurant des Rois stands back from the grand boulevard in a
+slit of a street so that its ancient windows peer out askance at the gay
+life streaming by the corner.</p>
+
+<p>The burgundy at "Les Rois" warms the soul, and the Chablis! Ah! where
+else in all Paris is there such Chablis? golden, sound and clear as
+topaz. Chablis, I hold, should be drank by some merry blonde whose heart
+is light; Burgundy by a brunette in a temper.</p>
+
+<p>The small café on the ground floor is painted white, relieved by a
+frieze of gilded garlands and topped by a ceiling frescoed with rosy
+nymphs romping in a smoked turquoise sky.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Between five and seven o'clock these midwinter afternoons the café is
+filled with its <i>habitués</i>&mdash;distinguished old Frenchmen, who sip their
+absinthe leisurely enough to glance over the leading articles in the
+conservative <i>Temps</i> or the slightly gayer <i>Figaro</i>. Upstairs, by means
+of a spiral stairway, is a labyrinth of narrow, low-ceiled corridors
+leading to half a dozen stuffy little <i>cabinets particuliers</i>, about
+whose faded lambrequins and green velveted chairs there still lurks the
+scent of perfumes once in vogue with the gallants, beaux and belles of
+the Second Empire.</p>
+
+<p>Alice de Bréville, Tanrade, and myself, are dining to-night in one of
+these <i>intime</i> little rooms. The third to the left down the corridor.</p>
+
+<p><i>Sapristi!</i> what a change in Tanrade. He is becoming a responsible
+person&mdash;-he has even grown neat and punctual&mdash;he who used to pound at
+the door of my house abandoned by the marsh at Pont du Sable, an hour
+late for dinner, dressed in a fisherman's sea-going overalls of brown
+canvas, a pair of sabots and a hat that any passing vagabond might have
+discarded <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span>by the roadside. I could not help noticing carefully to-night
+his new suit of black broadcloth, with its standing collar, buttoned up
+under his genial chin. His black hair is neatly combed and his
+broad-brimmed hat that hangs over my own on the wall, is but three days
+old. Thus had this <i>bon garçon</i> who had won the Prix de Rome been
+transformed&mdash;-and Alice was responsible, I knew, for the change. Who
+would not change anything for so exquisite and dear a friend as Alice?
+She, too, was in black, without a jewel&mdash;a gown which her lithe body
+wore with all its sveltness&mdash;a gown that matched her dark eyes and hair,
+accentuating the clean-cut delicacy of her features and the ivory
+clearness of her olive skin. She was a very merry Alice to-night, for
+her long engagement at the Bouffes Parisiennes was at an end. And she
+had been making the best of her freedom by keeping Tanrade hard at work
+over the score of his new ballet. They are more in love with each other
+than ever&mdash;so much so that they insist on my dining with them, and so
+these little dinners of three at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> "Les Rois" have become almost nightly
+occurrences. It is often so with those in love to be generous to an old
+friend&mdash;even lovers have need of company.</p>
+
+<p>We were lingering over our coffee when the talk reverted to the new
+ballet.</p>
+
+<p>"It is done, <i>ma chérie</i>," declared Tanrade, in reply to an imperative
+inquiry from Alice. "Bavière shall have the whole of the second act
+to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"And the ballet in the third?" she asked sternly, lifting her brilliant
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh, voilà!</i>" laughed that good fellow, as he drew forth from his
+pocket a thin roll of manuscript and spread it out before her, that she
+might see&mdash;but it was not discreet for me to continue, neither is it
+good form to embrace before the old <i>garçon de café</i>, who at that moment
+entered apologetically with the liqueurs&mdash;as for myself, I have long
+since ceased to count in such tender moments of reward, during which I
+am of no more consequence than a faithful poodle.</p>
+
+<p>Again the garçon entered, this time with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>smiling assurance, for <a name="Page_343t" id="Page_343t"></a><a href="#Page_343tn">he</a>
+brought me a telegram forwarded from my studio by my concierge. I opened
+the despatch: the next instant I jumped to my feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Read!" I cried, poking the blue slip under Tanrade's nose, "it's from
+the curé."</p>
+
+<p>"Howling northeast gale"&mdash;Tanrade read aloud&mdash;"Duck and geese&mdash;come
+midnight train, bring two hundred fours, one hundred double zeros for
+ten bore."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Vive le curé!</i>" I shouted, "the good old boy to let us know. A
+northeast gale at last&mdash;a howler," he says.</p>
+
+<p>"He is charming&mdash;the curé," breathed Alice, her breast
+heaving&mdash;"Charming!" she repeated in a voice full of suppressed emotion.</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade did not speak. He had let the despatch slip to the floor and sat
+staring at his glass.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll come, of course," I said with sudden apprehension, but he only
+shook his head. "What! you're not going?" I exclaimed in amazement.
+"We'll kill fifty ducks a night&mdash;it's the gale we've been waiting for."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I saw the sullen gleam that had crept into Alice's eyes soften; she drew
+near him&mdash;she barely touched his arm:</p>
+
+<p>"Go, <i>mon cher</i>!" she said simply&mdash;"if you wish."</p>
+
+<p>He lifted his head with a grim smile, and I saw their eyes meet. I well
+knew what was passing in his mind&mdash;his promise to her to work&mdash;more than
+this, I knew he had not the heart to leave her during her well-earned
+rest.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ah! les hommes!</i>" Alice exclaimed, turning to me impetuously&mdash;"you are
+quite crazy, you hunters."</p>
+
+<p>I bowed in humble apology and again her dark eyes softened to
+tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Non</i>&mdash;forgive me, <i>mon ami</i>," she went on, "you are sane enough until
+news comes of those wretched little ducks, then, <i>mon Dieu!</i> there is no
+holding you. Everything else goes out of your head; you become as mad as
+children rushing to a fête. Is it not so?"</p>
+
+<p>Still Tanrade was silent. Now and then he gave a shrug of his big
+shoulders and toyed with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>his half empty glass of liqueur. <i>Sapristi!</i>
+it is not easy to decide between the woman you love and a northeast gale
+thrashing the marsh in front of my house abandoned. He, like myself,
+could already picture in his mind's eye duck after duck plunge out of
+the night among our live decoys. My ears, like his own, were already
+ringing with the roar of the guns from the <i>gabions</i>&mdash;I could not resist
+a last appeal.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," I insisted&mdash;"both of you&mdash;no&mdash;seriously&mdash;listen to me. There is
+plenty of dry wood in the garret; you shall have the <i>chambre d'amis</i>,
+dear friend, and this brute of a composer shall bunk in my room&mdash;we'll
+live, and shoot and be happy. Suzette will be overjoyed at your coming.
+Let me wire her to have breakfast ready for us?"</p>
+
+<p>Alice laughed softly: "You are quite crazy, my poor friend," she said,
+laying her white hand on my shoulder. "You will freeze down there in
+that stone house of yours. Oh, la! la!" she sighed knowingly&mdash;"the leaks
+for the wind&mdash;the cold bedrooms, the cold stone floors&mdash;B-r-r-h-h!"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Tanrade straightened back in his chair: "No," said he, "it is
+impossible; Bavière can not wait. He must have his score. The rehearsals
+have been delayed long enough as it is&mdash;Go, <i>mon vieux</i>, and good luck
+to you!"</p>
+
+<p>Again the old garçon entered, this time with the timetable I had sent
+him for in a hurry.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Voilà</i>, monsieur!" he began excitedly, his thumbnail indicating the
+line&mdash;"the 12.18, as monsieur sees, is an express&mdash;monsieur will not
+have to change at Lisieux."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bon!</i>" I cried&mdash;"quick&mdash;a taxi-auto."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bien</i>, monsieur&mdash;a good hunt to monsieur," and he rushed out into the
+narrow corridor and down the spiral stairs while I hurried into my coat
+and hat.</p>
+
+<p>Tanrade gripped my hand:</p>
+
+<p>"Shoot straight!" he counselled with a smile. Alice gave me her cheek,
+which I reverently kissed and murmured my apologies for my insistence in
+her small ear. Then I swung open the door and made for the spiral
+stairs. At the bottom step I stopped short. I had completely forgotten I
+should not return until <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>after New Year's, and I rushed back to wish
+them a <i>Bonne Année</i> in advance, but I closed the door of the stuffy
+little <i>cabinet particulier</i> quicker than I opened it, for her arms were
+about the sturdy neck of a good comrade whose self-denial made me feel
+like the mad infant rushing to the fête.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bonne Année, mes enfants!</i>" I called from the corridor, but they did
+not hear.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later I reached my studio, dumped three hundred cartridges
+into a worn valise and caught the 12.18 with four minutes to spare.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p><i>Enfin!</i> it is winter in earnest!</p>
+
+<p>The northeast gale gave, while it lasted, the best shooting the curé and
+I have ever had. Then the wind shifted to the southwest with a falling
+barometer, and the flights ceased. Again, for three days, the Norman
+coast has been thrashed by squalls of driving snow. The wild geese are
+honking in V-shaped lines to an inland refuge for the white sea is no
+longer tenable. Curlews cry hoarsely over the frozen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>fields. It is
+tough enough lying hidden in my sand pit on the open beach beyond the
+dunes, where I crack away at the ricketing flights of fat gray plover
+and beat myself to keep warm. Fuel is scarce and there is hardly a sou
+to be earned fishing in such cruel weather as this.</p>
+
+<p>The country back of my house abandoned by the marsh is now stripped to
+bare actualities&mdash;all things are reduced to their proper size. Houses,
+barns and the skeletons of leafless trees stand out, naked facts in the
+landscape. The orchards are soggy in mud and the once green feathery
+lane back of my house abandoned, is now a rough gash of frozen pools and
+rotten leaves.</p>
+
+<p>Birds twitter in the thin hedges.</p>
+
+<p>I would never have believed my wild garden, once so full of mystery&mdash;gay
+flowers, sunshine and droning bees, to be so modest in size. A few
+rectangles of bare, frozen ground, and a clinging vine trembling against
+the old wall, is all that remains, save the scraggly little fruit trees
+green with moss. Beyond, in a haze of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>chill sea mist, lie the
+woodlands, long undulating ribbons of gray twigs crouching under a
+leaden sky.</p>
+
+<p>In the cavernous cider press whose doors creak open within my courtyard
+Père Bordier and a boy in eartabs, are busy making cider. If you stop
+and listen you can hear the cider trickling into the cask and Père
+Bordier encouraging the patient horse who circles round and round a
+great stone trough in which revolve two juggernauts of wooden wheels.
+The place reeks with the ooze and drip of crushed apples. The giant
+screw of oak, the massive beams, seen dimly in the gloomy light that
+filters through a small barred window cut through the massive stone
+wall, gives the old pressoir the appearance of some feudal torture
+chamber. Blood ran once, and people shrieked in such places&mdash;as these.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>To-morrow begins the new year and every peasant girl's cheeks are
+scrubbed bright and her hair neatly dressed, for to-morrow all France
+embraces&mdash;so the cheeks are rosy in readiness.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Tiens</i>, mademoiselle!" exclaims the butcher's boy clattering into my
+kitchen in his sabots.</p>
+
+<p><i>Eh, voilà!</i> My good little maid-of-all-work, Suzette, has been kissed
+by the butcher's boy and a moment later by Père Bordier, who has left
+the cider press for a steaming bowl of <i>café au lait</i>; and ten minutes
+later by the Mère <a name="Page_350t1" id="Page_350t1"></a><a href="#Page_350tn">Péquin</a> who brings the milk, and then in turn by the
+postman&mdash;by her master, by the boy in eartabs and by every child in the
+village since daylight for they have entered my courtyard in droves to
+wish the household of my house abandoned a happy new year, and have gone
+away content with their little <a name="Page_350t2" id="Page_350t2"></a><a href="#Page_350tn">stomachs</a> filled and two big sous in their
+pockets.</p>
+
+<p>And now an old fisherman enters my door. It is the Père Varnet&mdash;he who
+goes out with his sheep dog to dig clams, since he is eighty-four and
+too old to go to sea.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ah, malheur!</i>" he sighs wearily, lifting his cap with a trembling hand
+as seamed and tough as his tarpaulin. "Ah, the bad luck," he repeats in
+a thin, husky voice. "I would not have deranged monsieur, but <i>bon
+Dieu</i>, I am hungry.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> I have had no bread since yesterday. It is a little
+beast this hunger, monsieur. There are no clams&mdash;I have searched from
+the great bank to Tocqueville."</p>
+
+<p>It is surprising how quick Suzette can heat the milk.</p>
+
+<p>The old man is now seated in her kitchen before a cold duck of the
+curé's killing and hot coffee&mdash;real coffee with a stiff drink of
+applejack poured into it, and there is bread and cheese besides. Like
+hungry men, he eats in silence and when he has eaten he tells me his dog
+is dead&mdash;that woolly sheep dog of his with a cast in one fishy green
+eye.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Oui</i>, monsieur," confided the old man, "he is dead. He was all I had
+left. It is not gay, monsieur, at eighty-four to lose one's last
+friend&mdash;to have him poisoned."</p>
+
+<p>"Who poisoned him?" I inquired hotly&mdash;"was it Bonvin the butcher? They
+say it was he poisoned both of Madame Vinet's cats."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh, ben!</i>" he returned, and I saw the tears well up into his watery
+blue eyes&mdash;"one should not accuse one's neighbours, but they say it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>was
+he, monsieur&mdash;they say it was in his garden that Hector found the bad
+stuff&mdash;there are some who have no heart, monsieur."</p>
+
+<p>"Bonvin!" I cried, "so it was that pig who poisoned him, eh? and you
+saved his little girl the time the <i>Belle Marie</i> foundered."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Oui</i>, monsieur&mdash;the time the <i>Belle Marie</i> foundered. It is true I
+did&mdash;we did the best we could! Had it not been for the fog and the ebb
+tide I think we could have saved them all."</p>
+
+<p>He fell to eating again, cutting into the cheese discreetly&mdash;this fine
+old gentleman of the sea.</p>
+
+<p>It is a pity that some one has not poisoned Bonvin I thought. A short
+thick fellow, is Bonvin, with cheeks as red as raw chops and small eyes
+that glitter with cruelty. Bonvin, whose youngest child&mdash;a male, has the
+look and intelligence of a veal and whose mother weighs one hundred and
+five kilos&mdash;a fact which Bonvin is proud of since his first wife, who
+died, was under weight despite the fact that the Bonvins being in the
+business, eat meat twice daily. I have always believed the veal
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span>infant's hair is curled in suet. Its face grows purple after meals.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>A rough old place is my village of vagabonds in winter, and I am glad
+Alice did not come. Poor Tanrade&mdash;how he would have enjoyed that
+northeast gale!</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Two weeks later there came to my house abandoned by the marsh such
+joyful news that my hand trembled as I realized it&mdash;news that made my
+heart beat quicker from sudden surprise and delight. As I read and
+reread four closely written pages from Tanrade and a corroborative
+postscript from Alice, leaving no doubt as to the truth.</p>
+
+<p>"Suzette! Suzette!" I called. "Come quick&mdash;<i>Eh! Suzette!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>I heard her trim feet running to me from the garden. The next instant
+she opened the door of my den and stood before me, her blue eyes and
+pretty mouth both open in wonder at being so hurriedly summoned.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter, monsieur?" she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span>exclaimed panting, her fresh young
+cheeks all the rosier from her run.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur Tanrade and Madame de Bréville are going to be married," I
+announced as calmly as I could.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Hélas!</i>" gasped Suzette.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Et voilà&mdash;et voilà!</i>" I cried, throwing the letter back on the table,
+while I squared my back to the blazing fire of my den and waited for the
+little maid's astonishment to subside.</p>
+
+<p>Suzette did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"It is true, nevertheless," I added with enthusiasm, "they are to be
+married in Pont du Sable. We shall have a fête such as there never was.
+Ah! you will have plenty of cooking to do, <i>mon enfant</i>. Run and find
+Monsieur le Curé&mdash;he must know at once."</p>
+
+<p>Suzette did not move&mdash;without a word she buried her face in her apron
+and burst into tears:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, monsieur!" she sobbed. "Oh, monsieur! It is
+true&mdash;that&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;have&mdash;no luck!"</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I looked at her in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh, bien!</i> my child," I returned&mdash;"and it is thus you take such happy
+news?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ah, mon Dieu!</i>" sobbed the little maid&mdash;"it is&mdash;true&mdash;I&mdash;have no
+luck."</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter Suzette&mdash;tell me?" I pleaded. Never had I seen her
+so brokenhearted, even on the day she smashed the mirror.</p>
+
+<p>I saw her sway toward me like the child she was.</p>
+
+<p>"There&mdash;there&mdash;<i>mais voyons!</i>" I exclaimed in a vain effort to stop her
+tears&mdash;"<i>mais voyons!</i> Come, you must not cry like that." Little by
+little she ceased crying, until her sobbing gave way to brave little
+hiccoughs, then, at length, she opened her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Suzette," I whispered&mdash;the thought flashing through my mind, "is it
+possible that <i>you</i> love Monsieur Tanrade?"</p>
+
+<p>I saw her strong little body tremble: "No, monsieur," she breathed, and
+the tears fell afresh.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me the truth, Suzette."</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I have told monsieur the&mdash;the&mdash;truth," she stammered bravely with a
+fresh effort to strangle her sobs.</p>
+
+<p>"You do not love Monsieur Tanrade, my child?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, monsieur&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;was a little fool to have cried. It was stronger
+than I&mdash;the news. The marriage is so gay, monsieur&mdash;it is so easy for
+some."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah&mdash;then you do love some one?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Oui</i>, monsieur&mdash;" and her eyes looked up into mine.</p>
+
+<p>"Who?"</p>
+
+<p>"Gaston, monsieur&mdash;as always."</p>
+
+<p>"Gaston, eh! the little soldier I lodged during the man&oelig;uvres&mdash;the
+little trombonist whom the general swore he would put in jail for
+missing his train. <i>Sapristi!</i> I had forgotten him&mdash;and you wish to
+marry him, Suzette?"</p>
+
+<p>She nodded mutely in assent, then with a hopeless little sigh she added:
+"<i>Hélas</i>&mdash;it is not easy&mdash;when one has nothing one must work hard and
+wait&mdash;<i>Ah, mon Dieu!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, my little one," I said. "I have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span>something serious to think
+over." She did as I bade her, seating herself in silence before the
+fire. I have never regarded Suzette as a servant&mdash;she has always been to
+me more like a child whom I was responsible for. What would my house
+abandoned by the marsh have been without her cheeriness, and her
+devotion, I thought, and what would it be when she was gone? No other
+Suzette would ever be like her&mdash;and her cooking would vanish with the
+rest. <i>Diable!</i> these little marriages play the devil with us at times.
+And yet, if any one deserved to be happy it was Suzette. I realized too,
+all that her going would mean to me, and moreover that her devotion to
+her master was such that if I should say "stay" she would have stayed on
+quite as if her own father had counselled her.</p>
+
+<p>As I turned toward her sitting humbly in the chair, I saw she was again
+struggling to keep back her tears. It was high time for me to speak.</p>
+
+<p>I seated myself beside her upon the arm of the chair and took her warm
+little hands in mine.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You shall marry your Gaston, Suzette," I said, "and you shall have
+enough to marry on even if I have to sell the big field and the cow that
+goes with it."</p>
+
+<p>She started, trembling violently, then gave a little gasp of joy.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, monsieur! and it is true?" she cried eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my child&mdash;there shall be two weddings in Pont du Sable! Now run
+and tell Monsieur le Curé."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Monsieur le Curé ran too, when he heard the news&mdash;straight to my house
+abandoned, by the short cut back of the village.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Eh bien! Eh bien!</i>" he exclaimed as he burst into my den, his keen
+eyes shining. "It is too good to be true&mdash;and not a word to us about it
+until now! <i>Ah, les rosses! Ah, les rosses!</i>" he repeated with a broad
+grin of delight as he eagerly read Tanrade's letter, telling him that
+the banns were published; that he was to marry them in the little gray
+church with the new bells and that but ten days <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span>remained before the
+wedding. He began pacing the floor, his hands clasped behind him&mdash;a
+habit he had when he was very happy.</p>
+
+<p>"And Suzette?" I asked, "has she told you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he returned with a nod. "She is a good child&mdash;she deserves to be
+happy." Then he stopped and inquired seriously&mdash;"What will you do
+without her?"</p>
+
+<p>"One must not be selfish," I replied with a helpless shrug. "Suzette has
+earned it&mdash;so has Tanrade. It was his unfinished opera that was in the
+way: Alice was clever."</p>
+
+<p>He crossed to where I stood and laid his hand on my shoulder, and though
+he did not open his lips I knew what was passing in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>"Charity to all," he said softly at length. "It is so good to make
+others happy! Courage, <i>mon petit</i>&mdash;the price we pay for love,
+devotion&mdash;friendship, is always a heavy one." Suddenly his
+face lighted up. "Have you any idea?" he exclaimed, "how much there is
+to do and how little time to do it in? Let us prepare!"</p>
+
+<p>And thus began the busiest week the house <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>abandoned had ever known,
+beginning with the curé and I restocking the garret with dry wood while
+Suzette worked ferociously at house cleaning, and every detail of the
+wedding breakfast was planned and arranged for&mdash;no easy problem in my
+lost village in midwinter. If there was a good fish to be had out of the
+sea we knew we could rely on Marianne to get it. Even the old fisherman,
+Varnet, went off with fresh courage in search for clams and good Madame
+Vinet opened her heart and her wine cellar.</p>
+
+<p>It was the curé who knew well a certain dozen of rare burgundy that had
+lain snug beneath the stairs of Madame Vinet's small café&mdash;a vintage the
+good soul had come into possession of the first year of her own marriage
+and which she ceded to me for the ridiculously low price of twenty sous
+the bottle, precisely what it had cost her in her youth.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>It is over, and I am alone by my fire.</p>
+
+<p>As I look back on to-day&mdash;their wedding day&mdash;it seems as if I had been
+living through <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span>some happy dream that has vanished only too quickly and
+out of which I recall dimly but half its incidents.</p>
+
+<p>That was a merry procession of old friends that marched to the ruddy
+mayor's where there was the civil marriage and some madeira, and so on
+to the little gray church where Monsieur le Curé was waiting&mdash;that musty
+old church in which the tall candles burned and Monsieur le Curé's voice
+sounded so grave and clear. And we sat together, the good old general
+and I, and in front of us were Alice's old friend Germaine, chic and
+pretty in her sables, and Blondel, who had left his unfinished editorial
+and driven hard to be present, and beside him in the worn pew sat the
+Marquis and Marquise de Clamard, and the rest of the worn pews were
+filled with fisherfolk and Marianne sat on my left, and old Père Varnet
+with Suzette beyond him&mdash;and every one's eyes were upon Alice and
+Tanrade, for they were good to look upon. And it was over quickly, and I
+was glad of it, for the candle flames had begun to form halos before my
+eyes.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And so we went on singing through the village amid the booming of
+shotguns in honour of the newly wed, to the house abandoned. And all the
+while the new bells that Alice had so generously regiven rang lustily
+from the gray belfry&mdash;rang clear&mdash;rang out after us, all the way back to
+the house abandoned and were still ringing when we sat down to our jolly
+breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"Let them ring!" cried the curé. "I have two old salts of the sea taking
+turns at the rope," he confided in my ear. "Ring on!" he cried aloud, as
+we lifted our glasses to the bride&mdash;"Ring loud&mdash;that the good God may
+hear!"</p>
+
+<p>And how lovely the room looked, for the table was a mass of roses fresh
+from Paris, and the walls and ceiling were green with mistletoe and
+holly. Moreover, the old room was warm with the hearts of friends and
+the cheer from blazing logs that crackled merrily up the blackened
+throat of my chimney. And there were kisses with this feast that came
+from the heart; and sound red wine that went to it. And later, the
+courtyard was filled with villagers come to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span>congratulate and to drink
+the health of the bride and groom.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>They are gone.</p>
+
+<p>And the thrice-happy Suzette is dreaming of her own wedding to come, for
+it is long past midnight and I am alone with my wise old cat&mdash;"The
+Essence of Selfishness," and my good and faithful spaniel whom I call
+"Mr. Bear," for he looks like a young cinnamon, all save his ears. If
+poor de Savignac were alive he would hardly recognize the little spaniel
+puppy he gave me, he has grown so. He has crept into my arms, big as he
+is, awakening jealousy in "The Essence of Selfishness"&mdash;for she hates
+him&mdash;besides, we have taken her favourite chair. Poor Mr. Bear&mdash;who
+never troubles her&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"And <i>you</i>&mdash;beast whom I love&mdash;another hiss out of you, another
+flattening of your ears close to your skull, and you go straight to bed.
+There will be no Suzette to put you there soon, and there is now no
+Alice, nor Tanrade to spoil you. They are gone, pussy kit."</p>
+
+<p>One o'clock&mdash;and the fire in embers.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I rose and Mr. Bear followed me out into the garden. The land lay still
+and cold under millions of stars. High above my chimney came faintly the
+"Honk, honk," of a flock of geese.</p>
+
+<p>I closed my door, bolted the inner shutter, lighted my candle and
+motioned to Mr. Bear. The Essence of Selfishness was first on the creaky
+stairs. She paused half way up to let Mr. Bear pass, her ears again flat
+to her skull. Then I took them both to my room where they slept in
+opposite corners.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Lost village by the tawny marsh. Lost village, indeed, to-night! in
+which were hearts I loved, good comrades and sound red wine&mdash;Hark! the
+rush of wings. I must be up at dawn. It will help me forget&mdash;&mdash;Sleep
+well, Mr. Bear!</p>
+
+<h4>THE END</h4>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illo-ch12-2.png" width="400" height="157" alt="village" title="village" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Popular_Copyright_Books" id="Popular_Copyright_Books"></a>Popular Copyright Books</h2>
+
+<h3>AT MODERATE PRICES</h3>
+
+<p class="center">Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at the
+price you paid for this volume</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+<b>Anna the Adventuress.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.<br />
+<b>Ann Boyd.</b> By Will N. Harben.<br />
+<b>At The Moorings.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.<br />
+<b>By Right of Purchase.</b> By Harold Bindloss.<br />
+<b>Carlton Case, The.</b> By Ellery H. Clark.<br />
+<b>Chase of the Golden Plate.</b> By Jacques Futrelle.<br />
+<b>Cash Intrigue, The.</b> By George Randolph Chester.<br />
+<b>Delafield Affair, The.</b> By Florence Finch Kelly.<br />
+<b>Dominant Dollar, The.</b> By Will Lillibridge.<br />
+<b>Elusive Pimpernel, The.</b> By Baroness Orczy.<br />
+<b>Ganton &amp; Co.</b> By Arthur J. Eddy.<br />
+<b>Gilbert Neal.</b> By Will N. Harben.<br />
+<b>Girl and the Bill, The.</b> By Bannister Merwin.<br />
+<b>Girl from His Town, The.</b> By Marie Van Vorst.<br />
+<b>Glass House, The.</b> By Florence Morse Kingsley.<br />
+<b>Highway of Fate, The.</b> By Rosa N. Carey.<br />
+<b>Homesteaders, The.</b> By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.<br />
+<b>Husbands of Edith, The.</b> George Barr McCutcheon.<br />
+<b>Inez.</b> (Illustrated Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.<br />
+<b>Into the Primitive.</b> By Robert Ames Bennet.<br />
+<b>Jack Spurlock, Prodigal.</b> By Horace Lorimer.<br />
+<b>Jude the Obscure.</b> By Thomas Hardy.<br />
+<b>King Spruce.</b> By Holman Day.<br />
+<b>Kingsmead.</b> By Bettina Von Hutten.<br />
+<b>Ladder of Swords, A.</b> By Gilbert Parker.<br />
+<b>Lorimer of the Northwest.</b> By Harold Bindloss.<br />
+<b>Lorraine.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.<br />
+<b>Loves of Miss Anne, The.</b> By S. R. Crockett.<br />
+</p></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h2>Popular Copyright Books</h2>
+
+<h3>AT MODERATE PRICES</h3>
+
+<p class="center">Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at 50 cents
+per volume.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+<b>Spirit of the Border, The.</b> By Zane Grey.<br />
+<b>Spoilers, The.</b> By Rex Beach.<br />
+<b>Squire Phin.</b> By Holman F. Day.<br />
+<b>Stooping Lady, The.</b> By Maurice Hewlett.<br />
+<b>Subjection of Isabel Carnaby.</b> By Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler.<br />
+<b>Sunset Trail, The.</b> By Alfred Henry Lewis.<br />
+<b>Sword of the Old Frontier, A.</b> By Randall Parrish.<br />
+<b>Tales of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.<br />
+<b>That Printer of Udell's.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.<br />
+<b>Throwback, The.</b> By Alfred Henry Lewis.<br />
+<b>Trail of the Sword, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.<br />
+<b>Treasure of Heaven, The.</b> By Marie Corelli.<br />
+<b>Two Vanrevels, The.</b> By Booth Tarkington.<br />
+<b>Up From Slavery.</b> By Booker T. Washington.<br />
+<b>Vashti.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.<br />
+<b>Viper of Milan, The</b> (original edition). By Marjorie Bowen.<br />
+<b>Voice of the People, The.</b> By Ellen Glasgow.<br />
+<b>Wheel of Life, The.</b> By Ellen Glasgow.<br />
+<b>When Wilderness Was King.</b> By Randall Parrish.<br />
+<b>Where the Trail Divides.</b> By Will Lillibridge.<br />
+<b>Woman in Grey, A.</b> By Mrs. C. N. Williamson.<br />
+<b>Woman in the Alcove, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.<br />
+<b>Younger Set, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.<br />
+<b>The Weavers.</b> By Gilbert Parker.<br />
+<b>The Little Brown Jug at Kildare.</b> By Meredith Nicholson.<br />
+<b>The Prisoners of Chance.</b> By Randall Parrish.<br />
+<b>My Lady of Cleve.</b> By Percy J. Hartley.<br />
+<b>Loaded Dice.</b> By Ellery H. Clark.<br />
+<b>Get Rich Quick Wallingford.</b> By George Randolph Chester.<br />
+<b>The Orphan.</b> By Clarence Mulford.<br />
+<b>A Gentleman of France.</b> By Stanley J. Weyman.<br />
+</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>Popular Copyright Books</h2>
+
+<h3>AT MODERATE PRICES</h3>
+
+<p class="center">Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at 50 cents
+per volume.</p>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+<b>The Shepherd of the Hills.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.<br />
+<b>Jane Cable.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.<br />
+<b>Abner Daniel.</b> By Will N. Harben.<br />
+<b>The Far Horizon.</b> By Lucas Malet.<br />
+<b>The Halo.</b> By Bettina von Hutten.<br />
+<b>Jerry Junior.</b> By Jean Webster.<br />
+<b>The Powers and Maxine.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.<br />
+<b>The Balance of Power.</b> By Arthur Goodrich.<br />
+<b>Adventures of Captain Kettle.</b> By Cutcliffe Hyne.<br />
+<b>Adventures of Gerard.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.<br />
+<b>Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.<br />
+<b>Arms and the Woman.</b> By Harold MacGrath.<br />
+<b>Artemus Ward's Works</b> (extra illustrated).<br />
+<b>At the Mercy of Tiberius.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.<br />
+<b>Awakening of Helena Richie.</b> By Margaret Deland.<br />
+<b>Battle Ground, The.</b> By Ellen Glasgow.<br />
+<b>Belle of Bowling Green, The.</b> By Amelia E. Barr.<br />
+<b>Ben Blair.</b> By Will Lillibridge.<br />
+<b>Best Man, The.</b> By Harold MacGrath.<br />
+<b>Beth Norvell.</b> By Randall Parrish.<br />
+<b>Bob Hampton of Placer.</b> By Randall Parrish.<br />
+<b>Bob, Son of Battle.</b> By Alfred Ollivant.<br />
+<b>Brass Bowl, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.<br />
+<b>Brethren, The.</b> By H. Rider Haggard.<br />
+<b>Broken Lance, The.</b> By Herbert Quick.<br />
+<b>By Wit of Women.</b> By Arthur W. Marchmont.<br />
+<b>Call of the Blood, The.</b> By Robert Hitchens.<br />
+<b>Cap'n Eri.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.<br />
+<b>Cardigan.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.<br />
+<b>Car of Destiny, The.</b> By C. N. and A. N. Williamson.<br />
+<b>Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine.</b> By Frank R. Stockton.<br />
+<b>Cecilia's Lovers.</b> By Amelia E. Barr.<br />
+</p></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h2>Popular Copyright Books</h2>
+
+<h3>AT MODERATE PRICES</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+<b>Circle, The.</b> By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of "The Masquerader," "The Gambler").<br />
+<b>Colonial Free Lance, A.</b> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.<br />
+<b>Conquest of Canaan, The.</b> By Booth Tarkington.<br />
+<b>Courier of Fortune, A.</b> By Arthur W. Marchmont.<br />
+<b>Darrow Enigma, The.</b> By Melvin Severy.<br />
+<b>Deliverance, The.</b> By Ellen Glasgow.<br />
+<b>Divine Fire, The.</b> By May Sinclair.<br />
+<b>Empire Builders.</b> By Francis Lynde.<br />
+<b>Exploits of Brigadier Gerard.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.<br />
+<b>Fighting Chance, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.<br />
+<b>For a Maiden Brave.</b> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.<br />
+<b>Fugitive Blacksmith, The.</b> By Chas. D. Stewart.<br />
+<b>God's Good Man.</b> By Marie Corelli.<br />
+<b>Heart's Highway, The.</b> By Mary E. Wilkins.<br />
+<b>Holladay Case, The.</b> By Burton Egbert Stevenson.<br />
+<b>Hurricane Island.</b> By H. B. Marriott Watson.<br />
+<b>In Defiance of the King.</b> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.<br />
+<b>Indifference of Juliet, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.<br />
+<b>Infelice.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.<br />
+<b>Lady Betty Across the Water.</b> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.<br />
+<b>Lady of the Mount, The.</b> By Frederic S. Isham.<br />
+<b>Lane That Had No Turning, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.<br />
+<b>Langford of the Three Bars.</b> By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.<br />
+<b>Last Trail, The.</b> By Zane Grey.<br />
+<b>Leavenworth Case, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.<br />
+<b>Lilac Sunbonnet, The.</b> By S. R. Crockett.<br />
+<b>Lin McLean.</b> By Owen Wister.<br />
+<b>Long Night, The.</b> By Stanley J. Weyman.<br />
+<b>Maid at Arms, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.<br />
+</p></div>
+
+<div class="trans_note">
+<p class="center"><a name="TN" id="TN"></a><big>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</big></p>
+
+<p class="noindent">Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
+possible, including obsolete and variant spellings. Obvious
+typographical errors in punctuation (misplaced quotes and the like) have
+been fixed. Corrections [in brackets] in the text are noted below:</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<a name="Page_24tn" id="Page_24tn"></a>page 24: typo corrected<br />
+
+the courtyard, and with a wrenching growl
+Madame Alice de <a href="#Page_24t">Breville's[Bréville's]</a> automobile whined
+up to my door. The next instant the tip of a<br /><br />
+
+<a name="Page_201tn" id="Page_201tn"></a>page 201: swapped words fixed<br />
+
+To-night the general is <a href="#Page_201t">an in[in an]</a> uproar of good
+humour<br /><br />
+
+<a name="Page_225tn" id="Page_225tn"></a>page 225: spurious quote removed<br />
+
+this country. <a href="#Page_201t">["]</a>François!" he exclaimed,
+"You may bring in the little dog--and, François!"<br /><br />
+
+<a name="Page_272tn" id="Page_272tn"></a>page 272: typo corrected<br />
+
+business out at the county-seat? The <a href="#Page_272t">Vicomtess[e]</a>
+is furious. We were to leave, for a little voyage<br /><br />
+
+<a name="Page_276tn" id="Page_276tn"></a>page 276: quote added<br />
+
+"All of us to luncheon to-morrow at The
+Three Wolves!<a href="#Page_276t">["]</a> he cried, flinging his hat on<br /><br />
+
+<a name="Page_277tn" id="Page_277tn"></a>page 277: quote added<br />
+
+morning, if we are to reach The Three Wolves
+by noon.<a href="#Page_277t">["]</a> He recovered his hat from the floor,<br /><br />
+
+<a name="Page_343tn" id="Page_343tn"></a>page 343: typo corrected<br />
+
+smiling assurance, for <a href="#Page_343t">be[he]</a> brought me a telegram
+forwarded from my studio by my concierge.<br /><br />
+
+<a name="Page_350tn" id="Page_350tn"></a>page 350: spurious comma removed; typo corrected<br />
+
+and ten minutes later by the Mère
+<a href="#Page_350t1">Pequin[Péquin]</a> who brings the milk, and then in turn<br />
+
+gone away content with their little stomachs<a href="#Page_350t2">[,]</a>
+filled and two big sous in their pockets.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Village of Vagabonds, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 26678-h.htm or 26678-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/6/7/26678/
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/26678-h/images/cover.jpg b/26678-h/images/cover.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ad5d7e3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/cover.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch1-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch1-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a637d7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch1-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch1-2.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch1-2.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..55d1f4d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch1-2.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch10-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch10-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4cbb8f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch10-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch10-2.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch10-2.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d075b78
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch10-2.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch11-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch11-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f04c6e8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch11-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch11-2.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch11-2.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8016589
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch11-2.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch12-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch12-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6d622a7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch12-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch12-2.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch12-2.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aa6a6a8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch12-2.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch2-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch2-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b37e5f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch2-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch2-2.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch2-2.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..35b03ad
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch2-2.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch3-1.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch3-1.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..86ff685
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch3-1.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch3-2.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch3-2.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ac09775
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch3-2.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch4-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch4-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3077478
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch4-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch4-2.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch4-2.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9552bd2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch4-2.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch5-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch5-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b676b04
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch5-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch5-2.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch5-2.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9859b5c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch5-2.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch6-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch6-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a6812a3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch6-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch6-2.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch6-2.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d41e2dd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch6-2.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch7-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch7-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7e51eb2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch7-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch7-2.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch7-2.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..695e1e4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch7-2.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch8-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch8-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1b13b29
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch8-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch8-2.png b/26678-h/images/illo-ch8-2.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..279f945
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch8-2.png
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch9-1.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch9-1.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..645ad74
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch9-1.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-ch9-2.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-ch9-2.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f0a61f8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-ch9-2.jpg
diff --git a/26678-h/images/illo-title.jpg b/26678-h/images/illo-title.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7db50c8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-h/images/illo-title.jpg
diff --git a/26678-page-images.zip b/26678-page-images.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5f55f46
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images.zip
diff --git a/26678-page-images/c001.jpg b/26678-page-images/c001.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9141855
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/c001.jpg
diff --git a/26678-page-images/c002.jpg b/26678-page-images/c002.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..11b7c87
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/c002.jpg
diff --git a/26678-page-images/f001.png b/26678-page-images/f001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b44570f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/f001.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/f002.png b/26678-page-images/f002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..50aa9d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/f002.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/f003.png b/26678-page-images/f003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2be209e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/f003.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/f004.png b/26678-page-images/f004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..25f611f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/f004.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/f005.png b/26678-page-images/f005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f42f77e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/f005.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/f006.png b/26678-page-images/f006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d0458ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/f006.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/f007.png b/26678-page-images/f007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fae50a2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/f007.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/f008.png b/26678-page-images/f008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27af0c9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/f008.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p003.png b/26678-page-images/p003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..190e5f5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p003.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p004.png b/26678-page-images/p004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..98515cf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p004.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p005.png b/26678-page-images/p005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..668e64f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p005.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p006.png b/26678-page-images/p006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0b85d6e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p006.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p007.png b/26678-page-images/p007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..56d1c05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p007.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p008.png b/26678-page-images/p008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..067d09d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p008.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p009-image.png b/26678-page-images/p009-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d285e7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p009-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p009.png b/26678-page-images/p009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..65bbe62
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p009.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p010.png b/26678-page-images/p010.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..45f4a99
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p010.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p011.png b/26678-page-images/p011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ac447e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p011.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p012.png b/26678-page-images/p012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..233a5f4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p012.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p013.png b/26678-page-images/p013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3a29208
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p013.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p014.png b/26678-page-images/p014.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5eb74c5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p014.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p015.png b/26678-page-images/p015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0c46466
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p015.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p016.png b/26678-page-images/p016.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5caf096
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p016.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p017.png b/26678-page-images/p017.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0209b58
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p017.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p018.png b/26678-page-images/p018.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0fc93d3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p018.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p019.png b/26678-page-images/p019.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..82e2565
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p019.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p020.png b/26678-page-images/p020.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2964765
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p020.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p021.png b/26678-page-images/p021.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6023786
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p021.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p022.png b/26678-page-images/p022.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a10d11d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p022.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p023.png b/26678-page-images/p023.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..22c0aac
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p023.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p024.png b/26678-page-images/p024.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3897e43
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p024.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p025.png b/26678-page-images/p025.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..36d2244
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p025.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p026.png b/26678-page-images/p026.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9fdd0cc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p026.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p027.png b/26678-page-images/p027.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5715be4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p027.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p028.png b/26678-page-images/p028.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eeef5ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p028.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p029.png b/26678-page-images/p029.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0381804
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p029.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p030.png b/26678-page-images/p030.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c317025
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p030.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p031.png b/26678-page-images/p031.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a583744
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p031.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p032.png b/26678-page-images/p032.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c6bc8cb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p032.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p033.png b/26678-page-images/p033.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6163f62
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p033.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p034.png b/26678-page-images/p034.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..414bdd6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p034.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p035.png b/26678-page-images/p035.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9edfa12
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p035.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p036.png b/26678-page-images/p036.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c6c2660
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p036.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p037.png b/26678-page-images/p037.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7e617d0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p037.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p038.png b/26678-page-images/p038.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dd99548
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p038.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p039.png b/26678-page-images/p039.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..becc253
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p039.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p040-image.png b/26678-page-images/p040-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0d0fefe
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p040-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p040.png b/26678-page-images/p040.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ed057e0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p040.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p041-image.png b/26678-page-images/p041-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fcea80c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p041-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p041.png b/26678-page-images/p041.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca5a9ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p041.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p042.png b/26678-page-images/p042.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..12513b4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p042.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p043.png b/26678-page-images/p043.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..837a784
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p043.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p044.png b/26678-page-images/p044.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7270104
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p044.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p045.png b/26678-page-images/p045.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9aec703
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p045.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p046.png b/26678-page-images/p046.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4bba1cf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p046.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p047.png b/26678-page-images/p047.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..92de10f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p047.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p048.png b/26678-page-images/p048.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..36f4bb8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p048.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p049.png b/26678-page-images/p049.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..907599c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p049.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p050.png b/26678-page-images/p050.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7fdef76
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p050.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p051.png b/26678-page-images/p051.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9adb13d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p051.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p052.png b/26678-page-images/p052.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..85e26ab
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p052.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p053.png b/26678-page-images/p053.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0b8b7df
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p053.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p054.png b/26678-page-images/p054.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b7ee107
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p054.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p055.png b/26678-page-images/p055.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5cbfe40
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p055.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p056.png b/26678-page-images/p056.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..85a6045
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p056.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p057.png b/26678-page-images/p057.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..253b5d9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p057.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p058.png b/26678-page-images/p058.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a046244
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p058.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p059.png b/26678-page-images/p059.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f888df8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p059.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p060.png b/26678-page-images/p060.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1444e0d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p060.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p061.png b/26678-page-images/p061.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5154686
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p061.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p062.png b/26678-page-images/p062.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..17e955f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p062.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p063.png b/26678-page-images/p063.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b9e3111
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p063.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p064.png b/26678-page-images/p064.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..982c1f1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p064.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p065.png b/26678-page-images/p065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b13bff3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p065.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p066.png b/26678-page-images/p066.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a5edf5a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p066.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p067.png b/26678-page-images/p067.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca07cf1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p067.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p068-image.png b/26678-page-images/p068-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aea302f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p068-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p068.png b/26678-page-images/p068.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d316a37
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p068.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p069-image.png b/26678-page-images/p069-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9668b87
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p069-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p069.png b/26678-page-images/p069.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..25cf29c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p069.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p070.png b/26678-page-images/p070.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04a3e48
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p070.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p071.png b/26678-page-images/p071.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5d1c70b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p071.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p072.png b/26678-page-images/p072.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d28d7a8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p072.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p073.png b/26678-page-images/p073.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..89338c7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p073.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p074.png b/26678-page-images/p074.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cabcbd3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p074.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p075.png b/26678-page-images/p075.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e0aac8a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p075.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p076.png b/26678-page-images/p076.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7de8cde
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p076.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p077.png b/26678-page-images/p077.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7cb4b65
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p077.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p078.png b/26678-page-images/p078.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c3da613
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p078.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p079.png b/26678-page-images/p079.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2104560
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p079.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p080.png b/26678-page-images/p080.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f8e836f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p080.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p081.png b/26678-page-images/p081.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a96bf6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p081.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p082.png b/26678-page-images/p082.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bcbd74a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p082.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p083.png b/26678-page-images/p083.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..de4558e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p083.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p084.png b/26678-page-images/p084.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7bd3ba4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p084.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p085.png b/26678-page-images/p085.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..871d6f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p085.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p086.png b/26678-page-images/p086.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e4c575f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p086.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p087.png b/26678-page-images/p087.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fd8a41a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p087.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p088.png b/26678-page-images/p088.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..46d30f1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p088.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p089.png b/26678-page-images/p089.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..da48190
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p089.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p090.png b/26678-page-images/p090.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6e2c41f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p090.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p091.png b/26678-page-images/p091.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..814a612
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p091.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p092.png b/26678-page-images/p092.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9ae504a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p092.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p093.png b/26678-page-images/p093.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b6bfab3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p093.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p094.png b/26678-page-images/p094.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b301fac
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p094.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p095.png b/26678-page-images/p095.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4b47cc9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p095.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p096-image.png b/26678-page-images/p096-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..33bfcf4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p096-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p096.png b/26678-page-images/p096.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d0c76da
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p096.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p097-image.png b/26678-page-images/p097-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1fde598
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p097-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p097.png b/26678-page-images/p097.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04bbb00
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p097.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p098.png b/26678-page-images/p098.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3c501f8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p098.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p099.png b/26678-page-images/p099.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7f4749d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p099.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p100.png b/26678-page-images/p100.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..350648f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p100.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p101.png b/26678-page-images/p101.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..22620f3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p101.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p102.png b/26678-page-images/p102.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8eb7d19
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p102.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p103.png b/26678-page-images/p103.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..91f00cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p103.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p104.png b/26678-page-images/p104.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2bf668d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p104.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p105.png b/26678-page-images/p105.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..887960a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p105.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p106.png b/26678-page-images/p106.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f4782c4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p106.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p107.png b/26678-page-images/p107.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c89cfb4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p107.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p108.png b/26678-page-images/p108.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e953f2a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p108.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p109.png b/26678-page-images/p109.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e7f52eb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p109.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p110.png b/26678-page-images/p110.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b6724f1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p110.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p111.png b/26678-page-images/p111.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c66a7c4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p111.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p112.png b/26678-page-images/p112.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e282b6d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p112.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p113.png b/26678-page-images/p113.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b6e36f6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p113.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p114.png b/26678-page-images/p114.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ce4ce90
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p114.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p115.png b/26678-page-images/p115.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1af5146
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p115.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p116.png b/26678-page-images/p116.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8ad2f96
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p116.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p117.png b/26678-page-images/p117.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f2e0deb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p117.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p118.png b/26678-page-images/p118.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bb59927
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p118.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p119.png b/26678-page-images/p119.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..51d5dc6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p119.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p120.png b/26678-page-images/p120.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6718e92
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p120.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p121.png b/26678-page-images/p121.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a6d0dd6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p121.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p122.png b/26678-page-images/p122.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c95b700
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p122.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p123.png b/26678-page-images/p123.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..56128d5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p123.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p124.png b/26678-page-images/p124.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b0af64c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p124.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p125-image.png b/26678-page-images/p125-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f9bb021
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p125-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p125.png b/26678-page-images/p125.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5264b08
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p125.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p126-image.png b/26678-page-images/p126-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f11cf71
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p126-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p126.png b/26678-page-images/p126.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0042a26
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p126.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p127.png b/26678-page-images/p127.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8d0936b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p127.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p128.png b/26678-page-images/p128.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6806251
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p128.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p129.png b/26678-page-images/p129.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e6c2b65
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p129.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p130.png b/26678-page-images/p130.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..de00141
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p130.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p131.png b/26678-page-images/p131.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc33c5e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p131.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p132.png b/26678-page-images/p132.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..43cf9ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p132.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p133.png b/26678-page-images/p133.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d9d66cb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p133.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p134.png b/26678-page-images/p134.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..323c20e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p134.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p135.png b/26678-page-images/p135.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6d1dd46
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p135.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p136.png b/26678-page-images/p136.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c48a713
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p136.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p137.png b/26678-page-images/p137.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0271207
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p137.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p138.png b/26678-page-images/p138.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..65d43e6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p138.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p139.png b/26678-page-images/p139.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a21ec2d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p139.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p140.png b/26678-page-images/p140.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..10dd1de
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p140.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p141.png b/26678-page-images/p141.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f7f35b4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p141.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p142.png b/26678-page-images/p142.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8bb67b4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p142.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p143.png b/26678-page-images/p143.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0342534
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p143.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p144.png b/26678-page-images/p144.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a3445e2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p144.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p145.png b/26678-page-images/p145.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b36a6ec
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p145.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p146.png b/26678-page-images/p146.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..12a5adf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p146.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p147.png b/26678-page-images/p147.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b08b401
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p147.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p148.png b/26678-page-images/p148.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..15ef268
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p148.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p149.png b/26678-page-images/p149.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27d22c7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p149.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p150.png b/26678-page-images/p150.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..780110d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p150.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p151.png b/26678-page-images/p151.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..52daf70
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p151.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p152.png b/26678-page-images/p152.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ae31dd9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p152.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p153.png b/26678-page-images/p153.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..155e1bf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p153.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p154.png b/26678-page-images/p154.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..34233b0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p154.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p155.png b/26678-page-images/p155.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c8f51aa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p155.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p156-image.png b/26678-page-images/p156-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6f7d0c6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p156-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p156.png b/26678-page-images/p156.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..919dd5a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p156.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p157-image.png b/26678-page-images/p157-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c82d104
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p157-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p157.png b/26678-page-images/p157.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cdb9681
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p157.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p158.png b/26678-page-images/p158.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c65dbc5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p158.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p159.png b/26678-page-images/p159.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..048f6b2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p159.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p160.png b/26678-page-images/p160.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d20cd04
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p160.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p161.png b/26678-page-images/p161.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..65c9901
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p161.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p162.png b/26678-page-images/p162.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..15876d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p162.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p163.png b/26678-page-images/p163.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9818b92
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p163.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p164.png b/26678-page-images/p164.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ac30495
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p164.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p165.png b/26678-page-images/p165.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0e0ea72
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p165.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p166.png b/26678-page-images/p166.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..82f2300
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p166.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p167.png b/26678-page-images/p167.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d5a9a39
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p167.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p168.png b/26678-page-images/p168.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bee5d0a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p168.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p169.png b/26678-page-images/p169.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b150862
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p169.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p170.png b/26678-page-images/p170.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f833396
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p170.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p171.png b/26678-page-images/p171.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c1a9900
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p171.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p172.png b/26678-page-images/p172.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..44ee20d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p172.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p173.png b/26678-page-images/p173.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..701c812
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p173.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p174.png b/26678-page-images/p174.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c22d7cb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p174.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p175.png b/26678-page-images/p175.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c82b20
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p175.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p176.png b/26678-page-images/p176.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d02fc7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p176.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p177.png b/26678-page-images/p177.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..535b674
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p177.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p178.png b/26678-page-images/p178.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..86edb2b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p178.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p179.png b/26678-page-images/p179.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b0d9b21
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p179.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p180.png b/26678-page-images/p180.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eb04090
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p180.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p181.png b/26678-page-images/p181.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c86072f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p181.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p182.png b/26678-page-images/p182.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ba1dbf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p182.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p183.png b/26678-page-images/p183.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dd5fbed
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p183.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p184.png b/26678-page-images/p184.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b8a02a1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p184.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p185.png b/26678-page-images/p185.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..50ebd7f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p185.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p186.png b/26678-page-images/p186.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..725ee2f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p186.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p187.png b/26678-page-images/p187.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..60eeb35
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p187.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p188.png b/26678-page-images/p188.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6483a05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p188.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p189.png b/26678-page-images/p189.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0b4e2e5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p189.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p190.png b/26678-page-images/p190.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..590dfef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p190.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p191-image.png b/26678-page-images/p191-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06bb1c4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p191-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p191.png b/26678-page-images/p191.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a9790da
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p191.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p192-image.png b/26678-page-images/p192-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..58946c8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p192-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p192.png b/26678-page-images/p192.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a1559e7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p192.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p193.png b/26678-page-images/p193.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4526465
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p193.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p194.png b/26678-page-images/p194.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5168c1d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p194.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p195.png b/26678-page-images/p195.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b138e92
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p195.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p196.png b/26678-page-images/p196.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a48d2c0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p196.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p197.png b/26678-page-images/p197.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1d6f81e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p197.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p198.png b/26678-page-images/p198.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0414e7a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p198.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p199.png b/26678-page-images/p199.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..344cf04
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p199.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p200.png b/26678-page-images/p200.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b6fdc66
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p200.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p201.png b/26678-page-images/p201.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e088641
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p201.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p202.png b/26678-page-images/p202.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a22720a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p202.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p203.png b/26678-page-images/p203.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..11e1e71
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p203.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p204.png b/26678-page-images/p204.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..35487dd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p204.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p205.png b/26678-page-images/p205.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9fa324e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p205.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p206.png b/26678-page-images/p206.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..be1248b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p206.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p207.png b/26678-page-images/p207.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..de6d335
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p207.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p208.png b/26678-page-images/p208.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..687b024
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p208.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p209.png b/26678-page-images/p209.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4921f4a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p209.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p210.png b/26678-page-images/p210.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dda34c6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p210.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p211.png b/26678-page-images/p211.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..155a20f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p211.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p212.png b/26678-page-images/p212.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0c146b8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p212.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p213.png b/26678-page-images/p213.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d0b0acb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p213.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p214.png b/26678-page-images/p214.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a49c1d6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p214.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p215.png b/26678-page-images/p215.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..989059f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p215.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p216.png b/26678-page-images/p216.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..905d5fc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p216.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p217.png b/26678-page-images/p217.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ff6ebe
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p217.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p218-image.png b/26678-page-images/p218-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7786c9a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p218-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p218.png b/26678-page-images/p218.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ea0b07
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p218.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p219-image.png b/26678-page-images/p219-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2f7f78d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p219-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p219.png b/26678-page-images/p219.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f4ad644
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p219.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p220.png b/26678-page-images/p220.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c342887
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p220.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p221.png b/26678-page-images/p221.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..92f8ba8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p221.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p222.png b/26678-page-images/p222.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aa8226f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p222.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p223.png b/26678-page-images/p223.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8bb19f6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p223.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p224.png b/26678-page-images/p224.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8fb2f03
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p224.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p225.png b/26678-page-images/p225.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..12f103b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p225.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p226.png b/26678-page-images/p226.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a4c0cd1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p226.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p227.png b/26678-page-images/p227.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2654df8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p227.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p228.png b/26678-page-images/p228.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0972fcd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p228.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p229.png b/26678-page-images/p229.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f1d3576
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p229.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p230.png b/26678-page-images/p230.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b2b951a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p230.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p231.png b/26678-page-images/p231.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..23b9304
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p231.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p232.png b/26678-page-images/p232.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4b84588
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p232.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p233.png b/26678-page-images/p233.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c588a72
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p233.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p234.png b/26678-page-images/p234.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a86f560
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p234.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p235.png b/26678-page-images/p235.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a13e826
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p235.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p236.png b/26678-page-images/p236.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a295d7b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p236.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p237.png b/26678-page-images/p237.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3bc7f64
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p237.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p238.png b/26678-page-images/p238.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..acf458e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p238.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p239.png b/26678-page-images/p239.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bff5e15
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p239.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p240.png b/26678-page-images/p240.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..50e5888
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p240.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p241.png b/26678-page-images/p241.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2c8b4e7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p241.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p242.png b/26678-page-images/p242.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e37173f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p242.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p243.png b/26678-page-images/p243.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1ddf9e4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p243.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p244.png b/26678-page-images/p244.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e12349c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p244.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p245.png b/26678-page-images/p245.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fba40e7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p245.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p246.png b/26678-page-images/p246.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06a999e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p246.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p247.png b/26678-page-images/p247.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..136ec32
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p247.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p248.png b/26678-page-images/p248.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d5e9e27
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p248.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p249.png b/26678-page-images/p249.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..294e094
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p249.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p250-image.png b/26678-page-images/p250-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0b8b140
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p250-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p250.png b/26678-page-images/p250.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4672101
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p250.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p251-image.png b/26678-page-images/p251-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c7bca73
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p251-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p251.png b/26678-page-images/p251.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c318cc8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p251.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p252.png b/26678-page-images/p252.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1f66269
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p252.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p253.png b/26678-page-images/p253.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..01b3e2b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p253.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p254.png b/26678-page-images/p254.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..26a7d2e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p254.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p255.png b/26678-page-images/p255.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..29da55b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p255.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p256.png b/26678-page-images/p256.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c34c00a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p256.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p257.png b/26678-page-images/p257.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3c8ecb3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p257.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p258.png b/26678-page-images/p258.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..21eac61
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p258.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p259.png b/26678-page-images/p259.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..66bd512
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p259.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p260.png b/26678-page-images/p260.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..29733c6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p260.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p261.png b/26678-page-images/p261.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f00e6e6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p261.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p262.png b/26678-page-images/p262.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6c59d23
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p262.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p263.png b/26678-page-images/p263.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..95edf5a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p263.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p264.png b/26678-page-images/p264.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..44efe80
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p264.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p265.png b/26678-page-images/p265.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e77a9dd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p265.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p266.png b/26678-page-images/p266.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0222648
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p266.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p267.png b/26678-page-images/p267.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cccad4d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p267.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p268.png b/26678-page-images/p268.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c93bdc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p268.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p269.png b/26678-page-images/p269.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..22fc3f1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p269.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p270.png b/26678-page-images/p270.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6790a45
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p270.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p271.png b/26678-page-images/p271.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ac82677
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p271.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p272.png b/26678-page-images/p272.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4ac2b0d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p272.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p273.png b/26678-page-images/p273.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..987de04
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p273.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p274.png b/26678-page-images/p274.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4eb5dcd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p274.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p275.png b/26678-page-images/p275.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d0a482f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p275.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p276.png b/26678-page-images/p276.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0008e37
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p276.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p277.png b/26678-page-images/p277.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9cd094b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p277.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p278.png b/26678-page-images/p278.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f276bdb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p278.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p279-image.png b/26678-page-images/p279-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aeff7bf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p279-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p279.png b/26678-page-images/p279.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aff9e16
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p279.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p280-image.png b/26678-page-images/p280-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..365d702
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p280-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p280.png b/26678-page-images/p280.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..229a73a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p280.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p281.png b/26678-page-images/p281.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7fd19bd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p281.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p282.png b/26678-page-images/p282.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6863738
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p282.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p283.png b/26678-page-images/p283.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d0f5a79
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p283.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p284.png b/26678-page-images/p284.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..01e470d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p284.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p285.png b/26678-page-images/p285.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dd9cdfc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p285.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p286.png b/26678-page-images/p286.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2468765
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p286.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p287.png b/26678-page-images/p287.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dcc7572
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p287.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p288.png b/26678-page-images/p288.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..360e4e5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p288.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p289.png b/26678-page-images/p289.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..94abd76
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p289.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p290.png b/26678-page-images/p290.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2b172a3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p290.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p291.png b/26678-page-images/p291.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..192602d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p291.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p292.png b/26678-page-images/p292.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..83ae8f6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p292.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p293.png b/26678-page-images/p293.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..84a41b5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p293.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p294.png b/26678-page-images/p294.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..00108ce
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p294.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p295.png b/26678-page-images/p295.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1a1bde2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p295.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p296.png b/26678-page-images/p296.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..91b41ec
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p296.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p297.png b/26678-page-images/p297.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..be61a13
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p297.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p298.png b/26678-page-images/p298.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..56dfea7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p298.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p299.png b/26678-page-images/p299.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d9653f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p299.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p300.png b/26678-page-images/p300.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..76ea2c3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p300.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p301.png b/26678-page-images/p301.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c01d7ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p301.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p302.png b/26678-page-images/p302.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca94d3b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p302.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p303.png b/26678-page-images/p303.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a4255ed
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p303.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p304.png b/26678-page-images/p304.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..169a672
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p304.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p305.png b/26678-page-images/p305.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4cc5ed5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p305.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p306.png b/26678-page-images/p306.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dbf8941
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p306.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p307.png b/26678-page-images/p307.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..64f3385
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p307.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p308.png b/26678-page-images/p308.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5ddd6a0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p308.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p309.png b/26678-page-images/p309.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aee226d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p309.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p310.png b/26678-page-images/p310.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ea45726
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p310.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p311.png b/26678-page-images/p311.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2cd5d33
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p311.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p312.png b/26678-page-images/p312.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b7f6696
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p312.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p313-image.png b/26678-page-images/p313-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ddd4f58
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p313-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p313.png b/26678-page-images/p313.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..13d8208
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p313.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p314-image.png b/26678-page-images/p314-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cf6b542
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p314-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p314.png b/26678-page-images/p314.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..abf0427
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p314.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p315.png b/26678-page-images/p315.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..880fe38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p315.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p316.png b/26678-page-images/p316.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..939861d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p316.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p317.png b/26678-page-images/p317.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c8b1b5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p317.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p318.png b/26678-page-images/p318.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1b76113
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p318.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p319.png b/26678-page-images/p319.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b77b34e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p319.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p320.png b/26678-page-images/p320.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a8ab741
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p320.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p321.png b/26678-page-images/p321.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..08442c5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p321.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p322.png b/26678-page-images/p322.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..40d332c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p322.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p323.png b/26678-page-images/p323.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c05e5f8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p323.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p324.png b/26678-page-images/p324.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5f601b1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p324.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p325.png b/26678-page-images/p325.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7364b97
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p325.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p326.png b/26678-page-images/p326.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1ca24f4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p326.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p327.png b/26678-page-images/p327.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..54db3f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p327.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p328.png b/26678-page-images/p328.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0e30ad4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p328.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p329.png b/26678-page-images/p329.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c8d71e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p329.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p330.png b/26678-page-images/p330.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e16bc8e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p330.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p331.png b/26678-page-images/p331.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..215bd4e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p331.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p332.png b/26678-page-images/p332.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1ee6f6c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p332.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p333.png b/26678-page-images/p333.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..99859e7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p333.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p334.png b/26678-page-images/p334.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2b7e563
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p334.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p335.png b/26678-page-images/p335.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0cd9ce2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p335.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p336.png b/26678-page-images/p336.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ccd97ac
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p336.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p337.png b/26678-page-images/p337.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c1189af
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p337.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p338.png b/26678-page-images/p338.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06cf65f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p338.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p339.png b/26678-page-images/p339.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d689b94
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p339.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p340.png b/26678-page-images/p340.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..922c611
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p340.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p341.png b/26678-page-images/p341.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ebf9a84
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p341.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p342.png b/26678-page-images/p342.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a1c1a48
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p342.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p343.png b/26678-page-images/p343.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7c0e5e7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p343.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p344-image.png b/26678-page-images/p344-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c787778
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p344-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p344.png b/26678-page-images/p344.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5616eb5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p344.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p345-image.png b/26678-page-images/p345-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1e1ef12
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p345-image.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p345.png b/26678-page-images/p345.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e1f79aa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p345.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p346.png b/26678-page-images/p346.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f87699e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p346.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p347.png b/26678-page-images/p347.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b600c84
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p347.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p348.png b/26678-page-images/p348.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..09f2e08
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p348.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p349.png b/26678-page-images/p349.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a8b5c97
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p349.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p350.png b/26678-page-images/p350.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..deb5435
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p350.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p351.png b/26678-page-images/p351.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cc9b127
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p351.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p352.png b/26678-page-images/p352.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4bb8c0d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p352.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p353.png b/26678-page-images/p353.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d81bd4f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p353.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p354.png b/26678-page-images/p354.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..50a3cb7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p354.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p355.png b/26678-page-images/p355.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..84518cf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p355.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p356.png b/26678-page-images/p356.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d187ee0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p356.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p357.png b/26678-page-images/p357.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5d94200
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p357.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p358.png b/26678-page-images/p358.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6c36730
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p358.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p359.png b/26678-page-images/p359.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..61f1c06
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p359.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p360.png b/26678-page-images/p360.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..131fab2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p360.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p361.png b/26678-page-images/p361.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..31fda1e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p361.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p362.png b/26678-page-images/p362.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6e466ff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p362.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p363.png b/26678-page-images/p363.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..67ffa0b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p363.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p364.png b/26678-page-images/p364.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cc0730e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p364.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p365.png b/26678-page-images/p365.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3bbbf4f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p365.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p366.png b/26678-page-images/p366.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c0f6a7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p366.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p367.png b/26678-page-images/p367.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d02116a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p367.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p368.png b/26678-page-images/p368.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fc868c8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p368.png
diff --git a/26678-page-images/p370-image.png b/26678-page-images/p370-image.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e24a9ac
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678-page-images/p370-image.png
diff --git a/26678.txt b/26678.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..626ff08
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,8230 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Village of Vagabonds, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Village of Vagabonds
+
+Author: F. Berkeley Smith
+
+Release Date: September 21, 2008 [EBook #26678]
+Last updated: March 3, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as
+faithfully as possible; please see detailed list of printing issues at the
+end of the text.
+
+
+
+
+A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS
+
+
+By F. BERKELEY SMITH
+
+Author of "The Lady of Big Shanty."
+
+
+
+ A. L. BURT COMPANY
+ PUBLISHERS  NEW YORK
+
+ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
+ INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
+ PUBLISHED MAY, 1910
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1910, BY SMITH PUBLISHING HOUSE
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                         PAGE
+
+     I. The House by the Marsh                       3
+
+    II. Monsieur le Cure                            35
+
+   III. The Exquisite Madame de Breville            63
+
+    IV. The Smugglers                               91
+
+     V. Marianne                                   120
+
+    VI. The Baron's Perfectos                      151
+
+   VII. The Horrors of War                         186
+
+  VIII. The Million of Monsieur de Savignac        213
+
+    IX. The Man with the Gun                       245
+
+     X. The Bells of Pont du Sable                 274
+
+    XI. The Miser--Garron                          308
+
+   XII. Midwinter Flights                          339
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS
+
+      [Illustration: house by the marsh]
+
+A Village of Vagabonds
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER ONE
+
+THE HOUSE BY THE MARSH
+
+
+It was in fat Madame Fontaine's little cafe at Bar la Rose, that Norman
+village by the sea, that I announced my decision. It being market-day
+the cafe was noisy with peasants, and the crooked street without jammed
+with carts. Monsieur Torin, the butcher, opposite me, leaned back
+heavily from his glass of applejack and roared.
+
+Monsieur Pompanet, the blacksmith, at my elbow, put down his cup of
+black coffee delicately in its clean saucer and opened his honest gray
+eyes wide in amazement. Simultaneously Monsieur Jaclin, the mayor, in
+his freshly ironed blouse, who for want of room was squeezed next to
+Torin, choked out a wheezy "_Bon Dieu!_" and blew his nose in derision.
+
+"Pont du Sable--_Bon Dieu!_" exclaimed all three. "Pont du Sable--_Bon
+Dieu!_"
+
+"_Cristi!_" thundered Torin. "You say you are going to _live_ in Pont du
+Sable? _Helas!_ It is not possible, my friend, you are in earnest!"
+
+"That lost hole of a village of _sacre_ vagabonds," echoed Pompanet.
+"Why, the mud when the tide is out smells like the devil. It is
+unhealthy."
+
+"Pere Bordier and I went there for ducks twenty years ago," added the
+mayor. "We were glad enough to get away before dark. B-r-r! It was
+lonely enough, that marsh, and that dirty little fishing-village no
+longer than your arm. Bah! It's a hole, just as Pompanet says."
+
+Torin leaned across the table and laid a heavy hand humanely on my
+shoulder.
+
+"Take my advice," said he, "don't give up that snug farm of yours here
+for a lost hole like Pont du Sable."
+
+"But the sea-shooting is open there three hundred and sixty-five days in
+the year," I protested, with enthusiasm. "I'm tired of tramping my legs
+off here for a few partridges a season. Besides, what I've been looking
+for I've found--a fine old abandoned house with a splendid old courtyard
+and a wild garden. I had the good luck to climb over a wall and discover
+it."
+
+"I know the place you mean," interrupted the mayor. "It was a
+post-tavern in the old days before the railroad ran there."
+
+"And later belonged to the estate of the Marquis de Lys," I added
+proudly. "Now it belongs to me."
+
+"What! You've bought it!" exclaimed Torin, half closing his veal-like
+eyes.
+
+"Yes," I confessed, "signed, sealed, and paid for."
+
+"And what the devil do you intend to do with that old stone pile now
+that you've got it?" sneered Jaclin. "Ah! You artists are queer
+fellows!"
+
+"Live in it, messieurs," I returned as happily as I could, as I dropped
+six sous for my glass into Madame Fontaine's open palm, and took my
+leave, for under the torrent of their protest I was beginning to feel I
+had been a fool to be carried away by my love of a gun and the
+picturesque.
+
+The marsh at Pont du Sable was an old friend of mine. So were the desert
+beach beyond the dunes, and the lost fishing-village--"no longer than
+your arm." I had tramped in wind and rain and the good sunlight over
+that great desert of pasty black clay at low tide. I had lain at high
+tide in a sand-pit at the edge of the open sea beyond the dunes, waiting
+for chance shots at curlew and snipe. I had known the bay at the first
+glimmer of dawn with a flight of silver plovers wheeling for a rush over
+my decoys. Dawn--the lazy, sparkling noon and the golden hours before
+the crisp, still twilight warned me it was high time to start back to
+Bar la Rose fourteen kilometres distant. All these had become enchanting
+memories.
+
+Thus going to Pont du Sable for a day's shooting became a weekly
+delight, then a biweekly fascination, then an incorrigible triweekly
+habit. There was no alternative left me now but to live there. The
+charm of that wild bay and its lost village had gotten under my skin.
+And thus it happened that I deserted my farm and friends at Bar la Rose,
+and with my goods and chattels boarded the toy train one spring morning,
+bound for my abandoned house, away from sufficient-unto-itself Bar la
+Rose and its pigheaded inhabitants, the butcher, the blacksmith, and the
+mayor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is such a funny little train that runs to my new-found Paradise,
+rocking and puffing and grumbling along on its narrow-gauge track with
+its cars labelled like grown-up ones, first, second, and third class;
+and no two painted the same colour; and its noisy, squat engine like the
+real ones in the toy-stores, that wind up with a key and go rushing off
+frantically in tangents. No wonder the train to my lost village is
+called "_Le petit deraillard_"--"The little get-off-the-track." And so I
+say, it might all have come packed in excelsior in a neat box, complete,
+with instructions, for the sum of four francs sixty-five centimes, had
+it not been otherwise destined to run twice daily, rain or shine, to
+Pont du Sable, and beyond.
+
+Poor little train! It is never on time, but it does its best. It is at
+least far more prompt than its passengers, for most of them come running
+after it out of breath.
+
+"Hurry up, mademoiselle!" cries the engineer to a rosy-cheeked girl in
+sabots, rushing with a market-basket under one arm and a live goose
+under the other. "Eh, my little lady, you should have gotten out of bed
+earlier!" laughs the conductor as he pulls her aboard.
+
+"Toot! Toot!" And off goes the little get-off-the-track again, rocking
+and rumbling along past desert stretches of sand dunes screening the
+blue sea; past modern villas, isolated horrors in brick, pink, and baby
+blue, carefully planted away from the trees. Then suddenly the desert is
+left behind! Past the greenest of fields now, dotted with sleek, grazing
+cattle; past groves of pine; past snug Norman farms with low-thatched
+roofs half-smothered in yellow roses. Again the dunes, as the toy train
+swings nearer the sea. They are no longer desert wastes of sand and
+wire-grass, but covered now with a riot of growing things, running in
+one rich congested sweep of orchards, pastures, feathery woodlands and
+matted hedges down to the very edge of the blue sea.
+
+A sudden turn, and the toy train creeps out of a grove of pines to the
+open bay. It is high tide. A flight of plover, startled by the engine,
+go wheeling away in a silver streak to a spit of sand running out from
+the marsh. A puff of smoke from the sand-spit, and the band leaves two
+of its members to a gentleman in new leather leggings; then, whistling
+over the calamity that has befallen them, they wheel again and strike
+for the open sea and safety.
+
+Far across the expanse of rippling turquoise water stands a white
+lighthouse that at dusk is set with a yellow diamond. Snug at the lower
+end of the bay, a long mile from where the plovers rise, lies the lost
+village. Now the toy train is crawling through its crooked single
+street, the engine-bell ringing furiously that stray dogs and children,
+and a panicky flock of sheep may have time to get out of the way. The
+sheep are in charge of a rough little dog with a cast in one eye and a
+slim, barelegged girl who apologizes a dozen times to monsieur the
+engineer between her cries to her flock.
+
+"They are not very well brought up, my little one--those sacred mutton
+of yours," remarks the engineer as he comes to a dead stop, jumps out of
+his cab, and helps straighten out the tangle.
+
+"Ah, monsieur!" sighs the girl in despair. "What will you have? It is
+the little black one that is always to blame!"
+
+The busy dog crowds them steadily into line. He seems to be everywhere
+at once, darting from right to left, now rounding up a stubborn ewe and
+her first-born, now cornering the black one.
+
+"Toot! Toot!" And the little get-off-the-track goes rumbling on through
+the village, past the homes of the fishermen--a straggling line of low
+stone houses with quaint gabled roofs, and still quainter chimneys, and
+old doorways giving glimpses of dark interiors and dirt floors. Past the
+modest houses of the mayor, the baker, the butcher and Monsieur le
+Cure; then through the small public square, in which nothing ever
+happens, and up to a box of a station.
+
+"Pont du Sable!" cries the conductor, with as much importance as if he
+had announced Paris.
+
+I have arrived.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was no doubt about my new-found home being abandoned! The low
+stone wall that tempered the wind from courtyard and garden was green
+with lichens. The wide stone gateway, with its oaken doors barred within
+by massive cross-hooks that could have withstood a siege; the courtyard,
+flanked by the house and its rambling appendages that contained within
+their cavernous interiors the cider-press and cellars; the stable with
+its long stone manger, and next it the carved wooden bunk for the groom
+of two centuries ago; the stone pig-sty; the tile-roofed sheds--all had
+about them the charm of dignified decay.
+
+But the "chateau" itself!
+
+Generations of spiders had veiled every nook and corner within, and the
+nooks and corners were many. These cobwebs hung in ghostly festoons from
+the low-beamed ceiling of the living room, opening out upon the wild
+garden. They continued up the narrow stone stairway leading to the
+old-fashioned stone-paved bedrooms; they had been spun in a labyrinth
+all over the generous, spooky, old stone-paved attic, whose single eye
+of a window looked out over the quaint gables and undulating tiled roofs
+of adjoining attics, whose dark interiors were still pungent with the
+tons of apples they had once sheltered. Beyond my rambling roofs were
+rich orchards and noble trees and two cool winding lanes running up to
+the green country beyond.
+
+Ten days of strenuous settling passed, at the end of which my abandoned
+house was resuscitated, as it were. Without Suzette, my little
+maid-of-all-work, it would have been impossible. I may say we attacked
+this seemingly superhuman task together--and Suzette is so human. She
+has that frantic courage of youth, and a smile that is irresistible.
+
+"To-morrow monsieur shall see," she said. "My kitchen is clean--that is
+something, eh? And the beds are up, and the armoires, and nearly all of
+monsieur's old studio furniture in place. _Eh, ben!_ To-morrow night
+shall see most of the sketches hung and the rugs beaten--that is again
+something, eh? Then there will be only the brass and the andirons and
+the guns to clean."
+
+Ten days of strenuous attack, sometimes in the rain, and when I hammer
+my fingers in the rain I swear horribly; the average French saw, too,
+would have placed Job in a sanitarium. Suzette's cheery smile is a
+delight, and how her sturdy, dimpled arms can scrub, and dust, and cook,
+and clean. When she is working at full steam she invariably sings; but
+when her souffle does not souffle she bursts into tears--this good
+little peasant maid-of-all-work!
+
+And so the abandoned house by the marsh was settled. Now there is charm,
+and crackling fires o' nights within, and sunny breakfasts in the garden
+without--a garden that grew to be gay with flowers, and is still in any
+wind, thanks to my friend the lichen-stained wall over which clamber
+vines and all manner of growing things; and sometimes my kitten with her
+snow-white breast, whose innocent green eyes narrow to slits as she
+watches for hours two little birds that are trying to bring up a small
+family in the vines. I have told her plainly if she even touches them I
+will boil her in oil. "Do you hear, Miquette?" and she turns away and
+licks her pink paw as if she had not heard--you essence of selfishness
+that I love!
+
+Shall I tell you who is coming to dine to-night, Green-eyes? Our
+neighbours! Madame Alice de Breville who spoils you, and the Marquis de
+Clamard who does not like pussy-cats, but is too well-bred to tell you
+so, and the marquise who flatters you, and Blondel! Don't struggle--you
+cannot get away, I've got you tight. You are not going to have your way
+all the time. Look at me! Claws in and your ears up! There! And Tanrade,
+that big, whole-souled musician, with his snug old house and his two big
+dogs, either one of which would make mince-meat of you should you have
+the misfortune to mistake his garden for your own. Madame de
+Breville--do you hear?--who has but to half close her eyes to make
+Tanrade forget his name. He loves her madly, you see, pussy-kit!
+
+Ah, yes! The lost village! In which the hours are never dull. Lost
+village! With these Parisian neighbours, whose day of discovery
+antedated mine by several years. Lost village! In which there are jolly
+fishermen and fishergirls as pretty as some gipsies--slim and fearless,
+a genial old mayor, an optimistic blacksmith, and a butcher who is a
+seigneur; gentle old women in white caps, blue-eyed children, kind dogs,
+fresh air, and _life_!
+
+There is a mysterious fascination about that half-hour before the first
+glimmer of dawn. The leaves, this September morning, are shivering in
+the dusk of my garden; the house is as silent as my sleeping cat save
+for the resonant tick-tock, tick-tock, of the tall Norman clock in the
+kitchen, to which I tiptoe down and breakfast by candle-light.
+
+You should see the Essence of Selfishness then as she purrs around a
+simmering saucepan of milk destined for my coffee, and inspects the
+toast and jam, and sniffs at my breech-loader, well greased with
+neatsfoot-oil, and now the ghostly light in the courtyard tells me to
+hurry out on the bay.
+
+Low tide. Far out on the desert of black clay a colony of gulls have
+spent the night. Their quarrelsome jargon reaches me as I cautiously
+raise my head over the dunes, for often a band of plover is feeding at
+dawn out on the mud, close enough for a shot. Nothing in view save the
+gulls, those gossiping concierges of the bay, who rise like a squall of
+snow as I make a clean breast of my presence, and start across the
+soggy, slippery mud toward the marsh running out to the open sea. A
+curlew, motionless on his long legs, calls cheerfully from the point of
+sand: "Curli--Curli!" Strong, cheerful old bird. The rifts of white mist
+are lifting from the bay, thinned into rose vapour now, as the sun
+creeps above the green hillsides.
+
+Swish! Three silver plovers flash back of me--a clean miss. If we never
+missed we should never love a gun. It is time now to stalk the bottoms
+of the narrow, winding causeways that drain the bay. Their beds at low
+tide are full of dead mussels, dormant clams, and awkward sputtering
+crabs; the old ones sidling away from you with threatening claws wide
+open for combat; the young ones standing their ground bravely, in
+ignorance.
+
+Swish again! But this time I manage to kill them both--two fat golden
+plovers. The Essence of Selfishness shall have her fill at noon, and the
+pupils of her green eyes will contract in ecstasy as she crunches and
+gnaws.
+
+Now all the bay is alive. Moreover, the sea is sweeping in, filling the
+bay like a bath-tub, obliterating the causeways under millions of
+dancing ripples of turquoise. Soon my decoys are out, and I am sunk in a
+sand-pit at the edge of the sea. The wind holds strong from the
+northeast, and I am kept busy until my gun-barrels are too hot to be
+pleasant. All these things happen between dawn and a late breakfast in
+my garden.
+
+Suzette sang all day. It is always so with Suzette upon the days when
+the abandoned house is giving a dinner. The truth is, Suzette loves to
+cook; her pride and her happiness increase as the hour appointed for my
+guests to arrive approaches. With Suzette it is a delightful event.
+
+The cracked jingle-bell over my stone gateway had jingled incessantly
+since early morning, summoning this good little Norman maid-of-all-work
+to slip her trim feet into her sabots and rush across the court to open
+the small door piercing my wall beside the big gates. Twice for beggars,
+once for the grocer's boy, three times for the baker--who had, after
+all, forgotten the _brioche_; again for the baker's boy, who invariably
+forgets if he thinks there is another chance in his forgetting, of
+paying a forgotten compliment to Suzette. I heard his mother scolding
+him yesterday. His bread, which he kneads and bakes himself before dawn,
+is losing its lightness. There is little harmony between rising yeast
+and a failing heart. Again the bell jingles; this time it is the Mere
+Marianne, with a basket of quivering, iridescent mackerel just in from
+the night's fishing.
+
+Mere Marianne, who once was a village belle, is now thirty-three years
+of age, strong as a man, fair-haired, hatless, bronzed by the sun,
+salt-tanned, blue-eyed, a good mother to seven fair-haired, blue-eyed
+children; yet a hard, amiable drinker in her leisure hours after a good
+catch.
+
+"_Bonjour_, my all beautiful!" she greets Suzette as the door opens.
+
+"_Bonjour_, madame!" returns Suzette, her cheeks flushed from her
+kitchen fire.
+
+The word "madame" seems out of place, for Mere Marianne wears her man's
+short tarpaulin coat cinched about her waist with a thin tarred rope.
+Her sinewy legs, bare to the knees, are tightly incased in a pair of
+sea-soaked trousers.
+
+"So monsieur is having his friends to dinner," she rattles on
+garrulously, swinging her basket to the ground and kneeling before it.
+"I heard it as I came up the road from Blancheville's girl, who had it
+from the Mere Taurville. _Eh ben!_ What do you think of these?" she adds
+in the same breath, as she turns up two handsful of live mackerel. "Six
+sous apiece to you, my pretty one. You see I came to you first; I'm
+giving them to you as cheap as if you were my own daughter."
+
+"Come, be quick," returns Suzette. "I have my lobster to boil and my
+roast to get ready; four sous if you like, but not a sou more."
+
+"Four sous! _Bon Dieu!_ I would rather eat them myself. They only lack
+speech to tell you themselves how fresh they are. Look at them!"
+
+"Four sous," insists Suzette. "Do you think monsieur is rich enough to
+buy the _republique_."
+
+"_Allez!_ Then, take them at four sous." And Mere Marianne laughs, slips
+the money into her trousers pocket, and goes off to another bargain in
+the village, where, if she gets two sous for her mackerel she will be
+lucky.
+
+At six Suzette lifts the Burgundy tenderly from its resting-place in a
+closet beneath the winding stone stairs--a stone closet, low, sinister,
+and dark, that suggests the solitary dungeons of feudal times. Three
+cobwebbed bottles of Burgundy are now carefully ranged before the
+crackling blaze in the living room. At six-thirty Suzette lays the
+generous dark-oak table in lace and silver, thin glasses, red-shaded
+candles, and roses--plenty of roses from the garden. Her kitchen by this
+time is no longer open to visitors. It has become a sacred place,
+teeming with responsibility--a laboratory of resplendent shining copper
+sauce-pans, pots and casseroles, in which good things steam and stew and
+bubble under lids of burnished gold, which, when lifted, give one a
+rousing appetite.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I knew Tanrade's ring--vigorous and hearty, like himself. You would
+never guess this sturdy, broad-shouldered man has created delicious
+music--fairy ballets, pantomimes, and operettas. All Paris has applauded
+him for years, and his country has rewarded him with a narrow red
+ribbon. Rough-bearded, bronzed like a sailor, his brown eyes gleam with
+kindness and intelligence. The more I know this modest great man the
+more I like him, and I have known him in all kinds of wind and weather,
+for Tanrade is an indefatigable hunter. He and I have spent nights
+together in his duck-blind--a submerged hut, a murderous deceit sunk far
+out on the marsh--cold nights; soft moonlight nights--the marsh a mystic
+fairy-land; black nights---mean nights of thrashing rain. Nights that
+paled to dawn with no luck to bring back to Suzette's larder. Sunny
+mornings after lucky nights, when Tanrade and I would thaw out over our
+coffee in the garden among the roses.
+
+Tanrade had arrived early, a habit with this genial gourmand when the
+abandoned house is giving a dinner, for he likes to supervise the final
+touches. He was looking critically over the three cobwebbed bottles of
+his favourite Burgundy now warming before my fire, and having tenderly
+lifted the last bottle in the row to a place which he considered a safer
+temperature, he straightened and squared his broad shoulders to the
+blaze.
+
+"I'll send you half a dozen more bottles to-morrow," he said.
+
+"No, you won't, my old one," I protested, but he raised his hand and
+smiled.
+
+"The better the wine the merrier shall be the giver. Eighteen bottles
+left! _Eh bien!_ It was a lucky day when that monastery was forced to
+disband," he chuckled, alluding to the recent separation of the church
+from the state. "_Vive la Republique!_" He crossed the room to the
+sideboard and, having assured himself the Camembert was of the right
+age, went singing into Suzette's kitchen to glance at the salad.
+
+"Bravo, my little one, for your romaine!" I heard him exclaim.
+
+Then a moment's silence ensued, while he tasted the dressing.
+"_Sacristi!_ My child, do you think we are rabbits. _Helas!_ Not a bit
+of astragon in your seasoning! A thousand thunders! A salad is not a
+salad without astragon. Come, be quick, the lantern! I know where the
+bed is in the garden."
+
+"Ah, monsieur Tanrade! To think I should have forgotten it!" sighed the
+little maid. "If monsieur will only let me hold the lantern for him!"
+
+"There, there! Never mind! See, you are forgiven. Attend to your
+lobster. Quick, your soup is boiling over!" And he went out into the
+garden in search of the seasoning.
+
+Suzette adores him--who does not in the lost village? He had rewarded
+her with a two-franc piece and forgiven her with a kiss.
+
+I had hardly time to open the big gates without and light the candles
+within under their red shades glowing over the mass of roses still wet
+from the garden, before I heard the devilish wail of a siren beyond the
+wall; then a sudden flash of white light from two search-lights
+illumined the courtyard, and with a wrenching growl Madame Alice de
+Breville's automobile whined up to my door. The next instant the tip of
+a little patent-leather slipper, followed by the trimmest of silken
+ankles framed in a frou-frou of creamy lace, felt for the steel step of
+the limousine. At the same moment a small white-gloved hand was
+outstretched to mine for support.
+
+"_Bonsoir_, dear friend," she greeted me in her delicious voice. "You
+see how punctual I am. _L'heure militaire_--like you Americans." And
+she laughed outright, disclosing two exquisite rows of pearls, her soft,
+dark eyes half closing mischievously as she entered my door--eyes as
+black as her hair, which she wore in a bandeau. The tonneau growled to
+its improvised garage under the wood-shed.
+
+She was standing now in the hall at the foot of the narrow stone stairs,
+and as I slipped the long opera-cloak of dove-gray from her shoulders as
+white as ivory, she glided out of it, and into the living room--a room
+which serves as gun room, dining room and salon.
+
+"Stand where you are," I said, as madame approached the fire. "What a
+portrait!"
+
+She stopped, the dancing light from the flames playing over her lithe,
+exquisite figure, moulded in a gown of scintillating scales of black
+jet. Then, seeing I had finished my mental note of line and composition,
+she half turned her pretty head and caught sight of the ruby, cobwebbed
+row of old Burgundy.
+
+"Ah! Tanrade's Burgundy!" she exclaimed with a little cry of delight.
+
+"How did you guess?"
+
+"Guess! One does not have to guess when one sees as good Burgundy as
+that. You see I know it." She stretched forth her firm white arms to the
+blaze.
+
+"Where is he, that good-for-nothing fellow?" she asked.
+
+"In the garden after some astragon for the salad."
+
+She tripped to the half-open door leading to the tangled maze of paths.
+
+"Tanrade! Tanrade! _Bonsoir, ami!_" she called.
+
+"_Bonsoir_, Madame Punctual," echoed his great voice from the end of the
+garden, and again he broke forth in song as he came hurrying back to the
+house with his lantern and his bunch of seasoning. Following at his
+heels trotted the Essence of Selfishness.
+
+"Oh, you beauty!" cried Alice. She nodded mischievously to Tanrade, who
+rushed to the piano, and before the Essence of Selfishness had time to
+elude her she was picked up bodily, held by her fore paws and forced to
+dance upon her hind legs, her sleek head turned aside in hate, her
+velvety ears flattened to her skull.
+
+"Dance! Dance!" laughed Alice. "One--two, one--two! _Voila!_" The next
+instant Miquette was caught up and hugged to a soft neck encircled with
+jewels. "There, go! Do what you like, Mademoiselle Independent!"
+
+And as Miquette regained her liberty upon her four paws, the Marquis and
+Marquise de Clamard announced their arrival by tapping on the window, so
+that for the moment the cozy room was deserted save by Miquette, who
+profited during the interval by stealing a whole sardine from the
+hors-d'oeuvres.
+
+Another good fellow is the marquis--tall, with the air of a diplomat,
+the simplicity of a child, and the manners of a prince. Another good
+friend, too, is the marquise. They had come on foot, these near-by
+neighbours, with their lantern. Was there ever such a marquise? This
+once famous actress, who interpreted the comedies of Moliere. Was there
+ever a more charming grandmother? Ah! You do not look it even now with
+your gray hair, for you are ever young and witty and gracious. She
+clapped her hands as she peered across the dinner-table to the row
+before the chimney.
+
+"My Burgundy, I see!" she exclaimed, to my surprise; Tanrade was gazing
+intently at a sketch. "Oh, you shall see," added the marquise seriously.
+"You are not the only one, my friend, the gods have blessed. Did you not
+send me a dozen bottles this morning, Monsieur Tanrade? Come, confess!"
+
+He turned and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Impossible! I cannot remember. I am so absent-minded, madame," and he
+bent and kissed her hand.
+
+"Where's Blondel?" cried Clamard, as he extracted a thin cigarette-case
+from his waistcoat.
+
+"He'll be here presently," I explained.
+
+"It's a long drive for him," added the marquise, a ring of sympathy in
+her voice. "Poor boy, he is working so hard now that he is editor of _La
+Revue Normande_. Ah, those wretched politics!"
+
+"He doesn't mind it," broke in Tanrade, "he has a skin like a
+bear--driving night and day all over the country as he does. What
+energy, _mon Dieu_!"
+
+"Oh!" cried Madame de Breville, "Blondel shall sing for us 'L'Histoire
+de Madame X.' You shall cry with laughter."
+
+"And 'Le Brigadier de Tours,'" added Tanrade.
+
+The sound of hoofs and the rattle of a dog-cart beyond the wall sent us
+hurrying to the courtyard.
+
+"_Eh, voila!_" shouted Tanrade. "There he is, that good Blondel!"
+
+"Suzette!" I cried as I passed the kitchen. "The vermouth!"
+
+"_Bien_, monsieur."
+
+"Eh, Blondel, there is nothing to eat, you late vagabond!"
+
+A black mare steaming from her hot pace of twelve miles, drawing a
+red-wheeled dog-cart, entered the courtyard.
+
+"A thousand pardons," came a voice out of a bearskin coat, "my editorial
+had to go to press early, or I should have been here half an hour ago."
+
+Then such a greeting and a general rush to unharness the tired mare, the
+marquis tugging at one trace and I at the other, while Tanrade backed
+the cart under the shed next to the cider-press, Alice de Breville and
+the marquise holding the mare's head. All this, despite the pleadings of
+Blondel, who has a horror of giving trouble--the only man servant to the
+abandoned house being Pierre, who was occupied at that hour in
+patrolling the coast in the employ of the French Republique, looking out
+for possible smugglers, and in whose spare hours served me as gardener.
+And so the mare was led into the stable with its stone manger, where
+every one helped with halter, blanket, a warm bed, and a good supper;
+Alice de Breville holding the lantern while the marquise bound on the
+mare's blanket with a girdle of straw.
+
+"Monsieur, dinner is served," announced Suzette gently as she entered
+the stable.
+
+"Vive Suzette!" shouted the company. "_Allons manger, mes enfants!_"
+
+They found their places at the table by themselves. In the abandoned
+house there is neither host nor formality, but in their stead
+comradeship, understanding, and good cheer.
+
+Blondel is delightful. You can always count on him for the current
+events with the soup, the latest scandal with the roast, and a song of
+his own making with the cheese. What more can one ask? It all rolls from
+him as easily as the ink from his clever pen; it is as natural with him
+as his smile or the merriment in his eyes.
+
+During the entire dinner the Essence of Selfishness was busy visiting
+from one friendly lap to another, frequently crossing the table to do
+so, and as she refuses to dine from a saucer, though it be of the finest
+porcelain of Rouen, she was fed piecemeal. It was easily seen Tanrade
+was envious of this charity from one shapely little hand.
+
+What a contrast are these dinners in the lost village to some I have
+known elsewhere! What refreshing vivacity! How genuine and merry they
+are from the arrival of the first guest to the going of the last! When
+at last the coffee and liqueurs were reached and six thin spirals of
+blue smoke were curling lazily up among the rafters of the low ceiling,
+the small upright piano talked under Tanrade's vibrant touch. He sang
+heartily whatever came into his head; now a quaint peasant song, again
+the latest success of the cafe concert.
+
+Alice de Breville, stretched out in the long chair before the fire, was
+listening intently.
+
+And so with song and story the hands of the tall clock slipped by the
+hours. It was midnight before we knew it. Again Tanrade played--this
+time it was the second act of his new operetta. When he had finished he
+took his seat beside the woman in the long chair.
+
+"Bravo!" she murmured in his ear. Then she listened as he talked to her
+earnestly.
+
+"Good!" I overheard her say to him with conviction, her eyes gleaming.
+"And you are satisfied at last with the second act?"
+
+"Yes, after a month's struggle with it."
+
+"Ah, I am so glad--so glad!" she sighed, and pressed his hand.
+
+"I must go to Paris next week for the rehearsals."
+
+"For long?" she asked.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "For weeks, perhaps. Come," he
+said, "let us go out to the wall--the moon is up. The marsh is so
+beautiful in the moonlight."
+
+She rose, slipped on the dove-gray cloak he brought her, and together
+they disappeared in the courtyard. The marquise raised her eyes to mine
+and smiled.
+
+"_Bonne promenade_, dear children," she called after them, but they did
+not hear.
+
+An hour later Alice de Breville was speeding back to her chateau;
+Blondel and his mare were also clattering homeward, for he had still an
+article to finish before daylight. I had just bid the marquis and the
+marquise good night when Tanrade, who was about to follow, suddenly
+turned and called me aside in the shadow of the gateway. What he said to
+me made my heart leap. His eyes were shining with a strange light; his
+hands, gripping me by both shoulders, trembled.
+
+"It is true," he repeated. "Don't tell me I am dreaming, old friend.
+Yes, it is true. Alice--yes, it is Alice. Come, a glass of wine! I feel
+faint--and happy!"
+
+We went back to the dying fire, and I believe he heard all my
+congratulations, though I am not sure. He seemed in a dream.
+
+When he had gone Suzette lighted my candle.
+
+"Suzette," I said, "your dinner was a success."
+
+"Ah, but I am content, monsieur. _Mon Dieu_, but I do love to cook!"
+
+"Come, Miquette! It's past your bedtime, you adorable egoist."
+
+"_Bonsoir_, Suzette."
+
+"_Bonsoir_, monsieur."
+
+Village of Vagabonds! In which the hours are never dull! Lost village by
+the Normand sea! In which lies a paradise of good-fellowship, romance,
+love, and sound red wine!
+
+      [Illustration: train]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: the little stone church]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWO
+
+MONSIEUR LE CURE
+
+
+The sun had just risen, and the bell of the little stone church
+chattered and jangled, flinging its impatient call over the sleeping
+village of Pont du Sable. In the clear morning air its voice could be
+heard to the tops of the green hills, and across the wide salt marsh
+that stretched its feathery fingers to the open sea.
+
+A lone, wrinkled fisherman, rolling lazily on the mighty heave of the
+incoming tide, turned his head landward.
+
+"_Sapristi!_" he grinned, as he slipped a slimy thumb from the meshes of
+a mackerel-net and crossed himself. "She has a hoarse throat, that
+little one."
+
+Far up the hillside a mile back of the churchyard, a barelegged girl
+driving a cow stopped to listen, her hood pushed back, her brown hands
+crossed upon her breast.
+
+Lower down, skirting the velvet edge of the marsh, filmy rifts of mist
+broke into shreds or blended with the spirals of blue smoke mounting
+skyward from freshly kindled fires.
+
+Pont du Sable was awake for the day.
+
+It is the most unimportant of little villages, yet it is four centuries
+old, and of stone. It seems to have shrivelled by its great age, like
+its oldest inhabitants. One-half of its two score of fishermen's houses
+lie crouched to the rambling edge of its single street; the other half
+might have been dropped at random, like stones from the pocket of some
+hurrying giant. Some of these, including the house of the ruddy little
+mayor and the polite, florid grocer, lie spilled along the edge of the
+marsh.
+
+As for Monsieur le Cure, he was at this very moment in the small stone
+church saying mass to five fishermen, two devout housewives, a little
+child, an old woman in a white cap, and myself. Being in my
+shooting-boots, I had tiptoed into a back seat behind two of the
+fishermen, and sat in silence watching Monsieur le Cure's gaunt figure
+and listening to his deep, well-modulated, resonant voice.
+
+What I saw was a man uncommonly tall and well built, dressed in a rusty
+black soutane that reached in straight lines from beneath his chin to
+his feet, which were encased in low calf shoes with steel buckles. I
+noticed, too, that his face was angular and humorous; his eyes keen and
+merry by turns; his hair of the colourless brown one sees among
+fisherfolk whose lives are spent in the sun and rain. I saw, too, that
+he was impecunious, for the front edges of his cassock were frayed and
+three buttons missing, not to be wondered at, I said to myself, as I
+remembered that the stone church, like the village it comforted, had
+always been poor.
+
+Now and then during the mass I saw the cure glance at the small leaded
+window above him as if making a mental note of the swaying tree-tops
+without in the graveyard. Then his keen gray eyes again reverted to the
+page he knew by heart. The look evidently carried some significance,
+for the gray-haired old sea-dog in front of me cocked his blue eye to
+his partner--they were both in from a rough night's fishing--and
+muttered:
+
+"It will be a short mass."
+
+"_Ben sur_," whispered back the other from behind his leathery hand.
+"The wind's from the northeast. It will blow a gale before sundown." And
+he nodded toward the swaying tree-tops.
+
+With this, the one with the blue eyes straightened back in the wooden
+pew and folded his short, knotty arms in attention; the muscles of his
+broad shoulders showing under his thick seaman's jersey, the collar
+encircling his corded, stocky neck deep-seamed by a thousand winds and
+seas. The gestures of these two old craftsmen of the sea, who had worked
+so long together, were strangely similar. When they knelt I could see
+the straw sticking from the heels of their four wooden sabots and the
+rolled-up bottoms of their patched sail-cloth trousers.
+
+As the mass ended the old woman in the white cap coughed gently, the
+cure closed his book, stepped from the chancel, patted the child's head
+in passing, strode rapidly to the sacristy, and closed the door behind
+him.
+
+I followed the handful of worshippers out into the sunlight and down the
+hill. As I passed the two old fishermen I heard the one with the blue
+eyes say to his mate with the leathery hand:
+
+"_Allons, viens t'en!_ What if we went to the cafe after that dog's
+night of a sea?"
+
+"I don't say no," returned his partner; then he winked at me and pointed
+to the sky.
+
+"I know," I said. "It's what I've been waiting for."
+
+I kept on down the crooked hill to the public square where nothing ever
+happens save the arrival of the toy train and the yearly fete, and
+deciding the two old salts were right after their "dog's night" (and it
+had blown a gale), wheeled to the left and followed them to the tiniest
+of cafes kept by stout, cheery Madame Vinet. It has a box of a kitchen
+through which you pass into a little square room with just space enough
+for four tables; or you may go through the kitchen into a snug garden
+gay in geraniums and find a sheltered table beneath a rickety arbour.
+
+"Ah, _mais_, it was bad enough!" grinned the one with the leathery hand
+as he drained his thimbleful of applejack and, Norman-like, tossed the
+last drop on the floor of the snug room.
+
+"Bad enough! It was a sea, I tell you, monsieur, like none since the
+night the wreck of _La Belle Marie_ came ashore," chimed in the one with
+the blue eye, as he placed his elbows on the clean marbletop table and
+made room for my chair. "_Mon Dieu!_ You should have seen the ducks
+south of the Wolf. Aye, 'twas a sight for an empty stomach."
+
+The one with the leathery hand nodded his confirmation sleepily.
+
+"_Helas!_" continued the one with the blue eye. "If monsieur could only
+have been with us!" As he spoke he lifted his shaggy eyebrows in the
+direction of the church and laughed softly. "He's happy with his
+northeast wind; I knew 'twould be a short mass."
+
+"A good catch?" I ventured, looking toward him as Madame Vinet brought
+my glass.
+
+"Eight thousand mackerel, monsieur. We should have had ten thousand had
+not the wind shifted."
+
+"_Ben sur!_" grumbled the one with the leathery hand.
+
+At this Madame Vinet planted her fists on her ample hips. "_Helas!_
+There's the Mere Coraline's girl to be married Thursday," she sighed,
+"and Planchette's baby to be christened Tuesday, and the wind in the
+northeast, _mon Dieu!_" And she went back to her spotless kitchen for a
+sou's worth of black coffee for a little girl who had just entered.
+
+Big, strong, hearty Madame Vinet! She has the frankness of a man and the
+tenderness of a mother. There is something of her youth still left at
+forty-six; not her figure--that is rotund simplicity itself--but in the
+clearness of her brown eyes and the finely cut profile before it reaches
+her double chin, and the dimples in her hands, well shaped even to-day.
+
+And so the little girl who had come in for the sou's worth of coffee
+received an honest measure, smoking hot out of a dipper and into the
+bottle she had brought. In payment Madame Vinet kissed the child, and
+added a lump of sugar to the bargain. From where I sat I could see the
+tears start in the good woman's eyes. The next moment she came back to
+us laughing to disguise them.
+
+"Ah, you good soul!" I thought to myself. "Always in a good humour;
+always pleasant. There you go again--this time it was the wife of a poor
+fisherman who could not pay. How many a poor devil of a half-frozen
+sailor you have warmed, you whose heart is so big and whose gains are so
+small!"
+
+I rose at length, bade the two old salts good morning, and with a
+blessing of good luck, recovered my gun from the kitchen cupboard, where
+I had reverently left it during mass, and went on my way to shoot. I,
+too, was anxious to make the most of the northeast wind.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There being no street in the lost village save the main thoroughfare,
+one finds only alleys flanked by rambling walls. One of these runs up to
+Tanrade's house; another finds its zigzag way to the back gate of the
+marquis, who, being a royalist, insists upon telling you so, for the
+keystone of his gate is emblazoned with a bas-relief of two carved
+eagles guarding the family crest. Still another leads unexpectedly to
+the silent garden of Monsieur le Cure. It is a protecting little by-way
+whose walls tell no tales. How many a suffering heart seeking human
+sympathy and advice has the strong figure in the soutane sent home with
+fresh courage by way of this back lane. Indeed it would be a lost
+village without him. He is barely over forty years old, and yet no cure
+was ever given a poorer parish, for Pont du Sable has been bankrupt for
+generations. Since a fortnight--so I am told--Monsieur le Cure has had
+no _bonne_. The reason is that no good Suzette can be found to replace
+the one whom he married to a young farmer from Bonville. The result is
+the good cure dines many times a week with the marquis, where he is so
+entertaining and so altogether delightful and welcome a guest that the
+marquise tells me she feels ten years younger after he has gone.
+
+"Poor man," she confided to me the other day, "what will you have? He
+has no _bonne_, and he detests cooking. Yesterday he lunched at the
+chateau with Alice de Breville; to-morrow he will be cheering up two old
+maiden aunts who live a league from Bar la Rose. Is it not sad?" And she
+laughed merrily.
+
+"Monsieur le Cure has no _bonne_!" _Parbleu!_ It has become a household
+phrase in Pont du Sable. It is so difficult to get a servant here; the
+girls are all fishing. As for Tanrade's maid-of-all-work, like the
+noiseless butler of the marquis and the _femme de chambre_ of Alice de
+Breville, they are all from Paris; and yet I'll wager that no larder in
+the village is better stocked than Monsieur le Cure's, for every
+housewife vies with her neighbour in ready-cooked donations since the
+young man from Bonville was accepted.
+
+But these good people do not forget. They remember the day when the farm
+of Pere Marin burned; they recall the figure in the black soutane
+stumbling on through flame and smoke carrying an unconscious little girl
+in his strong arms to safety. Four times he went back where no man
+dared go--and each time came out with a life.
+
+Again, but for his indomitable grit, a half-drowned father and daughter,
+clinging to a capsized fishing-smack in a winter sea, would not be
+alive--there are even fisherfolk who cannot swim. Monsieur le Cure saw
+this at a glance, alone he fought his way in the freezing surf out to
+the girl and the man. He brought them in and they lived.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But there is a short cut to the marsh if you do but know it--one that
+has served me before. You can easily find it, for you have but to follow
+your nose along the wall of Madame Vinet's cafe, creep past the modest
+rose-garden of the mayor, zigzag for a hundred paces or more among
+crumbling walls, and before you know it you are out on the marsh.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The one with the blue eye was right.
+
+The wind _was_ from the northeast in earnest, and the tide racing in.
+Half a mile outward a dozen long puntlike scows, loaded to their brims
+with sand, were being borne on the swirling current up the river's
+channel, each guided at the stern by a ragged dot of a figure straining
+at an oar.
+
+As I struck out across the desolate waste of mud, bound for the point of
+dry marsh, the figure steering the last scow, as he passed, waved a
+warning to me. With the incoming sweep of tide the sunlight faded, the
+bay became noisy with the cries of sea-fowl, and the lighthouse beyond
+the river's channel stood out against the ominous green sky like a stick
+of school-chalk.
+
+I jerked my cap tighter over my ears, and lowering my head to the wind
+kept on. I had barely time to make the marsh. Over the black desolate
+waste of clay-mud the sea was spreading its hands--long, dangerous
+hands, with fingers that every moment shot out longer and nearer my
+tracks. The wind blew in howling gusts now, straight in from the open
+sea. Days like these the ducks have no alternative but the bay. Only a
+black diver can stand the strain outside. Tough old pirates
+these--diving to keep warm.
+
+I kept on, foolish as it was. A flight of becassines were whirled past
+me, twittering in a panic as they fought their way out of sudden
+squalls. I turned to look back. Already my sunken tracks were
+obliterated under a glaze of water, but I felt I was safe, for I had
+gained harder ground. It was a relief to slide to the bottom of one of
+the labyrinth of causeways that drain the marsh, and plunge on sheltered
+from the wind.
+
+Presently I heard ducks quacking ahead. I raised my head cautiously to
+the level of the wire-grass. A hundred rods beyond, nine black ducks
+were grouped near the edge of a circular pool; behind them, from where I
+stood, there rose from the level waste a humplike mound. I could no
+longer proceed along the bottom of the causeway, as it was being rapidly
+filled to within an inch below my boot-tops. The hump was my only
+salvation, so I crawled to the bank and started to stalk the nine black
+ducks.
+
+It was difficult to keep on my feet on the slimy mud-bank, for the wind,
+true to the fishermen's prediction, was now blowing half a gale.
+Besides, this portion of the marsh was strange to me, as I had only
+seen it at a distance from the lower end of the bay, where I generally
+shot. I was within range of the ducks now, and had raised my hammers--I
+still shoot a hammer-gun--when a human voice rang out. Then, like some
+weird jack-in-the-box, there popped out from the mound a straight,
+long-waisted body in black waving its arms.
+
+It was the cure!
+
+"Stay where you are," he shouted. "Treacherous ground! I'll come and
+help you!" Then for a second he peered intently under his hand. "Ah! It
+is you, monsieur--the newcomer; I might have guessed it." He laughed,
+leaping out and striding toward me. "Ah, you Americans! You do not mind
+the weather."
+
+"_Bonjour_, Monsieur le Cure," I shouted back in astonishment, trying to
+steady myself across a narrow bridge of mud spanning the causeway.
+
+"Look out!" he cried. "That mud you're on is dangerous. She's sinking!"
+
+It was too late; my right foot barely made another step before down I
+went, gun, shells, and all, up to my chin in ice-cold water. The next
+instant he had me by the collar of my leather coat in a grip of steel,
+and I was hauled out, dripping and draining, on the bank.
+
+"I'm all right," I sputtered.
+
+"Come inside _instantly_," he said.
+
+"Inside? Inside where?" I asked.
+
+He pointed to the hump.
+
+"You must get your wet things off and into bed at once." This came as a
+command.
+
+"Bed! Where? Whose bed?" Was he an Aladdin with a magic lamp, that could
+summon comfort in that desolation? "Monsieur," I choked, "I owe you a
+thousand apologies. I came near killing one of your nine decoys. I
+mistook them for wild mallards."
+
+He laughed softly. "They are not mine," he explained. "They belong to
+the marquis; it is his gardener who pickets them out for me. I could not
+afford to keep them myself. They eat outrageously, those nine deceivers.
+They are well placed to-day; just the right distance." And he called the
+three nearest us by name, for they were quacking loudly. "Be still,
+Fannine! There, Pierrot! If your cord and swivel does not work, my good
+drake, I'll fix it for you, but don't make such a fuss; you'll have
+noise enough to make later." And gripping me by the arm, he pushed me
+firmly ahead of him to a small open door in the mound. I peered into the
+darkness within.
+
+"Get in," said he. "It's small, but it's warm and comfortable inside.
+After you, my friend," he added graciously, and we descended into a
+narrow ditch, its end blocked by a small, safe-like door leading into a
+subterranean hut, its roof being the mound, shelving out to a
+semicircular, overhanging eyebrow skirting the edge of the circular pool
+some ten yards back of the line of live decoys.
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Monsieur le Cure, "you should have seen the duck-blind I
+had three years ago. This _gabion_ of mine is smaller, but it is in
+better line with the flights," he explained as he opened the door. "Look
+out for the steps--there are two."
+
+I now stood shivering in the gloom of a box-like, underground anteroom,
+provided with a grated floor and a low ribbed ceiling; beyond this,
+through another small door, was an adjoining compartment deeper than the
+one in which we stood, and in the darkness I caught the outline of a
+cot-bed, a carved, high-backed, leather-seated chair, and the blue glint
+of guns lying in their racks. The place was warm and smelled, like the
+cabin of some fishing-sloop, of sea-salt and tar.
+
+It did not take me long to get out of my clothes. When the last of them
+lay around my heels I received a rubbing down with a coarse sailor's
+shirt, that sent the blood back where it belonged.
+
+"_Allons!_ Into bed at once!" insisted the cure. "You'll find those army
+blankets dry."
+
+I felt my way in while he struck a match and lighted a candle upon a
+narrow shelf strewn with empty cartridges. The candle sputtered, sunk to
+a blue flame, and flared up cheerfully, while the cure poured me out a
+stiff glass of brandy, and I lay warm in the blankets of the _Armee
+Francaise_, and gazed about me at my strange quarters.
+
+Back of my pillow was, tightly closed, in three sections, a narrow
+firing-slit. Beside the bed the candle's glow played over the carved
+back of the leather-seated chair. Above the closed slit ran a shelf, and
+ranged upon it were some fifty cartridges and an old-fashioned fat
+opera-glass. This, then, was Monsieur le Cure's duck-blind, or rather,
+in French, his _gabion_.
+
+The live decoys began quacking nervously. The cure, about to speak,
+tip-toed over to the firing-slit and let down cautiously one of its
+compartments.
+
+"A flight of plovers passing over us," he remarked. "Yes, there they go.
+If the wind will only hold you shall see--there will be ducks in," his
+gray eyes beaming at the thought.
+
+Then he drew the chair away from the firing-slit and seated himself,
+facing me.
+
+"If you knew," he began, "how much it means to me to talk to one of the
+outside world--your country--America! You must tell me much about it. I
+have always longed to see it, but----" He shrugged his shoulders
+helplessly. "Are you warm?" he asked.
+
+"Warm?" I laughed. "I never felt better in my life." And I thanked him
+again for his kindness to a stranger in distress. "A stranger in luck,"
+I added.
+
+"I saw you at mass this morning," he returned bending over, his hands on
+his knees. "But you are not a Catholic, my friend? You are always
+welcome to my church, however, remember that."
+
+"Thank you," I said. "I like your little church, and--I like you,
+Monsieur le Cure."
+
+He put forth his hand. "Brother sportsmen," he said. "It _is_ a
+brotherhood, isn't it? You are a Protestant, is it not so?" And his
+voice sank to a gentle tone.
+
+"Yes, I am what they call a blue Presbyterian."
+
+"I have heard of that," he said. "'A _blue_ Presbyterian.'" He repeated
+it to himself and smiled. Suddenly he straightened and his finger went
+to his lips.
+
+"Hark!" he whispered. "Hear their wings!"
+
+Instantly the decoys set up a strenuous quacking. Then again all was
+silent.
+
+"Too high," muttered the cure. "I do not expect much in before the late
+afternoon. Do you smoke?"
+
+"Yes, gladly," I replied, "but my cigarettes are done for, I am afraid;
+they were in the pocket of my hunting coat."
+
+"Don't move," he said, noticing my effort to rise. "I've got
+cigarettes." And he fumbled in the shadow of the narrow shelf.
+
+I had hardly lighted my own over the candle-flame, which he held for me,
+when I felt a gentle rocking and heard the shells rattle as they rolled
+to the end of the shelf, stop, and roll back again.
+
+"Do not be alarmed," he laughed, "it's only the water filling the outer
+jacket of my _gabion_. We shall be settled and steady in a moment, and
+afloat for the night."
+
+"The night!" I exclaimed in amazement. "But, my good friend, I have no
+intention of wearing out my welcome; I had planned to get home for
+luncheon."
+
+"Impossible!" he replied. "We are now completely surrounded by water. It
+is always so at high tide at this end of the bay. Come, see for
+yourself. Besides, you don't know how glad I am that we can have the
+chance to shoot together. I've been waiting weeks for this wind."
+
+He blew out the candle, and again opened the firing-slit. As far as one
+could see the distant sea was one vast sweep of roaring water.
+
+"You see," he said, closing the firing-slit and striking a match--"you
+_must_ stay. I have plenty of dry clothes for you in the locker, and we
+shall not go hungry." He drew out a basket from beneath the cot and took
+from it a roasted chicken, two litres of red wine, and some bread and
+cheese, which he laid on the shelf. "A present," he remarked, "from one
+of my parishioners. You know, I have no _bonne_."
+
+"I have heard so," said I.
+
+He laughed softly. "One hears everything in the village. Ah! But what
+good children they are! They even forgive my love of shooting!" He
+crossed his strong arms in the rusty black sleeves of his cassock, and
+for some moments looked at me seriously. "You think it strange, no
+doubt, irreverent, for a cure to shoot," he continued. "Forgive me if I
+have shocked the ideas of your faith."
+
+"Nonsense!" I returned, raising my hand in protest. "You are only human,
+an honest sportsman. We understand each other perfectly."
+
+"Thank you," he returned, with sincerity. "I was afraid you might not
+understand--you are the first American I have ever met."
+
+He began taking out an outfit of sailor's clothes from the locker--warm
+things--which I proceeded to get into with satisfaction. I had just
+poked my head through the rough jersey and buckled my belt when our
+decoys again gave warning.
+
+Out went the candle.
+
+"Mallards!" whispered the cure. "Here, take this gun, quick! It is the
+marquis's favourite," he added in a whisper.
+
+He reached for another breech-loader, motioned me to the chair, let down
+the three compartments of the firing-slit, and stretched himself out
+full length on the cot, his keen eyes scanning the bay at a glance.
+
+We were just in time--a dozen mallards were coming straight for our
+decoys.
+
+Bang! thundered the cure's gun.
+
+Bang! Bang! echoed my own. Then another roar from the cure's left
+barrel. When the smoke cleared three fat ducks were kicking beyond our
+deceivers.
+
+"Take him!" he cried, as a straggler--a drake--shot past us. I snapped
+in a shell and missed, but the cure was surer. Down came the straggler,
+a dead duck at sixty yards.
+
+"Bravo, Monsieur le Cure!" I cried.
+
+But he only smiled modestly and, extracting the empty shell, blew the
+lurking smoke free from the barrels. It was noon when we turned to half
+the chicken and a bottle of _vin ordinaire_ with an appetite.
+
+The northeast wind had now shifted to the south; the bay became like
+glass, and so the afternoon passed until the blood-red sun, like some
+huge ribbed lantern of the Japanese, slowly sank into the sea. It grew
+dusk over the desolate marsh. Stray flights of plovers, now that the
+tide was again on its ebb, began to choose their resting places for the
+night.
+
+"I'm going out to take a look," said the cure. Again, like some gopher
+of the prairie, he rose up out of his burrow.
+
+Presently he returned, the old enthusiastic gleam in his eyes.
+
+"The wind's changing," he announced. "It will be in the north again
+to-night; we shall have a full moon and better luck, I hope. Do you
+know," he went on excitedly, "that one night last October I killed
+forty-two ducks alone in this old _gabion_. _Forty-two!_ Twenty mallards
+and the rest Vignon--and not a shot before one o'clock in the morning.
+Then they came in, right and left. I believe my faithful decoys will
+remember that night until their dying day. Ah, it was glorious!
+Glorious!" His tanned, weather-beaten features wrinkled with delight; he
+had the skin of a sailor, and I wondered how often the marsh had hid
+him. "Ah, my friend," he said, with a sigh, as we sat down to the
+remainder of the chicken and _vin ordinaire_ for supper, this time
+including the cheese, "it is not easy for a cure to shoot. My good
+children of the village do not mind, but----" He hesitated, running his
+long, vibrant fingers through his hair.
+
+"What then? Tell me," I ventured. "It will go no further, I promise
+you."
+
+"Rome!" he whispered. "I have already received a letter, a gentle
+warning from the palace; but I have a good friend in Cardinal Z. He
+understands."
+
+During the whole of that cold moonlight we took turns of two hours each;
+one sleeping while the other watched in the chair drawn up close to the
+firing-slit.
+
+What a night!
+
+The marsh seen through the firing-slit, with its overhanging eyebrow of
+sod, seemed not of this earth. The nine black decoys picketed before us
+straining at their cords, gossiping, dozing for a moment, preening their
+wings or rising up for a vigorous stretch, appeared by some curious
+optical illusion four times their natural size; now they seemed to be
+black dogs, again a group of sombre, misshapen gnomes.
+
+While I watched, the cure slept soundly, his body shrouded in the
+blankets like some carved Gothic saint of old. The silence was
+intense--a silence that could be heard--broken only by the brisk
+ticking of the cure's watch on the narrow shelf. Occasionally a
+water-rat would patter over the sunken roof, become inquisitive, and
+peer in at me through the slit within half a foot of my nose. Once in a
+while I took down the fat opera-glass, focussing it upon the dim shapes
+that resembled ducks, but that proved to be bits of floating seaweed or
+a scurrying shadow as a cloud swept under the moon--all illusions, until
+my second watch, when, with a rush, seven mallards tumbled among our
+decoys. Instantly the cure awakened, sprang from his cot, and with sharp
+work we killed four.
+
+"Stay where you are," he said as he laid his gun back in its rack. "I'll
+get into my hip-boots and get them before the water-rats steal what
+we've earned. They are skilled enough to get a decoy now and then. The
+marsh is alive with them at night."
+
+Morning paled. The village lay half hidden behind the rifts of mist.
+Then dawn and the rising sun, the water like molten gold, the black
+decoys churning at their pickets sending up swirls of turquoise in the
+gold.
+
+Suddenly the cracked bell rang out from the distant village. At that
+moment two long V-shaped strings of mallards came winging toward us from
+the north. I saw the cure glance at them. Then he held out his hand to
+me.
+
+"You take them--I cannot," he said hurriedly. "I haven't a moment to
+lose--it is the bell for mass. Here's the key. Lock up when you leave."
+
+"Dine with me to-night," I insisted, one eye still on the incoming
+ducks. "You have no _bonne_."
+
+His hand was on the _gabion_ door. "And if the northeast wind holds," he
+called back, "shall we shoot again to-night?"
+
+"Yes, to-night!" I insisted.
+
+"Then I'll come to dinner." And the door closed with a click.
+
+Through the firing-slit I could see him leaping across the marsh toward
+the gray church with the cracked bell, and as he disappeared by the
+short cut I pulled the trigger of both barrels--and missed.
+
+An hour later Suzette greeted me with eyes full of tears and anxiety.
+
+"Ah! Mother of Pity! Monsieur is safe!" she cried. "Where has monsieur
+been, _mon Dieu!_"
+
+"To mass, my child," I said gravely, filling her plump arms with the
+ducks. "Monsieur le Cure is coming to dinner!"
+
+      [Illustration: flying ducks]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: a chateau]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER THREE
+
+THE EXQUISITE MADAME DE BREVILLE
+
+
+Poor Tanrade! Just as I felt the future was all _couleur de rose_ with
+him it has changed to gloom unutterable.
+
+_Ah, les femmes!_ I should never dare fall in love with a woman as
+exquisite as Alice de Breville. She is too beautiful, too seductive,
+with her olive skin, her frank smile, and her adorable head poised upon
+a body much too well made. She is too tender, too complex, too
+intelligent. She has a way of mischievously caressing you with her eyes
+one moment and giving an old comrade like myself a platonic little pat
+on the back the next, which is exasperating. As a friend I adore her,
+but to fall in love with her! _Ah, non, merci!_ I have had a checkered
+childhood and my full share of suffering; I wish some peace in my old
+age. At sixteen one goes to the war of love blindly, but at forty it is
+different. Our chagrins then plunge us into a state of dignified
+desolation.
+
+Poor Tanrade! I learned of the catastrophe the other night when he
+solemnly entered my abandoned house by the marsh and sank his big frame
+in the armchair before my fire. He was no longer the genial bohemian of
+a Tanrade I had known. He was silent and haggard. He had not slept much
+for a week; neither had he worked at the score of his new opera or
+hunted, but he had smoked incessantly, furiously--a dangerous remedy
+with which to mend a broken heart.
+
+My poor old friend! I was so certain of his happiness that night after
+dinner here in the House Abandoned, when he and Alice had lost
+themselves in the moonlight. Was it the moonlight? Or the kiss she gave
+him as they stood looking out over the lichen-stained wall of the
+courtyard to the fairy marsh beyond, still and sublime--wedded to the
+open sea at high tide--like a mirror of polished silver, its surface
+ruffled now and then by the splash of some incoming duck. He had poured
+out his heart to her then, and again over their liqueur and cigarettes
+at that fatal dinner of two at the chateau.
+
+All this he confessed to me as he sat staring into the cheery blaze on
+my hearth. Under my friendly but somewhat judicial cross-examination
+that ensued, it was evident that not a word had escaped Alice's lips
+that any one but that big optimistic child of a Tanrade could have
+construed as her promise to be his wife. He confided her words to me
+reluctantly, now that he realized how little she had meant.
+
+"Come," said I, in an effort to cheer him, "have courage! A woman's
+heart that is won easily is not worth fighting for. You shall see, old
+fellow--things will be better."
+
+But he only shook his head, shrugged his great shoulders, and puffed
+doggedly at his pipe in silence. My tall clock in the corner ticked the
+louder, its brass pendulum glinting as it swung to and fro in the light
+of the slumbering fire. I threw on a fresh log, kicked it into a blaze,
+and poured out for him a stiff glass of applejack. I had faith in that
+applejack, for it had been born in the moonlit courtyard years ago. It
+roused him, for I saw something of his old-time self brighten within
+him; he even made an attempt at a careless smile--the reminiscent smile
+of a philosopher this time.
+
+"What if I went to see her?" I remarked pointblank.
+
+"You! _Mon Dieu!_" He half sprang out of the armchair in his intensity.
+"Are you crazy?"
+
+"Forgive me," I apologized. "I did not mean to hurt you. I only
+thought--and you are in no condition to reason--that Alice may have
+changed her mind, may regret having refused you. Women change their
+minds, you know. She might even confess this to me since there is
+nothing between us and we are old friends."
+
+"No, no," he protested. "You are not to speak of me to Madame de
+Breville--do you understand?" he cried, his voice rising. "You are not
+to mention my name, promise me that."
+
+This time it was I who shrugged my shoulders in reply. He sat gripping
+the arms of his chair, again his gaze reverted stolidly to the fire. The
+clock ticked on past midnight, peacefully aloof as if content to be well
+out of the controversy.
+
+"A drop more?" I ventured, reaching for the decanter; but he stayed my
+arm.
+
+"I've been a fool," he said slowly. "_Ah! Mon Dieu! Les femmes! Les
+femmes! Les femmes!_" he roared. "Very well," he exclaimed hotly, "it is
+well finished. To-morrow I must go to Paris for the new rehearsals. I
+have begged off for a week. Duclos is beside himself with anxiety--two
+telegrams to-day, the last one imperative. The new piece must open at
+the Folies Parisiennes the eighth."
+
+I saw him out to the gate and there was a brave ring in his "_bonsoir,
+mon vieux_," as he swung off in the dusk of the starlit road.
+
+He left the village the next day at noon by the toy train, "the little
+get off-the-track," as we call it. Perhaps he wished it would and end
+everything, including the rehearsals.
+
+Bah! To be rehearsing lovelorn shepherds and shepherdesses in sylvan
+dells. To call a halt eighteen times in the middle of the romantic duet
+between the unhappy innkeeper's daughter and the prince. To marry them
+all smoothly in B flat in the finale, and keep the brass down and the
+strings up in the apotheosis when the heart of the man behind the baton
+has been cured of all love and illusion--for did he not tell me "It is
+well finished"? Poor Tanrade!
+
+Though it is but half a fortnight since he left, it seems years since he
+used to come into my courtyard, for he came and went as freely at all
+hours as the salt breeze from the marsh. Often he would wake me at
+daybreak, bellowing up to my window at the top of his barytone lungs
+some stirring aria, ending with: "Eh, _mon vieux!_ Stop playing the
+prince! Get up out of that and come out on the marsh. There are ducks
+off the point. Where's Suzette? Where's the coffee? _Sacristi!_ What a
+house. Half-past four and nobody awake!"
+
+And he would stand there grinning; his big chest encased in a
+fisherman's jersey, a disreputable felt hat jammed on his head, and his
+feet in a pair of sabots that clattered like a farm-horse as he went
+foraging in the kitchen, upsetting the empty milk-tins and making such a
+bedlam that my good little maid-of-all-work, Suzette, would hurry in
+terror into her clothes and out to her beloved kitchen to save the rest
+from ruin.
+
+Needless to say, nothing ever happened to anything. He could make more
+noise and do less harm than any one I ever knew. Then he would sing us
+both into good humour until Suzette's peasant cheeks shone like ripe
+apples.
+
+"It is not the same without Monsieur Tanrade," Suzette sighed to-day as
+she brought my luncheon to my easel in a shady corner of my wild
+garden--a corner all cool roses and shadow.
+
+"Ah, no!" I confessed as I squeezed out the last of a tube of vermilion
+on the edge of my palette.
+
+"Ah, no!" she sighed softly, and wiped her eyes briskly with the back of
+her dimpled red hand. "Ah, no! _Parbleu!_"
+
+And just then the bell over my gate jingled. "Some one rings," whispered
+Suzette and she ran to open the gate. It was the _valet de chambre_ from
+the chateau with a note from Alice, which read:
+
+
+      DEAR FRIEND: It is lonely, this big house of mine. Do come
+      and dine with me at eight.
+                                 Hastily,   A. de B.
+
+
+Added to this was the beginning of a postscript crossed out.
+
+Upon a leaf torn from my sketchbook I scribbled the answer:
+
+
+      GOOD DEAR CHARITABLE FRIEND: The House Abandoned is a
+      hollow mockery without Tanrade. I'll come gladly at eight.
+
+
+And Suzette brought it out to the waiting _valet de chambre_ whom she
+addressed respectfully as "monsieur," half on account of his
+yellow-striped waistcoat and half because he was a Parisian.
+
+Bravo, Alice! Here then was the opportunity I had been waiting for, and
+I hugged myself over the fact. It was like the first ray of sunshine
+breaking through a week of leaden sky. For a long time I paced back and
+forth among the paths of the snug garden, past the roses and the
+heliotrope down as far as the flaming geraniums and the hollyhocks and
+the droning bees, and back again by way of some excellent salads and the
+bed of artichokes, while I turned over in my mind and rehearsed to
+myself all I intended to say to her.
+
+Alice lonely! With a chateau, two automobiles, and all Paris at her
+pretty feet! Ha! ha! The symptoms were excellent. The patient was doing
+well. To-night would see her convalescent and happily on the road to
+recovery. This once happy family of comrades should be no longer under
+the strain of disunion, we should have another dinner soon and the House
+Abandoned would ring with cheer as it had never rung before. Japanese
+lanterns among the fruit-trees of the tangled garden, the courtyard full
+of villagers, red and blue fire, skyrockets and congratulations, a
+Normand dinner and a keg of good sound wine to wish a long and happy
+life to both. There would be the same Tanrade again and the same Alice,
+and they would be married by the cure in the little gray church with the
+cracked bell, with the marquis and the marquise as notables in the front
+pew. In my enthusiasm I saw it all.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The lane back of the House Abandoned shortens the way to the chateau by
+half a kilometre. It was this lane that I entered at dusk by crawling
+under the bars that divided it from the back pasture full of gnarled
+apple-trees, under which half a dozen mild-eyed cows had settled
+themselves for the night. They rose when they caught sight of me and
+came toward me blowing deep moist breaths as a quiet challenge to the
+intruder, until halted by the bars they stood in a curious group
+watching me until I disappeared up the lane, a lane screened from the
+successive pastures on either side by an impenetrable hedge and flanked
+its entire length by tall trees, their tops meeting overhead like the
+Gothic arches of a cathedral aisle. This roof of green made the lane at
+this hour so dark that I had to look sharp to avoid the muddy places,
+for the lane ascended like the bed of a brook until it reached the
+plateau of woodlands and green fields above, commanding a sweeping view
+of marsh and sea below.
+
+Birds fluttered nervously in the hedges, frightened at my approaching
+footsteps. A hare sniffing in the middle of the path flattened his long
+ears and sprang into the thicket ahead. The nightingales in the forest
+above began calling to one another. Two doves went skimming out of the
+leaves over my head. Even a peacemaker may be mistaken for an enemy. And
+now I had gained the plateau and it grew lighter--that gentle light with
+which night favours the open places.
+
+There are two crossroads at the top of the lane. The left one leads to
+the hamlet of Beaufort le Petit, a sunken cluster of farms ten good
+leagues from Pont du Sable; the right one swings off into the highroad
+half a mile beyond, which in turn is met by the private way of the
+chateau skirting the stone wall surrounding the park, which, as early
+as 1608, served as the idle stronghold of the Duc de Rambutin. It has
+seen much since then and has stood its ground bravely under the stress
+of misfortune. The Prussians hammered off two of its towers, and an
+artillery fire once mowed down some of its oldest trees and wrecked the
+frescoed ceiling and walls of the salon, setting fire to the south wing,
+which was never rebuilt and whose jagged and blackened walls the roses
+and vines have long since lovingly hidden from view.
+
+Alice bought this once splendid feudal estate literally for a song--the
+song in the second act of Fremier's comedy, which had a long run at the
+Varietes three years ago, and in which she earned an enviable success
+and some beautiful bank-notes. Were the Duc de Rambutin alive I am sure
+he would have presented it to her--shooting forest, stone wall, and all.
+They say he had an intolerable temper, but was kind to ladies and
+lap-dogs.
+
+It was not long before I unlatched a moss-covered gate with one hinge
+lost in the weeds--a little woebegone gate for intimate friends, that
+croaked like a night-bird when it opened, and closed with a whine.
+Beyond it lay a narrow path through a rose-garden leading to the
+chateau. This rose-garden is the only cultivated patch within the
+confines of the wall, for on either side of it tower great trees, their
+aged trunks held fast in gnarled thickets of neglected vines. It is only
+another "house abandoned," this chateau of Alice's, save that its bygone
+splendour asserts itself through the scars, and my own by the marsh
+never knew luxury even in its best days.
+
+"Madame is dressing," announced that most faithful of old servitors,
+Henri, who before Alice conferred a full-fledged butlership upon him in
+his old age was since his youth a stage-carpenter at the Theatre
+Francais.
+
+"Will monsieur have the goodness to wait for madame in the library?"
+added Henri, as he relieved me of my hat and stick, deposited them
+noiselessly upon an oak table, and led me to a portiere of worn Gobelin
+which he lifted for me with a bow of the Second Empire.
+
+What a rich old room it is, this silent library of the choleric duke,
+with its walls panelled in worm-eaten oak reflecting the firelight and
+its rows of volumes too close to the grave to be handled. Here and there
+above the high wainscoting are ancestral portraits, some of them as
+black as a favourite pipe. Above the great stone chimney-piece is a
+full-length figure of the duke in a hunting costume of green velvet. The
+candelabra that Henri had just lighted on the long centre-table,
+littered with silver souvenirs and the latest Parisian comedies, now
+illumined the duke's smile, which he must have held with bad grace
+during the sittings. The rest of him was lost in the shadow above the
+chimney-piece of sculptured cherubs, whose missing noses have been badly
+restored in cement by the gardener.
+
+I had settled myself in a chintz-covered chair and was idly turning the
+pages of one of the latest of the Parisian comedies when I heard the
+swish of a gown and the patter of two small slippered feet hurrying
+across the hall. I rose to regard my hostess with a feeling of tender
+curiosity mingled with resentment over her treatment of my old friend,
+when the portiere was lifted and Alice came toward me with both white
+arms outstretched in welcome. She was so pale in her dinner gown of
+black tulle that all the blood seemed to have taken refuge in her
+lips--so pale that the single camellia thrust in her corsage was less
+waxen in its whiteness than her neck.
+
+I caught her hands and she stood close to me, smiling bravely, the tips
+of her fingers trembling in my own.
+
+"You are ill!" I exclaimed, now thoroughly alarmed. "You must go
+straight to bed."
+
+"No, no," she replied, with an effort. "Only tired, very tired."
+
+"You should not have let me come," I protested.
+
+She smiled and smoothed back a wave of her glossy black hair and I saw
+the old mischievous gleam flash in her dark eyes.
+
+"Come," she whispered, leading me to the door of the dining room. "It is
+a secret," she confided, with a forced little laugh. "Look!" And she
+pinched my arm.
+
+I glanced within--the table with its lace and silver under the glow of
+the red candle-shades was laid for two.
+
+"It was nice of you," I said.
+
+"We shall dine alone, you and I," she murmured. "I am so tired of
+company."
+
+I was on the point of impulsively mentioning poor Tanrade's absence, but
+the subtle look in her eyes checked me. During dinner we should have our
+serious little talk, I said to myself as we returned to the library
+table.
+
+"It's so amusing, that little comedy of Flandrean's," laughed Alice,
+picking up the volume I had been scanning. "The second act is a jewel
+with its delicious situation in which Francois Villers, the husband, and
+Therese, his wife, divorce in order to carry out between them a secret
+love-affair--a series of mysterious rendezvous that terminate in an
+amusing elopement. _Tres chic_, Flandrean's comedy. It should have a
+_succes fou_ at the Palais Royal."
+
+"Madame is served," gravely announced Henri.
+
+Not once during dinner was Alice serious. Over the soup--an excellent
+bisque of _ecrevisses_--she bubbled over with the latest Parisian
+gossip, the new play at the Odeon, the fashion in hats. With the fish
+she prattled on over the limitations of the new directoire gowns and the
+scandal involving a certain tenor and a duchess. Tanrade's defence,
+which I had so carefully thought out and rehearsed in my garden, seemed
+doomed to remain unheard, for her cleverness in evading the subject, her
+sudden change to the merriest of moods, and her quick wit left me
+helpless. Neither did I make any better progress during the pheasant and
+the salad, and as she sipped but twice the Pommard and scarcely
+moistened her lips with the champagne my case seemed hopeless. Henri
+finally left us alone over our coffee and cigarettes. I had become
+desperate.
+
+"Alice," I said bluntly, "we are old friends. I have some things to say
+to you of--of the utmost importance. You will listen, my friend, will
+you not, until I am quite through, for I shall not mention it again?"
+
+She leaned forward with a little start and gazed at me suddenly, with
+dilated eyes--eyes that were the next minute lowered in painful
+submission, the corners of her mouth contracting nervously.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_" she murmured, looking up. "_Mon Dieu!_ But you are cruel!"
+
+"No," I replied calmly. "It is you who are cruel."
+
+"No, no, you shall not!" she exclaimed, raising both ringless hands in
+protest, her breath coming quick. "I--I know what you are going to say.
+No, my dear friend--I beg of you--we are good comrades. Is it not so?
+Let us remain so."
+
+"Listen," I implored.
+
+"Ah, you men with your idea of marriage!" she continued. "The wedding,
+the aunts, the cousins, who come staring at you for a day and giving you
+advice for years. A solemn apartment near the Etoile--madame with her
+afternoons--monsieur with his club, his maitresse, his gambling and his
+debts--the children with their English governess. A villa by the sea,
+tennis, infants and sand-forts. The annual stupid _voyage en Suisse_.
+The inane slavery of it all. _You_ who are a bohemian, you who
+_live_--with all your freedom--all my freedom! _Non, merci!_ I have seen
+all that! Bah! You are as crazy as Tanrade."
+
+"Alice," I cried, "you think----"
+
+"Precisely, my friend."
+
+She rose swiftly, crossed the room, and before I knew it slipped back of
+my chair, put both arms about my neck, kissed me, and burst into tears.
+
+"There, there, _mon pauvre petit_," she whispered. "Forgive me--I was
+angry--we are not so stupid as all that--eh? We are not like the stupid
+_bourgeoisie_."
+
+"But it is not I----" I stammered.
+
+She caught her breath in surprise, straightened, and slowly retraced her
+steps to her vacant chair.
+
+"Ah! So it is that?" she said slowly, drawing her chair close to my own.
+Then she seated herself, rested her chin in her hands, and regarded me
+for some moments intently.
+
+"So you have come for--for him?" she resumed, her breast heaving. "I am
+right, am I not?"
+
+"He loves you," I declared. "Do you think I am blind as to your love for
+him? You who came to greet me to-night out of your suffering?"
+
+For some moments she was silent, her fingers pressed over her eyes.
+
+"Do you love him?" I insisted.
+
+"No, no," she moaned. "It is impossible."
+
+"Do you know," I continued, "that he has not slept or hunted or smoked
+for a week before he was forced to go to Paris? Can you realize what he
+suffers now during days of exhausting rehearsals? He came to me a
+wreck," I said. "You have been cruel and you have----"
+
+Again she had become deathly pale. Then at length she rose slowly,
+lifted her head proudly, and led the way back to the library fire.
+
+"You must go," she said. "It is late."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the little boy of the fisherman, Jean Tranchard, was not to be
+found playing with the other barelegged tots in the mud of the village
+alleys, or wandering alone on the marsh, often dangerously near the
+sweep of the incoming tide, one could be quite sure he was safe with
+Tanrade. Frequently, too, when the maker of ballets was locked in his
+domain and his servant had strict orders to admit no one--neither
+Monsieur le Cure nor the mayor, nor so intimate a comrade as
+myself--during such hours as these the little boy was generally beside
+the composer, his chubby toes scarcely reaching to the rungs of the
+chair beside Tanrade's working desk.
+
+Though the little boy was barely seven he was a sturdy little chap with
+fair curly hair, blue eyes, and the quick gestures of his father. He had
+a way of throwing out his chest when he was pleased, and gesticulating
+with open arms and closed fists when excited, which is peculiar to the
+race of fishermen. The only time when he was perfectly still was when
+Tanrade worked in silence. He would then often sit beside him for hours
+waiting until the composer dropped his pen, swung round in his chair to
+the keyboard at his elbow, and while the piano rang with melody the
+little boy's eyes danced. He forgot during such moments of ecstasy that
+his father was either out at sea with his nets or back in the village
+good-naturedly drunk, or that his mother, whom he vaguely remembered,
+was dead.
+
+Tanrade was a so much better father to him than his own that the rest of
+his wretched little existence did not count. When the father was
+fishing, the little boy cared for himself. He knew how to heat the pot
+and make the soup when there was any to make. He knew where to dig for
+clams and sputtering crabs. It was the bread that bothered him most--it
+cost two sous. It was Tanrade who discovered and softened these hard
+details.
+
+The house in which the fisherman and the little boy live is tucked away
+in an angle of the walled lane leading out to the marsh. This stone
+house of Tranchard's takes up as little room as possible, since its
+front dare not encroach upon the lane and its back is hunched up
+apologetically against the angle of the wall. The house has but two
+compartments--the loft above stored with old nets and broken oars, and
+the living room beneath, whose dirt floor dampens the feet of an oak
+cupboard, a greasy table, a chair with a broken leg, and a mahogany bed.
+Over the soot-blackened chimney-piece is a painted figure of the Virgin,
+and a frigate in a bottle.
+
+Monsieur le Cure had been watching all night beside the mahogany bed.
+Now and then he slipped his hand in the breast of his soutane of rusty
+black, drew out a steel watch, felt under a patchwork-quilt for a small
+feverish wrist, counted its feeble pulse, and filling a pewter spoon
+with a mixture of aconite, awakened the little boy who gazed at him with
+hollow eyes sunken above cheeks of dull crimson.
+
+In the corner, his back propped against the cupboard, his bare feet
+tucked under him, dozed Tranchard. There was not much else he could do,
+for he was soaked to the skin and half drunk. Occasionally he shifted
+his feet, awakened, and dimly remembered the little boy was worse; that
+this news had been hailed to him by the skipper of the mackerel smack,
+_La Belle Elise_, and that he had hauled in his empty nets and come
+home.
+
+As the gray light of dawn crept into the room, the little boy again grew
+restless. He opened the hollow eyes and saw dimly the black figure of
+the cure.
+
+"Tanne," he whimpered. "Where is he, Tanne?"
+
+"Monsieur Tanrade will come," returned the cure, "if you go to sleep
+like a brave little man."
+
+"Tanne," repeated the child and closed his eyes obediently.
+
+A cock crowed in a distant yard, awakening a sleek cat who emerged from
+beneath the bed, yawned, stretched her claws, and walked out of the
+narrow doorway into the misty lane.
+
+The cure rose stiffly, went over to the figure in the corner and shook
+it. Tranchard started up out of a sound sleep.
+
+"Tell madame when she arrives that I have gone for Doctor Thevenet. I
+shall return before night."
+
+"I won't forget," grumbled Tranchard.
+
+"I have left instructions for madame beside the candle. See that you
+keep the kettle boiling for the poultices."
+
+The fisherman nodded. "_Eh ben!_ How is it with the kid?" he inquired.
+"He does not take after his mother. _Parbleu!_ She was as strong as a
+horse, my woman."
+
+Monsieur le Cure did not reply. He had taken down his flat black hat
+from a peg and was carefully adjusting his square black cravat edged
+with white beneath his chin, when Alice de Breville entered the doorway.
+
+"How is his temperature?" she asked eagerly, unpinning a filmy green
+veil and throwing aside a gray automobile coat.
+
+Monsieur le Cure graciously uncovered his head. "There has been no
+change since you left at midnight," he said gravely. "The fever is still
+high, the pulse weaker. I am going for Doctor Thevenet after mass. There
+is a train at eight."
+
+Tranchard was now on his knees fanning a pile of fagots into a blaze,
+the acrid smoke drifting back into the low-ceiled room.
+
+"I will attend to it," said Alice, turning to the fisherman. "Tell my
+chauffeur to wait at the church for Monsieur le Cure. The auto is at the
+end of the lane."
+
+For some minutes after the clatter of Tranchard's sabots had died away
+in the lane, Alice de Breville and Monsieur le Cure stood in earnest
+conversation beside the table.
+
+"It may save the child's life," pleaded the priest. There was a ring of
+insistence in his voice, a gleam in his eyes that made the woman beside
+him tremble.
+
+"You do not understand," she exclaimed, her breast heaving. "You do not
+realize what you ask of me. I cannot."
+
+"You must," he insisted. "He might not understand it coming from me. You
+and he are old friends. You _must_, I tell you. Were he only here the
+child would be happy, the fever would be broken. It must be broken and
+quickly. Thevenet will tell you that when he comes."
+
+Alice raised her hands to her temples.
+
+"Will you?" he pleaded.
+
+"Yes," she replied half audibly.
+
+Monsieur le Cure gave a sigh of relief.
+
+"God be with you!" said he.
+
+He watched her as she wrote in haste the following telegram in pencil
+upon the back of a crumpled envelope:
+
+
+      MONSIEUR TANRADE, Theatre des Folies Parisiennes, Paris.
+
+      Tranchard's child very ill. Come at once.
+
+                A. de Breville.
+
+
+This she handed to the priest in silence. Monsieur le Cure tucked it
+safely in the breast of his cassock. "God be with you!" he repeated and
+turned out into the lane. He ran, for the cracked bell for mass had
+ceased ringing.
+
+The woman stood still by the table as if in a dream, then she staggered
+to the door, closed it, and throwing herself on her knees by the bedside
+of the sleeping boy, buried her face in her hands.
+
+The child stirred, awakened by her sobbing.
+
+"Tanne," he cried feebly.
+
+"He will come," she said.
+
+Outside in the mist-soaked lane three toothless fisherwomen gossiped in
+whispers.
+
+Almost any day that you pass through the village you will see a chubby
+little rascal who greets you with a cheery "_Bonjour_" and runs away,
+dragging a tin horse with a broken tail. Should you chance to glance
+over my wall you will discover the tattered remnants of two Japanese
+lanterns hanging among the fruit-trees. They are all that remain of a
+fete save the memory of two friends to whom the whole world now seems
+_couleur de rose_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Hi, there! wake up! Where's Suzette? Where's the coffee! Daylight and
+not a soul up! _Mon Dieu_, what a house! Hurry up, _Mon vieux!_ Alice is
+waiting!"
+
+      [Illustration: three toothless fisherwomen]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: smuggler ship]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FOUR
+
+THE SMUGGLERS
+
+
+Some centuries ago the windows of my house abandoned on the marsh looked
+out upon a bay gay with the ships of Spanish pirates, for in those days
+Pont du Sable served them as a secret refuge for repairs. Hauled up to
+the tawny marsh were strange craft with sails of apple-green, rose,
+vermilion and sinister black; there were high sterns pierced by carved
+cabin-windows--some of them iron-barred, to imprison ladies of high or
+low degree and unfortunate gentlemen who fought bravely to defend them.
+From oaken gunwales glistened slim cannon, their throats swabbed clean
+after some wholesale murder on the open seas. Yes, it must have been a
+lively enough bay some centuries ago!
+
+To-day Pont du Sable goes to bed without even turning the key in the
+lock. This is because of a vast army of simple men whose word, in
+France, is law.
+
+To begin with, there are the President of the Republique and the
+Ministers of War and Agriculture, and Monsieur the Chief of Police--a
+kind little man in Paris whom it is better to agree with--and the prefet
+and the sous-prefet--all the way down the line of authority to the
+red-faced, blustering _chef de gare_ at Pont du Sable--and Pierre.
+
+On off-duty days Pierre is my gardener at eleven sous an hour. On these
+occasions he wears voluminous working trousers of faded green corduroy
+gathered at the ankles; a gray flannel shirt and a scarlet cravat. On
+other days his short, wiry body is encased in a carefully brushed
+uniform of dark blue with a double row of gold buttons gleaming down his
+solid chest. When on active duty in the Customs Coast Patrol of the
+Republique Francaise at Pont du Sable, he carries a neatly folded cape
+with a hood, a bayonet, a heavy calibred six-shooter and a trusty
+field-glass, useful in locating suspicious-looking objects on marsh or
+sea.
+
+On this particular morning Pierre was late! I had been leaning over the
+lichen-stained wall of my wild garden waiting to catch sight of him as
+he left the ragged end of the straggling village. Had I mistaken the
+day? Impossible! It was Thursday and I knew he was free. Finally I
+caught sight of him hurrying toward me down the road--not in his working
+clothes of faded green corduroy, but in the full majesty of his
+law-enforcing uniform. What had happened? I wondered. Had his stern
+brigadier refused to give him leave?
+
+"_Bonjour_, Pierre!" I called to him as he came within hailing distance.
+
+He touched the vizor of his cap in military salute, and a moment later
+entered my garden.
+
+"A thousand pardons, monsieur," he apologized excitedly, labouring to
+catch his breath.
+
+"My artichokes have been waiting for you," I laughed; "they are nearly
+strangled with weeds. I expected you yesterday." He followed me through
+a lane of yellow roses leading to the artichoke bed. "What has kept you,
+Pierre?"
+
+He stopped, looked me squarely in the eyes, placed his finger in the
+middle of his spiked moustache, and raised his eyebrows mysteriously.
+
+"Monsieur must not ask me," he replied. "I have been on duty for
+forty-eight hours; there was not even time to change my uniform."
+
+"A little matter for headquarters?" I ventured indiscreetly, with a nod
+in the direction of Paris.
+
+Pierre shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Monsieur must ask the
+semaphore; my lips are sealed."
+
+Had he been the chief of the Secret Service just in possession of the
+whereabouts of an international criminal, he could not have been more
+uncommunicative.
+
+"And monsieur's artichokes?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
+
+Further inquiry I knew was useless--even dangerous. Indeed I swallowed
+my curiosity whole, for I was aware that this simple gardener of mine,
+in his official capacity, could put me in irons, drag me before my
+friend the ruddy little mayor, and cast me in jail at Bar la Rose, had
+I given him cause. Then indeed, as Pompanet said, I would be "A _sacre_
+vagabond from Pont du Sable."
+
+Was it not only the other day a well-dressed stranger hanging about my
+lost village had been called for by two gendarmes, owing to Pierre's
+watchful eye? And did not the farmer Milon pay dearly enough for the
+applejack he distilled one dark night? I recalled, too, a certain
+morning when, a stranger on the marsh, I had lighted Pierre's cigarette
+with an honest wax-match from England. He recognized the brand
+instantly.
+
+"They are the best in the world," I had remarked bravely.
+
+"Yes," he had replied, "but dear, monsieur. The fine is a franc apiece
+in France."
+
+We had reached the artichokes.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_" exclaimed Pierre, glancing at the riot of weeds as he
+stripped off his coat and, unbuckling his belt with the bayonet, the
+six-shooter and the field-glass, hung them in the shade upon a
+convenient limb of a pear tree. He measured the area of the unruly
+patch with a military stride, stood thinking for a moment, and then, as
+if a happy thought had struck him, returned to me with a gesture of
+enthusiasm.
+
+"If monsieur will permit me to offer a suggestion--that is, if monsieur
+approves--I should like to make a fresh planting. Ah! I will explain
+what I mean to monsieur, so monsieur may see clearly my ideas. _Voila!_"
+he exclaimed. "It is to have the new artichokes planted in three
+circles--in three circles, monsieur," he went on excitedly, "crossed
+with the star of the compass," he continued, as the idea rapidly
+developed in his peasant brain. "Then in the centre of the star to plant
+monsieur's initials in blue and red flowers. _Voila!_ It will be
+something for monsieur's friends to admire, eh?"
+
+He stood waiting tensely for my reply, for I shivered inwardly at the
+thought of the prospective chromo.
+
+"Excellent, my good Pierre," I returned, not wishing to hurt his
+feelings. "Excellent for the gardens of the Tuileries, but my garden is
+such a simple one."
+
+"Pardon, monsieur," he said, with a touch of mingled disappointment and
+embarrassment, "they shall be replanted, of course, just as monsieur
+wishes." And Pierre went to digging weeds with a will while I went back
+to my own work.
+
+At noon Pierre knocked gently at my study door.
+
+"I must breakfast, monsieur," he apologized, "and get a little sleep. I
+have promised my brigadier to get back at three."
+
+"And to-morrow?" I asked.
+
+Again the shoulders shrugged under the uniform.
+
+"Ah, monsieur!" he exclaimed helplessly. "_Malheureusement_, to-morrow I
+am not free; nor the day after. _Parbleu!_ I cannot tell monsieur _when_
+I shall be free."
+
+"I understand, Pierre," said I.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Before sundown the next afternoon I was after a hare through a maze of
+thicket running back of the dunes fronting the open sea. I kept on
+through a labyrinth of narrow trails--crossing and recrossing each
+other--the private by-ways of sleek old hares in time of trouble, for
+the dunes were honeycombed with their burrows. Now and then I came
+across a tent-shaped thatched hut lined with a bed of straw, serving as
+snug shelters for the coast patrol in tough weather.
+
+I had just turned into a tangle of scrub-brush, and could hear the
+breakers pound and hiss as they swept up upon the hard smooth beach
+beyond the dunes, when a low whistle brought me to a leisurely halt, and
+I saw Pierre spring up from a thicket a rod ahead of me--a Government
+carbine nestled in the hollow of his arm.
+
+I could scarcely believe it was the genial and ever-willing Pierre of my
+garden. He was the hard-disciplined soldier now, under orders. I was
+thankful he had not sent a bullet through me for not halting more
+promptly than I did.
+
+"What are you doing here?" he demanded, coming briskly toward me along a
+trail no wider than his feet.
+
+Instantly my free hand went to my hunting-cap in salute.
+
+"After--a--hare!" I stammered innocently.
+
+"Not so loud," he whispered. "_Mon Dieu!_ If the brigadier should hear
+you! Come with me," he commanded, laying his hand firmly upon my arm.
+"There are six of us hidden between here and the fortress. It is well
+that you stumbled upon me first. They must know who you are. It is not
+safe for you to be hunting to-day."
+
+I had not followed him more than a dozen rods before one of his
+companions was at my side. "The American," said Pierre in explanation,
+and we passed on down through a riot of stunted growth that choked the
+sides of a hollow.
+
+Beyond this rose the top of a low circular fort overgrown with
+wire-grass--the riot of tangle ceasing as we reached the bottom of the
+hollow and stood in an open patch before an ancient iron gate piercing
+the rear of the fort.
+
+Pierre lifted the latch and we passed through a wall some sixteen feet
+thick and into a stone-paved courtyard with a broad flight of steps at
+its farther end sweeping to the top of the circular defence. Flanking
+the sunken courtyard itself were a dozen low vaultlike compartments,
+some of them sealed by heavy doors. At one of these, containing a
+narrow window, Pierre knocked. The door opened and I stood in the
+presence of the Brigadier Bompard.
+
+"The American gentleman," announced Pierre, relieving me of my gun.
+
+The brigadier bowed, looked me over sharply, and bade me enter.
+
+"At your service, monsieur," he said coldly, waving his big freckled
+hand toward a chair drawn up to a fat little stove blushing under a
+forced draft.
+
+"At yours, monsieur," I returned, bowed, and took my seat.
+
+Then there ensued a dead silence, Pierre standing rigid behind my chair,
+the brigadier reseated back of a desk littered with official papers.
+
+For some moments he sat writing, his savage gray eyes scanning the page,
+the ends of his ferocious moustache twitching nervously as his pen
+scratched on. Back of his heavy shoulders ran a shelf supporting a row
+of musty ledgers, and above a stout chest in one corner was a rack of
+gleaming carbines.
+
+The silence became embarrassing. Still the pen scratched on. Was he
+writing my death-warrant, I wondered nervously, or only a milder order
+for my arrest? It was a relief when he finally sifted a spoonful of fine
+blue sand over the document, poured the remaining grains back into their
+receptacle, puffed out his coarse red jowls, emitted a grunt of
+approval, and raised his keen eyes to mine.
+
+"A thousand pardons, monsieur," I began, "for being where I assure you I
+would not have been had I known exactly where I was."
+
+"So monsieur is fond of the chase of the hare?" he asked, with a grim
+smile.
+
+"So fond, Monsieur le Brigadier," I replied, "that my enthusiasm has, as
+you see, led me thoughtlessly into your private territory. I beg of you
+to accept my sincere apologies."
+
+He reached back of him, took down one of the musty ledgers, and began to
+turn the leaves methodically. From where I sat I saw his coarse
+forefinger stop under a head-line.
+
+"Smeeth, Berkelek," he muttered, and read on down the page. "Citizen of
+_Amerique du Nord_.
+
+"Height--medium.
+
+"Age--forty-one.
+
+"Hair--auburn.
+
+"Eyes--brown.
+
+"Chin and frontal--square.
+
+"No scars."
+
+"Would your excellency like to see my hunting permit and description?" I
+ventured.
+
+"Unnecessary--it is in duplicate here," he returned curtly, and his eyes
+again reverted to the ledger. Then he closed the book, rose, and drawing
+his chair to the stove planted his big fists on his knees.
+
+I began to breathe normally.
+
+"So you are a painter?" said he.
+
+"Yes," I confessed, "but I do not make a specialty of fortresses, your
+excellency, even in the most distant landscapes."
+
+I was grateful he understood, for I saw a gleam of merriment flash in
+his eyes.
+
+"_Bon!_" he exclaimed briskly--evidently the title of "excellency"
+helped. "It is not the best day, however, for you to be hunting hares.
+Are you a good shot, monsieur?"
+
+"That is an embarrassing question," I returned. "If I do not miss I
+generally kill."
+
+Pierre, who, during the interview, had been standing mute in attention,
+now stepped up to him and bending with a hurried "Pardon," whispered
+something in his coarse red ear.
+
+The brigadier raised his shaggy eyebrows and nodded in assent.
+
+"Ah! So you are a friend of Monsieur le Cure!" he exclaimed. "You would
+not be Monsieur le Cure's friend if you were not a good shot.
+_Sapristi!_" He paused, ran his hand over his rough jowls, and resumed
+bluntly: "It is something to kill the wild duck; another to kill a man."
+
+"Has war been suddenly declared?" I asked in astonishment.
+
+A gutteral laugh escaped his throat, he shook his grizzled head in the
+negative.
+
+"A little war of my own," said he, "a serious business, _parbleu!_"
+
+"Contraband?" I ventured.
+
+The coarse mouth under the bristling moustache, four times the size of
+Pierre's, closed with a snap, then opened with a growl.
+
+"_Sacre mille tonnerres!_" he thundered, slamming his fist down on the
+desk within reach of him. "They are the devil, those Belgians! It is for
+them my good fellows lose their sleep." Then he stopped, and eyeing me
+shrewdly added: "Monsieur, you are an outsider and a gentleman. I can
+trust you. Three nights ago a strange sloop, evidently Belgian, from the
+cut of her, tried to sneak in here, but our semaphore on the point held
+her up and she had to run back to the open sea. Bah! Those _sacre_
+Belgians have the patience of a fox!"
+
+"She was painted like one of our fishing-smacks," interposed Pierre, now
+too excited to hold his tongue, "but she did not know the channel."
+
+"Aye, and she'll try it again," growled the brigadier, "if the night be
+dark. She'll find it clear sailing in, but a hot road out."
+
+"Tobacco?" I asked, now fully alive to the situation.
+
+The brigadier spat.
+
+"Of course, as full as she'll float," he answered. He leaned forward and
+touched me good-humouredly on the shoulder. "I'm short of men," he said
+hurriedly.
+
+"Command me," I replied. "I'll do my best. I shall return to-night." And
+I rose to take my leave, but he instantly raised his hand in protest.
+"You are under arrest, monsieur," he declared quietly, with a shrug of
+his shoulders.
+
+I looked at him wide-eyed in astonishment.
+
+"Arrest!" I gasped.
+
+"Do not be alarmed," he replied. "It will only be temporary, I assure
+you, but since you have so awkwardly stumbled among us there is no
+alternative but for me to detain you until this _sacre_ affair is well
+over. I cannot, at all events, let you return to the village to-night."
+
+"But I give you my word of honour, monsieur," I declared, "I shall not
+open my lips to a soul. Besides, I must dine at eight to-night with
+Madame de Breville. Your excellency can well understand."
+
+"I know you have friends, monsieur; they might be inquisitive; and
+those friends have servants, and those servants have friends," was his
+reply. "No, it is better that you stay. Pierre, give monsieur a carbine
+and a place ten metres from your own at sundown; then report to me he is
+there. Now you may go, monsieur."
+
+Pierre touched me on the shoulder; then suddenly realizing I was under
+orders and a prisoner, I straightened, saluted the brigadier, and
+followed Pierre out of the fort with the best grace I could muster.
+
+"Pierre!" I exclaimed hotly, as we stood again in the thicket. "How long
+since you've held up anything here--contraband, I mean?"
+
+For a moment he hesitated, then his voice sank to a whisper.
+
+"They say it is all of twenty years, perhaps longer," he confessed. "But
+to-night monsieur shall see. Monsieur is, of course, not exactly a
+prisoner or he would now be in the third vault from the right."
+
+"A prisoner! The devil I'm not? Didn't he tell me I was?" I exclaimed.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ What will you have, monsieur?" returned Pierre excitedly,
+under his breath. "It is the brigadier's orders. I was afraid monsieur
+might reply to him in anger. Ah, _par exemple!_ Then monsieur would have
+seen a wild bull. Oh, la! la! When the brigadier is furious----Ah,
+_ca!_" And he led the way to my appointed ambush without another word.
+
+Despite my indignation at being thus forced into the service and made a
+prisoner to boot--however temporary it might be--I gradually began to
+see the humour of the situation. It was very like a comic opera, I
+thought, as I lay flat on the edge of the thicket and pried away a small
+opening in the tangle through which I could look down upon the sweep of
+beach below me and far out to sea. Thus I lay in wait for the smuggling
+crew to arrive--to be blazed at and perhaps captured.
+
+What if they outnumber us? We might all perish then, with no hope of
+quarter from these men whom we were lying in wait for like snakes in the
+grass. One thing, however, I was firmly resolved upon, and that was to
+shoot safely over anything that lay in range except in case of
+self-defence. I was never of a murderous disposition, and the thought of
+another's blood on my hands sent a fresh shiver along my prostrate
+spine. Then again the comic-opera side of it struck me. I began to feel
+more like an extra super in a one-night stand than a real soldier. What,
+after all, if the smugglers failed us?
+
+I was pondering upon the dangerous effect upon the brigadier of so
+serious a stage wait, when Pierre crawled over to me from his ambush ten
+metres from my own, to leave me my ration of bread and wine. He was so
+excited by this time that his voice trembled in my ear.
+
+"Gaston, my comrade, the fifth down the line," he whispered, "has just
+seen two men prowling on the marsh; they are, without doubt,
+accomplices. Gaston has gone to tell the brigadier." He ran his hand
+carefully along the barrel of my carbine. "Monsieur must hold high," he
+explained in another whisper, "since monsieur is unaccustomed to the gun
+of war. It is this little machine here that does the trick." He bent his
+eyes close to the hind sight and screwed it up to its notch at one
+hundred and fifty metres.
+
+I nodded my thanks, and he left me to my bread and wine and crept
+cautiously back to his ambush.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A black night was rapidly settling. Above me in the great unfathomable
+vault of sky not a star glimmered. Under the gloom of the approaching
+darkness the vast expanse of marsh to my left lay silent, desolate, and
+indistinct, save for its low edge of undulating sand dunes. Only the
+beach directly before me showed plainly, seemingly illumined by the
+breakers, that gleamed white like the bared teeth of a fighting line of
+wolves.
+
+It was a sullen, cheerless sea, from which the air blew over me damp and
+raw; the only light visible being the intermittent flash from the
+distant lighthouse on Les Trois Loups, beyond the marsh.
+
+One hour passed--two hours--during which I saw nothing alive and moving
+save a hare foraging timidly on the beach for his own rations. After a
+while he hopped back to his burrow in the thicket, a thicket of silence
+from which I knew at any moment might break forth a murderous fire. It
+grew colder and colder, I had to breathe lustily into the collar of my
+jersey to keep out the chill. I began to envy the hare snug in his
+burrow. Thus I held my vigil, and the night wore on.
+
+Ah! my friend the cure! I mused. Was there ever such an indefatigable
+sportsman? Lucky cure! He was not a prisoner, neither had he been
+pressed into the customs patrol like a hired assassin. At that moment I
+knew Monsieur le Cure was snug in his duck-blind for the night, a long
+two miles from where I lay; warm, and comfortable, with every chance on
+such a night to kill a dozen fat mallards before his daylight mass. What
+would my friend Madame Alice de Breville, and that whole-souled fellow
+Tanrade, think when I did not appear as I had promised, at madame's
+chateau, to dine at eight? Cold as I was, I could not help chuckling
+over the fact that it was no fault of mine.
+
+I was a prisoner. Alice and Tanrade would dine together. It would be
+then a dinner for two. I have never known a woman as discreet as Alice.
+She had insisted that I dine with them. In Paris Alice might not have
+insisted, but in the lost village, with so many old women with nothing
+to talk about save other peoples' affairs! Lucky Tanrade!
+
+I could see from where I lay the distant mass of trees screening her
+chateau, and picture to myself my two dear friends _alone_. Their
+chairs--now that my vacant one was the only witness--drawn close
+together; he holding her soft, responsive little hand between the soup
+and the fish, between the duck and the salad; then continuously over
+their dessert and Burgundy--she whom he had held close to his big heart
+that night after dinner in that once abandoned house of mine, when they
+had gone out together into my courtyard and disappeared in the shadows
+of the moonlight.
+
+Dining alone! The very thing I had tried to bring about. But for the
+stern brigadier we should have been that wretched number--three--to-night
+at the chateau. Ah, you dear human children, are you conscious and
+grateful that I am lying out like a vagabond, a prisoner, that you
+may be alone?
+
+I began to wonder, too, what the Essence of Selfishness, that spoiled
+and adorable cat of mine, would think when it came her bedtime hour.
+Would Suzette, in her anxiety over my absence, remember to give her the
+saucer of warm milk? Yet I knew the Essence of Selfishness would take
+care of herself; she would sleep with Suzette. Catch her lying out on
+the bare ground like her master when she could curl herself up at the
+foot of two fuzzy blankets in a tiny room next to the warm kitchen.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was after midnight when Pierre crawled over to me again, and pointed
+to a black patch of mussel rocks below.
+
+"There are the two men Gaston saw," he whispered. "They are waiting to
+signal the channel to their comrades."
+
+I strained my eyes in the direction he indicated.
+
+"I cannot see," I confessed.
+
+"Here, take the glass," said he. "Those two humps behind the big one are
+the backs of men. They have a lantern well hidden--you can see its glow
+when the glass is steady."
+
+I could see it all quite clearly now, and occasionally one of the humps
+lift a head cautiously above the rock.
+
+"She must be lying off close by," muttered Pierre, hoarse with
+excitement. Again he hurriedly ran his hand over the breech of my
+carbine. "The trigger pulls light," he breathed. "Courage, monsieur! We
+have not long to wait now." And again he was gone.
+
+I felt like a hired assassin weakening on the verge of a crime. The next
+instant I saw the lantern hidden on the mussel rocks raised and lowered
+thrice.
+
+It was the signal!
+
+Again all was darkness save the gleaming line of surf. My heart thumped
+in my ears. Ten minutes passed; then again the lantern was raised, the
+figures of the two men standing in silhouette against its steady rays.
+
+I saw now a small sloop rear itself from the breakers, a short, squat
+little craft with a ghostly sail and a flapping jib. On she came,
+leaping and dropping broadside among the combers. The lantern now shone
+as clearly as a beacon. A sea broke over the sloop, but she staggered up
+bravely, and with a plunge was swept nearer and nearer the jagged point
+of rocks awash with spume. Braced against the tiller was a man in
+drenched tarpaulins; two other men were holding on to the shrouds like
+grim death. On the narrow deck between them I made out a bale-like
+bundle wrapped in tarpaulin and heavily roped, ready to be cast ashore.
+
+A moment more, and the sloop would be on the rocks; yet not a sound came
+from the thicket. The suspense was sickening. I had once experienced
+buck-fever, but it was nothing compared to this. The short carbine began
+to jump viciously under my grip.
+
+The sloop was nearly on the rocks! At that critical moment overboard
+went the bundle, the two men with the lantern rushing out and dragging
+it clear of the swash.
+
+Simultaneously, with a crackling roar, six tongues of flame spat from
+the thicket and we charged out of our ambush and over the crest of the
+dunes toward the smugglers' craft and its crew, firing as we ran. The
+fellow next to me stumbled and fell sprawling in the sand.
+
+In the panic that ensued I saw the sloop making a desperate effort to
+put to sea. Meanwhile the two accomplices were running like rabbits for
+the marsh. Close to the mysterious bundle their lantern lay smashed and
+burning luridly in its oil. The brigadier sprang past me swearing like a
+pirate, while his now thoroughly demoralized henchmen and myself
+stumbled on, firing at random with still a good hundred yards between us
+and the abandoned contraband.
+
+At that instant I saw the sloop's sail fill and then, as if by a
+miracle, she slowly turned back to the open sea. Above the general din
+the brigadier's voice rang out, bellowing his orders. By the time the
+sloop had cleared the breakers his language had become unprintable. He
+had reached the mussel rocks and stood shaking his clenched fists at the
+departing craft, while the rest of us crowded about the bundle and the
+blazing lantern. Every one was talking and gesticulating at once as
+they watched the sloop plunge away in the darkness.
+
+"_Sacre mille tonnerres!_" roared the brigadier, sinking down on the
+bundle. Then he turned and glared at me savagely. "Idiot!" he cried,
+labouring for his breath. "_Espece d'imbecile. Ah! Nom d'un petit
+bonhomme._ You were on the end. Why did you not head off those devils
+with the lantern?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders helplessly in reply. He was in no condition to
+argue with.
+
+"And the rest of you----" He choked in his rage, unable to frame his
+words. They stood helplessly about, gesticulating their apologies.
+
+He sprang to his feet, gave the bundle a sound kick, and snarled out an
+order. Pierre and another jumped forward, and together they shouldered
+it between them. Then the remainder of the valiant guard fell into
+single file and started back to the fort, the brigadier and myself
+bringing up the rear. As we trudged on through the sand together he kept
+muttering to himself. It only occurred to me then that nobody had been
+hit. By this time even the accomplices were safe.
+
+"Monsieur," I ventured, as we regained the trail leading to the fort,
+"it is with the sincerest regret of my heart that I offer you my
+apologies. True, I might have done better, but I did my best in my
+inexperience. We have the contraband--at least that is something, eh?"
+
+He grew calmer as the thought struck him.
+
+"Yes," he grumbled, "there are in that bundle at least ten thousand
+cigars. It is, after all, not so bad."
+
+"Might I ask," I returned, "when your excellency intends to honour me
+with my liberty?"
+
+He stopped, and to my delight held out his hand to me.
+
+"You are free, monsieur," he said roughly, with a touch of his good
+nature. "The affair is over--but not a word of the manoeuvre you have
+witnessed in the village. Our work here is for the ears of the
+Government alone."
+
+As we reached the gate of the fort I saluted him, handed my carbine to
+Pierre in exchange for my shotgun, and struck home in the mist of early
+dawn.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The morning after, I was leaning over the lichen-stained wall of my
+garden caressing the white throat of the Essence of Selfishness, the
+events of my night of service still in my mind, when I saw the coast
+patrol coming across the marsh in double file. As they drew nearer I
+recognized Pierre and his companion, who had shouldered the contraband.
+The roped bundle was swung on a stout pole between them.
+
+Presently they left the marsh and gained the road. As the double file of
+uniformed men came past my wall they returned my salute. Pierre shifted
+his end of the pole to the man behind him and stood at attention until
+the rest had passed. Then the procession went on to inform Monsieur the
+Mayor, who lived near the little square where nothing ever happened.
+
+Pierre turned when they had left and entered my garden. What was he
+going to tell me now? I wondered, with sudden apprehension. Was I to
+serve another night?
+
+"I'll be hanged if I will," I muttered.
+
+He approached solemnly and slowly, his bayonet gleaming at his side, the
+warm sunlight glinting on the buttons of his uniform. When he got near
+enough for me to look into his eyes he stopped, raised his hand to his
+cap in salute, and said with a smile:
+
+"Now, monsieur, the artichokes."
+
+      [Illustration: bundle of contraband]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: Marianne]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FIVE
+
+MARIANNE
+
+
+Monsieur le Cure slid the long chair up to my fire, bent his straight,
+black body forward, and rubbing his chilled hands briskly before the
+blazing logs, announced with a smile of content:
+
+"Marianne is out of jail."
+
+"_Sacristi!_" I exclaimed, "and in mid-winter! It must be cold enough in
+that hut of hers by the marsh--poor old girl."
+
+"And not a sou to be earned fishing," added the cure.
+
+"Tell me about this last crime of hers," I asked.
+
+Monsieur le Cure's face grew serious, then again the smile of content
+spread to the corners of his firm mouth.
+
+"Oh! Nothing very gruesome," he confessed, then after a moment's silence
+he continued slowly: "Her children needed shoes and warm things for the
+winter. Marianne stole sixty _metres_ of nets from the fishing crew at
+'The Three Wolves'--she is hopeless, my friend." With a vibrant gesture
+he straightened up in his chair and flashed his keen eyes to mine. "For
+ten years I have tried to reform her," he declared. "Bah!"--and he
+tossed the stump of his cigarette into the blaze.
+
+"You nursed her once through the smallpox," said I, "when no one dared
+go near her. The mayor told me so. I should think _that_ would have long
+ago persuaded her to do something for you in return."
+
+"We go where we are needed," he replied simply. "She will promise me
+nothing. One might as well try to make a faithful parishioner of a gipsy
+as to change Marianne for the better." He brought his fist down sharply
+on the broad arm of his chair. "I tell you," he went on tensely,
+"Marianne is a woman of no morals and no religion--a woman who allows no
+one to dictate to her save a gendarme with a warrant of arrest. Hardly
+a winter passes but she goes to jail. She is a confirmed thief, a bad
+subject," he went on vibrantly. "She can drink as no three sailors can
+drink--and yet you know as well as I do," he added, lowering his voice,
+"that there is not a mother in Pont du Sable who is as good to her
+children as Marianne."
+
+"They are a brave little brood," I replied. "I have heard that the
+eldest boy and girl Marianne adopted, yet they resemble their mother,
+with their fair curly hair and blue eyes, as much as do the youngest
+boys and the little girl."
+
+"Marianne has had many lovers," returned the cure gravely. "There is not
+one of that brood of hers that has yet been baptized." An expression of
+pain crossed his face. "I have tried hard; Marianne is impossible."
+
+"Yet you admit she has her qualities."
+
+"Yes, good qualities," he confessed, filling a fresh cigarette paper
+full of tobacco. "Good qualities," he reiterated. "She has brought up
+her children to be honest and she keeps them clean. She has never
+stolen from her own village--it is a point of honour with her. Ah! you
+do not know Marianne as I know her."
+
+"It seems to me you are growing enthusiastic over our worst vagabond," I
+laughed.
+
+"I am," replied the cure frankly. "I believe in her; she is afraid of
+nothing. You see her as a vagabond--an outcast, and the next instant,
+_Parbleu!_ she forces out of you your camaraderie--even your respect.
+You shake her by the hand, that straight old hag with her clear blue
+eyes, her square jaw and her hard face! She who walks with the stride of
+a man, who is as supple and strong as a sailor, and who looks you
+squarely in the eye and studies you calmly, at times disdainfully--even
+when drunk."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was late when Monsieur le Cure left me alone by my fire. I cannot say
+"alone," for the Essence of Selfishness, was purring on my chest.
+
+In this old _normand_ house of mine by the marsh, there comes a silence
+at this hour which is exhilarating. Out of these winter midnights come
+strange sounds, whirring flights of sea-fowl whistle over my roof, in
+late for a lodging on the marsh. A heavy peasant's cart goes by,
+groaning in agony under the brake. When the wind is from the sea, it is
+like a bevy of witches shrilling my doom down the chimney. "Aye, aye,
+'tis he," they seem to scream, "the stranger--the s-t-r-a-n-g-e-r."
+One's mind is alert at this hour--one must be brave in a foreign land.
+
+And so I sat up late, smoking a black pipe that gurgled in unison with
+the purring on my chest while I thought seriously of Marianne.
+
+I had seen her go laughing to jail two months ago, handcuffed to a
+gendarme on the back seat of the last car of the toy train. It was an
+occasion when every one in the lost village came charitably out to have
+a look. I remembered, too, she sat there as garrulous as if she were
+starting on a holiday--a few of her old cronies crowded about her. One
+by one, her children gave their mother a parting hug--there were no
+tears--and the gendarme sat beside her with a stolid dignity befitting
+his duty to the _Republique_. Then the whistle tooted twice--a coughing
+puff of steam in the crisp sunlight, a wheeze of wheels, and the toy
+train rumbled slowly out of the village with its prisoner. Marianne
+nodded and laughed back at the waving group.
+
+"_Bon voyage!_" croaked a little old woman, lifting her claw. She had
+borrowed five francs from the prisoner.
+
+"_Au revoir!_" laughed back Marianne, but the words were faint, for the
+last car was snaking around the bend.
+
+Thus Marianne went to jail. Now that she is back, she takes her return
+as carelessly and unblushingly as a _demi-mondaine_ does her annual
+return from Dinard.
+
+When Marianne was eighteen, they tell me, she was the prettiest girl in
+Pont du Sable, that is to say, she was prettier than Emilienne Daget at
+Bar la Rose, or than Berthe Pavoisier, the daughter of the miller at
+Tocqueville, who is now in Paris. At eighteen, Marianne was slim and
+blonde; moreover, she was as bold as a hawk, and smiled as easily as
+she lied. At twenty, she was rated as a valuable member of any fishing
+crew that put out from the coast, for they found her capable during a
+catch, and steady in danger, always doing her share and a little more
+for those who could not help themselves. She is still doing it, for in
+her stone hut on the edge of the marsh that serves as shelter for her
+children and her rough old self, she has been charitable and given a
+winter's lodging to three old wrecks of the sea. There are no beds, but
+there are bunks filled with marsh-hay; there is no furniture, but there
+are a few pots and pans, and in one corner of the dirt floor, a
+crackling fire of drift wood, and nearly always enough applejack for
+all, and now and then hot soup. Marianne wrenches these luxuries, so to
+speak, out of the sea, often alone and single-handed, working as hard as
+a gull to feed her young.
+
+The cure was right; Marianne had her good qualities--I was almost
+beginning to wonder to myself as I pulled drowsily at the black pipe if
+her good qualities did not outweigh her bad ones, when the Essence of
+Selfishness awakened and yawned. And so it was high time to send this
+spoiled child of mine to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Marianne called her "_ma belle petite_," though her real name was
+Yvonne--Yvonne Louise Tourneveau.
+
+Yvonne kept her black eyes from early dawn until dark upon a dozen of
+the Pere Bourron's cows in her charge, who grazed on a long point of the
+marsh, lush with salt grass, that lay sheltered back of the dunes
+fronting the open sea.
+
+Now and then, when a cow strayed over the dunes on to the hard beach
+beyond to gaze stupidly at the breakers, the little girl's voice would
+become as authoritative as a boy's. "_Eh ben, tu sais!_" she would shout
+as she ran to head the straggler off, adding some sound whacks with a
+stick until the cow decided to lumber back to the rest. "_Ah mais!_"
+Yvonne would sigh as she seated herself again in the wire-grass, tucking
+her firm bronzed legs under a patched skirt that had once served as a
+winter petticoat for the Mere Bourron.
+
+Occasionally a trudging coast guard or a lone hunter in passing would
+call "_Bonjour!_" to her, and since she was pretty, this child of
+fifteen, they would sometimes hail her with "_Ca va, ma petite!_" and
+Yvonne would flush and reply bravely, "_Mais oui, M'sieur, merci._"
+
+Since she was only a little girl with hair as black as a gipsy's, a
+ruddy olive skin, fresh young lips and a well-knit, compact body,
+hardened by constant exposure to the sea air and sun, no one bothered
+their heads much about her name. She was only a child who smiled when
+the passerby would give her a chance, which was seldom, and when she
+did, she disclosed teeth as white as the tiny shells on the beach. There
+were whole days on the marsh when she saw no one.
+
+At noon, when the cracked bell in the distant belfry of the gray church
+of Pont du Sable sent its discordant note quavering across the marsh,
+Yvonne drew forth a sailor's knife from where it lay tucked safe within
+the breast of her coarse chemise, and untying a square of blue cotton
+cloth, cut in two her portion of peasant bread, saving half the bread
+and half a bottle of Pere Bourron's thinnest cider for the late
+afternoon.
+
+There were days, too, when Marianne coming up from the sea with her
+nets, stopped to rest beside the child and talk. Yvonne having no mother
+which she could remember, Marianne had become a sort of transient mother
+to her, whom the incoming tide sometimes brought her and whom she would
+wait for with uncertain expectancy, often for days.
+
+One afternoon, early in the spring, when the cows were feeding in the
+scant slanting shade of the dunes, Yvonne fell asleep. She lay out
+straight upon her back, her brown legs crossed, one wrist over her eyes.
+She slept so soundly that neither the breeze that had sprung up from the
+northeast, stirring with every fresh puff the stray locks about her
+small ears, or the sharp barking of a dog hunting rabbits for himself
+over the dunes, awakened her. Suddenly she became conscious of being
+grasped in a pair of strong arms, and, awakening with a little scream,
+looked up into the grinning face of Marianne, who straightway gave her
+a big, motherly hug until she was quite awake and then kissed her
+soundly on both cheeks, until Yvonne laughed over her fright.
+
+"_Oh, mon Dieu!_ but I was frightened," sighed the child, and sat up
+straight, smoothing back her tumbled hair. "Oh! la! la!" she gasped.
+
+"They are beauties, _hein!_" exclaimed Marianne, nodding to an oozing
+basketful of mackerel; then, kneeling by the basket, she plunged her red
+hands under the slimy, glittering mass of fish, lifting and dropping
+them that the child might see the average size in the catch.
+
+"_Eh ben!_" declared Marianne, "some day when thou art bigger, _ma
+petite_, I'll take thee where thou canst make some silver. There's half
+a louis' worth there if there's a sou!" There was a gleam of
+satisfaction in her eyes, as she bent over her basket again, dressed as
+she was in a pair of fisherman's trousers cut off at the knees.
+
+"One can play the lady on half a louis," she continued, covering her
+fish from the sun with her bundle of nets. "My man shall have a full
+bottle of the best to-night," she added, wiping her wet hands across her
+strong bare knees.
+
+"How much 'cake' does that old crab of a Bourron pay thee?" she
+inquired, turning again to the child.
+
+"Six sous a day, and then my food and lodging," confessed Yvonne.
+
+"He won't ruin himself," muttered Marianne.
+
+"They say the girl at the Three Wolves gets ten," added the child with
+awe, "but thou knowest how--she must do the washing besides."
+
+Marianne's square jaw shut hard. She glanced at Yvonne's patched skirt,
+the one that had been the Mere Bourron's winter petticoat, feeling its
+quality as critically as a fashionable dressmaker.
+
+"_Sacristi!_" she exclaimed, examining a rent, "there's one door that
+the little north wind won't knock twice at before he enters. Keep still,
+_ma petite_, I've got thread and a needle."
+
+She drew from her trousers' pocket a leather wallet in which lay four
+two-sous pieces, an iron key and a sail needle driven through a ball of
+linen thread. "It is easily seen thou art not in love," laughed
+Marianne, as she cross-stitched the tear. "Thou wilt pay ten sous for a
+ribbon gladly some day when thou art in love."
+
+The child was silent while she sewed. Presently she asked timidly, "One
+eats well there?"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"But thou knowest--_there_."
+
+"In the prison?"
+
+"_Mais oui_," whispered Yvonne.
+
+"Of course," growled Marianne, "one eats well; it is perfect. _Tiens!_
+we have the good soup, that is well understood; and now and then meat
+and rice."
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed the child in awe.
+
+"_Mais oui_," assured Marianne with a nod, "and prunes."
+
+"Where is that, the prison?" ventured the child.
+
+"It is very far," returned Marianne, biting off the thread, "and it is
+not for every one either," she added with a touch of pride--"only I
+happen to be an old friend and know the judge."
+
+"And how much does it cost a day, the prison?" asked Yvonne.
+
+"Not _that_," replied Marianne, snipping her single front tooth
+knowingly with the tip of her nail.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ and they give you all that for nothing?" exclaimed the
+child in astonishment. "It is _chic_, that, _hein!_" and she nodded her
+pretty head with decision, "_Ah mais oui, alors!_" she laughed.
+
+"I must be going," said Marianne, abruptly. "My young ones will be
+wanting their soup." She flattened her back against her heavy basket,
+slipped the straps under her armpits and rose to her feet, the child
+passing the bundle of nets to her and helping her shoulder them to the
+proper balance.
+
+"_Au revoir, ma belle petite_," she said, bending to kiss the girl's
+cheek; then with her free hand she dove into her trousers' pocket and
+drew out a two-sous piece. "_Tiens_," she exclaimed, pressing the
+copper into the child's hand.
+
+Yvonne gave a little sigh of delight. It was not often she had two sous
+all to herself to do what she pleased with, which doubles the delight of
+possession. Besides, the Mere Bourron kept her wages--or rather, count
+of them, which was cheaper--on the back page of a greasy book wherein
+were registered the births of calves.
+
+"_Au revoir_," reiterated Marianne, and turned on her way to the village
+down the trail that wound through the salt grass out to the road
+skirting the bay. Yvonne watched her until she finally disappeared
+through a cut in the dunes that led to the main road.
+
+The marsh lay in the twilight, the curlews were passing overhead bound
+for a distant mud flat for the night. "_Courli! Courli!_" they called,
+the old birds with a rasp, the young ones cheerfully; as one says
+"_bonsoir_." The cows, conscious of the fast-approaching dark, were
+moving toward the child. She stood still until they had passed her,
+then drove them slowly back to the Pere Bourron's, her two-sous piece
+clutched safe in her hand.
+
+It was dark when she let down the bars of the orchard, leading into the
+farm-yard. Here the air was moist and heavy with the pungent odour of
+manure; a turkey gobbler and four timid hens roosting in a low apple
+tree, stirred uneasily as the cows passed beneath them to their stable
+next to the kitchen--a stable with a long stone manger and walls two
+feet thick. Above the stable was a loft covered by a thatched roof; it
+was in a corner of this loft, in a large box filled with straw and
+provided with a patchwork-quilt, that Yvonne slept.
+
+A light from the kitchen window streamed across the muddy court. The
+Pere and Mere Bourron were already at supper. The child bolted the
+stable door upon her herd and slipped into her place at table with a
+timid "_Bonsoir, m'sieur, madame_," to her masters, which was
+acknowledged by a grunt from the Pere Bourron and a spasm of coughing
+from his spouse.
+
+The Mere Bourron, who had the dullish round eye of a pig that gleamed
+suspiciously when she became inquisitive, had supped well. Now and then
+she squinted over her fat jowls veined with purple, plying her mate with
+short, savage questions, for he had sold cattle that day at the market
+at Bonville. Such evenings as these were always quarrelsome between the
+two, and as the little girl did not count any more than the chair she
+sat in, they argued openly over the day's sale. The best steer had
+brought less than the Mere Bourron had believed, a shrewd possibility,
+even after a month's bargaining. When both had wiped their plates clean
+with bread--for nothing went to waste there--the child got up and
+brought the black coffee and the decanter of applejack. They at last
+ceased to argue, since the Mere Bourron had had the final word. Pere
+Bourron sat with closed fists, opening one now and then to strengthen
+his coffee with applejack. Being a short, thickset man, he generally sat
+in his blouse after he had eaten, with his elbows on the table and his
+rough bullet-like head, with its crop of unkempt hair, buried in his
+hands.
+
+When Yvonne had finished her soup, and eaten all her bread, she rose and
+with another timid "_Bonsoir_" slipped away to bed.
+
+"Leave the brindle heifer tied!" shrilled madame as the child reached
+the courtyard.
+
+"_Mais, oui madame_, it is done," answered Yvonne, and crept into her
+box beneath the thatch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At sixteen Yvonne was still guarding the cows for the Bourrons. At
+seventeen she fell in love.
+
+He was a slick, slim youth named Jean, with a soapy blond lock plastered
+under the visor of his leather cap pulled down to his red ears. On fete
+days, he wore in addition a scarlet neck-tie girdling his scrawny
+throat. He had watched Yvonne for a long time, very much as the snake in
+the fable saved the young dove until it was grown.
+
+And so, Yvonne grew to dreaming while the cows strayed. Once the Pere
+Bourron struck at her with a spade for her negligence, but missed.
+Another night he beat her soundly for letting a cow get stalled in the
+mud. The days on the marsh now became interminable, for he worked for
+Gavelle, the carpenter, a good three _kilometres_ back of Pont du Sable
+and the two could see each other only on fete days when he met her
+secretly among the dunes or in the evenings near the farm. He would wait
+for her then at the edge of the woods skirting the misty sea of pasture
+that spread out below the farm like some vast and silent dry lake,
+dotted here and there with groups of sleeping cattle.
+
+She saw Marianne but seldom now, for the latter fished mostly at the
+Three Wolves, sharing her catch with a crew of eight fishermen. Often
+they would seine the edge of the coast, their boat dancing off beyond
+the breakers while they netted the shallow water, swishing up the hard
+beach--these gamblers of the sea. They worked with skill and precision,
+each one having his share to do, while one--the quickest--was appointed
+to carry their bundle of dry clothes rolled in a tarpaulin.
+
+Marianne seemed of casual importance to her now. We seldom think of our
+best friends in time of love. Yvonne cried for his kisses which at
+first she did not wholly understand, but which she grew to hunger for,
+just as when she was little she craved for all she wanted to eat for
+once--and candy.
+
+She began to think of herself, too--of Jean's scarlet cravat--of his new
+shoes too tight for him, which he wore with the pride of a village dandy
+on fete days and Sundays--and of her own patched and pitifully scanty
+wardrobe.
+
+"She has nothing, that little one," she had heard the gossips remark
+openly before her, time and time again, when she was a child. Now that
+she was budding into womanhood and was physically twice as strong as
+Jean, now that she was conscious of _herself_, she began to know the
+pangs of vanity.
+
+It was about this time that she bought the ribbon, just as Marianne had
+foretold, a red ribbon to match Jean's tie, and which she fashioned into
+a bow and kept in a paper box, well hidden in the straw of her bed. The
+patched skirt had long ago grown too short, and was now stuffed into a
+broken window beyond the cow manger to temper the draught from the neck
+of a sick bull.
+
+She wore now, when it stormed, thick woollen stockings and sabots; and
+another skirt of the Mere Bourron's fastened around a chemise of coarse
+homespun linen, its colour faded to a delicious pale mazarine blue,
+showing the strength and fullness of her body.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+She had stolen down from the loft this night to meet him at the edge of
+the woods.
+
+"Where is he?" were his first words as he sought her lips in the dark.
+
+"He has gone," she whispered, when her lips were free.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"_Eh ben_, he went away with the Pere Detour to the village--madame is
+asleep."
+
+"Ah, good!" said he.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ but you are warm," she whispered, pressing her cheek
+against his own.
+
+"I ran," he drawled, "the patron kept me late. There is plenty of work
+there now."
+
+He put his arm around her and the two walked deeper into the wood, he
+holding her heavy moist hand idly in his own. Presently the moon came
+out, sailing high among the scudding clouds, flashing bright in the
+clear intervals. A white mist had settled low over the pasture below
+them, and the cattle were beginning to move restlessly under the chill
+blanket, changing again and again their places for the night. A bull
+bellowed with all his might from beyond the mysterious distance. He had
+evidently scented them, for presently he emerged from the mist and moved
+along the edge of the woods, protected by a deep ditch. He stopped when
+he was abreast of them to bellow again, then kept slowly on past them.
+They had seated themselves in the moonlight among the stumps of some
+freshly cut poplars.
+
+"_Dis donc_, what is the matter?" he asked at length, noticing her
+unusual silence, for she generally prattled on, telling him of the
+uneventful hours of her days.
+
+"Nothing," she returned evasively.
+
+"_Mais si; bon Dieu!_ there _is_ something."
+
+She placed her hands on her trembling knees.
+
+"No, I swear there is nothing, Jean," she said faintly.
+
+But he insisted.
+
+"One earns so little," she confessed at length. "Ten sous a day, it is
+not much, and the days are so long on the marsh. If I knew how to cook
+I'd try and get a place like Emilienne."
+
+"Bah!" said he, "you are crazy--one must study to cook; besides, you are
+not yet eighteen, the Pere Bourron has yet the right to you for a year."
+
+"That is true," confessed the girl simply; "one has not much chance when
+one is an orphan. Listen, Jean."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Listen--is it true that thou dost love me?"
+
+"Surely," he replied with an easy laugh.
+
+"Listen," she repeated timidly; "if thou shouldst get steady work--I
+should be content ... to be..." But her voice became inaudible.
+
+"_Allons!_... what?" he demanded irritably.
+
+"To ... to be married," she whispered.
+
+He started. "_Eh ben! en voila_ an idea!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Forgive me, Jean, I have always had that idea----" She dried her eyes
+on the back of her hand and tried hard to smile. "It is foolish, eh? The
+marriage costs so dear ... but if thou shouldst get steady work..."
+
+"_Eh ben!_" he answered slowly with his Normand shrewdness, "I don't say
+no."
+
+"I'll help thee, Jean; I can work hard when I am free. One wins forty
+sous a day by washing, and then there is the harvest."
+
+There was a certain stubborn conviction in her words which worried him.
+
+"_Eh ben!_" he said at length, "we might get married--that's so."
+
+She caught her breath.
+
+"Swear it, Jean, that thou wilt marry me, swear it upon Sainte Marie."
+
+"_Eh voila_, it's done. _Oui_, by Sainte Marie!"
+
+She threw her arms about him, crushing him against her breast.
+
+"_Dieu!_ but thou art strong," he whispered.
+
+"Did I hurt thee?"
+
+"No--thou art content now?"
+
+"Yes--I am content," she sobbed, "I am content, I am content."
+
+He had slipped to the ground beside her. She drew his head back in her
+lap, her hand pressed hard against his forehead.
+
+"_Dieu!_ but I am content," she breathed in his ear.
+
+He felt her warm tears dropping fast upon his cheek.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+All night she lay in the straw wide awake, flushed, in a sort of fever.
+At daylight she drove her cows back to the marsh without having barely
+touched her soup.
+
+Far across the bay glistened the roof of a barn under construction. An
+object the size of a beetle was crawling over the new boards.
+
+It was Jean.
+
+"I'm a fool," he thought, as he drove in a nail. Then he fell to
+thinking of a girl in his own village whose father was as rich as the
+Pere Bourron.
+
+"_Sacre Diable!_" he laughed at length, "if every one got married who
+had sworn by Sainte Marie, Monsieur le Cure would do a good business."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A month later Pere Bourron sold out a cartful of calves at the market at
+Bonville. It was late at night when he closed his last bargain over a
+final glass, climbed up on his big two-wheeled cart, and with a face of
+dull crimson and a glazed eye, gathered up the reins and started swaying
+in his seat for home. A boy carrying milk found him at daylight the next
+morning lying face down in the track of his cart, dead, with a fractured
+skull. Before another month had passed, the Mere Bourron had sold the
+farm and gone to live with her sister--a lean woman who took in sewing.
+
+Yvonne was free.
+
+Free to work and to be married, and she did work with silent ferocity
+from dawn until dark, washing the heavy coarse linen for a farm, and
+scrubbing the milk-pans bright until often long after midnight--and
+saved. Jean worked too, but mostly when he pleased, and had his hair
+cut on fete days, most of which he spent in the cafe and saw Yvonne
+during the odd moments when she was free.
+
+Life over the blacksmith's shop, where she had taken a room, went
+merrily for a while. Six months later--it is such an old story that it
+is hardly worth the telling--but it was long after dark when she got
+back from work and she found it lying on the table in her rough clean
+little room--a scrap of paper beside some tiny worsted things she had
+been knitting for weeks.
+
+"I am not coming back," she read in an illiterate hand.
+
+She would have screamed, but she could not breathe. She turned again,
+staring at the paper and gripping the edge of the table with both
+hands--then the ugly little room that smelt of singed hoofs rocked and
+swam before her.
+
+When she awoke she lay on the floor. The flame of the candle was
+sputtering in its socket. After a while she crawled to her knees in the
+dark; then, somehow, she got to her feet and groped her way to the
+door, and down the narrow stairs out to the road. She felt the need of a
+mother and turned toward Pont du Sable, keeping to the path at the side
+of the wood like a homeless dog, not wishing to be observed. Every
+little while, she was seized with violent trembling so that she was
+obliged to stop--her whole body ached as if she had been beaten.
+
+A sharp wind was whistling in from the sea and the night was so black
+that the road bed was barely visible.
+
+It was some time before she reached the beginning of Pont du Sable, and
+turned down a forgotten path that ran back of the village by the marsh.
+A light gleamed ahead--the lantern of a fishing-boat moored far out on
+the slimy mud. She pushed on toward it, mistaking its position, in her
+agony, for the hut of Marianne. Before she knew it, she was well out on
+the treacherous mud, slipping and sinking. She had no longer the
+strength now to pull her tired feet out. Twice she sank in the slime
+above her knees. She tried to go back but the mud had become ooze--she
+was sinking--she screamed--she was gone and she knew it. Then she
+slipped and fell on her face in a glaze of water from the incoming tide.
+At this instant some one shouted back, but she did not hear.
+
+It was Marianne.
+
+It was she who had moored the boat with the lantern and was on her way
+back to her hut when she heard a woman scream twice. She stopped as
+suddenly as if she had been shot at, straining her eyes in the direction
+the sound came from--she knew that there was no worse spot in the bay, a
+semi-floating solution of mud veined with quicksand. She knew, too, how
+far the incoming tide had reached, for she had just left it at her bare
+heels by way of a winding narrow causeway with a hard shell bottom that
+led to the marsh. She did not call for help, for she knew what lay
+before her and there was not a second to lose. The next instant, she had
+sprung out on the treacherous slime, running for a life in the
+fast-deepening glaze of water.
+
+"Lie down!" she shouted. Then her feet touched a solid spot caked with
+shell and grass. Here she halted for an instant to listen--a choking
+groan caught her ear.
+
+"Lie down!" she shouted again and sprang forward. She knew the knack of
+running on that treacherous slime.
+
+She leapt to a patch of shell and listened again. The woman was choking
+not ten yards ahead of her, almost within reach of a thin point of
+matted grass running back of the marsh, and there she found her, and she
+was still breathing. With her great strength she slid her to the point
+of grass. It held them both. Then she lifted her bodily in her arms,
+swung her on her back and ran splashing knee-deep in water to solid
+ground.
+
+"_Sacre bon Dieu!_" she sobbed as she staggered with her burden. "_C'est
+ma belle petite!_"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+For weeks Yvonne lay in the hut of the worst vagabond of Pont du Sable.
+So did a mite of humanity with black eyes who cried and laughed when he
+pleased. And Marianne fished for them both, alone and single-handed,
+wrenching time and time again comforts from the sea, for she would
+allow no one to go near them, not even such old friends as Monsieur le
+Cure and myself--that old hag, with her clear blue eyes, who walks with
+the stride of a man, and who looks at you squarely, at times
+disdainfully--even when drunk.
+
+      [Illustration: sabots]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: a Normande]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SIX
+
+THE BARON'S PERFECTOS
+
+
+Strange things happen in my "Village of Vagabonds." It is not all fisher
+girls, Bohemian neighbours, romance, and that good friend the cure who
+shoots one day and confesses sinners the next. Things from the outside
+world come to us--happenings with sometimes a note of terror in them to
+make one remember their details for days.
+
+Only the other day I had run up from the sea to Paris to replenish the
+larder of my house abandoned by the marsh at Pont du Sable, and was
+sitting behind a glass of vermouth on the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix
+when the curtain rose.
+
+One has a desire to promenade with no definite purpose these soft
+spring days, when all Paris glitters in the warm sun. The days slip by,
+one into another--days to be lazy in, idle and extravagant, to promenade
+alone, seeking adventure, and thus win a memory, if only the amiable
+glance of a woman's eyes.
+
+I was drinking in the tender air, when from my seat on the terrace I
+recognized in the passing throng the familiar figure of the Brazilian
+banker, the Baron Santos da Granja. The caress of spring had enticed the
+Baron early this afternoon to the Boulevard. Although he had been
+pointed out to me but once, there was no mistaking his conspicuous
+figure as he strode on through the current of humanity, for he stood
+head and shoulders above the average mortal, and many turned to glance
+at this swarthy, alert, well-preserved man of the world with his keen
+black eyes, thin pointed beard and moustache of iron gray. From his
+patent-leather boots to his glistening silk hat the Baron Santos da
+Granja was immaculate.
+
+Suddenly I saw him stop, run his eyes swiftly over the crowded tables
+and then, though there happened to be one just vacated within his
+reach, turn back with a look of decision and enter the Government's
+depot for tobacco under the Grand Hotel.
+
+I, too, was in need of tobacco, for had not my good little
+maid-of-all-work, Suzette, announced to me only the day before:
+
+"Monsieur, there are but three left of the big cigars in the thin box;
+and the ham of the English that monsieur purchased in Paris is no more."
+
+"It is well, my child," I had returned resignedly, "that ham could not
+last forever; it was too good."
+
+"And if Monsieur le Cure comes to dinner there is no more kuemmel," the
+little maid had confessed, and added with a shy lifting of her truthful
+eyes, "monsieur does not wish I should get more of the black cigars at
+the grocery?"
+
+I had winced as I recalled the last box, purchased from the only store
+in Pont du Sable, where they had lain long enough to absorb the pungent
+odour of dried herring and kerosene.
+
+Of course it was not right that our guests should suffer thus from an
+empty larder and so, as I have said, I had run up from the sea to
+replenish it. It was, I confess, an extravagant way of doing one's
+marketing; but then there was Paris in the spring beckoning me, and who
+can resist her seductive call at such a time?
+
+But to my story: I finished my glass of vermouth, and, following the
+Baron's example, entered the Government's store, where I discovered him
+selecting with the air of a connoisseur a dozen thin boxes of rare
+perfectos. He chatted pleasantly with the clerk who served him and upon
+going to the desk, opened a Russian-leather portfolio and laid before
+the cashier six crisp, new one-hundred-franc notes in payment for the
+lot. I have said that the Baron was immaculate, and he _was_, even to
+his money. It was as spotless and unruffled as his linen, as neat, in
+fact, as were the noble perfectos of his choice, long, mild and pure,
+with tiny ends, and fat, comforting bodies that guaranteed a quality fit
+for an emperor; but then the least a bank can do, I imagine, is to
+provide clean money to its president.
+
+As the Baron passed out and my own turn at the desk came to settle for
+my modest provision of Havanas, I recalled to my mind the current gossip
+of the Baron's extravagance, of the dinners he had lately given that
+surprised Paris--and Paris is not easily surprised. What if he had "sold
+more than half of his vast estate in Brazil last year"? And suppose he
+was no longer able or willing "to personally supervise his racing
+stable," that he "had grown tired of the track," etc. Nonsense! The
+press knows so little of the real truth. For me the Baron Santos da
+Granja a was simply a seasoned man of the world, with the good taste to
+have retired from its conspicuous notoriety; and good taste is always
+expensive. His bank account did not interest me.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I knew her well by sight, for she passed me often in the Bois de
+Boulogne when I ran up to Paris on just such errands as my present one.
+She had given me thus now and then glimpses of her feverish
+life--gleams from the facets, since her success in Paris was as
+brilliant as a diamond. Occasionally I would meet her in the shaded
+alleys, but always in sight of her brougham, which kept pace with her
+whims at a safe but discreet distance.
+
+There was a rare perfection about her lithe, graceful person, an ease
+and subtlety of line, an allure which was satisfying--from her trim
+little feet gloved in suede, to the slender nape of her neck, from which
+sprang, back of the loveliest of little ears, the exquisite sheen of her
+blonde hair.
+
+There were mornings when she wore a faultless tailor-made of plain dark
+blue and carried a scarlet parasol, with its jewelled handle held in a
+firm little hand secreted in spotless white kid.
+
+I noticed, too, in passing that her eyes were deep violet and
+exceedingly alert, her features classic in their fineness. Once I saw
+her smile, not at me, but at her fox terrier. It was then that I caught
+a glimpse of her young white teeth--pearly white in contrast to the
+freshness of her pink and olive skin, so clear that it seemed to be
+translucent, and she blushed easily, having lived but a score of springs
+all told.
+
+In the afternoon, when she drove in her brougham lined with dove-gray,
+the scarlet parasol was substituted by one of filmy, creamy lace,
+shading a gown of pale mauve or champagne colour.
+
+I had heard that she was passionately extravagant, that she seldom, if
+ever, won at the races--owned a little hotel with a carved facade in the
+Avenue du Bois, a villa at Dinard, and three fluffy little dogs, who
+jingled their gold bells when they followed her.
+
+She dined at Paillard's, sometimes at the Cafe de la Paix, rarely at
+Maxim's; skated at the Palais de Glace on the most respectable
+afternoons--drank plain water--rolled her own cigarettes--and possessed
+a small jewel box full of emeralds, which she seldom wore.
+
+_Voila!_ A spoiled child for you!
+
+There were mornings, too, when, after her tub, as early as nine, she
+galloped away on her cob to the _Bois_ for her coffee and hot _brioche_
+at the Pre Catelan, a romantic little farm with a cafe and a stableful
+of mild-eyed cows that provide fresh milk to the weary at daylight, who
+are trying hard to turn over a new leaf before the next midnight. Often
+she came there accompanied by her groom and the three little dogs with
+the jingling bells, who enjoyed the warm milk and the run back of the
+fleet hoofs of her saddle-horse.
+
+On this very morning--upon which opens the second act of my drama, I
+found her sitting at the next table to mine, chiding one of the jingling
+little dogs for his disobedience.
+
+"_Eh ben! tu sais!_" she exclaimed suddenly, with a savage gleam in her
+eyes.
+
+I turned and gazed at her in astonishment. It was the first time I had
+heard her voice. It was her accent that made me stare.
+
+"_Eh ben! tu sais!_" she repeated, in the patois of the Normand peasant,
+lifting her riding crop in warning to the ball of fluff who had refused
+to get on his chair and was now wriggling in apology.
+
+"Who is that lady?" I asked the old waiter Emile, who was serving me.
+
+"Madame is an Austrian," he confided to me, bending his fat back as he
+poured my coffee.
+
+"Austrian, eh! Are you certain, Emile?"
+
+"_Parbleu_, monsieur" replied Emile, "one is never certain of any one in
+Paris. I only tell monsieur what I have heard. Ah! it is very easy to be
+mistaken in Paris, monsieur. Take, for instance, the lady in deep
+mourning, with the two little girls, over there at the table under the
+lilac bush."
+
+"She is young to be a widow," I interposed, glancing discreetly in the
+direction he nodded.
+
+Emile smiled faintly. "She is not a widow, monsieur," he returned,
+"neither is she as Spanish as she looks; she is Polish and dances at the
+Folies Parisiennes under the name of _La Belle Gueritta_ from Seville."
+
+"But her children look French," I ventured.
+
+"They are the two little girls of her concierge, monsieur." Emile's
+smile widened until it spread in merry wrinkles to the corners of his
+twinkling eyes.
+
+"In all that lace and velvet?" I exclaimed.
+
+"Precisely, monsieur."
+
+"And why the deep mourning, Emile?"
+
+"It is a pose, monsieur. One must invent novelties, eh? when one is as
+good-looking as that. Besides, madame's reputation has not been of the
+best for some time. Monsieur possibly remembers the little affair last
+year in the Rue des Mathurins? Very well, it was she who extracted the
+hundred thousand francs from the Marquis de Villiers. Madame now gives
+largely to charity and goes to mass."
+
+"Blackmail, Emile?"
+
+"Of the worst kind, and so monsieur sees how easily one can be mistaken,
+is it not so? _Sacristi!_ one never knows."
+
+"But are you certain you are not mistaken about your Austrian, Emile?" I
+ventured.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders as if in apology for his opinion, and I turned
+again to study his Austrian. The noses of her little dogs with the
+jingling bells were now contentedly immersed in a bowl of milk.
+
+A moment later I saw her lift her clear violet eyes and catch sight of
+one of the milkers, who was trying to lead a balky cow through the court
+by a rope badly knotted over her horns. She was smiling as she sat
+watching the cow, who now refused to budge. The boy was losing his
+temper when she broke into a rippling laugh, rose, and going over to the
+unruly beast, unknotted the rope from her horns and, replacing it by two
+half hitches with the ease and skill of a sailor, handed the rope back
+to the boy.
+
+"There, you little stupid!" she exclaimed, "she will lead better now.
+_Allez!_" she cried, giving the cow a sharp rap on her rump. "_Allez!
+Hup!_"
+
+A murmur of surprise escaped Emile. "It is not the first time madame has
+done that trick," he remarked under his hand, as she crossed the
+courtyard to regain her chair.
+
+"She is Normande," I declared, "I am certain of it by the way she said
+'_Eh ben!_' And did you not notice her walk back to her table? Erect,
+with the easy, quick step of a fisher girl? The same walk of the race of
+fisher girls who live in my village," I continued with enthusiastic
+decision. "There is no mistaking it; it is peculiar to Pont du Sable,
+and note, too, her _patois_!"
+
+"It is quite possible, monsieur," replied Emile, "but it does not
+surprise me. One sees every one in Paris. There are few _grandes dames_
+left. When one has been a _garcon de cafe_, as I have, for over thirty
+years, one is surprised at nothing; not even----"
+
+The tap of a gold coin on the rim of a cold saucer interrupted our talk.
+The summons was from my lady who had conquered the cow.
+
+"_Voila_, madame!" cried Emile, as he left me to hasten to her table,
+where he made the change, slipped the _pourboire_ she gave him into his
+alpaca pocket, and with a respectful, "_Merci bien_, madame," drew back
+her chair as she rose and summoned her groom, who a moment later stood
+ready to help her mount. The next instant I saw her hastily withdraw her
+small foot from the hollow of his coarse hand, and wave to a passing
+horse and rider. The rider, whose features were half hidden under the
+turned-down brim of a panama, wheeled his horse, reined up before her,
+dismounted, threw his rein to her groom and bending, kissed her on both
+cheeks. She laughed; murmured something in his ear; the panama nodded in
+reply, then, slipping his arm under her own, the two entered the
+courtyard. There they were greeted by Emile.
+
+"Madame and I will breakfast here to-day, Emile," said the voice beneath
+the panama. "The little table in the corner and the same Pommard."
+
+He threw his riding crop on a vacant chair and, lifting his hat, handed
+it to the veteran waiter.
+
+It was the Baron Santos da Granja!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hidden at the foot of a plateau skirting the desert marshes, two miles
+above my village of Pont du Sable, lies in ruins all that remains of the
+deserted village known as La Poche.
+
+It is well named "The Pocket," since for years it served as a safe
+receptacle for itinerant beggars and fugitives from justice who found an
+ideal retreat among its limestone quarries, which, being long
+abandoned, provided holes in the steep hillside for certain vagabonds,
+who paid neither taxes to the government, nor heed to its law.
+
+There is an old cattle trail that leads to La Poche, crossed now and
+then by overgrown paths, that wind up through a labyrinth of briers,
+rank ferns and matted growth to the plateau spreading back from the
+hillside. I use this path often as a short cut home.
+
+One evening I had shot late on the marshes and started for home by way
+of La Poche. It was bright moonlight when I reached a trail new to me
+and approached the deserted village by way of a tangled, overgrown road.
+
+The wind had gone down with the rising of the moon, and the intense
+stillness of the place was such that I could hear about me in the tangle
+the lifting of a trampled weed and the moving of the insects as my boots
+disturbed them. The silence was uncanny. Under the brilliancy of the
+moon all things gleamed clear in a mystic light, their shadows as black
+as the sunken pits of a cave.
+
+I pushed on through the matted growth, with the collar of my leather
+coat buttoned up, my cap pulled down, and my hands thrust in my sleeves,
+hugging my gun under my arm, for the briars made tough going.
+
+Presently, I got free of the tangle and out to a grassy stretch of road,
+once part of the river bed. Here and there emerged, from the matted
+tangle of the hillside flanking it, the ruins of La Poche. Often only a
+single wall or a tottering chimney remained silhouetted against the
+skeleton of a gabled roof; its rafters stripped of tiles, gleaming in
+the moonlight like the ribs and breastbone of a carcass.
+
+If La Poche is a place to be shunned by day--at night it becomes
+terrible; it seems to breathe the hidden viciousness of its past, as if
+its ruins were the tombs of its bygone criminals.
+
+I kept on the road, passed another carcass and drew abreast of a third,
+which I stepped out of the road to examine. Both its floors had long
+before I was born dropped into its cellar; its threshold beneath my feet
+was slippery with green slime; I looked up through its ribs, from which
+hung festoons of cobwebs and dead vines, like shreds of dried flesh
+hanging from a skeleton.
+
+Still pursuing my way, I came across an old well; the bucket was drawn
+up and its chain wet; it was the first sign of habitation I had come
+across. As my hand touched the windlass, I instinctively gave it a turn;
+it creaked dismally and a dog barked savagely at the sound from
+somewhere up the hillside; then the sharp, snappy yelping of other dogs
+higher up followed.
+
+I stopped, felt in my pockets and slipped two shells into my gun,
+heavily loaded for duck, with the feeling that if I were forced to shoot
+I would hold high over their heads. As I closed the breech of my gun and
+clicked back my hammers to be ready for any emergency, the tall figure
+of a man loomed up in the grassy road ahead of me, his legs in a ray of
+moonlight, the rest of him in shadow.
+
+"Does this road lead out to the main road?" I called to him, not being
+any too sure that it did.
+
+"Who is there?" he demanded sharply and in perfect French; then he
+advanced and I saw that the heavy stick he carried with a firm grip was
+mounted in silver.
+
+"A hunter, monsieur," I returned pleasantly, noticing now his dress and
+bearing.
+
+It was so dark where we stood, that I could not yet distinguish his
+features.
+
+"May I ask you, monsieur, whom I have the pleasure of meeting," I
+ventured, my mind now more at rest.
+
+He strode toward me.
+
+"My name is de Brissac," said he, extending his hand. "Forgive me," he
+added with a good-natured laugh, "if I startled you; it is hardly the
+place to meet a gentleman in at this hour. Have you missed your way?"
+
+"No," I replied, "I shot late and took a short cut to reach my home." I
+pointed in the direction of the marshes while I searched his face which
+was still shrouded in gloom, in my effort to see what manner of man I
+had run across.
+
+"And have you had good luck?" he inquired with a certain meaning in his
+voice, as if he was still in doubt regarding my trespass.
+
+"Not worth speaking of," I returned in as calm a voice as I could
+muster; "the birds are mostly gone. And do you shoot also, may I ask?"
+
+"It is an incorrigible habit with me," he confessed in a more reassured
+tone. "I have, however, not done so badly of late with the birds; I
+killed seventeen plovers this morning--a fine lot."
+
+Here his tone changed. All his former reserve had vanished. "Come with
+me," said he; "I insist; I'll show you what I killed; they make a pretty
+string, I assure you. You shall see, too, presently, my house; it is the
+one with the new roof. Do you happen to have seen it?"
+
+This came with a certain note of seriousness in his voice.
+
+"No, but I am certain it must be a luxury in the debris," I laughed;
+"but," I added, "I am afraid I must postpone the pleasure until another
+time." I was still undecided as to my course.
+
+Again his tone changed to one of extreme courtesy, as if he had been
+quick to notice my hesitation.
+
+"I know it is late," said he, "but I must insist on your accepting my
+hospitality. The main road lies at the end of the plateau, and I will
+see you safely out to it and on your way home."
+
+I paused before answering. Under the circumstances, I knew, I could not
+very well refuse, and yet I had a certain dread of accepting too easily.
+In France such refusals are sometimes considered as insults. "Thank
+you," I said at last, resolved to see the adventure out; "I accept with
+pleasure," adding with a laugh and speaking to his shadowy bulk, for I
+could not yet see his face:
+
+"What silent mystery, what an uncanny fascination this place has about
+it! Even our meeting seems part of it. Don't you think so?"
+
+"Yes, there is a peculiar charm here," he replied, in a more cautious
+tone as he led me into a narrow trail, "a charm that has taken hold of
+me, so that I bury myself here occasionally; it is a rest from Paris."
+
+From Paris, eh? I thought--then he does not belong to the coast.
+
+I edged nearer, determined now to catch a glimpse of his features, the
+light of the moon having grown stronger. As he turned, its rays
+illumined his face and at the same instant a curious gleam flashed into
+his eyes.
+
+Again the Baron da Granja stood before me.
+
+Da Granja! the rich Brazilian! President of one of the biggest foreign
+banks in Paris. Man of the world, with a string of horses famous for
+years on a dozen race tracks. What the devil was he doing here? Had the
+cares of his bank driven him to such a lonely hermitage as La Poche? It
+seemed incredible, and yet there was not the slightest doubt as to his
+identity--I had seen him too often to be mistaken. His voice, too, now
+came back to me.
+
+He strode on, and for some minutes kept silent, then he stopped suddenly
+and in a voice in which the old doubting tones were again audible said:
+
+"You are English?"
+
+Here he barred the path.
+
+"No," I answered, a little ill at ease at his sudden change of manner.
+"American, from New York."
+
+"And yet, I think I have seen you in Paris," he replied, after a
+moment's hesitation, his eyes boring into mine, which the light of the
+moon now made clear to him.
+
+"It is quite possible," I returned calmly; "I think I have seen you
+also, monsieur; I am often in Paris."
+
+Again he looked at me searchingly.
+
+"Where?" he asked.
+
+"At the Government's store, buying cigars." I did not intend to go any
+further.
+
+He smiled as if relieved. He had been either trying to place me, or his
+suspicions had been again aroused, I could not tell which. One thing was
+certain: he was convinced I had swallowed the name "de Brissac" easily.
+
+All at once his genial manner returned. "This way, to the right," he
+exclaimed. "Pardon me if I lead the way; the path is winding. My ruin,
+as I sometimes call it, is only a little farther up, and you shall have
+a long whiskey and siphon when you get there. You know Pont du Sable, of
+course," he continued as I kept in his tracks; the talk having again
+turned on his love of sport.
+
+"Somewhat. I live there."
+
+This time the surprise was his.
+
+"Is it possible?" he cried, laying his hand on my shoulder, his face
+alight.
+
+"Yes, my house is the once-abandoned one with the wall down by the
+marsh."
+
+"Ah!" he burst out, "so you are _the_ American, the newcomer, the man I
+have heard so much about, the man who is always shooting; and how the
+devil, may I ask, did you come to settle in Pont du Sable?"
+
+"Well, you see, every one said it was such a wretched hole that I felt
+there must be some good in it. I have found it charming, and with the
+shooting it has become an old friend. I am glad also to find that you
+like it well enough to (it was I who hesitated now) to visit it."
+
+"Yes, to shoot is always a relief," he answered evasively, and then in a
+more determined voice added, "This way, to the right, over the rocks!
+Come, give me your gun! The stones are slippery."
+
+"No, I will carry it," I replied. "I am used to carrying it," and though
+my voice did not betray me, I proposed to continue to carry it. It was
+at least a protection against a walking stick with a silver top. My mind
+being still occupied with his suspicions, his inquiries, and most of all
+his persistence that I should visit his house, with no other object in
+view than a whiskey and siphon and a string of plovers. And yet, despite
+the gruesomeness of the surroundings, while alert as to his slightest
+move, I was determined to see the adventure through.
+
+He did not insist, but turned sharply to the left, and the next instant
+I stood before the threshold of a low stone house with a new tiled roof.
+A squat, snug house, the eaves of whose steep gabled roof came down well
+over its two stories, like the snuffer on a candle. He stepped to the
+threshold, felt about the door as if in search for a latch, and rapped
+three times with the flat of his hand. Then he called softly:
+
+"Lea!"
+
+"_C'est toi?_" came in answer, and a small hand cautiously opened a
+heavy overhead shutter, back of which a shaded lamp was burning.
+
+"Yes, it is all right, it is I," said he. "Come down! I have a surprise
+for you. I have captured an American."
+
+There came the sound of tripping feet, the quick drawing of a heavy
+bolt, and the door opened.
+
+My little lady of the Pre Catelan!
+
+Not in a tea-gown from the Rue de la Paix--nothing of that kind
+whatever; not a ruffle, not a jewel--but clothed in the well-worn
+garment of a fisher girl of the coast--a coarse homespun chemise of
+linen, open at the throat, and a still coarser petticoat of blue, faded
+by the salt sea--a fisher girl's petticoat that stopped at her knees,
+showing her trim bare legs and the white insteps of her little feet,
+incased in a pair of heelless felt slippers.
+
+For the second time I was treated to a surprise. Really, Pont du Sable
+was not so dead a village after all.
+
+Emile was wrong. She was one of my village people.
+
+My host did not notice my astonishment, but waved his hand courteously.
+
+"_Entrez_, monsieur!" he cried with a laugh, and then, turning sharply,
+he closed the door and bolted it.
+
+I looked about me.
+
+We were in a rough little room, that would have won any hunter's heart;
+there were solid racks, heavy with guns, on the walls, a snapping wood
+fire, and a clean table, laid for dinner, and lastly, the chair quickly
+drawn to it for the waiting guest. This last they laughingly forced me
+into, for they both insisted I should dine with them--an invitation
+which I gladly accepted, for my fears were now completely allayed.
+
+We talked of the neighbourhood, of hunting, of Paris, of the new play at
+the Nouveautes--I did not mention the Bois. One rarely mentions in
+France having seen a woman out of her own home, although I was sure she
+remembered me from a look which now and then came into her eyes that
+left but little doubt in my mind that she vaguely recalled the incident
+at the Pre Catelan with the cow.
+
+It was a simple peasant dinner which followed. When it was over, he
+went to a corner cupboard and drew forth a flat box of long perfectos,
+which I recognized instantly as the same brand of rare Havanas he had so
+extravagantly purchased from the Government. If I had had my doubt as to
+the identity of my man it was at rest now.
+
+"You will find them mild," said he with a smile, as he lifted the
+tinfoil cover.
+
+"No good cigar is strong," I replied, breaking the untouched row and
+bending my head as my host struck a match, my mind more on the scene in
+the Government's shop than the quality of his tobacco. And yet with all
+the charm that the atmosphere of his place afforded, two things still
+seemed to me strange--the absence of a servant, until I realized
+instinctively the incident of the balky cow, and the prompt bolting of
+the outside door.
+
+The first I explained to myself as being due to her peasant blood and
+her ability to help herself; the second to the loneliness of the place
+and the characters it sometimes harboured. As for my host, I had to
+admit, despite my mental queries, that his bearing and manner
+completely captivated me, for a more delightful conversationalist it
+would have been difficult to find.
+
+Not only did he know the art of eliminating himself and amusing you with
+topics that pleased you, but his cleverness in avoiding the personal was
+amazingly skilful. His tact was especially accentuated when, with a
+significant look at his companion, who at once rose from her seat and,
+crossing the room, busied herself with choosing the liqueurs from a
+closet in the corner of the room, he drew me aside by the fire, and in a
+calm, sotto voce said with intense earnestness:
+
+"You may think it strange, monsieur, that I invited you, that I was even
+insistent. You, like myself, are a man of the world and can understand.
+You will do me a great favour if you will not mention to any one having
+met either myself or my little housekeeper" (there was not a tremor in
+his voice), "who, as you see, is a peasant; in fact, she was born here.
+We are not bothered with either friends or acquaintances here, nor do we
+care for prowlers; you must excuse me for at first taking you for one.
+You, of course, know the reputation of La Poche."
+
+"You could not have chosen a better place to be lost in," I answered,
+smiling as discreetly as one should over the confession of another's
+love affair. "Moreover, in life I have found it the best policy to keep
+one's mouth shut. You have my word, monsieur--it is as if we had never
+met--as if La Poche did not exist."
+
+"Thank you," said he calmly, taking the tiny liqueur glasses from her
+hands; "what will you have--cognac or green chartreuse?"
+
+"Chartreuse," I answered quietly. My eye had caught the labels which I
+knew to be genuine from the Grenoble printer.
+
+"Ah! you knew it--_Dieu!_ but it is good, that old chartreuse!"
+exclaimed my hostess with a rippling laugh as she filled my glass, "we
+are lucky to find it."
+
+Then something happened which even now sends a cold chill down my spine.
+Hardly had I raised my glass to my lips when there came a sharp,
+determined rap at the bolted door, and my host sprang to his feet. For
+a moment no one spoke--I turned instinctively to look at my lady of the
+Pre Catelan. She was breathing with dilated eyes, her lips drawn and
+quivering, every muscle of her lithe body trembling. He was standing
+erect, his head thrown back, his whole body tense. One hand gripped the
+back of his chair, the other was outstretched authoritatively toward us
+as if to command our silence.
+
+Again the rapping, this time violent, insistent.
+
+"Who is there?" he demanded, after what seemed to me an interminable
+moment of suspense.
+
+With this he slipped swiftly through a door leading into a narrow
+corridor, closed another door at the end of the passage, broke the key
+in the lock and returned on tiptoe as noiselessly as he left the room.
+Then picking up the lamp he placed it under the table, thus deadening
+its glow.
+
+Now a voice rang out, "Open in the name of the Law."
+
+No one moved.
+
+He again gripped the back of the chair, his face deathly white, his jaw
+set, his eyes with a sullen gleam in them.
+
+I turned to look at her. Her hands were outstretched on the table, her
+dilated eyes staring straight at the bolt as if her whole life depended
+on its strength.
+
+Again came the command to open, this time in a voice that allowed no
+question as to the determination of the outsider:
+
+"Open in the name of the Law."
+
+No one moved or answered.
+
+A crashing thud, from a heavy beam, snapped the bolt from its screws,
+another blow tore loose the door. Through the opening and over the
+debris sprang a short, broad-shouldered man in a gray suit, while three
+other heavily built men entered, barring the exit.
+
+The woman screamed and fell forward on the table, her head buried in her
+clenched hands. The Baron faced the one in gray.
+
+"What do you want?" he stammered in the voice of a ghost.
+
+"You, Pedro Maceioe," said the man in the gray suit, in a low, even tone,
+"for the last trick you will pull off in some years; open up things, do
+you hear? All of it, and quick."
+
+The Brazilian did not reply; he stood behind his chair, eyeing sullenly
+the man in gray, who now held a revolver at a level with his heart.
+
+Then the man in gray called to one of his men, his eye still on the
+banker. "Break in the door at the end of the passage."
+
+With the quickness of a cat, the Brazilian grabbed the chair and with a
+swinging blow tried to fell his assailant and dash past him. The man in
+gray dodged and pocketed his weapon. The next instant he had his
+prisoner by the throat and had slammed him against the wall; then came
+the sharp click of a pair of handcuffs. The banker tripped and fell to
+the floor.
+
+It had all happened so quickly that I was dazed as I looked on. What it
+was all about I did not know. It seemed impossible that my host, a man
+whose bank was well known in Paris, was really a criminal. Were the
+intruders from the police? Or was it a clever ruse of four determined
+burglars?
+
+I began now to gather my wits and think of myself, although so far not
+one of the intruders had taken the slightest notice of my presence.
+
+One of the men was occupied in breaking open the door at the end of the
+corridor, while another stood guard over the now sobbing, hysterical
+woman. The fourth had remained at the open doorway.
+
+As for the prisoner, who had now regained his feet, he had sunk into the
+chair he had used in defence and sat there staring at the floor,
+breathing in short gasps.
+
+The man who had been ordered by his chief to break open the door at the
+end of the corridor, now returned and laid upon the dinner table two
+engraved metal plates, and a handful of new one-hundred-franc notes;
+some I noticed from where I sat were blank on one side. With the plates
+came the acrid stench of a broken bottle of acid.
+
+"My God! Counterfeiting!" I exclaimed half aloud.
+
+The Baron rose from his seat and stretched out his linked hands.
+
+"She is innocent," he pleaded huskily, lifting his eyes to the woman. I
+could not repress a feeling of profound pity for him.
+
+The man in gray made no reply; instead he turned to me.
+
+"I shall escort you, too, monsieur," he remarked coolly.
+
+"Escort me? _Me?_ What have I got to do with it, I'd like to know?" I
+cried, springing to my feet. "I wish to explain--to make clear to
+you--_clear_. I want you to understand that I stumbled here by the
+merest chance; that I never spoke to this man in my life until to-night,
+that I accepted his hospitality purely because I did not wish to offend
+him, although I had shot late and was in a hurry to get home."
+
+He smiled quietly.
+
+"Please do not worry," he returned, "we know all about you. You are the
+American. Your house is the old one by the marsh in Pont du Sable. I
+called on you this afternoon, but you were absent. I am really indebted
+to you if you do but know it. By following your tracks, monsieur, we
+stumbled on the nest we have so long been looking for. Permit me to hand
+you my card. My name is Guinard--Sous Chief of the Paris Police."
+
+I breathed easier--things were clearing up.
+
+"And may I ask, monsieur, how you knew I had gone in the direction of La
+Poche?" I inquired. That was still a mystery.
+
+"You have a little maid," he replied; "and little maids can sometimes be
+made to talk."
+
+He paused and then said slowly, weighing each word.
+
+"Yes, that no doubt surprises you, but we follow every clue. You were
+both sportsmen; that, as you know, monsieur, is always a bond, and we
+had not long to wait, although it was too dark for us to be quite sure
+when you both passed me. It was the bolting of the door that clinched
+the matter for me. But for the absence of two of my men on another scent
+we should have disturbed you earlier. I must compliment you, monsieur,
+on your knowledge of chartreuse as well as your taste for good cigars;
+permit me to offer you another." Here he slipped his hand into his
+pocket and handed me a duplicate of the one I had been smoking.
+
+"Twelve boxes, Maceioe, were there not? Not expensive, eh, when purchased
+with these?" and he spread out the identical bank-notes with which his
+prisoner had paid for them in the Government store on the boulevard.
+
+"As for you, monsieur, it is only necessary that one of my men take your
+statement at your house; after that you are free.
+
+"Come, Maceioe," and he shook the prisoner by the shoulder, "you take the
+midnight train with me back to Paris--you too, madame."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And so I say again, and this time you must agree with me, that strange
+happenings, often with a note of terror in them, occur now and then in
+my lost village by the sea.
+
+      [Illustration: cigar]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: soldiers]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SEVEN
+
+THE HORRORS OF WAR
+
+
+At the very beginning of the straggling fishing-village of Pont du Sable
+and close by the tawny marsh stands the little stone house of the mayor.
+The house, like Monsieur le Maire himself, is short and sturdy. Its
+modest facade is half hidden under a coverlet of yellow roses that have
+spread at random over the tiled roof as high as the chimney. In front,
+edging the road, is a tidy strip of garden with more roses, a wood-pile,
+and an ancient well whose stone roof shelters a worn windlass that
+groans in protest whenever its chain and bucket are disturbed.
+
+I heard the windlass complaining this sunny morning as I passed on my
+way through the village and caught sight of the ruddy mayor in his blue
+blouse lowering the bucket. The chain snapped taut, the bucket gulped
+its fill, and Monsieur le Maire caught sight of me.
+
+"_Ah bigre!_" he exclaimed as he left the bucket where it hung and came
+forward with both hands outstretched in welcome, a smile wrinkling his
+genial face, clean-shaven to the edges of his short, cropped gray
+side-whiskers, reaching well beneath his chin. "Come in, come in," he
+insisted, laying a persuasive hand on my shoulder, as he unlatched his
+gate.
+
+It is almost impossible for a friend to pass the mayor's without being
+stopped by just such a welcome. The twinkle in his eyes and the hearty
+genuineness of his greeting are irresistible. The next moment you have
+crossed his threshold and entered a square, low-ceiled room that for
+over forty years has served Monsieur le Maire as living room, kitchen,
+and executive chamber.
+
+He had left me for a moment, as he always does when he welcomes a
+friend. I could hear from the pantry cupboard beyond the shivery tinkle
+of glasses as they settled on a tray. He had again insisted, as he
+always does, upon my occupying the armchair in the small parlour
+adjoining, with its wax flowers and its steel engraving of Napoleon at
+Waterloo; but I had protested as I always do, for I prefer the kitchen.
+
+I like its cavernous fireplace with its crane and spit, and the low
+ceiling upheld by great beams of rough-hewn oak, and the tall clock in
+the corner, and the hanging copper saucepans, kettles and ladles, kept
+as bright as polished gold. Here, too, is a generous Norman armoire with
+carved oaken doors swung on bar-hinges of shining steel, and a
+centre-table provided with a small bottle of violet ink, a scratchy pen
+and an iron seal worked by a lever--a seal that has grown dull from long
+service in the stamping of certain documents relative to plain justice,
+marriage, the official recognition of the recently departed and the
+newly born. Above the fireplace hangs a faded photograph of a prize
+bull, for you must know that Monsieur le Maire has been for half a
+generation a dealer in Norman cattle.
+
+Presently he returned with the tray, placing it upon the table within
+reach of our chairs while I stood admiring the bull.
+
+He stopped as he half drew the cork from a fat brown jug, and looked at
+me curiously, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.
+
+"You never were a dealer in beef?" he ventured timidly.
+
+I shook my head sadly.
+
+"_Helas! Helas!_ Never mind," said he. "One cannot be everything.
+There's my brother-in-law, Pequin; he does not know a yearling from a
+three-year-old. It is he who keeps the little store at Saint Philippe."
+
+The cork squeaked out. He filled the thimble glasses with rare old
+applejack so skilfully that another drop would have flushed over their
+worn gilt rims. What a gracious old gentleman he is! If it be a question
+of clipping a rose from his tidy garden and presenting it to a lady, he
+does it with such a gentle courtliness that the rose smells the sweeter
+for it--almost a lost art nowadays.
+
+"I saw the cure this morning," he remarked, as we settled ourselves for
+a chat. "He could not stop, but he waved me an _au revoir_, for he was
+in a hurry to catch his train. He had been all night in his
+duck-blind--I doubt if he had much luck, for the wind is from the south.
+There is a fellow for you who loves to shoot," chuckled the mayor.
+
+"Some news for him of game?" I inquired.
+
+The small eyes of the mayor twinkled knowingly. "_Entre nous_," he
+confided, "he has gone to Bonvilette to spray the sick roses of a friend
+with sulphate of iron--he borrowed my squirt-gun yesterday."
+
+"And how far is it to Bonvilette?"
+
+"_Eh ben!_ One must go by the little train to Nivelle," explained
+Monsieur le Maire, "and from Nivelle to Bonvilette there lies a good
+twenty kilometres for a horse. Let us say he will be back in three
+days."
+
+"And the mass meanwhile?" I ventured.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ What will you have? The roses of his old friend are sick.
+It is the duty of a cure to tend the sick. Besides----"
+
+Here Monsieur le Maire leaned forward within reach of my ear, and I
+caught in whispers something relative to a chateau and one of the best
+cellars of Bordeaux in France.
+
+"Naturally," I replied, with a wink, and again my eyes reverted to the
+prize bull. It is not wise to raise one's voice in so small a village as
+Pont du Sable, even indoors.
+
+"A pretty beast!" affirmed the mayor, noticing my continued interest in
+live stock. "And let me tell you that I took him to England in
+'eighty-two. _Ah, mais oui! Helas! Helas!_ What a trip!" he sighed.
+"Monsieur Toupinet--he that has the big farm at Saint Philippe--and I
+sailed together the third of October, in 1882, with forty steers. Our
+ship was called _The Souvenir_, and I want to tell you, my friend, it
+wasn't gay, that voyage. _Ah, mais non!_ Toupinet was sea-sick--I was
+sea-sick--the steers were sea-sick--all except that _sacre_ brute up
+there, and he roared all the way from Calais to London. _Eh ben!_ And
+would you believe it?" At the approaching statement Monsieur le Maire's
+countenance assumed a look of righteous indignation. He raised his fist
+and brought it down savagely on the table as he declared: "Would you
+believe it? We were _thirty-four hours_ without eating and _twenty-nine
+hours, mon Dieu!_ without drinking!"
+
+I looked up in pained astonishment.
+
+"And that wasn't all," continued the mayor. "A hurricane struck us three
+hours out, and we rolled all night in a dog's sea. The steers were up to
+their bellies in water. Aye, but she did blow, and _The Souvenir_ had
+all she could do to keep afloat. The captain was lashed to the bridge
+all night and most of the next day. Neither Toupinet nor myself ever
+expected to see land again, and there we were like calves in a pen on
+the floor of the cabin full of tobacco-smoke and English, and not a word
+of English could we speak except 'yes' and 'good morning.'" Here
+Monsieur le Maire stopped and choked. Finally he dried his eyes on the
+sleeve of his blouse, for he was wheezing with laughter, took a sip from
+his glass, and resumed:
+
+"Well, the saints did not desert us. _Ah, mais non!_ For about four
+o'clock in the afternoon the captain sighted Su-Tum-Tum."
+
+"Sighted what?" I exclaimed.
+
+"_Eh ben!_ Su-Tum-Tum," he replied.
+
+"Where had you drifted? To the Corean coast?"
+
+"_Mais non_," he retorted, annoyed at my dullness to comprehend. "We
+were saved--_comprenez-vous?_--for there, to starboard, lay Su-Tum-Tum
+as plain as a sheep's nose."
+
+"England? Impossible!" I returned.
+
+"_Mais parfaitement!_" he declared, with a hopeless gesture.
+"_Su-Tum-Tum_," he reiterated slowly for my benefit.
+
+"Never heard of it," I replied.
+
+The next instant he was out of his chair, and fumbling in a drawer of
+the table extracted a warped atlas, reseated himself, and began to turn
+the pages.
+
+"_Eh, voila!_" he cried as his forefinger stopped under a word along the
+English coast. "That's Su-Tum-Tum plain enough, isn't it?"
+
+"Ah! Southampton!" I exclaimed. "Of course--plain as day."
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated the mayor, leaning back in his chair with a broad smile
+of satisfaction. "You see, I was right, Su-Tum-Tum. _Eh ben!_ Do you
+know," he said gently as I left him, "when you first came to Pont du
+Sable there were times then, my poor friend, when I could not understand
+a word you said in French."
+
+Then, as if a sudden thought had struck him, he called me back as he
+closed the gate.
+
+"Are those gipsies still camped outside your wall?" he inquired,
+suddenly assuming the dignity of his office. "_Bon Dieu!_ They are a bad
+lot, those vagabonds! If I don't tell them to be off you won't have a
+duck or a chicken left."
+
+"Let them stay," I pleaded, "they do no harm. Besides, I like to see the
+light of their camp-fire at night scurrying over my wall."
+
+"How many are there?" inquired his excellency.
+
+"Seven or eight, not counting the dogs chained under the wagons," I
+confessed reluctantly, fearing the hand of the law, for I have a
+fondness for gipsies. "But you need not worry about them. They won't
+steal from me. Their wagons are clean inside and out."
+
+"_Ah, mais!_" sighed the mayor. "It's just like you. You spoil your
+cat, you spoil your dog, and now you're spoiling these rascals by giving
+them a snug berth. Have they their papers of identity?"
+
+"Yes," I called back, "the chief showed them to me when he asked
+permission to camp."
+
+"Of course," laughed the mayor. "You'll never catch them without
+them--signed by officials we never can trace."
+
+He waved me a cheery _au revoir_ and returned to the well of the
+groaning windlass while I continued on my way through the village.
+
+Outside the squat stone houses, nets were drying in the sun. Save for
+the occasional rattle of a passing cart, the village was silent, for
+these fisher-folk go barefooted. Presently I reached the public square,
+where nothing ever happens, and, turning an iron handle, entered Pont du
+Sable's only store. A box of a place, smelling of dried herring,
+kerosene, and cheese; and stocked with the plain necessities--almost
+everything, from lard, tea, and big nails to soap, tarpaulins, and
+applejack. The night's catch of mackerel had been good, and the small
+room with its zinc bar was noisy with fisher-folk--wiry fishermen with
+legs and chests as hard as iron; slim brown fisher girls as hardy as the
+men, capricious, independent and saucy; a race of blonds for the most
+part, with the temperament of brunettes. Old women grown gray and
+leathery from fighting the sea, and old men too feeble to go--one of
+these hung himself last winter because of this.
+
+It was here, too, I found Marianne, dripping wet, in her tarpaulins.
+
+"What luck?" I asked her as I helped myself to a package of cigarettes
+from a pigeonhole and laid the payment thereof on the counter.
+
+"_Eh ben!_" she laughed. "We can't complain. If the good God would send
+us such fishing every night we should eat well enough."
+
+She strode through the group to the counter to thrust out an empty
+bottle.
+
+"Eight sous of the best," she demanded briskly of the mild-eyed grocer.
+"My man's as wet as a rat--he needs some fire in him and he'll feel as
+fit as a marquis."
+
+A good catch is a tonic to Pont du Sable. Instantly a spirit of good
+humour and camaraderie spreads through the village--even old scores are
+forgotten. A good haul of mackerel means a let-up in the daily struggle
+for existence, which in winter becomes terrible. The sea knows not
+charity. It massacres when it can and adds you to the line of dead
+things along its edge where you are only remembered by the ebb and flow
+of the tide. On blue calm mornings, being part of the jetsam, you may
+glisten in the sun beside a water-logged spar; at night you become a
+nonentity, of no more consequence along the wavering line of drift than
+a rotten gull. But if, like Marianne, you have fought skilfully, you may
+again enter Pont du Sable with a quicker eye, a harder body, and a
+deeper knowledge of the southwest gale.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Within the last week Pont du Sable has undergone a transformation. The
+dead village is alive with soldiers, for it is the time of the
+manoeuvres. Houses, barns and cow-sheds are filled by night with the
+red-trousered infantry of the French _Republique_. By day, the window
+panes shiver under the distant flash and roar of artillery. The air
+vibrates with the rip and rattle of musketry--savage volleys, filling
+the heavens with shrill, vicious waves of whistling bullets that kill at
+a miraculous distance. It is well that all this murderous fire occurs
+beyond the desert of dunes skirting the open sea, for they say the
+result upon the iron targets on the marsh is something frightful. The
+general in command is in a good humour over the record.
+
+Despatch-bearers gallop at all hours of the day and night through Pont
+du Sable's single street. The band plays daily in the public square.
+Sunburned soldiers lug sacks of provisions and bundles of straw out to
+five hundred more men bivouacked on the dunes. Whole regiments return to
+the little fishing-village at twilight singing gay songs, followed by
+the fisher girls.
+
+    Ah! Mesdames--voila du bon fromage!
+    Celui qui l'a fait il est de son village!
+    Voila du bon fromage au lait!
+    Il est du pays de celui qui l'a fait.
+
+Three young officers are stopping at Monsieur le Cure's, who has
+returned from the sick roses of his friend; and Tanrade has a colonel
+and two lieutenants beneath his roof. As for myself and the house
+abandoned by the marsh, we are very much occupied with a blustering old
+general, his aide-de-camp, and two common soldiers; but I tremble lest
+the general should discover the latter two, for you see, they knocked at
+my door for a lodging before the general arrived, and I could not refuse
+them. Both of them put together would hardly make a full-sized warrior,
+and both play the slide-trombone in the band. Naturally their artistic
+temperament revolted at the idea of sleeping in the only available place
+left in the village--a cow-shed with cows. They explained this to me
+with so many polite gestures, mingled with an occasional salute at their
+assured gratefulness should I acquiesce, that I turned them over for
+safe keeping to Suzette, who has given them her room and sleeps in the
+garret. Suzette is overjoyed. Dream of dreams! For Suzette to have one
+real live soldier in the house--but to have two! Both of these
+red-eared, red-trousered dispensers of harmony are perfect in
+deportment, and as quiet as mice. They slip out of my back gate at
+daylight, bound for the seat of war and slip in again at sundown like
+obedient children, talk in kitchen whispers to Suzette over hot cakes
+and cider, and go punctually to bed at nine--the very hour when the
+roaring old general and his aide-de-camp are toasting their gold spurs
+before my fire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The general is tall and broad-shouldered, and as agile as a boy. There
+is a certain hard, compact firmness about him as if he had been cast in
+bronze. His alert eyes are either flashing in authority or beaming in
+gentleness. The same play between dominant roughness and tenderness is
+true, too, of his voice and manner.
+
+"Madame," he said, last night, after dinner, as he bent and graciously
+kissed Alice de Breville's hand, "forgive an old savage who pays you
+homage and the assurance of his profound respect." The next moment my
+courtyard without rocked with his reprimand to a bungling lieutenant.
+
+To-night the general is in an uproar of good humour after a storm, for
+did not some vagabonds steal the danger-posts intended to warn the
+public of the location of the firing-line, so that new ones had to be
+sent for? When the news of the theft reached him his rage was something
+to behold. I could almost hear the little slide-trombonists shake as far
+back as Suzette's kitchen. Fortunately, the cyclone was of short
+duration--to-night he is pleased over the good work of his men during
+the days of mock warfare and at the riddled, twisted targets, all of
+which is child's play to this veteran who has weathered so many real
+battles.
+
+To-night he has dined well, and his big hand is stroking the Essence of
+Selfishness who purrs against his medalled chest under a caress as
+gentle as a woman's. He sings his favourite airs from "Faust" and "Aida"
+with gusto, and roars over the gallant stories of his aide-de-camp, who,
+being from the south of _La belle France_, is never at a loss for a
+tale--tales that make the general's medals twinkle merrily in the
+firelight. It is my first joyful experience as host to the military,
+but I cannot help being nervous over Suzette and the trombonists.
+
+"Bah! Those _sacre_ musicians!" exclaimed the general to-night as he
+puffed at his cigarette. "If there's a laggard in my camp, you may be
+sure it is one of those little devils with a horn or a whistle. _Mon
+Dieu!_ Once during the manoeuvres outside of Perigord I found three of
+them who refused to sleep on the ground--stole off and begged a lodging
+in a chateau, _parbleu!_"
+
+"Ah--indeed?" I stammered meekly.
+
+"Yes, they did," he bellowed, "but I cured them." I saw the muscles in
+his neck flush crimson, and tried to change the subject, but in vain.
+
+"If they do that in time of peace, they'll do the same in war," he
+thundered.
+
+"Naturally," I murmured, my heart in my throat. The aide-de-camp grunted
+his approval while the general ran his hand over the gray bristles on
+his scarred head.
+
+"Favours!" roared the general. "Favours, eh? When my men sleep on the
+ground in rough weather, I sleep with them. What sort of discipline do
+you suppose I'd have if I did not share their hardships time and time
+again? Winter campaigns, forced marches--twenty-four hours of it
+sometimes in mountain snow. Bah! That is nothing! They need that
+training to go through worse, and yet those good fellows of mine,
+heavily loaded, never complain. I've seen it so hot, too, that it would
+melt a man's boots. It is always one of those imbeciles, then, with
+nothing heavier to carry than a clarinet, who slips off to a comfortable
+farm."
+
+"_Bien entendu, mon general!_" agreed his aide-de-camp tersely as he
+leaned forward and kindled a fresh cigarette over the candle-shade.
+
+Happily I noticed at that moment that the cigarette-box needed
+replenishing. It was an excuse at least to leave the room. A moment
+later I had tiptoed to the closed kitchen door and stood listening.
+Suzette was laughing. The trombonists were evidently very much at ease.
+They, too, were laughing. Little pleasantries filtered through the
+crack in the heavy door that made me hold my breath. Then I heard the
+gurgle of cider poured into a glass, followed swiftly by what I took to
+be unmistakably a kiss.
+
+It was all as plain now as Su-Tum-Tum. I dared not break in upon them.
+Had I opened the door, the general might have recognized their voices.
+Meanwhile, silly nothings were demoralizing the heart of my good
+Suzette. She would fall desperately in love with either one or the other
+of those _sacre_ virtuosos. Then another thought struck me! One of them
+might be Suzette's sweetheart, hailing from her own village, the
+manoeuvres at Pont du Sable a lucky meeting for them. A few sentences
+that I now hurriedly caught convinced me of my own denseness in not
+having my suspicions aroused when they singled out my domain and begged
+my hospitality.
+
+The situation was becoming critical. By the light of the crack I
+scribbled the following:
+
+"Get those two imbeciles of yours hidden in the hay-loft, quick. The
+general wants to see the kitchen," and slipped it under the door,
+coughing gently in warning.
+
+There was an abrupt silence--the sound of Suzette's slippered feet--and
+the scrap of paper disappeared. Then heavy, excited breathing within.
+
+I dashed upstairs and was down again with the cigarettes before the
+general had remarked my tardiness to his aide. At midnight I lighted
+their candles and saw them safely up to bed. Then I went to my room
+fronting the marsh and breathed easier.
+
+"Her sweetheart from her own village," I said to myself as I blew out my
+candle. "The other"--I sighed drowsily--"was evidently his cousin. The
+mayor was right. I have a bad habit of spoiling people and pets."
+
+Then again my mind reverted to the general. What if he discovered them?
+My only consolation now was that to-day had seen the end of the
+manoeuvres, and the soldiers would depart by a daylight train in the
+morning. I recalled, too, the awkward little speech of thanks for my
+hospitality the trombonists had made to me at an opportune moment
+before dinner. Finally I fell into a troubled sleep.
+
+Suzette brought me my coffee at seven.
+
+"Luckily the general did not discover them!" I exclaimed when Suzette
+had closed the double door of my bedroom.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_ What danger we have run!" whispered the little maid. "I
+could not sleep, monsieur, thinking of it."
+
+"You got them safely to the haymow?" I inquired anxiously.
+
+"Oh! _Mais oui_, monsieur. But then they slept over the cider-press back
+of the big casks. Monsieur advised the hay-loft, but they said the roof
+leaked. And had it rained, monsieur--"
+
+"See here," I interrupted, eyeing her trim self from head to foot
+savagely. "You've known that little devil with the red ears before."
+
+I saw Suzette pale.
+
+"Confess!" I exclaimed hoarsely, with a military gesture of impatience.
+"He comes from your village. Is it not so, my child?"
+
+Suzette was silent, her plump hands twisting nervously at her apron
+pocket.
+
+"I am right, am I not? I might have guessed as much when they came."
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" Suzette faltered, the tears welling up from the depths
+of her clear trustful eyes.
+
+"Is it not so?" I insisted.
+
+"Oh! Oh! _Mon Dieu, oui_," she confessed half audibly. "He--he is the
+son of our neighbor, Monsieur Jacot."
+
+"At Saint Philippe?"
+
+"At Saint Philippe, monsieur. We were children together, Gaston and I.
+I--I--was glad to see him again, monsieur," sobbed the little maid. "He
+is very nice, Gaston."
+
+"When are you to be married?" I ventured after a moment's pause.
+
+"_Ben--eh ben!_ In two years, monsieur--after Gaston finishes his
+military service. He--has a good trade, monsieur."
+
+"Soloist?" I asked grimly.
+
+"No, monsieur--tailor for ladies. We shall live in Paris," she added,
+and for an instant her eyes sparkled; then again their gaze reverted to
+the now sadly twisted apron pocket, for I was silent.
+
+"No more Suzette then!" I said to myself. No more merry, willing little
+maid-of-all-work! No more hot mussels steaming in a savory sauce! Her
+puree of peas, her tomato farcies, the stuffed artichokes, and her
+coffee the like of which never before existed, would vanish with the
+rest. But true love cannot be argued. There was nothing to do but to
+hold out my hand in forgiveness. As I did so the general rang for his
+coffee.
+
+"_Mon Dieu!_" gasped Suzette. "He rings." And flew down to her kitchen.
+
+An hour later the general was sauntering leisurely up the road through
+the village over his morning cigar. The daylight train, followed rapidly
+by four extra sections, had cleared Pont du Sable of all but two of the
+red-trousered infantry--my trombonists! They had arrived an hour and
+twenty minutes late, winded and demoralized. They sat together outside
+the locked station unable to speak, pale and panic-stricken.
+
+The first object that caught the general's eye as he slowly turned into
+the square by the little station was their four red-trousered legs--then
+he caught the glint of their two brass trombones. The next instant heads
+appeared at the windows. It was as if a bomb had suddenly exploded in
+the square.
+
+The two trombonists were now on their feet, shaking from head to foot
+while they saluted their general, whose ever-approaching stride struck
+fresh agony to their hearts. He was roaring:
+
+"_Canailles! Imbeciles!_ A month of prison!" and "_Sacre bon Dieu's!_"
+were all jumbled together. "Overslept! Overslept, did you?" he bellowed.
+"In a chateau, I'll wager. _Parbleu!_ Where then? Out with it!"
+
+"_Pardon, mon general!_" chattered Gaston. "It was in the stone house of
+the American gentleman by the marsh."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We lunched together in my garden at noon. He had grown calm again under
+the spell of the Burgundy, but Suzette, I feared, would be ill.
+
+"Come, be merciful," I pleaded.
+
+"He is the fiance of my good Suzette; besides, you must not forget that
+you were all my guests."
+
+The general shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "They were lucky to have
+gotten off with a month!" he snapped. "You saw that those little devils
+were handcuffed?" he asked of his aide.
+
+"Yes, my general, the gendarme attended to them."
+
+"You were my guests," I insisted. "Hold me responsible if you wish."
+
+"Hold _you_ responsible!" he exclaimed. "But you are a foreigner--it
+would be a little awkward."
+
+"It is my good Suzette," I continued, "that I am thinking of."
+
+He leaned back in his chair, and for a moment again ran his hands
+thoughtfully over the bristles of his scarred head. He had a daughter of
+his own.
+
+"The coffee," I said gently to my unhappy Suzette as she passed.
+
+"_Oui! Oui_, monsieur," she sighed, then suddenly mustering up her
+courage, she gasped:
+
+"_Oh, mon general!_ Is it true, then, that Gaston must go to jail? _Ah!
+Mon Dieu!_"
+
+"_Eh bien_, my girl! It will not kill him, _Sapristi!_ He will be a
+better soldier for it."
+
+"Be merciful," I pleaded.
+
+"_Eh bien! Eh bien!_" he retorted. "_Eh bien!_" And cleared his throat.
+
+"Forgive them," I insisted. "They overslept. I don't want Suzette to
+marry a jail-bird."
+
+Again he scratched his head and frowned. Suzette was in tears.
+
+"Um! Difficult!" he grumbled. "Order for arrest once given--" Then he
+shot a glance at me. I caught a twinkle in his eye.
+
+"_Eh bien!_" he roared. "There--I forgive them! Ah, those _sacre_
+musicians!"
+
+Suzette stood there trembling, unable even to thank him, the colour
+coming and going in her peasant cheeks.
+
+"Are they free, general?" I asked.
+
+"Yes," he retorted, "both of them."
+
+"Bravo!" I exclaimed.
+
+"Understand that I have done it for the little girl--and _you_. Is that
+plain?"
+
+"Perfectly," I replied. "As plain as Su-Tum-Tum!" I added under my
+breath as I filled his empty glass in gratefulness to the brim.
+
+"Halt!" shouted the general as the happiest of Suzettes turned toward
+her kitchen.
+
+"Eh--um!" he mumbled awkwardly in a voice that had suddenly grown thick.
+Then he sprang to his feet and raised his glass.
+
+"A health to the bride!" he cried.
+
+      [Illustration: The general]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: a formal garden]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER EIGHT
+
+THE MILLION OF MONSIEUR DE SAVIGNAC
+
+
+The bay of Pont du Sable, which the incoming tide had so swiftly filled
+at daylight, now lay a naked waste of oozing black mud. The birds had
+gone with the receding sea, and I was back from shooting, loafing over
+my pipe and coffee in a still corner among the roses of my wild garden,
+hidden behind the old wall, when that Customhouse soldier-gardener of
+mine, Pierre, appeared with the following message:
+
+"Monsieur de Savignac presents his salutations the most distinguished
+and begs that monsieur will give him the pleasure of calling on him _a
+propos_ of the little spaniel."
+
+What an unexpected and welcome surprise! For weeks I had hunted in vain
+for a thoroughbred. I had never hoped to be given one from the kennels
+of Monsieur de Savignac's chateau.
+
+"Enchanted, Pierre!" I cried--"Present my compliments to Monsieur de
+Savignac. Tell him how sincerely grateful I am, and say that he may
+expect me to-morrow before noon."
+
+I could easily imagine what a beauty my spaniel would be, clean-limbed
+and alert like the ones in the coloured lithographs. "No wonder," I
+thought, as Pierre left me, "that every peasant for miles around spoke
+of this good Monsieur de Savignac's generosity. Here he was giving me a
+dog. To me, his American neighbour, whom he had never met!"
+
+As I walked over to the chateau with Pierre the next morning, I recalled
+to my mind the career of this extraordinary man, whose only vice was his
+great generosity.
+
+When Monsieur de Savignac was twenty-one he inherited a million francs,
+acquired a high hat with a straight brim, a standing collar, well open
+at the throat (in fashion then under Napoleon III.), a flowing cravat--a
+plush waistcoat with crystal buttons, a plum-coloured broadcloth coat
+and trousers of a pale lemon shade, striped with black, gathered tight
+at the ankles, their bottoms flouncing over a pair of patent-leather
+boots with high heels.
+
+He was tall, strong and good-natured, this lucky Jacques de Savignac,
+with a weakness for the fair sex which was appalling, and a charm of
+manner as irresistible as his generosity. A clumsy fencer, but a good
+comrade--a fellow who could turn a pretty compliment, danced better than
+most of the young dandies at court, drove his satin-skinned pair of bays
+through the Bois with an easy smile, and hunted hares when the shooting
+opened with the dogged tenacity of a veteran poacher.
+
+When he was twenty-one, the Paris that Grevin drew was in the splendour
+of an extravagant life that she was never to see again, and never has.
+One could _amuse_ one's self then--ah! _Dame, oui!_
+
+There is no emperor now to keep Paris gay.
+
+What suppers at Vefour's! What a brilliant life there was in those days
+under the arcades of the dear old Palais Royal, the gay world going
+daily to this mondaine cloister to see and be seen--to dine and
+wine--to make conquests of the heart and dance daylight quadrilles.
+
+Paris was ordered to be daily _en fete_ and the host at the Tuileries
+saw to it that the gaiety did not flag. It was one way at least from
+keeping the populace from cutting one another's throats, which they did
+later with amazing ferocity.
+
+There were in those good old days under Louis Napoleon plenty of places
+to gamble and spend the inherited gold. Ah! it was Rabelaisian enough!
+What an age to have been the recipient of a million at twenty-one! It
+was like being a king with no responsibilities. No wonder de Savignac
+left the university--he had no longer any need of it. He dined now at
+the Maison Doree and was seen nightly at the "Bal Mabille" or the
+"Closerie des Lilas," focussing his gold-rimmed monocle on the flying
+feet and lace _frou-frous_ of "Diane la Sournoise," or roaring with
+laughter as he chucked gold louis into the satined lap of some
+"Francine" or "Cora" amid the blare of the band, and the flash of
+jewels strung upon fair arms and fairer necks of woman who went nightly
+to the "Bal Mabille" in smart turnouts and the costliest gowns money
+could buy--and after the last mad quadrille was ended, on he went to
+supper at Bignon's where more gaiety reigned until blue dawn, and where
+the women were still laughing and merry and danced as easily on the
+table as on the floor.
+
+What a time, I say, to have inherited a million! And how many good
+friends he had! Painters and musicians, actors and wits (and there
+_were_ some in those days)--no king ever gathered around him a jollier
+band.
+
+It was from one of these henchmen of his that de Savignac purchased his
+chateau (long since emptied of its furniture)--from a young nobleman
+pressed hard for his debts, like most young noblemen are--and so the
+great chateau close to my Village of Vagabonds, and known for miles
+around, became de Savignac's.
+
+What house parties he gave then!--men and women of talent flocked under
+his hospitable roof--indeed there was no lack of talent--some of it
+from the Opera--some of it from the Conservatoire, and they brought
+their voices and their fiddles with them and played and sang for him for
+days, in exchange for his feudal hospitality--more than that, the
+painter Paul Deschamps covered the ceiling of his music room with chubby
+cupids playing golden trumpets and violins--one adorable little fellow
+in the cove above the grand piano struggling with a 'cello twice as high
+as himself, and Carin painted the history of love in eight panels upon
+the walls of the old ballroom, whose frescoes were shabby enough, so I
+am told, when de Savignac purchased them.
+
+There were times also when the chateau was full to overflowing with
+guests, so that the late comers were often quartered in a low two-story
+manor close by, that nestled under great trees--a cosey, dear old place
+covered with ivy and climbing yellow roses, with narrow alleys leading
+to it flanked by tall poplars, and a formal garden behind it in the
+niches of whose surrounding wall were statues of Psyche and Venus, their
+smooth marble shoulders stained by rain and the drip and ooze of
+growing things. One of them even now, still lifts its encrusted head to
+the weather.
+
+During the shooting season there were weeks when he and his guests shot
+daily from the crack of dawn until dark, the game-keepers following with
+their carts that by night were loaded with hares, partridges, woodcock
+and quail--then such a good dinner, sparkling with repartee and good
+wine, and laughter and dancing after it, until the young hours in the
+morning. One was more solid in those days than now--tired as their dogs
+after the day's hunt, they dined and danced themselves young again for
+the morrow.
+
+And what do you think they did after the Commune? They made him mayor.
+Yes, indeed, to honour him--Mayor of Hirondelette, the little village
+close to his estate, and de Savignac had to be formal and dignified for
+the first time in his life--this good Bohemian--at the village fetes, at
+the important meetings of the Municipal Council, composed of a dealer in
+cattle, the blacksmith and the notary. Again, in time of marriage,
+accident or death, and annually at the school exercises, when he
+presented prizes to the children spic and span for the occasion, with
+voices awed to whispers, and new shoes. And he loved them all--all those
+dirty little brats that had been scrubbed clean, and their ruddy cheeks
+polished like red apples, to meet "Monsieur le Maire."
+
+He was nearing middle life now, but he was not conscious of it, being
+still a bachelor. There was not as yet, a streak of gray in his
+well-kept beard, and the good humour sparkled in his merry eyes as of
+old. The only change that had occurred concerned the million. It was no
+longer the brilliant solid million of his youth. It was sadly torn off
+in places--there were also several large holes in it--indeed, if the
+truth be told, it was little more than a remnant of its once splendid
+entirety. It had been eaten by moths--certain shrewd old wasps, too, had
+nested in it for years--not a sou of it had vanished in speculation or
+bad investment. Monsieur de Savignac (this part of it the cure told me)
+was as ignorant as a child concerning business affairs and stubbornly
+avoided them. He had placed his fortune intact in the Bank of France,
+and had drawn out what he needed for his friends. In the first year of
+his inheritance he glanced at the balance statement sent him by the
+bank, with a feeling of peaceful delight. As the years of his generosity
+rolled on, he avoided reading it at all--"like most optimists," remarked
+the cure, "he did not wish to know the truth." At forty-six he married
+the niece of an impoverished old wasp, a gentleman still in excellent
+health, owing to de Savignac's generosity. It was his good wife now, who
+read the balance statement.
+
+For a while after his marriage, gaiety again reigned at the chateau, but
+upon a more economical basis; then gradually they grew to entertain less
+and less; indeed there were few left of the moths and old wasps to give
+to--they had flown to cluster around another million.
+
+Most of this Pierre, who was leading me through the leafy lane that led
+to de Savignac's home, knew or could have known, for it was common talk
+in the country around, but his mind to-day was not on de Savignac's
+past, but on the dog which we both were so anxious to see.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Monsieur has never met Monsieur de Savignac?" ventured Pierre as we
+turned our steps out of the brilliant sunlight, and into a wooded path
+skirting the extensive forest of the estate.
+
+"Not yet, Pierre."
+
+"He is a fine old gentleman," declared Pierre, discreetly lowering his
+voice. "Poor man!"
+
+"Why _poor_, Pierre?" I laughed, "with an estate like this--nonsense!"
+
+"Ah! Monsieur does not know?"--Pierre's voice sunk to a whisper--"the
+chateau is mortgaged, monsieur. There is not a tree or a field left
+Monsieur de Savignac can call his own. Do you know, monsieur, he has no
+longer even the right to shoot over the ground? Monsieur sees that low
+roof beyond with the single chimney smoking--just to the left of the
+chateau towers?"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"That is where Monsieur de Savignac now lives. It is called the
+garconniere."
+
+"But the chateau, Pierre?"
+
+"It is rented to a Peruvian gentleman, monsieur, who takes in boarders."
+
+"Pierre!" I exclaimed, "we go no farther. I knew nothing of this. I am
+not going to accept a dog from a gentleman in Monsieur de Savignac's
+unfortunate circumstances. It is not right. No, no. Go and present my
+deep regrets to Monsieur de Savignac and tell him--tell him what you
+please. Say that my rich uncle has just sent me a pair of pointers--that
+I sincerely appreciate his generous offer, that--"
+
+Pierre's small black eyes opened as wide as possible. He shrugged his
+shoulders twice and began twisting thoughtfully the waxed ends of his
+moustache to a finer point.
+
+"Pardon, monsieur," he resumed after an awkward pause, "but--but
+monsieur, by not going, will grieve Monsieur de Savignac--He will be so
+happy to give monsieur the dog--so happy, monsieur. If Monsieur de
+Savignac could not give something to somebody he would die. Ah, he
+gives everything away, that good Monsieur de Savignac!" exclaimed
+Pierre. "I was once groom in his stables--_oui_, monsieur, and he
+married us when he was Mayor of Hirondelette, and he paid our
+rent--_oui_, monsieur, and the doctor and...."
+
+"We'll proceed, Pierre," said I. "A man of de Savignac's kind in the
+world is so rare that one should do nothing to thwart him."
+
+We walked on for some distance along the edge of a swamp carpeted with
+strong ferns. Presently we came to a cool, narrow alley flanked and
+roofed by giant poplars. At the end of this alley a wicket gate barred
+the entrance to the courtyard of the garconniere.
+
+As we drew nearer I saw that its ancient two-story facade was completely
+covered by the climbing mass of ivy and yellow roses, the only openings
+being the Louis XIV. windows, and the front door, flush with the
+gravelled court, bordered by a thick hedge of box.
+
+"Monsieur the American gentleman for the dog," announced Pierre to the
+boy servant in a blue apron who appeared to open the wicket gate.
+
+A moment later the door of the garconniere opened, and a tall, heavily
+built man with silver white hair and beard came forth to greet me.
+
+I noticed that the exertion of greeting me made him short of breath, and
+that he held his free hand for a second pressed against his heart as he
+ushered me across his threshold and into a cool, old-fashioned sitting
+room, the walls covered with steel engravings, the furniture upholstered
+in green rep.
+
+"Have the goodness to be seated, monsieur," he insisted, waving me to an
+armchair, while he regained his own, back of an old-fashioned desk.
+
+"Ah! The--little--dog," he began, slowly regaining his breath. "You are
+all the time shooting, and I heard you wanted one. It is so difficult to
+get a really--good--dog--in this country. Francois!" he exclaimed, "You
+may bring in the little dog--and, Francois!" he added, as the boy
+servant turned to go--"bring glasses and a bottle of Musigny--you will
+find it on the shelf back of the Medoc." Then he turned to me: "There
+are still two bottles left," and he laughed heartily.
+
+"Bien, monsieur," answered the boy, and departed with a key big enough
+to have opened a jail.
+
+The moment had arrived for me to draw forth a louis, which I laid on his
+desk in accordance with an old Norman custom, still in vogue when you
+accept as a gift a dog from an estate.
+
+"Let your domestics have good cheer and wine to-night," said I.
+
+"Thank you," he returned with sudden formality. "I shall put it aside
+for them," and he dropped the gold piece into a small drawer of his
+desk.
+
+I did not know until Pierre, who was waiting outside in the court, told
+me afterwards, that his entire staff of servants was composed of the boy
+with the blue apron and the cook--an old woman--the last of his faithful
+servitors, who now appeared with a tray of trembling glasses, followed
+by the boy, the dusty cobwebbed bottle of rare Musigny and--my dog!
+
+Not a whole dog. But a flub-dub little spaniel puppy--very blond--with
+ridiculously long ears, a double-barrelled nose, a roly-poly stomach and
+four heavy unsteady legs that got in his way as he tried to navigate in
+a straight line to make my acquaintance.
+
+"_Voila!_" cried de Savignac. "Here he is. He'll make an indefatigable
+hunter, like his mother--wait until he is two years old--He'll stand to
+his day's work beside the best in France----"
+
+"And what race is he? may I ask, Monsieur de Savignac."
+
+"Gorgon--Gorgon of Poitou," he returned with enthusiasm. "They are
+getting as rare now as this," he declared, nodding to the cobwebbed
+bottle, as he rose, drew the cork, and filled my glass.
+
+While we sipped and chatted, his talk grew merry with chuckles and
+laughter, for he spoke of the friends of his youth, who played for him
+and sang to him--the thing which he loved most of all, he told me.
+"Once," he confessed to me, "I slipped away and travelled to Hungary.
+Ah! how those good gipsies played for me there! I was drunk with their
+music for two weeks. It is stronger than wine, that music of the
+gipsies," he said knowingly.
+
+Again our talk drifted to hunting, of the good old times when hares and
+partridges were plentiful, and so he ran on, warmed by the rare Musigny,
+reminiscing upon the old days and his old friends who were serious
+sportsmen, he declared, and knew the habits of the game they were after,
+for they seldom returned with an empty game-bag.
+
+"And you are just as keen about shooting as ever?" I ventured.
+
+"I shoot no more," he exclaimed with a shrug. "One must be a philosopher
+when one is past sixty--when one has no longer the solid legs to tramp
+with, nor the youth and the digestion to _live_. Ah! Besides, the life
+has changed--Paris was gay enough in my day. I _lived_ then, but at
+sixty--I stopped--with my memories. No! no! beyond sixty it is quite
+impossible. One must be philosophic, eh?"
+
+Before I could reply, Madame de Savignac entered the room. I felt the
+charm of her personality, as I looked into her eyes, and as she welcomed
+me I forgot that her faded silk gown was once in fashion before I was
+born, or that madame was short and no longer graceful. As the talk went
+on, I began to study her more at my ease, when some one rapped at the
+outer door of the vestibule. She started nervously, then, rising,
+whispered to Francois, who had come to open it, then a moment later rose
+again and, going out into the hall, closed the door behind her.
+
+"Thursday then," I heard a man's gruff voice reply brusquely.
+
+I saw de Savignac straighten in his chair, and lean to one side as if
+trying to catch a word of the muffled conversation in the vestibule. The
+next instant he had recovered his genial manner to me, but I saw that
+again he laboured for some moments painfully for his breath.
+
+The door of the vestibule closed with a vicious snap. Then I heard the
+crunch of sabots on the gravelled court, and the next instant caught a
+glimpse of the stout, brutal figure of the peasant Le Gros, the big
+dealer in cattle, as he passed the narrow window of the vestibule.
+
+It was _he_, then, with his insolent, bestial face purple with good
+living, who had slammed the door. I half started indignantly from my
+chair--then I remembered it was no affair of mine.
+
+Presently madame returned--flushed, and, with a forced smile, in which
+there was more pain than pleasure, poured for me another glass of
+Musigny. I saw instantly that something unpleasant had passed--something
+unusually unpleasant--perhaps tragic, and I discreetly rose to take my
+leave.
+
+Without a word of explanation as to what had happened, Madame de
+Savignac kissed my dog good-bye on the top of his silky head, while de
+Savignac stroked him tenderly. He was perfectly willing to come with me,
+and cocked his head on one side.
+
+We were all in the courtyard now.
+
+"_Au revoir_," they waved to me.
+
+"_Au revoir_," I called back.
+
+"_Au revoir_," came back to me faintly, as Pierre and the doggie and I
+entered the green lane and started for home.
+
+"Monsieur sees that I was right, is it not true?" ventured Pierre, as we
+gained the open fields. "Monsieur de Savignac would have been grieved
+had not monsieur accepted the little dog."
+
+"Yes," I replied absently, feeling more like a marauder for having
+accepted all they had out of their hearts thrust upon me.
+
+Then I stopped--lifted the roly-poly little spaniel, and taking him in
+my arms whispered under his silky ear: "We shall go back often, you and
+I"--and I think he understood.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A few days later I dropped into Madame Vinet's snug little cafe in Pont
+du Sable. It was early in the morning and the small room of the cafe,
+with barely space enough for its four tables still smelt of fresh soap
+suds and hot water. At one of the tables sat the peasant in his black
+blouse, sipping his coffee and applejack.
+
+Le Gros lifted his sullen face as I entered, shifted his elbows, gripped
+the clean marble slab of his table with both his red hands, and with a
+shrewd glint from his small, cruel eyes, looked up and grunted.
+
+"Ah!--_bonjour_, monsieur."
+
+"_Bonjour_, Monsieur Le Gros," I replied. "We seem to be the only ones
+here. Where's the patronne?"
+
+"Upstairs, making her bed--another dry day," he muttered, half to
+himself, half to me.
+
+"She will stay dry for some days," I returned. "The wind is well set
+from the northeast."
+
+"_Sacristi!_ a dirty time," he growled. "My steers are as dry as an
+empty cask."
+
+"I'd like a little rain myself," said I, reaching for a chair--"I have a
+young dog to train--a spaniel Monsieur de Savignac has been good enough
+to give me. He is too young to learn to follow a scent on dry ground."
+
+Le Gros raised his bull-like head with a jerk.
+
+"De Savignac gave you a _dog_, did he? and he has a dog to give away,
+has he?"
+
+The words came out of his coarse throat with a snarl.
+
+I dropped the chair and faced him.
+
+(He is the only man in Pont du Sable that I positively dislike.)
+
+"Yes," I declared, "he gave me a dog. May I ask you what business it is
+of yours?"
+
+A flash of sullen rage illumined for a moment the face of the cattle
+dealer. Then he muttered something in his peasant accent and sat
+glowering into his empty coffee cup as I turned and left the room, my
+mind reverting to Madame de Savignac's door which his coarse hand had
+closed with a vicious snap.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We took the short cut across the fields often now--my yellow puppy and
+I. Indeed I grew to see these good friends of mine almost daily, and as
+frequently as I could persuade them, they came to my house abandoned by
+the marsh.
+
+The Peruvian gentleman's boarding house had been a failure, and I
+learned from the cure that the de Savignacs were hard pressed to pay
+their creditors.
+
+It was Le Gros who held the mortgage, I further gleaned.
+
+And yet those two dear people kept a brave heart. They were still giving
+what they had, and she kept him in ignorance as best she could,
+softening the helplessness of it all, with her gentleness and her
+courage.
+
+In his vague realization that the end was near, there were days when he
+forced himself into a gay mood and would come chuckling down the lane to
+open the gate for me, followed by Mirza, the tawny old mother of my
+puppy, who kept her faithful brown eyes on his every movement. Often it
+was she who sprang nimbly ahead and unlatched the gate for me with her
+paw and muzzle, an old trick he had taught her, and he would laugh when
+she did it, and tell me there were no dogs nowadays like her.
+
+Thus now and then he forced himself to forget the swarm of little
+miseries closing down upon him--forgot even his aches and pains, due
+largely to the dampness of the vine-smothered garconniere whose
+old-fashioned interior smelt of cellar damp, for there was hardly a room
+in it whose wall paper had escaped the mould.
+
+It was not until March that the long-gathering storm broke--as quick as
+a crackling lizard of lightning strikes. Le Gros had foreclosed the
+mortgage.
+
+The Chateau of Hirondelette was up for sale.
+
+When de Savignac came out to open the gate for me late that evening his
+face was as white as the palings in the moonlight.
+
+"Come in," said he, forcing a faint laugh---he stopped for a moment as
+he closed and locked the gate--labouring painfully for his breath. Then
+he slipped his arm under my own. "Come along," he whispered, struggling
+for his voice. "I have found another bottle of Musigny."
+
+A funeral, like a wedding or an accident, is quickly over. The sale of
+de Savignac's chateau consumed three days of agony.
+
+As I passed the "garconniere" by the lane beyond the courtyard on my way
+to the last day's sale, I looked over the hedge and saw that the
+shutters were closed--farther on, a doctor's gig was standing by the
+gate. From a bent old peasant woman in sabots and a white cap, who
+passed, I learned which of the two was ill. It was as I had feared--his
+wife. And so I continued on my way to the sale.
+
+As I passed through the gates of the chateau, the rasping voice of the
+lean-jawed auctioneer reached my ears as he harangued in the drizzling
+rain before the steps of the chateau the group of peasants gathered
+before him--widows in rusty crepe veils, shrewd old Norman farmers in
+blue blouses looking for bargains, their carts wheeled up on the
+mud-smeared lawn. And a few second-hand dealers from afar, in black
+derbys, lifting a dirty finger to close a bid for mahogany.
+
+Close to this sordid crowd on the mud-smeared lawn sat Le Gros, his
+heavy body sunk in a carved and gilded arm-chair that had once graced
+the boudoir of Madame de Savignac. As I passed him, I saw that his face
+was purple with drink. He sat there the picture of insolent ignorance,
+this pig of a peasant.
+
+At times the auctioneer rallied the undecided with coarse jokes, and
+the crowd roared, for they are not burdened with delicacy, these Norman
+farmers.
+
+"_Allons! Allons!_ my good ladies!" croaked the auctioneer. "Forty sous
+for the lot. A bed quilt for a princess and a magnificent water filter
+de luxe that will keep your children well out of the doctor's hands.
+_Allons!_ forty sous, forty-one--two?"
+
+A merchant in hogs raised his red, puffy hand, then turned away with a
+leer as the shrill voice of a fisher woman cried, "Forty-five."
+
+"Sold!" yelped the auctioneer--"sold to madame the widow Dupuis of
+Hirondelette," who was now elbowing her broad way through the crowd to
+her bargain which she struggled out with, red and perspiring, to the
+mud-smeared lawn, where her eldest daughter shrewdly examined the
+bedquilt for holes.
+
+I turned away when it was all over and followed the crowd out through
+the gates. Le Gros was climbing into his cart. He was drunk and swearing
+over the poor result of the sale. De Savignac was still in his debt--and
+I continued on my way home, feeling as if I had attended an execution.
+
+Half an hour later the sharp bark of my yellow puppy greeted me from
+beyond my wall. As I entered my courtyard, he came to me wriggling with
+joy. Suddenly I stopped, for my ear caught the sound of a tail gently
+patting the straw in the cavernous old stable beyond my spaniel's
+kennel. I looked in and saw a pair of eyes gleaming like opals in the
+gloom. Then the tawny body of Mirza, the mother, rose from the straw and
+came slowly and apologetically toward me with her head lowered.
+
+"Suzette!" I called, "how did she get here?"
+
+"The boy of Monsieur de Savignac brought her an hour ago, monsieur,"
+answered the little maid. "There is a note for monsieur. I have left it
+on the table."
+
+I went in, lighted the fire, and read the following:
+
+
+      "THE GARCONNIERE, _Saturday_.
+
+      "Take her, my friend. I can no longer keep her with me. You
+      have the son, it is only right you should have the mother.
+      We leave for Paris to-morrow. We shall meet there soon, I
+      trust. If you come here, do not bring her with you. I said
+      good-bye to her this morning.
+
+              "Jacques de Savignac."
+
+
+It was all clear to me now--pitifully clear--the garconniere had gone
+with the rest.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On one of my flying trips to Paris I looked them up in their refuge, in
+a slit of a street. Here they had managed to live by the strictest
+economy, in a plain little nest under the roof, composed of two rooms
+and a closet for a kitchen.
+
+One night, early in June, after some persuasion, I forced him to go with
+me to one of those sparkling _risquee_ little comedies at the Palais
+Royal which he loved, and so on to supper at the Cafe de la Paix, where
+that great gipsy, Boldi, warms the heart with his fiddle.
+
+The opera was just out, when we reached our table, close to the band.
+Beauty and the Beast were arriving, and wraps of sheen and lace were
+being slipped from fair shoulders into the fat waiting hands of the
+garcons, while the busy maitre d'hotel beamed with his nightly smile and
+jotted down the orders.
+
+The snug supper room glittered with light, clean linen and shining
+glass. Now that the theatres were out, it had become awake with the
+chatter with which these little midnight suppers begin--suppers that so
+often end in confidences, jealousy and even tears, that need only the
+merriest tone of a gipsy's fiddle to turn to laughter.
+
+Boldi is an expert at this. He watches those to whom he plays, singling
+out the one who needs his fiddle most, and to-night he was watching de
+Savignac.
+
+We had finished our steaming dish of lobster, smothered in a spiced
+sauce that makes a cold dry wine only half quench one's thirst, and were
+proceeding with a crisp salad when Boldi, with a rushing crescendo
+slipped into a delicious waltz. De Savignac now sat with his chin sunk
+heavily in his hands, drinking in the melody with its spirited
+accompaniment as the cymballist's flexible hammers flew over the
+resonant strings, the violins following the master in the red coat, with
+that keen alertness with which all real gipsies play. I realized now,
+what the playing of a gipsy meant to him. By the end of the waltz De
+Savignac's eyes were shining.
+
+Boldi turned to our table and bowed.
+
+"Play," said I, to him in my poor Hungarian (that de Savignac might not
+understand, for I wished to surprise him) "a real czardas of your
+people--ah! I have it!" I exclaimed. "Play the legend and the mad dance
+that follows--the one that Racz Laczi loved--the legend of the young man
+who went up the mountain and met the girl who jilted him."
+
+Boldi nodded his head and grinned with savage enthusiasm. He drew his
+bow across the sobbing strings and the legend began. Under the spell of
+his violin, the chatter of the supper room ceased--the air now heavy
+with the mingled scent of perfume and cigars, seemed to pulsate under
+the throb of the wild melody--as he played on, no one spoke--the men
+even forgetting to smoke; the women listening, breathing with parted
+lips. I turned to look at de Savignac--he was drunk and there was a
+strange glitter in his eyes, his cheeks flushed to a dull crimson, but
+not from wine.
+
+Boldi's violin talked--now and then it wept under the vibrant grip of
+the master, who dominated it until it dominated those to whom it played.
+
+The young man in the legend was rushing up the mountain path in earnest
+now, for he had seen ahead of him the girl he loved--now the melody
+swept on through the wooing and the breaking of her promise, and now
+came the rush of the young man down to the nearest village to drown his
+chagrin and forget her in the mad dance, the "Czardas," which followed.
+
+As the czardas quickened until its pace reached the speed of a
+whirlwind, de Savignac suddenly staggered to his feet--his breath coming
+in short gasps.
+
+"Sit down!" I pleaded, not liking the sudden purplish hue of his
+cheeks.
+
+"Let--me--alone," he stammered, half angrily. "It--is so good--to--be
+alive again."
+
+"You shall not," I whispered, my eye catching sight of a gold louis
+between his fingers. "You don't know what you are doing--it is not
+right--this is my dinner, old friend--_all of it_, do you understand?"
+
+"Let--me--alone," he breathed hoarsely, as I tried to get hold of the
+coin--"it is my last--my last--my last!"--and he tossed the gold piece
+to the band. It fell squarely on the cymballum and rolled under the
+strings.
+
+"Bravo!" cried a little woman opposite, clapping her warm, jewelled
+hands. Then she screamed, for she saw Monsieur de Savignac sway heavily,
+and sink back in his seat, his chin on his chest, his eyes closed.
+
+I ripped open his collar and shirt to give him breath. Twice his chest
+gave a great bound, and he murmured something I did not catch--then he
+sank back in my arms--dead.
+
+During the horror and grim reality of it all--the screaming women, the
+physician working desperately, although he knew all hope was gone--while
+the calm police questioned me as to his identity and domicile, I shook
+from head to foot--and yet the worst was still to come--I had to tell
+Madame de Savignac.
+
+      [Illustration: spilled bottle of wine]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: The man with the gun]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER NINE
+
+THE MAN WITH THE GUN
+
+
+It is at last decided! The kind and sympathetic Minister of Agriculture
+has signed the official document opening the shooting-season for hares
+and partridges in _La belle France_, to-morrow, Sunday, the thirtieth of
+September. Thrice happy hunters!--they who had begun to grumble in their
+cafes over the rumour that the opening of the shooting-season might be
+postponed until the second or even third Sunday in October.
+
+My good friend the mayor of Pont du Sable has just handed me my
+hunting-permit for the coming year bearing the stamp of the _Republique
+Francaise_, the seal of the prefecture, the signature of the prefet, and
+including everything, from the colour of my hair and complexion to my
+height, age, birth and domicile. On the back of this important piece of
+paper I read as follows:
+
+That the permit must be produced at the demand of all agents authorized
+by law. That it is prohibited to shoot without it, or upon lands without
+the consent of the proprietor having the right--or outside of the season
+fixed by the laws of the prefets.
+
+Furthermore:
+
+The father--the mother--the tutor--the masters, and guardians are
+civilly responsible for the misdemeanours committed while shooting by
+their infants--wards--pupils, or domestics living with them.
+
+And finally:
+
+That the hunter who has lost his permit cannot resume again the exercise
+of the hunt until he has obtained and paid for a new one, twenty-eight
+francs and sixty centimes.
+
+To-morrow, then, the jolly season opens.
+
+"_Vive la Republique!_"
+
+It is a season, too, of crisp twilights after brilliant days, so short
+that my lost village is plunged in darkness as early as seven, and goes
+to bed to save the candle--the hour when the grocer's light gleaming
+ahead of me across the slovenly little public square becomes the only
+beacon in the village; and, guided by it, I pick my way in the dark
+along the narrow thoroughfare, stumbling over the laziest of the village
+dogs sprawled here and there in the road outside the doorways of the
+fishermen.
+
+Across one of these thresholds I catch a glimpse to-night of a tired
+fisher girl stretched on her bed after her long day at sea. Beside the
+bed a very old woman in a white cotton cap bends over her bowl of soup
+by the wavering light of a tallow dip.
+
+"_Bonsoir_, monsieur!" croaks a hoarse voice from the dark. It is
+Marianne. She has fished late.
+
+At seven-thirty the toy train rumbles into Pont du Sable, stops for a
+barefooted passenger, and rumbles out again through the
+village--crawling lest it send one of the laziest dogs yelping to its
+home. The headlight on the squat locomotive floods the way ahead,
+suddenly illumining the figure of a blinking old man laden with nets
+and three barelegged children who scream, "_Bonsoir_, monsieur," to the
+engineer.
+
+What glorious old days are these! The wealth of hedged fields---the lush
+green grass, white with hoar frost at daybreak--the groups of mild-eyed
+cows and taciturn young bulls; in all this brilliant clearness of sea
+air, sunshine and Norman country spreading its richness down to the very
+edge of the sea, there comes to the man with the gun a sane
+exhilaration--he is alive.
+
+On calm nights the air is pungent and warm with the perfume of tons of
+apples lying heaped in the orchards, ready for the cider-making, nights,
+when the owls hoot dismally under a silver moon.
+
+When the wind veers to the north it grows cold. On such nights as these
+"the Essence of Selfishness" seeks my fireside.
+
+She is better fed than many other children in the lost village beyond my
+wall. And spoiled!--_mon Dieu!_ She is getting to be hopeless.
+
+Ah, you queen of studied cruelty and indifference! You, with your nose
+of coral pink, your velvet ears that twitch in your dreams, and your
+blue-white breast! You, who since yesterday morning have gnawed to death
+two helpless little birds in my hedge which you still think I have not
+discovered! And yet I still continue to feed you by hand piecemeal since
+you disdain to dine from my best china, and Suzette takes care of you
+like a nurse.
+
+_Eh bien!_ Some day, do you hear, I shall sell you to the rabbit-skin
+man, who has a hook for a hand, and the rest of you will find its way to
+some cheap table d'hote, where you will pass as ragout of rabbit Henri
+IV. under a thick sauce. What would you do, I should like to know, if
+you were the vagabond cat who lives back in the orchard, and whose four
+children sleep in the hollow trunk of the tree and are content with what
+their mother brings them, whether it be plain mole or the best of
+grasshopper. Eh, mademoiselle? Open those topaz eyes of yours--Suzette
+is coming to put you to bed.
+
+The trim little maid entered, crossed noiselessly in the firelight to my
+chair, and, laying a sealed note from my friend the Baron beneath the
+lamp, picked up the sleepy cat and carried her off to her room.
+
+The note was a delightful surprise.
+
+"_Cher monsieur_: Will you make me the pleasure and the honour to come
+and do the _ouverture_ of the hunt at my chateau to-morrow, Sunday--my
+auto will call for you about six of the morning. We will be about ten
+guns, and I count on the amiability of my partridges and my hares to
+make you pass a beautiful and good day. Will you accept, dear sir, the
+assurance of my sentiments the most distinguished?"
+
+It was nice of the Baron to think of me, for I had made his acquaintance
+but recently at one of Tanrade's dinners, during which, I recall, the
+Baron declared to me as he lifted his left eyebrow over his cognac, that
+the hunt--_la chasse_--"was always amusing, and a great blessing to men,
+since it created the appetite of the wolf and was an excuse to get rid
+of the ladies." He told me, too, as he adjusted his monocle safely in
+the corner of his aristocratic aquiline nose, that his favourite saint
+was St. Hubert. He would have liked to have known him--he must have
+been a _bon garcon_, this patron saint of hunting.
+
+"Ah! _Les femmes!_" he sighed, as he straightened his erect torso, that
+had withstood so many Parisian years, against the back of his chair.
+"Ah! _Les femmes!_ But in zee fields zey cannot follow us? _Hein?_" He
+laughed, lapsing into his broken English. "Zey cannot follow us through
+zee hedges, ovaire zee rough grounds, in zee rains, in zee muds. Nevaire
+take a woman hunting," he counselled me sotto voce beneath his vibrant
+hand, for Alice de Breville was present. "One can _nevaire_ make love
+and kill zee agile little game at zee same time. _Par exemple!_ You
+whispaire somezing in madame's leetle ear and brrrh! a partridge--_que
+voulez-vous, mon cher?_" he concluded, with a shrug. "It is quite
+impossible--_quite_ impossible."
+
+I told him leisurely, as we sipped our liqueur, of the hunting in my own
+country, of the lonely tramps in the wilderness following a line of
+traps in the deep snow, the blind trails, the pork sandwich melted
+against the doughnuts at noon, leaking lean-tos, smoky fires, and bad
+coffee.
+
+"_Parbleu!_" he roared. "You have not zee rendezvous? You have not zee
+hunting breakfast? I should be quite ill--you hunt like zee Arabs--like
+zee gipsies--ah, yes, I forget--zee warm sandwich and zee native nuts."
+
+He tapped the table gently with his rings, smiling the while
+reminiscently into his glass, then, turning again to me, added
+seriously:
+
+"It is not all zee play--zee hunt. I have had zee legs broken by zee
+fatigue. Zee good breakfast is what you say 'indispensable' to break zee
+day. Zee good stories, zee camaraderie, zee good kind wine--_enfin
+tout!_ But"--and again he leaned nearer--"but _not zee_
+ladies--_nevaire_--only zee memories."
+
+I repeat, it was nice of the Baron to think of me. I could easily
+picture to myself as I reread his note his superb estate, that
+stronghold of his ancestors; the hearty welcome at its gates; the
+gamekeepers in their green fustians; the pairs of perfectly trained
+dogs; the abundance of partridges and hares; and the breakfast in the
+old chateau, a feast that would be replete with wit and old Burgundy.
+How splendid are these Norman autumns! What exhilarating old days
+during this season of dropping apples, blue skies, and falling leaves!
+Days when the fat little French partridges nestle in companies in the
+fields, shorn to stubble after the harvest, and sleek hares at sunrise
+lift their long ears cautiously above the dew-bejeweled cobwebs along
+the ditches to make sure that the green feeding-patch beyond is safe
+from the man and the gun.
+
+Fat, garrulous Monsieur Toupin of the village becomes under the spell of
+Madame Vinet's best cognac so uproarious when he has killed one of these
+sleek, strong-limbed hares, that madame is obliged to draw the
+turkey-red curtain over the window of her small cafe that Monsieur
+Toupin may not be seen by his neighbours.
+
+"Suzette," I called, "my candle! I must get a good night's sleep, for
+to-morrow I shoot with the Baron."
+
+"_Tiens!_" exclaimed the little maid. "At the grand chateau?" And her
+frank eyes opened wide. "Ah, _mais_--but monsieur will not have to work
+hard for a partridge there."
+
+"And so you know the chateau, my little one?"
+
+"Ah, _mais oui_, monsieur! Is it not at La Sapiniere near Les Roses? My
+grandfather was gardener there when I was little. I passed the chateau
+once with my mother and heard the guns back of the great wall. Monsieur
+will be content--ah, _mais oui_!"
+
+"My coffee at five-thirty promptly, _ma petite_!"
+
+"_Bien_, monsieur." And Suzette passed me my lighted candle, the flame
+of which rose brilliantly from its wick.
+
+"That means good luck, monsieur," said she, pointing to the
+candle-flame, as my foot touched the winding stairs.
+
+"Nonsense!" I laughed, for I am always amused at her peasant belief in
+superstitions. Once, I remember, I was obliged to send for the
+doctor--Suzette had broken a mirror.
+
+"Ah, _mais si_," declared Suzette, with conviction, as she unlatched her
+kitchen door. "When the wick burns like that--ah, _ca!_" And with a
+cheery _bonsoir_ she closed the door behind her.
+
+I had just swallowed my coffee when the siren of the Baron's automobile
+emitted a high, devilish wail, and subsided into a low moan outside my
+wall. The next instant the gate of the court flew open, and I rushed
+out, to greet, to my surprise, Tanrade in his shooting-togs, and--could
+it be true? Monsieur le Cure.
+
+"You, too?" I exclaimed in delight.
+
+"Yes," he smiled and added, with a wink: "I could not refuse so gamy an
+invitation."
+
+"And I would not let him," added Tanrade. "Quick! Where are your traps?
+We have a good forty kilometres ahead of us; we must not keep the Baron
+waiting." And the composer of ballets rushed into the house and
+shouldered my valise containing a dry change.
+
+"You shall have enough partridges to fill your larder for a month," I
+heard him tell Suzette, and he did not forget to pat her rosy cheek in
+passing. Suzette laughed and struggled by him, her firm young arms
+hugging my gun and shell-case.
+
+Before I could stop him, the cure, in his black soutane, had clambered
+nimbly to the roof of the big car and was lashing my traps next to
+Tanrade's and his own. At this instant I started to take a long breath
+of pure morning air--and hesitated, then I caught the alert eye of the
+chauffeur, who was grinning.
+
+"What are you burning? Fish oil?" said I.
+
+"_Mon Dieu_, monsieur----" began the chauffeur.
+
+"Cheese," called down the cure, pointing to a round paper parcel on the
+roof of the limousine. "Tanrade got it at daylight; woke up the whole
+village getting it."
+
+"Had to," explained Tanrade, as Suzette helped him into his great coat.
+"The Baron is out of cheese; he added a postscript to my invitation
+praying that I would be amiable enough to bring one. _Eh voila!_ There
+it is, and real cheese at that. Come, get in, quick!" And he opened the
+door of the limousine, the interior of which was lined in gray suede and
+appointed with the daintiest of feminine luxuries.
+
+"Look out for that row of gold bottles back of you, you brute of a
+farmer!" Tanrade counseled me, as the cure found his seat. "If you
+scratch those monograms the Baroness will never forgive you."
+
+Then, with a wave to Suzette, we swept away from my house by the marsh,
+were hurled through Pont du Sable, and shot out of its narrowest end
+into the fresh green country beyond.
+
+It was so thoroughly chic and Parisian, this limousine. Only a few days
+ago it had been shopping along the Rue de la Paix, and later rushing to
+the cool Bois de Boulogne carrying a gracious woman to dinner; now it
+held two vagabonds and a cure. We tore on while we talked
+enthusiastically of the day's shooting in store for us. The cure was in
+his best humour. How he does love to shoot and what a rattling good shot
+he is! Neither Tanrade nor myself, and we have shot with him day in and
+day out on the marsh and during rough nights in his gabion, has ever
+beaten him.
+
+On we flew, past the hamlet of Fourche-la-Ville, past Javonne, past Les
+Roses. _Sacristi!_ I thought, what if the gasoline gave out or the spark
+refused to sparkle, what if they had----Why worry? That cheese was
+strong enough to have gotten us anywhere.
+
+Suddenly we slowed down, hastily consulted a blue iron sign at the
+crossroad, and swung briskly to the right.
+
+A noble forest and the roofs and _tourelles_ of the chateau now loomed
+ahead of us. We turned into a clean, straight road, flanked by superb
+oaks leading to an ancient stone gateway. A final wail from the siren,
+the gates swung open, and we came to a dead stop in front of the Baron,
+four setter dogs, and a group of gentlemen immaculately attired for the
+hunt. From their tan-leather leggings to their yellow dogskin gloves and
+gleaming guns, they were faultless.
+
+While the Baron greeted us, his guests stood waiting to be presented;
+their formal bow would have done credit to a foreign embassy during an
+imperial audience. The next moment we were talking as naturally together
+and with as much camaraderie as if we had known each other for years.
+
+"Make yourselves at home, my children!" cried the Baron. "_Vous etes
+chez vous_; the ladies have gone to Paris."
+
+It was not such a very grand place, this estate of the Baron, after all.
+It had an air about it of having seen better days, but the host was a
+good fellow, and his welcome genuine, and we were all happy to be there.
+No keepers in green fustians, no array of thoroughbred dogs, but instead
+four plain setters with a touch of shepherd in them. The chateau itself
+was plain and comfortable within and scarred by age without. Some of the
+little towers had lost their tops, and the extensive wall enclosing the
+snug forest bulged dangerously in places.
+
+"You will see," explained the Baron to me in his fluent French, as our
+little party sauntered out into the open fields to shoot, "I do not get
+along very well with my farmer. I must tell you this in case he gives us
+trouble to-day. He has the right, owing to a stupid lease my aged aunt
+was unwise enough to sign with him some years ago, to exclude us from
+hunting over many fields contiguous to my own; above all, we cannot put
+foot in his harvest."
+
+"I see," I returned, with a touch of disappointment, for I knew the
+birds were where the harvest was still uncut.
+
+"There are acres of grain going to seed beyond us which he would rather
+lose than have me hunt over," the Baron confessed. "Bah! We shall see
+what the _canaille_ will do, for only this morning he sent me word
+threatening to break up the hunt. Nothing would please him better than
+have us all served with a _proces-verbal_ for trespassing."
+
+I confess I was not anxious to be hauled before the court of the
+country-seat time after time during a trial conducted at a snail's pace
+and be relieved of several hundred francs, for this is what a
+_proces-verbal_ meant. It was easily seen that the Baron was in a no
+more tranquil state of mind himself.
+
+"You are all my guests!" he exclaimed, with sudden heat. "That _sacre_
+individual will deal with _me_. It is _I_ who am alone responsible," he
+generously added. "Ah! We shall see. If you meet him, don't let him
+bulldoze you. Don't show him your hunting permit if he demands it, for
+what he will want is your name. I have explained all this to the rest."
+
+"_Eh bien!_ my dear friends," he called back to the others as we reached
+a cross-road, "we shall begin shooting here. Half of you to the
+right--half to the left!"
+
+"What is the name of your farmer?" I inquired, as we spread out into two
+slowly moving companies.
+
+"Le Bour," returned the Baron grimly as the breech of his gun snapped
+shut.
+
+The vast cultivated plain undulating below us looked like the
+patchwork-quilt of a giantess, stitched together with well-knit hedges.
+There were rectangles of apple-green clover, canary-yellow squares of
+mustard, green pastures of ochre stubble, rich green strips of beets,
+and rolling areas of brown-ribbed furrows freshly plowed.
+
+Time after time we were obliged to pass around companies of partridges
+that had taken refuge under the idiotic lease of the aged aunt. It was
+exasperating, for, from the beginning of the shoot, every bird seemed to
+know where it was safe from the gleaming guns held so skilfully by the
+_messieurs_ in the yellow dogskin gloves. By eleven o'clock there were
+barely a score of birds in the game-bags when there should have been a
+hundred.
+
+At the second cross road, the right and left party convened. It was what
+Le Bour had been waiting for.
+
+A sour old man in a blue blouse now rose up out of a hedge in which he
+had hidden himself, and came glowering toward us. As he drew nearer I
+saw that his gun swung loosely in his hand and was at full cock, its
+muzzle wavering unpleasantly over us as he strode on. His mean old eyes
+glittered with rage, his jaw trembled under a string of oaths. His
+manner was that of a sullen bull about to charge.
+
+There was no mistaking his identity--it was Le Bour.
+
+"_Proces-verbal_ for all of you," he bellowed; "you, Monsieur le Baron,
+and you, Monsieur le Vicomte," he snapped, as the Baron advanced to
+defend his guests. "I saw you cross my buckwheat," he declared pointing
+an ugly finger at the Vicomte.
+
+"You lie!" shouted the Baron, before the Vicomte could find his words.
+"I forbid you to open your head to my guests. Not one of these gentlemen
+has set foot in your harvest. What right have _you_ to carry a gun?
+Where is your hunting permit?" thundered the Baron. "Where's your
+commission as guard, that you should have the insolence to threaten us
+with a _proces-verbal_."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed the Baron, as the permit was not forthcoming, "I thought
+as much. I appoint you witness, Monsieur le Cure, the fellow has no
+permit." And we swelled the merriment with a forced sputter of ridicule.
+
+"Come, my friends, we shall leave this imbecile to himself," laughed the
+Baron.
+
+Le Bour sprang past him and confronted us.
+
+"_Eh ben_, my fine gentlemen," he snarled, "you'll not get away so
+easily. I demand, in the name of the law, your hunting permits. Come,
+_allons_! All of you!"
+
+At the same instant he tore open his blouse and displayed, to our
+dismay, an oval brass plaque bearing his name and the number 1247.
+
+"There!" cried the old man, white and trembling with rage. "There's my
+full commission as guard."
+
+My companion with the gloves next to me fidgeted nervously and coughed.
+I saw the Vicomte turn a little pale. Tanrade shrugged his shoulders.
+Monsieur le Cure's face wore an expression of dignified gravity. Not
+once, however, had Le Bour's eyes met his own. It was evident that he
+reverently excluded the cure from the affair.
+
+The Vicomte looked uncomfortable enough. The truth was, he was not known
+to be at the hunt. The Vicomtesse was shrewd when it came to the
+question of his whereabouts. A _proces-verbal_ meant publicity;
+naturally the Vicomtesse would know. It might even reach the adorable
+ears of Mademoiselle Rosalie, of the _corps de ballet_, who imagined the
+Vicomte safe with his family. The Baron was fuming, but he did not
+speak.
+
+"Your permits!" reiterated Le Bour, flourishing his license.
+
+There was an awkward silence; not a few in the party had left their
+permits at home.
+
+"_Pouf!_" exclaimed the Baron. "Enough of this! _En route_, my friends!"
+
+"_Eh, bien!_" growled the farmer. "You refuse to produce your permits on
+demand of a guard. It shall be stated," he threatened, "in the
+_proces-verbal_." Then Le Bour turned on his muddy heel and launched a
+parting volley at the Baron denouncing his chateau and everything
+connected with him.
+
+"Do not forget the time you stole the ducks of my uncle," cried the
+Baron, shaking a clenched fist at the old man, "or the morning--" But
+his words were lost on Le Bour, who had disappeared in the hedge.
+
+By eleven-thirty we had killed some two dozen birds and three hares; and
+as we were now stricken with "the appetite of the wolf," we turned back
+to the chateau for breakfast.
+
+Here a sponge and a rub-down sent us in gay spirits down to the
+billiard-room, where a bottle of port was in waiting--a rare bottle for
+particular occasions. It was "the last of a dozen," explained the Baron
+as we touched glasses, sent to the chateau by Napoleon in payment for a
+night's lodging during one of his campaigns. "The very time, in fact,"
+he added, "when the little towers lost their tops."
+
+Under the spell of the Emperor's port the Vicomte regained his nerves,
+and even the unpleasant incident of the morning was half forgotten while
+the piano in the historic salon rang merrily under Tanrade's touch until
+we filed in to luncheon.
+
+It was as every French shooting-luncheon is intended to be--a pleasant
+little fete full of good cheer and understanding; the good soup, the
+decanters of Burgundy, the clean red-and-white checkered napkins and
+cloth, the heavy family silver, the noiseless old servants--and what an
+appetite we had! What a _souffle_ of potatoes, and such chicken
+smothered in cream! And always the "good kind wine," until the famous
+cheese that Tanrade had waked up Pont du Sable in procuring was passed
+quickly and went out to the pantry, never to return. Ah, yes! And the
+warm champagne without which no French breakfast is complete.
+
+Over the coffee and liqueurs, the talk ran naturally to gallantry.
+
+"Ah, _les femmes_! The memories," as the Baron had said.
+
+"You should have seen Babette Deslys five years ago," remarked one of
+our jolly company when the Baron had left the room in search of some
+milder cigars.
+
+I saw the Vicomte raise his eyebrows in subtle warning to the speaker,
+who, like myself, knew the Baron but slightly. If he was treading upon
+delicate ground he was unconscious of it, this _bon vivant_ of a
+Parisian; for he continued rapidly in his enthusiasm, despite a second
+hopeless attempt of the Vicomte to check him.
+
+"You should have seen Babette in the burlesque as Phryne at the
+Varietes--_une merveille, mon cher!_" he exclaimed, addressing the
+sous-lieutenant on his right, and he blew a kiss to the ceiling. "The
+complexion of a rosebud and amusing! Ah--la! la!"
+
+"I hear her debts ran close to a million," returned the lieutenant.
+
+"She was feather-brained," continued the _bon vivant_, with a blase
+shrug. "She was a good little quail with more heart than head! Poor
+Babette!"
+
+"Take care!" cautioned the Vicomte pointblank, as the Baron re-entered
+with the box of milder Havanas.
+
+And thus the talk ran on among these men of the world who knew Paris as
+well as their pockets; and so many Babettes and Francines and other
+careless little celebrities whose beauty and extravagance had turned
+peace and tranquillity into ruin and chaos.
+
+At last the jolly breakfast came to an end. We rose, recovered our guns
+from the billiard-table, and with fresh courage went forth again into
+the fields to shoot until sunset. During the afternoon we again saw Le
+Bour, but he kept at a safe distance watching our movements with
+muttered oaths and a vengeful eye, while we added some twenty-odd
+partridges to the morning's score.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Toward the end of the afternoon, a week later, at Pont du Sable, Tanrade
+and the cure sat smoking under my sketching-umbrella on the marsh. The
+cure is far from a bad painter. His unfinished sketch of the distant
+strip of sea and dunes lay at my feet as I worked on my own canvas while
+the sunset lasted.
+
+Tanrade was busy between puffs of his pipe in transposing various
+passages in his latest score. Now and then he would hesitate, finger the
+carefully thought out bar on his knee, and again his stub of a pencil
+would fly on through a maze of hieroglyphics that were to the cure and
+myself wholly unintelligible.
+
+Suddenly the cure looked up, his keen gaze rivetted upon two dots of
+figures on bicycles speeding rapidly toward us along the path skirting
+the marsh.
+
+"Hello!" exclaimed the cure, and he gave a low whistle. "The gendarmes!"
+
+There was no mistaking their identity; their gold stripes and white duck
+trousers appeared distinctly against the tawny marsh.
+
+The next moment they dismounted, left their wheels on the path, and came
+slowly across the desert of wire-grass toward us.
+
+"_Diable!_" muttered Tanrade, under his breath, and instantly our minds
+reverted to Le Bour.
+
+The two officials of the law were before us.
+
+"We regret to disturb you, messieurs," began the taller of the two
+pleasantly as he extracted a note-book from a leather case next to his
+revolver. "But"--and he shrugged his military shoulders--"it is for the
+little affair at Hirondelette."
+
+"Which one of us is elected?" asked Tanrade grimly.
+
+"Ah! _Bon Dieu!_" returned the tall one; half apologetically. "A
+_proces-verbal_ unfortunately for you, Monsieur Tanrade. Read the
+charge," he said to the short one, who had now unfolded a paper, cleared
+his throat, and began to read in a monotonous tone.
+
+"Monsieur Gaston Emile Le Bour, agriculturist at Hirondelette, charges
+Monsieur Charles Louis Ernest Tanrade, born in Paris, soldier of the
+Thirteenth Infantry, musician, composer, with flagrant trespass in his
+buckwheat on hectare number seven, armed with the gun of percussion on
+the thirtieth of September at ten-forty-five in the morning."
+
+"I was _not_ in his _sacre_ buckwheat!" declared Tanrade, and he
+described the entire incident of the morning.
+
+"Take monsieur's denial in detail," commanded the tall one.
+
+His companion produced a small bottle of ink and began to write slowly
+with a scratchy pen, while we stood in silence.
+
+"Kindly add your signature, monsieur," said the tall one, when the
+bottle was again recorked.
+
+Tanrade signed.
+
+The gendarmes gravely saluted and were about to withdraw when Tanrade
+asked if he was "the only unfortunate on the list."
+
+"Ah, _non_!" confessed the tall one. "There is a similar charge against
+Monsieur le Vicomte--we have just called upon him. Also against Monsieur
+le Baron."
+
+"And what did they say?"
+
+"_Eh bien_, monsieur, a general denial, just as monsieur has made."
+
+"The affair is ridiculous," exclaimed Tanrade hotly.
+
+"That must be seen," returned the tall one firmly.
+
+Again we all saluted and they left us, recovered their bicycles, and
+went spinning off back to Pont du Sable.
+
+"_Nom d'un chien!_" muttered Tanrade, while the cure and I stared
+thoughtfully at a clump of grass.
+
+"Why didn't he get me?" I ventured, after a moment.
+
+"Foreigner," explained Tanrade. "You're in luck, old boy--no record of
+identity, and how the devil do you suppose Le Bour could pronounce your
+name?"
+
+Half an hour later I found the Vicomte, who lived close to our village.
+He was pacing up and down his salon in a rage.
+
+"I was _not_ in the buckwheat!" he declared frantically. "Do you suppose
+I have nothing better to do, my friend, than see this wretched business
+out at the county-seat? The Vicomtesse is furious. We were to leave, for
+a little voyage in Italy, next week. Ah, that young son of the Baron! He
+is the devil! _He_ is responsible for this--naturally." And he fell
+again to pacing the room.
+
+I looked blankly at the Vicomte.
+
+"Son? What young son?" I asked.
+
+The Vicomte stopped, with a gesture of surprise.
+
+"Ah! _Sapristi!_ You do not know?" he exclaimed. "You do not know that
+Babette Deslys is Le Bour's daughter? That the Baron's son ran away with
+her and a hundred thousand francs? That the hundred thousand francs
+belonged to Le Bour? _Sapristi!_ You did not know _that_?"
+
+      [Illustration: sign: CHASSE GARDEE]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: the yellow car]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TEN
+
+THE BELLS OF PONT DU SABLE
+
+
+The big yellow car came ripping down the road--a clean hard ribbon of a
+road skirting the tawny marsh that lay this sparkling August morning
+under a glaze of turquoise blue water at high tide.
+
+With a devilish wail from its siren, the yellow car whizzed past my
+house abandoned by the marsh. I was just in time, as I raised my head
+above the rambling wall of my courtyard, to catch sight of my good
+friend the cure on the back seat, holding on tight to his saucer-like
+hat. In the same rapid glance I saw the fluttering ends of a
+bottle-green veil, in front of the cure's nose and knew Germaine was
+driving.
+
+"Lucky cure!" I said to myself, as I returned to my half-finished
+sketch, "carried off again to luncheon by one of the dearest of little
+women."
+
+No wonder during his lonely winters, when every villa or chateau of
+every friend of his for miles around is closed, and my vagabond village
+of Pont du Sable rarely sees a Parisian, the cure longs for midsummer.
+It is his gayest season, since hardly a day passes but some friend
+kidnaps him from his presbytery that lies snug and silent back of the
+crumbling wall which hides both his house and his wild garden from the
+gaze of the passer-by.
+
+He is the kind of cure whom it is a joy to invite--this straight, strong
+cure, who is French to the backbone; with his devil-may-care geniality,
+his irresistible smile of a comedian, his quick wit of an Irishman, and
+his heart of gold.
+
+To-day Germaine had captured him and was speeding him away to a jolly
+luncheon of friends at her villa, some twenty kilometres below Pont du
+Sable--Germaine with her trim, lithe figure and merry brown eyes, eyes
+that can become in a flash as calm and serious as the cure's, and in
+turn with her moods (for Germaine is a pretty collection of moods) gleam
+with the impulsive devilry of a _gamine_; Germaine, who teases an old
+vagabond painter like myself, by daubing a purple moon in the middle of
+my morning sketch, adds a dab on my nose when I protest, and the next
+instant embraces me, and begs my forgiveness.
+
+I cannot conceive of anyone not forgiving Germaine, beneath whose firm
+and delicate beauty lies her warm heart, as golden in quality as the
+cure's.
+
+Ah! It is gay enough in midsummer with Germaine and such other good
+Bohemians as Alice de Breville, Tanrade, and his reverence to cheer my
+house abandoned by the marsh.
+
+I heard the yellow car tearing back to Pont du Sable late that night. It
+slowed down as it neared my walled domain, and with a wrenching grunt
+stopped in front of my gate. The next instant the door of my den opened
+and in rushed the cure.
+
+"All of us to luncheon to-morrow at The Three Wolves!" he cried,
+flinging his hat on the floor; then bending, with a grin of
+satisfaction over the lamp chimney, he kindled the end of a fat
+cigarette he had rolled in the dark. His eyes were snapping, while the
+corners of his humorous mouth twitched in a satisfied smile. He strode
+up and down the room for some moments, his hands clasped behind him, his
+strong, sun-tanned face beaming in the glow of the shaded lamplight,
+while he listened to my delight over the pleasant news he had brought.
+
+"Ah! They are good to me, these children of mine," he declared with
+enthusiasm. "Germaine tells me there is a surprise in store for me and
+that I am not to know until to-morrow, at luncheon. Beyond that, she
+would tell me nothing, the little minx, except that I managed to make
+her confess that Alice was in the secret."
+
+He glanced at his watch, "Ah!" he ejaculated, "I must be getting to bed;
+you, too, my old one, for we must get an early start in the morning, if
+we are to reach The Three Wolves by noon." He recovered his hat from the
+floor, straightened up, brushed the cigarette ashes from the breast of
+his long black soutane, shiny from wear, and held out his strong hand.
+
+"Sleep well," he counselled, "for to-morrow we shall be _en fete_."
+
+Then he swung open my door and passed out into the night, whistling as
+he crossed my courtyard a _cafe chantant_ air that Germaine had taught
+him.
+
+A moment later, the siren of the yellow car sent forth its warning wail,
+and he was speeding back to his presbytery under the guidance of
+Germaine's chauffeur.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The cure was raking out the oysters; he stood on the sandy rim of a pool
+of clear sea-water that lay under the noonday sun like a liquid emerald.
+As Monsieur le Cure plunged in his long rake and drew it back heavy with
+those excellent bivalves for which the restaurant at The Three Wolves
+has long been famous, his tall black figure, silhouetted against the
+distant sea and sky, reminded me of some great sea-crow fishing for its
+breakfast.
+
+To the right of him crouched the restaurant, a low wooden structure,
+with its back to the breakers. It has the appearance of being cast there
+at high tide, its zigzag line of tiled roofs drying in the air and sun,
+like the scaled shell of some stranded monster of the sea. There is a
+cavernous old kitchen within, resplendent in shining copper--a busy
+kitchen to-day, sizzling in good things and pungent with the aroma of
+two tender young chickens, basting on a spit, a jolly old kitchen, far
+more enticing than the dingy long dining-room adjoining it, whose walls
+are frescoed in panels representing bottle-green lobsters, gaping
+succulent clams, and ferocious crabs sidling away indignantly from nets
+held daintily by fine ladies and their gallants, in costumes that were
+in vogue before the revolution. Even when it pours, this cheerless old
+dining-room at The Three Wolves is deserted, since there are half a
+score of far cosier little round pavilions for lovers and intimate
+friends, built over the oyster pools.
+
+Beyond them, hard by the desolate beach, lie the rocks known as The
+Three Wolves. In calm weather the surf smashes over their glistening
+backs--at low water, as it happened to be to-day, the seethe of the tide
+scurried about their dripping bellies green with hairy sea-weed.
+
+Now and then came cheery ripples of laughter from our little pavilion,
+where Germaine and Alice de Breville were arranging a mass of scarlet
+nasturtiums, twining their green leaves and tendrils amongst the plates
+of _hors d'oeuvres_ and among the dust-caked bottles of Chablis and
+Burgundy--Alice, whose dark hair and olive skin are in strong contrast
+to Germaine's saucy beauty.
+
+They had banished Tanrade, who had offered his clumsy help--and spilled
+the sardines. He had climbed on the roof and dropped pebbles down on
+them through the cracks and had later begged forgiveness through the
+key-hole. Now he was yelling like an Indian, this celebrated composer of
+ballets, as he swung a little peasant maid of ten in a creaky swing
+beyond the pool--a dear little maid with eyes as dark as Alice's, who
+screamed from sheer delight, and insisted on that good fellow playing
+all the games that lay about them, from _tonneau_ to _bilboquet_.
+
+Together, the cure and I carried the basket, now plentifully filled with
+oysters back to the kitchen, while Tanrade was hailed from the pavilion,
+much to the little maid's despair.
+
+"_Depechez-vous!_" cried Alice, who had straightway embraced her exiled
+Tanrade on his return and was now waving a summons to the cure and
+myself.
+
+"_Bon_," shouted back the cure. "_Allons, mes enfants, a table_--and the
+one who has no appetite shall be cast into the sea--by the heels," added
+his reverence.
+
+What a breakfast followed! Such a rushing of little maids back and forth
+from the jolly kitchen with the great platters of oysters. What a sole
+smothered in a mussel sauce! What a lobster, scarlet as the cap of a
+cardinal and garnished with crisp romaine! and the chickens! and the
+mutton! and the _souffle_ of potatoes, and the salad of shrimps--_Mon
+Dieu!_ What a luncheon, "sprayed," as the French say, with that rare old
+Chablis and mellow Burgundy! And what laughter and camaraderie went
+with it from the very beginning, for to be at table with friends in
+France is to be _en fete_--it is the hour when hearts are warmest and
+merriest.
+
+Ah, you dear little women! You who know just when to give those who love
+you a friendly pressure of the hand, or the gift of your lips if needs
+be, even in the presence of so austere a personage as Monsieur le Cure.
+You who understand. You who are tender or merry with the mood, or
+contrary to the verge of exasperation--only to caress with the subtle
+light of your eyes and be forgiven.
+
+It was not until we had reached our coffee and liqueur, that the
+surprise for the cure was forthcoming. Hardly had the tiny glasses been
+filled, when the clear tone of the bell ringing from the ancient church
+of The Three Wolves made us cease our talk to listen.
+
+Alice turned to the cure; it was evidently the moment she had been
+waiting for.
+
+"Listen," said Alice softly--"how delicious!"
+
+"It is the bell of Ste. Marie," returned the cure.
+
+Even Tanrade was silent now, for his reverence had made the sign of the
+cross. As his fingers moved I saw a peculiar look come into his eyes--a
+look of mingled disappointment and resignation.
+
+Again Alice spoke: "Your cracked bell at Pont du Sable has not long to
+ring, my friend," she said very tenderly.
+
+"One must be content, my child, with what one has," replied the cure.
+
+Alice leaned towards him and whispered something in his ear, Germaine
+smiling the while.
+
+I saw his reverence give a little start of surprise.
+
+"No, no," he protested half aloud. "Not that; it is too much to ask of
+you with all your rehearsals at the Bouffes Parisiennes coming."
+
+"_Parbleu!_" exclaimed Alice, "it will not be so very difficult--I shall
+accomplish it, you shall see what a concert we shall give--we shall make
+a lot of money; every one will be there. It has the voice of a frog,
+your bell. _Dieu!_ What a fuss it makes over its crack. You shall have a
+new one--two new ones, _mon ami_, even if we have to make bigger the
+belfry of your little gray church to hang them."
+
+The cure grew quite red. I saw for an instant his eyes fill with tears,
+then with a benign smile, he laid his hand firmly over Alice's and
+lifting the tips of her fingers, kissed them twice in gratefulness.
+
+He was very happy. He was happy all the way back in Germaine's yellow
+car to Pont du Sable. Happy when he thrust his heavy key in the rusty
+lock of the small door that let him into his silent garden, cool under
+the stars, and sweet with the scent of roses.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A long winter has passed since that memorable luncheon at The Three
+Wolves. Our little pavilion over the emerald pool will never see us
+reunited, I fear. A cloud has fallen over my good friend the cure, a
+cloud so unbelievable, and yet so dense, if it be true, and so filled
+with ominous mutterings of thunder and lightning, crime, defalcation,
+banishment, and the like, that I go about my work dazed at the rumoured
+situation.
+
+They tell me the cure still says mass, and when it is over, regains the
+presbytery by way of the back lane skirting the marsh. I am also told
+that he rarely even ventures into his garden, but spends most of his
+days and half of his nights alone in his den with the door locked, and
+strict orders to his faithful old servant Marie, who adores him, that he
+will see no one who calls.
+
+For days I have not laid eyes on him--he who kept his napkin tied in a
+sailor's knot in my cupboard and came to breakfast, luncheon, or dinner
+when he pleased, waking up my house abandoned by the marsh with his good
+humour, joking with Suzette, my little maid-of-all-work, until her fair
+cheeks grew the rosier, and rousing me out of the blues with his quick
+wit and his hearty laugh.
+
+It seems impossible to me that he is guilty of what he is accused of,
+yet the facts seem undeniable.
+
+Only the good go wrong, is it not so? The bad have become so
+commonplace, they do not attract our attention.
+
+Now the ways of the cure were always just. I have never known him to do
+a mean thing in his life, far less a dishonest one. I have known him to
+give the last few sous he possessed to a hungry fisherwoman who needed
+bread for herself and her brood of children and content himself with
+what was left among the few remaining vegetables in his garden. There
+are days, too, when he is forced to live frugally upon a peasant soup
+and a pear for dinner, and there have been occasions to my knowledge,
+when the soup had to be omitted and his menu reduced to a novel, a
+cigarette and the pear.
+
+It is a serious matter, the separation of the state from the church in
+France, since it has left the priest with the munificent salary of four
+hundred francs a year, out of which he must pay his rent and give to the
+poor.
+
+Once we dined nobly together upon two fat sparrows, and again we had a
+blackbird for dinner. He had killed it that morning from his window,
+while shaving, for I saw the lather dried on the stock of his duck gun.
+
+Monsieur le Cure is ingenious when it comes to hard times.
+
+Again, there are days when he is in luck, when some generous parishioner
+has had the forethought to restock his larder. Upon such bountiful
+occasions he insists on Tanrade and myself dining with him at the
+presbytery as long as these luxuries last, refusing to dine with either
+of us until there is no more left of his own to give.
+
+The last time I saw him, I had noticed a marked change in his reverence.
+He was moody and unshaven, and his saucerlike hat was as dusty and
+spotted as his frayed soutane. Only now and then he gave out flashes of
+his old geniality and even they seemed forced. I was amazed at the
+change in him, and yet, when I consider all I have heard since, I do not
+wonder much at his appearance.
+
+Tanrade tells me (and he evidently believes it) that some fifteen
+hundred francs, raised by Alice's concert and paid over to the cure to
+purchase the bells for his little gray church at Pont du Sable, have
+disappeared and that his reverence refuses to give any account.
+
+Despite his hearty Bohemian spirit, Tanrade, like most musicians, is a
+dreamer and as ready as a child to believe anything and anybody. Being a
+master of the pianoforte and a composer of rare talent, he can hardly be
+called sane. And yet, though I have seen him enthusiastic, misled, moved
+to tears over nothing, indignant over an imaginary insult, or ready to
+forgive any one who could be fool enough to be his enemy, I have never
+known him so thoroughly upset or so positive in his convictions as when
+the other morning, as I sat loafing before my fire, he entered my den.
+
+"It is incredible, _mon vieux_, incredible!" he gasped, throwing himself
+disconsolately into my arm-chair. "I have just been to the presbytery.
+Not only does he refuse to give an account of the money, but he declines
+to offer any explanation beyond the one that he "spent it." Moreover, he
+sits hunched up before his stove in his little room off the kitchen,
+chewing the end of a cigarette. Why, he didn't even ask me to have a
+drink--the cure, _mon ami_--our cure--_Mon Dieu_, what a mess! Ah, _mon
+Dieu!_"
+
+He sank his chin in his hands and gazed at me with a look of utter
+despair.
+
+I regarded him keenly, then I went to the decanter and poured out for
+him a stiff glass of applejack.
+
+"Drink that," said I, "and get normal."
+
+With an impetuous gesture he waved it away.
+
+"No, not now!" he exclaimed, "wait until I tell you all--nothing until I
+tell you."
+
+"Go on, then," I returned, "I want to hear all about this wretched
+business. Go slow and tell it to me from top to bottom. I am not as
+convinced of the cure's guilt as you are, old boy. There may be nothing
+in it more than a pack of village lies; and if there is a vestige of the
+truth, we may, by putting our heads together, help matters."
+
+He started to speak, but I held up my hand.
+
+"One thing before you proceed," I declared with conviction. "I can no
+more believe the cure is dishonest than Alice or yourself. It is
+ridiculous to presume so for a moment. I have known the cure too well.
+He is a prince. He has a heart as big as all outdoors. Look at the good
+he's done in this village! There is not a vagabond in it but will tell
+you he is as right as rain. Ask the people he helps what they think of
+him, they'll tell you 'he's just the cure for Pont du Sable.' _Voila!_
+That's what they'll tell you, and they mean it. All the gossip in the
+world can't hurt him. Here," I cried, forcing the glass into his hand,
+"get that down you, you maker of ballets, and proceed with the horrible
+details, but proceed gently, merrily, with the right sort of beat in
+your heart, for the cure is as much a friend of yours as he is of mine."
+
+Tanrade shrugged his broad shoulders, and for some moments sipped his
+glass. At length, he set it down on the broad table at his elbow, and
+said slowly: "You know how good Alice is, how much she will do for any
+one she is fond of--for a friend, I mean, like the cure. Very well, it
+is not an easy thing to give a concert in Paris that earns fifteen
+hundred francs for a cure whom, it is safe to say, no one in the
+audience, save Germaine, Alice and myself had ever heard of. It was a
+veritable _tour de force_ to organize. You were not there. I'm glad you
+were not. It was a dull old concert that would not have amused you
+much--Lassive fell ill at the last moment, Delmar was in a bad humour,
+and the quartet had played the night before at a ball at the Elysee and
+were barely awake. Yet in spite of it the theatre was packed; a chic
+audience, too. Frambord came out with half a column in the _Critique des
+Arts_ with a pretty compliment to Alice's executive energy, and added
+'that it was one of the rare soirees of the season.' He must have been
+drunk when he wrote it. I played badly--I never can play when they
+gabble. It was as garrulous as a fish market in front. _Enfin!_ It was
+over and we telegraphed his reverence the result; from a money
+standpoint it was a '_succes fou_.'"
+
+Tanrade leaned back and for a few seconds gazed at the ceiling of my
+den.
+
+"Where every penny has gone," he resumed, with a strained smile, "_Dieu
+sait!_ There is no bell, not even the sound of one, _et voila!_"
+
+He turned abruptly and reached for his glass, forgetting he had drained
+it. A fly was buzzing on its back in the last drop. And then we both
+smiled grimly, for we were thinking of Monsieur le Cure.
+
+I rang the bell of the presbytery early the next morning, by inserting
+my jackknife, to spare my fingers, in a loop at the end of a crooked
+wire which dangles over the rambling wall of the cure's garden. The door
+itself is of thick oak, and framed by stones overgrown with lichens--a
+solid old playground for nervous lizards when the sun shines, and a
+favourite sticking place for snails when it rains. I had to tug hard on
+the crooked wire before I heard a faint jingle issuing in response from
+the cure's cavernous kitchen, whose hooded chimney and stone-paved floor
+I love to paint.
+
+Now came the klop-klop of a pair of sabots--then the creak of a heavy
+key as it turned over twice in the rusty lock, and his faithful Marie
+cautiously opened the garden door. I do not know how old Marie is,
+there is so little left of this good soul to guess by. Her small
+shrunken body is bent from age and hard work. Her hands are heavy--the
+fingers gnarled and out of proportion to her gaunt thin wrists. She has
+the wrinkled, leathery face of some kindly gnome. She opened her eyes in
+a sort of mute appeal as I inquired if Monsieur le Cure was at home.
+
+"Ah! My poor monsieur, his reverence will see no one"--she
+faltered--"_Ah! Mais_"--she sighed, knowing that I knew the change in
+her master and the gossip thereof.
+
+"My good Marie," I said, persuasively patting her bony shoulder, "tell
+his reverence that I _must_ see him. Old friends as we are--"
+
+"_Bon Dieu, oui!_" she exclaimed after another sigh. "Such old friends
+as you and he--I will go and see," said she, and turned bravely back
+down the path that led to his door while I waited among the roses.
+
+A few moments later Marie beckoned to me from the kitchen window.
+
+"He will see you," she whispered, as I crossed the stone floor of the
+kitchen. "He is in the little room," and she pointed to a narrow door
+close by the big chimney, a door provided with old-fashioned little
+glass panes upon which are glued transparent chromos of wild ducks.
+
+I knocked gently.
+
+"_Entrez!_" came a tired voice from within.
+
+I turned the knob and entered his den--a dingy little box of a room,
+sunk a step below the level of the kitchen, with a smoke-grimed ceiling
+and corners littered with dusty books and pamphlets.
+
+He was sitting with his back to me, humped up in a worn arm-chair,
+before his small stove, just as Tanrade had found him. As I edged around
+his table--past a rack holding his guns, half-hidden under two
+dilapidated game bags and a bicycle tyre long out of service, he turned
+his hollow eyes to mine, with a look I shall long remember, and feebly
+grasped my outstretched hand.
+
+"Come," said I, "you're going to get a grip on yourself, _mon ami_.
+You're going to get out of this wretched, unkempt state of melancholia
+at once. Tanrade has told me much. You know as well as I do, the village
+is a nest of gossip--that they make a mountain out of a molehill; if I
+were a pirate chief and had captured this vagabond port, I'd have a few
+of those wagging tongues taken out and keel-hauled in the bay."
+
+He started as if in pain, and again turned his haggard eyes to mine.
+
+"I don't believe there's a word of truth in it," I declared hotly.
+
+"There--_is_," he returned hoarsely, trembling so his voice faltered--"I
+am--a thief."
+
+He sat bolt-upright in his chair, staring at me like a man who had
+suddenly become insane. His declaration was so sudden and amazing, that
+for some moments I knew not what to reply, then a feeling of pity took
+possession of me. He was still my friend, whatever he had done. I saw
+his gaze revert to the crucifix hanging between the steel engravings of
+two venerable saints, over the mantel back of the stove--a mantel heaped
+with old shot bags and empty cartridge shells.
+
+"How the devil did it happen?" I blurted out at length. "You don't mean
+to say you stole the money?"
+
+"Spent it," he replied half inaudibly.
+
+"How spent it? On yourself?"
+
+"No, no! Thank God--"
+
+"How, then?"
+
+He leaned forward, his head sunk in his hands, his eyes riveted upon
+mine.
+
+"There is--so--much--dire--need of money," he said, catching his breath
+between his words. "We are all human--all weak in the face of another's
+misery. It takes a strong heart, a strong mind, a strong body to resist.
+There are some temptations too terrible even for a priest. I wish with
+all my heart that Alice had never given it into my hands."
+
+I started to speak, but he held up his arms.
+
+"Do not ask me more," he pleaded--"I cannot tell you--I am ill and
+weak--my courage is gone."
+
+"Is there any of the money left?" I ventured quietly, after waiting in
+vain for him to continue.
+
+"I do not know," he returned wearily, "most of it has gone--over there,
+beneath the papers, in the little drawer," he said pointing to the
+corner; "I kept it there. Yes, there is some left--but I have not dared
+count it."
+
+Again there ensued a painful silence, while I racked my brain for a
+scheme that might still save the situation, bad as it looked. In the
+state he was in, I had not the heart to worry out of him a fuller
+confession. Most of the fifteen hundred francs was gone, that was plain
+enough. What he had done with it I could only conjecture. Had he given
+it to save another I wondered. Some man or woman whose very life and
+reputation depended upon it? Had he fallen in love hopelessly and past
+all reasoning? There is no man that some woman cannot make her slave. It
+was not many years ago, that a far more saintly priest than he eloped to
+Belgium with a pretty seamstress of Les Fosses. Then I thought of
+Germaine!--that little minx, badly in debt--perhaps? No, no, impossible!
+She was too clever--too honest for that.
+
+"Have you seen Alice?" I broke our silence with at length.
+
+He shook his head wearily. "I could not," he replied, "I know the
+bitterness she must feel toward me."
+
+At that moment Marie knocked at the door. As she entered, I saw that her
+wrinkled face was drawn, as with lowered eyes she regarded a yellow
+envelope stamped with the seal of the _Republique Francaise_.
+
+With a trembling hand she laid it beside the cure, and left the room.
+
+The cure started, then he rose nervously to his feet, steadying himself
+against the table's edge as he tore open the envelope, and glanced at
+its contents. With a low moan he sank back in his chair.--"Go," he
+pleaded huskily, "I wish to be alone--I have been summoned before the
+mayor."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Never before in the history of the whole country about, had a cure been
+hauled to account. Pont du Sable was buzzing like a beehive over the
+affair. Along its single thoroughfare, flanked by the stone houses of
+the fishermen, the gossips clustered in groups. From what I caught in
+passing proved to me again that his reverence had more friends than
+enemies.
+
+It was in the mayor's kitchen, which serves him as executive chamber as
+well, that the official investigation took place.
+
+With the exception of the Municipal Council, consisting of the baker,
+the butcher, the grocer, and two raisers of cattle, none were to be
+admitted at the mayor's save Tanrade, myself and Alice de Breville,
+whose presence the mayor had judged imperative, and who had been
+summoned from Paris.
+
+Tanrade and I had arrived early--the mayor greeting us at the gate of
+his trim little garden, and ushering us to our chairs in the clean,
+well-worn kitchen, with as much solemnity as if there had been a death
+in the house. Here we sat, under the low ceiling of rough beams and
+waited in a funereal silence, broken only by the slow ticking of the
+tall clock in the corner. It was working as hard as it could, its brass
+pendulum swinging lazily toward three o'clock, the hour appointed for
+the investigation.
+
+Monsieur le Maire to-day was no longer the genial, ruddy old raiser of
+cattle, who stops me whenever I pass his gate with a hearty welcome. He
+was all Mayor to-day, clean shaven to the raw edges of his cropped gray
+side-whiskers with a look of grave importance in his shrewd eyes and a
+firm setting of his wrinkled upper lip, that indicated the dignity of
+his office; a fact which was further accentuated by his carefully
+brushed suit of black, a clean starched collar and the tri-coloured silk
+sash, with gold tassels, which he is forced to gird his fat paunch with,
+when he either marries you or sends you to jail. The clock ticked on,
+its oaken case reflecting the copper light from the line of saucepans
+hanging beside it on the wall. Presently, the Municipal Council filed in
+and seated themselves about a centre table, upon which lay in readiness
+the official seal, pen, ink and paper. Being somewhat ill at ease in his
+starched shirt, the florid grocer coughed frequently, while the two
+cattle-raisers in their black blouses, talked in gutteral whispers over
+a bargain in calves. Through the open window, screened with cool vines,
+came the faint murmur of the village--suddenly it ceased. I rose, and
+going to the window, looked up the street. The cure was coming down it,
+striding along as straight as a savage, nodding to those who nodded to
+him. An old fisherwoman hobbled forth and kissed his hand. Young and
+old, gamblers of the sea, lifted their caps as he passed.
+
+"The census of opinion is with him," I whispered to Tanrade, as I
+regained my chair. "He has his old grit with him, too."
+
+The next instant, his reverence strode in before us--firm, cool, and so
+thoroughly master of himself that a feeling of intense relief stole over
+me.
+
+"I have come," he said, in a clear, even voice, "in answer to your
+summons, Monsieur le Maire."
+
+The mayor rose, bowed gravely, waved the cure to a chair opposite the
+Municipal Council, and continued in silence the closely written contents
+of two official documents containing the charge. The stopping of an
+automobile at his gate now caused him to look up significantly. Madame
+de Breville had arrived. As Alice entered every man in the room rose to
+his feet. Never had I seen her look lovelier, gowned, as she was, in
+simple black, her dark hair framing her exquisite features, pale as
+ivory, her sensitive mouth tense as she pressed Tanrade's hand
+nervously, and took her seat beside us. For an instant, I saw her dark
+eyes flash as she met the steady gaze of the cure's.
+
+"In the name of the _Republique Francaise_," began the mayor in measured
+tones.
+
+The cure folded his arms, his eyes fixed on the open door.
+
+"Pardon me," interrupted Alice, "I wish it to be distinctly understood
+before you begin, Monsieur le Maire, that I am here wholly against my
+will."
+
+The cure turned sharply.
+
+"You have summoned me," continued Alice, "and there was no alternative
+but to come--I know nothing in detail concerning the charge against
+Monsieur le Cure, nor do I wish to take any part whatever in this
+unfortunate affair. It is imperative that I return to Paris in time to
+play to-night, I beg of you that you will let me go at once."
+
+There was a polite murmur of surprise from the Municipal Council. The
+cure sprang to his feet.
+
+"Alice, my child!" he cried, "look at me."
+
+Her eyes met his own, her lips twitching nervously, her breast heaving.
+
+"I wish _you_ to judge me before you go," he pleaded. "They accuse me of
+being a thief;" his voice rose suddenly to its full vibrant strength;
+"they do not know the truth."
+
+Alice leaned forward, her lips parted.
+
+"God only knows what this winter has been," declared his
+reverence--"Empty nets--always empty nets."
+
+He struck the table with his clenched fist. "Empty nets!" he cried,
+"until I could bear it no longer. My children were in dire need; they
+came to you," he declared, turning to the mayor, "and you refused them."
+
+The mayor shrugged his shoulders with a grunt of resentment.
+
+"I gave what I could, while it lasted, from the public fund," he
+explained frankly; "there were new roads to be cut."
+
+"Roads!" shouted the cure. "What are roads in comparison to illness and
+starvation? They came to me," he went on, turning to Alice, "little
+children--mothers, ill, with little children and not a sou in the house,
+and none to be earned fishing. Old men crying for bread for those whom
+they loved. I grew to hate the very thought of the bells; they seemed to
+me a needless luxury among so much misery."
+
+His voice rose until it rang clear in the room.
+
+"I gave it to them," he cried out. "There in my little drawer lay the
+power to save those who were near death from sickness, from dirt, from
+privation!"
+
+Alice's ringless white hands were clenched in her lap.
+
+"And I saw, as I gave," continued the cure, "the end of pain and of
+hunger--little by little I gave, hoping somehow to replace it, until I
+dared give no more."
+
+He paused, and drew forth from the breast of his soutane a small cotton
+sack that had once held his gun wads. "Here is what is left, gentlemen,"
+said he, facing the Municipal Council; "I have counted it at last, four
+hundred and eighty francs, sixty-five centimes."
+
+There were tears now in Alice's eyes; dark eyes that followed the cure's
+with a look of tenderness and pain. The mayor sat breathing irritably.
+As for the Municipal Council, it was evident to Tanrade and myself, that
+not one of these plain, red-eared citizens was eager to send a priest to
+jail--it was their custom occasionally to go to mass.
+
+"Marianne's illness," continued the cure, "was an important item. You
+seemed to consider her case of typhoid as a malady that would cure
+itself if let alone. Marianne needed care, serious care, strong as she
+was. The girl, Yvonne, she saved from drowning last year, and her baby,
+she still shelters among her own children in her hut. They, too, had to
+be fed; for Marianne was helpless to care for them. There was the little
+boy, too, of the Gavons--left alone, with a case of measles well
+developed when I found him, on the draughty floor of a loft; the mother
+and father had been drunk together for three days at Bar la Rose. And
+there were others--the Mere Gailliard, who would have been sold out for
+her rent, and poor old Varnet, the fisherman; he had no home, no money,
+no friends; he is eighty-four years old. Most of the winter he slept in
+a hedge under a cast-off sail. I got him a better roof and something for
+his stomach, Monsieur le Maire."
+
+He paused again, and drew out a folded paper from his pocket. "Here is a
+list of all I can remember I have given to, and the amounts as near as I
+can recall them," he declared simply. Again he turned to Alice. "It is
+to you, dear friend, I have come to confess," he continued; "as for you,
+gentlemen, my very life, the church I love, all that this village means
+to me, lies in your hands; I do not beg your mercy. I have sinned and I
+shall take the consequences--all I ask you to do is to judge fairly the
+error of my ways." Monsieur le Cure took his seat.
+
+"It is for you, Madame de Breville, to decide," said the mayor, after
+some moments conference with the Council, "since the amount in question
+was given by your hand."
+
+Alice rose--softly she slipped past the Municipal Council of Pont du
+Sable, until she stood looking up into the cure's eyes; then her arms
+went about his strong neck and she kissed him as tenderly as a sister.
+
+"Child!" I heard him murmur.
+
+"We shall give another concert," she whispered in his ear.
+
+      [Illustration: bell]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: The miser--Garron]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER ELEVEN
+
+THE MISER--GARRON
+
+
+We've had a drowning at Pont du Sable. Drownings are not infrequent on
+this rough Norman coast of France. Only last December five able
+fishermen went down within plain sight of the dunes in a roaring white
+sea that gave no quarter. This gale by night became a cyclone; the sea a
+driving hell of water, hail and screaming wind. The barometer dropped to
+twenty-eight. The wind blew at one hundred and twenty kilometers an
+hour. Six fishing boats hailing from Boulogne perished with their crews.
+Their women went by train to Calais, still hoping for news, and returned
+weeping and alone.
+
+At Boulogne the waves burst in spray to a height of forty feet over the
+breakwater--small wonder that the transatlantic liner due there to take
+on passengers, signalled to her plunging tender already in
+danger--"Going through--No passengers--" and proceeded on her way to New
+York.
+
+The sea that night killed with a blow.
+
+This latest drowning at Pont du Sable was a tragedy--or rather, the
+culmination of a series of tragedies.
+
+"Suicide?"
+
+"_Non_--_mon ami_--wait until you hear the whole truth of this plain
+tale."
+
+On my return from shooting this morning, Suzette brought me the news.
+The whole fishing village has known it since daylight.
+
+It seems that the miser, Garron--Garron's boy--Garron's woman, Julie,
+and another woman who nobody seems to know much about, are mixed up in
+the affair.
+
+Garron's history I have known for months--my good friend the cure
+confided to me much concerning the unsavory career of this vagabond of a
+miser, whose hut is on the "Great Marsh," back of Pont du Sable. Garron
+and I hailed "_bonjour_" to each other through the mist at dawn one
+morning, as I chanced to pass by his abode, a wary flight of vignon
+having led me a fruitless chase after them across the great marsh. At a
+distance through the rifts of mist I mistook this isolated hut of
+Garron's for a _gabion_. As I drew within hailing distance of its owner
+I saw that the hut stood on a point of mud and wire grass that formed
+the forks of the stream that snakes its way through the centre of this
+isolated prairie, and so on out to the open sea, two kilometers beyond.
+
+As shrewd a rascal as Garron needed just such a place to settle on. As
+he returned my _bonjour_, his woman, Julie, appeared in the low doorway
+of the hut and grinned a greeting to me across the fork of the stream.
+She impressed me as being young, though she was well on in the untold
+forties. Her mass of fair hair--her ruddy cheeks--her blue eyes and her
+thick strong body, gave her the appearance of youthful buxomness.
+
+Life must be tough enough with a man like Garron. With the sagacity of
+an animal he knew the safety of the open places. By day no one could
+emerge from the far horizon of low woodland skirting the great marsh,
+without its sole inhabitant noting his approach. By night none but as
+clever a poacher as Garron could have found his way across the labyrinth
+of bogs, ditches and pitfalls. Both the hut and the woman cost Garron
+nothing; both were a question of abandoned wreckage.
+
+Garron showed me his hut that morning, inviting me to cross a muddy
+plank as slippery as glass, with which he had spanned the stream, that
+he might get a closer look at me and know what manner of man I was. He
+did not introduce me to the woman, and I took good care, as I crossed
+his threshold and entered the dark living-room with its dirt floor, not
+to force her acquaintance, but instead, ran my eye discreetly over the
+objects in the gloom--a greasy table littered with dirty dishes, a bed
+hidden under a worn quilt and a fireplace of stones over which an iron
+pot of soup was simmering. Beyond was another apartment, darker than
+the one in which I stood--a sort of catch-all for the refuse of the
+former.
+
+The whole of this disreputable shack was built of the wreckage of honest
+ships. It might have been torn down and reassembled into some sort of a
+decent craft. Part of a stout rudder with its heavy iron hinges, served
+as the door. For years it had guided some good ship safe into port--then
+the wreck occurred. For weeks after--months, perhaps--it had drifted at
+sea until it found a resting place on the beach and was stolen by Garron
+to serve him as a strong barrier.
+
+Garron had a bad record--you saw this in his small shifty black eyes,
+that evaded your own when you spoke to him, and were riveted upon you
+the moment your back was turned. He was older than the woman--possibly
+fifty years of age, when I first met him, and, though he lived in the
+open, there was a ghastly pallor in his hard face with its determined,
+square jaw--a visage well seamed by sin--and crowned by a shock of black
+hair streaked with gray. In body he was short, with unusually broad
+shoulders and unnaturally long arms. Physically he was as strong as an
+ape, yet I believe the woman could easily have strangled him with her
+bare hands. Garron had been a hard drinker in his youth, a capable thief
+and a skilful poacher. His career in civilization ended when he was
+young and--it is said--good-looking.
+
+Some twenty-five years ago--so the cure tells me--Garron worked one
+summer for a rich cattle dealer named Villette, on his farm some sixty
+kilometers back of the great marsh. Villette was one of those big,
+silent Normans, who spoke only when it was worth while, and was known
+for his brusqueness and his honesty. He was a giant in build--a man
+whose big hands and feet moved slowly but surely; a man who avoided
+making intimate friendships and was both proud and rich--proud of his
+goods and chattels--of his vast grazing lands and his livestock--proud
+too, of his big stone farmhouse with its ancient courtyard flanked by
+his stone barns and his entrance gate whose walls were as thick as those
+of some feudal stronghold; proud, too, of his wife--a plump little
+woman with a merry eye and whom he never suspected of being madly
+infatuated with his young farm hand, Garron.
+
+Their love affair culminated in an open scandal. The woman lacked both
+the shrewdness and discretion of her lover; he had poached for years and
+had never been caught;--it is, therefore, safe to say he would as
+skilfully have managed to evade suspicion as far as the woman was
+concerned, had not things gone from bad to worse.
+
+Villette discovered this too late; Garron had suddenly disappeared,
+leaving madame to weather the scandal and the divorce that followed.
+More than this, young Garron took with him ten thousand francs belonging
+to the woman, who had been fool enough to lend him her heart--a sum out
+of her personal fortune which, for reasons of her own, she deemed it
+wisest not to mention.
+
+With ten thousand francs in bank notes next his skin, Garron took the
+shortest cut out of the neighbourhood. He travelled by night and slept
+by day, keeping to the unfrequented wood roads and trails secreted
+between the thick hedges, hidden by-ways that had proved their value
+during the guerilla warfares that were so successfully waged in Normandy
+generations ago. Three days later Garron passed through the modest
+village of Hirondelette, an unknown vagabond. He looked so poor that a
+priest in passing gave him ten sous.
+
+"Courage, my son," counselled the good man--"you will get work soon. Try
+the farm below, they are in need of hands."
+
+"May you never be in want, father," Garron strangled out huskily in
+reply. Then he slunk on to the next farm and begged his dinner. The bank
+notes no longer crinkled when he walked; they had taken the contour of
+his hairy chest. Every now and then he stopped and clutched them to see
+if they were safe, and twice he counted and recounted them in a ditch.
+
+With the Great Marsh as a safe refuge in his crafty mind, he passed by
+the next sundown back of Pont du Sable; slept again in a hedge, and by
+dawn had reached the marsh. Most of that day he wandered over it looking
+for a site for his hut. He chose the point at the forks of the
+stream--no one in those days, save a lone hunter ever came there.
+Moreover, there was another safeguard. The Great Marsh was too cut up by
+ditches and bogs to graze cattle on, hence no one to tend them, and the
+more complete the isolation of its sole inhabitant.
+
+Having decided on the point, he set about immediately to build his hut.
+The sooner housed the better, thought Garron, besides, the packet next
+his chest needed a safe hiding place.
+
+For days the curlews, circling high above the marsh, watched him snaking
+driftwood from the beach up the crooked stream to the point at the
+forks. The rope he dragged them with he stole from a fisherman's boat
+picketed for the night beyond the dunes. When he had gathered a
+sufficient amount of timber he went into Pont du Sable with three hares
+he had snared and traded them for a few bare necessities--an old saw, a
+rusty hammer and some new nails. He worked steadily. By the end of a
+fortnight he had finished the hut. When it was done he fashioned (for he
+possessed considerable skill as a carpenter) a clever hiding place in
+the double wall of oak for his treasure. Then he nailed up his door and
+went in search of a mate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He found her after dark--this girl to his liking--at the _fete_ in the
+neighbouring village of Avelot. She turned and leered at him as he
+nudged her elbow, the lights from the merry-go-round she stood watching
+illumining her wealth of fair hair and her strong young figure
+silhouetted against the glare. Garron had studied her shrewdly, singling
+her out in the group of village girls laughing with their sweethearts.
+The girl he nudged he saw did not belong to the village--moreover, she
+was barefooted, mischievously drunk, and flushed with riding on the
+wooden horses. She was barely eighteen. She laughed outright as he
+gripped her strong arm, and opened her wanton mouth wide, showing her
+even, white teeth. In return for her welcome he slapped her strong waist
+soundly.
+
+"_Allons-y_--what do you say to a glass, _ma belle_?" ventured Garron
+with a grin.
+
+"_Eh ben!_ I don't say no," she laughed again, in reply.
+
+He felt her turn instinctively toward him--there was already something
+in common between these two. He pushed her ahead of him through the
+group with a certain familiar authority. When they were free of the
+crowd and away from the lights his arm went about her sturdy neck and he
+crushed her warm mouth to his own.
+
+"_Allons-y_--" he repeated--"Come and have a glass."
+
+They had crossed in the mud to a dingy tent lighted by a lantern; here
+they seated themselves on a rough bench at a board table, his arm still
+around her. She turned to leer at him now, half closing her clear blue
+eyes. When he had swallowed his first thimbleful of applejack he spat,
+and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, while the girl grew
+garrulous under the warmth of the liquor and his rough affection. Again
+she gave him her lips between two wet oaths. No one paid any attention
+to them--it was what a _fete_ was made for. For a while they left their
+glasses and danced with the rest to the strident music of the
+merry-go-round organ.
+
+It was long after midnight when Garron paid his score under the tent.
+She had told him much in the meantime--there was no one to care whom she
+followed. She told him, too, she had come to the _fete_ from a hamlet
+called Les Forets, where she had been washing for a woman. The moon was
+up when they took the highroad together, following it until it reached
+the beginning of Pont du Sable, then Garron led the way abruptly to the
+right up a tangled lane that ran to an old woodroad that he used to gain
+the Great Marsh. They went lurching along together in comparative
+silence, the man steadying the girl through the dark places where the
+trees shut out the moon. Garron knew the road as well as his pocket--it
+was a favourite with him when he did not wish to be seen. Now and then
+the girl sang in a maudlin way:
+
+    "_Entrez, entrez, messieurs,
+    C'est l'amour qui vous attend._"
+
+It was gray dawn when they reached the edge of the Great Marsh that lay
+smothered under a blanket of chill mist.
+
+"It is over there, my nest," muttered Garron, with a jerk of his thumb
+indicating the direction in which his hut lay. Again he drew her roughly
+to him.
+
+"_Dis donc, toi!_" he demanded brusquely: "how do they call you?" It had
+not, until then, occurred to him to ask her name.
+
+"_Eh ben_--Julie," she replied. "It's a _sacre_ little name I never
+liked. _Eh, tu sais_," she added slowly--"when I don't like a thing--"
+she drew back a little and gazed at him sullenly--"_Eh ben_--I am like
+that when I don't like a thing." Her flash of temper pleased him--he had
+had enough of the trustful kitten of Villette's.
+
+"Come along," said he gruffly.
+
+"_Dis donc, toi_," she returned without moving. "It is well understood
+then about my dress and the shoes?"
+
+"_Mais oui! Bon Dieu!_" replied the peasant irritably. He was hungry and
+wanted his soup. He swore at the chill as he led the way across the
+marsh while she followed in his tracks, satisfied with his promise of
+the dress and shoes. She wanted a blue dress and she had seen the shoes
+that pleased her some months before in the grocery at Pont du Sable when
+a dog and she had dragged a fisherwoman in her cart for their board and
+lodging.
+
+By the time they reached the forks of the stream the rising sun had
+melted the blanket of the mist until it lay over the desolate prairie in
+thin rifts of rose vapour.
+
+It was thus the miser, Garron, found his mate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Julie proved to be a fair cook, and the two lived together, at the
+beginning, in comparative peace. Although it was not until days after
+the _fete_ at Avelot that she managed to hold him to his promise about
+the blue dress, he sent her to Pont du Sable for her shoes the day
+after their arrival on the marsh--she bought them and they hurt her. The
+outcome of this was their first quarrel.
+
+"_Sacre bon Dieu!_" he snarled--"thou art never content!" Then he struck
+her with the back of his clenched fist and, womanlike, she went
+whimpering to bed. Neither he nor she thought much of the blow. Her mind
+was on the shoes that did not fit.
+
+When she was well asleep and snoring, he ran his sinewy arm in the hole
+he had made in the double wall--lifted the end of a short, heavy plank,
+caught it back against a nail and gripped the packet of bank notes that
+lay snug beneath it. Satisfied they were safe and his mate still asleep,
+he replaced the plank over his fortune--crossed the dirt floor to his
+barrier of a door, dropped an iron rod through two heavy staples,
+securely bolting it--blew out the tallow dip thrust in the neck of an
+empty bottle, and went to bed.
+
+Months passed--months that were bleak and wintry enough on the marsh for
+even a hare to take to the timber for comfort. During most of that
+winter Garron peddled the skins of rabbits he snared on the marsh, and
+traded and bought their pelts, and he lived poor that no one might
+suspect his wealth. He and his mate rose, like the wild fowl, with the
+sun and went to bed with it, to save the light of the tallow dip. Though
+I have said she could easily have strangled him with her hands, she
+refrained. Twice, when she lay half awake she had seen him run his wiry
+arm in the wall--one night she had heard the lifting of the heavy plank
+and the faint crinkling sound of the package as he gripped it. She had
+long before this suspected he had money hidden.
+
+Julie was no fool!
+
+With the spring the marsh became more tenable. The smallest song birds
+from the woods flitted along the ditches; there were days, too, when the
+desolate prairie became soft--hazy--and inviting.
+
+At daybreak, the beginning of one of these delicious spring days,
+Garron, hearing a sharp cry without, rose abruptly and unbolted his
+barrier. He would have stepped out and across his threshold had not his
+bare foot touched something heavy and soft. He looked down--still half
+asleep--then he started back in a sort of dull amazement. The thing his
+foot had touched was a bundle--a rolled and well-wrapped blanket, tied
+with a stout string. The sharp cry he had heard he now realized, issued
+from the folds of the blanket. Garron bent over it, his thumb and
+forefinger uncovering the face of a baby.
+
+"_Sacristi!_" he stammered--then leaned back heavily against the old
+rudder of a door. Julie heard and crawled out of bed. She was peering
+over his shoulder at the bundle at his feet before he knew it.
+
+Garron half wheeled and faced her as her breath touched his coarse ear.
+
+"_Eh bien!_ what is it?" he exclaimed, searching vainly for something
+else to say.
+
+"_Eh ben! Ca! Nom de Dieu!_" returned his mate nodding to the bundle.
+"It is pretty--that!"
+
+"_Tu m'accuses, hein?_" he snarled.
+
+"They do not leave bundles of that kind at the wrong door," she retorted
+in reply, half closing her blue eyes and her red hands.
+
+"_Allons! allons!_" he exclaimed with heat, still at a loss for his
+words.
+
+With her woman's instinct she brushed past him and started to pick up
+the bundle, but he was too quick for her and drew her roughly back,
+gripping her waist so sharply that he felt her wince.
+
+"It does not pass like that!" he cried sharply. "_Eh ben!_ listen to me.
+I'm too old a rat to be made a fool of--to be tricked like that!"
+
+"Tricked!" she laughed back--"No, my old one--it is as simple as
+_bonjour_, and since it is thine thou wilt keep it. Thou'lt--keep what
+thou--"
+
+The pent-up rage within him leaped to his throat:
+
+"It does not pass like that!" he roared. With his clenched fist he
+struck her squarely across the mouth. He saw her sink limp to the
+ground, bleeding, her head buried between her knees. Then he picked up
+the child and started with it across the plank that spanned the fork of
+the stream. A moment later, still dizzy from the blow, she saw him
+dimly, making rapidly across the marsh toward a bend in the stream. Then
+the love of a mother welled up within her and she got to her feet and
+followed him.
+
+"Stay where thou art!" he shouted back threateningly.
+
+The child in his arms was screaming. She saw his hand cover its
+throat--the next moment she had reached him and her two hands were about
+his own in a grip that sent him choking to his knees. The child rolled
+from his arms still screaming, and the woman who was strangling Garron
+into obedience now sank her knee in his back until she felt him give up.
+
+"_Assez!_" he grunted out when he could breathe.
+
+"_Eh ben!_ I am like _that_ when I don't like a thing!" she cried,
+savagely repeating her old words. He looked up and saw a dangerous gleam
+in her eyes. "_Ah, mais oui alors!_" she shouted defiantly. "Since it is
+thine thou wilt keep it!"
+
+Garron did not reply. She knew the fight was out of him and picked up
+the still screaming baby, which she hugged to her breast, crooning over
+it while Garron got lamely to his feet. Without another word she started
+back to the hut, Garron following his mate and his son in silence.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Years passed and the boy grew up on the marsh, tolerated by Garron and
+idolized and spoiled by Julie--years that transformed the black-eyed
+baby into a wiry, reckless young rascal of sixteen with all the vagabond
+nature of his father--straight and slim, with the clear-cut features of
+a gypsy. A year later the brother of Madame Villette, a well-known
+figure on the Paris Bourse, appeared and after a satisfactory
+arrangement with Garron, took the boy with him to Paris to be educated.
+
+It was hard on Julie, who adored him. Her consent was not even asked,
+but at the time she consoled herself with the conviction, however, that
+the good fortune that had fallen to the lot of the baby she had saved,
+was for the best. The uncle was rich--that in itself appealed strongly
+to her peasant mind. That, and her secret knowledge of Garron's fortune,
+for she had discovered and counted it herself and, motherlike, told the
+boy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In Paris the attempt to educate Jacques Baptiste Garron was an expensive
+experiment. When he went to bed at all it was only when the taverns and
+cafes along the "Boul-miche" closed before dawn. Even then he and his
+band of idle students found other retreats and more glasses in the
+all-night cafes near the Halles. And so he ate and drank and slept and
+made love to any little outcast who pleased him--one of these amiable
+_petites femmes_--the inside of whose pocketbook was well greased with
+rouge--became his devoted slave.
+
+She was proud of this handsome devil-may-care "type" of hers and her
+jealousy was something to see to believe. Little by little she dominated
+him until he ran heavily in debt. She even managed the uncle when the
+nephew failed--she was a shrewd little brat--small and tense as wire,
+with big brown eyes and hair that was sometimes golden and sometimes a
+dry Titian red, according to her choice. Once, when she left him for two
+days, Garron threatened to kill himself.
+
+"_Pauvre gosse!_" she said sympathizingly on her return--and embraced
+him back to sanity.
+
+The real grain of saneness left in young Garron was his inborn love of a
+gun. It was the gun which brought him down from Paris, back to the Great
+Marsh now and then when the ducks were on flight.
+
+He had his own _gabion_ now at the lower end of the bay at Pont du
+Sable, in which he slept and shot from nights when the wind was
+northeast--a comfortable, floating box of a duck-blind sunk in an outer
+jacket of tarred planks and chained to a heavy picket driven in the mud
+and wire grass, for the current ran dangerously strong there when the
+tide was running out.
+
+Late in October young Garron left Paris suddenly and the girl with the
+Titian hair was with him. He, like his father, needed a safe refuge.
+Pressed by his creditors he had forged his uncle's name. The only way
+out of the affair was to borrow from Julie to hush up the matter. It did
+not occur to him at the time how she would feel about the girl; neither
+did he realize that he had grown to be an arrogant young snob who now
+treated Julie, who had saved his life, and pampered him, more like a
+servant than a foster-mother.
+
+The night young Garron arrived was at the moment of the highest tides.
+The four supped together that night in the hut--the father silent and
+sullen throughout the meal and Julie insanely jealous of the girl. Later
+old Garron went off across the marsh in the moonlight to look after his
+snares.
+
+When the three were alone Julie turned to the boy. For some moments she
+regarded him shrewdly. She saw he was no longer the wild young savage
+she had brought up; there was a certain nervous, blase feebleness about
+his movements as he sat uneasily in his chair, his hands thrust in the
+pockets of his hunting coat, his chin sunk on his chest. She noticed
+too, the unnatural redness of his lips and the haggard pallor about his
+thin, sunken cheeks.
+
+"_Eh ben, mon petit_--" she began at length. "It is a poor place to get
+fat in, your Paris! They don't feed you any too well--_hein?_--Those
+grand restaurants you talk so much about. Pouf!"
+
+"_Penses-tu?_" added the girl, since Garron did not reply. Instead he
+lighted a fresh cigarette, took two long puffs from it, and threw it on
+the floor.
+
+The girl, angered at his silence and lack of courage, gave him a vicious
+glance.
+
+"_Helas!_" sighed Julie, "you were quicker with your tongue when you
+were a baby."
+
+"_Ah zut!_" exclaimed the girl in disgust. "He has something to tell
+you--" she blurted out to Julie.
+
+"_Eh ben!_ What?" demanded Julie firmly.
+
+"I need some money," muttered the boy doggedly. "I _need it!!_" he cried
+suddenly, gaining courage in a sort of nervous hysteria.
+
+Julie stared at him in amazement, the girl watching her like a lynx.
+
+"_Bon Dieu!_" shouted Julie. "And it is because of _that_ you sit there
+like a sick cat! Listen to me, my little one. Eat the good grease like
+the rest of us and be content if you keep out of jail."
+
+The boy sank lower in his chair.
+
+"It will be jail for me," he said, "unless you help me. Give me five
+hundred francs. I tell you I am in a bad fix. _Sacre bon Dieu!_--you
+_shall_ give it to me!" he cried, half springing from his chair.
+
+"Shut up, thou," whispered the girl--"not so fast!"
+
+"Do you think it rains money here?" returned Julie, closing her red
+fists upon the table, "that all you have to do is to ask for it? _Ah,
+mais non, alors!_"
+
+The boy slunk back in his chair staring at the tallow dip
+disconsolately. The girl gritted her small teeth--somehow, she felt
+abler than he to get it out of Julie in the end.
+
+"You stole it, _hein?_" cried Julie, "like your father. Name of a dog!
+it is the same old trick that, and it brings no good. _Allons!_" she
+resumed after a short pause. "_Depeche toi!_ Get out for your ducks--I'm
+going to bed."
+
+"Give me four hundred," pleaded the boy.
+
+"Not a sou!" cried Julie, bringing her fist down on the greasy table,
+and she shot a jealous glance at the girl.
+
+Without a word, young Garron rose dejectedly, got into his goatskin
+coat, picked up his gun and, turning, beckoned to the girl.
+
+"Go on!" she cried; "I'll come later."
+
+"He is an infant," said she to Julie, when young Garron had closed the
+door behind him. "He has no courage. You know the fix we are in--the
+Commissaire of Police in Paris already has word of it."
+
+Julie did not reply; she still sat with her clenched fists outstretched
+on the table.
+
+"He has forged his uncle's check," snapped the girl.
+
+Julie did not reply.
+
+"_Ah, c'est comme ca!_" sneered the girl with a cool laugh--"and when
+he is in jail," she cried aloud, "_Eh, bien--quoi?_"
+
+"He will not have _you_, then," returned Julie faintly.
+
+"Ah----" she exclaimed. She slipped her tense little body into her thick
+automobile coat and with a contemptuous toss of her chin passed out into
+the night, leaving the door open.
+
+"Jacques!" she called shrilly--"Jacques!--_Attends._"
+
+"_Bon!_" came his voice faintly in reply from afar on the marsh.
+
+After some moments Julie got slowly to her feet, crossed the dirt floor
+of the hut and closing the door dropped the bar through the staples.
+Then for the space of some minutes she stood by the table struggling
+with a jealous rage that made her strong knees tremble. She who had
+saved his life, who had loved him from babyhood--she told herself--and
+what had he done for her in return? The great Paris that she knew
+nothing of had stolen him; Paris had given him _her_--that little viper
+with her red mouth; Paris had ruined him--had turned him into a thief
+like his father. Silently she cursed his uncle. Then her rage reverted
+again to the girl. She thought too, of her own life with Garron--of all
+its miserly hardships. "They have given me nothing--" she sobbed
+aloud--"nothing."
+
+"Five hundred francs would save him!" she told herself. She caught her
+breath, then little by little again the motherly warmth stole up into
+her breast deadening for the moment the pain of her jealousy. She
+straightened to her full height, squaring her broad shoulders like a man
+and stepped across to the wall.
+
+"It is as much mine as it is his," she said between her teeth.
+
+She ran her arm into the hole in the wall, lifted the heavy plank and
+drew out a knitted sock tied with a stout string. From the toe she drew
+out Garron's fortune.
+
+"He shall have it--the _gosse_--" she said, "and the rest--is as much
+mine as it is his."
+
+She thrust the package in her breast.
+
+Half an hour later Julie stood, scarcely breathing, her ear to the
+locked door of his _gabion_.
+
+"A pretty lot you came from," she overheard the girl say, "that old cat
+would sooner see you go to jail." The rest of her words were half lost
+in the rush and suck of the tide slipping out from the _gabion's_ outer
+jacket of boards. The heavy chain clinked taut with the pull of the
+outgoing tide, then relaxed in the back rush of water.
+
+"Bah!" she heard him reply, "they are pigs, those peasants. I was a fool
+to have gone to them for help."
+
+"You had better have gone to the old man," taunted the girl, "as I told
+you at first."
+
+"He is made of the same miserly grizzle as she," he retorted hotly.
+Again the outrush of the tide drowned their words.
+
+Julie clenched her red fists and drew a long breath. A sudden frenzy
+seized her. Before she realized what she was doing, she had crawled in
+the mud on her hands and knees to the heavy picket. Here she waited
+until the backward rush again slackened the chain, then she half drew
+the iron pin that held the last link. Half drew it! Had the girl been
+alone, she told herself, she would have given her to the ebb tide.
+
+Julie rose to her feet and turned back across the marsh, unconscious
+that the last link was nearly free and that the jerk and pull of the
+outgoing tide was little by little freeing the pin from the link.
+
+She kept on her way, towards a hidden wood road that led down to the
+marsh at the far end of Pont du Sable and beyond.
+
+She was done with the locality forever. Garron's money was still in her
+breast.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the first glimmer of dawn the next morning, the short, solitary
+figure of a man prowled the beach. He was hatless and insane with rage.
+In one hand he gripped an empty sock. He would halt now and then and
+wave his long, ape-like arms--cursing the deep strip of sea water that
+prevented him from crossing to the hard desert of sand beyond--far out
+upon which lay an upturned _gabion_. Within this locked and stranded
+box lay two dead bodies. Crabs fought their way eagerly through the
+cracks of the water-sprung door, and over it, breasting the salt breeze,
+slowly circled a cormorant--curious and amazed at so strange a thing at
+low tide.
+
+      [Illustration: the upturned gabion]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+      [Illustration: game birds on the marsh]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWELVE
+
+MIDWINTER FLIGHTS
+
+
+One dines there much too well.
+
+This snug Restaurant des Rois stands back from the grand boulevard in a
+slit of a street so that its ancient windows peer out askance at the gay
+life streaming by the corner.
+
+The burgundy at "Les Rois" warms the soul, and the Chablis! Ah! where
+else in all Paris is there such Chablis? golden, sound and clear as
+topaz. Chablis, I hold, should be drank by some merry blonde whose heart
+is light; Burgundy by a brunette in a temper.
+
+The small cafe on the ground floor is painted white, relieved by a
+frieze of gilded garlands and topped by a ceiling frescoed with rosy
+nymphs romping in a smoked turquoise sky.
+
+Between five and seven o'clock these midwinter afternoons the cafe is
+filled with its _habitues_--distinguished old Frenchmen, who sip their
+absinthe leisurely enough to glance over the leading articles in the
+conservative _Temps_ or the slightly gayer _Figaro_. Upstairs, by means
+of a spiral stairway, is a labyrinth of narrow, low-ceiled corridors
+leading to half a dozen stuffy little _cabinets particuliers_, about
+whose faded lambrequins and green velveted chairs there still lurks the
+scent of perfumes once in vogue with the gallants, beaux and belles of
+the Second Empire.
+
+Alice de Breville, Tanrade, and myself, are dining to-night in one of
+these _intime_ little rooms. The third to the left down the corridor.
+
+_Sapristi!_ what a change in Tanrade. He is becoming a responsible
+person---he has even grown neat and punctual--he who used to pound at
+the door of my house abandoned by the marsh at Pont du Sable, an hour
+late for dinner, dressed in a fisherman's sea-going overalls of brown
+canvas, a pair of sabots and a hat that any passing vagabond might have
+discarded by the roadside. I could not help noticing carefully to-night
+his new suit of black broadcloth, with its standing collar, buttoned up
+under his genial chin. His black hair is neatly combed and his
+broad-brimmed hat that hangs over my own on the wall, is but three days
+old. Thus had this _bon garcon_ who had won the Prix de Rome been
+transformed---and Alice was responsible, I knew, for the change. Who
+would not change anything for so exquisite and dear a friend as Alice?
+She, too, was in black, without a jewel--a gown which her lithe body
+wore with all its sveltness--a gown that matched her dark eyes and hair,
+accentuating the clean-cut delicacy of her features and the ivory
+clearness of her olive skin. She was a very merry Alice to-night, for
+her long engagement at the Bouffes Parisiennes was at an end. And she
+had been making the best of her freedom by keeping Tanrade hard at work
+over the score of his new ballet. They are more in love with each other
+than ever--so much so that they insist on my dining with them, and so
+these little dinners of three at "Les Rois" have become almost nightly
+occurrences. It is often so with those in love to be generous to an old
+friend--even lovers have need of company.
+
+We were lingering over our coffee when the talk reverted to the new
+ballet.
+
+"It is done, _ma cherie_," declared Tanrade, in reply to an imperative
+inquiry from Alice. "Baviere shall have the whole of the second act
+to-morrow."
+
+"And the ballet in the third?" she asked sternly, lifting her brilliant
+eyes.
+
+"_Eh, voila!_" laughed that good fellow, as he drew forth from his
+pocket a thin roll of manuscript and spread it out before her, that she
+might see--but it was not discreet for me to continue, neither is it
+good form to embrace before the old _garcon de cafe_, who at that moment
+entered apologetically with the liqueurs--as for myself, I have long
+since ceased to count in such tender moments of reward, during which I
+am of no more consequence than a faithful poodle.
+
+Again the garcon entered, this time with smiling assurance, for he
+brought me a telegram forwarded from my studio by my concierge. I opened
+the despatch: the next instant I jumped to my feet.
+
+"Read!" I cried, poking the blue slip under Tanrade's nose, "it's from
+the cure."
+
+"Howling northeast gale"--Tanrade read aloud--"Duck and geese--come
+midnight train, bring two hundred fours, one hundred double zeros for
+ten bore."
+
+"_Vive le cure!_" I shouted, "the good old boy to let us know. A
+northeast gale at last--a howler," he says.
+
+"He is charming--the cure," breathed Alice, her breast
+heaving--"Charming!" she repeated in a voice full of suppressed emotion.
+
+Tanrade did not speak. He had let the despatch slip to the floor and sat
+staring at his glass.
+
+"You'll come, of course," I said with sudden apprehension, but he only
+shook his head. "What! you're not going?" I exclaimed in amazement.
+"We'll kill fifty ducks a night--it's the gale we've been waiting for."
+
+I saw the sullen gleam that had crept into Alice's eyes soften; she drew
+near him--she barely touched his arm:
+
+"Go, _mon cher_!" she said simply--"if you wish."
+
+He lifted his head with a grim smile, and I saw their eyes meet. I well
+knew what was passing in his mind--his promise to her to work--more than
+this, I knew he had not the heart to leave her during her well-earned
+rest.
+
+"_Ah! les hommes!_" Alice exclaimed, turning to me impetuously--"you are
+quite crazy, you hunters."
+
+I bowed in humble apology and again her dark eyes softened to
+tenderness.
+
+"_Non_--forgive me, _mon ami_," she went on, "you are sane enough until
+news comes of those wretched little ducks, then, _mon Dieu!_ there is no
+holding you. Everything else goes out of your head; you become as mad as
+children rushing to a fete. Is it not so?"
+
+Still Tanrade was silent. Now and then he gave a shrug of his big
+shoulders and toyed with his half empty glass of liqueur. _Sapristi!_
+it is not easy to decide between the woman you love and a northeast gale
+thrashing the marsh in front of my house abandoned. He, like myself,
+could already picture in his mind's eye duck after duck plunge out of
+the night among our live decoys. My ears, like his own, were already
+ringing with the roar of the guns from the _gabions_--I could not resist
+a last appeal.
+
+"Come," I insisted--"both of you--no--seriously--listen to me. There is
+plenty of dry wood in the garret; you shall have the _chambre d'amis_,
+dear friend, and this brute of a composer shall bunk in my room--we'll
+live, and shoot and be happy. Suzette will be overjoyed at your coming.
+Let me wire her to have breakfast ready for us?"
+
+Alice laughed softly: "You are quite crazy, my poor friend," she said,
+laying her white hand on my shoulder. "You will freeze down there in
+that stone house of yours. Oh, la! la!" she sighed knowingly--"the leaks
+for the wind--the cold bedrooms, the cold stone floors--B-r-r-h-h!"
+
+Tanrade straightened back in his chair: "No," said he, "it is
+impossible; Baviere can not wait. He must have his score. The rehearsals
+have been delayed long enough as it is--Go, _mon vieux_, and good luck
+to you!"
+
+Again the old garcon entered, this time with the timetable I had sent
+him for in a hurry.
+
+"_Voila_, monsieur!" he began excitedly, his thumbnail indicating the
+line--"the 12.18, as monsieur sees, is an express--monsieur will not
+have to change at Lisieux."
+
+"_Bon!_" I cried--"quick--a taxi-auto."
+
+"_Bien_, monsieur--a good hunt to monsieur," and he rushed out into the
+narrow corridor and down the spiral stairs while I hurried into my coat
+and hat.
+
+Tanrade gripped my hand:
+
+"Shoot straight!" he counselled with a smile. Alice gave me her cheek,
+which I reverently kissed and murmured my apologies for my insistence in
+her small ear. Then I swung open the door and made for the spiral
+stairs. At the bottom step I stopped short. I had completely forgotten I
+should not return until after New Year's, and I rushed back to wish
+them a _Bonne Annee_ in advance, but I closed the door of the stuffy
+little _cabinet particulier_ quicker than I opened it, for her arms were
+about the sturdy neck of a good comrade whose self-denial made me feel
+like the mad infant rushing to the fete.
+
+"_Bonne Annee, mes enfants!_" I called from the corridor, but they did
+not hear.
+
+Ten minutes later I reached my studio, dumped three hundred cartridges
+into a worn valise and caught the 12.18 with four minutes to spare.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Enfin!_ it is winter in earnest!
+
+The northeast gale gave, while it lasted, the best shooting the cure and
+I have ever had. Then the wind shifted to the southwest with a falling
+barometer, and the flights ceased. Again, for three days, the Norman
+coast has been thrashed by squalls of driving snow. The wild geese are
+honking in V-shaped lines to an inland refuge for the white sea is no
+longer tenable. Curlews cry hoarsely over the frozen fields. It is
+tough enough lying hidden in my sand pit on the open beach beyond the
+dunes, where I crack away at the ricketing flights of fat gray plover
+and beat myself to keep warm. Fuel is scarce and there is hardly a sou
+to be earned fishing in such cruel weather as this.
+
+The country back of my house abandoned by the marsh is now stripped to
+bare actualities--all things are reduced to their proper size. Houses,
+barns and the skeletons of leafless trees stand out, naked facts in the
+landscape. The orchards are soggy in mud and the once green feathery
+lane back of my house abandoned, is now a rough gash of frozen pools and
+rotten leaves.
+
+Birds twitter in the thin hedges.
+
+I would never have believed my wild garden, once so full of mystery--gay
+flowers, sunshine and droning bees, to be so modest in size. A few
+rectangles of bare, frozen ground, and a clinging vine trembling against
+the old wall, is all that remains, save the scraggly little fruit trees
+green with moss. Beyond, in a haze of chill sea mist, lie the
+woodlands, long undulating ribbons of gray twigs crouching under a
+leaden sky.
+
+In the cavernous cider press whose doors creak open within my courtyard
+Pere Bordier and a boy in eartabs, are busy making cider. If you stop
+and listen you can hear the cider trickling into the cask and Pere
+Bordier encouraging the patient horse who circles round and round a
+great stone trough in which revolve two juggernauts of wooden wheels.
+The place reeks with the ooze and drip of crushed apples. The giant
+screw of oak, the massive beams, seen dimly in the gloomy light that
+filters through a small barred window cut through the massive stone
+wall, gives the old pressoir the appearance of some feudal torture
+chamber. Blood ran once, and people shrieked in such places--as these.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+To-morrow begins the new year and every peasant girl's cheeks are
+scrubbed bright and her hair neatly dressed, for to-morrow all France
+embraces--so the cheeks are rosy in readiness.
+
+"_Tiens_, mademoiselle!" exclaims the butcher's boy clattering into my
+kitchen in his sabots.
+
+_Eh, voila!_ My good little maid-of-all-work, Suzette, has been kissed
+by the butcher's boy and a moment later by Pere Bordier, who has left
+the cider press for a steaming bowl of _cafe au lait_; and ten minutes
+later by the Mere Pequin who brings the milk, and then in turn by the
+postman--by her master, by the boy in eartabs and by every child in the
+village since daylight for they have entered my courtyard in droves to
+wish the household of my house abandoned a happy new year, and have gone
+away content with their little stomachs filled and two big sous in their
+pockets.
+
+And now an old fisherman enters my door. It is the Pere Varnet--he who
+goes out with his sheep dog to dig clams, since he is eighty-four and
+too old to go to sea.
+
+"_Ah, malheur!_" he sighs wearily, lifting his cap with a trembling hand
+as seamed and tough as his tarpaulin. "Ah, the bad luck," he repeats in
+a thin, husky voice. "I would not have deranged monsieur, but _bon
+Dieu_, I am hungry. I have had no bread since yesterday. It is a little
+beast this hunger, monsieur. There are no clams--I have searched from
+the great bank to Tocqueville."
+
+It is surprising how quick Suzette can heat the milk.
+
+The old man is now seated in her kitchen before a cold duck of the
+cure's killing and hot coffee--real coffee with a stiff drink of
+applejack poured into it, and there is bread and cheese besides. Like
+hungry men, he eats in silence and when he has eaten he tells me his dog
+is dead--that woolly sheep dog of his with a cast in one fishy green
+eye.
+
+"_Oui_, monsieur," confided the old man, "he is dead. He was all I had
+left. It is not gay, monsieur, at eighty-four to lose one's last
+friend--to have him poisoned."
+
+"Who poisoned him?" I inquired hotly--"was it Bonvin the butcher? They
+say it was he poisoned both of Madame Vinet's cats."
+
+"_Eh, ben!_" he returned, and I saw the tears well up into his watery
+blue eyes--"one should not accuse one's neighbours, but they say it was
+he, monsieur--they say it was in his garden that Hector found the bad
+stuff--there are some who have no heart, monsieur."
+
+"Bonvin!" I cried, "so it was that pig who poisoned him, eh? and you
+saved his little girl the time the _Belle Marie_ foundered."
+
+"_Oui_, monsieur--the time the _Belle Marie_ foundered. It is true I
+did--we did the best we could! Had it not been for the fog and the ebb
+tide I think we could have saved them all."
+
+He fell to eating again, cutting into the cheese discreetly--this fine
+old gentleman of the sea.
+
+It is a pity that some one has not poisoned Bonvin I thought. A short
+thick fellow, is Bonvin, with cheeks as red as raw chops and small eyes
+that glitter with cruelty. Bonvin, whose youngest child--a male, has the
+look and intelligence of a veal and whose mother weighs one hundred and
+five kilos--a fact which Bonvin is proud of since his first wife, who
+died, was under weight despite the fact that the Bonvins being in the
+business, eat meat twice daily. I have always believed the veal
+infant's hair is curled in suet. Its face grows purple after meals.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A rough old place is my village of vagabonds in winter, and I am glad
+Alice did not come. Poor Tanrade--how he would have enjoyed that
+northeast gale!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two weeks later there came to my house abandoned by the marsh such
+joyful news that my hand trembled as I realized it--news that made my
+heart beat quicker from sudden surprise and delight. As I read and
+reread four closely written pages from Tanrade and a corroborative
+postscript from Alice, leaving no doubt as to the truth.
+
+"Suzette! Suzette!" I called. "Come quick--_Eh! Suzette!_"
+
+I heard her trim feet running to me from the garden. The next instant
+she opened the door of my den and stood before me, her blue eyes and
+pretty mouth both open in wonder at being so hurriedly summoned.
+
+"What is the matter, monsieur?" she exclaimed panting, her fresh young
+cheeks all the rosier from her run.
+
+"Monsieur Tanrade and Madame de Breville are going to be married," I
+announced as calmly as I could.
+
+"_Helas!_" gasped Suzette.
+
+"_Et voila--et voila!_" I cried, throwing the letter back on the table,
+while I squared my back to the blazing fire of my den and waited for the
+little maid's astonishment to subside.
+
+Suzette did not speak.
+
+"It is true, nevertheless," I added with enthusiasm, "they are to be
+married in Pont du Sable. We shall have a fete such as there never was.
+Ah! you will have plenty of cooking to do, _mon enfant_. Run and find
+Monsieur le Cure--he must know at once."
+
+Suzette did not move--without a word she buried her face in her apron
+and burst into tears:
+
+"Oh, monsieur!" she sobbed. "Oh, monsieur! It is
+true--that--I--I--have--no luck!"
+
+I looked at her in astonishment.
+
+"_Eh, bien!_ my child," I returned--"and it is thus you take such happy
+news?"
+
+"_Ah, mon Dieu!_" sobbed the little maid--"it is--true--I--have no
+luck."
+
+"What is the matter Suzette--tell me?" I pleaded. Never had I seen her
+so brokenhearted, even on the day she smashed the mirror.
+
+I saw her sway toward me like the child she was.
+
+"There--there--_mais voyons!_" I exclaimed in a vain effort to stop her
+tears--"_mais voyons!_ Come, you must not cry like that." Little by
+little she ceased crying, until her sobbing gave way to brave little
+hiccoughs, then, at length, she opened her eyes.
+
+"Suzette," I whispered--the thought flashing through my mind, "is it
+possible that _you_ love Monsieur Tanrade?"
+
+I saw her strong little body tremble: "No, monsieur," she breathed, and
+the tears fell afresh.
+
+"Tell me the truth, Suzette."
+
+"I have told monsieur the--the--truth," she stammered bravely with a
+fresh effort to strangle her sobs.
+
+"You do not love Monsieur Tanrade, my child?"
+
+"No, monsieur--I--I--was a little fool to have cried. It was stronger
+than I--the news. The marriage is so gay, monsieur--it is so easy for
+some."
+
+"Ah--then you do love some one?"
+
+"_Oui_, monsieur--" and her eyes looked up into mine.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Gaston, monsieur--as always."
+
+"Gaston, eh! the little soldier I lodged during the manoeuvres--the
+little trombonist whom the general swore he would put in jail for
+missing his train. _Sapristi!_ I had forgotten him--and you wish to
+marry him, Suzette?"
+
+She nodded mutely in assent, then with a hopeless little sigh she added:
+"_Helas_--it is not easy--when one has nothing one must work hard and
+wait--_Ah, mon Dieu!_"
+
+"Sit down, my little one," I said. "I have something serious to think
+over." She did as I bade her, seating herself in silence before the
+fire. I have never regarded Suzette as a servant--she has always been to
+me more like a child whom I was responsible for. What would my house
+abandoned by the marsh have been without her cheeriness, and her
+devotion, I thought, and what would it be when she was gone? No other
+Suzette would ever be like her--and her cooking would vanish with the
+rest. _Diable!_ these little marriages play the devil with us at times.
+And yet, if any one deserved to be happy it was Suzette. I realized too,
+all that her going would mean to me, and moreover that her devotion to
+her master was such that if I should say "stay" she would have stayed on
+quite as if her own father had counselled her.
+
+As I turned toward her sitting humbly in the chair, I saw she was again
+struggling to keep back her tears. It was high time for me to speak.
+
+I seated myself beside her upon the arm of the chair and took her warm
+little hands in mine.
+
+"You shall marry your Gaston, Suzette," I said, "and you shall have
+enough to marry on even if I have to sell the big field and the cow that
+goes with it."
+
+She started, trembling violently, then gave a little gasp of joy.
+
+"Oh, monsieur! and it is true?" she cried eagerly.
+
+"Yes, my child--there shall be two weddings in Pont du Sable! Now run
+and tell Monsieur le Cure."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Monsieur le Cure ran too, when he heard the news--straight to my house
+abandoned, by the short cut back of the village.
+
+"_Eh bien! Eh bien!_" he exclaimed as he burst into my den, his keen
+eyes shining. "It is too good to be true--and not a word to us about it
+until now! _Ah, les rosses! Ah, les rosses!_" he repeated with a broad
+grin of delight as he eagerly read Tanrade's letter, telling him that
+the banns were published; that he was to marry them in the little gray
+church with the new bells and that but ten days remained before the
+wedding. He began pacing the floor, his hands clasped behind him--a
+habit he had when he was very happy.
+
+"And Suzette?" I asked, "has she told you?"
+
+"Yes," he returned with a nod. "She is a good child--she deserves to be
+happy." Then he stopped and inquired seriously--"What will you do
+without her?"
+
+"One must not be selfish," I replied with a helpless shrug. "Suzette has
+earned it--so has Tanrade. It was his unfinished opera that was in the
+way: Alice was clever."
+
+He crossed to where I stood and laid his hand on my shoulder, and though
+he did not open his lips I knew what was passing in his mind.
+
+"Charity to all," he said softly at length. "It is so good to make
+others happy! Courage, _mon petit_--the price we pay for love,
+devotion--friendship, is always a heavy one." Suddenly his
+face lighted up. "Have you any idea?" he exclaimed, "how much there is
+to do and how little time to do it in? Let us prepare!"
+
+And thus began the busiest week the house abandoned had ever known,
+beginning with the cure and I restocking the garret with dry wood while
+Suzette worked ferociously at house cleaning, and every detail of the
+wedding breakfast was planned and arranged for--no easy problem in my
+lost village in midwinter. If there was a good fish to be had out of the
+sea we knew we could rely on Marianne to get it. Even the old fisherman,
+Varnet, went off with fresh courage in search for clams and good Madame
+Vinet opened her heart and her wine cellar.
+
+It was the cure who knew well a certain dozen of rare burgundy that had
+lain snug beneath the stairs of Madame Vinet's small cafe--a vintage the
+good soul had come into possession of the first year of her own marriage
+and which she ceded to me for the ridiculously low price of twenty sous
+the bottle, precisely what it had cost her in her youth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is over, and I am alone by my fire.
+
+As I look back on to-day--their wedding day--it seems as if I had been
+living through some happy dream that has vanished only too quickly and
+out of which I recall dimly but half its incidents.
+
+That was a merry procession of old friends that marched to the ruddy
+mayor's where there was the civil marriage and some madeira, and so on
+to the little gray church where Monsieur le Cure was waiting--that musty
+old church in which the tall candles burned and Monsieur le Cure's voice
+sounded so grave and clear. And we sat together, the good old general
+and I, and in front of us were Alice's old friend Germaine, chic and
+pretty in her sables, and Blondel, who had left his unfinished editorial
+and driven hard to be present, and beside him in the worn pew sat the
+Marquis and Marquise de Clamard, and the rest of the worn pews were
+filled with fisherfolk and Marianne sat on my left, and old Pere Varnet
+with Suzette beyond him--and every one's eyes were upon Alice and
+Tanrade, for they were good to look upon. And it was over quickly, and I
+was glad of it, for the candle flames had begun to form halos before my
+eyes.
+
+And so we went on singing through the village amid the booming of
+shotguns in honour of the newly wed, to the house abandoned. And all the
+while the new bells that Alice had so generously regiven rang lustily
+from the gray belfry--rang clear--rang out after us, all the way back to
+the house abandoned and were still ringing when we sat down to our jolly
+breakfast.
+
+"Let them ring!" cried the cure. "I have two old salts of the sea taking
+turns at the rope," he confided in my ear. "Ring on!" he cried aloud, as
+we lifted our glasses to the bride--"Ring loud--that the good God may
+hear!"
+
+And how lovely the room looked, for the table was a mass of roses fresh
+from Paris, and the walls and ceiling were green with mistletoe and
+holly. Moreover, the old room was warm with the hearts of friends and
+the cheer from blazing logs that crackled merrily up the blackened
+throat of my chimney. And there were kisses with this feast that came
+from the heart; and sound red wine that went to it. And later, the
+courtyard was filled with villagers come to congratulate and to drink
+the health of the bride and groom.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They are gone.
+
+And the thrice-happy Suzette is dreaming of her own wedding to come, for
+it is long past midnight and I am alone with my wise old cat--"The
+Essence of Selfishness," and my good and faithful spaniel whom I call
+"Mr. Bear," for he looks like a young cinnamon, all save his ears. If
+poor de Savignac were alive he would hardly recognize the little spaniel
+puppy he gave me, he has grown so. He has crept into my arms, big as he
+is, awakening jealousy in "The Essence of Selfishness"--for she hates
+him--besides, we have taken her favourite chair. Poor Mr. Bear--who
+never troubles her----
+
+"And _you_--beast whom I love--another hiss out of you, another
+flattening of your ears close to your skull, and you go straight to bed.
+There will be no Suzette to put you there soon, and there is now no
+Alice, nor Tanrade to spoil you. They are gone, pussy kit."
+
+One o'clock--and the fire in embers.
+
+I rose and Mr. Bear followed me out into the garden. The land lay still
+and cold under millions of stars. High above my chimney came faintly the
+"Honk, honk," of a flock of geese.
+
+I closed my door, bolted the inner shutter, lighted my candle and
+motioned to Mr. Bear. The Essence of Selfishness was first on the creaky
+stairs. She paused half way up to let Mr. Bear pass, her ears again flat
+to her skull. Then I took them both to my room where they slept in
+opposite corners.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lost village by the tawny marsh. Lost village, indeed, to-night! in
+which were hearts I loved, good comrades and sound red wine--Hark! the
+rush of wings. I must be up at dawn. It will help me forget----Sleep
+well, Mr. Bear!
+
+
+THE END
+
+      [Illustration: village]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at the
+price you paid for this volume
+
+  ANNA THE ADVENTURESS. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+  ANN BOYD. By Will N. Harben.
+  AT THE MOORINGS. By Rosa N. Carey.
+  BY RIGHT OF PURCHASE. By Harold Bindloss.
+  CARLTON CASE, THE. By Ellery H. Clark.
+  CHASE OF THE GOLDEN PLATE. By Jacques Futrelle.
+  CASH INTRIGUE, THE. By George Randolph Chester.
+  DELAFIELD AFFAIR, THE. By Florence Finch Kelly.
+  DOMINANT DOLLAR, THE. By Will Lillibridge.
+  ELUSIVE PIMPERNEL, THE. By Baroness Orczy.
+  GANTON & CO. By Arthur J. Eddy.
+  GILBERT NEAL. By Will N. Harben.
+  GIRL AND THE BILL, THE. By Bannister Merwin.
+  GIRL FROM HIS TOWN, THE. By Marie Van Vorst.
+  GLASS HOUSE, THE. By Florence Morse Kingsley.
+  HIGHWAY OF FATE, THE. By Rosa N. Carey.
+  HOMESTEADERS, THE. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+  HUSBANDS OF EDITH, THE. George Barr McCutcheon.
+  INEZ. (Illustrated Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.
+  INTO THE PRIMITIVE. By Robert Ames Bennet.
+  JACK SPURLOCK, PRODIGAL. By Horace Lorimer.
+  JUDE THE OBSCURE. By Thomas Hardy.
+  KING SPRUCE. By Holman Day.
+  KINGSMEAD. By Bettina Von Hutten.
+  LADDER OF SWORDS, A. By Gilbert Parker.
+  LORIMER OF THE NORTHWEST. By Harold Bindloss.
+  LORRAINE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+  LOVES OF MISS ANNE, THE. By S. R. Crockett.
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller
+at 50 cents per volume.
+
+  SPIRIT OF THE BORDER, THE. By Zane Grey.
+  SPOILERS, THE. By Rex Beach.
+  SQUIRE PHIN. By Holman F. Day.
+  STOOPING LADY, THE. By Maurice Hewlett.
+  SUBJECTION OF ISABEL CARNABY. By Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler.
+  SUNSET TRAIL, THE. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+  SWORD OF THE OLD FRONTIER, A. By Randall Parrish.
+  TALES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By A. Conan Doyle.
+  THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S. By Harold Bell Wright.
+  THROWBACK, THE. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+  TRAIL OF THE SWORD, THE. By Gilbert Parker.
+  TREASURE OF HEAVEN, THE. By Marie Corelli.
+  TWO VANREVELS, THE. By Booth Tarkington.
+  UP FROM SLAVERY. By Booker T. Washington.
+  VASHTI. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+  VIPER OF MILAN, THE (original edition). By Marjorie Bowen.
+  VOICE OF THE PEOPLE, THE. By Ellen Glasgow.
+  WHEEL OF LIFE, THE. By Ellen Glasgow.
+  WHEN WILDERNESS WAS KING. By Randall Parrish.
+  WHERE THE TRAIL DIVIDES. By Will Lillibridge.
+  WOMAN IN GREY, A. By Mrs. C. N. Williamson.
+  WOMAN IN THE ALCOVE, THE. By Anna Katharine Green.
+  YOUNGER SET, THE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+  THE WEAVERS. By Gilbert Parker.
+  THE LITTLE BROWN JUG AT KILDARE. By Meredith Nicholson.
+  THE PRISONERS OF CHANCE. By Randall Parrish.
+  MY LADY OF CLEVE. By Percy J. Hartley.
+  LOADED DICE. By Ellery H. Clark.
+  GET RICH QUICK WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester.
+  THE ORPHAN. By Clarence Mulford.
+  A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE. By Stanley J. Weyman.
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller
+at 50 cents per volume.
+
+  THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS. By Harold Bell Wright.
+  JANE CABLE. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+  ABNER DANIEL. By Will N. Harben.
+  THE FAR HORIZON. By Lucas Malet.
+  THE HALO. By Bettina von Hutten.
+  JERRY JUNIOR. By Jean Webster.
+  THE POWERS AND MAXINE. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+  THE BALANCE OF POWER. By Arthur Goodrich.
+  ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN KETTLE. By Cutcliffe Hyne.
+  ADVENTURES OF GERARD. By A. Conan Doyle.
+  ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By A. Conan Doyle.
+  ARMS AND THE WOMAN. By Harold MacGrath.
+  ARTEMUS WARD'S WORKS (extra illustrated).
+  AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+  AWAKENING OF HELENA RICHIE. By Margaret Deland.
+  BATTLE GROUND, THE. By Ellen Glasgow.
+  BELLE OF BOWLING GREEN, THE. By Amelia E. Barr.
+  BEN BLAIR. By Will Lillibridge.
+  BEST MAN, THE. By Harold MacGrath.
+  BETH NORVELL. By Randall Parrish.
+  BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER. By Randall Parrish.
+  BOB, SON OF BATTLE. By Alfred Ollivant.
+  BRASS BOWL, THE. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+  BRETHREN, THE. By H. Rider Haggard.
+  BROKEN LANCE, THE. By Herbert Quick.
+  BY WIT OF WOMEN. By Arthur W. Marchmont.
+  CALL OF THE BLOOD, THE. By Robert Hitchens.
+  CAP'N ERI. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+  CARDIGAN. By Robert W. Chambers.
+  CAR OF DESTINY, THE. By C. N. and A. N. Williamson.
+  CASTING AWAY OF MRS. LECKS AND MRS. ALESHINE. By Frank R. Stockton.
+  CECILIA'S LOVERS. By Amelia E. Barr.
+
+
+Popular Copyright Books
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+  CIRCLE, THE. By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of
+    "The Masquerader," "The Gambler").
+  COLONIAL FREE LANCE, A. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+  CONQUEST OF CANAAN, THE. By Booth Tarkington.
+  COURIER OF FORTUNE, A. By Arthur W. Marchmont.
+  DARROW ENIGMA, THE. By Melvin Severy.
+  DELIVERANCE, THE. By Ellen Glasgow.
+  DIVINE FIRE, THE. By May Sinclair.
+  EMPIRE BUILDERS. By Francis Lynde.
+  EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD. By A. Conan Doyle.
+  FIGHTING CHANCE, THE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+  FOR A MAIDEN BRAVE. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+  FUGITIVE BLACKSMITH, THE. By Chas. D. Stewart.
+  GOD'S GOOD MAN. By Marie Corelli.
+  HEART'S HIGHWAY, THE. By Mary E. Wilkins.
+  HOLLADAY CASE, THE. By Burton Egbert Stevenson.
+  HURRICANE ISLAND. By H. B. Marriott Watson.
+  IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.
+  INDIFFERENCE OF JULIET, THE. By Grace S. Richmond.
+  INFELICE. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+  LADY BETTY ACROSS THE WATER. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
+  LADY OF THE MOUNT, THE. By Frederic S. Isham.
+  LANE THAT HAD NO TURNING, THE. By Gilbert Parker.
+  LANGFORD OF THE THREE BARS. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.
+  LAST TRAIL, THE. By Zane Grey.
+  LEAVENWORTH CASE, THE. By Anna Katharine Green.
+  LILAC SUNBONNET, THE. By S. R. Crockett.
+  LIN MCLEAN. By Owen Wister.
+  LONG NIGHT, THE. By Stanley J. Weyman.
+  MAID AT ARMS, THE. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
+possible, including obsolete and variant spellings. Obvious
+typographical errors in punctuation (misplaced quotes and the like) have
+been fixed. Corrections [in brackets] in the text are noted below:
+
+page 24: typo corrected
+
+    the courtyard, and with a wrenching growl Madame Alice de
+    Breville's[Breville's] automobile whined up to my door. The next
+
+page 201: swapped words fixed
+
+    To-night the general is an in[in an] uproar of good humour
+
+page 225: spurious quote removed
+
+    this country. ["]Francois!" he exclaimed, "You may bring in the
+    little dog--and, Francois!"
+
+page 272: typo corrected
+
+    business out at the county-seat? The Vicomtess[e] is furious. We
+    were to leave, for a little voyage
+
+page 276: quote added
+
+    "All of us to luncheon to-morrow at The Three Wolves!["] he cried,
+    flinging his hat on
+
+page 277: quote added
+
+    morning, if we are to reach The Three Wolves by noon.["] He
+    recovered his hat from the floor,
+
+page 343: typo corrected
+
+    smiling assurance, for be[he] brought me a telegram forwarded from
+    my studio by my concierge.
+
+page 350: spurious comma removed; typo corrected
+
+    gone away content with their little stomachs[,] filled and two big
+    sous in their pockets.
+
+    and ten minutes later by the Mere Pequin[Pequin] who brings the
+    milk, and then in turn
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Village of Vagabonds, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 26678.txt or 26678.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/6/7/26678/
+
+Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/26678.zip b/26678.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..270a9fc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/26678.zip
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..920a5eb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #26678 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26678)