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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf 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..aa6e78c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69180 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69180) diff --git a/old/69180-0.txt b/old/69180-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8dc9172..0000000 --- a/old/69180-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6373 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The cobbler of Nîmes, by Mary Imlay -Taylor - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The cobbler of Nîmes - -Author: Mary Imlay Taylor - -Release Date: October 18, 2022 [eBook #69180] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by - University of California libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COBBLER OF NÎMES *** - - - - - -THE COBBLER OF NÎMES - - - - -BY - -M. IMLAY TAYLOR - - On the Red Staircase. 12mo $1.25 - An Imperial Lover. 12mo 1.25 - A Yankee Volunteer. 12mo 1.25 - The House of the Wizard. 12mo 1.25 - The Cardinal’s Musketeer. 12mo 1.25 - The Cobbler of Nîmes. 12mo 1.25 - - - - - THE - COBBLER OF NÎMES - - BY - M. IMLAY TAYLOR - - [Illustration] - - CHICAGO - A. C. McCLURG & CO. - 1900 - - - - - COPYRIGHT - BY A. C. MCCLURG & CO. - A.D. 1900 - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON 7 - - II. THE SHOP OF TWO SHOES 20 - - III. MADEMOISELLE’S SLIPPERS 31 - - IV. ROSALINE 44 - - V. THE COBBLER’S GUEST 52 - - VI. A MILITARY SUITOR 64 - - VII. A STRING OF TROUT 75 - - VIII. BABET VISITS THE COBBLER 86 - - IX. CHARLOT BURNS A CANDLE 97 - - X. A DANGEROUS SUIT 106 - - XI. FRANÇOIS MAKES A PLEDGE 119 - - XII. THE FINGER OF FATE 130 - - XIII. THE BATTLE HYMN 140 - - XIV. “AND ALL FOR LOVE” 151 - - XV. THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU 164 - - XVI. A BRIEF DELAY 178 - - XVII. M. DE BAUDRI’S TERMS 189 - - XVIII. ROSALINE’S HUMBLE FRIENDS 203 - - XIX. “MORTIS PORTIS FRACTIS!” 213 - - XX. THE COBBLER’S FAITH 225 - - XXI. IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR 237 - - XXII. THE OLD WINDMILL 249 - - XXIII. THE COBBLER’S BARGAIN 260 - - XXIV. “O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?” 269 - - XXV. THE SHIP AT SEA 275 - - - - -The Cobbler of Nîmes - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON - - -It was the month of June, 1703, and about noontide on the last day -of the week. The fair in the market-place at Nîmes was therefore -at its height. A juggler was swallowing a sword in the midst of an -admiring circle. Mademoiselle Héloïse, the _danseuse_, was walking the -tight-rope near at hand, and the pick-pockets were plying their trade -profitably on the outskirts of the throng. There was a dancing bear, -and beyond him--a rival attraction--a monkey in scarlet breeches, -with a blouse or camisole over them. The little creature’s antics -were hailed with shouts of derisive laughter and cries of “Camisard!” -“Barbet!” “Huguenot!” the monkey’s little blouse being an unmistakable -caricature of the dress of the Camisards. It therefore behooved the -wise to laugh, and they did, and that loudly,--though many a heart -was in secret sympathy with the Huguenot rebels of the Cévennes; but -were they not in Nîmes? And the Intendant Bâville was there, and -the dragoons of King Louis XIV.; so it was that the monkey gathered -many a half-crown, and sous and deniers in profusion, in his little -cap, and carried them--chattering--to the showman. It was a motley -throng: broad, red-faced market-women, old crones with bearded lip -and toothless gums, little gamins of the market with prematurely aged -faces, countrymen who glanced askance at the monkey while they laughed, -pretty peasant girls who had sold their eggs and their poultry, and -come to spend their newly acquired riches in ribbons and trinkets, and -to have their fortunes told by the old gypsy in the yellow pavilion. -Some strolling musicians were playing a popular air, two drunken men -were fighting, and a busy tradesman was selling his wares near the -entrance of a tent that was manifestly the centre of attraction. It was -of white canvas and decorated with numerous images of the devil,--a -black figure with horns, hoofs, and tail, engaged in casting another -person into the flames; the whole being more startling than artistic. -At the door of this tent was a man mounted on a barrel, and dressed -fantastically in black, with a repetition of the devils and flames, -in red and yellow, around the edge of his long gown, which flapped -about a pair of thin legs, set squarely in the centre of two long, -schooner-shaped feet. This person, whose face was gross and dull rather -than malicious, kept calling his invitation and bowing low as each new -visitor dropped a half-crown into the box fastened on the front of the -barrel beneath his feet. - -“Messieurs et mesdames!” he cried, “only a half-crown to see the body -of a damned person!” - -He raised his voice almost to a scream, to be heard in the babel of -tongues; he clapped his hands to attract notice; he swayed to and fro -on his barrel. - -“Here is the body of a damned person!” he shouted. “_Dieu!_ what an -opportunity for the good of your soul! Too much, madame?” he said to -a fishwife who grumbled at the price, “too much! ’Tis a chance in a -thousand! The body came from the Tour de Constance! Madame will have -her money’s worth.” - -Madame went in, licking her lips like a wolf. The curtain of the tent -swung to behind her. A peasant lad followed her, hesitating too over -the half-crown, but then the spectacle was worth money. A soldier -followed, then a butcher, and two stupid-looking servant-girls, with -frightened faces, but still eager to see. Then there was a pause, and -the showman began to shout once more; he had need to, for the bear was -performing with unusual vivacity, and the _danseuse_ displayed her -pretty legs as she tripped on the rope. - -“Half a crown, messieurs et mesdames,” cried the man of the black robe; -“half a crown to see a dead and damned Huguenot!” - -“Too much, monsieur!” said a voice behind him. - -He started and looked back into the face of a little hunchbacked man -who had been watching him curiously. - -“You are not a good Catholic, M. le Bossu!” replied the showman, -mocking, for the hunchback wore a poor suit of brown and a frayed hat. - -“I am a good Catholic,” he replied calmly, “but your price is -high--’tis only a dead Huguenot.” - -“_Dame!_ but live ones are too plenty,” retorted the other, with -a loud laugh. “What are you to complain?” he added gayly,--“the -hunchback!--_le bossu_!” - -“_Le Bossu_--yes,” replied the hunchback, calmly; “that is what men -call me.” - -Again the showman mocked him, doffing his cap and grinning. - -“Your Excellency’s name?” he demanded. - -The hunchback took no notice of him; he had his hand in his wallet -feeling for a half-crown; he had determined to see the damned person. -But the other got his answer; a little gamin piped up on the edge of -the crowd, pointing his finger at the cripple. - -“’Tis only Charlot,” he said, “the shoemaker of the Rue St. Antoine.” - -The showman laughed again. - -“Enter, Maître Savetier!” he said derisively, “and see the dead -Huguenot. _Dame!_ but I believe he is one himself,” he added, under his -breath, peering sharply at the pale face of le Bossu as he entered the -tent. - -But a minute later the hunchback was forgotten and the showman was -screaming again. - -“This way, mesdames! This way, to see a damned person! Half a crown! -half a crown!” - -Within, the tent was lighted solely by a small aperture at the top, and -the effect was rather of a murky twilight than of broad noonday. It -was draped with cheap red cloth, and in the centre--directly under the -opening in the top--was a rough bier constructed of bare boards, and on -this lay a body only partially covered with a piece of coarse serge; -images of the devil--cut out of black stuff--were sewed on the corners -of this wretched pall. The visitors, the sight-seers, who had paid -their half-crowns to enjoy this gruesome spectacle, moved slowly past -it, making the circuit of the tent and finally passing out at the door -by which they had entered. When the hunchback came in, he paused long -enough to become accustomed to the swift transition from sunlight to -shadow, and then he too proceeded to join the circle around the corpse. -There were many comments made, the sight affected the spectators -differently. The two servant-girls clung together, whispering -hysterical confidences; the peasant youth stared open-mouthed, fright -showing plainly in his eyes; the soldier looked down with brutal -indifference; the old fishwife showed satisfaction, her wolf mouth was -slightly opened by a grin that displayed three long yellow teeth--all -she possessed; a red handkerchief was tied around her head and from -below it hung her long gray locks. Her short petticoat and bodice -revealed a withered, lean form, and her fingers were like talons. She -feasted her eyes on the dead face, and then she squinted across the -body at the man who stood like a statue opposite. He was young, with a -sad, dark countenance and was poorly, even shabbily dressed. But it was -none of these things that the old crone noted, it was the expression -of grief and horror that seemed frozen on his features. He did not -see her, he did not see the others passing by him--with more than one -curious glance; he seemed like a man in a trance, deaf, blind, dumb, -but yet gazing fixedly at the inanimate figure on the bier. It was the -corpse of a young woman, who had been handsome; the features were still -so, and her long black hair fell about her shoulders like a mourning -pall. - -“_Dieu!_” said the fishwife, licking her lips, “what a white throat she -had; ’twould have been a pity to hang her. See, there is a mark there -on her arm where ’twas bound! Is she not pretty, Bossu?” - -The hunchback had approached the corpse, and at this appeal he nodded -his head. - -“_Diable!_” ejaculated the soldier turning on the old crone, “’tis -heresy to call a damned person pretty, Mère Tigrane.” - -Mère Tigrane leered at him with horrible intelligence. - -“No one is to think a heretic pretty but the dragoons, eh?” she said -grinning. “_Dame!_ we know what you think, monsieur.” - -The man laughed brutally, and she edged up to him, whispering in his -ear, her narrow eyes on the silent visitor opposite. The dragoon looked -over too at her words, and broke out with an oath. - -“You are a witch, Mère Tigrane,” he said uneasily; “let me alone!” - -Again she whispered, but laughed this time, showing her yellow teeth. - -Meanwhile the showman had been fortunate and a dozen new-comers crowded -into the tent, pressing the others aside. This afforded an opportunity -for the hunchback to approach the young man, who had remained by the -bier as if chained to the ground. Le Bossu touched his arm, at first -lightly, but finding himself unheeded, he jerked the other’s sleeve. -The stranger started and stared at him as if he had just awakened from -sleep. - -“A word with you, friend,” said the hunchback, softly. - -The man hesitated, started, paused and cast another long look at the -dead face, and then followed the cripple through the group at the door, -out into the sunshine and uproar of the market-place. They were not -unobserved by Mère Tigrane, but she made no effort to follow them; she -was watching the new arrivals as they approached the corpse. As she saw -their faces of curiosity and horror, she laughed. - -“_Mère de Dieu!_” she said, “’tis worth a half-crown after all--and I -paid Adolphe in false coin too, _pauvre garçon_!” - -In the market-place, the stranger had halted with the hunchbacked -cobbler. - -“What do you want?” he demanded of le Bossu; “I do not know you.” - -“You were in danger,” replied the hunchback, quietly, “and you are in -trouble; the _bon Dieu_ knows that I also am in trouble.” - -The little man’s tone, his deformity, his kind eyes appealed to the -other. - -“We should be friends,” he said grimly. “_Dieu!_ I am indeed in -trouble.” - -The hunchback made a sign to him to be cautious, the crowd hemmed them -in, the monkey chattered, the bear danced, Mademoiselle Héloïse was -singing a savory song from Paris. The whole square was white with the -sunshine; above, the sky was deeply blue. - -“Follow me, friend,” said le Bossu again, and commenced to thread his -way through the crowd. - -His new acquaintance hesitated a moment, cast a backward glance at the -tent he had just quitted, and then quietly followed the hunchback. They -had to cross the market-place, and the little cobbler seemed to be -widely known. Goodwives greeted him, young girls giggled heartlessly -before the misshapen figure passed, men nodded indifferently, the -maliciously disposed children calling out “_le Bossu!_” at him as he -went. A heartless rabble out for a gala day; what pity had they for -the hunchbacked shoemaker of the St. Antoine? The man who followed -him escaped notice; he was straight-limbed and erect, and his shabby -dress disguised him as completely as any masquerade. When they had left -the crowd behind, they walked together, but still silently, along the -thoroughfare. - -The groups of pleasure-seekers grew more rare as they advanced, -and they were almost alone when they passed the Garden of the -Récollets--the Franciscan Convent--and entered the Rue St. Antoine. -Here it was that the stranger roused himself and addressed his -companion. - -“Where are we going?” he asked sharply. - -“To my shop,” replied le Bossu; “’tis but ten yards ahead now. Have no -fear,” he added kindly; “the _bon Dieu_ made me in such shape that my -heart is ever with the sorrowful.” - -“I do not understand you,” said the other. “I do not know your -name--you do not ask mine--why do you seek me out?” - -“My name is Charlot,” returned the cripple, simply. “I make shoes, and -they call me by more than one name. My rich patrons say Charlot, my -poor ones call me _le Savetier_, others mock me as the hunchback--_le -Bossu_! It does not matter. As for your name, I will know it when you -please, monsieur.” - -They had come to an arched gateway between two houses, and the cobbler -entered, followed by the other man. They stood in a court, and on -three sides of it were the faces of three houses; it was a veritable -_cul-de-sac_. A small square of sunshine marked the centre of the -opening, and in this a solitary weed had bloomed, springing up between -the crevices in the stone pavement. To the left was an arched door -with three steps leading to it, and over it hung a sign with two shoes -painted upon it. The hunchback pointed at this. - -“Behold my shop,” he said, “the sign of the Two Shoes.” - -He took a key out of his wallet, and ascending the steps, opened the -door and invited his new acquaintance to enter. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE SHOP OF TWO SHOES - - -The two, le Bossu and his guest, entered a small room fitted up as -a shop. The window was open and across the unused fireplace were -suspended half a dozen shoes of various sizes. The cobbler’s bench -was strewn with tools, and scraps of leather lay on the floor. On one -side of the room hung a hide prepared for use; opposite was a colored -picture of St. Elizabeth, with her arms full of roses, the patron saint -of the poor. There were two wooden chairs, the cobbler’s stool, and a -box of _sabots_, nothing more. A door opened into the kitchen, where a -narrow flight of stairs--like a ladder--ascended to the second story. -On the kitchen hearth the _pot-au-feu_ was simmering, the savory odor -filling the room, and on the table was a loaf of black bread and some -garlic. - -The hunchback asked his guest to be seated and then sat down himself, -looking attentively but kindly at the new arrival. The stranger had -a strong face, although he was still a young man. His complexion -was a clear olive, and his dark eyes were gloomy and even stern. He -wore no periwig, his natural hair curling slightly. In his turn, he -scrutinized the cripple, and never was there a greater contrast. Le -Bossu was small, and the hump on his back made him stoop; as often -occurs in such cases, the upper part of his body and his head were out -of proportion with his small and shrunken limbs. His arms were long and -powerful, however, his hands well shaped and strong, though brown and -callous from labor, and they were skilful hands, able to earn a living -despite the feeble legs and back. His face was pale and drawn from much -physical suffering, but his eyes were beautiful, large, brown, and full -of expression. They redeemed the cripple’s whole aspect, as though the -soul--looking out of its windows--made its own appeal. It was his eye -that won upon his new acquaintance. - -“You said you wished to speak to me,” he remarked abruptly. “What is -it?” - -“I will tell you the truth, friend,” le Bossu replied calmly, “you -were showing too much emotion yonder; you were observed by the -dragoon and Mère Tigrane. She is a dangerous person; men call her the -she-wolf--_la Louve_.” - -“Too much emotion!” repeated the other. “_Dieu!_ you seem an honest -man--shall I tell you who that dead woman was?” he asked recklessly. -“Are you a Catholic?” - -“I am,” replied the cobbler, quietly; “’tis best to tell me nothing.” - -His visitor stared at him. - -“Why did you try to protect me, then?” he asked. “I am a desperate man -and unknown to you--I have no money to reward kindness.” - -“Nor to pay for a lodging,” remarked the hunchback. - -The other thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out half a crown, -looking at it with a grim smile. - -“My worldly goods,” he said. - -“I thought so,” rejoined the cobbler, dryly, “and you paid the other -half-crown to see the dead Huguenot woman.” - -An expression of pain passed over the face opposite. - -“I would have paid more to be sure that it was--” He broke off, -covering his face with his hands. “Oh, _mon Dieu!_” he exclaimed -brokenly. - -The hunchback was silent for a few moments, his arms folded and his -eyes on the floor. - -“You must leave Nîmes,” he said at last; “you will betray yourself -here. Meanwhile, there is a room overhead; if you wish you can stay -there, free of rent, until you go.” - -“Again, why do you do this?” asked the stranger. - -The cobbler indicated his hump with a gesture. - -“The _bon Dieu_ made me so,” he said simply; “yet I am a scorn in the -market-place, a miserable cripple. I swore to the saints that I would -help the miserable.” - -“You will take a risk,” remarked his companion,--“I am François -d’Aguesseau, a Huguenot--” - -“Hush!” The cobbler held up his hand. “I do not wish to know, M. -d’Aguesseau. If you will take the upper room, ’tis yours.” - -“I will take it while I can pay for it, at least,” said d’Aguesseau, -“and I thank you.” - -The hunchback rose, leading the way across the kitchen to the stairs. -He walked slowly, and occasionally dragged one foot, but he ascended -the steps with some agility, followed by his guest. There was a -trap-door at the top, which he opened before they could step on to the -floor above. D’Aguesseau knew that he was taking a great risk, that -this might be a snare laid for those of the Religion, but he was, at -the moment, a desperate and reckless man, and he cared little. He had -entered Nîmes that morning, almost without money, he had just had his -worst fears confirmed, and he cared little now for life or death. - -They entered a room above the kitchen, where the cripple slept, and -this opened into another small room over the shop. Both were clean, -though poor and bare. The hunchback stopped before a shrine in his own -chamber, and lighting a taper, set it before the Virgin. - -“What is that?” asked d’Aguesseau with a strange glance from the image -to the devotee. - -“A prayer,” replied le Bossu; “when I see danger I always offer a -prayer to our Lady.” - -The Huguenot smiled contemptuously, but said no more, following his -host into the front room. - -“It is yours,” said the hunchback. “You are weary; lie down until the -_pot-au-feu_ is ready, and we will sup together.” - -“I have been in many places,” said d’Aguesseau, “and seen many -people--but never one like you before.” - -Le Bossu smiled. “Yet--save for the hump--I am as others,” he said -quietly. “I hear some one crossing the court,” he added; “if any one -enters the shop, ’tis best for you to be quiet up here. There are some -who need not know I have a guest.” - -“I trust I shall not imperil your safety by any carelessness,” -d’Aguesseau replied earnestly, casting a kindly glance at the drawn -face. - -“I must go down,” said the cobbler. “Rest here awhile; I will call you -to supper.” - -His guest thanked him, still much perplexed by this unusual -friendliness, and stood watching the hunchback as he went back to the -trap-door, and did not withdraw his eyes until his host disappeared -through the opening in the floor. - -Le Bossu heard footsteps in the shop as he descended the stairs, and -leaning forward, saw Mère Tigrane in the kitchen door. Without a word -he went back and closed the trap, slipping the bolt; then he came down -to find la Louve in the kitchen. - -“Where are my _sabots_, Petit Bossu?” she demanded, her fierce little -eyes travelling around the room, and her lips very red. “I came for -them myself, you are so slow.” - -“You do not need them, Mère Tigrane,” the cobbler replied coolly, eying -her feet; “your _sabots_ are as good as new. I did not promise the -others until St. Bartholomew’s day.” - -She began to grumble, moving over to the fire and peering into the -_pot-au-feu_. - -“_Dame!_ but you live well, Charlot,” she remarked. “The sight of the -damned corpse gave me also an appetite. _Mère de Dieu!_ how white and -tender her flesh was! ’Twould have made a good pottage,” she added -laughing, her yellow teeth showing against her blood-red tongue like -the fangs of a she-wolf--verily, she merited her name. - -“You should arrange with Adolphe,” the hunchback said coolly. “I will -send you your _sabots_ on Wednesday.” - -“Eh! but I’ll come for them,” she replied with a wink; “I love to come -to visit you.” - -The cobbler grunted, moving slowly and painfully--as he did at -times--to the shop. But Mère Tigrane was reluctant to follow him,--she -was listening; she thought she heard a step overhead. - -“Charlot,” she said amiably, “how much do you get for your room above?” - -“I do not rent it,” he replied calmly, but he too was listening. - -Happily, the sounds above ceased. - -“I want it,” she remarked briskly; “I will pay a good price for it--for -my cousin. He is apprenticed to the blacksmith behind the Garden of the -Récollets. I will look at it now--at once--Petit Bossu.” - -The cobbler started, but controlled himself, though la Louve had her -foot on the ladder. She could be swift when she pleased, and she could -hobble. - -“It is locked to-day,” he said coolly, “and I shall not rent it now.” - -She grinned, with an evil look. - -“What have you got there, _mon chéri_?” she demanded, shaking her cane -at him with sinister pleasantry. - -“The devil,” replied le Bossu, sitting down to his bench and taking up -a shoe and beginning to stitch. - -“Or his wife--which?” la Louve asked jocosely. - -She was satisfied now that the trap was fastened, and it was not -always wise to offend the cobbler. She returned to the shop with a -dissatisfied face. - -“You have no hospitality,” she said, “you dog of a cobbler--I will come -on Wednesday again for the _sabots_.” - -“As you please,” he retorted indifferently, stitching away. - -“_Diable!_ you sew like a woman,” she remarked. “You might better be -cutting my shoes out of the good wood, that does not split, than -making those silly things of leather!” - -She lingered a little longer, but still he did not heed her, and at -last she hobbled off, picking up a basket of fish that she had left -on the doorstep. But she did not leave the court until she had looked -again and again at the upper window of the shop of Two Shoes. Yet she -saw nothing there but the white curtain fluttering in the breeze. - -An hour later she was back at the market-place, grinning and selling -her fish. She was in time too, to hear the uproar when Adolphe, the -showman, found the false coin in his box. She pushed to the fore, -her red handkerchief conspicuous in the group, and her sharp eyes -recognized the country boy who had followed her in to see the damned -person. The showman was belching forth oaths and threats like the fiery -furnace that belched flames on Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego. Mère -Tigrane’s eyes gleamed, and she pointed a long, bony finger at the poor -lad. - -“He put it in, Adolphe,” she shrieked, with an oath. “I saw him, the -vagabond!” - -Then she laughed and shook, clapping her hands to her sides. It was so -diverting--the uproar, and the protests of the peasant boy as he was -dragged off to jail with the rabble at his heels. - -“_Dame!_” she said, “’twas worth a good half-crown.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -MADEMOISELLE’S SLIPPERS - - -The first day of the week Petit Bossu set his house in order. He swept -the floor of the shop and put a cold dinner on the kitchen table that -his guest might eat in his absence. Then he hung up his apron and -blouse and, putting on his worn brown coat, slipped the leather strap -of his wallet over his shoulder. Last he took a pair of slippers out of -a cupboard and examined them with loving care and honest pride in their -workmanship. They were small, high-heeled, blue slippers, daintily -lined with white silk, and with rosettes of blue ribbon on the square -toes. The little cobbler stroked them tenderly, fastened one bow more -securely, and putting them carefully in his green bag, set out on his -journey. It was early, and few people lounged in the streets, and le -Bossu passed unheeded through the Rue St. Antoine, and went out at -last at the Porte de France. His pace was always slow, and to-day he -limped a little, but he kept cheerfully on, turning his face toward St. -Césaire. - -The highroad, white with dust, unrolled like a ribbon through a rugged -plain which lay southwest of Nîmes, stretching from the low range of -limestone mountains--the foothills of the Cévennes--on the north to -the salt marshes of the Mediterranean on the south. Rocks cropped up -on either side of the road; the country was wild and barren-looking, -although here and there were fig trees and vineyards, and farther west -was the fertile valley of the Vaunage. North of those limestone hills -lay the Cévennes, where since the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes the -poor Huguenot peasants were making their desperate fight for liberty -of conscience, against the might and the bigotry of Louis XIV. Their -leader, Laporte, was dead, but he had been succeeded by Jean Cavalier -and Roland, and revolt still raged in the caves and fastnesses of -the upper Cévennes, though Maréchal Montrevel and the Intendant of -Languedoc assured the king that they had wiped out the insurrection. -But the “Barbets” or “Camisards,” as they were called in derision, -though naming themselves “Enfants de Dieu,” kept up the fierce -death-struggle. Meanwhile the city of Nîmes was judiciously orthodox in -the presence of the dragoons, and many Huguenots went to mass rather -than suffer torture and death. Not every man is made for a martyr, -and there were terrors enough to awe the most heroic. The bodies of -Protestants who died in prison were exposed at fairs for a fee, or -dragged through the streets on hurdles to be burned, as a warning and -example to the misguided who still lived. - -Yet the busy life of every day went on; people bought and sold and -got gain; others married and made feasts; children were born, to be -snatched from Huguenot parents and baptized into the old religion; -some men died and were buried, others were cast from the galleys, at -Marseilles, into the sea. Such was life in Nîmes in those old days when -the sign of Two Shoes hung over the humble shop on the Rue St. Antoine. - -All this while le Bossu was trudging along the white road. He met many -country people now, bringing their vegetables and poultry to town, -and more than once he was saluted with the mocking cry, “Petit Bossu!” -He kept steadily on, however, taking no heed, his face pale from the -exertion, or the repression of his natural temper, which resented -insults and injury more keenly than most people of his condition, in an -age when the poor were as the beasts of the field to the upper classes. -Many thoughts were passing in the hunchback’s mind, but he dwelt -most upon the little blue slippers, and when he did, his brown eyes -softened, the drawn expression on his thin face relaxed. - -“The _bon Dieu_ bless her,” he murmured; “to her I am not the hunchback -or the cobbler--to her I am poor Charlot, her humble friend. _Ciel!_ I -would die for mademoiselle.” - -He toiled slowly on; passing the village of St. Césaire, he turned -sharply to the north, and walking through a grove of olive trees, came -in sight of a château that nestled on the crest of a little eminence -looking west toward the Vaunage. The sun shone on its white walls and -sloping roof, and sparkled on its window panes. The building was not -large, and it had a long, low wing at one side, the whole thrown -into sharp relief by its background of mulberry trees. The house was -partially closed, the wing showing green-shuttered windows, but the -main part was evidently occupied. On the southern side was the garden, -with high hedges of box, and toward this the cobbler turned his steps. -As he approached the wicket-gate, which was set in a lofty part of the -hedge, a dog began to bark furiously, and a black poodle dashed toward -him as he entered, but recognizing the visitor, she ceased barking and -greeted le Bossu with every demonstration of friendship. - -“Ah, Truffe,” said the cobbler, gently, “where is your mistress? I have -brought her the blue slippers at last.” - -As if she understood the question, the poodle turned and, wagging her -tail, led the way back between two rows of box toward the centre of -the garden. The dog and the cobbler came out into an open circle well -planted with rose bushes, that grew in wild profusion around the old -sundial. Here were white roses and pink, yellow and red, large and -small; and sweet and fragile they looked in the old garden, which was -but poorly kept despite the neat hedges. On a rustic seat in the midst -of the flowers sat a young girl, the sun shining on her fair hair, and -tingeing with brown the red and white of her complexion. Her face and -figure were charming, and she had almost the air of a child, dressed as -she was in white, her flaxen hair falling in two long braids over her -shoulders. - -The dog began to bark again at the sight of her, running to her and -back to the hunchback to announce the arrival of a friend. She looked -up with a bright smile as the cobbler lifted his cap and laid down the -green bag on the seat at her side. - -“Ah, Charlot, you have my slippers at last,” she exclaimed gayly, her -blue eyes full of kindness as she greeted her humble visitor. - -“I have them, Mademoiselle Rosaline,” he replied, his worn face -lighting up, “and they are almost worthy of the feet that will wear -them.” - -“Almost!” laughed mademoiselle, “you are a born courtier, Charlot--oh, -what dears!” - -Le Bossu had opened his bag and drawn out the blue slippers, holding -them up for her admiration. - -“They are pretty enough for a queen!” said Rosaline, taking them in her -hands and looking at them critically, with her head on one side. - -“Oh, Charlot, I shall never forgive you if they do not fit!” - -“They will fit like gloves, mademoiselle,” the shoemaker replied -complacently; “let me try them on for you.” - -But she was not yet done with her examination. - -“Where did you get the pattern for the rosettes?” she asked eagerly; -“truly, they are the prettiest I have seen.” - -“I copied them after a pair from Paris, mademoiselle,” he replied, as -pleased as she at his own success. “The heels too are just like those -worn at Versailles.” - -Mademoiselle Rosaline laughed softly. - -“I told you that you were a courtier, Charlot,” she said; “but they say -that the king wears high red heels, because he is not tall.” - -“But red heels would not please mademoiselle on blue shoes,” remarked -the hunchback, smiling. - -“But, Charlot,” said she, with a mischievous gleam of fun in her eyes, -“if we must all be of the king’s religion, must we not all also wear -his red heels?” - -The cobbler’s pale face grew sad again. - -“Alas, mademoiselle,” he said, with a sigh, “to you ’tis a jest, but -to some--” he shook his head gravely, looking down at the little blue -slippers in her lap. - -“What is the matter?” she asked quickly, the smile dying on her lips. -“Have they--been burning any one lately in Nîmes?” - -“Nay, mademoiselle,” he replied, kneeling on one knee in the gravel -path, and taking the slippers off her small feet to try on the new ones. - -“Come, come, Charlot--tell me,” persisted his patroness, scarcely -heeding the shoe that he was drawing on her right foot. “You are as -solemn as an owl this morning.” - -“I will tell mademoiselle,” he rejoined, reverently arranging the -rosette and smoothing the white silk stocking around the slender ankle. -“Then she must not blame me if she is horrified.” - -“She is often horrified,” interrupted Rosaline, with a soft little -laugh. “Go on, Charlot.” - -“There was a fair on Saturday--mademoiselle knows, for I saw Babet -there buying a silk handkerchief--” - -“Babet cannot stay away from a fair for her life,” mademoiselle -interpolated again. - -“’Twas a very fine fair,” continued le Bossu, putting on the other -slipper. “There were many attractions, and the jailer--Zénon--had the -body of a damned woman there; Adolphe, the showman, exhibited it for -half a crown. She, the dead woman, was, they say, one of the Huguenot -prisoners from the Tour de Constance, and she died on her way here; -she was to be examined by M. de Bâville for some reason,--what, I know -not,--but she died on the road, and Zénon made much by the exhibition.” - -Rosaline shuddered, the color fading from her cheeks. - -“And you went to see that horrible, wicked spectacle, Charlot?” she -demanded, in open disgust. - -“Mademoiselle knows I am a good Catholic,” replied the cobbler, meekly, -his eyes drooping before her look of disdain. “’Tis done for the good -of our souls--to show us the fate of these misguided people.” - -“_Mon Dieu!_” ejaculated mademoiselle, softly. - -Silence fell between them unbroken save by the soft sounds of summer, -the humming of the honey-bees, the murmur of the mulberry leaves -stirred by a light wind. Mademoiselle sat looking vacantly at her new -slippers, while the shoemaker still knelt on one knee watching her face -with that pathetic expression in his eyes that we see only in the look -of sufferers. - -“That was not all I saw at the fair,” he went on at last. “In the tent -there was also--” - -Rosaline made a gesture of disgust. - -“I will hear no more!” she cried indignantly. - -“This will not horrify you, mademoiselle,” he replied gently; “’tis -only the story of my new guest.” - -Her face relaxed, partly because she saw that she had hurt the -hunchback’s feelings. - -“Well, you may tell me,” she said reluctantly. - -“There was a young man there--in that tent-- Nay, mademoiselle, I -will say nothing more of it.” Le Bossu broke off, and then went on -carefully: “He was in great anguish, and I saw that he was watched by -a wicked old woman and one of the dragoons. I got him away to my house, -and there I found he had no money, except one piece, and was in great -trouble. He is--” the cobbler looked about keenly at the hedges, then -he lowered his voice, “a Huguenot.” - -“And what did you do with him?” Rosaline demanded eagerly. - -“He is in my upper room now,” replied the hunchback, “but I do not -know where he will go. He is not safe in Nîmes. I think he wants -to join the Barbets, but, of course, he tells me nothing. He is a -gentleman, mademoiselle, le Bossu knows, and very poor, like many of -the Huguenots, and proud. I know no more, except that he was reckless -enough to tell me his name.” - -“What is it?” she asked, all interest now, and more than ever forgetful -of her new slippers. - -“François d’Aguesseau,” he answered, in an undertone, with another -cautious glance behind him. - -“’Tis all very strange,” remarked mademoiselle, regarding the worn -face thoughtfully. “You are a good Catholic, Charlot, yet you imperil -yourself to shelter a Huguenot.” - -“The risk to me is very little,” he replied with great simplicity. “I -am too humble for M. de Bâville, and how could I give him up? He is -a kind young man, and in trouble; ah, mademoiselle, I also have had -troubles. May the _bon Dieu_ forgive me if I do wrong.” - -“I do not think you do wrong, Charlot,” she said gently, “and I am sure -the _bon Dieu_ forgives you; but M. de Bâville will not.” - -“I can die but once, mademoiselle,” he rejoined smiling. - -“Why is it you always smile at death?” she asked. - -“Ah, mademoiselle, you are not as I am,” he said quietly. “Death to -me--the gates of Paradise stand open--suffering over--poverty no more!” - -Tears gathered in Rosaline’s blue eyes. - -“Do you suffer much now?” she asked. - -“Nearly always,” he replied. - -Again there was a painful silence. Then le Bossu recollected the -slippers and rearranged the rosettes. - -“They fit like gloves, mademoiselle,” he said calmly, “do they give you -comfort?” - -The girl roused herself. - -“They are beautiful, Charlot,” she replied, standing up and pacing to -and fro before the bench, to try them. “They do not even feel like new -shoes. You are a magician.” - -She had lifted her white skirts to show the two little blue feet. Le -Bossu stood up too, admiring not only the slippers, but the beautiful -face and the golden hair, as fair as the sunshine. Even Truffe, the -poodle, danced about in open approval. Then they heard a sharp voice -from the direction of the house. - -“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle Rosaline!” it called; “the dinner grows -cold, and Madame de St. Cyr is waiting. _Viens donc!_” - -“Poor Babet!” laughed Rosaline; “I am her torment. Come to the house, -Charlot; she will have a dinner for you also, and grandmother will be -delighted with these beautiful slippers. Come, Truffe, you at least are -hungry, you little _gourmande_.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -ROSALINE - - -The sun shone cheerfully in the dining room of the château. The long -windows were open, and the soft June air came in, laden with the -sweetness of the garden. The room was of moderate size and furnished -with perfect simplicity, the polished dark wood floor being bare of -rugs. In the corner was a tall clock with a silver dial, wherein were -set the sun, moon, and stars, moving in unison with the hands. On the -sideboard were a few pieces of silver that dated back to the days of -Francis I. The table, covered with a fair linen cloth, was set for two, -a glass bowl full of pansies in the centre. Rosaline sat at one end -and at the other was her grandmother, Madame de St. Cyr. Between them -was Truffe, the poodle, sitting solemnly, with a napkin tied about her -neck, and turning her black face from one to the other in eager but -subdued anticipation. - -Madame de St. Cyr was an old gentlewoman with a handsome, delicate face -and the blue eyes of her granddaughter; her hair had the whiteness of -snow and there were lines of age and suffering about her mouth. She -wore a plain gown of black silk with a fall of lace at the throat, -and a lace cap on her head, and her thin white hands showed the blue -veins like whip-cords, but they were slender and graceful hands, with -tapering fingers and delicate wrists. - -The two women were alone; their only servant, the woman Babet, was in -the kitchen, setting out a dinner for the cobbler, and they could hear -the murmur of her voice as she lectured him. Madame de St. Cyr was -listening to Rosaline with a troubled face. - -“Ah, _grand’mère_, can we not help him?” the girl said earnestly. -“Think of his desolate situation.” - -“We are poor, Rosaline,” the old woman replied gently, “and helpless. -Moreover, if our religion were suspected the _bon Dieu_ only knows what -would happen. I am too old to hide away in the caves of the Cévennes! -Nor is it clear that it is my duty to help this fellow religionist if -by so doing I put you in danger. Ah, my child, for you it would be the -Tour de Constance--or worse!” - -Rosaline was feeding some morsels to Truffe with perfect composure. - -“I have never been afraid, _grand’mère_,” she said, “and I hate to live -a lie--but I know you are wise. Yet, oh, madame, think of this Huguenot -in Nîmes!” - -“What did Charlot call him?” her grandmother asked thoughtfully. “I -thought the name was familiar.” - -“He said ’twas François d’Aguesseau.” - -Madame de St. Cyr sat a moment silent, trying to gather her -recollections in shape, then her memory suddenly helped her. - -“Certainly I know,” she said; “they are from Dauphiné. He must be the -son of Sieur d’Aguesseau who was broken on the wheel at Montpellier in -’99. I remember now very well; he had a son and a daughter, and I did -hear that she was carried away to the Tour de Constance. It must have -been the same young woman whose corpse was exhibited on Saturday at -Nîmes. The song is true,” she added sadly: - - “‘Nos filles dans les monastères, - Nos prisonniers dans les cachots, - Nos martyrs dont le sang se répand à grands flots, - Nos confesseurs sur les galères, - Nos malades persécutés, - Nos mourants exposés à plus d’une furie, - Nos morts traînés à la voierie, - Te disent (ô Dieu!) nos calamités.’” - -“What a terrible story of sorrow it is!” remarked Rosaline; “and -to think that the corpse of a gentlewoman should be exposed in the -market-place! _Mon Dieu!_ I wonder if mine will be!” - -Madame put up her hand with a gesture of horror. - -“Hush!” she said, with white lips, “I cannot bear it.” - -Rosaline was contrite in a moment. - -“A thousand pardons, _grand’mère_,” she said sweetly; “you and I have -lived so long the life of concealed Huguenots, treading on the edge of -the volcano, that I grow careless in speech.” - -“But do you not see why I am so reluctant to take a risk?” her -grandmother asked. “Yet I know that this François d’Aguesseau is -related to me through his mother. I remember now who she was, and it -seems that I must do what I can.” - -Her granddaughter’s face lighted. “That is like you, madame,” she said -brightly; “we could not believe she would turn a deaf ear, could we, -Truffe? Ah, you _petite gourmande_, have I not given you enough?” - -The older woman watched the girl fondly as she fed and petted the dog. -This granddaughter was her last link with the world. Her son, the -Comte de St. Cyr had fallen fighting for the king the year before the -Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, when Rosaline was only three months -old. His wife survived him only two years, and the grandmother brought -up the child. They had never been rich, and the estate had suffered -under madame’s management, for she was always cheated and robbed, being -as unworldly as a woman could be who had seen something of the gay life -of her day. Her mind now was full of the guest of le Bossu, and she was -troubled. - -“I do not know what we can do, Rosaline,” she said in evident -perplexity; “he can come here, of course, and share our crust, if he -will, but a guest, and an unknown one, would excite comment; and there -is M. de Baudri.” - -Rosaline made a grimace. “I wish M. de Baudri would stay with his -dragoons in Nîmes,” she retorted. “But, _grand’mère_, there must be a -way. Let us think and think, until we find it.” - -“I cannot understand Charlot,” remarked Madame, meditatively. “We know -he is a devout Romanist, yet this is not the first time I have known -him to help the persecuted.” - -“He is the strangest little man in the world,” replied Rosaline, “and -I believe that his heart is as big as his poor misshapen body. He is -strangely refined too, for his condition in life. Poor little Charlot!” - -“Do you think he suspects our religion?” madame asked anxiously. - -“I do not know,” her granddaughter replied slowly, “but sometimes I -think so.” - -“_Mon Dieu!_” murmured the old woman, with a sigh; “the axe hangs over -our heads.” - -Rosaline looked up surprised. - -“Surely you do not fear Charlot?” she exclaimed. “Charlot!--why, he -would no more betray us than would old Babet.” - -“Babet is of the Religion; I trust no one else,” returned Madame de St. -Cyr, gravely. - -“I do,” replied Rosaline calmly; “I trust Charlot and Père Ambroise.” - -“In a way, we are in Père Ambroise’s hands,” her grandmother replied, -“and I do not believe he would betray you; he means instead to convert -you. As for me, I am too near death to trouble him.” - -“You do him an injustice,” retorted Rosaline; and then she smiled. “The -good father is naturally kind,--he cannot help it; he is so round and -sleek that he rolls through the world as easily as a ball. To strike -anything violently would make him bounce uncomfortably, so dear old -Père Ambroise rolls blandly on. I should weep indeed if the naughty -Camisards caught the kind soul and harmed him. I can see him, though, -trying to run away, with his round eyes starting and his fat cheeks -quivering like Babet’s moulds of jelly; and how short his breath -would come! _Mon père_ is my friend, so do not find fault with him, -_grand’mère_, even when he tries to convert me,--pretending all the -while that he believes me to be one of his flock!” - -Madame de St. Cyr laughed a little at the picture the girl drew of Père -Ambroise, but the laugh died in a sigh. She had all the misgivings, -the faint-heartedness of age, while Rosaline was as full of life and -spirits as a child, and as thoughtless of the dreadful fate that -might any day overtake her. She laughed now and told Truffe to beg -for a tart, and then scolded the poodle for eating sweets, all the -while making a picture of youthful loveliness that made the old room -bright with hope and joy. The finger of fate had not yet been laid on -Rosaline’s heart; she knew neither love nor fear. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE COBBLER’S GUEST - - -In the upper room of the shop of Two Shoes sat a desperate man. The -sun did not shine for François d’Aguesseau, and in the little court -off the Rue St. Antoine there were no honey-bees to fill the June air -with their cheerful hum, and no flowers except the blooming weed that -had sprung up between the flagstones. The good woman in the house -opposite had a couple of children, who were playing on her doorstep; -the sign of the Two Shoes squeaked a little as it swung in the gentle -breeze; these were the only sounds, though the busy life of Nîmes was -flowing through the thoroughfare at the mouth of the court. But the -Huguenot considered none of these things. He sat alone in the cobbler’s -house, his elbows leaning on the table before him, his head on his -hands. His body was in Nîmes, but his soul was away in Dauphiné. When -he closed his eyes he saw the valley of the Durance and the old town -of Embrun, where his childish feet had made so many journeys that he -might look up in wonder at the Tour Brune or rest in the parvis of the -Cathedral,--for his family had not always been Protestants. Then he -saw in his vision the château near Embrun where he was born, and the -terrace where he and his sister Hélène had played together,--the same -Hélène whose body lay exposed at the bazar on Saturday. She was only a -woman, but she had died for her religion and he had escaped; through no -fault of his, though, for he had been reckless enough of life in his -efforts to rescue her. He had tried to move heaven and earth for her, -and had not even obtained a hearing in Paris. Fate, the inexorable, -had closed every avenue of mercy; the young and innocent woman had -languished in the pestilential atmosphere of the Tour de Constance, -had died at last to be subjected to degradation after death by her -unmerciful jailers. It was over at last, her body had been publicly -burned, and there remained no longer any reason for him to linger in -Nîmes. His mother, dying of a broken heart over the fates of husband -and daughter, had made him solemnly promise to leave France forever. In -England he would find relatives, and there too his father had wisely -invested a small sum of money against the evil day when they might have -to quit Dauphiné. Therefore François was not quite penniless, though -the State had comfortably seized all his lands and his goods. But he -was, at the moment, without money or means of communicating with his -English friends. The Huguenots were closely watched, and it was no -light thing to escape. Moreover, he longed to strike a blow for his -religion, for liberty, before he left his native land. His promise -bound him, yet could he not linger long enough to serve the cause in -some way? A strange fascination held him in Nîmes where he had suffered -so much; not only did he lack money to pay his way to the sea-coast, -but he lacked also the desire to go. Languedoc had been fatal to two -of his family, yet he lingered, casting his eyes toward the Cévennes. -Ah, to strike a good blow to revenge his father and sister! He was no -saint, and in the upper room over the shop he ground his teeth in his -rage and despair. _Dieu!_ had he not seen the body of his innocent -sister exhibited for half a crown? the body of his father broken on the -wheel at Montpellier? He thought with grim satisfaction of the terrible -death of the archpriest Du Chayla at Pont-de-Montvert in ’72. The -enraged peasantry of the surrounding country, having endured terrible -persecutions at the hands of the archpriest, rose and attacking his -house in the night slew him with fifty-two blows. D’Aguesseau recalled -the circumstance now and thought of de Bâville the Intendant of -Languedoc, and of Montrevel, who was directing the army in its efforts -to crush the Camisards. But the young Huguenot did not come of the -blood of assassins. Doubtless, it would be a service to his religion to -strike down either of these men, and die for it afterwards, but he was -not made to creep upon a victim in the dark or lie in wait for him at -some unexpected moment. He could join Cavalier or Roland, but he could -not do the murderer’s work in Nîmes, though his soul was darkened by -his afflictions. - -He reflected, too, on the kindness of the shoemaker. He had recklessly -placed himself at the hunchback’s mercy, yet no advantage had -been taken of his admission. It was a crime to conceal or shelter -a Huguenot, yet the humble little cobbler showed no fear, but -courageously offered his friendship to a proscribed criminal,--for it -was criminal to be of any religion except the king’s. The charity of -the poor cripple softened d’Aguesseau’s heart; he suppressed his sneer -when he saw the taper burning in front of the Virgin. It was Romish -idolatry, he said to himself, but the idolater was also a Christian. -Nor would he be a charge upon the kind shoemaker; he had been now -two nights and nearly two days his guest, and he must relieve him of -such a burden. He could repay him if he ever reached England, but he -cared little whether he reached it or not. His enforced idleness, too, -wrought upon him; he was a strong, active man, and he could not endure -this sitting still and waiting an opportunity. He had been brought up -for the army, but no Huguenots were wanted in the army, and he had not -the instinct of a merchant. He intended to go to England or Holland -and enter the service of one State or the other. But first--while he -was waiting for the chance to quit the country--why not go into the -Cévennes? The temptation was upon him and he well-nigh forgot his -pledge to quit France. - -As the afternoon advanced, he left the little room over the shop and -descended into the kitchen. He did not eat the dinner that le Bossu -had set out for him; he had gone fasting too often of late to feel -the loss of regular meals, and he could not eat with relish food for -which he could not pay. He went out through the shop, creating no -little excitement in the neighboring houses as he crossed the court and -entered the Rue St. Antoine. He had been closely housed since Saturday, -and freedom was sweet. He stood a moment looking about at the groups -of chattering townspeople, and then he turned his steps toward the -Garden of the Récollets. It was nearly five o’clock and the shadows -were lengthening on the west side of the streets, and he heard the -church bells ringing as though there were peace and good-will on earth. -A rag-picker was at work at the mouth of an alley, some dirty children -were playing in the kennel, and a boy with a basket of figs on his -head was crying the price as he went along. It was an ordinary street -scene, busy and noisy, and d’Aguesseau brushed against a Jesuit priest -as he walked on past the Cathedral of St. Castor. - -Full of his own gloomy thoughts he went from street to street, and was -only aroused at last by finding himself nearly opposite a tavern--which -bore the sign of the Golden Cup--and in the midst of an uproar. The -doors and windows of the public house were crowded, and a rabble came -up the street with jeers and cries and laughter. D’Aguesseau drew back -into the shelter of a friendly doorway and waited the approach of the -_canaille_, and it was not long before the excitement was explained. -The street was not very wide, and the crowds seemed to choke it up -as they advanced; and a little ahead of the rabble came a chain of -prisoners driven along by the whips of their guards and pelted with -stones and offal by the spectators. The criminals were fastened in -pairs by short chains, each having a ring in the centre; then a long -heavy chain was passed through these rings, thus securing the pairs in -a long double column. There were fifty men thus fastened; twenty-five -on one side, and twenty-five on the other, and between, the cruel -iron chain; each man bearing a weight of a hundred and fifty pounds, -though they were of all ages and conditions, from the beardless boy -to the veteran bowed with years. It was a gang going to the galleys -at Marseilles, and there were thieves, murderers, and Huguenots; the -latter especially and fatally distinguished by red-jackets that they -might be the mark of every stone and every insult of the bystanders. -Like the exposure of the corpses of damned persons, the chain was a -moral lesson for the people, and especially for the recalcitrants. - -As the unfortunates approached, women leaned from the windows to cry -out at them, and even the children cast mud and stones. D’Aguesseau -looked on sternly; he did not know how soon he might be of that number, -and he counted forty-two red-jackets. The leaders came on stubbornly; -they were two strong men of middle age, and they bore the chain with -grim fortitude, but the two who followed were pitiful enough,--a -white-haired man, who limped painfully and was near the end of his -journey, and a boy with a red streak on each cheek, and the rasping -cough of a consumptive. The next pair were also red-jackets; both were -lame. The fourth couple walked better; the fifth had to be lashed -up by the guards. They were hailed with laughter and derision; the -convicts received sympathy, the Huguenots were pelted so vigorously -that the blood flowed from more than one wound, as the keepers whipped -them into the stable-yard of the Golden Cup, with the rabble at their -heels. The chain would be fastened in the stable, while the guards -took some refreshments, and here was an opportunity, therefore, for -the population to enjoy some innocent diversion. A Huguenot prisoner -and a dancing bear served much the same purpose. The street was nearly -cleared, so many crowded into the inn-yard, and the sounds of merriment -rose from within. - -D’Aguesseau was turning away in stern disgust, when he came face to -face with a hideous old woman, with a string of fish in her hand. She -had been gloating over the chain, and she was smiling amiably still, -running her very red tongue along the edge of her red lips. She -curtsied to François and held out her fish. - -“A bargain, monsieur,” she said pleasantly. “The sight of the -red-jackets makes Mère Tigrane feel good; the fish are cheap.” - -He shook his head, making an effort to pass her, but she persisted. - -“One fish, monsieur,” she protested,--“a mountain trout. _Dame!_ ’tis -fresh, caught this morning. The spectacle of these Huguenots has made -monsieur hungry.” - -“My good woman, I want neither fish nor fowl,” d’Aguesseau said -impatiently. - -“Monsieur makes a mistake,” she persisted with a grin; “these are good -fish, caught in the stream where they drowned a Camisard witch last -week!” - -With a suppressed exclamation he thrust her aside and walked on, her -shrill laughter in his ears, and the cries of the rabble in the yard -of the Golden Cup. As for Mère Tigrane, she stood a moment looking -longingly at the inn; could she forego the diversion? Finally, she -decided between two attractions, and quietly followed D’Aguesseau. - -The next day, when François descended from his room, he heard voices in -the shop, and saw that the cobbler was talking to two women. One was -tall, raw-boned, and grim-faced, with iron-gray hair and keen black -eyes, and wore the dress of an upper servant; the other was one of the -most charming young girls he had ever seen. He stood in the kitchen -undecided whether to retire or to quietly admire the picture, but -before he could determine upon his proper course le Bossu called him. - -“Come in, monsieur,” he said; “Mademoiselle de St. Cyr would speak to -you.” - -François responded with some surprise, and bowed in reply to Rosaline’s -curtsey. - -“M. d’Aguesseau,” she said, blushing a little under his glance, “my -_grand’mère_, Madame de St. Cyr desires to see you, being acquainted -with your family,--she knew your mother.” - -His eyes lighted with surprise and pleasure. - -“Madame de St. Cyr does me much honor to request a visit, -mademoiselle,” he replied; “I am at her service.” - -Rosaline and Babet had been into Nîmes to shop, and they were ready to -go. The young girl laid her hand on the older woman’s arm. - -“Then we will expect you to-morrow afternoon, monsieur,” she said -quietly; “my very good friend Charlot will direct you to St. Cyr, and -madame my _grand’mère_ will be pleased to make you welcome.” - -M. d’Aguesseau murmured his acknowledgments, while he aided Babet in -gathering up numerous small packages, and then the two women bade -Charlot _adieu_ and departed,--the drawn face of the cobbler clouding -as Rosaline left, as though the sun were obscured. The younger man -turned from the door with an exclamation. - -“Who is that angel?” he demanded eagerly. - -Le Bossu was stitching a shoe, his fingers shaking a little as he -thrust the needle into the stubborn leather. - -“Mademoiselle Rosaline de St. Cyr,” he replied quietly, his brown eyes -searching his guest with a new sternness. “You had better retire, -monsieur, there comes one of the Franciscan fathers for his shoes.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -A MILITARY SUITOR - - -A week had passed and the afternoon sun was shining red on the windows -of St. Cyr, while the shadows lengthened in the rambling old garden. -Rosaline was feeding her doves beside the sundial, Truffe sitting -on the rustic bench in disgrace because she had made a dash at the -feathered pets who came cooing to the young girl’s feet. It was a -picture that the sunshine touched with tender radiance; behind was the -dark green hedge, the blooming roses, and in the circle by the dial the -doves were flocking to take food from their mistress, whose fair face -was as softly colored as the roses, and her hair showing its loveliest -tints of gold. She talked to her pets while she fed them. - -“There, there! Marguerite, you have had more than your share; you are -as great a _gourmande_ as the naughty Truffe,” she said, shaking her -finger at one pretty bird. “_Viens donc_, my Condé! Here is a crumb -for you, sweetheart. As for Mademoiselle d’Hautefort, she shall have -nothing if she pushes so against Corneille. What a lot of little -rogues!” - -She had distributed all her crumbs and the doves were fluttering over -them, struggling for the largest fragments, and even alighting on her -wrists and hands in their eagerness. Truffe meanwhile sulked under her -punishment, her bright black eyes watching the birds with malicious -longing for vengeance. - -“You pretty creatures, how I love you!” said Rosaline, caressing the -two doves she had gathered into her arms. “Look at them, Truffe, and be -ashamed of your evil thoughts. Nay, do not deny them, madame; can I not -read your eyes? You would eat them, you wicked ogress, I see it! Ah, -there--you are raising your ears; what is it, _ma chérie_?” - -The dog not only pointed her ears, she began to bark, looking back -toward the house, but not daring to spring from the seat where she had -been ordered to remain until pardoned. - -“You hear a step on the gravel, Truffe, and so do I,” said Rosaline -listening. “Maybe it is the--new steward.” - -Truffe barked again and then uttered a low growl of displeasure as -a man turned the corner of the hedge and came into view. He was -moderately tall, with a handsome figure, which was arrayed in the -height of fashion; his coat of uncut velvet was laced with gold, and he -wore red heels on his high riding-boots, and his waistcoat and trousers -were of satin. His full, curled periwig was fresh from Paris like the -little hat, which was covered with feathers. He made Mademoiselle de -St. Cyr a wonderful bow and then looked at her in open admiration, his -blue eyes sparkling and his white teeth showing as he smiled. - -“A dove in the midst of doves,” he said with gallantry; “mademoiselle -is ever the fairest rose in her garden.” - -“M. de Baudri makes very pretty compliments,” Rosaline replied, her -smiling composure unruffled. “Truffe and I did not know he had honored -St. Cyr with a visit.” - -“I have been half an hour with madame,” he replied, “all the while -hoping to catch a glimpse of the loveliest face in the world.” - -“I would have sent Truffe, if I had known that you desired to see her, -monsieur,” Rosaline replied demurely. - -Monsieur bit his lip; he hated dogs and the provoking little witch knew -it. - -“Mademoiselle chooses to mock me,” he said, “and mockery comes -unnaturally from such lovely lips.” - -Rosaline laughed softly, still caressing a dove that nestled on her arm. - -“Tell me the news from Nîmes, monsieur,” she retorted lightly; “I love -a good story, you know.” - -“With all my heart, mademoiselle, if you will love the story teller,” -he replied. - -“I cannot judge until I have heard the story,” she retorted, -mischievous mirth in her blue eyes. - -“There is not so much to tell, mademoiselle,” he said; “these -wretches--the Camisards--still trouble us despite their defeat at -Vagnas. If we could get the head of the brigand Cavalier all would -be well. Has mademoiselle heard of M. le Maréchal’s dinner party? -’Tis amusing enough. M. Montrevel is in a bad humor; the villain -Cavalier has cut up two detachments, as you know,--one at Ners, and -one intended for Sommières. Thinking of these things and drinking -wine--after dinner--M. le Maréchal was angry, and at the moment came -tidings that these heretics were praying and howling in a mill on the -canal, outside of the Porte-des-Carmes. _Mère de Dieu!_ you should have -seen Montrevel. In a trice he had out a regiment of foot, and away he -went to the mill. The soldiers surrounded it and broke open the door, -and there sure enough were a lot of psalm-singers, about three hundred -old men, women, and children--heretics all! The soldiers went in--ah, -mademoiselle does not desire particulars; but truly it is slow work to -cut three hundred throats, especially in such confusion. M. le Maréchal -ordered them to fire the mill. _Mon Dieu!_ ’twas a scene! It burned -artistically, and the soldiers drove back all who tried to escape. One -rogue, M. Montrevel’s own servant too, saved a girl, but the maréchal -ordered them both hung at once. He was begged off by some sisters of -mercy, who unhappily came by just as they had the noose over his head, -but the heretic had been hung already. ’Tis called M. Montrevel’s -dinner party in Nîmes; and there is a saying that one must burn three -hundred heretics before M. le Maréchal has an appetite.” - -Rosaline stood stroking the dove, her eyes averted. - -“What a pleasant story, monsieur,” she remarked coldly, “to tell out -here in the warm sunshine! What do I want to know of those wretches -dying in the flames?” and she flashed a sudden look of scorn upon him -that brought a flush to his face. - -“Mademoiselle should have asked me to tell her the one story that I -know by heart,” he replied, his voice and manner changing in an instant -and full now of courtesy and propitiation. - -“And what is that, monsieur?” she asked shortly; the color was warm in -her cheeks and her blue eyes flashed dangerously. - -“The old story of my love for you, Rosaline,” he said eagerly, -advancing nearer the sundial, the flock of doves rising with a whir of -wings as he approached. - -She was unmoved, however, only averting her face. - -“I have spoken to madame,” he added, “and now I speak to you.” - -“And what did Madame de St. Cyr say?” she demanded, giving him a -questioning glance. - -“She told me that so great was her love for her only grandchild that -she would never force your choice, and therefore it remained with you -to decide for yourself.” He spoke with feeling, his bold blue eyes -on her lovely face. “I trust that you are not wholly indifferent to -me, Rosaline,” he continued, “and I can give you much. My beautiful -princess is shut up here in a ruinous old château. I will show you the -world--Paris--Versailles. No beauty of the court will compare with the -rose of Languedoc.” - -He paused, carried away by his own eloquence, for M. de Baudri was not -given to sentiment. Rosaline had listened with patience and composure, -and she answered him in a tone of quiet amusement. - -“Monsieur does me too much honor,” she said. “The château is indeed -ruinous, but ’tis my home, and, strange to say, I do not long for the -splendors of the court--or the flattery of the courtiers.” - -“But my love for you, mademoiselle!” he protested in surprise; surely -this child did not realize the honor he paid her. “I offer you my heart -and hand.” - -Rosaline curtsied with a smile on her lips. - -“I am honored, monsieur,” she replied; “but happily, as my grandmother -says, I have the decision of my fate. My marriage matters to no one -except to her and to me--and, monsieur, I do not desire to marry.” - -He stared at her in such frank surprise that she had to avert her face -to hide her amusement. - -“You are only a child,” he said bluntly; “you do not understand what my -name and fortune would mean to you. ’Tis not every day, mademoiselle, -that a man desires to marry a young girl without a _dot_!” - -She laughed softly, her blue eyes shining. - -“I appreciate your condescension, monsieur,” she said amiably; “but I -am too wise to thrust myself upon such rash generosity.” - -“This is folly, mademoiselle,” he exclaimed, his temper rising; “or is -it only a shamefaced reluctance to confess your true sentiments?” - -Rosaline had borne much, but at this she broke down, laughing as -merrily and recklessly as a child; laughing until tears stood in her -blue eyes. Meanwhile M. de Baudri stood in front of her swelling with -rage and mortification, his face crimson and his blue eyes fierce with -indignation. Still Rosaline laughed. - -“Mademoiselle is merry,” he said stiffly. - -“I beg your pardon, monsieur,” she replied, “a thousand times.” - -“You have not answered me,” he went on harshly. “Am I to understand -that my suit is refused?” - -“It is refused, monsieur,” she rejoined more calmly; “M. de Baudri -should seek a bride of more wealth and distinction.” - -He stood a moment silent, the picture of furious indignation, then he -looked over the hedge and saw a man crossing the space between the -house and the wing. M. de Baudri frowned. - -“Who is that, mademoiselle?” he demanded sharply, pointing toward the -stranger. - -Rosaline’s eyes followed his finger, and she colored, her composure -disturbed at last. - -“It is the new steward, monsieur,” she replied. - -“The new steward?” he repeated. “Madame de St. Cyr refused the man -I recommended because she said she could not afford to pay for a -successor to old Jacques.” - -“That is true,” she rejoined quietly; “we really could not afford it. -But since old Jacques died we have found ourselves in need of a man to -help us, therefore we have afforded it, monsieur.” - -“Humph!” ejaculated M. de Baudri, with another glance at the house. -“A strange sort of a steward. You had best be careful, mademoiselle, -and not employ disguised Camisards; the neighborhood swarms with the -vermin, and M. le Maréchal means to exterminate them all.” - -“I thank you for the caution, monsieur,” she replied, “but Père -Ambroise looks after us very well.” - -“Père Ambroise is a fat fool,” he retorted, giving a malicious kick at -Truffe, who had approached him. - -Rosaline saw it and her face flushed crimson. - -“Come here, Truffe,” she said, and then curtsied to her visitor. “We -bid you good afternoon, monsieur,” she continued coolly; “neither -Truffe nor I appreciate the honor you have offered us. We beg you to -confer it on a more worthy object, and we bid you good-evening.” - -And away she ran with her dog, leaving M. de Baudri standing in the -centre of the garden, the image of indignant disgust. The minx had -dared to refuse him, an officer of his Majesty’s dragoons, when she -should have been overwhelmed by his condescension; but clearly she was -not responsible,--a frivolous child! So he thought, and rode away, -cursing his folly and the infatuation of Madame de St. Cyr. But, for -all that, he did not mean to lose the Rose of Languedoc. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -A STRING OF TROUT - - -The next morning Rosaline was once more among her flowers. There was no -gardener at the château now, and it was the young girl’s custom to weed -and tend her own flower beds. She was bending over some velvet-faced -pansies, snipping off the dead blooms and plucking away the vagrant -grass when she heard some one speak behind her, and looking up saw -a hideous face peeping over the wicket-gate. Rosaline started and -stood erect, viewing her visitor with a suspicious glance. But Mère -Tigrane--for it was she--was accustomed to such receptions, and she -only grinned more widely as she dropped mademoiselle a curtsey. - -“Have some fish for dinner, my pretty!” she said in a coaxing tone, -holding up a string of trout; “mademoiselle can have the whole string -for ten sous!” - -Rosaline had no thought except one of horror and repulsion. The face -looking over the gate, with its wide red mouth and yellow fangs, -alarmed her; she did not even look at the fish. - -“I do not want anything, my good woman,” she replied, shaking her head. - -“But ’tis fast day, my darling,” remarked Mère Tigrane, with tender -solicitude; “all good Catholics eat fish to-day!” - -Rosaline’s lesson was well learned and she was on her guard in a moment. - -“We have enough fish,” she said coldly. - -“But these are so fresh, mademoiselle,” persisted la Louve. “But then -the young lady cannot judge; permit poor Mère Tigrane to show these -lovely trout to the cook.” - -“I tell you that we have more fish than we can eat,” said Rosaline, -haughtily; “you had better try elsewhere.” - -“But think of the bargain, my dear,” rejoined the old hag, in honeyed -tones; “now the cook will know--or the steward.” - -As she spoke Mère Tigrane gently opened the gate and entered, to -Rosaline’s disgust. She instinctively feared the fishwife and she did -not want her to approach the house. She moved, therefore, into the -centre of the path, blocking the way,--a very bad move, indeed, for it -roused all la Louve’s suspicions. - -“Now, my dearie, let me sell these pretty fish in the kitchen,” she -coaxed, approaching the girl and laying her bony hand on Rosaline’s -skirt. - -Mademoiselle drew back with horror, dragging her frock from the talon -fingers with a little involuntary cry of disgust. As she did so there -was a low growl from the hedge and Truffe, dashing suddenly upon the -scene, sprang on Mère Tigrane. The old woman shrieked, snatching a -knife from her bosom and striking at the dog. - -“Do not dare to hurt Truffe!” cried Rosaline, throwing herself on the -poodle and dragging her off before she had done more mischief than to -tear the other’s clothes. “Go!” she added imperiously, stamping her -foot; “you forced yourself in--and see, I cannot hold the dog! There is -a crown to buy you a new petticoat; take it and go!” - -Mère Tigrane gathered up the money greedily, and prudently retired -beyond the gate before she spoke. Her little eyes glittered with rage, -although she smiled broadly at the young girl. - -“Mademoiselle is generous,” she said; “she has more than paid for the -fish--will she not have them?” - -Rosaline was annoyed beyond endurance. She still held the dog and she -turned a withering glance on Mère Tigrane. - -“Go!” she said sharply, “at once. Let me hear no more of you or your -fish.” - -“_Mère de Dieu_, but my beauty can be angry!” remarked la Louve. -“Farewell, my pretty, and good luck to you and your dog.” - -The old woman made her another curtsey and still chuckling to herself -walked slowly away. - -Scarcely had she disappeared behind the tall hedge when there was a -footstep on the path behind Rosaline and François d’Aguesseau came in -sight. He was soberly dressed like a steward, and bare-headed, having -hurried from the house at the sound of Mère Tigrane’s outcry. He found -Rosaline still holding the dog, her face flushed with anger and her -eyes fastened on the opening in the hedge where her unpleasant visitor -had disappeared. - -“I heard a noise, mademoiselle,” he said, “and thought something had -alarmed you.” - -“And something did,” replied Rosaline, with a shudder; “the most -dreadful old woman has been here trying to force her way into the -house.” - -D’Aguesseau smiled; old women did not terrify him, and he set -mademoiselle’s excitement down to her nerves. - -“What sort of an old woman?” he asked pleasantly; “you look as if you -had seen a witch, mademoiselle.” - -“And so I have,” retorted the girl; “a witch with a string of fish.” - -He started; he too had unpleasant associations with an apparition with -a basket of fish. He remembered the terrible tent at the fair, and the -encounter opposite the Sign of the Golden Cup. - -“Which way did she go?” he asked, and as Rosaline pointed, he went -to the gate, and looked in both directions but saw nothing. “She has -vanished,” he said reassuringly. “I trust that she did not annoy you, -mademoiselle.” - -“She was teasing me to buy her fish, and finally pushed into the -garden,” Rosaline replied, “and then she caught hold of my skirt in -her eagerness to arrest my attention. I was foolish, I know, but, I -couldn’t help it, I cried out--such a horror came over me! Then Truffe -sprang on her, and she drew a knife on my dog! I saved Truffe and -ordered her away, but I know she was fearfully angry, and--and I fear -her; I can’t tell why, but I fear her!” - -“Put her from your thoughts, mademoiselle,” he said soothingly; “’tis -not in the power of such a wretched creature to hurt you.” - -“I do not know,” she replied, still excited; “we are concealing so -much, and she wanted to get to the house. I was afraid she would see--” -she broke off, her face flushing. - -“See me,” finished d’Aguesseau quietly. “Mademoiselle, I pray that you -will not let my presence add to your anxieties. I fear I have indeed -exposed this house to peril by accepting Madame de St. Cyr’s beautiful -friendship. If I believed so, I would quit it at once. My lot would -indeed be a miserable one if I should bring misfortune to the roof that -shelters me.” - -He spoke gloomily, standing with folded arms and bent head, his eyes on -the ground. Rosaline loosened her hold on Truffe, who wriggled herself -free and fled away along the hedge barking angrily. Neither of them -heeded the poodle, however, for their thoughts were of more serious -matters. - -“Have no fear, monsieur,” Rosaline said; “our peril could scarcely -be increased. We are all members of a proscribed religion, and it is -natural that we should all suffer together. It has been a pleasure to -my grandmother to be able to have you as her guest. We have been so -situated that we could do nothing for our fellow-religionists, and it -is much to her to do even so little for you.” - -“So much,” he corrected gravely. “I was friendless and homeless, when -madame asked me to stay here, and I wish from my heart that I could be -of real service to you, instead of merely assuming a steward’s place as -a temporary disguise.” - -He paused an instant, watching the young girl’s downcast face intently, -and then he spoke again, with yet more earnestness. - -“I have been urging Madame de St. Cyr to leave this neighborhood,” he -said,--“to go to England. No one is safe here, and I cannot hope much -from this insurrection, when I think of the mighty force that the king -can hurl against these poor peasants.” - -Rosaline raised her face, a look of inspiration on her delicate -features. - -“Ah, monsieur,” she said, “you forget that the _bon Dieu_ is with us! -Surely we must win, when the Captain of our Salvation leads us.” - -He looked at her with admiration in his eyes. How beautiful she was! - -“That is true, mademoiselle,” he replied, “but it may not be His will -that we should conquer upon earth. The battle must be waged, and death -and destruction follow it. I cannot bear to think of you and madame -here in this château, in the very heart of it; for, doubtless, Cavalier -will assault Nîmes at last.” - -“Madame de St. Cyr cannot go to England,” the girl said quietly; “she -is too old for the flight. We must face it.” - -“Then, mademoiselle, I will remain with you here,” he declared. - -She gave him a startled glance, coloring slightly. - -“You promised your mother to go to England,” she reminded him; “and -your single sword could never defend us.” - -“And my presence draws danger--you would add, mademoiselle,” he said -quietly; “that is true, but I shall not remain in this house, I shall -go to the Cévennes, and there I can still watch over you a little. I -shall indeed go to England, but not now.” - -He spoke with such resolution that she attempted no reply. There was a -pause and again Truffe barked viciously at the other end of the hedge, -and a glint of red showed through a break in the thicket, but neither -of the two friends noticed it. At last the girl broke the silence. - -“I suppose the end will come some time,” she said dreamily. “The old -château will be consumed by the flames that M. de Baudri’s troops will -kindle, the garden will be a desolate place, and Languedoc will know -us no more. I have lain awake at night thinking of it, monsieur, and -yet I am not afraid. I do not know why, but I have never been really -afraid of the day when this concealment must end. But oh, I do pray -that my grandmother may escape! I think of these things, and then I -come out and see God’s sun shining, and hear my doves coo, and it seems -impossible that the world is so cruel. Is it indeed so, monsieur? Is my -life here at St. Cyr a dream of peace amid the fierce world? Can it be -that this too, that I have always known, will end?” - -His face was sad and stern, and he looked at her with sorrowful eyes. - -“Mademoiselle,” he replied, “I pray that it may never end. But once -I too had such a dream. I was a little lad at my mother’s knee in -Dauphiné. The sun shone there too, and the birds sang, and every-day -life went on. I had a father whom I reverenced, who taught me and -guided me, a sister whom I loved, and we were rich.” He paused and -then added, “I am almost a beggar now--but for madame’s loan which my -father’s prudent investments in England will enable me to repay. I have -neither father nor mother nor sister. The château is a blackened ruin, -the lands are tilled by strangers. _Mon Dieu!_ my dream ended as I -pray yours may not!” - -Rosaline’s face was full of sympathy, tears gathered in her eyes, she -held out her hand with a gesture of commiseration. - -“Monsieur, pardon me for speaking of it,” she said, a quiver in her -voice; “your sister--oh, believe me, I grieve with you for so terrible -an affliction. God knows what my fate may be!” - -He took her hand in both his and kissed it. - -“Mademoiselle,” he said gravely, “while I live I will surely defend you -from that awful calamity. There is no one to require my service--’tis -yours, mademoiselle, and my gratitude and devotion. Would that I had -more to devote to your protection!” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -BABET VISITS THE COBBLER - - -The little hunchback, Charlot, sat patiently at his cobbler’s bench -making a pair of shoes. The sun was not shining in his window; it shone -on the house across the court, and there was only a reflected glare -to brighten the shop at the sign of Two Shoes. His door was open, and -from where he sat he could see the two children opposite, playing on -the threshold of their home. They were not handsome children, and were -clad in patched and faded garments, yet the shoemaker looked over -at them often as he plied his needle. He heard the voice of their -mother singing as she did her work; he saw the father come home for -his dinner, the two little ones greeting him with noisy affection. A -humble picture of family life, scarcely worth recording, yet every -day le Bossu watched it with interest and a dull pain. His hearth was -desolate, but not so desolate as his heart. Charlot cut a strip of -fine kid and stitched it, but his eyes dwelt sadly on the house across -the court. He went in and out his own door daily, but no one ever -greeted him; no loving voice spoke kind words of sympathy when his -trouble was upon him; no friendly hand performed the little every-day -services for him. There was silence always,--silence and loneliness. -The hunchback thought of it and of his life. He could remember no great -blessings or joys in it. His parents were humble, and he was the one -misshapen child in a large family. From his birth he had been unwelcome -in the world. A neglected infant, he fell from the bed to the floor, -and from that time began to grow crooked and sickly. His mother’s death -robbed him of his only friend, and he struggled through painful years -of neglect and suffering to manhood--but what a manhood! he said to -himself; not even his own brethren cared for him. The brothers and -sisters went out into the world, and Charlot would have been left in -miserable poverty but for a kind cobbler who taught him his trade, and -thus enabled the cripple to earn his own living. - -That meagre story of pain and sorrow was Charlot’s history, and now -he stitched away patiently on his shoes and made no complaint. No one -thought of him as a man endowed with all a man’s feelings and passions. -The little hunchbacked shoemaker of St. Antoine was not disliked by -his neighbors; he was welcome to gather up the crumbs of joy that fell -from the happier man’s table, to look on at feasts and weddings; he was -even wanted at funerals--for he had a strangely touching way of showing -his sympathy; but _Dieu!_ he was a thing apart, _le bossu_, a little -deformity. No one thought of the soul caged within that wretched shape, -and looking out on all it desired of the fulness of life, hungering for -a crumb of joy, and debarred forever and ever. - -“Ah, _mon Dieu!_” Charlot said sometimes, “why didst thou give me the -soul of a man, and a body that is only a mark for pity or scorn?” - -A question that could be answered only when the long and painful -journey should be over and the poor, misshapen body laid to rest. Who -can say in what beautiful form such a spirit may be clad when the River -of Death is crossed? - -All these thoughts were in the shoemaker’s mind as he turned a little -shoe in his hand. It was of white satin and he was making a rosette of -pink ribbon, shaping it like a rose and fastening it on the toe. He -fondled his work and held it off at arm’s length, admiring it. Another -pair of shoes for Mademoiselle de St. Cyr, but this time they would -come as a surprise. Next Thursday was Rosaline’s birthday, and the -cobbler had been long fashioning these shoes as a present. He had never -dared offer her a gift before, but now he owed them so many kindnesses, -they had done so much to help him, that he felt he might offer this -humble return on mademoiselle’s birthday. That pair of little white -satin shoes stood for much joy in le Bossu’s dreary life; to plan them, -to make them, to buy the ribbon for the rosettes, had furnished him -with so many separate diversions. In the blankness of his existence -there was one sacred spot, the château of St. Cyr; in his sad days, the -figure of Rosaline stood before him like an angel. There was a great -gulf between these two, the beautiful girl and the humble cobbler, and -he knelt down on the farther side and worshipped her, as he would -worship a saint in heaven. And she knew it not. To her, he was little -Charlot, poor Charlot, and her voice softened when she spoke to him; -her manner was more kind too than to others; she could afford to be -goodness itself to the hunchbacked cobbler, and she never dreamed that -she held his life in the hollow of her hand. Great was the gulf indeed, -and she stood a long way off with the merciful sympathy of the angel -that she seemed to him to be. He understood it all well enough and -looked up to worship, happy to fashion a shoe that pleased her and to -see the light in her blue eyes when she thanked him. - -So it was that he sat stitching mademoiselle’s little shoe and looking -across at the children on his neighbor’s step; they had finished their -dinner now, and the father had gone back to his work. Le Bossu’s drawn -face was pale to-day, and there was pathos in his brown eyes. He waxed -his thread and drew it back and forth and once or twice he sighed. -There was no sound in his house but the ticking of his clock, but over -the way there were the voices of children, the goodwife’s song, the -clatter of dishes. Charlot had finished one slipper and put it away, -and was taking up the other when some one entered the court. His work -would be done in good season, the cobbler thought with satisfaction, -and he was cutting the pink ribbon when he looked up and saw Babet, -the cook and housekeeper at St. Cyr. Le Bossu tucked the slipper out -of sight and greeted his visitor. She entered with a quick, firm step, -bearing herself like a grenadier, and dusted the stool with the end of -her shawl before she sat down. - -“Well, Charlot,” she said, opening a bundle that she had brought, “here -are my boots, and the left one pinches me and the right is too large. I -tell you, man, that you never make two shoes alike.” - -The cobbler smiled. “Your feet are not alike; that is the trouble, -Babet,” he retorted; “the left one is larger than the right.” - -“Tush!” ejaculated the woman in disgust, “do you take me for a fool? -I’ve set my right foot forward all my life, little man, and yet you say -the left is larger.” - -“You have worn the flesh off your right, thrusting it forward, Babet,” -replied the cobbler; “’tis the way with some noses--they are ground -off, being thrust into other people’s business.” - -“Humph!” said Babet, “’tis not so with mine. Can you fix the shoe so I -can wear it?” - -The shoemaker knelt down and patiently tried on Babet’s boots, while -she found fault first with one and then with the other. It was evident -that she was in no very good humor. A different customer was this from -mademoiselle, and Charlot’s thoughts were not set on pleasing her. His -guest had left him to go to St. Cyr and had ostensibly become steward -there; but the hunchback was not deceived. He had long suspected that -the women of the château were of the new religion, and now he was -secretly convinced of it, and in d’Aguesseau he saw a grave danger -for them. Charlot was a sincere Romanist too, and his conscience was -troubled, but his heart was full of sympathy for misery; he had himself -been miserable all his life. In spite of Babet’s bickering, therefore, -he found an opportunity to broach the subject nearest his heart. - -“Does the new steward suit Madame de St. Cyr?” he asked, as he finally -took off the offending boots and put back the old ones on Babet’s large -feet. - -“The new steward indeed!” said she, with a sniff; “a precious -steward!--I have no use for fine gentlemen without money! What did you -send him to us for?” - -“I send him?” exclaimed the cobbler, in mild surprise. “Mademoiselle -asked him to come to see her grandmother.” - -Babet tossed her head. “’Twas all your fault,” she said emphatically. -“I’ve nothing to say against M. d’Aguesseau himself, but what need have -we for a steward? And what does he do at once, this fine gentleman?” - -Charlot had seldom seen his friend so out of humor before, and he -regarded her in amazement. - -“What has he done?” he inquired. - -“Fallen in love with Mademoiselle Rosaline,” retorted Babet, bluntly; -“and what use is there in that? I tell you, Charlot, I am jealous for -mademoiselle; I have no patience with these young fools--they all do -it, from M. de Baudri down.” - -The hunchback laid down the shoes, the pain in his patient eyes, and -the lines deepening around his mouth. - -“M. d’Aguesseau is a gentleman,” he said slowly. “I know who he is. -Does--does mademoiselle--find him pleasing?” - -This was too much for Babet; she drew a long breath and stared at the -offender with eyes of scorn. - -“Mademoiselle Rosaline!” she said; “Mademoiselle Rosaline pleased with -him! _Ciel!_ why, you fool, she must marry a duke or a prince. But what -is the use of having a young gentleman hopelessly in love with her and -willing to play at being steward to be near her?” - -Charlot sighed; he was resting his chin on his hand and looking -thoughtfully out into the court. - -“I am sorry,” he said, “if it annoys mademoiselle.” - -“Annoys her!” repeated the indignant woman. “If it did--but it doesn’t, -bless her innocent heart; she does not even suspect it yet. But I see -it plain enough. He’s a fine man too, and I might be sorry for him, -but what business has he at St. Cyr?” - -With this, Babet arose and adjusting her little white shawl on her -broad shoulders, she smoothed the folds of her black petticoat, and -giving Charlot some more arbitrary directions about her boots, stalked -out. She crossed the court and trudged away toward the gate of Nîmes -with a feeling of satisfaction. She had relieved her mind, and she -believed that she had disarmed the hunchback’s suspicions. Babet knew -that Charlot thought her a Huguenot, and she took many different ways -of deceiving him. She thought now that she had given a reason for M. -d’Aguesseau’s stay at St. Cyr. It was a truthful statement, but she -had made it to excuse the presence there of a stranger. No one knew of -her intentions; Babet always acted on her own impulses and she fancied -herself a wise woman. Her jealousy for mademoiselle was so genuine that -she did not have to feign her anger; no one was good enough for her -darling. - -She left the hunchback in a thoughtful mood. He did not immediately -resume his work; he sat staring out at the door, but he saw nothing. -A vision rose indeed before his mind of a tall, straight figure, a -handsome, strong face, the voice and manners of a station far above his -own in life. The little cobbler sighed painfully, his lips tightened, -he felt as if some one had thrust a dagger in his heart. - -He was still sitting there, staring into space, when a large figure -darkened his doorway and a stout man wearing the habit of a priest -entered his shop. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -CHARLOT BURNS A CANDLE - - -The priest’s stout figure seemed to fill Charlot’s little shop, and he -stood with his hands crossed behind his back looking down placidly at -the shoemaker. He had a round, rosy, face with a succession of double -chins and a nose like a turnip, but his eyes were kindly and he was -nearly always smiling. Père Ambroise was popular; hardly a parish -priest in Nîmes was more welcome as a visitor, and none were less -feared. Children ran after the amiable father, babies crowed for him, -invalids were glad to hear his cheery voice. He was not intended as -a persecutor or a martyr; he was round and the world was round, and -both revolved comfortably in their own orbits. Père Ambroise was lazy, -and, _Mère de Dieu_, these wretched Camisards were as fleet of foot -as mountain goats! The good priest preferred a good dinner and a soft -bed in Nîmes. It was a season of trouble for his brethren who were -outside of the protection of the garrison towns, and Père Ambroise was -sorry for them. Chayla had been slain at Pont-de-Montvert; the Curé of -Frugères shot in a rye field; the Curé of St. André de Lancèze thrown -from the highest window of his own belfry; others had suffered violent -deaths, and Père Ambroise felt that Nîmes was the safest spot for his -residence. He did not belong to the missionaries or the prophets, but -he raised his hand against no man, and more than one sufferer secretly -blessed the stout father as he ambled along the Esplanade, or stopped -to chat with the children. - -He wore his usual expression of placidity, a certain unctuous, well-fed -air,--the cheerfulness that comes from a full stomach and the digestion -of an ox. He looked down with mild compassion on the drawn face of -the hunchback. He pitied Charlot, but with all his worldly wisdom -he had not the least comprehension of him. The cobbler greeted him -respectfully, rising from his stool at his entrance. - -“Sit down--sit down,” said Père Ambroise, with good-humored remembrance -of the hunchback’s weariness. “I only came to pay for my shoes.” - -As he spoke he tried the back of a chair with his hand before trusting -his weight upon it. Being satisfied with its strength, he sat down with -a sigh of relief, and drawing out his purse slowly counted out the -money and laid it on Charlot’s bench. - -“How is the business, my son?” he asked, blandly; “you seem to be -always occupied.” - -“Yes,” replied the shoemaker; “thanks to the _bon Dieu_ I am well -occupied. All men must try to walk, and most men wear shoes.” - -“When they can afford them,” supplemented Père Ambroise. “You have a -better trade than some of your competitors. All goes well with you, -then?” - -“As well as usual, _mon père_,” the hunchback replied quietly, “I live -and I eat.” - -“That is more than some do in Languedoc,” rejoined the father, with his -usual placid philosophy, folding his fat hands on his portly front and -gazing mildly around the shop. “Is your room above rented?” he asked, -after a moment’s pause. - -Charlot looked up quickly, his face changing a little, and then he bent -over his work again. - -“It is empty,” he answered; “I found a lodger often troublesome.” - -“Yet you had one some weeks since,” remarked the priest calmly, “or I -have been misinformed.” - -Charlot stirred uneasily. “I rented it for three days only, _mon -père_,” he said. - -“Ah, yes--for three days,” repeated Père Ambroise, twirling his thumbs -and looking up at the ceiling; “and your lodger then became Madame de -St. Cyr’s steward. How was this, my son?” - -The shoemaker’s fingers were twitching the thread nervously. - -“It was an accident, Père Ambroise,” he said. “Madame de St. Cyr knew -his family and heard that he was here.” - -“She knew his family?” repeated the priest again, his twinkling eyes -travelling down from the ceiling to the drawn face before him. “From -what part of France did he come?” - -“From Dauphiné,” le Bossu retorted shortly. - -“Humph!” ejaculated Père Ambroise, taking up a shoe from the bench and -examining it critically. “From Dauphiné--and his name is--?” - -Charlot laid down his work and looked the good father in the eye. - -“You love the family at St Cyr, _mon père_?” he asked gravely. - -Père Ambroise nodded his head in assent, smiling a little all the while -and patting the shoe in his hands. - -“Then I pray you to ask me no more questions,” the hunchback said. - -“Ah!” ejaculated Père Ambroise, and there was much significance in his -tone. - -There was a long pause. Charlot took up his work, cutting away at -the sole of a shoe, and his visitor sat quite still, his fat person -spreading comfortably over the chair and settling into it, after the -fashion of soft, fleshy bodies. - -“You go often to St. Cyr,” he remarked at last; “do you know that M. -Montrevel is determined to make a clean sweep of these Camisards--of -all heretics, in fact; that he will cleanse Languedoc of this -corruption?” - -“’Tis the king’s will,” remarked le Bossu, with a sigh, “but there is -much suffering.” - -“‘If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off,’” Père Ambroise retorted -placidly; “heretics must suffer--fire here and hereafter.” - -As he spoke, he rose deliberately and replaced his purse in his pocket. - -“My son,” he said kindly, “take no more such lodgers--that is my -advice, and you know that I am your friend.” - -“I know it, _mon père_,” replied the shoemaker, respectfully -accompanying the priest to the door. - -The good father moved ponderously and at the threshold he paused a -moment to look about the court, waving his hand to the two children who -stood gaping at him. Then he bade Charlot farewell. - -“Peace be to you, my son,” he said benignly, and passed slowly out into -the Rue St. Antoine. - -When he was gone Charlot put away his work and went back to the kitchen -and set out his supper, some figs and black bread. He could not stitch, -he could not meditate, he was troubled. He did not fear Père Ambroise, -but he saw a cloud gathering over St. Cyr. He was a constant witness of -cruelties to the Protestants, so common then that they scarcely made a -ripple in the placid surface of every-day life. He saw the chain, the -stake, the corpses of damned persons, and these things troubled him as -they did not trouble other good Catholics. When the miserable appealed -to him, his heart was touched with sympathy; he never mocked, he never -refused a cup of water, as others did; he pitied because he too had -suffered the world’s scorn. He could not think of these hideous things -approaching Mademoiselle de St. Cyr; he would as soon have dreamed of -casting an angel into hell; yet he began now to fear that the finger of -Fate was moving slowly but surely in her direction. It sickened him; he -sat down to eat, but the bread was as a stone between his teeth. - -While he sat thus, looking at his frugal supper, he heard some one at -the door of the shop, and went out to find Mère Tigrane. She grinned -her hideous grin at him as he appeared. She had done a good business -that day and her hands were empty and she jingled some coin in her -pocket. - -“I have sold all my fish, Petit Bossu,” she said, “and I’ve been to the -château out there by St. Césaire. _Dame!_ but mademoiselle has a white -skin, whiter than the corpse we saw at the fair, and her cheeks are -pink--but she’s a fury, _mon chéri_.” - -Charlot frowned. “Is this all you have to say?” he asked sharply; “I am -closing my shop.” - -“Close it, my straight-back!” she replied, mocking him. “I stopped by -to tell you that your lodger was out at St. Cyr,” she added, bursting -into a hideous cackle of laughter at the sight of his angry face. - -“You are a fool for your pains!” he retorted and slammed the door in -her face. - -“So ho!” she said, pointing her bony finger at the door; “you are out -of temper, Petit Bossu, and I such a friend of yours too! The dog tears -my petticoat and the hunchback slams the door in my face. _Viens donc_, -Mère Tigrane; they treat you ill, but never mind, my rosebud, ’twill -all be well yet for the good old woman and her dear little fish!” - -And she took herself off, laughing and mumbling as she went. - -Meanwhile, within the house, le Bossu left his supper untouched, and -toiling up the ladder to his room, reverently lighted a taper before -the shrine of the Virgin. He fell on his knees before it, and remained -a long time, a deep shadow on his worn face, and his callous hands -clasped and raised in an attitude of supplication. - -At that moment the shadows were falling softly about the white walls of -St. Cyr, and Rosaline stood looking out of the window of her own room, -her face to the east, and singing softly, in all the joy of youth and -innocence. - -Ah, the contrast in the lives that touch each other so strangely in -this world of ours! - - - - -CHAPTER X - -A DANGEROUS SUIT - - -Madame de St. Cyr was leaning back in her chair, her white hands folded -in her lap, her eyes fixed in an absent gaze on the space outside -the sitting-room window. Opposite to her, leaning his elbow on the -mantelpiece was the elegant figure of M. de Baudri. He was watching the -old face before him, with indifferent eyes, a smile on his lips. She -was ill at ease; he was well satisfied. He was the first to break the -pause. - -“I think madame will acknowledge that I am willing to do all that is -liberal and kind,” he said suavely. - -“I do acknowledge it, monsieur,” she replied, in troubled tones, “but -the child--you know, M. de Baudri, that I have never treated Rosaline -as other girls are treated. She is accustomed to deciding for herself, -young as she is, and--she does not listen favorably to your suit.” - -He waved his hand airily. “The whim of a child, madame, the natural -coyness of a young maiden. I honor mademoiselle, for her hesitations, -but between us there need be no such conventionalities. I desire to -marry your granddaughter, and I flatter myself that you do not object, -madame.” - -He fixed his eyes on her haughtily as he spoke; there was a covert -threat in his tone, despite his affable manner. The old woman sighed. - -“’Tis hard for me to explain,” she said plaintively; “I can have no -objections to you personally, M. de Baudri, but I am averse to doing -anything to force Rosaline’s inclinations.” - -He smiled scornfully. “Madame does not expect me to believe in so -flimsy an excuse, surely?” he remarked with a frown. “I never heard -that the whims of a mere girl controlled arrangements of this kind. My -marriage with your granddaughter would benefit you in many ways. The de -Baudris confer an honor when they marry.” - -A red spot flamed in madame’s white cheeks; her situation had made a -coward of her, but there was a limit even to her endurance. - -“The St. Cyrs thank monsieur,” she said ironically, “but they also are -of noble blood. No man could confer an honor on the daughter of the -house; she will confer it, when she makes her choice. We are poor, M. -de Baudri, but we ask favors of no one.” - -He saw his error, and bowed low before the old dame, his hand on his -heart. - -“Mademoiselle is an angel,” he said; “if I did not recognize that, I -would not, a second time, sue for her hand. I also am proud, madame.” - -The old woman returned his bow, but was silent. She was hurt, angry, -alarmed. She began to fear those handsome, bold eyes, and the smooth -voice; after all, he was like a panther, ready to spring, and her -beautiful darling, the idol of her old age was the object of his -desire. But for that fearful danger, their concealed religion, she -could have faced him well enough, but he had a mighty weapon in his -hand, and she almost feared that he knew it. For herself, death would -be no great hardship, but for Rosaline--she shuddered, pressing her -handkerchief to her lips, and staring out of the window. Meanwhile M. -de Baudri watched her narrowly; he knew far less than she thought, -but he was fiercely in love with Rosaline, and such love as his was -as dangerous as hate. The girl’s indifference enraged him; he would -have her, and then--Mother of Heaven! he would teach her to scorn him, -indeed! He would break her will and humble her into his slave. Madame -de St. Cyr felt all this, vaguely, it is true, but still strongly -enough to make her recoil from him. What could she do? she thought, a -helpless old woman with all the world against her! Père Ambroise loved -the child, it was true, but might not Père Ambroise favor an orthodox -lover? M. de Baudri’s smooth voice broke in on her troubled thoughts, -and demanded her attention again. - -“You have advanced no reasonable objections to my suit, madame,” he -said affably; “I shall therefore regard it as accepted by you, and only -in abeyance on account of mademoiselle’s maidenly scruples.” - -“But I have not accepted it,” she protested, greatly troubled; “I -will not accept any offer for the child that--that does not give her -happiness. Why should I desire to part with the jewel of my old age? -You are naturally forgetful of my situation, monsieur; Rosaline’s -marriage would leave me desolate.” - -“Nay, madame,” he replied, not ungracefully, “you would but gain a son. -If this is your only scruple--is it not a selfish one?” - -Poor Madame de St. Cyr was fairly cornered. He saw it and laughed in -his sleeve. - -“You are very kind, M. de Baudri,” she faltered, “but after all it -rests where it did. Rosaline must decide.” - -He smiled. “Then, madame, you virtually acquiesce,” he said -blandly; “for I trust that I can win so young and amiable a girl as -mademoiselle--if you give me a fair opportunity.” - -She shook her head, smiling faintly. “You have had opportunity, M. de -Baudri,” she replied; “’tis not in my mind to influence her in any way. -She must choose for herself.” - -He was all smooth amiability now; he took his plumed hat from the table -and stood a moment longer on the hearth-rug, the picture of ease and -assurance,--his curled periwig, his lace cravat, his military coat, all -of the latest mode. - -“I will undertake to win mademoiselle’s consent,” he said. “Permit -me, however, to remark that your ideas on the matter are--to say the -least--unconventional. But no matter, ’twill be a little romance. There -is one thing, though, I would say, madame, and that is, I notice with -surprise that you keep that fellow as steward still. I spoke to you -before.” - -A faint flush rose on the old dame’s pale face and her eyes kindled. -She was not yet accustomed to dictation. - -“The man is useful to me,” she said shortly. “Monsieur forgets that he -is not yet one of my family.” - -De Baudri bit his lip, an ugly look in his blue eyes. - -“I beg madame’s pardon,” he said, “but she probably remembers the cause -of my protest; a grave one,--I believe the rogue may be a concealed -Camisard.” - -Madame de St. Cyr’s hands trembled, and she controlled herself with an -effort. - -“I think you are mistaken, M. de Baudri,” she protested; “he was well -recommended, and I have seen nothing to indicate--that he was other -than he claimed to be.” - -“You can see that he is no steward by profession, though, madame,” -retorted the officer, coolly, “and his presence may be dangerous at St. -Cyr.” - -“He has done his duty so far, monsieur,” she mustered courage to reply, -“and I have no pretext for his discharge.” - -De Baudri shrugged his shoulders. - -“Madame should not need a second warning,” he remarked, with much -suavity; “perhaps ’twould be well for me to investigate his antecedents -and thus relieve madame of farther embarrassments.” - -“I thank you, monsieur,” she said, with an effort to be calm, “I can -see to the matter myself. I will refer it to Père Ambroise. If any one -is anxious about our spiritual welfare, he should be.” - -“Doubtless, madame,” M. de Baudri replied pleasantly, “but Père -Ambroise is notoriously easy-tempered. I should advise you to be -careful. You cannot afford to harbor a heretic here; a word to M. de -Bâville--” He broke off, shrugging his shoulders. - -Madame stirred uneasily in her chair. Every word that he had uttered -had been a covert threat, and she knew well enough to what end it all -tended. He loved Rosaline and he meant to have her. “_Mon Dieu!_” -thought the old woman, “he would have the child even against her will! -Can he be wicked enough to try to intimidate her,--to force her into a -marriage?” - -She awoke from these reflections to find him making his adieux. - -“I have warned you, madame,” he said benignly. “Convey my devotion to -mademoiselle--my regret that she is absent from home at this hour. I -will soon present myself again; meanwhile, madame, rest assured of my -faithful friendship.” - -He bowed profoundly, his hand again on his heart, and retired, leaving -the poor old woman collapsed in her chair; nor did she breathe freely -until she heard his horse’s hoofs on the road to Nîmes. - -Meanwhile a very different scene had been enacted in the kitchen. -Babet was making a _ragoût_ over the fire; the steward leaned against -the window, posted there to watch for the visitor’s departure; -the hunchbacked cobbler was by the door, and in the centre of the -room stood mademoiselle herself, although she was supposed to be -out,--mademoiselle in flesh and blood, and a picture to look at in her -malicious triumph over her escape. She wore a white print frock, the -neck open enough to show her full, fair throat, and the half-sleeves -revealing her round, white arms. Her golden hair had half escaped from -its braids and rippled about her rosy, dimpled face, and her blue -eyes danced with merriment. It was her birthday, and M. de Baudri had -brought a suitable gift, an enamelled casket, but she held in her hands -two little white satin shoes with pink rosettes, and the shoemaker’s -drawn face was lighted with a reflection of her pleasure. - -“You are surely a magician, Charlot,” she said, admiring them for the -twentieth time. “I know these are enchanted slippers, and in them I -shall walk into the palace of my dreams, where there is no trouble, -and Babet and I do not have to conjure a dinner!” - -“Ah, mademoiselle, if I could but make such shoes!” exclaimed le Bossu, -with a smile; “the poor cobbler of St. Antoine would be made a marquis.” - -“’Tis better to give happiness than to be rich, Charlot,” she replied, -“and you have given me so much pleasure to-day that I can even endure -M. de Baudri’s visit in the parlor!” and she laughed gayly. - -“If he hears you laugh, mademoiselle, he will stay to dinner,” remarked -Babet grimly, looking over her shoulder as she stirred the stew. - -“You have found a way to make me as still as a mouse, Babet,” Rosaline -said. “Has he not gone yet, M. d’Aguesseau?” - -François shook his head with a smile. - -“As a suitor he has the patience of Jacob, mademoiselle,” he replied. - -Rosaline made a little grimace and blushed, turning away from him -with a gesture of impatience. The little hunchback, watching the two, -read her mood more truly than she read it herself, and his new-born -pleasure died out of his face. - -“I shall wear these shoes to-night, Charlot,” she hastened to say, her -back turned on the supposed steward. “They are fit for a ball, but I -never go to balls, so I will wear them on my birthday as the greatest -honor I can pay them.” - -“Mademoiselle makes me happy by wearing them at all,” Charlot replied -simply. - -D’Aguesseau was now looking intently out of the window. - -“M. de Baudri is mounting at the gate,” he announced. “Mademoiselle, -you are no longer in prison.” - -She would not look at him, but she beamed on the little cobbler. - -“I will run and show my present to _grand’mère_,” she said. - -Charlot followed her to the door. - -“Mademoiselle, a word with you,” he said in a low voice. - -She turned in surprise and then beckoned to him to follow her into the -entry. - -“What is it?” she asked, quickly, a little alarmed. - -“Mademoiselle,” he said, quietly, “do not be needlessly afraid, but I -would warn you against an old woman--a fishwife--” - -“_Ciel!_” exclaimed Rosaline; “you mean that terrible creature who came -here?” - -“Yes,” he replied, “and she was angry because of her torn petticoat, -I suppose. She is Mère Tigrane, a dangerous woman, a spying, -mischief-making demon of the market. And--well, mademoiselle, she saw -M. d’Aguesseau when I first saw him, she tracked him to my house, she -tracked him here. I fear it may mean mischief; if he goes away it will -be better for all.” - -Rosaline was very pale; all the joy died out of her face; she pressed -her hand involuntarily to her heart. - -“I thank you, Charlot,” she said quietly. “If--if you hear -anything--you will tell me?” - -“Assuredly, mademoiselle,” replied the cobbler earnestly, “and--” he -hesitated, and then went on firmly, “will you believe, mademoiselle, -that in all cases--at all times--I am your humble but faithful -servant?” - -She looked at him kindly; his devotion touched her. - -“Indeed, I have always believed it, Charlot,” she said heartily, and -held out her hand. - -The shoemaker took it with wonder. Her little soft hand in his! He -had never dreamed of it; he had touched her feet, but her hand! Poor -Charlot, he turned red to his temples and did not know what she said. -And Rosaline left him and went on to her grandmother without a thought -of her act of condescension. She was naturally gracious, and she did -not despise the poor as did other young women of her rank. But the -poor little shoemaker went back to Nîmes feeling that he had been -translated; had he not touched the white hand of an angel of mercy? - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -FRANÇOIS MAKES A PLEDGE - - -It was half an hour before moonrise and the night was supremely still. -The warm air of midsummer stirred not even a leaf on the trees. There -was no sound but the footsteps of three persons walking through a -mulberry grove at a short distance from the spot where the highroad -from Nîmes turned off to St. Hippolyte. Mademoiselle and Babet, -escorted by M. d’Aguesseau, were making their way slowly back to St. -Cyr. They had been--at the peril of their lives--to one of the night -meetings of the Church of the Desert and were returning; cautiously -avoiding observation all the while. Babet led them, her erect form -moving deliberately forward; she never made a misstep, never hesitated, -but held to her course in grim silence. She did not approve of their -guest’s attentions to mademoiselle. D’Aguesseau had Rosaline’s hand and -was guiding her, helping her over rough places, feeling the way where -neither of them could see. They talked together at intervals, in low -voices, and Babet’s ears moved, though she would have sworn that she -scorned to listen; but she was guarding her ewe-lamb, and in spite of -her convictions that mademoiselle must marry a prince, she began to be -afraid of this resolute, quiet man. - -They walked as rapidly as they could in the darkness, and leaving the -trees behind turned sharply to the right across an arid plain that -presented many rough and broken places, and where Rosaline required -d’Aguesseau’s helping hand and his cautious guidance. Then they -followed the dry bed of a stream, walking over stones and sand, always -avoiding the highroad, but making their way steadily toward St. Cyr. - -“It seems a long distance,” Rosaline said at last with a sigh. - -“Long and dangerous for you,” François answered gently; “I would that -we could have persuaded you to remain at home, mademoiselle.” - -“Surely you would not have robbed me of such a consolation?” she said -reproachfully. - -“Nay,” he replied, in a low voice, “you know that I would do anything -to serve you, but this was a terrible risk. MM. de Bâville and -Montrevel are both watchful; both suspect that these religious meetings -are held in the neighborhood, and at any time the troops may descend -upon that old quarry; and there would be no quarter.” - -“Yet we must serve God, monsieur,” Rosaline said, “even as Daniel -did--in peril of the lion’s den; and as the prophet of Israel was -delivered, surely the remnant of this people will be also delivered. -Truly, monsieur, I would rather cast in my lot with these peasants, -_enfants de Dieu_, than live as I do. But my grandmother is too old and -too feeble for the wild life of the Cévenols, and so I go on--a Papist -in Nîmes, a Protestant at heart.” - -“You would join these people, mademoiselle, yet you have argued against -me when I have proposed to go to the Cévennes.” - -“You are under a pledge to go to England,” she returned promptly; -“you have suffered enough. The time will come quickly for all of us, -I suppose. I do not believe that this deception can go on. If the -soldiers had found us to-night, I wonder if any of us would have -escaped!” - -“_Mon Dieu!_” he murmured softly, “how terrible it would have been. -The sentinels told me that there were two hundred and fifty women and -children there, besides the men who came with Cavalier.” - -“It would have been death,” she said dreamily; “we can die but once, -monsieur.” - -“You would not have died,” he answered sternly, “while I had a life to -give for yours.” - -She was silent, but he felt her hand quiver in his. He could not -see her face, nor could she see his, but each felt the other’s deep -emotion. They walked on, treading carefully; they were skirting the -edge of a field of rye on the border of the village of St. Césaire, but -they had yet to cross a rocky elevation before they could reach the -château. To the left, the lights of the hamlet twinkled like fallen -stars, and they heard the dogs baying in the distance. - -Meanwhile the sky, which had been so dark, became softly luminous, -a whiteness spread over it, the stars paled. At the horizon, the -mountains were sharply outlined, black against the growing light, -while the earth lay in darkness. Rosaline and her companions began to -ascend a steep path, and as they reached the top of the slope the moon -rose glorious and a flood of white light poured a searching radiance -over the scene. The white rocks cast black shadows, and the sandy -soil beneath their feet seemed as white as chalk, while above them a -solitary cedar stretched its branches, dark and feathery, against a -luminous background. Over there were the spires and turrets of Nîmes, -below them the cottage roofs of St. Césaire, around them a wild and -barren country, suddenly whitened by the moon. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” exclaimed Babet, harshly, “’tis a white night--white as -a winding-sheet! ’Tis ill luck, mademoiselle; let us hurry--a dog is -baying at the moon.” - -Rosaline’s mood changed, and for the first time that night she laughed -naturally and sweetly. - -“You foolish Babet!” she said, “it is a glorious night, and you have -been to prayers. Where is your courage?” - -Babet shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve courage enough, mademoiselle,” she -said, “but I do not love to thrust my head into the lion’s mouth.” - -With this remark she went on again, leaving the others to follow. -To Babet there were many things more important than a fine scene by -moonlight, and she did not approve of the slow progress made by her -mistress and her escort. - -“A faithful servant,” remarked Rosaline, following her with her eyes. -“She was my nurse when I was a baby, and she treats me as a child. -Doubtless, monsieur, you think that we lead a strange life at St. Cyr. -I fancy it is very different from the lives of other women of our rank, -but what else can we do? We are poor, and we are glad of our humble -friend Babet; indeed, I think that she and the little cobbler, Charlot, -are our most devoted allies. After all, I imagine that _grand’mère_ and -I would be very unhappy if we were surrounded with state, and had all -our sweet liberty restricted. Were you ever at Versailles, monsieur?” - -“But once,” he said quietly. “I went to try to see the king. I wanted -to petition him for my innocent sister’s liberty--that I might take her -place.” - -“Forgive me!” Rosaline exclaimed; “I did not think of the pain I should -give. Tell me,” she went on hurriedly, “have you ever seen Cavalier or -Roland? To-night, in the darkness, I wanted to see him; ’tis true that -they lighted the torches about him, but in that wild illumination I -made out nothing except that he appeared a boy. But he did not speak -like one!” - -“He looked very young,” François replied; “but there is a certain force -about him. I never saw him before, but I shall not soon forget him, or -the poor, crazed girl.” - -“Did you think her demented?” asked Rosaline. “To me she seemed -inspired, and surely she preached a wonderful sermon; still, as you -say, she spoke wildly.” - -“I thought her demented,” he rejoined quietly; “there are so many of -these young girls prophesying. It seems to me that it is more the -result of suffering, of the horrible spectacles they have witnessed, -than a touch of sacred inspiration.” - -“It may be so,” she admitted, reluctantly, “but surely such times as -these might well produce prophets and soothsayers.” - -They were in sight of the château now and saw the light burning in -Madame de St. Cyr’s room. She was too feeble to go out on such perilous -expeditions and had remained behind in fear and trembling, praying for -their safe return. When Babet opened the wicket-gate they were greeted -by Truffe’s warning bark, and she was at the door to greet them with -noisy joy. Rosaline and M. d’Aguesseau went to Madame de St. Cyr to -tell her of the congregation, and Babet retired to her own domain to -meditate in solitude on mademoiselle and their visitor. - -Rosaline recounted their visit to the quarry where the Camisards -met, and old madame listened with eagerness, her pale face unusually -animated. She wanted to hear everything, Cavalier’s speech, the sermon -of the young girl,--one of the prophets of the Cévenols,--the prayer -offered by one of the ministers, the psalms they sang. But she shook -her head when she heard that Cavalier had sent word to M. Montrevel -that for every Protestant village that the maréchal destroyed, he, -Cavalier, would destroy two Papist villages. - -“’Twill be useless,” she said quietly; “the king will pour his soldiers -upon us, and Languedoc will be laid waste; we cannot prevail against -such power. My husband always said so, and my son. They used to say -that if the Edict of Nantes should be revoked, the Protestants would -soon be destroyed. It will be so--I have felt it from the first.” - -“Ah, _grand’mère_, you are not hopeful enough,” Rosaline said; “see -what these two men--Cavalier and Roland--have already accomplished. Let -us hope that England will help us.” - -Madame shook her head. “The world is selfish,” she said quietly; then -she glanced at the clock. “Rosaline, call Babet,” she said; “’tis the -hour for our devotions.” - -The housekeeper was summoned, while François looked carefully at the -windows and saw that all the shutters were fastened. Then the little -company joined in evening prayer, Madame de St. Cyr reading a chapter -from the Bible. They did not sing; not even in that secluded spot did -they dare to give voice to one of Marot’s psalms, for they did not -know what ear might be listening in the night. When it was over the -grandmother bade Rosaline good-night and sent her away with Babet, but -she detained d’Aguesseau. When they were alone she turned to him with a -sad face. - -“I fear that trouble is brewing, monsieur,” she said quietly; “the -very presence of Cavalier near Nîmes increases our perils, and -there too are the Florentines,--the White Camisards, as they call -themselves,--ruffians, in fact, banded together to hunt us down. I see -nothing but danger and death on every side. For myself, I no longer -fear,” she added with sorrowful dignity; “I know that I have but a -little while to live, and I would die right cheerfully for my religion, -but Rosaline--_mon Dieu!_” she clasped her hands and looked up. - -“Madame, if I can protect her--” began François. - -“That is what I would pray for, monsieur,” she said. “If I am taken, -will you aid Babet to get her out of France?” - -“I would give my life for hers!” he answered gravely. - -The old woman looked up at his resolute face, at the light in his -eyes, and bowed her own face in her hands. - -“Madame de St. Cyr,” he said quietly, “I do solemnly pledge myself to -defend her--to take her away to a place of safety--to fight for her as -long as I live myself.” - -She looked up through her tears. - -“I thank the _bon Dieu_!” she said. “To-day men are like wolves toward -our lambs. You see how gentle, how innocent the child is.” - -She held out her thin, white hand and he took it, and pressed it to his -lips. - -“Forgive me,” he said gently, “I love her.” - -The old face quivered and flushed a little, but she was touched. - -“I know not how the child may feel,” she said simply, “but I knew your -family, and--I am content that it should be so. Heaven may have sent -you to be her defender, for I do greatly fear that the hour of danger -draws nigh.” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE FINGER OF FATE - - -The months of the terrible summer of 1703 waned, and autumn came. Fire -and sword had laid waste in Languedoc. It had been a reign of terror. -The chieftains of the Camisards sweeping down from the Cévennes carried -the war almost to the sea; priests were slain, Catholic villages -burned. On the other side, the king’s soldiers poured into the devoted -country, and the Huguenots were hunted far and wide. The galleys at -Marseilles were crowded, the jails were packed, the gallows in constant -use; the women and children were sent to convents and prisons, and the -desolate country threatened famine, with no man to till the soil, and -no woman to bind the sheaves. Still it went on, that cruel war for -religion’s sake, and the blood of the innocent was poured out as a -libation. - -Nîmes was thronged with soldiers, the markets were crowded, the busy -life choked the marts, but the open country was stricken; even the -valley of the Vaunage--“the little Canaan” of Languedoc--had suffered. -In the court of the Rue St. Antoine, the little cobbler mended the -shoes of the soldiers, and out at St. Cyr only one or two late roses -were blooming, and the bees had stored their honey for winter. The -every-day life went on; the steward was still there, chained by -invisible links now; he scarcely thought of leaving France, and he -knew that he might be needed, for Madame de St. Cyr was failing fast. -She had had an attack of heart disease, and sat in her chair all day, -without strength to take her accustomed part in affairs. M. de Baudri -still came, a persistent and undaunted suitor, and Père Ambroise -made his regular visits, walking in the garden with Rosaline, and -discoursing on the perils of heresy, but closing his eyes to suspicious -circumstances. He always walked with his hands behind him, his large -black figure seeming to absorb a good deal of the sunlight, and a smile -on his round, rosy face. What was the use, after all, of making that -poor old woman wretched? he argued comfortably, and he did not force -religious consolation upon Madame de St. Cyr. He was willing to let the -heretic burn in the next world, and she blessed him in her heart every -time she looked out at him as he ambled through the maze of hedges. - -There had been a season of quiet, a brief interval in the clash of war, -and the family at St. Cyr breathed more freely. Fear and suspicion -seemed dormant, and Rosaline’s laugh came more readily, except when she -saw how feeble her grandmother looked. - -It was the last of October, and the three, Madame de St. Cyr, her -granddaughter, and François d’Aguesseau had just finished the midday -meal. It was a golden day, almost as warm as summer, and a monthly -rose swung its blossoms over the window-sill. M. d’Aguesseau had been -fortunate enough to secure a communication with his friends in England, -and had received a remittance which enabled him to pay his debts and -to provide for the future. But he said nothing of a change, for he saw -that Madame de St. Cyr was unable to travel, and he would not quit -Languedoc while Rosaline was surrounded with so many dangers. They -were talking of every-day matters, of the approach of winter, of the -chances for the success of the insurrection, when they were startled -by the tramping of a body of horse in the road, and the sharp call of -a bugle. Madame’s face paled and Rosaline and d’Aguesseau sprang to -their feet. She ran ahead of him out at the door and down the path to -an opening in the hedge which afforded a view of the highway. - -“’Tis M. de Baudri at the head of his dragoons!” she exclaimed, shading -her eyes with her hand and looking out. - -A company of dragoons were filing along the road, the even gait of the -cavalry horses keeping the whole line swinging on to the sound of the -bugle. The gay uniforms were soiled and there were powder stains, and -in the centre of the troop were six prisoners,--grim-looking men, in -the garb of peasants with the blouse of the Camisards, and bound, their -arms tied behind their backs and their feet tied under the bellies of -their horses. At the sight of them Rosaline drew back with a shudder, -but it was too late; M. de Baudri had seen her and drew rein, saluting -her with unruffled composure. As he paused, the cavalcade halted -opposite the gate, bringing the prisoners in full view of the château. -They did not look to the right or left, however, but stared grimly -before them. Of the six, five were wounded, and the blood flowed from -an unbandaged wound on one man’s head. Faint from the loss of it, he -reeled in his saddle, but uttered no complaint. Meanwhile M. de Baudri -sat erect on his spirited horse, his head uncovered, his rich uniform -spotless, and his periwig freshly curled. He looked smilingly into -Rosaline’s pale face. - -“A fair good morning, my Rose of Languedoc,” he said gallantly, -speaking too low for the ears of his dragoons; “I count it fortunate -when even my duty takes me past your door.” - -She curtsied, her blue eyes looking straight before her and her lips -firmly closed. She was controlling herself with a mighty effort. - -“Monsieur has surely unpleasant duties,” she said formally. - -“The gayest in the world,” he replied with a careless laugh. “We have -cleaned out a cave full of Barbets this morning, and hung the leader -because he had the boldness to be shot in action. We swung his dead -body on a chestnut-tree--it hangs there with the burrs ready to ripen. -_Nom de St. Denis!_” he added, with a glance at his prisoners, “these -fellows would have been lucky to hang there too!” - -Rosaline could endure no more. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” she cried, “are you human? Can you see that poor man -bleed to death?” - -De Baudri turned in his saddle and stared indifferently at the sufferer. - -“A heretic, mademoiselle,” he remarked, with a gesture of disdain; -“what would you?” - -“I would bind his wounds!” she retorted, taking a step nearer the gate; -but the sight had sickened her, the scene swam before her eyes, she -reeled, and would have fallen but for François, who had been standing a -few yards behind her, and who now sprang forward and caught her in his -arms. - -“Why do you exhibit such cruelties to her?” he demanded sharply, -looking over her head into de Baudri’s eyes. - -The latter had made a motion as if to spring from the saddle at the -sight of Rosaline’s white face, but now he straightened himself and -returned the other’s look with disdain. - -“So!” he said with a sneer, “the menial turns into a champion. _Mère de -Dieu_, Sir Camisard, we will be pleased to accommodate you in Nîmes.” - -“You may sometime have that pleasure, M. de Baudri,” d’Aguesseau -replied, coldly, and lifting Rosaline’s unconscious form in his arms, -he carried her back into the house. - -The soldier remained a moment staring after them, his blue eyes on -fire, then he recollected where he was and gave an order. The bugle -sounded “Forward!” and the troop disappeared along the highroad to -Nîmes, leaving a cloud of dust in its track. - -Meanwhile d’Aguesseau, fearing to alarm Madame de St. Cyr, carried -Rosaline into the hall and summoned Babet. But the girl began to -recover without any ministrations, and sat up on the high settle by -the door, the soft air reviving her; but her joyous mood was gone, she -looked out into the garden with unseeing eyes. - -“Alas!” she said faintly, “I have been happy--and all this misery at -my door! I live a lie secure, and these martyrs die for their religion. -What a poor creature I am!” - -Babet stood looking at her with a grim face; d’Aguesseau was silent, -his own conscience accusing him. - -“It will not last,” Rosaline went on slowly, “I feel that trouble is -coming to us! What right have we to stand by and see it all and rejoice -in our false security. Ah, _mon Dieu_, that poor man!” - -“It’s no use to seek trouble, mademoiselle,” Babet remarked, “it’ll -find us fast enough. I hear it grumbling like the thunder in the -Cévennes mountains. As for that poor man, never you mind; Cavalier will -catch some fat old curé for him!” - -Retaliation was a salve to Babet’s moods; she was no saint and had no -longing to be a martyr. Rosaline shook her head. - -“It must end,” she said, rising. “I will go to my grandmother. You may -cut the flowers to-day, Babet.” - -She passed d’Aguesseau without a word; her emotion seemed to have -separated her from him, and all that day she was sad and preoccupied. - -As for François d’Aguesseau, he went out through the garden and passing -the mulberry trees, descended a steep slope to the banks of a stream -which flowed behind St. Cyr. Following this, he passed through a little -forest of chestnut trees, heavily laden with green burrs, and came at -last to a deserted windmill. The tower was white and solid, and the -wheel still surmounted it though broken in several places, but the -mill had long been unused. The door stood open--on rusty hinges--and a -heap of straw lay in one corner, doubtless the resting-place of many -a vagrant in those evil times. On the threshold d’Aguesseau sat down, -facing the stream and the mossy slope. It was a favorite resort of his, -because of its solitude and stillness. Here many a battle of the heart -had been fought out, and here he came now to face another crisis. He -sat there a long while, and it was very quiet. Now and then a chestnut -burr fell with a soft thud in the little grove behind him; a squirrel -came to the edge of the bank and then leaped away; a fish jumped out of -the water and then plunged down again. Presently the breeze freshened, -the old windmill creaked as it turned a little, and the leaves rustled -softly. At last the sun sank lower in the west and sent long rays of -light through the trees, and the clouds overhead grew rosy. - -François rose and walked toward the château; he was resolved to live -thus no longer. His presence was now more of a menace than a protection -to the women there. He had read the look in M. de Baudri’s eyes, and he -knew that he might expect the worst that a relentless enemy could do. -But it was not that; Rosaline’s words had struck home. He too had been -living a lie in security; he too felt himself a miserable coward before -the self-devotion of these poor peasants and wool-carders. He must draw -his sword for this forlorn hope; he must leave St. Cyr--ah, there was -the pang! Could he protect her at a distance? Could he watch over her -welfare while he fought with the Camisards? That was the chain that had -held him, and now even that must be broken. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE BATTLE HYMN - - -That night, when the shutters were closed and the doors secured, the -family sat in an upper room. Babet had come in to hear the Bible read -by Madame de St. Cyr, and they were all grouped about the table where -the candles were burning. The old woman was reading in a low voice, -with many pauses, and the faces around her were grave and even sad as -they listened. Suddenly the dog sprang up from her place at Rosaline’s -feet and began to bark, and the reading ceased. - -“What is it? I hear something!” exclaimed the young girl, trying to -silence Truffe. - -Babet was listening intently. - -“I hear the sound of many feet,” she said. - -D’Aguesseau rose and went to the window and, unfastening the shutter, -looked out. The moon was struggling to shine through drifting clouds; -one moment the world was lighted, the next it lay in darkness. In one -of these intervals of illumination he saw the scene without plainly -enough. The garden lay below the window, and beyond was a view of -the highroad, the sloping plain, and farther off the village of St. -Césaire. He could hear the sound of marching men, and as he looked -they came in sight on the road, filing slowly past the château, line -after line, their weapons gleaming in the moonshine. He watched them -curiously; these were not the dragoons,--he could distinguish the -rough and ragged appearance of the men even from a distance. He closed -the shutter and turned toward the women with a flush on his face; his -opportunity was at hand. - -“They are passing the château,” he said, in a reassuring tone, “I will -go out and ascertain who they are. I think I cannot be mistaken in -them.” - -Rosaline’s blue eyes kindled. - -“Are they Camisards?” she demanded. - -“I think so,” he replied as he left the room. - -The next moment they heard him go out, and Rosaline went to the window -to watch. Madame de St. Cyr’s face was very pale. - -“They may be Florentines,” she said, “and if so--we shall scarcely -escape them.” - -“They have halted,” her granddaughter replied from the window. “The -clouds have drifted wide apart now and the night is as white as that -night which frightened you, Babet. M. d’Aguesseau has gone out to them.” - -“The _bon Dieu_ defend us!” murmured madame; “the times are very evil;” -and she fell to praying silently. - -Babet was kneeling on the floor, with Truffe’s head smothered in her -apron to hush the dog’s bark. Rosaline leaned against the window frame -looking out, the moonlight outlining her slender figure. - -“M. d’Aguesseau talks with one of them,” she said. “_Ciel!_ how ghastly -their faces look in this light--like chalk--and I see everywhere the -flash of steel.” - -“Can you make out who they are?” asked her grandmother, in a tremulous -voice. - -“Nay,” she replied, “but M. d’Aguesseau is friendly with them,--I can -see that; he has shaken hands with one who seems to be a leader.” - -“It is well,” said madame, in a tone of relief; “they must be of our -people.” - -The night was very still and the three women listened, but they did not -distinguish the words that were spoken, though they heard the voices. - -“Does M. d’Aguesseau still speak with them?” the old woman asked. - -“He is coming back alone,” Rosaline replied in a low tone; and she did -not leave her post when she heard him coming up the stairs. - -He entered the room quietly, though he had his sword in his hand. - -“Madame,” he said, “I came back to reassure you. These men are -Camisards, led by Cavalier himself, and they are on their way to cut -off a train of ammunition that is leaving Nîmes for St. Hippolyte. -There will be a fight, but not very near here, I trust, and I believe -you will be in safety. For myself, madame, I go with them.” - -The old woman clasped her hands and leaned back in her chair. - -“Alas!” she said, “I sent out my two soldiers to die for their king, -and I cannot bid you stay, since you go to fight in the cause of the -King of kings, but I grieve to part with you thus.” - -He took her hand and kissed it. - -“Madame,” he said, “you have been as good to me as a mother, in my -extremity, and I will not forget your kindness. May God give me the -opportunity to requite it. I must strike a good blow in the cause of my -brethren, but I shall not forget my duty to you--and yours.” - -Tears fell on her white cheeks, and she gave him her blessing. - -Leaving her, he walked over to the window where the young girl had -remained motionless as a statue, her face set toward the scene without. - -“Mademoiselle,” he said very low, “I bid you adieu. I know that you -have thought me lacking in the spirit to fight--but believe me, it was -not cowardice that held me at St. Cyr.” - -She looked up at him, her blue eyes clear and fearless. - -“The cause is sacred,” she said. “I--I am glad that--” - -She broke off, and he filled up the sentence. - -“Glad that I have the courage to go,” he said coldly. - -“I never doubted that,” she replied gravely; “but oh, monsieur, if I -could be a man, I would fight--I can understand how you feel--the _bon -Dieu_ defend you!” - -He looked at her a moment sadly, and seemed to hesitate; then he turned -and went quietly away, leaving her standing there tongue-tied, her eyes -suddenly filled with hot tears. What had she done? she thought, as he -went down and out into the night. What had she done? - -Her grandmother’s voice roused her. - -“Has he gone to them?” she asked anxiously. - -“Yes,” Rosaline replied, “and they are forming in columns again,--they -are going to march on.” - -There was a pause; the women could hear that there were some orders -given and then it was strangely quiet, the men standing like statues -in the road. The clouds drifted over the moon and darkness enveloped -the scene again, and out of that still night arose the murmur of many -voices, a volume of sound, throbbing and gaining strength and sweetness -and solemnity. - -“Hush!” said Rosaline, raising her hand, “the Sixty-eighth Psalm--the -battle hymn.” - -Full and strong it rose, every word poured out from the hearts of those -stern men, and in that lonely spot, in the darkness, the sound was -profoundly solemn. Softly at first, and then sweetly and fearlessly, -Rosaline joined them, her rich young voice floating out to mingle with -the song of the soldiers. - - “Que Dieu se montre seulement - Et l’on verra dans un moment - Abandonner la place; - Le camp des ennemis épars, - Épouvanté de toutes parts, - Fuira devant sa face. - - “On verra tout ce camp s’enfuir, - Comme l’on voit s’évanouir - Une épaisse fumée; - Comme la cire fond au feu, - Ainsi des méchants devant Dieu, - La force est consumée. - - “L’Éternel est notre recours; - Nous obtenons par son secours, - Plus d’une délivrance. - C’est Lui qui fut notre support, - Et qui tient les clefs de la mort, - Lui seul en sa puissance. - - “À nous défendre toujours prompt, - Il frappe le superbe front - De la troupe ennemie; - On verra tomber sous ses coups - Ceux qui provoquent son courroux - Par leur méchante vie.” - -The last verses grew softer as they marched away, and the singing died -at last in the distance. - -Rosaline remained at her post, straining her eyes to search the -darkness, and Babet, releasing Truffe, came and stood beside her. They -could see the distant lights of St. Césaire, and this window in the -daytime commanded a view of the road that led in the direction of St. -Hippolyte. It was an hour of suspense, and none of the women thought of -sleep. Old Madame de St. Cyr lay back in her chair, engaged in silent -devotion, and the others watched and watched with tireless eagerness. -The very stillness was oppressive, and the darkness now was like a -pall, close over the earth. - -“_Ciel!_” said Babet, “how quiet it is!--and black as soot. I wonder -how many men he had?” - -“There seemed to be an army,” replied Rosaline, “but I suppose it could -not be that he had more than a thousand men, perhaps not so many, and -Nîmes is a hive of soldiers!” - -“Bah!” ejaculated the other woman, grimly, “Cavalier can whip -them--he’ll have M. Montrevel’s periwig yet.” - -Rosaline did not reply, her mind was elsewhere; she was thinking of -that dangerous march into the enemy’s country, of the fight that must -ensue. - -Suddenly there was a distant sound--the fire of musketry--the first -clash of battle, borne to them on the night air, and at the same moment -they saw the lights flashing red in St. Césaire. - -“They have met the enemy!” Rosaline exclaimed, straining her eyes and -ears and leaning out of the window. - -They could hear firing quite plainly now; and presently far off they -saw a blaze kindled, and then the flames leaped up into the night, like -fiery swords cutting the blackness in twain. - -“They have set fire to the old château over there,” Rosaline said. - -Madame de St. Cyr turned in her chair. - -“Tell me what you see,” she exclaimed eagerly. - -“Fire, _grand’mère_, leaping up in the night, and I hear the guns,” -Rosaline replied, “and now--see, see, Babet!--there are black figures -outlined against the flames! Ah, _Dieu_, they fight!--’tis a part of -the battle--oh, if I could but see it plainly!” - -The rattle of small arms came to them, and now the boom of heavier guns. - -“They have brought artillery from Nîmes,” said Rosaline, in a low -voice. “Ah, see, Babet, another house has caught! ’Tis the village -in the highroad yonder; how it burns! The night is gaping as though -we looked into a fiery furnace. Oh, _mon Dieu_, what a fearful sight -it is! There! something exploded--see the timbers flying--some one -perished when they fell.” - -She leaned from the window and gazed at the wild night with a throbbing -heart. - -“Can you not see, Babet?” she cried. “I do--they fight there in the -firelight--see their black figures--hush! there is a heavy gun.” - -“My eyes are old,” Babet replied; “to me ’tis the mouth of the infernal -regions--no more.” - -Another pause while madame prayed softly. - -“How goes it?” she asked again. - -“I cannot tell--I cannot tell!” cried Rosaline, “but the fire has -consumed the houses, I think. It seems to sink now, and I cannot see -so well.” - -Again they watched in silence; but now the firing seemed to grow more -distant, and finally they heard it no more, though the flames still -made the night as red as blood. An hour passed--two--and they watched, -and could see no more, and could only divine the cause of the silence. - -“Cavalier must have been driven back,” madame said, “else the fighting -would have lasted longer. May the _bon Dieu_ guard our poor fellows!” - -Again there was stillness, and the clock struck four, the clear little -bell startling them. Rosaline closed the shutter softly; her face was -as white as snow. - -“’Tis over,” she said; “the flames have died away, darkness is there -again, and silence--and death!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -“AND ALL FOR LOVE” - - -The day dawned calm, after the night of suspense; the October sky was -full of light clouds, and there was a chill in the air, the first -suggestion of winter, and the birds twittered in the ivy that clung -below Rosaline’s window. The daylight found no roses in her cheeks, but -rather a new consciousness of pain in her blue eyes. From an almost -childlike innocence and calm, her heart had been awakened; life in -its fulness had come upon her, and with it the sense of insecurity. -All that she cared for was threatened with terrible dangers; her own -every-day life might pass like a dream and she might find herself shut -in by grim prison walls. They were not of the “king’s religion,” and -imprisonment, banishment, death awaited them. - -She looked out over the tranquil scene with an anxious heart. What had -happened yonder in that murky night? Who had fallen? She could see -soldiers on the distant highroad, and now and then a train of wagons -moving slowly in the direction of the St. Hippolyte road, but these -things told her no more than the flames of the night before. Cavalier -had been repulsed, no doubt, but how many had fallen? She could not -tell, and her heart throbbed and her hands trembled as she busied -herself with the morning tasks. She and her grandmother sat down as -usual to breakfast, but she could not eat; she quietly fed Truffe with -her meal. Madame de St. Cyr herself scarcely touched anything, and -Babet removed the dishes with a gloomy face. There was no conversation, -there could not be while the terror of the night was upon them, and -d’Aguesseau’s vacant chair seemed to mock them. - -Once during the day Madame de St. Cyr let her knitting fall in her lap -and looked at Rosaline with tears in her eyes. - -“Alas!” she said quietly, “I fear I shall never see him again--and he -was a brave man. But for me he would have gone long ago.” - -Her granddaughter looked at her strangely. “Did you urge him to stay -here?” she asked. - -“I prayed him to be near us,” the old woman replied. “I felt that I -might go, and there would be no one to help you. Père Ambroise would be -all on M. de Baudri’s side.” - -“And you told M. d’Aguesseau that?” exclaimed Rosaline, her face -flushing. - -“Something like it, yes,” Madame de St. Cyr rejoined sadly; “but the -call came and he obeyed it. May the _bon Dieu_ protect him and us.” - -Rosaline made no reply, but went out of the room and up the stairs to -her own, where she knelt in the window recess, her head on her arms. -This, then, was the key to all that she had not understood. He had -stayed to protect them, to serve them, and but for that might perhaps -have been in England, and her grandmother had demanded this return for -her friendship. Rosaline’s face burned; she did not look up, even when -Truffe came in search of her and thrust her head into her mistress’s -lap. - -Presently, however, she heard a horse stop at the gate, and peeping -cautiously through her screen of ivy, saw M. de Baudri, resplendent in -gold lace, coming up to the house. An ill-enough omen at such a time, -she thought, and remained at her post, refusing to go down when Babet -was sent for her. She heard his voice, smooth and pleasant, in the room -below, and after a while she saw him go away again, sitting very erect -in his saddle, the picture of a soldier. After his departure she found -Madame de St. Cyr sad and nervous. He had told her of the skirmish with -Cavalier, speaking of the affair with contempt. The dragoons had beaten -off the Camisards, killed twenty and taken sixteen wounded prisoners. -He had come to press his suit again and to covertly threaten Madame de -St. Cyr. The old woman did not tell all to Rosaline; she dared not. But -the girl read much in the anxious eyes that followed her as she moved -about, waiting on her grandmother, for she had sent Babet to Nîmes, to -learn from Charlot, if possible, the names of the prisoners, the list -of the dead. It would be an infinitely difficult task to learn this -without suspicion; but if any one could help them, the little cobbler -could, and he was known to be of the king’s religion. - -Never did a day drag more wearily, but at last the sun descended -toward the west, the shadows lengthened, and Rosaline’s doves came -cooing to their rest. Babet had not returned yet from Nîmes. Madame de -St. Cyr had her supper, served by her granddaughter, and then Rosaline -went out with Truffe. She walked slowly through the garden, where the -autumn had already laid its fingers, and then she passed out into the -grove of mulberry trees, where the path led to the old windmill. The -sun had set, and the clouds were red and purple overhead, and between -them were great rifts of pale blue. The mulberry leaves rustled softly; -but save for that it was still. The air was chill, and the openings -between the trees made broad avenues of light and shade. - -Rosaline had walked but a little way, when the dog sprang forward with -a quick, short bark of welcome, and she saw a man coming toward her. -At the sight of his face she stood still, her own turning from white -to red. A moment ago she had thought of him as perhaps lying in some -loathsome dungeon in Nîmes, or dead, and this sudden meeting took away -her self-control; she was trembling when he came up. Looking at her, -he read more in her eyes than he had dared to hope for. - -“I have come to assure myself of your safety, mademoiselle,” he said -quietly, “and then to go away again.” - -“Babet is in Nîmes now, monsieur, trying to find out the names of the -prisoners,” Rosaline replied. “We did not know what had happened and we -feared the worst.” - -“It was a short, sharp battle,” he said. “We took some ammunition, but -they brought up reinforcements from Nîmes and we were forced to fall -back. Cavalier is a soldier, indeed.” - -“M. de Baudri was at the château,” she rejoined. “He told us of the -dead and the prisoners, and my grandmother could not rest until she -knew.” - -There was a pause, and he watched her face. - -“And you, mademoiselle?” he asked gravely. - -Her eyes sought the ground. - -“I also was anxious, monsieur,” she said with an effort. - -“Yet last night you wished me to go,” he remarked, unmercifully. - -She turned toward him with a grave face. - -“I did not know until to-day, monsieur,” she said, “that my grandmother -had asked you to stay with us to protect us--’twas more than she had a -right to ask.” - -“Not more than she had a right to ask,” he replied, “but I remained for -another reason--can you not divine it, mademoiselle?” - -The blue eyes avoided his, and the color came back into her cheeks. - -“I have no right perhaps to tell you now, when the future looks -so dark,” he said, “and I have felt that you were displeased at -my inactivity. Yet--last night--when I was facing death I longed -to speak--to tell you all that was in my heart--even if you were -indifferent. Love cannot always be silent--God forgive me if I break in -upon your innocent peace with my life and its passions and regrets. The -world was desolate when I saw you--I had lost all--and then I looked -out of my darkness and saw your face. I cannot but speak--we must part -now and I must know if you care--ever so little. _Dieu!_ how black the -world was when I saw this tall, white lily! You told me last night -that you were glad to have me go--I am a fool, no woman ever said that -to the man she loved.” - -He paused, and the leaves rustled overhead. Her face was averted and he -could not see her eyes. - -“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely; “I did not mean to speak--but one -cannot always smother the heart’s utterances! You are so young, so -beautiful, so innocent--forgive me, and let me serve you still.” - -She turned and looked at him, but he could not read her eyes. - -“You do not understand,” she replied softly. “I wanted you to go -because--” - -“You thought me a coward,” he exclaimed harshly. - -“Nay, monsieur,” she said, “I wanted you to go because a woman wants -the man she--she loves to be a hero--” - -He caught her hands, looking eagerly into her face. - -“Is it possible?” he cried. - -She smiled through her tears. - -“I wanted you to be a hero,” she answered, “and when you went I -thought--my heart would break!” - -Her fair head was on his shoulder now, and he kissed her, the perils -of their lives forgotten, all the world changed in an instant and only -Love triumphant. After a while he broke the silence. - -“Are you happy?” he asked her softly, holding her a little away from -him that he might see her face. - -She smiled radiantly, but did not answer, and he went on, questioning -her that he might have a fresh assurance of her affection. - -“You want me to go and you do not,” he said; “what am I to think?” - -“Yes, I wanted you to go,” she replied, a flush on her face. “I could -not bear to have you seem less brave or daring than other men--or to -lack zeal for your religion--and then you went! And--and I cannot bear -to have you go to face danger--even death itself!” - -“Oh, thou perfect woman!” he exclaimed, smiling; “I must be a true -knight and yet you would not have me in danger.” - -She smiled, turning her face aside. - -“Yes--yes, ’tis that,” she answered very low. “I want you to be the -bravest of the brave, and yet--oh, _mon Dieu_, I cannot bear to see you -in any danger!” - -He held her to his heart again with many caresses. - -“What can I do?” he asked. “I cannot be both,--your constant attendant -and a soldier in the field. Ah, Rosaline, love is king--not even the -perils of battle can defeat him. I can love you and fight too, but I -cannot flee from danger for your sweet sake.” - -“And I could not bear to see you flee,” she said, “and yet my heart -was torn when I knew that you were in the midst of that fight in the -darkness.” - -“Take comfort, my dearest,” he said softly, “let us forget the perils -and think only of each other. Ah, my darling, I little thought, when I -was in the cobbler’s upper room so downcast, that the light of my life -would shine in upon me there. I loved you from the first moment that I -saw you.” - -“Did you?” she cried with shining eyes, “oh, tell me--tell me how it -was!” - -And he told her, Love’s language being eloquent to such ears, as it -has been always, as it will be while the round world moves. - -Then they walked on, hand in hand, through the trees, the soft moss -beneath their feet, the pale October sky overhead, and only the murmur -of the leaves. They came presently to the old mill, and went down to -the edge of the stream, and then he asked her again the question that -was first in his thoughts,-- - -“Are you happy, sweetheart, tell me?” - -“Ah, François,” she answered, “we are too happy--’tis that--I am -afraid!” - -“Of what, dear heart?” he asked gently, “surely, not that our love can -die?” - -“Not that,” she replied, “not that! I have been light of heart, -careless as a child. I never was afraid before, but now--oh, François, -if you were taken from me it would kill me.” - -He clasped her close, laying his cheek against her soft one. - -“But that could not be,” he said soothingly; “not even death could part -us save for a little while, my heart, for our souls are immortal--and -they are one.” - -She clung to him, her eyes full of tenderness. - -“’Tis so,” she murmured, “our souls are immortal, I never felt it -so strongly before! Love touches the heart and all the world is -different--ah, _mon Dieu_, ’tis thy gift to us! See, François,” she -added, “is not the world more beautiful, the sky more tender? Do not -the birds sing more sweetly to-day? And is it because we love?” - -“It must be so, my Rosaline,” he answered gently; “the Garden of Eden -must have blossomed so to welcome Eve--and love makes the world more -beautiful each day.” - -“And it shall make me better,” she rejoined; “’tis said that sorrow -refines the heart, but it is joy that fills it with kindness. I am sure -of it, for I was never half so full of pity for the unhappy as I am -now; my cup overflows and others thirst. Ah, François, let us be good -to others always, for that is love.” - -“Your very presence is love, Rosaline,” he answered softly, “your face, -your eyes, your voice. When I first saw you in the little shop I was a -desperate man, but from that moment my heart was changed. You entered -like an angel, and as an angel I adored you.” - -“And I made that difference in your life, François?” she said -tenderly,--“I, Rosaline de St. Cyr. Ah, _Dieu_, am I not blessed?” - -She stood away from him on the mossy bank, the stream lying brown and -placid below her feet. Behind her the tree trunks were outlined against -the rosy west, and the sweet stillness of twilight was enfolding them. -The afterglow shone in her beautiful young face, and her blue eyes were -radiant. - -“I was never happy before,” she said, smiling, “now I know it!--but -this is happiness--love--life. Do you see that bright star shining -yonder, François? There is a little one beside it--see! like two souls, -uplifted above the world and radiant. I will be afraid no more, my -love, for even death has lost its terrors, for thus our two souls would -shine together above the sorrow and the pain. I will fear no more--for -stronger than death is love!” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU - - -The shadows had deepened; night already lay in the little woodland; the -distant hills were purple against the pale horizon. The rising wind -turned the wheel on the old mill; the rusty vanes moved feebly, as -though a cripple waved long arms in the twilight. The stream rippled, -and here and there a star was reflected in its bosom, and the leaves -rustled continuously now. The scene was suddenly desolate, perhaps -because the lovers had deserted it, and the darkness came rolling along -like a cloud, rising from every hollow, lurking in every grove of figs -or of olives, wrapping every object in an elusive gloom. And away in -the distance the night wind sighed drearily, as it gathered strength. -No spot could have been more quiet or more lonely. - -A man came out of the mill carrying his bundle, and stood awhile on -the edge of the stream,--a small man with a hump on his back and a -face that showed white even at nightfall. He remained only a short time -motionless, then he shouldered his bag of tools and followed the bank -of the stream until he came at last to a bridge, and crossing this made -his way to the highroad leading toward Nîmes. He walked slowly and -painfully, as though he carried a far greater burden than it appeared, -and he held his head down. The soul of the little cobbler of St. -Antoine was in torment, what matter if his body walked the earth with -other men? Pent up in the heart of the hunchback were the passion and -longing and anguish of a lifetime. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” he cried out in his bitterness, “why didst thou give me -the heart of a man and the body of a toad?” - -He had had black hours before when he was well-nigh ready to curse God -and die, but never a worse moment than this. The devil was contending -for the soul of le Bossu, and the darkness fell, and it seemed as if -that road might lead to hell. And what was he, after all? he thought; a -peasant, a shoemaker, a hunchback! But, oh, _mon Dieu!_ the long, long -years of desolation, the anguish, the hunger for one word of love, of -kindness, of sympathy. What evil spirit had led him to lie down in that -old windmill? had let him sleep there until her voice awoke him, and -out of purgatory he had looked into paradise? Like Dives, he had cried -out for a drop of water to slake his thirst, and yet he still lay in -the fires of Satan. - -Early that day he had set out for St. Césaire, and he had done his work -in the village, and before sunset he went up the stream to the old mill -and rested, thinking of mademoiselle in the château, thankful that she -was sheltered and safe. Sleep had come to the weary cobbler, and when -he awoke Rosaline and her lover were talking at the door of the mill. -He had heard all, lying there almost in a stupor and he had remained -quiet. It was too late to warn them of a listener, and was it not best -that she should be ignorant of it? He had heard all; their love for -each other, their talk of their religion, their hopes and their fears. -He was no longer in doubt of the nature of the dangers that surrounded -them, and he possessed a secret that it was a crime to conceal; that -the State and the Church had ordered every good Catholic to reveal; -and if he revealed it, the lovers would be separated forever, and he -would have no cause to think of their happiness with such a pang of -miserable jealousy. The poor hunchbacked cobbler held their lives in -his hand, their joy, and their desolation. - -All these thoughts and many more crowded in upon le Bossu as he toiled -along the road, and it seemed to him that Satan walked beside him. When -a bodily infirmity as great as his is laid upon a man, there come hours -of supreme temptation, when human nature revolts and the starved heart -cries out in agony and will not be satisfied. Must one man suffer so, -and yet rejoice to see others happy? A soul is strong indeed that rises -out of such misery clean. - -The little cobbler struggled on, and presently the lights of Nîmes -shone in his face and he entered the gate and passed along the Rue St. -Antoine to his shop. Babet had been there three times that day to find -him, and had gone back at last to St. Cyr without news, and found M. -d’Aguesseau there, talking with old madame. Unconscious that he had -disappointed such a visitor, Charlot unlocked his door and entered, -feeling his way until he could light a candle. There had been another -visitor at his door too, though he knew it not, an old woman with a -red handkerchief around her head, and with a wide, red mouth. But the -cobbler was ignorant of all these things and went about as usual. He -had tasted nothing since midday, but he had no appetite and he went up -the ladder to his room and lighted a taper before the shrine there. -After that he threw himself on the bed, dressed as he was, and all -night he wrestled with a temptation that beset him, with a new-born -hatred of the man whom he had befriended in the market-place. If he had -left M. d’Aguesseau in that tent with the body of the damned person, -how different the end might have been! Ah, the desolate soul and the -desolate hearth, the misery and the poverty! _Dame de Dieu!_ some men -possessed the earth and the fulness thereof, and others starved! - -Morning found Charlot stirring the fire in the kitchen; the commonplace -world possessed him again; he was no longer an individual, only one -of many, the little cobbler of Nîmes. He made his coffee and he ate -his black bread, and then he went to his bench and worked patiently, -finishing a pair of high military riding-boots. They were of fine -leather, and he fastened burnished buckles on the high insteps. They -were elaborate, and he had put some fine labor upon them, and he looked -at them now with a recognition of their perfections; no one made better -shoes than the hunchback. - -It was twelve o’clock when he rose and put the boots into his green -bag, and gathering up his measure and some tools, set out once more. -The streets were full and the cobbler made his way slowly through the -throng. One or two spoke to him, others noticed him less than the mule -that stood waiting for a reverend father outside the Garden of the -Récollets. Le Bossu took little heed of it all; his face was drawn -and haggard, and the hump seemed larger than ever. He walked on until -he passed in front of the inn of the Golden Cup and came to a house a -few yards beyond it. Here he knocked and was admitted by a man-servant -who wore the uniform of a dragoon. The house had a long, narrow hall, -and at the end of this was a flight of stairs, and up these le Bossu -was conducted to the second story. Here the soldier opened a door to -the right, and the cobbler entered a large room, lighted by three -windows, where M. de Baudri sat eating his breakfast. Charlot made his -salutation, and putting his bag in the corner, patiently waited the -pleasure of his patron. De Baudri noticed him as little as he would -have noticed a rat or a mouse, and finished his meal before he even -glanced in his direction. Finally, however, he pushed back his chair -and called the shoemaker. - -“_Viens donc_, Petit Bossu,” he said, “are the boots finished?” - -Charlot took them out of his bag without a word, and displayed them. - -“_Sacristi!_ if I had four legs I should come to you for boots,” M. -de Baudri remarked, inspecting them. “_Diable!_ those buckles are too -small.” - -“The latest from Paris, monsieur,” le Bossu replied; “his Majesty has a -pair of the same size and design.” - -M. de Baudri’s face relaxed, and he thrust out one foot. - -“Try them, Bossu,” he said; “and see that they are good,” he added with -a smile, “for I expect to wear them at my wedding.” - -A strange expression crossed the drawn face of the hunchback, as he -knelt to put on the boot. - -“Monsieur expects to be married soon?” he asked quietly. - -“_Dame de Dieu_, I do not know!” de Baudri exclaimed with a laugh; “my -little white bird likes to use her wings, but--I mean to clip them.” - -Le Bossu smoothed the leather on the officer’s ankle, and arranged the -buckle, his head bent low over his work. - -“Monsieur plans for an early marriage, then?” he ventured again. - -M. de Baudri stared at him. - -“_Au diable!_” he said harshly; “what is it to you, worm?” - -The cobbler made no reply; he was accustomed to such language from his -patrons. He had put both boots on M. de Baudri’s feet, and he sat back -now on his own heels, looking at his work. - -“Is monsieur satisfied?” he asked meekly. - -The officer stood up, looking down at his feet. - -“Very good,” he said at last, “they will do; but make your bill small, -you little beggar, or you will see that I know how to use them!” and he -laughed coarsely as he sat down and waited for Charlot to remove the -boots and put on his others, which the hunchback began to do. - -“Curse you, you dog!” he exclaimed, with a vicious kick at the -shoemaker; “you hurt me in pulling that off!” - -“I beg your pardon, monsieur,” le Bossu replied, with white lips, -having dexterously dodged the kick. - -He knew to his cost that there were some perils attendant upon trying -on shoes. He had put back one of M. de Baudri’s high-heeled slippers -and was taking off the other boot--with some caution--when the door was -opened by a servant, who came to announce a visitor. - -“A miserable old woman, monsieur,” the man said hesitatingly, “but she -will not be denied.” - -“_Dame_, send her to the devil--or to the Intendant!” retorted M. de -Baudri, with a grin at his own joke. - -The servant still stood at the door, with a perplexed face. His master -cast a frowning glance in his direction. - -“What is it, idiot?” he demanded. - -“She has some information about these heretics, monsieur,” the fellow -answered, stammering; “she wants money.” - -“_Âme de St. Denis!_” exclaimed monsieur, with a sneer, “does she take -me for a paymaster?” - -The servant summoned his courage. - -“She told me to say to you two words, monsieur,” he said, “and they -were ‘St. Cyr.’” - -“_Diable!_” M. de Baudri cried fiercely. “Show her up here, you -blockhead!” - -The man closed the door hastily, and they heard his hurried steps -retreating down the hall. M. de Baudri fell to cursing, and Charlot -suddenly found that the buckle was hanging by a thread on the other -shoe,--the mate to the one on his patron’s foot. The shoemaker got out -his thread and his needle, and began to sew the rosette in place, and -it was very slow work indeed. - -Presently the door opened again, and Charlot looked up quickly and saw -Mère Tigrane.--Mère Tigrane, with her blood-red handkerchief about her -head, and her blood-red mouth with its yellow fangs. She curtsied low -to the officer and grinned as she did when she intended to be most -amiable, but all this had no effect upon de Baudri; he cursed her -roundly and ordered her to tell her tale and be gone. The old hag took -it in good part, leering at him out of her evil eyes. - -“I have a little news for monsieur,” she said pleasantly, “a little -information about his friends, and ’tis worth a little money; monsieur -knows that.” - -“_Diable_, you old witch, out with it!” he said, tossing her some coins. - -La Louve grovelled on the floor after them as they rolled away, her -talon fingers clutching each piece greedily. One fell near the cobbler, -and he thrust it toward her with the end of his awl, a look of disgust -on his face. M. de Baudri laughed loudly. - -“_Dame!_” he exclaimed; “there are degrees even among vermin!” - -Mère Tigrane gave le Bossu an evil, triumphant look, and then began to -count her money. - -“’Tis not enough,” she said bluntly, turning on the officer with a -sinister smile; “’tis worth more, my beauty.” - -Her insolent tone offended him and he stared at her. - -“_Diantre!_” he said, “I will have you thrown from the roof if you do -not tell all you know, you thievish hag!” - -Mère Tigrane hesitated, looking at the coins in her hand, but she had -a motive more powerful than greed this time. She changed her tone, -however. - -“I’m a poor woman, Excellency,” she whined; “’tis worth more.” - -He threw her a broad piece, with a curse. - -“Go on!” he shouted, fiercely; “or I’ll break your neck.” - -She put the money into her wallet and then licked her lips; there was a -good taste in her mouth. - -“Monsieur knows the family at St. Cyr,” she said, one evil eye seeming -to fix itself on Charlot; “the old woman and her granddaughter are -there, and a steward.” - -M. de Baudri was interested now; he frowned darkly upon her. - -“Does monsieur know who the steward is?” she demanded, her head on -one side. “No, I thought not! ’Tis M. d’Aguesseau,--the heretic from -Dauphiné,--whose father was broken on the wheel at Montpellier to the -edification of all good people; and his sister was in the Tour de -Constance. Her body was shown here at a fair. _Dame!_ but her flesh was -white.” - -M. de Baudri threw her another coin. - -“Your information is good,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a -smile. - -She curtsied and thrust the money in her wallet. - -“That is not all, monsieur,” she said amiably; “the young mademoiselle -at the château--she went with this heretic to a prayer-meeting out -there by the old quarry and sang psalms there. Mère Tigrane knows! And -old Madame de St. Cyr, she too is a heretic. _Dame!_ the château would -make a good burning, monsieur.” - -M. de Baudri turned a black face on her. - -“Look you, hag,” he said, “there is more money. You are well paid, but -if a word of this goes to any one else, _nom de Ciel!_ I will hang you. -Now--_au diable!_” - -Mère Tigrane took the money eagerly, vowing that she would be discreet, -and got out of the room just in time to escape a boot that M. de Baudri -picked up to throw at her. - -He was in a storm of passion; he summoned his servants and ordered one -to bring his horse and the other to get his riding-suit, and then he -went to his room to dress, cursing heaven and earth in his haste to be -off to St. Cyr. - -The hunchbacked cobbler had been forgotten, and when M. de Baudri went -out he quietly gathered up his bag and left the house. His face was -white, but he had never walked so fast as he did then. He did not go -to the shop; he went straight along the Rue St. Antoine and out at the -gate, and the road to St Césaire stretched before him, as endless and -as steep--to his vision--as the road to heaven. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -A BRIEF DELAY - - -Beyond the old windmill, on the estate of St. Cyr, the stream turned -its course westward and tumbling over a rock, fell four or five feet -into a broader rivulet and then flowed placidly on, twisting and -turning at last toward the valley of the Vaunage. The gray cliff’s -towered boldly, hiding the little falls, locking them in a spot as -wild and as deserted as the wildernesses of the Cévennes. But below, -where the stream widened, the banks were mossy, and in summer ferns -and wild flowers clustered, and on either bank was a fringe of juniper -bushes, and beyond, the tall, well-nurtured chestnut trees. Here were -fish,--the brown trout darting through the placid waters, and the eels, -and there were always birds in the trees when the chestnuts blossomed. -But now the touch of autumn was upon it; the moss showed brown tints, -and the nuts fell from the opening burrs, and the squirrels were -gathering their winter stores. - -On the edge of the stream stood Rosaline St. Cyr, looking down into -its clear depths at the pebbles in its bed. A little way off was Babet -with a basket, and Charlot, the cobbler, knelt on the bank digging -up a hardy fern with a broad knife, that had been given him for the -purpose by the housekeeper. Truffe meanwhile ran about under the trees -barking at every nut that dropped. The scene, in its rustic peace and -simplicity, struck the shoemaker in pleasant contrast with that other -scene in Nîmes. He was slow at his task, taking the root up carefully -and lingering over it so long that Babet grew impatient. - -“How long thou art, Petit Bossu!” she said, her arms akimbo. “_Ciel_, I -could have dug up forty! We were doing better before you came.” - -“_C’est fini_,” replied the hunchback, holding up the fern. “Here it -is; how many will you have?” - -Rosaline turned toward him. She had a large straw hat tied under her -chin with blue ribbons, and her cheeks were like roses. - -“We want four like that, Charlot,” she said cheerfully; “_grand’mère_ -always has a box of ferns for winter; they make a green spot in the -room, and that is so pretty.” - -“But, mademoiselle, ’tis near supper time,” protested Babet, “and we -have been here all the morning.” - -Rosaline laughed--a happy, careless laugh. - -“You may go home,” she said; “Charlot will bring me back when the -basket is full, and we must not lose our dish of mushrooms for supper. -Run along, Babet, and set the kettle boiling.” - -Babet was nothing loath, though she grumbled loudly at the suggestion, -but Charlot stopped digging a fern and looked up with a troubled face. -The woman set down the basket for him to fill, and he half rose and -made a movement as if to stop her, and then bent over his task again. -Apparently, he had decided to let her go, and in a few moments her -tall figure had disappeared behind the cliffs and he was alone with -the young girl and her dog. Rosaline was strolling along the mossy -bank singing softly to herself, the picture of joyful content. She -was walking in a dream of love and youth, and she had forgotten the -hunchback. He continued to kneel over the ferns, but he had paused -in his digging, and his mournful brown eyes followed her with a mute -devotion in their gaze. He did not know how long he could keep her -there, but every half-hour counted, and surely there was hope that it -would be over before she went back to the château. He knew what was -passing there, but she did not, and her song almost made him shudder. -Still, he hoped, he hoped much, that it was only d’Aguesseau who was -wanted, and he was out of reach. The hunchback did not believe that -this beautiful young creature was in any personal danger. He thought of -the wedding shoes, and bent over the fern with a frown. What would that -handsome savage, M. de Baudri, do? Ah, that was the question. Charlot -remembered last night and its temptations; verily, love and hate were -nearly akin, and he had seen the fiend in monsieur’s open blue eyes. - -Rosaline was in a happy mood. She stooped and gathering a handful of -chestnuts, threw them--one by one--for Truffe to chase, and laughed -gayly at the poodle’s antics, clapping her hands to make her bring -the nuts back to be thrown again. The hunchback watched her in -silence, bending over his task again; the basket was nearly full of -plumes of fern now, and he was racking his brain for an excuse to keep -mademoiselle longer away from the house. The drawn white face was full -of anxiety, and now and then the brown hands trembled as they handled -the plants. - -“Do you think it will be an early winter, Charlot?” Rosaline said at -last, still tossing the chestnuts for Truffe. - -“I cannot tell, mademoiselle,” he replied, looking up at the sky. “But -last night the wind came howling straight from the Cévennes, and some -say that means a short autumn. The _bon Dieu_ knows that there will -be suffering; so many of these Cévenols have been taken or slain, and -there were so few to gather the crops or card the wool. Mother of -Heaven, the times are evil!” - -There was silence; Rosaline’s face had lost its joyous look, and she -left off playing with the dog and walked back to the spot where the -shoemaker was kneeling by his basket. - -“Babet says the winter will be fearfully cold,” she said absently, “and -she is wise about these matters. I know not how many signs she has, but -certainly more than I could ever remember.” - -“I do not know about such things,” he answered quietly, “but the autumn -came early this year.” - -Rosaline looked dreamily away toward the north. - -“The winter with its terrible storms, and this cruel war,” she said -thoughtfully,--“I fear the suffering will be very great, Charlot. How -does it seem in Nîmes? What does M. Montrevel say?” - -“That it cannot last, mademoiselle,” he replied. “His Majesty has sent -great reinforcements, and the maréchal is determined to crush the -insurrection. Nothing is talked of in Nîmes save the grandeur of the -king and the weakness of the Cévenols.” - -Rosaline sighed; her mood changed entirely now, and her face was grave -and even apprehensive. There was no sound but the gentle dash of water -from the falls. Presently her eyes lighted on the basket of ferns. - -“We have enough, Charlot,” she said, in a dull voice; “I am going back -now. Come also, and Babet will give you supper; you must be tired.” - -Poor Charlot was at his wits’ end. - -“See, mademoiselle, there is a beautiful fern,” he said, pointing his -finger at three waving plumes of green; “will you not have that also?” - -She looked at it without interest. “No,” she replied indifferently, -“let it remain; we have more than enough already, and I am tired.” - -She was half-way up the bank, and Charlot rose in despair. - -“Mademoiselle,” he said, “come back, I pray you; ’tis not yet time to -return to the château.” - -She looked around in surprise, and the expression of his face awakened -her suspicions. - -“What is it?” she demanded quickly; “what do you mean?” - -“You were not to return until six o’clock,” he replied, at a loss for -an excuse; “Madame de St. Cyr so instructed me.” - -“Madame de St. Cyr instructed you--about me?” exclaimed Rosaline in -surprise; and there was a touch of hauteur in her manner that Charlot -had never encountered before. - -“She told me so, when she sent me after you, mademoiselle,” he answered -humbly. - -Rosaline was roused now; she stood looking at him with a searching -glance. - -“Why did you come to St. Cyr to-day?” she demanded imperiously. - -The hunchback was not adroit, and he felt the peril of the moment too -deeply to find ready replies. - -“I brought some shoes for madame to try,” he said lamely. - -“That is not true, Charlot!” she retorted indignantly; “madame has -ordered no shoes, and you know it. You came for something,” she went -on, with increasing agitation; “be honest,--was it--did it concern M. -d’Aguesseau?” - -The shoemaker looked at her with dull eyes, his pinched face unusually -brown and haggard. - -“Yes, mademoiselle,” he replied with an effort, “it concerned M. -d’Aguesseau. M. de Baudri received information that he was a heretic, -and he has come to St. Cyr to take him.” - -Mademoiselle turned on him the face of an avenging angel. - -“And you--” she said, with passionate scorn, “did you betray him?” - -The hunchback’s lips twitched, like those of a person in sudden bodily -pain, and he did not reply. - -“You miserable creature!” Rosaline continued, her blue eyes sparkling -with anger. “Did you offer him shelter at first, and get him here -that you might surely betray him? You are baffled, thank God; you are -out-witted!” - -Charlot’s hands clenched and he looked at her as if she had struck him. - -“_Sang de Dieu_, I am innocent!” he said solemnly; “I never betrayed -him. I came here to warn him, and found that he had gone. I heard it -all in M. de Baudri’s rooms, and I hurried away, and by hiring a cart -that I met in the road, I was at St. Cyr just five minutes before the -dragoons came, and madame sent me here to keep you out of harm’s way.” - -“The dragoons at St. Cyr!” cried Rosaline, forgetting all else in that -announcement, “and my grandmother there alone! _Dieu_, I will never -forgive myself!” - -She ran up the bank without heeding the cobbler’s appeals. - -“Stay, mademoiselle!” he cried after her; “stay but a moment and -listen! Ah, _Mère de Dieu_, she rushes to her fate!” - -He called to deaf ears; Rosaline fled through the woods like a young -fawn with the dog at her heels. She took no thought of herself but only -remembered her grandmother and the terrible prospect of a dragonnade -at St. Cyr. The custom of quartering dragoons on families suspected of -heresy was too fearfully frequent for it to be improbable, and such -visitations were attended by horrible indignities; neither age nor -innocence was spared, and the end generally saw the château in smoking -ruins and the members of the devoted family dead or banished. - -All these things flashed through Rosaline’s mind as she sped--on the -wings of love--toward her home, and no one could have overtaken her. -The poor hunchback followed as best he could, cursing the fate that had -forced him to tell her. - -At the gate of the château, Rosaline met Babet, who tried to stop her, -but in vain; the girl ran across the garden and passed in through -the side door, which the housekeeper had left open. All the while -she wondered that the place seemed so deserted and that she saw no -soldiers. She passed through the kitchen and dining room, and running -upstairs to her grandmother’s sitting-room, flung open the door and -found herself face to face with M. de Baudri. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -M. DE BAUDRI’S TERMS - - -Rosaline did not look at M. de Baudri, but beyond him into the room, -and she saw her grandmother’s armchair vacant, and the door that led -into the bedroom beyond stood open. The girl’s heart seemed to stop -beating, yet she could not believe the evidence of her senses. - -“Where is she?” she demanded of M. de Baudri imperiously. “Where is -Madame de St. Cyr?” - -He had greeted her with a profound bow and he stood now before her, -smiling and composed. - -“Madame is on her way to Nîmes, mademoiselle,” he said pleasantly. - -“To Nîmes?” repeated Rosaline, with pale lips. “_Mon Dieu!_ what have -you done?” - -Her agitation did not ruffle his composure; he still looked at her with -a smile. - -“I am afflicted to tell you such ill news, mademoiselle,” he said -suavely, “but unhappily a complaint has been lodged against Madame -de St. Cyr. She is accused of being a heretic, and of sheltering a -heretic. A charge so serious must be investigated. Unfortunately,” he -concluded with a shrug, “I have to do my duty.” - -“Your duty!” repeated Rosaline, with sparkling eyes. “Your duty, then, -monsieur, is to drag a helpless old woman from the shelter of her home?” - -He bit his lip and a red spot showed in either cheek, but he controlled -his own rising temper. - -“Assuredly, mademoiselle,” he replied, “if she is guilty of the -detestable crime of heresy.” - -“And you will be guilty of the crime of murder, monsieur,” she retorted -with a fierce indignation; for the moment, she was perfectly fearless. -“Where is she? Where have you taken her?” she cried. - -He looked at the clock. “She must be in Nîmes now, mademoiselle,” he -replied courteously; “she will be strictly confined there under guard -until she has been interrogated by the authorities.” - -Rosaline uttered a low cry of despair. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” she said, “it will kill her; you know it will kill her!” - -He shrugged his shoulders. “I am not responsible,” he said; “I am -a soldier, bound to execute the orders of my superiors. For her -sake, for yours, mademoiselle, I have endeavored to alleviate the -circumstances of her arrest, and ’tis possible that--that there might -be a compromise.” - -He paused, looking at her with a strange expression. - -“What do you mean?” she demanded eagerly. - -M. de Baudri laid his hand on his heart. - -“It rests with you, mademoiselle,” he said with gallantry, “to -determine madame’s fate. There is no doubt that she is a heretic, and -you know the doom of heretics, but you may save her yet.” - -Rosaline drew her breath sharply; an intuition warned her of what was -coming. She was white to the lips, but her blue eyes shone. - -“Your meaning, monsieur?” she said in a low voice. - -“I stand high in the favor of M. Montrevel,” he said placidly; “I am a -good Catholic. It is possible for me to obtain many concessions, if I -wish to do so. Mademoiselle understands me; it is necessary for me to -help her, and my help can be obtained if Rosaline de St. Cyr desires -it.” - -She stood looking at him in silence, and he became at last a little -uneasy under that searching glance. - -“You know that I love you, mademoiselle,” he said; “if you consent -now--this moment--to marry me, I will save madame.” - -He spoke with the air of one who contemplated a virtuous deed. - -“You wish me to marry you!” she exclaimed, her voice quivering with -passion. “M. de Baudri, I too am a heretic.” - -She turned on him the same face that she had turned on the cobbler in -the wood. - -“Why do you not give me up to the authorities, monsieur?” she went on -defiantly; “you are a soldier, do your duty!” - -“Mademoiselle does not understand that I love her,” he retorted, -unmoved. “Come, come, Rosaline, you are young, you are misguided, but -you will be converted. Say the word; promise to be my wife, and your -grandmother shall be saved, I pledge you my word.” - -“Beware, monsieur!” Rosaline exclaimed with scorn. “I have thought you -a brave man, but this is the act of a coward.” - -His face reddened, and he suppressed the violence of his own mood with -difficulty. - -“You forget,” he said slowly, “that you are completely in my power. You -are a heretic by your own declaration, your grandmother is a prisoner, -and the precious steward, d’Aguesseau, is also in my power.” - -His keen eyes saw the swift change in her face at d’Aguesseau’s name. - -“M. d’Aguesseau?” she exclaimed, “is he taken?” - -There was an expression of satisfaction in the keen blue eyes; he had -touched her at last. - -“This morning, mademoiselle,” he replied coolly. “He is not only a -heretic, but also a rebel.” - -She was controlling herself by a great effort. - -“What will you do with him, monsieur?” she asked faintly. - -“Hang him, or send him to the galleys,” he retorted calmly. - -She reeled, catching at the back of a chair to save herself from -falling. M. de Baudri sprang toward her to proffer his assistance, but -she motioned him away with a gesture of horror. - -“Do not touch me!” she cried; “do not touch me!” - -She laid her head down on the back of the chair, overcome with -contending emotions. The two she loved best in the world had been taken -from her. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” she cried in a choking voice; “what shall I do?” - -The fiercest passions leaped up into M. de Baudri’s eyes,--anger, -jealousy, the desire for revenge; he had suspected that there was some -secret between François and Rosaline, and now he doubted it no longer. - -“Mademoiselle is more afflicted at the capture of a menial than at the -arrest of her own grandmother,” he remarked with a sneer. “Doubtless -she would like to arrange for his liberation also.” - -Rosaline made no reply; she was summoning all her powers to meet this -terrible emergency. - -“Even that is not beyond my power,” M. de Baudri added coolly, “if -mademoiselle desires to purchase this--servant’s--liberty.” - -Rosaline looked up with a haggard face, but her eyes sparkled with -anger. - -“François d’Aguesseau is no servant,” she cried; “he is as well born -and far more noble than his persecutor!” - -The man laughed fiercely. “He is doubtless mademoiselle’s lover,” he -remarked contemptuously; “she is more lightly won than I supposed.” - -“It is always in the power of the strong to insult the weak,” Rosaline -retorted coldly. - -“You cannot deny that this heretic is your lover!” he exclaimed -passionately. - -Rosaline raised her head proudly; her innocent gentleness had deserted -her; she was like a young lioness roused in defence of her own. - -“I do not deny it,” she said fearlessly; “M. d’Aguesseau is my -equal--and--and, yes, monsieur, my affianced husband. I do not deny -it, nor do I deny my love for him, though he is a prisoner and at your -mercy; the _bon Dieu_ defend him and me!” - -She had never looked more beautiful than at that moment of passionate -indignation and defiance in the cause of those she loved. M. de Baudri, -looking at her, swore in his heart that he would have her despite -heaven and hell. - -“You are frank, mademoiselle,” he remarked coolly. “’Tis unusual for -a young girl to be so eager to declare her affection. I am afflicted -indeed; for ’tis my portion to decide M. d’Aguesseau’s fate, and it -would grieve me to bereave mademoiselle of her lover!” - -Rosaline’s distress was shaking her resolution; already her lips were -quivering, and there were tears in the blue eyes. - -“Is his fate in your hands, monsieur?” she asked, with passionate -anxiety and a desperate hope. - -M. de Baudri bowed, with his hand on his heart. - -“Absolutely,” he replied pleasantly; “he has not yet been handed over -to the authorities. By lifting my finger I can set him free and also -your grandmother, and as easily I can consign both to the miserable -fate awaiting the heretics.” - -Rosaline took a step forward, clasping her hands and gazing intently -into his face. - -“Ah, monsieur, surely you will be merciful,” she exclaimed, “surely you -will spare my grandmother--a feeble woman--and M. d’Aguesseau--has he -not suffered enough? _Dieu!_ he has lost all,--his parents, his sister, -his property. I cannot believe that you will condemn these two! You are -a man, and not a fiend.” - -He watched her with an inscrutable expression on his face. - -“And what will you do to regain their liberty?” he asked slowly. “What -petition do you make for them?” - -“I ask you in God’s name,” she said with passionate earnestness, “and -on my knees, monsieur, though I never kneeled to living man before.” - -She was kneeling, her white face lifted, her hands clasped; and with -her golden hair she looked more like a supplicating angel than an -unhappy and defenceless girl. For him it was a moment of triumph; and -his heart was untouched by any feeling of compulsion; it only throbbed -with fierce determination. - -“Rise, mademoiselle,” he said, offering his hand with gallantry. -“Serious as the situation is, dangerous as it is for me to release -heretics, yet I must be less than human to resist such eloquence and -beauty. Your petition is granted--on one condition.” - -She looked at him searchingly, and her heart sank as she read the -expression in his eyes. - -“And that condition?” she demanded in a low tone. - -“A simple one, mademoiselle,” he said, with an easy air of confidence: -“I adore you, Rosaline; and when you are my wife, these two are free.” - -“You say this to me after I have declared my love for another man!” she -exclaimed aghast, “you say this to me,--a heretic! Your conscience is -not very scrupulous.” - -He smiled. “You are but a child, Rosaline,” he said; “you will embrace -my religion and marry me, or--” he shrugged his shoulders,--“the Tour -de Constance for madame and the gallows for your ex-lover. I give you -a free choice!” - -Rosaline clasped her hands against her heaving bosom, looking up, while -the tears fell on her pale cheeks. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” she cried; “forgive me for kneeling to mortal man. I -ought to have known that there was no mercy save in Thee. Alas, alas, -my dear ones!” - -There was a pause; she seemed to be absorbed in her devotions, and M. -de Baudri watched her in silence but with relentless eyes. Her beauty -and her sorrow only intensified his fierce passion. - -“I see that you are willing to kill both rather than sacrifice your -whim,” he remarked, striking a skilful blow at her tottering resolution. - -“Is it possible that this is your fixed purpose?” she cried. “Can it be -that you would have me save them thus? Have you no pride, that you are -willing to take a bride on such terms as these? Have you no mercy?” - -“I am showing much,” he replied suavely. “How many men would spare a -successful rival’s neck?” - -“It will avail nothing,” she said passionately. “I will appeal to M. de -Bâville himself!” - -He laughed heartlessly. “Do so, mademoiselle,” he said, with a shrug, -“and you will have the pleasure of seeing your lover broken on the -wheel like his father.” - -She gave a low cry of horror, hiding her face in her hands. He walked -over to the window and looked out. The sun was setting behind the -valley of the Vaunage, and the wind was already blowing the yellow -leaves from the trees and strewing the garden path with a shower of -gold. He knew that she was in the throes of a mortal agony, and he -did not dream of relaxing the pressure until he broke her will. He -knew something of her character, and he believed her capable of any -sacrifice for those she loved. He stood a while watching his orderly -leading his horse to and fro before the gate. He had purposely deceived -her on one point, and he believed that he would succeed without -violence, but he intended to have her at any cost. With her consent -if he could, without it, if necessary, he was not troubled with many -scruples, and her helpless anguish did not touch him. - -He turned at last to find her sitting in her grandmother’s chair, her -face buried in her hands, and her golden hair, escaping its bonds, had -fallen about her like a mantle. - -“I am going back to Nîmes, mademoiselle,” he said courteously, “and I -regret that I have to leave the house in the hands of guards, but they -are instructed to treat you with courtesy. Permit me to recommend that -you continue your former prudent reserve in the matter of religion. -At ten to-morrow morning, I shall return for my answer. You know the -solitary condition, and you hold two lives in your lovely hands.” - -She looked up with ineffable scorn in her blue eyes. - -“_Dieu!_ is this a man?” she exclaimed. - -A deep red flush mounted to his forehead, but he bowed so profoundly -that the curls of his periwig fell before his face. - -“It is your devoted lover, mademoiselle,” he replied, and walked -backward to the door, holding his plumed hat against his heart and -stepping with the ease and precision of a dancing master. - -On the threshold he made her another profound obeisance and, smiling, -closed the door behind him. He paused only a moment in the hall below -to give a few sharp instructions to the sergeant left in command. - -“If any man attempts to enter this house to-night,” he said in a hard -tone, “shoot him. If you let him evade you, I will hang you.” - -The soldier saluted, and M. de Baudri walked calmly down the garden -path, and leaping into the saddle, set off at a gallop for Nîmes. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -ROSALINE’S HUMBLE FRIENDS - - -Meanwhile a very different scene had been enacted in the kitchen, -where Babet had confronted the cobbler and poured upon his devoted -head a volley of questions. She had gone out with Rosaline early, -before there was even a hint of approaching catastrophe, and she could -not understand the swift march of events, and her suspicious soul was -possessed with a rooted distrust of the poor hunchback, who had not yet -rallied from Rosaline’s accusations, striking home as they did after -the guilty hours of his temptation. The two had shut themselves in the -kitchen with the dog, and le Bossu sat by the fire, an expression of -dull despair upon his face, while Babet stood over him, her arms akimbo -and her keen black eyes riveted upon him. Like Rosaline, she questioned -his motive for coming to the house at all. - -“What brought you here this morning, Petit Bossu?” she demanded -harshly; “we needed no new shoes.” - -The cobbler’s face darkened. “_Nom de St. Denis!_” he exclaimed; “have -you nothing better to do than to suspect your friends at such a time?” - -“Yet you came--and why?” persisted Babet. - -The hunchback threw out his hands with a gesture of impatience. - -“There is no reason why I should explain to you,” he retorted -contemptuously. - -“Ah!” ejaculated Babet, in a tone of dark suspicion, “what do you -expect me to think of such obstinate silence? You must be a wicked -man--I have always heard that hunchbacks were malicious; how could you -give mademoiselle up? Why did you not let her escape through the woods, -beast?” - -The cobbler was tried beyond endurance. - -“Mother of Heaven!” he cried bitterly, “do you think that I would -injure a hair of mademoiselle’s head? She could not escape; M. de -Baudri had two circles of sentries about the place, and I knew it. -There were men below the cataract--in the woods--to attempt to pass -them would have been to risk her life. You were in the snare; I tried -to keep her away from the house, but I could not, and they would have -found her anywhere in the end.” - -Babet threw back her head with a snort; she had the air of an old -war-horse scenting the battle from afar. - -“You knew a great deal about it,” she remarked maliciously; “couldn’t -you warn us?” - -He sighed; a weary resignation was settling down on his heart. It -seemed that no one thought well of him, or expected good from him. - -“I knew nothing of it until this morning,” he said coldly, “and then -too late to help you. I am lame, and M. de Baudri rides a fine horse. -Nevertheless, I got here five minutes before him--but that was too -late.” - -His face and his voice began to convince even Babet, and a faint pang -of remorse smote her heart, which, after all, was angered only on -Rosaline’s account. She left off questioning him and walked to and fro -in the kitchen, trying to collect her thoughts, and the process was -much impeded by the even tramp of the sentry, which sounded distinctly -enough on the gravel path outside the windows. Once or twice, when the -soldier’s back was turned, Babet shook her fist at it, uttering threats -in language that was more fervent than pious. - -“My poor lamb!” she muttered, her thoughts returning to Rosaline, “what -will she do in the hands of this wolf? _Nom de Ciel!_ if I could but -tear his throat!” - -The hunchback did not heed her; he was staring at the floor with -vacant eyes. He meant to save mademoiselle if he could, but how? His -lips moved now and then, and his brown hands twitched nervously, but -his ears were straining to catch the slightest sound. Presently Babet -turned around, as if a sudden thought had flashed upon her; she picked -up the tongs from beside the fire, and hiding them under her apron -walked deliberately out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. -The sound brought the sentry at a run, and they met face to face. -Without a word, Babet lifted the tongs, and, snapping them on to the -brim of his hat, flung it over the hedge. - -“There, you varlet!” she exclaimed, holding the tongs close to the end -of his nose, “learn to take off your hat to a decent woman, who’s old -enough to be your mother, and stop staring in the window with those -goggle eyes of yours. I’m no jail-bird, I tell you!” - -“Mother!” ejaculated the astonished dragoon, “you old gray cat! _Dame!_ -if I do not wring your neck for your impudence when M. le Capitaine has -gone.” - -“Humph!” retorted Babet, grimly, “you’ll find it tough, _mon fils_. -Your hat is in the briar bush, my lad;” and she walked back into the -house with a grim smile of triumph, leaving the soldier cursing her -while he searched for his hat. - -Babet did not return to the kitchen; she proceeded up the stairs to the -room where Rosaline was talking to M. de Baudri. The door was closed; -but refined scruples were not among the good housekeeper’s faults, and -she calmly applied her ear to the keyhole, all the while clasping the -tongs fiercely under her apron; and for the next twenty minutes her -face was a picture. More than once she had her hand on the latch, but -prudence finally prevailed, and three minutes before M. de Baudri -emerged, she made her way cautiously back to the kitchen. She had heard -enough to understand the whole, and she descended upon the cobbler like -an avalanche, carrying all before her. In the storm of her indignation -she could not remain silent, and she poured out the whole story of M. -de Baudri’s shameless persecution of his prisoner. Le Bossu had long -ago learned the lesson of self-control, and he listened with composure, -though his face seemed to have aged since the morning. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” cried Babet, regardless now of the sentry’s stare, “he -would force that white dove to marry him! That villain de Baudri--may -the _bon Dieu_ blast him as the great chestnut-tree yonder was blasted -with lightning! He--the rogue--would make mademoiselle sell herself -to him to save old madame and her lover. Woe is me, why did that man -d’Aguesseau ever come here?” - -The hunchback looked up, surprise in his dull eyes. - -“What do you mean?” he demanded, “save her lover? Her lover is safe in -the Cévennes.” - -“Much you know!” retorted the woman, scornfully; “it seems that he was -captured this morning.” - -The cobbler was silent a moment, thinking deeply. - -“I do not believe it,” he said quietly. - -“You think it a lie of that devil’s?” asked Babet, eagerly. - -He nodded. “M. de Baudri is doing it to force her to yield,” he said -slowly; “he has sworn to marry her. I do not believe that he has taken -one Huguenot prisoner to-day, save--” he stopped, and looked out of the -window at the sentry, who kept staring in with a furious face. - -“_Dieu_, what a fiend!” exclaimed Babet, thrusting her tongs into the -fire, where they would heat, after casting a vicious glance toward the -window. “He has given mademoiselle until to-morrow morning to decide,” -she added. - -“What will she do?” the cobbler asked in a strange voice. - -“Do? oh, I know her!” the woman retorted with a snort; “to save those -two she would die. She’ll marry him unless--” Babet thrust the tongs -deeper in the coals, “unless I wring his neck!” - -“That cannot be done,” remarked le Bossu, soberly, “but something must -be done to-night.” - -“What?” snapped his companion, “what can a hunchback and an old woman -do? A pretty pair of birds for such an emergency. Leer away, young man; -I have the tongs ready for you!” she added in an aside, her fierce eyes -on the window. - -“Has she one true friend with influence in Nîmes?” the cobbler asked. - -Babet shook her head, and then, after a moment’s thought,-- - -“There is Père Ambroise,” she said. - -Le Bossu’s face brightened. “Good!” he said, “the priest can do much; -and now, I am a Catholic, Babet, but as there is a God in heaven, I -mean no harm! Is there any boy or man who could carry a message amongst -the Camisards?” - -Babet had grown reckless in her misery over mademoiselle; she did not -hesitate to reply. - -“There is the blacksmith’s boy at St. Césaire,” she said, “a good -child, and active as a wild hare. What do you want of him?” - -“If possible, I must find M. d’Aguesseau,” he replied, “and also Père -Ambroise; I cannot do both without help.” - -“And if M. d’Aguesseau is in prison,” suggested Babet, grimly. - -“The will of Heaven be done,” replied the cobbler, calmly, “but Père -Ambroise shall be here before dawn,” and he rose as he spoke. - -“How will you get out?” asked the woman, eying him curiously. - -“You will see,” he rejoined, and quietly gathering up his bag of tools, -he left the kitchen and walked through the hall. - -M. de Baudri had just left by the front way, and the cobbler went out -at the back of the house. There was a high row of box beside the path, -and dropping on his hands and knees he crept along behind it, past the -sentry on that side. He had to move very slowly and softly, avoiding -every dry twig and even the dead leaves, but he reached the outer hedge -at last. Here there was a hole, through which Truffe passed in and out. -The cobbler thrust his bag through and then followed it; his face and -hands were scratched, but what of that? He rose from his knees in the -open road, and, shaking off the dust, shouldered his load and walked -on, limping more painfully than usual. He had to pass one guard, but -this man did not know that he had been in the house and saw nothing -unusual in the appearance of the little cobbler of St. Antoine. - -“You are late, le Bossu,” he said good-naturedly. - -“The shoes fit too well,” retorted the hunchback, coolly, “and my -patron is rich.” - -“_Pardieu!_” the soldier exclaimed with a laugh. “I will borrow -to-morrow morning. We have a bag of heretics here.” - -“_Mère de Dieu_, burn them,--all but the shoes!” said le Bossu, and -walked calmly on. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -“MORTIS PORTIS FRACTIS” - - -It was daybreak; the pale sky was luminous, and the golden east -throbbed with the approaching glory. Already the hill-tops were -radiant, but the low country lay in the shadow, and a white mist -floated over the valleys. The air was full of the twittering of birds, -and all the life in Nature began to stir. There were no travellers on -the highroad so early, save one, a corpulent priest, mounted on a stout -mule, proceeding toward St. Cyr. Père Ambroise detested extraordinary -exertion, but he had yielded to the importunities of the cobbler. For -his own part, he thought that ten o’clock was soon enough to deal with -M. de Baudri, but he had roused himself and set out at an unearthly -hour because of le Bossu’s representations. No man could regret the -trouble at the château de St. Cyr more sincerely than he did; he had -labored to protect these two defenceless women, and he saw no profit -in madame’s arrest. Père Ambroise would never be numbered with the -persecutors; he cared more for a bottle of good wine from the vintage -of the Vaunage than he did for the arrest of a score of heretics. -Besides, he had no real love for M. de Baudri, and he foresaw M. de -Baudri’s triumph. Père Ambroise wanted to convert Rosaline; he wanted -to see her either in a convent or wedded to a good son of the Church, -but he could not digest the prospect of this particular bridegroom. He -had not the smallest respect for Rosaline’s religious convictions or -scruples; it was impossible for him to regard them with anything but -contempt or hatred, but he really cared for the girl’s welfare. He had -known her from a child, and he felt a sincere affection for her. For -her sake he had spared Madame de St. Cyr, and he had no desire now to -give her pain. He rode along, therefore, revolving all these matters -in his mind, and wondering how far he could trespass on the patience -and friendship of the Intendant of Languedoc,--the only man who could -take M. de Baudri in hand. The result of Père Ambroise’s ruminations -was not satisfactory; he advanced at a leisurely pace, for his mule -was nearly as stout as he was, and the sun rose in all its splendor -as he approached St. Cyr. He disliked effort and excitement, and he -could devise no easy and comfortable way out of the dilemma. After all, -perhaps she would have to marry M. de Baudri; at least, that ought to -bring her into the church, and if she remained a heretic? Well, Père -Ambroise reflected with a broad smile, that alternative would furnish -him with a rod to hold over the stubborn head of M. le Capitaine. The -good father’s fat sides shook a little with silent laughter as he drew -rein at the gate of the château. _Âme de St. Denis!_ he would make -M. de Baudri dance to a pretty tune before the Intendant; there were -compensations, no matter what the result. - -The sentry--the same young man who had been disciplined by -Babet--received the priest with respect; his instructions had not -mentioned Père Ambroise, and the stout, black-robed figure ambled -placidly up the gravel path and entered by way of the kitchen. This -was empty, for Babet had deserted her fortress for the moment to wait -on her young mistress. The priest proceeded through the house and -was greeted at the stairs by Truffe, who knew him. He climbed up in a -leisurely way, panting at each step, and, entering the sitting-room, -found Rosaline and her faithful attendant. The young girl hailed his -entrance with relief and hope, and something like life came back into -her white face. - -Père Ambroise was touched by her evident confidence in his good-will, -and seating himself comfortably, he dismissed Babet with a placid -air of authority that sent her fuming to the kitchen, where she -resumed her task of heating the fire-irons. She was determined not -to be taken unawares, and the sentry--perfectly acquainted with her -occupation--kept his distance and bided his time. - -Meanwhile, in response to a few well-directed questions, Rosaline told -her story, which was substantially the same as the one already recited -by le Bossu. A man less keen than Père Ambroise would have detected her -resolution in her manner, and he was not unprepared for her answer when -he asked her what she intended to do. She was standing in front of him, -her hands clasped loosely before her, and her head erect, but her face -was like marble, white and still. - -“I have no choice, _mon père_,” she said, in a low voice; “no one cares -for a heretic. It is my duty to save my grandmother. I cannot let her -die for my happiness! _Mon Dieu!_ what a monster I should be! I must -consent to M. de Baudri’s terms, and then--” she paused, drawing a -deep breath and her clear blue eyes looked out, away toward the grim -mountains of the north, “and then I know that the _bon Dieu_ will -release me. He will send me death--sweet death--for my bridegroom!” - -Père Ambroise regarded her thoughtfully. For his times, he was a -liberal man, and he did not immediately foresee hell fires. He saw only -a pure and defenceless girl, and his heart smote him. - -“The _bon Dieu_ is offended with you for heresy, Rosaline,” he remarked -calmly; “that is the cause of your misfortunes.” - -Rosaline looked at him searchingly; she had long ago weighed Père -Ambroise and found him wanting. - -“He is my Judge,” she replied, and closed her lips firmly. - -It was not the hour for religious controversy, and the priest knew it; -he pursed up his lips and was silent. But she had a purpose at heart, -and not even his frowns discouraged it. - -“Père Ambroise,” she said, “I want to go into Nîmes now--at once--to -see my grandmother. I will consent to nothing until I do--you can get -this favor for me--I ask nothing else, but oh, do this for me!” - -Père Ambroise had been considering many things, and he was not -unwilling to listen to so reasonable a desire. Indeed, he had been -thinking with some pity of poor old Madame de St. Cyr. - -“It shall be done,” he said, “but not until M. de Baudri comes; I have -no authority, but he cannot refuse this at my request.” - -Rosaline thanked him without emotion; the girl’s passionate grief and -rebellion had spent itself in a night of agony; she had reached the -dead level of despair. She still believed her lover to be a prisoner, -for Babet had been too wise to hold out uncertain hopes, and Rosaline -had made up her mind to sacrifice herself for her two loved ones, and -the sacrifice she contemplated was worse to her than death. No victim -was ever prepared to be laid on the altar with a greater vigil of -misery. She would have died gladly, but this was far more terrible -and more degrading. She was in a stupor of misery, but yet too wise -to expect relief from Père Ambroise. His point of view and hers were -sundered as widely as the poles. To him it was only an undesirable step -toward her conversion, and a certain way of saving her life. - -It was early, and the placid father left the victim to her reflections -and, proceeding to the pantry, foraged with some comfort. He was too -intimately acquainted with Babet’s peculiarities to approach her at -such a moment with a demand for breakfast, but he managed to comfort -the inner man with the remains of a cold chicken pasty and a salad, and -some more diligent search unearthed a small bottle of _eau-de-vie_, so -that he emerged from his seclusion, at last, wiping his lips and with -an air of satisfaction. After this, he mounted his spectacles and -searched Madame de St. Cyr’s little library for heretical books, but -the old gentlewoman had been too cautious to be so easily betrayed, and -he found nothing of interest. - -Thus it happened that when M. de Baudri arrived at ten o’clock he -found Père Ambroise in possession, and fell to cursing his luck, -knowing well enough that the priest had both the will and the power to -hamper his designs. He held the corpulent father in supreme contempt, -but he dared not insult him at a time when the priests were supreme, -nor could he drive Rosaline to extremities while she had such a -respectable protector. M. de Baudri was a keen man, and he saw that -a few concessions might gain an ally, while insolence would make an -undesirable enemy. There was no hope of his marrying Rosaline if Père -Ambroise chose to declare her a heretic and have her shut up in a -convent. The priest held the winning card and knew it, and it took -him only half an hour to arrange that the young girl should accompany -him to see her grandmother, under the escort of M. de Baudri and his -dragoons. - -Before eleven, therefore, they were on the road to Nîmes. A carriage -had been obtained at St. Césaire, and the priest, Rosaline, and Babet -sat within it, while M. de Baudri rode beside it and a guard of -dragoons followed at a short distance. Rosaline felt herself to be -on the way to an open grave, and she leaned back in her corner with -closed eyes. No one spoke, and the drive was taken in silence. Finally -they passed through the Porte de France and then proceeded more slowly -through the streets. The noises of the city aroused the poor girl a -little, and she looked out, only to shrink again from the curious -stare of the crowd. On the carriage went, turning at last into a long -street and then stopping at the door of the common jail. Happily for -Rosaline, she did not recognize it, though she shuddered as she passed -under the grim portal with Père Ambroise. They were alone, the others -remaining without, and they were admitted with but little parley. Like -a somnambulist, the girl passed through a gloomy corridor and saw the -jailer unfastening the bolts of a strong door. The man threw it open -and stood back, and Rosaline did not heed his remark to the priest. - -“You are just in time, _mon père_,” he said, with a brutal laugh. - -They stood at the entrance of a narrow cell lighted by one small -window, and on the wretched pallet lay the motionless form of Madame de -St. Cyr. At the sight of her grandmother’s face Rosaline awoke from her -dream and running forward, fell on her knees beside her with a cry of -surprise and anguish. Père Ambroise hastily closed the door behind him; -he did not need to look a second time to see that M. de Baudri was to -be defrauded of one victim. - -“Speak to me, _grand’mère_,” Rosaline cried pitifully. “Oh, _mon Dieu_, -why did I ask for one night to decide? Twelve hours ago I might have -saved her!” - -The sound of a beloved voice often rouses even the dying; Madame de St. -Cyr stirred and opened her eyes. They dwelt lovingly on the girl for a -moment, and then memory returned and an expression of horror came into -her face. - -“Merciful Heaven!” she gasped, rallying her forces. “Are you here, my -darling?--now is death bitter indeed!” - -“She is safe,” Père Ambroise interposed, his heart touched at last; “I -will protect her.” - -The old woman gave him a look of ineffable gratitude; she was almost -beyond speech, but she laid one hand feebly on Rosaline’s head, and her -lips moved as she blessed her. - -“Thank the _bon Dieu_,” she murmured faintly, “the old tree was -cut--down--and the flower--spared! Weep not, my child. Beyond--there is -peace.” - -Rosaline’s slender frame was shaken with agony. - -“Live for me, _grand’mère_!” she cried; “now indeed am I desolate--and -I would have saved you!” - -But the end was too near for the dying woman to understand; she sank -back with closed eyes and Père Ambroise began to recite the prayer for -the dying. In his emotion he forgot that she was a heretic. Rosaline -clung to her in an agony of grief and self-abnegation. - -“Oh, let me save you!” she cried; “live that I may die for you!” - -Madame opened her eyes, there was a placid smile on her face, she had -forgotten all the terror and the pain, prison walls held her no more. - -“There is no anguish,” she said softly, looking away into space, “only -light--my husband--my son--the _bon Dieu_ be praised--there shall be -peace!” - -She spoke no more; there was no sound but Père Ambroise’s Latin and -Rosaline’s weeping. The dying woman lay still, and the clear eyes still -looked triumphantly beyond this world’s agony, and almost without a -sigh the gentle soul escaped from prison. Death, the Deliverer, opened -the gates. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE COBBLER’S FAITH - - -Père Ambroise was plentifully supplied with this world’s goods, and -he had a house of his own in Nîmes, not a hundred yards from the -Esplanade, where he lived in comfort and security, with no fear -of the Camisard raids. To the right of the door of this house was -a comfortable room, furnished with many luxuries: soft rugs, deep -arm-chairs, tapestry-hangings, a huge fireplace, where the logs -burned cheerfully on the great andirons. And here Père Ambroise sat -entertaining M. de Baudri over a bottle of rare wine, on the evening -of that eventful day. They had both dined well, and the good father’s -rubicund face wore an expression of satisfaction, while his guest was -visibly discontented. The fact was that Père Ambroise was in command of -the situation, and he had forced the soldier to yield at all points. At -that moment Rosaline was secure in one of his upper rooms, and he was -in a position to dictate his own terms. If he chose he could declare -her a heretic and immure her in a convent for life; M. de Baudri’s only -chances of being a bridegroom lay in his ability to propitiate the -priest. Nothing could have been more distasteful to the soldier than -this unexpected turn of affairs; he was accustomed to command and not -to sue, and now he was forced to persuade a man who disliked him to -look at things from his point of view. He cursed his luck in secret, -and tried to smile over his wine; never had he been more neatly balked -in his purposes--nor by a more contemptible enemy. Meanwhile Père -Ambroise leaned back in his chair and regarded him from between his -half-closed lids, mightily diverted by the other’s discomfiture, and -not yet entirely decided on his own course. He was not sure that it -would be a merciful thing to shut Rosaline up in a convent for life, -and Père Ambroise was one of those men who cannot be ill-natured after -a good dinner. He raised his wine-glass in his fat fingers and held it -before the candle that he might admire the delicate amber color of the -wine before he drank it, and all his movements were deliberate and -comfortable. His placidity goaded M. de Baudri to the verge of murder. - -“You cannot marry a heretic, my son,” Père Ambroise remarked -pleasantly; “therefore you must either allow her to go to her -fate--which, by the way, is of your preparing--or wait until she is -converted.” - -“_Dame!_ do you take me for a fool?” exclaimed his companion. “How long -have you been at this hopeful business of conversion?” - -“Only since I have known her to be a heretic,” the priest replied -composedly. - -“_Sacristi!_ convert a heretic!” de Baudri laughed; “how many are ever -converted?” - -“Large numbers--in some circumstances,” Père Ambroise said, with -a broad smile; “’tis said that Du Chayla had a basement full of -converts when their misguided friends arose and murdered him at -Pont-de-Montvert; a poor requital for his zeal, monsieur. As for -myself,”--he waved his fat hands,--“I am a man of peace, and I have -ever labored to save these misguided people from violence.” - -M. de Baudri was leaning his elbow on the table, staring gloomily at -the floor. - -“_Mère de Dieu!_” he said bitterly; “they are all only fit for hanging.” - -“Perhaps you would prefer to hang mademoiselle,” his companion -remarked, refilling his glass cautiously, for he did not wish to -disturb his brain with the fumes of liquor. - -M. de Baudri looked at him darkly. - -“I do her great honor in offering to marry her,” he said harshly. - -Père Ambroise nodded his head approvingly, and took a sip of wine. - -“Assuredly,” he said; “so great an honor that I am inclined to prevent -you. A true son of the Church should not wed a heretic. The proper -destination for her is a convent.” - -The younger man swore under his breath. - -“You old fox, you,” he exclaimed, “you do not want me to marry the -girl--I believe you want her yourself!” - -Père Ambroise turned his eyes piously toward heaven. - -“The saints forbid!” he murmured. “You have an unbridled tongue, _mon -fils_, and deserve discipline for offering an insult to one in holy -orders.” - -The officer laughed. “_Dame_, you old rogue!” he said, “do you fat -fathers take us for fools? Hark!” he added sharply, pausing to listen, -“what is that? I heard the dog bark.” - -“Rosaline’s poodle,” replied the priest, undisturbed. - -M. de Baudri was suspicious. “Have you got her secure?” he demanded -imperiously. - -“Absolutely secure,” retorted his companion, indifferently; “my -servants are faithful, and her door is fastened by an oaken bar too -strong for two women to force. Compose yourself, _mon fils_; you -consented to this respite; she was to have until eight to-morrow -morning for reflection, and she has reason enough to make good use of -the time. Her grandmother is dead and she has no defender but me. She -will not resist my authority, but you take a strange way to propitiate -me and obtain my good offices.” - -M. de Baudri gnawed his lip with a lowering expression on his face. - -“I shall have to come to your terms, I suppose, _mon père_,” he said at -last with an effort to appear congenial. - -“That is more to the point,” Père Ambroise remarked pleasantly, and -leaned over to fill his guest’s glass again. - -While these two worthies talked and drank, a very different scene was -being enacted in the second story of the house. Here, in a large back -room, Rosaline and Babet were confined; the woman sitting stiffly -upright in a chair by the table, where the candles were set, while -Rosaline had thrown herself face downward on the bed, in a silent agony -of grief and despair. Between the two was the black poodle Truffe, her -ears pointed, silent and watchful after the fashion of dogs in new -places. - -Babet ventured upon no consolation; she stared grimly before her -with unwinking eyes. She was thinking of her own fate; there was no -one to interpose for her, and her destiny was probably the Tour de -Constance. She tried to recall all she had heard of this fearful prison -at Aiguemortes, of the malarious swamps about it, of the smells that -arose at low tide, of the hideous cruelties practised in its loathsome -dungeons, of the sick and dying, whose bodies were denied decent -burial. Grim and strong as old Babet was, her cheek blanched at the -thought, and, for the moment, she forgot even her ewe-lamb. (The most -unselfish soul must fight its own battle sometime, to the exclusion of -all else.) - -Meanwhile Rosaline lay there with her face hidden on her arms; her -grandmother’s death had bereaved her of one who might have remained -with her, helping her to endure her lot, for she hoped for no release; -she must purchase her lover’s liberty and life at the expense of her -own happiness. M. de Baudri had taken care to remind her that he still -held the fate of François d’Aguesseau in his hand, and she knew that -the sacrifice must still be made. If François divined it, he would -refuse his life at such a cost,--that she knew; but he would never -know, he might even think her false and lightly won! But all these -things were small compared with the alternative; it was not for her to -send him to the gallows, or worse, to make him a galley slave, that -she might escape M. de Baudri. Again she shuddered at the thought of -her fate; the lowest dungeons of the Tour de Constance would be heaven -compared with such a marriage! She shrank from it as all pure women -shrink from any marriage that is not founded on the highest and purest -motives. Her very flesh rebelled against her spirit, and she lay there -shivering, like one stricken with ague. Yet strong is love; she must -save him, and then, oh, she prayed the _bon Dieu_ to release her! - -In spite of all this misery, time passed. The house was quiet, no -sounds came from below, and practical Babet began to wonder what time -it was. There was no clock in the room, and she could not conjecture -the hour; it seemed as if they had been there an age. Just at this -moment she heard some one lift the bar outside the door, and Truffe -barked. Babet pounced upon her, muffled her head in her petticoat, -and then she listened intently. The visitor could not enter, for she -had secured the door within. There was a soft knock on the panels, -and Rosaline rose with a white face, and stood waiting. The knock was -repeated, and some one spoke their names very low. The voice seemed -familiar, and the young girl went to the door and listened again. - -“Mademoiselle de St. Cyr,” the visitor whispered, “open the door--’tis -I, Charlot the cobbler.” - -Babet uttered an exclamation, and Rosaline unfastened the lock and -admitted the hunchback. He looked old and worn, and carried his green -bag, and he paused just inside the door, looking from one to the other, -as if he doubted his reception. - -“Why have you come, Charlot?” Rosaline asked sadly. - -“I have come to help you to get away, mademoiselle,” he replied simply, -hurt past reason by their indifference, but bearing it, as he bore all -things, as a part of his lot. - -Rosaline shook her head. “I cannot go,” she said, “but Babet--you will -save Babet, Charlot.” - -“_Ciel!_” ejaculated that woman sharply, “he will save me, will he? And -what do you propose to do?” - -The young girl did not heed her, nor did the cobbler. - -“Mademoiselle,” he said, “your grandmother is dead, and M. d’Aguesseau -was never captured.” - -Rosaline stood looking at him with parted lips, her whole form -quivering with emotion. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” she said, “was it a lie?” - -“It was,” replied the cobbler quietly; “I have sent a message to him, -he is with Cavalier.” - -She could not believe him. “Alas!” she said, “you do this to get me -away.” - -The cobbler knelt down at her feet. - -“Mademoiselle,” he said, looking earnestly into her face, “I swear by -all I hold most sacred, that I do not deceive you. M. d’Aguesseau is at -liberty, though M. de Baudri offers a hundred crowns for his head.” - -Her strength failed her, she sank on the nearest chair, covering her -face with her hands. The reaction was too great for resistance; it -seemed as if her heart would stop beating, and the room whirled about -her. He was safe, and she was not required to make the sacrifice! - -The effect on Babet was very different; she released Truffe and began -to gather up their scattered belongings. - -“How can we get out, Petit Bossu?” she demanded grimly,--“in your -shoe-bag?” - -“The servants are feasting in the kitchen,” the cobbler said. “Père -Ambroise and M. de Baudri are drinking below, and the stairs are not -two yards from this door. We must trust in the _bon Dieu_.” - -As he spoke, he opened his bag and took out two long cloaks and hoods -similar to those worn by an order of Sisters of Charity at Nîmes. - -“Thou hast the mind of a great general, Charlot,” remarked Babet, with -a queer smile; “the hump is a pity.” - -Rosaline roused herself and looked at the disguise. - -“Alas! where can we go, Charlot?” she asked sadly; “how can we escape -them?” - -“To-night you can go to my shop, mademoiselle,” he replied, quietly, -“and to-morrow, as soon as the gates are open, you can start out to St. -Césaire. I have arranged with the blacksmith’s wife to hide you until I -can guide you to--to a place of safety.” - -“It may be done,” Rosaline said, after a moment’s thought. “I was to -have till eight to-morrow; there is one hope in a thousand--but the -risk to you, Charlot!” - -The little hunchback smiled. “Mademoiselle,” he said quietly, “I am -scarcely worth killing.” - -The tears shone in her blue eyes, but she said nothing, partly because -Babet was hurriedly muffling her in the cloak and hood. - -A few moments later they emerged from the room, Babet carrying Truffle -under her mantle; Charlot secured the door behind them, replacing the -bar, and softly and cautiously they descended. They heard Père Ambroise -speaking, in unctuous tones, and a coarse oath from M. de Baudri, on -whom the wine was having some effect, but no one heard them. The porter -had left his place and the door was unbolted. Almost without noise, the -three slipped out and stood free upon the open street. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR - - -The next morning found Charlot in his shop. He had spread his tools and -leather on his bench with a pretence of work, but he was not working. -He sat watching his door with eager eyes, alert and impatient. He was -waiting for the return of the blacksmith’s boy whom he had sent in -search of d’Aguesseau. Rosaline and Babet had walked out of the gate of -the town as soon as it was opened, and must be now near St. Césaire. In -le Bossu’s chamber a candle burned before the Virgin, a prayer for the -heretics; such is the inconsistency of the human heart and its religion. - -In a week the little hunchback had grown old, and his back seemed more -pitifully bowed than ever. The Intendant of Languedoc might indeed -regard him as scarcely worth the killing; but no man can see the naked -soul of his brother, and it may be vastly different from his body; as -different as the abode on earth is from the mansion in heaven. “It is -sown in weakness; it is raised in power.” It is cast in the shape of -a cripple on earth, it is raised in the form of an angel. The starved -soul of le Bossu looked out of his patient eyes and saw not even a -crumb of comfort falling from the rich man’s table, and self-sacrifice -became the law of his life. - -He looked down at his brown, toil-worn, right hand, and tears shone in -his eyes. It was sanctified, for she had kissed it. He shrank within -himself at the thought, but in her gratitude and her relief, she had -thanked him and she had even taken his hand and kissed it. Had he not -delivered her from a fate worse than death? and was he not her humble -friend and servant? Rosaline’s impulse had been followed by no second -thought; her whole soul was filled with the hope of escaping to her -lover. And the poor little cobbler understood her, but he felt that he -might fall down and worship her still. No one else had ever considered -him, no one else had ever been uniformly kind to him; in the parched -desert of his life she alone had held him a cup of water. The starved -and empty heart held one image; the life--of so little worth--was at -her service. - -The sun was high enough now to reach the court, and the spot of light -on the pavement began to grow, but the weed that had blossomed in -June had gone to seed and stood there yellow and lean. One of the -children opposite was ill of a fever, and the other played silently, -in a melancholy way, on the steps. Le Bossu’s glance lighted on her -and his heart was touched; it was cruel that a heart so large in its -sympathy for all sufferers should have been cast by the wayside and -choked with thorns. He rose from his bench and took up a little pair -of shoes, and then he opened his wallet and counted out some money; -with the shoes and the coin he crossed the court and gave them to the -little girl for her sick sister. The child stared at him wide-eyed; -she had shown him as little mercy as the others, and had looked upon -the hunchback as unlike other human beings. She had not the sense to -thank him, though she clasped his presents greedily to her breast and -fled into the house, half-affrighted at the little man with his hump. -The unwitting cruelty of children often hurts as much as the coarse -brutality of their parents, but to-day le Bossu smiled. If his life was -worth something to Rosaline de St. Cyr, it was worth all the suffering -of living it; the _bon Dieu_ had given him a blessed compensation. - -He was returning to the shop of Two Shoes when another man entered the -court. The cobbler looked about anxiously, for he had been dreading -the possible appearance of Père Ambroise or one of M. de Baudri’s -emissaries, but a second glance reassured him, for he came face to face -with François d’Aguesseau. The hunchback signed to him to follow him in -to his shop and then closed the door. - -“Where is she?” demanded d’Aguesseau, in an agitated tone. “I received -your message, and I am here.” - -The cobbler looked at him strangely. “Did you come to release -mademoiselle single-handed?” he asked quietly. - -“I came to save her--if mortal man can do it,” he retorted sternly. “It -may be that they will take me in exchange; I hear that there is a price -on my head--but, _mon Dieu!_ where is she?” - -His face was haggard and his dress much disordered. It was evident that -he had not paused for either rest or food. - -“She is at St. Césaire, I trust,” the cobbler replied calmly; “she and -Babet got away from Père Ambroise’s house last night and started this -morning in disguise for St. Césaire.” - -He made no mention of his share in the deliverance, and François jumped -to another conclusion. - -“Faithful Babet!” he exclaimed joyfully; “doubtless she planned it all. -I will follow them at once.” - -“You must meet them at the appointed spot, not elsewhere,” said the -cobbler. “I was to meet them between the bridge and the cataract, at -the spot where the old mulberry stands. Do you recall it?” - -“Perfectly,” replied d’Aguesseau, “but why there?” - -“Because they are to hide at St. Césaire until afternoon; then, if -there is no pursuit to St. Cyr, they can start without being observed. -If the château is too closely guarded, they will wait until night,” he -added; “but it will not be, for no one will think of their return to -the close vicinity of danger; it is Nîmes that will be searched for -them.” - -“But why can I not go straight to them now?” François demanded -impatiently. - -The cobbler sighed. “Monsieur,” he said patiently, “every house, every -cottage is watched, and if you are recognized--” - -He broke off with an expressive gesture. - -“I see,” d’Aguesseau replied; “you are a wise man, Petit Bossu. Tell me -about Madame de St. Cyr.” - -“She died yesterday in the jail here,” the hunchback answered; “the -shock of the arrest and mademoiselle’s danger ended her life.” - -D’Aguesseau clenched his hand. “_Mon Dieu!_” he exclaimed, “how long -wilt Thou afflict us?--how long?” - -“It was best so,” the cobbler remarked quietly. “If she had lived, -Mademoiselle Rosaline would have sacrificed herself to save her. She -believed that you and her grandmother were both captives; M. de Baudri -told her so, and promised to save your lives--to release you both only -on the condition that she should marry him.” - -“The accursed villain!” broke out François, laying his hand on his -sword: “may I be spared to chastise him!” - -He walked to and fro in the little room in suppressed fury; all the -fierce impulses of a bold and daring nature were aroused. - -“_Dieu!_” he exclaimed, in a low tone, “I cannot go to England for -Cavalier; I must stay and fight this monster!” - -“Nay,” remarked le Bossu, gravely, “you must save Mademoiselle de St. -Cyr.” - -François came to himself. “I ought not to need you to remind me,” he -said. “I will go at once to the appointed place and wait; it is not -long now, but, in the meantime, is she safe?” - -“We can only trust in Providence,” replied the cobbler, “since to -approach her would increase her risks. But--pardon me, monsieur--if you -stay much longer in Nîmes, you will be arrested.” - -“I know it,” he replied; “I thought only of her when I came, but I must -get away now for her sake. Charlot, I thank you,” he said, holding out -his hand; “I do not know why you should do so much for us who are, in -your eyes, heretics and criminals.” - -The hunchback smiled as he returned the pressure of d’Aguesseau’s hand. - -“Life is a mystery,” he rejoined, with a new dignity that became him -well, “and so is death.” - -He went with François down the Rue St. Antoine and stood at the gate -watching him until his figure disappeared on the long white road. Later -le Bossu would go himself to keep the appointment, for he too had an -errand there; nor could he rest until he knew that mademoiselle was -safely out of the neighborhood of Nîmes. But there was time yet, and -he wanted to know what Père Ambroise intended to do, and where M. de -Baudri would next cast his net. - -Meanwhile, out at St. Césaire, Babet and Rosaline were safely hidden -in the blacksmith’s house. It was a little cottage on the outskirts -of the village, and from the rear the inmates could easily reach the -woods about St. Cyr. The smith had been a faithful though humble -friend to the family at the château, and like many others, he was a -concealed Huguenot. He and his wife therefore gladly ministered to -Rosaline’s comfort and set a simple dinner of _pot-au-feu_ before -their two guests. Babet and Truffe did ample justice to the meal, but -Rosaline could not eat, in spite of Babet’s remonstrances. The young -girl was frantic to be off, to fly to her lover, that they might seek -safety together; and she had not the older woman’s prudence, who felt -that another dinner might be a long way off, and who did not believe -profoundly in the culinary accomplishments of the Cévenols. - -The hour came at last, and bidding her faithful friends, the smith -and his wife, adieu, Rosaline set out with her escort, Babet and the -dog. Nothing had occurred to alarm them or to indicate that their -hiding-place was suspected, and the blacksmith’s boy, employed for -scout duties, brought in the report that St. Cyr had been deserted -since the previous day, when Rosaline had left it. The two women -entered the place, therefore, with lighter hearts. Babet was determined -to enter the château, if possible, to secure Madame de St. Cyr’s jewels -and a considerable sum of money that had been secreted to provide -for just such an emergency; for they had for many years expected to -be denounced as Huguenots. Rosaline was to remain near the hedge that -surrounded the garden, to warn Babet if any one approached, while the -older and stronger woman went for madame’s iron box. Rosaline doubted -the wisdom of the attempt, yet neither of the two women cared to face -the wilderness without money to pay for either shelter or food, and it -was impossible to open the secret place where the box was while the -dragoons lurked about the house. - -They approached the château with great caution, listening and watching, -but no one appeared, not a leaf stirred, and Rosaline’s doves were -cooing in the sun. - -“Ah, my poor birds,” she said sadly. “I am glad that the blacksmith’s -good wife will take them; otherwise I should feel as if I were leaving -them to perish.” - -Babet did not pause to listen to these sentiments. Being sure that no -one was about, she entered the garden, followed by Truffe, who dashed -eagerly along, anxious to be at home again. Still there were no sounds -or signs of humanity, and advancing with a firmer step, Babet entered -the house unmolested. - -Meanwhile Rosaline, left alone outside of the hedge, walked to and fro -in the shade of the mulberries, watching the place and beginning to -feel easier when she heard no sound, for she knew that Truffe’s bark -would have announced the presence of strangers. It would take Babet -some little time, and Rosaline walked further on among the trees; this -might be the last time that she would ever approach the home of her -childhood, and her heart was very sad. Thoughts of her grandmother -thronged into her mind, and she lived over again the agony of -yesterday. Absorbed in her painful revery, she forgot her surroundings, -and unconsciously strayed farther into the wood. Here it was thickest; -the tree trunks clustered closely and the shadows lay about her; -beyond, a broad band of sunlight fell athwart the green shade. The moss -under her feet was thick and brown, and already the leaves were falling. - -Suddenly some one sprang upon her from behind, strong fingers clasping -her throat and choking back the cries that rose to her lips. She -resisted with all her might, but her unseen foe was stronger than -she, and forced her forward. In vain she strove to call for help, to -evade the clutching arms; then her foot caught in the gnarled root -of a mulberry tree and she fell, face downward, with those terrible -hands still at her throat. Then the shock of the fall, the horror -of her situation, and a choking sensation overcame her and she lost -consciousness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -THE OLD WINDMILL - - -When Rosaline came to herself it was with a bewildered recollection of -some horrible event, and, for a few moments, she was scarcely conscious -of her surroundings. Then she opened her eyes and tried to move, but -she could not. She was in a sitting posture, her hands and feet tied, -and a rope, slipped under her arms, held her securely against a wall -behind her. The discovery of her situation roused all her dormant -faculties, and she looked about her, trying to find out where she -was. She saw above her head familiar rafters, and then she discovered -the door closed opposite her, and recognized the old windmill, near -which François and she had spent those hours of happiness, so cruelly -interrupted. The light in the place was very dim, and the poor girl -could not at first see plainly in all the corners. She thought herself -alone and wondered where her captor was, and what was to come next. -Then the hope that her cries might bring help began to rise in her -heart, and she was on the point of screaming aloud, when a sound struck -her ear that froze her blood in her veins. It was a laugh, but it -sounded like a fiendish chuckle. It came from her right hand, and she -turned her head quickly and looked into the face of Mère Tigrane. An -exclamation of horror and fear burst from Rosaline’s heart, and she -shrieked for help--help!--and the old fishwife laughed and rocked to -and fro. She was sitting on an old log, in the dim corner, and she was -quite undisturbed by her prisoner’s cries. - -“Shriek away, mademoiselle!” she said pleasantly. “Ciel! what a voice -she has! But no one will hear you except dear old Mère Tigrane.” - -Rosaline’s heart sank; it might be too true, for they had arranged to -avoid the mill because strangers sometimes strayed there. She must -have been carried to it, in this fearful woman’s arms, for it was a -considerable distance from the spot where she had fainted. She sank -back against the wall with a groan; she knew it was useless to appeal -to this horrible creature; just such wretched women made a living -by informing against the Huguenots, and there was no mercy in them. -Rosaline did not know what to do; it was useless to plead with Mère -Tigrane, and it seemed useless, too, to hope for rescue; moreover, the -girl had conceived such a horror of the old witch, such a scorn of her -vileness, that she could not endure the sight of her. She closed her -eyes and prayed silently, but she made no sign of begging for mercy. -Her face was like a white rose in the dim light, and her hair lay in a -pale aureole about her brow; but, with all her agony, she bore herself -proudly. - -La Louve sat on her log and watched, gloating over her and running her -red tongue along the edge of her lips. - -“Art comfortable, my lady-bird?” she asked amiably. “What! so proud -that you will not speak to poor Mère Tigrane? And what do you suppose I -intend to do with such a fine lady, eh?” - -Rosaline opened her eyes and looked at her with an effort, her soul -filled with loathing, and the old hag saw it in her face and hated her -for it. - -“God knows what you want of me,” Rosaline said. “I have never harmed -you, and I cannot tell why you so misuse me.” - -“You never harmed me!” la Louve cried, throwing up her bony hands. -“_Dame!_ you are a peril to my soul, you little heretic!” - -Rosaline read the evil look in the hag’s eyes and knew that she would -never relent; and so great was her own abhorrence that it was well-nigh -impossible to look at her again. She turned her eyes toward the door, -therefore, and closed her lips; she had no hope save in heaven. - -“How would mademoiselle like the Tour de Constance?” Mère Tigrane -inquired pleasantly. “’Tis a healthful place and full of her friends. -_Dame de Dieu_, what an opportunity to travel without pay from Nîmes to -Aiguemortes!” - -She stopped and looked at the girl eagerly, trying to discover what -emotions were stirring in the heart of her victim, longing for tears -and entreaties; but Rosaline sat like a statue. - -“_Nom de St. Denis!_” she exclaimed at last, “how proud mademoiselle -is,--an aristocrat! But ’tis not the Tour de Constance, _ma chérie_,” -she added, with a mocking laugh. “No, no, there must be a better fate -for such a lovely prisoner. _Dame!_ but your flesh is white--I could -eat it. How much does mademoiselle think that M. de Baudri would pay -for such a prize?” - -“_Dieu!_” cried Rosaline, shaken out of her resolve, “are you a woman? -Is it possible that the _bon Dieu_ put such a heart in a woman?” - -“A woman, my pretty?” retorted the hag, with a peal of wild laughter. -“Ay--and once a pretty one! Now you see what I am--and you are like to -live to be like me, unless I wring that pretty, white throat now! I am -a woman, _morbleu_, yes--this is what a woman becomes!” and she crooked -her talon fingers pointing at herself. “Do you think I will pity you? -_Dame_, I would see you burn this minute with joy, you little white -fool!” - -Rosaline nerved herself to bear it without tears; she struggled hard to -ward off the faintness that stole upon her, clasping her heart in a -vice. - -“What do you mean to do with me?” she asked, in a strange voice, her -eyes chained now by a horrible fascination to the old hag’s face. - -“Sell you, my sweetheart,” Mère Tigrane retorted, showing her fangs, -“to the highest bidder in Nîmes. _Dame_, you are pretty enough to keep -poor Mère Tigrane’s pot boiling for a year or two, my sweetie.” - -“God will not let you do it!” cried Rosaline, with white lips; “I am -His.” - -La Louve shrieked with laughter. - -“You heretic!” she said gleefully, “you are the devil’s--body and -soul--my fine lady, and you will wish yourself in hell presently, I -doubt not, _ma chérie_! Next time you drive Mère Tigrane away with her -fish, I think you will not hold that little head so high.” - -“_Mon Dieu!_” cried Rosaline, in amazement, “is it possible that my one -little act has made you hate me so?” - -Mère Tigrane shook her head, wagging it slowly from side to side. “No,” -she replied, “I hate you for living; I hate all men and all women and -all children. I would blast them if I could; I live on hatred! _Mère de -Dieu!_ how I love to see a heretic burn!” - -Rosaline closed her eyes with a shudder, and la Louve sat looking at -her thoughtfully, with a greedy eye. _Dame!_ but she would make money -out of this dainty morsel. She had an eye for beauty, and she knew its -market value. She was even content to let her victim rest a little, -while she turned over in her own mind many business matters. She could -not get the girl back to Nîmes before night, for she had no intention -of having her prize snatched from her by any adventurer upon the road. -She was not without uneasiness too, for M. de Baudri might yet come -to St. Cyr, and, if he did, his search would be thorough and she was -likely to lose her pay. Yet her scheme had worked so far like a charm. -She had seen Babet and Rosaline leave Nîmes; their disguise had not -deceived her ferret eyes, and she had tracked them to St. Césaire -and from St. Césaire to the château, for she possessed the patient -watchfulness of a fiend. Her success had surpassed her most sanguine -hopes, and she gloated over it with savage delight. She knew that she -was strong enough to deal with Babet, and for the present she looked -for no other interference. - -The silence that had fallen upon the little mill was almost more -oppressive to Rosaline than the hag’s dreadful talk; the girl felt as -if she could not endure it longer, her heart throbbed heavily, there -was a choking sensation in her throat and it seemed as if she could not -draw another breath. And then she struggled in her bonds and shrieked -aloud, for she heard Truffe’s short bark. Her scream was answered just -as Mère Tigrane sprang upon her and thrust a rag into her mouth as a -gag. The fishwife was furious, though she expected no one but Babet. - -“_Dame!_” she ejaculated, drawing a knife from her bosom, “I’ll make -short work of the woman and the cur!” - -The mill door had stood open too long on rusty hinges to be easily -secured, and she had only been able to lay an old timber across it. -She took her position therefore, ready to strike, just as the door was -shaken from without and pushed heavily inward. It resisted the first -attempt, and she burst out into shrill laughter; but a second push sent -the timber rolling back a foot, and the third opened the door wide -enough to admit--not Babet, but the cobbler. - -Mère Tigrane, taken by surprise, withheld her knife, but when Babet -followed him she struck a vicious blow at le Bossu. - -“_Diable!_” she shrieked. “_Petit Bossu!_ take yourself off--this is my -game!” - -Charlot quietly thrust his hand into his breast and drew out a pistol, -levelling it at the hag’s head. - -“If you move one finger,” he said grimly, “you are dead. Babet, take -her knife and loose mademoiselle.” - -But Babet would not touch her. She made a wide circle to avoid any -contact, and drawing a knife from her own wallet, began to cut the -bands about Rosaline’s feet and hands, all the while pouring out a -torrent of sympathy and self-reproach. Why had she left her lamb to -fall among wolves? - -Rosaline was too faint for any words except a murmur of thanksgiving, -and the air was filled with Mère Tigrane’s oaths as she writhed -helpless before le Bossu’s pistol. He was watching Babet. - -“Do not cut the long rope,” he said grimly; “untie it--we have need of -it.” - -At this, la Louve began to howl, rocking to and fro. - -“You villain!” she whined, “you dare not hang me! M. de Baudri is -coming; you will be punished--” She went on with a stream of oaths. - -Le Bossu stopped her. “Another word,” he said, “and I’ll shoot you. You -will not be hung, though you deserve it. Babet, stuff those dirty rags -in her mouth, we have heard enough.” - -Babet obeyed this time, first relieving the hag of her knife and -binding her hands. - -“There’s some dinner for you to chew, my beauty,” Babet said -pleasantly, and proceeded to tie her feet. - -“Now the rope,” ordered the cobbler; “slip it twice around her -waist--that is it; draw her back to the post and tie it securely.” - -He helped Babet in this, putting the pistol back into his bosom. -Mère Tigrane was black in the face with rage, but she could offer no -resistance; only, her terrible eyes leered at them--red as blood. - -Rosaline had gone out and was leaning against a tree, her face -colorless and her hands clasped. When the others joined her, she turned -and threw her arms about Babet and burst into tears, too overcome to -speak. The woman tried to comfort and soothe her. - -“’Twas Truffe who found you,” she said, “bless the creature! The -cobbler and I would have been searching still, but suddenly she put her -nose to the ground and came straight as an arrow!” - -Le Bossu was not listening to them; he had walked a few yards into the -wood and knelt down, bending his head close to the ground. When he -arose his face was white and he moved quickly toward them. - -“Have courage, mademoiselle,” he said quietly, “but let us be gone, -there are horsemen in the road by St. Cyr; the dragoons have returned.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -THE COBBLER’S BARGAIN - - -The two women and le Bossu had followed the course of the stream, -walking rapidly along the bank, and now they descended the rocky path -by the cataract. They were travelling west and the afternoon sun shone -full in their faces; the wind was blowing too,--a chill November wind -that swept the leaves from the chestnut trees and dropped the empty -burrs. They had not wasted breath in words, and now le Bossu left them -and ran forward, looking under the lowest branches; then he whistled -softly. There was a response, and Babet and Rosaline stopped in alarm; -they expected no one. The next moment, however, a tall figure came -rapidly towards them and Rosaline recognized her lover. She gave a -little sob of joy and ran to meet him, the dog bounding beside her. -They met a few yards in front of the others and he caught her in his -arms, supporting her trembling form. Le Bossu looked but once; in -their joy they had forgotten him. He turned his back and approached -Babet, putting a small but heavy bag in her hands. - -“That is mademoiselle’s,” he said calmly; “guard it well. And now--go -on in God’s name! Do not let them tarry, for Death is behind them.” - -Babet had learned to value the poor little hunchback, but she was sober -and undemonstrative. - -“Where are you going?” she asked bluntly. - -He pointed to the woods. “Back,” he said, “to keep them from finding -Mère Tigrane who would set them on your track. I will delay them all I -can.” - -“It is well,” Babet remarked, “you are a good man, Charlot; the _bon -Dieu_ will bless you. I suppose you do not want the blessing of a -heretic?” - -He smiled. “Do not tarry,” he said, warningly. “Keep straight to the -west; M. d’Aguesseau will guide you. Adieu!” - -He looked once more toward the lovers, but they were still absorbed -in each other. The cobbler turned sadly away, and climbing the steep -path was lost to sight among the trees before Rosaline knew that he had -gone; and he never heard her thanks, never knew her remorse because she -had, for the moment, forgotten him in her own joy. There was no time -for her to redeem her error; there was only time to flee on and on, -with a terrible danger pursuing them and lurking for them at every step. - -Meanwhile le Bossu went back through the woods. His heart was full, but -he was not without a feeling of joy. So far she was safe, and he had -just given Babet all his savings. His years of patient labor had not -been in vain if his money could help Rosaline now. He would have liked -to speak to her, to touch her hand; but what was he? _Le Bossu, le -savetier_, the beggarly cripple of St. Antoine! It was enough, and more -than enough, to serve her. _Dieu!_ would his wretched lameness keep -him from reaching the windmill before the dragoons? He walked fast, -urging his energies to the utmost, but the way seemed long indeed. A -picture of her in her lover’s arms, with the sunshine on her hair, -rose before his eyes and he set his teeth. What was it to him? He was -only a hunchbacked cobbler, he could scarcely be made of the same clay -that they were, yet his starved soul cried out. Now and then he stooped -down and listened, but the place was silent save for the rustling of -the wind amid the dead leaves; winter was coming. - -At last, the mill! He did not pause after assuring himself that la -Louve was still secure; he fastened the door as tightly as he could -and sped on toward the château. Fortune smiled upon him; he was just -in time. Not twenty yards away he came upon M. de Baudri and a couple -of dragoons. The hunchback was halted by a sharp challenge, but the -soldiers looked indifferent when they recognized him. Their commander -was in a black temper, and he ordered the cobbler to approach. - -“What are you doing here, Petit Bossu?” he demanded fiercely. “Out with -all you know, or--” He drew his hand expressively across his throat. - -Charlot assumed an attitude of profound respect, his eyes on the -ground. - -“I am monsieur’s humblest servant,” he said. “I have been over -yonder to sell my shoes in St. Césaire, and I came here to look -about--monsieur understands, the place is open, the house of heretics; -the poor cobbler thought to find some trifle left by the soldiers.” - -“It would be a devilish small thing if they left it!” retorted M. de -Baudri, with a grim smile. “Look, you little beast, no trifling--these -heretics have escaped. Have you seen them?” - -The cobbler assumed an air of importance. - -“My life is valuable to me, monsieur,” he said, “and if I tell, the -Camisards may kill me, as they kill the curés; nevertheless, for the -sake of my soul-- Monsieur, will the Intendant pay?” - -“_Diable!_” shouted de Baudri; “pay! I can pay if I choose, but I’ll -shoot you if you trifle.” - -“I will guide you, monsieur,” the cobbler replied, with a stubborn air, -“but I will have pay for the risk,--a hundred crowns.” - -De Baudri burst out with a volley of oaths, but he flung some money at -the hunchback. - -“There is some, beast,” he said coarsely; “and you shall have the rest -if you find the girl,--Rosaline de St Cyr.” - -The cobbler gathered up the money and counted it with greedy fingers, -M. de Baudri watching him with scornful eyes. - -“You promise the rest, monsieur?” le Bossu persisted, with a shrewd -look. - -“_Dame!_” retorted the other; “you’ll get it and hell too, if you don’t -make haste. Where are these women?” - -The hunchback drew closer to him, lowering his voice and speaking with -his hand before his mouth. - -“You shall have them all, monsieur,” he said, “the girl, the old woman, -M. d’Aguesseau, and the dog!” - -“_Bien!_” exclaimed de Baudri cheerfully; “you shall have your hundred -crowns. _Viens donc_, show me the way!” - -The hunchback pointed toward the north. - -“Up yonder,” he said, “behind those rocks on the hill, there is a -grotto--I know it by accident; there they have hidden since morning. -The way is long and rocky; monsieur must follow me.” - -“Will they not see us approaching in time to fly?” he asked sharply. - -Le Bossu shook his head with a smile. - -“Nay,” he replied quietly, “we must go as if we intended to take the -St. Hippolyte road; then, when we approach the spot we can surround -them. The country is open and bare below the cave, though it lies in a -little wood. They could not escape us.” - -“Go on, then,” said de Baudri, impatiently; “to the cave or _au -diable_! I tell thee plainly, though, that deceit will cost thee thy -life.” - -“So be it, monsieur,” rejoined the hunchback, calmly; “and the _bon -Dieu_ judge between me and thee,” he added to himself. - -A few sharp orders were given, the bugle was sounded, and the troopers -gathered in the road, each man at his horse’s head. M. de Baudri came -out of the garden and leaped into the saddle; then his eyes lighted on -the cobbler standing quietly in the road. - -“Here,” he said sharply, “Petit Bossu must be mounted; bring up a -horse.” - -“I cannot ride,” said the cobbler, meekly; “my back and my hips, -monsieur, will not permit it.” - -“_Mille tonnerres!_” ejaculated the officer, with a black frown, “you -mean to walk? We shall not be there for an hour!” - -“I can walk fast, at times, monsieur,” replied Charlot; “I will do my -best. If you had but a cart--” - -M. de Baudri cursed him and his deformity. - -“A cart!” he said mockingly; “a litter! Do you suppose that dragoons -drive out in carriages; such vermin should not cumber the earth. If we -miss them, _Mère de Dieu_, I’ll hang you!” - -“We cannot miss them, monsieur,” rejoined the cobbler, patiently; “they -dare not leave their lurking place in daylight, and it is yet an hour -to sunset.” - -“_Dame de Dieu_, let us be off!” exclaimed de Baudri, and gave the -order to mount. - -The long line of dragoons swung into their saddles and the little -cavalcade moved slowly off, with le Bossu in advance. - -The sun was sinking over the valley of the Vaunage, and its rays shone -on the towers and spires of Nîmes and sparkled on the polished steel -of the soldiers’ accoutrements. The hills were purple against the -November sky, and clouds drifted overhead. Autumn had stripped the -landscape of much of its beauty, and the arid plains about them showed -but little verdure save a low growth of juniper bushes. It was not a -spot to afford many places of concealment, and as the little troop -advanced, M. de Baudri’s keen eyes swept the scene with the savage -glance of a vulture seeking its prey. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -“O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?” - - -An hour later the dusty little cavalcade filed slowly up a steep and -rocky hill and drew rein beside a strip of woodland on the summit. On -every side the country rolled away, barren and broken with crags; here -and there a low growth of juniper bushes or a solitary fig tree, where -the soil was more fertile. The dragoons dismounted at M. de Baudri’s -command and surrounded the spot. It would be impossible for any one -to escape down that bare hillside unseen. De Baudri’s eyes burned -fiercely; he thought his prey within his grasp. Le Bossu was lame -from the long and weary walk, and his drawn face was white, but his -expression was full of content. - -“A whole hour,” he said to himself. “Please God she is out of reach!” - -He obeyed a motion of M. de Baudri’s hand and led the way into the -wood. It was not thick and there was but little underbrush, for even -here the ground was rocky and uncharitable. He looked about as he -walked, as if he wanted to remember even little things now; almost all -the trees were chestnuts, these and mulberries growing best in the -neighborhood of Nîmes. He noticed the moss and the lichens, and here -and there a wild vine trailed across the way. The wind blew keenly now -from the north, and overhead the gray clouds hung low, but the west was -glorious, the sun hanging just above the horizon. The hunchback noted -all these things, and he heard the heavy tread of the men behind him, -the rattle of M. de Baudri’s sword. He walked on; a great peace was -filling his soul, his pulses throbbed evenly, he lifted his head; his -life was, after all, worth much,--it was to pay her ransom. He came to -the centre of the wood and sat down on a large rock; before him the -trees parted and he could look straight toward the west, the whole -landscape at his feet. He drew M. de Baudri’s money from his wallet and -cast it on the ground. - -A suspicion had been dawning upon de Baudri since they had dismounted, -and he halted now and stared fiercely from the cobbler to the despised -coins, the price of blood. - -“_Sang de Dieu!_” he thundered, “where is the grotto, slave?” - -Le Bossu turned on him a calm face. - -“There is none, monsieur,” he replied simply. - -De Baudri broke out with a terrible oath, drawing his sword. - -“You lying, humped toad!” he said, “how dared you do this?” - -He made a move as if to strike him dead, and then a sudden thought -checked him. - -“Bah!” he ejaculated, “soil my sword with the blood of such vermin? I -am a fool. Where is the girl?” he added fiercely. “_Pardieu_, I will -wring your neck!” - -“I do not know where she is,” replied le Bossu, truthfully enough, for -he did not know where they were then. - -“And you led us here to cheat us, slave?” said de Baudri. “A fine -scheme--as you will learn to your cost. If I thought you knew where she -was, I’d torture it out of you with hot irons.” - -The cobbler did not look at him; his brown eyes dwelt on the distance, -and his soul was uplifted by the approaching joy of self-sacrifice. He -did not hear the abuse that M. de Baudri continued to pour upon him; -his life was passing before his eyes, his wretched, abused childhood, -his sharp mortification over his physical infirmity, his silent, -intense longing for friendship and love, his despised solitude, his -hard, thankless labor; and now it was over, and not in vain! “Mother of -God,” he prayed, “comfort the wretched.” He awoke to hear M. de Baudri -ordering his soldiers to bring a rope. - -A dragoon went for a piece that was coiled on the back of one of the -horses. The troopers never hunted heretics without rope. He returned -promptly, and approaching le Bossu was slipping the noose over his -head, but another scheme had occurred to the leader. - -“Hang him by the feet,” he said coolly, pointing with his white hand to -a tree. “_Sacrebleu!_ ’twill hurt more so.” - -They secured the rope about the hunchback’s feet while their victim -watched them with calm eyes. - -“What matter,” he thought, “if I have saved her? May the _bon Dieu_ -make my sacrifice complete!” - -De Baudri watched him coolly, wondering that the rapt face was so calm. - -“When I give the order,” he said to the soldiers, “haul him up and let -him hang twenty minutes. Now, rogue, where is the girl?” - -No answer; the clear eyes looked straight toward the setting sun, over -the beautiful valley of the Vaunage. The radiance of the west fell on -his face, as though he looked through those golden gates into Paradise. - -“_Nom de St. Denis!_” ejaculated de Baudri, “what a stubborn fool. Now, -my men!” - -He raised his hand carelessly and the cripple was drawn up by the feet -to the limb of a tree, his head hanging with the face to the west. Ten -minutes passed--twenty. - -“Fire!” said M. de Baudri. - -There was the crash of a volley, the blue smoke rose, the poor, -misshapen body swung around in the red sunlight, and there was -silence,--broken at last by the trample of horses as the troopers -mounted and rode down the hill. - -The sun set in a sea of gold; the gray clouds above turned the color -of a red rose; a haze floated over Nîmes. In the wood, only the dead -leaves rustled as they fell. In the upper room of the shop of Two -Shoes, the candle before the shrine had burned down to the very end. It -flickered and flared up, a single flame in the gloom, and then it went -out forever. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -THE SHIP AT SEA - - -Two weeks later a party of wayfarers came to the old mill at St. Cyr. -The door was fastened, but they opened it, only to recoil with horror. -They found a hideous old woman tied there. She had been dead a long -while and the fearful distortion of her face sent them shrieking from -the spot. Even in death Mère Tigrane had not lost her power to strike -terror to the hearts of others. - -Not long afterwards a ship was crossing the channel to Dover, on a -calm sea with a blue sky overhead. The white foam gathered in its wake -and the sun glistened on its full-set sails and on the flag bearing -the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew. On the deck stood Rosaline -and her lover,--her husband now, for they had been wedded in the -Cévennes,--and near them sat Babet contentedly feeding Truffe with a -cake. Rosaline leaned on the rail, looking back toward France. - -“Dear native land,” she sighed softly, “I may never see you more; yet -I am content. Ah, François, we ought to be thankful indeed. I am glad -that Cavalier sent you to England; I can bear no more, and it may be we -can move these strangers to help the cause.” - -“I pray so,” he replied gently; “England’s queen is favorable to us. -At least, you will be safe; I could not take my wife to those rugged -hiding-places in the Cévennes, with winter so near. Ah, my love, are -you satisfied?” - -She looked up with tender eyes. “I am content, my husband,” she -answered softly. “I bless the _bon Dieu_, but my heart is sore at -the thought of poor Charlot. Can it be that the blacksmith’s boy was -mistaken? Could they really hang him for not betraying us?” - -“I fear so,” replied d’Aguesseau sadly; “the report came straight -enough. Let us remember, though, that it ended his sufferings; he told -me that his life was full of pain.” - -Rosaline looked back over the blue sea with tearful eyes. - -“Poor little Charlot,” she murmured gently. “The hunchbacked cobbler -with the soul of a hero and a martyr. His memory shall be sacred to me -forever.” - -THE END - - * * * * * - - _The_ Cardinal’s Musketeer - - AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE - - BY - MARY IMLAY TAYLOR - 12mo, $1.25. - - The hero of “The Cardinal’s Musketeer” is a knightly youth, brave and - generous, and a devoted lover. 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Imlay Taylor—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel='icon' href='images/cover.jpg' type='image/x-cover'> - <style> - -/*<![CDATA[ */ - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tiny {width: 10%; margin-left: 45%; margin-right: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.tdr {text-align: right;} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; -} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -.blockquot2 { - margin-left: 20%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .blockquot { - margin-left: 7.5%; - margin-right: 7.5%; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .blockquot2 { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 7.5%; -} - -p.drop-cap { - text-indent: -0.35em; -} - -p.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - float: left; - margin: 0em 0.15em 0em 0em; - font-size: 250%; - line-height:0.85em; - text-indent: 0em; -} -.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap { - text-indent: 0em; -} -.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - float: none; - margin: 0; - font-size: 100%; -} - -.bbox {border: 2px solid; padding: 2em;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} -.ph2 {text-align: center; font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -.xxxlarge {font-size: 200%;} -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .indent {text-indent: 1.5em;} -.poetry .first {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .center {text-align: center;} -@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block;} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; - padding: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - /* ]]> */ </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The cobbler of Nîmes, by Mary Imlay Taylor</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The cobbler of Nîmes</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mary Imlay Taylor</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 18, 2022 [eBook #69180]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by University of California libraries)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COBBLER OF NÎMES ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<h1>THE COBBLER OF NÎMES</h1> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="bbox"> - -<p class="ph1"><span class="smcap">By</span><br> - -M. IMLAY TAYLOR</p> - -<hr class="tiny"> - -<table> - -<tr><td>On the Red Staircase. 12mo</td><td class="tdr"> $1.25</td></tr> -<tr><td>An Imperial Lover. 12mo</td><td class="tdr"> 1.25</td></tr> -<tr><td>A Yankee Volunteer. 12mo</td><td class="tdr"> 1.25</td></tr> -<tr><td>The House of the Wizard. 12mo</td><td class="tdr"> 1.25</td></tr> -<tr><td>The Cardinal’s Musketeer. 12mo    </td><td class="tdr"> 1.25</td></tr> -<tr><td>The Cobbler of Nîmes. 12mo</td><td class="tdr"> 1.25</td></tr> -</table> -</div></div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<p>THE<br> - -<span class="xxxlarge"><span class="smcap">Cobbler of Nîmes</span></span></p> - -<p>BY<br> - -<span class="large">M. IMLAY TAYLOR</span><br> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt=""></div> - -<p><span class="large">CHICAGO</span><br> - -A. C. McCLURG & CO.<br> - -1900</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"> -<span class="smcap">Copyright<br> -By A. C. McClurg</span> & <span class="smcap">Co.</span><br> -<span class="allsmcap">A.D.</span> 1900<br> -<br> -<i>All rights reserved</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[v]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_titledeco.jpg" alt=""></div> - -<table> - -<tr><td class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Chapter</span></td><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Body of a Damned Person</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_7"> 7</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Shop of Two Shoes</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_20"> 20</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Mademoiselle’s Slippers</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_31"> 31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Rosaline</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_44"> 44</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Cobbler’s Guest</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_52"> 52</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Military Suitor</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_64"> 64</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A String of Trout</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_75"> 75</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Babet Visits the Cobbler</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_86"> 86</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Charlot Burns a Candle</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_97"> 97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Dangerous Suit</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_106"> 106</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">François Makes a Pledge</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_119"> 119</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Finger of Fate</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_130"> 130</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Battle Hymn</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_140"> 140</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td> “<span class="smcap">And All for Love</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_151"> 151</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Temptation of le Bossu</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_164"> 164</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Brief Delay</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_178"> 178</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">M. de Baudri’s Terms</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_189"> 189</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Rosaline’s Humble Friends</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_203"> 203</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td> “<span class="smcap">Mortis Portis Fractis!</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_213"> 213</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[vi]</span></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Cobbler’s Faith</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_225"> 225</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">In the Woods of St. Cyr</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_237"> 237</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Old Windmill</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_249"> 249</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Cobbler’s Bargain</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_260"> 260</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td><td> “<span class="smcap">O Death, Where Is Thy Sting?</span>”    </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_269"> 269</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Ship at Sea</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_275"> 275</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> - -<p class="ph2">The Cobbler of Nîmes</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_deco.jpg" alt=""></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br> - -<small>THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the month of June, 1703, and about -noontide on the last day of the week. The fair -in the market-place at Nîmes was therefore at -its height. A juggler was swallowing a sword -in the midst of an admiring circle. Mademoiselle -Héloïse, the <i>danseuse</i>, was walking the -tight-rope near at hand, and the pick-pockets -were plying their trade profitably on the outskirts -of the throng. There was a dancing -bear, and beyond him—a rival attraction—a -monkey in scarlet breeches, with a blouse or -camisole over them. The little creature’s antics -were hailed with shouts of derisive laughter and -cries of “Camisard!” “Barbet!” “Huguenot!” -the monkey’s little blouse being an unmistakable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> -caricature of the dress of the Camisards. -It therefore behooved the wise to laugh, and -they did, and that loudly,—though many a -heart was in secret sympathy with the Huguenot -rebels of the Cévennes; but were they not -in Nîmes? And the Intendant Bâville was -there, and the dragoons of King Louis XIV.; -so it was that the monkey gathered many a -half-crown, and sous and deniers in profusion, -in his little cap, and carried them—chattering—to -the showman. It was a motley throng: -broad, red-faced market-women, old crones -with bearded lip and toothless gums, little -gamins of the market with prematurely aged -faces, countrymen who glanced askance at the -monkey while they laughed, pretty peasant -girls who had sold their eggs and their poultry, -and come to spend their newly acquired riches -in ribbons and trinkets, and to have their fortunes -told by the old gypsy in the yellow -pavilion. Some strolling musicians were playing -a popular air, two drunken men were fighting, -and a busy tradesman was selling his wares -near the entrance of a tent that was manifestly -the centre of attraction. It was of white canvas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -and decorated with numerous images of the -devil,—a black figure with horns, hoofs, and -tail, engaged in casting another person into -the flames; the whole being more startling than -artistic. At the door of this tent was a man -mounted on a barrel, and dressed fantastically -in black, with a repetition of the devils and -flames, in red and yellow, around the edge of -his long gown, which flapped about a pair of -thin legs, set squarely in the centre of two long, -schooner-shaped feet. This person, whose face -was gross and dull rather than malicious, kept -calling his invitation and bowing low as each -new visitor dropped a half-crown into the box -fastened on the front of the barrel beneath -his feet.</p> - -<p>“Messieurs et mesdames!” he cried, “only -a half-crown to see the body of a damned -person!”</p> - -<p>He raised his voice almost to a scream, to be -heard in the babel of tongues; he clapped his -hands to attract notice; he swayed to and fro -on his barrel.</p> - -<p>“Here is the body of a damned person!” he -shouted. “<i>Dieu!</i> what an opportunity for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -good of your soul! Too much, madame?” he -said to a fishwife who grumbled at the price, -“too much! ’Tis a chance in a thousand! -The body came from the Tour de Constance! -Madame will have her money’s worth.”</p> - -<p>Madame went in, licking her lips like a wolf. -The curtain of the tent swung to behind her. -A peasant lad followed her, hesitating too over -the half-crown, but then the spectacle was worth -money. A soldier followed, then a butcher, -and two stupid-looking servant-girls, with frightened -faces, but still eager to see. Then there -was a pause, and the showman began to shout -once more; he had need to, for the bear -was performing with unusual vivacity, and the -<i>danseuse</i> displayed her pretty legs as she -tripped on the rope.</p> - -<p>“Half a crown, messieurs et mesdames,” cried -the man of the black robe; “half a crown to -see a dead and damned Huguenot!”</p> - -<p>“Too much, monsieur!” said a voice behind -him.</p> - -<p>He started and looked back into the face of -a little hunchbacked man who had been watching -him curiously.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>“You are not a good Catholic, M. le Bossu!” -replied the showman, mocking, for the hunchback -wore a poor suit of brown and a frayed -hat.</p> - -<p>“I am a good Catholic,” he replied calmly, -“but your price is high—’tis only a dead -Huguenot.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame!</i> but live ones are too plenty,” retorted -the other, with a loud laugh. “What -are you to complain?” he added gayly,—“the -hunchback!—<i>le bossu</i>!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Le Bossu</i>—yes,” replied the hunchback, -calmly; “that is what men call me.”</p> - -<p>Again the showman mocked him, doffing his -cap and grinning.</p> - -<p>“Your Excellency’s name?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>The hunchback took no notice of him; he -had his hand in his wallet feeling for a half-crown; -he had determined to see the damned -person. But the other got his answer; a little -gamin piped up on the edge of the crowd, -pointing his finger at the cripple.</p> - -<p>“’Tis only Charlot,” he said, “the shoemaker -of the Rue St. Antoine.”</p> - -<p>The showman laughed again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>“Enter, Maître Savetier!” he said derisively, -“and see the dead Huguenot. <i>Dame!</i> but I -believe he is one himself,” he added, under his -breath, peering sharply at the pale face of le -Bossu as he entered the tent.</p> - -<p>But a minute later the hunchback was forgotten -and the showman was screaming again.</p> - -<p>“This way, mesdames! This way, to see -a damned person! Half a crown! half a -crown!”</p> - -<p>Within, the tent was lighted solely by a small -aperture at the top, and the effect was rather of -a murky twilight than of broad noonday. It -was draped with cheap red cloth, and in the -centre—directly under the opening in the -top—was a rough bier constructed of bare -boards, and on this lay a body only partially -covered with a piece of coarse serge; images -of the devil—cut out of black stuff—were -sewed on the corners of this wretched pall. -The visitors, the sight-seers, who had paid -their half-crowns to enjoy this gruesome spectacle, -moved slowly past it, making the circuit -of the tent and finally passing out at the door -by which they had entered. When the hunchback<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -came in, he paused long enough to become -accustomed to the swift transition from -sunlight to shadow, and then he too proceeded -to join the circle around the corpse. There -were many comments made, the sight affected -the spectators differently. The two servant-girls -clung together, whispering hysterical -confidences; the peasant youth stared open-mouthed, -fright showing plainly in his eyes; -the soldier looked down with brutal indifference; -the old fishwife showed satisfaction, her wolf -mouth was slightly opened by a grin that displayed -three long yellow teeth—all she possessed; -a red handkerchief was tied around her -head and from below it hung her long gray -locks. Her short petticoat and bodice revealed -a withered, lean form, and her fingers were like -talons. She feasted her eyes on the dead face, -and then she squinted across the body at the -man who stood like a statue opposite. He -was young, with a sad, dark countenance and -was poorly, even shabbily dressed. But it was -none of these things that the old crone noted, -it was the expression of grief and horror that -seemed frozen on his features. He did not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -see her, he did not see the others passing -by him—with more than one curious glance; -he seemed like a man in a trance, deaf, -blind, dumb, but yet gazing fixedly at the -inanimate figure on the bier. It was the -corpse of a young woman, who had been -handsome; the features were still so, and her -long black hair fell about her shoulders like a -mourning pall.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dieu!</i>” said the fishwife, licking her lips, -“what a white throat she had; ’twould have -been a pity to hang her. See, there is a mark -there on her arm where ’twas bound! Is she -not pretty, Bossu?”</p> - -<p>The hunchback had approached the corpse, -and at this appeal he nodded his head.</p> - -<p>“<i>Diable!</i>” ejaculated the soldier turning on -the old crone, “’tis heresy to call a damned -person pretty, Mère Tigrane.”</p> - -<p>Mère Tigrane leered at him with horrible -intelligence.</p> - -<p>“No one is to think a heretic pretty but the -dragoons, eh?” she said grinning. “<i>Dame!</i> we -know what you think, monsieur.”</p> - -<p>The man laughed brutally, and she edged up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -to him, whispering in his ear, her narrow eyes -on the silent visitor opposite. The dragoon -looked over too at her words, and broke out -with an oath.</p> - -<p>“You are a witch, Mère Tigrane,” he said -uneasily; “let me alone!”</p> - -<p>Again she whispered, but laughed this time, -showing her yellow teeth.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the showman had been fortunate -and a dozen new-comers crowded into the tent, -pressing the others aside. This afforded an -opportunity for the hunchback to approach the -young man, who had remained by the bier as if -chained to the ground. Le Bossu touched his -arm, at first lightly, but finding himself unheeded, -he jerked the other’s sleeve. The -stranger started and stared at him as if he -had just awakened from sleep.</p> - -<p>“A word with you, friend,” said the hunchback, -softly.</p> - -<p>The man hesitated, started, paused and cast -another long look at the dead face, and then -followed the cripple through the group at the -door, out into the sunshine and uproar of the -market-place. They were not unobserved by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -Mère Tigrane, but she made no effort to follow -them; she was watching the new arrivals as they -approached the corpse. As she saw their faces -of curiosity and horror, she laughed.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mère de Dieu!</i>” she said, “’tis worth a -half-crown after all—and I paid Adolphe in -false coin too, <i>pauvre garçon</i>!”</p> - -<p>In the market-place, the stranger had halted -with the hunchbacked cobbler.</p> - -<p>“What do you want?” he demanded of le -Bossu; “I do not know you.”</p> - -<p>“You were in danger,” replied the hunchback, -quietly, “and you are in trouble; the <i>bon Dieu</i> -knows that I also am in trouble.”</p> - -<p>The little man’s tone, his deformity, his kind -eyes appealed to the other.</p> - -<p>“We should be friends,” he said grimly. -“<i>Dieu!</i> I am indeed in trouble.”</p> - -<p>The hunchback made a sign to him to be -cautious, the crowd hemmed them in, the monkey -chattered, the bear danced, Mademoiselle -Héloïse was singing a savory song from Paris. -The whole square was white with the sunshine; -above, the sky was deeply blue.</p> - -<p>“Follow me, friend,” said le Bossu again, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -commenced to thread his way through the -crowd.</p> - -<p>His new acquaintance hesitated a moment, -cast a backward glance at the tent he had just -quitted, and then quietly followed the hunchback. -They had to cross the market-place, and -the little cobbler seemed to be widely known. -Goodwives greeted him, young girls giggled -heartlessly before the misshapen figure passed, -men nodded indifferently, the maliciously disposed -children calling out “<i>le Bossu!</i>” at him as -he went. A heartless rabble out for a gala -day; what pity had they for the hunchbacked -shoemaker of the St. Antoine? The man who -followed him escaped notice; he was straight-limbed -and erect, and his shabby dress disguised -him as completely as any masquerade. -When they had left the crowd behind, they -walked together, but still silently, along the -thoroughfare.</p> - -<p>The groups of pleasure-seekers grew more -rare as they advanced, and they were almost -alone when they passed the Garden of the Récollets—the -Franciscan Convent—and entered -the Rue St. Antoine. Here it was that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -stranger roused himself and addressed his companion.</p> - -<p>“Where are we going?” he asked sharply.</p> - -<p>“To my shop,” replied le Bossu; “’tis but -ten yards ahead now. Have no fear,” he added -kindly; “the <i>bon Dieu</i> made me in such shape -that my heart is ever with the sorrowful.”</p> - -<p>“I do not understand you,” said the other. -“I do not know your name—you do not ask -mine—why do you seek me out?”</p> - -<p>“My name is Charlot,” returned the cripple, -simply. “I make shoes, and they call me by -more than one name. My rich patrons say -Charlot, my poor ones call me <i>le Savetier</i>, others -mock me as the hunchback—<i>le Bossu</i>! It does -not matter. As for your name, I will know it -when you please, monsieur.”</p> - -<p>They had come to an arched gateway between -two houses, and the cobbler entered, followed -by the other man. They stood in a -court, and on three sides of it were the faces of -three houses; it was a veritable <i>cul-de-sac</i>. A -small square of sunshine marked the centre of -the opening, and in this a solitary weed had -bloomed, springing up between the crevices in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -the stone pavement. To the left was an arched -door with three steps leading to it, and over it -hung a sign with two shoes painted upon it. -The hunchback pointed at this.</p> - -<p>“Behold my shop,” he said, “the sign of the -Two Shoes.”</p> - -<p>He took a key out of his wallet, and ascending -the steps, opened the door and invited his -new acquaintance to enter.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br> - -<small>THE SHOP OF TWO SHOES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> two, le Bossu and his guest, entered a -small room fitted up as a shop. The window -was open and across the unused fireplace were -suspended half a dozen shoes of various sizes. -The cobbler’s bench was strewn with tools, and -scraps of leather lay on the floor. On one side -of the room hung a hide prepared for use; opposite -was a colored picture of St. Elizabeth, -with her arms full of roses, the patron saint of -the poor. There were two wooden chairs, the -cobbler’s stool, and a box of <i>sabots</i>, nothing -more. A door opened into the kitchen, where -a narrow flight of stairs—like a ladder—ascended -to the second story. On the kitchen -hearth the <i>pot-au-feu</i> was simmering, the savory -odor filling the room, and on the table -was a loaf of black bread and some garlic.</p> - -<p>The hunchback asked his guest to be seated -and then sat down himself, looking attentively<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -but kindly at the new arrival. The stranger -had a strong face, although he was still a young -man. His complexion was a clear olive, and -his dark eyes were gloomy and even stern. -He wore no periwig, his natural hair curling -slightly. In his turn, he scrutinized the cripple, -and never was there a greater contrast. Le -Bossu was small, and the hump on his back made -him stoop; as often occurs in such cases, the -upper part of his body and his head were out -of proportion with his small and shrunken limbs. -His arms were long and powerful, however, his -hands well shaped and strong, though brown -and callous from labor, and they were skilful -hands, able to earn a living despite the feeble -legs and back. His face was pale and drawn -from much physical suffering, but his eyes were -beautiful, large, brown, and full of expression. -They redeemed the cripple’s whole aspect, as -though the soul—looking out of its windows—made -its own appeal. It was his eye that won -upon his new acquaintance.</p> - -<p>“You said you wished to speak to me,” he -remarked abruptly. “What is it?”</p> - -<p>“I will tell you the truth, friend,” le Bossu<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -replied calmly, “you were showing too much -emotion yonder; you were observed by the -dragoon and Mère Tigrane. She is a dangerous -person; men call her the she-wolf—<i>la -Louve</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Too much emotion!” repeated the other. -“<i>Dieu!</i> you seem an honest man—shall I tell -you who that dead woman was?” he asked -recklessly. “Are you a Catholic?”</p> - -<p>“I am,” replied the cobbler, quietly; “’tis -best to tell me nothing.”</p> - -<p>His visitor stared at him.</p> - -<p>“Why did you try to protect me, then?” -he asked. “I am a desperate man and unknown -to you—I have no money to reward -kindness.”</p> - -<p>“Nor to pay for a lodging,” remarked the -hunchback.</p> - -<p>The other thrust his hand into his pocket and -drew out half a crown, looking at it with a grim -smile.</p> - -<p>“My worldly goods,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I thought so,” rejoined the cobbler, dryly, -“and you paid the other half-crown to see the -dead Huguenot woman.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>An expression of pain passed over the face -opposite.</p> - -<p>“I would have paid more to be sure that -it was—” He broke off, covering his face with -his hands. “Oh, <i>mon Dieu!</i>” he exclaimed -brokenly.</p> - -<p>The hunchback was silent for a few moments, -his arms folded and his eyes on the floor.</p> - -<p>“You must leave Nîmes,” he said at last; -“you will betray yourself here. Meanwhile, -there is a room overhead; if you wish you can -stay there, free of rent, until you go.”</p> - -<p>“Again, why do you do this?” asked the -stranger.</p> - -<p>The cobbler indicated his hump with a gesture.</p> - -<p>“The <i>bon Dieu</i> made me so,” he said simply; -“yet I am a scorn in the market-place, a -miserable cripple. I swore to the saints that -I would help the miserable.”</p> - -<p>“You will take a risk,” remarked his companion,—“I -am François d’Aguesseau, a -Huguenot—”</p> - -<p>“Hush!” The cobbler held up his hand. “I -do not wish to know, M. d’Aguesseau. If you -will take the upper room, ’tis yours.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>“I will take it while I can pay for it, at least,” -said d’Aguesseau, “and I thank you.”</p> - -<p>The hunchback rose, leading the way across -the kitchen to the stairs. He walked slowly, -and occasionally dragged one foot, but he -ascended the steps with some agility, followed -by his guest. There was a trap-door at the -top, which he opened before they could step -on to the floor above. D’Aguesseau knew that -he was taking a great risk, that this might be -a snare laid for those of the Religion, but he -was, at the moment, a desperate and reckless -man, and he cared little. He had entered -Nîmes that morning, almost without money, -he had just had his worst fears confirmed, -and he cared little now for life or death.</p> - -<p>They entered a room above the kitchen, -where the cripple slept, and this opened into -another small room over the shop. Both were -clean, though poor and bare. The hunchback -stopped before a shrine in his own chamber, -and lighting a taper, set it before the Virgin.</p> - -<p>“What is that?” asked d’Aguesseau with a -strange glance from the image to the devotee.</p> - -<p>“A prayer,” replied le Bossu; “when I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -see danger I always offer a prayer to our -Lady.”</p> - -<p>The Huguenot smiled contemptuously, but -said no more, following his host into the -front room.</p> - -<p>“It is yours,” said the hunchback. “You are -weary; lie down until the <i>pot-au-feu</i> is ready, -and we will sup together.”</p> - -<p>“I have been in many places,” said d’Aguesseau, -“and seen many people—but never one -like you before.”</p> - -<p>Le Bossu smiled. “Yet—save for the hump—I -am as others,” he said quietly. “I hear -some one crossing the court,” he added; “if any -one enters the shop, ’tis best for you to be quiet -up here. There are some who need not know I -have a guest.”</p> - -<p>“I trust I shall not imperil your safety by -any carelessness,” d’Aguesseau replied earnestly, -casting a kindly glance at the drawn face.</p> - -<p>“I must go down,” said the cobbler. “Rest -here awhile; I will call you to supper.”</p> - -<p>His guest thanked him, still much perplexed -by this unusual friendliness, and stood watching -the hunchback as he went back to the trap-door,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> -and did not withdraw his eyes until his -host disappeared through the opening in the -floor.</p> - -<p>Le Bossu heard footsteps in the shop as he -descended the stairs, and leaning forward, saw -Mère Tigrane in the kitchen door. Without a -word he went back and closed the trap, slipping -the bolt; then he came down to find la -Louve in the kitchen.</p> - -<p>“Where are my <i>sabots</i>, Petit Bossu?” she demanded, -her fierce little eyes travelling around -the room, and her lips very red. “I came for -them myself, you are so slow.”</p> - -<p>“You do not need them, Mère Tigrane,” the -cobbler replied coolly, eying her feet; “your -<i>sabots</i> are as good as new. I did not promise -the others until St. Bartholomew’s day.”</p> - -<p>She began to grumble, moving over to the -fire and peering into the <i>pot-au-feu</i>.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame!</i> but you live well, Charlot,” she remarked. -“The sight of the damned corpse -gave me also an appetite. <i>Mère de Dieu!</i> how -white and tender her flesh was! ’Twould have -made a good pottage,” she added laughing, her -yellow teeth showing against her blood-red<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -tongue like the fangs of a she-wolf—verily, she -merited her name.</p> - -<p>“You should arrange with Adolphe,” the -hunchback said coolly. “I will send you your -<i>sabots</i> on Wednesday.”</p> - -<p>“Eh! but I’ll come for them,” she replied -with a wink; “I love to come to visit -you.”</p> - -<p>The cobbler grunted, moving slowly and painfully—as -he did at times—to the shop. But -Mère Tigrane was reluctant to follow him,—she -was listening; she thought she heard a -step overhead.</p> - -<p>“Charlot,” she said amiably, “how much do -you get for your room above?”</p> - -<p>“I do not rent it,” he replied calmly, but he -too was listening.</p> - -<p>Happily, the sounds above ceased.</p> - -<p>“I want it,” she remarked briskly; “I will pay -a good price for it—for my cousin. He is apprenticed -to the blacksmith behind the Garden -of the Récollets. I will look at it now—at -once—Petit Bossu.”</p> - -<p>The cobbler started, but controlled himself, -though la Louve had her foot on the ladder.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> -She could be swift when she pleased, and she -could hobble.</p> - -<p>“It is locked to-day,” he said coolly, “and I -shall not rent it now.”</p> - -<p>She grinned, with an evil look.</p> - -<p>“What have you got there, <i>mon chéri</i>?” she -demanded, shaking her cane at him with sinister -pleasantry.</p> - -<p>“The devil,” replied le Bossu, sitting down to -his bench and taking up a shoe and beginning -to stitch.</p> - -<p>“Or his wife—which?” la Louve asked -jocosely.</p> - -<p>She was satisfied now that the trap was fastened, -and it was not always wise to offend the -cobbler. She returned to the shop with a dissatisfied -face.</p> - -<p>“You have no hospitality,” she said, “you -dog of a cobbler—I will come on Wednesday -again for the <i>sabots</i>.”</p> - -<p>“As you please,” he retorted indifferently, -stitching away.</p> - -<p>“<i>Diable!</i> you sew like a woman,” she remarked. -“You might better be cutting my -shoes out of the good wood, that does<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -not split, than making those silly things of -leather!”</p> - -<p>She lingered a little longer, but still he did not -heed her, and at last she hobbled off, picking -up a basket of fish that she had left on the -doorstep. But she did not leave the court -until she had looked again and again at the -upper window of the shop of Two Shoes. Yet -she saw nothing there but the white curtain -fluttering in the breeze.</p> - -<p>An hour later she was back at the market-place, -grinning and selling her fish. She was -in time too, to hear the uproar when Adolphe, -the showman, found the false coin in his box. -She pushed to the fore, her red handkerchief -conspicuous in the group, and her sharp eyes -recognized the country boy who had followed -her in to see the damned person. The showman -was belching forth oaths and threats like -the fiery furnace that belched flames on -Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego. Mère -Tigrane’s eyes gleamed, and she pointed a -long, bony finger at the poor lad.</p> - -<p>“He put it in, Adolphe,” she shrieked, with -an oath. “I saw him, the vagabond!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>Then she laughed and shook, clapping her -hands to her sides. It was so diverting—the -uproar, and the protests of the peasant boy -as he was dragged off to jail with the rabble -at his heels.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame!</i>” she said, “’twas worth a good half-crown.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br> - -<small>MADEMOISELLE’S SLIPPERS</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> first day of the week Petit Bossu set his -house in order. He swept the floor of the -shop and put a cold dinner on the kitchen table -that his guest might eat in his absence. Then -he hung up his apron and blouse and, putting -on his worn brown coat, slipped the leather -strap of his wallet over his shoulder. Last he -took a pair of slippers out of a cupboard and -examined them with loving care and honest -pride in their workmanship. They were small, -high-heeled, blue slippers, daintily lined with -white silk, and with rosettes of blue ribbon on -the square toes. The little cobbler stroked -them tenderly, fastened one bow more securely, -and putting them carefully in his green bag, -set out on his journey. It was early, and few -people lounged in the streets, and le Bossu -passed unheeded through the Rue St. Antoine, -and went out at last at the Porte de France.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> -His pace was always slow, and to-day he limped -a little, but he kept cheerfully on, turning his -face toward St. Césaire.</p> - -<p>The highroad, white with dust, unrolled like a -ribbon through a rugged plain which lay southwest -of Nîmes, stretching from the low range -of limestone mountains—the foothills of the -Cévennes—on the north to the salt marshes -of the Mediterranean on the south. Rocks -cropped up on either side of the road; the -country was wild and barren-looking, although -here and there were fig trees and vineyards, -and farther west was the fertile valley of the -Vaunage. North of those limestone hills lay -the Cévennes, where since the Revocation of the -Edict of Nantes the poor Huguenot peasants -were making their desperate fight for liberty -of conscience, against the might and the -bigotry of Louis XIV. Their leader, Laporte, -was dead, but he had been succeeded by Jean -Cavalier and Roland, and revolt still raged in -the caves and fastnesses of the upper Cévennes, -though Maréchal Montrevel and the Intendant -of Languedoc assured the king that they had -wiped out the insurrection. But the “Barbets”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> -or “Camisards,” as they were called in derision, -though naming themselves “Enfants de Dieu,” -kept up the fierce death-struggle. Meanwhile -the city of Nîmes was judiciously orthodox in -the presence of the dragoons, and many -Huguenots went to mass rather than suffer -torture and death. Not every man is made for -a martyr, and there were terrors enough to -awe the most heroic. The bodies of Protestants -who died in prison were exposed at fairs -for a fee, or dragged through the streets on -hurdles to be burned, as a warning and example -to the misguided who still lived.</p> - -<p>Yet the busy life of every day went on; -people bought and sold and got gain; others -married and made feasts; children were born, -to be snatched from Huguenot parents and -baptized into the old religion; some men died -and were buried, others were cast from the -galleys, at Marseilles, into the sea. Such was -life in Nîmes in those old days when the sign -of Two Shoes hung over the humble shop on -the Rue St. Antoine.</p> - -<p>All this while le Bossu was trudging along -the white road. He met many country people<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -now, bringing their vegetables and poultry to -town, and more than once he was saluted with -the mocking cry, “Petit Bossu!” He kept -steadily on, however, taking no heed, his face -pale from the exertion, or the repression of his -natural temper, which resented insults and injury -more keenly than most people of his condition, -in an age when the poor were as the beasts of -the field to the upper classes. Many thoughts -were passing in the hunchback’s mind, but he -dwelt most upon the little blue slippers, and -when he did, his brown eyes softened, the drawn -expression on his thin face relaxed.</p> - -<p>“The <i>bon Dieu</i> bless her,” he murmured; “to -her I am not the hunchback or the cobbler—to -her I am poor Charlot, her humble friend. -<i>Ciel!</i> I would die for mademoiselle.”</p> - -<p>He toiled slowly on; passing the village of St. -Césaire, he turned sharply to the north, and -walking through a grove of olive trees, came in -sight of a château that nestled on the crest of a -little eminence looking west toward the Vaunage. -The sun shone on its white walls and -sloping roof, and sparkled on its window panes. -The building was not large, and it had a long,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> -low wing at one side, the whole thrown into -sharp relief by its background of mulberry trees. -The house was partially closed, the wing showing -green-shuttered windows, but the main part -was evidently occupied. On the southern side -was the garden, with high hedges of box, and -toward this the cobbler turned his steps. As -he approached the wicket-gate, which was set -in a lofty part of the hedge, a dog began to bark -furiously, and a black poodle dashed toward -him as he entered, but recognizing the visitor, -she ceased barking and greeted le Bossu with -every demonstration of friendship.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Truffe,” said the cobbler, gently, “where -is your mistress? I have brought her the blue -slippers at last.”</p> - -<p>As if she understood the question, the poodle -turned and, wagging her tail, led the way back -between two rows of box toward the centre of -the garden. The dog and the cobbler came -out into an open circle well planted with rose -bushes, that grew in wild profusion around the -old sundial. Here were white roses and pink, -yellow and red, large and small; and sweet and -fragile they looked in the old garden, which was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -but poorly kept despite the neat hedges. On a -rustic seat in the midst of the flowers sat a -young girl, the sun shining on her fair hair, and -tingeing with brown the red and white of her -complexion. Her face and figure were charming, -and she had almost the air of a child, dressed -as she was in white, her flaxen hair falling in -two long braids over her shoulders.</p> - -<p>The dog began to bark again at the sight of -her, running to her and back to the hunchback -to announce the arrival of a friend. She looked -up with a bright smile as the cobbler lifted his -cap and laid down the green bag on the seat at -her side.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Charlot, you have my slippers at last,” -she exclaimed gayly, her blue eyes full of kindness -as she greeted her humble visitor.</p> - -<p>“I have them, Mademoiselle Rosaline,” he -replied, his worn face lighting up, “and they are -almost worthy of the feet that will wear them.”</p> - -<p>“Almost!” laughed mademoiselle, “you are -a born courtier, Charlot—oh, what dears!”</p> - -<p>Le Bossu had opened his bag and drawn out -the blue slippers, holding them up for her -admiration.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>“They are pretty enough for a queen!” said -Rosaline, taking them in her hands and looking -at them critically, with her head on one side.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Charlot, I shall never forgive you if -they do not fit!”</p> - -<p>“They will fit like gloves, mademoiselle,” -the shoemaker replied complacently; “let me -try them on for you.”</p> - -<p>But she was not yet done with her examination.</p> - -<p>“Where did you get the pattern for the -rosettes?” she asked eagerly; “truly, they are -the prettiest I have seen.”</p> - -<p>“I copied them after a pair from Paris, -mademoiselle,” he replied, as pleased as she at -his own success. “The heels too are just like -those worn at Versailles.”</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Rosaline laughed softly.</p> - -<p>“I told you that you were a courtier, Charlot,” -she said; “but they say that the king wears -high red heels, because he is not tall.”</p> - -<p>“But red heels would not please mademoiselle -on blue shoes,” remarked the hunchback, -smiling.</p> - -<p>“But, Charlot,” said she, with a mischievous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -gleam of fun in her eyes, “if we must all be of -the king’s religion, must we not all also wear -his red heels?”</p> - -<p>The cobbler’s pale face grew sad again.</p> - -<p>“Alas, mademoiselle,” he said, with a sigh, -“to you ’tis a jest, but to some—” he shook -his head gravely, looking down at the little -blue slippers in her lap.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter?” she asked quickly, the -smile dying on her lips. “Have they—been -burning any one lately in Nîmes?”</p> - -<p>“Nay, mademoiselle,” he replied, kneeling on -one knee in the gravel path, and taking the slippers -off her small feet to try on the new ones.</p> - -<p>“Come, come, Charlot—tell me,” persisted -his patroness, scarcely heeding the shoe that -he was drawing on her right foot. “You are -as solemn as an owl this morning.”</p> - -<p>“I will tell mademoiselle,” he rejoined, reverently -arranging the rosette and smoothing the -white silk stocking around the slender ankle. -“Then she must not blame me if she is horrified.”</p> - -<p>“She is often horrified,” interrupted Rosaline, -with a soft little laugh. “Go on, Charlot.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>“There was a fair on Saturday—mademoiselle -knows, for I saw Babet there buying a silk -handkerchief—”</p> - -<p>“Babet cannot stay away from a fair for her -life,” mademoiselle interpolated again.</p> - -<p>“’Twas a very fine fair,” continued le Bossu, -putting on the other slipper. “There were -many attractions, and the jailer—Zénon—had -the body of a damned woman there; Adolphe, -the showman, exhibited it for half a crown. -She, the dead woman, was, they say, one of -the Huguenot prisoners from the Tour de Constance, -and she died on her way here; she was -to be examined by M. de Bâville for some -reason,—what, I know not,—but she died -on the road, and Zénon made much by the -exhibition.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline shuddered, the color fading from her -cheeks.</p> - -<p>“And you went to see that horrible, wicked -spectacle, Charlot?” she demanded, in open -disgust.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle knows I am a good Catholic,” -replied the cobbler, meekly, his eyes drooping -before her look of disdain. “’Tis done for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -the good of our souls—to show us the fate -of these misguided people.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” ejaculated mademoiselle, softly.</p> - -<p>Silence fell between them unbroken save by -the soft sounds of summer, the humming of the -honey-bees, the murmur of the mulberry leaves -stirred by a light wind. Mademoiselle sat looking -vacantly at her new slippers, while the shoemaker -still knelt on one knee watching her face -with that pathetic expression in his eyes that -we see only in the look of sufferers.</p> - -<p>“That was not all I saw at the fair,” he went -on at last. “In the tent there was also—”</p> - -<p>Rosaline made a gesture of disgust.</p> - -<p>“I will hear no more!” she cried indignantly.</p> - -<p>“This will not horrify you, mademoiselle,” he -replied gently; “’tis only the story of my new -guest.”</p> - -<p>Her face relaxed, partly because she saw that -she had hurt the hunchback’s feelings.</p> - -<p>“Well, you may tell me,” she said reluctantly.</p> - -<p>“There was a young man there—in that -tent— Nay, mademoiselle, I will say nothing -more of it.” Le Bossu broke off, and then went -on carefully: “He was in great anguish, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -I saw that he was watched by a wicked old -woman and one of the dragoons. I got him -away to my house, and there I found he had -no money, except one piece, and was in great -trouble. He is—” the cobbler looked about -keenly at the hedges, then he lowered his voice, -“a Huguenot.”</p> - -<p>“And what did you do with him?” Rosaline -demanded eagerly.</p> - -<p>“He is in my upper room now,” replied the -hunchback, “but I do not know where he will -go. He is not safe in Nîmes. I think he wants -to join the Barbets, but, of course, he tells -me nothing. He is a gentleman, mademoiselle, -le Bossu knows, and very poor, like many of -the Huguenots, and proud. I know no more, -except that he was reckless enough to tell -me his name.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?” she asked, all interest now, and -more than ever forgetful of her new slippers.</p> - -<p>“François d’Aguesseau,” he answered, in an -undertone, with another cautious glance behind -him.</p> - -<p>“’Tis all very strange,” remarked mademoiselle, -regarding the worn face thoughtfully.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> -“You are a good Catholic, Charlot, yet you -imperil yourself to shelter a Huguenot.”</p> - -<p>“The risk to me is very little,” he replied -with great simplicity. “I am too humble for -M. de Bâville, and how could I give him up? -He is a kind young man, and in trouble; ah, -mademoiselle, I also have had troubles. May -the <i>bon Dieu</i> forgive me if I do wrong.”</p> - -<p>“I do not think you do wrong, Charlot,” she -said gently, “and I am sure the <i>bon Dieu</i> forgives -you; but M. de Bâville will not.”</p> - -<p>“I can die but once, mademoiselle,” he -rejoined smiling.</p> - -<p>“Why is it you always smile at death?” -she asked.</p> - -<p>“Ah, mademoiselle, you are not as I am,” he -said quietly. “Death to me—the gates of -Paradise stand open—suffering over—poverty -no more!”</p> - -<p>Tears gathered in Rosaline’s blue eyes.</p> - -<p>“Do you suffer much now?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Nearly always,” he replied.</p> - -<p>Again there was a painful silence. Then le -Bossu recollected the slippers and rearranged -the rosettes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>“They fit like gloves, mademoiselle,” he said -calmly, “do they give you comfort?”</p> - -<p>The girl roused herself.</p> - -<p>“They are beautiful, Charlot,” she replied, -standing up and pacing to and fro before the -bench, to try them. “They do not even feel -like new shoes. You are a magician.”</p> - -<p>She had lifted her white skirts to show the -two little blue feet. Le Bossu stood up too, -admiring not only the slippers, but the beautiful -face and the golden hair, as fair as the sunshine. -Even Truffe, the poodle, danced about -in open approval. Then they heard a sharp -voice from the direction of the house.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle Rosaline!” it -called; “the dinner grows cold, and Madame -de St. Cyr is waiting. <i>Viens donc!</i>”</p> - -<p>“Poor Babet!” laughed Rosaline; “I am her -torment. Come to the house, Charlot; she will -have a dinner for you also, and grandmother -will be delighted with these beautiful slippers. -Come, Truffe, you at least are hungry, you -little <i>gourmande</i>.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br> - -<small>ROSALINE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> sun shone cheerfully in the dining room -of the château. The long windows were open, -and the soft June air came in, laden with the -sweetness of the garden. The room was of -moderate size and furnished with perfect simplicity, -the polished dark wood floor being bare -of rugs. In the corner was a tall clock with a -silver dial, wherein were set the sun, moon, and -stars, moving in unison with the hands. On the -sideboard were a few pieces of silver that dated -back to the days of Francis I. The table, covered -with a fair linen cloth, was set for two, a -glass bowl full of pansies in the centre. Rosaline -sat at one end and at the other was her -grandmother, Madame de St. Cyr. Between -them was Truffe, the poodle, sitting solemnly, -with a napkin tied about her neck, and turning -her black face from one to the other in eager -but subdued anticipation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>Madame de St. Cyr was an old gentlewoman -with a handsome, delicate face and the blue -eyes of her granddaughter; her hair had the -whiteness of snow and there were lines of age -and suffering about her mouth. She wore a -plain gown of black silk with a fall of lace at -the throat, and a lace cap on her head, and her -thin white hands showed the blue veins like -whip-cords, but they were slender and graceful -hands, with tapering fingers and delicate wrists.</p> - -<p>The two women were alone; their only servant, -the woman Babet, was in the kitchen, setting -out a dinner for the cobbler, and they -could hear the murmur of her voice as she lectured -him. Madame de St. Cyr was listening -to Rosaline with a troubled face.</p> - -<p>“Ah, <i>grand’mère</i>, can we not help him?” the -girl said earnestly. “Think of his desolate situation.”</p> - -<p>“We are poor, Rosaline,” the old woman replied -gently, “and helpless. Moreover, if our -religion were suspected the <i>bon Dieu</i> only knows -what would happen. I am too old to hide away -in the caves of the Cévennes! Nor is it clear -that it is my duty to help this fellow religionist<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -if by so doing I put you in danger. Ah, -my child, for you it would be the Tour de Constance—or -worse!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline was feeding some morsels to Truffe -with perfect composure.</p> - -<p>“I have never been afraid, <i>grand’mère</i>,” she -said, “and I hate to live a lie—but I know you -are wise. Yet, oh, madame, think of this Huguenot -in Nîmes!”</p> - -<p>“What did Charlot call him?” her grandmother -asked thoughtfully. “I thought the -name was familiar.”</p> - -<p>“He said ’twas François d’Aguesseau.”</p> - -<p>Madame de St. Cyr sat a moment silent, trying -to gather her recollections in shape, then -her memory suddenly helped her.</p> - -<p>“Certainly I know,” she said; “they are from -Dauphiné. He must be the son of Sieur -d’Aguesseau who was broken on the wheel at -Montpellier in ’99. I remember now very well; -he had a son and a daughter, and I did hear -that she was carried away to the Tour de Constance. -It must have been the same young -woman whose corpse was exhibited on Saturday -at Nîmes. The song is true,” she added sadly:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“ ‘Nos filles dans les monastères,</div> -<div class="indent">Nos prisonniers dans les cachots,</div> -<div class="verse">Nos martyrs dont le sang se répand à grands flots,</div> -<div class="indent">Nos confesseurs sur les galères,</div> -<div class="indent">Nos malades persécutés,</div> -<div class="verse">Nos mourants exposés à plus d’une furie,</div> -<div class="indent">Nos morts traînés à la voierie,</div> -<div class="indent">Te disent (ô Dieu!) nos calamités.’ ”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“What a terrible story of sorrow it is!” remarked -Rosaline; “and to think that the corpse -of a gentlewoman should be exposed in the -market-place! <i>Mon Dieu!</i> I wonder if mine -will be!”</p> - -<p>Madame put up her hand with a gesture of -horror.</p> - -<p>“Hush!” she said, with white lips, “I cannot -bear it.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline was contrite in a moment.</p> - -<p>“A thousand pardons, <i>grand’mère</i>,” she said -sweetly; “you and I have lived so long the life -of concealed Huguenots, treading on the edge -of the volcano, that I grow careless in speech.”</p> - -<p>“But do you not see why I am so reluctant -to take a risk?” her grandmother asked. “Yet -I know that this François d’Aguesseau is related -to me through his mother. I remember now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -who she was, and it seems that I must do what -I can.”</p> - -<p>Her granddaughter’s face lighted. “That is -like you, madame,” she said brightly; “we -could not believe she would turn a deaf ear, -could we, Truffe? Ah, you <i>petite gourmande</i>, -have I not given you enough?”</p> - -<p>The older woman watched the girl fondly as -she fed and petted the dog. This granddaughter -was her last link with the world. Her son, -the Comte de St. Cyr had fallen fighting for -the king the year before the Revocation of the -Edict of Nantes, when Rosaline was only three -months old. His wife survived him only two -years, and the grandmother brought up the -child. They had never been rich, and the estate -had suffered under madame’s management, for -she was always cheated and robbed, being as -unworldly as a woman could be who had seen -something of the gay life of her day. Her -mind now was full of the guest of le Bossu, -and she was troubled.</p> - -<p>“I do not know what we can do, Rosaline,” -she said in evident perplexity; “he can come -here, of course, and share our crust, if he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> -will, but a guest, and an unknown one, would -excite comment; and there is M. de Baudri.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline made a grimace. “I wish M. de -Baudri would stay with his dragoons in Nîmes,” -she retorted. “But, <i>grand’mère</i>, there must be -a way. Let us think and think, until we find it.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot understand Charlot,” remarked -Madame, meditatively. “We know he is a devout -Romanist, yet this is not the first time -I have known him to help the persecuted.”</p> - -<p>“He is the strangest little man in the world,” -replied Rosaline, “and I believe that his heart -is as big as his poor misshapen body. He is -strangely refined too, for his condition in life. -Poor little Charlot!”</p> - -<p>“Do you think he suspects our religion?” -madame asked anxiously.</p> - -<p>“I do not know,” her granddaughter replied -slowly, “but sometimes I think so.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” murmured the old woman, with -a sigh; “the axe hangs over our heads.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline looked up surprised.</p> - -<p>“Surely you do not fear Charlot?” she exclaimed. -“Charlot!—why, he would no more -betray us than would old Babet.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>“Babet is of the Religion; I trust no one -else,” returned Madame de St. Cyr, gravely.</p> - -<p>“I do,” replied Rosaline calmly; “I trust -Charlot and Père Ambroise.”</p> - -<p>“In a way, we are in Père Ambroise’s hands,” -her grandmother replied, “and I do not believe -he would betray you; he means instead to -convert you. As for me, I am too near death -to trouble him.”</p> - -<p>“You do him an injustice,” retorted Rosaline; -and then she smiled. “The good father is -naturally kind,—he cannot help it; he is so -round and sleek that he rolls through the world -as easily as a ball. To strike anything violently -would make him bounce uncomfortably, so dear -old Père Ambroise rolls blandly on. I should -weep indeed if the naughty Camisards caught -the kind soul and harmed him. I can see him, -though, trying to run away, with his round eyes -starting and his fat cheeks quivering like Babet’s -moulds of jelly; and how short his breath would -come! <i>Mon père</i> is my friend, so do not find -fault with him, <i>grand’mère</i>, even when he tries -to convert me,—pretending all the while that -he believes me to be one of his flock!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>Madame de St. Cyr laughed a little at the -picture the girl drew of Père Ambroise, but the -laugh died in a sigh. She had all the misgivings, -the faint-heartedness of age, while Rosaline -was as full of life and spirits as a child, and -as thoughtless of the dreadful fate that might -any day overtake her. She laughed now and -told Truffe to beg for a tart, and then scolded -the poodle for eating sweets, all the while making -a picture of youthful loveliness that made -the old room bright with hope and joy. The -finger of fate had not yet been laid on Rosaline’s -heart; she knew neither love nor fear.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br> - -<small>THE COBBLER’S GUEST</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the upper room of the shop of Two Shoes -sat a desperate man. The sun did not shine -for François d’Aguesseau, and in the little court -off the Rue St. Antoine there were no honey-bees -to fill the June air with their cheerful hum, -and no flowers except the blooming weed that -had sprung up between the flagstones. The -good woman in the house opposite had a couple -of children, who were playing on her doorstep; -the sign of the Two Shoes squeaked a little as -it swung in the gentle breeze; these were the -only sounds, though the busy life of Nîmes was -flowing through the thoroughfare at the mouth -of the court. But the Huguenot considered -none of these things. He sat alone in the cobbler’s -house, his elbows leaning on the table -before him, his head on his hands. His body -was in Nîmes, but his soul was away in Dauphiné. -When he closed his eyes he saw the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -valley of the Durance and the old town of -Embrun, where his childish feet had made so -many journeys that he might look up in wonder -at the Tour Brune or rest in the parvis of the -Cathedral,—for his family had not always been -Protestants. Then he saw in his vision the -château near Embrun where he was born, and -the terrace where he and his sister Hélène had -played together,—the same Hélène whose body -lay exposed at the bazar on Saturday. She -was only a woman, but she had died for her -religion and he had escaped; through no fault -of his, though, for he had been reckless enough -of life in his efforts to rescue her. He had -tried to move heaven and earth for her, and -had not even obtained a hearing in Paris. -Fate, the inexorable, had closed every avenue -of mercy; the young and innocent woman had -languished in the pestilential atmosphere of the -Tour de Constance, had died at last to be subjected -to degradation after death by her unmerciful -jailers. It was over at last, her body -had been publicly burned, and there remained -no longer any reason for him to linger in Nîmes. -His mother, dying of a broken heart over the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -fates of husband and daughter, had made -him solemnly promise to leave France forever. -In England he would find relatives, and there -too his father had wisely invested a small sum -of money against the evil day when they -might have to quit Dauphiné. Therefore -François was not quite penniless, though the -State had comfortably seized all his lands and -his goods. But he was, at the moment, without -money or means of communicating with his -English friends. The Huguenots were closely -watched, and it was no light thing to escape. -Moreover, he longed to strike a blow for his religion, -for liberty, before he left his native land. -His promise bound him, yet could he not linger -long enough to serve the cause in some way? -A strange fascination held him in Nîmes where -he had suffered so much; not only did he lack -money to pay his way to the sea-coast, but he -lacked also the desire to go. Languedoc had -been fatal to two of his family, yet he lingered, -casting his eyes toward the Cévennes. Ah, to -strike a good blow to revenge his father and -sister! He was no saint, and in the upper -room over the shop he ground his teeth in his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> -rage and despair. <i>Dieu!</i> had he not seen the -body of his innocent sister exhibited for half -a crown? the body of his father broken on the -wheel at Montpellier? He thought with grim -satisfaction of the terrible death of the archpriest -Du Chayla at Pont-de-Montvert in ’72. -The enraged peasantry of the surrounding -country, having endured terrible persecutions at -the hands of the archpriest, rose and attacking -his house in the night slew him with fifty-two -blows. D’Aguesseau recalled the circumstance -now and thought of de Bâville the Intendant of -Languedoc, and of Montrevel, who was directing -the army in its efforts to crush the Camisards. -But the young Huguenot did not come of the -blood of assassins. Doubtless, it would be a -service to his religion to strike down either of -these men, and die for it afterwards, but he was -not made to creep upon a victim in the dark or -lie in wait for him at some unexpected moment. -He could join Cavalier or Roland, but he could -not do the murderer’s work in Nîmes, though -his soul was darkened by his afflictions.</p> - -<p>He reflected, too, on the kindness of the shoemaker. -He had recklessly placed himself at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> -the hunchback’s mercy, yet no advantage had -been taken of his admission. It was a crime to -conceal or shelter a Huguenot, yet the humble -little cobbler showed no fear, but courageously -offered his friendship to a proscribed criminal,—for -it was criminal to be of any religion except -the king’s. The charity of the poor cripple -softened d’Aguesseau’s heart; he suppressed his -sneer when he saw the taper burning in front of -the Virgin. It was Romish idolatry, he said to -himself, but the idolater was also a Christian. -Nor would he be a charge upon the kind shoemaker; -he had been now two nights and nearly -two days his guest, and he must relieve him of -such a burden. He could repay him if he ever -reached England, but he cared little whether he -reached it or not. His enforced idleness, too, -wrought upon him; he was a strong, active -man, and he could not endure this sitting still -and waiting an opportunity. He had been -brought up for the army, but no Huguenots -were wanted in the army, and he had not the -instinct of a merchant. He intended to go to -England or Holland and enter the service of -one State or the other. But first—while he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -was waiting for the chance to quit the country—why -not go into the Cévennes? The temptation -was upon him and he well-nigh forgot his -pledge to quit France.</p> - -<p>As the afternoon advanced, he left the little -room over the shop and descended into the -kitchen. He did not eat the dinner that le -Bossu had set out for him; he had gone fasting -too often of late to feel the loss of regular meals, -and he could not eat with relish food for which he -could not pay. He went out through the shop, -creating no little excitement in the neighboring -houses as he crossed the court and entered -the Rue St. Antoine. He had been closely -housed since Saturday, and freedom was sweet. -He stood a moment looking about at the groups -of chattering townspeople, and then he turned -his steps toward the Garden of the Récollets. -It was nearly five o’clock and the shadows were -lengthening on the west side of the streets, and -he heard the church bells ringing as though -there were peace and good-will on earth. A -rag-picker was at work at the mouth of an alley, -some dirty children were playing in the kennel, -and a boy with a basket of figs on his head was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -crying the price as he went along. It was an -ordinary street scene, busy and noisy, and -d’Aguesseau brushed against a Jesuit priest as -he walked on past the Cathedral of St. Castor.</p> - -<p>Full of his own gloomy thoughts he went from -street to street, and was only aroused at last by -finding himself nearly opposite a tavern—which -bore the sign of the Golden Cup—and -in the midst of an uproar. The doors and windows -of the public house were crowded, and -a rabble came up the street with jeers and cries -and laughter. D’Aguesseau drew back into the -shelter of a friendly doorway and waited the approach -of the <i>canaille</i>, and it was not long before -the excitement was explained. The street was -not very wide, and the crowds seemed to choke -it up as they advanced; and a little ahead of the -rabble came a chain of prisoners driven along -by the whips of their guards and pelted with -stones and offal by the spectators. The criminals -were fastened in pairs by short chains, -each having a ring in the centre; then a -long heavy chain was passed through these -rings, thus securing the pairs in a long double -column. There were fifty men thus fastened;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> -twenty-five on one side, and twenty-five on the -other, and between, the cruel iron chain; each -man bearing a weight of a hundred and fifty -pounds, though they were of all ages and conditions, -from the beardless boy to the veteran -bowed with years. It was a gang going to the -galleys at Marseilles, and there were thieves, -murderers, and Huguenots; the latter especially -and fatally distinguished by red-jackets that -they might be the mark of every stone and every -insult of the bystanders. Like the exposure -of the corpses of damned persons, the chain was -a moral lesson for the people, and especially for -the recalcitrants.</p> - -<p>As the unfortunates approached, women -leaned from the windows to cry out at them, -and even the children cast mud and stones. -D’Aguesseau looked on sternly; he did not -know how soon he might be of that number, -and he counted forty-two red-jackets. The -leaders came on stubbornly; they were two -strong men of middle age, and they bore the -chain with grim fortitude, but the two who -followed were pitiful enough,—a white-haired -man, who limped painfully and was near the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -end of his journey, and a boy with a red streak -on each cheek, and the rasping cough of a consumptive. -The next pair were also red-jackets; -both were lame. The fourth couple walked -better; the fifth had to be lashed up by the -guards. They were hailed with laughter and -derision; the convicts received sympathy, the -Huguenots were pelted so vigorously that the -blood flowed from more than one wound, as -the keepers whipped them into the stable-yard -of the Golden Cup, with the rabble at their -heels. The chain would be fastened in the -stable, while the guards took some refreshments, -and here was an opportunity, therefore, for -the population to enjoy some innocent diversion. -A Huguenot prisoner and a dancing -bear served much the same purpose. The -street was nearly cleared, so many crowded -into the inn-yard, and the sounds of merriment -rose from within.</p> - -<p>D’Aguesseau was turning away in stern disgust, -when he came face to face with a hideous -old woman, with a string of fish in her hand. -She had been gloating over the chain, and she -was smiling amiably still, running her very red<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -tongue along the edge of her red lips. She -curtsied to François and held out her fish.</p> - -<p>“A bargain, monsieur,” she said pleasantly. -“The sight of the red-jackets makes Mère -Tigrane feel good; the fish are cheap.”</p> - -<p>He shook his head, making an effort to pass -her, but she persisted.</p> - -<p>“One fish, monsieur,” she protested,—“a -mountain trout. <i>Dame!</i> ’tis fresh, caught this -morning. The spectacle of these Huguenots -has made monsieur hungry.”</p> - -<p>“My good woman, I want neither fish nor -fowl,” d’Aguesseau said impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur makes a mistake,” she persisted -with a grin; “these are good fish, caught in the -stream where they drowned a Camisard witch -last week!”</p> - -<p>With a suppressed exclamation he thrust -her aside and walked on, her shrill laughter in -his ears, and the cries of the rabble in the yard -of the Golden Cup. As for Mère Tigrane, she -stood a moment looking longingly at the inn; -could she forego the diversion? Finally, she -decided between two attractions, and quietly -followed D’Aguesseau.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>The next day, when François descended from -his room, he heard voices in the shop, and saw -that the cobbler was talking to two women. -One was tall, raw-boned, and grim-faced, with -iron-gray hair and keen black eyes, and wore -the dress of an upper servant; the other was -one of the most charming young girls he had -ever seen. He stood in the kitchen undecided -whether to retire or to quietly admire the -picture, but before he could determine upon -his proper course le Bossu called him.</p> - -<p>“Come in, monsieur,” he said; “Mademoiselle -de St. Cyr would speak to you.”</p> - -<p>François responded with some surprise, and -bowed in reply to Rosaline’s curtsey.</p> - -<p>“M. d’Aguesseau,” she said, blushing a little -under his glance, “my <i>grand’mère</i>, Madame de -St. Cyr desires to see you, being acquainted -with your family,—she knew your mother.”</p> - -<p>His eyes lighted with surprise and pleasure.</p> - -<p>“Madame de St. Cyr does me much honor to -request a visit, mademoiselle,” he replied; “I -am at her service.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline and Babet had been into Nîmes to -shop, and they were ready to go. The young<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -girl laid her hand on the older woman’s -arm.</p> - -<p>“Then we will expect you to-morrow afternoon, -monsieur,” she said quietly; “my very -good friend Charlot will direct you to St. Cyr, -and madame my <i>grand’mère</i> will be pleased to -make you welcome.”</p> - -<p>M. d’Aguesseau murmured his acknowledgments, -while he aided Babet in gathering up -numerous small packages, and then the two -women bade Charlot <i>adieu</i> and departed,—the -drawn face of the cobbler clouding as Rosaline -left, as though the sun were obscured. The -younger man turned from the door with an exclamation.</p> - -<p>“Who is that angel?” he demanded eagerly.</p> - -<p>Le Bossu was stitching a shoe, his fingers -shaking a little as he thrust the needle into the -stubborn leather.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle Rosaline de St. Cyr,” he replied -quietly, his brown eyes searching his guest -with a new sternness. “You had better retire, -monsieur, there comes one of the Franciscan -fathers for his shoes.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br> - -<small>A MILITARY SUITOR</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">A week</span> had passed and the afternoon sun -was shining red on the windows of St. Cyr, while -the shadows lengthened in the rambling old -garden. Rosaline was feeding her doves beside -the sundial, Truffe sitting on the rustic bench -in disgrace because she had made a dash at the -feathered pets who came cooing to the young -girl’s feet. It was a picture that the sunshine -touched with tender radiance; behind was the -dark green hedge, the blooming roses, and in -the circle by the dial the doves were flocking to -take food from their mistress, whose fair face -was as softly colored as the roses, and her hair -showing its loveliest tints of gold. She talked -to her pets while she fed them.</p> - -<p>“There, there! Marguerite, you have had -more than your share; you are as great a <i>gourmande</i> -as the naughty Truffe,” she said, shaking -her finger at one pretty bird. “<i>Viens donc</i>, my -Condé! Here is a crumb for you, sweetheart.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -As for Mademoiselle d’Hautefort, she shall have -nothing if she pushes so against Corneille. -What a lot of little rogues!”</p> - -<p>She had distributed all her crumbs and the -doves were fluttering over them, struggling for -the largest fragments, and even alighting on her -wrists and hands in their eagerness. Truffe -meanwhile sulked under her punishment, her -bright black eyes watching the birds with malicious -longing for vengeance.</p> - -<p>“You pretty creatures, how I love you!” said -Rosaline, caressing the two doves she had gathered -into her arms. “Look at them, Truffe, -and be ashamed of your evil thoughts. Nay, -do not deny them, madame; can I not read your -eyes? You would eat them, you wicked ogress, -I see it! Ah, there—you are raising your ears; -what is it, <i>ma chérie</i>?”</p> - -<p>The dog not only pointed her ears, she began -to bark, looking back toward the house, but not -daring to spring from the seat where she had -been ordered to remain until pardoned.</p> - -<p>“You hear a step on the gravel, Truffe, and -so do I,” said Rosaline listening. “Maybe it is -the—new steward.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>Truffe barked again and then uttered a low -growl of displeasure as a man turned the corner -of the hedge and came into view. He was -moderately tall, with a handsome figure, which -was arrayed in the height of fashion; his coat of -uncut velvet was laced with gold, and he wore -red heels on his high riding-boots, and his waistcoat -and trousers were of satin. His full, curled -periwig was fresh from Paris like the little hat, -which was covered with feathers. He made -Mademoiselle de St. Cyr a wonderful bow and -then looked at her in open admiration, his blue -eyes sparkling and his white teeth showing as -he smiled.</p> - -<p>“A dove in the midst of doves,” he said with -gallantry; “mademoiselle is ever the fairest rose -in her garden.”</p> - -<p>“M. de Baudri makes very pretty compliments,” -Rosaline replied, her smiling composure -unruffled. “Truffe and I did not know he -had honored St. Cyr with a visit.”</p> - -<p>“I have been half an hour with madame,” he -replied, “all the while hoping to catch a glimpse -of the loveliest face in the world.”</p> - -<p>“I would have sent Truffe, if I had known<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -that you desired to see her, monsieur,” Rosaline -replied demurely.</p> - -<p>Monsieur bit his lip; he hated dogs and the -provoking little witch knew it.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle chooses to mock me,” he said, -“and mockery comes unnaturally from such -lovely lips.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline laughed softly, still caressing a dove -that nestled on her arm.</p> - -<p>“Tell me the news from Nîmes, monsieur,” -she retorted lightly; “I love a good story, you -know.”</p> - -<p>“With all my heart, mademoiselle, if you will -love the story teller,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“I cannot judge until I have heard the -story,” she retorted, mischievous mirth in her -blue eyes.</p> - -<p>“There is not so much to tell, mademoiselle,” -he said; “these wretches—the Camisards—still -trouble us despite their defeat at Vagnas. -If we could get the head of the brigand Cavalier -all would be well. Has mademoiselle heard -of M. le Maréchal’s dinner party? ’Tis amusing -enough. M. Montrevel is in a bad humor; -the villain Cavalier has cut up two detachments,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -as you know,—one at Ners, and one intended -for Sommières. Thinking of these things and -drinking wine—after dinner—M. le Maréchal -was angry, and at the moment came tidings -that these heretics were praying and howling -in a mill on the canal, outside of the Porte-des-Carmes. -<i>Mère de Dieu!</i> you should have seen -Montrevel. In a trice he had out a regiment -of foot, and away he went to the mill. The -soldiers surrounded it and broke open the door, -and there sure enough were a lot of psalm-singers, -about three hundred old men, women, -and children—heretics all! The soldiers went -in—ah, mademoiselle does not desire particulars; -but truly it is slow work to cut three -hundred throats, especially in such confusion. -M. le Maréchal ordered them to fire the mill. -<i>Mon Dieu!</i> ’twas a scene! It burned artistically, -and the soldiers drove back all who tried -to escape. One rogue, M. Montrevel’s own servant too, -saved a girl, but the maréchal ordered -them both hung at once. He was begged off -by some sisters of mercy, who unhappily came -by just as they had the noose over his head, but -the heretic had been hung already. ’Tis called<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -M. Montrevel’s dinner party in Nîmes; and there -is a saying that one must burn three hundred -heretics before M. le Maréchal has an appetite.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline stood stroking the dove, her eyes -averted.</p> - -<p>“What a pleasant story, monsieur,” she remarked -coldly, “to tell out here in the warm -sunshine! What do I want to know of those -wretches dying in the flames?” and she flashed -a sudden look of scorn upon him that brought a -flush to his face.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle should have asked me to -tell her the one story that I know by heart,” -he replied, his voice and manner changing -in an instant and full now of courtesy and -propitiation.</p> - -<p>“And what is that, monsieur?” she asked -shortly; the color was warm in her cheeks and -her blue eyes flashed dangerously.</p> - -<p>“The old story of my love for you, Rosaline,” -he said eagerly, advancing nearer the sundial, -the flock of doves rising with a whir of wings -as he approached.</p> - -<p>She was unmoved, however, only averting her -face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>“I have spoken to madame,” he added, “and -now I speak to you.”</p> - -<p>“And what did Madame de St. Cyr say?” she -demanded, giving him a questioning glance.</p> - -<p>“She told me that so great was her love for -her only grandchild that she would never force -your choice, and therefore it remained with you -to decide for yourself.” He spoke with feeling, -his bold blue eyes on her lovely face. “I trust -that you are not wholly indifferent to me, Rosaline,” -he continued, “and I can give you much. -My beautiful princess is shut up here in a -ruinous old château. I will show you the -world—Paris—Versailles. No beauty of the -court will compare with the rose of Languedoc.”</p> - -<p>He paused, carried away by his own eloquence, -for M. de Baudri was not given to -sentiment. Rosaline had listened with patience -and composure, and she answered him in a tone -of quiet amusement.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur does me too much honor,” she -said. “The château is indeed ruinous, but ’tis -my home, and, strange to say, I do not long for -the splendors of the court—or the flattery of -the courtiers.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>“But my love for you, mademoiselle!” he -protested in surprise; surely this child did not -realize the honor he paid her. “I offer you my -heart and hand.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline curtsied with a smile on her lips.</p> - -<p>“I am honored, monsieur,” she replied; “but -happily, as my grandmother says, I have the -decision of my fate. My marriage matters to -no one except to her and to me—and, monsieur, -I do not desire to marry.”</p> - -<p>He stared at her in such frank surprise that -she had to avert her face to hide her amusement.</p> - -<p>“You are only a child,” he said bluntly; -“you do not understand what my name and fortune -would mean to you. ’Tis not every day, -mademoiselle, that a man desires to marry a -young girl without a <i>dot</i>!”</p> - -<p>She laughed softly, her blue eyes shining.</p> - -<p>“I appreciate your condescension, monsieur,” -she said amiably; “but I am too wise to thrust -myself upon such rash generosity.”</p> - -<p>“This is folly, mademoiselle,” he exclaimed, -his temper rising; “or is it only a shamefaced -reluctance to confess your true sentiments?”</p> - -<p>Rosaline had borne much, but at this she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -broke down, laughing as merrily and recklessly -as a child; laughing until tears stood in her blue -eyes. Meanwhile M. de Baudri stood in front -of her swelling with rage and mortification, his -face crimson and his blue eyes fierce with indignation. -Still Rosaline laughed.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle is merry,” he said stiffly.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, monsieur,” she replied, -“a thousand times.”</p> - -<p>“You have not answered me,” he went on -harshly. “Am I to understand that my suit -is refused?”</p> - -<p>“It is refused, monsieur,” she rejoined more -calmly; “M. de Baudri should seek a bride of -more wealth and distinction.”</p> - -<p>He stood a moment silent, the picture of furious -indignation, then he looked over the hedge -and saw a man crossing the space between the -house and the wing. M. de Baudri frowned.</p> - -<p>“Who is that, mademoiselle?” he demanded -sharply, pointing toward the stranger.</p> - -<p>Rosaline’s eyes followed his finger, and she -colored, her composure disturbed at last.</p> - -<p>“It is the new steward, monsieur,” she -replied.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>“The new steward?” he repeated. “Madame -de St. Cyr refused the man I recommended because -she said she could not afford to pay for a -successor to old Jacques.”</p> - -<p>“That is true,” she rejoined quietly; “we -really could not afford it. But since old Jacques -died we have found ourselves in need of a -man to help us, therefore we have afforded it, -monsieur.”</p> - -<p>“Humph!” ejaculated M. de Baudri, with another -glance at the house. “A strange sort of -a steward. You had best be careful, mademoiselle, -and not employ disguised Camisards; the -neighborhood swarms with the vermin, and M. -le Maréchal means to exterminate them all.”</p> - -<p>“I thank you for the caution, monsieur,” she -replied, “but Père Ambroise looks after us very -well.”</p> - -<p>“Père Ambroise is a fat fool,” he retorted, -giving a malicious kick at Truffe, who had approached -him.</p> - -<p>Rosaline saw it and her face flushed crimson.</p> - -<p>“Come here, Truffe,” she said, and then curtsied -to her visitor. “We bid you good afternoon, -monsieur,” she continued coolly; “neither Truffe<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -nor I appreciate the honor you have offered us. -We beg you to confer it on a more worthy object, -and we bid you good-evening.”</p> - -<p>And away she ran with her dog, leaving M. -de Baudri standing in the centre of the garden, -the image of indignant disgust. The minx had -dared to refuse him, an officer of his Majesty’s -dragoons, when she should have been overwhelmed -by his condescension; but clearly she -was not responsible,—a frivolous child! So he -thought, and rode away, cursing his folly and -the infatuation of Madame de St. Cyr. But, for -all that, he did not mean to lose the Rose of -Languedoc.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br> - -<small>A STRING OF TROUT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning Rosaline was once more -among her flowers. There was no gardener at -the château now, and it was the young girl’s -custom to weed and tend her own flower beds. -She was bending over some velvet-faced pansies, -snipping off the dead blooms and plucking -away the vagrant grass when she heard some -one speak behind her, and looking up saw a -hideous face peeping over the wicket-gate. -Rosaline started and stood erect, viewing her -visitor with a suspicious glance. But Mère -Tigrane—for it was she—was accustomed to -such receptions, and she only grinned more -widely as she dropped mademoiselle a curtsey.</p> - -<p>“Have some fish for dinner, my pretty!” she -said in a coaxing tone, holding up a string of -trout; “mademoiselle can have the whole string -for ten sous!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline had no thought except one of horror -and repulsion. The face looking over the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -gate, with its wide red mouth and yellow fangs, -alarmed her; she did not even look at the fish.</p> - -<p>“I do not want anything, my good woman,” -she replied, shaking her head.</p> - -<p>“But ’tis fast day, my darling,” remarked -Mère Tigrane, with tender solicitude; “all good -Catholics eat fish to-day!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline’s lesson was well learned and she -was on her guard in a moment.</p> - -<p>“We have enough fish,” she said coldly.</p> - -<p>“But these are so fresh, mademoiselle,” persisted -la Louve. “But then the young lady cannot -judge; permit poor Mère Tigrane to show -these lovely trout to the cook.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you that we have more fish than we -can eat,” said Rosaline, haughtily; “you had -better try elsewhere.”</p> - -<p>“But think of the bargain, my dear,” rejoined -the old hag, in honeyed tones; “now the -cook will know—or the steward.”</p> - -<p>As she spoke Mère Tigrane gently opened -the gate and entered, to Rosaline’s disgust. -She instinctively feared the fishwife and she did -not want her to approach the house. She -moved, therefore, into the centre of the path,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -blocking the way,—a very bad move, indeed, -for it roused all la Louve’s suspicions.</p> - -<p>“Now, my dearie, let me sell these pretty -fish in the kitchen,” she coaxed, approaching -the girl and laying her bony hand on Rosaline’s -skirt.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle drew back with horror, dragging -her frock from the talon fingers with a little -involuntary cry of disgust. As she did so there -was a low growl from the hedge and Truffe, -dashing suddenly upon the scene, sprang on -Mère Tigrane. The old woman shrieked, -snatching a knife from her bosom and striking -at the dog.</p> - -<p>“Do not dare to hurt Truffe!” cried Rosaline, -throwing herself on the poodle and dragging -her off before she had done more mischief -than to tear the other’s clothes. “Go!” she -added imperiously, stamping her foot; “you -forced yourself in—and see, I cannot hold the -dog! There is a crown to buy you a new -petticoat; take it and go!”</p> - -<p>Mère Tigrane gathered up the money greedily, -and prudently retired beyond the gate before -she spoke. Her little eyes glittered with rage,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> -although she smiled broadly at the young -girl.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle is generous,” she said; “she -has more than paid for the fish—will she not -have them?”</p> - -<p>Rosaline was annoyed beyond endurance. -She still held the dog and she turned a withering -glance on Mère Tigrane.</p> - -<p>“Go!” she said sharply, “at once. Let me -hear no more of you or your fish.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Mère de Dieu</i>, but my beauty can be angry!” -remarked la Louve. “Farewell, my -pretty, and good luck to you and your dog.”</p> - -<p>The old woman made her another curtsey and -still chuckling to herself walked slowly away.</p> - -<p>Scarcely had she disappeared behind the tall -hedge when there was a footstep on the path -behind Rosaline and François d’Aguesseau -came in sight. He was soberly dressed like a -steward, and bare-headed, having hurried from -the house at the sound of Mère Tigrane’s -outcry. He found Rosaline still holding the -dog, her face flushed with anger and her eyes -fastened on the opening in the hedge where -her unpleasant visitor had disappeared.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>“I heard a noise, mademoiselle,” he said, -“and thought something had alarmed you.”</p> - -<p>“And something did,” replied Rosaline, with -a shudder; “the most dreadful old woman has -been here trying to force her way into the -house.”</p> - -<p>D’Aguesseau smiled; old women did not terrify -him, and he set mademoiselle’s excitement -down to her nerves.</p> - -<p>“What sort of an old woman?” he asked -pleasantly; “you look as if you had seen a -witch, mademoiselle.”</p> - -<p>“And so I have,” retorted the girl; “a witch -with a string of fish.”</p> - -<p>He started; he too had unpleasant associations -with an apparition with a basket of fish. -He remembered the terrible tent at the fair, and -the encounter opposite the Sign of the Golden -Cup.</p> - -<p>“Which way did she go?” he asked, and as -Rosaline pointed, he went to the gate, and looked -in both directions but saw nothing. “She has -vanished,” he said reassuringly. “I trust that -she did not annoy you, mademoiselle.”</p> - -<p>“She was teasing me to buy her fish, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -finally pushed into the garden,” Rosaline replied, -“and then she caught hold of my skirt -in her eagerness to arrest my attention. I was -foolish, I know, but, I couldn’t help it, I cried -out—such a horror came over me! Then -Truffe sprang on her, and she drew a knife on -my dog! I saved Truffe and ordered her away, -but I know she was fearfully angry, and—and -I fear her; I can’t tell why, but I fear her!”</p> - -<p>“Put her from your thoughts, mademoiselle,” -he said soothingly; “’tis not in the power of -such a wretched creature to hurt you.”</p> - -<p>“I do not know,” she replied, still excited; -“we are concealing so much, and she wanted -to get to the house. I was afraid she would -see—” she broke off, her face flushing.</p> - -<p>“See me,” finished d’Aguesseau quietly. -“Mademoiselle, I pray that you will not let -my presence add to your anxieties. I fear I -have indeed exposed this house to peril by -accepting Madame de St. Cyr’s beautiful friendship. -If I believed so, I would quit it at once. -My lot would indeed be a miserable one if -I should bring misfortune to the roof that -shelters me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>He spoke gloomily, standing with folded -arms and bent head, his eyes on the ground. -Rosaline loosened her hold on Truffe, who -wriggled herself free and fled away along the -hedge barking angrily. Neither of them heeded -the poodle, however, for their thoughts were of -more serious matters.</p> - -<p>“Have no fear, monsieur,” Rosaline said; -“our peril could scarcely be increased. We -are all members of a proscribed religion, and it -is natural that we should all suffer together. -It has been a pleasure to my grandmother to be -able to have you as her guest. We have been -so situated that we could do nothing for our -fellow-religionists, and it is much to her to -do even so little for you.”</p> - -<p>“So much,” he corrected gravely. “I was -friendless and homeless, when madame asked -me to stay here, and I wish from my heart that I -could be of real service to you, instead of merely -assuming a steward’s place as a temporary -disguise.”</p> - -<p>He paused an instant, watching the young -girl’s downcast face intently, and then he spoke -again, with yet more earnestness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>“I have been urging Madame de St. Cyr to -leave this neighborhood,” he said,—“to go to -England. No one is safe here, and I cannot -hope much from this insurrection, when I think -of the mighty force that the king can hurl -against these poor peasants.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline raised her face, a look of inspiration -on her delicate features.</p> - -<p>“Ah, monsieur,” she said, “you forget that -the <i>bon Dieu</i> is with us! Surely we must win, -when the Captain of our Salvation leads us.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her with admiration in his eyes. -How beautiful she was!</p> - -<p>“That is true, mademoiselle,” he replied, “but -it may not be His will that we should conquer -upon earth. The battle must be waged, -and death and destruction follow it. I cannot -bear to think of you and madame here in this -château, in the very heart of it; for, doubtless, -Cavalier will assault Nîmes at last.”</p> - -<p>“Madame de St. Cyr cannot go to England,” -the girl said quietly; “she is too old for the -flight. We must face it.”</p> - -<p>“Then, mademoiselle, I will remain with you -here,” he declared.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>She gave him a startled glance, coloring -slightly.</p> - -<p>“You promised your mother to go to England,” she -reminded him; “and your single -sword could never defend us.”</p> - -<p>“And my presence draws danger—you -would add, mademoiselle,” he said quietly; -“that is true, but I shall not remain in this -house, I shall go to the Cévennes, and there -I can still watch over you a little. I shall -indeed go to England, but not now.”</p> - -<p>He spoke with such resolution that she attempted -no reply. There was a pause and -again Truffe barked viciously at the other end -of the hedge, and a glint of red showed through -a break in the thicket, but neither of the two -friends noticed it. At last the girl broke the -silence.</p> - -<p>“I suppose the end will come some time,” -she said dreamily. “The old château will be -consumed by the flames that M. de Baudri’s -troops will kindle, the garden will be a desolate -place, and Languedoc will know us no more. I -have lain awake at night thinking of it, monsieur, -and yet I am not afraid. I do not know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -why, but I have never been really afraid of the -day when this concealment must end. But oh, -I do pray that my grandmother may escape! I -think of these things, and then I come out and -see God’s sun shining, and hear my doves coo, -and it seems impossible that the world is so -cruel. Is it indeed so, monsieur? Is my life -here at St. Cyr a dream of peace amid the -fierce world? Can it be that this too, that I -have always known, will end?”</p> - -<p>His face was sad and stern, and he looked at -her with sorrowful eyes.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle,” he replied, “I pray that it -may never end. But once I too had such a -dream. I was a little lad at my mother’s knee -in Dauphiné. The sun shone there too, and the -birds sang, and every-day life went on. I had a -father whom I reverenced, who taught me and -guided me, a sister whom I loved, and we were -rich.” He paused and then added, “I am almost -a beggar now—but for madame’s loan which -my father’s prudent investments in England will -enable me to repay. I have neither father nor -mother nor sister. The château is a blackened -ruin, the lands are tilled by strangers. <i>Mon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -Dieu!</i> my dream ended as I pray yours may -not!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline’s face was full of sympathy, tears -gathered in her eyes, she held out her hand -with a gesture of commiseration.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur, pardon me for speaking of it,” -she said, a quiver in her voice; “your sister—oh, -believe me, I grieve with you for so terrible -an affliction. God knows what my fate may -be!”</p> - -<p>He took her hand in both his and kissed it.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said gravely, “while I -live I will surely defend you from that awful -calamity. There is no one to require my service—’tis -yours, mademoiselle, and my gratitude -and devotion. Would that I had more to -devote to your protection!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br> - -<small>BABET VISITS THE COBBLER</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> little hunchback, Charlot, sat patiently -at his cobbler’s bench making a pair of shoes. -The sun was not shining in his window; it shone -on the house across the court, and there was -only a reflected glare to brighten the shop at -the sign of Two Shoes. His door was open, and -from where he sat he could see the two children -opposite, playing on the threshold of their -home. They were not handsome children, and -were clad in patched and faded garments, yet -the shoemaker looked over at them often as he -plied his needle. He heard the voice of their -mother singing as she did her work; he saw the -father come home for his dinner, the two little -ones greeting him with noisy affection. A -humble picture of family life, scarcely worth -recording, yet every day le Bossu watched it -with interest and a dull pain. His hearth was -desolate, but not so desolate as his heart.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -Charlot cut a strip of fine kid and stitched it, -but his eyes dwelt sadly on the house across the -court. He went in and out his own door daily, -but no one ever greeted him; no loving voice -spoke kind words of sympathy when his trouble -was upon him; no friendly hand performed the -little every-day services for him. There was -silence always,—silence and loneliness. The -hunchback thought of it and of his life. He -could remember no great blessings or joys in it. -His parents were humble, and he was the one -misshapen child in a large family. From his -birth he had been unwelcome in the world. A -neglected infant, he fell from the bed to the -floor, and from that time began to grow crooked -and sickly. His mother’s death robbed him of -his only friend, and he struggled through painful -years of neglect and suffering to manhood—but -what a manhood! he said to himself; not -even his own brethren cared for him. The -brothers and sisters went out into the world, and -Charlot would have been left in miserable poverty -but for a kind cobbler who taught him his -trade, and thus enabled the cripple to earn his -own living.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>That meagre story of pain and sorrow was -Charlot’s history, and now he stitched away -patiently on his shoes and made no complaint. -No one thought of him as a man endowed with -all a man’s feelings and passions. The little -hunchbacked shoemaker of St. Antoine was not -disliked by his neighbors; he was welcome to -gather up the crumbs of joy that fell from the -happier man’s table, to look on at feasts and -weddings; he was even wanted at funerals—for -he had a strangely touching way of showing his -sympathy; but <i>Dieu!</i> he was a thing apart, -<i>le bossu</i>, a little deformity. No one thought of -the soul caged within that wretched shape, and -looking out on all it desired of the fulness of -life, hungering for a crumb of joy, and debarred -forever and ever.</p> - -<p>“Ah, <i>mon Dieu!</i>” Charlot said sometimes, -“why didst thou give me the soul of a man, and -a body that is only a mark for pity or scorn?”</p> - -<p>A question that could be answered only when -the long and painful journey should be over and -the poor, misshapen body laid to rest. Who can -say in what beautiful form such a spirit may be -clad when the River of Death is crossed?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>All these thoughts were in the shoemaker’s -mind as he turned a little shoe in his hand. It -was of white satin and he was making a rosette of -pink ribbon, shaping it like a rose and fastening -it on the toe. He fondled his work and held it -off at arm’s length, admiring it. Another pair of -shoes for Mademoiselle de St. Cyr, but this time -they would come as a surprise. Next Thursday -was Rosaline’s birthday, and the cobbler had -been long fashioning these shoes as a present. -He had never dared offer her a gift before, but -now he owed them so many kindnesses, they -had done so much to help him, that he felt he -might offer this humble return on mademoiselle’s -birthday. That pair of little white satin -shoes stood for much joy in le Bossu’s dreary -life; to plan them, to make them, to buy the -ribbon for the rosettes, had furnished him with -so many separate diversions. In the blankness -of his existence there was one sacred spot, the -château of St. Cyr; in his sad days, the figure of -Rosaline stood before him like an angel. There -was a great gulf between these two, the beautiful -girl and the humble cobbler, and he knelt -down on the farther side and worshipped her, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -he would worship a saint in heaven. And she -knew it not. To her, he was little Charlot, poor -Charlot, and her voice softened when she spoke -to him; her manner was more kind too than to -others; she could afford to be goodness itself to -the hunchbacked cobbler, and she never dreamed -that she held his life in the hollow of her hand. -Great was the gulf indeed, and she stood a long -way off with the merciful sympathy of the angel -that she seemed to him to be. He understood -it all well enough and looked up to worship, -happy to fashion a shoe that pleased her and to -see the light in her blue eyes when she thanked -him.</p> - -<p>So it was that he sat stitching mademoiselle’s -little shoe and looking across at the children on -his neighbor’s step; they had finished their -dinner now, and the father had gone back to his -work. Le Bossu’s drawn face was pale to-day, -and there was pathos in his brown eyes. He -waxed his thread and drew it back and forth and -once or twice he sighed. There was no sound -in his house but the ticking of his clock, but -over the way there were the voices of children, -the goodwife’s song, the clatter of dishes. Charlot<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -had finished one slipper and put it away, -and was taking up the other when some one -entered the court. His work would be done in -good season, the cobbler thought with satisfaction, -and he was cutting the pink ribbon when -he looked up and saw Babet, the cook and -housekeeper at St. Cyr. Le Bossu tucked the -slipper out of sight and greeted his visitor. She -entered with a quick, firm step, bearing herself -like a grenadier, and dusted the stool with the -end of her shawl before she sat down.</p> - -<p>“Well, Charlot,” she said, opening a bundle -that she had brought, “here are my boots, and -the left one pinches me and the right is too -large. I tell you, man, that you never make two -shoes alike.”</p> - -<p>The cobbler smiled. “Your feet are not alike; -that is the trouble, Babet,” he retorted; “the left -one is larger than the right.”</p> - -<p>“Tush!” ejaculated the woman in disgust, -“do you take me for a fool? I’ve set my right -foot forward all my life, little man, and yet you -say the left is larger.”</p> - -<p>“You have worn the flesh off your right, -thrusting it forward, Babet,” replied the cobbler;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -“’tis the way with some noses—they are ground -off, being thrust into other people’s business.”</p> - -<p>“Humph!” said Babet, “’tis not so with -mine. Can you fix the shoe so I can wear it?”</p> - -<p>The shoemaker knelt down and patiently -tried on Babet’s boots, while she found fault -first with one and then with the other. It was -evident that she was in no very good humor. -A different customer was this from mademoiselle, -and Charlot’s thoughts were not set on -pleasing her. His guest had left him to go -to St. Cyr and had ostensibly become steward -there; but the hunchback was not deceived. -He had long suspected that the women of -the château were of the new religion, and -now he was secretly convinced of it, and in -d’Aguesseau he saw a grave danger for them. -Charlot was a sincere Romanist too, and his -conscience was troubled, but his heart was -full of sympathy for misery; he had himself -been miserable all his life. In spite of -Babet’s bickering, therefore, he found an opportunity -to broach the subject nearest his -heart.</p> - -<p>“Does the new steward suit Madame de St.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -Cyr?” he asked, as he finally took off the -offending boots and put back the old ones on -Babet’s large feet.</p> - -<p>“The new steward indeed!” said she, with a -sniff; “a precious steward!—I have no use for -fine gentlemen without money! What did you -send him to us for?”</p> - -<p>“I send him?” exclaimed the cobbler, in -mild surprise. “Mademoiselle asked him to -come to see her grandmother.”</p> - -<p>Babet tossed her head. “’Twas all your -fault,” she said emphatically. “I’ve nothing -to say against M. d’Aguesseau himself, but what -need have we for a steward? And what does -he do at once, this fine gentleman?”</p> - -<p>Charlot had seldom seen his friend so out -of humor before, and he regarded her in -amazement.</p> - -<p>“What has he done?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Fallen in love with Mademoiselle Rosaline,” retorted -Babet, bluntly; “and what use is -there in that? I tell you, Charlot, I am jealous -for mademoiselle; I have no patience with -these young fools—they all do it, from M. -de Baudri down.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>The hunchback laid down the shoes, the -pain in his patient eyes, and the lines deepening -around his mouth.</p> - -<p>“M. d’Aguesseau is a gentleman,” he said -slowly. “I know who he is. Does—does -mademoiselle—find him pleasing?”</p> - -<p>This was too much for Babet; she drew a -long breath and stared at the offender with eyes -of scorn.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle Rosaline!” she said; “Mademoiselle -Rosaline pleased with him! <i>Ciel!</i> -why, you fool, she must marry a duke or a -prince. But what is the use of having a young -gentleman hopelessly in love with her and -willing to play at being steward to be near -her?”</p> - -<p>Charlot sighed; he was resting his chin on -his hand and looking thoughtfully out into the -court.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry,” he said, “if it annoys -mademoiselle.”</p> - -<p>“Annoys her!” repeated the indignant -woman. “If it did—but it doesn’t, bless her -innocent heart; she does not even suspect it -yet. But I see it plain enough. He’s a fine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -man too, and I might be sorry for him, but -what business has he at St. Cyr?”</p> - -<p>With this, Babet arose and adjusting her -little white shawl on her broad shoulders, she -smoothed the folds of her black petticoat, and -giving Charlot some more arbitrary directions -about her boots, stalked out. She crossed the -court and trudged away toward the gate of -Nîmes with a feeling of satisfaction. She had -relieved her mind, and she believed that she had -disarmed the hunchback’s suspicions. Babet -knew that Charlot thought her a Huguenot, and -she took many different ways of deceiving him. -She thought now that she had given a reason -for M. d’Aguesseau’s stay at St. Cyr. It was -a truthful statement, but she had made it to -excuse the presence there of a stranger. No -one knew of her intentions; Babet always acted -on her own impulses and she fancied herself a -wise woman. Her jealousy for mademoiselle -was so genuine that she did not have to feign -her anger; no one was good enough for her -darling.</p> - -<p>She left the hunchback in a thoughtful mood. -He did not immediately resume his work; he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -sat staring out at the door, but he saw nothing. -A vision rose indeed before his mind of a tall, -straight figure, a handsome, strong face, the -voice and manners of a station far above his -own in life. The little cobbler sighed painfully, -his lips tightened, he felt as if some one had -thrust a dagger in his heart.</p> - -<p>He was still sitting there, staring into space, -when a large figure darkened his doorway and -a stout man wearing the habit of a priest entered -his shop.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br> - -<small>CHARLOT BURNS A CANDLE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> priest’s stout figure seemed to fill Charlot’s -little shop, and he stood with his hands -crossed behind his back looking down placidly -at the shoemaker. He had a round, rosy, face -with a succession of double chins and a nose like -a turnip, but his eyes were kindly and he was -nearly always smiling. Père Ambroise was -popular; hardly a parish priest in Nîmes was -more welcome as a visitor, and none were less -feared. Children ran after the amiable father, -babies crowed for him, invalids were glad to hear -his cheery voice. He was not intended as a -persecutor or a martyr; he was round and the -world was round, and both revolved comfortably -in their own orbits. Père Ambroise was lazy, -and, <i>Mère de Dieu</i>, these wretched Camisards -were as fleet of foot as mountain goats! The -good priest preferred a good dinner and a soft -bed in Nîmes. It was a season of trouble for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -his brethren who were outside of the protection -of the garrison towns, and Père Ambroise was -sorry for them. Chayla had been slain at Pont-de-Montvert; -the Curé of Frugères shot in a -rye field; the Curé of St. André de Lancèze -thrown from the highest window of his own -belfry; others had suffered violent deaths, and -Père Ambroise felt that Nîmes was the safest -spot for his residence. He did not belong to -the missionaries or the prophets, but he raised -his hand against no man, and more than one -sufferer secretly blessed the stout father as he -ambled along the Esplanade, or stopped to chat -with the children.</p> - -<p>He wore his usual expression of placidity, a -certain unctuous, well-fed air,—the cheerfulness -that comes from a full stomach and the digestion -of an ox. He looked down with mild compassion -on the drawn face of the hunchback. He -pitied Charlot, but with all his worldly wisdom -he had not the least comprehension of him. -The cobbler greeted him respectfully, rising -from his stool at his entrance.</p> - -<p>“Sit down—sit down,” said Père Ambroise, -with good-humored remembrance of the hunchback’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -weariness. “I only came to pay for my -shoes.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke he tried the back of a chair with -his hand before trusting his weight upon it. -Being satisfied with its strength, he sat down -with a sigh of relief, and drawing out his purse -slowly counted out the money and laid it on -Charlot’s bench.</p> - -<p>“How is the business, my son?” he asked, -blandly; “you seem to be always occupied.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied the shoemaker; “thanks to the -<i>bon Dieu</i> I am well occupied. All men must -try to walk, and most men wear shoes.”</p> - -<p>“When they can afford them,” supplemented -Père Ambroise. “You have a better trade than -some of your competitors. All goes well with -you, then?”</p> - -<p>“As well as usual, <i>mon père</i>,” the hunchback -replied quietly, “I live and I eat.”</p> - -<p>“That is more than some do in Languedoc,” -rejoined the father, with his usual placid philosophy, -folding his fat hands on his portly front -and gazing mildly around the shop. “Is your -room above rented?” he asked, after a moment’s -pause.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>Charlot looked up quickly, his face changing -a little, and then he bent over his work again.</p> - -<p>“It is empty,” he answered; “I found a -lodger often troublesome.”</p> - -<p>“Yet you had one some weeks since,” remarked -the priest calmly, “or I have been misinformed.”</p> - -<p>Charlot stirred uneasily. “I rented it for -three days only, <i>mon père</i>,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes—for three days,” repeated Père -Ambroise, twirling his thumbs and looking up -at the ceiling; “and your lodger then became -Madame de St. Cyr’s steward. How was this, -my son?”</p> - -<p>The shoemaker’s fingers were twitching the -thread nervously.</p> - -<p>“It was an accident, Père Ambroise,” he said. -“Madame de St. Cyr knew his family and heard -that he was here.”</p> - -<p>“She knew his family?” repeated the priest -again, his twinkling eyes travelling down from -the ceiling to the drawn face before him. -“From what part of France did he come?”</p> - -<p>“From Dauphiné,” le Bossu retorted shortly.</p> - -<p>“Humph!” ejaculated Père Ambroise, taking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -up a shoe from the bench and examining it -critically. “From Dauphiné—and his name -is—?”</p> - -<p>Charlot laid down his work and looked the -good father in the eye.</p> - -<p>“You love the family at St Cyr, <i>mon père</i>?” -he asked gravely.</p> - -<p>Père Ambroise nodded his head in assent, -smiling a little all the while and patting the -shoe in his hands.</p> - -<p>“Then I pray you to ask me no more questions,” -the hunchback said.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” ejaculated Père Ambroise, and there -was much significance in his tone.</p> - -<p>There was a long pause. Charlot took up -his work, cutting away at the sole of a shoe, -and his visitor sat quite still, his fat person -spreading comfortably over the chair and settling -into it, after the fashion of soft, fleshy -bodies.</p> - -<p>“You go often to St. Cyr,” he remarked at -last; “do you know that M. Montrevel is determined -to make a clean sweep of these Camisards—of -all heretics, in fact; that he will cleanse -Languedoc of this corruption?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>“’Tis the king’s will,” remarked le Bossu, -with a sigh, “but there is much suffering.”</p> - -<p>“‘If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off,’” -Père Ambroise retorted placidly; “heretics -must suffer—fire here and hereafter.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, he rose deliberately and replaced -his purse in his pocket.</p> - -<p>“My son,” he said kindly, “take no more -such lodgers—that is my advice, and you know -that I am your friend.”</p> - -<p>“I know it, <i>mon père</i>,” replied the shoemaker, -respectfully accompanying the priest to the -door.</p> - -<p>The good father moved ponderously and at -the threshold he paused a moment to look -about the court, waving his hand to the two -children who stood gaping at him. Then he -bade Charlot farewell.</p> - -<p>“Peace be to you, my son,” he said benignly, -and passed slowly out into the Rue -St. Antoine.</p> - -<p>When he was gone Charlot put away his -work and went back to the kitchen and set out -his supper, some figs and black bread. He -could not stitch, he could not meditate, he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> -troubled. He did not fear Père Ambroise, but -he saw a cloud gathering over St. Cyr. He was -a constant witness of cruelties to the Protestants, -so common then that they scarcely made a -ripple in the placid surface of every-day life. -He saw the chain, the stake, the corpses of -damned persons, and these things troubled him -as they did not trouble other good Catholics. -When the miserable appealed to him, his heart -was touched with sympathy; he never mocked, -he never refused a cup of water, as others did; -he pitied because he too had suffered the -world’s scorn. He could not think of these hideous -things approaching Mademoiselle de St. -Cyr; he would as soon have dreamed of casting -an angel into hell; yet he began now to fear that -the finger of Fate was moving slowly but surely -in her direction. It sickened him; he sat down -to eat, but the bread was as a stone between his -teeth.</p> - -<p>While he sat thus, looking at his frugal supper, -he heard some one at the door of the shop, and -went out to find Mère Tigrane. She grinned -her hideous grin at him as he appeared. She -had done a good business that day and her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -hands were empty and she jingled some coin in -her pocket.</p> - -<p>“I have sold all my fish, Petit Bossu,” she -said, “and I’ve been to the château out there -by St. Césaire. <i>Dame!</i> but mademoiselle has -a white skin, whiter than the corpse we saw at -the fair, and her cheeks are pink—but she’s a -fury, <i>mon chéri</i>.”</p> - -<p>Charlot frowned. “Is this all you have to -say?” he asked sharply; “I am closing my shop.”</p> - -<p>“Close it, my straight-back!” she replied, -mocking him. “I stopped by to tell you that -your lodger was out at St. Cyr,” she added, -bursting into a hideous cackle of laughter at the -sight of his angry face.</p> - -<p>“You are a fool for your pains!” he retorted -and slammed the door in her face.</p> - -<p>“So ho!” she said, pointing her bony finger -at the door; “you are out of temper, Petit -Bossu, and I such a friend of yours too! The -dog tears my petticoat and the hunchback slams -the door in my face. <i>Viens donc</i>, Mère Tigrane; -they treat you ill, but never mind, my rosebud, -’twill all be well yet for the good old woman -and her dear little fish!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>And she took herself off, laughing and mumbling -as she went.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, within the house, le Bossu left -his supper untouched, and toiling up the ladder -to his room, reverently lighted a taper before -the shrine of the Virgin. He fell on his knees -before it, and remained a long time, a deep -shadow on his worn face, and his callous -hands clasped and raised in an attitude of -supplication.</p> - -<p>At that moment the shadows were falling -softly about the white walls of St. Cyr, and -Rosaline stood looking out of the window of -her own room, her face to the east, and singing -softly, in all the joy of youth and innocence.</p> - -<p>Ah, the contrast in the lives that touch each -other so strangely in this world of ours!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br> - -<small>A DANGEROUS SUIT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Madame de St. Cyr</span> was leaning back in -her chair, her white hands folded in her lap, -her eyes fixed in an absent gaze on the space -outside the sitting-room window. Opposite to -her, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece was -the elegant figure of M. de Baudri. He was -watching the old face before him, with indifferent -eyes, a smile on his lips. She was ill -at ease; he was well satisfied. He was the first -to break the pause.</p> - -<p>“I think madame will acknowledge that I -am willing to do all that is liberal and kind,” he -said suavely.</p> - -<p>“I do acknowledge it, monsieur,” she replied, -in troubled tones, “but the child—you know, M. -de Baudri, that I have never treated Rosaline -as other girls are treated. She is accustomed -to deciding for herself, young as she is, and—she -does not listen favorably to your suit.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>He waved his hand airily. “The whim of a -child, madame, the natural coyness of a young -maiden. I honor mademoiselle, for her hesitations, -but between us there need be no -such conventionalities. I desire to marry your -granddaughter, and I flatter myself that you do -not object, madame.”</p> - -<p>He fixed his eyes on her haughtily as he -spoke; there was a covert threat in his tone, -despite his affable manner. The old woman -sighed.</p> - -<p>“’Tis hard for me to explain,” she said -plaintively; “I can have no objections to -you personally, M. de Baudri, but I am -averse to doing anything to force Rosaline’s -inclinations.”</p> - -<p>He smiled scornfully. “Madame does not -expect me to believe in so flimsy an excuse, -surely?” he remarked with a frown. “I never -heard that the whims of a mere girl controlled -arrangements of this kind. My marriage -with your granddaughter would benefit you in -many ways. The de Baudris confer an honor -when they marry.”</p> - -<p>A red spot flamed in madame’s white cheeks;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> -her situation had made a coward of her, but -there was a limit even to her endurance.</p> - -<p>“The St. Cyrs thank monsieur,” she said -ironically, “but they also are of noble blood. -No man could confer an honor on the daughter -of the house; she will confer it, when she makes -her choice. We are poor, M. de Baudri, but -we ask favors of no one.”</p> - -<p>He saw his error, and bowed low before the -old dame, his hand on his heart.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle is an angel,” he said; “if I -did not recognize that, I would not, a second -time, sue for her hand. I also am proud, -madame.”</p> - -<p>The old woman returned his bow, but was -silent. She was hurt, angry, alarmed. She -began to fear those handsome, bold eyes, -and the smooth voice; after all, he was like a -panther, ready to spring, and her beautiful -darling, the idol of her old age was the object -of his desire. But for that fearful danger, -their concealed religion, she could have faced -him well enough, but he had a mighty weapon -in his hand, and she almost feared that he knew -it. For herself, death would be no great hardship,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> -but for Rosaline—she shuddered, pressing -her handkerchief to her lips, and staring -out of the window. Meanwhile M. de Baudri -watched her narrowly; he knew far less than she -thought, but he was fiercely in love with Rosaline, -and such love as his was as dangerous as -hate. The girl’s indifference enraged him; -he would have her, and then—Mother of -Heaven! he would teach her to scorn him, -indeed! He would break her will and humble -her into his slave. Madame de St. Cyr felt all -this, vaguely, it is true, but still strongly enough -to make her recoil from him. What could she -do? she thought, a helpless old woman with all -the world against her! Père Ambroise loved -the child, it was true, but might not Père -Ambroise favor an orthodox lover? M. de -Baudri’s smooth voice broke in on her troubled -thoughts, and demanded her attention again.</p> - -<p>“You have advanced no reasonable objections -to my suit, madame,” he said affably; “I -shall therefore regard it as accepted by you, -and only in abeyance on account of mademoiselle’s -maidenly scruples.”</p> - -<p>“But I have not accepted it,” she protested,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -greatly troubled; “I will not accept any offer -for the child that—that does not give her happiness. -Why should I desire to part with the -jewel of my old age? You are naturally forgetful -of my situation, monsieur; Rosaline’s -marriage would leave me desolate.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, madame,” he replied, not ungracefully, -“you would but gain a son. If this is your -only scruple—is it not a selfish one?”</p> - -<p>Poor Madame de St. Cyr was fairly cornered. -He saw it and laughed in his sleeve.</p> - -<p>“You are very kind, M. de Baudri,” she faltered, -“but after all it rests where it did. Rosaline -must decide.”</p> - -<p>He smiled. “Then, madame, you virtually acquiesce,” -he said blandly; “for I trust that I can -win so young and amiable a girl as mademoiselle—if -you give me a fair opportunity.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head, smiling faintly. “You -have had opportunity, M. de Baudri,” she replied; -“’tis not in my mind to influence her -in any way. She must choose for herself.”</p> - -<p>He was all smooth amiability now; he took -his plumed hat from the table and stood a -moment longer on the hearth-rug, the picture<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -of ease and assurance,—his curled periwig, his -lace cravat, his military coat, all of the latest -mode.</p> - -<p>“I will undertake to win mademoiselle’s consent,” -he said. “Permit me, however, to remark -that your ideas on the matter are—to say the -least—unconventional. But no matter, ’twill -be a little romance. There is one thing, though, -I would say, madame, and that is, I notice with -surprise that you keep that fellow as steward -still. I spoke to you before.”</p> - -<p>A faint flush rose on the old dame’s pale face -and her eyes kindled. She was not yet accustomed -to dictation.</p> - -<p>“The man is useful to me,” she said shortly. -“Monsieur forgets that he is not yet one of -my family.”</p> - -<p>De Baudri bit his lip, an ugly look in his blue -eyes.</p> - -<p>“I beg madame’s pardon,” he said, “but she -probably remembers the cause of my protest; -a grave one,—I believe the rogue may be a -concealed Camisard.”</p> - -<p>Madame de St. Cyr’s hands trembled, and she -controlled herself with an effort.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>“I think you are mistaken, M. de Baudri,” -she protested; “he was well recommended, and -I have seen nothing to indicate—that he was -other than he claimed to be.”</p> - -<p>“You can see that he is no steward by profession, -though, madame,” retorted the officer, -coolly, “and his presence may be dangerous -at St. Cyr.”</p> - -<p>“He has done his duty so far, monsieur,” she -mustered courage to reply, “and I have no pretext -for his discharge.”</p> - -<p>De Baudri shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“Madame should not need a second warning,” -he remarked, with much suavity; “perhaps -’twould be well for me to investigate his antecedents -and thus relieve madame of farther -embarrassments.”</p> - -<p>“I thank you, monsieur,” she said, with an -effort to be calm, “I can see to the matter -myself. I will refer it to Père Ambroise. If -any one is anxious about our spiritual welfare, -he should be.”</p> - -<p>“Doubtless, madame,” M. de Baudri replied -pleasantly, “but Père Ambroise is notoriously -easy-tempered. I should advise you to be careful.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> -You cannot afford to harbor a heretic -here; a word to M. de Bâville—” He broke -off, shrugging his shoulders.</p> - -<p>Madame stirred uneasily in her chair. Every -word that he had uttered had been a covert -threat, and she knew well enough to what -end it all tended. He loved Rosaline and he -meant to have her. “<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” thought -the old woman, “he would have the child even -against her will! Can he be wicked enough -to try to intimidate her,—to force her into a -marriage?”</p> - -<p>She awoke from these reflections to find him -making his adieux.</p> - -<p>“I have warned you, madame,” he said benignly. -“Convey my devotion to mademoiselle—my -regret that she is absent from home at -this hour. I will soon present myself again; -meanwhile, madame, rest assured of my faithful -friendship.”</p> - -<p>He bowed profoundly, his hand again on his -heart, and retired, leaving the poor old woman -collapsed in her chair; nor did she breathe -freely until she heard his horse’s hoofs on the -road to Nîmes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>Meanwhile a very different scene had been -enacted in the kitchen. Babet was making a -<i>ragoût</i> over the fire; the steward leaned against -the window, posted there to watch for the visitor’s -departure; the hunchbacked cobbler was -by the door, and in the centre of the room -stood mademoiselle herself, although she was -supposed to be out,—mademoiselle in flesh and -blood, and a picture to look at in her malicious -triumph over her escape. She wore a white -print frock, the neck open enough to show her -full, fair throat, and the half-sleeves revealing her -round, white arms. Her golden hair had half -escaped from its braids and rippled about her -rosy, dimpled face, and her blue eyes danced -with merriment. It was her birthday, and M. de -Baudri had brought a suitable gift, an enamelled -casket, but she held in her hands two little white -satin shoes with pink rosettes, and the shoemaker’s -drawn face was lighted with a reflection -of her pleasure.</p> - -<p>“You are surely a magician, Charlot,” she -said, admiring them for the twentieth time. -“I know these are enchanted slippers, and in -them I shall walk into the palace of my dreams,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -where there is no trouble, and Babet and I do -not have to conjure a dinner!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, mademoiselle, if I could but make such -shoes!” exclaimed le Bossu, with a smile; “the -poor cobbler of St. Antoine would be made a -marquis.”</p> - -<p>“’Tis better to give happiness than to be -rich, Charlot,” she replied, “and you have given -me so much pleasure to-day that I can even endure -M. de Baudri’s visit in the parlor!” and -she laughed gayly.</p> - -<p>“If he hears you laugh, mademoiselle, he -will stay to dinner,” remarked Babet grimly, -looking over her shoulder as she stirred the -stew.</p> - -<p>“You have found a way to make me as still -as a mouse, Babet,” Rosaline said. “Has he not -gone yet, M. d’Aguesseau?”</p> - -<p>François shook his head with a smile.</p> - -<p>“As a suitor he has the patience of Jacob, -mademoiselle,” he replied.</p> - -<p>Rosaline made a little grimace and blushed, -turning away from him with a gesture of impatience. -The little hunchback, watching the -two, read her mood more truly than she read<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> -it herself, and his new-born pleasure died out -of his face.</p> - -<p>“I shall wear these shoes to-night, Charlot,” -she hastened to say, her back turned on the -supposed steward. “They are fit for a ball, but -I never go to balls, so I will wear them on my -birthday as the greatest honor I can pay them.”</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle makes me happy by wearing -them at all,” Charlot replied simply.</p> - -<p>D’Aguesseau was now looking intently out of -the window.</p> - -<p>“M. de Baudri is mounting at the gate,” he -announced. “Mademoiselle, you are no longer -in prison.”</p> - -<p>She would not look at him, but she beamed -on the little cobbler.</p> - -<p>“I will run and show my present to <i>grand’mère</i>,” -she said.</p> - -<p>Charlot followed her to the door.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle, a word with you,” he said -in a low voice.</p> - -<p>She turned in surprise and then beckoned -to him to follow her into the entry.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” she asked, quickly, a little -alarmed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>“Mademoiselle,” he said, quietly, “do not -be needlessly afraid, but I would warn you -against an old woman—a fishwife—”</p> - -<p>“<i>Ciel!</i>” exclaimed Rosaline; “you mean -that terrible creature who came here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he replied, “and she was angry because -of her torn petticoat, I suppose. She is -Mère Tigrane, a dangerous woman, a spying, -mischief-making demon of the market. And—well, -mademoiselle, she saw M. d’Aguesseau -when I first saw him, she tracked him to my -house, she tracked him here. I fear it may -mean mischief; if he goes away it will be better -for all.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline was very pale; all the joy died out -of her face; she pressed her hand involuntarily -to her heart.</p> - -<p>“I thank you, Charlot,” she said quietly. -“If—if you hear anything—you will tell -me?”</p> - -<p>“Assuredly, mademoiselle,” replied the cobbler -earnestly, “and—” he hesitated, and then -went on firmly, “will you believe, mademoiselle, -that in all cases—at all times—I am your humble -but faithful servant?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>She looked at him kindly; his devotion -touched her.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, I have always believed it, Charlot,” -she said heartily, and held out her hand.</p> - -<p>The shoemaker took it with wonder. Her -little soft hand in his! He had never dreamed -of it; he had touched her feet, but her hand! -Poor Charlot, he turned red to his temples and -did not know what she said. And Rosaline left -him and went on to her grandmother without a -thought of her act of condescension. She was -naturally gracious, and she did not despise the -poor as did other young women of her rank. -But the poor little shoemaker went back to -Nîmes feeling that he had been translated; had -he not touched the white hand of an angel of -mercy?</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br> - -<small>FRANÇOIS MAKES A PLEDGE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was half an hour before moonrise and the -night was supremely still. The warm air of -midsummer stirred not even a leaf on the trees. -There was no sound but the footsteps of three -persons walking through a mulberry grove at a -short distance from the spot where the highroad -from Nîmes turned off to St. Hippolyte. Mademoiselle -and Babet, escorted by M. d’Aguesseau, -were making their way slowly back to St. Cyr. -They had been—at the peril of their lives—to -one of the night meetings of the Church of the -Desert and were returning; cautiously avoiding -observation all the while. Babet led them, her -erect form moving deliberately forward; she -never made a misstep, never hesitated, but held -to her course in grim silence. She did not approve -of their guest’s attentions to mademoiselle. -D’Aguesseau had Rosaline’s hand and -was guiding her, helping her over rough places,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -feeling the way where neither of them could -see. They talked together at intervals, in low -voices, and Babet’s ears moved, though she -would have sworn that she scorned to listen; -but she was guarding her ewe-lamb, and in spite -of her convictions that mademoiselle must -marry a prince, she began to be afraid of this -resolute, quiet man.</p> - -<p>They walked as rapidly as they could in the -darkness, and leaving the trees behind turned -sharply to the right across an arid plain that -presented many rough and broken places, and -where Rosaline required d’Aguesseau’s helping -hand and his cautious guidance. Then they -followed the dry bed of a stream, walking over -stones and sand, always avoiding the highroad, -but making their way steadily toward St. Cyr.</p> - -<p>“It seems a long distance,” Rosaline said at -last with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“Long and dangerous for you,” François answered -gently; “I would that we could have persuaded -you to remain at home, mademoiselle.”</p> - -<p>“Surely you would not have robbed me of -such a consolation?” she said reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“Nay,” he replied, in a low voice, “you know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> -that I would do anything to serve you, but this -was a terrible risk. MM. de Bâville and Montrevel -are both watchful; both suspect that these -religious meetings are held in the neighborhood, -and at any time the troops may descend upon -that old quarry; and there would be no -quarter.”</p> - -<p>“Yet we must serve God, monsieur,” Rosaline -said, “even as Daniel did—in peril of the -lion’s den; and as the prophet of Israel was -delivered, surely the remnant of this people will -be also delivered. Truly, monsieur, I would -rather cast in my lot with these peasants, <i>enfants -de Dieu</i>, than live as I do. But my grandmother -is too old and too feeble for the wild life -of the Cévenols, and so I go on—a Papist in -Nîmes, a Protestant at heart.”</p> - -<p>“You would join these people, mademoiselle, -yet you have argued against me when I have -proposed to go to the Cévennes.”</p> - -<p>“You are under a pledge to go to England,” -she returned promptly; “you have suffered -enough. The time will come quickly for all of -us, I suppose. I do not believe that this deception -can go on. If the soldiers had found us<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> -to-night, I wonder if any of us would have -escaped!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” he murmured softly, “how -terrible it would have been. The sentinels told -me that there were two hundred and fifty women -and children there, besides the men who came -with Cavalier.”</p> - -<p>“It would have been death,” she said dreamily; -“we can die but once, monsieur.”</p> - -<p>“You would not have died,” he answered -sternly, “while I had a life to give for yours.”</p> - -<p>She was silent, but he felt her hand quiver in -his. He could not see her face, nor could she -see his, but each felt the other’s deep emotion. -They walked on, treading carefully; they were -skirting the edge of a field of rye on the border -of the village of St. Césaire, but they had yet to -cross a rocky elevation before they could reach -the château. To the left, the lights of the hamlet -twinkled like fallen stars, and they heard the -dogs baying in the distance.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the sky, which had been so dark, -became softly luminous, a whiteness spread over -it, the stars paled. At the horizon, the mountains -were sharply outlined, black against the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -growing light, while the earth lay in darkness. -Rosaline and her companions began to ascend -a steep path, and as they reached the top of the -slope the moon rose glorious and a flood of -white light poured a searching radiance over the -scene. The white rocks cast black shadows, and -the sandy soil beneath their feet seemed as white -as chalk, while above them a solitary cedar -stretched its branches, dark and feathery, against -a luminous background. Over there were the -spires and turrets of Nîmes, below them the cottage -roofs of St. Césaire, around them a wild -and barren country, suddenly whitened by the -moon.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” exclaimed Babet, harshly, “’tis -a white night—white as a winding-sheet! ’Tis -ill luck, mademoiselle; let us hurry—a dog is -baying at the moon.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline’s mood changed, and for the first -time that night she laughed naturally and -sweetly.</p> - -<p>“You foolish Babet!” she said, “it is a glorious -night, and you have been to prayers. Where -is your courage?”</p> - -<p>Babet shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve courage<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -enough, mademoiselle,” she said, “but I do not -love to thrust my head into the lion’s mouth.”</p> - -<p>With this remark she went on again, leaving -the others to follow. To Babet there were -many things more important than a fine scene by -moonlight, and she did not approve of the slow -progress made by her mistress and her escort.</p> - -<p>“A faithful servant,” remarked Rosaline, following -her with her eyes. “She was my nurse -when I was a baby, and she treats me as a child. -Doubtless, monsieur, you think that we lead a -strange life at St. Cyr. I fancy it is very different -from the lives of other women of our rank, -but what else can we do? We are poor, and we -are glad of our humble friend Babet; indeed, -I think that she and the little cobbler, Charlot, -are our most devoted allies. After all, I imagine -that <i>grand’mère</i> and I would be very unhappy -if we were surrounded with state, and had all our -sweet liberty restricted. Were you ever at Versailles, -monsieur?”</p> - -<p>“But once,” he said quietly. “I went to try -to see the king. I wanted to petition him for -my innocent sister’s liberty—that I might take -her place.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>“Forgive me!” Rosaline exclaimed; “I did -not think of the pain I should give. Tell me,” -she went on hurriedly, “have you ever seen -Cavalier or Roland? To-night, in the darkness, -I wanted to see him; ’tis true that they lighted -the torches about him, but in that wild illumination -I made out nothing except that he appeared -a boy. But he did not speak like one!”</p> - -<p>“He looked very young,” François replied; -“but there is a certain force about him. I -never saw him before, but I shall not soon forget -him, or the poor, crazed girl.”</p> - -<p>“Did you think her demented?” asked Rosaline. -“To me she seemed inspired, and surely -she preached a wonderful sermon; still, as you -say, she spoke wildly.”</p> - -<p>“I thought her demented,” he rejoined -quietly; “there are so many of these young girls -prophesying. It seems to me that it is more -the result of suffering, of the horrible spectacles -they have witnessed, than a touch of sacred inspiration.”</p> - -<p>“It may be so,” she admitted, reluctantly, -“but surely such times as these might well produce -prophets and soothsayers.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>They were in sight of the château now and -saw the light burning in Madame de St. Cyr’s -room. She was too feeble to go out on such -perilous expeditions and had remained behind -in fear and trembling, praying for their safe -return. When Babet opened the wicket-gate -they were greeted by Truffe’s warning bark, and -she was at the door to greet them with noisy -joy. Rosaline and M. d’Aguesseau went to -Madame de St. Cyr to tell her of the congregation, -and Babet retired to her own domain to -meditate in solitude on mademoiselle and their -visitor.</p> - -<p>Rosaline recounted their visit to the quarry -where the Camisards met, and old madame listened -with eagerness, her pale face unusually -animated. She wanted to hear everything, -Cavalier’s speech, the sermon of the young girl,—one -of the prophets of the Cévenols,—the -prayer offered by one of the ministers, the -psalms they sang. But she shook her head -when she heard that Cavalier had sent word to -M. Montrevel that for every Protestant village -that the maréchal destroyed, he, Cavalier, would -destroy two Papist villages.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>“’Twill be useless,” she said quietly; “the -king will pour his soldiers upon us, and Languedoc -will be laid waste; we cannot prevail -against such power. My husband always said -so, and my son. They used to say that if the -Edict of Nantes should be revoked, the Protestants -would soon be destroyed. It will be so—I -have felt it from the first.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, <i>grand’mère</i>, you are not hopeful -enough,” Rosaline said; “see what these two -men—Cavalier and Roland—have already accomplished. -Let us hope that England will -help us.”</p> - -<p>Madame shook her head. “The world is -selfish,” she said quietly; then she glanced at -the clock. “Rosaline, call Babet,” she said; -“’tis the hour for our devotions.”</p> - -<p>The housekeeper was summoned, while François -looked carefully at the windows and saw -that all the shutters were fastened. Then the -little company joined in evening prayer, Madame -de St. Cyr reading a chapter from the Bible. -They did not sing; not even in that secluded -spot did they dare to give voice to one of Marot’s -psalms, for they did not know what ear might<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> -be listening in the night. When it was over the -grandmother bade Rosaline good-night and sent -her away with Babet, but she detained d’Aguesseau. -When they were alone she turned to him -with a sad face.</p> - -<p>“I fear that trouble is brewing, monsieur,” -she said quietly; “the very presence of Cavalier -near Nîmes increases our perils, and there too -are the Florentines,—the White Camisards, as -they call themselves,—ruffians, in fact, banded -together to hunt us down. I see nothing but -danger and death on every side. For myself, I -no longer fear,” she added with sorrowful dignity; -“I know that I have but a little while to -live, and I would die right cheerfully for my religion, -but Rosaline—<i>mon Dieu!</i>” she clasped -her hands and looked up.</p> - -<p>“Madame, if I can protect her—” began -François.</p> - -<p>“That is what I would pray for, monsieur,” -she said. “If I am taken, will you aid Babet to -get her out of France?”</p> - -<p>“I would give my life for hers!” he answered -gravely.</p> - -<p>The old woman looked up at his resolute face,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -at the light in his eyes, and bowed her own face -in her hands.</p> - -<p>“Madame de St. Cyr,” he said quietly, “I do -solemnly pledge myself to defend her—to take -her away to a place of safety—to fight for her -as long as I live myself.”</p> - -<p>She looked up through her tears.</p> - -<p>“I thank the <i>bon Dieu</i>!” she said. “To-day -men are like wolves toward our lambs. You -see how gentle, how innocent the child is.”</p> - -<p>She held out her thin, white hand and he -took it, and pressed it to his lips.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me,” he said gently, “I love her.”</p> - -<p>The old face quivered and flushed a little, -but she was touched.</p> - -<p>“I know not how the child may feel,” she -said simply, “but I knew your family, and—I -am content that it should be so. Heaven may -have sent you to be her defender, for I do -greatly fear that the hour of danger draws -nigh.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br> - -<small>THE FINGER OF FATE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> months of the terrible summer of 1703 -waned, and autumn came. Fire and sword had -laid waste in Languedoc. It had been a reign -of terror. The chieftains of the Camisards -sweeping down from the Cévennes carried the -war almost to the sea; priests were slain, -Catholic villages burned. On the other side, -the king’s soldiers poured into the devoted -country, and the Huguenots were hunted far -and wide. The galleys at Marseilles were -crowded, the jails were packed, the gallows in -constant use; the women and children were -sent to convents and prisons, and the desolate -country threatened famine, with no man to -till the soil, and no woman to bind the sheaves. -Still it went on, that cruel war for religion’s -sake, and the blood of the innocent was poured -out as a libation.</p> - -<p>Nîmes was thronged with soldiers, the markets -were crowded, the busy life choked the marts,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> -but the open country was stricken; even the -valley of the Vaunage—“the little Canaan” of -Languedoc—had suffered. In the court of the -Rue St. Antoine, the little cobbler mended -the shoes of the soldiers, and out at St. Cyr -only one or two late roses were blooming, and -the bees had stored their honey for winter. -The every-day life went on; the steward was -still there, chained by invisible links now; he -scarcely thought of leaving France, and he -knew that he might be needed, for Madame de St. -Cyr was failing fast. She had had an attack of -heart disease, and sat in her chair all day, without -strength to take her accustomed part in -affairs. M. de Baudri still came, a persistent -and undaunted suitor, and Père Ambroise made -his regular visits, walking in the garden with -Rosaline, and discoursing on the perils of -heresy, but closing his eyes to suspicious circumstances. -He always walked with his hands -behind him, his large black figure seeming to -absorb a good deal of the sunlight, and a smile -on his round, rosy face. What was the use, -after all, of making that poor old woman -wretched? he argued comfortably, and he did<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -not force religious consolation upon Madame -de St. Cyr. He was willing to let the heretic -burn in the next world, and she blessed him in -her heart every time she looked out at him as -he ambled through the maze of hedges.</p> - -<p>There had been a season of quiet, a brief -interval in the clash of war, and the family at -St. Cyr breathed more freely. Fear and suspicion -seemed dormant, and Rosaline’s laugh -came more readily, except when she saw how -feeble her grandmother looked.</p> - -<p>It was the last of October, and the three, -Madame de St. Cyr, her granddaughter, and -François d’Aguesseau had just finished the -midday meal. It was a golden day, almost as -warm as summer, and a monthly rose swung its -blossoms over the window-sill. M. d’Aguesseau -had been fortunate enough to secure a communication -with his friends in England, and -had received a remittance which enabled him -to pay his debts and to provide for the future. -But he said nothing of a change, for he saw that -Madame de St. Cyr was unable to travel, and he -would not quit Languedoc while Rosaline was -surrounded with so many dangers. They were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> -talking of every-day matters, of the approach -of winter, of the chances for the success of the -insurrection, when they were startled by the -tramping of a body of horse in the road, and -the sharp call of a bugle. Madame’s face paled -and Rosaline and d’Aguesseau sprang to their -feet. She ran ahead of him out at the door and -down the path to an opening in the hedge -which afforded a view of the highway.</p> - -<p>“’Tis M. de Baudri at the head of his -dragoons!” she exclaimed, shading her eyes -with her hand and looking out.</p> - -<p>A company of dragoons were filing along the -road, the even gait of the cavalry horses keeping -the whole line swinging on to the sound of -the bugle. The gay uniforms were soiled and -there were powder stains, and in the centre of -the troop were six prisoners,—grim-looking -men, in the garb of peasants with the blouse of -the Camisards, and bound, their arms tied behind -their backs and their feet tied under the bellies -of their horses. At the sight of them Rosaline -drew back with a shudder, but it was too late; -M. de Baudri had seen her and drew rein, saluting -her with unruffled composure. As he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> -paused, the cavalcade halted opposite the gate, -bringing the prisoners in full view of the château. -They did not look to the right or left, however, -but stared grimly before them. Of the six, five -were wounded, and the blood flowed from an unbandaged -wound on one man’s head. Faint from -the loss of it, he reeled in his saddle, but uttered -no complaint. Meanwhile M. de Baudri sat -erect on his spirited horse, his head uncovered, -his rich uniform spotless, and his periwig freshly -curled. He looked smilingly into Rosaline’s -pale face.</p> - -<p>“A fair good morning, my Rose of Languedoc,” -he said gallantly, speaking too low -for the ears of his dragoons; “I count it fortunate -when even my duty takes me past your -door.”</p> - -<p>She curtsied, her blue eyes looking straight -before her and her lips firmly closed. She was -controlling herself with a mighty effort.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur has surely unpleasant duties,” she -said formally.</p> - -<p>“The gayest in the world,” he replied with a -careless laugh. “We have cleaned out a cave full -of Barbets this morning, and hung the leader because<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -he had the boldness to be shot in action. -We swung his dead body on a chestnut-tree—it -hangs there with the burrs ready to ripen. -<i>Nom de St. Denis!</i>” he added, with a glance at -his prisoners, “these fellows would have been -lucky to hang there too!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline could endure no more.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” she cried, “are you human? -Can you see that poor man bleed to death?”</p> - -<p>De Baudri turned in his saddle and stared indifferently -at the sufferer.</p> - -<p>“A heretic, mademoiselle,” he remarked, with -a gesture of disdain; “what would you?”</p> - -<p>“I would bind his wounds!” she retorted, -taking a step nearer the gate; but the sight had -sickened her, the scene swam before her eyes, -she reeled, and would have fallen but for François, -who had been standing a few yards behind her, -and who now sprang forward and caught her in -his arms.</p> - -<p>“Why do you exhibit such cruelties to her?” -he demanded sharply, looking over her head -into de Baudri’s eyes.</p> - -<p>The latter had made a motion as if to spring -from the saddle at the sight of Rosaline’s white<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -face, but now he straightened himself and returned -the other’s look with disdain.</p> - -<p>“So!” he said with a sneer, “the menial turns -into a champion. <i>Mère de Dieu</i>, Sir Camisard, -we will be pleased to accommodate you in -Nîmes.”</p> - -<p>“You may sometime have that pleasure, M. -de Baudri,” d’Aguesseau replied, coldly, and -lifting Rosaline’s unconscious form in his arms, -he carried her back into the house.</p> - -<p>The soldier remained a moment staring after -them, his blue eyes on fire, then he recollected -where he was and gave an order. The bugle -sounded “Forward!” and the troop disappeared -along the highroad to Nîmes, leaving a cloud -of dust in its track.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile d’Aguesseau, fearing to alarm -Madame de St. Cyr, carried Rosaline into the -hall and summoned Babet. But the girl began -to recover without any ministrations, and sat up -on the high settle by the door, the soft air reviving -her; but her joyous mood was gone, -she looked out into the garden with unseeing -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Alas!” she said faintly, “I have been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> -happy—and all this misery at my door! I -live a lie secure, and these martyrs die for their -religion. What a poor creature I am!”</p> - -<p>Babet stood looking at her with a grim face; -d’Aguesseau was silent, his own conscience -accusing him.</p> - -<p>“It will not last,” Rosaline went on slowly, -“I feel that trouble is coming to us! What -right have we to stand by and see it all and rejoice -in our false security. Ah, <i>mon Dieu</i>, that -poor man!”</p> - -<p>“It’s no use to seek trouble, mademoiselle,” -Babet remarked, “it’ll find us fast enough. I -hear it grumbling like the thunder in the -Cévennes mountains. As for that poor man, -never you mind; Cavalier will catch some fat -old curé for him!”</p> - -<p>Retaliation was a salve to Babet’s moods; she -was no saint and had no longing to be a martyr. -Rosaline shook her head.</p> - -<p>“It must end,” she said, rising. “I will go -to my grandmother. You may cut the flowers -to-day, Babet.”</p> - -<p>She passed d’Aguesseau without a word; -her emotion seemed to have separated her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -from him, and all that day she was sad and -preoccupied.</p> - -<p>As for François d’Aguesseau, he went out -through the garden and passing the mulberry -trees, descended a steep slope to the banks of -a stream which flowed behind St. Cyr. Following -this, he passed through a little forest of -chestnut trees, heavily laden with green burrs, -and came at last to a deserted windmill. The -tower was white and solid, and the wheel still -surmounted it though broken in several places, -but the mill had long been unused. The door -stood open—on rusty hinges—and a heap of -straw lay in one corner, doubtless the resting-place -of many a vagrant in those evil times. On -the threshold d’Aguesseau sat down, facing the -stream and the mossy slope. It was a favorite -resort of his, because of its solitude and stillness. -Here many a battle of the heart had been -fought out, and here he came now to face another -crisis. He sat there a long while, and it was -very quiet. Now and then a chestnut burr fell -with a soft thud in the little grove behind him; -a squirrel came to the edge of the bank and -then leaped away; a fish jumped out of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> -water and then plunged down again. Presently -the breeze freshened, the old windmill creaked -as it turned a little, and the leaves rustled -softly. At last the sun sank lower in the west -and sent long rays of light through the trees, -and the clouds overhead grew rosy.</p> - -<p>François rose and walked toward the château; -he was resolved to live thus no longer. His -presence was now more of a menace than a -protection to the women there. He had read -the look in M. de Baudri’s eyes, and he knew -that he might expect the worst that a relentless -enemy could do. But it was not that; Rosaline’s -words had struck home. He too had been -living a lie in security; he too felt himself a -miserable coward before the self-devotion of -these poor peasants and wool-carders. He -must draw his sword for this forlorn hope; -he must leave St. Cyr—ah, there was the -pang! Could he protect her at a distance? -Could he watch over her welfare while he fought -with the Camisards? That was the chain that -had held him, and now even that must be -broken.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br> - -<small>THE BATTLE HYMN</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">That</span> night, when the shutters were closed -and the doors secured, the family sat in an -upper room. Babet had come in to hear the -Bible read by Madame de St. Cyr, and they -were all grouped about the table where the -candles were burning. The old woman was -reading in a low voice, with many pauses, and -the faces around her were grave and even sad -as they listened. Suddenly the dog sprang up -from her place at Rosaline’s feet and began to -bark, and the reading ceased.</p> - -<p>“What is it? I hear something!” exclaimed -the young girl, trying to silence Truffe.</p> - -<p>Babet was listening intently.</p> - -<p>“I hear the sound of many feet,” she said.</p> - -<p>D’Aguesseau rose and went to the window -and, unfastening the shutter, looked out. The -moon was struggling to shine through drifting -clouds; one moment the world was lighted,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -the next it lay in darkness. In one of these -intervals of illumination he saw the scene without -plainly enough. The garden lay below the -window, and beyond was a view of the highroad, -the sloping plain, and farther off the village of -St. Césaire. He could hear the sound of marching -men, and as he looked they came in sight on -the road, filing slowly past the château, line after -line, their weapons gleaming in the moonshine. -He watched them curiously; these were not the -dragoons,—he could distinguish the rough and -ragged appearance of the men even from a distance. -He closed the shutter and turned toward -the women with a flush on his face; his opportunity -was at hand.</p> - -<p>“They are passing the château,” he said, in a -reassuring tone, “I will go out and ascertain -who they are. I think I cannot be mistaken -in them.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline’s blue eyes kindled.</p> - -<p>“Are they Camisards?” she demanded.</p> - -<p>“I think so,” he replied as he left the room.</p> - -<p>The next moment they heard him go out, and -Rosaline went to the window to watch. Madame -de St. Cyr’s face was very pale.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>“They may be Florentines,” she said, “and if -so—we shall scarcely escape them.”</p> - -<p>“They have halted,” her granddaughter replied -from the window. “The clouds have -drifted wide apart now and the night is as -white as that night which frightened you, Babet. -M. d’Aguesseau has gone out to them.”</p> - -<p>“The <i>bon Dieu</i> defend us!” murmured -madame; “the times are very evil;” and she -fell to praying silently.</p> - -<p>Babet was kneeling on the floor, with Truffe’s -head smothered in her apron to hush the dog’s -bark. Rosaline leaned against the window frame -looking out, the moonlight outlining her slender -figure.</p> - -<p>“M. d’Aguesseau talks with one of them,” she -said. “<i>Ciel!</i> how ghastly their faces look in -this light—like chalk—and I see everywhere -the flash of steel.”</p> - -<p>“Can you make out who they are?” asked -her grandmother, in a tremulous voice.</p> - -<p>“Nay,” she replied, “but M. d’Aguesseau is -friendly with them,—I can see that; he has -shaken hands with one who seems to be a -leader.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>“It is well,” said madame, in a tone of relief; -“they must be of our people.”</p> - -<p>The night was very still and the three women -listened, but they did not distinguish the words -that were spoken, though they heard the voices.</p> - -<p>“Does M. d’Aguesseau still speak with -them?” the old woman asked.</p> - -<p>“He is coming back alone,” Rosaline replied -in a low tone; and she did not leave her post -when she heard him coming up the stairs.</p> - -<p>He entered the room quietly, though he had -his sword in his hand.</p> - -<p>“Madame,” he said, “I came back to reassure -you. These men are Camisards, led by Cavalier -himself, and they are on their way to cut off -a train of ammunition that is leaving Nîmes for -St. Hippolyte. There will be a fight, but not very -near here, I trust, and I believe you will be in -safety. For myself, madame, I go with them.”</p> - -<p>The old woman clasped her hands and leaned -back in her chair.</p> - -<p>“Alas!” she said, “I sent out my two soldiers -to die for their king, and I cannot bid you stay, -since you go to fight in the cause of the King of -kings, but I grieve to part with you thus.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>He took her hand and kissed it.</p> - -<p>“Madame,” he said, “you have been as good -to me as a mother, in my extremity, and I will -not forget your kindness. May God give me -the opportunity to requite it. I must strike a -good blow in the cause of my brethren, but I -shall not forget my duty to you—and yours.”</p> - -<p>Tears fell on her white cheeks, and she gave -him her blessing.</p> - -<p>Leaving her, he walked over to the window -where the young girl had remained motionless as -a statue, her face set toward the scene without.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said very low, “I bid -you adieu. I know that you have thought me -lacking in the spirit to fight—but believe me, -it was not cowardice that held me at St. Cyr.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him, her blue eyes clear -and fearless.</p> - -<p>“The cause is sacred,” she said. “I—I am -glad that—”</p> - -<p>She broke off, and he filled up the sentence.</p> - -<p>“Glad that I have the courage to go,” he -said coldly.</p> - -<p>“I never doubted that,” she replied gravely; -“but oh, monsieur, if I could be a man, I would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -fight—I can understand how you feel—the -<i>bon Dieu</i> defend you!”</p> - -<p>He looked at her a moment sadly, and seemed -to hesitate; then he turned and went quietly -away, leaving her standing there tongue-tied, -her eyes suddenly filled with hot tears. What -had she done? she thought, as he went down -and out into the night. What had she done?</p> - -<p>Her grandmother’s voice roused her.</p> - -<p>“Has he gone to them?” she asked anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Rosaline replied, “and they are forming -in columns again,—they are going to -march on.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause; the women could hear -that there were some orders given and then -it was strangely quiet, the men standing like -statues in the road. The clouds drifted over the -moon and darkness enveloped the scene again, -and out of that still night arose the murmur of -many voices, a volume of sound, throbbing and -gaining strength and sweetness and solemnity.</p> - -<p>“Hush!” said Rosaline, raising her hand, -“the Sixty-eighth Psalm—the battle hymn.”</p> - -<p>Full and strong it rose, every word poured -out from the hearts of those stern men, and in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -that lonely spot, in the darkness, the sound was -profoundly solemn. Softly at first, and then -sweetly and fearlessly, Rosaline joined them, -her rich young voice floating out to mingle -with the song of the soldiers.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="first"> -“Que Dieu se montre seulement</div> -<div class="verse">Et l’on verra dans un moment</div> -<div class="indent">Abandonner la place;</div> -<div class="verse">Le camp des ennemis épars,</div> -<div class="verse">Épouvanté de toutes parts,</div> -<div class="indent">Fuira devant sa face.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="first">“On verra tout ce camp s’enfuir,</div> -<div class="verse">Comme l’on voit s’évanouir</div> -<div class="indent">Une épaisse fumée;</div> -<div class="verse">Comme la cire fond au feu,</div> -<div class="verse">Ainsi des méchants devant Dieu,</div> -<div class="indent">La force est consumée.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="first">“L’Éternel est notre recours;</div> -<div class="verse">Nous obtenons par son secours,</div> -<div class="indent">Plus d’une délivrance.</div> -<div class="verse">C’est Lui qui fut notre support,</div> -<div class="verse">Et qui tient les clefs de la mort,</div> -<div class="indent">Lui seul en sa puissance.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="first">“À nous défendre toujours prompt,</div> -<div class="verse">Il frappe le superbe front</div> -<div class="indent">De la troupe ennemie;</div> -<div class="verse">On verra tomber sous ses coups</div> -<div class="verse">Ceux qui provoquent son courroux</div> -<div class="indent">Par leur méchante vie.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>The last verses grew softer as they marched -away, and the singing died at last in the -distance.</p> - -<p>Rosaline remained at her post, straining her -eyes to search the darkness, and Babet, releasing -Truffe, came and stood beside her. They -could see the distant lights of St. Césaire, and -this window in the daytime commanded a view -of the road that led in the direction of St. -Hippolyte. It was an hour of suspense, and -none of the women thought of sleep. Old -Madame de St. Cyr lay back in her chair, -engaged in silent devotion, and the others -watched and watched with tireless eagerness. -The very stillness was oppressive, and the -darkness now was like a pall, close over the -earth.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ciel!</i>” said Babet, “how quiet it is!—and -black as soot. I wonder how many men he -had?”</p> - -<p>“There seemed to be an army,” replied -Rosaline, “but I suppose it could not be that -he had more than a thousand men, perhaps not -so many, and Nîmes is a hive of soldiers!”</p> - -<p>“Bah!” ejaculated the other woman, grimly,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> -“Cavalier can whip them—he’ll have M. -Montrevel’s periwig yet.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline did not reply, her mind was elsewhere; -she was thinking of that dangerous -march into the enemy’s country, of the fight -that must ensue.</p> - -<p>Suddenly there was a distant sound—the -fire of musketry—the first clash of battle, -borne to them on the night air, and at the -same moment they saw the lights flashing red -in St. Césaire.</p> - -<p>“They have met the enemy!” Rosaline exclaimed, -straining her eyes and ears and leaning -out of the window.</p> - -<p>They could hear firing quite plainly now; -and presently far off they saw a blaze kindled, -and then the flames leaped up into the night, -like fiery swords cutting the blackness in twain.</p> - -<p>“They have set fire to the old château over -there,” Rosaline said.</p> - -<p>Madame de St. Cyr turned in her chair.</p> - -<p>“Tell me what you see,” she exclaimed -eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Fire, <i>grand’mère</i>, leaping up in the night, -and I hear the guns,” Rosaline replied, “and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -now—see, see, Babet!—there are black figures -outlined against the flames! Ah, <i>Dieu</i>, they -fight!—’tis a part of the battle—oh, if I could -but see it plainly!”</p> - -<p>The rattle of small arms came to them, and -now the boom of heavier guns.</p> - -<p>“They have brought artillery from Nîmes,” -said Rosaline, in a low voice. “Ah, see, Babet, -another house has caught! ’Tis the village in -the highroad yonder; how it burns! The night -is gaping as though we looked into a fiery furnace. -Oh, <i>mon Dieu</i>, what a fearful sight it is! -There! something exploded—see the timbers -flying—some one perished when they fell.”</p> - -<p>She leaned from the window and gazed at the -wild night with a throbbing heart.</p> - -<p>“Can you not see, Babet?” she cried. “I do—they -fight there in the firelight—see their -black figures—hush! there is a heavy gun.”</p> - -<p>“My eyes are old,” Babet replied; “to me ’tis -the mouth of the infernal regions—no more.”</p> - -<p>Another pause while madame prayed softly.</p> - -<p>“How goes it?” she asked again.</p> - -<p>“I cannot tell—I cannot tell!” cried Rosaline, -“but the fire has consumed the houses, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> -think. It seems to sink now, and I cannot see -so well.”</p> - -<p>Again they watched in silence; but now the -firing seemed to grow more distant, and finally -they heard it no more, though the flames still -made the night as red as blood. An hour passed—two—and -they watched, and could see no -more, and could only divine the cause of the -silence.</p> - -<p>“Cavalier must have been driven back,” -madame said, “else the fighting would have -lasted longer. May the <i>bon Dieu</i> guard our -poor fellows!”</p> - -<p>Again there was stillness, and the clock struck -four, the clear little bell startling them. Rosaline -closed the shutter softly; her face was as -white as snow.</p> - -<p>“’Tis over,” she said; “the flames have died -away, darkness is there again, and silence—and -death!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br> - -<small>“AND ALL FOR LOVE”</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> day dawned calm, after the night of suspense; -the October sky was full of light clouds, -and there was a chill in the air, the first suggestion -of winter, and the birds twittered in the ivy -that clung below Rosaline’s window. The daylight -found no roses in her cheeks, but rather a -new consciousness of pain in her blue eyes. -From an almost childlike innocence and calm, -her heart had been awakened; life in its fulness -had come upon her, and with it the sense -of insecurity. All that she cared for was threatened -with terrible dangers; her own every-day -life might pass like a dream and she might find -herself shut in by grim prison walls. They were -not of the “king’s religion,” and imprisonment, -banishment, death awaited them.</p> - -<p>She looked out over the tranquil scene with -an anxious heart. What had happened yonder -in that murky night? Who had fallen? She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -could see soldiers on the distant highroad, and -now and then a train of wagons moving slowly -in the direction of the St. Hippolyte road, but -these things told her no more than the flames -of the night before. Cavalier had been repulsed, -no doubt, but how many had fallen? She could -not tell, and her heart throbbed and her hands -trembled as she busied herself with the morning -tasks. She and her grandmother sat down as -usual to breakfast, but she could not eat; she -quietly fed Truffe with her meal. Madame de -St. Cyr herself scarcely touched anything, and -Babet removed the dishes with a gloomy face. -There was no conversation, there could not be -while the terror of the night was upon them, and -d’Aguesseau’s vacant chair seemed to mock -them.</p> - -<p>Once during the day Madame de St. Cyr let -her knitting fall in her lap and looked at Rosaline -with tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Alas!” she said quietly, “I fear I shall -never see him again—and he was a brave man. -But for me he would have gone long ago.”</p> - -<p>Her granddaughter looked at her strangely. -“Did you urge him to stay here?” she asked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>“I prayed him to be near us,” the old woman -replied. “I felt that I might go, and there would -be no one to help you. Père Ambroise would -be all on M. de Baudri’s side.”</p> - -<p>“And you told M. d’Aguesseau that?” exclaimed -Rosaline, her face flushing.</p> - -<p>“Something like it, yes,” Madame de St. Cyr -rejoined sadly; “but the call came and he -obeyed it. May the <i>bon Dieu</i> protect him and -us.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline made no reply, but went out of the -room and up the stairs to her own, where she -knelt in the window recess, her head on her -arms. This, then, was the key to all that she -had not understood. He had stayed to protect -them, to serve them, and but for that might -perhaps have been in England, and her grandmother -had demanded this return for her friendship. -Rosaline’s face burned; she did not -look up, even when Truffe came in search of -her and thrust her head into her mistress’s lap.</p> - -<p>Presently, however, she heard a horse stop -at the gate, and peeping cautiously through her -screen of ivy, saw M. de Baudri, resplendent -in gold lace, coming up to the house. An ill-enough<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -omen at such a time, she thought, and -remained at her post, refusing to go down when -Babet was sent for her. She heard his voice, -smooth and pleasant, in the room below, and -after a while she saw him go away again, sitting -very erect in his saddle, the picture of a soldier. -After his departure she found Madame de St. -Cyr sad and nervous. He had told her of the -skirmish with Cavalier, speaking of the affair -with contempt. The dragoons had beaten off -the Camisards, killed twenty and taken sixteen -wounded prisoners. He had come to press his -suit again and to covertly threaten Madame de -St. Cyr. The old woman did not tell all to -Rosaline; she dared not. But the girl read -much in the anxious eyes that followed her as -she moved about, waiting on her grandmother, -for she had sent Babet to Nîmes, to learn from -Charlot, if possible, the names of the prisoners, -the list of the dead. It would be an infinitely -difficult task to learn this without suspicion; -but if any one could help them, the little cobbler -could, and he was known to be of the -king’s religion.</p> - -<p>Never did a day drag more wearily, but at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> -last the sun descended toward the west, the -shadows lengthened, and Rosaline’s doves came -cooing to their rest. Babet had not returned -yet from Nîmes. Madame de St. Cyr had her -supper, served by her granddaughter, and then -Rosaline went out with Truffe. She walked -slowly through the garden, where the autumn -had already laid its fingers, and then she passed -out into the grove of mulberry trees, where the -path led to the old windmill. The sun had set, -and the clouds were red and purple overhead, -and between them were great rifts of pale blue. -The mulberry leaves rustled softly; but save -for that it was still. The air was chill, and the -openings between the trees made broad avenues -of light and shade.</p> - -<p>Rosaline had walked but a little way, when -the dog sprang forward with a quick, short -bark of welcome, and she saw a man coming -toward her. At the sight of his face she stood -still, her own turning from white to red. A -moment ago she had thought of him as perhaps -lying in some loathsome dungeon in -Nîmes, or dead, and this sudden meeting took -away her self-control; she was trembling when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -he came up. Looking at her, he read more in -her eyes than he had dared to hope for.</p> - -<p>“I have come to assure myself of your safety, -mademoiselle,” he said quietly, “and then to -go away again.”</p> - -<p>“Babet is in Nîmes now, monsieur, trying to -find out the names of the prisoners,” Rosaline -replied. “We did not know what had happened -and we feared the worst.”</p> - -<p>“It was a short, sharp battle,” he said. “We -took some ammunition, but they brought up -reinforcements from Nîmes and we were forced -to fall back. Cavalier is a soldier, indeed.”</p> - -<p>“M. de Baudri was at the château,” she rejoined. -“He told us of the dead and the -prisoners, and my grandmother could not rest -until she knew.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause, and he watched her -face.</p> - -<p>“And you, mademoiselle?” he asked gravely.</p> - -<p>Her eyes sought the ground.</p> - -<p>“I also was anxious, monsieur,” she said -with an effort.</p> - -<p>“Yet last night you wished me to go,” he remarked, -unmercifully.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>She turned toward him with a grave face.</p> - -<p>“I did not know until to-day, monsieur,” -she said, “that my grandmother had asked -you to stay with us to protect us—’twas -more than she had a right to ask.”</p> - -<p>“Not more than she had a right to ask,” he -replied, “but I remained for another reason—can -you not divine it, mademoiselle?”</p> - -<p>The blue eyes avoided his, and the color came -back into her cheeks.</p> - -<p>“I have no right perhaps to tell you now, -when the future looks so dark,” he said, “and I -have felt that you were displeased at my inactivity. -Yet—last night—when I was facing -death I longed to speak—to tell you all that -was in my heart—even if you were indifferent. -Love cannot always be silent—God forgive me -if I break in upon your innocent peace with my -life and its passions and regrets. The world was -desolate when I saw you—I had lost all—and -then I looked out of my darkness and saw your -face. I cannot but speak—we must part now -and I must know if you care—ever so little. -<i>Dieu!</i> how black the world was when I saw -this tall, white lily! You told me last night<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> -that you were glad to have me go—I am a -fool, no woman ever said that to the man she -loved.”</p> - -<p>He paused, and the leaves rustled overhead. -Her face was averted and he could not see -her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely; “I did -not mean to speak—but one cannot always -smother the heart’s utterances! You are so -young, so beautiful, so innocent—forgive me, -and let me serve you still.”</p> - -<p>She turned and looked at him, but he could -not read her eyes.</p> - -<p>“You do not understand,” she replied softly. -“I wanted you to go because—”</p> - -<p>“You thought me a coward,” he exclaimed -harshly.</p> - -<p>“Nay, monsieur,” she said, “I wanted you to -go because a woman wants the man she—she -loves to be a hero—”</p> - -<p>He caught her hands, looking eagerly into -her face.</p> - -<p>“Is it possible?” he cried.</p> - -<p>She smiled through her tears.</p> - -<p>“I wanted you to be a hero,” she answered,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -“and when you went I thought—my heart -would break!”</p> - -<p>Her fair head was on his shoulder now, and he -kissed her, the perils of their lives forgotten, all -the world changed in an instant and only Love -triumphant. After a while he broke the silence.</p> - -<p>“Are you happy?” he asked her softly, holding -her a little away from him that he might see -her face.</p> - -<p>She smiled radiantly, but did not answer, and -he went on, questioning her that he might have -a fresh assurance of her affection.</p> - -<p>“You want me to go and you do not,” he -said; “what am I to think?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I wanted you to go,” she replied, a -flush on her face. “I could not bear to have -you seem less brave or daring than other men—or -to lack zeal for your religion—and then -you went! And—and I cannot bear to have -you go to face danger—even death itself!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thou perfect woman!” he exclaimed, -smiling; “I must be a true knight and yet you -would not have me in danger.”</p> - -<p>She smiled, turning her face aside.</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes, ’tis that,” she answered very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> -low. “I want you to be the bravest of the brave, -and yet—oh, <i>mon Dieu</i>, I cannot bear to see -you in any danger!”</p> - -<p>He held her to his heart again with many -caresses.</p> - -<p>“What can I do?” he asked. “I cannot be -both,—your constant attendant and a soldier in -the field. Ah, Rosaline, love is king—not even -the perils of battle can defeat him. I can love -you and fight too, but I cannot flee from danger -for your sweet sake.”</p> - -<p>“And I could not bear to see you flee,” she -said, “and yet my heart was torn when I knew -that you were in the midst of that fight in the -darkness.”</p> - -<p>“Take comfort, my dearest,” he said softly, -“let us forget the perils and think only of each -other. Ah, my darling, I little thought, when I -was in the cobbler’s upper room so downcast, -that the light of my life would shine in upon -me there. I loved you from the first moment -that I saw you.”</p> - -<p>“Did you?” she cried with shining eyes, “oh, -tell me—tell me how it was!”</p> - -<p>And he told her, Love’s language being eloquent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -to such ears, as it has been always, as it -will be while the round world moves.</p> - -<p>Then they walked on, hand in hand, through -the trees, the soft moss beneath their feet, the -pale October sky overhead, and only the murmur -of the leaves. They came presently to the -old mill, and went down to the edge of the -stream, and then he asked her again the question -that was first in his thoughts,—</p> - -<p>“Are you happy, sweetheart, tell me?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, François,” she answered, “we are too -happy—’tis that—I am afraid!”</p> - -<p>“Of what, dear heart?” he asked gently, -“surely, not that our love can die?”</p> - -<p>“Not that,” she replied, “not that! I have -been light of heart, careless as a child. I never -was afraid before, but now—oh, François, if -you were taken from me it would kill me.”</p> - -<p>He clasped her close, laying his cheek against -her soft one.</p> - -<p>“But that could not be,” he said soothingly; -“not even death could part us save for a little -while, my heart, for our souls are immortal—and -they are one.”</p> - -<p>She clung to him, her eyes full of tenderness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>“’Tis so,” she murmured, “our souls are immortal, -I never felt it so strongly before! Love -touches the heart and all the world is different—ah, -<i>mon Dieu</i>, ’tis thy gift to us! See, -François,” she added, “is not the world more -beautiful, the sky more tender? Do not the -birds sing more sweetly to-day? And is it -because we love?”</p> - -<p>“It must be so, my Rosaline,” he answered -gently; “the Garden of Eden must have blossomed -so to welcome Eve—and love makes the -world more beautiful each day.”</p> - -<p>“And it shall make me better,” she rejoined; -“’tis said that sorrow refines the heart, but it is -joy that fills it with kindness. I am sure of it, -for I was never half so full of pity for the unhappy -as I am now; my cup overflows and -others thirst. Ah, François, let us be good to -others always, for that is love.”</p> - -<p>“Your very presence is love, Rosaline,” he -answered softly, “your face, your eyes, your -voice. When I first saw you in the little shop I -was a desperate man, but from that moment my -heart was changed. You entered like an angel, -and as an angel I adored you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>“And I made that difference in your life, -François?” she said tenderly,—“I, Rosaline de -St. Cyr. Ah, <i>Dieu</i>, am I not blessed?”</p> - -<p>She stood away from him on the mossy bank, -the stream lying brown and placid below her -feet. Behind her the tree trunks were outlined -against the rosy west, and the sweet stillness of -twilight was enfolding them. The afterglow -shone in her beautiful young face, and her blue -eyes were radiant.</p> - -<p>“I was never happy before,” she said, smiling, -“now I know it!—but this is happiness—love—life. -Do you see that bright star shining yonder, -François? There is a little one beside it—see! -like two souls, uplifted above the world and -radiant. I will be afraid no more, my love, for -even death has lost its terrors, for thus our two -souls would shine together above the sorrow and -the pain. I will fear no more—for stronger -than death is love!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br> - -<small>THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> shadows had deepened; night already -lay in the little woodland; the distant hills were -purple against the pale horizon. The rising -wind turned the wheel on the old mill; the rusty -vanes moved feebly, as though a cripple waved -long arms in the twilight. The stream rippled, -and here and there a star was reflected in its -bosom, and the leaves rustled continuously now. -The scene was suddenly desolate, perhaps because -the lovers had deserted it, and the darkness -came rolling along like a cloud, rising -from every hollow, lurking in every grove of -figs or of olives, wrapping every object in an -elusive gloom. And away in the distance the -night wind sighed drearily, as it gathered -strength. No spot could have been more quiet -or more lonely.</p> - -<p>A man came out of the mill carrying his -bundle, and stood awhile on the edge of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -stream,—a small man with a hump on his back -and a face that showed white even at nightfall. -He remained only a short time motionless, then -he shouldered his bag of tools and followed the -bank of the stream until he came at last to a -bridge, and crossing this made his way to the -highroad leading toward Nîmes. He walked -slowly and painfully, as though he carried a far -greater burden than it appeared, and he held -his head down. The soul of the little cobbler of -St. Antoine was in torment, what matter if his -body walked the earth with other men? Pent -up in the heart of the hunchback were the passion -and longing and anguish of a lifetime.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” he cried out in his bitterness, -“why didst thou give me the heart of a man and -the body of a toad?”</p> - -<p>He had had black hours before when he was -well-nigh ready to curse God and die, but never -a worse moment than this. The devil was contending -for the soul of le Bossu, and the darkness -fell, and it seemed as if that road might -lead to hell. And what was he, after all? he -thought; a peasant, a shoemaker, a hunchback! -But, oh, <i>mon Dieu!</i> the long, long years of desolation,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -the anguish, the hunger for one word of -love, of kindness, of sympathy. What evil spirit -had led him to lie down in that old windmill? -had let him sleep there until her voice awoke -him, and out of purgatory he had looked into -paradise? Like Dives, he had cried out for a -drop of water to slake his thirst, and yet he still -lay in the fires of Satan.</p> - -<p>Early that day he had set out for St. Césaire, -and he had done his work in the village, and -before sunset he went up the stream to the old -mill and rested, thinking of mademoiselle in the -château, thankful that she was sheltered and -safe. Sleep had come to the weary cobbler, and -when he awoke Rosaline and her lover were -talking at the door of the mill. He had heard -all, lying there almost in a stupor and he had -remained quiet. It was too late to warn them -of a listener, and was it not best that she should -be ignorant of it? He had heard all; their love -for each other, their talk of their religion, their -hopes and their fears. He was no longer in -doubt of the nature of the dangers that surrounded -them, and he possessed a secret that it -was a crime to conceal; that the State and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -Church had ordered every good Catholic to reveal; -and if he revealed it, the lovers would be -separated forever, and he would have no cause -to think of their happiness with such a pang of -miserable jealousy. The poor hunchbacked -cobbler held their lives in his hand, their joy, -and their desolation.</p> - -<p>All these thoughts and many more crowded -in upon le Bossu as he toiled along the road, -and it seemed to him that Satan walked beside -him. When a bodily infirmity as great as his -is laid upon a man, there come hours of supreme -temptation, when human nature revolts and the -starved heart cries out in agony and will not be -satisfied. Must one man suffer so, and yet rejoice -to see others happy? A soul is strong -indeed that rises out of such misery clean.</p> - -<p>The little cobbler struggled on, and presently -the lights of Nîmes shone in his face and he -entered the gate and passed along the Rue St. -Antoine to his shop. Babet had been there -three times that day to find him, and had gone -back at last to St. Cyr without news, and found -M. d’Aguesseau there, talking with old madame. -Unconscious that he had disappointed such a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> -visitor, Charlot unlocked his door and entered, -feeling his way until he could light a candle. -There had been another visitor at his door too, -though he knew it not, an old woman with a -red handkerchief around her head, and with a -wide, red mouth. But the cobbler was ignorant -of all these things and went about as usual. He -had tasted nothing since midday, but he had no -appetite and he went up the ladder to his room -and lighted a taper before the shrine there. -After that he threw himself on the bed, dressed -as he was, and all night he wrestled with a temptation -that beset him, with a new-born hatred -of the man whom he had befriended in the -market-place. If he had left M. d’Aguesseau -in that tent with the body of the damned person, -how different the end might have been! Ah, -the desolate soul and the desolate hearth, the -misery and the poverty! <i>Dame de Dieu!</i> some -men possessed the earth and the fulness thereof, -and others starved!</p> - -<p>Morning found Charlot stirring the fire in the -kitchen; the commonplace world possessed him -again; he was no longer an individual, only one -of many, the little cobbler of Nîmes. He made<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> -his coffee and he ate his black bread, and then -he went to his bench and worked patiently, finishing -a pair of high military riding-boots. -They were of fine leather, and he fastened burnished -buckles on the high insteps. They were -elaborate, and he had put some fine labor upon -them, and he looked at them now with a recognition -of their perfections; no one made better -shoes than the hunchback.</p> - -<p>It was twelve o’clock when he rose and put -the boots into his green bag, and gathering up -his measure and some tools, set out once more. -The streets were full and the cobbler made his -way slowly through the throng. One or two -spoke to him, others noticed him less than the -mule that stood waiting for a reverend father -outside the Garden of the Récollets. Le Bossu -took little heed of it all; his face was drawn and -haggard, and the hump seemed larger than ever. -He walked on until he passed in front of the inn -of the Golden Cup and came to a house a few -yards beyond it. Here he knocked and was -admitted by a man-servant who wore the uniform -of a dragoon. The house had a long, -narrow hall, and at the end of this was a flight<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> -of stairs, and up these le Bossu was conducted -to the second story. Here the soldier opened -a door to the right, and the cobbler entered a -large room, lighted by three windows, where -M. de Baudri sat eating his breakfast. Charlot -made his salutation, and putting his bag in the -corner, patiently waited the pleasure of his -patron. De Baudri noticed him as little as he -would have noticed a rat or a mouse, and finished -his meal before he even glanced in his direction. -Finally, however, he pushed back his chair and -called the shoemaker.</p> - -<p>“<i>Viens donc</i>, Petit Bossu,” he said, “are the -boots finished?”</p> - -<p>Charlot took them out of his bag without a -word, and displayed them.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sacristi!</i> if I had four legs I should come -to you for boots,” M. de Baudri remarked, -inspecting them. “<i>Diable!</i> those buckles are -too small.”</p> - -<p>“The latest from Paris, monsieur,” le Bossu -replied; “his Majesty has a pair of the same -size and design.”</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri’s face relaxed, and he thrust -out one foot.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>“Try them, Bossu,” he said; “and see that -they are good,” he added with a smile, “for I -expect to wear them at my wedding.”</p> - -<p>A strange expression crossed the drawn face -of the hunchback, as he knelt to put on the -boot.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur expects to be married soon?” he -asked quietly.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame de Dieu</i>, I do not know!” de Baudri -exclaimed with a laugh; “my little white bird -likes to use her wings, but—I mean to clip -them.”</p> - -<p>Le Bossu smoothed the leather on the officer’s -ankle, and arranged the buckle, his head bent -low over his work.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur plans for an early marriage, then?” -he ventured again.</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri stared at him.</p> - -<p>“<i>Au diable!</i>” he said harshly; “what is it to -you, worm?”</p> - -<p>The cobbler made no reply; he was accustomed -to such language from his patrons. He -had put both boots on M. de Baudri’s feet, and -he sat back now on his own heels, looking at his -work.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>“Is monsieur satisfied?” he asked meekly.</p> - -<p>The officer stood up, looking down at his -feet.</p> - -<p>“Very good,” he said at last, “they will do; -but make your bill small, you little beggar, or -you will see that I know how to use them!” -and he laughed coarsely as he sat down and -waited for Charlot to remove the boots and put -on his others, which the hunchback began to -do.</p> - -<p>“Curse you, you dog!” he exclaimed, with a -vicious kick at the shoemaker; “you hurt me -in pulling that off!”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, monsieur,” le Bossu -replied, with white lips, having dexterously -dodged the kick.</p> - -<p>He knew to his cost that there were some -perils attendant upon trying on shoes. He had -put back one of M. de Baudri’s high-heeled -slippers and was taking off the other boot—with -some caution—when the door was opened -by a servant, who came to announce a visitor.</p> - -<p>“A miserable old woman, monsieur,” the -man said hesitatingly, “but she will not be -denied.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>“<i>Dame</i>, send her to the devil—or to the -Intendant!” retorted M. de Baudri, with a grin -at his own joke.</p> - -<p>The servant still stood at the door, with a -perplexed face. His master cast a frowning -glance in his direction.</p> - -<p>“What is it, idiot?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“She has some information about these -heretics, monsieur,” the fellow answered, stammering; -“she wants money.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Âme de St. Denis!</i>” exclaimed monsieur, -with a sneer, “does she take me for a paymaster?”</p> - -<p>The servant summoned his courage.</p> - -<p>“She told me to say to you two words, -monsieur,” he said, “and they were ‘St. Cyr.’”</p> - -<p>“<i>Diable!</i>” M. de Baudri cried fiercely. -“Show her up here, you blockhead!”</p> - -<p>The man closed the door hastily, and they -heard his hurried steps retreating down the -hall. M. de Baudri fell to cursing, and Charlot -suddenly found that the buckle was hanging by -a thread on the other shoe,—the mate to the -one on his patron’s foot. The shoemaker got -out his thread and his needle, and began to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> -sew the rosette in place, and it was very slow -work indeed.</p> - -<p>Presently the door opened again, and Charlot -looked up quickly and saw Mère Tigrane.—Mère -Tigrane, with her blood-red handkerchief -about her head, and her blood-red mouth with -its yellow fangs. She curtsied low to the officer -and grinned as she did when she intended to be -most amiable, but all this had no effect upon de -Baudri; he cursed her roundly and ordered her -to tell her tale and be gone. The old hag took -it in good part, leering at him out of her evil -eyes.</p> - -<p>“I have a little news for monsieur,” she -said pleasantly, “a little information about his -friends, and ’tis worth a little money; monsieur -knows that.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Diable</i>, you old witch, out with it!” he -said, tossing her some coins.</p> - -<p>La Louve grovelled on the floor after them -as they rolled away, her talon fingers clutching -each piece greedily. One fell near the cobbler, -and he thrust it toward her with the end of his -awl, a look of disgust on his face. M. de -Baudri laughed loudly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>“<i>Dame!</i>” he exclaimed; “there are degrees -even among vermin!”</p> - -<p>Mère Tigrane gave le Bossu an evil, triumphant -look, and then began to count her -money.</p> - -<p>“’Tis not enough,” she said bluntly, turning -on the officer with a sinister smile; “’tis worth -more, my beauty.”</p> - -<p>Her insolent tone offended him and he stared -at her.</p> - -<p>“<i>Diantre!</i>” he said, “I will have you thrown -from the roof if you do not tell all you know, -you thievish hag!”</p> - -<p>Mère Tigrane hesitated, looking at the coins -in her hand, but she had a motive more powerful -than greed this time. She changed her tone, -however.</p> - -<p>“I’m a poor woman, Excellency,” she -whined; “’tis worth more.”</p> - -<p>He threw her a broad piece, with a curse.</p> - -<p>“Go on!” he shouted, fiercely; “or I’ll -break your neck.”</p> - -<p>She put the money into her wallet and then -licked her lips; there was a good taste in her -mouth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>“Monsieur knows the family at St. Cyr,” she -said, one evil eye seeming to fix itself on -Charlot; “the old woman and her granddaughter -are there, and a steward.”</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri was interested now; he frowned -darkly upon her.</p> - -<p>“Does monsieur know who the steward is?” -she demanded, her head on one side. “No, -I thought not! ’Tis M. d’Aguesseau,—the -heretic from Dauphiné,—whose father was -broken on the wheel at Montpellier to the -edification of all good people; and his sister -was in the Tour de Constance. Her body -was shown here at a fair. <i>Dame!</i> but her flesh -was white.”</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri threw her another coin.</p> - -<p>“Your information is good,” he said, leaning -back in his chair with a smile.</p> - -<p>She curtsied and thrust the money in her -wallet.</p> - -<p>“That is not all, monsieur,” she said amiably; -“the young mademoiselle at the château—she -went with this heretic to a prayer-meeting -out there by the old quarry and sang psalms -there. Mère Tigrane knows! And old Madame<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> -de St. Cyr, she too is a heretic. <i>Dame!</i> the -château would make a good burning, monsieur.”</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri turned a black face on her.</p> - -<p>“Look you, hag,” he said, “there is more -money. You are well paid, but if a word of -this goes to any one else, <i>nom de Ciel!</i> I will -hang you. Now—<i>au diable!</i>”</p> - -<p>Mère Tigrane took the money eagerly, vowing -that she would be discreet, and got out of -the room just in time to escape a boot that M. -de Baudri picked up to throw at her.</p> - -<p>He was in a storm of passion; he summoned -his servants and ordered one to bring his horse -and the other to get his riding-suit, and then -he went to his room to dress, cursing heaven -and earth in his haste to be off to St. Cyr.</p> - -<p>The hunchbacked cobbler had been forgotten, -and when M. de Baudri went out he quietly -gathered up his bag and left the house. His -face was white, but he had never walked so fast -as he did then. He did not go to the shop; he -went straight along the Rue St. Antoine and -out at the gate, and the road to St Césaire -stretched before him, as endless and as steep—to -his vision—as the road to heaven.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br> - -<small>A BRIEF DELAY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Beyond</span> the old windmill, on the estate of -St. Cyr, the stream turned its course westward -and tumbling over a rock, fell four or five feet -into a broader rivulet and then flowed placidly -on, twisting and turning at last toward the valley -of the Vaunage. The gray cliff’s towered boldly, -hiding the little falls, locking them in a spot as -wild and as deserted as the wildernesses of the -Cévennes. But below, where the stream widened, -the banks were mossy, and in summer -ferns and wild flowers clustered, and on either -bank was a fringe of juniper bushes, and beyond, -the tall, well-nurtured chestnut trees. -Here were fish,—the brown trout darting -through the placid waters, and the eels, and -there were always birds in the trees when the -chestnuts blossomed. But now the touch of -autumn was upon it; the moss showed brown -tints, and the nuts fell from the opening burrs,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -and the squirrels were gathering their winter -stores.</p> - -<p>On the edge of the stream stood Rosaline St. -Cyr, looking down into its clear depths at the -pebbles in its bed. A little way off was Babet -with a basket, and Charlot, the cobbler, knelt -on the bank digging up a hardy fern with a broad -knife, that had been given him for the purpose -by the housekeeper. Truffe meanwhile ran -about under the trees barking at every nut that -dropped. The scene, in its rustic peace and -simplicity, struck the shoemaker in pleasant contrast -with that other scene in Nîmes. He was slow -at his task, taking the root up carefully and lingering -over it so long that Babet grew impatient.</p> - -<p>“How long thou art, Petit Bossu!” she said, -her arms akimbo. “<i>Ciel</i>, I could have dug up -forty! We were doing better before you -came.”</p> - -<p>“<i>C’est fini</i>,” replied the hunchback, holding -up the fern. “Here it is; how many will you -have?”</p> - -<p>Rosaline turned toward him. She had a large -straw hat tied under her chin with blue ribbons, -and her cheeks were like roses.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>“We want four like that, Charlot,” she said -cheerfully; “<i>grand’mère</i> always has a box of -ferns for winter; they make a green spot in the -room, and that is so pretty.”</p> - -<p>“But, mademoiselle, ’tis near supper time,” -protested Babet, “and we have been here all the -morning.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline laughed—a happy, careless laugh.</p> - -<p>“You may go home,” she said; “Charlot will -bring me back when the basket is full, and we -must not lose our dish of mushrooms for supper. -Run along, Babet, and set the kettle boiling.”</p> - -<p>Babet was nothing loath, though she grumbled -loudly at the suggestion, but Charlot stopped -digging a fern and looked up with a troubled -face. The woman set down the basket for him -to fill, and he half rose and made a movement -as if to stop her, and then bent over his task -again. Apparently, he had decided to let her -go, and in a few moments her tall figure had disappeared -behind the cliffs and he was alone with -the young girl and her dog. Rosaline was -strolling along the mossy bank singing softly to -herself, the picture of joyful content. She was -walking in a dream of love and youth, and she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -had forgotten the hunchback. He continued to -kneel over the ferns, but he had paused in his -digging, and his mournful brown eyes followed -her with a mute devotion in their gaze. He did -not know how long he could keep her there, but -every half-hour counted, and surely there was -hope that it would be over before she went back -to the château. He knew what was passing -there, but she did not, and her song almost made -him shudder. Still, he hoped, he hoped much, -that it was only d’Aguesseau who was wanted, -and he was out of reach. The hunchback did -not believe that this beautiful young creature -was in any personal danger. He thought of the -wedding shoes, and bent over the fern with a -frown. What would that handsome savage, M. -de Baudri, do? Ah, that was the question. -Charlot remembered last night and its temptations; -verily, love and hate were nearly akin, -and he had seen the fiend in monsieur’s open -blue eyes.</p> - -<p>Rosaline was in a happy mood. She stooped -and gathering a handful of chestnuts, threw -them—one by one—for Truffe to chase, and -laughed gayly at the poodle’s antics, clapping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -her hands to make her bring the nuts back to be -thrown again. The hunchback watched her in -silence, bending over his task again; the basket -was nearly full of plumes of fern now, and he -was racking his brain for an excuse to keep -mademoiselle longer away from the house. The -drawn white face was full of anxiety, and now -and then the brown hands trembled as they -handled the plants.</p> - -<p>“Do you think it will be an early winter, -Charlot?” Rosaline said at last, still tossing -the chestnuts for Truffe.</p> - -<p>“I cannot tell, mademoiselle,” he replied, -looking up at the sky. “But last night the -wind came howling straight from the Cévennes, -and some say that means a short autumn. The -<i>bon Dieu</i> knows that there will be suffering; so -many of these Cévenols have been taken or -slain, and there were so few to gather the crops -or card the wool. Mother of Heaven, the times -are evil!”</p> - -<p>There was silence; Rosaline’s face had lost -its joyous look, and she left off playing with -the dog and walked back to the spot where -the shoemaker was kneeling by his basket.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>“Babet says the winter will be fearfully cold,” -she said absently, “and she is wise about these -matters. I know not how many signs she has, -but certainly more than I could ever remember.”</p> - -<p>“I do not know about such things,” he answered -quietly, “but the autumn came early -this year.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline looked dreamily away toward the -north.</p> - -<p>“The winter with its terrible storms, and this -cruel war,” she said thoughtfully,—“I fear the -suffering will be very great, Charlot. How does -it seem in Nîmes? What does M. Montrevel -say?”</p> - -<p>“That it cannot last, mademoiselle,” he replied. -“His Majesty has sent great reinforcements, -and the maréchal is determined to crush -the insurrection. Nothing is talked of in Nîmes -save the grandeur of the king and the weakness -of the Cévenols.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline sighed; her mood changed entirely -now, and her face was grave and even apprehensive. -There was no sound but the gentle -dash of water from the falls. Presently her -eyes lighted on the basket of ferns.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>“We have enough, Charlot,” she said, in a -dull voice; “I am going back now. Come also, -and Babet will give you supper; you must be -tired.”</p> - -<p>Poor Charlot was at his wits’ end.</p> - -<p>“See, mademoiselle, there is a beautiful fern,” -he said, pointing his finger at three waving -plumes of green; “will you not have that -also?”</p> - -<p>She looked at it without interest. “No,” -she replied indifferently, “let it remain; we -have more than enough already, and I am -tired.”</p> - -<p>She was half-way up the bank, and Charlot -rose in despair.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said, “come back, I pray -you; ’tis not yet time to return to the château.”</p> - -<p>She looked around in surprise, and the expression -of his face awakened her suspicions.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” she demanded quickly; “what -do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“You were not to return until six o’clock,” he -replied, at a loss for an excuse; “Madame de St. -Cyr so instructed me.”</p> - -<p>“Madame de St. Cyr instructed you—about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -me?” exclaimed Rosaline in surprise; and there -was a touch of hauteur in her manner that -Charlot had never encountered before.</p> - -<p>“She told me so, when she sent me after you, -mademoiselle,” he answered humbly.</p> - -<p>Rosaline was roused now; she stood looking -at him with a searching glance.</p> - -<p>“Why did you come to St. Cyr to-day?” she -demanded imperiously.</p> - -<p>The hunchback was not adroit, and he felt -the peril of the moment too deeply to find -ready replies.</p> - -<p>“I brought some shoes for madame to try,” -he said lamely.</p> - -<p>“That is not true, Charlot!” she retorted -indignantly; “madame has ordered no shoes, -and you know it. You came for something,” she -went on, with increasing agitation; “be honest,—was -it—did it concern M. d’Aguesseau?”</p> - -<p>The shoemaker looked at her with dull eyes, -his pinched face unusually brown and haggard.</p> - -<p>“Yes, mademoiselle,” he replied with an effort, -“it concerned M. d’Aguesseau. M. de Baudri -received information that he was a heretic, and -he has come to St. Cyr to take him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>Mademoiselle turned on him the face of an -avenging angel.</p> - -<p>“And you—” she said, with passionate scorn, -“did you betray him?”</p> - -<p>The hunchback’s lips twitched, like those of a -person in sudden bodily pain, and he did not -reply.</p> - -<p>“You miserable creature!” Rosaline continued, -her blue eyes sparkling with anger. -“Did you offer him shelter at first, and get -him here that you might surely betray him? -You are baffled, thank God; you are out-witted!”</p> - -<p>Charlot’s hands clenched and he looked at -her as if she had struck him.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sang de Dieu</i>, I am innocent!” he said -solemnly; “I never betrayed him. I came here -to warn him, and found that he had gone. I -heard it all in M. de Baudri’s rooms, and I hurried -away, and by hiring a cart that I met in the -road, I was at St. Cyr just five minutes before -the dragoons came, and madame sent me here -to keep you out of harm’s way.”</p> - -<p>“The dragoons at St. Cyr!” cried Rosaline, -forgetting all else in that announcement, “and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> -my grandmother there alone! <i>Dieu</i>, I will -never forgive myself!”</p> - -<p>She ran up the bank without heeding the -cobbler’s appeals.</p> - -<p>“Stay, mademoiselle!” he cried after her; -“stay but a moment and listen! Ah, <i>Mère de -Dieu</i>, she rushes to her fate!”</p> - -<p>He called to deaf ears; Rosaline fled through -the woods like a young fawn with the dog at -her heels. She took no thought of herself but -only remembered her grandmother and the -terrible prospect of a dragonnade at St. Cyr. -The custom of quartering dragoons on families -suspected of heresy was too fearfully frequent -for it to be improbable, and such visitations were -attended by horrible indignities; neither age -nor innocence was spared, and the end generally -saw the château in smoking ruins and the members -of the devoted family dead or banished.</p> - -<p>All these things flashed through Rosaline’s -mind as she sped—on the wings of love—toward -her home, and no one could have overtaken -her. The poor hunchback followed as -best he could, cursing the fate that had forced -him to tell her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>At the gate of the château, Rosaline met -Babet, who tried to stop her, but in vain; the -girl ran across the garden and passed in through -the side door, which the housekeeper had left -open. All the while she wondered that the -place seemed so deserted and that she saw no -soldiers. She passed through the kitchen and -dining room, and running upstairs to her grandmother’s -sitting-room, flung open the door and -found herself face to face with M. de Baudri.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br> - -<small>M. DE BAUDRI’S TERMS</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosaline</span> did not look at M. de Baudri, but -beyond him into the room, and she saw her -grandmother’s armchair vacant, and the door -that led into the bedroom beyond stood open. -The girl’s heart seemed to stop beating, yet she -could not believe the evidence of her senses.</p> - -<p>“Where is she?” she demanded of M. de -Baudri imperiously. “Where is Madame de St. -Cyr?”</p> - -<p>He had greeted her with a profound bow and -he stood now before her, smiling and composed.</p> - -<p>“Madame is on her way to Nîmes, mademoiselle,” -he said pleasantly.</p> - -<p>“To Nîmes?” repeated Rosaline, with pale -lips. “<i>Mon Dieu!</i> what have you done?”</p> - -<p>Her agitation did not ruffle his composure; -he still looked at her with a smile.</p> - -<p>“I am afflicted to tell you such ill news, -mademoiselle,” he said suavely, “but unhappily<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> -a complaint has been lodged against -Madame de St. Cyr. She is accused of being -a heretic, and of sheltering a heretic. A charge -so serious must be investigated. Unfortunately,” -he concluded with a shrug, “I have -to do my duty.”</p> - -<p>“Your duty!” repeated Rosaline, with sparkling -eyes. “Your duty, then, monsieur, is to -drag a helpless old woman from the shelter of -her home?”</p> - -<p>He bit his lip and a red spot showed in either -cheek, but he controlled his own rising temper.</p> - -<p>“Assuredly, mademoiselle,” he replied, “if -she is guilty of the detestable crime of heresy.”</p> - -<p>“And you will be guilty of the crime of murder, -monsieur,” she retorted with a fierce indignation; -for the moment, she was perfectly -fearless. “Where is she? Where have you -taken her?” she cried.</p> - -<p>He looked at the clock. “She must be in -Nîmes now, mademoiselle,” he replied courteously; -“she will be strictly confined there under -guard until she has been interrogated by the -authorities.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline uttered a low cry of despair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” she said, “it will kill her; -you know it will kill her!”</p> - -<p>He shrugged his shoulders. “I am not responsible,” -he said; “I am a soldier, bound to -execute the orders of my superiors. For her -sake, for yours, mademoiselle, I have endeavored -to alleviate the circumstances of her arrest, -and ’tis possible that—that there might be -a compromise.”</p> - -<p>He paused, looking at her with a strange -expression.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” she demanded -eagerly.</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri laid his hand on his heart.</p> - -<p>“It rests with you, mademoiselle,” he said -with gallantry, “to determine madame’s fate. -There is no doubt that she is a heretic, and you -know the doom of heretics, but you may save -her yet.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline drew her breath sharply; an intuition -warned her of what was coming. She was -white to the lips, but her blue eyes shone.</p> - -<p>“Your meaning, monsieur?” she said in a -low voice.</p> - -<p>“I stand high in the favor of M. Montrevel,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -he said placidly; “I am a good Catholic. It is -possible for me to obtain many concessions, if -I wish to do so. Mademoiselle understands -me; it is necessary for me to help her, and my -help can be obtained if Rosaline de St. Cyr -desires it.”</p> - -<p>She stood looking at him in silence, and he -became at last a little uneasy under that -searching glance.</p> - -<p>“You know that I love you, mademoiselle,” -he said; “if you consent now—this moment—to -marry me, I will save madame.”</p> - -<p>He spoke with the air of one who contemplated -a virtuous deed.</p> - -<p>“You wish me to marry you!” she exclaimed, -her voice quivering with passion. “M. de -Baudri, I too am a heretic.”</p> - -<p>She turned on him the same face that she -had turned on the cobbler in the wood.</p> - -<p>“Why do you not give me up to the authorities, -monsieur?” she went on defiantly; “you -are a soldier, do your duty!”</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle does not understand that I -love her,” he retorted, unmoved. “Come, come, -Rosaline, you are young, you are misguided,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> -but you will be converted. Say the word; -promise to be my wife, and your grandmother -shall be saved, I pledge you my word.”</p> - -<p>“Beware, monsieur!” Rosaline exclaimed -with scorn. “I have thought you a brave man, -but this is the act of a coward.”</p> - -<p>His face reddened, and he suppressed the -violence of his own mood with difficulty.</p> - -<p>“You forget,” he said slowly, “that you are -completely in my power. You are a heretic by -your own declaration, your grandmother is a -prisoner, and the precious steward, d’Aguesseau, -is also in my power.”</p> - -<p>His keen eyes saw the swift change in her -face at d’Aguesseau’s name.</p> - -<p>“M. d’Aguesseau?” she exclaimed, “is he -taken?”</p> - -<p>There was an expression of satisfaction in the -keen blue eyes; he had touched her at last.</p> - -<p>“This morning, mademoiselle,” he replied -coolly. “He is not only a heretic, but also -a rebel.”</p> - -<p>She was controlling herself by a great effort.</p> - -<p>“What will you do with him, monsieur?” -she asked faintly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>“Hang him, or send him to the galleys,” he -retorted calmly.</p> - -<p>She reeled, catching at the back of a chair to -save herself from falling. M. de Baudri sprang -toward her to proffer his assistance, but she -motioned him away with a gesture of horror.</p> - -<p>“Do not touch me!” she cried; “do not -touch me!”</p> - -<p>She laid her head down on the back of the -chair, overcome with contending emotions. The -two she loved best in the world had been taken -from her.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” she cried in a choking voice; -“what shall I do?”</p> - -<p>The fiercest passions leaped up into M. de -Baudri’s eyes,—anger, jealousy, the desire for -revenge; he had suspected that there was some -secret between François and Rosaline, and now -he doubted it no longer.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle is more afflicted at the capture -of a menial than at the arrest of her -own grandmother,” he remarked with a sneer. -“Doubtless she would like to arrange for his -liberation also.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline made no reply; she was summoning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> -all her powers to meet this terrible -emergency.</p> - -<p>“Even that is not beyond my power,” M. de -Baudri added coolly, “if mademoiselle desires -to purchase this—servant’s—liberty.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline looked up with a haggard face, but -her eyes sparkled with anger.</p> - -<p>“François d’Aguesseau is no servant,” she -cried; “he is as well born and far more noble -than his persecutor!”</p> - -<p>The man laughed fiercely. “He is doubtless -mademoiselle’s lover,” he remarked contemptuously; -“she is more lightly won than I supposed.”</p> - -<p>“It is always in the power of the strong to -insult the weak,” Rosaline retorted coldly.</p> - -<p>“You cannot deny that this heretic is your -lover!” he exclaimed passionately.</p> - -<p>Rosaline raised her head proudly; her innocent -gentleness had deserted her; she was -like a young lioness roused in defence of her -own.</p> - -<p>“I do not deny it,” she said fearlessly; “M. -d’Aguesseau is my equal—and—and, yes, -monsieur, my affianced husband. I do not deny<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -it, nor do I deny my love for him, though he is -a prisoner and at your mercy; the <i>bon Dieu</i> defend -him and me!”</p> - -<p>She had never looked more beautiful than at -that moment of passionate indignation and defiance -in the cause of those she loved. M. de -Baudri, looking at her, swore in his heart that he -would have her despite heaven and hell.</p> - -<p>“You are frank, mademoiselle,” he remarked -coolly. “’Tis unusual for a young girl to be so -eager to declare her affection. I am afflicted -indeed; for ’tis my portion to decide M. -d’Aguesseau’s fate, and it would grieve me to -bereave mademoiselle of her lover!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline’s distress was shaking her resolution; -already her lips were quivering, and there were -tears in the blue eyes.</p> - -<p>“Is his fate in your hands, monsieur?” she -asked, with passionate anxiety and a desperate -hope.</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri bowed, with his hand on his -heart.</p> - -<p>“Absolutely,” he replied pleasantly; “he has -not yet been handed over to the authorities. -By lifting my finger I can set him free and also<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> -your grandmother, and as easily I can consign -both to the miserable fate awaiting the heretics.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline took a step forward, clasping her -hands and gazing intently into his face.</p> - -<p>“Ah, monsieur, surely you will be merciful,” -she exclaimed, “surely you will spare my grandmother—a -feeble woman—and M. d’Aguesseau—has -he not suffered enough? <i>Dieu!</i> he -has lost all,—his parents, his sister, his property. -I cannot believe that you will condemn these -two! You are a man, and not a fiend.”</p> - -<p>He watched her with an inscrutable expression -on his face.</p> - -<p>“And what will you do to regain their liberty?” -he asked slowly. “What petition do -you make for them?”</p> - -<p>“I ask you in God’s name,” she said with -passionate earnestness, “and on my knees, monsieur, -though I never kneeled to living man -before.”</p> - -<p>She was kneeling, her white face lifted, her -hands clasped; and with her golden hair she -looked more like a supplicating angel than an -unhappy and defenceless girl. For him it was -a moment of triumph; and his heart was untouched<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> -by any feeling of compulsion; it only -throbbed with fierce determination.</p> - -<p>“Rise, mademoiselle,” he said, offering his -hand with gallantry. “Serious as the situation -is, dangerous as it is for me to release heretics, -yet I must be less than human to resist such eloquence -and beauty. Your petition is granted—on -one condition.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him searchingly, and her -heart sank as she read the expression in his -eyes.</p> - -<p>“And that condition?” she demanded in a -low tone.</p> - -<p>“A simple one, mademoiselle,” he said, with -an easy air of confidence: “I adore you, Rosaline; -and when you are my wife, these two are -free.”</p> - -<p>“You say this to me after I have declared -my love for another man!” she exclaimed -aghast, “you say this to me,—a heretic! Your -conscience is not very scrupulous.”</p> - -<p>He smiled. “You are but a child, Rosaline,” -he said; “you will embrace my religion and -marry me, or—” he shrugged his shoulders,—“the -Tour de Constance for madame and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -gallows for your ex-lover. I give you a free -choice!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline clasped her hands against her heaving -bosom, looking up, while the tears fell on -her pale cheeks.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” she cried; “forgive me for -kneeling to mortal man. I ought to have -known that there was no mercy save in Thee. -Alas, alas, my dear ones!”</p> - -<p>There was a pause; she seemed to be absorbed -in her devotions, and M. de Baudri -watched her in silence but with relentless eyes. -Her beauty and her sorrow only intensified his -fierce passion.</p> - -<p>“I see that you are willing to kill both rather -than sacrifice your whim,” he remarked, striking -a skilful blow at her tottering resolution.</p> - -<p>“Is it possible that this is your fixed purpose?” -she cried. “Can it be that you would -have me save them thus? Have you no pride, -that you are willing to take a bride on such -terms as these? Have you no mercy?”</p> - -<p>“I am showing much,” he replied suavely. -“How many men would spare a successful rival’s -neck?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>“It will avail nothing,” she said passionately. -“I will appeal to M. de Bâville himself!”</p> - -<p>He laughed heartlessly. “Do so, mademoiselle,” -he said, with a shrug, “and you will -have the pleasure of seeing your lover broken -on the wheel like his father.”</p> - -<p>She gave a low cry of horror, hiding her face -in her hands. He walked over to the window -and looked out. The sun was setting behind -the valley of the Vaunage, and the wind was -already blowing the yellow leaves from the -trees and strewing the garden path with a -shower of gold. He knew that she was in the -throes of a mortal agony, and he did not dream -of relaxing the pressure until he broke her will. -He knew something of her character, and he -believed her capable of any sacrifice for those she -loved. He stood a while watching his orderly -leading his horse to and fro before the gate. He -had purposely deceived her on one point, and -he believed that he would succeed without violence, -but he intended to have her at any cost. -With her consent if he could, without it, if necessary, -he was not troubled with many scruples, -and her helpless anguish did not touch him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>He turned at last to find her sitting in her -grandmother’s chair, her face buried in her -hands, and her golden hair, escaping its bonds, -had fallen about her like a mantle.</p> - -<p>“I am going back to Nîmes, mademoiselle,” -he said courteously, “and I regret that I have -to leave the house in the hands of guards, but -they are instructed to treat you with courtesy. -Permit me to recommend that you continue your -former prudent reserve in the matter of religion. -At ten to-morrow morning, I shall return for my -answer. You know the solitary condition, and -you hold two lives in your lovely hands.”</p> - -<p>She looked up with ineffable scorn in her blue -eyes.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dieu!</i> is this a man?” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>A deep red flush mounted to his forehead, -but he bowed so profoundly that the curls of -his periwig fell before his face.</p> - -<p>“It is your devoted lover, mademoiselle,” he -replied, and walked backward to the door, holding -his plumed hat against his heart and stepping -with the ease and precision of a dancing -master.</p> - -<p>On the threshold he made her another profound<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> -obeisance and, smiling, closed the door -behind him. He paused only a moment in the -hall below to give a few sharp instructions to -the sergeant left in command.</p> - -<p>“If any man attempts to enter this house -to-night,” he said in a hard tone, “shoot him. -If you let him evade you, I will hang you.”</p> - -<p>The soldier saluted, and M. de Baudri walked -calmly down the garden path, and leaping into -the saddle, set off at a gallop for Nîmes.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII<br> - -<small>ROSALINE’S HUMBLE FRIENDS</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Meanwhile</span> a very different scene had been -enacted in the kitchen, where Babet had confronted -the cobbler and poured upon his devoted -head a volley of questions. She had gone out -with Rosaline early, before there was even a hint -of approaching catastrophe, and she could not -understand the swift march of events, and her -suspicious soul was possessed with a rooted distrust -of the poor hunchback, who had not yet -rallied from Rosaline’s accusations, striking -home as they did after the guilty hours of his -temptation. The two had shut themselves in -the kitchen with the dog, and le Bossu sat by -the fire, an expression of dull despair upon his -face, while Babet stood over him, her arms -akimbo and her keen black eyes riveted upon -him. Like Rosaline, she questioned his motive -for coming to the house at all.</p> - -<p>“What brought you here this morning, Petit<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> -Bossu?” she demanded harshly; “we needed -no new shoes.”</p> - -<p>The cobbler’s face darkened. “<i>Nom de St. -Denis!</i>” he exclaimed; “have you nothing -better to do than to suspect your friends at such -a time?”</p> - -<p>“Yet you came—and why?” persisted Babet.</p> - -<p>The hunchback threw out his hands with a -gesture of impatience.</p> - -<p>“There is no reason why I should explain to -you,” he retorted contemptuously.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” ejaculated Babet, in a tone of dark -suspicion, “what do you expect me to think -of such obstinate silence? You must be a -wicked man—I have always heard that hunchbacks -were malicious; how could you give -mademoiselle up? Why did you not let her -escape through the woods, beast?”</p> - -<p>The cobbler was tried beyond endurance.</p> - -<p>“Mother of Heaven!” he cried bitterly, “do -you think that I would injure a hair of mademoiselle’s -head? She could not escape; M. de -Baudri had two circles of sentries about the -place, and I knew it. There were men below -the cataract—in the woods—to attempt to pass<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> -them would have been to risk her life. You -were in the snare; I tried to keep her away -from the house, but I could not, and they would -have found her anywhere in the end.”</p> - -<p>Babet threw back her head with a snort; she -had the air of an old war-horse scenting the -battle from afar.</p> - -<p>“You knew a great deal about it,” she remarked -maliciously; “couldn’t you warn us?”</p> - -<p>He sighed; a weary resignation was settling -down on his heart. It seemed that no one -thought well of him, or expected good from -him.</p> - -<p>“I knew nothing of it until this morning,” he -said coldly, “and then too late to help you. I -am lame, and M. de Baudri rides a fine horse. -Nevertheless, I got here five minutes before him—but -that was too late.”</p> - -<p>His face and his voice began to convince even -Babet, and a faint pang of remorse smote her -heart, which, after all, was angered only on -Rosaline’s account. She left off questioning -him and walked to and fro in the kitchen, trying -to collect her thoughts, and the process was -much impeded by the even tramp of the sentry,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> -which sounded distinctly enough on the gravel -path outside the windows. Once or twice, when -the soldier’s back was turned, Babet shook her -fist at it, uttering threats in language that was -more fervent than pious.</p> - -<p>“My poor lamb!” she muttered, her thoughts -returning to Rosaline, “what will she do in the -hands of this wolf? <i>Nom de Ciel!</i> if I could but -tear his throat!”</p> - -<p>The hunchback did not heed her; he was -staring at the floor with vacant eyes. He meant -to save mademoiselle if he could, but how? -His lips moved now and then, and his brown -hands twitched nervously, but his ears were -straining to catch the slightest sound. Presently -Babet turned around, as if a sudden thought had -flashed upon her; she picked up the tongs from -beside the fire, and hiding them under her apron -walked deliberately out of the kitchen, slamming -the door behind her. The sound brought the -sentry at a run, and they met face to face. -Without a word, Babet lifted the tongs, and, -snapping them on to the brim of his hat, flung -it over the hedge.</p> - -<p>“There, you varlet!” she exclaimed, holding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> -the tongs close to the end of his nose, “learn to -take off your hat to a decent woman, who’s -old enough to be your mother, and stop staring -in the window with those goggle eyes of -yours. I’m no jail-bird, I tell you!”</p> - -<p>“Mother!” ejaculated the astonished dragoon, -“you old gray cat! <i>Dame!</i> if I do not -wring your neck for your impudence when M. -le Capitaine has gone.”</p> - -<p>“Humph!” retorted Babet, grimly, “you’ll -find it tough, <i>mon fils</i>. Your hat is in the briar -bush, my lad;” and she walked back into the -house with a grim smile of triumph, leaving -the soldier cursing her while he searched for -his hat.</p> - -<p>Babet did not return to the kitchen; she proceeded -up the stairs to the room where Rosaline -was talking to M. de Baudri. The door was -closed; but refined scruples were not among -the good housekeeper’s faults, and she calmly -applied her ear to the keyhole, all the while -clasping the tongs fiercely under her apron; -and for the next twenty minutes her face was -a picture. More than once she had her hand -on the latch, but prudence finally prevailed, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> -three minutes before M. de Baudri emerged, she -made her way cautiously back to the kitchen. -She had heard enough to understand the whole, -and she descended upon the cobbler like an -avalanche, carrying all before her. In the -storm of her indignation she could not remain -silent, and she poured out the whole story of -M. de Baudri’s shameless persecution of his -prisoner. Le Bossu had long ago learned the -lesson of self-control, and he listened with composure, -though his face seemed to have aged -since the morning.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” cried Babet, regardless now of -the sentry’s stare, “he would force that white -dove to marry him! That villain de Baudri—may -the <i>bon Dieu</i> blast him as the great chestnut-tree -yonder was blasted with lightning! He—the -rogue—would make mademoiselle sell -herself to him to save old madame and her -lover. Woe is me, why did that man d’Aguesseau -ever come here?”</p> - -<p>The hunchback looked up, surprise in his dull -eyes.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” he demanded, “save -her lover? Her lover is safe in the Cévennes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>“Much you know!” retorted the woman, -scornfully; “it seems that he was captured this -morning.”</p> - -<p>The cobbler was silent a moment, thinking -deeply.</p> - -<p>“I do not believe it,” he said quietly.</p> - -<p>“You think it a lie of that devil’s?” asked -Babet, eagerly.</p> - -<p>He nodded. “M. de Baudri is doing it to -force her to yield,” he said slowly; “he has -sworn to marry her. I do not believe that -he has taken one Huguenot prisoner to-day, -save—” he stopped, and looked out of the -window at the sentry, who kept staring in with -a furious face.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dieu</i>, what a fiend!” exclaimed Babet, -thrusting her tongs into the fire, where they -would heat, after casting a vicious glance toward -the window. “He has given mademoiselle until -to-morrow morning to decide,” she added.</p> - -<p>“What will she do?” the cobbler asked in a -strange voice.</p> - -<p>“Do? oh, I know her!” the woman retorted -with a snort; “to save those two she would -die. She’ll marry him unless—” Babet thrust<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> -the tongs deeper in the coals, “unless I wring -his neck!”</p> - -<p>“That cannot be done,” remarked le Bossu, -soberly, “but something must be done to-night.”</p> - -<p>“What?” snapped his companion, “what can -a hunchback and an old woman do? A pretty -pair of birds for such an emergency. Leer away, -young man; I have the tongs ready for you!” -she added in an aside, her fierce eyes on the -window.</p> - -<p>“Has she one true friend with influence in -Nîmes?” the cobbler asked.</p> - -<p>Babet shook her head, and then, after a moment’s -thought,—</p> - -<p>“There is Père Ambroise,” she said.</p> - -<p>Le Bossu’s face brightened. “Good!” he -said, “the priest can do much; and now, I am a -Catholic, Babet, but as there is a God in heaven, -I mean no harm! Is there any boy or man who -could carry a message amongst the Camisards?”</p> - -<p>Babet had grown reckless in her misery over -mademoiselle; she did not hesitate to reply.</p> - -<p>“There is the blacksmith’s boy at St. -Césaire,” she said, “a good child, and active -as a wild hare. What do you want of him?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>“If possible, I must find M. d’Aguesseau,” -he replied, “and also Père Ambroise; I cannot -do both without help.”</p> - -<p>“And if M. d’Aguesseau is in prison,” suggested -Babet, grimly.</p> - -<p>“The will of Heaven be done,” replied the -cobbler, calmly, “but Père Ambroise shall be -here before dawn,” and he rose as he spoke.</p> - -<p>“How will you get out?” asked the woman, -eying him curiously.</p> - -<p>“You will see,” he rejoined, and quietly -gathering up his bag of tools, he left the kitchen -and walked through the hall.</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri had just left by the front way, -and the cobbler went out at the back of the -house. There was a high row of box beside the -path, and dropping on his hands and knees he -crept along behind it, past the sentry on that -side. He had to move very slowly and softly, -avoiding every dry twig and even the dead leaves, -but he reached the outer hedge at last. Here -there was a hole, through which Truffe passed in -and out. The cobbler thrust his bag through -and then followed it; his face and hands were -scratched, but what of that? He rose from his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> -knees in the open road, and, shaking off the -dust, shouldered his load and walked on, limping -more painfully than usual. He had to pass one -guard, but this man did not know that he had -been in the house and saw nothing unusual in -the appearance of the little cobbler of St. -Antoine.</p> - -<p>“You are late, le Bossu,” he said good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>“The shoes fit too well,” retorted the hunchback, -coolly, “and my patron is rich.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Pardieu!</i>” the soldier exclaimed with a -laugh. “I will borrow to-morrow morning. We -have a bag of heretics here.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Mère de Dieu</i>, burn them,—all but the -shoes!” said le Bossu, and walked calmly on.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX<br> - -<small>“MORTIS PORTIS FRACTIS”</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was daybreak; the pale sky was luminous, -and the golden east throbbed with the approaching -glory. Already the hill-tops were radiant, -but the low country lay in the shadow, and a -white mist floated over the valleys. The air -was full of the twittering of birds, and all the life -in Nature began to stir. There were no travellers -on the highroad so early, save one, a corpulent -priest, mounted on a stout mule, proceeding -toward St. Cyr. Père Ambroise detested extraordinary -exertion, but he had yielded to the importunities -of the cobbler. For his own part, -he thought that ten o’clock was soon enough to -deal with M. de Baudri, but he had roused himself -and set out at an unearthly hour because of -le Bossu’s representations. No man could -regret the trouble at the château de St. Cyr -more sincerely than he did; he had labored to -protect these two defenceless women, and he saw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> -no profit in madame’s arrest. Père Ambroise -would never be numbered with the persecutors; -he cared more for a bottle of good wine from -the vintage of the Vaunage than he did for the -arrest of a score of heretics. Besides, he had -no real love for M. de Baudri, and he foresaw -M. de Baudri’s triumph. Père Ambroise wanted -to convert Rosaline; he wanted to see her either -in a convent or wedded to a good son of the -Church, but he could not digest the prospect of -this particular bridegroom. He had not the -smallest respect for Rosaline’s religious convictions -or scruples; it was impossible for him to -regard them with anything but contempt or -hatred, but he really cared for the girl’s welfare. -He had known her from a child, and he felt a -sincere affection for her. For her sake he had -spared Madame de St. Cyr, and he had no -desire now to give her pain. He rode along, -therefore, revolving all these matters in his mind, -and wondering how far he could trespass on -the patience and friendship of the Intendant of -Languedoc,—the only man who could take M. -de Baudri in hand. The result of Père Ambroise’s -ruminations was not satisfactory; he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> -advanced at a leisurely pace, for his mule was -nearly as stout as he was, and the sun rose in -all its splendor as he approached St. Cyr. He -disliked effort and excitement, and he could -devise no easy and comfortable way out of the -dilemma. After all, perhaps she would have to -marry M. de Baudri; at least, that ought to -bring her into the church, and if she remained a -heretic? Well, Père Ambroise reflected with a -broad smile, that alternative would furnish him -with a rod to hold over the stubborn head of -M. le Capitaine. The good father’s fat sides -shook a little with silent laughter as he drew -rein at the gate of the château. <i>Âme de St. -Denis!</i> he would make M. de Baudri dance to -a pretty tune before the Intendant; there were -compensations, no matter what the result.</p> - -<p>The sentry—the same young man who had -been disciplined by Babet—received the priest -with respect; his instructions had not mentioned -Père Ambroise, and the stout, black-robed figure -ambled placidly up the gravel path and entered -by way of the kitchen. This was empty, for -Babet had deserted her fortress for the moment -to wait on her young mistress. The priest proceeded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> -through the house and was greeted at -the stairs by Truffe, who knew him. He -climbed up in a leisurely way, panting at each -step, and, entering the sitting-room, found Rosaline -and her faithful attendant. The young girl -hailed his entrance with relief and hope, and -something like life came back into her white -face.</p> - -<p>Père Ambroise was touched by her evident -confidence in his good-will, and seating himself -comfortably, he dismissed Babet with a placid -air of authority that sent her fuming to the -kitchen, where she resumed her task of heating -the fire-irons. She was determined not to be -taken unawares, and the sentry—perfectly acquainted -with her occupation—kept his distance -and bided his time.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, in response to a few well-directed -questions, Rosaline told her story, which was -substantially the same as the one already recited -by le Bossu. A man less keen than Père -Ambroise would have detected her resolution -in her manner, and he was not unprepared for -her answer when he asked her what she intended -to do. She was standing in front of him, her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> -hands clasped loosely before her, and her head -erect, but her face was like marble, white and -still.</p> - -<p>“I have no choice, <i>mon père</i>,” she said, in a -low voice; “no one cares for a heretic. It is -my duty to save my grandmother. I cannot let -her die for my happiness! <i>Mon Dieu!</i> what a -monster I should be! I must consent to M. de -Baudri’s terms, and then—” she paused, drawing -a deep breath and her clear blue eyes looked -out, away toward the grim mountains of the -north, “and then I know that the <i>bon Dieu</i> will -release me. He will send me death—sweet -death—for my bridegroom!”</p> - -<p>Père Ambroise regarded her thoughtfully. -For his times, he was a liberal man, and he -did not immediately foresee hell fires. He -saw only a pure and defenceless girl, and his -heart smote him.</p> - -<p>“The <i>bon Dieu</i> is offended with you for -heresy, Rosaline,” he remarked calmly; “that -is the cause of your misfortunes.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline looked at him searchingly; she had -long ago weighed Père Ambroise and found -him wanting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>“He is my Judge,” she replied, and closed -her lips firmly.</p> - -<p>It was not the hour for religious controversy, -and the priest knew it; he pursed up his lips -and was silent. But she had a purpose at -heart, and not even his frowns discouraged it.</p> - -<p>“Père Ambroise,” she said, “I want to go -into Nîmes now—at once—to see my grandmother. -I will consent to nothing until I do—you -can get this favor for me—I ask nothing -else, but oh, do this for me!”</p> - -<p>Père Ambroise had been considering many -things, and he was not unwilling to listen to so -reasonable a desire. Indeed, he had been thinking -with some pity of poor old Madame de St. -Cyr.</p> - -<p>“It shall be done,” he said, “but not until M. -de Baudri comes; I have no authority, but he -cannot refuse this at my request.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline thanked him without emotion; the -girl’s passionate grief and rebellion had spent -itself in a night of agony; she had reached the -dead level of despair. She still believed her -lover to be a prisoner, for Babet had been too -wise to hold out uncertain hopes, and Rosaline<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -had made up her mind to sacrifice herself for -her two loved ones, and the sacrifice she contemplated -was worse to her than death. No -victim was ever prepared to be laid on the -altar with a greater vigil of misery. She would -have died gladly, but this was far more terrible -and more degrading. She was in a stupor of -misery, but yet too wise to expect relief from -Père Ambroise. His point of view and hers -were sundered as widely as the poles. To -him it was only an undesirable step toward -her conversion, and a certain way of saving her -life.</p> - -<p>It was early, and the placid father left the -victim to her reflections and, proceeding to -the pantry, foraged with some comfort. He -was too intimately acquainted with Babet’s peculiarities -to approach her at such a moment -with a demand for breakfast, but he managed to -comfort the inner man with the remains of a -cold chicken pasty and a salad, and some more -diligent search unearthed a small bottle of <i>eau-de-vie</i>, -so that he emerged from his seclusion, at -last, wiping his lips and with an air of satisfaction. -After this, he mounted his spectacles and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> -searched Madame de St. Cyr’s little library for -heretical books, but the old gentlewoman had -been too cautious to be so easily betrayed, and -he found nothing of interest.</p> - -<p>Thus it happened that when M. de Baudri -arrived at ten o’clock he found Père Ambroise -in possession, and fell to cursing his luck, knowing -well enough that the priest had both the -will and the power to hamper his designs. He -held the corpulent father in supreme contempt, -but he dared not insult him at a time when the -priests were supreme, nor could he drive Rosaline -to extremities while she had such a respectable -protector. M. de Baudri was a keen man, -and he saw that a few concessions might gain -an ally, while insolence would make an undesirable -enemy. There was no hope of his marrying -Rosaline if Père Ambroise chose to declare -her a heretic and have her shut up in a convent. -The priest held the winning card and knew it, -and it took him only half an hour to arrange -that the young girl should accompany him to -see her grandmother, under the escort of M. de -Baudri and his dragoons.</p> - -<p>Before eleven, therefore, they were on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> -road to Nîmes. A carriage had been obtained -at St. Césaire, and the priest, Rosaline, and -Babet sat within it, while M. de Baudri rode -beside it and a guard of dragoons followed at a -short distance. Rosaline felt herself to be on -the way to an open grave, and she leaned back -in her corner with closed eyes. No one spoke, -and the drive was taken in silence. Finally -they passed through the Porte de France and -then proceeded more slowly through the streets. -The noises of the city aroused the poor girl a -little, and she looked out, only to shrink again -from the curious stare of the crowd. On the -carriage went, turning at last into a long street -and then stopping at the door of the common -jail. Happily for Rosaline, she did not recognize -it, though she shuddered as she passed -under the grim portal with Père Ambroise. -They were alone, the others remaining without, -and they were admitted with but little parley. -Like a somnambulist, the girl passed through a -gloomy corridor and saw the jailer unfastening -the bolts of a strong door. The man threw it -open and stood back, and Rosaline did not heed -his remark to the priest.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>“You are just in time, <i>mon père</i>,” he said, -with a brutal laugh.</p> - -<p>They stood at the entrance of a narrow cell -lighted by one small window, and on the -wretched pallet lay the motionless form of -Madame de St. Cyr. At the sight of her grandmother’s -face Rosaline awoke from her dream -and running forward, fell on her knees beside -her with a cry of surprise and anguish. Père -Ambroise hastily closed the door behind him; -he did not need to look a second time to see -that M. de Baudri was to be defrauded of one -victim.</p> - -<p>“Speak to me, <i>grand’mère</i>,” Rosaline cried -pitifully. “Oh, <i>mon Dieu</i>, why did I ask for -one night to decide? Twelve hours ago I -might have saved her!”</p> - -<p>The sound of a beloved voice often rouses -even the dying; Madame de St. Cyr stirred and -opened her eyes. They dwelt lovingly on the -girl for a moment, and then memory returned -and an expression of horror came into her face.</p> - -<p>“Merciful Heaven!” she gasped, rallying her -forces. “Are you here, my darling?—now is -death bitter indeed!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>“She is safe,” Père Ambroise interposed, his -heart touched at last; “I will protect her.”</p> - -<p>The old woman gave him a look of ineffable -gratitude; she was almost beyond speech, but -she laid one hand feebly on Rosaline’s head, and -her lips moved as she blessed her.</p> - -<p>“Thank the <i>bon Dieu</i>,” she murmured faintly, -“the old tree was cut—down—and the flower—spared! -Weep not, my child. Beyond—there -is peace.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline’s slender frame was shaken with -agony.</p> - -<p>“Live for me, <i>grand’mère</i>!” she cried; “now -indeed am I desolate—and I would have saved -you!”</p> - -<p>But the end was too near for the dying -woman to understand; she sank back with closed -eyes and Père Ambroise began to recite the -prayer for the dying. In his emotion he forgot -that she was a heretic. Rosaline clung to her -in an agony of grief and self-abnegation.</p> - -<p>“Oh, let me save you!” she cried; “live that -I may die for you!”</p> - -<p>Madame opened her eyes, there was a placid -smile on her face, she had forgotten all the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> -terror and the pain, prison walls held her no -more.</p> - -<p>“There is no anguish,” she said softly, looking -away into space, “only light—my husband—my -son—the <i>bon Dieu</i> be praised—there -shall be peace!”</p> - -<p>She spoke no more; there was no sound but -Père Ambroise’s Latin and Rosaline’s weeping. -The dying woman lay still, and the clear eyes -still looked triumphantly beyond this world’s -agony, and almost without a sigh the gentle -soul escaped from prison. Death, the Deliverer, -opened the gates.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX<br> - -<small>THE COBBLER’S FAITH</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Père Ambroise</span> was plentifully supplied with -this world’s goods, and he had a house of his -own in Nîmes, not a hundred yards from the -Esplanade, where he lived in comfort and security, -with no fear of the Camisard raids. To -the right of the door of this house was a comfortable -room, furnished with many luxuries: -soft rugs, deep arm-chairs, tapestry-hangings, a -huge fireplace, where the logs burned cheerfully -on the great andirons. And here Père Ambroise -sat entertaining M. de Baudri over a -bottle of rare wine, on the evening of that eventful -day. They had both dined well, and the -good father’s rubicund face wore an expression -of satisfaction, while his guest was visibly discontented. -The fact was that Père Ambroise -was in command of the situation, and he had -forced the soldier to yield at all points. At that -moment Rosaline was secure in one of his -upper rooms, and he was in a position to dictate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> -his own terms. If he chose he could declare -her a heretic and immure her in a convent for -life; M. de Baudri’s only chances of being a -bridegroom lay in his ability to propitiate the -priest. Nothing could have been more distasteful -to the soldier than this unexpected turn of -affairs; he was accustomed to command and -not to sue, and now he was forced to persuade a -man who disliked him to look at things from -his point of view. He cursed his luck in secret, -and tried to smile over his wine; never had he -been more neatly balked in his purposes—nor -by a more contemptible enemy. Meanwhile -Père Ambroise leaned back in his chair and -regarded him from between his half-closed -lids, mightily diverted by the other’s discomfiture, -and not yet entirely decided on his own -course. He was not sure that it would be a -merciful thing to shut Rosaline up in a convent -for life, and Père Ambroise was one of those -men who cannot be ill-natured after a good -dinner. He raised his wine-glass in his fat -fingers and held it before the candle that he -might admire the delicate amber color of the -wine before he drank it, and all his movements<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> -were deliberate and comfortable. His placidity -goaded M. de Baudri to the verge of murder.</p> - -<p>“You cannot marry a heretic, my son,” Père -Ambroise remarked pleasantly; “therefore you -must either allow her to go to her fate—which, -by the way, is of your preparing—or wait until -she is converted.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame!</i> do you take me for a fool?” exclaimed -his companion. “How long have you -been at this hopeful business of conversion?”</p> - -<p>“Only since I have known her to be a heretic,” -the priest replied composedly.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sacristi!</i> convert a heretic!” de Baudri -laughed; “how many are ever converted?”</p> - -<p>“Large numbers—in some circumstances,” -Père Ambroise said, with a broad smile; “’tis -said that Du Chayla had a basement full of converts -when their misguided friends arose and -murdered him at Pont-de-Montvert; a poor requital -for his zeal, monsieur. As for myself,”—he -waved his fat hands,—“I am a man of peace, -and I have ever labored to save these misguided -people from violence.”</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri was leaning his elbow on the -table, staring gloomily at the floor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>“<i>Mère de Dieu!</i>” he said bitterly; “they are -all only fit for hanging.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you would prefer to hang mademoiselle,” -his companion remarked, refilling his -glass cautiously, for he did not wish to disturb -his brain with the fumes of liquor.</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri looked at him darkly.</p> - -<p>“I do her great honor in offering to marry -her,” he said harshly.</p> - -<p>Père Ambroise nodded his head approvingly, -and took a sip of wine.</p> - -<p>“Assuredly,” he said; “so great an honor -that I am inclined to prevent you. A true son -of the Church should not wed a heretic. The -proper destination for her is a convent.”</p> - -<p>The younger man swore under his breath.</p> - -<p>“You old fox, you,” he exclaimed, “you do -not want me to marry the girl—I believe you -want her yourself!”</p> - -<p>Père Ambroise turned his eyes piously toward -heaven.</p> - -<p>“The saints forbid!” he murmured. “You -have an unbridled tongue, <i>mon fils</i>, and deserve -discipline for offering an insult to one in holy -orders.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>The officer laughed. “<i>Dame</i>, you old -rogue!” he said, “do you fat fathers take us for -fools? Hark!” he added sharply, pausing to -listen, “what is that? I heard the dog bark.”</p> - -<p>“Rosaline’s poodle,” replied the priest, undisturbed.</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri was suspicious. “Have you -got her secure?” he demanded imperiously.</p> - -<p>“Absolutely secure,” retorted his companion, -indifferently; “my servants are faithful, and her -door is fastened by an oaken bar too strong for -two women to force. Compose yourself, <i>mon -fils</i>; you consented to this respite; she was to -have until eight to-morrow morning for reflection, -and she has reason enough to make good -use of the time. Her grandmother is dead and -she has no defender but me. She will not resist -my authority, but you take a strange way to -propitiate me and obtain my good offices.”</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri gnawed his lip with a lowering -expression on his face.</p> - -<p>“I shall have to come to your terms, I suppose, -<i>mon père</i>,” he said at last with an effort to -appear congenial.</p> - -<p>“That is more to the point,” Père Ambroise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -remarked pleasantly, and leaned over to fill his -guest’s glass again.</p> - -<p>While these two worthies talked and drank, a -very different scene was being enacted in the -second story of the house. Here, in a large -back room, Rosaline and Babet were confined; -the woman sitting stiffly upright in a chair by -the table, where the candles were set, while -Rosaline had thrown herself face downward on -the bed, in a silent agony of grief and despair. -Between the two was the black poodle Truffe, -her ears pointed, silent and watchful after the -fashion of dogs in new places.</p> - -<p>Babet ventured upon no consolation; she -stared grimly before her with unwinking eyes. -She was thinking of her own fate; there was no -one to interpose for her, and her destiny was -probably the Tour de Constance. She tried to -recall all she had heard of this fearful prison -at Aiguemortes, of the malarious swamps about -it, of the smells that arose at low tide, of the -hideous cruelties practised in its loathsome -dungeons, of the sick and dying, whose bodies -were denied decent burial. Grim and strong as -old Babet was, her cheek blanched at the thought,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -and, for the moment, she forgot even her ewe-lamb. -(The most unselfish soul must fight its -own battle sometime, to the exclusion of all -else.)</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Rosaline lay there with her face -hidden on her arms; her grandmother’s death -had bereaved her of one who might have remained -with her, helping her to endure her lot, -for she hoped for no release; she must purchase -her lover’s liberty and life at the expense -of her own happiness. M. de Baudri had taken -care to remind her that he still held the fate -of François d’Aguesseau in his hand, and she -knew that the sacrifice must still be made. If -François divined it, he would refuse his life at -such a cost,—that she knew; but he would -never know, he might even think her false and -lightly won! But all these things were small -compared with the alternative; it was not for -her to send him to the gallows, or worse, to -make him a galley slave, that she might escape -M. de Baudri. Again she shuddered at the -thought of her fate; the lowest dungeons of the -Tour de Constance would be heaven compared -with such a marriage! She shrank from it as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> -all pure women shrink from any marriage that -is not founded on the highest and purest -motives. Her very flesh rebelled against her -spirit, and she lay there shivering, like one -stricken with ague. Yet strong is love; she -must save him, and then, oh, she prayed the -<i>bon Dieu</i> to release her!</p> - -<p>In spite of all this misery, time passed. The -house was quiet, no sounds came from below, -and practical Babet began to wonder what time -it was. There was no clock in the room, and -she could not conjecture the hour; it seemed -as if they had been there an age. Just at this -moment she heard some one lift the bar outside -the door, and Truffe barked. Babet -pounced upon her, muffled her head in her -petticoat, and then she listened intently. The -visitor could not enter, for she had secured -the door within. There was a soft knock on -the panels, and Rosaline rose with a white face, -and stood waiting. The knock was repeated, -and some one spoke their names very low. The -voice seemed familiar, and the young girl went -to the door and listened again.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle de St. Cyr,” the visitor whispered,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> -“open the door—’tis I, Charlot the -cobbler.”</p> - -<p>Babet uttered an exclamation, and Rosaline -unfastened the lock and admitted the hunchback. -He looked old and worn, and carried -his green bag, and he paused just inside the -door, looking from one to the other, as if he -doubted his reception.</p> - -<p>“Why have you come, Charlot?” Rosaline -asked sadly.</p> - -<p>“I have come to help you to get away, -mademoiselle,” he replied simply, hurt past -reason by their indifference, but bearing it, as -he bore all things, as a part of his lot.</p> - -<p>Rosaline shook her head. “I cannot go,” -she said, “but Babet—you will save Babet, -Charlot.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Ciel!</i>” ejaculated that woman sharply, “he -will save me, will he? And what do you -propose to do?”</p> - -<p>The young girl did not heed her, nor did the -cobbler.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said, “your grandmother -is dead, and M. d’Aguesseau was -never captured.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>Rosaline stood looking at him with parted -lips, her whole form quivering with emotion.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” she said, “was it a lie?”</p> - -<p>“It was,” replied the cobbler quietly; “I have -sent a message to him, he is with Cavalier.”</p> - -<p>She could not believe him. “Alas!” she -said, “you do this to get me away.”</p> - -<p>The cobbler knelt down at her feet.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said, looking earnestly -into her face, “I swear by all I hold most -sacred, that I do not deceive you. M. d’Aguesseau -is at liberty, though M. de Baudri offers a -hundred crowns for his head.”</p> - -<p>Her strength failed her, she sank on the -nearest chair, covering her face with her hands. -The reaction was too great for resistance; it -seemed as if her heart would stop beating, and -the room whirled about her. He was safe, and -she was not required to make the sacrifice!</p> - -<p>The effect on Babet was very different; she -released Truffe and began to gather up their -scattered belongings.</p> - -<p>“How can we get out, Petit Bossu?” she -demanded grimly,—“in your shoe-bag?”</p> - -<p>“The servants are feasting in the kitchen,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> -the cobbler said. “Père Ambroise and M. de -Baudri are drinking below, and the stairs are -not two yards from this door. We must trust -in the <i>bon Dieu</i>.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, he opened his bag and took out -two long cloaks and hoods similar to those worn -by an order of Sisters of Charity at Nîmes.</p> - -<p>“Thou hast the mind of a great general, -Charlot,” remarked Babet, with a queer smile; -“the hump is a pity.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline roused herself and looked at the -disguise.</p> - -<p>“Alas! where can we go, Charlot?” she -asked sadly; “how can we escape them?”</p> - -<p>“To-night you can go to my shop, mademoiselle,” -he replied, quietly, “and to-morrow, as -soon as the gates are open, you can start out to -St. Césaire. I have arranged with the blacksmith’s -wife to hide you until I can guide you -to—to a place of safety.”</p> - -<p>“It may be done,” Rosaline said, after a moment’s -thought. “I was to have till eight to-morrow; -there is one hope in a thousand—but -the risk to you, Charlot!”</p> - -<p>The little hunchback smiled. “Mademoiselle,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> -he said quietly, “I am scarcely worth -killing.”</p> - -<p>The tears shone in her blue eyes, but she said -nothing, partly because Babet was hurriedly -muffling her in the cloak and hood.</p> - -<p>A few moments later they emerged from the -room, Babet carrying Truffle under her mantle; -Charlot secured the door behind them, replacing -the bar, and softly and cautiously they descended. -They heard Père Ambroise speaking, -in unctuous tones, and a coarse oath from M. -de Baudri, on whom the wine was having some -effect, but no one heard them. The porter had -left his place and the door was unbolted. Almost -without noise, the three slipped out and -stood free upon the open street.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI<br> - -<small>IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning found Charlot in his shop. -He had spread his tools and leather on his bench -with a pretence of work, but he was not working. -He sat watching his door with eager eyes, alert -and impatient. He was waiting for the return -of the blacksmith’s boy whom he had sent in -search of d’Aguesseau. Rosaline and Babet -had walked out of the gate of the town as soon -as it was opened, and must be now near St. -Césaire. In le Bossu’s chamber a candle burned -before the Virgin, a prayer for the heretics; such -is the inconsistency of the human heart and its -religion.</p> - -<p>In a week the little hunchback had grown old, -and his back seemed more pitifully bowed than -ever. The Intendant of Languedoc might indeed -regard him as scarcely worth the killing; -but no man can see the naked soul of his brother, -and it may be vastly different from his body; as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> -different as the abode on earth is from the mansion -in heaven. “It is sown in weakness; it is -raised in power.” It is cast in the shape of a -cripple on earth, it is raised in the form of an -angel. The starved soul of le Bossu looked out -of his patient eyes and saw not even a crumb of -comfort falling from the rich man’s table, and -self-sacrifice became the law of his life.</p> - -<p>He looked down at his brown, toil-worn, right -hand, and tears shone in his eyes. It was sanctified, -for she had kissed it. He shrank within -himself at the thought, but in her gratitude and -her relief, she had thanked him and she had even -taken his hand and kissed it. Had he not delivered -her from a fate worse than death? and -was he not her humble friend and servant? -Rosaline’s impulse had been followed by no -second thought; her whole soul was filled with -the hope of escaping to her lover. And the poor -little cobbler understood her, but he felt that he -might fall down and worship her still. No one -else had ever considered him, no one else had -ever been uniformly kind to him; in the parched -desert of his life she alone had held him a cup of -water. The starved and empty heart held one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> -image; the life—of so little worth—was at her -service.</p> - -<p>The sun was high enough now to reach the -court, and the spot of light on the pavement began -to grow, but the weed that had blossomed -in June had gone to seed and stood there yellow -and lean. One of the children opposite was ill -of a fever, and the other played silently, in a -melancholy way, on the steps. Le Bossu’s -glance lighted on her and his heart was touched; -it was cruel that a heart so large in its sympathy -for all sufferers should have been cast by the -wayside and choked with thorns. He rose from -his bench and took up a little pair of shoes, and -then he opened his wallet and counted out some -money; with the shoes and the coin he crossed -the court and gave them to the little girl for her -sick sister. The child stared at him wide-eyed; -she had shown him as little mercy as the others, -and had looked upon the hunchback as unlike -other human beings. She had not the sense to -thank him, though she clasped his presents -greedily to her breast and fled into the house, -half-affrighted at the little man with his hump. -The unwitting cruelty of children often hurts as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span> -much as the coarse brutality of their parents, -but to-day le Bossu smiled. If his life was -worth something to Rosaline de St. Cyr, it was -worth all the suffering of living it; the <i>bon Dieu</i> -had given him a blessed compensation.</p> - -<p>He was returning to the shop of Two Shoes -when another man entered the court. The cobbler -looked about anxiously, for he had been -dreading the possible appearance of Père Ambroise -or one of M. de Baudri’s emissaries, but -a second glance reassured him, for he came face -to face with François d’Aguesseau. The hunchback -signed to him to follow him in to his shop -and then closed the door.</p> - -<p>“Where is she?” demanded d’Aguesseau, in -an agitated tone. “I received your message, -and I am here.”</p> - -<p>The cobbler looked at him strangely. “Did -you come to release mademoiselle single-handed?” -he asked quietly.</p> - -<p>“I came to save her—if mortal man can do -it,” he retorted sternly. “It may be that they -will take me in exchange; I hear that there is -a price on my head—but, <i>mon Dieu!</i> where -is she?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>His face was haggard and his dress much disordered. -It was evident that he had not paused -for either rest or food.</p> - -<p>“She is at St. Césaire, I trust,” the cobbler -replied calmly; “she and Babet got away from -Père Ambroise’s house last night and started -this morning in disguise for St. Césaire.”</p> - -<p>He made no mention of his share in the -deliverance, and François jumped to another -conclusion.</p> - -<p>“Faithful Babet!” he exclaimed joyfully; -“doubtless she planned it all. I will follow -them at once.”</p> - -<p>“You must meet them at the appointed spot, -not elsewhere,” said the cobbler. “I was to -meet them between the bridge and the cataract, -at the spot where the old mulberry stands. Do -you recall it?”</p> - -<p>“Perfectly,” replied d’Aguesseau, “but why -there?”</p> - -<p>“Because they are to hide at St. Césaire until -afternoon; then, if there is no pursuit to St. Cyr, -they can start without being observed. If the -château is too closely guarded, they will wait -until night,” he added; “but it will not be, for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> -no one will think of their return to the close -vicinity of danger; it is Nîmes that will be -searched for them.”</p> - -<p>“But why can I not go straight to them now?” -François demanded impatiently.</p> - -<p>The cobbler sighed. “Monsieur,” he said -patiently, “every house, every cottage is -watched, and if you are recognized—”</p> - -<p>He broke off with an expressive gesture.</p> - -<p>“I see,” d’Aguesseau replied; “you are a -wise man, Petit Bossu. Tell me about Madame -de St. Cyr.”</p> - -<p>“She died yesterday in the jail here,” the -hunchback answered; “the shock of the arrest -and mademoiselle’s danger ended her life.”</p> - -<p>D’Aguesseau clenched his hand. “<i>Mon -Dieu!</i>” he exclaimed, “how long wilt Thou -afflict us?—how long?”</p> - -<p>“It was best so,” the cobbler remarked quietly. -“If she had lived, Mademoiselle Rosaline would -have sacrificed herself to save her. She believed -that you and her grandmother were both captives; -M. de Baudri told her so, and promised -to save your lives—to release you both only -on the condition that she should marry him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>“The accursed villain!” broke out François, -laying his hand on his sword: “may I be spared -to chastise him!”</p> - -<p>He walked to and fro in the little room in -suppressed fury; all the fierce impulses of a bold -and daring nature were aroused.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dieu!</i>” he exclaimed, in a low tone, “I -cannot go to England for Cavalier; I must stay -and fight this monster!”</p> - -<p>“Nay,” remarked le Bossu, gravely, “you -must save Mademoiselle de St. Cyr.”</p> - -<p>François came to himself. “I ought not to -need you to remind me,” he said. “I will go -at once to the appointed place and wait; it is -not long now, but, in the meantime, is she -safe?”</p> - -<p>“We can only trust in Providence,” replied -the cobbler, “since to approach her would increase -her risks. But—pardon me, monsieur—if -you stay much longer in Nîmes, you will -be arrested.”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” he replied; “I thought only of -her when I came, but I must get away now for -her sake. Charlot, I thank you,” he said, holding -out his hand; “I do not know why you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> -should do so much for us who are, in your eyes, -heretics and criminals.”</p> - -<p>The hunchback smiled as he returned the -pressure of d’Aguesseau’s hand.</p> - -<p>“Life is a mystery,” he rejoined, with a new -dignity that became him well, “and so is death.”</p> - -<p>He went with François down the Rue St. -Antoine and stood at the gate watching him -until his figure disappeared on the long white -road. Later le Bossu would go himself to keep -the appointment, for he too had an errand -there; nor could he rest until he knew that -mademoiselle was safely out of the neighborhood -of Nîmes. But there was time yet, and he -wanted to know what Père Ambroise intended -to do, and where M. de Baudri would next cast -his net.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, out at St. Césaire, Babet and -Rosaline were safely hidden in the blacksmith’s -house. It was a little cottage on the outskirts -of the village, and from the rear the inmates -could easily reach the woods about St. Cyr. -The smith had been a faithful though humble -friend to the family at the château, and like -many others, he was a concealed Huguenot.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> -He and his wife therefore gladly ministered to -Rosaline’s comfort and set a simple dinner of -<i>pot-au-feu</i> before their two guests. Babet and -Truffe did ample justice to the meal, but Rosaline -could not eat, in spite of Babet’s remonstrances. -The young girl was frantic to be off, -to fly to her lover, that they might seek safety -together; and she had not the older woman’s -prudence, who felt that another dinner might -be a long way off, and who did not believe profoundly -in the culinary accomplishments of the -Cévenols.</p> - -<p>The hour came at last, and bidding her faithful -friends, the smith and his wife, adieu, Rosaline -set out with her escort, Babet and the dog. -Nothing had occurred to alarm them or to indicate -that their hiding-place was suspected, and -the blacksmith’s boy, employed for scout duties, -brought in the report that St. Cyr had been -deserted since the previous day, when Rosaline -had left it. The two women entered the place, -therefore, with lighter hearts. Babet was determined -to enter the château, if possible, to secure -Madame de St. Cyr’s jewels and a considerable -sum of money that had been secreted to provide<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> -for just such an emergency; for they had for -many years expected to be denounced as -Huguenots. Rosaline was to remain near the -hedge that surrounded the garden, to warn -Babet if any one approached, while the older -and stronger woman went for madame’s iron -box. Rosaline doubted the wisdom of the -attempt, yet neither of the two women cared -to face the wilderness without money to pay for -either shelter or food, and it was impossible to -open the secret place where the box was while -the dragoons lurked about the house.</p> - -<p>They approached the château with great -caution, listening and watching, but no one appeared, -not a leaf stirred, and Rosaline’s doves -were cooing in the sun.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my poor birds,” she said sadly. “I am -glad that the blacksmith’s good wife will take -them; otherwise I should feel as if I were leaving -them to perish.”</p> - -<p>Babet did not pause to listen to these sentiments. -Being sure that no one was about, she -entered the garden, followed by Truffe, who -dashed eagerly along, anxious to be at home -again. Still there were no sounds or signs of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span> -humanity, and advancing with a firmer step, -Babet entered the house unmolested.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Rosaline, left alone outside of the -hedge, walked to and fro in the shade of the mulberries, -watching the place and beginning to feel -easier when she heard no sound, for she knew -that Truffe’s bark would have announced the -presence of strangers. It would take Babet -some little time, and Rosaline walked further on -among the trees; this might be the last time -that she would ever approach the home of -her childhood, and her heart was very sad. -Thoughts of her grandmother thronged into her -mind, and she lived over again the agony of -yesterday. Absorbed in her painful revery, she -forgot her surroundings, and unconsciously -strayed farther into the wood. Here it was -thickest; the tree trunks clustered closely and -the shadows lay about her; beyond, a broad -band of sunlight fell athwart the green shade. -The moss under her feet was thick and brown, -and already the leaves were falling.</p> - -<p>Suddenly some one sprang upon her from -behind, strong fingers clasping her throat and -choking back the cries that rose to her lips.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span> -She resisted with all her might, but her unseen -foe was stronger than she, and forced her forward. -In vain she strove to call for help, to -evade the clutching arms; then her foot caught -in the gnarled root of a mulberry tree and she -fell, face downward, with those terrible hands -still at her throat. Then the shock of the fall, -the horror of her situation, and a choking sensation -overcame her and she lost consciousness.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII<br> - -<small>THE OLD WINDMILL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Rosaline came to herself it was with -a bewildered recollection of some horrible event, -and, for a few moments, she was scarcely conscious -of her surroundings. Then she opened -her eyes and tried to move, but she could not. -She was in a sitting posture, her hands and -feet tied, and a rope, slipped under her arms, -held her securely against a wall behind her. -The discovery of her situation roused all her -dormant faculties, and she looked about her, -trying to find out where she was. She saw -above her head familiar rafters, and then she -discovered the door closed opposite her, and -recognized the old windmill, near which François -and she had spent those hours of happiness, -so cruelly interrupted. The light in the -place was very dim, and the poor girl could not -at first see plainly in all the corners. She -thought herself alone and wondered where her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span> -captor was, and what was to come next. Then -the hope that her cries might bring help began -to rise in her heart, and she was on the point -of screaming aloud, when a sound struck her -ear that froze her blood in her veins. It -was a laugh, but it sounded like a fiendish -chuckle. It came from her right hand, and she -turned her head quickly and looked into the -face of Mère Tigrane. An exclamation of -horror and fear burst from Rosaline’s heart, -and she shrieked for help—help!—and the -old fishwife laughed and rocked to and fro. -She was sitting on an old log, in the dim corner, -and she was quite undisturbed by her -prisoner’s cries.</p> - -<p>“Shriek away, mademoiselle!” she said -pleasantly. “Ciel! what a voice she has! But -no one will hear you except dear old Mère -Tigrane.”</p> - -<p>Rosaline’s heart sank; it might be too true, -for they had arranged to avoid the mill because -strangers sometimes strayed there. She must -have been carried to it, in this fearful woman’s -arms, for it was a considerable distance from -the spot where she had fainted. She sank back<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span> -against the wall with a groan; she knew it was -useless to appeal to this horrible creature; just -such wretched women made a living by informing -against the Huguenots, and there was no -mercy in them. Rosaline did not know what -to do; it was useless to plead with Mère -Tigrane, and it seemed useless, too, to hope -for rescue; moreover, the girl had conceived -such a horror of the old witch, such a scorn of -her vileness, that she could not endure the -sight of her. She closed her eyes and prayed -silently, but she made no sign of begging for -mercy. Her face was like a white rose in the -dim light, and her hair lay in a pale aureole -about her brow; but, with all her agony, she -bore herself proudly.</p> - -<p>La Louve sat on her log and watched, gloating -over her and running her red tongue along -the edge of her lips.</p> - -<p>“Art comfortable, my lady-bird?” she asked -amiably. “What! so proud that you will not -speak to poor Mère Tigrane? And what do -you suppose I intend to do with such a fine -lady, eh?”</p> - -<p>Rosaline opened her eyes and looked at her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span> -with an effort, her soul filled with loathing, and -the old hag saw it in her face and hated her -for it.</p> - -<p>“God knows what you want of me,” Rosaline -said. “I have never harmed you, and I cannot -tell why you so misuse me.”</p> - -<p>“You never harmed me!” la Louve cried, -throwing up her bony hands. “<i>Dame!</i> you -are a peril to my soul, you little heretic!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline read the evil look in the hag’s eyes -and knew that she would never relent; and so -great was her own abhorrence that it was well-nigh -impossible to look at her again. She -turned her eyes toward the door, therefore, and -closed her lips; she had no hope save in -heaven.</p> - -<p>“How would mademoiselle like the Tour de -Constance?” Mère Tigrane inquired pleasantly. -“’Tis a healthful place and full of her friends. -<i>Dame de Dieu</i>, what an opportunity to travel -without pay from Nîmes to Aiguemortes!”</p> - -<p>She stopped and looked at the girl eagerly, -trying to discover what emotions were stirring -in the heart of her victim, longing for tears and -entreaties; but Rosaline sat like a statue.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>“<i>Nom de St. Denis!</i>” she exclaimed at last, -“how proud mademoiselle is,—an aristocrat! -But ’tis not the Tour de Constance, <i>ma chérie</i>,” -she added, with a mocking laugh. “No, no, -there must be a better fate for such a lovely -prisoner. <i>Dame!</i> but your flesh is white—I -could eat it. How much does mademoiselle -think that M. de Baudri would pay for such -a prize?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Dieu!</i>” cried Rosaline, shaken out of her -resolve, “are you a woman? Is it possible -that the <i>bon Dieu</i> put such a heart in a -woman?”</p> - -<p>“A woman, my pretty?” retorted the hag, -with a peal of wild laughter. “Ay—and once -a pretty one! Now you see what I am—and -you are like to live to be like me, unless I wring -that pretty, white throat now! I am a woman, -<i>morbleu</i>, yes—this is what a woman becomes!” -and she crooked her talon fingers pointing at -herself. “Do you think I will pity you? -<i>Dame</i>, I would see you burn this minute with -joy, you little white fool!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline nerved herself to bear it without -tears; she struggled hard to ward off the faintness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span> -that stole upon her, clasping her heart in -a vice.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean to do with me?” she -asked, in a strange voice, her eyes chained -now by a horrible fascination to the old hag’s -face.</p> - -<p>“Sell you, my sweetheart,” Mère Tigrane -retorted, showing her fangs, “to the highest -bidder in Nîmes. <i>Dame</i>, you are pretty enough -to keep poor Mère Tigrane’s pot boiling for a -year or two, my sweetie.”</p> - -<p>“God will not let you do it!” cried Rosaline, -with white lips; “I am His.”</p> - -<p>La Louve shrieked with laughter.</p> - -<p>“You heretic!” she said gleefully, “you are -the devil’s—body and soul—my fine lady, and -you will wish yourself in hell presently, I -doubt not, <i>ma chérie</i>! Next time you drive -Mère Tigrane away with her fish, I think you -will not hold that little head so high.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” cried Rosaline, in amazement, -“is it possible that my one little act has made -you hate me so?”</p> - -<p>Mère Tigrane shook her head, wagging it -slowly from side to side. “No,” she replied,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span> -“I hate you for living; I hate all men and all -women and all children. I would blast them if -I could; I live on hatred! <i>Mère de Dieu!</i> how -I love to see a heretic burn!”</p> - -<p>Rosaline closed her eyes with a shudder, and -la Louve sat looking at her thoughtfully, with a -greedy eye. <i>Dame!</i> but she would make -money out of this dainty morsel. She had an -eye for beauty, and she knew its market value. -She was even content to let her victim rest a -little, while she turned over in her own mind -many business matters. She could not get the -girl back to Nîmes before night, for she had no -intention of having her prize snatched from her -by any adventurer upon the road. She was -not without uneasiness too, for M. de Baudri -might yet come to St. Cyr, and, if he did, his -search would be thorough and she was likely -to lose her pay. Yet her scheme had worked so -far like a charm. She had seen Babet and -Rosaline leave Nîmes; their disguise had not -deceived her ferret eyes, and she had tracked -them to St. Césaire and from St. Césaire to the -château, for she possessed the patient watchfulness -of a fiend. Her success had surpassed her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span> -most sanguine hopes, and she gloated over it -with savage delight. She knew that she was -strong enough to deal with Babet, and for the -present she looked for no other interference.</p> - -<p>The silence that had fallen upon the little mill -was almost more oppressive to Rosaline than -the hag’s dreadful talk; the girl felt as if she -could not endure it longer, her heart throbbed -heavily, there was a choking sensation in her -throat and it seemed as if she could not draw -another breath. And then she struggled in -her bonds and shrieked aloud, for she heard -Truffe’s short bark. Her scream was answered -just as Mère Tigrane sprang upon her and thrust -a rag into her mouth as a gag. The fishwife -was furious, though she expected no one -but Babet.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame!</i>” she ejaculated, drawing a knife -from her bosom, “I’ll make short work of the -woman and the cur!”</p> - -<p>The mill door had stood open too long on -rusty hinges to be easily secured, and she had -only been able to lay an old timber across it. -She took her position therefore, ready to strike, -just as the door was shaken from without and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span> -pushed heavily inward. It resisted the first -attempt, and she burst out into shrill laughter; -but a second push sent the timber rolling back -a foot, and the third opened the door wide -enough to admit—not Babet, but the cobbler.</p> - -<p>Mère Tigrane, taken by surprise, withheld her -knife, but when Babet followed him she struck a -vicious blow at le Bossu.</p> - -<p>“<i>Diable!</i>” she shrieked. “<i>Petit Bossu!</i> -take yourself off—this is my game!”</p> - -<p>Charlot quietly thrust his hand into his breast -and drew out a pistol, levelling it at the hag’s -head.</p> - -<p>“If you move one finger,” he said grimly, -“you are dead. Babet, take her knife and loose -mademoiselle.”</p> - -<p>But Babet would not touch her. She made a -wide circle to avoid any contact, and drawing a -knife from her own wallet, began to cut the -bands about Rosaline’s feet and hands, all the -while pouring out a torrent of sympathy and -self-reproach. Why had she left her lamb to -fall among wolves?</p> - -<p>Rosaline was too faint for any words except -a murmur of thanksgiving, and the air was filled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span> -with Mère Tigrane’s oaths as she writhed helpless -before le Bossu’s pistol. He was watching -Babet.</p> - -<p>“Do not cut the long rope,” he said grimly; -“untie it—we have need of it.”</p> - -<p>At this, la Louve began to howl, rocking to -and fro.</p> - -<p>“You villain!” she whined, “you dare not -hang me! M. de Baudri is coming; you will -be punished—” She went on with a stream -of oaths.</p> - -<p>Le Bossu stopped her. “Another word,” he -said, “and I’ll shoot you. You will not be -hung, though you deserve it. Babet, stuff -those dirty rags in her mouth, we have heard -enough.”</p> - -<p>Babet obeyed this time, first relieving the hag -of her knife and binding her hands.</p> - -<p>“There’s some dinner for you to chew, my -beauty,” Babet said pleasantly, and proceeded -to tie her feet.</p> - -<p>“Now the rope,” ordered the cobbler; “slip -it twice around her waist—that is it; draw -her back to the post and tie it securely.”</p> - -<p>He helped Babet in this, putting the pistol<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span> -back into his bosom. Mère Tigrane was black -in the face with rage, but she could offer no -resistance; only, her terrible eyes leered at -them—red as blood.</p> - -<p>Rosaline had gone out and was leaning -against a tree, her face colorless and her hands -clasped. When the others joined her, she -turned and threw her arms about Babet and -burst into tears, too overcome to speak. The -woman tried to comfort and soothe her.</p> - -<p>“’Twas Truffe who found you,” she said, -“bless the creature! The cobbler and I would -have been searching still, but suddenly she put -her nose to the ground and came straight as -an arrow!”</p> - -<p>Le Bossu was not listening to them; he had -walked a few yards into the wood and knelt -down, bending his head close to the ground. -When he arose his face was white and he -moved quickly toward them.</p> - -<p>“Have courage, mademoiselle,” he said -quietly, “but let us be gone, there are horsemen -in the road by St. Cyr; the dragoons have -returned.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII<br> - -<small>THE COBBLER’S BARGAIN</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> two women and le Bossu had followed -the course of the stream, walking rapidly along -the bank, and now they descended the rocky -path by the cataract. They were travelling -west and the afternoon sun shone full in their -faces; the wind was blowing too,—a chill -November wind that swept the leaves from the -chestnut trees and dropped the empty burrs. -They had not wasted breath in words, and now -le Bossu left them and ran forward, looking -under the lowest branches; then he whistled -softly. There was a response, and Babet and -Rosaline stopped in alarm; they expected no -one. The next moment, however, a tall figure -came rapidly towards them and Rosaline recognized -her lover. She gave a little sob of joy -and ran to meet him, the dog bounding beside -her. They met a few yards in front of the -others and he caught her in his arms, supporting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span> -her trembling form. Le Bossu looked but -once; in their joy they had forgotten him. He -turned his back and approached Babet, putting -a small but heavy bag in her hands.</p> - -<p>“That is mademoiselle’s,” he said calmly; -“guard it well. And now—go on in God’s -name! Do not let them tarry, for Death is -behind them.”</p> - -<p>Babet had learned to value the poor little -hunchback, but she was sober and undemonstrative.</p> - -<p>“Where are you going?” she asked bluntly.</p> - -<p>He pointed to the woods. “Back,” he said, -“to keep them from finding Mère Tigrane who -would set them on your track. I will delay -them all I can.”</p> - -<p>“It is well,” Babet remarked, “you are a -good man, Charlot; the <i>bon Dieu</i> will bless you. -I suppose you do not want the blessing of a -heretic?”</p> - -<p>He smiled. “Do not tarry,” he said, warningly. -“Keep straight to the west; M. -d’Aguesseau will guide you. Adieu!”</p> - -<p>He looked once more toward the lovers, but -they were still absorbed in each other. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span> -cobbler turned sadly away, and climbing the -steep path was lost to sight among the trees -before Rosaline knew that he had gone; and -he never heard her thanks, never knew her -remorse because she had, for the moment, forgotten -him in her own joy. There was no -time for her to redeem her error; there was -only time to flee on and on, with a terrible -danger pursuing them and lurking for them at -every step.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile le Bossu went back through the -woods. His heart was full, but he was not -without a feeling of joy. So far she was safe, -and he had just given Babet all his savings. -His years of patient labor had not been in vain -if his money could help Rosaline now. He -would have liked to speak to her, to touch -her hand; but what was he? <i>Le Bossu, le -savetier</i>, the beggarly cripple of St. Antoine! -It was enough, and more than enough, to serve -her. <i>Dieu!</i> would his wretched lameness keep -him from reaching the windmill before the -dragoons? He walked fast, urging his energies -to the utmost, but the way seemed long indeed. -A picture of her in her lover’s arms, with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span> -sunshine on her hair, rose before his eyes and -he set his teeth. What was it to him? He was -only a hunchbacked cobbler, he could scarcely -be made of the same clay that they were, yet -his starved soul cried out. Now and then he -stooped down and listened, but the place was -silent save for the rustling of the wind amid the -dead leaves; winter was coming.</p> - -<p>At last, the mill! He did not pause after -assuring himself that la Louve was still secure; -he fastened the door as tightly as he could and -sped on toward the château. Fortune smiled -upon him; he was just in time. Not twenty -yards away he came upon M. de Baudri and -a couple of dragoons. The hunchback was -halted by a sharp challenge, but the soldiers -looked indifferent when they recognized him. -Their commander was in a black temper, and -he ordered the cobbler to approach.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing here, Petit Bossu?” -he demanded fiercely. “Out with all you -know, or—” He drew his hand expressively -across his throat.</p> - -<p>Charlot assumed an attitude of profound -respect, his eyes on the ground.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>“I am monsieur’s humblest servant,” he said. -“I have been over yonder to sell my shoes in -St. Césaire, and I came here to look about—monsieur -understands, the place is open, the -house of heretics; the poor cobbler thought to -find some trifle left by the soldiers.”</p> - -<p>“It would be a devilish small thing if they -left it!” retorted M. de Baudri, with a grim -smile. “Look, you little beast, no trifling—these -heretics have escaped. Have you seen -them?”</p> - -<p>The cobbler assumed an air of importance.</p> - -<p>“My life is valuable to me, monsieur,” he -said, “and if I tell, the Camisards may kill me, as -they kill the curés; nevertheless, for the sake of -my soul— Monsieur, will the Intendant pay?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Diable!</i>” shouted de Baudri; “pay! I -can pay if I choose, but I’ll shoot you if you -trifle.”</p> - -<p>“I will guide you, monsieur,” the cobbler -replied, with a stubborn air, “but I will have -pay for the risk,—a hundred crowns.”</p> - -<p>De Baudri burst out with a volley of oaths, -but he flung some money at the hunchback.</p> - -<p>“There is some, beast,” he said coarsely;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span> -“and you shall have the rest if you find the -girl,—Rosaline de St Cyr.”</p> - -<p>The cobbler gathered up the money and -counted it with greedy fingers, M. de Baudri -watching him with scornful eyes.</p> - -<p>“You promise the rest, monsieur?” le Bossu -persisted, with a shrewd look.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame!</i>” retorted the other; “you’ll get it -and hell too, if you don’t make haste. Where -are these women?”</p> - -<p>The hunchback drew closer to him, lowering -his voice and speaking with his hand before his -mouth.</p> - -<p>“You shall have them all, monsieur,” he said, -“the girl, the old woman, M. d’Aguesseau, and -the dog!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Bien!</i>” exclaimed de Baudri cheerfully; -“you shall have your hundred crowns. <i>Viens -donc</i>, show me the way!”</p> - -<p>The hunchback pointed toward the north.</p> - -<p>“Up yonder,” he said, “behind those rocks -on the hill, there is a grotto—I know it by -accident; there they have hidden since morning. -The way is long and rocky; monsieur -must follow me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>“Will they not see us approaching in time to -fly?” he asked sharply.</p> - -<p>Le Bossu shook his head with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Nay,” he replied quietly, “we must go as if -we intended to take the St. Hippolyte road; -then, when we approach the spot we can surround -them. The country is open and bare -below the cave, though it lies in a little wood. -They could not escape us.”</p> - -<p>“Go on, then,” said de Baudri, impatiently; -“to the cave or <i>au diable</i>! I tell thee plainly, -though, that deceit will cost thee thy life.”</p> - -<p>“So be it, monsieur,” rejoined the hunchback, -calmly; “and the <i>bon Dieu</i> judge between -me and thee,” he added to himself.</p> - -<p>A few sharp orders were given, the bugle was -sounded, and the troopers gathered in the road, -each man at his horse’s head. M. de Baudri -came out of the garden and leaped into the -saddle; then his eyes lighted on the cobbler -standing quietly in the road.</p> - -<p>“Here,” he said sharply, “Petit Bossu must -be mounted; bring up a horse.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot ride,” said the cobbler, meekly; “my -back and my hips, monsieur, will not permit it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>“<i>Mille tonnerres!</i>” ejaculated the officer, with -a black frown, “you mean to walk? We shall -not be there for an hour!”</p> - -<p>“I can walk fast, at times, monsieur,” replied -Charlot; “I will do my best. If you had but a -cart—”</p> - -<p>M. de Baudri cursed him and his deformity.</p> - -<p>“A cart!” he said mockingly; “a litter! Do -you suppose that dragoons drive out in carriages; -such vermin should not cumber the -earth. If we miss them, <i>Mère de Dieu</i>, I’ll hang -you!”</p> - -<p>“We cannot miss them, monsieur,” rejoined -the cobbler, patiently; “they dare not leave their -lurking place in daylight, and it is yet an hour -to sunset.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Dame de Dieu</i>, let us be off!” exclaimed -de Baudri, and gave the order to mount.</p> - -<p>The long line of dragoons swung into their -saddles and the little cavalcade moved slowly off, -with le Bossu in advance.</p> - -<p>The sun was sinking over the valley of the -Vaunage, and its rays shone on the towers and -spires of Nîmes and sparkled on the polished -steel of the soldiers’ accoutrements. The hills<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span> -were purple against the November sky, and -clouds drifted overhead. Autumn had stripped -the landscape of much of its beauty, and the -arid plains about them showed but little verdure -save a low growth of juniper bushes. It was -not a spot to afford many places of concealment, -and as the little troop advanced, M. de -Baudri’s keen eyes swept the scene with the -savage glance of a vulture seeking its prey.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIV<br> - -<small>“O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?”</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">An</span> hour later the dusty little cavalcade filed -slowly up a steep and rocky hill and drew rein -beside a strip of woodland on the summit. On -every side the country rolled away, barren and -broken with crags; here and there a low growth -of juniper bushes or a solitary fig tree, where -the soil was more fertile. The dragoons dismounted -at M. de Baudri’s command and surrounded -the spot. It would be impossible for -any one to escape down that bare hillside unseen. -De Baudri’s eyes burned fiercely; he -thought his prey within his grasp. Le Bossu -was lame from the long and weary walk, and his -drawn face was white, but his expression was -full of content.</p> - -<p>“A whole hour,” he said to himself. “Please -God she is out of reach!”</p> - -<p>He obeyed a motion of M. de Baudri’s hand -and led the way into the wood. It was not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span> -thick and there was but little underbrush, for -even here the ground was rocky and uncharitable. -He looked about as he walked, as if he -wanted to remember even little things now; -almost all the trees were chestnuts, these and -mulberries growing best in the neighborhood of -Nîmes. He noticed the moss and the lichens, -and here and there a wild vine trailed across the -way. The wind blew keenly now from the -north, and overhead the gray clouds hung low, -but the west was glorious, the sun hanging just -above the horizon. The hunchback noted all -these things, and he heard the heavy tread of -the men behind him, the rattle of M. de Baudri’s -sword. He walked on; a great peace was filling -his soul, his pulses throbbed evenly, he lifted his -head; his life was, after all, worth much,—it was -to pay her ransom. He came to the centre of -the wood and sat down on a large rock; before -him the trees parted and he could look straight -toward the west, the whole landscape at his feet. -He drew M. de Baudri’s money from his wallet -and cast it on the ground.</p> - -<p>A suspicion had been dawning upon de Baudri -since they had dismounted, and he halted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span> -now and stared fiercely from the cobbler to the -despised coins, the price of blood.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sang de Dieu!</i>” he thundered, “where is -the grotto, slave?”</p> - -<p>Le Bossu turned on him a calm face.</p> - -<p>“There is none, monsieur,” he replied simply.</p> - -<p>De Baudri broke out with a terrible oath, -drawing his sword.</p> - -<p>“You lying, humped toad!” he said, “how -dared you do this?”</p> - -<p>He made a move as if to strike him dead, and -then a sudden thought checked him.</p> - -<p>“Bah!” he ejaculated, “soil my sword with -the blood of such vermin? I am a fool. Where -is the girl?” he added fiercely. “<i>Pardieu</i>, I -will wring your neck!”</p> - -<p>“I do not know where she is,” replied le -Bossu, truthfully enough, for he did not know -where they were then.</p> - -<p>“And you led us here to cheat us, slave?” -said de Baudri. “A fine scheme—as you will -learn to your cost. If I thought you knew -where she was, I’d torture it out of you with -hot irons.”</p> - -<p>The cobbler did not look at him; his brown<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span> -eyes dwelt on the distance, and his soul was -uplifted by the approaching joy of self-sacrifice. -He did not hear the abuse that M. de Baudri -continued to pour upon him; his life was passing -before his eyes, his wretched, abused childhood, -his sharp mortification over his physical -infirmity, his silent, intense longing for friendship -and love, his despised solitude, his hard, -thankless labor; and now it was over, and not -in vain! “Mother of God,” he prayed, “comfort -the wretched.” He awoke to hear M. de Baudri -ordering his soldiers to bring a rope.</p> - -<p>A dragoon went for a piece that was coiled -on the back of one of the horses. The troopers -never hunted heretics without rope. He returned -promptly, and approaching le Bossu was -slipping the noose over his head, but another -scheme had occurred to the leader.</p> - -<p>“Hang him by the feet,” he said coolly, -pointing with his white hand to a tree. “<i>Sacrebleu!</i> -’twill hurt more so.”</p> - -<p>They secured the rope about the hunchback’s -feet while their victim watched them with calm -eyes.</p> - -<p>“What matter,” he thought, “if I have saved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span> -her? May the <i>bon Dieu</i> make my sacrifice -complete!”</p> - -<p>De Baudri watched him coolly, wondering -that the rapt face was so calm.</p> - -<p>“When I give the order,” he said to the -soldiers, “haul him up and let him hang twenty -minutes. Now, rogue, where is the girl?”</p> - -<p>No answer; the clear eyes looked straight -toward the setting sun, over the beautiful valley -of the Vaunage. The radiance of the west fell -on his face, as though he looked through those -golden gates into Paradise.</p> - -<p>“<i>Nom de St. Denis!</i>” ejaculated de Baudri, -“what a stubborn fool. Now, my men!”</p> - -<p>He raised his hand carelessly and the cripple -was drawn up by the feet to the limb of a tree, -his head hanging with the face to the west. -Ten minutes passed—twenty.</p> - -<p>“Fire!” said M. de Baudri.</p> - -<p>There was the crash of a volley, the blue -smoke rose, the poor, misshapen body swung -around in the red sunlight, and there was -silence,—broken at last by the trample of -horses as the troopers mounted and rode down -the hill.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>The sun set in a sea of gold; the gray clouds -above turned the color of a red rose; a haze -floated over Nîmes. In the wood, only the -dead leaves rustled as they fell. In the upper -room of the shop of Two Shoes, the candle -before the shrine had burned down to the very -end. It flickered and flared up, a single flame -in the gloom, and then it went out forever.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXV<br> - -<small>THE SHIP AT SEA</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Two</span> weeks later a party of wayfarers came -to the old mill at St. Cyr. The door was -fastened, but they opened it, only to recoil with -horror. They found a hideous old woman tied -there. She had been dead a long while and -the fearful distortion of her face sent them -shrieking from the spot. Even in death Mère -Tigrane had not lost her power to strike terror -to the hearts of others.</p> - -<p>Not long afterwards a ship was crossing the -channel to Dover, on a calm sea with a blue -sky overhead. The white foam gathered in its -wake and the sun glistened on its full-set sails -and on the flag bearing the crosses of St. -George and St. Andrew. On the deck stood -Rosaline and her lover,—her husband now, -for they had been wedded in the Cévennes,—and -near them sat Babet contentedly feeding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span> -Truffe with a cake. Rosaline leaned on the -rail, looking back toward France.</p> - -<p>“Dear native land,” she sighed softly, “I -may never see you more; yet I am content. -Ah, François, we ought to be thankful -indeed. I am glad that Cavalier sent you to -England; I can bear no more, and it may -be we can move these strangers to help the -cause.”</p> - -<p>“I pray so,” he replied gently; “England’s -queen is favorable to us. At least, you will be -safe; I could not take my wife to those rugged -hiding-places in the Cévennes, with winter so -near. Ah, my love, are you satisfied?”</p> - -<p>She looked up with tender eyes. “I am -content, my husband,” she answered softly. -“I bless the <i>bon Dieu</i>, but my heart is sore at -the thought of poor Charlot. Can it be that -the blacksmith’s boy was mistaken? Could -they really hang him for not betraying us?”</p> - -<p>“I fear so,” replied d’Aguesseau sadly; -“the report came straight enough. Let us -remember, though, that it ended his sufferings; -he told me that his life was full of -pain.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>Rosaline looked back over the blue sea with -tearful eyes.</p> - -<p>“Poor little Charlot,” she murmured gently. -“The hunchbacked cobbler with the soul of a -hero and a martyr. His memory shall be -sacred to me forever.”</p> - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="ph2"><i>The</i> Cardinal’s Musketeer</p> - -<p class="center">AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE<br> -<br> -BY<br> -<span class="large">MARY IMLAY TAYLOR</span><br> -12mo, $1.25.</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The hero of “The Cardinal’s Musketeer” is a knightly -youth, brave and generous, and a devoted lover. The plots -of the King’s mother, Marie de Médicis, and the counter-plots -of the patriotic Cardinal give rise to forceful action -and dramatic situations; yet no attempt is made to cram -the reader’s mind with the facts and dates of French history. -* * * Our hearty sympathy is engaged from the first on -behalf of Péron, the Cardinal’s Musketeer, to whom we are -introduced in his childhood, and on behalf of the haughty -little demoiselle Renée, who ultimately becomes his wife. -The story is full of life and love. Lengthy descriptions -and sermonizings are conspicuously absent; the characters -speak for themselves, act their parts, and manifest all that -is in them by their words and deeds.</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot2"> - -<p>“The story is full of life, love, and exquisite, not to say dramatic, incidents.”—<i>Boston -Times.</i></p> - -<p>“There is love enough to warm and color the adventure, but not to cloy the -taste; there is dramatic contrast of character and situation, swiftness of movement, -and an easy, confident flow of style that combine to make a delightful tale—one -that the reader will lay down with a regret that there is not more of it.”—<i>Chicago -Chronicle.</i></p> - -<p>“The story is a strong, well-studied reproduction of the times of Cardinal -Richelieu. * * * It is a stirring romance, overflowing with life and action.”—<i>The -Indianapolis News.</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="tiny"> - -<p class="ph1">OTHER BOOKS BY MISS TAYLOR</p> - -<p class="center">ON THE RED STAIRCASE, 12mo, $1.25.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“A most vivid and absorbing tale of love and adventure.”—<i>The Churchman</i>, -New York.</p> -</div> - -<p class="center">AN IMPERIAL LOVER, 12mo, $1.25.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Skillfully constructed, well written, and thoroughly interesting.”—<i>Spectator</i>, -London.</p> -</div> - -<p class="center">A YANKEE VOLUNTEER, 12mo, $1.25.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“A story fraught with such exquisite beauty as is seldom associated with -history.”—<i>Boston Times.</i></p> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE HOUSE OF THE WIZARD, 12mo, $1.25.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“A strong, well-studied, and striking reproduction of the social and political -conditions of the age of King Henry VIII. * * * Overflowing with life and -action.”—<i>Chicago Chronicle.</i></p> -</div> - -<p class="center">For sale by all booksellers, or mailed on receipt of price by the publishers,</p> - -<p class="center"> -A. C. McCLURG & CO.,<br> -CHICAGO.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2">The DREAD AND FEAR<br> -OF KINGS</p> -</div> - -<p class="ph1">By J. BRECKENRIDGE ELLIS</p> - -<p class="center"><i>12mo . . $1.25</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="drop-cap">READERS will find in this historical romance a work of -thrilling interest. The period is the beginning of the -Christian era, and the scenes are laid in Rome, the island of -Capri and other parts of Italy. The Emperor, Tiberius, had -retired to Capri, and from his mysterious seclusion sent -forth decrees which kept the Imperial City in a continual -state of terror. A single word uttered in disrespect of the -Emperor or his favorite, Sejanus, might mean death and -confiscation of property. No man in Rome felt the least -security that his life might not in a moment be sworn away -by some slave or base informer.</p> - -<p class="drop-cap">IT is this reign of terror in Rome that forms the background -to the striking picture of ancient life that Mr. -Ellis has produced. The story is one of love and adventure, -in which types of the diverse nationalities that then thronged -the Imperial City are revealed in characters—some of them -historical personages—of marked individuality. The interest -of the love story, the stirring incidents and the spirited -dialogue, enchain the attention of the reader.</p> -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>For sale by booksellers generally, or mailed on receipt of price, -by the publishers,</i></p> - -<p class="center">A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers<br> -CHICAGO</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2">THE STORY OF TONTY.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.</i></p> - -<p class="center">By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Mary Hartwell Catherwood</span>.</p> - -<p class="center">12mo, 224 pages. Price, $1.25.</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“The Story of Tonty” is eminently a Western story, beginning -at Montreal, tarrying at Fort Frontenac, and ending at the old fort -at Starved Rock, on the Illinois River. It weaves the adventures -of the two great explorers, the intrepid La Salle and his faithful -lieutenant, Tonty, into a tale as thrilling and romantic as the descriptive -portions are brilliant and vivid. It is superbly illustrated -with twenty-three masterly drawings by Mr. Enoch Ward.</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot2"> -<p>Such tales as this render service past expression to the cause of history. -They weave a spell in which old chronicles are vivified and breathe -out human life. Mrs. Catherwood, in thus bringing out from the treasure-houses -of half-forgotten historical record things new and old, has set herself -one of the worthiest literary tasks of her generation, and is showing -herself finely adequate to its fulfillment.—<i>Transcript, Boston.</i></p> - -<p>A powerful story by a writer newly sprung to fame.... All the -century we have been waiting for the deft hand that could put flesh upon -the dry bones of our heroes. Here is a recreation indeed.... One -comes from the reading of the romance with a quickened interest in our -early national history, and a profound admiration for the art that can so -transport us to the dreamful realms where fancy is monarch of fact.—<i>Press, -Philadelphia.</i></p> - -<p>“The Story of Tonty” is full of the atmosphere of its time. It -betrays an intimate and sympathetic knowledge of the great age of explorers, -and it is altogether a charming piece of work.—<i>Christian -Union, New York.</i></p> - -<p>Original in treatment, in subject, and in all the details of <i>mise en -scene</i>, it must stand unique among recent romances.—<i>News, Chicago.</i></p> -</div> - -<p class="center"><i>Sold by all booksellers, or mailed, on receipt of price, by</i></p> - -<p class="center">A. C. 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