CONTENTS

ALODGINGFORTHENIGHTbyR。L。StevensonALEAFINTHESTORMbyOuidaATERRIBLYSTRANGEBEDbyWilkieCollinsMICHELLORIO’SCROSSbyHesbaStrettonAPERILOUSAMOURbyStanleyJ。WeymanALODGINGFORTHENIGHT

BY

ROBERTLOUISSTEVENSON

ItwaslateinNovember，1456。ThesnowfelloverPariswithrigorous，relentlesspersistence;sometimesthewindmadeasallyandscattereditinflyingvortices;sometimestherewasalull，andflakeafterflakedescendedoutoftheblacknightair，silent，circuitous，interminable。Topoorpeople，lookingupundermoisteyebrows，itseemedawonderwhereitallcamefrom。MasterFrancisVillonhadpropoundedanalternativethatafternoon，atatavernwindow：wasitonlypaganJupiterpluckinggeeseuponOlympus？orweretheholyangelsmoulting？HewasonlyapoorMasterofArts，hewenton;andasthequestionsomewhattouchedupondivinity，hedurstnotventuretoconclude。AsillyoldpriestfromMontargis，whowasamongthecompany，treatedtheyoungrascaltoabottleofwineinhonourofthejestandgrimaceswithwhichitwasaccompanied，andsworeonhisownwhitebeardthathehadbeenjustsuchanotherirreverentdogwhenhewasVillon’sage。

Theairwasrawandpointed，butnotfarbelowfreezing;andtheflakeswerelarge，damp，andadhesive。Thewholecitywassheetedup。

Anarmymighthavemarchedfromendtoendandnotafootfallgiventhealarm。Iftherewereanybelatedbirdsinheaven，theysawtheislandlikealargewhitepatch，andthebridgeslikeslimwhitesparsontheblackgroundoftheriver。Highupoverheadthesnowsettledamongthetraceryofthecathedraltowers。Manyanichewasdriftedfull;manyastatueworealongwhitebonnetonitsgrotesqueorsaintedhead。Thegargoyleshadbeentransformedintogreatfalsenoses，droopingtowardthepoint。Thecrocketswerelikeuprightpillowsswollenononeside。Intheintervalsofthewindtherewasadullsounddrippingabouttheprecinctsofthechurch。

ThecemeteryofSt。Johnhadtakenitsownshareofthesnow。Allthegravesweredecentlycovered;tallwhitehousetopsstoodaroundingravearray;worthyburgherswerelongagoinbed，be-nightcappedliketheirdomiciles;therewasnolightinalltheneighbourhoodbutalittlepeepfromalampthathungswinginginthechurchchoir，andtossedtheshadowstoandfrointimetoitsoscillations。Theclockwashardontenwhenthepatrolwentbywithhalberdsandalantern，beatingtheirhands;andtheysawnothingsuspiciousaboutthecemeteryofSt。John。

Yettherewasasmallhouse，backedupagainstthecemeterywall，whichwasstillawake，andawaketoevilpurpose，inthatsnoringdistrict。

Therewasnotmuchtobetrayitfromwithout;onlyastreamofwarmvapourfromthechimney-top，apatchwherethesnowmeltedontheroof，andafewhalf-obliteratedfootprintsatthedoor。Butwithin，behindtheshutteredwindows，MasterFrancisVillon，thepoet，andsomeofthethievishcrewwithwhomheconsorted，werekeepingthenightaliveandpassingroundthebottle。

Agreatpileoflivingembersdiffusedastrongandruddyglowfromthearchedchimney。BeforethisstraddledDomNicolas，thePicardymonk，withhisskirtspickedupandhisfatlegsbaredtothecomfortablewarmth。Hisdilatedshadowcuttheroominhalf;andthefirelightonlyescapedoneithersideofhisbroadperson，andinalittlepoolbetweenhisoutspreadfeet。Hisfacehadthebeery，bruisedappearanceofthecontinualdrinker’s;itwascoveredwithanetworkofcongestedveins，purpleinordinarycircumstances，butnowpaleviolet，forevenwithhisbacktothefirethecoldpinchedhimontheotherside。Hiscowlhadhalffallenback，andmadeastrangeexcrescenceoneithersideofhisbull-neck。Sohestraddled，grumbling，andcuttheroominhalfwiththeshadowofhisportlyframe。

Ontheright，VillonandGuyTabarywerehuddledtogetheroverascrapofparchment;Villonmakingaballadewhichhewastocallthe"BalladeofRoastFish，"andTabarysputteringadmirationathisshoulder。Thepoetwasaragofaman，dark，little，andlean，withhollowcheeksandthinblacklocks。Hecarriedhisfourandtwentyyearswithfeverishanimation。Greedhadmadefoldsabouthiseyes，evilsmileshadpuckeredhismouth。Thewolfandpigstruggledtogetherinhisface。Itwasaneloquent，sharp，ugly，earthlycountenance。Hishandsweresmallandprehensile，withfingersknottedlikeacord;andtheywerecontinuallyflickeringinfrontofhiminviolentandexpressivepantomime。AsforTabary，abroad，complacent，admiringimbecilitybreathedfromhissquashnoseandslobberinglips;hehadbecomeathief，justashemighthavebecomethemostdecentofburgesses，bytheimperiouschancethatrulesthelivesofhumangeeseandhumandonkeys。

Atthemonk’sotherhand，MontignyandTheveninPenseteplayedagameofchance。Aboutthefirstthereclungsomeflavourofgoodbirthandtraining，asaboutafallenangel;somethinglong，lithe，andcourtlyintheperson;somethingaquilineanddarklingintheface。Thevenin，poorsoul，wasingreatfeather;hehaddoneagoodstrokeofknaverythatafternoonintheFaubourgSt。Jacques，andallnighthehadbeengainingfromMontigny。Aflatsmileilluminatedhisface;hisbaldheadshonerosilyinagarlandofredcurls;hislittleprotuberantstomachshookwithsilentchucklingsashesweptinhisgains。

"Doublesorquits？"saidThevenin。

Montignynoddedgrimly。

"Somemayprefertodineinstate，"wroteVillon，"onbreadandcheeseonsilverplate。Or，or——helpmeout，Guido！"

Tabarygiggled。

"Orparsleyonagoldendish，"scribbledthepoet。

Thewindwasfresheningwithout;itdrovethesnowbeforeit，andsometimesraiseditsvoiceinavictoriouswhoop，andmadesepulchralgrumblingsinthechimney。Thecoldwasgrowingsharperasthenightwenton。Villon，protrudinghislips，imitatedthegustwithsomethingbetweenawhistleandagroan。Itwasaneerie，uncomfortabletalentofthepoet’s，muchdetestedbythePicardymonk。

"Can’tyouhearitrattleinthegibbet？"saidVillon。"Theyarealldancingthedevil’sjigonnothing，upthere。Youmaydance，mygallants;you’llbenonethewarmer。Whew，whatagust！Downwentsomebodyjustnow！Amedlarthefeweronthethree-leggedmedlar-tree！

Isay，DomNicolas，it’llbecoldto-nightontheSt。DenisRoad？"heasked。

DomNicholaswinkedbothhisbigeyes，andseemedtochokeuponhisAdam’sapple。Montfaucon，thegreat，grislyParisgibbet，stoodhardbytheSt。DenisRoad，andthepleasantrytouchedhimontheraw。AsforTabary，helaughedimmoderatelyoverthemedlars;hehadneverheardanythingmorelight-hearted;andheheldhissidesandcrowed。Villonfetchedhimafilliponthenose，whichturnedhismirthintoanattackofcoughing。

"Oh，stopthatrow，"saidVillon，"andthinkofrhymesto’fish’！"

"Doublesorquits？SaidMontigny，doggedly。

"Withallmyheart，"quothThevenin。

"Isthereanymoreinthatbottle？"askedthemonk。

"Openanother，"saidVillon。"Howdoyoueverhopetofillthatbighogshead，yourbody，withlittlethingslikebottles？Andhowdoyouexpecttogettoheaven？Howmanyangels，doyoufancy，canbesparedtocarryupasinglemonkfromPicardy？OrdoyouthinkyourselfanotherElias——andthey’llsendthecoachforyou？"

"/Hominibus/impossible，"repliedthemonk，ashefilledhisglass。

Tabarywasinecstasies。

Villonfillipedhisnoseagain。

"Laughatmyjokes，ifyoulike，"hesaid。

Villonmadeafaceathim。"Thinkofrhymesto’fish，’"hesaid。"WhathaveyoutodowithLatin？You’llwishyouknewnoneofitatthegreatassizes，whenthedevilcallsforGuidoTabary，/clericus/——thedevilwiththehumpbackandred-hotfingernails。Talkingofthedevil，"headded，inawhisper，"lookatMontigny！"

Allthreepeeredcovertlyatthegamester。Hedidnotseemtobeenjoyinghisluck。Hismouthwasalittletoaside;onenostrilnearlyshut，andtheothermuchinflated。Theblackdogwasonhisback，aspeoplesay，interrifyingnurserymetaphor;andhebreathedhardunderthegruesomeburden。

"Helooksasifhecouldknifehim，"whisperedTabary，withroundeyes。

Themonkshuddered，andturnedhisfaceandspreadhisopenhandstotheredembers。ItwasthecoldthatthusaffectedDomNicolas，andnotanyexcessofmoralsensibility。

"Comenow，"saidVillon——"aboutthisballade。Howdoesitrunsofar？"

Andbeatingtimewithhishand，hereaditaloudtoTabary。

Theywereinterruptedatthefourthrhymebyabriefandfatalmovementamongthegamesters。Theroundwascompleted，andTheveninwasjustopeninghismouthtoclaimanothervictory，whenMontignyleapedup，swiftasanadder，andstabbedhimtotheheart。Theblowtookeffectbeforehehadtimetoutteracry，beforehehadtimetomove。Atremorortwoconvulsedhisframe;hishandsopenedandshut，hisheelsrattledonthefloor;thenhisheadrolledbackwardoveroneshoulder，witheyeswideopen;andTheveninPensete’sspirithadreturnedtoHimwhomadeit。

Everyonesprangtohisfeet;butthebusinesswasoverintwotwos。

Thefourlivingfellowslookedateachotherinratheraghastlyfashion，thedeadmancontemplatingacorneroftheroofwithasingularanduglyleer。

"MyGod！"saidTabary，andhebegantoprayinLatin。

Villonbrokeoutintohystericallaughter。HecameastepforwardandduckedaridiculousbowatThevenin，andlaughedstilllouder。Thenhesatdownsuddenly，allofaheap，uponastool，andcontinuedlaughingbitterly，asthoughhewouldshakehimselftopieces。

Montignyrecoveredhiscomposurefirst。

"Let’sseewhathehasabouthim，"heremarked;andhepickedthedeadman’spocketswithapractisedhand，anddividedthemoneyintofourequalportionsonthetable。"There’sforyou，"hesaid。

Themonkreceivedhissharewithadeepsigh，andasinglestealthyglanceatthedeadThevenin，whowasbeginningtosinkintohimselfandtopplesidewaysoffthechair。

"We’reallinforit，"criedVillon，swallowinghismirth。"It’sahangingjobforeverymanJackofusthat’shere——nottospeakofthosewhoaren’t。"Hemadeashockinggestureintheairwithhisraisedrighthand，andputouthistongueandthrewhisheadononeside，soastocounterfeittheappearanceofonewhohasbeenhanged。Thenhepocketedhisshareofthespoil，andexecutedashufflewithhisfeetasiftorestorethecirculation。

Tabarywasthelasttohelphimself;hemadeadashatthemoney，andretiredtotheotherendoftheapartment。

MontignystuckTheveninuprightinthechair，anddrewoutthedagger，whichwasfollowedbyajetofblood。

"Youfellowshadbetterbemoving，"hesaid，ashewipedthebladeonhisvictim’sdoublet。

"Ithinkwehad，"returnedVillon，withagulp。"Damnhisfathead！"hebrokeout。"Itsticksinmythroatlikephlegm。Whatrighthasamantohaveredhairwhenheisdead？"Andhefellallofaheapagainuponthestool，andfairlycoveredhisfacewithhishands。

MontignyandDomNicolaslaughedaloud，evenTabaryfeeblychimingin。

"Cry-baby！"saidthemonk。

"Ialwayssaidhewasawoman，"addedMontigny，withasneer。"Situp，can’tyou？"hewenton，givinganothershaketothemurderedbody。

"Treadoutthatfire，Nick！"

ButNickwasbetteremployed;hewasquietlytakingVillon’spurse，asthepoetsat，limpandtrembling，onthestoolwherehehadbeenmakingaballadenotthreeminutesbefore。MontignyandTabarydumblydemandedashareofthebooty，whichthemonksilentlypromisedashepassedthelittlebagintothebosomofhisgown。Inmanywaysanartisticnatureunfitsamanforpracticalexistence。

NosoonerhadthetheftbeenaccomplishedthanVillonshookhimself，jumpedtohisfeet，andbeganhelpingtoscatterandextinguishtheembers。MeanwhileMontignyopenedthedoorandcautiouslypeeredintothestreet。Thecoastwasclear;therewasnomeddlesomepatrolinsight。Stillitwasjudgedwisertoslipoutseverally;andasVillonwashimselfinahurrytoescapefromtheneighbourhoodofthedeadThevenin，andtherestwereinastillgreaterhurrytogetridofhimbeforeheshoulddiscoverthelossofhismoney，hewasthefirstbygeneralconsenttoissueforthintothestreet。

Thewindhadtriumphedandsweptallthecloudsfromheaven。Onlyafewvapours，asthinasmoonlight，fleetedrapidlyacrossthestars。Itwasbittercold;and，byacommonopticaleffect，thingsseemedalmostmoredefinitethaninthebroadestdaylight。Thesleepingcitywasabsolutelystill;acompanyofwhitehoods，afieldfulloflittlealps，belowthetwinklingstars。Villoncursedhisfortune。Woulditwerestillsnowing！Now，whereverhewent，heleftanindelibletrailbehindhimontheglitteringstreets;whereverhewent，hewasstilltetheredtothehousebythecemeteryofSt。John;whereverhewent，hemustweave，withhisownploddingfeet，theropethatboundhimtothecrimeandwouldbindhimtothegallows。Theleerofthedeadmancamebacktohimwithnewsignificance。Hesnappedhisfingersasiftopluckuphisownspirits，and，choosingastreetatrandom，steppedboldlyforwardinthesnow。

Twothingspreoccupiedhimashewent：theaspectofthegallowsatMontfauconinthisbright，windyphaseofthenight’sexistence，forone;andforanother，thelookofthedeadmanwithhisbaldheadandgarlandofredcurls。Bothstruckcolduponhisheart，andhekeptquickeninghispaceasifhecouldescapefromunpleasantthoughtsbymerefleetnessoffoot。Sometimeshelookedbackoverhisshoulderwithasuddennervousjerk;buthewastheonlymovingthinginthewhitestreets，exceptwhenthewindswoopedroundacornerandthrewupthesnow，whichwasbeginningtofreeze，inspoutsofglitteringdust。

Suddenlyhesaw，alongwaybeforehim，ablackclumpandacoupleoflanterns。Theclumpwasinmotion，andthelanternsswungasthoughcarriedbymenwalking。Itwasapatrol。Andthoughitwasmerelycrossinghislineofmarchhejudgeditwisertogetoutofeyeshotasspeedilyashecould。Hewasnotinthehumourtobechallenged，andhewasconsciousofmakingaveryconspicuousmarkuponthesnow。Justonhislefthandtherestoodagreathotel，withsometurretsandalargeporchbeforethedoor;itwashalfruinous，heremembered，andhadlongstoodempty;andsohemadethreestepsofit，andjumpedintotheshelteroftheporch。Itwasprettydarkinside，aftertheglimmerofthesnowystreets，andhewasgropingforwardwithoutspreadhands，whenhestumbledoversomesubstancewhichofferedanindescribablemixtureofresistances，hardandsoft，firmandloose。Hisheartgavealeap，andhesprangtwostepsbackandstareddreadfullyattheobstacle。Thenhegavealittlelaughofrelief。Itwasonlyawoman，andshedead。Hekneltbesidehertomakesureuponthislatterpoint。

Shewasfreezingcold，andrigidlikeastick。Alittleraggedfineryflutteredinthewindaboutherhair，andhercheekshadbeenheavilyrougedthatsameafternoon。Herpocketswerequiteempty;butinherstocking，underneaththegarter，Villonfoundtwoofthesmallcoinsthatwentbythenameofwhites。Itwaslittleenough，butitwasalwayssomething;andthepoetwasmovedwithadeepsenseofpathosthatsheshouldhavediedbeforeshehadspenthermoney。Thatseemedtohimadarkandpitiablemystery;andhelookedfromthecoinsinhishandtothedeadwoman，andbackagaintothecoins，shakinghisheadovertheriddleofman’slife。HenryV。ofEngland，dyingatVincennesjustafterhehadconqueredFrance，andthispoorjadecutoffbyacolddraughtinagreatman’sdoorwaybeforeshehadtimetospendhercoupleofwhites——itseemedacruelwaytocarryontheworld。Twowhiteswouldhavetakensuchalittlewhiletosquander;andyetitwouldhavebeenonemoregoodtasteinthemouth，onemoresmackofthelips，beforethedevilgotthesoul，andthebodywaslefttobirdsandvermin。Hewouldliketouseallhistallowbeforethelightwasblownoutandthelanternbroken。

Whilethesethoughtswerepassingthroughhismind，hewasfeeling，halfmechanically，forhispurse。Suddenlyhisheartstoppedbeating;afeelingofcoldscalespassedupthebackofhislegs，andacoldblowseemedtofalluponhisscalp。Hestoodpetrifiedforamoment;thenhefeltagainwithonefeverishmovement;thenhislossburstuponhim，andhewascoveredatoncewithperspiration。Tospendthriftsmoneyissolivingandactual——itissuchathinveilbetweenthemandtheirpleasures！Thereisonlyonelimittotheirfortune——thatoftime;andaspendthriftwithonlyafewcrownsistheEmperorofRomeuntiltheyarespent。Forsuchapersontolosehismoneyistosufferthemostshockingreverse，andfallfromheaventohell，fromalltonothing，inabreath。Andallthemoreifhehasputhisheadinthehalterforit;

ifhemaybehangedto-morrowforthatsamepurse，sodearlyearned，sofoolishlydeparted！Villonstoodandcursed;hethrewthetwowhitesintothestreet;heshookhisfistatheaven;hestamped，andwasnothorrifiedtofindhimselftramplingthepoorcorpse。Thenhebeganrapidlytoretracehisstepstowardthehousebesidethecemetery。Hehadforgottenallfearofthepatrol，whichwaslonggonebyatanyrate，andhadnoideabutthatofhislostpurse。Itwasinvainthathelookedrightandleftuponthesnow;nothingwastobeseen。Hehadnotdroppeditinthestreets。Haditfalleninthehouse？Hewouldhavelikeddearlytogoinandsee;buttheideaofthegrislyoccupantunmannedhim。Andhesawbesides，ashedrewnear，thattheireffortstoputoutthefirehadbeenunsuccessful;onthecontrary，ithadbrokenintoablaze，andachangefullightplayedinthechinksofdoorandwindow，andrevivedhisterrorfortheauthoritiesandParisgibbet。

Hereturnedtothehotelwiththeporch，andgropedaboutuponthesnowforthemoneyhehadthrownawayinhischildishpassion。Buthecouldonlyfindonewhite;theotherhadprobablystrucksidewaysandsunkdeeplyin。Withasinglewhiteinhispocket，allhisprojectsforarousingnightinsomewildtavernvanishedutterlyaway。Anditwasnotonlypleasurethatfledlaughingfromhisgrasp;positivediscomfort，positivepain，attackedhimashestoodruefullybeforetheporch。Hisperspirationhaddrieduponhim;andalthoughthewindhadnowfallen，abindingfrostwassettinginstrongerwitheveryhour，andhefeltbenumbedandsickatheart。Whatwastobedone？Lateaswasthehour，improbableaswashissuccess，hewouldtrythehouseofhisadoptedfather，thechaplainofSt。Benoit。

Heranalltheway，andknockedtimidly。Therewasnoanswer。Heknockedagainandagain，takingheartwitheverystroke;andatlaststepswereheardapproachingfromwithin。Abarredwicketfellopenintheiron-studdeddoor，andemittedagushofyellowlight。

"Holdupyourfacetothewicket，"saidthechaplainfromwithin。

"It’sonlyme，"whimperedVillon。

"Oh，it’sonlyyou，isit？"returnedthechaplain;andhecursedhimwithfoul，unpriestlyoathsfordisturbinghimatsuchanhour，andbadehimbeofftohell，wherehecamefrom。

"Myhandsarebluetothewrist，"pleadedVillon;"myfeetaredeadandfulloftwinges;mynoseacheswiththesharpair;thecoldliesatmyheart。Imaybedeadbeforemorning。Onlythisonce，father，and，beforeGod，Iwillneveraskagain！"

"Youshouldhavecomeearlier，"saidtheecclesiastic，coolly。"Youngmenrequirealessonnowandthen。"Heshutthewicketandretireddeliberatelyintotheinteriorofthehouse。

Villonwasbesidehimself;hebeatuponthedoorwithhishandsandfeet，andshoutedhoarselyafterthechaplain。

"Wormyoldfox！"hecried。"IfIhadmyhandunderyourtwist，Iwouldsendyouflyingheadlongintothebottomlesspit。"

Adoorshutintheinterior，faintlyaudibletothepoetdownlongpassages。Hepassedhishandoverhismouthwithanoath。Andthenthehumourofthesituationstruckhim，andhelaughedandlookedlightlyuptoheaven，wherethestarsseemedtobewinkingoverhisdiscomfiture。

Whatwastobedone？Itlookedverylikeanightinthefrostystreets。

Theideaofthedeadwomanpoppedintohisimagination，andgavehimaheartyfright;whathadhappenedtoherintheearlynightmightverywellhappentohimbeforemorning。Andhesoyoung！Andwithsuchimmensepossibilitiesofdisorderlyamusementbeforehim！Hefeltquitepatheticoverthenotionofhisownfate，asifithadbeensomeoneelse’s，andmadealittleimaginativevignetteofthesceneinthemorningwhentheyshouldfindhisbody。

Hepassedallhischancesunderreview，turningthewhitebetweenhisthumbandforefinger。Unfortunatelyhewasonbadtermswithsomeoldfriendswhowouldoncehavetakenpityonhiminsuchaplight。Hehadlampoonedtheminverses;hehadbeatenandcheatedthem;andyetnow，whenhewasinsocloseapinch，hethoughttherewasatleastonewhomightperhapsrelent。Itwasachance。Itwasworthtryingatleast，andhewouldgoandsee。

Ontheway，twolittleaccidentshappenedtohimwhichcolouredhismusingsinaverydifferentmanner。For，first，hefellinwiththetrackofapatrol，andwalkedinitforsomehundredyards，althoughitlayoutofhisdirection。Andthisspiritedhimup;atleasthehadconfusedhistrail;forhewasstillpossessedwiththeideaofpeopletrackinghimallaboutParisoverthesnow，andcollaringhimnextmorningbeforehewasawake。Theothermatteraffectedhimquitedifferently。Hepassedastreet-cornerwhere，notsolongbefore，awomanandherchildhadbeendevouredbywolves。Thiswasjustthekindofweather，hereflected，whenwolvesmighttakeitintotheirheadstoenterParisagain;andalonemaninthesedesertedstreetswouldrunthechanceofsomethingworsethanamerescare。Hestoppedandlookedupontheplacewithanunpleasantinterest——itwasacentrewhereseverallanesintersectedeachother;andhelookeddownthemall，oneafteranother，andheldhisbreathtolisten，lestheshoulddetectsomegallopingblackthingsonthesnoworhearthesoundofhowlingbetweenhimandtheriver。Herememberedhismothertellinghimthestoryandpointingoutthespot，whilehewasyetachild。Hismother！

Ifheonlyknewwhereshelived，hemightmakesureatleastofshelter。Hedeterminedhewouldinquireuponthemorrow;nay，hewouldgoandseeher，too，pooroldgirl！Sothinking，hearrivedathisdestination——hislasthopeforthenight。

Thehousewasquitedark，likeitsneighbours;andyetafterafewtapsheheardamovementoverhead，adooropening，andacautiousvoiceaskingwhowasthere。Thepoetnamedhimselfinaloudwhisper，andwaited，notwithoutsometrepidation，theresult。Norhadhetowaitlong。Awindowwassuddenlyopened，andapailfulofslopssplasheddownuponthedoor-step。Villonhadnotbeenunpreparedforsomethingofthesort，andhadputhimselfasmuchinshelterasthenatureoftheporchadmitted;butforallthathewasdeplorablydrenchedbelowthewaist。Hishosebegantofreezealmostatonce。Deathfromcoldandexposurestaredhimintheface;herememberedhewasofphthisicaltendency，andbegancoughingtentatively。Butthegravityofthedangersteadiedhisnerves。Hestoppedafewhundredyardsfromthedoorwherehehadbeensorudelyused，andreflectedwithhisfingertohisnose。

Hecouldonlyseeonewayofgettingalodging，andthatwastotakeit。Hehadnoticedahousenotfaraway，whichlookedasifitmightbeeasilybrokeninto;andthitherhebetookhimselfpromptly，entertaininghimselfonthewaywiththeideaofaroomstillhot，withatablestillloadedwiththeremainsofsupper，wherehemightpasstherestoftheblackhours，andwhenceheshouldissue，onthemorrow，withanarmfulofvaluableplate。Heevenconsideredonwhatviandsandwhatwinesheshouldprefer;andashewascallingtherollofhisfavouritedainties，roastfishpresenteditselftohismindwithanoddmixtureofamusementandhorror。

"Ishallneverfinishthatballade，"hethoughttohimself;andthen，withanothershudderattherecollection，"Oh，damnhisfathead！"herepeated，fervently，andspatuponthesnow。

Thehouseinquestionlookeddarkatfirstsight;butasVillonmadeapreliminaryinspectioninsearchofthehandiestpointofattack，alittletwinkleoflightcaughthiseyefrombehindacurtainedwindow。

"Thedevil！"hethought。"Peopleawake！Somestudentorsomesaint，confoundthecrew！Can’ttheygetdrunkandlieinbedsnoringliketheirneighbours？What’sthegoodofcurfew，andpoordevilsofbell-

ringersjumpingatarope’sendinbell-towers？What’stheuseofday，ifpeoplesitupallnight？Thegripestothem！"Hegrinnedashesawwherehislogicwasleadinghim。"Everymantohisbusiness，afterall，"addedhe，"andifthey’reawake，bytheLord，Imaycomebyasupperhonestlyforonce，andcheatthedevil。"

Hewentboldlytothedoorandknockedwithanassuredhand。Onbothpreviousoccasionshehadknockedtimidlyandwithsomedreadofattractingnotice;butnowwhenhehadjustdiscardedthethoughtofaburglariousentry，knockingatadoorseemedamightysimpleandinnocentproceeding。Thesoundofhisblowsechoedthroughthehousewiththin，phantasmalreverberations，asthoughitwerequiteempty;

butthesehadscarcelydiedawaybeforeameasuredtreaddrewnear，acoupleofboltswerewithdrawn，andonewingwasopenedbroadly，asthoughnoguileorfearofguilewereknowntothosewithin。Atallfigureofaman，muscularandspare，butalittlebent，confrontedVillon。Theheadwasmassiveinbulk，butfinelysculptured;thenosebluntatthebottom，butrefiningupwardtowhereitjoinedapairofstrongandhonesteyebrows;themouthandeyessurroundedwithdelicatemarkings;andthewholefacebaseduponathickwhitebeard，boldlyandsquarelytrimmed。Seenasitwasbythelightofaflickeringhand-

lamp，itlookedperhapsnoblerthanithadarighttodo;butitwasafineface，honourableratherthanintelligent，strong，simple，andrighteous。

"Youknocklate，sir，"saidtheoldman，inresonant，courteoustones。

Villoncringed，andbroughtupmanyservilewordsofapology;atacrisisofthissort，thebeggarwasuppermostinhim，andthemanofgeniushidhisheadwithconfusion。

"Youarecold，"repeatedtheoldman，"andhungry？Well，stepin。"Andheorderedhimintothehousewithanobleenoughgesture。

"Somegreatseigneur，"thoughtVillon，ashishost，settingdownthelampontheflaggedpavementoftheentry，shottheboltsoncemoreintotheirplaces。

"YouwillpardonmeifIgoinfront，"hesaid，whenthiswasdone;andheprecededthepoetupstairsintoalargeapartment，warmedwithapanofcharcoalandlitbyagreatlamphangingfromtheroof。Itwasverybareoffurniture;onlysomegoldplateonasideboard，somefolios，andastandofarmourbetweenthewindows。Somesmarttapestryhunguponthewalls，representingthecrucifixionofourLordinonepiece，andinanotherasceneofshepherdsandshepherdessesbyarunningstream。Overthechimneywasashieldofarms。

"Willyouseatyourself，"saidtheoldman，"andforgivemeifIleaveyou？Iamaloneinmyhouseto-night，andifyouaretoeatImustforageforyoumyself。"

NosoonerwashishostgonethanVillonleapedfromthechaironwhichhehadjustseatedhimself，andbeganexaminingtheroomwiththestealthandpassionofacat。Heweighedthegoldflagonsinhishand，openedallthefolios，andinvestigatedthearmsupontheshield，andthestuffwithwhichtheseatswerelined。Heraisedthewindowcurtains，andsawthatthewindowsweresetwithrichstainedglassinfigures，sofarashecouldsee，ofmartialimport。Thenhestoodinthemiddleoftheroom，drewalongbreath，andretainingitwithpuffedcheeks，lookedroundandroundhim，turningonhisheels，asiftoimpresseveryfeatureoftheapartmentonhismemory。

"Sevenpiecesofplate，"hesaid。"Iftherehadbeenten，Iwouldhaveriskedit。Afinehouse，andafineoldmaster，sohelpmeallthesaints！"

Andjustthen，hearingtheoldman’streadreturningalongthecorridor，hestolebacktohischair，andbeganhumblytoastinghiswetlegsbeforethecharcoalpan。

Hisentertainerhadaplateofmeatinonehandandajugofwineintheother。Hesetdowntheplateuponthetable，motioningVillontodrawinhischair，andgoingtothesideboard，broughtbacktwogoblets，whichhefilled。

"Idrinkyourbetterfortune，"hesaidgravely，touchingVillon’scupwithhisown。

"Toourbetteracquaintance，"saidthepoet，growingbold。Ameremanofthepeoplewouldhavebeenawedbythecourtesyoftheoldseigneur，butVillonwashardenedinthatmatter;hehadmademirthforgreatlordsbeforenow，andfoundthemasblackrascalsashimself。Andsohedevotedhimselftotheviandswitharavenousgusto，whiletheoldman，leaningbackward，watchedhimwithsteady，curiouseyes。

"Youhavebloodonyourshoulder，myman，"hesaid。

Montignymusthavelaidhiswetrighthanduponhimasheleftthehouse。HecursedMontignyinhisheart。

"Itwasnoneofmyshedding，"hestammered。

"Ihadnotsupposedso，"returnedhishost，quietly。"Abrawl？"

"Well，somethingofthatsort，"Villonadmitted，withaquaver。

"Perhapsafellowmurdered？"

"Ohno，notmurdered，"saidthepoet，moreandmoreconfused。"Itwasallfairplay——murderedbyaccident。Ihadnohandinit，Godstrikemedead！"headded，fervently。

"Oneroguethefewer，Idaresay，"observedthemasterofthehouse。

"Youmaydaretosaythat，"agreedVillon，infinitelyrelieved。"AsbigarogueasthereisbetweenhereandJerusalem。Heturneduphistoeslikealamb。Butitwasanastythingtolookat。Idaresayyou’veseendeadmeninyourtime，mylord？"headded，glancingatthearmour。

"Many，"saidtheoldman。"Ihavefollowedthewars，asyouimagine。"

Villonlaiddownhisknifeandfork，whichhehadjusttakenupagain。

"Wereanyofthembald？"heasked。

"Ohyes，andwithhairaswhiteasmine。"

"Idon’tthinkIshouldmindthewhitesomuch，"saidVillon。"Hiswasred。"Andhehadareturnofhisshudderingandtendencytolaughter，whichhedrownedwithagreatdraughtofwine。"I’malittleputoutwhenIthinkofit，"hewenton。"Iknewhim——damnhim！Andthenthecoldgivesamanfancies——orthefanciesgiveamancold，Idon’tknowwhich。"

"Haveyouanymoney？"askedtheoldman。

"Ihaveonewhite，"returnedthepoet，laughing。"Igotitoutofadeadjade’sstockinginaporch。ShewasasdeadasCaesar，poorwench，andascoldasachurch，withbitsofribbonstickinginherhair。Thisisahardwinterforwolvesandwenchesandpoorrogueslikeme。"

"I，"saidtheoldman，"amEnguerranddelaFeuillee，seigneurdeBrisetout，bailieduPatatrac。Whoandwhatmayyoube？"

Villonroseandmadeasuitablereverence。"IamcalledFrancisVillon，"hesaid，"apoorMasterofArtsofthisuniversity。IknowsomeLatin，andadealofvice。IcanmakeChansons，ballades，lais，virelais，androundels，andIamveryfondofwine。Iwasborninagarret，andIshallnotimprobablydieuponthegallows。Imayadd，mylord，thatfromthisnightforwardIamyourlordship’sveryobsequiousservanttocommand。"

"Noservantofmine，"saidtheknight。"Myguestforthisevening，andnomore。"

"Averygratefulguest，"saidVillon，politely，andhedrankindumbshowtohisentertainer。

"Youareshrewd，"begantheoldman，tappinghisforehead，"veryshrewd;youhavelearning;youareaclerk;andyetyoutakeasmallpieceofmoneyoffadeadwomaninthestreet。Isitnotakindoftheft？"

"Itisakindoftheftmuchpractisedinthewars，mylord。"

"Thewarsarethefieldofhonour，"returnedtheoldman，proudly。

"Thereamanplayshislifeuponthecast;hefightsinthenameofhislordtheking，hisLordGod，andalltheirlordshipstheholysaintsandangels。"

"Putit，"saidVillon，"thatIwerereallyathief，shouldInotplaymylifealso，andagainstheavierodds？"

"Forgain，butnotforhonour。"

"Gain？"repeatedVillon，withashrug。"Gain！Thepoorfellowwantssupper，andtakesit。Sodoesthesoldierinacampaign。Why，whatarealltheserequisitionswehearsomuchabout？Iftheyarenotgaintothosewhotakethem，theyarelossenoughtotheothers。Themen-at-

armsdrinkbyagoodfire，whiletheburgherbiteshisnailstobuythemwineandwood。Ihaveseenagoodmanyploughmenswingingontreesaboutthecountry;ay，Ihaveseenthirtyononeelm，andaverypoorfiguretheymade;andwhenIaskedsomeonehowallthesecametobehanged，Iwastolditwasbecausetheycouldnotscrapetogetherenoughcrownstosatisfythemen-at-arms。"

"Thesethingsareanecessityofwar，whichthelow-bornmustendurewithconstancy。Itistruethatsomecaptainsdriveoverhard;therearespiritsineveryranknoteasilymovedbypity;andindeedmanyfollowarmswhoarenobetterthanbrigands。"

"Yousee，"saidthepoet，"youcannotseparatethesoldierfromthebrigand;andwhatisathiefbutanisolatedbrigandwithcircumspectmanners？Istealacoupleofmutton-chops，withoutsomuchasdisturbingpeople’ssleep;thefarmergrumblesabit，butsupsnonethelesswholesomelyonwhatremains。Youcomeupblowinggloriouslyonatrumpet，takeawaythewholesheep，andbeatthefarmerpitifullyintothebargain。Ihavenotrumpet;IamonlyTom，Dick，orHarry;Iamarogueandadog，andhanging’stoogoodforme——withallmyheart;butjustaskthefarmerwhichofusheprefers，justfindoutwhichofusheliesawaketocurseoncoldnights。"

"Lookatustwo，"saidhislordship。"Iamold，strong，andhonoured。

IfIwereturnedfrommyhouseto-morrow，hundredswouldbeproudtoshelterme。Poorpeoplewouldgooutandpassthenightinthestreetswiththeirchildren，ifImerelyhintedthatIwishedtobealone。AndIfindyouup，wanderinghomeless，andpickingfarthingsoffdeadwomenbythewayside！Ifearnomanandnothing;Ihaveseenyoutrembleandlosecountenanceataword。IwaitGod’ssummonscontentedlyinmyownhouse，or，ifitpleasethekingtocallmeoutagain，uponthefieldofbattle。Youlookforthegallows;arough，swiftdeath，withouthopeorhonour。Istherenodifferencebetweenthesetwo？"

"Asfarastothemoon，"Villonacquiesced。"ButifIhadbeenbornlordofBrisetout，andyouhadbeenthepoorscholarFrancis，wouldthedifferencehavebeenanytheless？ShouldnotIhavebeenwarmingmykneesatthischarcoalpan，andwouldnotyouhavebeengropingforfarthingsinthesnow？ShouldnotIhavebeenthesoldier，andyouthethief？"

"Athief？"criedtheoldman。"Iathief！Ifyouunderstoodyourwords，youwouldrepentthem。"

Villonturnedouthishandswithagestureofinimitableimpudence。"Ifyourlordshiphaddonemethehonourtofollowmyargument！"hesaid。

"Idoyoutoomuchhonourinsubmittingtoyourpresence，"saidtheknight。"Learntocurbyourtonguewhenyouspeakwitholdandhonourablemen，orsomeonehastierthanImayreproveyouinasharperfashion。"Andheroseandpacedthelowerendoftheapartment，strugglingwithangerandantipathy。Villonsurreptitiouslyrefilledhiscup，andsettledhimselfmorecomfortablyinthechair，crossinghiskneesandleaninghisheadupononehandandtheelbowagainstthebackofthechair。Hewasnowrepleteandwarm;andhewasinnowisefrightenedforhishost，havinggaugedhimasjustlyaswaspossiblebetweentwosuchdifferentcharacters。Thenightwasfarspent，andinaverycomfortablefashionafterall;andhefeltmorallycertainofasafedepartureonthemorrow。

"Tellmeonething，"saidtheoldman，pausinginhiswalk。"Areyoureallyathief？"

"Iclaimthesacredrightsofhospitality，"returnedthepoet。"Mylord，Iam。"

"Youareveryyoung，"theknightcontinued。

"Ishouldneverhavebeensoold，"repliedVillon，showinghisfingers，"ifIhadnothelpedmyselfwiththesetentalents。Theyhavebeenmynursingmothersandmynursingfathers。"

"Youmaystillrepentandchange。"

"Irepentdaily，"saidthepoet。"TherearefewpeoplemoregiventorepentancethanpoorFrancis。Asforchange，letsomebodychangemycircumstances。Amanmustcontinuetoeat，ifitwereonlythathemaycontinuetorepent。"

"Thechangemustbeginintheheart，"returnedtheoldman，solemnly。

"Mydearlord，"answeredVillon，"doyoureallyfancythatIstealforpleasure？Ihatestealing，likeanyotherpieceofworkorofdanger。

MyteethchatterwhenIseeagallows。ButImusteat，Imustdrink;I

mustmixinsocietyofsomesort。Whatthedevil！Manisnotasolitaryanimal——/cuiDeusfoeminamtradit/。Makemeking’spantler，makemeAbbotofSt。Denis，makemebailieofthePatatrac，andthenIshallbechangedindeed。ButaslongasyouleavemethepoorscholarFrancisVillon，withoutafarthing，why，ofcourse，Iremainthesame。"

"ThegraceofGodisallpowerful。"

"Ishouldbeaheretictoquestionit，"saidFrancis。"IthasmadeyoulordofBrisetoutandbailieofthePatatrac;ithasgivenmenothingbutthequickwitsundermyhatandthesetentoesuponmyhands。MayI

helpmyselftowine？Ithankyourespectfully。ByGod’sgrace，youhaveaverysuperiorvintage。"

ThelordofBrisetoutwalkedtoandfrowithhishandsbehindhisback。

Perhapshewasnotyetquitesettledinhismindabouttheparallelbetweenthievesandsoldiers;perhapsVillonhadinterestedhimbysomecross-threadofsympathy;perhapshiswitsweresimplymuddledbysomuchunfamiliarreasoning;butwhateverthecause，hesomehowyearnedtoconverttheyoungmantoabetterwayofthinking，andcouldnotmakeuphismindtodrivehimforthagainintothestreet。

"ThereissomethingmorethanIcanunderstandinthis，"hesaidatlength。"Yourmouthisfullofsubtleties，andthedevilhasledyouveryfarastray;butthedevilisonlyaveryweakspiritbeforeGod’struth，andallhissubtletiesvanishatawordoftruehonour，likedarknessatmorning。Listentomeoncemore。IlearnedlongagothatagentlemanshouldlivechivalrouslyandlovinglytoGodandthekingandhislady;andthoughIhaveseenmanystrangethingsdone，Ihavestillstriventocommandmywaysuponthatrule。Itisnotonlywritteninallnoblehistories，butineveryman’sheart，ifhewilltakecaretoread。Youspeakoffoodandwine，andIknowverywellthathungerisadifficulttrialtoendure;butyoudonotspeakofotherwants;yousaynothingofhonour，offaithtoGodandothermen，ofcourtesy，oflovewithoutreproach。ItmaybethatIamnotverywise，——andyetIthinkI

am，——butyouseemtomelikeonewhohaslosthiswayandmadeagreaterrorinlife。Youareattendingtothelittlewants，andyouhavetotallyforgottenthegreatandonlyrealones，likeamanwhoshouldbedoctoringtoothacheonthejudgmentday。Forsuchthingsashonourandloveandfaitharenotonlynoblerthanfoodanddrink，butindeedIthinkwedesirethemmore，andsuffermoresharplyfortheirabsence。

IspeaktoyouasIthinkyouwillmosteasilyunderstandme。Areyounot，whilecarefultofillyourbelly，disregardinganotherappetiteinyourheart，whichspoilsthepleasureofyourlifeandkeepsyoucontinuallywretched？"

Villonwassensiblynettledunderallthissermonising。"YouthinkI

havenosenseofhonour！"hecried。"I’mpoorenough，Godknows！It’shardtoseerichpeoplewiththeirgloves，andyoublowinginyourhands。Anemptybellyisabitterthing，althoughyouspeaksolightlyofit。IfyouhadhadasmanyasI，perhapsyouwouldchangeyourtune。

Anyway，I’mathief，——makethemostofthat，——butI’mnotadevilfromhell，Godstrikemedead！IwouldhaveyoutoknowI’veanhonourofmyown，asgoodasyours，thoughIdon’tprateaboutitalldaylong，asifitwasaGod’smiracletohaveany。Itseemsquitenaturaltome;I

keepitinitsboxtillit’swanted。Why，now，lookyouhere，howlonghaveIbeeninthisroomwithyou？Didyounottellmeyouwerealoneinthehouse？Lookatyourgoldplate！You’restrong，ifyoulike，butyou’reoldandunarmed，andIhavemyknife。WhatdidIwantbutajerkoftheelbowandherewouldhavebeenyouwiththecoldsteelinyourbowels，andtherewouldhavebeenme，linkinginthestreets，withanarmfulofgoldencups！DidyousupposeIhadn’twitenoughtoseethat？

andIscornedtheaction。Thereareyourdamnedgoblets，assafeasinachurch;thereareyou，withyourhearttickingasgoodasnew;andhereamI，readytogooutagainaspoorasIcamein，withmyonewhitethatyouthrewinmyteeth！AndyouthinkIhavenosenseofhonour——Godstrikemedead！"

Theoldmanstretchedouthisrightarm。"Iwilltellyouwhatyouare，"hesaid。"Youarearogue，myman，animpudentandblack-heartedrogueandvagabond。Ihavepassedanhourwithyou。Oh，believeme，I

feelmyselfdisgraced！Andyouhaveeatenanddrunkatmytable。ButnowIamsickatyourpresence;thedayhascome，andthenight-birdshouldbeofftohisroost。Willyougobefore，orafter？"

"Whichyouplease，"returnedthepoet，rising。"Ibelieveyoutobestrictlyhonourable。"Hethoughtfullyemptiedhiscup。"IwishIcouldaddyouwereintelligent，"hewenton，knockingonhisheadwithhisknuckles。"Age！age！thebrainsstiffandrheumatic。"

Theoldmanprecededhimfromapointofself-respect;Villonfollowed，whistling，withhisthumbsinhisgirdle。

"Godpityyou，"saidthelordofBrisetoutatthedoor。

"Good-bye，papa，"returnedVillon，withayawn。"Manythanksforthecoldmutton。"

Thedoorclosedbehindhim。Thedawnwasbreakingoverthewhiteroofs。

Achill，uncomfortablemorningusheredintheday。Villonstoodandheartilystretchedhimselfinthemiddleoftheroad。

"Averydulloldgentleman，"hethought。"Iwonderwhathisgobletsmaybeworth？"

ALEAFINTHESTORM

BY

OUIDA

TheBerceaudeDieuwasalittlevillageinthevalleyoftheSeine。Asalarkdropsitsnestamongthegrasses，soafewpeasantpeoplehaddroppedtheirlittlefarmsandcottagesamidthegreatgreenwoodsonthewindingriver。Itwasaprettyplace，withonesteep，stonystreet，shadywithpoplarsandwithelms;quainthouses，aboutwhosethatchacloudofwhiteandgraypigeonsflutteredalldaylong;alittleagedchapelwithaconicalredroof;andgreatbarnscoveredwithivyandthickcreepers，redandpurple，andlichensthatwereyellowinthesun。Allarounditwerethebroad，floweringmeadows，withthesleekcattleofNormandyfatteninginthem，andthesweetdimforestswheretheyoungmenandmaidenswentoneveryholydayandfeast-dayinthesummer-timetoseekforwood-anemones，andliliesofthepools，andthewildcampanula，andthefreshdog-rose，andalltheboughsandgrassesthatmadetheirhouse-doorslikegardenbowers，andseemedtotakethecushat’snoteandthelinnet’ssongintotheirlittletempleofGod。

TheBerceaudeDieuwasveryoldindeed。MensaidthatthehamlethadbeenthereinthedayoftheVirginofOrleans;andastonecrossofthetwelfthcenturystillstoodbythegreatpondofwateratthebottomofthestreetunderthechestnut-tree，wherethevillagersgatheredtogossipatsunsetwhentheirworkwasdone。Ithadnocitynearit，andnotownnearerthanfourleagues。Itwasinthegreencareofapastoraldistrict，thicklywoodedandintersectedwithorchards。

Itsproduceofwheatandoatsandcheeseandfruitandeggswasmorethansufficientforitssimpleprosperity。Itspeoplewerehardy，kindly，laborious，happy;livingroundthelittlegraychapelinamityandgood-fellowship。Nothingtroubledit。Warandrumoursofwar，revolutionsandcounter-revolutions，empiresandinsurrections，militaryandpoliticalquestions——theseallwereforitthingsunknownandunheardof，mightywindsthataroseandblewandsweptthelandsaroundit，butnevercamenearenoughtoharmit，lyingthere，asitdidinitslonelinesslikeanylark’snest。EveninthegreatdaysoftheRevolutionithadbeenquiet。Ithadhadalordwhomitlovedintheoldcastleonthehillatwhosefeetitnestled;ithadnevertriedtoharmhim，andithadweptbitterlywhenhehadfallenatJemmapes，andleftnoheir，andthechateauhadcrumbledintoivy-hungruins。Thethunder-heatsofthatdreadtimehadscarcelyscorchedit。IthadseenafewofitsbestyouthmarchawaytothechantoftheMarseillaisetofightontheplainsofChampagne;andithadbeenvisitedbysomepatriotsin/bonnetsrouges/andsoldiersinblueuniforms，whohadgivenittricolouredcockadesandbadeitwearthemintheholynameoftheRepubliconeandindivisible。Butithadnotknownwhatthesemeant，anditsharvestshadbeenreapedwithoutthesoundofashotinitsfieldsoranygleamofsteelbyitsinnocenthearths;sothattheterrorsandthetidingsofthosenobleandghastlyyearshadleftnoimpressonitsgenerations。

ReineAllix，indeed，theoldestwomanamongthemall，numberingmorethanninetyyears，rememberedwhenshewasachildhearingherfatherandhisneighbourstalkinlow，awe-strickentonesonebitterwintrynightofhowakinghadbeenslaintosavethepeople;andsherememberedlikewise——remembereditwell，becauseithadbeenherbetrothalnightandthesixteenthbirthdayofherlife——howahorsemanhadflashedthroughthestartledstreetlikeacomet，andhadcalledaloud，inavoiceoffire，"/Gloire！gloire！gloire！/——Marengo！

Marengo！Marengo！"andhowthevillagehaddimlyunderstoodthatsomethingmarvellousforFrancehadhappenedafaroff，andhowherbrothersandhercousinsandherbetrothed，andshewiththem，hadallgoneuptothehighslopeovertheriver，andhadpiledupagreatpyramidofpinewoodandstrawanddriedmosses，andhadsetflametoit，tillithadglowedinitsscarlettriumphallthroughthatwondrousnightofthesultrysummerofvictory。

Theseandthelikememoriesshewouldsometimesrelatetothechildrenateveningwhentheygatheredroundherbeggingforastory。Otherwise，nomemoriesoftheRevolutionortheEmpiredisturbedthetranquilityoftheBerceau;andevenshe，aftershehadtoldthem，wouldadd，"IamnotsurenowwhatMarengowas。Abattle，nodoubt，butIamnotsurewherenorwhy。ButweheardlaterthatlittleClaudis，myaunt’syoungest-born，avolunteernotnineteen，diedatit。Ifwehadknown，weshouldnothavegoneupandlitthebonfire。"

Thiswoman，whohadbeenborninthattimeoffamineandflame，wasthehappiestcreatureinthewholehamletoftheBerceau。"Iamold;yes，I

amveryold，"shewouldsay，lookingupfromherspinning-wheelinherhouse-door，andshadinghereyesfromthesun，"veryold——ninety-twolastsummer。Butwhenonehasaroofoverone’shead，andapotofsoupalways，andagrandsonlikemine，andwhenonehaslivedallone’slifeintheBerceaudeDieu，thenitiswelltobesoold。Ah，yes，mylittleones，——yes，thoughyoudoubtit，youlittlebirdsthathavejusttriedyourwings，——itiswelltobesoold。Onehastimetothink，andthankthegoodGod，whichoneneverseemedtohaveaminutetodointhatwork，work，workwhenonewasyoung。"

ReineAllixwasatallandstrongwoman，verywitheredandverybentandverybrown，yetwithsweet，dark，flashingeyesthathadstilllightinthem，andafacethatwasstillnoble，thoughnearlyacenturyhadbronzeditwithitsharvestsunsandblownonitwithitswinterwinds。

Sheworealwaysthesamegarbofhomelydark-blueserge，alwaysthesametallwhitehead-gear，alwaysthesamepuresilverear-ringsthathadbeenatonceanheirloomandanuptialgift。Shewasalwaysshodinherwoodensabots，andshealwayswalkedabroadwithastaffofash。

ShehadbeenbornintheBerceaudeDieu;hadlivedthereandweddedthere;hadtoiledthereallherlife，andneverleftitforagreaterdistancethanaleague，orforalongertimethanaday。Sheloveditwithanintenselove。Theworldbeyonditwasnothingtoher;shescarcelybelievedinitasexisting。Shecouldneitherreadnorwrite。

Shetoldthetruth，rearedheroffspringinhonesty，andpraisedGodalways——hadpraisedHimwhenstarvinginabitterwinterafterherhusband’sdeath，whentherehadbeennofieldwork，andshehadhadfivechildrentofeedandclothe;andpraisedHimnowthathersonswerealldeadbeforeher，andallshehadlivingofherbloodwashergrandsonBernadou。

Herlifehadbeenahardone。Herparentshadbeenhideouslypoor。Hermarriagehadscarcelybetteredhercondition。Shehadlabouredinthefieldsalways，hoeingandweedingandreapingandcarryingwoodanddrivingmules，andcontinuallyrisingwiththefirststreakofdaybreak。Shehadknownfeverandfamineandallmannerofearthlyills。Butnowinheroldageshehadpeace。Twoofherdeadsons，whohadsoughttheirfortunesintheotherhemisphere，hadleftheralittlemoney，andshehadalittlecottageandaplotofground，andapig，andasmallorchard。Shewaswell-to-do，andcouldleaveitalltoBernadou;andfortenyearsshehadbeenhappy，perfectlyhappy，inthecoolnessandthesweetnessandtheoldfamiliarwaysandhabitsoftheBerceau。

Bernadouwasverygoodtoher。Thelad，asshecalledhim，wasfiveandtwentyyearsold，tallandstraightandclean-limbed，withtheblueeyesoftheNorth，andagentle，frankface。Heworkedearlyandlateintheplotofgroundthatgavehimhislivelihood。Helivedwithhisgrandmother，andtendedherwithagraciouscourtesyandvenerationthatneveraltered。Hewasnotverywise;healsocouldneitherreadnorwrite;hebelievedinhispriestandhishomestead，andlovedthegroundthathehadtroddeneversincehisfirststepsfromthecradlehadbeenguidedbyReineAllix。Hehadneverbeendrawnfortheconscription，becausehewastheonlysupportofawomanofninety;helikewisehadneverbeenhalfadozenkilometresfromhisbirthplace。

Whenhewasbiddentovote，andheaskedwhathisvoteofassentwouldpledgehimtodo，theytoldhim，"Itwillbindyoutohonouryourgrandmothersolongassheshalllive，andtogetupwiththelark，andtogotomasseverySunday，andtobealoyalsontoyourcountry。

Nothingmore。"Andthereathehadsmiledandstraightenedhisstalwartframe，andgonerightwillinglytothevoting-urn。

Hewasverystupidinthesethings;andReineAllix，thoughclear-

headedandshrewd，washardlymorelearnedinthemthanhe。

"Lookyou，"shehadsaidtohimoftentimes，"inmybabyhoodtherewastheoldwhiteflaguponthechateau。Well，theypulledthatdownandputuparedone。Thattoppledandfell，andtherewasoneofthreecolours。Thensomebodywithaknotofwhiteliliesinhishandcameonedayandsetuptheoldwhiteoneafresh;andbeforethedaywasdonethatwasdownagainandthetricolouragainupwhereitis。Now，someI

knowfrettedthemselvesgreatlybecauseofallthesechangesoftheflags;butasforme，Icouldnotseethatanyoneofthemmattered：

breadwasjustasdearandsleepwasjustassweetwhicheverofthethreewasuppermost。"

Bernadou，whohadneverknownbuttheflagofthreecolours，believedher，asindeedhebelievedeverywordthatthosekindlyandresoluteoldlipseverutteredtohim。

Hehadneverbeeninacity，andonlyonce，onthedayofhisfirstcommunion，inthetownfourleaguesaway。Heknewnothingmorethanthissimple，cleanly，honestlifethatheled。Withwhatmendidoutsidehislittleworldofmeadow-landandwoodlandhehadnocarenoranyconcern。OnceamanhadcomethroughthevillageoftheBerceau，atravellinghawkerofcheapprints，——amanwithawildeyeandarestlessbrain，——whotoldBernadouthathewasadowntroddenslave，aclod，abeastlikeamule，whofetchedandcarriedthattherichmightfatten，adolt，anidiot，whocarednothingfortherightsofmanandthewrongsofthepoor。Bernadouhadlistenedwithaperplexedface;

thenwithasmile，thathadcleareditlikesunlight，hehadanswered，inhiscountrydialect，"Idonotknowofwhatyouspeak。Rights？

Wrongs？Icannottell，ButIhaveneverownedasou;Ihavenevertoldalie;Iamstrongenoughtoholdmyownwithanymanthatfloutsme;

andIamcontentwhereIam。Thatisenoughforme。"

Thepeddlerhadcalledhimapoor-spiritedbeastofburden，buthadsaidsooutofreachofhisarm，andbynighthadslunkawayfromtheBerceaudeDieu，andhadbeennomoreseentheretovexthequietcontentmentofitspeacefulandpeace-lovingways。

Atnight，indeed，sometimes，thelittlewine-shopofthevillagewouldbefrequentedbysomehalf-dozenofthepeasantproprietorsoftheplace，whotalkedcommunismaftertheirmanner，notaveryclearone，inexcitedtonesandwiththefeverishglancesofconspirators。Butitmeantlittle，andcametoless。Theweatherandthepriceofwheatweredearermatterstothem;andintheendtheyusuallydranktheirredwineinamity，andwentupthevillagestreetarminarm，singingpatrioticsongsuntiltheirangrywivesflungopentheirlatticesandthrusttheirwhitehead-gearoutintothemoonlight，andcalledtothemshrewishlytogettobedandnotmakefoolsofthemselvesinthatfashion;whichusuallysilencedandsoberedthemallinstantly;sothattherevolutionsoftheBerceaudeDieu，ifnotquenchedinawine-pot，werealwayssmotheredinanightcap，andneverbyanychancedisturbeditsrepose。

ButofthesenoisypatriotsBernadouwasneverone。HehadtheinstinctiveconservatismoftheFrenchpeasant，whichisinsuchdirectandtoughantagonismwiththefeverishsocialismoftheFrenchartisan。

Hislovewasforthesoil——alovedeep-rootedastheoaksthatgrewinit。OfParishehadadim，vaguedread，asofasuperbbeastcontinuallydraininganddevouring。Ofallformsofgovernmenthewasalikeignorant。Solongashetilledhislittleangleoflandinpeace，solongasthesunripenedhisfruitsandcorn，solongasfaminewasawayfromhisdoorandhisneighboursdweltingood-fellowshipwithhim，solonghewashappy，andcarednotwhetherhewasthushappyunderamonarchy，anempire，orarepublic。Thiswisdom，whichthepeddlercalledapathyandcursed，theyoungmanhadimbibedfromnatureandtheteachingsofReineAllix。"Lookathomeandmindthyword，"shehadsaidalwaystohim。"Itislabourenoughforamantokeephisownlifecleanandhisownhandshonest。BenotthouatanytimeastheyarewhoareforevertellingthegoodGodhowHemighthavemadetheworldonabetterplan，whiletheratsgnawattheirhay-stacksandthechildrencryoveranemptyplatter。"

Andhehadtakenheedtoherwords，sothatinallthecountry-sidetherewasnotanyladtruer，gentler，braver，ormorepatientatlabourthanwasBernadou;andthoughsomethoughthimmildeventofoolishness，andmeekeventostupidity，hewasnofool;andhehadacertainroughskillatmusic，andararegiftatthecultureofplants，andmadehislittlehomebrightwithinthewinter-timewithmelody，andinthesummergaywithoutasaking’sparterre。

Atanyrate，ReineAllixandhehadbeenhappytogetherforaquarterofacenturyundertheoldgraythatchofthewaysidecottage，whereitstoodatthefootofthevillagestreet，withitsgreatsycamoresspreadaboveit。Norweretheylesshappywheninmid-April，inthesixandtwentiethyearofhisage，Bernadouhadcomeinwithabunchofprimrosesinhishand，andhadbentdowntoherandsalutedherwitharespectfultenderness，andsaidsoftlyandalittleshyly，"/Gran’mere/，woulditsuityouifIwereever——tomarry？"

ReineAllixwassilentaminuteandmore，cherishingtheprimrosesandplacingtheminalittlebrowncupfulofwater。Thenshelookedathimsteadilywithherclear，darkeyes。"Whoisit，mychild？"Hewasalwaysachildtoher，thislast-bornofthenumerousbroodthathadoncedweltwithherunderthespreadingbranchesofthesycamores，andhadnowallperishedoffthefaceoftheearth，leavinghimselfandheralone。

Bernadou’seyesmethersfrankly。"ItisMargotDal。Doesthatpleaseyou，/gran’mere/，orno？"

"Itpleasesmewell，"shesaid，simply。Buttherewasalittlequiveraboutherfirm-setmouth，andheragedheadwasbentovertheprimroses。Shehadforeseenit;shewasgladofit;andyetfortheinstantitwasapangtoher。

"Iamverythankful，"saidBernadou，withaflashofjoyonhisface。

Hewasindependentofhisgrandmother;hecouldmakeenoughtomarryuponbyhisdailytoil，andhehadalittlestoreofgoldandsilverinhisbankinthethatch，putbyforarainyday;buthewouldhavenomorethoughtofgoingagainstherwillthanhewouldhavethoughtofliftinghishandagainsther。IntheprimitivehomesteadsoftheBerceaudeDieufilialreverencewasstillaccountedthefirstofvirtues，yetthesimplestandthemostimperative。

"IwillgoseeMargotthisevening，"saidReineAllix，afteralittlepause。"Sheisagoodgirlandabrave，andofpureheartandfairname。Youhavechosenwell，mygrandson。"

Bernadoustoopedhistall，fair，curlyhead，andshelaidherhandsonhimandblessedhim。

Thatevening，asthesunset，ReineAllixkeptherword，andwenttotheyoungmaidenwhohadalluredtheeyesandheartofBernadou。Margotwasanorphan;shehadnotapennytoherdower;shehadbeenbroughtuponcharity，andshedweltnowinthefamilyofthelargestlandowneroftheplace，amillerwithnumerousoffspring，andseveralheadofcattle，andmanystretchesofpastureandoforchard。Margotworkedforahardmaster，livingindeedasoneofthefamily，butsharplydrivenalldaylongatallmannerofhouseworkandfieldwork。ReineAllixhadkeptherglanceonher，throughsomeinstinctivesenseofthewaythatBernadou’sthoughtswereturning，andshehadseenmuchtopraise，nothingtochide，intheyounggirl’smodest，industrious，cheerful，uncomplaininglife。Margotwasverypretty，too，withthebrownovalfaceandthegreatblacksofteyesandthebeautifulformoftheSouthernbloodthathadrunintheveinsofherfather，whohadbeenasailorofMarseilles，whilehermotherhadbeenanativeoftheProvencalcountry。Altogether，ReineAllixknewthatherbelovedonecouldnothavedonebetterormorewisely，ifchooseatallhemust。

"Somepeople，indeed，"shesaidtoherselfassheclimbedthestreetwhosesharp-setflintshadbeentroddenbyherwoodenshoesforninetyyears——"Somepeoplewouldmournandscoldbecausethereisnostoreoflinen，nopieceofsilverplate，nolittleroundsuminmoneywiththepoorchild。Butwhatdoesitmatter？Wehaveenoughforthree。Itiswickedindeedforparentstolivesothattheyleavetheirdaughterportionless，butitisnofaultofthechild’s。Letthemsaywhattheylike，itisareasonthemorethatsheshouldwantaroofoverherheadandahusbandtocareforhergood。"

Sosheclimbedthesteepwayandtheslantingroadroundthehill，andwentinbythedoorofthemill-house，andfoundMargotbusyinwashingsomespringlettucesandothergreenthingsinabowlofbrightwater。

ReineAllix，inthefashionofhercountryandherbreeding，wasabouttoconferwiththemasterandmistresseresayingawordtothegirl，buttherewasthatinMargot’sfaceandinhertimidgreetingthatluredspeechoutofher。Shelookedlongandkeenlyintothechild’sdowncastcountenance，thentouchedherwithatendersmile。"PetiteMargot，thebirdstoldmealittlesecretto-day。Canstguesswhatitis？Say？"

Margotcolouredandthengrewpale。True，Bernadouhadneverreallyspokentoher，butstill，whenoneisseventeen，andhasdancedafewtimeswiththesameperson，andhaspluckedtheleavesofadaisyawaytolearnone’sfortune，spokenwordsarenotverymuchwanted。

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