{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_51054/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_51054","id":"gutenberg_51054","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51054","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: French Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Werewolves -- Fiction"],"text":"[Illustration: AN IMMENSE WOLF ENTERED THE ROOM, WALKING ON ITS HIND\n LEGS\n\n PAGE 29]\n\n\n\n\n THE NOVELS OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS\n\n THE WOLF-LEADER\n\n NEWLY TRANSLATED BY\n ALFRED ALLINSON\n\n NEVER BEFORE TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH\n\n WITH THREE COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS BY\n FRANK ADAMS\n\n METHUEN & CO.\n 36 ESSEX STREET W.C.\n LONDON\n\n [_Copyright: all rights reserved_]\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n PAGE\n\nAN IMMENSE WOLF ENTERED THE ROOM, WALKING ON ITS HIND LEGS _Frontispiece_\n\nA YOUNG GIRL SUDDENLY EMERGED FROM THE UNDERWOOD 23\n\nTHE BARON\u2019S HORSE SHIED, THROWING THE RIDER OVER ITS HEAD 80\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER PAGE\n\nINTRODUCTION.--WHO MOCQUET WAS, AND HOW THIS TALE BECAME KNOWN\nTO THE NARRATOR 1\n\nI.--THE GRAND MASTER OF HIS HIGHNESS\u2019 WOLF HOUNDS 12\n\nII.--THE SEIGNEUR JEAN AND THE SABOT MAKER 16\n\nIII.--AGNELETTE 22\n\nIV.--THE BLACK WOLF 27\n\nV.--THE PACT WITH SATAN 31\n\nVI.--THE BEDEVILLED HAIR 35\n\nVII.--THE BOY AT THE MILL 40\n\nVIII.--THIBAULT\u2019S WISHES 44\n\nIX.--THE WOLF-LEADER 47\n\nX.--MA\u00ceTRE MAGLOIRE 51\n\nXI.--DAVID AND GOLIATH 55\n\nXII.--WOLVES IN THE SHEEP-FOLD 60\n\nXIII.--WHERE IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT A WOMAN NEVER SPEAKS\nMORE ELOQUENTLY THAN WHEN SHE HOLDS HER TONGUE 67\n\nXIV.--A VILLAGE WEDDING 72\n\nXV.--THE LORD OF VAUPARFOND 76\n\nXVI.--MY LADY\u2019S LADY 80\n\nXVII.--THE BARON DE MONT-GOBERT 84\n\nXVIII.--DEATH AND RESURRECTION 88\n\nXIX.--THE DEAD AND THE LIVING 90\n\nXX.--TRUE TO TRYST 94\n\nXXI.--THE GENIUS OF EVIL 99\n\nXXII.--THIBAULT\u2019S LAST WISH 105\n\nXXIII.--THE ANNIVERSARY 108\n\nXXIV.--HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF 111\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nAlthough the introductory chapters were not signed until May 31st, 1856,\n_The Wolf-Leader_ is to be associated in conception with the group of\nromances which Dumas wrote at Brussels between the years 1852 and 1854,\nthat is to say, after his financial failure and the consequent defection\nof his collaborator Maquet, and before his return to Paris to found\nhis journal _Le Mousquetaire_. Like _Conscience l\u2019Innocent_ and\n_Catherine Blum_, which date from that period of exile, the present\nstory was inspired by reminiscences of our author\u2019s native\nplace--Villers-Cotterets, in the department of the Aisne.\n\nIn _The Wolf-Leader_ Dumas, however, allows his imagination and fancy\nfull play. Using a legend told to him nearly half a century before,\nconjuring up the scenes of his boyhood, and calling into requisition his\nwonderful gift of improvisation, he contrives in the happiest way to\nweave a romance in which are combined a weird tale of _diablerie_ and\ncontinual delightful glimpses of forest life. Terror, wood-craft, and\nhumour could not be more felicitously intermingled. The reader, while\nkept under the spell of the main theme of the story, experiences all the\ncharm of an open-air life in the great forest of Villers-Cotterets--the\nforest in which the little town seemed to occupy a small clearing, and\ninto which the boy Alexandre occasionally escaped for days together from\nthe irksome routine of the school or from the hands of relatives who\nwanted to make a priest of him.\n\nThus Dumas, the most impressionable of men, all his life remained\ngrateful to the forest for the poetic fancies derived from its beauty\nand the mysteries of its recesses, as well as for the hiding-places it\nafforded him, and for the game and birds which he soon learnt to shoot\nand snare there. Listen to his indignation at the destruction of the\ntrees in the neighbouring park. We quote from his _Memoirs_:--\u201cThat\npark, planted by Fran\u00e7ois I., was cut down by Louis Philippe. Beautiful\ntrees! under whose shade once reclined Fran\u00e7ois I. and Madame d\u2019Etampes,\nHenri II. and Diana of Poitiers, Henri IV. and Gabrielle--you had a\nright to believe that a Bourbon would have respected you, that you would\nhave lived your long life--the life of beech trees and oaks; that the\nbirds would have warbled on your branches when green and leafy. But over\nand above your inestimable value of poetry and memories, you had,\nunhappily, a material value. You beautiful beeches with your polished\nsilvery cases! you beautiful oaks with your sombre wrinkled bark!--you\nwere worth a hundred thousand crowns. The King of France, who, with his\nsix millions of private revenue, was too poor to keep you--the King of\nFrance sold you. For my part, had you been my sole fortune, I would have\npreserved you; for, poet as I am, there is one thing that I would set\nbefore all the gold of the earth, and that is the murmur of the wind in\nyour leaves; the shadow that you made to flicker beneath my feet; the\nsweet visions, the charming phantoms which, at evening time, betwixt the\nday and night, in twilight\u2019s doubtful hour would glide between your\nage-long trunks as glide the shadows of the ancient Abencerrages amid\nthe thousand columns of Cordova\u2019s royal mosque.\u201d\n\n_The Wolf-Leader_ was published in 1857, in three volumes (Paris:\nCadot). Dumas reprinted it in his journal _Le Monte-Cristo_ in 1860.\n\nR. S. G.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WOLF-LEADER\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nWHO MOCQUET WAS, AND HOW THIS TALE BECAME KNOWN TO THE NARRATOR\n\n\nI\n\nWhy, I ask myself, during those first twenty years of my literary life,\nfrom 1827 to 1847, did I so rarely turn my eyes and thoughts towards the\nlittle town where I was born, towards the woods amid which it lies\nembowered, and the villages that cluster round it? How was it that\nduring all that time the world of my youth seemed to me to have\ndisappeared, as if hidden behind a cloud, whilst the future which lay\nbefore me shone clear and resplendent, like those magic islands which\nColumbus and his companions mistook for baskets of flowers floating on\nthe sea?\n\nAlas! simply because during the first twenty years of our life, we have\nHope for our guide, and during the last twenty, Reality.\n\nFrom the hour when, weary with our journey, we ungird ourselves, and\ndropping the traveller\u2019s staff, sit down by the way-side, we begin to\nlook back over the road that we have traversed; for it is the way ahead\nthat now is dark and misty, and so we turn and gaze into the depths of\nthe past.\n\nThen with the wide desert awaiting us in front, we are astonished, as we\nlook along the path which we have left behind, to catch sight of first\none and then another of those delicious oases of verdure and shade,\nbeside which we never thought of lingering for a moment, and which,\nindeed we had passed by almost without notice.\n\nBut, then, how quickly our feet carried us along in those days! we were\nin such a hurry to reach that goal of happiness, to which no road has\never yet brought any one of us.\n\nIt is at this point that we begin to see how blind and ungrateful we\nhave been; it is now that we say to ourselves, if we could but once more\ncome across such a green and wooded resting-place, we would stay there\nfor the rest of our lives, would pitch our tent there, and there end our\ndays.\n\nBut the body cannot go back and renew its existence, and so memory has\nto make its pious pilgrimage alone; back to the early days and fresh\nbeginnings of life it travels, like those light vessels that are borne\nupward by their white sails against the current of a river. Then the\nbody once more pursues its journey; but the body without memory is as\nthe night without stars, as the lamp without its flame.... And so body\nand memory go their several ways.\n\nThe body, with chance for its guide, moves towards the unknown.\n\nMemory, that bright will-o\u2019-the-wisp, hovers over the land-marks that\nare left behind; and memory, we may be sure, will not lose her way.\nEvery oasis is revisited, every association recalled, and then with a\nrapid flight she returns to the body that grows ever more and more\nweary, and like the humming of a bee, like the song of a bird, like the\nmurmur of a stream, tells the tale of all that she has seen.\n\nAnd as the tired traveller listens, his eyes grow bright again, his\nmouth smiles, and a light steals over his face. For Providence in\nkindness, seeing that he cannot return to youth, allows youth to return\nto him. And ever after he loves to repeat aloud what memory tells him\nin her soft, low voice.\n\nAnd is our life, then, bounded by a circle like the earth? Do we,\nunconsciously, continue to walk towards the spot from which we started?\nAnd as we travel nearer and nearer to the grave, do we again draw\ncloser, ever closer, to the cradle?\n\n\nII\n\nI cannot say. But what happened to myself, that much at any rate I know.\nAt my first halt along the road of life, my first glance backwards, I\nbegan by relating the tale of Bernard and his uncle Berthelin, then the\nstory of Ange Pitou, his fair _fianc\u00e9e_, and of Aunt Ang\u00e9lique; after\nthat I told of Conscience and Mariette; and lastly of Catherine Blum and\nFather Vatrin.\n\nI am now going to tell you the story of Thibault and his wolves, and of\nthe Lord of Vez. And how, you will ask, did I become acquainted with the\nevents which I am now about to bring before you? I will tell you.\n\nHave you read my _M\u00e9moires_, and do you remember one, by name Mocquet,\nwho was a friend of my father\u2019s?\n\nIf you have read them, you will have some vague recollection of this\npersonage. If you have not read them, you will not remember anything\nabout him at all.\n\nIn either case, then, it is of the first importance that I should bring\nMocquet clearly before your mind\u2019s eye.\n\nAs far back as I can remember, that is when I was about three years of\nage, we lived, my father and mother and I, in a little Ch\u00e2teau called\nLes Foss\u00e9s, situated on the boundary that separates the departments of\nAisne and Oise, between Haramont and Longpr\u00e9. The little house in\nquestion had doubtless been named Les Foss\u00e9s on account of the deep and\nbroad moat, filled with water, with which it was surrounded.\n\nI do not mention my sister, for she was at school in Paris, and we only\nsaw her once a year, when she was home for a month\u2019s holiday.\n\nThe household, apart from my father, mother and myself,\nconsisted--firstly: of a large black dog, called Truffe, who was a\nprivileged animal and made welcome wherever he appeared, more especially\nas I regularly went about on his back; secondly: of a gardener, named\nPierre, who kept me amply provided with frogs and snakes, two species of\nliving creatures in which I was particularly interested; thirdly: of a\nnegro, a valet of my father\u2019s, named Hippolyte, a sort of black\nmerry-andrew, whom my father, I believe, only kept that he might be well\nprimed with anecdotes wherewith to gain the advantage in his encounters\nwith Brunel[A] and beat his wonderful stories; fourthly: of a keeper\nnamed Mocquet, for whom I had a great admiration, seeing that he had\nmagnificent stories to tell of ghosts and were-wolves, to which I\nlistened every evening, and which were abruptly broken off the instant\nthe General--as my father was usually called--appeared on the scene;\nfifthly: of a cook, who answered to the name of Marie, but this figure I\ncan no longer recall, it is lost to me in the misty twilight of life; I\nremember only the name, as given to someone of whom but a shadowy\noutline remains in my memory, and about whom, as far as I recollect,\nthere was nothing of a very poetic character.\n\n [A] See _M\u00e9moires_.\n\nMocquet, however, is the only person that need occupy our attention for\nthe present. Let me try to make him known to you, both as regards his\npersonal appearance and his character.\n\n\nIII\n\nMocquet was a man of about forty years of age, short, thick-set, broad\nof shoulder, and sturdy of leg. His skin was burnt brown by the sun, his\neyes were small and piercing, his hair grizzled, and his black whiskers\nmet under his chin in a half circle.\n\nAs I look back, his figure rises before me, wearing a three-cornered\nhat, and clad in a green waistcoat with silver buttons, velveteen cord\nbreeches, and high leathern gaiters, with a game-bag over his shoulder,\nhis gun in his hand, and a cutty-pipe in his mouth.\n\nLet us pause for a moment to consider this pipe, for this pipe grew to\nbe, not merely an accessory, but an integral part of Mocquet. Nobody\ncould remember ever having seen Mocquet without it. If by any chance\nMocquet did not happen to have it in his mouth, he had it in his hand.\n\nThis pipe, having to accompany Mocquet into the heart of the thickest\ncoverts, it was necessary that it should be of such a kind as to offer\nthe least possible opportunity to any other solid body of bringing about\nits destruction; for the destruction of his old, well-coloured cutty\nwould have been to Mocquet a loss that years alone could have repaired.\nTherefore the stem of Mocquet\u2019s pipe was not more than half-an-inch\nlong; moreover you might always wager that half that half inch at least\nwas supplied by the quill of a feather.\n\nThis habit of never being without his pipe, which, by causing the almost\nentire disappearance of both canines, had hollowed out a sort of vice\nfor itself on the left side of his mouth, between the fourth incisor and\nthe first molar, had given rise to another of Mocquet\u2019s habits; this was\nto speak with his teeth clenched, whereby a certain impression of\nobstinacy was conveyed by all he said.--This became even more marked if\nMocquet chanced at any moment to take his pipe out of his mouth, for\nthere was nothing then to prevent the jaws closing and the teeth coming\ntogether in a way which prevented the words passing through them at all\nexcept in a sort of whistle, which was hardly intelligible.\n\nSuch was Mocquet with respect to outward appearance. In the following\npages I will endeavour to give some idea of his intellectual capacity\nand moral qualities.\n\n\nIV\n\nEarly one morning, before my father had risen, Mocquet walked into his\nroom, and planted himself at the foot of the bed, stiff and upright as a\nsign-post.\n\n\u201cWell, Mocquet,\u201d said my father, \u201cwhat\u2019s the matter now? what gives me\nthe pleasure of seeing you here at this early hour?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe matter is, General,\u201d replied Mocquet with the utmost gravity, \u201cthe\nmatter is that I am _nightmared_.\u201d\n\nMocquet had, quite unawares to himself, enriched the language with a\ndouble verb, both active and passive.\n\n\u201cYou are _nightmared_?\u201d responded my father, raising himself on his\nelbow. \u201cDear, dear, that\u2019s a serious matter, my poor Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right there, General.\u201d\n\nAnd Mocquet took his pipe out of his mouth, a thing he did rarely, and\nonly on the most important occasions.\n\n\u201cAnd how long have you been _nightmared_?\u201d continued my father\ncompassionately.\n\n\u201cFor a whole week, General.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who by, Mocquet?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! I know very well who by,\u201d answered Mocquet, through his teeth,\nwhich were so much the more tightly closed that his pipe was in his\nhand, and his hand behind his back.\n\n\u201cAnd may I also know by whom?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy Mother Durand, of Haramont, who, as you will have heard, is an old\nwitch.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, indeed, I assure you I had no idea of such a thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! but I know it well enough; I\u2019ve seen her riding past on her\nbroomstick to her Witches\u2019 Sabbath.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have seen her go by on her broomstick?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs plainly as I see you, General; and more than that, she has an old\nblack billy-goat at home that she worships.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why should she come and nightmare you?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo revenge herself on me, because I came upon her once at midnight on\nthe heath of Gondreville, when she was dancing round and round in her\ndevil\u2019s circle.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is a most serious accusation which you bring against her, my\nfriend; and before repeating to anyone what you have been telling me in\nprivate, I think it would be as well if you tried to collect some more\nproofs.\u201d\n\n\u201cProofs! What more proofs do I want! Does not every soul in the village\nknow that in her youth she was the Mistress of Thibault, the\nwolf-leader?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed! I must look carefully into this matter, Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am looking very carefully into it myself, and she shall pay for it,\nthe old mole!\u201d\n\n_Old mole_ was an expression that Mocquet had borrowed from his friend\nPierre, the gardener, who, as he had no worse enemies to deal with than\nmoles, gave the name of mole to everything and everybody that he\nparticularly detested.\n\n\nV\n\n\u201cI must look carefully into this matter\u201d--these words were not said by\nmy father by reason of any belief he had in the truth of Mocquet\u2019s tale\nabout his nightmare; and even the fact of the nightmare being admitted\nby him, he gave no credence to the idea that it was Mother Durand who\nhad _nightmared_ the keeper. Far from it; but my father was not ignorant\nof the superstitions of the people, and he knew that belief in spells\nwas still wide-spread among the peasantry in the country districts. He\nhad heard of terrible acts of revenge carried out by the victims on some\nman or woman who they thought had bewitched them, in the belief that the\ncharm would thus be broken; and Mocquet, while he stood denouncing\nMother Durand to my father, had had such an accent of menace in his\nvoice, and had given such a grip to his gun, that my father thought it\nwise to appear to agree with everything he said, in order to gain his\nconfidence and so prevent him doing anything without first consulting\nhim.\n\nSo, thinking that he had so far gained an influence over Mocquet, my\nfather ventured to say:\n\n\u201cBut before you make her pay for it, my good Mocquet, you ought to be\nquite sure that no one can cure you of your nightmare.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo one can cure me, General,\u201d replied Mocquet in a tone of conviction.\n\n\u201cHow! No one able to cure you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo one; I have tried the impossible.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how did you try?\u201d\n\n\u201cFirst of all, I drank a large bowl of hot wine before going to bed.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who recommended that remedy? was it Monsieur L\u00e9cosse?\u201d Monsieur\nL\u00e9cosse was the doctor in repute at Villers-Cotterets.\n\n\u201cMonsieur L\u00e9cosse?\u201d exclaimed Mocquet. \u201cNo, indeed! What should he know\nabout spells! By my faith, no! it was not Monsieur L\u00e9cosse.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho was it, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was the shepherd of Longpr\u00e9.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut a bowl of wine, you dunderhead! Why, you must have been dead\ndrunk.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe shepherd drank half of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI see; now I understand why he prescribed it. And did the bowl of wine\nhave any effect?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot any, General; she came trampling over my chest that night, just as\nif I had taken nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what did you do next? You were not obliged, I suppose, to limit\nyour efforts to your bowl of hot wine?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did what I do when I want to catch a _wily beast_.\u201d\n\nMocquet made use of a phraseology which was all his own; no one had ever\nsucceeded in inducing him to say a _wild beast_; every time my father\nsaid _wild beast_, Mocquet would answer, \u201cYes, General, I know, a _wily\nbeast_.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou still stick to your _wily beast_, then?\u201d my father said to him on\none occasion.\n\n\u201cYes, General, but not out of obstinacy.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why then, may I ask?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause, General, with all due respect to you, you are mistaken about\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cMistaken? I? How?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause you ought not to say a _wild beast_, but a _wily beast_.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what is a _wily beast_, Mocquet?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is an animal that only goes about at night; that is, an animal that\ncreeps into the pigeon-houses and kills the pigeons, like the pole-cat,\nor into the chicken-houses, to kill the chickens, like the fox; or into\nthe folds, to kill the sheep, like the wolf; it means an animal which is\ncunning and deceitful, in short, a _wily beast_.\u201d\n\nIt was impossible to find anything to say after such a logical\ndefinition as this.--My father, therefore, remained silent, and Mocquet,\nfeeling that he had gained a victory, continued to call _wild beasts_,\n_wily beasts_, utterly unable to understand my father\u2019s obstinacy in\ncontinuing to call _wily beasts_, _wild beasts_.\n\nSo now you understand why, when my father asked him what else he had\ndone, Mocquet answered, \u201cI did what I do when I want to catch a _wily\nbeast_.\u201d\n\nWe have interrupted the conversation to give this explanation; but as\nthere was no need of explanation between my father and Mocquet, they had\ngone on talking, you must understand, without any such break.\n\n\nVI\n\n\u201cAnd what is it you do, Mocquet, when you want to catch this animal of\nyours?\u201d asked my father.\n\n\u201cI set a _trarp_, General.\u201d Mocquet always called a trap a trarp.\n\n\u201cDo you mean to tell me you have set a trap to catch Mother Durand?\u201d\n\nMy father had of course said _trap_; but Mocquet did not like anyone to\npronounce words differently from himself, so he went on:\n\n\u201cJust so, General; I have set a _trarp_ for Mother Durand.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd where have you put your _trarp_? Outside your door?\u201d\n\nMy father, you see, was willing to make concessions.\n\n\u201cOutside my door! Much good that would be! I only know she gets into my\nroom, but I cannot even guess which way she comes.\u201d\n\n\u201cDown the chimney, perhaps?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no chimney, and besides, I never see her until I feel her.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you do see her, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs plainly I see you, General.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what does she do?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing agreeable, you may be sure; she tramples all over my chest:\nthud, thud! thump, thump!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, where _have_ you set your trap, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe _trarp_, why, I put it on my own stomach.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what kind of a _trarp_ did you use?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! a first-rate _trarp_!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat was it?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe one I made to catch the grey wolf with, that used to kill M.\nDestournelles\u2019 sheep.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot such a first-rate one, then, for the grey wolf ate up your bait,\nand then bolted.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know why he was not caught, General.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I do not.\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause it was the black wolf that belonged to old Thibault, the\nsabot-maker.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt could not have been Thibault\u2019s black wolf, for you said yourself\njust this moment that the wolf that used to come and kill M.\nDestournelles\u2019 sheep was a grey one.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is grey now, General; but thirty years ago, when Thibault the\nsabot-maker was alive, he was black; and, to assure you of the truth of\nthis, look at my hair, which was black as a raven\u2019s thirty years ago,\nand now is as grey as the Doctor\u2019s.\u201d\n\nThe Doctor was a cat, an animal of some fame, that you will find\nmentioned in my _M\u00e9moires_ and known as the Doctor on account of the\nmagnificent fur which nature had given it for a coat.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied my father, \u201cI know your tale about Thibault, the\nsabot-maker; but, if the black wolf is the devil, Mocquet, as you say he\nis, he would not change colour.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all, General; only it takes him a hundred years to become quite\nwhite, and the last midnight of every hundred years, he turns black as a\ncoal again.\u201d\n\n\u201cI give up the case, then, Mocquet: all I ask is, that you will not tell\nmy son this fine tale of yours, until he is fifteen at least.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why, General?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause it is no use stuffing his mind with nonsense of that kind,\nuntil he is old enough to laugh at wolves, whether they are white, grey\nor black.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt shall be as you say, General; he shall hear nothing of this matter.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on, then.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere had we got to, General?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe had got to your _trarp_, which you had put on your stomach, and you\nwere saying that it was a first-rate _trarp_.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy my faith, General, that was a first-rate _trarp_!\u201d It weighed a good\nten pounds. What am I saying! fifteen pounds at least with its chain!\n\nI put the chain over my wrist.\n\n\u201cAnd what happened that night?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat night? why, it was worse than ever! Generally, it was in her\nleather overshoes she came and kneaded my chest, but that night she came\nin her wooden _sabots_.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd she comes like this...?\u201d\n\n\u201cEvery blessed one of God\u2019s nights, and it is making me quite thin; you\ncan see for yourself, General, I am growing as thin as a lath. However,\nthis morning I made up my mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what did you decide upon, Mocquet?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, I made up my mind I would let fly at her with my gun.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was a wise decision to come to. And when do you think of carrying\nit out?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis evening, or to-morrow at latest, General.\u201d\n\n\u201cConfound it! And just as I was wanting to send you over to\nVillers-Hellon.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat won\u2019t matter, General. Was it something that you wanted done at\nonce?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, then, I can go over to Villers-Hellon,--it\u2019s not above a few\nmiles, if I go through the wood--and get back here this evening; the\njourney both ways is only twenty-four miles, and we have covered a few\nmore than that before now out shooting, General.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s settled, then; I will write a letter for you to give to M.\nCollard, and then you can start.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will start, General, without a moment\u2019s delay.\u201d\n\nMy father rose, and wrote to M. Collard; the letter was as follows:\n\n\u201cMY DEAR COLLARD,\n\n\u201cI am sending you that idiot of a\nkeeper of mine, whom you know; he has\ntaken into his head that an old woman\n_nightmares_ him every night, and, to rid\nhimself of this vampire, he intends nothing\nmore nor less than to kill her.\n\n\u201cJustice, however, might not look\nfavourably on this method of his for curing\nhimself of indigestion, and so I am going\nto start him off to you on a pretext of\nsome kind or other. Will you, also, on\nsome pretext or other, send him on, as\nsoon as he gets to you, to Danr\u00e9, at\nVouty, who will send him on to Dulauloy,\nwho, with or without pretext, may then,\nas far as I care, send him on to the devil?\n\n\u201cIn short, he must be kept going for a\nfortnight at least. By that time we shall\nhave moved out of here and shall be at\nAntilly, and as he will then no longer be\nin the district of Haramont, and as his\nnightmare will probably have left him on\nthe way, Mother Durand will be able to\nsleep in peace, which I should certainly\nnot advise her to do if Mocquet were\nremaining anywhere in her neighbourhood.\n\n\u201cHe is bringing you six brace of snipe\nand a hare, which we shot while out yesterday\non the marshes of Vallue.\n\n\u201cA thousand-and-one of my tenderest\nremembrances to the fair Herminie, and\nas many kisses to the dear little Caroline.\n\n\u201cYour friend,\n\n\u201cALEX. DUMAS.\u201d\n\nAn hour later Mocquet was on his way, and, at the end of three weeks, he\nrejoined us at Antilly.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d asked my father, seeing him reappear in robust health, \u201cwell,\nand how about Mother Durand?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, General,\u201d replied Mocquet cheerfully, \u201cI\u2019ve got rid of the old\nmole; it seems she has no power except in her own district.\u201d\n\n\nVII\n\nTwelve years had passed since Mocquet\u2019s nightmare, and I was now over\nfifteen years of age. It was the winter of 1817 to 1818; ten years\nbefore that date I had, alas! lost my father.\n\nWe no longer had a Pierre for gardener, a Hippolyte for valet, or a\nMocquet for keeper; we no longer lived at the Ch\u00e2teau of Les Foss\u00e9s or\nin the villa at Antilly, but in the market-place of Villers Cotterets,\nin a little house opposite the fountain, where my mother kept a _bureau\nde tabac_, selling powder and shot as well over the same counter.\n\nAs you have already read in my _M\u00e9moires_, although still young, I was\nan enthusiastic sportsman. As far as sport went, however, that is\naccording to the usual acceptation of the word, I had none, except when\nmy cousin, M. Deviolaine, the ranger of the forest at Villers-Cotterets,\nwas kind enough to ask leave of my mother to take me with him. I filled\nup the remainder of my time with poaching.\n\nFor this double function of sportsman and poacher I was well provided\nwith a delightful single-barrelled gun, on which was engraven the\nmonogram of the Princess Borghese, to whom it had originally belonged.\nMy father had given it me when I was a child, and when, after his death,\neverything had to be sold, I implored so urgently to be allowed to keep\nmy gun, that it was not sold with the other weapons, and the horses and\ncarriages.\n\nThe most enjoyable time for me was the winter; then the snow lay on the\nground, and the birds, in their search for food, were ready to come\nwherever grain was sprinkled for them. Some of my father\u2019s old friends\nhad fine gardens, and I was at liberty to go and shoot the birds there\nas I liked. So I used to sweep the snow away, spread some grain, and,\nhiding myself within easy gun-shot, fire at the birds, sometimes killing\nsix, eight, or even ten at a time.\n\nThen, if the snow lasted, there was another thing to look forward\nto,--the chance of tracing a wolf to its lair, and a wolf so traced was\neverybody\u2019s property. The wolf, being a public enemy, a murderer beyond\nthe pale of the law, might be shot at by all or anyone, and so, in spite\nof my mother\u2019s cries, who dreaded the double danger for me, you need not\nask if I seized my gun, and was first on the spot ready for sport.\n\nThe winter of 1817 to 1818 had been long and severe; the snow was lying\na foot deep on the ground, and so hard frozen that it had held for a\nfortnight past, and still there were no tidings of anything.\n\nTowards four o\u2019clock one afternoon Mocquet called upon us; he had come\nto lay in his stock of powder. While so doing, he looked at me and\nwinked with one eye. When he went out, I followed.\n\n\u201cWhat is it, Mocquet?\u201d I asked, \u201ctell me.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you guess, Monsieur Alexandre?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t guess, then, that if I come and buy powder here from Madame,\nyour mother, instead of going to Haramont for it,--in short, if I walk\nthree miles instead of only a quarter that distance, that I might\npossibly have a bit of a shoot to propose to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you good Mocquet! and what and where?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a wolf, Monsieur Alexandre.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot really?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe carried off one of M. Destournelles\u2019 sheep last night, I have traced\nhim to the Tillet woods.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what then?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy then, I am certain to see him again to-night, and shall find out\nwhere his lair is, and to-morrow morning we\u2019ll finish his business for\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, this is luck!\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly, we must first ask leave....\u201d\n\n\u201cOf whom, Mocquet?\u201d\n\n\u201cLeave of Madame.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right, come in, then, we will ask her at once.\u201d\n\nMy mother had been watching us through the window; she suspected that\nsome plot was hatching between us.\n\n\u201cI have no patience with you, Mocquet,\u201d she said, as we went in, \u201cyou\nhave no sense or discretion.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn what way, Madame?\u201d asked Mocquet.\n\n\u201cTo go exciting him in the way you do; he thinks too much of sport as it\nis.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, Madame, it is with him, as with dogs of breed; his father was a\nsportsman, he is a sportsman, and his son will be a sportsman after him;\nyou must make up your mind to that.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd supposing some harm should come to him?\u201d\n\n\u201cHarm come to him with me? With Mocquet? No, indeed! I will answer for\nit with my own life, that he shall be safe. Harm happen to him, to him,\nthe General\u2019s son? Never, never, never!\u201d\n\nBut my poor mother shook her head; I went to her and flung my arms round\nher neck.\n\n\u201cMother, dearest,\u201d I cried, \u201cplease let me go.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will load his gun for him, then, Mocquet?\u201d\n\n\u201cHave no fear, sixty grains of powder, not a grain more or less, and a\ntwenty to the pound bullet.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you will not leave him?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will stay by him like his shadow.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will keep him near you?\u201d\n\n\u201cBetween my legs.\u201d\n\n\u201cI give him into your sole charge, Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd he shall be given back to you safe and sound. Now, Monsieur\nAlexandre, gather up your traps, and let us be off; your mother has\ngiven her permission.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not taking him away this evening, Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must, Madame, to-morrow morning will be too late to fetch him; we\nmust hunt the wolf at dawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe wolf! it is for a wolf-hunt that you are asking for him to go with\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you afraid that the wolf will eat him?\u201d\n\n\u201cMocquet! Mocquet!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut when I tell you that I will be answerable for everything!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd where will the poor child sleep?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith father Mocquet, of course, he will have a good mattress laid on\nthe floor, and sheets white as those which God has spread over the\nfields, and two good warm coverlids; I promise you that he shall not\ncatch cold.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall be all right, mother, you may be sure! Now then, Mocquet, I am\nready.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you don\u2019t even give me a kiss, you poor boy, you!\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, yes, dear mother, and a good many more than one!\u201d\n\nAnd I threw myself on my mother\u2019s neck, stifling her with my caresses as\nI clasped her in my arms.\n\n\u201cAnd when shall I see you again?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, do not be uneasy if he does not return before to-morrow evening.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow, to-morrow evening! and you spoke of starting at dawn!\u201d\n\n\u201cAt dawn for the wolf; but if we miss him, the lad must have a shot or\ntwo at the wild ducks on the marshes of Vallue.\u201d\n\n\u201cI see! you are going to drown him for me!\u201d\n\n\u201cBy the name of all that\u2019s good, Madame, if I was not speaking to the\nGeneral\u2019s widow--I should say----\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat Mocquet? What would you say?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat you will make nothing but a wretched milksop of your boy.... If\nthe General\u2019s mother had been always behind him, pulling at his\ncoat-tails, as you are behind this child, he would never even have had\nthe courage to cross the sea to France.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right, Mocquet! take him away! I am a poor fool.\u201d\n\nAnd my mother turned aside, to wipe away a tear.\n\nA mother\u2019s tear, that heart\u2019s diamond, more precious than all the pearls\nof Ophir! I saw it running down her cheek. I ran to the poor woman, and\nwhispered to her, \u201cMother, if you like, I will stay at home.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, go, my child,\u201d she said, \u201cMocquet is right; you must, sooner or\nlater, learn to be a man.\u201d\n\nI gave her another last kiss; then I ran after Mocquet, who had already\nstarted.\n\nAfter I had gone a few paces, I looked round; my mother had run into the\nmiddle of the road, that she might keep me in sight as long as possible;\nit was my turn now to wipe away a tear.\n\n\u201cHow now?\u201d said Mocquet, \u201cyou crying too, Monsieur Alexandre!\u201d\n\n\u201cNonsense, Mocquet! it\u2019s only the cold makes my eyes run.\u201d\n\nBut Thou, O God, who gavest me that tear, Thou knowest that it was not\nbecause of the cold that I was crying.\n\n\nVIII\n\nIt was pitch dark when we reached Mocquet\u2019s house. We had a savoury\nomelette and stewed rabbit for supper, and then Mocquet made my bed\nready for me. He kept his word to my mother, for I had a good mattress,\ntwo white sheets and two good warm coverlids.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said Mocquet, \u201ctuck yourself in there, and go to sleep; we may\nprobably have to be off at four o\u2019clock to-morrow morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt any hour you like, Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I know, you are a capital riser over night, and to-morrow morning\nI shall have to throw a jug of cold water over you to make you get up.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are welcome to do that, Mocquet, if you have to call me twice.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, we\u2019ll see about that.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you in a hurry to go to sleep, Mocquet?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, whatever do you want me to do at this hour of the night?\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought, perhaps, Mocquet, you would tell me one of those stories\nthat I used to find so amusing when I was a child.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who is going to get up for me at two o\u2019clock to-morrow, if I sit\ntelling you tales till midnight? Our good priest, perhaps?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right, Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s fortunate you think so!\u201d\n\nSo I undressed and went to bed. Five minutes later Mocquet was snoring\nlike a bass viol.\n\nI turned and twisted for a good two hours before I could get to sleep.\nHow many sleepless nights have I not passed on the eve of the first\nshoot of the season! At last, towards midnight fatigue gained the\nmastery over me. A sudden sensation of cold awoke me with a start at\nfour o\u2019clock in the morning; I opened my eyes. Mocquet had thrown my\nbed-clothes off over the foot of the bed, and was standing beside me,\nleaning both hands on his gun, his face beaming out upon me, as, at\nevery fresh puff of his short pipe, the light from it illuminated his\nfeatures.\n\n\u201cWell, how have you got on, Mocquet?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has been tracked to his lair.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe wolf? and who tracked him?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis foolish old Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cBravo!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut guess where he has chosen to take covert, this most accommodating\nof good wolves!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere was it then, Mocquet?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I gave you a hundred chances you wouldn\u2019t guess! in the Three Oaks\nCovert.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got him, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cI should rather think so.\u201d\n\nThe Three Oaks Covert is a patch of trees and undergrowth, about two\nacres in extent, situated in the middle of the plain of Largny, about\nfive hundred paces from the forest.\n\n\u201cAnd the keepers?\u201d I went on.\n\n\u201cAll had notice sent them,\u201d replied Mocquet; \u201cMoynat, Mildet, Vatrin,\nLafeuille, all the best shots in short, are waiting in readiness just\noutside the forest. You and I, with Monsieur Charpentier, from Vallue,\nMonsieur Hochedez, from Largny, Monsieur Destournelles, from Les Foss\u00e9s,\nare to surround the Covert; the dogs will be slipped, the field-keeper\nwill go with them, and we shall have him, that\u2019s certain.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll put me in a good place, Mocquet?\u201d\n\n\u201cHaven\u2019t I said that you will be near me; but you must get up first.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s true---- Brrou!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I am going to have pity on your youth and put a bundle of wood in\nthe fire-place.\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t dare ask for it; but, on my word of honour, it will be kind of\nyou if you will.\u201d\n\nMocquet went out and brought in an armful of wood from the timber-yard,\nand threw it on to the hearth, poking it down with his foot; then he\nthrew a lighted match among the twigs, and in another moment the clear\nbright flames were dancing and crackling up the chimney. I went and sat\non the stool by the fireside, and there dressed myself; you may be sure\nthat I was not long over my toilette; even Mocquet was astonished at my\ncelerity.\n\n\u201cNow, then,\u201d he said, \u201ca drop of this, and then off!\u201d And saying this,\nhe filled two small glasses with a yellowish coloured liquor, which did\nnot require any tasting on my part to recognize.\n\n\u201cYou know I never drink brandy, Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, you are your father\u2019s son, all over! What will you have, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, Mocquet, nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know the proverb: \u2018Leave the house empty; the devil will be there.\u2019\nBelieve me, you had better put something into your stomach, while I load\nyour gun, for I must keep my promise to that poor mother of yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, I will have a crust of bread and a glass of _pignolet_.\u201d\n_Pignolet_ is a light wine made in non-winegrowing districts, generally\nsaid to require three men to drink it, one to drink, and two to hold\nhim; I was, however, pretty well accustomed to _pignolet_, and could\ndrink it up without help. So I swallowed my glass of wine while Mocquet\nloaded my gun.\n\n\u201cWhat are you doing, Mocquet?\u201d I asked him.\n\n\u201cMaking a cross on your bullet,\u201d he replied. \u201cAs you will be near me, we\nshall probably let fly together, and, although I know you would give me\nup your share, still, for the glory of it, it will be as well to know\nwhich of us killed him, if the wolf falls. So, mind you aim straight.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do my best, Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s your gun, then, loaded for bird-shooting; and now, gun over your\nshoulder, and off we start.\u201d\n\n\nIX\n\nThe meeting-place was on the road leading to Chavigny. Here we found the\nkeepers and some of the huntsmen, and within another ten minutes those\nwho were missing had also joined us. Before five o\u2019clock struck, our\nnumber was complete, and then we held a council of war to decide our\nfurther proceedings. It was finally arranged that we should first take\nup our position round the Three Oaks Covert at some considerable\ndistance from it, and then gradually advance so as to form a cordon\nround it. Everything was to be done with the utmost silence, it being\nwell known that wolves decamp on hearing the slightest noise. Each of us\nwas ordered to look carefully along the path he followed, to make quite\nsure that the wolf had not left the covert. Meanwhile the field-keeper\nwas holding Mocquet\u2019s hounds in leash.\n\nOne by one we took our stand facing the covert, on the spot to which our\nparticular path had conducted us. As it happened, Mocquet and I found\nourselves on the north side of the warren, which was parallel with the\nforest.\n\nMocquet had rightly said that we should be in the best place, for the\nwolf would in all probability try and make for the forest, and so would\nbreak covert on our side of it.\n\nWe took our stand, each in front of an oak tree, fifty paces apart from\none another, and then we waited, without moving, and hardly daring to\nbreathe. The dogs on the farther side of the warren were now uncoupled;\nthey gave two short barks, and were then silent. The keeper followed\nthem into the covert, calling halloo as he beat the trees with his\nstick. But the dogs, their eyes starting out of their heads, their lips\ndrawn back, and their coats bristling, remained as if nailed to the\nground. Nothing would induce them to move a step further.\n\n\u201cHalloa, Mocquet!\u201d cried the keeper, \u201cthis wolf of yours must be an\nextra plucky one, Rocador and Tombelle refuse to tackle him.\u201d\n\nBut Mocquet was too wise to make any answer, for the sound of his voice\nwould have warned the wolf that there were enemies in that direction.\n\nThe keeper went forward, still beating the trees, the two dogs after him\ncautiously advancing step by step, without a bark, only now and then\ngiving a low growl.\n\nAll of a sudden there was a loud exclamation from the keeper, who called\nout, \u201cI nearly trod on his tail! the wolf! the wolf! Look out, Mocquet,\nlook out!\u201d\n\nAnd at that moment something came rushing towards us, and the animal\nleapt out of the covert, passing between us like a flash of lightning.\nIt was an enormous wolf, nearly white with age. Mocquet turned and sent\ntwo bullets after him; I saw them bound and rebound along the snow.\n\n\u201cShoot, shoot!\u201d he called out to me.\n\nOnly then did I bring my gun to the shoulder; I took aim, and fired; the\nwolf made a movement as if he wanted to bite his shoulder.\n\n\u201cWe have him! we have him!\u201d cried Mocquet, \u201cthe lad has hit his mark!\nSuccess to the innocent!\u201d\n\nBut the wolf ran on, making straight for Moynat and Mildet, the two best\nshots in the country round.\n\nBoth their first shots were fired at him in the open; the second, after\nhe had entered the forest.\n\nThe two first bullets were seen to cross one another, and ran along the\nground, sending up spurts of snow; the wolf had escaped them both, but\nhe had no doubt been struck down by the others; that the two keepers who\nhad just fired should miss their aim, was an un-heard of thing. I had\nseen Moynat kill seventeen snipe one after the other; I had seen Mildet\ncut a squirrel in two as he was jumping from tree to tree.\n\nThe keepers went into the forest after the wolf; we looked anxiously\ntowards the spot where they had disappeared. We saw them reappear,\ndejected, and shaking their heads.\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d cried Mocquet interrogatively.\n\n\u201cBah!\u201d answered Mildet, with an impatient movement of his arm, \u201che\u2019s at\nTaille-Fontaine by this time.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt Taille-Fontaine!\u201d exclaimed Mocquet, completely taken aback. \u201cWhat!\nthe fools have gone and missed him, then!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, what of that? you missed him yourself, did you not?\u201d\n\nMocquet shook his head.\n\n\u201cWell, well, there\u2019s some devilry about this,\u201d he said. \u201cThat I should\nmiss him was surprising, but it was perhaps possible; but that Moynat\nshould have shot twice and missed him is not possible, no, I say, no.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless, so it is, my good Mocquet.\u201d\n\n\u201cBesides, you, you hit him,\u201d he said to me.\n\n\u201cI!... are you sure?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe others may well be ashamed to say it. But as sure as my name is\nMocquet, you hit the wolf.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s easy to find out if I did hit him, there would be blood on\nthe snow.--Come, Mocquet, let us run and see.\u201d And suiting the action to\nthe word, I set off running.\n\n\u201cStop, stop, do not run, whatever you do,\u201d cried Mocquet, clenching his\nteeth and stamping. \u201cWe must go quietly, until we know better what we\nhave to deal with.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, we will go quietly, then; but at any rate, let us go!\u201d\n\nMocquet then began to follow the wolf\u2019s track, step by step.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s not much fear of losing it,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s plain enough.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but that\u2019s not what I am looking for.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are you looking for, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will know in a minute or two.\u201d\n\nThe other huntsmen had now joined us, and as they came along after us,\nthe keeper related to them what had taken place. Meanwhile, Mocquet and\nI continued to follow the wolf\u2019s footprints, which were deeply indented\nin the snow. At last we came to the spot where he had received my fire.\n\n\u201cThere, Mocquet,\u201d I said to him, \u201cyou see I did miss him after all!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know that you missed him?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause there are no blood marks.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook for the mark of your bullet, then, in the snow.\u201d\n\nI looked to see which way my bullet would have sped if it had not hit\nthe wolf, and then went in that direction; but I tracked for more than a\nquarter of a mile to no purpose, so I thought I might as well go back to\nMocquet. He beckoned to the keepers to approach, and then turning to me,\nsaid:--\n\n\u201cWell, and the bullet?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot find it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have been luckier than you, then, for I have found it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, you found it?\u201d\n\n\u201cRight about and come behind me.\u201d\n\nI did as I was told, and the huntsmen having come up, Mocquet pointed\nout a line to them beyond which they were not to pass. The keepers\nMildet and Moynat now joined us. \u201cWell?\u201d said Mocquet to them in their\nturn.\n\n\u201cMissed,\u201d they both answered at once.\n\n\u201cI saw you had missed him in the open, but when he had reached covert\n...?\u201d\n\n\u201cMissed him there too.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you sure?\u201d\n\n\u201cBoth the bullets have been found, each of them in the trunk of a tree.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is almost past belief,\u201d said Vatrin.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d rejoined Mocquet, \u201cit is almost past belief, but I have something\nto show you which is even more difficult to believe.\u201d\n\n\u201cShow it us, then.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook there, what do you see on the snow?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe track of a wolf; what of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd close to the mark of the right foot--there--what do you see?\u201d\n\n\u201cA little hole.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, do you understand?\u201d\n\nThe keepers looked at each other in astonishment.\n\n\u201cDo you understand now?\u201d repeated Mocquet.\n\n\u201cThe thing\u2019s impossible!\u201d exclaimed the keepers.\n\n\u201cNevertheless it is so, and I will prove it to you.\u201d\n\nAnd so saying, Mocquet plunged his hand into the snow, felt about a\nmoment or two, and then, with a cry of triumph, pulled out a flattened\nbullet.\n\n\u201cWhy, that\u2019s my bullet,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cYou recognise it, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course I do, you marked it for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what mark did I put on it?\u201d\n\n\u201cA cross.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou see, sirs,\u201d said Mocquet.\n\n\u201cYes, but explain how this happened.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is it; he could turn aside the ordinary bullets, but he had no\npower over the youngster\u2019s, which was marked with a cross; it hit him in\nthe shoulder, I saw him make a movement as if to try and bite himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d I broke in, astonished at the silence and amazement which had\nfallen on the keepers, \u201cif my bullet hit him in the shoulder, why did it\nnot kill him?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause it was made neither of gold nor of silver, my dear boy; and\nbecause no bullets but those that are made of gold or silver can pierce\nthe skin of the devil, or kill those who have made a compact with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Mocquet,\u201d said the keepers, shuddering, \u201cdo you really think\n...?\u201d\n\n\u201cThink? Yes, I do! I could swear that we have had to do this morning\nwith Thibault, the sabot-maker\u2019s wolf.\u201d\n\nThe huntsman and keepers looked at one another; two or three of them\nmade the sign of the cross; and they all appeared to share Mocquet\u2019s\nopinion, and to know quite well what he meant by Thibault\u2019s wolf. I,\nalone, knew nothing about it, and therefore asked impatiently, \u201cWhat is\nthis wolf, and who is this Thibault, the sabot-maker?\u201d\n\nMocquet hesitated before replying, then, \u201cAh! to be sure!\u201d he exclaimed,\n\u201cthe General told me that I might let you know about it when you were\nfifteen. You are that age now, are you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sixteen,\u201d I replied with some pride.\n\n\u201cWell, then, my dear Monsieur Alexandre, Thibault, the sabot-maker\u2019s\nwolf, is the devil. You were asking me last night for a tale, were you\nnot?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome back home with me this morning, then, and I will tell you a tale,\nand a fine one too.\u201d\n\nThe keepers and huntsmen shook hands with one another in silence and\nseparated, each going his own way; I went back with Mocquet, who then\ntold me the tale which you shall now hear.\n\nPerhaps you will ask me why, having heard it so long ago, I have not\ntold it before. I can only answer you by saying it has remained hidden\naway in a drawer of my memory, which has remained closed ever since, and\nwhich I only opened again three days ago. I would tell you what induced\nme to do this, but you might, I fear, find the recital somewhat tedious,\nand as it would take time, I prefer starting at once upon my tale.\n\nI say my tale; I ought perhaps to call it Mocquet\u2019s tale--but, upon my\nword! when you have been sitting on an egg for thirty-eight years, you\nmay be excused for coming to believe at last that you\u2019ve laid it\nyourself!\n\n\n\n\nTHE WOLF-LEADER\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE GRAND MASTER OF HIS HIGHNESS\u2019 WOLF HOUNDS\n\n\nThe Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez, was a hardy and indefatigable\nsportsman.\n\nIf you follow the beautiful valley which runs between Berval and\nLongpr\u00e9, you will see, on your left hand, an old tower, which by reason\nof its isolated position will appear doubly high and formidable to you.\n\nAt the present moment it belongs to an old friend of the writer of this\ntale, and everyone is now so accustomed to its forbidding aspect, that\nthe peasant passing that way in summer has no more fear of seeking\nshelter from the heat beneath its walls than the martins with their long\nblack wings and shrill cries, and the swallows with their soft\nchirrupings, have of building their nests under its eaves.\n\nBut at the time we are now speaking of, somewhere about 1780, this\nlordly dwelling of Vez was looked upon with different eyes, and, it must\nbe confessed, it did not then offer so safe a place of retreat. It was a\nbuilding of the twelfth or thirteenth century, rugged and gloomy, its\nterrifying exterior having assumed no kindlier aspect as the years\nrolled by. True, the sentinel with his measured tread and flashing\nsteel-cap no longer paced its ramparts, the archer with his\nshrill-sounding horn no longer kept watch and ward on the battlements;\ntrue the postern was no longer guarded by true men at arms, ready at the\nleast signal of danger to lower the portcullis and draw up the bridge;\nbut the solitude alone which surrounded this grim giant of granite was\nsufficient to inspire the feeling of awe-inspiring majesty awakened by\nall mute and motionless things.\n\nThe lord of this old fortress, however, was by no means so much to be\ndreaded; those who were more intimately acquainted with him than were\nthe peasants, and could do him more justice, asserted that his bark was\nworse than his bite, and that he caused more fear than harm--that is,\namong his fellow Christians. With the animals of the forest it was\ndifferent, for he was avowedly their mortal and implacable enemy.\n\nHe was chief wolf-hunter to his Royal Highness Louis Philippe of\nOrleans, the fourth of that name,--a post which allowed him to gratify\nthe inordinate passion he had for the chase. Although it was not easy,\nit was yet possible to bring the Baron to listen to reason in other\nmatters; but as regards the chase, if once he had got a fixed idea in\nhis head, nothing would satisfy him until he had carried it out and had\nachieved his purpose.\n\nHis wife, according to report, was the natural daughter of the Prince,\nwhich, in conjunction with his title of chief wolf-hunter, gave him\nalmost absolute power throughout the domains of his illustrious\nfather-in-law, a power which no one dared to contest with him,\nespecially after the re-marriage of his Royal Highness with Madame de\nMontesson. This had taken place in 1773, since which date he had almost\nabandoned his castle at Villers-Cotterets for his delightful residence\nat Bagnolet, where he entertained all the first wits of the day and\namused himself with play-acting.\n\nAnd so, whether the sun was shining to rejoice the earth, or the rain\nwas saddening it, whether the winter fields lay hidden beneath a shroud\nof snow, or the spring had spread her fresh green carpet over the\nmeadows, it was rare, on any day of the year, not to see the great gates\nof the Castle thrown wide open between eight and nine o\u2019clock in the\nmorning, and first the Baron come forth, and immediately after him his\nchief pricker, Marcotte, followed by the other prickers. Then appeared\nthe dogs, coupled and held in leash by the keepers of the hounds, under\nthe superintendence of Engoulevent, who aspired to become a pricker.\nEven as the German executioner walks alone, behind the nobles and in\nfront of the citizens, to show that he is the least of the former and\nthe first of the latter, so he walked immediately after the prickers and\nahead of the keepers of the hounds, as being the chief of the\nwhippers-in and least of the prickers.\n\nThe whole procession filed out of the castle court in full hunting\narray, with the English horses and the French hounds; twelve horses, and\nforty dogs.\n\nBefore we go any farther, let me say that with these twelve horses and\nforty dogs the Baron hunted every sort of quarry, but more especially\nthe wolf, in order no doubt to do honour to his title.\n\nNo further proof will be needed by the genuine sportsman of the fine\nfaith he had in the general quality of his hounds, and in their keenness\nof scent, than the fact that next to the wolf he gave preference to the\nboar, then to the red deer, then to the fallow-deer, and lastly to the\nroebuck; finally, if the keepers of the pack failed to sight the animal\nthey had tracked, he uncoupled at random, and went after the first hare\nthat crossed his path. For, as we have already stated, the worthy Baron\nwent out hunting every day, and he would sooner have gone for\nfour-and-twenty hours without food or drink, although he was often\nthirsty, than have spent that time without seeing his hounds run.\n\nBut, as everybody knows, however swift the horses, and however keen the\ndogs, hunting has its bad times as well as its good.\n\nOne day, Marcotte came up to where the Baron was awaiting him, with a\ncrestfallen expression of countenance.\n\n\u201cHow now, Marcotte,\u201d asked the Baron frowning, \u201cwhat is the matter this\ntime? I see by your face we are to expect bad sport to-day.\u201d\n\nMarcotte shook his head.\n\n\u201cSpeak up, man,\u201d continued the Baron with a gesture of impatience.\n\n\u201cThe matter is, my Lord, that the black wolf is about.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! ah!\u201d exclaimed the Baron, his eyes sparkling; for you must know\nthat this made the fifth or sixth time that the worthy Baron had started\nthe animal in question, but never once had he been able to get within\ngun-shot of him or to run him down.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d Marcotte went on, \u201cbut the damned beast has employed himself so\nwell all night crossing his track and doubling, that after having traced\nhim over half the forest, I found myself at the place from which I\nstarted.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou think then, Marcotte, that there is no chance of getting near him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am afraid not.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy all the devils in hell!\u201d exclaimed the Lord of Vez, who had not had\nhis equal in swearing since the mighty Nimrod, \u201chowever, I am not\nfeeling well to-day, and I must have a burst of some kind, to get rid of\nthese bad humours. What do you think we can hunt, Marcotte, in place of\nthis damned black wolf?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, having been so taken up with the wolf,\u201d answered Marcotte, \u201cI\nhave not traced any other animal. Will my Lord uncouple at random and\nhunt the first animal that we come across?\u201d\n\nThe Baron was about to express his willingness to agree to this proposal\nwhen he caught sight of little Engoulevent coming towards them cap in\nhand.\n\n\u201cWait a moment,\u201d he said, \u201chere comes Engoulevent, who, I fancy, has\nsome advice to give us.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no advice to give to a noble Lord like yourself,\u201d replied\nEngoulevent, assuming an expression of humility on his sly and crafty\nface; \u201cit is, however, my duty to inform you that there is a splendid\nbuck in the neighbourhood.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us see your buck, Engoulevent,\u201d replied the chief wolf-hunter, \u201cand\nif you are not mistaken about it, there will be a new crown for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere is this buck of yours?\u201d asked Marcotte, \u201cbut look to your skin,\nif you make us uncouple to no purpose.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me have Matador and Jupiter, and then we shall see.\u201d Matador and\nJupiter were the finest among the hounds belonging to the Lord of Vez.\nAnd indeed, Engoulevent had not gone a hundred paces with them through\nthe thicket, before, by the lashing of their tails, and their repeated\nyelping, he knew that they were on the right scent. In another minute or\ntwo a magnificent ten-tined stag came into view. Marcotte cried\nTally-ho, sounded his horn, and the hunt began, to the great\nsatisfaction of the Lord of Vez, who, although regretting the black\nwolf, was willing to make the best of a fine buck in its stead. The hunt\nhad lasted two hours, and the quarry still held on. It had first led its\npursuers from the little wood of Haramont to the Chemin du Pendu, and\nthence straight to the back of Oigny, and it still showed no sign of\nfatigue; for it was not one of those poor animals of the flat country\nwho get their tails pulled by every wretched terrier.\n\nAs it neared the low grounds of Bourg-fontaine, however, it evidently\ndecided that it was being run rather hard, for it gave up the bolder\nmeasures which had hitherto enabled it to keep ahead, and began to\ndouble.\n\nIts first man\u0153uvre was to go down to the brook which joins the ponds\nof Baisemont and Bourg, then to walk against stream with the water up to\nits haunches, for nearly half a mile; it then sprang on to the right\nbank, back again into the bed of the stream, made another leap to the\nleft, and with a succession of bounds, as vigorous as its failing\nstrength allowed, continued to out-distance its pursuers. But the dogs\nof my lord Baron were not animals to be put out by such trifles as\nthese. Being both sagacious and well-bred, they, of their own accord,\ndivided the task between themselves, half going up stream, and half\ndown, these hunting on the right those on the left, and so effectually\nthat they ere long put the animal off its changes, for they soon\nrecovered the scent, rallying at the first cry given by one of the pack,\nand starting afresh on the chase, as ready and eager as if the deer had\nbeen only twenty paces in front of them.\n\nAnd so with galloping of horses, with cry of hounds and blare of horn,\nthe Baron and his huntsmen reached the ponds of Saint Antoine, a hundred\npaces or so from the Confines of Oigny. Between these and the Osier-beds\nstood the hut of Thibault, the sabot-maker.\n\nWe must pause to give some description of this Thibault, the shoe-maker,\nthe real hero of the tale.\n\nYou will ask why I, who have summoned kings to appear upon the stage,\nwho have obliged princes, dukes, and barons to play secondary parts in\nmy romances, should take a simple shoe-maker for the hero of this tale.\n\nFirst, I will reply by saying that, in my dear home country of\nVillers-Cotterets, there are more sabot-makers than barons, dukes and\nprinces, and that, as soon as I decided to make the forest the scene of\nthe events I am about to record, I was obliged to choose one of the\nactual inhabitants of this forest as hero, unless I had wished to\nrepresent such fantastic persons as the _Incas_ of Marmontel or the\n_Abencerrages_ of M. de Florian.\n\nMore than that, it is not the author who decides on the subject, but the\nsubject which takes possession of the author, and, good or bad, this\nparticular subject has taken possession of me. I will therefore\nendeavour to draw Thibault\u2019s portrait for you, plain shoe-maker as he\nwas, as exactly as the artist paints the portrait which a prince desires\nto send to his lady-love.\n\nThibault was a man between twenty-five and twenty-seven years of age,\ntall, well made, physically robust, but by nature melancholy and sad of\nheart. This depression of spirits arose from a little grain of envy,\nwhich, in spite of himself, perhaps unconsciously to himself, he\nharboured towards all such of his neighbours as had been more favoured\nby fortune than himself.\n\nHis father had committed a fault, a serious one at all times, but more\nespecially in those days of absolutism, when a man was not able to rise\nabove his station as now-a-days, when with sufficient capacity he may\nattain to any rank. Thibault had been educated above his position; he\nhad been at school under the Abb\u00e9 Fortier, at Villers-Cotterets, and had\nlearnt to read, write, and cypher; moreover he knew a little Latin,\nwhich made him inordinately proud of himself. Thibault had spent a great\npart of his time in reading, and his books had been chiefly those which\nwere in vogue at the close of the preceding century. But he had not been\na sufficiently clever analyst to know how to separate the good from the\nbad, or rather he _had_ separated what was bad, and swallowed it in\nlarge doses, leaving the good to precipitate itself at the bottom of the\nglass.\n\nAt twenty years of age Thibault had certainly had dreams of being\nsomething other than a sabot-maker. He had, for instance, for a very\nlittle while, cast his eyes towards the army. But his comrades who had\nworn the double livery of king and country, had left the service as they\nentered it, mere soldiers of the ranks, having failed during five or six\nyears of slavery to obtain promotion, even to the not very exalted grade\nof corporal.\n\nThibault had also thought of becoming a sailor. But a career in the navy\nwas as much forbidden to the plebeian as one in the army. Possibly after\nenduring danger, and storm and battle for fifteen or twenty years, he\nmight be made a boatswain\u2019s mate, that was all, and then! besides, it\nwas by no means Thibault\u2019s ambition to wear a short vest and sail-cloth\ntrousers, but the blue uniform of the king with red vest and gold\nepaulettes. He had moreover known of no single case in which the son of\na mere shoe-maker had become Master of a Frigate, or even Lieutenant. So\nhe was forced to give up all idea of joining the King\u2019s Navy.\n\nThibault would not have minded being a Notary, and at one time thought\nof apprenticing himself to the Royal Scrivener, Ma\u00eetre Niquet, as a\nstepping-stone, and of making his way up on the strength of his own legs\nand with the help of his pen. But supposing him to have risen to the\nposition of head clerk with a salary of a hundred crowns, where was he\nto find the thirty thousand francs which would be required for the\npurchase of the smallest village practice.\n\nThere was, therefore, no better chance of his becoming a scrivener than\nof becoming an officer on sea or land. Meanwhile, Thibault\u2019s father\ndied, leaving very little ready money. There was about enough to bury\nhim, so he was buried, and this done, there remained some thirty or\nforty francs over for Thibault.\n\nThibault knew his trade well; indeed, he was a first-rate workman; but\nhe had no inclination to handle either auger or parer. It ended,\ntherefore, by his leaving all his father\u2019s tools in the care of a\nfriend, a remnant of prudence still remaining to him, and selling every\nvestige of furniture; having thus realised a sum of five hundred and\nforty livres, he determined to make what was then called the tour of\nFrance.\n\nThibault spent three years in travelling; he did not make his fortune\nduring that time, but he learnt a great many things in the course of his\njourney of which he was previously ignorant, and acquired certain\naccomplishments which he had previously been without.\n\nHe learned amongst other things that, although it was as well to keep\none\u2019s word on matters of business with a man, it was no use whatever\nkeeping love vows made to a woman.\n\nSo much for his character and habits of mind. As to his external\naccomplishments, he could dance a jig beautifully, could hold his own at\nquarter-staff against four men, and could handle the boar-spear as\ncleverly as the best huntsman going. All these things had not a little\nserved to increase Thibault\u2019s natural self-esteem, and, seeing himself\nhandsomer, stronger, and cleverer than many of the nobles, he would\nexclaim against Providence, crying, \u201cWhy was I not nobly born? why was\nnot that nobleman yonder born a peasant?\u201d\n\nBut as Providence took care not to make any answer to these apostroph\u00e9s,\nand as Thibault found that dancing, playing at quarter-staff, and\nthrowing the boar-spear only fatigued the body, without procuring him\nany material advantage, he began to turn his thoughts towards his\nancient trade, humble though it was, saying to himself, if it enabled\nthe father to live, it would also enable the son. So Thibault went and\nfetched away his tools; and then, tools in hand, he went to ask\npermission of the Steward of his Royal Highness Louis Philippe of\nOrleans, to build a hut in the forest, in which to carry on his trade.\nHe had no difficulty in obtaining this, for the steward knew by\nexperience that his master was a very kind-hearted man, expending as\nmuch as two hundred and forty thousand francs a year on the poor; he\nfelt sure, therefore, that one who gave away a sum like this, would be\nwilling to let an honest workman who wished to ply his trade, have\nthirty or forty feet of ground.\n\nAs he had leave to establish himself in whatever part of the forest he\nliked best, Thibault chose the spot near the osier-beds, where the roads\ncrossed, one of the most beautiful parts of the woods, less than a mile\nfrom Oigny and about three times that distance from Villers-Cotterets.\nThe shoe-maker put up his work-shop, built partly of old planks given\nhim by M. Panisis, who had been having a sale in the neighbourhood, and\npartly of the branches which the steward gave him leave to cut in the\nforest.\n\nWhen the building of the hut, which consisted of a bedroom, cosily shut\nin, where he could work during the winter, and of a lean-to, open to the\nair, where he could work in the summer, was completed, Thibault began to\nthink of making himself a bed. At first, a layer of fern had to serve\nfor this purpose; but after he had made a hundred pairs of wooden shoes\nand had sold these to Bedeau, who kept a general shop at\nVillers-Cotterets, he was able to pay a sufficient deposit to get a\nmattress, to be paid for in full by the end of three months. The\nframework of the bed was not difficult to make; Thibault was not the\nshoe-maker he was without being a bit of a carpenter into the bargain,\nand when this was finished he plaited osiers to take the place of\nsacking, laid the mattress upon them, and found himself at last with a\nbed to lie upon.\n\nLittle by little came the sheets, and then in their turn the coverlids;\nthe next purchase was a chafing-dish, and earthenware pots to cook in,\nand finally some plates and dishes. Before the year was out Thibault had\nalso made additions to his furniture of a fine oak chest and a fine\nwalnut-wood cupboard, both, like the bed, his own handiwork. All the\nwhile he was driving a brisk trade, for none could beat Thibault in\nturning a block of beech into a pair of shoes, and in converting the odd\nchips into spoons, salt-cellars and natty little bowls.\n\nHe had now been settled in his work-shop for three years, that is, ever\nsince his return after the completion of his tour round France, and\nthere was nothing for which anyone could have reproached him during this\ninterval except the failing we have already mentioned--that he was\nrather more envious of the good fortune of his neighbour than was\naltogether conducive to the welfare of his soul. But this feeling was as\nyet so inoffensive, that his confessor had no need to do more than\nawaken in him a sense of shame for harbouring thoughts which had, so\nfar, not resulted in any active crime.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE SEIGNEUR JEAN AND THE SABOT-MAKER\n\n\nAs already said, the buck began to dodge and double on reaching Oigny,\nturning and twisting round Thibault\u2019s hut, and the weather being fine\nalthough the autumn was well advanced, the shoe-maker was sitting at his\nwork in his open lean-to. Looking up, he suddenly espied the trembling\nanimal, quivering in every limb, standing a few paces in front of him,\ngazing at him with intelligent and terrified eyes.\n\nThibault had been for a long time aware that the hunt was circling\naround Oigny, at one time drawing near to the village, and then\nreceding, only to draw near again.\n\nThere was nothing therefore very surprising to him in the sight of the\nbuck, yet he stayed his hand, although he was busy at work, and\ncontemplated the animal.\n\n\u201cSaint Sabot!\u201d he exclaimed--I should explain, that the festival of\nSaint Sabot is the wooden-shoe f\u00eate--\u201cSaint Sabot! but that is a dainty\nmorsel and would taste as fine, I warrant, as the chamois I ate at\nVienne once at the grand banquet of the Jolly Shoe-makers of Dauphin\u00e9.\nLucky folk who can dine on the like every day. I tasted such once, it is\nnow nearly four years ago, and my mouth waters now when I think of it.\nOh! these lords! these lords! with their fresh meats and their old wines\nat every meal, while I have to be satisfied with potatoes to eat and\nwater to drink from one week\u2019s end to the other; and it is a chance if\neven on Sunday, I can feast myself with a lump of rusty bacon and an old\ncabbage, and a glass of _pignolet_ fit to make my old goat stand on her\nhead.\u201d\n\nIt need scarcely be said, that as soon as Thibault began this monologue,\nthe buck had turned and disappeared. Thibault had finished rounding his\nperiods, and had just declaimed his peroration, when he heard himself\nroughly accosted in forcible terms:\n\n\u201cHo, there, you scoundrel! answer me.\u201d\n\nIt was the Baron, who seeing his dogs wavering, was anxious to make sure\nthat they were not on the wrong scent.\n\n\u201cHo, there, you scoundrel!\u201d repeated the wolf-hunter, \u201chave you seen the\nbeast?\u201d\n\nThere was evidently something in the manner of the Baron\u2019s questioning\nwhich did not please our philosophical shoe-maker, for although he was\nperfectly aware what was the matter, he answered: \u201cwhat beast?\u201d\n\n\u201cCurse you! why, the buck we are hunting! He must have passed close by\nhere, and standing gaping as you do, you must have seen him. It was a\nfine stag of ten, was it not? Which way did he go? Speak up, you\nblackguard, or you shall have a taste of my stirrup-leather!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe black plague take him, cub of a wolf!\u201d muttered the shoe-maker to\nhimself.\n\nThen, aloud, with a fine air of pretended simplicity, \u201cAh, yes!\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cI did see him.\u201d\n\n\u201cA buck, was it not? a ten-tiner, eh? with great horns.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes to be sure, a buck, with great horns,--or great corns, was it?\nyes, I saw him as plain as I see you, my Lord. But there, I can\u2019t say if\nhe had any corns, for I did not look at his feet, anyhow,\u201d he added,\nwith the air of a perfect simpleton, \u201cif he had corns, they did not\nprevent him running.\u201d\n\nAt any other time the Baron would have laughed at what he might have\ntaken for genuine stupidity; but the doublings of the animal were\nbeginning to put him into a regular huntsman\u2019s fever.\n\n\u201cNow, then, you scoundrel, a truce to this jesting! If you are in a\nhumour for jokes, it is more than I am!\u201d\n\n\u201cI will be in whatever humour it may please your Lordship I should be.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, answer me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour Lordship has asked me nothing as yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid the deer seem tired?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot very.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich way did he come?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe did not come, he was standing still.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, but he must have come from one side or the other.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! very likely, but I did not see him come.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich way did he go?\u201d\n\n\u201cI would tell you directly; only I did not see him go.\u201d\n\nThe Lord of Vez cast an angry look at Thibault.\n\n\u201cIs it some while ago the buck passed this way, Master Simpleton?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so very long, my Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout how long ago?\u201d\n\nThibault made as if trying to remember; at last he replied:\n\n\u201cIt was, I think, the day before yesterday,\u201d but in saying this, the\nshoe-maker, unfortunately, could not suppress a grin. This grin did not\nescape the Baron, who, spurring his horse, rode down on Thibault with\nlifted whip.\n\nThibault was agile, and with a single bound he reached the shelter of\nhis lean-to, whither the wolf-hunter could not follow, as long as he\nremained mounted; Thibault was therefore in momentary safety.\n\n\u201cYou are only bantering and lying!\u201d cried the huntsman, \u201cfor there is\nMarcassino, my best hound, giving cry not twenty yards off, and if the\ndeer passed by where Marcassino is, he must have come over the hedge,\nand it is impossible, therefore, that you did not see him.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon, my Lord, but according to our good priest, no one but the Pope\nis infallible, and Monsieur Marcassino may be mistaken.\u201d\n\n\u201cMarcassino is never mistaken, do you hear, you rascal! and in proof of\nit I can see from here the marks where the animal scratched up the\nground.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless, my Lord, I assure you, I swear....\u201d said Thibault, who\nsaw the Baron\u2019s eyebrows contracting in a way that made him feel uneasy.\n\n\u201cSilence, and come here, blackguard!\u201d cried my lord.\n\nThibault hesitated a moment, but the black look on the sportsman\u2019s face\nbecame more and more threatening, and fearing to increase his\nexasperation by disobeying his command, he thought he had better go\nforward, hoping that the Baron merely wished to ask a service of him.\n\nBut it was an unlucky move on his part, for scarcely had he emerged from\nthe protection of the shed, before the horse of the Lord of Vez, urged\nby bit and spur, gave a leap, which brought his rider swooping down upon\nThibault, while at the same moment a furious blow from the butt end of\nthe Baron\u2019s whip fell upon his head.\n\nThe shoe-maker, stunned by the blow, tottered a moment, lost his balance\nand was about to fall face downwards, when the Baron, drawing his foot\nout of the stirrup, with a violent kick in the chest, not only\nstraightened him again, but sent the poor wretch flying in an opposite\ndirection, where he fell with his back against the door of his hut.\n\n\u201cTake that!\u201d said the Baron, as he first felled Thibault with his whip,\nand then kicked him, \u201ctake that for your lie, and that for your banter!\u201d\n\nAnd then, without troubling himself any further about the man, whom he\nleft lying on his back, the Lord of Vez, seeing that the hounds had\nrallied on hearing Marcassino\u2019s cry, gave them a cheery note on his\nhorn, and cantered away.\n\nThibault lifted himself up, feeling bruised all over, and began feeling\nhimself from head to foot to make sure that no bones were broken.\n\nHaving carefully passed his hand over each limb in succession, \u201cthat\u2019s\nall right,\u201d he said, \u201cthere is nothing broken either above or below, I\nam glad to find. So, my Lord Baron, that is how you treat people,\nbecause you happen to have married a Prince\u2019s bastard daughter! But let\nme tell you, my fine fellow, it is not you who will eat the buck you are\nhunting to-day; it will be this blackguard, this scoundrel, this\nsimpleton of a Thibault who will eat it. Yes, it shall be I who eat it,\nthat I vow!\u201d cried Thibault, confirming himself more and more in his\nbold resolution, and it is no use being a man if having once made a vow,\none fails to keep it.\n\nSo without further delay, Thibault thrust his bill-hook into his belt,\nseized his boar-spear, and after listening for a moment to the cry of\nthe hounds to ascertain in which direction the hunt had gone, he ran off\nwith all the speed of which a man\u2019s legs are capable to get the start of\nthem, guessing by the curve which the stag and its pursuers were\nfollowing what would be the straight line to take so as to intercept\nthem.\n\nThere were two ways of doing his deed open to Thibault; either to hide\nhimself beside the path which the buck must take and kill him with his\nboar-spear, or else to surprise the animal just as he was being hunted\ndown by the dogs, and collar him there and then.\n\nAnd as he ran, the desire to revenge himself on the Baron for the\nlatter\u2019s brutality, was not so uppermost in Thibault\u2019s mind as the\nthoughts of the sumptuous manner in which he would fare for the next\nmonth, on the shoulders, the back, and the haunches of the deer, either\nsalted to a turn, roasted on the spit, or cut in slices and done in the\npan. And these two ideas, moreover, of vengeance and gluttony, were so\njumbled up in his brain, that while still running at the top of his\nspeed he laughed in his sleeve, as he pictured the dejected mien of the\nBaron and his men returning to the castle after their fruitless day\u2019s\nhunt, and at the same time saw himself seated at table, the door\nsecurely fastened, and a pint of wine beside him, t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate with a\nhaunch of the deer, the rich and delicious gravy escaping as the knife\nreturned for a third or fourth cut.\n\nThe deer, as far as Thibault could calculate, was making for the bridge\nwhich crosses the Ourcq, between Noroy and Troesne. At the time of which\nwe are now speaking there was a bridge spanning the river, formed of two\njoists and a few planks. As the river was very high and very rapid,\nThibault decided that the deer would not attempt to ford it; so he hid\nhimself behind a rock, within reach of the bridge, and waited.\n\nIt was not long before he saw the graceful head of the deer appear above\nthe rock at some ten paces\u2019 distance; the animal was bending its ears to\nthe wind, in the endeavour to catch the sound of the enemy\u2019s approach as\nit was borne along the breeze. Thibault, excited by this sudden\nappearance, rose from behind the rock, poised his boar-spear and sent it\nflying towards the animal.\n\nThe buck, with a single bound, reached the middle of the bridge, a\nsecond carried him on to the opposite bank, and a third bore him out of\nsight.\n\nThe boar-spear had passed within a foot of the animal, and had buried\nitself in the grass fifteen paces from where Thibault was standing.\nNever before had he been known to make such an unskilful throw; he,\nThibault, of all the company who made the tour of France, the one known\nto be surest of his aim! Enraged with himself, therefore, he picked up\nhis weapon, and bounded across the bridge with an agility equal to that\nof the deer.\n\nThibault knew the country quite as well as the animal he was pursuing,\nand so got ahead of the deer and once more concealed himself, this time\nbehind a beech-tree, half-way up, and not too far from a little\nfootpath.\n\nThe deer now passed so close to him, that Thibault hesitated as to\nwhether it would not be better to knock the animal down with his\nboar-spear than to throw the weapon at it; but his hesitation did not\nlast longer than a flash of lightning, for no lightning could be quicker\nthan the animal itself, which was already twenty paces off when Thibault\nthrew his boar-spear, but without better luck than the time before.\n\nAnd now the baying of the hounds was drawing nearer and nearer; another\nfew minutes, and it would, he felt, be impossible for him to carry out\nhis design. But in honour to his spirit of persistence, be it said, that\nin proportion as the difficulty increased, the greater became Thibault\u2019s\ndesire to get possession of the deer.\n\n\u201cI must have it, come what will,\u201d he cried, \u201cI must! and if there is a\nGod who cares for the poor, I shall have satisfaction of this confounded\nBaron, who beat me as if I were a dog, but I am a man notwithstanding,\nand I am quite ready to prove the same to him.\u201d And Thibault picked up\nhis boar-spear and once more set off running. But it would appear that\nthe good God whom he had just invoked, either had not heard him, or\nwished to drive him to extremities, for his third attempt had no greater\nsuccess than the previous ones.\n\n\u201cBy Heaven!\u201d exclaimed Thibault, \u201cGod Almighty is assuredly deaf, it\nseems. Let the Devil then open his ears and hear me! In the name of God\nor of the Devil, I want you and I will have you, cursed animal!\u201d\n\nThibault had hardly finished this double blasphemy when the buck,\ndoubling back, passed close to him for the fourth time, and disappeared\namong the bushes, but so quickly and unexpectedly, that Thibault had not\neven time to lift his boar-spear.\n\nAt that moment he heard the dogs so near him, that he deemed it would be\nimprudent to continue his pursuit. He looked round him, saw a\nthickly-leaved oak tree, threw his boar-spear into a bush, swarmed up\nthe trunk, and hid himself among the foliage. He imagined, and with good\nreason, that since the deer had gone ahead again, the hunt would only\npass by following on its track. The dogs had not lost the scent, in\nspite of the quarry\u2019s doublings, and they were not likely to lose it\nnow. Thibault had not been seated among the branches for above five\nminutes, when first the hounds came into sight, then the Baron, who in\nspite of his fifty-five years, headed the chase as if he had been a man\nof twenty. It must be added that the Lord of Vez was in a state of rage\nthat we will not even endeavour to describe.\n\nTo lose four hours over a wretched deer and still to be running behind\nit! Such a thing had never happened to him before.\n\nHe stormed at his men, he whipped his dogs, and had so ploughed his\nhorse\u2019s sides with his spurs, that the thick coating of mud which\ncovered his gaiters was reddened with blood.\n\nOn reaching the bridge over the Ourcq, however, there had been an\ninterval of alleviation for the Baron, for the hounds had so unanimously\ntaken up the scent, that the cloak which the wolf-hunter carried behind\nhim would have sufficed to cover the whole pack as they crossed the\nbridge.\n\nIndeed the Baron was so pleased, that he was not satisfied with humming\na tirra-la, but, unslinging his hunting-horn he sounded it with his full\nlung-power, a thing which he only did on great occasions.\n\nBut, unfortunately, the joy of my Lord of Vez was destined to be short\nlived.\n\nAll of a sudden, just as the hounds, that were crying in concert in a\nway which more and more delighted the Baron\u2019s ears, were passing under\nthe tree where Thibault was perched, the whole pack came to a\nstandstill, and every tongue was silenced as by enchantment. Marcotte,\nat his master\u2019s command, dismounted to see if he could find any traces\nof the deer, the whippers-in ran up, and they and Marcotte looked about,\nbut they could find nothing.\n\nThen Engoulevent, who had set his heart on a view-halloo being sounded\nfor the animal he had tracked down, joined the others, and he too began\nto search. Everyone was searching, calling out and trying to rouse the\ndogs, when above all the other voices, was heard, like the blast of a\ntempest, the voice of the Baron.\n\n\u201cTen thousand devils!\u201d he thundered.\n\n\u201cHave the dogs fallen into a pit-hole, Marcotte?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, my Lord, they are here, but they are come to a check.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow! come to a standstill!\u201d exclaimed the Baron.\n\n\u201cWhat is to be done, my Lord? I cannot understand what has happened, but\nsuch is the fact.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome to a check!\u201d again exclaimed the Baron, \u201ccome to a standstill,\nhere, in the middle of the forest, here where there is no stream where\nthe animal could have doubled, or rock for it to climb. You must be out\nof your mind, Marcotte!\u201d\n\n\u201cI, out of my mind, my Lord?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you, you fool, as truly as your dogs are all worthless trash!\u201d\n\nAs a rule, Marcotte bore with admirable patience the insults which the\nBaron was in the habit of lavishing upon everybody about him at critical\nmoments of the chase, but this word _trash_, applied to his dogs, was\nmore than his habitual long-suffering could bear, and drawing himself up\nto his full height, he answered vehemently, \u201cTrash, my Lord? my dogs\nworthless trash! dogs that have brought down an old wolf after such a\nfurious run that the best horse in your stable was foundered! my dogs\ntrash!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, trash, worthless trash, I say it again, Marcotte. Only trash would\nstop at a check like that, after hunting one wretched buck so many hours\non end.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy Lord,\u201d answered Marcotte, in a tone of mingled dignity and sorrow,\n\u201cMy Lord, say that it is my fault, call me a fool, a blockhead, a\nscoundrel, a blackguard, an idiot; insult me in my own person, or in\nthat of my wife, of my children, and it is nothing to me; but for the\nsake of all my past services to you, do not attack me in my office of\nchief pricker, do not insult your dogs.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you account for their silence, then? tell me that! How do you\naccount for it? I am quite willing to hear what you have to say, and I\nam listening.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot explain it any more than you can, my Lord; the damned animal\nmust have flown into the clouds or disappeared in the bowels of the\nearth.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat nonsense are you talking!\u201d exclaimed the Baron--\u201cdo you want to\nmake out that the deer has burrowed like a rabbit, or risen from the\nground like a grouse?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy Lord, I meant it only as a manner of speech. What is a truth, what\nis the fact, is that there is some witchcraft behind all this. As sure\nas it is now daylight, my dogs, every one of them, lay down at the same\nmoment, suddenly, without an instant hesitation. Ask anybody who was\nnear them at the time. And now they are not even trying to recover the\nscent, but there they lie flat on the ground like so many stags in their\nlair. I ask you, is it natural?\u201d\n\n\u201cThrash them, man! thrash them, then,\u201d cried the Baron, \u201cflay the skin\noff their backs; there is nothing like it for driving out the evil\nspirit.\u201d\n\nAnd the Baron was going forward to emphasise with a few blows from his\nown whip the exorcisms which Marcotte, according to his orders, was\ndistributing among the poor beasts, when Engoulevent, hat in hand, drew\nnear to the Baron and timidly laid his hand on the horse\u2019s bridle.\n\n\u201cMy Lord,\u201d said the keeper of the kennel, \u201cI think I have just\ndiscovered a cuckoo in that tree who may perhaps be able to give us some\nexplanation of what has happened.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat the devil are you talking about, with your cuckoo, you ape?\u201d said\nthe Baron. \u201cIf you wait a moment, you scamp, I will teach you how to\ncome chaffing your master like that!\u201d\n\nAnd the Baron lifted his whip. But with all the heroism of a Spartan,\nEngoulevent lifted his arm above his head as a shield and continued:\n\n\u201cStrike, if you will, my Lord, but after that look up into this tree,\nand when your Lordship has seen the bird that is perched among the\nbranches, I think you will be more ready to give me a crown than a\nblow.\u201d\n\nAnd the good man pointed to the oak tree in which Thibault had taken\nrefuge on hearing the huntsmen approach. He had climbed up from branch\nto branch and had finally hoisted himself on to the topmost one.\n\nThe Baron shaded his eyes with his hand, and, looking up, caught sight\nof Thibault.\n\n\u201cWell, here\u2019s something mighty queer!\u201d he cried, \u201cIt seems that in the\nforest of Villers-Cotterets the deer burrow like foxes, and men perch on\ntrees like crows. However,\u201d continued the worthy Baron, \u201cwe will see\nwhat sort of creature we have to deal with.\u201d And putting his hand to his\nmouth, he halloed:\n\n\u201cHo, there, my friend! would it be particularly disagreeable for you to\ngive me ten minutes\u2019 conversation?\u201d\n\nBut Thibault maintained the most profound silence.\n\n\u201cMy Lord\u201d said Engoulevent \u201cif you like ...,\u201d and he made a sign to show\nthat he was ready to climb the tree.\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d said the Baron, at the same time putting out his hand to hold\nhim back.\n\n\u201cHo, there, my friend!\u201d repeated the Baron still without recognising\nThibault, \u201cwill it please you to answer me, yes or no.\u201d\n\nHe paused a second.\n\n\u201cI see, it is evidently, no; you pretend to be deaf, my friend; wait a\nmoment, and I will get my speaking-trumpet,\u201d and he held out his hand to\nMarcotte, who, guessing his intention, handed him his gun.\n\nThibault, who wished to put the huntsmen on the wrong scent, was\nmeanwhile pretending to cut away the dead branches, and he put so much\nenergy into this feigned occupation that he did not perceive the\nmovement on the part of the Baron, or, if he saw, only took it as a\nmenace, without attaching the importance to it which it merited.\n\nThe wolf-hunter waited for a little while to see if the answer would\ncome, but as it did not, he pulled the trigger; the gun went off, and a\nbranch was heard to crack.\n\nThe branch which cracked was the one on which Thibault was poised; the\nBaron was a fine shot and had broken it just between the trunk and the\nshoe-maker\u2019s foot.\n\nDeprived of his support, Thibault fell, rolling from branch to banch.\nFortunately the tree was thick, and the branches strong, so that his\nfall was broken and less rapid than it might have been, and he finally\nreached the ground, after many rebounds, without further ill\nconsequences than a feeling of great fear and a few slight bruises on\nthat part of his body which had first come in contact with the earth.\n\n\u201cBy Beelzebub\u2019s horns!\u201d exclaimed the Baron, delighted with his own\nskill, \u201cif it is not my joker of the morning! Ah! so, you scamp! did the\ndiscourse you had with my whip seem too short to you, that you are so\nanxious to take it up again where we left off?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, as to that, I assure you it is not so, my Lord,\u201d answered Thibault\nin a tone of the most perfect sincerity.\n\n\u201cSo much the better for your skin, my good fellow. Well, and now tell me\nwhat you were doing up there, perched on the top of that oak-tree?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy Lord can see himself,\u201d answered Thibault, pointing to a few dry\ntwigs lying here and there on the ground, \u201cI was cutting a little dry\nwood for fuel.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! I see. Now then, my good fellow, you will please tell us, without\nany beating about the bush, what has become of our deer.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy the devil, he ought to know, seeing that he has been perched up\nthere so as not to lose any of its movements,\u201d put in Marcotte.\n\n\u201cBut I swear, my Lord,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cthat I don\u2019t know what it is you\nmean about this wretched buck.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, I thought so,\u201d cried Marcotte, delighted to divert his master\u2019s\nill-humour from himself, \u201che has not seen it, he has not seen the animal\nat all, he does not know what we mean by this wretched buck! But look\nhere, my Lord, see, the marks on these leaves where the animal has\nbitten; it was just here that the dogs came to a full stop, and now,\nalthough the ground is good to shew every mark, we can find no trace of\nthe animal, for ten, twenty, or a hundred paces even?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou hear?\u201d said the Baron, joining his words on to those of the\npricker, \u201cyou were up there, and the deer here at your feet. It did not\ngo by like a mouse without making any sound, and you did not see or\nhear. You must needs have seen or heard it!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has killed the deer,\u201d said Marcotte \u201cand hidden it away in a bush,\nthat\u2019s as clear as the day.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, my Lord,\u201d cried Thibault, who knew better than anybody else how\nmistaken the pricker was in making this accusation, \u201cMy Lord, by all the\nsaints in paradise, I swear to you that I have not killed your deer; I\nswear it to you on the salvation of my soul, and, may I perish on the\nspot if I have given him even the slightest scratch. And besides, I\ncould not have killed him without wounding him, and if I had wounded\nhim, blood would have flowed; look, I pray you, sir,\u201d continued Thibault\nturning to the pricker \u201cand God be thanked, you will find no trace of\nblood. I, kill a poor beast! and, my God, with what? Where is my weapon?\nGod knows I have no other weapon than this bill-hook. Look yourself, my\nLord.\u201d\n\nBut unfortunately for Thibault, he had hardly uttered these words,\nbefore Ma\u00eetre Engoulevent, who had been prowling about for some minutes\npast, re-appeared, carrying the boar-spear which Thibault had thrown\ninto one of the bushes before climbing up the tree.\n\nHe handed the weapon to the Baron.\n\nThere was no doubt about it--Engoulevent was Thibault\u2019s evil genius.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nAGNELETTE\n\n\nThe Baron took the weapon which Engoulevent handed him, and carefully\nand deliberately examined the boar-spear from point to handle, without\nsaying a word. On the handle had been carved a little wooden shoe, which\nhad served as Thibault\u2019s device while making the tour of France, as\nthereby he was able to recognise his own weapon. The Baron now pointed\nto this, saying to Thibault as he did so:\n\n\u201cAh, ah, Master Simpleton! there is something which witnesses terribly\nagainst you! I must confess this boar-spear smells to me uncommonly of\nvenison, by the devil it does! However, all I have now to say to you is\nthis: You have been poaching, which is a serious crime; you have\nperjured yourself, which is a great sin; I am going to enforce expiation\nfrom you for the one and for the other, to help towards the salvation of\nthat soul by which you have sworn.\u201d\n\nWhereupon turning to the pricker, he continued: \u201cMarcotte, strip off\nthat rascal\u2019s vest and shirt, and tie him up to a tree with a couple of\nthe dog leashes--and then give him thirty-six strokes across the back\nwith your shoulder belt, a dozen for his perjury, and two dozen for his\npoaching; no, I make a mistake, a dozen for poaching and two dozen for\nperjuring himself, God\u2019s portion must be the largest.\u201d\n\nThis order caused great rejoicing among the menials, who thought it good\nluck to have a culprit on whom they could avenge themselves for the\nmishaps of the day.\n\nIn spite of Thibault\u2019s protestations, who swore by all the saints in the\ncalender, that he had killed neither buck, nor doe, neither goat nor\nkidling, he was divested of his garments and firmly strapped to the\ntrunk of a tree; then the execution commenced.\n\nThe pricker\u2019s strokes were so heavy that Thibault, who had sworn not to\nutter a sound, and bit his lips to enable himself to keep his\nresolution, was forced at the third blow to open his mouth and cry out.\n\nThe Baron, as we have already seen, was about the roughest man of his\nclass for a good thirty miles round, but he was not hard-hearted, and it\nwas a distress to him to listen to the cries of the culprit as they\nbecame more and more frequent. As, however, the poachers on His\nHighness\u2019s estate had of late grown bolder and more troublesome, he\ndecided that he had better let the sentence be carried out to the full,\nbut he turned his horse with the intention of riding away, determined no\nlonger to remain as a spectator.\n\n[Illustration: A YOUNG GIRL SUDDENLY EMERGED FROM THE UNDERWOOD]\n\nAs he was on the point of doing this, a young girl suddenly emerged from\nthe underwood, threw herself on her knees beside the horse, and lifting\nher large, beautiful eyes, all wet with tears, to the Baron, cried:\n\n\u201cIn the name of the God of mercy, my Lord, have pity on that man!\u201d\n\nThe Lord of Vez looked down at the young girl. She was indeed a lovely\nchild; hardly sixteen years of age, of a slender and exquisite figure,\nwith a pink and white complexion, large blue eyes, soft and tender in\nexpression, and a crown of fair hair, which fell in luxuriant waves over\nneck and shoulders, escaping from underneath the shabby little grey\nlinen cap, which endeavoured in vain to imprison them.\n\nAll this the Baron took in with a glance, in spite of the humble\nclothing of the beautiful suppliant, and as he had no dislike to a\npretty face, he smiled down on the charming young peasant girl, in\nresponse to the pleading of her eloquent eyes.\n\nBut, as he looked without speaking, and all the while the blows were\nstill falling, she cried again, with a voice and gesture of even more\nearnest supplication.\n\n\u201cHave pity, in the name of Heaven, my Lord! Tell your servants to let\nthe poor man go, his cries pierce my heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cTen thousand fiends!\u201d cried the Grand Master; \u201cyou take a great\ninterest in that rascal over there, my pretty child. Is he your\nbrother?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, my Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour cousin?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, my Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour lover?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy lover! My Lord is laughing at me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not? If it were so, my sweet girl, I must confess I should envy him\nhis lot.\u201d\n\nThe girl lowered her eyes.\n\n\u201cI do not know him, my Lord, and have never seen him before to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cWithout counting that now she only sees him wrong side before,\u201d\nEngoulevent ventured to put in, thinking that it was a suitable moment\nfor a little pleasantry.\n\n\u201cSilence, sirrah!\u201d said the Baron sternly. Then, once more turning to\nthe girl with a smile.\n\n\u201cReally!\u201d he said. \u201cWell, if he is neither a relation nor a lover, I\nshould like to see how far your love for your neighbour will let you go.\nCome, a bargain, pretty girl!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow, my Lord?\u201d\n\n\u201cGrace for that scoundrel in return for a kiss.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! with all my heart!\u201d cried the young girl. \u201cSave the life of a man\nwith a kiss! I am sure that our good _Cur\u00e9_ himself would say there was\nno sin in that.\u201d\n\nAnd without waiting for the Baron to stoop and take himself what he had\nasked for, she threw off her wooden-shoe, placed her dainty little foot\non the tip of the wolf-hunter\u2019s boot, and taking hold of the horse\u2019s\nmane, lifted herself up with a spring to the level of the face of the\nhardy huntsman, and there of her own accord offered him her round cheek,\nfresh, and velvety as the down of an August peach.\n\nThe Lord of Vez had bargained for one kiss, but he took two; then, true\nto his sworn word, he made a sign to Marcotte to stay the execution.\n\nMarcotte was religiously counting his strokes; the twelfth was about to\ndescend when he received the order to stop, and he did not think it\nexpedient to stay it from falling. It is possible that he also thought\nit would be as well to give it the weight of two ordinary blows, so as\nto make up good measure and give a thirteenth in; however that may be,\nit is certain that it furrowed Thibault\u2019s shoulders more cruelly than\nthose that went before. It must be added, however, that he was unbound\nimmediately after.\n\nMeanwhile the Baron was conversing with the young girl.\n\n\u201cWhat is your name, my pretty one?\u201d\n\n\u201cGeorgine Agnelette, my Lord, my mother\u2019s name! but the country people\nare content to call me simply Agnelette.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, that\u2019s an unlucky name, my child,\u201d said the Baron.\n\n\u201cIn what way my Lord?\u201d asked the girl.\n\n\u201cBecause it makes you a prey for the wolf, my beauty. And from what part\nof the country do you come, Agnelette?\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom Pr\u00e9ciamont, my Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you come alone like this into the forest, my child? that\u2019s brave\nfor a lambkin.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am obliged to do it, my Lord, for my mother and I have three goats to\nfeed.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo you come here to get grass for them?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you are not afraid, young and pretty as you are?\u201d\n\n\u201cSometimes, my Lord, I cannot help trembling.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why do you tremble?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my Lord, I hear so many tales, during the winter evenings, about\nwere-wolves, that when I find myself all alone among the trees, and can\nhear no sound but the west wind, and the branches creaking as it blows\nthrough them, I feel a kind of shiver run through me, and my hair seems\nto stand on end; but when I hear your hunting horn and the dogs crying,\nthen I feel at once quite safe again.\u201d\n\nThe Baron was pleased beyond measure with this reply of the girl\u2019s, and\nstroking his beard complaisantly, he said:\n\n\u201cWell, we give Master Wolf a pretty rough time of it; but, there is a\nway, my pretty one, whereby you may spare yourself all these fears and\ntremblings.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how, my Lord?\u201d\n\n\u201cCome in future to the Castle of Vez; no were-wolf, or any other kind of\nwolf, has ever crossed the moat there, except when slung by a cord on to\na hazel-pole.\u201d\n\nAgnelette shook her head.\n\n\u201cYou would not like to come? and why not?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause I should find something worse there than the wolf.\u201d\n\nOn hearing this, the Baron broke into a hearty fit of laughter, and,\nseeing their Master laugh, all the huntsmen followed suit and joined in\nthe chorus. The fact was, that the sight of Agnelette had entirely\nrestored the good humour of the Lord of Vez, and he would, no doubt,\nhave continued for some time laughing and talking with Agnelette, if\nMarcotte, who had been recalling the dogs, and coupling them, had not\nrespectfully reminded my Lord that they had some distance to go on their\nway back to the Castle. The Baron made a playful gesture of menace with\nhis finger to the girl, and rode off followed by his train.\n\nAgnelette was left alone with Thibault. We have related what Agnelette\nhad done for Thibault\u2019s sake, and also said that she was pretty.\n\nNevertheless, for all that, Thibault\u2019s first thoughts on finding himself\nalone with the girl, were not for the one who had saved his life, but\nwere given up to hatred and the contemplation of vengeance.\n\nThibault, as you see, had, since the morning, been making rapid strides\nalong the path of evil.\n\n\u201cAh! if the devil will but hear my prayer this time,\u201d he cried, as he\nshook his fist, cursing the while, after the retiring huntsmen, who were\njust out of view, \u201cif the devil will but hear me, you shall be paid back\nwith usury for all you have made me suffer this day, that I swear.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, how wicked it is of you to behave like that!\u201d said Agnelette, going\nup to him. \u201cThe Baron is a kind Lord, very good to the poor, and always\ngently behaved with women.\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite so, and you shall see with what gratitude I will repay him for\nthe blows he has given me.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome now, frankly, friend, confess that you deserved those blows,\u201d said\nthe girl, laughing.\n\n\u201cSo, so!\u201d answered Thibault, \u201cthe Baron\u2019s kiss has turned your head, has\nit, my pretty Agnelette?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou, I should have thought, would have been the last person to reproach\nme with that kiss, Monsieur Thibault. But what I have said, I say again;\nmy Lord Baron was within his rights.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, in belabouring me with blows!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, why do you go hunting on the estates of these great lords?\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes not the game belong to everybody, to the peasant just as much as\nto the great lords?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, certainly not; the game is in their woods, it is fed on their\ngrass, and you have no right to throw your boar-spear at a buck which\nbelongs to my lord the Duke of Orleans.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who told you that I threw a boar-spear at his buck?\u201d replied\nThibault, advancing towards Agnelette in an almost threatening manner.\n\n\u201cWho told me? why, my own eyes, which, let me tell you, do not lie. Yes,\nI saw you throw your boar-spear, when you were hidden there, behind the\nbeech-tree.\u201d\n\nThibault\u2019s anger subsided at once before the straightforward attitude of\nthe girl, whose truthfulness was in such contrast to his falsehood.\n\n\u201cWell, after all,\u201d he said, \u201csupposing a poor devil does once in a way\nhelp himself to a good dinner from the super-abundance of some great\nlord! Are you of the same mind, Mademoiselle Agnelette, as the judges\nwho say that a man ought to be hanged just for a wretched rabbit? Come\nnow, do you think God created that buck for the Baron more than for me?\u201d\n\n\u201cGod, Monsieur Thibault, has told us not to covet other men\u2019s goods;\nobey the law of God, and you will not find yourself any the worse off\nfor it!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, I see, my pretty Agnelette, you know me then, since you call me so\nglibly by my name?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly I do; I remember seeing you at Boursonnes, on the day of the\nf\u00eate; they called you the beautiful dancer, and stood round in a circle\nto watch you.\u201d\n\nThibault, pleased with this compliment, was now quite disarmed.\n\n\u201cYes, yes, of course,\u201d he answered, \u201cI remember now having seen you; and\nI think we danced together, did we not? but you were not so tall then as\nyou are now, that\u2019s why I did not recognise you at first, but I recall\nyou distinctly now. And I remember too that you wore a pink frock, with\na pretty little white bodice, and that we danced in the dairy. I wanted\nto kiss you, but you would not let me, for you said that it was only\nproper to kiss one\u2019s vis-\u00e1-vis, and not one\u2019s partner.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have a good memory, Monsieur Thibault!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you know, Agnelette, that during these last twelve months, for\nit is a year since that dance, you have not only grown taller, but grown\nprettier too; I see you are one of those people who understand how to do\ntwo things at once.\u201d\n\nThe girl blushed and lowered her eyes, and the blush and the shy\nembarrassment only made her look more charming still.\n\nThibault\u2019s eyes were now turned towards her with more marked attention\nthan before, and, in a voice, not wholly free from a slight agitation,\nhe asked:\n\n\u201cHave you a lover, Agnelette?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Monsieur Thibault,\u201d she answered, \u201cI have never had one, and do not\nwish to have one.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why is that? Is Cupid such a bad lad that you are afraid of him?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, not that, but a lover is not at all what I want.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what do you want?\u201d\n\n\u201cA husband.\u201d\n\nThibault made a movement, which Agnelette either did not, or pretended\nnot to see.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she repeated, \u201ca husband. Grandmother is old and infirm, and a\nlover would distract my attention too much from the care which I now\ngive her; whereas, a husband, if I found a nice fellow who would like to\nmarry me,--a husband would help me to look after her in her old age, and\nwould share with me the task which God has laid upon me, of making her\nhappy and comfortable in her last years.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut do you think your husband,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cwould be willing that\nyou should love your grandmother more than you loved him? and do you not\nthink he might be jealous at seeing you lavish so much tenderness upon\nher?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d replied Agnelette, with an adorable smile, \u201cthere is no fear of\nthat, for I will manage so as to let him have such a large share of my\nlove and attention that he will have no cause to complain; the kinder\nand the more patient he is for the dear old thing, the more I shall\ndevote myself to him, the harder shall I work that there may be nothing\nwanting to our little household. You see me looking small and delicate,\nand you doubt that I should have strength for this; but I have plenty of\nspirit and energy for work, and then, when the heart gives consent, one\ncan work day and night without fatigue. Oh! how I should love the man\nwho loved my grandmother! I promise you, that she, and my husband, and\nI, we should be three happy folks together.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean that you would be three very poor folks together, Agnelette!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you think the loves and friendships of the rich are worth a\nfarthing more than those of the poor? At times, when I have been loving\nand caressing my grandmother, Monsieur Thibault, and she takes me on her\nlap and clasps me in her poor weak trembling arms, and puts her dear old\nwrinkled face against mine, and I feel my cheek wet with the loving\ntears she sheds, I begin to cry myself, and, I tell you, Monsieur\nThibault, so soft and sweet are my tears, that there is no woman or\ngirl, be she queen or princess, who has ever, I am sure, even in her\nhappiest days, known such a real joy as mine. And, yet, there is no one\nin all the country round who is so destitute as we two are.\u201d\n\nThibault listened to what Agnelette was saying without answering; his\nmind was occupied with many thoughts, such thoughts as are indulged in\nby the ambitious; but his dreams of ambition were disturbed at moments\nby a passing sensation of depression and disillusionment.\n\nHe, the man who had spent hours at a time watching the beautiful and\naristocratic dames belonging to the Court of the Duke of Orleans, as\nthey swept up and down the wide entrance stairs; who had often passed\nwhole nights gazing at the arched windows of the Keep at Vez, when the\nwhole place was lit up for some festivity, he, that same man, now asked\nhimself, if what he had so ambitiously desired to have, a lady of rank\nand a rich dwelling, would, after all, be so much worth possessing as a\nthatched roof and this sweet and gentle girl called Agnelette. And it\nwas certain that if this dear and charming little woman were to become\nhis, that he would be envied in turn by all the earls and barons in the\ncountryside.\n\n\u201cWell, Agnelette,\u201d said Thibault \u201cand suppose a man like myself were to\noffer himself as your husband, would you accept him?\u201d\n\nIt has been already stated that Thibault was a handsome young fellow,\nwith fine eyes and black hair, and that his travels had left him\nsomething better than a mere workman. And it must further be borne in\nmind that we readily become attached to those on whom we have conferred\na benefit, and Agnelette had, in all probability, saved Thibault\u2019s life;\nfor, under such strokes as Marcotte\u2019s, the victim would certainly have\nbeen dead before the thirty-sixth had been given.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she said, \u201cif it would be a good thing for my grandmother?\u201d\n\nThibault took hold of her hand.\n\n\u201cWell then, Agnelette,\u201d he said \u201cwe will speak again about this, dear\nchild, and that as soon as may be.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhenever you like, Monsieur Thibault.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you will promise faithfully to love me if I marry you, Agnelette?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think I should love any man besides my husband?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind, I want you just to take a little oath, something of this\nkind, for instance; Monsieur Thibault, I swear that I will never love\nanyone but you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat need is there to swear? the promise of an honest girl should be\nsufficient for an honest man.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd when shall we have the wedding, Agnelette?\u201d and in saying this,\nThibault tried to put his arm round her waist.\n\nBut Agnelette gently disengaged herself.\n\n\u201cCome and see my grandmother,\u201d she said, \u201cit is for her to decide about\nit; you must content yourself this evening with helping me up with my\nload of heath, for it is getting late, and it is nearly three miles from\nhere to Pr\u00e9ciamont.\u201d\n\nSo Thibault helped her as desired, and then accompanied her on her way\nhome as far as the Forest-fence of Billemont, that is until they came in\nsight of the village steeple. Before parting, he so begged of pretty\nAgnelette to give him one kiss as an earnest of his future happiness,\nthat at last she consented, and then, far more agitated by this one kiss\nthan she had been by the Baron\u2019s double embrace, Agnelette hastened on\nher way, in spite of the load which she was carrying on her head, and\nwhich seemed far too heavy for so slender and delicate a creature.\n\nThibault stood for some time looking after her as she walked away across\nthe moor. All the flexibility and grace of her youthful figure were\nbrought into relief as the girl lifted her pretty rounded arms to\nsupport the burden upon her head, and thus silhouetted against the dark\nblue of the sky she made a delightful picture. At last, having reached\nthe outskirts of the village, the land dipping at that point, she\nsuddenly disappeared, passing out of sight of Thibault\u2019s admiring eyes.\nHe gave a sigh, and stood still, plunged in thought; but it was not the\nsatisfaction of thinking that this sweet and good young creature might\none day be his that had caused his sigh. Quite the contrary; he had\nwished for Agnelette, because Agnelette was young and pretty, and\nbecause it was part of his unfortunate disposition to long for\neverything that belonged or might belong to another. His desire to\npossess Agnelette had been quickened by the innocent frankness with\nwhich she had talked to him; but it had been a matter of fancy rather\nthan of any deeper feeling, of the mind, and not of the heart. For\nThibault was incapable of loving as a man ought to love, who, being poor\nhimself, loves a poor girl; in such a case there should be no thought,\nno ambition on his part beyond the wish that his love may be returned.\nBut it was not so with Thibault; on the contrary, I repeat, the farther\nhe walked away from Agnelette, leaving it would seem his good genius\nfarther behind him with every step, the more urgently did his envious\nlongings begin again as usual to torment his soul. It was dark when he\nreached home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE BLACK WOLF\n\n\nThibault\u2019s first thought was to get himself some supper, for he was\nterribly tired. The past day had been an eventful one for him, and\ncertain things which had happened to him had evidently been calculated\nto produce a craving for food. The supper, it must be said, was not\nquite such a savoury one as he had promised himself, when starting to\nkill the buck; but the animal, as we know, had not been killed by\nThibault, and the ferocious hunger which now consumed him made his black\nbread taste almost as delicious as venison.\n\nHe had hardly, however, begun his frugal repast, when he became\nconscious that his goat--of which I think we have already spoken--was\nuttering the most plaintive bleatings. Thinking that she, too, was in\nwant of her supper, he went into the lean-to for some fresh grass, which\nhe then carried to her, but as he opened the little door of the shed,\nout she rushed with such precipitancy that she nearly knocked Thibault\nover, and without stopping to take the provender he had brought her, ran\ntowards the house. Thibault threw down the bundle of grass and went\nafter her, with the intention of re-installing her in her proper place;\nbut he found that this was more than he was able to do. He had to use\nall his force to get her along, for the goat, with all the strength of\nwhich a beast of her kind is capable, resisted all his efforts to drag\nher back by the horns, arching her back, and stubbornly refusing to\nmove. At last, however, being vanquished in the struggle, it ended by\nthe goat being once more shut up in her shed, but, in spite of the\nplentiful supper which Thibault left her with, she continued to utter\nthe most lamentable cries. Perplexed, and cross at the same time, the\nshoe-maker again rose from his supper and went to the shed, this time\nopening the door so cautiously that the goat could not escape. Once\ninside he began feeling about with his hands in all the nooks and\ncorners to try and discover the cause of her alarm. Suddenly his fingers\ncame in contact with the warm, thick coat of some other animal. Thibault\nwas not a coward, far from it, none the less, he drew back hastily. He\nreturned to the house and got a light, but it almost fell from his hand,\nwhen, on re-entering the shed, he recognised in the animal that had so\nfrightened the goat, the buck of the Lord of Vez; the same buck that he\nhad followed, had failed to kill, that he had prayed for in the devil\u2019s\nname, if he could not have it in God\u2019s; the same that had thrown the\nhounds out; the very same in short which had cost him such hard blows.\nThibault, after assuring himself that the door was fastened, went gently\nup to the animal; the poor thing was either so tired, or so tame, that\nit did not make the slightest attempt to move, but merely gazed out at\nThibault with its large dark velvety eyes, rendered more appealing than\never by the fear which agitated it.\n\n\u201cI must have left the door open,\u201d muttered the shoe-maker to himself,\n\u201cand the creature, not knowing where to hide itself, must have taken\nrefuge here.\u201d But on thinking further over the matter, it came back to\nhim that when he had gone to open the door, only ten minutes before, for\nthe first time, he had found the wooden bolt pushed so firmly into the\nstaple that he had had to get a stone to hammer it back; and then,\nbesides, the goat, which, as we have seen, did not at all relish the\nsociety of the new-comer, would certainly have run out of the shed\nbefore, if the door had been open. What was, however, still more\nsurprising was that Thibault, looking more closely at the buck, saw that\nit had been fastened up to the rack by a cord.\n\nThibault, as we have said, was no coward, but now a cold sweat began to\nbreak out in large drops on his brow, a curious kind of a shiver ran\nthrough his body, and his teeth chattered violently. He went out of the\nshed, shutting the door after him, and began looking for his goat, which\nhad taken advantage of the moment when the shoe-maker had gone to fetch\na light, and ran again into the house, where she was now lying beside\nthe hearth, having evidently quite made up her mind this time not to\nforsake a resting place, which, for that night at least, she found\npreferable to her usual abode.\n\nThibault had a perfect remembrance of the unholy invocation he had\naddressed to Satan, and although his prayer had been miraculously\nanswered, he still could not bring himself to believe that there was any\ndiabolic intervention in the matter.\n\nAs the idea, however, of being under the protection of the spirit of\ndarkness filled him with an instinctive fear, he tried to pray; but when\nhe wished to raise his hand to make the sign of the cross on his\nforehead, his arm refused to bend, and although up to that time he had\nnever missed a day saying his _Ave Maria_, he could not remember a\nsingle word of it.\n\nThese fruitless efforts were accompanied by a terrible turmoil in poor\nThibault\u2019s brain; evil thoughts came rushing in upon him, and he seemed\nto hear them whispering all around him, as one hears the murmur of the\nrising tide, or the laughing of the winter wind through the leafless\nbranches of the trees.\n\n\u201cAfter all,\u201d he muttered to himself, as he sat pale, and staring before\nhim, \u201cthe buck is a fine windfall, whether it comes from God or the\nDevil, and I should be a fool not to profit by it. If I am afraid of it\nas being food sent from the nether regions, I am in no way forced to eat\nit, and what is more, I could not eat it alone, and if I asked anyone to\npartake of it with me, I should be betrayed; the best thing I can do is\nto take the live beast over to the Nunnery of Saint-R\u00e9my, where it will\nserve as a pet for the Nuns and where the Abbess will give me a good\nround sum for it. The atmosphere of that holy place will drive the evil\nout of it, and I shall run no risk to my soul in taking a handful of\nconsecrated crown pieces.\n\n\u201cWhat days of sweating over my work, and turning my auger, it would\ntake, to earn even the quarter of what I shall get by just leading the\nbeast to its new fold! The devil who helps one is certainly better worth\nthan the angel who forsakes one. If my lord Satan wants to go too far\nwith me, it will then be time enough to free myself from his claws:\nbless me! I am not a child, nor a young lamb like Georgine, and I am\nable to walk straight in front of me and go where I like.\u201d He had\nforgotten, unhappy man, as he boasted of being able to go where and how\nhe liked, that only five minutes before he had tried in vain to lift his\nhand to his head.\n\nThibault had such convincing and excellent reasons ready to hand, that\nhe quite made up his mind to keep the buck, come whence it might, and\neven went so far as to decide that the money he received for it should\nbe devoted to buying a wedding dress for his betrothed. For, strange to\nsay, by some freak of memory, his thoughts would keep returning towards\nAgnelette; and he seemed to see her clad in a long white dress with a\ncrown of white lilies on her head and a long veil. If, he said to\nhimself, he could have such a charming guardian angel in his house, no\ndevil, however strong and cunning he might be, would ever dare to cross\nthe threshold. \u201cSo,\u201d he went on, \u201cthere is always that remedy at hand,\nand if my lord Satan begins to be too troublesome, I shall be off to the\ngrandmother to ask for Agnelette; I shall marry her, and if I cannot\nremember my prayers or am unable to make the sign of the cross, there\nwill be a dear pretty little woman, who has had no traffic with Satan,\nwho will do all that sort of thing for me.\u201d\n\nHaving more or less re-assured himself with the idea of this compromise,\nThibault, in order that the buck should not run down in value, and might\nbe as fine an animal as possible to offer to the holy ladies, to whom he\ncalculated to sell it, went and filled the rack with fodder and looked\nto see that the litter was soft and thick enough for the buck to rest\nfully at its ease. The remainder of the night passed without further\nincident, and without even a bad dream.\n\nThe next morning, my lord Baron again went hunting, but this time it was\nnot a timid deer that headed the hounds, but the wolf which Marcotte had\ntracked the day before and had again that morning traced to his lair.\n\nAnd this wolf was a genuine wolf, and no mistake; it must have seen many\nand many a year, although those who had that morning caught sight of it\nwhile on its track, had noted with astonishment that it was black all\nover. Black or grey, however, it was a bold and enterprising beast, and\npromised some rough work to the Baron and his huntsmen. First started\nnear Vertefeuille, in the Dargent covert, it had made over the plain of\nMeutard, leaving Fleury and Dampleux to the left, crossed the road to\nFert\u00e9-Milou, and finally begun to run cunning in the Ivors coppices.\nThen, instead of continuing in the same direction, it doubled, returning\nalong the same track it had come, and so exactly retracing its own\nsteps, that the Baron, as he galloped along, could actually distinguish\nthe prints left by his horse\u2019s hoofs that same morning.\n\nBack again in the district of Bourg-Fontaine, he ranged the country,\nleading the hunt right to the very spot where the mis-adventures of the\nprevious day had had their start, the vicinity of the shoe-maker\u2019s hut.\n\nThibault, we know, had made up his mind what to do in regard to certain\nmatters, and as he intended going over to see Agnelette in the evening,\nhe had started work early.\n\nYou will naturally ask why, instead of sitting down to a work which\nbrought in so little, as he himself acknowledged, Thibault did not start\noff at once to take his buck to the ladies of Saint-R\u00e9my. Thibault took\nvery good care to do nothing of the sort; the day was not the time to be\nleading a buck through the forest of Villers-Cotterets; the first keeper\nhe met would have stopped him, and what explanation could he have given?\nNo, Thibault had arranged in his own mind to leave home one evening\nabout dusk, to follow the road to the right, then go down the sandpit\nlane which led into the Chemin du Pendu, and he would then be on the\ncommon of Saint-R\u00e9my, only a hundred paces or so from the Convent.\n\nThibault no sooner caught the first sound of the horn and the dogs, than\nhe immediately gathered together a huge bundle of dried heather, which\nhe hastily piled up in front of the shed, where his prisoner was\nconfined, so as to hide the door, in case the huntsmen and their master\nshould halt in front of his hut, as they had the day before. He then sat\ndown again to his work, applying to it an energy unknown even to himself\nbefore, bending over the shoe he was making with an intentness which\nprevented him from even lifting his eyes. All at once he thought he\ndetected a sound like something scratching at the door; he was just\ngoing through from his lean-to to open it when the door fell back, and\nto Thibault\u2019s great astonishment an immense black wolf entered the room,\nwalking on its hind legs. On reaching the middle of the floor, it sat\ndown after the fashion of wolves, and looked hard and fixedly at the\nsabot-maker.\n\nThibault seized a hatchet which was within reach, and in order to give a\nfit reception to his strange visitor, and to terrify him, he flourished\nthe weapon above his head.\n\nA curious mocking expression passed over the face of the wolf, and then\nit began to laugh.\n\nIt was the first time that Thibault had ever heard a wolf laugh. He had\noften heard tell that wolves barked like dogs, but never that they\nlaughed like human beings. And what a laugh it was! If a man had laughed\nsuch a laugh, Thibault would verily and indeed have been scared out of\nhis wits.\n\nHe brought his lifted arm down again.\n\n\u201cBy my lord of the cloven foot,\u201d said the wolf, in a full and sonorous\nvoice, \u201cyou are a fine fellow! At your request, I send you the finest\nbuck from His Royal Highness\u2019s forests, and in return, you want to split\nmy head open with your hatchet; human gratitude is worthy to rank with\nthat of wolves.\u201d On hearing a voice exactly like his own coming forth\nfrom a beast\u2019s mouth, Thibault\u2019s knees began to shake under him, and the\nhatchet fell out of his hand.\n\n\u201cNow then,\u201d continued the wolf, \u201clet us be sensible and talk together\nlike two good friends. Yesterday you wanted the Baron\u2019s buck, and I led\nit myself into your shed, and for fear it should escape, I tied it up\nmyself to the rack. And for all this you take your hatchet to me!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow should I know who you were?\u201d asked Thibault.\n\n\u201cI see, you did not recognise me! A nice sort of excuse to give.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I ask you, was it likely I should take you for a friend under\nthat ugly coat?\u201d\n\n\u201cUgly coat, indeed!\u201d said the wolf, licking his fur with a long tongue\nas red as blood. \u201cConfound you! You are hard to please. However, it\u2019s\nnot a matter of my coat; what I want to know is, are you willing to\nmake me some return for the service I have done you?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly,\u201d said the shoe-maker, feeling rather uncomfortable! \u201cbut I\nought to know what your demands are. What is it? What do you want?\nSpeak!\u201d\n\n\u201cFirst of all, and above all things, I should like a glass of water, for\nthose confounded dogs have run me until I am out of breath.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shall have it in a moment, my lord wolf.\u201d\n\nAnd Thibault ran and fetched a bowl of fresh, clear water from a brook\nwhich ran some ten paces from the hut. The eager readiness with which he\ncomplied with the wolf\u2019s request betrayed his feeling of relief at\ngetting out of the bargain so cheaply.\n\nAs he placed the bowl in front of the wolf, he made the animal a low\nbow. The wolf lapped up the contents with evident delight, and then\nstretched himself on the floor with his paws straight out in front of\nhim, looking like a sphinx.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d he said, \u201clisten to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is something else you wish me to do,\u201d asked Thibault, inwardly\nquaking.\n\n\u201cYes, a very urgent something,\u201d replied the wolf. \u201cDo you hear the\nbaying of the dogs?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed I do, they are coming nearer and nearer, and in five minutes\nthey will be here.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what I want you to do is to get me out of their way.\u201d\n\n\u201cGet you out of their way! and how?\u201d cried Thibault, who but too well\nremembered what it had cost him to meddle with the Baron\u2019s hunting the\nday before.\n\n\u201cLook about you, think, invent some way of delivering me!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Baron\u2019s dogs are rough customers to deal with, and you are asking\nneither more nor less than that I should save your life; for I warn you,\nif they once get hold of you, and they will probably scent you out, they\nwill make short work of pulling you to pieces. And now supposing I spare\nyou this disagreeable business,\u201d continued Thibault, who imagined that\nhe had now got the upper hand, \u201cwhat will you do for me in return?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo for you in return?\u201d said the wolf, \u201cand how about the buck?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how about the bowl of water?\u201d said Thibault.\n\n\u201cWe are quits there, my good sir. Let us start a fresh business\naltogether; if you are agreeable to it, I am quite willing.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet it be so then; tell me quickly what you want of me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are folks,\u201d proceeded Thibault, \u201cwho might take advantage of the\nposition you are now in, and ask for all kinds of extravagant things,\nriches, power, titles, and what not, but I am not going to do anything\nof the kind; yesterday I wanted the buck, and you gave it me, it is\ntrue; to-morrow, I shall want something else. For some time past I have\nbeen possessed by a kind of mania, and I do nothing but wish first for\none thing and then for another, and you will not always be able to spare\ntime to listen to my demands. So what I ask for is, that, as you are the\ndevil in person or someone very like it, you will grant me the\nfulfilment of every wish I may have from this day forth.\u201d\n\nThe wolf put on a mocking expression of countenance. \u201cIs that all?\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cYour peroration does not accord very well with your exordium.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d continued Thibault, \u201cmy wishes are honest and moderate ones, and\nsuch as become a poor peasant like myself. I want just a little corner\nof ground, and a few timbers, and planks; that\u2019s all that a man of my\nsort can possibly desire.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should have the greatest pleasure in doing what you ask,\u201d said the\nwolf, \u201cbut it is simply impossible, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I am afraid you must make up your mind to put up with what the\ndogs may do to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou think so, and you suppose I have need of your help, and so you can\nask what you please?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not suppose it, I am sure of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed! well then, look.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook where,\u201d asked Thibault.\n\n\u201cLook at the spot where I was,\u201d said the wolf. Thibault drew back in\nhorror. The place where the wolf had been lying was empty; the wolf had\ndisappeared, where or how it was impossible to say. The room was intact,\nthere was not a hole in the roof large enough to let a needle through,\nnor a crack in the floor through which a drop of water could have\nfiltered.\n\n\u201cWell, do you still think that I require your assistance to get out of\ntrouble,\u201d said the wolf.\n\n\u201cWhere the devil are you?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you put a question to me in my real name,\u201d said the wolf with a\nsneer in his voice, \u201cI shall be obliged to answer you. I am still in\nthe same place.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I can no longer see you!\u201d\n\n\u201cSimply because I am invisible.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the dogs, the huntsmen, the Baron, will come in here after you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo doubt they will, but they will not find me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if they do not find you, they will set upon me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs they did yesterday; only yesterday you were sentenced to thirty-six\nstrokes of the strap, for having carried off the buck; to-day, you will\nbe sentenced to seventy-two, for having hidden the wolf, and Agnelette\nwill not be on the spot to buy you off with a kiss.\u201d\n\n\u201cPhew! what am I to do?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet the buck loose; the dogs will mistake the scent, and they will get\nthe blows instead of you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut is it likely such trained hounds will follow the scent of a deer in\nmistake for that of a wolf?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can leave that to me,\u201d replied the voice, \u201conly do not lose any\ntime, or the dogs will be here before you have reached the shed, and\nthat would make matters unpleasant, not for me, whom they would not\nfind, but for you, whom they would.\u201d\n\nThibault did not wait to be warned a second time, but was off like a\nshot to the shed. He unfastened the buck, which, as if propelled by some\nhidden force, leapt from the house, ran round it, crossing the track of\nthe wolf, and plunged into the Baisemont coppice. The dogs were within a\nhundred paces of the hut; Thibault heard them with trepidation; the\nwhole pack came full force against the door, one hound after the other.\n\nThen, all at once, two or three gave cry and went off in the direction\nof Baisemont, the rest of the hounds after them.\n\nThe dogs were on the wrong scent; they were on the scent of the buck,\nand had abandoned that of the wolf.\n\nThibault gave a deep sigh of relief; he watched the hunt gradually\ndisappearing in the distance, and went back to his room to the full and\njoyous notes of the Baron\u2019s horn.\n\nHe found the wolf lying composedly on the same spot as before, but how\nit had found its way in again was quite as impossible to discover as how\nit had found its way out.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE PACT WITH SATAN\n\n\nThibault stopped short on the threshold, overcome with astonishment at\nthis re-apparition. \u201cI was saying,\u201d began the wolf, as if nothing had\nhappened to interrupt the conversation, \u201cthat it is out of my power to\ngrant you the accomplishment of all the wishes you may have in future\nfor your own comfort and advancement.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I am to expect nothing from you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so, for the ill you wish your neighbour can be carried out with my\nhelp.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd, pray, what good would that do me personally?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou fool! has not a moralist said, \u2018There is always something sweet to\nus in the misfortune of our friends,--even the dearest.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cWas it a wolf said that? I did not know wolves could boast of moralists\namong their number.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it was not a wolf, it was a man.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd was the man hanged?\u201d\n\n\u201cOn the contrary, he was made Governor of part of Poitou; there are, to\nbe sure, a good many wolves in that province--well then, if there is\nsomething pleasant in the misfortune of our best friend, cannot you\nunderstand what a subject of rejoicing the misfortune of our worst enemy\nmust be!\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is some truth in that, certainly,\u201d said Thibault.\n\n\u201cWithout taking into consideration that there is always an opportunity\nof profiting by our neighbour\u2019s calamity, whether he be friend or foe.\u201d\n\nThibault paused for a minute or two to consider before he answered:\n\n\u201cBy my faith, you are right there, friend wolf, and suppose, then, you\ndo me this service, what shall you expect in exchange? I suppose it will\nhave to be a case of give and take, eh?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly. Every time that you express a wish that is not to your own\nimmediate advantage, you will have to repay me with a small portion of\nyour person.\u201d\n\nThibault drew back with an exclamation of fear.\n\n\u201cOh! do not be alarmed! I shall not demand a pound of flesh, as a\ncertain Jew of my acquaintance did from his debtor.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is it then you ask of me?\u201d\n\n\u201cFor the fulfilment of your first wish, one of your hairs; two hairs for\nthe second wish, four for the third, and so on, doubling the number each\ntime.\u201d\n\nThibault broke into a laugh: \u201cIf that is all you require, Master Wolf, I\naccept on the spot; and I shall try to start with such a comprehensive\nwish, that I shall never need to wear a wig. So let it be agreed between\nus!\u201d and Thibault held out his hand. The black wolf lifted his paw, but\nhe kept it raised.\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d said Thibault.\n\n\u201cI was only thinking,\u201d replied the wolf, \u201cthat I have rather sharp\nclaws, and, without wishing to do so, I might hurt you badly; but I see\na way whereby to clinch the bargain without any damage done to you. You\nhave a silver ring, I have a gold one; let us exchange; the barter will\nbe to your advantage, as you see.\u201d And the wolf held out its paw,\nThibault saw a ring of the purest gold shining under the fur of what\ncorresponded to the ring finger, and accepted the bargain without\nhesitation; the respective rings then changed ownership.\n\n\u201cGood!\u201d said the wolf, \u201cnow we two are married.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean betrothed, Master Wolf,\u201d put in Thibault. \u201cPlague upon you!\nyou go too fast.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe shall see about that, Master Thibault. And now you go back to your\nwork, and I\u2019ll go back to mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-bye, my lord Wolf.\u201d\n\n\u201cTill we meet again, Master Thibault.\u201d\n\nThe wolf had hardly uttered these last words, on which it had laid an\nunmistakeable emphasis, ere it disappeared like a pinch of lighted\ngun-powder, and like the gun-powder, left behind a strong smell of\nsulphur.\n\nThibault again stood for a moment dumbfounded. He had not yet grown\naccustomed to this manner of making one\u2019s exit, to use a theatrical\nexpression; he looked round him on every side, but the wolf was not\nthere.\n\nAt first he thought the whole thing must have been a dream, but, looking\ndown, he saw the devil\u2019s ring on the third finger of his right hand; he\ndrew it off and examined it. He saw a monogram engraved on the inner\nside, and looking more closely, perceived that it was formed of two\nletters, T. and S.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d he exclaimed, in a cold sweat, \u201cThibault and Satan, the family\nnames of the two contracting parties. So much the worse for me! but when\none gives oneself to the devil, one has to do it without reserve.\u201d\n\nAnd Thibault began humming a song, trying to drown his thoughts, but his\nvoice filled him with fear, for there was a new and curious sound in it,\neven to his own ears. So he fell silent, and went back to his work as a\ndistraction.\n\nHe had only just begun, however, to shape his wooden shoe, when, some\ndistance off, from the direction of Baisemont, he again heard the baying\nof the hounds, and the notes of the Baron\u2019s horn. Thibault left off\nworking to listen to these various sounds.\n\n\u201cAh, my fine Lord, you may chase your wolf as long as you like; but I\ncan tell you, you won\u2019t get this one\u2019s paw to nail up over the door of\nyour castle. What a lucky beggar I am! here am I, almost as good as a\nmagician, and while you ride on, suspecting nothing, my brave dispenser\nof blows, I have but to say the word, and a spell will be cast over you\nwhereby I shall be amply avenged.\u201d And in thinking thus, Thibault\nsuddenly paused.\n\n\u201cAnd, after all,\u201d he went on, \u201cwhy shouldn\u2019t I revenge myself on this\ndamned Baron and Master Marcotte? Pshaw! with only a hair at stake I may\nwell gratify myself on this score.\u201d And so saying Thibault passed his\nhand through the thick, silky hair which covered his head like a lion\u2019s\nmane.\n\n\u201cI shall have plenty of hairs left to lose,\u201d he continued. \u201cWhy bother\nabout one! And, besides, it will be an opportunity for seeing whether my\nfriend the devil has been playing false with me or not. Very well then,\nI wish a serious accident to befall the Baron, and as for that\ngood-for-nothing of a Marcotte, who laid on to me so roughly yesterday,\nit is only fair that something as bad again should happen to him.\u201d\n\nWhile expressing this double wish, Thibault felt anxious and agitated to\nthe last degree; for in spite of what he had already seen of the wolf\u2019s\npower, he still feared the Devil might only have been playing on his\ncredulity. After uttering his wish, he tried in vain to return to his\nwork, he took hold of his parer, wrong side up, and took the skin off\nhis fingers, and still going on with his paring he spoilt a pair of\nshoes worth a good twelve sous. As he was lamenting over this\nmisfortune, and wiping the blood off his hand, he heard a great\ncommotion in the direction of the valley; he ran into the Chr\u00e9tiennelle\nroad and saw a number of men walking slowly two and two in his\ndirection. These men were the prickers and kennelmen of the Lord of Vez.\nThe road they were traversing was about two miles long, so that it was\nsome time before Thibault could distinguish what the men were doing, who\nwere walking as slowly and solemnly as if forming part of a funeral\nprocession. When, however, they got to within five hundred paces of him,\nhe saw that they were carrying two rough litters, on which were\nstretched two lifeless bodies, those of the Baron and of Marcotte. A\ncold sweat broke out over Thibault\u2019s forehead. \u201cAh!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cWhat\ndo I see here?\u201d\n\nWhat had happened was this:\n\nThibault\u2019s expedient for putting the dogs on the wrong scent had\nsucceeded, and all had gone well as long as the buck remained in covert;\nbut it doubled, when near Marolle, and while crossing the heath passed\nwithin ten paces of the Baron. The latter thought at first that the\nanimal had been startled by hearing the hounds, and was trying to hide\nitself.\n\nBut at that moment, not more than a hundred paces behind him, the whole\npack of hounds appeared, forty dogs, running, yelping, yelling, crying,\nsome in a deep bass like great cathedral bells, others with the full\nsound of a gong, and again others in a falsetto key, like clarionettes\nout of tune, all giving cry at the top of their voices, as eagerly and\nmerrily as if they had never followed the scent of any other beast.\n\nThen the Baron gave way to one of his wild fits of rage, fits only\nworthy of Polichinello tearing a passion to tatters in a puppet-show. He\ndid not shout, he yelled; he did not swear, he cursed. Not satisfied\nwith lashing his dogs, he rode them down, trampling them beneath his\nhorse\u2019s hoofs, flinging himself about in his saddle like a devil in a\nstoup of holy water.\n\nAll his maledictions were hurled at his chief pricker, whom he held\nresponsible for the stupid blunder that had occurred. This time Marcotte\nhad not a word to say either in explanation or excuse, and the poor man\nwas terribly ashamed of the mistake his hounds had made, and mighty\nuneasy at the towering passion into which it had thrown my lord. He made\nup his mind therefore to do everything in the power of man, if possible\nmore, to repair the one and calm the other, and so started off at full\ngallop, dashing among the trees and over the brushwood, crying out at\nthe top of his voice, while he slashed right and left with such vigour,\nthat every stroke of his whip cut into the flesh of the poor animals.\n\u201cBack, dogs! back!\u201d But in vain he rode, and whipped, and called aloud,\nthe dogs only seemed to become more wildly anxious to follow up the new\nfound scent, as if they recognised the buck of the day before, and were\ndetermined that their wounded self-esteem should have its revenge. Then\nMarcotte grew desperate, and determined on the only course that seemed\nleft. The river Ourcq was close by, the dogs were already on the point\nof crossing the water, and the one chance of breaking up the pack was to\nget across himself and whip back the dogs as they began to climb the\nopposite bank. He spurred his horse in the direction of the river, and\nleaped with it into the very middle of the stream, both horse and rider\narriving safely in the water; but, unfortunately, as we have already\nmentioned, the river just at this time was terribly swollen with the\nrains, the horse was unable to stand against the violence of the\ncurrent, and after being swept round two or three times finally\ndisappeared. Seeing that it was useless trying to save his horse,\nMarcotte endeavoured to disengage himself, but his feet were so firmly\nfixed in the stirrups that he could not draw them out, and three seconds\nafter his horse had disappeared, Marcotte himself was no longer to be\nseen.\n\nMeanwhile, the Baron, with the remainder of the huntsmen, had ridden up\nto the water\u2019s edge, and his anger was in an instant converted into\ngrief and alarm as soon as he became aware of the perilous situation of\nhis pricker; for the Lord of Vez had a sincere love towards those who\nministered to his pleasure, whether man or beast. In a loud voice he\nshouted to his followers: \u201cBy all the powers of hell! Save Marcotte!\nFive and twenty louis, fifty louis, a hundred louis, to anyone who will\nsave him!\u201d And men and horses, like so many startled frogs, leaped into\nthe water, vying with each other who should be first. The Baron was for\nriding into the river himself, but his henchmen held him back, and so\nanxious were they to prevent the worthy Baron from carrying out his\nheroic intention, that their affection for their master was fatal to the\npoor pricker. For one moment he was forgotten, but that last moment\nmeant his death. He appeared once more above the surface, just where the\nriver makes a bend; he was seen to battle against the water, and his\nface for an instant rose into view, as with one last cry he called to\nhis hounds, \u201cBack! dogs, back!\u201d But the water again closed over him,\nstifling the last syllable of the last word, and it was not till a\nquarter of an hour later that his body was found lying on a little beach\nof sand on to which the current had washed him. Marcotte was dead; there\nwas no doubt about it! This accident was disastrous in its effect on the\nLord of Vez. Being the noble lord he was, he had somewhat of a liking\nfor good wine; and this predisposed him ever so little to apoplexy, and\nnow, as he came face to face with the corpse of his good servitor, the\nemotion was so great, that the blood rushed to his head and brought on a\nfit.\n\nThibault felt appalled as he realised with what scrupulous exactness the\nblack wolf had fulfilled his part of the contract, and not without a\nshudder did he think of the right Master Isengrin now had to claim an\nequal punctuality of payment in return. He began to wonder uneasily\nwhether the wolf, after all, was the kind of being that would continue\nto be satisfied with a few hairs--and this the more that both at the\nmoment of his wish and during the succeeding minutes during which it was\nbeing accomplished, he had not been conscious of the slightest sensation\nanywhere about the roots of his hair, not even of the least little\ntickling. He was far from being pleasantly affected by the sight of poor\nMarcotte\u2019s corpse; he had not loved him, it was true, and he had felt\nthat he had good reason for not doing so; but his dislike to the defunct\nhad never gone so far as to make him wish for his death, and the wolf\nhad certainly gone far beyond his desires. At the same time, Thibault\nhad never precisely said what he did wish, and had left the wolf a wide\nmargin for the exercise of his malice; evidently he would have to be\nmore careful in future in stating exactly what he wanted, and above all,\nmore circumspect as regards any wish he might formulate.\n\nAs to the Baron, although still alive, he was almost as good as dead.\nFrom the moment when, as the result of Thibault\u2019s wish, he had been\nstruck down as it were by lightning, he had remained unconscious. His\nmen had laid him on the heap of heather which the shoe-maker had piled\nup to hide the door of the shed, and troubled and frightened, were\nransacking the place to try and find some restorative which might bring\ntheir master back to life. One asked for vinegar to put on his temples,\nanother for a key to put down his back, this one for a bit of board to\nslap his hands with, that for some sulphur to burn under his nose. In\nthe midst of all this confusion was heard the voice of little\nEngoulevent, calling out: \u201cIn the name of all that\u2019s good, we don\u2019t want\nall this truck, we want a goat. Ah! if only we had a goat!\u201d\n\n\u201cA goat?\u201d cried Thibault, who would have rejoiced to see the Baron\nrecover, for it would lift at least part of the burden now weighing on\nhis conscience, and would also rid his dwelling of these marauders. \u201cA\ngoat? I have a goat!\u201d\n\n\u201cReally! you have a goat?\u201d cried Engoulevent, \u201coh! my friends! now our\ndear master is saved!\u201d\n\nAnd so overcome with joy was he, that he flung his arms round Thibault\u2019s\nneck, saying, \u201cBring out your goat, my friend! bring out your goat!\u201d\n\nThibault went to the shed and led out the goat, which ran after him\nbleating.\n\n\u201cHold it firmly by the horns,\u201d said the huntsman, \u201cand lift up one of\nits front feet.\u201d And as he gave the word, the second huntsman drew from\nits sheath a little knife which he carried in his belt, and began\ncarefully sharpening it on the grindstone which Thibault used for his\ntools. \u201cWhat are you going to do?\u201d asked the shoe-maker, feeling\nsomewhat uneasy about these preparations.\n\n\u201cWhat! don\u2019t you know,\u201d said Engoulevent, \u201cthat there is a little bone\nin the shape of a cross inside a goat\u2019s heart, which, if crushed into\npowder, is a sovereign remedy for apoplexy?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou intend to kill my goat?\u201d exclaimed Thibault, at the same time\nleaving hold of the goat\u2019s horns, and dropping its foot, \u201cbut I will\nnot have it killed.\u201d\n\n\u201cFie, fie!\u201d said Engoulevent, \u201cthat is not at all a becoming speech,\nMonsieur Thibault, would you value the life of our good master as of no\nmore worth than that of your wretched goat? I am truly ashamed for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s easy for you to talk. This goat is all I have to depend upon, the\nonly thing I possess. She gives me milk, and I am fond of her.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! Monsieur Thibault, you cannot be thinking of what you are\nsaying--it is fortunate that the Baron does not hear you--for he would\nbe broken-hearted to know that his precious life was being bargained for\nin that miserly way.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd besides,\u201d said one of the prickers with a sneering laugh, \u201cif\nMaster Thibault values his goat at a price which he thinks only my lord\ncan pay, there is nothing to prevent him coming to the castle of Vez to\nclaim this payment. The account can be settled with what was left over\nas due to him yesterday.\u201d\n\nThibault knew that he could not get the better of these men, unless he\nagain called the devil to his aid; but he had just received such a\nlesson from Satan, that there was no fear of his exposing himself, at\nall events for a second time the same day, to similar good offices. His\none desire for the time being was not to wish any sort of ill to anyone\nof those present.\n\nOne man dead, another nearly so--Thibault found this lesson enough.\nConsequently, he kept his eyes turned away from the menacing and jeering\ncountenances around him, for fear of being aggravated beyond control.\nWhile his back was turned, the poor goat\u2019s throat was cut, her piteous\ncry alone informing him of the fact; and it was no sooner killed than\nits heart, which had hardly ceased throbbing, was opened in search of\nthe little bone of which Engoulevent had spoken. This found, it was\nground into powder, mixed with vinegar diluted with thirteen drops of\ngall from the bladder containing it, the whole stirred together in a\nglass with the cross of a rosary, and then poured gently down the\nBaron\u2019s throat, after his teeth had been forced apart with the blade of\na dagger.\n\nThe effect of the draught was immediate and truly miraculous. The Lord\nof Vez sneezed, sat up, and said in a voice, intelligible though still a\nlittle husky: \u201cGive me something to drink.\u201d\n\nEngoulevent handed him some water in a wooden drinking-cup, a family\npossession, of which Thibault was very proud. But the Baron had no\nsooner put his lips to it and become aware of what the vile, abominable\nliquid was, which they had had the impudence to offer him, than, with an\nexclamation of disgust, he flung the vessel and its contents violently\nagainst the wall, and the cup fell, smashed into a thousand pieces. Then\nin a loud and sonorous voice, which left no doubt of his perfect\nrecovery, he called out: \u201cBring me some wine.\u201d One of the prickers\nmounted and rode at full speed to the castle of Oigny, and there\nrequested the lord of the place to give him a flask or two of sound old\nBurgundy; ten minutes after he was back again. Two bottles were\nuncorked, and there being no glasses at hand, the Baron put them in turn\nto his mouth, draining each at a single draught.\n\nThen he turned himself round with his face to the wall, and\nmurmuring--M\u00e2con, 1743--fell into a profound slumber.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE BEDEVILLED HAIR\n\n\nThe huntsmen, being reassured with regard to their master\u2019s health, now\nwent in search of the dogs, which had been left to carry on the chase\nalone. They were found lying asleep, the ground around them stained with\nblood. It was evident that they had run down the buck and eaten it; if\nany doubt on the matter remained, it was done away with by the sight of\nthe antlers, and a portion of the jaw bone, the only parts of the animal\nwhich they could not crunch up, and which had therefore not disappeared.\nIn short, they were the only ones who had cause to be satisfied with the\nday\u2019s work. The huntsmen, after shutting up the hounds in Thibault\u2019s\nshed, seeing that their master was still sleeping, began to turn their\nthoughts to getting some supper. They laid hands on everything they\ncould find in the poor wretch\u2019s cupboard, and roasted the goat, politely\ninviting Thibault to take a share in the meal towards the cost of which\nhe had not a little contributed. He refused, giving as a plausible\nexcuse, the great agitation he still was under, owing to Marcotte\u2019s\ndeath and the Baron\u2019s accident.\n\nHe gathered up the fragments of his beloved drinking-cup, and seeing\nthat it was useless to think of ever being able to put it together\nagain, he began turning over in his mind what it might be possible for\nhim to do, so as to free himself from the miserable existence which the\nevents of the last two days had rendered more insupportable than ever.\nThe first image that appeared to him, was that of Agnelette. Like the\nbeautiful angels that pass before the eyes of children in their dreams,\nhe saw her figure, dressed all in white, with large white wings,\nfloating across a blue sky. She seemed happy and beckoned to him to\nfollow, saying the while \u201cThose who come with me will be very happy.\u201d\nBut the only answer which Thibault vouchsafed to this charming vision\nwas a movement of the head and shoulders, which interpreted, meant,\n\u201cYes, yes, Agnelette, I see you, and recognise you; yesterday, it would\nhave been all very well to follow you; but to-day I am, like a king, the\narbiter of life and death, and I am not the man to make foolish\nconcessions to a love only born a day ago, and which has hardly learnt\nto stammer out its first words. To marry you, my poor child, far from\nlessening the bitter hardships of our lives, would only double or treble\nthe burden under which we are both borne down. No, Agnelette, no! You\nwould make a charming mistress; but, a wife--she must be in a position\nto bring money to support the household, equal in proportion to the\npower which I should contribute.\u201d\n\nHis conscience told him plainly that he was engaged to marry Agnelette;\nbut he quieted it with the assurance that if he broke the engagement, it\nwould be for the good of that gentle creature.\n\n\u201cI am an upright man,\u201d he murmured to himself, \u201cand it is my duty to\nsacrifice my personal pleasure to the welfare of the dear child. And\nmore than that, she is sufficiently young and pretty and good, to find a\nbetter fate than what would await her as the wife of a plain sabot\nmaker.\u201d And the end of all these fine reflections was, that Thibault\nfelt himself bound to allow his foolish promises of the day before to\nmelt away into air, and to forget the betrothal, of which the only\nwitnesses had been the quivering leaves of the birch trees, and the pink\nblossom of the heather. It should be added that there was another mental\nvision, not wholly irresponsible for the resolution at which Thibault\nhad arrived,--the vision of a certain young widow, owner of the mill at\nCroyolles, a woman between twenty-six and twenty-eight, fresh and plump,\nwith fine, rolling eyes, not devoid of mischief. Moreover, she was\ncredibly supposed to be the richest match in all the country side, for\nher mill was never idle, and so, for all reasons, as one can clearly\nsee, it was the very thing for Thibault.\n\nFormerly, it would never have occurred to Thibault to aspire to anyone\nin the position of the rich and beautiful Madame Polet, for such was the\nname of the owner of the mill; and this will explain why her name is\nintroduced here for the first time. And, in truth, it was the first time\nthat she had ever occurred as a subject of serious consideration to our\nhero. He was astonished at himself for not having thought of her before,\nbut then, as he said to himself, he _had_ often thought about her, but\nwithout hope, while now, seeing that he was under the protection of the\nwolf, and that he had been endowed with a supernatural power, which he\nhad already had occasion to exercise, it seemed to him an easy matter to\nget rid of all his rivals and achieve his purpose. True there were evil\ntongues that spoke of the owner of the mill as having something of an\nill-temper and a hard heart; but the shoe-maker came to the conclusion\nthat, with the devil up his sleeve, he need not trouble himself about\nany wicked spirit, any petty little second-class demon that might find a\ncorner in Widow Polet\u2019s disposition. And so, by the time the day broke,\nhe had decided to go to Croyolles, for all these visions had of course\nvisited him during the night.\n\nThe Lord of Vez awoke with the first song of the birds; he had entirely\nrecovered from his indisposition of the day before, and woke up his\nfollowers with loud slashings of his whip. Having sent off Marcotte\u2019s\nbody to Vez, he decided that he would not return home without having\nkilled something, but that he would hunt the boar, just as if nothing\nout of the way had taken place on the previous day. At last, about six\no\u2019clock in the morning, they all went off, the Baron assuring Thibault\nthat he was most grateful to him for the hospitality that he himself and\nhis men and dogs had met with under his poor roof, in consideration of\nwhich he was quite willing, he swore, to forget all the grievances which\nhe had against the shoe-maker.\n\nIt will be easily guessed that Thibault experienced little regret at the\ndeparture of lord, dogs, and huntsmen. All these having at last\ndisappeared, he stood a few moments contemplating his ransacked home,\nhis empty cupboard, his broken furniture, his empty shed, the ground\nscattered with fragments of his belongings. But, as he told himself, all\nthis was the ordinary thing to happen whenever one of the great lords\nwent through a place, and the future, as it appeared to him, was far too\nbrilliant to allow him to dwell long on this spectacle. He dressed\nhimself in his Sunday attire, smartening himself as best he could, ate\nhis last bit of bread with the last morsel left of his goat, went to the\nspring and drank a large glass of water, and started off for Croyolles.\nThibault was determined to try his fortune with Madame Polet before the\nday was over, and therefore set out about nine o\u2019clock in the morning.\n\nThe shortest way to Croyolles was round by the rear of Oigny and\nPisseleu. Now Thibault knew every in and out of the forest of\nVillers-Cotterets as well as any tailor knows the pockets he has made;\nwhy, therefore, did he take the Chr\u00e9tiennelle track, seeing that it\nlengthened his journey by a good mile and a half? Reader, it was because\nthis lane would bring him near to the spot where he had first seen\nAgnelette, for, although practical considerations were carrying him in\nthe direction of Croyolles Mill, his heart was drawing him towards\nPr\u00e9ciamont. And there, as fate would have it, just after crossing the\nroad that runs to La Fert\u00e9-Milou, he came upon Agnelette, cutting grass\nby the way-side for her goats. He might easily have passed her without\nbeing seen, for her back was turned towards him; but the evil spirit\nprompted him, and he went straight up to her. She was stooping to cut\nthe grass with her sickle, but hearing someone approaching she lifted\nher head, and blushed as she recognised that it was Thibault. With the\nblush a happy smile rose to her face, which showed that the rising\ncolour was not due to any feeling of hostility towards him.\n\n\u201cAh! there you are,\u201d she said. \u201cI dreamt much of you last night, and\nprayed many prayers for you also.\u201d And as she spoke, the vision of\nAgnelette passing along the sky, with the dress and wings of an Angel,\nand her hands joined in supplication, as he had seen her the previous\nnight, returned to him.\n\n\u201cAnd what made you dream of me and pray for me, my pretty child?\u201d asked\nThibault with as unconcerned an air as a young lord at Court. Agnelette\nlooked at him with her large eyes of heavenly blue.\n\n\u201cI dreamed of you, Thibault, because I love you,\u201d she said, \u201cand I\nprayed for you, because I saw the accident that happened to the Baron\nand his huntsmen, and all the trouble that you were put to in\nconsequence.... Ah! if I had been able to obey the dictates of my heart,\nI should have run to you at once to give you help.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a pity you did not come; you would have found a merry company, I\ncan tell you.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! it was not for that I should have liked to be with you, but to be\nof use to you in receiving the Baron and his train. Oh! what a beautiful\nring you have, Monsieur Thibault, where did you get it?\u201d\n\nAnd the girl pointed to the ring which had been given to Thibault by the\nwolf. Thibault felt his blood run cold. \u201cThis ring?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cYes, that ring,\u201d and seeing that Thibault appeared unwilling to answer\nher, Agnelette turned her head aside, and sighed. \u201cA present from some\nfine lady, I suppose,\u201d she said in a low voice.\n\n\u201cThere you are mistaken, Agnelette,\u201d replied Thibault with all the\nassurance of a consummate liar, \u201cit is our betrothal ring, the one I\nhave bought to put on your finger the day we are married.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not tell me the truth, Monsieur Thibault?\u201d said Agnelette, shaking\nher head sadly.\n\n\u201cI am speaking the truth, Agnelette.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d and she shook her head more sadly than before.\n\n\u201cAnd what makes you think that I am telling a lie?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause the ring is large enough to go over two of my fingers.\u201d And\nThibault\u2019s finger would certainly have made two of Agnelette\u2019s.\n\n\u201cIf it is too large, Agnelette,\u201d he said, \u201cwe can have it made smaller.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-bye, Monsieur Thibault.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! Good-bye?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are going to leave me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I am going.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why, Agnelette?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause I do not love liars.\u201d\n\nThibault tried to think of some vow he could make to reassure Agnelette,\nbut in vain.\n\n\u201cListen,\u201d said Agnelette, with tears in her eyes, for it was not without\na great effort of self-control that she was turning away, \u201cif that ring\nis really meant for me....\u201d\n\n\u201cAgnelette, I swear to you that it is.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell then, give it me to keep till our wedding day, and on that day I\nwill give it back to you, that you may have it blessed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will give it you with all my heart,\u201d replied Thibault, \u201cbut I want to\nsee it on your pretty hand. You were right in saying that it was too\nlarge for you, and I am going into Villers-Cotterets to-day, we will\ntake the measure of your finger, and I will get Monsieur Dugu\u00e9, the\ngoldsmith there, to alter it for us.\u201d\n\nThe smile returned to Agnelette\u2019s face and her tears were dried up at\nonce. She put out her little hand; Thibault took it between his own,\nturned it over and looked at it, first on the back and then on the palm,\nand stooping, kissed it.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said Agnelette \u201cyou should not kiss my hand, Monsieur Thibault, it\nis not pretty enough.\u201d\n\n\u201cGive me something else then to kiss.\u201d And Agnelette lifted her face\nthat he might kiss her on the forehead.\n\n\u201cAnd now,\u201d she said joyously, and with childish eagerness, \u201clet me see\nthe ring.\u201d\n\nThibault drew off the ring, and laughing, tried to put it on Agnelette\u2019s\nthumb; but, to his great astonishment, he could not get it over the\njoint. \u201cWell, well,\u201d he exclaimed \u201cwho would ever have thought such a\nthing?\u201d\n\nAgnelette began to laugh. \u201cIt is funny, isn\u2019t it!\u201d she said.\n\nThen Thibault tried to pass it over the first finger, but with the same\nresult as when he put it on the thumb. He next tried the middle finger,\nbut the ring seemed to grow smaller and smaller, as if fearing to sully\nthis virgin hand; then the third finger, the same on which he wore it\nhimself, but it was equally impossible to get it on. And as he made\nthese vain attempts to fit the ring, Thibault felt Agnelette\u2019s hand\ntrembling more and more violently within his own, while the sweat fell\nfrom his own brow, as if he were engaged in the most arduous work; there\nwas something diabolic at the bottom of it, as he knew quite well. At\nlast he came to the little finger and endeavoured to pass the ring over\nit. This little finger, so small and transparent, that the ring should\nhave hung as loosely upon it as a bracelet on one of Thibault\u2019s, this\nlittle finger, in spite of all Agnelette\u2019s efforts, refused to pass\nthrough the ring. \u201cAh! my God, Monsieur Thibault,\u201d cried the child \u201cwhat\ndoes this mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cRing of the Devil, return to the Devil!\u201d cried Thibault, flinging the\nring against a rock, in the hope that it would be broken. As it struck\nthe rock, it emitted flame; then it rebounded, and in rebounding, fitted\nitself on to Thibault\u2019s finger. Agnelette who saw this strange evolution\nof the ring, looked at Thibault in horrified amazement. \u201cWell,\u201d he said,\ntrying to brave it out, \u201cwhat is the matter?\u201d\n\nAgnelette did not answer, but as she continued to look at Thibault, her\neye grew more and more wild and frightened. Thibault could not think\nwhat she was looking at, but slowly lifting her hand and pointing with\nher finger at Thibault\u2019s head, she said, \u201cOh! Monsieur Thibault,\nMonsieur Thibault, what have you got there?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere?\u201d asked Thibault.\n\n\u201cThere! there!\u201d cried Agnelette, growing paler and paler.\n\n\u201cWell, but where?\u201d cried the shoe-maker, stamping with his foot. \u201cTell\nme what you see.\u201d\n\nBut instead of replying, Agnelette covered her face with her hands, and\nuttering a cry of terror, turned and fled with all her might.\n\nThibault, stunned by what had happened, did not even attempt to follow\nher; he stood rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak, as if\nthunderstruck.\n\nWhat had Agnelette seen that had alarmed her so? What was it that she\npointed to with her finger? Had God branded him, as He branded the first\nmurderer? And why not? Had not he, like Cain, killed a man? and in the\nlast sermon he had heard at Oigny had not the preacher said that all men\nwere brothers? Thibault felt wild with misgivings; what had so terrified\nAgnelette? That he must find out without delay. At first he thought he\nwould go into the town of Bourg-Fontaine and look at himself in a glass.\nBut then, supposing the fatal mark was upon him, and others, besides\nAgnelette, were to see it! No, he must think of some other way of\nfinding out. He could, of course, pull his hat over his brow, and run\nback to Oigny, where he had a fragment of mirror in which he could see\nhimself; but Oigny was a long way off. Then he remembered that only a\nfew paces from where he stood, there was a spring as transparent as\ncrystal, which fed the pond near Baisemont, and those at Bourg; he would\nbe able to see himself in that as clearly as in the finest mirror from\nSaint-Gobain. So Thibault went to the side of the stream and, kneeling\ndown, looked at himself. He saw the same eyes, the same nose, and the\nsame mouth, and not even the slightest little mark upon the forehead--he\ndrew a breath of relief. But still, there must have been something.\nAgnelette had certainly not taken fright as she had, for nothing.\nThibault bent over closer to the crystal water; and now he saw there was\nsomething bright that shone amid the dark curls on his head and fell\nover his forehead. He leaned closer still--it was a red hair. A red\nhair, but of a most peculiar red--not sandy coloured or carrotty;\nneither of a light shade nor a dark; but a red of the colour of blood,\nwith a brightness of the most vivid flame. Without stopping to consider\nhow a hair of such a phenomenal colour could possibly have grown there,\nhe began trying to pull it out. He drew forward the curl where gleamed\nthe terrible red hair, that it might hang over the water, and then\ntaking hold of it carefully between his finger and thumb gave it a\nviolent pull; but the hair refused to come away. Thinking that he had\nnot got sufficient hold of it, he tried another way, winding the hair\nround his finger and again giving it a vigorous jerk--the hair cut into\nhis fingers but remained as firmly rooted as ever. Thibault then turned\nit round two of his fingers and pulled again; the hair lifted a little\nbit of his scalp, but as to moving, Thibault might as well have tried to\nmove the oak that threw its shady branches across the stream. Thibault\nbegan to think that he would do better to continue his walk to\nCroyolles; after all, as he remarked to himself, the questionable colour\nof a single hair would not hardly upset his plans of marriage.\nNevertheless, the wretched hair caused him a great deal of worry; he\ncould not get it out of his mind, it seemed to dance before his eyes,\ndazzling him like flames of running fire, until at last, out of all\npatience, he stamped his foot, exclaiming, \u201cBy all the devils in hell! I\nam not far from home yet, and I\u2019ll get the better of this confounded\nhair somehow.\u201d Whereupon he set off running back towards his hut, went\nin and found his fragment of mirror, got hold of his hair again, seized\na carpenter\u2019s chisel, placed it so as to cut off the hair as close to\nthe head as possible, and keeping hair and tool in this position, leant\nover his bench, and dug the chisel down with as much force as possible.\nThe tool cut deeply into the wood of the bench, but the hair remained\nintact. He tried the same plan again, only this time he armed himself\nwith a mallet, which he swung over his head and brought down with\nredoubled blows on the handle of the chisel--but he was as far as ever\nfrom carrying out his purpose. He noticed, however, that there was a\nlittle notch in the sharp edge of the chisel, just the width of a hair.\nThibault sighed; he understood now that this hair, the price he had paid\nin return for his wish, belonged to the black wolf, and he gave up all\nfurther attempts to get rid of it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE BOY AT THE MILL\n\n\nFinding it impossible either to cut off or pull out the accursed hair,\nthe only thing left for Thibault to do was to hide it as well as he\ncould, by bringing the other hair over it; everybody would not, he\nhoped, have such eyes as Agnelette.\n\nAs we have already said, Thibault had a fine head of black hair, and by\nparting it down the side, and giving a certain turn to the front lock,\nhe trusted that the one hair would pass unobserved.\n\nHe recalled with envy the young lords whom he had seen at the court of\nMadame de Maintenon, for, with their powdered wigs to cover it, the\ncolour of their hair, whatever it might be, was of no moment. He,\nunfortunately, could not make use of powder to hide his, being\nprohibited from doing so by the sumptuary laws of the period.\n\nHowever, having successfully managed, by an adroit turn of the comb, to\nhide his one red hair artistically under the others, Thibault decided to\nstart again on his premeditated visit to the fair owner of the mill. He\nwas careful this time, instead of inclining to the left, to verge\ntowards the right, fearing to meet Agnelette if he followed the same\npath as he had taken that morning.\n\nEmerging, therefore, on to the road leading to La Fert\u00e9-Milou, he then\ntook the footpath which runs direct to Pisseleu across the fields.\nArriving at Pisseleu, he continued along the valley in the direction of\nCroyolles, but had scarcely pursued this lower road for more than a few\nminutes, when, walking just ahead of him, he saw two donkeys being\ndriven by a tall youth, whom he recognised as a cousin of his, named\nLandry. Cousin Landry was head boy at the mill, in the service of the\nowner whom Thibault was on his way to visit, and as the latter had but\nan indirect acquaintance with the widow Polet, he had counted on Landry\nto introduce him. It was a lucky chance therefore to come across his\ncousin like this, and Thibault hastened to overtake him.\n\nHearing footsteps behind him echoing his own, Landry turned and\nrecognised Thibault. Thibault had always found Landry a pleasant and\ncheerful companion, and he was therefore very much astonished to see him\nlooking sad and troubled. Landry waited for Thibault to come up to him,\nletting his donkeys go on alone. Thibault was the first to speak:\n\n\u201cWhy, Cousin Landry,\u201d he asked, \u201cwhat\u2019s the meaning of this? Here am I,\nputting myself out and leaving my work to come and shake hands with a\nfriend and relation that I have not seen for more than six weeks, and\nyou greet me with a face like that!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, my dear Thibault,\u201d replied Landry, \u201cwhat would you have of me! I\nmay greet you with a gloomy face, but, believe me or not as you will, I\nam truly delighted to see you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat may be as you say, but you do not appear so.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou tell me you are delighted to see me in a tone of voice fit to bring\non the blue-devils. Why, my dear Landry, you are generally as bright and\nlively as the click-clack of your mill, and singing songs to accompany\nit, and to-day you are as melancholy as the crosses in the cemetery. How\nnow then! has the mill stopped for want of water?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! not that! there is no want of water; on the contrary, there is more\nthan usual, and the sluice is kept constantly at work. But, you see,\ninstead of corn, it is my heart that is in the mill, and the mill works\nso well and so incessantly, and my heart is so ground between the stones\nthat there is nothing left of it but a little powder.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed! Are you so miserable then at the mill?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! would to God I had been dragged under the wheel the first day I put\nmy foot inside it!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what is it? you frighten me, Landry!... tell me all your troubles,\nmy dear lad.\u201d\n\nLandry gave a deep sigh.\n\n\u201cWe are cousins,\u201d continued Thibault, \u201cand if I am too poor to give you\na few crowns to help you out of any money trouble you are in, well, I\ncan at least give you some words of good advice if it is a matter of the\nheart that is causing you grief.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, Thibault; but neither money nor advice can do me any good.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, anyhow, tell me what is the matter; it eases trouble to speak of\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no; it would be useless; I will say nothing.\u201d\n\nThibault began to laugh.\n\n\u201cYou laugh?\u201d said Landry, both angry and astonished, \u201cmy trouble makes\nyou laugh?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not laughing at your trouble, Landry, but at your thinking that\nyou can hide the cause of it from me, when it is as easy as anything to\nguess what it is.\u201d\n\n\u201cGuess then.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, you are in love; nothing more difficult than that to guess, I can\nswear.\u201d\n\n\u201cI, in love!\u201d exclaimed Landry; \u201cwhy who has been telling you lies like\nthat?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is not a lie, it is the truth.\u201d\n\nLandry again drew a deep sigh, more laden with despair even than his\nformer one.\n\n\u201cWell, yes!\u201d he said, \u201cit is so, I am in love!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! that\u2019s right! you have spoken out at last!\u201d said Thibault, not\nwithout a certain quickening of the pulse, for he foresaw a rival in his\ncousin, \u201cand with whom are you in love?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith whom?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I ask you with whom?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs to that, Cousin Thibault, you will have to drag the heart out of my\nbreast before I tell you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have told me already.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat? I have told you who it is?\u201d cried Landry, staring at Thibault\nwith astonished eyes.\n\n\u201cCertainly you have.\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely you cannot mean it!\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you not say that it would have been better for you to have been\ndragged under by the mill wheel the first day you entered into the\nservice of Madame Polet, than to have been taken on by her as chief\nhand? You are unhappy at the mill, and you are in love; therefore, you\nare in love with the mistress of the mill, and it is this love which is\ncausing your unhappiness.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, Thibault, pray hush! what if she were to overhear us!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow is it possible that she can overhear us; where do you imagine her\nto be, unless she is able to make herself invisible, or to change\nherself into a butterfly or a flower?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind, Thibault, you keep quiet.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour mistress of the mill is hard-hearted then, is she? and takes no\npity on your despair, poor fellow?\u201d was Thibault\u2019s rejoinder; but his\nwords, though seemingly expressive of great commiseration, had a shade\nof satisfaction and amusement in them.\n\n\u201cHard-hearted! I should think so indeed!\u201d said Landry. \u201cIn the\nbeginning, I was foolish enough to fancy that she did not repulse my\nlove.... All day long I was devouring her with my eyes, and now and\nthen, she too would fix her eyes on me, and after looking at me a while,\nwould smile.... Alas! my dear Thibault, what happiness those looks and\nsmiles were to me!... Ah! why did I not content myself with them?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, there it is,\u201d said Thibault philosophically. \u201cMan is so\ninsatiable.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas! yes; I forgot that I had to do with someone above me in position,\nand I spoke. Then Madame Polet flew into a great rage; called me an\ninsolent beggar, and threatened to turn me out of doors the very next\nweek.\u201d\n\n\u201cPhew!\u201d said Thibault, \u201cand how long ago is that?\u201d\n\n\u201cNearly three weeks.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the following week is still to come?\u201d The shoe-maker as he put the\nquestion began to feel a revival of the uneasiness which had been\nmomentarily allayed, for he understood women better than his cousin\nLandry. After a minute\u2019s silence, he continued: \u201cWell, well, you are not\nso unhappy after all as I thought you.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so unhappy as you thought me?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! if you only knew the life I lead! never a look, or a smile! When\nshe meets me she turns away, when I speak to her on matters concerning\nthe mill, she listens with such a disdainful air, that instead of\ntalking of bran and wheat and rye, of barley and oats, of first and\nsecond crops, I begin to cry, and then she says to me, _Take care!_ in\nsuch a menacing tone, that I run away and hide myself behind the\nbolters.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, but why do you pay your addresses to this mistress of yours?\nThere are plenty of girls in the country round who would be glad to have\nyou for their wooer.\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause I love her in spite of myself, I cannot help it, so there!\u201d\n\n\u201cTake up with some one else; I\u2019d think no more about her.\u201d\n\n\u201cI could not do it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt any rate, you might try. It\u2019s just possible that if she saw you\ntransferring your affections to another, the mistress of the Mill might\ngrow jealous, and might then run after you, as you are now running after\nher. Women are such curious creatures.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, if I was sure of that, I would begin to try at once ... although\nnow ...\u201d and Landry shook his head.\n\n\u201cWell, what about ... now?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlthough now, after all that has happened, it would be of no use.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat has happened then?\u201d asked Thibault, who was anxious to ascertain\nall particulars.\n\n\u201cOh! as to that, nothing,\u201d replied Landry, \u201cand I do not even dare speak\nof it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause, as they say with us, \u2018Best let sleeping dogs lie.\u2019\u201d\n\nThibault would have continued to urge Landry to tell him what the\ntrouble was to which he referred, but they were now near the Mill, and\ntheir explanation would have to remain unfinished, even if once begun.\nWhat was more, Thibault thought that he already knew enough; Landry was\nin love with the fair owner of the Mill, but the fair owner of the Mill\nwas not in love with Landry. And, in truth, he feared no danger from a\nrival such as this. It was with a certain pride and self-complacency\nthat he compared the timid, boyish looks of his cousin, a mere lad of\neighteen, with his own five feet six and well-set figure, and he was\nnaturally led into thinking, that, however little of a woman of taste\nMadame Polet might be, Landry\u2019s failure was a good reason for believing\nthat his own success was assured. The Mill at Croyolles is charmingly\nsituated at the bottom of a cool green valley; the stream that works it\nforms a little pond, which is shaded by pollard willows, and slender\npoplars; and between these dwarfed and giant trees stand magnificent\nalders, and immense walnut trees with their fragrant foliage. After\nturning the wheel of the mill, the foaming water runs off in a little\nrivulet, which never ceases its hymn of joy as it goes leaping over the\npebbles of its bed, starring the flowers that lean coquettishly over to\nlook at themselves in its clear shallows with the liquid diamonds that\nare scattered by its tiny waterfalls.\n\nThe Mill itself lies so hidden in a bower of shrubs, behind the\nsycamores and weeping willows, that until one is within a short distance\nof it, nothing is to be seen but the chimney from which the smoke rises\nagainst the background of trees like a column of blue tinted alabaster.\nAlthough Thibault was familiar with the spot, the sight of it filled\nhim, as he now looked upon it, with a feeling of delight which he had\nnot hitherto experienced; but then he had never before gazed on it under\nthe conditions in which he now found himself, for he was already\nconscious of that sense of personal satisfaction which the proprietor\nfeels on visiting an estate which has been obtained for him by proxy. On\nentering the farm-yard, where the scene was more animated, he was moved\nto even greater ecstasy of enjoyment.\n\nThe blue and purple-throated pigeons were cooing on the roofs, the ducks\nquacking, and going through sundry evolutions in the stream, the hens\nwere clucking on the dung-heap, and the turkey cocks bridling and\nstrutting as they courted the turkey-hens, while the brown and white\ncows came slowly in from the fields, their udders full of milk. Here, on\none side, a cart was being unloaded, there, as they were being\nunharnessed, two splendid horses neighed and stretched their necks, now\nfreed from the collar, towards their mangers; a boy was carrying a sack\nup into the granary, and a girl was bringing another sack filled with\ncrusts and the refuse water to an enormous pig, that lay basking in the\nsun waiting to be transformed into salt-pork, sausages, and black\npuddings; all the animals of the ark were there, from the braying donkey\nto the crowing cock, mingling their discordant voices in this rural\nconcert, while the mill with its regular click-clack, seemed to be\nbeating time.\n\nThibault felt quite dazzled; he saw himself the owner of all that he now\nlooked upon, and he rubbed his hands together with such evident\npleasure, that Landry, if he had not been so absorbed in his own\ntrouble, which grew ever greater as they drew nearer to the house, would\ncertainly have noticed this apparently causeless emotion of joy on his\ncousin\u2019s part. As they entered the farm-yard, the widow, who was in the\ndining-room, became aware of their presence, and seemed very inquisitive\nto know who the stranger was who had returned with her head boy.\nThibault, with an easy and confident sort of manner, went up to the\ndwelling-house, gave his name, and explained to her, that, having a\ngreat wish to see his cousin Landry, he had decided to come over and\nintroduce himself to her.\n\nThe mistress of the Mill was extremely gracious, and invited the new\ncomer to spend the day at the Mill, accompanying her invitation with a\nsmile that Thibault took as a most favourable augury.\n\nThibault had not come unprovided with a present. He had unhooked some\nthrushes which he had found caught in a snare set with rowan-berries, as\nhe came through the forest; and the widow sent them at once to be\nplucked, saying as she did so, that she hoped Thibault would stay to eat\nhis share of them. But he could not help noticing that all the while she\nwas speaking to him, she kept on looking over his shoulder at something\nwhich seemed to attract her attention, and turning quickly, he saw that\nthe pre-occupation of the fair owner of the Mill had evidently been\ncaused by watching Landry, who was unloading his asses. Becoming\nconscious that Thibault had noticed the wandering of her looks and\nattention, Madame Polet turned as red as a cherry, but, immediately\nrecovering herself she said to her new acquaintance:\n\n\u201cMonsieur Thibault, it would be kind of you, who appear so robust, to go\nand help your cousin; you can see that the job is too heavy a one for\nhim alone,\u201d and so saying, she went back into the house.\n\n\u201cNow, the devil!\u201d muttered Thibault, as he looked first after Madame\nPolet and then at Landry, \u201cis the fellow after all more fortunate than\nhe suspects himself, and shall I be forced to call the black wolf to my\nassistance to get rid of him?\u201d\n\nHowever, he went as the owner of the mill had asked him, and gave the\nrequired assistance. Feeling quite sure that the pretty widow was\nlooking at him through some chink or other of the curtain, he put forth\nall his strength, and displayed to the full his athletic grace, in the\naccomplishment of the task in which he was sharing. The unloading\nfinished, they all assembled in the dining-room where a waiting-maid was\nbusy setting the table. As soon as dinner was served, Madame Polet took\nher place at the head of the table, with Thibault to her right. She was\nall attention and politeness to the latter, so much so indeed that\nThibault, who had been temporarily crestfallen, took heart again, filled\nwith hope. In order to do honour to Thibault\u2019s present, she had herself\ndressed the birds with juniper-berries, and so prepared, no more\ndelicate or appetising dish could well have been provided. While\nlaughing at Thibault\u2019s sallies, however, she cast stealthy glances now\nand again at Landry, who she saw had not touched what she herself had\nplaced on the poor boy\u2019s plate, and also that great tears were rolling\ndown his cheeks, and falling into the untasted juniper sauce. This mute\nsorrow touched her heart; a look almost of tenderness came into her\nface, as she made a sign to him with her head, which seemed to say, so\nexpressive was it, \u201cEat, Landry, I beg of you.\u201d There was a whole world\nof loving promises in this little pantomime. Landry understood the\ngesture, for he nearly choked himself trying to swallow the bird at one\nmouthful, so eager was he to obey the orders of his fair mistress.\n\nNothing of all this escaped Thibault\u2019s eye.\n\nHe swore to himself, using an oath that he had heard in the mouth of the\nSeigneur Jean, and which, now that he was the friend of the devil, he\nfancied he might use like any other great lord: \u201cCan it be possible,\u201d he\nthought, \u201cthat she is really in love with this slip of a youth? Well, if\nso, it does not say much for her taste, and more than that, it does not\nsuit my plans at all. No, no, my fair mistress, what you need is a man\nwho will know how to look well after the affairs of the mill, and that\nman will be myself or the black wolf will find himself in the wrong\nbox.\u201d\n\nNoticing a minute later that Madame Polet had finally gone back to the\nearlier stage of side-long glances and smiles which Landry had described\nto him, he continued, \u201cI see I shall have to resort to stronger\nmeasures, for lose her I will not; there is not another match in all the\ncountryside that would suit me equally well. But then, what am I to do\nwith Cousin Landry? his love, it is true, upsets my arrangements; but I\nreally cannot for so small a thing send him to join the wretched\nMarcotte in the other world. But what a fool I am to bother my brains\nabout finding a way to help myself! It\u2019s the wolf\u2019s business, not mine?\u201d\nThen in a low voice: \u201cBlack wolf,\u201d he said, \u201carrange matters in such a\nway, that without any accident or harm happening to my Cousin Landry, I\nmay get rid of him.\u201d The prayer was scarcely uttered, when he caught\nsight of a small body of four or five men in military uniform, walking\ndown the hill-side and coming towards the mill. Landry also saw them;\nfor he uttered a loud cry, got up as if to run away, and then fell back\nin his chair, as if all power of movement had forsaken him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHIBAULT\u2019S WISHES\n\n\nThe widow, on perceiving the effect which the sight of the soldiers\nadvancing towards the mill had upon Landry, was almost as frightened as\nthe lad himself.\n\n\u201cAh! dear God!\u201d she cried, \u201cwhat is the matter, my poor Landry?\u201d\n\n\u201cSay, what is the matter?\u201d asked Thibault in his turn.\n\n\u201cAlas!\u201d replied Landry, \u201clast Thursday, in a moment of despair,\nmeeting the recruiting-sergeant at the _Dauphin_ Inn, I enlisted.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn a moment of despair!\u201d exclaimed the mistress of the mill, \u201cand why\nwere you in despair?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was in despair,\u201d said Landry, with a mighty effort, \u201cI was in despair\nbecause I love you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it is because you loved me, unhappy boy! that you enlisted?\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you not say that you would turn me away from the mill?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd have I turned you away?\u201d asked Madame Polet, with an expression\nwhich it was impossible to misinterpret.\n\n\u201cAh! God! then you would not really have sent me away?\u201d asked Landry.\n\n\u201cPoor boy!\u201d said the mistress of the mill, with a smile and a pitying\nmovement of the shoulders, which, at any other time, would have made\nLandry almost die of joy, but, as it was, only doubled his distress.\n\n\u201cPerhaps even now I might have time to hide,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cHide!\u201d said Thibault, \u201cthat will be of no use, I can tell you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why not?\u201d said Madame Polet, \u201cI am going to try, anyhow. Come, dear\nLandry.\u201d\n\nAnd she led the young man away, with every mark of the most loving\nsympathy.\n\nThibault followed them with his eyes: \u201cIt\u2019s going badly for you,\nThibault, my friend,\u201d he said; \u201cfortunately, let her hide him as\ncleverly as she may, they have a good scent, and will find him out.\u201d\n\nIn saying this, Thibault was unconscious that he was giving utterance to\na fresh wish.\n\nThe widow had evidently not hidden Landry very far away, for she\nreturned after a few seconds of absence; the hiding-place was probably\nall the safer for being near. She had scarcely had time to take breath\nwhen the recruiting-sergeant and his companions appeared at the door.\nTwo remained outside, no doubt to catch Landry if he should attempt to\nescape, the sergeant and the other soldier walked in with the confidence\nof men who are conscious of acting under authority. The Sergeant cast a\nsearching glance round the room, brought back his right foot into the\nthird position and lifted his hand to the peak of his cap. The mistress\nof the Mill did not wait for the Sergeant to address her, but with one\nof her most fascinating smiles, asked him if he would like some\nrefreshment, an offer which no recruiting-sergeant is ever known to\nrefuse. Then, thinking it a favourable moment to put the question, she\nasked them while they were drinking their wine, what had brought them to\nCroyolles Mill. The Sergeant replied that he had come in search of a\nlad, belonging to the Mill, who, after drinking with him to his\nMajesty\u2019s health and signed his engagement, had not re-appeared. The lad\nin question, interrogated as to his name and dwelling-place, had\ndeclared himself to be one Landry, living with Madame Polet, a widow,\nowner of the Mill at Croyolles. On the strength of this declaration, he\nhad now come to Madame Polet, widow, of Croyolles Mill, to reclaim the\ndefaulter.\n\nThe widow, quite convinced that it was permissible to lie for a good\ncause, assured the Sergeant that she knew nothing of Landry, nor had\nany one of that name ever been at the Mill.\n\nThe Sergeant in reply said that Madame had the finest eyes and the most\ncharming mouth in the world, but that was no reason why he should\nimplicitly believe the glances of the one or the words of the other. He\nwas bound, therefore, he continued, \u201cto ask the fair widow to allow him\nto search the Mill.\u201d\n\nThe search was begun, in about five minutes the Sergeant came back into\nthe room and asked Madam Polet for the key of her room. The widow\nappeared very much surprised and shocked at such a request, but the\nSergeant was so persistent and determined that at last she was forced to\ngive up the key. A minute or two later, and the Sergeant walked in\nagain, dragging Landry in after him by the collar of his coat. When the\nwidow saw them both enter, she turned deadly pale. As for Thibault, his\nheart beat so violently, that he thought it would burst, for without the\nblack wolf\u2019s assistance, he was sure the Sergeant would never have gone\nto look for Landry where he had found him.\n\n\u201cAh! ah! my good fellow!\u201d cried the Sergeant in a mocking voice, \u201cso we\nprefer the service of beauty to the King\u2019s service? That is easy to\nunderstand; but when one has the good fortune to be born in his\nMajesty\u2019s domains and to have drunk his health, one has to give him a\nshare of service, when his turn comes. So you must come along with us,\nmy fine fellow, and after a few years in the King\u2019s uniform, you can\ncome back and serve under your old flag. So, now then, march!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d cried the widow, \u201cLandry is not yet twenty, and you have not the\nright to take him under twenty.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe is right,\u201d added Landry, \u201cI am not twenty yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd when will you be twenty?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot until to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood,\u201d said the Sergeant, \u201cwe will put you to-night on a bed of straw,\nlike a medlar, and by to-morrow, at day-break, when we wake you up, you\nwill be ripe.\u201d\n\nLandry wept. The widow prayed, pleaded, implored, allowed herself to be\nkissed by the soldiers, patiently endured the coarse pleasantry excited\nby her sorrow, and at last offered a hundred crowns to buy him off. But\nall was of no avail. Landry\u2019s wrists were bound, and then one of the\nsoldiers taking hold of the end of the cord, the party started off, but\nnot before the lad of the mill had found time to assure his dear\nmistress, that far or near, he would always love her, and that, if he\ndied, her name would be the last upon his lips. The beautiful widow, on\nher side, had lost all thought of the world\u2019s opinion in face of this\ngreat catastrophe, and before he was led away, she clasped Landry to her\nheart in a tender embrace.\n\nWhen the little party had disappeared behind the willows, and she lost\nsight of them, the widow\u2019s distress became so overpowering that she\nbecame insensible, and had to be carried and laid on her bed. Thibault\nlavished upon her the most devoted attention. He was somewhat taken\naback at the strong feeling of affection which the widow evinced for his\ncousin; however, as this only made him applaud himself the more for\nhaving cut at the root of the evil, he still cherished the most sanguine\nhopes.\n\nOn coming to herself, the first name the widow uttered was that of\nLandry, to which Thibault replied with a hypocritical gesture of\ncommiseration. Then the mistress of the mill began to sob. \u201cPoor lad!\u201d\nshe cried, while the hot tears flowed down her cheeks, \u201cwhat will become\nof him, so weak and delicate as he is? The mere weight of his gun and\nknapsack will kill him!\u201d\n\nThen turning to her guest, she continued:\n\n\u201cAh! Monsieur Thibault, this is a terrible trouble to me, for you no\ndoubt have perceived that I love him? He was gentle, he was kind, he had\nno faults; he was not a gambler, nor a drinker; he would never have\nopposed my wishes, would never have tyrannised over his wife, and that\nwould have seemed very sweet to me after the two cruel years that I\nlived with the late M. Polet. Ah! Monsieur Thibault, Monsieur Thibault!\nIt is a sad grief indeed for a poor miserable woman to see all her\nanticipations of future happiness and peace thus suddenly swallowed up!\u201d\n\nThibault thought this would be a good moment to declare himself;\nwhenever he saw a woman crying, he immediately thought, most\nerroneously, that she only cried because she wished to be consoled.\n\nHe decided, however, that he would not be able to attain his object\nwithout a certain circumlocution.\n\n\u201cIndeed,\u201d he answered, \u201cI quite understand your sorrow, nay, more than\nthat, I share it with you, for you cannot doubt the affection I bear my\ncousin. But we must resign ourselves, and without wishing to deny\nLandry\u2019s good qualities, I would still ask you, Madame, to find someone\nelse who is his equal.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis equal!\u201d exclaimed the widow, \u201cthere is no such person. Where shall\nI find so nice and so good a youth? It was a pleasure to me to look at\nhis smooth young face, and with it all, he was so self-composed, so\nsteady in his habits! He was working night and day, and yet I could with\na glance make him shrink away and hide. No, no, Monsieur Thibault, I\ntell you frankly, the remembrance of him will prevent me ever wishing to\nlook at another man, and I know that I must resign myself to remaining a\nwidow for the rest of my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cPhew!\u201d said Thibault; \u201cbut Landry was very young!\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no disadvantage in that,\u201d replied the widow.\n\n\u201cBut who knows if he would always have retained his good qualities. Take\nmy advice, Madame, do not grieve any more, but, as I say, look out for\nsome one who will make you forget him. What you really need is not a\nbaby-face like that, but a grown man, possessing all the qualities that\nyou admire and regret in Landry, but, at the same time sufficiently\nmature to prevent the chance of finding one fine day that all your\nillusions are dispersed, and that you are left face to face with a\nlibertine and a bully.\u201d\n\nThe mistress of the Mill shook her head; but Thibault went on:\n\n\u201cIn short, what you need, is a man who while earning your respect, will,\nat the same time make the Mill work profitably. You have but to say the\nword, and you would not have to wait long before you found yourself well\nprovided for, my fair Madame, a good bit better than you were just now.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd where am I to find this miracle of a man?\u201d asked the widow, as she\nrose to her feet, looking defiantly at the shoe-maker, as if throwing\ndown a challenge. The latter, mistaking the tone in which these last\nwords were said, thought it an excellent occasion to make known his own\nproposals, and accordingly hastened to profit by it.\n\n\u201cWell, I confess,\u201d he answered, \u201cthat when I said that a handsome widow\nlike you would not have to go far before finding the man who would be\njust the very husband for her, I was thinking of myself, for I should\nreckon myself fortunate, and should feel proud, to call myself your\nhusband. Ah! I assure you,\u201d he went on, while the mistress of the Mill\nstood looking at him with ever-increasing displeasure in her eyes, \u201cI\nassure you that with me you would have no occasion to fear any\nopposition to your wishes: I am a perfect lamb in the way of gentleness,\nand I should have but one law and one desire, my law would be to obey\nyou, my desire to please you! and as to your fortune, I have means of\nadding to it which I will make known to you later on....\u201d\n\nBut the end of Thibault\u2019s sentence remained unspoken.\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d cried the widow, whose fury was the greater for having been kept\nin check until then, \u201cWhat! you, whom I thought my friend, you dare to\nspeak of replacing him in my heart! you try to dissuade me from keeping\nmy faith to your cousin. Get out of the place, you worthless scoundrel!\nout of the place, I say! or I will not answer for the consequences; I\nhave a good mind to get four of my men to collar you and throw you under\nthe Mill-wheel.\u201d\n\nThibault was anxious to make some sort of response, but, although ready\nwith an answer on ordinary occasions, he could not for the moment think\nof a single word whereby to justify himself. True, Madame Polet, gave\nhim no time to think, but seizing hold of a beautiful new jug that stood\nnear her, she flung it at Thibault\u2019s head. Luckily for him, Thibault\ndodged to the left and escaped the missile, which flew past him,\ncrashing to pieces against the chimney-piece. Then the mistress of the\nhouse took up a stool, and aimed it at him with equal violence; this\ntime Thibault dodged to the right, and the stool went against the\nwindow, smashing two or three panes of glass. At the sound of the\nfalling glass, all the youths and maids of the Mill came running up.\nThey found their mistress flinging bottles, water-jugs, salt-cellars,\nplates, everything in short that came to hand, with all her might at\nThibault\u2019s head. Fortunately for him widow Polet was too much incensed\nto be able to speak; if she had been able to do so, she would have\ncalled out; \u201cKill him! Strangle him! Kill the rascal! the scoundrel! the\nvillain!\u201d\n\nOn seeing the reinforcements arriving to help the widow, Thibault\nendeavoured to escape by the door that had been left open by the\nrecruiting party, but just as he was running out, the good pig, that we\nsaw taking its siesta in the sun, being roused out of its first sleep by\nall this hullabaloo, and thinking the farm people were after it, made a\ndash for its stye, and in so doing charged right against Thibault\u2019s\nlegs. The latter lost his balance, and went rolling over and over for a\ngood ten paces in the dirt and slush. \u201cDevil take you, you beast!\u201d cried\nthe shoe-maker, bruised by his fall, but even more furious at seeing his\nnew clothes covered with mud. The wish was hardly out of his mouth, when\nthe pig was suddenly taken with a fit of frenzy, and began rushing about\nthe farm-yard like a mad animal, breaking, shattering, and turning over\neverything that came in its way. The farm hands, who had run to their\nmistress on hearing her cries, thought the pig\u2019s behaviour was the cause\nof them--and started off in pursuit of the animal. But it eluded all\ntheir attempts to seize hold of it, knocking over boys and girls, as it\nhad knocked Thibault over, until, at last, coming to where the mill was\nseparated from the sluice by a wooden partition, it crashed through the\nlatter as easily as if it were made of paper, threw itself under the\nmill wheel ... and disappeared as if sucked down by a whirlpool. The\nmistress of the mill had by this time recovered her speech. \u201cLay hold of\nThibault!\u201d she cried, for she had heard Thibault\u2019s curse, and had been\namazed and horrified at the instantaneous way in which it had worked.\n\u201cLay hold of him! knock him down! he is a wizard, a sorcerer! a\nwere-wolf!\u201d--applying to Thibault with this last word, one of the most\nterrible epithets that can be given to a man in our forest lands.\nThibault, who scarcely knew where he was, seeing the momentary\nstupefaction which took possession of the farm people on hearing their\nmistress\u2019s final invective, made use of the opportunity to dash past\nthem, and while one went to get a pitch-fork and another a spade, he\ndarted through the farm-yard gate, and began running up an almost\nperpendicular hill-side at full speed, with an ease which only confirmed\nMadame Polet\u2019s suspicions, for the hill had always hitherto been looked\nupon as absolutely inaccessible, at any rate by the way Thibault had\nchosen to climb it.\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d she cried, \u201cwhat! you give in like that! you should make after\nhim, and seize hold of him, and knock him down!\u201d But the farm servants\nshook their heads.\n\n\u201cAh! Madame!\u201d they said, \u201cwhat is the use, what can we do against a\nwere-wolf?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE WOLF-LEADER\n\n\nThibault, fleeing from before Madame Polet\u2019s threats and her farm\nservants\u2019 weapons, turned instinctively towards the forest, thinking to\ntake shelter within it, should he chance to come across one of the\nenemy, for he knew that no one would venture to follow him there, for\nfear of any lurking dangers. Not that Thibault had much to fear,\nwhatever kind of enemy he met, now that he was armed with the diabolical\npower which he had received from the wolf. He had only to send them\nwhere he had sent the widow\u2019s pig, and he was sure of being rid of them.\nNevertheless, conscious of a certain tightening of the heart when from\ntime to time the thought of Marcotte came back to him, he acknowledged\nto himself that, however anxious to be rid of them, one could not send\nmen to the devil quite as readily as one sent pigs.\n\nWhile thus reflecting on the terrible power he possessed, and looking\nback at intervals to see if there were any immediate need to put it into\nuse, Thibault, by the time night fell, had reached the rear of Pisseleu.\nIt was an autumn night, dark and stormy, with a wind that tore the\nyellowing leaves from the trees, and wandered through the forest ways\nwith melancholy sighs and moanings. These funereal voices of the wind\nwere interrupted from time to time by the hooting of the owls, which\nsounded like the cries of lost travellers, hailing one another. But all\nthese sounds were familiar to Thibault and made very little impression\nupon him. Moreover he had taken the precaution, on first entering the\nforest, of cutting a stick, four feet long, from a chestnut tree, and\nadept as he was with the quarterstaff, he was ready, armed thus, to\nwithstand the attack of any four men. So he entered the forest with all\nboldness of heart, at the spot which is known to this day as the Wolf\u2019s\nHeath. He had been walking for some minutes along a dark and narrow\nglade, cursing as he went the foolish whims of women, who, for no reason\nwhatever, preferred a weak and timid child to a brave, strong, full\ngrown man, when all of a sudden, at some few paces behind him, he heard\na crackling among the leaves. He turned and the first thing he could\ndistinguish in the darkness was the glowing light in a pair of eyes\nwhich shone like live coals. Then, looking more closely, and forcing his\neyes, so to speak, to penetrate the gloom, he saw that a great wolf was\nfollowing him, step by step. But it was not the wolf that he had\nentertained in his hut; that was black, while this was a reddish-brown.\nThere was no mistaking one for the other, either as to colour or size.\nAs Thibault had no reason to suppose that all the wolves he came across\nwould be animated with such benevolent feelings towards him as the first\nwith which he had had dealings, he grasped his quarterstaff in both\nhands, and began twirling it about to make sure he had not forgotten the\nknack of using it. But to his great surprise the wolf went on trotting\nquietly behind him, without evincing any hostile intention, pausing when\nhe paused, and going on again when he did, only now and then giving a\nhowl as if to summon re-inforcements. Thibault was not altogether\nwithout uneasiness as regards these occasional howls, and presently he\nbecame aware of two other bright spots of light in front of him, shining\nat intervals through the darkness which was growing thicker and thicker.\nHolding his stick up in readiness to hit, he went forward towards these\ntwo lights, which remained stationary, and as he did so, his foot seemed\nto stumble against something lying across the path ... it was another\nwolf. Not pausing to reflect whether it might not be unwise now to\nattack the first wolf, Thibault brought down his staff, giving the\nfellow a violent blow on the head. The animal uttered a howl of pain,\nthen shaking his ears like a dog that has been beaten by its master,\nbegan walking on in front of the shoe-maker. Thibault then turned to see\nwhat had become of the first wolf: it was still following him, still\nkeeping step with him. Bringing his eyes back again to the front, he now\nperceived that a third wolf was walking alongside to the right, and\nturning instinctively to the left, saw a fourth flanking him on that\nside too. Before he had gone a mile, a dozen of the animals had formed a\ncircle round him. The situation was critical, and Thibault was fully\nconscious of its gravity. At first he tried to sing, hoping that the\nsound of the human voice might frighten away the animals; but the\nexpedient was vain. Not a single animal swerved from its place in the\ncircle, which was as exactly formed as if drawn with compasses. Then he\nthought he would climb up into the first thick-leaved tree he came to,\nand there wait for daylight; but on further deliberation, he decided\nthat the wisest course was to try to get home, as the wolves, in spite\nof their number, still appeared as well intentioned as when there was\nonly one. It would be time enough to climb up into a tree when they\nbegan to show signs of any change of behaviour towards him.\n\nAt the same time we are bound to add that Thibault was so disquieted in\nmind and that he had reached his own door before he knew where he was,\nhe did not at first recognise his own house. But a still greater\nsurprise awaited him, for the wolves who were in front now respectfully\ndrew back into two lines, sitting up on their hind legs and making a\nlane for him to pass along. Thibault did not waste time in stopping to\nthank them for this act of courtesy, but dashed into the house, banging\nthe door to after him. Having firmly shut and bolted the door, he pushed\nthe great chest against it, that it might be better able to resist any\nassault that might be made upon it. Then he flung himself into a chair,\nand began at length to find himself able to breathe more freely.\n\nAs soon as he was somewhat recovered, he went and peeped through the\nlittle window that looked out on the forest. A row of gleaming eyes\nassured him that far from having retired, the wolves had arranged\nthemselves symmetrically in file in front of his dwelling.\n\nTo anyone else the mere proximity of the animals would have been most\nalarming, but, Thibault who shortly before, had been obliged to walk\nescorted by this terrible troop, found comfort in the thought that a\nwall, however thin, now separated him from his formidable companions.\n\nThibault lit his little iron lamp and put it on the table; drew the\nscattered wood-ashes of his hearth together and threw on them a bundle\nof chips, and then made a good fire, hoping that the reflection of the\nblaze would frighten away the wolves. But Thibault\u2019s wolves were\nevidently wolves of a special sort, accustomed to fire, for they did not\nbudge an inch from the post they had taken up. The state of uneasiness\nhe was in prevented Thibault from sleeping, and directly dawn broke, he\nwas able to look out and count them. They seemed, just as on the night\nbefore, to be waiting, some seated, some lying down, others sleeping or\nwalking up and down like sentinels. But at length, as the last star\nmelted away, drowned in the waves of purple light ebbing up from the\neast, all the wolves with one accord rose, and uttering the mournful\nhowl with which animals of darkness are wont to salute the day, they\ndispersed in various directions and disappeared. Thibault was now able\nto sit down and think over the misadventure of the previous day, and he\nbegan by asking himself how it was that the mistress of the Mill had not\npreferred him to his cousin Landry. Was he no longer the handsome\nThibault, or had some disadvantageous change come over his personal\nappearance? There was only one way of ascertaining whether this was so\nor not, namely, by consulting his mirror. So he took down the fragment\nof looking-glass hanging over the chimney-piece, and carried it towards\nthe light, smiling to himself the while like a vain woman. But he had\nhardly given the first glance at himself in the mirror, before he\nuttered a cry, half of astonishment, half of horror. True, he was still\nthe handsome Thibault, but the one red hair, thanks to the hasty wishes\nwhich had so imprudently escaped him, had now grown to a regular lock of\nhair, of a colour and brilliancy that vied with the brightest flames\nupon his hearth.\n\nHis forehead grew cold with sweat. Knowing, however, that all attempts\nto pluck it out or cut it off would be futile, he made up his mind to\nmake the best of the matter as it stood, and in future to forbear as far\nas possible from framing any wishes. The best thing was to put out of\nhis mind all the ambitious desires that had worked so fatally for him,\nand go back to his humble trade. So Thibault sat down and tried to work,\nbut he had no heart for the job. In vain he tried to remember the carols\nhe had been in the habit of singing in the happier days when the beech\nand the birch shaped themselves so quickly beneath his fingers; his\ntools lay untouched for hours together. He pondered over matters, asking\nhimself whether it was not a miserable thing to be sweating one\u2019s heart\nout merely for the privilege of leading a painful and wretched\nexistence, when, by judiciously directing one\u2019s wishes one might so\neasily attain to happiness. Formerly, even the preparation of his frugal\nmeal had been an agreeable distraction, but it was so no longer; when\nhunger seized him and he was forced to eat his piece of black bread, he\ndid it with a feeling of repugnance, and the envy, which had hitherto\nbeen nothing more than a vague aspiration after ease and comfort, was\nnow developed into a blind and violent hatred towards his fellow\ncreatures.\n\nStill the day, long as it seemed to Thibault, passed away like all its\nfellows. When twilight fell, he went outside and sat down on the bench\nwhich he had made himself and placed in front of the door, and there he\nremained, lost in gloomy reflections. Scarcely had the shadows begun to\ndarken, before a wolf emerged from the underwood, and, as on the\nprevious evening, went and lay down at a short distance from the house.\nAs on the evening before, this wolf was followed by a second, by a\nthird, in short by the whole pack, and once more they all took up their\nrespective posts preparatory to the night\u2019s watch. As soon as Thibault\nsaw the third wolf appear, he went indoors and barricaded himself in as\ncarefully as the evening before; but this evening he was even more\nunhappy and low spirited, and felt that he had not the strength to keep\nawake all night. So he lighted his fire, and piled it up in such a way\nthat it would last till the morning, and throwing himself on his bed,\nfell fast asleep. When he awoke, it was broad daylight, the sun having\nrisen some hours before. Its rays fell in many colours on the quivering\nautumn leaves, dyeing them with a thousand shades of gold and purple.\n\nThibault ran to the window, the wolves had disappeared, leaving behind\nonly the mark of where their bodies had lain on the dew-covered grass.\n\nNext evening they again congregated before his dwelling; but he was now\ngrowing gradually accustomed to their presence, and had come to the\nconclusion that his relations with the large black wolf had somehow\nawakened sympathetic feelings towards him in all other individuals of\nthe same species, and he determined to find out, once for all, what\ntheir designs towards him really were. Accordingly, thrusting a freshly\nsharpened bill-hook into his belt, and taking his boar-spear in his\nhand, the shoe-maker opened his door and walked resolutely out to face\nthem. Having half expected that they would spring upon him, he was\ngreatly surprised to see them begin to wag their tails like so many dogs\non seeing their master approach. Their greetings were so expressive of\nfriendliness, that Thibault even ventured to stroke one or two of them\non the back, which they not only allowed him to do, but actually gave\nsigns of the greatest pleasure at being thus noticed.\n\n\u201cOh! ho!\u201d muttered Thibault, whose wandering imagination always went\nahead at a gallop, \u201cif these queer friends of mine are as obedient as\nthey are gentle, why, here I am, the owner of a pack unequalled by any\nmy Lord Baron has ever possessed, and I shall have no difficulty\nwhatever now in dining on venison whenever the fancy so takes me.\u201d\n\nHe had hardly said the words, when four of the strongest and most alert\nof the four-footed beasts separated themselves from the others and\ngalloped off into the forest. A few minutes later a howl was heard,\nsounding from the depths of the underwood, and half an hour afterwards\none of the wolves reappeared dragging with it a fine kid which left\nbehind it a long trail of blood on the grass. The wolf laid the animal\nat Thibault\u2019s feet, who delighted beyond measure at seeing his wishes,\nnot only accomplished, but forestalled, broke up the kid, giving each of\nthe wolves an equal share, and keeping the back and haunches for\nhimself. Then with the gesture of an Emperor, which showed that he now\nat last understood the position he held, he ordered the wolves away\nuntil the morrow.\n\nEarly next morning, before the day broke, he went off to\nVillers-Cotterets, and at the price of a couple of crowns, the Innkeeper\nof the _Boule-d\u2019Or_, took the two haunches off his hands.\n\nThe following day, it was half of a boar that Thibault conveyed to the\nInnkeeper, and it was not long before he became the latter\u2019s chief\npurveyor.\n\nThibault, taking a taste for this sort of business, now passed his whole\nday hanging about the taverns, and gave no more thought to the making of\nshoes. One or two of his acquaintances began to make fun of his red\nlock, for however assiduously he covered it with the rest of his hair,\nit always found a way of getting through the curls that hid it, and\nmaking itself visible. But Thibault soon gave it plainly to be\nunderstood that he would take no joking about the unfortunate\ndisfigurement.\n\nMeanwhile, as ill luck would have it, the Duke of Orleans and Madame de\nMontesson came to spend a few days at Villers-Cotterets. This was a\nfresh incentive to Thibault\u2019s madly ambitious spirit. All the fine and\nbeautiful ladies and all the gay young lords from the neighbouring\nestates, the Montbretons, the Montesquious, the Courvals, hastened to\nVillers-Cotterets. The ladies brought their richest attire, the young\nlords their most elegant costumes. The Baron\u2019s hunting-horn resounded\nthrough the forest louder and gayer than ever. Graceful amazons and\ndashing cavaliers, in red coats laced with gold, passed like radiant\nvisions, as they were borne along on their magnificent English horses,\nilluminating the sombre depths of the wood like brilliant flashes of\nlight.\n\nIn the evening it was different; then all this aristocratic company\nassembled for feasting and dancing, or at other times drove out in\nbeautiful gilt carriages bedizened with coats of arms of every colour.\n\nThibault always took his stand in the front rank of the lookers-on,\ngazing with avidity on these clouds of satin and lace, which lifted now\nand then to disclose the delicate ankles encased in their fine silk\nstockings, and the little shoes with their red heels. Thus the whole\ncavalcade swept past in front of the astonished peasantry, leaving a\nfaint exhalation of scent and powder and delicate perfumes. And then\nThibault would ask himself why he was not one of those young lords in\ntheir embroidered coats; why he had not one of these beautiful women in\ntheir rustling satins for his mistress. Then his thoughts would turn to\nAgnelette and Madame Polet, and he saw them just as they were, the one a\npoor little peasant girl, the other nothing more than the owner of a\nrustic mill.\n\nBut it was when he was walking home at night through the forest,\naccompanied by his pack of wolves, which, from the moment the night fell\nand he set foot inside the forest, no more thought of leaving him than\nthe King\u2019s bodyguard would dream of leaving their Royal master, that his\nbroodings took their most disastrous turn. Surrounded by the temptations\nwhich now assailed him, it was only what was to be expected that\nThibault who had already gone so far in the direction of evil, should\nbreak away from what little good was still left in him, losing even the\nvery remembrance of having once led an honest life. What were the few\npaltry crowns that the Landlord of the _Boule-d\u2019Or_ gave him in payment\nfor the game which his good friends the wolves procured for him? Saved\nup for months, even for years, they would still be insufficient to\nsatisfy a single one of the humblest of the desires which kept\ntormenting his brain. It would be scarcely safe to say that Thibault,\nwho had first wished for a haunch of the Baron\u2019s buck, then for\nAgnelette\u2019s heart, and then for the widow Polet\u2019s mill, would now be\nsatisfied even with the Castle at Oigny or Longpont, to such extravagant\nissues had his ambition been excited by those dainty feet, those trim\nankles, those exquisite scents exhaled from all those velvet and satin\ngowns.\n\nAt last one day he said to himself definitely that it would be the\nveriest folly to go on living his poor life when a power so tremendous\nas he now possessed, was at his disposal. From that moment he made up\nhis mind that, no matter if his hair should grow as red as the crown of\nfire which is seen at night hanging over the great chimney at the glass\nworks of Saint Gobain, he would exercise this power of his to the\naccomplishing of the most high-flown of his ambitions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nMAITRE MAGLOIRE\n\n\nIn this reckless state of mind Thibault, who had not as yet decided on\nany special course of action, spent the last days of the old year and\nthe first of the new. Still, remembering the heavy expenses entailed on\neach and all by New Year\u2019s Day, he had exacted double rations from his\nusual purveyor\u2019s, as the trying time drew nearer and nearer,\nsimultaneously, drawing double profits from the landlord of the\n_Boule-d\u2019Or_.\n\nThus it came about that, apart from the disquieting fact that his mesh\nof red hair was getting larger and larger almost every day, Thibault\nentered upon the New Year in a better condition as to material matters\nthan he had ever known before. Observe, I say, as to _material_ matters,\nand material matters only; for albeit the body might seem in good\nplight, the soul was already alarmingly compromised. The body, at any\nrate was well clothed, and ten crowns or more made a merry jingling in\nhis waistcoat pocket; and so dressed, and so accompanied by this silvery\nmusic, Thibault no longer appeared like a wooden shoe-maker\u2019s\napprentice, but like some well-to-do farmer, or even a comfortable\ncitizen, carrying on a trade maybe, but simply for his own pleasure.\nLooking such as he now did, Thibault went to one of those village\nfunctions, which are f\u00eate-days for the whole province. The magnificent\nponds of Berval and Poudron were to be drawn. Now the drawing of a pond\nis a grand affair for the owner, or for the one who farms it, not to\nmention the great pleasure it affords to the spectators. Such an event\ntherefore is advertised a month in advance, and people come from thirty\nmiles round to enjoy this fine entertainment. And to those of my readers\nwho are not accustomed to the manners and customs of the provinces, let\nme explain that the fishing which takes place is not a fishing with the\nline, baited with worms, or scented wheat, or with the cast-net, or the\nsweep-net, nothing of the kind; this fishing consists in emptying a\npond, sometimes nearly a mile, or even three miles long, of every fish\nfrom the largest pike to the smallest minnow. This is how the thing is\nmanaged. In all probability, not a single one of my readers has ever\nseen the kind of pond to which I refer. I will describe it; to begin\nwith, it always has two issues, that by which the water flows in, that\nby which the water flows out; that by which the water enters has no\nparticular name, that by which it is let out is called the sluice. The\nwater as it leaves the sluice falls into a large reservoir whence it\nescapes through the meshes of a strong net; the water flows away, but\nthe fish remain. Everyone knows that it takes several days to empty a\npond, therefore those who wish to take a share in the fishing, and the\nonlookers, are not summoned to attend before the second, third, or\nfourth day, according to the volume of water which the pond has to\ndisgorge before it is ready for the final act, and this takes place as\nsoon as the fish appear at the sluice.\n\nAt the hour announced for the fishing, a crowd assembles, varying in\nnumber according to the size and the celebrity of the pond, but\ncomparatively as large and as fashionable as that to be seen at the\nChamp de Mars or Chantilly on race days when favourite horses are to run\nand favourite jockeys to ride. Only here the spectators do not look on\nfrom grand stands and carriages; on the contrary, they come as they can,\nor as they like, in gigs, pleasure vans, pha\u00ebtons, carts, on horse-back,\non donkey-back, but once on the spot everyone rushes to find a place,\nstationing him or herself either in order of arrival, or according to\nthe amount of elbowing and pushing of which each is capable, always,\nhowever, with that due respect for authority which is observed even in\nthe least civilised districts. A sort of stout trellis-work, however,\nfirmly sunk into the ground, prevents the onlookers from falling into\nthe reservoir.\n\nThe colour and the smell of the water betoken the arrival of the fish.\nEvery kind of show has its drawbacks: the larger and grander the\naudience at the opera house, the more carbonic acid is there to draw\ninto the lungs; at the drawing of a pond, the nearer the supreme moment\napproaches, the more marsh-gas is there to inhale.\n\nWhen the sluice is first opened, the water that pours through is\nbeautifully clear, and slightly green in colour, like the water of a\nbrook; this is the upper layer, which, carried along by its weight, is\nthe first to appear. By degrees the water becomes less transparent, and\ntakes on a greyish hue; this is the second layer, emptying itself in\nturn, and every now and then, more frequently as the water becomes\nmuddier, a ray of silver is seen to dart through it; it is some fish,\ntoo small and weak to resist the current, which flashes past as if\nacting as scout for its stronger brethren. Nobody troubles to pick it\nup; it is allowed to lie gasping, and trying to find some little\nstagnant puddle of water at the bottom of the pond, flapping,\nfloundering and capering like an acrobat going through his antics.\n\nThen the black water comes pouring through; this is the last act, the\nfinal catastrophe.\n\nEach fish, according to its power of resistance, struggles against the\ncurrent which is bearing it along in this unusual manner. Instinctively\nthey feel there is danger, and each strives its hardest to swim in an\nopposite direction; the pike struggles beside the carp which it was\nyesterday pursuing so hard; the perch is reconciled to the tench, and as\nthey swim side by side, does not so much as think of taking a bite out\nof the flesh he finds so palatable at other times. So the Arabs at times\nfind huddled together in the pits they dig to catch game, gazelles and\njackals, antelopes and hyenas, the jackals and hyenas having grown as\ngentle and as timid as the gazelles and antelopes.\n\nBut the strength of the struggling and dying fish begins at last to\nfail. The scouts that we noticed a few minutes ago become more numerous;\nthe size of the fish becomes more respectable, which is proved to them\nby the attention they receive from the pickers-up. These pickers-up are\nmen, clad in plain linen trousers and cotton shirts; the trousers are\nrolled up to above the knee, and the shirt sleeves turned up to the\nshoulders. The fish are gathered up in baskets; those destined to be\nsold alive, or kept for re-stocking the pond, are poured off into tanks;\nthose condemned to death are simply spread out on the grass, and will be\nsold before the day is out. As the fish grow more and more abundant the\ncries of delight from the spectators become louder and more frequent;\nfor these onlookers are not like the audiences in our theatres; they\nhave no idea of stifling their feelings, or showing good taste by\nappearing indifferent. No, they come to amuse themselves, and every fine\ntench, or fine carp, or fine pike, calls forth loud, undisguised and\ndelighted applause. As in a well-ordered review, the troops file past in\norder, according to their weight, if we may use the expression, first\nthe light sharp-shooters, then the somewhat heavier dragoons, and\nfinally the ponderous cuirassiers and heavy artillery to bring up the\nrear, so the fish sweep by according to their several species; the\nsmallest, that is the weakest, first, the heaviest, that is the\nstrongest, last.\n\nAt last the moment comes when the water ceases to flow; the passage is\nliterally obstructed by the remainder of the fish, the big-wigs of the\npond, and the pickers-up have veritable monsters to fight with. This is\nthe supreme moment. Now comes the climax of applause, the last\nvociferous bravos. Then, the play being over, everyone goes to examine\nthe actors; the latter are mostly lying gasping to death on the grass of\nthe field, while a certain number are recovering themselves in the\nwater. You look about for the eels; where are the eels you ask? Then\nthree or four eels, about as big round as your thumb and half the length\nof your arm, are pointed out to you; for the eels, thanks to their\npeculiar organization, have momentarily at least, escaped the general\ncarnage. The eels have taken a header into the mud and disappeared; and\nthis is the reason why you may see men with guns walking up and down at\nthe edge of the pond, and hear a report from time to time. If you ask\nthe reason for this shooting, you will be told that it is to bring the\neels out of their hiding-places. But why do eels come out of the mud\nwhen they hear the report of a gun? Why do they make for the water which\nstill runs in little rivulets at the bottom of the pond? Why, in short,\nbeing safe at the bottom of the mud, like other good friends of our\nacquaintance who have the good sense to remain there, do the eels not\nstay there, instead of wriggling back into a stream of water, which\ncarries them along with it, and finally lands them in the reservoir,\nthat is in the common grave? The _Coll\u00e8ge de France_ would find nothing\neasier than to answer this question, under existing circumstances; so I\nput this question to its learned members: Is not the idea of the gun a\npure superstition, and is not the following solution the right and\nsimple one? The mud in which the eel takes refuge is at first liquid,\nbut gradually becomes drier and drier, like a sponge when squeezed, and\nso becomes more and more uninhabitable for it, and so, in the long run,\nit is obliged to get back to its natural element--the water. The water\nonce reached, the eel is lost; but it is not till the fifth or sixth day\nafter the emptying of the pond, that the eels are caught.\n\nIt was to a f\u00eate of this kind that everyone at Villers-Cotterets, at\nCrespy, at Mont-Gobert, and in the surrounding villages had been\ninvited. Thibault went like everybody else; he had now no need to work,\nfinding it simpler to allow the wolves to work for him. From a workman\nhe had risen to be a man at ease, it now only remained to make himself a\ngentleman, and Thibault counted upon being able to do this. He was not a\nman to allow himself to remain in the rear, and he therefore made good\nuse of his arms and legs so as to secure a place in the front row. In\nthe course of this man\u0153uvre he happened to rumple the dress of a\ntall, fine woman, next to whom he was trying to instal himself. The lady\nwas fond of her clothes, and no doubt, also, she was in the habit of\ncommanding, which naturally produces an attitude of disdain, for,\nturning to see who had brushed past her, she let fall the uncompromising\nword, \u201clout!\u201d Notwithstanding the rudeness of the remark, the mouth that\nuttered the words was so beautiful, the lady so pretty, and her\nmomentary anger in such ugly contrast to the charming expression of her\nface, that Thibault, instead of retorting in similar, or even more\nobjectionable style, only drew back, stammering some sort of excuse.\n\nThere is no need to remind the reader that of all aristocracies, beauty\nis still the chief. If the woman had been old and ugly, she might have\nbeen a Marquise, but Thibault would certainly have called her by some\nopprobrious title. It is possible also that Thibault\u2019s ideas were\nsomewhat distracted by the strange appearance of the man who served as\nknight to this lady, He was a stout man of about sixty years of age,\ndressed entirely in black, and of a perfectly dazzling exactness of\ntoilet; but therewith, so extremely short, that his head scarcely\nreached the lady\u2019s elbow, and as she would have been unable to take his\narm, without positive torture to herself, she was content to lean\nmajestically upon his shoulder. Seeing them thus together, one might\nhave taken her for an ancient Cybele leaning on one of those grotesque\nlittle modern figures of Chinese idols. And what a fascinating idol it\nwas with those short legs, that bulgy stomach, those little fat podgy\narms, those white hands under the lace ruffles, that plump, rubicund\nhead and face, that well-combed, well-powdered, well-curled head of\nhair, and that tiny pigtail, which with every movement of its wearer\u2019s,\nwent bobbing up and down with its neat bow of ribbon against the coat\ncollar. It reminded one of those black beetles of which the legs seem so\nlittle in harmony with the body, that the insects seem rather to roll\nthan to walk. And with it all, the face was so jovial, the little eyes\nlevel with the forehead, were so full of kindness, that one felt\ninvoluntarily drawn towards him; one could be sure that the pleasant\nlittle man was too intent on giving himself a good time, by every means\nin his power, to think of quarrelling with that vague and indefinite\nperson known as one\u2019s neighbour. Wherefore, on hearing his companion\nspeak so cavalierly to Thibault, the good fat little man appeared to be\nin despair.\n\n\u201cGently, Madame Magloire! gently, Madame Bailiff!\u201d he said, contriving\nin these few words to let his neighbours know what and who he was;\n\u201cgently! those were ugly words to use to the poor fellow, who is more\nsorry than you are for the accident.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd may I ask, Monsieur Magloire,\u201d replied the lady, \u201cif I am not at\nliberty to thank him for so nicely crumpling my beautiful blue damask\ndress, which is now entirely spoilt, not taking into consideration that\nhe also trod on my little toe?\u201d\n\n\u201cI beg you, Madame, to pardon my clumsiness,\u201d replied Thibault; \u201cwhen\nyou turned your face towards me, its wonderful beauty dazzled me like a\nray of May sunshine, so that I could not see where I was treading.\u201d\n\nIt was not a badly turned compliment for a man who for three months past\nhad been in the daily society of a pack of wolves; nevertheless it did\nnot produce any great effect upon the lady, who only responded with a\nhaughty little pouting of the mouth. The truth was, that in spite of\nThibault being so decently dressed, she had, with the curious insight\nwhich women of all ranks possess in these matters, detected at once to\nwhat class he belonged.\n\nHer stout little companion however, was more indulgent, for he clapped\nloudly with his podgy hands, which the pose adopted by his wife left him\nfree to use as he liked.\n\n\u201cAh! bravo, bravo!\u201d he said, \u201cyou have hit the mark, Monsieur; you are a\nclever young fellow, and seem to have studied the style to address women\nin. My love, I hope you appreciated the compliment as I did, and to\nprove to this gentlemen that we are good Christians and bear no ill-will\ntowards him, he will, I hope, if he is living in this neighbourhood and\nit would not be too far out of his way, accompany us home, and we will\ndrink a bottle of old wine together, if Perrine will get one out for us\nfrom the back of the wood shed.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! there I know you, Master N\u00e9pomuc\u00e8ne; any excuse serves you to be\nclinking glasses with somebody, and when no genuine occasion offers, you\nare very clever at ferreting out one, it does not matter where. But you\nknow, Monsieur Magloire, that the doctor has expressly forbidden you to\ndrink between meals.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue, Madame Bailiff, true,\u201d replied her husband, \u201cbut he did not\nforbid me to show politeness to an agreeable young fellow such as\nMonsieur appears to me to be. Be lenient, I pray, Suzanne; give up this\nsurly manner, which suits you so ill. Why, Madame, those who do not know\nyou, would think, to hear you, that we had nearly got to quarrelling\nover a gown. However, to prove the contrary to Monsieur, I promise that\nif you can get him to go back with us, I will, the very minute we get\nhome, give you the money to buy that figured silk dress, which you have\nbeen wishing for so long.\u201d\n\nThe effect of this promise was like magic. Madame Magloire was instantly\nmollified, and as the fishing was now drawing to a close, she accepted\nwith less ungraciousness the arm which Thibault, somewhat awkwardly we\nmust confess, now offered her.\n\nAs to Thibault himself, struck with the beauty of the lady, and\ngathering from words which had fallen from her and her husband, that she\nwas the wife of a magistrate, he parted the crowd before him with an air\nof command, holding his head high the while, and making his way with as\nmuch determination as if he were starting on the conquest of the Golden\nFleece.\n\nAnd in truth, Thibault, the bridegroom elect of Agnelette, the lover who\nhad been so ignominiously expelled her house by the mistress of the\nmill, was thinking not only of all the pleasure he could enjoy, but of\nthe proud position he would hold as the beloved of a bailiff\u2019s wife, and\nof all the advantages to be drawn from the good fortune which had so\nunexpectedly befallen him, and which he had so long desired.\n\nAs on her side also, Madame Magloire was not only very much preoccupied\nwith her own thoughts, but also paid very little attention to him,\nlooking to right and left, first in front of her and then behind, as if\nin search of some one, the conversation would have lagged terribly as\nthey walked along if their excellent little companion had not been at\nthe expense of the best part of it, as he jogged along now beside\nThibault and now beside Suzanne, waddling like a duck jogging home after\na big feed.\n\nAnd so with Thibault engaged in his calculations, and the Bailiff\u2019s wife\nwith her dreams, the Bailiff trotting beside them talking and wiping his\nforehead with a fine cambric pocket-handkerchief, they arrived at the\nvillage of Erneville, which is situated about a mile and a half from the\nPoudron ponds. It was here, in this charming village, which lies\nhalf-way between Haramont and Bonneuil, within a stone\u2019s throw or two of\nthe Castle of Vez, the dwelling of my lord the Baron, that Monsieur\nMagloire sat as magistrate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nDAVID AND GOLIATH.\n\n\nAfter walking the whole length of the village, they stopped before an\nimposing looking house at the junction of the roads leading to Longpr\u00e9\nand Haramont. As they neared the house--the little host, with all the\ngallantry of a \u201cpreux chevalier\u201d went on ahead, mounted the flight of\nfive or six steps with an agility which one could not have expected,\nand, by dint of standing on tip-toe, managed to reach the bell with the\ntips of his fingers. It should be added, that having once got hold of\nit, he gave it a pull which unmistakeably announced the return of the\nmaster. It was, in short, no ordinary return, but a triumphal one, for\nthe Bailiff was bringing home a guest.\n\nA maid, neatly dressed in her best clothes, opened the door. The Bailiff\ngave her an order in a low voice, and Thibault, whose adoration of\nbeautiful women did not prevent him from liking a good dinner, gathered\nthat these few whispered words referred to the menu which Perrine was to\nprepare. Then turning round, his host addressed Thibault:\n\n\u201cWelcome, my dear guest, to the house of Bailiff N\u00e9pomuc\u00e8ne Magloire.\u201d\n\nThibault politely allowed Madame to pass in before him, and was then\nintroduced into the drawing-room.\n\nBut the shoe-maker now made a slip. Unaccustomed as yet to luxury, the\nman of the forest was not adroit enough to hide the admiration which he\nfelt on beholding the bailiff\u2019s home. For the first time in his life he\nfound himself in the midst of damask curtains and gilt armchairs; he had\nnot imagined that any one save the King, or at least his Highness the\nDuke of Orleans, had curtains and armchairs of this magnificence. He was\nunconscious that all the while Madame Magloire was closely watching him,\nand that his simple astonishment and delight did not escape her\ndetective eye. However, she appeared now, after mature reflexion, to\nlook with greater favour on the guest whom her husband had imposed upon\nher, and endeavoured to soften for him the glances of her dark eyes. But\nher affability did not go so far as to lead her to comply with the\nrequest of Monsieur Magloire, who begged her to add to the flavour and\nbouquet of the champagne by pouring it out herself for her guest.\nNotwithstanding the entreaties of her august husband, the Bailiff\u2019s wife\nrefused, and under the pretext of fatigue from her walk, she retired to\nher own room. Before leaving the room, however, she expressed a hope to\nThibault, that, as she owed him some expiation, he would not forget the\nway to Erneville, ending her speech with a smile which displayed a row\nof charming teeth. Thibault responded with so much lively pleasure in\nhis voice that it rendered any roughness of speech less noticeable,\nswearing that he would sooner lose the power to eat and drink than the\nremembrance of a lady who was as courteous as she was beautiful.\n\nMadame Magloire gave him a curtsey which would have made her known as\nthe Bailiff\u2019s wife a mile off, and left the room.\n\nShe had hardly closed the door behind her, when Monsieur Magloire went\nthrough a pirouette in her honour, which though less light, was not less\nsignificant than the caper a school-boy executes when once he has got\nrid of his master.\n\n\u201cAh! my dear friend,\u201d he said, \u201cnow that we are no longer hampered by a\nwoman\u2019s presence, we will have a good go at the wine! Those women, they\nare delightful at mass or at a ball; but at table, heaven defend me,\nthere is nobody like the men! What do you say, old fellow?\u201d\n\nPerrine now came in to receive her master\u2019s orders as to what wine she\nwas to bring up. But the gay little man was far too fastidious a judge\nof wines to trust a woman with such a commission as this. Indeed, women\nnever show that reverential respect for certain old bottles which is\ntheir due, nor that delicacy of touch with which they love to be\nhandled. He drew Perrine down as if to whisper something in her ear;\ninstead of which he gave a good sound kiss to the cheek which was still\nyoung and fresh, and which did not blush sufficiently to lead to the\nbelief that the kiss was a novelty to it.\n\n\u201cWell, sir,\u201d said the girl laughing, \u201cWhat is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is it, Perrinette, my love,\u201d said the Bailiff, \u201cthat I alone know\nthe good brands, and as they are many in number, you might get lost\namong them, and so I am going to the cellar myself.\u201d And the good man\ndisappeared trundling off on his little legs, cheerful, alert and\nfantastic as those Nuremberg toys mounted on a stand, which you wind up\nwith a key, and which, once set going, turn round and round, or go first\none way and then the other, till the spring has run down; the only\ndifference being, that this dear little man seemed wound up by the hand\nof God himself, and gave no sign of ever coming to a standstill.\n\nThibault was left alone. He rubbed his hands together, congratulating\nhimself on having chanced upon such a well-to-do house, with such a\nbeautiful wife, and such an amiable husband for host and hostess. Five\nminutes later the door again opened, and in came the bailiff, with a\nbottle in either hand, and one under each arm. The two under his arms\nwere bottles of sparkling Sillery, of the first quality, which, not\nbeing injured by shaking, were safe to be carried in a horizontal\nposition. The two which he carried in his hands, and which he held with\na respectful care which was a pleasure to behold, were, one a bottle of\nvery old Chambertin, the other a bottle of Hermitage.\n\nThe supper hour had now come; for it must be remembered, that at the\nperiod of which we are writing, dinner was at mid-day, and supper at\nsix. Moreover, it had already been dark for some time before six\no\u2019clock, in this month of January, and whether it be six, or twelve\no\u2019clock at night, if one has to eat one\u2019s meal by candle or lamp-light,\nit always seems to one like supper.\n\nThe Bailiff put the bottles tenderly down on the table and rang the\nbell. Perrinette came in.\n\n\u201cWhen will the table be ready for us, my pretty?\u201d asked Magloire.\n\n\u201cWhenever Monsieur pleases,\u201d replied Perrine. \u201cI know Monsieur does not\nlike waiting; so I always have everything ready in good time.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo and ask Madame, then, if she is not coming; tell her, Perrine, that\nwe do not wish to sit down without her.\u201d\n\nPerrine left the room.\n\n\u201cWe may as well go into the dining-room to wait,\u201d said the little host;\n\u201cyou must be hungry, my dear friend, and when I am hungry, I like to\nfeed my eyes before I feed my stomach.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou seem to me to be a fine gourmand, you,\u201d said Thibault.\n\n\u201cEpicure, epicure, not gourmand--you must not confuse the two things. I\ngo first, but only in order to show you the way.\u201d\n\nAnd so saying, Monsieur Magloire led his guest into the dining-room.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d he exclaimed gaily as he went in, patting his corporation, \u201ctell\nme now, do you not think this girl of mine is a capital cook, fit to\nserve a Cardinal? Just look now at this little supper she has spread\nfor us; quite a simple one, and yet it pleases me more, I am sure, than\nwould have Belshazzar\u2019s feast.\u201d\n\n\u201cOn my honour, Bailiff,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cyou are right; it is a sight to\nrejoice one\u2019s heart.\u201d And Thibault\u2019s eyes began to shine like\ncarbuncles.\n\nAnd yet it was, as the Bailiff described it, quite an unpretentious\nlittle supper, but withal so appetising to look upon, that it was quite\nsurprising. At one end of the table was a fine carp, boiled in vinegar\nand herbs, with the roe served on either side of it on a layer of\nparsley, dotted about with cut carrots. The opposite end was occupied by\na boar-ham, mellow-flavoured, and deliciously reposing on a dish of\nspinach, which lay like a green islet surrounded by an ocean of gravy.\n\nA delicate game-pie, made of two partridges only, of which the heads\nappeared above the upper crust, as if ready to attack one another with\ntheir beaks, was placed in the middle of the table; while the\nintervening spaces were covered with side-dishes holding slices of Arles\nsausage, pieces of tunny-fish, swimming in beautiful green oil from\nProvence, anchovies sliced and arranged in all kinds of strange and\nfantastic patterns on a white and yellow bed of chopped eggs, and pats\nof butter that could only have been churned that very day. As\naccessories to these were two or three sorts of cheese, chosen from\namong those of which the chief quality is to provoke thirst, some Reims\nbiscuits, of delightful crispness, and pears just fit to eat, showing\nthat the master himself had taken the trouble to preserve them, and to\nturn them about on the store-room shelf.\n\nThibault was so taken up in the contemplation of this little amateur\nsupper, that he scarcely heard the message which Perrine brought back\nfrom her mistress, who sent word that she had a sick-headache, and\nbegged to make her excuses to her guest, with the hope that she might\nhave the pleasure of entertaining him when he next came.\n\nThe little man gave visible signs of rejoicing on hearing his wife\u2019s\nanswer, breathed loudly and clapped his hands, exclaiming:\n\n\u201cShe has a headache! she has a headache! Come along then, sit down! sit\ndown!\u201d And thereupon, besides the two bottles of old M\u00e2con, which had\nalready been respectively placed within reach of the host and guest, as\nvin ordinaire, between the _Hors-d\u2019\u0153uvres_ and the dessert plates, he\nintroduced the four other bottles which he had just brought up from the\ncellar.\n\nMadame Magloire had, I think, acted not unwisely in refusing to sup with\nthese stalwart champions of the table, for such was their hunger and\nthirst, that half the carp and the two bottles of wine disappeared\nwithout a word passing between them except such exclamations as:\n\n\u201cGood fish! isn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\n\u201cCapital!\u201d\n\n\u201cFine wine! isn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\n\u201cExcellent!\u201d\n\nThe carp and the M\u00e2con being consumed, they passed on to the game pie\nand the Chambertin, and now their tongues began to be unloosed,\nespecially the Bailiff\u2019s.\n\nBy the time half the game pie, and the first bottle of Chambertin were\nfinished, Thibault knew the history of N\u00e9pomuc\u00e8ne Magloire; not a very\ncomplicated one, it must be confessed.\n\nMonsieur Magloire was son to a church ornament manufacturer who had\nworked for the chapel belonging to his Highness the Duke of Orleans, the\nlatter, in his religious zeal having a burning desire to obtain pictures\nby Albano and Titian for the sum of four to five thousand francs.\n\nChrysostom Magloire had placed his son N\u00e9pomuc\u00e8ne Magloire, as head-cook\nwith Louis\u2019 son, his Highness the Duke of Orleans.\n\nThe young man had, from infancy almost, manifested a decided taste for\ncooking; he had been especially attached to the Castle at\nVillers-Cotterets, and for thirty years presided over his Highness\u2019s\ndinners, the latter introducing him to his friends as a thorough artist,\nand from time to time, sending for him to come upstairs to talk over\nculinary matters with Marshal Richelieu.\n\nWhen fifty-five years of age, Magloire found himself so rounded in bulk,\nthat it was only with some difficulty he could get through the narrow\ndoors of the passages and offices. Fearing to be caught some day like\nthe weasel of the fable, he asked permission to resign his post.\n\nThe Duke consented, not without regret, but with less regret than he\nwould have felt at any other time, for he had just married Madame de\nMontesson, and it was only rarely now that he visited his castle at\nVillers-Cotterets.\n\nHis Highness had fine old-fashioned ideas as regards superannuated\nretainers. He, therefore, sent for Magloire, and asked him how much he\nhad been able to save while in his service. Magloire replied that he was\nhappily able to retire with a competence; the Prince, however, insisted\nupon knowing the exact amount of his little fortune, and Magloire\nconfessed to an income of nine thousand livres.\n\n\u201cA man who has provided me with such a good table for thirty years,\u201d\nsaid the Prince, \u201cshould have enough to live well upon himself for the\nremainder of his life.\u201d And he made up the income to twelve thousand, so\nthat Magloire might have a thousand livres a month to spend. Added to\nthis, he allowed him to choose furniture for the whole of his house from\nhis own old lumber-room; and thence came the damask curtains and gilt\narm chairs, which, although just a little bit faded and worn, had\nnevertheless preserved that appearance of grandeur which had made such\nan impression on Thibault.\n\nBy the time the whole of the first partridge was finished, and half the\nsecond bottle had been drunk, Thibault knew that Madame Magloire was the\nhost\u2019s fourth wife, a fact which seemed in his own eyes to add a good\nfoot or two to his height.\n\nHe had also ascertained that he had married her not for her fortune, but\nfor her beauty, having always had as great a predilection for pretty\nfaces and beautiful statues, as for good wines and appetising victuals,\nand Monsieur Magloire further stated, with no sign of faltering, that,\nold as he was, if his wife were to die, he should have no fear in\nentering on a fifth marriage.\n\nAs he now passed from the Chambertin to the Hermitage, which he\nalternated with the Sillery, Monsieur Magloire began to speak of his\nwife\u2019s qualities. She was not the personification of docility, no, quite\nthe reverse; she was somewhat opposed to her husband\u2019s admiration for\nthe various wines of France, and did everything she could, even using\nphysical force, to prevent his too frequent visits to the cellar; while,\nfor one who believed in living without ceremony, she on her part was too\nfond of dress, too much given to elaborate head-gears, English laces,\nand such like gewgaws, which women make part of their arsenal; she would\ngladly have turned the twelve hogsheads of wine, which formed the staple\nof her husband\u2019s cellar, into lace for her arms, and ribands for her\nthroat, if Monsieur Magloire had been the man to allow this\nmetamorphosis. But, with this exception, there was not a virtue which\nSuzanne did not possess, and these virtues of hers, if the Bailiff was\nto be believed, were carried on so perfectly shaped a pair of legs,\nthat, if by any misfortune she were to lose one, it would be quite\nimpossible throughout the district to find another that would match the\nleg that remained. The good man was like a regular whale, blowing out\nself-satisfaction from all his air-holes, as the former does sea-water.\nBut even before all these hidden perfections of his wife had been\nrevealed to him by the Bailiff, like a modern King Candaules ready to\nconfide in a modern Gyges, her beauty had already made such a deep\nimpression on the shoe-maker, that, as we have seen, he could do nothing\nbut think of it in silence as he walked beside her, and since he had\nbeen at table, he had continued to dream about it, listening to his\nhost,--eating the while of course,--without answering, as Monsieur\nMagloire, delighted to have such an accommodating audience, poured forth\nhis tales, linked one to another like a necklace of beads.\n\nBut the worthy Bailiff, having made a second excursion to the cellar,\nand this second excursion having produced, as the saying is, a little\nknot at the tip of his tongue, he began to be rather less appreciative\nof the rare quality which was required in his disciples by Pythagons.\nHe, therefore, gave Thibault to understand that he had now said all that\nhe wished to tell him concerning himself and his wife, and that it was\nThibault\u2019s turn to give him some information as regards his own\ncircumstances, the amiable little man adding that wishing often to visit\nhim, he wished to know more about him. Thibault felt that it was very\nnecessary to disguise the truth; and accordingly gave himself out as a\nman living at ease in the country, on the revenues of two farms and of a\nhundred acres of land, situated near Vertefeuille.\n\nThere was, he continued, a splendid warren on these hundred acres, with\na wonderful supply of red and fallow deer, boars, partridges, pheasants\nand hares, of which the bailiff should have some to taste. The bailiff\nwas astonished and delighted. As we have seen, by the menu for his\ntable, he was fond of venison, and he was carried away with joy at the\nthought of obtaining his game without having recourse to the poachers,\nand through the channel of this new friendship.\n\nAnd now, the last drop of the seventh bottle having been scrupulously\ndivided between the two glasses, they decided that it was time to stop.\n\nThe rosy champagne--prime vintage of A\u00ef, and the last bottle\nemptied--had brought N\u00e9pomuc\u00e8ne Magloire\u2019s habitual good nature to the\nlevel of tender affection. He was charmed with his new friend, who\ntossed off his bottle in almost as good style as he did himself; he\naddressed him as his bosom friend, he embraced him, he made him promise\nthat there should be a morrow to their pleasant entertainment; he stood\na second time on tiptoe to give him a parting hug as he accompanied him\nto the door, which Thibault on his part, bending down, received with the\nbest grace in the world.\n\nThe church clock of Erneville was striking midnight as the door closed\nbehind the shoe-maker. The fumes of the heady wine he had been drinking\nhad begun to give him a feeling of oppression before leaving the house,\nbut it was worse when he got into the open air. He staggered, overcome\nwith giddiness, and went and leant with his back against a wall. What\nfollowed next was as vague and mysterious to him as the phantasmagoria\nof a dream. Above his head, about six or eight feet from the ground, was\na window, which, as he moved to lean against the wall, had appeared to\nhim to be lighted, although the light was shaded by double curtains. He\nhad hardly taken up his position against the wall when he thought he\nheard it open. It was, he imagined, the worthy bailiff, unwilling to\npart with him without sending him a last farewell, and he tried to step\nforward so as to do honour to this gracious intention, but his attempt\nwas unavailing. At first he thought he was stuck to the wall like a\nbranch of ivy, but he was soon disabused of this idea. He felt a heavy\nweight planted first on the right shoulder and then on the left, which\nmade his knees give way so that he slid down the wall as if to seat\nhimself. This man\u0153uvre on Thibault\u2019s part appeared to be just what\nthe individual who was making use of him as a ladder wished him to do,\nfor we can no longer hide the fact that the weight so felt was that of a\nman. As Thibault made his forced genuflexion, the man was also lowered;\n\u201cThat\u2019s right, l\u2019Eveill\u00e9! that\u2019s right!\u201d he said, \u201cSo!\u201d and with this\nlast word, he jumped to the ground, while overhead was heard the sound\nof a window being shut.\n\nThibault had sense enough to understand two things: first, that he was\nmistaken for someone called l\u2019Eveill\u00e9, who was probably asleep somewhere\nabout the premises; secondly, that his shoulders had just served some\nlover as a climbing ladder; both of which things caused Thibault an\nundefined sense of humiliation.\n\nAccordingly, he seized hold mechanically of some floating piece of stuff\nwhich he took to be the lover\u2019s cloak, and, with the persistency of a\ndrunken man, continued to hang on to it.\n\n\u201cWhat are you doing that for, you scoundrel?\u201d asked a voice, which did\nnot seem altogether unfamiliar to the shoe-maker. \u201cOne would think you\nwere afraid of losing me.\u201d\n\n\u201cMost certainly I am afraid of losing you,\u201d replied Thibault, \u201cbecause I\nwish to know who it is has the impertinence to use my shoulders for a\nladder.\u201d\n\n\u201cPhew!\u201d said the unknown, \u201cit\u2019s not you then, l\u2019Eveill\u00e9?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it is not,\u201d replied Thibault.\n\n\u201cWell, whether it is you or not you, I thank you.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow, thank you? Ah! I dare say! thank you, indeed! You think the matter\nis going to rest like that, do you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI had counted upon it being so, certainly.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you counted without your host.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, you blackguard, leave go of me! you are drunk!\u201d\n\n\u201cDrunk! What do you mean? We only drank seven bottles between us, and\nthe Bailiff had a good four to his share.\u201d\n\n\u201cLeave go of me, you drunkard, do you hear!\u201d\n\n\u201cDrunkard! you call me a drunkard, a drunkard for having drunk three\nbottles of wine!\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t call you a drunkard because you drank three bottles of wine,\nbut because you let yourself get tipsy over those three unfortunate\nbottles.\u201d\n\nAnd, with a gesture of commiseration, and trying for the third time to\nrelease his cloak, the unknown continued:\n\n\u201cNow then, are you going to let go my cloak or not, you idiot?\u201d\n\nThibault was at all times touchy as to the way people addressed him, but\nin his present state of mind his susceptibility amounted to extreme\nirritation.\n\n\u201cBy the devil!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201clet me tell you, my fine sir, that the\nonly idiot here is the man who gives insults in return for the services\nof which he has made use, and seeing that is so, I do not know what\nprevents me planting my fist in the middle of your face.\u201d\n\nThis menace was scarcely out of his mouth, when, as instantly as a\ncannon goes off once the flame of the match has touched the powder, the\nblow with which Thibault had threatened his unknown adversary, came full\nagainst his own cheek.\n\n\u201cTake that, you beast,\u201d said the voice, which brought back to Thibault\ncertain recollections in connection with the blow he received. \u201cI am a\ngood Jew, you see, and pay you back your money before weighing your\ncoin.\u201d\n\nThibault\u2019s answer was a blow in the chest; it was well directed, and\nThibault felt inwardly pleased with it himself. But it had no more\neffect on his antagonist than the fillip from a child\u2019s finger would\nhave on an oak tree. It was returned by a second blow of the fist which\nso far exceeded the former in the force with which it was delivered,\nthat Thibault felt certain if the giant\u2019s strength went on increasing in\nthe same ratio, that a third of the kind would level him with the\nground.\n\nBut the very violence of his blow brought disaster on Thibault\u2019s unknown\nassailant. The former had fallen on to one knee, and so doing, his hand,\ntouching the ground, came in contact with a stone. Rising in fury to his\nfeet again, with the stone in his hand, he flung it at his enemy\u2019s head.\nThe colossal figure uttered a sound like the bellowing of an ox, turned\nround on himself, and then, like an oak tree cut off by the roots, fell\nhis whole length on the ground, and lay there insensible.\n\nNot knowing whether he had killed, or only wounded his adversary,\nThibault took to his heels and fled, not even turning to look behind\nhim.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nWOLVES IN THE SHEEP FOLD\n\n\nThe forest was not far from the Bailiff\u2019s house, and in two bounds\nThibault found himself on the further side of _Les Foss\u00e9s_, and in the\nwooded path leading to the brickyard. He had no sooner entered the\nforest than his usual escort surrounded him, fawning and blinking with\ntheir eyes and wagging their tails to show their pleasure. Thibault, who\nhad been so alarmed the first time he found himself in company with this\nstrange body guard, took no more notice of them now than if they had\nbeen a pack of poodles. He gave them a word or two of caress, softly\nscratched the head of the one that was nearest him, and continued on his\nway, thinking over his double triumph.\n\nHe had beaten his host at the bottle, he had vanquished his adversary at\nfisticuffs, and in this joyous frame of mind, he walked along, saying\naloud to himself:\n\n\u201cYou must acknowledge, friend Thibault, that you are a lucky rascal!\nMadame Suzanne is in every possible respect just what you want! A\nBailiff\u2019s wife! my word! that\u2019s a conquest worth making! and if he dies\nfirst, what a wife to get! But in either case, when she is walking\nbeside me, and taking my arm, whether as wife or mistress, the devil\ntake it, if I am mistaken for anything but a gentleman! And to think\nthat unless I am fool enough to play my cards badly, all this will be\nmine! For she did not deceive me by the way she went off: those who have\nnothing to fear have no need to take flight. She was afraid to show her\nfeelings too plainly at first meeting; but how kind she was after she\ngot home! Well, well, it is all working itself out, as I can see; I have\nonly got to push matters a bit; and some fine morning she will find\nherself rid of her fat little old man, and then the thing is done. Not\nthat I do, or can, wish for the death of poor Monsieur Magloire. If I\ntake his place after he is no more, well and good; but to kill a man who\nhas given you such good wine to drink! to kill him with his good wine\nstill hot in your mouth! why, even my friend the wolf would blush for me\nif I were guilty of such a deed.\u201d\n\nThen with one of his most roguish smiles, he went on:\n\n\u201cAnd besides, would it not be as well to have already acquired some\nrights over Madame Suzanne, by the time Monsieur Magloire passes, in the\ncourse of nature, into the other world, which, considering the way in\nwhich the old scamp eats and drinks, cannot be a matter of long delay?\u201d\n\nAnd then, no doubt because the good qualities of the Bailiff\u2019s wife\nwhich had been so highly extolled to him came back to his mind:\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d he continued, \u201cno illness, no death! but just those ordinary\ndisagreeables which happen to everybody; only, as it is to be to my\nadvantage, I should like rather more than the usual share to fall to\nhim; one cannot at his age set up for a smart young buck; no, every one\naccording to their dues ... and when these things come to pass, I will\ngive you more than a thank you, Cousin Wolf.\u201d\n\nMy readers will doubtless not be of the same way of thinking as\nThibault, who saw nothing offensive in this pleasantry of his, but on\nthe contrary, rubbed his hands together smiling at his own thoughts, and\nindeed so pleased with them that he had reached the town, and found\nhimself at the end of the Rue de Largny before he was aware that he had\nleft the Bailiff\u2019s house more than a few hundred paces behind him.\n\nHe now made a sign to his wolves, for it was not quite prudent to\ntraverse the whole town of Villers-Cotterets with a dozen wolves walking\nalongside as a guard of honour; not only might they meet dogs by the\nway, but the dogs might wake up the inhabitants.\n\nSix of his wolves, therefore, went off to the right, and six to the\nleft, and although the paths they took were not exactly of the same\nlength, and although some of them went more quickly than the others, the\nwhole dozen nevertheless managed to meet, without one missing, at the\nend of the Rue de Lormet. As soon as Thibault had reached the door of\nhis hut, they took leave of him and disappeared; but, before they\ndispersed, Thibault requested them to be at the same spot on the morrow,\nas soon as night fell.\n\nAlthough it was two o\u2019clock before Thibault got home, he was up with the\ndawn; it is true, however, that the day does not rise very early in the\nmonth of January.\n\nHe was hatching a plot. He had not forgotten the promise he had made to\nthe Bailiff to send him some game from his warren; his warren being, in\nfact, the whole of the forest-land which belonged to his most serene\nHighness the Duke of Orleans. This was why he had got up in such good\ntime. It had snowed for two hours before day-break; and he now went and\nexplored the forest in all directions, with the skill and cunning of a\nbloodhound.\n\nHe tracked the deer to its lair, the wild boar to its soil, the hare to\nits form; and followed their traces to discover where they went at\nnight.\n\nAnd then, when darkness again fell on the Forest, he gave a howl,--a\nregular wolf\u2019s howl, in answer to which came crowding to him the wolves\nthat he had invited the night before, followed by old and young\nrecruits, even to the very cubs of a year old.\n\nThibault then explained that he expected a more than usually fine\nnight\u2019s hunting from his friends, and as an encouragement to them,\nannounced his intention of going with them himself and giving his help\nin the chase.\n\nIt was in very truth a hunt beyond the power of words to describe. The\nwhole night through did the sombre glades of the forest resound with\nhideous cries.\n\nHere, a roebuck pursued by a wolf, fell, caught by the throat by another\nwolf hidden in ambush; there, Thibault, knife in hand like a butcher,\nwas running to the assistance of three or four of his ferocious\ncompanions, that had already fastened on a fine young boar of four years\nold, which he now finished off.\n\nAn old she-wolf came along bringing with her half-a-dozen hares which\nshe had surprised in their love frolics, and she had great difficulty in\npreventing her cubs from swallowing a whole covey of young partridges\nwhich the young marauders had come across with their heads under their\nwings, without first waiting for the wolf-master to levy his dues.\n\nMadame Suzanne Magloire little thought what was taking place at this\nmoment in the forest of Villers-Cotterets, and on her account.\n\nIn a couple of hours\u2019 time the wolves had heaped up a perfect cart-load\nof game in front of Thibault\u2019s hut.\n\nThibault selected what he wanted for his own purposes, and left over\nsufficient to provide them a sumptuous repast. Borrowing a mule from a\ncharcoal-burner, on the pretext that he wanted to convey his shoes to\ntown, he loaded it up with the game and started for Villers-Cotterets.\nThere he sold a part of this booty to the gamedealer, reserving the best\npieces and those which had been least mutilated by the wolves\u2019 claws, to\npresent to Madame Magloire.\n\nHis first intention had been to go in person with his gift to the\nBailiff; but Thibault was beginning to have a smattering of the ways of\nthe world, and thought it would, therefore, be more becoming to allow\nhis offering of game to precede him. To this end he employed a peasant\non payment of a few coppers, to carry the game to the Bailiff of\nErneville, merely accompanying it with a slip of paper, on which he\nwrote: \u201cFrom Monsieur Thibault.\u201d He, himself, was to follow closely on\nthe message; and, indeed, so closely did he do so, that he arrived just\nas Ma\u00eetre Magloire was having the game he had received spread out on a\ntable.\n\nThe Bailiff, in the warmth of his gratitude, extended his arms towards\nhis friend of the previous night, and tried to embrace him, uttering\nloud cries of joy. I say _tried_, for two things prevented him from\ncarrying out his wish; one, the shortness of his arms, the other, the\nrotundity of his person.\n\nBut thinking that where his capacities were insufficient, Madame\nMagloire might be of assistance, he ran to the door, calling at the top\nof his voice: \u201cSuzanne, Suzanne!\u201d\n\nThere was so unusual a tone in the Bailiff\u2019s voice that his wife felt\nsure something extraordinary had happened, but whether for good or ill\nshe was unable to make sure: and downstairs she came, therefore, in\ngreat haste, to see for herself what was taking place.\n\nShe found her husband, wild with delight, trotting round to look on all\nsides at the game spread on the table, and it must be confessed, that no\nsight could have more greatly rejoiced a gourmand\u2019s eye. As soon as he\ncaught sight of Suzanne, \u201cLook, look, Madame!\u201d he cried, clapping his\nhands together. \u201cSee what our friend Thibault has brought us, and thank\nhim for it. Praise be to God! there is one person who knows how to keep\nhis promises! He tells us he will send a hamper of game, and he sends us\na cart-load. Shake hands with him, embrace him at once, and just look\nhere at this.\u201d\n\nMadame Magloire graciously followed out her husband\u2019s orders; she gave\nThibault her hand, allowed him to kiss her, and cast her beautiful eyes\nover the supply of food which elicited such exclamations of admiration\nfrom the Bailiff. And as a supply, which was to make such an acceptable\naddition to the ordinary daily fare, it was certainly worthy of all\nadmiration.\n\nFirst, as prime pieces, came a boar\u2019s head and ham, firm and savoury\nmorsels; then a fine three year old kid, which should have been as\ntender as the dew that only the evening before beaded the grass at which\nit was nibbling; next came hares, fine fleshy hares from the heath of\nGondreville, full fed on wild thyme; and then such scented pheasants,\nand such delicious red-legged partridges, that once on the spit, the\nmagnificence of their plumage was forgotten in the perfume of their\nflesh. And all these good things the fat little man enjoyed in advance\nin his imagination; he already saw the boar broiled on the coals, the\nkid dressed with _sauce piquante_, the hares made into a pasty, the\npheasants stuffed with truffles, the partridges dressed with cabbage,\nand he put so much fervour and feeling into his orders and directions,\nthat merely to hear him was enough to set a gourmand\u2019s mouth watering.\n\nIt was this enthusiasm on the part of the Bailiff which no doubt made\nMadame Suzanne appear somewhat cold and unappreciative in comparison.\nNevertheless she took the initiative, and with much graciousness assured\nThibault that she would on no account allow him to return to his farms\nuntil all the provisions, with which, thanks to him, the larder would\nnow overflow, had been consumed. You may guess how delighted Thibault\nwas at having his cherished wishes thus met by Madame herself. He\npromised himself no end of grand things from this stay at Erneville, and\nhis spirits rose to the point of himself proposing to Ma\u00eetre Magloire\nthat they should indulge in a preparatory whack of liquor to prepare\ntheir digestions for the savoury dishes that Mademoiselle Perrine was\npreparing for them.\n\nMa\u00eetre Magloire was quite gratified to see that Thibault had forgotten\nnothing, not even the cook\u2019s name. He sent for some vermouth, a liqueur\nas yet but little known in France, having been imported from Holland by\nthe Duke of Orleans and of which a present had been made by his\nHighness\u2019s head cook to his predecessor.\n\nThibault made a face over it; he did not think this foreign drink was\nequal to a nice little glass of native Ch\u00e2blis; but when assured by the\nBailiff that, thanks to the beverage, he would in an hour\u2019s time have a\nferocious appetite, he made no further remark, and affably assisted his\nhost to finish the bottle. Madame Suzanne, meanwhile, had returned to\nher own room to smarten herself up a bit, as women say, which generally\nmeans an entire change of raiment.\n\nIt was not long before the dinner-hour sounded, and Madame Suzanne came\ndown stairs again. She was perfectly dazzling in a splendid dress of\ngrey damask trimmed with pearl, and the transports of amorous admiration\ninto which Thibault was thrown by the sight of her prevented the\nshoe-maker from thinking of the awkwardness of the position in which he\nnow unavoidably found himself, dining as he was for the first time with\nsuch handsome and distinguished company. To his credit, be it said, he\ndid not make bad use of his opportunities. Not only did he cast frequent\nand unmistakable sheep\u2019s eyes at his fair hostess, but he gradually\nbrought his knee nearer to hers, and finally went so far as to give it a\ngentle pressure. Suddenly, and while Thibault was engaged in this\nperformance, Madame Suzanne, who was looking sweetly towards him, opened\nher eyes and stared fixedly a moment. Then she opened her mouth, and\nwent off into such a violent fit of laughter, that she almost choked,\nand nearly went into hysterics. Ma\u00eetre Magloire, taking no notice of the\neffect, turned straight to the cause, and he now looked at Thibault, and\nwas much more concerned and alarmed with what he thought to see, than\nwith the nervous state of excitement into which his wife had been thrown\nby her hilarity.\n\n\u201cAh! my dear fellow!\u201d he cried, stretching two little agitated arms\ntowards Thibault, \u201cyou are in flames, you are in flames!\u201d\n\nThibault sprang up hastily.\n\n\u201cWhere? How?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cYour hair is on fire,\u201d answered the Bailiff, in all sincerity; and so\ngenuine was his terror, that he seized the water bottle that was in\nfront of his wife in order to put out the conflagration blazing among\nThibault\u2019s locks.\n\nThe shoe-maker involuntarily put up his hand to his head, but feeling no\nheat, he at once guessed what was the matter, and fell back into his\nchair, turning horribly pale. He had been so preoccupied during the last\ntwo days, that he had quite forgotten to take the same precaution he had\ndone before visiting the owner of the mill, and had omitted to give his\nhair that particular twist whereby he was able to hide the hairs of\nwhich the black wolf had acquired the proprietorship under his others.\nAdded to this, he had during this short period given vent to so many\nlittle wishes, one here, and one there, all more or less to the\ndetriment of his neighbour, that the flame-coloured hairs had multiplied\nto an alarming extent, and at this moment, any one of them could vie in\nbrilliancy with the light from the two wax candles which lit the room.\n\n\u201cWell, you did give me a dreadful fright, Monsieur Magloire,\u201d said\nThibault, trying to conceal his agitation.\n\n\u201cBut, but ...\u201d responded the Bailiff, still pointing with a certain\nremains of fear at Thibault\u2019s flaming lock of hair.\n\n\u201cThat is nothing,\u201d continued Thibault, \u201cdo not be uneasy about the\nunusual colour of some of my hair; it came from a fright my mother had\nwith a pan of hot coals, that nearly set her hair on fire before I was\nborn.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what is more strange still,\u201d said Madame Suzanne, who had swallowed\na whole glassful of water in the effort to control her laughter, \u201cthat I\nhave remarked this dazzling peculiarity for the first time to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! really!\u201d said Thibault, scarcely knowing what to say in answer.\n\n\u201cThe other day,\u201d continued Madame Suzanne, \u201cit seemed to me that your\nhair was as black as my velvet mantle, and yet, believe me, I did not\nfail to study you most attentively, Monsieur Thibault.\u201d\n\nThis last sentence, reviving Thibault\u2019s hopes, restored him once more to\ngood humour.\n\n\u201cAh! Madame,\u201d he replied, \u201cyou know the proverb: \u2018Red hair, warm heart,\u2019\nand the other: \u2018Some folks are like ill-made sabots,--smooth outside,\nbut rough to wear?\u2019\u201d\n\nMadame Magloire made a face at this low proverb about wooden shoes, but,\nas was often the case with the Bailiff, he did not agree with his wife\non this point.\n\n\u201cMy friend Thibault utters words of gold,\u201d he said, \u201cand I need not go\nfar to be able to point the truth of his proverbs.... See for example,\nthis soup we have here, which has nothing much in its appearance to\ncommend it, but never have I found onion and bread fried in goose-fat\nmore to my taste.\u201d\n\nAnd after this there was no further talk of Thibault\u2019s fiery head.\nNevertheless, it seemed as if Madame Suzanne\u2019s eyes were irresistibly\nattracted to this unfortunate lock, and every time that Thibault\u2019s eyes\nmet the mocking look in hers, he thought he detected on her face a\nreminiscence of the laugh which had not long since made him feel so\nuncomfortable. He was very much annoyed at this, and, in spite of\nhimself, he kept putting up his hand to try and hide the unfortunate\nlock under the rest of his hair. But the hairs were not only unusual in\ncolour, but also of a phenomenal stiffness--it was no longer human hair,\nbut horse-hair. In vain Thibault endeavoured to hide the devil\u2019s hairs\nbeneath his own, nothing, not even the hair-dresser\u2019s tongs could have\ninduced them to lie otherwise than in the way which seemed natural to\nthem. But although so occupied with thinking of his hair, Thibault\u2019s\nlegs still continued their tender man\u0153uvres; and although Madame\nMagloire made no response to their solicitations, she apparently had no\nwish to escape from them, and Thibault was presumptuously led to believe\nthat he had achieved a conquest.\n\nThey sat on pretty late into the night, and Madame Suzanne, who appeared\nto find the evening drag, rose several times from the table and went\nbackwards and forwards to other parts of the house, which afforded the\nBailiff opportunities of frequent visits to the cellar.\n\nHe hid so many bottles in the lining of his waistcoat, and once on the\ntable, he emptied them so rapidly, that little by little his head sank\nlower and lower on to his chest, and it was evidently high time to put\nan end to the bout, if he was to be saved from falling under the table.\n\nThibault decided to profit by this condition of things, and to declare\nhis love to the Bailiff\u2019s wife without delay, judging it a good\nopportunity to speak while the husband was heavy with drink; he\ntherefore expressed a wish to retire for the night. Whereupon they rose\nfrom table, and Perrine was called and bidden to show the guest to his\nroom. As he followed her along the corridor, he made enquiries of her\nconcerning the different rooms.\n\nNumber one was Ma\u00eetre Magloire\u2019s, number two that of his wife, and\nnumber three was his. The Bailiff\u2019s room, and his wife\u2019s, communicated\nwith one another by an inner door; Thibault\u2019s room had access to the\ncorridor only.\n\nHe also noticed that Madame Suzanne was in her husband\u2019s room; no doubt\nsome pious sense of conjugal duty had taken her there. The good man was\nin a condition approaching to that of Noah when his sons took occasion\nto insult him, and Madame Suzanne\u2019s assistance would seem to have been\nneeded to get him into his room.\n\nThibault left his own room on tiptoe, carefully shut his door behind\nhim, listened for a moment at the door of Madame Suzanne\u2019s room, heard\nno sound within, felt for the key, found it in the lock, paused a\nsecond, and then turned it.\n\nThe door opened; the room was in total darkness. But having for so long\nconsorted with wolves, Thibault had acquired some of their\ncharacteristics, and, among others, that of being able to see in the\ndark.\n\nHe cast a rapid glance round the room; to the right was the fireplace;\nfacing it a couch with a large mirror above it; behind him, on the side\nof the fire-place, a large bed, hung with figured silk; in front of him,\nnear the couch, a dressing-table covered with a profusion of lace, and,\nlast of all, two large draped windows. He hid himself behind the\ncurtains of one of these, instinctively choosing the window that was\nfarthest removed from the husband\u2019s room. After waiting a quarter of an\nhour, during which time Thibault\u2019s heart beat so violently that the\nsound of it, fatal omen! reminded him of the click-clack of the\nmill-wheel at Croyolles, Madame Suzanne entered the room.\n\nThibault\u2019s original plan had been to leave his hiding place as soon as\nMadame Suzanne came in and the door was safely shut behind her, and\nthere and then to make avowal of his love. But on consideration, fearing\nthat in her surprise, and before she recognised who it was, she might\nnot be able to suppress a cry which would betray them, he decided that\nit would be better to wait until Monsieur Magloire was asleep beyond all\npower of being awakened.\n\nPerhaps, also, this procrastination may have been partly due to that\nfeeling which all men have, however resolute of purpose they may be, of\nwishing to put off the critical moment, when on this moment depend such\nchances as hung on the one which was to decide for or against the\nhappiness of the shoe-maker. For Thibault, by dint of telling himself\nthat he was madly in love with Madame Magloire, had ended by believing\nthat he really was so, and, in spite of being under the protection of\nthe black wolf, he experienced all the timidity of the genuine lover. So\nhe kept himself concealed behind the curtains.\n\nThe Bailiff\u2019s wife, however, had taken up her position before the mirror\nof her Pompadour table, and was decking herself out as if she were going\nto a festival or preparing to make one of a procession.\n\nShe tried on ten veils before making choice of one.\n\nShe arranged the folds of her dress.\n\nShe fastened a triple row of pearls round her neck.\n\nThen she loaded her arms with all the bracelets she possessed.\n\nFinally she dressed her hair with the minutest care.\n\nThibault was lost in conjectures as to the meaning of all this coquetry,\nwhen all of a sudden a dry, grating noise, as if some hard body coming\nin contact with a pane of glass, made him start. Madame Suzanne started\ntoo, and immediately put out the lights. The shoe-maker then heard her\nstep softly to the window, and cautiously open it; whereupon there\nfollowed some whisperings, of which Thibault could not catch the words,\nbut, by drawing the curtain a little aside, he was able to distinguish\nin the darkness the figure of a man of gigantic stature, who appeared to\nbe climbing through the window.\n\nThibault instantly recalled his adventure with the unknown combatant,\nwhose mantle he had clung to, and whom he had so triumphantly disposed\nof by hitting him on the forehead with a stone. As far as he could make\nout, this would be the same window from which the giant had descended\nwhen he made use of Thibault\u2019s two shoulders as a ladder. The surmise of\nidentity was, undoubtedly, founded on a logical conclusion. As a man was\nnow climbing in at the window, a man could very well have been climbing\ndown from it; and if a man did climb down from it--unless, of course,\nMadam Magloire\u2019s acquaintances were many in number, and she had a great\nvariety of tastes--if a man did climb down from it, in all probability,\nit was the same man who, at this moment was climbing in.\n\nBut whoever this nocturnal visitor might be, Madame Suzanne held out her\nhand to the intruder, who took a heavy jump into the room, which made\nthe floor tremble and set all the furniture shaking. The apparition was\ncertainly not a spirit, but a corporeal body, and moreover one that came\nunder the category of heavy bodies.\n\n\u201cOh! take care, my lord,\u201d Madame Suzanne\u2019s voice was heard to say,\n\u201cheavily as my husband sleeps, if you make such a noise as that, you\nwill wake him up.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy the devil and his horns! my fair friend,\u201d replied the stranger. \u201cI\ncannot alight like a bird!\u201d and Thibault recognised the voice as that of\nthe man with whom he had had the altercation a night or two before.\n\u201cAlthough while I was waiting under your window for the happy moment, my\nheart was so sick with longing that I felt as if wings must grow ere\nlong, to bear me up into this dear wished-for little room.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I too, my lord,\u201d replied Madame Magloire with a simper, \u201cI too was\ntroubled to leave you outside to freeze in the cold wind, but the guest\nwho was with us this evening only left us half an hour ago.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what have you been doing, my dear one, during this last half hour?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was obliged to help Monsieur Magloire, my lord, and to make sure that\nhe would not come and interrupt us.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou were right as you always are, my heart\u2019s love.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy lord is too kind,\u201d replied Suzanne--or, more correctly, tried to\nreply, for her last words were interrupted as if by some foreign body\nbeing placed upon her lips, which prevented her from finishing the\nsentence; and at the same moment, Thibault heard a sound which was\nremarkably like that of a kiss. The wretched man was beginning to\nunderstand the extent of the disappointment of which he was again the\nvictim. His reflections were interrupted by the voice of the new-comer,\nwho coughed two or three times.\n\n\u201cSuppose we shut the window, my love,\u201d said the voice, after this\npreliminary coughing.\n\n\u201cOh! my lord, forgive me,\u201d said Madame Magloire, \u201cit ought to have been\nclosed before.\u201d And so saying she went to the window, which she first\nshut close, and then closed even more hermetically by drawing the\ncurtains across it. The stranger meanwhile, who made himself thoroughly\nat home, had drawn an easy chair up to the fire, and sat with his legs\nstretched out, warming his feet in the most luxurious fashion.\nReflecting no doubt, that for a man half frozen, the most immediate\nnecessity is to thaw himself, Madame Suzanne seemed to find no cause of\noffence in this behaviour on the part of her aristocratic lover, but\ncame up to his chair and leant her pretty arms over the back in the most\nfascinating posture. Thibault had a good view of the group from behind,\nwell thrown up by the light of the fire, and he was overcome with inward\nrage. The stranger appeared for a while to have no thought beyond that\nof warming himself; but at last the fire having performed its appointed\ntask, he asked:\n\n\u201cAnd this stranger, this guest of yours, who was he?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! my lord!\u201d answered Madame Magloire, \u201cyou already know him I think\nonly too well.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d said the favoured lover, \u201cdo you mean to say it was that drunken\nlout of the other night, again?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe very same, my lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, all I can say is,--if ever I get him into my grip again!...\u201d\n\n\u201cMy lord,\u201d responded Suzanne, in a voice as soft as music, \u201cyou must not\nharbour evil designs against your enemies; on the contrary, you must\nforgive them as we are taught to do by our Holy Religion.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is also another religion which teaches that, my dearest love, one\nof which you are the all-supreme goddess, and I but a humble\nneophyte.... And I am wrong in wishing evil to the scoundrel, for it was\nowing to the treacherous and cowardly way in which he attacked and did\nfor me, that I had the opportunity I had so long wished for, of being\nintroduced into this house. The lucky blow on my forehead with his\nstone, made me faint; and because you saw I had fainted, you called your\nhusband; it was on account of your husband finding me without\nconsciousness beneath your window, and believing I had been set upon by\nthieves, that he had me carried indoors; and lastly, because you were so\nmoved by pity at the thought of what I had suffered for you, that you\nwere willing to let me in here. And so, this good-for-nothing fellow,\nthis contemptible scamp, is after all the source of all good, for all\nthe good of life for me is in your love; nevertheless if ever he comes\nwithin reach of my whip, he will not have a very pleasant time of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt seems then,\u201d muttered Thibault, swearing to himself, \u201cthat my wish\nhas again turned to the advantage of someone else! Ah! my friend, black\nwolf, I have still something to learn, but, confound it all! I will in\nfuture think so well over my wishes before expressing them that the\npupil will become master ... but to whom does that voice, that I seem to\nknow, belong?\u201d Thibault continued, trying to recall it, \u201cfor the voice\nis familiar to me, of that I am certain!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou would be even more incensed against him, poor wretch, if I were to\ntell you something.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what is that, my love?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, that good-for-nothing fellow, as you call him, is making love to\nme.\u201d\n\n\u201cPhew!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is so, my lord,\u201d said Madame Suzanne, laughing.\n\n\u201cWhat! that boor, that low rascal! Where is he? Where does he hide\nhimself? By Beelzebub! I\u2019ll throw him to my dogs to eat!\u201d\n\nAnd then, all at once, Thibault recognised his man. \u201cAh! my lord Baron,\u201d\nhe muttered, \u201cit\u2019s you, is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cPray do not trouble yourself about it, my lord,\u201d said Madame Suzanne,\nlaying her two hands on her lover\u2019s shoulders, and obliging him to sit\ndown again, \u201cyour lordship is the only person whom I love, and even\nwere it not so, a man with a lock of red hair right in the middle of his\nforehead is not the one to whom I should give away my heart.\u201d And as the\nrecollection of this lock of hair, which had made her laugh so at\ndinner, came back to her, she again gave way to her amusement.\n\nA violent feeling of anger towards the Bailiff\u2019s wife took possession of\nThibault.\n\n\u201cAh! traitress!\u201d he exclaimed to himself, \u201cwhat would I not give for\nyour husband, your good, upright husband, to walk in at this moment and\nsurprise you.\u201d\n\nScarcely was the wish uttered, when the door of communication between\nSuzanne\u2019s room and that of Monsieur Magloire was thrown wide open, and\nin walked her husband with an enormous night-cap on his head, which made\nhim look nearly five feet high, and holding a lighted candle in his\nhand.\n\n\u201cAh! ah!\u201d muttered Thibault. \u201cWell done! It\u2019s my turn to laugh now,\nMadame Magloire.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nWHERE IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT A WOMAN NEVER SPEAKS MORE ELOQUENTLY\nTHAN WHEN SHE HOLDS HER TONGUE.\n\n\nAs Thibault was talking to himself he did not catch the few hurried\nwords which Suzanne whispered to the Baron; and all he saw was that she\nappeared to totter, and then fell back into her lover\u2019s arms, as if in a\ndead faint.\n\nThe Bailiff stopped short as he caught sight of this curious group, lit\nup by his candle. He was facing Thibault, and the latter endeavoured to\nread in Monsieur Magloire\u2019s face what was passing in his mind.\n\nBut the Bailiff\u2019s jovial physiognomy was not made by nature to express\nany strong emotion, and Thibault could detect nothing in it but a\nbenevolent astonishment on the part of the amiable husband.\n\nThe Baron, also, evidently detected nothing more, for with a coolness\nand ease of manner, which produced on Thibault a surprise beyond\nexpression, he turned to the Bailiff, and asked:\n\n\u201cWell, friend Magloire, and how do you carry your wine this evening?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, is it you, my lord?\u201d replied the Bailiff opening his fat little\neyes.\n\n\u201cAh! pray excuse me, and believe me, had I known I was to have the\nhonour of seeing you here, I should not have allowed myself to appear in\nsuch an unsuitable costume.\u201d\n\n\u201cPooh-pooh! nonsense!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed, my lord; you must permit me to go and make a little\ntoilette.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo ceremony, I pray!\u201d rejoined the Baron. \u201cAfter curfew, one is at\nleast free to receive one\u2019s friends in what costume one likes. Besides,\nmy dear friend, there is something which requires more immediate\nattention.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is that, my lord?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo restore Madame Magloire to her senses, who, you see, has fainted in\nmy arms.\u201d\n\n\u201cFainted! Suzanne fainted! Ah! my God!\u201d cried the little man, putting\ndown his candle on the chimney-piece, \u201chow ever did such a misfortune\nhappen?\u201d\n\n\u201cWait, wait, Monsieur Magloire!\u201d said my lord, \u201cwe must first get your\nwife into a more comfortable position in an armchair; nothing annoys\nwomen so much as not to be at their ease when they are unfortunate\nenough to faint.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right, my lord; let us first put her in the armchair.... Oh\nSuzanne! poor Suzanne! How can such a thing as this have happened?\u201d\n\n\u201cI pray you at least, my dear fellow, not to think any ill of me at\nfinding me in your house at such a time of night!\u201d\n\n\u201cFar from it, my lord,\u201d replied the Bailiff, \u201cthe friendship with which\nyou honour us, and the virtue of Madame Magloire are sufficient\nguarantees for me to be glad at any hour to have my house honoured by\nyour presence.\u201d\n\n\u201cTriple dyed idiot!\u201d murmured the shoe-maker, \u201cunless I ought rather to\ncall him a doubly clever dissembler.... No matter which, however! we\nhave yet to see how my lord is going to get out of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless,\u201d continued Ma\u00eetre Magloire, dipping a handkerchief into\nsome aromatic water, and bathing his wife\u2019s temples with it,\n\u201cnevertheless, I am curious to know how my poor wife can have received\nsuch a shock.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a simple affair enough, as I will explain, my dear fellow. I was\nreturning from dining with my friend, de Vivi\u00e8res, and passing through\nErneville on my way to Vez, I caught sight of an open window, and a\nwoman inside making signals of distress.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! my God!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is what I exclaimed, when I realised that the window belonged to\nyour house; and can it be my friend the Bailiff\u2019s wife, I thought, who\nis in danger and in need of help?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are good indeed, my lord,\u201d said the Bailiff quite overcome. \u201cI\ntrust it was nothing of the sort.\u201d\n\n\u201cOn the contrary, my dear man.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow! on the contrary?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, as you will see.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou make me shudder, my lord! And do you mean that my wife was in need\nof help and did not call me?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt had been her first thought to call you, but she abstained from doing\nso, for, and here you see her delicacy of feeling, she was afraid that\nif you came, your precious life might be endangered.\u201d\n\nThe Bailiff turned pale and gave an exclamation.\n\n\u201cMy precious life, as you are good enough to call it, is in danger?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot now, since I am here.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut tell me, I pray, my lord, what had happened? I would question my\nwife, but as you see she is not yet able to answer.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd am I not here to answer in her stead?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnswer then, my lord, as you are kind enough to offer to do so; I am\nlistening.\u201d\n\nThe Baron made a gesture of assent, and went on:\n\n\u201cSo I ran to her, and seeing her all trembling and alarmed, I asked,\n\u2018What is the matter, Madame Magloire, and what is causing you so much\nalarm?\u2019 \u2018Ah! my lord,\u2019 she replied, \u2018just think what I feel, when I tell\nyou that yesterday and to-day, my husband has been entertaining a man\nabout whom I have the worst suspicions. Ugh! A man who has introduced\nhimself under the pretence of friendship to my dear Magloire, and\nactually makes love to me, to me....\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cShe told you that?\u201d\n\n\u201cWord for word, my dear fellow! She cannot hear what we are saying, I\nhope?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can she, when she is insensible?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, ask her yourself when she comes to, and if she does not tell you\nexactly to the letter what I have been telling you, call me a Turk, an\ninfidel and a heretic.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! these men! these men!\u201d murmured the Bailiff.\n\n\u201cYes, race of vipers!\u201d continued my lord of Vez, \u201cdo you wish me to go\non?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed!\u201d said the little man, forgetting the scantiness of his\nattire in the interest excited in him by the Baron\u2019s tale.\n\n\u201c\u2018But Madame,\u2019 I said to my friend Madame Magloire, \u2018How could you tell\nthat he had the audacity to love you?\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d put in the Bailiff, \u201chow did she find it out? I never noticed\nanything myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou would have been aware of it, my dear friend, if only you had looked\nunder the table; but, fond of your dinner as you are, you were not\nlikely to be looking at the dishes on the table and underneath it at the\nsame time.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe truth is, my lord, we had the most perfect little supper! just you\nthink now--cutlets of young wild-boar....\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d said the Baron, \u201cnow you are going to tell me about your\nsupper, instead of listening to the end of my tale, a tale which\nconcerns the life and honour of your wife!\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue, true, my poor Suzanne! My lord, help me to open her hands, that I\nmay slap them on the palms.\u201d\n\nThe Lord of Vez gave all the assistance in his power to Monsieur\nMagloire, and by dint of their united efforts they forced open Madame\nMagloire\u2019s hands.\n\nThe good man, now easier in his mind, began slapping his wife\u2019s palms\nwith his chubby little hands, all the while giving his attention to the\nremainder of the Baron\u2019s interesting and veracious story.\n\n\u201cWhere had I got to?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cYou had got just to where my poor Suzanne, whom one may indeed call\n\u2018the chaste Suzanna....\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you may well say that!\u201d interrupted the lord of Vez.\n\n\u201cIndeed, I do! You had just got to where my poor Suzanne began to be\naware....\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes--that your guest like Paris of old was wishing to make another\nMenelaus of you; well, then she rose from table.... You remember that\nshe did so?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.... I was perhaps a little--just a little--overcome.\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite so! Well then she rose from table, and said it was time to\nretire.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe truth is, that the last hour I heard strike was eleven,\u201d said the\njovial Bailiff.\n\n\u201cThen the party broke up.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think I left the table,\u201d said the Bailiff.\n\n\u201cNo, but Madame Magloire and your guest did. She told him which was his\nroom, and Perrine showed him to it; after which, kind and faithful wife\nas she is, Madame Magloire tucked you into bed, and went into her own\nroom.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear little Suzanne!\u201d said the bailiff in a voice of emotion.\n\n\u201cAnd it was then, when she found herself in her room, and all alone,\nthat she got frightened; she went to the window and opened it; the wind,\nblowing into the room, put out her candle. You know what it is to have a\nsudden panic come over you, do you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes,\u201d replied the Bailiff na\u00efvely, \u201cI am very timid myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cAfter that she was seized with panic, and not daring to wake you, for\nfear any harm should come to you, she called to the first horseman she\nsaw go by--and luckily, that horseman was myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was indeed fortunate, my lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cWas it not?... I ran, I made myself known.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Come up, my lord, come up,\u2019 she cried. \u2018Come up quickly--I am sure\nthere is a man in my room.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cDear! dear!...\u201d said the bailiff, \u201cyou must indeed have felt terribly\nfrightened.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all! I thought it was only losing time to stop and ring; I gave\nmy horse to l\u2019Eveill\u00e9, I stood up on the saddle, climbed from that to\nthe balcony, and, so that the man who was in the room might not escape,\nI shut the window. It was just at that moment that Madame Magloire,\nhearing the sound of your door opening, and overcome by such a\nsuccession of painful feelings, fell fainting into my arms.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! my lord!\u201d said the Bailiff, \u201chow frightful all this is that you\ntell me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd be sure, my dear friend, that I have rather softened than added to\nits terror; anyhow, you will hear what Madame Magloire has to tell you\nwhen she comes to....\u201d\n\n\u201cSee, my lord, she is beginning to move.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s right! burn a feather under her nose.\u201d\n\n\u201cA feather?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, it is a sovereign anti-spasmodic; burn a feather under her nose,\nand she will revive instantly.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut where shall I find a feather?\u201d asked the bailiff.\n\n\u201cHere! take this, the feather round my hat.\u201d And the lord of Vez broke\noff a bit of the ostrich feather which ornamented his hat, gave it to\nMonsieur Magloire, who lighted it at the candle and held it smoking\nunder his wife\u2019s nose.\n\nThe remedy was a sovereign one, as the Baron had said; the effect of it\nwas instantaneous; Madame Magloire sneezed.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d cried the bailiff delightedly, \u201cnow she is coming to! my wife! my\ndear wife! my dear little wife!\u201d\n\nMadame Magloire gave a sigh.\n\n\u201cMy lord! my lord!\u201d cried the bailiff, \u201cshe is saved! saved!\u201d\n\nMadame Magloire opened her eyes, looked first at the Bailiff and then at\nthe Baron, with a bewildered gaze, and then finally fixing them on the\nBailiff:\n\n\u201cMagloire! dear Magloire!\u201d she said, \u201cis it really you? Oh! how glad I\nam to see you again after the bad dream I have had!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell!\u201d muttered Thibault, \u201cshe _is_ a brazen-faced huzzy, if you like! if\nI do not get all that I want from the ladies I run after, they, at\nleast, afford me some valuable object lessons by the way!\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas! my beautiful Suzanne,\u201d said the Bailiff, \u201cit is no bad dream you\nhave had, but, as it seems, a hideous reality.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! I remember now,\u201d responded Madame Magloire. Then, as if noticing\nfor the first time that the lord of Vez was there:\n\n\u201cAh! my lord,\u201d she continued, \u201cI hope you have repeated nothing to my\nhusband of all those foolish things I told you?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why not, dear lady?\u201d asked the Baron.\n\n\u201cBecause an honest woman knows how to protect herself, and has no need\nto keep on telling her husband a lot of nonsense like that.\u201d\n\n\u201cOn the contrary, Madame,\u201d replied the Baron, \u201cI have told my friend\neverything.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean that you have told him that during the whole of supper time\nthat man was fondling my knee under the table?\u201d\n\n\u201cI told him that, certainly.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! the wretch!\u201d exclaimed the Bailiff.\n\n\u201cAnd that when I stooped to pick up my table napkin, it was not that,\nbut his hand, that I came across.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have hidden nothing from my friend Magloire.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! the ruffian!\u201d cried the Bailiff.\n\n\u201cAnd that Monsieur Magloire having a passing giddiness which made him\nshut his eyes while at table, his guest took the opportunity to kiss me\nagainst my will?\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought it was right for a husband to know everything.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! the knave!\u201d cried the Bailiff.\n\n\u201cAnd did you even go so far as to tell him that having come into my\nroom, and the wind having blown out the candle, I fancied I saw the\nwindow curtains move, which made me call to you for help, believing that\nhe was hidden behind them?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I did not tell him that! I was going to when you sneezed.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! the vile rascal!\u201d roared the Bailiff, taking hold of the Baron\u2019s\nsword which the latter had laid on a chair, and drawing it out of the\nscabbard, then, running toward the window which his wife had indicated,\n\u201cHe had better not be behind these curtains, or I will spit him like a\nwoodcock,\u201d and with this he gave one or two lunges with the sword\nagainst the window hangings.\n\nBut all at once the Bailiff stayed his hand, and stood as if arrested\nlike a school-boy caught trespassing out of bounds; his hair rose on end\nbeneath his cotton night-cap, and this conjugal head-dress became\nagitated as by some convulsive movement. The sword dropped from his\ntrembling hand, and fell with a clatter on the floor. He had caught\nsight of Thibault behind the curtains, and as Hamlet kills Polonius,\nthinking to slay his father\u2019s murderer, so he, believing that he was\nthrusting at nothing, had nearly killed his crony of the night before,\nwho had already had time enough to prove himself a false friend.\nMoreover as he had lifted the curtain with the point of the sword, the\nBailiff was not the only one who had seen Thibault. His wife and the\nLord of Vez had both been participators in the unexpected vision, and\nboth uttered a cry of surprise. In telling their tale so well, they had\nhad no idea that they were so near the truth. The Baron, too, had not\nonly seen that there was a man, but had also recognised that the man was\nThibault.\n\n\u201cDamn me!\u201d he exclaimed, as he went nearer to him, \u201cif I mistake not,\nthis is my old acquaintance, the man with the boar-spear!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow! how! man with the boar-spear?\u201d asked the Bailiff, his teeth\nchattering as he spoke. \u201cAnyway I trust he has not his boar-spear with\nhim now!\u201d And he ran behind his wife for protection.\n\n\u201cNo, no, do not be alarmed,\u201d said the Lord of Vez, \u201ceven if he has got\nit with him, I promise you it shall not stay long in his hands. So,\nmaster poacher,\u201d he went on, addressing himself to Thibault, \u201cyou are\nnot content to hunt the game belonging to his Highness the Duke of\nOrleans, in the forest of Villers-Cotterets, but you must come and make\nexcursions in the open and poach on the territory of my friend Ma\u00eetre\nMagloire?\u201d\n\n\u201cA poacher! do you say?\u201d exclaimed the Bailiff. \u201cIs not Monsieur\nThibault a landowner, the proprietor of farms, living in his country\nhouse on the income from his estate of a hundred acres?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, he?\u201d said the Baron, bursting into a loud guffaw, \u201cso he made you\nbelieve all that stuff, did he? the rascal has got a clever tongue. He!\na landowner! that poor starveling! why, the only property he possesses\nis what my stable-boys wear on their feet--the wooden shoes he gets his\nliving by making.\u201d\n\nMadame Suzanne, on hearing Thibault thus classified, made a gesture of\nscorn and contempt, while Ma\u00eetre Magloire drew back a step, while the\ncolour mounted to his face. Not that the good little man was proud, but\nhe hated all kinds of deceit; it was not because he had clinked glasses\nwith a shoe-maker that he turned red, but because he had drunk in\ncompany with a liar and a traitor.\n\nDuring this avalanche of abuse Thibault had stood immovable with his\narms folded and a smile on his lips. He had no fear but that when his\nturn came to speak, he would be able to take an easy revenge. And the\nmoment to speak seemed now to have come. In a light, bantering tone of\nvoice--which showed that he was gradually accustoming himself to\nconversing with people of a superior rank to his own--he then exclaimed;\n\u201cBy the Devil and his horns! as you yourself remarked a little while\nago, you can tell tales of other people, my lord, without much\ncompunction, and I fancy if everyone followed your example, I should not\nbe at such a loss what to say, as I choose to appear!\u201d\n\nThe lord of Vez, perfectly aware, as was the bailiff\u2019s wife, of the\nmenace conveyed in these words, answered by looking Thibault up and down\nwith eyes that were starting with anger.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said Madame Magloire, somewhat imprudently, \u201cyou will see, he is\ngoing to invent some scandalous tale about me.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave no fear, Madame,\u201d replied Thibault, who had quite recovered his\nself-possession, \u201cyou have left me nothing to invent on that score.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! the vile wretch!\u201d she cried, \u201cyou see, I was right; he has got some\nmalicious slander to report about me; he is determined to revenge\nhimself because I would not return his sheep\u2019s-eyes, to punish me\nbecause I was not willing to warn my husband that he was paying court to\nme.\u201d During this speech of Madame Suzanne\u2019s the lord of Vez had picked\nup his sword and advanced threateningly towards Thibault. But the\nBailiff threw himself between them, and held back the Baron\u2019s arm. It\nwas fortunate for Thibault that he did so, for the latter did not move\nan inch to avoid the blow, evidently prepared at the last moment to\nutter some terrible wish which would avert the danger from him; but the\nBailiff interposing, Thibault had no need to resort to this means of\nhelp.\n\n\u201cGently, my lord!\u201d said the Ma\u00eetre Magloire, \u201cthis man is not worthy our\nanger. I am but a plain citizen myself, but you see, I have only\ncontempt for what he says, and I readily forgive him the way in which he\nhas endeavoured to abuse my hospitality.\u201d\n\nMadame Magloire now thought that her moment had come for moistening the\nsituation of affairs with her tears, and burst into loud sobs.\n\n\u201cDo not weep, dear wife!\u201d said the Bailiff, with his usual kind and\nsimple good-nature. \u201cOf what could this man accuse you, even suppose he\nhad something to bring against you! Of having deceived me? Well, I can\nonly say, that made as I am, I feel I still have favours to grant you\nand thanks to render you, for all the happy days which I owe to you. Do\nnot fear for a moment that this apprehension of an imaginary evil will\nalter my behaviour towards you. I shall always be kind and indulgent to\nyou, Suzanne, and as I shall never shut my heart against you, so will I\nnever shut my door against my friends. When one is small and of little\naccount it is best to submit quietly and to trust; one need have no fear\nthen but of cowards and evil-doers, and I am convinced, I am happy to\nsay, that they are not so plentiful as they are thought to be. And,\nafter all, by my faith! if the bird of misfortune should fly in, by the\ndoor or by the window, by Saint Gregory, the patron of drinkers, there\nshall be such a noise of singing, such a clinking of glasses, that he\nwill soon be obliged to fly out again by the way he came in!\u201d\n\nBefore he had ended, Madame Suzanne had thrown herself at his feet, and\nwas kissing his hands. His speech, with its mingling of sadness and\nphilosophy, had made more impression upon her than would have a sermon\nfrom the most eloquent of preachers. Even the lord of Vez did not remain\nunmoved; a tear gathered in the corner of his eye, and he lifted his\nfinger to wipe it away, before holding out his hand to the Bailiff,\nsaying as he did so:\n\n\u201cBy the horn of Beelzebub! my dear friend, you have an upright mind and\na kind heart, and it would be a sin indeed to bring trouble upon you;\nand if I have ever had a thought of doing you wrong, may God forgive me\nfor it! I can safely swear, whatever happens, that I shall never have\nsuch another again.\u201d\n\nWhile this reconciliation was taking place between the three secondary\nactors in this tale, the situation of the fourth, that is of the\nprincipal character in it, was becoming more and more embarrassing.\n\nThibault\u2019s heart was swelling with rage and hatred; himself unaware of\nthe rapid growth of evil within him, he was fast growing, from a selfish\nand covetous man, into a wicked one. Suddenly, his eyes flashing, he\ncried aloud: \u201cI do not know what holds me back from putting a terrible\nend to all this!\u201d\n\nOn hearing this exclamation, which had all the character of a menace in\nit, the Baron and Suzanne understood it to mean that some great and\nunknown and unexpected danger was hanging over everybody\u2019s heads. But\nthe Baron was not easily intimidated, and he drew his sword for the\nsecond time and made a movement towards Thibault. Again the Bailiff\ninterposed.\n\n\u201cMy lord Baron! my lord Baron!\u201d said Thibault in a low voice, \u201cthis is\nthe second time that you have, in wish at least, passed your sword\nthrough my body; twice therefore you have been a murderer in thought!\nTake care! one can sin in other ways besides sinning in deed.\u201d\n\n\u201cThousand devils!\u201d cried the Baron, beside himself with anger, \u201cthe\nrascal is actually reading me a moral lesson! My friend, you were\nwanting a little while ago to spit him like a woodcock, allow me to give\nhim one light touch, such as the matador gives the bull, and I will\nanswer for it, that he won\u2019t get up again in a hurry.\u201d\n\n\u201cI beseech you on my knees, as a favour to your humble servant, my\nlord,\u201d replied the Bailiff, \u201cto let him go in peace; and deign to\nremember, that, being my guest, there should no hurt nor harm be done to\nhim in this poor house of mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it!\u201d answered the Baron, \u201cI shall meet him again. All kinds of\nbad reports are about concerning him, and poaching is not the only harm\nreported of him; he has been seen and recognised running the forest\nalong with a pack of wolves--and astonishingly tame wolves at that. It\u2019s\nmy opinion that the scoundrel does not always spend his midnights at\nhome, but sits astride a broom-stick oftener than becomes a good\nCatholic; the owner of the mill at Croyolles has made complaint of his\nwizardries. However, we will not talk of it any more now; I shall have\nhis hut searched, and if everything there is not as it should be, the\nwizard\u2019s hole shall be destroyed, for I will not allow it to remain on\nhis Highness\u2019s territory. And now, take yourself off, and that quickly!\u201d\n\nThe shoe-maker\u2019s exasperation had come to a pitch during this menacing\ntirade from the Baron; but, nevertheless, he profited by the passage\nthat was cleared for him, and went out of the room. Thanks to his\nfaculty of being able to see in the dark, he walked straight to the\ndoor, opened it, and passed over the threshold of the house, where he\nhad left behind so many fond hopes, now lost for ever, slamming the door\nafter him with such violence that the whole house shook. He was obliged\nto call to mind the useless expenditure of wishes and hair of the\npreceding evening, to keep himself from asking that the whole house, and\nall within it, might be devoured by the flames. He walked on for ten\nminutes before he became conscious that it was pouring with rain--but\nthe rain, frozen as it was, and even because it was so bitterly cold,\nseemed to do Thibault good. As the good Magloire had artlessly remarked,\nhis head was on fire.\n\nOn leaving the Bailiffs house, Thibault had taken the first road he came\nto; he had no wish to go in one direction more than another, all he\nwanted was space, fresh air and movement. His desultory walking brought\nhim first of all on to the Value lands; but even then he did not notice\nwhere he was until he saw the mill of Croyolles in the distance. He\nmuttered a curse against its fair owner as he passed, rushed on like a\nmadman between Vauciennes and Croyolles, and seeing a dark mass in front\nof him, plunged into its depths. This dark mass was the forest.\n\nThe forest-path to the rear of Ham, which leads from Croyolles to\nPr\u00e9ciamont, was now ahead of him, and into this he turned, guided solely\nby chance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nA VILLAGE WEDDING\n\n\nHe had made but a few steps within the forest, when he found himself\nsurrounded by his wolves. He was pleased to see them again; he slackened\nhis pace; he called to them; and the wolves came crowding round him.\nThibault caressed them as a shepherd might his sheep, as a keeper of the\nhounds his dogs. They were his flock, his hunting pack; a flock with\nflaming eyes, a pack with looks of fire. Overhead, among the bare\nbranches, the screech-owls were hopping and fluttering, making their\nplaintive calls, while the other owls uttered their melancholy cries in\nconcert. The eyes of these night-birds shone like winged coals flying\nabout among the trees, and there was Thibault in the middle of it all,\nthe centre of the devilish circle.\n\nEven as the wolves came up to fawn upon him and crouch at his feet, so\nthe owls appeared to be attracted towards him. The tips of their silent\nwings brushed against his hair; some of them alighted to perch upon his\nshoulder.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d murmured Thibault, \u201cI am not then the enemy of all created things;\nif men hate me, the animals love me.\u201d\n\nHe forgot what place the animals, who loved him, held in the chain of\ncreated beings. He did not remember that these animals which loved him,\nwere those which hated mankind, and which mankind cursed.\n\nHe did not pause to reflect that these animals loved him, because he had\nbecome among men, what they were among animals; a creature of the night!\na man of prey! With all these animals together, he could not do an atom\nof good; but, on the other hand, he could do a great deal of harm.\nThibault smiled at the thought of the harm he could do.\n\nHe was still some distance from home, and he began to feel tired. He\nknew there was a large hollow oak somewhere near, and he took his\nbearings and made for it; but he would have missed his way if the\nwolves, who seemed to guess his thoughts, had not guided him to it.\nWhile flocks of owls hopped along from branch to branch, as if to\nilluminate the way, the wolves trotted along in front to show it him.\nThe tree stood about twenty paces back from the road; it was, as I have\nsaid, an old oak, numbering not years, but centuries. Trees which live\nten, twenty, thirty times the length of a man\u2019s life, do not count their\nage by days and nights, but by seasons. The autumn is their twilight,\nthe winter, their night; the spring is their dawn, the summer their day.\nMan envies the tree, the butterfly envies man. Forty men could not have\nencircled the trunk of the old oak with their arms.\n\nThe hollow made by time, that daily dislodged one more little piece of\nwood with the point of its scythe, was as large as an ordinarily sized\nroom; but the entrance to it barely allowed a man to pass through.\nThibault crept inside; there he found a sort of seat cut out of the\nthickness of the trunk, as soft and comfortable to sit in as an arm\nchair. Taking his place in it, and bidding good night to his wolves and\nhis screech owls, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, or at least\nappeared to do so.\n\nThe wolves lay down in a circle round the tree; the owls perched in the\nbranches. With these lights spread around its trunk, with these lights\nscattered about its branches, the oak had the appearance of a tree lit\nup for some infernal revel.\n\nIt was broad daylight when Thibault awoke; the wolves had long ago\nsought their hiding-places, the owls flown back to their ruins. The rain\nof the night before had ceased, and a ray of sunlight, one of those pale\nrays which are a harbinger of spring, came gliding through the naked\nbranches of the trees, and having as yet none of the short-lived verdure\nof the year to shine upon, lit up the dark green of the mistletoe.\n\nFrom afar came a faint sound of music, gradually it grew nearer, and the\nnotes of two violins and a hautboy could be distinguished.\n\nThibault thought at first that he must be dreaming. But as it was broad\ndaylight, and he appeared to be in perfect possession of his senses, he\nwas obliged to acknowledge that he was wide awake, the more so, that\nhaving well rubbed his eyes, to make quite sure of the fact, the rustic\nsounds came as distinctly as ever to his ear. They were drawing rapidly\nnearer; a bird sang, answering the music of man with the music of God;\nand at the foot of the bush where it sat and made its song, a\nflower,--only a snowdrop it is true--was shining like a star. The sky\nabove was as blue as on an April day. What was the meaning of this\nspring-like festival, now, in the heart of winter?\n\nThe notes of the bird as it sang in salutation of this bright,\nunexpected day, the brightness of the flower that shone as if with its\nradiance to thank the sun for coming to visit it, the sounds of\nmerry-making which told the lost and unhappy man that his\nfellow-creatures were joining with the rest of nature in their\nrejoicings under the azure canopy of heaven, all the aroma of joy, all\nthis up-springing of happiness, brought no calmer thoughts back to\nThibault, but rather increased the anger and bitterness of his feelings.\nHe would have liked the whole world to be as dark and gloomy as was his\nown soul. On first detecting the sounds of the approaching rural band,\nhe thought of running away from it; but a power, stronger than his will,\nas it seemed to him, held him rooted to the spot; so he hid himself in\nthe hollow of the oak and waited. Merry voices and lively songs could be\nheard mingling with the notes of the violins and hautboy; now and again\na gun went off, or a cracker exploded; and Thibault felt sure that all\nthese festive sounds must be occasioned by some village wedding. He was\nright, for he soon caught sight of a procession of villagers, all\ndressed in their best, with long ribands of many colours floating in the\nbreeze, some from the women\u2019s waists, some from the men\u2019s hats or\nbutton-holes. They emerged into view at the end of the long lane of Ham.\n\nThey were headed by the fiddlers; then followed a few peasants, and\namong them some figures, which by their livery, Thibault recognised as\nkeepers in the service of the lord of Vez. Then came Engoulevent, the\nsecond huntsman, giving his arm to an old blind woman, who was decked\nout with ribands like the others; then the major-domo of the Castle of\nVez, as representative probably of the father of the little huntsman,\ngiving his arm to the bride.\n\nAnd the bride herself--Thibault stared at her with wild fixed eyes; he\nendeavoured, but vainly, to persuade himself that he did not recognise\nher--it was impossible not to do so when she came within a few paces\nfrom where he was hiding. The bride was Agnelette.\n\nAgnelette!\n\nAnd to crown his humiliation, as if to give a final blow to his pride,\nno pale and trembling Agnelette dragged reluctantly to the altar,\ncasting looks behind her of regret or remembrance, but an Agnelette as\nbright and happy as the bird that was singing, the snowdrop that\nflowered, the sunlight that was shining; an Agnelette, full of delighted\npride in her wreath of orange flowers, her tulle veil and muslin dress;\nan Agnelette, in short, as fair and smiling as the virgin in the church\nat Villers-Cotterets, when dressed in her beautiful white dress at\nWhitsuntide.\n\nShe was, no doubt, indebted for all this finery to the Lady of the\nCastle, the wife of the lord of Vez, who was a true Lady Bountiful in\nsuch matters.\n\nBut the chief cause of Agnelette\u2019s happiness and smiles was not the\ngreat love she felt towards the man who was to become her husband, but\nher contentment at having found what she so ardently desired, that which\nThibault had wickedly promised to her without really wishing to give\nher,--someone who would help her to support her blind old grandmother.\n\nThe musicians, the bride and bridegroom, the young men and maidens,\npassed along the road within twenty paces of Thibault, without observing\nthe head with its flaming hair and the eyes with their fiery gleam,\nlooking out from the hollow of the tree. Then, as Thibault had watched\nthem appear through the undergrowth, so he watched them disappear. As\nthe sounds of the violins and hautboy has gradually become louder and\nlouder, so now they became fainter and fainter, until in another quarter\nof an hour the forest was as silent and deserted as ever, and Thibault\nwas left alone with his singing bird, his flowering snowdrop, his\nglittering ray of sunlight. But a new fire of hell had been lighted in\nhis heart, the worst of the fires of hell; that which gnaws at the\nvitals like the sharpest serpent\u2019s tooth, and corrodes the blood like\nthe most destructive poison--the fire of jealousy.\n\nOn seeing Agnelette again, so fresh and pretty, so innocently happy,\nand, worse still, seeing her at the moment when she was about to be\nmarried to another, Thibault, who had not given a thought to her for the\nlast three month, Thibault, who had never had any intention of keeping\nthe promise which he made her, Thibault now brought himself to believe\nthat he had never ceased to love her.\n\nHe persuaded himself that Agnelette was engaged to him by oath, that\nEngoulevent was carrying off what belonged to him, and he almost leaped\nfrom his hiding place to rush after her and reproach her with her\ninfidelity. Agnelette, now no longer his, at once appeared to his eyes\nas endowed with all the virtues and good qualities, all in short that\nwould make it advantageous to marry her, which, when he had only to\nspeak the word and everything would have been his, he had not even\nsuspected.\n\nAfter being the victim of so much deception, to lose what he looked upon\nas his own particular treasure, to which he had imagined that it would\nnot be too late to return at any time, simply because he never dreamed\nthat anyone would wish to take it from him, seemed to him the last\nstroke of ill fortune. His despair was no less profound and gloomy that\nit was a mute despair. He bit his fists, he knocked his head against the\nsides of the tree, and finally began to cry and sob. But they were not\nthose tears and sobs which gradually soften the heart and are often\nkindly agents in dispersing a bad humour and reviving a better one; no,\nthey were tears and sobs arising rather from anger than from regret, and\nthese tears and sobs had no power to drive the hatred out of Thibault\u2019s\nheart. As some of his tears fell visibly adown his face, so it seemed\nthat others fell on his heart within like drops of gall.\n\nHe declared that he loved Agnelette; he lamented at having lost her;\nnevertheless, this furious man, with all his tender love, would gladly\nhave been able to see her fall dead, together with her bridegroom, at\nthe foot of the altar when the priest was about to join them. But\nhappily, God, who was reserving the two children for other trials, did\nnot allow this fatal wish to formulate itself in Thibault\u2019s mind. They\nwere like those who, surrounded by storm, hear the noise of the thunder\nand see the forked flashes of the lightning, and yet remain untouched by\nthe deadly fluid.\n\nBefore long the shoe-maker began to feel ashamed of his tears and sobs;\nhe forced back the former, and made an effort to swallow the latter.\n\nHe came out of his lair, not quite knowing where he was, and rushed off\nin the direction of his hut, covering a league in a quarter of an hour;\nthis mad race, however, by causing him to perspire, somewhat calmed him\ndown. At last he recognised the surroundings of his home; he went into\nhis hut as a tiger might enter its den, closed the door behind him, and\nwent and crouched down in the darkest corner he could find in his\nmiserable lodging. There, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his\nhands, he sat and thought. And what thoughts were they which occupied\nthis unhappy, desperate man? Ask of Milton what were Satan\u2019s thoughts\nafter his fall.\n\nHe went over again all the old questions which had upset his mind from\nthe beginning, which had brought despair upon so many before him, and\nwould bring despair to so many that came after him.\n\nWhy should some be born in bondage and others be born to power?\n\nWhy should there be so much inequality with regard to a thing which\ntakes place in exactly the same way in all classes--namely birth?\n\nBy what means can this game of nature\u2019s, in which chance for ever holds\nthe cards against mankind, be made a fairer one?\n\nAnd is not the only way to accomplish this, to do what the clever\ngamester does--get the devil to back him up? he had certainly thought so\nonce.\n\nTo cheat? He had tried that game himself. And what had he gained by it?\nEach time he had held a good hand, each time he had felt sure of the\ngame, it was the devil after all who had won.\n\nWhat benefit had he reaped from this deadly power that had been given\nhim of working evil to others?\n\nNone.\n\nAgnelette had been taken from him; the owner of the mill had driven him\naway; the Bailiff\u2019s wife had made game of him.\n\nHis first wish had caused the death of poor Marcotte, and had not even\nprocured him a haunch of the buck that he had been so ambitious to\nobtain, and this had been the starting point of all his disappointed\nlongings, for he had been obliged to give the buck to the dogs so as to\nput them off the scent of the black wolf.\n\nAnd then this rapid multiplication of devil\u2019s hairs was appalling! He\nrecalled the tale of the philosopher who asked for a grain of wheat,\nmultiplied by each of the sixty-four squares of the chess board--the\nabundant harvests of a thousand years were required to fill the last\nsquare. And he--how many wishes yet remained to him?--seven or eight at\nthe outside. The unhappy man dared not look at himself either in the\nspring which lurked at the foot of one of the trees in the forest, or in\nthe mirror that hung against the wall. He feared to render an exact\naccount to himself of the time still left to him in which to exercise\nhis power; he preferred to remain in the night of uncertainty than to\nface that terrible dawn which must rise when the night was over.\n\nBut still, there must be a way of continuing matters, so that the\nmisfortunes of others should bring him good of some kind. He thought\nsurely that if he had received a scientific education, instead of being\na poor shoe-maker, scarcely knowing how to read or cypher, he would have\nfound out, by the aid of science, some combinations which would\ninfallibly have procured for him both riches and happiness.\n\nPoor fool! If he had been a man of learning, he would have known the\nlegend of Doctor Faust. To what did the omnipotence conferred on him by\nMephistopheles lead Faust, the dreamer, the thinker, the pre-eminent\nscholar? To the murder of Valentine! to Margaret\u2019s suicide! to the\npursuit of Helen of Troy, the pursuit of an empty shadow!\n\nAnd, moreover, how could Thibault think coherently at all of ways and\nmeans while jealousy was raging in his heart, while he continued to\npicture Agnelette at the altar, giving herself for life to another than\nhimself.\n\nAnd who was that other? That wretched little Engoulevent, the man who\nhad spied him out when he was perched in the tree, who had found his\nboar-spear in the bush, which had been the cause of the stripes he had\nreceived from Marcotte.\n\nAh! if he had but known! to him and not to Marcotte would he have willed\nthat evil should befall! What was the physical torture he had undergone\nfrom the blows of the strap compared to the moral torture he was\nenduring now!\n\nAnd if only ambition had not taken such hold upon him, had not borne him\non the wings of pride above his sphere, what happiness might have been\nhis, as the clever workman, able to earn as much as six francs a day,\nwith Agnelette for his charming little housekeeper! For he had certainly\nbeen the one whom Agnelette had first loved; perhaps, although marrying\nanother man, she still loved him. And as Thibault sat pondering over\nthese things, he became conscious that time was passing, that night was\napproaching.\n\nHowever modest might be the fortune of the wedded pair, however limited\nthe desires of the peasants who had followed them, it was quite certain\nthat bride, bridegroom and peasants were all at this hour feasting\nmerrily together.\n\nAnd he, he was sad and alone. There was no one to prepare a meal for\nhim; and what was there in his house to eat or drink? A little bread! a\nlittle water! and solitude! in place of that blessing from heaven which\nwe call a sister, a mistress, a wife.\n\nBut, after all, why should not he also dine merrily and abundantly?\nCould he not go and dine wheresoever he liked? Had he not money in his\npocket from the last game he had sold to the host of the _Boule-d\u2019Or_?\nAnd could he not spend on himself as much as the wedded couple and all\ntheir guests together? He had only himself to please.\n\n\u201cAnd, by my faith!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cI am an idiot indeed to stay here,\nwith my brain racked by jealousy, and my stomach with hunger, when, with\nthe aid of a good dinner and two or three bottles of wine, I can rid\nmyself of both torments before another hour is over. I will be off to\nget food, and better still, to get drink!\u201d\n\nIn order to carry this determination into effect, Thibault took the road\nto Fert\u00e9-Milon, where there was an excellent restaurant, known as the\n_Dauphin d\u2019Or_, able it was said to serve up dinners equal to those\nprovided by his head cook for his Highness, the Duke of Orleans.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nTHE LORD OF VAUPARFOND\n\n\nThibault, on arriving at the _Dauphin d\u2019Or_, ordered himself as fine a\ndinner as he could think of. It would have been quite easy for him to\nhave engaged a private room, but he would not then have enjoyed the\npersonal sense of superiority. He wished the company of ordinary diners\nto see him eat his pullet, and his eel in its delicate sauce. He wished\nthe other drinkers to envy him his three different wines, drunk out of\nthree different shaped glasses. He wished everybody to hear him give his\norders in a haughty voice, to hear the ring of his money.\n\nAs he gave his first order, a man in a grey coat, seated in the darkest\ncorner of the room with a half bottle of wine before him, turned round,\nas if recognising a voice he knew. And, as it turned out, this was one\nof Thibault\u2019s acquaintances--it is scarcely necessary to add, a tavern\nacquaintance.\n\nThibault, since he had given up making shoes by day and, instead, had\nhis wolves about at night, had made many such acquaintances. On seeing\nthat it was Thibault, the other man turned his face away quickly, but\nnot so quickly but that Thibault had time to recognise Auguste Fran\u00e7ois\nLevasseur, valet to Raoul the Lord of Vauparfond.\n\n\u201cHalloa! Fran\u00e7ois!\u201d Thibault called out, \u201cwhat are you doing sitting\nthere in the corner, and sulking like a Monk in Lent, instead of taking\nyour dinner openly and cheerfully as I am doing, in full view of\neverybody?\u201d\n\nFran\u00e7ois made no reply to this interrogation, but signed to Thibault to\nhold his tongue.\n\n\u201cI am not to speak? not to speak?\u201d said Thibault, \u201cand supposing it does\nnot suit me to hold my tongue, supposing I wish to talk, and that I am\nbored at having to dine alone? and that it pleases me to say; \u2018Friend\nFran\u00e7ois, come here; I invite you to dine with me?\u2019 You will not? no?\nvery well, then I shall come and fetch you.\u201d And Thibault rose from his\nseat, and followed by all eyes, went up to his friend and gave him a\nslap on the shoulder vigorous enough to dislocate it.\n\n\u201cPretend that you have made a mistake, Thibault, or you will lose me my\nplace; do you not see that I am not in livery, but am only wearing my\ndrab great-coat! I am here as proxy in a love affair for my master, and\nI am waiting for a letter from a lady to carry back to him.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s another matter altogether, and I understand now and am sorry for\nmy indiscretion. I should like, however, to have dined in your company.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, nothing is easier; order your dinner to be served in a separate\nroom, and I will give word to our host, that if another man dressed in\ngrey like me comes in, he is to show him upstairs; he and I are old\ncronies, and understand one another.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood,\u201d said Thibault; and he therewith ordered his dinner to be taken\nup to a room on the first floor, which looked out upon the street.\n\nFran\u00e7ois seated himself so as to be able to see the person he was\nexpecting, while some distance off, as he came down the hill of\nFert\u00e9-Milon. The dinner which Thibault had ordered was quite sufficient\nfor the two; all that he did was to send for another bottle or so of\nwine. Thibault had only taken two lessons from Ma\u00eetre Magloire, but he\nhad been an apt pupil, and they had done their work; moreover Thibault\nhad something which he wished to forget, and he counted on the wine to\naccomplish this for him. It was good fortune, he felt, to have met a\nfriend with whom he could talk, for, in the state of mind and heart in\nwhich he was, talking was as good a help towards oblivion as drinking.\nAccordingly, he was no sooner seated, and the door shut, and his hat\nstuck well down on to his head so that Fran\u00e7ois might not notice the\nchange in the colour of his hair, than he burst at once into\nconversation, boldly taking the bull by the horns.\n\n\u201cAnd now, friend Fran\u00e7ois,\u201d he said, \u201cyou are going to explain to me\nsome of your words which I did not quite understand.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not surprised at that,\u201d replied Fran\u00e7ois, leaning back in his\nchair with an air of conceited impertinence, \u201cwe attendants on\nfashionable lords learn to speak court language, which everyone of\ncourse does not understand.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps not, but if you explain it to your friends, they may possibly\nunderstand.\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite so! ask what you like and I will answer.\u201d\n\n\u201cI look to your doing so the more, that I will undertake to supply you\nwith what will help to loosen your tongue. First, let me ask, why do you\ncall yourself a _grey-coat_? I thought _grey-coat_ another name for a\njack-ass.\u201d\n\n\u201cJack-ass yourself, friend Thibault,\u201d said Fran\u00e7ois, laughing at the\nshoe-maker\u2019s ignorance. \u201cNo, a _grey-coat_ is a liveried servant, who\nputs on a grey overall to hide his livery, while he stands sentinel\nbehind a pillar, or mounts guard inside a doorway.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo you mean that at this moment then, my good Fran\u00e7ois, you are on\nsentry go? And who is coming to relieve you?\u201d\n\n\u201cChampagne, who is in the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert\u2019s service.\u201d\n\n\u201cI see; I understand exactly. Your master, the Lord of Vauparfond, is in\nlove with the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert, and you are now awaiting a letter\nwhich Champagne is to bring from the lady.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Optim\u00e9!_ as the tutor to Monsieur Raoul\u2019s young brother says.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy Lord Raoul is a lucky fellow!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes indeed,\u201d said Fran\u00e7ois, drawing himself up.\n\n\u201cAnd what a beautiful creature the Countess is!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know her then?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have seen her out hunting with his Highness the Duke of Orleans and\nMadame de Montesson.\u201d\n\nThibault in speaking had said _out hunting_.\n\n\u201cMy friend, let me tell you that in society we do not say _hunting_ and\n_shooting_, but _huntin\u2019_ and _shootin\u2019_.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said Thibault, \u201cI am not so particular to a letter as all that. To\nthe health of my Lord Raoul!\u201d\n\nAs Fran\u00e7ois put down his glass on the table, he uttered an exclamation;\nhe had that moment caught sight of Champagne.\n\nThey threw open the window and called to this third comer, and\nChampagne, with all the ready intuition of the well-bred servant,\nunderstood at once, and went upstairs. He was dressed, like Fran\u00e7ois, in\na long grey coat, and had brought a letter with him.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d asked Fran\u00e7ois, as he caught sight of the letter in his hand,\n\u201cand is there to be a meeting to-night?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered Champagne, with evident delight.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all right,\u201d said Fran\u00e7ois cheerfully.\n\nThibault was surprised at these expressions of apparent sympathy on the\npart of the servants with their master\u2019s happiness.\n\n\u201cIs it your master\u2019s good luck that you are so pleased about?\u201d he asked\nof Fran\u00e7ois.\n\n\u201cOh, dear me no!\u201d replied the latter, \u201cbut when my master is engaged, I\nam at liberty!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you make use of your liberty?\u201d\n\n\u201cOne may be a valet, and yet have one\u2019s own share of good luck, and also\nknow how to spend the time more or less profitably,\u201d answered Fran\u00e7ois,\nbridling as he spoke.\n\n\u201cAnd you, Champagne?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I,\u201d replied the last comer, holding his wine up to the light, \u201cyes,\nI too hope to make good use of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, here\u2019s to all your love affairs! since everybody seems to\nhave one or more on hand,\u201d said Thibault.\n\n\u201cThe same to yours!\u201d replied the two other men in chorus.\n\n\u201cAs to myself,\u201d said the shoe-maker, a look of hatred to his fellow\ncreatures passing over his face, \u201cI am the only person who loves nobody,\nand whom nobody loves.\u201d\n\nHis companion looked at him with a certain surprised curiosity.\n\n\u201cAh! ah!\u201d said Fran\u00e7ois, \u201cis the report that is whispered abroad about\nyou in the country-side a true tale then?\u201d\n\n\u201cReport about me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, about you,\u201d put in Champagne.\n\n\u201cOh, then they say the same thing about me at Mont-Gobert as they do at\nVauparfond?\u201d\n\nChampagne nodded his head.\n\n\u201cWell, and what is it they do say?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat you are a were-wolf,\u201d said Fran\u00e7ois.\n\nThibault laughed aloud. \u201cTell me, now, have I a tail?\u201d he said, \u201chave I\na wolf\u2019s claws, have I a wolf\u2019s snout?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe only repeat what other people say,\u201d rejoined Champagne, \u201cwe do not\nsay that it is so.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, anyhow, you must acknowledge,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cthat were-wolves\nhave excellent wine.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy my faith, yes!\u201d exclaimed both the valets.\n\n\u201cTo the health of the devil who provides it, gentlemen.\u201d\n\nThe two men who were holding their glasses in their hand, put both\nglasses down on the table.\n\n\u201cWhat is that for?\u201d asked Thibault.\n\n\u201cYou must find someone else to drink that health with you,\u201d said\nFran\u00e7ois, \u201cI won\u2019t, that\u2019s flat!\u201d\n\n\u201cNor I,\u201d added Champagne.\n\n\u201cWell and good then! I will drink all three glasses myself,\u201d and he\nimmediately proceeded to do so.\n\n\u201cFriend Thibault,\u201d said the Baron\u2019s valet, \u201cit is time we separated.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo soon?\u201d said Thibault.\n\n\u201cMy master is awaiting me, and no doubt with some impatience ... the\nletter, Champagne?\u201d\n\n\u201cHere it is.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us take farewell then of your friend Thibault, and be off to our\nbusiness and our pleasures, and leave him to his pleasures and\nbusiness.\u201d And so saying, Fran\u00e7ois winked at his friend, who responded\nwith a similar sign of understanding between them.\n\n\u201cWe must not separate,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cwithout drinking a stirrup-cup\ntogether.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut not in those glasses,\u201d said Fran\u00e7ois, pointing to the three from\nwhich Thibault had drunk to the enemy of mankind.\n\n\u201cYou are very particular, gentlemen; better call the sacristan and have\nthem washed in holy water.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot quite that, but rather than refuse the polite invitation of a\nfriend, we will call for the waiter, and have fresh glasses brought.\u201d\n\n\u201cThese three, then,\u201d said Thibault, who was beginning to feel the\neffects of the wine he had drunk, \u201care fit for nothing more than to be\nthrown out of window? To the devil with you!\u201d he exclaimed as he took up\none of them and sent it flying. As the glass went through the air it\nleft a track of light behind it, which blazed and went out like a flash\nof lightning. Thibault took up the two remaining glasses and threw them\nin turn, and each time the same thing happened, but the third flash was\nfollowed by a loud peal of thunder.\n\nThibault shut the window, and was thinking, as he turned to his seat\nagain, how he should explain this strange occurrence to his companions;\nbut his two companions had disappeared.\n\n\u201cCowards!\u201d he muttered. Then he looked for a glass, but found none left.\n\n\u201cHum! that\u2019s awkward,\u201d he said. \u201cI must drink out of the bottle, that\u2019s\nall!\u201d\n\nAnd suiting the action to the word, Thibault finished up his dinner by\ndraining the bottle, which did not help to steady his brain, already\nsomewhat shaky.\n\nAt nine o\u2019clock, Thibault called the innkeeper, paid his account, and\ndeparted.\n\nHe was in an angry disposition of enmity against all the world; the\nthoughts from which he had hoped to escape possessed him more and more.\nAgnelette was being taken farther and farther from him as the time went\nby; everyone, wife or mistress, had someone to love them. This day which\nhad been one of hatred and despair to him, had been one full of the\npromise of joy and happiness for everybody else; the lord of Vauparfond,\nthe two wretched valets, Fran\u00e7ois and Champagne, each of them had a\nbright star of hope to follow; while he, he alone, went stumbling along\nin the darkness. Decidedly there was a curse upon him. \u201cBut,\u201d he went on\nthinking to himself, \u201cif so, the pleasures of the damned belong to me,\nand I have a right to claim them.\u201d\n\nAs these thoughts went surging through his brain, as he walked along\ncursing aloud, shaking his fist at the sky, he was on the way to his hut\nand had nearly reached it, when he heard a horse coming up behind him at\na gallop.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said Thibault, \u201chere comes the Lord of Vauparfond, hastening to\nthe meeting with his love. I should laugh, my fine Sir Raoul, if my Lord\nof Mont-Gobert managed just to catch you! You would not get off quite so\neasily as if it were Ma\u00eetre Magloire; there would be swords out, and\nblows given and received!\u201d\n\nThus engaged in thinking what would happen if the Comte de Mont-Gobert\nwere to surprise his rival, Thibault, who was walking in the road,\nevidently did not get out of the way quickly enough, for the horseman,\nseeing a peasant of some kind barring his passage, brought his whip down\nupon him in a violent blow, calling out at the same time: \u201cGet out of\nthe way, you beggar, if you don\u2019t wish to be trampled under the horse\u2019s\nfeet!\u201d\n\nThibault, still half drunk, was conscious of a crowd of mingled\nsensations, of the lashing of the whip, the collision with the horse,\nand the rolling through cold water and mud, while the horseman passed\non.\n\nHe rose to his knees, furious with anger, and shaking his fist at the\nretreating figure:\n\n\u201cWould the devil,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cI might just for once have my turn at\nbeing one of you great lords, might just for twenty-four hours take your\nplace, Monsieur Raoul de Vauparfond, instead of being only Thibault, the\nshoe-maker, so that I might know what it was to have a fine horse to\nride, instead of tramping on foot; might be able to whip the peasants I\nmet on the road, and have the opportunity of paying court to these\nbeautiful women, who deceive their husbands, as the Comtesse de\nMont-Gobert does!\u201d\n\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth, when the Baron\u2019s horse shied,\nthrowing the rider over its head.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nMY LADY\u2019S LADY\n\n\nThibault was delighted at seeing what had happened to the young Baron,\nwhose hand, anything but light, had so shortly before made use of his\nwhip on Thibault\u2019s shoulders, which still smarted with the blow. The\nlatter now ran at full speed to see how far Monsieur Raoul de Vauparfond\nwas injured; he found a body lying insensible, stretched across the\nroad, with the horse standing and snorting beside it.\n\nBut Thibault could hardly believe his senses on perceiving that the\nfigure lying in the road was not the same as had, but five minutes\npreviously, ridden past him and given him the lash with the whip. In the\nfirst place, this figure was not in the dress of a gentleman, but\nclothed like a peasant, and, what was more, the clothes he had on seemed\nto Thibault to be the same as he himself had been wearing only a moment\nbefore. His surprise increased more and more and amounted almost to\nstupefaction on further recognising, in the inert, unconscious figure,\nnot only his own clothes, but his own face. His astonishment naturally\nled him to turn his eyes from this second Thibault to his own person,\nwhen he became aware that an equally remarkable change had come over his\ncostume. Instead of shoes and gaiters, his legs were now encased in an\nelegant pair of hunting boots, reaching to the knee, as soft and smooth\nas a pair of silk stockings, with a roll over the instep, and finished\noff with a pair of fine silver spurs. The knee-breeches were no longer\nof corduroy, but of the most beautiful buckskin, fastened with little\ngold buckles. His long coarse olive-coloured coat was replaced by a\nhandsome green hunting-coat, with gold lace facings, thrown open to\ndisplay a waistcoat of fine white jean, while over the artistically\npleated shirt hung the soft wavy folds of a cambric cravat. Not a single\narticle of dress about him but had been transformed, even to his old\nlantern-shaped hat, which was now a three-cornered one, trimmed with\ngold lace to match the coat. The stick also, such as workmen carry\npartly for walking and partly for self-defence, and which he had been\nholding in his hand a minute before, had now given place to a light\nwhip, with which he gave a cut through the air, listening with a sense\nof aristocratic pleasure to the whistling sound it made. And finally,\nhis slender figure was drawn in at the waist by a belt, from which hung\na hunting-knife, half-sword, half-dagger.\n\nThibault was pleased beyond measure at finding himself clothed in such a\ndelightful costume, and with a feeling of vanity, natural under the\ncircumstances, he was overcome with the desire to ascertain without\ndelay how the dress suited his face. But where could he go to look at\nhimself, out there in the midst of pitch darkness? Then, looking about\nhim, he saw that he was only a stone\u2019s throw from his own hut.\n\n\u201cAh! to be sure!\u201d he said, \u201cnothing easier, for I have my glass there.\u201d\n\nAnd he made haste towards his hut, intending, like Narcissus, to enjoy\nhis own beauty in peace and all to himself. But the door of the hut was\nlocked, and Thibault felt vainly for the key. All he could find in his\npockets was a well-filled purse, a sweet-meat box containing scented\nlozenges, and a little mother-of-pearl and gold penknife. What could he\nhave done then with his door-key? Then suddenly a bright thought\noccurred to him--possibly the key was in the pocket of that other\nThibault who was lying out there in the road. He went back and felt in\nthe breeches pocket, where he discovered the key at once, in company\nwith a few sous. Holding the rough clumsy thing in the tips of his\nfingers, he returned to open the door. The inside of the hut was even\n\n[Illustration: THE BARON\u2019S HORSE SHIED, THROWING THE RIDER OVER ITS\nHEAD]\n\ndarker that the night outside, and Thibault groped about to find the\nsteel, the tinder and flint, and the matches, and then proceeded to try\nand light the candle, which consisted of an end stuck into an empty\nbottle. In a second or two this was accomplished, but in the course of\nthe operation Thibault was obliged to take hold of the candle with his\nfingers.\n\n\u201cPah!\u201d he said, \u201cwhat pigs these peasants are! I wonder how they _can_\nlive in this dirty sort of way!\u201d\n\nHowever, the candle was alight, which was the chief matter, and Thibault\nnow took down his mirror, and bringing it to the light, looked at\nhimself in it. His eye had scarcely caught sight of the reflected image,\nthan he uttered a cry of astonishment, it was no longer himself that he\nsaw, or rather, although it was still Thibault in spirit, it was no\nlonger Thibault in body. His spirit had entered into the body of a\nhandsome young man of twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, with blue\neyes, pink fresh cheeks, red lips, and white teeth; in short, it had\nentered into the body of the Baron Raoul de Vauparfond. Then Thibault\nre-called the wish that he had uttered in his moment of anger after the\nblow from the whip and his collision with the horse. His wish had been\nthat for four and twenty hours he might be the Baron de Vauparfond, and\nthe Baron de Vauparfond be Thibault, which now explained to him what had\nat first seemed inexplicable, why the unconscious man now lying in the\nroad was dressed in his clothes and had his face.\n\n\u201cBut I must not forget one thing,\u201d he said, \u201cthat is, that although I\nseem to be here, I am not really here, but lying out there, so I must be\ncareful to see that during the twenty-four hours, during which I shall\nbe imprudent enough to be away from myself, no irreparable harm comes to\nme. Come now, Monsieur de Vauparfond, do not be so fastidious; carry the\npoor man in, and lay him gently on his bed here.\u201d And, although with his\naristocratic instincts Monsieur de Vauparfond found the task very\nrepugnant to him, Thibault, nevertheless, courageously took up his own\nbody in his arms and carried himself from the road to the bed. Having\nthus placed the body in safety, he blew out the light, for fear that any\nharm should come to this other self before he came to; then, carefully\nlocking the door, he hid the key in the hollow of a tree, where he was\nin the habit of leaving it when not wishing to take it with him.\n\nThe next thing to do was to get hold of the horse\u2019s bridle and mount\ninto the saddle. Once there, Thibault had a preliminary moment of some\nuneasiness, for, having travelled more on foot than on horseback, he was\nnot an accomplished rider, and he naturally feared that he might not be\nable to keep his seat when the horse began to move. But it seemed, that,\nwhile inheriting Raoul\u2019s body, he also inherited his physical qualities,\nfor the horse, being an intelligent beast, and perfectly conscious of\nthe momentary want of assurance on the part of his rider, made an effort\nto throw him, whereupon Thibault instinctively gathered up the reins,\npressed his knees against the horse\u2019s sides, dug his spurs into them,\nand gave the animal two or three cuts of the whip, which brought it to\norder on the spot.\n\nThibault, perfectly unknown to himself, was a past master in\nhorsemanship. This little affair with the horse enabled Thibault more\nfully to realise his duality. As far as the body was concerned, he was\nthe Baron Raoul de Vauparfond from top to toe; but as far as the spirit\nwas concerned, he was still Thibault. It was, therefore, certain that\nthe spirit of the young lord who had lent him his body was now sleeping\nin the form of the unconscious Thibault which he had left behind in the\nhut.\n\nThe division of substance and spirit between himself and the Baron,\nhowever, left him with a very vague idea of what he was going, or would\nhave, to do. That he was going to Mont-Gobert in answer to the\nCountess\u2019s letter, so much he knew. But what was in the letter? At what\nhour was he expected? How was he to gain admission to the Castle? Not\none of these questions could he answer, and it only remained for him to\ndiscover what to do, step by step, as he proceeded. Suddenly it flashed\nacross him that probably the Countess\u2019s letter was somewhere on his\nperson. He felt about his dress, and, sure enough, inside the side\npocket of his coat was something, which by its shape, seemed to be the\narticle he wanted. He stopped his horse, and putting his hand into his\npocket, drew out a little scented leather case lined with white satin.\nIn one side of the case were several letters, in the other only one; no\ndoubt the latter would tell him what he wanted to know, if he could\nonce get to read it. He was now only a short distance from the village\nof Fleury, and he galloped on hoping that he might find a house still\nlighted up. But villagers go to bed early, in those days even earlier\nthan they do now, and Thibault went from one end of the street to the\nother without seeing a single light. At last, thinking he heard some\nkind of movement in the stables of an Inn, he called. A stable boy\nsallied out with a lantern, and Thibault, forgetting for the moment that\nhe was a lord, said: \u201cFriend, could you show me a light for a moment?\nYou would be doing me a service.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd that\u2019s what you go and call a chap out of bed for?\u201d--answered the\nstable-boy rudely. \u201cWell, you are a nice sort of young\u2019un, you are!\u201d and\nturning his back on Thibault he was just going to re-enter the stable,\nwhen Thibault, perceiving that he had gone on a wrong tack, now raised\nhis voice, calling out:\n\n\u201cLook here, sirrah, bring your lantern here and give me a light, or I\u2019ll\nlay my whip across your back!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! pardon, my lord!\u201d said the stable-boy. \u201cI did not see who it was I\nwas speaking to.\u201d And he immediately stood on tip-toe holding the\nlantern up as Thibault directed him:\n\nThibault unfolded the letter and read:\n\n\u201cMY DEAR RAOUL,\n\n\u201cThe goddess Venus has certainly taken us under her protection. A grand\nhunt of some kind is to take place to-morrow out in the direction of\nThury; I know no particulars about it, all I do know is, that _he_ is\ngoing away this evening. You, therefore, start at nine o\u2019clock, so as to\nbe here at half-past ten. Come in by the way you know; someone whom you\nknow will be awaiting you, and will bring you, you know where. Last time\nyou came, I don\u2019t mean to upbraid you, but it did seem to me you stayed\na long time in the corridors.\n\n\u201cJANE.\u201d\n\n\u201cDevil take it!\u201d muttered Thibault.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, my lord?\u201d said the stable-boy.\n\n\u201cNothing, you lout, except that I do not require you any longer and you\ncan go.\u201d\n\n\u201cA good journey to you, my lord!\u201d said the stable-boy, bowing to the\nground, and he went back to his stable.\n\n\u201cDevil take it!\u201d repeated Thibault, \u201cthe letter gives me precious little\ninformation, except that we are under the protection of the Goddess\nVenus, that _he_ goes away this evening, that the Comtesse de\nMont-Gobert expects me at half-past ten, and that her Christian name is\nJane. As for the rest, I am to go in by _the way I know_, I shall be\nawaited by _someone I know_, and taken _where I know_.\u201d Thibault\nscratched his ear, which is what everybody does, in every country of the\nworld, when plunged into awkward circumstances. He longed to go and wake\nup the Lord of Vauparfond\u2019s spirit, which was just now sleeping in\nThibault\u2019s body on Thibault\u2019s bed; but, apart from the loss of time\nwhich this would involve, it might also cause considerable\ninconvenience, for the Baron\u2019s spirit, on seeing its own body so near to\nit, might be taken with the desire of re-entering it. This would give\nrise to a struggle in which Thibault could not well defend himself\nwithout doing serious harm to his own person; some other way out of the\ndifficulty must therefore be found. He had heard a great deal about the\nwonderful sagacity of animals, and had himself, during his life in the\ncountry, had occasion more than once to admire their instinct, and he\nnow determined to trust to that of his horse. Riding back into the main\nroad, he turned the horse in the direction of Mont-Gobert, and let it\nhave its head. The horse immediately started off at a gallop; it had\nevidently understood. Thibault troubled himself no further, it was now\nthe horse\u2019s affair to bring him safely to his destination. On reaching\nthe corner of the park wall the animal stopped, not apparently because\nit was in doubt as to which road to take, but something seemed to make\nit uneasy, and it pricked its ears. At the same time, Thibault also\nfancied that he caught sight of two shadows; but they must have been\nonly shadows, for although he stood up in his stirrups and looked all\naround him, he could see absolutely nothing. They were probably poachers\nhe thought, who had reasons like himself for wishing to get inside the\npark. There being no longer anything to bar his passage, he had only, as\nbefore, to let the horse go its own way, and he accordingly did so. The\nhorse followed the walls of the park at a quick trot, carefully choosing\nthe soft edge of the road, and not uttering a single neigh; the\nintelligent animal seemed as if it knew that it must make no sound or\nat least as little sound as possible.\n\nIn this way, they went along the whole of one side of the park, and on\nreaching the corner, the horse turned as the wall turned, and stopped\nbefore a small breach in the same. \u201cIt\u2019s through here, evidently,\u201d said\nThibault, \u201cthat we have to go.\u201d\n\nThe horse answered by sniffing at the breach, and scraping the ground\nwith its foot; Thibault gave the animal the rein, and it managed to\nclimb up and through the breach, over the loose stones which rolled away\nbeneath its hoof. Horse and rider were now within the park. One of the\nthree difficulties had been successfully overcome: Thibault had got in\nby the _way he knew_; it now remained to find the person _whom he knew_,\nand he thought it wisest to leave this also to his horse. The horse went\non for another five minutes, and then stopped at a short distance from\nthe Castle, before the door of one of those little huts of rough logs\nand bark and clay, which are built up in parks, as painters introduce\nbuildings into their landscapes, solely for the sake of ornament.\n\nOn hearing the horse\u2019s hoofs, someone partly opened the door, and the\nhorse stopped in front of it.\n\nA pretty girl came out, and asked in a low voice, \u201cIs it you, Monsieur\nRaoul?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my child, it is I,\u201d answered Thibault, dismounting.\n\n\u201cMadame was terribly afraid that drunken fool of a Champagne might not\nhave given you the letter.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe need not have been afraid; Champagne brought it me with the most\nexemplary punctuality.\u201d\n\n\u201cLeave your horse then and come.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut who will look after it?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy Cramoisi, of course, the man who always does.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes, to be sure,\u201d said Thibault, as if these details were familiar\nto him, \u201cCramoisi will look after it.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, come,\u201d said the maid, \u201cwe must make haste or Madame will complain\nagain that we loiter in the corridors.\u201d And as she spoke these words,\nwhich recalled a phrase in the letter which had been written to Raoul,\nshe laughed, and showed a row of pearly white teeth, and Thibault felt\nthat he should like to loiter in the park, before waiting to get into\nthe corridors.\n\nThen the maid suddenly stood still a moment with her head bent,\nlistening.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d asked Thibault.\n\n\u201cI thought I heard the sound of a branch creaking under somebody\u2019s\nfoot.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery likely,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cno doubt Cramoisi\u2019s foot.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll the more reason that you should be careful what you do ... at all\nevents out here.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you not know that Cramoisi is the man I am engaged to?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! to be sure! But when I am alone with you, my dear Rose, I always\nforget that.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am called Rose now, am I! I never knew such a forgetful man as you\nare, Monsieur Raoul.\u201d\n\n\u201cI call you Rose, my pretty one, because the rose is the queen of\nflowers, as you are the queen of waiting-maids.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn good truth, my Lord,\u201d said the maid, \u201cI have always found you a\nlively, witty gentleman, but you surpass yourself this evening.\u201d\n\nThibault drew himself up, flattered by this remark--really a letter\naddressed to the Baron, but which it had fallen to the shoe-maker to\nunseal.\n\n\u201cLet us hope your mistress will think the same!\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cAs to that,\u201d said the waiting maid, \u201cany man can make one of these\nladies of fashion think him the cleverest and wittiest in the world,\nsimply by holding his tongue.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you,\u201d he said, \u201cI will remember what you say.\u201d\n\n\u201cHush!\u201d said the woman to Thibault, \u201cthere is Madame behind the\ndressing-room curtains; follow me now staidly.\u201d\n\nFor they had now to cross an open space that lay between the wooded part\nof the park and the flight of steps leading up to the Castle. Thibault\nbegan walking towards the latter.\n\n\u201cNow, now,\u201d said the maid, catching hold of him by the arm, \u201cwhat are\nyou doing, you foolish man?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat am I doing? well, I confess Suzette, I don\u2019t know in the least\nwhat I _am_ doing!\u201d\n\n\u201cSuzette! so that\u2019s my name now, is it? I think Monsieur does me the\nhonour of calling me in turn by the name of all his mistresses. But\ncome, this way! You are not dreaming I suppose of going through the\ngreat reception rooms. That would give a fine opportunity to my lord\nthe Count, truly!\u201d\n\nAnd the maid hurried Thibault towards a little door, to the right of\nwhich was a spiral staircase.\n\nHalf-way up, Thibault put his arm round his companion\u2019s waist, which was\nas slender and supple as a snake.\n\n\u201cI think we must be in the corridors, now, eh?\u201d he asked, trying to kiss\nthe young woman\u2019s pretty cheek.\n\n\u201cNo, not yet,\u201d she answered; \u201cbut never mind that.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy my faith,\u201d he said, \u201cif my name this evening were Thibault instead\nof Raoul, I would carry you up with me to the garrets, instead of\nstopping on the first floor!\u201d\n\nAt that moment a door was heard grating on its hinges.\n\n\u201cQuick, quick, Monsieur!\u201d said the maid, \u201cMadame is growing impatient.\u201d\n\nAnd drawing Thibault after her, she ran up the remaining stairs to the\ncorridor, opened a door, pushed Thibault into a room, and shut the door\nafter him, firmly believing that it was the Baron Raoul de Vauparfond\nor, as she herself called him, the most forgetful man in the world, whom\nshe had thus secured.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE BARON DE MONT-GOBERT\n\n\nThibault found himself in the Countess\u2019s room. If the magnificence of\nBailiff Magloire\u2019s furniture rescued from the lumber-room of his\nHighness the Duke of Orleans, had astonished Thibault, the daintiness,\nthe harmony, the taste of the Countess\u2019s room filled him with\nintoxicating delight. The rough child of the forest had never seen\nanything like it, even in dreams; for one cannot even dream of things of\nwhich we have no idea.\n\nDouble curtains were drawn across the two windows, the one set of white\nsilk trimmed with lace, the other of pale china blue satin, embroidered\nwith silver flowers. The bed and the toilet table were draped to match\nthe windows, and were nearly smothered in clouds of Valenciennes lace.\nThe walls were hung with very light rose-coloured silk, over which thick\nfolds of Indian muslin, delicate as woven air, undulated like waves of\nmist at the slightest breath of air from the door. The ceiling was\ncomposed of a medallion painted by Boucher, and representing the toilet\nof Venus; she was handing her cupids the various articles of a woman\u2019s\napparel, and these were now all distributed, with the exception of the\ngoddess\u2019s girdle.\n\nThe central medallion was surrounded by a series of panels, on which\nwere painted supposed views of Cnidos, Paphos, and Amathus. All the\nfurniture,--chairs, armchairs, settees, sociables,--was covered with\nChina satin similar to that of the curtains; over the groundwork of the\ncarpet, of the colour of pale green water, were scattered bouquets of\nblue corn-flowers, pink poppies, and white daisies. The tables were of\nrose-wood; the corner-pieces of Indian lacquer; and the whole room was\nsoftly lighted by pink wax candles held in two candelabra. A vague and\nindescribably delicate perfume pervaded the air, one could not say from\nwhat sweet essence, for it was scarcely even a perfume, but rather an\nemanation, the same kind of odorous exhalation whereby \u00c6neas, in the\n\u00c6neid, recognised the presence of his mother.\n\nThibault pushed into the room by the waiting-maid, made one step\nforward, and then stopped. He had taken everything in at a glance,\ninhaled everything at a breath. For a second there passed before his\nmind\u2019s eye like a vision,--Agnelette\u2019s little cottage, Madame Polet\u2019s\ndining-room, the bed-chamber of the Bailiff\u2019s wife; but they disappeared\nas quickly to give place to this delicious paradise of love into which\nhe had been transported as by magic. He could scarcely believe that what\nhe looked upon was real. Were there really men and women in the world,\nso blessed by fortune as to live in such surroundings as these? Had he\nnot been carried to some wizard\u2019s castle, to some fairy\u2019s palace? And\nthose who enjoyed such favour as this, what special good had they done?\nwhat special evil had they done, who were deprived of these advantages?\nWhy, instead of wishing to be the Baron for four and twenty hours, had\nhe not wished to be the Countess\u2019s lap-dog all his life? How would he\nbear to be Thibault again after having seen all this? He had just\nreached this point in his reflections, when the dressing-room door\nopened and the Countess herself appeared, a fit bird for such a nest, a\nfit flower for such a sweet scented garden.\n\nHer hair, fastened only by four diamond pins, hung down loosely to one\nside, while the rest was gathered into one large curl that hung over the\nother shoulder and fell into her bosom. The graceful lines of her lithe\nand well-formed figure, no longer hidden by puffings of dress, were\nclearly indicated beneath her loose pink silk gown, richly covered with\nlace; so fine and transparent was the silk of her stockings, that it was\nmore like pearl-white flesh than any texture, and her tiny feet were\nshod in little slippers made of cloth of silver, with red heels. But not\nan atom of jewellery--no bracelets on the arms, no rings on the fingers;\njust one row of pearls round the throat, that was all--but what pearls!\nworth a king\u2019s ransom!\n\nAs this radiant apparition came towards him, Thibault fell on his knees;\nhe bowed himself, feeling crushed at the sight of this luxury, of this\nbeauty, which to him seemed inseparable.\n\n\u201cYes, yes, you may well kneel--kneel lower, lower yet--kiss my feet,\nkiss the carpet, kiss the floor, but I shall not any the more forgive\nyou ... you are a monster!\u201d\n\n\u201cIn truth, Madame, if I compare myself with you, I am even worse than\nthat!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! yes, pretend that you mistake my words and think I am only speaking\nof your outward appearance, when you know I am speaking of your\nbehaviour ... and, indeed, if your perfidious soul were imaged in your\nface, you would verily and indeed be a monster of ugliness. But yet it\nis not so, for Monsieur, for all his wickedness and infamous doings,\nstill remains the handsomest gentleman in all the country round. But,\ncome now, Monsieur, ought you not to be ashamed of yourself?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause I am the handsomest gentleman in the neighbourhood?\u201d asked\nThibault, detecting by the tone of the lady\u2019s voice that his crime was\nnot an irremediable one.\n\n\u201cNo, Monsieur, but for having the blackest soul and the falsest heart\never hidden beneath such a gay and golden exterior. Now, get up, and\ncome and give an account of yourself to me.\u201d\n\nAnd the Countess so speaking held out a hand to Thibault which offered\npardon at the same time that it demanded a kiss.\n\nThibault took the soft, sweet hand in his own and kissed it; never had\nhis lips touched anything so like satin. The Countess now seated herself\non the settee and made a sign to Raoul to sit down beside her.\n\n\u201cLet me know something of your doings, since you were last here,\u201d said\nthe Countess to him.\n\n\u201cFirst tell me, dear Countess,\u201d replied Thibault, \u201cwhen I last was\nhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean you have forgotten? One does not generally acknowledge\nthings of that kind, unless seeking for a cause of quarrel.\u201d\n\n\u201cOn the contrary, dear friend, it is because the recollection of that\nlast visit is so present with me, that I think it must have been only\nyesterday we were together, and I try in vain to recall what I have\ndone, and I assure you I have committed no other crime since yesterday\nbut that of loving you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not a bad speech; but you will not get yourself out of disgrace\nby paying compliments.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear Countess,\u201d said Thibault, \u201csupposing we put off explanations to\nanother time.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, you must answer me now; it is five days since I last saw you; what\nhave you been doing all that time?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am waiting for you to tell me, Countess. How can you expect me,\nconscious as I am of my innocence, to accuse myself?\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well then! I will not begin by saying anything about your\nloitering in the corridors.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, pray, let us speak of it! how can you think, Countess, that knowing\nyou, the diamond of diamonds, was waiting for me, I should stop to pick\nup an imitation pearl?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! but I know how fickle men are, and Lisette is such a pretty girl!\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so, dear Jane, but you must understand that she being our\nconfidante, and knowing all our secrets, I cannot treat her quite like a\nservant.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow agreeable it must be to be able to say to one\u2019s-self \u2018I am\ndeceiving the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert and I am the rival of Monsieur\nCramoisi!\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well then, there shall be no more loiterings in the corridors, no\nmore kisses for poor Lisette, supposing of course there ever have been\nany!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, after all, there is no great harm in that.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean that I have done something even worse?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere had you been the other night, when you were met on the road\nbetween Erneville and Villers-Cotterets?\u201d\n\n\u201cSomeone met me on the road?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, on the Erneville Road; where were you coming from?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was coming home from fishing.\u201d\n\n\u201cFishing! what fishing?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey had been drawing the Berval ponds.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! we know all about that; you are such a fine fisher, are you not,\nMonsieur? And what sort of an eel were you bringing back in your net,\nreturning from your fishing at two o\u2019clock in the morning!\u201d\n\n\u201cI had been dining with my friend, the Baron, at Vez.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt Vez? ha! I fancy you went there mainly to console the beautiful\nrecluse, whom the jealous Baron keeps shut up there a regular prisoner,\nso they say. But even that I can forgive you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, is there a blacker crime still,\u201d said Thibault, who was beginning\nto feel quite reassured, seeing how quickly the pardon followed on the\naccusation; however serious it appeared at first.\n\n\u201cYes, at the ball given by his Highness the Duke of Orleans.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat ball?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, the one yesterday! it\u2019s not so very along ago, is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yesterday\u2019s ball? I was admiring you.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed; but I was not there.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it necessary for you to be present, Jane, for me to admire you;\ncannot one admire you in remembrance as truly as in person? and if, when\nabsent, you triumph by comparison, the victory is only so much the\ngreater.\u201d\n\n\u201cI daresay, and it was in order to carry out the comparison to its\nutmost limits that you danced four times with Madame de Bonneuil; they\nare very pretty, are they not, those dark women who cover themselves\nwith rouge, and have eyebrows like the Chinese mannikins on my screens\nand moustaches like a grenadier.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know what we talked about during those four dances.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true then, that you danced four times with her?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true, no doubt, since you say so.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that a proper sort of answer?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat other could I give? could anyone contradict what was said by so\npretty a mouth? not I certainly, who would still bless it, even though\nit were pronouncing my sentence of death.\u201d\n\nAnd, as if to await this sentence, Thibault fell on his knees before the\nCountess, but at that moment, the door opened, and Lisette rushed in\nfull of alarm.\n\n\u201cAh! Monsieur, Monsieur,\u201d she cried \u201csave yourself! here comes my master\nthe Count!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Count!\u201d exclaimed the Countess.\n\n\u201cYes, the Count in person, and his huntsman Lestocq, with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cImpossible!\u201d\n\n\u201cI assure you, Madame, Cramoisi saw them as plain as I see you; the poor\nfellow was quite pale with fright.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! then the meet at Thury was all a pretence, a trap to catch me?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho can tell, Madame? Alas! alas! men are such deceiving creatures!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is to be done?\u201d asked the Countess.\n\n\u201cWait for the Count and kill him,\u201d said Thibault resolutely, furious at\nagain seeing his good fortune escaping from him, at losing what above\nall things it had been his ambition to possess.\n\n\u201cKill him! kill the Count? are you mad, Raoul? No, no, you must fly, you\nmust save yourself.... Lisette! Lisette! take the Baron through my\ndressing-room.\u201d And in spite of his resistance, Lisette by dint of\npushing got him safely away. Only just in time! steps were heard coming\nup the wide main staircase. The Countess, with a last word of love to\nthe supposed Raoul, glided quickly into her bedroom, while Thibault\nfollowed Lisette. She led him rapidly along the corridor, where Cramoisi\nwas keeping guard at the other end; then into a room, and through this\ninto another, and finally into a smaller one which led into a little\ntower; here, the fugitives came again on to a staircase corresponding\nwith the one by which they had gone up, but when they reached the\nbottom they found the door locked. Lisette, with Thibault still\nfollowing, went back up a few steps into a sort of office in which was a\nwindow looking over the garden; this she opened. It was only a few feet\nfrom the ground, and Thibault jumped out, landing safely below.\n\n\u201cYou know where your horse is,\u201d called Lisette \u201cjump on its back, and do\nnot stop till you get to Vauparfond.\u201d\n\nThibault would have liked to thank her for all her kindly warnings, but\nshe was some six feet above him and he had no time to lose. A stride or\ntwo brought him to the clump of trees under which stood the little\nbuilding which served as stable for his horse. But was the horse still\nthere? He heard a neigh which reassured him: only the neigh sounded he\nthought more like a cry of pain. Thibault went in, put out his hand,\nfelt the horse, gathered up the reins, and leaped on to its back without\ntouching the stirrups; Thibault, as we have already said, had suddenly\nbecome a consummate horseman. But the horse no sooner felt the weight of\nthe rider on its back than the poor beast began to totter on its legs.\nThibault dug his spurs in savagely, and the horse made a frantic effort\nto stand. But in another instant, uttering one of those pitiful neighs\nwhich Thibault had heard when he approached the stable, it rolled\nhelplessly over on its side. Thibault quickly disengaged his leg from\nunder the animal, which, as the poor thing struggled to rise, he had no\ndifficulty in doing, and he found himself again on his feet. Then it\nbecame clear to him, that in order to prevent his escape, Monsieur le\nComte de Mont-Gobert had hamstrung his horse.\n\nThibault uttered an oath: \u201cIf I ever meet you, Monsieur Comte de\nMont-Gobert,\u201d he said, \u201cI swear that I will hamstring you, as you have\nhamstrung this poor beast!\u201d\n\nThen he rushed out of the little building, and remembering the way he\nhad come, turned in the direction of the breach in the wall, and walking\nquickly towards it, found it, climbed over the stones, and was again\noutside the park. But his further passage was barred, for there in front\nof him was the figure of a man, who stood waiting, with a drawn sword in\nhis hand. Thibault recognised the Comte de Mont-Gobert, the Comte de\nMont-Gobert thought he recognised Raoul de Vauparfond.\n\n\u201cDraw, Baron!\u201d said the Count; further explanation was unnecessary.\nThibault, on his side, equally enraged at having the prey, on which he\nhad already set tooth and claw, snatched away from him, was as ready to\nfight as the Count. He drew, not his sword, but his hunting-knife, and\nthe two men crossed weapons.\n\nThibault, who was something of an adept at quarter-staff, had no idea of\nfencing; what was his surprise therefore, when he found, that he knew by\ninstinct how to handle his weapon, and could parry and thrust according\nto all the rules of the art. He parried the first two or three of the\nCount\u2019s blows with admirable skill.\n\n\u201cAh, I heard, I remember,\u201d muttered the Count between his clenched\nteeth, \u201cthat at the last match you rivalled Saint-Georges himself at the\nfoils.\u201d\n\nThibault had no conception who Saint-Georges might be, but he was\nconscious of a strength and elasticity of wrist, thanks to which he felt\nhe might have rivalled the devil himself.\n\nSo far, he had only been on the defensive; but the Count having aimed\none or two unsuccessful lunges at him, he saw his opportunity, struck\nout, and sent his knife clean through his adversary\u2019s shoulder. The\nCount dropped his sword, tottered, and falling on to one knee, cried\n\u201cHelp, Lestocq!\u201d\n\nThibault ought then to have sheathed his knife and fled; but,\nunfortunately, he remembered the oath he had taken as regards the Count,\nwhen he had found that his horse had been hamstrung. He slipped the\nsharp blade of his weapon under the bent knee and drew it towards him;\nthe Count uttered a cry; but as Thibault rose from his stooping posture,\nhe too felt a sharp pain between his shoulder-blades, followed by a\nsensation as of extreme cold over the chest, and finally the point of a\nweapon appeared above his right breast. Then he saw a cloud of blood,\nand knew no more. Lestocq, called to his master\u2019s aid as the latter\nfell, had run to the spot, and, as Thibault rose from hamstringing the\nCount, had seized that moment to dig his hunting knife into his back.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nDEATH AND RESURRECTION\n\n\nThe cold morning air brought Thibault back to consciousness; he tried to\nrise, but the extremity of his pain held him bound. He was lying on his\nback, with no remembrance of what had happened, seeing only the low grey\nsky above him. He made another effort, and turning managed to lift\nhimself on his elbow. As he looked around him, he began to recall the\nevents of the previous night; he recognised the breach in the wall; and\nthen there came back to him the memory of the love meeting with the\nCountess and the desperate duel with the Count. The ground near him was\nred with blood, but the Count was no longer there; no doubt, Lestocq,\nwho had given him this fine blow that was nailing him to the spot, had\nhelped his master indoors; Thibault they had left there, to die like a\ndog, as far as they cared. He had it on the tip of his tongue to hurl\nafter them all the maledictory wishes wherewith one would like to assail\none\u2019s cruellest enemy. But since Thibault had been no longer Thibault,\nand indeed during the remainder of the time that he would still be the\nBaron Raoul, or at least so in outward appearance, his demoniacal power\nhad been and would continue in abeyance.\n\nHe had until nine o\u2019clock that evening; but would he live till then?\nThis question gave rise in Thibault to a very uneasy state of mind. If\nhe were to die before that hour, which of them would die, he or the\nBaron? It seemed to him as likely to be one as the other. What, however,\ndisturbed and angered him most was his consciousness that the misfortune\nwhich had befallen him was again owing to his own fault. He remembered\nnow that before he had expressed the wish to be the Baron for four and\ntwenty hours, he had said some such words as these:\n\n\u201cI should laugh, Raoul, if the Comte de Mont-Gobert were to take you by\nsurprise; you would not get off so easily as if he were the Bailiff\nMagloire; there would be swords drawn, and blows given and received.\u201d\n\nAt last, with a terrible effort, and suffering the while excruciating\npain, Thibault succeeded in dragging himself on to one knee. He could\nthen make out people walking along a road not far off on their way to\nmarket, and he tried to call to them, but the blood filled his mouth and\nnearly choked him. So he put his hat on the point of his knife and\nsignalled to them like a shipwrecked mariner, but his strength again\nfailing, he once more fell back unconscious. In a little while, however,\nhe again awoke to sensation; he appeared to be swaying from side to side\nas if in a boat. He opened his eyes; the peasants, it seemed, had seen\nhim, and although not knowing who he was, had had compassion on this\nhandsome young man lying covered with blood, and had concocted a sort of\nhand-barrow out of some branches, on which they were now carrying him to\nVillers-Cotterets. But by the time they reached Puiseux, the wounded man\nfelt that he could no longer bear the movement, and begged them to put\nhim down in the first peasant\u2019s hut they came to, and to send a doctor\nto him there. The carriers took him to the house of the village priest,\nand left him there, Thibault before they parted, distributing gold among\nthem from Raoul\u2019s purse, accompanied by many thanks for all their kind\noffices. The priest was away saying mass, but on returning and finding\nthe wounded man, he uttered loud cries of lamentation.\n\nHad he been Raoul himself, Thibault could not have found a better\nhospital. The priest had at one time been Cur\u00e9 of Vauparfond, and while\nthere had been engaged to give Raoul his first schooling. Like all\ncountry priests, he knew, or thought he knew, something about doctoring;\nso he examined his old pupil\u2019s wound. The knife had passed under the\nshoulder-blade, through the right lung, and out between the second and\nthird ribs.\n\nHe did not for a moment disguise to himself the seriousness of the\nwound, but he said nothing until the doctor had been to see it. The\nlatter arrived and after his examination, he turned and shook his head.\n\n\u201cAre you going to bleed him?\u201d asked the priest.\n\n\u201cWhat would be the use?\u201d asked the doctor. \u201cIf it had been done at once\nafter the wound was given, it might perhaps have helped to save him, but\nit would be dangerous now to disturb the blood in any way.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs there any chance for him?\u201d asked the priest, who was thinking that\nthe less there was for the doctor to do, the more there would be for\nthe priest.\n\n\u201cIf his wound runs the ordinary course,\u201d said the doctor, lowering his\nvoice, \u201che will probably not last out the day.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou give him up then?\u201d\n\n\u201cA doctor never gives up a patient, or at least if he does so, he still\ntrusts to the possibility of nature mercifully interfering on the\npatient\u2019s behalf; a clot may form and stop the hemorrhage; a cough may\ndisturb the clot, and the patient bleed to death.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou think then that it is my duty to prepare the poor young man for\ndeath,\u201d asked the curate.\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d answered the doctor, shrugging his shoulders, \u201cyou would do\nbetter to leave him alone; in the first place because he is, at present,\nin a drowsy condition and cannot hear what you say; later on, because he\nwill be delirious, and unable to understand you.\u201d But the doctor was\nmistaken; the wounded man, drowsy as he was, overheard this\nconversation, more re-assuring as regards the salvation of his soul than\nthe recovery of his body. How many things people say in the presence of\nsick persons, believing that they cannot hear, while all the while, they\nare taking in every word! In the present case, this extra acuteness of\nhearing may perhaps have been due to the fact that it was Thibault\u2019s\nsoul which was awake in Raoul\u2019s body; if the soul belonging to it had\nbeen in this body, it would probably have succumbed more entirely to the\neffects of the wound.\n\nThe doctor now dressed the wound in the back, but left the front wound\nuncovered, merely directing that a piece of linen soaked in iced water\nshould be kept over it. Then, having poured some drops of a sedative\ninto a glass of water, and telling the priest to give this to the\npatient whenever he asked for drink, the doctor departed, saying that he\nwould come again the following morning, but that he much feared he\nshould take his journey for nothing.\n\nThibault would have liked to put in a word of his own, and to say\nhimself what he thought about his condition, but his spirit was as if\nimprisoned in this dying body, and, against his will, was forced to\nsubmit to lying thus within its cell. But he could still hear the\npriest, who not only spoke to him, but endeavoured by shaking him to\narouse him from his lethargy. Thibault found this very fatiguing, and it\nwas lucky for the priest that the wounded man, just now, had no\nsuperhuman power, for he inwardly sent the good man to the devil, many\ntimes over.\n\nBefore long it seemed to him that some sort of hot burning pan was being\ninserted under the soles of his feet, his loins, his head; his blood\nbegan to circulate, then to boil, like water over a fire. His ideas\nbecame confused, his clenched jaws opened; his tongue which had been\nbound became loosened; some disconnected words escaped him.\n\n\u201cAh, ah!\u201d he thought to himself, \u201cthis no doubt is what the good doctor\nspoke about as delirium;\u201d and, for the while at least, this was his last\nlucid idea.\n\nHis whole life--and his life had really only existed since his first\nacquaintance with the black wolf--passed before him. He saw himself\nfollowing, and failing to hit the buck; saw himself tied to the\noak-tree, and the blows of the strap falling on him; saw himself and the\nblack wolf drawing up their compact; saw himself trying to pass the\ndevil\u2019s ring over Agnelette\u2019s finger; saw himself trying to pull out the\nred hairs, which now covered a third of his head. Then he saw himself on\nhis way to pay court to the pretty Madame Polet of the mill, meeting\nLandry, and getting rid of his rival; pursued by the farm servants, and\nfollowed by his wolves. He saw himself making the acquaintance of Madame\nMagloire, hunting for her, eating his share of the game, hiding behind\nthe curtains, discovered by Ma\u00eetre Magloire, flouted by the Baron of\nVez, turned out by all three. Again he saw the hollow tree, with his\nwolves couching around it and the owls perched on its branches, and\nheard the sounds of the approaching violins and hautboy and saw himself\nlooking, as Agnelette and the happy wedding party went by. He saw\nhimself the victim of angry jealousy, endeavouring to fight against it\nby the help of drink, and across his troubled brain came the\nrecollection of Fran\u00e7ois, of Champagne, and the Inn-keeper; he heard the\ngalloping of Baron Raoul\u2019s horse, and he felt himself knocked down and\nrolling in the muddy road. Then he ceased to see himself as Thibault; in\nhis stead arose the figure of the handsome young rider whose form he had\ntaken for a while. Once more he was kissing Lisette, once more his lips\nwere touching the Countess\u2019s hand; then he was wanting to escape, but he\nfound himself at a cross-road where three ways only met, and each of\nthese was guarded by one of his victims: the first, by the spectre of a\ndrowned man, that was Marcotte; the second, by a young man dying of\nfever on a hospital bed, that was Landry; the third, by a wounded man,\ndragging himself along on one knee, and trying in vain to stand up on\nhis mutilated leg, that was the Comte de Mont-Gobert.\n\nHe fancied that as all these things passed before him, he told the\nhistory of them one by one, and that the priest, as he listened to this\nstrange confession, looked more like a dying man, was paler and more\ntrembling than the man whose confession he was listening to; that he\nwanted to give him absolution, but that he, Thibault, pushed him away,\nshaking his head, and that he cried out with a terrible laugh: \u201cI want\nno absolution! I am damned! damned! damned!\u201d\n\nAnd in the midst of all this hallucination, this delirious madness, the\nspirit of Thibault could hear the priest\u2019s clock striking the hours, and\nas they struck he counted them. Only this clock seemed to have grown to\ngigantic proportions and the face of it was the blue vault of heaven,\nand the numbers on it were flames; and the clock was called eternity,\nand the monstrous pendulum, as it swung backwards and forwards called\nout in turn at every beat: \u201cNever! For ever!\u201d And so he lay and heard\nthe long hours of the day pass one by one; and then at last the clock\nstruck nine. At half past nine, he, Thibault, would have been Raoul, and\nRaoul would have been Thibault, for just four and twenty hours. As the\nlast stroke of the hour died away, Thibault felt the fever passing from\nhim, it was succeeded by a sensation of coldness, which almost amounted\nto shivering. He opened his eyes, all trembling with cold, and saw the\npriest at the foot of the bed saying the prayers for the dying, and the\nhands of the actual clock pointing to a quarter past nine.\n\nHis senses had become so acute, that, imperceptible as was their double\nmovement, he could yet see both the larger and smaller one slowly\ncreeping along; they were gradually nearing the critical hour; half past\nnine! Although the face of the clock was in darkness, it seemed\nilluminated by some inward light. As the minute hand approached the\nnumber 6, a spasm becoming every instant more and more violent shook the\ndying man; his feet were like ice, and the numbness slowly, but\nsteadily, mounted from the feet to the knees, from the knees to the\nthighs, from the thighs to the lower part of the body. The sweat was\nrunning down his forehead, but he had no strength to wipe it away, nor\neven to ask to have it done. It was a sweat of agony which he knew every\nmoment might be the sweat of death. All kinds of strange shapes, which\nhad nothing of the human about them, floated before his eyes; the light\nfaded away; wings as of bats seemed to lift his body and carry it into\nsome twilight region, which was neither life nor death, but seemed a\npart of both. Then the twilight itself grew darker and darker; his eyes\nclosed, and like a blind man stumbling in the dark, his heavy wings\nseemed to flap against strange and unknown things. After that he sank\naway into unfathomable depths, into bottomless abysses, but still he\nheard the sound of a bell.\n\nThe bell rang once, and scarcely had it ceased to vibrate when the dying\nman uttered a cry. The priest rose and went to the side of the bed; with\nthat cry the Baron Raoul had breathed his last: it was exactly one\nsecond after the half hour after nine.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE DEAD AND THE LIVING\n\n\nAt the same moment that the trembling soul of the young Baron passed\naway, Thibault, awaking as if from an agitated sleep full of terrible\ndreams, sat up in his bed. He was surrounded by fire, every corner of\nhis hut was in flames; at first he thought it was a continuation of his\nnightmare, but then he heard cries of, \u201cDeath to the wizard! death to\nthe sorcerer! death to the were-wolf!\u201d and he understood that some\nterrible attack was being made upon him.\n\nThe flames came nearer, they reached the bed, he felt their heat upon\nhim; a few seconds more and he would be burned alive in the midst of the\nflaming pile. Thibault leaped from his bed, seized his boar-spear, and\ndashed out of the back door of his hut. No sooner did his enemies see\nhim rush through the fire and emerge from the smoke than their cries of\n\u201cdeath to him!\u201d \u201cdeath!\u201d were redoubled. One or two shots were fired at\nhim; Thibault heard the bullets whizz past; those who shot at him wore\nthe livery of the Grand Master, and Thibault recalled the menace of the\nlord of Vez, uttered against him a few days before.\n\nHe was then beyond the pale of the law; he could be smoked out of his\nhole like a fox; he could be shot down like a buck. Luckily for\nThibault, not one of the bullets struck him, and as the circle of fire\nmade by the burning hut was not a large one, he was soon safely beyond\nit, and once again in shelter of the vast and gloomy forest, where, had\nit not been for the cries of the menials who were burning down his\nhouse, the silence would have been as complete as the darkness. He sat\ndown at the foot of a tree and buried his head in his hands. The events\nof the last forty-eight hours had succeeded each other with such\nrapidity, that there was no lack of matter to serve as subjects of\nreflection to the shoe-maker.\n\nThe twenty-four hours, during which he had lived another existence than\nhis own, seemed to him like a dream, so much so, that he would not have\ndared to take his oath that all this recent affair between the Baron,\nand the Countess Jane, and the Comte de Mont-Gobert had really taken\nplace. The church clock of Oigny struck ten, and he lifted his head. Ten\no\u2019clock! and only half-an-hour before he had been still in the body of\nthe Baron Raoul, as he lay dying in the house of the Cur\u00e9 of Puiseux.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d he exclaimed \u201cI must find out for certain what has happened! It is\nnot quite three miles to Puiseux and I shall be there in half-an-hour; I\nshould like to ascertain if the Baron is really dead.\u201d A melancholy howl\nmade answer to his words; he looked round; his faithful body-guards were\nback again; he had his pack about him once more.\n\n\u201cCome, wolves! come, my only friends!\u201d he cried, \u201clet us be off!\u201d And he\nstarted with them across the forest in the direction of Puiseux. The\nhuntsmen of the Lord of Vez, who were poking up the remaining embers of\nthe ruined hut, saw a man pass, as in a vision, running at the head of a\ndozen or more wolves. They crossed themselves, and became more convinced\nthan ever that Thibault was a wizard. And anybody else who had seen\nThibault, flying along as swiftly as his swiftest wolf, and covering the\nground between Oigny and Puiseux in less than a quarter of an hour,\nwould certainly have thought so too.\n\nHe stopped at the entrance to the village, and turning to his wolves, he\nsaid:\n\n\u201cFriend wolves, I have no further need of you to-night, and indeed, I\nwish to be alone. Amuse yourselves with the stables in the\nneighbourhood, I give you leave to do just what you like; and if you\nchance to come across one of those two-footed animals, called men,\nforget, friend wolves, that they claim to be made in the image of their\nCreator, and never fear to satisfy your appetite.\u201d Whereupon the wolves\nrushed off in different directions, uttering howls of joy, while\nThibault went on into the village. The Cur\u00e9\u2019s house adjoined the church,\nand Thibault made a circuit so as to avoid passing in front of the\nCross. When he reached the presbytery, he looked in through one of the\nwindows, and there he saw a bed with a lighted wax candle beside it; and\nover the bed itself was spread a sheet, and beneath the sheet could be\nseen the outlines of a figure lying rigid in death. There appeared to be\nno one in the house; the priest had no doubt gone to give notice of the\ndeath to the village authorities. Thibault went inside, and called the\npriest, but no one answered. He walked up to the bed, there could be no\nmistake about the body under the sheet being that of a dead man; he\nlifted the sheet, there could be no mistaking that the dead body was\nthat of Raoul de Vauparfond. On his face lay the still, unearthly beauty\nwhich is born of eternity. His features, which in life had been somewhat\ntoo feminine for those of a man, had now assumed the sombre grandeur of\ndeath. At the first glance you might have thought he only slept; but on\ngazing longer you recognised in that immovable calm something more\nprofound than sleep. The presence of one who carries a sickle for\nsceptre, and wears a shroud for mantle was unmistakeable, and you knew\nKing Death was there.\n\nThibault had left the door open, and he heard the sound of light\nfootsteps approaching; at the back of the alcove hung a serge curtain,\nwhich masked a door by which he could retreat, if necessary, and he now\nwent and placed himself behind it. A woman dressed in black, and covered\nwith a black veil, paused in some hesitation at the door. The head of\nanother woman passed in front of her\u2019s and looked carefully round the\nroom.\n\n\u201cI think it is safe for Madame to go in; I see no one about, and\nbesides, I will keep watch.\u201d\n\nThe woman in black went in, walked slowly towards the bed, stopped a\nmoment to wipe the perspiration from her forehead, then, without further\nhesitation, lifted the sheet which Thibault had thrown back over the\nface of the dead man; Thibault then saw that it was the Countess.\n\n\u201cAlas!\u201d she said, \u201cwhat they told me was true!\u201d\n\nThen she fell on her knees, praying and sobbing. Her prayer being ended,\nshe rose again, kissed the pale forehead of the dead, and the blue marks\nof the wound through which the soul had fled.\n\n\u201cO my well-beloved, my Raoul;\u201d she murmured, \u201cwho will tell me the name\nof your murderer? who will help me to avenge your death?\u201d As the\nCountess finished speaking, she gave a cry and started back; she seemed\nto hear a voice that answered, \u201cI will!\u201d and something had shaken the\ngreen serge curtain.\n\nThe Countess however was no chicken-hearted woman; she took the candle\nthat was burning at the head of the bed and went and looked behind the\ncurtain; but no creature was to be seen, a closed door was all that met\nher eye. She put back the candle, took a pair of gold scissors from a\nlittle pocket case, cut off a curl of the dead man\u2019s hair, placed the\ncurl in a black velvet sachet which hung over her heart, gave one last\nkiss to her dead lover, laid the sheet over his face, and left the\nhouse. Just as she was crossing the threshold, she met the priest, and\ndrawing back, drew her veil more closely over her face.\n\n\u201cWho are you?\u201d asked the priest.\n\n\u201cI am Grief,\u201d she answered, and the priest made way for her to pass.\n\nThe Countess and her attendant had come on foot, and were returning in\nthe same manner, for the distance between Puiseux and Mont-Gobert was\nnot much more than half-a-mile. When about half way along their road, a\nman, who had been hiding behind a willow tree, stepped forward and\nbarred their further passage. Lisette screamed, but the Countess,\nwithout the least sign of fear, went up to the man, and asked: \u201cWho are\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe man who answered \u2018I will\u2019 just now, when you were asking who would\ndenounce the murderer to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you can help me to revenge myself on him?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhenever you like.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt once?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe cannot talk here very well.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere can we find a better place?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn your own room for one.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe must not enter the castle together.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; but I can go through the breach in the park wall: Mademoiselle\nLisette can wait for me in the hut where Monsieur Raoul used to leave\nhis horse, she can take me up the winding-stair and into your room. If\nyou should be in your dressing-room, I will wait for you, as Monsieur\nRaoul waited the night before last.\u201d\n\nThe two women shuddered from head to foot.\n\n\u201cWho are you to know all these details?\u201d asked the Countess.\n\n\u201cI will tell you when the time comes for me to tell you.\u201d\n\nThe Countess hesitated a moment, then, recovering her resolution, she\nsaid:\n\n\u201cVery well then; come through the breach; Lisette will wait for you in\nthe stable.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! Madame,\u201d cried the maid, \u201cI shall never dare to go and bring that\nman to you!\u201d\n\n\u201cI will go myself then,\u201d said the Countess.\n\n\u201cWell said!\u201d put in Thibault, \u201cthere spoke a woman worth calling one!\u201d\nAnd so saying he slid down into a kind of ravine beside the road, and\ndisappeared. Lisette very nearly fainted.\n\n\u201cLean on me, Mademoiselle,\u201d said the Countess, \u201cand let us walk on; I am\nanxious to hear what this man has to say to me.\u201d\n\nThe two women entered the castle by way of the farm; no one had seen\nthem go out, and no one saw them return. On reaching her room, the\nCountess waited for Lisette to bring up the stranger. Ten minutes had\nelapsed when the maid hurried in with a pale face.\n\n\u201cAh! Madame,\u201d she said, \u201cthere was no need for me to go to fetch him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d asked the Countess.\n\n\u201cBecause he knew his way up as well as I did! And oh! Madame! if you\nknew what he said to me! That man is the devil, Madame, I feel sure!\u201d\n\n\u201cShow him in,\u201d said the Countess.\n\n\u201cI am here!\u201d said Thibault.\n\n\u201cYou can leave us now, my girl,\u201d said the Countess to Lisette. The\nlatter quitted the room and the Countess remained alone with Thibault.\nThibault\u2019s appearance was not one to inspire confidence. He gave the\nimpression of a man who had once and for all made up his mind, but it\nwas also easy to see that it was for no good purpose; a Satanic smile\nplayed about his mouth, and there was a demoniacal light in his eyes. He\nhad made no attempt to hide his red hairs, but had left them defiantly\nuncovered, and they hung over his forehead like a plume of flame. But\nstill the Countess looked him full in the face without changing colour.\n\n\u201cMy maid says that you know the way to my room; have you ever been here\nbefore?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Madame, once.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd when was that?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe day before yesterday.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt what time?\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom half-past ten till half-past twelve at night.\u201d\n\nThe Countess looked steadily at him and said:\n\n\u201cThat is not true.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you like me to tell you what took place?\u201d\n\n\u201cDuring the time you mention?\u201d\n\n\u201cDuring the time I mention.\u201d\n\n\u201cSay on,\u201d replied the Countess, laconically.\n\nThibault was equally laconic.\n\n\u201cMonsieur Raoul came in by that door,\u201d he said, pointing to the one\nleading into the corridor, \u201cand Lisette left him here alone. You entered\nthe room by that one,\u201d he continued, indicating the dressing-room door,\n\u201cand you found him on his knees. Your hair was unbound, only fastened\nback by three diamond pins, you wore a pink silk dressing-gown, trimmed\nwith lace, pink silk stockings, cloth-of-silver slippers and a chain of\npearls round your neck.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou describe my dress exactly,\u201d said the Countess, \u201ccontinue.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou tried to pick a quarrel with Monsieur Raoul, first because he\nloitered in the corridors to kiss your waiting-maid; secondly, because\nsomeone had met him late at night on the road between Erneville and\nVillers-Cotterets; thirdly, because, at the ball given at the Castle, at\nwhich you yourself were not present, he danced four times with Madame de\nBonneuil.\u201d\n\n\u201cContinue.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn answer to your accusations, your lover made excuses for himself,\nsome good, some bad; you, however, were satisfied with them for you were\njust forgiving him when Lisette rushed in full of alarm calling to\nMonsieur Raoul to escape, as your husband had just returned.\u201d\n\n\u201cLisette was right, you can be nothing less than the devil,\u201d said the\nCountess with a sinister laugh, \u201cand I think we shall be able to do\nbusiness together.... Finish your account.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you and your maid together pushed Monsieur Raoul, who resisted,\ninto the dressing-room; Lisette forced him along the corridors and\nthrough two or three rooms; they then went down a winding staircase, in\nthe wing of the Castle opposite to the one by which they had gone up. On\narriving at the foot of the staircase, the fugitives found the door\nlocked; then they ran into a kind of office where Lisette opened the\nwindow, which was about seven or eight feet above the ground. Monsieur\nRaoul leaped down out of this window, ran to the stable, found his horse\nstill there, but hamstrung; then he swore that if he met the Count at\nany time he would hamstring him as the Count had hamstrung his horse,\nfor he thought it a cowardly act to injure a poor beast so\nunnecessarily. Then he went on foot to the breach, climbed it, and found\nthe Count awaiting him outside the park, with his sword drawn. The Baron\nhad his hunting-knife with him; he drew it, and the duel began.\u201d\n\n\u201cWas the Count alone?\u201d\n\n\u201cWait ... the Count appeared to be alone; after the fourth or fifth\npass the Count was wounded in the shoulder, and sank on one knee,\ncrying: \u2018help, Lestocq!\u2019 Then the Baron remembered his oath, and\nhamstrung the Count as he had hamstrung the horse; but as the Baron\nrose, Lestocq drove his knife into his back; it passed under the\nshoulder blade and out through the chest. I need not tell you where ...\nyou kissed the wound yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd after that?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Count and his huntsman returned to the Castle, leaving the Baron\nlying helpless; when the latter came to, he made signs to some passing\npeasants, who put him on a litter, and bore him away, with the intention\nof taking him to Villers-Cotterets; but he was in such pain, that they\ncould not carry him farther than Puiseux; there they laid him on the bed\nwhere you found him, and on which he breathed his last a second after\nthe half hour after nine in the evening.\u201d\n\nThe Countess rose, and without speaking, went to her jewel-case and took\nout the pearls she had worn two nights before. She handed them to\nThibault.\n\n\u201cWhat are they for?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cTake them,\u201d said the Countess, \u201cthey are worth fifty thousand livres.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you still anxious for revenge?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied the Countess.\n\n\u201cRevenge will cost more than that.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow much will it cost?\u201d\n\n\u201cWait for me to-morrow night,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cand I will tell you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere shall I await you?\u201d asked the Countess.\n\n\u201cHere,\u201d said Thibault, with the leer of a wild animal.\n\n\u201cI will await you here,\u201d said the Countess.\n\n\u201cTill to-morrow then.\u201d\n\n\u201cTill to-morrow.\u201d\n\nThibault went out. The Countess went and replaced the pearls in her\ndressing case; lifted up a false bottom, and drew from underneath it a\nsmall bottle containing an opal-coloured liquid, and a little dagger\nwith a jewelled handle and case, and a blade inlaid with gold. She hid\nboth beneath her pillow, knelt at her prie-dieu, and, her prayer\nfinished, threw herself dressed on to her bed....\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nTRUE TO TRYST\n\n\nOn quitting the Countess\u2019s room, Thibault had left the castle by the way\nwhich he had described to her, and soon found himself safe beyond its\nwalls and outside the park. And now, for the first time in his life,\nThibault had really nowhere to go. His hut was burnt, he was without a\nfriend, and like Cain, he was a wanderer on the face of the earth. He\nturned to the unfailing shelter of the forest, and there made his way to\nthe lower end of Chavigny; as the day was breaking he came across a\nsolitary house, and asked if he could buy some bread. The woman\nbelonging to it, her husband being away, gave him some, but refused to\nreceive payment for it; his appearance frightened her. Having now food\nsufficient for the day, Thibault returned to the forest, with the\nintention of spending his time till evening in a part which he knew\nbetween Fleury and Longpont, where the trees were especially thick and\ntall. As he was looking for a resting place behind a rock, his eye was\nattracted by a shining object lying at the bottom of a slope, and his\ncuriosity led him to climb down and see what it was. The shining object\nwas the silver badge belonging to a huntsman\u2019s shoulder-belt; the\nshoulder-belt was slung round the neck of a dead body, or rather of a\nskeleton, for the flesh had been entirely eaten off the bones, which\nwere as clean as if prepared for an anatomist\u2019s study or a painter\u2019s\nstudio. The skeleton looked as if it had only lain there since the\npreceding night.\n\n\u201cAh! ah!\u201d said Thibault, \u201cthis is probably the work of my friends, the\nwolves; they evidently profited by the permission which I gave them.\u201d\n\nCurious to know if possible who the victim was, he examined it more\nclosely; his curiosity was soon satisfied, for the badge, which the\nwolves had no doubt rejected as less easily digestible than the rest,\nwas lying on the chest of the skeleton, like a ticket on a bale of\ngoods.\n\n J. B. LESTOCQ,\n\n Head Keeper to the Comte de Mont-Gobert.\n\n\u201cWell done!\u201d laughed Thibault, \u201chere is one at least who did not live\nlong to enjoy the result of his murderous act.\u201d\n\nThen, contracting his brow, he muttered to himself, in a low voice, and\nthis time without laughing:\n\n\u201cIs there perhaps, after all, what people call a Providence?\u201d\n\nLestocq\u2019s death was not difficult to account for. He had probably been\nexecuting some order for his master that night, and on the road between\nMont-Gobert and Longpont, had been attacked by wolves. He had defended\nhimself with the same knife with which he had wounded the Baron, for\nThibault found the knife a few paces off, at a spot where the ground\nshowed traces of a severe struggle; at last, being disarmed, the\nferocious beasts had dragged him into the hollow, and there devoured\nhim.\n\nThibault was becoming so indifferent to everything that he felt neither\npleasure nor regret, neither satisfaction nor remorse, at Lestocq\u2019s\ndeath; all he thought was, that it simplified matters for the Countess,\nas she would now only have her husband upon whom she need revenge\nherself. Then he went and found a place where the rocks afforded him the\nbest shelter from the wind, and prepared to spend his day there in\npeace. Towards mid-day, he heard the horn of the Lord of Vez, and the\ncry of his hounds; the mighty huntsman was after game, but the chase did\nnot pass near enough to Thibault to disturb him.\n\nAt last the night came. At nine o\u2019clock Thibault rose and set out for\nthe Castle of Mont-Gobert. He found the breach, followed the path he\nknew, and came to the little hut where Lisette had been awaiting him on\nthe night when he had come in the guise of Raoul. The poor girl was\nthere this evening, but alarmed and trembling. Thibault wished to carry\nout the old traditions and tried to kiss her, but she sprang back with\nvisible signs of fear.\n\n\u201cDo not touch me,\u201d she said, \u201cor I shall call out.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, indeed! my pretty one,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cyou were not so\nsour-tempered the other day with the Baron Raoul.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay be not,\u201d said the girl, \u201cbut a great many things have happened\nsince the other day.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd many more to happen still,\u201d said Thibault in a lively tone.\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d said the waiting-maid in a mournful voice, \u201cthat the climax\nis already reached.\u201d\n\nThen, as she went on in front.\n\n\u201cIf you wish to come,\u201d she added, \u201cfollow me.\u201d\n\nThibault followed her; Lisette, without the slightest effort at\nconcealment, walked straight across the open space that lay between the\ntrees and the castle.\n\n\u201cYou are courageous to-day,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cand supposing some one were\nto see us....\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no fear now,\u201d she answered, \u201cthe eyes that could have seen us\nare all closed.\u201d\n\nAlthough he did not understand what the young girl meant by these words,\nthe tone in which they were spoken made Thibault shiver.\n\nHe continued to follow her in silence as they went up the winding-stairs\nto the first floor. As Lisette laid her hand on the key of the door,\nThibault suddenly stopped her. Something in the silence and solitude of\nthe castle filled him with fear; it seemed as if a curse might have\nfallen on the place.\n\n\u201cWhere are we going?\u201d said Thibault, scarcely knowing himself what he\nsaid.\n\n\u201cYou know well enough, surely.\u201d\n\n\u201cInto the Countess\u2019s room?\u201d\n\n\u201cInto the Countess\u2019s room.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe is waiting for me?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe is waiting for you.\u201d\n\nAnd Lisette opened the door. \u201cGo in,\u201d she said.\n\nThibault went in, and Lisette shut the door behind him and waited\noutside.\n\nIt was the same exquisite room, lighted in the same manner, filled with\nthe same sweet scent. Thibault looked round for the Countess, he\nexpected to see her appear at the dressing-room door, but the door\nremained closed. Not a sound was to be heard in the room, except the\nticking of the S\u00e8vres clock, and the beating of Thibault\u2019s heart. He\nbegan to look about him with a feeling of shuddering fear for which he\ncould not account; then his eyes fell on the bed; the Countess was lying\nasleep upon it. In her hair were the same diamond pins, round her neck\nthe same pearls; she was dressed in the same pink silk dressing-gown,\nand had on the same little slippers of cloth of silver which she had\nworn to receive the Baron Raoul.\n\nThibault went up to her; the Countess did not stir.\n\n\u201cYou are sleeping, fair Countess?\u201d he said, leaning over to look at her.\n\nBut all at once, he started upright, staring before him, his hair\nstanding on end, the sweat breaking out on his forehead. The terrible\ntruth was beginning to dawn upon him; was the Countess sleeping the\nsleep of this world or of eternity?\n\nHe fetched a light from the mantel-piece, and with trembling hand, held\nit to the face of the mysterious sleeper. It was pale as ivory, with the\ndelicate veins traced over the temples, and the lips still red. A drop\nof pink burning wax fell on this still face of sleep; it did not awake\nthe Countess.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d cried Thibault, \u201cwhat is this?\u201d and he put down the candle, which\nhis shaking hand could no longer hold, on the night-table.\n\nThe Countess lay with her arms stretched out close to her sides; she\nappeared to be clasping something in either hand. With some effort,\nThibault was able to open the left one; within it he found the little\nbottle, which she had taken from her dressing case the night before. He\nopened the other hand; within it lay a piece of paper on which were\nwritten these few words: \u201cTrue to tryst,\u201d--yes, true and faithful unto\ndeath, for the Countess was dead!\n\nAll Thibault\u2019s illusions were fading one after the other, like the\ndreams of the night which gradually fade away, as the sleeper becomes\nmore and more thoroughly awake. There was a difference, however, for\nother men find their dead alive again in their dreams; but with\nThibault, his dead did not arise and walk, but remained lying for ever\nin their last sleep.\n\nHe wiped his forehead, went to the door leading into the corridor, and\nopened it, to find Lisette on her knees, praying.\n\n\u201cIs the Countess dead then?\u201d asked Thibault.\n\n\u201cThe Countess is dead, and the Count is dead.\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom the effect of the wounds given him by the Baron Raoul?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, from the blow with the dagger given him by the Countess.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said Thibault, grimacing hideously, in his effort to force a laugh\nin the midst of this grim drama, \u201call this tale you hint at is new to\nme.\u201d\n\nThen Lisette told him the tale in full. It was a plain tale, but a\nterrible one.\n\nThe Countess had remained in bed part of the day, listening to the\nvillage bells of Puiseux, which were tolling as the Baron\u2019s body was\nbeing borne from thence to Vauparfond, where he was to be laid in the\nfamily grave. Towards four o\u2019clock the bells ceased; then the Countess\nrose, took the dagger from under her pillow, hid it in her breast, and\nwent towards her husband\u2019s room. She found the valet in attendance in\ngood spirits; the doctor had just left, having examined the wound, and\ndeclared the Count\u2019s life out of danger.\n\n\u201cMadame will agree that it is a thing to rejoice at!\u201d said the valet.\n\n\u201cYes, to rejoice at indeed.\u201d\n\nAnd the Countess went on into her husband\u2019s room. Five minutes later she\nleft it again.\n\n\u201cThe Count is sleeping,\u201d she said, \u201cdo not go in until he calls.\u201d\n\nThe valet bowed and sat down in the ante-room to be in readiness at the\nfirst call from his master. The Countess went back to her room.\n\n\u201cUndress me, Lisette,\u201d she said to her waiting maid, \u201cand give me the\nclothes that I had on the last time _he_ came.\u201d\n\nThe maid obeyed; we have already seen how every detail of toilet was\narranged exactly as it had been on that fatal night. Then the Countess\nwrote a few words on a piece of paper, which she folded and kept in her\nright hand. After that, she lay down on her bed.\n\n\u201cWill Madame not take anything,\u201d asked the maid.\n\nThe Countess opened her left hand, and showed her a little bottle she\nwas holding inside it.\n\n\u201cYes, Lisette,\u201d she said, \u201cI am going to take what is in this bottle.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, nothing but that!\u201d said Lisette.\n\n\u201cIt will be enough, Lisette; for after I have taken it, I shall have\nneed of nothing more.\u201d\n\nAnd as she spoke, she put the bottle to her mouth and drank the contents\nat a draught. Then she said:\n\n\u201cYou saw that man, Lisette, who waited for us in the road; I have a\nmeeting with him this evening, here in my room, at half past nine. You\nknow where to go and wait for him, and you will bring him here. I do not\nwish that anyone should be able to say that I was not true to my word,\never after I am dead.\u201d\n\nThibault had nothing to say; the agreement made between them had been\nkept. Only the Countess had accomplished her revenge herself,\nsingle-handed, as everyone understood, when the valet feeling uneasy\nabout his master, and going softly into his room to look at him, found\nhim lying on his back with a dagger in his heart; and then hurrying to\ntell Madame what had happened, found the Countess dead also.\n\nThe news of this double death soon spread through the Castle, and all\nthe servants had fled, saying that the exterminating Angel was in the\nCastle; the waiting-maid alone remained to carry out her dead mistress\u2019s\nwishes.\n\nThibault had nothing more to do at the castle, so he left the Countess\non her bed, with Lisette near her, and went down stairs. As Lisette had\nsaid, there was no fear now of meeting either master or servants; the\nservants had run away, the master and mistress were dead. Thibault once\nmore made for the breach in the wall. The sky was dark, and if it had\nnot been January, you might have imagined a thunder storm was brewing;\nthere was barely light enough to see the footpath, as he went along.\nOnce or twice Thibault paused; he fancied he had detected the sound of\nthe dry branches cracking under someone\u2019s footsteps keeping pace with\nhis, both to right and left.\n\nHaving come to the breach, Thibault distinctly heard a voice say:\n\u201cthat\u2019s the man!\u201d and at the same moment, two gendarmes, concealed on\nthe farther side of the wall, seized Thibault by the collar, while two\nothers came up behind.\n\nIt appeared that Cramoisi, jealous with regard to Lisette, had been\nprowling about at nights on the watch, and had, only the evening before,\nnoticed a strange man come in and go out of the park along the more\nsecluded paths, and he had reported the fact to the head of the police.\nWhen the recent serious events that had taken place at the Castle became\ngenerally known, orders were given to send four men and take up any\nsuspicious looking person seen prowling about. Two of the men, with\nCramoisi for guide, had ambushed on the farther side of the breach, and\nthe two others had dogged Thibault through the park. Then as we have\nseen, at the signal given by Cramoisi, they had all four fallen upon him\nas he issued from the breach.\n\nThere was a long and obstinate struggle; Thibault was not a man that\neven four others could overcome without difficulty; but he had no weapon\nby him, and his resistance was therefore useless. The gendarmes had been\nmore bent on securing him, on account of having recognised that it was\nThibault, and Thibault was beginning to earn a very bad name, so many\nmisfortunes having become associated with it; so Thibault was knocked\ndown, and finally bound and led off between two mounted men. The other\ntwo gendarmes walked one in front, and one behind. Thibault had merely\nstruggled out of a natural feeling of self-defence and pride, for his\npower to inflict evil was, as we know, unlimited, and he had but to wish\nhis assailants dead, and they would have fallen lifeless at his feet.\nBut he thought there was time enough for that; as long as there still\nremained a wish to him, he could escape from man\u2019s justice, even though\nhe were at the foot of the scaffold.\n\nSo, Thibault, securely bound, his hands tied, and fetters upon his feet,\nwalked along between his four gendarmes, apparently in a state of\nresignation. One of the gendarmes held the end of the rope with which he\nwas bound, and the four men made jokes and laughed at him, asking the\nwizard Thibault, why, being possessed of such power, he had allowed\nhimself to be taken. And Thibault replied to their scoffings with the\nwell-known Proverb: \u201cHe laughs best who laughs last,\u201d and the gendarmes\nexpressed a wish that they might be the ones to do so.\n\nOn leaving Puiseux behind, they came to the forest. The weather was\ngrowing more and more threatening; the dark clouds hung so low that the\ntrees looked as if they were holding up a huge black veil, and it was\nimpossible to see four steps ahead. But he, Thibault saw; saw lights\nswiftly passing, and crossing one another, in the darkness on either\nside. Closer and closer drew the lights, and pattering footfalls were\nheard among the dry leaves. The horses became restive, shied and\nsnorted, sniffing the air and trembling beneath their riders, while the\ncoarse laughter of the men themselves died down. It was Thibault\u2019s turn\nto laugh now.\n\n\u201cWhat are you laughing at?\u201d asked one of the gendarmes. \u201cI am laughing\nat your having left off laughing,\u201d said Thibault.\n\nThe lights drew nearer, and the footfalls became more distinct, at the\nsound of Thibault\u2019s voice. Then a more ominous sound was heard, a sound\nof teeth striking together, as jaws opened and shut.\n\n\u201cYes, yes, my friends,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cyou have tasted human flesh, and\nyou found it good.\u201d\n\nHe was answered by a low growl of approbation, half like a dog\u2019s, and\nhalf like a hyena\u2019s.\n\n\u201cQuite so,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cI understand; after having made a meal of a\nkeeper, you would not mind tasting a gendarme.\u201d\n\nThe gendarmes themselves were beginning to shudder with fear. \u201cTo whom\nare you talking?\u201d they asked him.\n\n\u201cTo those who can answer me,\u201d said Thibault; and he gave a howl. Twenty\nor more howls responded, some from close at hand, some from farther off.\n\n\u201cH\u2019m!\u201d said one of the gendarmes, \u201cwhat are these beasts that are\nfollowing us? this good-for-nothing seems to understand their language?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d said the shoe-maker, \u201cyou take Thibault the wolf-master\nprisoner, you carry him through the forest at night, and then you ask\nwhat are the lights and the howls that follow him!... Do you hear,\nfriends?\u201d cried Thibault, \u201cthese gentlemen are asking who you are.\nAnswer them, all of you together, that they may have no further doubt on\nthe matter.\u201d\n\nThe wolves, obedient to their master\u2019s voice, gave one prolonged,\nunanimous howl. The horses panted and shivered, and one or two of them\nreared. The gendarmes endeavoured to calm their animals, patting and\ngentling them.\n\n\u201cThat is nothing,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cwait till you see each horse with two\nwolves hanging on to its hind-quarters and another at its throat.\u201d\n\nThe wolves now came in between the horses\u2019 legs, and began caressing\nThibault; one of them stood up, and put its front paws on Thibault\u2019s\nchest, as if asking for orders.\n\n\u201cPresently, presently,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cthere is plenty of time; do not\nbe selfish, give your comrades time to come up.\u201d\n\nThe men could no longer control their horses, which were rearing and\nshying, and although going at a foot\u2019s pace, were streaming with sweat.\n\n\u201cDo you not think,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cyou would do best now to come to\nterms with me? That is, if you were to let me free on condition that you\nall sleep in your beds to-night.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo at a walking pace,\u201d said one of the gendarmes, \u201cas long as we do\nthat, we have nothing to fear.\u201d\n\nAnother one drew his sword. A second or two later there was a howl of\npain; one of the wolves had seized hold of this gendarme\u2019s boot, and the\nlatter had pierced him through with his weapon.\n\n\u201cI call that a very imprudent thing to do,\u201d said Thibault; \u201cthe wolves\neat each other, whatever the proverb may say, and once having tasted\nblood, I do not know that even I shall have the power to hold them\nback.\u201d\n\nThe wolves threw themselves in a body on their wounded comrade, and in\nfive minutes there was nothing left of its carcase but the bare bones.\nThe gendarmes had profited by this respite to get on ahead, but without\nreleasing Thibault, whom they obliged to run alongside of them; what he\nhad foreseen, however, happened. There was a sudden sound as of an\napproaching hurricane--the whole pack was in pursuit, following them up\nat full gallop. The horses, having once started trotting, refused to go\nat a walking pace again, and frightened by the stamping, the smell, and\nthe howls, now set off galloping, in spite of their riders\u2019 efforts to\nhold them in. The man who had hold of the rope, now requiring both hands\nto master his horse, let go of Thibault; and the wolves leaped on to the\nhorses, clinging desperately to the cruppers and withers and throats of\nthe terrified animals. No sooner had the latter felt the sharp teeth of\ntheir assailants, than they scattered, rushing in every direction.\n\n\u201cHurrah, wolves! hurrah!\u201d cried Thibault. But the fierce animals had no\nneed of encouragement, and soon each horse had six or seven more wolves\nin pursuit of him.\n\nHorses and wolves disappeared, some one way some the other, and the\nmen\u2019s cries of distress, the agonised neighings of the horses, and the\nfurious howls of the wolves became gradually fainter and fainter as they\ntravelled farther away.\n\nThibault was left free once more, and alone. His hands however were\nstill bound, and his feet fettered. First he tried to undo the cord with\nhis teeth, but this he found impossible. Then he tried to wrench his\nbonds apart by the power of his muscles, but that too was unavailing;\nthe only result of his efforts was to make the cord cut into his flesh.\nIt was his turn to bellow with pain and anger. At last, tired of trying\nto wrest his hands free, he lifted them, bound as they were, to heaven,\nand cried:\n\n\u201cOh! black wolf! friend, let these cords that bind me be loosened; thou\nknowest well that it is only to do evil that I wish for my hands to be\nfree.\u201d\n\nAnd at the same moment his fetters were broken and fell to the ground,\nand Thibault beat his hands together with another roar, this time of\njoy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nTHE GENIUS OF EVIL\n\n\nThe next evening, about nine o\u2019clock, a man might be seen walking along\nthe Puits-Sarrasin road and making for the Osi\u00e9res forest-path.\n\nIt was Thibault, on his way to pay a last visit to the hut, and to see\nif any remains of it had been left by the fire. A heap of smoking\ncinders alone marked the place where it had stood; and as Thibault came\nin sight of it, he saw the wolves, as if he had appointed them to meet\nhim there, forming an immense circle round the ruins, and looking upon\nthem with an expression of mournful anger. They seemed to understand\nthat by destroying this poor hut, made of earth and branches, the one\nwho, by the compact with the black wolf, had been given them for master,\nhad been made a victim. As Thibault entered the circle, all the wolves\ngave simultaneously a long and sinister sounding howl, as if to make him\nunderstand that they were ready to help in avenging him.\n\nThibault went and sat down on the spot where the hearth had stood; it\nwas recognisable from a few blackened stones still remaining, which were\notherwise uninjured, and by a higher heap of cinders just at that spot.\nHe stayed there some minutes, absorbed in his unhappy thoughts. But he\nwas not reflecting that the ruin which he saw around him was the\nconsequence and the punishment of his jealous and covetous desires,\nwhich had gone on gathering strength. He felt neither repentance nor\nregret. That which dominated all other feeling in him was his\nsatisfaction at the thought of being henceforth able to render to his\nfellow-creatures evil for evil, his pride in having, thanks to his\nterrible auxiliaries, the power to fight against those who persecuted\nhim.\n\nAnd as the wolves continued their melancholy howling: \u201cYes, my friends,\u201d\nsaid Thibault, \u201cyes, your howls answer to the cry of my heart.... My\nfellow-creatures have destroyed my hut, they have cast to the winds the\nashes of the tools wherewith I earned my daily bread; their hatred\npursues me as it pursues you, I expect from them neither mercy nor pity.\nWe are their enemies as they are ours; and I will have neither mercy nor\ncompassion on them. Come then, let us go from this hut to the Castle,\nand carry thither the desolation which they have brought home to me.\u201d\n\nAnd then the master of the wolves, like a chief of banditti followed by\nhis desperadoes, set off with his pack in quest of pillage and carnage.\n\nThis time it was neither red-deer, nor fallow-deer, nor any timid game\nof which they were in pursuit. Sheltered by the darkness of the night\nThibault first directed his course to the Ch\u00e2teau of Vez, for there was\nlodged his chief enemy. The Baron had three farms belonging to the\nestate, stables filled with horses, and others filled with cows, and the\npark was full of sheep. All these places were attacked the first night,\nand on the morrow two horses, four cows, and ten sheep were found\nkilled.\n\nThe Baron was doubtful at first if this could be the work of the beasts\nagainst which he waged so fierce a warfare; there seemed something\npartaking rather of intelligence and revenge in it than of the mere\nunreasoning attacks of a pack of wild animals. Still it seemed manifest\nthat the wolves must have been the aggressors, judging by the marks of\nteeth on the carcases and the footprints left on the ground. Next night\nthe Baron set watchers to lie in wait, but Thibault and his wolves were\nat work on the farther side of the forest. This time it was the stables\nand parks of Soucy and of Vivi\u00e8res which were decimated, and the\nfollowing night those of Boursonnes and Yvors. The work of annihilation,\nonce begun, must be carried out with desperate determination, and the\nmaster never left his wolves now; he slept with them in their dens, and\nlived in the midst of them, stimulating their thirst for blood.\n\nMany a woodman, many a heath-gatherer, came face to face in the thickets\nwith the menacing white teeth of a wolf, and was either carried off and\neaten, or just saved his life by the aid of his courage and his\nbill-hook. Guided by a human intelligence, the wolves had become\norganised and disciplined, and were far more formidable than a band of\ndiscontented soldiery let loose in a conquered country.\n\nThe terror of them became general; no one dared go beyond the towns and\nvillages unarmed; horses and cattle were all fed inside the stables, and\nthe men themselves, their work done, waited for one another, so as not\nto go about singly. The Bishop of Soissons ordered public prayer to be\nmade, asking God to send a thaw, for the unusual ferocity of the wolves\nwas attributed to the great quantity of snow that had fallen. But the\nreport also went about that the wolves were incited to their work, and\nled about by a man; that this man was more indefatigable, more cruel and\ninsatiable than the wolves themselves; that in imitation of his\ncompanions he ate raw flesh and quenched his thirst in blood. And the\npeople went further and said that this man was Thibault.\n\nThe Bishop pronounced sentence of excommunication against the former\nshoe-maker. The Lord of Vez, however, had little faith in the thunders\nof the Church being of much effect, unless supported by some\nwell-conducted hunting. He was somewhat cast down at so much blood being\nspilt, and his pride was sorely hurt that his, the Grand Master\u2019s, own\ncattle should have suffered so heavily from the very wolves he was\nespecially appointed to destroy.\n\nAt the same time, he could not but feel a secret delight, at the thought\nof the triumphant view-halloos in store for him, and of the fame which\nhe could not fail to win among all sportsmen of repute. His passion for\nthe chase, excited by the way in which his adversaries the wolves had so\nopenly entered upon the struggle, became absolutely overpowering; he\nallowed neither respite nor repose; he took no sleep himself and ate his\nmeals in the saddle. All night long he scoured the country in company\nwith l\u2019Eveill\u00e9 and Engoulevent, who, in consideration of his marriage\nhad been raised to the rank of pricker; and the dawn had no sooner\nappeared before he was again in the saddle, ready to start and chase the\nwolf until it was too dark to distinguish the hounds. But alas! all his\nknowledge of the art of Venery, all his courage, all his perseverance,\nwere lost labour. He occasionally brought down some wretched cub, some\nmiserable beast eaten with mange, some imprudent glutton which had so\ngorged itself with carnage that its breath would not hold out after an\nhour or two\u2019s run; but the larger, well-grown wolves, with their thick\ndark coats, their muscles like steel springs and their long slender\nfeet--not one of these lost a hair in the war that was being made upon\nthem. Thanks to Thibault they met their enemies in arms on nearly equal\nground.\n\nAs the Baron of Vez remained for ever with his dogs, so did Thibault\nwith his wolves; after a night of sack and pillage, he kept the pack\nawake on the watch to help the one that the Baron had started. This wolf\nagain, following Thibault\u2019s instructions, had recourse at first to\nstratagem. It doubled, crossed its tracks, waded in the streams, leaped\nup into the bending trees so as to make it more difficult still for\nhuntsmen and hounds to follow the scent, and finally when it felt its\npowers failing, it adopted bolder measures and went straight ahead. Then\nthe other wolves and their master intervened; at the least sign of\nhesitation on the part of the hounds, they managed so cleverly to put\nthem on the wrong scent, that it required an experienced eye to detect\nthat the dogs were not all following up the same track, and nothing less\nthan the Baron\u2019s profound knowledge could decide which was the right\none. Even he sometimes was mistaken.\n\nAgain, the wolves in their turn followed the huntsmen; it was a pack\nhunting a pack; only the one hunted in silence, which made it far the\nmore formidable of the two. Did a tired hound fall behind, or another\nget separated from the main body, it was seized and killed in an\ninstant, and Engoulevent, whom we have had occasion to mention several\ntimes before and who had taken poor Marcotte\u2019s place, having hastened\none day to the help of one of his hounds that was uttering cries of\ndistress, was himself attacked and only owed his life to the swiftness\nof his horse.\n\nIt was not long before the Baron\u2019s pack was decimated; his best hounds\nwere nearly dead with fatigue, and his more second-rate ones had\nperished by the wolves\u2019 teeth. The stable was in no better condition\nthan the kennel; Bayard was foundered, Tancred had sprained a tendon\nleaping over a ditch, and a strained fetlock had placed Valourous on the\nlist of invalids. Sultan, luckier than his three companions had fallen\nhonourably on the field of battle, having succumbed to a sixteen hours\u2019\nrun under the weight of his gigantic master, who never for a moment lost\ncourage notwithstanding the fact that the dead bodies of his finest and\nmost faithful servitors lay heaped around him.\n\nThe Baron, following the example of the noble-hearted Romans who\nexhausted the resources of military art against the Carthaginians who\nwere for ever re-appearing as enemies, the Baron, I repeat, changed his\ntactics and tried what battues could accomplish. He called on all\navailable men among the peasants, and beat up the game throughout the\nforest with such a formidable number of men, that not so much as a hare\nwas left in its form near any spot which they had passed.\n\nBut Thibault made it his business to find out beforehand where these\nbattues were going to take place, and if he ascertained that the beaters\nwere on the side of the forest towards Viviers or Soucy, he and his\nwolves made an excursion to Boursonnes or Yvors; and if the Baron and\nhis men were busy near Haramont or Longpr\u00e9, the people of Corcy and\nVertefeuille were made painfully aware of Thibault and his wolves.\n\nIn vain the Lord of Vez drew his cordon at night round the suspected\nenclosures, so as to begin the attack with daylight; never once did his\nmen succeed in starting a wolf, for not once did Thibault make a mistake\nin his calculations. If by chance he had not been well informed, and was\nuncertain in what direction the Baron and his men were going, he called\nall his wolves together, sending express couriers after them as the\nnight set in; he then led them unobserved down the wooded lane leading\nto Lessart-l\u2019Abbesse, which at that time ran between the forest of\nCompi\u00e8gne and the forest of Villers-Cotterets, and so was able to pass\nfrom one to the other. This state of things went on for several months.\nBoth the Baron and Thibault carried out the task each had set before\nhimself, with equally passionate energy; the latter, like his adversary,\nseemed to have required some supernatural power, whereby he was able to\nresist fatigue and excitement; and this was the more remarkable seeing\nthat during the short intervals of respite accorded by the Lord of Vez,\nthe Wolf-leader was by no means at peace in himself.\n\nIt was not that the terrible deeds in which he was an active agent, and\nat which he presided, filled him exactly with horror, for he thought\nthem justifiable; he threw the responsibility of them, he said, on to\nthose who had forced him to commit them; but there were moments of\nfailing spirit, for which he could not account, when he went about in\nthe midst of his ferocious companions, feeling gloomy, morose and heavy\nhearted. Again the image of Agnelette would rise before him, seeming to\nhim like the personification of his own past life, honest and laborious,\npeaceful and innocent. And more than that, he felt he loved her more\nthan he had ever thought it possible for him to love anybody. At times\nhe would weep at the thought of all his lost happiness, at others he was\nseized with a wild fit of jealousy against the one to whom she now\nbelonged,--she, who at one time, might if he had liked, have been his.\n\nOne day, the Baron in order to prepare some fresh means of destruction,\nhad been forced for the while to leave the wolves in peace. Thibault,\nwho was in one of the moods we have just described, wandered forth from\nthe den where he lived in company with the wolves. It was a splendid\nsummer\u2019s night, and he began to rove about the woodlands, where the moon\nwas lighting up the trunks of the trees, dreaming of the time when he\ntrod the mossy carpet underfoot free from trouble and anxiety, until at\nlast the only happiness which was now left him, forgetfulness of the\npresent, stole over his senses. Lost in this sweet dream of his earlier\nlife, he was all of a sudden aroused by a cry of distress from somewhere\nnear at hand. He was now so accustomed to such sounds, that, ordinarily,\nhe would have paid no attention to it, but his heart was for the moment\nsoftened by the recollection of Agnelette, and he felt more disposed\nthan usual to pity; as it happened also he was near the place where he\nhad first seen the gentle child, and this helped to awaken his kinder\nnature.\n\nHe ran to the spot whence the cry had come, and as he leaped from the\nunderwood into the deep forest-lane near Ham, he saw a woman struggling\nwith an immense wolf which had thrown her on the ground. Thibault could\nnot have said why he was so agitated at this sight, nor why his heart\nbeat more violently than usual; he rushed forward and seizing the animal\nby the throat hurled it away from its victim, and then lifting the woman\nin his arms, he carried her to the side of the lane and laid her on the\nslope. Here a ray of moonlight, breaking through the clouds, fell on the\nface of the woman he had saved, and Thibault saw that it was Agnelette.\nNear to the spot was the spring in which Thibault had once gazed at\nhimself, and had seen the first red hair; he ran to it, took up water in\nhis hands, and threw it into the woman\u2019s face. Agnelette opened her\neyes, gave a cry of terror, and tried to rise and flee.\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d cried the Wolf-leader, as if he were still Thibault the\nshoe-maker, \u201cyou do not know me again, Agnelette?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! yes indeed, I know you, Thibault; and it is because I know who you\nare,\u201d cried the young woman, \u201cthat I am afraid!\u201d\n\nThen throwing herself on her knees, and clasping her hands: \u201cOh do not\nkill me, Thibault!\u201d she cried, \u201cdo not kill me! it would be such\ndreadful trouble for the poor old grandmother! Thibault, do not kill\nme!\u201d\n\nThe Wolf-leader stood overcome with consternation; up to this hour he\nhad not fully realised the hideous renown which he had gained; but the\nterror which the sight of him inspired in the woman who had loved him\nand whom he still loved, filled him with a horror of himself.\n\n\u201cI, kill you, Agnelette!\u201d he said, \u201cjust when I have snatched you from\ndeath! Oh! how you must hate and despise me for such a thought to enter\nyour head.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not hate you, Thibault,\u201d said the young woman, \u201cbut I hear such\nthings about you, that I feel afraid of you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do they say nothing of the infidelity which has led Thibault to\ncommit such crimes?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not understand you,\u201d said Agnelette looking at Thibault with her\nlarge eyes, blue as the heavens.\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d exclaimed Thibault, \u201cyou do not understand that I loved\nyou--that I adored you Agnelette, and that the loss of you sent me out\nof my mind?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you loved me, if you adored me, Thibault, what prevented you from\nmarrying me?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe spirit of evil,\u201d muttered Thibault.\n\n\u201cI too loved you,\u201d continued the young woman, \u201cand I suffered cruelly\nwaiting for you.\u201d\n\nThibault heaved a sigh.\n\n\u201cYou loved me, Agnelette?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied the young woman with her soft voice and gentle eyes.\n\n\u201cBut now, all is over,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cand you love me no more.\u201d\n\n\u201cThibault,\u201d answered Agnelette, \u201cI no longer love you, because it is no\nlonger right to love you; but one cannot always forget one\u2019s first love\nas one would wish.\u201d\n\n\u201cAgnelette!\u201d cried Thibault, trembling all over, \u201cbe careful what you\nsay!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should I be careful what I say, since it is the truth,\u201d said the\ngirl with an innocent shake of the head. \u201cThe day you told me that you\nwished to make me your wife, I believed you, Thibault; for why should I\nthink that you would lie to me when I had just done you a service? Then,\nlater I met you, but I did not go in search of you; you came to me, you\nspoke words of love to me, you were the first to refer to the promise\nthat you had made me. And it was not my fault either, Thibault, that I\nwas afraid of that ring which you wore, which was large enough for you\nand yet, oh, it was horrible! not big enough for one of my fingers.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you like me not to wear this ring any more?\u201d said Thibault.\n\u201cWould you like me to throw it away?\u201d And he began trying to pull it off\nhis finger, but as it had been too small to go on Agnelette\u2019s finger, so\nnow it was too small to be taken off Thibault\u2019s. In vain he struggled\nwith it, and tried to move it with his teeth; the ring seemed rivetted\nto his finger for all eternity.\n\nThibault saw that it was no use trying to get rid of it; it was a token\nof compact between himself and the black wolf, and with a sigh he let\nhis arms fall hopelessly to his sides.\n\n\u201cThat day,\u201d went on Agnelette, \u201cI ran away; I know that I was wrong to\ndo so, but I was no longer mistress of myself after seeing that ring and\nmore still....\u201d She lifted her eyes as she spoke, looking timidly up at\nThibault\u2019s hair. Thibault was bare-headed, and, by the light of the moon\nAgnelette could see that it was no longer a single hair that shone red\nas the flames of hell, but that half the hair on Thibault\u2019s head was now\nof this devil\u2019s colour.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d she exclaimed, drawing back, \u201cThibault! Thibault! What has\nhappened to you since I last saw you?\u201d\n\n\u201cAgnelette!\u201d cried Thibault throwing himself down with his face to the\nground, and holding his head between his hands, \u201cI could not tell any\nhuman creature, not even a priest what has happened to me since then;\nbut to Agnelette, all I can say is: Agnelette! Agnelette! have pity on\nme, for I have been most unhappy!\u201d\n\nAgnelette went up to him and took his hands in hers.\n\n\u201cYou did love me then? You did love me?\u201d he cried.\n\n\u201cWhat can I do, Thibault!\u201d said the girl with the same sweetness and\ninnocence as before. \u201cI took you at your word, and every time I heard\nsomeone knocking at our hut door, I thought it was you come to say to\nthe old grandmother, \u2018Mother, I love Agnelette, Agnelette loves me; will\nyou give her to me for my wife?\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cThen when I went and opened the door, and found that it was not you, I\nused to go into a corner and cry.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd now, Agnelette, now?\u201d\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d she answered. \u201cNow, Thibault, it may seem strange, but in spite\nof all the terrible tales that are told about you, I have not been\nreally frightened; I was sure that you could not wish any harm to me,\nand I was walking boldly through the forest, when that dreadful beast\nfrom which you saved me, suddenly sprang upon me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how is it that you are near your old home? do you not live with\nyour husband?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe lived together for a while at Vez, but there was no room there for\nthe grandmother; and so I said to my husband, \u2018the grandmother must be\nthought of first; I must go back to her; when you wish to see me you\nwill come.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd he consented to that arrangement?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at first, but I pointed out to him that the grandmother is seventy\nyears of age; that if she were only to live another two or three years,\nGod grant it may be more! it would only be two or three years of some\nextra trouble for us, whereas, in all probability we had long years of\nlife before us. Then he understood that it was right to give to those\nthat had least.\u201d\n\nBut all the while that Agnelette was giving this explanation, Thibault\ncould think of nothing but that the love she once had for him was not\nyet dead.\n\n\u201cSo,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cyou loved me? and so, Agnelette you could love me\nagain...?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is impossible now because I belong to another.\u201d\n\n\u201cAgnelette, Agnelette! only say that you love me!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Thibault, if I loved you, I should do everything in the world to\nhide it from you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why?\u201d cried Thibault. \u201cWhy? you do not know my power. I know that I\nhave only a wish or two left, but with your help, by combining these\nwishes together, I could make you as rich as a queen.... We could leave\nthe country, leave France, Europe; there are large countries, of which\nyou do not even know the names, Agnelette, called America and India.\nThey are paradises, with blue skies, tall trees and birds of every kind.\nAgnelette, say that you will come with me; nobody will know that we have\ngone off together, nobody will know where we are, nobody will know that\nwe love one another, nobody will know even that we are alive.\u201d\n\n\u201cFly with you, Thibault!\u201d said Agnelette, looking at the wolf-leader as\nif she had but half understood what he said, \u201cdo you forget that I no\nlonger belong to myself? do you not know that I am married?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does that matter,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cif it is I whom you love, and\nif we can live happily together!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! Thibault! Thibault! what are you saying!\u201d\n\n\u201cListen,\u201d went on Thibault, \u201cI am going to speak to you in the name of\nthis world and the next. Do you wish to save me, Agnelette, body and\nsoul? If so, do not resist my pleading, have pity on me, come with me;\nlet us go somewhere together, where we shall no longer hear these\nhowlings, or breathe this atmosphere of reeking flesh; and, if it scares\nyou to think of being a rich, grand lady, somewhere then where I can\nagain be Thibault the workman, Thibault, poor but beloved, and,\ntherefore, Thibault happy in his hard work, some place where Agnelette\nwill have no other husband but me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! Thibault! I was ready to become your wife, and you scorned me!\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not remember my sins, Agnelette, which have been so cruelly\npunished.\u201d\n\n\u201cThibault, another has done what you were not willing to do. He took the\npoor young girl; he burdened himself with the poor old blind woman; he\ngave a name to the one and bread to the other; he had no ambition beyond\nthat of gaining my love; he desired no dowry beyond my marriage vow; can\nyou think of asking me to return evil for good? Do you dare to suggest\nthat I should leave the one who has given me such proof of his love for\nthe one who has given me proof only of his indifference?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what matter still, Agnelette, since you do not love him and since\nyou do love me?\u201d\n\n\u201cThibault, do not turn and twist my words to make them appear to say\nwhat they do not. I said that I still preserved my friendship for you, I\nnever said that I did not love my husband. I should like to see you\nhappy, my friend; above all I should like to see you abjure your evil\nways and repent of your sins; and last of all, I wish that God may have\nmercy upon you, and that you may be delivered from that spirit of evil,\nof which you spoke just now. For this I pray night and morning on my\nknees; but even that I may be able to pray for you, I must keep myself\npure; if the voice that supplicates for mercy is to rise to God\u2019s\nthrone, it must be an innocent one; above all, I must scrupulously keep\nthe oath which I swore at His altar.\u201d\n\nOn hearing these decisive words from Agnelette, Thibault again became\nfierce and morose.\n\n\u201cDo you not know, Agnelette, that it is very imprudent of you to speak\nto me here like that?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why, Thibault?\u201d asked the young woman.\n\n\u201cWe are alone here together; it is dark, and not a man of the open would\ndare to come into the forest at this hour; and know, the King is not\nmore master in his kingdom than I am here?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not understand you, Thibault?\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean that having prayed, implored, and conjured, I can now threaten.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou, threaten?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat I mean is,\u201d continued Thibault, paying no heed to Agnelette\u2019s\nwords, \u201cthat every word you speak does not excite my love for you more\nthan it rouses my hatred towards him; in short, I mean that it is\nimprudent of the lamb to irritate the wolf when the lamb is in the power\nof the wolf.\u201d\n\n\u201cI told you, Thibault, before, that I started to walk through the forest\nwithout any feeling of fear at meeting you. As I was coming to, I felt a\nmomentary terror, remembering involuntarily what I had heard said about\nyou; but at this moment, Thibault, you will try in vain to make me turn\npale.\u201d\n\nThibault flung both hands up to his head.\n\n\u201cDo not talk like that,\u201d he said, \u201cyou cannot think what the devil is\nwhispering to me, and what an effort I have to make to resist his\nvoice.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may kill me if you like,\u201d replied Agnelette, \u201cbut I will not be\nguilty of the cowardice which you ask of me; you may kill me, but I\nshall remain faithful to my husband; you may kill me, but I shall pray\nto God to help him as I die.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not speak his name, Agnelette; do not make me think about that man.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can threaten me as much as you like, Thibault, for I am in your\nhands; but, happily, he is far from you, and you have no power over\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who told you that, Agnelette? do you not know that, thanks to the\ndiabolical power I possess and which I can hardly fight against, I am\nable to strike as well far as near?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if I should become a widow, Thibault, do you imagine that I should\nbe vile enough to accept your hand when it was stained with the blood of\nthe one whose name I bear?\u201d\n\n\u201cAgnelette,\u201d said Thibault falling on his knees, \u201cAgnelette, save me\nfrom committing a further crime.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is you, not I, who will be responsible for the crime. I can give you\nmy life, Thibault, but not my honour.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d roared Thibault, \u201clove flies from the heart when hatred enters;\ntake care, Agnelette! take heed to your husband! The devil is in me, and\nhe will soon speak through my mouth. Instead of the consolation which I\nhad hoped from your love, and which your love refuses, I will have\nvengeance. Stay my hand, Agnelette, there is yet time, stay it from\ncursing, from destroying; if not, understand that it is not I, but you,\nwho strike him dead! Agnelette, you know now.... Agnelette, you do not\nstop me from speaking? Let it be so then, and let the curse fall on all\nthree of us, you and him and me! Agnelette, I wish your husband to die,\nand he will die!\u201d\n\nAgnelette uttered a terrible cry; then, as if her reason reasserted\nitself, protesting against this murder at a distance which seemed\nimpossible to her, she exclaimed:\n\n\u201cNo, no; you only say that to terrify me, but my prayers will prevail\nagainst your maledictions.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo then, and learn how heaven answers your prayers. Only, if you wish\nto see your husband again alive, Agnelette, you had better make haste,\nor you will but stumble against his dead body.\u201d\n\nOvercome by the tone of conviction with which these last words were\npronounced, and yielding to an irresistible feeling of terror,\nAgnelette, without responding to Thibault, who stood on the further side\nof the lane with his hand held out and pointing towards Pr\u00e9ciamont, set\noff running in the direction which it seemed to indicate, and soon\ndisappeared into the night as she turned out of sight at the corner of\nthe road. As she passed from his view, Thibault uttered a howl, which\nmight have been taken for the howling of a whole pack of wolves, and\nplunging into the thicket, \u201cAh! now,\u201d he cried aloud to himself, \u201cI am\nindeed a lost and accursed soul!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHIBAULT\u2019S LAST WISH\n\n\nUrged in her flight by a hideous terror, and anxious to reach the\nvillage where she had left her husband with all speed possible,\nAgnelette, for the very reason that she was running so hastily, was\nforced by her failing breath, to pause at intervals along the way.\nDuring these short spaces of rest, she endeavoured to reason with\nherself, trying to convince herself of the folly of attaching importance\nto words which could have no power in themselves, and which were\ndictated by jealousy and hatred, words which had by now been scattered\nto the winds; but notwithstanding all her mental arguments, she had no\nsooner regained her breath than she started off again at the same\nprecipitate pace, for she felt she should know no peace until she had\nseen her husband again. Best part of her way led through the forest, and\nnear the wildest and most solitary enclosures, but she gave no thought\nto the wolves, which were the terror of every town and village within\nten miles round. Only one fear possessed her, that of coming across her\nhusband\u2019s dead body. More than once, as her foot struck against a stone\nor a branch, her heart stopped beating, and she felt as if her last\nbreath had been drawn, while a sharp cold seemed to enter her very\nvitals, her hair stood on end and her face grew wet with perspiration.\nAt last, at the end of the long path she had been traversing, arched\nover by the trees, she saw ahead of her, a vista of open country lying\nbathed in the soft silver light of the moon. As she emerged from the\ngloom into the light, a man, who had been concealed behind a bush in the\nhollow lying between the forest and the open country, sprang in front of\nher and took her in his arms.\n\n\u201cAh! ah!\u201d he said, laughing, \u201cand where are you off to, Madame, at this\nhour of the night, and at this pace too?\u201d Agnelette recognised her\nhusband.\n\n\u201cEtienne! dear, dear Etienne,\u201d cried the young woman, throwing her arms\nround his neck. \u201cHow thankful I am to see you again, and to find you\nalive and well! Oh, my God, I thank Thee!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, did you think, you poor little Agnelette,\u201d said Engoulevent,\n\u201cthat Thibault and his wolves had been making their dinner of me?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! do not even speak of Thibault, Etienne! let us fly, dear one, fly\nto where there are houses!\u201d\n\nThe young huntsman laughed again. \u201cWell, now then, you will make all the\ngossips of Pr\u00e9ciamont and Vez declare that a husband is of no use at\nall, not even to restore his wife\u2019s courage.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right, Etienne; but although I have just had the courage to\ncome through these great dreadful woods, now that I have you with me and\nshould feel reassured, I tremble with fear, and yet I know not why.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat has happened to you? Come, tell me all about it,\u201d said Etienne,\ngiving his wife a kiss. Then Agnelette told him how she had been\nattacked by the wolf, how Thibault had rescued her from its claws, and\nwhat had passed between them afterwards. Engoulevent listened with the\ngreatest attention.\n\n\u201cListen,\u201d he said to Agnelette, \u201cI am going to take you home and shut\nyou up carefully with the grandmother, so that no harm may come to you;\nand then I shall ride over and tell my lord of Vez where Thibault has\ntaken up his quarters.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! no, no!\u201d cried Agnelette, \u201cyou would have to ride through the\nforest, and there is no knowing what danger you might run.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will make a d\u00e9tour,\u201d said Etienne, \u201cI can go round by Croyolles and\nValue instead of crossing the forest.\u201d\n\nAgnelette sighed and shook her head, but made no further resistance; she\nknew that Engoulevent would not give in on this matter, and she reserved\nher strength wherewith to renew her entreaties when she was once\nindoors.\n\nAnd in truth, the young huntsman only considered that he was doing his\nduty, for a great _battue_ had been arranged for the next day in a part\nof the forest on the further side from that on which Agnelette had met\nThibault. Etienne, therefore, was bound to go without delay and report\nto his master the whereabouts of the Wolf-leader. There was not too much\nof the night left for the work of re-arranging for the morrow\u2019s\n_battue_.\n\nAs they drew near Pr\u00e9ciamont, Agnelette, who had not spoken for a while,\ndecided that she had, during her silence, amassed a sufficient number of\nreasons to justify her in beginning her solicitations afresh, which she\ndid with even more earnestness than she had put into her former\narguments. She reminded Etienne that Thibault, even though he might be a\nwere-wolf, had, so far from hurting her, actually saved her life; and\nthat after all, he had not abused his power when he had her in it, but\nhad allowed her to leave him and rejoin her husband. And after that, to\nbetray where he was to his mortal enemy, the Lord of Vez, was not\nperforming a duty, but committing an act of treachery; and Thibault, who\nwould certainly get wind of this treachery, would never under similar\ncircumstances show mercy to any one again. Agnelette became quite\neloquent as she pleaded Thibault\u2019s cause. But, when marrying\nEngoulevent, she had made no more secret of her former engagement to the\nshoe-maker than she had of this last interview with him, and however\nperfect a confidence he had in his wife, Engoulevent was nevertheless\nnot unsusceptible to jealousy. More than that, there existed an old\ngrudge between the two men, ever since the day when Engoulevent had\nspied out Thibault in his tree, and his boar-spear in a neighbouring\nbush. So he stood his ground, and though listening to Agnelette,\ncontinued to walk briskly towards Pr\u00e9ciamont. And so arguing together,\nand each insisting that he or she was in the right, they came to within\na stone\u2019s throw of the first forest-fences. To protect themselves as far\nas possible from Thibault\u2019s sudden and unexpected assaults, the peasants\nhad instituted patrol parties, who mounted guard at night as in times of\nwar. Etienne and Agnelette were so pre-occupied with their discussion,\nthat they did not hear the call of \u201cWho goes there!\u201d from the sentinel\nbehind the hedge, and went walking on in the direction of the village.\nThe sentinel, seeing something moving in the darkness which to his\nprepossessed imagination appeared to be a monstrous form of some kind,\nand hearing no answer to his challenge, he prepared to shoot. Looking up\nat that moment, the young huntsman suddenly caught sight of the\nsentinel, as the moonlight shone on the barrel of his gun. Calling out\n\u201cFriend,\u201d he threw himself in front of Agnelette, flinging his arms\nround her, so as to make a shield of his body. But at the same instant\nthe gun went off, and the unfortunate Etienne, giving one last sigh,\nfell forward without a groan against the wife he was clasping in his\narms. The bullet had pierced his heart. When the people of Pr\u00e9ciamont,\non hearing the gun shot, came running up to the spot, they found\nEngoulevent dead, and Agnelette lying unconscious beside her husband.\nThey carried her to her grandmother\u2019s, but she only came to her senses\nto fall into a state of despair which bordered on delirium, and which at\nlast became almost madness. She accused herself of her husband\u2019s death,\ncalled him by name, begged the invisible spirits, which seemed to haunt\nher, even in the short intervals of slumber which her excited state of\nbrain made possible, to have mercy upon him. She called Thibault\u2019s name,\nand addressed such heartbroken supplications to him that those about her\nwere moved to tears. By degrees, in spite of the incoherence of her\nwords, the real facts became evident, and it grew to be generally\nunderstood that the Wolf-leader was in some way accountable for the\nunhappy accident which had caused poor Etienne\u2019s death. The common enemy\nwas therefore accused of having cast a spell over the two unfortunate\nyoung creatures, and the animosity felt towards the former shoe-maker\nbecame intensified.\n\nIn vain doctors were sent for from Villers-Cotterets and Fert\u00e9-Milon,\nAgnelette became worse and worse; her strength was rapidly failing; her\nvoice, after the first few days, grew feebler, her breath shorter,\nalthough her delirium was as violent as ever, and everything, even the\nsilence on the doctors\u2019 part, led to the belief that poor Agnelette\nwould soon follow her husband to the grave. The voice of the old blind\nwoman alone seemed to have any power to allay the fever. When she heard\nher grandmother speaking, she grew calmer, the haggard staring eyes grew\nsofter and suffused with tears; she would pass her hand over her\nforehead as if to drive away some haunting thought, and a sorrowful\nwandering smile would pass across her lips.\n\nOne evening, towards night, her slumber seemed to be more agitated and\ndistressed than usual. The hut, feebly lit by a little copper lamp, was\nin semi-darkness; the grandmother sat by the hearth, with that\nimmobility of countenance under which peasants and savages hide their\nstrongest feelings. At the foot of the bed on which Agnelette lay, so\nworn and white that, had it not been for the regular rise and fall of\nher bosom with its troubled breathing, you might have taken her for\ndead, knelt one of the women, whom the Baron was paying to attend upon\nthe widow of his young huntsman, engaged in telling her beads; the other\nwas silently spinning with her distaff. All at once, the sick woman, who\nfor some minutes past had been shivering at intervals, seemed to be\nfighting against some horrible dream, and gave a piercing cry of\nanguish. At that moment the door burst open, a man seemingly encircled\nby flames, rushed into the room, leapt to Agnelette\u2019s bed, clasped the\ndying woman in his arms, pressed his lips upon her forehead, uttering\ncries of sorrow, then, rushing to another door which gave on to the open\ncountry, opened it and disappeared. The apparition had come and gone so\nquickly that it seemed almost like an hallucination, and as if Agnelette\nwere endeavouring to repulse some invisible object as she cried out,\n\u201cTake him away! take him away!\u201d But the two watchers had seen the man\nand had recognised Thibault, and there was a clamouring outside, in the\nmidst of which the name of Thibault could be distinguished. Soon the\nclamour came nearer to Agnelette\u2019s hut, and those who were uttering the\ncries ere long appeared on the threshold; they were in pursuit of the\nWolf-leader. Thibault had been seen prowling in the neighbourhood of the\nhut, and the villagers, warned of this by their sentinels, had armed\nthemselves with pitch-forks and sticks preparatory to giving him chase.\nThibault, hearing of the hopeless condition in which Agnelette was, had\nnot been able to resist his longing to see her once again, and at the\nrisk of what might happen to him, he had passed through the village,\ntrusting to the rapidity of his movements, had opened the door of the\nhut and rushed in to see the dying woman.\n\nThe two women showed the peasants the door by which Thibault had\nescaped, and like a pack that has recovered the scent they started\nafresh on his track with renewed cries and threats. Thibault, it need\nhardly be said, escaped from them and disappeared in the forest.\n\nAgnelette\u2019s condition, after the terrible shock given her by Thibault\u2019s\npresence and embrace, became so alarming that before the night was over\nthe priest was sent for; she had evidently now but a few hours longer to\nlive and suffer. Towards midnight the priest arrived, followed by the\nsacristan carrying the cross, and the choir-boys bearing the holy water.\nThese went and knelt at the foot of the bed, while the priest took his\nplace at the head beside Agnelette. And now, some mysterious power\nseemed to re-animate the dying woman. For a long time she spoke in a low\nvoice with the priest, and as the poor child had no need of long prayers\nfor herself, it was certain that she must be praying for another. And\nwho was that other? God, the priest, and Agnelette alone knew.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nTHE ANNIVERSARY\n\n\nAs soon as Thibault ceased to hear the furious cries of his pursuers\nbehind him, he slackened his pace, and the usual silence again reigning\nthroughout the forest, he paused and sat down on a heap of stones. He\nwas in such a troubled state of mind that he did not recognise where he\nwas, until he began to notice that some of the stones were blackened, as\nif they had been licked by flames; they were the stones of his own\nformer hearth.\n\nChance had led him to the spot where a few months previously his hut had\nstood.\n\nThe shoe-maker evidently felt the bitterness of the comparison between\nthat peaceful past and this terrible present, for large tears rolled\ndown his cheeks and fell upon the cinders at his feet. He heard midnight\nstrike from the Oigny church clock, then one after the other from the\nother neighbouring village towers. At this moment the priest was\nlistening to Agnelette\u2019s dying prayers.\n\n\u201cCursed be the day!\u201d cried Thibault, \u201cwhen I first wished for anything\nbeyond what God chooses to put within the reach of a poor workman!\nCursed be the day when the black wolf gave me the power to do evil, for\nthe ill that I have done, instead of adding to my happiness, has\ndestroyed it for ever!\u201d\n\nA loud laugh was heard behind Thibault\u2019s back.\n\nHe turned; there was the black wolf himself, creeping noiselessly along,\nlike a dog coming to rejoin its master. The wolf would have been\ninvisible in the gloom but for the flames shot forth from his eyes,\nwhich illuminated the darkness; he went round the hearth and sat down\nfacing the shoe-maker.\n\n\u201cWhat is this!\u201d he said. \u201cMaster Thibault not satisfied? It seems that\nMaster Thibault is difficult to please.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can I feel satisfied,\u201d said Thibault. \u201cI, who since I first met\nyou, have known nothing but vain aspirations and endless regrets? I\nwished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble\nroof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without\nanxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the\nwind beating against the branches of the giant oaks.\n\n\u201cI wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the\nlowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the\nonly woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and\nshe is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I,\nnotwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help\nher!\u201d\n\n\u201cLeave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes, laugh at me, do!\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other\npeople\u2019s property before you had set eyes on me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good\nbrowsing in the forest!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but\nwishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to\nnight. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish\non which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the\nservant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents.\nAmbition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the\nhorizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette\u2019s\ninnocence, and went after Madame Poulet\u2019s mill; if you had gained the\nmill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff\nMagloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you\nwhen once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert.\n\n\u201cYou are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your\nmaster and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit\nthat might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it\nwould perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an\nhonest life.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed,\u201d replied the shoe-maker, \u201cI feel the truth of the proverb,\n\u2018Evil to him who evil wishes\u2019\u201d But, he continued, \u201ccan I not become an\nhonest man again?\u201d\n\nThe wolf gave a mocking chuckle.\n\n\u201cMy good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell,\u201d he said, \u201cby a\nsingle hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have\nwhich are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the\ntime for repentance.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil,\u201d\nsaid Thibault, \u201cwhy cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single\nhair?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, try if that is so!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not\nunderstand that it was to be a compact of this kind.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact\nthen to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men\ninvented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in\nreturn for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their\nrelinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands.\nYou gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have\nproved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no,\nThibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold\nof the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of\ndeceit and violence.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so,\u201d cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot,\n\u201cand so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the\npleasures of this!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can yet enjoy these.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how, I pray.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and\nresolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as\nyet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to\nbe one of us.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how am I to do this?\u201d\n\n\u201cTake my place.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what then?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish\nfor.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I\nlong for, why do you give it up?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won\na retainer will liberally reward me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a\nbullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches,\ngood-bye position and pleasure.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or\nsteel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only\ninvulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will\nbecome a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval,\nyou will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached\nthat dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said Thibault, \u201cthat explains why you feared my Lord Baron\u2019s\ndogs.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but\nthe truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me,\nnow, in what that power will consist?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to\nwithstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible.\u201d\n\n\u201cShall I be rich?\u201d\n\n\u201cSo rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the\nmere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only\nacquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by\ntheir conjurations.\u201d\n\n\u201cShall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with\nevil.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be\nable to do with them what you like.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my\nwill?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, except death, which is stronger than all.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the\nthree hundred and sixty-five?\u201d\n\n\u201cOn one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you,\nneither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words?\u201d\n\n\u201cNone, on my honour as a wolf!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood,\u201d said Thibault, \u201cthen let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty\nhours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to\ndo? I am ready.\u201d\n\n\u201cPick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw\nit away from you, as far as you can.\u201d\n\nThibault did as he was commanded.\n\nHaving torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and\nalthough the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was\nimmediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind\narose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with\nit.\n\n\u201cAnd now, brother Thibault,\u201d said the wolf, \u201ctake my place, and good\nluck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to\nbecome a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out\nof the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see\nrealised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord\nof the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the\nBaron\u2019s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in\nyou, friend Thibault.\u201d\n\nAnd then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger\nand taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in\nthe form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he\ndisappeared.\n\nWe say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault\u2019s ideas, for a second or two,\nbecame very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing\nhis power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs\nwere imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in\nevery respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes\nbefore had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone\nshone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one\nwhite hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the\nman.\n\nThibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he\nheard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled\nbark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus\nmetamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what\nhis predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was\nprobably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the\nhounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the\nmanner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that\nin his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of\nlimb.\n\n\u201cBy the devil and his horns!\u201d the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard\nto say to his new huntsman a few paces off, \u201cyou hold the leash too\nslack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall\nnever head the wolf back now.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last\nevening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would\ntake up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it\nwas so close to us as all that.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often?\u201d\n\n\u201cMay the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the\nsame black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was\ndrowned.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should like finely to put the dogs on its track,\u201d said the Baron,\nwith a sigh.\n\n\u201cMy lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow\nme to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us,\ntime enough for every horse we have to break its legs.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat may be, but if we wait for the day, l\u2019Eveill\u00e9, the fellow will\nhave had time to get ten leagues away.\u201d\n\n\u201cTen leagues at least,\u201d said l\u2019Eveill\u00e9, shaking his head.\n\n\u201cI have got this cursed black wolf on my brain,\u201d added the Baron, \u201cand I\nhave such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an\nillness if I do not get hold of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment\u2019s loss of\ntime.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right, l\u2019Eveill\u00e9; go and fetch the hounds.\u201d\n\nL\u2019Eveill\u00e9 went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the\nwood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes\u2019 time, which seemed\nlike ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting\ntrain. The hounds were immediately uncoupled.\n\n\u201cGently, gently, my lads!\u201d said the Lord of Vez, \u201cyou forget you are not\nhandling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw\nrecruits, they\u2019ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good\nthan so many turnspits; let \u2019em get warmed up by degrees.\u201d\n\nAnd, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at\nonce on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon\nthe others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault\u2019s track,\nat first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long\nintervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so\nthoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent\nhad become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with\nunparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice.\n\n\u201cWell begun, is half done!\u201d cried the Baron. \u201cYou look after the relays,\nl\u2019Eveill\u00e9; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the\ndogs.... And you be on the alert, you others,\u201d he added, addressing\nhimself to the younger keepers, \u201cwe have more than one defeat to avenge,\nand if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by\nthe devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs\u2019 quarry in place of the\nwolf!\u201d\n\nAfter pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse\nto the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was\nrough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the\nhounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about\nBourg-Fontaine.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nHUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF\n\n\nThibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had\ntaken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For\nsome time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like\ndistant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began\nto feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at\ngreater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues\nbetween himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his\nbearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head\nand listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the\nTillet coppice.\n\nIt required a wolf\u2019s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went\ndown the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to\nthe left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down\nits course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of\nLessart-l\u2019Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi\u00e8gne. He was\nsomewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours\u2019 hard\nrunning, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least\nfatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was\nnot so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets.\n\nAfter another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly\nhe would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a\ngallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took\nto the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand,\nregained the stream by the Sanc\u00e8res timber floatage, and once more\nfound himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just\nas he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack\nof twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton\u2019s huntsman was bringing up\nas a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase.\nInstantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight\nof the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it\nwould get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before\nloosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and\nthe dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in\nspite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a\nchase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong\npace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of\nlightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a\nsound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed\nover hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as\nif horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The\nBaron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost\nriding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated,\nexciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs\ninto his horse\u2019s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to\nhesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held\non at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh\npack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got\nback to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to\nthe full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he\nstill ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he\nfelt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken\nvengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had\nknown those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this\ncritical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had\ngained Agnelette\u2019s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at\nothers by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this\nyelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them\nwith stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage,\ndeafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he\nfled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an\neagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the\nsounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more\ndistant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more\nthreatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not\nfail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck,\nhe were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So\nhe determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and\nto get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade\nthe dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to\nPuiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi\u00e8gne,\nmade a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at\nAttichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the\nlow lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical\nplans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various\nlikely points.\n\nOnce back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now\non the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river\nruns at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a\nsharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage\nground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the\nbase of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather\nbelow the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this\ncave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and\nyet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack\narrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad\nwith excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like\ntheir quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they\nplunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the\nwater that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by\none. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were\nunable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it,\nthey were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of\nthe were-wolf\u2019s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the\nhorses\u2019 feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of\nmen, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of\nthe Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the\nwater, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend\nin the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that\nthe Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would\nonly do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not\nto wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping\nwith agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the\nwater, he went up the river to the end of the Cr\u00eane coppice. Certain\nthat he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved\nto get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses,\nfeeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He\nthought of Pr\u00e9ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was\nthat; and then, at Pr\u00e9ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that\nthis neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him\ngood fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have\nsome influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was\nnow six o\u2019clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen\nhours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least.\nWhen, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black\nwolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was\nalready beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the\nflowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that\nplayed caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its\nlittle house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven,\nsaluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted\nthe morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on\nThibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling\nand beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw\nthe flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the\nquiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was\nenduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the\nnew promises that had been made him by the devil\u2019s envoy, he had acted\nany more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the\nfirst. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in\nthe one as he had been in the other.\n\nAs he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom,\nhe suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken\nAgnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when\ninspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought\nthat, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover\nAgnelette\u2019s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and\ndepressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard\nthe church bells at Pr\u00e9ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn,\nmonotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black\nwolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across\nthe fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some\nempty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village\ncemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was\nin. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming\ntowards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he\nwould have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen;\nso there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the\ncemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as\nusual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall\ngrass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made\nfor the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined\nvault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under\nthe branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a\nnewly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the\npriests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have\ncommunicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased,\nand the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood\nof a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that\nit was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one\nhe had fled to in his haste.\n\nBut he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate\nof the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in\ngreat trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person\nhe saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy\nwater; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross,\nand after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead.\n\nBehind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white\npall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath\nthe sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from\nPr\u00e9ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing\nunusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and\nthat the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault,\nnevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the\nslightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon\nhim, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony.\n\nThe priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down\ntheir burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country\nwhen a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her\nyouth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with\nonly a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell,\nher relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and\nall is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently\nblind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the\npeasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A\nlow groan escaped from Thibault\u2019s agonised breast, and mingled with the\ntears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in\ndeath, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when\nin life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault\nlooked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within\nhim. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and\nhe experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant\nsince for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of\nhimself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever.\n\nAs he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin,\nas he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and\nfalling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever\nloved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought\nmust be bruising Agnelette\u2019s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few\ndays ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a\nmovement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body,\nwhich dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to\nanother.\n\nBut the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at\nbay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin;\ntears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried\nout: \u201cO God! take my life, I give it gladly, if only by my death I may\ngive back life to her whom I have killed!\u201d\n\nThe words were followed by such an appalling howl, that all who were in\nthe cemetery fled, and the place was left utterly deserted. Almost at\nthe same moment, the hounds, having recovered the scent, came leaping in\nover the wall, followed by the Baron, streaming with sweat as he rode\nhis horse, which was covered with foam and blood.\n\nThe dogs made straight for the bramble bush, and began worrying\nsomething hidden there.\n\n\u201cHalloo! halloo!! halloo!!!\u201d cried the Lord of Vez, in a voice of\nthunder, as he leapt from his horse, not caring if there was anyone or\nnot to look after it, and drawing out his hunting-knife, he dashed\ntowards the vault, forcing his way through the hounds. He found them\nfighting over a fresh and bleeding wolf-skin, but the body had\ndisappeared.\n\nThere was no mistake as to its being the skin of the were-wolf that they\nhad been hunting, for with the exception of one white hair, it was\nentirely black.\n\nWhat had become of the body? No one ever knew. Only as from this time\nforth Thibault was never seen again, it was generally believed that the\nformer sabot-maker and no other was the were-wolf.\n\nFurthermore, as the skin had been found without the body, and, as, from\nthe spot where it was found a peasant reported to have heard someone\nspeak the words: \u201cO God! take my life! I give it gladly, if only by my\ndeath I may give back life to her whom I have killed,\u201d the priest\ndeclared openly that Thibault, by reason of his sacrifice and\nrepentance, had been saved!\n\nAnd what added to the consistency of belief in this tradition was, that\nevery year on the anniversary of Agnelette\u2019s death, up to the time when\nthe Monasteries were all abolished at the Revolution, a monk from the\nAbbey of the Premonstratensians at Bourg-Fontaine, which stands half a\nleague from Pr\u00e9ciamont, was seen to come and pray beside her grave.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSuch is the history of the black wolf, as it was told me by old Mocquet,\nmy father\u2019s keeper.\n\nTHE END.\n\nPrinted by GILBERT & RIVINGTON, Ltd., St. John\u2019s House, Clerkenwell,\nLondon, E.C.\n\n\nTypographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:\n\nAbencerages=> Abencerrages {pg 14}\n\nwhip the exorcisims=> whip the exorcisms {pg 20}\n\nearnest supplicacation=> earnest supplication {pg 23}\n\nHow should I know who your were=> How should I know who you were {pg 29}\n\nIn the the midst=> In the midst {pg 34}\n\nAngelette\u2019s=> Agnelette\u2019s {pg 35, 114}\n\nAngelette=> {pg 35}\n\nNethertheless=> Nevertheless {pg 39}\n\nshook her her head=> shook her head {pg 46}\n\nremainder of lis life=> remainder of his life {pg 58}\n\nsince he had been at tale=> since he had been at table {pg 58}\n\nSee arranged the folds of her dress=> She arranged the folds of her\ndress {pg 65}\n\nboat-spear in the bush=> boar-spear in the bush {pg 76}\n\nsimiliar to that=> similar to that {pg 84}\n\ngropped about=> groped about {pg 81}\n\nking\u2019s ramsom=> king\u2019s ransom {pg 85}\n\nfrom his legthargy=> from his lethargy {pg 89}\n\nThibaubt, pushed him away=> Thibault, pushed him away {pg 90}\n\nthe lord of Vex=> the lord of Vez {pg 91}\n\nlet us be of!=> let us be off! {pg 91}\n\nand making for for=> and making for {pg 99}\n\nless than the Barons\u2019 profound knowledge=> less than the Baron\u2019s\nprofound knowledge {pg 100}\n\nthe people of P\u00e9ciamont=> the people of Pr\u00e9ciamont {pg 107}\n\ntwo unfortunate youg creatures=> two unfortunate young creatures {pg\n107}\n\nGrimaucourt=> Grimancourt {pg 111}\n\nLisart l\u2019Abbesse=> Lessart-l\u2019Abbesse {pg 111}","title":"The Wolf-Leader","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":89773}