Original Short Stories. Volume IV

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Original ShortStories

Voleme IV

Guy de Maupassant

W o r k r e r o d

u c e d w i t h n o

e d i t o r i a l r e s

o n s i b i l i t



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THE MORIBUND

The warm autumn sun was beating down othe farmyard. Under the grass, which had beecropped close by the cows, the earth soaked brecent rains, was soft and sank in under the fewith a soggy noise, and the apple trees, loade

with apples, were dropping their pale greefruit in the dark green grass.

Four young heifers, tied in a line, were grazinand at times looking toward the house anlowing. The fowls made a colored patch on thdung-heap before the stable, scratching, moving about and cackling, while two roostercrowed continually, digging worms for the

hens, whom they were calling with a louclucking.

The wooden gate opened and a man enteredHe might have been forty years old, but h

looked at least sixty, wrinkled, bent, walkin



slowly, impeded by the weight of heavwooden shoes full of straw. His long armhung down on both sides of his body. When h

got near the farm a yellow cur, tied at the fooof an enormous pear tree, beside a barrel whicserved as his kennel, began at first to wag htail and then to bark for joy. The man cried:

"Down, Finot!"

The dog was quiet.

A peasant woman came out of the house. He

large, flat, bony body was outlined under long woollen jacket drawn in at the waist. gray skirt, too short, fell to the middle of helegs, which were encased in blue stockingShe, too, wore wooden shoes, filled with straw

The white cap, turned yellow, covered a fewhairs which were plastered to the scalp, and hebrown, thin, ugly, toothless face had that wildanimal expression which is often to be foun

on the faces of the peasants.



The man asked:

"How is he gettin' along?"

The woman answered:

"The priest said it's the end—that he will nevelive through the night."

Both of them went into the house.

After passing through the kitchen, they enterea low, dark room, barely lighted by one window, in front of which a piece of calico wa

hanging. The big beams, turned brown witage and smoke, crossed the room from one sidto the other, supporting the thin floor of thgarret, where an army of rats ran about da

and night.

The moist, lumpy earthen floor looked greasyand, at the back of the room, the bed made aindistinct white spot. A harsh, regular noise,

difficult, hoarse, wheezing breathing, like th



gurgling of water from a broken pump, camfrom the darkened couch where an old manthe father of the peasant woman, was dying.

The man and the woman approached the dyinman and looked at him with calm, resigneeyes.

The son-in-law said:

"I guess it's all up with him this time; he winot last the night."

The woman answered:"He's been gurglin' like that ever since midday." They were silent. The father's eyes werclosed, his face was the color of the earth and s

dry that it looked like wood. Through his opemouth came his harsh, rattling breath, and thgray linen sheet rose and fell with each respiration.

The son-in-law, after a long silence, said:



"There's nothing more to do; I can't help himIt's a nuisance, just the same, because the weaher is good and we've got a lot of work to do."

His wife seemed annoyed at this idea. She rflected a few moments and then said:

"He won't be buried till Saturday, and that wi

give you all day tomorrow."

The peasant thought the matter over and answered:

"Yes, but to-morrow I'll have to invite the people to the funeral. That means five or six hourto go round to Tourville and Manetot, and tsee everybody."

The woman, after meditating two or three minutes, declared:

"It isn't three o'clock yet. You could begin thevening and go all round the country to Tou



ville. You can just as well say that he's deadseem' as he's as good as that now."

The man stood perplexed for a while, weighinthe pros and cons of the idea. At last he declared:

"Well, I'll go!"

He was leaving the room, but came back afterminute's hesitation:

"As you haven't got anythin' to do you migh

shake down some apples to bake and makfour dozen dumplings for those who come tthe funeral, for one must have something tcheer them. You can light the fire with thwood that's under the shed. It's dry."

He left the room, went back into the kitchenopened the cupboard, took out a six-pound loaof bread, cut off a slice, and carefully gatherethe crumbs in the palm of his hand and threw



them into his mouth, so as not to lose anythingThen, with the end of his knife, he scraped oua little salt butter from the bottom of an earthe

jar, spread it on his bread and began to easlowly, as he did everything.

He recrossed the farmyard, quieted the dowhich had started barking again, went out o

the road bordering on his ditch, and disappeared in the direction of Tourville.

As soon as she was alone, the woman began twork. She uncovered the meal-bin and mad

the dough for the dumplings. She kneaded it long time, turning it over and over againpunching, pressing, crushing it. Finally shmade a big, round, yellow-white ball, whic

she placed on the corner of the table.Then she went to get her apples, and, in ordenot to injure the tree with a pole, she climbeup into it by a ladder. She chose the fruit wit



care, only taking the ripe ones, and gatherinthem in her apron.

A voice called from the road:

"Hey, Madame Chicot!"

She turned round. It was a neighbor, OsimFavet, the mayor, on his way to fertilize hfields, seated on the manure-wagon, with hfeet hanging over the side. She turned rounand answered:

"What can I do for you, Maitre Osime?""And how is the father?"

She cried:

"He is as good as dead. The funeral is Saturdaat seven, because there's lots of work to be done."

The neighbor answered:



"So! Good luck to you! Take care of yourself."

To his kind remarks she answered:

"Thanks; the same to you."

And she continued picking apples.

When she went back to the house, she wen

over to look at her father, expecting to find himdead. But as soon as she reached the door shheard his monotonous, noisy rattle, and, thinking it a waste of time to go over to him, sh

began to prepare her dumplings. She wrappeup the fruit, one by one, in a thin layer of pastthen she lined them up on the edge of the tablWhen she had made forty-eight dumplingarranged in dozens, one in front of the othe

she began to think of preparing supper, and shhung her kettle over the fire to cook potatoefor she judged it useless to heat the oven thaday, as she had all the next day in which tfinish the preparations.



Her husband returned at about five. As soon ahe had crossed the threshold he asked:

"Is it over?"

She answered:

"Not yet; he's still gurglin'."

They went to look at him. The old man was iexactly the same condition. His hoarse rattle, aregular as the ticking of a clock, was neithequicker nor slower. It returned every second

the tone varying a little, according as the aentered or left his chest.

His son-in-law looked at him and then said:

"He'll pass away without our noticin' it, julike a candle."

They returned to the kitchen and started to eawithout saying a word. When they had swa

lowed their soup, they ate another piece o



bread and butter. Then, as soon as the dishewere washed, they returned to the dying man.

The woman, carrying a little lamp with smoky wick, held it in front of her father's facIf he had not been breathing, one would cetainly have thought him dead.

The couple's bed was hidden in a little recess the other end of the room. Silently they retiredput out the light, closed their eyes, and sootwo unequal snores, one deep and the otheshriller, accompanied the uninterrupted ratt

of the dying man.

The rats ran about in the garret.

The husband awoke at the first streaks of dawn

His father-in-law was still alive. He shook hwife, worried by the tenacity of the old man.

"Say, Phemie, he don't want to quit. Whawould you do?"



He knew that she gave good advice.

She answered:

"You needn't be afraid; he can't live through thday. And the mayor won't stop our buryinhim to-morrow, because he allowed it for Matre Renard's father, who died just during th

planting season."

He was convinced by this argument, and lefor the fields.

His wife baked the dumplings and then atended to her housework.

At noon the old man was not dead. The peophired for the day's work came by groups t

look at him. Each one had his say. Then theleft again for the fields.

At six o'clock, when the work was over, thfather was still breathing. At last his son-in-law

was frightened.



"What would you do now, Phemie?"

She no longer knew how to solve the problemThey went to the mayor. He promised that hwould close his eyes and authorize the funerfor the following day. They also went to thhealth officer, who likewise promised, in ordeto oblige Maitre Chicot, to antedate the deat

certificate. The man and the woman returnedfeeling more at ease.

They went to bed and to sleep, just as they dithe preceding day, their sonorous breathin

blending with the feeble breathing of the olman.

When they awoke, he was not yet dead.

Then they began to be frightened. They stooby their father, watching him with distrust, athough he had wished to play them a meatrick, to deceive them, to annoy them on pu



pose, and they were vexed at him for the timwhich he was making them lose.

The son-in-law asked:

"What am I goin' to do?"

She did not know. She answered:

"It certainly is annoying!"

The guests who were expected could not bnotified. They decided to wait and explain thcase to them.

Toward a quarter to seven the first ones arived. The women in black, their heads coverewith large veils, looking very sad. Then men, iat ease in their homespun coats, were cominforward more slowly, in couples, talking busness.

Maitre Chicot and his wife, bewildered, re

ceived them sorrowfully, and suddenly both o



them together began to cry as they approachethe first group. They explained the matter, related their difficulty, offered chairs, bustle

about, tried to make excuses, attempting tprove that everybody would have done as thedid, talking continually and giving nobody chance to answer.

They were going from one person to another:

"I never would have thought it; it's incredibhow he can last this long!"

The guests, taken aback, a little disappointedas though they had missed an expected entetainment, did not know what to do, some rmaining seated others standing. Several wisheto leave. Maitre Chicot held them back:

"You must take something, anyhow! We madsome dumplings; might as well make use o'em."



The faces brightened at this idea. The yard wafilling little by little; the early arrivals were teling the news to those who had arrived late

Everybody was whispering. The idea of thdumplings seemed to cheer everyone up.

The women went in to take a look at the dyinman. They crossed themselves beside the bed

muttered a prayer and went out again. Thmen, less anxious for this spectacle, cast a loothrough the window, which had been opened.

Madame Chicot explained her distress:

"That's how he's been for two days, neither beter nor worse. Doesn't he sound like a pumthat has gone dry?"

When everybody had had a look at the dyinman, they thought of the refreshments; but athere were too many people for the kitchen thold, the table was moved out in front of thdoor. The four dozen golden dumpling



tempting and appetizing, arranged in two bidishes, attracted the eyes of all. Each onreached out to take his, fearing that ther

would not be enough. But four remained over

Maitre Chicot, his mouth full, said:

"Father would feel sad if he were to see this. H

loved them so much when he was alive."

A big, jovial peasant declared:

"He won't eat any more now. Each one in h

turn."This remark, instead of making the guests sadseemed to cheer them up. It was their turn nowto eat dumplings.

Madame Chicot, distressed at the expense, keprunning down to the cellar continually for cder. The pitchers were emptied in quick succesion. The company was laughing and talkin



loud now. They were beginning to shout athey do at feasts.

Suddenly an old peasant woman who hastayed beside the dying man, held there by morbid fear of what would soon happen therself, appeared at the window and cried in shrill voice:

"He's dead! he's dead!"

Everybody was silent. The women arose quikly to go and see. He was indeed dead. Th

rattle had ceased. The men looked at eacother, looking down, ill at ease. They hadnfinished eating the dumplings. Certainly thrascal had not chosen a propitious momenThe Chicots were no longer weeping. It wa

over; they were relieved.

They kept repeating:



"I knew it couldn't 'last. If he could only havdone it last night, it would have saved us athis trouble."

Well, anyhow, it was over. They would burhim on Monday, that was all, and they wouleat some more dumplings for the occasion.

The guests went away, talking the matter ovepleased at having had the chance to see himand of getting something to eat.

And when the husband and wife were alon

face to face, she said, her face distorted witgrief:

"We'll have to bake four dozen more dumplings! Why couldn't he have made up his min

last night?"

The husband, more resigned, answered:

"Well, we'll not have to do this every day."



THE GAMEKEEPER

It was after dinner, and we were talking abou

adventures and accidents which happenewhile out shooting.

An old friend, known to all of us, M. Bonifaca great sportsman and a connoisseur of wine, man of wonderful physique, witty and gayand endowed with an ironical and resignephilosophy, which manifested itself in causthumor, and never in melancholy, suddenl

exclaimed:

"I know a story, or rather a tragedy, which somewhat peculiar. It is not at all like thoswhich one hears of usually, and I have neve

told it, thinking that it would interest no one.



"It is not at all sympathetic. I mean by that, thait does not arouse the kind of interest whicpleases or which moves one agreeably.

"Here is the story:

"I was then about thirty-five years of age, and most enthusiastic sportsman.

"In those days I owned a lonely bit of propertin the neighborhood of Jumieges, surroundeby forests and abounding in hares and rabbitswas accustomed to spending four or five day

alone there each year, there not being roomenough to allow of my bringing a friend witme.

"I had placed there as gamekeeper, an old re

tired gendarme, a good man, hot-tempered, severe disciplinarian, a terror to poachers anfearing nothing. He lived all alone, far from thvillage, in a little house, or rather hut, consising of two rooms downstairs, with kitchen an



store-room, and two upstairs. One of them, kind of box just large enough to accommodata bed, a cupboard and a chair, was reserved fo

my use.

"Old man Cavalier lived in the other one. WheI said that he was alone in this place, I wawrong. He had taken his nephew with him,

young scamp about fourteen years old, whused to go to the village and run errands for thold man.

"This young scapegrace was long and lanky

with yellow hair, so light that it resembled thfluff of a plucked chicken, so thin that he seemed bald. Besides this, he had enormous feeand the hands of a giant.

"He was cross-eyed, and never looked at anyone. He struck me as being in the same relatioto the human race as ill-smelling beasts are tthe animal race. He reminded me of a polecat.



"He slept in a kind of hole at the top of thstairs which led to the two rooms.

"But during my short sojourns at the Pavilion—so I called the hut —Marius would give up hnook to an old woman from Ecorcheville, calleCeleste, who used to come and cook for me, aold man Cavalier's stews were not sufficient fo

my healthy appetite.

"You now know the characters and the localityHere is the story:

"It was on the fifteenth of October, 1854—I sharemember that date as long as I live.

"I left Rouen on horseback, followed by my doBock, a big Dalmatian hound from Poitou, ful

chested and with a heavy jaw, which coulretrieve among the bushes like a Pont-Andemespaniel.



"I was carrying my satchel slung across mback and my gun diagonally across my chest. was a cold, windy, gloomy day, with cloud

scurrying across the sky.

"As I went up the hill at Canteleu, I looked ovethe broad valley of the Seine, the river windinin and out along its course as far as the ey

could see. To the right the towers of Rouestood out against the sky, and to the left thlandscape was bounded by the distant slopecovered with trees. Then I crossed the forest oRoumare and, toward five o'clock, reached thPavilion, where Cavalier and Celeste were expecting me.

"For ten years I had appeared there at the sam

time, in the same manner; and for ten years thsame faces had greeted me with the samwords:

"'Welcome, master! We hope your health

good.'



"Cavalier had hardly changed. He withstootime like an old tree; but Celeste, especially ithe past four years, had become unrecogniz

able.

"She was bent almost double, and, althougstill active, when she walked her body was amost at right angles to her legs.

"The old woman, who was very devoted to malways seemed affected at seeing me again, aneach time, as I left, she would say:

"'This may be the last time, master.'

"The sad, timid farewell of this old servant, thhopeless resignation to the inevitable fatwhich was not far off for her, moved m

strangely each year.

"I dismounted, and while Cavalier, whom I hagreeted, was leading my horse to the little shewhich served as a stable, I entered the kitchen



which also served as dining-room, followed bCeleste.

"Here the gamekeeper joined us. I saw at firglance that something was the matter. He semed preoccupied, ill at ease, worried.

"I said to him:

"'Well, Cavalier, is everything all right?'

"He muttered:

"'Yes and no. There are things I don't like.'

"I asked:

"'What? Tell me about it.'

"But he shook his head.

"'No, not yet, monsieur. I do not wish to botheyou with my little troubles so soon after youarrival.'



"I insisted, but he absolutely refused to give many information before dinner. From his expression, I could tell that it was something ver

serious.

"Not knowing what to say to him, I asked:

"'How about game? Much of it this year?'

"'Oh, yes! You'll find all you want. Thank heaven, I looked out for that.'

"He said this with so much seriousness, wit

such sad solemnity, that it was really almofunny. His big gray mustache seemed almoready to drop from his lips.

"Suddenly I remembered that I had not yet see

his nephew.

"'Where is Marius? Why does he not show himself?'



"The gamekeeper started, looking me suddenlin the face:

"Well, monsieur, I had rather tell you the whobusiness right away; it's on account of him thaI am worrying.'

"'Ah! Well, where is he?'

"'Over in the stable, monsieur. I was waiting fothe right time to bring him out.'

"'What has he done?'

"'Well, monsieur——'

"The gamekeeper, however, hesitated, his voicaltered and shaky, his face suddenly furroweby the deep lines of an old man.

"He continued slowly:

"'Well, I found out, last winter, that someonwas poaching in the woods of Roseraies, but



couldn't seem to catch the man. I spent nighafter night on the lookout for him. In vain. Duing that time they began poaching over b

Ecorcheville. I was growing thin from vexationBut as for catching the trespasser, impossiblOne might have thought that the rascal waforewarned of my plans.

"'But one day, while I was brushing MariuSunday trousers, I found forty cents in his poket. Where did he get it?

"'I thought the matter over for about a week

and I noticed that he used to go out; he woulleave the house just as I was coming home tgo to bed—yes, monsieur.

"'Then I started to watch him, without the sligh

test suspicion of the real facts. One morninjust after I had gone to bed before him, I goright up again, and followed him. For shadowing a man, there is nobody like me, monsieur.



"'And I caught him, Marius, poaching on youland, monsieur; he my nephew, I your keeper!

"'The blood rushed to my head, and I almokilled him on the spot, I hit him so hard. Ohyes, I thrashed him all right. And I promisehim that he would get another beating from mhand, in your presence, as an example.

"'There! I have grown thin from sorrow. Yoknow how it is when one is worried like thaBut tell me, what would you have done? Thboy has no father or mother, and I am the la

one of his blood; I kept him, I couldn't drivhim out, could I?

"'I told him that if it happened again I woulhave no more pity for him, all would be ove

There! Did I do right, monsieur?'

"I answered, holding out my hand:



"'You did well, Cavalier; you are an honeman.'

"He rose.

"'Thank you, monsieur. Now I am going tfetch him. I must give him his thrashing, as aexample.'

"I knew that it was hopeless to try and turn thold man from his idea. I therefore let him havhis own way.

"He got the rascal and brought him back by thear.

"I was seated on a cane chair, with the solemexpression of a judge.

"Marius seemed to have grown; he was homelier even than the year before, with his evisneaking expression.

"His big hands seemed gigantic.



"His uncle pushed him up to me, and, in hsoldierly voice, said:

"'Beg the gentleman's pardon.'

"The boy didn't say a word.

"Then putting one arm round him, the formegendarme lifted him right off the ground, anbegan to whack him with such force that I rosto stop the blows.

"The boy was now howling: 'Mercy! mercy

mercy! I promise——'"Cavalier put him back on the ground and foced him to his knees:

"'Beg for pardon,' he said.

"With eyes lowered, the scamp murmured:

"'I ask for pardon!'



"Then his uncle lifted him to his feet, and dimissed him with a cuff which almost knockehim down again.

"He made his escape, and I did not see himagain that evening.

"Cavalier appeared overwhelmed.'

"'He is a bad egg,' he said.

"And throughout the whole dinner, he keprepeating:

"'Oh! that worries me, monsieur, that worrieme.'

"I tried to comfort him, but in vain.

"I went to bed early, so that I might start out adaybreak.

"My dog was already asleep on the floor, at thfoot of my bed, when I put out the light.



"I was awakened toward midnight by the furous barking of my dog Bock. I immediatelnoticed that my room was full of smoke. I jum

ped out of bed, struck a light, ran to the dooand opened it. A cloud of flames burst in. Thhouse was on fire.

"I quickly closed the heavy oak door and

drawing on my trousers, I first lowered the dothrough the window, by means of a rope madof my sheets; then, having thrown out the reof my clothes, my game-bag and my gun, I iturn escaped the same way.

"I began to shout with all my might: 'CavalieCavalier! Cavalier!'

"But the gamekeeper did not wake up. He slep

soundly like an old gendarme.

"However, I could see through the lower windows that the whole ground-floor was nothin



but a roaring furnace; I also noticed that it habeen filled with straw to make it burn readily.

"Somebody must purposely have set fire to thplace!

"I continued shrieking wildly: 'Cavalier!'

"Then the thought struck me that the smokmight be suffocating him. An idea came to mI slipped two cartridges into my gun, and shostraight at his window.

"The six panes of glass shattered into the roomin a cloud of glass. This time the old man haheard me, and he appeared, dazed, in hnightshirt, bewildered by the glare which illumined the whole front of his 'house.

"I cried to him:

"'Your house is on fire! Escape through thwindow! Quick! Quick!'



"The flames were coming out through all thcracks downstairs, were licking along the walwere creeping toward him and going to su

round him. He jumped and landed on his feelike a cat.

"It was none too soon. The thatched roof craked in the middle, right over the staircas

which formed a kind of flue for the fire downstairs; and an immense red jet jumped up intthe air, spreading like a stream of water ansprinkling a shower of sparks around the huIn a few seconds it was nothing but a pool oflames.

"Cavalier, thunderstruck, asked:

"'How did the fire start?'

"I answered:

"'Somebody lit it in the kitchen.'

"He muttered:



"'Who could have started the fire?'

"And I, suddenly guessing, answered:

"'Marius!'

"The old man understood. He stammered:

"'Good God! That is why he didn't return.'

"A terrible thought flashed through my mind.cried:

"'And Celeste! Celeste!'

"He did not answer. The house caved in beforus, forming only an enormous, bright, blindinbrazier, an awe-inspiring funeral-pile, wherthe poor woman could no longer be anythin

but a glowing ember, a glowing ember of human flesh.

"We had not heard a single cry.



"As the fire crept toward the shed, I suddenlbethought me of my horse, and Cavalier ran tfree it.

"Hardly had he opened the door of the stablwhen a supple, nimble body darted betweehis legs, and threw him on his face. It waMarius, running for all he was worth.

"The man was up in a second. He tried to ruafter the wretch, but, seeing that he could nocatch him, and maddened by an irresistibanger, yielding to one of those thoughtless im

pulses which we cannot foresee or prevent, hpicked up my gun, which was lying on thground. near him, put it to his shoulder, andbefore I could make a motion, he pulled th

trigger without even noticing whether or nothe weapon was loaded.

"One of the cartridges which I had put in tannounce the fire was still intact, and th

charge caught the fugitive right in the back,—



throwing him forward on the ground, bleedinprofusely. He immediately began to claw thearth with his hands and with his knees, a

though trying to run on all fours like a rabbwho has been mortally wounded, and sees thhunter approaching.

"I rushed forward to the boy, but I could a

ready hear the death-rattle. He passed awabefore the fire was extinguished, without having said a word.

"Cavalier, still in his shirt, his legs bare, wa

standing near us, motionless, dazed.

"When the people from the village arrived, mgamekeeper was taken away, like an insanman.

"I appeared at the trial as witness, and relatethe facts in detail, without changing a thinCavalier was acquitted. He disappeared thavery day, leaving the country.



"I have never seen him since.

"There, gentlemen, that is my story."

THE STORY OF A FARM GIRL

PART I

As the weather was very fine, the people on thfarm had hurried through their dinner and hareturned to the fields.

The servant, Rose, remained alone in the larg

kitchen, where the fire was dying out on th



hearth beneath the large boiler of hot wateFrom time to time she dipped out some wateand slowly washed her dishes, stopping occa

sionally to look at the two streaks of lighwhich the sun threw across the long tabthrough the window, and which showed thdefects in the glass.

Three venturesome hens were picking up thcrumbs under the chairs, while the smell of thpoultry yard and the warmth from the cow stacame in through the half-open door, and a cocwas heard crowing in the distance.

When she had finished her work, wiped dowthe table, dusted the mantelpiece and put thplates on the high dresser close to the woode

clock with its loud tick-tock, she drew a lonbreath, as she felt rather oppressed, withouexactly knowing why. She looked at the blacclay walls, the rafters that were blackened witsmoke and from which hung spiders' web

smoked herrings and strings of onions, an



then she sat down, rather overcome by the staodor from the earthen floor, on which so manthings had been continually spilled and whic

the heat brought out. With this there was mingled the sour smell of the pans of milk whicwere set out to raise the cream in the adjoinindairy.

She wanted to sew, as usual, but she did nofeel strong enough, and so she went to the dooto get a mouthful of fresh air, which seemed tdo her good.

The fowls were lying on the steaming dunghilsome of them were scratching with one claw isearch of worms, while the cock stood uproudly in their midst. When he crowed, th

cocks in all the neighboring farmyards replieto him, as if they were uttering challenges fromfarm to farm.

The girl looked at them without thinking, an

then she raised her eyes and was almost daz



zled at the sight of the apple trees in blossomJust then a colt, full of life and friskinesjumped over the ditches and then stoppe

suddenly, as if surprised at being alone.

She also felt inclined to run; she felt inclined tmove and to stretch her limbs and to repose ithe warm, breathless air. She took a few unde

cided steps and closed her eyes, for she waseized with a feeling of animal comfort, anthen she went to look for eggs in the hen lofThere were thirteen of them, which she took iand put into the storeroom; but the smell fromthe kitchen annoyed her again, and she wenout to sit on the grass for a time.

The farmyard, which was surrounded by tree

seemed to be asleep. The tall grass, amid whicthe tall yellow dandelions rose up like streakof yellow light, was of a vivid, fresh springreen. The apple trees cast their shade all rounthem, and the thatched roofs, on which grew

blue and yellow irises, with their sword-lik



leaves, steamed as if the moisture of the stableand barns were coming through the straw. Thgirl went to the shed, where the carts and bug

gies were kept. Close to it, in a ditch, there waa large patch of violets, whose fragrance waspread abroad, while beyond the slope thopen country could be seen, where grain wagrowing, with clumps of trees in places, an

groups of laborers here and there, who lookeas small as dolls, and white horses like toywho were drawing a child's cart, driven by man as tall as one's finger.

She took up a bundle of straw, threw it into thditch and sat down upon it. Then, not feelincomfortable, she undid it, spread it out and ladown upon it at full length on her back, wit

both arms under her head and her legstretched out.

Gradually her eyes closed, and she was fallininto a state of delightful languor. She was, i

fact, almost asleep when she felt two hands o



her bosom, and she sprang up at a bound. was Jacques, one of the farm laborers, a tafellow from Picardy, who had been makin

love to her for a long time. He had been herding the sheep, and, seeing her lying down ithe shade, had come up stealthily and holdinhis breath, with glistening eyes and bits ostraw in his hair.

He tried to kiss her, but she gave him a smacin the face, for she was as strong as he, and hwas shrewd enough to beg her pardon; so thesat down side by side and talked amicablyThey spoke about the favorable weather, otheir master, who was a good fellow, then otheir neighbors, of all the people in the countrround, of themselves, of their village, of the

youthful days, of their recollections, of therelations, who had left them for a long timand it might be forever. She grew sad as shthought of it, while he, with one fixed idea ihis head, drew closer to her.



"I have not seen my mother for a long timeshe said. "It is very hard to be separated likthat," and she directed her looks into the di

tance, toward the village in the north which shhad left.

Suddenly, however, he seized her by the necand kissed her again, but she struck him s

violently in the face with her clenched fist thahis nose began to bleed, and he got up and laihis head against the stem of a tree. When shsaw that, she was sorry, and going up to himshe said: "Have I hurt you?" He, however, onllaughed. "No, it was a mere nothing; only shhad hit him right on the middle of the nosWhat a devil!" he said, and he looked at hewith admiration, for she had inspired him wit

a feeling of respect and of a very different kinof admiration which was the beginning of real love for that tall, strong wench. When thbleeding had stopped, he proposed a walk, ahe was afraid of his neighbor's heavy hand,



they remained side by side like that muclonger; but she took his arm of her own accordin the avenue, as if they had been out for a

evening's walk, and said: "It is not nice of yoto despise me like that, Jacques." He protestedhowever. No, he did not despise her. He was ilove with her, that was all.

"So you really want to marry me?" she asked.

He hesitated and then looked at her sidewaywhile she looked straight ahead of her. She hafat, red cheeks, a full bust beneath her cotto

jacket; thick, red lips; and her neck, which waalmost bare, was covered with small beads operspiration. He felt a fresh access of desirand, putting his lips to her ear, he murmured

"Yes, of course I do."Then she threw her arms round his neck ankissed him till they were both out of breathFrom that moment the eternal story of lov

began between them. They plagued one an



other in corners; they met in the moonlight beside the haystack and gave each other bruiseon the legs, under the table, with their heav

nailed boots. By degrees, however, Jacqueseemed to grow tired of her; he avoided hescarcely spoke to her, and did not try anlonger to meet her alone, which made her saand anxious; and soon she found that she wa

enceinte.

At first she was in a state of consternation, buthen she got angry, and her rage increaseevery day because she could not meet him, ahe avoided her most carefully. At last, onnight, when every one in the farmhouse waasleep, she went out noiselessly in her petticoawith bare feet, crossed the yard and opened th

door of the stable where Jacques was lying inlarge box of straw above his horses. He pretended to snore when he heard her coming, bushe knelt down by his side and shook him unthe sat up.



"What do you want?" he then asked her. Anwith clenched teeth, and trembling with angeshe replied: "I want—I want you to marry m

as you promised." But he only laughed anreplied: "Oh! if a man were to marry all thgirls with whom he has made a slip, he woulhave more than enough to do."

Then she seized him by the throat, threw himor his back, so that he could not get away fromher, and, half strangling him, she shouted inthis face:

"I am enceinte, do you hear? I am enceinte!"

He gasped for breath, as he was almost chokedand so they remained, both of them, motionlesand without speaking, in the dark silenc

which was only broken by the noise made by horse as he, pulled the hay out of the mangeand then slowly munched it.



When Jacques found that she was the strongehe stammered out: "Very well, I will marry youas that is the case." But she did not believe h

promises. "It must be at once," she said. "Yomust have the banns put up." "At once," he replied. "Swear solemnly that you will." He hestated for a few moments and then said: "I sweait, by Heaven!"

Then she released her grasp and went awawithout another word.

She had no chance of speaking to him for sev

eral days; and, as the stable was now alwaylocked at night, she was afraid to make annoise, for fear of creating a scandal. One morning, however, she saw another man come in a

dinner time, and she said: "Has Jacques left"Yes;" the man replied; "I have got his place."

This made her tremble so violently that shcould not take the saucepan off the fire; an

later, when they were all at work, she went u



into her room and cried, burying her head ithe bolster, so that she might not be heard. Duing the day, however, she tried to obtain som

information without exciting any suspicion, bushe was so overwhelmed by the thoughts of hemisfortune that she fancied that all the peopwhom she asked laughed maliciously. All shlearned, however, was that he had left th

neighborhood altogether.

PART II

Then a cloud of constant misery began for heShe worked mechanically, without thinking owhat she was doing, with one fixed idea in hehead:

"Suppose people were to know."



This continual feeling made her so incapable oreasoning that she did not even try to think oany means of avoiding the disgrace that sh

knew must ensue, which was irreparable andrawing nearer every day, and which was asure as death itself. She got up every morninlong before the others and persistently tried tlook at her figure in a piece of broken looking

glass, before which she did her hair, as she wavery anxious to know whether anybody woulnotice a change in her, and, during the day, shstopped working every few minutes to look a

herself from top to toe, to see whether heapron did not look too short.

The months went on, and she scarcely spoknow, and when she was asked a question, di

not appear to understand; but she had a frighened look, haggard eyes and trembling handwhich made her master say to her occasionally"My poor girl, how stupid you have growlately."



In church she hid behind a pillar, and no longeventured to go to confession, as she feared tface the priest, to whom she attributed supe

human powers, which enabled him to reapeople's consciences; and at meal times thlooks of her fellow servants almost made hefaint with mental agony; and she was alwayfancying that she had been found out by th

cowherd, a precocious and cunning little ladwhose bright eyes seemed always to be watching her.

One morning the postman brought her a letteand as she had never received one in her lifbefore she was so upset by it that she was oblged to sit down. Perhaps it was from him? Buas she could not read, she sat anxious and trem

bling with that piece of paper, covered witink, in her hand. After a time, however, she puit into her pocket, as she did not venture to confide her secret to any one. She often stopped iher work to look at those lines written at regu



lar intervals, and which terminated in a signature, imagining vaguely that she would suddenly discover their meaning, until at last, a

she felt half mad with impatience and anxietyshe went to the schoolmaster, who told her tsit down and read to her as follows:

"MY DEAR DAUGHTER: I write to tell yo

that I am very ill. Our neighbor, Monsieur Dentu, begs you to come, if you can.

"From your affectionate mother,

"CESAIRE DENTU, Deputy Mayor."

She did not say a word and went away, but asoon as she was alone her legs gave way undeher, and she fell down by the roadside and rmained there till night.

When she got back, she told the farmer her banews, and he allowed her to go home for along as she liked, and promised to have he



work done by a charwoman and to take heback when she returned.

Her mother died soon after she got there, anthe next day Rose gave birth to a seven-monthchild, a miserable little skeleton, thin enough tmake anybody shudder, and which seemed tbe suffering continually, to judge from th

painful manner in which it moved its poor litthands, which were as thin as a crab's legs; but lived for all that. She said she was married, bucould not be burdened with the child, so shleft it with some neighbors, who promised ttake great care of it, and she went back to thfarm.

But now in her heart, which had been wounde

so long, there arose something like brightnesan unknown love for that frail little creaturwhich she had left behind her, though therwas fresh suffering in that very love, sufferinwhich she felt every hour and every minut

because she was parted from her child. Wha



pained her most, however, was the mad longing to kiss it, to press it in her arms, to feel thwarmth of its little body against her breast. Sh

could not sleep at night; she thought of it thwhole day long, and in the evening, when hework was done, she would sit in front of thfire and gaze at it intently, as people do whosthoughts are far away.

They began to talk about her and to tease-heabout her lover. They asked her whether hwas tall, handsome and rich. When was thwedding to be and the christening? And ofteshe ran away to cry by herself, for these quetions seemed to hurt her like the prick of a pinand, in order to forget their jokes, she began twork still more energetically, and, still thinkin

of her child, she sought some way of saving umoney for it, and determined to work so thher master would be obliged to raise her wage

By degrees she almost monopolized the wor

and persuaded him to get rid of one servan



girl, who had become useless since she hataken to working like two; she economized ithe bread, oil and candles; in the corn, whic

they gave to the chickens too extravagantlyand in the fodder for the horses and cattlwhich was rather wasted. She was as miserlabout her master's money as if it had been heown; and, by dint of making good bargains, o

getting high prices for all their produce, and bbaffling the peasants' tricks when they offereanything for sale, he, at last, entrusted her witbuying and selling everything, with the direc

tion of all the laborers, and with the purchasof provisions necessary for the household; sthat, in a short time, she became indispensabto him. She kept such a strict eye on everythinabout her that, under her direction, the farm

prospered wonderfully, and for five milearound people talked of "Master Vallin's sevant," and the farmer himself said everywher"That girl is worth more than her weight igold."



But time passed by, and her wages remainethe same. Her hard work was accepted asomething that was due from every good se

vant, and as a mere token of good will; and shbegan to think rather bitterly that if the farmecould put fifty or a hundred crowns extra intthe bank every month, thanks to her, she wastill only earning her two hundred francs

year, neither more nor less; and so she made uher mind to ask for an increase of wages. Shwent to see the schoolmaster three times abouit, but when she got there, she spoke abou

something else. She felt a kind of modesty iasking for money, as if it were something digraceful; but, at last, one day, when the farmewas having breakfast by himself in the kitchenshe said to him, with some embarrassment, tha

she wished to speak to him particularly. Hraised his head in surprise, with both his handon the table, holding his knife, with its point ithe air, in one, and a piece of bread in the otheand he looked fixedly at, the girl, who felt un



comfortable under his gaze, but asked for week's holiday, so that she might get away, ashe was not very well. He acceded to her re

quest immediately, and then added, in somembarrassment himself:

"When you come back, I shall have somethinto say to you myself."

PART III

The child was nearly eight months old, and shdid not recognize it. It had grown rosy an

chubby all over, like a little roll of fat. Shthrew herself on it, as if it had been some preyand kissed it so violently that it began tscream with terror; and then she began to cr

herself, because it did not know her, an



stretched out its arms to its nurse as soon as saw her. But the next day it began to know heand laughed when it saw her, and she took

into the fields, and ran about excitedly with iand sat down under the shade of the trees; anthen, for the first time in her life, she openeher heart to somebody, although he could nounderstand her, and told him her troubles; how

hard her work was, her anxieties and hehopes, and she quite tired the child with thviolence of her caresses.

She took the greatest pleasure in handling it, iwashing and dressing it, for it seemed to hethat all this was the confirmation of her matenity; and she would look at it, almost feelinsurprised 'that it was hers, and would say t

herself in a low voice as she danced it in hearms: "It is my baby, it's my baby."

She cried all the way home as she returned tthe farm and had scarcely got in before he

master called her into his room; and she wen



feeling astonished and nervous, without knowing why.

"Sit down there," he said. She sat down, and fosome moments they remained side by side, isome embarrassment, with their arms hanginat their sides, as if they did not know what tdo with them, and looking each other in th

face, after the manner of peasants.

The farmer, a stout, jovial, obstinate man oforty-five, who had lost two wives, evidentlfelt embarrassed, which was very unusual wit

him; but, at last, he made up his mind, and began to speak vaguely, hesitating a little, anlooking out of the window as he talked. "Howis it, Rose," he said, "that you have neve

thought of settling in life?" She grew as pale adeath, and, seeing that she gave him no answehe went on: "You are a good, steady, active aneconomical girl; and a wife like you would make a man's fortune."



She did not move, but looked frightened; shdid not even try to comprehend his meaninfor her thoughts were in a whirl, as if at th

approach of some great danger; so, after waiing for a few seconds, he went on: "You see, farm without a mistress can never succeedeven with a servant like you." Then he stoppedfor he did not know what else to say, and Ros

looked at him with the air of a person whthinks that he is face to face with a murdereand ready to flee at the slightest movement hmay make; but, after waiting for about fiv

minutes, he asked her: "Well, will it suit you?"Will what suit me, master?" And he saiquickly: "Why, to marry me, by Heaven!"

She jumped up, but fell back on her chair, as

she had been struck, and there she remainemotionless, like a person who is overwhelmeby some great misfortune. At last the farmegrew impatient and said: "Come, what more dyou want?" She looked at him, almost in terro



then suddenly the tears came into her eyes anshe said twice in a choking voice: "I cannot,cannot!" "Why not?" he asked. "Come, don't b

silly; I will give you until tomorrow to think over."

And he hurried out of the room, very glad thave got through with the matter, which ha

troubled him a good deal, for he had no doubthat she would the next morning accept a proposal which she could never have expected anwhich would be a capital bargain for him, as hthus bound a woman to his interests whwould certainly bring him more than if she hathe best dowry in the district.

Neither could there be any scruples about a

unequal match between them, for in the country every one is very nearly equal; the farmeworks with his laborers, who frequently become masters in their turn, and the female sevants constantly become the mistresses of th



establishments without its making any changin their life or habits.

Rose did not go to bed that night. She threwherself, dressed as she was, on her bed, and shhad not even the strength to cry left in her, shwas so thoroughly dumfounded. She remainequite inert, scarcely knowing that she had

body, and without being at all able to colleher thoughts, though, at moments, she remembered something of what had happened, anthen she was frightened at the idea of whmight happen. Her terror increased, and evertime the great kitchen clock struck the hour shbroke out in a perspiration from grief. She became bewildered, and had the nightmare; hecandle went out, and then she began to imagin

that some one bad cast a spell over her, acountry people so often imagine, and she felt mad inclination to run away, to escape and tflee before her misfortune, like a ship scuddinbefore the wind. An owl hooted; she shivered



sat up, passed her hands over her face, her haiand all over her body, and then she wendownstairs, as if she were walking in her sleep

When she got into the yard she stooped downso as not to be seen by any prowling scamp, fothe moon, which was setting, shed a brighlight over the fields. Instead of opening the gatshe scrambled over the fence, and as soon a

she was outside she started off. She went ostraight before her, with a quick, springy troand from time to time she unconsciously utered a piercing cry. Her long shadow accom

panied her, and now and then some night birflew over her head, while the dogs in the farmyards barked as they heard her pass; one evejumped over the ditch, and followed her antried to bite her, but she turned round and gav

such a terrible yell that the frightened animran back and cowered in silence in its kennel.

The stars grew dim, and the birds began ttwitter; day was breaking. The girl was wor



out and panting; and when the sun rose in thpurple sky, she stopped, for her swollen feerefused to go any farther; but she saw a pond i

the distance, a large pond whose stagnant water looked like blood under the reflection of thnew day, and she limped on slowly with hehand on her heart, in order to dip both her feein it. She sat down on a tuft of grass, took o

her heavy shoes, which were full of duspulled off her stockings and plunged her leginto the still water, from which bubbles werrising here and there.

A feeling of delicious coolness pervaded hefrom head to foot, and suddenly, while she walooking fixedly at the deep pool, she was seizewith dizziness, and with a mad longing t

throw herself into it. All her sufferings woulbe over in there, over forever. She no longethought of her child; she only wanted peaccomplete rest, and to sleep forever, and she goup with raised arms and took two steps fo



ward. She was in the water up to her thighand she was just about to throw her self iwhen sharp, pricking pains in her ankles mad

her jump back, and she uttered a cry of despaifor, from her knees to the tips of her feet, lonblack leeches were sucking her lifeblood, anwere swelling as they adhered to her flesh. Shdid not dare to touch them, and screamed wit

horror, so that her cries of despair attracted peasant, who was driving along at some ditance, to the spot. He pulled off the leeches onby one, applied herbs to the wounds, and drov

the girl to her master's farm in his gig.

She was in bed for a fortnight, and as she wasitting outside the door on the first morninthat she got up, the farmer suddenly came an

planted himself before her. "Well," he said, suppose the affair is settled isn't it?" She did noreply at first, and then, as he remained standinand looking at her intently with his piercin



eyes, she said with difficulty: "No, master, cannot." He immediately flew into a rage.

"You cannot, girl; you cannot? I should just likto know the reason why?" She began to cryand repeated: "I cannot." He looked at her, anthen exclaimed angrily: "Then I suppose yohave a lover?" "Perhaps that is it," she replied

trembling with shame.

The man got as red as a poppy, and stammereout in a rage: "Ah! So you confess it, you sluAnd pray who is the fellow? Some penniles

half-starved ragamuffin, without a roof to hhead, I suppose? Who is it, I say?" And as shgave him no answer, he continued: "Ah! So yowill not tell me. Then I will tell you; it is Jea

Baudu?"—"No, not he," she exclaimed. "Then is Pierre Martin?"—"Oh! no, master."

And he angrily mentioned all the young felows in the neighborhood, while she denie

that he had hit upon the right one, and ever



moment wiped her eyes with the corner of heblue apron. But he still tried to find it out, withis brutish obstinacy, and, as it were, scratchin

at her heart to discover her secret, just as a terier scratches at a hole to try and get at thanimal which he scents inside it. Suddenlyhowever, the man shouted: "By George! It Jacques, the man who was here last year. The

used to say that you were always talking together, and that you thought about gettinmarried."

Rose was choking, and she grew scarlet, whiher tears suddenly stopped and dried up oher cheeks, like drops of water on hot iron, anshe exclaimed: "No, it is not he, it is not he!" "that really a fact?" asked the cunning peasan

who partly guessed the truth; and she repliedhastily: "I will swear it; I will swear it to you—She tried to think of something by which tswear, as she did not venture to invoke sacrethings, but he interrupted her: "At any rate, h



used to follow you into every corner and dvoured you with his eyes at meal times. Diyou ever give him your promise, eh?"

This time she looked her master straight in thface. "No, never, never; I will solemnly swear tyou that if he were to come to-day and ask mto marry him I would have nothing to do wit

him." She spoke with such an air of sinceritthat the farmer hesitated, and then he continued, as if speaking to himself: "What, then? Yohave not had a misfortune, as they call it, or would have been known, and as it has no consequences, no girl would refuse her master othat account. There must be something at thbottom of it, however."

She could say nothing; she had not the strengtto speak, and he asked her again: "You winot?" "I cannot, master," she said, with a sighand he turned on his heel.



She thought she had got rid of him altogetheand spent the rest of the day almost tranquillybut was as exhausted as if she had been turnin

the thrashing machine all day in the place othe old white horse, and she went to bed asoon as she could and fell asleep immediatelyIn the middle of the night, however, two handtouching the bed woke her. She trembled wit

fear, but immediately recognized the farmervoice, when he said to her: "Don't be frighened, Rose; I have come to speak to you." Shwas surprised at first, but when he tried to tak

liberties with her she understood and began ttremble violently, as she felt quite alone in thdarkness, still heavy from sleep, and quite unprotected, with that man standing near her. Shcertainly did not consent, but she resisted car

lessly struggling against that instinct which always strong in simple natures and very imperfectly protected by the undecided will oinert and gentle races. She turned her head nowto the wall, and now toward the room, in orde



to avoid the attentions which the farmer trieto press on her, but she was weakened by fatigue, while he became brutal, intoxicated b

desire.

They lived together as man and wife, and onmorning he said to her: "I have put up oubanns, and we will get married next month."

She did not reply, for what could she say? Shdid not resist, for what could she do?

PART IV

She married him. She felt as if she were in a pwith inaccessible sides from which she coulnever get out, and all kinds of misfortunes werhanging over her head, like huge rocks, whic



would fall on the first occasion. Her husbangave her the impression of a man whom shhad robbed, and who would find it out som

day or other. And then she thought of her childwho was the cause of her misfortunes, but whwas also the cause of all her happiness on earthand whom she went to see twice a year, thougshe came back more unhappy each time.

But she gradually grew accustomed to her lifher fears were allayed, her heart was at resand she lived with an easier mind, though stiwith some vague fear floating in it. And syears went on, until the child was six. She waalmost happy now, when suddenly the farmertemper grew very bad.

For two or three years he seemed to have beenursing some secret anxiety, to be troubled bsome care, some mental disturbance, whicwas gradually increasing. He remained sittinat table after dinner, with his head in his hand

sad and devoured by sorrow. He always spok



hastily, sometimes even brutally, and it eveseemed as if he had a grudge against his wiffor at times he answered her roughly, almo

angrily.

One day, when a neighbor's boy came for someggs, and she spoke rather crossly to him, ashe was very busy, her husband suddenly cam

in and said to her in his unpleasant voice: "that were your own child you would not treahim so." She was hurt and did not reply, anthen she went back into the house, with all hegrief awakened afresh; and at dinner the farmeneither spoke to her nor looked at her, and hseemed to hate her, to despise her, to knowsomething about the affair at last. In consquence she lost her composure, and did no

venture to remain alone with him after thmeal was over, but left the room and hasteneto the church.

It was getting dusk; the narrow nave was i

total darkness, but she heard footsteps in th



choir, for the sacristan was preparing the tabenacle lamp for the night. That spot of tremblinlight, which was lost in the darkness of th

arches, looked to Rose like her last hope, anwith her eyes fixed on it, she fell on her kneeThe chain rattled as the little lamp swung uinto the air, and almost immediately the smabell rang out the Angelus through the increa

ing mist. She went up to him, as he was goinout.

"Is Monsieur le Cure at home?" she asked. "Ocourse he is; this is his dinnertime." She trembled as she rang the bell of the parsonage. Thpriest was just sitting down to dinner, and hmade her sit down also. "Yes, yes, I know aabout it; your husband has mentioned the ma

ter to me that brings you here." The poowoman nearly fainted, and the priest continued: "What do you want, my child?" And hhastily swallowed several spoonfuls of soupsome of which dropped on to his greasy ca



sock. But Rose did not venture to say anythinmore, and she got up to go, but the priest said"Courage."

And she went out and returned to the farmwithout knowing what she was doing. Thfarmer was waiting for her, as the laborers hagone away during her absence, and she fe

heavily at his feet, and, shedding a flood otears, she said to him: "What have you goagainst me?"

He began to shout and to swear: "What have

got against you? That I have no children, by—When a man takes a wife it is not that they malive alone together to the end of their dayThat is what I have against you. When a cow

has no calves she is not worth anything, anwhen a woman has no children she is also noworth anything."

She began to cry, and said: "It is not my fault!

is not my fault!" He grew rather more gent



when he heard that, and added: "I do not sathat it is, but it is very provoking, all the same.

PART V

From that day forward she had only onthought: to have a child another child; she confided her wish to everybody, and, in conse

quence of this, a neighbor told her of an infallble method. This was, to make her husbandrink a glass of water with a pinch of ashes in every evening. The farmer consented to try ibut without success; so they said to each othe"Perhaps there are some secret ways?" Anthey tried to find out. They were told of shepherd who lived ten leagues off, and so Valin one day drove off to consult him. The shep

herd gave him a loaf on which he had mad



some marks; it was kneaded up with herbs, aneach of them was to eat a piece of it, but theate the whole loaf without obtaining any resul

from it.

Next, a schoolmaster unveiled mysteries anprocesses of love which were unknown in thcountry, but infallible, so he declared; but non

of them had the desired effect. Then the prieadvised them to make a pilgrimage to thshrine at Fecamp. Rose went with the crowand prostrated herself in the abbey, and, mingling her prayers with the coarse desires of thpeasants around her, she prayed that she mighbe fruitful a second time; but it was in vain, anthen she thought that she was being punishefor her first fault, and she was seized by terrib

grief. She was wasting away with sorrow; hehusband was also aging prematurely, and wawearing himself out in useless hopes.

Then war broke out between them; he calle

her names and beat her. They quarrelled all da



long, and when they were in their room together at night he flung insults and obscenitieat her, choking with rage, until one night, no

being able to think of any means of making hesuffer more he ordered her to get up and gand stand out of doors in the rain until daylight. As she did not obey him, he seized her bthe neck and began to strike her in the face wit

his fists, but she said nothing and did nomove. In his exasperation he knelt on her stomach, and with clenched teeth, and mad witrage, he began to beat her. Then in her despa

she rebelled, and flinging him against the wawith a furious gesture, she sat up, and in aaltered voice she hissed: "I have had a child,have had one! I had it by Jacques; you knowJacques. He promised to marry me, but he le

this neighborhood without keeping his word."

The man was thunderstruck and could hardlspeak, but at last he stammered out: "What aryou saying? What are you saying?" Then sh



began to sob, and amid her tears she continued"That was the reason why I did not want tmarry you. I could not tell you, for you woul

have left me without any bread for my childYou have never had any children, so you cannot understand, you cannot understand!"

He said again, mechanically, with increasin

surprise: "You have a child? You have a child?

"You took me by force, as I suppose you knowI did not want to marry you," she said, still sobbing.

Then he got up, lit the candle, and began twalk up and down, with his arms behind himShe was cowering on the bed and crying, ansuddenly he stopped in front of her, and said

"Then it is my fault that you have no children?She gave him no answer, and he began to walup and down again, and then, stopping againhe continued: "How old is your child?" "Ju

six," she whispered. "Why did you not tell m



about it?" he asked. "How could I?" she repliedwith a sigh.

He remained standing, motionless. "Come, gup," he said. She got up with some difficultyand then, when she was standing on the floohe suddenly began to laugh with the heartlaugh of his good days, and, seeing how su

prised she was, he added: "Very well, we wigo and fetch the child, as you and I can havnone together."

She was so scared that if she had had th

strength she would assuredly have run awaybut the farmer rubbed his hands and said: wanted to adopt one, and now we have founone. I asked the cure about an orphan som

time ago."Then, still laughing, he kissed his weeping anagitated wife on both cheeks, and shouted ouas though she could not hear him: "Com

along, mother, we will go and see whethe



there is any soup left; I should not mind plateful."

She put on her petticoat and they went downstairs; and While she was kneeling in front othe fireplace and lighting the fire under thsaucepan, he continued to walk up and dowthe kitchen with long strides, repeating:

"Well, I am really glad of this; I am not saying for form's sake, but I am glad, I am really verglad."



THE WRECK

It was yesterday, the 31st of December.

I had just finished breakfast with my old frienGeorges Garin when the servant handed him letter covered with seals and foreign stamps.

Georges said:

"Will you excuse me?"

"Certainly."

And so he began to read the letter, which wawritten in a large English handwriting, crosseand recrossed in every direction. He read them

slowly, with serious attention and the interewhich we only pay to things which touch ouhearts.



Then he put the letter on the mantelpiece ansaid:

"That was a curious story! I've never told yoabout it, I think. Yet it was a sentimental adventure, and it really happened to me. That was strange New Year's Day, indeed! It must havbeen twenty years ago, for I was then thirty an

am now fifty years old.

"I was then an inspector in the Maritime Insuance Company, of which I am now director.had arranged to pass New Year's Day i

Paris—since it is customary to make that day fete—when I received a letter from the manager, asking me to proceed at once to the islanof Re, where a three-masted vessel from Sain

Nazaire, insured by us, had just been driveashore. It was then eight o'clock in the morningI arrived at the office at ten to get my adviceand that evening I took the express, which pume down in La Rochelle the next day, the 31

of December.



"I had two hours to wait before going aboarthe boat for Re. So I made a tour of the town. is certainly a queer city, La Rochelle, wit

strong characteristics of its own streets tanglelike a labyrinth, sidewalks running under endless arcaded galleries like those of the Rue dRivoli, but low, mysterious, built as if to form suitable setting for conspirators and making

striking background for those old-time warthe savage heroic wars of religion. It is indeethe typical old Huguenot city, conservativdiscreet, with no fine art to show, with n

wonderful monuments, such as make Rouenbut it is remarkable for its severe, somewhsullen look; it is a city of obstinate fighters, city where fanaticism might well blossomwhere the faith of the Calvinists became enthu

siastic and which gave birth to the plot of th'Four Sergeants.'

"After I had wandered for some time abouthese curious streets, I went aboard the black



rotund little steamboat which was to take me tthe island of Re. It was called the Jean GuitonIt started with angry puffings, passed betwee

the two old towers which guard the harbocrossed the roadstead and issued from the mobuilt by Richelieu, the great stones of which cabe seen at the water's edge, enclosing the towlike a great necklace. Then the steambo

turned to the right.

"It was one of those sad days which give onthe blues, tighten the heart and take away astrength and energy and force-a gray, cold daywith a heavy mist which was as wet as rain, acold as frost, as bad to breathe as the steam ofwash-tub.

"Under this low sky of dismal fog the shallowyellow, sandy sea of all practically level beaches lay without a wrinkle, without a movement, without life, a sea of turbid water, ogreasy water, of stagnant water. The Jean Gu

ton passed over it, rolling a little from habi



dividing the smooth, dark blue water and leaving behind a few waves, a little splashing, slight swell, which soon calmed down.

"I began to talk to the captain, a little man witsmall feet, as round as his boat and rolling ithe same manner. I wanted some details of thdisaster on which I was to draw up a report.

great square-rigged three-master, the MarJoseph, of Saint-Nazaire, had gone ashore onnight in a hurricane on the sands of the islanof Re.

"The owner wrote us that the storm had throwthe ship so far ashore that it was impossible tfloat her and that they had to remove everything which could be detached with the utmo

possible haste. Nevertheless I must examine thsituation of the wreck, estimate what must havbeen her condition before the disaster and dcide whether all efforts had been used to geher afloat. I came as an agent of the company i



order to give contradictory testimony, if necesary, at the trial.

"On receipt of my report, the manager woultake what measures he might think necessarto protect our interests.

"The captain of the Jean Guiton knew all abou

the affair, having been summoned with his boato assist in the attempts at salvage.

"He told me the story of the disaster. The MarJoseph, driven by a furious gale lost her bea

ings completely in the night, and steering bchance over a heavy foaming sea—'a milk-sousea,' said the captain—had gone ashore othose immense sand banks which make thcoasts of this country look like limitless Sahara

when the tide is low.

"While talking I looked around and ahead. Btween the ocean and the lowering sky lay a



open space where the eye could see into thdistance. We were following a coast. I asked:

"'Is that the island of Re?'

"'Yes, sir.'

"And suddenly the captain stretched his righhand out before us, pointed to something amost imperceptible in the open sea, and said:

"'There's your ship!'

"'The Marie Joseph!'

"'Yes.'

"I was amazed. This black, almost imperceptble speck, which looked to me like a rock, see

med at least three miles from land.

"I continued:



"'But, captain, there must be a hundred fathomof water in that place.'

"He began to laugh.

"'A hundred fathoms, my child! Well, I shoulsay about two!'

"He was from Bordeaux. He continued:

"'It's now nine-forty, just high tide. Go dowalong the beach with your hands in your pockets after you've had lunch at the Hotel du Dau

phin, and I'll wager that at ten minutes to threor three o'clock, you'll reach the wreck withouwetting your feet, and have from an hour anthree-quarters to two hours aboard of her; bunot more, or you'll be caught. The faster the se

goes out the faster it comes back. This coast as flat as a turtle! But start away at ten minuteto five, as I tell you, and at half-past seven yowill be again aboard of the Jean Guiton, whic



will put you down this same evening on thquay at La Rochelle.'

"I thanked the captain and I went and sat dowin the bow of the steamer to get a good look athe little city of Saint-Martin, which we wernow rapidly approaching.

"It was just like all small seaports which servas capitals of the barren islands scattered alonthe coast—a large fishing village, one foot osea and one on shore, subsisting on fish anwild fowl, vegetables and shell-fish, radishe

and mussels. The island is very low and littcultivated, yet it seems to be thickly populatedHowever, I did not penetrate into the interior.

"After breakfast I climbed across a little prom

ontory, and then, as the tide was rapidly faling, I started out across the sands toward kind of black rock which I could just perceivabove the surface of the water, out a conside

able distance.



"I walked quickly over the yellow plain. It waelastic, like flesh and seemed to sweat beneatmy tread. The sea had been there very lately

Now I perceived it at a distance, escaping ouof sight, and I no longer could distinguish thline which separated the sands from ocean. felt as though I were looking at a gigantic supernatural work of enchantment. The Atlant

had just now been before me, then it had diappeared into the sands, just as scenery disappears through a trap; and I was now walking ithe midst of a desert. Only the feeling, th

breath of the salt-water, remained in me. I peceived the smell of the wrack, the smell of thsea, the good strong smell of sea coasts. walked fast; I was no longer cold. I looked the stranded wreck, which grew in size as

approached, and came now to resemble aenormous shipwrecked whale.

"It seemed fairly to rise out of the ground, anon that great, flat, yellow stretch of sand a



sumed wonderful proportions. After an hourwalk I at last reached it. It lay upon its sidruined and shattered, its broken bones showin

as though it were an animal, its bones of tarrewood pierced with great bolts. The sand haalready invaded it, entering it by all the crannies, and held it and refused to let it go. It seemed to have taken root in it. The bow had en

tered deep into this soft, treacherous beachwhile the stern, high in air, seemed to cast aheaven, like a cry of despairing appeal, the twwhite words on the black planking, Marie Jo

seph.

"I climbed upon this carcass of a ship by thlowest side; then, having reached the deck, went below. The daylight, which entered by th

stove-in hatches and the cracks in the sideshowed me dimly long dark cavities full odemolished woodwork. They contained nothing but sand, which served as foot-soil in thcavern of planks.



"I began to take some notes about the conditioof the ship. I was seated on a broken emptcask, writing by the light of a great crack

through which I could perceive the boundlesstretch of the strand. A strange shivering ocold and loneliness ran over my skin from timto time, and I would often stop writing for moment to listen to the mysterious noises in th

derelict: the noise of crabs scratching the planking with their crooked claws; the noise of thousand little creatures of the sea alreadcrawling over this dead body or else borin

into the wood.

"Suddenly, very near me, I heard humavoices. I started as though I had seen a ghosFor a second I really thought I was about to se

drowned men rise from the sinister depths othe hold, who would tell me about their deathAt any rate, it did not take me long to swinmyself on deck. There, standing by the bowwas a tall Englishman with three young misse



Certainly they were a good deal more frighened at seeing this sudden apparition on thabandoned three-master than I was at seein

them. The youngest girl turned and ran, thtwo others threw their arms round their fatheAs for him, he opened his mouth—that was thonly sign of emotion which he showed.

"Then, after several seconds, he spoke:

"'Mosieu, are you the owner of this ship?'

"'I am.'

"'May I go over it?'

"'You may.'

"Then he uttered a long sentence in English, iwhich I only distinguished the word 'graciousrepeated several times.

"As he was looking for a place to climb up

showed him the easiest way, and gave him



hand. He climbed up. Then we helped up ththree girls, who had now quite recovered thecomposure. They were charming, especially th

oldest, a blonde of eighteen, fresh as a floweand very dainty and pretty! Ah, yes! the prettEnglishwomen have indeed the look of tendesea fruit. One would have said of this one thshe had just risen out of the sands and that he

hair had kept their tint. They all, with their exquisite freshness, make you think of the delcate colors of pink sea-shells and of shininpearls hidden in the unknown depths of th

ocean.

"She spoke French a little better than her fatheand acted as interpreter. I had to tell all abouthe shipwreck, and I romanced as though I ha

been present at the catastrophe. Then the whofamily descended into the interior of the wreckAs soon as they had penetrated into this sombre, dimly lit cavity they uttered cries of astonishment and admiration. Suddenly the fathe



and his three daughters were holding sketchbooks in their hands, which they had doubtlescarried hidden somewhere in their heav

weather-proof clothes, and were all beginninat once to make pencil sketches of this melancholy and weird place.

"They had seated themselves side by side on

projecting beam, and the four sketch-books othe eight knees were being rapidly coverewith little black lines which were intended trepresent the half-opened hulk of the MarJoseph.

"I continued to inspect the skeleton of the shipand the oldest girl talked to me while she woked.

"They had none of the usual English arrogancthey were simple honest hearts of that class ocontinuous travellers with which England covers the globe. The father was long and thin

with a red face framed in white whiskers, an



looking like a living sandwich, a piece of hamcarved like a face between two wads of haiThe daughters, who had long legs like youn

storks, were also thin-except the oldest. Athree were pretty, especially the tallest.

"She had such a droll way of speaking, of laughing, of understanding and of not understand

ing, of raising her eyes to ask a question (eyeblue as the deep ocean), of stopping her drawing a moment to make a guess at what yomeant, of returning once more to work, of saying 'yes' or 'no'—that I could have listened anlooked indefinitely.

"Suddenly she murmured:

"'I hear a little sound on this boat.'

"I listened and I immediately distinguished low, steady, curious sound. I rose and lookeout of the crack and gave a scream. The sea hacome up to us; it would soon surround us!



"We were on deck in an instant. It was too latThe water circled us about and was runnintoward the coast at tremendous speed. No,

did not run, it glided, crept, spread like an immense, limitless blot. The water was barely few centimeters deep, but the rising flood hagone so far that we no longer saw the vanishinline of the imperceptible tide.

"The Englishman wanted to jump. I held himback. Flight was impossible because of the deeplaces which we had been obliged to go rounon our way out and into which we should faon our return.

"There was a minute of horrible anguish in ouhearts. Then the little English girl began to sm

le and murmured:"'It is we who are shipwrecked.'

"I tried to laugh, but fear held me, a fear whicwas cowardly and horrid and base and treach



erous like the tide. All the danger which we raappeared to me at once. I wanted to shriek'Help!' But to whom?

"The two younger girls were clinging to thefather, who looked in consternation at the measureless sea which hedged us round about.

"The night fell as swiftly as the ocean rose—lowering, wet, icy night.

"I said:

"'There's nothing to do but to stay on the ship:"The Englishman answered:

"'Oh, yes!'

"And we waited there a quarter of an hour, haan hour, indeed I don't know how long, watching that creeping water growing deeper as swirled around us, as though it were playin

on the beach, which it had regained.



"One of the young girls was cold, and we wenbelow to shelter ourselves from the light bufreezing wind that made our skins tingle.

"I leaned over the hatchway. The ship was fuof water. So we had to cower against the sterplanking, which shielded us a little.

"Darkness was now coming on, and we rmained huddled together. I felt the shoulder othe little English girl trembling against minher teeth chattering from time to time. But also felt the gentle warmth of her body throug

her ulster, and that warmth was as delicious tme as a kiss. We no longer spoke; we sat motionless, mute, cowering down like animals inditch when a hurricane is raging. And, neve

theless, despite the night, despite the terriband increasing danger, I began to feel happthat I was there, glad of the cold and the periglad of the long hours of darkness and anguisthat I must pass on this plank so near th

dainty, pretty little girl.



"I asked myself, 'Why this strange sensation owell-being and of joy?'

"Why! Does one know? Because she was thereWho? She, a little unknown English girl? I dinot love her, I did not even know her. And foall that, I was touched and conquered. I wanteto save her, to sacrifice myself for her, to com

mit a thousand follies! Strange thing! How doeit happen that the presence of a woman ovewhelms us so? Is it the power of her gracwhich enfolds us? Is it the seduction of hebeauty and youth, which intoxicates one likwine?

"Is it not rather the touch of Love, of Love thMysterious, who seeks constantly to unite tw

beings, who tries his strength the instant he haput a man and a woman face to face?

"The silence of the darkness became terriblthe stillness of the sky dreadful, because w

could hear vaguely about us a slight, continu



ous sound, the sound of the rising tide and thmonotonous plashing of the water against thship.

"Suddenly I heard the sound of sobs. The youngest of the girls was crying. Her father tried tconsole her, and they began to talk in their owtongue, which I did not understand. I guesse

that he was reassuring her and that she wastill afraid.

"I asked my neighbor:

"'You are not too cold, are you, mademoiselle?

"'Oh, yes. I am very cold.'

"I offered to give her my cloak; she refused it.

"But I had taken it off and I covered her with against her will. In the short struggle her hantouched mine. It made a delicious thrill ruthrough my body.



"For some minutes the air had been growinbrisker, the dashing of the water strongeagainst the flanks of the ship. I raised myself;

great gust of wind blew in my face. The winwas rising!

"The Englishman perceived this at the samtime that I did and said simply:

"'This is bad for us, this——'

"Of course it was bad, it was certain death any breakers, however feeble, should attac

and shake the wreck, which was already sshattered and disconnected that the first big sewould carry it off.

"So our anguish increased momentarily as th

squalls grew stronger and stronger. Now thsea broke a little, and I saw in the darkneswhite lines appearing and disappearing, lineof foam, while each wave struck the Marie Jo



seph and shook her with a short quiver whicwent to our hearts.

"The English girl was trembling. I felt her shver against me. And I had a wild desire to takher in my arms.

"Down there, before and behind us, to the le

and right, lighthouses were shining along thshore—lighthouses white, yellow and red, rvolving like the enormous eyes of giants whwere watching us, waiting eagerly for us tdisappear. One of them in especial irritated m

It went out every thirty seconds and it lit uagain immediately. It was indeed an eye, thaone, with its lid incessantly lowered over ifiery glance.

"From time to time the Englishman struck match to see the hour; then he put his watcback in his pocket. Suddenly he said to mover the heads of his daughters, with tremen

dous gravity:



"'I wish you a happy New Year, Mosieu.'

"It was midnight. I held out my hand, which hpressed. Then he said something in Englishand suddenly he and his daughters began tsing 'God Save the Queen,' which rose througthe black and silent air and vanished into spac

"At first I felt a desire to laugh; then I was sezed by a powerful, strange emotion.

"It was something sinister and superb, thchant of the shipwrecked, the condemned

something like a prayer and also like something grander, something comparable to thancient 'Ave Caesar morituri te salutant.'

"When they had finished I asked my neighbo

to sing a ballad alone, anything she liked, tmake us forget our terrors. She consented, animmediately her clear young voice rang ouinto the night. She sang something which wadoubtless sad, because the notes were lon



drawn out and hovered, like wounded birdabove the waves.

"The sea was rising now and beating upon ouwreck. As for me, I thought only of that voicAnd I thought also of the sirens. If a ship hapassed near by us what would the sailors havsaid? My troubled spirit lost itself in the dream

A siren! Was she not really a siren, this daughter of the sea, who had kept me on this wormeaten ship and who was soon about to go dowwith me deep into the waters?

"But suddenly we were all five rolling on thdeck, because the Marie Joseph had sunk oher right side. The English girl had fallen upome, and before I knew what I was doing, think

ing that my last moment was come, I hacaught her in my arms and kissed her cheekher temple and her hair.

"The ship did not move again, and we, we als

remained motionless.



"The father said, 'Kate!' The one whom I waholding answered 'Yes' and made a movemento free herself. And at that moment I shoul

have wished the ship to split in two and let mfall with her into the sea.

"The Englishman continued:

"'A little rocking; it's nothing. I have my thredaughters safe.'

"Not having seen the oldest, he had thoughshe was lost overboard!

"I rose slowly, and suddenly I made out a lighon the sea quite close to us. I shouted; they answered. It was a boat sent out in search of us bthe hotelkeeper, who had guessed at our im

prudence.

"We were saved. I was in despair. They pickeus up off our raft and they brought us back tSaint-Martin.



"The Englishman began to rub his hand anmurmur:

"'A good supper! A good supper!'

"We did sup. I was not gay. I regretted the Marie Joseph.

"We had to separate the next day after muchandshaking and many promises to writThey departed for Biarritz. I wanted to followthem.

"I was hard hit. I wanted to ask this little girl tmarry me. If we had passed eight days together, I should have done so! How weak anincomprehensible a man sometimes is!

"Two years passed without my hearing a worfrom them. Then I received a letter from NewYork. She was married and wrote to tell mAnd since then we write to each other everyear, on New Year's Day. She tells me abou



her life, talks of her children, her sisters, neveof her husband! Why? Ah! why? And as for mI only talk of the Marie Joseph. That was pe

haps the only woman I have ever loved—no—that I ever should have loved. Ah, well! whcan tell? Circumstances rule one. And then—and then—all passes. She must be old now; should not know her. Ah! she of the bygon

time, she of the wreck! What a creature! DivinShe writes me her hair is white. That caused mterrible pain. Ah! her yellow hair. No, my English girl exists no longer. How sad it all is!"

THEODULE SABOT'S CONFESSION

When Sabot entered the inn at Martinville was a signal for laughter. What a rogue he wa

this Sabot! There was a man who did not lik



priests, for instance! Oh, no, oh, no! He did nospare them, the scamp.

Sabot (Theodule), a master carpenter, reprsented liberal thought in Martinville. He was tall, thin, than, with gray, cunning eyes, anthin lips, and wore his hair plastered down ohis temples. When he said: "Our holy fathe

the pope" in a certain manner, everyonlaughed. He made a point of working on Sunday during the hour of mass. He killed his pieach year on Monday in Holy Week in order thave enough black pudding to last till Easteand when the priest passed by, he always saiby way of a joke: "There goes one who has juswallowed his God off a salver."

The priest, a stout man and also very tall, dreaded him on account of his boastful talk whicattracted followers. The Abbe Maritime was politic man, and believed in being diplomatiThere had been a rivalry between them for te

years, a secret, intense, incessant rivalry. Sabo



was municipal councillor, and they thought hwould become mayor, which would inevitablmean the final overthrow of the church.

The elections were about to take place. Thchurch party was shaking in its shoes in Matinville.

One morning the cure set out for Rouen, tellinhis servant that he was going to see the archbihop. He returned in two days with a joyoutriumphant air. And everyone knew the following day that the chancel of the church was go

ing to be renovated. A sum of six hundrefrancs had been contributed by the archbishoout of his private fund. All the old pine pewwere to be removed, and replaced by new pew

made of oak. It would be a big carpentering joband they talked about it that very evening in athe houses in the village.

Theodule Sabot was not laughing.



When he went through the village the following morning, the neighbors, friends and enmies, all asked him, jokingly:

"Are you going to do the work on the chancof the church?"

He could find nothing to say, but he was fur

ous, he was good and angry.

Ill-natured people added:

"It is a good piece of work; and will bring in no

less than two or three per cent. profit."Two days later, they heard that the work orenovation had been entrusted to CelestiChambrelan, the carpenter from Perchevill

Then this was denied, and it was said that athe pews in the church were going to bchanged. That would be well worth the twthousand francs that had been demanded of thchurch administration.



Theodule Sabot could not sleep for thinkinabout it. Never, in all the memory of man, haa country carpenter undertaken a similar piec

of work. Then a rumor spread abroad that thcure felt very grieved that he had to give thwork to a carpenter who was a stranger in thcommunity, but that Sabot's opinions were barrier to his being entrusted with the job.

Sabot knew it well. He called at the parsonagjust as it was growing dark. The servant tolhim that the cure was at church. He went to thchurch.

Two attendants on the altar of the Virgin, twsoar old maids, were decorating the altar fothe month of Mary, under the direction of th

priest, who stood in the middle of the chancwith his portly paunch, directing the twwomen who, mounted on chairs, were placinflowers around the tabernacle.



Sabot felt ill at ease in there, as though he werin the house of his greatest enemy, but thgreed of gain was gnawing at his heart. H

drew nearer, holding his cap in his hand, annot paying any attention to the "demoiselles dla Vierge," who remained standing startledastonished, motionless on their chairs.

He faltered:

"Good morning, monsieur le cure."

The priest replied without looking at him, a

occupied as he was with the altar:

"Good morning, Mr. Carpenter."

Sabot, nonplussed, knew not what to say nex

But after a pause he remarked:

"You are making preparations?"

Abbe Maritime replied:



"Yes, we are near the month of Mary."

"Why, why," remarked Sabot and then wasilent. He would have liked to retire now without saying anything, but a glance at the chancheld him back. He saw sixteen seats that had tbe remade, six to the right and eight to the lefthe door of the sacristy occupying the place o

two. Sixteen oak seats, that would be worth amost three hundred francs, and by figurincarefully one might certainly make two hundred francs on the work if one were noclumsy.

Then he stammered out:

"I have come about the work."

The cure appeared surprised. He asked:

"What work?"

"The work to be done," murmured Sabot, i

dismay.



Then the priest turned round and looking himstraight in the eyes, said:

"Do you mean the repairs in the chancel of mchurch?"

At the tone of the abbe, Theodule Sabot felt chill run down his back and he once more ha

a longing to take to his heels. However, he replied humbly:

"Why, yes, monsieur le cure."

Then the abbe folded his arms across his largstomach and, as if filled with amazement, said

"Is it you—you—you, Sabot—who have comto ask me for this... You—the only irreligiou

man in my parish! Why, it would be a scandaa public scandal! The archbishop would givme a reprimand, perhaps transfer me."

He stopped a few seconds, for breath, and the

resumed in a calmer tone: "I can understan



that it pains you to see a work of such impotance entrusted to a carpenter from a neighboing parish. But I cannot do otherwise, unless—

but no—it is impossible—you would not consent, and unless you did, never."

Sabot now looked at the row of benches in linas far as the entrance door. Christopher, if the

were going to change all those!

And he asked:

"What would you require of me? Tell me."

The priest, in a firm tone replied:

"I must have an extraordinary token of yougood intentions."

"I do not say—I do not say; perhaps we mighcome to an understanding," faltered Sabot.

"You will have to take communion publicly a

high mass next Sunday," declared the cure.



The carpenter felt he was growing pale, anwithout replying, he asked:

"And the benches, are they going to be renovated?"

The abbe replied with confidence:

"Yes, but later on."

Sabot resumed:

"I do not say, I do not say. I am not calling it ofI am consenting to religion, for sure. But wh

rubs me the wrong way is, putting it in pratice; but in this case I will not be refractory."

The attendants of the Virgin, having got otheir chairs had concealed themselves behinthe altar; and they listened pale with emotion.

The cure, seeing he had gained the victory, became all at once very friendly, quite familiar.



"That is good, that is good. That was wiselsaid, and not stupid, you understand. You wisee, you will see."

Sabot smiled and asked with an awkward air:

"Would it not be possible to put off this communion just a trifle?"

But the priest replied, resuming his severe expression:

"From the moment that the work is put int

your hands, I want to be assured of your conversion."

Then he continued more gently:

"You will come to confession to-morrow; formust examine you at least twice."

"Twice?" repeated Sabot.

"Yes."



The priest smiled.

"You understand perfectly that you must hava general cleaning up, a thorough cleansing. SI will expect you to-morrow."

The carpenter, much agitated, asked:

"Where do you do that?"

"Why—in the confessional."

"In—that box, over there in the corner? The facis—is—that it does not suit me, your box."

"How is that?"

"Seeing that—seeing that I am not accustometo that, and also I am rather hard of hearing."

The cure was very affable and said:



"Well, then! you shall come to my house aninto my parlor. We will have it just the two ous, tete-a-tete. Does that suit you?"

"Yes, that is all right, that will suit me, but youbox, no."

"Well, then, to-morrow after the days work,

six o'clock."

"That is understood, that is all right, that agreed on. To-morrow, monsieur le cure. Whoever draws back is a skunk!"

And he held out his great rough hand whicthe priest grasped heartily with a clap that resounded through the church.

Theodule Sabot was not easy in his mind all thfollowing day. He had a feeling analogous tthe apprehension one experiences when a toothas to be drawn. The thought recurred to himat every moment: "I must go to confession th



evening." And his troubled mind, the mind oan atheist only half convinced, was bewilderewith a confused and overwhelming dread o

the divine mystery.

As soon as he had finished his work, he betoohimself to the parsonage. The cure was waitinfor him in the garden, reading his breviary a

he walked along a little path. He appeared radiant and greeted him with a good-naturelaugh.

"Well, here we are! Come in, come in, Monsieu

Sabot, no one will eat you."

And Sabot preceded him into the house. Hfaltered:

"If you do not mind I should like to get througwith this little matter at once."

The cure replied:



"I am at your service. I have my surplice herOne minute and I will listen to you."

The carpenter, so disturbed that he had not twideas in his head, watched him as he put on thwhite vestment with its pleated folds. Thpriest beckoned to him and said:

"Kneel down on this cushion."

Sabot remained standing, ashamed of having tkneel. He stuttered:

"Is it necessary?"But the abbe had become dignified.

"You cannot approach the penitent bench except on your knees."

And Sabot knelt down.

"Repeat the confiteor," said the priest.



"What is that?" asked Sabot.

"The confiteor. If you do not remember it, repeat after me, one by one, the words I am gointo say." And the cure repeated the sacreprayer, in a slow tone, emphasizing the wordwhich the carpenter repeated after him. Thehe said:

"Now make your confession."

But Sabot was silent, not knowing where tbegin. The abbe then came to his aid.

"My child, I will ask you questions, since yodon't seem familiar with these things. We witake, one by one, the commandments of GodListen to me and do not be disturbed. Spea

very frankly and never fear that you may satoo much.

"'One God alone, thou shalt adore,And love him perfectly.'



"Have you ever loved anything, or anybody, awell as you loved God? Have you loved himwith all your soul, all your heart, all th

strength of your love?"

Sabot was perspiring with the effort of thinking. He replied:

"No. Oh, no, m'sieu le cure. I love God as mucas I can. That is —yes—I love him very muchTo say that I do not love my children, no—cannot say that. To say that if I had to choosbetween them and God, I could not be sure. T

say that if I had to lose a hundred francs for thlove of God, I could not say about that. But love him well, for sure, I love him all the sameThe priest said gravely "You must love Him

more than all besides." And Sabot, meaninwell, declared "I will do what I possibly canm'sieu le cure." The abbe resumed:

"'God's name in vain thou shalt not takeNor swear by any other thing.'



"Did you ever swear?"

"No-oh, that, no! I never swear, never. Sometimes, in a moment of anger, I may say sacrnom de Dieu! But then, I never swear."

"That is swearing," cried the priest, and addeseriously:

"Do not do it again.

"'Thy Sundays thou shalt keepIn serving God devoutly.'

"What do you do on Sunday?"This time Sabot scratched his ear.

"Why, I serve God as best I can, m'sieu le cureserve him—at home. I work on Sunday."

The cure interrupted him, saying magnanmously:



"I know, you will do better in future. I will pasover the following commandments, certain thayou have not transgressed the two first. We wi

take from the sixth to the ninth. I will resume:"'Others' goods thou shalt not takeNor keep what is not thine.'

"Have you ever taken in any way what be

longed to another?"

But Theodule Sabot became indignant.

"Of course not, of course not! I am an hone

man, m'sieu le cure, I swear it, for sure. To sathat I have not sometimes charged for a fewmore hours of work to customers who hameans, I could not say that. To say that I neveadd a few centimes to bills, only a few, I woul

not say that. But to steal, no! Oh, not that, no!"

The priest resumed severely:



"To take one single centime constitutes a thefDo not do it again.

'False witness thou shalt not bear,

Nor lie in any way.'

"Have you ever told a lie?"

"No, as to that, no. I am not a liar. That is m

quality. To say that I have never told a big story, I would not like to say that. To say thathave never made people believe things thawere not true when it was to my own interest,would not like to say that. But as for lying, I am

not a liar."

The priest simply said:

"Watch yourself more closely." Then he contin

ued:

"'The works of the flesh thou shalt not desireExcept in marriage only.'



"Did you ever desire, or live with, any othewoman than your wife?"

Sabot exclaimed with sincerity:

"As to that, no; oh, as to that, no, m'sieu Cure. My poor wife, deceive her! No, no! Noso much as the tip of a finger, either in though

or in act. That is the truth."

They were silent a few seconds, then, in a lowetone, as though a doubt had arisen in his mindhe resumed:

"When I go to town, to say that I never go intohouse, you know, one of the licensed housejust to laugh and talk and see something diffeent, I could not say that. But I always pay

monsieur le cure, I always pay. From the moment you pay, without anyone seeing or knowing you, no one can get you into trouble."



The cure did not insist, and gave him absolution.

Theodule Sabot did the work on the chanceand goes to communion every month.

THE WRONG HOUSE

Quartermaster Varajou had obtained a weekleave to go and visit his sister, Madame PadoiVarajou, who was in garrison at Rennes anwas leading a pretty gay life, finding himsehigh and dry, wrote to his sister saying that h

would devote a week to her. It was not that hcared particularly for Mme. Padoie, a little moralist, a devotee, and always cross; but he needed money, needed it very badly, and he r

membered that, of all his relations, the Padoie



were the only ones whom he had never approached on the subject.

Pere Varajou, formerly a horticulturist at Angers, but now retired from business, had closehis purse strings to his scapegrace son and hahardly seen him for two years. His daughtehad married Padoie, a former treasury clerk

who had just been appointed tax collector aVannes.

Varajou, on leaving the train, had some ondirect him to the house of his brother-in-law

whom he found in his office arguing with thBreton peasants of the neighborhood. Padorose from his seat, held out his hand across thtable littered with papers, murmured, "Take

chair. I will be at liberty in a moment," sadown again and resumed his discussion.

The peasants did not understand his explantions, the collector did not understand their lin

of argument. He spoke French, they spoke Bre



ton, and the clerk who acted as interpreter appeared not to understand either.

It lasted a long time, a very long time. Varajolooked at his brother-in-law and though"What a fool!" Padoie must have been almofifty. He was tall, thin, bony, slow, hairy, witheavy arched eyebrows. He wore a velvet sku

cap with a gold cord vandyke design round iHis look was gentle, like his actions. Hspeech, his gestures, his thoughts, all were sofVarajou said to himself, "What a fool!"

He, himself, was one of those noisy roystererfor whom the greatest pleasures in life are thcafe and abandoned women. He understoonothing outside of these conditions of exi

tence.A boisterous braggart, filled with contempt fothe rest of the world, he despised the entiruniverse from the height of his ignoranc

When he said: "Nom d'un chien, what a spree



he expressed the highest degree of admiratioof which his mind was capable.

Having finally got rid of his peasants, Padoinquired:

"How are you?"

"Pretty well, as you see. And how are you?"

"Quite well, thank you. It is very kind of you thave thought of coming to see us."

"Oh, I have been thinking of it for some tim

but, you know, in the military profession onhas not much freedom."

"Oh, I know, I know. All the same, it is verkind of you."

"And Josephine, is she well?"

"Yes, yes, thank you; you will see her preently." "Where is she?"



"She is making some calls. We have a greamany friends here; it is a very nice town."

"I thought so."

The door opened and Mme. Padoie appearedShe went over to her brother without any eagerness, held her cheek for him to kiss, an

asked:

"Have you been here long?"

"No, hardly half an hour."

"Oh, I thought the train would be late. Will yocome into the parlor?"

They went into the adjoining room, leavinPadoie to his accounts and his taxpayers. Asoon as they were alone, she said:

"I have heard nice things about you!"

"What have you heard?"



"It seems that you are behaving like a blackguard, getting drunk and contracting debts."

He appeared very much astonished.

"I! never in the world!"

"Oh, do not deny it, I know it."

He attempted to defend himself, but she gavhim such a lecture that he could say nothinmore.

She then resumed:

"We dine at six o'clock, and you can amusyourself until then. I cannot entertain you, ashave so many things to do."

When he was alone he hesitated as to whethehe should sleep or take a walk. He looked firat the door leading to his room and then at thhall door, and decided to go out. He sauntere

slowly through the quiet Breton town, s



sleepy, so calm, so dead, on the shores of iinland bay that is called "le Morbihan." Hlooked at the little gray houses, the occasiona

pedestrians, the empty stores, and he mumured:

"Vannes is certainly not gay, not lively. It was sad idea, my coming here."

He reached the harbor, the desolate harbowalked back along a lonely, deserted boulevard, and got home before five o'clock. Then hthrew himself on his bed to sleep till dinne

time. The maid woke him, knocking at thdoor.

"Dinner is ready, sir:"

He went downstairs. In the damp dining-roomwith the paper peeling from the walls near thfloor, he saw a soup tureen on a round tabwithout any table cloth, on which were alsthree melancholy soup-plates.



M. and Mme. Padoie entered the room at thsame time as Varajou. They all sat down to table, and the husband and wife crossed them

selves over the pit of their stomachs, aftewhich Padoie helped the soup, a meat soup. was the day for pot-roast.

After the soup, they had the beef, which wa

done to rags, melted, greasy, like pap. The offcer ate slowly, with disgust, weariness anrage.

Mme. Padoie said to her husband:

"Are you going to the judge's house this evning?"

"Yes, dear."

"Do not stay late. You always get so tired wheyou go out. You are not made for society, wityour poor health."



She then talked about society in Vannes, of thexcellent social circle in which the Padoies moved, thanks to their religious sentiments.

A puree of potatoes and a dish of pork wernext served, in honor of the guest. Then somcheese, and that was all. No coffee.

When Varajou saw that he would have tspend the evening tete-a-tete with his sisteendure her reproaches, listen to her sermonwithout even a glass of liqueur to help him tswallow these remonstrances, he felt that h

could not stand the torture, and declared thahe was obliged to go to the police station thave something attended to regarding his leavof absence. And he made his escape at seve

o'clock.He had scarcely reached the street before hgave himself a shake like a dog coming out othe water. He muttered:



"Heavens, heavens, heavens, what a galley slave's life!"

And he set out to look for a cafe, the best in thtown. He found it on a public square, behintwo gas lamps. Inside the cafe, five or six mensemi-gentlemen, and not noisy, were drinkinand chatting quietly, leaning their elbows o

the small tables, while two billiard playerwalked round the green baize, where the balwere hitting each other as they rolled.

One heard them counting:

"Eighteen-nineteen. No luck. Oh, that's a goostroke! Well played! Eleven. You should havplayed on the red. Twenty. Froze! Froze! Tweve. Ha! Wasn't I right?"

Varajou ordered:

"A demi-tasse and a small decanter of brandythe best." Then he sat down and waited for it.



He was accustomed to spending his eveningoff duty with his companions, amid noise anthe smoke of pipes. This silence, this quiet, ex

asperated him. He began to drink; first the cofee, then the brandy, and asked for anothedecanter. He now wanted to laugh, to shout, tsing, to fight some one. He said to himself:

"Gee, I am half full. I must go and have a gootime."

And he thought he would go and look for somgirls to amuse him. He called the waiter:

"Hey, waiter."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me, where does one amuse oneself here?"

The man looked stupid, and replied:

"I do not know, sir. Here, I suppose!"



"How do you mean here? What do you caamusing oneself, yourself?"

"I do not know, sir, drinking good beer or goowine."

"Ah, go away, dummy, how about the girls?"

"The girls, ah! ah!"

"Yes, the girls, where can one find any here?"

"Girls?"

"Why, yes, girls!"

The boy approached and lowering his voicsaid: "You want to know where they live?"

"Why, yes, the devil!"

"You take the second street to the left and thethe first to the right. It is number fifteen."



"Thank you, old man. There is something foyou."

"Thank you, sir."

And Varajou went out of the cafe, repeating"Second to the left, first to the right, numbe15." But at the end of a few seconds he though

"second to the left yes. But on leaving the cafmust I walk to the right or the left? Bah, it cannot be helped, we shall see."

And he walked on, turned down the secon

street to the left, then the first to the right anlooked for number 15. It was a nice lookinhouse, and one could see behind the closeblinds that the windows were lighted up on thfirst floor. The hall door was left partly open

and a lamp was burning in the vestibule. Thnon-commissioned officer thought to himself:

"This looks all right."



He went in and, as no one appeared, he calleout:

"Hallo there, hallo!"

A little maid appeared and looked astonisheat seeing a soldier. He said:

"Good-morning, my child. Are the ladies upstairs?"

"Yes, sir."

"In the parlor?"

"Yes, sir."

"May I go up?"

"Yes, sir."

"The door opposite the stairs?"

"Yes, sir."



He ascended the stairs, opened a door and sawsitting in a room well lighted up by two lampa chandelier, and two candelabras with candle

in them, four ladies in evening dress, appaently expecting some one.

Three of them, the younger ones, remaineseated, with rather a formal air, on some crim

son velvet chairs; while the fourth, who waabout forty-five, was arranging some flowers ia vase. She was very stout, and wore a greesilk dress with low neck and short sleeves, alowing her red neck, covered with powder, tescape as a huge flower might from its corolla.

The officer saluted them, saying:

"Good-day, ladies."

The older woman turned round, appeared suprised, but bowed.

"Good-morning, sir."



He sat down. But seeing that they did not wecome him eagerly, he thought that possiblonly commissioned officers were admitted t

the house, and this made him uneasy. But hsaid:

"Bah, if one comes in, we can soon tell."

He then remarked:

"Are you all well?"

The large lady, no doubt the mistress of th

house, replied:"Very well, thank you!"

He could think of nothing else to say, and thewere all silent. But at last, being ashamed of hbashfulness, and with an awkward laugh, hsaid:

"Do not people have any amusement in th

country? I will pay for a bottle of wine."



He had not finished his sentence when the dooopened, and in walked Padoie dressed in black suit.

Varajou gave a shout of joy, and rising from hseat, he rushed at his brother-in-law, put harms round him and waltzed him round throom, shouting:

"Here is Padoie! Here is Padoie! Here is Padoie!"

Then letting go of the tax collector he exclaime

as he looked him in the face:

"Oh, oh, oh, you scamp, you scamp! You arout for a good time, too. Oh, you scamp! Anmy sister! Are you tired of her, say?"

As he thought of all that he might gain througthis unexpected situation, the forced loan, thinevitable blackmail, he flung himself on th



lounge and laughed so heartily that the piece ofurniture creaked all over.

The three young ladies, rising simultaneouslymade their escape, while the older woman rtreated to the door looking as though she werabout to faint.

And then two gentlemen appeared in evenindress, and wearing the ribbon of an order. Padoie rushed up to them.

"Oh, judge—he is crazy, he is crazy. He wa

sent to us as a convalescent. You can see that his crazy."

Varajou was sitting up now, and not being abto understand it all, he guessed that he ha

committed some monstrous folly. Then he rosand turning to his brother-in-law, said:

"What house is this?"



But Padoie, becoming suddenly furious, stammered out:

"What house—what—what house is thisWretch—scoundrel—villain—what house, indeed? The house of the judge—of the judge othe Supreme Court—of the Supreme Court—othe Supreme Court—Oh, oh—rascal! —

rascal!—rascal!"

THE DIAMOND NECKLACE

The girl was one of those pretty and charmin

young creatures who sometimes are born, as by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She hano dowry, no expectations, no way of beinknown, understood, loved, married by any ric

and distinguished man; so she let herself b



married to a little clerk of the Ministry of PublInstruction.

She dressed plainly because she could not dreswell, but she was unhappy as if she had reallfallen from a higher station; since with womethere is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, gracand charm take the place of family and birth

Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant,supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and oftemake of women of the people the equals of thvery greatest ladies.

Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herseborn to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. Shwas distressed at the poverty of her dwellingat the bareness of the walls, at the shabb

chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All thosthings, of which another woman of her ranwould never even have been conscious, totured her and made her angry. The sight of thlittle Breton peasant who did her humbl

housework aroused in her despairing regre



and bewildering dreams. She thought of silenantechambers hung with Oriental tapestryillumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of tw

great footmen in knee breeches who sleep ithe big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppresive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of thdainty cabinets containing priceless curiositie

and of the little coquettish perfumed receptiorooms made for chatting at five o'clock witintimate friends, with men famous and soughafter, whom all women envy and whose atten

tion they all desire.

When she sat down to dinner, before the rountable covered with a tablecloth in use thredays, opposite her husband, who uncovere

the soup tureen and declared with a delighteair, "Ah, the good soup! I don't know anythinbetter than that," she thought of dainty dinnerof shining silverware, of tapestry that peoplethe walls with ancient personages and wit



strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy foest; and she thought of delicious dishes serveon marvellous plates and of the whispered ga

lantries to which you listen with a sphinxliksmile while you are eating the pink meat of trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And sh

loved nothing but that. She felt made for thaShe would have liked so much to please, to benvied, to be charming, to be sought after.

She had a friend, a former schoolmate at th

convent, who was rich, and whom she did nolike to go to see any more because she felt ssad when she came home.

But one evening her husband reached hom

with a triumphant air and holding a large envlope in his hand.

"There," said he, "there is something for you."



She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:

The Minister of Public Instruction and Ma

dame Georges Ramponneaurequest the honor of M. and Madame Loisel

company at the palace ofthe Ministry on Monday evening, Januar

18th.Instead of being delighted, as her husband hahoped, she threw the invitation on the tabcrossly, muttering:

"What do you wish me to do with that?"

"Why, my dear, I thought you would be gladYou never go out, and this is such a fine oppotunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every on

wants to go; it is very select, and they are nogiving many invitations to clerks. The whoofficial world will be there."



She looked at him with an irritated glance ansaid impatiently:

"And what do you wish me to put on mback?"

He had not thought of that. He stammered:

"Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. looks very well to me."

He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife waweeping. Two great tears ran slowly from th

corners of her eyes toward the corners of hemouth.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he answered.

By a violent effort she conquered her grief anreplied in a calm voice, while she wiped hewet cheeks:



"Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, thereforI can't go to this ball. Give your card to somcolleague whose wife is better equipped than

am."

He was in despair. He resumed:

"Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much woul

it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use oother occasions—something very simple?"

She reflected several seconds, making her caculations and wondering also what sum sh

could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamatiofrom the economical clerk.

Finally she replied hesitating:

"I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs."

He grew a little pale, because he was layin

aside just that amount to buy a gun and trea



himself to a little shooting next summer on thplain of Nanterre, with several friends whwent to shoot larks there of a Sunday.

But he said:

"Very well. I will give you four hundred francAnd try to have a pretty gown."

The day of the ball drew near and MadamLoisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frocwas ready, however. Her husband said to heone evening:

"What is the matter? Come, you have seemevery queer these last three days."

And she answered:

"It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put onshall look poverty-stricken. I would almorather not go at all."



"You might wear natural flowers," said her huband. "They're very stylish at this time of yeaFor ten francs you can get two or three mag

nificent roses."

She was not convinced.

"No; there's nothing more humiliating than t

look poor among other women who are rich."

"How stupid you are!" her husband cried. "Glook up your friend, Madame Forestier, and asher to lend you some jewels. You're intima

enough with her to do that."

She uttered a cry of joy:

"True! I never thought of it."

The next day she went to her friend and tolher of her distress.



Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:

"Choose, my dear."

She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with pr

cious stones, of admirable workmanship. Shtried on the ornaments before the mirror, hestated and could not make up her mind to pawith them, to give them back. She kept asking

"Haven't you any more?"

"Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what yolike."

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box,superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her handtrembled as she took it. She fastened it rounher throat, outside her high-necked waist, an



was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the miror.

Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxioudoubt:

"Will you lend me this, only this?"

"Why, yes, certainly."

She threw her arms round her friend's neckkissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.

The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loiswas a great success. She was prettier than another woman present, elegant, graceful, smilinand wild with joy. All the men looked at he

asked her name, sought to be introduced. Athe attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltwith her. She was remarked by the ministehimself.



She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxcated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumpof her beauty, in the glory of her success, in

sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all thhomage, admiration, these awakened desireand of that sense of triumph which is so sweto woman's heart.

She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with threother gentlemen whose wives were enjoyinthe ball.

He threw over her shoulders the wraps he habrought, the modest wraps of common life, thpoverty of which contrasted with the eleganc

of the ball dress. She felt this and wished tescape so as not to be remarked by the othewomen, who were enveloping themselves icostly furs.



Loisel held her back, saying: "Wait a bit. Yowill catch cold outside. I will call a cab."

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached thstreet they could not find a carriage and begato look for one, shouting after the cabmen pasing at a distance.

They went toward the Seine in despair, shiveing with cold. At last they found on the quaone of those ancient night cabs which, athough they were ashamed to show their shab

biness during the day, are never seen rounParis until after dark.

It took them to their dwelling in the Rue deMartyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs t

their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, hreflected that he must be at the ministry at teo'clock that morning.



She removed her wraps before the glass so as tsee herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had th

necklace around her neck!

"What is the matter with you?" demanded hehusband, already half undressed.

She turned distractedly toward him.

"I have—I have—I've lost Madame Forestiernecklace," she cried.

He stood up, bewildered."What!—how? Impossible!"

They looked among the folds of her skirt, of hecloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did nofind it.

"You're sure you had it on when you left thball?" he asked.



"Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the ministerhouse."

"But if you had lost it in the street we shoulhave heard it fall. It must be in the cab."

"Yes, probably. Did you take his number?"

"No. And you—didn't you notice it?"

"No."

They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. Alast Loisel put on his clothes.

"I shall go back on foot," said he, "over thwhole route, to see whether I can find it."

He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in he

ball dress, without strength to go to bed, ovewhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.

Her husband returned about seven o'clock. Hhad found nothing.



He went to police headquarters, to the newpaper offices to offer a reward; he went to thcab companies—everywhere, in fact, whithe

he was urged by the least spark of hope.

She waited all day, in the same condition omad fear before this terrible calamity.

Loisel returned at night with a hollow, paface. He had discovered nothing.

"You must write to your friend," said he, "thayou have broken the clasp of her necklace an

that you are having it mended. That will givus time to turn round."

She wrote at his dictation.

At the end of a week they had lost all hopLoisel, who had aged five years, declared:

"We must consider how to replace that ornment."



The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose namwas found within. He consulted his books.

"It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace;must simply have furnished the case."

Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, search

ing for a necklace like the other, trying to recait, both sick with chagrin and grief.

They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, string of diamonds that seemed to them exactl

like the one they had lost. It was worth fortthousand francs. They could have it for thirtysix.

So they begged the jeweler not to sell it fo

three days yet. And they made a bargain thahe should buy it back for thirty-four thousanfrancs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.



Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francwhich his father had left him. He would borow the rest.

He did borrow, asking a thousand francs oone, five hundred of another, five louis herthree louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all th

race of lenders. He compromised all the rest ohis life, risked signing a note without eveknowing whether he could meet it; and, frighened by the trouble yet to come, by the blacmisery that was about to fall upon him, by thprospect of all the physical privations anmoral tortures that he was to suffer, he went tget the new necklace, laying upon the jewelercounter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklacMadame Forestier said to her with a chillmanner:



"You should have returned it sooner; I mighhave needed it."

She did not open the case, as her friend had smuch feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, whawould she have said? Would she not havtaken Madame Loisel for a thief?

Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horribexistence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debmust be paid. She would pay it. They dismisse

their servant; they changed their lodgings; therented a garret under the roof.

She came to know what heavy housewormeant and the odious cares of the kitchen. Sh

washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers anrosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washethe soiled linen, the shirts and the dishclothwhich she dried upon a line; she carried th

slops down to the street every morning an



carried up the water, stopping for breath aevery landing. And dressed like a woman othe people, she went to the fruiterer, the groce

the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargainingmeeting with impertinence, defending her mierable money, sou by sou.

Every month they had to meet some notes, re

new others, obtain more time.

Her husband worked evenings, making up tradesman's accounts, and late at night he oftecopied manuscript for five sous a page.

This life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury an

the accumulations of the compound interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished housholds—strong and hard and rough. Wit



frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, shtalked loud while washing the floor with greaswishes of water. But sometimes, when he

husband was at the office, she sat down neathe window and she thought of that gay evning of long ago, of that ball where she habeen so beautiful and so admired.

What would have happened if she had not lothat necklace? Who knows? who knows? Howstrange and changeful is life! How small a thinis needed to make or ruin us!

But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk ithe Champs Elysees to refresh herself after thlabors of the week, she suddenly perceived woman who was leading a child. It was Ma

dame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, sticharming.

Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak ther? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid

she would tell her all about it. Why not?



She went up.

"Good-day, Jeanne."

The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:

"But—madame!—I do not know—You muhave mistaken."

"No. I am Mathilde Loisel."

Her friend uttered a cry.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!"

"Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I la

saw you, and great poverty—and that becausof you!"

"Of me! How so?"



"Do you remember that diamond necklace yolent me to wear at the ministerial ball?"

"Yes. Well?"

"Well, I lost it."

"What do you mean? You brought it back."

"I brought you back another exactly like it. Anit has taken us ten years to pay for it. You caunderstand that it was not easy for us, for uwho had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am

very glad."Madame Forestier had stopped.

"You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?"

"Yes. You never noticed it, then! They wervery similar."



And she smiled with a joy that was at oncproud and ingenuous.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took hehands.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace wapaste! It was worth at most only five hundre

francs!"

THE MARQUIS DE FUMEROL

Roger de Tourneville was whiffing a cigar an

blowing out small clouds of smoke every nowand then, as he sat astride a chair amid a partof friends. He was talking.

"We were at dinner when a letter was brough

in which my father opened. You know my fa



ther, who thinks that he is king of France ainterim. I call him Don Quixote, because fotwelve years he has been running a tilt again

the windmill of the Republic, without quitknowing whether it was in the cause of thBourbons or the Orleanists. At present he bearing the lance in the cause of the Orleanisalone, because there is no one else left. In an

case, he thinks himself the first gentleman oFrance, the best known, the most influentiathe head of the party; and as he is an irremovable senator, he thinks that the thrones of th

neighboring kings are very insecure.

"As for my mother, she is my father's soul, shis the soul of the kingdom and of religion, anthe scourge of all evil-thinkers.

"Well, a letter was brought in while we were adinner, and my father opened and read it, anthen he said to mother: 'Your brother is dyingShe grew very pale. My uncle was scarcely eve

mentioned in the house, and I did not know



him at all; all I knew from public talk was, thahe had led, and was still leading, a gay lifAfter having spent his fortune in fast living, h

was now in small apartments in the Rue deMartyrs.

"An ancient peer of France and former colonof cavalry, it was said that he believed in ne

ther God nor devil. Not believing, therefore, ia future life he had abused the present life ievery way, and had become a live wound imy mother's heart.

"'Give me that letter, Paul,' she said, and wheshe read it, I asked for it in my turn. Here it is:

'Monsieur le Comte, I think I ought to let yoknow that your

brother-in-law, the Comte Fumerol, is gointo die. Perhaps you

would like to make some arrangements, ando not forget I told you.

Your servant,



'MELANIE.'

"'We must take counsel,' papa murmured. 'Imy position, I ought to watch over you

brother's last moments.'

"Mamma continued: 'I will send for Abbe Poivron and ask his advice, and then I will go to mbrother with the abbe and Roger. Remain herPaul, for you must not compromise yourselbut a woman can, and ought to do these thingFor a politician in your position, it is anothematter. It would be a fine thing for one of you

opponents to be able to bring one of your molaudable actions up against you.' 'You arright,' my father said. 'Do as you think best, mdear wife.'

"A quarter of an hour, later, the Abbe Poivrocame into the drawing-room, and the situatiowas explained to him, analyzed and discussein all its bearings. If the Marquis de Fumeroone of the greatest names in France, were to d



without the ministrations of religion, it woulassuredly be a terrible blow to the nobility igeneral, and to the Count de Tourneville i

particular, and the freethinkers would be trumphant. The liberal newspapers would sinsongs of victory for six months; my mothername would be dragged through the mire anbrought into the prose of Socialistic journal

and my father's name would be smirched. was impossible that such a thing should be.

"A crusade was therefore immediately decideupon, which was to be led by the Abbe Poivron, a little, fat, clean, priest with a faint pefume about him, a true vicar of a large churcin a noble and rich quarter.

"The landau was ordered and we all three seout, my mother, the cure and I, to administethe last sacraments to my uncle.

"It had been decided first of all we should se

Madame Melanie who had written the lette



and who was most likely the porter's wife, omy uncle's servant, and I dismounted, as aadvance guard, in front of a seven-story hous

and went into a dark passage, where I hagreat difficulty in finding the porter's den. Hlooked at me distrustfully, and I said:

"'Madame Melanie, if you please.' 'Don't know

her!' 'But I have received a letter from her'That may be, but I don't know her. Are yoasking for a lodger?' 'No, a servant probablyShe wrote me about a place.' 'A servant?—servant? Perhaps it is the marquis'. Go and sethe fifth story on the left.'

"As soon as he found I was not asking for doubtful character he became more friendl

and came as far as the corridor with me. Hwas a tall, thin man with white whiskers, thmanners of a beadle and majestic gestures.

"I climbed up a long spiral staircase, the railin

of which I did not venture to touch, and I gav



three discreet knocks at the left-hand door othe fifth story. It opened immediately, and aenormous dirty woman appeared before m

She barred the entrance with her extendearms which she placed against the two dooposts, and growled:

"'What do you want?' 'Are you Madame Mela

nie?' 'Yes.' 'I am the Visconte de Tourneville'Ah! All right! Come in.' 'Well, the fact is, mmother is downstairs with a priest.' 'Oh! Aright; go and bring them up; but be careful othe porter.'

"I went downstairs and came up again with mmother, who was followed by the abbe, andfancied that I heard other footsteps behind u

As soon as we were in the kitchen, Melanoffered us chairs, and we all four sat down tdeliberate.

"'Is he very ill?' my mother asked. 'Oh! ye

madame; he will not be here long.' 'Does h



seem disposed to receive a visit from a priest'Oh! I do not think so.' 'Can I see him?' 'Well—yes madame—only —only—those young ladie

are with him.' 'What young ladies?' 'Why—why—his lady friends, of course.' 'Oh!' Mammhad grown scarlet, and the Abbe Poivron halowered his eyes.

"The affair began to amuse me, and I said'Suppose I go in first? I shall see how he receives me, and perhaps I shall be able to prpare him to receive you.'

"My mother, who did not suspect any trickreplied: 'Yes, go, my dear.' But a woman's voiccried out: 'Melanie!'

"The servant ran out and said: 'What do yo

want, Mademoiselle Claire?' 'The omelettquickly.' 'In a minute, mademoiselle.' And coming back to us, she explained this summons.



"They had ordered a cheese omelette at two'clock as a slight collation. And she at oncbegan to break the eggs into a salad bowl, an

to whip them vigorously, while I went out othe landing and pulled the bell, so as to fomally announce my arrival. Melanie openethe door to me, and made me sit down in aante-room, while she went to tell my uncle tha

I had come; then she came back and asked mto go in, while the abbe hid behind the door, sthat he might appear at the first signal.

"I was certainly very much surprised at thsight of my uncle, for he was very handsomvery solemn and very elegant, the old rake.

"Sitting, almost lying, in a large armchair, h

legs wrapped in blankets, his hands, his lonwhite hands, over the arms of the chair, he wawaiting for death with the dignity of a patrarch. His white beard fell on his chest, and hhair, which was also white, mingled with it o

his cheeks.



"Standing behind his armchair, as if to defenhim against me, were two young women, whlooked at me with bold eyes. In their petticoa

and morning wrappers, with bare arms, witcoal black hair twisted in a knot on the nape otheir neck, with embroidered, Oriental slipperwhich showed their ankles and silk stockingthey looked like the figures in some symbolica

painting, by the side of the dying man. Betweethe easy-chair and the bed, there was a tabcovered with a white cloth, on which twplates, two glasses, two forks and two knive

were waiting for the cheese omelette which habeen ordered some time before of Melanie.

"My uncle said in a weak, almost breathlesbut clear voice:

"'Good-morning, my child; it is rather late ithe day to come and see me; our acquaintancship will not last long.' I stammered out, 'It wanot my fault, uncle:' 'No; I know that,' he re

plied. 'It is your father and mother's fault mor



than yours. How are they?' 'Pretty well, thanyou. When they heard that you were ill, thesent me to ask after you.' 'Ah! Why did they no

come themselves?'

"I looked up at the two girls and said gently: 'is not their fault if they could not come, unclBut it would be difficult for my father, and im

possible for my mother to come in here.' Thold man did not reply, but raised his hand toward mine, and I took the pale, cold hand anheld it in my own.

"The door opened, Melanie came in with thomelette and put it on the table, and the twgirls immediately sat down at the table, anbegan to eat without taking their eyes off m

Then I said: 'Uncle, it would give great pleasurto my mother to embrace you.' 'I also,' he mumured, 'should like——' He said no more, andcould think of nothing to propose to him, anthere was silence except for the noise of th

plates and that vague sound of eating.



"Now, the abbe, who was listening behind thdoor, seeing our embarrassment, and thinkinwe had won the game, thought the time ha

come to interpose, and showed himself. Muncle was so stupefied at sight of him that afirst he remained motionless; and then he opened his mouth as if he meant to swallow up thpriest, and shouted to him in a strong, deep

furious voice: 'What are you doing here?'

"The abbe, who was used to difficult situationcame forward into the room, murmuring: have come in your sister's name, Monsieur Marquis; she has sent me. She would be happymonsieur—'

"But the marquis was not listening. Raising on

hand, he pointed to the door with a proudtragic gesture, and said angrily and breathinhard: 'Leave this room—go out—robber osouls. Go out from here, you violator of consciences. Go out from here, you pick-lock o

dying men's doors!'



"The abbe retreated, and I also went to thdoor, beating a retreat with the priest; the twyoung women, who had the best of it, got up

leaving their omelette only half eaten, and wenand stood on either side of my uncle's easychair, putting their hands on his arms to calmhim, and to protect him against the criminenterprises of the Family, and of Religion.

"The abbe and I rejoined my mother in the kichen, and Melanie again offered us chairs. knew quite well that this method would nowork; we must try some other means, othewise he will escape us.' And they began deliberating afresh, my mother being of one opinioand the abbe of another, while I held a third.

"We had been discussing the matter in a lowvoice for half an hour, perhaps, when a greanoise of furniture being moved and of crieuttered by my uncle, more vehement and terrble even than the former had been, made us a

four jump up.



"Through the doors and walls we could heahim shouting: 'Go out—out —rascals—humbugs, get out, scoundrels—get out—g

out!'

"Melanie rushed in, but came back immediatelto call me to help her, and I hastened in. Opposite to my uncle, who was terribly excited b

anger, almost standing up and vociferatinstood two men, one behind the other, who semed to be waiting till he should be dead witrage.

"By his ridiculous long coat, his long Englisshoes, his manners of a tutor out of a positionhis high collar, white necktie and straight haihis humble face of a false priest of a bastar

religion, I immediately recognized the first as Protestant minister.

"The second was the porter of the house, whbelonged to the reformed religion and had fo

lowed us, and having seen our defeat, had gon



to fetch his own pastor, in hopes that he mighmeet a better reception. My uncle seemed mawith rage! If the sight of the Catholic priest, o

the priest of his ancestors, had irritated thMarquis de Fumerol, who had become a freethinker, the sight of his porter's minister madhim altogether beside himself. I therefore toothe two men by the arm and threw them out o

the room so roughly that they bumped againeach other twice, between the two doors whicled to the staircase; and then I disappeared imy turn and returned to the kitchen, which wa

our headquarters in order to take counsel witmy mother and the abbe.

"But Melanie came back in terror, sobbing out:

"'He is dying—he is dying—come immedately—he is dying.'

"My mother rushed out. My uncle had fallen tthe ground, and lay full length along the floo

without moving. I fancy he was already dead



My mother was superb at that moment! Shwent straight up to the two girls who werkneeling by the body and trying to raise it up

and pointing to the door with irresistible authority, dignity and majesty, she said: 'Now it time for you to leave the room.'

"And they went out without a word of protes

I must add, that I was getting ready to turthem out as unceremoniously as I had done thparson and the porter.

"Then the Abbe Poivron administered the la

sacraments to my uncle with all the customarprayers, and remitted all his sins, while mmother sobbed as she knelt near her brotheSuddenly, however, she exclaimed: 'He recog

nized me; he pressed my hand; I am sure hrecognized me!!!—and that he thanked me! OhGod, what happiness!'

"Poor mamma! If she had known or guessed fo

whom those thanks were intended!



"They laid my uncle on his bed; he was cetainly dead this time.

"'Madame,' Melanie said, 'we have no sheets tbury him in; all the linen belongs to these twyoung ladies,' and when I looked at the omelette which they had not finished, I felt inclineto laugh and to cry at the same time. There ar

some humorous moments and some humorousituations in life, occasionally!

"We gave my uncle a magnificent fungal, witfive speeches at the grave. Baron de Croiselle

the senator, showed in admirable terms thaGod always returns victorious into well-borsouls which have temporarily been led interror. All the members of the Royalist an

Catholic party followed the funeral processiowith the enthusiasm of victors, as they spoke othat beautiful death after a somewhat troubloulife."



Viscount Roger ceased speaking; his audiencwas laughing. Then somebody said: "Bah! This the story of all conversions in extremis."

THE TRIP OF LE HORLA

On the morning of July 8th I received the folowing telegram: "Fine day. Always my predi

tions. Belgian frontier. Baggage and servanleft at noon at the social session. Beginning omanoeuvres at three. So I will wait for you athe works from five o'clock on. Jovis."

At five o'clock sharp I entered the gas works oLa Villette. It might have been mistaken for thcolossal ruins of an old town inhabited by Cyclops. There were immense dark avenues sepa

rating heavy gasometers standing one behin



another, like monstrous columns, unequallhigh and, undoubtedly, in the past the supporof some tremendous, some fearful iron edifice.

The balloon was lying in the courtyard and hathe appearance of a cake made of yellow clothflattened on the ground under a rope. That called placing a balloon in a sweep-net, and, i

fact, it appeared like an enormous fish.

Two or three hundred people were looking ait, sitting or standing, and some were examining the basket, a nice little square basket for

human cargo, bearing on its side in gold letteron a mahogany plate the words: Le Horla.

Suddenly the people began to stand back, fothe gas was beginning to enter into the balloo

through a long tube of yellow cloth, which laon the soil, swelling and undulating like aenormous worm. But another thought, anothepicture occurs to every mind. It is thus tha

nature itself nourishes beings until their birth



The creature that will rise soon begins to movand the attendants of Captain Jovis, as Le Horgrew larger, spread and put in place the n

which covers it, so that the pressure will bregular and equally distributed at every point.

The operation is very delicate and very impotant, for the resistance of the cotton cloth o

which the balloon is made is figured not in proportion to the contact surface of this cloth witthe net, but in proportion to the links of thbasket.

Le Horla, moreover, has been designed by MMallet, constructed under his own eyes anmade by himself. Everything had been made ithe shops of M. Jovis by his own working sta

and nothing was made outside.We must add that everything was new in thballoon, from the varnish to the valve, thostwo essential parts of a balloon. Both must ren

der the cloth gas-proof, as the sides of a shi



are waterproof. The old varnishes, made with base of linseed oil, sometimes fermented anthus burned the cloth, which in a short tim

would tear like a piece of paper.

The valves were apt to close imperfectly aftebeing opened and when the covering calle"cataplasme" was injured. The fall of M

L'Hoste in the open sea during the nighproved the imperfection of the old system.

The two discoveries of Captain Jovis, the vanish principally, are of inestimable value in th

art of ballooning.

The crowd has begun to talk, and some menwho appear to be specialists, affirm with authority that we shall come down before reach

ing the fortifications. Several other things havbeen criticized in this novel type of balloowith which we are about to experiment with smuch pleasure and success.



It is growing slowly but surely. Some smaholes and scratches made in transit have beediscovered, and we cover them and plug them

with a little piece of paper applied on the clotwhile wet. This method of repairing alarms anmystifies the public.

While Captain Jovis and his assistants are bus

with the last details, the travellers go to dine ithe canteen of the gas-works, according to thestablished custom.

When we come out again the balloon is sway

ing, enormous and transparent, a prodigiougolden fruit, a fantastic pear which is still ripening, covered by the last rays of the settinsun. Now the basket is attached, the barometer

are brought, the siren, which we will blow tour hearts' content, is also brought, also the twtrumpets, the eatables, the overcoats and raincoats, all the small articles that can go with thmen in that flying basket.



As the wind pushes the balloon against thgasometers, it is necessary to steady it now anthen, to avoid an accident at the start.

Captain Jovis is now ready and calls all the pasengers.

Lieutenant Mallet jumps aboard, climbing fir

on the aerial net between the basket and thballoon, from which he will watch during thnight the movements of Le Horla across thskies, as the officer on watch, standing on staboard, watches the course of a ship.

M. Etierine Beer gets in after him, then comeM. Paul Bessand, then M. Patrice Eyries andget in last.

But the basket is too heavy for the balloon, considering the long trip to be taken, and M. Eyriehas to get out, not without great regret.



M. Joliet, standing erect on the edge of the baket, begs the ladies, in very gallant terms, tstand aside a little, for he is afraid he migh

throw sand on their hats in rising. Then hcommands:

"Let it loose," and, cutting with one stroke of hknife the ropes that hold the balloon to th

ground, he gives Le Horla its liberty.

In one second we fly skyward. Nothing can bheard; we float, we rise, we fly, we glide. Oufriends shout with glee and applaud, but w

hardly hear them, we hardly see them. We aralready so far, so high! What? Are we reallleaving these people down there? Is it possibleParis spreads out beneath us, a dark bluis

patch, cut by its streets, from which rise, herand there, domes, towers, steeples, then arounit the plain, the country, traversed by lonroads, thin and white, amidst green fields of tender or dark green, and woods almost black.



The Seine appears like a coiled snake, asleep, owhich we see neither head nor tail; it crosseParis, and the entire field resembles an im

mense basin of prairies and forests dotted herand there by mountains, hardly visible in thhorizon.

The sun, which we could no longer see dow

below, now reappears as though it were abouto rise again, and our balloon seems to blighted; it must appear like a star to the peopwho are looking up. M. Mallet every few seonds throws a cigarette paper into-space ansays quietly: "We are rising, always risingwhile Captain Jovis, radiant with joy, rubs hhands together and repeats: "Eh? this varnishIsn't it good?"

In fact, we can see whether we are rising osinking only by throwing a cigarette paper ouof the basket now and then. If this paper appears to fall down like a stone, it means that th



balloon is rising; if it appears to shoot skywarthe balloon is descending.

The two barometers mark about five hundremeters, and we gaze with enthusiastic admiration at the earth we are leaving and to whicwe are not attached in any way; it looks like colored map, an immense plan of the country

All its noises, however, rise to our ears verdistinctly, easily recognizable. We hear thsound of the wheels rolling in the streets, thsnap of a whip, the cries of drivers, the rollinand whistling of trains and the laughter osmall boys running after one another. Evertime we pass over a village the noise of chidren's voices is heard above the rest and witthe greatest distinctness. Some men are callin

us; the locomotives whistle; we answer with thsiren, which emits plaintive, fearfully shriwails like the voice of a weird being wanderinthrough the world.



We perceive lights here and there, some isolated fire in the farms, and lines of gas in thtowns. We are going toward the northwes

after roaming for some time over the little lakof Enghien. Now we see a river; it is the Oisand we begin to argue about the exact spot ware passing. Is that town Creil or Pontoise—thone with so many lights? But if we were ove

Pontoise we could see the junction of the Seinand the Oise; and that enormous fire to the lefisn't it the blast furnaces of Montataire? So thewe are above Creil. The view is superb; it

dark on the earth, but we are still in the lighand it is now past ten o'clock. Now we begin thear slight country noises, the double cry of thquail in particular, then the mewing of cats anthe barking of dogs. Surely the dogs hav

scented the balloon; they have seen it and havgiven the alarm. We can hear them barking aover the plain and making the identical noisthey make when baying at the moon. The cowalso seem to wake up in the barns, for we ca



hear them lowing; all the beasts are scared anmoved before the aerial monster that is passing

The delicious odors of the soil rise toward uthe smell of hay, of flowers, of the moist, vedant earth, perfuming the air-a light air, in facso light, so sweet, so delightful that I realizenever was so fortunate as to breathe before.

profound sense of well-being, unknown to mheretofore, pervades me, a well-being of bodand spirit, composed of supineness, of infinitrest, of forgetfulness, of indifference to everything and of this novel sensation of traversinspace without any of the sensations that makmotion unbearable, without noise, withoushocks and without fear.

At times we rise and then descend. Every fewminutes Lieutenant Mallet, suspended in hcobweb of netting, says to Captain Jovis: "Ware descending; throw down half a handfulAnd the captain, who is talking and laughin

with us, with a bag of ballast between his leg



takes a handful of sand out of the bag anthrows it overboard.

Nothing is more amusing, more delicate, morinteresting than the manoeuvring of a balloonIt is an enormous toy, free and docile, whicobeys with surprising sensitiveness, but it also, and before all, the slave of the wind

which we cannot control. A pinch of sand, haa sheet of paper, one or two drops of water, thbones of a chicken which we had just eatenthrown overboard, makes it go up quickly.

A breath of cool, damp air rising from the riveor the wood we are traversing makes the baloon descend two hundred metres. It does novary when passing over fields of ripe grain

and it rises when it passes over towns.The earth sleeps now, or, rather, men sleep othe earth, for the beasts awakened by the sighof our balloon announce our approach every

where. Now and then the rolling of a train o



the whistling of a locomotive is plainly distinguishable. We sound our siren as we pass oveinhabited places; and the peasants, terrified i

their beds, must surely tremble and ask themselves if the Angel Gabriel is not passing by.

A strong and continuous odor of gas can bplainly observed. We must have encountered

current of warm air, and the balloon expandlosing its invisible blood by the escape-valvwhich is called the appendix, and which closeof itself as soon as the expansion ceases.

We are rising. The earth no longer gives bacthe echo of our trumpets; we have risen almotwo thousand feet. It is not light enough for uto consult the instruments; we only know tha

the rice paper falls from us like dead butterfliethat we are rising, always rising. We can nlonger see the earth; a light mist separates ufrom it; and above our head twinkles a world ostars.



A silvery light appears before us and makes thsky turn pale, and suddenly, as if it were risinfrom unknown depths behind the horizon be

low us rises the moon on the edge of a cloud. seems to be coming from below, while we arlooking down upon it from a great height, leaning on the edge of our basket like an audiencon a balcony. Clear and round, it emerges from

the clouds and slowly rises in the sky.

The earth no longer seems to exist, it is buriein milky vapors that resemble a sea. We arnow alone in space with the moon, which looklike another balloon travelling opposite us; anour balloon, which shines in the air, appearlike another, larger moon, a world wanderinin the sky amid the stars, through infinity. W

no longer speak, think nor live; we float alonthrough space in delicious inertia. The awhich is bearing us up has made of us all beings which resemble itself, silent, joyous, irresponsible beings, intoxicated by this stupen



dous flight, peculiarly alert, although motionless. One is no longer conscious of oneflesh or one's bones; one's heart seems to hav

ceased beating; we have become somethinindescribable, birds who do not even have tflap their wings.

All memory has disappeared from our mind

all trouble from our thoughts; we have no morregrets, plans nor hopes. We look, we feel, wwildly enjoy this fantastic journey; nothing ithe sky but the moon and ourselves! We are wandering, travelling world, like our sisterthe planets; and this little world carries fivmen who have left the earth and who have amost forgotten it. We can now see as plainly ain daylight; we look at each other, surprised a

this brightness, for we have nothing to look but ourselves and a few silvery clouds floatinbelow us. The barometers mark twelve hundred metres, then thirteen, fourteen, fiftee



hundred; and the little rice papers still faabout us.

Captain Jovis claims that the moon has oftemade balloons act thus, and that the upwarjourney will continue.

We are now at two thousand metres; we go u

to two thousand three hundred and fifty; thethe balloon stops: We blow the siren and arsurprised that no one answers us from thstars.

We are now going down rapidly. M. Mallekeeps crying: "Throw out more ballast! throwout more ballast!" And the sand and stones thawe throw over come back into our faces, as they were going up, thrown from below to

ward the stars, so rapid is our descent.

Here is the earth! Where are we? It is now pamidnight, and we are crossing a broad, dry



well-cultivated country, with many roads anwell populated.

To the right is a large city and farther away tthe left is another. But suddenly from the eartappears a bright fairy light; it disappears, reappears and once more disappears. Jovis, intoxcated by space, exclaims: "Look, look at th

phenomenon of the moon in the water. One casee nothing more beautiful at night!"

Nothing indeed can give one an idea of thwonderful brightness of these spots of ligh

which are not fire, which do not look like reflections, which appear quickly here or therand immediately go out again. These shininlights appear on the winding rivers at ever

turn, but one hardly has time to see them as thballoon passes as quickly as the wind.

We are now quite near the earth, and Beer exclaims:—"Look at that! What is that runnin

over there in the fields? Isn't it a dog?" Indeed



something is running along the ground witgreat speed, and this something seems to jumover ditches, roads, trees with such ease tha

we could not understand what it might be. Thcaptain laughed: "It is the shadow of our baloon. It will grow as we descend."

I distinctly hear a great noise of foundries in th

distance. And, according to the polar stawhich we have been observing all night, 'anwhich I have so often watched and consultefrom the bridge of my little yacht on the Medterranean, we are heading straight for Belgium

Our siren and our two horns are continuallcalling. A few cries from some truck driver obelated reveler answer us. We bellow: "Wher

are we?" But the balloon is going so rapidly thathe bewildered man has not even time to answer us. The growing shadow of Le Horla, alarge as a child's ball, is fleeing before us ovethe fields, roads and woods. It goes alon

steadily, preceding us by about a quarter of



mile; and now I am leaning out of the baskelistening to the roaring of the wind in the treeand across the harvest fields. I say to Captai

Jovis: "How the wind blows!"

He answers: "No, those are probably watefalls." I insist, sure of my ear that knows thsound of the wind, from hearing it so ofte

whistle through the rigging. Then Jovis nudgeme; he fears to frighten his happy, quiet pasengers, for he knows full well that a storm pursuing us.

At last a man manages to understand us; hanswers: "Nord!" We get the same reply fromanother.

Suddenly the lights of a town, which seems t

be of considerable size, appear before us. Pehaps it is Lille. As we approach it, such a wonderful flow of fire appears below us that I thinmyself transported into some fairyland wher

precious stones are manufactured for giants.



It seems that it is a brick factory. Here are others, two, three. The fusing material bubblesparkles, throws out blue, red, yellow, gree

sparks, reflections from giant diamonds, rubieemeralds, turquoises, sapphires, topazes. Annear by are great foundries roaring like apocalyptic lions; high chimneys belch forth theclouds of smoke and flame, and we can hea

the noise of metal striking against metal.

"Where are we?"

The voice of some joker or of a crazy perso

answers: "In a balloon!"

"Where are we?"

"At Lille!"

We were not mistaken. We are already out osight of the town, and we see Roubaix to thright, then some well-cultivated, rectangulafields, of different colors according to the crop



some yellow, some gray or brown. But thclouds are gathering behind us, hiding thmoon, whereas toward the east the sky is grow

ing lighter, becoming a clear blue tinged witred. It is dawn. It grows rapidly, now showinus all the little details of the earth, the trainthe brooks, the cows, the goats. And all thpasses beneath us with surprising speed. On

hardly has time to notice that other fields, othemeadows, other houses have already disappeared. Cocks are crowing, but the voice oducks drowns everything. One might think th

world to be peopled, covered with them, themake so much noise.

The early rising peasants are waving their armand crying to us: "Let yourselves drop!" But w

go along steadily, neither rising nor fallingleaning over the edge of the basket and watching the world fleeing under our feet.

Jovis sights another city far off in the distanc

It approaches; everywhere are old churc



spires. They are delightful, seen thus fromabove. Where are we? Is this Courtrai? Is Ghent?

We are already very near it, and we see that is surrounded by water and crossed in everdirection by canals. One might think it a Venicof the north. Just as we are passing so near to

church tower that our long guy-rope almotouches it, the chimes begin to ring threo'clock. The sweet, clear sounds rise to us fromthis frail roof which we have almost touched iour wandering course. It is a charming greeing, a friendly welcome from Holland. We answer with our siren, whose raucous voice echoes throughout the streets.

It was Bruges. But we have hardly lost sight oit when my neighbor, Paul Bessand, asks m"Don't you see something over there, to thright, in front of us? It looks like a river."



And, indeed, far ahead of us stretches a brighhighway, in the light of the dawning day. Yeit looks like a river, an immense river full o

islands.

"Get ready for the descent," cried the captainHe makes M. Mallet leave his net and return tthe basket; then we pack the barometers an

everything that could be injured by possibshocks. M. Bessand exclaims: "Look at thmasts over there to the left! We are at the sea!"

Fogs had hidden it from us until then. The se

was everywhere, to the left and opposite uwhile to our right the Scheldt, which had joinethe Moselle, extended as far as the sea, imouths vaster than a lake.

It was necessary to descend within a minute otwo. The rope to the escape-valve, which habeen religiously enclosed in a little white baand placed in sight of all so that no one woul

touch it, is unrolled, and M. Mallet holds it i



his hand while Captain Jovis looks for a favoable landing.

Behind us the thunder was rumbling and notsingle bird followed our mad flight.

"Pull!" cried Jovis.

We were passing over a canal. The basket trembled and tipped over slightly. The guy-roptouched the tall trees on both banks. But ouspeed is so great that the long rope now trailindoes not seem to slow down, and we pass wit

frightful rapidity over a large farm, from whicthe bewildered chickens, pigeons and ducks flaway, while the cows, cats and dogs run, terrfied, toward the house.

Just one-half bag of ballast is left. Jovis throwit overboard, and Le Horla flies lightly acrosthe roof.



The captain once more cries: "The escapevalve!"

M. Mallet reaches for the rope and hangs to iand we drop like an arrow. With a slash of knife the cord which retains the anchor is cuand we drag this grapple behind us, through field of beets. Here are the trees.

"Take care! Hold fast! Look out for your heads

We pass over them. Then a strong shock shakeus. The anchor has taken hold.

"Look out! Take a good hold! Raise yourselveby your wrists. We are going to touch ground.

The basket does indeed strike the earth. Then

flies up again. Once more it falls and boundupward again, and at last it settles on thground, while the balloon struggles madly, lika wounded beast.



Peasants run toward us, but they do not darapproach. They were a long time before thedecided to come and deliver us, for one canno

set foot on the ground until the bag is almoscompletely deflated.

Then, almost at the same time as the bewidered men, some of whom showed their aston

ishment by jumping, with the wild gestures osavages, all the cows that were grazing alonthe coast came toward us, surrounding ouballoon with a strange and comical circle ohorns, big eyes and blowing nostrils.

With the help of the accommodating and hosptable Belgian peasants, we were able in a shotime to pack up all our material and carry it t

the station at Heyst, where at twenty minutepast eight we took the train for Paris.

The descent occurred at three-fifteen in thmorning, preceding by only a few seconds th



torrent of rain and the blinding lightning of thstorm which had been chasing us before it.

Thanks to Captain Jovis, of whom I had hearmuch from my colleague, Paul Ginisty—foboth of them had fallen together and voluntaily into the sea opposite Mentone—thanks tthis brave man, we were able to see, in a sing

night, from far up in the sky, the setting of thsun, the rising of the moon and the dawn oday and to go from Paris to the mouth of thScheldt through the skies.

[This story appeared in "Figaro" on July 11887, under the title:"From Paris to Heyst."]



FAREWELL!

The two friends were getting near the end otheir dinner. Through the cafe windows thecould see the Boulevard, crowded with peoplThey could feel the gentle breezes which arwafted over Paris on warm summer evening

and make you feel like going out somewheryou care not where, under the trees, and makyou dream of moonlit rivers, of fireflies and olarks.

One of the two, Henri Simon, heaved a deesigh and said:

"Ah! I am growing old. It's sad. Formerly, o

evenings like this, I felt full of life. Now, I onlfeel regrets. Life is short!"

He was perhaps forty-five years old, very baland already growing stout.



The other, Pierre Carnier, a trifle older, but thiand lively, answered:

"Well, my boy, I have grown old without notiing it in the least. I have always been merryhealthy, vigorous and all the rest. As one seeoneself in the mirror every day, one does norealize the work of age, for it is slow, regula

and it modifies the countenance so gently thathe changes are unnoticeable. It is for this reason alone that we do not die of sorrow aftetwo or three years of excitement. For we cannounderstand the alterations which time produces. In order to appreciate them one woulhave to remain six months without seeing oneown face —then, oh, what a shock!

"And the women, my friend, how I pity thpoor beings! All their joy, all their power, atheir life, lies in their beauty, which lasts teyears.



"As I said, I aged without noticing it; I thoughmyself practically a youth, when I was almofifty years old. Not feeling the slightest infi

mity, I went about, happy and peaceful.

"The revelation of my decline came to me in simple and terrible manner, which ovewhelmed me for almost six months—then

became resigned.

"Like all men, I have often been in love, bumost especially once.

"I met her at the seashore, at Etretat, aboutwelve years ago, shortly after the war. There nothing prettier than this beach during thmorning bathing hour. It is small, shaped likehorseshoe, framed by high while cliffs, whic

are pierced by strange holes called the 'Portesone stretching out into the ocean like the leg oa giant, the other short and dumpy. Thwomen gather on the narrow strip of sand i

this frame of high rocks, which they make int



a gorgeous garden of beautiful gowns. The subeats down on the shores, on the multicoloreparasols, on the blue-green sea; and all is gay

delightful, smiling. You sit down at the edge othe water and you watch the bathers. Thwomen come down, wrapped in long batrobes, which they throw off daintily when thereach the foamy edge of the rippling wave

and they run into the water with a rapid littstep, stopping from time to time for a delightfulittle thrill from the cold water, a short gasp.

"Very few stand the test of the bath. It is therthat they can be judged, from the ankle to ththroat. Especially on leaving the water are thdefects revealed, although water is a powerfuaid to flabby skin.

"The first time that I saw this young woman ithe water, I was delighted, entranced. She stoothe test well. There are faces whose charmappeal to you at first glance and delight yo

instantly. You seem to have found the woma



whom you were born to love. I had that feelinand that shock.

"I was introduced, and was soon smitten worsthan I had ever been before. My heart longefor her. It is a terrible yet delightful thing thuto be dominated by a young woman. It is amost torture, and yet infinite delight. Her look

her smile, her hair fluttering in the wind, thlittle lines of her face, the slightest movement oher features, delighted me, upset me, entranceme. She had captured me, body and soul, bher gestures, her manners, even by her clothewhich seemed to take on a peculiar charm asoon as she wore them. I grew tender at thsight of her veil on some piece of furniture, hegloves thrown on a chair. Her gowns seemed t

me inimitable. Nobody had hats like hers.

"She was married, but her husband came onlon Saturday, and left on Monday. I didn't concern myself about him, anyhow. I wasn't jea

ous of him, I don't know why; never did a crea



ture seem to me to be of less importance in lifto attract my attention less than this man.

"But she! how I loved her! How beautiful, graceful and young she was! She was youth, elegance, freshness itself! Never before had I feso strongly what a pretty, distinguished, delcate, charming, graceful being woman is. Neve

before had I appreciated the seductive beautto be found in the curve of a cheek, the movement of a lip, the pinkness of an ear, the shapof that foolish organ called the nose.

"This lasted three months; then I left for Ameica, overwhelmed with sadness. But her memory remained in me, persistent, triumphanFrom far away I was as much hers as I ha

been when she was near me. Years passed byand I did not forget her. The charming image oher person was ever before my eyes and in mheart. And my love remained true to her, quiet tenderness now, something like the b

loved memory of the most beautiful and th



most enchanting thing I had ever met in mlife.

"Twelve years are not much in a lifetime! Ondoes not feel them slip by. The years followeach other gently and quickly, slowly yet rapidly, each one is long and yet so soon oveThey add up so rapidly, they leave so few

traces behind them, they disappear so completely, that, when one turns round to looback over bygone years, one sees nothing anyet one does not understand how one happento be so old. It seemed to me, really, that hardla few months separated me from that charminseason on the sands of Etretat.

"Last spring I went to dine with some friends a

Maisons-Laffitte."Just as the train was leaving, a big, fat ladyescorted by four little girls, got into my car.hardly looked at this mother hen, very big, ver



round, with a face as full as the moon framed ian enormous, beribboned hat.

"She was puffing, out of breath from havinbeen forced to walk quickly. The children began to chatter. I unfolded my paper and begato read.

"We had just passed Asnieres, when my neighbor suddenly turned to me and said:

"'Excuse me, sir, but are you not Monsieur Ganier?'

"'Yes, madame.'

"Then she began to laugh, the pleased laugh oa good woman; and yet it was sad.

"'You do not seem to recognize me.'

"I hesitated. It seemed to me that I had seethat face somewhere; but where? when? I an

swered:



"'Yes—and no. I certainly know you, and yetcannot recall your name.'

"She blushed a little:

"'Madame Julie Lefevre.'

"Never had I received such a shock. In a seconit seemed to me as though it were all over witme! I felt that a veil had been torn from my eyeand that I was going to make a horrible anheartrending discovery.

"So that was she! That big, fat, common woman, she! She had become the mother of thesfour girls since I had last her. And these littbeings surprised me as much as their motheThey were part of her; they were big girls, an

already had a place in life. Whereas she no longer counted, she, that marvel of dainty ancharming gracefulness. It seemed to me thathad seen her but yesterday, and this is howfound her again! Was it possible? A poignan



grief seized my heart; and also a revolt againnature herself, an unreasoning indignatioagainst this brutal, nefarious act of destruction

"I looked at her, bewildered. Then I took hehand in mine, and tears came to my eyes. wept for her lost youth. For I did not know thfat lady.

"She was also excited, and stammered:

"'I am greatly changed, am I not? What can yoexpect—everything has its time! You see, I hav

become a mother, nothing but a good motheFarewell to the rest, that is over. Oh! I neveexpected you to recognize me if we met. Youtoo, have changed. It took me quite a while tbe sure that I was not mistaken. Your hair is a

white. Just think! Twelve years ago! Twelvyears! My oldest girl is already ten.'

"I looked at the child. And I recognized in hesomething of her mother's old charm, but so



mething as yet unformed, something whicpromised for the future. And life seemed to mas swift as a passing train.

"We had reached. Maisons-Laffitte. I kissed mold friend's hand. I had found nothing utter buthe most commonplace remarks. I was tomuch upset to talk.

"At night, alone, at home, I stood in front of thmirror for a long time, a very long time. Andfinally remembered what I had been, finallsaw in my mind's eye my brown mustache, m

black hair and the youthful expression of mface. Now I was old. Farewell!"



THE WOLF

This is what the old Marquis d'Arville told uafter St. Hubert's dinner at the house of thBaron des Ravels.

We had killed a stag that day. The marquis wa

the only one of the guests who had not takepart in this chase. He never hunted.

During that long repast we had talked abouhardly anything but the slaughter of animal

The ladies themselves were interested ibloody and exaggerated tales, and the oratorimitated the attacks and the combats of meagainst beasts, raised their arms, romanced in

thundering voice.

M. d'Arville talked well, in a certain floweryhigh-sounding, but effective style. He muhave told this story frequently, for he told



fluently, never hesitating for words, choosinthem with skill to make his description vivid.

Gentlemen, I have never hunted, neither dimy father, nor my grandfather, nor my greagrandfather. This last was the son of a mawho hunted more than all of you put togetheHe died in 1764. I will tell you the story of h

death.

His name was Jean. He was married, father othat child who became my great-grandfatheand he lived with his younger brother, Franco

d'Arville, in our castle in Lorraine, in the midof the forest.

Francois d'Arville had remained a bachelor folove of the chase.

They both hunted from one end of the year tthe other, without stopping and seemingly wihout fatigue. They loved only hunting, unde



stood nothing else, talked only of that, liveonly for that.

They had at heart that one passion, which waterrible and inexorable. It consumed them, hacompletely absorbed them, leaving room for nother thought.

They had given orders that they should not binterrupted in the chase for any reason whaever. My great-grandfather was born while hfather was following a fox, and Jean d'Arvildid not stop the chase, but exclaimed: "Th

deuce! The rascal might have waited till aftethe view —halloo!"

His brother Franqois was still more infatuatedOn rising he went to see the dogs, then the ho

ses, then he shot little birds about the castuntil the time came to hunt some large game.

In the countryside they were called M. le Maquis and M. le Cadet, the nobles then not bein



at all like the chance nobility of our time, whicwishes to establish an hereditary hierarchy ititles; for the son of a marquis is no more

count, nor the son of a viscount a baron, than son of a general is a colonel by birth. But thcontemptible vanity of today finds profit in thaarrangement.

My ancestors were unusually tall, bony, hairyviolent and vigorous. The younger, still tallethan the older, had a voice so strong that, acording to a legend of which he was proud, athe leaves of the forest shook when he shouted

When they were both mounted to set out huning, it must have been a superb sight to sethose two giants straddling their huge horses.

Now, toward the midwinter of that year, 176the frosts were excessive, and the wolves bcame ferocious.



They even attacked belated peasants, roamed anight outside the houses, howled from sunseto sunrise, and robbed the stables.

And soon a rumor began to circulate. Peoptalked of a colossal wolf with gray fur, almowhite, who had eaten two children, gnawed oa woman's arm, strangled all the watch dogs i

the district, and even come without fear intthe farmyards. The people in the houses afirmed that they had felt his breath, and that made the flame of the lights flicker. And soonpanic ran through all the province. No ondared go out any more after nightfall. Thdarkness seemed haunted by the image of thbeast.

The brothers d'Arville determined to find ankill him, and several times they brought together all the gentlemen of the country to great hunt.



They beat the forests and searched the coverin vain; they never met him. They killed woves, but not that one. And every night after

battue the beast, as if to avenge himself, atacked some traveller or killed some one's catle, always far from the place where they halooked for him.

Finally, one night he stole into the pigpen of thChateau d'Arville and ate the two fattest pigs.

The brothers were roused to anger, considerinthis attack as a direct insult and a defianc

They took their strong bloodhounds, used tpursue dangerous animals, and they set off thunt, their hearts filled with rage.

From dawn until the hour when the empurple

sun descended behind the great naked treethey beat the woods without finding anything

At last, furious and disgusted, both were returning, walking their horses along a lane bo



dered with hedges, and they marvelled thatheir skill as huntsmen should be baffled bthis wolf, and they were suddenly seized with

mysterious fear.

The elder said:

"That beast is not an ordinary one. You woul

say it had a mind like a man."

The younger answered:

"Perhaps we should have a bullet blessed b

our cousin, the bishop, or pray some priest tpronounce the words which are needed."

Then they were silent.

Jean continued:

"Look how red the sun is. The great wolf wido some harm to-night."



He had hardly finished speaking when hhorse reared; that of Franqois began to kick. Alarge thicket covered with dead leaves opene

before them, and a mammoth beast, entirelgray, jumped up and ran off through the wood

Both uttered a kind of grunt of joy, and bending over the necks of their heavy horses, the

threw them forward with an impulse from atheir body, hurling them on at such a pace, urging them, hurrying them away, exciting themso with voice and with gesture and with sputhat the experienced riders seemed to be carrying the heavy beasts between 4 their thighs anto bear them off as if they were flying.

Thus they went, plunging through the thicket

dashing across the beds of streams, climbinthe hillsides, descending the gorges, and blowing the horn as loud as they could to attratheir people and the dogs.



And now, suddenly, in that mad race, my ancestor struck his forehead against an enormoubranch which split his skull; and he fell dead o

the ground, while his frightened horse toohimself off, disappearing in the gloom whicenveloped the woods.

The younger d'Arville stopped quick, leaped t

the earth, seized his brother in his arms, ansaw that the brains were escaping from thwound with the blood.

Then he sat down beside the body, rested th

head, disfigured and red, on his knees, anwaited, regarding the immobile face of helder brother. Little by little a fear possessehim, a strange fear which he had never felt be

fore, the fear of the dark, the fear of lonelinesthe fear of the deserted wood, and the fear alsof the weird wolf who had just killed hbrother to avenge himself upon them both.



The gloom thickened; the acute cold made thtrees crack. Francois got up, shivering, unabto remain there longer, feeling himself growin

faint. Nothing was to be heard, neither thvoice of the dogs nor the sound of the horns-awas silent along the invisible horizon; and thmournful silence of the frozen night had something about it terrific and strange.

He seized in his immense hands the great bodof Jean, straightened it, and laid it across thsaddle to carry it back to the chateau; then hwent on his way softly, his mind troubled as he were in a stupor, pursued by horrible anfear-giving images.

And all at once, in the growing darkness a gre

shape crossed his path. It was the beast. shock of terror shook the hunter; somethincold, like a drop of water, seemed to gliddown his back, and, like a monk haunted of thdevil, he made a great sign of the cross, di

mayed at this abrupt return of the horrib



prowler. But his eyes fell again on the inebody before him, and passing abruptly fromfear to anger, he shook with an indescribabl

rage.

Then he spurred his horse and rushed after thwolf.

He followed it through the copses, the ravineand the tall trees, traversing woods which hno longer recognized, his eyes fixed on thwhite speck which fled before him through thnight.

His horse also seemed animated by a force anstrength hitherto unknown. It galloped straighahead with outstretched neck, striking againtrees, and rocks, the head and the feet of th

dead man thrown across the saddle. The limbtore out his hair; the brow, beating the hugtrunks, spattered them with blood; the spurtore their ragged coats of bark. Suddenly th

beast and the horseman issued from the fore



and rushed into a valley, just as the moon appeared above the mountains. The valley herwas stony, inclosed by enormous rocks.

Francois then uttered a yell of joy which thechoes repeated like a peal of thunder, and hleaped from his horse, his cutlass in his hand.

The beast, with bristling hair, the back archedawaited him, its eyes gleaming like two starBut, before beginning battle, the strong hunteseizing his brother, seated him on a rock, andplacing stones under his head, which was n

more than a mass of blood, he shouted in thears as if he was talking to a deaf man: "LookJean; look at this!"

Then he attacked the monster. He felt himse

strong enough to overturn a mountain, tbruise stones in his hands. The beast tried tbite him, aiming for his stomach; but he haseized the fierce animal by the neck, withou

even using his weapon, and he strangled it gen



tly, listening to the cessation of breathing in ithroat and the beatings of its heart. He laughedwild with joy, pressing closer and closer h

formidable embrace, crying in a delirium of joy"Look, Jean, look!" All resistance ceased; thbody of the wolf became limp. He was dead.

Franqois took him up in his arms and carrie

him to the feet of the elder brother, where hlaid him, repeating, in a tender voice: "Therthere, there, my little Jean, see him!"

Then he replaced on the saddle the two bodie

one upon the other, and rode away.

He returned to the chateau, laughing and crying, like Gargantua at the birth of Pantagrueuttering shouts of triumph, and boisterous wit

joy as he related the death of the beast, angrieving and tearing his beard in telling of thaof his brother.



And often, later, when he talked again of thaday, he would say, with tears in his eyes: "only poor Jean could have seen me strangle th

beast, he would have died content, that I amsure!"

The widow of my ancestor inspired her orphason with that horror of the chase which ha

transmitted itself from father to son as fadown as myself.

The Marquis d'Arville was silent. Some onasked:

"That story is a legend, isn't it?"

And the story teller answered:

"I swear to you that it is true from beginning tend."

Then a lady declared, in a little, soft voice



"All the same, it is fine to have passions likthat."

THE INN

Resembling in appearance all the wooden hotelries of the High Alps situated at the foot oglaciers in the barren rocky gorges that inte

sect the summits of the mountains, the Inn oSchwarenbach serves as a resting place for travellers crossing the Gemini Pass.

It remains open for six months in the year an

is inhabited by the family of Jean Hauser; thenas soon as the snow begins to fall and to fill thvalley so as to make the road down to Loechimpassable, the father and his three sons g

away and leave the house in charge of the ol



guide, Gaspard Hari, with the young guidUlrich Kunsi, and Sam, the great mountain dog

The two men and the dog remain till the sprinin their snowy prison, with nothing before theeyes except the immense white slopes of thBalmhorn, surrounded by light, glisteninsummits, and are shut in, blocked up and bu

ied by the snow which rises around them anwhich envelops, binds and crushes the litthouse, which lies piled on the roof, coverinthe windows and blocking up the door.

It was the day on which the Hauser familwere going to return to Loeche, as winter waapproaching, and the descent was becomindangerous. Three mules started first, lade

with baggage and led by the three sons. Thethe mother, Jeanne Hauser, and her daughteLouise mounted a fourth mule and set off itheir turn and the father followed them, acompanied by the two men in charge, wh

were to escort the family as far as the brow o



the descent. First of all they passed round thsmall lake, which was now frozen over, at thbottom of the mass of rocks which stretched i

front of the inn, and then they followed thvalley, which was dominated on all sides bthe snow-covered summits.

A ray of sunlight fell into that little white, gli

tening, frozen desert and illuminated it with cold and dazzling flame. No living thing appeared among this ocean of mountains. Therwas no motion in this immeasurable solitudand no noise disturbed the profound silence.

By degrees the young guide, Ulrich Kunsi, tall, long-legged Swiss, left old man Hauseand old Gaspard behind, in order to catch u

the mule which bore the two women. Thyounger one looked at him as he approacheand appeared to be calling him with her saeyes. She was a young, fairhaired little peasangirl, whose milk-white cheeks and pale ha

looked as if they had lost their color by the



long abode amid the ice. When he had got uto the animal she was riding he put his hand othe crupper and relaxed his speed. Mothe

Hauser began to talk to him, enumerating witthe minutest details all that he would have tattend to during the winter. It was the first timthat he was going to stay up there, while olHari had already spent fourteen winters ami

the snow, at the inn of Schwarenbach.

Ulrich Kunsi listened, without appearing tunderstand and looked incessantly at the girFrom time to time he replied: "Yes, MadamHauser," but his thoughts seemed far away anhis calm features remained unmoved.

They reached Lake Daube, whose broad, froze

surface extended to the end of the valley. Othe right one saw the black, pointed, rocksummits of the Daubenhorn beside the enomous moraines of the Lommern glacier, abovwhich rose the Wildstrubel. As they ap

proached the Gemmi pass, where the descent o



Loeche begins, they suddenly beheld the immense horizon of the Alps of the Valais, fromwhich the broad, deep valley of the Rhon

separated them.

In the distance there was a group of white, unequal, flat, or pointed mountain summitwhich glistened in the sun; the Mischabel wit

its two peaks, the huge group of the Weisshornthe heavy Brunegghorn, the lofty and formidable pyramid of Mount Cervin, that slayer omen, and the Dent-Blanche, that monstroucoquette.

Then beneath them, in a tremendous hole, athe bottom of a terrific abyss, they perceiveLoeche, where houses looked as grains of san

which had been thrown into that enormoucrevice that is ended and closed by the Gemmand which opens, down below, on the Rhone.

The mule stopped at the edge of the path

which winds and turns continually, doublin



backward, then, fantastically and strangelyalong the side of the mountain as far as the amost invisible little village at its feet. Th

women jumped into the snow and the two olmen joined them. "Well," father Hauser said"good-by, and keep up your spirits till nexyear, my friends," and old Hari replied: "Tinext year."

They embraced each other and then MadamHauser in her turn offered her cheek, and thgirl did the same.

When Ulrich Kunsi's turn came, he whisperein Louise's ear, "Do not forget those up yonder," and she replied, "No," in such a low voicthat he guessed what she had said withou

hearing it. "Well, adieu," Jean Hauser repeated"and don't fall ill." And going before the twwomen, he commenced the descent, and sooall three disappeared at the first turn in throad, while the two men returned to the inn a

Schwarenbach.



They walked slowly, side by side, withouspeaking. It was over, and they would be alontogether for four or five months. Then Gaspar

Hari began to relate his life last winter. He haremained with Michael Canol, who was too olnow to stand it, for an accident might happeduring that long solitude. They had not beedull, however; the only thing was to make u

one's mind to it from the first, and in the enone would find plenty of distraction, gameand other means of whiling away the time.

Ulrich Kunsi listened to him with his eyes othe ground, for in his thoughts he was following those who were descending to the villagThey soon came in sight of the inn, which wahowever, scarcely visible, so small did it look,

black speck at the foot of that enormous billowof snow, and when they opened the door Samthe great curly dog, began to romp round them

"Come, my boy," old Gaspard said, "we hav

no women now, so we must get our own din



ner ready. Go and peel the potatoes." And theboth sat down on wooden stools and began tprepare the soup.

The next morning seemed very long to KunsOld Hari smoked and spat on the hearth, whithe young man looked out of the window at thsnow-covered mountain opposite the house.

In the afternoon he went out, and going oveyesterday's ground again, he looked for thtraces of the mule that had carried the twwomen. Then when he had reached the Gemm

Pass, he laid himself down on his stomach anlooked at Loeche.

The village, in its rocky pit, was not yet burieunder the snow, from which it was sheltered b

the pine woods which protected it on all sideIts low houses looked like paving stones in large meadow from above. Hauser's littdaughter was there now in one of those gray

colored houses. In which? Ulrich Kunsi was to



far away to be able to make them out seprately. How he would have liked to go dowwhile he was yet able!

But the sun had disappeared behind the loftcrest of the Wildstrubel and the young mareturned to the chalet. Daddy Hari was smoking, and when he saw his mate come in he pro

posed a game of cards to him, and they sadown opposite each other, on either side of thtable. They played for a long time a simpgame called brisque and then they had suppeand went to bed.

The following days were like the first, brighand cold, without any fresh snow. Old Gasparspent his afternoons in watching the eagles an

other rare birds which ventured on those frozen heights, while Ulrich returned regularly tthe Gemmi Pass to look at the village. Thethey played cards, dice or dominoes and loand won a trifle, just to create an interest in th

game.



One morning Hari, who was up first, called hcompanion. A moving, deep and light cloud owhite spray was falling on them noiselessl

and was by degrees burying them under thick, heavy coverlet of foam. That lasted foudays and four nights. It was necessary to frethe door and the windows, to dig out a passagand to cut steps to get over this frozen powde

which a twelve hours' frost had made as haras the granite of the moraines.

They lived like prisoners and did not venturoutside their abode. They had divided theduties, which they performed regularly. UlricKunsi undertook the scouring, washing aneverything that belonged to cleanliness. He alschopped up the wood while Gaspard Hari di

the cooking and attended to the fire. Theregular and monotonous work was interrupteby long games at cards or dice, and they nevequarrelled, but were always calm and placidThey were never seen impatient or ill-humored



nor did they ever use hard words, for they halaid in a stock of patience for their wintering othe top of the mountain.

Sometimes old Gaspard took his rifle and wenafter chamois, and occasionally he killed onThen there was a feast in the inn at Schwarenbach and they revelled in fresh meat. One mo

ning he went out as usual. The thermometeoutside marked eighteen degrees of frost, anas the sun had not yet risen, the hunter hopeto surprise the animals at the approaches to thWildstrubel, and Ulrich, being alone, remainein bed until ten o'clock. He was of a sleepy nature, but he would not have dared to give walike that to his inclination in the presence of thold guide, who was ever an early riser. H

breakfasted leisurely with Sam, who also spenhis days and nights in sleeping in front of thfire; then he felt low-spirited and even frighened at the solitude, and was-seized by a longing for his daily game of cards, as one is by th



craving of a confirmed habit, and so he wenout to meet his companion, who was to returat four o'clock.

The snow had levelled the whole deep valleyfilled up the crevasses, obliterated all signs othe two lakes and covered the rocks, so thabetween the high summits there was nothin

but an immense, white, regular, dazzling anfrozen surface. For three weeks Ulrich had nobeen to the edge of the precipice from which hhad looked down on the village, and he wanteto go there before climbing the slopes which leto Wildstrubel. Loeche was now also covereby the snow and the houses could scarcely bdistinguished, covered as they were by thawhite cloak.

Then, turning to the right, he reached thLoemmern glacier. He went along with mountaineer's long strides, striking the snowwhich was as hard as a rock, with his iron

pointed stick, and with his piercing eyes h



looked for the little black, moving speck in thdistance, on that enormous, white expanse.

When he reached the end of the glacier he stopped and asked himself whether the old mahad taken that road, and then he began to walalong the moraines with rapid and uneassteps. The day was declining, the snow wa

assuming a rosy tint, and a dry, frozen winblew in rough gusts over its crystal surfacUlrich uttered a long, shrill, vibrating call. Hvoice sped through the deathlike silence iwhich the mountains were sleeping; it reachethe distance, across profound and motionleswaves of glacial foam, like the cry of a biracross the waves of the sea. Then it died awaand nothing answered him.

He began to walk again. The sun had sunk yonder behind the mountain tops, which were stipurple with the reflection from the sky, but thdepths of the valley were becoming gray, an

suddenly the young man felt frightened. It see



med to him as if the silence, the cold, the soltude, the winter death of these mountains wertaking possession of him, were going to sto

and to freeze his blood, to make his limbs growstiff and to turn him into a motionless and frozen object, and he set off running, fleeing toward his dwelling. The old man, he thoughwould have returned during his absence. H

had taken another road; he would, no doubt, bsitting before the fire, with a dead chamois ahis feet. He soon came in sight of the inn, buno smoke rose from it. Ulrich walked faster an

opened the door. Sam ran up to him to greehim, but Gaspard Hari had not returnedKunsi, in his alarm, turned round suddenly, aif he had expected to find his comrade hiddein a corner. Then he relighted the fire and mad

the soup, hoping every moment to see the olman come in. From time to time he went out tsee if he were not coming. It was quite nighnow, that wan, livid night of the mountain



lighted by a thin, yellow crescent moon, judisappearing behind the mountain tops.

Then the young man went in and sat down twarm his hands and feet, while he pictured thimself every possible accident. Gaspard mighhave broken a leg, have fallen into a crevasstaken a false step and dislocated his ankl

And, perhaps, he was lying on the snow, ovecome and stiff with the cold, in agony of mindlost and, perhaps, shouting for help, callinwith all his might in the silence of the nightBut where? The mountain was so vast, so rugged, so dangerous in places, especially at thatime of the year, that it would have requireten or twenty guides to walk for a week in adirections to find a man in that immense spac

Ulrich Kunsi, however, made up his mind tset out with Sam if Gaspard did not return bone in the morning, and he made his prepartions.



He put provisions for two days into a bag, toohis steel climbing iron, tied a long, thin, stronrope round his waist, and looked to see that h

iron-shod stick and his axe, which served to custeps in the ice, were in order. Then he waitedThe fire was burning on the hearth, the greadog was snoring in front of it, and the clocwas ticking, as regularly as a heart beating, i

its resounding wooden case. He waited, withis ears on the alert for distant sounds, and hshivered when the wind blew against the rooand the walls. It struck twelve and he trembled

Then, frightened and shivering, he put somwater on the fire, so that he might have somhot coffee before starting, and when the clocstruck one he got up, woke Sam, opened thdoor and went off in the direction of the Wild

strubel. For five hours he mounted, scaling throcks by means of his climbing irons, cuttininto the ice, advancing continually, and occasionally hauling up the dog, who remainebelow at the foot of some slope that was to



steep for him, by means of the rope. It waabout six o'clock when he reached one of thsummits to which old Gaspard often came afte

chamois, and he waited till it should be daylight.

The sky was growing pale overhead, and strange light, springing nobody could te

whence, suddenly illuminated the immensocean of pale mountain summits, which extended for a hundred leagues around him. Onmight have said that this vague brightnesarose from the snow itself and spread abroad ispace. By degrees the highest distant summiassumed a delicate, pink flesh color, and thred sun appeared behind the ponderous gianof the Bernese Alps.

Ulrich Kunsi set off again, walking like a hunter, bent over, looking for tracks, and saying this dog: "Seek, old fellow, seek!"



He was descending the mountain now, scanning the depths closely, and from time to timshouting, uttering aloud, prolonged cry, whic

soon died away in that silent vastness. Then hput his ear to the ground to listen. He thoughhe could distinguish a voice, and he began trun and shouted again, but he heard nothinmore and sat down, exhausted and in despai

Toward midday he breakfasted and gave Samwho was as tired as himself, something to eaalso, and then he recommenced his search.

When evening came he was still walking, anhe had walked more than thirty miles over thmountains. As he was too far away to returhome and too tired to drag himself along anfurther, he dug a hole in the snow an

crouched in it with his dog under a blankewhich he had brought with him. And the maand the dog lay side by side, trying to keewarm, but frozen to the marrow nevertheles



Ulrich scarcely slept, his mind haunted by vsions and his limbs shaking with cold.

Day was breaking when he got up. His legwere as stiff as iron bars and his spirits so lowthat he was ready to cry with anguish, whihis heart was beating so that he almost fell ovewith agitation, when he thought he heard

noise.

Suddenly he imagined that he also was gointo die of cold in the midst of this vast solitudand the terror of such a death roused his ene

gies and gave him renewed vigor. He was dscending toward the inn, falling down and geting up again, and followed at a distance bSam, who was limping on three legs, and the

did not reach Schwarenbach until four o'clocin the afternoon. The house was empty and thyoung man made a fire, had something to eaand went to sleep, so worn out that he did nothink of anything more.



He slept for a long time, for a very long timan irresistible sleep. But suddenly a voice, a crya name, "Ulrich!" aroused him from his pro

found torpor and made him sit up in bed. Hahe been dreaming? Was it one of those strangappeals which cross the dreams of disquieteminds? No, he heard it still, that reverberatincry-which had entered his ears and remained i

his flesh-to the tips of his sinewy fingers. Cetainly somebody had cried out and called "Urich!" There was somebody there near thhouse, there could be no doubt of that, and h

opened the door and shouted, "Is it you, Gapard?" with all the strength of his lungs. Buthere was no reply, no murmur, no groan, nothing. It was quite dark and the snow lookewan.

The wind had risen, that icy wind that crackthe rocks and leaves nothing alive on thosdeserted heights, and it came in sudden gustwhich were more parching and more deadl



than the burning wind of the desert, and agaiUlrich shouted: "Gaspard! Gaspard! GaspardAnd then he waited again. Everything was s

lent on the mountain.

Then he shook with terror and with a bound hwas inside the inn, when he shut and bolted thdoor, and then he fell into a chair trembling a

over, for he felt certain that his comrade hacalled him at the moment he was expiring.

He was sure of that, as sure as one is of beinalive or of eating a piece of bread. Old Gaspar

Hari had been dying for two days and threnights somewhere, in some hole, in one of thosdeep, untrodden ravines whose whiteness more sinister than subterranean darkness. H

had been dying for two days and three nighand he had just then died, thinking of his comrade. His soul, almost before it was releasedhad taken its flight to the inn where Ulrich wasleeping, and it had called him by that terrib

and mysterious power which the spirits of th



dead have to haunt the living. That voicelessoul had cried to the worn-out soul of the sleper; it had uttered its last farewell, or its re

proach, or its curse on the man who had nosearched carefully enough.

And Ulrich felt that it was there, quite close thim, behind the wall, behind the door which h

had just fastened. It was wandering about, lika night bird which lightly touches a lightewindow with his wings, and the terrifieyoung man was ready to scream with horroHe wanted to run away, but did not dare to gout; he did not dare, and he should never darto do it in the future, for that phantom woulremain there day and night, round the inn, along as the old man's body was not recovere

and had not been deposited in the consecrateearth of a churchyard.

When it was daylight Kunsi recovered some ohis courage at the return of the bright sun. H

prepared his meal, gave his dog some food an



then remained motionless on a chair, tortureat heart as he thought of the old man lying othe snow, and then, as soon as night once mor

covered the mountains, new terrors assailehim. He now walked up and down the darkitchen, which was scarcely lighted by thflame of one candle, and he walked from onend of it to the other with great strides, listen

ing, listening whether the terrible cry of thother night would again break the dreary slence outside. He felt himself alone, unhappman, as no man had ever been alone before! H

was alone in this immense desert of Snowalone five thousand feet above the inhabiteearth, above human habitation, above that stiring, noisy, palpitating life, alone under an icsky! A mad longing impelled him to run away

no matter where, to get down to Loeche bflinging himself over the precipice; but he dinot even dare to open the door, as he felt surthat the other, the dead man, would bar h



road, so that he might not be obliged to remaiup there alone:

Toward midnight, tired with walking, worout by grief and fear, he at last fell into a dozin his chair, for he was afraid of his bed as onis of a haunted spot. But suddenly the stridencry of the other evening pierced his ears, and

was so shrill that Ulrich stretched out his armto repulse the ghost, and he fell backward withis chair.

Sam, who was awakened by the noise, began t

howl as frightened dogs do howl, and hwalked all about the house trying to find ouwhere the danger came from. When he got tthe door, he sniffed beneath it, smelling vigo

ously, with his coat bristling and his tail stifwhile he growled angrily. Kunsi, who was terified, jumped up, and, holding his chair by onleg, he cried: "Don't come in, don't come in, orshall kill you." And the dog, excited by th

threat, barked angrily at that invisible enem



who defied his master's voice. By degreehowever, he quieted down and came back anstretched himself in front of the fire, but he wa

uneasy and kept his head up and growled between his teeth.

Ulrich, in turn, recovered his senses, but as hfelt faint with terror, he went and got a bottle o

brandy out of the sideboard, and he drank oseveral glasses, one after anther, at a gulp. Hideas became vague, his courage revived and feverish glow ran through his veins.

He ate scarcely anything the next day and limited himself to alcohol, and so he lived for several days, like a drunken brute. As soon as hthought of Gaspard Hari, he began to drin

again, and went on drinking until he fell to thground, overcome by intoxication. And therhe remained lying on his face, dead drunk, hlimbs benumbed, and snoring loudly. But scacely had he digested the maddening and burn

ing liquor than the same cry, "Ulrich!" wok



him like a bullet piercing his brain, and he goup, still staggering, stretching out his hands tsave himself from falling, and calling to Sam t

help him. And the dog, who appeared to bgoing mad like his master, rushed to the dooscratched it with his claws and gnawed it withis long white teeth, while the young man, withis head thrown back drank the brandy i

draughts, as if it had been cold water, so that might by and by send his thoughts, his frantterror, and his memory to sleep again.

In three weeks he had consumed all his stock oardent spirits. But his continual drunkennesonly lulled his terror, which awoke more furously than ever as soon as it was impossible fohim to calm it. His fixed idea then, which ha

been intensified by a month of drunkennesand which was continually increasing in habsolute solitude, penetrated him like a gimleHe now walked about the house like a wilbeast in its cage, putting his ear to the door t



listen if the other were there and defying himthrough the wall. Then, as soon as he dozedovercome by fatigue, he heard the voice whic

made him leap to his feet.

At last one night, as cowards do when driveto extremities, he sprang to the door anopened it, to see who was calling him and t

force him to keep quiet, but such a gust of colwind blew into his face that it chilled him to thbone, and he closed and bolted the door agaiimmediately, without noticing that Sam harushed out. Then, as he was shivering witcold, he threw some wood on the fire and sdown in front of it to warm himself, but suddenly he started, for somebody was scratchinat the wall and crying. In desperation he calle

out: "Go away!" but was answered by anothelong, sorrowful wail.

Then all his remaining senses forsook him fromsheer fright. He repeated: "Go away!" and tu

ned round to try to find some corner in whic



to hide, while the other person went round thhouse still crying and rubbing against the walUlrich went to the oak sideboard, which wa

full of plates and dishes and of provisions, anlifting it up with superhuman strength, hdragged it to the door, so as to form a barrcade. Then piling up all the rest of the furnture, the mattresses, palliasses and chairs, h

stopped up the windows as one does wheassailed by an enemy.

But the person outside now uttered long, plaintive, mournful groans, to which the young mareplied by similar groans, and thus days annights passed without their ceasing to howl aeach other. The one was continually walkinround the house and scraped the walls with h

nails so vigorously that it seemed as if he wihed to destroy them, while the other, insidfollowed all his movements, stooping dowand holding his ear to the walls and replying tall his appeals with terrible cries. One evening



however, Ulrich heard nothing more, and hsat down, so overcome by fatigue, that he wento sleep immediately and awoke in the morn

ing without a thought, without any recollectioof what had happened, just as if his head habeen emptied during his heavy sleep, but hfelt hungry, and he ate.

The winter was over and the Gemmi Pass wapracticable again, so the Hauser family starteoff to return to their inn. As soon as they hareached the top of the ascent the women mounted their mule and spoke about the two mewhom they would meet again shortly. Thewere, indeed, rather surprised that neither othem had come down a few days before, asoon as the road was open, in order to tell them

all about their long winter sojourn. At lashowever, they saw the inn, still covered witsnow, like a quilt. The door and the windowwere closed, but a little smoke was coming ouof the chimney, which reassured old Hause



On going up to the door, however, he saw thskeleton of an animal which had been torn tpieces by the eagles, a large skeleton lying o

its side.

They all looked close at it and the mother said:

"That must be Sam," and then she shouted: "H

Gaspard!" A cry from the interior of the housanswered her and a sharp cry that one mighhave thought some animal had uttered it. OlHauser repeated, "Hi, Gaspard!" and theheard another cry similar to the first.

Then the three men, the father and the twsons, tried to open the door, but it resisted theefforts. From the empty cow-stall they took beam to serve as a battering-ram and hurled

against the door with all their might. The woogave way and the boards flew into splinterThen the house was shaken by a loud voicand inside, behind the side board which wa

overturned, they saw a man standing uprigh



with his hair falling on his shoulders and beard descending to his breast, with shinineyes, and nothing but rags to cover him. The

Original Short Stories. Volume IV

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Transcript of Original Short Stories. Volume IV