Part 13 (1/2)

”You may make light of it, if you will,” said I, ”but I know you have continually run risks for me; and depend on it, I shall never forget you. Adieu, my friend.”

”Farewell, then,” said he, ”and take my best wishes with you. I hope you will now slip safely out of the country, but a good piece of it remains before you yet. Nor are your feet in good condition for walking.”

”That has been provided for,” said Antoine. ”As soon as we get to the waterside we shall find a boat awaiting us, which will carry us to Bordeaux.”

”But you are some way from the water.'

”Yes, but I have a cart.”

We then parted, La Croissette kissing me on both cheeks with the utmost kindness; and I turned away with Antoine. Looking round as we quitted the court, I had my last glimpse of his tall, meagre figure, as he stood with his hand on his hip, looking after me; and I thought how strange and disproportionate a return his kindness to me had been for mine to him, in lifting him up and saving him from a kicking horse on the way to Beaucaire. The whole scene at once started up before me--our family party in the wagon--the girls' blooming faces and gay dresses--the crowded road--the music--the bustle. Then my thoughts flew on to what followed--the humors of the fair--the crowded table at my uncle's--my betrothal to Madeleine. What a different future then seemed to lie before us to what awaited us now! Where was she? Should we meet soon?

Might we not be separated for ever? I cannot tell how many thoughts like these pa.s.sed through my mind as I limped after Antoine, who was himself somewhat awkward in his gait, like many of the silk-weavers from sitting so constantly at the loom.

Thus we pa.s.sed through some of the by-ways of Montauban, and entered a small house.

CHAPTER X.

”MY NATIVE LAND, GOOD-NIGHT”

The room we entered was dest.i.tute of furniture and blackened with smoke.

Heaps of broken fragments impeded our entrance and lay on the floor.

A man sitting on the ground was restlessly taking up one piece after another, and laying them down again, muttering to himself, without noticing us.

”I know not why they should have done so,” he said hurriedly; ”the poor chairs and tables could not hurt. And, after all, when they hung me up I gave in, and kissed the cross made by their swords; and they knocked me about after that. If that was justice, I don't know what justice is.

They hurt my wife, too, or she would not have shrieked out so. And her word always had been--'Hold out; pain may be borne; and they dare not kill us!' But when she saw them tie me up, she cried out, 'Oh, Pierre, Pierre, give in--give in!' So what was I to do? Answer me that.”

”This poor fellow has lost his senses,” said Antoine, softly. ”Wait here a minute. I will soon return.”

I stood where I was. It seemed to me from the charred remains that the furniture had been just broken up and then partially burnt. There was a great beam across the ceiling, with large iron hooks on which to hang bacon, onions, and such-like. From one of these hooks dangled a strong chain.

”They drew me up with that,” said he, turning his dull eyes on me, and the next instant looking away. ”They pa.s.sed the chain under one of my armpits, and so suspended me; and then beat me. I was not going to stand that, you know. My wife ran away, calling on me to give in; so what could I do? Could I help it? Am I a renegade?”

I said, ”Let us remember David's words--'Have mercy on me, O Lord, for my sin is great.' He did not say, 'for my sin is little--a very little one--the first I ever sinned;' but 'my sin is great;' and therefore have mercy on me. Say it after me. 'Have mercy on me, for my sin is great.'”

--”For my sin is great,” repeated he, melting into tears. And again and again he repeated, weeping, ”For my sin is great--my sin is great. Have mercy on me, O Lord, for my sin is great.”

”He also hath forgiven the wickedness of thy sin,” said I. ”Let us turn unto the Lord, for he will heal us, and not be angry with us for ever.”

Antoine drew me away. We left the poor man in tears, and went into the yard, where stood a cart, with a sorry horse in it, and a heap of loose f.a.gots and pieces of broken furniture beside it.

”Get you in here, sir, and lie down,” said he. ”I will pile the wood over you as lightly as I can.”

I did as he desired. He bestowed the wood over me as carefully as he could, and then led the horse out.

”Whither away?” said somebody, pa.s.sing.

”To dispose of this rubbish,” said he, carelessly. ”Poor Pierre's chattels have been reduced to mere firewood. If a trifle can be got for them, it may buy him bread.”