AL 4-6 eV.5, 2-5
HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY
THE BEQUEST OF
EVERT JANSEN WENDELL
(CLASS OF 1882)
OF NEW YORK
1918


• ********， … .
•••••••••••••














The Inn of the Silver Moon











* ~ * o 'o -1, 5 , , 5.
coPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
HERBERT S. STONE & CO,
HARVARD COLLEGE Lißkſ... .
FROM
THE BEQUEST OF
EVERI JANSEN WENDEll
1918





The Inn of the Silver Moon
I.
“If you will refrain from talking all
at the same time, I will tell you every-
thing that I know,” said the gardener,
loftily, “and as it was I who last saw the
master alive, what I have to say may be
of some importance.”
The gardener laid stress upon the ad-
jective, and observing that the under
housemaid chanced to be occupied in
tying a pink string about the neck of
the cat, he waited until she had finished
before continuing.
“It must have been five o'clock, or a
trifle later. Monsieur was in the white
rose arbor taking his afternoon tea. I
was nearby, at the geranium bed, filling
I


The Inn of the Silver Moon
in a cavern which Boy had pawed in
the very middle. I had been most care-
ful to shut the beast in the tool house,
but as usual he had contrived to escape.
Just as I had finished resetting the
plants the master called—
“‘Paul,” he said, ‘yesterday was the
day for clipping the poodle.’
“‘That is true, Monsieur,” I answered,
“but by good fortune, I noticed that
the probabilities predicted it would be
cooler.'
“‘On the contrary,’ he replied, “it is
much warmer to-day. Why has it not
been done this morning?'
“I was obliged to explain that I had
not been able to find the clippers; that,
in fact, this Image of Satan had hidden
them himself, as he always does on
Wednesdays.”
The gardener shuffled his feet un-
easily and looked about him to note
the effect of his disclosures.
2


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“What else?” demanded the butler,
coldly.
“What else? Why nothing else. I
took the dog to the stable. That is all
I know.”
“It is all you would be likely to
know,” sniffed the butler, waving his
hand in stately dismissal.
“That does not settle the question of
dinner,” said the cook as he bisected an
onion.
“The dinner will be served as usuall”
spoke the butler, as one having au-
thority.
“But if Monsieur is not here to eat
it—”
“That is not our affair.”
In June, between the planting and the
harvest, there is held at Greslin a mar-
ket, to which it was the custom in times
gone by for the farmers to bring the
surplus of young pigs from the spring
3


The Inn of the Silver Moon
litters to be sold to the town people,
many of whom were glad to purchase
one or more to fatten in their gardens
during the summer. Of late years
changes in the methods of agriculture,
and more stringent sanitary regulations
against the keeping of pigs in towns,
have caused the abandonment of the
original purpose of the market; but
the name is still preserved and the date
kept as a local féte, celebrated with
rustic games, and the attendant assem-
bly of tombolas, carousals, and itiner-
ant amusements of all kinds. A pig is
set at liberty in the market place, well
smeared with lard, to become the prop-
erty of whomsoever may succeed in
catching him, and stalls for the sale of
charcuterie still reflect the origin of the
festival. All day the cabarets are filled
with thirsty rustics, and the red wine of
the country flows freely. In the even-
ing there is a bonfire in the place and
4


The Inn of the Silver Moon
dancing under the horse-chestnut trees
where the peasant girls vie in gaiety of
attire with their more sophisticated sis-
ters of the government match factory,
and where for the hour the most frugal
man becomes a spendthrift, the most
sedate a gallant.
Of all the country side, Achille Vifour
alone had never seen the Market.
Often when after dinner the ladies had
withdrawn and the glow of Burgundy
fell warm upon the cloth, he had heard
his elders chuckle as they recalled some
old remembrance of the fair. Year by
year through the palings of the Chateau
wall he had seen the peasants hurrying
toward the town with laughter and
clumsy chaff; night after night he had
heard them returning with new store of
wit and scraps of song learned from the
mummers, and at such times he would
vow that another year should see him
among the merry makers; but with
5


The Inn of the Silver Moon
every opportunity came a new reluc-
tance, a fear lest a reputation earned
by years of studious habit and punctili-
ous conformity to the demands of
his position, should be compromised.
Then, too, it is poor fun to go rioting
alone, and the popular impression that
Achille was superior to such frivolity
discouraged offers of companionship.
It is the way of the world that when
an individual once starts upon a career
of exemplary behavior, hands are not
wanting to accelerate his progress; to
boost him, so to speak, from level to
level up the pyramid of Virtue till at
last he stands upon an eminence as un-
comfortable as it is conspicuous. Thus
Achille was not only often overlooked
when adventure was afoot, but it was
expected of him that on a return from
a visit to the Capital, he should bring
intelligence of the latest movements in
literature and art; that he should have
6


The Inn of the Silver Moon
opinions touching the music at St.
Roche or even of the preaching at the
Madeleine, and shall he be blamed if it
was behind closed doors that his piano
gave forth echoes of the Café Chantant
or that the volumes picked up beneath
the arcades of the Odeon and Rue de
Rivoli were not conspicuously placed
upon his library shelves?
It was the day of the Pig Market and
Achille Vifour, having finished his tea,
placed the cup upon the iron table at
his elbow and looked from the white
rose arbor across his pleasant acres of
fruit and flowers, smooth turf and
snowy gravel. From any point of view
it was a charming garden, a trifle stiff
perhaps, a stranger might have said—
but in the eyes of the young bourgeois
the place was a veritable Paradise.
Nevertheless as he rose and stepped
into the sunlight he regarded the
familiar scene with less than wonted
7


The Inn of the Silver Moon
approbation, and stretched his limbs
with something like a yawn.
At the far end of the garden the high
enclosing wall gave place for the dis-
tance of some thirty metres to an
equally high iron railing, divided into
panels by massive columns of masonry
on which were great stone balls.
Through this grille the passers-by
along the road beyond could see the
flowers and trees, and above them the
high-pitched, many-gabled roof of the
Chateau, with turret and pinnacle such
as bear the name of the merriest king
that ever lived—the king who set old
France a laughing so that the smile has
not yet faded.
From the garden one could see the
world without, the great flat poplar-
studded world, flaming with poppies,
gay with gold wheat; and the long
white road where the trees in double
ranks touched elbows like soldiers on
8


The Inn of the Silver Moon
parade. Along the road ran well-paved
gutters, bordered by belts of close-
clipped grass. In all the land there
was not a bramble, a weed, or a foot of
idle earth.
As Achille looked far out across the
fertile plain he shook his head and
sighed, then drawing from his pocket a
paper-covered book, he opened it and
turned to some passage that had caught
his fancy. The book was a translation
of a tale by Cooper and the passage a
description of scenery in the wilds of
the Horican.
“The river was confined between
high and cragged rocks, one of which
impended above the spot where the
canoe rested. • As these again were sur-
mounted by tall trees which appeared to
totter on the brows of the precipice—
Achille looked out again.
“It must be altogether different,” he
said.
9


The Inn of the Silver Moon
He might have continued his read-
ing, but seeing ahead a mention of one
Chingachgook, a character for whom
he entertained an unreasoning dislike
on account of his name, he closed the
book, and turned again to watch the
moving shadows, the infinite lines of
trees, and the pleasant reaches of the
distant river Loup. Sometimes when
the breeze veered a little to the south
it brought the sound of music from the
to Wn.
Presently the round - shouldered,
pigeon-toed postman came trudging
along beneath the trees. With his
scrip and staff he might have been a
pilgrim who wore for p 2nance a heavy,
closely-buttoned woolen coat of winter
above the cotton trousers of July. See-
ing Achille through the grating, the
man unslung his mail-bag, and ap-
proaching made a military salute.
“Shall I ring 2" he asked respectfully,
IO


Would Monsieur take his letter himself?





The Inn of the Silver Moon
“or would Monsieur desire to take his
letter himself?”
“I will take it,” said Achille. “Have
you but one?”
“Only one for the moment, Monsieur.
There are doubtless others, but every
one at Greslin is completely insane on
account of the Pig Market. Monsieur
is going to the Pig Market—no P Ah,
it is a spectacle! It is like Paris. One
cannot hear himself speak for the
noise, and all the world is intoxicated.
Monsieur would find it very agree-
able.”
“Without doubt,” assented Achille.
“Give me my letter, and hurry back.
Here is something to help you make up
for lost time.”
“Monsieur is amiable. Au revoir,
Monsieur.”
Achille retired with his letter to a
shady seat near by, and broke the seal.
The bees buzzed persistently, a cricket
II


The Inn of the Silver Moon .
chirped in the wall ; from the torture
chamber came the plaintive moans of
Boy and the soothing voice of Paul—
“Have grace, my brave one, till I
have finished thy stomach. Keep thy
paw in thy pocket or I may cut off thy
beautiful wristlets.”
The letter was a long one, and after
a paragraph or two of formal compli-
ment ran thus:
“It was only yesterday that I was so
fortunate as to obtain the long promised
interview with Madame la Marquise de
Banville. As you have doubtless been
informed, Madame is a victim to neu-
rasthenia in its most aggravated form,
and is therefore seldom permitted by
her physician to do anything that is not
amusing. As this was my seventh visit,
each by special appointment, you may
picture to yourself my joy at being told
that I was at last to be admitted. It
was the first time that I have had the
I2


The Inn of the Silver Moon
honor of meeting Madame, and though
they tell me that she has changed
greatly since the days of the Empire, I
would swear that she still retains much
of her youthful vivacity. From the
anteroom I could not help hearing the
remark with which my card was re-
ceived. ‘It is that pig of a notary!'
she exclaimed, “I suppose he will never
stop coming till I see him. Admit him,
and if he stays more than five minutes,
announce the doctor.'
“You may be sure that I stated my
errand without unnecessary delay. Her
answers, I must confess, were both
evasive and unsatisfactory. To be
brief, my friend, the Marquise refuses
to consider your engagement to her
niece as serious, avowing that both
your late respected father, and her
brother, had been dining generously
on the occasion when the pledge was
made that was to join your infant hand
I3


The Inn of the Silver Moon
with that of Mdlle. de Belle Isle. She
insists further, pardon my frankness,
but it is best that you should know the
whole truth, that you must be a rustic
in a blue blouse with trousers' pockets
large enough to carry wine bottles, and
that you doubtless misuse your knife at
the table.
“Madame was, however, good enough
to say if the young lady upon seeing
you should express a wish to become
your wife, she herself would make no
objections; provided that upon investi-
gation, your fortune proved to be as
represented ; and added that she ex-
pected you to keep clear of all entan-
glements until such time as it might be
convenient for her to arrange a meet-
ing. In a word, that she would con-
sider you as bound while the young
woman remained free to choose for
herself.
“As I was about to protest warmly
I4


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“Through the intervention of my
brother's wife, I have spoken with the
good Mother Superior of the convent
before last, but all that she could be in-
duced to say in answer to the most deli-
cate questioning was, ‘Ah! Mademoi-
selle de Belle Isle !' raising her eyes to
heaven. When I ventured to touch
upon the question of personal appear-
ance she answered only—‘Beauty is not
everything—’”
“Which is to say,” muttered Achille,
tearing the letter, and scattering the
fragments to the wind regardless of the
spotless turf–“Which is to say, that
I have the honor to be betrothed to a
camel who dresses like an English
woman and observes the canonical
hours . . . Ah! what forethought
on the part of parents l What a beau-
tiful system ſ”
Taking up the yellow book, he flour-
ished it in the air.
I6


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“It would be better,” he cried “to
be a savage like this Cooper; this
Uncas; this Sacred Chin-gach-gook 1
Better shoot the Wampum, track the
Tomahawk to its lair, and hurl the
deadly Moccasin. . . Parbleu! what
have I done !” -
Achille had not meant literally to
hurl anything, but in his excitement the
yellow book flew from his grasp, and
skimming the palings lighted in the
very middle of the white road directly
in the path of two ladies upon bicycles
who chanced to be approaching.
Both ladies screamed, and the
younger losing her balance dismounted
hurriedly. Achille rushed to the bars
with many protestations of regret, but
the lady who was still awheel only
elevated her chin disapprovingly as she
described a figure eight upon the road
while waiting for her companion to re-
mount. She was a comely woman—a
I7


The Inn of the Silver Moon
trifle, plump perhaps for knickerbock-
ers — but she rode gracefully, and
Achille would have persisted in his de-
mands for pardon had not the other,
turning suddenly toward him, caused
him to forget everything else. -
It was as if the prismatic universe
came in an instant to a focus; as if all
the gold of the wheat were suddenly
concentrated in one bright aureole of
blonde hair beneath which all the blue
of the sky shone from two laughing
eyes. It was as if all the green of the
earth had condensed itself into one
tailor-made costume, and the varied
colors of the cultivated fields had
shrunk to the dimensions of a pair of
Scotch plaid stockings.
The lady seemed much amused, and
when her companion called to her,
“Let us hurry on, this is doubtless a
private lunatic asylum,” she only smiled
the more sweetly, and then to Achille's
I8


She sto/Aed' and /ºrked ºf the book.





The Inn of the Silver Moon
amazement stooped, and, picking up
the “Last of the Mohicans” from where
it lay, advanced toward him trundling
her wheel by the handle, and laid the
volume in his hand—
“Monsieur has lost his book,” she
said softly, blushing as she spoke. “It
is fortunate that we chanced to be
near.”
Before he could bring himself to utter
a word she had mounted and ridden
away. As she joined her friend he
thought he heard her say:
“He seems perfectly harmless.”
Achille watched the figures till they
were out of sight. Once he fancied that
the slighter of the two turned and
looked back and he waved his hand,
but in a moment regretted an action
that might be misconstrued into further
evidence of an unsound mind.
He concealed the Story of Uncas in
the hollow of a statue representing the
I9


The Inn of the Silver Moon
left the grating. But the garden had
become an assortment of vegetables
stupidly growing in highly fertilized
earth, the cricket a noisy imbecile, the
bee an intolerable bore, and at last, un-
able to endure the exasperating calm-
ness of nature, he opened the great
gate and stepped out upon the highway.
There lay the road straight and level
as a bowling alley, with the trees like
misplaced tenpins along the side;
beyond, the flat fields took on new flat-
ness, the river stretched motionless as a
sleeping snake.
“Ah!” sighed the young man, “the
road is like my life. It has a stone for
every hundred metres. Ah, if one
might but sometimes lose the way!”
Beyond the nearest meadow, a line of
willows marked the course of a small
stream, the little river Loup, and among
them nestled the low, red-tiled roof of
a washing shed. The sight of this
2I


The Inn of the Silver Moon
brought to his mind a pleasant sugges-
tion of cool water, and as he knew that
all the accessories to a comfortable
plunge were there he welcomed the
thought as an inspiration. -
Achille splashed for awhile in water
scarcely above his waist, and then seek-
ing more adventurous sport moved
down the stream to a pool behind the
willow patch in which a man might
swim without encountering the sandy
bottom. Here, tempted by the sun-
shine, he prolonged his bath beyond its
usual limits; and when, at last, he
waded back, shaking the water from
hair and eyes, he did not at first observe
that some one had come to the washing
shed during his absence.
“Hello!” he cried, when he saw he
was not alone. “Hello ! — Sacre
Bleu!”
The stranger wore his clothes, his
favorite pearl gray suit and his broad-
22


The Inn of the Silver Moon
brimmed straw hat; even his violet
necktie and his patent leather shoes.
“Sacre Bleu!” he repeated. “What
is the meaning of this?”
“Do not be disturbed,” said the
stranger, lightly, “I have only taken the
liberty of borrowing from your ward-
robe to attend the fête. It is possible
that I may return the clothes later
unless I find that I am becoming
attached to them; at any rate, Monsieur
has doubtless many more, and I will
gladly place my own apparel at his dis-
posal. I hope that he will consider my
humble outfit as his own for the time
being. I would also suggest that as the
evening is getting chilly, and as ladies
might pass at any moment, Monsieur
should lose no time in making his toilet.
I have tied knots in the arms of the
blouse and in the legs of the pantaloons
which will detain Monsieur some little
time and prevent any impetuosity on
23


The Inn of the Silver Moon
his part in the matter of pursuit, which
might be unpleasant for both of us.
My address, by the way, is the Inn of
the Silver Moon. Pray bear it in mind.
I have the honor to say au revoir; a
plaisir!”
So saying the stranger lifted the
broad-brimmed hat and sauntered
leisurely away.
24


II
Apparently there was no choice for
Achille but to put on the garments
left him by the stranger. It , would
have been futile to look to the
Chateau for assistance, for his voice
could not have been heard beyond
the outer gate; and knowing well
the rapidity with which the story
of his mishap, once started, would
spread throughout the small com-
munity, he did not care to attract the
attention of chance passers along the
road. Amused, in spite of himself, at
his predicament, he laboriously untied
the knots, and at last, an excellent
counterfeit of a needy workman, he
laughed heartily at his own reflection in
the stream.
He had fortunately taken the precau-
25


The Inn of the Silver Moon
tion to hide his pocketbook with his
watch and keys in a crevice in the wall
where they had escaped the notice of
the thief, and, the first flush of indigna-
tion passed, he argued that it might be
the part of wisdom to let the criminal
go unpunished rather than furnish
material for the merriment of his
friends.
Sitting upon the edge of a linen
barrow Achille looked the matter
fairly in the face. Evidently he must
delay his return to the Chateau until
dark, and still it seemed imprudent to
remain in a place where the servants on
discovering his absence would be sure
to seek him . . . Suddenly a light
broke on his puzzled meditations . . .
Surely there was nothing to prevent a
shabby young workman passing an hour
or two at the Pig Market, where among
the throng there were many who knew
which chateau of the neighborhood
26


My address is
the Inn of the Silver Moon.
º
N
* * *
º
t





The Inn of the Silver Moon
sheltered a guest much given to bi-
cycling and Scotch plaid.
With the stealthy tread of an intelli-
gent Mohican, Achille followed the
river bank until a kilometre lay between
him and the garden gate; then, crossing
the fields to the road, he adopted what
he conceived to be the bearing of an
artisan upon a holiday, and struck out
toward Greslin, singing as he went.
The young man sung at first because
he considered song to be in keeping
with his rôle, but presently he found
himself singing from very lightness of
heart, and smiled as he recalled the
refrain of an old Provençal ditty to
recognize in it the meaning of the
address given by the stranger—
What care if the day
Be turned to gray,
What care if the night come soon.
We may choose the pace
Who bow for grace
At the Inn of the Silver Moon.
27


The Inn of the Silver Moon
Ah, hurrying sirs,
Drive deep your spurs,
For it’s far to the steepled town—
Where the wallet's weight
Shall fix your state
And buy for ye smile or frown.
Through our tiles of green
Do the stars between
Laugh down from the skies of June,
And there's naught to pay
For a couch of hay
At the Inn of the Silver Moon.
You laboring lout,
Pull out, pull out,
With a hand to the creaking tire,
For it's many a mile
By path and stile
To the old wife crouched by the fire—
But the door is wide
In the hedgerow side
And they ask not bowl nor spoon,
Whose draught of must
Makes soft the crust
At the Inn of the Silver Moon.
Then here’s to the Inn
Of the empty bin;
To the Host of the trackless dune,
And here's to the friend
Of the journey's end
At the Inn of the Silver Moon.
Before the song was ended Achille had
covered half the distance to Greslin.
28


The Inn of the Silver Moon
As he walked between the trees he
recalled that she, his fair green lady,
had passed there not many hours be-
fore. At the bridge, where the little
river Loup crosses the road, he paused
to wonder if she had rested upon the
broad stone parapet. As he climbed
the long hill to the town he thought of
her and pictured her beside him; not
the princess that she must be, but a girl
of the people, and he the vagabond that
his dress proclaimed him. He pictured
them, this humble couple, as being very
poor, depending on a fiddle and a tam-
bourine for sous and supper. He pic-
tured one impossibility after another,
changing scene and circumstance to
suit his fancy, but in all his pictures they
two were hand in hand.
On the outskirts of Greslin the high-
way is joined by another of less impor-
tance, coming from the hills, the borders
of the forest, and the stony uplands
29


The Inn of the Silver Moon
called by the peasants “Purgatory”;
and at this meeting of the ways there
stands, on one hand the village octroi,
and on the other an uninviting wine
shop that has above its door the
“carrot” of the tobacco license, and the
withered bush that proclaims the debit
des boissons.
As Achille approached this suburb
he noticed that the entire male popula-
tion was gathered about the door of a
low shed adjoining the tavern, before
which a red stain upon the road, and
some fragments of glass neatly swept
together in the gutter, announced that
a bottle of wine had been recently
broken. The young man joined the
group of blue blouses and, as the
attraction that had drawn them to-
gether was evidently upon the wane,
had little difficulty in forcing himself to
the front.
Upon the straw within, the landlord
–
3O


The Inn of the Silver Moon
knelt beside a prostrate shape, which
Achille thought at first must be that of
a wounded animal, but which, when his
eyes became accustomed to the light,
he recognized as a bicycle with its
forward tire in a state of collapse.
“Was any one hurt?” he demanded,
breathlessly.
“Hurt! not she,” growled the land-
lord, resentfully, without looking up.
“But the question is, where am I to
put my donkey? He cannot remain on
the road; he cannot sleep in the bed
with my children, and here there is not
room for both. Now she has gone away,
without so much as buying a drink,
leaving me with this sacred machine.
How do I know that I shall see one of
them again? How do I know that I
shall be paid for my trouble?”
“But the owner, the lady, who was
she?” cried Achille, impatiently.
“How can I tell who she was?”
3I


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“What was she like?”
“How do I know! these imbecile
rich are all alike. When they are fat
they tie themselves in; when they are
thin they stuff themselves out . . .
Hey! what are you doing in my shed,
who told you to come in?”
Achille had, in his eagerness to learn
the particulars of the accident, advanced
beyond the threshold, and the irate
publican, observing for the first time
the intrusion of an unpromisingstranger,
turned upon him angrily—
“What do you want poking your
nose into other people's sheds? Par-
bleu, I've seen such prowling fellows as
you taken in hand by the gendarmes.”
“Pardon me,” said Achille, who had
yet to learn that the poor speak plainly.
“Pardon me, but I am greatly interested
in this lady.”
“Oh, you are, my boy!” sniffed the
other, scornfully. “Well, I don't recall
32


The Inn of the Silver Moon
that the lady expressed any great interest
in you. You had better go home and
make yourself a little more chic if you
are after the girls.”
The men about the door laughed, and
Achille, anxious to make the best of an
awkward situation, said:
“I suppose that I can get a glass of
grog?”
The landlord shrugged his shoulders,
and made the gesture of one who rubs
a coin between his thumb and fore-
finger.
In the low, bare taproom a stout
carter slept, sitting bolt upright on
a wooden bench, with his whip and
a half-finished tumbler of spirits before
him on the table. Behind the bar, a
round-faced girl smiled officially.
She said “good day,” and asked
what Monsieur desired. Monsieur de-
sired crème de menthe, but Monsieur did
not get it. In its place he took apple
33


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“What was the gentleman like?”
asked the listener carelessly.
“Oh, very elegant; something like
this Monsieur Vifour at the Chateau,
but with more air, more spirit,” ex-
plained the girl, adding that the gentle-
man had talked a great deal with the
ladies, and that they had all three gone
back to Greslin. To her mind the
whole affair was very droll.
Achille paid for the brandy, which he
had slily poured into the glass of the
sleeping carter, and turned to go.
“Have you been to the Pig Market?”
he asked, affably, as he received his
change.
“Not yet, Monsieur,” replied the
maiden looking down, “but this evening
when the dancing begins, perhaps, if
anyone cared to look near the fountain
in the corner of the place ... "
Achille did not stay to learn what
attraction one might expect to find at
35


The Inn of the Silver Moon
the fountain, and as he raised his cap in
parting salutation, the girl added, irrel-
evantly—“Me, I am engaged for every
dance.”
About the place of Greslin, in a hol-
low square, are two ranks of close-
clipped chestnut trees. The long cool
alleys beneath are usually silent as the
arches of a cloister. There are benches
in the shadow, but they are rarely used.
There is a fountain in the corner, built
to commemorate a forgotten man who
wrote a forgotten book; but the basin
is empty, and in a land of wine the
water is not missed. An old man with
a broom of twigs sweeps up the brown
leaves as they fall, and gathers them
into a bag. In the autumn, when there
has been a frost, his son helps him and
they have a horse and a blue cart. It
is very quiet under the trees, and when
the priest walks there he draws a small
book from the breast of his black cas-
36


The Inn of the Silver Moon
cartoons, while before each door drums
were beaten or men and women in
spangles or cotton tights told shrilly of
the marvels to be seen within. In the
open a Strong Man tossed cannon balls
into the air as though they had been
melons, trusting for reward to voluntary
contribution. Young women hurried to
and fro selling bonbons and paper
windmills, and older women offered
rosaries and pictures of the saints.
Somewhere rifles were cracking in a
shooting gallery; from another direc-
tion came the noise of a steam piano,
which shrieked with insane hilarity.
Everywhere were squads of awkward
peasants, lurching aimlessly from booth
to booth, eager to be deceived and
cunning to resent deception ; their
red hands deep in cavernous pockets,
guarding greasy Sous which they longed
to spend; praying in the same breath
for temptation to overcome theiravarice,
- 38


The Inn of the Silver Moon
and for new strength of avarice to resist
temptation. There was little talking
and less laughter, but upon every face,
rosy or wrinkled, was the look of
beatified satisfaction that is the national
symbol of a fête.
Achille stood still, unable for the
moment to collect his thoughts amid
the changes that had come to the
familiar place.
“Try your strength with the sledge
hammer!” shouted a voice to the right.
“Buy a ticket for a trip on the Rus-
sian Mountains!” cried one to the left.
“Gentlemen and ladies 1" bawled
another, “the Lion Tamer is about to
enter the den!” -
Achille joined a group attracted by
the dancing bear, and when the tam-
bourine came round threw in a piece of
fifty centimes, more because the solic-
itor was pleasing than to mark his
appreciation of the efforts of the beast.
39


The Inn of the Silver Moon
Some young men who had seen the
silver slapped him on the back and
cried, jovially: -
“Ah, comrade, you have sold your
pig! Come along and pay us a drink!”
“Why should I?” demanded Achille,
but not illnaturedly.
“Oh, if you can afford to squander
ten sous on an imbecile bear, you might
spend a franc on some fellow work-
men.” r
“As to that, I will willingly stand a
bock all round,” said Achille laughing,
and with a gesture of the arm, recalled
from convivial peasants upon the
theatrical stage, he led the way toward
the nearest cabaret.
As he stood with his guests at the bar
of the humble drinking shop, one of the
men asked:
“What trade have you, my little
brother? Your hands are as white as
those of a baby.”
4O


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“I am a jeweler,” answered Achille,
raising his glass, and pleased to discover
in himself a talent for deception not
before suspected.
“It is a good trade,” said another,
adding slily, “and one that must have
its opportunities.”
“It has,” assented Achille, doubtfully,
fearing that too great contentment with
his lot might arouse suspicion as to his
right to wear a blouse, “it has, but then
there are many drawbacks.”
“Ah, I suppose so,” sighed the first,
sympathetically, and glancing cautious-
ly over his shoulder, “I suppose so.
One can never be sure. Well, I wish
you good luck! Some time when I am
flush it will be my turn to treat. Au
revoir, little brother, you need have no
fear of the gendarmes; but for your
hands and your clean collar I should
have taken you for a field hand.”
Achille did not attempt to correct the
4. I


The Inn of the Silver Moon
unjust impression he had given as to
his moral character, but he resolved on
parting from his fellow toilers to adopt
another calling should occasion arise.
Then, mingling with the multitude, he
allowed himself to drift with the current
from one attraction to another, with
eyes and ears alert in eager anticipation
of the advent of the unexpected.
Before the door of the Golden Cat
the garrison of small tables, recruited
in honor of the fête from a platoon to
a battalion composed largely of con-
scripts from garret and kitchen, had
spread in undisciplined ranks far out
in the roadway. Among the tables
were gathered assorted generations of
prosperous townsfolk, and well-to-do
farmers with their families over beer
or orgeat, absinthe or syrup of cherries.
Here and there sat representatives of
the more liberal country families; or a
knot of officers in smart uniform. At
42


III
Achille, as his eyes wandered from
group to group, recognized many faces
familiar in his daily life. There were
the Courvoisers, male and female, with
whom he was to dine on Sunday.
There was little Bleauvelt of the Line,
who was to breakfast with him on
Saturday. There was the saddler and
the man who had promised to mend
the garden pump. It was amusing that
they should not know him, and he
laughed inwardly at the humor of the
situation. But the laugh was of short
duration, for at a far table, so close to .
the white wall of the Golden Cat as to
be within the shadow of the iron
balcony, the vision rose before him of a
broad-brimmed straw hat with a white
45


The Inn of the Silver Moon
authorities for assistance. He regretted
it still more as he became aware that
the stranger was not alone, but seated
in the company of two women of
apparent respectability. Their faces
were turned from him, but their backs
were neat and their head covering in-
conspicuous, and when he lowered his
eyes in search of further detail they fell
upon a pair of Scotch plaid stockings
clearly visible beneath the table!
“Have a care who you shove!” cried
the saddler, who felt his shoulder
rudely clutched.
“Monsieur is not polite!” exclaimed
the mender of pumps, replacing his hat.
Achille felt that public patience had
reached its limit during his advance.
Before him the unexpected grinned
with fiendish mockery. To right and
left the saddler and the pump mender
grew visibly anxious that he should
mCVe On.
47


The Inn of the Silver, Moon
“Image of a pig!” he muttered, glar-
ing at the author of his discomfort.
The image of a pig was not so deeply
engrossed in his companions as to be
oblivious to what was taking place
about him. He had observed the com-
ing of the shabby figure, and now, to
Achille's amazement, he rose, and after
a few hurried words to the ladies,
came forward as rapidly as circum-
stances would permit; upon his face a
smile of ready recognition and in his
bearing the evidence of a lively satis-
faction.
“Not a word!” he whispered, when
near enough to be heard, at the same
time holding up a warning hand. “Not
a word! I am in disguise.”
“You are in my clothes 1” retorted
Achille fiercely. “It is I who am in
disguise!” -
“I am so glad that you have come,”
went on the stranger, still in a whisper.

48





The Inn of the Silver Moon
“I did not discover your little joke till
I had gone two kilos, and then it was
scarcely worth while to return. I sup-
posed, of course, that it was a pleas-
antry, and now that you are here I am
sure of it.”
“A pleasantry!”
“Yes, about the money. I was aston-
ished to find the pockets of these excel-
lent clothes empty, and the circum-
stance has caused me some annoyance,
but Pierre Rabot can take a joke as
well as the next, and we will say no
more about it.”
“Do you suppose that I would be so
foolish as to leave money in my pockets
where such a fellow as you could get it?”
“One can never tell, but of course
you know, the better one is dressed the
more essential money becomes. You
must have been greatly amused at
the situation. I can fancy how you
laughed!”
49


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“Can you, indeed ! I assure
you. y?
“Come, come, no apologies It is
not a joke that I should have played
myself, but then, fun is more primitive
in the country . . . more elemen-
tary, shall we say P And now that you
are here py
“Do you imagine for an instant that
I have come to give you my money!”
cried Achille, allowing amazement at
this new impertinence to divert him
from the original offence.
“Oh, as to that it shall be as you
please,” returned the other with dig-
nity. “If you prefer to act as banker I
shall be perfectly satisfied. By the
way, my charming friend the Countess
de Salviac has just this moment been
speaking very pleasantly of you. It
appears that she passed your chateau
this afternoon and saw you at the gate.
She was en bicyclette, and with the Bar-
5o


The Inn of the Silver Moon
oness de Brazos. Perhaps you happened
to notice her, she wore Scotch plaid
stock. y -
“Silence!” cried Achille, with such
vehemence that those who sat nearest
looked about.
“Of course,” continued Pierre Rabot,
“I should not have spoken of such
things to a stranger . . . I hope
you do me justice to believe it ! At all
events the young lady is charming, and
what is more she has expressed a will-
ingness to have you presented, and
with people of her position you know
that means a great deal. Come, will
you join us?”
It seemed to Achille that he had
fallen asleep, and that in his sleep he
dreamed that the thief had become his
friend and benefactor. He tried to col-
lect his senses, but a furious band had
struck up the March of Boulanger, and
his thoughts went capering to the tune,
5 I


The Inn of the Silver Moon
'B'n Revenant de la Revue / The world
was upside down; the saddler looked
at him with scorn; the pumpman with
contempt; and in the midst of the con-
fusion, the brouhaha of the café, the
tumult of the Pig Market, there sat the
lady of his love—the Countess—the
goddess—and she had expressed a will-
ingness that he should be presented.
“Come,” he gasped, “come,” and he
started toward her, forgetful of all else,
but Pierre Rabot caught his arm and
held him back.
“It may be necessary,” he said, “to
make some explanation of your present
costume. I should never have noticed
such a matter, but women are so much
more observant.” -
“Camell” cried Achille, returning
suddenly to a consciousness of his con-
dition, “do you imagine that I would
meet the Countess in the rags of a
vagrant! Wretch, it is you. > y
52


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“Be calm, my friend! It is I who
would present you. Ah, I have it! We
will say that you have been milking.”
“Milking!”
“Yes, I will tell her privately that
you are eccentric — just a little cracked
on socialism and the rights of man. It
will be capital! Come on!”
“I will not go with you! I shall de-
nounce you before the whole town. I
shall tell them the truth.”
“The truth/" cried Pierre. “Pray,
do not speak so loud. When did you
divine my secret?” -
“I have divined nothing except that
you have stolen my clothes.”
“Ah, that again! really you grow
tiresome. But the time has come when
I should confide in you. You may not
believe me. Listen! I am the author
of All Evil!”
“The Devil?” gasped Achille, start-
ing back in amazement.
53


The Inn of the Silver Moon
tions in which his guide was such an
adept. He was convinced that the
ladies could know little of the charac-
ter of Pierre Rabot, and every instinct
of chivalry urged him to put them on
their guard; to stand, if need be, be-
tween them and the consequences of a
misplaced confidence.
There was something fine, too, in the
idea of a knightly heart beneath a
plowman's blouse. Perhaps some day
he would meet the Countess when he
was better dressed and hear from her
the story of the noble artisan. . . It
is a violet moment when the rays of
blue duty and red inclination meet and
mingle.
When Achille stood at last before
the Countess, the climax was not as he
had pictured it. He found himself
wedged into a narrow space between
a stout table — borrowed from the
blanchisseuse — and the rougher por-
55


The Inn of the Silver Moon
Universal Love. Forsaking name, rank
and a career of exceptional promise, he
has devoted the best years of his life,
and a considerable portion of his im-
mense fortune, to the service of the
poor and humble. Born in a palace he
has chosen to make the cot of the
peasant his shelter for ten long
years—but, ladies, to-night his vow
expires, and he intends to return to the
state in which he was born, and for
which he is so eminently fitted. To-
night he resumes his title of Duke
de . . . but no, I must not speak
the name until the midnight bell has
tolled! . . . Felix, my boy, lend me
five hundred francs to pay the waiter.”
“Five hundred francs | " gasped
Achille, again allowing surprise to take
the place of just resentment.
“Did I say five hundred! I meant
five thousand, or five, which was it?
Do be quick!”
57


The Inn of the Silver Moon
Achille would not have acted as he
did had not the fat, familiar features of
the garçon of the Golden Cat mutely
announced a time of reckoning; but he
knew the power of penetration beneath
that calm exterior, and, reluctant to
arouse his curiosity, he drew forth his
well-filled pocket book and produced a
roll of notes.
“I have not that much silver,” he
said, “but here is one hundred,
perhaps . . . "
Deftly plucking the bill from his
fingers, and with a regretful glance at
the others more firmly held, Pierre
Rabot laughed.
“I will get the change,” he said. “I
see my old friend Baron Blumm
there yonder; trust a banker to have
money about him. Excuse me for
one moment . . . I will re-
turn.”
Pierre Rabot did not return at the
58


The Inn of the Silver Moon
end of one moment, nor at the end of
many; in point of fact he did not return
at all.
59


IV
Achille was left alone with the ladies.
Even the fat waiter, seeing in the silver-
mounted pocket book security for the
modest addition, hurried away to con-
ciliate more pressing patrons. The
Baroness continued to regard him
through her lorgnette; the Countess to
regard everything within range of
vision except him.
“Mesdames,” he said, when it became
evident that the search for the Baron
Blumm was likely to be prolonged,
“Mesdames, if I have seemed to intrude
myself upon you, it is only that I may
have an opportunity to warn you that
the individual who has this moment
left us, is, to speak mildly, a most unre-
61


* The Inn of the Silver Moon
“Monsieur Vifour?” stammered
Achille.
“Surely you know the name of your
old friend!”
“Achille Vifour?” inquired the young
man, meekly.
“No,” explained the Baroness, who,
now that the ice was broken, had be-
come most affable. “This one is
Georges Vifour—abourgeois family, not
distinguished, but highly respectable.
He has a brother Achille, who is, I fear,
a trifle weak-minded—nothing serious,
you understand—this afternoon we saw
him at the gate of the chateau behaving
in the most singular manner. They are
twins and dress alike.”
“Madame!" cried the young man,
“Achille Vifour may be an imbecile,
but he has no twin brother; and if he
had it would not be this Pierre Rabot.
You have been deceived by a scoundrel
who has neither chateau nor carriage,
63


The Inn of the Silver Moon
and who is at this moment escaping
with my hundred francs, and—”
“Merciful heaven!” exclaimed the
lady. “He has my cycle satchel that he
insisted on carrying! It contains my
diamond ring, and eleven francs fifty!
Let us follow him!”
“I will notify the authorities at once.”
“But the police would ask our names,
would they not?”
“Certainly.”
“Then we can do nothing. No, it
would be a scandal. The ring was no
great thing, pretty, but — from the
Palais Royal, you understand. Let it
go. See, we are attracting attention,
pray sit down.”
For several minutes the Baroness
poured forth an eloquent denunciation
of Rabot, and Achille, rejoicing in the
misfortune that had brought him into
such confidential relations with at least
one of the ladies, listened with sympa-
64


The Inn of the Silver Moon
thetic interest till the other inter-
rupted—
“Madame,” she said, “do you realize
our position? If this is true, and no
carriage has been ordered for us, we
are here five kilos from St. Ives, and
without means of returning.”
“My bicycle is uninjured,” replied the
Baroness, adding sweetly, “but, of
course, nothing would induce me to go
without you.”
“I should hope not!” cried the other
nervously. “Really we must lose no
time in finding some conveyance.”
“Rather a difficult matter I am
afraid to-day,” remarked the Baroness,
blandly.
“Mesdames,” exclaimed Achille, “I
shall be honored if you will regard me
as your servant.”
“It would be but another proof of
your benevolence, Monsieur Du
Lorme,” replied the elder lady, gra-
65


The Inn of the Silver Moon
ciously, “if you could even borrow a
donkey.”
“I will not ride on a donkey,” said
the Countess with decision.
“I assure you, Mademoiselle . . .
began Achille, but before he could
finish the sentence there arose in the
fair a commotion, which grew in the
twinkling of an eye to an uproar, and
from an uproar to a panic. Smoke
curled among the chestnut trees in the
direction of the booths, and on all sides
frantic voices cried that the menagerie
had taken fire, and that the animals
would soon be loose. The air was filled
with the terrified screams of women,
the wild shouts of men, and the seem-
ingly wilder orders of the police striving
to reassure the crowd.
“Idiots,” cried the captain of the
guard, “it is not the beasts that burn,
it is the waxworks; can you not
smell?”
66


The Inn of the Silver Moon
But the frightened people did not
stop to reason. On they came in a
tidal wave toward the Café of the
Golden Cat, and, before the charge,
tables and benches went down with a
resounding crash. Here, owing to the
fat waiter's presence of mind in imita-
ting a lion, there was a moment's pause
of which Achille was quick to take ad-
vantage. Seizing the ladder, he planted
one end firmly on the top of the stout
table, while the other rested against the
railing of the balcony above. Once on
the table, the distance was not greater
than from the ground to the omnibus
roof, and the angle of inclination not
alarmingly steep.
“Mount, ladies!” he cried. “Do not
be afraid ; it is perfectly safe. Step
upon the chair, now upon the table—
Ah, bravely done!”
When the Countess had climbed
nimbly, the Baroness more heavily to
67


The Inn of the Silver Moon
-
the balcony, Achille followed and drew ,
the ladder after him, much to the dis-
gust of others who had expected to
share in their retreat.
“That was a very clever idea!” ex-
claimed the Countess with frank
appreciation, when she had recovered
her breath.
“It is fortunate that we were dressed
for wheeling,” remarked the Baroness,
readjusting her hat.
The confusion subsided almost as
rapidly as it had commenced. Even
before the notes of a trumpet announced
the arrival of the pompiers the fire had
been extinguished, and with the return
of order the dreaded animals could be
heard howling reassuringly behind their
own particular canvas.
Below the landlady and the fat
waiter wept together over damages that
it would take more than one Pig Market
to make good, and commending his
68


The Inn of the Silver Moon
companions to their tearful care Achille
swung himself to the ground.
After searching through all the town
of Greslin, but to find that the Baroness
had been right, he returned in despera-
tion to a shed where he had observed
an old-time diligence, covered with
dust, and long abandoned to the
crickets and the mice. The coach,
which had once been of a brilliant
yellow, was almost paintless, and the
wooden sides had offered tempting
tablets for the picture writing of the
stable yard; the one small window in
the door was without glass, and the
seats within were bare of cushions; it
was entered from the end like an omni-
bus, and, amid marine surroundings,
might have passed for an inferior order
of bathing machine; but the wheels
were strong enough for a cannon, and
the springs would have sustained a load
of hay.
69


The Inn of the Silver Moon
Next, as the result of princely and
visible offers of reward, a large white
horse was disentombed from the cellar
of the blacksmith, where he chanced to
be undergoing treatment for some tri-
fling defect of sight, then the baker's
wife remembered an old harness in the
garret; and when from numerous appli-
cants a lad had been selected who was
pronounced by experts to be sufficiently
sober to undertake the driving, Achille
experienced the satisfaction of one who
has conquered circumstances. Impa-
tient as he had been to close his bar-
gain, and little as he had stopped to
haggle over terms, before he was at
last free to return the sun had set and
the evening was drawing on. Although
the result of his mission had not been
all that he had hoped, he was sure that
the ladies would believe that he had
done his best, and his only anxiety was
lest his long absence should have caused
7o


The Inn of the Silver Moon
them uneasiness. Once more beneath
the chestnut trees, he saw that order
again prevailed about the café, and
that before the door guests were assem-
bled as though nothing had occurred.
The ladies were still as he had left them
on the balcony, but the ladder rested
again upon the table, and mounted on
it stood the fat waiter apparently serv-
ing an omelet across the railing.
“How is this?” he demanded of the
landlady. “Why have you not opened
the window?”
“Alas!” replied the good woman,
“the room within is locked, and during
the excitement, I threw my keys into
the cistern to save trouble.”
“Come up, Monsieur Dulorme,”
called the Baroness from above, “we
have a cover for you and a chair.”
It was, to the young man at least,
a charming meal that the three shared,
sitting in a row upon the narrow bal-
71


The Inn of the Silver Moon
cony, and when Achille had slacked his
thirst from a bottle of good red wine,
he gave such an account of the dili-
gence that the others laughed heartily.
Under the circumstances formality
would have been a farce and dignity an
affectation. *
Achille watched for an opportunity
to explain that he was neither the ex-
cellent Dulorme nor a Herald of Uni-
versal Love, but the talk flowed in such
impersonal channels that it would have
been a want of tact to direct it toward
himself. Even the name was not again
mentioned.
“Monsieur,” said the Baroness as
they sipped their coffee, “I must tell
you that we are in retreat at the Con-
vent of St. Ives. We have, as you
know, been robbed, so if you will
kindly pay for the dinner we will send
you our share of the amount by the
driver.”
72


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“The arrangement would be per-
fectly satisfactory to me,” he said, but
when they had descended upon the ar-
rival of the diligence, he took occasion
to whisper to the Baroness:
“Shall I divide the expense of the
conveyance equally, or will Madame
ride back on her own wheel? The
charge will be twenty francs for each.”
She did not answer him directly, but
said aloud as the fat waiter brought the
bicycle:
“I think I will ride a little way,” and
mounted.
“Am I to go alone in this horri-
ble packing case?” exclaimed the
Countess, almost in tears.
“Mademoiselle,” said Achille, “I
could not permit that. The roads are
full of intoxicated peasants, and I have
little confidence in the discretion of the
driver. As it happens, I have business
in St. Ives, and with your permission, I
74


The Inn of the Silver Moon
might still have read clear type in the
June twilight, and even in the dim inte-
rior of the coach there was light enough
to reveal the efforts that Achille had
made for the comfort of his charge. A
strip of carpet was upon the floor, and
on each of the hard seats a feather pil-
low incased in red cotton. He did not
explain that these articles, once of the
household of the baker's wife, were his
by right of purchase, nor did she
attribute the presence of an ample
shawl to aught but the forethought of
the driver.
“Was it not nice of him!'” exclaimed
the Countess. “Please do not forget to
give him a good four boire and put it in
the bill.”
“I shall not forget, Mademoiselle.”
She wrapped the shawl about her
from head to foot, for it had grown
chilly, and snuggled comfortably in one
corner, while the young man selecting
76


The Inn of the Silver Moon
for himself another as far remote as
the limits of the coach allowed, waited
with respectful patience to discover
what her conception of the situation
might be. He was far too well bred—
from a French point of view—to begin
a conversation that might not be ac-
ceptable, and the lady was presumably
too well bred—from a French point of
view—to take the initiative, so there
was silence in the diligence, broken
only by the low monotonous creaking
of the leathern springs and the meas-
ured beat of hoofs upon the smooth
hard road.
Presently the Countess sighed softly,
which sign Achille, who felt keenly the
delicacy of her position, interpreted as
the expression of an inclination towards
slumber, and at once composed himself
- to counterfeit the same desire.
The gait of the white horse, though
slow, was steady; the heavy vehicle
77


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“My legs are broken, my ribs are
crushed and I am dying!” replied a lusty
voice now readily recognizable as that
of the driver.
“Come here at once and help us out,”
called back Achille unfeelingly. Natu-
rally his first thought had been for the
safety of the Countess, but the sound of
smothered laughter in the darkness had
at once reassured him and his anxious
inquiries were prompted rather by civil-
ity than alarm.
“I am not hurt at all,” she answered,
“but I am standing on my head, and
there is something heavy on my shoul-
der, I think it is your foot.”
When after much cautious wriggling,
Achille was at last free to stand up and
thrust his head from the door, a glance
explained the situation. The forward
running gear had in some way become
detached from its fastening, allowing
the body of the coach to drop to the
* – ---—
8o


The Inn of the Silver Moon
road at one end, while the other still
firm upon the high back wheels, pointed
skyward at so great an angle that the
floor was practically perpendicular.
Nearby the white horse dragging the
missing wheels grazed peacefully, and
nearer still the driver lay upon his back
and howled.
“What has happened to the horse?”
Achille demanded. -
“Nothing!”
“Well, what is the matter with you?”
“My lungs are punctured!”
“Bah! do you think yourself a bicy-
cle? What has happened to the car-
riage P.”
“I care not what has happened to
that infamy, it is sufficient that it has
caused my death.”
As he spoke the driver rolled over
and over until he was thoroughly pow-
dered with white dust. Then he rose
upon all fours; then, with many groans,
81


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“She is where her machine has car-
ried her. My horse is not an express
train to overtake her.”
“But was she not at the bridge 2"
“I have seen no bridge.”
“Surely we have come as far as the
River Loup!”
“The River Loup? That is upon the
road to St. Ives. We left that long
before the bridge.”
“Ciel! Where does this road lead
to P”
“I had hoped,” replied the youth
cheerfully, “that it would lead to
Tives but it appears that it leads no-
where.”
“Tives!” shouted Achille and the lady
in one breath, “Tives!”
“Why not?” asked the driver shrug-
ging his shoulders.
“Why, in the name of goodness,
should we want to go to Tives?” de-
manded Achille.
83


The In n of the Silver Moon
“That is the affair of Monsieur,” re-
plied the lad respectfully.
“But did I not explain to you fully
py
“Monsieur explained nothing to me.
It was to my cousin that Monsieur ex-
plained, but at the last moment he re-
ceived news of the illness of his god-
parent, and was so much overcome that
I—”
“Imbecile, where is this Tives?”
“I do not know, Monsieur.”
Further discussion was prevented by
the appearance of two peasants, who
approached from the darkness, armed
one with a scythe of formidable dimen-
sions and the other with a wooden
pitchfork, and halting at a safe distance
from the upturned carriage inquired
the cause of the disturbance.
Achille, who knew the country peo-
ple, wasted no words in explanation,
but promptly offered each a franc if
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The Inn of the Silver Moon
they would lift the coach and hold it
horizontal for a single minute.
“And now, my man,” said Achille, ad-
dressing the elder of the peasants, as
soon as the travelers felt the ground
beneath their feet, “will you kindly tell
me where we are P”
As he answered, the man spread his
hands, palms upward, and looked about
him.
“This is not a city to have a name,”
he said.
“Are there no houses near P”
“Yes, there are the huts of the sabot
makers, and there is the house of my
son.”
“Surely you must know where you
live.”
“Oh yes, Monsieur, I know well where
I live. I live at the house of my
son.”
“Are there no women?” asked the
Countess, adding in a low voice to her
85


The Inn of the Silver Moon
companion, “Let us find a woman, they
are much less stupid than the men.”
“Certainly there are women,” replied
the peasant; “there is the wife of my
son, and there is my wife, and there is
the grandmother of my son's wife, and
there is the niece of my wife, and there
is—”
“Please show us where they are,” in-
terrupted the lady.
The peasants turned obediently, but
as they moved away the driver pro-
tested. -
“Will no one help me?” he pleaded
piteously, and the younger peasant
being promised another franc remained
behind. -
The country on every side seemed,
even in the charitable starlight, both
barren and desolate. Gorse and furze
grew in disorderly tangles upon the
crumbling walls of turf along the road,
and the fields beyond were stony and
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The Inn of the Silver Moon
uncultivated. The place was unfamiliar
to Achille, but he supposed it to be a
part of the region called Purgatory,
which lies at the outskirt of the State
Forest. Here every thirty years the
hills are shorn of timber, and then
the trees are coaxed to grow again
that posterity may keep the pot a-boil-
ing.
The peasant trudged ahead in silence,
the travelers following side by side.
The Countess wore the shawl about
her shoulders, and when Achille remind-
ed her that she hād left her hat in the
coach, and offered to return for it, she
laughed and said it did not matter, and
readjusted her drapery in the form of a
hood. He could recall none of his com-
rades who would have met the catas-
trophe with less agitation, and in the
face of her composure the young man
felt that any effort at consolation would
be misdirected. Her manner of meet-
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The Inn of the Silver Moon
door opened and a belt of light shot out
across the rough uneven ground.
As the door opened, the man stood
still and called—
“Babette, come here!”
Then as if in apology for his seeming
lack of hospitality, he added—
“Perhaps Madame would not desire
to enter—we are occupied in skinning a
cow.”
“I should think,” commented the
Countess, “that you would have pre-
ferred to do that in the forest.”
“It would have been better for a
thousand reasons,” assented the man,
“but she was too large to pass through
the door.”
“How did she ever get in 2" inquired
Achille.
“As a calf,” replied the peasant sim-
ply.
Babette, when she came forth wiping
her hands upon a burlap apron, expressed
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The Inn of the Silver Moon
interest, if not sympathy, in the mis-
fortunes of the travelers, and glancing
at the Countess she exclaimed—
“Saints in Heaven! it must have
been terrible, Madame has lost her pet-
ticoat! and doubtless, too, she had a
hat.”
Babette knew the names of several
hamlets at varying distances from the
camp of the sabot makers, none of which
were at all familiar to Achille. When
asked if she had heard of Greslin she
admitted that she had, and supposed it
to be across the hills, very far away—
perhaps twenty kilos. Tives was some-
where to the south on quite another
road, that is if it were anywhere, which
she greatly doubted. Oh la, la! it was
a shame that such things should happen.
Perhaps when the driver came he would
have some practical suggestions to
make. Monsieur and Madame must
excuse her appearance! it was not an
90


The Inn of the Silver Moon
not be sorry to dispense with my society
altogether.”
“But your friend, the Baroness P”
“I do not so much as know her name.”
“Mother,” called a voice within the
cottage, “shall we cut off the tail P”
“That will be for to-morrow,” replied
Babette. “Wash thy hands, we will go
to bed as soon as it shall please these
good folks to leave us.”
A voice sounded through the woods
and a moment later the young peasant
who had borne the pitchfork appeared
singing lustily. When he drew near he
stopped singing and laughed heartily.
“It was a good joke on that driver!”
he chuckled. “Would you believe me,
nothing was broken! A hook had
worked loose, and we had only to put
the two parts together, and there was
his machine as strong as new.”
“Good!” exclaimed Achille, “where
is he now P”
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The Inn of the Silver Moon
“He has gone home.”
“Gone where P”
“Home, I suppose. He turned and
went in the direction from which he
came at a gallop. But doubtless,” he
added hopefully, seeing that his intelli-
gence was unwelcome, “doubtless he
will return.”
“If we can be of no further service to
Monsieur and Madame,” said Babette,
with cold politeness, “we would ask per-
mission to retire. The poor must sleep
if they are to do their work. A plazsár,
Monsieur et dame.”
“Stop!” cried Achille, “we must have
a conveyance of some sort. I have
plenty of money.”
“Monsieur is fortunate, but if he
were to pay me a million francs I could
not create a horse. I am sorry, but we
are poor and have nothing to offer.”
“But, if you refuse to help us, what
are we to do P”
93


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“There is always the Inn of the Silver
Moon,” laughed Babette, adding with
withering sarcasm, “if / were rich I
would buy a ticket and take a seat in the
railway train like a general.”
“The railway! Where is it? Are
there trains to-night P”
“The station is not far; you cannot
miss it, for there is a gate across the
road. The trains pass when God wills,
I do not trouble myself with such mat-
ters.”
“Good night, and thank you for lit-
tle!” cried Achille, losing his patience.
“Come Mademoiselle, there is nothing
to be gained from these idiots.”
“Good night to you for a pair of
vagabonds, who will end in the galleys!”
replied Babette, and as they left the
grove she called after them many things
that he hoped the Countess did not un-
derstand.
“Mademoiselle,” said Achille humbly,
94


The Inn of the Silver Moon
when they were once more upon the
road, “I can never hope to be forgiven
for my carelessness in going to sleep,
but I trust you understand that when I
have succeeded in restoring you to your
friends, my one thought will be to efface
myself so completely from your life that
you will be able to account for your ab-
sence in any way that may seem credi-
ble. Meanwhile I am your slave.”
“Of course,” replied the Countess
lightly, “but how fortunate we were to
learn about the railway. It was a good
idea of mine to see the woman, they
are always so much more clever than
men.”
If it occurred to Achille that it was
through making the acquaintance of
Babette they had lost the diligence,
he put the thought from him as un-
worthy. Neither did he feel himself in
a position to debate the relative clever-
ness of the sexes. He could have
95


The Inn of the Silver Moon
wished, too, that the idea of his own
annihilation had not been accepted
quite so calmly. Nevertheless, when
they reached the highway he said, ,
cheerfully: -
“At least we know the direction not
to take,” and they turned toward the
unknown.
The way led through a part of the
wood, where the axe had not fallen
since the days when the king wore
green velvet to deceive the deer. The
trees stood far apart, wonderful oaks
and beeches that had come to honora-
ble age untrammeled by the rabble of
the thicket, and beneath, the fern and
bracken grew waist deep. In the open
spaces were stretches of soft turf,
smooth as bowling courts, and beds of
tufted heather just purpling into blos-
som, through which the white road
shone dimly like a path of phosphorus
The air was sweet with faint aromatic
96


The Inn of the Silver Moon
odors; the wood still as a cathedral,
and as filled with silent prayer. Once
they passed close to a little tarn of
water teeming with stars. Once they
went beneath an arch of whispering
pines.
It was only a corner of the forest,
and soon they saw again the desolate
upland, and beyond, a wide expanse of
dark mysterious country to which the
road descended rapidly. Here they
stood for a moment looking back.
“Is it not beautiful!” she said. “See
the moon is coming up behind the
trees. Could we not sit down and wait
till morning? I am very tired.”
“I have read,” said the young man
softly, “that once, while hunting, the
Duchess Anne rode so far from her
company that she lost her way, and,
attended only by one faithful lackey,
slept ail night upon a bed of fern here
in the forest.”
97


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“Poor thing,” sighed the Countess
“I do not suppose she had even a
shawl!”
98.


VI
The Countess rested well, as doubt-
less did the Duchess Anne before her,
and perhaps it was above the same mir-
ror that each bent in the early dawn to
smooth her hair, and bathe her face in
the cool water.
Achille had kept a solitary watch,
but he was very happy. When it was
light enough, while still the lady slept,
he had carved an arrowhead upon
the bark of a beech tree, saying to him-
self:
“Uncas, my friend, after all you were
not the last.” He even thought pleas-
antly of Chin-gach-gook.
There were drops of water on her
hair, and mimic tears in her eyes as she
came back to him from the lake. She
99


The Inn of the Silver Moon
had gathered sprigs of early heather
and wore them at her throat, and her
shawl fell about her like Rosalind's
doublet.
“Come,” he said laughing, “we must
take the road, for we cannot expect the
fairies to provide our breakfast.”
“Anything may happen,” she replied,
as they left the wood, “anything, even
that.”
A few minutes later she said again:
“Was I not right?” and even as she
spoke there came upon the air the un-
mistakable smell of newly made coffee.
They had been moving rapidly down
the hill, and now a turn in the road
brought them suddenly upon a large
green van drawn close against the
hedge Across the van was painted in
white letters, “Pol Paret, General Mer-
chandise,” and beneath the inscription
sat a moon-faced person upon a box
brewing coffee in a copper pot above a
IOO


The Inn of the Silver Moon
*
charcoal brasier. Beside him on the
ground lay an earthen dish containing
butter and a loaf of tempting bread.
“Good morning, mates!” called Pol
Paret without moving, “you are up
early.”
“No earlier for us than for others,”
replied Achille. -
“You’d call it late if you had been up
all night as I have! Where are you
from ?”
“From the Pig Market.”
“But you cannot have come from
Greslin!”
“So you say.”
“On foot!”
“So you see.”
The man whistled in surprise.
“Oh la, la, it's a shame to make
a boy like that walk such a distance!”
“Yes, poor little fellow, he is tired,”
assented Achille readily, “both tired
and hungry, I fear, and I must tell you
IOI


The Inn of the Silver Moon
my nephew is deaf and dumb. That
coffee of yours smells good.”
“It ought to, it cost two francs the
livre. What are you doing to the
boy?”
Achille with his hands close to the
opening in the shawl, that his afflicted
kinsman had wrapped about his head,
made gestures with his finger which
might seem to those unfamiliar with the
sign language to have a sinister signifi-
Can Ce.
“I am explaining to him,” he an-
swered, “that you will no doubt allow
us to purchase some coffee and a piece
of bread. I am telling him that we
have money to pay for it, and that his
mother would be displeased if he did
not eat; I am also telling him to go and
sit under that tree and that I will bring
him his breakfast.”
“It is really wonderful how you can
do it,” commented Pol Paret, greatly
IO2


The Inn of the Silver Moon
and sat with her eyes protectingly
fastened upon a large black basket on
the seat before her. Her appearance
was reassuringly commonplace, but no
sooner was the door slammed than she
sprang to her feet with a cry of delight
and clasped the Countess in her arms.
Eager explanations followed, to
which the young man was careful not to
listen, and sinking into a corner he
feigned an interest in the passing land-
scape, till suddenly the Countess turn-
ing to him, said:
“Please put your head out of the
window, and keep it there till you feel
yourself pinched.”
Achille did as he was told, keeping
his face toward the locomotive till his
eyes were filled with cinders, and then
in the opposite direction till the air
upon his neck made him sneeze. He
had suspended thought as far as the
actions of the Countess were concerned,
Io5


The Inn of the Silver Moon
and, as he watched the leisurely flow of
ties and bolts beside the omnibus train,
he speculated only upon what would
happen should he reach the next
station unpinched. But his anxiety
was unnecessary, for, just as the speed
began to slacken, he felt upon his arm
the clasp of two soft fingers, and meanly
allowed the signal to be repeated before
responding.
When he put his head out of the
window there had been with him a
peasant maiden, and another who had
passed for his nephew. Now there were
two peasant maidens and the boy had
gone. Rosalind had gone—the Duchess
Anne had gone.
“Mademoiselle!!” began Achille, in
wild consternation, but the sentence
ended in a fit of uncontrolled laughter.
The Countess blushed and laughed
also, and the real peasant laughed
loudest of all. Then the train stopped
Ioé


The Inn of the Silver Moon
and the owner of the black basket, hav-
ing kissed the Countess again, de-
scended and Achille handed her the
bird cage. -
“Give me a gold piece, please,” said
the Countess, and when he had hastened
to obey she threw it to the peasant girl,
saying:
“That is for the little Jules;” then to
Achille she added, “Put twenty francs
on the bill.”
“Gloves?” asked Achille.
“No,” she answered, thoughtfully,
“Dress material.”
“Thank you,” said Achille, respect-
fully.
Other passengers entered—a priest, a
soldier, a woman with a hen, and a man
with a basket of eels—and the two sat
close together and spoke in confidential
undertones.
“Where are we going now?” asked
the Countess, smoothing her apron.
Io?


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“I haven't an idea,” replied Achille,
as he produced the tickets. “I took
passage to the end of the line, which is
a branch. The place is about two
hours from where we started, but my
plan is to get out at the first town of
importance, where we will be sure to
find a carriage, for we must still be
within driving distance of . . * . .”
Achille paused, embarrassed, and
added, “Pardon me, but I have not
asked where you want to go.”
“I think,” replied the Countess,
thoughtfully, “that for many reasons it
would be better for me to go to
Paris.”
“Quite so,” assented Achille, readily,
but his composure cost him an effort.
“But I am in no hurry,” continued
the lady, looking down at her dress.
“Now that I have this, a day or even
longer, would make no difference.”
“Quite so,” said Achille again, step-
Io8


The Inn of the Silver Moon
ping on his own toe to make sure that he
was awake. “I think we are coming to
a large town, and it might be well to
stop.”
“I should like an omelet for my
breakfast,” said the Countess, “and you
must buy a new cap—that one is insuf-
ferable—and a new blouse. Then we
can pass for respectable peasants—
brother and sister.” .
“St. Justel Vingt minutes d'arret!”
called the guard, and the train emptied
itself of hungry passengers, who
crowded toward the buffet—all save
two respectable peasants, brother and
sister, who quickly left the platform,
and disappeared into the town.
Io9


*-*----- « —
----*---------------- - - - - - - - - ---- ------------- ----


VII
An hour later, when they had break-
fasted at the Black Eagle, and ex-
hausted the shop windows about the
market place, they entered an old
church and the Countess offered Achille
a drop of holy water on the end of her
finger. Then they admired the win-
dows and wandered leisurely from
chapel to chapel, and he told her which
parts of the edifice were Norman and
which later Gothic, and pointed out the
alterations of the Period of the
Renaissance, and she listened and asked
questions, and together they found
wonderful old figures and bits of carv-
ing, and bribed the sacristan to show
them the vestments and jewels; and
the bells rang for ten o'clock before
-> III


The Inn of the Silver Moon
they remembered that they had forgot-
ten the conveyance.
“Before we go,” said the Countess,
“we must light two candles for St.
Anthony of Padua.”
“Why for him?” asked Achille.
“He has a special care for lost
articles,” she answered. *
They bought their tall candles from
an old crone dozing in a corner, and set
them on the spikes of the candlestick
where other votives burnt; and as the
girl knelt in the soft light beneath, the
young man stood behind her, and look-
ing up at the kind old Saint, assured
him privately that the matter was not
pressing.
The day had grown warm, and when
they left the church they strolled into
the small botanical garden which is the
chief ornament of St. Juste, and sat
upon a bench beside the fountain. The
place at this hour was occupied only by
II 2


The Inn of the Silver Moon
an elderly gentieman who read his
paper on a distant seat, and some
nursemaids on the other side of the
basin gossiping together while their
charges played about them.
“It will be pleasanter driving when
the afternoon grows cool,” said Achille.
“Much pleasanter,” assented the
Countess. “Do you know, this garden
reminds me so much of the convent 2
Have you ever been in a convent?”
“Only in an extinct convent, I have
never seen one in active operation.”
“I suppose not. Well, there is a
broad path like this in the middle of the
garden where the girls walk up and
down, but there are statues of saints
along the side and whenever you come
to one you must say a prayer and think
how bad you are! It is nothing but a
long rosary.”
“But suppose that you are not at all
bad P”
II.3


The Inn of the Silver Moon
your estimation. Listen, please, and do
not interrupt till I have made my con-
fession. Two years ago I happened to
overhear the Mother Superior severely
condemning a writer and his books.
Naturally I desired nothing in the world
so much as to read those books, and
naturally I read them—thanks to the
cook. It was wrong, but I did. They
were written by a foreigner—an Amer-
ican—one William Dean Howells; a
wicked and dangerous man. It was his
fiendish object to depict the world, not
of course as it is, filled with dangers
and pitfalls, but instead as peopled with
kind and generous men and women
who would not hurt one if they could.
“The girls of whom he wrote could
speak to perfect strangers and meet with
nothing but respect and courtesy. He
made light of the perils that beset
women who stray from the path of
convention. He did not argue against
II.5


The Inn of the Silver Moon
restraints: he ignored them. Like the
snake in Eden, he held out the apple
saying: ‘Eat and know, thou shalt not
surely die.’ -
“I know that this is false and wrong,
or why should those who are wiser than
I take so much trouble to teach me that
it is P. But having once tasted the
intoxication of freedom, I fear that I
shall never again like the watered wine
of conventional restraint. I feel that
the insidious poison of confidence in
mankind has entered my blood, and
that I shall never know again the sweet
suspicion and mistrust of my earlier
years. Monsieur, I have lost my belief
in universal depravity.”
The Countess paused, and Achille
said cautiously—
“I have read the works of this Mon-
sieur Howells, and, believe me, I have
not found them as bad as you have
pictured them.”
I 16


The Inn of the Silver Moon
she was able to go out during the hours
of private meditation. The baker
rented bicycles, and sometimes we went
riding together, but never very far. It
was my fault that we were at the fair.
I had heard of the country about Gres-
lin and wanted to see it.”
“I trust that you were not dis-
appointed.”
“I think it well repays a visit.”
“If you will allow me to say it,” ven-
tured Achille, “it might have been more
prudent to have selected another day,
although of course your adventure
would not have turned out as it did,
had it not been for my stupidity in going
to sleep. Mademoiselle, can I ever
thank you for not reproaching me!”
The Countess laughed softly.
“That would not have been fair,”
she answered, “especially as I hap-
pened to be awake when we made the
wrong turning.”
I2O


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“You were awake 1 You knew!”
“Yes, but it would have been so stu-
pid to go straight back.”
“Mademoiselle, it was the height of
imprudence!”
“Pooh! I knew that I should be
as well cared for as though I had
gone roaming the hills with Leo
XIII.”
“Ah!” cried Achille, “let this be a
lesson! You thought yourself with the
worthy Dulorme, of whom, believe me,
I have never so much as heard,
while I . . . .”
“While you are Monsieur Achille
Vifour. I have known that from the
first.”
“PARDON!”
The voice was like that of a cannon
breaking in upon the quiet of a summer
evening. The speaker wore his cocked
hat sideways, and by other peculiarities
of costume proclaimed himself an officer
I 2 I


The Inn of the Silver Moon
of the law. While the wanderers had
laughed and whispered of their own
concerns, Fate had come upon them in
the uniform of a sergeant of gendarmes,
who stood making a military salute in
sickening travesty of respect.
“I regret the necessity of disturbing
Monsieur,” said the officer, “but he will
not deny that the cap which he has now
upon his head was purchased one hour
ago at the chapellerie Rosenberg for the
sum of two francs-fifty.”
“I do not attempt to deny it,” an-
swered Achille,“especially as I saw you
watching me from the street, but why
should I not buy it?”
“Have a care!” said the officer,
sternly, “let me caution you that what-
ever you may say will be used against
you at your trial.”
“At my trial!" cried Achille, flushing
with anger and surprise. -
“The old cap left in the shop of
I22


The Inn of the Silver Moon
Rosenberg contains evidence of the
most incriminating nature.”
“Of what am I accused?” gasped
Achille.
“Of what is Pierre Rabot, of many
aliases, not accused?”
“Pierre Rabot is a scoundrel!”
“I advise you to reserve any confes-
sion that you may have to make. It
will be more useful to denounce yourself
before the court. Come with me.
Madame may remain.”
“Madame will not remain,” retorted
the Countess, with spirit. “You have
made some imbecile mistake for which
you will be reprimanded by the
judge.”
The gendarme smiled grimly.
“The Law does not make mistakes,”
he answered. “That is left for foolish
women who leave their household
duties to keep appointments in the
garden.”
I 23


The Inn of the Silver Moon
Let us go down to the river and walk
up and down along the bank.”
The sergeant drew himself to his full
height; but when the Countess nudged
him with her elbow, he gave the order
“left wheel” to his prisoner, and they
turned into a steep and narrow lane at
the end of which was a glimpse of trees
and the shimmer of water.
The river that washes the quiet quay
of St. Juste is an orderly river. It has
guide posts telling the voyager where
he must not land and where he is for-
bidden to fish; there are neat walls
along the edges like a canal, and tree-
lined sidewalks like a boulevard; the
very islands in the stream remind one
of the refuge places where the timid
seek safety from omnibuses.
When the sergeant with his charge
came out upon the quay they found the
place almost deserted. Two scows of
sand, one full, the other half unloaded,
126


The Inn of the Silver Moon
lay moored against the wall awaiting
the return of the workmen from their
breakfast. In the shadow of a pile of
bricks some horses munched their oats.
A woman came up the ramp from the
water's edge wheeling a barrow of wet
linen; below a boy washed a large
yellow dog, and near him a skiff with
oars still in the rowlocks was drawn
up a little on the flags that it might not
float away during its owner's absence.
“Let's go down and see him wash the
dog,” said the Countess. “We shall not
be seen there, and you know if it should
turn out that you have made a mistake
you would be sorry if we were too con-
spicuous.” -
As they reached the waterside, the
dog, being at the moment liberated,
shook himself violently and with such
effect that the officer, who happened to
be nearest, was spattered from head to
foot.
127


The Inn of the Silver Moon
plan seemed feasible, ordered Achille
to push the boat into the water while
he kept a firm hold on the skirts of the
stiff new blouse. Pierre Rabot's gar-
ment had been rolled into a ball and
carefully tied in a red cotton handker-
chief in accordance with the Countess'
theory that such a piece of baggage
was indispensable as an evidence of
peasant respectability.
When they embarked Achille was
assigned to the oars, the Countess
claimed the privilege of the rudder, and
the sergeant sat forward where he
could enjoy the benefit of the sun and
at the same time keep a close watch
upon his captive. A hundred strokes
sent the light craft across the strip of
water, and as nobody happened to be
looking out ahead, brought the prow
in such violent contact with the
shelving bottom full two metres from
the bank, that the officer was for a
I29


The Inn of the Silver Moon
moment in imminent danger of falling
Out.
“Have a care what you are about,”
he shouted. “I warn you that any act
of disrespect will be used against you
at the trial.”
“Pardon,” said Achille, and this was
the first word he had spoken since they
left the fountain.
“Can't we get nearer?" asked the
Countess.
“No,” replied the sergeant who had
been taking soundings with his sword,
“the prow is already on the sand and
the water ahead is more shallow.”
“What shall we do?”
“Go back. Stop rowing there, you
are pushing aground.”
“I will not go back until I have seen
that island. I will tell you how we can
manage. You, Monsieur la Capitaine,
leap ashore, the boat will easily go up
when you are out.”
I3o


at the trial.
%t be used against me
z
That my


The Inn of the Silver Moon
The sergeant stood up and measured
the distance with his eye.
“It is a pretty good jump,” he said
dubiously.
“I am sure that I could do it,” said
the Countess.
“Will you give me a kiss if I do it?"
“The moment I am on the island.”
“Well, here goes,” said the sergeant,
and he jumped.
He alighted in water above his an-
kles and splashed toward the land mut-
tering soldierly expletives, and the boat
relieved of his weight floated freely,
but the recoil of the jump had driven it
well out in the stream where the cur-
rent took it rapidly still further away.
“Come right in here,” yelled the ser-
geant, “the water is deep enough.
Pull on your left oar, idiot!”
“I am afraid,” retorted Achille, “that
might be used against me at the
trial.”
13 I





VIII
Achille rowed with more force than
finish, taking the direction of least
resistance, and the current being strong,
the marooned official was soon a ges-
ticulating speck far astern. As long as
he remained in sight the Countess con-
tinued to wave her handkerchief, and
to a chance observer on the shore
the scene might readily have been
interpreted as the parting of exception-
ally good friends.
“Mademoiselle,” exclaimed the
rower, pausing to wipe his forehead,
“words fail me to express my admira-
tion for your strategy. It was Na-
poleonic.”
“The favoring circumstances may
have been Napoleonic,” she answered
I33


The Inn of the Silver Moon
modestly, and there was a note of
regret as she added “but it did not go
as far as strategy.”
“Surely you would not have wished
it to go further?” -
“Well,” sighed the lady, “I was pre-
pared to fall in love with the judge.”
Achille resumed the rowing with un-
necessary vigor, and there was silence
till presently she asked:
“Ought the water to come into the
boat?” and a hurried examination re-
vealed an open seam through which the
river entered with alarming rapidity.
Achille at first made light of the diffi-
culty, and began to bale industriously,
but when it became apparent that the .
leak was gaining, he gave the dipper to
the Countess and put his whole strength
to the oars. They were now in the
open channel, and from the rapidly set-
tling boat the shore seemed at every
stroke to recede still further, but con-
I34


The Inn of the Silver Moon
cerned only with their present dan-
ger the fugitives noticed nothing till,
startled by the clanging of a gong,
they looked up to see the sharp red
prow of a vessel bearing down upon
them.
“Place, if you please! What do you
mean by getting in my way like that?”
shouted a man in the guttural ac-
cents of an Alsatian.
“Here you, take us aboard, we are
sinking. You can put us on shore
wherever you please,” called Achille.
“If you are really sinking I must
take you on board, but I cannot stop to
put you on shore. I have business
to attend to and no time to trifle
with idiots who row in a sieve.”
“You may take us where you are
going, and we will pay our fare.”
“In that case I should be fined, for I
have no license to carry passengers.”
“Let us discuss that when we are on
I 35


The Inn of the Silver Moon
deck. Don't you see that we are in
danger?”
“Your boat will not sink for several
minutes, and I must know in what
capacity you are to come on my vessel.
Monsieur is evidently not a man of
business.”
“We will become members of your
crew.”
“And great additions you would be!
Can you cook?”
“Perhaps; I have never tried.”
“I can,” interrupted the Countess, “I
can cook like a cordon bleu, and my
brother is an excellent valet de cham-
bre.”
“Well,” said the captain, “at all
events you are a fine girl, and I will em-
ploy you both; but remember it is to be
without pay. My cook was at the last
moment obliged to go to the dentist's
and the mousse is frivolous and light-
minded.”
136


The Inn of the Silver Moon
provement on the ordinary pattern
which I have invented myself, and if you
will come nearer I will explain exactly
how it works.”
“I think that as I am to be the cook,
it would be better to explain the kitchen
first.”
“As you please, my dear young lady.
We started hurriedly and have not
breakfasted, so you may begin your
duties at once. Here is the kitchen—
small but very convenient, and opening
directly on the deck. Here are the
provisions still in the boxes, nothing
has been unpacked. You will find a
hammer on the shelf and your brother
can open the crates. There is a lobster
somewhere and some cutlets, onions for
soup, and a quantity of artichokes.”
“Do you think that one lobster will
be enough for all the sailors P”
The captain was in ecstacy.
“You will ruin me,” cried he, “lobster
I39


The Inn of the Silver Moon
for the crew 2 No, my charming cook,
we have nothing to do with those fel-
lows down below. You will prepare
only the most dainty dishes, and we
will eat them together quite like a
family. I am a true democrat, and the
cook shall sit at my table.”
“And the valet P " -
“And the valet, the brother, certainly!
As the saying is, “the hair goes with the
hide.' Now I shall leave you to your
work. I will return from time to time
to see if you need anything.”
“Mademoiselle,” began Achille, when
the two were alone, “I must caution
you not to be quite so—so agreeable to
this animal of a captain.”
“It never does any harm to have
people feel pleasantly toward you,”
pouted the Countess. “Come, let us
find the lobster. Do you think it would
be well to serve it a la Diable?”
“By all means.”
I4o


The Inn of the Silver Moon
:k * >k >k * >k :k >k
When the captain returned from
behind the wheel house where he had
spent the first moments of his disap-
pointment, his face had lost much of
the cheerfulness that had been its chief
attraction.
“I had intended,” he explained sadly,
“to make this something of a fête. I
receive pay in proportion to the value
of the wreck, and this cargo of wine is
composed of the most costly vintages.
It is not often that I can afford such ex-
travagances, and that lobster was a
dream.” -
“As there is nothing to cook,” sug-
gested the Countess, “perhaps there
are other ways in which we could be
useful.”
“Not a word of such a thing!”
exclaimed the mariner. “You are my
guests. There is nothing in my license
to prevent my carrying guests; it was
I42


The Inn of the Silver Moon
stupid of me not to have thought of
that sooner.”
“Monsieur is very amiable,” replied
the lady, “but we should not be idle.
If you could supply me with some
colored thread I should be happy to
work your monogram on anything in
the boat you may select.”
The worthy Alsatian refused to enter-
tain the suggestion, and soon after
invited his guests, with many apologies,
into his private cabin, where the mousse
served them bountifully with an excel-
lent mutton stew from the forecastle
mess, and some fried cat-fish that were
not so good.
During the meal, the Countess dis-
played a curiosity concerning the
wrecking industry which Achille was
far from sharing, and the host—cheered
by her interest, and the contents of a
bottle which, he said, had lain for twenty
years under water in the hull of a Bor-
I43


The Inn of the Silver Moon
deaux wine ship—told with a nice
attention to detail of his experiences
upon the river and the profit or loss
that had resulted from several ventures.
Meanwhile the little steamer, aided
more by the current than her own
clanking engine and splashing paddles,
went rapidly upon her course, and
although one looking toward the tree-
lined shore would have found it difficult
to believe that St. Juste was not still in
sight, that thriving city lay in reality
leagues astern.
“How long will it take to get where
we are going?” asked the Countess,
when the party had seated themselves
on coils of rope upon the quarter
deck.
“About seven hours,” replied the
captain, lighting a cigarette and offer-
ing the package to Achille, who declined.
“We shall cast anchor beside the
wreck for to-night, and if all goes well
I44


The Inn of the Silver Moon
we shall be ready to begin hoisting by
five o'clock to-morrow morning.”
“How long will that take P”
“Possibly three days, possibly longer
—I think I was saying, that the wreck
of the oil barge was not so fortunate as
the last expedition of which I told you.
The value of the cargo was five thou-
sand four hundred and seventy-five
francs, as shown by the insurance policy
which was for three thousand two
hundred and fifty. My share should
have been ten per cent, or five hundred
and forty-seven francs, and I should
have made a profit of perhaps two
hundred and thirty or two hundred and
forty francs at least, if the eccentric
had not broken. I must first explain
to you, Mademoiselle, that this eccen-
tric—"
“Monsieur,” interrupted the Count-
ess, with difficulty suppressing a yawn,
“I am much fatigued, and I am sure
I45


The Inn of the Silver Moon
that I should understand your story
better if you would allow me take a nap
on that delightful sofa in your cabin.”
“If Mademoiselle will consider herself
the owner of the cabin,” said the
gallant wrecker, rising, “I shall be
supremely happy.”
Achille, alone with his entertainer,
resigned himself to the story of the oil
barge, but the end thereof he was not
destined to know. No sooner had the
cabin door closed upon the Countess,
than he felt the heavy hand of the
captain descend affectionately upon his
shoulder, and heard his voice exclaim-
ing in the guttural accents of Alsace—
“Your sister is charming!”
“My sister! Ah, oh yes. She is a
worthy young woman and not consid-
ered unattractive,” assented Achille
modestly, as one who does not care to
boast of merit in his own family.
The captain puffed his cheeks till his
146


The Inn of the Silver Moon
the knowledge of the man's proposal
must be kept from the Countess until
she should be free from any possible
annoyance at his hands. He had dis-
approved from the first of her efforts to
make the captain “feel pleasantly”
toward her, but he reflected that it was
a like pleasant feeling in the breast of
the gendarme that had contributed to
their escape from St. Juste, and resolved
to continue her plan of battle, while
keeping a close watch for a circum-
stance that might induce the captain to
make a landing. With this in view he
greeted the seaman cordially on his
return and inquired with affected un-
concern if it would be necessary to go
on shore to procure more oil.
“No,” replied the captain. “We will
use butter and the cost will be deducted
from the boy's pay.”
“That is only fair.”
“And now, my dear friend, let us
I5o


The In n of the Silver Moon
return to more agreeable matters. You
have been thinking of what I said P”
“I have indeed; but I must tell you,
Monsieur, that, flattered as I am by
your proposal for my sister's hand, I
can say nothing until we have laid the
matter before our grandmother. She
has promised that her entire fortune
shall go to my sister on condition that
no marriage shall take place without
her consent.”
“Is the good lady old?”
“Yes, she is ninety-seven and lately
her health has given us much anxiety.”
“You say she is not in want?” -
“Ah, Monsieur, she is very rich, and
I have good reason for believing that
her fortune is even greater than we
suppose.”
“Where does she live?”
“Monsieur!” exclaimed Achille,
springing to his feet in evident excite-
ment, “Monsieur, what town is that
I5 I


The Inn of the Silver Moon
upon the left bank? Yes, surely there
is the church! It is, it must be—l”
“That is Aix-sur-Ouse.”
“I knew it! I was certain! There,
my friend, just below the church is the
red roof of my grandmother's cottage.
Ah, little does she know, good soul,
how near her beloved Suzette is pass-
ing!”
“Do you mean the long roof with the
two chimneys?” asked the captain,
breathing audibly.
“No, Monsieur, the smaller one a
little to the right. It is a humble cot-
tage, for grandmother is very econom-
ical.”
“Do you think that it would be well
to stop?”
“Ah, Monsieur, think of your busi-
ness. There will be time enough when
we come back; everything can be set-
tled in an hour.”
“Do you think we could see her now?”
I52


The Inn of the Silver Moon
peared wore the puzzled expression
common with persons recently roused
from slumber, but she clapped her
hands and cried:
“Ah, the dear grandmother, what joy
to see her! and the dear grandfather
too!”
“Grandfather!” ejaculated the cap-
tain.
“His grave is in the cemetery beside
the church,” said Achille, softly.
The captain lifted his hat and the
Countess wiped her eyes.
“I cannot think of him as gone,” she
said.
>k # * # >k *
“Steady! Back a little! Jump off
and catch the rope! Monsieur, the
landing is made!”
After an earnest consultation between
the prospective brothers-in-law it was
decided that the impatient lover should
remain on his vessel until the old lady
I54
~



IX
Guided by eight native children and
a resident goat, no market place is
difficult to find, and it was not long be-
fore the travelers, emerging from the
shadow of the church, uttered exclama-
tions of joy at the sight of a small red
omnibus standing before the inn. Its
seated passengers and exalted driver
announced the moment of departure to
be near, and upon the door of the
vehicle were the two words, GRESLIN
—AIX. - -
Tossing a handful of copper coins to
the expectant escort, Achille lost no
time in pre-empting the seat behind the
box, which had fortunately been left
vacant by the peasant patrons of the
line, and almost before he could turn to
I57


The Inn of the Silver Moon
red-tiled roof of the captain's dreams,
and even the tower of the church were
lost behind the trees. It was a pleasant
land of haystacks and hamlets through
which they rode, a land of cattle and
children, of dogs and hollyhocks; and,
in spite of some little uncertainty
concerning the future, the spirit of
homewardbound came over the
travelers, and they chatted gaily of
past experiences as folks who near
their journey's end. Achille was
amusing at the expense of the captain,
and the Countess showed him the cork
of the bottle that she had taken from
the cabin for a souvenir. Then he
asked her to tell him the secret of the
peasant girl in the railway carriage.
“She is my foster sister,” said the
Countess, “who happened by good for-
tune to be on her way this morning to
attend the christening of her brother's
child, with her entire wardrobe in a
I59


The Inn of the Silver Moon
black basket. Of course, she would do
anything for me, and sometime I shall
send her a new frock.”
“At the next village,” said the coach-
man, who had been making the most
of the rare experience of passengers
unfamiliar with the road, “one can buy
barley sugar manufactured at the con-
vent.” -
“And what is the name of the place?”
inquired the lady, politely.
“St. Ives.”
“You have now made the circuit of
the Department,” said Achille, laugh-
ing.
“Dear me, is that all? And the Lady
of the Aroostook went half around the
world!” -
“The barley sugar is to be bought at
the baker's; shall I stop?” asked the
driver.
“On no account,” cried the Countess,
“I hate barley sugar.”
16o


The Inn of the Silver Moon
As they passed beneath a long white
wall she showed Achille the tops of
trees that shaded the cool green alley
where the Saints stood, the figure on
the chapel roof that was better than a
lightning rod, and the window from
which she had watched the haymakers
during the hour of private meditation.
“I do believe,” she cried, “that Sister
Marie-Joseph is still trying to make that
wretched little crocus grow in a broken
tooth mug.” It seemed to her that she
had been away a year.
“Dear me, he is going to stop!” she
whispered, a moment later, clutching her
companion's arm, “please don't let
him.” -
“I cannot pass the Post Office,” pro-
tested the driver who had overheard,
“and besides there appears to be a lady
who wishes to get on . . . Whoa, my
children! . . . Mount here, Madame,
it is the only place.”
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The Inn of the Silver Moon
“You can take her on your way
back,” suggested the Countess hurriedly,
but the next instant she had sprung
from her seat, and seemingly without
aid of the steps, alighted on the road
just as the veiled head of a nun arose
upon the other side.
“Don’t wait for us,” gasped Achille,
as he made haste to follow, “this is
where we live!”
“Well!” exclaimed the Countess, still
panting, as, from a distance, they
watched the omnibus drive away, “that
is what I call a narrow escape!”
“I suppose you wished to avoid the
nun,” reflected Achille, doubtfully, “but
she seemed to have a gentle face.”
“You don't know Sister Marie-
Joseph,” replied the Countess, adding,
“Oh! was it not fortunate that I saw
her in time to get off.”
“Very,” assented the other, warmly,
as he looked about him, comprehending
I 62


The Inn of the Silver Moon
in a glance the ten small houses of the -
hamlet. “Very fortunate indeed!”
They moved aimlessly and in silence
beside the white wall, and for a time the
young man's brow was wrinkled in
perplexity, then, glancing at his com-
panion, he saw that there were tears in
her eyes, and asked humbly if he had
said anything to offend her.
“No,” she answered, mournfully, “but
I know exactly what you are think-
ing.” -
“I was thinking,” he protested, “of
nothing more terrible than that those
distant trees must mark the course of
the little river Loup, and that by the
path along the shore my house is not
two kilometers from St. Ives. I have
often heard the chapel bell.”
“I knew it!” cried the Countess,
wiping her eyes, “you were saying to
yourself that if I would only walk up to
the convent gate and knock, you could
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The Inn of the Silver Moon
go home in peace and be rid of me
forever.”
“Mademoiselle!
“Yes,” she went on, her voice broken
with suppressed sobs, “you wish me to
go back to prison, and that is why you
have brought me here instead of for-
warding me to Paris, when you could,
by grande vitesse.”
“Mademoiselle,” replied the young
man, proudly, “I have sworn not to
leave you until you are in the wigwam
of your people.”
To this she made no answer, but,
presently, when they came to a lane at
the end of the wall, she said, laughing:
“I am going to take one peep at
them through the keyhole of the little
gate; you wait here and call me if any
one should be coming.”
So saying she ran a few steps along
the lane, and as she bent to carry out
her purpose he turned again to the
22
164


The Inn of the Silver Moon
highway; but, before a minute of the
watch had passed, he fancied that he
heard a cry and wheeled about. The
Countess had vanished.
Achille sprang to the gate and shook
it violently, but without result. Then,
looking through the keyhole, he saw
figures in the distance moving toward
the convent in obedience to the sum-
mons of a bell.
Refraining from further demonstra-
tion (for had the Countess been
entrapped it was improbable that she
should still be within hearing), Achille
leaned against the wall and tried to
decide how others, more experienced
than himself, would set about a rescue,
involuntarily turning in his perplexity
less to Uncas than to Pierre Rabot.
“Adieu, je pars!
Plus de retard!
Mais j'ai l'espoir
De vous revoir!
22
165


The Inn of the Silver Moon
as he opened the gate, “Good eve-
ning.”
The garden appeared deserted to
Achille as, long loaves under each arm
and a large brioche carried carefully in
both hands, he advanced with stealthy
steps amid the sweet smelling shrub-
bery, but in the Alley of the Saints he
came upon two figures in whispered
consultation—the Baroness de Brazos
and, to his great relief, the Countess!
“Ah,” said the elder lady, scarcely
looking at him, “the baker has a new
boy. Just tell your master, “no rolls
this evening,"—he will understand,”
but the Countess clasped her hands and
gave a cry of pleasure.
“I am so fond of brioche!” she said
in explanation.
For an instant their eyes met.
“Oh, save me!” she said tragically,
“save me a great big piece l’’ Then
turning to her companion she remarked
I68


X
The silence was profound in the
refectory where all the ladies stood in
respect for the good abbess as she
passed, and Achille glanced furtively
about, hoping to give the Countess some
mute assurance of his discretion; but
he could not find her in the group, and
began to fear that, ignorant of his fate,
she might find herself unprotected be-
yond the walls.
The Mother moved rapidly, and they
now traversed a gloomy corridor which
ended in a large apartment dimly
lighted by stained glass windows, and
filled with book shelves.
“And now,” said the Abbess sadly,
as they paused in the shadow of a pil-
lar, “what have you to say for your-
self?”
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The Inn of the Silver Moon
“This way if you please.”
Straight through the great front door
they passed, and in another moment
Achille stood blinking in the light of
day, with the free fields spread out be-
fore him, but his guide did not allow
him to stop till they had turned an
angle in the convent wall. Then as
she threw back her veil, he heard a
familiar laugh, and a welcome voice
exclaimed:
“Well, Monsieur Vifour, what do you
think of me now?”
“I thought at first,” he answered,
restraining an impulse toward untimely
demonstration, “that you were the di-
rectress of the Torture Chamber.”
“Oh, I am so glad I frightened you!”
she cried with charming frankness.
“I walked right past them all; this is
the second best habit of Sister Marie-
Joseph.”
“I am sure that it is very becoming,”
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The Inn of the Silver Moon
“What place is this P’’ she asked as
she entered laughing.
“This,” he answered gaily, “is the
original Inn of the Silver Moon. You
will find it perfectly appointed! See
we have both soap and Javelle water.
Will Mademoiselle sit upon the washing
box or the linen barrow? Both are de-
lightfully comfortable!”
The Countess knelt down at the
water's edge and dipped her handker-
chief in the stream and beat it with the
wooden paddle after the manner of
laundresses, and when she grew tired of
the play they looked together from the
crack of the door, and he showed her
the gables of the house and told her
which wing had been built by his father,
and which by his grandfather, the colo-
nel of Napoleon. Once when there was
a sound of barking in the garden he
said—
“Jules is feeding the dogs. Listen
183


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“No,” she answered, “I shall not be
afraid.” -
“You do not ask me what I am going
to do.”
“Because I know that it is something
for me.”
Achille jingled a bunch of keys in the
dark—
“I am going,” he said, “to burglarize
my own house.”
“I do not think,” said she, “that that
could be used against you at the trial.”
185





The Inn of the Silver Moon
every day. It is unfortunate for her
purse that she still retains her figure.
Where is Paul ?”
“He has gone to the saddler's for
Boy's collar.”
“He has gone to the wine shop to
gossip! When the master returns I will
report him.”
“Ah! when he returns! Two dinners
and a breakfast! I never made a better
soufflet.”
“It was excellent,” assented Jules . . .
“Behold Madame Jane and the foolish
virgins.”
As the ladies entered the cook re-
marked cynically, “Women are fortu-
nate; they are able to forget all trouble
in the contemplation of a new gown.”
“I have a presentiment that I shall
never wear it,” sighed Madame Jane,
picking up her knitting.
“If you had only ordered it black,”
sighed the under housemaid, picking up
I88


The Inn of the Silver Moon
“Whom did you see in town P” asked
Madame Jane.
“One or two, I don't remember. I
was there but a moment.”
“Come,” said the butler, throwing
down his paper, “we all know that you
have been gossiping. It was not dig-
nified for one of us, but since you
have demeaned yourself to do it,
you may as well tell us what you have
heard.” "
“If some of us did not have ears, no-
body would know anything,” remarked
the under housemaid.
“Out with it before it chokes you,”
put in the cook.
“Perhaps,” began Paul, unable to
contain himself longer, “perhaps it
would interest you to know that the
master has been seen.”
“Where? How? When P” the others
cried in chorus.
“Oh, at several places and several
I9o


The Inn of the Silver Moon
times. First, at the buvette near the
octoir—”
“Never there?!!”
“Yes, there, and in the company of
two ladies; very chic; very blonde,
and dressed like boys with pretty
stockings—"
“Never mind the details,” interrupted
Madame Jane.
“Monsieur was amusing himself,”
chuckled the cook, “what then?”
“One of the two punctured her
bicycle, and Monsieur took them to the
Pig Market on foot, afterwards he
returned and repaired the leak himself
and rode away.”
“Monsieur does not know how to
ride a bicycle!” exclaimed the butler.
“He could not repair a lead pencil,”
said Jules.
“We do not know what he can do,”
resumed Paul. “There can be no
doubt that it was he. He wore the
I91





The Inn of the Silver Moon
The pursuers turned and fled without
a word. As they re-entered the hall,
Jules well in the lead, Paul closed the
door and drew the bolt, and the serv-
ants looked in each others' faces in
awful silence. . . - -
“Without doubt,” said the butler sol-
emnly, “something terrible has hap-
pened.”
ºk >k # × * #:
In the morning it was discovered that
the thing that had been seen was not
the wraith of Monsieur, but the clever
disguise of a burglar who had plun-
dered the house. In the master's room
the safe stood open, and the master's
closets had been ransacked; his English
portmanteau had gone, his hat box and
his jewel case. Not content with this
rich booty, the villain had entered the
housekeeper's room and helped himself
to the choicest treasures of Madame
Jane's wardrobe; her new gown from
196


They entered a fiacre.





The Inn of the Silver Moon
Paris; her hat with parrot feathers, and
her russet boots.
From the boat house the punt was
missing, and it was surmised that the
thief had poled his way by star light
along the reedy reaches of the little
river Loup, but at the railway station it
was learned that only two passengers
had taken the midnight express, a lady
who was dressed like a Parisienne and
a gentleman who looked English, and
had a cold that required close atten-
tion; only the lady spoke French.
“Doubtless Americans,” remarked
the mayor.
* # >k # * >k
In the morning a well-dressed gentle-
man, carrying an English portmanteau,
and accompanied by a lady with a par-
rot in her hat, passed from the portals
of the Gare St. Lazare and entered a
fiacre.
“Allez, cocher,” said the gentleman.
I97


Printed by R. R. Donnelley
And Sons COMPANY At the
LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.


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