3 182;? 01098 0241
 
 LIB'? ' 3Y 
 
 UNIVtRSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 3 1822 01098 0241
 
 ' It is for the love of Christ that I am here and speak to you." PAGE 218.
 
 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 A STORT OF THE 
 
 WALDENSES, 
 
 SEVEN HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 BY 
 
 E. E. JJALE. 
 
 BOSTON 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
 1903
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 
 
 PROPRIETORS OF " OLD AND NEW," 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 Copyright, 1887, 
 BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 Copyright, iqoi, 
 
 BY EDWARD EVERETT HALE. 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS: 
 JOHN WILSON & SON, CAMBRIDGE.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. FELICIE 5 
 
 II. JEAN WALDO 21 
 
 III. THE FLORENTINE 32 
 
 IV. UP TO THE HILLS 60 
 
 V. LOST AND FOUND 80 
 
 VI. THE CHARCOAL-BURNER ..... 89 
 
 VII. JOHN OF LUGIO 103 
 
 VIII. THE TROUBADOUR 144 
 
 IX. CHRISTMAS EVE ........ 196 
 
 X. CHRISTMAS DAWNS ....... 228 
 
 XI. TWELFTH NIGHT 246 
 
 XII. THE WHOLE STORY 259 
 
 APPENDIX 267
 
 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 FELICIE. 
 
 FiLiciE was the daughter of Jean Waldo. She 
 was the joy of her father's life, and the joy of the 
 life of Madame Gabrielle, his wife. She was well 
 named Felicie ; for she was happy herself, and she 
 made everybody happy. She was a sunbeam in 
 the house, in the workshops, in the court-yard, and 
 among all the neighbors. Her father and mother 
 were waked in the morning by her singing ; and 
 many a time, when Jean Waldo was driving a hard 
 bargain with some spinner from the country, the 
 mere sight of his pretty daughter as she crossed 
 the court-yard, and the sound of her voice as she 
 sang a scrap of a hymn or of a crusading song, 
 would turn his attention from his barter, and he 
 would relax his hold on the odd sols and deniers
 
 6 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 as if he had never clung to them. By the same 
 spells she was the joy of the neighborhood. The 
 beggars loved her, the weavers loved her, she could 
 come and go as she chose even among the fullers 
 and dyers, though they were rough fellows; and 
 there was nothing she could not say or do with 
 their wives and children. When the country spin 
 ners came in with their yarn, or the weavers with 
 their webs, they would wait, on one excuse or 
 another, really to get a word with her ; and many 
 was the rich farm in the valley to which Fe'licie 
 went in the summer or autumn to make a long 
 visit as she chose. Fe'licie was queen of her fath 
 er's household and of all around. 
 
 On one of the last days in December, Fe'licie 
 was making a pilgrimage, after her own fashion, 
 to the church of St. Thomas of Fourvibres. The 
 hill of Fourvieres is a bold height, rising almost 
 from the heart of the old city of Lyons. And Fd- 
 Ucie liked nothing better than a brisk scramble to 
 the top, where, as she said, she might see some 
 thing. This was her almost daily " pilgrimage." 
 She gave it this name in sport, not irreverent 
 For, as she went, she always passed by old women
 
 IN HIS NAME. 7 
 
 who were making a pilgrimage, as they do to this 
 hour, to the church of St. Thomas (now tLe church 
 of " Our Lady "), which was supposed, and is sup 
 posed, to have great power in saving from misfor 
 tune those who offer their prayers there. Feli- 
 cie in passing always looked into the little church, 
 and crossed herself with holy water, and fell on 
 her knees at an altar in a little chapel where was 
 a picture of St. Fe'licie lying on the ground, with 
 a vision of Our Lady above. The Fe'licie who 
 was not a saint would say " Ave Maria " here, and 
 " Our Father who art in heaven," and would wait 
 a minute upon her knees to " see if her Father had 
 any thing to say to her ; " and then would cross 
 herself again, and, as she passed the great altar, 
 would kneel once more, and so would be out in 
 the fresh air again. 
 
 This was almost an every-day occurrence. On 
 this day Fe'licie waited a little longer. Among a 
 thousand votive offerings in the church, hung 
 there by those who were grateful for an answer to 
 their prayers, she saw to-day two which she had 
 never seen before. They were pictures, not, 
 to tell the truth, very well painted. But to
 
 8 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 the finer or coarser art was a matter of very little 
 account. Each of them represented a scene of 
 preservation in danger. In one of them, a young 
 girl, hardly older than Felicie herself, was to be 
 seen, as she safely floated from a river which bore 
 the ruins of a broken bridge ; in the other, a 
 young knight on horseback received unhurt the 
 blows of five terrible Saracens. The Holy Mother 
 could be seen in the clouds with a staff on her 
 arm, turning off the lances of the Paynim. Fdlicie 
 looked a moment at this picture, but long, very 
 long, at the other. 
 
 The disaster which it represented was one 
 which the girl had seen herself, and which had 
 made upon her an impression for her life. Only 
 the year before, Richard the Lion-hearted and 
 Philip Augustus of France had come to Lyons to 
 gether, each with a splendid retinue of knights 
 and other soldiers, on their way to the crusade. 
 The Archbishop of Lyons was then really an in 
 dependent prince, and with all the dignity of an 
 independent prince he had received the two kings. 
 There had been much feasting. There had been 
 a splendid ceremony of high mass in the cathedral,
 
 IN HIS NAME. 9 
 
 and at last, when the two armies had recruited 
 themselves, it was announced that they were to 
 take up their march to the Holy City. Of course 
 all Lyons was on the watch to see the display. 
 Some were in boats upon the river; some were 
 waiting to see them cross the bridge ; some walked 
 far out on the road. Girls with flowers threw them 
 before the horse of the handsome English king, 
 and priests in splendid robes carried the banners 
 of the churches and sang anthems as they went. 
 And all Lyons, young and old, was sure that in 
 two or three short months this famous host would 
 be in the City of our Lord ! 
 
 Alas, and alas ! Hardly had the two kings 
 themselves crossed the bridge, and a few of their 
 immediate attendants with them, when, as the great 
 crowd of towns-people pressed in upon the men- 
 at-arms, all eager to see the show, they felt 
 beneath their feet a horrid tremor for one mo 
 ment, and then first one length of the bridge, 
 and then, in terrible succession, two others, gave 
 way, and the whole multitude soldiers, horses, 
 men, women, and children were plunged into 
 the Rhone below. The torrent was fast, and
 
 10 IN HIS 
 
 swept the ruin of timbers and the mass of strug 
 gling people and beasts down in horrible confusion. 
 The boatmen on the river did their best to rescue 
 one and another, but were themselves in danger 
 almost equal to that of those who were struggling 
 in the water. The kings turned their horses and 
 rode to the shore, but were as powerless as chil 
 dren to help or even to command. And so, in 
 one short hour, this day of glory and of victory 
 was shrouded as in clouds of darkness. 
 
 It seemed a miracle, indeed, that only a few. 
 were drowned in the chaos ; but of those who were 
 rescued, many were maimed for life, and there was 
 not a house in Lyons but had its own tale of dan 
 ger and suffering. 
 
 The picture which Fe'licie stopped to look at in 
 the church of St. Thomas represented this calam 
 ity, and the preservation, by what was called 
 miracle, of Gabrielle L'Estrange, a god-child of 
 Fe'licie's mother. For herself, Fe'licie had seen 
 the breaking of the bridge from the safe distance 
 of her eyry on the mountain. The girl had wisely 
 seen that even her father's good-will could not do 
 much for a child like her in the crowd She had
 
 IN HIS NAME. II 
 
 declared her determination to see the whole ; and 
 while others went into the streets to see the ar dies 
 pass them, Fe'licie had perched herself on the very 
 top of the hill Fourvieres, where she could see 
 every company join in the cortege, where she 
 could hear the blast of music come up to her from 
 the plain. 
 
 As she sat here, as the army began to cross the 
 river, the girl had been instantly conscious of the 
 great disaster. She could see the companies in 
 the rear break their ranks and rush towards the 
 stream. She could see the dust of the ruin rise 
 above the river, and could hear the hoarse shout 
 ing of people screaming and commanding. She 
 had guessed what the calamity was, and had 
 hurried home to meet only too many stories of 
 personal sorrow. Before night they had known 
 how Gabrielle had been nearly lost, and how she 
 had been saved. And all the mingled memories 
 of that day of glory and of grief came back to Fe' 
 licie again, now that she saw the picture of her 
 playmate's preservation. 
 
 She left the little church, crossing herself again 
 with the holy water, a little more thoughtful than
 
 12 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 she entered it The " problem of evil " crossed 
 her mind j and she asked herself why the Virgin 
 should interpose to save Gabrielle, when others 
 were left to perish. But she did not ask this with 
 bitterness. She knew there was answer some 
 where. And as she climbed yet higher up the 
 hill, and came out on the glories of her eyry, 
 the wonders of the winter prospect more beau 
 tiful than ever, as she thought swept away all 
 memories of death or sorrow or doubt ; and the 
 child wrapped her thick shawl round her, as she 
 sat beneath the shelter of a friendly wall, with the 
 full sunlight blazing on her, to wonder for the 
 thousandth time on the beauty of the panorama 
 beyond and below. 
 
 There are who say that no view in France can 
 equal it ; and I am sure I do not wonder. At 
 her feet the cheerful city lay between the rivers 
 Saone and Rhone, which meet here, just below her. 
 The spires and towers of the cathedral and the 
 churches, even the tallest columns of smoke, as 
 they rose in the still air, were all far, far below 
 the girl on her eyry. Beyond, she could see at 
 first large farms with their granges, their immense
 
 IN HIS NAME. 13 
 
 bay- stacks, their barns, and their orchards. She 
 could pick out and name one and another where 
 at the vintage and at harvest she had made pleas 
 ant visits this very year. Further, all became 
 brown and purple and blue and gray. Sometimes 
 on a hill she could make out a white church-tower, 
 or the long walls of a castle, just some sign 
 that men and women and happy girls like herself 
 lived there. But Felicie's eye did not rest so long 
 on these. Far above and still beyond oh, how 
 far beyond ! was her " old friend," as the girl 
 called Mont Blanc. And to-day he had his rosy 
 face, she said. The sunset behind her was making 
 the snow of the mountain blush with beauty. And 
 nothing can be conceived more dreamy and more 
 lovely than this "vision," as Felicie called it, 
 which even she did not see five times in a year 
 from her eyry; and which many a lazy canon 
 and abbot, and many a prosperous weaver like 
 her father, and many a thrifty merchant in the 
 town, had never seen at all. 
 
 " Good-evening, dear old friend," said the girl, 
 laughing, as if the mountain could hear her ninety 
 miles away, "good-evening, dear old friend
 
 14 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 You are lovely to-night in your evening dress. 
 Will you not come to my Christmas party ? Thank 
 you, old friend, for coming out to-night to see me 
 I should have been very lonely without you, deai 
 old friend. There's a kiss for you ! and there's 
 another! and there's a feather for you, and 
 there's another ! " And she threw into the west 
 wind two bits of down, and pleased herself with 
 watching them as they floated high and quick 
 towards the mountain in the east. "Good-by, 
 dear old friend, good-by. Mamma says I must be 
 home at sunset Won't you speak to me ? no 
 matter ; all the same I know you love me. Good- 
 by ! good-by ! " And so she tripped down, think- 
 .ng to herself as she went that everybody and 
 every thing did love her, which was very true , 
 thinking that for her, indeed, God's kingdom 
 seemed to have come, and his will to be done on 
 earth as it was in heaven. And the shadow, if 
 it may be called a shadow, of the horrors depicted 
 in the church of St. Thomas was all swept away. 
 Down she tripped again by the open church, 
 and one after another beggar at the door blessed 
 her as she said, "God bless you." Down she
 
 IN HIb NAME. I $ 
 
 tapped by the convent walls, and wondered how 
 the gardens within could be half as beautiful as 
 the world without. And she wondered if the sis 
 ters here climbed up the bell-tower and looked off 
 on the eastern horizon to see her old friend, and 
 whether they knew how friendly he was to those 
 who loved him. Down she tripped by one zigzag 
 path and another, known to her and to the goats 
 and to none beside ; and so, before the sun was 
 fairly down, she had nodded to Pierre the weaver, 
 and had stopped and spoken to Ronet the dyer, 
 and had caught up and kissed the twin babies 
 who could hardly tottle along the road, whom 
 Marguerite the wife of young Stephen was leading 
 along ; she had said a merry word to half the 
 workmen and half their wives, and had come into 
 the court-yard, and had pushed back the stately 
 heavy oak door, and stood in the hall of Jean 
 Waldo's comfortable house. 
 
 Her mother came running out from the kitchen 
 wing to meet the girL And Felicie ran up to kiss 
 her as she entered, as was her pretty way. And 
 Mistress Gabrielle thought, as she had thought a 
 thousand times, that nobody in the world was a*
 
 16 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 pretty as Fe'licie, and also that Fe'licie never had 
 looked as pretty as she did at that very moment 
 This also had Madame Gabrielle thought a thou 
 sand times before. The girl's tightly-fitting tunic 
 was of fine white woollen. But the cape, as in 
 those days the mantle began to be called, also of 
 woollen, was of the brightest scarlet, and, as she 
 had wound it round and round her head, she be 
 came a Red Riding-hood indeed. Her cheeks 
 glowed with life and health as she came running 
 in from the frosty air, and the sharp contrast of 
 her dress was none too bold for a complexion so 
 brilliant It was the very impersonation of life 
 and joy. 
 
 " Fe'licie, my child, I have been asking for you. 
 It is St. Victoria's night, you know, and I am 
 giving to them all their Christmas medicine." 
 
 " Medicine for me, my dear mother ! " And 
 truly the child seemed to need medicine as little 
 as the larks. 
 
 " Of course, dear Fe'licie. Has there been a 
 midsummer or a Christmas since you were born 
 in which I did not give you your medicine ? And 
 go is it, thanks to the blessed Virgin and to St
 
 IN HIS NAME 17 
 
 Fe'licie, that you are so fresh and so well. I have 
 given to your father and to all the men their 
 gentian. I have given to all the women their St. 
 Johnswort, and here is a nice new bottle of the 
 mixture of lavender and rosemary, which I brewed 
 for you when you were away with the Landrys. 
 I have it all waiting." 
 
 Fe'licie knew by long experience that there was 
 no good in argument Indeed the child was too 
 much used to doing what her mother bade to make 
 argument at any time. This was but a gulp o* 
 two of a disagreeable taste, and she knew there 
 would be waiting a honey-cake and an orange 
 after it. So she kissed her mother, ran upstairs 
 and put away cape and wimple and girdle, and 
 came downstairs singing : 
 
 My lady came down from her pretty gay room, 
 
 In the hall my lady sat down ; 
 Her apron was heaped with the roses in bloom, 
 
 And her fingers braided a crown, crown, crown 1 
 And her lingers braided a crown t 
 
 "But, mamma! how much there is of it I 
 uever had so much before ! " 
 " Darling, you are older now. You have passed 
 2
 
 1 8 TN HIS NAME. 
 
 your second climacteric." Mistress Gabriellfc 
 could be learned when she chose. 
 
 "But, mamma, it tastes horridly. It nevei 
 tasted so badly before." 
 
 " Dear child, drink it right down. Here is 
 your orange, to take the taste away. Perhaps it 
 is a little stronger than we have made it The 
 leaves were the very best I ever saw." 
 
 And the dear child made a laughing face of 
 disgust, and then gulped down the bitter mixture 
 as she was bidden. 
 
 But then all light faded from her face. With 
 agony such as her mother never saw there, she 
 screamed, " O mamma, dear mamma ! it burns 
 me, it burns me ! you never hurt your darling 
 BO before!" And with sobs she could not re 
 press, she hid her face in her mother's bosom, 
 crying out, " Oh, how it burns, how it burns 1 " 
 
 Mistress Gabrielle was frightened indeed. She 
 tore open the orange, but there was little comfort 
 there. She sent for oils and for snow, and for 
 cold water from the very bottom of the well. But 
 the child's agony seemed hardly checked; and 
 though with a resolute will she would choke dowr
 
 IN HIS NAME. 19 
 
 her groans that she might not terrify her mothei, 
 it was impossible for her to check the quivering 
 from head to foot, which was a sign of the torture 
 of mouth and throat and stomach. Mistress 
 Gabrielle called for Jeanne and Marie, and they 
 carried the poor child to her bed. They put hot 
 cloths upon her. They warmed her feet and her 
 hands. They made smokes of gums and barks 
 for her to breathe. They tried all the simple and 
 all the complicated arts of the household. One 
 and another neighbor was hurried in, and each 
 contradicted the other, and each advised. 
 
 One or other of the more powerful applications 
 would give a moment's relief, but only a moment's. 
 Tears which she could not check would roll dowo 
 Fe'licie's cheek to show her inward torture, and 
 that terrible quiver which Mistress Gabrielle 
 learned to dread so horribly would come in with 
 every third or fourth minute. Once and again 
 she had sent for Jean Waldo, her husband. But 
 none of the lads could find him. Night had 
 closed dark around them, and he did not return. 
 It was then that she took the responsibility which 
 she had never taken before, and sent for tho
 
 20 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 young Florentine doctor, whose shop, next th* 
 cathedral, attracted the wonder and superstition 
 of all the neighborhood. " Bid him come, Adrian, 
 on the moment 1 Tell him that my daughter is 
 dying, and that he has not a moment to lose. 
 For the love of Christ, beg him to come on the 
 instant." Dying' The word struck new terror 
 in the whole panic-swayed household. Everybody 
 had been in distress, but no one had dared think 
 or say that the darling of them all, but just now 
 so strong and so happy, could die 1 Least of all 
 had Mistress Gabrielle permitted herself to think 
 it. But now all her pride of simples and com 
 pounds has gone, all the scorn with which she 
 had defied one or another leech as she walked by 
 them in the street Niobe before Apollo was not 
 more prostrate. She knew that it the Florentine 
 was to render any help, it must be rendered right 
 soon. And so, with a calmness of despair at 
 which she wondered herself, she sent word to him 
 that her daughter was dying.
 
 IN HIS NAMh. 21 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 JEAN WALDO. 
 
 Git LIO, the Florentine doctor, came down the 
 street with the boy who had been sent for him, 
 and with a blackamoor who bore a great hamper 
 which contained his medicines and his instru 
 ments. As they rapidly approached the doorway 
 they overtook Jean Waldo himself, slowly walking 
 the same way. Till they spoke to him, the father 
 was wholly unconscious of the calamity which had 
 fallen on his child. 
 
 If you had told Jean Waldo that afternoon, as 
 he sat in the Treasurer's seat at the guild -meet 
 ing, that, in after times, his name of Waldo would 
 be best known to all people, in all lands, because 
 his kinsman, Pierre Waldo, bore it, he would have 
 been much amazed, and would have taken you for 
 a fool. Kinsmen they were, there was no doubt of 
 that. Nobody could look on their faces nay, even
 
 32 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 on their eyes or their beards, or on the shape of then 
 hands or their finger-nails, and not see that there 
 was near kindred between them. " We are both 
 from the valley of Vaud," Jean Waldo used to say 
 when people questioned him. But he was not 
 pleased to have them question him. He had taken 
 good care not to mix himself up with Pierre Waldo's 
 heresies. " Why does he want to trouble himself 
 about the priests?" said Jean Waldo. "Why 
 does he not do as I do ? I take care of myself, 
 and I let other people take care of themselves. 
 Why cannot Pierre Waldo, my kinsman, if he is 
 my kinsman, do as I do ? " And so Jean Waldo 
 went on in his prosperous way. He squeezed 
 down the spinners who brought yarn to him. He 
 squeezed the weavers who brought him webs. 
 He kept a good company of the best workmen in 
 his shops, and he had forty looms of his own, with 
 his own weavers. He put up linen cloths for 
 market more neatly and handsomely, the traders 
 said, than any man in Lyons, and so he prospered 
 exceedingly. "This is what comes," he said, 
 " of minding your own business, and letting othel 
 people's business alone."
 
 IN HIS NAME. 23 
 
 Pierre Waldo, the kinsman of whom Jean spoke 
 with such contempt, and who is now remembered in 
 all the world where the Christian religion is known, 
 had been a prosperous merchant in Lyons. But 
 Pierre Waldo was not one of those who went to 
 mass only because the priests bade him. He 
 went to the mass because God had been good to him 
 and to his, and he wanted to express his thanks. 
 He was glad to express thanks as other people 
 did and where they did. He had always had a 
 passion for reading, for in his boyhood his mother 
 had taught him to read. And when, one day, a 
 parchment book came in his way, which proved 
 to be an Evangelistary, or copy of the Four Gos 
 pels, in Latin, Pierre Waldo began to try to read 
 this, and with wonder and delight which cannot 
 be told. Father John of Lugio, the priest whom 
 he knew best, an honest man and an humble 
 priest, was willing to help Pierre as he could 
 about the Latin. And there was not so much 
 difference in those days between Latin and the 
 Romance language which half Pierre Waldo's 
 customers used, that he should find it hard to 
 B-.ake out the language in which the book was
 
 24 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 written that so excited him. When Father John 
 saw how much pleasure Pierre Waldo took in 
 such reading, he was glad to show to him, in the 
 church and in the vestry, other parchments, in 
 which were Paul's letters and the Book ot the 
 Revelation. And at last Pierre had seen the 
 whole of the Old Testament also, and he and 
 the good priest had read some parts of the Old 
 Law. 
 
 Who shall say whether this knowledge of the 
 Bible could ever have come to any thing with 
 Pierre Waldo, but for a terrible incident which 
 made its mark on his whole life ? He and the 
 other merchants of his section of the town used 
 to meet each other very often at little feasts, in 
 which they showed their hospitality and wealth at 
 the same time, in the elegance of the service, the 
 richness of the food, and in the choice of the good 
 old wine. A party of them were together one 
 night at such a feast in the house of Robert the 
 Gascon. They had eaten a hearty supper. The 
 wine had passed freely, and one of the company, 
 favorite v/ith all of them, had sung a love song 
 such as the romances of the day were full ofc
 
 IN HIS NAME. 2$ 
 
 The glasses clattered in the applause, and one 
 and another of the guests bade him sing it again. 
 But for some reason Walter, the singer, declined. 
 The moment he said " No," William JaL an ol 
 and near friend of Pierre Waldo, who was sitting 
 at his side at the table, rose and said, with a loud 
 laugh, " You shall sing it, Walter ! " And he 
 brought his fist down on the table, and with this 
 terrible oath he went on, 
 
 " By God, you shall sing it, Walter, or I will 
 nevei taste wine again ! " 
 
 Hardly had the awful words left his mouth when 
 the expression of his face changed in sudden 
 agony. He seemed to try to balance himself at 
 the table for an instant, and then fell dead upon 
 the floor. 
 
 From that moment Pierre Waldo was a new 
 man. In the night of horror which followed this 
 scene of mockery and revel, in his wretched efforts 
 to comfort the widow to whom they carried the 
 cold corpse home, and the poor children who 
 were waked from their beds to look upon it, 
 in that night: of horror Pierre Waldo had chance 
 to look forward and to look backward. And ha
 
 26 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 did so. From that time forward his reading of 
 the Gospel was no mere literary amusement He 
 copied it for his own use ; he translated it for his 
 neighbors' use. He found that other men, anx 
 ious and pious, had already felt as he began to 
 feel, that all the people had a right to parable, 
 to psalm, and to the words of the blessed Master. 
 One after another of his customers brought him, 
 from one and another town where they travelled, 
 bits of Paul or Matthew or Luke which had been 
 translated into the vulgar language. Pierre 
 Waldo's home and his warehouse became the 
 centre of those who sought a purer and simpler 
 life. For himself, after that dreadful night with 
 the fatherless children and their mother, Pierre 
 Waldo said he would give all he had to the poor. 
 Whoever was in need in Lyons or in the country 
 round came to him for advice and for help, and 
 they gained it. If they came for food, they had 
 food, always they found a friend. 
 
 Almost all the company of merchants who were 
 with Pierre on that night joined him in this service 
 of those that were in need. The company of 
 them began to be called, and called themselves,
 
 IN HIS NAME. 27 
 
 the "Poor Men of Lyons." They had no new 
 religion. Their religion was what they found in 
 the Saviour's words to the young nobleman, to 
 Peter the fisherman, and to Mary Magdalene. 
 And so taken were they with these words, that 
 they read them to all who came for help to them, 
 and were eager to copy them out in the people's 
 language, and give the copies to all who would 
 carry them into the country. 
 
 Almost at the same time, Francisco of Assis* 
 was moved in much the same way to give up all 
 he had to the poor, and to preach the gospel of 
 poverty. If these two men had come together 1 
 But it does not appear that they ever heard each 
 other's names. 
 
 No ! At that time Lyons was governed wholly 
 by the great religious corporation which was 
 known as the Chapter of St. John, under the 
 Archbishop, who was in fact a prince, and as a 
 prince governed the city and the country at his 
 will. When he found that the merchants were 
 entering on the business of distributing the Script' 
 ures aud reading them to the people, the Arch 
 bishop and the Chapter forbade it. The " Pool
 
 28 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 Men of Lyons " must leave that business to th* 
 clergy. 
 
 Pierre and his friends were amazed. They 
 went to the Holy Father at Rome, and told him 
 what their work was. He was well pleased with 
 it, gave them his approval, but told them they 
 must not preach without the permission of the 
 Archbishop and Chapter. This permission those 
 great men would not grant to the " Poor Men.' 
 They refused it squarely. 
 
 Refused permission to make the words of the 
 Lord Jesus known ! It was at this point that 
 Pierre Waldo and the Poor Men of Lyons broke 
 away from the priests and the Pope. " They 
 have abandoned the faith," he said ; " and we 
 ought to obey God rather than man." 
 
 This was the signal on which the Archbishop 
 and the Chapter drove Pierre Waldo out from 
 Lyons, and all those who followed him. His 
 house and his warehouses, all his books that they 
 could find, they seized, and he and his had to take 
 flight into the mountains. 
 
 This was the reason why the prosperous Jean 
 Waldo, the master-weaver, the father of the pretty
 
 IN HIS NAME. 29 
 
 F^licie, was not well pleased when men asked 
 him if he ar.d Pierre Waldo were kinsmen or no. 
 He did not want to be mixed up with any " Poor 
 Men of Lyons." Not he. He was not one of the 
 poor men of Lyons, and he did not mean to be. 
 Pierre Waldo was in a good business, he said ; 
 there was not a merchant in Lyons with better 
 prospects before him, when he took up with his 
 reading and writing, his beggars, his ministers, 
 and all the rest of their crew. And so Jean 
 Waldo would come out, again and again, with his 
 favorite motto : " I take care of myself, let them 
 take care of themselves. If Pierre would have 
 stuck to his own business, he would not be hiding 
 in the mountains there." 
 
 Such was the man who, as he slowly walked uj 
 the hill just now, thought himself above all need 
 of asking a service from any man in this world. 
 He would not have recognized Giulio the Floren 
 tine this very afternoon, if they had passed each 
 other, though he knew the man's face perfectly 
 well. If you had asked him why he did not salute 
 such a man, or even show a consciousness of his 
 existence, Jean Waldo would have said,
 
 30 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 " I take care of myself ; let the Florentine take 
 care of himself. My business is not his, and his 
 is not mine." 
 
 But now, as has been said, in the narrow street, 
 the Florentine and his servant, and the boy 
 Adrian, who had been sent to summon him in hot 
 haste, overtook the dignified master-weaver, as he 
 walked home slowly and complacently. The Flor 
 entine had no little pride, and he might have passed 
 the Treasurer of the Weavers' Guild with as little 
 sign of recognition as when they passed on the 
 morning of that very day. But the boy Adrian 
 recognized his master, and in an instant told him 
 the sad news. With some difficulty J can Waldo 
 was made to understand that his treasure and 
 delight, his own F&icie, who only at dinner-time 
 had been so happy and so lovely, was dying, or 
 seemed to be dying, in the home he left so little 
 while before. 
 
 After this it was not Jean Waldo who walked 
 slowly in that party. He seized the great basket 
 which the black servant bore, and fairly compelled 
 him in his energy to go faster. He poured ques 
 tion upon question out as to what had happened
 
 IN HIS NAME. 31 
 
 upon the Florentine, who was of course wholly 
 unable to answer him. And thus the breathless 
 party arrived together, under the heavy archway 
 of the court-yard of Jean Waldo's house.
 
 32 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 THE FLORENTINE. 
 
 THE young physician whom Madame Gabrielle 
 had summoned to the rescue, was a native of the 
 city of Florence, and he had not been so long a 
 resident of Lyons but that he was still called " the 
 Florentine." At that time the profession of a 
 physician, as a distinct calling among men, was 
 scarcely known. The clergy were expected to 
 know something of the cure of disease, and in 
 some instances they really attained remarkable 
 skill in its treatment 
 
 But with the knowledge of Eastern art which 
 had come in with the first and second crusades, 
 and with the persistent study of those naturalists 
 whom we call alchemists, a wider and more scien 
 tific knowledge of the human frame and its mala 
 dies was beginning to take the place of old 
 superstitions and other delusions. And thus it
 
 IN HIS NAME. 33 
 
 happenecr that here and there was a man who, 
 without being a priest on the one hand or a barber 
 on the other, had gained the repute of understand 
 ing disease and of the power of keeping death at 
 bay. Such a man was Giulio the Florentine. 
 
 He moved quickly and with a decided step. 
 He spoke little, and always after a moment's 
 pause, if he were questioned. It seemed as if he 
 spoke by some sort of machinery, which could 
 not be adjusted without an instant's delay. What 
 he said was crisp and decided, as were his steps 
 in walking. It was impossible to see his manner 
 even of crossing the room, or of arranging his pa 
 tient's head upon the pillow, without feeling confi 
 dence in him. " I felt as if there were a prophe* 
 in the house," said Mathilde, one of the maid-ser 
 vants, who had been sent for hot water into the 
 kitchen, and in that minute took occasion to re 
 peat her hasty observations to the excited party 
 assembled there. 
 
 When he entered the sick-room, it was more 
 than an hour after Felicie had drained to the bot 
 tom the beaker which Madame Gabrielle had 
 filled full of the bitter decoction. The burning 
 8
 
 34 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 pain of the first draught had passed away or had 
 been relieved by some of the palliatives which had 
 been given. But the second stage was if possible 
 more terrible than that of the agony of the begin 
 ning. On the pretty bed where they had laid her, 
 in the chamber which the child had decorated with 
 the various treasures which she had acquired in 
 her wanderings, she would lie for a few minutes 
 as if insensible, and then would spring up in the 
 most violent convulsions. She threw herself from 
 side to side without knowing any of those who 
 tried to soothe her, and who were forced to hold 
 her. A few minutes of this violence would be 
 followed by renewed insensibility which seemed 
 almost as terrible. 
 
 Just after one of these paroxysms, her mother 
 was wiping away the frothy blood which burst 
 from the poor child's nostrils, when the Florentine 
 entered the room. She made place for him, in a 
 moment, by the bed ; and, with that firm hand of 
 the prophet, which struck Mathilde with such awe, 
 be felt his patient's forehead and then the pulse 
 in her wrist. Then he examined, one by one, 
 the simples which the mother and her neighbors
 
 IN HIS NAME. 35 
 
 had been administering by way of emetic and of 
 antidote. From his own hamper, with the aid of 
 the blackamoor, he supplied the places of these 
 with tinctures of which the use in medicine wa 
 then almost wholly new of which he knew the 
 force and on the results of which he could rely. 
 He applied and continued the external applications 
 which the eager women were making to the poor 
 child's body. But having noted, in about two 
 minutes, which of these various assistants had a 
 head, and never spoke, he then banished from 
 the room, with a kind dignity that nothing could 
 resist, all the others, except the poor mother. He 
 crossed to the window, and, though the night was 
 so cold, he admitted a breath of the winter air. 
 Then he came back to the bedside, and, with the 
 courtesy of a monarch, asked Madame to tell him 
 all she could of the tragedy. With the courtesy 
 of a monarch he listened to her rambling story, 
 still keeping his hand on the forehead or on the 
 pulse of his patient. Madame Gabrielle, with the 
 tears running down her cheeks, plunged into the 
 account of what had happened; and to all she 
 said he gave careful heed, never once attempting
 
 36 IN HIS NAME 
 
 to check her, even in the wildest excursions which 
 she made to the right or to the left, into " dit- 
 elle " and " dit-il " and "je disais" " says he " and 
 "says she" and "says I." He seemed to know 
 that with all her tackings, even if she "missed 
 stays " sometimes, she would come by her own 
 course best to her voyage's end. 
 
 It was not till this whole story was over that he 
 asked to see the diet-drink, as Madame called it, 
 which had worked all this misery. But at that 
 moment his poor patient started in another spasm 
 of these terrible convulsions. 
 
 Then was it that the balance and steadiness of 
 the " prophet " showed itself as it had not shown 
 itself till now. He seemed to control even her 
 almost by a word, as none of the chattering or 
 beseeching of those whom he had sent away had 
 done. When he held her, he held her indeed, so 
 that she did not even struggle against his grasp ; 
 when he bade her open her mouth to swallow the 
 sedative which the black brought him at his direc 
 tion, the poor delirious child obeyed him as she 
 would obey a God ; and under such control the 
 crisis passed, her mother said, much more easily
 
 IN HIS NAME. 37 
 
 and quickly than that of half an hour before. 
 Still there was the same bloody froth upon her 
 Ups and nostrils, there was the same deadly pal 
 or as of a corpse ; and the haggard aspect which 
 came at once over the face seemed to Madam* 
 Gabrielle and her two waiting women more terri 
 ble than ever. The Florentine noted the pulse 
 igain, as the exhausted child sank back, and 
 counted the rapidity of her breathing. Then for 
 the first time he began his examination of the 
 poison. 
 
 He tasted it, once and again, as fearlessly as it 
 it had been water or wine. If he were puzzled, 
 or if he were distressed by what he learned, he 
 did not show it in any glance of those black eyes, 
 or in the least change of any other feature. He 
 turned to Madame Gabrielle again to ask her when 
 it was brewed, and where she had obtained the 
 materials. 
 
 The answer was as voluble as before, and was 
 not, alas, very helpful. The good dame's custom, 
 for years upon years, ever since she was a mar 
 ried woman indeed, had been to go on St. 
 John's Day and on St. Margaret's Day and on the
 
 38 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 Eve of the Assumption and on Halloween, to col 
 lect the various ingredients which were necessary 
 (or the different home medicines of a household 
 so large as hers. Rosemary, wild lavender, Mary's 
 lavender, tansey, rue, herb-saffron, herb-dittany, 
 motherwort, spearwort, maid's-wort, and St. John's- 
 wort, herb-of-heaven, herb-of-winter, poison-kill, 
 and feverfew, she named them all glibly. And 
 tf the expert shuddered within as he thought of 
 'die principles which were hidden under these 
 names, repeated so recklessly by an ignorant 
 woman, he did not show his anger or vexation. 
 And this year, as usual, she said she had gone 
 out on the Eve of St. John's Day, surely he knew 
 that spearwort and herb-of-heaven and herb-dit 
 tany were never so strong as when you gathered 
 them on the Eve of St. John's Day, if the moon 
 were at the full, and again she went out, with 
 the two bay horses on the St. Margaret's Day at 
 e'en, and came back with three large baskets full 
 of simples. So she did on Assumption Eve. But 
 when it came to Halloween she confessed that she 
 was kept at home, watching the conservation of 
 some peaches. The accident for accident of
 
 IN HIS NAME. 39 
 
 course there was must have happened then. 
 She had sent out Goodwife Prudhon, who certainly 
 ought to know. If any one knew any thing about 
 the simples of the valley, it was Goodwife Prud 
 hon. It was she who brought in the bark and the 
 roots of the autumn, which the dame herself had 
 not collected. And for the brewing itself, Oh ! 
 that was on St. Elizabeth's Day and St. Cecile'a 
 Day. The posset indeed was mixed of decoctions 
 which were not six weeks old. 
 
 Could she bring him any of the roots or bark 
 which Madame Prudhon brought her, or had she 
 used them all. 
 
 Oh ! Madame Gabrielle was quite sure she had 
 not used them all ; and she retired, to search for 
 what might be left, to her own sanctuary, not 
 sorry, perhaps, thus to avoid for the moment the 
 presence of her wretched husband. He had been 
 Bent away from the room on some errand which 
 had been made for him by the ingenuity of the 
 Florentine, and it was only at this moment that 
 he returned. 
 
 So in poor Fe*licie's next paroxysm of convul 
 sions it was Jean Waldo who obeyed the Floren
 
 40 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 tine's orders. And in that crisis the Florentine 
 took his measure also, and learned what manner 
 of man he was. The father was as firm as the 
 physician. He knew his place too, and he obeyed 
 every direction to a letter. It was piteous to see 
 how he sought for a recognition from his daughter, 
 which she would not give. But whether he hoped 
 or despaired, the poor man could obey. He 
 brought what the Florentine bade him bring. He 
 stood where he bade him stand. With a hand 
 as firm as the physician's, he dropped the drops 
 of the sedative from the silver flask in which it 
 was kept. And with a hand and arm as steady 
 he supported the pillow on which she was to fah 
 back after she had taken it. The paroxysm was 
 shorter and less vehement than those before it. 
 t it seemed to be checked, rather from the ex 
 haustion of the patient, than from any relaxation 
 of the disease. Jean Waldo himself knew that 
 flesh and blood could not long abide racking so 
 jerrible. 
 
 As she sank back to rest, the Florentine 
 counted her pulsations and the rate of her breath 
 ing as carefully as he did before. He took from his
 
 TN HIS NAME. 41 
 
 pocket a silver ball, opened it by a screw, and drew 
 from the interior a long silken cord, one end of 
 which was attached to it. At the other end was a 
 small silver hook, and this the Florentine fastened 
 high in the curtains of the room opposite to where 
 he was sitting. He had thus made a pendulum, sev 
 eral ells in length, and he set it to swinging sol 
 emnly. He returned to the child's bedside, and, 
 with his hand upon her heart, noted the wiry, 
 stubborn pulsations, and compared their number 
 with the vibrations of the ball he had set in 
 motion. Once and again he bade Jean Waldo 
 strike the ball for him, when its original motion 
 was in part exhausted. 
 
 While they were thus occupied, poor Madame 
 Gabrielle, the guilty or guiltless author of so 
 much wretchedness, returned. Her apron was 
 full of herbs, barks, powders, and roots, tied up 
 in separate parcels, and each parcel carefully 
 labelled. The Florentine took them, one by one, 
 tasted each, and made a note of the name of each, 
 the blackamoor holding his inkhorn for him that 
 he might do so. The mother by this time was 
 twed into silence, and never spoke till she was
 
 42 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 spoken to ; but when she was asked, she was con 
 fident in her replies. They were able without the 
 least doubt to lay out upon the table the bark, the 
 two parcels of leaves, and the white roots which 
 had been steeped and soaked, boiled and brewed, 
 in the preparation of the " diet-drink." 
 
 As if he had to adjust his speaking apparatus 
 with a little " click," or as if he disliked to speak 
 at all, the Florentine said to the father and the 
 mother, " Here was the Goodwife Prudhon's 
 blunder. She thought that she had here the root 
 of Spanish maidenwort. She did not see the 
 leaves; I suppose they had dried up and were 
 gone. But it is the root of hemlock-leaved 
 cenanthe, what the peasants call snake-bane. 
 Juba, bring me the parcel of cenanthe." H<; 
 showed to the father and mother that Goodwifo 
 Prudhon's maidenwort was, in fact, the most 
 dreaded poison in his repertory. 
 
 "And is there no antidote?" asked the fathei, 
 BO eagerly. 
 
 "The antidote," said the physician, kindly, "w 
 to do what your wife has tried to do, to throw 
 uut from the dear child's body what by such mi*
 
 IN HIS NAME. 43 
 
 fortune has been put in." And he said one word 
 to comfort the poor blunderer. "Well for her 
 that she was at home, and that her mother was at 
 hand." Then he added, reverently, "God only 
 knows how much is left in her stomach of this 
 'decoction ; but she drank enough of it to have 
 killed us all, had not her mother's promptness 
 compelled her stomach to throw off the most part 
 of the poison." 
 
 And this was all that he seemed disposed to 
 say. The father and the mother weie both in too 
 much awe of him to dare to question him. With 
 the lapse of every half-hour he would bid one or 
 the other of them set his silver pendulum in mo 
 tion, and he would note carefully the pulse of the 
 girl, entering on his note-book a memorandum of 
 his observation. But neither Jean Waldo nor his 
 wife dared ask if there were improvement or 
 decline. He renewed from time to tune the 
 applications which had been made to the child's 
 feet and legs and stomach. From time to time 
 she started again in the terrible convulsions. 
 But these were shorter and shorter, and more and 
 suure infrequent, either from the power ot his
 
 44 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 medicines, or from some change in the action ol 
 the poison. Jean Waldo thought that the physi 
 cian regarded the reaction from the paroxysm as 
 more alarming than the struggle itself. But who 
 could tell what that man of iron thought, or did 
 not think; felt, or did not feel? The poor 
 father knew that very probably he was but imag 
 ining that the Florentine showed his own anxie 
 ties. And who was he to ask him ? 
 
 At midnight the girl started up in one of these 
 spasms of agony ; and at this time she spoke with 
 more connection of ideas than any of them had 
 been able to trace before : " This way 1 this way ! 
 Gabrielle, dear Gabrielle, do you not hear me, 
 my child ? It is Fdlicie, your own pet, Gabri 
 elle 1 Never fear! Never fearl I have spoken 
 to Our Mother, to Our Lady, you know! That 
 is brave, my own little cousin, that is brave. 
 Care 1 Care ! See that heavy timber ! Oh how 
 good 1 Oh how good ! She is quite right, quite 
 right. All safe, all safe." And as she sighed 
 out these words, she rested from the most violent 
 and passionate exertion, as if she had been hard 
 at work in some effort, which the Florentine did 
 v>t in the least understand.
 
 IN HIS NAME. 45 
 
 It was the first time that he ever seemed to 
 make any inquiry regarding her symptoms, and 
 he looked his curiosity rather than expressed it 
 Madame Waldo was relieved at having a fair 
 opportunity to speak. " Gabrielle is her cousin, 
 my sister Margaret's oldest daughter, if you please. 
 Fe'licie is fond Oh, so fond of Gabrielle. And 
 she thinks Gabrielle is in danger. Oh yes ! Oh 
 yes ! See, she thinks the bridge is breaking, and 
 that Gabrielle is in the water. Your reverence 
 remembers, perhaps, that the Holy Mother saved 
 Gabrielle and so many more when the bridge 
 went down." But by this time the physician, 
 only bowing civilly as he acknowledged her volu 
 ble explanations, was counting the pulse-beats 
 again, and by a motion directed Jean Waldo to 
 renew the vibration of the pendulum. 
 
 Was he perhaps a little more satisfied with his 
 count and comparison than he had been before ? 
 Who can tell ? for none of the foui attendants in 
 the darkened room dared to ask him. 
 
 And then he sent Jean Waldo away. The 
 wretched father begged that he might stay, but 
 the Florentine was as flint Madame Gabrielle
 
 46 IN HIS NAMh. 
 
 and one of her maids would give him all the 
 assistance he wanted besides what his own man 
 could render him, and more. Indeed, he would 
 send her away also, he said, in an aside, but that 
 he knew it would kill her to go. At last he pitied 
 the poor beseeching father so much that he prom 
 ised to let him come in, an hour before daybreak, 
 and take his wife's place at the bedside of his 
 child. Jean Waldo went because he was bidden. 
 His strong, selfish will gave way before the strong, 
 unseLish will of this stranger. Prophet indeed ! 
 This prophet worked the miracle of commanding 
 Jean Waldo, and he saw that he obeyed him. 
 
 Long before it was light, however, the heart 
 broken father, who had slept not a wink in the 
 dreary hours between, came to claim the right of 
 taking his turn. And now he and the Florentine 
 sent Madame Gabrielle away, weak as she now 
 was from her wretchedness and her watching and 
 her anxiety. Yes ! The night had given but little 
 of encouragement. The paroxysms of convulsion 
 were, it is true, more and more seldom ; but the 
 prostration after them was more and more terri 
 ble. It seemed too clear now to the mother that
 
 IN HIS NAME. 47 
 
 the child was too weak for nature to rally from 
 the struggle of the paroxysm. Nor did she in the 
 least regain her consciousness The black feat 
 ures and strange look of the servant did not sui 
 prise her, nor did her mother's familiar face call 
 the least look of recognition. In the intervals of 
 rest, her rest was absolute. She saw nothing, said 
 nothing, and seemed to hear nothing then. When 
 she roused to these horrid battles the delusion 
 was now one thing and now another. She saw 
 the sinking bridge, or she was talking to some 
 lame beggar woman so fast that they could hardly 
 catch her words, or she was throwing kisses and 
 waving her hand to her dear mountain far away, 
 or she wa ? running down the side of the hill of 
 Fourvieres that she might be sure to arrive at 
 home in time to meet her father when she came 
 down to supper. In these delusions the wise 
 physician humored her. But she seemed to have 
 no knowledge of him nor of any of them, nor any 
 consciousness of their presence. The phantoms 
 before her -were all she saw or heard. And they 
 vanished as strangely and as suddenly as they 
 came. In the midst of one of these quick ha 
 rangues to them, she would sink back on the
 
 48 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 pillow, which the black held ready for her, as if 
 she were too completely exhausted and prostrate 
 with the exertion to utter another syllable. 
 
 It was just after one of these visions, and the 
 paroxysm accompanying it, that Jean Waldo re 
 turned, and that his wife was sent away. It 
 seemed that the resolute man had been nursing 
 resolution in his night-watch in the passage-way, 
 and that he was resolved to know the best or the 
 worst ; that he would command the young man to 
 tell him all that he could tell him. He set the 
 pendulum in motion as he was bidden ; he filled 
 with hotter water a jar for the child's feet to rest 
 upon, and exchanged for it that which was on the 
 bed ; he spread the napkin at her mouth, as the 
 Florentine fed her from an elixir, which, as Jean 
 Waldo saw, was not the same which they used at 
 mi'dnight. Then when she rested and all was 
 still, he said, firmly, 
 
 "Tell me the worst, sir. Is the child dying 01 
 living? I am not a fool." 
 
 The Florentine looked up and said, after the 
 moment of preparation, " If I thought you were a 
 fool, you would not be in the room with my patient. 
 You know all that I know, because you have eye?
 
 IN HIS NAME. 49 
 
 to see. These paroxysms of agony are less fie- 
 quent The last interval was nearly twice as long 
 as the first was, I should think. She is wholly 
 free from pain too, and her pulse, though it beats 
 so quick, beats with a more reasonable edge than 
 when I came in. But her strength is failing all 
 the same. Her breath is quicker ; and if the in 
 terval is longer, it is because nerve and muscle 
 and life, whatever that is, cannot rally to the 
 struggle as they did in the evening. She is at the 
 omnipotent age, and her life has been strong and 
 pure as an angel's. Were it not for that she 
 would have been dead before now." And the 
 silent man paused, but paused as if he would like 
 to say something more. 
 
 For this "something more" the distressed 
 father waited ; he thought he waited an eternity 
 but it did not come. " Can you not say any thin<j 
 more ? " he said, miserably. " What is it that we 
 are doing ? What are these elixirs and tisans ? Is 
 not there somewhere in God's world, some potion 
 do you not call it an antidote which will pul 
 out this poison as water puts out fire ? " 
 
 " Is there not ? Is there ? " said the Florentine 
 4
 
 50 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 setting the click of his talking apparatus more 
 resolutely if possible than before. " If there is, 
 the wit of man has not discovered it. How should 
 it ? The water which puts out the fire is the same 
 water which drowns the sailor. For aught you 
 and I can tell, this root, of which the decoction 
 seemed liquid flame when your daughter drank it, 
 may give life itself to some fish or beast or bird 
 for which the good God made it. All that we do, 
 my friend," it was the first time he had used 
 those words in that house, " all that we do is to 
 undo what we did wrong before. We have tried 
 to rid her system of this wretched decoction, and 
 now we are trying to give time, whatever that is j 
 and nature, whatever that is ; and life, whatever 
 that is, the chance to do their perfect work. 
 We can do nothing more. The good God wishes 
 and means to save health and strength and joy 
 and abundant life. So much we know ; and 
 knowing that, in the strength and life of a pure 
 child of His, like this girl, we hope, and have a 
 right to hope." 
 
 "Is this all?" said the father sadly, aftei 
 another pause, in which he thought the Florentine
 
 TN HIS NAME. 51 
 
 wanted to say more. " Is this all ? What is the 
 tisan, what is the mustard on her stomach, what is 
 the rubbing, what is the hot water at her feet, 
 what is the elixir in your phial?" 
 
 " Ah well ! " replied the expert, after a longer 
 pause than usual perhaps, in what seemed like 
 the adjustment of his machinery ; " what is it in 
 deed ? It is our poor effort to quicken and help 
 from the outside the processes of this nature which 
 is so mysterious in the beautiful machine. The 
 hot water at her feet keeps them more near to the 
 warmth which nature gives. My master taught 
 me that when the foot and arm and leg are fully 
 warm, each movement of the heart drove easily a 
 tide of the blood of life itself through them all. 
 You can see that the warmth of the jar should 
 make that process easier for this poor heart which 
 finds its work so hard. Ah well ! it seems as if 
 we helped it more by the friction of these cloths, 
 so long as we do not annoy her by it, and as if 
 these sinapisms wrought in the same way. We 
 think we know that, within her system, tinctures 
 which we have tried give the same help to a 
 life which is too weak. Perhaps they enable some
 
 52 IN HIS NAME, 
 
 part of her nervous system which the poison has 
 not reached to act for the good of the part that it 
 first affected." 
 
 Then the talking apparatus seemed to fail the 
 expert. He opened his mouth once and again ; 
 he then said " I " once or twice, but seemed to 
 reconsider his determination, and to determine 
 that he would add nothing more. 
 
 " But we are so well, and she is so faint there. 
 Is it not strange that I cannot give her of this 
 fresh blood of mine, or from my life, five years, 
 ten, twenty ? I would give them gladly." 
 
 " Ah, my friend," said the expert, without a mo 
 ment's pause this time, " do not speak as if we gave 
 any thing or did any thing. It is God who gives, 
 and God who takes. All that you and I can do is 
 so to adjust and so to relieve, and perhaps so to 
 help this poor frail machine, that the breath of life 
 God gave it may be able to work His work. You 
 would give your life for hers, I do not doubt it 
 For one, I would have given my life once for the 
 brother who was dearest to me. My master 
 opened the vein which you see scarred here, and 
 with a silver tube he drew the healthy, fresh blood
 
 TN HIS NAME. 53 
 
 Irom my young life into the failing veins of his 
 ebbing life. But it could not be, my friend," he 
 added, after another long pause. " His life was 
 his, and mine was mine. Perhaps in another 
 world our lives may be closer, and we may be 
 made perfect in one." It seemed as if this confi 
 dence with the father broke some spell which had 
 been on the adept's tongue before. He sat still 
 for a few minutes, with his hand upon the girl's 
 heart, then rose and went round the bed, and at 
 her back listened for her breath, and felt again 
 the heat of his water jugs. Then as he resumed 
 his seat, he said, half aloud : 
 
 "I wish my master were here!" It was the 
 first wish he had expressed, the first intimation 
 that he and his horrid blackamoor and the great 
 hamper could not produce every thing which hu 
 man wit could suggest in the exigency. 
 
 Jean Waldo jumped eagerly at the suggestion. 
 
 " Your master ? Who is he ? where is he ? Let 
 me send, let me go, let me beg him to come I Will 
 money buy him ? Here is enough of that 1 What 
 are gold and silver to me, if this child die ? " 
 
 " Has not this night taught you, sir, that life is
 
 *54 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 something that men cannot buy or sell?" The 
 adept spake if possible more proudly than ever. 
 " Know, sir, the reason why my master was not 
 first at this child's bedstead, with all his skill and 
 tenderness and experience. It is because he cared 
 for the Poor Men of Lyons, more than the rich 
 men of Lyons." 
 
 Then there came one of those queer clicks in 
 his talking machinery, as if he were too indignant 
 to say more. But he went on : 
 
 " Your priests yonder, with their bells and their 
 masses, and their feasts inside their convents; 
 your famous chapter and your famous bishop could 
 not bear to have the ' Poor Men of Lyons ' fed or 
 laught, and so they drove my master away, and 
 your kinsman away, and you know how many 
 others. Men say and I believe that it was because 
 these men knew Holy Scripture better than they 
 knew it, and because they loved the poor better 
 than they loved them. This is certain, that these 
 men went about doing good, that they fed the 
 hungry and gave drink to the thirsty, they took 
 the stranger into their homes and they ministered 
 lo the sick and those that were in prison, they
 
 IN HIS NAME. 55 
 
 brought glad tidings to the poor and comfort to 
 those in sorrow. I do not know much of Holy 
 Scripture, but I always supposed that this was the 
 pure Gospel. It was not pure enough for your 
 oriests, and so the liege lords of Lyons drove 
 those men away. That is the reason why my 
 master is not at your daughter's bedside." 
 
 The young physician stopped short, as if he 
 had let his indignation run further than was wise 
 A wretched feeling, a sickness at heart swept over 
 Jean Waldo, when he remembered how often he 
 flad said to these men who were in exile with his 
 kinsman, that they would have been wiser to have 
 minded their own business. Of his kinsman him 
 self he had said, once and again, " If he would 
 only mind his own concerns, all would be well.' 
 Now Jean Waldo began to see that he did want 
 some one to take care of him and his, and that 
 this grand selfishness of his was only fitted for 
 ths times of high prosperity. 
 
 " Is your master beyond all recall ? " he said, a 
 dim notion crossing his mind that he had heard 
 some of the rich burghers say that the " Poor Men 
 of Lyons " were hiding in the mountains
 
 56 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 u I have not seen my master for years,'' replied 
 the Florentine, thoughtfully. " His home is in the 
 Brevon caves, among men who have never be 
 trayed him, beyond Cornillon and St. Rambert." 
 
 " St. Rambert," said the father, eagerly, " St 
 Rambert, it is close to us, a miserable six hours 
 away. I have horses in these stables that would 
 take me there in six hours." 
 
 The adept looked uneasily at the child, when 
 her father spoke of six hours, as if he would say, 
 " and where will she be when six hours only are 
 gone ? " But he did not say this. He said, " My 
 master is not at Cornillon, he is in the valley of 
 the Brevon beyond. Still, as you say, that is not 
 so far away." 
 
 " Send for him ! send for him ! " cried the 
 father; "send for him if you have one ray of 
 hope 1 " And the eagerness both of his attitude 
 and his voice would have moved a harder listener 
 than the Florentine. It seemed as if the child 
 herself was conscious of what passed. She moved 
 her head a little on the pillow and a sunny smile 
 floated over her face, the first expression except 
 that of agony or anxiety which the adept had seen 
 there
 
 IN HIS NAME. 57 
 
 " If you will send, I will write," said the adept j 
 and he whispered to the black, who brought to 
 him from a case in the hamper a strip of vellum 
 already folded for a letter. 
 
 " Have you a trusty man whom you can send 
 with this ? Bid your grooms saddle the horse, 
 and he needs to be your best, while I am writing." 
 
 Jean Waldo asked nothing more but to be doing 
 something, and at the word left the room. 
 
 The Florentine wrote : 
 
 " Here is a child dying because she has drunk a de 
 coction of hemlock-leaved cenanthe. I think there was 
 also the milky blush mushroom or the Picardy peaus- 
 siere in the decoction. Come if you can help us. 
 
 41 For the love of Christ. GIULIO. 
 
 And in the middle, at the bottom, he drew with 
 some little care the symbol known as the Cross 
 rtf Malta.
 
 5 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 He added, " We have no moment to lose. Be 
 fore daybreak of St. Ives." 
 
 Meanwhile the father had hurried down the 
 dark passages, out into the court-yard, past the 
 workshops to the room where Hugh Prinhac, the 
 most resolute of the weavers, slept ; a man who in 
 street fights had again and again led the weavers' 
 apprentices in their victories over the dyers. 
 
 He knocked at the door, and knocked again 
 and again till he heard a motion within. To a 
 gruff " Who's there ? " he gave his name in reply ; 
 and in an instant the astonished journeyman threw 
 the door open for his master. 
 
 "Prinhac, my daughter is dying. The only 
 man that can save her is this Italian, who is only 
 five hours away. Prinhac, as you love me, take 
 his parchment to the master, and bring him." 
 
 Prinhac was but half awake perhaps. The 
 enterprise was not attractive, nor did it seem as if 
 his employer counted very wisely when he relied 
 on such love as the weaver bore him. Prinhac 
 asked some hesitating question. 
 
 " For the love of Christ, do not stay to argue,* 
 laid the poor old man.
 
 IN HIS NAME. 59 
 
 Without knowing it, he had struck a chord in 
 using the sacred words, and in an instant the 
 weaver was ready for any duty. " Who stays to 
 argue ? " said he. " Do you see that your black 
 stallion is saddled, and by the tune the horse is 
 here, I will be ready to mount. Love cf Christ 
 indeed 1 And who says I tarry when I am invoked 
 
 IN HIS NAME ? "
 
 60 77V HIS NAME 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 UP TO THE HILLS. 
 
 SURE enough, the weaver stood on the step (rf 
 the door, booted and spurred, when the trembling 
 old man appeared with his lantern leading out 
 Barbe-Noire from the low gateway of the mews. 
 It was long since Jean Waldo had saddled and 
 bridled a horse for himself, but he had not forgot 
 ten the arts of his boyhood, and the Arab needed 
 no care because his master was his groom. At 
 the same moment Giulio, the Florentine, appeared 
 from above, and as Prinhac mounted promptly, 
 Giulio put his hand over the mane of the horse, 
 and almost in a whisper, though they three were 
 all alone in the night, he gave the young fellow 
 precise directions where and how Lugio was to be 
 found, and delivered his missive. Prinhac bent io 
 the saddle, listened carefully, and repeated the 
 directions to be sure that he had not mistaken them.
 
 IN HIS NAME. 6l 
 
 "Never fear me, then!" he said, spurred his 
 Horse, and was away. 
 
 " He must cross the bridge before sundown," 
 cried poor Jean Waldo to the rider, himself 
 startled as he remembered how narrow was the 
 range thus given. 
 
 "Nevei fear," was still the cheerful answer, 
 and Prinhac disappeared into the night. 
 
 The ride across the narrow peninsula which 
 parts the Saone from the Rhone, and is to-day 
 covered by the most beautiful part of the city of 
 Lyons, took but a few minutes, and the rider 
 was soon at the long, narrow bridge over the 
 larger river, which had been temporarily con 
 structed, by the direction of Richard of the Lion 
 Heart, after the ruin of the year before. "The 
 old man bids us return before sunset. He has 
 forgotten that I have started before sunrise." 
 This was the thought which amused Prinhac, so 
 that even a smile curled over his hard face as he 
 rode up to the gateway of the bridge. 
 
 The truth was, that no passage was permit 
 ted before sunrise, under the sharp orders of 
 the Viguier. But many things were done in the
 
 62 /A r HIS NAME. 
 
 priest-governed city of Lyons, which neither VI 
 guiers nor Seneschals nor Couriers nor the Chap 
 ter nor the Bishop suspected. And this the reader 
 will see. 
 
 " Hola ! Who commands the guard ? " cried 
 Prinhac. " Turn out ! turn out I Is this the way 
 our bridges are watched ? " 
 
 A sleepy sentinel appeared. 
 
 " Hola ! who commands the guard ? " cried the 
 fearless weaver again. 
 
 "And what is that to you?" replied the sen 
 tinel, throwing his halberd forward in carte. 
 "If you see the guard, it ought to be enough 
 for you." 
 
 Prinhac did not stop to argue. But the senti 
 nel, as he watched him in the dim lantern-light, 
 saw that he made in the air the sign of a Mal 
 tese Cross, and heard him say, in a low whisper, 
 " Send me the officer of the guard 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 Sign and whisper were enough. The sentry 
 threw up his halberd in a military salute and was
 
 IN HIS NAME 63 
 
 gone. Nor did the rider wait a minute in the 
 cold, before the officer of the guard, fully dressed 
 in armor, passed out from the gateway and sa 
 luted. 
 
 "Can you let me pass, Mr. Officer?" said 
 Prinhac, quietly and modestly this time. "It is 
 
 for the love of Christ that I am riding." 
 "Go 
 
 IN His NAME," 
 
 was the only reply made to the weaver. The 
 officer turned, passed into the guard-house, and, 
 as if by invisible hand, the portcullis rose before 
 Prinhac, the only bar to his passage, and in a 
 moment he was on the bridge. The grate fell 
 behind him, and he was again alone. 
 
 "And how would my master have passed 
 there ? " he said to himself, half aloud. And the 
 same grim smile crept over his face, " he should 
 have asked his friend the Bishop, or our distin 
 guished boon companion the Seneschal, to give 
 him a pass that he might send into the mountains 
 for the doctor they have driven away." And then 
 aloud, " Hist, hist, Barbe-Noire 1 You are not at
 
 64 IN HIS NAM&. 
 
 Chateaudun ; this is no racecourse. You shall 
 have running enough before to-day is over. But 
 in the dark, over these rotten boats, you must 
 step more carefully, my beauty." 
 
 And so the rough fellow began musing on the 
 strange chance which had put him astride this 
 horse, which, in the judgment of weavers, spin 
 ners, fullers, and dyers, of the whole of the little 
 community indeed which found its centre in Jean 
 Waldo's court-yard, was by far the noblest horse 
 in Lyons. Nor were they far from right in their 
 judgment The noble creature had first appeared 
 there when Jean Waldo rode him back from a long 
 absence in Marseilles. What price he had paid, 
 or what debts he had forgiven for him, no man in 
 the workshops knew. But there were rumors as 
 to the wild life of the merchant who had been his 
 last owner, and of fight with the Barbary corsair 
 who had been his master before. How these 
 things might be, Prinhac did not know. He did 
 know that any groom who was permitted to cross 
 Barbe-Noire's saddle for an hour, would brag for 
 a week of that honor, and that, for his own part, 
 he might the morning before as well have wished
 
 IN HIS NAME. 63 
 
 lor the crown of Burgundy, as to have wished for 
 the permission to ride Barbe-Noire for a day. 
 
 And so the weaver was led on, as the horse 
 took surer foothold on the causeway, to ask him 
 self why his master chose him from all workmen 
 for this mission. Lucky for Jean Waldo, the man 
 thought it, that he chose as he did. " Which of 
 them would have seen that portcullis rise, as I 
 did?" Ah, Prinhac, Prinhac! perhaps more of 
 them have the talisman than you think for ! 
 
 The truth was that when the Bishop John Fine- 
 House, Jean des Belles Maisons, as some of 
 the archives call him, when John Fine-House, I 
 say, or John Fine Hands, as others call him, chose 
 to banish Peter Waldo and the "Poor Men of 
 Lyons " from his city, he strained his new-bought 
 authority more harshly than he knew. When the 
 Archbishop and Chapter had refused to the Poor 
 Men of Lyons the right to assemble in the public 
 places, or indeed anywhere, to read the gospels, 
 they had themselves possessed for only six years 
 what they had long wished for, the temporal gov 
 ernment of the city and outlying country. Before 
 the Pope of Rome had any such power in Rcme,
 
 66 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 the Archbishop of Lyons was as good as an inde 
 pendent prince in Lyons. In 1173 the Count oi 
 Forez and his son had sold out all their rights there, 
 in exchange for some lands owned by the Chap 
 ter, and eleven hundred marks of money. The 
 rulers of Burgundy had too little to do with such 
 " Counties " to interfere, and practically the Arch 
 bishop found himself a sovereign prince. The 
 town of Lyons became his fief, and all the admin 
 istration was hi his name. 
 
 One of his first acts had been the prohibition 
 of this nonsense about gospels and charity and 
 good works, about translating the Scriptures, 
 and assemblies of the people to be addressed by 
 laymen. "No Houses of Bread nor Houses of 
 God, except such as the Chapter builds 1 " And 
 one of his first victories was that which he won 
 over Pierre Waldo when he excommunicated him 
 and his, and when the Pope confirmed the excom 
 munication. For, only six years before, just as 
 Fine-House was buying his fief, Pope Alexander 
 had embraced this barefoot beggar, and had ap 
 proved his life ot voluntary poverty. 
 
 But it was one thing to drive the merchant-
 
 IN HIS NAME. 67 
 
 preacher and his friends out of Lyons, and anothei 
 to make the people forget them. There were too 
 many who had been fed by their bounty, comforted 
 by their sympathy, and taught by their zeal, who 
 were too insignificant for exile, but were too grate 
 ful to forget. The weaver Prinhac was one of 
 these ; and by the secret signals which they had 
 established among themselves, he knew that many 
 of the men-at-arms of the Chapter thought as he 
 thought and felt as he felt. It was his confidence 
 in their help which had brought him out over the 
 bridge so easily. 
 
 But in truth Jean Waldo had chosen him only 
 because he had seen that he was quick as a flash 
 and faltered at nothing. It had been, alas, not 
 from any deep religious feeling, but from the 
 agony of despair, that Jean Waldo had summoned 
 the young athlete to rise, " for the love of Christ." 
 The man had replied to the summons so fortu 
 nately made, with the reply which, to one initiated 
 into the mysteries of these "poor men," would 
 have shown that he was one who was loyally tied 
 to the teachers and friends who had done so much 
 for Lyons, and were exiled from their homes. Bui
 
 68 TN HIS NAME. 
 
 Jean Waldo was not initiated, and he had no sus 
 picion that he had made a choice so happy as he 
 had when he sent Prinhac upon his errand. 
 
 Prinhac and Barbe-Noire crossed the causeway 
 more slowly than either of them liked, but as fast 
 as the rider dared to go over an icy road in the 
 darkness. As day began to break at last, they 
 came to a point for which Giulio's directions had 
 not prepared him. He had crossed the river 
 again. The valley road, which in our tune is the 
 road always travelled, was but a half broken way, 
 little better than a foot-path. The beaten track 
 turned to the left and boldly pushed up the steep 
 hill The foot-path was stolen from the edge of 
 the hill, which here crowds close upon the Rhone, 
 Still, though it was narrow, and though, clearly 
 enough, a block of ice from the river or of rock 
 from the cliff might easily make it impassable, it 
 was so much more level and so much more direct 
 than the hill road, that Prinhac would have been 
 gLad to choose it. But he did not dare, without 
 better authority than his own guess or wish. 
 
 A miserable turf hovel stood some hundred 
 yards back from the way he had been following
 
 AN HIS NAME. 6q 
 
 on a steep slope of the hill. Unwilling to lose an 
 instant, the young man still forced Barbe-Nohe, 
 who seemed as unwilling as himself, across the 
 little turnip-patch, and bringing the horse close 
 to the very door itself, knocked loud enough to 
 waken Ogier the Dane. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 Prinhac knocked again and again. It was no 
 deserted hovel, he knew that ; and he meant that 
 no one there should sleep later that morning. 
 
 To the fourth knock, the squeaking voice of an 
 old woman answered : " Who is there ? " 
 
 " Oh," said the rider, laughing, " you have turned 
 over in the bed, have you ? I am a courier from 
 Lyons, and I want to know which is my best way 
 to Meximieux." 
 
 "Both are the best, both are the best Go 
 your way, and do not be waking honest people at 
 midnight ! " 
 
 Prinhac had played on a word in calling him 
 self a courier. A courier was indeed a carrier of 
 messages, and it was true that he was carrying a 
 message ; but in the phrase of the time, a " cou 
 rier " in Lyons corresponded to what we now call
 
 70 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 a prosecuting attorney, and Prinhac had had the 
 hope that he might frighten the old crone into an 
 answer. But he reckoned quite without his host. 
 The truth was, that she did not know the word in 
 either of its meanings. She only guessed that 
 here was some roysterer who was to be kept at 
 bay, and answered as best she could, with the ob 
 ject of getting rid of him. 
 
 Prinhac waited a moment, but found he was to 
 get no other answer. He knocked again and 
 again, but there was no answer. It was half un 
 consciously that he said then, in no loud tone, " For 
 the love of Christ, will no one show me the way ? " 
 
 And the answer was as prompt as his own had 
 been to Jean Waldo. The shutter of the hovel 
 was thrown open wide. A man thrust half his 
 body out from the window. 
 
 " Who pleads the love of Christ ? If you have 
 all day before you, take the valley ; but you take 
 the chances of having to return. If your errand is 
 haste, take the hill road. Trust me, for I speak it 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 The rider nodded, made the Cross of Malta in
 
 fN HfS NAME. 71 
 
 the air, pushed his horse down to the roadway 
 again, and began the tedious ascent of the hill. 
 
 As he rose from the fog of the valley, he turned 
 uneasily in his saddle and looked back once and 
 again to be sure what was the prospect of the 
 weather now sunrise drew near. For if this day 
 were to be stormy, if the hill paths were to be 
 blocked or obscured by never so little freshly 
 fallen snow, little hope was there that the priest- 
 doctor for whom he was sent would ever see little 
 Felicie alive. Prinhac was of a hopeful mood. 
 But he found it hard to read the signs of the 
 times in that early morning, hard indeed to per 
 suade himself that the rifted clouds which were 
 beginning to catch their glory of purple and gold 
 from the sun still concealed were only to be 
 painted clouds that day, and that there was no 
 malice behind them. "The mountain will tell 
 me," said Prinhac. " If, when I have passed the 
 castle gate, I see the white mountain, I will lay a 
 wager on the day ; but if there are as heavy clouds 
 before me as there are behind, it must go hard 
 with poor Mademoiselle Fe'licie." 
 
 And they toted up the broken hill, Prinhac and
 
 72 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 the horse. Prinhac was not too lazy nor too proud 
 to save his horse, even at this early hour, as best 
 he might At the heaviest ascent, he was off the 
 saddle and walked by the noble creature's side, 
 only playing with the thick and heavy black mane, 
 which had given to him his name. Then, with 
 out waiting for stirrups, he was on his back again, 
 and he indulged Barbe-Noire in a little gallop as 
 they crossed the flat which is commanded by the 
 castle. 
 
 The heavy square tower of the castle seemed 
 completely to block the way. But Prinhac ad 
 vanced, nothing faltering, rode close along the 
 wall, turned it, and opened on a vision of wonder 
 such as he never looked upon before. 
 
 The hill which he had been mounting com 
 mands from its highest ridge a marvellous view 
 of the valley of the Rhone. Far beneath him lay 
 the winding course of the river, flowing between 
 fields which were this morning white with hoar 
 frost The blue of the Rhone and the white of 
 the frost both revealed themselves to him through 
 the exquisite purple mist which, even at this hour, 
 was beginning to rise from the meadows. Like
 
 TN HIS NAME. 73 
 
 islands through this mist, Prinhac could see one 
 and another village, here a tower, and there a 
 square castle, he could see the spires of Lhuis 
 and St. Laurent, and far away Arandon. But he 
 did not pause to look or to wonder. He pressed 
 his horse to the point where the prospect opens 
 most to the eastward, and there, against the purple 
 and the gold of the sunrise, the sun himself 
 not having struggled yet above the mountains, 
 there he saw the monarch of them all, lying 
 purple-gray against this blazing background, with 
 out one fillet of cloud across his face, nor a wreath 
 of mist rising from his valleys. 
 
 The weaver accepted the signal he had been 
 longing for. " Ah, Monsieur Mont Blanc ! " he 
 said aloud, " you are a good friend to my Mistress 
 Fe"licie this day." 
 
 How little the good fellow thought that as lately 
 as sunset on the evening before, his young " mis 
 tress " had been throwing her kisses from the hill 
 of Fourvieres over to her " dear old friend." 
 
 And now he and Barbe-Noire were fairly in for 
 their work. More than two hours had passed 
 since he crept out of Lyons hi the darkness, and
 
 74 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 daylight must make up for the time which had 
 been lost in the creeping. Barbe- Noire was as 
 glad as he for the right to take a quicker pace, 
 and now began the real triumph of blood and 
 good temper and good breeding. It was not long 
 that the road held the high ground. As the sun 
 at last rose glorious behind the Alps themselves, 
 and the thousand ranges of castellated mountains 
 which lay against the heavy line of the Alps, the 
 descent into the valley again began. The rider 
 looked his last on F&icie's old friend, and let his 
 faithful horse take as fast a pace as he dared in 
 the descent. Once on the flats again, their pace 
 was like flying. The country children on their 
 way to morning mass looked with wonder, and 
 indeed with terror, as they saw this coal-black 
 horse, with nostrils open and eyes of fire, dash by 
 them. The rider was no knight, they could see 
 that But not even when the knights from Bur 
 gundy came through to join in the crusade had 
 these children seen such a horse or such a rider. 
 So Prinhac passed village after village, group after 
 group of church-goers, and began to feel that his 
 work was more certain of success than he had
 
 TN HIS NAME. 7* 
 
 feared, and that he should find the hidden doctor, 
 as he must find him, before noon of that day. If 
 only back in the hills there were any horse to 
 bring the doctor back who could compare with 
 this brave Barbe-Noire ! 
 
 Ah, Prinhac ! ah, Prinhac ! What says the 
 Scripture? "The race is not to the swift nor 
 the battle to the strong." As he was passing 
 through the little hamlet of Dagnieu, nodding 
 good-naturedly to a group of frightened children, 
 who were huddling together by the hedge that 
 they might be out of his way, Barbe-Noire trod 
 with his forefoot on a sheet of ice, disguised under 
 a cloud of slime which had flowed down on it the 
 day before. The horse slipped, tried to rally, 
 and lost the regularity of his pace ; slipped again, 
 brought up his hind feet on the same treacherous 
 ice, and before his master could draw foot from 
 stirrup, horse and rider had fallen heavily upon 
 the stones of the wayside. 
 
 Prinhac uttered no sound. But he was fettered 
 for the moment beneath the weight of the horse 
 and was powerless. Poor Barbe-Noire did his 
 best, his very best Is the poor fellow maimed ?
 
 ?6 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 That was Prinhac's first thought, whether ha 
 himself were maimed would appear afterwards. 
 
 Then he made outcry enough to call to his aid, 
 first a frightened girl, and then her brothers, and 
 then every man and woman of the wretched ham 
 let. Barbe-Noire had in the mean while struggled 
 to his feet. But Barbe-Noire would never bear 
 rider again. In that cruel fall the horse's slender 
 fore-leg had broken just above the fetlock ; and 
 though Prinhac and the rest tried to persuade 
 themselves that this was but a sprain, every effort 
 the poor beast made was more painful to see, and 
 it needed only the most tender touch at the place 
 where the bone was broken, to know that the 
 calamity could never be cured. 
 
 For poor Prinhac himself the fall had been as 
 hard. "I would not say a word," he said, "if 
 the horse could only move." But whether he 
 chose to say a word or no, none the less was it 
 clear that his left shoulder on which he had fallen 
 was powerless. The truth was, that his arm had 
 been wrenched from its socket by the blow. 
 
 The peasants were stupid, but were kind. One 
 and all they offeied such help as they could, and
 
 IN HIS NAME. 77 
 
 suggested this and that cabin as open to Prinhac 
 till the priest could be sent for or at Balan below 
 there was a famous farrier. If the gentleman 
 wished, Ode, here, should be sent on the gray 
 mare for him. But Prinhac listened with little 
 favor to any talk of the priest, nor did he seem to 
 care much for the farrier. " This is what I want, 
 my brave friends," he said. " I want to send a 
 bit of vellum as big as your two fingers to the 
 doctor who is in the hills beyond Rambert de 
 Joux. It is not three hours' ride. Who will go 
 there ? " 
 
 Stupidly they all listened, and no one answered. 
 There was a look of inquiry which passed from 
 each to each which would have been droll were 
 not the occasion so serious. It seemed to say: 
 " Is the man a simpleton, or does he think we are 
 simpletons ? " 
 
 " Fifty sols in silver," said Prinhac, cheerfully, 
 " to the man who will take this bit of parchment to 
 the charcoal-burner Mark of Seyssel. Who is the 
 man, or who is the pretty girl that will do it ? " as 
 his eye fell on a sun-burned maiden. " Fifty sola 
 to a man, or sixty to a g;rl."
 
 ^8 IN HIS NAMh. 
 
 But they stood as if he spoke Hebrew to them, 
 and neither girl nor man replied. 
 
 "Is there nobody," said Prinhac, discouraged 
 more by his failure than his pain, " nobody who 
 is willing to save a dying woman's life for the love 
 of Christ?" 
 
 " You should have asked that before ! " said a 
 tall, lithe man, speaking in the purest Romance. 
 He had seemed perfectly indifferent, even uncon 
 scious, until he heard these last words. "You 
 should have asked that before. Antoine, Marie, 
 take these brats home. Paul, Jean, Pierre, the 
 whole troop of you, lead this poor beast to the 
 priest's house, and groom him well. Felix, show 
 the gentleman the way to Our Lady's stile." 
 Then he turned to Prinhac, 
 
 "This is a noble horse, my friend, who has 
 borne you well ; but the Arab who is to take me 
 to your doctor can give minutes to any beast in 
 the Abbot's stables, and shall still win the crown. 
 You will find me at Our Lady's stile, ready to 
 *erve you, 
 
 IN His NAME."
 
 IN HIS NAME. 79 
 
 Sure enough, when poor Prinhac, who walked 
 Btoutly and stiffly, leaning his whole weight, as it 
 seemed, on the shoulder of this willing Felix, 
 when he came to Our Lady's stile, here was his 
 new friend mounted on a noble Arab, of the breed 
 which at that time was just finding its way into 
 Southern France from the ports of the southern 
 shore. Prinhac took from his pocket the precious 
 missive, and whispered to the workman the direc 
 tions he had received from Giulio the Florentine. 
 The villager had a little switch in his hand with 
 which he marked in the air the sign of the Cross 
 of Malta. The poor, faint weaver did the same 
 with his finger ; and they parted, the one for his 
 quick ride, the other for such comfort as he could 
 find in the cabin of Pierre Boronne.
 
 80 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LOST AND FOUND. 
 
 GUALTIER of the Mill knew every inch of the 
 way before him, knew where and how to spare his 
 horse, where to take a short cut by ways known 
 to scarcely any except the charcoal-burners, where 
 to ford a stream, and how to save a hill. So far 
 he had the advantage for this service of poor Prin- 
 hac, whose zeal had cost him so dearly. And 
 Gualtier of the Mill trusted more openly to the 
 talisman which they had both been using. As he 
 worked his way into the mountains, he had less 
 fear of any spies or tip-staves of the Bishop and 
 his crew, and did not hesitate to show the flag 
 under which he served. It happened to him, as it 
 happened to Prinhac, to come upon one of the 
 drawbridges which so often held the roadway 
 where it crossed a stream. But the moment Gual 
 tier appeared on the height above, it was enough
 
 IN HIS NAME. 8 1 
 
 for him to mark in the air with the sign of the 
 Cross of Malta, and the attendants of the bridge, 
 some sort of rural gens-d'armes known in those 
 days, ran to let it down for the rider, who ac 
 knowledged the courtesy as he passed, by saying, 
 gently, " It is for the love of Christ," and received, 
 as he knew he should, the countersign, "And IN 
 HIS NAME." The road became more and more 
 hilly, but in an hour he had made more than three 
 good leagues, and he came upon the picturesque 
 height of Meximieux just as the people from vil 
 lage and from castle had poured into the church 
 for the Sunday service of the day. 
 
 Gualtier looked round him and saw no man. 
 He rode to the church door, swung himself from 
 the horse, which he left wholly unfastened, and 
 entered in the midst of the assembly, who were 
 upon their knees. Gualtier knelt also, and joined 
 in the devotions ; but at the first change in the 
 order of the service, he noted one worshipper 
 whose white head was still hidden in his hands, 
 bent over him, and whispered "For the love of 
 Christ." The old man rose without a word, and 
 they left the church together. A moment's coa 
 6
 
 82 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 ference, and he bade Gualtier wait for him where 
 the road turns from the stable-gate of the castle, 
 he swung himself over the hedge-stile and was 
 gone. Gualtier of the Mill walked his horse to 
 the fork in the road which had been indicated, 
 and at the same moment the gray-haired village!" 
 was there with the best horse from the Baron's 
 stable. Gualtier left his own in his care, saluted 
 as before, and was gone. " It is IN HIS NAME." 
 said his new-found friend. 
 
 Two hours from Meximieux with riding so fast 
 should have brought him to the charcoal-burner's 
 hut, which had been indicated all along as the 
 station at which he was aiming. But these were 
 no longer ways for travellers. They were only 
 the paths that fagot-makers or charcoal-burners 
 had made for their convenience between rocks, 
 bushes, and trees, and which at their convenience 
 they neglected again. Gualtier of the Mill used 
 his sense as long as any man's sense could save 
 bun at all. He chose such paths as led a little 
 south of east, as he had been bidden. He got 
 a glimpse now and then of the stronghold above 
 Rossillon, passed, as he was bidden, the castle of
 
 fN HIS NAME. 8j 
 
 Vieux-Mont-Ferrand ; but at last, in a tangle of 
 low, scrubby oaks, and amid piles of rocks which 
 seemed to have been hurled together in some 
 play of ogres, no path looked promising among 
 the sheep-tracks and the traces of the feet of the 
 asses and mules, from whose charcoal loads the 
 litter still strewed the ground. 
 
 Gualtier of the Mill stopped, fairly confounded. 
 He blew a shrill whistle, and had no answer. He 
 dropped his reins on the neck of his horse, and 
 his horse stood still. He faithfully tried the path 
 way which seemed to trend most to the eastward, 
 and it led him in fifty yards distance to the place 
 where chips on the ground showed that the wood 
 cutters had taken out some saplings there, and 
 had gone no farther. He came back to the 
 " abomination of desolation," as it seemed to 
 him, sat undecided, though he knew indecision 
 was ruin, and it seemed to him a voice from 
 heaven when he heard the loud laugh of a little 
 child. 
 
 In an instant the child was hushed, and all was 
 still again. But the sound was enough for Gual 
 tier of the Mill. He pushed his horse to the placa
 
 84 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 it came from, through a close thicket ot tangled 
 cedars which he had refused to try before, and 
 after a steep descent came out on a group of a 
 dozen frightened children by the side of a brook. 
 They had been at play there, had heard his horse's 
 footsteps, and had been frightened into silence by 
 the sound. For in the lawlessness of those times, 
 the havoc made by everybody who rode on horse 
 back, whether he rated himself as knight, squire, 
 man-at-arms, or highwayman, was such that peas 
 ant children like these, in such a wilderness as this, 
 had much the same notion of such travellers as 
 had the old crone whom Prinhac had summoned in 
 the early morning. And so the older brothers 
 and sisters of this group had been trying to keep 
 the little ones silent till the horseman should 
 go by. 
 
 Gualtier of the Mill drew up his horse when he 
 saw the pretty company, and in a cheerful way 
 said, " Who is playing fox and goose here ? " 
 And the little children hid behind the bigger ones, 
 and the bigger ones hung their heads, and said 
 nothing. 
 
 " And which of you can tell me the way to thf
 
 IN HIS NAME. 85 
 
 house of Mark of Seyssel, where the road from 
 Culoz comes in ? " 
 
 The little children hid behind the bigger ones, 
 and the bigger ones hung their heads, as before. 
 
 "Now I really hoped," said the good-natured 
 miller, " I really hoped I had found one of Mark's 
 little girls ; and I really hoped she would show me 
 the way. At my home I have four girls and five 
 boys, and they all know all the sheep-tracks and al. 1 
 the horse-tracks. And when Father Antony comes 
 and says, ' Who will mount my mule and show me 
 the way ? ' why Jean runs, and Gertrude runs, and 
 Antoine runs, and Marie runs, and all of them 
 want to show him." 
 
 The miller understood the way to children's 
 hearts. But these children had been trained to 
 hold their peace among strangers. More than 
 once, as the older of them knew, had life depended 
 on their discretion ; and so stolid were their faces 
 as Gualtier of the Mill tried his seductions, that 
 even he was deceived. He fairly thought they 
 did not know what the words meant which he was 
 speaking. 
 
 He drew from his pocket the silver whist!
 
 86 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 which he had blown just before. He sprang from 
 his horse, and let the creature go at large. He 
 sat down on the ground by the youngest child, 
 and with the whistle, which was a flageolet indeed, 
 of the range of a few notes, played, for the child's 
 amusement, a little air ; and then, taking the little 
 thing upon his knee, tried if he would not take 
 the plaything. The child seemed to dread the 
 reproof of the older children, but the bauble was 
 too tempting to be resisted ; and when the pipe 
 gave out a shrill, sharp sound at his effort, the 
 little thing laughed and became more fearless, and 
 seemed more willing to be won. Gualtier followed 
 up his victory ; and in the rough dialect of the 
 Dauphin mountains, which he spoke as easily as 
 the Proven9al in which he had been talking, he 
 said again, 
 
 " It is Mark of Seyssel, the charcoal merchant, 
 whom I want to find. Mark of Seyssel has some 
 good little girls. Do you not know his little 
 girls ? I have a bright silver sol here for each of 
 them." 
 
 You are a cunning fowler, Gualtier, and you are 
 a keen fisherman. But here are fish who will not
 
 IN HIS NAME. 87 
 
 bite at every bait It is one of Mark's little boys 
 whom you have upon your knee. And that tall, 
 brave child, whose hair is braided in with a strip 
 of red ribbon, is one of his girls. But they know 
 too well that they are to say nothing of roads un 
 less they know they speak to friends. And not a 
 flash of intelligence passes "from one heavy eye to 
 another. 
 
 Then the miller wondered if perhaps these 
 oldest children, wise as he saw them to be, had 
 been trusted with secrets more precious than the 
 mere guarding of a roadway. Still speaking in 
 the mountain dialect, he said, as if he were speak 
 ing to the wind, without addressing one child 
 more than another, "This is life and death for 
 which I am travelling. A dear, loving girl will 
 die this night, if, before the sun is at noon, I do 
 not find the house of Mark of Seyssel. I wonder 
 if any one could show me his house if I asked for 
 the LOVE OF CHRIST ? " 
 
 The brown-haired girl, and the stupid boy, and 
 the other boy who held the long, peeled rod, and 
 the other tall girl who had a baby in her arms, 
 all started at the spell. The first of the four
 
 88 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 spoke in Provencal, and said, "I will lead yon 
 gladly to my father's, now I know you come 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 And in a minute more he was in the saddle 
 again ; the child was sitting across it before him, 
 he was pushing through this tangle and over that 
 ford, scrambling up a hill-side, and then threading 
 a low growth of underbrush, till, in less than a 
 mile from the point where he had lost himself, the 
 girl found voice again ; and, speaking in Proven- 
 9al as before, said, " There is my father's store 
 house." And as she pointed, on the other side of 
 a little clearing in the forest, he saw a rough 
 cabin, built half of logs and half of rough stones. 
 From a hole in the roof, quite too large, and 
 indeed of too little architectural form, to be called 
 a chimney, a volume of smoke was pouring. With 
 out this token, indeed, the loud voices of the men 
 within would have taught the traveller that the 
 charcoal-burner's hut was not deserted.
 
 IN HIS NAME. 89 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CHARCOAL-BURNER, 
 
 THE science of the iron forges in the valley 
 below had already reached some work so fine that 
 the workmen there had instructed the peasants of 
 the hills, and sent them to a separate industry of 
 burning and packing pine, chestnut, and oak char 
 coal, to be used in the manufacture of the finer 
 steels. Many a man who was part hunter and 
 part shepherd was willing to provide himself with 
 his salt, with a few nails, with iron heads to his 
 arrows, and with better pipkins and mugs than 
 they baked in the mountains, by answering the 
 demand. The rough fellows had found, however, 
 that it was better to make but one business of 
 their trade with the iron and steel men ; and so 
 now, for a generation and more, this rough cabin, 
 where Mark of Seyssel now presided, had become 
 a rendezvous for the charcoal-burners, and they
 
 90 IN HIS JVAM. 
 
 had been in the habit of storing here the full bags 
 in which they had packed their coals ready for 
 the mules. 
 
 In the middle of the cabin or hut, on an open 
 place for fire, there were piled a dozen great logs, 
 which made a cheerful point of union for the 
 group, and from which, through a great, square 
 hole in the roof, passed out the weird column of 
 smoke which first caught the eye of the trav 
 eller. Around this, sitting and lying in every 
 possible attitude, was the company of the lazy 
 peasants, getting rid of the winter day as best 
 they could. 
 
 "If you ever see Lambert this side of purga 
 tory, call me a liar. When I saw him cross the 
 old bay, with his new baldric on him, I said, 
 'Good-by, Lambert, we shall never meet again.' 
 And I said it because I knew it." 
 
 "But why do you know it, and how do you 
 know it ? " persisted the man with whom the 
 speaker was talking. He sat shaping a bow, 
 and letting the shavings of ash fall upon the live 
 coals, as he made them. " How do you know it ? 
 Here at Blon I talked with the innkeeper, with
 
 IN HIS NAME. 91 
 
 all the grooms, and with Sirand himself. They 
 all said that the Saracens would not stand the 
 first battle with our men. They said there would 
 be a new king at Jerusalem before Easter ; and 
 that long before another Christmas the Bishop 
 would be at Lyons again, King Philip in Paris, 
 King Richard in England ; and by the same 
 token the Count will be in his castle, and Lam 
 bert and Raymond and Forney and all the boys 
 would be back here, witu shells on their hats, and 
 with gold in their pockets." 
 
 " Much does Sirand know," retorted the impla 
 cable grumbler, who began : " Has he talked with 
 the Saracens ? Has their famous king, the Lord 
 Saladin, told him that thev were all going to run 
 Away at the first battle? Has he been to see 
 Jerusalem, that he thinks it a summer day's jour 
 ney to go there ? As for the innkeeper at Blon, 
 the man is a fool. The last time I was there, he 
 would have persuaded me to my face that I did 
 not not know a walnut bow from one made of ash. 
 I wish he may be choked with his own porridge. 
 And if his grooms know no more of Saladin'a 
 men than they know of Frenchmen's horses, theii
 
 92 fN HIS NAME. 
 
 tilk is not worth retailing. I tell you it is a fool s 
 errand they have all gone upon, and you will 
 never see Lambert's face again." 
 
 "Is it a fool's errand," struck in a little, !ame 
 man who sat on the other side of the fire, so that 
 the two could hardly see him, "to redeem the 
 grave of Our Blessed Lord, and Our Blessed Lady, 
 his mother, and of more saints than I could name 
 or you can count, from these misbegotten dogs, 
 heathen and sons of heathen ? Did you hear the 
 Father tell how they flayed alive that poor Mary 
 of Picardy when she went on a pilgrimage ? Did 
 you hear him tell how they built their cursed fire 
 against St. Joseph's tomb, and cracked the col 
 umns, and heaved dirt upon the stone? Fool's 
 errand, indeed! It's well for them to call it a 
 fool's errand who stay idling here at home. But 
 had I two feet to walk, or a leg to cross a mule, I 
 would not be hanging round here, throwing shame 
 on better men." 
 
 "Limping Pierre," replied the other, good- 
 naturedly, " I have heard you say that thing be 
 fore, or what came to the same end ; and, if you 
 choose, you may say it seven times more, nay
 
 IN HIS NAME. 93 
 
 seventy times seven, as the Gospel says, and I will 
 never quarrel with as good a fellow as you are. 
 but two things you know and I know : one is, that 
 Ambrose cared no more for Our Lady nor for St 
 Joseph's tomb than he cared for the snow on the 
 top of the mountain, nor would he go one step of 
 his lazy life to save them both from pollution. 
 He went because he saw the others go, and he 
 chose to be fed without working, and to sleep on 
 linen that other men's wives had woven. He 
 thought he should come back with gold he had 
 not earned, and should hector over you and me 
 and other honest people because he had a shell 
 m his hat-band. As for making war upon peo 
 ple because they are dogs and the sons of dogs, 
 because their prayers are false, and their lives 
 mean, why, we might make war on the Bishop 
 and Chapter of Lyons for quite as good cause as 
 they have to make war on King Saladin and his 
 emirs, if that happens to be his name." 
 
 The bold effrontery of the allusion to the Bishop 
 and Chapter was welcomed by a guffaw of laughter 
 from some of the lazy throng ; but others fairly 
 started, not so much in anger as in terror. " Keep
 
 94 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 a civil tongue in your head, Matthew, or it will be 
 the worse for all of us. There is treason enough 
 and heresy enough talked in this store to give all 
 the hamlets over to the couriers, and we may be 
 sen. a-begging before we know it, with our wives 
 and our children." 
 
 But to this protest Mark of Seyssel himself 
 made answer, speaking for the first time: 
 
 "Jean Fisherman, if you do not like the talk 
 here, you need not stay here. If you have any 
 gossip to retail to the Courier or the Viguier you 
 had better go and retail it, and good riddance to 
 you. I am master of this hovel, and it is my 
 castle ; when I am afraid of my guests, I will turn 
 them out-doors. Till I am afraid of them, they 
 will not check each other's talk. For my own 
 part," said the burly collier, " I am quite of black- 
 eyed Matt's mind, and I drink his very good 
 health. When the pot is white, it may scold the 
 kettle for being black ; but while the priests and 
 the abbots send men from their homes because 
 they feed the poor ; when they take their houses 
 and steal their goods to make themselves comfort 
 able, why, if they do go to the Holy Land with
 
 IN HIS NAME. 9$ 
 
 his Grace the King and his Holiness the Bishop, 
 I am afraid they will carry no better Gospel than 
 they left behind. For my part, I wish I could see 
 men here live as the saints lived, before they go 
 to whip the Saracens into living so." And the 
 stout collier took from the settle by him a tank 
 ard from which he had been drinking, passed it 
 to black-eyed Matthew, as he called the bow- 
 maker, and bade him give to the others to drink 
 in their turn. 
 
 It was just as he had done this that there 
 was heard at the heavy doorway the sharp rap of 
 the handle of Gualtier's riding-whip, and on the 
 instant the charcoal-burner bade him enter. The 
 man seemed a little surprised at the sight of 
 his own daughter with the stranger. The child 
 clearly felt that her duty was done. She dropped 
 a courtesy, and was off to the shelter of the shrub 
 bery in an instant The collier offered Gualtier 
 a seat by the fire. But the whole assembly was 
 hushed, so that no one would have guessed that 
 they were all hi talk so eager only the momen' 
 before. 
 
 " Are you Mark the collier ? " saH the messen
 
 96 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 ger. " I am told that you can direct me to the 
 house of Father Jean of Lugio." 
 
 " Eh ? " was the only reply of the stout collier, 
 who but just now was so voluble, and was defend 
 ing so volubly the sacred rights of volubility in 
 others. 
 
 " I have been riding at my best to find Father 
 Jean of Lugio. I am told he makes his home 
 in these parts. And he is needed, sorely needed, 
 to-day in Lyons. I have a message for him here." 
 
 " Eh ? " was the grunt again which the fuller 
 explanation extorted from the collier. Gualtier 
 was surprised. He had never seen this man, but 
 he had not supposed him to be an idiot. And he 
 had certainly supposed that a person who trans 
 acted so much business in the valley would have 
 some knowledge of the Provenal. But he re 
 peated his explanation, and more at length, in the 
 hill dialect, in which he had spoken to the collier's 
 children. 
 
 "Eh?" was the stupid reply as before. But 
 then the clown looked up heavily upon the others, 
 and in the same language said, " Boys, do you 
 hear what the gentleman says? Do any of you
 
 IN HIS NAME. 97 
 
 know any thing of this Jean of Lugio, this Father 
 whom he has come to see ? " 
 
 The men looked stupidly upon each other, as 
 if they could not understand this dialect any more 
 than he could understand the Provenal of the 
 miller. 
 
 Gualtier looked round to see if one face were 
 any more intelligent than the others. Then he 
 took from his pocket six or eight pieces of silver, 
 tossed them in the air, and caught them again in 
 his hand. Speaking in the same dialect, he said, 
 " These are for any good fellow who will go to the 
 house of the Father for me ; and here are as many 
 more for any one who comes back with him." 
 But a dead, stupid wonder, which hardly counted 
 for curiosity, was the only emotion which seemed 
 to be aroused, even by this unwonted display. 
 Gualtier of the Mill felt as if, even at the last 
 moment, he was foiled. " A tall man," he said, 
 " with a tonsure, and the hair around it, as white 
 as snow. He bends a little as he walks he is so 
 tall ; he favors his right foot in walking." 
 
 "Eh?" from Mark of Seyssel, was the only 
 answer. 
 
 T
 
 98 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 Gualtier was provoked with himself that he had 
 not kept the child. The child at least could 
 speak, and could understand. It seemed to him 
 that of the group of idlers there was not one, no, 
 not the stout head of the castle himself, who 
 seemed to take the least interest in his mission. 
 Far less could they help him, if they had chosen. 
 
 In his annoyance that he had lost his guide, 
 he walked to the door to see if he could trace 
 her; but she was out of sight long ago. He 
 turned back, and the others were sitting as stolidly 
 as he found them. On the instant, however, the 
 inspiration came to him, and he saw that the talis 
 man by which he had succeeded with her might 
 be as effective with these churls. In truth, the 
 dulness of the men had entirely deceived him. 
 He had lost his presence of mind, and was fairly 
 confused by the charcoal-dealer's well-acted stu 
 pidity. As Gaultier closed the door again, he 
 took up a bit of charcoal from the floor, and, as if 
 to amuse himself in a careless habit, on the door 
 itself drew roughly a Roman cross, of which the 
 vertical line was not longer than the crossbar, 
 and then with a few touches improved upon it tilJ
 
 IN HIS NAME. 99 
 
 it became the Cross of Malta, with its sharp point* 
 and re-entering angles at each extremity. 
 
 Beneath the cross he wrote in Latin the two 
 words, "Amore Christi." 
 
 Before he had finished the inscription, the bow- 
 maker had risen from the ground and was putting 
 on his outer jerkin, as if to leave the fire. Two 
 others of the idlers, also, seemed to have done all 
 they had to do in the cabin, and made as if they 
 were going away. Mark of Seyssel himself said 
 aloud, " It's nigh to noon, and I shall sit here no 
 longer. If Francois comes, bid him ask the old 
 woman where I am." So saying, he brushed out 
 by Gualtier, and, as he opened the door, said to 
 him, " Come away from them into the air." As 
 the miller followed him, he led the way apart from 
 ear-shot in the house, and said, " You should have 
 made some signal before. There are men in that
 
 100 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 hut that would gladly put the Father in irons, and 
 throw him into the lake of Bourget But you can 
 trust me, and indeed more than me, if you come 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 Then Gualtier told the awakened savage who 
 he was, and why he came ; that he had in his 
 hand what he was told it was of the first impor 
 tance that the Father should know ; that he had 
 been bid to bring this missive "for the love 
 of Christ," and that he had agreed to do so " IN 
 HIS NAME." He told Mark of Seyssel that, as 
 token of his truth, he would trust the parchment 
 to him, and that he might carry it to the master's 
 hiding-place ; that the master then could make 
 his own choice whether to Lume or to refuse. 
 " Only this I know," said the miller, " that if he do 
 not show himself at this spot ready to mount my 
 horse here when the sun is at noon, I see no use 
 of his coming here at all ; for the order is that he 
 is to cross the bridge at Lyons before the sun goes 
 down. You know, my friend," said he, " that he 
 is a brave horseman who makes that distance ia 
 that time."
 
 /A HIS NAME. 101 
 
 The collier hurried away. The rider returned 
 into the hut and threw himself on the ground by 
 Jean the fisherman. Jean was anxious enough to 
 try to find out who the stranger was, and to learn 
 more of the errand on which he had come ; but 
 Gualtier was as shrewd as he was, parried ques 
 tion with question, and for an hour the group was 
 as much in doubt as when he found them as to 
 his business. He had sense enough to produce a 
 flask of wine from behind the saddle of his horse, 
 and offered this in token of good-fellowship to the 
 company. They talked about the frost, about the 
 freshet, about the price of coal, about the new 
 mines of iron ; and they had approached the cen 
 tral subject of the great crusade again, when Mark 
 of Seyssel again entered the smoky cabin. 
 
 He took the place he had left by the fire, and 
 said to the miller, "I have given to your horse 
 all the oats I had, and he has eaten them all." 
 He said this gruffly ; and those who were not in 
 the secret might well imagine, as he meant they 
 should, that his interview with the stranger had 
 related chiefly to his horse's welfare. Gualtier 
 thanked him with the good nature he had shown
 
 102 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 all along, counted out copper enough to pay for 
 the oats, bade the party good-by, and said he 
 would go farther on his journey. He crossed the 
 opening to the place where the horse was tethered, 
 and there, under the juniper-tree to which he was 
 fastened, he found, as he had hoped to find, 
 Father Jean of Lugio.
 
 IN HIS NAME. lOJ 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 JOHN OF LUGIO. 
 
 JOHN OF LUGIO is one of the men who did 
 
 the world service wellnigh inestimable in his 
 day, and who is to-day, by the world at large, for 
 gotten. When one reads in the Epistle to the 
 Hebrews of men who had trial of mockings 
 and scourgings, of bonds and imprisonments ; 
 who were destitute, afflicted, tormented ; who 
 vandered in deserts and mountains and dens 
 and caves of the earth, "of whom the world 
 was not worthy," one ought to remember for 
 a moment that he probably owes it to a few groups 
 of such men, one of whom was this forgotten John 
 of Lugio, that he is able to read those words at 
 all, or is indeed permitted to do so. 
 
 When Peter Waldo, the prosperous merchant 
 of Lyons, was first awakened to the value of the 
 Gospel for all men around him, and saw theif
 
 104 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 ignorance of it as well, he gave himself and his 
 means not only to feeding the hungry and finding 
 homes for the homeless, but to wayside instruc 
 tion in the words of Christ. He found one and 
 another version of parts of the Old and New Tes 
 tament in the Romance language. The very oldest 
 specimen of that language which we have to-day 
 is a paraphrase, of a generation or two before 
 Peter Waldo's time, of the Bible history. It is 
 known by the name of the " Noble Lesson." The 
 troubadours, whom we are wont to think of as 
 mere singers of love songs and romances, were 
 in those days quite as apt to sing these sacred 
 songs ; and they carried from place to place a more 
 distinct knowledge of the Bible stories than the 
 people gained in churches. 
 
 Peter Waldo undertook to improve the popular 
 knowledge of the Bible thus gained. This was an 
 important part of his enterprise. He had himseli 
 a sufficient knowledge of Latin to read the Latin 
 vulgate. To translate this into the language of 
 Provence, he gained the assistance of three intel 
 ligent priests, all of them in office in Lyons. 
 They were Bernard of Ydros, Stephen of Empsa,
 
 IX HIS NAME. 105 
 
 and John of Lugio, with whom the reader is no* 
 to become acquainted. Neither of the three sup 
 posed that there was any thing exceptional in 
 their enterprise, as how should they ? They and 
 their friend were at work to teach the common 
 oeople the " Word of God " more simply and per 
 fectly, and what better could they do? Of the 
 three, Stephen undertook the work of translation 
 especially ; John examined the other translations 
 and compared them with Stephen's, he studied 
 the critics, sought in every direction the best au 
 thorities, and made this new Bible of the people 
 as perfect as careful scholarship and the best 
 learning of the time could do. Bernard took the 
 more humble part of transcribing the text agreed 
 upon, more humble, but not less important 
 Probably a careful explorer in the old convent 
 libraries of the south of France might now find 
 his patient manuscripts, even after the ruthless 
 destruction wrought by the persecutors of that 
 century and the century which followed. When 
 Peter Waldo made his journey to Rome, to ask 
 for the benediction of the Pope on their labors, 
 one or all of these men probably accompanied
 
 106 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 him. As has been said already, the Pope was 
 only too glad to find that such assistance in the 
 organization of religion was raised up among the 
 laymen of Lyons. The scheme prepared was very 
 much like that which St. Francis proposed only a 
 few years later ; where it differed from his, it dif 
 fered in a more broad and generous understand 
 ing of the needs of the great body of the people. 
 
 If only the Bishop and Chapter of Lyons had 
 been equal to the exigency ! But, alas, they were 
 not equal to it To them the great reality of 
 religion was their newly-bought temporal power 
 over the city and country. The interference of 
 merchants, whether as almoners or as lay readers 
 in the affairs of the city, was no part of their 
 plan. They had not bought out the Count of 
 Forez, and freed themselves from his dictation, 
 to be dictated to now by a set of fanatics within 
 their own wall. They therefore, as has been said, 
 refused all approval to the plans of Peter Waldo ; 
 they excommunicated him and his, confiscated 
 their property, and drove them from their homes. 
 
 Such discs try men's souls, and it is from such 
 fires that tempered metal only comes out unh>
 
 IN HIS NAME. 107 
 
 )ured. Of the four men who had worked together 
 in the distribution of the new Bible, two were 
 taken and two were left Peter Waldo endured 
 the loss of all things, travelled over the world of 
 Europe, and left everywhere his great idea of a 
 Bible for the people, and of a church in which 
 layman as well as priest was a minister to God. 
 Bernard and Stephen could not stand the test. 
 They made their peace with the authorities of the 
 Lyonese church, and no man knows their after 
 history. 1 John of Lugio, whom we ask the reader 
 of these lines to remember among the men of 
 whom the world of his own time was not worthy, 
 never turned back from the plough. He had 
 consecrated his life to this idea of a free Bible. 
 To this idea he gave his life. It would be hard 
 to name any city of Central Europe, even as fai 
 as Bohemia, which did not profit by his counsels 
 and his studies. And when John Huss went to 
 the stake, in loyalty to the same idea, he and the 
 men around him were willing to acknowledge their 
 obligation to John of Lugio and to Peter Waldo. 
 The priest stood waiting for the miller, cuii 
 1 See Appendix.
 
 108 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 ous to know what manner of man he was who 
 had so resolutely brought the message which he 
 held. He was not himself dressed in the cos 
 tume of any ecclesiastical order ; nor was he, on 
 the other hand dressed as any nobleman, far less 
 as any soldier of the time would have been. He 
 might have been taken for some merchant's mes 
 senger, sent back from Lyons into the country on 
 a message about flax or woollen. His white hah 
 appeared below a traveller's hat ; his tonsure, oi 
 course, was invisible. His surcoat was tightly 
 buttoned, as for a cold ride. There was nothing 
 in the color or in the fashion of his costume such 
 as would challenge the remark of any wayfarer. 
 
 " I am not Jean Waldo's own messenger," was 
 the immediate reply of Gualtier of the Mill, to 
 his first inquiry ; " I am only, as you see, a ' Poor 
 Man of Lyons,' who was recognised as such by 
 our secret password when the messenger to whom 
 Jean Waldo gave this mission fell with his good 
 horse almost at my house door. It was clear 
 enough that if the message meant any thing it 
 meant speed. This Prinhac crossed the draw 
 bridge at Lyons before daybreak, because tha
 
 IN HIS NAME. 109 
 
 bridge was held by one of our people ; but one 
 cannot tell if there shall be any such good for 
 tune this evening. The bridge may be held by 
 your worst enemy. Why ! you have scant five 
 hours to make these twelve leagues which have 
 cost us wellnigh seven hours. True, you have 
 to go down the hills, which we have had to climb. 
 Your horses will be ready, while ours had to be 
 groomed and saddled. But, holy Father, it will 
 not answer to have any horse fall under you ; for 
 if I understand the message I have brought, it is 
 not every lay-brother who can take your place to 
 night at yon girl's bedside." 
 
 Father John would not even smile. " The Lord 
 will direct," he said, " and the Lord will provide. 
 Whether my journey helps or hinders, only the 
 Lord knows. But it seems to be His work. For 
 the love of Christ I am summoned, and IN HIS 
 NAME I go. Young man," he added, as Gualtier 
 of the Mill adjusted for him the stirrups of the 
 noble horse who was to bear him, " when I left 
 Lyons, they burned in the public square the pre 
 cious books to which I had given twenty of the 
 best years of this little life. What I could do
 
 HO IN HIS NAME. 
 
 for God and his holy church, they vainly tried 
 to destroy. They compelled me to part from my 
 own poor ; from the widows whose tears were 
 sacred ; from the orphans I had taught and had 
 fed ; from humble homes, which are as so many 
 temples to me of God's well-beloved Son. I said 
 then, as their mocking Viguier led me to the 
 drawbridge, which I am to pass to-night, and 
 bade me 'Begone,' I said, I will not see you 
 henceforth till the day in which ye shall say, 
 'Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the 
 Lord.' Young man, this Jean Waldo, to whose 
 household I am bidden, lifted no hand for me 
 that day, nor for his kinsman, my noble friend, 
 nor for one of the ' Poor Men of Lyons,' or her 
 poor women or children. But time brings its 
 recompense ; and to-day he is praying God that 
 I may come in time. Father Almighty, hear and 
 answer his prayer; and grant thy servant wis 
 dom and strength to render some service this day 
 somewhere to thy children." 
 
 The miller reverently said "Amen." The priest 
 made the sign of the cross, and blessed him in 
 parting, and then was gone
 
 IN HIS NAME. Ill 
 
 That is a curious experience in which a man ol 
 fifty-five enters on an enterprise such as he has 
 not tested for thirty years. He feels as young as 
 ever, if he be a man of pure life. The spirit of 
 man never grows old j it seems, indeed, to grow 
 young, when it becomes as a little child every 
 day. But John of Lugio knew that, when he was 
 five-and-twenty, he would not have put his foot 
 into the stirrup to spring into the saddle. He 
 knew that he would not for such a day's adven 
 ture have girt on the surcoat he was wearing. 
 "It is as well," he said to the spirited horse who 
 bore him, "it is as well that you are not forty 
 years older than the gray stallion who bore me 
 the last day I ever saw the great Bernard." And 
 the memory of that day of his youth, and of its 
 contrast with to-day, pleased him and engaged 
 him for more than one mile. And any leader of 
 men who should have watched his skill in hand 
 ling his horse, and making the most of every 
 advantage in the way, would have chosen the 
 white-haired priest as he wauld hardly have 
 chosen any younger man for service like thil 
 which engaged him. As physical strength de-
 
 112 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 clines, and it does decline after the physical 
 man is forty-five years old, still experience, 
 tact, habit of hand and eye, are all improving in 
 a man well-governed and self-poised. And John 
 of Lugio had not yet reached that age when the 
 declining curve of physical strength crosses the 
 ascending curve of experience and skill. There 
 was not among all the crusaders who at that 
 moment were trying a winter in Palestine, or on 
 the way thither, one knight or squire more fit for 
 hardy, active service than was he. 
 
 An hour's quick riding brought him to St 
 Rambert, where the Brevon, scarcely more than 
 a brook, joins the larger stream called the Alba- 
 rine. It was even then a quaint old town, which 
 is just what the traveller would call it now. Its 
 name is a corruption of that of St. Raynebert, a 
 son of the Duke Radbert, a martyr of five centu 
 ries before John of Lugio's time and day. Before 
 his time there had been some worship of Jupiter 
 on the hills above, and the name of the old god 
 lingered in the title " Joux," which hung even to 
 the saint's name. St. Rambert de Joux was the 
 name by which everybody knew the village. The
 
 IN HIS NAME. 113 
 
 brook plunges and rages in a series of cascades 
 down a narrow valley, and the rider took a path 
 way down, which seemed wholly familiar to him, 
 which led him under the walls of the Benedictine 
 abbey. As he passed the gate, two of the breth 
 ren, in the costume of the order, came out after 
 their noonday refection, and in the narrow path 
 way could not but look upon the rider's face, 
 as he on them. They recognized him in an 
 instant 
 
 "Whither so fast, Brother John?" This was 
 their salutation. 
 
 It was impossible not to draw bridle. And 
 the first welcome of the two, impelled perhaps by 
 the very suddenness of their meeting, was so cor 
 dial, that one must have been more cynical by fai 
 than John of Lugio not to respond with warmth 
 and kindness. " My brother Stephen, my brother 
 Hugh, are you two here ? I was thinking of the 
 brethren, but I did not know that you were so 
 near. Father Ambrose does not send to me to 
 tell me the names of the new arrivals." 
 
 "Father Ambrose will never send you the 
 names of new arrivals more. He lies behind 
 8
 
 114 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 the chapel yonder, and we sha/1 lay his body in 
 the grave to-morrow." This was the immediate 
 answer; and then there was an instant's pause, 
 as they all recognized the awkwardness of their 
 position. 
 
 John of Lugio was excommunicate. Whether 
 they might speak to him in friendship was almost 
 a question. That they ought in strictness to de 
 nounce him, and report to their superiors his 
 presence in a town from which he had been 
 formally banished, of this there could be no 
 question. But the two monks were men and were 
 Christians before they were monks, and with Jean 
 both of them were united by old ties. " Will you 
 rest your horse, will you rest yourself?" said 
 Stephen, bravely. " I will take him myself into 
 the stable, and Hugh will be only too glad to find 
 you a cold dinner in the refectory. Your horse 
 has travelled far; he will not be the worse for 
 grooming." 
 
 " He must travel farther before he is groomed. 
 and I. But I shall travel the lighter, Stephen, 
 for the kind words you speak ; and you will sleep 
 *he easier that you have spoken them. Do you,
 
 IN HIS NAME. 115 
 
 too, do your work, and I will do mine ; and we 
 will let nothing that men can do or can say part 
 us. No, I must not stop. I would not put you 
 two in danger by accepting your service, if I could ; 
 but I must do what few men do in these degene 
 rate days, and cross the long bridge at Lyons 
 before the sun goes down. Take the blessings of 
 a ' Poor Man of Lyons,' of a heretic, excommuni 
 cate ! God bless you, my brother, and you ! " 
 
 " God bless you, John ; God bless you ! " said 
 the two, as they made way for his horse. 
 
 " It is for the love of Christ that I am speeding," 
 said he, tenderly ; " pray in your prayers to-day 
 for the Father's blessing on me IN HIS NAME." 
 
 And they parted. If the monks were startled 
 by the adventure, and they were, none the less 
 was John of Lugio startled by it. He was not 
 afraid of them. He had seen too clearly that the 
 voice of the Holy Spirit had spoken to both of 
 them more loudly than any rule or interdict. He 
 knew that both of them would confess the sin of 
 concealing his presence ; that both of them would 
 loyally do the penances appointed. He knew as 
 well that neither of them would betray him, while
 
 Il6 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 betrayal would endanger him ; and that neither oi 
 them, in his heart of hearts, would ever be sorry 
 for the silent service rendered to him that day. 
 
 The adventure set him upon other thought than 
 sympathy with them. Had he gratified the wishes 
 and passion of his youth, his home would have 
 been at this hour within those walls. He would 
 have been the senior of every man, except Stephen, 
 in that fraternity. He knew them all, yes, and 
 he knew perfectly well that not one of them af 
 fected to be his equal in the scholarship and learn 
 ing to which the abbey was devoted. Humanly 
 speaking, on the Abbot Ambrose's death, he him 
 self, John of Lugio, would have become his suc 
 cessor, the lord of this lovely estate, the director 
 in these noble ministries, the first student in these 
 happy cloisters, if if he had only obeyed the 
 wish of his heart thirty years ago, and given him 
 self here to student life 1 
 
 But instead of that, Jean of Lugio had given 
 himself to the immediate help of the " Poor Men oi 
 Lyons." He had turned away from the fascina 
 tion of study, to make the weavers and dyers aud 
 boatmen of Lyons purer men and happier ; to
 
 IN HIS NAME. 117 
 
 bring comfort and life into their homes, and to 
 make simpler their children's path to heaven. He 
 had done this with his eyes open. He had turned 
 away from the Abbey of Cornillon, and had made 
 himself God's minister in the hovels of Lyons. 
 And of this the reward was, that this day he haz 
 arded his life by going back to Lyons to render 
 one service more, while he might have been wait 
 ing, as the senior in the fraternity, within those 
 happy abbey walls, to render fit service at the 
 Abbot Ambrose's grave. 
 
 If and the picture of half a life came in upon 
 that if. But to John of Lugio that picture brought 
 no regrets. He had chosen as his God directed 
 him. In calmness he had foreseen what in the 
 heat of conflict he had seen, and what he now 
 looked back upon. Foreseeing, seeing or look 
 ing back, it was the picture of duty bravely 
 done. And Father Jean passed down from under 
 the walls of the abbey without a sigh or a tear. 
 
 The road still follows the stream, and the valley 
 is by no means straight. Its curves are pictu 
 resque enough, but they do not lead a travellei 
 very directly. He passed along the face of Mounf
 
 Il8 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 Charvet, left the village of Serrieres on his left, 
 and came, before he dared to hope, to the new 
 Castle of Montferrand. By a sudden determina 
 tion he rode abruptly to the castle gate ; and, find 
 ing no warden, called loudly to a little boy whom 
 he saw within, and bade him summon either a 
 porter or some officer of the baron's household. 
 
 The truth was, that as he tried the Baron of 
 Meximieux's noble gray stallion on one and an 
 other pace in descending the steep slopes from St 
 Rambert, it became painfully clear that the horss 
 had done his work for that day. The miller had 
 pressed him, perhaps, harder than he meant or 
 knew ; and, whatever care he had taken, the good 
 horse had made near ten leagues, with only the 
 hour's rest which had been given him at the cabin 
 of Mark of Seyssel. If the priest were to succeed 
 in the task assigned to him, he must make better 
 speed than in the last hour he had made. This 
 certainty determined his bold appeal at the castle. 
 
 A summons so hearty roused all its inmates, 
 and they appeared at one or another door or cor 
 ridor with that curiosity which in all times draws 
 out the inhabitants of a lonely country house,
 
 IN HIS NAME. 119 
 
 when there is chance to look upon some unex 
 pected face, no matter of what human being. The 
 Baron of Montferrand himself made his appear 
 ance. He was not dressed as if for King Philip's 
 court, or for the Emperor's. In truth, he had 
 spent the morning in the occupation not very 
 lordly, as we count lords, but perfectly baronial in 
 the customs of his time of directing the ser 
 vants, who flayed and cut to pieces a fat boar which 
 they had brought in at the end of yesterday's hunt 
 ing. From this occupation, in which he had him 
 self personally assisted, the Baron had been called 
 to dinner ; and he had dined without the slightest 
 thought of revising or improving his toilet. Before 
 dinner was fairly over, he had fallen asleep in the 
 chair, not uncomfortable, in which he sat at the 
 head of the table. He was roused from his nap 
 by the hurrying of one and another servant, as it 
 was announced that a stranger was at the gate. 
 A stranger in those days of December was not a 
 frequent intruder. 
 
 John of Lugio was already talking with por 
 ter and seneschal. He was not displeased to 
 see the Baron approach him. The old man came
 
 120 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 bareheaded, and without any outer garment be 
 yond what he had worn at table to protect him 
 from the cold. The traveller knew him on the 
 instant ; had seen him more than once in one 01 
 another journey up or down this valley, and, in 
 deed, in closer intimacies, in the ministry of more 
 than thirty years. But the Baron, not caring a 
 great deal for priests, and not having a great deal 
 to do with them, did not for an instant suspect 
 that the hardy rider with whom he had to do wore 
 a tonsure, or had more than once lifted the con 
 secrated chalice before him at the mass. He 
 saluted the stranger somewhat abruptly, but still 
 courteously, and invited him to dismount and rest 
 himself. 
 
 " I thank you for your courtesy, my lord," was 
 the reply. " But my errand requires haste, as you 
 will see. I am bidden to Lyons this very night, 
 and that on service which brooks no delay. I 
 had hoped that this horse, which is from the sta 
 bles at Meximieux, would take me thither, and 
 there a fresh beast waits me ; but I have already 
 taken from him the best that he can give, and he 
 will make slow work of the long reach that is left
 
 IN HIS NAME. 121 
 
 for me. This is why I have stopped here : to ask, 
 not your hospitality, but your help. If I may 
 Jeave this good horse, and if you have another 
 which will take me down the valley, you shall have 
 my hearty thanks, and the blessings of the home 
 where they need me." 
 
 " You tell your story frankly," said the Baron , 
 and with a stiff oath he added, " if I gave horses 
 to every vagabond from the troop of Meximieux, I 
 should have few horses left to give." Without 
 farewell or apology, he turned to go back to his 
 dining-hall 
 
 " Pardon me, my lord," persisted Father John, 
 without the slightest passion or haste in his voice. 
 "I am no man of the Baron of Meximieux. I 
 am no man's man. I am sent for on a work of 
 mercy, because one Jean Waldo thinks that I can 
 save his child's life. If I am to serve her, I must 
 be in Lyons to-night. If I am there, the service 
 will be yours, not mine." 
 
 " If I should give horses to every beggar who 
 chooses to ride out of Lyons, I should have no 
 horses to give," said the Baron. Like many men 
 of little invention he had been so much pleased
 
 122 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 by the cadence of his first retort, that he could 
 not but try its force again. But the repetition of 
 the insult gave the Father courage. A man truly 
 resolved does not say the same thing twice. Most 
 likely he does not speak twice at all. 
 
 " I am no beggar from Lyons, or no servant of 
 the Lyons merchant. Lyons does not love me, 
 nor is there any reason but what I tell why I 
 should care to enter Lyons. But if you had a 
 daughter dying, my Lord Baron, and Jean Waldc 
 could send her a physician, you would be glad to 
 have him send, though you never saw his face, and 
 though you do not love his craft or his city. Can 
 you not do as you would be done by ? " 
 
 He had perhaps gained his point, though the 
 Baron, with a stupid notion that he must maintain 
 his dignity in the presence of his own servants, 
 Iried to do so by a certain delay, which would 
 have exasperated a person of less experience and 
 less balance than Father John. 
 
 " How am I to know," said the wavering Mont- 
 ferrand, " that you are the leech you say you are ? 
 What is your token ? If I am to give a horse to 
 every quack who rides between Amberieux and
 
 IN HIS NAME. 123 
 
 St. Rambert, I should have no horses left to 
 give." 
 
 " I have no token, my lord. A man who has 
 spoken truth for forty years, going up' and down 
 this valley, needs no token that he does not lie.' 
 He took off his hat as he spoke, and showed the 
 tonsure. " You have received Christ's body from 
 this hand, my lord. You know that these lips 
 will not speak falsely to you." And then, watch 
 ing his man carefully, and noticing a change come 
 on his face, at the mention of the Saviour, he added, 
 as if by intention, and almost in a whisper : " It is 
 for the love of Christ that I ask the best horse in 
 your stables." 
 
 " Saddle Chilperic! Saddle Chilperic ! Why are 
 you clowns gaping and sneezing there? Saddle 
 Chilperic ! I say, and take this gentleman's good 
 horse where he can be cared for. Take my hand, 
 Father, take my hand. Gently so you are 
 stiff from riding. Come into the hall and let the 
 baroness have a word with you ? Chilperic will 
 not be ready for a minute, and you will at least 
 drink a glass of wine ! If it only shows that you 
 do not bear malice, you will drink a glass of wine/
 
 124 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 We are rough fellows, we hill barons, and we 
 speak when we do not think, Father. But, indeed, 
 indeed, I would have been more ready had you 
 summoned me 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 And he crossed himself as he passed the threshold. 
 
 In those surroundings, in the company in which 
 they were, the Baron did not dare question the 
 priest further, nor explain how he had been in 
 itiated into the secret fraternity by the password 
 of which he had been adjured. Nor did he care 
 to say much to explain the inconsistency of his 
 brutal refusal of one moment, when it was com 
 pared with his ready tenderness at the next Per 
 haps it is best for all of us that we do not have to 
 reconcile such inconsistencies as often as we are 
 conscious of them. Once more he pressed the 
 priest to refresh himself with wine, and he called 
 loudly on his wife to join in his rough welcome as 
 he entered the hall. 
 
 The little woman came forward, bending some 
 what with rheumatism more than age, but with 
 freshness and quickness, and with all the courtesy
 
 IN HIS NAME. 125 
 
 and dignity of noble breeding. Whether the 
 grooms and other servants, and the idlers in the 
 court-yard, had guessed the secret of the Baron's 
 sudden change of purpose, or had failed to guess 
 it, she, who had seen the whole from her open 
 casement, understood it all in a flash. Now that 
 Father John entered the room, she recognized him 
 in an instant, as the Baron had not done. But 
 she knew very well that his liberty, and possibly 
 even his life, depended on his passing on his 
 errand unrecognized by her servants ; and her per 
 fect manner, therefore, was exactly what it would 
 have been had he been any other person a 
 friend of the Lyonese weaver summoned in hot 
 haste to his daughter's bedside. She dropped her 
 courtesy, advanced to take the hat of the traveller, 
 begged him to sit at her husband's side at the 
 head of the table, and with her own hand poured 
 the wine from the coarse jug which held it into 
 the highly wrought cup which the bustling Baron 
 had found for his guest "I heard something 
 said of a lady a girl a sick girl. Is there 
 nothing I can send from our stores ? I could in 
 a moment put up maidenwort, or rosemary, or St.
 
 126 JN HIS NAME. 
 
 Mary's herb, if your Reverence will only take 
 them." 
 
 But the Father thanked her, and declined. His 
 friends in Lyons must have at their command such 
 drugs as could be of service, if any thing can be 
 of service indeed. 
 
 "Ah, sir," she said, "if only you will render 
 service to them, like the blessing you once gave 
 to me 1 " 
 
 " To you ! " and he looked amazed into those 
 sharp, little black eyes, which twinkled under eye 
 brows snow white with the same liveliness as if 
 she were still sixteen years old. 
 
 " To me ! " she said again ; and as he looked 
 with undisguised ignorance of her meaning, it 
 was impossible that she should not smile, and 
 she hastily wiped away from the little eyes the 
 tears that at first filled them. " Ah, you do not 
 remember, my Father. It is a shame for a knight 
 to forget a lady whose colors he has worn, may 
 a priest forget a lady whom he has served in the 
 last extremity?" And she fairly laughed at his 
 perplexity. 
 
 " Ah, madame 1 you must pardon what time
 
 IN HIS AAML. 127 
 
 does, and exile. Whoever it is, I can see tha; 
 you carry the secret of perpetual youth, but I los* 
 that long ago. It is very long since I was in the 
 Castle of Montferrand, long before you were ever 
 here, my lady." 
 
 " Chilperic will be ready before you guess me 
 out," said she ; " and, as your errand presses, I 
 will tell you, if you will promise, when it is over, 
 to stay as many weeks in the castle as you have 
 now spent minutes here. It is fair to remind you 
 of the day when a girl with a scarlet cape, and a 
 girl with a blue cape, and a girl with no cape at 
 all, went sailing down the river with two young 
 squires and with a very foolish page, from the 
 home of the Barons of Braine. And have you 
 forgotten " 
 
 " Alix ! Alix de Braine ! It is impossible that 
 I should have forgotten ! But that you are here 
 is as strange as that I am here. Where the fovu 
 others are, perhaps you know ! " 
 
 "Chilperic is ready, my lord." This was the 
 interruption of the groom at the door. 
 
 " Chilperic is ready, and life and death compeJ 
 me to go on. Dear Lady Alix, you ask me to be
 
 128 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 your guest. You do not know, then, that if I had 
 drunk from this cup of wine, you would share my 
 excommunication ; that if I slept under this roof, 
 you could never enter church again ; no, not to 
 be borne there on your bier!" 
 
 " Did I not know it ? " whispered the brave little 
 woman. "Did I not know that you were journey 
 ing ' for the love of Christ,' and do not my hus 
 band and I beg you to stay with us as his guest 
 and ours ? Our request is made, and our welcome 
 will be given 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 And they parted. 
 
 The baron had already left the hall. When 
 the priest stepped into the court-yard, and as he 
 put his foot in the stirrup, he saw to his surprise 
 that his host had already mounted another horse, 
 and was waiting for him, himself ready equipped 
 (or a winter's expedition. A heavy fox-skin jacket 
 had been thrown over the dress, none too light; 
 which he wore before, and he had in the moment 
 of his absence drawn on riding-boots also.
 
 /A* HIS NAME. 129 
 
 The Father acknowledged the courtesy, but 
 expressed his unwillingness to give to his host 
 such trouble. He was glad of his company, he 
 said, but really he needed no protection. 
 
 " Protection ! I think not, while you are on 
 or are near the territory of Montf errand." This 
 was the Baron's reply, with the addition of one 
 or two rough oaths, untranslatable either into our 
 language or into the habit of this page, but such 
 as, it must be confessed, shot like a sort of lurid 
 thread into the web-work of all the poor man's 
 conversation. " I should not like to see poacher 
 or peasant who would say a rough word to any 
 man whom he saw riding on one of my horses. 
 No, my Father, it is not to protect you that I ride, 
 but to talk with you. We hill barons are rough 
 fellows, as I said, but we are not the clowns or 
 the fools that the gentry of the Chapter choose to 
 think us. Meximieux here has tried to cheat me 
 about the fish, and has sent his falcons after my 
 herons a dozen times, so that I have not spoken 
 to him or to his for fifteen years before he went 
 off on this Holy Land tomfoolery, I beg your 
 Reverence's pardon for calling it so. But I will 
 9
 
 130 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 say of Meximieux himself, that he is neither clown 
 nor fool ; and if I were to have to strike at King 
 Saladin or any of his emirs, I had rather Mexi 
 mieux were at my side than any of the dandy- 
 jacks I saw the day the bridge went down. We 
 are rough fellows, I say," and here he tried to 
 pick up the thread which he had dropped a long 
 breath before, but he tried, not wholly success 
 fully, " we are rough fellows, I say ; but when 
 a man of courage and of heart like your Reverencs 
 comes to see us, and that is none too often, we 
 are glad to learn something of what he has learned, 
 and we would fain answer his questions, if he have 
 any to put to us." 
 
 " But I must say to you, my lord, as I said to 
 the Lady Alix, that to help me on my way is to put 
 yourself under the ban. I was recognized within 
 this hour by two of the monks in the Abbey of 
 Cornillon yonder, old and intimate friends of 
 mine. Perhaps they will not denounce me, but 
 the first fishermen we meet may, or the first shep 
 herd's boy. For I have trudged up and down this 
 valley too often for me to be a stranger here. It 
 is not fair that I should expose you, for your com
 
 IN HIS NAME. 131 
 
 tesy, to the punishment which is none too easy 
 upon me." 
 
 " Punishment be ! " said the Baron, with 
 
 an oath again. Nor did the excellent man even 
 condescend to the modern foolery of asking the 
 clergyman's pardon for such excesses, "it is 
 no great punishment to a hill baron to tell him 
 that he shall never enter a church. It is some 
 little while since I have troubled them, even now. 
 And if it should happen that this old carcass 
 should rot on the hillside where it happens to fall, 
 why, that is neither more nor less than is happen 
 ing this very winter to many a gallant fellow who 
 went on their fool's errand I beg your pardon 
 against the Saracen. To tell the truth, sir, I want 
 to talk about this very business, of your punish 
 ment, as you call it, and of what I and other good 
 fellows are to do, who hold that you and your 
 friends are right, and that the soup-guzzling, wine- 
 tippling, book-burning, devil-helping gowned men 
 down in the city yonder are all wrong." It wa? 
 with a good deal of difficulty that he worked 
 through this long explanation, even with the help 
 which his swearing seemed to give him. Bui
 
 132 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 there could be no doubt that he was very much in 
 earnest in making it. He seemed to be helped 
 by the tremendous pace at which the two horses, 
 who had been caged in the stables for two or 
 three days, were taking them over a stretch of 
 level road. 
 
 " I do not know what I can tell you," said the 
 priest, who seemed to be as little disturbed as the 
 Baron was by the rapidity of their pace, and rode 
 as if he had been born on horseback. " I cannot 
 tell you what to do, because I hardly know what 
 I am to do myself, except wait. I wait till the 
 good Lord shall open brighter days, as in His day 
 He will. Meanwhile, from day to day, I do what 
 my hand finds to do, ' for the love of Christ,' or 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 "All very fine of you, my Father," said the 
 other, a little chastened perhaps by his temper 
 ance of tone. "All very fine of you, who have 
 something to do 'for the love of Christ' You can 
 go hither or thither, and every man has, as my 
 wife Alix there had, some story to tell of the cure 
 you have wrought or the comfort you have given,
 
 IN HIS NAME. 133 
 
 But that is nothing to me. It is not every day 
 that I have a chance to beard the damned rascals 
 in their own hell-hole, by giving a horse from my 
 stables to one of these men they are hunting. I 
 wish to God it were ! " And the Baron's rage rose 
 so that he became unintelligible, as the horses 
 forged along. 
 
 When the priest caught his drift again, he was 
 saying, "If it had not been such damned non 
 sense, all nursery tales and chapman's stuff and 
 priest's gabble, I beg your pardon, sir, I 
 would have left the whole crew of them. Thirty 
 men in good armor can I put on horseback, Sit 
 Priest ; and though they should not be all as well 
 mounted as is your Reverence, yet not one of the 
 dogs should cross a beast but was better than 
 those which that hog of a Meximieux rode and 
 led when he followed the Archbishop to the Holy 
 Land. Enough better," he added, with a chuckle, 
 "than that waddling oil-sack that I saw the Arch 
 bishop himself ambling out of Lyons upon. I tell 
 you I would have gone to these wars gladly, If I 
 could have thought there were fewer archbishops 
 in the armies, and more men with heads upon
 
 134 '# fffS NAME. 
 
 their shoulders. But I told Alix, said I, they are 
 all fools that are not knaves, and all knaves that 
 are not fools ; and, if King Saladin eats them all, 
 the world will be the better for it. No matter for 
 them, your Reverence. Now the Archbishop is 
 gone, could not a few of us, perhaps Servette 
 yonder, Blon, I think, and very likely Montluel, 
 no matter for names, suppose we put two hun 
 dred good men in saddle, and take down as many 
 more spearmen with tough ash lances. Suppose 
 we raised a cross of our own, such a cross as this, 
 your Reverence," and he made the criss-cross 
 sweep up and down, and then from right to left, 
 by which all these affiliated men and women de 
 noted the Cross of Malta. " Suppose we rode into 
 Lyons some moonlight evening, shouting that we 
 came 'for the love of Christ,' do you not think 
 that there are as many stout weavers and dock- 
 men and boatmen, and other good fellows .here, 
 who would turn out 
 
 IN His NAME?" 
 
 Then when he saw that the priest did not 
 answer, he added, " I tell you, Father, we would
 
 fN HIS NAME. 135 
 
 send their seneschals and their Viguiers and theii 
 Couriers aixl their popinjay men-at-arms scatter 
 ing in no time ; we would smoke the old pot 
 bellies out of their kitchens and refectories, and 
 we would bring the ' Poor Men of Lyons ' home to 
 their own houses, to the House of Bread and the 
 House of God, quite as quick as they were driven 
 out." All this, with a scattered fire of wild oaths, 
 which added to the droll incongruity of what the 
 good fellow was saying. 
 
 If John of Lugio had been a mere ecclesiastic, 
 he would have said, " Ah, my friend, they who 
 take the sword must perish with the sword." 
 And then the poor Baron, who had perhaps never 
 spoken at such length in his life before, would 
 have shrunk back into his shell, cursed himself 
 for a fool and his companion for another, and 
 never would have understood why an offer so 
 promising was refused. But John of Lugio was 
 not a mere ecclesiastic, nor was he any other sort 
 of fool. He was a man of s God, Indeed, but he 
 showed in this case, as in a thousand others, as in 
 his whole life he showed, that he knew how to 
 tell God's messages to all sorts of men. "Mf
 
 136 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 lord," said he, "perhaps you are right in thin* 
 ing that these kings and barons and archbishops 
 and bishops, and all the rest of the pilgrims who 
 have gone to the Holy City, will never get there. 
 Perhaps you are right in thinking that if they 
 ride down fifty thousand Saracens and burn the 
 houses of fifty thousand more, they will not teach 
 the Saracens any very good lesson of God's love 
 or of God's Son. I believe you are right, or 1 
 would have gone when my old friend the Arch 
 bishop went. But suppose we rode into Lyons in 
 the same fashion ; suppose we drove out the Chap 
 ter, as the Chapter drove us out; suppose we 
 stole their horses, as they stole ours, why, all the 
 world would have a right to say worse things of 
 the ' Poor Men of Lyons ' than it has ever said 
 till now. No ! no ! my lord," he said, after a 
 moment ; " leave it to time and to the good God 
 above there. No fear that this Archbishop will 
 prosper too long, or this Chapter; and for me, 
 what more can I ask than as good a friend as I 
 have found this day ? And for you, what more 
 can you ask than such a home as Montferrand, 
 and such a wife as the Lady Alix ? *
 
 IN HIS NAME. 137 
 
 But the Baron was hardly disposed to turn off 
 vrith a laugh the plan which seemed to him so 
 promising. He began upon it again ; he even 
 showed to his friend that he had thought it out in 
 detail He knew how large a guard was here and 
 how large there ; how many of the best men-at- 
 arms were in Syria with the Archbishop ; and how 
 poor were the equipments of those who were left 
 at home. " In old times," he said, " the Count of 
 Forez would have been at our backs, but now, 
 who knows but he would strike a stout blow on 
 our side ? There is not a man this side Marseilles 
 who would be more glad than he to see these 
 black-bellied hornets smoked out of their hives." 
 . The Father listened as courteously as before, 
 but as firmly. He seemed to think that a little 
 authority might well be exerted now, and he said 
 simply : " My lord, I warn you that you are 
 thinking of what you must not think of. If what 
 you propose were the right thing to do, you would 
 have been warned of it before now by those in 
 authority. Till you are, and till I am, we mus! 
 let monks, priests, and bishops alone." 
 
 And Montferrand supposed perhaps he sup
 
 138 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 posed rightly that somewhere the " Poor Men ol 
 Lyons " had a council and a master, wiser than he 
 was, who would some day give him a signal when 
 he might gallop on this road on the back of Chil- 
 peric, with every man whom he could put in the 
 saddle, ready for a raid into Lyons. The Baton 
 was not yet trained enough in trusting Providence 
 to know that the only authority to which John of 
 Lugio would ever defer, was an authority far above 
 chapter, archbishop, king, or pope. 
 
 He turned the subject, therefore, a little un 
 easily, to the eternal question of the crusade. Did 
 his Reverence think the troopers would soon be 
 home again ? and did he think they would find the 
 sword of Saladin so weak ? and all the other ques 
 tions of the home gossip of the day. Meanwhile, 
 on all the road which did not absolutely forbid 
 speed, the two horses flew along, much as Barbe- 
 Noire had flown that morning, and with no such 
 fatal issue. The ride was a short one, indeed, be 
 fore they entered the court-yard of the Castle of 
 Meximieux. Here was the horse of Gualtier of the 
 Mill, saddled, bridled, and waiting for his rider. 
 
 " Sixteen years since I saw the inside of this
 
 IN HIS NAME. 139 
 
 court ! " said Montferrand, as he swung himself 
 off his horse, and as he wiped his forehead. " The 
 tall tree yonder has been planted since then. As 
 I remember the court, my man, there was not i 
 green twig in it." 
 
 The servant bowed, and said that the trees 
 which the Baron saw had all been there when he 
 came into the stable service, but, as the Baron saw, 
 they were not very old. 
 
 " Sixteen years ! " said the rugged old chief 
 again. " It was fifteen years ago at Michaelmas 
 that I asked Meximieux if he would make the fish 
 good to me, and he swore he would do no such 
 thing. And I have not spoken to him from that 
 day to this. And now he is lying under some fig- 
 tree yonder, and I am standing in his castle 
 court. Your Reverence, I should have said this 
 morning that all the devils in hell could not bring 
 me into the shadow of Meximieux's walls. And 
 see what you have done." 
 
 " Ah, my lord," said the other, who had already 
 mounted, " a messenger from heaven, though he 
 be a very humble one, can do a great deal that 
 the devils vi hell cannot do. And now, my lordv
 
 140 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 good-by. Give a poor priest's best salutations \ \ 
 the Lady Alix. And, my lord, when Meximieut 
 comes home, win a greater victory than he has 
 done. Ask him if, for the love of Christ, he will 
 not make it right about the fish, and see what a 
 pilgrim like him will answer, IN His NAME." 
 
 He gave the Baron his hand, and was gone. 
 " As good a horseman," said the old man, " as 
 ever served under King Philip. And I wonder 
 how many of them all are doing as good service 
 as he is this day ! " 
 
 Gualtier of the Mill had not exaggerated the 
 worth of the horse which the priest mounted, and 
 the horse had never had a better rider. From 
 Meximieux to Lyons, the road was and is more 
 than seven leagues ; but the rider knew that it was 
 by far the easier part of the way, and, thank? 
 to Chilperic and the Baron, he had left full half 
 the time allotted for his journey. He had the 
 hope, also, which proved well founded, that he 
 might not have to rely on the miller's horse alone, 
 but that he might find at Miribel, or some other 
 village on the road, a fresh horse sent out to meet 
 him by Jean Waldo.
 
 IN HIS NAME. 141 
 
 In this hope, he rode faster than he would have 
 dared to do. were he obliged to use one horse for 
 the whole journey. And at a rapid rate, indeed, 
 and without companionship or adventure, he came 
 to the hamlet which the miller had left that morn 
 ing, where poor Prinhac's enterprise had come to 
 a conclusion so untimely. The horse neighed his 
 recognition of some of his companions, as they 
 entered the wretched hamlet, and, in a moment 
 more, the Father saw Prinhac himself, evidently 
 waiting for him, in the shadow of the wall of the 
 miller's garden. 
 
 The weaver stepped forward into the roadwaj 
 as John of Lugio approached, and, with his little 
 willow switch, made in the air the mystic sign. 
 The priest drew bridle, and the horse evidently 
 knew that he was at home. Prinhac and the 
 priest had never met before. The weaver eagerly 
 asked the other if he were the physician so much 
 desired, and thanked God as eagerly when he knew 
 that, so far, his mission had not been in vain. " I 
 would break my collar-bone a dozen times, if I 
 could save my young mistress so easily. And 
 there is not another boy on the looms or in the
 
 142 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 shops but would say the same thing." He told 
 the priest hastily that he knew little about the girl's 
 disaster. He described to him his own route and 
 progress, and the miserable accident by which he 
 had been delayed. He added, " Nothing was said 
 about fresh horses, but I have been watching for 
 them all day. You ought to meet some one at 
 Miribel, or, at the worst, when you cross the river 
 the first time." 
 
 The priest asked him what he could tell him 
 about the girl's illness. 
 
 " Nothing nothing. I know she was as well 
 as a bird at sunset ; I saw her and spoke to her as 
 she came singing down the hill. The next I knew 
 was, that my master woke me in the dead of the 
 dark, and asked me ' for the love of Christ ' to bring 
 to you this message. Forgive me, Father, but if 
 he had asked me to do it for love of Mademoi 
 selle Fe'licie, I should have done it as willingly." 
 
 "Hast thou done it unto one of the least of 
 these, thou hast done it unto me ! " Such was the 
 tialf answer of the priest, which, perhaps, the 
 crippled weaver understood. " I must not stay, 
 my good fellow ; if I am to be of any use, I must
 
 IN HIS NAME. 143 
 
 go. I shall tell the child how faithful a messenger 
 she found in you. God bless you, and farewell." 
 The weaver was right in supposing that a relay 
 would await the physician at Miribel. He found 
 there another of Jean Waldo's men, with another 
 of his horses. The man did not, of course, recog 
 nize the physician, nor the horse he rode ; but it 
 was not difficult for the priest, who was on the 
 lookout for him, to persuade him that it was for 
 him that Coeur-Blanc had been saddled. The 
 man had left Lyons two hours before noon. His 
 tidings of his young mistress were scarcely en 
 couraging. She was no better, he was sure of that 
 The Florentine doctor had not left her all the day, 
 nor her father or mother ; he was sure of that 
 His directions were simply to wait for the priest 
 at Miribel, and to bid him mount Coeur-Blanc, 
 while he was to bring home Barbe-Noire as soon 
 as might be. So the good Father rode on alone. 
 The child was alive. So far was well. For the 
 rest, he had carried with him all day that sinking 
 of heart which any man feels when he is called 
 to struggle with death, only because all others 
 have so far failed in that very encounter.
 
 44 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 THE TROUBADOUR. 
 
 FRESHLY mounted, and well mounted, too, tie 
 tired man bade the groom good-by, and entered 
 on his last hour with that comfortable feeling 
 which, even to the most tired man, the last hour 
 brings Alas ! it was the old story, Prinhac's story 
 of the morning. He was, as it proved, in more 
 danger in this last hour than he had been through 
 all the rest of the day. 
 
 He was pushing over the meadows of the valley 
 at a sharp trot, when he met a rider coming out 
 from the city, on a sorry-looking beast, in the 
 rathei jaunty or fantastic costume which indicated 
 that he was one of the trouveres, or troubadours. 
 The man nodded good-naturedly, perhaps a little 
 familiarly. John of Lugio, absorbed in the old- 
 time memories which the day had renewed, ac 
 knowledged the salutation with less familiarity,
 
 IN HIS NAME. 145 
 
 but with a sort of reserved courtesy, taking, in 
 deed, but little real notice of the traveller as he 
 did so. The man pushed on cheerfully, but, in a 
 moment, stopped his horse, turned, and scrutinized 
 the priest with care, and then making a speaking- 
 trumpet of both hands, hailed him with, 
 
 " Hola ! hola ! there ; will you halt a minute ? " 
 Halting was not in John of Lugio's schedule 
 for that afternoon, if he could help himself. He 
 heard the cry distinctly, but knew no reason why 
 he should stop at the demand of a troubadour. 
 On the other hand, he would not seem to avoid 
 the other. He did not turn for an instant, there 
 fore ; he did not spur his horse on the other hand, 
 but he let him hold to the sharp, rapid trot that 
 he was pursuing. 
 
 The troubadour saw his haste, and shouted 
 only with the more eagerness, 
 "Hola! hoik! there; halt! halt!" 
 But the well-mounted rider swept along. 
 The stranger screamed once more, but savr 
 that the other halted his speed not by a second. 
 He was, indeed, out of any fair ear-shot by thil 
 time. 
 
 10
 
 146 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 The troubadour fairly groaned. He looked 
 anxiously at the declining sun, and resolved, on 
 the instant, to go in pursuit of the fugitive, even 
 with the wretched brute which he had under him, 
 who was but the poorest competitor in a match 
 with Jean Waldo's powerful Arab, on which the 
 priest was mounted. 
 
 For the priest himself, he did not once turn 
 round. It was not his part to show anxiety , and, 
 indeed, he did not know that he was followed. 
 But, if he were followed, he did not mean to be 
 readily overtaken. 
 
 There is a little elevation in the road as fc, 
 crosses the slope of a spur of one of the northern 
 hills, and the moment that John of Lugio knew 
 that he was shielded by it from the sight of any 
 one on the flat ground behind, he pressed his 
 horse even to a gallop, and flew over the ground 
 at a speed which almost defied pursuit Had this 
 rate of going lasted, he would soon have found 
 himself at the Rhone again. 
 
 But no ; he had to draw bridle in less than a 
 mile, that his unusual rate of travel might not 
 challenge the curiosity of the loungers in a little
 
 IN HIS NAME. 147 
 
 hamlet before him as the road turned. Two 01 
 three horses were tethered on the outside of a 
 wine-shop, a boy seemed to be watching them, 
 and one or two idlers stood by. John of Lugio 
 hoped that he might get by without attracting 
 attention. 
 
 No ! As he nodded civilly to the by-standers, 
 two men, half soldiers, half gens-d'armes, if these 
 modern words explain at all a race of officers now 
 existing no longer, stepped out from the tavern. 
 They were in the livery worn by the servants of 
 police of the Archbishop and Chapter of Lyons. 
 
 " Where's your haste, my tall friend ? " said the 
 one who was rather the more tipsy of the two. 
 " Where's your haste to-day ? Stop and have 
 something, something to drink with Jean Gra- 
 vier here. His wine is bad, the worst wine I ever 
 drank, but it is better wine than none." 
 
 The priest's business at this moment was not 
 to preach, nor warn, nor convert drunkards from 
 the error of their ways, but to get to Lyons before 
 sunset. He showed no sign of annoyance, but 
 laughed good-naturedly, and said, 
 
 " Thank you kindly ; I will pay the scot, if the
 
 148 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 rest will drink. But I have but just mounted at 
 Miribel yonder, and I must be in Lyons before 
 the sun goes down." 
 
 "Sun!" said the drunken tipstaff, "sun be 
 hanged 1 The sun has two good hours yet in the 
 sky, and with that horse of yours, you will see 
 the guard long before sunset Come and try 
 Jean Gravier's red wine." 
 
 The priest would not show uneasiness. But 
 again he declined, proposing that a stoup of wine 
 should be brought out, that all the company might 
 share, judging, not unwisely, that he should do 
 well to enlist as many of them as he might upon 
 his side. At this, another of the officers came out 
 from the tavern. Unfortunately, for the priesf s 
 errand, he was much more sober than his com 
 panion. Unfortunately, again, he was no foreign 
 hireling, as the others were, but was a Lyonnais 
 born. The moment he looked upon John of 
 Lugio he recognized him, or thought he did, and 
 he addressed him in a mood very different from 
 that of his noisy companions. The man looked 
 jealously at Father John, as men of his craft were 
 and are apt to look at all strangers. He did not
 
 IN HIS NAME. 149 
 
 drop or turn his eye either ; after the first glance 
 he surveyed the whole figure of the rider, and his 
 horse as well. 
 
 " You are riding one of Jean Waldo's horses," 
 he said, gruffly. 
 
 "I am," said the priest; "he sent it out to 
 meet me by one of his grooms. I left my own 
 horse at Miribel." 
 
 " You are a friend of Jean Waldo's, then ? " 
 
 " I am a friend of a friend of his," said the 
 priest, with an aspect of courage and frankness, 
 " and I am eager to be in Lyons at to-morrow's 
 festival at his house. That is why I cannot tarry 
 with our friends here. I must pay my scot and 
 begone." 
 
 "Not quite so fast," said the officer; "have 
 you any pass to show, if you are asked for one at 
 the bridge ? " 
 
 " Pass, no," said the priest, laughing. " I 
 had a pass years ago, signed by the Viguier, but it 
 was worn out long since, while I waited for some 
 body to ask me for it. I think the Viguier will 
 not turn out any of Jean Waldo's friends. Whal 
 is my scot ? " he said, as if impatient, to the taeero
 
 I$0 IN HIS NAMR. 
 
 keeper. "All the passes in the world will not 
 serve me if I come to the long bridge after sun 
 down. And I should be glad to be there before 
 the crowd." 
 
 The tavern-keeper took the copper coins which 
 the priest paid him, and Father John, on his part, 
 saluted the others, and turned as if he would go 
 away, when the persistent officer stopped him. 
 
 " Not so fast, my friend. You know very well 
 that I have good right to question you, and you 
 must not wonder if I suspect you. If you take 
 a little ride to-night with me and my friends here 
 to the Chateau of Meyzieux, where we are going, 
 I promise you as good a bed there as Messer 
 Jean Waldo will give you. Then you can ride 
 into Lyons with us in the morning, and can make 
 a little visit to the Viguier with me, before you go 
 to your Christmas dinner. That will give him a 
 chance to give you another parchment pass ; and 
 I am quite sure he will be glad to do so, unless 
 he wants your closer company." 
 
 And he gave a loud guffaw of laughter, in which 
 his two companions joined. 
 
 For the peasants and the tavern-keeper, they
 
 JJV HIS NAME. 151 
 
 were too much accustomed to such acts of petty 
 tyranny on the part of petty officials to show sur 
 prise. Indeed, they hardly felt it. John of Lugio 
 knew that, though he might have their sympathy, 
 they would not render to him any sort of help if 
 he defied in the least the authority of his perse 
 cutors. 
 
 With that same unperturbed manner which he 
 had shown all along, he laughed good-naturedly, 
 and said at once, what was perfectly true : 
 
 " The Viguier is an old friend of mine, and will 
 remember me very well." Then he added, " Sup 
 pose I meet you and your friends as you come 
 into town to-morrow, and go round there and see 
 him. I give you my hand on it that I will be at 
 the drawbridge at any time you name." 
 
 And he offered his bare hand. 
 
 " No," said the other, sternly and slowly. " We 
 are not such fools as to take men's hands, unless 
 to put handcuffs on them. You will go to Mey- 
 zieux with us in half an hour. Till then you may 
 come into the house and drink with us, or you 
 may stay out here and freeze, as it pleases you. 
 Michel, Antoine, keep your eyes on him, and see
 
 152 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 that he does not leave." And he turned to go into 
 the tavern. But he saw that the priest made no 
 resistance. On the other hand, he dismounted at 
 once, and occupied himself in looking for some 
 thing which had clogged the shoe of the noble 
 horse which he was riding. 
 
 At this moment the attention of all parties was 
 engaged by the arrival of a new-comer upon the 
 scene. The surly officer himself loitered on the 
 steps of the inn, when he heard the clear, loud 
 voice of the troubadour: 
 
 " Who will listen yet again 
 
 To the old and jovial strain, 
 The old tale of love that's ever new i 
 
 She's a girl as fair as May, 
 
 He's a boy as fresh as day, 
 And the story is as gay as it is true." 
 
 The voice was a perfectly clear and pure tenor. 
 The air was lively without being rapid, and the 
 enunciation and emphasis of the singer were 
 perfect. The poor beast he rode came panting 
 into the crowd, his sides wet and dirty ; and the 
 singer, with undisguised satisfaction, sprang from 
 his back, and threw the rein to a staJ J e-boy.
 
 IN HIS NAME. 153 
 
 "Your servant, gentlemen, your servant, gen 
 tlemen, are there no lovers of the gay science 
 in this honorable company ? " And in that clear, 
 powerful tone, he began again : 
 
 " Who will hear the pretty tale 
 
 Of my thrush and nightingale, 
 Of the dangers and the sorrows that he met t 
 
 How he fought without a fear 
 
 For his charming little dear, 
 Aucassin and his loving Nicolette." 
 
 " A beautiful song, and a story that will make 
 you laugh and make you cry, gentlemen, both to 
 gether. 
 
 " Will you hear the pretty tale, or is it too gay 
 for you ? We are not always gay. We trouveres 
 have fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers 
 like the rest of you. We have to lay our little 
 babies in the ground sometimes, as you do." All 
 this he said perfectly seriously and reverently. 
 "We love the good God as you love Him, and 
 we can tell you the stories of the saints and 
 of the prophets ; may God bless us all as we 
 do so." 
 
 And then in a minor key, and with a strain
 
 154 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 wholly different, he sang slowly, and almost in 
 tears, it seemed, 
 
 " For the love of Christ our Saviour along the road 1 
 
 came, 
 And what I stop to sing you, I sing it IN His 
 
 It need hardly be said that John of Lugio 
 caught the indication given to him, that this was 
 a friend, from whom he had been so rashly escap 
 ing. The poor brute before him was still panting 
 from the efforts which the rider had made to over 
 take Coeur-Blanc before he reached the trap into 
 which the priest had fallen. In that the singer 
 had failed. But none the less had he bravely 
 pressed on and entered that trap himself. And 
 by the little scrap he sang, he revealed himself as 
 a friend to the other, one friend who could be 
 relied upon in the midst of indifferent spectators 
 and avowed enemies. John of Lugio did not dare 
 reply, even by a glance. The singer needed no 
 leply, and looked for no glance. He went on, aa 
 they all sat down in the one room of the tavern, 
 as if he were rattling on in the fashion of his 
 ciaft:
 
 IN HIS NAME. 155 
 
 " Or I have the new song, which won the golden 
 violet last year, 
 
 " In a pretty little meadow, in a country that I know, 
 A pretty little flower did bourgeon and did grow ; 
 Its root was in a dunghill, but day to day would bring 
 Fresh food and fragrance to the weed, all through the days 
 of spring." 
 
 His clear resonant voice was fairly triumphant 
 as the words rolled on. But he stopped and said, 
 " Boy, bring me my little guitar ; if I am to sing 
 to the gentlemen, I must play to them too. Only 
 tell me what it shall be, gentlemen." 
 
 "Let it be," said John of Lugio, boldly, "the 
 song you sing ' For the Love of Christ and in His 
 Name.' " And thus he opened his communication 
 with the other. 
 
 The chief of the officers turned with an undis 
 guised sneer upon his prisoner. " So," said he, 
 u we are coming the godly, are we ? That's old 
 chaff for such as we, Mr. Friend's friend. Sing 
 one of your love songs." 
 
 "Love songs be hanged 1" said the keeper of 
 the inn ; " the girls here say they have heard 
 about Nicolette and Aucassin till they are tired ;
 
 1$6 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 they want the new song, the song of the violet 
 Can you teach it to them, Messer Trouvere ? " 
 
 " I can sing it, and I can teach it, too, to such 
 apt scholars as Mademoiselle Anne," said the 
 singer, rising and bowing as the buxom girl came 
 into the room rather shyly, with one or two of her 
 village companions. The troubadour, with some 
 exercise of authority, cleared a place for them 
 where he sate himself, made the boys rise from 
 their seats on a settle that the young women might 
 have them, ran over the air once or twice on the 
 guitar, and sang again. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE VIOLET OF GOLD. 
 
 I. 
 
 In a pretty little meadow, in a country that I know, 
 A pretty little flower did bourgeon and did grow ; 
 Its root was in a dunghill, but every day would bring 
 Fresh food and fragrance for the flower, all through the 
 
 days of spring. 
 But when the spring was over, and because it was not 
 
 strong, 
 The cruel wind came winding down, and did it wretched 
 
 wrong ; 
 
 And then came winter's frost, and stretched it on the earth 
 Above the dirty dunghill on which it had its birth
 
 IN HIS NAME. 157 
 
 By the pretty little meadow beneath the sunny skies 
 
 Is meant this wicked world of ours, which lures us with 
 
 its lies ; 
 
 For evil takes away the light of life from me and you, 
 And brings us wicked tales to tell, and naughty deeds to 
 
 do. 
 
 We live along our little lives all foolish and forlorn, 
 Nor tum to look a minute on the place where we weio 
 
 born ; 
 So comes it that through winding ways, in which our souli 
 
 are tried, 
 We stumble stupid onward, with wickedness for guide. 
 
 III. 
 
 I say the little flower, which in the meadow grew, 
 
 Grew fair and then grew foul, just like me and just like 
 
 you : 
 Vv e're gayly clad and bravely fed, when first our live* 
 
 begin, 
 
 Before the enemy of man seduces us to sin. 
 So God has made the sight of heaven above the sunny 
 
 sky, 
 A the blue flowers of spring-time bloom bright before tho 
 
 eye; 
 But then the fool of petty pride forgets where he wai 
 
 born, 
 And dies the death of sinful shame, all foolish and for* 
 
 lorn.
 
 1 58 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 nr. 
 
 And the dungtill where the flower did flourish and did fade 
 Is the dust of earth from which the Lord our father Adam 
 
 made ; 
 His children's children lived the lives of sinfulness and 
 
 shame, 
 From which the breath of being to our fathers' fathers 
 
 came. 
 
 We climb the mountains high, and valleys low descend, 
 We toil and moil, and -crowd with care our lives unto the 
 
 end ; 
 And when we die, all this we have is treasure thrown 
 
 away, 
 And nothing's left us for the tomb, except a clod of clay. 
 
 The cruel wind which bent the flower, and crushed it like 
 
 a weed, 
 
 I say, is grasping pride of life, is avarice and greed, 
 Which teaches us to hide our heads, and steal and chea* 
 
 and lie ; 
 
 And so it is that wicked folks torment us till we die. 
 And then, again, this winter wild, which sweeps away the 
 
 flower, 
 
 I say, h false and cruel Death exulting in his power. 
 He grasps us in his hard embrace, until all life is fled, 
 And throws us on the dunghill, when he knows our flesh 
 
 is dead. l 
 
 The author hastens to admit the anachronism of intro 
 ducing here this little poem. It received the Violet of 
 Gold in the vear 1.145.
 
 IN HIS NAME. I5Q 
 
 The girls were nodding to the air, and were 
 much more interested in that, perhaps, than in 
 the words, but the leader of the gens-d'armes, 
 if we may again use the modern word, expressed 
 his scorn for the whole. 
 
 " Bring him some wine, Jean ; wet his whistle 
 for him. Dunghills and Death, indeed, is that 
 the best he has to sing of ? Give him some wine, 
 and give me some; give everybody some. Mr 
 Friend's friend's friend, take some wine to show 
 you bear no malice. Girls ! have some wine ; all 
 drink, and then let him tell us his love story." 
 
 With a good deal of bustle and readjustment ol 
 the company, with much fuss at serving wine foi 
 so many, these arbitrary orders were executed. 
 The troubadour, meanwhile, was thrumming on 
 his guitar, tuning it, and striking chords, or 
 trying one or another bit of the tune. When the 
 captain gave word, at last, that they were all 
 ready, he began again with the same song with 
 which he had at first arrested their attention 
 
 Who will listen yet again, 
 To the old and jovial strain,
 
 160 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 The old tale of love that's always new " 
 She's a girl as fair as May, 
 He's a boy as fresh as day, 
 
 And the story is as gay as it is true. 
 
 Who will hear the pretty tale 
 
 Of my thrush and nightingale, 
 Of the dangers and the sorrows that he tnet t 
 
 How he fought without a fear, 
 
 For his charming little dear, 
 Aucassin, and his loving Nicolette. 
 
 III. 
 
 For, my lords, I tell you true, 
 
 That you never saw or knew 
 Man or woman so ugly or so gray, 
 
 Who would not all day long 
 
 Sit and listen to the song 
 And the story that I tell you here to-day. 
 
 "THE STORY OF NICOLETTE AND AUCASSIN." 
 
 " Now you must know, my lords and my ladies, 
 that the Count Bougars of Valence chose to make 
 war with the Count Garin of Beaucaire. And the 
 war was so cruel, that the Count never let one day 
 go by, but what he came thundering at the walls 
 and barriers of the town, with a hundred knights
 
 2N MS MAME. i<5l 
 
 and with ten thousand men-at-arms, on foot and 
 on horseback, who burned all the houses, and 
 stole all the sheep, and killed all the people that 
 they could. 
 
 " Now the Count Garin de Beaucaire was very 
 old. and was sadly broken with years. He had 
 used his time very ill, had the Count de Beaucaire. 
 And the old wretch had no heir, either son or 
 daughter, except one boy, whose name was 
 
 AUCASSIN. 
 
 " Aucassin was. gentle and handsome. He was 
 tall and well made ; his legs were good and his 
 feet were good, his body was good and his arms 
 were good. His hair was blond, a little curly ; 
 his eyes were like gray fur, for they were near 
 silver and near blue, and they laughed when you 
 looked at them. His nose was high and well 
 placed ; his face was clear and winning. Yes, 
 and he had every thing charming, and nothing 
 bad about him. But this young man was so 
 wholly conquered by love, who conquers every 
 body, that he would not occupy himself in any 
 other thing. He would not be a knight, he would 
 11
 
 162 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 not take arms, he would not go to the tourneys, 
 he would not do any of the things he ought to da 
 
 "His father was very much troubled by thisj 
 and he said to him one morning : 
 
 " ' My son, take your arms, mount your horse, 
 defend your country, protect your people. If 
 they only see you in the midst of them, this will 
 give them more courage; they will fight all the 
 better for their lives and their homes; for your 
 land and mine. 
 
 " ' Father,' said Aucassin, ' why do you say this 
 to me? 
 
 "'May God never hear my prayers, if I ever 
 mount horse, or go to tourney, or to battle, before 
 you have yourself given to me my darling Nico- 
 lette, my sweetheart whom I love so dearly.' 
 
 " ' My son,' said the father to him, ' this cannot 
 be. 
 
 " ' Give up for ever your dreams of this captive 
 girl, whom the Saracens brought from some strange 
 land, and sold to the Viscount here. 
 
 " ' rie trained her j he baptized her j she is his 
 god-child. 
 
 "'Some day he will give her to some brav*
 
 IN HIS NAME. lOj. 
 
 fetlow who will have to gain his bread by his 
 sword. 
 
 " ' But you, my son, when the time comes that 
 you wish to take a wife, I will give you some king's 
 daughter, or at least the daughter of a count 
 
 " ' There is not in all Provence a man so rich 
 that may not marry his daughter, if you choose.' 
 
 "So said the old man. But Aucassin re 
 plied : 
 
 "'Alas, my father; there is not in this world 
 the principality which would not be honored if my 
 darling Nicolette, my sweetest, went to live there. 
 
 " ' If she were Queen of France or of England \ 
 if she were Empress of Germany or of Greece, 
 she could not be more courteous or more gracious ; 
 she could not have sweeter ways or greater vir 
 tues.' " 
 
 At this point the troubadour nodded to the girl 
 Anne, who, as she had said, knew the airs and 
 the songs of the little romance. One of the vil 
 lage girls joined her, and thus in trio the thref 
 
 sang : 
 
 All the night and all the day 
 Aucassin would beg and pray :
 
 1 64 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 " Oh, my father, give my Nicolette to mo." 
 
 Then his mother came to say : 
 "What is it that my foolish boy can see?" 
 " Nicolette is sweet and gay." 
 
 "But Nicolette's a slave. 
 
 If a wife my boy would have, 
 Let him choose a lady fair of high degree." 
 
 " Oh, no ; my mother, no I 
 
 For I love my darling so. 
 
 Her face is always bright, 
 
 And her footstep's always light, 
 . And I cannot let my dainty darling go ! 
 No, mother dear, she rules my heart I 
 No, mother dear, we cannot part 1 " 
 
 The commander of the squad of policemen had 
 not been mistaken in his estimate of the attractive 
 powers of fiction, sentiment, and religion in such 
 an assembly as that around the tavern. As the 
 little love story went on, with the song belonging 
 to it, groups of idlers out-doors pressed into the 
 great doorway of the tavern. The grooms left 
 with the horses arranged that one boy only should 
 hold them all ; and he, getting hint of what was 
 passing, made shift to knot the bridles together, 
 to fasten them all to a halter at the corner of the 
 house, and to crowd in after the rest From the
 
 fN HIS NAME 165 
 
 other cottage, which was used as a kitchen in 
 the establishment, two or three more women ap 
 peared, older than Anne and her companions, 
 and for these, as before, seats were provided 
 on a settle. This last arrangement made a little 
 delay, but so soon as the women were seated, the 
 brisk troubadour went on. 
 
 " When the Count Garin of Beaucaire saw that 
 he could not drag Nicolette out from the heart of 
 Aucassin, he went to find the Viscount, who wa? 
 his vassal, and he said to him : 
 
 " ' Sir Viscount, we must get rid of your god 
 child, Nicolette. 
 
 " ' Cursed be the country where she was born, 
 for she is the reason why I am losing my Aucas 
 sin, who ought to be a knight, and who refuses to 
 do what he ought to do. 
 
 "'If I can catch her, I will burn her at the 
 stake, and I will burn you too.' 
 
 " ' My lord,' replied the Viscount, ' I am very 
 sorry for what has happened, but it is no fault of 
 mine. 
 
 " * 1 bought Nicolette with my money ; I trained 
 her ; I had her baptized, and she is my god-child
 
 106 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 " ' I wanted to marry her to a fine young man 
 of mine, who would gladly have earned her bread 
 for her, which is more than your son Aucassin 
 could do. 
 
 "'But since your wish and your pleasure are 
 what they are, I will send this god-child of mine 
 away to such a land in such a country that Aucas 
 sin shall never set his eyes upon her again.' " 
 
 The little audience of the troubadour, quite 
 unused to " sensation " of this sort, many of them 
 fresh as children to the charm of a well-told story, 
 pressed closer and closer to him. With the 
 rarest of gifts, and that least possible to gain by 
 study, the trouvere fairly talked to them in tones 
 of perfect conversational familiarity. His eyes 
 caught sympathizing eyes as he glanced from side 
 to side of the room, and his animation quickened, 
 and his words became more confidential. At 
 last, indeed, he addressed himself personally to 
 the Captain ; when he was fully satisfied that, in 
 the confusion which accompanied the entrance 
 of the women, John of Lugio had risen from his 
 quiet seat behind the inner door, and had, un 
 noticed, left the room.
 
 IN HIS NAME. 167 
 
 The troubadour continued in his most confi 
 dential narrative tone, 
 
 " ' See that you do so,' cried the Count Garin 
 to the Viscount, ' or great misfortunes will come 
 to you.' 
 
 " So saying, he left his vassal. 
 
 " Now the Viscount had a noble palace, of high 
 walls, surrounded by a thickly planted garden. 
 He put Nicolette into one of the rooms of this 
 palace, in the very highest story. 
 
 "She had an old woman for her only com 
 panion, with enough bread and meat and wine, 
 and every thing else that they needed to keep them 
 alive. 
 
 "Then he fastened and concealed the door, so 
 that no one could go in, and he left no other open 
 ing but the window, which was very narrow, and 
 opened on the garden." 
 
 Again the story-teller nodded to the two girla, 
 and they sang all together: 
 
 u Nicolette was put in prison ; 
 
 And a vaulted room, 
 Wonderfully built and painted, 
 Was her prison-home.
 
 1 68 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 u The pretty maiden came 
 To the marble window-frame j 
 Her hair was light, 
 Her eyes were bright, 
 And her face was a charming face to see. 
 
 No ; never had a knight 
 A maid with such a charming face to see. 
 
 " She looked into the garden close, 
 
 And there she saw the open rose, 
 
 Heard the thrushes sing and twitter, 
 
 And she sang in accent bitter : 
 Oh, why am I a captive here ? 
 
 Why locked up in cruel walls ? 
 Aucassin, my sweetheart dear, 
 
 Whom my heart its master calls, 
 I have been your sweetheart for this livelong year I 
 
 That is why I've come 
 
 To this vaulted room. 
 But by God, the Son of Mary, no I 
 I will not be captured so ! 
 If only I can break away, and go ! n 
 
 Then the troubadour continued : 
 a So Nicolette was put in prison, as you have 
 just heard, and soon a cry and noise ran through 
 the country that she was lost. Some said that she 
 had run away , others said that the Count Garin 
 de Beaucaire had killed her. 
 
 " All in despair at the joy which this news
 
 IN HIS NAME. 169 
 
 seemed to cause to some people, Aucassin went 
 to find the viscount of the town. 
 
 "'Lord Viscount,' he asked him, 'what have 
 you done with Nicolette, my sweetest love, the 
 thing in all the world which I love best ? 
 
 " ' You have stolen her ! 
 
 " ' Be sure, Viscount, that if I die of this, the 
 blame shall fall on you. 
 
 " ' For, surely, it is you who tear away my life 
 in tearing away my darling Nicolette ! ' 
 
 " ' Fair sir,' answered the Viscount, * do let this 
 Nicolette alone, for she is not worthy of you ; she 
 is a slave whom I have bought with my deniers, 
 and she must serve as a wife to a young fellow of 
 her own state, to a poor man, and not to a lord 
 like you, who ought to marry none but a king's 
 daughter, or at least a count's daughter. 
 
 " ' What should you be doing for yourself if you 
 did make a lady of this vile creature, and marry 
 her? 
 
 " ' Then would you be very happy, indeed, verj 
 happy, for your soul would abide for ever in helL 
 And never should you enter into paradise.' 
 
 "'Into paradise?' repeated Aucassin, angrily
 
 I/O IN HIS NAME 
 
 1 And what have I to do there ? I do not care to 
 go there if it be not with Nicolette, my sweetest 
 darling, whom I love so much. 
 
 " ' Into paradise ! And do you know who those 
 are that go there, you who think it is a place where 
 I must wish to go? They are old priests, old 
 cripples, old one-eyed men, who lie day and night 
 before the altars, sickly, miserable, shivering, half 
 naked, half fed ; dead already before they die ! 
 These are they who go to paradise ; and they are 
 such pitiful companions that I do not desire to go 
 to paradise with them. 
 
 " ' But to hell would I gladly go ; for to hell go 
 the good clerks and the fair knights slain in battle 
 and in great wars ; the brave sergeants-at-arms 
 and the men of noble lineage. And with all these 
 would I gladly go.' 
 
 " ' Stop,' says the Viscount ; ' all which you can 
 say, and nothing at all, are exactly the same thing: 
 never shall you see Nicolette again. 
 
 " * What you and I may get for this would not 
 be pleasant, if you still will be complaining. 
 
 "'We all might be burned by your fathers 
 command, Nicolette, you, and myself into the 
 bargain,'
 
 IN HIS NAME. i;i 
 
 " ' Wo is me ! ' cried Aucassin in his anger, and 
 he left the Viscount, who was no less angry 
 Mian himself." 
 
 The company gathered nearer and nearer to 
 gether, eager not to lose one word. Nor was any 
 one roused from the interest of the story, till a 
 new traveller stopped at the wretched tavern. 
 
 " Hola ! hola ! " he cried. " Is there no one to 
 care for my horse ? " 
 
 Antoine, the stable-boy, rushed out, and to his 
 shame and horror all the horses were gone. 
 
 But with the agony and falsehood of despair, he 
 took the stranger's horse, as if nothing had hap 
 pened, and said to him : 
 
 " I will see to the horse, monsieur, give your 
 self no care. Will you step into the house? 
 There is the best trouvere singing there who 
 travels all over this country. He is telling the 
 story of Nicolette. 
 
 " I will take good care of your horse, sir.; never 
 fear me." 
 
 For poor Antoine's only fear was, that the mas 
 ter of the newly arrived beast would stay outside,
 
 172 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 In fact that worthy did loiter a moment, and 
 gave one or two directions about his horse. Poor 
 Antoine was dying to ask him if he met five sad 
 dled horses as he came. But he did not dare 
 disgrace himself ; and he thought, wisely enough, 
 that if the stranger had seen any such cavalcade 
 he would surely have mentioned it 
 
 At last, by repeated solicitation, he induced the 
 man to enter the tavern, and, with solicitude wholly 
 unusual, the stable-boy drew the door to, after the 
 traveller had passed in. He could hear the trio 
 again, as the two girls joined with the troubadour. 
 
 But the poor stable-boy cursed Nicolette and 
 Aucassin both, with adjurations and anathemas 
 such as they had never heard, and wished all 
 troubadours were on the other side of the sea. If 
 those horses could not be brought back before his 
 master, or before the Viguier's officer found they 
 were gone, he, Antoine, would be well flogged 
 before he went to bed. That was certain. No 
 Christmas holiday for him, that was certain 
 also. And whether, at the beginning of a cold 
 winter, he were not put in handcuffs and carried 
 to one of those horrid prisons which he had heard
 
 IN HIS NAME. 173 
 
 tne officers talking of, of this the frightened boy 
 was by no means certain. 
 
 So soon as he had closed the door, instead of 
 leading the hot and wet beast intrusted to him 
 to the stable, as he knew he should do, he fastened 
 him by the rein firmly but quickly, and at his best 
 speed ran up the road, where he might gain the 
 view from the hill, and get a survey of the whole 
 meadow. 
 
 " For the cursed brutes," he said, " are all fast 
 ened together, wherever they have gone." 
 
 And then he reflected, with profound satisfac 
 tion, that the tale of Nicolette and Aucassin was 
 very long, or that one of the girls had told him 
 so in a whisper. Perhaps they would stay in the 
 tavern longer than the Captain had said, if only 
 the troubadour could make it entertaining enough. 
 
 Ah, Antoine, you need not fear the troubadour 1 
 He is making it as entertaining as he knows how, 
 and that is what he is there for, that he may 
 keep them all for the precious minutes that shall 
 take Coeur-Blanc into Lyons. 
 
 So Antoine pressed up the road to the little 
 swell of land over which it passed, from which, as
 
 174 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 he approached, John of Lugio had first seen tha 
 group standing at the tavern. 
 
 The poor boy came up the hill, all out of breath, 
 and scanned the wide meadows. A few cows 
 here ; a stray traveller or two there ; clouds of 
 dust on the highway, which might conceal this or 
 that or something else, who should say? But 
 no definite sign of the horses. 
 
 The wretched boy climbed a tree ; but he only 
 lost time, and saw nothing. He could see that 
 Philip of Fontroyes, the lame man, was hobbling 
 home with his sorry cow. 
 
 The boy rushed to meet Philip. Philip was 
 very deaf, and, like other dull people, could not 
 answer the square question put to him, till he 
 knew who he was that asked it, why he asked it, 
 and for what purpose he asked it. When he was 
 at last secure on these points, he ventured to 
 say, 
 
 " Horses, no horses ; no, no horses. There 
 was a span of mules that a man with a red jerkin 
 drove by: that was two hours ago. But no 
 horses." 
 
 As Antoine knew that if Philip had had any
 
 IN HIS NAME. 175 
 
 eye, or any memory, he must have reported at 
 least the passage of Cceur-Blanc, and that of the 
 troubadour, and that of the stranger whom he had 
 just left; three horses, certainly; this assurance 
 that no horses had passed on the road was any 
 thing but encouraging. 
 
 Poor boyl he looked back a moment on the 
 tavern ; he thought of the pretty, pleasant way in 
 which Lulu had spoken to him only that morning, 
 and of the blue ribbon he had ready to give to 
 her the next day ; he thought, shall we confess it 
 in this connection, of his own feast-day suit of 
 clothes, which were in his box in the wretched 
 attic where he slept 
 
 But he thought also of the flogging which was 
 so sure 'f he were detected. He would never see 
 Lulu again, nor his gay garments again! He 
 looked his last on the tavern, and fled along the 
 high road away from it and from Lyons as 
 fast as his feet could carry him. 
 
 The troubadour, who saw every thing, saw or 
 knew or felt or comprehended the entrance of the 
 new-comer, and heard Antoine as he closed the 
 outer dooi ot the tavern. The troubadour did nol
 
 1/6 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 pause a moment in his story. The stranger, with 
 a courteous gesture, intimated that he would not 
 interrupt it, and took the seat by the great fire, 
 which Dame Gravier, with a good deal of fuss and 
 pretence of hospitality, cleared for him. 
 
 The captain of the officers started, as if he had 
 perhaps dozed a little in the last refrain of the 
 singers, but really gave some attention to the 
 story-teller, as he went on without any pause 
 is the story required him to do after another 
 little song: 
 
 Then Aucassin went home ; 
 But his heart was wrung with fear 
 By the parting from his dainty dear, 
 
 His dainty dear so fair, 
 
 Whom he sought for everywhere, 
 But nowhere could he find her, far or near 
 To the palace he has come, 
 
 And he climbs up every stair, 
 He hides him in his room 
 
 And weeps in his despair. 
 
 "Oh, my Nicolette," said he, 
 " So dear and sweet is she 1 
 So sweet for that, so sweet for this, 
 So sweet to speak, so sweet to kiss, 
 So sweet to come, so sweet to stay 
 So sweet to sing, so sweet to play,
 
 IN HIS NAME. 1 77 
 
 So sweet when there, so sweet when here 
 Oh, my darling ! Oh, my dear, 
 Where are you, my sweet ? while I 
 Sit and weep so near to die, 
 Because I cannot find my darling dear." l 
 
 To a modern ear it is difficult to give the im 
 pression of the effect of the long closing line, as 
 the three voices, in strict unison, closed the little 
 song, with perfect spirit, running up rapidly in 
 a whole octave, and closing an octave higher than 
 the key-note, to which they would naturally have 
 returned. 
 
 The narrative then continued : 
 
 " Meanwhile, I can tell you, the righting went on. 
 For the Count Bougars pressed hard on the Count 
 Garin. He had a thousand men-at-arms in one 
 camp, and he had a thousand in another. And 
 while Aucassin was shut up hi his chamber, and 
 
 1 The original is very pretty, and can be guessed out, 
 rea by the unlearned reader : 
 
 " Nicolete biax esters, 
 Biax venir et biax alers, 
 Biax deduis et dous parlers, 
 Biax borders et biaz j cm era, 
 Biax baisiers, biax acolers."
 
 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 lamenting his dear Nicolette, the Count was bring 
 ing up great battering-rams to hammer down the 
 walls of the city." 
 
 " Ah, yes," grunted the Captain, " let us hear 
 about the battering-rams. I was sergeant in a 
 battering-train at Gron, myself, I was ! " And he 
 drank off another good draught from his tankard, 
 and then dropping back in his chair, gave atten 
 tion in the manner of those people who can hear 
 a preacher better when their eyes are closed. 
 
 " He brought up one battering-ram, with a very 
 brave sergeant in charge of it, on one side the 
 city ; and, on another side, he brought up another, 
 with two counts and a duke in charge of it 
 
 " At last he thought all was ready ; and on each 
 side of the town he gathered all his footmen and 
 all his honemen for the assault." 
 
 " What did he want horsemen for to storm 
 breach with ? " growled the sergeant 
 
 " I beg your honor's pardon," said the trouvere, 
 who had not made the blunder without a purpose. 
 "But the troubadour who told this story to me 
 had not seen so many sieges as your honor." 
 
 " I should think not ; I should think ot.*
 
 IN HIS NAME. 179 
 
 grunted the drunken critic, well satisfied with the 
 success of his interruption, and the trouvere con 
 tinued as confidentially as before, and as if the 
 sergeant was his only auditor. 
 
 " Everybody in the city was called to arms to 
 defend the walls. They supposed that the attack 
 would be made on the eastern side, because the 
 breach was there." 
 
 "Yes, yes," grunted the experienced soldier, 
 " of course the attack would be made where the 
 breach was." 
 
 And he nodded complacently upon the inn 
 keeper and upon his own companions, as if he 
 would say, " Of course we know more of war than 
 these singing fellows do." 
 
 The troubadour continued : 
 
 "The principal attacking party might have 
 gone quite wrong had it been left to the dukes, 
 but the brave fellow I told you of before " 
 
 And it is impossible to tell what wonders the 
 sergeant on his side might have wrought, or the 
 duke and the count on theirs, in vain rivalry with 
 a sergeant so puissant. For at this fatal moment^ 
 the horse whom Antotne had left to freeze, think-
 
 i8o IN HIS NAME 
 
 ing it was quite time that his needs should bft at 
 tended to, gave an ominous neigh. 
 
 " Neigh-eigh-eigh-eigh." 
 
 The sound rang through the crowded room ; and 
 Jean the innkeeper himself started from his seat 
 and looked around, and, seeing that all the ser 
 vants were rushing out-doors, followed 1;hem. The 
 master of the horse of course followed, and the 
 officers; and the troubadour and the girls were 
 left in the confusion alone. 
 
 " Where's Antoine ? where's Antoine ? " ' Cries 
 of Antoine ! Antoine ! resounded everywhere. To 
 tell the truth, the tavern was not unused to such 
 clamor. Poor Antoine was the man-of-all-work, 
 always summoned. 
 
 " Don't come out into the cold, sir ! " said Jean 
 Gravier, perfectly used to making up the scanty 
 resources of his wretched tavern by the boldest 
 lying. " Go back into the inn, if you please. My 
 wife has supper ready. Antoine has taken the 
 horses to water them." 
 
 " Water them I "said the stranger with an oath ; 
 " and why has he not taken mine to groom him 
 and give him a bed, as he said he would ? Th
 
 IN HIS NAME. l8l 
 
 beast is wellnigh frozen already, while you and 
 your people are singing your love-songs." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," said Jean Gravier, "I 
 shall rub him down myself." And he led the 
 poor wretch to the stable, wondering where An- 
 toine was with the other horses, and beckoning to 
 Ode, one of the hangers-on, to follow. 
 
 " Jean Gravier, come back ; what is all this row 
 about, and what are you doing with the horses of 
 the honorable men-at-arms of the Bishop and 
 Chapter of Lyons?" 
 
 With many oaths, some hiccough, and other 
 interruptions, the captain of the policemen, stand 
 ing upon the step, thus hailed the tavern-keeper. 
 
 Jean Gravier pretended not to hear. 
 
 " Come back, you dog, come back, and answer 
 to the charge made against you." This was the 
 second appeal of the drunken fool, who doubted a 
 little his own ability to run after the delinquent 
 vintner, and made up in grandeur of words for 
 whatever failure of bodily force he was con 
 scious of. 
 
 Jean Gravier did not dare go on. 
 
 *' For God's sake, find the horses, Ode. Send
 
 182 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 Pierre up the road, and send Andre* down ; unless, 
 indeed, which God grant, that brute of an Antoine 
 has had the grace to put them all into the stable." 
 
 And, with the happy thought of a new lie, he 
 turned to the stranger, who was following him in 
 a rage, and said. 
 
 "I did not understand, monsieur. The boy 
 has taken them all to the stable, it was so cold.' 
 
 "Took them to the stable! Why did he not 
 take mine to the stable? What do I care foi 
 other people's horses ? I will groom my own ! " 
 
 And, with little comfort, Jean Gravier was lef ; 
 to take the rage of the drunken sergeant. 
 
 But this rage, and the rage of the two officers, 
 who abetted and applauded the threats and abuse 
 of their chief, need not be written down. Jean 
 Gravier bent before the storm, acknowledged that 
 it was natural that his guests should be indignant, 
 but explained that they were wholly mistaken. 
 He repeated eagerly his lie that the horses were 
 in the stable, praying to all the saints in the cal 
 endar that they might prove to be so. In a mo 
 ment more, he was relieved from the necessity of 
 inventing any more lies by a shout from Andre^
 
 IN HIS NAME. 183 
 
 who appeared in the roadway, leading out four of 
 the five horses from behind an old mill, which 
 stood perhaps a furlong along the Lyons road, in 
 the direction exactly opposite that which Antoine 
 had taken. 
 
 Ah me ! if Antoine had dared ask the stran 
 ger if he met five horses saddled, he would 
 have gone the right way when he did go wrong ; 
 he would have found the horses ; he would have 
 brought them back undetected; he would have 
 given Lulu her ribbon on Christmas-day, and 
 would have worn his own fine clothes. And now 
 the poor boy is flying, as if for life, across the 
 meadows. 
 
 Andre* came leading along the coffle of horses. 
 For a moment no one observed that there were 
 but four, and should be five ; but, the moment he 
 came to the tavern with them, the loss of Cceur- 
 Blanc was evident. 
 
 " It is that damned horse-thief from Mey- 
 zieux ! " cried Jean Gravier, the tavern-keeper ; 
 u and he has stolen the best horse of them all." 
 And Jean Gravier went sadly back into the tavern, 
 to think what lie he should invent to satisfy th
 
 1 84 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 quiet gentleman with white hair who sat behind 
 the door. 
 
 But, as the reader knows, the quiet gentleman 
 with white hair had taken leave long before. 
 
 All this time he had been increasing the dis 
 tance between him and the tavern as rapidly as 
 Cceur-Blanc's longest stride would take him. The 
 sun was yet more than half an hour high, though 
 he had lost certainly half an hour hi that misera 
 ble altercation, and in the enforced delay in the 
 tavern. 
 
 At the moment when he found himself free, he 
 had not mounted Coeur-Blanc ; he had only cut 
 the long halter at the place where it was fastened 
 to the house, and by it had led along the five 
 horses together, as if to the trough where they 
 were used to be watered. If any one within the 
 room heard their tread, he supposed the stable- 
 boys were leading them to the trough, and to the 
 cover which, as evening drew on, they all required. 
 As the horses drank, John of Lugio mounted his 
 own. Not losing his hold of the halter, he walked 
 carefully two hundred yards or more into the
 
 IN HIS NAME. 185 
 
 shelter of a little copse and of a deserted mill 
 Here he stopped, eager for time though he was, 
 and once more securely tethered them all. Then 
 was it that he gave Cceur-Blanc his head ; and 
 for the next fifteen minutes he rode like the wind. 
 
 He understood then, what the reader under 
 stands, that the troubadour, whose salutation he 
 had acknowledged, but whose call he had not re 
 garded, had been acting as his true friend, in an 
 emergency when he had no other. 
 
 The man was one of the affiliated " Poor Men 
 of Lyons." That was made certain by the signal 
 he had given. 
 
 He had recognized John of Lugio, but in that 
 uncertain way that a minute had passed before he 
 was sure of his man. Then was it that the good 
 fellow had been certain that the priest, whom all 
 the " Poor Men of Lyons " loved and honored, 
 was riding into danger ; and then was it that he 
 had turned and hailed him, in the hope that he 
 might in time save him from the inspection and 
 inquiry of the officers, whom the troubadour had 
 passed just before at the tavern. In truth, he had 
 gladly evaded them himself ; for the reputation o/
 
 1 86 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 the Lyonnais officers was so bad that any man of 
 peace was glad to keep out of the way when it 
 was in his power. 
 
 And now, as Father John saw, the good fellow 
 had boldly come to the rescue, and had taken the 
 chances of sharing his fate, that he might also 
 take the chance of coming to his relief. The 
 priest did not dare think he was safe himself till 
 he crossed the long bridge. But he heard no out 
 cry behind him ; and every minute, as Cceur-Blanc 
 flew, was two or three furlongs gained. 
 
 Fortunately the high road was, for a while, quite 
 clear of passengers ; so that the tremendous rate 
 at which he rode challenged but little attention. 
 
 Fifteen minutes may have passed before he 
 dared take a pace less noticeable ; and by that 
 time the spires of Lyons were in sight in the 
 distance. He satisfied himself that the sun was 
 still high enough for him to pass without chal 
 lenge at the drawbridge. And then, still keeping 
 up a bold trot, he joined with one and another 
 group of those who were going into the city, and 
 even ventured to chat with some of them as to the 
 festivities which were in preparation. The Chap
 
 IN HIS NAME. 187 
 
 ter was giving more distinction than evei to 
 Christmas celebration, perhaps to signalize the 
 advantages which the people of Lyons and the 
 neighborhood were to gain from the new arrange 
 ment of affairs, which made them temporal mas 
 ters of the city and suburbs, as well as their 
 spiritual guides. 
 
 Father John felt a little sheltered when he rode 
 chatting by the side of a well-to-do farmer, who 
 was coming in by invitation to spend the holiday 
 with his brother in the city. In front of them was 
 a rude cart, covered with canvas, in which were 
 the farmer's daughters and his wife. The talk 
 fell, as it always did, on the crusade ; and the 
 man showed ignorance of the deepest dye as to 
 its geography and its causes, which the priest did 
 his best to enlighten. 
 
 " And will the knights be back with the heathen 
 hounds by Easter ? " 
 
 "The good God knows," replied the priest, 
 reverently. 
 
 " Yas ; the good God knows, but what do yew 
 th^nk? They have been gone long." 
 
 " It is a long journey, said the priest
 
 1 88 TN HIS NAME. 
 
 " Not so long, though, as those fine Englishmen 
 had come, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Father John, surprised a littld 
 " much longer ! " 
 
 " Longer than they had come ? Why did they 
 cross the sea at all, then ? Why not go by land ? ' 
 
 Father John explained that England was on an 
 island ; that if the King of England left his do 
 minions at all he must cross the seas. 
 
 " And do King Saladin and the foul fiend Ma- 
 hound, do they live on another island ? I be 
 lieve," said the stout fanner, " I should have gone 
 to the Holy War myself, if I could have gone by 
 land." 
 
 Father John explained again that the Holy City 
 was not on an island j that it could be reached 
 by land. 
 
 " In the old war," said he, " many of the 
 knights went by land. They rode their good 
 horses all the way. But so many perished that 
 the kings have taken ship this time, to go thither 
 more quickly." 
 
 "Oh," cried his friend, "they are all wrong. 
 Many men would go by land who never would go
 
 IN HIS NAME. 189 
 
 by sea. I am one. Philippe there is two. Jean, 
 Hubert, Joseph, I could tell you seven men 
 who would go were there no sailing." 
 
 The priest listened kindly, but the pace to 
 which the good farmer held him was such that he 
 dared not loiter long. He bade him good-by, and 
 pressed on, to join one and another group of 
 people, who were attracted in the same way to 
 the city. 
 
 But always he was expecting to . hear the chal 
 lenge from behind of the Viguier's officers. 
 
 The last obstruction of all was, as he waited 
 in a corner of the road, that a company of a hun 
 dred or more mounted soldiers might march past 
 him, who were the men for whom his persecutors 
 had ridden in advance, that they might provide 
 their quarters for the night at Meyzieux. The 
 priest waited till the last of them had gone, and 
 then boldly crossed the causeway over the mead 
 ow before they came to the temporary bridge, 
 where he was to pass the Rhone for the last 
 time, the bridge which poor Prinhac had 
 crossed so fortunately in the morning. The 
 un was glowing, red and angry, above the
 
 190 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 height of Fourvieres, and Father John had again 
 so far relaxed the rate of s>peed to which he had 
 held the horse, that his more decorous trot did 
 not attract the attention of the town-servants, who 
 were farmers' boys, and were going out of the 
 town that they might enjoy the festival of the next 
 day at their fathers' homes, or that of the groups 
 of peasants who were pressing in to see the great 
 solemnities by which the Chapter celebrated the 
 Saviour's birth, and amused their subjects at the 
 same time. There were, indeed, so many of these 
 parties now, and they proceeded at a rate so con 
 fidently slow, that had the priest any doubt 
 whether he should find the gates open, the num 
 ber of travellers would have reassured him. 
 
 At the bridge itself there was not even the pre 
 tence of any examination or detention. So many 
 of the towns-people and of the peasants were pass 
 ing in or passing out, that it seemed to be taken 
 as an exceptional day, when the usual forms of 
 military order might be relaxed, and the sentinel, 
 V.JO was lazily sitting on a bench by the port 
 cullis, with his halberd lying by his side, did not 
 to much as challenge the passers-by. Father
 
 IN HIS NAME. 191 
 
 John, who had heard from Prinhac the story o! 
 the secret of his passage, looked rather curiously 
 into the face of this man, and of his officer also, 
 who was lounging in the guard-house behind him. 
 But he recognized neither of them. They cer 
 tainly were none whom he had known among the 
 clients of his " Poor Men of Lyons," and prob 
 ably both belonged to some hireling company of 
 soldiers whom the Chapter had imported from an 
 other province. 
 
 The priest had picked his way across the bridge 
 slowly and with caution, and now entered upon 
 ground where every house was familiar to him, 
 and had some story of grief or joy in his old 
 memories. The streets were more alive than 
 usual, because the eve of the Festival of Christ 
 mas was almost as much a holiday as was the 
 Christmas-day proper. And Father John was well 
 aware that, had he been dressed in the proper 
 uniform of his profession, any fifth person he met 
 would have recognized him as one of the pro 
 scribed men. Recognition was dangerous at the 
 Dest ; but to-night an arrest by some officer of the 
 Viguier would make delay long enough to defeat
 
 192 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 any hope of his rendering the service he had been 
 sent for. He had, therefore, in the little distance 
 left to him, as he threaded the streets of the town, 
 a greater risk to run than he had incurred the 
 whole day through. His risk was his patient's 
 risk, and he must avoid it as best he could. 
 
 The priest looked eagerly among the groups of 
 people who were gathered at the street corners, 
 in the hope that there might be some one known 
 to him as belonging to the affiliated " Poor Men 
 of Lyons," whom he should dare withdraw from 
 the crowd by a signal, who would take the well- 
 known horse he rode quietly to its master's 
 stables, while he himself found his way to the 
 house on foot, and so escape observation. But 
 the handful of the " Poor Men " who were in 
 Lyons did not care much for such street gather 
 ings, nor, indeed, were they greatly interested in 
 such celebrations of Christmas as the Abbot had 
 had prepared. The priest was obliged to turn 
 from the public square into a narrow by-street, 
 less crowded with curious idlers. He dismounted 
 from his horse, and led him by the bridle, and so 
 approached a group of boys who were lounging
 
 IN HIS NAME. 193 
 
 in the open gateway of a tradesman's court yard 
 He held out a copper coin in his hand, and said, 
 " Which of you will take my horse across the little 
 bridge for me ? This is for him." 
 
 " That is not your horse. That is Messer Jean 
 Waldo's horse, and no one rides him honestly but 
 Jean Waldo or his groom." 
 
 This was the impudent reply of the largest boy 
 of the group. And all of them seemed not indil- 
 ferent to his money, but afraid of the errand. To 
 be found with a stolen horse, as Lyons was then 
 governed, might cost any boy his Christmas holi 
 day, and, very likely, more. 
 
 The priest's imperturbable balance did not leave 
 him. " It is Jean Waldo's horse, and it is to Jean 
 Waldo's stable that I ask you to take him. Do 
 I not pay enough? Here is another of the 
 Archbishop's croziers." And he took out another 
 piece of money. 
 
 The bribe was a temptation. But the fear of 
 the Courier was stronger; and the second boy 
 answered with a coarse oath, that the traveller 
 had better take his own horses, and groom them 
 too. And both these precocious young rascals, 
 13
 
 194 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 as if they were compromising the dignity ol 
 Lyons by so long talk with the dusty countryman, 
 then gave a loud battle-howl known to the othei 
 gamins of their section, and rushed wildly to the 
 square from which John of Lugio had just now 
 turned. 
 
 Two smaller boys, who made the rest of the 
 group, seemed disposed to follow them, when the 
 priest, perhaps because he must run some risk, 
 perhaps because the purer faces of these boys 
 attracted him, bent down, and said, almost in a 
 whisper, " Could you take this horse to Jean 
 Waldo's 'for the love of Christ'?" 
 
 "I will go anywhere," said the brave fellow, 
 clambering into the saddle, "when I am sum 
 moned 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 " You are to say, boy, that he who was sent for 
 is close at hand." 
 
 " I am to say, that he who was sent for is close 
 at hand. Farewell." 
 
 The boy was gone \ and the priest, through court 
 yard and arched ways where he could not have 
 ridden, hastily crossed the peninsula, crossed the
 
 IN HIS NAME. 195 
 
 bridge which spanned the narrower river of the two, 
 and, in two or three minutes after the boy had 
 given warning -if his approach, he met Giulio the 
 Florentine at Jean Waldo's door.
 
 1<X> IN HIS NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 THE master and his pupil fell on each other's 
 necks, and kissed each other without one word. 
 It was five years since they had met, and com 
 munication by letter or by message was most in 
 frequent And then the first words of both were 
 for their patient. 
 
 "How does she bear herself?" These were 
 the priest's first words. 
 
 " She is living. At least I can say that. I do 
 not know if I can say any thing more. At every 
 hour her pulse is quicker and weaker, and her 
 breathing worse. But there are now hardly any 
 of the convulsions of agony. Do you remember 
 that night with the boatmen at Anse ? This girl 
 has suffered as those men did not suffer." 
 
 u Does she know you ? " 
 
 "She knows no one, and no thing. But she 
 alks now to her ' dear mountain,' now to some
 
 IN HIS NAME. 197 
 
 old lame beggar, now to King Saladin, now to 
 her cousin Gabrielle." 
 
 " She is living over the life of the hour before 
 she took the drug. That is the way with these 
 poisons." 
 
 These few words passed as they entered and 
 crossed the court-yard, and mounted the stairway 
 to the poor sufferer's pretty room. 
 
 In that day of the infancy of medical science, 
 the distinctions among poisons now observed were 
 quite unknown, even to the most learned. Poisons 
 are now distinguished as irritants, narcotics, nar 
 cotic acrid, or septic, according as they act, by 
 one or another method of injury on the human or 
 ganization. The wild hemlock-like parsley, which 
 grows abundantly in the meadows of Southern 
 France, and which had been so carelessly substi 
 tuted for some innocent root by Goodwife Prud- 
 hon, is one of the poisons known as narcotic 
 acrid. In the eagerness of Mistress Waldo to 
 make her preparation strong, she had even let the 
 powder of the root itself remain in her decoction \ 
 and the child, in her conscientious desire to do all 
 her mother wished, even because the medicine
 
 198 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 was so nauseous, had, alas ! drunk all the drugs 
 of the preparation, as well as the more innocent 
 liquid. The Florentine would be called only an 
 empiric by the science of to-day ; that is to say, 
 only a person who acts on the remembrance of 
 the results of his observations. He would him 
 self have confessed that he was little more. But 
 his observations had been wide and intelligent. 
 Since he was a child, the laws of life and the 
 methods of life had fascinated him. And what 
 he had seen of sickness and of health he had 
 noted with absolute precision, and he had remem 
 bered thoroughly. When he wrote to his master 
 that he suspected that the women had mixed one 
 of the poisonous mushrooms of the valley of the 
 Rhone in with their hemlock-brewing, it was be 
 cause he had already detected symptoms which 
 were not to be accounted for by the mere action 
 of the root which he had identified in the moth 
 er's stores. These anomalous symptoms had, 
 through the day, asserted themselves. And the 
 Florentine, as it would seem, had varied his 
 treatment somewhat from that with which he be 
 gan. None the less, however, was the patienf
 
 IN HIS NAME. 199 
 
 sinking. The balance and force of her admirable 
 constitution, and of her life of perfect purity, as 
 serted themselves all along. But every symptom 
 showed that she had less strength with every hour. 
 
 John of Lugio came to the bedside, and received 
 silently, with a kind bow, the eager and pro 
 foundly respectful salutation of the child's father. 
 Jean Waldo was surprised indeed. It seemed 
 that this master of the young Giulio, this man so 
 much hoped for and longed for in this day of 
 agony and of prayer, was one of those daily com 
 panions of his kinsman Peter Waldo, whom he 
 had, fifty times, seen with him at his home or at 
 his store-house. For all of those companions 
 Jean Waldo's contempt had been even more bit 
 ter than that with which he regarded his kinsman. 
 For he looked upon these men as being the 
 tempters who lured the merchant into the follies 
 outside his vocation. And now, as God ordered, 
 it was this very man for whom he had sent his 
 servants and his horses, for whom he had defied 
 the law of Lyons, and for whose coming he had 
 been hoping and praying all that dayl 
 
 Madame Waldo rose froir her chair at the bed
 
 200 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 side, and yielded it to the stranger, with a re< 
 spectful courtesy. But for a minute no word was 
 spoken in the room. 
 
 The new physician did not put his chilled hand 
 upon pulse or forehead. He bent his ear close 
 enough above the child's heart to listen to her 
 faint breathing. He tried to catch the odor of 
 her breath as it passed from her nostrils. He 
 brought the candle closer to her that he might 
 note the complexion of her face ; and even threw 
 it upon the open and rather rigid eye, which 
 looked upon him so unnaturally. 
 
 Then he turned to his pupil, and asked in detail 
 what he had tried to do for her. 
 
 The reader knows something of this already. 
 Madame Waldo and her neighbors knew enough 
 of the not mistaken medical practice of their time, 
 to give to the suffering child full potions of oil 
 stirred in with hot water as soon as they found 
 that she had swallowed poison. Nor had they 
 been unsuccessful in relieving her stomach from 
 much of the decoction, and from a part even of 
 the dregs of the draught which she had taken, 
 as Giulio had found, the root and whatever
 
 IN HIS NAME. 201 
 
 was mingled with it had so long lodged themselves 
 in her system, that the poison was, in a measure, 
 absorbed by her organization ; and the convul 
 sions which made her father and mother so mis 
 erable were the proof that they had not succeeded 
 in removing all or most of the cause of her suf 
 fering. 
 
 " The convulsions never lasted long," said the 
 young man to his master, "but they left her 
 deadly pale, her face all haggard, and they came 
 again as if we did nothing. Once and again I 
 found it hard to open her mouth, so firmly set 
 were her jaws. I have been all day long keeping 
 up this warmth and rubbing, on which the women 
 had begun. Her pulse seemed to me so excep 
 tional, that at noon, and again three hours after 
 noon, I ventured to draw blood, which we have 
 saved for you to see. It is here. And it is now 
 six times, at intervals of an hour perhaps, that I 
 have given to her this boneblack which I had 
 ready. I made it myself by the burning of sea 
 gulls' bones, and I know that it is unmixed, and 
 that there is no vegetable in it. But whether it 
 has absorbed any thing, I dare not say. I hav*
 
 202 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 hesitated about giving wine to one from whom 1 
 was drawing blood. But when I could hardly 
 find her pulse, and could hardly see her breath 
 upon the mirror, I gave her Bourdeaux wine, such 
 as you see here, and it seemed to me to do no 
 harm. I renewed this twice, therefore. And 1 
 have given her also, three or four times to-day, 
 this camomile, which her mother has served for 
 her." 
 
 The master nodded sympathetically, in ap 
 proval or in assent, and, when his pupil showed to 
 him the camomile, drained the bowl himself. He 
 returned it to Dame Waldo with a smile, the first 
 smile which any one had seen in that room for 
 twenty-four hours, and the first indication which 
 he had given that he was not wholly discouraged 
 by the situation. The mother at least was en 
 couraged. The new physician had thus entered on 
 his work at that point, which is by no means the 
 least important of a physician's duties, the care 
 of the. family of his patient The good woman sud 
 denly recollected that a man who had ridden 
 fifteen leagues on a winter day might be in want 
 of some refreshment, and. only delighted that
 
 IN HIS NAME. 203 
 
 there was any thing that she could do, retired 
 instantly to her maids and her kitchen, to do what 
 she then reflected she should have done before, 
 and take order for his evening meal. 
 
 John of Lugio himself crossed to the open fire 
 place, and sat opposite the blaze, warming his cold 
 hands over the embers. He asked the young 
 Florentine one and another questions, called him 
 self for the barks and leaves which the women 
 had used in their pharmacy, and which still lay 
 on broad salvers in a little antechamber. So soon 
 as he was sure that his cold touch would not chill 
 the girl, he went back to the bedside, assured 
 himself as to the circulation in her feet and hands, 
 listened at the beating of the heart, and noted the 
 wiry pulsation of her wrists, and then with his own 
 hand poured into the silver cup five times as 
 much of the wine of Bordeaux as his pupil had 
 dared to use. He then administered the whole 
 draught to the girl, with a practised hand, and a 
 sort of command in his manner which, even in hef 
 torpor, she obeyed. 
 
 "Do not disturb her. Let her lie," he said 
 And they both withdrew again to the fire
 
 204 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 "You relieve me more than I can say," said 
 the young man. I have been haunted all the 
 afternoon by the remembrance of Gerbert's ax 
 iom" 
 
 " Which you have had the good sense to violate. 
 Perhaps the child owes her life to your rebellion. 
 The Pope Sylvester has learned something since 
 he wrote out his axioms, and you and I must not 
 be frightened by dead popes more than by living 
 ones.* Your stimulant has done no harm that I 
 can see. And if she is to rally, we must help her 
 if we can. Let me see your hamper there, and 
 let us be ready to follow up your treatment with 
 some elixir a little more prompt than my good 
 friend's sour wines." 
 
 The blackamoor drew to the side of the fire 
 place a small table, and with his master's help 
 brought from the basket a varied collection of 
 flasks and bottles, which he set in order on it 
 The mastei looked at the labels on these in their 
 order, sometimes unstopped a flask and poured 
 a few drops into the hollow of his left hand, and 
 
 Gerbert, distinguished as a French naturalist, wa 
 afterwards Pope Sylvester the Second.
 
 IN HIS NAME. 205 
 
 them, set aside two of. the phials, and then 
 bs ie the black repack the others, and take them 
 all away. Then turning to Giulio with a renewal 
 of the sweet and half-quizzical smile, which had 
 lighted up his face when he drank off the potion 
 of camomile, he said, " Have you gone back into 
 the Dark Ages ? I have not seen such medicines 
 since our great Bernhard died, because he had no 
 better. I should think we were Adam and Eve 
 in paradise, and that Adam drank what Eve 
 brewed." 
 
 " Dear master," said the Florentine, " remem 
 ber where you are, and, first of all, speak lower. 
 We are in the Dark Ages again, and, under the 
 shadow of this cathedral, we are in the darkest 
 centre of the Dark Ages. Why, my dear master, 
 to speak of Averroes in any presence where one 
 should be reported to the Courier, would be to 
 sign the order for one's own exile to your moun 
 tains. And, though I might speak of Abulcasis, 
 it is because no one in Lyons but yourself has 
 ever heard of his name. No : we are to live and 
 die by Eve's simples, exactly as we are to be 
 saved or to be damned by Pope Alexander*!
 
 206 TN HIS NAME. 
 
 theology. 1 have hoarded my essences and elix 
 irs, drop by drop. And the little phials you have 
 set aside here are all that are left of the stores I 
 rescued the day when the tipstaves of the Viguier 
 emptied your work-room into the street I would 
 fain have carried away your precious alembics, 
 but the Archbishop's men were before me, and 
 they all went to the palace." 
 
 "To the palace?" 
 
 " I suppose they went to the palace ; perhaps 
 they went to the dung-heap ; perhaps they went 
 as a present to Muley Pasha. There is not a 
 man in Lyons outside this room who knows their 
 inestimable worth, nor how to handle them ! " 
 
 "To the palace?" said Father John again, 
 quite regardless of his pupil's last words, and 
 almost as if he were dreaming himself. " To the 
 palace 1 yes ; to the palace 1 " Then he turned 
 to Madame Gabrielle, who came in gently, and 
 placed on the disencumbered table at his side a 
 salver covered with a napkin and crowded with 
 warm drinks, savory soup, and meat hot from hei 
 broiler. " I hope your worship is not faint,' she 
 said
 
 IN HIS NAME. 207 
 
 " My worship is better," he answered, with that 
 same tendei smile, " because I think that your dar 
 ling here is no worse. Such prayers as you have 
 offered for her, and, I think, such prayers as she 
 has offered for herself, are profiting her well, and 
 such care as you and my friend have given her 
 this day are fit companions to such prayers." As 
 he spoke these gentle words, none the less did the 
 physician-priest turn to \h& Dotage which the good 
 dame had prepared for him. And he ate it with 
 the appetite not of a scholastic, but of a hunter 
 or a soldier. As he ate, he went on in his talk 
 with the Florentine, wholly regardless of the pres 
 ence of the mother, who stood with her napkin on 
 her arm as if she were a servant, noting every 
 spoonful and every salt-grain of his hasty repast. 
 
 " To the palace, you say, to the palace ! Do 
 you mean to tell me, Giulio, that there is nobody 
 here who cares for the Eternal Truth of things ? 
 Is there nobody who cares for the way God made 
 the world ? Where are all the old set, Lambert, 
 Etienne, Suger, Montereau, Marly, and Le La- 
 boureur, where are they all ? And your friends, 
 the ' sacred five/ as you youngsters called your
 
 208 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 selves ? Alas ! 1 answer my own question. Eti- 
 enne and Marley were dead before the bad times 
 came. Lambert and Suger are in Bohemia with 
 our friend, because these people here know not 
 The Truth, and The Truth knows them not. 
 Montereau, they told me, went to the Holy War. 
 He will come back, knowing something more, per 
 haps. Would God they all had gone thither with 
 as noble purpose ! " 
 
 " And Le Laboureur, sir, has burned his books 
 and broken his instruments, and joined the Bene 
 dictines yonder in Cornillon. Of the sajred five 
 you asked for, I only am left to tell you. George 
 is under the Mediterranean Hugh is with the 
 Emperor ; the others are at Acre, I hope, they 
 are in the East, as I had wellnigh been myself 
 this day. 
 
 " No, my master ; Lyons, I tell you, is the dark 
 est spot of the Dark Ages." 
 
 The nurse at the bedside spoke at this moment, 
 and the priest crossed to his patient. The child 
 was more restive, and her stomach seemed likely to 
 reject the draught which he had given her. He 
 gave to her mother some direction as to her po
 
 IN HIS NAME. 209 
 
 sition, and the clothes upon her stomach, and, 
 with quite another tone, came back to his pupil. 
 " Give her thirty drops from this," he said, giving 
 to him one of the reserved phials upon the table, 
 " but it is a sin that we must poison her with sour 
 wine, when we want to give her an elixir. Do 
 you tell me that if love will not give us two hun 
 dred drops of the elixir of the formula of Arnauld 
 or Abulcasis, money will not do it ? Has no man 
 flask, phial, jar, or nutshell filled with it ? " 
 
 " No one, my master, since the tipstaves broke 
 into the warehouse of Simon Cimchi, and poured 
 his precious elixirs into the gutter." 
 
 " No one," repeated the other, slowly ; " no one 
 except in the palace. The Archbishop knows 
 his right hand from his left, and knows an elixir 
 from a decoction. He has gone on the fool's 
 errand. Who is in his place ? " 
 
 The Florentine was not expert in ecclesiastical 
 matters, and called Jean Waldo himself, who had 
 sat silently at his daughter's bedside, to put to 
 him his master's question : " Who holds the pri 
 macy of Lyons in the Archbishop's absence in the 
 East ? " Giulio would have said that morning
 
 210 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 that, whether it were one priest or another, it 
 mattered nothing to him. 
 
 Jean Waldo replied respectfully, that Father 
 Stephen of St. Amour was the dean of the Chap 
 ter, and acted as the Archbishop's substitute. But 
 he said that he was now absent in Burgundy on a 
 visit with his family, and that the senior canon, 
 one Father William, held his place. Jean Waldo 
 knew that it was he who took the Archbishop's 
 place in the high solemnity of Christmas. 
 
 " William of St Bonnet, perhaps ; William of 
 Roux, perhaps ; William of Chapinel, perhaps ; 
 William of Cologne, perhaps. I remember them 
 all ; and there is not one of them all but will know 
 iny sign-manual. Giulio, will you take a message to 
 this locum tenentem, this archbishop pro tempore I '' 
 And as he spoke he wrote rapidly on his tablets. 
 
 " You would not dare, my master ? " 
 
 " This child's stomach will not bear your watery 
 wine. But all the child wants is as much stimu 
 lant within as you have been giving to her skin 
 without. In the Archbishop's medicine-chest are 
 doubtless my precious elixirs, and Cimchi's, I do 
 not doubt, as well. If the Archbishop himself
 
 IN HIS NAME. 211 
 
 were here, there would be no danger. He can 
 handle an alembic as well as I can. 
 
 " As for daring, boy, to the child of God there 
 is no danger. I came here ' for the love of Christ' 
 ' For the love of Christ ' I shall bid this servant 
 of Christ send to this child this elixir. You will 
 not refuse to go, he will not refuse to give ; if, 
 then, the Lord pleases to give His blessing to our 
 stumbling endeavor, all will be well. At the 
 least, we will do our best, and make our endeavoi 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 The Florentine said no other word, but rose, 
 bowed, and took the parchment There was writ 
 ten there this missive : 
 
 For the Love of Christ. 
 
 To MY BROTHER WILLIAM, CANON IN THE CATHE 
 DRAL OF ST. JOHN: 
 
 I write these words by the bedside of one of your 
 flock, the child Fe"licie Waldo. The child is dying 
 because we need for her the Elixir of Cordova, of the 
 second formula of Abulcasis. Send it to us, naj 
 brother, 
 
 IN His NAME 
 
 Your brother in Christ, 
 
 JEAN OF Luoio
 
 212 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 And at the bottom of the letter was the rougH 
 design of the Cross of Malta. 
 
 Giulio the Florentine took the letter, crossed 
 the court-yard, and, as he went, threw over him the 
 black student's gown, which he had left in the 
 hall as he came up to the- ministration which 
 had held him here all day. He was amazed him 
 self at the confidence with which he undertook an 
 office so strange. Had anybody told him he was 
 to go on such an errand, he would have said that 
 the errand was absurd, and that success in it was 
 Impossible. But now that he had it to do, the 
 confidence of his master gave him confidence, 
 nay, even the absolute necessity of success made 
 him sure that he should not fail. It was rlear 
 that the master thought that unless this Elixir of 
 Cordova could be found, and found soon, their 
 battle was lost ; that the child would not rally un-
 
 IN HIS NAME. 213 
 
 less some stimulant could be used, more precisely 
 adjusted and more highly concentrated than any 
 he had had at command. 
 
 On the strangest duty, therefore, as he knew, 
 that ever he had been engaged in, the student left 
 the weaver's court-yard ; but still with the cer 
 tainty of success. A few steps uphill, and he was 
 within sound of the evening chant, as in the newly 
 finished nave of the cathedral church of St John 
 the whole chapter and the great company of sub 
 ordinate priests were engaged in the first of the 
 series of services of the great festival. The nave 
 itself, the porch, and the street in front, were 
 crowded with people ; and the young man saw that 
 entrance there was impossible. He passed round 
 the church to a little side portal, which gave en 
 trance to a vestry which adjoined the chancel, and 
 there he pressed for entrance. 
 
 He did not find it difficult to enter the room 
 itself. For, in the general enthusiasm and general 
 confusion, all the minor clergy, and all the attend 
 ants and sacristans, of one tribe and another, had 
 passed up to door-ways and other openings, where 
 they could see the pageant within, and the Flor
 
 214 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 entine soon found himself in the back of this 
 throng, one of a crowd of half-official spectators. 
 He chose his man instantly among these, and 
 chose, as it proved, not unwisely. He whispered 
 to a tall priest, who stood looking over the heads 
 of the crowd in front, and spoke to him in that 
 dialect of rustic Latin which was already passing 
 into Italian in his own country. It proved that 
 the priest was, as he suspected he was, his country 
 man, and understood him. 
 
 " I need," whispered Giulio, " to speak, a> this 
 moment, to his reverence the Dean." 
 
 " Impossible ! " said the other, amazed at his 
 presumption ; " you see it is impossible. Yonder 
 is the dean in the archbishop's chair. A moment 
 more and he will advance to the Eagle." 
 
 " Apud homines hoc impossibile est ; apud 
 Deum autem omnia possibilia sunt," replied the 
 bold Florentine, still in a whisper. " It is impos 
 sible with men ; but with God all things are pos 
 sible." The good-natured priest turned with 
 surprise, to see what man he was who quoted 
 Scripture so happily and reverently. 
 
 " I tell you, my friend," persisted Giulio, eagerly
 
 TN HIS NAME. 21$ 
 
 *' I tell you I have that for the Canon William to 
 see which is life and death, perhaps for him, 
 for aught I know, certainly for others. He 
 will not thank the man who keeps me away from 
 him ! " 
 
 " Who keeps thee away ! " said the other, almost 
 with scorn. " Enter if you can. You see it is 
 impossible, at least for you and me. Hush, now, 
 hush, you see he is kneeling at the Eagle." 
 
 The Eagle was the bronze Eagle, on whose out 
 stretched wings lay the beautiful missal-book, 
 from which the senior canon, in place of the 
 dean and the archbishop, was about to read his 
 part in the service. With a clear and earnest 
 voice he began. 
 
 " ' For the love of Christ,' my friend," said Giulio, 
 speaking almost aloud to his companion, " let us 
 press in together. We two can reach his Rev 
 erence with this missive. What is there that 
 two of us cannot do if we attempt it 
 
 IN His NAME? 
 
 The eagerness with which he spoke, in truth, 
 and the invocation which he used, swept the othel
 
 216 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 away. Scarcely knowing what he aid, scarcely 
 knowing that he exercised authority upon those 
 that stood around, the Father touched one and 
 another of them with command, as if he also had 
 a part in the appointed service, as, indeed, he 
 had, if ever any man had special part in sacred 
 ritual. So decided was his manner, that those in 
 front of him instinctively obeyed. To his own 
 surprise, and to Giulio's indeed, they were stand 
 ing, in a moment more, in the front rank of the 
 crowd of clergy who were looking in reverently 
 upon the solemnity. The Florentine, at the in 
 stant, was inspired. One of those great impulses 
 seized him which do not often come to a man 
 in a lifetime, when he is swept away by a Life 
 and Power larger than his own, and acts without 
 fear or hesitation, though on a stage which he has 
 never trodden before, and in a scene to which he 
 has never looked forward. Taking his unknown 
 guide by the hand, Giulio boldly walked across 
 the brilliant chancel in face of the immense as 
 sembly, passing confidently among the kneeling 
 priests, who were in their several places, till he 
 came to the Eagle, and to the side of the Arch-
 
 IN HIS NAME. 2i; 
 
 canon William as he knelt there. The priest 
 instinctively fell on his knees at one side, while 
 the student knelt on the other. To the clergy, 
 each in his appointed place, this movement was 
 of course inexplicable, and it was a surprise. To 
 the great body of the assembly, however, it was 
 equally inexplicable ; but it was no surprise. To 
 them it was only a part of the great pageant, of 
 which all the solemnity impressed and awed them, 
 while they did not pretend to know the purpose of 
 its several details. 
 
 The acting archbishop himself was not aware 
 of the neighborhood of these two new-comers. 
 Completely carried away by the spirit of the ser 
 vice in which he was engaged, scarcely conscious 
 of the presence of any of those around him, simply 
 eager to carry to the multitude before him the true 
 sense of the Scripture he was reading, and in his 
 heart praying all the time for Divine help that he 
 might so render those sacred words that, even in 
 this ancient Latin, these people might, in a meas 
 ure, understand their import, the good Father 
 passed from point to point of the lesson, and onlj 
 paused for the interludes which had been ar
 
 218 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 ranged to be played on the great organ, whose 
 notes in this new-built cathedral were still a 
 novelty. The priest on one side, and the Floren 
 tine on the other, offered no interruption to hia 
 sacred service. 
 
 But, in a moment, the prelate had finished hia 
 reading, and the "organists of the Hallelujah," 
 four priests who sang, in parts, a portion of the 
 mass arranged for them, took up their service. As 
 the prelate, awed by the solemnity of his own 
 words, lifted his head from the bent attitude in 
 which he had been reading, the Florentine touched 
 him lightly on the shoulder, and said to him in 
 Latin : 
 
 " It is ' for the love of Christ ' that I am here 
 and speak to you. A dying girl needs your help, 
 
 and I am bidden to come to call you 
 
 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 There was not a priest of the lesser degree in 
 the great circle around but was chafing with indig 
 nation and amazement as he witnessed the utterly 
 unauthorized intrusion which had been made in 
 the very crisis of the great solemnity. But to
 
 IN HIS NAME. 219 
 
 William, who v.as the central officer in it all, whose 
 whole heart was glowing with one eager wish that 
 this people might understand how a child born in 
 a manger might yet be the Prince of Peace, how 
 the Lord of lords and King of kings might yet 
 minister in the humblest offices, it seemed in this 
 interruption as if the Holy Spirit had sent the im 
 mediate present answer to his yearning prayer; 
 and when, in the language of Holy Writ itself, 
 with the great invocation which had worked all 
 miracles from the beginning, this young man spoke 
 to him, he answered immediately, 
 
 " Ecce adsum Domine ; " and, to the Florentine 
 he added, " quo ducas sequar," " Lord, I am 
 here; where thou leadest, I will follow." At 
 the moment, seeing the priest Alexander at his 
 other side, he counted his presence also as a part 
 of the vision or miracle which surrounded him ; 
 he touched him, in turn, and pointed to him the 
 place of the reading on the open missal-book on 
 the Eagle ; intimated to him that he was to go on 
 with the service when the organists of the Halle 
 lujah were done, and so followed the Florentine 
 out from the brilliant chancel, threading his way
 
 220 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 among the kneeling ranks of the amazed clergy 
 and came with him into the narrow crypts 
 of the darker vestry. A crowd of officers of the 
 church, from sacristans up to canons, of those 
 waiting at the doors, turned and pressed around 
 them ; but their chief waved them back to the 
 chancel. " Leave me alone with the messenger," 
 he said, " and let the service of Noel not be 
 abated, not in one syllable of the office." 
 
 Then he turned to the Florentine, and almost 
 whispered to him, " Adsum et sequar," "I am 
 here, and I will follow." 
 
 " Your Grace need not follow," said the young 
 man, who was only surprised that he was not sur 
 prised at all that was passing. The truth is, that 
 any actor in one of those waves of inspiration, in 
 which true men are buoyed up together by the 
 Holy Spirit, only feels that the whole is entirely 
 what must be and should be ; and his only wonder 
 is that such strength and simplicity are not the law 
 of all life. "Your Grace need not follow. Ii 
 your Grace will read this message, that is all. 
 
 Father William glanced at the scrap of vellum 
 which the young man gave him, looked from the
 
 /A" HIS NAME. 221 
 
 top to the bottom, saw the invocation, " For the 
 iove of Christ," and the appeal, " IN HIS NAME ; " 
 saw the signature of the old companion of his no 
 vitiate, John of Lugio, and saw the Cross of Malta, 
 the significance of which among the initiates he 
 well knew. The awe which had controlled him 
 from the beginning of the appeal made to him 
 was not diminished as his eye caught these words. 
 He still felt that he was under Sacred Guidance, 
 and read the letter once and again. 
 
 " Oh, my brother ! " he said, then, with a sad 
 sigh, " our brother asks what I am powerless to 
 give. If our brother Stephen of St. Amour were 
 here, he understands the Archbishop's alembics 
 and elixirs. Even William of Cologne has some 
 novice's notion of them. But I, I am but a 
 child, nor do I even dare open the cloister-room 
 where these things are, lest I wake spirits that I 
 cannot lay." 
 
 "If your Worship will pardon me, I have 
 studied of these elixirs with the very men with 
 whom the Archbishop has studied/' In that sa 
 cred presence, the Florentine would not name 
 pay nim hounds like Abulcasis and Averroes. 'II
 
 222 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 vour Grace will only lead to the cloister, I will de 
 cide ' Ecce adsum, quo ducas sequar,' " citing 
 his own words of the moment before. 
 
 " As the Lord will. ' For the love of Christ,' I 
 do what you bid me. And service cannot be mis 
 taken which is rendered IN HIS NAME." 
 
 So saying, the prelate took from the sconce one 
 of the large consecrated candlts, which furnished 
 the light to the dim vestry, and bade the student 
 take the other. They left the room in darkness, 
 and, with these strange flaring torches, they crossed 
 the court-yard, to the amazement of the grooms in 
 attendance, and entered by the Archbishop's pri 
 vate door to the corridor of his apartments, to the 
 equal astonishment of the porter on duty there. 
 The palace of the Archbishop was one of the 
 grandest and most beautiful buildings then in 
 France. As the young man stood in the magnifi 
 cent hall of entrance, he wondered at the richness 
 and beauty of its sculptures. After a moment's 
 pause the Canon joined him again, coming out 
 from his chamber with a heavy bunch of keys, 
 and led the way to the corridor to the very end. 
 He quickly turned the key in the lock, and said to 
 Giulio, with a sweet smile,
 
 JN HIS NAME. 223 
 
 ' To this moment, I have believed that I migh( 
 be in a dream nesciebam rem veram esse quod 
 fiebat per angelum, sed putabam me visum vi 
 dere."* 
 
 " We are both guided by angels and archangels 
 whom we cannot see, my lord." This was the 
 young man's reverent reply. 
 
 The heavy door of the Archbishop's private 
 laboratory swung open. The Canon himself, who 
 had unlocked it, had never entered the chamber 
 before. And the man of science was himself 
 surprised, when he saw how extensive was the 
 apparatus of mystery and of alchemy which was 
 collected there. He recognized one and another 
 implement of infant chemistry, which he had him 
 self used in his master's workshop, and which the 
 Archbishop had rescued from destruction when 
 his master fled. He saw also in an instant that, 
 as he had supposed, the stores of the Jew Cimchi 
 had found their way to this collection. The place 
 itself, with its collection of unknown machines, 
 had a little of the look of that curiosity-shop, rep- 
 
 * " Nor deemed that it was true which was spoken bj 
 tie angel, but thought I saw a vision."
 
 224 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 resented by Albert Durer, some centuries later 
 in which his weird Melancholia sits brooding. In 
 the Archbishop's den, however, neither prelate 
 nor physician had time to lose. The young man 
 cast his eye around, and, seeing an exquisite cabi 
 net of Venetian inlaid work on one side, asked his 
 companion if there were no Venetian keys upon 
 the chain which he had brought with him. A few 
 experiments threw open the little case, and a 
 series of choice phials some of silver, some of 
 glass stood before them both, which the younger 
 of the two visitors recognized at once as being 
 of the most careful Saracen workmanship of the 
 time. 
 
 He brought his tall candle to the little shelves, 
 and read the names marked upon the several elix 
 irs, tinctures, spirits, and " humors." To his eye, 
 some of the flasks before him were worth a king's 
 ransom. But at this moment they had not kings 
 to ransom, but Felicie to save. And in an in 
 stant he showed to the prelate what they wanted. 
 Marked first in Arabic, and beneath in Latin, was 
 the " Elixir of Cordova, of the second formula of 
 Abulcasis."
 
 IN HIS NAM*.. 22 S 
 
 '* Your Reverence sees that here is what we 
 need. Am I to take the flask to the child ? " 
 
 The prelate bent, and read the second inscrip 
 tion. " It is in his Grace's own handwriting," he 
 said. " How strange that these Saracens whom 
 we are riding down in the field are those who send 
 to us the elixirs of life in our homes. Let it be 
 as the Lord wills. If my lord did not deem the 
 elixir precious, he wouid not have saved it But 
 it is written that the paynim also shall serve. 
 * Ask of me, and I will give thee the heathen for 
 thine inheritance.' Take what is needed, my 
 son, ' for the love of Christ,' and may the Holy 
 Mother give the blessing which is promised to 
 those who serve 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 Unconsciously the Father had twice used the 
 first and last passwords of the initiated " Poor Men 
 of Lyons." The proficient started, as he did before, 
 when he heard the two phrases together, and felt, 
 indeed, that the true minister before him had 
 used them wisely and well. The permission once 
 given him, he took the precious flask from its com 
 u
 
 226 IN HIS NAM&. 
 
 panions. The prelate locked the cabinet, locked 
 the door of the cell, and then offered to go with 
 the other to the child's bedside. " I will adminis 
 ter extreme unction, if you think her case so des 
 perate." 
 
 "My Father, the child is unconscious. But, 
 at the least, her breath will not pass away for 
 hours. You can be ill spared from yonder service. 
 If, when it is over, she needs your care, you shall 
 find me waiting at the door of the chapel." 
 
 And so they parted: the Florentine with the 
 priest's blessing, the prelate with the other's 
 thanks. With his great candle flaring, he crossed 
 the street in the darkness, passed rapidly up to 
 the great cathedral door, and bade the throng 
 open, that he might enter. At the sight of the 
 great chief of the whole solemnity in his full robes 
 of ceremony, the crowd in street and porch rolled 
 back reverently, and the holy man, still wondering 
 at all which had passed, walked up the navei 
 where all made room for him, bearing his flam 
 beau still, and as if he were in a dream. To the 
 multitude this seemed a part of the ceremonial. 
 To the canons and the other clergy it was all
 
 IN HIS NAME. 227 
 
 amazing. He came to the altar as his humble 
 substitute was chanting the words, 
 
 " The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and 
 all flesh shall see the salvation of our God." 
 
 And never had those words seemed to Father 
 William to mean so much as they meant now. 
 He knelt at Father Alexander's side. He gave 
 to him the candle which he bore, still burning, 
 and assumed again his part in the sacred office. 
 
 And so the service of triumph went on, the Com 
 munion and the Post-Communion. And at the 
 close Father William offered the prayer : 
 
 " Grant us, O Lord, we pray, that we may live 
 In the new life of thine only begotten Son, in 
 whose heavenly mystery we eat and drink this 
 night. Through that same Lord we offer our 
 petitions." 
 
 And it seemed to Father William that never had 
 he known, as now, what that New Life was. And 
 as, upon his knees, he thought how a Gospel of 
 Love was lifting Fe'licie from the dead that night, 
 and who should say how many more of the sick 
 and suffering, the priest felt as he had never felt 
 before on the Vigil of the Nativity, that "the 
 Loid had visited his people."
 
 228 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAWNS. 
 
 THE blackamoor was waiting at the outer door 
 way for the Florentine's return. The master, he 
 said, was in Madame Waldo's kitchen, and thither 
 the young man carried to him the precious elixir. 
 
 " Thank God that you are here ! " said his 
 master, who, with his outer garments off, was at 
 work as a cook might be, over the coals. " And 
 thank God again that you have this that you are 
 sent for." He held the dark-red elixir to the 
 light, and smiled graciously and sweetly again, 
 as he saw its perfect clearness and the richness 
 of its color. " Dear child, these sour watery 
 wines would not lie upon her stomach. You 
 were right in using them so sparingly. I left her 
 just now, after another of these spasms you de 
 scribed to me. I do not know but I myself 
 brought it on. Yet I could not have seen her die 
 before mv eves, in linothymy, for want of stimu
 
 IN HIS NAME. 229 
 
 lant and reaction. Now we can quicken the beat 
 ing of her heart, without flooding her stomach 
 with sour grape juice. 
 
 " My faith began to fail me. I knew she was 
 lost if they had seized you," he continued, as they 
 mounted the stair. " I was at work with the 
 dame's pipkins and pans trying to make a little 
 spirit pass over upon the bit of earthenware you 
 saw me holding. But it was a poor alembic I had 
 made, compared to that in which this spirit was 
 distilled." 
 
 And so they entered the child's room once 
 more. 
 
 The Florentine was amazed himself to see 
 how much she seemed to have withered away 
 since he was gone. He had been in that cham 
 ber twenty-seven hours continuously, before he 
 left it. From minute to minute he had watched 
 her face, and so gradual had been the decline 
 which that time had wrought in it, that, from the 
 very watchfulness of his care, he did not enough 
 appreciate it But the hour of his absence had 
 changed her terribly. And because he had beeu 
 absent, he now noted every detail of the change.
 
 230 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 Ready for his use, John of Lugio had three or 
 four silver spoons lying heated on the hearth, 
 close to the embers. With a gloved hand he 
 took one of these, dropped into it what he thought 
 enough of his precious Christ-sent elixir, partially 
 cooled it for an instant on the surface of a full 
 cup of water, and then poured the spirit with a 
 firm hand between the close lips of the child, 
 who never seemed to struggle when he dealt with 
 her. Jean Waldo, from the other side of the bed, 
 and Madame Gabrielle, from the foot of it, sadly 
 watched the whole. 
 
 The adept placed his hand upon the heart of 
 his patient, counting the pulsations with his eyes 
 closed, and then, crossing the room, set Giulio's 
 pendulum again in motion. There stole over the 
 girl's face an expression which all of them con 
 strued as that of relief from pain. No one of aJ 
 those watching her said a single word, as a space 
 of time which might have been five minutes went 
 by. But in that time the dear child twice turned 
 her head on the pillow, as if she would say, " I 
 can sleep now," and her whole expression cer- 
 Sainly came to indicate the absence of pain. The
 
 IN HIS NAME. 231 
 
 Florentine once and again renewed the motion oi 
 the pendulum ; and his master, again by the bed 
 side, as often noted the pulsation of the sufferer's 
 heart, and counted the heaving of her lungs. 
 
 He said nothing. None of them now said any 
 thing. But at the end, perhaps of ten minutes, 
 not dissatisfied, as it would seem, with the experi 
 ment, he heated again a few drops of the elixir, 
 and again poured them into her mouth, which 
 opened now without any of the spasmodic strug 
 gle which had sometimes checked their efforts 
 for her. The master put his hand on her fore 
 head, smiled with that tender smile which they 
 had now all come to look for and hope for, and 
 then whispered to her mother, " Now for your hot 
 clothes at her stomach and hot water for her feet 
 again. If she sleeps she shall do well. ' Si 
 dormit salva erit,' he said to Giulio again ; " there 
 is better authority for that than for any of Pope 
 Sylvester's maxims." 
 
 And then, rather in following his example than 
 in obedience to any former directions, they all 
 seated themselves, the two physicians by the 
 fire, tne father and mother by the sides of th
 
 232 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 bed, the one attendant in the corner ; and no one 
 spoke a word. The last thing had been done 
 that their skill or energy could command. Every 
 one of the group had done in his best way what 
 he could in bringing it about, and every one of 
 them knew that now life or death was, in no sense, 
 in their hands. In his own fashion, probably, 
 each of them prayed : even the poor silent black 
 amoor, to such God as he knew ; the mother, to 
 the Virgin and St. Felicie and St. Gabrielle ; the 
 father, with a wretched consciousness that he had 
 hitherto conceived that his wife and daughter 
 could do all the praying needful in that house, 
 or that he could pay for what more might be 
 needed ; the Florentine, as to the Spirit of Life, 
 that that living Spirit would so purify and quicken 
 the child's spirit, that flesh and blood, drug and 
 poison, might obey its requisition and command \ 
 and the priest, because the wisest of them all, 
 with the very simplest prayer of all, " Father of 
 all of us, come to us all." 
 
 There was no method of noting the passage of 
 time, unless they had counted the beatings of their 
 own hearts now that the pendulum of the Floren
 
 jJV HIS NAME. 233 
 
 tine had been left unmoved. But, after a longer 
 space than any, in which either the girl's stillness 
 or their own anxiety had permitted them to sit 
 silent before, the master crossed to the bed again, 
 felt of her head and of her heart again, and then 
 with his pleased smile nodded to his assistant, 
 and, in a whisper, bade him bring a larger draught 
 than they had given of the cordial. He only nod 
 ded and smiled, as he caught the anxious and 
 eager questioning look of Madame Gabrielle. 
 But those signals were enough, and she, poot 
 soul, was on her knees at the bedside, in the most 
 voluble prayer, though wholly silent 
 
 The master indulged her for a few moments 
 in these grateful devotions, then walked round 
 and touched her on the shoulder, and made her 
 supremely happy by summoning her to duty. It 
 was simply that she should place a fresh pillow on 
 the bed, and then, with her stoutest maid, should 
 lift the child from the one side of it to the other, 
 that she might have the best chance for the sleep 
 which seemed now to be nature's best restorative. 
 These cares ended, he banished Madame Gabrielle 
 absolutely from the room, and her husband as well
 
 234 IN HIS NAME 
 
 He bade the maid prepare a bed for the Floren 
 tine, as if he were her master, and sent them both 
 away. He told the blackamoor to renew the heap 
 of wood by the fire, and then to wait in the cor 
 ridor till he was called. He extinguished all the 
 candles which they had been using in their several 
 cares, so that he could remove from the girl's bed 
 side the screens which had kept the light from her 
 eyes. And then, as the only watchman by the 
 flickering fire of her earthly being, he threw 
 himself into one of the deep arm-chairs which 
 Madame Gabrielle had provided, and, in the 
 absolute stillness of the night, waited the issue 
 of their efforts and their prayers. 
 
 As he looked into the waning embers of the 
 fire, and saw, once and again, a spark running in 
 its wayward course up and down and everywhere 
 on the back of the chimney, telling what the 
 children called prophetic tales to the looker- 
 on, as he looked back, were it only on the 
 events of that day, since he was interrupted by 
 the charcoal-dealer, as he compared the various 
 readings in St. Jerome's Evangelistaries, but just 
 before noon, it was as if in to-day's experience
 
 IN HIS NAME. 235 
 
 lt) article life took order before him. The master 
 irat not much in the habit of raking over the 
 embt rs of his past life, but it was almost impos 
 sible not to look into them in the midst of the 
 reminiscences of such a day as this. 
 
 Of the two Benedictines whom he had met so 
 unexpectedly by the postern gate of the abbey at 
 Cornillon, one was the companion even of his 
 childish life, the son of his father's nearest neigh 
 bor. The master's memory did not go back to a 
 time before that, when, with a little boy of just his 
 own strength and size, he dug in the sand-heaps 
 by the road-side, or made ineffectual traps for the 
 sparrows. With that boy he had grown, had 
 worked in the simple farm-life of the fields around 
 Lugio, had, when they were older, learned his 
 letters, and learned to write at last. The parish 
 priest had taken a fancy to both these boys, who 
 discouraged the noisy and mischevious urchins of 
 the town, as they all sat together in the church, 
 and wondered when the mass would be over. As 
 the little fellows grew bigger, the worthy man 
 selected these two to be robed in little robes, 
 and to carry, in the service, bell and book and
 
 236 IN HIS NAMF. 
 
 incense. He loved nothing better than to walk 
 with them and talk with them, now of saints and 
 their battles and victories, now of birds and snakes 
 and frogs, or of flowers and fruits, as they found 
 them in the fields and woods and marshes. And, 
 by this selection of his, and by their own natural 
 bent, it had happened, when the other boys around 
 them became masons, or vineyard dressers, or 
 sometimes carriers and merchants' men ; when 
 some of them went into the service of one or 
 another of the neighboring gentry, and so showed 
 themselves, on the first holidays, in new jerkins 
 or hauberks, to the wonder of the boys less 
 smartly dressed, that Jean and Frangois had too 
 much to do in the service of the church, or in 
 studying with the priest, or in one or another 
 message of his, sometimes taking them as far as 
 the cathedral, and into high intimacy with arch 
 deacons and canons ; had too much of this digni 
 fied and grateful service for them to think or care 
 for the more carnal lines of life in which their 
 companions were engaging. Frangois, his com 
 panion, under the ecclesiastical name of Stephen, 
 was the older of the Benedictines he had me*
 
 IN HIS NAME. 237 
 
 that day. It was in one of those early journeys, 
 when he was yet hardly more than a boy, that he 
 had gone on some errand to the great Monas 
 tery of Clairvaux, a place not unfamiliar to him, 
 and had been actually there, awaiting the answer 
 to a message, when the great Bernard died, the 
 man to whom all Europe deferred more, as it 
 owed more, than to any other. And as the master 
 looked back, he knew that it was the lesson of 
 that hour, sad and solemn, which had determined 
 him, then and there, to give up his life to the ser 
 vice and help of other men. Then came on years 
 of life, impatient enough at the time, very 
 likely, but, as he looked back upon them, sunny 
 indeed, and crowded with incident and enjoy 
 ment. The sailing down the river with his lively 
 companions, of which the Baroness of Montferrand 
 had reminded him, was a fair enough illustration 
 of that life. And there was a wrench at his heart 
 now, renewing many and many a wrench of many 
 a night of struggle at that time, as he asked him 
 self now for the thousandth time if / 
 
 " IF he had then and there given up his deter 
 mination to make himself a priest ; if he had the
 
 238 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 and theie asked his mother's goddaughter, Anna 
 of Thoissey, so brave and true and loyal as she 
 was, and so beautiful withal, to share life with 
 him ; an d if 
 
 "!F she had said, what it sometimes seemed 
 that she might say ; and they two together had 
 given, themselves to the service of God and min 
 istry to man, might it have been that they could 
 have rendered wider service, and made their own 
 lives and other lives more godly, than had hap 
 pened as it was ? " He had torn himself from 
 her, and with so many of these men, with whom 
 to-day was mixing him again, had entered on his 
 priestly training. And she, at this moment she 
 was abbess in the Convent of Montmerle. Was 
 she happier and better and was he ? 
 
 Then there was all his earlier training of man 
 hood, and the taking of his vows. And the 
 memories of all those young men who then sur 
 rounded him : they were now canons and deacons 
 and bishops and archbishops ; they were with 
 Philip and Richard in the East ; they were the 
 heads of houses here in the West ; yes, and so 
 many of them were in heaven ! How strangely
 
 IN HIS NAME. 239 
 
 had every one of them falsified every prediction 
 which, in those days of their novitiate, they would 
 have been sure to make regarding each other ! 
 
 And so he came down to the period of a man's 
 activity, to what one of our poets calls " the joy 
 of eventful living." Those happy days here in 
 Lyons, when he never looked back, and scarcely 
 ever looked forward ; when he found, at his right 
 hand and at his left hand, noble men and noble 
 women from every grade in life, only eager to serve 
 God as God should show them how. The practi 
 cal enthusiasm of Peter of Waldo ! The discov 
 ery of new truth and higher life which each day 
 made, as they studied gospel and epistle 1 The 
 strength they all gained in sympathy : sometimes 
 from the droll beggars who came to them in travel ; 
 sometimes from women and children who seemed 
 inspired in the very proportion of their ignorance 
 of books; waifs and strays these, who came to 
 Hght, as the " Poor Men of Lyons" assembled the 
 troops from highways and byways, from hedges 
 and ditches, at their Houses of Bread and Houses 
 of God ! In the midst of this, as if it were 
 Almost another man whose life he was recalling,
 
 240 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 came the memories of all those studies in physical 
 science, the fruits of which he was this night 
 using ; his journeys to Cordova and Seville ; his 
 interviews with the Cimchis and Abulcasis ; the 
 enthusiasm which even Guichard, now archbishop, 
 showed, as in the cell of Abulcasis he and John 
 of Lugio together saw for the first time what 
 seemed almost the miracle of distillation, and 
 their first success in repeating that experiment 
 with the humble apparatus which they two had 
 made for themselves 1 And to think of what had 
 passed since then ! Guichard an archbishop, 
 lord of the fief of Lyons, and John of Lugio 
 an exile, with a sword hanging over his head ! 
 
 And so his memories ran down through all the 
 days of trial. First, there was the happy work 
 over Scripture with Peter Waldo, with Bernard of 
 Ydros, and with Stephen of Empsa. Then the 
 journey to Rome with Peter Waldo, and the wel 
 come by Pope Alexander, more than cordial, 
 the welcome which gave such wings and such 
 courage to their return. Then John of Balmeis's 
 scorn, as he received the Pope's letter, his pre 
 tended inquiry, and his bitter and cruel excommu
 
 IN HIS NAME. 24! 
 
 flication. Then the wretched years of suspense, 
 more wretched than those of certainty in exile \ 
 Peter's second visit to Rome ; the council called 
 by Lucius,' and its jealousies ; the clergy against 
 the laymen, and the laymen scorned and rejected. 
 "Ah me ! " said John of Lugio, aloud, " it is always 
 as it was in the beginning. The carpenter's shop 
 could gain no welcome in the temple courts, and 
 it cannot to-day. He was despised and rejected 
 of men." 
 
 Had he disturbed his patient by speaking ? 
 
 She turned on her pillow, and said, " Mamma ! 
 Mamma ! " 
 
 John of Lugio gently crossed the room, remov 
 ing the candle from its shelter as he did so, that 
 she might see him distinctly, and then he said, as 
 if he had known her all her life, and was her dear 
 friend, " Your mamma is asleep now, dear child, 
 and she has left me to take care of you. She 
 left this bunch of grapes for you to wet your lips 
 with." 
 
 " Bunch of grapes, wet my lips," said the girl, 
 almost laughing at the oddity which supposed that 
 she, of all people, needed nursing in the middle 
 16
 
 242 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 of the night ; and then she tried to rise upon hei 
 elbow, and then found she had not just the bal 
 ance that she needed, and dropped back upon her 
 pillow. " Where am I ? what is it ? " she asked, 
 more doubtfully. 
 
 " You have been very ill, my dear child, but you 
 are better now; wet your lips with the grapes; 
 that will please mamma ; or let me give you a 
 little of the broth which she left for you." 
 
 " Broth which she left for me ? Did not I drink 
 some herb drink which she made for me? or 
 or is that all that a horrid dream ? Oh, sir 
 I have had such dreams." And she sank quite 
 exhausted on the pillow. 
 
 " Dear Fe"licie, you shall forget them all. Take 
 mamma's broth, and take with it a little of this 
 cordial, and try to sleep again." There was little 
 need for persuasion. The child lay almost im 
 ^assive as he fed her ; thanked him then with the 
 same prettiness and sweetness with which she 
 spoke to beggar or worshipper on the hill or in 
 the Church of St Thomas, and in a moment was 
 asleep again. But sleep now was so beautiful 
 lid so regular, her pale face had lost so entirely
 
 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 the lines of agony and struggle, that the priest, as 
 he looked on, thanked God in his heart of hearts 
 for the greatest of blessings, the return of health, 
 and for the sight most beautiful of all His gifts, 
 the sight of a sleeping child. 
 
 As he returned to his watch by the fire, the 
 silence of night was broken by the chimes of the 
 cathedral. In an instant more he heard the rival 
 chimes of the Abbey of He Barbe, and then the 
 peals from Felicie's own St. Thomas, and then the 
 chimes of Ainay, and then the ringing of bells 
 that could not be named, as Sts. Machabees and 
 St. Nizier and St. Paul, and the tower of the 
 Augustins, and every church and abbey and con 
 vent in all the country around broke out with joy 
 to announce that the Lord of Life was born into 
 the world. 
 
 " Unto us a child is born," said John ot Lugio, 
 reverently. 
 
 Hour after hour his quiet watch went by. Wise as 
 he was, he did not dream that only on the other side 
 of the doorway, crouching on a mattress, through all 
 these hours, was Madame Gabrielle, waiting for 
 sound or signal which might give her permission
 
 244 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 to return to her post at her child's side. No ! The 
 house was so still, that the wise man thought that 
 all had obeyed his orders, and that all were sleep 
 ing. From hour to hour he took such occasion as 
 the child's occasional restlessness gave him to 
 feed her with her mother's broth, and to give the 
 precious stimulant of the Archbishop's elixir. 
 And she, dear girl, fairly smiled in her sleep, once 
 and again, as happier dreams came over her, and 
 as Nature asserted herself, now that the poison 
 was so nearly gone from her. At last, as the 
 priest supposed, this night had nearly sped! He 
 drew the curtain, and he was right ; there was a 
 gray light spread over the east, in the midst of 
 which the morning-star shone with beauty preter 
 natural, with a light so bright that he could see it 
 reflected in the river below. The light was so 
 gentle that he thought it would not disturb the 
 child. He crossed to the door to bid the black 
 call Madame Gabrielle. And lo, she was already 
 there 1 He led her to the bedside, that he might 
 show to her the glow of new life upon Fe*licie's 
 face. And just as they approached, the child 
 opened her eyes again, and looked wistfully
 
 IN HIS NAME. 245 
 
 around, and even sat up and began to speak, 
 "Mamma, mamma." 
 
 And he delivered her to her mother. 
 
 With that gift of life new born, the Christinas 
 day of that home began.
 
 246 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 
 
 WHEN Twelfth Night came, the great hall of 
 Jean Waldo's workshop had been cleared from all 
 its looms. 
 
 In their places were three long tables, which 
 stretched from end to end of the long room, and 
 across the top a fourth table, which united these 
 together. 
 
 All through the day the great kitchen was 
 crowded by the eager servants of the household, 
 and all the neighbors' kitchens were put into 
 requisition as well, to furnish forth the most noble 
 feast which had been seen in Lyons for many, 
 many years. Men even whispered that the great 
 teast, when the Archbishop entertained King 
 Richard and King Philip, was not so grand. 
 
 That morning Fe'licie, and her mother and 
 father, and her cousin, Gabrielle L'Estrange,
 
 IN HIS NAME. 247 
 
 and many others of the family, "too many 
 for to name," had all gone together in a 
 little pilgrimage of thanksgiving to the cathedral. 
 Fe'licie had begged that they would take her to 
 her own little eyry Church of St. Thomas, on the 
 top of the hill ; but no, that was quite too far, even 
 though Fe'licie rode in the chariot which appeared 
 in public so seldom. At the cathedral, also, they 
 could be present while the good Father William 
 said mass, and their solemnity would hardly be 
 complete without him. 
 
 After this offering, they had all returned to 
 gether to the house, and there the grand salon 
 was opened, the room which seemed to Fe'licie 
 almost mysterious, so seldom did it see the light 
 of day. And when it did, she found that it was 
 like most other mysteries, for there was very little 
 in it. But to-day, dear old Eudes, who had been 
 a sort of major-domo, or servant-master, in Ma 
 dame Waldo's household, even before Fe'licie was 
 bom, had done his best to make it seem cheerful. 
 At each end a lordly fire, made of great oak logs, 
 blazed cheerfully. Eudes had sent the lads every 
 where to bring laurel and other evergreens to hang
 
 248 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 above the chimney-pieces and between the win 
 dows and around the sconces ; and after they had 
 come home from mass, when one and another of 
 the guests began to appear, whom Jean Waldo 
 had summoned from far and near, as they gath 
 ered, at first a little shyly, around one fireplace or 
 another, but soon unbending before the genuine 
 hospitality of all who were at home, and as people 
 will unbend, in France of all nations, when old 
 and young meet in the same company, the 
 great hall was then cheerful indeed. The talk 
 was loud and the merriment contagious. Dear 
 little Felicie sat in a great arm-chair, with her feet 
 lifted upon a footstool ; but she did not look as if 
 this care were in the least needful. Only her 
 mother and her father seemed to feel that unless 
 they were taking care of her, in some visible fash 
 ion, at every moment, all might escape again, and 
 be gone. But Fe'licie had her aids, to fetch and 
 carry for her, and to run hither and thither with 
 her messages. She said she meant to play at 
 being queen upon her throne ; and, indeed, she 
 was so, pretty creature, in the midst of all that 
 assembly. Gabrielle L'Estrange took great airs at
 
 IN HIS NAME. 249 
 
 being a lady-in-waiting, and came and whispered, 
 and ran hither and thither, as if her sover 
 eign's commands were most difficult of execu 
 tion. And for the first hour, that shy, pretty 
 Fanchon, the daughter of Mark of Seyssel, stood 
 almost constantly at the side of Fe'licie's chair. 
 She was dressed in a holiday costume, such as 
 the peasants of the hills were fond of wearing, so 
 simple and pretty and quaint that she attracted 
 everybody's notice in the midst of the Lyonnaise 
 girls, in their more uniform costume. Fanchon 
 felt at ease with Fdlicie from the very first kiss. 
 It took her longer to adjust herself to Gabri- 
 elle's busy, active, diplomatic managing of the 
 party. But Fanchon, also, melted at last to the 
 simple courtesies and hospitalities of the place. 
 And, as the afternoon began to come in, and the 
 winter sun crept in a little at the western win 
 dows, Fe'licie had the joy co see all her guests 
 for her father said that this was her party, and 
 only hers obeying the sound of pipe and tabor 
 and harp, and dancing merrily, from one end of 
 the hall to the other. Always there was a little 
 court clustered around her throne. But always she
 
 2$0 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 would order them away, in such couples as it 
 pleased her Majesty to select, and send them out 
 again "to try the adventure" of the dance, she 
 said. " To try " this or that " adventure " was the 
 standard phrase of the romances of the trouba 
 dours, with whom Fe'licie and her young friends, 
 and, indeed, all the company, were wholly fa 
 miliar. 
 
 And, before the early winter sun went down, 
 others joined in the festival, so that when Eudes 
 came bustling in, to tell Madame Waldo that all 
 was ready at the tables, Father John of Lugio was 
 one of her guests again. And she brought him 
 to her daughter, and, in that sweet, courteous way 
 of his, he told her Majesty that he was bidden to 
 take her to the supper-room, and asked her to 
 lead with him the procession. And then, even to 
 Fe'licie's amazement, and almost to her terror, 
 Father William appeared also, whom she had not 
 seen before, and Father William followed close on 
 Father John, giving his hand to Fe'licie's mother. 
 And then the order required that Giulio the Flor 
 entine should lead in Madame L'Estrange, who 
 wondered indeed herself at finding herself so pra
 
 IN HIS NAME. 251 
 
 vided for ; and then the other guests followed, in 
 many a combination quite as strange. In a few 
 minutes all were ordered : Fe"licie at her mother's 
 side, and on their right and left the two priests , 
 the Florentine and Madame L'Estrange; the 
 Baron of Montferrand and the Lady Alix. Even 
 the two monks, Stephen and Hugh, had obtained 
 some sort of dispensation from their convent, and 
 were here ; Gualtier of the Mill was here ; Mark 
 of Seyssel and his wife and all his children, down 
 to Hubert, were here; poor Prinhac was here, 
 with his arm in a sling ; the officer of the night, 
 who threw up the portcullis so promptly, was here, 
 and the sentinel who held the gate. Here was 
 the farmer of the hill-side. Here was every groom 
 lhat had cared for the horses who that day sped 
 so well ; here was the boy who rode Cceur-Blanc 
 into the stable, when Father Jean was afraid to 
 be seen ; here was Father Alexander, who crossed 
 the blazing chancel so fearlessly with the Floren 
 tine. Here was every messenger who had been 
 sent on that sad night for Felicie's father and for 
 the doctor; every neighbor who had brought in 
 oil or snow or herbs for her relief; every maid
 
 252 JN HIS NAME. 
 
 who had warmed a plate for her. Here were tha 
 trouvere and Antoine. Seven-score guests were 
 assembled, of every degree, gentlemen and 
 grooms, ladies and scullion-maids. The invita 
 tions had been given with diligent care to every 
 one who had done any thing, in that night of trial, 
 which had helped our darling Fe'licie, and to every 
 one who had tried to do so. 
 
 Father William asked God's blessing on the 
 feast j and with great merriment and joy it went 
 forward. The young men and the girls had every 
 sort of joke about the Twelfth-Night presents, 
 which they had secretly brought for each other ; 
 and, at the last, there was great ceremony and 
 rivalry as to who should have the sacred bean, 
 which was baked in the Twelfth cake, which 
 Fe'licie pretended to cut, and which was, in truth, 
 cut by the strong right arm of John of Lugio. 
 
 No ; there was no manner of cheating or forc 
 ing, and the bean fell to the pretty Fanchon, 
 Mark's daughter, who blushed almost as red as 
 her own bright ribbons when Philip L'Estrange 
 brought to her the bean on a silver plate, and 
 made to her a low bow -and a flourishing speech,
 
 IN HIS NAME. 253 
 
 in which he said that her Majesty Queen F6licie 
 sent it with her royal regards to her Majesty 
 Queen Fanchon. The feasting went on and the 
 fun went on, and no one seemed to enjoy the 
 feasting or the fun more than Jean Waldo him 
 self, though he sat at neither table, but passed 
 about from guest to guest, with a napkin on his 
 arm, as one of the servants, bringing here a plate 
 and there a cup, and urging all to eat and drink, 
 and only happy as he saw that his guests were 
 happy, and were provided for. 
 
 And when the feasting seemed to be nearly 
 ended, not because the bountiful stores provided 
 had failed, but because there is an end even to a 
 Twelfth-Night appetite, Jean Waldo came round 
 and stood by John of Lugio, and whispered to 
 him, and then the Father rose, and asked for 
 silence, which awaited him, of course. And he 
 said, nearly what I have said, that this was 
 Fe'licie's feast, and that her father had given it 
 for her, as his simplest way of showing honor to 
 nil who had prayed for her and toiled for her on 
 the terrible night when her life was in danger, 
 " Hs wants to thank you all and to promise you
 
 254 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 his best prayers for your welfare in all your lives 
 He is afraid he cannot say what he would fain 
 say," said the master, " and so he bids me say it 
 for him to you all." And there was great clap 
 ping of hands from all the guests at all the tables, 
 and they ail cried, " He is welcome, he is wel 
 come," and some cried, " Long life to the lady 
 Fe'licie." And poor Fe'licie was crying, as if her 
 heart was breaking, though her face seemed so 
 happy all the while. And her mother held her 
 hand, and cried as if her heart was breaking 
 too. 
 
 And then Jean Waldo waved his hand and 
 said : " I do not know how to speak as these 
 Fathers do. But I must try. I must thank you 
 all, all of you, with all my heart, that my darling 
 is here, and that we are all so happy. Ah, my 
 friends," he said, " you know me for a hard man, 
 who has said to you a thousand times that I 
 would take care of my affairs, if other people 
 would take care of theirs. Oh, my God, I have 
 said it again and again, I know not how often 
 I have said it to those who are in this company. 
 But I learned every thing, I think, on the eve o/
 
 IN HIS NAME. 255 
 
 Noel. In those terrible nights I learned that 
 I wanted others Oh, how many others to 
 take care of me and of my dearest concerns ; yes, 
 though they risked their lives for it, as my friend 
 here did so bravely. And as those slow hours 
 went by, I prayed to my God, and I promised Him, 
 that whether my darling lived or died, whether 
 she lived with me here, or with His angels there, 
 for me, I would live from that day forward for all 
 my brothers and all my sisters : for you, and for 
 you, and for you ; yes, for all his children, if I 
 could help them. But, dear friends, I could not 
 begin to do this, without asking Him to forgive me, 
 and you to forgive me, that so often I have said 
 I would care for myself, if the others for them 
 selves would care. I could not begin to live for 
 the rest, without asking the rest to pardon me 
 that I had lived for myself before. And so, at 
 little Fe'licie's feast, I ask her, and I ask you, as 
 I ask the good God, to show me how to take 
 care for others, and to show others how to tak 
 care of me." 
 
 Some of the guests were seeping, and some of 
 them were clapping their hands, and some ol
 
 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 them were shouting, " Long life to our host, long 
 life to Master Jean. But Father William, who 
 was standing with the tears running down his 
 cheeks, waved his hand ; and they were all so 
 amazed that he who acted as archbishop should 
 be here at all, most of all that he should sit and 
 stand so near to John of Lugio, that they all 
 stopped their shouting, that they might listen. 
 And he smiled drolly, and as if he had a secret, 
 upon them all, till he saw that all were very curi 
 ous ; and then, with his finger, he drew in the air 
 the sign of the Cross of Malta ; and then he said, 
 " I will teach our brother how to forget himself, and 
 Aow to live for others. What he does, let him do 
 * for the love of Christ ; ' and whom he welcomes, 
 let him welcome 
 
 IN His NAME." 
 
 And then, passing behind Madame Waldo and 
 little Felicie, he threw his own arm about John 
 of Lugio's neck, turned him, all surprised as he 
 was, so that he was face to face with him, and 
 kissed him. 
 
 Oh, the cneermg and clapping, the tears and the
 
 IN HIS NAME. 257 
 
 surprise ! To those who were initiated, the won 
 der was how the reigning Prince of Lyons had 
 come upon their secret. To those whose eyes 
 were only partly opened to what Jean Waldo had 
 seen so clearly in those visions of his terrible 
 night-watches, it was as if Saladin and Philip had 
 kissed each other on the Mount of Olives. To 
 those initiates, who were as bigoted in their way 
 as was Montferrand, it was all amazement that an 
 Archbishop of Lyons, or any one who sat in an 
 archbishop's throne, should have any heart, or 
 should speak aught but evil. To the churchmen, 
 as to Alexander and Hugh and Stephen, it was 
 relief unspeakable. For here was their chief, 
 doing more than they had done to express sym 
 pathy and love which they were yearning to offer 
 to all. 
 
 John of Lugio himself did not seem surprised. 
 With an eager embrace he returned the embrace, 
 with a second kiss upon William's cheek he 
 returned the kiss. " Ah 1 " said he, " the kingdom 
 of God has truly come. The city of God is res 
 cued, and we are in it now. Heaven can offer us 
 nothing sweeter than we have here. You will
 
 2^8 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 never misunderstand us, William ; we shall nevei 
 misunderstand you. What you ask of us we shall 
 perform; for you will ask 'for the love of 
 Christ,' and we shall answer 
 
 IN His NAME."
 
 
 IN HIS NAME. 2S9 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 THE WHOLE STORY. 
 
 MY uncle Adrian had brought us home this story 
 which you have been reading from the city of 
 Lyons. He had walked over every inch of the 
 ground that Fe'licie had tripped over, that Giulio 
 and Jean Waldo had hurried over, that the Canor 
 William had passed over as he bore his weird 
 candle through the darkness : he had crossed the 
 short bridge and the long bridge ; he had seen the 
 site of Jean Waldo's workshops ; had climbed to 
 the Church of St. Thomas, which is now " Our 
 Lady of Fourvieres;" he had crossed himself 
 there, and had seen there the fresh votive offer 
 ings, which young soldiers have hung there, whom 
 Our Lady saved from wounds in the Prussian war. 
 My uncle had looked across the valley of the 
 Rhone, to see the distant Mont Blanc, near thirty 
 leagues away.
 
 260 FN HIb NAME. 
 
 He had been through those Dauphin Mourv 
 tains, and the scarped hills to the north of them ; 
 down the valley of the Brevon and the AlberinCj 
 and along the Rhone, crossing it back and forth 
 twice, just as Father John of Lugio did. He 
 would not say that he had found the charcoal hut 
 of Mark of Seyssel, but he would say that he had 
 been on the place where it might very well have 
 been. 
 
 Then he had spent a happy day, how happy, in 
 that quiet but cheerful old library at-Lyons, where 
 nobody cared about Peter Waldo, but where all 
 were as ready to serve my uncle as if he had been 
 Henry Fifth himself. He is about the age of the 
 Fifth Henry. And here he studied Claude Fran 
 cis Menestrier's ponderous civil or consular his 
 tory of Lyons, while the full-length portrait of the 
 benevolent Claude Francis Menestrier smiled on 
 him from the wall above. He studied Montfalcon's 
 Monuments of Lyons, magnificent in its apparel 
 and precision. And was it, perhaps, M. Mont- 
 falcon himself who showed such courtesy to my 
 uncle, though his French was so bad, and he a 
 stranger without introduction ? Then he studied
 
 IN HIS NAME. 261 
 
 pamphlet upon pamphlet of indignant men who 
 had to reply to M. Montfalcon for this and for 
 that, for which this reader need not care, so that 
 my uncle well understood that the flame which 
 Peter Waldo and John of Lugio, and the other 
 " Poor Men of Lyons," lighted, was not a flame 
 which burned out in one century, nor in two, nor 
 in five. Nay, when my uncle went into the street, 
 and found that the City Council were trying to 
 lock out the Government Prefect from their own 
 old town hall, he thought the old flame seemed to 
 be burning still. 
 
 And many a map of brook and river and moun 
 tain had my uncle brought home, and many a 
 sketch and photograph which we have not shown 
 to you. He had many a story of those who be 
 friended John of Lugio and Peter Waldo, in their 
 time. And long stories he had to tell us of this 
 bidden valley, and that defended cave, in which 
 one y. another of the " Poor Men of Lyons," or of 
 those Waldenses, who, for centuries after, de 
 fended the same faith, had hidden ; but these 
 things had nothing to do with our little Felicie's 
 Christmas and Twelfth Night, so that, as my uncle
 
 262 77V HIS NAME. 
 
 writes out her story for you, they are not wril te 
 down. 
 
 It was on two warm September evenings, as w 
 were all at the New Sybaris, by the sea-shore, 
 two of those evenings when we can have every 
 window open, but when, so early is the sunset, 
 there are two or three hours after tea before it is 
 bedtime, it was on two such evenings that my 
 uncle read to us the story of Felicie, of Jean 
 Waldo, of Giulio the Florentine, of the ride to the 
 hills, and the charcoal-burner's hut, of John of 
 Lugio and of Christmas eve, as poor Felicie 
 spent it, and as the Canon William spent it ; and 
 then of Christmas morning, and of Felicie's 
 Twelfth-Night Feast, the story which you have 
 just now read, dear reader, to which you and * 
 give the title, 
 
 !N His NAME." 
 
 My boy Philip had been permitted to sit up 
 later than usual, to hear the end of the Twelfth 
 Night Feast When it was finished, his mothei 
 bade him take his candle, but he lingered a mo 
 ment to ask his uncle the inevitable question 
 * Is it true, Uncle Adrian ? "
 
 IN HIS NAME. 263 
 
 " I do not know why not," said my uncle. 
 " Peter of Waldo was driven out, just thus and so, 
 and John of Lugio with him, two men of whom 
 the world was not worthy. Richard and Philip 
 went to the Crusade just there and then, and 
 broke down the bridge as the story tells you. 
 Averroes and Abulcasis, and a dozen others like 
 them, had, just then, set every man of sense in 
 Europe on the studies which turned the old 
 quackeries of medicine upside down. And the 
 ' Poor Men of Lyons,' and their associates in the 
 mountains, had to protect themselves with all 
 their wits, I can tell you, and with more pass 
 words than the story tells you of, as they went 
 back and forth from city to mountain. Which 
 Canon William took the Dean's place when he 
 was away, the story does not tell, and I do not 
 know, but it was some canon or other. Whether 
 Cceur-Blanc's feet were white or black, the story 
 does not tell, and I do not know ; nor whether 
 Mark's daughter Fanchon were fifteen or sixteen 
 But this is true, I am sure, that none of them in 
 the end failed who did any thing ' for the love of 
 Christ,' if they could find anybody to join them 
 
 IJf HIS NAME."
 
 264 IN HIS NAME. 
 
 " My dear Philip," said his Aunt Priscilla, 
 " there has been just the same story going on in 
 this last week, here under your nose, only you 
 have been too busy with your boat and your gun 
 to see it or hear it." 
 
 Going on here, dear aunt ? " 
 
 ** It is always going on, Philip. Jesus Christ is 
 giving life more abundantly, and awakening the 
 dead now, just as he said he would. When Dr. 
 Sargent gets up at midnight, and rides behind the 
 old gray twenty miles before morning, to poor old 
 Mrs. Fetridge's bedside, do you suppose he does 
 it because he thinks the town will pay him half a 
 dollar for going? He does it because Jesus 
 Christ bade him do it, though very likely he 
 never says he does it 'for the love of Christ, 1 
 or IN HIS NAME. When Mr. Johnson sent 
 down the mustard that I put on Mary's chest 
 last night, sharp mustard and fiery, instead of 
 sending saw-dust colored with turmeric, do you 
 suppose he did it to save your father's custom ? 
 He did it because he would rather die than cheat 
 any man out of the shadow of a penny. And 
 tiiat comes from what your father John would
 
 IN HIS NAME. 265 
 
 have called ' the love of Christ,' and working IN 
 HIS NAME. Or when the expressman came in 
 afoot last night, with the telegram from Kingston, 
 when his team had broken down, because he 
 was afraid it was important, do you think he 
 walked those five miles because anybody hired 
 him ? He did not make any Cross of Malta, and 
 he did not speak any password at the door ; but, 
 all the same, the good fellow did his message for 
 1 the love of Christ,' and never would have done 
 it if he had not lived and moved, his life long, 
 among people who are confederated IN HIS 
 NAME. 
 
 " Five hundred years hence, dear Phil, they 
 will publish a story about you and me. We shall 
 seem very romantic then ; and we shall be worth 
 reading about, if what we do is simple enough 
 and brave enough and loving enough for anybody 
 to think that we do it ' for the love of Christ,' or 
 for anybody to guess that we had been bound 
 together 
 
 IN His NAME"
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 THE statement in the text at page 107, that no man 
 knows the after history of Stephen of Empsa and Ber 
 nard of Ydros, seemed to me quite justified at the 
 time I wrote it. It was justified not only by all the 
 familiar authorities, but by those less familiar, to which 
 I found access in a visit to Lyons in the fall of 1873. 
 But since the publication of the earlier editions of this 
 book I have been fortunate enough to find in the 
 Boston Public Library an anonymous tract on " The 
 Poor Men of Lyons," written by a Roman Catholic 
 priest, which happens to mention the fate of Stephen 
 of Empsa, whom he calls Stephen of Erisa. He seems 
 to have got promotion as the reward of his abandon 
 raent of Peter Waldo. In his prosperity, he built him 
 a house ; and this house was so high ihat, when he 
 fell from the flat roof of it before it was finished, be 
 killed himself. This would have been a good dramatic 
 end for him, had I continued the story. The whole 
 passage in this anonymous tract is so curious, that 1 
 copy it The title is: 
 
 "Tractatus de Haeresi Pauperum de Lugduno 
 auctore anonymo de Libro Fratris Stephani de Bella* 
 villa accipiantur ista."
 
 268 APPENDIX. 
 
 "Bernard, a poor scholar, wrote out the Gospels in 
 the Gallic language, for a certain rich citizen of Lyons, 
 who was called Waldensis, and also some passages 
 from the Saints set in order, and a certain gramma 
 rian named Stephen of Erisa translated these, for the 
 same citizen, into the Roman language He after 
 wards received a benefice in the greater church of 
 Lyons, and was promoted to the priesthood, and then, 
 by a fall from the flat roof of a house which he was 
 building, he suddenly died. This man called Walden 
 sis and those who clung to him were disseminating 
 the Scripture, by preaching to all poor people ; and 
 were warned to desist by John the Archbishop of 
 Lyons. But they would not stop, and therefore they 
 were excommunicated and banished from the coun 
 try. Then, being pertinacious, they were pronounced 
 schismatics .n an ante-Lateran council held at Rome, 
 and afterwards were condemned as heretics. This 
 aect began about the year of the Incarnation, 1180, 
 under John of Belesm tins, Archbishop of Lyons."
 
 EDWARD E. MALE'S WRITINGS. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE AND CHRISTMAS DAY. 
 
 Ten Stories. i6mo. 1.25. 
 
 " Many an eye has moistened, and many a heart grown kindlier with 
 Christmas thoughts over 'Daily Bread,' and some of the lesser stars 
 which now shine in the same galaxy ; and the volume which contains 
 them will carry on their humane ministry to many a future Christinas 
 time." Christian Register. 
 
 IN HIS NAME. A Story of the Waldenses, Seven Hun 
 dred Years ago. Square i8mo. $1.00. Paper, 25 cts. A 
 New Holiday Edition. One hundred and twenty-nine illus 
 trations by G. P. Jacomb-Hood. i2ino. $1.25. 
 
 " It is a story of the Waldenses in the days when Richard Coeur de 
 Lion and his splendid following wended their way to the Crusades, and 
 when the name of Christ inspired men who dwelt in palaces, and men 
 who sheltered themselves in the forests of France. ' In his Name ' was 
 the ' Open Sesame ' to the hearts of such as these, and it is to illustrate 
 the power of this almost magical phrase that the story is written." M. 
 Y. Commercial A dvertiser. 
 
 A NEW ENGLAND BOYHOOD. New edition. 
 Illustrated. i6mo. $1.00. 
 
 PHILIP NOLAN'S FRIENDS. Illustrated. i2mo. 
 
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 SIBYL KN OX; or, Home Again. I2mo. Ji.oo. 
 
 THE NEW OHIO. A Story of East and West. i2mo. 
 
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 GONE TO TEXAS; or, the Wonderful Adventures of a 
 Pullman. i6mo. $1.00. 
 
 " There are few books of travel which combine in a romance of trua 
 ove so many touches of the real life of many people, in glimpses cf 
 happy homes, in pictures of scenery and sunset, as the beautiful pano 
 rama unrolled before us from the windows of this Pullman car." E v 
 change. 
 
 Sold everywhere. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, by AtJ 
 
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 EDWARD E. MALE'S WRITINGS. 
 
 WHAT CAREER? or, The Choice of a Vocation and the 
 
 Use of Time. i6mo. $1.00. 
 
 " ' What Career? ' is a book which will do anybody good to read ; es 
 pecially is it a profitable book for young men to ' read, mark, and inwardly 
 digest.' A list of the subjects treated in this little volume will sufficiently 
 indicate its scope : (i> The Leaders Lead ; (2) The Specialties; (3) No 
 blesse Oblige ; (4) The Mind's Maximum ; (5) A Theological Seminary; 
 (6) Character; (7) Responsibilities of Young Men; (8) Study Outside 
 School; (9) The Training of Men ; (10) Exercise." Watchman. 
 
 UPS AND DOWNS. An Every-Day Novel. i6mo. 1.50. 
 " This book is certainly very enjoyable. It delineates American life so 
 graphically that we feel as if Mr. Hale must have seen every rood of 
 ground he describes, and must have known personally every character 
 he so cleverly depicts." New Church Magazine. 
 
 MR. TANGIER'S VACATIONS. A Novel. i6mo. 
 
 $1.25. Paper, 50 cts. 
 
 "Of course the book has a purpose, the one great and beautiful pur 
 pose for which Mr. Hale has lived and preached and written and talked 
 all his life, to induce people to help each other, to work together in 
 order to make life better, more sunny, and happier in every way for all 
 sorts and conditions of men. " Worcester Spy. 
 
 FOUR AND FIVE. A Story. i6mo. Ji.oo 
 
 " This story is a continuation of the already popular ' Ten Time* 
 One' series, by the same author." 
 
 THE NEW HARRY AND LUCY. A Story of 
 Boston in the Summer of 1891. By EDWARD E. HALE and 
 LUCRETIA P. HALE. With illustrations by Herbert D. 
 Hale. i6mo. $1.25. 
 
 "Dr. E. E. Hale's story of the Boston of to-day, 'The New Harry 
 and Lucy,' in which Miss Susan Hale, his sister, has collaborated, is 
 em:nently characteristic. Had it appeared anonymously, many would 
 have rcognized its author at once. Indeed, those of us who know any 
 thing of its author's experiences during the last year will enjoy following 
 him rather than 'Harry' and 'Lucy' to the commencement of 
 ' Clark University,' to the funeral of James Russell Lowell, and to Sir 
 Edwin Arnold's readings. It is Dr. Hale's own original criticisms on 
 men and things which make the book valuable. With a few fictitious 
 names left out, the book might stand as Dr. Hale's journal of 1891." 
 Literary World. 
 
 Sold everywhere. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of f rice, by tht 
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 EDWARD E. MALE'S WRITINGS. 
 
 OUR NEW CRUSADE. i6mo. Ji.oo. 
 
 " It has all the characteristics of its brilliant author, unflagging en 
 tertainment, helpfulness, suggestive, practical hints, and a contagious 
 vitality that sets one's blood tingling. The gist of the book is to show 
 how possible it is for the best spirits of a community, through wise organ 
 ization, to form themselves into a lever by means 01 which the whole tone 
 of the social status may be elevated, and the good and highest happiness 
 of the helpless many be attained through the self-denying exertions of the 
 powerful few." Southern Churchman. 
 
 HOW TO DO IT. i6mo. $1.00. 
 
 " We do not see how either sex can fail, after reading his pages, to 
 know How to Talk, How to Write, How to Read, How to go into 
 
 CRUSOE IN NEW YORK, and other Stories. i6mc, 
 $1.00. 
 
 " If one desires something unique, full of wit, a veiled sarcasm that is 
 rich in the extreme, it will all be found in this charming little book. 
 
 THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY, and other 
 Tales. 161110. 1.25. 
 
 " A collection of those strange, amusing, and fascinating stories, which 
 in their simplicity of narrative, minute detail, allusion to passing occur 
 rences, and thorough naturalness, make us almost feel that the differ 
 ence between truth and fiction is not worth mentioning. Mr. Hale is the 
 prince of story-tellers; and the marvel is that his practical brain can 
 have such a vein of frolicsome fancy and quaint humor running through 
 it. It will pay any one to think while reading these." Universalist 
 Quarterly. 
 
 THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY. Illustrated. 
 By FRANK T. MERRILL. 410. 75 cts. The same (School 
 Edition), paper covers, 30 cts. 
 
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 EDWARD E. HALE'S WRITINGS. 
 
 TEN TIMES ONE IS TEN: The Possible Reforma 
 tion. A new edition, in two parts. Parti. The Story. Part 
 II. Harry Wadsworth and Wadsworth Clubs. i6mo. $1.00. 
 Paper covers, 25 cts. 
 
 HARRY WADSWORTH'S MOTTO. 
 
 "To look u^ and not down; To look out and not in ; and 
 
 To look forward and not back ; To lend a hand. 
 
 "The four rules are over my writing-desk and in my heart. Every 
 school boy and girl of age to understand it should have this story, and 
 if I was rich enough, should have it." Extract from a Utter by an 
 unknown correspondent. 
 
 MRS. MERRIAM'S SCHOLARS. A story of the 
 " Original Ten." i6mo. $1.00. 
 
 " It is almost inevitable that such a book as ' Ten Times One is Ten' 
 should suggest others in the same line of thought; and Mr. Hale begins 
 in ' Mrs. Merriam's Scholars ' to take up a lew of what he terms the 
 'dropped stitches' of the narrative. The story is exceedingly simple, so 
 far as concerns its essentials, and carries tlie reader forward with an 
 interest in its motive which Mr. Hale seldom fails to impart to his 
 writings." 
 
 FRANKLIN IN FRANCE. From Original Docu. 
 ments, most of which are now published for the first time. 
 Part I. The Alliance. Part II. The Treaty of Peace and 
 Franklin's Life till his Return. With several newly engraved 
 portraits of Franklin from copies which are now quite rare, 
 and numerous portrait-illustrations throughout the text. 2 
 vols. 8vo. $3.00 per volume. Half calf, $5.00. 
 
 SEVEN SPANISH CITIES, and the Way to Them. 
 i6mo. $1.25. 
 
 "The Rev. E. E. Hale's 'Spanish Cities' is in the author's most 
 lively style, full of fun, with touches of romance, glimpses of history, allu 
 sions to Oriental literature, earnest talk about religion, consideration of 
 Spanish politics, and a rapid, running description of everything that 
 observant eyes could possibly see." Boston Advertiser. 
 
 Sold everywhere. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, ty tk* 
 Publishers. 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY, BOSTON O
 
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