Cobble r of 
 
 Nimes 
 
 Taylor

 
 THE COBBLER OF MIMES
 
 BY 
 M. IMLAY TAYLOR 
 
 On the Red Staircase. i2mo . . . $1.25 
 An Imperial Lover. i2mo .... 1.25 
 A Yankee Volunteer. i2mo . . . 1.25 
 The House of the Wizard. i2mo . 1.25 
 The Cardinal's Musketeer. i2mo . 1.25 
 The Cobbler of Nimes. i2mo . . 1.25
 
 THE 
 
 COBBLER OF NIMES 
 
 BY 
 
 M. IMLAY TAYLOR 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 1900
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 BY A. C. MCCLURG & Co. 
 
 A.D. IQOO 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 I. THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON . . 7 
 
 II. THE SHOP OF Two SHOES . . . . , 20 
 
 III. MADEMOISELLE'S SLIPPERS 31 
 
 IV. ROSALINE 44 
 
 V. THE COBBLER'S GUEST 52 
 
 VI. A MILITARY SUITOR 64 
 
 VII. A STRING OF TROUT 75 
 
 VIII. BABET VISITS THE COBBLER .... 86 
 
 IX. CHARLOT BURNS A CANDLE .... 97 
 
 X. A DANGEROUS SUIT 106 
 
 XI. FRANCOIS MAKES A PLEDGE .... 119 
 
 XII. THE FINGER OF FATE 130 
 
 XIII. THE BATTLE HYMN 140 
 
 XIV. "AND ALL FOR LOVE" 151 
 
 XV. THE TEMPTATION OF LE Bossu . . . 164 
 
 XVI. A BRIEF DELAY 178 
 
 XVII. M. DE BAUDRI'S TERMS 189 
 
 XVIII. ROSALINE'S HUMBLE FRIENDS . . . 203 
 
 2133114
 
 v i CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XIX. "MORTIS PORTIS FRACTIS!" .... 213 
 
 XX. THE COBBLER'S FAITH 225 
 
 XXI. IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR .... 237 
 
 XXII. THE OLD WINDMILL 249 
 
 XXIII. THE COBBLER'S BARGAIN 260 
 
 XXIV. "O DEATH, WHERE Is THY STING?". 269 
 XXV. THE SHIP AT SEA 275
 
 The Cobbler of Nimes 
 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON 
 
 IT was the month of June, 1703, and about 
 noontide on the last day of the week. The fair 
 in the market-place at Nfmes was therefore at 
 its height. A juggler was swallowing a sword 
 in the midst of an admiring circle. Mademoi- 
 selle H&o'fse, the danseuse, was walking the 
 tight-rope near at hand, and the pick-pockets 
 were plying their trade profitably on the out- 
 skirts of the throng. There was a dancing 
 bear, and beyond him a rival attraction a 
 monkey in scarlet breeches, with a blouse or 
 camisole over them. The little creature's antics 
 were hailed with shouts of derisive laughter and 
 cries of " Camisard ! " " Barbet ! " " Huguenot ! " 
 the monkey's little blouse being an unmistak-
 
 8 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 able caricature of the dress of the Camisards. 
 It therefore behooved the wise to laugh, and 
 they did, and that loudly, though many a 
 heart was in secret sympathy with the Hugue- 
 not rebels of the Ce" vennes ; but were they not 
 in Nimes? And the Intendant Baville was 
 there, and the dragoons of King Louis XIV. ; 
 so it was that the monkey gathered many a 
 half-crown, and sous and deniers in profusion, 
 in his little cap, and carried them chattering 
 to the showman. It was a motley throng : 
 broad, red-faced market-women, old crones 
 with bearded lip and toothless gums, little 
 gamins of the market with prematurely aged 
 faces, countrymen who glanced askance at the 
 monkey while they laughed, pretty peasant 
 girls who had sold their eggs and their poultry, 
 and come to spend their newly acquired riches 
 in ribbons and trinkets, and to have their for- 
 tunes told by the old gypsy in the yellow 
 pavilion. Some strolling musicians were play- 
 ing a popular air, two drunken men were fight- 
 ing, and a busy tradesman was selling his wares 
 near the entrance of a tent that was manifestly 
 the centre of attraction. It was of white can-
 
 THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON 9 
 
 vas and decorated with numerous images of the 
 devil, a black figure with horns, hoofs, and 
 tail, engaged in casting another person into 
 the flames ; the whole being more startling than 
 artistic. At the door of this tent was a man 
 mounted on a barrel, and dressed fantastically 
 in black, with a repetition of the devils and 
 flames, in red and yellow, around the edge of 
 his long gown, which flapped about a pair of 
 thin legs, set squarely in the centre of two long, 
 schooner-shaped feet. This person, whose face 
 was gross and dull rather than malicious, kept 
 calling his invitation and bowing low as each 
 new visitor dropped a half-crown into the box 
 fastened on the front of the barrel beneath 
 his feet. 
 
 "Messieurs et mesdames ! " he cried, "only 
 a half-crown to see the body of a damned 
 person ! " 
 
 He raised his voice almost to a scream, to be 
 heard in the babel of tongues ; he clapped his 
 hands to attract notice ; he swayed to and fro 
 on his barrel. 
 
 " Here is the body of a damned person ! " he 
 shouted. " Dieu ! what an opportunity for the
 
 10 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 good of your soul! Too much, madame?" he 
 said to a fishwife who grumbled at the price, 
 "too much! Tis a chance in a thousand! 
 The body came from the Tour de Constance ! 
 Madame will have her money's worth." 
 
 Madame went in, licking her lips like a wolf. 
 The curtain of the tent swung to behind her. 
 A peasant lad followed her, hesitating too over 
 the half-crown, but then the spectacle was worth . 
 money. A soldier followed, then a butcher, 
 and two stupid-looking servant-girls, with fright- 
 ened faces, but still eager to see. Then there 
 was a pause, and the showman began to shout 
 once more ; he had need to, for the bear 
 was performing with unusual vivacity, and the 
 danseuse displayed her pretty legs as she 
 tripped on the rope. 
 
 " Half a crown, messieurs et mesdames," cried 
 the man of the black robe ; " half a crown to 
 see a dead and damned Huguenot ! " 
 
 " Too much, monsieur ! " said a voice behind 
 him. 
 
 He started and looked back into the face of 
 a little hunchbacked man who had been watch- 
 ing him curiously.
 
 THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON II 
 
 " You are not a good Catholic, M. le Bossu ! " 
 replied the showman, mocking, for the hunch- 
 back wore a poor suit of brown and a frayed 
 hat. 
 
 " I am a good Catholic," he replied calmly, 
 " but your price is high 't is only a dead 
 Huguenot." 
 
 " Dame ! but live ones are too plenty," re- 
 torted the other, with a loud laugh. " What 
 are you to complain?" he added gayly, 
 " the hunchback ! le bossu ! " 
 
 " Le Bossu yes," replied the hunchback, 
 calmly ; " that is what men call me." 
 
 Again the showman mocked him, doffing his 
 cap and grinning. 
 
 "Your Excellency's name?" he demanded. 
 
 The hunchback took no notice of him ; he 
 had his hand in his wallet feeling for a half- 
 crown ; he had determined to see the damned 
 person. But the other got his answer ; a little 
 gamin piped up on the edge of the crowd, 
 pointing his finger at the cripple. 
 
 " 'T is only Chariot," he said, " the shoemaker 
 of the Rue St. Antoine." 
 
 The showman laughed again.
 
 12 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 " Enter, Maitre Savetier ! " he said derisively, 
 " and see the dead Huguenot. Dame ! but I 
 believe he is one himself," he added, under his 
 breath, peering sharply at the pale face of le 
 Bossu as he entered the tent. 
 
 But a minute later the hunchback was for- 
 gotten and the showman was screaming again. 
 
 " This way, mesdames ! This way, to see 
 a damned person ! Half a crown ! half a 
 crown ! " 
 
 Within, the tent was lighted solely by a small 
 aperture at the top, and the effect was rather of 
 a murky twilight than of broad noonday. It 
 was draped with cheap red cloth, and in the 
 centre directly under the opening in the 
 top was a rough bier constructed of bare 
 boards, and on this lay a body only partially 
 covered with a piece of coarse serge ; images 
 of the devil cut out of black stuff were 
 sewed on the corners of this wretched pall. 
 The visitors, the sight-seers, who had paid 
 their half-crowns to enjoy this gruesome spec- 
 tacle, moved slowly past it, making the circuit 
 of the tent and finally passing out at the door 
 by which they had entered. When the hunch-
 
 THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON 13 
 
 back came in, he paused long enough to be- 
 come accustomed to the swift transition from 
 sunlight to shadow, and then he too proceeded 
 to join the circle around the corpse. There 
 were many comments made, the sight affected 
 the spectators differently. The two servant- 
 girls clung together, whispering hysterical 
 confidences; the peasant youth stared open- 
 mouthed, fright showing plainly in his eyes ; 
 the soldier looked down with brutal indifference ; 
 the old fishwife showed satisfaction, her wolf 
 mouth was slightly opened by a grin that dis- 
 played three long yellow teeth all she pos- 
 sessed ; a red handkerchief was tied around her 
 head and from below it hung her long gray 
 locks. Her short petticoat and bodice revealed 
 a withered, lean form, and her fingers were like 
 talons. She feasted her eyes on the dead face, 
 and then she squinted across the body at the 
 man who stood like a statue opposite. He 
 was young, with a sad, dark countenance and 
 was poorly, even shabbily dressed. But it was 
 none of these things that the old crone noted, 
 it was the expression of grief and horror that 
 seemed frozen on his features. He did not
 
 14 THE COBBLER OF N$MES 
 
 see her, he did not see the others passing 
 by him with more than one curious glance ; 
 he seemed like a man in a trance, deaf, 
 blind, dumb, but yet gazing fixedly at the 
 inanimate figure on the bier. It was the 
 corpse of a young woman, who had been 
 handsome; the features were still so, and her 
 long black hair fell about her shoulders like a 
 mourning pall. 
 
 " Dieu ! " said the fishwife, licking her lips, 
 " what a white throat she had ; 't would have 
 been a pity to hang her. See, there is a mark 
 there on her arm where 'twas bound! Is she 
 not pretty, Bossu ? " 
 
 The hunchback had approached the corpse, 
 and at this appeal he nodded his head. 
 
 " Diable /" ejaculated the soldier turning on 
 the old crone, " 't is heresy to call a damned 
 person pretty, Mere Tigrane." 
 
 Mere Tigrane leered at him with horrible 
 intelligence. 
 
 " No one is to think a heretic pretty but the 
 dragoons, eh?" she said grinning. " Dame f we 
 know what you think, monsieur." 
 
 The man laughed brutally, and she edged up
 
 THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON 15 
 
 to him, whispering in his ear, her narrow eyes 
 on the silent visitor opposite. The dragoon 
 looked over too at her words, and broke out 
 with an oath. 
 
 " You are a witch, Mere Tigrane," he said 
 uneasily; "let me alone!" 
 
 Again she whispered, but laughed this time, 
 showing her yellow teeth. 
 
 Meanwhile the showman had been fortunate 
 and a dozen new-comers crowded into the tent, 
 pressing the others aside. This afforded an 
 opportunity for the hunchback to approach the 
 young man, who had remained by the bier as if 
 chained to the ground. Le Bossu touched his 
 arm, at first lightly, but finding himself un- 
 heeded, he jerked the other's sleeve. The 
 stranger started and stared at him as if he 
 had just awakened from sleep. 
 
 " A word with you, friend," said the hunch- 
 back, softly. 
 
 The man hesitated, started, paused and cast 
 another long look at the dead face, and then 
 followed the cripple through the group at the 
 door, out into the sunshine and uproar of the 
 market-place. They were not unobserved by
 
 1 6 THE COBBLER OF NlMES 
 
 Mere Tigrane, but she made no effort to follow 
 them ; she was watching the new arrivals as they 
 approached the corpse. As she saw their faces 
 of curiosity and horror, she laughed. 
 
 ' Mere de Dieu!" she said, "'tis worth a 
 half-crown after all and I paid Adolphe in 
 false coin too, pauvre gar$on ! " 
 
 In the market-place, the stranger had halted 
 with the hunchbacked cobbler. 
 
 " What do you want?" he demanded of le 
 Bossu ; " I do not know you." 
 
 " You were in danger," replied the hunchback, 
 quietly, " and you are in trouble ; the Ion Dieu 
 knows that I also am in trouble." 
 
 The little man's tone, his deformity, his kind 
 eyes appealed to the other. 
 
 " We should be friends," he said grimly. 
 " Dieu ! I am indeed in trouble." 
 
 The hunchback made a sign to him to be 
 cautious, the crowd hemmed them in, the mon- 
 key chattered, the bear danced, Mademoiselle 
 Helo'fse was singing a savory song from Paris. 
 The whole square was white with the sunshine ; 
 above, the sky was deeply blue. 
 
 " Follow me, friend," said le Bossu again, and
 
 THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON I/ 
 
 commenced to thread his way through the 
 crowd. 
 
 His new acquaintance hesitated a moment, 
 cast a backward glance at the tent he had just 
 quitted, and then quietly followed the hunch- 
 back. They had to cross the market-place, and 
 the little cobbler seemed to be widely known. 
 Goodwives greeted him, young girls giggled 
 heartlessly before the misshapen figure passed, 
 men nodded indifferently, the maliciously dis- 
 posed children calling out " le Bossu ! " at him as 
 he went. A heartless rabble out for a gala 
 day ; what pity had they for the hunchbacked 
 shoemaker of the St. Antoine? The man who 
 followed him escaped notice; he was straight- 
 limbed and erect, and his shabby dress dis- 
 guised him as completely as any masquerade. 
 When they had left the crowd behind, they 
 walked together, but still silently, along the 
 thoroughfare. 
 
 The groups of pleasure-seekers grew more 
 rare as they advanced, and they were almost 
 alone when they passed the Garden of the Re"- 
 collets the Franciscan Convent and entered 
 the Rue St. Antoine. Here it was that the
 
 1 8 THE COBBLER OP NfMES 
 
 stranger roused himself and addressed his com- 
 panion. 
 
 "Where are we going? " he asked sharply. 
 
 " To my shop," replied le Bossu ; " 't is but 
 ten yards ahead now. Have no fear," he added 
 kindly ; " the bon Dieu made me in such shape 
 that my heart is ever with the sorrowful." 
 
 " I do not understand you," said the other. 
 " I do not know your name you do not ask 
 mine why do you seek me out?" 
 
 " My name is Chariot," returned the cripple, 
 simply. " I make shoes, and they call me by 
 more than one name. My rich patrons say 
 Chariot, my poor ones call me le Savetier, others 
 mock me as the hunchback le Bossu ! It does 
 not matter. As for your name, I will know it 
 when you please, monsieur." 
 
 They had come to an arched gateway be- 
 tween two houses, and the cobbler entered, fol- 
 lowed by the other man. They stood in a 
 court, and on three sides of it were the faces of 
 three houses ; it was a veritable cul-de-sac. A 
 small square of sunshine marked the centre of 
 the opening, and in this a solitary weed had 
 bloomed, springing up between the crevices in
 
 THE BODY OF A DAMNED PERSON 19 
 
 the stone pavement. To the left was an arched 
 door with three steps leading to it, and over it 
 hung a sign with two shoes painted upon it. 
 The hunchback pointed at this. 
 
 " Behold my shop," he said, " the sign of the 
 Two Shoes." 
 
 He took a key out of his wallet, and ascend- 
 ing the steps, opened the door and invited his 
 new acquaintance to enter.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE SHOP OF TWO SHOES 
 
 THE two, le Bossu and his guest, entered a 
 small room fitted up as a shop. The window 
 was open and across the unused fireplace were 
 suspended half a dozen shoes of various sizes. 
 The cobbler's bench was strewn with tools, and 
 scraps of leather lay on the floor. On one side 
 of the room hung a hide prepared for use ; op- 
 posite was a colored picture of St. Elizabeth, 
 with her arms full of roses, the patron saint of 
 the poor. There were two wooden chairs, the 
 cobbler's stool, and a box of sabots, nothing 
 more. A door opened into the kitchen, where 
 a narrow flight of stairs like a ladder as- 
 cended to the second story. On the kitchen 
 hearth the pot-au-feu was simmering, the sa- 
 vory odor filling the room, and on the table 
 was a loaf of black bread and some garlic. 
 
 The hunchback asked his guest to be seated 
 and then sat down himself, looking attentively
 
 THE SHOP OF TWO SHOES 21 
 
 but kindly at the new arrival. The stranger 
 had a strong face, although he was still a young 
 man. His complexion was a clear olive, and 
 his dark eyes were gloomy and even stern. 
 He wore no periwig, his natural hair curling 
 slightly. In his turn, he scrutinized the cripple, 
 and never was there a greater contrast. Le 
 Bossu was small, and the hump on his back made 
 him stoop ; as often occurs in such cases, the 
 upper part of his body and his head were out 
 of proportion with his small and shrunken limbs. 
 His arms were long and powerful, however, his 
 hands well shaped and strong, though brown 
 and callous from labor, and they were skilful 
 hands, able to earn a living despite the feeble 
 legs and back. His face was pale and drawn 
 from much physical suffering, but his eyes were 
 beautiful, large, brown, and full of expression. 
 Tjiey redeemed the cripple's whole aspect, as 
 though the soul looking out of its windows 
 made its own appeal. It was his eye that won 
 upon his new acquaintance. 
 
 " You said you wished to speak to me," he 
 remarked abruptly. " What is it? " 
 
 " I will tell you the truth, friend," le Bossu
 
 22 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 replied calmly, " you were showing too much 
 emotion yonder; you were observed by the 
 dragoon and Mere Tigrane. She is a dan- 
 gerous person; men call her the she-wolf 
 la Louve" 
 
 "Too much emotion!" repeated the other, 
 " Dien ! you seem an honest man shall I tell 
 you who that dead woman was?" he asked 
 recklessly. "Are you a Catholic?" 
 
 "I am," replied the cobbler, quietly; "'tis 
 best to tell me nothing." 
 
 His visitor stared at him. 
 
 " Why did you try to protect me, then ? " 
 he asked. " I am a desperate man and un- 
 known to you I have no money to reward 
 kindness." 
 
 " Nor to pay for a lodging," remarked the 
 hunchback. 
 
 The other thrust his hand into his pocket and 
 drew out half a crown, looking at it with a grim 
 smile. 
 
 " My worldly goods," he said. 
 
 " I thought so," rejoined the cobbler, dryly, 
 " and you paid the other half-crown to see the 
 dead Huguenot woman."
 
 THE SHOP OF TWO SHOES 2$ 
 
 An expression of pain passed over the face 
 opposite. 
 
 " I would have paid more to be sure that 
 it was " He broke off, covering his face with 
 his hands. " Oh, mon Dieu ! " he exclaimed 
 brokenly. 
 
 The hunchback was silent for a few moments, 
 his arms folded and his eyes on the floor. 
 
 " You must leave Nimes," he said at last ; 
 "you will betray yourself here. Meanwhile, 
 there is a room overhead ; if you wish you can 
 stay there, free of rent, until you go." 
 
 "Again, why do you do this?" asked the 
 stranger. 
 
 The cobbler indicated his hump with a gesture. 
 
 " The ban Dieu made me so," he said simply ; 
 " yet I am a scorn in the market-place, a 
 miserable cripple. I swore to the saints that 
 I would help the miserable." 
 
 " You will take a risk," remarked his com- 
 panion, " I am Frangois d'Aguesseau, a 
 Huguenot 
 
 " Hush ! " The cobbler held up his hand. " I 
 do not wish to know, M. d'Aguesseau. If you 
 will take the upper room, 'tis yours."
 
 24 THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 " I will take it while I can pay for it, at least," 
 said d'Aguesseau, " and I thank you." 
 
 The hunchback rose, leading the way across 
 the kitchen to the stairs. He walked slowly, 
 and occasionally dragged one foot, but he 
 ascended the steps with some agility, followed 
 by his guest. There was a trap-door at the 
 top, which he opened before they could step 
 on to the floor above. D'Aguesseau knew that 
 he was taking a great risk, that this might be 
 a snare laid for those of the Religion, but he 
 was, at the moment, a desperate and reckless 
 man, and he cared little. He had entered 
 Nimes that morning, almost without money, 
 he had just had his worst fears confirmed, 
 and he cared little now for life or death. 
 
 They entered a room above the kitchen, 
 where the cripple slept, and this opened into 
 another small room over the shop. Both were 
 clean, though poor and bare. The hunchback 
 stopped before a shrine in his own chamber, 
 and lighting a taper, set it before the Virgin. 
 
 "What is that?" asked d'Aguesseau with a 
 strange glance from the image to the devotee. 
 
 "A prayer," replied le Bossu; "when I
 
 THE SHOP OF TWO SHOES 2$ 
 
 see danger I always offer a prayer to our 
 Lady." 
 
 The Huguenot smiled contemptuously, but 
 said no more, following his host into the 
 front room. 
 
 " It is yours," said the hunchback. " You are 
 weary; lie down until the pot-au-feu is ready, 
 and we will sup together." 
 
 " I have been in many places," said d'Agues- 
 seau, " and seen many people but never one 
 like you before." 
 
 Le Bossu smiled. " Yet save for the hump 
 I am as others," he said quietly. " I hear 
 some one crossing the court, " he added ; " if any 
 one enters the shop, 't is best for you to be quiet 
 up here. There are some who need not know I 
 have a guest." 
 
 " I trust I shall not imperil your safety by 
 any carelessness," d'Aguesseau replied earnestly, 
 casting a kindly glance at the drawn face. 
 
 " I must go down," said the cobbler. " Rest 
 here awhile ; I will call you to supper." 
 
 His guest thanked him, still much perplexed 
 by this unusual friendliness, and stood watching 
 the hunchback as he went back to the trap-
 
 26 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 door, and did not withdraw his eyes until his 
 host disappeared through the opening in the 
 floor. 
 
 Le Bossu heard footsteps in the shop as he 
 descended the stairs, and leaning forward, saw 
 Mere Tigrane in the kitchen door. Without a 
 word he went back and closed the trap, slip- 
 ping the bolt ; then he came down to find la 
 Louve in the kitchen. 
 
 " Where are my sabots, Petit Bossu?" she de- 
 manded, her fierce little eyes travelling around 
 the room, and her lips very red. " I came for 
 them myself, you are so slow." 
 
 " You do not need them, Mere Tigrane," the 
 cobbler replied coolly, eying her feet; "your 
 sabots are as good as new. I did not promise 
 the others until St. Bartholomew's day." 
 
 She began to grumble, moving over to the 
 fire and peering into the pot-an-feu. 
 
 " Dame ! but you live well, Chariot," she re- 
 marked. " The sight of the damned corpse 
 gave me also an appetite. Mtre de Dieu ! how 
 white and tender her flesh was ! 'T would have 
 made a good pottage," she added laughing, her 
 yellow teeth showing against her blood-red
 
 THE SHOP OF TWO SHOES 2? 
 
 tongue like the fangs of a she-wolf verily, she 
 merited her name. 
 
 " You should arrange with Adolphe," the 
 hunchback said coolly. " I will send you your 
 sabots on Wednesday." 
 
 " Eh ! but I '11 come for them," she re- 
 plied with a wink ; " I love to come to visit 
 you." 
 
 The cobbler grunted, moving slowly and pain- 
 fully as he did at times to the shop. But 
 Mere Tigrane was reluctant to follow him, 
 she was listening; she thought she heard a 
 step overhead. 
 
 " Chariot," she said amiably, " how much do 
 you get for your room above ? " 
 
 " I do not rent it," he replied calmly, but he 
 too was listening. 
 
 Happily, the sounds above ceased. 
 
 " I want it," she remarked briskly; " I will pay 
 a good price for it for my cousin. He is ap- 
 prenticed to the blacksmith behind the Garden 
 of the Recollets. I will look at it now at 
 once Petit Bossu." 
 
 The cobbler started, but controlled himself, 
 though la Louve had her foot on the ladder.
 
 28 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 She could be swift when she pleased, and she 
 could hobble. 
 
 " It is locked to-day," he said coolly, " and I 
 shall not rent it now." 
 
 She grinned, with an evil look. 
 
 " What have you got there, man chdri? " she 
 demanded, shaking her cane at him with sinister 
 pleasantry. 
 
 " The devil," replied le Bossu, sitting down to 
 his bench and taking up a shoe and beginning 
 to stitch. 
 
 "Or his wife which?" la Louve asked 
 jocosely. 
 
 She was satisfied now that the trap was fas- 
 tened, and it was not always wise to offend the 
 cobbler. She returned to the shop with a dis- 
 satisfied face. 
 
 " You have no hospitality," she said, " you 
 dog of a cobbler I will come on Wednesday 
 again for the sabots" 
 
 " As you please," he retorted indifferently, 
 stitching away. 
 
 " Diable ! you sew like a woman," she re- 
 marked. " You might better be cutting my 
 shoes out of the good wood, that does
 
 THE SHOP OF TWO SHOES 2$ 
 
 not split, than making those silly things of 
 leather ! " 
 
 She lingered a little longer, but still he did not 
 heed her, and at last she hobbled off, picking 
 up a basket of fish that she had left on the 
 doorstep. But she did not leave the court 
 until she had looked again and again at the 
 upper window of the shop of Two Shoes. Yet 
 she saw nothing there but the white curtain 
 fluttering in the breeze. 
 
 An hour later she was back at the market- 
 place, grinning and selling her fish. She was 
 in time too, to hear the uproar when Adolphe, 
 the showman, found the false coin in his box. 
 She pushed to the fore, her red handkerchief 
 conspicuous in the group, and her sharp eyes 
 recognized the country boy who had followed 
 her in to see the damned person. The show- 
 man was belching forth oaths and threats like 
 the fiery furnace that belched flames on 
 Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego. Mere 
 Tigrane's eyes gleamed, and she pointed a 
 long, bony finger at the poor lad. 
 
 " He put it in, Adolphe," she shrieked, with 
 an oath. " I saw him, the vagabond ! "
 
 30 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 Then she laughed and shook, clapping her 
 hands to her sides. It was so diverting the 
 uproar, and the protests of the peasant boy 
 as he was dragged off to jail with the rabble 
 at his heels. 
 
 " Dame ! " she said, " 't was worth a good half-
 
 CHAPTER III 
 MADEMOISELLE'S SLIPPERS 
 
 THE first day of the week Petit Bossu set his 
 house in order. He swept the- floor of the 
 shop and put a cold dinner on the kitchen table 
 that his guest might eat in his absence. Then 
 he hung up his apron and blouse and, putting 
 on his worn brown coat, slipped the leather 
 strap of his wallet over his shoulder. Last he 
 took a pair of slippers out of a cupboard and 
 examined them with loving care and honest 
 pride in their workmanship. They were small, 
 high-heeled, blue slippers, daintily lined with 
 white silk, and with rosettes of blue ribbon on 
 the square toes. The little cobbler stroked 
 them tenderly, fastened one bow more securely, 
 and putting them carefully in his green bag, 
 set out on his journey. It was early, and few 
 people lounged in the streets, and le Bossu 
 passed unheeded through the Rue St. Antoine, 
 and went out at last at the Porte de France.
 
 32 THE COBBLER OF NlMES 
 
 His pace was always slow, and to-day he limped 
 a little, but he kept cheerfully on, turning his 
 face toward St. Cesaire. 
 
 The highroad, white with dust, unrolled like a 
 ribbon through a rugged plain which lay south- 
 west of Nimes, stretching from the low range 
 of limestone mountains the foothills of the 
 Cevennes on the north to the salt marshes 
 of the Mediterranean on the south. Rocks 
 cropped up on either side of the road ; the 
 country was wild and barren-looking, although 
 here and there were fig trees and vineyards, 
 and farther west was the fertile valley of the 
 Vaunage. North of those limestone hills lay 
 the Cevennes, where since the Revocation of the 
 Edict of Nantes the poor Huguenot peasants 
 were making their desperate fight for liberty 
 of conscience, against the might and the 
 bigotry of Louis XIV. Their leader, Laporte, 
 was dead, but he had been succeeded by Jean 
 Cavalier and Roland, and revolt still raged in 
 the caves and fastnesses of the upper Cevennes, 
 though Marechal Montrevel and the Intendant 
 of Languedoc assured the king that they had 
 wiped out the insurrection. But the " Barbets"
 
 MADEMOISELLE'S SLIPPERS 33 
 
 or " Camisards," as they were called in derision, 
 though naming themselves "Enfants de Dieu," 
 kept up the fierce death-struggle. Meanwhile 
 the city of Nimes was judiciously orthodox in 
 the presence of the dragoons, and many 
 Huguenots went to mass rather than suffer 
 torture and death. Not every man is made for 
 a martyr, and there were terrors enough to 
 awe the most heroic. The bodies of Protes- 
 tants who died in prison were exposed at fairs 
 for a fee, or dragged through the streets on 
 hurdles to be burned, as a warning and exam- 
 ple to the misguided who still lived. 
 
 Yet the busy life of every day went on ; 
 people Bought and sold and got gain; others 
 married and made feasts ; children were born, 
 to be snatched from Huguenot parents and 
 baptized into the old religion ; some men died 
 and were buried, others were cast from the 
 galleys, at Marseilles, into the sea. Such was 
 life in Nimes in those old days when the sign 
 of Two Shoes hung over the humble shop on 
 the Rue St. Antoine. 
 
 All this while le Bossu was trudging along 
 the white road. He met many country people 
 3
 
 34 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 now, bringing their vegetables and poultry to 
 town, and more than once he was saluted with 
 the mocking cry, " Petit Bossu ! " He kept 
 steadily on, however, taking no heed, his face 
 pale from the exertion, or the repression of his 
 natural temper, which resented insults and injury 
 more keenly than most people of his condition, 
 in an age when the poor were as the beasts of 
 the field to the upper classes. Many thoughts 
 were passing in the hunchback's mind, but he 
 dwelt most upon the little blue slippers, and 
 when he did, his brown eyes softened, the drawn 
 expression on his thin face relaxed. 
 
 " The bon Dieu bless her," he murmured ; " to 
 her I am not the hunchback or the cobbler 
 to her I am poor Chariot, her humble friend. 
 del! I would die for mademoiselle." 
 
 He toiled slowly on ; passing the village of St. 
 C^saire, he turned sharply to the north, and 
 walking through a grove of olive trees, came in 
 sight of a chateau that nestled on the crest of a 
 little eminence looking west toward the Vau- 
 nage. The sun shone on its white walls and 
 sloping roof, and sparkled on its window panes. 
 The building was not large, and it had a long,
 
 MADEMOISELLE'S SLIPPERS 35 
 
 low wing at one side, the whole thrown into 
 sharp relief by its background of mulberry trees. 
 The house was partially closed, the wing show- 
 ing green-shuttered windows, but the main part 
 was evidently occupied. On the southern side 
 was the garden, with high hedges of box, and 
 toward this the cobbler turned his steps. As 
 he approached the wicket gate, which was set 
 in a lofty part of the hedge, a dog began to bark 
 furiously, and a black poodle dashed toward 
 him as he entered, but recognizing the visitor, 
 she ceased barking and greeted le Bossu with 
 every demonstration of friendship. 
 
 " Ah, Truffe," said the cobbler, gently, " where 
 is your mistress ? I have brought her the blue 
 slippers at last." 
 
 As if she understood the question, the poodle 
 turned and, wagging her tail, led the way back 
 between two rows of box toward the centre of 
 the garden. The dog and the cobbler came 
 out into an open circle well planted with rose 
 bushes, that grew in wild profusion around the 
 old sun-dial. Here were white roses and pink, 
 yellow and red, large and small ; and sweet and 
 fragile they looked in the old garden, which was
 
 36 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 but poorly kept despite the neat hedges. On a 
 rustic seat in the midst of the flowers sat a 
 young girl, the sun shining on her fair hair, and 
 tingeing with brown the red and white of her 
 complexion. Her face and figure were charm- 
 ing, and she had almost the air of a child, dressed 
 as she was in white, her flaxen hair falling in 
 two long braids over her shoulders. 
 
 The dog began to bark again at the sight of 
 her, running to her and back to .the hunchback 
 to announce the arrival of a friend. She looked 
 up with a bright smile as the cobbler lifted his 
 cap and laid down the green bag on the seat at 
 her side. 
 
 " Ah, Chariot, you have my slippers at last," 
 she exclaimed gayly, her blue eyes full of kind- 
 ness as she greeted her humble visitor. 
 
 " I have them, Mademoiselle Rosaline," he 
 replied, his worn face lighting up, " and they are 
 almost worthy of the feet that will wear them." 
 
 " Almost ! " laughed mademoiselle, " you are 
 a born courtier, Chariot oh, what dears ! " 
 
 Le Bossu had opened his bag and drawn out 
 the blue slippers, holding them up for her 
 admiration.
 
 MADEMOISELLE'S SLIPPERS 37 
 
 " They are pretty enough for a queen ! " said 
 Rosaline, taking them in her hands and looking 
 at them critically, with her head on one side. 
 
 " Oh, Chariot, I shall never forgive you if 
 they do not fit ! " 
 
 " They will fit like gloves, mademoiselle," 
 the shoemaker replied complacently ;" let me 
 try them on for you." 
 
 But she was not yet done with her examina- 
 tion. 
 
 "Where did you get the pattern for the 
 rosettes?" she asked eagerly; "truly, they are 
 the prettiest I have seen." 
 
 " I copied them after a pair from Paris, 
 mademoiselle," he replied, as pleased as she at 
 his own success. " The heels too are just like 
 those worn at Versailles." 
 
 Mademoiselle Rosaline laughed softly. 
 
 " I told you that you were a courtier, Char- 
 lot," she said ; " but they say that the king wears 
 high red heels, because he is not tall." 
 
 " But red heels would not please mademoi- 
 selle on blue shoes," remarked the hunchback, 
 smiling. 
 
 " But, Chariot," said she, with a mischievous
 
 38 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 gleam of fun in her eyes, " if we must all be of 
 the king's religion, must we not all also wear 
 his red heels? " 
 
 The cobbler's pale face grew sad again. 
 
 " Alas, mademoiselle," he said, with a sigh, 
 "to you 'tis a jest, but to some " he shook 
 his head gravely, looking down at the little 
 blue slippers in her lap. 
 
 " What is the matter? " she asked quickly, the 
 smile dying on her lips. " Have they been 
 burning any one lately in Nimes?" 
 
 " Nay, mademoiselle," he replied, kneeling on 
 one knee in the gravel path, and taking the slip- 
 pers off her small feet to try on the new ones. 
 
 "Come, come, Chariot tell me," persisted 
 his patroness, scarcely heeding the shoe that 
 he was drawing on her right foot. " You are 
 as solemn as an owl this morning." 
 
 " I will tell mademoiselle," he rejoined, rever- 
 ently arranging the rosette and smoothing the 
 white silk stocking around the slender ankle. 
 " Then she must not blame me if she is horri- 
 fied." 
 
 " She is often horrified," interrupted Rosaline, 
 with a soft little laugh. " Go on, Chariot."
 
 MADEMOISELLE'S SLIPPERS 39 
 
 " There was a fair on Saturday mademoi- 
 selle knows, for I saw Babet there buying a silk 
 handkerchief " 
 
 " Babet cannot stay away from a fair for her 
 life," mademoiselle interpolated again. 
 
 " 'Twas a very fine fair," continued le Bossu, 
 putting on the other slipper. "There were 
 many attractions, and the jailer Zenon had 
 the body of a damned woman there ; Adolphe, 
 the showman, exhibited it for half a crown. 
 She, the dead woman, was, they say, one of 
 the Huguenot prisoners from the Tour de Con- 
 stance, and she died on her way here ; she was 
 to be examined by M. de Baville for some 
 reason, what, I know not, but she died 
 on the road, and Zenon made much by the 
 exhibition." 
 
 Rosaline shuddered, the color fading from her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " And you went to see that horrible, wicked 
 spectacle, Chariot?" she demanded, in open 
 disgust. 
 
 " Mademoiselle knows I am a good Catholic," 
 replied the cobbler, meekly, his eyes drooping 
 before her look of disdain. " 'T is done for
 
 4O THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 the good of our souls to show us the fate 
 of these misguided people." 
 
 " Man Dieu ! " ejaculated mademoiselle, softly. 
 
 Silence fell between them unbroken save by 
 the soft sounds of summer, the humming of the 
 honey-bees, the murmur of the mulberry leaves 
 stirred by a light wind. Mademoiselle sat look- 
 ing vacantly at her new slippers, while the shoe- 
 maker still knelt on one knee watching her face 
 with that pathetic expression in his eyes that 
 we see only in the look of sufferers. 
 
 " That was not all I saw at the fair," he went 
 on at last. " In the tent there was also " 
 
 Rosaline made a gesture of disgust. 
 
 " I will hear no more ! " she cried indignantly. 
 
 " This will not horrify you, mademoiselle," he 
 replied gently ; " 't is only the story of my new 
 guest." 
 
 Her face relaxed, partly because she saw that 
 she had hurt the hunchback's feelings. 
 
 " Well, you may tell me," she said reluctantly. 
 
 "There was a young man there in that 
 tent Nay, mademoiselle, I will say nothing 
 more of it." Le Bossu broke off, and then went 
 on carefully : " He was in great anguish, and
 
 MADEMOISELLE'S SLIPPERS 41 
 
 I saw that he was watched by a wicked old 
 woman and one of the dragoons. I got him 
 away to my house, and there I found he had 
 no money, except one piece, and was in great 
 trouble. He is " the cobbler looked about 
 keenly at the hedges, then he lowered his voice, 
 " a Huguenot." 
 
 "And what did you do with him?" Rosaline 
 demanded eagerly. 
 
 " He is in my upper room now," replied the 
 hunchback, " but I do not know where he will 
 go. He is not safe in Nimes. I think he wants 
 to join the Barbets, but, of course, he tells 
 me nothing. He is a gentleman, mademoiselle, 
 le Bossu knows, and very poor, like many of 
 the Huguenots, and proud. I know no more, 
 except that he was reckless enough to tell 
 me his name." 
 
 " What is it? " she asked, all interest now, and 
 more than ever forgetful of her new slippers. 
 
 " Francois d'Aguesseau," he answered, in an 
 undertone, with another cautious glance behind 
 him. 
 
 " 'T is all very strange," remarked mademoi- 
 selle, regarding the worn face thoughtfully.
 
 42 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 " You are a good Catholic, Chariot, yet you 
 imperil yourself to shelter a Huguenot." 
 
 " The risk to me is very little," he replied 
 with great simplicity. " I am too humble for 
 M. de Baville, and how could I give him up? 
 He is a kind young man, and in trouble ; ah, 
 mademoiselle, I also have had troubles. May 
 the ban Dieu forgive me if I do wrong." 
 
 " I do not think you do wrong, Chariot," she 
 said gently, " and I am sure the bon Dieu for- 
 gives you; but M. de Baville will not." 
 
 " I can die but once, mademoiselle," he 
 rejoined smiling. 
 
 "Why is it you always smile at death?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle, you are not as I am," he 
 said quietly. " Death to me the gates of 
 Paradise stand open suffering over poverty 
 no more ! " 
 
 Tears gathered in Rosaline's blue eyes. 
 
 " Do you suffer much now?" she asked. 
 
 " Nearly always," he replied. 
 
 Again there was a painful silence. Then le 
 Bossu recollected the slippers and rearranged 
 the rosettes.
 
 MADEMOISELLE'S SLIPPERS 43 
 
 " They fit like gloves, mademoiselle," he said 
 calmly, " do they give you comfort? " 
 
 The girl roused herself. 
 
 "They are beautiful, Chariot," she replied, 
 standing up and pacing to and fro before the 
 bench, to try them. " They do not even feel 
 like new shoes. You are a magician." 
 
 She had lifted her white skirts to show the 
 two little blue feet. Le Bossu stood up too, 
 admiring not only the slippers, but the beauti- 
 ful face and the golden hair, as fair as the sun- 
 shine. Even Trufife, the poodle, danced about 
 in open approval. Then they heard a sharp 
 voice from the direction of the house. 
 
 "Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle Rosaline!" it 
 called; "the dinner grows cold, and Madame 
 de St. Cyr is waiting. Viens done!" 
 
 " Poor Babet ! " laughed Rosaline ; " I am her 
 torment. Come to the house, Chariot ; she will 
 have a dinner for you also, and grandmother 
 will be delighted with these beautiful slippers. 
 Come, Truffe, you at least are hungry, you 
 little gourmande"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ROSALINE 
 
 THE sun shone cheerfully in the dining-room 
 of the chateau. The long windows were open, 
 and the soft June air came in, laden with the 
 sweetness of the garden. The room was of 
 moderate size and furnished with perfect sim- 
 plicity, the polished dark wood floor being bare 
 of rugs. In the corner was a tall clock with a 
 silver dial, wherein were set the sun, moon, and 
 stars, moving in unison with the hands. On the 
 sideboard were a few pieces of silver that dated 
 back to the days of Francis I. The table, cov- 
 ered with a fair linen cloth, was set for two, a 
 glass bowl full of pansies in the centre. Rosa- 
 line sat at one end and at the other was her 
 grandmother, Madame de St. Cyr. Between 
 them was Truffe, the poodle, sitting solemnly, 
 with a napkin tied about her neck, and turning 
 her black face from one to the other in eager 
 but subdued anticipation.
 
 ROSALINE 45 
 
 Madame de St. Cyr was an old gentlewoman 
 with a handsome, delicate face and the blue 
 eyes of her granddaughter; her hair had the 
 whiteness of snow and there were lines of age 
 and suffering about her mouth. She wore a 
 plain gown of black silk with a fall of lace at 
 the throat, and a lace cap on her head, and her 
 thin white hands showed the blue veins like 
 whip-cords, but they were slender and graceful 
 hands, with tapering fingers and delicate wrists. 
 
 The two women were alone ; their only ser- 
 vant, the woman Babet, was in the kitchen, set- 
 ting out a dinner for the cobbler, and they 
 could hear the murmur of her voice as she lec- 
 tured him. Madame de St. Cyr was listening 
 to Rosaline with a troubled face. 
 
 " Ah, grand' mtre, can we not help him? " the 
 girl said earnestly. " Think of his desolate sit- 
 uation." 
 
 " We are poor, Rosaline," the old woman re- 
 plied gently, " and helpless. Moreover, if our 
 religion were suspected the bon Dieu only knows 
 what would happen. I am too old to hide away 
 in the caves of the CeVennes ! Nor is it clear 
 that it is my duty to help this fellow religion-
 
 46 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 ist if by so doing I put you in danger. Ah, 
 my child, for you it would be the Tour de Con- 
 stance or worse ! " 
 
 Rosaline was feeding some morsels to Truffe 
 with perfect composure. 
 
 " I have never been afraid, grand'mh'e," she 
 said, " and I hate to live a lie but I know you 
 are wise. Yet, oh, madame, think of this Hu- 
 guenot in Nimes ! " 
 
 "What did Chariot call him?" her grand- 
 mother asked thoughtfully. " I thought the 
 name was familiar." 
 
 " He said 'twas Francois d'Aguesseau." 
 
 Madame de St. Cyr sat a moment silent, try- 
 ing to gather her recollections in shape, then 
 her memory suddenly helped her. 
 
 " Certainly I know," she said ; " they are from 
 Dauphine. He must be the son of Sieur 
 d'Aguesseau who was broken on the wheel at 
 Montpellier in '99. I remember now very well ; 
 he had a son and a daughter, and I did hear 
 that she was carried away to the Tour de Con- 
 stance. It must have been the same young 
 woman whose corpse was exhibited on Saturday 
 at Nimes. The song is true," she added sadly :
 
 ROSALINE 47 
 
 " ' Nos filles dans les monasteres, 
 
 Nos prisonniers dans les cachots, 
 Nos martyrs dont le sang se rdpand a grands flots, 
 
 Nos confesseurs sur les galeres, 
 
 Nos malades perse'cute's, 
 Nos mourants exposes a plus d'une furie, 
 
 Nos morts trained a la voierie, 
 
 Te disent (6 Dieu !) nos calamit^s.' " 
 
 " What a terrible story of sorrow it is ! " re- 
 marked Rosaline ; " and to think that the corpse 
 of a gentlewoman should be exposed in the 
 market-place ! Man Dieu! I wonder if mine 
 will be ! " 
 
 Madame put up her hand with a gesture of 
 horror. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, with white lips, " I cannot 
 bear it." 
 
 Rosaline was contrite in a moment. 
 
 " A thousand pardons, grand'mhe" she said 
 sweetly ; " you and I have lived so long the life 
 of concealed Huguenots, treading on the edge 
 of the volcano, that I grow careless in speech." 
 
 " But do you not see why I am so reluctant 
 to take a risk?" her grandmother asked. "Yet 
 I know that this Francois d'Aguesseau is related 
 to me through his mother. I remember now
 
 48 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 who she was, and it seems that I must do what 
 I can." 
 
 Her granddaughter's face lighted. "That is 
 like you, madame," she said brightly; "we 
 could not believe she would turn a deaf ear, 
 could we, Truffe? Ah, you petite gourmande, 
 have I not given you enough?" 
 
 The older woman watched the girl fondly as 
 she fed and petted the dog. This granddaughter 
 was her last link with the world. Her son, 
 the Comte de St. Cyr had fallen fighting for 
 the king the year before the Revocation of the 
 Edict of Nantes, when Rosaline was only three 
 months old. His wife survived him only two 
 years, and the grandmother brought up the 
 child. They had never been rich, and the estate 
 had suffered under madame's management, for 
 she was always cheated and robbed, being as 
 unworldly as a woman could be who had seen 
 something of the gay life of her day. Her 
 mind now was full of the guest of le Bossu, 
 and she was troubled. 
 
 " I do not know what we can do, Rosaline," 
 she said in evident perplexity; "he can come 
 here, of course, and share our crust, if he
 
 ROSALINE 49 
 
 will, but a guest, and an unknown one, would 
 excite comment; and there is M. de Baudri." 
 
 Rosaline made a grimace. " I wish M. de 
 Baudri would stay with his dragoons in Nimes," 
 she retorted. " But, grand 1 mhv t there must be 
 a way. Let us think and think, until we find it." 
 
 " I cannot understand Chariot," remarked 
 Madame, meditatively. " We know he is a de- 
 vout Romanist, yet this is not the first time 
 I have known him to help the persecuted." 
 
 " He is the strangest little man in the world," 
 replied Rosaline, " and I believe that his heart 
 is as big as his poor misshapen body. He is 
 strangely refined too, for his condition in life. 
 Poor little Chariot ! " 
 
 "Do you think he suspects our religion?" 
 madame asked anxiously. 
 
 " I do not know," her granddaughter replied 
 slowly, " but sometimes I think so." 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " murmured the old woman, with 
 a sigh ; " the axe hangs over our heads." 
 
 Rosaline looked up surprised. 
 
 "Surely you do not fear Chariot?" she ex- 
 claimed. "Chariot! why, he would no more 
 betray us than would old Babet." 
 4
 
 5<D THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 " Babet is of the Religion ; I trust no one 
 else," returned Madame de St. Cyr, gravely. 
 
 "I do," replied Rosaline calmly; "I trust 
 Chariot and Pere Ambroise." 
 
 " In a way, we are in Pere Ambroise's hands," 
 her grandmother replied, " and I do not believe 
 he would betray you ; he means instead to 
 convert you. As for me, I am too near death 
 to trouble him." 
 
 " You do him an injustice," retorted Rosaline ; 
 and then she smiled. " The good father is 
 naturally kind, he cannot help it; he is so 
 round and sleek that he rolls through the world 
 as easily as a ball. To strike anything violently 
 would make him bounce uncomfortably, so dear 
 old Pere Ambroise rolls blandly on. I should 
 weep indeed if the naughty Camisards caught 
 the kind soul and harmed him. I can see him, 
 though, trying to run away, with his round eyes 
 starting and his fat cheeks quivering like Babet's 
 moulds of jelly; and how short his breath would 
 come ! Mon pre is my friend, so do not find 
 fault with him, grand 'mre, even when he tries 
 to convert me, pretending all the while that 
 he believes me to be one of his flock ! "
 
 ROSALINE 5 1 
 
 Madame de St. Cyr laughed a little at the 
 picture the girl drew of Pere Ambroise, but the 
 laugh died in a sigh. She had all the misgiv- 
 ings, the faint-heartedness of age, while Rosa- 
 line was as full of life and spirits as a child, and 
 as thoughtless of the dreadful fate that might 
 any day overtake her. She laughed now and 
 told Truffe to beg for a tart, and then scolded 
 the poodle for eating sweets, all the while mak- 
 ing a picture of youthful loveliness that made 
 the old room bright with hope and joy. The 
 finger of fate had not yet been laid on Rosa- 
 line's heart ; she knew neither love nor fear.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE COBBLER'S GUEST 
 
 IN the upper room of the shop of Two Shoes 
 sat a desperate man. The sun did not shine 
 for Francois d'Aguesseau, and in the little court 
 off the Rue St. Antoine there were no honey 
 bees to fill the June air with their cheerful hum, 
 and no flowers except the blooming weed that 
 had sprung up between the flagstones. The 
 good woman in the house opposite had a couple 
 of children, who were playing on her doorstep ; 
 the sign of the Two Shoes squeaked a little as 
 it swung in the gentle breeze ; these were the 
 only sounds, though the busy life of Nimes was 
 flowing through the thoroughfare at the mouth 
 of the court. But the Huguenot considered 
 none of these things. He sat alone in the cob- 
 bler's house, his elbows leaning on the table 
 before him, his head on his hands. His body 
 was in Nimes, but his soul was away in Dau- 
 phine. When he closed his eyes he saw the
 
 THE COBBLER'S GUEST 53 
 
 valley of the Durance and the old town of 
 Embrun, where his childish feet had made so 
 many journeys that he might look up in wonder 
 at the Tour Brune or rest in the parvis of the 
 Cathedral, for his family had not always been 
 Protestants. Then he saw in his vision the 
 chateau near Embrun where he was born, and 
 the terrace where he and his sister Helene had 
 played together, the same Helene whose body 
 lay exposed at the bazar on Saturday. She 
 was only a woman, but she had died for her 
 religion and he had escaped ; through no fault 
 of his, though, for he had been reckless enough 
 of life in his efforts to rescue her. He had 
 tried to move heaven and earth for her, and 
 had not even obtained a hearing in Paris. 
 Fate, the inexorable, had closed every avenue 
 of mercy ; the young and innocent woman had 
 languished in the pestilential atmosphere of the 
 Tour de Constance, had died at last to be sub- 
 jected to degradation after death by her un- 
 merciful jailers. It was over at last, her body 
 had been publicly burned, and there remained 
 no longer any reason for him to linger in Nimes. 
 His mother, dying of a broken heart over the
 
 54 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 fates of husband and daughter, had made 
 him solemnly promise to leave France forever. 
 In England he would find relatives, and there 
 too his father had wisely invested a small sum 
 of money against the evil day when they 
 might have to quit Dauphine. Therefore 
 Francois was not quite penniless, though the 
 State had comfortably seized all his lands and 
 his goods. But he was, at the moment, without 
 money or means of communicating with his 
 English friends. The Huguenots were closely 
 watched, and it was no light thing to escape. 
 Moreover, he longed to strike a blow for his re- 
 ligion, for liberty, before he left his native land. 
 His promise bound him, yet could he not linger 
 long enough to serve the cause in some way? 
 A strange fascination held him in Nimes where 
 he had suffered so much ; not only did he lack 
 money to pay his way to the sea-coast, but he 
 lacked also the desire to go. Languedoc had 
 been fatal to two of his family, yet he lingered, 
 casting his eyes toward the CeVennes. Ah, to 
 strike a good blow to revenge his father and 
 sister ! He was no saint, and in the upper 
 room over the shop he ground his teeth in his
 
 THE COBBLER'S GUEST 55 
 
 rage and despair. Dieu! had he not seen the 
 body of his innocent sister exhibited for half 
 a crown? the body of his father broken on the 
 wheel at Montpellier? He thought with grim 
 satisfaction of the terrible death of the arch- 
 priest Du Chayla at Pont-de-Montvert in '72. 
 The enraged peasantry of the surrounding 
 country, having endured terrible persecutions at 
 the hands of the archpriest, rose and attacking 
 his house in the night slew him with fifty-two 
 blows. D'Aguesseau recalled the circumstance 
 now and thought of de Baville the Intendant of 
 Languedoc, and of Montrevel, who was directing 
 the army in its efforts to crush the Camisards. 
 But the young Huguenot did not come of the 
 blood of assassins. Doubtless, it would be a 
 service to his religion to strike down either of 
 these men, and die for it afterwards, but he was 
 not made to creep upon a victim in the dark or 
 lie in wait for him at some unexpected moment. 
 He could join Cavalier or Roland, but he could 
 not do the murderer's work in Nimes, though 
 his soul was darkened by his afflictions. 
 
 He reflected, too, on the kindness of the shoe- 
 maker. He had recklessly placed himself at
 
 56 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 the hunchback's mercy, yet no advantage had 
 been taken of his admission. It was a crime to 
 conceal or shelter a Huguenot, yet the humble 
 little cobbler showed no fear, but courageously 
 offered his friendship to a proscribed criminal, 
 for it was criminal to be of any religion ex- 
 cept the king's. The charity of the poor cripple 
 softened d'Aguesseau's heart ; he suppressed his 
 sneer when he saw the taper burning in front of 
 the Virgin. It was Romish idolatry, he said to 
 himself, but the idolater was also a Christian. 
 Nor would he be a charge upon the kind shoe- 
 maker ; he had been now two nights and nearly 
 two days his guest, and he must relieve him of 
 such a burden. He could repay him if he ever 
 reached England, but he cared little whether he 
 reached it or not. His enforced idleness, too, 
 wrought upon him ; he was a strong, active 
 man, and he could not endure this sitting still 
 and waiting an opportunity. He had been 
 brought up for the army, but no Huguenots 
 were wanted in the army, and he had not the 
 instinct of a merchant. He intended to go to 
 England or Holland and enter the service of 
 one State or the other. But first while he
 
 THE COBBLER'S GUEST 57 
 
 was waiting for the chance to quit the country 
 why not go into the Cevennes? The tempta- 
 tion was upon him and he well-nigh forgot his 
 pledge to quit France. 
 
 As the afternoon advanced, he left the little 
 room over the shop and descended into the 
 kitchen. He did not eat the dinner that le 
 Bossu had set out for him ; he had gone fasting 
 too often of late to feel the loss of regular meals, 
 and he could not eat with relish food for which he 
 could not pay. He went out through the shop, 
 creating no little excitement in the neighbor- 
 ing houses as he crossed the court and entered 
 the Rue St. Antoine. He had been closely 
 housed since Saturday, and freedom was sweet. 
 He stood a moment looking about at the groups 
 of chattering townspeople, and then he turned 
 his steps toward the Garden of the Recollets. 
 It was nearly five o'clock and the shadows were 
 lengthening on the west side of the streets, and 
 he heard the church bells ringing as though 
 there were peace and good-will on earth. A 
 rag-picker was at work at the mouth of an alley, 
 some dirty children were playing in the kennel, 
 and a boy with a basket of figs on his head was
 
 58 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 crying the price as he went along. It was an 
 ordinary street scene, busy and noisy, and 
 d'Aguesseau brushed against a Jesuit priest as 
 he walked on past the Cathedral of St. Castor. 
 
 Full of his own gloomy thoughts he went from 
 street to street, and was only aroused at last by 
 finding himself nearly opposite a tavern 
 which bore the sign of the Golden Cup and 
 in the midst of an uproar. The doors and win- 
 dows of the public house were crowded, and 
 a rabble came up the street with jeers and cries 
 and laughter. D'Aguesseau drew back into the 
 shelter of a friendly doorway and waited the ap- 
 proach of the canaille, and it was not long before 
 the excitement was explained. The street was 
 not very wide, and the crowds seemed to choke 
 it up as they advanced ; and a little ahead of the 
 rabble came a chain of prisoners driven along 
 by the whips of their guards and pelted with 
 stones and offal by the spectators. The crimi- 
 nals were fastened in pairs by short chains, 
 each having a ring in the centre ; then a 
 long heavy chain was passed through these 
 rings, thus securing the pairs in a long double 
 column. There were fifty men thus fastened ;
 
 THE COBBLER'S GUEST 59 
 
 twenty-five on one side, and twenty-five on the 
 other, and between, the cruel iron chain ; each 
 man bearing a weight of a hundred and fifty 
 pounds, though they were of all ages and con- 
 ditions, from the beardless boy to the veteran 
 bowed with years. It was a gang going to the 
 galleys at Marseilles, and there were thieves, 
 murderers, and Huguenots ; the latter especially 
 and fatally distinguished by red jackets that 
 they might be the mark of every stone anfl every 
 insult of the bystanders. Like the exposure 
 of the corpses of damned persons, the chain was 
 a moral lesson for the people, and especially for 
 the recalcitrants. 
 
 As the unfortunates approached, women 
 leaned from the windows to cry out at them, 
 and even the children .cast mud and stones. 
 D'Aguesseau looked on sternly; he did not 
 know how soon he might be of that number, 
 and he counted forty-two red-jackets. The 
 leaders came on stubbornly ; they were two 
 strong men of middle age, and they bore the 
 chain with grim fortitude, but the two who 
 followed were pitiful enough, a white-haired 
 man, who limped painfully and was near the
 
 60 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 end of his journey, and a boy with a red streak 
 on each cheek, and the rasping cough of a con- 
 sumptive. The next pair were also red-jackets ; 
 both were lame. The fourth couple walked 
 better; the fifth had to be lashed up by the 
 guards. They were hailed with laughter and 
 derision; the convicts received sympathy, the 
 Huguenots were pelted so vigorously that the 
 blood flowed from more than one wound, as 
 the keepers whipped them into the stable-yard 
 of the Golden Cup, with the rabble at their 
 heels. The chain would be fastened in the 
 stable, while the guards took some refreshments, 
 and here was an opportunity, therefore, for 
 the population to enjoy some innocent diver- 
 sion. A Huguenot prisoner and a dancing 
 bear served much the same purpose. The 
 street was nearly cleared, so many crowded 
 into the inn-yard, and the sounds of merri- 
 ment rose from within. 
 
 D'Aguesseau was turning away in stern dis- 
 gust, when he came face to face with a hideous 
 old woman, with a string of fish in her hand. 
 She had been gloating over the chain, and she 
 was smiling amiably still, running her very red
 
 THE COBBLER'S GUEST 6 1 
 
 tongue along the edge of her red lips. She 
 curtsied to Francois and held out her fish. 
 
 " A bargain, monsieur," she said pleasantly. 
 " The sight of the red-jackets makes Mere 
 Tigrane feel good; the fish are cheap." 
 
 He shook his head, making an effort to pass 
 her, but she persisted. 
 
 " One fish, monsieur," she protested, "a 
 mountain trout. Dame ! 't is fresh, caught this 
 morning. The spectacle of these Huguenots 
 has made monsieur hungry." 
 
 " My good woman, I want neither fish nor 
 fowl," d'Aguesseau said impatiently. 
 
 " Monsieur makes a mistake," she persisted 
 with a grin ; " these are good fish, caught in the 
 stream where they drowned a Camisard witch 
 last week ! " 
 
 With a suppressed exclamation he thrust 
 her aside and walked on, her shrill laughter in 
 his ears, and the cries of the rabble in the yard 
 of the Golden Cup. As for Mere Tigrane, she 
 stood a moment looking longingly at the inn; 
 could she forego the diversion? Finally, she 
 decided between two attractions, and quietly 
 followed D'Aguesseau.
 
 62 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 The next day, when Francois descended from 
 his room, he heard voices in the shop, and saw 
 that the cobbler was talking to two women. 
 ' One was tall, raw-boned, and grim-faced, with 
 iron-gray hair and keen black eyes, and wore 
 the dress of an upper servant; the other was 
 one of the most charming young girls he had 
 ever seen. He stood in the kitchen undecided 
 whether to retire or to quietly admire the 
 picture, but before he could determine upon 
 his proper course le Bossu called him. 
 
 " Come in, monsieur," he said ; " Mademoiselle 
 de St. Cyr would speak to you." 
 
 Francois responded with some surprise, and 
 bowed in reply to Rosaline's curtsey. 
 
 " M. d'Aguesseau," she said, blushing a little 
 under his glance, " my grand* mire, Madame de 
 St. Cyr desires to see you, being acquainted 
 with your family, she knew your mother." 
 His eyes lighted with surprise and pleasure. 
 " Madame de St. Cyr does me much honor to 
 request a visit, mademoiselle," he replied ; " I 
 am at her service." 
 
 Rosaline and Babet had been into Nimes to 
 shop, and they were ready to go. The young
 
 THE COBBLER'S GUEST 63 
 
 girl laid her hand on the older woman's 
 arm. 
 
 " Then we will expect you to-morrow after- 
 noon, monsieur," she said quietly; "my very 
 good friend Chariot will direct you to St. Cyr, 
 and madame my grand' mere will be pleased to 
 make you welcome." 
 
 M. d'Aguesseau murmured his acknowledg- 
 ments, while he aided Babet in gathering up 
 numerous small packages, and then the two 
 women bade Chariot adieu and departed, the 
 drawn face of the cobbler clouding as Rosaline 
 left, as though the sun were obscured. The 
 younger man turned from the door with an ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 "Who is that angel?" he demanded eagerly. 
 
 Le Bossu was stitching a shoe, his fingers 
 shaking a little as he thrust the needle into the 
 stubborn leather. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Rosaline de St. Cyr," he re- 
 plied quietly, his brown eyes searching his guest 
 with a new sternness. " You had better retire, 
 monsieur, there comes one of the Franciscan 
 fathers for his shoes."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A MILITARY SUITOR 
 
 A WEEK had passed and the afternoon sun 
 was shining red on the windows of St. Cyr, while 
 the shadows lengthened in the rambling old 
 garden. Rosaline was feeding her doves beside 
 the sundial, Truffe sitting on the rustic bench 
 in disgrace because she had made a dash at the 
 feathered pets who came cooing to the young 
 girl's feet. It was a picture that the sunshine 
 touched with tender radiance; behind was the 
 dark green hedge, the blooming roses, and in 
 the circle by the dial the doves were flocking to 
 take food from their mistress, whose fair face 
 was as softly colored as the roses, and her hair 
 showing its loveliest tints of gold. She talked 
 to her pets while she fed them. 
 
 " There, there ! Marguerite, you have had 
 more than your share ; you are as great a gour- 
 mande as the naughty Truffe," she said, shaking 
 her finger at one pretty bird. " Viens done, my 
 Conde ! Here is a crumb for you, sweetheart.
 
 A MILITARY SUITOR 65 
 
 As for Mademoiselle d'Hautefort, she shall have 
 nothing if she pushes so against Corneille. 
 What a lot of little rogues ! " 
 
 She had distributed all her crumbs and the 
 doves were fluttering over them, struggling for 
 the largest fragments, and even alighting on her 
 wrists and hands in their eagerness. Truffe 
 meanwhile sulked under her punishment, her 
 bright black eyes watching the birds with mali- 
 cious longing for vengeance. 
 
 " You pretty creatures, how I love you ! " said 
 Rosaline, caressing the two doves she had gath- 
 ered into her arms. " Look at them, Truffe, 
 and be ashamed of your evil thoughts. Nay, 
 do not deny them, madame ; can I not read your 
 eyes ? You would eat them, you wicked ogress, 
 I see it ! Ah, there you are raising your ears ; 
 what is it, ma ch/rie ? " 
 
 The dog not only pointed her ears, she began 
 to bark, looking 'back toward the house, but not 
 daring to spring from the seat where she had 
 been ordered to remain until pardoned. 
 
 " You hear a step on the gravel, Truffe, and 
 so do I," said Rosaline listening. " Maybe it is 
 the new steward." 
 
 S
 
 66 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 Truffe barked again and then uttered a low 
 growl of displeasure as a man turned the corner 
 of the hedge and came into view. He was 
 moderately tall, with a handsome figure, which 
 was arrayed in the height of fashion ; his coat of 
 uncut velvet was laced with gold, and he wore 
 red heels on his high riding-boots, and his waist- 
 coat and trousers were of satin. His full, curled 
 periwig was fresh from Paris like the little hat, 
 which was covered with feathers. He made 
 Mademoiselle de St. Cyr a wonderful bow and 
 then looked at her in open admiration, his blue 
 eyes sparkling and his white teeth showing as 
 he smiled. 
 
 " A dove in the midst of doves," he said with 
 gallantry; " mademoiselle is ever the fairest rose 
 in her garden." 
 
 " M. de Baudri makes very pretty compli- 
 ments," Rosaline replied, her smiling compos- 
 ure unruffled. " Truffe and I did not know he 
 had honored St. Cyr with a visit." 
 
 " I have been half an hour with madame," he 
 replied, " all the while hoping to catch a glimpse 
 of the loveliest face in the world." 
 
 " I would have sent Truffe, if I had known
 
 A MILITARY SUITOR 67 
 
 that you desired to see her, monsieur," Rosaline 
 replied demurely. 
 
 Monsieur bit his lip ; he hated dogs and the 
 provoking little witch knew it. 
 
 " Mademoiselle chooses to mock me," he said, 
 " and mockery comes unnaturally from such 
 lovely lips." 
 
 Rosaline laughed softly, still caressing a dove 
 that nestled on her arm. 
 
 " Tell me the news from Nimes, monsieur," 
 she retorted lightly ; " I love a good story, you 
 know." 
 
 " With all my heart, mademoiselle, if you will 
 love the story teller," he replied. 
 
 " I cannot judge until I have heard the 
 story," she retorted, mischievous mirth in her 
 blue eyes. 
 
 " There is not so much to tell, mademoiselle," 
 he said ; " these wretches the Camisards 
 still trouble us despite their defeat at Vagnas. 
 If we could get the head of the brigand Cava- 
 lier all would be well. Has mademoiselle heard 
 of M. le Marechal's dinner party? 'T is amus- 
 ing enough. M. Montrevel is in a bad humor; 
 the villain Cavalier has cut up two detachments,
 
 68 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 as you know, one at Ners, and one intended 
 for Sommieres. Thinking of these things and 
 drinking wine after dinner M. le Marechal 
 was angry, and at the moment came tidings 
 that these heretics were praying and howling 
 in a mill on the canal, outside of the Porte-des- 
 Carmes. Mtre de Dieu ! you should have seen 
 Montrevel. In a trice he had out a regiment 
 of foot, and away he went to the mill. The 
 soldiers surrounded it and broke open the door, 
 and there sure enough were a lot of psalm- 
 singers, about three hundred old men, women, 
 and children heretics all ! The soldiers went 
 in ah, mademoiselle does not desire particu- 
 lars; but truly it is slow work to cut three 
 hundred throats, especially in such confusion. 
 M. le Marechal ordered them to fire the mill. 
 Man Dieu ! 't was a scene ! It burned artisti- 
 cally, and the soldiers drove back all who tried 
 to escape. One rogue, M. Montrevel's own ser- 
 vant too, saved a girl, but the marechal ordered 
 them both hung at once. He was begged off 
 by some sisters of mercy, who unhappily came 
 by just as they had the noose over his head, but 
 the heretic had been hung already. T is called
 
 A MILITARY SUITOR 69 
 
 M. Montrevel's dinner party in Nimes ; and there 
 is a saying that one must burn three hundred 
 heretics before M. le Marechal has an appetite." 
 
 Rosaline stood stroking the dove, her eyes 
 averted. 
 
 " What a pleasant story, monsieur," she re- 
 marked coldly, " to tell out here in the warm 
 sunshine ! What do I want to know of those 
 wretches dying in the flames?" and she flashed 
 a sudden look of scorn upon him that brought a 
 flush to his face. 
 
 " Mademoiselle should have asked me to 
 tell her the one story that I know by heart," 
 he replied, his voice and manner changing 
 in an instant and full now of courtesy and 
 propitiation. 
 
 "And what is that, monsieur?" she asked 
 shortly ; the color was warm in her cheeks and 
 her blue eyes flashed dangerously. 
 
 " The old story of my love for you, Rosaline," 
 he said eagerly, advancing nearer the sundial, 
 the flock of doves rising with a whir of wings 
 as he approached. 
 
 She was unmoved, however, only averting her 
 face.
 
 /O THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 " I have spoken to madame," he added, " and 
 now I speak to you." 
 
 " And what did Madame de St. Cyr say ? " she 
 demanded, giving him a questioning glance. 
 
 " She told me that so great was her love for 
 her only grandchild that she would never force 
 your choice, and therefore it remained with you 
 to decide for yourself." He spoke with feeling, 
 his bold blue eyes on her lovely face. " I trust 
 that you are not wholly indifferent to me, Rosa- 
 line," he continued, " and I can give you much. 
 My beautiful princess is shut up here in a 
 ruinous old chateau. I will show you the 
 world Paris Versailles. No beauty of the 
 court will compare with the rose of Languedoc." 
 
 He paused, carried away by his own elo- 
 quence, for M. de Baudri was not given to 
 sentiment. Rosaline had listened with patience 
 and composure, and she answered him in a tone 
 of quiet amusement. 
 
 " Monsieur does me too much honor," she 
 said. " The chateau is indeed ruinous, but 't is 
 my home, and, strange to say, I do not long for 
 the splendors of the court or the flattery of 
 the courtiers."
 
 A MILITARY SUITOR Jl 
 
 " But my love for you, mademoiselle ! " he 
 protested in surprise ; surely this child did not 
 realize the honor he paid her. " I offer you my 
 heart and hand." 
 
 Rosaline curtsied with a smile on her lips. 
 
 " I am honored, monsieur," she replied ; " but 
 happily, as my grandmother says, I have the 
 decision of my fate. My marriage matters to 
 no one except to her and to me and, mon- 
 sieur, I do not desire to marry." 
 
 He stared at her in such frank surprise that 
 she had to avert her face to hide her amusement. 
 
 "You are only a child," he said bluntly; 
 " you do not understand what my name and for- 
 tune would mean to you. 'T is not every day, 
 mademoiselle, that a man desires to marry a 
 young girl without a dot ! " 
 
 She laughed softly, her blue eyes shining. 
 
 " I appreciate your condescension, monsieur," 
 she said amiably ; " but I am too wise to thrust 
 myself upon such rash generosity." 
 
 " This is folly, mademoiselle," he exclaimed, 
 his temper rising; "or is it only a shamefaced 
 reluctance to confess your true sentiments?" 
 
 Rosaline had borne much, but at this she
 
 72 THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 broke down, laughing as merrily and recklessly 
 as a child ; laughing until tears stood in her blue 
 eyes. Meanwhile M. de Baudri stood in front 
 of her swelling with rage and mortification, his 
 face crimson and his blue eyes fierce with indig- 
 nation. Still Rosaline laughed. 
 
 "Mademoiselle is merry," he said stiffly. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, monsieur," she replied, 
 " a thousand times." 
 
 " You have not answered me," he went on 
 harshly. "Am I to understand that my suit 
 is refused? " 
 
 " It is refused, monsieur," she rejoined more 
 calmly; " M. de Baudri should seek a bride of 
 more wealth and distinction." 
 
 He stood a moment silent, the picture of furi- 
 ous indignation, then he looked over the hedge 
 and saw a man crossing the space between the 
 house and the wing. M. de Baudri frowned. 
 
 "Who is that, mademoiselle?" he demanded 
 sharply, pointing toward the stranger. 
 
 Rosaline's eyes followed his finger, and she 
 colored, her composure disturbed at last. 
 
 " It is the new steward, monsieur," she 
 replied.
 
 A MILITARY SUITOR 73 
 
 " The new steward ? " he repeated. " Madame 
 de St. Cyr refused the man I recommended be- 
 cause she said she could not afford to pay for a 
 successor to old Jacques." 
 
 "That is true," she rejoined quietly; "we 
 really could not afford it. But since old Jacques 
 died we have found ourselves in need of a 
 man to help us, therefore we have afforded it, 
 monsieur." 
 
 " Humph ! " ejaculated M. de Baudri, with an- 
 other glknce at the house. " A strange sort of 
 a steward. You had best be careful, mademoi- 
 selle, and not employ disguised Camisards ; the 
 neighborhood swarms with the vermin, and M. 
 le Marechal means to exterminate them all." 
 
 " I thank you for the caution, monsieur," she 
 replied, " but Pere Ambroise looks after us very 
 well." 
 
 " Pere Ambroise is a fat fool," he retorted, 
 giving a malicious kick at Truffe, who had ap- 
 proached him. 
 
 Rosaline saw it and her face flushed crimson. 
 
 " Come here, Truffe," she said, and then curt- 
 sied to her visitor. " We bid you good afternoon, 
 monsieur," she continued coolly ; " neither Truffe
 
 74 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 nor I appreciate the honor you have offered us. 
 We beg you to confer it on a more worthy ob- 
 ject, and we bid you good-evening." 
 
 And away she ran with her dog, leaving M. 
 de Baudri standing in the centre of the garden, 
 the image of indignant disgust. The minx had 
 dared to refuse him, an officer of his Majesty's 
 dragoons, when she should have been over- 
 whelmed by his condescension ; but clearly she 
 was not responsible, a frivolous child ! So he 
 thought, and rode away, cursing his folly and 
 the infatuation of Madame de St. Cyr. But, for 
 all that, he did not mean to lose the Rose of 
 Languedoc.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A STRING OF TROUT 
 
 THE next morning Rosaline was once more 
 among her flowers. There was no gardener at 
 the chateau now, and it was the young girl's 
 custom to weed and tend her own flower beds. 
 She was bending over some velvet-faced pansies, 
 snipping off the dead blooms and plucking 
 away the vagrant grass when she heard some 
 one speak behind her, and looking up saw a 
 hideous face peeping over the wicket gate. 
 Rosaline started and stood erect, viewing her 
 visitor with a suspicious glance. But Mere 
 Tigrane for it was she was accustomed to 
 such receptions, and she only grinned more 
 widely as she dropped mademoiselle a curtsey. 
 
 " Have some fish for dinner, my pretty ! " she 
 said in a coaxing tone, holding up a string of 
 trout; " mademoiselle can have the whole string 
 for ten sous ! " 
 
 Rosaline had no thought except one of hor- 
 ror and repulsion. The face looking over the
 
 76 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 gate, with its wide red mouth and yellow fangs, 
 alarmed her ; she did not even look at the fish, 
 
 " I do not want anything, my good woman," 
 she replied, shaking her head. 
 
 " But 't is fast day, my darling," remarked 
 Mere Tigrane, with tender solicitude ; " all good 
 Catholics eat fish to-day ! " 
 
 Rosaline's lesson was well learned and she 
 was on her guard in a moment. 
 
 " We have enough fish," she said coldly. 
 
 " But these are so fresh, mademoiselle," per- 
 sisted la Louve. " But then the young lady can- 
 not judge ; permit poor Mere Tigrane to show 
 these lovely trout to the cook." 
 
 " I tell you that we have more fish than we 
 can eat," said Rosaline, haughtily ; " you had 
 better try elsewhere." 
 
 " But think of the bargain, my dear," re- 
 joined the old hag, in honeyed tones ; " now the 
 cook will know or the steward." 
 
 As she spoke Mere Tigrane gently opened 
 the gate and entered, to Rosaline's disgust. 
 She instinctively feared the fishwife and she did 
 not want her to approach the house. 'She 
 moved, therefore, into the centre of the path,
 
 A STRING OF TROUT 77 
 
 blocking the way, a very bad move, indeed, 
 for it roused all la Louve's suspicions. 
 
 " Now, my dearie, let me sell these pretty 
 fish in the kitchen," she coaxed, approaching 
 the girl and laying her bony hand on Rosaline's 
 skirt. 
 
 Mademoiselle drew back with horror, drag- 
 ging her frock from the talon fingers with a little 
 involuntary cry of disgust. As she did so there 
 was a low growl from the hedge and Truffe, 
 dashing suddenly upon the scene, sprang on 
 Mere Tigrane. The old woman shrieked, 
 snatching a knife from her bosom and striking 
 at the dog. 
 
 " Do not dare to hurt Truffe ! " cried Rosa- 
 line, throwing herself on the poodle and drag- 
 ging her off before she had done more mischief 
 than to tear the other's clothes. " Go ! " she 
 added imperiously, stamping her foot ; " you 
 forced yourself in and see, I cannot hold the 
 dog ! There is a crown to buy you a new 
 petticoat ; take it and go ! " 
 
 Mere Tigrane gathered up the money greedily, 
 and prudently retired beyond the gate before 
 she spoke. Her little eyes glittered with rage,
 
 78 THE COBBLER OF 
 
 although she smiled broadly at the young 
 girl. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is generous," she said ; " she 
 has more than paid for the fish will she not 
 have them ? " 
 
 Rosaline was annoyed beyond endurance. 
 She still held the dog and she turned a wither- 
 ing glance on Mere Tigrane. 
 
 " Go ! " she said sharply, " at once. Let me 
 hear no more of you or your fish." 
 
 " Mtre de Dieu, but my beauty can be an- 
 gry ! " remarked la Louve. " Farewell, my 
 pretty, and good luck to you and your dog." 
 
 The old woman made her another curtsey and 
 still chuckling to herself walked slowly away. 
 
 Scarcely had she disappeared behind the tall 
 hedge when there was a footstep on the path 
 behind Rosaline and Francois d'Aguesseau 
 came in sight. He was soberly dressed like a 
 steward, and bare-headed, having hurried from 
 the house at the sound of Mere Tigrane's 
 outcry. He found Rosaline still holding the 
 dog, her face flushed with anger and her eyes 
 fastened on the opening in the hedge where 
 her unpleasant visitor had disappeared.
 
 A STRING OF TROUT 79 
 
 " I heard a noise, mademoiselle," he said, 
 " and thought something had alarmed you." 
 
 " And something did," replied Rosaline, with 
 a shudder ; " the most dreadful old woman has 
 been here trying to force her way into the 
 house." 
 
 D'Aguesseau smiled ; old women did not ter- 
 rify him, and he set mademoiselle's excitement 
 down to her nerves. 
 
 " What sort of an old woman ? " he asked 
 pleasantly; "you look as if you had seen a 
 witch, mademoiselle." 
 
 " And so I have," retorted the girl ; " a witch 
 with a string of fish." 
 
 He started ; he too had unpleasant associa- 
 tions with an apparition with a basket of fish. 
 He remembered the terrible tent at the fair, and 
 the encounter opposite the Sign of the Golden 
 Cup. 
 
 " Which way did she go ? " he asked, and as 
 Rosaline pointed, he went to the gate, and looked 
 in both directions but saw nothing. " She has 
 vanished," he said reassuringly. " I trust that 
 she did not annoy you, mademoiselle." 
 
 " She was teasing me to buy her fish, and
 
 8O THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 finally pushed into the garden," Rosaline re- 
 plied, " and then she caught hold of my skirt 
 in her eagerness to arrest my attention. I was 
 foolish, I know, but, I could n't help it, I cried 
 out such a horror came over me! Then 
 Truffe sprang on her, and she drew a knife on 
 my dog ! I saved Truffe and ordered her away, 
 but I know she was fearfully angry, and and 
 I fear her ; I can't tell why, but I fear her ! " 
 
 " Put her from your thoughts, mademoiselle," 
 he said soothingly; "'tis not in the power of 
 such a wretched creature to hurt you." 
 
 "I do not know," she replied, still excited; 
 "we are concealing so much, and she wanted 
 to get to the house. I was afraid she would 
 see " she broke off, her face flushing. 
 
 " See me," finished d'Aguesseau quietly. 
 " Mademoiselle, I pray that you will not let 
 my presence add to your anxieties. I fear I 
 have indeed exposed this house to peril by 
 accepting Madame de St. Cyr's beautiful friend- 
 ship. If I believed so, I would quit it at once. 
 My lot would indeed be a miserable one if 
 I should bring misfortune to the roof that 
 shelters me."
 
 A STRING OF TROUT 8 1 
 
 He spoke gloomily, standing with folded 
 arms and bent head, his eyes on the ground. 
 Rosaline loosened her hold on Truffe, who 
 wriggled herself free and fled away along the 
 hedge barking angrily. Neither of them heeded 
 the poodle, however, for their thoughts were of 
 more serious matters. 
 
 " Have no fear, monsieur," Rosaline said ; 
 " our peril could scarcely be increased. We 
 are all members of a proscribed religion, and it 
 is natural that we should all suffer together. 
 It has been a pleasure to my grandmother to be 
 able to have you as her guest. We have been 
 so situated that we could do nothing for our 
 fellow-religionists, and it is much to her to 
 do even so little for you." 
 
 " So much," he corrected gravely. " I was 
 friendless and homeless, when madame asked 
 me to stay here, and I wish from my heart that I 
 could be of real service to you, instead of merely 
 assuming a steward's place as a temporary 
 disguise." 
 
 He paused an instant, watching the young 
 girl's downcast face intently, and then he spoke 
 again, with yet more earnestness. 
 6
 
 82 THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 " I have been urging Madame de St. Cyr to 
 leave this neighborhood," he said, " to go to 
 England. No one is safe here, and I cannot 
 hope much from this insurrection, when I think 
 of the mighty force that the king can hurl 
 against these poor peasants." 
 
 Rosaline raised her face, a look of inspiration 
 on her delicate features. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur," she said, "you forget that 
 the ban Dien is with us ! Surely we must win, 
 when the Captain of our Salvation leads us." 
 
 He looked at her with admiration in his eyes. 
 How beautiful she was ! 
 
 " That is true, mademoiselle," he replied, "but 
 it may not be His will that we should con- 
 quer upon earth. The battle must be waged, 
 and death and destruction follow it. I cannot 
 bear to think of you and madame here in this 
 chateau, in the very heart of it ; for, doubtless, 
 Cavalier will assault Nimes at last." 
 
 " Madame de St. Cyr cannot go to England," 
 the girl said quietly ; " she is too old for the 
 flight. We must face it." 
 
 " Then, mademoiselle, I will remain with you 
 here," he declared.
 
 A STRING OF TROUT 83 
 
 She gave him a startled glance, coloring 
 slightly. 
 
 " You promised your mother to go to Eng- 
 land," she reminded him ; " and your single 
 sword could never defend us." 
 
 " And my presence draws danger you 
 would add, mademoiselle," he said quietly ; 
 " that is true, but I shall not remain in this 
 house, I shall go to the CeVennes, and there 
 I can still watch over you a little. I shall 
 indeed go to England, but not now." 
 
 He spoke with such resolution that she at- 
 tempted no reply. There was a pause and 
 again Truffe barked viciously at the other end 
 of the hedge, and a glint of red showed through 
 a break in the thicket, but neither of the two 
 friends noticed it. At last the girl broke the 
 silence. 
 
 " I suppose the end will come some time," 
 she said dreamily. "The old chateau will be 
 consumed by the flames that M. de Baudri's 
 troops will kindle, the garden will be a desolate 
 place, and Languedoc will know us no more. I 
 have lain awake at night thinking of it, mon- 
 sieur, and yet I am not afraid. I do not know
 
 84 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 why, but I have never been really afraid of the 
 day when this concealment must end. But oh, 
 I do pray that my grandmother may escape ! I 
 think of these things, and then I come out and 
 see God's sun shining, and hear my doves coo, 
 and it seems impossible that the world is so 
 cruel. Is it indeed so, monsieur? Is my life 
 here at St. Cyr a dream of peace amid the 
 fierce world? Can it be that this too, that I 
 have always known, will end?" 
 
 His face was sad and stern, and he looked at 
 her with sorrowful eyes. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he replied, " I pray that it 
 may never end. But once I too had such a 
 dream. I was a little lad at my mother's knee 
 in Dauphine. The sun shone there too, and the 
 birds sang, and every day life went on. I had a 
 father whom I reverenced, who taught me and 
 guided me, a sister whom I loved, and we were 
 rich." He paused and then added, " I am almost 
 a beggar now but for madame's loan which 
 my father's prudent investments in England will 
 enable me to repay. I have neither father nor 
 mother nor sister. The chateau is a blackened 
 ruin, the lands are tilled by strangers. Man
 
 A STRING OF TROUT 85 
 
 Dieu! my dream ended as I pray yours may 
 not ! " 
 
 Rosaline's face was full of sympathy, tears 
 gathered in her eyes, she held out her hand 
 with a gesture of commiseration. 
 
 " Monsieur, pardon me for speaking of it," 
 she said, a quiver in her voice; "your sister 
 oh, believe me, I grieve with you for so terrible 
 an affliction. God knows what my fate may 
 be!" 
 
 He took her hand in both his and kissed it. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said gravely, " while I 
 live I will surely defend you from that awful 
 calamity. There is no one to require my ser- 
 vice 't is yours, mademoiselle, and my grati- 
 tude and devotion. Would that I had more to 
 devote to your protection ! "
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 BABET VISITS THE COBBLER 
 
 THE little hunchback, Chariot, sat patiently 
 at his cobbler's bench making a pair of shoes. 
 The sun was not shining in his window ; it shone 
 on the house across the court, and there was 
 only a reflected glare to brighten the shop at 
 the sign of Two Shoes. His door was open, and 
 from where he sat he could see the two children 
 opposite, playing on the threshold of their 
 home. They were not handsome children, and 
 were clad in patched and faded garments, yet 
 the shoemaker looked over at them often as he 
 plied his needle. He heard the voice of their 
 mother singing as she did her work ; he saw the 
 father come home for his dinner, the two little 
 ones greeting him with noisy affection. A 
 humble picture of family life, scarcely worth 
 recording, yet every day le Bossu watched it 
 with interest and a dull pain. His hearth was 
 desolate, but not so desolate as his heart.
 
 BABET VISITS THE COBBLER 8/ 
 
 Chariot cut a strip of fine kid and stitched it, 
 but his eyes dwelt sadly on the house across the 
 court. He went in and out his own door daily, 
 but no one ever greeted him ; no loving voice 
 spoke kind words of sympathy when his trouble 
 was upon him ; no friendly hand performed the 
 little every-day services for him. There was 
 silence always, silence and loneliness. The 
 hunchback thought of it and of his life. He 
 could remember no great blessings or joys in it. 
 His parents were humble, and he was the one 
 misshapen child in a large family. From his 
 birth he had been unwelcome in the world. A 
 neglected infant, he fell from the bed to the 
 floor, and from that time began to grow crooked 
 and sickly. His mother's death robbed him of 
 his only friend, and he struggled through pain- 
 ful years of neglect and suffering to manhood 
 but what a manhood ! he said to himself; not 
 even his own brethren cared for him. The 
 brothers and sisters went out into the world, and 
 Chariot would have been left in miserable pov- 
 erty but for a kind cobbler who taught him his 
 trade, and thus enabled the cripple to earn his 
 own living.
 
 88 THE COBBLER OF N$MES 
 
 That meagre story of pain and sorrow was 
 Chariot's history, and now he stitched away 
 patiently on his shoes and made no complaint. 
 No one thought of him as a man endowed with 
 all a man's feelings and passions. The little 
 hunchbacked shoemaker of St. Antoine was not 
 disliked by his neighbors ; he was welcome to 
 gather up the crumbs of joy that fell from the 
 happier man's table, to look on at feasts and 
 weddings ; he was even wanted at funerals for 
 he had a strangely touching way of showing his 
 sympathy ; but Dien ! he was a thing apart, 
 le bosstt, a little deformity. No one thought of 
 the soul caged within that wretched shape, and 
 looking out on all it desired of the fulness of 
 life, hungering for a crumb of joy, and debarred 
 forever and ever. 
 
 " Ah, mon Dieu f " Chariot said sometimes, 
 " why didst thou give me the soul of a man, and 
 a body that is only a mark for pity or scorn ? " 
 
 A question that could be answered only when 
 the long and painful journey should be over and 
 the poor, misshapen body laid to rest. Who can 
 say in what beautiful form such a spirit may be 
 clad when the River of Death is crossed?
 
 BABET VISITS THE COBBLER 89 
 
 All these thoughts were in the shoemaker's 
 mind as he turned a little shoe in his hand. It 
 was of white satin and he was making a rosette of 
 pink ribbon, shaping it like a rose and fastening 
 it on the toe. He fondled his work and held it 
 off at arm's length, admiring it. Another pair of 
 shoes for Mademoiselle de St. Cyr, but this time 
 they would come as a surprise. Next Thursday 
 was Rosaline's birthday, and the cobbler had 
 been long fashioning these shoes as a present. 
 He had never dared offer her a gift before, but 
 now he owed them so many kindnesses, they 
 had done so much to help him, that he felt he 
 might offer this humble return on mademoi- 
 selle's birthday. That pair of little white satin 
 shoes stood for much joy in le Bossu's dreary 
 life ; to plan them, to make them, to buy the 
 ribbon for the rosettes, had furnished him with 
 so many separate diversions. In the blankness 
 of his existence there was one sacred spot, the 
 chateau of St. Cyr ; in his sad days, the figure of 
 Rosaline stood before him like an angel. There 
 was a great gulf between these two, the beauti- 
 ful girl and the humble cobbler, and he knelt 
 down on the farther side and worshipped her, as
 
 9O THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 he would worship a saint in heaven. And she 
 knew it not. To her, he was little Chariot, poor 
 Chariot, and her voice softened when she spoke 
 to him ; her manner was more kind too than to 
 others ; she could afford to be goodness itself to 
 the hunchbacked cobbler, and she never dreamed 
 that she held his life in the hollow of her hand. 
 Great was the gulf indeed, and she stood a long 
 way off with the merciful sympathy of the angel 
 that she seemed to him to be. He understood 
 it all well enough and looked up to worship, 
 happy to fashion a shoe that pleased her and to 
 see the light in her blue eyes when she thanked 
 him. 
 
 So it was that he sat stitching mademoiselle's 
 little shoe and looking across at the children on 
 his neighbor's step ; they had finished their 
 dinner now, and the father had gone back to his 
 work. Le Bossu's drawn face was pale to-day, 
 and there was pathos in his brown eyes. He 
 waxed his thread and drew it back and forth and 
 once or twice he sighed. There was no sound 
 in his house but the ticking of his clock, but 
 over the way there were the voices of children, 
 the goodwife's song, the clatter of dishes. Char-
 
 BABET VISITS THE COBBLER gi 
 
 lot had finished one slipper and put it away, 
 and was taking up the other when some one 
 entered the court. His work would be done in 
 good season, the cobbler thought with satisfac- 
 tion, and he was cutting the pink ribbon when 
 he looked up and saw Babet, the cook and 
 housekeeper at St. Cyr. Le Bossu tucked the 
 slipper out of sight and greeted his visitor. She 
 entered with a quick, firm step, bearing herself 
 like a grenadier, and dusted the stool with the 
 end of her shawl before she sat down. 
 
 " Well, Chariot," she said, opening a bundle 
 that she had brought, " here are my boots, and 
 the left one pinches me and the right is too 
 large. I tell you, man, that you never make two 
 shoes alike." 
 
 The cobbler smiled. " Your feet are not alike ; 
 that is the trouble, Babet," he retorted ; " the left 
 one is larger than the right." 
 
 " Tush ! " ejaculated the woman in disgust, 
 " do you take me for a fool ? I 've set my right 
 foot forward all my life, little man, and yet you 
 say the left is larger." 
 
 "You have worn the flesh off your right, 
 thrusting it forward, Babet," replied the cobbler ;
 
 92 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 " 'tis the way with some noses they are ground 
 off, being thrust into other people's business." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Babet, " 't is not so with 
 mine. Can you fix the shoe so I can wear it? " 
 
 The shoemaker knelt down and patiently 
 tried on Babet's boots, while she found fault 
 first with one and then with the other. It was 
 evident that she was in no very good humor. 
 A different customer was this from mademoi- 
 selle, and Chariot's thoughts were not set on 
 pleasing her. His guest had left him to go 
 to St. Cyr and had ostensibly become steward 
 there ; but the hunchback was not deceived. 
 He had long suspected that the women of 
 the chateau were of the new religion, and 
 now he was secretly convinced of it, and in 
 d'Aguesseau he saw a grave danger for them. 
 Chariot was a sincere Romanist too, and his 
 conscience was troubled, but his heart was 
 full of sympathy for misery; he had him- 
 self been miserable all his life. In spite of 
 Babet's bickering, therefore, he found an op- 
 portunity to broach the subject nearest his 
 heart. 
 
 " Does the new steward suit Madame de St.
 
 BABET VISITS THE COBBLER 93 
 
 Cyr?" he asked, as he finally took off the 
 offending boots and put back the old ones on 
 Babet's large feet. 
 
 " The new steward indeed ! " said she, with a 
 sniff; " a precious steward ! I have no use for 
 fine gentlemen without money ! What did you 
 send him to us for? " 
 
 "I send him?" exclaimed the cobbler, in 
 mild surprise. " Mademoiselle asked him to 
 come to see her grandmother." 
 
 Babet tossed her head. " 'T was all your 
 fault," she said emphatically. " I Ve nothing 
 to say against M. d'Aguesseau himself, but what 
 need have we for a steward ? And what does 
 he do at once, this fine gentleman? " 
 
 Chariot had seldom seen his friend so out 
 of humor before, and he regarded her in 
 amazement. 
 
 " What has he done? " he inquired. 
 
 " Fallen in love with Mademoiselle Rosa- 
 line," retorted Babet, bluntly ; " and what use is 
 there in that? I tell you, Chariot, I am jealous 
 for mademoiselle ; I have no patience with 
 these young fools they all do it, from M. 
 de Baudri down."
 
 94 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 The hunchback laid down the shoes, the 
 pain in his patient eyes, and the lines deepening 
 around his mouth. 
 
 " M. d'Aguesseau is a gentleman," he said 
 slowly. " I know who he is. Does does 
 mademoiselle find him pleasing?" 
 
 This was too much for Babet; she drew a 
 long breath and stared at the offender with eyes 
 of scorn. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Rosaline ! " she said ; " Made- 
 moiselle Rosaline pleased with him ! del ! 
 why, you fool, she must marry a duke or a 
 prince. But what is the use of having a young 
 gentleman hopelessly in love with her and 
 willing to play at being steward to be near 
 her?" 
 
 Chariot sighed ; he was resting his chin on 
 his hand and looking thoughtfully out into the 
 court. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said, " if it annoys 
 mademoiselle." 
 
 " Annoys her ! " repeated the indignant 
 woman. " If it did but it does n't, bless her 
 innocent heart; she does not even suspect it 
 yet. But I see it plain enough. He 's a fine
 
 BABET VISITS THE COBBLER 95 
 
 man too, and I might be sorry for him, but 
 what business has he at St. Cyr?" 
 
 With this, Babet arose and adjusting her 
 little white shawl on her broad shoulders, she 
 smoothed the folds of her black petticoat, and 
 giving Chariot some more arbitrary directions 
 about her boots, stalked out. She crossed the 
 court and trudged away toward the gate of 
 Nimes with a feeling of satisfaction. She had 
 relieved her mind, and she believed that she had 
 disarmed the hunchback's suspicions. Babet 
 knew that Chariot thought her a Huguenot, and 
 she took many different ways of deceiving him. 
 She thought now that she had given a reason 
 for M. d'Aguesseau's stay at St. Cyr. It was 
 a truthful statement, but she had made it to 
 excuse the presence there of a stranger. No 
 one knew of her intentions; Babet always acted 
 on her own impulses and she fancied herself a 
 wise woman. Her jealousy for mademoiselle 
 was so genuine that she did not have to feign 
 her anger ; no one was good enough for her 
 darling. 
 
 She left the hunchback in a thoughtful mood. 
 He did not immediately resume his work ; he
 
 g6 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 sat staring out at the door, but he saw nothing. 
 A vision rose indeed before his mind of a tall, 
 straight figure, a handsome, strong face, the 
 voice and manners of a station far above his 
 own in life. The little cobbler sighed painfully, 
 his lips tightened, he felt as if some one had 
 thrust a dagger in his heart. 
 
 He was still sitting there, staring into space, 
 when a large figure darkened his doorway and 
 a stout man wearing the habit of a priest en- 
 tered his shop.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 CHARLOT BURNS A CANDLE 
 
 THE priest's stout figure seemed to fill Char- 
 lot's little shop, and he stood with his hands 
 crossed behind his back looking down placidly 
 at the shoemaker. He had a round, rosy, face 
 with a succession of double chins and a nose like 
 a turnip, but his eyes were kindly and he was 
 nearly always smiling. Pere Ambroise was 
 popular; hardly a parish priest in Nimes was 
 more welcome as a visitor, and none were less 
 feared. Children ran after the amiable father, 
 babies crowed for him, invalids were glad to hear 
 his cheery voice. He was not intended as a 
 persecutor or a martyr; he was round and the 
 world was round, and both revolved comfortably 
 in their own orbits. Pere Ambroise was lazy, 
 and, Mere de Dieu, these wretched Camisards 
 were as fleet of foot as mountain goats ! The 
 good priest preferred a good dinner and a soft 
 bed in Nimes. It was a season of trouble for 
 7
 
 98 THE COBBLER OF N^MES 
 
 his brethren who were outside of the protection 
 of the garrison towns, and Pere Ambroise was 
 sorry for them. Chayla had been slain at Pont- 
 de-Montvert; the Cure of Frugeres shot in a 
 rye field; the Cure of St. Andre de Lanceze 
 thrown from the highest window of his own 
 belfry; others had suffered violent deaths, and 
 Pere Ambroise felt that Nimes was the safest 
 spot for his residence. He did not belong to 
 the missionaries or the prophets, but he raised 
 his hand against no man, and more than one 
 sufferer secretly blessed the stout father as he 
 ambled along the Esplanade, or stopped to chat 
 with the children. 
 
 He wore his usual expression of placidity, a 
 certain unctuous, well-fed air, the cheerfulness 
 that comes from a full stomach and the digestion 
 of an ox. He looked down with mild compas- 
 sion on the drawn face of the hunchback. He 
 pitied Chariot, but with all his worldly wisdom 
 he had not the least comprehension of him. 
 The cobbler greeted him respectfully, rising 
 from his stool at his entrance. 
 
 " Sit down sit down," said Pere Ambroise, 
 with good-humored remembrance of the hunch-
 
 CHARLOT BURNS A CANDLE 99 
 
 back's weariness. " I only came to pay for my 
 shoes." 
 
 As he spoke he tried the back of a chair with 
 his hand before trusting his weight upon it. 
 Being satisfied with its strength, he sat down 
 with a sigh of relief, and drawing out his purse 
 slowly counted out the money and laid it on 
 Chariot's bench. 
 
 "How is the business, my son?" he asked, 
 blandly ; " you seem to be always occupied." 
 
 "Yes," replied the shoemaker ; " thanks to the 
 bon Dieu I am well occupied. All men must 
 try to walk, and most men wear shoes." 
 
 " When they can afford them," supplemented 
 Pere Ambroise. " You have a better trade than 
 some of your competitors. All goes well with 
 you, then? " 
 
 " As well as usual, mon phe" the hunchback 
 replied quietly, " I live and I eat." 
 
 " That is more than some do in Languedoc," 
 rejoined the father, with his usual placid philoso- 
 phy, folding his fat hands on his portly front 
 and gazing mildly around the shop. " Is your 
 room above rented ? " he asked, after a moment's 
 pause.
 
 IOO THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 Chariot looked up quickly, his face changing 
 a little, and then he bent over his work again. 
 
 " It is empty," he answered ; " I found a 
 lodger often troublesome." 
 
 " Yet you had one some weeks since," re- 
 marked the priest calmly, " or I have been mis- 
 informed." 
 
 Chariot stirred uneasily. " I rented it for 
 three days only, mon pre" he said. 
 
 "Ah, yes for three days," repeated Pere 
 Ambroise, twirling his thumbs and looking up 
 at the ceiling; "and your lodger then became 
 Madame de St. Cyr's steward. How was this, 
 my son ? " 
 
 The shoemaker's fingers were twitching the 
 thread nervously. 
 
 " It was an accident, Pere Ambroise," he said. 
 " Madame de St. Cyr knew his family and heard 
 that he was here." 
 
 "She knew his family?" repeated the priest 
 again, his twinkling eyes travelling down from 
 the ceiling to the drawn face before him. 
 " From what part of France did he come? " 
 
 " From DauphineY' le Bossu retorted shortly. 
 
 " Humph ! " ejaculated Pere Ambroise, taking
 
 CHAR LOT BURNS A CANDLE 1OI 
 
 up a shoe from the bench and examining it 
 critically. "From Dauphine and his name 
 is ?" 
 
 Chariot laid down his work and looked the 
 good father in the eye. 
 
 " You love the family at St. Cyr, mon phc?" 
 he asked gravely. 
 
 Pere Ambroise nodded his head in assent, 
 smiling a little all the while and patting the 
 shoe in his hands. 
 
 " Then I pray you to ask me no more ques- 
 tions," the hunchback said. 
 
 " Ah ! " ejaculated Pere Ambroise, and there 
 was much significance in his tone. 
 
 There was a long pause. Chariot took up 
 his work, cutting away at the sole of a shoe, 
 and his visitor sat quite still, his fat person 
 spreading comfortably over the chair and set- 
 tling into it, after the fashion of soft, fleshy 
 bodies. 
 
 " You go often to St. Cyr," he remarked at 
 last; " do you know that M. Montrevel is deter- 
 mined to make a clean sweep of these Camisards 
 of all heretics, in fact ; that he will cleanse 
 Languedoc of this corruption?"
 
 IO2 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 " 'T is the king's will," remarked le Bossu, 
 with a sigh, " but there is much suffering." 
 
 " ' If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off,' " 
 Pere Ambroise retorted placidly ; " heretics 
 must suffer fire here and hereafter." 
 
 As he spoke, he rose deliberately and re- 
 placed his purse in his pocket. 
 
 " My son," he said kindly, " take no more 
 such lodgers that is my advice, and you know 
 that I am your friend." 
 
 " I know it, mon pre" replied the shoemaker, 
 respectfully accompanying the priest to the 
 door. 
 
 The good father moved ponderously and at 
 the threshold he paused a moment to look 
 about the court, waving his hand to the two 
 children who stood gaping at him. Then he 
 bade Chariot farewell. 
 
 " Peace be to you, my son," he said be- 
 nignly, and passed slowly out into the Rue 
 St. Antoine. 
 
 When he was gone Chariot put away his 
 work and went back to the kitchen and set out 
 his supper, some figs and black bread. He 
 could not stitch, he could not meditate, he was
 
 CHARLOT BURNS A CANDLE 103 
 
 troubled. He did not fear Pere Ambroise, but 
 he saw a cloud gathering over St. Cyr. He w-as 
 a constant witness of cruelties to the Protestants, 
 so common then that they scarcely made a 
 ripple in the placid surface of every-day life. 
 He saw the chain, the stake, the corpses of 
 damned persons, and these things troubled him 
 as they did not trouble other good Catholics. 
 When the miserable appealed to him, his heart 
 was touched with sympathy ; he never mocked, 
 he never refused a cup of water, as others did ; 
 he pitied because he too had suffered the 
 world's scorn. He could not think of these hid- 
 eous things approaching Mademoiselle de St. 
 Cyr ; he would as soon have dreamed of casting 
 an angel into hell ; yet he began now to fear that 
 the finger of Fate was moving slowly but surely 
 in her direction. It sickened him ; he sat down 
 to eat, but the bread was as a stone between his 
 teeth. 
 
 While he sat thus, looking at his frugal supper, 
 he heard some one at the door of the shop, and 
 went out to find Mere Tigrane. She grinned 
 her hideous grin at him as he appeared. She 
 had done a good business that day and her
 
 104 THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 hands were empty and she jingled some coin in 
 her pocket. 
 
 "I have sold all my fish, Petit Bossu," she 
 said, " and I Ve been to the chateau out there 
 by St. Cesaire. Dame! but mademoiselle has 
 a white skin, whiter than the corpse we saw at 
 the fair, and her cheeks are pink but she 's a 
 fury, man ckeri" 
 
 Chariot frowned. "Is this all you have to 
 say?" he asked sharply ; " I am closing my shop." 
 
 " Close it, my straight-back ! " she replied, 
 mocking him. "I stopped by to tell you that 
 your lodger was out at St. Cyr," she added, 
 bursting into a hideous cackle of laughter at the 
 sight of his angry face. 
 
 " You are a fool for your pains ! " he retorted 
 and slammed the door in her face. 
 
 " So ho ! " she said, pointing her bony finger 
 at the door; "you are out of temper, Petit 
 Bossu, and I such a friend of yours too ! The 
 dog tears my petticoat and the hunchback slams 
 the door in my face. Viens done, Mere Tigrane ; 
 they treat you ill, but never mind, my rosebud, 
 't will all be well yet for the good old woman 
 and her dear little fish ! "
 
 CHARLOT BURNS A CANDLE 105 
 
 And she took herself off, laughing and mum- 
 bling as she went. 
 
 Meanwhile, within the house, le Bossu left 
 his supper untouched, and toiling up the ladder 
 to his room, reverently lighted a taper before 
 the shrine of the Virgin. He fell on his knees 
 before it, and remained a long time, a deep 
 shadow on his worn face, and his callous 
 hands clasped and raised in an attitude of 
 supplication. 
 
 At that moment the shadows were falling 
 softly about the white walls of St. Cyr, and 
 Rosaline stood looking out of the window of 
 her own room, her face to the east, and singing 
 softly, in all the joy of youth and innocence. 
 
 Ah, the contrast in the lives that touch each 
 other so strangely in this world of ours !
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A DANGEROUS SUIT 
 
 MADAME DE ST. CYR was leaning back in 
 her chair, her white hands folded in her lap, 
 her eyes fixed in an absent gaze on the space 
 outside the sitting-room window. Opposite to 
 her, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece was 
 the elegant figure of M. de Baudri. He was 
 watching the old face before him, with in- 
 different eyes, a smile on his lips. She was ill 
 at ease ; he was well satisfied. He was the first 
 to break the pause. 
 
 " I think madame will acknowledge that I 
 am willing to do all that is liberal and kind," he 
 said suavely. 
 
 " I do acknowledge it, monsieur," she replied, 
 in troubled tones, "but the child you know, M. 
 de Baudri, that I have never treated Rosaline 
 as other girls are treated. She is accustomed 
 to deciding for herself, young as she is, and 
 she does not listen favorably to your suit."
 
 A DANGEROUS SUIT 107 
 
 He waved his hand airily. " The whim of a 
 child, madame, the natural coyness of a young 
 maiden. I honor mademoiselle, for her hesi- 
 tations, but between us there need be no 
 such conventionalities. I desire to marry your 
 granddaughter, and I flatter myself that you do 
 not object, madame." 
 
 He fixed his eyes on her haughtily as he 
 spoke; there was a covert threat in his tone, 
 despite his affable manner. The old woman 
 sighed. 
 
 " 'Tis hard for me to explain," she said 
 plaintively ; " I can have no objections to 
 you personally, M. de Baudri, but I am 
 averse to doing anything to force Rosaline's 
 inclinations." 
 
 He smiled scornfully. " Madame does not 
 expect me to believe in so flimsy an excuse, 
 surely? " he remarked with a frown. " I never 
 heard that the whims of a mere girl con- 
 trolled arrangements of this kind. My marriage 
 with your granddaughter would benefit you in 
 many ways. The de Baudris confer an honor 
 when they marry." 
 
 A red spot flamed in madame's white cheeks ;
 
 IO8 THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 her situation had made a coward of her, but 
 there was a limit even to her endurance. 
 
 " The St. Cyrs thank monsieur," she said 
 ironically, "but they also are of noble blood. 
 No man could confer an honor on the daughter 
 of the house ; she will confer it, when she makes 
 her choice. We are poor, M. de Baudri, but 
 we ask favors of no one." 
 
 He saw his error, and bowed low before the 
 old dame, his hand on his heart. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is an angel," he said ; " if I 
 did not recognize that, I would not, a second 
 time, sue for her hand. I also am proud, 
 madame." 
 
 The old woman returned his bow, but was 
 silent. She was hurt, angry, alarmed. She 
 began to fear those handsome, bold eyes, 
 and the smooth voice ; after all, he was like a 
 panther, ready to spring, and her beautiful 
 darling, the idol of her old age was the object 
 of his desire. But for that fearful danger, 
 their concealed religion, she could have faced 
 him well enough, but he had a mighty weapon 
 in his hand, and she almost feared that he knew 
 it. For herself, death would be no great hard-
 
 A DANGEROUS SUIT 109 
 
 ship, but for Rosaline she shuddered, press- 
 ing her handkerchief to her lips, and staring 
 out of the window. Meanwhile M. de Baudri 
 watched her narrowly ; he knew far less than she 
 thought, but he was fiercely in love with Rosa- 
 line, and such love as his was as dangerous as 
 hate. The girl's indifference enraged him ; 
 he would have her, and then Mother of 
 Heaven ! he would teach her to scorn him, 
 indeed ! He would break her will and humble 
 her into his slave. Madame de St. Cyr felt all 
 this, vaguely, it is true, but still strongly enough 
 to make her recoil from him. What could she 
 do ? she thought, a helpless old woman with all 
 the world against her ! Pere Ambroise loved 
 the child, it was true, but might not Pere 
 Ambroise favor an orthodox lover? M. de 
 Baudri's smooth voice broke in on her troubled 
 thoughts, and demanded her attention again. 
 
 " You have advanced no reasonable objec- 
 tions to my suit, madame," he said affably; " I 
 shall therefore regard it as accepted by you, 
 and only in abeyance on account of mademoi- 
 selle's maidenly scruples." 
 
 " But I have not accepted it," she protested,
 
 I IO THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 greatly troubled ; " I will not accept any offer 
 for the child that that does not give her hap- 
 piness. Why should I desire to part with the 
 jewel of my old age? You are naturally for- 
 getful of my situation, monsieur; Rosaline's 
 marriage would leave me desolate." 
 
 " Nay, madame," he replied, not ungracefully, 
 " you would but gain a son. If this is your 
 only scruple is it not a selfish one?" 
 
 Poor Madame de St. Cyr was fairly cornered. 
 He saw it and laughed in his sleeve. 
 
 " You are very kind, M. de Baudri," she fal- 
 tered, " but after all it rests where it did. Rosa- 
 line must decide." 
 
 He smiled. " Then, madame, you virtually ac- 
 quiesce," he said blandly ; " for I trust that I can 
 win so young and amiable a girl as mademoiselle 
 if you give me a fair opportunity." 
 
 She shook her head, smiling faintly. " You 
 have had opportunity, M. de Baudri," she re- 
 plied ; "'tis not in my mind to influence her 
 in any way. She must choose for herself." 
 
 He was all smooth amiability now; he took 
 his plumed hat from the table and stood a 
 moment longer on the hearth-rug, the picture
 
 A DANGEROUS SUIT III 
 
 of ease and assurance, his curled periwig, his 
 lace cravat, his military coat, all of the latest 
 mode. 
 
 " I will undertake to win mademoiselle's con- 
 sent," he said. " Permit me, however, to remark 
 that your ideas on the matter are to say the 
 least unconventional. But no matter, 'twill 
 be a little romance. There is one thing, though, 
 I would say, madame, and that is, I notice with 
 surprise that you keep that fellow as steward 
 still. I spoke to you before." 
 
 A faint flush rose on the old dame's pale face 
 and her eyes kindled. She was not yet accus- 
 tomed to dictation. 
 
 " The man is useful to me," she said shortly. 
 " Monsieur forgets that he is not yet one of 
 my family." 
 
 De Baudri bit his lip, an ugly look in his blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " I beg madame's pardon," he said, " but she 
 probably remembers the cause of my protest; 
 a grave one, I believe the rogue may be a 
 concealed Camisard." 
 
 Madame de St. Cyr's hands trembled, and she 
 controlled herself with an effort.
 
 112 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 " I think you are mistaken, M. de Baudri," 
 the protested ; " he was well recommended, and 
 I have seen nothing to indicate that he was 
 other than he claimed to be." 
 
 " You can see that he is no steward by pro- 
 fession, though, madame," retorted the officer, 
 coolly, " and his presence may be dangerous 
 at St. Cyr." 
 
 " He has done his duty so far, monsieur," she 
 mustered courage to reply, " and I have no pre- 
 text for his discharge." 
 
 De Baudri shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Madame should not need a second warn- 
 ing," he remarked, with much suavity ; " perhaps 
 'twould be well for me to investigate his ante- 
 cedents and thus relieve madame of farther 
 embarrassments." 
 
 " I thank you, monsieur," she said, with an 
 effort to be calm, " I can see to the matter 
 myself. I will refer it to Pere Ambroise. If 
 any one is anxious about our spiritual welfare, 
 he should be." 
 
 " Doubtless, madame," M. de Baudri replied 
 pleasantly, " but Pere Ambroise is notoriously 
 easy-tempered. I should advise you to be care-
 
 A DANGEROUS SUIT 113 
 
 ful. You cannot afford to harbor a heretic 
 here; a word to M. de Baville " He broke 
 off, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 Madame stirred uneasily in her chair. Every 
 word that he had uttered had been a covert 
 threat, and she knew well enough to what 
 end it all tended. He loved Rosaline and he 
 meant to have her. " Mon Dieu!" thought 
 the old woman, " he would have the child even 
 against her will ! Can he be wicked enough 
 to try to intimidate her, to force her into a 
 marriage?" 
 
 She awoke from these reflections to find him 
 making his adieux. 
 
 " I have warned you, madame," he said be- 
 nignly. " Convey my devotion to mademoiselle 
 my regret that she is absent from home at 
 this hour. I will soon present myself again ; 
 meanwhile, madame, rest assured of my faithful 
 friendship." 
 
 He bowed profoundly, his hand again on his 
 heart, and retired, leaving the poor old woman 
 collapsed in her chair; nor did she breathe 
 freely until she heard his horse's hoofs on the 
 road to Nimes.
 
 1 14 THE COBBLER OF NhfES 
 
 Meanwhile a very different scene had been 
 enacted in the kitchen. Babet was making a 
 rago&t over the fire ; the steward leaned against 
 the window, posted there to watch for the visi- 
 tor's departure ; the hunchbacked cobbler was 
 by the door, and in the centre of the room 
 stood mademoiselle herself, although she was 
 supposed to be out, mademoiselle in flesh and 
 blood, and a picture to look at in her malicious 
 triumph over her escape. She wore a white 
 print frock, the neck open enough to show her 
 full, fair throat, and the half-sleeves revealing her 
 round, white arms. Her golden hair had half 
 escaped from its braids and rippled about her 
 rosy, dimpled face, and her blue eyes danced 
 with merriment. It was her birthday, and M. de 
 Baudri had brought a suitable gift, an enamelled 
 casket, but she held in her hands two little white 
 satin shoes with pink rosettes, and the shoe- 
 maker's drawn face was lighted with a reflection 
 of her pleasure. 
 
 " You are surely a magician, Chariot," she 
 said, admiring them for the twentieth time. 
 " I know these are enchanted slippers, and in 
 them I shall walk into the palace of my dreams,
 
 A DANGEROUS SUIT 115 
 
 where there is no trouble, and Babet and I do 
 not have to conjure a dinner ! " 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle, if I could but make such 
 shoes ! " exclaimed le Bossu, with a smile ; " the 
 poor cobbler of St. Antoine would be made a 
 marquis." 
 
 " 'T is better to give happiness than to be 
 rich, Chariot," she replied, " and you have given 
 me so much pleasure to-day that I can even en- 
 dure M. de Baudri's visit in the parlor ! " and 
 she laughed gayly. 
 
 " If he hears you laugh, mademoiselle, he 
 will stay to dinner," remarked Babet grimly, 
 looking over her shoulder as she stirred the 
 stew. 
 
 " You have found a way to make me as still 
 as a mouse, Babet," Rosaline said. " Has he not 
 gone yet, M. d'Aguesseau ? " 
 
 Francois shook his head with a smile. 
 
 " As a suitor he has the patience of Jacob, 
 mademoiselle," he replied. 
 
 Rosaline made a little grimace and blushed, 
 turning away from him with a gesture of im- 
 patience. The little hunchback, watching the 
 two, read her mood more truly than she read
 
 Il6 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 it herself, and his new-born pleasure died out 
 of his face. 
 
 " I shall wear these shoes to-night, Chariot," 
 she hastened to say, her back turned on the 
 supposed steward. " They are fit for a ball, but 
 I never go to balls, so I will wear them on my 
 birthday as the greatest honor I can pay them." 
 
 " Mademoiselle makes me happy by wearing 
 them at all," Chariot replied simply. 
 
 D'Aguesseau was now looking intently out of 
 the window. 
 
 " M. de Baudri is mounting at the gate," he 
 announced. " Mademoiselle, you are no longer 
 in prison." 
 
 She would not look at him, but she beamed 
 on the little cobbler. 
 
 " I will run and show my present to grand" 
 mre" she said. 
 
 Chariot followed her to the door. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, a word with you," he said 
 in a low voice. 
 
 She turned in surprise and then beckoned 
 to him to follow her into the entry. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, quickly, a little 
 alarmed.
 
 A DANGEROUS SUIT 1 1/ 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said, quietly, " do not 
 be needlessly afraid, but I would warn you 
 against an old woman a fishwife 
 
 "del!" exclaimed Rosaline; "you mean 
 that terrible creature who came here ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " and she was angry be- 
 cause of her torn petticoat, I suppose. She is 
 Mere Tigrane, a dangerous woman, a spying, 
 mischief-making demon of the market. And 
 well, mademoiselle, she saw M. d'Aguesseau 
 when I first saw him, she tracked him to my 
 house, she tracked him here. I fear it may 
 mean mischief; if he goes away it will be better 
 for all." 
 
 Rosaline was very pale ; all the joy died out 
 of her face ; she pressed her hand involuntarily 
 to her heart. 
 
 " I thank you, Chariot," she said quietly. 
 "If if you hear anything you will tell 
 me?" 
 
 " Assuredly, mademoiselle," replied the cob- 
 bler earnestly, " and " he hesitated, and then 
 went on firmly, " will you believe, mademoiselle, 
 that in all cases at all times I am your hum- 
 ble but faithful servant?"
 
 Il8 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 She looked at him kindly; his devotion 
 touched her. 
 
 " Indeed, I have always believed it, Chariot," 
 she said heartily, and held out her hand. 
 
 The shoemaker took it with wonder. Her 
 little soft hand in his ! He had never dreamed 
 of it ; he had touched her feet, but her hand ! 
 Poor Chariot, he turned red to his temples and 
 did not know what she said. And Rosaline left 
 him and went on to her grandmother without a 
 thought of her act of condescension. She was 
 naturally gracious, and she did not despise the 
 poor as did other young women of her rank. 
 But the poor little shoemaker went back to 
 Nimes feeling that he had been translated ; had 
 he not touched the white hand of an angel of 
 mercy?
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 FRANCOIS MAKES A PLEDGE 
 
 IT was half an hour before moonrise and the 
 night was supremely still. The warm air of 
 midsummer stirred not even a leaf on the trees. 
 There was no sound but the footsteps of three 
 persons walking through a mulberry grove at a 
 short distance from the spot where the highroad 
 from Nimes turned off to St. Hippolyte. Made- 
 moiselle and Babet, escorted by M. d'Aguesseau, 
 were making their way slowly back to St. Cyr. 
 They had been at the peril of their lives to 
 one of the night meetings of the Church of the 
 Desert and were returning ; cautiously avoiding 
 observation all the while. Babet led them, her 
 erect form moving deliberately forward ; she 
 never made a misstep, never hesitated, but held 
 to her course in grim silence. She did not ap- 
 prove of their guest's attentions to mademoi- 
 selle. D'Aguesseau had Rosaline's hand and 
 was guiding her, helping her over rough places,
 
 I2O THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 feeling the way where neither of them could 
 see. They talked together at intervals, in low 
 voices, and Babet's ears moved, though she 
 would have sworn that she scorned to listen ; 
 but she was guarding her ewe-lamb, and in spite 
 of her convictions that mademoiselle must 
 marry a prince, she began to be afraid of this 
 resolute, quiet man. 
 
 They walked as rapidly as they could in the 
 darkness, and leaving the trees behind turned 
 sharply to the right across an arid plain that 
 presented many rough and broken places, and 
 where Rosaline required d'Aguesseau's helping 
 hand and his cautious guidance. Then they 
 followed the dry bed of a stream, walking over 
 stones and sand, always avoiding the highroad, 
 but making their way steadily toward St. Cyr. 
 
 " It seems a long distance," Rosaline said at 
 last with a sigh. 
 
 " Long and dangerous for you," Francois an- 
 swered gently ; " I would that we could have per- 
 suaded you to remain at home, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Surely you would not have robbed me of 
 such a consolation ? " she said reproachfully. 
 
 " Nay," he replied, in a low voice, " you know
 
 FRANQOIS MAKES A PLEDGE 121 
 
 that I would do anything to serve you, but this 
 was a terrible risk. MM. de Baville and Mon- 
 trevel are both watchful ; both suspect that these 
 religious meetings are held in the neighborhood, 
 and at any time the troops may descend upon 
 that old quarry; and there would be no 
 quarter." 
 
 " Yet we must serve God, monsieur," Rosaline 
 said, "even as Daniel did in peril of the 
 lion's den ; and as the prophet of Israel was 
 delivered, surely the remnant of this people will 
 be also delivered. Truly, monsieur, I would 
 rather cast in my lot with these peasants, en/ants 
 de Dieu, than live as I do. But my grand- 
 mother is too old and too feeble for the wild life 
 of the Cevenols, and so I go on a Papist in 
 Nimes, a Protestant at heart." 
 
 " You would join these people, mademoiselle, 
 yet you have argued against me when I have 
 proposed to go to the Cevennes." 
 
 "You are under a pledge to go to England," 
 she returned promptly ; " you have suffered 
 enough. The time will come quickly for all of 
 us, I suppose. I do not believe that this decep- 
 tion can go on. If the soldiers had found us
 
 122 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 to-night, I wonder if any of us would have 
 escaped ! " 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " he murmured softly, " how 
 terrible it would have been. The sentinels told 
 me that there were two hundred and fifty women 
 and children there, besides the men who came 
 with Cavalier." 
 
 " It would have been death," she said dream- 
 ily ; " we can die but once, monsieur." 
 
 " You would not have died," he answered 
 sternly, " while I had a life to give for yours." 
 
 She was silent, but he felt her hand quiver in 
 his. He could not see her face, nor could she 
 see his, but each felt the other's deep emotion. 
 They walked on, treading carefully; they were 
 skirting the edge of a field of rye on the border 
 of the village of St. Cesaire, but they had yet to 
 cross a rocky elevation before they could reach 
 the chateau. To the left, the lights of the ham- 
 let twinkled like fallen stars, and they heard the 
 dogs baying in the distance. 
 
 Meanwhile the sky, which had been so dark, 
 became softly luminous, a whiteness spread over 
 it, the stars paled. At the horizon, the moun- 
 tains were sharply outlined, black against the
 
 FRANQOIS MAKES A PLEDGE 12$ 
 
 growing light, while the earth lay in darkness. 
 Rosaline and her companions began to ascend 
 a steep path, and as they reached the top of the 
 slope the moon rose glorious and a flood of 
 white light poured a searching radiance over the 
 scene. The white rocks cast black shadows, and 
 the sandy soil beneath their feet seemed as white 
 as chalk, while above them a solitary cedar 
 stretched its branches, dark and feathery, against 
 a luminous background. Over there were the 
 spires and turrets of Nimes, below them the cot- 
 tage roofs of St. Cesaire, around them a wild 
 and barren country, suddenly whitened by the 
 moon. 
 
 " Mon Dieti!" exclaimed Babet, harshly, " 't is 
 a white night white as a winding-sheet ! 'T is 
 ill luck, mademoiselle; let us hurry a dog is 
 baying at the moon." 
 
 Rosaline's mood changed, and for the first 
 time that night she laughed naturally and 
 sweetly. 
 
 " You foolish Babet ! " she said, " it is a glori- 
 ous night, and you have been to prayers. Where 
 is your courage? " 
 
 Babet shrugged her shoulders. " I Ve courage
 
 124 THE COBBLER OF 
 
 enough, mademoiselle," she said, " but I do not 
 love to thrust my head into the lion's mouth." 
 
 With this remark she went on again, leaving 
 the others to follow. To Babet there were 
 many things more important than a fine scene by 
 moonlight, and she did not approve of the slow f 
 progress made by her mistress and her escort. 
 
 " A faithful servant," remarked Rosaline, fol- 
 lowing her with her eyes. " She was my nurse 
 when I was a baby, and she treats me as a child. 
 Doubtless, monsieur, you think that we lead a 
 strange life at St. Cyr. I fancy it is very differ- 
 ent from the lives of other women of our rank, 
 but what else can we do? We are poor, and we 
 are glad of our humble friend Babet; indeed, 
 I think that she and the little cobbler, Chariot, 
 are our most devoted allies. After all, I imagine 
 that grand 'mtre and I would be very unhappy 
 if we were surrounded with state, and had all our 
 sweet liberty restricted. Were you ever at Ver- 
 sailles, monsieur?" 
 
 " But once," he said quietly, " I went to try 
 to see the king. I wanted to petition him for 
 my innocent sister's liberty that I might take 
 her place."
 
 FRANCOIS MAKES A PLEDGE 125 
 
 " Forgive me ! " Rosaline exclaimed ; " I did 
 not think of the pain I should give. Tell me," 
 she went on hurriedly, " have you ever seen 
 Cavalier or Roland? To-night, in the darkness, 
 I wanted to see him ; 't is true that they lighted 
 the torches about him, but in that wild illumi- 
 nation I made out nothing except that he ap- 
 peared a boy. But he did not speak like one ! " 
 
 " He looked very young," Francois replied ; 
 " but there is a certain force about him. I 
 never saw him before, but I shall not soon forget 
 him, or the poor, crazed girl." 
 
 " Did you think her demented ? " asked Rosa- 
 line. " To me she seemed inspired, and surely 
 she preached a wonderful sermon ; still, as you 
 say, she spoke wildly." 
 
 " I thought her demented," he rejoined 
 quietly ; " there are so many of these young girls 
 prophesying. It seems to me that it is more 
 the result of suffering, of the horrible spectacles 
 they have witnessed, than a touch of sacred in- 
 spiration." 
 
 " It may be so," she admitted, reluctantly, 
 " but surely such times as these might well pro- 
 duce prophets and soothsayers."
 
 126 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 They were in sight of the chateau now and 
 saw the light burning in Madame de St. Cyr's 
 room. She was too feeble to go out on such 
 perilous expeditions and had remained behind 
 in fear and trembling, praying for their safe 
 return. When Babet opened the wicket-gate 
 they were greeted by Truffe's warning bark, and 
 she was at the door to greet them with noisy 
 joy. Rosaline and M. d'Aguesseau went to 
 Madame de St. Cyr to tell her of the congre- 
 gation, and Babet retired to her own domain to 
 meditate in solitude on mademoiselle and their 
 visitor. 
 
 Rosaline recounted their visit to the quarry 
 where the Camisards met, and old madame lis- 
 tened with eagerness, her pale face unusually 
 animated. She wanted to hear everything, 
 Cavalier's speech, the sermon of the young girl, 
 one of the prophets of the Cevenols, the 
 prayer offered by one of the ministers, the 
 psalms they sang. But she shook her head 
 when she heard that Cavalier had sent word to 
 M. Montrevel that for every Protestant village 
 that the mar6chal destroyed, he, Cavalier, would 
 destroy two Papist villages.
 
 FRANQOIS MAKES A PLEDGE I2/ 
 
 "Twill be useless," she said quietly; "the 
 king will pour his soldiers upon us, and Langue- 
 doc will be laid waste ; we cannot prevail 
 against such power. My husband always said 
 so, and my son. They used to say that if the 
 Edict of Nantes should be revoked, the Protes- 
 tants would soon be destroyed. It will be so 
 I have felt it from the first." 
 
 " Ah, grwuFmbv, you are not hopeful 
 enough," Rosaline said; "see what these two 
 men Cavalier and Roland have already ac- 
 complished. Let us hope that England will 
 help us." 
 
 Madame shook her head. " The world is 
 selfish," she said quietly ; then she glanced at 
 the clock. " Rosaline, call Babet," she said ; 
 " 't is the hour for our devotions." 
 
 The housekeeper was summoned, while Fran- 
 cois looked carefully at the windows and saw 
 that all the shutters were fastened. Then the 
 little company joined in evening prayer, Madame 
 de St. Cyr reading a chapter from the Bible. 
 They did not sing; not even in that secluded 
 spot did they dare to give voice to one of Marot's 
 psalms, for they did not know what ear might
 
 128 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 be listening in the night. When it was over the 
 grandmother bade Rosaline good-night and sent 
 her away with Babet, but she detained d'Agues- 
 seau. When they were alone she turned to him 
 with a sad face. 
 
 " I fear that trouble is brewing, monsieur," 
 she said quietly ; " the very presence of Cavalier 
 near Nimes increases our perils, and there too 
 are the Florentines, the White Camisards, as 
 they call themselves, ruffians, in fact, banded 
 together to hunt us down. I see nothing but 
 danger and death on every side. For myself, I 
 no longer fear," she added with sorrowful dig- 
 nity ; " I know that I have but a little while to 
 live, and I would die right cheerfully for my re- 
 ligion, but Rosaline man Dieu!" she clasped 
 her hands and looked up. 
 
 "Madame, if I can protect her " began 
 Francois. 
 
 " That is what I would pray for, monsieur," 
 she said. " If I am taken, will you aid Babet to 
 get her out of France? " 
 
 " I would give my life for hers ! " he answered 
 gravely. 
 
 The old woman looked up at his resolute face,
 
 FRANQOIS MAKES A PLEDGE 12$ 
 
 at the light in his eyes, and bowed her own face 
 in her hands. 
 
 " Madame de St. Cyr," he said quietly, " I do 
 solemnly pledge myself to defend her to take 
 her away to a place of safety to fight for her 
 as long as I live myself." 
 
 She looked up through her tears. 
 
 " I thank the bon Dieu ! " she said. " To-day 
 men are like wolves toward our lambs. You 
 see how gentle, how innocent the child is." 
 
 She held out her thin, white hand and he 
 took it, and pressed it to his lips. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said gently, " I love her." 
 
 The old face quivered and flushed a little, 
 but she was touched. 
 
 " I know not how the child may feel," she 
 said simply, " but I knew your family, and I 
 am content that it should be so. Heaven may 
 have sent you to be her defender, for I do 
 greatly fear that the hour of danger draws 
 nigh."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE FINGER OF FATE 
 
 THE months of the terrible summer of 1703 
 waned, and autumn came. Fire and sword had 
 laid waste in Languedoc. It had been a reign 
 of terror. The chieftains of the Camisards 
 sweeping down from the Cevennes carried the 
 war almost to the sea; priests were slain, 
 Catholic villages burned. On the other side, 
 the king's soldiers poured into the devoted 
 country, and the Huguenots were hunted far 
 and wide. The galleys at Marseilles were 
 crowded, the jails were packed, the gallows in 
 constant use ; the women and children were 
 sent to convents and prisons, and the desolate 
 country threatened famine, with no man to 
 till the soil, and no woman to bind the sheaves. 
 Still it went on, that cruel war for religion's 
 sake, and the blood of the innocent was poured 
 out as a libation. 
 
 Nimes was thronged with soldiers, the markets 
 were crowded, the busy life choked the marts,
 
 THE FINGER OF FATE 131 
 
 but the open country was stricken ; even the 
 valley of the Vaunage " the little Canaan " of 
 Languedoc had suffered. In the court of the 
 Rue St. Antoine, the little cobbler mended 
 the shoes of the soldiers, and out at St. Cyr 
 only one or two late roses were blooming, and 
 the bees had stored their honey for winter. 
 The every-day life went on ; the steward was 
 still there, chained by invisible links now ; he 
 scarcely thought of leaving France, and he 
 knew that he might be needed, for Madame de St. 
 Cyr was failing fast. She had had an attack of 
 heart disease, and sat in her chair all day, with- 
 out strength to take her accustomed part in 
 affairs. M. de Baudri still came, a persistent 
 and undaunted suitor, and Pere Ambroise made 
 his regular visits, walking in the garden with 
 Rosaline, and discoursing on the perils of 
 heresy, but closing his eyes to suspicious cir- 
 cumstances. He always walked with his hands 
 behind him, his large black figure seeming to 
 absorb a good deal of the sunlight, and a smile 
 on his round, rosy face. What was the use, 
 after all, of making that poor old woman 
 wretched? he argued comfortably, and he did
 
 132 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 not force religious consolation upon Madame 
 de St. Cyr. He was willing to let the heretic 
 burn in the next world, and she blessed him in 
 her heart every time she looked out at him as 
 he ambled through the maze of hedges. 
 
 There had been a season of quiet, a brief 
 interval in the clash of war, and the family at 
 St. Cyr breathed more freely. Fear and sus- 
 picion seemed dormant, and Rosaline's laugh 
 came more readily, except when she saw how 
 feeble her grandmother looked. 
 
 It was the last of October, and the three, 
 Madame de St. Cyr, her granddaughter, and 
 Francois d'Aguesseau had just finished the 
 midday meal. It was a golden day, almost as 
 warm as summer, and a monthly rose swung its 
 blossoms over the window-sill. M. d'Aguesseau 
 had been fortunate enough to secure a com- 
 munication with his friends in England, and 
 had received a remittance which enabled him 
 to pay his debts and to provide for the future. 
 But he said nothing of a change, for he saw that 
 Madame de St. Cyr was unable to travel, and he 
 would not quit Languedoc while Rosaline was 
 surrounded with so many dangers. They were
 
 THE FINGER OF FATE 133 
 
 talking of every-day matters, of the approach 
 of winter, of the chances for the success of the 
 insurrection, when they were startled by the 
 tramping of a body of horse in the road, and 
 the sharp call of a bugle. Madame's face paled 
 and Rosaline and d'Aguesseau sprang to their 
 feet. She ran ahead of him out at the door and 
 down the path to an opening in the hedge 
 which afforded a view of the highway. 
 
 "Tis M. de Baudri at the head of his 
 dragoons ! " she exclaimed, shading her eyes 
 with her hand and looking out. 
 
 A company of dragoons were filing along the 
 road, the even gait of the cavalry horses keep- 
 ing the whole line swinging on to the sound of 
 the bugle. The gay uniforms were soiled and 
 there were powder stains, and in the centre of 
 the troop were six prisoners, grim-looking 
 men, in the garb of peasants with the blouse of 
 the Camisards, and bound, their arms tied behind 
 their backs and their feet tied under the bellies 
 of their horses. At the sight of them Rosaline 
 drew back with a shudder, but it was too late ; 
 M. de Baudri had seen her and drew rein, salut- 
 ing her with unruffled composure. As he
 
 134 THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 paused, the cavalcade halted opposite the gate, 
 bringing the prisoners in full view of the chateau. 
 They did not look to the right or left, however, 
 but stared grimly before them. Of the six, five 
 were wounded, and the blood flowed from an un- 
 bandaged wound on one man's head. Faint from 
 the loss of it, he reeled in his saddle, but uttered 
 no complaint. Meanwhile M. de Baudri sat 
 erect on his spirited horse, his head uncovered, 
 his rich uniform spotless, and his periwig freshly 
 curled. He looked smilingly into Rosaline's 
 pale face. 
 
 " A fair good morning, my Rose of Lan- 
 guedoc," he said gallantly, speaking too low 
 for the ears of his dragoons ; " I count it for- 
 tunate when even my duty takes me past your 
 door." 
 
 She curtsied, her blue eyes looking straight 
 before her and her lips firmly closed. She was 
 controlling herself with a mighty effort. 
 
 " Monsieur has surely unpleasant duties," she 
 said formally. 
 
 " The gayest in the world," he replied with a 
 careless laugh. " We have cleaned out a cave full 
 of Barbets this morning, and hung the leader be-
 
 THE FINGER OF FATE 135 
 
 cause he had the boldness to be shot in action. 
 We swung his dead body on a chestnut tree 
 it hangs there with the burrs ready to ripen. 
 Nom de St. Denis ! " he added, with a glance at 
 his prisoners, " these fellows would have been 
 lucky to hang there too ! " 
 
 Rosaline could endure no more. 
 
 " Mon Dieu!" she cried, "are you human? 
 Can you see that poor man bleed to death?" 
 
 De Baudri turned in his saddle and stared in- 
 differently at the sufferer. 
 
 " A heretic, mademoiselle," he remarked, with 
 a gesture of disdain ; " what would you ? " 
 
 " I would bind his wounds ! " she retorted, 
 taking a step nearer the gate ; but the sight had 
 sickened her, the scene swam before her eyes, 
 she reeled, and would have fallen but for Francois, 
 who had been standing a few yards behind her, 
 and who now sprang forward and caught her in 
 his arms. 
 
 "Why do you exhibit such cruelties to her?" 
 he demanded sharply, looking over her head 
 into de Baudri's eyes. 
 
 The latter had made a motion as if to spring 
 from the saddle at the sight of Rosaline's white
 
 136 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 face, but now he straightened himself and re- 
 turned the other's look with disdain. 
 
 " So ! " he said with a sneer, " the menial turns 
 into a champion. Mtre dc Dieu, Sir Camisard, 
 we will be pleased to accommodate you in 
 Nimes." 
 
 " You may sometime have that pleasure, M. 
 de Baudri," d'Aguesseau replied, coldly, and 
 lifting Rosaline's unconscious form in his arms, 
 he carried her back into the house. 
 
 The soldier remained a moment staring after 
 them, his blue eyes on fire, then he recollected 
 where he was and gave an order. The bugle 
 sounded " Forward ! " and the troop disappeared 
 along the highroad to Nimes, leaving a cloud 
 of dust in its track. 
 
 Meanwhile d'Aguesseau, fearing to alarm 
 Madame de St. Cyr, carried Rosaline into the 
 hall and summoned Babet. But the girl began 
 to recover without any ministrations, and sat up 
 on the high settle by the door, the soft air re- 
 viving her; but her joyous mood was gone, 
 she looked out into the garden with unseeing 
 eyes. 
 
 " Alas ! " she said faintly, " I have been
 
 THE F2NGEK OF FATE 137 
 
 happy and all this misery at my door ! I 
 live a lie secure, and these martyrs die for their 
 religion. What a poor creature I am ! " 
 
 Babet stood looking at her with a grim face ; 
 d'Aguesseau was silent, his own conscience 
 accusing him. 
 
 " It will not last," Rosaline went on slowly, 
 " I feel that trouble is coming to us ! What 
 right have we to stand by and see it all and re- 
 joice in our false security. Ah, mon Dieu, that 
 poor man ! " 
 
 " It 's no use to seek trouble, mademoiselle," 
 Babet remarked, " it '11 find us fast enough. I 
 hear it grumbling like the thunder in the 
 Cevennes mountains. As for that poor man, 
 never you mind ; Cavalier will catch some fat 
 old cure for him ! " 
 
 Retaliation was a salve to Babet's moods ; she 
 was no saint and had no longing to be a martyr. 
 Rosaline shook her head. 
 
 " It must end," she said, rising. " I will go 
 to my grandmother. You may cut the flowers 
 to-day, Babet." 
 
 She passed d'Aguesseau without a word; 
 her emotion seemed to have separated her
 
 138 THE COBBLER OF N^MES 
 
 from him, and all that day she was sad and 
 preoccupied. 
 
 As for Francois d'Aguesseau, he went out 
 through the garden and passing the mulberry 
 trees, descended a steep slope to the banks of 
 a stream which flowed behind St. Cyr. Follow- 
 ing this, he passed through a little forest of 
 chestnut trees, heavily laden with green burrs, 
 and came at last to a deserted windmill. The 
 tower was white and solid, and the wheel still 
 surmounted it though broken in several places, 
 but the mill had long been unused. The door 
 stood open on rusty hinges and a heap of 
 straw lay in one corner, doubtless the resting- 
 place of many a vagrant in those evil times. On 
 the threshold d'Aguesseau sat down, facing the 
 stream and the mossy slope. It was a favorite 
 resort of his, because of its solitude and stillness. 
 Here many a battle of the heart had been 
 fought out, and here he came now to face another 
 crisis. He sat there a long while, and it was 
 very quiet. Now and then a chestnut burr fell 
 with a soft thud in the little grove behind him ; 
 a squirrel came to the edge of the bank and 
 then leaped away; a fish jumped out of the
 
 THE FINGER OF FATE 139 
 
 water and then plunged down again. Presently 
 the breeze freshened, the old windmill creaked 
 as it turned a little, and the leaves rustled 
 softly. At last the sun sank lower in the west 
 and sent long rays of light through the trees, 
 and the clouds overhead grew rosy. 
 
 Frangois rose and walked toward the chateau ; 
 he was resolved to live thus no longer. His 
 presence was now more of a menace than a 
 protection to the women there. He had read 
 the look in M. de Baudri's eyes, and he knew 
 that he might expect the worst that a relentless 
 enemy could do. But it was not that ; Rosa- 
 line's words had struck home. He too had been 
 living a lie in security ; he too felt himself a 
 miserable coward before the self-devotion of 
 these poor peasants and wool-carders. He 
 must draw his sword for this forlorn hope ; 
 he must leave St. Cyr ah, there was the 
 pang! Could he protect her at a distance? 
 Could he watch over her welfare while he fought 
 with the Camisards? That was the chain that 
 had held him, and now even that must be 
 broken.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE BATTLE HYMN 
 
 THAT night, when the shutters were closed 
 and the doors secured, the family sat in an 
 upper room. Babet had come in to hear the 
 Bible read by Madame de St. Cyr, and they 
 were all grouped about the table where the 
 candles were burning. The old woman was 
 reading in a low voice, with many pauses, and 
 the faces around her were grave and even sad 
 as they listened. Suddenly the dog sprang up 
 from her place at Rosaline's feet and began to 
 bark, and the reading ceased. 
 
 " What is it? I hear something ! " exclaimed 
 the young girl, trying to silence Truffe. 
 
 Babet was listening intently. 
 
 " I hear the sound of many feet," she said. 
 
 D'Aguesseau rose and went to the window 
 and, unfastening the shutter, looked out. The 
 moon was struggling to shine through drift- 
 ing clouds ; one moment the world was lighted,
 
 THE BATTLE HYMN 141 
 
 the next it lay in darkness. In one of these 
 intervals of illumination he saw the scene with- 
 out plainly enough. The garden lay below the 
 window, and beyond was a view of the highroad, 
 the sloping plain, and farther off the village of 
 St. Ce"saire. He could hear the sound of march- 
 ing men, and as he looked they came in sight on 
 the road, filing slowly past the chateau, line after 
 line, their weapons gleaming in the moonshine. 
 He watched them curiously; these were not the 
 dragoons, he could distinguish the rough and 
 ragged appearance of the men even from a dis- 
 tance. He closed the shutter and turned toward 
 the women with a flush on his face ; his oppor- 
 tunity was at hand. 
 
 "They are passing the chateau," he said, in a 
 reassuring tone, " I will go out and ascertain 
 who they are. I think I cannot be mistaken 
 in them." 
 
 Rosaline's blue eyes kindled. 
 
 " Are they Camisards?" she demanded. 
 
 " I think so," he replied as he left the room. 
 
 The next moment they heard him go out, and 
 Rosaline went to the window to watch. Madame 
 de St. Cyr's face was very pale.
 
 142 THE COBBLER OF N$MES 
 
 " They may be Florentines," she said, " and if 
 so we shall scarcely escape them." 
 
 " They have halted," her granddaughter re- 
 plied from the window. " The clouds have 
 drifted wide apart now and the night is as 
 white as that night which frightened you, Babet. 
 M. d'Aguesseau has gone out to them." 
 
 " The bon Dieu defend us ! " murmured 
 madame ; " the times are very evil ; " and she 
 fell to praying silently. 
 
 Babet was kneeling on the floor, with Truffe's 
 head smothered in her apron to hush the dog's 
 bark. Rosaline leaned against the window frame 
 looking out, the moonlight outlining her slender 
 figure. 
 
 " M. d'Aguesseau talks with one of them," she 
 said. " del! how ghastly their faces look in 
 this light like chalk and I see everywhere 
 the flash of steel." 
 
 "Can you make out who they are?" asked 
 her grandmother, in a tremulous voice. 
 
 " Nay," she replied, " but M. d'Aguesseau is 
 friendly with them, I can see that ; he has 
 shaken hands with one who seems to be a 
 leader."
 
 THE BATTLE HYMN 143 
 
 " It is well," said madame, in a tone of relief; 
 " they must be of our people." 
 
 The night was very still and the three women 
 listened, but they did not distinguish the words 
 that were spoken, though they heard the voices. 
 
 " Does M. d'Aguesseau still speak with 
 them ? " the old woman asked. 
 
 " He is coming back alone," Rosaline replied 
 in a low tone ; and she did not leave her post 
 when she heard him coming up the stairs. 
 
 He entered the room quietly, though he had 
 his sword in his hand. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " I came back to reassure 
 you. These men are Camisards, led by Cavalier 
 himself, and they are on their way to cut off 
 a train of ammunition that is leaving Nimes for 
 St. Hippolyte. There will be a fight, but not very 
 near here, I trust, and I believe you will be in 
 safety. For myself, madame, I go with them." 
 
 The old woman clasped her hands and leaned 
 back in her chair. 
 
 " Alas ! " she said, " I sent out my two soldiers 
 to die for their king, and I cannot bid you stay, 
 since you go to fight in the cause of the King of 
 kings, but I grieve to part with you thus."
 
 144 THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 He took her hand and kissed it. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " you have been as good 
 to me as a mother, in my extremity, and I will 
 not forget your kindness. May God give me 
 the opportunity to requite it. I must strike a 
 good blow in the cause of my brethren, but I 
 shall not forget my duty to you and yours." 
 
 Tears fell on her white cheeks, and she gave 
 him her blessing. 
 
 Leaving her, he walked over to the window 
 where the young girl had remained motionless as 
 a statue, her face set toward the scene without. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said very low, " I bid 
 you adieu. I know that you have thought me 
 lacking in the spirit to fight but believe me, 
 it was not cowardice that held me at St. Cyr." 
 
 She looked up at him, her blue eyes clear 
 and fearless. 
 
 " The cause is sacred," she said. " I I am 
 glad that " 
 
 She broke off, and he filled up the sentence. 
 
 " Glad that I have the courage to go," he 
 said coldly. 
 
 " I never doubted that," she replied gravely; 
 " but oh, monsieur, if I could be a man, I would
 
 THE BATTLE HYMN 145 
 
 fight I can understand how you feel the 
 bon Dieu defend you ! " 
 
 He looked at her a moment sadly, and seemed 
 to hesitate ; then he turned and went quietly 
 away, leaving her standing there tongue-tied, 
 her eyes suddenly filled with hot tears. What 
 had she done? she thought, as he went down 
 and out into the night. What had she done? 
 
 Her grandmother's voice roused her. 
 
 " Has he gone to them?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 " Yes," Rosaline replied, " and they are form- 
 ing in columns again, they are going to 
 march on." 
 
 There was a pause; the women could hear 
 that there were some orders given and then 
 it was strangely quiet, the men standing like 
 statues in the road. The clouds drifted over the 
 moon and darkness enveloped the scene again, 
 and out of that still night arose the murmur of 
 many voices, a volume of sound, throbbing and 
 gaining strength and sweetness and solemnity. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Rosaline, raising her hand, 
 " the Sixty-eighth Psalm the battle hymn." 
 
 Full and strong it rose, every word poured 
 out from the hearts of those stern men, and in 
 
 10
 
 146 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 that lonely spot, in the darkness, the sound was 
 profoundly solemn. Softly at first, and then 
 sweetly and fearlessly, Rosaline joined them, 
 her rich young voice floating out to mingle 
 with the song of the soldiers. 
 
 " Que Dieu se montre seulement 
 Et Ton verra dans un moment 
 
 Abandonner la place ; 
 Le camp des ennemis e*pars, 
 Epouvante* de toutes parts, 
 
 Fuira devant sa face. 
 
 " On verra tout ce camp s'enfuir, 
 Comme Ton voit s'e'vanouir 
 
 Une e'paisse fume'e ; 
 Comme la cire fond au feu, 
 Ainsi des mdchants devant Dieu, 
 La force est consume'e. 
 
 " L'Eternel est notre recours ; 
 Nous obtenons par son secours, 
 
 Plus d'une delivrance. 
 C'est Lui qui fut notre support, 
 Et qui tient les clefs de la mort, 
 
 Lui seul en sa puissance. 
 
 "A nous de*fendre toujours promp 
 II frappe le superbe front 
 De la troupe ennemie ; 
 On verra tomber sous ses coups 
 Ceux qui provoquent son courroux 
 Par leur me'chante vie."
 
 THE BATTLE HYMN 147 
 
 The last verses grew softer as they marched 
 away, and the singing died at last in the 
 distance. 
 
 Rosaline remained at her post, straining her 
 eyes to search the darkness, and Babet, releas- 
 ing Trufife, came and stood beside her. They 
 could see the distant lights of St. Cesaire, and 
 this window in the daytime commanded a view 
 of the road that led in the direction of St. 
 Hippolyte. It was an hour of suspense, and 
 none of the women thought of sleep. Old 
 Madame de St. Cyr lay back in her chair, 
 engaged in silent devotion, and the others 
 watched and watched with tireless eagerness. 
 The very stillness was oppressive, and the 
 darkness now was like a pall, close over the 
 earth. 
 
 " del!" said Babet, " how quiet it is ! and 
 black as soot. I wonder how many men he 
 had?" 
 
 " There seemed to be an army," replied 
 Rosaline, " but I suppose it could not be that 
 he had more than a thousand men, perhaps not 
 so many, and Nimes is a hive of soldiers ! " 
 
 "Bah ! " ejaculated the other woman, grimly,
 
 148 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 "Cavalier can whip them he'll have M. 
 Montrevel's periwig yet." 
 
 Rosaline did not reply, her mind was else- 
 where ; she was thinking of that dangerous 
 march into the enemy's country, of the fight 
 that must ensue. 
 
 Suddenly there was a distant sound the 
 fire of musketry the first clash of battle, 
 borne to them on the night air, and at the 
 same moment they saw the lights flashing red 
 in St. Cesaire. 
 
 " They have met the enemy ! " Rosaline ex- 
 claimed, straining her eyes and ears and leaning 
 out of the window. 
 
 They could hear firing quite plainly now; 
 and presently far off they saw a blaze kindled, 
 and then the flames leaped up into the night, 
 like fiery swords cutting the blackness in twain. 
 
 " They have set fire to the old chateau over 
 there," Rosaline said. 
 
 Madame de St. Cyr turned in her chair. 
 
 " Tell me what you see," she exclaimed 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Fire, grand' mere, leaping up in the night, 
 and I hear the guns," Rosaline replied, " and
 
 THE BATTLE HYMN 149 
 
 now see, see, Babet ! there are black figures 
 outlined against the flames ! Ah, Dieu, they 
 fight ! 't is a part of the battle oh, if I could 
 but see it plainly ! " 
 
 The rattle of small arms came to them, and 
 now the boom of heavier guns. 
 
 "They have brought artillery from Nimes," 
 said Rosaline, in a low voice. " Ah, see, Babet, 
 another house has caught ! 'T is the village in 
 the highroad yonder ; how it burns ! The night 
 is gaping as though we looked into a fiery fur- 
 nace. Oh, mon Dieu, what a fearful sight it is ! 
 There ! something exploded see the timbers 
 flying some one perished when they fell." 
 
 She leaned from the window and gazed at the 
 wild night with a throbbing heart. 
 
 " Can you not see, Babet? " she cried. " I do 
 they fight there in the firelight see their 
 black figures hush ! there is a heavy gun." 
 
 " My eyes are old," Babet replied ; " to me 't is 
 the mouth of the infernal regions no more." 
 
 Another pause while madame prayed softly. 
 
 " How goes it? " she asked again. 
 
 "I cannot tell I cannot tell!" cried Rosa- 
 line, " but the fire has consumed the houses, I
 
 150 THE COBBLER OF NIMES 
 
 think. It seems to sink now, and I cannot see 
 so well." 
 
 Again they watched in silence ; but now the 
 firing seemed to grow more distant, and finally 
 they heard it no more, though the flames still 
 made the night as red as blood. An hour passed 
 two and they watched, and could see no 
 more, and could only divine the cause of the 
 silence. 
 
 " Cavalier must have been driven back," 
 madame said, " else the fighting would have 
 lasted longer. May the ban Dieu guard our 
 poor fellows ! " 
 
 Again there was stillness, and the clock struck 
 four, the clear little bell startling them. Rosa- 
 line closed the shutter softly ; her face was as 
 white as snow. 
 
 " 'T is over," she said ; " the flames have died 
 away, darkness is there again, and silence and 
 death ! "
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 "AND ALL FOR LOVE" 
 
 THE day dawned calm, after the night of sus- 
 pense ; the October sky was full of light clouds, 
 and there was a chill in the air, the first sugges- 
 tion of winter, and the birds twittered in the ivy 
 that clung below Rosaline's window. The day- 
 light found no roses in her cheeks, but rather a 
 new consciousness of pain in her blue eyes. 
 From an almost childlike innocence and calm, 
 her heart had been awakened ; life in its ful- 
 ness had come upon her, and with it the sense 
 of insecurity. All that she cared for was threat- 
 ened with terrible dangers ; her own every-day 
 life might pass like a dream and she might find 
 herself shut in by grim prison walls. They were 
 not of the " king's religion," and imprisonment, 
 banishment, death awaited them. 
 
 She looked out over the tranquil scene with 
 an anxious heart. What had happened yonder 
 in that murky night? Who had fallen? She
 
 152 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 could see soldiers on the distant highroad, and 
 now and then a train of wagons moving slowly 
 in the direction of the St. Hippolyte road, but 
 these things told her no more than the flames 
 of the night before. Cavalier had been repulsed, 
 no doubt, but how many had fallen ? She could 
 not tell, and her heart throbbed and her hands 
 trembled as she busied herself with the morning 
 tasks. She and her grandmother sat down as 
 usual to breakfast, but she could not eat; she 
 quietly fed Truffe with her meal. Madame de 
 St. Cyr herself scarcely touched anything, and 
 Babet removed the dishes with a gloomy face. 
 There was no conversation, there could not be 
 while the terror of the night was upon them, and 
 d'Aguesseau's vacant chair seemed to mock 
 them. 
 
 Once during the day Madame de St. Cyr let 
 her knitting fall in her lap and looked at Rosa- 
 line with tears in her eyes. 
 
 "Alas!" she said quietly, "I fear I shall 
 never see him again and he was a brave man. 
 But for me he would have gone long ago." 
 
 Her granddaughter looked at her strangely. 
 " Did you urge him to stay here? " she asked.
 
 "AND ALL FOR LOVE" 153 
 
 " I prayed him to be near us," the old woman 
 replied. " I felt that I might go, and there would 
 be no one to help you. Pere Ambroise would 
 be all on M. de Baudri's side." 
 
 "And you told M. d'Aguesseau that?" ex- 
 claimed Rosaline, her face flushing. 
 
 " Something like it, yes," Madame de St. Cyr 
 rejoined sadly ; " but the call came and he 
 obeyed it. May the ban Dieu protect him and 
 us." 
 
 Rosaline made no reply, but went out of the 
 room and up the stairs to her own, where she 
 knelt in the window recess, her head on her 
 arms. This, then, was the key to all that she 
 had not understood. He had stayed to protect 
 them, to serve them, and but for that might 
 perhaps have been in England, and her grand- 
 mother had demanded this return for her friend- 
 ship. Rosaline's face burned ; she did not 
 look up, even when Truffe came in search of 
 her and thrust her head into her mistress's lap. 
 
 Presently, however, she heard a horse stop 
 at the gate, and peeping cautiously through her 
 screen of ivy, saw M. de Baudri, resplendent 
 in gold lace, coming up to the house. An ill-
 
 154 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 enough omen at such a time, she thought, and 
 remained at her post, refusing to go down when 
 Babet was sent for her. She heard his voice, 
 smooth and pleasant, in the room below, and 
 after a while she saw him go away again, sitting 
 very erect in his saddle, the picture of a soldier. 
 After his departure she found Madame de St. 
 Cyr sad and nervous. He had told her of the 
 skirmish with Cavalier, speaking of the affair 
 with contempt. The dragoons had beaten off 
 the Camisards, killed twenty and taken sixteen 
 wounded prisoners. He had come to press his 
 suit again and to covertly threaten Madame de 
 St. Cyr. The old woman did not tell all to 
 Rosaline; she dared not. But the girl read 
 much in the anxious eyes that followed her as 
 she moved about, waiting on her grandmother, 
 for she had sent Babet to Nimes, to learn from 
 Chariot, if possible, the names of the prisoners, 
 the list of the dead. It would be an infinitely 
 difficult task to learn this without suspicion; 
 but if any one could help them, the little cob- 
 bler could, and he was known to be of the 
 king's religion. 
 
 Never did a day drag more wearily, but at
 
 "AND ALL FOR LOVE" 155 
 
 last the sun descended toward the west, the 
 shadows lengthened, and Rosaline's doves came 
 cooing to their rest. Babet had not returned 
 yet from Nimes. Madame de St. Cyr had her 
 supper, served by her granddaughter, and then 
 Rosaline went out with Truffe. She walked 
 slowly through the garden, where the autumn 
 had already laid its fingers, and then she passed 
 out into the grove of mulberry trees, where the 
 path led to the old windmill. The sun had set, 
 and the clouds were red and purple overhead, 
 and between them were great rifts of pale blue. 
 The mulberry leaves rustled softly; but save 
 for that it was still. The air was chill, and the 
 openings between the trees made broad avenues 
 of light and shade. 
 
 Rosaline had walked but a little way, when 
 the dog sprang forward with a quick, short 
 bark of welcome, and she saw a man coming 
 toward her. At the sight of his face she stood 
 still, her own turning from white to red. A 
 moment ago she had thought of him as per- 
 haps lying in some loathsome dungeon in 
 Nimes, or dead, and this sudden meeting took 
 away her self-control ; she was trembling when
 
 156 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 he came up. Looking at her, he read more in 
 her eyes than he had dared to hope for. 
 
 " I have come to assure myself of your safety, 
 mademoiselle," he said quietly, " and then to 
 go away again." 
 
 " Babet is in Nimes now, monsieur, trying to 
 find out the names of the prisoners," Rosaline 
 replied. " We did not know what had hap- 
 pened and we feared the worst." 
 
 " It was a short, sharp battle," he said. " We 
 took some ammunition, but they brought up 
 reinforcements from Nimes and we were forced 
 to fall back. Cavalier is a soldier, indeed." 
 
 " M. de Baudri was at the chateau," she re- 
 joined. " He told us of the dead and the 
 prisoners, and my grandmother could not rest 
 until she knew." 
 
 There was a pause, and he watched her 
 face. 
 
 " And you, mademoiselle ? " he asked gravely. 
 
 Her eyes sought the ground, 
 
 " I also was anxious, monsieur," she said 
 with an effort. 
 
 "Yet last night you wished me to go," he re- 
 marked, unmercifully.
 
 "AND ALL FOR LOVE" I$f 
 
 She turned toward him with a grave face. 
 
 " I did not know until to-day, monsieur," 
 she said, " that my grandmother had asked 
 you to stay with us to protect us 'twas 
 more than she had a right to ask." 
 
 " Not more than she had a right to ask," he 
 replied, " but I remained for another reason 
 can you not divine it, mademoiselle? " 
 
 The blue eyes avoided his, and the color came 
 back into her cheeks. 
 
 " I have no right perhaps to tell you now, 
 when the future looks so dark," he said, " and I 
 have felt that you were displeased at my inac- 
 tivity. Yet last night when I was facing 
 death I longed to speak to tell you all that 
 was in my heart even if you were indifferent. 
 Love cannot always be silent God forgive me 
 if I break in upon your innocent peace with my 
 life and its passions and regrets. The world was 
 desolate when I saw you I had lost all and 
 then I looked out of my darkness and saw your 
 face. I cannot but speak we must part now 
 and I must know if you care ever so little. 
 Dieu ! how black the world was when I saw 
 this tall, white lily ! You told me last night
 
 158 THE COBBLER OF N$MES 
 
 that you were glad to have me go I am a 
 fool, no woman ever said that to the man she 
 loved." 
 
 He paused, and the leaves rustled overhead. 
 Her face was averted and he could not see 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said hoarsely; "I did 
 not mean to speak but one cannot always 
 smother the heart's utterances ! You are so 
 young, so beautiful, so innocent forgive me, 
 and let me serve you still." 
 
 She turned and looked at him, but he could 
 not read her eyes. 
 
 " You do not understand," she replied softly. 
 " I wanted you to go because " 
 
 " You thought me a coward," he exclaimed 
 harshly. 
 
 " Nay, monsieur," she said, " I wanted you to 
 go because a woman wants the man she she 
 loves to be a hero " 
 
 He caught her hands, looking eagerly into 
 her face. 
 
 " Is it possible?" he cried. 
 
 She smiled through her tears. 
 
 " I wanted you to be a hero," she answered,
 
 "AND ALL FOR LOVE" 159 
 
 " and when you went I thought my heart 
 would break ! " 
 
 Her fair head was on his shoulder now, and he 
 kissed her, the perils of their lives forgotten, all 
 the world changed in an instant and only Love 
 triumphant. After a while he broke the silence. 
 
 " Are you happy? " he asked her softly, hold- 
 ing her a little away from him that he might see 
 her face. 
 
 She smiled radiantly, but did not answer, and 
 he went on, questioning her that he might have 
 a fresh assurance of her affection. 
 
 " You want me to go and you do not," he 
 said; "what am I to think?" 
 
 " Yes, I wanted you to go," she replied, a 
 flush on her face. "I could not bear to have 
 you seem less brave or daring than other men 
 or to lack zeal for your religion and then 
 you went ! And and I cannot bear to have 
 you go to face danger even death itself! " 
 
 " Oh, thou perfect woman ! " he exclaimed, 
 smiling; "I must be a true knight and yet you 
 would not have me in danger." 
 
 She smiled, turning her face aside. 
 
 "Yes yes, 'tis that," she answered very
 
 l6o THE COBBLER OF 
 
 low. " I want you to be the bravest of the brave, 
 and yet oh, man Dieu, I cannot bear to see 
 you in any danger ! " 
 
 He held her to his heart again with many 
 caresses. 
 
 "What can I do?" he asked. "I cannot be 
 both, your constant attendant and a soldier in 
 the field. Ah, Rosaline, love is king not even 
 the perils of battle can defeat him. I can love 
 you and fight too, but I cannot flee from danger 
 for your sweet sake." 
 
 " And I could not bear to see you flee," she 
 said, " and yet my heart was torn when I knew 
 that you were in the midst of that fight in the 
 darkness." 
 
 " Take comfort, my dearest," he said softly, 
 " let us forget the perils and think only of each 
 other. Ah, my darling, I little thought, when I 
 was in the cobbler's upper room so downcast, 
 that the light of my life would shine in upon 
 me there. I loved you from the first moment 
 that I saw you." 
 
 " Did you? " she cried with shining eyes, " oh, 
 tell me tell me how it was ! " 
 
 And he told her, Love's language being elo-
 
 "AND ALL FOR LOVE" l6l 
 
 quent to such ears, as it has been always, as it 
 will be while the round world moves. 
 
 Then they walked on, hand in hand, through 
 the trees, the soft moss beneath their feet, the 
 pale October sky overhead, and only the mur- 
 mur of the leaves. They came presently to the 
 old mill, and went down to the edge of the 
 stream, and then he asked her again the ques- 
 tion that was first in his thoughts, 
 
 " Are you happy, sweetheart, tell me?" 
 
 " Ah, Francois," she answered, " we are too 
 happy 't is that I am afraid ! " 
 
 "Of what, dear heart?" he asked gently, 
 "surely, not that our love can die?" 
 
 "Not that," she replied, " not that! I have 
 been light of heart, careless as a child. I never 
 was afraid before, but now oh, Francois, if 
 you were taken from me it would kill me." 
 
 He clasped her close, laying his cheek against 
 her soft one. 
 
 " But that could not be," he said soothingly ; 
 " not even death could part us save for a little 
 while, my heart, for our souls are immortal 
 and they are one." 
 
 She clung to him, her eyes full of tenderness.
 
 1 62 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 " 'T is so," she murmured, " our souls are im- 
 mortal, I never felt it so strongly before ! Love 
 touches the heart and all the world is different 
 ah, mon Dieu, 't is thy gift to us ! See, 
 Francois," she added, " is not the world more 
 beautiful, the sky more tender? Do not the 
 birds sing more sweetly to-day? And is it 
 because we love ? " 
 
 " It must be so, my Rosaline," he answered 
 gently ; " the Garden of Eden must have blos- 
 somed so to welcome Eve and love makes the 
 world more beautiful each day." 
 
 " And it shall make me better," she rejoined ; 
 " 't is said that sorrow refines the heart, but it is 
 joy that fills it with kindness. I am sure of it, 
 for I was never half so full of pity for the un- 
 happy as I am now; my cup overflows and 
 others thirst. Ah, Francois, let us be good to 
 others always, for that is love. " 
 
 " Your very presence is love, Rosaline," lie 
 answered softly, " your face, your eyes, your 
 voice. When I first saw you in the little shop I 
 was a desperate man, but from that moment my 
 heart was changed. You entered like an angel, 
 and as an angel I adored you."
 
 "AND ALL FOR LOVE" 163 
 
 "And I made that difference in your life, 
 Francois? " she said tenderly, " I, Rosaline de 
 St. Cyr. Ah, Dieu, am I not blessed ? " 
 
 She stood away from him on the mossy bank, 
 the stream lying brown and placid below her 
 feet. Behind her the tree trunks were outlined 
 against the rosy west, and the sweet stillness of 
 twilight was enfolding them. The afterglow 
 shone in her beautiful young face, and her blue 
 eyes were radiant. 
 
 " I was never happy before," she said, smiling, 
 " now I know it ! but this is happiness love 
 life. Do you sqe that bright star shining yon- 
 der, Frangois? There is a little one beside it 
 see ! like two souls, uplifted above the world and 
 radiant. I will be afraid no more, my love, for 
 even death has lost its terrors, for thus our two 
 souls would shine together above the sorrow and 
 the pain. I will fear no more for stronger 
 than death is love ! "
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU 
 
 THE shadows had deepened ; night already 
 lay in the little woodland ; the distant hills were 
 purple against the pale horizon. The rising 
 wind turned the wheel on the old mill ; the rusty 
 vanes moved feebly, as though a cripple waved 
 long arms in the twilight. The stream rippled, 
 and here and there a star was reflected in its 
 bosom, and the leaves rustled continuously now. 
 The scene was suddenly desolate, perhaps be- 
 cause the lovers had deserted it, and the dark- 
 ness came rolling along like a cloud, rising 
 from every hollow, lurking in every grove of 
 figs or of olives, wrapping every object in an 
 elusive gloom. And away in the distance the 
 night wind sighed drearily, as it gathered 
 strength. No spot could have been more quiet 
 or more lonely. 
 
 A man came out of the mill carrying his 
 bundle, and stood awhile on the edge of the
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU 165 
 
 stream, a small man with a hump on his back 
 and a face that showed white even at nightfall. 
 He remained only a short time motionless, then 
 he shouldered his bag of tools and followed the 
 bank of the stream until he came at last to a 
 bridge, and crossing this made his way to the 
 highroad leading toward NTmes. He walked 
 slowly and painfully, as though he carried a far 
 greater burden than it appeared, and he held 
 his head down. The soul of the little cobbler of 
 St. Antoine was in torment, what matter if his 
 body walked the earth with other men ? Pent 
 up in the heart of the hunchback were the pas- 
 sion and longing and anguish of a lifetime. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " he cried out in his bitterness, 
 " why didst thou give me the heart of a man and 
 the body of a toad ? " 
 
 He had had black hours before when he was 
 well nigh ready to curse God and die, but never 
 a worse moment than this. The devil was con- 
 tending for the soul of le Bossu, and the dark- 
 ness fell, and it seemed as if that road might 
 lead to hell. And what was he, after all? he 
 thought ; a peasant, a shoemaker, a hunchback ! 
 But, oh, mon Dieu ! the long, long years of des-
 
 1 66 THE COBBLER OF A'fMES 
 
 elation, the anguish, the hunger for one word of 
 love, of kindness, of sympathy. What evil spirit 
 had led him to lie down in that old windmill? 
 had let him sleep there until her voice awoke 
 him, and out of purgatory he had looked into 
 paradise? Like Dives, he had cried out for a 
 drop of water to slake his thirst, and yet he still 
 lay in the fires of Satan. 
 
 Early that day he had set out for St. Cesaire, 
 and he had done his work in the village, and 
 before sunset he went up the stream to the old 
 mill and rested, thinking of mademoiselle in the 
 chSteau, thankful that she was sheltered and 
 safe. Sleep had come to the weary cobbler, and 
 when he awoke Rosaline and her lover were 
 talking at the door of the mill. He had heard 
 all, lying there almost in a stupor and he had 
 remained quiet. It was too late to warn them 
 of a listener, and was it not best that she should 
 be ignorant of it? He had heard all; their love 
 for each other, their talk of their religion, their 
 hopes and their fears. He was no longer in 
 doubt of the nature of the dangers that sur- 
 rounded them, and he possessed a secret that it 
 was a crime to conceal ; that the State and the
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU 1 6? 
 
 Church had ordered every good Catholic to re- 
 veal ; and if he revealed it, the lovers would be 
 separated forever, and he would have no cause 
 to think of their happiness with such a pang of 
 miserable jealousy. The poor hunchbacked 
 cobbler held their lives in his hand, their joy, 
 and their desolation. 
 
 All these thoughts and many more crowded 
 in upon le Bossu as he toiled along the road, 
 and it seemed to him that Satan walked beside 
 him. When a bodily infirmity as great as his 
 is laid upon a man, there come hours of supreme 
 temptation, when human nature revolts and the 
 starved heart cries out in agony and will not be 
 satisfied. Must one man suffer so, and yet re- 
 joice to see others happy? A soul is strong 
 indeed that rises out of such misery clean. 
 
 The little cobbler struggled on, and presently 
 the lights of Nimes shone in his face and he 
 entered the gate and passed along the Rue St. 
 Antoine to his shop. Babet had been there 
 three times that day to find him, and had gone 
 back at last to St. Cyr without news, and found 
 M. d'Aguesseau there, talking with old madame. 
 Unconscious that he had disappointed such a
 
 1 68 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 visitor, Chariot unlocked his door and entered, 
 feeling his way until he could light a candle. 
 There had been another visitor at his door too, 
 though he knew it not, an old woman with a 
 red handkerchief around her head, and with a 
 wide, red mouth. But the cobbler was ignorant 
 of all these things and went about as usual. He 
 had tasted nothing since midday, but he had no 
 appetite and he went up the ladder to his room 
 and lighted a taper before the shrine there. 
 After that he threw himself on the bed, dressed 
 as he was, and all night he wrestled with a temp- 
 tation that beset him, with a new-born hatred 
 of the man whom he had befriended in the 
 market-place. If he had left M. d'Aguesseau 
 in that tent with the body of the damned person, 
 how different the end might have been! Ah, 
 the desolate soul and the desolate hearth, the 
 misery and the poverty ! Dame de Dieu ! some 
 men possessed the earth and the fulness thereof, 
 and others starved ! 
 
 Morning found Chariot stirring the fire in the 
 kitchen ; the commonplace world possessed him 
 again ; he was no longer an individual, only one 
 of many, the little cobbler of Nimes. He made
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU 169 
 
 his coffee and he ate his black bread, and then 
 he went to his bench and worked patiently, fin- 
 ishing a pair of high military riding-boots. 
 They were of fine leather, and he fastened bur- 
 nished buckles on the high insteps. They were 
 elaborate, and he had put some fine labor upon 
 them, and he looked at them now with a recog- 
 nition of their perfections ; no one made better 
 shoes than the hunchback. 
 
 It was twelve o'clock when he rose and put 
 the boots into his green bag, and gathering up 
 his measure and some tools, set out once more. 
 The streets were full and the cobbler made his 
 way slowly through the throng. One or two 
 spoke to him, others noticed him less than the 
 mule that stood waiting for a reverend father 
 outside the Garden of the Recollets. Le Bossu 
 took little heed of it all ; his face was drawn and 
 haggard, and the hump seemed larger than ever. 
 He walked on until he passed in front of the inn 
 of the Golden Cup and came to a house a few 
 yards beyond it. Here he knocked and was 
 admitted by a man-servant who wore the uni- 
 form of a dragoon. The house had a long, 
 narrow hall, and at the end of this was a flight
 
 I/O THE COBBLER OP NtMES 
 
 of stairs, and up these le Bossu was conducted 
 to the second story. Here the soldier opened 
 a door to the right, and the cobbler entered a 
 large room, lighted by three windows, where 
 M. de Baudri sat eating his breakfast. Chariot 
 made his salutation, and putting his bag in the 
 corner, patiently waited the pleasure of his 
 patron. De Baudri noticed him as little as he 
 would have noticed a rat or a mouse, and finished 
 his meal before he even glanced in his direction. 
 Finally, however, he pushed back his chair and 
 called the shoemaker. 
 
 " Viens done, Petit Bossu," he said, " are the 
 boots finished? " 
 
 Chariot took them out of his bag without a 
 word, and displayed them. 
 
 " Sacristi I if I had four legs I should come 
 to you for boots," M. de Baudri remarked, 
 inspecting them. " Diable ! those buckles are 
 too small." 
 
 "The latest from Paris, monsieur," le Bossu 
 replied ; " his Majesty has a pair of the same 
 size and design." 
 
 M. de Baudri's face relaxed, and he thrust 
 out one foot.
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU 1 71 
 
 c> Try them, Bossu," he said ; " and see that 
 they are good," he added with a smile, " for I 
 expect to wear them at my wedding." 
 
 A strange expression crossed the drawn face 
 of the hunchback, as he knelt to put on the 
 boot. 
 
 " Monsieur expects to be married soon ? " he 
 asked quietly. 
 
 "Dame de Dieu, I do not know!" de Baudri 
 exclaimed with a laugh; "my little white bird 
 likes to use her wings, but I mean to clip 
 them." 
 
 Le Bossu smoothed the leather on the officer's 
 ankle, and arranged the buckle, his head bent 
 low over his work. 
 
 " Monsieur plans for an early marriage, then?" 
 he ventured again. 
 
 M. de Baudri stared at him. 
 
 " Au diable ! " he said harshly j " what is it to 
 you, worm?" 
 
 The cobbler made no reply; he was accus- 
 tomed to such language from his patrons. He 
 had put both boots on M. de Baudri's feet, and 
 he sat back now on his own heels, looking at his 
 work.
 
 172 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 "Is monsieur satisfied?" he asked meekly. 
 
 The officer stood up, looking down at his 
 feet. 
 
 " Very good," he said at last, " they will do ; 
 but make your bill small, you little beggar, or 
 you will see that I know how to use them ! " 
 and he laughed coarsely as he sat down and 
 waited for Chariot to remove the boots and put 
 on his others, which the hunchback began to 
 do. 
 
 " Curse you, you dog ! " he exclaimed, with a 
 vicious kick at the shoemaker; "you hurt me 
 in pulling that off! " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, monsieur," le Bossu 
 replied, with white lips, having dexterously 
 dodged the kick. 
 
 He knew to his cost that there were some 
 perils attendant upon trying on shoes. He had 
 put back one of M. de Baudri's high-heeled 
 slippers and was taking off the other boot 
 with some caution when the door was opened 
 by a servant, who came to announce a visitor. 
 
 "A miserable old woman, monsieur," the 
 man said hesitatingly, " but she will not be 
 denied."
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU 173 
 
 " Dame, send her to the devil or to the 
 Intendant ! " retorted M. de Baudri, with a grin 
 at his own joke. 
 
 The servant still 'stood at the door, with a 
 perplexed face. His master cast a frowning 
 glance in his direction. 
 
 " What is it, idiot? " he demanded. 
 
 " She has some information about these 
 heretics, monsieur," the fellow answered, stam- 
 mering; "she wants money." 
 
 "Ante de St. Denis!" exclaimed monsieur, 
 with a sneer, " does she take me for a pay- 
 master?" 
 
 The servant summoned his courage. 
 
 " She told me to say to you two words, 
 monsieur," he said, " and they were ' St. Cyr.' " 
 
 " Diable ! " M. de Baudri cried fiercely. 
 " Show her up here, you blockhead ! " 
 
 The man closed the door hastily, and they 
 heard his hurried steps retreating down the 
 hall. M. de Baudri fell to cursing, and Chariot 
 suddenly found that the buckle was hanging by 
 a thread on the other shoe, the mate to the 
 one on his patron's foot. The shoemaker got 
 out his thread and his needle, and began to
 
 174 T H E COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 sew the rosette in place, and it was very slow 
 work indeed. 
 
 Presently the door opened again, and Chariot 
 looked up quickly and saw Mere Tigrane. 
 Mere Tigrane, with her blood-red handkerchief 
 about her head, and her blood-red mouth with 
 its yellow fangs. She curtsied low to the officer 
 and grinned as she did when she intended to be 
 most amiable, but all this had no effect upon de 
 Baudri ; he cursed her roundly and ordered her 
 to tell her tale and begone. The old hag took 
 it in good part, leering at him out of her evil 
 eyes. 
 
 " I have a little news for monsieur," she 
 said pleasantly, " a little information about his 
 friends, and 'tis worth a little money; monsieur 
 knows that." 
 
 " Diable, you old witch, out with it ! " he 
 said, tossing her some coins. 
 
 La Louve grovelled on the floor after them 
 as they rolled away, her talon fingers clutching 
 each piece greedily. One fell near the cobbler, 
 and he thrust it toward her with the end of his 
 awl, a look of disgust on his face. M. de 
 Baudri laughed loudly.
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU 175 
 
 " Dame! " he exclaimed ; " there are degrees 
 even among vermin ! " 
 
 Mere Tigrane gave le Bossu an evil, trium- 
 phant look, and then began to count her 
 money. 
 
 " 'T is not enough," she said bluntly, turning 
 on the officer with a sinister smile ; " 't is worth 
 more, my beauty." 
 
 Her insolent tone offended him and he stared 
 at her. 
 
 " Diantre! " he said, " I will have you thrown 
 from the roof if you do not tell all you know, 
 you thievish hag ! " 
 
 Mere Tigrane hesitated, looking at the coins 
 in her hand, but she had a motive more power- 
 ful than greed this time. She changed her tone, 
 however. 
 
 " I 'm a poor woman, Excellency," she 
 whined ; " 't is worth more." 
 
 He threw her a broad piece, with a curse. 
 
 " Go on ! " he shouted, fiercely ; " or I '11 
 break your neck." 
 
 She put the money into her wallet and then 
 licked her lips; there was a good taste in her 
 mouth.
 
 176 THE COBBLER OF N$MES 
 
 " Monsieur knows the family at St. Cyr," she 
 said, one evil eye seeming to fix itself on 
 Chariot ; " the old woman and her grand- 
 daughter are there, and a steward." 
 
 M. de Baudri was interested now ; he frowned 
 darkly upon her. 
 
 " Does monsieur know who the steward is?" 
 she demanded, her head on one side. " No, 
 I thought not! 'Tis M. d'Aguesseau, the 
 heretic from Dauphine, whose father was 
 broken on the wheel at Montpellier to the 
 edification of all good people ; and his sister 
 was in the Tour de Constance. Her body 
 was shown here at a fair. Dame ! but her flesh 
 was white." 
 
 M. de Baudri threw her another coin. 
 
 " Your information is good," he said, leaning 
 back in his chair with a smile. 
 
 She curtsied and thrust the money in her 
 wallet. 
 
 " That is not all, monsieur," she said ami- 
 ably ; " the young mademoiselle at the chateau 
 she went with this heretic to a prayer-meet- 
 ing out there by the old quarry and sang psalms 
 there. Mere Tigrane knows ! And old Madame
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LE BOSSU 1 77 
 
 de St. Cyr, she too is a heretic. Dame ! the 
 chateau would make a good burning, monsieur." 
 
 M. de Baudri turned a black face on her. 
 
 " Look you, hag," he said, " there is more 
 money. You are well paid, but if a word of 
 this goes to any one else, nom de del ! I will 
 hang you. Now an diable ! " 
 
 Mere Tigrane took the money eagerly, vow- 
 ing that she would be discreet, and got out of 
 the room just in time to escape a boot that M. 
 de Baudri picked up to throw at her. 
 
 He was in a storm of passion ; he summoned 
 his servants and ordered one to bring his horse 
 and the other to get his riding-suit, and then 
 he went to his room to dress, cursing heaven 
 and earth in his haste to be off to St. Cyr. 
 
 The hunchbacked cobbler had been forgotten, 
 and when M de Baudri went out he quietly 
 gathered up his bag and left the house. His 
 face was white, but he had never walked so fast 
 as he did then. He did not go to the shop ; he 
 went straight along the Rue St. Antoine and 
 out at the gate, and the road to St. C6saire 
 stretched before him, as endless and as steep 
 to his vision as the road to heaven. 
 
 12
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A BRIEF DELAY 
 
 BEYOND the old windmill, on the estate of 
 St. Cyr, the stream turned its course westward 
 and tumbling over a rock, fell four or five feet 
 into a broader rivulet and then flowed placidly 
 on, twisting and turning at last toward the valley 
 of the Vaunage. The gray cliffs towered boldly, 
 hiding the little falls, locking them in a spot as 
 wild and as deserted as the wildernesses of the 
 CeVennes. But below, where the stream wid- 
 ened, the banks were mossy, and in summer 
 ferns and wild flowers clustered, and on either 
 bank was a fringe of juniper bushes, and be- 
 yond, the tall, well-nurtured chestnut trees. 
 Here were fish, the brown trout darting 
 through the placid waters, and the eels, and 
 there were always birds in the trees when the 
 chestnuts blossomed. But now the touch of 
 autumn was upon it; the moss showed brown 
 tints, and the nuts fell from the opening burrs,
 
 A BRIEF DELAY !?$ 
 
 and the squirrels were gathering their winter 
 stores. 
 
 On the edge of the stream stood Rosaline St. 
 Cyr, looking down into its clear depths at the 
 pebbles in its bed. A little way off was Babet 
 with a basket, and Chariot, the cobbler, knelt 
 on the bank digging up a hardy fern with a broad 
 knife, that had been given him for the purpose 
 by the housekeeper. Truffe meanwhile ran 
 about under the trees barking at every nut that 
 dropped. The scene, in its rustic peace and 
 simplicity, struck the shoemaker in pleasant con- 
 trast with that other scene in Nimes. He was slow 
 at his task, taking the root up carefully and lin- 
 gering over it so long that Babet grew impatient. 
 
 " How long thou art, Petit Bossu ! " she said, 
 her arms akimbo. " del, I could have dug up 
 forty ! We were doing better before you 
 came." 
 
 "C'est fini" replied the hunchback, holding 
 up the fern. " Here it is ; how many will you 
 have ? " 
 
 Rosaline turned toward him. She had a large 
 straw hat tied under her chin with blue ribbons, 
 and her cheeks were like roses.
 
 l8o THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 " We want four like that, Chariot," she said 
 cheerfully; " grand 1 mh'e always has a box of 
 ferns for winter; they make a green spot in the 
 room, and that is so pretty." 
 
 "But, mademoiselle, 'tis near supper time," 
 protested Babet, " and we have been here all the 
 morning." 
 
 Rosaline laughed a happy, careless laugh. 
 
 " You may go home," she said ; " Chariot will 
 bring me back when the basket is full, and we 
 must not lose our dish of mushrooms for supper. 
 Run along, Babet, and set the kettle boiling." 
 
 Babet was nothing loath, though she grumbled 
 loudly at the suggestion, but Chariot stopped 
 digging a fern and looked up with a troubled 
 face. The woman set down the basket for him 
 to fill, and he half rose and made a movement 
 as if to stop her, and then bent over his task 
 again. Apparently, he had decided to let her 
 go, and in a few moments her tall figure had dis- 
 appeared behind the cliffs and he was alone with 
 the young girl and her dog. Rosaline was 
 strolling along the mossy bank singing softly to 
 herself, the picture of joyful content. She was 
 walking in a dream of love and youth, and she
 
 A BRIEF DELAY igl 
 
 had forgotten the hunchback. He continued to 
 kneel over the ferns, but he had paused in his 
 digging, and his mournful brown eyes followed 
 her with a mute devotion in their gaze. He did 
 not know how long he could keep her there, but 
 every half-hour counted, and surely there was 
 hope that it would be over before she went back 
 to the chateau. He knew what was passing 
 there, but she did not, and her song almost made 
 him shudder. Still, he hoped, he hoped much, 
 that it was only d'Aguesseau who was wanted, 
 and he was out of reach. The hunchback did 
 not believe that this beautiful young creature 
 was in any personal danger. He thought of the 
 wedding shoes, and bent over the fern with a 
 frown. What would that handsome savage, M. 
 de Baudri, do? Ah, that was the question. 
 Chariot remembered last night and its tempta- 
 tions; verily, love and hate were nearly akin, 
 and he had seen the fiend in monsieur's open 
 blue eyes. 
 
 Rosaline was in a happy mood. She stooped 
 and gathering a handful of chestnuts, threw 
 them one by one for Truffe to chase, and 
 laughed gayly at the poodle's antics, clapping
 
 1 82 THE COBBLER OF NlMES 
 
 her hands to make her bring the nuts back to be 
 thrown again. The hunchback watched her in 
 silence, bending over his task again ; the basket 
 was nearly full of plumes of fern now, and he 
 was racking his brain for an excuse to keep 
 mademoiselle longer away from the house. The 
 drawn white face was full of anxiety, and now 
 and then the brown hands trembled as they 
 handled the plants. 
 
 " Do you think it will be an early winter, 
 Chariot?" Rosaline said at last, still tossing 
 the chestnuts for Truffe. 
 
 " I cannot tell, mademoiselle," he replied, 
 looking up at the sky. "But last night the 
 wind came howling straight from the Cevennes, 
 and some say that means a short autumn. The 
 bon Dieu knows that there will be suffering ; so 
 many of these Cevenols have been taken or 
 slain, and there were so few to gather the crops 
 or card the wool. Mother of Heaven, the times 
 are evil ! " 
 
 There was silence ; Rosaline's face had lost 
 its joyous look, and she left off playing with 
 the dog and walked back to the spot where 
 the shoemaker was kneeling by his basket.
 
 A BRIEF DELA Y \ 83 
 
 " Babet says the winter will be fearfully cold," 
 she said absently, " and she is wise about these 
 matters. I know not how many signs she has, 
 but certainly more than I could ever remember." 
 
 " I do not know about such things," he an- 
 swered quietly, " but the autumn came early 
 this year." 
 
 Rosaline looked dreamily away toward the 
 north. 
 
 " The winter with its terrible storms, and this 
 cruel war," she said thoughtfully, " I fear the 
 suffering will be very great, Chariot. How does 
 it seem in Nimes? What does M. Montrevel 
 say?" 
 
 " That it cannot last, mademoiselle," he re- 
 plied. " His Majesty has sent great reinforce- 
 ments, and the marechal is determined to crush 
 the insurrection. Nothing is talked of in Nimes 
 save the grandeur of the king and the weakness 
 of the Cevenols." 
 
 Rosaline sighed ; her mood changed entirely 
 now, and her face was grave and even appre- 
 hensive. There was no sound but the gentle 
 dash of water from the falls. Presently her 
 eyes lighted on the basket of ferns.
 
 1 84 THE COBBLER OF NlMES 
 
 " We have enough, Chariot," she said, in a 
 dull voice ; " I am going back now. Come also, 
 and Babet will give you supper; you must be 
 tired." 
 
 Poor Chariot was at his wits' end. 
 
 " See, mademoiselle, there is a beautiful fern," 
 he said, pointing his finger at three waving 
 plumes of green ; " will you not have that 
 also?" 
 
 She looked at it without interest. " No, 
 she replied indifferently, "let it remain; we 
 have more than enough already, and I am 
 tired." 
 
 She was half-way up the bank, and Chariot 
 rose in despair. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said, " come back, I pray 
 you ; "t is not yet time to return to the chateau." 
 
 She looked around in surprise, and the ex- 
 pression of his face awakened her suspicions. 
 
 "What is it? "she demanded quickly; "what 
 do you mean?" 
 
 " You were not to return until six o'clock," he 
 replied, at a loss for an excuse ; " Madame de St. 
 Cyr so instructed me." 
 
 " Madame de St. Cyr instructed you about
 
 A BRIEF DELAY 185 
 
 me? "exclaimed Rosaline in surprise; and there 
 was a touch of hauteur in her manner that 
 Chariot had never encountered before. 
 
 " She told me so, when she sent me after you, 
 mademoiselle," he answered humbly. 
 
 Rosaline was roused now ; she stood looking 
 at him with a searching glance. 
 
 " Why did you come to St. Cyr to-day?" she 
 demanded imperiously. 
 
 The hunchback was not adroit, and he felt 
 the peril of the moment too deeply to find 
 ready replies. 
 
 " I brought some shoes for madame to try," 
 he said lamely. 
 
 " That is not true, Chariot ! " she retorted 
 indignantly; "madame has ordered no shoes, 
 and you know it. You came for something," she 
 went on, with increasing agitation ; " be honest, 
 was it did it concern M. d'Aguesseau ? " 
 
 The shoemaker looked at her with dull eyes, 
 his pinched face unusually brown and haggard. 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle," he replied with an effort, 
 " it concerned M. d' Aguesseau. M. de Baudri 
 received information that he was a heretic, and 
 he has come to St. Cyr to take him."
 
 1 86 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 Mademoiselle turned on him the face of an 
 avenging angel. 
 
 " And you " she said, with passionate scorn, 
 " did you betray him? " 
 
 The hunchback's lips twitched, like those of a 
 person in sudden bodily pain, and he did not 
 reply. 
 
 " You miserable creature ! " Rosaline con- 
 tinued, her blue eyes sparkling with anger. 
 " Did you offer him shelter at first, and get 
 him here that you might surely betray him? 
 You are baffled, thank God ; you are out- 
 witted ! " 
 
 Chariot's hands clenched and he looked at 
 her as if she had struck him. 
 
 " Sang de Dieu, I am innocent ! " he said 
 solemnly ; " I never betrayed him. I came here 
 to warn him, and found that he had gone. I 
 heard it all in M. de Baudri's rooms, and I hur- 
 ried away, and by hiring a cart that I met in the 
 road, I was at St. Cyr just five minutes before 
 the dragoons came, and madame sent me here 
 to keep you out of harm's way." 
 
 " The dragoons at St. Cyr ! " cried Rosaline, 
 forgetting all else in that announcement, " and
 
 A BRIEF DELAY l8/ 
 
 my grandmother there alone ! Dieu, I will 
 never forgive myself! " 
 
 She ran up the bank without heeding the 
 cobbler's appeals. 
 
 " Stay, mademoiselle ! " he cried after her ; 
 " stay but a moment and listen ! Ah, Mtre de 
 Dieu, she rushes to her fate ! " 
 
 He called to deaf ears ; Rosaline fled through 
 the woods like a young fawn with the dog at 
 her heels. She took no thought of herself but 
 only remembered her grandmother and the 
 terrible prospect of a dragonnade at St. Cyr. 
 The custom of quartering dragoons on families 
 suspected of heresy was too fearfully frequent 
 for it to be improbable, and such visitations were 
 attended by horrible indignities ; neither age 
 nor innocence was spared, and the end generally 
 saw the chateau in smoking ruins and the mem- 
 bers of the devoted family dead or banished. 
 
 All these things flashed through Rosaline's 
 mind as she sped on the wings of love 
 toward her home, and no one could have over- 
 taken her. The poor hunchback followed as 
 best he could, cursing the fate that had forced 
 him to tell her.
 
 1 88 THE COBBLER OF NIMES 
 
 At the gate of the chateau, Rosaline met 
 Babet, who tried to stop her, but in vain ; the 
 girl ran across the garden and passed in through 
 the side door, which the housekeeper had left 
 open. All the while she wondered that the 
 place seemed so deserted and that she saw no 
 soldiers. She passed through the kitchen and 
 dining room, and running upstairs to her grand- 
 mother's sitting-room, flung open the door and 
 found herself face to face with M. de Baudri.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 M. DE BAUDRI'S TERMS 
 
 ROSALINE did not look at M. de Baudri, but 
 beyond him into the room, and she saw her 
 grandmother's armchair vacant, and the door 
 that led into the bedroom beyond stood open. 
 The girl's heart seemed to stop beating, yet she 
 could not believe the evidence of her senses. 
 
 "Where is she?" she demanded of M. de 
 Baudri imperiously. " Where is Madame de St. 
 Cyr?" 
 
 He had greeted her with a profound bow and 
 he stood now before her, smiling and composed. 
 
 " Madame is on her way to Nimes, made- 
 moiselle," he said pleasantly. 
 
 "To Nlmes?" repeated Rosaline, with pale 
 lips. " Mon Dieu ! what have you done? " 
 
 Her agitation did not ruffle his composure; 
 he still looked at her with a smile. 
 
 " I am afflicted to tell you such ill news, 
 mademoiselle," he said suavely, " but unhap-
 
 I9O THE COBBLER OF A T TMES 
 
 pily a complaint has been lodged against 
 Madame de St. Cyr. She is accused of being 
 a heretic, and of sheltering a heretic. A charge 
 so serious must be investigated. Unfortu- 
 nately," he concluded with a shrug, " I have 
 to do my duty." 
 
 " Your duty ! " repeated Rosaline, with spark- 
 ling eyes. " Your duty, then, monsieur, is to 
 drag a helpless old woman from the shelter of 
 her home? " 
 
 He bit his lip and a red spot showed in either 
 cheek, but he controlled his own rising temper. 
 
 " Assuredly, mademoiselle," he replied, " if 
 she is guilty of the detestable crime of heresy." 
 
 " And you will be guilty of the crime of mur- 
 der, monsieur," she retorted with a fierce indig- 
 nation ; for the moment, she was perfectly 
 fearless. " Where is she ? Where have you 
 taken her?" she cried. 
 
 He looked at the clock. "She must be in 
 Nimes now, mademoiselle," he replied courte- 
 ously ; " she will be strictly confined there under 
 guard until she has been interrogated by the 
 authorities." 
 
 Rosaline uttered a low cry of despair.
 
 M. DE BAUDRI'S TERMS 19 1 
 
 " Man Dieu ! " she said, " it will kill her ; 
 you know it will kill her ! " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " I am not re- 
 sponsible," he said ; " I am a soldier, bound to 
 execute the orders of my superiors. For her 
 sake, for yours, mademoiselle, I have endeavored 
 to alleviate the circumstances of her arrest, 
 and 't is possible that that there might be 
 a compromise." 
 
 He paused, looking at her with a strange 
 expression. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she demanded 
 eagerly. 
 
 M. de Baudri laid his hand on his heart. 
 
 " It rests with you, mademoiselle," he said 
 with gallantry, " to determine madame's fate. 
 There is no doubt that she is a heretic, and you 
 know the doom of heretics, but you may save 
 her yet." 
 
 Rosaline drew her breath sharply; an intui- 
 tion warned her of what was coming. She was 
 white to the lips, but her blue eyes shone. 
 
 "Your meaning, monsieur?" she said in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " I stand high in the favor of M. Montrevel,"
 
 IQ2 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 he said placidly ; " I am a good Catholic. It is 
 possible for me to obtain many concessions, if 
 I wish to do so. Mademoiselle understands 
 me ; it is necessary for me to help her, and my 
 help can be obtained if Rosaline de St. Cyr 
 desires it." 
 
 She stood looking at him in silence, and he 
 became at last a little uneasy under that 
 searching glance. 
 
 " You know that I love you, mademoiselle," 
 he said; "if you consent now this moment 
 to marry me, I will save madame." 
 
 He spoke with the air of one who contem- 
 plated a virtuous deed. 
 
 "You wish me to marry you ! " she exclaimed, 
 her voice quivering with passion. " M. de 
 Baudri, I too am a heretic." 
 
 She turned on him the same face that she 
 had turned on the cobbler in the wood. 
 
 "Why do you not give me up to the authori- 
 ties, monsieur?" she went on defiantly; "you 
 are a soldier, do your duty ! " 
 
 " Mademoiselle does not understand that I 
 love her," he retorted, unmoved. " Come, come, 
 Rosaline, you are young, you are misguided,
 
 Af. DE BAUDRPS TERMS 1 93 
 
 but you will be converted. Say the word; 
 promise to be my wife, and your grandmother 
 shall be saved, I pledge you my word." 
 
 " Beware, monsieur ! " Rosaline exclaimed 
 with scorn. " I have thought you a brave man, 
 but this is the act of a coward." 
 
 His face reddened, and he suppressed the 
 violence of his own mood with difficulty. 
 
 " You forget," he said slowly, " that you are 
 completely in my power. You are a heretic by 
 your own declaration, your grandmother is a 
 prisoner, and the precious steward, d'Agues- 
 seau, is also in my power." 
 
 His keen eyes saw the swift change in her 
 face at d'Aguesseau's name. 
 
 " M. d'Aguesseau?" she exclaimed, "is he 
 taken ? " 
 
 There was an expression of satisfaction in the 
 keen blue eyes ; he had touched her at last. 
 
 "This morning, mademoiselle," he replied 
 coolly. " He is not only a heretic, but also 
 a rebel." 
 
 She was controlling herself by a great effort. 
 
 "What will you do with him, monsieur?" 
 she asked faintly. 
 
 13
 
 194 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 " Hang him, or send him to the galleys," he 
 retorted calmly. 
 
 She reeled, catching at the back of a chair to 
 save herself from falling. M. de Baudri sprang 
 toward her to proffer his assistance, but she 
 motioned him away with a gesture of horror. 
 
 "Do not touch me!" she cried; "do not 
 touch me ! " 
 
 She laid her head down on the back of the 
 chair, overcome with contending emotions. The 
 two she loved best in the world had been taken 
 from her. 
 
 " Mon Dieu / " she cried in a choking voice ; 
 "what shall I do?" 
 
 The fiercest passions leaped up into M. de 
 Baudri's eyes, anger, jealousy, the desire for 
 revenge ; he had suspected that there was some 
 secret between Francois and Rosaline, and now 
 he doubted it no longer. 
 
 "Mademoiselle is more afflicted at the cap- 
 ture of a menial than at the arrest of her 
 own grandmother," he remarked with a sneer. 
 " Doubtless she would like to arrange for his 
 liberation also." 
 
 Rosaline made no reply; she was sum-
 
 M. DE BAUDRFS TERMS 195 
 
 moning all her powers to meet this terrible 
 emergency. 
 
 "Even that is not beyond my power," M. de 
 Baudri added coolly, " if mademoiselle desires 
 to purchase this servant's liberty." 
 
 Rosaline looked up with a haggard face, but 
 her eyes sparkled with anger. 
 
 " Francois d'Aguesseau js no servant," she 
 cried ; " he is as well born and far more noble 
 than his persecutor!" 
 
 The man laughed fiercely. " He is doubtless 
 mademoiselle's lover," he remarked contemptu- 
 ously ; " she is more lightly won than I sup- 
 posed." 
 
 " It is always in the power of the strong to 
 insult the weak," Rosaline retorted coldly. 
 
 "You cannot deny that this heretic is your 
 lover ! " he exclaimed passionately. 
 
 Rosaline raised her head proudly; her inno- 
 cent gentleness had deserted her; she was 
 like a young lioness roused in defence of her 
 own. 
 
 " I do not deny it," she said fearlessly ; " M. 
 d'Aguesseau is my equal and and, yes, 
 monsieur, my affianced husband. I do not deny
 
 196 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 it, nor do I deny my love for him, though he is 
 a prisoner and at your mercy ; the bon Dieu de- 
 fend him and me ! " 
 
 She had never looked more beautiful than at 
 that moment of passionate indignation and de- 
 fiance in the cause of those she loved. M. de 
 Baudri, looking at her, swore in his heart that he 
 would have her despite heaven and hell. 
 
 " You are frank, mademoiselle," he remarked 
 coolly. " 'T is unusual for a young girl to be so 
 eager to declare her affection. I am afflicted 
 indeed ; for 't is my portion to decide M. 
 d'Aguesseau's fate, and it would grieve me to 
 bereave mademoiselle of her lover ! " 
 
 Rosaline's distress was shaking her resolution ; 
 already her lips were quivering, and there were 
 tears in the blue eyes. 
 
 "Is his fate in your hands, monsieur?" she 
 asked, with passionate anxiety and a desperate 
 hope. 
 
 M. de Baudri bowed, with his hand on his 
 heart. 
 
 " Absolutely," he replied pleasantly ; " he has 
 not yet been handed over to the authorities. 
 By lifting my finger I can set him free and also
 
 M. DE BAUDRfS TERMS 197 
 
 your grandmother, and as easily I can consign 
 both to the miserable fate awaiting the heretics." 
 
 Rosaline took a step forward, clasping her 
 hands and gazing intently into his face. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur, surely you will be merciful," 
 she exclaimed, " surely you will spare my grand- 
 mother a feeble woman and M. d'Agues- 
 seau has he not suffered enough? Dieu ! he 
 has lost all, his parents, his sister, his property. 
 I cannot believe that you will condemn these 
 two ! You are a man, and not a fiend." 
 
 He watched her with an inscrutable expres- 
 sion on his face. 
 
 " And what will you do to regain their lib- 
 erty?" he asked slowly. "What petition do 
 you make for them ? " 
 
 " I ask you in God's name," she said with 
 passionate earnestness, " and on my knees, mon- 
 sieur, though I never kneeled to living man 
 before." 
 
 She was kneeling, her white face lifted, her 
 hands clasped ; and with her golden hair she 
 looked more like a supplicating angel than an 
 unhappy and defenceless girl. For him it was 
 a moment of triumph ; and his heart was un-
 
 198 THE COBBLER OF NIMES 
 
 touched by any feeling of compulsion ; it only 
 throbbed with fierce determination. 
 
 " Rise, mademoiselle," he said, offering his 
 hand with gallantry. " Serious as the situation 
 is, dangerous as it is for me to release heretics, 
 yet I must be less than human to resist such elo- 
 quence and beauty. Your petition is granted 
 on one condition." 
 
 She looked at him searchingly, and her 
 heart sank as she read the expression in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "And that condition?" she demanded in a 
 low tone. 
 
 " A simple one, mademoiselle," he said, with 
 an easy air of confidence : " I adore you, Rosa- 
 line; and when you are my wife, these two are 
 free." 
 
 "You say this to me after I have declared 
 my love for another man ! " she exclaimed 
 aghast, " you say this to me, a heretic ! Your 
 conscience is not very scrupulous." 
 
 He smiled. " You are but a child, Rosaline," 
 he said ; " you will embrace my religion and 
 marry me, or " he shrugged his shoulders, 
 " the Tour de Constance for madame and the
 
 M. DE BAUDRI'S TERMS 199 
 
 gallows for your ex-lover. I give you a free 
 choice ! " 
 
 Rosaline clasped her hands against her heav- 
 ing bosom, looking up, while the tears fell on 
 her pale cheeks. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " she cried ; " forgive me for 
 kneeling to mortal man. I ought to have 
 known that there was no mercy save in Thee. 
 Alas, alas, my dear ones ! " 
 
 There was a pause; she seemed to be ab- 
 sorbed in her devotions, and M. de Baudri 
 watched her in silence but with relentless eyes. 
 Her beauty and her sorrow only intensified his 
 fierce passion. 
 
 " I see that you are willing to kill both rather 
 than sacrifice your whim," he remarked, striking 
 a skilful blow at her tottering resolution. 
 
 " Is it possible that this is your fixed pur- 
 pose?" she cried. " Can it be that you would 
 have me save them thus? Have you no pride, 
 that you are willing to take a bride on such 
 terms are these? Have you no mercy? " 
 
 " I am showing much," he replied suavely. 
 " How many men would spare a successful rival's 
 neck?"
 
 2OO THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 " It will avail nothing," she said passionately 
 " I will appeal to M. de Baville himself! " 
 
 He laughed heartlessly. " Do so, made- 
 moiselle," he said, with a shrug, " and you will 
 have the pleasure of seeing your lover broken 
 on the wheel like his father." 
 
 She gave a low cry of horror, hiding her face 
 in her hands. He walked over to the window 
 and looked out. The sun was setting behind 
 the valley of the Vaunage, and the wind was 
 already blowing the yellow leaves from the 
 trees and strewing the garden path with a 
 shower of gold. He knew that she was in the 
 throes of a mortal agony, and he did not dream 
 of relaxing the pressure until he broke her will. 
 He knew something of her character, and he 
 believed her capable of any sacrifice for those she 
 loved. He stood a while watching his orderly 
 leading his horse to and fro before the gate. He 
 had purposely deceived her on one point, and 
 he believed that he would succeed without vio- 
 lence, but he intended to have her at any cost. 
 With her consent if he could, without it, if neces- 
 sary, he was not troubled with many scruples, 
 and her helpless anguish did not touch him.
 
 M. DE BAUDRPS TERMS 2OI 
 
 He turned at last to find her sitting in her 
 grandmother's chair, her face buried in her 
 hands, and her golden hair, escaping its bonds, 
 had fallen about her like a mantle. 
 
 "I am going back to Nimes, mademoiselle," 
 he said courteously, " and I regret that I have 
 to leave the house in the hands of guards, but 
 they are instructed to treat you with courtesy. 
 Permit me to recommend that you continue your 
 former prudent reserve in the matter of religion. 
 At ten to-morrow morning, I shall return for my 
 answer. You know the solitary condition, and 
 you hold two lives in your lovely hands." 
 
 She looked up with ineffable scorn in her blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " Dieu ! is this a man ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 A deep red flush mounted to his forehead, 
 but he bowed so profoundly that the curls of 
 his periwig fell before his face. 
 
 " It is your devoted lover, mademoiselle," he 
 replied, and walked backward to the door, hold- 
 ing his plumed hat against his heart and step- 
 ping with the ease and precision of a dancing 
 master. 
 
 On the threshold he made her another pro-
 
 2O2 THE COBBLER OF NlMES 
 
 found obeisance and, smiling, closed the door 
 behind him. He paused only a moment in the 
 hall below to give a few sharp instructions to 
 the sergeant left in command. 
 
 " If any man attempts to enter this house 
 to-night," he said in a hard tone, " shoot .him. 
 If you let him evade you, I will hang you." 
 
 The soldier saluted, and M. de Baudri walked 
 calmly down the garden path, and leaping into 
 the saddle, set off at a gallop for Ntmes.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 ROSALINE'S HUMBLE FRIENDS 
 
 MEANWHILE a very different scene had been 
 enacted in the kitchen, where Babet had con- 
 fronted the cobbler and poured upon his devoted 
 head a volley of questions. She had gone out 
 with Rosaline early, before there was even a hint 
 of approaching catastrophe, and she could not 
 understand the swift march of events, and her 
 suspicious soul was possessed with a rooted dis- 
 trust of the poor hunchback, who had not yet 
 rallied from Rosaline's accusations, striking 
 home as they did after the guilty hours of his 
 temptation. The two had shut themselves in 
 the kitchen with the dog, and le Bossu sat by 
 the fire, an expression of dull despair upon his 
 face, while Babet stood over him, her arms 
 akimbo and her keen black eyes riveted upon 
 him. Like Rosaline, she questioned his motive 
 for coming to the house at all. 
 
 " What brought you here this morning, Petit
 
 204 THE COBBLER OP NlMES 
 
 Bossu?" she demanded harshly; "we needed 
 no new shoes." 
 
 The cobbler's face darkened. " Nom de St. 
 Denis ! " he exclaimed ; " have you nothing 
 better to do than to suspect your friends at such 
 a time ? " 
 
 " Yet you came and why ? " persisted Babet. 
 
 The hunchback threw out his hands with a 
 gesture of impatience. 
 
 " There is no reason why I should explain to 
 you," he retorted contemptuously. 
 
 " Ah ! " ejaculated Babet, in a tone of dark 
 suspicion, " what do you expect me to think 
 of such obstinate silence? You must be a 
 wicked man I have always heard that hunch- 
 backs were malicious ; how could you give 
 mademoiselle up? Why did you not let her 
 escape through the woods, beast?" 
 
 The cobbler was tried beyond endurance. 
 
 " Mother of Heaven ! " he cried bitterly, " do 
 you think that I would injure a hair of mademoi- 
 selle's head? She could not escape; M. de 
 Baudri had two circles of sentries about the 
 place, and I knew it. There were men below 
 the cataract in the woods to attempt to pass
 
 ROSALINE'S HUMBLE FRIENDS 2O$ 
 
 them would have been to risk her life. You 
 were in the snare ; I tried to keep her away 
 from the house, but I could not, and they would 
 have found her anywhere in the end." 
 
 Babet threw back her head with a snort ; she 
 had the air of an old war-horse scenting the 
 battle from afar. 
 
 "You knew a great deal about it," she re- 
 marked maliciously; " could n't you warn us?" 
 
 He sighed ; a weary resignation was settling 
 down on his heart. It seemed that no one 
 thought well of him, or expected good from 
 him. 
 
 " I knew nothing of it until this morning," he 
 said coldly, " and then too late to help you. I 
 am lame, and M. de Baudri rides a fine horse. 
 Nevertheless, I got here five minutes before him 
 but that was too late." 
 
 His face and his voice began to convince even 
 Babet, and a faint pang of remorse smote her 
 heart, which, after all, was angered only on 
 Rosaline's account. She left off questioning 
 him and walked to and fro in the kitchen, trying 
 to collect her thoughts, and the process was 
 much impeded by the even tramp of the sentry,
 
 2O6 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 which sounded distinctly enough on the gravel 
 path outside the windows. Once or twice, when 
 the soldier's back was turned, Babet shook her 
 fist at it, uttering threats in language that was 
 more fervent than pious. 
 
 " My poor lamb ! " she muttered, her thoughts 
 returning to Rosaline, " what will she do in the 
 hands of this wolf? Nom de del ! if I could but 
 tear his throat ! " 
 
 The hunchback did not heed her; he was 
 staring at the floor with vacant eyes. He meant 
 to save mademoiselle if he could, but how? 
 His lips moved now and then, and his brown 
 hands twitched nervously, but his ears were 
 straining to catch the slightest sound. Presently 
 Babet turned around, as if a sudden thought had 
 flashed upon her ; she picked up the tongs from 
 beside the fire, and hiding them under her apron 
 walked deliberately out of the kitchen, slamming 
 Ihe door behind her. The sound brought the 
 sentry at a run, and they met face to face. 
 Without a word, Babet lifted the tongs, and, 
 snapping them on to the brim of his hat, flung 
 it over the hedge. 
 
 " There, you varlet ! " she exclaimed, holding
 
 ROSALINE'S HUMBLE FRIENDS 2O/ 
 
 the tongs close to the end of his nose, " learn to 
 take off your hat to a decent woman, who 's 
 old enough to be your mother, and stop star- 
 ing in the window with those goggle eyes of 
 yours. I 'm no jail-bird, I tell you ! " 
 
 " Mother ! " ejaculated the astonished dra- 
 goon, " you old gray cat ! Dame ! if I do not 
 wring your neck for your impudence when M. 
 le Capitaine has gone." 
 
 " Humph ! " retorted Babet, grimly, " you '11 
 find it tough, man fils. Your hat is in the briar 
 bush, my lad ; " and she walked back into the 
 house with a grim smile of triumph, leaving 
 the soldier cursing her while he searched for 
 his hat. 
 
 Babet did not return to the kitchen ; she pro- 
 ceeded up the stairs to the room where Rosa- 
 line was talking to M. de Baudri. The door was 
 closed ; but refined scruples were not among 
 the good housekeeper's faults, and she calmly 
 applied her ear to the keyhole, all the while 
 clasping the tongs fiercely under her apron ; 
 and for the next twenty minutes her face was 
 a picture. More than once she had her hand 
 on the latch, but prudence finally prevailed, and
 
 2O8 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 three minutes before M. de Baudri emerged, she 
 made her way cautiously back to the kitchen. 
 She had heard enough to understand the whole, 
 and she descended upon the cobbler like an 
 avalanche, carrying all before her. In the 
 storm of her indignation she could not remain 
 silent, and she poured out the whole story of 
 M. de Baudri's shameless persecution of his 
 prisoner. Le Bossu had long ago learned the 
 lesson of self-control, and he listened with com- 
 posure, though his face seemed to have aged 
 since the morning. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " cried Babet, regardless now of 
 the sentry's stare, " he would force that white 
 dove to marry him ! That villain de Baudri 
 may the bon Dieu blast him as the great chest- 
 nut-tree yonder was blasted with lightning ! He 
 the rogue would make mademoiselle sell 
 herself to him to save old madame and her 
 lover. Woe is me, why did that man d'Agues- 
 seau ever come here? " 
 
 The hunchback looked up, surprise in his dull 
 eyes. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he demanded, "save 
 her lover? Her lover is safe in the Cevennes."
 
 ROSALINE'S HUMBLE FRIENDS 2OO, 
 
 " Much you know ! " retorted the woman, 
 scornfully ; " it seems that he was captured this 
 morning." 
 
 The cobbler was silent a moment, thinking 
 deeply. 
 
 " I do not believe it," he said quietly. 
 
 " You think it a lie of that devil's ? " asked 
 Babet, eagerly. 
 
 He nodded. " M. de Baudri is doing it to 
 force her to yield," he said slowly ; " he has 
 sworn to marry her. I do not believe that 
 he has taken one Huguenot prisoner to-day, 
 save " he stopped, and looked out of the 
 window at the sentry, who kept staring in with 
 a furious face. 
 
 " Dieu, what a fiend ! " exclaimed Babet, 
 thrusting her tongs into the fire, where they 
 would heat, after casting a vicious glance toward 
 the window. " He has given mademoiselle un- 
 til to-morrow morning to decide,"she added. 
 
 " What will she do?" the cobbler asked in a 
 strange voice. 
 
 " Do ? oh, I know her ! " the woman retorted 
 with a snort ; " to save those two she would 
 die. She'll marry him unless " Babet thrust
 
 2IO THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 the tongs deeper in the coals, " unless I wring 
 his neck ! " 
 
 " That cannot be done," remarked le Bossu, 
 soberly, "but something must be done to-night." 
 
 "What?" snapped his companion, "what can 
 a hunchback and an old woman do? A pretty 
 pair of birds for such an emergency. Leer away, 
 young man ; I have the tongs ready for you ! " 
 she added in an aside, her fierce eyes on the 
 window. 
 
 " Has she one true friend with influence in 
 Nlmes?" the cobbler asked. 
 
 Babet shook her head, and then, after a mo- 
 ment's thought, 
 
 " There is Pere Ambroise," she said. 
 
 Le Bossu's face brightened. " Good ! " he 
 said, " the priest can do much ; and now, I am a 
 Catholic, Babet, but as there is a God in heaven, 
 I mean no harm ! Is there any boy or man who 
 could carry a message amongst the Camisards?" 
 
 Babet had grown reckless in her misery over 
 mademoiselle ; she did not hesitate to reply. 
 
 "There is the blacksmith's boy at St. 
 Cesaire," she said, " a good child, and active 
 as a wild hare. What do you want of him ? "
 
 ROSALINE'S HUMBLE FR TENDS 211 
 
 " If possible, I must find M. d'Aguesseau," 
 he replied, " and also Pere Ambroise ; I cannot 
 do both without help." 
 
 "And if M. d'Aguesseau is in prison," sug- 
 gested Babet, grimly. 
 
 "The will of Heaven be done," replied the 
 cobbler, calmly, " but Pere Ambroise shall be 
 here before dawn," and he rose as he spoke. 
 
 "How will you get out?" asked the woman, 
 eying him curiously. 
 
 "You will see," he rejoined, and quietly 
 gathering up his bag of tools, he left the kitchen 
 and walked through the hall. 
 
 M. de Baudri had just left by the front way, 
 and the cobbler went out at the back of the 
 house. There was a high row of box beside the 
 path, and dropping on his hands and knees he 
 crept along behind it, past the sentry on that 
 side. He had to move very slowly and softly, 
 avoiding every dry twig and even the dead leaves, 
 but he reached the outer hedge at last. Here 
 there was a hole, through which Truffe passed in 
 and out. The cobbler thrust his bag through 
 and then followed it; his face and hands were 
 scratched, but what of that? He rose from his
 
 212 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 knees in the open road, and, shaking off the 
 dust, shouldered his load and walked on, limping 
 more painfully than usual. He had to pass one 
 guard, but this man did not know that he had 
 been in the house and saw nothing unusual in 
 the appearance of the little cobbler of St. 
 Antoine. 
 
 "You are late, le Bossu," he said good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 " The shoes fit too well," retorted the hunch- 
 back, coolly, " and my patron is rich." 
 
 " Pardieu! " the soldier exclaimed with a 
 laugh. " I will borrow to-morrow morning. We 
 have a bag of heretics here." 
 
 " Mtre de Dieu, burn them, all but the 
 shoes ! " said le Bossu, and walked calmly on.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 "MORTIS PORTIS FRACTIS " 
 
 IT was daybreak ; the pale sky was luminous, 
 and the golden east throbbed with the approach- 
 ing glory. Already the hill-tops were radiant, 
 but the low country lay in the shadow, and a 
 white mist floated over the valleys. The air 
 was full of the twittering of birds, and all the life 
 in Nature began to stir. There were no travellers 
 on the high-road so early, save one, a corpulent 
 priest, mounted on a stout mule, proceeding 
 toward St. Cyr. Pere Ambroise detested extra- 
 ordinary exertion, but he had yielded to the im- 
 portunities of the cobbler. For his own part, 
 he thought that ten o'clock was soon enough to 
 deal with M. de Baudri, but he had roused him- 
 self and set out at an unearthly hour because of 
 le Bossu's representations. No man could 
 regret the trouble at the chateau de St. Cyr 
 more sincerely than he did ; he had labored to 
 protect these two defenceless women, and he saw
 
 214 THE COBBLER OF NlMES 
 
 no profit in madame's arrest. Pere Ambroise 
 would never be numbered with the persecutors ; 
 he cared more for a bottle of good wine from 
 the vintage of the Vaunage than he did for the 
 arrest of a score of heretics. Besides, he had 
 no real love for M. de Baudri, and he foresaw 
 M. de Baudri's triumph. Pere Ambroise wanted 
 to convert Rosaline ; he wanted to see her either 
 in a convent or wedded to a good son of the 
 Church, but he could not digest the prospect of 
 this particular bridegroom. He had not the 
 smallest respect for Rosaline's religious convic- 
 tions or scruples ; it was impossible for him to 
 regard them with anything but contempt or 
 hatred, but he really cared for the girl's welfare. 
 He had known her from a child, and he felt a 
 sincere affection for her. For her sake he had 
 spared Madame de St. Cyr, and he had no 
 desire now to give her pain. He rode along, 
 therefore, revolving all these matters in his mind, 
 and wondering how far he could trespass on 
 the patience and friendship of the Intendant of 
 Languedoc, the only man who could take M. 
 de Baudri in hand. The result of Pere Am- 
 broise's ruminations was not satisfactory; he
 
 "MORTIS PORTIS FRACTIS" 21$ 
 
 advanced at a leisurely pace, for his mule was 
 nearly as stout as he was, and the sun rose in 
 all its splendor as he approached St. Cyr. He 
 disliked effort and excitement, and he could 
 devise no easy and comfortable way out of the 
 dilemma. After all, perhaps she would have to 
 marry M. de Baudri ; at least, that ought to 
 bring her into the church, and if she remained a 
 heretic ? Well, Pere Ambroise reflected with a 
 broad smile, that alternative would furnish him 
 with a rod to hold over the stubborn head of 
 M. le Capitaine. The good father's fat sides 
 shook a little with silent laughter as he drew 
 rein at the gate of the chateau. Ame de St. 
 Denis ! he would make M. de Baudri dance to 
 a pretty tune before the Intendant ; there were 
 compensations, no matter what the result. 
 
 The sentry the same young man who had 
 been disciplined by Babet received the priest 
 with respect ; his instructions had not mentioned 
 Pere Ambroise, and the stout, black-robed figure 
 ambled placidly up the gravel path and entered 
 by way of the kitchen. This was empty, for 
 Babet had deserted her fortress for the moment 
 to wait on her young mistress. The priest pro-
 
 2l6 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 ceeded through the house and was greeted at 
 the stairs by Truffe, who knew him. He 
 climbed up in a leisurely way, panting at each 
 step, and, entering the sitting-room, found Rosa- 
 line and her faithful attendant. The young girl 
 hailed his entrance with relief and hope, and 
 something like life came back into her white 
 face. 
 
 Pere Ambroise was touched by her evident 
 confidence in his good will, and seating himself 
 comfortably, he dismissed Babet with a placid 
 air of authority that sent her fuming to the 
 kitchen, where she resumed her task of heat- 
 ing the fire-irons. She was determined not to be 
 taken unawares, and the sentry perfectly ac- 
 quainted with her occupation kept his dis- 
 tance and bided his time. 
 
 Meanwhile, in response to a few well-directed 
 questions, Rosaline told her story, which was 
 substantially the same as the one already re- 
 cited by le Bossu. A man less keen than Perc 
 Ambroise would have detected her resolution 
 in her manner, and he was not unprepared for 
 her answer when he asked her what she intended 
 to do. She was standing in front of him, her
 
 "MORTIS PORTIS FRACTIS" 2 1/ 
 
 hands clasped loosely before her, and her head 
 erect, but her face was like marble, white and 
 still. 
 
 " I have no choice, man ptre" she said, in a 
 low voice ; " no one cares for a heretic. It is 
 my duty to save my grandmother. I cannot let 
 her die for my happiness ! Mon Dien / what a 
 monster I should be ! I must consent to M. de 
 Baudri's terms, and then " she paused, draw- 
 ing a deep breath and her clear blue eyes looked 
 out, away toward the grim mountains of the 
 north, " and then I know that the bon Dieu will 
 release me. He will send me death sweet 
 death for my bridegroom ! " 
 
 Pere Ambroise regarded her thoughtfully. 
 For his times, he was a liberal man, and he 
 did not immediately foresee hell fires. He 
 saw only a pure and defenceless girl, and his 
 heart smote him. 
 
 " The bon Dieu is offended with you for 
 heresy, Rosaline," he remarked calmly ; " that 
 is the cause of your misfortunes." 
 
 Rosaline looked at him searchingly ; she had 
 long ago weighed Pere Ambroise and found 
 him wanting.
 
 2l8 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 " He is my Judge," she replied, and closed 
 her lips firmly. 
 
 It was not the hour for religious controversy, 
 and the priest knew it; he pursed up his lips 
 and was silent. But she had a purpose at 
 heart, and not even his frowns discouraged it. 
 
 " Pere Ambroise," she said, " I want to go 
 into Nimes now at once to see my grand- 
 mother. I will consent to nothing until I do 
 you can get this favor for me I ask nothing 
 else, but oh, do this. for me ! " 
 
 Pere Ambroise had been considering many 
 things, and he was not unwilling to listen to so 
 reasonable a desire. Indeed, he had been think- 
 ing with some pity of poor old Madame de St. 
 Cyr. 
 
 "It shall be done," he said, " but not until M. 
 de Baudri comes ; I have no authority, but he 
 cannot refuse this at my request." 
 
 Rosaline thanked him without emotion ; the 
 girl's passionate grief and rebellion had spent 
 itself in a night of agony ; she had reached the 
 dead level of despair. She still believed her 
 lover to be a prisoner, for Babet had been too 
 wise to hold out uncertain hopes, and Rosaline
 
 " MORTIS PORTIS FRACTIS" 2 19 
 
 had made up her mind to sacrifice herself for 
 her two loved ones, and the sacrifice she con- 
 templated was worse to her than death. No 
 victim was ever prepared to be laid on the 
 altar with a greater vigil of misery. She would 
 have died gladly, but this was far more terrible 
 and more degrading. She was in a stupor of 
 misery, but yet too wise to expect relief from 
 Pere Ambroise. His point of view and hers 
 were sundered as widely as the poles. To 
 him it was only an undesirable step toward 
 her conversion, and a certain way of saving her 
 life. 
 
 It was early, and the placid father left the 
 victim to her reflections and, proceeding to 
 the pantry, foraged with some comfort. He 
 was too intimately acquainted with Babet's pe- 
 culiarities to approach her at such a moment 
 with a demand for breakfast, but he managed to 
 comfort the inner man with the remains of a 
 cold chicken pasty and a salad, and some more 
 diligent search unearthed a small bottle of eau- 
 de-vie, so that he emerged from his seclusion, at 
 last, wiping his lips and with an air of satisfac- 
 tion. After this, he mounted his spectacles and
 
 22O THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 searched Madame de St. Cyr's little library for 
 heretical books, but the old gentlewoman had 
 been too cautious to be so easily betrayed, and 
 he found nothing of interest. 
 
 Thus it happened that when M. de Baudri 
 arrived at ten o'clock he found Pere Ambroise 
 in possession, and fell to cursing his luck, know- 
 ing well enough that the priest had both the 
 will and the power to hamper his designs. He 
 held the corpulent father in supreme contempt, 
 but he dared not insult him at a time when the 
 priests were supreme, nor could he drive Rosa- 
 line to extremities while she had such a respect- 
 able protector. M. de Baudri was a keen man, 
 and he saw that a few concessions might gain 
 an ally, while insolence would make an undesir- 
 able enemy. There was no hope of his marry- 
 ing Rosaline if Pere Ambroise chose to declare 
 her a heretic and have her shut up in a convent. 
 The priest held the winning card and knew it, 
 and it took him only half an hour to arrange 
 that the young girl should accompany him to 
 see her grandmother, under the escort of M. de 
 Baudri and his dragoons. 
 
 Before eleven, therefore, they were on the
 
 "MORTIS PORTIS FRACT7S" 221 
 
 road to Nimes. A carnage had been obtained 
 at St. Ce"saire, and the priest, Rosaline, and 
 Babet sat within it, while M. de Baudri rode 
 beside it and a guard of dragoons followed at a 
 short distance. Rosaline felt herself to be on 
 the way to an open grave, and she leaned back 
 in her corner with closed eyes. No one spoke, 
 and the drive was taken in silence. Finally 
 they passed through the Porte de France and 
 then proceeded more slowly through the streets. 
 The noises of the city aroused the poor girl a 
 little, and she looked out, only to shrink again 
 from the curious stare of the crowd. On the 
 carriage went, turning at last into a long street 
 and then stopping at the door of the common 
 jail. Happily for Rosaline, she did not recog- 
 nize t it, though she shuddered as she passed 
 under the grim portal with Pere Ambroise. 
 They were alone, the others remaining without, 
 and they were admitted with but little parley. 
 Like a somnambulist, the girl passed through a 
 gloomy corridor and saw the jailer unfastening 
 the bolts of a strong door. The man threw it 
 open and stood back, and Rosaline did not heed 
 his remark to the priest.
 
 222 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 " You are just in time, mon ph'e, " he said, 
 with a brutal laugh. 
 
 They stood at the entrance of a narrow cell 
 lighted by one small window, and on the 
 wretched pallet lay the motionless form of 
 Madame de St. Cyr. At the sight of her grand- 
 mother's face Rosaline awoke from her dream 
 and running forward, fell on her knees beside 
 her with a cry of surprise and anguish. Pere 
 Ambroise hastily closed the door behind him ; 
 he did not need to look a second time to see 
 that M. de Baudri was to be defrauded of one 
 victim. 
 
 " Speak to me, grand'm^re," Rosaline cried 
 pitifully. " Oh, mon Dieu, why did I ask for 
 one night to decide? Twelve hours ago I 
 might have saved her ! " 
 
 The sound of a beloved voice often rouses 
 even the dying ; Madame de St. Cyr stirred and 
 opened her eyes. They dwelt lovingly on the 
 girl for a moment, and then memory returned 
 and an expression of horror came into her face. 
 
 " Merciful Heaven ! " she gasped, rallying her 
 forces. "Are you here, my darling? now is 
 death bitter indeed ! "
 
 "MORTIS PORTIS FRACTIS" 22$ 
 
 " She is safe," Pere Ambroise interposed, his 
 heart touched at last; " I will protect her." 
 
 The old woman gave him a look of ineffable 
 gratitude; she was almost beyond speech, but 
 she laid one hand feebly on Rosaline's head, and 
 her lips moved as she blessed her. 
 
 " Thank the bon Dieu" she murmured faintly, 
 " the old tree was cut down and the flower 
 spared ! Weep not, my child. Beyond 
 there is peace." 
 
 Rosaline's slender frame was shaken with 
 agony. 
 
 " Live for me, grand 'mtre!" she cried ; " now 
 indeed am I desolate and I would have saved 
 
 But the end was too near for the dying 
 woman to understand ; she sank back with closed 
 eyes and Pere Ambroise began to recite the 
 prayer for the dying. In his emotion he forgot 
 that she was a heretic. Rosaline clung to her 
 in an agony of grief and self-abnegation, 
 
 " Oh, let me save you ! " she cried ; "live that 
 I may die for you ! " 
 
 Madame opened her eyes, there was a placid 
 smile on her face, she had forgotten all the
 
 224 THE COBBLER OF N?ME$> 
 
 terror and the pain, prison walls held her no 
 more. 
 
 " There is no anguish," she said softly, look- 
 ing away into space, " only light my husband 
 my son the ban Dieu be praised there 
 shall be peace ! " 
 
 She spoke no more ; there was no sound but 
 Pere Ambroise's Latin and Rosaline's weeping. 
 The dying woman lay still, and the clear eyes 
 still looked triumphantly beyond this world's 
 agony, and almost without a sigh the gentle 
 soul escaped from prison. Death, the Deliv- 
 erer, opened the gates
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 THE COBBLER'S FAITH 
 
 PERE AMBROISE was plentifully supplied with 
 this world's goods, and he had a house of his 
 own in Nimes, not a hundred yards from the 
 Esplanade, where he lived in comfort and se- 
 curity, with no fear of the Camisard raids. To 
 the right of the door of this house was a com- 
 fortable room, furnished with many luxuries: 
 soft rugs, deep arm-chairs, tapestry-hangings, a 
 huge fireplace, where the logs burned cheerfully 
 on the great andirons. And here Pere Am- 
 broise sat entertaining M. de Baudri over a 
 bottle of rare wine, on the evening of that event- 
 ful day. They had both dined well, and the 
 good father's rubicund face wore an expression 
 of satisfaction, while his guest was visibly dis- 
 contented. The fact was that Pere Ambroise 
 was in command of the situation, and he had 
 forced the soldier to yield at all points. At that 
 moment Rosaline was secure in one of his 
 upper rooms, and he was in a position to dictate 
 15
 
 226 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 his own terms. If he chose he could declare 
 her a heretic and immure her in a convent for 
 life; M. de Baudri's only chances of being a 
 bridegroom lay in his ability to propitiate the 
 priest. Nothing could have been more distaste- 
 ful to the soldier than this unexpected turn of 
 affairs ; he was accustomed to command and 
 not to sue, and now he was forced to persuade a 
 man who disliked him to look at things from 
 his point of view. He cursed his luck in secret, 
 and tried to smile over his wine ; never had he 
 been more neatly balked in his purposes nor 
 by a more contemptible enemy. Meanwhile 
 Pere Ambroise leaned back in his chair and 
 regarded him from between his half-closed 
 lids, mightily diverted by the other's discomfi- 
 ture, and not yet entirely decided on his own 
 course. He was not sure that it would be a 
 merciful thing to shut Rosaline up in a convent 
 for life, and Pere Ambroise was one of those 
 men who cannot be ill-natured after a good 
 dinner. He raised his wine-glass in his fat 
 fingers and held it before the candle that he 
 might admire the delicate amber color of the 
 wine before he drank it, and all his movements
 
 THE COBBLER'S FAITH 22/ 
 
 were deliberate and comfortable. His placidity 
 goaded M. de Baudri to the verge of murder. 
 
 " You cannot marry a heretic, my son," Pere 
 Ambroise remarked pleasantly ; " therefore you 
 must either allow her to go to her fate which, 
 by the way, is of your preparing or wait until 
 she is converted." 
 
 " Dame ! do you take me for a fool ? " ex- 
 claimed his companion. " How long have you 
 been at this hopeful business of conversion? " 
 
 " Only since I have known her to be a her- 
 etic," the priest replied composedly. 
 
 " Sacristi ! convert a heretic!" de Baudri 
 laughed; "how many are ever converted?" 
 
 " Large numbers in some circumstances," 
 Pere Ambroise said, with a broad smile ; " 't is 
 said that Du Chayla had a basement full of con- 
 verts when their misguided friends arose and 
 murdered him at Pont-de-Montvert ; a poor re- 
 quital for his zeal, monsieur. As for myself," 
 he waved his fat hands, " I am a man of peace, 
 and I have ever labored to save these misguided 
 people from violence." 
 
 M. de Baudri was leaning his el>ow on the 
 table, staring gloomily at the floor.
 
 228 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 " Mhe de Dieu ! " he said bitterly ; " they are 
 all only fit for hanging." 
 
 " Perhaps you would prefer to hang made- 
 moiselle," his companion remarked, refilling his 
 glass cautiously, for he did not wish to disturb 
 his brain with the fumes of liquor. 
 
 M. de Baudri looked at him darkly. 
 
 " I do her great honor in offering to marry 
 her," he said harshly. 
 
 Pere Ambroise nodded his head approvingly, 
 and took a sip of wine. 
 
 " Assuredly," he said ; " so great an honor 
 that I am inclined to prevent you. A true son 
 of the Church should not wed a heretic. The 
 proper destination for her is a convent." 
 
 The younger man swore under his breath. 
 
 " You old fox, you, " he exclaimed, " you do 
 not want me to marry the girl I believe you 
 want her yourself! " 
 
 Pere Ambroise turned his eyes piously toward 
 heaven. 
 
 "The saints forbid!" he murmured. "You 
 have an unbridled tongue, mon fils, and deserve 
 discipline for offering an insult to one in holy 
 orders."
 
 THE COBBLER'S FAITH 22Q 
 
 The officer laughed. "Dame, you old 
 rogue ! " he said, " do you fat fathers take us for 
 fools? Hark!" he added sharply, pausing to 
 listen, "what is that? I heard the dog bark." 
 
 " Rosaline's poodle," replied the priest, undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 M. de Baudri was suspicious. " Have you 
 got her secure?" he demanded imperiously. 
 
 " Absolutely secure," retorted his companion, 
 indifferently; "my servants are faithful, and her 
 door is fastened by an oaken bar too strong for 
 two women to force. Compose yourself, mon 
 fits; you consented to this respite; she was to 
 have until eight to-morrow morning for reflec- 
 tion, and she has reason enough to make good 
 use of the time. Her grandmother is dead and 
 she has no defender but me. She will not re- 
 sist my authority, but you take a strange way to 
 propitiate me and obtain my good offices." 
 
 M. de Baudri gnawed his lip with a lowering 
 expression on his face. 
 
 " I shall have to come to your terms, I sup- 
 pose, mon ptre" he said at last with an effort to 
 appear congenial. 
 
 " That is more to the point," Pere Ambroise
 
 230 THE COBBLER OF N^MES 
 
 remarked pleasantly, and leaned over to fill his 
 guest's glass again. 
 
 While these two worthies talked and drank, a 
 very different scene was being enacted in the 
 second story of the house. Here, in a large 
 back room, Rosaline and Babet were confined ; 
 the woman sitting stiffly upright in a chair by 
 the table, where the candles were set, while 
 Rosaline had thrown herself face downward on 
 the bed, in a silent agony of grief and despair. 
 Between the two was the black poodle Truffe, 
 her ears pointed, silent and watchful after the 
 fashion of dogs in new places. 
 
 Babet ventured upon no consolation ; she 
 stared grimly before her with unwinking eyes. 
 She was thinking of her own fate ; there was no 
 one to interpose for her, and her destiny was 
 probably the Tour de Constance. She tried to 
 recall all she had heard of this fearful prison 
 at Aiguemortes, of the malarious swamps about 
 it, of the smells that arose at low tide, of the 
 hideous cruelties practised in its loathsome 
 dungeons, of the sick and dying, whose bodies 
 were denied decent burial. Grim and strong as 
 old Babet was, her cheek blanched at the thought,
 
 THE COBBLER'S FAITH 2$l 
 
 and, for the moment, she forgot even her ewe- 
 lamb. (^The most unselfish soul must fight its 
 own battle sometime, to the exclusion of all 
 else.) 
 
 Meanwhile Rosaline lay there with her face 
 hidden on her arms ; her grandmother's death 
 had bereaved her of one who might have re- 
 mained with her, helping her to endure her lot, 
 for she hoped for no release ; she must pur- 
 chase her lover's liberty and life at the expense 
 of her own happiness. M. de Baudri had taken 
 care to remind her that he still held the fate 
 of Francois d'Aguesseau in his hand, and she 
 knew that the sacrifice must still be made. If 
 Francois divined it, he would refuse his life at 
 such a cost, that she knew ; but he would 
 never know, he might even think her false and 
 lightly won ! But all these things were small 
 compared with the alternative; it was not for 
 her to send him to the gallows, or worse, to 
 make him a galley slave, that she might escape 
 M. de Baudri. Again she shuddered at the 
 thought of her fate ; the lowest dungeons of the 
 Tour de Constance would be heaven compared 
 with such a marriage ! She shrank from it as
 
 232 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 all pure women shrink from any marriage that 
 is not founded on the highest and purest 
 motives. Her very flesh rebelled against her 
 spirit, and she lay there shivering, like one 
 stricken with ague. Yet strong is love; she 
 must save him, and then, oh, she prayed the 
 bon Dieu to release her ! 
 
 In spite of all this misery, time passed. The 
 house was quiet, no sounds came from below, 
 and practical Babet began to wonder what time 
 it was. There was no clock in the room, and 
 she could not conjecture the hour; it seemed 
 as if they had been there an age. Just at this 
 moment she heard some one lift the bar out- 
 side the door, and Truffe barked. Babet 
 pounced upon her, muffled her head in her 
 petticoat, and then she listened intently. The 
 visitor could not enter, for she had secured 
 the door within. There was a soft knock on 
 the panels, and Rosaline rose with a white face, 
 and stood waiting. The knock was repeated, 
 and some one spoke their names very low. The 
 voice seemed familiar, and the young girl went 
 to the door and listened again. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de St. Cyr," the visitor whis-
 
 THE COBBLER'S FAITH 233 
 
 pered, "open the door 'tis I, Chariot the 
 cobbler." 
 
 Babet uttered an exclamation, and Rosaline 
 unfastened the lock and admitted the hunch- 
 back. He looked old and worn, and carried 
 his green bag, and he paused just inside the 
 door, looking from one to the other, as if he 
 doubted his reception. 
 
 "Why have you come, Chariot?" Rosaline 
 asked sadly. 
 
 " I have come to help you to get away, 
 mademoiselle," he replied simply, hurt past 
 reason by their indifference, but bearing it, as 
 he bore all things, as a part of his lot. 
 
 Rosaline shook her head. " I cannot go," 
 she said, "but Babet you will save Babet, 
 Chariot." 
 
 " del !" ejaculated that woman sharply, "he 
 will save me, will he? And what do you 
 propose to do? " 
 
 The young girl did not heed her, nor did the 
 cobbler. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said, " your grand- 
 mother is dead, and M. d'Aguesseau was 
 never captured."
 
 234 THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 Rosaline stood looking at him with parted 
 lips, her whole form quivering with emotion. 
 
 " Mon Dieu /" she said, " was it a lie? " 
 
 " It was," replied the cobbler quietly ; " I have 
 sent a message to him, he is with Cavalier." 
 
 She could not believe him. " Alas ! " she 
 said, " you do this to get me away." 
 
 The cobbler knelt down at her feet. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said, looking earnestly 
 into her face, " I swear by all I hold most 
 sacred, that I do not deceive you. M. d'Agues- 
 seau is at liberty, though M. de Baudri offers a 
 hundred crowns for his head." 
 
 Her strength failed her, she sank on the 
 nearest chair, covering her face with her hands. 
 The reaction was too great for resistance ; it 
 seemed as if her heart would stop beating, and 
 the room whirled about her. He was safe, and 
 she was not required to make the sacrifice ! 
 
 The effect on Babet was very different ; she 
 released Truffe and began to gather up their 
 scattered belongings. 
 
 " How can we get out, Petit Bossu ? " she 
 demanded grimly, "in your shoe-bag?" 
 
 "The servants are feasting in the kitchen,"
 
 THE COBBLER'S FAITH 235 
 
 the cobbler said. " Pere Ambroise and M. de 
 Baudri are drinking below, and the stairs are 
 not two yards from this door. We must trust 
 in the bon Dien" 
 
 As he spoke, he opened his bag and took out 
 two long cloaks and hoods similar to those worn 
 by an order of Sisters of Charity at Nimes. 
 
 "Thou hast the mind of a great general, 
 Chariot," remarked Babet, with a queer smile ; 
 " the hump is a pity." 
 
 Rosaline roused herself and looked at the 
 disguise. 
 
 " Alas ! where can we go, Chariot ? " she 
 asked sadly ; " how can we escape them ? " 
 
 " To-night you can go to my shop, mademoi- 
 selle," he replied, quietly, " and to-morrow, as 
 soon as the gates are open, you can start out to 
 St. Cesaire. I have arranged with the black- 
 smith's wife to hide you until I can guide you 
 to to a place of safety." 
 
 " It may be done," Rosaline said, after a mo- 
 ment's thought. " I was to have till eight to- 
 morrow ; there is one hope in a thousand but 
 the risk to you, Chariot ! " 
 
 The little hunchback smiled. " Mademoi-
 
 236 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 selle," he said quietly, " I am scarcely worth 
 killing." 
 
 The tears shone in her blue eyes, but she said 
 nothing, partly because Babet was hurriedly 
 muffling her in the cloak and hood. 
 
 A few moments later they emerged from the 
 room, Babet carrying Truffe under her mantle ; 
 Chariot secured the door behind them, replac- 
 ing the bar, and softly and cautiously they de- 
 scended. They heard Pere Ambroise speaking, 
 in unctuous tones, and a coarse oath from M. 
 de Baudri, on whom the wine was having some 
 effect, but no one heard them. The porter had 
 left his place and the door was unbolted. Al- 
 most without noise, the three slipped out and 
 stood free upon the open street.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR 
 
 THE next morning found Chariot in his shop. 
 He had spread his tools and leather on his bench 
 with a pretence of work, but he was not working. 
 He sat watching his door with eager eyes, alert 
 and impatient. He was waiting for the return 
 of the blacksmith's boy whom he had sent in 
 search of d'Aguesseau. Rosaline and Babet 
 had walked out of the gate of the town as soon 
 as it was opened, and must be now near St. 
 Cesaire. In le Bossu's chamber a candle burned 
 before the Virgin, a prayer for the heretics ; such 
 is the inconsistency of the human heart and its 
 religion. 
 
 In a week the little hunchback had grown old, 
 and his back seemed more pitifully bowed than 
 ever. The Intendant of Languedoc might in- 
 deed regard him as scarcely worth the killing; 
 ! but no man can see the naked soul of his brother, 
 and it may be vastly different from his body ; as
 
 238 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 different as the abode on earth is from the man- 
 sion in heaven. "It is sown in weakness; it is 
 raised in power." It is cast in the shape of a 
 cripple on earth, it is raised in the form of an 
 angel.) The starved soul of le Bossu looked out 
 of his patient eyes and saw not even a crumb of 
 comfort falling from the rich man's table, and 
 self sacrifice became the law of his life. 
 
 He looked down at his brown, toil-worn, right 
 hand, and tears shone in his eyes. It was sanc- 
 tified, for she had kissed it. He shrank within 
 himself at the thought, but in her gratitude and 
 her relief, she had thanked him and she had even 
 taken his hand and kissed it. Had he not de- 
 livered her from a fate worse than death ? and 
 was he not her humble friend and servant? 
 Rosaline's impulse had been followed by no 
 second thought; her whole soul was filled with 
 the hope of escaping to her lover. And the poor 
 little cobbler understood her, but he felt that he 
 might fall down and worship her still. No one 
 else had ever considered him, no one else had 
 ever been uniformly kind to him ; in the parched 
 desert of his life she alone had held him a cup of 
 water. The starved and empty heart held one
 
 IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR 239 
 
 image ; the life of so little worth was at her 
 service. 
 
 The sun was high enough now to reach the 
 court, and the spot of light on the pavement be- 
 gan to grow, but the weed that had blossomed 
 in June had gone to seed and stood there yellow 
 and lean. One of the children opposite was ill 
 of a fever, and the other played silently, in a 
 melancholy way, on the steps. Le Bossu's 
 glance lighted on her and his heart was touched ; 
 it was cruel that a heart so large in its sympathy 
 for all sufferers should have been cast by the 
 wayside and choked with thorns. He rose from 
 his bench and took up a little pair of shoes, and 
 then he opened his wallet and counted out some 
 money ; with the shoes and the coin he crossed 
 the court and gave them to the little girl for her 
 sick sister. The child stared at him wide-eyed ; 
 she had shown him as little mercy as the others, 
 and had looked upon the hunchback as unlike 
 other human beings. She had not the sense to 
 thank him, though she clasped his presents 
 greedily to her breast and fled into the house, 
 half-affrighted at the little man with his hump. 
 The unwitting cruelty of children often hurts as
 
 24O THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 much as the coarse brutality of their parents, 
 but to-day le Bossu smiled. If his life was 
 worth something to Rosaline de St. Cyr, it was 
 worth all the suffering of living it; the bon Dieu 
 had given him a blessed compensation. 
 
 He was returning to the shop of Two Shoes 
 when another man entered the court. The cob- 
 bler looked about anxiously, for he had been 
 dreading the possible appearance of Pere Am- 
 broise or one of M. de Baudri's emissaries, but 
 a second glance reassured him, for he came face 
 to face with Francois d'Aguesseau. The hunch- 
 back signed to him to follow him in to his shop 
 and then closed the door. 
 
 "Where is she?" demanded d'Aguesseau, in 
 an agitated tone. * I received your message, 
 and I am here." 
 
 The cobbler looked at him strangely. " Did 
 you come to release mademoiselle single- 
 handed?" he asked quietly. 
 
 " I came to save her if mortal man can do 
 it," he retorted sternly. " It may be that they 
 will take me in exchange ; I hear that there is 
 a price on my head but, mon Dieu ! where 
 is she?"
 
 IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR 2\\ 
 
 His face was haggard and his dress much dis- 
 ordered. It was evident that he had not paused 
 for either rest or food. 
 
 " She is at St. Cesaire, I trust," the cobbler 
 replied calmly ; " she and Babet got away from 
 Pere Ambroise's house last night and started 
 this morning in disguise for St. Cesaire." 
 
 He made no mention of his share in the 
 deliverance, and Francois jumped to another 
 conclusion. 
 
 " Faithful Babet ! " he exclaimed joyfully ; 
 " doubtless she planned it all. I will follow 
 them at once." 
 
 " You must meet them at the appointed spot, 
 not elsewhere," said the cobbler. " I was to 
 meet them between the bridge and the cataract, 
 at the spot where the old mulberry stands. Do 
 you recall it?" 
 
 " Perfectly," replied d'Aguesseau, " but why 
 there ? " 
 
 " Because they are to hide at St. Cesaire until 
 afternoon ; then, if there is no pursuit to St. Cyr, 
 they can start without being observed. If the 
 chateau is too closely guarded, they will wait 
 until night," he added; "but it will not be, for 
 16
 
 242 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 no one will think of their return to the close 
 vicinity of danger; it is Nimes that will be 
 searched for them." 
 
 " But why can I not go straight to them now? " 
 Francois demanded impatiently. 
 
 The cobbler sighed. " Monsieur," he said 
 patiently, " every house, every cottage is 
 watched, and if you are recognized " 
 
 He broke off with an expressive gesture. 
 
 " I see," d' Aguesseau replied ; " you are a 
 wise man, Petit Bossu. Tell me about Madame 
 de St. Cyr." 
 
 " She died yesterday in the jail here," the 
 hunchback answered ; " the shock of the arrest 
 and mademoiselle's danger ended her life." 
 
 D'Aguesseau clenched his hand. " Mon 
 Dieu ! " he exclaimed, " how long wilt Thou 
 afflict us? how long?" 
 
 " It was best so," the cobbler remarked quietly. 
 " If she had lived, Mademoiselle Rosaline would 
 have sacrificed herself to save her. She believed 
 that you and her grandmother were both cap- 
 tives ; M. de Baudri told her so, and promised 
 to save your lives to release you both only 
 on the condition that she should marry him."
 
 IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR 243 
 
 " The accursed villain ! " broke out Frangois, 
 laying his hand on his sword : " may I be spared 
 to chastise him ! " 
 
 He walked to and fro in the little room in 
 suppressed fury ; all the fierce impulses of a bold 
 and daring nature were aroused. 
 
 "Dieu!" he exclaimed, in a low tone, "I 
 cannot go to England for Cavalier ; I must stay 
 and fight this monster ! " 
 
 " Nay," remarked le Bossu, gravely, " you 
 must save Mademoiselle de St. Cyr." 
 
 Frangois came to himself. " I ought not to 
 need you to remind me," he said. " I will go 
 at once to the appointed place and wait ; it is 
 not long now, but, in the meantime, is she 
 safe?" 
 
 "We can only trust in Providence," replied 
 the cobbler, " since to approach her would in- 
 crease her risks. But pardon me, monsieur 
 if you stay much longer in Nimes, you will 
 be arrested." 
 
 " I know it," he replied ; " I thought only of 
 her when I came, but I must get away now for 
 her sake. Chariot, I thank you," he said, hold- 
 ing out his hand; "I do not know why you
 
 244 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 should do so much for us who are, in your eyes, 
 heretics and criminals." 
 
 The hunchback smiled as he returned the 
 pressure of d'Aguesseau's hand. 
 
 " Life is a mystery," he rejoined, with a new 
 dignity that became him well, " and so is death." 
 
 He went with Francois down the Rue St. 
 Antoine and stood at the gate watching him 
 until his figure disappeared on the long white 
 road. Later le Bossu would go himself to keep 
 the appointment, for he too had an errand 
 there ; nor could he rest until he knew that 
 mademoiselle was safely out of the neighbor- 
 hood of Nimes. But there was time yet, and he 
 wanted to know what Pere Ambroise intended 
 to do, and where M. de Baudri would next cast 
 his net. 
 
 Meanwhile, out at St. Ce*saire, Babet and 
 Rosaline were safely hidden in the blacksmith's 
 house. It was a little cottage on the outskirts 
 of the village, and from the rear the inmates 
 could easily reach the woods about St. Cyr. 
 The smith had been a faithful though humble 
 friend to the family at the chateau, and like 
 many others, he was a concealed Huguenot.
 
 IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR 245 
 
 He and his wife therefore gladly ministered to 
 Rosaline's comfort and set a simple dinner of 
 pot-au-feu before their two guests. Babet and 
 Truffe did ample justice to the meal, but Rosa- 
 line could not eat, in spite of Babet's remon- 
 strances. The young girl was frantic to be off, 
 to fly to her lover, that they might seek safety 
 together ; and she had not the older woman's 
 prudence, who felt that another dinner might 
 be a long way off, and who did not believe pro- 
 foundly in the culinary accomplishments of the 
 Cevenols. 
 
 The hour came at last, and bidding her faith- 
 ful friends, the smith and his wife, adieu, Rosa- 
 line set out with her escort, Babet and the dog. 
 Nothing had occurred to alarm them or to indi- 
 cate that their hiding-place was suspected, and 
 the blacksmith's boy, employed for scout duties, 
 brought in the report that St. Cyr had been 
 deserted since the previous day, when Rosaline 
 had left it. The two women entered the place, 
 therefore, with lighter hearts. Babet was deter- 
 mined to enter the chateau, if possible, to secure 
 Madame de St. Cyr's jewels and a considerable 
 sum of money that had been secreted to provide
 
 246 THE COBBLER OF N$MES 
 
 for just such an emergency; for they had for 
 many years expected to be denounced as 
 Huguenots. Rosaline was to remain near the 
 hedge that surrounded the garden, to warn 
 Babet if any one approached, while the older 
 and stronger woman went for madame's iron 
 box. Rosaline doubted the wisdom of the 
 attempt, yet neither of the two women cared 
 to face the wilderness without money to pay for 
 either shelter or food, and it was impossible to 
 open the secret place where the box was while 
 the dragoons lurked about the house. 
 
 They approached the chateau with great 
 caution, listening and watching, but no one ap- 
 peared, not a leaf stirred, and Rosaline's doves 
 were cooing in the sun. 
 
 " Ah, my poor birds," she said sadly. " I am 
 glad that the blacksmith's good wife will take 
 them ; otherwise I should feel as if I were leav- 
 ing them to perish." 
 
 Babet did not pause to listen to these senti- 
 ments. Being sure that no one was about, she 
 entered the garden, followed by Truffe, who 
 dashed eagerly along, anxious to be at home 
 again. Still there were no sounds or signs of
 
 IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR 247 
 
 humanity, and advancing with a firmer step, 
 Babet entered the house unmolested. 
 
 Meanwhile Rosaline, left alone outside of the 
 hedge, walked to and fro in the shade of the mul- 
 berries, watching the place and beginning to feel 
 easier when she heard no sound, for she knew 
 that Truffe's bark would have announced the 
 presence of strangers. It would take Babet 
 some little time, and Rosaline walked further on 
 among the trees ; this might be the last time 
 that she would ever approach the home of 
 her childhood, and her heart was very sad. 
 Thoughts of her grandmother thronged into her 
 mind, and she lived over again the agony of 
 yesterday. Absorbed in her painful revery, she 
 forgot her surroundings, and unconsciously 
 strayed farther into the wood. Here it was 
 thickest; the tree trunks clustered closely and 
 the shadows lay about her; beyond, a broad 
 band of sunlight fell athwart the green shade. 
 The moss under her feet was thick and brown, 
 and already the leaves were falling. 
 
 Suddenly some one sprang upon her from 
 behind, strong fingers clasping her throat and 
 choking back the cries that rose to her lips.
 
 248 THE COBBLER OF N$MES 
 
 She resisted with all her might, but her unseen 
 foe was stronger than she, and forced her for- 
 ward. In vain she strove to call for help, to 
 evade the clutching arms ; then her foot caught 
 in the gnarled root of a mulberry tree and she 
 fell, face downward, with those terrible hands 
 still at her throat. Then the shock of the fall, 
 the horror of her situation, and a choking sensa- 
 tion overcame her and she lost consciousness.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE OLD WINDMILL 
 
 WHEN Rosaline came to herself it was with 
 a bewildered recollection of some horrible event, 
 and, for a few moments, she was scarcely con- 
 scious of her surroundings. Then she opened 
 her eyes and tried to move, but she could not. 
 She was in a sitting posture, her hands and 
 feet tied, and a rope, slipped under her arms, 
 held her securely against a wall behind her. 
 The discovery of her situation roused all her 
 dormant faculties, and she looked about her, 
 trying to find out where she was. She saw 
 above her head familiar rafters, and then she 
 discovered the door closed opposite her, and 
 recognized the old windmill, near which Fran- 
 cois and she had spent those hours of happi- 
 ness, so cruelly interrupted. The light in the 
 place was very dim, and the poor girl could not 
 at first see plainly in all the corners. She 
 thought herself alone and wondered where her
 
 250 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 captor was, and what was to come next. Then 
 the hope that her cries might bring help began 
 to rise in her heart, and she was on the point 
 of screaming aloud, when a sound struck her 
 ear that froze her blood in her veins. It 
 was a laugh, but it sounded like a fiendish 
 chuckle. It came from her right hand, and she 
 turned her head quickly and looked into the 
 face of Mere Tigrane. An exclamation of 
 horror and fear burst from Rosaline's heart, 
 and she shrieked for help help ! and the 
 old fishwife laughed and rocked to and fro. 
 She was sitting on an old log, in the dim cor- 
 ner, and she was quite undisturbed by her 
 prisoner's cries. 
 
 " Shriek away, mademoiselle ! " she said 
 pleasantly. " Ciel ! what a voice she has ! But 
 no one will hear you except dear old Mere 
 Tigrane." 
 
 Rosaline's heart sank; it might be too true, 
 for they had arranged to avoid the mill because 
 strangers sometimes strayed there. She must 
 have been carried to it, in this fearful woman's 
 arms, for it was a considerable distance from 
 the spot where she had fainted. She sank back
 
 THE OLD WINDMILL 2$l 
 
 against the wall with a groan ; she knew it was 
 useless to appeal to this horrible creature; just 
 such wretched women made a living by inform- 
 ing against the Huguenots, and there was no 
 mercy in them. Rosaline did not know what 
 to do; it was useless to plead with Mere 
 Tigrane, and it seemed useless, too, to hope 
 for rescue; moreover, the girl had conceived 
 such a horror of the old witch, such a scorn of 
 her vileness, that she could not endure the 
 sight of her. She closed her eyes and prayed 
 silently, but she made no sign of begging for 
 mercy. Her face was like a white rose in the 
 dim light, and her hair lay in a pale aureole 
 about her brow; but, with all her agony, she 
 bore herself proudly. 
 
 La Louve sat on her log and watched, gloat- 
 ing over her and running her red tongue along 
 the edge of her lips. 
 
 "Art comfortable, my lady-bird?" she asked 
 amiably. " What ! so proud that you will not 
 speak to poor Mere Tigrane? And what do 
 you suppose I intend to do with such a fine 
 lady, eh?" 
 
 Rosaline opened her eyes and looked at her
 
 252 THE COBBLER OF NIMES 
 
 with an effort, her soul rilled with loathing, and 
 the old hag saw it in her face and hated her 
 for it. 
 
 " God knows what you want of me," Rosaline 
 said. " I have never harmed you, and I cannot 
 tell why you so misuse me." 
 
 " You never harmed me ! " la Louve cried, 
 throwing up her bony hands. "Dame! you 
 are a peril to my soul, you little heretic ! " 
 
 Rosaline read the evil look in the hag's eyes 
 and knew that she would never relent; and so 
 great was her own abhorrence that it was well- 
 nigh impossible to look at her again. ( She 
 turned her eyes toward the door, therefore, and 
 closed her lips; she had no hope save in 
 heaven. 
 
 " How would mademoiselle like the Tour de 
 Constance?" Mere Tigrane inquired pleasantly, 
 " T is a healthful place and full of her friends. 
 Dame de Dieu, what an opportunity to travel 
 without pay from Nimes to Aiguemortes ! " 
 
 She stopped and looked at the girl eagerly, 
 trying to discover what emotions were stirring 
 in the heart of her victim, longing for tears and 
 entreaties ; but Rosaline sat like a statue.
 
 THE OLD WINDMILL 253 
 
 " Nom de St. Denis ! " she exclaimed at last, 
 " how proud mademoiselle is, an aristocrat ! 
 But 't is not the Tour de Constance, ma cherie" 
 she added, with a mocking laugh. " No, no, 
 there must be a better fate for such a lovely 
 prisoner. Dame! but your flesh is white I 
 could eat it. How much does mademoiselle 
 think that M. de Baudri would pay for such 
 a prize? " 
 
 " Dieu ! " cried Rosaline, shaken out of her 
 resolve, "are you a woman? Is it possible 
 that the bon Dieu put such a heart in a 
 woman ? " 
 
 "A woman, my pretty?" retorted the hag, 
 with a peal of wild laughter. " Ay and once 
 a pretty one ! Now you see what I am and 
 you are like to live to be like me, unless I wring 
 that pretty, white throat now ! I am a woman, 
 morbleu, yes this is what a woman becomes ! " 
 and she crooked her talon ringers pointing at 
 herself. "Do you think I will pity you? 
 Dame, I would see you burn this minute with 
 joy, you little white fool ! " 
 
 Rosaline nerved herself to bear it without 
 tears ; she struggled hard to ward off the faint-
 
 254 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 ness that stole upon her, clasping her heart in 
 a vice. 
 
 "What do you mean to do with me?" she 
 asked, in a strange voice, her eyes chained 
 now by a horrible fascination to the old hag's 
 face. 
 
 " Sell you, my sweetheart," Mere Tigrane 
 retorted, showing her fangs, " to the highest 
 bidder in Nimes. Dame, you are pretty enough 
 to keep poor Mere Tigrane's pot boiling for a 
 year or two, my sweetie." 
 
 " God will not let you do it ! " cried Rosaline, 
 with white lips ; " I am His." 
 
 La Louve shrieked with laughter. 
 
 " You heretic ! " she said gleefully, " you are 
 the devil's body and soul my fine lady, and 
 you will wish yourself in hell presently, I 
 doubt not, ma cherie ! Next time you drive 
 Mere Tigrane away with her fish, I think you 
 will not hold that little head so high." 
 
 "Mon Dien /" cried Rosaline, in amazement, 
 " is it possible that my one little act has made 
 you hate me so ? " 
 
 Mere Tigrane shook her head, wagging it 
 slowly from side to side. "No," she replied,
 
 THE OLD WINDMILL 2$$ 
 
 " I hate you for living ; I hate all men and all 
 women and all children. I would blast them if 
 I could ; I live on hatred ! Mtre de Dieu ! how 
 I love to see a heretic burn ! " 
 
 Rosaline closed her eyes with a shudder, and 
 la Louve sat looking at her thoughtfully, with a 
 greedy eye. Dame ! but she would make 
 money out of this dainty morsel. She had an 
 eye for beauty, and she knew its market value. 
 She was even content to let her victim rest a 
 little, while she turned over in her own mind 
 many business matters. She could not get the 
 girl back to Nimes before night, for she had no 
 intention of having her prize snatched from her 
 by any adventurer upon the road. She was 
 not without uneasiness too, for M. de Baudri 
 might yet come to St. Cyr, and, if he did, his 
 search would be thorough and she was likely 
 to lose her pay. Yet her scheme had worked so 
 far like a charm. She had seen Babet and 
 Rosaline leave Nimes ; their disguise had not 
 deceived her ferret eyes, and she had tracked 
 them to St. Ce"saire and from St. Ce"saire to the 
 chateau, for she possessed the patient watchful- 
 ness of a fiend. Her success had surpassed her
 
 256 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 most sanguine hopes, and she gloated over it 
 with savage delight. She knew that she was 
 strong enough to deal with Babet, and for the 
 present she looked for no other interference. 
 
 The silence that had fallen upon the little mill 
 was almost more oppressive to Rosaline than 
 the hag's dreadful talk ; the girl felt as if she 
 could not endure it longer, her heart throbbed 
 heavily, there was a choking sensation in her 
 throat and it seemed as if she could not draw 
 another breath. And then she struggled in 
 her bonds and shrieked aloud, for she heard 
 Truffe's short bark. Her scream was answered 
 just as Mere Tigrane sprang upon her and thrust 
 a rag into her mouth as a gag. The fish- 
 wife was furious, though she expected no one 
 but Babet. 
 
 "Dame!" she ejaculated, drawing a knife 
 from her bosom, " I '11 make short work of the 
 woman and the cur ! " 
 
 The mill door had stood open too long on 
 rusty hinges to be easily secured, and she had 
 only been able to lay an old timber across it. 
 She took her position therefore, ready to strike, 
 just as the door was shaken from without and
 
 THE OLD WINDMILL 2$? 
 
 pushed heavily inward. It resisted the first 
 attempt, and she burst out into shrill laughter ; 
 but a second push sent the timber rolling back 
 a foot, and the third opened the door wide 
 enough to admit not Babet, but the cobbler. 
 
 Mere Tigrane, taken by surprise, withheld her 
 knife, but when Babet followed him she struck a 
 vicious blow at le Bossu. 
 
 "Diable!" she shrieked. "Petit Bossu! 
 take yourself off this is my game ! " 
 
 Chariot quietly thrust his hand into his breast 
 and drew out a pistol, levelling it at the hag's 
 head. 
 
 " If you move one finger," he said grimly, 
 " you are dead. Babet, take her knife and loose 
 mademoiselle." 
 
 But Babet would not touch her. She made a 
 wide circle to avoid any contact, and drawing a 
 knife from her own wallet, began to cut the 
 bands about Rosaline's feet and hands, all the 
 while pouring out a torrent of sympathy and 
 self-reproach. Why had she left her lamb to 
 fall among wolves? 
 
 Rosaline was too faint for any words except 
 a murmur of thanksgiving, and the air was filled 
 17
 
 258 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 with Mere Tigrane's oaths as she writhed help- 
 less before le Bossu's pistol. He was watching 
 Babet. 
 
 " Do not cut the long rope," he said grimly ; 
 " untie it we have need of it." 
 
 At this, la Louve began to howl, rocking to 
 and fro. 
 
 " You villain ! " she whined, " you dare not 
 hang me! M. de Baudri is coming; you will 
 be punished " She went on with a stream 
 of oaths. 
 
 Le Bossu stopped her. " Another word," he 
 said, " and I '11 shoot you. You will not be 
 hung, though you deserve it. Babet, stuff 
 those dirty rags in her mouth, we have heard 
 enough." k 
 
 Babet obeyed this time, first relieving the hag 
 of her knife and binding her hands. 
 
 " There 's some dinner for you to chew, my 
 beauty," Babet said pleasantly, and proceeded 
 to tie her feet. 
 
 "Now the rope," ordered the cobbler; " slip 
 it twice around her waist that is it; draw 
 her back to the post and tie it securely." 
 
 He helped Babet in this, putting the pistol
 
 THE OLD WINDMILL 259 
 
 back into his bosom. Mere Tigrane was black 
 in the face with rage, but she could offer no 
 resistance; only, her terrible eyes leered at 
 them red as blood. 
 
 Rosaline had gone out and was leaning 
 against a tree, her face colorless and her hands 
 clasped. When the others joined her, she 
 turned and threw her arms about Babet and 
 burst into tears, too overcome to speak. The 
 woman tried to comfort and soothe her. 
 
 "'Twas Truffe who found you," she said, 
 " bless the creature ! The cobbler and I would 
 have been searching still, but suddenly she put 
 her nose to the ground and came straight as 
 an arrow ! " 
 
 Le Bossu was not listening to them ; he had 
 walked a few yards into the wood and knelt 
 down, bending his head close to the ground. 
 When he arose his face was white and he 
 moved quickly toward them. 
 
 " Have courage, mademoiselle," he said 
 quietly, " but let us begone, there are horsemen 
 in the road by St. Cyr; the dragoons have 
 returned."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE COBBLER'S BARGAIN 
 
 THE two women and le Bossu had followed 
 the course of the stream, walking rapidly along 
 the bank, and now they descended the rocky 
 path by the cataract. They were travelling 
 west and the afternoon sun shone full in their 
 faces; the wind was blowing too, a chill 
 November wind that swept the leaves from the 
 chestnut trees and dropped the empty burrs. 
 They had not wasted breath in words, and now 
 le Bossu left them and ran forward, looking 
 under the lowest branches ; then he whistled 
 softly. There was a response, and Babet and 
 Rosaline stopped in alarm ; they expected no 
 one. The next moment, however, a tall figure 
 came rapidly towards them and Rosaline recog- 
 nized her lover. She gave a little sob of joy 
 and ran to meet him, the dog bounding beside 
 her. They met a few yards in front of the 
 others and he caught her in his arms, support-
 
 THE COBBLER'S BARGAIN 26 1 
 
 ing her trembling form. Le Bossu looked but 
 once; in their joy they had forgotten him, He 
 turned his back and approached Babet, putting 
 a small but heavy bag in her hands. 
 
 " That is mademoiselle's," he said calmly ; 
 "guard it well. And now go on in God's 
 name ! Do not let them tarry, for Death is 
 behind them." 
 
 Babet had learned to value the poor little 
 hunchback, but she was sober and undemon- 
 strative. 
 
 "Where are you going?" she asked bluntly. 
 
 He pointed to the woods. " Back," he said, 
 " to keep them from finding Mere Tigrane who 
 would set them on your track. I will delay 
 them all I can." 
 
 " It is well," Babet remarked, " you are a 
 good man, Chariot ; the bon Dieu will bless you. 
 I suppose you do not want the blessing of a 
 heretic? " 
 
 He smiled. " Do not tarry," he said, warn- 
 ingly. "Keep straight to the west; M. 
 d'Aguesseau will guide you. Adieu ! " 
 
 He looked once more toward the lovers, but 
 they were still absorbed in each other. The
 
 262 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 cobbler turned sadly away, and climbing the 
 steep path was lost to sight among the trees 
 before Rosaline knew that he had gone ; and 
 he never heard her thanks, never knew her 
 remorse because she had, for the moment, for- 
 gotten him in her own joy. There was no 
 time for her to redeem her error; there was 
 only time to flee on and on, with a terrible 
 danger pursuing them and lurking for them at 
 every step. 
 
 Meanwhile le Bossu went back through the 
 woods. His heart was full, but he was not 
 without a feeling of joy. So far she was safe, 
 and he had just given Babet all his savings. 
 His years of patient labor had not been in vain 
 if his money could help Rosaline now. He 
 would have liked to speak to her, to touch 
 her hand; but what was he? Le Bossu, le 
 savetier, the beggarly cripple of St. Antoine ! 
 It was enough, and more than enough, to serve 
 her. Dieu / would his wretched lameness keep 
 him from reaching the windmill before the 
 dragoons? He walked fast, urging his energies 
 to the utmost, but the way seemed long indeed. 
 A picture of her in her lover's arms, with the
 
 THE COBBLER'S BARGAIN 263 
 
 sunshine on her hair, rose before his eyes and 
 he set his teeth. What was it to him ? He was 
 only a hunchbacked cobbler, he could scarcely 
 be made of the same clay that they were, yet 
 his starved soul cried out. Now and then he 
 stooped down and listened, but the place was 
 silent save for the rustling of the wind amid the 
 dead leaves ; winter was coming. 
 
 At last, the mill ! He did not pause after 
 assuring himself that la Louve was still secure ; 
 he fastened the door as tightly as he could and 
 sped on toward the chateau. Fortune smiled 
 upon him ; he was just in time. Not twenty 
 yards away he came upon M. de Baudri and 
 a couple of dragoons. The hunchback was 
 halted by a sharp challenge, but the soldiers 
 looked indifferent when they recognized him. 
 Their commander was in a black temper, and 
 he ordered the cobbler to approach. 
 
 " What are you doing here, Petit Bossu ? " 
 he demanded fiercely. " Out with all you 
 know, or " He drew his hand expressively 
 across his throat. 
 
 Chariot assumed an attitude of profound 
 respect, his eyes on the ground.
 
 264 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 " I am monsieur's humblest servant," he said, 
 " I have been over yonder to sell my shoes in 
 St. Ce"saire, and I came here to look about 
 monsieur understands, the place is open, the 
 house of heretics ; the poor cobbler thought to 
 find some trifle left by the soldiers." 
 
 " It would be a devilish small thing if they 
 left it ! " retorted M. de Baudri, with a grim 
 smile. "Look, you little beast, no trifling 
 these heretics have escaped. Have you seen 
 them?" 
 
 The cobbler assumed an air of importance. 
 
 " My life is valuable to me, monsieur," he 
 said, " and if I tell, the Camisards may kill me, as 
 they kill the cur6s ; nevertheless, for the sake of 
 my soul Monsieur, will the Intendant pay?" 
 
 "Diable!" shouted de Baudri; "pay! I 
 can pay if I choose, but I '11 shoot you if you 
 trifle." 
 
 " I will guide you, monsieur," the cobbler 
 replied, with a stubborn air, " but I will have 
 pay for the risk, a hundred crowns." 
 
 De Baudri burst out with a volley of oaths, 
 but he flung some money at the hunchback. 
 
 "There is some, beast," he said coarsely ;
 
 THE COBBLER'S BARGAIN 26$ 
 
 " and you shall have the rest if you find the 
 girl, Rosaline de St. Cyr." 
 
 The cobbler gathered up the money and 
 counted it with greedy fingers, M. de Baudri 
 watching him with scornful eyes. 
 
 "You promise the rest, monsieur?" le Bossu 
 persisted, with a shrewd look. 
 
 " Dame ! " retorted the other ; " you '11 get it 
 and hell too, if you don't make haste. Where 
 are these women ? " 
 
 The hunchback drew closer to him, lowering 
 his voice and speaking with his hand before his 
 mouth. 
 
 " You shall have them all, monsieur," he said, 
 " the girl, the old woman, M. d'Aguesseau, and 
 the dog ! " 
 
 " Bien ! " exclaimed de Baudri cheerfully ; 
 " you shall have your hundred crowns. Viens 
 done, show me the way ! " 
 
 The hunchback pointed toward the north. 
 
 " Up yonder," he said, " behind those rocks 
 on the hill, there is a grotto I know it by 
 accident; there they have hidden since morn- 
 ing. The way is long and rocky; monsieur 
 must follow me."
 
 266 THE COBBLER OF NJMES 
 
 " Will they not see us approaching in time to 
 fly?" he asked sharply. 
 
 Le Bossu shook his head with a smile. 
 
 " Nay," he replied quietly, " we must go as if 
 we intended to take the St. Hippolyte road ; 
 then, when we approach the spot we can sur- 
 round them. The country is open and bare 
 below the cave, though it lies in a little wood. 
 They could not escape us." 
 
 " Go on, then," said de Baudri, impatiently ; 
 " to the cave or au diable ! I tell thee plainly, 
 though, that deceit will cost thee thy life." 
 
 " So be it, monsieur," rejoined the hunch- 
 back, calmly; "and the bon Dieu judge between 
 me and thee," he added to himself. 
 
 A few sharp orders were given, the bugle was 
 sounded, and the troopers gathered in the road, 
 each man at his horse's head. M. de Baudri 
 came out of the garden and leaped into the 
 saddle; then his eyes lighted on the cobbler 
 standing quietly in the road. 
 
 " Here," he said sharply, " Petit Bossu must 
 be mounted ; bring up a horse." 
 
 " I cannot ride," said the cobbler, meekly ; " my 
 back and my hips, monsieur, will not permit it."
 
 THE COBBLER'S BARGAIN 267 
 
 " Mille tonnerres f " ejaculated the officer, with 
 a black frown, "you mean to walk? We shall 
 not be there for an hour ! " 
 
 " I can walk fast, at times, monsieur," replied 
 Chariot ; " I will do my best. If you had but a 
 cart " 
 
 M. de Baudri cursed him and his deformity. 
 
 " A cart ! " he said mockingly ; " a litter ! Do 
 you suppose that dragoons drive out in car- 
 riages; such vermin should not cumber the 
 earth. If we miss them, Mere de Dieu, I '11 hang 
 you ! " 
 
 "We cannot miss them, monsieur," rejoined 
 the cobbler, patiently ; " they dare not leave their 
 lurking place in daylight, and it is yet an hour 
 to sunset." 
 
 " Dame de Dieu, let us be off! " exclaimed 
 de Baudr. and gave the order to mount. 
 
 The long line of dragoons swung into their 
 saddles and the little cavalcade moved slowly off, 
 with le Bossu in advance. 
 
 The sun was sinking over the valley of the 
 Vaunage, and its rays shone on the towers and 
 spires of Nimes and sparkled on the polished 
 steel of the soldiers' accoutrements. The hills
 
 268 THE COBBLER OF NlMES 
 
 were purple against the November sky, and 
 clouds drifted overhead. Autumn had stripped 
 the landscape of much of its beauty, and the 
 arid plains about them showed but little verdure 
 save a low growth of juniper bushes. It was 
 not a spot to afford many places of conceal- 
 ment, and as the little troop advanced, M. de 
 Baudri's keen eyes swept the scene with the 
 savage glance of a vulture seeking its prey.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 "O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?" 
 
 AN hour later the dusty little cavalcade filed 
 slowly up a steep and rocky hill and drew rein 
 beside a strip of woodland on the summit. On 
 every side the country rolled away, barren and 
 broken with crags ; here and there a low growth 
 of juniper bushes or a solitary fig tree, where 
 the soil was more fertile. The dragoons dis- 
 mounted at M. de Baudri's command and sur- 
 rounded the spot. It would be impossible for 
 any one to escape down that bare hillside un- 
 seen. De Baudri's eyes burned fiercely; he 
 thought his prey within his grasp. Le Bossu 
 was lame from the long and weary walk, and his 
 drawn face was white, but his expression was 
 full of content. 
 
 " A whole hour," he said to himself. " Please 
 God she is out of reach ! " 
 
 He obeyed a motion of M. de Baudri's hand 
 and led the way into the wood. It was not
 
 2/O THE COBBLER OF NtMES 
 
 thick and there was but little underbrush, for 
 even here the ground was rocky and unchari- 
 table. He looked about as he walked, as if he 
 wanted to remember even little things now; 
 almost all the trees were chestnuts, these and 
 mulberries growing best in the neighborhood of 
 Nimes. He noticed the moss and the lichens, 
 and here and there a wild vine trailed across the 
 way. The wind blew keenly now from the 
 north, and overhead the gray clouds hung low, 
 but the west was glorious, the sun hanging just 
 above the horizon. The hunchback noted all 
 these things, and he heard the heavy tread of 
 the men behind him, the rattle of M. de Baudri's 
 sword. He walked on ; a great peace was filling 
 his soul, his pulses throbbed evenly, he lifted his 
 head ; his life was, after all, worth much, it was 
 to pay her ransom. He came to the centre of 
 the wood and sat down on a large rock ; before 
 him the trees parted and he could look straight 
 toward the west, the whole landscape at his feet. 
 He drew M. de Baudri's money from his wallet 
 and cast it on the ground. 
 
 A suspicion had been dawning upon de Bau- 
 dri since they had dismounted, and he halted
 
 "O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?" 2JI 
 
 now and stared fiercely from the cobbler to the 
 despised coins, the price of blood. 
 
 " Sang de Dieu / " he thundered, " where is 
 the grotto, slave ? " 
 
 Le Bossu turned on him a calm face. 
 
 " There is none, monsieur," he replied simply. 
 
 De Baudri broke out with a terrible oath, 
 drawing his sword. 
 
 " You lying, humped toad ! " he said, " how 
 dared you do this?" 
 
 He made a move as if to strike him dead, and 
 then a sudden thought checked him. 
 
 " Bah ! " he ejaculated, " soil my sword with 
 the blood of such vermin ? I am a fool. Where 
 is the girl?" he added fiercely. " Pardieu, I 
 will wring your neck ! " 
 
 " I do not know where she is," replied le 
 Bossu, truthfully enough, for he did not know 
 where they were then. 
 
 "And you led us here to cheat us, slave?" 
 said de Baudri. " A fine scheme as you will 
 learn to your cost. If I thought you knew 
 where she was, I 'd torture it out of you with 
 hot irons." 
 
 The cobbler did not look at him ; his brown
 
 272 THE COBBLER OF N$MES 
 
 eyes dwelt on the distance, and his soul was 
 uplifted by the approaching joy of self-sacrifice. 
 He did not hear the abuse that M. de Baudri 
 continued to pour upon him ; his life was pass- 
 ing before his eyes, his wretched, abused child- 
 hood, his sharp mortification over his physical 
 infirmity, his silent, intense longing for friend- 
 ship and love, his despised solitude, his hard, 
 thankless labor ; and now it was over, and not 
 in vain ! " Mother of God," he prayed, " comfort 
 the wretched." He awoke to hear M. de Baudri 
 ordering his soldiers to bring a rope. 
 
 A dragoon went for a piece that was coiled 
 on the back of one of the horses. The troopers 
 never hunted heretics without rope. He re- 
 turned promptly, and approaching le Bossu was 
 slipping the noose over his head, but another 
 scheme had occurred to the leader. 
 
 " Hang him by the feet," he said coolly, 
 pointing with his white hand to a tree. " Sacre- 
 bleu ! 't will hurt more so." 
 
 They secured the rope about the hunchback's 
 feet while their victim watched them with calm 
 eyes. 
 
 " What matter," he thought, " if I have saved
 
 "O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?" 2/3 
 
 her? May the bon Dieu make my sacrifice 
 complete ! " 
 
 De Baudri watched him coolly, wondering 
 that the rapt face was so calm. 
 
 " When I give the order," he said to the 
 soldiers, " haul him up and let him hang twenty 
 minutes. Now, rogue, where is the girl ? " 
 
 No answer; the clear eyes looked straight 
 toward the setting sun, over the beautiful valley 
 of the Vaunage. The radiance of the west fell 
 on his face, as though he looked through those 
 golden gates into Paradise. 
 
 " Nom de St. Denis ! " ejaculated de Baudri, 
 " what a stubborn fool. Now, my men ! " 
 
 He raised his hand carelessly and the cripple 
 was drawn up by the feet to the limb of a tree, 
 his head hanging with the face to the west 
 Ten minutes passed twenty. 
 
 " Fire ! " said M. de Baudri. 
 
 There was the crash of a volley, the blue 
 smoke rose, the poor, misshapen body swung 
 around in the red sunlight, and there was 
 silence, broken at last by the trample of 
 horses as the troopers mounted and rode down 
 the hill. 
 
 18
 
 2/4 THE COBBLER OF N?MES 
 
 The sun set in a sea of gold ; the gray clouds 
 above turned the color of a red rose ; a haze 
 floated over Nimes. In the wood, only the 
 dead leaves rustled as they fell. In the upper 
 room of the shop of Two Shoes, the candle 
 before the shrine had burned down to the very 
 end. It flickered and flared up, a single flame 
 in the gloom, and then it went out forever.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE SHIP AT SEA 
 
 Two weeks later a party of wayfarers came 
 to the old mill at St. Cyr. The door was 
 fastened, but they opened it, only to recoil with 
 horror. They found a hideous old woman tied 
 there. She had been dead a long while and 
 the fearful distortion of her face sent them 
 shrieking from the spot. Even in death Mere 
 Tigrane had not lost her power to strike terror 
 to the hearts of others. 
 
 Not long afterwards a ship was crossing the 
 channel to Dover, on a calm sea with a blue 
 sky overhead. The white foam gathered in its 
 wake and the sun glistened on its full-set sails 
 and on the flag bearing the crosses of St. 
 George and St. Andrew. On the deck stood 
 Rosaline and her lover,- her husband now, 
 for they had been wedded in the Cevennes, 
 and near them sat Babet contentedly feeding
 
 2/6 THE COBBLER OF NfMES 
 
 Truffe with a cake. Rosaline leaned on the 
 rail, looking back toward France. 
 
 " Dear native land," she sighed softly, " I 
 may never see you more ; yet I am con- 
 tent. Ah, Francois, we ought to be thankful 
 indeed. I am glad that Cavalier sent you to 
 England; I can bear no more, and it may 
 be we can move these strangers to help the 
 cause." 
 
 "I pray so," he replied gently; "England's 
 queen is favorable to us. At least, you will be 
 safe ; I could not take my wife to those rugged 
 hiding-places in the Ce"vennes, with winter so 
 near. Ah, my love, are you satisfied ? " 
 
 She looked up with tender eyes. " I am 
 content, my husband," she answered softly. 
 " I bless the bon Dieu, but my heart is sore at 
 the thought of poor Chariot. Can it be that 
 the blacksmith's boy was mistaken? Could 
 they really hang him for not betraying us ? " 
 
 " I fear so," replied d'Aguesseau sadly ; 
 " the report came straight enough. Let us 
 remember, though, that it ended his suffer- 
 ings; he told me that his life was full of 
 pain."
 
 THE SHIP A T SEA 2?/ 
 
 Rosaline looked back over the blue sea with 
 tearful eyes. 
 
 " Poor little Chariot," she murmured gently. 
 " The hunchbacked cobbler with the soul of a 
 hero and a martyr. His memory shall be 
 sacred to me forever." 
 
 THE END
 
 The Cardinal's Musketeer 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE 
 
 MARY IMLAY TAYLOR 
 
 I2mo, $1.25. 
 
 The hereof "The Cardinal's Musketeer" is a knightly 
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 For sale by all booksellers, or mailed on receipt of price by the publishers, 
 
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 OF KINGS 
 
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 12mo . . $1.25 
 
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 THE STORY OF TONTY. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE, 
 
 By Mrs. MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD. 
 I2mo, 224 pages. Price, $1.25. 
 
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