SALT 
 
 .in j^^i Bm Ww, 
 
 PIERRE
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 SALT 
 LAKE
 
 NEW BORZOI NOVELS 
 SPRING, 1933 
 
 WANDERERS 
 
 Knut Hamsun 
 MEN OF AFFAIRS 
 
 Roland Pertoaee 
 THE FAIR REWARDS 
 
 Thomas Beer 
 I WALKED IN ARDEN 
 
 Jack Crawford 
 GUEST THE ONE-EYED 
 
 Gunnar Gunnarsson 
 THE GARDEN PARTY 
 
 Katherine Mansfield 
 THE LONGEST JOURNEY 
 
 E. M. Forster 
 THE SOUL OF A CHILD 
 
 Edwin Bjorkman 
 CYTHEREA 
 
 Joseph Hergesheimer 
 EXPLORERS OF THE DAWN 
 
 Mazo de la Roche 
 THE WHITE KAMI 
 
 Edward A Id en Jewell
 
 SALT LAKE 
 
 A NOVEL BY PIERRE BENOIT 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 
 
 FLORENCE AND VICTOR LLONA 
 
 "Les truites qui y descendent quelquefois par les 
 ruisseaux meurent immdiatement." 
 
 J. REMY (Voyage au pays des Mormons.) 
 
 NEW YORK ALFRED -A- KNOPF MCMXXH
 
 COPYRIGHT. IMI. BY ALBIN MICHEL 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 
 ALFRED A. KNOPF, Inc. 
 
 Published. March, 19B 
 
 HUTU) IK THI HNITED 8TATI8 OT AMKWOA
 
 To 
 FERNAND VANDEREM 
 
 1523769
 
 1 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 sun did not appear on the morn- 
 ing of the a6th of June, 1858, until 
 a little before seven o'clock. Va- 
 porous clouds of heat had veiled it at its rise. 
 When it was free, yellow and radiant, Father 
 d'Exiles had just concluded the celebration of 
 the Holy Sacrifice. 
 
 Calmly, he locked up the holy vessels and 
 the priestly robes of the ceremony in his shab- 
 by canvas missionary valise. Then he car- 
 ried the valise to a corner of the veranda, 
 which was heavily encumbered with packing 
 cases, and leaned against the balustrade. 
 
 Far above, from the East to the West, some 
 birds were passing. He recognized them: 
 curlews, teals, black swans, grebes. 
 
 For a moment he remained motionless ; then 
 he consulted his watch. 
 
 "Coriolan," he said to the negro servant 
 who was playing ball against the adobe walls 
 
 9
 
 io SALT LAKE 
 
 of the veranda, "go tell your mistress that it is 
 time." 
 
 The negro returned shortly. 
 
 "Missus is not ready," he said with a lisp, 
 "but she wants to see the abbe." 
 
 The Jesuit shrugged his shoulders. He 
 mounted the stair-case and, after knocking, 
 entered the room of Annabel Lee. 
 
 Prolonged by a terrace on the roof of the 
 ground-floor porch, the room was very large. 
 The charming pieces of furniture which until 
 a week before had decorated it, had now dis- 
 appeared. In their place, five or six enor- 
 mous trunks, and melancholy disorder, the 
 forerunner of a departure. There was 
 nothing left, except the immense, low bed with 
 lacy sheets dragging on the floor, and a bath- 
 tub, around which bustled a coloured cham- 
 bermaid. 
 
 She squawked like a frightened parrot 
 when Pere Philippe entered. Annabel 
 smiled, invisible behind one of those high 
 screens of the beginning of the century, which 
 represents chateaux, bridges, and blue and 
 brown landscapes. The milky water showed 
 only a vague suggestion of the contours of the
 
 SALT LAKE 11 
 
 beautiful body she was bathing. The blond 
 hair hung to the ground. One of Annabel's 
 arms rested upon the edge of the bath. 
 
 "I am late," said the young woman. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles remained impassible. 
 
 "You are not exactly ahead of time," he 
 contented himself with saying. 
 
 He remained standing, his tall body framed 
 in the doorway. 
 
 "Only a quarter of an hour," said Annabel. 
 
 "All the clocks are packed," replied the 
 Jesuit. "So I will enter into a discussion 
 with you on that point. Here is my watch, 
 however: quarter after seven. Well, at least 
 ten times last night, I repeated to you that at 
 eight o'clock the American Army enters Salt 
 Lake City. At present, if you have changed 
 your mind, or if you no longer care to watch 
 the parade, I ..." 
 
 "I shall be ready," said Annabel Lee, with 
 quiet assurance. 
 
 "Another thing," continued the Jesuit; "it 
 is Saint Maxence's day, the patron saint of 
 your late husband. Last night, if I am not 
 mistaken, you manifested to me the intention 
 of honouring his memory by receiving com-
 
 12 SALT LAKE 
 
 munion this morning. For that reason, I be- 
 lieve that you even confessed to me. . . . 
 Needless to say that I only waited ten minutes 
 before commencing Mass." 
 
 "You did well," she said. "I awoke feel- 
 ing rather tired. But I'm much better now. 
 And if you would please . . ." 
 
 The Jesuit made a motion to withdraw. 
 
 "No, don't bother. Go out on the terrace, 
 so that we can talk while Rose is dressing me. 
 It will only take about ten minutes. I am not 
 slow, you know." 
 
 Pere Philippe obeyed. Crossing the room, 
 he arrived upon the terrace, walled in by 
 honeysuckle and clematis. Through the leafy 
 branches shaken by the breeze, the sun scat- 
 tered the floor with thousands of shifting little 
 gold-pieces. 
 
 The Jesuit went to the arched window con- 
 trived in the wall of green foliage. At his 
 feet was the garden filled with acacias, fruit- 
 trees and cottonwoods, whose white tufts wan- 
 dered here and there in the languid atmos- 
 phere. At the end of the garden was the 
 glancing blue of a murmuring brook hidden
 
 SALTLAKE 13 
 
 by verdure. To the right, far beyond the bil- 
 lowy crests of oaks and poplars, the snowy 
 heights of the Twins, the two highest peaks of 
 the Wahsatch mountains, were tinged a pale 
 rose. To the left was Salt Lake, unseen, 
 drowned as it was in the fumes of its hot 
 springs. 
 
 The Ogden road ran due north, between 
 two stretches of desert country, calcined under 
 their briny covering. 
 
 "It is nice, today," came the sweet voice of 
 Annabel Lee from behind. 
 
 "Superb. If it continues like this for a 
 month, our journey to Saint-Louis will be a 
 veritable pleasure trip." 
 
 She said, shaking her head: 
 
 "A pleasure trip!" 
 
 "Will you be sad?" demanded the Jesuit 
 rather brusquely. 
 
 "I have never been unhappy in Salt Lake." 
 
 "You do not remember your arrival here 
 very distinctly. I, let me tell you, can assure 
 you that you did- not carry your head very 
 high." 
 
 "I didn't know any one. I came with ap-
 
 14 SALT LAKE 
 
 prehensions. You severed them. But really, 
 how could I have hoped to encounter such a 
 friend as you have been?" 
 "So that now . . ." 
 
 "So that now, I am almost sorry to go." 
 "I do not regret your going, no, I don't," he 
 said. "I shall not be here much longer. I 
 confess that I prefer not to leave you behind 
 
 me." 
 
 "I thank you," she said in her monotonous 
 soft voice. "But I, who am leaving you, 
 you cannot forbid that regret to me." 
 
 Mechanically, he turned around. The 
 young woman was still half dressed. She was 
 regarding him with a wistful, affectionate 
 smile. 
 
 "Excuse me," he murmured. 
 
 "It is I who beg your pardon for being so 
 late," she said. 
 
 They were both silent. Only the prattling 
 of the negress was heard. 
 
 "I am ready," said Annabel at last. 
 
 With slow steps they descended the cool, 
 sombre staircase. 
 
 In the garden, a horse neighed.
 
 SALTLAKE 15 
 
 Coriolan came to meet them. 
 
 "Missus," he said, "there is a soldier here 
 sent by the Governor." 
 
 "Bring him in." 
 
 Governor Gumming reminded Mrs. Lee 
 that she was invited to the banquet offered that 
 evening in honour of General Johnston, com- 
 mander of the Army of Occupation, to the 
 notabilities of the Territory of Utah. He 
 took advantage of the occasion to inform her 
 that the entry of the Army into Salt Lake 
 City would not take place until ten o'clock, 
 through the eastern gate of the city. 
 
 "Will you thank the Governor," said Anna- 
 bel. Pointing to the soldier, she ordered: 
 "Coriolan, take him to the kitchen and give 
 him a glass of rum." 
 
 She turned to the Jesuit. 
 
 "You see, one should never hurry." 
 
 "You are always right," he grumbled. 
 
 She inclined her head. 
 
 "In the meanwhile," she said, "let us break- 
 fast peacefully." 
 
 And, as he interposed a gesture that was al- 
 most sullen ;
 
 16 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Come, be amiable. Perhaps it is the last 
 time that we shall breakfast together, surely 
 the next to the last." 
 
 There was nothing left in the dining-room 
 except the buffet of polished walnut, the 
 chairs and the table on which were arranged 
 a jug of cream, a coffee-pot and enameled 
 dishes containing plums and apricots. Re- 
 peatedly, Annabel Lee asked for various ar- 
 ticles. She obtained the same response from 
 Rose each time: 
 
 "It is packed, Missus!" 
 
 "Ah!" she said, wearied, "this poor house is 
 deserted already!" 
 
 And then, addressing the Jesuit: 
 
 "How ashamed I am, Father, to abandon 
 you this way!" 
 
 "I leave Salt Lake the first day of July," he 
 replied. "Perhaps you imagine that there 
 will be a feather-bed and silverware waiting 
 for me under the Indian tents, in the desert of 
 Idaho?" 
 
 "And you," she said, "perhaps you imagine 
 that you will allay my regrets with remarks of 
 that sort?" 
 
 They finished breakfast in silence.
 
 SALT LAKE 17 
 
 "What time is it?" asked Annabel Lee. 
 
 "Half past eight." 
 
 "Are the horses ready?" 
 
 "They were saddled before eight o'clock." 
 
 "Well then, come away, if you will and 
 we'll go to Salt Lake. The spectacle must 
 be worth seeing." 
 
 The villa of Annabel Lee was situated at 
 five hundred yards from the town, to the 
 north of the enclosure traced by Brigham 
 Young around the New Jerusalem. Salt 
 Lake City was deserted. A month ago, all 
 the Mormons had abandoned it before the 
 menace threatened by the advance of the 
 Federal army. 
 
 The priest and the young woman rode 
 about the empty, wide streets bordered with 
 ditches shaded by willow-trees. The win- 
 dows and doors of the houses were closed, the 
 majority of them boarded up. Under their 
 signs with the emblem of the Eye of Jehovah 
 surmounted by a Phrygian cap, the shop- 
 fronts were shut. 
 
 They met no one. The silence, in a city 
 which but recently swarmed with activity and
 
 i8 SALT LAKE 
 
 life, oppressed them in such a manner that 
 they were afraid to communicate their 
 thoughts. 
 
 "Ah!" said Pere d'Exiles at last, with a 
 sigh of relief. 
 
 Horsemen were coming towards them, 
 Indians. There were four, perched on aston- 
 ishingly thin little horses. They were in full 
 war-paint, hair black and shiny under the 
 head-dress of new feathers, faces striped with 
 yellow and scarlet. They saluted the Jesuit, 
 who spoke to them: 
 
 "Is Sokopitz here?" 
 
 "Sokopitz is here," replied the Indian with 
 the most gorgeous feathers. "Thirty days 
 gone-by, he left the banks of the Humboldt to 
 present his respects to the American General 
 and to place the warriors of the Shoshones at 
 his disposal against the Mormons." 
 
 "You will tell him that I shall be very glad 
 to see him before he returns to the West. 
 You know my name?" 
 
 The Indian made an affirmative gesture. 
 He passed on, his companions likewise. 
 
 The Jesuit watched them disappearing in
 
 SALTLAKE 19 
 
 the distance, then, shaking his head with com- 
 miseration, he said to the young woman : 
 
 "I do not know what will result from the 
 conflict which at present separates the Amer- 
 icans and the Mormons. But of this I am 
 sure, that it is those poor devils there, who 
 will meet the expense of the reconciliation and 
 pay for the broken bottles." 
 
 "They have put a price on your head," said 
 Annabel, "and you have not ceased defending 
 them." 
 
 "It is the Utah Indians who have put a 
 price on my head," said the Jesuit, smiling, 
 "and these are Shoshones. Utah or Sho- 
 shones, at any rate, I make no secret of it, it is 
 to them that all my sympathy goes." 
 
 "Hush!" said Annabel, "here comes some- 
 one who is paid not to share your opinion in 
 that respect. Good morning, Doctor Hurt, 
 is your health a little better?" 
 
 Doctor Hurt, the Secretary of Indian af- 
 fairs in the Territory of Utah, was walking. 
 He bowed to the ground, then straightened 
 his short body to kiss the hand extended to him 
 by the beautiful amazon.
 
 20 SALT LAKE 
 
 He was a thin old man, in a light-blue coat 
 and wore gold-rimmed spectacles; heavy 
 watch-charms dangled on his white waist- 
 coat. 
 
 "Well, well, my dear friend," said he, 
 "what do you think of Salt Lake this morn- 
 ing? Is it not the most adorable of cities?" 
 
 "It rather lacks festivity," she said, making 
 a face. 
 
 "I should hope so! The charm lies exactly 
 in that fact. Don't you feel the happiness 
 there is in breathing air which is not soiled by 
 the breath of a single one of those dogs of 
 fanatics?" 
 
 "In return, I have just come across some of 
 your wards," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "I know, I know," exclaimed Dr. Hurt, 
 sneering. "Good fellows, who come here 
 with the best of intentions. Ah! if it con- 
 cerned only me. . . ." 
 
 "If it concerned only you?" 
 
 "You know what my ideas are. There are 
 two questions in Utah, the Indian question 
 and the Mormon question. I unleash the In- 
 dians, who ask for nothing better, against the 
 Mormons; then, when everything is over, I
 
 SALT LAKE 21 
 
 intervene in the name of the government at 
 Washington, bearer of the olive-branch. No 
 funds to be sunk. No risks. The typical 
 good deal! Ha! ha! ha!" He repeated: 
 "The typical good deal!" 
 
 "It is regrettable that Governor Cumming 
 does not seem to share your opinion on that 
 point," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "Governor Cumming, Governor Cumming. 
 He has only one opinion, Governor Cumming, 
 and that is the one contrary to the opinion of 
 General Johnston. It has always been like 
 that, even in America, the country neverthe- 
 less where there is the least difference between 
 civilians and the military. General Johnston 
 is against Brigham Young. Therefore Gov- 
 ernor Cumming is for him, it isn't any deeper 
 than that . . . ha! ha! ha! Well, here is the 
 Honourable Sydney. I am your servant, Mr. 
 Supreme' Justice, wholly your ;servant, es- 
 pecially if there is a glass of port into the bar- 
 gain!" 
 
 The Supreme Justice of the Territory of 
 Utah and the Secretary of Indian affairs 
 clapped each other joyously on the back. The 
 honourable Sydney was a big, thick-set man,
 
 22 SALT LAKE 
 
 smoking incessantly an enormous clay-pipe, 
 who added to the highest judiciary office of 
 Utah in the interests of the Federal Govern- 
 ment, the more remunerative post of pro- 
 prietor and manager of the Union Hotel, the 
 finest and best frequented in Salt Lake City. 
 
 He bent ceremoniously before Annabel and 
 shook the hand of the priest. 
 
 "You have just left the Governor's, Judge?" 
 questioned Pere d'Exiles. "What is the 
 news?" 
 
 "Nothing, Monsieur Pabbe, nothing that 
 you would not know already. Brigham 
 Young is still at Provo with Kimball, Wells, 
 the Twelve Apostles, the bishops, the elders, 
 the whole sainted band in a word. But 
 there is complete accord between the envoys of 
 the Federal Government and those possessed 
 lunatics, the Devil take them!" 
 
 "Still on the same basis?" 
 
 "The same basis. The Army enters Salt 
 Lake in one half hour. It files through with 
 bands playing. Meagre triumph for the Star 
 Spangled Banner. The troops leave by the 
 south gate and camp beyond the Jordan. 
 Formal orders to the soldiers forbidding them
 
 SALTLAKE 23 
 
 going into the city. It will only be accessible 
 to soldiery bearing orders. In return for 
 which the Mormons condescend not to light a 
 conflagration and to return to Salt Lake. It 
 can be considered a nice slap in the face for 
 President Buchanan and the Democrats." 
 
 And the Supreme Judge spat on the ground. 
 
 At that moment, they were crossed by a 
 group of Indians, silent and haughty. 
 
 "If they had only listened to me!" said Dr. 
 Hurt. "A few carbines in the hands of those 
 good people and rum, rum! You know my 
 ideas. . . ." 
 
 "Rum ! It is plain to be seen that you don't 
 pay for it, Hurt," said Judge Sydney. "The 
 taxes are almost prohibitive." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! The rum I am talking about 
 would enter free," cried Hurt. 
 
 They were passing before a house, whose 
 door they perceived to be open, between the 
 double hedge of flowering acacias. 
 
 Annabel addressed the Supreme Justice. 
 
 "You were saying, Mr. Sydney, that the 
 twelve bishops were at Provo with Brigham 
 Young. But here is Rigdon Pratt's house. 
 It is inhabited, it seems to me."
 
 24 SALTLAKE 
 
 "Indeed," said the magistrate and hotel- 
 keeper. "Pratt remained with his family. 
 By an agreement between the Governor and 
 Brigham, he was appointed to bargain with 
 the quartermasters for the troops' camp." 
 
 The young woman had crossed the wooden 
 bridge which spanned the ditch. She was 
 passing under the mimosa along the walk. 
 The lacy leaves brushed her temples. 
 
 "Sarah!" she called. 
 
 No response. 
 
 "Isn't Sarah Pratt there?" asked Annabel, 
 returning to her companions. 
 
 "She is there, I am certain of it," said Dr. 
 Hurt. "When I passed the house about ten 
 minutes ago, she was on the threshold washing 
 one of her little brothers, the seventeenth or 
 eighteenth off-spring of that godly man 
 Rigdon Pratt." 
 
 "I would have liked to have said good-bye 
 to her," said Annabel. 
 
 "You have always been fond, aheml very 
 fond of that child," sneered Judge Sydney. 
 
 "I do not deny it," she replied. 
 
 "Hum! she doesn't return the compliment!" 
 
 "What do you mean?"
 
 SALTLAKE 25 
 
 "The truth, my lovely friend. Sarah is 
 there, Sarah hears you. Call her again. 
 Damned if she will answer, the little pest!" 
 
 "Why should Sarah be ungrateful?" 
 
 "The word has escaped! I didn't make 
 you say it. Sarah Pratt has worn too many of 
 your beautiful dresses, lovely friend. A 
 woman rarely forgives another that." 
 
 "You have an evil tongue, Judge Sydney. 
 Isn't it so, Father?" 
 
 Pere d'Exiles answered nothing. 
 
 They continued on their way and came out 
 upon Union Square, before the hotel of the 
 judge. 
 
 "And that glass of port?" entreated the 
 doctor. 
 
 "Come in, come in," said the judge. "You 
 will stop a moment, won't you?" he asked, 
 addressing the two horsemen. 
 
 "No," answered Annabel, "we are going 
 to meet the troops." 
 
 "The loss is mine, lovely friend. We shall 
 see each other again, I hope, before you go 
 away. When are you leaving Salt Lake?" 
 "Tomorrow night." 
 "Tomorrow, or the day after, or later.
 
 26 SALTLAKE 
 
 Remember, in any case, that in the future as in 
 the past, Judge Sydney remains your most 
 obedient servant." 
 
 And with arms extended, he made an im- 
 pressive bow. 
 
 "Much obliged," said the young woman 
 rather dryly. "Mjay I remind you, however, 
 that this evening we are invited to the banquet 
 offered to General Johnston and that there you 
 will have an opportunity to offer me your ser- 
 vices for the last time?" 
 
 Doctor Hurt had already served himself 
 his port. Annabel set her horse at a trot 
 Pere d'Exiles rejoined her. 
 
 "Odious old man," said he. 
 
 "Don't speak too badly of him," she mur- 
 mured. "He will have proved very useful to 
 
 me." 
 
 "I know, I know. ... If your library 
 were not already packed up," he continued as 
 the horses cleared the eastern boundary of the 
 town, "I would have given myself the genuine 
 pleasure of reading the pages which the good 
 Tocqueville consecrates to the integrity of 
 democratic judges. How much, within a 
 thousand dollars, has that man cost you?"
 
 SALT LAKE 27 
 
 "I haven't any idea," said Annabel, smiling. 
 "You know quite well that my accounts are 
 kept contrary to common sense. But I repeat 
 that he has rendered me real service." 
 
 They left behind the wall of the enclosure. 
 To the right, on the eastern road, at about a 
 hundred steps, there was a sort of small ob- 
 servatory, dominating the highway by two 
 yards; behind, there was a frame building, 
 a road-house where the young Mormons 
 came to dance and play at nine-pins. It 
 was deserted, since the proprietor had taken 
 refuge at Provo a month previous, with the 
 other Latter-Day Saints. 
 
 Annabel dismounted. The Jesuit secured 
 the two horses under a shed and returned to 
 her, carrying a rudely made stool. 
 
 "Sit down," said he, after placing the stool 
 against the rustic balustrade. 
 
 On the other side of the road there were five 
 or six young men seated on the grass, eating 
 sausages and drinking beer. 
 
 "They are clerks from the place of Living- 
 ston and Kincaid," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "What time is it?" asked Annabel.
 
 28 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Past ten o'clock." 
 
 "They are late." 
 
 "The American soldiers are never ahead 
 of time." 
 
 "Let us wait," she said, leaning her elbows 
 upon the balustrade. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles sat a little way back on a 
 worm-eaten bench. To the right, under the 
 murmuring willows, the road extended, white, 
 remarkably well-kept. The green dome of 
 the trees opened here and there, showing great 
 round gaps of blue sky where long files of 
 migratory birds were passing continually, as 
 upon the glass of a telescope. 
 
 When the breeze shifted, their cries could 
 be heard, high in the air. Great velvety but- 
 terflies were coming and going, making sud- 
 den stains of blue and black on the yellow 
 flowers of the capparidacae. Beetles swayed 
 the wrinkled stems of the mint plants. An in- 
 visible spring, to which brown tree-frogs were 
 hastening, sang. 
 
 Annabel, with vacant eyes, was dreaming. 
 Pere d'Exiles saw her in profile, her face 
 framed by the grey aureole of an immense, 
 flat-brimmed felt hat. The long folds of her
 
 SALT LAKE 29 
 
 riding coat of iron grey with large silver but- 
 tons, dragged to the ground. She wore a 
 jabot and cuffs of fine English point, and a 
 bracelet braided with opals at the wrist upon 
 which she was leaning her bent head. 
 
 Her eye-lids were half-closed. Her tiny 
 red lips, partly opened, seemed to be drink- 
 ing in the morning air. 
 
 All of a sudden, she started. Her eyes 
 opened. 
 
 "There they are!" 
 
 A shrill of bugles had just sounded. Im- 
 mediately the clerks from Livingston and 
 Kinkaid's stood up, ready to cheer their com- 
 patriots. 
 
 Nothing could be seen as yet, however, since 
 not far from there, at the right, the road made 
 an elbow. Then the bugles became more 
 piercing. They echoed back from the bluish 
 granite of the Wahsatch Mountains. Then, 
 two cavalrymen appeared. Then, all the 
 others. They were dragging along, looking 
 weary and mistrustful. On principle, sol- 
 diers dislike entering a city where they will be 
 forbidden to plunder. That displeasure 
 could be seen only too plainly on the counten-
 
 30 SALT LAKE 
 
 ances of these men. On that account the 
 march past was spoiled. 
 
 The two first cavalrymen were a captain and 
 a standard-bearer. Following them, came the 
 buglers of the 2nd Regiment of Dragoons. 
 
 This regiment had suffered fearfully. It 
 was in Kansas when the order to rejoin the 
 Johnston army had arrived. Hundreds of 
 leagues across rocky, snow-covered desert, 
 where, when one leaves off busying oneself 
 with one's saddlery for a minute, one finds 
 nothing more, except sometimes two or three 
 coyotes, too stupefied by this unhoped-for re- 
 past to scatter. It is by the horses that one 
 perceives the sufferings of cavalry. Those be- 
 longing to the buglers of the Second Dragoons 
 were in a pitiful state. Two out of three were 
 unshod. Three out of three were broken- 
 kneed. They no longer had even the force 
 to kick a protest against the appalling deluge 
 of false notes that their riders rained upon 
 them. 
 
 "The last military parade which I at- 
 tended," said Pere Philippe, "was unquestion- 
 ably more successful. It was eighteen years 
 ago, a month before my departure from
 
 SALT LAKE 31 
 
 France, in Paris, on the esplanade of the In- 
 valides, upon the return of the Ashes." 1 
 
 "You are too particular," said Annabel. 
 "But here comes the General Staff." 
 
 Directly behind the buglers, moved for- 
 ward a group of officers. Ahead of them ad- 
 vanced a cavalryman mounted on a passably 
 fine white mare. About fifty years old, he 
 was martial and elegant in appearance. A 
 rotund captain accompanied him. When the 
 latter saw Annabel, he made a sign of pleased 
 surprise and spoke a few words to his chief. 
 He, in turn, saluted the young woman with a 
 smile, carrying his white-gloved hand to his 
 mustard felt hat. 
 
 In the meantime, the rotund captain, setting 
 his horse at a trot, had come and drawn-up at 
 the foot of the construction from which Anna- 
 bel and Pere d'Exiles were viewing the par- 
 ade. 
 
 Had he been a better horseman, he would 
 have raised his arms to the heavens with joy. 
 
 "Captain Van Vliet!" cried Annabel. 
 
 1 The remains of Napoleon were brought back to Paris under 
 Louis-Philippe and placed in the Invalides with a great display 
 of military pomp.
 
 32 SALT LAKE 
 
 And, leaning over the balustrade, she ex- 
 tended her hand which he strained to kiss. 
 
 "The general-in-chief," he said, breathing 
 hard, "he who just saluted you at my instiga- 
 tion, directs me to present his respects. He 
 wishes to know if you have received his invita- 
 tion for the banquet this evening, where he 
 hopes that he will be able to express his grati- 
 tude to you at last. I have told him many 
 times how well I was received at your house 
 six months ago, during the sojourn I made in 
 Salt Lake, and how much you facilitated my 
 task." 
 
 "I have received General Johnston's invita- 
 tion," said Annabel, "and it will give me great 
 pleasure to be present. But does he know, do 
 you know that I intend leaving Salt Lake to- 
 morrow, and that I am counting on his kind- 
 ness to put the necessary wagons for moving, 
 at my disposal?" 
 
 "He knows it. The orders have been given. 
 He is delighted to have an occasion of prov- 
 ing my thankfulness to you." 
 
 "Until tonight, then!" 
 
 "Until tonight! And remember that the 
 whole army is at your disposal!"
 
 SALT LAKE 33 
 
 He went off at a gallop to resume his place. 
 
 The Fifth Regiment of Infantry was filing 
 past with a new standard, too new in fact, one 
 of those standards which has seen little service 
 except that of surreptitiously warming the feet 
 of a chilly flag-bearer. 
 
 At that moment, they halted. The head 
 of the column had reached the wall of the 
 enclosure. The army, which so far had been 
 progressing rather herd-like, reorganized it- 
 self. Orders rang out without spirit, executed 
 with still less spirit. It was plain to be seen 
 that discipline had suffered much in the course 
 of the long, wintry months. And then there 
 was the presence of Annabel Lee. What was 
 that young woman doing there? On the 
 threshold of the accursed city, her elegance 
 dumfounded that mass of men with child-like 
 souls. 
 
 The uniforms were thread-bare ; becoming, 
 nevertheless: becoming, especially the accou- 
 trement, the enormous Minie and Colt car- 
 bines, the revolvers thrust in the yellow can- 
 vas cartridge belts, the bowie-knives, the 
 broad, short bayonets. 
 
 "Ah !" murmured Pere d'Exiles. "It seems
 
 34 SALT LAKE 
 
 to me that the artillery is in very bad condi- 
 tion." 
 
 It was true. The mules who dragged the 
 cannon were rawboned and lame. Out of the 
 sixteen guns which were regularly comprised 
 in the two batteries, there only remained 
 eleven. The others could be pictured, 
 muzzles in the air, at the bottom of some 
 precipice in the Rockies or smashed against 
 the rocks during the passage of a badly 
 sounded ford in the terrible Green River. Of 
 the eleven which were left, there was a howit- 
 zer whose left wheel had been replaced by one 
 of thick wood, unscrewed from a wagon, six 
 rifled guns, of the Parrot and Rodman system 
 and four old Dahlgren pieces, smooth-bore. 
 Although not one shell had been fired in the 
 course of the whole campaign, the ammuni- 
 tion wagons were half-empty. It must have 
 been necessary to lighten them in negotiating 
 the passes, when the harassed teams, protest- 
 ing, kick in the traces, and it becomes impera- 
 tive to choose between guns and ammunition. 
 
 The ensemble gave a somewhat poor idea 
 of the ballistic power of the Union.
 
 SALT LAKE 35 
 
 "Here comes Colonel Alexander," said 
 Annabel. 
 
 She smiled at the commander of the Tenth 
 Infantry, who saluted without recognizing 
 her, being too concerned with his regiment, the 
 most tried, the most undisciplined of the army. 
 Most of the company commanders were dis- 
 mounted. They marched mob-like amongst 
 their men. Here, no more uniforms. There 
 were soldiers without muskets. Many, as 
 they pressed forward, were munching green 
 slices of watermelons which their officers had 
 all the trouble in the world to make them 
 throw away. No mention need be made of 
 the way they kept step. 
 
 The Jesuit leaned towards Annabel. 
 
 "I understand Brigham Young," said he, 
 "and his obstinacy in refusing to allow the 
 Union soldiers to camp in Salt Lake. This 
 isn't an army, it's a band of ragamuffins." 
 
 "They have suffered a great deal," said the 
 young woman. "But, look, their cavalry 
 seems to be in a slightly better state." 
 
 It was indeed the turn of the famous Second 
 Dragoons, recalled to reduce the Mormons,
 
 36 SALTLAKE 
 
 from Kansas, where they had been charged 
 to lend a powerful hand to the Slavers. Be- 
 side the horses, bounded several of those 
 ferocious blood-hounds employed in running 
 down the blacks since the beginning of time, 
 which tradition was transmitted to democratic 
 Americans by the Spaniards. 
 
 "I wouldn't counsel Coriolan to play at 
 racing with them," said Pere d'Exiles. "Look 
 at the fangs of this one!" 
 
 The glance of Annabel was elsewhere. He 
 noticed it. 
 
 "Do you know that lieutenant?" he de- 
 manded. 
 "No," said she. 
 
 The officer of whom they were speaking 
 was a tall young man of twenty-five, who sat 
 astride a bay mare, quite presentable. He re- 
 garded Annabel Lee stealthily. He felt the 
 beautiful calm eyes of the young woman upon 
 him. He blushed. At the same time, a ridic- 
 ulous little incident took place. The officers 
 were not the only ones who looked at Annabel. 
 In passing close by her, two dragoons mani- 
 fested the nature of the pleasure they took in 
 her beauty in a fashion very military. Their
 
 SALT LAKE 37 
 
 lieutenant summoned them, with up-raised 
 riding whip. They took flight, raging. 
 
 "I understand Brigham Young more and 
 more," said Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 Annabel, smiling, followed her defender 
 with her eyes. He rode into the distance 
 without daring to turn his eyes. 
 
 The last platoon of the Second Dragoons 
 filed past. That particular platoon had not 
 come from Kansas, but from Nebraska, where 
 it had been employed in tracking the Chey- 
 enne Indians for the past two years. 
 
 "Ah!" said the Jesuit. "Here the methods 
 of propaganda are no longer the same. Look : 
 in place of hounds to hunt negroes, we have 
 the Gospel, the Gospel and rum!" 
 
 Indeed, behind the last troopers, advanced 
 six little wagons, each carrying two casks. 
 Between the wagons, on mules, ambled five 
 clergymen. Three wore black spectacles and 
 two carried white parasols. 
 
 Annabel did not see them. Her eyes, 
 turned towards the city, had become vague 
 once more. 
 
 "Those gentlemen do not seem over satis- 
 fied to see me here," said the Jesuit laughingly.
 
 38 SALT LAKE 
 
 The march was over. Now there were 
 wagons loaded with tools and provisions and 
 the multi-colored rabble, ordinary accompani- 
 ment of campaigning armies. 
 
 "Let us go away!" said the priest brusquely. 
 
 Annabel did not respond. 
 
 "Can't you hear?" he said with impatience. 
 
 Since there were no more officers to recall 
 them to order, rough remarks began to rise 
 from that mass of adventurers. Insensible 
 to the Presbyterian insults leveled at him per- 
 sonally, the priest could no longer stand those 
 which made sport of his companion's beauty. 
 
 "Come," he said to her rudely. 
 
 They remounted their horses and a quarter 
 of an hour later, having made a detour, they 
 entered the garden of the villa. It was noon. 
 The sun, far off, burned the saline plain and 
 made the over-ripe kernels of the great wav- 
 ing horse-chestnuts explode under their feet 
 like fire-crackers. 
 
 The table was laid under the trees, in front 
 of the veranda. Annabel went into her room. 
 She descended again, dressed all in white 
 muslin, bare armed, with a tiny knot of black 
 ribbon at her throat.
 
 SALT LAKE 39 
 
 The priest said the prayers. They sat 
 down. 
 
 "Was there anything new during my ab- 
 sence?" asked the young woman of Coriolan, 
 who stood behind her, rigid in his flannel 
 livery. 
 
 The negro, without uttering a word, handed 
 her a yellow envelope. 
 
 She glanced at it. 
 
 "Well!" said she. "The government seal. 
 It must be for my baggage. Will you excuse 
 me, mon pere?" 
 
 She had torn open the envelope. She was 
 reading. An expression of surprise and an- 
 noyance passed over her face. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 The Jesuit did not take his eyes from her. 
 
 "Nothing serious?" he asked. 
 
 "Nothing, nothing," said she. 
 
 She had dropped the letter upon the table. 
 Upon a sign from her, he took it. 
 
 It was a sheet of paper bearing the govern- 
 ment seal of the Territory of Utah. 
 
 "The Cantonment Commission assembled 
 in Salt Lake City" were the words written 
 there, "having the right to billet officers of
 
 40 SALTLAKE 
 
 the Federal Army, has decided that, during 
 the sojourn of the said Army in the immediate 
 suburbs of the city, Mrs. Lee will be required 
 
 to lodge an officer, his board remaining op- 
 tional." 
 
 Pere d'Exiles gazed at the young woman. 
 Impatiently, she drummed upon the table 
 with her fingers. 
 
 "It's the normal thing," he said. "We 
 might have expected it." 
 
 "Expected it!" cried Annabel. "Governor 
 Gumming knows quite well that I intend leav- 
 ing Salt Lake City tomorrow evening. It is 
 he himself who promised to take steps so that 
 I may profit from the army wagons returning 
 empty to Omaha and Missouri. I could have 
 hoped, under those circumstances, that he 
 would not withdraw with his left hand the 
 favours he extended me with his right." 
 
 The Jesuit shook his head. 
 
 "Governor Gumming has much to preoc- 
 cupy him these days," said he. 
 
 "The letter is sent in his name," said Anna- 
 bel. 
 
 "Doubtless," mused the priest who had 
 taken back the paper. "Nevertheless, it was
 
 SALTLAKE 41 
 
 not he who signed it. And do you know ex- 
 actly who signed this letter?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Look. By order of the Governor, the 
 Secretary of the Cantonment Commission : 
 RIGDON PRATT." 
 
 "Rigdon Pratt!" echoed Annabel. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "A little while ago," said Pere d'Exiles, 
 "I did not choose to take part in the conversa- 
 tion, while Judge Sydney was casting doubts 
 upon the quality of the gratitude which this 
 Rigdon's daughter may profess to you. It is 
 always difficult to pronounce oneself in agree- 
 ment with a scoundrel, even when one is aware 
 that the scoundrel is perfectly right. I kept 
 silent. But now I can tell you : Sydney was 
 right. There you have," and he showed the 
 letter, "a little of the spitefulness of Sarah 
 Pratt." 
 
 "But why? How?" 
 
 "How? Sarah knows quite well that you 
 are leaving tomorrow. She is seeking to re- 
 compense your kindness, by spoiling the two 
 days left for you to stay here. I add that her
 
 42 SALT LAKE 
 
 procedure is very inoffensive. I should have 
 thought that she would be more malicious." 
 
 "Just the same I am very annoyed," said 
 Annabel. 
 
 "Annoyed? Why?" 
 
 "All the furniture is packed. You wouldn't 
 wish me to give my room to that officer when 
 he presents himself, which no doubt he is 
 about to do." 
 
 "It would be more natural to give him 
 mine," said the Jesuit placidly. "That is 
 what you will have to do for today. But 
 don't forget that you are dining tonight with 
 the Governor, and that he, General Johnston, 
 Colonel Alexander and Captain Van Vliet ask 
 nothing better than to do you a service. A 
 word from you, and the order for billeting an 
 officer here will be countermanded, with apol- 
 ogies. While waiting, my advice is to take 
 heart against this piece of ill-fortune. And, 
 then, that poor boy must be tired. You 
 musn't hold him responsible for the pleasant- 
 ries of that little pest of a Sarah Pratt." 
 
 Coriolan had just served coffee. There was 
 a ring at the garden gate. 
 
 "It is he," said Annabel. "What a bore!"
 
 SALTLAKE 43 
 
 The negro returned, bearer of a sheet of 
 yellow paper. Pere Philippe snatched it. 
 
 "It is he. Lieutenant James Rutledge, of 
 the Second Dragoons." 
 
 "Go get him," said Annabel to the negro. 
 
 Steps on the sand of the walk. Conducted 
 by Coriolan, two men advanced. One was 
 a soldier, loaded with a canteen. The other 
 was the blond officer who had blushed so 
 deeply under the scrutiny of Annabel Lee that 
 morning, at the review. . . . 
 
 "Ah!" said the young woman, recognizing 
 him. 
 
 And she smiled.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ROSE had applied herself so well to 
 the menu that, although dinner had 
 begun at about eight o'clock, it was 
 nine thirty before the two guests had attacked 
 the dessert, a pineapple souffle, which Corio- 
 lan served with the whites of his eyes glisten- 
 ing with admiration and covetousness. 
 
 At the same time, he placed upon the table 
 two bottles which Pere d'Exiles uncorked 
 with precaution. 
 
 Thereupon, leaning back slightly in his 
 chair, Lieutenant Rutledge asked: "Do you 
 belong, sir, by any chance, to the Picpus mis- 
 sionaries of Paris?" 
 
 "I do belong, indeed, to the Picpus com- 
 munity," said the Jesuit. "What led you to 
 suspect it?" 
 
 "My maternal grandmother was a native of 
 Saint-Louis, and a Catholic," answered the 
 Lieutenant. "I myself am a Methodist," he 
 hastened to add. 
 
 44
 
 SALTLAKE 45 
 
 The priest nodded politely, as if to say: 
 "I regret it," or else: "Every one has a right 
 to his opinions." 
 
 "As a child," continued James Rutledge, 
 "I often spent my vacations at my grand- 
 mother's. I learned there that the Jesuits in 
 Saint-Louis came for the most part from 
 the Picpus community. Indeed, at my 
 grandmother's, I met one of your colleagues, 
 Monsieur Lestrade." 
 
 "It is true. Father Lestrade was in Los 
 Angeles recently. He was obliged to leave 
 that city for Chile. Won't you have a little 
 more of this Isabella wine?" 
 
 "It is good," murmured the officer, empty- 
 ing his glass clumsily. 
 
 "Too exhilarating, too sweet for my taste," 
 said the Jesuit. "Mrs. Lee, however, is very 
 fond of it. For myself, I prefer the Catawba, 
 dryer, lacking fire, perhaps. Think of it, 
 
 it comes from Rhine vines transplanted to the 
 banks of the Ohio. They have an excellent 
 
 vintage from the hills near Ogden, not quite 
 so good at Cedar City. This one comes from 
 Ogden. Taste it." 
 
 "It seems to me that you know the country
 
 46 SALT LAKE 
 
 marvellously well," said the young man, whose 
 eyes were beginning to sparkle. 
 
 The Jesuit smiled. "Brigham Young ar- 
 rived at Salt Lake with the first fugitive Mor- 
 mons on the 24th of July, 1847. I had pre- 
 ceded them by four years. It was in 1843 
 that I left Saint-Louis with the mission of 
 evangelizing the Indians between the Rocky 
 Mountains and Humboldt River. Upon my 
 arrival here, I found Colonel Fremont, en- 
 trusted by the Federal Government with the 
 survey of the proposed railway from the At- 
 lantic to the Pacific. I placed my faint 
 knowledge of trigonometry at his disposal. 
 Perhaps you know, sir, that at the present 
 moment, there are three projects for the road- 
 bed of that railway: the route along the 42nd 
 degree of latitude, that of Fremont; the 
 route along the 39th degree, that of ... 
 But what am I talking about!" 
 
 "Go on, I beg of you !" 
 
 "What is the use? Sufficient for you to 
 know that I served as guide and interpreter 
 to the Federal officers entrusted with the sur- 
 veys, so that today, there are very few places 
 from Fort Hall to Lake Carson and Las Ve-
 
 SALT LAKE 47 
 
 gas, where I risk being lost a single day. A 
 little more Catawba? No? You really pre- 
 fer the Isabella? . . . Here." 
 
 "The more I think about it," said Rutledge, 
 "the more it seems to me that I have seen your 
 name some place before." 
 
 "It is possible," said the priest, "although 
 I try my best to accomplish my task silently, 
 with utter discretion. But one does not al- 
 ways succeed. I can assure you, I did not 
 look upon the advent of the Mormons upon 
 these shores with a favourable eye. My mis- 
 givings were unfounded, for during the past 
 eight years, I have been able to keep myself 
 out of their quarrels with the functionaries of 
 the Federal Government. Alas to say! I 
 have not had such luck with the Indians." 
 
 "Have they persecuted you?" 
 
 "Mostly by my own fault. The object of 
 my mission was to preach the Gospel to three 
 tribes, the Shoshones to the North, the Utahs 
 and the Pahyantes to the South. I have had 
 difficulties with the Utahs. Four years ago, 
 their chief, Wahsara, condemned me to death 
 by default. His successor, Arapine, con- 
 firmed the sentence. They have left no stone
 
 48 SALT LAKE 
 
 unturned to notify and renotify me of it. I 
 asked my superiors what line of conduct I 
 should follow. From a commonsense point 
 of view, their reply was the reply I should 
 have made myself : 'Your work with the Pah- 
 yantes and the Shoshones is far from finished. 
 Complete it. Then you can see about return- 
 ing to the Utahs.' That is why, having said 
 about all I had to say to the Pahyantes, when 
 I leave Salt Lake City in fifteen days, it will 
 be to return to the Shoshones. For the time 
 being, the shores of Lake Sevier are forbidden 
 territory." 
 
 "Lake Sevier," said Rutledge. "Ah! now 
 I remember where I read your name. It was 
 in connection with the Gunnison affair." 
 
 The eyes of the Jesuit saddened. 
 
 "It is only too true," said he. "And from 
 all points of view, it was a deplorable affair. 
 I told you I was Fremont's companion on the 
 42nd degree expedition. In 1849, I offered 
 myself in the same capacity to Captain Stans- 
 bury, charged with the topographical survey 
 of the valley of the Great Salt Lake. When 
 Captain Gunnison, who was commissioned to 
 study the route along the 39th degree, ar-
 
 SALT LAKE 49 
 
 rived in Salt Lake in 1853, he sought me out 
 immediately. It happened that at that per- 
 iod I was on excellent terms with the Utahs, 
 upon whose territory passed the aforemen- 
 tioned rout. My mistake was to believe that 
 I could benefit Gunnison and his little band by 
 my influence with the Indians. It was Octo- 
 ber. The Sevier river rolled its dull grey 
 waters under the pale willows, under whose 
 over-hanging branches fled unseen black-birds 
 and king-fishers, crying plaintively. From 
 time to time, the sudden plunge of an otter. 
 The caravan plodded along. Never, never 
 have I felt so discouraged. Toward evening, 
 they built fires around and in the centre of the 
 circle of wagons. Then the dogs barked. 
 There appeared three Indians, on horse, who 
 came seeking me to attend one of their chiefs 
 on his death-bed. In spite of my presenti- 
 ments, I followed them. Understand that it 
 was impossible for me to do otherwise. I 
 have never discovered whether, by acting as 
 they did, the Indians wanted to save me or to 
 obey the will of their chief. When I arrived, 
 after a journey of three hours in the night, 
 the chief was dead, already rigid. I wanted
 
 50 SALT LAKE 
 
 to return immediately and re-join the caravan. 
 But it was raining in torrents. The roads 
 were obscure. I stayed. The next day, at 
 the earliest possible hour, I set off again. The 
 spectacle awaiting me upon my return to the 
 camp was ten times more atrocious than de- 
 scribed by the American newspapers. Volun- 
 tarily, when their correspondents questioned 
 me, I extenuated the circumstances. To what 
 end serve the details of such a horrible affair? 
 The overturned wagons were still smoking in 
 the sinister, rainy morning. There were nine 
 dead bodies. I recognized those of Creutz- 
 feld, the botanist, and of Gunnison, although 
 the ghastly coyotes had half-devoured the 
 faces. Gunnison had lost an arm and his body 
 was pierced by twenty arrows. . . . The 
 Indians had disappeared." 
 
 "The wretches!" cried Rutledge, clenching 
 his fists. 
 
 The Jesuit looked at him reproachfully. 
 
 "The wretches! Yes, my dear sir, I said 
 it too, at first. Meeting a band of Indians two 
 hours later, I cried at them with fury, with 
 indignation, with sorrow, sorrow above all, 
 for you must understand what the soul of a 
 missionary has to go through in such a mo-
 
 SALTLAKE 51 
 
 ment. I told them that with that very step 
 I was on the way to denounce them before the 
 American authorities and that the reprisals 
 would be terrible. . . . They were, sir! 
 They tossed their heads, made no reply, let me 
 
 go. . . ." 
 
 "And . . . what did you do then?" 
 
 "What did I do? You know, sir. I drew 
 up my report. Two years later, nevertheless, 
 that report did not prevent Judge Drummond, 
 in the interests of a dishonest undertaking, 
 from accusing the Mormons of Gunnison's 
 murder and from unleashing upon the Terri- 
 tory of Utah that expedition which has just 
 terminated by the entry of the Federal Army 
 into Salt Lake City. I was powerless to pre- 
 vent that injustice. So that at the moment, if 
 it had to be done again. . . ." 
 
 "If it had to be done again?" 
 
 "I would keep silent." 
 
 The lieutenant's eyes lit with 'a sombre, 
 fanatical flame. 
 
 "The truth must never be concealed," he 
 muttered in a raucous voice. 
 
 "The truth !" exclaimed the priest. He re- 
 garded the other calmly. "The truth?" he 
 repeated.
 
 52 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Yes, my dear sir, the truth," insisted the 
 young man. 
 
 "A little more of this excellent Catawba," 
 said Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 And he filled the other's glass forcibly. 
 
 "I am forty-six years old, sir," said he, after 
 a silence, and the sound of his voice, suddenly 
 very grave, gave an extraordinary impression 
 of force and authority to his words. "I am 
 forty-six years old. And because I have come 
 a long, long way, because I have learned to 
 judge things, not by themselves, but in relation 
 to their surroundings, it may be that I am per- 
 mitted to have a very different conception of 
 the truth from that of a professor, whose 
 world is limited by the four walls within 
 which he teaches." 
 
 u What is just is just. What is unjust is 
 unjust," said Rutledge. 
 
 "I like to think so," said the Jesuit. "Lis- 
 ten to me, however. I repeat to you, I have 
 seen the slashed corpses of Gunnison and his 
 companions and it was a frightful and un- 
 righteous spectacle. But, after the Govern- 
 ment at Washington, in retaliation, had 
 thrown a cruel blockade about the territory of
 
 SALT LAKE 53 
 
 the Utahs, keeping out all the necessities of 
 life, this is what I saw: little red-skins dying 
 on their mothers' empty breasts by hundreds 
 from cold and hunger, warriors killing each 
 other for a morsel of buffalo, a whole people, 
 free and prosperous in former times, herded 
 about like cattle, decimated, reduced to 
 nothing. . . . That also, sir, was a frightful 
 and unrighteous spectacle. That abomina- 
 tion, however, arose from the truth as told by 
 your humble servant, just as directly as a river 
 rises from its source. Believe me, such an 
 affair is enough to dampen our enthusiasm 
 over principles and to suggest that we be less 
 concerned with abstract values than with prac- 
 tical repercussions." 
 
 "My dear sir," said the lieutenant ill-hu- 
 mouredly, "those questions are beyond my 
 competence, and it is too easy to argue with 
 me. I can only repeat what I have learned 
 from our ministers, and I imagine that, if you 
 had to do with one of them instead of with 
 me. . . ." 
 
 "I should take the greatest pleasure in 
 measuring myself in the lists with one of those 
 gentlemen," said Pere d'Exiles, smiling. "It
 
 54 SALT LAKE 
 
 seems to me that I noticed three or four of 
 them following the troops. Are they coming 
 in competition?" 
 
 "No," said Rutledge dryly. "They are the 
 chaplains who accompany the army." 
 
 The repast was over. The Jesuit drew out 
 his watch. 
 
 "Eleven o'clock," he said. "Our hostess 
 cannot delay much longer. The Governor's 
 reception must be near its end." 
 
 "General Johnston loves to dawdle at table. 
 And then there are the speeches." 
 
 "It doesn't matter," said the priest. "She 
 can't be much longer." 
 
 For some time a question had evidently 
 been burning the tip of the young man's 
 tongue. He 'posed it with that disdain of 
 transitions characteristic of Anglo-Americans. 
 
 "You are, no doubt, Mrs. Lee's uncle?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Her cousin, perhaps?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Rutledge. 
 
 And he lapsed into a reproving silence. 
 
 "I am nothing to Mrs. Lee, sir," said the 
 Jesuit. "No bonds, except those of friend-
 
 SALT LAKE 55 
 
 ship, link me to her. Friendship and likewise 
 gratitude, for it is true that during the year in 
 which she has been in Salt Lake, upon each of 
 my visits in this city, I have not scrupled to 
 profit by the wide hospitality which you ob- 
 serve. Those times are nearing an end. 
 They are at an end." 
 
 "She is very beautiful," murmured the 
 
 young man. "Very beautiful," he dared re- 
 peat. 
 
 His remark remained unanswered. The 
 Jesuit had arisen. 
 
 "Would you like, sir," he said in a slightly 
 altered voice, "to come out on the terrace for a 
 little while? The night, too, is very beauti- 
 ful. It is criminal to enjoy it so little." 
 
 They went out. On the veranda there was 
 a table. With cool drinks, and two wicker 
 arm-chairs. They seated themselves. Their 
 cigar-tips, red, glistened in the blue night. In 
 the sky the Milky Way extended its smooth 
 white scarf. 
 
 Nothing could be heard except the two 
 voices, very low: that of the officer, almost 
 timid ; that of the Jesuit, changed, moved and 
 serious. . . . Tomorrow, at that very hour, 
 Annabel Lee would have left Salt Lake, per-
 
 56 SALT LAKE 
 
 haps for ever. That was the thought forming 
 the background against which the other 
 thoughts of Pere d'Exiles were silhouetted. 
 
 It was plain that he almost loved the new- 
 comer for the obstinacy he employed in press- 
 ing his interlocutor to converse with him about 
 the young woman. 
 
 Lieutenant Rutledge. You can imagine my 
 astonishment when I perceived her, youthful, 
 elegant and beautiful, leaning 'against the 
 balustrade of that observatory. It was the 
 last vision in the world that we might have 
 expected here. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles. Look, in that rectangle of 
 light made by the open door in the dining- 
 room. Do you see that slender black bird 
 which comes and goes? It is a purple martin. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Well? 
 
 The Priest. A purple martin. If it were 
 day-light, you might see his blue jacket, the 
 beautiful little russet feathers on his belly. 
 He arrived here a year ago. Almost at the 
 same time as she! 
 
 The Lieutenant. At the same time as 
 she. . . . 
 
 The Priest. At the same time as she.
 
 SALTLAKE 57 
 
 Those little creatures come from the Southern 
 States. One April day, I saw thousands of 
 them near the Falls of the Ohio. The mer- 
 cury registered 18 below zero. Most of 
 them were dead, almost all of them. Their 
 wings were frozen. . . . They arrive here 
 in June. Then, in September, they leave the 
 neighbourhood. They return to Florida with 
 the winds. This one remained. 
 
 The Lieutenant- She had come! 
 
 The Priest. He remained. He was seen 
 no more for fifteen days. We thought he had 
 left with the others. Then, one day in Octo- 
 ber, we heard faint pecks at the closed win- 
 dows on the porch. It was he. We opened 
 the windows for him. He entered. He began 
 to peck at the window-panes upon the flies 
 which had been kept alive by the warmth of 
 the interior. Look at him, look how he comes 
 and goes, how he darts about, how merry he is! 
 What will he do, after tomorrow morn- 
 ing, when he learns that she is no longer 
 here ! 
 
 The Lieutenant. Is it absolutely necessary 
 
 for her to go tomorrow evening? 
 
 The Priest. It is absolutely necessary.
 
 58 SALT LAKE 
 
 The Lieutenant. Why did she come to 
 Salt Lake? 
 
 The Priest. You might just as well ask me 
 her whole history. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Would that be indis- 
 creet? 
 
 The Priest. It would, if she were not going 
 away tomorrow night. 
 
 The Lieutenant. I am listening. 
 
 The Priest. It will not be long in the tell- 
 ing. I don't know where to begin. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Why ... at the begin- 
 ning! 
 
 The Priest. How childish! You com- 
 pletely ignore the art of unfolding a story. 
 May I ask what state you are a native of? 
 
 The Lieutenant. Of Illinois, from Chi- 
 cago. 
 
 The Priest. From Chicago. Then one 
 may say that you are a real American. 
 
 The Lieutenant. One may say so without 
 any exaggeration. 
 
 The Priest. Perhaps you had an Irish 
 nurse when you were little. 
 
 The Lieutenant I did. But what makes 
 you ask me that? 
 
 The Priest. I know that there are many
 
 SALT LAKE 59 
 
 Irish nurses employed by the rich Americans 
 of the Northern States. 
 
 The Lieutenant. I repeat, I had one. 
 But Mrs. Rutledge, my mother never al- 
 lowed her to talk to me, nor to my little sister, 
 Margaret. On account of the accent, you 
 understand. We Americans have enough 
 other difficulties in speaking English without 
 an accent. When we are first taught by an 
 Irish nurse, there is really no hope. 
 
 The Priest. I understand your honourable 
 mother. What was the name of that nurse? 
 
 The Lieutenant. Jane, I believe. I must 
 say we didn't keep her very long. Once, a 
 little gold cross on a satin ribbon disappeared. 
 Mrs. Rutledge showed Jane the door. After- 
 wards, they found the cross and the ribbon! 
 It was my little sister Margaret who had hid- 
 den them. Afraid of being whipped, she had 
 not confessed. Just a child, you understand. 
 
 The Priest. I understand. I have read 
 somewhere another story on that order. Just 
 so, in a book by one of your fellow-believers. 1 
 And Jane? 
 
 The Lieutenant. Really, I don't know 
 
 * A reference to an episode in the Confessions of Jean-Jatques 
 Rousseau.
 
 6o SALT LAKE 
 
 what became of her. Was she even called 
 Jane? I would not swear to it. Besides, why 
 do you take such an interest in that girl? 
 
 The Priest. It happens that Mrs. Lee, in 
 whom you yourself seem to take a great in- 
 terest, is also Irish. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Ah! 
 
 The Priest. It annoys you that your beauti- 
 ful hostess of today should come from the 
 same country as your former servant girl. 
 Doubtless you would have much preferred her 
 to be American? 
 
 The Lieutenant. I don't deny it. 
 
 The Priest. Is that all you remember of 
 Jane? 
 
 The Lieutenant. That's all. She had come 
 to the United States in consequence of a fam- 
 ine which ravaged her country, in 1842, it 
 seems to me. 
 
 The Priest. Exactly in 1842. 
 
 The Lieutenant. I was twelve years old. 
 I still remember that she was always very 
 badly dressed, in a style unworthy of a well- 
 to-do household. Mrs. Rutledge was very 
 astonished at her, rather vexed, for you must 
 admit that with the wages they gave her, five
 
 SALT LAKE 61 
 
 dollars a month, not counting occasional 
 gifts. . . . 
 
 The Priest. They were indeed very com- 
 petent wages. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Yes, indeed. Above all, 
 when one takes into account the fact that Chi- 
 cago at that time was just a small town . . . 
 barely eight thousand inhabitants. Later on, 
 we discovered what used to become of Jane's 
 money. . . . 
 
 The Priest. What became of it? 
 
 The Lieutenant. It went to swell the funds 
 of the revolutionary associations of her coun- 
 try. You smile? 
 
 The Priest. I smile, when I think that 
 Jane's money passed through the hands of 
 Colonel Lee, the husband of your hostess. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Was he a banker? 
 
 The Priest. No. Unpromising under- 
 takings rarely have resource to such costly 
 go-betweens. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Why did he come to 
 America? 
 
 The Priest. Like Jane, precisely. First, 
 to escape death; then, to seek means of con- 
 tinuing the struggle.
 
 62 SALT LAKE 
 
 The Lieutenant. To escape death? 
 
 The Priest. Around 1840, there were two 
 Irish officers who were serving with the Eng- 
 lish army. One was called Colonel Lee, the 
 other Colonel O'Brien. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Was it the same O'Brien 
 who . . . ? 
 
 The Priest. No, it was not that one. 
 O'Brien is as common a name in Ireland as 
 Martin is with us, or Wilson with you. Never 
 mind. At the time of the great famine 
 of 1842, there were disturbances in Ireland, 
 followed by executions. Colonels Lee and 
 O'Brien, convicted of belonging to the White- 
 boys, were condemned to death. O'Brien was 
 executed. Lee was able to escape, taking 
 away with him his friend's daughter, who was 
 then twelve years old, alone in the world and 
 an orphan. They sought refuge in the United 
 States. 
 
 The Lieutenant. America has always 
 offered a wide asylum to the persecuted. 
 
 The Priest. She derives both honour and 
 profit therefrom. Colonel Lee came to Saint- 
 Louis. He confided Annabel to the Ursu- 
 line Convent there. I myself had just arrived. 
 I can still see that little girl in her straight
 
 SALT LAKE 63 
 
 black convent garments, in the chapel where, 
 by chance, I was preaching as a substitute 
 during a retreat. 'There is some one,' I said 
 to myself, 'who pays absolutely no attention to 
 my oratorical efforts.' I wagered that I 
 would end by interesting her. At the end of 
 a half-hour, I descended from the pulpit, 
 my wager lost. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Did she marry? 
 
 The Priest. Peste! How you run ahead 
 of the story! Have confidence in me and be 
 assured that I am only telling you such things 
 about myself as are strictly necessary in 
 illuminating her own history. 
 
 The Lieutenant. I beg your pardon. 
 
 The Priest. No harm done. Meanwhile, 
 I left Saint-Louis, having acquired just about 
 all the instruction necessary to my task as a 
 missionary. I came here. It was a barren 
 plain. I confess that I did not foresee for a 
 second the prosperity which the Mormons 
 were destined to bring about here. One fine 
 morning, they arrived, and with them Colonel 
 Lee. 
 
 The Lieutenant. And Miss O'Brien? 
 
 The Priest. You can well believe that she 
 was not involved in that undertaking. She
 
 64 SALT LAKE 
 
 was staying quietly at her convent in Saint- 
 Louis. It was in 1848. Perhaps you have 
 heard people speak of Nueva Helvetia? 
 
 The Lieutenant. It was there that gold was 
 discovered. 
 
 The Priest. Yes. It was there that the 
 Mormon James Marshall, while spading the 
 ground for a conduit destined to bring water 
 to a saw-mill, discovered gold dust. Nueva 
 Helvetia is in California. That was the ori- 
 gin of the rush which you know about. The 
 Mormon pioneers, knowing only their terrible 
 discipline, returned to the new-born Salt Lake 
 City, their flimsy carts loaded with the first 
 sacks of gold-dust. It was then that Colonel 
 Lee intervened. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Did he go to the gold- 
 fields? 
 
 The Priest He. did not. And he dis- 
 suaded Brigham Young, over whom he 
 wielded a strange secret influence, from letting 
 his people go. By that advice, that stranger, 
 more than any one else, has been the creator of 
 Mormon strength. 
 
 The Lieutenant. How is that? 
 
 The Priest. Childishly simple. The race 
 for gold was the ruination of the theocratic
 
 SALT LAKE 65 
 
 power established by Joseph Smith and main- 
 tained by Brigham. It was necessary to con- 
 demn it. This was aimed at in a circular let- 
 ter from the Church: "Gold," was the sub- 
 stance of the letter, 'Ts good for paving streets, 
 roofing houses and making table-ware. The 
 treasures of this earth are in the ware-house of 
 the Lord : produce grain, build cities and He 
 will do the rest." 
 
 The Lieutenant. Those people must be in- 
 sane. 
 
 The Priest- Much less so than you think. 
 Thanks to that condemnation, Brigham main- 
 tained his power which is, I regret to ob- 
 serve, essentially spiritual. Adventurers 
 from all over the world have been coming for 
 the past ten years to be swallowed in the Cali- 
 fornian abyss: Brigham Young has guarded 
 his followers around him, sheltered from the 
 gold-lust. 
 
 The Lieutenant. And the sacks of gold 
 which had been carried to him to begin with? 
 
 The Priest. Aha! I see that you have a 
 good memory! Well, they were offered as a 
 gift to the church. But of it Brigham Young 
 coined money. Pieces of five and ten dollars 
 were struck with the motto: Holiness to the
 
 66 SALT LAKE 
 
 Lord. At the same time, the Mormon notes, 
 the depreciated notes of Kirtland's miserable 
 bank, climbed back to par, went still higher. 
 And thus it happened that, to the great scandal 
 of New York and Philadelphia brokers, the 
 prophecy of Joseph Smith affirming that the 
 time would come when his notes would be 
 worth more than gold, was realized. 
 
 The Lieutenant. I don't see how these de- 
 tails, doubtless very interesting from a 
 banker's stand-point, can have anything to do 
 with . . . 
 
 The Priest. Yes, they have. She had just 
 reached her twentieth year. It was becoming 
 rather difficult to keep her in the convent 
 much longer, without her taking the vows, for 
 which it must be admitted she did not seem 
 to be in the least suited. Colonel Lee took 
 advantage of a short visit he was making at 
 that time in Saint-Louis to marry her. 
 
 The Lieutenant To marry her! 
 
 The Priest. She was twenty years old, I 
 repeat, and he was nearing sixty. It was I 
 who advised him to marry her. 
 
 The Lieutenant. And that is just what I 
 find monstrous! Forty years of difference! 
 
 The Priest. Don't use those forty years as
 
 SALTLAKE 67 
 
 an excuse! Ah! be sincere! Men are indeed 
 all alike. They cannot forgive a woman for 
 not having foreseen that they would come 
 some day, for not having withheld themselves 
 until then. A while ago, you couldn't for- 
 give Mrs. Lee for belonging to the same nation 
 as your unfortunate servant Now . . . 
 
 The Lieutenant. Reproaches of that sort 
 cannot hurt me. Americans have more re- 
 spect for women's rights than you, Frenchman. 
 
 The Priest. I ignore what women's rights 
 are. I ignore abstract formulas. I am only 
 concerned with concrete situations. There- 
 fore, here is what that of Miss O'Brien was, 
 around 1850: an orphan, penniless, with an 
 aged guardian as her only protector, ex- 
 posed, upon his death, to all the troubles in 
 the world in taking possession of the estate he 
 might leave her. If you have some notion of 
 jurisprudence, you know that the international 
 law regarding private property is something 
 very obscure. Colonel Lee's wife would cer- 
 tainly have ten times less trouble to inherit 
 from him than his ward. Those are the con- 
 siderations, very wordly, I grant you, 
 which guided us, I, in advising that union, he, 
 in deciding for it.
 
 68 SALTLAKE 
 
 The Lieutenant. Then he married her. 
 
 The Priest. Just as you have said. The 
 evening, or the day after their marriage, he 
 went away again. Think of this, he had to 
 continue to amass, for sending to Ireland, the 
 savings of Jane's forlorn sisters. In 1852, he 
 returned to. Utah, and Brigham Young 
 lavished upon him palpable evidences of his 
 gratitude. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Of his gratitude? 
 
 The Priest. Haven't I told you that it was 
 thanks to his advice that Brigham had been 
 able to turn his people from the California 
 venture? Besides, Colonel Lee was one of 
 those men for whom it is a veritable pleasure 
 to lend a helping hand. His personal inter- 
 ests never ceased coinciding with the common 
 good. You know that iron ore abounds in 
 certain parts of Utah? 
 
 The Lieutenant. In Iron County, for in- 
 stance. 
 
 The Priest. In Iron County, precisely. 
 There it yields from forty to sixty per cent, 
 pure iron. A joint-stock company was 
 formed, under the name of The Desert Iron 
 Company, with a concession for fifty years. 
 Its blast-furnaces, at Cedar City, give about
 
 SALT LAKE 69 
 
 three tons of iron a day. The shares, issued 
 at a hundred dollars, are worth today about 
 five hundred and forty. Colonel Lee received 
 one hundred shares of preferred stock. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Fifty thousand dollars. 
 It certainly wasn't a bad deal. 
 
 The Priest. He did not content himself 
 with that. The territory is not only rich in 
 iron. There is silver and lead in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Las Vegas, coal in several coun- 
 ties. Sulphur, alum, borax, carbonate of soda 
 and saltpetre are all common enough. I call 
 your attention to the rubies and garnets of the 
 Humboldt River especially. Well, Colonel 
 Lee received his share in each of those ex- 
 ploitations. 
 
 The Lieutenant. In the end, all that must 
 have made a pretty sum! 
 
 The Priest. Yes, but unfortunately, with 
 many complications. Often, in the evening, 
 at the very table where we just dined, I have 
 seen the Colonel become angered, while go- 
 ing over his accounts. I shuddered when I 
 thought of the difficulties awaiting him the 
 day he would want to liquidate everything to 
 return to Ireland, as he threatened constantly. 
 I shuddered much more when I thought of
 
 70 SALT LAKE 
 
 his widow, the day he was brought back here, 
 smitten down by a fine congestion, with the 
 mercury at 31 below zero. I must tell you 
 that he had taken to whiskey and that the 
 veins of his temples had become rigid and 
 more brittle than vermicelli. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Was he dead? 
 
 The Priest. He didn't die until a few 
 hours later. He had the time and the un- 
 believable energy to entrust all his papers to 
 me and to instruct me to notify his wife. "If 
 you can," he said to me, "try to arrange every- 
 thing yourself so that she won't have to come 
 to Salt Lake. If the ridiculous legal red-tape 
 between American magistrates and the Mor- 
 mons is- such that she will be obliged to make 
 the journey, help her, watch over her. She 
 must not stay here any longer than is absolutely 
 necessary, even if it costs her half her fortune. 
 She will still have enough. She must go back ! 
 I want it to be you who closes the door of the 
 stage-coach which takes her away!" You can 
 understand that, having been thus entreated, 
 I shall not rest until I have closed that door. 
 
 The Lieutenant. You wrote her to come, 
 nevertheless. 
 
 The Priest. I wrote to her. You must
 
 SALT LAKE 71 
 
 understand that I was lost in the midst of all 
 those figures, out of which I could make 
 neither head nor tail. They complained to 
 me continually about the absense of the inter- 
 ested party. I had no legal power of attor- 
 ney. I wrote. She came. 
 
 The Lieutenant- And everything was ar- 
 ranged? 
 
 The Priest. To the best of her interests. 
 She was lucky. To begin with, Brigham 
 Young was very kind to her. 
 
 The Lieutenant. It was the least he could 
 do, when you consider the obligations he was 
 under to Colonel Lee. 
 
 The Priest. Of course, of course. At any 
 rate, he was very kind, it is undisputable. 
 Likewise, she found an invaluable influence 
 over the Federal Magistracy in the person of 
 Judge Sydney. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Righteous arguments 
 cannot fail) to touch an American magis- 
 trate. 
 
 The Priest. Those urged by Mrs. Lee ap- 
 peared irresistible to this one. She arrived in 
 Salt Lake in April of last year. By June, 
 everything had been settled, and on very fav- 
 ourable terms, I repeat She could have set
 
 72 SALT LAKE 
 
 off immediately with her fortune, if . . . 
 
 The Lieutenant. If? 
 
 The Priest. If everything hadn't been 
 spoiled just then between the Mormons and 
 the government of the Union. I will not go 
 back over ground you are paid for knowing 
 better than I : hostilities declared, the fron- 
 tiers closed, all thought of a journey impos- 
 sible for a woman, Mrs. Lee forced to remain 
 here, awaiting better days. 
 
 The Lieutenant. They have come. 
 
 The Priest. She did her best to hasten the 
 event. Independent, Catholic, European, she 
 was not an object of suspicion for either Mor- 
 mons or Americans. This villa has sheltered 
 and seen the growth of the palm of peace. 
 All the conciliators have been afforded a ref- 
 uge here, Captain Van Vliet, Colonel Kane, 
 the Commissioners Powel and MacCulloch, 
 Governor Cumming himself. If this ridic- 
 ulous conflict is about to be ended without 
 blood-shed, it is owing to the pleasant hospi- 
 tality of this lady. Don't you believe that she 
 acquired thereby some title to the gratitude 
 evinced to her this evening at the banquet from 
 which she will soon return to us? Don't you 
 believe that she acquired some right to the
 
 SALT LAKE 73 
 
 coach and wagons which carry her off tomor- 
 row night to the Eastern States, her and her 
 baggage? 
 
 The Lieutenant. I believe it. And . . . 
 won't you be at all sorry to see her go? 
 
 The Priest- I would not object to smoking 
 another cigar. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Here. 
 
 The Priest. You only have two left. I 
 have some scruples. 
 
 The Lieutenant. Take it. I have more 
 than two hundred in my luggage, over there, 
 in your room. 
 
 The Priest. Thank you. ... If I shall 
 be sorry to see her go? 
 
 The Lieutenant. The purple martin has 
 disappeared. How calm it is! What a 
 beautiful night! 
 
 The Priest. He lives in the straw roofing 
 of the veranda. What time is it? Eleven- 
 thirty! She is late, I am beginning to be anx- 
 ious. 
 
 The Lieutenant. There will have been 
 toasts. Toasts last a long time. We might 
 go to meet her. The moon has risen. One 
 can see as well as at high noon. Is that Salt 
 Lake, that brilliant expanse yonder, under the
 
 74 SALTLAKE 
 
 moon, between columns of yellow vapour? 
 
 The Priest. That is Salt Lake. 
 
 The Lieutenant. What a white, desolate 
 waste, beyond the black line of the trees! 
 Ah I there is the purple martin again! 
 
 The Priest. He has awakened. He must 
 have heard her coming. He always hears 
 her, I told you. She can't be very far away. 
 Listen, there is laughter, voices, steps on the 
 road. . . . There she is! 
 
 Before the garden gate there was an ex- 
 change of gay conversation for a minute. 
 The door grated and closed and then the voice 
 of Annabel rang out. 
 
 "Is it you?" 
 
 The two men, standing, remained silent. 
 
 "It is you," she repeated. "What a hostess 
 I make! But it is the fault of the American 
 Army, Lieutenant Rutledge. You must ex- 
 cuse me!" 
 
 They followed her into the dining-room. 
 The purple martin was no longer to be seen, 
 but they heard his wings whirring, when he 
 passed by the black rectangle of the open door. 
 
 Annabel let fall her voluminous dark cape. 
 She appeared before them, bare-armed and
 
 SALT LAKE 75 
 
 bare-throated. She wore a sulphur-coloured 
 dress, without hoops, but with enormous pan- 
 niers of midnight-blue taffeta and no jewels 
 other than a necklace and bracelets of opals. 
 
 Her blond curls framed her diminutive 
 countenance. A great ostrich fan, fastened to 
 her girdle by a string of crystal beads, hung 
 upon her skirt. She opened it and fanned 
 herself. 
 
 "You didn't dine too badly, did you, Lieu- 
 tenant Rutledge?" 
 
 She smiled as she gazed at him, allowing 
 her heavy grey eyes to rest in his. 
 
 As in the morning, he blushed ; he grew em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 "On the contrary, very well, Madam." 
 
 "Not like me, then ! Those gentlemen did, 
 of course, the best they could. But a dinner 
 not ordered by a woman, imagine! Besides, 
 the Governor's champagne was execrable. 
 But don't go and tell him so, will you? Mon 
 Pere, is there any Catawba left?" 
 
 "I confess," said the Jesuit, "that we did it 
 justice, without thinking of you." 
 
 And he pointed to the empty bottles. 
 
 "I am thirsty," she said. "Coriolan!" 
 And she struck a bell.
 
 76 SALT LAKE 
 
 The negro appeared, rubbing his eyes. 
 
 "Bring us two bottles of Catawba!" 
 
 He made to go out. 
 
 "Wait," she commanded, "I am hungry, 
 too. We talked more than anything else at 
 that dinner. Lieutenant Rutledge, do you 
 like jelly omelets?" 
 
 "Do I like jelly omelets?" said Rutledge. 
 "I should say so!" 
 
 "You hear, Coriolan, you are going to make 
 
 us one." 
 
 "A jelly omelet, Missus!" 
 
 "Yes. What is the matter, don't you under- 
 stand? Or rather, are you asleep?" 
 
 "It isn't that, Missus! But what can I 
 make it with?" 
 
 "Don't you know what is required?" 
 
 "Yes, I know. But Rose and I packed it 
 tonight in a big box, that is already nailed 
 up!" 
 
 "Very well, unpack it." 
 
 "Unpack it?" 
 
 The negro looked at her with frightened 
 eyes, then he looked at Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "Do as your mistress tells you," said the 
 Jesuit simply. 
 
 Coriolan bowed and, before leaving the
 
 SALT LAKE 77 
 
 room, placed the two bottles of Catawba wine 
 on the table. 
 
 The priest opened one of them, filled the 
 three glasses. 
 
 "You don't happen to have another cigar?" 
 he asked the lieutenant just then. 
 
 "I will go to find some in my room," said 
 the lieutenant with alacrity. 
 
 He went out. In the outer room could be 
 heard the plaintive squeaks of nails which 
 Coriolan was tearing out one by one. 
 
 Annabel, her glass raised, was watching the 
 effervescing of the tiny yellow bubbles. 
 
 The Jesuit came to her. 
 
 "It will be necessary to re-nail that box to- 
 morrow morning, at the earliest possible 
 hour," he said; 
 
 She replaced her glass upon the table. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Are you not leaving tomorrow night?" 
 
 "Perhaps not," she said. 
 
 "May I ask why not?" 
 
 "This officer is my guest. It is rather hard 
 for me. . . ." 
 
 "I thought," said Pere d'Exiles, "that to- 
 night you were supposed to ask the Governor 
 to billet him elsewhere?"
 
 78 SALT LAKE 
 
 "I didn't think about it," she exclaimed. 
 "Besides, it was rather awkward, just at the 
 moment when I was being thanked on all 
 sides for the hospitality I have been able to 
 offer the Federal officers. Don't you agree 
 with me?" 
 
 Pere d'Exiles smiled ironically. He did 
 not answer. 
 
 "Anyway," she said precipitately, "I 
 learned that the departure of the wagons I 
 was to use has been delayed. Two days, 
 three days perhaps. But," she added, looking 
 at him rather bitterly, "are you as anxious as 
 that to see me go?" 
 
 He started, but mastered himself at once 
 and gazed into her eyes with his calm scru- 
 tiny. 
 
 "Yes," he said. 
 
 She lowered her head. 
 
 At that instant, Rutledge re-entered. 
 
 "Here are the cigars. ... I am inter- 
 rupting you. . . ." he added, suddenly con- 
 strained and ill at ease. 
 
 "Interrupting us!" said Pere d'Exiles jo- 
 vially. "You are joking. Let us see those 
 cigars. Admirable, my dear sir, admirable!"
 
 SALT LAKE 79 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said the other, himself once 
 more. 
 
 Coriolan appeared, bearing a silver dish 
 upon which blossomed, gold and rosy, a re- 
 splendent jelly-omelet. Pere Philippe poured 
 himself a glass of Catawba and emptied it at 
 a single draught. Then he arose. 
 
 Annabel threw him a glance of interroga- 
 tion. He drew out his watch and extended it 
 to her. 
 
 "Excuse me. Five minutes before mid- 
 night. I say mass tomorrow morning, I 
 must not forget. In five minutes that wonder- 
 ful omelet will be forbidden fruit I prefer 
 not to lead myself into temptation." 
 
 And he left them. 
 
 His new room faced the South. He 
 opened the window. Salt Lake City ex- 
 tended, black and white, beneath the moon. 
 A cool breeze came from the mountains, car- 
 rying the sound of waters, the perfume of 
 flowers. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles stood a long time breathing 
 the fresh air. Passing his hand across his
 
 8o SALT LAKE 
 
 bald brow, he found it damp with perspi- 
 ration. 
 
 Nervously, he closed the window. The 
 room was shadowy. Groping about, he 
 found his bed, where mindful of the slightest 
 creaks in the timbers, he sought, for long 
 hours, to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 r iHE next day, which fell on Sunday, 
 
 was an extremely busy one for Pere 
 M d'Exiles. 
 
 He had not slept until late, very late, at the 
 moment when the faint glimmer of dawn was 
 beginning to flicker about his room. When 
 he awoke, suddenly, it was already seven 
 o'clock. The light striped the dark blinds 
 with gold. He pushed the shutters open. 
 The morning sunlight, fresh and charming, 
 danced on the garden. Spiders had woven 
 their pearly octagons upon the walks. Great 
 flies were coming and going, like balls of pol- 
 ished copper, darting about at random. Be- 
 neath the blue sky, the foliage was a beauti- 
 ful, waxy green, with an unaccustomed gloss. 
 
 The Jesuit went out on the veranda. He 
 said Mass there on Sundays, in the presence of 
 Annabel and the servants. When he came 
 out, robed in his priestly vestments, the two 
 negroes were there, Coriolan prepared to as- 
 
 81
 
 82 SALT LAKE 
 
 sist him, Rose kneeling already. But the blue 
 velvet prayer-bench belonging to their mis- 
 tress was unoccupied. 
 
 "Wasn't that packed?" questioned the Jes- 
 uit, pointing to the bench. 
 
 "Yes, Father. But it was in one of the 
 boxes that Missus had unpacked last night." 
 
 Pere d'Exiles said nothing. Eight o'clock 
 chimed in two different rooms of the villa. 
 Ah! the clocks, too, had been restored to their 
 places! 
 
 Ordinarily, the Jesuit waited, kneeling at 
 prayer, until a rustle of skirts announced 
 Annabel's arrival, always late. This time, he 
 began Mass immediately. 
 
 It was not until the first Dominus Vobiscum 
 that he realized that, in spite of all, she had 
 come. Turning around, he perceived her, 
 with her forehead bent upon the elbow-rest, a 
 soft silhouette misty in her morning muslins. 
 She was still there at the Benediction. She 
 was there no longer when he left the altar, 
 after the final orisons. 
 
 He was relieved. It would have been un- 
 bearable to have to speak to her. 
 
 He breakfasted rapidly, alone; then he 
 called Coriolan.
 
 SALT LAKE 83 
 
 "I am going out," he said. "I shall return 
 at half past eleven." 
 
 "And if I am asked where the abbe is?" 
 
 "At the American camp, seeing whether 
 there are any Catholic soldiers who need me." 
 
 He crossed the town. Salt Lake City was 
 still deserted. Less so than the day before, 
 however. There were few people to be met 
 in the streets, but in many of the houses, the 
 shutters were already unbarred. A consid- 
 erable number of Mormons must have re- 
 gained their dwellings during the night, con- 
 fident in the promise made to Brigham that 
 they would not suffer from the promiscuous- 
 ness of Federal soldiers. 
 
 The promise had been kept. Inside the 
 sacred walls, Pere Philippe came upon two 
 officers, but he did not see a single trooper. 
 The officers were on their way to report to 
 Governor Cumming. They were the first to 
 salute Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "Is it true that the American camp is on the 
 other side of the Jordan, gentlemen?" the Jes- 
 uit asked of them. 
 
 "Yes, sir, just across." 
 
 "I thank you." 
 
 Continuing his south-westerly direction,
 
 84 SALT LAKE 
 
 Pere d'Exiles soon reached the stream. It 
 flowed between tall clumps of silver-green 
 loosestrife. Its west bank swarmed with sol- 
 diers doing their laundry or bathing. 
 
 On the bridge, where a guard had been es- 
 tablished, the sentinal halted the priest. 
 
 "Who do you want?" 
 
 "Captain Van Vliet, orderly officer to the 
 Commander-in-Chief." 
 
 He was allowed to pass, but as he was given 
 no guide, he was forced to wander about the 
 camp. 
 
 Before a row of wagons, he stopped. A 
 non-commissioned officer was inspecting the 
 mule harness and testing the axle-trees with a 
 hammer. 
 
 "Are those, by chance, the wagons which 
 are going back tonight?" 
 
 "Yes," responded the sergeant. 
 
 Stabbed to the heart, Pere d'Exiles con- 
 tinued upon his way. So Annabel had lied to 
 him. An American convoy was leaving Salt 
 Lake that very night! Without herl Why? 
 
 The soldiers' tents, disposed in a horse-shoe 
 curve, backed down to the Jordan. In front 
 of them, were the officers' tents, forming a
 
 SALT LAKE 85 
 
 smaller horse-shoe. Pere d'Exiles walked 
 towards them. 
 
 One tent dominated the others, superior in 
 dimensions and comfort. To it he directed 
 his steps. Once more, he was halted. 
 
 "Who do you want?" 
 
 "Captain Van Vliet." 
 
 "He's with General Johnston." 
 
 "Will you tell him that Father d'Exiles 
 would like to speak with him?" 
 
 The orderly hesitated. A young lieuten- 
 ant intervened, signed to the Jesuit to wait and 
 went into the tent. 
 
 He came out again, almost immediately. 
 
 "Will you follow me, sir?" 
 
 General Johnston was alone with Captain 
 Van Vliet. The future Commander-in-Chief 
 of the Grand (Confederate) Army of the 
 Potomac came forward to meet Pere d'Exiles. 
 By the manner of his reception, the priest 
 realized that, at the banquet, the night before, 
 Annabel had spoken of him. 
 
 "Be seated, sir," said General Johnston 
 cordially. "That exquisite Mrs. Lee, last 
 night, sang your praises tirelessly. It was, 
 however, quite superfluous. All good Amer-
 
 86 SALT LAKE 
 
 icans know the part you played in the denun- 
 ciation of Captain Gunnison's assassins." 
 
 A more odious recollection could not have 
 been forced upon Pere d'Exiles. He lowered 
 his head without answering. 
 
 "Mrs. Lee is going to leave us," said the 
 General. "We are all very regretful. But 
 we understand easily why she prefers the 
 Eastern States to this abominable country." 
 
 "A convoy is leaving tonight," said the 
 Jesuit. 
 
 "A convoy leaves tonight. Another in 
 eight days, next Sunday, to be exact. She can 
 have the use of the one or the other, notwith- 
 standing, I repeat, that we dislike to see her 
 go." 
 
 Pere Philippe made bold. 
 
 "It would be very hard for her to leave this 
 evening. They have billeted one of your 
 officers at her house." 
 
 "Billeted an officer at her house!" and the 
 General's voice was wrathful. "How stupid! 
 But I knew nothing about it, my dear sir. I 
 beg you to assure her. Why didn't she say 
 something to me about it, last night?" 
 
 "Perhaps she did not dare," murmured the 
 Jesuit.
 
 SALT LAKE 87 
 
 "Does she want to have him lodged else- 
 where?" 
 
 And the General's pencil poised above a 
 sheet of white paper, ready to write the com- 
 mand. 
 
 The Jesuit's eyelids fluttered. His debate 
 of the day before, his debate upon the truth 
 with Lieutenant Rutledge, surged into his 
 memory. 
 
 "Does she want that?" repeated General 
 Johnston. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles dared not answer yes. He 
 spent what days were left him to live regret- 
 ting it. 
 
 "I don't think so," he said at last. "I think 
 she wants to crown her work by providing 
 shelter for that officer until the day the Army 
 leaves Salt Lake." 
 
 Captain Van Vliet looked at his chief. 
 
 "Now, sir, had I exaggerated about 
 her?" 
 
 "Charming creature!" exclaimed the Gen- 
 eral. "Will you tell her, sir, will you tell her, 
 better than I myself knew how to, the sum of 
 gratitude owed to her by the army I command, 
 more yet, by the Government of the Union? 
 Will you tell her? ...
 
 88 SALT LAKE 
 
 Thus speaking, he noticed the sorrowful 
 eyes of Pere d'Exiles. His enthusiasm was 
 dampened. 
 
 "But you yourself," said he, "you have come 
 here. Perhaps I can do something for you? 
 You have only to speak." 
 
 "How long to you expect to remain in Salt 
 Lake, General?" 
 
 "How long? Oh! a very short time. 
 Eight days, perhaps. We are seeking a suit- 
 able locality for establishing a permanent 
 army-post." 
 
 He repeated. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you?" 
 
 "I am a Catholic priest, General," said 
 Pere d'Exiles. "I would like to know if I 
 have any fellow-believers here." 
 
 "You have," answered Johnston. "Van 
 Vliet?" 
 
 The officer, thus summoned, examined his 
 orderly books. 
 
 "There are eleven Frenchmen in all in the 
 Expeditionary Forces," said he. "A cavalry- 
 man in the Second Dragoons, two cannoneers 
 in the Seventh Artillery, three infantrymen 
 in the Fifth and Tenth Regiments and five 
 wagoners."
 
 SALTLAKE 89 
 
 "Could some one take me to them?" asked 
 the Jesuit. 
 
 "Why, of course!" said the General. "Van 
 Vlietl" 
 
 "Chances are we will find them together," 
 said the Captain. "They assemble to drink, 
 to play cards and above all to argue. For, 
 I warn you, my dear sir, they are hot-headed 
 individuals." 
 
 "Take me to them," said the Jesuit, smiling. 
 
 And he went out, after shaking the hand ex- 
 tended to him by the General-in-Chief. 
 
 Under a tent, the flaps of which were raised 
 to allow ventilation, eight of the Frenchmen 
 were indulging in a game of cards. Four 
 were playing. Four looked on. 
 
 "Hello!" said one of the players. "A sky- 
 pilot!" 
 
 But, seeing Captain Van Vliet, he said no 
 more. 
 
 In a few words, dry and to the point, the 
 officer introduced the Jesuit. 
 
 "Leave me with them, if you will, sir," 
 said Pere d'Exiles gently. 
 
 Van Vliet bowed and disappeared. 
 
 "I, too, am French," said Pere d'Exiles to 
 the players.
 
 90 SALT LAKE 
 
 They stared at him without answering, seek- 
 ing counsel of each other with furtive glances. 
 Finally he who had said "a sky-pilot" burst 
 into laughter. 
 
 "You are French? What of it? What the 
 hell do you think we care?" 
 
 He was dressed like the others and wore a 
 faded chechia 1 the blue tassel of which danced 
 upon his back. 
 
 "You are French? What of it? If we're 
 here, you can bet your boots we don't give a 
 damn about France." 
 
 The others laughed with a timorous con- 
 descension. 
 
 "To begin with, where were you, the 
 twenty-fifth of June, 1848?" 
 
 "I was here," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "Ah 1 you were here ! Were you ? Well, / 
 was on the Place de la Bastille. I soaked my 
 handkerchief in the blood of your comrade 
 Afire. I was in the thick of the fighting with 
 Caussidiere and Louis Blanc." 
 
 "Caussidiere and Louis Blanc escaped," 
 said the Jesuit. 
 
 "Escaped? What are you talking about?" 
 
 1 The head gear of the French zouaves, a Turkish fez.
 
 SALT LAKE 91 
 
 "I say that they escaped, while the unfortu- 
 nates whom they had incited to revolt 
 were deported to Algeria," said the priest 
 calmly. 
 
 "So!" exclaimed the other, swallowing his 
 
 rage. "And the Second of December, where 
 were you?" 
 
 "Still here," said Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "Here! Well, I, I was on the barricades 
 with Victor Hugo!" 
 
 "Victor Hugo was never on the barricades," 
 said Pere d'Exiles with a smile. 
 
 "Was never on the barricades, Victor 
 Hugo? Wait a minute !" 
 
 "Monseigneur Afire was there," continued 
 the priest, while, having seized his questioner's 
 threatening arm, he forced him to sit down 
 again with his comrades, before the upturned 
 cards. 
 
 The other was frothing at the mouth. 
 
 "Bigot! 'hypocrite! Canting bigot! . . ." 
 
 "I leave you," said Pere d'Exiles, haughty 
 and sorrowful. "If any one of you has need 
 of me, he has only to have me called. He 
 should apply to Captain Van Vliet. I will 
 
 come." 
 
 And he withdrew slowly, while the revolu-
 
 92 SALT LAKE 
 
 tionary zouave pursued him with insults. 
 
 Having cleared the confines of the camp, 
 he followed along the Jordan and halted in a 
 deserted spot, where he knew he could be seen 
 no longer. There, leaning his fore-head 
 against a tree-trunk, he remained motionless 
 for a moment. Soon, he turned away from 
 the tree. The murmuring waters soothed him 
 and, even more, nearer him, all around, the 
 intense activity of insects. Ah! dear crea- 
 tures! You have not yet a place on the 
 world's Rolil of Honour, the place you de 
 serve. Trout darted about in the current, 
 after drowned grasshoppers. Pike, green 
 blue, floated about. Muskrats, emerging 
 from ancient, rotted stumps, came out on the 
 grassy banks, their moustaches, like those of 
 black rabbits, twitching. They sat upon their 
 tiny haunches, they looked at the priest, who 
 looked at them. 
 
 "Oh! brother of the greatest of all saints," 
 they were saying to him, "is it not true that 
 we have nothing to fear from you? Ah! 
 You would not be much happier if you had 
 our poor black hides, mangled and bleeding, 
 at your feet, crushed by your heel. We
 
 SALT LAKE 93 
 
 come to you. We only gnaw upon old, 
 useless things. We never bite, unless we 
 are frightened. Ah! if men could say as 
 much!" 
 
 Partridges crept among the stems of per- 
 fumed worm-wood, their heavy tail-feathers 
 trailing down the grass, which raised itself 
 the instant after. Emerald dragon-flies 
 hovered over the arborescent rock-roses; 
 and, just above Pere d'Exiles, imprisoned net- 
 like, in the feathery branches of a willow, 
 were two turtle-doves, billing and cooing. 
 
 Taking infinite precautions not to frighten 
 this beloved little universe, Pere Philippe sat 
 down upon a stone. The water and the insects 
 sang. For a few minutes, he sent his bruised 
 thoughts adrift with them. 
 
 He allowed them to wander at the will of 
 the murmuring stream, then, occasionally, like 
 a fisherman who, by a sudden jerk, recalls his 
 float ventured too far, he brought them back 
 to him. 
 
 What was he thinking about? What mat- 
 ters! And to what end does it serve to vio- 
 late the sacred mystery of the soul, to dissect 
 it, to lay out each spring separately, as we 
 used to lay out each part of the rifle, Model
 
 94 SALT LAKE 
 
 1886, improved in 1893, upon the instruction 
 handkerchief for an inspection. Is it not 
 more worth while to apply oneself to discover- 
 ing the effectiveness of a gun which has not 
 been dismounted and to observe at first hand 
 where its bullet goes, without all that luxury 
 of analysis? 
 
 Before Pere d'Exiles flowed the Jordan, 
 slow, calm, green. It was impossible to look 
 upon its tranquil, limpid waters without shud- 
 dering in picturing the awful briny gulf which 
 is Salt Lake, where, less than three leagues 
 away, they were swallowed up. 
 
 From the beetles crawling in the moss to 
 the little birds singing above, wandered the 
 eyes of Pere d'Exiles. Suddenly, he started 
 in amazement. 
 
 On a flat stone at his side, there was a book, 
 a book bound with a cover of grey lustring. 
 
 "Ah!" he exclaimed. 
 
 And he laughed aloud as he read the title of 
 the volume, which he had opened. 
 
 The Farewell of Adolphe Monod to His 
 Friends and to the Church. October l8$$ to 
 March 1856. 
 
 At falling upon that tract in the heart of 
 the Far West, on the hundred and fifteenth
 
 SALT LAKE 95 
 
 degree of longitude, the Jesuit manifested as 
 much surprise as he would have upon dis- 
 covering a fair argument in Les Provinciales. 
 
 He read at random: 
 
 "Do you not feel that all that I experience is 
 calculated to diffuse a spirit of peace, of seren- 
 ity among those about me, in my family in 
 particular and that our house, in less imper- 
 fect terms than hitherto, is a house of prayer, 
 where the Name of God is constantly invoked, 
 as It is constantly invoked upon us?" 
 
 The Jesuit laid down the book and rubbed 
 his hands. 
 
 "So?" he murmured. "This would tend to 
 prove that the negation of the utility of works 
 is not so very far from a certain pharisiacal 
 taint. And to think that such are the wander- 
 ings of that simpleton who overwhelmed 
 Amiel, Pressense and that worthy Agenor de 
 Gasparin with admiration! Let us go a little 
 farther, however. I have no reason, in this 
 my present condition, not to be impartial." 
 
 And he pursued: 
 
 "O marvel of the Grace of God! O power 
 of the Gospel! O bitterness of Sin! O im- 
 mutable steadfastness of Grace! Let us battle 
 with Sin, my friends, it is the ..."
 
 96 SALT LAKE 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir, if you please, but 
 you are sitting on my clothes." 
 
 Pere d'Exiles started. 
 
 A man had risen before him, a naked man, 
 or just about naked. About his loins was a 
 handkerchief which the current had twisted 
 into a cord. He eked out this insufficiency of 
 attire by modestly spreading his two hands 
 fan-wise. 
 
 He repeated: 
 
 "You are sitting on my clothes." 
 
 "To be sure, it is true, sir!" exclaimed Pere 
 d'Exiles, as he arose. "I beg your pardon, I 
 hadn't noticed it." 
 
 They continued in this manner to stare at 
 each other, the naked man very dignified and 
 somewhat annoyed, the Jesuit a prey to a 
 strong desire to laugh. 
 
 "Where in the world have I seen this indi- 
 vidual before?" he asked of himself. 
 
 The bather introduced himself ceremoni- 
 ously: 
 
 "The Reverend Jemini Gwinett, of Balti- 
 
 more." 
 
 "Ah! so that's it!" murmured the priest. 
 "I have it! One of the preachers in the caval- 
 cade of yesterday morn !"
 
 SALT LAKE 97 
 
 And not to be outdone in politeness, strug- 
 gling all the while to keep his countenance: 
 
 "Father Philippe d'Exiles," he said, "of the 
 Brotherhood of Jesus. Here are your clothes, 
 
 sir." 
 
 The other seized them pell-mell, bowed and 
 bolted behind a screen of bushes. He re- 
 turned shortly, clothed and formal. 
 
 "You will forgive me, sir, for having ap- 
 peared before you in a costume so . . ." 
 
 "Never mind," said the priest. "A good 
 swim, in such weather. . . . But this book 
 must belong to you?" 
 
 And he handed him Les Adieux d'Adolphe 
 Monod. 
 
 "It belongs to me, indeed," said the clergy- 
 man. "A very fine book, sir." 
 
 "I knew Adolphe Monod at Montauban," 
 said Pece d'Exiles, "at the time when he 
 taught Ethics in the Faculty of Protestant 
 Theology. He was a talented man," he added 
 politely. 
 
 "A very talented man," emphasized the 
 preacher. 
 
 "Are you interested in his works?" 
 
 "Not exactly for their own merits. Per- 
 haps you have heard of Emerson?"
 
 98 SALT LAKE 
 
 "I have," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "I am studying Emerson's influence upon 
 the writers of the Reformed Churches of 
 Europe," said Gwinett, carelessly. 
 
 "As a regimental chaplain, you must experi- 
 ence innumerable difficulties in doing justice 
 to an undertaking of such magnitude," said 
 Pere Philippe. "It seems to me, indeed, sir, 
 that I noticed you yesterday, in the parade of 
 the American troops. You must experience, 
 I repeat, many difficulties. . . ." 
 
 "No one knows it better than I !" cried the 
 other bitterly. 
 
 "Well, well!" thought the Jesuit. "Here's 
 one who is soured on life!" 
 
 He gazed at his interlocutor more atten- 
 tively. He saw a man of about thirty years, 
 dark, rather handsome, with small features, 
 an olive skin and intense, wilful eyes. His 
 voice was deep, affected and effective. It was 
 evident that the clergyman liked to listen to 
 himself talk. 
 
 "Melanchton!" murmured Pere d'Ex- 
 iles. 
 
 He wished to appear interested, although, 
 
 to tell the truth, he was already prodigiously 
 bored. He repeated :
 
 SALT LAKE 99 
 
 "You must experience a great many difficul- 
 ties!" 
 
 "You appear to be a person of some distinc- 
 tion," condescended the preacher. "You must 
 know, then, that men like us, in our position, 
 do not always find their spiritual superiors as 
 accommodating as they might expect." 
 
 "Yes, that does happen," said the Jesuit 
 evasively. 
 
 "It happened to me, sir. A misunderstand- 
 ing with the head of the Methodist Church in 
 Baltimore. From a doctrinal standpoint, a 
 trifle, I daresay. None the less, here am I, by 
 compulsion. What do you make of such pro- 
 ceedings?" 
 
 "They are most regrettable," said Pere 
 d'Exiles. 
 
 "I agree with you," said the other. "Simi- 
 larly, you, doubtless . . . ' 
 
 "I am here of my own free will," inter- 
 rupted the Jesuit. 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Gwinett, incredulously. 
 
 "Console yourself, at any rate," said Pere 
 d'Exiles. "There is as much good to be done 
 working here with your soldiers and my Indi- 
 ans as there is in hair-splitting on a univer- 
 sity."
 
 ioo SALT LAKE 
 
 "You forget that we do not believe in the 
 power of good works," stated Gwinett dryly. 
 "And then, every one according to his ability. 
 It would really not be worth the trouble to 
 have learned what I have learned, what you 
 have learned, no doubt, to . . . ' 
 
 "My dear sir," said Pere d'Exiles with 
 gravity, "you have probably heard of the 
 founder of the Order to which I belong, whom 
 the Catholic Church holds in veneration under 
 the name of Saint Ignatius. When there was 
 talk of sending an evangelist to the wretched 
 heathen, Ignatius did not select from among 
 his most obscure disciples, although one of 
 them might have achieved just as fine results. 
 He sent abroad the wisest among the first fol- 
 lowers of the new order, Saint Francis Xa- 
 
 vier." 
 
 The preacher smiled. 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt, my dear sir. How- 
 ever, permit me to complete your recollec- 
 tions. Ignatius of Loyola had begun by se- 
 lecting the most unlearned of his disciples, 
 Bobadilla, for that task. An attack of rheu- 
 matism prevented the chosen missionary from 
 setting off. It was then, and then only, that 
 Ignatius, much against his will, resigned him-
 
 SALT LAKE 101 
 
 self to the appointment of Francis Xavier to 
 Mozambique, Goa and the Indies." 
 
 Once again, Pere Philippe looked at the 
 preacher. He, in turn, lowered his eyes with 
 complacent modesty. 
 
 "He is altogether odious," said the priest 
 to himself. "But he beat me on my own 
 ground." 
 
 And, aloud, not without a glint of humour: 
 
 "You are right, sir. With your learning, 
 you have no business in Utah garrisons." 
 
 He added, desirous of taking his leave: 
 
 "You are returning to the camp, are you 
 not?" 
 
 "No," replied the other, "I am going to 
 town." 
 
 "Oh!" ejaculated the Jesuit without much 
 enthusiasm. "Well, then, we'll go together." 
 
 They walked along for a short while with- 
 out exchanging a word. It became more and 
 more evident to Pere d'Exiles that his com- 
 panion burned to ask him a question. The 
 Jesuit emphasized his apparent indifference. 
 
 At last, Gwinett could keep it no longer. 
 As they passed the wall of Salt Lake City: 
 
 "Have you been in this part of the country 
 for a long time, sir?" he asked.
 
 102 SALT LAKE 
 
 '"It will soon be fourteen years, if you 
 would like to know." 
 
 "Then you may be able to give me some 
 information that I would like to have." 
 
 "Proceed." 
 
 The clergyman opened Les Adieux d'Adol- 
 phe Monod. He drew out a yellow paper, 
 folded in four, which he extended to his inter- 
 locutor : 
 
 "Will you be so kind as to glance over this?" 
 
 "I know what it is," said the Jesuit, "it is 
 a billeting order. Yesterday I had one just 
 like it in my hands. Oh!" he exclaimed 
 after reading it, "so you are billeted at Rigdon 
 Pratt's!" 
 
 "Do you know this Rigdon Pratt?" 
 
 "Who doesn't know Rigdon Pratt in Salt 
 Lake City? He is a bishop and an influential 
 member of the Church of Latter-Day Saints. 
 In addition, these days, he is secretary to the 
 cantonment commission of the American 
 troops. I perceive with pleasure that, al- 
 though a high official, he has not profited by 
 his rank to free himself from obligations that 
 he is instructed to impose on others. But I 
 thought that the terms of the treaty excluded 
 the Americans from Salt Lake?"
 
 SALT LAKE 103 
 
 "Exception was made for the Army Chap- 
 lains," said Gwinett bitterly. "Another trick 
 of Governor Cumming's! That man is sold 
 out to Brigham Young. He has planned for 
 us to live with the Mormon families, so that 
 afterward we can testify to the perfect purity 
 of his proteges' morals. But this is not the 
 time to complain. You told me you were ac- 
 quainted with Rigdon Pratt. They brought 
 my canteen to his house. Can you point it out 
 to me?" 
 
 "The street we are following will take us 
 there," said Pere d'Exiles. "I will leave you 
 there when we come to it." 
 
 "Is it a house . . . well ... a house . . ." 
 
 "A house?" 
 
 "Well, yes, a house where a young ecclesias- 
 tic may live with no harmful results to him- 
 self?" 
 
 "I believe I understand you, sir," said the 
 Jesuit, "but we carry those dangers to our- 
 selves within us. For my part, if the neces- 
 sity should arise, I would just as soon live at 
 Rigdon Pratt's, and without the slightest fear, 
 I assure you." 
 
 "Nevertheless, he must practise polygamy," 
 said the preacher.
 
 104 SALT LAKE 
 
 "He is a Mormon," replied the Jesuit. 
 "That is as much as saying he has several 
 
 wives." 
 
 "Only five," said Pere d'Exiles. "He is not 
 among the most fortunate. He has had six. 
 But his first wife died last year. I knew her 
 quite well. I even taught her to play piquet." 
 
 "Abjection!" cried Gwinett. "And it is 
 there that I have to live! Meanwhile, good- 
 for-nothing young lieutenants are billeted out- 
 side of this Gomorrha in nice, respectable 
 houses!" 
 
 The Jesuit started. Could he have met an 
 ally? 
 
 "True enough," he said, making an effort 
 to assume indifference. "That is why the 
 villa that I have the honour to live in has shel- 
 tered a lieutenant of the Federal Army since 
 yesterday. I can't help thinking that it 
 would be a much more suitable place for 
 you." 
 
 "So you agree with me?" cried the clergy- 
 man. "What is this officer's name?" 
 
 At the end of the street, the roof of Rigdon 
 Pratt's domicile showed through the trees. 
 Pere d'Exiles slackened his steps. The con- 
 versation was becoming too interesting. The
 
 SALT LAKE 105 
 
 green gateway must not be reached before 
 hitting upon a practical solution. He visual- 
 ized the rough outlines of his scheme. He 
 smiled. His expression brightened with 
 pleased cunning. 
 
 "What is his name? Rutledge, Lieuten- 
 ant Rutledge, of the Second Dragoons." 
 
 "Rutledge!" exclaimed the minister. "I 
 should say I know him! He is a member of 
 my church. When the regiment left, his 
 mother commended him to my care, so that 
 during the campaign he would not treat his 
 religious obligations too lightly." 
 
 "And have you had any occasion to com- 
 plain of him in that respect?" 
 
 "To complain of him? On the contrary 
 . . . he is a true believer. At a sign from me, 
 he would disappear into the earth." 
 
 "Better and better," thought the Jesuit. 
 "Well, then, it would be easy for you to ask 
 him to change places. I don't suppose he 
 would refuse you." 
 
 "No, certainly not, but . . ." 
 
 "As far as comfort is concerned," continued 
 the tempter, "you would be much better off 
 with Mrs. Lee, my hostess, than at that infidel 
 of Rigdon Pratt's. For my part, the pleas-
 
 106 SALTLAKE 
 
 ure I shall take in discussing Emerson with 
 you . . ." 
 
 "Very kind of you," said Gwinett, "but the 
 exchange is impossible. You know quite well 
 that the covenant forbids the billeting of an 
 American officer with the Mormons. Rut- 
 ledge cannot be taken in my place at Rigdon 
 Pratt's." 
 
 "Well," said the Jesuit, "he will go to camp. 
 General Johnston himself is comfortably in- 
 stalled there, under a tent." 
 
 "It's true," assented the preacher. 
 
 "Here we are," said Pere d'Exiles. "I 
 don't wish to be indiscreet and appear to force 
 your decision. But I am in good enough 
 terms with Mrs. Lee to take it upon myself to 
 invite you to lunch at her house tomorrow. 
 She will be very pleased. Although she is a 
 Catholic, she likes the society of all cultured 
 people. There you will meet Lieutenant 
 Rutledge once again. And, from now until 
 then, you will have come in contact with Rig- 
 don Pratt and you will know if it is possible 
 for you to live any longer in the midst of his 
 harem." 
 
 "I accept. I accept with gratitude," said
 
 SALTLAKE 107 
 
 Gwinett. "Won't this Mrs. Lee find me very 
 bold?" 
 
 "I tell you she will be delighted, enchanted. 
 Then it's understood, until tomorrow, at 
 noon. Any one will show you her villa. A u 
 revoirj mon cher collegue." 
 
 Gwinett's hand was already upon the bell 
 of the gate. 
 
 "And give my regards to Sarah Pratt, Rig- 
 don's oldest daughter. If you are not armed 
 from head to foot against beautiful black eyes, 
 look out for her," called back Pere d'Exiles, 
 laughing. 
 
 "My dear sir," the clergyman protested dif- 
 fidently. 
 
 And he rang the bell. 
 
 -i 
 
 It was nearly one o'clock. Annabel was 
 about to sit down to luncheon with the 
 Lieutenant, when Pere d'Exiles came in. 
 
 Timorously, she shot a furtive glance at 
 him. She saw that he was in perfect humour. 
 She recovered her serenity. 
 
 The luncheon was extremely gay. 
 
 As dessert was served, Pere d'Exiles spoke 
 up.
 
 io8 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Your furniture and your silver-ware have 
 almost all been unpacked. So, chere amie, 
 don't think I have been too hasty in bringing 
 you a guest." 
 
 "A guest?" said Annabel, somewhat non- 
 plussed. 
 
 "Yesterday evening, Lieutenant Rutledge," 
 continued the Jesuit, "you evinced some scep- 
 ticism about the success I would have if I dis- 
 cussed the immortal, spiritual truths with a 
 pastor of your creed." 
 
 The young man opened his eyes in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Well, be satisfied. Tomorrow at lunch- 
 eon, you will see me in the lists with the Rev- 
 erend Gwinett, a chaplain of the American 
 Army." 
 
 "Reverend Gwinett!" muttered Rutledge, 
 disturbed at once. 
 
 "It is he whom I invited," said Pere 
 d'Exiles, triumphantly. 
 
 Annabel looked at both of them, then, with 
 simplicity: 
 
 "You did well," she said. 
 
 On Sunday, lunch was not served at Rig- 
 don Pratt's until half past one. They were
 
 SALTLAKE 109 
 
 not expecting the clergyman. He himself 
 did not imagine that they were. 
 
 He rang. Some one came to let him in. It 
 was a little boy of about ten years. They 
 went down the willow-bordered walk to- 
 gether. The kitchen garden could be seen 
 through the over-hanging branches; with its 
 square vegetable beds, laid out geometrically 
 and remarkably well kept. 
 
 A man in front of the door, with his hands 
 thrust into his pockets, was smoking a stubby 
 pipe. He might have been about sixty years 
 old ; he was thin, wizened and sunburned, 
 with a circle of white beard, but shaven lips. 
 
 The clergyman and this man greeted each 
 other. As they shook hands, they ascertained 
 that they both belonged to the Scottish Lodge. 
 
 "Well," said the old man. "A brother 
 Mason. The Reverend Jemini Gwinett, I 
 believe?" 
 
 "Himself," said the preacher, "and before 
 me I have, without a doubt, the Honorable 
 Rigdon Pratt?" 
 
 "Himself," said the Mormon. 
 
 He drew a puff from his pipe. 
 
 "Jemini, a good name. Book of Judges. 
 Chapter Three. Verses 14 and 15. 'So the
 
 no SALT LAKE 
 
 children of Israel served Eghn, the king of 
 Moab, eighteen years. But when the children 
 of Israel cried unto the Lord, the Lord raised 
 them up a deliverer, Ehud, the son of Gera, 
 the son of Jemini, a man shut of his right . . .' 
 
 He guffawed. 
 
 "Well, my dear Mr. Gwinett, I hope you 
 also are not shut of your right." 
 
 "Sir," said Gwinett, slightly disconcerted, 
 "will you peruse this?" 
 
 And he took the yellow slip out of Les 
 Adieux d'Adolphe Monod. 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes," said Pratt, waving back the 
 slip. "I signed it. You may judge that I 
 know all about it. Come, come, Nephtali," 
 he said to the little boy, "do me the favour of 
 showing your heels and taking up your duties. 
 I can see from here that there is a cow getting 
 into the cabbages." 
 
 The child left. 
 
 "You are among farmers here, sir, or rather 
 no, brother, allow me to call you brother, as 
 our hand-shake authorized me to ; among poor 
 farmers. Do you smoke?" 
 
 "Never," said Gwinett, pushing back the 
 proffered tobacco-pouch.
 
 SALT LAKE in 
 
 "Among the poorest farmers, I repeat. But 
 hearts of gold. Your room is ready and you 
 have a place at our humble board. By the 
 Elohim, if the day ever comes when you will 
 have a talk with President Buchanan, let it 
 not be said that you will have cause to com- 
 plain to him about Rigdon Pratt's hospital- 
 ity." 
 
 He shaped his hands into a trumpet. 
 
 "Sarah!" he called. 
 
 Nothing stirred in the house. 
 
 "Devilish girl," grumbled the Bishop. 
 "She is never where she ought to be. You 
 will have to excuse her, brother. So young, 
 you know. Naomi! Naomi! Come here a 
 minute, will you please?" 
 
 A timid little woman in black appeared im- 
 mediately on the threshold. 
 
 "Mrs. Pratt number three," said the Bishop 
 as he introduced her. "Will you give me the 
 pleasure, dear Naomi, of conducting the Rev- 
 erend to the room which has been prepared for 
 him? The meal will be served in half an 
 hour, brother. It is understood, of course, 
 that you are lunching with us." 
 
 "Thank you," said Gwinett.
 
 iia SALT LAKE 
 
 The house was without luxury, but large, 
 well aired and meticulously clean. The 
 clergyman's room opened on to a prairie that 
 sloped gently towards the Jordan. Some fine 
 cows were browsing placidly under the win- 
 dow. 
 
 M/rs. Pratt number three showed him the 
 linen-press filled with white sheets scented 
 with common herbs, the towels, the toilet 
 table and the ink-well on a small table. Then 
 she discreetly opened a tiny cupboard con- 
 cealed in the wall. On a china-plate was a 
 bottle, covered by a glass. 
 
 "The whiskey," she whispered. 
 
 And she closed the cupboard again. 
 
 "The fool!" thought Gwinett. "I could 
 have easily found all that myself! Ah! here's 
 my canteen!" 
 
 Mrs. Pratt helped him take out his meagre 
 belongings several books, some linen, a black 
 frock-coat for services. Then she departed. 
 
 Left to himself, Gwinett inspected his sur- 
 roundings more thoroughly. In the centre of 
 the room, the bed, a very wide one, was a 
 pleasure to see. It was, like the windows, 
 hung with chintz curtains sprinkled with bo-
 
 SALT LAKE 113 
 
 quets of red flowers. The fragrance of hay, 
 burned by the sun, rose from the prairie. 
 
 On the wall, a charcoal portrait, represent- 
 ing Joseph Smith in his uniform as the Gen- 
 eral of the Nauvoo militia. 
 
 On a stand, there were several Mormon 
 books of instruction and an English translation 
 of Beranger's songs, besides the Voyage to 
 Icaria, by Cabet. 
 
 After drinking a half a glass of whiskey, the 
 clergyman made a hasty toilet, smoothed his 
 abundant curls, which he seemed to cherish 
 particularly. Then, drawing a wide arm- 
 chair up to the table, near the window, he 
 waited, Les Adieux d'Adolphe Monod opened 
 upon the table. 
 
 Very soon there was a knock at the door. 
 It was M.rs. Pratt number three once more. 
 
 He followed her to the ground floor, into 
 the dining-room. 
 
 On the threshold, he stopped and bowed. 
 
 "Come forward, Brother," called out Rig- 
 don Pratt who was already installed in a 
 cathedral-like chair, at the extreme end of the 
 colossal table. "Here's your place, opposite 
 me, there you are. Allow me to introduce
 
 ii4 SALT LAKE 
 
 my little family to you. Our guest, the Rev- 
 erend Jemini Gwinett." 
 
 He pointed out the family in chronological 
 order. 
 
 "Gertrude, Mrs. Pratt number two Na- 
 omi, Mrs. Pratt number three, you know her 
 already Miranda, Mrs. Pratt number five 
 you will have to excuse Mrs. Pratt number 
 four and Mrs. Pratt number six. They are 
 across the hall, in the nursery, taking care of 
 the young children who are not admitted to 
 the table before their eighth year. Likewise, 
 I regret that I am not able to introduce Mrs. 
 Pratt number one but the Lord summoned 
 her to Him last year. She watches over us 
 from on high. But there, at any rate, is her 
 only daughter, my eldest child, Sarah Pratt. 
 She is instructed to oversee things so that we 
 want for nothing here. Sarah, greet our 
 guest, my daughter!" 
 
 Sarah bowed without lifting her eyes. 
 
 "I shall not introduce the others," added 
 Rigdon Pratt. "There are fourteen, you see, 
 from Abimelech, who is seventeen, and whom 
 we are going to marry one of these days to a 
 daughter of Brigham Young's, down to Susan- 
 nah, who is just eight. Fourteen, not count-
 
 SALT LAKE 115 
 
 ing Sarah, naturally. But Sarah is a grown- 
 up. She fills her deceased mother's place 
 here. Already a lady. Come now, Sarah, 
 smile a little!" 
 
 Sarah did not alter. She even accentuated 
 her sulky expression. 
 
 "Ah!* thought the clergyman, who had 
 been watching her out of the corner of his eye. 
 "There is a little girl who has every appear- 
 ance of doing just as she pleases and appar- 
 ently winds that old brute of a Rigdon Pratt 
 around her finger!" 
 
 The patriarch continued his census. 
 
 "The six little ones, under eight years old, 
 are missing, they are across the hall, as I had 
 the honour of telling you. Then there are the 
 ten older children, who have already taken 
 flight from the nest. One is a lieutenant in the 
 Federal Army; another is in Paris, secretary 
 to M. Edgar Quinet, ex-representative of the 
 people. The others are established in the 
 vicinity of Salt Lake City." 
 
 Mrs. Pratt number two had just placed 
 an enormous dish of pork and beans on the 
 table. 
 
 "First course," said Rigdon Pratt. "Sec- 
 ond course, a trout from Utah Lake. And
 
 n6 SALT LAKE 
 
 that's all. Ah! you see, you are among poor 
 farmers. You can't pick and choose." 
 
 "I am not accustomed to," said the preacher 
 dryly. 
 
 "And no wine, of course," insisted the 
 Bishop, "no wine, no alcoholic drinks. Jo- 
 seph Smith has put it well : 'Liquor and strong 
 drinks are not meant for the stomach.' Mir- 
 anda," he said, addressing Mrs. Pratt number 
 five, "take a little care of Uri. He has just 
 spilled beans on his Sunday trousers. Also, 
 I regret to state that Boaz has no napkin. 
 And to think," he cried, lifting his arms 
 heavenward, "that they upbraid us for being 
 polygamists! I call upon you to witness, 
 Brother: with five wives, does it look as if I 
 got any better service?" 
 
 "That isn't the question," said Gwinett. 
 
 "Yes, it is, think of it," continued the 
 Bishop. "In Washington, in Saint-Louis, in 
 Indianapolis, they accuse us of leading a life 
 of luxury and debauchery the life of Phari- 
 sees, of Saducees. Well, you can see for your- 
 self, Brother, we are poor people, very poor. 
 And in addition, today was Sunday. But 
 tomorrow, I warn you, there will be only one 
 dish. Unless you would like . . . '
 
 SALT LAKE 117 
 
 "I must insist that you don't go to any 
 trouble for me," put in Gwinett, annoyed. 
 "Besides, you remind me that I will not have 
 the honour of appearing at your table tomor- 
 row, at lunch. I am invited elsewhere." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the Mormon. "At His 
 excellency Governor Cumming's, I suppose?" 
 
 "No," answered Gwinett, "at Mrs. Lee's. 
 Possibly you know her?" 
 
 Since he had not lost sight of Sarah as he 
 talked, he noticed that the young girl's eyelids 
 fluttered almost imperceptibly. 
 
 "Well, well," he thought. "I believe I 
 have found a way to hold her attention, if 
 need be." 
 
 He repeated: 
 
 "Do you know Mrs. Lee?" 
 
 "Naturally," answered Rjgdon Pratt. 
 "M}rs. Lee is well-known in Salt Lake City, 
 where she owns the most beautiful residence. 
 Oh! well, if you are going to lunch with Mrs. 
 Lee, I won't worry about you. She is 
 wealthy, very wealthy." 
 
 "Ah!" said the clergyman. 
 
 "She is a great friend of Governor Cum- 
 ming's and of General Johnston's. No later 
 than last night, she was dining with them."
 
 ii8 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Ah?" repeated Gwinett, more and more in- 
 terested. 
 
 "She is rich, extremely rich. We we are 
 penniless, forced to earn our bread with the 
 sweat of our brow. She . . . ' 
 
 "She?" questioned Gwinett. 
 
 It seemed to him that he perceived a gleam 
 of turbid jealousy in the Mormon's glance. 
 He tacked about. 
 
 "You, at any rate," he said in that attrac- 
 tive, warm voice that he knew how to make so 
 convincing, "you are honest folk, and you 
 have already succeeded in modifying the hasty 
 opinions I may have formed on several sub- 
 jects, whose merits I am anxious to uphold as 
 soon as I have the occasion to do so." 
 
 Above all, he was anxious to be alone in his 
 room, in order to collect certain thoughts. 
 
 "The devil take the soldiers and Sunday ser- 
 vices," he said to himself. "I have something 
 better to do. Let these simpletons take their 
 Bible and read it. If they find one word of 
 sense in it, so much the better for them." 
 
 During the whole afternoon, he did not stir 
 forth. About six o'clock, some one knocked 
 at his door.
 
 SALT LAKE 119 
 
 Sarah Pratt entered. He was not as aston- 
 ished as he might have been. Nevertheless, 
 he reached instinctively to hide the glass of 
 whiskey that was on the table, beside Les 
 Adieux d'Adolphe Monod. 
 
 She smiled a little disdainfully. 
 
 "If it is there, it is for the purpose of being 
 drunk," she said, pointing to the bottle under 
 the table. 
 
 "Ah!" thought the preacher, "with this one, 
 it would be well to deal openly!" 
 
 Nevertheless he felt obliged to pay her some 
 compliment or other. 
 
 He reflected. 
 
 "You don't need anything?" asked the 
 young girl. "We dine at eight o'clock. I 
 am instructed to warn you." 
 
 He decided that he had found a suitable 
 thing to say. 
 
 "No, thank you, Miss Sarah. . . . What 
 a pretty dress you have on ! Allow me to com- 
 pliment you on it. It is extremely becoming 
 to you." 
 
 "Do you think so?" asked the young girl 
 dryly. 
 
 Sarah Pratt was wearing a black gown, very
 
 120 SALT LAKE 
 
 simple, with ruffles of lace on the arms and in 
 the hollow of the neck. 
 
 "Yes, I do," said Gwinett. 
 
 "It has already been worn by Mrs. Lee, 
 your hostess tomorrow," she said. "Mrs. Lee 
 is kind enough to give me her old dresses. 
 My father said it we are poor." 
 
 "So!" muttered Gwinett, abashed. "The 
 devil take such gallantry!" 
 
 Immediately, like a skilful tactician, he re- 
 solved to transform his set-back into a success. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said in his beauti- 
 ful, deep voice. 
 
 And he took her hand. 
 
 She did not withdraw it. She seemed 
 rather absent. He concluded to bring her 
 back to earth by respectfully kissing her white 
 arm. 
 
 She looked at him in ironic surprise, but 
 she did not push him away. 
 
 "Isn't Mrs. Lee leaving one of these days?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "I don't know," he murmured. "Ah! what 
 is Mrs. Lee to me?" 
 
 The sequel of this story will show that in 
 speaking so, he was not altogether insincere. 
 
 "You are wrong," said Sarah, "and you will
 
 SALT LAKE 121 
 
 realize it, as soon as you have seen her. She 
 is far prettier than I am, you know. Not to 
 mention her fortune, which is something to 
 tempt many a superior soul." 
 
 Gwinett bit his lips. 
 
 "Good-bye," she said. 
 
 And she walked toward the door. 
 
 An extraordinary emotion began to trouble 
 Gwinett's spirit. His confusion in the pres- 
 ence of this slender girl grew and grew, be- 
 came suddenly boundless. Was she not a 
 sister? Was she not the very replica of him- 
 self? All his sufferings as a poor student, his 
 religious bitterness, his doubts, his ill-confined 
 antipathies, his disillusions, at length his ob- 
 scure ambitions he divined their exaspera- 
 tion beneath that thin virgin forehead, pol- 
 ished like boxwood, beneath those smooth 
 bands of hair, beneath those lowered eyelids, 
 beneath that tight blouse where a frenzied 
 heart must pulse in flurried beats. 
 
 "Sarah!" he called. "Sarah!" 
 
 She stopped. She looked at him haught- 
 ily. 
 
 "Sarah! Miss Sarah! I beg your pardon! 
 Ah! what are you doing here?" 
 
 "Where?" she asked.
 
 122 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Here, in this country." 
 
 "I don't understand," she said coldly. 
 
 "In this country, my sister! Abjection! 
 The Bible, once for all, did everything to 
 establish woman's dignity. What have they 
 done with it here? I weep for you, my sister, I 
 weep for your lot!" 
 
 She gave a little, dry laugh. 
 
 "I believe I understand you," she said. 
 "But don't worry so much about me. I 
 shall never cease to be free until I will it my- 
 self. Even if I were married to a Mormon, 
 I would still be free. A woman of will- 
 power will always rule the poor unfortunates 
 who compose the harem of her spouse. She 
 will know how to make model and economical 
 servants out of them. For the rest," and she 
 smiled with disdain, "it is better to recognize 
 the gulf between what should be and what is, 
 without hypocrisy. . . . But those are details 
 that a young girl cannot go into." 
 
 She went to the little library. 
 
 "I don't want to catechize you," she said 
 scornfully. "But you began it! It annoys 
 me to hear a man, perhaps very intelligent, re- 
 peating nonsense." 
 
 She took a leaflet from the shelves and
 
 SALT LAKE 123 
 
 handed it to him. Mechanically he read the 
 title. 
 
 "Defence of Polygamy by a Lady of Utah" 
 said Sarah Pratt. "Perfectly right. A de- 
 fence of polygamy. The person who wrote 
 that is neither a lunatic nor a simpleton. It is 
 my cousin, Belinda Pratt, one of the most 
 sensible of people. In her booklet you will 
 find an exposition of the numerous reasons 
 why a sensible woman might advocate the 
 plurality of wives." 
 
 "I will read it, I promise you," said Gwi- 
 nett. "We should examine everything." 
 
 "Let us go down," she said. "We will keep 
 them waiting." 
 
 When they came to the door-sill, they 
 stopped at the same time. 
 
 "Sarah," murmured Gwinett. 
 
 Her hand was already upon the latch. She 
 was pale. She threw him a glance of sorrow- 
 ful interrogation. 
 
 "Sarah, my sister for you are willing that 
 I should call you Sarah, are you not?" 
 
 He trembled. Once for all he paid the ran- 
 som for all the emotions he had simulated. 
 
 "Well?" she said. 
 
 "Will you let me kiss you?" he pleaded. 
 
 With simplicity, she gave him her forehead.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MONDAY morning, Pere d'Exiles 
 arose, very gay. With a smile, 
 he watched Annabel and Rut- 
 ledge setting off for a ride about nine o'clock. 
 He heard them return at about eleven. A- 
 round noon, he began to show signs of impa- 
 tience. 
 
 "Can that creature have gone back on his 
 word?" he muttered. 
 
 The few pages which he read in "Paroles 
 d'un Cray ant" to conceal his excitement and 
 to get into the spirit of the affair, only aug- 
 mented his anxiety. 
 
 At a quarter after twelve, however, it dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Coriolan had come into the room. 
 
 "The preacher in the tail-coat is waiting for 
 Monsieur 1' Abbe." 
 
 "Ah!" said the priest, "Charming fellow 
 and a man of his word at that! Where did 
 
 you put him?" 
 
 124
 
 SALTLAKE 125 
 
 "In the dining-room." 
 
 "I shall be down directly." 
 
 Like people who plan long ahead of time to 
 catch a train, he found that he was late. He 
 spent a good two minutes in trying to hit upon 
 a sentence by which a Jesuit might, spontan- 
 eously and cordially, greet a Methodist minis- 
 ter. 
 
 At length, he descended. He had not been 
 out since morning and was still wearing his 
 comfortable old felt slippers. 
 
 "Well, well!" he murmured, as he entered 
 the dining-room by the door opposite the one 
 through which the clergyman had been shown 
 in. 
 
 The latter had his back turned. He was 
 dressed entirely in black. He had stopped 
 in front of a side-board. Pere d'Exiles 
 watched him take up consecutively a coffee- 
 pot, a silver cruet-stand, a compote-dish of 
 silver-gilt, weigh them in his hand, examine 
 them closely, turn them over, as if to discover 
 the stamp of the original silversmith. 
 
 "Good morning, dear Mr. Gwinett," said 
 the Jesuit at length. 
 
 The other was not even startled.
 
 126 SALT LAKE 
 
 Composedly, he placed the compote-dish, 
 last to be inspected, back upon the side-board. 
 
 "Good morning sir." 
 
 "You seem to take an interest in silver- 
 ware," said Pere d'Exiles amiably. 
 
 "My grandfather, whose name I bear," 
 responded the minister, "was a Baltimore 
 jeweller. I really know very little about 
 silver and gold bullion. Enough, however 
 to be aware that these various objects are 
 very valuable. But such trifles, sir, such 
 trifles." 
 
 He took up the compote-dish. 
 
 "This superfluous vessel represents what 
 would feed an honest family for two years. 
 The rich are either wicked or heedless, sir." 
 
 "Come now," said Pere d'Exiles playfully. 
 "You must give a thought, too, to the crafts- 
 men who fashioned that superfluous vessel! 
 Doubtless, my dear sir, it is owing to the 
 modest profits amassed by your respected 
 grandfather, that you received the education, 
 likewise a luxury, which you put to such good 
 use for the glory of the Lord." 
 
 "My grandfather died poor, sir," said 
 Gwinett dryly.
 
 SALT LAKE 127 
 
 He bowed deferentially. Annabel had 
 just entered. 
 
 The Jesuit introduced them to each other. 
 
 "Let us go out on the porch, shall we?" said 
 the young woman. 
 
 They went out, Annabel leading. The 
 minister swept her with a brief glance, which 
 Pere d'Exiles did not fail to notice. He 
 smiled. There was in that glance of Gwin- 
 ett's, admiration. The Jesuit found himself 
 almost flattered by it. 
 
 Rutledge was on the terrace, smoking. He 
 must have been expecting the minister's 
 arrival. He blushed nevertheless, and embar- 
 rassedly shook the hand which the other ex- 
 tended with a protecting air. 
 
 "Has the post brought you any news from 
 your mother?" inquired the clergyman. 
 
 "A letter yesterday," answered the young 
 man evasively. 
 
 "And from your sister, Miss Margaret?" 
 
 "A letter, too," said Rutledge. 
 
 And rather hastily, he began to talk about 
 something else. 
 
 They had not yet Assembled at table, but 
 already a heavy uneasiness weighed upon
 
 128 SALT LAKE 
 
 them. Pere d'Exiles noted with satifaction 
 that he had not presumed too much on his 
 guest's possibilities in that respect. 
 
 "She is bored, she is bored!" he said to him- 
 self, looking at Annabel. "And her hand- 
 some little lieutenant, how angry she is with 
 him for being as frightened as a school-girl 
 by this clergyman. But she isn't through 
 yet!" 
 
 Pere d'Exiles proved implacable. The 
 first course had barely been served before he 
 led the conversation around to Emerson. His 
 purpose was twofold first to annoy Annabel, 
 who could not bear anything that in the least 
 resembled preachiness, then to take revenge 
 upon Gwinett for the slight victory he had 
 won in the discussion about Ignatius, Francis 
 Xavier and Bobadilla the day before, on the 
 banks of the Jordan. 
 
 He succeeded amply. Before an astonished 
 and approving Gwinett, he discoursed at 
 length upon the "Trust Thyself" of the 
 redoubtable American mystic. He ended by 
 a comparison with Fenelon and quoted the 
 sublime phrases with enthusiasm: 
 . ."When I rest in perfect humility, -when I
 
 SALT LAKE 129 
 
 burn with pure love, what can Calvin and 
 Swedenborg say? The faith that stands on 
 authority is not faith. The reliance on au- 
 thority measures the decline of religion, the 
 withdrawal of the soul. Great is the soul and 
 plain. It is no flatterer, it is no follower; it 
 never appeals from itself. It believes in itself. 
 
 "Thus revering the soul, and learning, as 
 the ancient said, that f lts beauty is immense,' 
 man will weave no longer a spotted life of 
 shreds and patches, but he will live with a 
 divine unity. 
 
 "I would make certain reservations on his 
 theories," he concluded, "but as for the style, 
 it's magical 1" 
 
 "Although they would surely not be the 
 same," said Gwinett, "I would also make my 
 reservations. Lieutenant Rutledge, do you 
 know which ones?" 
 
 The officer started. He shook his head. 
 
 "What I" exclaimed Gwinett acidly. "You 
 don't remember that quotation of Emerson's? 
 Still, it is the very one I took as the topic for 
 the address I pronounced at your mother's 
 request a year and a half ago in Chicago, on 
 Miss Regina Spalding's birthday."
 
 130 SALT LAKE 
 
 Rutledge turned scarlet. 
 
 "That reminds me," continued the rever- 
 end, "a while ago, I forgot, and I beg your 
 pardon, to ask you about Miss Spalding. I 
 hope she is well." 
 
 "She is," mumbled the unfortunate Rut- 
 ledge. 
 
 "What a sweet girl!" said the minister. 
 
 "Who is Miss Regina Spalding?" asked 
 Annabel indifferently, as she took tiny sips 
 of creme de cassis. 
 
 "Lieutenant Rutledge's fiancee," responded 
 Gwinett simply. 
 
 There was a silence. Clumsy gold 
 bees were darting about in the shady 
 room. 
 
 "Ah good fellow!" thought Pere d'Exiles, 
 a great weight lifted from his heart. "No, 
 you could not have failed me. If you knew 
 how much I love you, for that infallible 
 promptness of yours in putting your foot in 
 it!" 
 
 He had nothing more to worry about. He 
 had only to watch the boulder plunging down 
 from the mountain top with gathering momen- 
 tum.
 
 SALT LAKE 131 
 
 "You don't know Miss Spalding, Mrs. 
 Lee?" asked the minister. 
 
 u How should I?" said Annabel, laughing 
 a little. "I am not from Chicago." 
 
 "The lieutenant might have shown you 
 her photograph, he has it in his can- 
 teen." 
 
 "He has not even done me the honour of 
 mentioning her to me," said Annabel, still 
 laughing. "Isn't it so, Lieutenant?" 
 
 " C I . . ." said Rutledge, overwhelmed, 
 
 "But his forgetfulness can be mended, can't 
 it? Go and get us that picture." 
 
 "Pardon me, if I . . ." he mumbled. 
 
 "What?" she exclaimed with banter. 
 "Must I repeat my requests twice?" 
 
 He went out, to return carrying a daguerre- 
 otype on which a young Anglo-Saxon beauty 
 affected a drooping air. 
 
 "Extremely pretty, .a great deal of char- 
 acter," said Annabel, carelessly. "And when 
 is the wedding?" 
 
 "At the end of the campaign," said Gwinett. 
 "Isn't it deplorable to see politics delaying 
 the union of two such accomplished young 
 people I"
 
 132 SALTLAKE 
 
 "How do you like my guest?" asked Pere 
 d'Exiles innocently, when Gwinett and Rut- 
 ledge, who were going to the camp together, 
 had taken leave. 
 
 "Your guest!" she said. 
 
 She burst into a nervous laugh. 
 
 "How do I like him? He is an odious 
 boor, an odious boor!" 
 
 The Jesuit looked contrite. 
 
 "Do I astonish you?" 
 
 "You embarrass me, more than anything. 
 I completely mistook your feelings about him 
 and I have just permitted myself . . ." 
 
 "Permitted yourself?" 
 
 "To invite him to come back tomorrow." 
 
 "Invite him to come tomorrow, after to- 
 morrow, to lunch to dinner, to stay all night, if 
 you think you ought to," said Annabel. "I 
 only ask you not to forget that I am leaving 
 Sunday." 
 
 "I shall take good care," Pere Philippe 
 lowering his head. 
 
 They re-entered the house. 
 
 "What is this vase doing here?" said 
 Annabel, stopping before a gorgeous Chinese 
 vase, placed on a small table. "Rose!"
 
 SALT LAKE 133 
 
 The maid came running. 
 
 "Why isn't this vase packed?" 
 
 "It was, madame," said the negress, rolling 
 scared eyes, "but it was in a trunk that Missus 
 ordered us to undo." 
 
 "At present, there remains but one packing 
 case unopened," added the Jesuit. 
 
 Annabel bit her lips. 
 
 "Enough. See that all this is packed by 
 Friday night. You too," she said to Rose and 
 to Coriolan who was entering the room, "don't 
 forget that we leave Salt Lake City Sunday 
 evening, five days from now." 
 
 Thereupon, she left them. She did not 
 reappear until dinner time, and she took 
 refuge in her room immediately after. Dur- 
 ing the meal, she did not open her mouth 
 to say a word. Rutledge did not know what 
 to do with himself. Annabel gone, the Jesuit 
 took pity on the poor boy and suggested a 
 game of chess, which the other accepted 
 with a grateful look from his honest, sorrow- 
 ful eyes. 
 
 The clergyman returned the next day and 
 the day after. Annabel was gay and heed- 
 less once again. She paid very little attention
 
 134 SALT LAKE 
 
 to Rutledge, but now and then, threw him 
 mocking glances which desolated the unfor- 
 tunate young man. Pere d'Exiles was in 
 heaven. 
 
 That evening, which was Wednesday, the 
 thirtieth of June, Annabel's departure still 
 fixed for Sunday, the fourth of July, she in- 
 sisted upon keeping the clergyman to dinner 
 they wanted to finish a game of whist. 
 
 After dinner, as the unhappy lieutenant was 
 throwing her humble and pleading glances, 
 Annabel, rendered excessively nervous and 
 capricious, declared that she was tired of 
 whist. She expressed a desire to learn 
 the essentials of the clergyman's life. The 
 preacher had been particularly brilliant dur- 
 ing dinner. After allowing himself to be 
 properly coaxed, he consented. 
 
 "You ask me. Mrs. Lee, to resuscitate for 
 you the memory of unspeakable sufferings," 
 he began. 
 
 And, taking up a studiedly simple pose, he 
 gave them a long narration, monotonous and 
 uplifting like a novel by the Bronte sisters. 
 Since nothing is more calculated to destroy 
 the unity of ,a story than this sort of digression, 
 the account of the Reverend Gwinett's infancy
 
 SALT LAKE 135 
 
 and adolescence shall not find a place here. 
 That account, however, seemed to make quite 
 a favorable impression on Annabel. 
 
 "He is very interesting," she murmured 
 several instances, in Pere d'Exile' ear. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you so?" answered the Jesuit, 
 drawn out of the pleasant somnolence into 
 which the sentences of his dissenting colleague 
 plunged him little by little. 
 
 When he had finished, by a peroration that 
 fixed even the attention of the disconsolate 
 Rutledge, the clergyman arose to take leave. 
 
 "We will accompany you as far as your 
 house," said Annabel with alacrity. 
 
 She threw a dark mantle over her beautiful 
 light hair. They went out. On the road, she 
 took the Jesuit's right arm and the clergyman's 
 left. The lieutenant went ahead, a dejected 
 silhouette beneath the moon. 
 
 The night was warm, and the sky pale blue. 
 Through the willows, to the left and to the 
 right, the brooks splashed along noisier where 
 the road sloped. And, by moments, it was 
 Annabel's clear laugh which resounded. 
 
 Thus they came upon the dark mass of Rig- 
 don Pratt's residence.
 
 136 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Look!" said the young woman. "Some- 
 one is waiting for you." 
 
 Gwinett started. At the window, that of 
 his room, behind the blinds, a lamp was 
 lighted. 
 
 He was so troubled by this observation, that 
 he forgot the speech he had been preparing 
 for half an hour, to take leave of Annabel 
 Lee according to his notions of propriety. 
 
 The entrance door was fastened only by a 
 latch. He managed to enter without hin- 
 drance. During his recital, he had emptied 
 several times the glass that Annabel refilled 
 each time. He became aware of it as he 
 climbed the obscure staircase. 
 
 On the landing, he recognized the door of 
 his room, underlined at the bottom by a yellow 
 ray. He pushed open the door, his heart beat- 
 ing. 
 
 "You!" he murmured, "you!" 
 
 Sarah Pratt was seated at the little table, 
 her waxy forehead under the lamp. She 
 was reading. 
 
 She lifted her head. 
 
 "Excuse me," said Gwinett. "If I had 
 known .
 
 SALT LAKE 137 
 
 "You have no need to excuse yourself," she 
 answered. "You couldn't have known that 
 I was waiting for you." 
 
 He remained upon the threshold, confused, 
 his round bat in his hand. 
 
 "Close th-i dror," she said. "Take off your 
 coat and come and sit down. You might 
 guess that if I am waiting for you at this 
 hour, I have something important to tell 
 you." 
 
 He obeyed. When he came close to her, 
 she whispered a hasty sentence to him. 
 
 He started. His countenance grew livid. 
 
 "Already!" he groaned. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But it wasn't to be ... It wasn't to be so 
 soon !" 
 
 "The fact is," she sid, "that it is in two 
 days." 
 
 "How does it happen that you know all 
 about it?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Have you forgotten that Rigdon Pratt is 
 Secretary of the Cantonment Commission? 
 My father just left Brigham Young a short 
 while ago, and Brigham Young heard the
 
 138 SALT LAKE 
 
 news from Governor Gumming. The de- 
 cision is still secret, and will be until tomorrow 
 night. It was taken this evening at seven and 
 agreed upon by General Johnston and Gov- 
 ernor Gumming." 
 
 Gwinett gave a short sob. 
 
 "Leave you, Sarah!" 
 
 And he hid his face in his hands. 
 
 Her face lit up with joy. Once again, she 
 shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "You don't have to leave me unless you want 
 to, Jemini," she said. 
 
 Upon her pale, wilful lips, his name did 
 not seem so laughable. 
 
 "Unless I want to . . ." he exclaimed. 
 
 "Sit down, sit down!" she said. "Time is 
 precious. Let us talk little, but well." 
 
 And she began to spe^k to him in a low 
 voice. 
 
 They debated about an hour. The lamp 
 flickered. 
 
 "I believe I understand, Sarah, I under- 
 stand," said Gwinett, transported. 
 
 "It's a good thing you do," she said. 
 
 "Sarah, Sarah, do you really think we might 
 succeed?"
 
 SALT LAKE 139 
 
 "I am sure of it, if you follow out what we 
 have just planned to the letter." 
 
 "I understand, Sarah! But I must confess 
 that I am afraid, somewhat afraid . . ." 
 
 "Of what?" she demanded impatiently. 
 
 "Of the ease with which you decide . . . 
 with which you assign me such a role. Sarah 
 what if you didn't love me as I love you ! . . ." 
 
 "I trust you," she said simply. 
 
 The lamp was going down i;apidly. Both 
 of them were standing, face to face, in the 
 shadowy room. 
 
 "Sarah!" he exclaimed. 
 
 The light flickered, then died; they 
 embraced hastily. A moment later, Gwinett 
 heard the steps of the girl die away in the hall. 
 
 "Well, well, Mr. Gwinett, what is the 
 matter with you?" asked Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "You are quite pale," said Annabel. 
 
 "Do our cigars bother you?" asked Rut- 
 ledge. 
 
 "No," said the clergyman. "It is nothing. 
 It will pass." 
 
 "The weather is dreadfully close and the 
 heat is unbearable," said the young woman.
 
 140 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Coffee is served on the verandah. We shall 
 be cooler there. Let us go out." And she 
 rose from the table. 
 
 The men followed suit. 
 
 "Heavens!" cried Annabel. 
 
 Gwinett had fallen back into his chair, his 
 head hanging down, his lips contracted. 
 
 "What is it? What is the matter?" cried 
 the lieutenant. The minister opened his eyes. 
 
 "Nothing, it's nothing," he said, attempting 
 a smile. 
 
 He made an effort to arise. He fell back 
 once more. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles took his hand. It was icy. 
 He felt his pulse. It was almost impercep- 
 tible. He frowned. 
 
 Into his room, or rather into Rutledge's 
 room, he carried the minister, with the aid of 
 Coriolan. He threw the windows wide open, 
 after laying Gwinett on the bed. 
 
 "Give me your smelling salts," he said to 
 Ann-abel. 
 
 She hunted for them feverishly and found 
 them at last. The Jesuit alone had kept a 
 cool head. Alone he undressed the minister. 
 Gwinett had not regained consciousness.
 
 SALT LAKE 141 
 
 "What's the matter with him, what can be 
 the matter?" repeated Rutledge and Annabel 
 over and over. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "How should I know? Lieutenant, you 
 have your horse?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "There must be physicians at the camp." 
 
 "Yes. Senior-Surgeon Irving, Surgeon- 
 Lieutenants Turner and McVee." 
 
 "Good. Jump on your horse immediately 
 and bring us back the Senior-Surgeon. He 
 must be the most capable, since he has the 
 highest rank." 
 
 "In the meanwhile, I am going to have 
 Doctor Codoman called," said Annabel. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles made a face. 
 
 "I don't care much about Doctor Codoman. 
 But still it's true that it takes a good hour to 
 go and come from camp. Doctor Codoman 
 could get here in half an hour. We have no 
 right to lose precious time." 
 
 Coriolan and the officer gone, Annabel 
 remained with the Jesuit at the minister's 
 side; likewise Rose who, with smothered 
 squawks, was telling her prayers upon a 
 rosary of mauve amaranth.
 
 142 SALT LAKE 
 
 Doctor Darius Codoman, ex-professor of 
 Legal Medicine at the Faculty of Paris, was 
 the only physician in Salt Lake City. He 
 had made numerous attempts to be received 
 by Annabel, but without success. Apparently 
 he bore her no ill will for it, since he arrived, 
 in a few minutes. 
 
 "Madame, mon Pere'' he greeted, bowing 
 with the best grace in the world. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles conducted him to the bed 
 where the minister was lying. Briefly, he 
 recounted the symptoms to each one, the doc- 
 tor shook his head in approval. 
 
 "Oui, c'est cela; c'est bien cela." 
 
 He meditated. 
 
 "There are no two diagnostics possible. 
 Sore throat, epigastric pains, torpor, itching, 
 excruciating cramps, intermittent syncopes, 
 complete prostration, voiceless, dry skin. No 
 fever, but great weakness and somnolence. 
 Impossible, I repeat, to be mistaken." 
 
 He bent towards the Jesuit and the young 
 woman. 
 
 "He is lost." 
 
 Annabel clasped her hands.
 
 SALT LAKE 143 
 
 "What do you diagnose?" asked the priest 
 nevertheless. 
 
 "A very uncommon disease, fortunately; 
 when it presents itself, it never misses its man. 
 This unhappy person is struck down by acute 
 jaundice, also called pernicious jaundice, or 
 malignant jaundice, acute yellow atrophy of 
 the liver or spontaneous fat metamorphosis. 
 This malady, which the learned researches of 
 Rokitansky and Winderlich . . ." 
 
 "Is there nothing to be done?" demanded 
 Annabel. 
 
 "Nothing," answered Codoman. "It is 
 one of the maladies against which Science 
 finds itself absolutely unarmed. Rien! Soon 
 the jaundice will appear, accompanied by 
 crythematic spots. Then delirium with 
 convulsive contractions of the jaws, subsulti; 
 then, coma; then death." 
 
 "The poor man, the poor man!" repeated 
 Annabel wringing her hands. "Doctor, doc- 
 tor, isn't there some way to make his last 
 moments easier?" 
 
 "We are going to try," said the doctor. 
 
 iHe began to write a prescription: a potion 
 with hydrated magnesia, five grams; lemo-
 
 144 SALT LAKE 
 
 nade, perchloride of iron, ten drops; decoction 
 of gummed rice water; Rabel water, twenty 
 drops; laudanum, fifteen drops . . ." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "The time it will take Mr. Cricket to de- 
 liver us alii that! Mr. Cricket derives his 
 revenue less from pharmacy than from 
 the sale of hooks and bait for fishing. 
 Haven't you some of those drugs here, 
 Madame, by chance?" 
 
 "I don't know ... I think so," said 
 Annabel, who was losing her head. "The 
 box, the trunk where the little medicine chest 
 is ... Father . . . Rose . . . open it 
 quick 1" 
 
 "Ah!" murmured Pere d' Exiles. "The 
 last trunk. The only one that was still un- 
 touched!" 
 
 He went out, nevertheless, with Rose. He 
 returned shortly, carrying woollen bandages, 
 several bottles, several boxes of drugs. 
 
 All the while as he aided the physician in 
 his preparations, he had not lost sight of the 
 sick man. 
 
 "Doctor, will you permit me to ask you a 
 question?" he demanded at last. 
 
 "Pray do so."
 
 SALT LAKE 145 
 
 "Don't you think that this attack might be 
 due to the ingestion of a toxic substance?" 
 
 Being a missionary, Pere d'Exiles had 
 acquired the power to express himself in 
 strange technical language without difficulty. 
 
 Doctor Codoman looked at him pityingly. 
 
 "It seems that you don't know to whom you 
 are speaking, Monsieur?" 
 
 "O," said the priest. "I know that you 
 have been a professor at the College of 
 Medicine in Paris." 
 
 "And a disciple of Orfila, Monsieur, of 
 Orfila and of Trousseau. Well, do you know 
 what these masters say, the one in his Traite 
 de Toxicologie Generale and the other in his 
 Rapport sur la Ligature de I'Oesophage?" 
 
 The Jesuit made a gesture admitting his 
 ignorance. 
 
 "Do you know, besides, that I was entrusted 
 with the examinations in such celebrated cases 
 as the suicide of the Duke de Choiseul-Praslin 
 and that of the convicts Souffard and Ayme? 
 So then, be at rest. As a matter of fact, if 
 death is due to poisoning, the post-mortem 
 will not fail to disclose it. For the time be- 
 ing, suffer me to keep my diagnosis." 
 
 "Monsieur," said Pere d'Exiles, provoked.
 
 i 4 6 SALTLAKE 
 
 "I didn't presume to give you a lesson. I am 
 quite sure that your diagnosis will be con- 
 firmed by that of your Colleague, Senior-Sur- 
 geon Irving of the American Army, whom we 
 had to call, since the patient belongs to the said 
 army. While we wait, let me leave you to 
 your work and I will return to mine." 
 
 Thereupon the Jesuit sat down by the bed- 
 side of Gwinett and began to read his brevi- 
 ary. 
 
 It was four o'clock. Doctor Irving had 
 not yet come. In a corner of the room, Doc- 
 tor Codoman was recounting to the horror- 
 stricken Annabel details of the assassination 
 of the Duchess de Choiseul-Praslin. 
 
 "On the nineteenth of August, the examin- 
 ing Peers visited the Prasline, mansion 55, 
 Faubourg Saint-Honore. The bed room was 
 still just as it had been the morning of the 
 crime. The blood had turned from red to 
 black, that was the only difference. The 
 struggles and resistance made by the Duchess 
 were seen there, lifelike and vivid. Every- 
 where, bloody hands along the walls, from one
 
 SALTLAKE 147 
 
 door to the other, from one bell to the 
 other . . ." 
 
 "Oh, plqase, Doctor . . ." pleaded Anna- 
 bel, revolted. 
 
 "The poor Duchess was literally hacked to 
 pieces, slashed by a knife, felled by the butt 
 of a pistol. Allard, Vidocq's successor at the 
 Secret Police Bureau, told us: 'This is a bad 
 job professional assassins work better, it's the 
 handiwork of a man of the world." 
 
 "How awful," cried the young woman. 
 
 "As to the Duke," continued Codoman, 
 "he had not lost his composure. At the Lux- 
 embourg, one of the Peers, Count de Noce, 
 came up to me, saying: 'Can you imagine! 
 He had made a fire to burn his dressing-gown!' 
 I told him:" 'Why didn't he do away with 
 himself, too?' " 
 
 Just then, Gwinett suffered another syncope. 
 The doctor went over to him with ill-humour. 
 He was angry with the sick man for having 
 spoiled his climax. 
 
 "And Doctor Irving isn't here yet!" mur- 
 mured Annabel despairingly. 
 
 "I am quite ready to give him my place,
 
 148 SALTLAKE 
 
 Madame," said Codoman acidly. "How- 
 ever, allow me to have my doubts as to . . ." 
 
 "Forgive me, forgive me, Doctor!" she 
 broke in, taking his hand. "But to see that 
 poor man suffer so and not be able to do any- 
 thing . . . Oh, it's terrible 1" 
 
 Pere d'Exiles was still at his breviary. 
 
 The minister's spasm had subsided; the 
 physician found himself once more at liberty 
 to pursue the exposition of his toxicological 
 prowess. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Madame, it is just as I have 
 the honour to assert: as is usual in the majority 
 of cases of poisoning by arsenious acid, the 
 post-mortem showed that the Duke's stomach 
 had not a single scar. It was scarcely in- 
 flamed. But as for the liver, that was another 
 matter. We operated separately upon four 
 hundred grams of that viscera first, by incin- 
 eration with nitrate of potassium; second, by 
 decomposing the organic matter with chlor- 
 ine. We had decided not to have recourse 
 to the process of carbonization by sulphuric 
 acid, so vaunted by the institute because it 
 offers far fewer advantages than the ones 
 which have just been mentioned. Indeed, the
 
 SALT LAKE 149 
 
 results thus obtained won us congratulations 
 from the Chancellors's office." 
 
 "How does it happen, Doctor," asked 
 Annabel, trying to change the conversation, 
 "how does it happen that you consented to 
 leave Paris, when you enjoyed such a high 
 position as you must have occupied there?" 
 
 Codoman's brow darkened. 
 
 "I refused to take the oath of allegiance to 
 the Empire, Madame," he answered dryly. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles' lips, moving in prayer, 
 stopped for a fleeting smile. He was fully 
 aware of all the circumstances which had 
 caused the physician's departure from France 
 convicted of having contributed, by peculiar 
 methods, to a considerable depression in the 
 birth-rate of the arrondissement where he 
 practised. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Annabel, "here comes Doctor 
 Irving at last!" 
 
 The Senior-Surgeon, a pale, timid little 
 man, would have been glad to sink into the 
 earth when he perceived that a colleague was 
 present, a colleague who must have already 
 pronounced his verdict at the patient's bed- 
 side.
 
 ISO SALT LAKE 
 
 Annabel, without giving him time to gather 
 himself together, dragged him to the bed. 
 
 "Your opinion, Doctor, quick, your opin- 
 ion, I beg of you!" 
 
 "My opinion, hum! Certainly, Madam. 
 Wait just a minute," said the poor little man. 
 
 He took Gwinett's hand, still inert, but it 
 was to Codoman that he looked with implor- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 He, cold and dignified, appeared not to 
 notice this pitiful appeal. 
 
 "Well?" asked Annabel. 
 
 "Well ... 44, 45, 46 ... so far I can 
 48, 49 ... tell you, madam ... 51, 52 ... 
 . . . that is not one of my specialties." 
 
 "Are you a specialist, my dear colleague?" 
 asked Codoman carelessly. 
 
 "Perhaps a specialist is not exactly the 
 right term," said the little man humbly. "It 
 would be more correct to say that my patients 
 are specialists. A military surgeon, you see 
 . . . Excepting for dysentery in summer, 
 bronchitis in winter and, at all times, sprains 
 and diseases . . . diseases . . . pardon me, but 
 in the presence of a lady . . ."
 
 SALTLAKE 151 
 
 "We understand." 
 
 "To be thorough, I must add an occasional 
 case of scurvy during campaigns in territories 
 at high altitudes." 
 
 "Evidently, it isn't much," said Codoman 
 with a sniff. "Your practice is not calculated 
 to help you in a diagnosis. But, to return 
 to the case we are concerned with, what is your 
 opinion?" 
 
 "My opinion, my opinion . . ." said Irving 
 in despair, as his eyes roamed from door to 
 window. 
 
 Nevertheless, he contrived to steady his 
 voice and give it a shade of authority. 
 
 "It's serious, evidently very serious. And 
 first of all, my opinion is th,at there are too 
 many people around the sick man. Madam, 
 my dear sir, will you please go out for a few 
 minutes and leave me with my colleague for 
 a while?" he begged, throwing a look that 
 would have softened a tiger to Anaabel and 
 the Jesuit 
 
 Pere d'Exiles and the young woman met on 
 the terrace. 
 
 "What is the meaning of all this nonsense?" 
 said Annabel, frowning. "That surgeon is
 
 i 5 2 SALT LAKE 
 
 perfectly ridiculous. Why did he make us 
 go out?" 
 
 "Why?" said the Jesuit. "To put it meta- 
 phorically, he is surrendering the keys of his 
 meagre knowledge to his victorious rival. 
 You embarrassed him, so did I. And, any- 
 way, I am not sorry for this little intermission." 
 
 He looked fixedly at Annabel. 
 
 "Do you remember what you told me last 
 Monday?" 
 
 "Well?" asked the young woman. 
 
 "You asked me not to forget that you were 
 leaving Salt Lake City by the next convoy, 
 Sunday, the fourth of July. Today is Thurs- 
 day, the first. You see, I haven't forgotten." 
 
 "Circumstances aren't the same any more," 
 said Annabel with a flutter of her eyelids. 
 
 "How can they have changed?" 
 
 "Why, that poor man who is dying," she 
 said. "Father, you astonish me!" 
 
 "I don't quite see how your presence can 
 save him," he s,aid acidly. 
 
 "I prefer not to listen to you," she replied. 
 "Let us go in, I think their confab must be 
 
 over."
 
 SALT LAKE 153 
 
 It was nine o'clock at night. Senior-Sur- 
 geon Irving, then Doctor Codoman had de- 
 parted. Annabel and Pere d'Exiles remained 
 alone with the clergyman. They had not dined. 
 
 The sound of foot-steps was heard in the 
 garden. Lieutenant Rutledge appe.ared on 
 the threshold of the bed-room. 
 
 "We are leaving!" he cried. 
 
 Annabel drew herself up and pointing to 
 the dying man : 
 
 "Go, be noisy somewhere else," she com- 
 manded. 
 
 The Jesuit went with the officer. 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 "The army leaves Salt Lake, tomorrow 
 morning." 
 
 And the young lieutenant's eyes filled with 
 tears. 
 
 "Tomorrow morning!" said Pere d'Exiles. 
 "Well! well!" 
 
 He asked: 
 
 "Where is it going?" 
 
 "For the present, to Cedar Valley, forty 
 miles from here." 
 
 "Well, well!" repeated Pere d'Exiles. He 
 reflected a moment.
 
 154 SALT LAKE 
 
 "When was the order given?" 
 
 "At orderly call, this evening," answered 
 Rutledge. 
 
 "Wasn't that order known before?" 
 
 "Senior-Surgeon Irving knew nothing of 
 it when he came here. The decision must 
 have been taken this morning." 
 
 "All this is very strange," muttered Pere 
 d'Exiles. 
 
 "I must collect my things," said the lieu- 
 tenant. "We leave tomorrow morning at six 
 o'clock. I have to sleep at camp tonight." 
 
 "Some one will help you get them to- 
 gether," said Pere Philippe. 
 
 "And she," cried Rutledge, "she, I want to 
 see her!" 
 
 "I will go and ask her to come and say good- 
 bye to you," said the Jesuit. 
 
 He entered the bed room. An instant later, 
 he came out alone. 
 
 "Mr. Gwinett is suffering a crisis," he 
 explained. "A fatal issue is to be feared at 
 any minute. Mrs. Lee can't leave him. You 
 must excuse her." 
 
 "Ah!" cried out Rutledge with despair. 
 "Not to see her again!"
 
 SALT LAKE 155 
 
 "You will have to excuse her," said Pere 
 d'Exiles firmly. 
 
 The young man lowered his head. Tears 
 ran down his cheeks again. Pere Philippe 
 took his hand. 
 
 "So you loved her?" he muttered. 
 
 There was a silence. The moonlight 
 dripped upon the whitish leaves of the willow- 
 trees. 
 
 "The army leaves tomorrow morning," 
 said the Jesuit. "And the convoy, the convoy 
 that was to leave Salt Lake Sunday night?" 
 
 "The thirty wagons which are to compose 
 it remain at camp," said Rutledge in a broken 
 voice. "They will leave at the date set, next 
 Sunday, ; at eight o'clock. I am directed by 
 Captain Van Vliet to inform Mrs. Lee that 
 four wagons will be reserved for her until the 
 last minute." 
 
 "Ah!" said the Jesuit. "Perhaps all is not 
 lost yet!" 
 
 He seized the lieutenant's hands. 
 
 "You love Annabel Lee, did you say, sir?" 
 
 Rutledge responded by showing him his 
 face wet with tears. 
 
 "Well, my dear boy, love only exists when
 
 156 SALT LAKE 
 
 unselfish. You are leaving tomorrow. 
 Perhaps you may return some day, in a month, 
 in a year, in twenty, I don't know. If you 
 love her, pray that you may never see her 
 again, here at least!" 
 
 
 
 The American Army left Salt Lake on 
 Friday, the second of July, at six o'clock in 
 the morning, after a sojourn of less than a 
 week on the banks of the Jordan. 
 
 Sunday, July the fourth, around eight 
 clock in the evening, Pere d'Exiles came out 
 of the room where all day he had watched 
 over the minister in company with Annabel 
 Lee. Doctor Codoman, who had called 
 about five o'clock, had not discovered any 
 improvement in Gwinett's condition, but no 
 aggravation either. 
 
 He had withdrawn perplexed. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles walked about the house. 
 From the massive sideboard to the most fragile 
 vase, each object was back in place. 
 
 A few straws here and there alone bore 
 witness that at a certain moment there had 
 been some question of departure. 
 
 In the kitchen, Rose and Coriolan were 
 finishing a melancholy repast. The Jesuit
 
 SALT LAKE 157 
 
 quailed at the prospect of a conversation with 
 the poor negroes. He hastened away. 
 
 There are evenings in midsummer that hint 
 already of winter, in the silence of the tiny 
 creatures' voices, in that smell of acrid smoke. 
 
 This evening was one of those. 
 
 In front of the entry door, opening into the 
 black, empty garden, the purple martin darted 
 about with harsh, shrill, heart-rending cries. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles went to sit on the veranda. 
 Night had fallen now . . . 
 
 Then, in the distance, a noise was born. 
 A noise which reverberated in slow, muffled 
 jolts upon the gloomy wall of the Wahsatch 
 Mountains. 
 
 The last American convoy was leaving Salt 
 Lake without Annabel Lee. 
 
 Prey to a profound discouragement, Pere 
 d'Exiles covered his face with his hands and 
 remained thus a long time, until he no longer 
 heard the wagons as they rumbled towards 
 the land of redemption in the East.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 r iHE middle of August was approach- 
 
 ing and the clergyman recovered so 
 M slowly, that Pere d'Exiles was 
 driven to desperation. Gwinett ate with a 
 good enough appetite, but he did not seem to 
 profit by the delicate viands set before him. 
 He scarcely complained, anyway. He re- 
 mained in a sort of perpetual stupor, his eyes 
 often raised to heaven, ,as if calling upon it to 
 witness his sufferings and to accept them as an 
 offering. He did not bring his glance down 
 to earth except to let it rest upon Annabel Lee 
 with gr.atitude. It was the first time, in all 
 her trivial, empty existence, that the young 
 woman found herself useful. So grateful was 
 she to Gwinett for awakening that realization 
 within her, that his thankfulness was insigni- 
 ficant in comparison. Dear Annabel, in 
 white linen, entering the minister's room, with 
 the morning light, each day choosing, before 
 hand, her simplest guimpes, trying hard to 
 strain back her beautiful curls, even to 
 
 158
 
 SALT LAKE 159 
 
 twist them into severe little braids, and, in 
 spite of all her efforts, failing to look in the 
 least like a deaconess. Whenever he went in- 
 to the sick-room, Pere d'Exiles would find her 
 bent over Gwinett, her golden curls almost 
 touching the young man's brown locks; she 
 would be giving him some potion or other, or 
 making his pillows comfortable. He allowed 
 himself to be cared for, smiling gravely, his 
 emaciated face, always so carefullly shaved, 
 radiating a serene, wonderful beauty. 
 
 One morning that week, the mail brought a 
 letter to Pere Philippe; it was dated from 
 Marysville and signed by Father Rives, the 
 Superior of the Order in the diocese of Ore- 
 gon, Utah and California. 
 
 "/ received your letter of June 2Oth" wrote 
 the Superior. "According to the plans you 
 outline, you must have left Salt Lake City a 
 month ago and at the present moment you 
 must be in the vicinity of the Humboldt 
 River. Lacking your new address, I am 
 sending this to Salt Lake, from where I hope 
 it will be forwarded to you without too much 
 delay. . ." 
 
 What followed were instructions of interest
 
 160 SALT LAKE 
 
 only to members of the Order and relative to 
 the evangelization of the Shoshonee Indians, 
 on the progress of which Pere d'Exiles was 
 directed to report as soon as possible. 
 
 The Jesuit slipped the letter in his sash. 
 He had turned slightly pale. 
 
 "Parfait!" he muttered. "I can evade it 
 no longer. This drives me to face the facts. 
 Well, so be it! I shall begin at once." 
 
 Having decided upon the time and the place 
 for the battle, he waited. 
 
 It happened that on that very day the clergy- 
 man was authorized to leave his room and 
 come to the table. Luncheon was served, as 
 usual, on the veranda. The weather was 
 fine but rather cool. Already russet leaves 
 pierced the green wall of the bower here and 
 there. 
 
 "I promise you a nice surprise for dessert," 
 said Annabel, as she sat down. 
 
 During the meal, she was gayer than she 
 h,ad ever been before and more beautiful. 
 The Jesuit contemplated her gaiety and her 
 extraordinary beauty with inquietude. 
 
 As Rose was setting the fruits on the table,
 
 SALT LAKE 161 
 
 Annabel exhibited a large envelope, with an 
 imposing red seal. 
 
 "Do you know what this is?" she asked. 
 
 "Well, well!" thought the priest. "The 
 mail seems to have outdone itself this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Let me tell you something," pursued 
 Annabel, turning to Gwinett. "Ah ! you don't 
 know what danger you've been in." 
 
 "Danger?" said the minister with an uneasy 
 smile. "You are joking." 
 
 "Judge for yourself! Eight days ago, a 
 letter like this, came addressed to you, Mr. 
 Gwinett. I opened it. Yes, I did!" she 
 said, laughing. "You were helpless, pros- 
 trated, incapable of reading. And I, sus- 
 pected more or less what such an official docu- 
 ment might contain." 
 
 "And . . . what was it about?" 
 "Need you ask? It was an order and a for- 
 mal order, I beg you to believe, for you to 
 rejoin the army at the Cedar Valley camp 
 within a week. A wagon was to come for 
 you. I took my pen in hand and I myself 
 returned General Johnston's order to him 
 with a few lines after my fashion."
 
 162 SALT LAKE 
 
 "You returned ... 1" exclaimed Gwinett, 
 appalled. 
 
 "Exactly! And by the next mail, here is 
 what I receive: apologies to myself and a 
 three months' leave for you, dating from the 
 day when the medical authorities of the local- 
 ity that means Doctor Codoman will have 
 pronounced you convalescent." 
 
 And, triumphantly, she threw the letter of 
 the General-in-chief upon the table. 
 
 Gwinett seized it, read it carefully, then 
 with a hand on his heart: 
 
 "The years," he said, "may glide by, Mrs. 
 Lee, but I will never. . . ." 
 
 Pere d'Exiles interrupted him. 
 
 "I likewise received a letter/' he said with 
 gravity. 
 
 There was an instant's silence. Gwinett, 
 thwarted in his effusions, strove not to show 
 any resentment. Annabel was less mistress of 
 herself. The Jesuit was frightened to notice 
 the impatient little gesture by which she 
 manifested her regret at not having been able 
 to hear in extenso the testimony of the clergy- 
 man's gratitude. 
 
 "You received a letter, too?" she said never-
 
 SALT LAKE 163 
 
 theless, in a tone which denoted the most com- 
 plete indifference. 
 
 "A letter from my Superior, Father Rives." 
 
 "Ah!" she said. "And what does he want 
 of you?" 
 
 "He asked me for certain information about 
 my Idaho mission, which I should have sent 
 him a month ago. I must depart." 
 
 She made a gesture of pained surprise. 
 
 "Already!" she murmured with an accent 
 of unfeigned regret. 
 
 That was all. 
 
 "Ah!" s,aid the poor man to himself. "It 
 wouldn't have occurred to her to open the 
 letter addressed to me and write immediately 
 to my superior." 
 
 Which thought made him, in spite of all, 
 smile. 
 
 "True that as for me I am not a sick man," 
 he murmured. 
 
 "A sick man," he repeated the words 
 aloud, with a laugh. 
 
 The minister and the young woman ex- 
 changed a glance. 
 
 "Are you sick?" asked Annabel timidly. 
 
 "I?" he said, passing his hand over his fore-
 
 164 SALT LAKE 
 
 head. "Did I say anything like that? Oh, 
 yes, I beg your pardon. It had nothing to do 
 with our conversation." 
 
 He had regained his composure. He re- 
 peated : "I beg your pardon." 
 
 And, addressing the clergyman: 
 
 "Apropos of this letter, Mr. Gwinett. I 
 would like to have a little talk with you." 
 
 "Apropos of what letter, sir?" asked the 
 other. 
 
 "Apropos of this one . . . and of that 
 one," said the Jesuit, drawing Father Rives' 
 letter from his sash and placing it upon 
 General Johnston's letter. 
 
 "When you ple.ase," said Gwinett. 
 
 "Right now." 
 
 At that instant, Annabel arose to hunt for 
 something on the side-board. Pere d'Exiles 
 had the misfortune to misunderstand her 
 move. 
 
 "You may stay, Mrs. Lee, you are not de 
 trap, on the contrary," he said. 
 
 "I should hope so!" she uttered, with that 
 haughtiness which from time to time changed 
 her entirely, shaking off her gentle noncha- 
 lance.
 
 SALT LAKE 165 
 
 "Indeed it would be extraordinary if Mrs. 
 Lee were de trop in her own house," put in 
 Gwinett sweetly, with a short, obsequious 
 laugh. 
 
 "That was not what I meant to say," the 
 unlucky man was about to reply to Annabel, 
 but the clergyman's insinuating remark 
 stopped him short. He started. He looked 
 at Gwinett. The two men measured each 
 other. Then Pere d'Exiles smiled. The hos- 
 tile atmosphere had restored his self-control. 
 
 Without any superfluous skirmishing, he 
 carried the attack into the enemy's territory 
 immediately. 
 
 "How do you feel this morning, Mr. 
 Gwinett? It seems' to me you are much 
 better." 
 
 It was Annabel who responded. 
 
 "Much better! Where are your eyes? 
 You should have been there a moment ago 
 when he had to get up. He was so weak that 
 he almost fell. I was obliged to qall Rose to 
 help me carry him here, wasn't I, Rose?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," mumbled the negress, who 
 was trembling.
 
 166 SALT LAKE 
 
 "It's strange," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "What is strange in that?" asked the young 
 woman almost aggressively. 
 
 The clergyman motioned to her to be calm. 
 
 "Might I dare to beg of you, dear Madam, 
 to allow Monsieur to formulate his thoughts 
 precisely and without any reservations?" 
 
 He repeated, weighing each syllable care- 
 fully: 
 
 "Without any reservations." 
 
 "I had that intention when I began to 
 speak," said the Jesuit courteously. "I prom- 
 ise you that you are going to be satisfied." 
 
 He poured himself a glass of water. 
 
 "Today is the eleventh of August," he said. 
 
 "It is a fact," admitted Gwinett. 
 
 "And you did Mrs. Lee the honour of taking 
 sick in her house the second of July. Exactly 
 a month and nine days have passed. I am 
 accurate, if anything. Well, sir, a minute 
 ago, when I used the word 'strange' in connec- 
 tion with your illness, I expressed myself 
 badly, or rather, I expressed an altogether 
 personal opinion on a certain point. I admit 
 that there is another adjective that suits the 
 circumstances better." 
 
 "And pray what is it?"
 
 SALTLAKE 167 
 
 "Inopportune, sir." 
 
 "If I understand you," s.aid Gwinett with 
 perfect calm, "reserving your opinion on the 
 nature and origin of my illness, for the present, 
 you only wish to consider its recurrences. In 
 that respect, you declare it to be inopportune" 
 
 "Just so," said the Jesuit. "It is a real 
 pleasure to argue with you." 
 
 "Inopportune. There are three people 
 assembled here. Surely it is not from the 
 standpoint of my own interests that you find 
 this illness inopportune?" 
 
 "You wouldn't like us to think so," said 
 Pere d'Exiles with the most disdainful of 
 smiles. 
 
 Gwinett did not flinch. 
 
 "From the standpoint of yours, perhaps?" 
 he insinuated. 
 
 The Jesuit merely accentuated the disdain 
 in his smile. Gwinett paled slightly. 
 
 "No? In that case, there is no doubt. 
 You mean that Mrs. Lee's interests are men- 
 aced by the prolongation of my sojourn in 
 this house." 
 
 "You have it," said Pere d'Exiles simply. 
 
 Annabel made an attempt to interfere. 
 The clergyman stopped her once again.
 
 168 SALT LAKE 
 
 "I beg of you, Mrs. Lee. I fear nothing 
 and I am able to defend myself." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 "I might, sir, recall to you that I was 
 introduced into this house under your own 
 auspices. But I myself loathe arguments 
 ad hominem. Can you tell me how my 
 presence can be derogatory to Mrs. Lee's 
 interests, interests by the way, which the most 
 elementary gratitude render just as precious 
 to me as they may be to you, I assure you?" 
 
 "My dear sir," said Pere d'Exiles, "when 
 I brought you here, I calculated that your 
 coming would hasten Mrs. Lee's departure, 
 instead of retarding it. I hope I make my- 
 self perfectly clear. Had I guessed that 
 Lieutenant Rutledge would go aw.ay before 
 the week was over . . ." 
 
 Annabel blushed. The clergyman made a 
 gesture of modest protest. 
 
 "Had I guessed that," took up the Jesuit 
 with emphasis, "well, dear Mr. Gwinett, 
 in spite of your distress, in spite of "Lea 
 Adieux d' Adolphe Monod," in spite of 
 Emerson himself, never, do you hear me, 
 never, and I put it so plainly that it cannot
 
 SALT LAKE 169 
 
 fail to touch a soul so prejudiced against 
 mental reservations, never, never could you 
 have counted on me to set your foot in this 
 house." 
 
 "I see," said the clergyman, "you indulge 
 in a little comedy in which the roles are 
 changed today. I call upon Mrs. Lee to 
 witness such proceedings. But how can I 
 help matters?" 
 
 "You can go away," said the Jesuit. "Your 
 ministry calls you back to your soldiers." 
 
 "Yours has been calling you to your 
 Indians much too long," said the preacher 
 softly, "that you should use such an argument 
 against me. But after all," he said, raising 
 his voice suddenly, "what right have you to 
 question me like this? Did Mrs. Lee give 
 you that right? If such is the case, I have 
 nothing more to say. Speak, Mrs. Lee, 
 speak!" he cried vehemently. "A minute 
 ago, I begged you to keep silent. Now I 
 implore you to speak out. Tell us, did you 
 give this gentleman leave to treat me so shame- 
 fully?" 
 
 Annabel remained mute. 
 
 "Sir," said Pere d'Exiles heatedly, "I
 
 i 7 o SALT LAKE 
 
 have that leave, indeed, and I come by it 
 rightfully. I was instructed not to leave this 
 place until the lady of the house herself had 
 left it. Isn't it true, Mrs. Lee?" 
 
 Annabel did not answer. 
 
 "What danger can Mrs. Lee possibly run 
 here?" asked the clergyman. 
 
 "Sir," said the Jesuit ironically, "let me 
 recall to you that you yourself were assailed 
 with misgivings, the day we met on the banks 
 of the Jordan, and that you unbosomed your- 
 self to me? If a residence in Salt Lake City 
 is hardly suitable for a Methodist minister, 
 do you think it is ideal for a young Catholic 
 woman?" 
 
 "In turn let me recall your answer," 
 said Gwinett amiably. <( 'Such dangers are 
 within ourselves.' And it seems to me it 
 would be wronging Mrs. Lee to infer that 
 she is so weak . . ." 
 
 "Sir!" cried the Jesuit, his patience gone. 
 
 He restrained himself again. He con- 
 trived to smile once more. 
 
 "What a senseless quarrel," he said. 
 "Wouldn't it be more profitable to face the 
 facts? I promised, Mr. Gwinett, and Mrs.
 
 SALT LAKE 171 
 
 Lee knows it quite well, to watch over her, 
 to help her get away from S : alt Lake City. 
 On the other hand, it is not to be denied," 
 and his voice, was ineffable, "that your con- 
 dition makes it impossible for you to leave the 
 city at present." 
 
 "Yes, of course," said Annabel feelingly. 
 
 "Well. Isn't there a way of solving every- 
 thing? Mrs. Lee can go away. You can 
 stay here. Her departure does not necessi- 
 tate yours. Her ministrations are precious, 
 I don't doubt. However, there must be no 
 lack of nurses in Salt Lake City capable of 
 taking her place, if not as assiduously or as 
 devotedly, at least as efficiently. It seems to 
 me, for example, that 'little Sarah Pratt . . ." 
 
 Pere d'Exiles had spoken in all innocence. 
 He did not catch the terrified glance that 
 Gwinett shot him, or if he did, he did not 
 understand its significance. 
 
 "Sarah Pratt, or Bessie London, or any 
 other," he continued, "if you think that a 
 man's care is not sufficient." 
 
 "I shall never be an obstacle to Mrs. Lee's 
 peace of mind," said Gwinett in an altered 
 voice.
 
 i 7 2 SALT LAKE 
 
 "I never doubted it," said Pere d'Exiles. 
 "So then, it seems to me that all our difficulties 
 have been smoothed over." 
 
 There was a silence during which the Jesuit 
 thought the battle won. 
 
 Then Annabel's clear, trembling voice 
 was heard, saying: 
 
 "I shall not leave this house until this 
 gentleman," and she pointed to Gwinett, 
 "has completely recovered." 
 
 "In that case, you will stay here just as long 
 as he wants you to," said Pere Philippe 
 phlegmatically. 
 
 "Sir," said Gwinett very gently, "perhaps 
 you are overstepping bounds." 
 
 "You are," said Annabel Lee. 
 
 The minister understood that without a 
 doubt the moment had come to show his hand. 
 
 "I presume, Mrs. Lee," said he, "that from 
 now on, you deem my presence under this 
 roof incompatible with this gentleman's." 
 
 "It couldn't possibly be otherwise," said 
 Pere d'Exiles assured of his victory at that 
 moment. 
 
 "It is for Mrs. Lee to decide," said Gwinett, 
 who had a trump-card unknown to his adver- 
 sary up his sleeve.
 
 SALTLAKE 173 
 
 Annabel lowered her head without answer- 
 ing. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles turned very pale. 
 
 "Didn't you hear?" he asked harshly this 
 time. 
 
 She looked at him with pleading eyes, with 
 the eyes of a trapped animal. But she per- 
 sisted in her silence. 
 
 "Ah!" he exclaimed, "Very well. That's 
 enough. I understand." 
 
 He repeated: 
 
 "I understand!" 
 
 He arose. 
 
 "In a few hours, Mrs. Lee," he said, "your 
 tacit wish shall be granted. You will be 
 relieved of my presence." 
 
 And he left the room. 
 
 Alone with the young woman, Gwinett 
 became faint. He staggered, almost fell. 
 
 She rushed to him, supported him in her 
 arms, helped him to a seat. 
 
 "What a horrible scene," she said, trem- 
 bling violently. 
 
 "Oh! you aren't angry with me, tell me, 
 you aren't angry with me?" 
 
 "Be angry with you, dear angel, dear angel
 
 174 SALT LAKE 
 
 of God!" murmured the clergyman feebly. 
 
 And he raised his eyes to heaven. 
 
 When Francis of Xavier, summoned by 
 Ignatius, bedridden and ill, was informed 
 that he had just been appointed to evangelize 
 the azure cities, those pearls of the Orient, 
 Melind, Tuticorin, Meliapur, he returned 
 to his cell, his heart overflowing with joy. 
 He prepared his portmanteau . . . Meliapur, 
 Tuticorin, Melind, and also the Goa of 
 Albuquerque! A Claude, a Gwinett, in the 
 iridescent by-ways of those mysterious cities, 
 would be like a man wearing spectacles and a 
 frock-coat in a troupe of beautiful, naked 
 bayaderes. 
 
 But a Saint Francis would not be incon- 
 gruous there, nor anywhere else, no more so 
 than a Pere d'Exiles by the cosy bedside of 
 an Annabel Lee. 
 
 Like Saint Francis in his Roman cell, Pere 
 Philippe began to straighten out his affairs. 
 The dingy valise containing the demountable 
 altar received his first careful attention. 
 
 Then he reviewed his personal effects, the 
 threadbare linen, mended and re-mended he 
 took a picture from the wall, St. Christopher,
 
 SALT LAKE 175 
 
 patron saint of travellers, he placed it in the 
 pages of an old edition of Entretiens Spirit- 
 uels. He hesitated a long time before a 
 dozen fine linen handkerchiefs, a gift from 
 Annabel Lee. At first he separated them 
 from his belongings and left them on a corner 
 of the table. 
 
 "No," he said, "that is foolish pride." 
 He took back six and distributed them 
 among his shirts. 
 
 Then he began a letter to Father Rives in 
 which he announced his departure. 
 
 Behind the door, for some time, a slight 
 noise had been going on. A noise of sup- 
 pressed sobbing. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles went to the door and opened 
 it. 
 
 It was the negroes. 
 
 On her knees, Rose was weeping, her face 
 buried in an immense red handkerchief. 
 Coriolan stood immobile, his head bowed. 
 Tears fell perpendicularly from his eyes and 
 made little puddles on the well waxed 
 floor. 
 
 "Come in," said Pere d'Exiles.
 
 176 SALT LAKE 
 
 He shut the door again. 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 They made no response, except to cry 
 louder, unrestrainedly. 
 
 "Has your mistress spoken to you?" 
 
 Incapable of answering, they made a ges- 
 ture in the negative. 
 
 "So you have been listening at doors?" 
 asked Pere d'Exiles harshly. 
 
 "Yes, sir!" said Rose, tearing her face from 
 her handkerchief all of a sudden, and expos- 
 ing a countenance swollen by tears. "We 
 listened all through lunch!" 
 
 Coriolan repeated : 
 
 "All through lunch!" 
 
 Pere d'Exiles marvelled at the pitiful ani- 
 mal instinct in these unfortunates. 
 
 "Well?" he contented himself with asking 
 nevertheless. 
 
 "You be not going away, Monsieur V Abbe!" 
 begged Rose. 
 
 "You're not going away!" repeated Corio- 
 lan. 
 
 "I must go," said the Jesuit. 
 
 At that there was a cascade of tears and 
 lamentations.
 
 SALT LAKE 177 
 
 "We're lost! we're lost!" wailed Rose. 
 
 "Lost! Lost!" cried Coriolan. 
 
 "Never more see St. Louis and the Mis- 
 souri!" 
 
 "Never more see th' Gasconnade and the 
 blue lanterns!" 
 
 "Missus, too, lost, lost!" 
 
 Lost, lost, lost! 
 
 That terrible word, dinned, hooted into 
 his ears by the negroes, rang out tragically 
 as Pere d'Exiles gazed at his small parcels 
 bound with string. He endured a second 
 of atrocious agony. 
 
 "Oh, God!" he muttered. 
 
 Then he pictured Annabel's unfriendly 
 lips, and the minister's honeyed smile. 
 
 "No, no!" he cried. 
 
 The six handkerchiefs were piled on a cor- 
 ner of the table. He saw them. He heard 
 the negroes' redoubled sobs. 
 
 "Pride, always Pride!" he thought with 
 horror. "Ah! I am unworthy!" 
 
 He seized the maid by the wrists and 
 raised her to her feet. 
 
 "Rose," he said, "Rose, where is your mis- 
 tress?"
 
 i 7 8 SALT LAKE 
 
 She could not speak. It was Coriolan who 
 answered. 
 
 "Down stairs. Still with the preacher in 
 the long-tailed coat." 
 
 "Well, will one of you go and tell her, go 
 and tell her . . ." 
 
 "What?" they cried in chorus. 
 
 "That I wish to speak with her, that I 
 must speak with her, and right away, here!" 
 
 He was pale. He repeated: 
 
 "Here, here!" 
 
 The two negroes looked at each other 
 happily. 
 
 "You go!" said Rose. 
 
 "No, you honey!" said Coriolan. 
 
 "One or the other, as you please," said 
 Pere d'Exiles, in a voice which nervousness 
 rendered terrifying, "but go right away, 
 or . . ." 
 
 Rose got up quickly. They heard her 
 hurry down the staircase. 
 
 There was a moment of tragic silence. 
 The Jesuit looked at Coriolan. The poor 
 wretch, upon his knees, was praying. 
 
 "She does not come back," murmured Pere 
 d'Exiles. "Rose does not come back!" 
 
 The teeth of the negro chattered.
 
 SALT LAKE 179 
 
 "Holy Mary, Mother of God . . . Holy 
 Mary, Mother of God!" 
 
 The Jesuit went to the door. 
 
 "Ah!" he said. 
 
 He had just perceived Rose, huddling on 
 the stairs. 
 
 He descended a few steps, helped the ne- 
 gress to her feet, brought her back into the 
 room. 
 
 "Well?" he asked. 
 
 "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us 
 poor sinners!" repeated Coriolan's faltering 
 voice. 
 
 "Well?" repeated Pere d'Exiles. "Have 
 you seen her?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," mumbled Rose. 
 
 "And . . . what did she say?" 
 
 "She said ... oh, sir!" 
 
 The Jesuit seized the negress' hand. 
 
 "Speak, Rose, I beg of you." 
 
 "She said, she said that Mister Gwinett has 
 been very sick . . . that she isn't going to 
 leave him . . . but that later on, in the even- 
 ing . . ." 
 
 "Very well," said Pere d'Exiles calmly. 
 "Very well." 
 
 With great gentleness he said:
 
 i8o SALT LAKE 
 
 "Rose, Coriolan. my poor friends, vou 
 must leave me. Leave me, please. It is 
 four o'clock. Coriolan, you must go to the 
 stable and give Mina some oats. She will 
 have to travel all night. At six o'clock, I 
 will come to the stable, at six o'clock. Until 
 then, I pray, leave me alone. See, everything 
 is ready, leave me alone." 
 
 So saying, he pushed them slowly towards 
 the door. They went out staggering. 
 
 Mina was a grey mule, the gift of a poor 
 German immigrant whom Pere d'Exiles had 
 attended, and who had died, somewhere in 
 the vicinity of the source of the Humboldt, 
 making him his heir. 
 
 In her time, she had been quite a trotter 
 and even quite a remarkable climber. But she 
 was growing old. And moreover, she had 
 just had a year of perfect repose in the hand- 
 some stable of the villa, by the side of Anna- 
 bel Lee's mare. She had grown much fatter. 
 When the time came to saddle her, Coriolan 
 was not able to do so until he had pierced one, 
 two, three additional holes in the girth. She 
 suffered his attentions. In her solid little 
 head there was no recollections of the hard-
 
 SALT LAKE 181 
 
 ships she had endured first as an immigrant's 
 beast of burden, then as a mission- 
 ary's. Neither could she look into the fu- 
 ture. 
 
 The mare was heard kicking in her stall. 
 
 "What is this?" asked Pere d'Exiles, coming 
 up. 
 
 He pointed out to a small bundle strapped 
 on the mule, next to the canvas valise. He 
 felt it. It contained provisions. A large 
 gourd hung from the saddle. 
 
 The two negroes lowered their heads. 
 
 Rose mumbled : 
 
 "Come heah, Father." 
 
 He allowed himself to be conducted to the 
 dining-room. A meal had been) prepared. 
 A solitary chair was pulled up to the table. 
 In a vase drooped the flowers that had 
 adorned the luncheon table, when life was 
 still so familiar and so beautiful. 
 
 The Jesuit ate. With vexation, he noticed 
 that he was hungry. Then he left this din- 
 ing-room, to which he was destined never to 
 return. As he came out on the veranda, he 
 raised his eyes to the black line of the roof, 
 the dark hole where the purple martin was 
 about to awaken from the sleep of a melan-
 
 i8 2 SALT LAKE 
 
 choly twilight bird. Coriolan was waiting at 
 the garden gate, holding Mina by the bridle. 
 Pere d'Exiles took the reins from him. 
 
 "Adieu!" he said. 
 
 The two negroes cried no longer. They 
 knelt. 
 
 "My poor friends!" said the Jesuit. 
 
 Leaning over, he blessed them. 
 
 "Come along, Mina, come along." 
 
 And he was gone. 
 
 The Odgen road seemed too direct; futher- 
 more he was afraid of meeting people with 
 whom he would have to exchange greetings. 
 He turned off the road and, obliquing to the 
 left, proceeded to canter across the desolate 
 waste which borders the eastern shore of the 
 lake. 
 
 The sun was setting swiftly over the blue 
 waters. A light breeze hemmed the water's 
 edge with a ruffle of pallid foam. 
 
 The dreadful arid banks ran into the 
 unseen distance to the North, here and there 
 streaked by trails of salt, whitish like a leper 
 or reddish where they reflected the sinking 
 sun. 
 
 Nothing, not a blade of grass, not a weed, 
 not a shell. Alone, occasionally came a stray
 
 SALT LAKE 183 
 
 gull or a bittern beating his wings awkwardly, 
 then flying away with a harsh cry. In one 
 place, three or four fish floated, belly upwards, 
 in the stagnant water of a shallow brook. 
 Unmindful, they had allowed themselves to 
 be carried along by the fresh water and little 
 by little, the fresh water had become briny. 
 Salt Lake had killed them. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles pursued his way. As the 
 sun descended towards the horizon, the man's 
 shadow and the beast's lengthened to the 
 r ig nt ) grew gigantic. 
 
 "In half an hour," thought the Jesuit, "it 
 will be dark." 
 
 Then there was another wan brooklet, with 
 more dead fish. So salty, so dense, so unlike 
 our beloved European brooks was the water 
 that Mina's hoofs raised no splashes as she 
 waded across. All around, everywhere, there 
 was a light brown dust now, the dust of dead 
 locusts. Having ravaged the harvests of the 
 Later-Day Saints the summer before, they, 
 too, had come as far as this, and Salt Lake had 
 killed them. 
 
 Then, in a flash, all of a sudden, Pere 
 d'Exiles realized how atrocious was this 
 country, how atrocious the destiny of the little
 
 184 SALT LAKE 
 
 creature he was leaving behind. The sun 
 had sunk into the dead sea. Blue shadows 
 crawled out everywhere, conquered the sky, 
 drove out the glorious colours of day. Anna- 
 bel! To abandon her this way! He trem- 
 bled. For a second he wanted to turn back, 
 to tear her away from her execrable fate, at 
 all costs, in spite of herself. 
 
 "Come, Mina, come on!" 
 
 To resist the temptation, he urged her on. 
 
 But the mule, ordinarily so gentle, kicked. 
 She gave a low groan. To the rear,at the 
 same time, the whinnying of a horse was 
 heard. The mule stopped altogether. The 
 soft thud of a quick gallop on the sand became 
 distinct, then heavier thuds the horse had 
 been set at a walk. Pere d'Exiles began to 
 caress the mule's neck as she stood motionless. 
 He was really steadying himself against her. 
 
 He divined that it was Annabel, but he did 
 not look back. 
 
 She had donned her riding habit, but had 
 not wasted her time putting on boots. Her 
 blonde hair, in soft locks, floated against the 
 dark outline of her wide felt hat. 
 
 She jumped to the ground. 
 
 "I galloped," she said.
 
 SALTLAKE 185 
 
 Pere d'Exiles did not stir. But his support 
 gave way suddenly. The mule had recog- 
 nized her friend the mare. Nose to nose, 
 with snorts of joy, the two animals had already 
 renewed their mysterious confidences. 
 
 "I galloped," took up Annabel. "I was 
 afraid that I would not overtake you," she 
 added humbly. 
 
 "It would have been simpler to save your- 
 self this excursion," said Pere d'Exiles, "and 
 to have told me what you had to say at the 
 house. About four o'clock, Rose furnished 
 you an occasion to do so." 
 
 Annabel lowered her head. They kept 
 silent for a few minutes. In the grey sky, 
 the first curlews were flying by, screaming. 
 
 "Permit me to continue on my way," said 
 the Jesuit. "I am anxious to be in Ogden 
 before midnight. When darkness has fallen, 
 I can't go so fast. Come on, Mina." 
 
 "Let me go a little way with you," mur- 
 mured the young woman. 
 
 "As you wish," he replied. 
 
 Pulling their mounts by the bridle, they 
 walked side by side for five hundred yards. 
 The last gleams of daylight were playing 
 upon the briny pools with parting sharpness.
 
 186 SALT LAKE 
 
 It was the moment when the earth seems paler 
 than the sky. 
 
 In their path, come from I know not where, 
 a little bird started up, a pitiful wag-tail. He 
 waited until they nearly stepped on him, then 
 he flew away with a tiny cry, to perch himself 
 a little farther on, to wait for them again, to 
 fly away again. 
 
 At last Annabel spoke in a low voice, in a 
 voice which even now trembled with the ter- 
 rors of the night. 
 
 "Why are you leaving?" 
 
 "As it is, I have delayed too long," said 
 Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "Too long!" said the young woman dole- 
 fully. 
 
 "Yes, too long," he repeated harshly. "I 
 am a priest . . . they are waiting for me yon- 
 der." 
 
 And he pointed to the obscure solitudes of 
 the North. 
 
 "You leave me for Indians!" said Annabel. 
 
 "One soul is as good as another," said Pere 
 d'Exiles, ruthlessly. "And, besides, I like to 
 think that yours is not in danger." 
 
 Finding no reply she murmured once more :
 
 SALT LAKE 187 
 
 "Why are you leaving?" 
 
 "And you," he asked, "Why are you stay- 
 ing?" 
 
 "You know very well," she said, lower still. 
 "I have been asking myself that question for 
 the past two months, and . . ." 
 
 She did not allow him to finish his sentence. 
 
 "I have accepted a task," she said weakly. 
 "I must finish that task." 
 
 "The task of effecting Mr. Gwinett's com- 
 plete cure, no doubt?" 
 
 She did not answer. She nodded her head. 
 
 "I beg of you to be a little sincere with 
 yourself," cried Pere d'Exiles, almost vio- 
 lently. "Would you have the courage to 
 swear that your scruples as a nurse alone are 
 keeping you in Salt Lake?" 
 
 She threw him a look of unutterable 
 suffering. 
 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed, "and do you think 
 you are wholly sincere with yourself, when 
 you make your duty as a missionary responsible 
 for your departure?" 
 
 They both hung their heads, he crushed, she 
 shivering, as they confronted the words she 
 had dared utter.
 
 i88 SALT LAKE 
 
 The wag-tail flew from under their feet 
 with his lugubrious weak cry. They could 
 hardly distinguish him as he fluttered down 
 again. 
 
 "I am cold," said Annabel. 
 
 "You must return," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "A few steps more," she pleaded. 
 
 Before them, about one hundred yards 
 away, the path they were following, pale in 
 the black waste, cut another, which went 
 towards the lake. At the cross-roads stood 
 a tall sign-post, dark against the sky. 
 
 They realized that it was there that they 
 would separate. Instinctively, they slack- 
 ened their pace. 
 
 Very soon, they reached the sign-post. 
 It was a rough, square stake, which bore the 
 sinister Morman eye, crudely daubed on each 
 side. The wag-tail had perched on the apex. 
 
 He allowed them to draw very near, uttered 
 a cry and disappeared for ever into darkness. 
 
 Now the water-holes around them, seemed 
 to be filled with ink. The curlews screamed 
 louder, but were no longer to be seen. 
 
 "We shall part here," said the Jesuit.
 
 SALT LAKE 189 
 
 She remained before him, mute, arms hang- 
 ing limply, a poor creature adrift. 
 
 "You are five miles from your villa," he 
 said. 
 
 He denied himself the atrocious torture of 
 adding: 
 
 "You will get a scolding." 
 
 Ah! beyond the desert skies and the flocks 
 of clouds chased by the wind over the billow- 
 ing sea, is there not a place where minutes as 
 agonizing as these shall be recompensed by 
 an eternity of bliss . . . 
 
 Annabel was still motionless. 
 
 The Jesuit himself adjusted the reins, 
 arranged them on the mare's neck, pulled at 
 the stirrups. 
 
 "Go now," he said. 
 
 "Help me mount," she murmured. 
 
 He obeyed. Then, as he bent over, the 
 young woman seized his hand and kissed it. 
 
 Near midnight, Pere d'Exiles perceived 
 tiny trembling lights at the edge of the dark 
 sky, Odgen, his first halting-place.
 
 190 SALT LAKE 
 
 Annabel was back at the villa about eight 
 o'clock. She went immediately to the min- 
 ister's room. 
 
 Reclining on a chaise-longue, he was smok- 
 ing a cigar. He smiled when he saw her 
 enter. 
 
 "Dear, I was beginning to be anxious," he 
 said. 
 
 She blushed, attempted to speak. 
 
 "Don't make excuses," he said. "I know 
 where you have been. Don't make excuses. 
 I understand your sentiments so welll" 
 
 He caressed her soft blonde curls with his 
 beautiful brown hand. 
 
 "Kind, always kind, almost too kind," he 
 said. 
 
 Annabel burst into sobs. 
 
 He drew her to him. She suffered his 
 embrace. Still smiling, he kissed her know- 
 ingly on the neck, at the roots of the hair. 
 
 She shivered. She abandoned herself. 
 
 Gently, he pushed her away. 
 
 "Hush, dear one, hush!" 
 
 She looked at him dully. He smiled again. 
 
 "We have serious matters to talk over," he 
 said.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 OVER the city, the rain hung its grey 
 veil, waving and swelling in the 
 wind. Neither the sky, nor the 
 mountains, nor the trees in the garden, nor 
 anything in fact, could be seen. 
 
 Annabel left the window-pane against 
 which she had been leaning her forehead. 
 
 After ringing, she returned to the center of 
 the room. Rose appeared. 
 
 "Has Mr Gwinett returned?" 
 
 "Not yet, ma'am." 
 
 "Fix some hot drinks. He will be soaked." 
 
 "He took one of the Colonel's rain-coats, 
 ma'am." 
 
 "Go." 
 
 As the negress was going out, Annabel 
 recalled her. The door opening into the 
 staircase stood ajar, but not a single noise rose 
 from the dead house. 
 
 "Where is Coriolan?" 
 
 "In the kitchen, ma'am." 
 
 IQI
 
 192 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Why don't we ever hear you singing any 
 more?" 
 
 "Singing?" 
 
 And Rose made a vague, sad gesture. 
 
 "Yes, singing. Before, you used to sing 
 all the time. There is no reason why you 
 shouldn't sing any more. I want you to sing. 
 Tell Coriolan, do you hear me?" 
 
 "All right, ma'am." 
 
 "Leave the door open." 
 
 Rose was gone. 
 
 Annabel sat down in front of a small 
 secretaire whose lid, hanging open, was 
 heaped with documents. She took up one, 
 then another, at random, attempting to read 
 them, then throwing them away wearily. 
 Nervously, she arose, went to the door. 
 
 "Well, Rose, what about that song?" 
 
 She repeated: 
 
 "What about that song?" 
 
 A voice rose then, tremulous and infantile, 
 a voice which seemed to come from the attic. 
 
 "When the lanterns are green. 
 
 The light is green, too; 
 
 When it rains on the lanterns. 
 The light goes: pschit, pschitl"
 
 SALT LAKE 193 
 
 At that instant, all the clocks in the house 
 struck. 
 
 "Six o'clock!" murmured Annabel. "Not 
 yet September and it is dark already! Oh! 
 it doesn't seem to me that it got dark so early 
 ^ast year!" 
 
 Steps on the staircase. Gwinett entered 
 the room. He was not even wet. 
 
 She came to meet him. He took her in 
 his arms and kissed her forehead. 
 
 "Ah!" she said, striving to huddle against 
 him. "I was worried . . . you've been gone 
 two hours . . ." 
 
 He smiled. He pushed her back gently. 
 
 "Soul of my soul, don't bear me any ill will. 
 You will forgive me when you see what I have 
 brought back." 
 
 He had opened an envelope; he displayed 
 its contents on the table about a dozen folded 
 leaflets. 
 
 And as Annabel, dumfounded, silently con- 
 sidered this fresh flood of documents: 
 
 "The necessary papers for our marriage," 
 said the minister simply. 
 
 He added: 
 
 "Everything is ready. I have set the date.
 
 194 SALT LAKE 
 
 It will be celebrated the second of September, 
 in eight days." 
 
 She stood there without a word, pale from 
 the shock. 
 
 "Well, well, dear Anna, is that all the 
 pleasure this news gives you?" he said with 
 an accent of tender reproach. 
 
 She started. She enveloped him in a long 
 gaze. 
 
 "Ah!" she said in a low voice. "You 
 wanted it to be so. But God is my witness, 
 and you know it, that I would have had no 
 need of these formalities to belong to you for 
 
 ever." 
 
 He smiled. He took her hand, kissed it. 
 
 "Dear Anna, the God that you invoke knows 
 that I love you, that I respect you too much 
 to receive you from Him otherwise than in a 
 legitimate union. You know how I have 
 struggled, dear heart, against myself, against 
 you . . . Could you think of blaming me?" 
 
 "No, no!" she cried. "You are a saint. 
 I feel unworthy of you ; I admire you as much 
 as I love you. But eight days yet ... it is 
 a long time!" 
 
 "Eight days will pass, they will pass very
 
 SALT LAKE 195 
 
 quickly," said Gwinett in his beautiful deep 
 voice, "and, in twenty years from now, when 
 we, white-haired, will remember them to- 
 gether, they shall be the honour and the sweet- 
 est memory of our lives." 
 
 Sadly, the voices of the negroes droned out 
 according to orders: 
 
 "When the lanterns are red, 
 The light is red too. . " 
 
 "I disturbed you, perhaps," said Gwinett, 
 pointing to the papers scattered on the secre- 
 taire. "Were you working?" 
 
 "I was trying to," she said, "but, alas! with- 
 out accomplishing much. What you see there 
 are stocks representing my husband's estate. 
 My fortune! I blush to seem preoccupied by 
 such details . . ." 
 
 "Those upon whom God has heaped 
 worldly goods," said the minister, " have not 
 the right to go against His wishes neglect- 
 ing the responsibilities of wealth. Therefore, 
 I do not censure you." 
 
 "I have still less right to," said Annabel 
 reassured, "since part of this fortune is des-
 
 196 SALT LAKE 
 
 tined to maintain undertakings for the sake of 
 which both my father and my late husband 
 lived and died. That is why, while waiting 
 for you, I was endeavouring to see a little light 
 in the midst of all these figures. But I don't 
 succeed at all . . ." 
 
 She shrugged with discouragement. 
 
 "Couldn't you help me?" 
 
 "I!" he exclaimed with a start. 
 
 "Well?" she said anxiously. 
 
 "To begin with, I lack the necessary com- 
 petence. And then, that such elements should 
 be introduced in our romance! . . . Anna, 
 my dear Anna, you haven't yet understood 
 how I love you." 
 
 Downstairs, Coriolan was singing: 
 
 "When it rains on the lanterns, 
 The light goes: pschit, pschit!" 
 
 "Forgive me," murmured the young woman. 
 
 "Forgive you, my beloved? Alas! should 
 I be angry with you because the Lord has 
 endowed you with riches!" 
 
 "Oh!" she cried passionately, "if I thought 
 that my money could bring the shadow of a
 
 SALT LAKE 197 
 
 shadow between us, I would prefer, at this 
 very instant . . ." 
 
 She had seized a handful of green and blue 
 certificates. Nervously, she crumpled them, 
 kneaded them, ready to tear them to pieces. 
 At last, she melted into tears. 
 
 "I have already made you," she said in a 
 broken voice, "the sacrifice of what I held 
 dearest in the world, the sacrifice of my 
 religion. You can imagine that beside that, 
 the sacrifice of my fortune would be trifling. 
 Do you require it? Do you? Ah! I would 
 make it gladly!" 
 
 "When the lanterns are yellow, 
 The light is yellow, too." 
 
 "How unbearable those niggers are!" 
 muttered Gwinett. 
 
 He closed the door, then returned to the 
 young woman. 
 
 "Anna, my beloved, it is for me to beg 
 your pardon." 
 
 He had taken the stocks from her hands. 
 Carefully, he unwrinkled them, flattened them 
 on the table.
 
 198 SALT LAKE 
 
 "You have just given me a lesson in humi- 
 lity, Anna. To have dared to speak to you 
 so rudely! I am a wretch. You must for- 
 give me. I will do as you wish, Anna. I am 
 going to help you put some order in these 
 miserable affairs." 
 
 "You are a saint, you are a saint I" she re- 
 peated. 
 
 She took his hands and kissed them. 
 
 "Oh, dear creature of God," he cried, "do 
 not lead me into the worst of temptations. In 
 eight days, with the consent of the Almighty, 
 you shall be mine. Have pity on me until 
 then!" 
 
 He sat the trembling woman in an arm- 
 chair, put the table between them, the table 
 strewn with Colonel Lee's fortune. 
 
 "Anna, dear Anna, let us work, since you 
 wish it." 
 
 "When the lanterns are black, 
 The light is black, too." 
 
 He could not control a gesture of annoyance. 
 
 Annabel rang. Rose appeared. 
 
 "Bring the lamp," said her mistress to
 
 SALT LAKE 199 
 
 her curtly. "And don't sing any more." 
 
 The minister proceeded to classify the cer- 
 tificates rapidly. 
 
 "So much money!" he muttered in dejection. 
 "So much money!" 
 
 He looked at the young woman and smiled 
 sadly. 
 
 "Anna dear, the very size of this fortune 
 makes it my duty not to proceed without 
 recalling to you the exact situation of him to 
 whom you have plighted your troth, in whom 
 you have placed your faith. There is still 
 time for you to reconsider, dear soul, think 
 of it!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "What do I mean, Anna? You know 
 already. As far as wordly goods are con- 
 cerned, I have none. My father, a venerable 
 Illinois pastor, left me nothing, but the 
 education which I am proud of, but which 
 I don't pretend can equal the riches with 
 which I find you overwhelmed. Yesterday, 
 Anna, I enjoyed a salary of seven hundred 
 and fifty dollars a year as an army chaplain. 
 Today, since the state of my health compels
 
 200 SALT LAKE 
 
 me to abandon that function, I have nothing, 
 do you hear, nothing!" 
 
 "Ah! what does it matter?" cried the young 
 woman. 
 
 "What does it matter, Anna? It matters 
 a great deal. You talk like the noble creature 
 you are. But every one will not talk like 
 that. And there will be no lack of people, 
 my beloved, to repeat that, when he married 
 you, the Reverend Gwinett only thought of 
 . . . Oh! shame, shame!" 
 
 "Let them come, those people!" she cried, 
 setting her teeth together. "Let them come! 
 They'll see . . ." 
 
 "Child," said the minister tenderly, "you 
 know nothing of the world." 
 
 "So what do you want me to do?" she 
 sobbed, clasping her hands. 
 
 "You nothing, my beloved," said Gwinett. 
 "It is for me to act. I was childish myself 
 a few moments ago in giving way to my 
 repugnance at the formidable material differ- 
 ence in our respective situations. But one 
 gains nothing by being cowardly in face of 
 realities. What you were asking me, I should 
 have asked myself, I should have demanded
 
 SALT LAKE 201 
 
 the right to draw up an inventory of your for- 
 tune before anything else was done, to ascer- 
 tain whether that fortune could have the de- 
 testable power of separating two beings obvi- 
 ously destined for the closest, most sublime 
 union." 
 
 He had taken a sheet of white paper and 
 dipped the pen in ink. 
 
 "Let us consider this hour of love lost, 
 dear heart," he said, "as the ransom which the 
 Lord has fixed for these riches. Let us bow 
 to His divine will and let us work." 
 
 So saying, he had divided the sheet of paper 
 from top to bottom, with a stroke of the pen. 
 On one side, he inscribed a word, on the other 
 another word. 
 
 "Let us proceed in order," he said. "On 
 the left, here, is your maiden name, O'Brien. 
 On the right, you have the name of your 
 deceased spouse, Lee." 
 
 He considered the white sheet contentedly, 
 enlivened the dividing line with arabesques, 
 then asked: 
 
 "What did you have?" 
 
 "What?" said Annabel. 
 
 "What is your personal property, or rather,
 
 202 SALTLAKE 
 
 what was it when you married Colonel Lee." 
 
 "Why I had no dowry," she said. 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "Dear, artless child, artless as well as dis- 
 interested. A dowry is one thing property 
 is another. I know you had no dowry. But 
 isn't there something coming to you on your 
 father, Colonel O'Brien's account, possessions 
 which escaped the administration of your 
 husband, Colonel Lee, during his life-time 
 and which are exactly what the laws of two 
 continents denominate the property of a mar- 
 ried woman?" 
 
 "Possessions?" said Annabel. "I don't re- 
 member. Still, yes! There was the castle, 
 and the farms." 
 
 "You see that you remember after all," 
 said Gwinett. "When we work, we should 
 work carefully. What castle, did you say?" 
 
 "Castle Kildare, near Maynooth, in Ire- 
 land. A castle, that's saying a lot. Rather 
 a huge mass of masonry, with the left wing 
 razed by Cromwell's soldiery and never re- 
 built, not because money was lacking, but to 
 perpetuate hatred and recollection." 
 
 "That country has queer ideas on the ad- 
 ministration of estates," said Gwinett.
 
 SALT LAKE 203 
 
 "I left it when I was very young," said 
 Annabel. 
 
 "I know, I know. And is the castle fur- 
 nished?" 
 
 "It still was in 1842, the year my father was 
 executed. Since then, I have been away. 
 That is all I know." 
 
 "It is difficult to draw up a satisfactory in- 
 ventory under such conditions," said the 
 pastor. 
 
 "Forgive me," murmured the young 
 woman. 
 
 "You are quite forgiven, Anna dear. And 
 the farms? There were farms, did you 
 say?" 
 
 "Three, I think." 
 
 "How much land?" 
 
 "I couldn't tell exactly. I only know that 
 when my father was on leave, it took him a 
 whole morning to go over it, and on horse- 
 back, at that." 
 
 "Well," said Gwinett, "that represents a 
 considerable domain ten thousand acres at 
 least." 
 
 "Just about," said the young woman. "I 
 remember now, from ten to twelve thousand 
 acres."
 
 204 SALT LAKE 
 
 "If we consider," said the minister, "that 
 the 120,000 acres of the Marquis of Lands- 
 downe bring him about 30,000 pounds ster- 
 ling, that the 52,000 acres of the Marquis of 
 Clanricarde bring him 20,000 pounds, that the 
 70,000 acres of the Count of Bantry bring him 
 14,000 pounds, we can allow, in calculating 
 the revenue from Irish estates by the ground 
 they cover, an average income of three and a 
 half to one, and we reach the conclusion, that 
 in the case we have before us . . ." 
 
 "How much you know!" interrupted 
 Annabel. 
 
 "I had occasion to study the Irish land- 
 system," he said carelessly, "in connection with 
 a work I was preparing on the resources of 
 the Anglican Church on that island. To 
 return, then, to the amount of your father's 
 fortune, we must conclude that he enjoyed a 
 yearly income of 2,500 pounds, that is to say, 
 a capital of 42,000 pounds at 6%, or about 
 $210,000 (I adopt the dollar once for all, in 
 order to sum up more easily when, in a few 
 minutes, we have made up the inventory of the 
 estate left by Colonel Lee.) In the left col- 
 umn, under the name O'Brien, I shall then 
 inscribe $210,000."
 
 SALT LAKE 205 
 
 He nodded with satisfaction. 
 
 "That figure is somewhat arbitrary, per- 
 haps, owing to the lack of precision in the ele- 
 ments placed at our disposal to establish it. 
 It doesn't matter, however; I believe that we 
 may use it temporarily." 
 
 "I too," said Annabel. "And besides, what 
 difference does it make?" 
 
 "How what difference does it make?" 
 
 "Why, since the British Court condemned 
 my father and confiscated his estate by the 
 same sentence, and consequently, the fortune 
 you have just appraised so ingeniously does 
 not belong to me any longer. Under those 
 circumstances, whether the figure is exact or 
 not . . ." 
 
 "Oh!" said Gwinett, vexed. 
 
 He added ill-humouredly: 
 
 "You might have saved me all these use- 
 less calculations." 
 
 "Forgive me," she said sweetly, "but see- 
 ing you so well informed about Irish affairs, 
 I presumed you knew that in political matters, 
 a sentence of death entails the confiscation of 
 property." 
 
 Gwinett was not listening. He was reflect- 
 ing. He asked :
 
 206 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Is a sentence of that nature always irrevo- 
 cable?" 
 
 "What sentence?" 
 
 "Naturally I am not talking about the one 
 which committed Colonel O'Brien to capital 
 punishment, since it was carried out," he said 
 ironically. "I am talking about the confisca- 
 tion." 
 
 "An act of clemency on the part of the 
 Queen may intervene and arrest its effects," 
 said Annabel. 
 
 "An act of clemency on the part of the 
 Queen!" said the clergyman. "But, my 
 dear Anna, it is your place now to solicit it!" 
 
 "My place!" she cried. "Mine!" 
 
 She had paled. 
 
 "Do you know what one must do to obtain 
 an act of that sort? Do you know?" 
 
 "I suspect," said the minister with a show 
 of impatience, "that one would not obtain it 
 merely by addressing an insulting letter to 
 Queen Victoria. I think that . . ." 
 
 She cut him short. 
 
 "I am going to tell you what I would have 
 to do. I know! My father and my husband 
 recited to me the sordid details often enough.
 
 SALT LAKE 207 
 
 In Ballinasloe, there was an illustrious Irish 
 family whose name I shall not repeat, out 
 of respect for the dead composed by the 
 father and two sons at the time of which I 
 speak. The father and the older son were 
 arrested in 1837, following an uprising 
 against the Crown. They were sentenced to 
 death, executed, and their fortune was con- 
 fiscated. And what do you think, two or 
 three years later, the younger son secured the 
 restitution of that fortune, on the condition 
 that he enter the British Army and don the 
 uniform of those who had been his father's 
 and his brother's executioners. What have 
 you to say to that?" 
 
 "I say," said Gwinett with an amiable 
 smile, "that there cannot possibly be any 
 question of your donning the red coat, in 
 which, however, you could not fail to look 
 charming." 
 
 "Oh, don't sneer!" she said with a shudder. 
 "If you knew the language of the letter by 
 which one has to beg for such a restitution, 
 you would be the first . . ." 
 
 "For the sake of Heaven, Anna my dear, 
 don't excite yourself," said he, seizing her
 
 208 SALT LAKE 
 
 hands. "What can that letter contain that's 
 so terrible! An offence against virtue, against 
 moral laws, against the respect we owe our 
 Maker?" 
 
 "An offence against honour," she said. 
 
 "Against honour, Anna?" 
 
 "Yes against honour. Don't you under- 
 stand? Oh, it's certain r that if I, Colonel 
 O'Brien's daughter, the rightful mistress of 
 Kildare, if I should write tomorrow to the 
 Queen: 'Madam, I implore you to return my 
 domain, in return for which I condemn 
 everything my father did, all that he lived 
 for, and I swear to you that you will not have a 
 more faithful subject than Annabel O'Brien' 
 it's certain that I would immediately enter 
 into possession of those lands which give you 
 so much trouble to enumerate and that, on 
 top of it all, they would offer me the hand 
 of some Protestant lord from Ulster or else- 
 where." 
 
 "Anna!" exclaimed the minister. 
 
 She had stopped short. 
 
 "Forgive me," she said. 
 
 "I did not suspect," he said with sorrowful 
 dignity, "that you harboured such a deep-
 
 SALT LAKE 209 
 
 rooted aversion for the religion to which I 
 rejoiced in thinking I had won you." 
 
 She made a gesture of despair. 
 
 "Oh! how cruel you are! Don't you real- 
 ize how completely I belong to you? Is it 
 possible that an unfortunate remark might 
 make you doubt it, a remark that I deplore, 
 that desolates me, that I beg you to forget?" 
 
 "Anna," he said, "Anna, if such were the 
 case, I would be unworthy of the garment I 
 wear, of the faith which is mine and of which 
 I judged you worthy, my sister. Have you 
 sworn always to misunderstand the true nature 
 of the sentiments which dictate the words I 
 address to you? I am very unhappy, Anna, 
 very, very unhappy!" 
 
 "Oh!" she said hotly, "let us not prolong 
 this scene. What was I thinking of to set 
 you such a task? Tomorrow we will take 
 these stocks to some cashier in the Livingstone 
 Bank and . . ." 
 
 The minister shook his head gently. 
 
 "No, Anna, no. I cannot accept your 
 magnanimity. It shall not be said, my sister, 
 that the first, the only desire you have 
 expressed to me until now, found me unwill-
 
 2io SALT LAKE 
 
 ing. In spite of a distaste that I ask pardon 
 for not having known how to hide from you, 
 J shall obey, Anna. I shall work at this 
 balance-sheet until it is finished. Ah! never 
 did Laban impose such a task upon Jacob!" 
 
 With infinite lassitude, he had placed a 
 handful of stock certificates before him and 
 had begun the reckoning. 
 
 "I put down," he explained, "each of these 
 stocks in the right column, Colonel Lee's. 
 In Colonel O'Brien's before the $210,000 
 which I calculated you ought to inherit, I 
 place an interrogation mark, so as not to pro- 
 long a discussion in which we have wounded 
 each other so grievously." 
 
 She was about to speak. 
 
 "No, my sister, no, don't protest. I under- 
 take the enumeration of your husband's stocks. 
 First: one hundred shares in the Deseret Iron 
 Company, issued at one hundred dollars. 
 Market value today, five hundred and fifty 
 dollars. I inscribe $55,000. And on the side 
 I place the letter "k." 
 
 He explained. 
 
 "Stocks can be classified in three categor- 
 ies: keep, watch, liquidate. Deseret stocks
 
 SALT LAKE 211 
 
 are absolutely safe, on account of the steady 
 market for iron as well as the prudence with 
 which the Board of Directors proceeds. The 
 day these shares reach seven hundred dollars, 
 we shall think the matter over. In the mean- 
 while, I write 'k' keep." 
 
 He passed to another sheaf of papers. 
 
 "Humboldt Creek. Ten shares, issued like- 
 wise at a hundred dollars. Market value, 
 twelve hundred and fifty dollars. Total: 
 $12,500. In spite of this dizzy climb, I don't 
 hesitate to inscribe the letter 'k' against this 
 item. The borax beds exploited by the Com- 
 pany lie on the very line that the Federal Gov- 
 ernment has just adopted for an Atlantic to 
 Pacific Railroad. Only it will be necessary 
 to watch over the directors who, it seems to 
 me, are inclined to go a little too fast. But 
 we have a deliberate voice in the assembly. 1 ' 
 
 And, as Annabel's glance spoke her aston- 
 ishment, he smiled. 
 
 "My knowledge surprises you! What do 
 you think I was doing during those long days 
 of illness, when you left me alone with the 
 Deseret News? Thanks should be rendered 
 to the Lord, since reading market values in
 
 212 SALT LAKE 
 
 that paper helps me to come to your assistance 
 today. God is our Shepherd, Anna. His 
 word is written everywhere, for those who 
 know how to read it ... Manti-Coals, we 
 will put third. Twenty-two shares what 
 a queer number issued at fifty dollars. 
 Market value: sixty- four; so, $1,308. Keep 
 seeing how unimportant the investment is. 
 But still, I do not conceal that I have not a 
 tremendous confidence in the future of those 
 mines, even if they do claim that the coal they 
 get there is as good in quality as the coal in the 
 Alleghanys. Keep just the same. On the 
 contrary, I inscribe 'liquidate' without a 
 shade of hesitation on this block of New Leb- 
 anon shares, called Number Four in the mem- 
 orandum hereunto annexed. By the way, 
 this memorandum has been drawn up very 
 conscientiously and has proved already most 
 useful to me." 
 
 "I am glad," said Annabel. "It was Pere 
 d'Exiles who began it, at my request." 
 
 Astonished at the silence which followed 
 her words, she raised her eyes. She was 
 reassured. Imperturbable, Gwinett was pur- 
 suing his labours.
 
 SALT LAKE 213 
 
 "Fifth, forty shares of Green River. More 
 certificates payable to the bearer! As a rule, 
 Anna, it is not very wise to keep such a large 
 amount of stock of that kind in one's posses- 
 sion. It becomes dangerously imprudent 
 when, as is your wont, one authorizes the first 
 comer to meddle with and finger over such 
 securities." 
 
 "The first comer!" she said. 
 
 "Yes, Anna." 
 
 "But there have been only you and Pere 
 d'Exiles who have looked after these affairs!" 
 
 "I don't want to distress you, Anna. But 
 why must you pronounce that name again, 
 that name which fills me with bitterness!" 
 
 "How is that?" she said, somewhat op- 
 pressed. 
 
 "Yes, my sister, which fills me with bitter- 
 ness, in constraining me to remember what I 
 attempt unceasingly to forget, the desolating 
 ingratitude that is the foundation of human 
 nature. What, Anna! There is a man 
 who has lived in your house more than a year, 
 living off you, any one else would say. It is 
 already three weeks ago since he took leave of 
 you, and how rudely! God forbid that I
 
 214 SALT LAKE 
 
 dwell upon the subject! And since then, my 
 sister, not the least sign of an apology, not 
 the least sign of any thanks, not the least 
 word ..." 
 
 "Please let's not talk about that any more," 
 she said in a very low voice. 
 
 "As you will, Anna." 
 
 A half an hour later, the clergyman drew 
 the final line under the column of figures sur- 
 mounted by Colonel Lee's name and pro- 
 ceeded to sum up. 
 
 "One hundred and forty five thousand 
 dollars capital, at market value," he said. "At 
 six per cent, this represents for you a net in- 
 come of $8,700." 
 
 "Net," she said, "no. There is this." 
 
 She opened an envelope and showed him a 
 paper. 
 
 "What, what is this?" he asked, knitting his 
 eyebrows slightly. 
 
 "This is Colonel Lee's last will and testa- 
 ment," she said. "He leaves me mistress of 
 his fortune, under condition that I contribute 
 the sum of $4,000 yearly to the White-Boy 
 Relief Fund."
 
 SALT LAKE 215 
 
 "Four thousand dollars for the White- 
 Boys!" he said, raising his eyes to heaven. 
 "My sister, do you know what the White-Boys 
 are?" 
 
 "I do," she responded. "It is the Irish 
 revolutionary society to which both my 
 father and my husband used to belong." 
 
 The minister looked serious. 
 
 "Anna, I have no right to judge your con- 
 duct. But, a while ago, when you told me 
 the story of that Irish family in Ballinasloe, I 
 heard you through. In turn, I may be per- 
 mitted, I suppose, to tell you a tale, a brief 
 tale, and you will listen, my sister. It was 
 ten years ago. One of my good friends, the 
 Honourable Arthur Tumulty, happened to be 
 in London on a short visit. From a bench in 
 Soho Square, he was ecstatically watching 
 the gambols of the charming babies who love 
 that popular garden. It was a scene of calm, 
 peaceful happiness and content with the 
 world. Tears stood in the eyes of the Hon- 
 ourable Tumulty as he offered thanks to the 
 Lord. Suddenly, a horrible red flame shot 
 up, followed by a frightful explosion. Tu- 
 multy was hurled to the ground. When he
 
 216 SALTLAKE 
 
 picked himself up, mothers were fleeing in 
 all directions and on the lawn, in a pool of 
 blood which the black earth was drinking in, 
 there were four corpses of children, atro- 
 ciously disfigured. The White-Boys had 
 gone by!" 
 
 Annabel hid her face in her hands. 
 
 "What shall I do?" she murmured. 
 
 "What you wish," said Gwinett coldly. 
 "Once again, it is not for me to dictate your 
 duty to you. But in case you should begin 
 to see a light, I can allay your scruples by 
 pointing out to you that in every country of 
 the world, immoral or illegal clauses are 
 rendered null and void by the law." 
 
 "Let's not talk about this any more. Let's 
 not talk about this!" she said. "Oh! let's go 
 downstairs, let's get out of here!" 
 
 She had arisen. He seized her by the arm. 
 
 "We are not at the end of the task that we've 
 assigned ourselves, Anna. We have finished 
 with your personal property. But there 
 remains the villa." 
 
 "It cost $16,000," she said. 
 
 "It's worth $25,000 today. I write $25,000. 
 And the furniture?"
 
 SALT LAKE 217 
 
 "I have no idea what it's worth." 
 
 "It's worth about as much. I write 
 $25,000. And your jewels?" 
 
 She did not answer. He put down a figure. 
 
 "And lastly, there are the negroes." 
 
 "Rose and Coriolan!" she exclaimed. 
 "You are insane!" 
 
 He looked at her with an expression of 
 unutterable sorrow. 
 
 "I am a native of the Northern States, my 
 sister, and I suppose you know what those 
 States think about slavery, atrocious institution 
 that it is! But, Anna, we cannot help that 
 we are living in Southern territory at the pres- 
 ent moment, under laws that authorize that 
 abomination. You cannot help that your two 
 black servants are subject to the economic law 
 which administers chattels. A legally es- 
 tablished inventory ought to furnish a state- 
 ment of the sum they represent. What did 
 you pay for them?" 
 
 "Oh!" she said. "I won't answer you! I 
 don't want to answer you! I have enough 
 of all these awful things." 
 
 He smiled sorrowfully. 
 
 "Anna," said he, "Anna," and there were
 
 218 SALT LAKE 
 
 tears in his voice. "Don't you think I was 
 right when I begged you to spare me the 
 thankless task of meddling with your finances? 
 Ah! I knew only too well what an execrable 
 power money has to make instantaneous adver- 
 saries of the most devoted friends." 
 
 She was crying, unable to answer. He 
 took her in his arms. 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "I am an ungrateful wretch," she said. 
 "But let's not stay here any longer, I am 
 suffocating let us go down." 
 
 "I've finished, Anna, I've finished. There 
 is only the general total to add up." 
 
 "Go ahead," she said. "But I cannot help 
 you any more. I am utterly incapable of 
 it" 
 
 On the coat which Gwinett had taken off 
 upon entering, there lay a book, a book bound 
 in black, with a gold cross on the cover. 
 Annabel picked it up and began to glance 
 through it, while she was waiting for him to 
 finish. 
 
 It was a volume of two hundred and forty- 
 three pages, printed the year before in Liver-
 
 SALT LAKE 219 
 
 pool. The title was: "Compendium of the 
 Faith and Doctrines of the \Latter-Day 
 Saints." 
 
 Gwinett arose. He had finished. 
 
 "Well, well!" she said, holding out the book 
 to him with a smile, "so now you have taken to 
 reading Morman literature! These silly 
 things must be highly entertaining to a learned 
 man like you." 
 
 "Dear," he said gravely as he took the book 
 from her hands, "sincere belief should never 
 excite derision." 
 
 She looked at him, slightly nonplussed. 
 But he had often puzzled her before and each 
 time she only loved him the more. 
 
 They were married, as the minister had 
 announced, on the second of September. 
 Annabel had expressed a desire that the cere- 
 mony take place after sunset and without any 
 onlookers, except the required witnesses. She 
 left the matter of choosing them to Gwinett. 
 
 Toward five o'clock, darkness had filled 
 the dining-room, where Rose served the pair 
 a collation. Outside, they heard the rain
 
 220 SALT LAKE 
 
 which had been pouring steadily for a week. 
 The room, lighted by a single candle, was 
 gloomy. On the side-board, a red rose in a 
 vase of crystal, swung back and forth each 
 time the door opened. 
 
 Gwinett arose. They went out. Coriolan, 
 carrying an umbrella, escorted them to the 
 road. The rain fell in torrents. 
 
 A carriage awaited them. They climbed 
 in. The horses set off. Of the nocturnal 
 landscape shut out by the lowered hood, noth- 
 ing could be seen, but the yellow swollen 
 waters of the ditches rushing along, ruffled by 
 the wind, beneath the misty moon. 
 
 Annabel sought the pastor's hand and 
 pressed it to her heart. 
 
 "I am afraid," she murmured. "You omit- 
 ted to instruct me in my new religion. I have 
 never set foot in one of your churches. Aren't 
 you afraid I'll be awkward?" 
 
 He answered evasively. 
 
 "Our religion is a religion of the soul. It 
 dispenses with all empty popish mummeries. 
 Set your mind at rest." 
 
 "Where is the church where we are going 
 to be married?"
 
 SALT LAKE 221 
 
 "Near Social Hall." 
 
 She dared not disturb the train of his 
 thoughts by questioning him any further. 
 
 They alighted from the carriage in front 
 of a side door. There were steps to go down. 
 They entered a vaulted room. Four men 
 were there, warming themselves by a coke 
 fire. 
 
 "You are late, Brother Jemini," said the 
 oldest of the four, who was also the tallest. 
 
 "I apologize, Brother Murdock," said 
 Gwinett humbly. "The horses were slow 
 on account of the rain." 
 
 He turned around and taking the young 
 woman by the hand, he drew her within the 
 luminous circle made by a lamp placed on 
 the mantel-piece. 
 
 "This is Sister Anna, Brethren," he 
 said. 
 
 She bowed slightly. The four men did not 
 stir. They looked at her in silence. Out of 
 the four, she only knew one, a certain John 
 Sharpe who, she remembered vaguely, worked 
 at the Marriage-License Bureau. 
 
 "Let us begin," said Brother Murdock at 
 last. "The honour is yours, Brother John."
 
 222 SALT LAKE 
 
 Little John Sharpe took the big book on 
 which he had been sitting. 
 
 "Come here!" he snuffled. 
 
 He opened the book. All the onlookers 
 arose. 
 
 Brother John began to read. 
 
 "Brother Jemini, do you take Sister Anna 
 by the right hand to make her yours, to be 
 your legitimate wife, and you to be her legit- 
 imate husband, for now and for all eternity, 
 with a pledge and a promise on your part to 
 fulfill all the laws, ceremonies and command- 
 ments pertaining to marriage in this new and 
 immortal covenant doing so in the presence 
 of God, the Angels and these witnesses, of 
 your own free consent and of your own free 
 will?" 
 
 "I do," responded Gwinett. 
 
 "Sister Anna," continued Sharpe, "do you 
 take Brother Jemini by the left hand . . ." 
 and he reeled off the formula once more. 
 
 "I do," said Annabel. 
 
 "Sign here," said Sharpe. "It is under- 
 stood that Brother Joram, here present, is 
 witness for Brother Jemini, and that Brother
 
 SALT LAKE 223 
 
 Phanuel, here present too, is witness for Sister 
 Anna." 
 
 They signed ; Brother Murdock was the last 
 to affix his flourishing signature at the very 
 bottom of the page. 
 
 "You may withdraw, Brother John," he 
 said to Sharpe. "We have no further need of 
 you. Sister, Brethren, will you please pass 
 into the next room with me?" 
 
 They followed him. Murdock shut the 
 door carefully after them. 
 
 Annabel threw a hasty glance about the 
 place. 
 
 It was a vast, whitewashed hall, with a rude 
 table in the centre. A cheap lamp, sus- 
 pended from the ceiling, diffused its oily light 
 on the assembly. 
 
 "This is for you, my sister," said old Mur- 
 doch, pointing to a long tunic of white mus- 
 lin on the table. 
 
 "For me?" she said. 
 
 "For you. It is the symbol of your 
 approaching redemption. Will you do me 
 the favour of putting on this garment?" 
 
 "Willingly," she said with a smile.
 
 224 SALTLAKE 
 
 Attempting to put it on, she found herself 
 in difficulties. The muslin caught in the 
 heavy jet buttons of her jacket. 
 
 Gwinett and Brother Phanuel assisted her 
 clumsily. 
 
 "Wait," she said, "it will be easier this way." 
 
 She had removed her jacket. The soft, 
 pale flesh of her arms, of her bare throat 
 showed transparently through her lacy blouse. 
 
 Old Murdock cleared his throat. A dis- 
 quieting thrill circulated about the smoky 
 room. 
 
 Gwinett jumped up. 
 
 "Put on your jacket again," he said nerv- 
 ously. "Put it on right away!" 
 
 Abashed she obeyed. It took them a full 
 five minutes to succeed in tying her in the mus- 
 lin sheath. 
 
 "At least," she said, "let me remove my 
 hat. How foolish I must look like this!" 
 
 So saying, she had taken off her wide black 
 felt hat. (Her tiny gold curls gleamed. The 
 same dubious thrill began to circulate. 
 
 "Put on your hat!" cried Gwinett impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 She obeyed once again. Somewhat sur-
 
 SALT LAKE 225 
 
 prised, she watched Brother Phanuel tie 
 around her waist a small square apron em- 
 broidered with fig leaves. Then old Mur- 
 doch, who had vanished, returned, himself 
 garbed in a long white linen robe. Then they 
 all passed in a group into a third chamber, 
 smaller, but better lighted and furnished with 
 'fairly comfortable arm-chairs. There was 
 a pulpit against the wall. Brother Murdoch 
 ascended it. 
 
 He spoke for about an hour. What he said, 
 Annabel, reflecting upon it later, never could 
 remember. She was watching Gwinett. He 
 sat beside her. His eyes were closed. His 
 hair seemed softer and bluer than usual, his 
 skin more olive, his beauty more perfect. 
 And what an expression of grave serenity! 
 O God, thou couldst not bestow gifts so 
 marvelous upon a creature not altogether 
 worthy ! 
 
 The two witnesses sat behind them. 
 Brotiher Phanuel, afflicted with a polypus, 
 breathed so violently that on several occasions 
 Annabel might have thought he was snoring. 
 She could not see him but, turning her head 
 a little, she perceived Brother Joram. The
 
 226 SALT LAKE 
 
 eyes of the latter were roving up and down 
 the young woman's bare neck with an expres- 
 sion that made Annabel tremble with shame. 
 
 To efface that hideous vision, she forced 
 herself to listen to Brother Murdoch's dis- 
 course. At random, she caught an offensive 
 allusion to Rome. "Oh, yes!" she thought, 
 "it's true. I am no longer a Catholic." No 
 longer a Catholic! She repeated the words 
 almost audibly. The thought astonished her, 
 and that was all. The church in Kildare! 
 The Ursuline chapel in St. Louis! . . . No 
 longer a Catholic! Then, suddenly, she re- 
 membered Pere d'Exiles, and she barely had 
 time to turn her glance upon her husband's 
 implacable profile to escape an agony of 
 remorse. 
 
 At that moment, his homily at end, Mur- 
 dock descended from the pulpit and came to 
 them. 
 
 He took her right hand and placed it in 
 Gwinett's left hand. 
 
 "Do you swear," he asked, addressing the 
 minister, "always to be for her what Isaac was 
 for Rebecca, what Boaz was for Ruth, what 
 Joachim was for Anna?"
 
 SALT LAKE 227 
 
 "I do," answered the minister. 
 
 "And you, my sister, do you swear always 
 to be for him what Rebecca was for Isaac, 
 what Ruth was for Boaz, what Anna was for 
 Joachim?" 
 
 "I do," 
 
 "And do you swear, my sister, always to be 
 for him what Sarah was for Abraham with 
 regard to Hagar, what Rachel and Leah were 
 for Jacob with regard to Bilhah and Zilpah?" 
 
 "I do," she repeated with the same confi- 
 dence. 
 
 Brother Murdoch raised himself to his full 
 height and his shadow began to flicker on the 
 wall. 
 
 "Well, then," he said forcefully, "Brother 
 Jemini, Sister Anna, in the name of the Lord 
 Jesus Christ and by the authority of the Holy 
 Sacrament, I pronounce you man and wife 
 for now and for all eternity; upon you both 
 I bestow the blessings of the Holy Resurrec- 
 tion so that you may appear on Judgment Day 
 wrapped in glory, immortality and eternal 
 life. And I bestow upon you the blessings of 
 the Thrones, of the Dominions, of the Princi- 
 palities, of the Powers and of the Exaltations;
 
 228 SALT LAKE 
 
 likewise the blessings of Abraham, Isaac and 
 Jacob and I say unto you: 'Multiply and be 
 fruitful and replenish the earth, that you may 
 rejoice in your seed on Judgment Day.' All 
 these blessings as well as all the others in this 
 new and immortal covenant, I shower upon 
 your heads by the authority of the Sacrament, 
 in the name of the Father, the Son and the 
 Holy Ghost, that you may be faithful unto 
 death. Amen." 
 
 He remained for an instant with bowed 
 head, praying, then he said to them: 
 
 "Go, you are united." 
 
 They went out, passed through the two 
 chambers. The carriage in which they had 
 come was drawn up before the outer door. 
 It was raining no longer. In the sky, there 
 were even stars, peering between soft clouds. 
 
 The couple shook hands with Brother Mur- 
 doch and the witnesses, thanking them. 
 
 "I tell you," said Gwinett, "it's a shame 
 that being married at such a late hour will 
 prevent us from asking you to dinner!" 
 
 "Bah!" said Brother Murdoch in his thick, 
 gruff voice, " there's no harm done. We'll 
 leave that for the next time!"
 
 SALT LAKE 229 
 
 Already settled under the carriage hood, 
 Annabel burst into laughter. 
 
 "Did you hear what that idiot said?" asked 
 Gwinett crossly, as the carriage started off. 
 
 "Yes," she said still laughing. "He seems 
 to be pretty clever in concealing how fond 
 he is of joking." 
 
 And, with all her strength, she clung to the 
 minister. This time he did not push her 
 away. 
 
 They allowed themselves to be drawn along, 
 indifferent to the road the carriage was tak- 
 ing. The song of the ditches could be heard, 
 so loud, that at times it submerged the rattle 
 of the wheels. 
 
 At last after how long? Gwinett disen- 
 gaged himself gently from her embrace. The 
 carriage had stopped. 
 
 "We are home, dear." 
 
 They stood together on the road. A house 
 rose up darkly in front of them. The carriage 
 had gone away. 
 
 Annabel shuddered. She seized the minis- 
 ter's arm. 
 
 "Are we there?" she said, "are we? I don't
 
 230 SALT LAKE 
 
 recognize the garden. Where are we?" 
 
 He had unlatched a gate. She followed 
 him, feeling her way in the dark. 
 
 He opened a door. Now they were climb- 
 ing an obscure staircase. 
 
 "Where are we? Where are we?" she 
 repeated. 
 
 She felt his lips against her ear. He whis- 
 pered: 
 
 "Where are you, my beloved? In a house 
 better suited to shelter our love than your 
 luxurious villa." 
 
 A corridor. Another door is opened and 
 closed. A lamp is lighted. A large, bare 
 room appears. 
 
 The pastor stood in the centre of the room. 
 He had taken off his coat. He looked at 
 Annabel, he held out his arms to her lovingly. 
 
 She flung herself into them. She huddled 
 there. She was trembling. 
 
 "My beloved, my beloved, where are we?" 
 
 Without answering, still smiling, he drew 
 her to him. He removed her outer garments 
 and her shoes, placed them carefully on a 
 chair, at the head of the great white bed which
 
 SALT LAKE 231 
 
 stood imposing and resplendent in the myste- 
 rious room. 
 
 "Where are we?" she attempted to ask once 
 more. "Oh! but what does it matter! With 
 you, my beloved, with you!" 
 
 She surrendered herself. He pressed her 
 more closely to him. She questioned him no 
 longer . . .
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 had not slept until dawn. 
 When Annabel awoke, the sun 
 already high in the heavens, was 
 glancing on the window-pane where tiny 
 drops of blue fog pursued each other. She 
 was alone. 
 
 This did not alarm her. It even made her 
 happy at first. Pulling up the covers, for the 
 room was cold, she luxuriated in her warm 
 lassitude. 
 
 Soon, she felt that she could not lie in bed 
 any longer. A queer uneasiness took posses- 
 sion of her. She sought the cause, found it 
 it was the surrounding calm, the complete 
 absence of noise. All was strangely silent 
 in the house. 
 
 Annabel arose in her night-dress, she 
 went to the door, opened it. A corridor, 
 very light, like a room, led to a stairway. A 
 gust of icy air made her shiver. She shut the 
 door again, then, having thrown the heavy 
 
 cloak in which she had been wrapped the 
 
 232
 
 SALT LAKE 233 
 
 day before, over her shoulders, she undertook 
 a minute examination of the place in which 
 she found herself. 
 
 She started to the window, with its stiff 
 white curtains, streaming with sunshine. She 
 attempted to open it, but in vain the fasten- 
 ing, although new, was rusty. So Annabel 
 rubbed the mist off one of the panes and looked 
 out. 
 
 What she saw was anything but unusual. 
 The bedroom was on the second floor. Be- 
 low it, a vegetable garden, enclosed by an 
 eight-foot adobe wall about a hundred yards 
 away. Beyond, in the crude sky, the Wah- 
 satch mountains, upon which it had snowed 
 during the night, 'lifted their jagged, rosy 
 peaks. The sun shone, reassuringly. 
 
 The garden vegetation was powdered with 
 a greyish, iridescent frost. In the centre lay 
 a square of naked brown earth. A woman, 
 stooping, was digging. She pulled up pota- 
 toes which she threw in a basket. Annabel 
 thought that she looked familiar. She tapped 
 on the win,dow-pane timidly, then harder. 
 The woman did not turn around. But she was 
 far away. Perhaps she had not heard.
 
 234 SALT LAKE 
 
 Annabel decided that she had been mistaken. 
 She left the window. 
 
 The walls of the room were roughly plast- 
 ered and bare. They were without ornament 
 except for a portrait, a portrait of Benjamin 
 Franklin. In a crude frame, he displayed his 
 fat, smirking face, his black vest, his Quaker 
 cravat and the rest of the assumed biblical 
 guilelessness of the layman saint who has made 
 Lake Michigan a twin sister of Lake Geneva. 
 Annabel was much too inexperienced to real- 
 ize that the effigy of that sinister philanthro- 
 pist was ominous here. She shrunk back, 
 nevertheless. 
 
 A door stood ajar. The young woman 
 pushed it open and entered a second room, 
 smaller, with no opening other than a window 
 giving on the same garden. This room had 
 pretentions to being a dressing-room, that is 
 to say, it was furnished with a small table on 
 which were a basin and a ridiculously scanty 
 pitcher of water and, beneath it, an iron pail. 
 In one of the drawers, some soap and a comb. 
 That was all. 
 
 No in addition there was a mirror, a 
 diminutive mirror, hung on a nail. Annabel
 
 SALT LAKE 235 
 
 smiled as she thought of her bedroom at the 
 villa, with its two vast cheval-glasses where 
 in happy complacency she contemplated her 
 beauty each day and suddenly she started at 
 the thought that perhaps she would never 
 more see the secret treasures of her beloved 
 body. 
 
 To escape this absurd apprehension, she 
 thought of the minister. 
 
 "Oh!" she muttered, "I am going mad! 
 Why must I stay up here for ever, when he is 
 surely downstairs waiting for me he must 
 even be wondering . . ." 
 
 She made a hasty use of the brittle comb, 
 the hard, cold water, the tallow-smelling soap. 
 Then she dressed, with the distaste unknown 
 to her until then of wearing the same dress so 
 soon again. 
 
 She put on her shoes. Since her awaken- 
 ing, she had been barefoot on the pine floor- 
 ing which, to be sure, was very clean. 
 
 When ready, she glanced into the garden. 
 The potato woman was no longer there. 
 
 Going along the hall, Annabel came to the 
 staircase. The sound of her heels, as she 
 went downstairs, reverberated much louder
 
 236 SALT LAKE 
 
 than on the floor of the bedroom. Instinc- 
 tively, she descended the rest of the way on 
 tiptoes. 
 
 In the vestibule, a wide vestibule opening 
 into the garden, nothing. Facing her, a door. 
 Annabel opened it. This door gave on a 
 street, a deserted street. Annabel closed it 
 again. Cutting across the vestibule, she went 
 to another door. She opened it, her heart 
 beating. 
 
 She found herself in the first room of the 
 house that might have been called furnished. 
 It was a vast kitchen, with a fire-place where 
 blazed a fairly good fire. A large red clay 
 pot stood on two bricks against the logs, in the 
 midst of the flames. Its contents hummed. 
 It was an appetizing song, almost reassuring. 
 Annabel sat down upon a stool. She was cold. 
 She stretched her legs, put her hands and feet 
 out to the hearth. 
 
 The gurglings in the pot grew louder. The 
 cover lifted up, giving passage to puffs of 
 yellow scum. They ran over the side, fell 
 into the fire, sputtered, threatened to extin- 
 guish the flames. Annabel decided to act. 
 With infinite precautions, she hooked a poker
 
 SALT LAKE 237 
 
 on the ponderous utensil and drew it back a 
 little. She rejoiced to hear the tiny storm 
 inside decreasing. But the soot on the poker 
 had soiled her hands most disagreeably. 
 
 Furthermore, the silence began to oppress 
 her. 
 
 It was opportunely broken by the sound of 
 the outer door opening. Now some one ' 
 knocked at the kitchen door. 
 
 "Come in," said Annabel. 
 
 She could not help thinking that people 
 entered this house somewhat too easily. To 
 leave it could not be much more difficult. 
 
 "Mrs. Gwinett, please?" 
 
 Annabel arose to meet the newcomer. It 
 was the postman. Four functionaries of the 
 sort assured Salt Lake City a mail service, 
 the city being divided into four corresponding 
 sections: North-West, North-East, South- 
 East, South-West. Until then, Annabel had 
 only dealt with the postman of the North- 
 West section. The one who had just entered 
 bore the initials "S-E" on the copper star 
 of his shoulder belt. She did not know 
 him. 
 
 He took two letters from his pouch.
 
 238 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Mrs. Gwinett?" he repeated. 
 
 Not until then had Annabel recollected that 
 she was Mrs. Gwinett. She smiled. "Letters 
 already!" she said to herself. And she held 
 out her hand. 
 
 But the man stepped back. 
 
 "I am asking for Mrs. Gwinett," he said 
 for the third time. 
 
 "I am she." 
 
 The postman stared at her distrustfully. 
 
 "Mrs. Gwinett, wife of Brother Jemini 
 Gwinett?" 
 
 "I tell you I am Mrs. Gwinett," she cried 
 impatiently. 
 
 He looked at her again,; put the letters 
 back in his sack. 
 
 "I'll come by again," he said. 
 
 And he left her. 
 
 "What a suspicious person!" she thought. 
 
 She laughed, but not long. Her laughter 
 had awakened disquieting echoes in the 
 silent kitchen. 
 
 Some time elapsed. Once again, the outer 
 door opened. 
 
 "Oh!" cried out Annabel in happy sur- 
 prise.
 
 SALT LAKE 239 
 
 Sarah Pratt had just entered the room. 
 
 She was, as usual, dressed in black. She 
 carried a small copper can filled with milk. 
 She deposited it on the table, shook the hand 
 held out by Annabel. 
 
 ''Sarah! Sarah! What a god-send! How 
 glad I am!" the young woman said over and 
 over again. 
 
 "I am glad you are," said Sarah Pratt with 
 a calm smile. 
 
 "You here, Sarah! Dear Sarah! How 
 does it happen?" 
 
 Sarah did not answer right away. She was 
 busy pouring the milk into a pan. 
 
 "You must be hungry for breakfast," she 
 said at last. 
 
 "Yes, it's true, Sarah, I'm hungry. But 
 above all, I'm glad, so glad to see you 
 again." 
 
 Sarah went to the fire-place, set the pan on 
 the coals. 
 
 "The big pot is not where I left it," she 
 remarked. 
 
 "I took it off the fire, Sarah." 
 
 "You did wrong. The vegetables will not 
 be cooked."
 
 240 SALT LAKE 
 
 "I thought I was doing what should be 
 done. It seemed to me the water was boil- 
 ing over. I didn't know." 
 
 "See to it that you do the next time," said 
 Sarah simply. 
 
 She bent over the fire-place. The flames 
 lighted her beautiful, impassible, waxy fore- 
 head. 
 
 A yellow film was forming on the surface 
 of the milk. It lifted, rent in two, allowing 
 the white foam to dissolve. 
 
 "Help yourself to a bowl, there, on the 
 side-board," ordered Sarah Pratt. 
 
 She filled the bowl which Annabel brought, 
 then cut a large slice of bread, buttered it, 
 held it out to her. 
 
 "Eat." 
 
 "And you, Sarah?" 
 
 "I have had breakfast," she responded. 
 
 Annabel, hesitated before asking a question. 
 At length she gathered courage. 
 
 "Won't you have to fix another bowl?" 
 
 "Another bowl? And for whom, if you 
 please?" 
 
 "Why ... for the minister 1" 
 
 "It isn't necessary," said Sarah Pratt dryly.
 
 SALT LAKE 241 
 
 "He had breakfast with me. We get up early, 
 here, you know," she added. 
 
 Annabel sat dumfounded before the smok- 
 ing bowl. 
 
 "Why don't you eat, since you are hungry?" 
 said Sarah, shrugging her shoulders. 
 
 And tying a blue apron over her skirt, she 
 began to peel potatoes. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. 
 
 "Come in," said Sarah. 
 
 It was the postman again. 
 
 "Mrs. Gwinett?" he asked from the door- 
 sill. 
 
 The two women had arisen simultaneously. 
 
 The postman held the same two letters in 
 his hand. 
 
 "Give them to me," said Sarah. 
 
 She took them. He bowed, not without 
 casting a severe look at Annabel. 
 
 "Excuse me, won't you?" said Sarah. 
 
 She had broken the seals and was reading. 
 Annabel had turned very pale. 
 
 "Those letters . . ." she mumbled. 
 
 "Well?" said Sarah, without looking up, "I 
 am reading them." 
 
 "You are reading them?"
 
 242 SALT LAKE 
 
 "I am, because they are addressed to me." 
 
 "Addressed to you ! But, Sarah, the address 
 reads 'Mrs. Gwinett'I" 
 
 "Yes, certainly," said Sarah, "but the 
 address is incomplete. It ought to read: 
 'Mrs. Gvvinett Number One.' But you see, 
 I haven't had time yet to advise my cor- 
 respondents of my husband's latest marriage." 
 
 "Your husband . . ." 
 
 "Our husband, if you prefer, dear Anna." 
 
 "Our husband I" echoed Annabel. 
 
 She stood up. She walked to Sarah who 
 watched her calmly without dropping the 
 potatoes which she was busy peeling. 
 
 "Where is he?" demanded Annabel with 
 violence. 
 
 "Who, he?" 
 
 "Why, the minister!" 
 
 "If you are speaking of Jemini," said Sarah 
 carelessly, "stop calling him by a title which 
 it is hardly suitable to give him any longer. 
 Besides, I hope, it will soon be replaced by a 
 more exalted one, worthier of his gifts, which 
 are really exceptional." 
 
 "I ask you where he is!" 
 
 "You ask me questions and you don't even 
 give me time to answer them! Just now, he
 
 SALT LAKE 243 
 
 is at the Tabernacle, with Kimball, Wells, and 
 the Twelve Apostles. President Brigham, 
 attracted by the gifts I just mentioned as well 
 as by his spectacular conversion, wants his 
 theological initiation to be rushed, so that 
 he may obtain the highest offices at the earliest 
 possible moment. If Brigham Young con- 
 tinues to look upon the idea with favour, our 
 Jemini will see himself initiated into the 
 Order of Melchisedech at thirty-four ! Think 
 of it, sister: only Hiram Smith, the own 
 brother of the prophet, Brigham, Kimbal and 
 my uncle, the great Orson Pratt, have been 
 thus honoured so young. You must admit, 
 dear Anna . . ." 
 
 "I forbid you to call me Anna," said Anna- 
 bel fiercely. 
 
 "As you like," said Sarah coldly. "Then 
 I will call you Mrs. Gwinett Number Two. 
 But let me draw your attention to the fact 
 that the tone of your remarks does not go very 
 well with the declarations of friendship that 
 you professed a few moments ago, before you 
 had asked me these questions." 
 
 Annabel burst into a nervous laughter. 
 
 'Those questions! Those questions! You
 
 244 SALT LAKE 
 
 silly creature, how could you imagine that I 
 didn't know everything you just told me, do 
 you hear, everything?" 
 
 And she went out slowly, casting a defiant 
 glance at Sarah. 
 
 The light was now growing feeble in the 
 bedroom where she had taken refuge instinc- 
 tively, after her flight from the kitchen. At 
 first Annabel had thrown herself sobbing up- 
 on the bed. But its disorder, the memories of 
 the night before, had horrified her immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 In her absence, a small trunk had been 
 brought to the room. It was standing soli- 
 tary in the centre of the floor. A trunk 
 from the villa. It still bore a label, a label in 
 Pere d'Exiles' handwriting: 
 
 Mrs. Lee, St. Louis, by way of Omaha. 
 
 Annabel seated herself on the trunk, her 
 elbows on her knees, her chin in her palms. 
 She stayed there all day, inert, tearless. And 
 little by little, the ash-grey evening filtered 
 through the misty panes. 
 
 The world reels about us and we are alone
 
 SALT LAKE 245 
 
 in an unfriendly room. What have we to 
 hope for from the world and from life? We 
 are disillusioned, our eyes are opened. We 
 no longer desire anything, except death, per- 
 haps . . . But this is the one thing we still 
 fear. O Sun! To see thy Divine Face for a 
 last time! Had Annabel been of those amaz- 
 ingly courageous beings who can commit 
 suicide no doubt she would have killed her- 
 self. 
 
 Night now, black night. Then on the 
 boards, a thin pencil of pale moonlight. 
 Better than by daylight, we see a thousand 
 unlocked for details in the flooring; the atoms 
 of dust, the cracks that we count, a moth, 
 winged dot, which crawls away and dis- 
 appears in the darkness, with whom we would 
 disappear, if we dared . . . 
 
 Annabel's tiny watch had not yet stopped. 
 Still it only goes twenty-four hours and its 
 owner had wound it up yesterday at six, be- 
 fore the ceremony over which the ominoua 
 Brother Murdock had presided. But it i* 
 nine o'clock. Oh, let us wind it quickly, to 
 prolong its vacillating support! 
 
 Nine o'clock! Ten o'clock! He will noi
 
 246 SALT LAKE 
 
 come now. To what purpose all the speeches 
 that Annabel, on her trunk, had prepared to 
 denounce this recreant? Half-past ten! She 
 burst into laughter. She had understood. 
 She remembered. Gwinett is a good Mor- 
 man husband. Today is Sarah's day. 
 
 The Latter-Day Saints belong by turn to 
 each of their wives except on Sunday, the 
 Lord's Day, when like Him, they partake of 
 a well-earned repose. And so it is Monday 
 night that is the most interesting, the most re- 
 munerative the night which goes to wife num- 
 ber one by right, in this case to Sarah Pratt 
 Sarah Gwinett. Annabel Lee, no, Anna 
 Gwinett, counted on her fingers. Monday, 
 Sarah Tuesday, herself; Wednesday, Sarah 
 Thursday, yesterday, their wedding day, 
 Anna herself; today is Friday, Sarah; to- 
 morrow, Saturday, she, Anna will be honoured 
 by their equitable mate. Unless, by that time, 
 she will have had the courage to ... 
 
 Eleven o'clock. Annabel's great cape is 
 still there on the chair, where Gwinett had 
 thrown it last night. The young woman 
 wrapped it about her. The moon had 
 wheeled around the house. Now it ilium-
 
 SALTLAKE 247 
 
 inated the empty corridor. Good heavens! 
 how these stairs squeak! 
 
 Annabel had reached the street door. In 
 the obscurity, she fumbles with the heavy 
 chains. An extraordinary nervous dexterity 
 has taken possession of her. The stairs had 
 squeaked. The door opens noiselessly it 
 seems uncanny. Now Annabel is alone out- 
 side, alotie in Salt Lake City. 
 
 A cold, cutting wind. Blocks of inky 
 houses. Shadows passing with pallid lanterns 
 under their cloaks. Here is a place Anna- 
 bel recognizes the Union Hotel. Should 
 she enter and ask Judge Sydney for the glass 
 of port he offered her the day the American 
 troops arrived, not three months ago? How 
 much has happened since then! No. Anna- 
 bel is not going to the Union Hotel tonight. 
 
 But look a flag waves in the sad night 
 breeze over the door of a massive building. 
 By the light of a triagular lantern, the starry 
 blue field sways back and forth. Ah! Gov- 
 ernor Cumming's residence. Often had 
 Annabel's carriage stopped before that door 
 not so often, however, as the Governor's in
 
 248 SALTLAKE 
 
 front of the festive, hospitable villa of Annabel 
 Lee. 
 
 Will she enter this time? Yes. 
 
 A sallow individual a doorkeeper perhaps 
 dozed in the narrow entry. What does she 
 want of him? 
 
 "I want to see Governor Gumming." 
 
 "Now? Folks ought to be abed at this 
 time o' night." 
 
 "Go ask him anyway. And give him my 
 name. We shall see." 
 
 Suspicious but prudent, the man was gone. 
 Annabel is left alone. Suddenly, she notices 
 her slippers, her dainty bronze slippers, 
 stained with mud, and her dress likewise. 
 Governor Gumming, who flirted with her so 
 discreetly! Oh! rather a thousand times . . . 
 And the dark street takes her back. 
 
 O Night, sinister Night! A mm had just 
 accosted Annabel. He muttered horrible 
 things to her between his teeth. No use get- 
 ting angry what can you expect? And then, 
 this virtuous town offers so few distractions 
 to a Morman bachelor ... A house stream- 
 ing with golden light. Annabel presses her 
 gloomy face against a window. Within, the
 
 SALT LAKE 249 
 
 people are merry. They sit around a table 
 loaded with victuals. They are singing 
 hymns. 
 
 She sees the patriarch with his wives, his 
 little children, so fair and rosy. Oh! after 
 all, there is happiness in the Land of the Mor- 
 mon ! Annabel had eaten nothing since morn- 
 ing. If she went in, perhaps they would give 
 her the drumstick of that goose. 
 
 But why beg, when there are two, three, 
 four gold pieces here in her pocket? Annabel 
 counted them by the glimmer from the yellow 
 panes. Surely you can find something to eat 
 in Salt Lake City, above all on such a night, 
 obviously a holiday night. 
 
 Once again, the obscure labyrinth of streets, 
 and once again, a light. This time it is a 
 store, yes, it is a store. The windows have 
 checkered curtains, red and white. 
 
 But just what do they have for sale here? 
 Oh! what does it matter, if only it is something 
 to eat? Annabel enters. A shriveled old 
 woman is knitting. Upon seeing Annabel, 
 she puts down her work. 
 
 Annabel, intimidated, is silent. 
 
 "Hmm! hmm!" coughs the old woman.
 
 250 SALT LAKE 
 
 Bizarre sounds issue from a small door 
 opening into the darkness at the back of the 
 shop. A concertina. Drunken music. 
 
 "How jolly they are!" murmurs Annabel. 
 
 "They have a right to be," answers the old 
 woman dryly. "Today is the anniversary of 
 the Discovery of Urin and Thummin by 
 Joseph Smith. We are supposed to celebrate, 
 according to the commandments of the 
 Church." 
 
 "Pm hungry," says Annabel. 
 
 "And thirsty too, I'll bet. Well, go on in. 
 You can eat and drink, and not alone, my 
 pretty one. Good looking girls like you 
 should have company. It will cost you a 
 couple of dollars, which you will not be long 
 in recuperating. But understand, we want 
 no scandal here. . . ." 
 
 Annabel walked into the back-room with 
 firm steps. As she entered, she thought of 
 the church yesterday, the church where she 
 became Mrs. Gwinett. Ah! how like its 
 churches are the brothels in this blessed 
 country of the Lord and hardly more de- 
 pressing at that. But here, at least, you can 
 eat and drink.
 
 SALT LAKE 251 
 
 Particularly drink ... Ah! fierce fire- 
 water! What would the wretched peasants 
 of County Kildare say of their little mistress, 
 she who used to preach temperance, if they 
 could see her tonight? But they are far, far 
 away, beyond the billowing seas, and they 
 shall never see her again. 
 
 If the word drunk is adequate, Annabel 
 was drunk when she left this curious place. 
 A young Mormon, handsome and conceited, 
 followed her. As they walked along the dark 
 streets, he held her waist and attempted to 
 kiss her, succeeding at times. 
 
 "Do you know whom you're kissing?" she 
 asked him laughingly. 
 
 "What do I care?" he answered. "I like 
 you, what do I care?" 
 
 "Oh! really? Well, I am Mrs. Gwinett, 
 the legimate wife of Brother Jemini Gwinett, 
 whom you have no doubt heard of . . ." 
 
 But the presumptuous young Morman fled 
 an obscure silhouette without asking the 
 rest. 
 
 The cold night air routs intoxication and 
 awakens hunger. Besides, Annabel had
 
 252 SALT LAKE 
 
 eaten so little. She had been drinking, 1 
 repeat. But when she reached her new home, 
 she had no difficulty in recognizing the house, 
 whose door she had left ajar. She went in, 
 put the chains back in place and shot the bolts. 
 
 In the kitchen, the dying flames of the fire- 
 place licked the iron andirons and flickered 
 on the black and white tiles. 
 
 Could there be anything left to eat in this 
 kitchen? 
 
 Seizing a stool, Annabel dragged it to the 
 murky wall, climbed upon it and reached 
 a shelf along which she felt with her 
 hand. 
 
 Ah! a kettle, the kettle with the rem- 
 nants of the baked beans, recipe by Rigdon 
 Pratt. 
 
 Annabel took possession of the kettle and 
 settled by the fire. She ate greedily, without 
 a fork, without a spoon, digging in the black 
 congealed mixture with her fingers. 
 
 After she emptied the kettle, she left it 
 there. Her handkerchief had been lost, 
 where, she knew not. She wiped her lips 
 and her hands with a towel, snatched out of 
 the shadows.
 
 SALT LAKE 253 
 
 The staircase was steeped in darkness when 
 she staggered up to her room. She sat down 
 on her trunk and waited, like one of those poor 
 emigrants who huddle by the foggy water- 
 side until the hour strikes and a vessel comes 
 to take them away. 
 
 To escape but how? In this harbour no 
 ship will come to carry off Annabel Lee. 
 
 Throughout the next day, Saturday, she 
 stayed thus in her room, dull and inert, waiting 
 for her master, with only one fear in her heart 
 that he might not come. 
 
 He had too much respect for the Mormon 
 law. Nine o'clock had not yet struck when 
 he knocked at the door. 
 
 "Come in," she murmured. 
 
 He embraces her, whispers tender re- 
 proaches. His suave recriminations find her 
 defenceless. To tell the truth, she listens 
 
 gladly. 
 
 > 
 
 Early in November, Annabel felt a desire to 
 see her villa once more. 
 
 It was three o'clock in the afternoon. The 
 logs were glowing redder in the kitchen fire-
 
 254 SALTLAKE 
 
 place by which, alone, she was shelling peas. 
 She arose abruptly, threw a shawl over her 
 head, went out. 
 
 Gwinett's house was located in the south- 
 western part of Salt Lake City, not far from 
 the holy enclosure which formed a sort of 
 chemin de ronde around the city and was 
 planted with willows which whitened towards 
 evening. It was dusk when Annabel passed 
 through it. 
 
 At first, she met no one. She walked very 
 fast as she skirted the accursed city. 
 
 She met no one, except a group of children 
 playing truant. The little Mormons, escaped 
 from the Biblical ferule, received her with 
 pleasantries much too sophisticated for their 
 age. At first she misconstrued their sarcasm. 
 "What in the world is the matter with me? A 
 hole in my shawl, I suppose." Then sud- 
 denly she realized she had been talking 
 aloud. At this, the unhappy woman shiv- 
 ered, although she did not yet know why. She 
 hastened her steps, broke into a run. A stone 
 fell on the road by her side. Then the chil- 
 dren abandoned her. 
 
 The sky had whitened through the fine
 
 SALT LAKE 255 
 
 meshes of the feathery willow branches. A 
 grey and black bird flew up from the fields 
 and perched upon a tree ahead of her. Anna- 
 bel slackened her pace. When she ap- 
 proached the bird, he shook his tail up and 
 down twice, and did not fly away. 
 
 She came upon the observatory at the cross- 
 roads where, with Pere d'Exiles, she had 
 watched the entry of the American troops 
 into Salt Lake City. It was scarcely four 
 months ago! 
 
 On the banks of the Mississippi is a great 
 city, St. Louis, such a hospitable city with 
 its Ursuline convent for a Catholic girl who 
 has not abjured her faith. Annabel did not 
 linger at the observatory. 
 
 The villa at last, the garden gate, the 
 beautiful alley of sycamores. Suddenly filled 
 with uneasiness, Annabel dared not ring. 
 
 She had expected to find the house closed, 
 wrapped in poignant silence, empty, for she 
 had never had the courage to ask her dreaded 
 master what he had done with it. 
 
 Instead, there were open windows a 
 woman's white silhouette on the veranda. 
 
 Going around the stables, Annabel cut
 
 256 SALT LAKE 
 
 across the fields. To the south, the property 
 was bordered by a hedged embankment, and 
 down in the hollow, ran a path. Annabel 
 followed the path and then, clutching at the 
 shrubbery, she lifted herself to the top of the 
 hedge. From there, she could see all over the 
 garden. 
 
 The change in it touched her so deeply that 
 she almost screamed. In place of the ragged 
 clumps of camelias and oleanders, a checker- 
 board of furrows, where a stooping man was 
 spading the clods of brown earth. 
 
 Two children in gay-coloured sweaters were 
 watching him work. Their rosy little Anglo- 
 Saxon faces were framed in pale copper hair. 
 
 A call rang out from the house. The 
 woman's silhoutette that Annabel had noticed 
 on the veranda, appeared. 
 
 "Fred! Mary! Come to tea." 
 
 The children scampered away. Then, in 
 her turn, Annabel called in a choked voice: 
 
 "Coriolan!" 
 
 The man did not turn around. He had not 
 heard. 
 
 "Coriolan!" she repeated louder. 
 
 He jumped, straightened himself, looked to-
 
 SALT LAKE 257 
 
 ward her perplexedly, without seeing her. 
 
 "Here," she said, "here I am." 
 
 And she shook the branches of the hedge. 
 
 "Oh, Missus!" cried Coriolan. 
 
 He hastened to her. He saw her, lacerat- 
 ing her hands as she clung to the thorny 
 branches. Nevertheless he made no move to 
 help her raise herself into the garden. 
 
 He could only repeat: "Oh, Missus!" 
 
 He said once more: 
 
 "Missus!" 
 
 He added : 
 
 "Dressed like that!" 
 
 Annabel wore a shabby black serge dress, 
 threadbare, mended at the elbows an old 
 dress which Sarah Pratt had almost worn out. 
 
 She made a gesture as if to say: "Don't 
 pay any attention to that!" 
 
 "And you?" she asked hurriedly. 
 
 Then she noticed that he, too, was in rags, 
 that he had begun to stoop, that his skin had 
 that greyish tint of the negro who has suffered. 
 She regretted her question, wished she had 
 not spoken. 
 
 "And Rose?" 
 
 "Rose?" said Coriolan.
 
 258 SALT LAKE 
 
 He nodded vaguely. 
 
 "Of course she is still here?" questioned 
 Annabel in low tones. 
 
 Coriolan did not answer. The dying day 
 reflected dark blue gleams on the steel of the 
 spade. 
 
 "No," he said at last. "She is not here any 
 
 more." 
 
 "Where is she, then?" 
 
 "In Wisconsin." 
 
 "Did she leave you?" 
 
 "It's not her fault, Missus. Mr. Wana- 
 maker, the agent of the Federal Topograph- 
 ical Bureau was transferred to Milwaukee. 
 He took Rose away." 
 
 "He took her to Milwaukee?" 
 
 "He bought her," said Coriolan very gently. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Annabel. 
 
 She asked, in a still lower voice: 
 
 "And . . . you?" 
 
 "Me? I just stayed here. Mr. Tuttle, 
 the cashier of the Kinkead Bank boughtened 
 me with the villa." 
 
 "With the villa!" repeated Annabel. 
 
 "Yes," said the negro. "Mr. Gwinett 
 insisted that they take her at the same time,
 
 SALTLAKE 259 
 
 there's no one who'll tell Missus different 
 But Mrs. Tuttle is a good cook, and her hus- 
 band wants her to cook herself. So they had 
 no use for Rose. That's why Mr. Gwinett 
 sold her to Mr. Wanamaker." 
 
 "To Mr. Wanamaker!" echoed Annabel. 
 
 They were silent for an instant. Blue 
 smoke ascended from the house. Coriolan's 
 silence implied no reproach whatever. 
 
 "I have to go," he said at last. "It's time 
 to feed the horses. Master don't like me to 
 be late." 
 
 "Is Mr. Tuttle good to you?" asked Anna- 
 bel. 
 
 "Yes'm," said Coriolan. 
 
 He added, lower, looking towards the 
 house : 
 
 "When I'm not slow." 
 
 "And if you are slow?" insisted the un- 
 happy woman. 
 
 The negro was silent. 
 
 At that moment, a dry, sonorous voice called 
 out from the far end of the garden, in the 
 grey dusk. 
 
 "Bull! Bull!" 
 
 Coriolan shuddered.
 
 260 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Bull! Bull! Will some one tell me what 
 has become of that unmitigated ass of a Bull?" 
 
 "Here I am, master, here!" cried the negro 
 in a trembling voice. 
 
 "Bull?" interrogated Annabel. 
 
 "That's me," said the negro hastily. 
 "They've changed my name." 
 
 "Oh!" she thought. "He, tool" 
 
 "Bull, Bull! Are you coming, you rascal?" 
 
 "Here, sir, here!" 
 
 He added very low, very rapidly: 
 
 "Can Missus wait? I can be froo in half 
 an hour." 
 
 "Go," she said. "I will wait." 
 
 He ran away. As soon as she had watched 
 his silhouette disappear in the shadow of the 
 house, she released the branches of the shrub- 
 bery and she, too, begun to run at the bottom 
 of the draw. 
 
 Night had fallen when she arrived at her 
 husband's house. Gwinett was sitting by a 
 table in the kitchen, reading. Sarah was 
 setting the table. 
 
 "So, here you are!" she said, when Anna- 
 bel came in. 
 
 The young woman did not answer. She
 
 SALT LAKE 261 
 
 took a chair and went to sit by the fire. 
 
 "And the peas?" continued Sarah. "You 
 never shelled them did you?" 
 
 Annabel kept silent. 
 
 "Perhaps you will be kind enough to tell 
 me why?" said Sarah's sharp voice. 
 
 A tiny log Earned on the hearth, glowed 
 white and red Annabel! did not take her 
 eyes from it. 
 
 Gwinett had laid his book on the table. In 
 his rich, deep voice he questioned: 
 
 "What is the matter, dear Sarah? What 
 is it?" 
 
 "This," she answered, pointing to Annabel, 
 "that once again, Madam has not done what 
 she was supposed to do. She thinks it's fine 
 to sit down at the table, before a nice, warm 
 meal. But as for fixing it, that's another 
 thing." 
 
 "Calm yourself, dear Sarah, calm yourself," 
 said Gwinett. "I am sure that Anna is the 
 first to regret. Isn't it so, dear Anna?" 
 
 Annabel had picked up a poker and was 
 amusing herself by playing with the tiny gar- 
 net coals. 
 
 "She can shell those peas," said Sarah.
 
 262 SALT LAKE 
 
 "As for myself, I won't lay my hand to 
 them. And whether she does or not, we won't 
 eat before eight o'clock tonight." 
 
 "We will have supper when it is ready," 
 said Gwinett with calm resignation. "Let 
 us not talk about this delay any more. Anna 
 must be sufficiently punished by the thought 
 that she is the cause of it, and it would 
 scarcely be charitable, dear Sarah, to harp 
 on it any longer. Hand her the bowl of peas, 
 that she may finish her task." 
 
 Sarah obeyed. Annabel did not stir. 
 
 "Why, what are you doing?" cried Gwinett 
 suddenly. 
 
 "She's going mad!" yelped Sarah. 
 
 Annabel, with perfect composure, had emp- 
 tied the whole bowl of peas into the fire-place. 
 
 Sarah sprung at her, but she jumped aside 
 just in time. The bowl grazed her temple 
 and smashed against the wall. 
 
 "Anna!" cried Gwinett, hideously pale. 
 
 He seized her left wrist, which he let go 
 immediately, for he had received the finest 
 slap that ever gratified a minister of the Al- 
 mighty here below.
 
 SALT LAKE 263 
 
 "Crazy, crazy! I told you so, she's crazy!" 
 screamed Sarah. 
 
 Annabel stood motionless, holding her hands 
 to her temples, watching them. Then she 
 burst into an endless nervous laugh.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A6 ~^t T"OU here, Bessie! You!" 
 
 ^r Annabel sat up. With her 
 M wasted hand she caressed her com- 
 panion's forehead. 
 
 Nothing had changed in the light, bare 
 room, except that the little table by the bed 
 was crowded with phials of yellowish medic- 
 aments. 
 
 Annabel repeated in a plaintive voice: 
 
 "Bessie, how does it happen you are here 
 you, of all people?" 
 
 Kneeling, the young woman kissed the 
 convalescent's bony hand. 
 
 "Yes, I did see you several times, Bessie. 
 It comes back to me now. I didn't know it 
 was you. I have been very ill, haven't I?" 
 
 "Very, very ill," said Bessie. 
 
 "But I'm much better, I'm sure. Give me 
 
 a mirror." 
 
 Bessie took down the cheap little round 
 
 mirror and brought it to Annabel, who 
 
 264
 
 SALT LAKE 265 
 
 smiled as she contemplated her thin, pale 
 face. 
 
 "Bessie, they cut off my hair! Did they 
 cut it off, or did it fall out?" 
 
 "It fell out." 
 
 "It fell out! What have I had? Typhoid 
 fever, perhaps." 
 
 "Brain fever." 
 
 "Ah! Brain fever. I suppose they asked 
 you to come and take care of me, and you came 
 right away, like the first time, you remember, 
 dear Bessie?" 
 
 Bessie had prepared some herb-tea. 
 
 "Drink this," she said in a trembling voice. 
 
 "Like the first time, at my house, don't you 
 remember? Rose couldn't imagine what was 
 ailing me, and neither could Coriolan. And 
 Pere d'Exiles was away. It was last March, 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, last March," said Bessie. 
 
 "And it's November now, isn't it?" 
 
 "It is the fourth of December." 
 
 "The fourth of December! Oh, will you 
 close the window? No wonder it's so cold in 
 the room." 
 
 Bessie obeyed. The sky was gray and win-
 
 266 SALTLAKE 
 
 try and the frozen furrows had turned black. 
 
 "The fourth of December, good heavens!" 
 continued Annabel. "And it seems to me I 
 took sick in November." 
 
 "November seventh." 
 
 "November seventh ! Why, it was a month 
 ago! Tell me, have you been well treated 
 here, Bessie dear?" 
 
 "I have," said the young woman in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "As well as at my house?" 
 
 "Just as well." 
 
 "Oh, I'm glad. I meant at the villa, any- 
 way, since this is my house now, you see. It's 
 a long story, Bessie. But I suppose you know 
 it by this time?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," said Bessie, nodding her head. 
 "But don't get excited. You still have a fever. 
 Don't talk any more. Try to sleep." 
 
 "All right, I will, Bessie. Won't you kiss 
 me? Why not, I give you permission to. Yes, 
 I am sleepy, after all, Bessie. But I am 
 better, am I not? Kiss me." 
 
 Bessie kissed her pitiful, bloodless forehead, 
 shook up the lone pillow. Annabel had closed 
 her eyes. Her lips twisted as she muttered
 
 SALT LAKE 267 
 
 disconnected words. Then sleep closed them. 
 Bessie humbly resumed her watch at the 
 foot of the bed, and began to patch towels. 
 
 Straining her eyes in the dusk, Bessie was 
 still at work when Gwinett entered the room. 
 
 "How is she?" he asked. 
 
 Bessie had arisen. 
 
 "She is rational now. She recognized me 
 for the first time." 
 
 "Ah!" said Gwinett smiling. 
 
 He took Annabel's wrist. 
 
 "Her pulse is quiet. The fever has gone 
 down. Tomorrow she can begin to take 
 some nourishment. However, might I ask 
 you, dear Bessie, to stay with her another 
 night?" 
 
 "I shall not leave her until she is completely 
 out of danger." 
 
 "I know, tonight is Sarah's turn. But 
 since our Anna is regaining her right mind, 
 I prefer that you be with her, if she should 
 awake. Bessie, you are a saint, a worthy 
 spouse, a spouse righteous in the eyes of the 
 Lord!" 
 
 He repeated:
 
 268 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Righteous in the eyes of the Lord!" 
 
 And taking her in his arms, he kissed her 
 twice and then went out. 
 
 The echo of Gwinett's steps died away in 
 the corridor. Annabel's voice rang out im- 
 periously. 
 
 "Light the lamp." 
 
 Bessie started and obeyed. 
 
 "Come here," commanded Annabel. 
 
 Again Bessie obeyed. She was trembling. 
 
 "Why are you blushing, Bessie? You 
 haven't a fever, I have." 
 
 "Oh, please," mumbled the wretched girl, 
 "don't be too hard on your old servant!" 
 
 "Servant!" cried Annabel. "Would you 
 call yourself that if he were still in the room? 
 You know very well that you wouldn't . . . 
 he wouldn't hear of it!" 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 "Mrs. Gwinett Number Three," asked the 
 sick woman very gently, "will you be so kind 
 as to give me a drink of that tea?" 
 
 She drank. Averting her eyes, Bessie took 
 the cup. 
 
 "Bessie," said Annabel at last, "how could
 
 SALT LAKE 269 
 
 you? Have you quite forgotten what I did 
 for you?" 
 
 Bessie was silent. 
 
 "Must I remind you, Bessie? You know 
 full well that no one in this awful place wanted 
 to give you work. People used to say that 
 you earned all you needed by waiting at 
 night near Social Hall for drunken drivers 
 and bringing them to . . ." 
 
 Bessie hid her face in her hands. 
 
 "I didn't heed them, Bessie. You suited 
 yourself about coming to work for me. The 
 very dress you are wearing must have been 
 one of mine. And yet you could consent to 
 become my rival, Bessie London, my rival!" 
 
 "I love him," said Bessie in a dull voice. 
 
 "Oh, really!" said Annabel with a laugh. 
 "So you love him!" 
 
 She lifted the little mirror and held it out 
 to Bessie. 
 
 "Look at yourself, my poor girl, just look 
 at yourself." 
 
 The mirror reflected her homely face, mod- 
 estly framed in bands of scanty yellow hair. 
 
 "Look at yourself, yes, look at yourself!
 
 270 SALT LAKE 
 
 You know as well as I do that he only married 
 me for my money. You know whom he really 
 loves it's that woman. You know, too, why 
 he married you, wretched creature, you know 
 it quite well . . ." 
 
 "What is that to me, if I love him," mut- 
 tered Bessie, attempting to tear her wrist 
 from the sick woman's grasp. 
 
 "Because you can sew, iron, scrape the soot 
 off old kettles, because you can lug heavy sacks 
 because you, with your chilblained hands, 
 you belong in the scullery because he doesn't 
 have to buy anything but cheap, common 
 shoes for a drudge like you because wives 
 are cheaper than servants in this country!" 
 
 "Oh, hush!" cried Bessie, terrified. "Hush, 
 hush! You will hurt yourself." 
 
 "Just look, look at your face!" 
 
 Bessie snatched the mirror. Annabel burst 
 into sobs. She continued heaping abuse up- 
 on poor Bessie who, unheeding, rocked her 
 like a child for nearly an hour, until she had 
 
 calmed herself and gone to sleep. 
 
 
 
 A week had passed, and neither one nor the 
 other had made any allusion to this scene.
 
 SALT LAKE 271 
 
 Then Annabel was able to get out of bed. 
 
 One morning she was sitting by the open 
 window, in an arm-chair that had been 
 brought upstairs for her convalescence. 
 Bessie sat by her on a stool, knitting. 
 
 "Bessie," said Annabel, and she leaned to- 
 ward the young woman, who raised sad, timid 
 eyes. 
 
 Annabel took her hand. 
 
 "Bessie, I am ashamed of the things I said 
 to you the other day. Don't be angry with 
 
 me." 
 
 "Oh, how could a servant . . ." mumbled 
 the unfortunate Bessie. 
 
 "No, don't call yourself that any more. 
 You know quite well that you don't dare to 
 when he is here. And also, you must call me 
 by my name, you may, I insist upon it." 
 
 "I should never dare," said Bessie. 
 
 "You must," said Annabel gravely. "If 
 you don't, I shan't dare tell you what I want 
 you to do for me for there is something I 
 want you to do for me, Bessie." 
 
 "Me!" said Bessie, clasping her hands. "Oh 
 you know I will. . . ." 
 
 "When shall I be able to go out?"
 
 272 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Today is Thursday. From Monday 
 on . . ." 
 
 "Monday!" said Annabel. 
 
 She reflected a moment. Then, in a quiet, 
 colourless voice: 
 
 "Bessie, I want to go away!" 
 
 "Go away!" 
 
 "Yes, go away from here, do you under- 
 stand, and I want you to help me." 
 
 "Me?" said Bessie, trembling. 
 
 "Oh, I see, Bessie, you are afraid! But he 
 won't know you helped me. And, besides, 
 I would never have said anything to you if it 
 weren't in your own interest. You still love 
 him, of course?" 
 
 Bessie answered with a nod. 
 
 "Very well. If you love him, you will be 
 glad to get rid of me. For I will have recov- 
 ered soon and you will have a rival in me, 
 Bessie. Yes, Monday, Sarah; Tuesday, my- 
 self you, not until Wednesday. If I am 
 gone, you will have two days extra a week. 
 It's worth a little trouble." 
 
 "God is my witness," cried Bessie. "I will 
 do it for you and you alone! But I don't see 
 how I can be of any help to you."
 
 SALT LAKE 273 
 
 "I see it quite well," said the young woman. 
 "The main thing is not to arouse suspicion. 
 You market every other day, don't you? You 
 see, you must not go out just on my account. 
 Is it your turn today?" 
 
 "No," said Bessie. "I go tomorrow at 
 ten o'clock." 
 
 "Well, then, let us wait until tomorrow 
 Anyway, I'm not in a hurry, since I can't go 
 out until Monday. Now, in the meanwhile, 
 let's talk about something else." 
 
 Annabel had a fairly good night. The 
 next day, about nine o'clock, Bessie glanced at 
 her meaningly. 
 
 "I'm going downstairs to get ready to go to 
 the store," she said. 
 
 "All right," said Annabel. 
 
 She looked at Bessie composedly. 
 
 "The store is not very far from the coach- 
 office, is it?" 
 
 "No, it's right near it." 
 
 "Well, you must go to the coach-office and 
 try to get the following information without 
 being noticed is the first squadron of the 
 Second Dragoons still at Cedar Valley?"
 
 274 SALT LAKE 
 
 "The first squadron . . ." began Bessie, 
 her eyes wide with astonishment. 
 
 "Yes," said Annabel, "there's nothing so 
 extraordinary in that. You know that the 
 Federal Army went into camp at Cedar 
 Valley after it left Salt Lake, the second of 
 last July. But since then, relations between 
 the Washington Government and the Mor- 
 mons have become more cordial and most of 
 the troops have been ordered back. Remem- 
 ber, you must find out if the first squadron of 
 the Second Dragoons is among the units kept 
 up at Cedar Valley. They can easily give 
 you that information at the coach-office, since 
 all the correspondence for the Expeditionary 
 Force goes through their hands. Will you 
 remember the first squadron of the Second 
 Dragoons?" 
 
 "I will remember." 
 
 "Go, then. I shall be waiting." 
 
 Two hours later, Bessie was back. 
 
 "Well?" asked Annabel, paling slightly. 
 
 "The first squadron is still at Cedar Valley," 
 said Bessie. "I saw a case of champagne be- 
 ing sent to the major."
 
 SALT LAKE 275 
 
 "Ah!" murmured the young woman, her 
 hand to her heart. 
 
 She said succinctly: 
 
 "I forgot to ask you to find out what time 
 the post leaves for Cedar Valley." 
 
 "I found out, anyway," answered Bessie. 
 "At six o'clock in the evening. It doesn't 
 arrive there until the morning after. There 
 is mail every day, except Sunday." 
 
 "Good," said Annabel. "Now, can you 
 get me some paper and a pen, without attract- 
 ing attention?" 
 
 Bessie returned shortly with what she had 
 been asked to find. 
 
 "Thanks. Leave me don't return until 
 three o'clock." 
 
 At 3 o'clock, Bessie returned to the room. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried out, seizing Annabel's 
 hand. "Now you have a fever again!" 
 
 "It's nothing, nothing!" said the young 
 woman. 
 
 Her eyes were brilliant. She paced back 
 and forth. 
 
 "You must find an excuse to go right away, 
 Bessie. Can you do it, without arousing sus- 
 picion here?"
 
 276 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Yes," answered Bessie. "Besides, I have 
 to go out. Sarah needs some pepper there 
 is none left." 
 
 "Good, good!" 
 
 Annabel thrust her hand under her pil- 
 low. She drew forth a letter. 
 
 "You must return to the coach-office and 
 mail this letter. It must go by the six o'clock 
 post this evening." 
 
 Bessie hesitated in the centre of the room, 
 fingering the letter. 
 
 "Didn't you hear? Oh! you may read the 
 address, if you want to." 
 
 "It isn't that . . ." 
 
 "What is it then?" 
 
 "I would like to know . . ." said Bessie 
 humbly. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "If there is anything in this letter that is 
 liable to cause trouble to . . ." 
 
 Annabel looked at her ironically. 
 
 "Forgive me," mumbled Bessie. 
 
 "You are a fool!" said Annabel sharply. 
 
 "And besides, I don't have to account to 
 you for what I do."
 
 SALT LAKE 277 
 
 "I know it," said the young woman meekly, 
 "but . . ." 
 
 Annabel stamped her foot. 
 
 "Give me back that letter. I will go my- 
 self." 
 
 "You can't go out!" cried Bessie, "not in 
 your condition! Don't you see? It's snow- 
 ing." 
 
 "Well, go then! Time flies!" 
 
 And when the wretched creature had 
 reached the doorway, she ran after her, em- 
 braced her, kissed her. 
 
 Bessie was speechless with emotion. 
 
 On her way out, Bessie stopped in the 
 gloomy kitchen to pick up her basket. Then 
 she opened the street door. A saraband of 
 tiny grey snow-flakes danced into the house. 
 Tucking the handle of the basket under her 
 arm, she started to shut the door behind her. 
 Suddenly, her blood froze. A hand had 
 seized her hand. 
 
 "Bessie, dear Bessie, just a word, if you 
 please!" 
 
 It was Gwinett.
 
 278 SALT LAKE 
 
 At the same time, the door closed. Bessie 
 was back in the dark hall. She could not 
 see Gwinett, but she felt his hand on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Bessie dear, you ought not to go out so 
 thinly dressed." 
 
 He added with an ironic inflection that 
 augmented the poor woman's terror: 
 
 "Don't you see? It's snowing." 
 
 "I . . ." she began. 
 
 And suddenly, she stopped, filled with hor- 
 ror. Gwinett's hand had just been thrust 
 into her waist. 
 
 "For God's sake, Bessie, my beloved, don't 
 tremble so. You see that I was right, after all 
 and that it is foolish to affront the inclemencies 
 of the weather so lightly clad. I can feel your 
 chest, my sister, and you must admit that if 
 only for decency's sake, you ought to. ... 
 Hello! pray tell me what this is?" 
 
 He had found the letter. 
 
 (< Do me the favour of going back to the 
 kitchen," he ordered. 
 
 She obeyed. He lit a lamp. 
 
 "Really, a letter! How amazing, dear
 
 SALT LAKE 279 
 
 Bessie, and I thought you didn't know how to 
 write!" 
 
 So saying, he dragged her towards a dark 
 store-room at one end of the kitchen. He 
 pushed her into it and locked the door. 
 
 She stayed there half an hour. Then the 
 key turned in the lock. He stood there, 
 smiling, a coat over his arm. 
 
 "I restore you, Bessie dear, the letter en- 
 trusted to you. Do me the great favour of 
 putting on this coat. It is snowing harder 
 than ever. Now hurry. The clock just 
 struck five and the post leaves at six." 
 
 She looked at him in stupefaction. He 
 omiled again. 
 
 "Besides, dear little scatter-brain, I'll wager 
 that you've forgotten it will cost ten cents to 
 aend that letter. Ten cents, Bessie! You 
 haven't that much, have you? Here you 
 
 are." 
 
 He held out a silver coin to her. He 
 guided her to the door. 
 
 "Have a nice walk," he said. "And re- 
 member that it will be better for you and our 
 dear Anna if no one, not a soul, do you hear, 
 learns about our little chat."
 
 280 SALT LAKE 
 
 Winter quarters are always dull. They 
 are duller than ever when it happens that the 
 camp is but a scattering of huts in a clearing, 
 twenty miles from any centre of human habi- 
 tation. In those circumstances, the most taci- 
 turn will rapidly resort to gambling the 
 most sober will take to drinking. 
 
 Lieutenant Rutledge had spent the night 
 gambling and drinking. When he went to 
 bed, about five o'clock in the morning, he 
 pinned a note on the door of his hut, with in- 
 structions to Ned, his orderly, not to waken 
 him until it was time to dress for morning 
 report. 
 
 The orderly followed instructions to the 
 letter and did not awaken him until half past 
 nine, since morning report was not called until 
 half past ten. But Rutledge lingered for half 
 an hour more, enjoying the warmth of his bed. 
 When he arose, he found that he would barely 
 have time to dress after the vigorous ablutions 
 performed by every American officer with 
 self-respect. 
 
 He stood under a cedar, half naked in the 
 cold morning air. Ned was splashing a pail- 
 ful of icy water on the torso of this Anglo-
 
 SALT LAKE 281 
 
 Saxon Apollo. Meanwhile the postman ar- 
 rived upon the scene, saluted, waited until the 
 shower-bath was over, and handed the lieu- 
 tenant Annabel's letter. 
 
 Rutledge did not recognize the handwrit- 
 ing. He had probably never seen it before. 
 Besides, he was late. It was quarter after ten. 
 He had barely time to return to his hut and 
 dress, leaving the letter, still sealed, on a table. 
 
 Generaal Johnston was in a bad humour. 
 Briefly, he acquainted his officers with some 
 orders he had just received. During the 
 week, the Fifth Regiment of Infantry and one 
 of the two batteries of artillery were to leave 
 Cedar Valley on their way to Kansas, where 
 the events resulting from the Abolitionist 
 Campaign were beginning to cause uneasiness. 
 After that date, the Expeditionary Force 
 would comprise solely the first squadron of 
 the second Dragoons, the second battalion of 
 the Tenth Infantry and a battery of artillery. 
 General Johnston was unable to withhold a 
 few cutting remarks aimed at Governor Cum- 
 ming, whom he held responsible for this cur- 
 tailment of his authority. The failure of the 
 expedition and the victory of pro-Mor-
 
 282 SALT LAKE 
 
 mon politics seemed assured henceforth. 
 
 "Have any of you gentlemen any questions 
 to ask? Very well. You may retire." 
 
 The officers returned to their quarters. 
 
 When Rutledge entered his hut, he noticed 
 the letter on the table. He had forgotten it. 
 He opened it. As he read along, signs of 
 great emotion flooded his countenance. In all 
 fairness, it must be added that he did not 
 hesitate for a moment. Five minutes had not 
 passed before he found himself back in the 
 orderly room. 
 
 Captain Van Vliet happened to be alone, 
 filing away papers. 
 
 "What do you want, Lieutenant?" 
 
 "I would like to speak to the General, 
 
 sir." 
 
 Captain Van Vliet looked at him, some- 
 what surprised. Rutledge was pale. 
 
 "I'll go and tell him." 
 
 He came back almost immediately. 
 
 "The general is busy. <He wants me to 
 find out . . ." 
 
 "Sir," mumbled Rutledge, "it's a confiden- 
 tial matter . . ." 
 
 "Oh, the deuce!" said Van Vliet. "Well,
 
 SALT LAKE 283 
 
 I'll try again. But you saw how he was a 
 while ago he's in a devilish temper today. 
 If I fail, don't blame me, and if I succeed, 
 look out for yourself." 
 
 Behind the partition, Rutledge heard an 
 oath from which he inferred that his insist- 
 ence was most inopportune. But he was a 
 man of honour and he controlled himself. 
 
 "Go in," said Van Vliet, reappearing. 
 
 And he left them alone prudently, closing 
 the door like a keeper who had just introduced 
 a lamb into the lion's den. 
 
 Rutledge stood at attention where Van 
 Vliet had left him. The general made for 
 him angrily. 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "Sir ..." 
 
 "Why didn't you say something at orderly 
 hour? I believe I asked, as usual, if any of 
 you had anything to say to me." 
 
 "Sir, I hadn't read this letter then." 
 
 Johnston held out his hand. Rutledge 
 withdrew his hastily. 
 
 "Oh, really, Lieutenant, I had absolutely 
 no intention of violating the secrets of your 
 correspondence," said the general dryly.
 
 284 SALT LAKE 
 
 The interview was not beginning very 
 auspiciously. Rutledge made a gesture of 
 despairing protest. 
 
 "I ask you again, Lieutenant, what do you 
 want? And be quick about it." 
 
 "Sir," said Rutledge, quaking inwardly, 
 "I would like to have a forty-eight hour 
 leave." 
 
 The general eyed him in stupefaction. It 
 was the first time any one had made a similar 
 request in all the five months that the Army 
 had spent in Cedar Valley. 
 
 "A forty-eight hour leave!" he roared. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I confess that I don't quite see the necessity 
 for it," said Johnston glaring at him. "Forty- 
 eight hours! It's too much if you want to go 
 hunting wild duck on Lake Tumpanogos and 
 it's mighty short if you think you're going to 
 Salt Lake to paint the town red!" 
 
 "Forty-eight hours will do, sir," said Rut- 
 ledge unassumingly. 
 
 "Well, then," said Johnston, "I must con- 
 clude that you want to go to Salt Lake on a 
 spree." 
 
 "It's true that I want to go to Salt Lake
 
 SALT LAKE 285 
 
 City, sir," said Rutledge, blushing, "but allow 
 me to say that it is not my intention to . . ." 
 
 "Well, I'll be hanged!" blurted out John- 
 ston, banging the table with his fist. "Upon 
 my word, where have you been all this time! 
 You know as well as I do that my men are 
 forbidden to set foot in that confounded place 
 except on service, strictly on service. And 
 you know, too, that I am not at all anxious to 
 furnish His -Honour Governor Cumming an 
 occasion to trip me up. You are fully aware 
 of all this. And yet here you come and 
 blissfully have the nerve to ask for what of 
 all things! A leave for Salt Lake City! 
 Pray have the goodness to unfold the motives 
 which led you to make such a preposterous 
 request." 
 
 Without a word, Rutledge handed him 
 Annabel's letter. Johnston, vexed, was wav- 
 ing it back, when his eyes fell upon the young 
 man's tormented features. He smothered 
 an exclamation of surprise and took the 
 letter. 
 
 As he read, his face reflected contradictory, 
 but none the less violent emotions. 
 
 "Poor woman! Begging for help like
 
 286 SALT LAKE 
 
 this who can it be?" he asked, handing the 
 letter back to Rutledge. 
 
 "Mrs. Lee, sir," mumbled the lieutenant. 
 
 "Annabel Lee?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Mrs. Lee!" repeated Johnston. "Is it 
 possible! How infamous!" 
 
 And he clasped his hands commiseratingly. 
 The picture of the pretty blonde amazon 
 had not been forgotten at the officers' mess in 
 Cedar Valley. 
 
 "How infamous!" said the general again 
 in a low voice. 
 
 And Rutledge was frightened by the sudden 
 fire that flamed angrily in his eyes. 
 
 Johnston paced up and down the room with 
 long strides, his hands behind his back. 
 
 "The scoundrels! The dirty scoundrels!" 
 he repeated over and over. 
 
 Somewhat calmer, he came back to Rut- 
 ledge. 
 
 "You are a splendid fellow, my boy," he 
 said, "and I'm glad you confided in me. You 
 can be sure that I won't betray any of the 
 confidential details of our conversation," he 
 added with a frank open smile. "But as for
 
 SALT LAKE 287 
 
 the rest . . ." and he pounded on the table 
 with his fist, "this affair is beyond you, my 
 lad. You will probably go to Salt Lake, all 
 right, but on a mission, not on a leave. Van 
 Vliet!" 
 
 In the ante-room, Captain Van Vliet, hear- 
 ing the shouting, sat nursing the darkest fears 
 as to the nature of his protege's reception. 
 When, summoned by his chief, he appeared on 
 the threshold, he almost collapsed in aston- 
 ishment seeing the general effusively shaking 
 hands with Rutledge. 
 
 Briefly acquainted with the facts, the cap- 
 tain was quick to share Johnston's indigna- 
 tion. Van Vliet had been entertained at the 
 villa and evinced a certain gratitude towards 
 Annabel, which had been tinged, at one time, 
 perhaps, with a stronger sentiment. 
 
 "The wretches!" he said as he finished the 
 letter. 
 
 "The wretches, no," said Johnston, "the 
 scoundrels! I am glad, Van Vliet, that at 
 last you agree with me about Governor Gum- 
 ming !" 
 
 "I meant the Mormons, sir," said the cap- 
 tain.
 
 288 SALT LAKE 
 
 "They are all birds of a feather!" cried 
 Johnston. "Captain, you make me laugh. 
 Before appealing to us, before writing Rut- 
 ledge a letter that might ruin her, the poor 
 thing must have gone to Cumming, who had 
 been entertained at her house and who knows 
 well what help she has been to us. But no! 
 It would have been contrary to that individ- 
 ual's disgraceful policy to come to her rescue! 
 It would have proved that his good friends 
 the Mormons were wrong, and that I was 
 right! Oh, the low-down scoundrel!" 
 
 "Calm yourself, sir," said Van Vliet, "calm 
 yourself. For the time being, the most im- 
 portant thing is to help Mrs. Lee, to save her 
 from her tragic fate. What do you intend to 
 do?" 
 
 "Have her brought here, what do you sup- 
 pose?" said Johnston. "Possibly this camp 
 is not a very suitable shelter for a lady, but at 
 least she will be safe, and among men of hon- 
 our, until I can manage to send her back 
 East, where the poor woman would have 
 been long ago, if it hadn't been for us. We 
 are partly responsible for this, gentlemen. 
 I'm not sure that you quite realize it."
 
 SALT LAKE 289 
 
 Rutledge bowed his head. 
 
 "Meanwhile," pursued Johnston, "she can 
 give me certain information which I'll war- 
 rant will force the powers that be to demand a 
 few explanations from Mr. Cumming that 
 may embarrass him considerably." 
 
 "We'll see to that afterwards. You have 
 to get her here first," said Van Vliet. "What 
 are your plans?" 
 
 "Oh! I wouldn't need much urging to go 
 fetch her myself," said Johnston. "But it 
 would be a rather risky enterprise, I admit. 
 So Lieutenant Rutledge will go, as he has been 
 asked to do. Mrs. Lee has arranged to meet 
 him tomorrow evening after six o'clock, at 
 the bend in the Provo road, a hundred yards 
 from the bridge on the Jordon I see the place 
 as if I were there. Please take notice of the 
 time set. It means that the woman is watched 
 and that she cannot go out in Salt Lake City 
 by daylight. It's a national disgrace!" 
 
 "Mrs. Lee is not an American citizen," Van 
 Vliet thought fit to say. 
 
 He was crushed by a look from General 
 Johnston, who said: 
 
 "Let me proceed. Lieutenant Rutledge
 
 290 SALT LAKE 
 
 will have to be prudent. He must have some 
 kind of a pretext to account for his presence 
 in Salt Lake City, if need be. I take the rest 
 upon myself." 
 
 "It won't be hard to find a pretext, sir," 
 said Van Vliet with alacrity. 
 
 "I leave it to you, then." 
 
 "Dyer and Company," said the Captain, 
 "located on Main Street in Salt Lake, bidded 
 to supply the Expeditionary Force with 
 cereals and grain. But the price agreed on 
 was based on a total of six thousand men and 
 three thousand horses and mules. Now, this 
 week, these figures are going to be cut by 
 half according to the orders you issued this 
 morning. In the first place, we must notify 
 Mr. Dyer of this in the second place, we 
 must try to secure the same rates for three 
 thousand men as agreed upon for six thousand. 
 I had intended writing him today, but of 
 course it is more satisfactory to deal verbally, 
 besides being the correct thing." 
 
 "Fine!" said the general. "Van Vliet, 
 please make out a pass for Lieutenant Rut- 
 ledge, to be signed by me, and rehearse him 
 carefully, so that he will be able to discuss
 
 SALT LAKE 291 
 
 that wheat and flour business somewhat in- 
 telligently with Mr. Dyer. When do you 
 leave, Rutledge?" 
 
 "Tonight, sir, if it suits you, so that the 
 horses will be in good shape tomorrow even- 
 ing." 
 
 "Are your horses good?" 
 
 "Mine is good, sir, and so is my orderly's. 
 I'll take him along, with your permission." 
 
 "Certainly. You need a horse for Mrs. 
 Lee, besides. See that she has one of mine, 
 Van Vliet. And take a private. One man 
 will not be enough to watch the three horses. 
 You will not halt on the way back. I may 
 possibly go to meet you about nine o'clock 
 with a few dragoons. The boys need a little 
 shaking up now and then. And once more, 
 Lieutenant Rutledge, be careful. I'll see you 
 before you go." 
 
 It was nine o'clock in the morning when 
 Rutledge arrived at the Holy City after an un- 
 eventful ride. At a road-house, he left his 
 men, who had his instructions, and entered 
 town on foot. 
 
 He expected to be stopped at the first out-
 
 292 SALTLAKE 
 
 post and asked for his papers. So it hap- 
 pened. At the end of the bridge, stood a 
 police-sentry who examined his pass, then 
 bowing: 
 
 "Lieutenant Rutledge, I believe?" he said. 
 
 "Why, of course!" 
 
 "Lieutenant, I have orders to ask you to 
 please present yourself at Governor Cum- 
 ming's house." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Rutjedge, disagreeably 
 surprised. 
 
 "Sergeant Roby will show you the way, 
 
 sir." 
 
 "Well, hurry up. Where is your ser- 
 geant?" 
 
 Sergeant Roby was reading his Bible down 
 by the Jordan, where little black ducks 
 were paddling about in the rosy morning 
 light. He put himself at Rutledge's disposal. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour, they arrived at 
 the Governor's mansion. The starry banner, 
 swelled by the sharp breeze, waved gently 
 over the door. 
 
 Rutledge was shown into a large conserva- 
 tory, filled with tropical plants.
 
 SALT LAKE 293 
 
 A secretary appeared and, bowing very 
 low, said: 
 
 "Governor Gumming was obliged to go out 
 on a tour of inspection. He presents his 
 apologies to Lieutenant Rutledge, who he 
 hopes will have the kindness to lunch with 
 him." 
 
 "Well, well!" thought Rutledge. "Ser- 
 geant Roby must have told these people my 
 name. It doesn't matter, they are really 
 quite courteous in this establishment. Let us 
 wait and see. Anyway, I wonder what I 
 could have done with myself, ailone in this 
 ghastly town all day. My uniform had better 
 not be too conspicuous." 
 
 And, comfortably installed in a wicker 
 arm-chair, he perused both European and 
 American newspapers as he waited for Gov- 
 ernor Gumming composedly. 
 
 The governor, who returned about ten 
 o'clock, radiated an amiability that dispelled 
 certain obscure apprehensions that had 
 dawned upon Rutledge. Luncheon served in 
 the conservatory was perfect in all its details. 
 Rutledge had a chance to hold forth on the 
 official object of his visit. They conversed
 
 294 SALTLAKE 
 
 gravely on questions concerning army sup- 
 plies. 
 
 "If I could, I would give General Johnston 
 the following advice not to set his heart on 
 accumulating too large a stock of supplies. 
 Sooner or later, they get the best of you." 
 
 "Mr. Dyer's store is on Main Street, I be- 
 lieve," said Rutledge. 
 
 "I will send for him," said the governor. 
 "A contractor ought to put himself out it's 
 the least he can do." 
 
 So saying, he finished peeling a banana. 
 He put down his knife, opened his portfolio 
 and took out a paper. 
 
 "So you are going back to Cedar Valley 
 tonight?" 
 
 "Tonight." 
 
 "If that's the case," said the governor 
 slowly, "take my advice and don't wait until 
 dark to leave the city!" 
 
 "Until dark!" cried Rutledge, who could 
 not believe his ears. 
 
 "Please glance over this," said Gumming 
 amiably, handing Lieutenant Rutledge the 
 paper he had just taken from his portfolio.
 
 SALT LAKE 295 
 
 Rutledge groaned. Before him was a 
 duplicate of Annabel's letter. 
 
 The governor took back the paper, folded 
 it carefully, put it back in his portfolio. 
 While doing so, he did not take his eyes off the 
 lieutenant. 
 
 "So you came to get her?" he asked at last. 
 
 Rutledge hung his head. 
 
 "Have a little drink of rum," suggested 
 Cumming. 
 
 He looked at the lieutenant with a sorrow- 
 ful expression. 
 
 "I suppose, sir, that you have heard about 
 the trouble Colonel Steptoe had right here, a 
 few years ago?" 
 
 "Colonel Steptoe?" 
 
 "He was commanding the American troops 
 which were crossing Utah on their way to 
 California. During their halt in Salt Lake 
 City, the troops conducted themselves in a 
 manner unworthy of American soldiers. 
 Wives of decent Mormons were debauched, 
 carried off by the army. You are acquainted 
 with the distressing results of the misconduct 
 of our men how suspicious the Mormons
 
 296 SALTLAKE 
 
 grew of the Union how hostilities smold- 
 ered at first, then broke out openly how 
 President Buchanan decided on a military 
 expedition. You know the rest. Between 
 you and me, sir, painful as it is to admit, God 
 knows, Right has not been on our side!" 
 
 He paused. 
 
 "You know how hard I have tried to smooth 
 out these deplorable misunderstandings. Do 
 you want to undo my work by your heedless- 
 ness? ^Haven't you thought of the untold 
 trouble you would bring upon your general, 
 who has signed your pass in all good faith, 
 for, of course," added the governor in a hon- 
 eyed voice, as he gazed at his interlocutor, 
 "Johnston is not in your confidence and . . ." 
 
 Rutledge saw the trap. 
 
 "The General knows nothing of this," he 
 said, stiffening. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad !" said Gumming. "Then, 
 this whole affair is nothing but a childish 
 prank of yours. Rest assured," he added with 
 an ironic glance, "that I shall never mention 
 it to the General." 
 
 The officer was completely disconcerted. 
 Gumming arose and caught his hand.
 
 SALTLAKE 297 
 
 "Poor boy!" he said pityingly. "Have you 
 carefully considered what you are undertak- 
 ing?" 
 
 "I fear no one," said Rutledge, on the verge 
 of tears. 
 
 "A natural sentiment in an American 
 officer," said Cumming. "I should be the 
 last to criticize it. But it amounts to very 
 little when its object is unworthy." 
 
 The lieutenant could no longer control him- 
 self. 
 
 "Mr. Governor, it seems to me that I re- 
 member that you have sat at Mrs. Lee's table 
 and that she has sat at yours!" 
 
 "Yes, she has been my guest, but probably 
 she never will be again, although she has 
 married a man who is bound to become one of 
 the high dignitaries of the Mormon Church 
 and in spite of the fact that I am accused of 
 partiality to that sect." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 The governor smiled at him regretfully. 
 
 "You are a mere boy," he said, "a mere boy. 
 What a pity! You who have the good luck to 
 be engaged to such an accomplished young 
 lady as Miss Regina Spalding!"
 
 298 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Please let my fiancee alone!" blurted out 
 Rutledge, beside himself. "She has nothing 
 to do with this!" 
 
 "The other woman is not worth your 
 while!" said Gumming forcefully. 
 
 "You yourself are responsible for her mis- 
 fortunes!" muttered Rutledge, tears in his 
 eyes. 
 
 Governor Gumming looked serious. 
 
 "One night, all night long," he said, "I 
 blamed myself as you have just blamed me. 
 The unfortunate creature had rung my door 
 bell about ten o'clock at night. I was in- 
 formed of it. For a moment, I was tempted 
 to see her. Then I reflected that Mormon law 
 forbids a lady worthy of the name to be seen 
 on the streets at night. I would have been an 
 accomplice, had I received Mrs. Gwinett at 
 that late hour worse, it would have looked 
 as if I were taking sides in one of those petty 
 family quarrels, which outsiders have no 
 business mixing in, as you will find out some 
 day," he added with a knowing smile. "At 
 any rate, I closed my door to her. I was dis- 
 turbed all night by a feeling that I took to be 
 remorse. But in the morning, I had the sad
 
 SALT LAKE 299 
 
 satisfaction of leaning that I had not mistaken 
 my duty." 
 
 He went to a file, opened it, took out a 
 bundle of papers which he fingered over, then 
 came back to his guest. 
 
 "Will you read this?" he asked. 
 
 "What is it?" questioned Rutledge despon- 
 dently. 
 
 "A police report," said the governor, "a 
 police report relative to the manner in which 
 the wretched woman spent the night, after she 
 left my threshold." 
 
 Rutledge horrified waved the paper away. 
 
 "I understand your feelings," said Gum- 
 ming, "but you must be told you must! You 
 will thank me some day. Well, then let me 
 tell you. That night, the very night I had 
 been on the point of seeing her, she spent in a 
 house of ill-fame you understand me. She 
 did not leave it until dawn. Do you want to 
 see the report? No, of course not. Come, 
 come, I sympathize with you. But she is 
 lost to you, lost for ever." 
 
 About two o'clock, Rutledge had to submit 
 to a visit from Mr. Dyer, whom the governor 
 had sent for. The worthy merchant had
 
 300 SALT LAKE 
 
 never before dealt with an agent who knew so 
 little about the interests he represented. He 
 was not slow in taking advantage of the fact. 
 
 At three o'clock, Governor Gumming said 
 to Rutledge: "It is time to go." 
 
 Rutledge was overcome with emotion. 
 
 "What am I going to tell them, what can 
 I tell them?" he stammered. 
 
 "Tell whom?" asked the governor with a 
 slight smile. "I thought no one at camp 
 knew anything about the real object of your 
 trip?" 
 
 "I mean orderlies," said the lieutenant 
 blushing, "they are very devoted to me. 
 They are waiting for me on the banks of the 
 Jordan." 
 
 "Indeed?" said Gumming calmly. "You 
 only have to tell them that you waited for 
 the person in question until two o'clock and 
 that she did not keep the appointment." 
 
 There was a silence. Dusk was falling. 
 
 "Have I your word of honour as an 
 American officer that you will be in your 
 saddle by four o'clock, on your way back to 
 camp?" 
 
 Rutledge responded mechanically:
 
 SALT LAKE 301 
 
 "You have my word!" 
 
 "Good!" said Gumming. "I will see that 
 you are escorted to the bridge." 
 
 On the threshold of the conservatory, they 
 shook hands. 
 
 "Good-bye, and remember that there is 
 some one here who will not forget you when 
 General Johnston's recommendations for 
 promotion come through this office they all 
 do, you know," he added laughingly. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, Rutledge was 
 in the saddle, the two soldiers likewise. At 
 first, they galloped, then trotted, and then 
 slackened their horses pace. They must not 
 arrive in camp too early. 
 
 The moon had risen. It shone on the 
 empty stirrups of the mare that General 
 Johnston had destined for Annabel Lee. 
 
 A month, perhaps, had gone by. Annabel 
 was in the kitchen that evening, peeling 
 vegetables for the next day. It was mortally 
 cold outdoors. The kitchen was lighted by 
 the flames in the fire-place. Annabel sat by 
 the hearth.
 
 302 SALT LAKE 
 
 Some one knocked discreetly. 
 
 "Come in," she said in a cracked voice. 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 "Are you there, Brother Jemini?" called 
 a voice. 
 
 Annabel arose. She shuddered when she 
 saw the newcomer. 
 
 It was Herbert Kimball, feared, after 
 Brigham Young, more than any one in Salt 
 Lake City Brigham Young's confidant and 
 the secret executor of his orders. Parents 
 could terrorize their children by mention- 
 ing his name and more than one high digni- 
 tary feared him like Satan himself. 
 
 There was nothing terrifying about the 
 pale, unobtrusive old man, except his eyes. 
 His manners were the best in the world. 
 
 "No, Brother Herbert, he isn't here," said 
 Annabel trembling. 
 
 But the little man struck his forehead and 
 laughed. 
 
 "How foolish of me! Brother Jemini is 
 at the Tabernacle, of course, with the Elders 
 and the Apostles. I had forgotten that there 
 is a big assembly at church tonight. But I 
 suppose I can see Sister Sarah?"
 
 SALT LAKE 303 
 
 "She is away, too," said Annabel. "She 
 is at her parents' house, and she wont be back 
 until late. Probably she will even stay there 
 for supper." 
 
 "It's too bad, too bad," said Kimball. As 
 he spoke, he had come close to her. 
 
 "So you are alone here, Sister Anna, all 
 alone?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, drawing back. 
 
 But he had already seized her arm. 
 
 "Then follow me," he whispered to her 
 imperatively, "and be quick!" 
 
 He had not given her time to take a wrap. 
 The ground was coated with icy sleet. They 
 walked so fast that several times she almost 
 fell. 
 
 At last they came to an impressive house 
 which Annabel, with fright, recognized as the 
 mansion belonging to the President of the 
 Church. 
 
 They entered the house by the back-door. 
 
 "Wait for me here," said Kimball, leaving 
 her alone in the hall. 
 
 He came back soon. 
 
 "Come in."
 
 304 SALTLAKE 
 
 There were two men in the room, which was 
 furnished rather sumptuously. They were 
 talking quietly, sitting in big arm-chairs on 
 either side of a table litered with papers. On 
 it was a powerful green-shaded light. 
 
 One of the two men faced the door. His 
 heavy, shaven face got the full glare of the 
 lamp. Annabel recognized Brigham Young. 
 
 His companion sat facing him, so that only 
 his back was visible. He turned around when 
 Annabel entered. 
 
 It was Pere d'Exiles.
 
 H 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 AW'S RANCH, a six days' ride 
 from Sailt Lake City, was a tradi- 
 tional halt for travellers on their 
 way from the Mormon capital to San Fran- 
 cisco, through Carson Valley and Sacramento. 
 
 The honourable Peter Haws, proprietor of 
 the ranch, which gave the place its name, was 
 a Mormon who had theological differences 
 with Brigham Young. When his notions on 
 man's lot here below had been frowned upon 
 by the Church Assembly, he had retired to 
 this deserted valley. Here he lived peace- 
 fully with his wife, the worthy Rebecca Haws. 
 For the sake of comparison if we liken Joseph 
 Smith to Jesus Christ and Brigham Young to 
 Pope Borgia, Peter Haws played Savonarola 
 in his hermitage a bearded, wedded and 
 agricultural Savonarola. 
 
 ;He was esteemed by travellers and Indians 
 alike. Sokopitz, chief of the Shoshonees 
 came often to break bread with him. 
 
 That day, or rather that evening, for the 
 305
 
 306 SALT LAKE 
 
 sun was darting its dying rays on the surround- 
 ing granite peaks, Peter Haws received a 
 visit from Mr. Joshuah Doniphan, a book- 
 keeper at the Hughes Bank in San Francisco, 
 which had just opened a branch in Salt Lake 
 City, in competition with the Livingston and 
 Kinkead Bank. Mr. Doniphan had left Salt 
 Lake the week before. He was on his way 
 to San Francisco, with instructions to make 
 an oral report to the directors of the firm con- 
 cerning the operations of the new branch in 
 Utah. A city man, unaccustomed to long 
 journeys across the desert, he particularly 
 appreciated the welcome he found at Haw's 
 Ranch. 
 
 "This man," said Peter to Rebecca, "stays 
 until day after tomorrow. It would be good 
 policy to give him a fine feed tomorrow. 
 There is just as much for four as for three in 
 a turkey. So you can be glad to know, dear 
 Rebecca, that I intend to have our friend, the 
 Father, who asked me, as a personal favour, 
 not to let him lose any chance to get fresh 
 news from Salt Lake City." 
 
 Pere d'Exiles was about ten miles from
 
 SALT LAKE 307 
 
 Haw's Ranch when the invitation was brought 
 to him by a little boy a child of the prairies. 
 He abandoned his proselytes, none too numer- 
 ous at that moment, and arrived at the ranch 
 just in time for lunch. 
 
 The meal was quite a success. Mr Josh- 
 uah Doniphan was an agreeable companion, 
 rather well read, and a lover of botany. Pere 
 d'Exiles had soon won his friendship by de- 
 scribing the characteristics of the odd plants 
 in the district. 
 
 "All the monocotyledons died this season. 
 But on the plains, we can find gramineae, a 
 few scrophulariaceae, two asclepias. Let me 
 add that the edible orobanche grows wild in 
 our hostess' garden. Then if you are inter- 
 ested in ligneous phenomena, I will take you 
 to see one of the cottonwoods along the brook. 
 Chopped off near the ground, it has grown a 
 crown of shoots, sprouting between wood and 
 bark. Each sprout is surrounded by a mass 
 of fibres, which tend to reach the ground. 
 There is an interesting fact in this, which 
 would seem to verify Gaudichaud's phyton 
 theory." 
 
 They interrupted their dissertations to
 
 308 SALT LAKE 
 
 praise the meal courteously and, more gener- 
 ally, to extoll Haw's achievements in this 
 desert 
 
 Applauded by the Jesuit, Doniphan quoted 
 Virgil and amiably compared their host to the 
 old man of CEbalus : 
 Regum aequabat opes animo; seraque rever- 
 
 tens 
 
 Node domum, dapibus mensas onerabat in- 
 emptis. 
 
 Then everybody, including Rebecca, joined 
 in a toast to the prosperity of the ranch and 
 unexplicitly to the triumph of progressive 
 ideas. 
 
 As he sat down again, Pere d'Exiles, who 
 dealt skilfully in commonplaces upon the 
 occasion, said: 
 
 "It's really a pleasure, isn't it, to have an 
 occupation which gives you the leisure to 
 study the immortal masterpieces of the 
 Ancients." 
 
 Mr. Doniphan lowered his eyes mod- 
 estly. 
 
 "To do myself justice," he said, "When I 
 was a mere clerk in the Hughes Bank at Los 
 Angeles, I sat up nights to perfect my knowl-
 
 SALT LAKE 309 
 
 edge of the Latin Master. I prefer them 
 to the Greeks, who are perhaps more elegant. 
 But the Romans are more virile and they were 
 superior legislators." 
 
 "Correct," said Peter Haws. 
 
 "I am," contiued Doniphan, "as devoted as 
 any one can be, religiously speaking, to the 
 principles of the Reformation. But I don't 
 hesitate to admit that to translate the Bible 
 into the vutlgar tongue was nothing short of a 
 catastrophe. Thus the Roman Catholics who 
 have continued reading the Book of Books in 
 the Latin text, enjoy undoubted advantages 
 
 over us." 
 
 The Jesuit lifted his hand in polite protest. 
 
 "Why yes," said Doniphan, "Facts are 
 facts." 
 
 "Yes, facts are facts," said Mrs. Haws. 
 
 "You are especially deserving, dear Mr. 
 Doniphan," said Pere d'Exiles, "for I pre- 
 sume the difficulties you must have experi- 
 enced in opening such an important finan- 
 cial establishment in Salt Lake . . ." 
 
 Doniphan raised his eyes to heaven. 
 
 "Sir, God alone knows what pains I took!
 
 3io SALT LAKE 
 
 You must take two things into account: the 
 privileged situation, as the only reliable 
 banking-house in town, that the Livingston 
 and Kinkead Bank enjoyed in Salt Lake when 
 I arrived. One third of their depositors have 
 come over to the Hughes Bank now, thanks to 
 my efforts . . ." 
 
 "And second?" asked the Jesuit. 
 
 "Second, it chanced, thank the Lord, that 
 I came at a moment when business was better 
 that it had ever been, owing to the liquidation 
 of American army stocks." 
 
 "Oh, is the American army leaving Utah?" 
 asked Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "The majority of the troops have left al- 
 ready," said Doniphan. "The expedition 
 was not exactly a military success." 
 
 "Gideon struck," put in Haws, "and the 
 Midianites dispersed." 
 
 "Possibly, Mr. Haws," said the clerk, more 
 annoyed by this misuse of the Scriptures than 
 he cared to appear. "But the armament of 
 Gideon's troops consisted, if I remember 
 right, in three hundred trumpets and as many 
 earthen pitchers and the Midianites had not
 
 SALT LAKE 311 
 
 accumulated any stocks that I know of. Such 
 was not the case with the American army 
 camped in Cedar Valley. The thing had 
 been done on a big scale. A lengthy occupa- 
 tion had been foreseen. Result six million 
 dollars, cost price, worth of goods bought for 
 the troops, have just been liquidated in 
 Salt Lake City. I say cost price, since the 
 prices paid by speculators netted the United 
 States Treasury not over two hundred thou- 
 sand dollars. Take this as an example: a 
 sack of flour, best quality, weighing a hundred 
 pounds, only sold for half a dollar." 
 
 "Well, well," said Pere d'Exiles. "People 
 with a little cash money must have had a fine 
 time in Salt Lake these days!" 
 
 "People made considerable fortunes in a 
 couple of hours," said Doniphan. "But as 
 you say, you had to have cash money. You 
 had to see ahead. It's a gift. I myself 
 watched one of the depositors of my bank, sell 
 a house that had been his wife's dowry 
 at half price. What do you mean? ' I said 
 to him. A stone house, the only stone house 
 in Salt Lake City, I suppose . . ."
 
 312 SALT LAKE 
 
 "The only one," said the priest 
 
 I said: 'You are foolish to let it go at that 
 price!' He wouldn't listen to me. The 
 sale was made. Eight thousand dollars. 
 Well, two weeks later, after speculating on 
 the flour stocks he had bought up with the 
 money, my man found himself worth one 
 hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. 
 I repeat, one hundred and seventy-five thou- 
 sand dollars!" 
 
 "One hundred and seventy-five thousand 
 dollars!" said Haws respectfully. 
 
 "One hundred and seventy-five thousand 
 dollars!" repeated Rebecca. 
 
 "That means," said Pere d'Exiles calmly, 
 "that Mr Jemini Gwinett is one of the richest 
 men in Salt Lake City today." 
 
 Doniphan, astounded, looked at the Jesuit. 
 
 "I didn't mention any names!" he said. 
 
 "True," said Pere d'Exiles, "but I knew 
 that there was only one stone house in Salt 
 Lake City. So it wasn't very hard to guess." 
 
 Haws meditated. 
 
 "Jemini Gwinett, I never heard the name." 
 
 "Nevertheless, my dear Mr. Haws, it's the
 
 SALT LAKE 313 
 
 name of one of your most prominent core- 
 ligionaries," said Doniphan. 
 
 "Ah!" said Pere d'Exiles carelessly, "JHas 
 Reverend Gwinett embraced Mormonism?" 
 
 "Sir," said the clerk, "let me tell you that 
 Mr. Gwinett, who was a depositor of the Kin- 
 kead Bank when I arrived in Salt Lake, be- 
 came a despositor in the Hughes Bank after 
 a visit from me. Three weeks ago, however, 
 he entrusted his interests to the Kinkead 
 Bank once more." 
 
 "I appreciate these details, sir," said the 
 Jesuit, "although at first hand, I can't see 
 just what they have to do with . . ." 
 
 "With your query. Doubtless, sir. I 
 simply wanted to show you the absolute re- 
 liability of the Hughes employees. Mr. 
 Gwinett, ceasing to be our depositor, we are 
 no longer bound to keep . . ." 
 
 "Professional secrets," said Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "Thank you. So he has embraced Mor- 
 monism?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Has he many wives?" 
 
 "Three, the last I heard."
 
 3H SALTLAKE 
 
 "Perfect harmony, I suppose?" 
 
 "As far as two are concerned, yes. But one 
 of them, h-m-m-m!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "There has been quite a lot of talk." 
 
 "Ah! ah!" 
 
 "You will take me for a great gossip." 
 
 "Not at all. Let me tell you that I had 
 occasion to meet Mr Gwinett, so that you 
 won't find me too inquisitive myself. I sat 
 at the same table with him in Salt Lake 
 City." 
 
 "In the beautiful stone house, I suppose?" 
 said Doniphan with a knowing smile. 
 
 "You have guessed correctly." 
 
 "Oh, then, you knew Mrs. Gwinett Number 
 Two! Anna is her first name. Well, sir, 
 the scandal was about her." 
 
 "I am amazed," said the Jesuit. "Mrs. 
 Gwinett, Mrs. Lee, as she was called when I 
 knew her, was a person of a most peaceable 
 disposition. And I am surprised . . ." 
 
 "I'm telling you the truth," said Doniphan. 
 "Hardly a month ago, she attempted to run 
 away with an American lieutenant, ot whom 
 it seems . . . how should I put it, pardon
 
 SALT LAKE 315 
 
 me, Mrs. Haws she had been the mistress." 
 
 "How shocking 1" exclaimed Rebecca. 
 
 "I am surprised, surprised indeed," was 
 Pere d'Exiles only comment. 
 
 "It's a fact," said Doniphan. 
 
 "And did her attempt fail?" asked the 
 Jesuit. 
 
 "Lectured by Governor Gumming, the 
 lieutenant relinquished his disgraceful scheme 
 of running off with a married woman." 
 
 "After all some women don't amount to 
 much!" remarked Mrs. Haws. 
 
 "Perhaps she has suffered a great deal," 
 said the Jesuit. "But let us change the sub- 
 ject. You were saying something about the 
 Life of Agricola a while ago, Mr. Doniphan. 
 Are you acquainted with that enticing hy- 
 pothesis which would have the first settlers of 
 Maine descend from that Queen Boadicea 
 who . . ." 
 
 Six days later, shortly before dark, Pere 
 d'Exiles entered Salt Lake City. After stop- 
 ping just long enough to entrust Mina to a 
 small store-keeper of his acquaintance, he
 
 3i6 SALT LAKE 
 
 presented himself at the President's mansion. 
 
 After some discussion, he was received by 
 Young's general secretary and confidential 
 man, Herbert Kimball. 
 
 "See President Brigham!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Impossible! He is at the Assembly of the 
 Elders." 
 
 "Until when?" 
 
 "Until seven o'clock, at least. And there 
 are people waiting for an audience with him." 
 
 "I am not worried about them," said Pere 
 d'Exiles. "He will see me before any one 
 else. But seven o'clock is too late for me." 
 
 "Well, you don't think I am going to get 
 the President, do you?" asked Kimball in- 
 solently. 
 
 "That's exactly what I expect you to do," 
 answered the Jesuit. 
 
 "What! You want . . ." spluttered Kim- 
 ball dumfounded. "And do you suppose for 
 a minute that he will leave the Assembly of 
 the Elders, the Assembly constituted accord- 
 ing to the rite of Esdras by the twenty-sixth 
 revelation! . . ." 
 
 "He will," said Pere d'Exiles.
 
 SALT LAKE 317 
 
 "I'd like to see it," said Kimball. 
 
 "You will, all right. All you have to do is 
 to whisper in his ear that there is some one in 
 his private office with bad news from the 
 Crossby Bank of New York. He'll come." 
 
 "But . . ." 
 
 "Let me add, Brother Kimball, that know- 
 ing as I do that President Brigham is not in 
 a good humour every day, it is to your own 
 interest not to defer my message any longer." 
 
 So saying, Pere d'Exiles settled himself in 
 one of the big 'leather arm-chairs in the Presi- 
 dent's private office. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, Kimball entered 
 the hall where the Congregation was assem- 
 bled. The light of forty clay lamps, hung 
 near the ceiling, flickered upon the eighty per- 
 sons present. 
 
 The room became silent. Kimball mounted 
 the presidential dais and whispered to Brig- 
 ham, who arose with dignity. His enormous 
 shaven face was unmoved. 
 
 "You must excuse me, Brethren. Brother 
 Herbert informs me that the Almighty re-
 
 3 i8 SALT LAKE 
 
 quires my presence elsewhere. Brother Or- 
 son Pratt will please preside over the ceremo- 
 nies until I return." 
 
 Once outside, he interrogated Kimball with 
 the same composure. 
 
 "Did he tell you anything else?" 
 
 "Nothing else." 
 
 "Good!" said Brigham. 
 
 And the obese giant accelerated his pace 
 with an alacrity of which he hardly seemed 
 capable. 
 
 He found Pere d'Exiles examining a sepia 
 sketch of Salt Lake's future tabernacle, which 
 hung on the President's study wall. 
 
 The two men exchanged a few courteous 
 phrases. 
 
 "A splendid structure," said Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "The architect," said Brigham, "is Brother 
 Truman Angell. We expect that his work 
 will soon leave the rest of the world far be- 
 hind. Thus the two towers of the Amiens 
 cathedral are 201 feet high, if I remember 
 correctly." 
 
 "The south tower is 201 feet high, the north 
 198 feet."
 
 SALT LAKE 319 
 
 "Ah, you see! The six polyhedral spires 
 that are to embellish our tabernacle will each 
 be 226 feet high! Besides, take a look at this. 
 This block of grey granite is a specimen of the 
 stone which we will use to build the House of 
 the Lord. We quarry it in the mountains 
 near by at great expense." 
 
 "Nothing is too good for the Lord," said 
 the Jesuit. 
 
 "Nothing," said Brigham. 
 
 For a few moments they exchanged sundry 
 remarks on the construction of religious edi- 
 fices. Pere d'Exiles cited Robert de Luzar- 
 ches and Viollet-le-Duc. Brigham stood his 
 ground. He was playing with the tiny com- 
 pass adorning his watch-chain. Altogether, 
 he was content to have met with an adversary 
 worthy of him. 
 
 At last he asked in a tone of extreme indif- 
 ference : 
 
 "So there is bad news from the Crossby 
 Bank?" 
 
 "I have come out of the desert," said Pere 
 d'Exiles continuing his examination of the 
 projected tabernacle, "and so I really couldn't 
 tell you anything absolutely certain about the
 
 320 SALT LAKE 
 
 bank's affairs; however, I believe they have 
 never been better." 
 
 "Ahl" said Brigham, manifesting no sur- 
 prise whatever. 
 
 They looked at each other smilingly. 
 
 "Might I ask then," said the President, 
 "what interest there is in coming here to dis- 
 cuss the Crossby Bank with me?" 
 
 "It must be your own, if any," said Pere 
 d'Exiles, "judging by the rapidity with which 
 you left the Assembly of the Elders, the As- 
 sembly constituted according to the rite of 
 Esdras by the twenty-sixth revelation." 
 
 Brigham braced himself in his arm-chair. 
 
 "You want something of me?" 
 
 "Yes," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "The dissolution of the marriage which 
 united Mrs. Lee to Mr. Jemini Gwinett." 
 
 "Impossible," said Brigham. 
 
 "Impossible, did you say?" 
 
 "I have no reason and no power to pro- 
 nounce such a dissolution." 
 
 "Of course you know to whom I refer," said 
 the Jesuit. 
 
 "The shepherd knoweth his flock," said
 
 SALT LAKE 321 
 
 Brigham ironically. "Mrs. Gwinett Number 
 Two, formerly Mrs. Lee." 
 
 "Widow of Colonel Lee," specified Pere 
 d'Exiles. 
 
 "As to Brother Jemini, there you have a re- 
 markably intelligent man, so intelligent 
 that . . ." 
 
 "That he aspires to succeeding you some 
 day," finished the Jesuit. 
 
 "That's just what I was going to say," said 
 Brigham biting his lips imperceptibly. 
 
 "Now we know just where we stand," said 
 Pere Philippe. "So I repeat my question 
 will you or will you not pronounce the dis- 
 solution of this marriage?" 
 
 "I cannot, and I will not." 
 
 "It is irony to say that you cannot, Brother 
 Brigham. You can do anything, being infal- 
 lible yourself and having revelations from on 
 High at your disposal." 
 
 "Don't jest," said Brigham. "Infallibility 
 is not to be laughed at. There are problems 
 that can only be solved by resorting to absolut- 
 ism. Sooner or later, I tell you, your pope 
 shall be obliged to come to the same conclu- 
 
 sion."
 
 322 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Far be it from me to sneer at infallibility," 
 said the Jesuit. "Quite the contrary, for I 
 said that you could if you would, pronounce 
 the divorce I spoke of, since you may resort to 
 principle when you see fit." 
 
 "That's where you make your mistake," 
 said the President. "To be wholly effective, 
 the principle must be applied with modera- 
 tion. You can't play it on every occasion, 
 because if you do, it's certain . . ." 
 
 "What's certain, my dear President, is that 
 we are wasting our time." 
 
 Brigham protested amiably. 
 
 "Perhaps you are, my friend. I'm not. 
 On the contrary, there is nothing more profit- 
 able for me than an occasional chat with an 
 able representative of another sect." 
 
 "I ask you for the last time," said the Jesuit, 
 "will you or will you not pronounce the dis- 
 solution of this marriage?" 
 
 "I have already answered I cannot and I 
 will not." 
 
 "Is that all you have to say?" 
 
 "Momentarily, yes." 
 
 "Momentarily! Ah, what an admirable
 
 SALT LAKE 323 
 
 reservation! Come, my dear President, con- 
 fess for the past hour you have been dying 
 to have me tell you a story, the story of the 
 Crossby Bank." 
 
 "Admitted," said Brigham. 
 
 He arose, went to the door, opened it. The 
 corridor was empty. Brigham returned to 
 the table, sat down. 
 
 "You may begin." 
 
 "Don't you smoke here?" 
 
 "Our religion forbids it," said Brigham, 
 and he continued with a tolerant smile. "But 
 you know, as the great pontiff Aureilius Cotta 
 used to say in Rome, between intelligent peo- 
 ple, religion is one thing, and . . ." 
 
 So saying, he opened a little ebony cabinet 
 and took out a box of cigars. 
 
 "Take your choice," he said. 
 
 Then he helped himself. 
 
 "I am listening." 
 
 They settled down in their respective arm- 
 chairs, leaning their heads back, gazing at the 
 ceiling, where crept the smoke of their cigars. 
 
 "There was in New York, around 1848," be-
 
 324 SALTLAKE 
 
 gan Pere d'Exiles, "a bank that was excep- 
 tionally well patronized, the William Crossby 
 Bank." 
 
 "Correct." 
 
 "It was then that the first Mormons who 
 had discovered gold in California, were com- 
 ing back to Salt Lake City. By a full-fledged 
 revelation, the Mormon Church forbade gold- 
 digging. 'Gold,' therein was it made known 
 unto us . . ." 
 
 "Spare me the text of that revelation," said 
 Brigham with a show of impatience. "As its 
 promulgator, I ought to know it." 
 
 "I should think so. But there is something 
 that you perhaps don't know." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "What I am about to tell you. The Mor- 
 mon pioneers brought back about eighty sacks 
 of gold dust from California." 
 
 "Exactly eighty." 
 
 "Well, out of those eighty sacks, sixty-two 
 were used to coin five and ten dollar gold- 
 pieces by order of President Brigham Young 
 an operation which permitted the notes is-
 
 SALT LAKE 325 
 
 sued by Kirtland's Mormon bank to climb 
 back to par." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, doesn't something strike your atten- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I don't quite see what." 
 
 "The simple difference between the figure 
 80 and the figure 62," said the Jesuit. "How 
 much does that make?" 
 
 "Why . . . 1 8." 
 
 "Eighteen, just so. Sixty-two sacks were 
 used by the Bank of Utah, while it had re- 
 ceived eighty. That makes a leftover, an ex- 
 cess or a difference of eighteen sacks whose 
 fate it would be interesting to know, above 
 all, when you take into account that the market 
 value today would be the sum of $800,000." 
 
 "Perhaps you have some private informa- 
 tion on the subject?" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "Would it be indiscreet? . . ." 
 
 "Not at all. About that time, Colonel Lee, 
 one of Brigham's friends, left Salt Lake City, 
 where the first walls were being erected. He
 
 326 SALT LAKE 
 
 had been given a convoy of five wagons. 
 Well, two of the wagons were loaded with 
 the very eighteen sacks we were talking 
 about." 
 
 "Dear me, everything comes out in the end," 
 said Brigham. 
 
 "Colonel Lee," continued the Jesuit, "ar- 
 rived in New York. The eighteen sacks in 
 question were deposited in the Crossby Bank. 
 Stop me if I am making mistakes." 
 
 "Go on," said Brigham. 
 
 "In exchange, they gave him a receipt for 
 fifteen sacks!" 
 
 "Fifteen instead of eighteen?" 
 
 "The difference of three sacks was his com- 
 mission. The receipt for the fifteen sacks was 
 made out in the name of a certain . . ." 
 
 "Nathaniel Sharpe," said the President 
 with a smile. 
 
 "And do you know who was this Nathaniel 
 Sharpe?" 
 
 "Myself," said Brigham with great simplic- 
 ity. 
 
 He took a huge portfolio from the pocket
 
 SALT LAKE 32? 
 
 of his frockcoat, opened it, drew out a paper 
 folded twice. 
 
 "And here is the receipt in question." 
 
 The two men looked at each other. 
 
 "What do you think of my story?" asked 
 the Jesuit. 
 
 "I think," said the President, "that Colonel 
 Lee was a less reliable friend than I thought. 
 It seems to me that he gave me his word . . ." 
 
 "He kept it, Brother Brigham. I happen 
 to be acquainted with these details because I 
 was the Colonel's confessor." 
 
 "You are bound to secrecy," said Brigham. 
 
 "I am. Theologically, however, one thing 
 might release me that you shou/ld not keep 
 the promise you made Colonel Lee, a promise 
 to watch over his wife." 
 
 "Just so," agreed Brigham. 
 
 "The situation is now quite clear, it seems 
 to me," said the priest. 
 
 "How does it strike you?" 
 
 "Like this. When after the great exodus 
 from Nauvoo, Brigham Young arrived with 
 his followers upon the site of the town which
 
 328 SALT LAKE 
 
 was destined to be built under the name of 
 Salt Lake City, he had little confidence in the 
 future of the Mormons. He took advantage 
 of the first gold from California, to assure, 
 come what may, his own material welfare. 
 What would his people say today, if they 
 learned that he, the Prophet of God, had 
 doubted the Holy Cause? What would they 
 say, these faithful people, if they knew that 
 the Head of the Church had kept part of the 
 gold whose use he forbade publicly? What 
 kind of an effect do you think such a disclo- 
 sure would produce?" 
 
 "A very bad one," said Brigham. 
 
 He beamed. 
 
 "You would have to furnish the proof of 
 your statement. Well, I have the receipt." 
 
 "Yes," said Pere d'Exiles, "but there exists 
 a duplicate." 
 
 "A duplicate!" said the President, whose 
 heavy eyelids fluttered slightly. 
 
 "A duplicate, or about the same thing," said 
 the Jesuit with aplomb, "a copy, signed by 
 Colonel Lee as depositor, and by the agent 
 who received the deposit."
 
 SALT LAKE 329 
 
 And, as Brigham gazed at him covertly: 
 
 "Oh, rest assured that the copy would not 
 be on my person when I came to visit you I" 
 concluded Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 "Another cigar?" said Brigham. 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 "The conclusion," said the President with 
 a pained expression, "is that Colonel Lee dis- 
 trusted me. It wasn't quite the thing. I 
 never would have thought it of him." 
 
 "The scanty protection you afforded his 
 widow recently proves at any rate that his 
 distrust was not unfounded," returned the 
 priest. 
 
 The President was playing with his watch- 
 charm. 
 
 "Well . . . what about this . . . dupli- 
 cate?" 
 
 "It is in the hands of trustworthy friends at 
 present." 
 
 "Trustworthy friends are a token of the 
 Almighty," stated Brigham. 
 
 "They have the duplicate of this receipt in 
 their possession," pursued Pere d'Exiles.
 
 330 SALT LAKE 
 
 "And in addition, they are commissioned to 
 publish it in the most influential newspapers 
 of the United States if today is January 
 fifteenth if I am not in St. Louis on the first 
 of March to stop them." 
 
 "Suppose," said Brigham Young, reflect- 
 ing, "that for some reason or other I could not 
 prevent its publication, in your opinion, what 
 do you think the result would be?" 
 
 "You said it a while ago a very bad one." 
 
 "To specify?" 
 
 "Your followers would be highly edified." 
 
 "Perhaps, but not necessarily. It wouldn't 
 be the first time I have been calumniated. I 
 would contest the authenticity of the docu- 
 ment. I would transform the affair into a 
 religious quarrel. If need be, I would use a 
 revelation. Let me remind you in my turn 
 that I am infallible." 
 
 "As far as the Mormons are concerned, 
 perhaps," said the Jesuit. "But as far as the 
 rest of the country is concerned, no ! It would 
 make a fine scandal, I assure you. And I 
 know that you have no desire to cause one in 
 any way whatsoever."
 
 SALT LAKE 331 
 
 "Quite so," said Brigham, meditatively. 
 "Then . . ." 
 
 "Then take steps immediately for me to 
 be in St. Louis on March the first." 
 
 "I will help you to the best of my ability 
 so that the first of March will find you safe in 
 that charming town." 
 
 "I don't doubt it. But you know that it 
 must be in the company of Mrs. Lee." 
 
 "Mrs. Gwinett." 
 
 "Mrs. Lee, if you please." 
 
 "I repeat, Mrs. Gwinett," said Brigham 
 dryly. "Oh! you know me well enough to 
 realize that I am not a man to be stubborn 
 about a name. I regret that you do not seem 
 to understand immediately what I mean by 
 'Mrs. Gwinett.'" 
 
 Pere d'Exiles looked at the President, who 
 smiled. 
 
 "Let it not be forgotten," he said in an 
 indefinable tone, "that as High Priest and 
 Supreme Head of my flock, the custody of 
 the ilaws devolves upon me. Thus I could 
 not dissolve a lawful union. But Mrs. Gwin- 
 ett might escape, leave her husband's bed and 
 board, without my knowledge and, in that
 
 332 SALT LAKE 
 
 case, very likely you would both take the same 
 road." 
 
 "And your Danites will not pursue us?" 
 asked Pere d'Exiles distrustfully. 
 
 "My poor Angels of Destruction!" guf- 
 fawed Brigham. "Their exploits have been 
 highly exaggerated. A man of your intelli- 
 gence, to be taken in by such a clumsy hum- 
 bug! I am astonished, my dear friend. 
 Such mean suspicions when you succeeded so 
 well in interesting me in the happy outcome 
 of your journey!" 
 
 "It's my turn to say 'quite so,' " said the 
 Jesuit laughingly. 
 
 Brigham rang. Kimball appeared. 
 
 "Brother Herbert," commanded the Presi- 
 dent briefly. "Go to Brother Jemini Gwin- 
 ett's right away. He is at the Tabernacle, so 
 you won't run into him, but, understand, you 
 have to arrange things so that you find Mrs. 
 Gwinett Number Two and bring her back 
 here, without being seen by a soul, do you 
 hear? Go and make haste." 
 
 Kimball bowed. 
 
 "Mrs. Gwinett Number Two, Anna, is it 
 clear?" repeated Brigham. I am waiting."
 
 SALT LAKE 333 
 
 The messenger went out. 
 
 "You have to be precise," said the President 
 coming back and sitting across from Pere d' 
 Exiles. "What in the world would we say 
 if that good old fellow brought us back Sarah 
 or that simpleton of a Bessie, instead of Sister 
 Anna?' 1 
 
 "It's true," said the Jesuit. "Brother Jem- 
 ini has three wives already." 
 
 "Three," said Brigham. "Three. And 
 they're not beyond his resources." 
 
 And they continued to chat like the best 
 friends in the world. 
 
 Annabel stood between the two men. She 
 looked at Brigham Young fearfully. 
 
 "Mrs. Gwinett," he said, "pray sit down." 
 
 And he gallantly offered her his arm-chair. 
 
 "Good God!" muttered Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 He had seen the young woman in the full 
 glare of the light. Mechanically he drew 
 back into the shadow, so that she would not 
 see that his eyes had filled with tears. 
 
 Annabel was dressed in a tattered old dress. 
 She had folded her arms on her bosom. Her 
 red fingers, the nails ruined, emerged from
 
 334 SALT LAKE 
 
 shapeless wristlets. And what an expression, 
 like a trapped animal! What a change in a 
 few months, good God I 
 
 President Brigham Young had called back 
 Herbert Kimball and was giving him orders. 
 
 Next he asked Pere d'Exiles: 
 
 "Do you know the halt of the Crowned 
 Mormon?" 
 
 "I do," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "It's six miles from here. By leaving at 
 midnight, you will get there about two 
 o'clock in the morning. The cabin is fairly 
 weather-tight. You will spend the night 
 there. At eight o'clock, on the hour, a coach 
 will come along, driven by my personal cour- 
 ier, Brother Woodrow Banting. He who 
 will have my instructions. In the mean- 
 while, please step into the next room. Bro- 
 ther Kimbald will see that you are served a 
 little lunch." 
 
 He added with a smile: 
 
 "At the expense of the Crossby Bank!" 
 
 He had taken his coat, his big hat. 
 
 "Are you leaving us?" asked Pere d'Exilei. 
 
 "I must," responded Brigham, still smiling. 
 "I have just had a Divine Revelation enjoin-
 
 SALT LAKE 335 
 
 ing the Assembly of Ejlders and Apostles to 
 chant the Book of Psalms tonight ... in it 
 entirety. It is enough to keep us until six 
 o'clock in the morning. But the Lord who 
 sustained the arms of Moses during the com- 
 bat will likewise sustain our voices." 
 
 'He added with an ironical gleam in his 
 little elephant's eyes: 
 
 "And at six o'clock in the morning, you 
 will be far from here." 
 
 He conducted them to the door, kissed 
 Annabel's hand in the most approved style 
 and shook that of the Jesuit. 
 
 At midnight, as agreed, Pere d'Exiles and 
 the young woman, who was mounted on Mina, 
 left Salt Lake City, while at the Tabernacle, 
 under the leadership of Brigham Young beat- 
 ing time impassibly, the hoarse voices of the 
 Elders and Apostles intoned the first stanza 
 of the eightieth psalm: 
 
 "Give ear, O Shepherd! of Israel, thou that 
 leadest Joseph like a flock; thou that dwell- 
 est between the cherubims, shine forth."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A LOG cabin stood on a narrow pla- 
 teau, dominating the surrounding 
 country. It was destined to shelter 
 travellers caught in mountain storms. It was 
 the place called the Crowned Mormon. 
 
 Six miles from the Holy Wall, the cabin 
 indicated the first halting-place of the stage 
 connecting Salt Lake and Omaha, by way of 
 the pass of Echo Canyon. 
 
 The Jesuit and his companion reached it, 
 as had been foreseen, about two o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 "You must try to sleep," said Pere d'Exiles. 
 "I can hardly stand up myself. If I succeed 
 in settling you half decently in this shack, I 
 confess I will also sleep." 
 
 He struck a light. In the corner of the 
 cabin he discovered a heap of dry leaves. 
 Over them he spread one of the two blankets 
 he had taken along. 
 
 "Lie down." 
 
 336
 
 SALT LAKE 337 
 
 Annabel obeyed. He tucked her under the 
 second blanket like a child. 
 
 "Come here, Mina." 
 
 The mule entered the cabin. She knelt. 
 He lay down by her, using the heavy, warm 
 body as a rampart against the icy wind from 
 outside. 
 
 "Are you comfortable?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Annabel. 
 
 "Do you want anything?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Nothing more was heard, except the blast 
 whistling through the dark canyons and in- 
 side, the mule's regular breathing. 
 
 The Jesuit listened in vain. No sound told 
 him whether or not Annabel was sleeping. 
 
 But he needed to know. He put out his 
 hand, shivering at his dreadful audacity. 
 Ere long he found the young woman's; he 
 pressed it gently. But the hand remained 
 cold and inert. 
 
 Nevertheless it seemed to Pere d'Exiiles 
 that Annabel was not asleep. 
 
 Still more gently he moved back to his 
 place beside the good-natured mule. His 
 thoughts were manifold. 'How astonished he
 
 338 SALT LAKE 
 
 would have been the day before, when he was 
 proceeding to Sailt Lake by forced marches, 
 had some one todd him that today he would be 
 with Annabel on the road to deliverance, hav- 
 ing won his formidable match with Brigham 
 Young and that this would occasion him 
 only moderate rejoicing, even, let us not mince 
 words no rejoicing at all I Suddenly, it 
 dawned upon him that there was something 
 he had not taken into account in his plans, 
 although meticulously premeditated, some- 
 thing he was unable to formulate, but some- 
 thing he realized had caught him off his 
 guard. 
 
 A while ago he had said that he needed 
 sleep imperiously. Ah! how far sleep was 
 from him now! With a desperate insistence 
 he sought, not to sleep, but to account for his 
 companion's dreadful silence during their 
 flight from Salt Lake. He was too modest 
 and too kind to admit the only logical motive 
 that Annabel must be overwhelmed with 
 shame in the presence of the man whom she 
 had sacrificed to an opprobrious caprice with 
 such criminal thoughtlessness.
 
 SALT LAKE 339 
 
 "Sh-h-h!Mina, sh-h-h!" 
 
 The mule stirred, uttering muffled groans. 
 The Jesuit patted her. She was silent 
 
 Quiet restored, he became absorbed in his 
 thoughts once more, and he sighed thinking 
 that he had hit upon the explanation at last. 
 To be delivered from the infamous yoke of a 
 Gwinett was not enough she must live now. 
 No doubt that is what Annabel was thinking 
 about. She had left St. Louis rich and happy. 
 Would it only be to return one day penniless 
 and declassee? 
 
 Such a perspective was indeed of a nature 
 to justify the utter dejection that had so cruelly 
 surprised Pere d'Exi-les. He was angry with 
 himself for not having found the natural ex- 
 planation immediately. He taxed himself 
 with heedlessness, with egoism. Yes, why 
 deny it, he had been angry with Annabel be- 
 cause she had not evinced her gratitude at 
 once. As if, after all, he had done anything, 
 except change the nature of the unhappy 
 woman's sorrow in wresting her from her 
 direful spouse! 
 
 And suddenly the inexorable question
 
 340 SALT LAKE 
 
 flashed upon him, the question which he had 
 not considered once since his departure from 
 Haw's Ranch what would he do with Anna- 
 bel Lee, destitute, when they arrived in St. 
 Louis? 
 
 Childish cares, divine perplexity, revealing 
 the fundamental quality of this soul! And 
 you! (Hasn't it happened that in the relative 
 calm on a still, moonless night at the front, 
 you forgot your sole concern, the enemy, and 
 recalled the thousand and one little worries 
 of your civilian life? 
 
 "The barn-roof needs reshingling and I 
 haven't a cent," thought the farmer. 
 
 "When time comes for promotion, will 
 they be fair and take into account these long 
 hours of suffering?" thought the office-holder. 
 
 Then they would both smile, if they re- 
 flected that they had only to lift their heads 
 over the parapet to see the chalky line of the 
 opposing trench. Ah! banish these trivial- 
 ities, when the all-important problem is not 
 solved yet! You have one advantage over 
 Pere d'Exiles, that of knowing the enemy's
 
 SALT LAKE 341 
 
 whereabouts. Pere d'Exiles is unaware. 
 He has merely a presentiment that there are 
 hostile forces lurking in the surrounding 
 obscurity. 
 
 Mina stirs anew. She groans. Ah! two 
 tiny green balls glisten at the aperture that 
 serves as a door ! Then two others, green too 
 then two others, two by two likewise, equi- 
 distant. A soft rustle. Wretched coyotes! 
 Would that you were the cause of these mortal 
 anxieties! But you are only poor starved 
 wolves. Here! Catch this crust of dry 
 bread, if you want it, and disappear, melan- 
 choly flames, for I fear that Mina disapproves 
 of my treatment of you ! 
 
 Yes, it must be that the fear of the future, 
 the burden of an odious past weighing upon 
 her unceasingly and spoiling the happy mo- 
 ments, should there be any. Next, alas, the 
 horrible material cares! Annabel is ruined, 
 her own fault, no doubt, but it would scarcely 
 be decent to reproach her now. Well, then, 
 what? Oh! the Ursulines of St. Louis will 
 shelter her at first, and how gladly! But I
 
 342 SALT LAKE 
 
 know only too well that when they lend 
 assistance to some one in her position, some 
 one who can never pay back, it's always with 
 the idea that some day . . . And, to tell the 
 truth, Annabel had no religious vocation. 
 Might it have come to her, after so many 
 trials? I hardly think so. And Pere d' 
 Exiles shuddered as he realized that the 
 thought of Annabel's forehead beneath the 
 starched wimple was unbearable. 
 
 It is colder. Can it be dawn already? 
 Then it will be light before I have had a min- 
 ute's sleep. What is that noise now? It is not 
 Mina, nor the cry of the wind, nor the coyotes. 
 Steps on the road, my God! Yes, I was 
 right, steps on the road. There are horses 
 with the men. Fortunately they are coming 
 from the direction opposite Salt Lake. At 
 least let us hope that they won't take it into 
 their heads to stop here! They would not 
 fail to pick a quarrel with me over the pres- 
 ence of the mule in a place meant for trav- 
 ellers. Americans have a great respect for 
 human dignity. But for my part, I believe 
 it's to one's interest to avoid discussion, above
 
 SALT LAKE 343 
 
 all when one is with a woman easily ex- 
 cited . . . They approach . . . They are 
 here . . . They have gone by ! 
 
 What a relief! Now I will be able to 
 sleep, perhaps. Stop fidgeting, nice Mina. 
 Now I myself am tossing about. Will I end 
 by capturing thee at last, elusive sleep? Lis- 
 ten! What? More steps. The same steps 
 as before, but more numerous, I believe, and 
 coming from town. Here they are! And 
 this time they are stopping! They are go- 
 ing to come in the cabin they are com- 
 ing in! 
 
 God! what a ghastly bluish light! The 
 cabin is full of smoke. Oh! I understand, 
 they have set fire to the leaves, the dry leaves 
 on which she sleeps, she, Annabel. Wretches, 
 who are you? Ah! I recognize you well, 
 sinister Angels of Destruction, accursed Dan- 
 ites ! It was in vain that I thought I had van- 
 quished your instigator. You are after your 
 prey, aren't you? And what about me, then, 
 me? Do you think I will be content to stay 
 alone when you have despoiled me of this
 
 344 SALT LAKE 
 
 unique creature? And me, and me? Ah! 
 too late she is here no longer! 
 
 Haggard, Pere d'Exiles had leaped to his 
 feet in the cabin flooded with blue, foggy 
 morning air. He was alone with Mina who 
 peacefully nibbled at the dry leaves that had 
 served Annabel as a couch. 
 
 In a bound, the Jesuit was outside. The 
 icy wind of day-break swept the phamtoms 
 from his brain. A great sigh of relief swelled 
 his chest. The young woman was there. 
 
 About thirty paces away, Annabel sat on the 
 ledge. She was gazing into space. The sun 
 had just risen, climbing the summit of the 
 Wahsatch Mountains. Light unfurled in the 
 valley. A beautiful day was dawning. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles approached Annabel softly. 
 She did not turn around. As he drew near, 
 he examined her at leisure. For the first 
 time he saw her again in the implacable light 
 of day. He began to tremble. He beheld 
 her hair that had been so beautiful in its 
 blond opulence, dusty now, thinned out to a 
 few strands tightly drawn back to the nape of 
 her neck, where they were twisted in a pitiful 
 knot.
 
 SALT LAKE 345 
 
 Annabel had not yet turned around. She 
 gazed fixedly down yonder, in the bottom of 
 the valley. The Jesuit blessed her obstinacy, 
 for it gave him time to affect a disinterested 
 air. At first sight he would have certainly 
 been incapable of repressing an exclamation 
 that might have wounded the unfortunate 
 woman. 
 
 "A beautiful day!" he said at last. 
 
 She turned her head, evincing no surprise 
 at seeing him there, although she had not 
 heard him come. High in the air, two vul- 
 tures soared in the clear sky their gigantic 
 shadows hovering over the rosy mountain-side. 
 
 "If this weather keeps up, our journey to 
 St. Louis will be a real pleasure trip . , ." 
 
 yHe stopped short with a sinking feeling of 
 having uttered those words somewhere else. 
 Good God, where? Ah, yes! In the beauti- 
 ful stone villa, the morning the American 
 troops had entered Salt Lake City, the day 
 before the departure that had never taken 
 place. 
 
 Still Annabel had not answered. 
 
 "What are you looking at so hard?" he 
 asked in a somewhat altered voice.
 
 346 SALT LAKE 
 
 Without a word she indicated the plain. 
 
 She pointed to where Salt Lake City lay, 
 bathed in the morning light. On the horizon 
 sparkled the Lake, bristling with fusees of 
 yellow vapor. 
 
 "It's a two hours' march," said the Jesuit 
 in an unsteady voice. "I never would have 
 thought that one could see the whole town 
 from here. Look, over there, that's where 
 your villa is!" 
 
 Annabel's glance did not follow the direc- 
 tion in which his outstretched hand attempted 
 to draw it 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 "What are you looking at?" he asked at 
 last 
 
 In turn she pointed to the southern portion 
 of Salt Lake City. 
 
 "At that," she said simply. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "The smoke." 
 
 "The smoke?" 
 
 "Yes the smoke from the houses." 
 
 It was true, the air was so mysteriously 
 pure that one could see a greyish streak of 
 smoke, mounting from each square, brown 
 roof.
 
 SALT LAKE 347 
 
 "Well?" asked Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "It's the smoke from the fires that we light 
 in the morning, a little before seven, to pre- 
 pare breakfast." 
 
 "Breakfast!" 
 
 He looked at her in amazement. She still 
 spoke in the same gentle voice. Her face was 
 impassible. 
 
 "Yes, breakfast. It was my turn today. I 
 will not have been there to light the morning 
 fire." 
 
 The Jesuit's trembling voice rose. 
 
 "Neither will you be there to light the 
 others." 
 
 "Yes, I will," she said. 
 
 "What are you saying?" 
 
 "I say that I will be there, since we are 
 only a two hours' walk from town, and the fire 
 for the noon meal does not have to be lit un- 
 til eleven o'clock. So you see I will be there." 
 
 She had arisen. He seized her by the arm. 
 
 "Are you mad?" he cried in frightful 
 sorrow. 
 
 She had paled. 
 
 "Mad, mad! Oh, how unkind of you, you 
 who are so good, to use that word!"
 
 348 SALT LAKE 
 
 She repeated in a sorrowful plaint: 
 
 "How unkind, how unkind!" 
 
 "Forgive me, forgive me," he said, "it must 
 be that I am going mad myself! Oh, tell me 
 it isn't true, tell me that it's only a jest that I 
 don't understand! You to go back to that 
 man! . . ." 
 
 "^Hush!" she murmured. 
 
 "Tell me it isn't true. And then, see how 
 unlikely it would be didn't you come with 
 me last night? And didn't you appeal to 
 that Lieutenant Rutledge a month ago didn't 
 you mean to follow him, to flee? . . ." 
 
 "He did not come," she said in a low voice. 
 
 "He did not come but I did. And here 
 I am, and you don't want to come with me 
 now . . ." 
 
 "Yesterday," she said, "I still believed I 
 could. While you were asleep this morning, 
 I felt that I wanted to see the house once 
 again. Now I have seen it, and I realize 
 that I can go no further. You shouldn't have 
 gone to sleep you shouldn't have let me 
 see the house again." 
 
 Pere d'Exiles wrung his hands.
 
 SALT LAKE 349 
 
 She repeated: 
 
 "You shouldn't have let me see the house 
 again!" 
 
 She looked at hei companion. She saw 
 that his eyes were filled with heart-breaking 
 tears. 
 
 "You musn't cry either," she said. 
 
 And as the Jesuit's tears flowed afresh, she 
 made a vague gesture in protest. 
 
 "I tell you, you mustn't cry, because this 
 woman is no longer the woman you are weep- 
 ing for. You musn't, you musn't regret her 
 any more." 
 
 So saying, she smiled so desolately that 
 Pere d'Exiles was thrown into a paroxysm of 
 misery. 
 
 "I will take you with me!" he cried, "in 
 spite of yourself!" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "You won't always be there to watch me," 
 she said. "And then I would go back, I 
 know I would. Don't you see, it would be 
 better not to make me too long a trip and not 
 to expose me . . ." and she hung her head, 
 "to more severe reprimands."
 
 350 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Good God!" he cried. "So you ad- 
 mit . . ." 
 
 "It is getting late," she responded simply. 
 "It is getting late and I can't walk very fast. 
 You know it, since you were obliged to put 
 me on the mule last night. I must leave you." 
 
 He leaned against a pine. He did not turn 
 around. She saw him sob convulsively. 
 Resplendent, the sun was climbing the azure 
 steps of the firmament. 
 
 The young woman started down the steep 
 mountain path. 
 
 She had not gone a hundred steps before a 
 loud cry rent the air and forced her to stop. 
 
 "Annabel!" 
 
 She turned. She saw the Jesuit on the 
 brink of the precipice, his arms outstretched. 
 
 It was the first time he had called her by 
 that name, the name she was hearing for the 
 last time. 
 
 When Brigham Young's personal courier, 
 Brother Woodrow Banting, duly rehearsed 
 by Brother Kimball, drew his equipage up 
 in front of the cabin of the Crowned Mormon 
 at eight o'clock sharp, he was surprised to
 
 SALT LAKE 351 
 
 find it deserted. /He waited for a little over 
 an hour, then, in the end, he resigned himself 
 to turning the horses around and going back 
 to Salt Lake, where he recounted his mis- 
 adventure to Kimball. 
 
 Over mountain and plain marched Pere 
 d'Exiles for two days, directing his steps to 
 the South-West. It was night, black night 
 when he entered Provo the Blessed, where he 
 slept beneath the stars. He left at dawn. 
 
 As he journeyed along the road connecting 
 Nephi and Manti, the twin cities, he heard 
 the noise of a wagon behind him. 
 
 "Are you going to Manti?" he asked. 
 
 "Farther on, to Fillmore." 
 
 "Fine. What will you charge to give me 
 a lift as far as Fillmore ? Anyway I shall 
 leave you before we reach town." 
 
 "Eight dollars." 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 Five minutes later, relieved of her scanty 
 pack, Mina trotted briskly behind the cart 
 where sat her master. 
 
 Next day, a few hours after passing through 
 the town of Manti, they came upon a stream.
 
 352 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Isn't this the Sevier River?" asked the 
 Jesuit. 
 
 His conductor replied: 
 
 "Yes, the Sevier River. Here is the ford." 
 
 The cart had stopped. Pere d'Exiles de- 
 scended and began to load Mina. 
 
 "Are you leaving me?" asked the Mormon. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You're going East, I suppose?" 
 
 "No, West toward the lake." 
 
 The man shook his head disapprovingly. 
 
 "It surprises you?" asked the priest. 
 
 "No, not at all. You are free to go where 
 you please. All I have to say is that I 
 wouldn't advise anybody to go on an excursion 
 in the vicinity of Lake Sevier just now." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "The Utes," answered the man, "have never 
 been very friendly. But since Captain Gun- 
 nison's murder, which you have probably 
 (heard of, the country is altogether unsafe. 
 Just a few days ago, a patrol of the Cedar 
 Valley troops had a skirmish with some In- 
 dians who were hunting on forbidden terri- 
 tory. A few men were killed on both sides. 
 More redskins than pale-faces, of course.
 
 SALT LAKE 353 
 
 It goes to show you that just now there are 
 healthier places than the shores of Lake 
 Sevier." 
 
 "I am not an American," said the 
 Jesuit. 
 
 "You're a pale-face it's all the same to 
 them. Well, all right, if yo" insist. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 Pere d'Exiles had gone about thirty miles 
 westward when night began to fall. The dy- 
 ing light filtered through the willow branches. 
 The river, a mere brook when he had begun to 
 follow it, now an imposing flood, rolled its 
 grey waters in silence. 
 
 He rode part of the night and all the next 
 day. (He seemed indefatigable. He only 
 stopped in the prairies, to allow Mina to 
 graze. 
 
 He would watch her. Once he mut- 
 ered: 
 
 "The Indians have never been cruel to 
 their animals." 
 
 At four o'clock the sun was setting again 
 and still he had met no one. Then, on the 
 river-bank he perceived a brown silhouette
 
 354 SALT LAKE 
 
 that an unpractised eye would have mis- 
 taken for a dead tree trunk. 
 
 It was an Indian fishing. 
 
 Pere d'Exiles approached and touched him 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 "Sh-h-h!" hissed the fisherman. 
 
 It was a very old, old Indian. The skin 
 of his face, withered around his cheekbones, 
 was the color of baked clay. He wore an old 
 water-proof and on his head was an incon- 
 gruous visored cap. 
 
 "Sh-h-h The repeated. 
 
 His eyes were fixed on his line, cast under a 
 willow-tree. 
 
 He waited vainly and ended by hauling in 
 his line. 
 
 "The Fish was biting when the Pale-Face 
 came," he said in a low voice with an accent of 
 reproach. "The Pale-Face has frightened 
 him." 
 
 "Another will bite," said the Jesuit. 
 
 The old Indian shook his head doubtfully. 
 He spread his line along the grassy bank and 
 baited the hook. 
 
 "What wouldst thou?" he said at last. 
 
 "Thou art a Utah?" asked the priest.
 
 SALT LAKE 355 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is it still Arapine who is chief of the 
 
 Utahs?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Lead me to him." 
 
 "I cannot," said the Indian. "It is Ara- 
 pine who has commanded that I stay here to 
 fish and watch over the approaches to the 
 Waters. But wait, thou shalt have thy 
 wish." 
 
 He began whistling softly and monoto- 
 nously. A water hen rose clumsily and 
 crossed the river, rippling the waves with her 
 dragging feet. 
 
 The old man cast his line anew. 
 
 Before long, there were light foot-falls on 
 the dead leaves. Two Indians emerged. 
 The fisherman talked to them, pointing to 
 Pere d'Exiles. They signed to him to follow. 
 It was dark when they arrived in the camp 
 pitched at the mouth of the river. Red, im- 
 mense, the moon was rising over the lake. 
 The moonbeams danced on the water, as it 
 lapped about the reeds near the shore. 
 
 Some thirty conical tents were set up in the
 
 356 SALT LAKE 
 
 glade. Shadows came and went before the 
 fires that had just been lighted. 
 
 The guides conducted the Jesuit to the high- 
 est tent. One of them entered, then came out 
 after a few minutes, motioning for him to go 
 in. 
 
 There were two Indians in the tent. One, 
 little and old, was huddled in a corner, almost 
 invisible. The other, sitting by a folding- 
 table, was reading a copy of the New York 
 Spectator by the light of a kerosene lamp, and 
 making notes in a memorandum book. It 
 was Arapine. He lifted his hand signifying 
 to the Jesuit that he must wait until he had 
 finished reading. He wore spurred boots, 
 grey trousers and a long dark frock-coat. His 
 shirt collar, very white, stuck out of his high 
 pedantic black cravat. His hair, plaited in 
 bluish braids, hid his ears. His forehead 
 was bound by a narrow otter band, support- 
 ing the head-dress of white feathers, the in- 
 signia of supreme authority. 
 
 He closed his note-book composedly, folded 
 the newspaper, then, looking at the Jesuit: 
 
 "Who art thou and what willst thou?" he 
 asked.
 
 SALT LAKE 357 
 
 "I am a Catholic priest. I wish to exercise 
 my calling among your people." 
 
 "Art thou an American?" 
 
 "No, a Frenchman," said Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "Sit down," said Arapine pointing to a 
 stool. 
 
 He reflected a moment. 
 
 "We have never had cause to congratulate 
 ourselves on having sheltered men of thy col- 
 our. Nevertheless, I grant thee the permis- 
 sion thou seekest, on condition, naturally, that 
 I revoke it when I see fit." 
 
 The Jesuit bowed. 
 
 A low grunt came from the obscurity at the 
 back of the tent. The old Indian stirred, 
 scarcely distinguishable in the gloom. 
 
 "What then is the matter, Choapee?" asked 
 Arapine. 
 
 The Indian approached the chief and spoke 
 into his ear. Arapine looked surprised. His 
 eyes glistened. 
 
 "How art thou called?" he asked the 
 Jesuit. 
 
 "Father Philippe d'Exiles," responded the 
 priest calmly. 
 
 "Ugh!" grunted Arapine meditatively.
 
 358 SALT LAKE 
 
 The mouth of the shrunken old Indian split 
 in a satisfied grin. 
 
 "Choapee," said Arapine, "bring that of 
 which thou hast spoken." 
 
 The Jesuit's eyes had accustomed them- 
 selves to the darkness and he was able to make 
 out a sort of rude cupboard, poked in a corner 
 of the tent. Choapee went to this piece of fur- 
 niture, opened it, hunted among several bun- 
 dles of documents and, taking out one, came 
 back to the table. 
 
 Arapine glanced through the papers care- 
 fully. 
 
 "Father Philippe d'Exiles," he said at last. 
 "Thou art he who was condemned to death 
 the twenty-fourth of January, 1854 soon will 
 it be five years by_my brother and prede- 
 cessor, Wakara, presiding over this Council?" 
 
 "It is I," said Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "Wakara notified you for the first time of 
 the sentence, as registered by the Keeper of 
 Records, Choapee, here present," continued 
 Arapine, "at Salt Lake, in 1854. The second 
 time, I did, in 1856. Then neither of those 
 notifications did reach thine eyes?" 
 
 "I received them both." 
 
 "Ugh?" muttered Arapine once more.
 
 SALT LAKE 359 
 
 And it was plain that, impassible as he was, 
 he found it difficult to conceal his amazement. 
 
 "Thou hast returned, nevertheless?" he 
 said. 
 
 "I have returned." 
 
 "Perhaps condemned by default, wouldst 
 thou appeal the sentence, and demand a 
 second trial?" 
 
 The Jesuit shrugged indifferently. 
 
 "It is thy right," said Arapine with grow- 
 ing surprise. "And it is my duty to call an 
 emergency Council which shall decide 
 whether or not there are grounds for suspend- 
 ing the judgment delivered five years gone by, 
 or revoking it, or applying it immediately." 
 
 "I await thy orders," said Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 And unconcernedly, he began to read the 
 copy of the New York Spectator left on the 
 table. 
 
 Meanwhile, Arapine continued to look 
 through the file, as Choapee handed him the 
 papers in rapid succession. 
 
 "It is well," he said when he had finished. 
 
 He lit a stubby pipe. 
 
 "The drum must be beaten," he said to 
 Choapee. 
 
 The old Indian went out. A lugubrious
 
 360 SALTLAKE 
 
 noise began. The Jesuit started slightly. 
 Arapine smiled. 
 
 "I convoke the Council," he explained. 
 "Choapee, give me sheet number one." 
 
 He examined it under the lamp. 
 
 "The sentence condemning thee was pro- 
 nounced by a tribunal of four judges and the 
 Keeper of the Records and Wakara, my 
 brother, who was the chief, presided may 
 he be in the Happy Hunting Grounds of the 
 Great Manitou, He who rules the Universe! 
 
 "Of those six members, today, four are no 
 more. There is Choapee left, and Masoaki. 
 Both will act this night, as they did then, at the 
 tribunal which will decide thy fate. The 
 four others will be the three chiefs, most ven- 
 erable of my tribe, and myself, who will pre- 
 side. Thou hast nothing to say?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Pere d'Exiles, continuing 
 his reading. 
 
 The tent-flap lifted, allowing four men to 
 enter one by one, four Indians, dressed in the 
 cast-off clothing of pade-faces. Nothing 
 could have been more ludicrous than this 
 attire, had it not been redeemed by the silent
 
 SALT LAKE 361 
 
 majesty of the Indians. They all wore the 
 otter band and the head-dress of black and 
 white feathers, while that of their chief's was 
 white. 
 
 Grave and taciturn they squatted around 
 the table. Arapine spoke. 
 
 "On the twenty-fourth of January, 1854, 
 the Supreme Council of the Utahs, my brother 
 Wakara presiding, condemned Father Phil- 
 ippe d'Exiles, a French priest, to death by 
 default, guilty of having denounced the Utahs 
 to the American Goverment, after Captain 
 Gunnison's death, the Utahs who had 
 sheltered him and trusted him. All will 
 remember." 
 
 They nodded in assent 
 
 "At any rate, here are the papers. Choapee 
 is at the disposition of the judges who would 
 see them." 
 
 One of the judges arose and questioned 
 Choapee, who read him several of the docu- 
 ments in a low voice. He sat down again. 
 
 "Today," took up Arapine, "Father 
 d'Exiles is here, in our hands. It must be 
 stated that he seems to have come of his own 
 free will. The question which presents it-
 
 362 SALT LAKE 
 
 self is: should the sentence delivered long ago 
 be executed, adjourned or annulled. I add 
 that we are bound by the circumstances in 
 which it was pronounced. Further evidence 
 alone might warrant another sentence. It 
 is for you to decide whether there have been 
 any developments since the twenty-fourth of 
 January, 1854. And, on this head, I suppose 
 the condemned wi-ll assist us with explanations 
 which it is his right to offer." 
 
 So saying, he looked at Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "I have no explanations to offer," said the 
 Jesuit coldly. 
 
 "Then will the Tribunal proceed according 
 to its lights," said Arapine. He turned to the 
 Indians. "Shall no one raise his voice? 
 Speak then, Masoaki!" 
 
 The oldest of the judges arose. He must 
 have been very ancient, for his hands, as he 
 leaned against the table, trembled violently. 
 
 "I sat on the tribunal which rendered the 
 sentence of the twenty-fourth of January, 
 1854, and I may say that on that occasion, I 
 voted for death. But today, things have 
 changed in my mind. Last year, at the rise 
 of the-Humboldt, where sent by thee, Arapine,
 
 SALT LAKE 363 
 
 I was negotiating a purchase of cattle from 
 Sokopitz, I witnessed the good this man, who 
 is about to be judged, has done there. Our 
 brothers, the Shoshonees, speak his name with 
 veneration. I consider this the evidence 
 spoken of by Arapine, and I will place a white 
 stone in the sack." 
 
 Masoaki squatted again. 
 
 "Would another speak?" asked Arapine. 
 
 A chief arose. He was the youngest. On 
 his cheeks, were tattooed two vermilion 
 crosses. 
 
 "The Shoshonees," he said, "are the 
 brothers of the Utes, but they are not Utes. 
 It is not for us to meddle in their judgments, 
 nor is it for us to look unto them that we may 
 learn how to mete out justice. That his 
 offices may have profited the Shoshonees is 
 possible, but this does not alter the facts. If 
 we are to seek for further developments, to 
 me it seems that we must find them in the per- 
 secutions, daily augmenting, that the Pale- 
 Face has inflicted upon us. By the denun- 
 ciation of this man, received among us in for- 
 mer times like a brother, were these perse- 
 cutions brought about. I will death!"
 
 364 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Has yet another words?" asked Arapine. 
 
 The judges remained silent. 
 
 "And thou," said Arapine, addressing Pere 
 d'Exiles, "hast thou nothing to say in thy de- 
 fence? I warn thee that the hour has come!" 
 
 The Jesuit shook his head. 
 
 "The cause has been heard," said Arapine. 
 
 "Choapee, distribute the stones." 
 
 The keeper of the Records gave each of the 
 five judges two stones, one white, one black. 
 They took them, closed their fists. 
 
 "The sack, now." 
 
 Making the rounds, Choapee held out a 
 small sack of buffalo-hide. In it, each judge 
 dropped a stone. Arapine voted last and 
 kept the sack, for it was he who must pro- 
 nounce the sentence. 
 
 He drew out two black stones in succession, 
 then two white stones. The fifth stone was 
 black. 
 
 "Death!" said Arapine solemnly. 
 
 "When?" asked Pere d'Exiles. 
 
 "It is the law," said the chief, "that the 
 sentence be executed at dawn, the day after 
 it has been given. It is nine o'clock. Thou 
 hast nine hours then to live until tomorrow
 
 SALT LAKE 365 
 
 morning at six o'clock, when the day shall be 
 born. Still, should it be that thou wouldst 
 delay one day, with the consent of the Coun- 
 cil, I could . . ." 
 
 "I ask nothing," said the priest. 
 
 "It is thy will. Go, then," he said address- 
 ing the judges. "With Choapee, I will watch 
 over the condemned." 
 
 The four chiefs went out as silently as they 
 had come in. 
 
 Seated on his stool in the shadow, the Jesuit 
 was praying. Arapine had taken out his 
 memorandum-book again and was making 
 notes as he read his New York Spectator. 
 
 A gentle snoring was heard. 
 
 Arapine raised his head, smiling. 
 
 "Choapee sleeps," he said. 
 
 He arose, opened a chest, took out two tin 
 plates, two cups, a bottle of rum and some 
 canned goods. Rapidly, he prepared a frugal 
 repast. 
 
 "Draw near," he said to the Jesuit, "for thou 
 perhaps wouldst eat." 
 
 They ate and drank together. The Indian 
 did not remove his eyes from his companion.
 
 366 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Wouldst thou make no request?" 
 
 "Yes," said the priest. "I had a mule with 
 me. She is in the hands of those who 
 brought me here. I ask thee to see that she 
 is cared for, though she can be of use no 
 longer, for she is growing old. I know that 
 the Indians are good to animals and that thou 
 willst not find the request a foolish one." 
 
 "I shall keep her for myself," said Arapine, 
 "and unhappy be he who would let her want 
 for anything!" 
 
 He added: 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "I can think of nothing else." 
 
 "Hast thou no desire to know what sort of 
 death shall be thine, for instance?" 
 
 "It is true," said Pere d'Exiles. "I would 
 like to suffer as little as possible." 
 
 "I promise thee." 
 
 They continued to eat in silence. The 
 snores of the old Indian grew louder. 
 
 "Drink yet another glass of rum," ordered 
 Arapine. 
 
 He emptied his own. 
 
 "Now, follow me."
 
 SALT LAKE 367 
 
 They went out. In the freezing cold, the 
 sky swarmed with stars. 
 
 The haltered horses nosed each other 
 vaguely in the dark. The ground was strewn 
 with the embers of dying fires. 
 
 "I will inspect my outposts," explained the 
 Indian. 
 
 He repeated: 
 
 "Follow me." 
 
 The Jesuit obeyed. The cold air did him 
 good. 
 
 For several minutes, without exchanging a 
 word, they followed the river, wide and 
 sluggish at its entrance into the lake. 
 
 Arapine stopped at a willow. He pulled 
 a rope a canoe came out of the shadow and 
 bumped against the bank with a muffled shock. 
 
 "There is an outpost on the other side of the 
 waters," explained the chief. "The sentry 
 is wont to neglect his duty. I will see. Canst 
 thou paddle?" 
 
 "I can," said the Jesuit. 
 
 "Then take the paddle." 
 
 They crossed the river, grounded the canoe. 
 
 "Be seated at my side," said Arapine.
 
 3 68 SALTLAKE 
 
 Again Pere d'Exiles obeyed. They stayed 
 there half an hour, an hour perhaps, watch- 
 ing the moon cross the sky. 
 
 Once more Arapine lifted his voice. 
 
 "We are here on the south bank of the 
 river." 
 
 "Yes, on the south bank, I know," said Pre 
 d'Exiles. 
 
 "If thou shouldst bend thy steps to the East, 
 in the direction of Fillmore, by following the 
 south bank, it would never occur to Indians 
 to seek thee there. Besides, thou wouldst be 
 too far . . ." 
 
 "Ah!" said the Jesuit simply. 
 
 "What awaitest thou?" came Arapine's dry 
 voice. 
 
 "I have no desire to escape," said Pere 
 d' Exiles. 
 
 "Ugh!" exclaimed Arapine. 
 
 He continued: 
 
 "And if I should leave thee here, and re- 
 turn alone to the camp, with the canoe?" 
 
 "I would stay here, and when they would 
 ask me how I came, I would tell, for my re- 
 ligion forbids falsehood." 
 
 "It also forbids suicide," said Arapine.
 
 SALT LAKE 369 
 
 A cloud hid the moon. Their faces were in 
 darkness for a moment. When the moon 
 emerged, they were both very calm. 
 
 "Let us return to camp," said Arapine. 
 
 Once back in the tent, Arapine spread the 
 ground with buffalo skins. 
 
 "Lie down," he said, "and try to sleep." 
 
 "And thou?" 
 
 "I leave after a while, with some horsemen, 
 to see what is happening on the road to the 
 East. I do not return until noon. Fare- 
 well." 
 
 He left him. The Jesuit stretched out on 
 the skins and lifted the tent-flap so that he 
 could see the lake, gleaming through the fir- 
 trees like an immense turquoise moon. Choa- 
 pee snored no longer. 
 
 In the camp, about four o'clock, there were 
 muffled calls, then the sound of horses' hoofs. 
 It was Arapine and his escort, going on their 
 reconnoitering party eastward. 
 
 About two hours later, a bird began to sing 
 in the trees, then, soon after, the day dawned.
 
 L 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 OOK, sir, here are some more tele- 
 grams of congratulation," cried 
 Lieutenant Codrinton, General 
 Rutledge's aide-de-camp, bursting into his 
 chief's office. 
 
 "Well, well, my ladl" cried the general 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Eight, nine, ten ... fourteen, fifteen, 
 sixteen. And forty-one this morning, that 
 makes fifty-seven. Fifty-seven telegrams of 
 congratulation in one day , sir, and that won't 
 be all, either." 
 
 "My dear boy," said Rutledge, who took 
 genuine pleasure in the young man's trans- 
 ports. 
 
 "Let's open them quick! This official one 
 first: GENERAL RUTLEDGE, INDIANAPOLIS, IN- 
 DIANA. 'Was very glad to sign your appoint- 
 ment as Governor Territory of Utah. Extend 
 personal congratulations as well as best wishes 
 for success . . . Oh, sir, who do you think 
 
 370
 
 SALTLAKE 371 
 
 that's from! President Chester himself I" 
 
 "The President is very kind, indeed," said 
 Rutledge with emotion. 
 
 But Codrinton had already opened another 
 dispatch. 
 
 "PARIS, JULY 26, 1882," he read. "My 
 friends and I\ delighted with appointment 
 promising victory progressive ideas and ring- 
 ing knell reaction.' It's signed GAMBETTA." 
 
 "Gambetta, Leon Gambetta," said Rut- 
 ledge. "The most prominent politician in 
 France. I had the honour of knowing him 
 in Paris when I was military attache." 
 
 "Another cable from Paris!" cried the lieu- 
 tenant. 'Affectionate congratulations, dear 
 friend. Hope for great pleasure of seeing 
 you again!' Signed: PAIVA." 
 
 "From Mme. Paiva!" cried the general. 
 "What a charming woman! It was at her 
 residence on the Champs-Elysees that I met 
 M. Leon Gambetta, as well as Count Henc- 
 kel von Donnersmarck, whose congratula- 
 tions reached me this morning. Ah! Paris, 
 Paris, adorable city!" 
 
 He stuffed this last message into his port- 
 folio.
 
 372 SALT LAKE 
 
 "Mrs. Rutledge had better not see this," 
 he said with a smile. "Woman are curiously 
 suspicious at times. Ah! Paris, Paris 1" 
 
 "It's a beautiful city, isn't it?" asked young 
 Codrinton, who was drinking in his chief's 
 words. 
 
 "A beautiful city! Ah! such a city . . . 
 You must go there some day, too, as military 
 attache, my dear boy. You can count on me 
 to ... You know people can always count 
 
 on me." 
 
 "I shan't ever want to leave you, sir," said 
 Codrinton. 
 
 "My boy, my dear boy!" exclaimed Rut- 
 ledge. 
 
 And he shook his aid's hand fervently. 
 
 "Go on opening the telegrams," said the 
 general. 
 
 ' 'Am happy to hear of appointment which 
 assures me most cordial and efficacious collab- 
 oration.. .Remembrances and best wishes. 
 Signed: JEMINI GWINETT." 
 
 "Ah!" said Rutledge. "That's interesting 
 he's the President of the Mormon Church." 
 
 "Do you know him?" asked Codrinton. 
 
 "Slightly. He took part in Johnston's
 
 SALT LAKE 373 
 
 expedition of 1858, as a chaplain a fact few 
 are aware of I myself was a lieutenant in 
 Johnston's army . . ." 
 
 "Second Dragoons, first platoon," finished 
 Codrington. 
 
 "Exactly," said the general with a kind 
 smile. "In Salt Lake City, Gwinett was con- 
 verted to Mormonism. Since then, he has 
 risen in the world. When President Brig- 
 ham died six years ago, covered with honours 
 and ripe years, the Apostles unanimously 
 elected Gwinett to fill his place. There's a 
 clever man for you!" 
 
 "You will be on the best of terms with him, 
 then," said the lieutenant. 
 
 "I should hope so." 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 "Just the same, we can't get our youth back 
 thinking about old times!" 
 
 "Have you ever been back to Salt Lake 
 since then, sir?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "How impressive it must be," said young 
 Codrinton, "to re-enter a city as a general, 
 when you passed through it twenty-five years 
 before just a lieutenant!"
 
 374 SALT LAKE 
 
 "My dear boy, you will have that pleasure 
 some day," said Rutledge, "but listen to this 
 grey head, it's better yet to be young!" 
 
 Governor Rutledge entered Salt Lake City 
 in state, August eleventh, 1882, at ten o'clock 
 in the morning. 
 
 All the civil, religious and military person- 
 ages of the Territory were present at the great 
 banquet given by the President of the Church 
 at noon. At President Gwinett's right was 
 Mrs. Regina Rutledge, and the Governor sat 
 to the right of Mrs. Sarah Gwinett. 
 
 About three o'clock, after the toasts which 
 had been many and cordial, General Connor, 
 commanding the army post, approached Rut- 
 ledge. 
 
 "Remember, my dear General, you prom- 
 ised the boys to come and have some' cham- 
 pagne with them at Camp Douglas." 
 
 "I won't forget," said Rutledge. 
 
 At four o'clock, accompanied by General 
 Connor, young Codrinton and two officers, 
 he took leave of the President of the Church, 
 whom he was to see again at the banquet he
 
 SALT LAKE 375 
 
 himself was giving at the Government-House 
 that night. 
 
 They drove to the camp situated at an 
 altitude of 5,000 feet in two carriages, each 
 drawn by four mules. As they climbed, Rut- 
 ledge turned around to contemplate the im- 
 posing panorama, where Salt Lake sparkled 
 in the sunlight. 
 
 Up to that moment, it had been a beautiful 
 day. Suddenly, clouds began to gather in 
 the sky. A storm was brewing. 
 
 "Hurry, hurry!" shouted General Connor 
 to the drivers. 
 
 The carriages tore along the road. 
 
 "These storms are really cloud-bursts," 
 said Connor to the governor. "Fortunately 
 here we are at the East Temple Asylum. We 
 can stop there until the tornado is over." 
 
 "The East Temple Asylum?" questioned 
 the Governor. 
 
 "It's an institution for destitute old people, 
 a hospital and asylum combined. The Super- 
 intendent will be glad and proud to . . ." 
 
 "I myself will be very glad to stop and 
 visit the institution," said Rutledge. "A con-
 
 376 SALTLAKE 
 
 scientious democracy ought to take the best 
 of care of its poor out-casts." 
 
 The wind and the torrents of rain drowned 
 his last words. The little party jumped out 
 of the carriages and ran into the parlour of the 
 institution, barely escaping the downpour. 
 
 Flushed with emotion, the superintendent 
 appeared. 
 
 His institution was so well kept, that it 
 deserved the highest praises, and the governor 
 did not spare any. With his officers, he 
 looked in turn into wide, airy dormitories, 
 yards, courts, and the refectory the inmates, 
 rheumatic old women and old men in their 
 second childhood, watched them, dull-eyed 
 and silent. 
 
 The sun had come out again and shone 
 smilingly on the window-panes. 
 
 "We can go now, sir," whispered Codrin- 
 ton. 
 
 "The kitchen, Mr. Governor, you haven't 
 seen the kitchens!" pleaded the superinten- 
 dent, bursting with pride. 
 
 "Let us see the kitchens then," said Rut- 
 ledge affably. 
 
 They entered. A giant cook stood at atten-
 
 SALTLAKE 377 
 
 tion in front of a copper kettle big enough to 
 contain an ox. 
 
 In a corner, under the supervision of a 
 woman of austere mien, was a group of the 
 inmates, dressed in coarse brown garments. 
 They were peeling vegetables. 
 
 There were three old men and two old 
 women, wretched human waste. They hardly 
 lifted their eyes as the brilliant staff drew near. 
 
 "I would like to call your attention, Mr. 
 Governor," began the superintendent, without 
 noticing that his illustrious guest had turned 
 ghastly white. 
 
 He had no time to finish his sentence. 
 With a shrill scream, one of the two old 
 women, snatching up a handful of the rub- 
 bish strewing the floor, had flung it into Rut- 
 ledge's face. 
 
 THE END
 
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