The hooded snake : a story of the secret police

THE HOODED SNAKE

A STORY OF

G% Bttxrt Indict

" To beguile the time,
Look like the time, bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under it.'

SHAKESrEAUE.

BY

WATTS PHILLIPS,

AUTHOR Oi' "JOSEPH CHAVItiNY," "THE TOOR STROLLERS
"THE DEAL) HEART," ETC., ETC.

LONDON:
WARD AND LOCK,

15S, FLEET STUEET.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY ADAMS AND GEE, 23, MIDDLE STREET,

■\VISST SMITI1FIELD, E.C.

PREFACE.

The publishers of the " Hooded Snake" havo
suggested to its author that a few words of prefaco
are necessary, inasmuch as the scene of the story-
being laid in France, and as it has been the writer's
endeavour to make his characters act and talk some-
what after the fashion of Frenchmen, the charge of
adaptation, or translation, is almost certain to be
brought against him by all those young critics whose
knowledge of French literature consists of an inti-
mate accpiaintance with, at the most, half-a-dozen of
its best known authors. It is, therefore, but right to
state that the story — such as it is — owes its parentage

IV PREFACE.

t

to the author's imagination only, and is derived from
no foreign source whatever. Such assertion, as regards
the " Hooded Snake," is rendered doubly necessary
from the fact, that, a year or two since, its author
produced a drama, — " The Poor Strollers" — which it
pleased a good-natured public to honour with a de-
cided approbation ; but, the very " flavour of sunny
France," which the author had endeavoured to diffuse
throughout his drama, was, with certain critics, seized
upon as groundwork for suspicion ; and, without point-
ing to a line in proof, they hinted at a '"possible
adaptation." — Had he invested the French strollers
with the coarser attributes of the English mounte-
bank, and made bis characters English in everything
but their birthplace, he might possibly have been
allowed the parentage of his own drama; as it was,
these precious young critics abused the public for
persisting in its first opinion as to the drama's merits,
and endeavoured by a " sneer" to do what they had
failed to accomplish by proof. The author at the
time received such criticism with a smile, and now
speaks of it with indifference ; yet it is but right, when
the word original appears upon the title-page of either

PREFACE. V

drama or novel, that the writer should be considered
distinctly to pledge himself to its truth.

The story of the " Hooded Snake" is intended
to illustrate that corruption of manners arising out of
the spy system, which attained so wonderful and
alarming a development under the direction of the
famous, or infamous Joseph Fouche, and it is a story
that can hardly fail to interest the readers of the
present day — when, unfortunately, a vast system of
espionage is again organised in France — where the
outspoken thought of the honest man is an offence to
be punished as severely as though he had broken into
his neighbour's house, or raised a hand against his
neighbour's life — where " repression and surveillance
have been carried to their extreme point, and are pro-
ducing a social uneasiness of which no one can pre-
dict the result ;"•" 1,200,000 francs have been demanded
by the French Government, and granted by the Legis-
lative Body, in addition to the 2,000,000 francs already
dedicated to the supp ort of that terrible instrument

* " Times" newspaper. Mi.rcli 23nl, 1858.

■VI PREFACE.

of despotism — the secret police, and the warning con-
veyed in Beranger's well-known song —

" Parlons bas,
Parlons bas,
Ici pris j'ai vu Judas,
J'ai ?u Judas, j'ai vu Judas,"

can never be uttered with more truthful effect than
at the present time, when " Monsieur Judas" walks
the streets in safety — and men eye each other askance
— doubtful whether the fair-spoken friend is not a
spy, whose name is secretly enrolled among, " Lea
limiers de la Police."

The story of " The Hooded Snake" is laid in the
days of Fouche ; but, unless continental politics un-
dergo a great change, such a treachery as it describes
will soon find many a parallel in our own.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

PAGE

The Reader makes the acquaintance of Pere Dominique,
is introduced to Monsieur Anatole Chiffon, and also
gets a glimpse of the Baron D'Aubigny's guests . 1

CHAPTER II.

The Baron D'Aubigny and his daughter — The Chevalier de
Preville and his son — An Enthusiast, and a Laughing
Philosopher . . . . . .21

CHAPTER III.

The Morning after the Storm . . . .36

CHAPTER IV.

Eugenie and Yvonne — Keroulas relates a story, and the

Reader makes a discovery . . . .52

CHAPTER V.
A peep into the Baron's Study — Suspicions . . 64

CHAPTER VI.

The Banm takes Victor into his confidence— Keroulas—

The Plot thickens . . • • -87

CHAPTER VII.
The Rivals— Hands not hearts— M. Anatole Cuiflbn . 'X<

Vlll. CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VIII.

PAGE

Husband and Wife — Victor's Midnight Vigil — The Hooded

Snake 107

CHAPTER IX.

Father and Son — A change of Plans — Diamond cut Dia-
mond ....... 125

CHAPTER X.

Paul Lebrun has a Stroke of Good Fortune — A Coining

Storm ...... 1-J3

CHAPTER XL
Cape Ra2 ....... 159

CHAPTER XII.
Fouches Agents— Patrician and Plebeian . . . 170

CHAPTER XIII.

Yvonne — The First and Last Kiss . . .186

CHAPTER XIV.
Retribution . . . . . .197

CHAPTER XV.
Anatole Chiffon's Night Ride, and its Termination . 217

THE HOODED SNAKE.

CHAPTER I.

THE READER MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OP PeRE
DOMINIQUE, IS INTRODUCED TO MONSIEUR ANATOLE
CHIFFON, AND ALSO GETS A GLIMPSE OF THE BARON

d'aubigny's GUESTS.

The scene of our story lies in Brittany. It is one
of those stormy nights so frequent on the gloomy
Breton coasts, upon which the very shadow of death
seems ever to rest, when Nature puts on her fiercest
aspect, and the sea, lashed into fury by the wind,
tosses its gigantic waves against the rocks, as though it
would overleap every barrier that stood between it and
its prey — trembling and awe-struck man. The voice
of the storm is heard for miles inland ; and the peasant,
hurrying homewards to his solitary hut across the
savage and dreary landes, pauses to cross himself,
while his blue lips move in prayer for help against the
fiend that, as he believes, rides upon and rules the
mighty blast ; while the fierce inhabitant of the coast,
whose home is perched among the rocks, like the nest

B

2 THE HOODED SNAKE.

of the vulture and the osprey ; and who, it is said, is
as dangerous to the storm-smitten vessel as the rocks
themselves, turns his scowling eye from the great fire
of dried reeds and broom over which he is crouched,
to the wall of his hut, where hangs a painted effigy of
the Virgin, and prays that to-morrow's sun will rise on
a wreck-strewn shore ; while his rough helpmate
fastens the shutter, shielding her eyes the while, lest
she should glance without and be driven into madness
by the sight of the spectral crierien — those phantom
forms of shipwrecked men, who are ever driven on-
wards by a pitiless wind that mocks their cries for
Christian burial.

" None pass Cape B,az without hurt or fright," says
the Breton proverb, and this night the grim features of
those cruel rocks are hidden behind a shroud of blind-
ing mist, as the bravo hides the dagger beneath his
cloak, waiting for the coming prey. A wild night, a
wild coast, and a wild people. "Well may the Breton
sailors pray, "Help me, great God, at Cape Raz ; my
ship is so small, and my need is so great ! "

" Why don't you open the door, some .of you 1 "
said Dominique Eonchamp, as a loud knocking was
heard at the door of his farm.

Upon ordinary occasions Pere Dominique was not
a man to be trifled with. A Breton farmer is king
under his own roof, and at times, the government of
farmer Bonchamp verged upon the despotic ; but when
superhuman influence is dreaded, mere human influence

THE HOODED SNAKE. 3

goes for naught ; so the circle of men , women, and
children constituting the living furniture of Pere
Dominique's house sat motionless, and as the knocking
increased, only gazed more fixedly at the fire.

" Open the door ; do you hear 1 "

Had the circle been a circle of Druidical stones, it
could not have been more deaf to his command.

"Marie Jeanne," and he addressed a stalwart
Breton servant-wench ; "do you go, or — " and the
words came slowly through his lips, as the better to
impress upon his auditors the enormity of their per-
mitting such an act, " or am I to open the door
myself."

There was a movement in the circle, and upon each
face there beamed but one expression — a devout wish
that he would.

The Pere Dominique was fat — unusually fat for a
Breton — and, therefore, somewhat lethargic ; but, as
the knocking continued, he made an effort to rise.

" Stay, PSre Dominique ;" and a young peasant rose
hastily from his seat, " since the door must be opened,
I'll do it ; though," and he crossed himself devoutly,
"none but the fiend would knock at an honest man's
door on such a night as this."

" None but a dishonest man would turn even a
dog from his door, on such a night. Why, you're as
white as the meal tub ; I thought you had more
courage, Keroulas."

" Courage ! " and the young peasant drew himself

4 THE HOODED SNAKE.

proudly up, while his dark eyes flashed from beneath
his long hair, which, after the fashion of his country,
hung long upon his shoulders ; " courage ! If there's
any man but yourself, Pere Dominique, in either Leon
or Cornouaille, who doubts that, he is welcome to
seek the proof. But when it comes to a wrestling-
match with — "

" I heard the wheels of the death-cart plainly to-
night, as I came from the fields," broke in, with a se-
pulchral voice, a cadaverous-looking peasant, who sat
as rivetted to his seat, with his hollow eyes fixed on
the fire. " Two skeletons were driving it as usual, for
I heard their bones rattle in the wind ; but I shut my
eyes as close as a rat-trap when it passed, for to look
on them is death ! "

Kex-oulas, who was moving towards the door, upon
hearing this piece of cheering intelligence, halted
abruptly, and glanced uneasily at the dark passage he
must traverse to reach the principal entrance to the
farm, when a voice, gentle and bird-like, that ever-
sung sweet music in his ear, said —

" No harm can befall the good, — nor any other,
while the blessed Virgin has them in her care. I will
go with you, Keroulas."

The speaker was the only daughter of Dominique
Bon champ, — a young girl between seventeen and
eighteen years of age : her slight figure set off to ad-
vantage by the graceful Breton costume ; her large
calm eyes were full of a holy simplicity ; and her face,

THE HOODED SNAKE. O

"with its look of quiet serenity, was such as might have
inspired the artist-monks, when, with a wondrous pa-
tience, they illuminated with many a saint-like face,
the heavy missals that formed the only ornaments of
their gloomy cells. It was a calm face, but not a sad
one, for a smile was ever hovering about the lips, — as
the Peri lingered by the half-closed gates of paradise.
" Nay, Yvonne," said Keroulas, hastily, as she rose
and was about to move towards him, " to permit that
I must lack both courage and shame. If my cheek
wanted colour, as father Dominique said, just now,
your words have brought it back again." And then,
before Yvonne could make answer, he had snatched up
a light and disappeared into the passage that led to
the door.

" Brehan, the miller, was set upon by the Courils*
when returning from Quiinper," began the peasant with
the cadaverous countenance, who was called Martin,
and seemed to be especially rich in ghostly anecdote.
"He came upon them suddenly, and was endeavouring
to creep away, when they caught sight of him, for the
moonlight was lying thick as snow upon the ground,
and he was surrounded in a moment."

" Did he dance with them 1 " asked Marie
Jeanne, the dilation of whose eyes kept pace with
Martin's story.

* The Courils are malignant dwarfs, that, according to
Breton superstition, when disturbed at their moonlight revels,
force the intruder to join in their dance till he dies of the fatigue.

6 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" Did he dance with them 1 of course not ; or he
■would never have lived to tell the story. Fortunately
for him, he had a phial of holy water in his pouch ; it
had been blessed that very day by the Bishop himself.
But the Courils seized him, and carried him through
the air nevertheless, leaving him insensible at his own
door, where his wife found him in the morning ! "

" Paul Lebrun says the miller was drunk, and that
the Courils were the white fence-posts which he saw
turning round in the road !"

All shook their heads in grave dissent at this solu-
tion ; and the speaker, a small, active, dark-eyed boy,
shrunk behind the seat of Yvonne, abashed at the un-
pleasant reception his speech had met with ; for even
Pere Dominique sent a glance of deep reproach to-
wards him.

"Hush!"

The heavy tread of Keroulas was heard returning.
It was accompanied by that of a much lighter person ;
and when Keroulas, who was the first to emerge from
the passage, appeared, he was greeted by all with the
question,

" Who is it ?"

To Dominique Eonchamp, Keroulas made reply.

"Nobody : that is, nobody in particular. It's
Monsieur Chiffon."

And the young Breton, in a not very gracious
manner, put down the light, and, without further heed
of the new comer, resumed his seat.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 7

The effect of the announcement was different upon
Dominique. After one or two efforts he rose on his
legs and advanced towards his unexpected guest.

"You are welcome, you are welcome, Monsieur
Chiffon. It is to be hoped the news you bring will
prove better than the weather. How does Monsieur
le Baron ? Is your young mistress well ? she was
somewhat ailing when Yvonne saw her yesterday.
Where is your horse 1 you have put him up in the
stable : ah ! you know our ways, I see. What could
have brought you abroad on such a night 1 your clothes
are pouring a cataract ! " and then, without pausing for
a reply to his questions, he turned angrily to the circle
round the fire : " Get up some of you ! Isthis Breton
hospitality 1 What says the proverb 1 ' The best seat
in the house for the stranger, and the best dish at the
table,' and shall Monsieur Chiffon, Monsieur le Baron's
valet, have less 1 Marie Jeanne ! some more wood on
the fire, and a fresh stool on the hearth."

The person to whom this welcome was addressed
let his heavy and saturated cloak fall from his
shoulders : then throwing his hat and whip upon an
adjacent bench, stepped into the centre of the now
widened circle, and, after throwing a rapid look
around — which, however, comprehended each of its
members — he turned his back upon them all, and
stretohed a pair of long lean hands over the flaming
logs, — when having sufficiently warmed them, he drew
them several times one over the other with a sharp

b THE HOODED SNAKE.

crackling sound — then wheeled round, and once more
faced the group,

" So you took me for the fiend himself, I suppose,
that you kept me so long beating the outside of your
door ; parbleti ! even he might he excused for seeking
a shelter on such a night — nor would it be Christian-
like to refuse it."

A murmur of disapprobation came from the pea-
sants. It was evident that Monsieur Chiffon stood by
no means high in their regard.

Chiffon was a small, lean, sallow man, of that un-
decided age which leaves the guesser at fault as to its
exact place between forty and fifty ; his hair, which
grew thinly about his head, in ragged tufts, like patches
of heath in an unfavourable soil, was of that un-
pleasant hue known as " foxy ; " but the true " foxy "
character wes in the eyes — small, quick, and piercing ;
they gleamed from beneath the brows with a restless,
furtive look, never resting long upon any one object,
yet taking in all its points, whatever they might be, at
a glance. The nose, which was slightly hooked, rose
above a pair of thin, restless lips, continually moved
by a nervous twitching at the corners. The neck was
long and bent forward, though not from the weight of
the head, which was unusually small. A decided pro-
trusion of the lower part of the face, a wrinkling of
the skin about the eyes, and a pricking back of the
ears, whenever the faculties of Monsieur Chiffon be-
came keenly excited, gave him the appearance of one

THE HOODED SNAKE. 9

of those wild animals which creep with slow and
stealthy steps, nearer and nearer ; till, certain of their
prey, they make the final spring, dartingwith the swift-
ness of an arrow through ths trembling air.

Of Monsieur Anatole Chiffon's past history, nothing
was known, at least in Brittany, where he had ap-
peared two years previous to the date of our story,
bringing with him a letter of recommendation to the
Chevalier de Preville, from one of the Chevalier's old
Parisian associates, who had been — so the letter set
forth — for many years the fortunate possessor of Mon-
sieur Anatole's services, but, dying from the effects of
a sword thrust received in a street quarrel, he left him
(M. Chiffon) as a legacy to the Chevalier, or — whoever
else would provide provide for him.

The Chevalier de Preville — a gay, light-hearted
gentleman, who had been a reckless bon vivant under
the monarchy, a careless, reckless fugitive during the
worst days of the Republic — had returned to Paris
after the fall of the Terrorists, but was forced again to
leave that city, having in some Avay incurred the sus-
picion of the lynx-eyed Pouche, then Minister of
Police, and retired with his only son, Victor de Pre-
ville, to Pontarlac, a small estate belonging to him in
Brittany, the only remnant — that much extravagance
and numerous confiscations had left — of a once princely
fortune. Upon this estate lie had lived in seclusion
for three years, visiting only his nearest neighbour, the
Baron d'Aubigny, one of the richest proprietors in

10 THE HOODED SNAKE.

Brittany, with whom he loved to talk over those bril-
liant and by-gone days when fashion and folly — the
terms are but too often synonymous — held misrule in
Paris, and vice sat crowned with the diadem of a king.
Since then, the whirligig of time had brought its
changes. The Baron d'Aubigny had become a sterner
and a wiser man for the niauy lessons that experience
had taught. Not so the Chevalier ; it was his boast
that he had sailed hitherto laughing down the stream
of life, and laughing he would finish the voyage,
gliding into that sea of oblivion — for, according to his
philosophy, it was such — the grave. The ghastly pre-
sence of the guillotine brought with it no terrors for
him ; he had plotted and counter-plotted under its very
shadow ; and now, that it had passed away, and all
Trance was embodied in one man — who, like the angel
of death, was destined to sweep over Europe — its
glory and its scourge, the Chevalier suddenly gave over
plotting, and retired, as he said, " like Cincinnatus, to
his cabbage garden, the cabbage being a vegetable in
which careful cultivation might develop a soundness of
heart that it would be in vain to look for in man."
With the Chevalier, life was, in the words of a French
writer, "a chaplet of small joys and petty miseries
which the philosopher shakes with a laugh."

The chevalier was too poor to treat himself to the
luxury of such an accomplished valet as Anatole
Chiffon, and too good-natured (the world said good
nature was the Chevalier's one fault) to rudely turn

THE HOODED SNAKE. 11

away his friend's bequest — so lie made it over to his
friend D'Aubigny, to whose fortune half-a-dozen mouths,
more or less, could make no difference.

And thus it was that Anatole Chiffon became valet
to the Baron D'Aubigny.

We must now apologize to our readers, and also to
those asssembled in Farmer Bonchamp's house, for
leaving Monsieur Chiffon standing so long with his
back to the fire.

" Such subjects are ill to jest upon, Monsieur
Chiffon," said the farmer, reproachfully, as the valet
moved towards a seat, selecting — not that placed for
him — but the one left vacant by Keroulas, who had
risen to assist in drawing the wine, which Marie Jeanne
was preparing to warm over the fire.

This preference will not be wondered at when we
state that the seat vacated by the young peasant was
next to that of the pretty Yvonne, who, however,
seemed but little pleased by the change of neighbours.

" Why ill to jest upon, Pere Dominique ? He who
makes but a jest of the devil, fears him not ; and is it
not a mark of holiness to set him and his at defiance 1 "

Seven hands simultaneously crossed seven bosoms,*
as farmer Bonchamp made answer —

"At certain times, the demons have power, and

* " A Breton peasant " says the proverb ," has ever a prayer
on his lip, and a cross at his finger end. Among the lower class,
no true Breton places bread to his lips, without first making the
cross upon it with his knife.

12 THE HOODED SNAKE.

then ensues the commotion in the air, for there is no
rest for the elements, when Satan is unloosed."

" Nor much for man, when such a storm as this is
raging — whew ! how it blew as I crossed the heath ;"
and pursing his thin lips, Chiffon gave a shrill whistle
in imitation of the sound of the wind at a distance,
'ere it came roaring and shrieking round the house.

" Don't do that !" implored Martin, with something
like a menace in his voice, " without you wish to
bring the hurricane upon us, till it blows the roof from
the farm, and the wall about our ears ; for if that comes
to pass, even the Buguel iSTos could not save us."

" And who may that gentleman be 1 I never heard
his name before/'

" He never heard of the Buguel Nos !"*

Here all the peasants leaned solemnly forward and
gazed pityingly at the unmoved Chiffon, while Martin,
sinking his voice into a whisper, continued —

" The Buguel Nos is the friend of man. Only pray
to him for aid, and he is sure to be by your side in the
extremity of danger."

" A friend in need is a friend indeed ; it shall be
my endeavour to make the acquaintance of your Buguel
Nos."

* The Buguel Nos, a supernatural being of vast stature, which
increases as he approachesthose to whom he appears. The Buguel
Nos resembles, in some peculiarities, the Number Nip of the
Germans, only that the former is ever friendly in his intentions
towards man.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 13

Without heeding the interruption, Martin went on.

" I have seen him."

" You have ?"

" I have !" A buzz of excitement from the pea-
sants. Martin was evidently considered by all as an
extraordinary man. " I saw him near Pont Croix. I
got somehow benighted, and lost my road about two
miles to the west of Andenac's farm, close upon the
rising ground that overlooks Deadman's Bay, where
the Dutch brig went to pieces. You can imagine my
fear."

" They could, they did !" Chiffon glanced sharply at
the pale serious faces about him ; it was plain they
shared it.

" Luckily, I had a bottle of brandy — genuine
Nantz — and took a long steady draught."

The peasants drew in their breath, then smacked
their lips ; it was done unconsciously, but with a
relish.

" I then sat down to think over what had best
be done. I sat for nearly an hour, turning over first
one thing, then another in my mind ; when, putting
down my hand for the Nantes, I found the bottle —
empty ! I at once came to the conclusion — "

" That you had drunk its contents."

Martin gave the valet a look of contempt. " That
I was on unholy ground ; and scarcely had I become
aware of this, than the stone upon which 1 was seated
began to whirl rapidly round. At the sam time I

14

THE HOODED SNAKE.

descried something black approaching over the
heath."

The peasants crossed themselves.
" It stopped some dozen yards from me, but with-
out being aware of my presence, for I had crawled be-
hind the stone which had served me for a seat ; and
then I plainly saw the tail and horns, and knew it was
the fiend himself."

Martin's listeners glanced oyer their shoulders, and
drew their stools closer together.

" He walked round and round the stone, evidently
looking for me."

" I thought he hadn't seen you ;" said the incredu-
lous Chiffon.

" When I remembered," continued Martin, who
was not to be put out in his narrative, "the Bnguel
Kos, and prayed to him to relieve me from my
danger."

"Did -he come?"

" Could I be here, if he had not ? Suddenly his tall
form stepped from out the mist, wbich'seemecl as thick
as a wall, and he stood between me and the Accursed
One; his figure grew larger and taller as he approached
me, till it seemed as though the stars were resting on
his forehead- — at last he stood by my side."

" Could you see the stars through the mist that was
as thick as a wall ?" put in Chiffon, slily.

" He loosed his long white mantle from his
shoulders, and just as the fiend uttered a fearful yell,

THE HOODED SNAKE. 15

and made a rush forward, he dropped it over me. I
was saved."

A long sigh of relief from the peasants. Then
Martin, pointing to the dark-eyed boy, who, racovered
from his rebuff, was playing with the logs on the fire,
said, " Zizi knows what I relate to be true ; for his
father — rest his soul ! — was one of those who found me
in the morning."

" That he did ;" laughed the urchin, twirling apiece
of the burning wood between his fingers, " That he did.
He was out a reed-gathering, when he came upon
Martin, stretched on the ground. He did'nt make out
a man at first, because Martin was half covered by a
snow-drift, and, therefore, would'nt have stopped, but
that one of Andenac's black cows, which had wandered
in the night, was lying down close by."

" Ah ! ah ! I see ; and in endeavouring to catch
the cow, he lighted upon Martin," laughed Chiffon.

" So it pleased the blessed St. Iflam to direct it,"
broke in Martin. " Talac found me beneath the snow-
drift, half-dead, with the empty bottle beside me."
Here the murmur of flhanksgiving and the irreverent
mirth of Chiffon, were alike interrupted by a fresh
knocking at the outer door. And this time there was
slight delay in answering the summons, Chiffon, at the
first stroke, leaping lightly to his feet.

" As I expected ; they have made out the farm by
the light from the windows. These gentlemen" are
gueSts^for Monsieur le Daron," he said, in brief expla-

16 THE HOODED SNAKE.

nation to Bonchamp, who had also risen ; " they come
from the coast, and the Baron, who knew they must
take your farm on the way, desired me to meet them
here, and bring them on."

" Will they go on to the maison D'Aubigny to-
night ?" inquired the farmer, as several of the labour-
ers hurried to the door to render assistance to the
travellers.

" The Baron's orders are imperative. Besides, a
man can but be wet through ; and these gentlemen
must be as thoroughly sea-soaked as the weeds that
float upon the billows. It's not easy landing at the
best of times near Cape Raz."

" Landing ! why there was but one ship off the
shore before nightfall. Baul Lebrun said it was an
English brig by the build, though she carried French
colours. I hope these messieurs are not English. In
most things the Baron's word is law ; but — "

"English ! no." Chiffon paused, then glanced up-
wards with his glittering eyes into the open face of the
farmer. " So Paul Lebrun thought that vessel Eng-
lish — umph !"

" Paul ought to know : he has been in one of their
prisons on the other side of the water !"

" Ah ! nothing is so little likely to rust in the
memory as the remembrance of a wrong. And, upon
an emergency, where might this kno wing gentleman
be found ?"

" At Pont Croix : a good sailor, though a wild one."

THE HOODED SNAKE. 17

" From England ! it may be — and yet," muttered
Chiffon, as the farmer left him to ■welcome the new-
arrivals, " I would give something to be certain ; nay,
I must be certain. Let me see. Le Brun — Pont
Croix : that must not slip my memory."

Two persons, — gentlemen by their perfect ease of
manner and general bearing — had entered the large
room ; and now, conducted by Pere Dominique, ad-
vanced towards the fire, shaking, as they did so, the rain
from their garments ; the peasants, who had all risen,
drawing back respectfully as the strangers approached.

" You say that my good friend, the Baron
D'Aubigny, has sent us a guide. By my faith, we stand
in no small need of one, if the remaining part of the
road is as difficult to follow as that we have already
traversed. Oh !" and the speaker, a tall, dark man,
with a somewhat clerical appearance, eyed Chiffon in-
quisitively, as that gentleman advanced, and stood
bowing before him, " you are the envoy, I sup-
pose?"

"Monsieur supposes correctly. I am the confidential
servant of Monsieur le Baron d'Aubigny."

" Bah ! the servant who proclaims his position thus
loudly, is seldom worthy of the confidence bestowed."
Then, turning to his companion, he continued, "'Twere
useless to tarry here, Dupont. The distance to the
maison d'Aubigny is only two miles, so the good farmer
informs me ; and, guided by this fellow, we shall travel
it safely and quickly."

18 THE HOODED SNAKE.

At the word " fellow," uttered somewhat con-
temptuously by the tall, dark man, a close observer
might have seen a quick, almost savage gleam, dart
from the eyes of Chiffon, — but there were no such
close observers present, — and, in a moment, the fierce
gleam was gone, and the face as unruffled as before.

" Tt was Monsieur le Baron's wish that messieurs
should not delay on the road."

The dark man again eyed him keenly. " Did my
friend, the Baron, give a reason for his wish ¥'

Chiffon shrugged his shoulders.

" It is for me to obey Monsieur le Baron's com-
mands. It is for others to demand their reason."

"A sharp knave," thought- the stranger. Then
turning to his companion — " We must depart at once,
it seems, but not before we have thanked this honest
Breton for his proffered hospitality. I have travelled
much, but it is only in Brittany so warm a welcome
meets a stranger on the threshold."

" That smells well," said the smaller of the two
strangers, addressed by the other as Dupont — "that
smells well," and he pointed to the bowl of warm wine
which Marie Jeanne had just lifted from the fire.

" Nor will its taste be less pleasing, I trust ;"' and
Dominique Bonchamp, taking the bowl from Marie
Jeanne, handed it first to the taller stranger, who he
instinctively recognised as the other's superior in rank.
" Drink, Monsieur, and accept the old Breton saluta-
tion — the blessing of God be with you !"

THE HOODED SNAKE. 19

" And with you, friend." Then, taking a long
draught of the wine, the dark man handed the howl
to his companion, who returned it empty to Marie
Jeanne, much to the chagrin of Chiffon, for whose
refection this delectable beverage had been expressly
prepared.

" A draught to quicken the blood and awaken a
fresh life in the reins of the dying. And now, if my
friend, here, with the hawk visage, is agreeable, we
will start for the maison D'Aubigny."

" Stop a moment, Marcel, let us first" — and Dupont,
who had taken out his purse, prepared to draw the
strings, when Pere Dominique laid a friendly but
heavy hand upon his arm.

" Put up your money, Monsieur, we Bretons give,
but do not sell, our hospitality, and least of all would
we sell it to the friends of Baron D'Aubigny."

Dupont coloured, stammered out an excuse, and
hastily returned his purse to his pocket, while Marcel,
the taller of the two, prepared to re-adjust his cloak,
first unloosing, for a moment, the strap which attached
a small leathern case to his side.

" No offence is taken, Monsieur, nor, I hope, given,"
said the farmer, when an exclamation from Marcel
startled the company.

" Venlrebleu ! you are too officious, sirrah ! how
dare you, unasked, touch aught of mine 1" Chiffon,
who had lifted the little travelling case, replaced it
quietly on the bench.

20 THE HOODED SXAKE.

" Pardon me ; I thought it my place to assist,
Monsieur."

" What is your name T

" Chiffon."

" Then, learn, Monsieur Chiffon, that, when travel-
ling, it is the habit of a wise man to attend to himself."
So saying, he rebuckled the little case to its strap,
resumed his coat and hat, and moved toward the door,
followed by his companion.

" Good night, Pere Dominique — good night, my
pretty Yvonne ;" and Chiffon prepared to follow the
travellers out of the room, " Pont Croix, I think you
said 1 and the name Lebrun ?"

The honest farmer nodded, and Monsieur Anatole
Chiffon, with a musing look, took his departure.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 21

CHAPTER II.

THE BARON D'AUBIGNY AND HIS DAUGHTER — THE CHE-

VALIEK DE PREVILLE AND HIS SON AN ENTHUSIAST,

AND A LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER.

The Baron is slowly pacing the floor of the prin-
cipal salon in the maison d'Aubigny — at every lull in
the storm that is raging without he pauses, and bend-
iDg his head slightly forward, listens attentively, till
the hoarse murmur of the wind is heard again like the
rolling surge of a distant sea, growing louder and
louder, till it sweeps like a billow over the hoiise, and
dashes itself, howling and screaming, against the pointed
turrets that crown the roof; making every bolt and
bar, every shutter and door, that would keep it from
the warm life within, strain and creak, as it shakes
them in the frenzy of its wrath.

" Surely, I heard the beat of horses' hoofs." The
liaron spoke this to himself, for the room had other
occupants, and as he did so he approached nearer to
one of the great windows.

22 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" This wind is Jacobin at heart ; it roars and blus-
ters, so that no other tongue may be heard, while it
does its work of destruction alike on sea and land —
there — now it falls again."

He listened attentively, then with an impatient
stamp of the foot resumed his promenade.

" They must have taken Bonchamp's farm on their
road. Chiffon could not have missed them. Should
that have chanced, 'twere no easy task for them to
make out the path over these dreary heaths."

A clear, ringing voice,, silvery as a woman's, broke
in upon the Baron's reverie, and a gentleman who for
some minutes had been engaged watching two chess
players, a young lady and gentleman, who with him-
self were the other occupants of the room, lounged
slowly across, and said, as he threw himself carelessly
into a chair :

" Are you exercising yourself in that way for
amusement or health, d'Aubigny 1 that will make the
hundred and seventh time you've taken the measure
of this room. Shall we try what cards will do to dis-
sipate ennui 1 or, do you intend your walk to be per-
petual, like the wandering Jew's — the amiable peripa-
tetic in whom our wise peasants believe so devoutly 1"

" I am in no humour for cards to-night, besides I
confess myself somewhat uneasy at the non-arrival of
these looked-for guests, and Chiffon also ; the heath is
full of water-courses, and these rains — "

The other gentleman interrupted him with a laugh.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 23

" Oh ! never fear for Chiffon, while there's a rope
to be had in France he's safe from either fire or water."

"You do not like Chiffon 1"

" Not like him — I adore him — Chiffon's my model
man. He's a living type of the age — a creature with
no fixed principles ; sure, like a cork, to swim in all
weathers and ride out storms that would sink a gallant
vessel like yourself, who will never put up the helm in
time ; but, with the one end in view, goes ever steadily
onwards, though the charts mark ' rocks and sand-
banks' so plainly, that all eyes, but yours, can read."

" I trust you do not compare — " began the Baron
somewhat haughtily.

" Certainly not, mon cher ; nevertheless, a wise
man might learn a lesson by watching in stormy times
the movements of such men as Chiffon. He's a straw,
I grant you, but straws will show the way the wind
blows."

" And so you think, Chevalier — ?"

But the Baron seemed doomed to interruption.

" I do nothing of the kind, I gave over thinking
when I retired to Brittany. It's a kind of labour that
does not suit this climate ; everybody here, from the
highest to the lowest, act upon impulse — thought is
quite out of the question."

" Do I act upon impulse only V

" Oh ! I leave you out of the question. True, you
were born in Brittany, but then you were bred in the
faubourg St. Germain."

2i THE HOODED SNAKE.

" And these gallant peasants? have they acted from
impulse only, when they have so often proved them-
selves ready to sacrifice their property and lives at the
call of King and Country V

" Impulse, nothing but impulse, I assure you, my
dear Baron. Ask any ex-Chouan,* you've plenty on
your estate, what those two words King and Country
mean ; his answer will not be particularly edifying,"

" He will tell you, de Preville," said the Baron,
warmly, " that it means his religion and his home, for
either of which he is ready to leave the spade and
plough for the sabre and the musket. He alone it
was who stood firm when religion had ceased to be
even a name in France, and when the blessed sanctity
of his home was polluted by the revolutionary rabble,
that sowed the salt of desolation in his fields, and
stained the bright waters of the Loire with his father's
and children's blood."

The Baron was evidently excited ; not so the Che-
valier.

" You set a high value upon these peasants, mon
cher."

" I do. I should be unworthy of the trust I hold,
could I do otherwise."

" And yet," and a slight sneer crept over de Pre-

* Chouans (owls), a name given by the Republicans (them-
selves termed blues from the colour of their uniform), to the
Royalist peasants of Brittany, the scream of the owl being the
war-cry they generally used.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 25

ville's face, and for a moment unpleasantly disturbed
its smiling expression, " and yet you would risk their
lives and your own — certainly your own if you risked
theirs — should some wild scheme present itself propos-
ing, as an end, the re-establishment of a dynasty that
is dead and — the fate of all that dies in this world —
forgotten."

The Baron started and glanced uneasily at de
Preville ; but all trace of the sneer was gone and the
face beamed sunny as before.

" You have said truly, that you speak without
thinking ; be assured it would be upon no slight cause
that I or any right thinking man would dare again to
call down upon this unhappy country the tempest of
war, whose effects it has so terribly and so recently
felt."

" Exactly," and the Chevalier suppressed a yawn,
for the conversation was taking a serious tone, a thing,
that of all others, he abhorred. " That republican
scoundrel, Hoche, did his work with a will and a firm
hand to back it. Brittany still exists, it is true, but
with bent head and clasped hands, like one that awaits
the executioner."

" For shame ! de Preville, your speech belies your
nature. When did a Breton fear to face even his
executioner ! Let but his cause be just, and he is
willing that the furrow ploughed by his hands in the
morning shall, ere night, become his grave."

The Chevalier yawned again, it was evident the

26 THE HOODED SNAKE.

conversation was uninteresting. The Baron perceived
his friend's weariness, and said, with a smile,

" Time was when Felix de Preville was not so
averse to conspiracies."

" Time was, ah ! my friend, that's just it. Time
was, when we were both young," and he passed a white
hand over his unwrinkled forehead. "But I have
given up conspiring with my other youthful follies;
besides, conspiracies can never prosper, you must trust
to so many men."

" Many men may be faithful."

" Certainly not ! the thing is impossible. I've
studied men as diligently as I'm now studying garden-
ing — man is, I must confess, a creature by no means
deficient in points to admire, but, upon the whole, I
prefer the cabbage."

" You are incorrigible."

" Then spare me the correction." The Chevalier
laughed gaily, rose, and again approached the chess
players. " How goes the game, or rather, how has it
gone ? for I see it is concluded."

The young man answered,

" Oh ! Eugenie has won."

The Chevalier bowed to the lady.

" Mademoiselle wins everything — she won an old
man's heart among other things long ago."

Eugenie d'Aubigny shook her head ; " Your heart,
Chevalier, what should I do with that V

" What young ladies do with all hearts when they

THE HOODED SNAKE. 27

belong to so aged a person as myself, throw it away,
or place it with other rubbish in a corner."

" Rather preserve it with all the care so inesti-
mable a gift deserves."

" Not much, I fear ; but, were I Victor's age."

The young man rose immediatety.

" Spare me, Sir, I beg," then turning to Eugenie,
"my father's compliments when addressed to those of
his own sex cut both ways, but with a lady — "

" The sword blade is hidden in flowers."

It was the Baron d'Aubigny who now joined the
group.

De Preville shrugged his shoulders.

" They will no longer permit us to be young."

" The Chevalier would forget that time exists."

" And who does not in the presence of Mademoi-
selle r

The Baron laid his hand upon his friend's arm and
motioned for silence.

The storm had ceased, the wind had gone down, and
the sound of horses' hoofs upon the road leading to the
house was now plainly audible.

" At last they are here."

All was commotion — the Baron hastening down to
the courtyard to be the first to greet his guests, while
Eugenie, who was not fine lady enough to ignore the
kitchen, departed to superintend the preparations for
supper, and the Chevalier and Victor were left alone
by the fire. We take advantage of this short pause

28 THE HOODED SNAKE.

in the action of our story to describe more in detail
the two younger members of the little party that had
so lately occupied the room.

Eugenie d'Aubigny was the Baron's daughter, his
only daughter, and by him regarded, not without
reason, as a miracle of grace and beauty. We say,
not without reason, because the more affectionate the
parents, the more eager are they to put forward the
like claims to their offspring, without, to other than
the parental eye, the requisite qualification being ap-
parent. Eugenie had reached her twenty-first year ;
she was of a tall, graceful figure ; her height, which
was rather above than below the usual standard, being
relieved by the lithesome ease of her every motion.
Her features were well cut, full of animation, and
beaming with intelligence ; the eyes, of a rich brown,
were ever varying in their expression, one moment
quick and sparkling, the next soft with a loving ten-
derness, that rose holy as a prayer from the young
girl's soul ; her forehead was high, and the line of the
head magnificently arched ; while the hair, a Pactolus
of wealth, flowed in heavy, golden-tinted waves upon
3ier shoulders, or would have flowed had they not
been caught up and looped on either side behind her
shell-like ears, — two gorgeous curtains lifted aside that
reverential eyes might gaze upon the picture of a saint.
From a light and graceful child, Eugenie had become
a beautiful woman ; but the blossom had not changed
into the fruit, the bud had not burst into the flower

THE HOODED SNAKE. 29

beneath her father's eye. She, too, had suffered from
the "Terror," — the click of the guillotine had early-
met her ear, and its tall shadow spread across her
path. Her mother had been compelled to bend her
head beneath the axe, finding in its keen edge ber
passport to a better world, where such crime is un-
known, or, if known, remembered only by those who
pity and forgive. The baron d'Aubigny, on the news
of his wife's death, voluntarily surrendered himself to
her assassins, but was snatched from the fate he courted
by that last cast of the revolutionary dice, which
stopped the loaded tumbril in the street and checked
the descending axe, till it had cast beneath it, bound
and bleeding, those who but yesterday were execu-
tioners. Eugenie, at the commencement of the
" Terror," had been conveyed out of Paris and hurried
over the frontiei*, finding safety and a home with a
maiden Aunt at Coblentz, in which city she remained
till summoned again to France to join her father on
his estates in Brittany, arriving at about the same
time as the Chevalier de Preville and his son, the
latter of whom had made the acquaintance of Made-
moiselle many months previous, and during her resi-
dence at Coblentz ; he, Victor, having visited at the
house of her aunt, who was an old friend of his father s
and god-mother to himself.

Victor de Preville was Eugenie's elder by three
years, and had already taken an active part in the
struggles which had convulsed his native country.

30 THE HOODED SNAKE.

Unlike his father, he bore upon his face the true type
of the enthusiast, a clear olive complexion, dark,
flashing eyes, and hair that hung about his cheeks in
sombre masses ; the straight nose, the curved nostrils
and full scornful lip, all bespoke the native city of the
mother he had lost — Marseilles. Restless, and eager
to transmit each thought into as rapid an action, his
father, who loved him dearly, had found it difficult to
induce him to share his retirement in Brittany. So
firm, indeed, had been his refusal, that his sudden
change of resolution had been scarcely credited until
he made his appearance at the old chateau Pontarlac,
about a week after Mademoiselle Eugenie had taken
up her abode in the maison d'Aubigny. A suspicion,
for a moment, had entered the mind of the Chevalier,
but was immediately dismissed as a thing impossible.
Victor knew that the hand of the heiress to the estates
of dAubigny was already disposed of to another.
From an early age she had been affianced to the
young Count de Marigny, a formal agreement had
been entered into by their respective parents ; and,
though the young people had not met since child-
hood, Marigny having been for years an exile in
England, where he still remained holding an office of
trust in the household of the fugitive king, yet the
matter was considered so thoroughly as an affair con-
cluded, that de Preville wasted no further thought
about it.

" Victor is no fool," he reasoned, " and none but a

THE HOODED SNAKE. 31

fool would sigh after a girl that is sure to be another's.
The fox and the grapes is a very good fable, but I
hold the fox to have been a fool to sit cursing under
the tree instead of bestirring himself to find one more
accessible."

The Chevalier said with truth that he had studied
men ; but there was one portion of mankind he had
yet to study, that portion in which the warm dictates
of the heart were held to have greater weight than
the cool reasoning of the brain, and where an all-
absorbing love, not for self, but for another, breaks
down the barriers of worldly prudence and sets, an
interested calculation at defiance.

The Chevalier sneered at the World and cultivated
his garden. " I know Victoijf he would say, '* I've
studied him thoroughly — It's a good soil. I can sow
the seed and grow whatl desire." But nature sometimes
deceives the most skilful gardener, and the Chevalier
had yet to learn that a man is not a cabbage.

" Do you know these gentlemen, sir V asked Victor
of his father, when they were left alone in the room.

" These gentlemen newly arrived 1 No : they are
friends whose acquaintance the Baron made in times
when friends were valuable. They did him, he says,
good service : and he is not the man to forget it."

" He would not be the Baron d'Aubigny if he did
though that is but a sorry compliment after all. No
man forgets a kindness : time cannot wipe away a
service received."

32 THE HOODED SXAKE.

The Chevalier eyed his son for a moment as one
would examine a curiosity ; then, with a slight shrug
of his shoulders, ejaculated " humph !" and made no
further answer.

" They come from America, the Baron said."

" Yes ; the Baron said so."

" The land of Washington !" and Victor's eyes
sparkled : " the land in which liberty is other than a
name, — the land of freemen !"

" And slaves ;" said the Chevalier, drily.

" Oh ! my father, is it not there where the rights
of man — "

" Are promulgated, you would say?" and his father
broke into his usual silvery laugh. " It is quite true,
they are so : — to the music of fetters, and the cease-
less cracking of the slaver's whip !"

" I grant that slavery is wrong — "

De Preville shrugged his shoulders.

" It's a wrong that's pretty nearly universal : the
world is divided into but two classes— masters and
slaves !"

" But, sir—"

" There, there, argument bores me, — you're young,
and can bear the fatigue of contradiction, — I can't, —
so have it all your own way. We are all that which
we profess to be !"

" I should hope so," said Victor, laughing.

The Chevalier looked at him again. Then, after a
moment's pause, —

THE HOODED SNAKE.

33

" How old are you, Victor ?"

" Surely you know, sir !"

The Chevalier repeated the question.

" Twenty-four."

"And yet would judge things by their surface !
"Well, I'm fond of novelties ; and decidedly I'm proud
of you as a son."

The door of the room opened, and the Baron
entered, followed by the two strangers last seen by us
beneath the roof of Dominique Bonchamp's farm.

The Baron advanced to the fireplace, in which
some huge logs were burning cheerfully.

" My friend, the Chevalier de Preville."

The new comers bowed.

" Chevalier, this is a gentleman to whom I am
highly indebted, — Monsieur Etienne Marcel. My
friends, I am sure, will become his."

With an ineffable grace the Chevalier acknowledged
the introduction, shedding one of his sunniest smiles,
and dropping one of his lowest bows.

" This gentleman is a friend of Monsieur Marcel's,
and therefore a friend of mine, — Monsieur Dupont."

Again the Chevalier looked the picture of amia-
bility.

" My daughter has flown, I see. But where is
Victor?"

Victor de Preville, on the entrance of the two
strangers, had moved some steps towards them, when
his glance rested on the tallest of the two. — Victor

D

34 THE HOODED SNAKE.

started — hesitated — then looked again, and was about
to advance, when the name mentioned by the Baron
met his ear. Again he hesitated, and looked earnestly
at the stranger.

" It surely must be, — and yet Etienne Marcel was
the name the Baron mentioned."

At this moment the eyes of the stranger met his :
the eyebrows rose for a moment, and a look of much
astonishment swept over his face, but it vanished as
rapidly, unperceived by all but Victor.

" Allow me to introduce you, Victor, to my friend,
M. Etienne Marcel."

" I have, that is, I think I have met Monsieur —
Monsieur — "

" Marcel !'' said the stranger quickly.

' ' Monsieur Marcel before."

" You are mistaken, — your face is strange to me f
besides I have not visited Europe for some years.
But mine is one of those faces that Dame Nature turns
out by the dozen ; or, perhaps, I may be the fortunate
possessor of a Doppelganger * as the Germans would say."

The Baron laughed at the mistake, and turned to
Monsieur Dupont, who was describing to the Chevalier
the perils of their night-ride : as he did so, Marcel
laid his hand upon Victor's arm, and drew him a few
paces apart ; then, speaking in a hurried whisper, he
said, —

" Have you yet to be so well acquainted with danger
* Doppelganger— a double or second self.

THE HOODED SNAKF. j.j

as to have to learn the necessity of caution, Victor de
Preville T

" You are, then ?— "

" Etienne Marcel. If I am content with my name,
why should others cavil at it I Our meeting here is
unexpected."

" And undesired, you would say T

" For the present, — I confess as much. But the
lady, where is she ?"

" Also here."

The dark brows of the stranger met in a frown.

" I have done you a service, Victor de Preville : in
my turn, I require one. Hasten to her at once, — you
understand 1 and prepare her to receive" — he spoke-
with emphasis — " Monsieur Etienne Marcel !"

" It shall be done : but it is for us to implore-
silence of you, — our secret is to all, but you, \\n-
known."'

The dark brows parted once more.

" Good ! You have been prudent, I see ; be so
still, and fear me not. But see her."

Victor, with a gesture of assent, moved towards
the door.

" And let the old friend be forgotten in the new, —
no uncommon thing, as the world goes."

Etienne Marcel turned to the group before the fire,
and was soon deep in the mysteries of narrow bridle-
paths and hidden watercourses ; but Victor de Pre-
ville had disappeared from the room.

THE HOODED SNAKE.

CHAPTER III.

THE MORNING AFTER THE STORM.

Carefully descending a rugged, and to any but
practised feet, perilous path, that was cut into the face of
the cliff, Monsieur Anatole Chiffon reached in safety,
through nrach cat-like agility, the bay, upon whose
carpet of sand the waves of that " vast and melan-
choly sea " break with a hollow and depressing sound,
like a groan wrung suddenly from the heart of a listen -
in g niultitrde. To-day, the seawas calm, — calm for
that iron coast whose savage recesses were peopled —
thinly peopled — by men as rough as its rocks, as re-
morseless and cruel as its seas. The sun had lifted his
broad face above the horizon, and gazing down into
the vast mirror of sparkling water, rested upon his
many-tinted couch of cloud, admiring his majestic
beauty, and shaking abroad his golden locks in the
fullness of his pride. The treacherous sea crept softly
to the feet of the rejoicing earth, and touched them
with her Judas' kiss, or, softly heaving her broad
bosom, threw showers of spray, like tears, against the

THE HOODED SNAKE. 37

scarrei face of the tall cliffs, as though repentant of
her former violence. The gorged snake lay gasping
in the sun ; the tiger, its vengeance for the moment
glutted, licked the hand that but yesterday it tore, and
to-morrow — to night, perhaps — will tear again.

Monsieur Anotole Chiffon, little troubled by such
reflections, rested for a moment after his descent,
leaning his back against a detached mass of rock, and
rubbing as usual, his thin, claw-like hands gently the
one over the other.

"Not a vestige of the brig, — no, she's gone !" and
he scanned the horizon with a keen and searching
glance. Not a sail was to be seen — not one. Yes ;
— no ; it was but the wing of a sea bird, that, poised
above the wave, had caught upon her snowy feathers
a stray beam from the regal sun. All around wore
the aspect of a majestic calm ; an artist would have
delighted in the quiet grandeur of the scene, but Mon-
sieur Chiffon viewed nature through other than artistic
eyes ; a something very like an oath escaped his lips,
and he stamped his foot deep into the wet sand.

"I would have given a dozen gold pieces, — nay,
a score (it was plain that Monsieur Chiffon was
very vexed indeed), to have known rightly to what
nation that brig belonged ; — a night-bird, that clothes
herself in darkness, and is gone with the first dawn ol
the day."

It could scarcely have been for his master that
the valet was anxious for this information ; the Bai - on

33 THE HOODED SNAKE.

must already have known it from his guests ; but
Anatole was eminently curious in all things, great ox-
small, picking them up and hiding them away, like
that model thief, the raven ; not that they had any
present value, but always with an eye to a possible
advantage.

After another careful investigation of the horizon,
he turned his attention to the scene that was going
on upon the shore, which was rapidly assuming a
more animated appearance. Groups of men, their
long hair blowing about their faces, and their dark
eyes gleaming beneath the broad brims of their hate,
were collecting about the water's edge, while others,
by paths similar to that lately travelled by Chiffon,
were seen descending the face of the rocks. One of
the latter came leaping lightly down the narrow path,
singing one of their national ballads, or complaints,
those singular productions, so characteristic of this
peculiar people. He wore the huge brimmed hat, the
long flowing dress, and the broad red sash of the
Breton peasant ; but his face had the brown hue of
health and travel ; his eyes the cheerful light, and his
figure a jaunty carriage, that differed widely from
the sombre aspect and sedate gait of the Breton whose
life had been spent within sight of his own church
steeple, and whose longest voyage had been within
three miles of the coast.

He came upon Chiffon as that worthy had again
halted, and was surveying a broken spar, to which

THE HOODED SNAKE. 39

some fragments of cordage were attached, which lay
half embedded in the sand at his feet. The singer, —
for, though the singer had finished, the tune still clung
about his lips — was about him, when Chiffon, looking
up, called to him :

" Holloa ! friend ! "

The young man — and he looked younger than he
was — halted, and turned to the valet.

" That's as it may be," said he. " I've lived too
long, and seen to much, to accept that title from any
lips that choose to use it."

Chiffon laughed.

" You're not my enemy, I suppose."

"Not I ! or rather, as I said before, that's as it
may be."

He approached Chiffon, who, still standing by the
broken spar, began to rub his hands slowly together,
and gazed fixedly in the other's face.

" I only make a friend of au honest man."

Chiffon shrugged his shoulders, and raised his eye-
brows.

" Monsieur is eccentric ! his list cannot be extensive.

" If you're that," the other went on, " there's
always a welcome for you at my cottage ; " and he flung
out his hand towards the brow of the cliff he had just
descended ; " a draught of comfortable liquor and a
pipe of tobacco : a king could desire no more."

Chiffon bowed.

" But if you are one of these wolves," and with a

40 THE HOODED SNAKE.

rapid gesticulation he pointed to the several groups,
" who live by murder and rapine, who are more cruel
than the sea — for what that spares they destroy — why,
I'd thank you to give me a wide berth, for I am apt to
strike when I am angry."

" I know but little of the sea," began Chiffon.

" Nor do they," broke in the other. " Is it to
know the sea, think you, to sit through the long night,
watching for an opportunity to betray those whose
home is upon its surface ; to place false lights in every
window that looks seaward, and then listen for the
welcome sound of the guns at sea — those cries of
agony from the storm-tossed ship that tell of her great
distress 1

" You speak of the wreckers : there are plenty on
this coast ! "

" Plenty ! " and the young man's bronzed face
flushed with indignation ; " were there but one, there
would be that one too many. Man, woman, and child,
they are all alike wreckers from their cradles. Yonder
reef is a stone as precious to them as any in a king's
crown* — the vultures ! "

" There was a ship in the Bay last night," said
Chiffon."

* The Bretons seem to consider the bris (wreck) as a sort of
alluvial right. The terrible right of the bris was, as is well known,
one of the most lucrative of privileges. The Viscount de Leon,
alluding to a reef, said, " I have a stone there more precious
than those which enrich a king's crown." — Michelet.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 41

"There was."

"She had a narrow escape, in such a storm, on
such a coast, with such a people."

; The sailor — for such by his manner and aspect he
was — in his turn looked hard at Chiffon.

" Last night as trim a brig as ever sailed upon the
water lay there ! " and he pointed towards the sea,
" with many an honest heart beating high with life
within her."

" And where is she now 1 " asked the valet, his
former look of vexation stealing back to his face.

" Where ? There ! " and this time the sailor
pointed to the broken spar at his feet. " That's a part
of her ; you'll find little more of her ; the fragments
were few and the thieves many."

"Wrecked?"

" That's about the largest part of her remaining
(again he pointed to the spar). This reef has jaws of
granite, and teeth of iron, and behind them, men still
harder. If I'd my way, I'd make a gibbet of every
bit of that ship's timber, and a scoundrel should dangle
from each yard of her cordage."

" But you are Breton 1 " and Chiffon spoke this
with an ill-concealed sneer. The sailor, without no-
ticing it, drew himself up proudly.

" Of course I am ! I was born at St. Pol : for
twenty years I've wandered far and wide in the world ;
but in Brittany is my home, and I return to it as a
bird returns to its nest."

42 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" You don't spare the faults of your countrymen."

" These my countrymen ! and ■who are you, who
j udge of our Brittany by such a sample as these fishers
of sea-weed and robbers of the dead afford V

" A stranger, as you might have guessed by my
question," said the amiable Anatole, apologetically.

" Then know that a true Breton has an open hand
for the stranger — not a knife for his throat ; a welcome,
not a curse to the wanderer that distress has thrown
upon his threshold. For my part, I'd sooner have
pitched head-foremost from the summit of Cape Kaz,
which is three hundred feet above the sea, than have
had a hand in the doings of last night."

Chiffon gave a look of inquiry.

"The ship broke from her anchorage, and was
driven on to the shore. She might still have been
saved, but false lights were hung out as a lure ; a light
was fastened to a cow's horns, and so the demons, keep-
ing the poor animal moving, enticed the brig right
on to the beach."

"Sharp fellows."

" She was in splinters in no time ! I came down
as the work of destruction was just finished. A wild
cry — such a cry ! when there's no hope left in the heart,
and the jaws of death close with a snap — told me
where she was ; a flash of lightning showed me a dark
object struggling in a shroud of foam : when the next
flash came she was gone, and that was all I saw of the
English brig."

THE HOODED SNAKE. 43

" English ! are you sure she was English ? "

" Sure as my name's Paul Lebrun."

" Lebrun ! "

" Isn't the name to your liking 1 It was my
father's, and I would'nt change it for a Rohan's ! "

But Monsieur Chiffon was far from disliking it ;
his voice assumed its most silky tone, and his counte-
nance its blandest expression.

" I am happy to make the acquaintance of Mon-
sieur Paul Lebrun ; as a friend of Dominique Bon-
champ I may claim — " he had got thus far when his
outstretched hand was imprisoned in that of the sailor,
who gave it such a "friendly " grip, as to bring tears
into the valet's eye3, and he with difficulty suppressed
a cry of pain.

" You, a friend of farmer Dominique ! and I, like
a great sea bear, to hold off as I did ! " He would
again have taken Chiffon's hand, but that gentleman
stepped back hastily. " Dominique Bonchamp is one
of the best men in Brittany, which is as though I said
the best in France j and moreover, he has the prettiest
daughter — "

"Humph! Yvonne Bonchamp?"

*' Yes, Yvonne ; there's not a man within twenty
miles, that is not envious of the flower of Bonchamp's
farm, and would gladly transplant it to his own."

" Yvonne has many lovers."

" To look at her is to love her ; it's a fate."

" And loves in her turn but one."

44 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" Who 1 " said the young sailor, with a certain
fierceness of tone, which made Chiffon smile and shrug
his shoulders.

" I am not in the confidence of the pretty Yvonne ;
others, perhaps, may be better informed."

'■ Not I ! " and Paul Lebrun, still in some confu-
sion, began to clear away the sand from the spar with
his foot.

Chiffon mused.

" So Keroulas has a rival, and I have two. It's as
well to calculate the opposition before making the
attack." Then raising his voice —

" And all perished who were on board this English
brig i "

" All but one."

" One ! and where is he V

" In Jalec's cottage, about a hundred yards along
the shore ; it's hidden like a sea-bird's nest, among the
rocks."

" Have you seen him V asked the valet, eagerly.

"I must have been blind if I had not, considering
it was I who saved him from the waves — and, worse
than the waves, those wolves that prowl about the
shore."

" Of course you questioned him ? "

" I did nothing of the kind ; the man was bruised
and bleeding, hurt to the death, they think ; and
moreover, I should not have understood a word he
said, if he'd have talked till now."

THE HOODED SNAKE. 45

"Why not?"

" He's English — not that he can help that, poor
fellow ; we've all our misfortunes."

"You've been to England; so Pere Dominique
told me?"

" Yes, I've been there ; was boxed up for years in
one of their floating purgatories, where I learnt many
things."

" But not the language ?"

" Certainly not ! they could'nt force that upon me !
I am content to speak with the tongue my mother
gave me, and desire no other."

" You are right, Monsieur Paul ; a multiplicity of
tongues has always been productive of mischief, from
Babel downwards ; but, as I would aid in the work of
charity so well begun, I should like to speak with this
man."

" You ' I told you he was English !"

" And I answer that I speak his language."

" You said you were a friend of Dominique Bon-
champ ! a true Frenchman was ever the Englishman's
enemy."

"And yet but a few hours ago you rescued this
man from a grave, probably at the risk of your own
life !"

Paul Lebrun was puzzled ; lie rubbed his chin, and
looked with a somewhat sheepish expression in the
face of the valet.

" Why, you see, when a ship's foundering, we lower

46 THE HOODED SSAKE.

the boats, no matter what flag she hoists ; for a cry of
distress is what we all understand, no matter whether
it be uttered in English or French."

Again Monsieur Chiffon shrugged his shoulders.
" Pity it's so seldom replied to ; but," he answered,
" I have no more love for England than you have; my
acquisition of the language was an accident, a happy
one, as it has frequently proved. No, I have small
love for a country that is even now sheltering the
enemies of France."

"And who may they be T

"Her own sons. Would it be the first time an
unfilial hand has been raised against a parent ?"
Paul looked at him in horror.

" I would have such a hand hewn from the wrist,
whoever owned it."

" You but echo my own sentiments, and but prove
the truth of Farmer Dominique's words, that you
were a brave mariner and a good Breton."

The sailor's cheek flushed this time with pleasure.
"Pere Dominique said that ! And Yvonne, was
it before Yvonne he praised me thus ?"

" She echoed her father's praise. But there is not
a man or woman," and Chiffon glanced from the
corner of his twinkling eyes, " but does justice to the
merits of Paul Lebrun !"

Chiffon had evidently adopted the policy, though
not the side, espoused by the great Tallerand, whose
reputation for — what shall we say — diplomacy, was at

THE HOODED SNAKE. 47

its height. Paul Lebrun, after several outward at-
tempts to appear unembarrassed, roosting like a fowl,
first upon one leg and then the other, burst into a
laugh, and turned the conversation by asking the
name of his new acquaintance.

"Anatole Chiffon, confidential secretary to the
Baron d'Aubigny."

" Then you can tell me if it will be long before
ITonsieur le Baron is here. Jalec went up to the
Maison d'Aubigny some hours ago, to announce the
■wreck of the brig, and that one of the crew, feared
to be mortally injured, was lying in his cottage."

" Diable .'" muttered Chiffon between his teeth ;
"was there no nearer succour at hand, that the Baron
must be disturbed by such news ?"

" Succour was not required ; but one of the brig's
boats landed some strangers at the commencement of
the storm last night, and Jalec thought that they
might know something about the poor wretch who
has been so cruelly mauled by that rib-breaker
yonder," and he shook his fist in the direction of the
reef.

" Where is Jalec's cottage V

" In the first bend of the cliffs ; there's been a fall
of rock within a yard or so of it. The sea has a
hungry tooth about there."

" A pleasant residence. I will see this poor man.
I speak his language indifferently well, and have some
little knowledge of surgery."'

48 THE HOODED SNAKE.

"It 'will avail him but little, I fear. However,
though I have business of my own elsewhere, I will
accompany you back ; as you say, it is but right to
sacrifice ourselves for a fellow- creature."

" Did I say that V

"I suppose you meant it, for — "

" Well, well, I always mean what I say ; but I
presume this unfortunate man is not unattended V

" Jalec's wife is attending upon him."

" Then, with your permission, I will proceed thither
alone. I have already wasted too much of your time,
Monsieur Paul, to rob you of more."

"For the matter of that, it's no robbery, being
cheerfully given. Nor is my business so pressing that
I need be chary of my company ; 'twas but to give
bon jour to Pere Dominique, who is sure to come
down to the beach when he hears of the evil doings of
last night."

"Nay, it is possible he is already somewhere
at hand; for I passed him on my road with his
daughter."

" Yvonne !"

"Yes, Yvonne — looking prettier than ever; and
so I'll wager thought her foster-brother, Keroulas, by
the attention he lavished upon her."

" The face of Paul Lebrun grew dark as night, his
gaiety had fled — the sun was hidden by that blackest
of clouds — jealousy.

" Keroulas ! was he with her V

THE HOODED SNAKE. 49

" So, as your friends are in good company, I will
not refuse your's, that is so kindly proffered."

" Your pardon, Monsieur Chiffon, but I have other
business, pressing business, that I had forgot. Jalec's
is close at hand, you cannot miss it ; besides, you're
sure to find half-a-dozen gossips about the door ;" and,
with a hurried adieu, Paul Lebrun started off in the
direction which, by a move of the hand, Chiffon had
indicated as the path by which the Breton farmer and
his daughter would descend to the beach. Chiffon
looked after him for a moment, gently rubbing his
hands and laughing inwardly.

" So the song has left your lips, my young skimmer
of the seas; and jealousy has hung a weight upon
your heart that was so feather-light before — and will
be feather-light again — for the wounds love makes
quickly heal, however deep at first : lasting no longer
than the furrow that follows a ship's keel." Then
turning upon his heel, he changed the current of his
thoughts; "I wonder whether this Englishman has
life enough left in him to answer a few civil questions
— let him but answer them correctly, and they may
put him back over the cliff again if they like, with a
sail for his shroud, and the sea for his coffin."

With this charitable observation, Monsieur Ana-
tole Chiffon bent his steps toward's Jalec's cottage.

Some two hours after, a party of gentlemen rode
up to Jalec's door ; the party consisted of the Baron,
his two guests, and the Chevalier : they were met at

E

50 THE HOODED SNAKE.

the threshold by the fisherman's wife ; she shook her
head as the gentlemen dismounted.

" Dead ?" asked the Baron, with an expression of
much anxiety.

" Dead !" ejaculated Etienne Marcel ; " poor fellow
— the fishermen said he was badly hurt' — it is a happy
release."

"Very happy," said the Chevalier, drily. There
was something in the tone that made Efcienne Marcel
turn to look at the face of the speaker ; it was nearly
as sunshiny as usual — the only change was a slight,
very slight, shade of compassion.

" These butterflies," said Marcel to himself, as he
entered the cottage, "have neither curiosity nor
thought about the business of the world — it may wag
whichever way it pleases as long as they are allowed
to gather honey from its flowers. The woman had
removed the sheet, and Marcel, who, with the Baron,
had been the first to dismount, gazed for a few seconds
on the corpse.

" Poor fellow ! a cruel fate !" He turned to the
woman, "When did he die?'

" Scarcely an hour ago." A few more inquiries,
and after a liberal donation to the woman, the gentle-
men prepared to remount, proposing to ride along the
beach. The Baron spoke aside to Marcel —

" You have recognised him."

" He was the second officer on board ; a brave
man, and a skilful seaman."

THE HOODED SNAKE. 51

" Heaven receive him !"

" Amen ! yet am I thankful he has had speech
with none that could understand his language ; for
then his death might have been the prelude to many
others. Our lives are — "

" Hush !" the Baron pointed to some women who
were clustering about the threshold, gazing inquisi-
tively within.

Etienne Marcel nodded and was silent — they re-
mounted and rode away, lsaving, as Marcel signifi-
cantly said, Death behind them in the cottage.

52 THE H00DEE SNAKE.

CHAPTER IV

EUSENIE AND YVONNE. KEROULAS RELATES A STORY,
AND THE READER MAKES A DISCOVERY.

" You love Keroulas V

Yvonne raised her calm eyes, and looked her ques-
tioner in the face.

" Undoubtedly, he is my foster-brother."

" Do we always wish to wed our foster-brothers ?"

" Wed ! Indeed, Mademoiselle, I had no such
thought ; though — " and again her eyes met steadfastly
those of her companion — " I know of no reason why
I should not wed Keroulas, if my father approved."

" And if he did not approve V

" I should not marry at all."

" But your father does approve T

" I do not know," she hesitated ; " he did, but
now — " she hesitated again, " I do not know."

" I see ; fathers are sometimes hard to please ; but
if your heart approves, you are old enough to act for
yourself."

THE HOODED SNAKE. 53

" Oh ! Mademoiselle Eugenie, Heaven will not
smile upon a marriage that lacks the blessing of a pa-
rent."

Eugenie d'Aubigny started, as moved by some sud-
den emotion, then bent her tall figure over Yvonne,
who was seated at her feet, and kissed her cheek.

"You are a little saint, my Yvonne, and, therefore,
too good for this earth. I lose my self-content, some-
times, when I sit beside you. I have mixed with the
world — a corrupt and bad world — that would soil even
the brightness of an angel's wings."

" You have suffered, Mademoiselle ?"

Eugenie was silent for a moment, and pushed back
from her eyes, which were glistening with tears, the
loose braids of her fair and lustrous hair. " I have
suffered — even in my cradle, Yvonne ; I received the
baptism of sorrow, and sorrow ages quicker than time.
I lived to see myself an exile, my father a proscribed
fugitive ; and my mother, my loved mother, a martyr
on the scaffold."

" She is in heaven," said Yvonne, gently.

Mademoiselle d'Aubigny s voice deepened into a
fiercer music, and she clenched her small hands convul-
sively, till the knuckles showed white even through the
pearly skin that covered them.

" May the souls of those accursed monsters never
enter its blissful gates ! May — " She paused, for
Yvonne had caught the raised hands in hers and
pressed them to her bosom.

54 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" Mademoiselle Eugenie ! my father has often told
me how jour blessed mother died. Her last words
were — oh ! surely you have not forgotten them — ' for-
give us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass
against us !' "

Eugenie d'Aubigny was silent, the fierce light
waned from her eyes, and, soft as twilight, the gentle
and loving soul of the woman looked forth. But a
minute before, with head erect, compressed lip, and
nostril curved, she seemed a Juno, regal in her rage ;
but now, the eyes, brown as the autumn leaves, or peb-
bles seen through the liquid light of a running brook,
were tender as a dove's ; and the ripe lips parted to
embrace more gently, as though repentant of the harsh
words they had uttered : it was still the face of a
queen ; but seen thus it was the face of Aphrodite,
the bright-haired queen of love.

" Have I not said truly that you are a saint, my
Yvonne ?"

| Yvonne laughed — one of those pleasant laughs that
so refresh the jaded brain to hear — a laugh that leaps
from the lips rejoicing from its silvery clearness, as a
mountain rivulet that dances through a myriad of
flowers.

" You should tell Paul Lebrun that, if you would
make him angry.* He declares that saints are only

* It may be as well here to remind the reader of that cordial
intercourse which has always existed between the resident Breton
aristocracy and the people. The difference in social position is

THE HOODED SXAKE. 55

made to live apart from the rest of us, and shut them-
selves up between four stone walls, till they are taken
bodily up to heaven," here Yvonne crossed herself,
" as being too good for this world — while a woman's
mission is just to make the earth as much like heaven
as she can, by staying as long as possible in it."

"And who isPaul Lebrun 1 another lover ? — why,
Yvonne, you are turning the heads of all our honest
Bretons !"

Yvonne answered, and without a blush, " Paul
Lebrun is a lover of mine, for he never loses an oppor-
tunity to tell me so ; I could not love him, even if I
so desired ; he is so wild, too accustomed to a roving
life, to contentedly settle down in one of our quiet
Breton homes."

" You are right, Yvonne ; a man who cares only
for self, and his own wild fancies, will make but a bad
husband."

" But you mistake me, Mademoiselle. Such a man
must not be thought of when we speak of Paul Lebrun.
There is not a Breton on the coast but is proud of
Paul being his countryman ; he is as brave as a lion —
though every Breton may claim to be that — and, ne-
vertheless, as kind and gentle as if he carried the
heart of a woman beneath the breast of a man."

understood, but its acknowledgment is unaccompanied by those
absurd forms and ceremonies that create so much bitterness be-
tween the different classes.

56 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" You speak his praises warmly — how if Keroulas
should hear you ?"

" Keroulas would have naught to fear. I but speak
the truth ; nor would it be Keroulas, did he desire me
to do otherwise. It was but two nights since, during
that dreadful storm, that Paul, after fastening a rope
about him, sprang out into the raging sea, to save the
unfortunate man who died in Jalec's cottage, who was
then being tossed about by the waves? like a plaything
upon the fearful reef !"

Again the angry light was in Eugenie's eyes as she
said, " Do not let us speak of that night — such doings
are the shame of Britanny. Well have they named it
the bay of death : for not a week passes, scarcely a day
in the rough weather, without the bodies of murdered
men being cast upon the beach."

" Murdered ! Mademoiselle !"

" Cruelly, cowardly murdered ! The lights that
flash through the darkness, promising safety, are but
so many corpse-candles that burn over the seaman's
grave."

Yvonne shuddered : she had heard too much of the
fearful doings on this savage coast to venture a word
in behalf of its savage inhabitants.*

" Could not Monsieur le Baron do something ?"

* The whole coast is a graveyard, sixty vessels are wrecked
upon it every winter. The sea is English at heart, she loves not
France, but dashes our ships to pieces, and blocks up our har-
bours with sand. — Miclielet.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 57

" I fear not ; the men of the coast claim the bris
(wreck) as their right ; and what a Breton deems his
right few would venture to be the first to wrest from
him."

" But this right is wrong !"

" Protected by custom. We live in stormy times,
my father says — and to bring our own ships safely to
shore, we must be patient, and wait and suffer, till the
appointed time has come.''

Eugenie and Yvonne were seated on a rustic bench,
near the great terrace that looked down upon the
garden of the chateau, and down the terrace steps a
young peasant hastily descended ; he doffed his broad-
brimmed hat as he approached the ladies, bowed to
Eugenie, and glanced from the corner of his eye at
Yvonne, whose cheek had for the first time deepened
its colour, as she rose to meet him.

" Keroulas !"

" Yvonne !" the Breton took a step towards her,
then remembering himself, shook his long hair about
his hot cheeks and again made his obeisance to Made-
moiselle d'Aubigny.

" Pere Dominique sent me over to Monseur le
Baron with a present of milk and eggs. Monsieur le
Baron told me that Yvonne was with you, Mademoi-
selle ; and I thought — that is, Monsieur le Baron
thought — I could accompany Yvonne back to tho
farm : before she could reach it, evening will have set
in — and — and, it is possible — that — that — "

58 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" That those mischievous dwarfs, the Courils* may
be about, and Keroulas Carnac "would rather that
Yvonne Bonchamp danced with no one but himself."

There was a look of good-humoured mischief in the
Breton's eyes as he answered the laughing Eugenie.

" But a week ago, Monsieur Victor was like to
have killed the young Parisian Count, who insisted
upon dancing with Mademoiselle during the fete at
Ponta Croix !"

It was now Eugenie's turn to blush ; the red
blood mounted into her cheeks and burnt through its
transparent veil.

" The Count presumed upon a short acquaintance,
and Monsieur de Preville chastised his impertinence."

The young Breton with natural tact hastened to
change the subject.

' ' It would ill become me in anything to criticise
the actions of M. de Preville ; it is to his father, the
Chevalier, I owe my life."

" My father has often said so ; but I have not, as
yet, heard how it was done. I have twice questioned
the Chevalier ; and he, true to his custom, turns off
the question with a jest, or tells me some romantic rig-
marole, that he laughs at as an impromptu fiction some
few minutes afterwards."

" It was an act I shall not forget, Mademoiselle ;
thus it was : I was out, as we all were — boys as well

* Cowih. See note to first chapter, p. 5.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 59

as men — against the Blues* but the fortune of war
had everywhere turned agai st us ; the swords and
bayonets of the spoilers were red with the best blood
of Brittany, and the firebrand was passed from cottage
to cottage, till not a night went by but the sky was
reddened by the flames of burning villages. It was a
fearful time, but a brave one," and the swarthy face of
the peasant assumed a yet darker hue, while his knitted
brow and clenched hands showed the power of the re-
membrance. Eugenie gazed on him for a moment,
then motioned him to proceed, saying —

" It was a brave time, — such a time may come
again, let us hope with a happier result."

" Amen !" Keroulas crossed himself devoutly and
continued — "I fought under Georges Cadougalj-in the
Morbihan and Cotes-du-Nord — was left for dead on the
plain of Grand Champ, — and, still worse, was taken
prisoner at Elven. They sent me, witlj twenty cap-
tured Chouans, to Paris, to give ' informaiion,'' as they
called it ; one only was false to his counteyi nineteen

* The Republican troop?.

t Georges Cadougal, the celebrated Chouan leader. He was
the son of a poor miller of Auray.in Lower Brittany ; an inflexible
" legitamist,'' he waged a gallant but unsuccessful war against the
Republicans for many years. He was executed on the 2:">th of
June, 1804, in his thirty-fifth year, meeting his fate with the
same intrepidity that had distinguished hia life. " His mind,"
said Napoleon, " was cast in the true mould : in my hands he
would have done great things. I know how to appreciate his
firmness of character."

GO THE HOODED SNAKE.

remained firm, and so we were condemned to die. We
were not much moved by that, for mercy was the last
thing we expected from their parricidal hands ; and
so our minds were made up to the worst. But as
fortune would have it, Monsieur le Chevalier, who was
in Paris at the time, had recognised me during the
trial as one who had been born upon his estate, and
after making application in vain to the judges, set about
in another way to obtain my release."

" He applied to the First Consul, or to Fouche 1"

The Breton laughed.

" I had gotinto prison through the might of steel, — I
escaped from it through the might of gold. One night, —
it was the night before the day fixed for my execution, —
the jailor, in closing the cell, had forgotten to remove
the key from the door, — the same accident occurred to
that at the end of the corridor, and the soldier who
guarded the outer one of all was asleep, so sound asleep,
that though I stumbled twice, for my limbs were
cramped, I failed to awake him."

" A heavy sleeper !" said Eugenie.

Again the Breton laughed.

" And a conscientious one — he was to sleep at the
rate of a louis a minute, — he had only received five of
the former, yet he slept a good ten of the latter, — and
I got safe into the street."

"And the Chevalier de Preville did this 1"

" He did, and more ; he had me safely conveyed to

THE HOODED SNAKE. 61

Brittany, till my pardon — though I had committed no
crime but what I would gladly commit again — was
granted. ' I have done you a service,' said the Che-
valier, ' I may, one of these days, require one of you.' "
" And you promised, of course ?"
" I gave no promise, Mademoiselle, for none was
necessary ; he knew Keroulas Carnac, and was satisfied.
I owe the Chevalier a life, and it is his, should he want
it."

Yvonne had risen from the seat, and touching the
Breton's arm, pointed to the sun, that was rapidly dis-
appearing beneath the horizon.

" Mademoiselle will pardon me if I take my leave ;
the darkness comes on so swiftly, and it is ill journey-
ing when the light of heaven is shut out."

" Beside, Keroulas would rather meet a regiment
of Blues, than half-a-dozen of these dancing dwarfs
who—"

" Hush ! Mademoiselle d'Aubigny, do not speak
lightly of the Courils ! it is ill jesting when trouble
may be even now lying in wait for us, and sorrow
plucking at our elbow."

The superstitious peasant said this in so solemn a
voice that at any other time Eugenie would have
laughed ; but she herself seemed struck with a fore-
boding, and was silent.

Yvonne pressed Mademoiselle d'Aubigny's hand to
her li]>3, who, in return, kissed her affectionately on
both cheeks. Keroulas made a respectful obeisance,

62 THE HOODED SNAKE.

then drew the young maiden's arm within his own,
and moved off in the direction of a narrow path that
was cut through the thick underwood, and led from
the garden, or park, into the road.

Eugenie watched them till they had disappeared ;
then, with a heavy sigh, walked slowly away, pene-
trating deeper into the umbrageous recesses of the
garden ; a melancholy shade had fallen upon the young
face, and she murmured half aloud —

" Dear Yvonne, may neither care nor blight fall
upon your young life, — and may Keroulas, as he has
already to others proved himself to be a true man,
prove to you as true a lover !" Again she sighed,
" Ah ! me. I have borne much of suffering, and borne
it without complaint ; but this daily deceit — this secret
which every day, every hour, against my reason, my
tongue threatens to betray, is weighing me to the
earth. A thousand times have I thought it better
that my father should know all ; and yet his sense of
honour — his word, so solemnly pledged to another —
his hope by such an union to retrieve the falling for-
tunes of our house ; no, I dare not ! dare not ! Alas !
I know not what to think, or do. I must, like that
poor princess in the English play, still ' love and be
silent !' "

She was now standing in a small dell, on every
side thickly encompassed with trees whose branches
interlaced themselves above her head, when footsteps
were heard upon the dry leaves, which lay inches thick

THE HOODED SNAKE. 63

upon the ground ; and then a well-known voice met
her ear, calling her name. She turned in the direction
from whence it came, the sweet dove-like look settled
in her eyes ; and in a voice full of the heart's music,
she answered " Victor !"

The branches were pushed apart outside, and Victor
de Preville, springing down the bank, stood by her
side,

" Eugenie ! My wife !"

" My husband !" Her arms were thrown about
his neck, her cheek pressed against his, then she started
back and coloured from neck to brow. Victor was not
alone ; the branches were again pushed aside, and his
companion appeared upon the top of the bank.

"The Abbe de Chateau Vieux !"

" Pardon, Madame de Preville !" said the new
comer, with a laughing significance, as he leaped lightly
down, and bowed before the lady with all the grace of
the ancien regime. " By your leave, I will introduce
myself as a merchant, about to make a trading tour in
Brittany— one Etienne Marcel."

64 THE HOODED SNAKE.

CHAPTEB V

A PEEP INTO THE BARON'S STUDY — SUSPICIONS.

In the left wing of the old maison d'Aubigny, are
situated the private apartments of the Baron : these
three rooms — a sleeping-room, a study, and an ante-
chamber — constituted, as he would often laughingly
say to his friend the Chevalier, the only portion of his
possessions that he could really call his own — friends
and servants alike respecting the tabooed threshold.
Chiffon alone, in his double capacity of valet and secre-
tary — though his secretaryship was by no means of
the confidential character he asserted it to be, — having
a right of entrance to the Baron's apartments ; a right,
however, that he but seldom used, excepting when his
attendance was required by his master — a self-denial
which, considering the valet's well-known habit of pry-
ing into all things that did not concern him, excited
no little astonishment in the d'Aubigny household.

The Baron's study was a large A^aulted room, huDg
round with tapestry so old, that the subjects — scrip-

THE HOODED SNAKE. 65

tux-al or otherwise — set forth upon it, had entirely-
disappeared ; the many-hued threads presenting a
sombre though chaotic surface of colour in those places
where the tapestry remained entire : the whole, how-
ever, was fast resolving itself to dust, as, centuries ago,
had the taper fingers of the high-born ladies whose
well-tutored skill had fashioned it. Several large
presses, containing many a time-hallowed document
pertaining to the d'Aubigny family, stood around, the
wood-work of which was in nearly the same state of
decay as the tapestry. The great high-backed chairs
were piled with books ; and not only were their seats
thus littered with learning, but their rheumatic or
gouty legs were almost hidden by a perfect sea of dusty
volumes that surged everywhere about the floor. Near
the one great window that looked out upon a thick
shrubbery, stood a massive bureau — an ancient piece
of brass-bound furniture — before which the male
d'Aubigny's for many a generation had sat, till it came
to be considered by the family as a sort of household
friend, not to be discarded for any more graceful or
even more convenient modern innovation. It was a
very mysterious affair, being full of all kinds of intricate
devices and out-of-the-way places of concealment in
the shape of wells and drawers, only to be discovered
by means of carefully-hidden springs. It is related
that an overbusy servant, who had once stolen into t he-
room to polish up the old bureau's dingy exterior, had
by chance touched one of these springs, whereupon

F

66 THE HOODED SNAKE.

such an opening of unlooked-for doors, sucli a darting
out of undreamt-of drawers ensued, that, dropping her
duster with a scream, the girl fled from the room, and
could never again be tempted to enter it. Before this
bureau sat the Baron — his elbow upon the raised desk,
and his head resting upon his hand — his brow was
knitted as in deep but unpleasant thought, and his
eyes were rivetted upon some papers that lay in a heap
before him. Suddenly arousing himself he took up
the papers one by one, and, drawing the lamp, for it
was evening far advanced, towards him, carefully exa-
mined their seals ; this done, he threw himself back in
the chair, the same puzzled look still upon his face.

" It cannot be !" he said ab last, " it is impossible !
None but Chiffon has admittance here — and de Preville
has vouched for his honesty ; besides, this lock is of a
peculiar and English manufacture ; any attempt to
open it, otherwise than with the proper key, would
only injure the wards and make detection certain : the
key never quits my person, and its duplicate cannot
be found in France." Again he examined each seal,
and with the same result. "They are as when I sealed
them, not a crack or flaw ; and yet, I would have sworn
that the position of the packets had been altered : this
small one, for instance, I remember yesterday placing
nearly at the bottom of the pile, the corner pushed
under the silken thread of the larger packet, and this
evening it is most unaccountably at the top !" He
rose, opened his vest, took out a small key attached to

THE HOODED SNAKE. 67

his neck by a long thin ribbon, then leant across the
desk, and touched first one spring, then another ; and
sliding his fingers aloDg the apparently solid wood,
pushed back a small panel and discovered a secret
drawer, he fitted the key to the lock, shooting and re-
shooting the bolt.

" It's strange ! the wards are certainly uninjured —
it never acted better. I must have been mistaken.
Heaven forbid ! I should even in thought wrongfully
accuse an innocent man."

The Baron closed the drawer, locked it, and then —
it was a habit with him — strode up and down the
room, his hands tightly locked behind him.

" And yot, I must be cautious — tie Preville may be
deceived. Yes, yes, there is need of caution in such a
game as this I am engaged in — a game in which all is
at stake — my fortune and my head !" He drew a long
breath. " Poor Eugenie ! may it please God to pre-
serve both for her sake. Alas ! he who wages the war
of kings and dynasties must abide the peril, for it is
one in which the weaker must ever go to the wall ;
and, like the two pots in the fable, the finer the porce-
lain the sooner it is broken. It is a bold throw, but
it must be made ; if the rising is general, it would ill-
become the Baron d' Aubigny to remain idle, when king
and country alike solicit his aid. Caution ! pardieu !
if that wily fox Fouchc got but wind of such a plot,
some estates would change owners and some heads part
company from the shoulder ! C'hatcauvicux must de-

68 THE HOODED SNAKE.

part to-morrow for Nantes, and then cross the Loire
into La Yendee ; he will find there a soil ripe enough
for revolt, for in every desolated town, on the site of
every vanished village, and among the ashes of each
ruined homestead, the fire of revenge is smouldering —
a breath, and it starts into a devouring flame. Dupont
must keep along the coast to Quimper, and there await
the promised instructions from England. England !"
— here the Baron muttered something very like an
oath, " small trust will Breton or Vendean place in
English promises ! It matters little to England whether
royalist or republican has the upper-hand ; her strength
lies in our weakness, and as long as we cut each others
throats she will lend us money to do it. Bah ! this is
the country of Duguesclin, and no armed Englishmar
can ever tread it but as an enemy." As the Baron
who was by no means free from some of the prejudice?
of his time, said this, some one knocked at the outside
of the door of the antechamber : the knock was repeatec
three times, and the Baron hastened into the ante
chamber, returning with his guests Dupont and Etienm
Marcel, or, as we shall now call him, the Abbe Cha
teauvieux. When the two latter were seated, tht
Baron, who had remained standing, took the sealec
packets from the bureau, and said —

"You see I am quite prepared, and should advist
your departure about an hour before sunrise. I havt
cared that you shall have good horses in place of tht
sorry jades that brought you from the coast the othei

THE HOODED SNAKE. 69

night ; these are the best in my stables, and you are
not the men to let the grass grow under their feet."

" Before sunrise ! may not our departure at such
an early hour excite suspicion 1 " The Baron
laughed.

" You forget, Chateauvieux, you are in Brittany,
and not in Paris ; besides, is is my intention to accom-
pany you some leagues. I have business at Loudiac,
and some part of the road we may travel together."

" "We shall be rejoiced, my dear Baron ; our jour-
ney will appear shorter by that number of leagues."

The Baron bowed, then handed to each of his
visitois several of the sealed papers. " The gentlemen,
to whom these are addressed, will give not only a warm
welcome to the envoys of our king, but all the infor-
mation you may require concerning the feeling in their
neighbourhood. In a few days, by such means, you
may feel the pulse of the country, and hasten or delay
your plaiis accordingly. You, Chateauvieux, will pro-
ceed to Nantes. You will find among these papers a
letter to a Monsieur Raymond, a hemp merchant."

" A good trade !" said the Abbe, en parenthese,
'■ and, should we get the upper hand of thcsu varlets,
likely to become an extensive one."

The Baron went on.

" He will be able to speak as to the feeling of the
men of his class ; they must have short memories if
thev can look at the Loire, as it rushes by their city,
and not wish well to their exiled king."

70 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" The Loire ! the river of the Noyades!* each wave
it rolls towards the sea is a tongue that speaks of re-
publican crime, and craves for the return of Louis."

The Baron shook his head sadly.

" Or speaks a warning against again rashly calling
down so cruel a punishment ; but that is scarcely to
be dreaded, for, though I hate this man who now rides
triumphant upon the neck of France, he is neither
cruel nor — "

" Well, I cross from Nantes into La Vendee,"
interrupted the Abbe, the dark shade settling upon
his face, for he was a "good hater," and was not one
to praise an enemy — " a country both religious and
loyal."

" They cling to their habits, like all of us, Chateau-
vieux. What you would denominate their supersti-
tion, custom has made a religion. You may sweep
away every vestige of the past from the soil of Brit-
tany, but you cannot shake the Breton's fixed ideas.
' I will overthrow your steeples,' said the republican
St. Andre to the mayor of one of our villages, ' in
order that no object may remain to recal your super-
stitions.' ' You will still be forced to leave us the
stars,' replied the peasant ; ' and they may be seen

* The terrible " drownings of Nantes," commanded by the
sanguin iry Carrier, a man " whose excesses,'' as was said, " dis-
honoured terror itself." His victims were enclosed in the holds
of ships ; at a given signal valves were opened, and the waves of
the Loire swallowed them up. By these means hundreds were
destroyed at a time.

TIIE HOODED SNAKE. 71

from a greater distance than our steeples !'* A good
cause will make a hero of a peasant ; a bad one will
often make a coward of a prince, — that is, if he knew it
to be so. Our peasantry, Breton and Vendean, wish to
remain unmolested — to remain in everything as their
fathers were before them. The republic came upon
them suddenly — it sought to shake ideas that were
with them not to be shaken — to cast aside old customs,
whose roots were twined about the heart — their Lares
and Penates were threatened — so they one and all
snatched up the musket to defend them."

" Then you think they have sunk into a sluggish
sleep, and are not again to be aroused ¥'

" I did not say that. Show them a cause — "

" What greater can I show than that of the Lord's
anointed — Louis, their king 1"

" To men like ourselves, possibly none greater ; but
the peasant, before he again risks his little all, must
know that unless he does so, his rights may again be
invaded and himself torn from his home to be marched
to the frontier."

" I understand," said the Abbe ; while his com-
panion, Dupont, who was of a taciturn nature, simply
nodded his approval.

" Our peasants shrink from such forced military
service ; and, had it not pleased the republic to com-
mand a levy of 300,000 men, La Vendee might have

• Souveatre.

72 THE HOODED SNAKE.

remained quiet and escaped the storm that has devas-
tated it."

" Arid you think this compulsory service likely to
be again insisted upon 1" asked Chateauvieux.

" I do."

" Good !" said the Abbe ; and Dupont grunted his
assent.

" The First Consul, as it has pleased them to term
him, wants men — they are the counters without which
he cannot play out his game, and — "

" And that game is 1"

" Empire !"

The Abbe Chateauvieux mused. Dupont shrugged
his shoulders.

" I know this M. Buonaparte well. He is a deter-
mined, self-concentrated man : nothing is too high for
his ambition, and no obstacle too great for him to
hesitate at its removal — a man of iron, with a steady
and unswerving will."

" My dear Baron, is it possible I hear you prais-
ing-?"

" An enemy, you would say — why not 1 Yet, I
do not praise him. I but act as the wrestler, who
takes in all the points of his adversary before closing
with him. To take advantage of a man's weakness, you
must also know wherein lies his strength."

Chateauvieux, who, with Dupont, had carefully
placed in their vests the papers given to them by the
Baron, now drew a paper from a small leathern case

THE HOODED SNAKE. 73

and presented it to the Baron, who received it with
some reverence.

" You will there find, under the signature of His
Majesty, full instructions, my dear Baron, for you to
act in this part of Brittany — should the news we send
you from the south, and La Vendee, prove as good as
we anticipate and desire."

" Till then—"

" I need not say keep it carefully concealed. Such
a document would gain for the fortunate knave who
might chance upon it a rich estate at least, and for the
unfortunate gentleman whose name is mentioned
therein — a halter."

" Monsieur TAbbe ! "

" Pardon me, my dear Baron, I forgot what is due
to men of family, like ourselves. Keep up the differ-
ence of class, by all means. Let me see : thus it
stands — for the noble, the block — for the peasant, the
gallows — and for those who occupy the medium posi-
tion, like our friend Dupont, a well directed shot — "

'■ Bah ! '' said the latter gentleman, for the first
time breaking silence. " It will find me with a weapon
in my hands ; this is the twenty-third conspiracy I've
been engaged in, and have never seen the inside of a
prison yet !"

" Don't boast, mon ami ! I shall see you behind
the bars yet," said the Abbe, who, utterly reckless of
danger himself, was never so happy as when sporting
within its jaws — his spirits rising in proportion as a

74- THE HOODED SNAKE.

peril increased. But the Baron, a man of tried
courage, was annoyed at this unseasonable levity, and
said —

" You are a lonely and childless man, Etienne ;
what kith and kin you have can well protect them-
selves, and did your head roll upon the scaffold to-
morrow, many might grieve, there are none but your-
self the headsman's stroke would kill ; but I Lave a
daughter, far dearer to me than life — without me there
are none to protect her — it is her life then I hazard
with my own."

The Abbe looked up quickly, as about to speak —
then checked himself, and remained silent.

" I grant she is affianced to the Count de Marigny ;
but he is in exile, and it may be long before the cen-
tract is fulfilled."

"Very long," thought the Abbe — but he said
nothing.

" And with death comes confiscation, and I would
not have Marigny accept a dowerless wife. Not that
he whose father was my earliest friend and the soul of
honour, would hesitate — of that, I'm sure."

The Abbe, whose knowledge of the young Count's
principles and habits were of a somewhat more recent
date than the Baron's, was not so sure — but he was a
wise man, and still said nothing.

" So you see, Chateauvieux, with us the case is
different; and where — in your case — I would — nay
have — marched up to the mouth of a cannon, I would

THE HOODED SNAKE. 75

now, honour permitting, step a pace or two aside for
the ball to pass me. Confessing such to be my feelings,
I have risked all — life, daughter, happiness — in the
cause of my king and country ; but would thank you
to keep your hints about axes and halters to yourself, —
it is time enough to bestow thought on them when
you're under the one, or about to be tied to the other."

The Abbe Chateauvieux rose to his feet, and grasped
the Baron's hand, "Right, old comrade ! and I ask
pardon for such foolish jesting. You say well; like
the snail, I carry my house upon my back, and should
leave few or none — excepting yourself, perhaps — to
grieve for me. For your daughter — and no man in
France can boast a richer possession than Mademoiselle
Eugenie — be sure," and he wrung the Baron's hand
warmly, " whatever betide, she will have a protector."

" You mean Marigny 1 "

" Marigny will be a happier man than he deserves,"
was the Abbes evasive answer ; " besides, there is one
protector who never deserts the pure and good."

The Baron bowed his head reverentially, and, for a
moment, the three gentlemen were silent — it was a
painful silence, and Chateauvieux was the first to
break it.

" With your permission, Dupont and I will return
to our apartments. We have some arrangements to
make ere we again descend to the salon — when, as we
shall be stirring so early in the morning, we must
make our adieux to Mademoiselle."

76 THE HOODED SNAKE.

"Stay !" The Abbe and his friend were moving
towards the door, " I will summon my valet, and—"

" Do nothing of the kind ! " said Chateauvieux,
quickly, " I am not enraptured with the aspect of your
Monsieur Chiffon."

The Baron started.

" Have you been long the possessor of his invalu-
able services ? "

" Two years ; sufficient to know a man."

" Humph ! not such a man as I take Monsieur
Chiffon to be. Pardon my questioning you thus, —
but had he a recommendation to your service ? "

" The best ; he was recommended — and strongly
recommended — by my friend, de Preville."

" The Chevalier is a light and thoughtless man —
who gives little or no care to anything. He would as
carelessly pass his v/ord for Chiffon, or any other, if it
gave hiin no troubls to do so — as he would risk his
money, if he had any, upon a throw of the dice-box.

Again the Baron spoke, with anger — and this time
the honest blood rushed to his cheeks.

" Silence, Chateauvieux ! remember you are beneath
my roof, and it is of my friend you speak ! from boy-
hood I have known de Preville — and ever found him
thoughtless, if you will, but honourable and generous
to a fault !"

" Exactly so, d'Aubigny ! I agree in all you say
about the Chevalier ; but it is this self-same generosity
to a fault, which you allow him to possess, that would

THE HOODED SNAKE. 77

lead me to doubt his recommendation of a person like
your eccentric-looking valet. The character of the
Chevalier a child might fathom, it is all upon the
surface ; now, Monsieur Chiffon's runs deep, and — "

" What are you about 1 " broke in the Baron
laughing in spite of himself, " are you making a com-
parison between my friend and my valet ? "

" Certainly not." The Abbe now spoke with
something of hauteur. " The Chevalier de Preville is
a gentleman — "

'• While you think poor Chiffon to be — 1 "

"A scoundrel!"

And with a friendly au revoir the Abbe and his
friend left the apartment.

The Baron gazed after them, — then breathed a
heavy sigh as he turned towards the bureau, and said —
" Strange fellow, Chateauvieux — as brave as the lion,
yet as cunning as the fox — just the man for a cause
like ours. His attachment to the king is unconquer-
able, and his love of conspiracy and intrigue equally
ardent ; such energetic earnest men make no allowance
for a feather-brain, like de Preville, who takes the
world as it comes, and will leave it neither better nor
Worse than he found it."

The Baron had touched the spring and put by the
panel, when he paused — holding the pree ous paper
given him by Chateauvieux irresolutely in his hand —
" It is strange, too, how his suspicions concerning
Chiffon came, as it were, like an echo to my own. 1

78 THE HOODED SNAKE

dare not mention this to de Preville, lie will turn the
■whole affair into a jest, and banter me for a week after
about my ' demon ' of a valet — terming him Bobes-
pierre redivivus, or Fouche the second — with a world
of similar nonsense. Yet the interests concerned are
far too grave to induce me to run any hazard with this
fellow, who Chateauvieux so much dislikes. Ah ! I
have it, I will state my suspicions frankly to Victor,
and he shall make some closer inquiries into the ante-
cedents of this man than his father has done : not but
that the man has served me well for two years, but — "
the Earon paused a moment, then closed the drawer and
shut the panel — " precaution is the mother of safety,
and before I again trust to the old hiding-place, my
suspicions must be removed, till then I shall use
another." So saying the Baron — the little paper still
in his hand — crossed the room, and entered his bed-
chamber, closing the door behind him.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 79

CHAPTER VI.

THE BABOK TAKES VICTOR INTO HIS CONFIDENCE

KEROULAS — THE PLOT THICKENS.

" It was from Monsieur de Nangis that my father
received Chiffon, as a consignment, and, according to
his letter of recommendation, a valuable one."

" De Nangis ! I remember he was one of the first
that fell in the September massacre."

"No, that was his brother. My father's friend
was not so fortunate ; he died from the effects of a
wound received in the Palais Royal in a quarrel of
some kind, arising out of I know not what. De
Nangis left his opponent dead on the spot — dying
himself, some hours afterwards, in a room of the Cafe
Foy, to which place his friends had carried him."

" Truly a sad end for a brave man — but Chiffon 1"

" "Was by his mastor's side when ho breathed his
last : a week afterwards he presented himself at the
Chateau rontarlac, with the written request of De
Nangis in his hand."

80 THE HOODED SNAKE.

"I must have been mistaken, — yet tilings have
occurred, Victor, to arouse my suspicion ; and, I
confess, to shake my trust in this man."

The Baron and Victor were standing in a recess
formed by one of the large windows of the salon
d'Aubigny, the large curtains screening them from
the company assembled in the room.

" You both alarm and surprise me, Baron !"
"Thus the case stands, Victor,— for I can have no
reserve with one who I have learnt to regard almost
as a son," and he laid his hand affectionately upon the
young man's shoulder, — " You have lived long enough,
in the world to know that we all have our secrets —
you have yours." It was fortunate the heavy curtain
shut out the light, or Victor's startled look could
scarcely have escaped the Baron, who went on — " 1
have mine. What they are, you, not being a woman,
will not care to inquire : suffice it, they are secrets of
an importance to othera as well as myself, and there-
fore require upon my part a double care. You under-
stand me ?"

Victor bowed.

"You know the old bureau in my study — that
piece of antiquity you were but the other day ad-
miring so much — "

Victor bowed again.

"Well, that has its secrets also — which, until
lately, I had believed known only to myself. It was
my habit to entrust all my more important papers to

THE HOODED SNAKE. 81

its keeping, with the same confidence as one would
his life in the hands of a long- tried and trusty servant.
As I have said, it is only lately that I have had
reason to suspect that my secrets are no longer my
own ; in short, that the ' open, sesame !' has been dis-
covered"

" A domestic traitor ! oh ! impossible ! I cannot
bebeve that any one would be so base, to bite the
hand that feeds — to betray the owner of the roof that
shelters him."

The Baron smiled at the young man's indignation,
though it pleased him.

"You are still young, Victor; yet a moment's
reflection, and you will remember the times in which
we live — how few years have passed since the son
eyed with suspicion the father, and the father, terrified
by that one dread word ' suspect,' looked askance at
the son, since a brother* ascended the tribune, and
added a fratricidal vote to those that doomed the
sainted Louis to the block ! Where ties of kin-
dred have proved so weak, shall ties of gratitude be
regarded 1"

The Baron shook his head and sighed.

" The times have not changed — only the serpent,
that so lately held itself erect to sting, now crawls
stealthily upon its victim — there is deceit everywhere
in France, for the spirit of Foucho pervades its go-
vernment and councils."

• The Due d'Orleans.
Q

82 THE HOODED SNAKE.

"And Chiffon?"

"Nay, my dear Victor, I do not accuse him —
lacking proof, I should blush to do so — but I have a
habit of assorting my papers, and, as with age we
grow methodical, placing them according to their
shape, bulk, subject, and so on ; by degrees the idea
has struck me, that frequent alterations were made in
this arrangement — but not by me."
" Is it possible !"

" The seals of the packets were ever as I left them,
but the contents were often differently arranged : for
instance, a document that was near the bottom I
would find close at the top, and one that I had pur-
posely placed near the top had, in the same unac-
countable manner, sunk to the bottom."

" Grounds for suspicion, indeed !"

" And yet, as I say, to all appearance the seals of
the letters — the fastenings of the drawers — were un-
tampered with. Now, my valet alone has access to
the room, and therefore it is not surprising that my
suspicion fell first upon him — "

" I would shoot the scoundrel, did I think — "

" Patience, patience, Victor, I may be mistaken —
nay, possibly I am — what I ask of you is, that you
will seek to learn more of the past history of Chiffon
than this recommendation of De Nangis affords ?"

" Certainly — my father — "

"Nay, do not speak of it to him — I could have
done that : but you know his careless way, and more-

THE HOODED SNAKE. 83

over he would possibly feel hurt at a doubt, upon such
slender grounds, thrown upon the character of his
protegee. Do you know any of the De Nangis ?"

" The nephew of Chiffon's master was one of my
companions at Coblentz."

"Inquire, then, of him : he may learn something
concerning a man for so many years the valet to his
uncle."

" I will write to-night !"

Again the Baron laughed good humouredly.

" Time enough, time enough, Victor ; I have business
at Loudiac to-morrow, and shall not return until the
day after ; we will then speak further of this. In the
meanwhile I have taken precaution to prevent the
repetition of the treachery — if treachery has been
committed."

As the Baron said this, the curtain of the recess,
which was partially drawn, was twitched aside, and a
laughing voice exclaimed —

"Why, dAubigny, what conspiracy are you and
Victor hatching here in the darkness 1 ? Come forth
into the light, that we may read the mystery from
your faces."

"There's no mystery, Chevalier;" and the gentle-
men quitted the reqess and joined the company in the
salon. I purpose a journey to Loudiac to-morrow,
and was giving some instructions to Victor, to
which he has kindly premised to attend in my
abs?ncs. : '

84 THE HOODED SNAKE.

"What instructions'? I have the curiosity of a
woman."

" And the tongue, I fear," said the Baron.

" Would I could boast one only half as bewitching
as Mademoiselle's," — and the Chevalier bowed to
Eugenie, — "and I would know every secret in men's
power to tell, even though some of them were locked
up in the bosom of Fouche himself !"

" You would tell them again as quickly ; so they
would be secrets no longer.'

" Is it a crime to disseminate knowledge V

" Forbidden knowledge — to pluck the fruit of
which entails a penalty," said Chateauvieux, with a
smile.

" I've had penalties enough in my time, Monsieur
Marcel. I had scarcely begun to try my wings in the
world, when I was compelled to sing my first song
behind the bars of the Bastille ; it was there I made
my name as a poet."

"A poet!"

" Yes, my dear Mademoiselle Eugenie ; I composed
twenty-seven odes and some fifty sonnets."

" Might I ask the favour of a copy of poems that
must, from such an author, be at least original V

" I am sorry to refuse you, Mademoiselle ; but the
only copy of the work is no longer extant — it fell
with the walls of the Bastille."

"How so?"

"The sans-oulottes had no feeling for poetry; and,

THE HOODED SNAKE. 85

as mine was traced with a nail upon the walls of my
dungeon, they destroyed it without compunction — it
was a pity. I had just commenced an epic when I
was liberated."

"And France lost a second Henriade?" said the
Baron.

" Such is the fate of genius. Every memento of
my work is lost, but the nail, which I have carefully
preserved as a confirmation of my story."

" They soon imprisoned the bird again : was it
not so, de Preville V

"Parbleu! they looked upon me as a flower that
the rough winds of heaven would destroy, so kept me
carefully preserved between four stone walls — L'Ab-
baye, the Conciergerie, St. Lazare. I've been an in-
mate of them all, and came out scatheless, as you see."

" A sad life," said Eugenie.

" Not at all," replied the Chevalier. " We had
neighbour Death so long, that we ceased to fear it.
I never met such good company before as I met in
those various prisons. It was in my last place of de-
tention that I made tbe acquaintance of poor Chenier ;
who, like myself, Mademoiselle, fostered the flowers of
poesie in a dungeon — though, when I took up my nail,
I had no such inspiration as the beautiful Mademoiselle
de Coigny. Poor Andre ! he made a temple of his
prison, and she was then the deity he placed upon
the shrine."*

* Andre Chenier. Of this poet, who only wanted time to be

86 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" The Chevalier was unfortunate !" said Chateau-
vieux, with, a barely concealed sneer. "He seems to
have suffered under each government."

"Getting an iron bracelet, when men like Monsieur
Etienne Marcel would have transmuted the metal and
made it gold !"

" How ! Monsieur ;" and the dark brows of Cha-
teauvieux met in a frown.

The Chevalier threw a glance towards him — a
bright shaft of contemptuous ridicule — and laughed —
" You are a trader ; and it is one of the rules of trade
to sell its goods in the best market — and buy in the
cheapest. Faith ! it's an example worth following."

" You council treason, de Preville !" said d'Aubigny,
" and treason never prospered yet."

" No ! my dear d'Aubigny ; treason is but the
battle of the outs against the ins : he that is fortunate
will ever pass for the right. I remember an epigram
worth much for the truth it teaches, though it comes
from England : —

'a'

" Treason doth never prosper, what's the reason ?
For if it prosper, none dare call it treason !"

" Where did you learn this folly T said the Baron,
half angry — half laughing.

great, Lamartine says : — " The dreams of his splendid imagina-
tion had found their reality in Mademoiselle de Coigny, who was
incarcerated in the same prison." Thus does love triumph in the
face of death.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 8/

" Folly ! it's the essence of wisdom. I have sown
my wild oats, and am waiting the harvest of virtuous
reward to spring from their burial. You are a rich
man, d'Aubigny, and I a very poor one : could I have
found a red cap to fit my head, or have tuned my
throat to the Marseillaise, I might have still called
many broad acres mine. I was loyal, in Paris, and a
conspirator, and I am now paying the penalty in a fifth
and last prison — the gloomy little chateau Pontarlac."

" We must not remember our troubles, Chevalier,"
said Eugenie. De Preville bowed ; and his voice,
whose tones had been unusually bitter, changed in a
moment.

" It is only Mademoiselle who has the power to
make us forget them."

" And the means ?"

" Music ! whether she speaks or sings."

" You will sing, Eugenie," and the fond father
looked at his tall and graceful daughter with a proud
smile.

" With pleasure — if my doing so will give pleasure
to these gentlemen."

The gentlemen were profuse in their expressions of
delight. Eugenie's voice answered them ; but her eyes —
those brown, tender eyes — with such a depth of love be-
neath their velvet surface, sought Victor's — such a
glance is the silent medium by which soul communi-
cates with soul — speaking a language the most poetic
in the word, and one which only lovers understand.

88 THE HOODED SNAKE.

"A song of Brittany," suggested Victor. " One of
the ballads of the people — whose simple words are the
utterance of the heart — in whose melody we hear the
sad murmur of the wind across our heaths, the melan-
choly ripple of the waves upon our shores."

" You're very romantic, Victor," said his father,
" I don't object to it — it's as becoming in youth, as
a blush on a maiden's c eek — but it's as out of place
in age as paint in the cheek of the —

"Hush!"

Eugenie had begun to sing an old Breton song, whose
plaintive melody brought tears into the eyes of the
listeners, with the exception, perhaps, of dePreville, who
considered sentiment to be a mistake. The song was
in the native Celtic, and was a fair sample of that
" dying language and dying poetry," which is so rapidly
passing away, — it was the patriotic lay of some bygone
and nameless poet —

" Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer —
As tears from the eyelids start."

The Baron — who, all aristocratic as he was Breton
to the core of his heart — was visibly affected: and, when
the song concluded, bent over his daughter's chair and
pressed a, loving kiss upon her forehead. Even the
Chevalier had, for a moment, lost his nonchalance,
and complimented the singer with his sunniest smile,
saying — " Had the Syrens sung with voices only half

THE HOODED SNAKE. 89

as sweet, alas ! for Ulysses and his crew, for they
would have been most certainly devoured."

" A stream of delicious melody," said Chateuvieux ;
" of which the very sands are golden !" added the Che-
valier.

" Really, gentlemen, you overpower me with your
compliments," laughed Eugenie. " You are so lavish
in your gifts, that, like Tarpeia, I am crushed be-
neath them."

" Eugenie has a stock of these old ballads : her
nurse was famous for her skill in singing them — both
the ballads of the mountains, and the exquisite com-
plaints of the coast."

" I have heard much of the latter," said the Abbe\,
" and if our solicitations may have effect upon Made-
moiselle — "

" Eugenie is always delighted to pleasure her
father's guests — in this, as, I believe, in all things, I
can answer for my daughter."

The beautiful head was bent for a moment, and
the face hidden : then it was raised, and with eyes,
whose lustre shone through tears, Eugenie d'Aubigny
sung one of the wild yet musical complaints to which
we have before referred.

# # *- #

Beneath the windows of the salon, standing im-
moveable under the dark shadow of the trees, stood
a man — his face was concealed by the broad brim of
his hat. As he leant forward, listening attentively to

90 THE HOODED SNAKE.

the singing within, his arms were crossed over the
muzzle of a gun, the butt of which rested on the ground.
He remained thus, immoveable, like a sentinel at & his
post, long after the second song was finished, only alter-
ing his position by leaning his back against a tree ;
then, one by one, the lights disappeared from the
windows, indicating that the inhabitants of the maison
d'Aubigny were about to seek their rest. The man
for the first time made a gesture of impatience, by
striking the butt of his gun violently upon the ground.

" He will not return to Pontarlac. Diable ! then
I have had my watch for nothing ; nothing ! that can
scarcely be for I have heard the singing of Mademoiselle,
and singing, too, the songs of our Brittany."

He waited a few minutes more — scanned each
window of the house with an eye that flashed like a
hawk's from beneath his hat — then, carrying his gun
in the hollow of his arm, turned and disappeared among
the trees. He had scarcely done so, when the gate of
the chateau was opened, and a horseman, muffled
closely in his cloak, for the night was cold, rode out of
the court-yard ; returning the " God be with you !" of
the old servant who closed the gate behind him, he
gave his horse the spur, and galloped swiftly down the
road. He had not proceeded far, however, before
he.reined-in his horse, and, bending forward, listened
attentively : for from the thick undergrowth about the
trees that lined the roadside, there came a peculiar cry
— that of the screech-owl — which was three times re-

THE HOODED SNAKE. 91

peated. The horseman, at the third cry, uttered a
similar sound, which was answered by a loud laugh,
and the man with the gun jumped nimbly into the
road.

" I thought it was you, Monsieur Victor. So you
have not forgotten the old Chouan war-cry : it has
often enough struck terror into .the cowardly hearts of
tkefilues, being always folio wed by a volley from our
guns. I remember, though I was but young at the
time, the struggle that took place in this very road."

The man had advanced nearly to the horseman's
bridle, who said with some surprise — •

" Keroulas !"

" You were slow to recognise me," said the Breton,
laughing. " We Bretons have eyes like cats, and see
the belter for the darkness. I knew you directly you
came through the gate." Then, he added, "I have
been waiting out here for some hours, hoping to get
speech with Monsieur le Chevalier."

" With my father !'' again Victor showed sur-
prise. " He sleeps at the Baron's to-night, and will
not return to Pontarlac till the morning ; but is your
business so pressing that it will not keep till the
morning V'

" It is pressing, for it concerns the Baron
d'Aubigny and his daughter!"

" What do you mean, Keroulas 1 Speak, man !
nothing can concern them that does not also concern

92 THE HOODED SNAKE.

me" — lie checked himself — " and everyone who loves
them."

" You are right, Monsieur Victor : what is in-
tended for the ear of the father cannot go far wrong
when entrusted to the son. This, then, is what I had
to relate to the Chevalier."

The Breton, resting upon the barrel of his gun,
went on —

" You know Martin ?"

" For the most superstitious fool this side of the
Loire — and that's saying much ; go on !"

" Humph ! that's as it may be. But Martin was
returning late last night from Saint Croix ; and, wish-
ing to avoid as much as possible the loneliness of the
heath, took the road that sweeps round here under the
trees, facing the maison d'Aubigny."

" Well, well V

But the Breton, like all of his race, was not to be
hurried. He went on, deliberately, " Martin had
crossed the main road, and was keeping as much as
possible under the shadow of the trees, when a turn in
the path brought him directly under the windows of
the left wing ; he paused a moment to glance up at
them, when to his alarm the largest window was
gently opened, and a man descended by the limbs of
the great vine which forms a natural ladder at that
side of the house."

" And Martin ?"

THE HOODED SNAKE. 93

" Fled — without looking behind him. He was
silent about what he had seen all day ; but as the
evening drew on, and we sat together, could keep his
council no longer, and so unburthened his mind to
me."

" Silent! — for why ? Why not have gone instantly
to the Baron ?"

" Martin is discreet enough in some things. The
man was coming from the house — a hand closed the
window behind him. Scandal has made much of less
— and — the Baron has a daughter — •"

" Dog ! would you dare to suspect — "

The Breton started erect as an arrow, and by an
instinctive movement raised his gun, — and then let it
fall again slowly to his feet. " I pardon your words.
You love Mademoiselle, and he who loves is neither
master of his words nor his actions ; but I still say
Martin was discreet — and knew little of the arrange-
ment of the rooms in the house — the man descended
from the third over the vine-trellis."

" The Baron's study !"

" As you say, the Baron's study. Knowing that,
I was here to speak to your father, who is the Baron's
friend, and lacks not patience to hear a plain story."

Victor extended his hand to the Breton.

" Pardon me, Keroulas, I — " Keroulas seized the
proffered hand, shaking it warmly.

" It is I who was in the wrong. There are some

94 THE HOODED SNAKE.

names so dear that we tremble when another mentions
them. You will tell the Chevalier of this discovery of
Martin's ?"

Victor reflected for a few minutes, then answered —

" No ! it is best, at present, we speak of this to no

one. It shall be my care to watch ; it will be time

when we know more — and more we shall know — to

act."

" I will share your watch, Monsieur Victor. Had
I been in Martin's place, a shot from my gun should
have brought the robber to the earth."

" How know you that he was a robber'?"
" None but a robber leaves an honest man's house
by the window !"

" The mystery thickens !" thought Victor, " aud
the Baron's suspicions are more than correct : though
whether Chiffon be in league with this spy — for such
he is evidently — is yet doubtful." He turned towards
the ex-Chouan, who, whistling softly, was polishing his
gun-barrel with his sleeve.

" Do you return to Pere Bonchamp's farm f
" No ! I sleep to-night at Jalec's cabin. By sun-
rise we have to be fishing a league off the coast."

" I will ride with you. Jalec can give me sleeping
room, I know — a chair and my cloak is all that I
require. Come, Keroulas, we can talk as we go.'' As
he said this he pushed on somewhat briskly ; then,
suddenly tightening his rein, said, " I travel too

THE HOODED SNAKE. 95

quickly — I had forgotten that I have four feet beneath
me, and you but two."

But the hardy Breton, who was still whistling
softly, motioned to him to proceed. " Never fear for
me, Monsieur Victor; a man's walk can equal a horse's
over such ground as this ;" and he strode on, keeping
pace with the horse without any apparent effort, still
diligently polishing the barrel of his gun.

96 THE HOODED SNAKE.

CHAPTER VII.

THE RIVALS — HANDS NOT HEARTS — II. ANATOLE
CHIFFON.

It was long past noon, and all was busy life on
Dominique Bonchamp's farm. FA number of Bre-
ton damsels, in their modest and picturesque costume,
were bustling about, attending to the wants of the
labourers as they came and went in and out of the
farm ; the voice of the farmer was heard everywhere,
and his portly person was so active in its movements,
that at times he appeared ubiquitous. The farm was
evidently one of the most prosperous, and presented
none of that dirt and discomfort unfortunately so fre-
quent in the homesteads of Brittany.

Standing at the door of the dairy was Yvonne,
leaning against the primitive-looking woodwork : she
looked as beautiful and delicate as one of those
exquisite flowers that we see at times adorning the
rough sides of an oak. Near her stood Paul Lebrun,
with a look of mingled bashfulness and impuience
upon his generally bold face ; but, in the presence 01

THE HOODED SNAKE. 97

Yvonne, his reckless bearing was subdued, — not by
any effort on her part, — but as a rough spirit is awed
and calmed by the quiet and holy aspect of the inte-
rior of some Christian church. Yvonne's pure and
gentle face was the altar before which the wild nature
of the young sailor bent down ; true, he struggled
against the feeling, but to conquer it — was impossible.
It was during one of these struggles to regain his
usual confidence of demeanour that we come upon him
now.

" A good morning's work this !" and he kicked
carelessly at a huge basket of fish that stood at his
feet. " Had Keroulas been compelled from his cradle
to pick up a living with the hook and line, he could
scarcely have done better."

" Keroulas is a good fisherman. Jalec says a better
sailor — "

" Sailor !" laughed Lebrun contemptuously. " Yo\i
don't call these spratcatchers sailors ! why, there's not
not one of them but would faint downright did he
once see the line of his dear native shore fade in the
horizon."

" That is not true, Lebrun. Our Brittany has
produced too many good sailors, ' she smiled good
humouredly at Paul, " yourself among the number, to
permit belief in your sarcasm : besides, is he less a man
because his heart sinks when for the first time he
leaves his native land behind him?"

" Oh ! certainly not. I have had my eyes over-
H

98 THE HOODED SNAKeI

flow myself: and the first time we steered out ot
Brest I cried like a great lubberly boy — which, in
fact, I was."

" And you are none the worse for it, as a man, I
suppose ¥'

" I suppose not : yet, to be valued ashore it is not
sufficient to have gained the reputation of a good
sailor ! an ' idle ne'er-do-well,' they say, and they pass
him by for some St. Peter," and again he kicked the
basket with his foot, " who brings home his miraculous
draught of fishes !"

" For shame, Paul Lebrun ! to speak thus ill-
naturedly of those who daily risk their lives to give
their wives and children bread. Besides, you have an
irreverent way of speaking of holy things, which I
greatly dislike."

" I was brought up to the sea, and not to the
church!" answered Paul, somewhat sulkily.

" And so to follow creditably the one, you consider
it necessary to entirely forget the precepts of the
other ! I'm really ashamed of you, Paul !"

The young sailor looked up into the bright face ot
the pretty lecturer, and said somewhat sheepishly —

" I'm but a rough fellow, I know ; but, under your
tuition, I shall soon be tame enough — such a tongue
would quell a tiger !"

Yvonne laughed outright at this very doubtful
compliment.

" So I'm a shrew, am If

THE HOODED SNAKE. 99

" You ! ! ! — why you're as gentle as the dove that
announced the abatement of the storm to Captain
!Noah ; and your words are as soothing as oil iipon the
waves. You a shrew ! — good idea that !"

" Yvonne !" called farmer Eonchamp, looking sud-
denly out from the loft of an adjacent barn, " we can
have no idle hands here ; you must make Paul useful,
if he will persist in coming here in the day-time : the
day for work, the evening for play, and the night for
rest. " Hilloh ! Jean, you blockhead, are you going
to market with a cart loaded in that fashion'?" and
the farmer disappeared from the window of the loft to
reappear immediately afterwards in a distant corner of
the vard.

a/

" You hear what my father says, — if you would
do nothing but bask in the sun, you had better go out
on the heath. You won't plough, and you don't fish ;
what, then, are you good for ?"

" Keroulas does both !"

" He does : my father says he drives the straightest
furrow of them all ; and as for his fishing, look there !"
and she pointed to the basket.

" I wish he'd dropped over the side of Jalec's boat,
and they were now fishing for him Avith his own hook
and line !" This time Master Paul kicked the detested
basket so viciously that it turned over, and its contents
were scattered about. Before Yvonne could speak, a
hand was laid on Paul's shoulder, and he was thrust
roughly back.

100 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" If a man won't labour himself, he should not
mar the labour of others."

Lebrun turned fiercely round, and faced Keroulas 1

" If you place your hand on me, I'll pitch you
over one of your own hayricks ! I've driven many
a furrow over a field," and he pointed towards
the sea, "that you were never man enough to
plough !"

" Not man enough ! — what is there Keroulas Car-
nac is not man enough to do 1 — and yet Paul Lebrun
dares to attempt — "

Without answering, the two young men, both
brave as lions and as strong, glared for a moment at
each other.

Yvonne read their angry purpose in their eyes, and
was hastening to advance between them, when a
chuckling laugh was heard behind them, and a voice
sounded unpleasantly in their ears —

" Ha ! ha ! the rivals ! take care, my friends, take
care ! I've heard that when the dogs were busy fight-
ing, the fox ran off with the bone !" Both the young
men turned towards the new comer — no other than
the Baron's " confidential" valet, Monsieur Anatole
Chiffon, who stepped briskly between them. Kerou-
las, who hated the valet from his soul, was the first to
speak —

" You may also have heard that there is danger
in interposing in another's quarrel !"

" And that he who comes between two enemies

THE HOODED SNAKE. 101

gets kicked and pummelled for his pains !" added
Lebrun.

" Fie ! fie;! what words are these ?" said the tin-
moved valet. "It flavours rather of the Gascon than
the Breton to hector thus before a lady !"

Both the young men stole a glance at the pained
and anxious face of Yvonne, and were silent. Ah !
the power of beauty ! Had either of these bold
fellows been a Hercules, they would have required no
other Omphale but Yvonne, but would have been con-
tent to have taken the distaff and spun at her feet for
the remainder of their lives.

" For shame, Keroulas ! for shame, Faul," she
said, glancing from one to the other in a pretty anger.
" It is fortunate my father is not a witness to this
scene ! Have you so little respect for me, Keroulas,
that you must act thus ? And you, Faul Lebrun, if
you come only to disturb this quiet home with such
silly brawls, had best come here no longer."

" Ha! ha! my friend!" whispered Chiffon in the
angry sailor's ear, "your case is hopeless. You see
which way the cat jumps."

Lebrun, without answering Chiffon, turned towards
Yvonne, and said, humbly enough —

" My visits should long ago have ceased, did
I deem them to have been unpleasant to Fere
Dominique and his daughter: as for others," and he
darted a look of defiance at his rival, " there are

102 THE HOODED SNAKE.

places of meeting to be found where interference is
impossible !"

" If Paul Lebrnn will name the place, Keroulas
Carnac will be there to await his coming."

Yvonne was becoming really frightened. Her
gentle nature took alarm at the revengeful and mean-
ing looks the two young men cast at each other.

" I would be the last to forbid Paul Lebrun my
father's house. One who has proved himself so brave
against our enemies, can scarcely fail to be welcome to
his friends."

" You see, you see," snarled Chiffon, this time in
the ear of Keroulas, " these rovers of the deep win
the women after all ! — there's a romance in the life
that can never be obtained by those who plod on a
beaten path ashore."

The face of Keroulas grew dark as night — his
black eyes seemed filled with a smouldering fire : his
teeth were clenched ; his lips compressed ; a demon
possessed him — the demon of jealousy! The dogged,
revengeful spirit of the Breton was roused : he said
nothing, but his resolve was firm as iron.

Poor Yvonne never dreaming of the fearful storm
she had raised, laid her hand upon that of Paul
Lebrun, upon whose brown surface it showed like a
snow-flake.

" Give me your hand ?" he did so, though reluc-
tantly, as knowing what would follow. " It's an

THE HOODED SNAKE. 103

honest one I know. And now, Keroulas, yours !" The
Breton looked doggedly down, and remained motion-
less. Lebrun coloured crimson from the throat to the
temples, and would have withdrawn his hand, but that
Yvonne still held it in hers, and he would not have
lost that soft touch for a pocketful of gold pieces.

" Another time, Mademoiselle Yvonne," he said.
" Keroulas Carnac and I have had many disputes of
late ; this would be but a hasty settlement, after
all."

" He who shall win the cause of dispute is, I fear,
pretty nearly decided !" whispered the valet, as he
twitched at the sleeve of the peasant.

" Keroulas !" said Yvonne again, and once more
Chiffon gave a warning pull at his sleeve. Poor
Keroulas Carnac ! his good and bad angels were beside
him : this time, however, the good angel triumphed.

" Keroulas !" a moment of hesitation — then the
Breton peasant stepped forward, and Yvonne taking
his hand, placed it in that of Lebrun."

" You are friends !" she said.

They said so, — that is, their tongues said so — their
hearts spoke a different language. Chiffon read it in
their eyes. Yvonne — as how could she be ? — was not
so keen an observer,

' Quite pathetic, this;" sneered Chiffon. •' Blood
soon hot, soon cool, eh ? It's for all the world like a
scene from one of Joseph Chenier's tragedies — it's a
glorious truce, if it be but lasting."

104 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" Away, bird of evil omen !" said the sailor, only
too pleased to have an object upon which he could freely
vent his passion. "You are a Jonah that would sink
the best ship that ever floated ! Had I a chap of your
kidney aboard one of mine, overboard you'd go, though
I gave some dozen fishes an indigestion."

'• Walk the plank, eh ! been a little in the piratical
way 1 I shouldn't wonder : it requires caution,
though — it's not so safe as wrecking !"

" If you stand there grinning at me, you varlet, I'll
— " and the sailor raised his arm.

" Stop !" thundered Keroulas ; and equally anxious
with Lebrun to find fresh cause for quarrel, he was
once more about to advance upon Lebrun, when Pere
Dominique suddenly appeared. The change was elec-
trical : at the first glimpse of his sturdy figure, and
round, healthy face, the dark clouds cleared away at
once — the brows were unbent — the hands were un-
clenched, — and to all, but those who had witnessed the
previous scene, everything appeared to be on the most
amicable footing ; or rather, we should say, to all but
one of those who had witnessed the previous scene, for
Yvonne was delighted with what she considered her
success as a peacemaker; while Chiffon, evidently
greatly delighted, shruggled and chuckled — " Only a
little dispute upon the matter of ploughing — one pre-
ferring the furrow drawn in the water, the other that
carved in the land !"

"Pooh! pooh!" said the good farmer, "both are

THE HOODED SNAKE. 105

good ploughmen in their way, and both to be honoured
alike. But, my children, let us have no more quar-
relling, — do you hear ? Shake hands !"

They did hear, and mechanically obeyed his com-
mands ; for Dominique Bonchamp was a despot, though
a kindly one, upon his little domain. His were judg-
ments without appeal : he wielded his power with
moderation, because he knew it was secure, and was
looked up to as a father by his numerous dependants.

"Oome, Yvonne, my flower, let us have a jug of
cider. I've been bawling after those scamps in the
yard till my throat is as dry as a miller's ; besides, I
must drink a glass with Paul, in honour of the brave
deed he did the other day. Only think," and he
turned to Chiffon, " this thoughtless ne'er-do-well must
needs go risking his life, to save that of — ha ! ha !
what do you think 1 — an Englishman !* stupid fellow 1"

"Truly, an unchristian-like act !" said Chiffon.

"Humph!" the honest farmer coloured slightly,
and said with some confusion, " I did not say that. I
have no love for the English, and look upon them as
the natural enemies of my country ; but, had I been
in Paul's place, I should have done the same, — and I
honour him for it !"

* " Those who have never heard the tone in which the name
ef Sagyoit (Saxon) is pronounced on the shores of Brittany,
cannot conceive the hatred it awakens in the hearts of this
people. An Englishman, in their estimation, is not a foreigner —
he is not even an enemy — he is an Englishman. — Souvestre.

106 THE HOODED SUAK2.

" And so we all do," said Yvonne, extending her
little hand, -which the delighted and bewildered sailor
seized upon eagerly, and, by an unconquerable impulse,
conveyed to his lips. The farmer only laughed ; but
Yvonne withdrew her hand hastily. She had, as she
truly said to Mademoiselle d'Aubigny, a friendship for
Lebrun, but her love was for the companion of her
childhood — Keroulas Carnac.

The Breton peasant, by an effort, mastered his
passion, though he was trembling in every limb. He
turned from the large blue eyes of Yvonne — those
" homes of silent prayer " — which had sought his face ;
and then his gaze rested on the triumphant and sar-
castic visage of the valet.

Things must be bad indeed, to bestow such an evi-
dent pleasure upon Anatole Ohiffon.

TKE HOODED SNAKE. 107

CHAPTER VIII.

HUSBAND AND WIFE — VICTOR'S MIDNIGHT VIGIL — THE
HOODED SNAKE !

Again we visit the maison d'Aubigny.
In a small room, elegantly furnished, and tastefully
decorated with pictures and flowers, two lovers are
seated — lovers, for the glow of youth is on their
cheeks — its freshness about their hearts ! Lovers ! —
and yet they have been husband and wife for several
years. Eugenie de Preville — for the reader has now
been taken into our confidence — rests her hand upon
the arm of her husband and looks entreatingly into
his face.

" Victor, our secret must be told !"
"And your father?"

" Will know all. Believe me, dear Victor, it were
better than this continued deceit, which lowers ua and
dishonours him."

" Dishonours him ! Eugenie !"

108 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" Surely, yes. It was but yesterday, as I under-
stand, that he sent a letter to Count de Marigny, to be
delivered by the Abbe Chateauvieux upon his return
to England."

" Which letter the Abbe will not deliver ; for none
can know as well as he its futility."

Etigenie sighed.

" Yet more deceit — and my poor father, who is
building upon the advantages likely to accrue from
such an alliance, when things once more right them-
selves in France — "

"Victor looked lovingly into his wife's face, and
said —

" Do you repent, Eugenie 1 — do you repent the act
that has united our fates for ever ? True, you have
lost a dazzling future in wedding so poor a gentleman,
who, unless he carves out fortune with his sword, has
nothing but a small, impoverished estate to — "

He was not permitted to proceed further ; for the
white arm of Eugenie was about his neck, and one of
her small hands upon his mouth.

" Oh ! shame, Victor ! to wrong me thus. "When
I gave my hand, my heart went with it — it was a gift
freely bestowed. Has time lessened its value ? "

The brown eyes had filled with tears, but Victor
kissed away the diamond drops ere they fell.

" It has but enhanced it ! " he said. " You are to
me, Eugenie, the only joy of my life. Accident threw
us together at Coblentz. To see you was to love you ;

THE HOODED SNAKE. 109

and I loved you fervently — not as the rich Baron
d'Aubigny's daughter, but as the exiled girl, alone in a
world of danger — whose mother had already fallen
beneath the glaive of the assasins, and whose father, a
captive in one of their prisons, was believed to be
beyond even the hope of release, except through the
same dread portal. The Abbe Chateauvieux, an old
companion of your father, was also my friend as he
was yours, Eugenie. He also saw the dangers that
surrounded you, and willingly consented to join our
hands. He did so, and you became my wife — my
loved and loving wife."

" Yes, my husband ! and I regret nothing but that
fatal resolve to keep our marriage secret from my father.''

" It was a necessary one : the Abbe himself advised
it. Your father's honour was pledged to de Marigny.
Time, it was possible, would bring its changes. The
Baron had never visited Cobientz. Your aunt — my
poor godmother — the witness to our union, was dead.
The Abbe pointed out the policy of this temporary
concealment. My father held out hopes— nay, still
holds out hopes of a speedy change in our fortunes — a
change, he often says, that will enable us to leave this
dreary little chateau of Pontarlac, for the brilliant,
active world of Paris."

"You would leave Pontarlac?"

" With you, Eugenie, I would leave it to-morrow ,
were I able. I long to shake off the rust of this
ignoble idleness — .to take my chance in the great strife,

110 THE HOODED SNAKE.

and gain for myself the laurel crown — or, failing in
the attempt, — " he hesitated for a moment — then
said firmly, but sadly — " a grave ! "

Eugenie started — then looked reproachfully at her
husband, whose arm encircled her waist, but whose
head was turned away.

"You are selfish, Victor ! Even of your grave, I,
a true wife, would claim my share !"

"Eugenie !"

" You married me when I was poor and friendless —
when the revolutionary wave had submerged France,
and not a rood of land belonged to its nobles. You
swore to love me then. Ah ! Victor, you no longer
love me, for you would leave me now !"

" I would win a name before claiming you at your
father's hands. I would find favour with him before — "

" You have done so ! You are the Chevalier de
Preville's son, and my father loves you as his own ! "

There was a pause — one of those delicious pauses,
when two hearts seem to have but one beat — when
two souls but one sympathy — two brains but one
thought. Victor was the first to speak.

" You are right, Eugenie. In this I will be guided
by you."

She pressed his hand in both of hers, and looked
up gratefully.

" This deceit shall end. To-morrow, when the
Baron returns, he shall know all."

" From me, Victor 1 Yes — let the task be mine.

THE HOODED SNAKE. Ill

He will be quick to pardon when he hears the long-
deferred confession from the lips of his child."

"Deferred! — yes — too long deferred: had it not
been for my father's promises — of this golden shower
that has yet to descend, I should have told the Baron
of our early love — our hurried, and, as we then
thought, necessary union."

" To-morrow I will also," continued Victor, "make
confession to my father, though from him I have
nought to fear. ' Are you happy 1 ' he will say. ' I
am !' then he will shrug his shoulders and say, ' I am
satisfied ' — declining the exertion of either praise or
blame."

" The Chevalier is a happy man — he seems without
a care."

"You mistake, dearest. I do believe his heart is
full of care for me. He is a sybarite — but not one of
that effeminate breed whose whole system is deranged
by a crumpled rose-leaf ! I have ever found him a
kind and indulgent father."

" I love him for that. I, too, have sought his love,
and believe that I have gained it. Speak to him first,
then, dear Victor, and he shall be our mediator with
the Baron. I know my father, and howhis heart will
melt into tenderness beneath the persuasive voice of
his friend."

"Hark !" — a small clock on the chimneypiece struck
the hour — " it is ten o'clock, and I must go, dear
Eugenie !"

112 THE HOODED SNAKE.

"Go!"

" I have a duty to execute to-night — a self-imposed
one !"

" At this late hour V

" Nonsense ! darling ; it is one without danger,
but by the faithful performance of which much evil
may be frustrated — much wickedness punished !"

" You alarm me !"

" There is no cause for alarm, little trembler. To-
morrow I will tell you all ;" he laughed, and placed
his finger on his lips. " I shall guard my secret even
from you for this night !"

" Where is your horse ?"

" Tied, as usual, in the shrubbery — some fifty paces
from the road." Victor went to the window — " The
moon will not be out to-night — I shall have a dark
ride to Pontarlac."

" Your home."

" Not till its mistress enters it. Till then" — he
pressed her again and again to his breast — " my home
is here." He crossed the room, and taking up a large
cloak, which upon his entrance he had placed carefully
near the door, arranged it about his person. " To-
morrow will see a crisis in our fate. Victor de Pre-
ville will then claim his beautiful young wife, and they
will meet to part no more !" He moved towards the
door — paused, and made a gesture to Eugenie, who
had taken the little lamp from the table — " Nay,
dearest, no light — 'twere better not. I can descend

THE HOODED SNAKE. 113

the staircase safely, and I know the road too well to
miss. L it now. To-morrow ! my Eugenie. Till then —
farewell." He opened a door that led upon a long
narrow staircase, from which descended a steep flight
of stairs communicating with another door opening
upon Eugenie's little flower-garden — and, kissing his
hand, was about to pass out, when his wife laughingly
caught up something from the table and hurried after
him — catching him by the cloak as she did so.

" You are strangely forgetful to-night, Victor !
Here is the key, without which your exit would be — "
she stopped suddenly, — then again passed her hand
down his cloak — " What is this ? — a sword ! Why
are you armed ? Speak, Victor — it is your wife that
asks !"

Victor drew her again to his bosom, and lovingly
kissed her high and fair forehead.

" Trembling again ! — nay, then it is my turn to
become alarmed, and ask what ails my wife ? You
must be careful of your health, Eugenie, for — "

"But this sword?"

Victor laughed.

"Is it the first time you have seen one? This" — and
for a moment he pulled aside the cloak that had hidden
it — " is a sword of my father's — a good one, I believe.
He left it with Eaymond, the cutler, at Point Croix.
I stopped at his shop on my way from the shore. Are
you satisfied ?"

" Heaven bless you, Victor ! — but attim?s I have a
i

114 THE HOODED SNAKE.

foreboding of evil, and — and — even trifles alarm
me."

Her husband had begun to descend the stairs.

" Go back to your nest, little bird — to-morrow will
begin for us a new life. Till then, my wife, adieu."

" Victor, my husband, adieu."

She watched him descend the stairs, cross the little
lobby, and open the outer door. He turned towards
her and waved his hand. One long, loving look — the
door closed, and Eugenie de Preville was alone. She
stood for some minutes leaning against the balustrade,
listening to catch, if possible, the faintest sound of his
retreating footsteps ; then slowly retraced the way
back to her room, which, having reached, she sank upon
her knees, and, with her face buried in her hands
prayed — fervently prayed — for the happiness and wel-
fare of her lrasband and father.

Blessings on thee ! pure-souled, bright-haired
Eugenie ! That man may indeed account himself happy
who is included in such prayers as those that rise tc
heaven from thy innocent and truthful lips !

Proceeding to that part of the shrubbery where he
had left his horse, Victor de Preville, after having
assured himself of the animal's safety, turned to the
right, and forced his way again through the thick
bushes until he arrived at the same spot where Keroulas
held watch on the preceding night — there, leaning
against the trunk of a tree, and thoroughly con-
cealed by its shadow, he drew the folds of his cloak

THE HOODED SNAKE. 115

closer around him, and commenced his solitary
vigil.

An hour passed, and yet he waited patiently. No
sound had met his ears, but the hoot of that feathered
hermit the owl — rejoicing in the darkness, or the flap
of the bat's leathern wings, as it brushed past him.
This, and the fierce screaming of the wind, as it tore
through the roof of branches that spread above his
"head, was all that disturbed the silence around. Ano-
ther hour passed— and still the young man watched —
his gaze never quitting the window of the Baron's
study, which remained dark and sombre — never open-
ing an eye upon the wild night that was holding its
reign without.

A sound ! yes, at last a sound, as of a horse's hoofs,
fell upon his strained ear, and then was swept away by
the wind that was tearing and shaking the branches.
Again and again the sound came ! — and Victor, with
head bent forward, listened. Yes — it was the sound of
a horse's hoofs, striking with a dull and heavy sound
upon the close-cut turf. At every lull in the fierce
blast it became more audible, approaching nearer and
nearer to where the young man stood. Suddenly it
stopped — the sounds ceased, and the bat and the owl —
those children of the night— alone disturbed its silence.

"Whoever he may be, he has halted !" thought
Victor, as hie eyes endeavoured to pierce, though in
vain, the screen of underwood. " He has kept upon
the grass, that his horse's tread should not be carried

116 THE HOODED SNAKE.

down the road, which it would be, to a certainty, when
the wind is in this quarter — diable!" He drew back
hastily — as, within a few feet of him, a long, dark
shadow fell upon the sward — then, with a quick step,
a figure passed him, and approached the house. The
man — for man undoubtedly it was — was wrapped from
head to foot in a large horseman's cloak, which effect-
ually concealed his face and form from view. At the
same moment a gleam of light shot from the study
window — a lamp was passed several times across the
panes — then all was dark as before. The stranger
answered the signal by a low whistle, and crossing
boldly the space between the shrubbery and the
house, stood at the foot of the large vine mentioned by
Keroulas — an ancient tree that clasped, with its huge
serpentine-like limbs, the entire front of this wing of
the house. Then the stranger lowered the cloak from
his face, and turned a keen and searching look upon
the shrubbery and garden around, without perceiving
the anxious watcher, who still kept himself within the
shadow of the trees— but Victor started, as he per-
ceived that the stranger was masked.

" A spy — and masked !" The young man set his
teeth hard, and grasped convulsively the hilt of his
sword. " Shall I kill him now where he stands, — no-
he shall die in the commission of his infamy ; besides,
my task would be then but halt completed. I would
also know his accomplice. Ah ! — as I expected — he is
mounting by the branches of the vine !"

THE HOODED SNAKE. 117

Placing his foot firmly upon the lower limb of the
tree, the stranger began the ascent. It was evidently
a ladder he had used b«fore ; for he passed from branch
to branch without pausing an instant, till his head
was upon a level with the window, the lattice of
which was gently opened by some one from within;
and then, swinging himself upwards, he was grasped by
a pair of outstretched hands and drawn into the
room. The lattice closed immediately, and all was as
before.

For some minutes Victor de Preville remained
motionless as a statue in his place of concealment.

"I would find them at their work," he thought
" and strike them in the midst of their fancied security.
Security ! — the fools — that security is indeed short-
lived that attends on such a crime." After watching,
attentively the window — at which, however, there was
no re-appearance of the light — he crept cautiously
from the shadow, and crossed, as the stranger had pre-
viously done, the open space between it and the house.
He did this as rapidly as possible, fearing a discovery
that must inevitably have taken place had any been
watching from the window ; and, as he stood beneath
the vine, his back closely pressed against the wall, the
beat of his heart was distinctly audible. But there
was no movement from within, the window still re-
maining closed ; then, slowly, "Victor began the ascent,
having first wound his cloak in such a manner about
him as not to impede his movements, and keeping the

118 THE HOODED SNAKE.

hilt of his sword within grasp of his hand, ready for
immediate use.

But one little lamp illumines the Baron's study ;
and that so shaded that its light only falls upon the
raised desk of the old bureau, upon which several
papers are lying. Before the desk is seated the stranger
— still closely masked — who is examining packet after
packet with much eagerness — throwing the last one
down with an exclamation of disappointment.

" It is not here ! There are papers enough to ex-
cite suspicion, but none to prove a direct correspond-
ence : that one would be worth them all."

Leaning against the bureau — his arms folded, and
with a look of more than usual cunning on his face —
stands Monsieur Anatole Chiffon. He also shrugs his
shoulders with an air of disappointment, and says, as
he glances down at the papers with a grimace —

" That a document, more precise than any we have
yet discovered, must be in existence, I know. I over-
heard the Abbe, before his departure, ask the Baron
whether the paper was in a place of safety, saying,
significantly — ' You know our heads are wrapped up
in it !' "

Again the stranger turned over the papers, but
evidently with the same want of success.

" The English brig brought the Abbe direct from
England. I drew that from the sailor, who believed
that I was sent from him to make inquiries ; and
Fouche has already informed you that a conspiracy is

THE HOODED SNAKE. 119

hatching at Hartwell,* though in Brittany it is to chip
the shell."

" Do you know all the hiding-places in this mys-
terious old bureau ?"

Chiffon drew himself up with conscious pride.

" All !"

" The Baron has possibly selected some other place
for its concealment ?"

" It is possible."

« Well r

« Well— I shall find it.'*

" When f

The valet shrugged his shoulders.

" Impatience will bring us no nearer to our end.
That I shall find it, I am sure — the ' how V remains to
be considered."

" Well, I shall make notes of the contents of these
packets. In the meanwhile do you take your stand at
the further end of the corridor. Some of these brutes
may take it in their heads to walk in their sleep, and
we must run no risk."
" No risk is run."

" Humph !" The stranger's eyes gleamed through
his mask, as he looked at Chiffon. " None by you!
yours is but a dirty rag of a reputation, which half
Paris—"

* Hartwell, in Buckinghamshire, where Louis XVIII. fixed
his residence, after the peace of Tilsit, and remained for some
years.

120 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" We are in Brittany, and not in Paris," said the
valet, shortly.

The other laughed.

" Place the wax there. You have the seals — good
— they are perfect. You might deceive Fouche himself!''

Monsieur Anatole Chiffon bowed modestly.

" I have no doubt you have done so."

The valet felt the flattery, and bowed again.

" Will your task be a long one ?" — he pointed to
the paper.

" Half-an-hour — and then I leave you to your
peaceful slumbers. If a quiet conscience is a blessing,
then you are blessed, Anatole. Go, and keep good
watch."

He motioned towards the door, and Chiffon, with-
out reply, moved softly across the room, opened it
gently, and disappeared. The stranger looked after
him, and muttered —

" That fellow glides over the floor without touching
it, I think ; though his appearance is scarcely so an-
gelic as to lead me to believe that wings form a part
of his personal adornment." He broke the seal of one
of the packets as he spoke, and began diligently to
peruse the contents — so diligently, as not to hear a
slight noise behind him ; and it was not till a heavy
hand was laid upon his shoulder, he became aware that
the room had another occupant. With a low, but
startled cry, he sprang to his feet, and, turning, stood
face to face with Victor de Preville.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 121

" Who are you ?" — how came you here ?" said the
stranger, in a voice evidently disguised, after the two
men had surveyed each other for a moment in silence.
" Who am 1 1 — nay, I wear no mask. How came
I here ?" — he pointed to the window — " by the same
road you so lately travelled."

" Victor de Preville !"

" You know me, it seems. I know my presence to
be undesired. You would, doubtless, have preferred
meeting some other person ?"

" Any other."

A shudder passed through the frame of the stranger,
and his voice sounded still more hollow beneath his
mask.

"My presence in this study," continued Victor,
" is no intrusion. T am here by authority."

" Whose ?"

" It's owner's. Can you assert as much, and as
truthfully ?"

The stranger answered with a groan, and leant for
support against the bureau. Victor regarded him
steadfastly.

" You are my prisoner — escape is impossible !"

" Prisoner ! Boy — do you take me for a robber T

" Worse ! I know you to be a spy — that basest of
all created things — a political spy !"

" It is false !"

Victor pointed to the packet with the broken seal.
The stranger made a hurried movement towards the

122 THE HOODED SNAKE.

table ; but the young man unsheathed his sword and
stepped between.

" It shall be for the Baron to judge. Another such
movement towards these papers, and I run my sword
up to the hilt in your body — too honourable a death
for such a man !"

The stranger seemed to reflect — his manner changed
as he said —

" Young man, I too am armed !" — and he drew the
rapier that hung by his side. " There lies my path !"
— he pointed to the window — " stay me, and the result
be upon your own head !"

" To leave this room, you must leave me — a
corpse !"

Again the stranger seemed shaken by some uncon-
trollable emotion.

" Madman ! — insensate fool ! — you know not what
you do ! Let me pass !"

He would have advanced, but the point of Victor's
sword was at his breast — another step, and he would
have been upon the quivering steel.

" Listen — you are young, and I appeal to your
heart. Let me pass, and on the word of a gentleman,
I return to this room no more ! nor will I use the
knowledge I have gained to — "

But he was interrupted by Victors contemptuous
laugh.

" Gentleman ! — and do you lay claim to that sacred
name 1 — you — a spy — a robber !"

THE HOODED SNAKE. 123

" Silence ! Cross steel if you will, but do not stab
■with words — they may wound me — your sword cannot"

Not another word was spoken — their swords crossed,
and, with eyes bent on each other, they commenced
the conflict. The clash of their weapons filled the
room, but not a sound penetrated through the thick
walls or beyond the massive door. The combat was
soon over. Victor, to his surprise, found himself,
though no mean adept with the sword, more than
matched by the marvellous address and coolness of the
stranger. Inch by inch he felt himself driven from
the window he had so zealously barricaded, and forced
backwards against the wall. Frantic with rage at this
unlooked-for opposition, he resolved upon a desperate
effort, and, watching his opportunity, made one rapid
and dexterous lunge — a quick wrench of his wrist fol-
lowed — a bright light flashed before his eyes, and his
sword flew to the other end of the apartment.

He was at the mercy of his opponent ; but the
stranger seemed but little disposed for revenge. Lean-
ing upon his long rapier, he said — still in the same
hollow voice, which was so evidently assumed —

" That last thrust was well meant, but, fortunately
for you, failed in its purpose. Victor de Preville, you
are spared a great crime. You would have taken my
life — yours is now at my disposal. I give it you, and
farewell."

He was moving towards the window, when again
Victor flung himself in his way.

124 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" Kill me, if you will ! but I have said it — you shall
not leave this room and I alive. I scorn to accept life
from a spy ! — a traitor ! — a midnight thief !"

The stranger paused irresolutely.

" The Baron's secrets are in your hands — I will
know who you are. Strike ! if you will — but the spy
shall be unmasked !"

He prepared to spring upon the stranger, but with
an imperious gesture he waved him back, saying, as he
flung down his sword —

" Unhappy boy ! — you will be satisfied !"

" I will !"

" You shall ! The act and its consequences be
alike thine own."

The voice had changed, and Victor threw up his
hands with a gesture of alarm.

" No ! — no ! — I am mad — it cannot be !"

The mask was no longer upon the face of the
stranger — he had wrenched asunder the strings, and it
hung loosely down. With a wild cry Victor staggered
back, and buried his face in his hands —

" My Father !"

THE HOODED SNAKE. 125

CHAPTER IX.

FATHER AND SON — A CHANGE OF PLANS — DIAMOND
CUT DIAMOND.

Night — that " mother of dark- winged dreams " —
had drawn down the last folds of her mantle from the
face of the sleeping earth, and day hastened to awaken
her with the loud matin hymn of rejoicing birds, the
pleasant lowing of the cattle, and the plaintive bleat -
ings of the sheep, as they leaped in myriads from their
folds, and whitened the verdant plains and hills. The
sun was high in the heavens before his beams poured
through the narrow windows, cut, or rather rent,
in the crumbling walls of the chateau Pontarlac, and
gilded (it was sadly in want of adornment of some
kind) its grey, slated roof. One of these stray beams
had struggled through a window rather wider than its
fellows, and rested upon the face of a gentleman which
wore an expression quite as sunny as itself. Seated
in an easy chair — whose covering and deep fringes had

126 THE HOODED SNAKE.

once been magnificent, but which now was in the
samestate of woeful dilapidation as everything round —
•was the Chevalier de Preville, the owner of the
chateau and all that it contained ; or, as he himself
said, the Timon who had made this tumble-down old
place a refuge from the world, where he might let a
profitless life slip by, and " eat his root " in peace.

On the morning in question the Chevalier's "root "
consisted of a somewhat elegant dejeune, to which he
had done ample justice ; and when we — exercising an
author's right — break in upon his privacy, he has just
lifted to a level with his eye a glass of fragrant Bor-
deaux, and was allowing the sunbeam to pour through
its rich contents, which it did, at the same time en-
circling with its golden splendour not only the glass
but the delicate white hand that held it, and the small
but costly ruffle of lace, that hung like a dew-spangled
cobweb about the wrist.

Timon had breakfasted — and breakfasted well — and
was, for an hour at least, at peace with the world.

After the Chevalier had sufficiently delighted his
eye, he lowered the glass to a dangerous proximity
with his mouth — when the door of the room was
opened, and Victor de Preville entered the room.

Victor de Preville — but how changed from the
previous night ! His eyes were wild and haggard —
his cheeks had lost their healthy hue, and in its place
had settled a paleness as of death. His dress was dis-
ordered and travel-stained, as from some long and

THE HOODED SNAKE. 127

weary ride ; while Lis dark hair — generally so carefully
arranged — hung about his face in ragged elf-locks.

His father stared at this apparition for a moment
with astonishment — then placing his glass upon the
table, he motioned towards a chair.

" Be seated, Victor."

But his son remained standing, and said —

" You desired to see me. I have but just returned,
or should before this have obeyed your summons."

" You are obedient !" said the Chevalier, with a
pleased smile.

" You are my father," was the answer.

The Chevalier half rose in his easy chair, and said,
with much tenderness —

" I am proud of the title, Victor. You, it seems,
are not so proud that I should claim it."

Victor sighed.

" .But what ails you, my son. Why this torn and
travel-stained apparel — you could have had but little
rest?"

" Rest ! — I have had none — can have none. 1 rode
all last night."

" Where ?"

" Nowhere — along the shore — across the heath.
For miles and miles I chased forgetfulness — it was
not to be overtaken by me !"

The Chevalier looked at his son for some minutes
without speaking — then said gently —

" Sit down, Victor — let us talk together."

128 THE HOODED SNAKE.

The young man obeyed mechanically, His father
then went on —

" It is not my wish to remind you of benefits
received ; but I have suffered much for you, Victor, —
suffered — and suffered cheerfully, because you were
my son — my only son."' •

Victor's head was bent upon his breast. He
seemed like one sunk in a stupor — he neither moved
nor returned an answer,

" Nay, this very — " the Chevalier hesitated — " line
of policy you condemn so much, was thought of and
adopted with a view to your future interests !"

"For mine !" For a moment the indignant spirit
of the man flashed up ; but again his head sunk
on his breast as he said, "For me, then, my father,
you have plunged yourself into such hopeless dis-
honour !"

" Yes — for you, Victor. For myself, I might have
been content to have finished my life in this tumble-
down old chateau ; but it is necessary that you should
have the means of advancement. To gain them I
listened to the offers of Fouche, and consented to act
as the government agent, and watch my plotting
neighbours in Brittany."

" The Baron was your friend 1"

"Yes, we are what the world would call fast
friends; that is, the Baron condescends to admit to
his intimacy the poor owner of Pontarlac, who, in his

THE HOODED SNAKE. 129

turn has submitted — long enough, as it appears to
me — to be thus patronised."

Victor could no longer control his emotion — he
sobbed aloud, and buried his face in his hands. A
mingled look of commiseration and contempt settled
upon the fine features of the Chevalier.

" This is useless, Victor — worse than useless — it is
foolish ! Keep your own counsel, and no one will be
the wiser for the discovery you have made — a dis-
covery I would have willingly spared you ; but you
were obstinate, and pulled down this trouble upon
yourself."

" But you, sir," — and, raising his pale face, Victor
looked fixedly at his father — " you will never use the
knowledge you have gained to the injury of the
Baron i"

"Humph!"

" You would not — dare not !"

" Dare not ! — that's as it may be ; but you see,
Victor, there are others engaged in this affair — paid
agents of that police of which Fouche is the powerful
head, as Anatole Chiffon is one of the least scrupulous
hands."

" Chiffon ! — the Baron shall hang that scoundrel
upon the nearest tree, as our farmers nail the trea-
cherous kites to their barn-doors."

" Tut ! tut ! — the Baron will do nothing of the
kind. In the first place, he will remain in total

K

130 THE HOODED SNAKE.

ignorance of the whole affair. In the second place,
that any movement upon his part would be more
likely to bring his own head to the axe than Chiffon's
neck to the halter."

Victor would have interrupted, but his father mo-
tioned for silence, and continued —

"You consider the matter in a light by far too
romantic for the age we live in. Oblige me by de-
scending from the high horse you have mounted, and
leaving off heroics for a time, listen to reason. You
must remember, my dear Victor, these are not the
days of Corydon' and Phillis, but those of Fouche
and the secret police. Stay — before I commence
you might like to strengthen your nerves — the
Bordeaux is excellent. No ! — well, perhaps you're
right. You are hot-headed, and wine heats the blood
sadly."

He emptied his glass — refilled it — then settled
himself back in his chair. Evidently the Chevalier
had begun to view things more composedly.

"D'Aubigny and I are rival politicians — that is
all. He would become richer than he is by upsetting
the existing order of things — I richer by maintaining
it. Both of us look at France as a huge chess-table.
We each move our men upon the board. Careful of
their interests, inasmuch as being involved in our own,
they assist our game. I checkmate the Baron and
sweep the board— he loses his estates. I expressly
stipulated for his personal safety, and I gain enough

THE HOODED SXAKE. 131

to purchase my own back again — a desirable end, and
one worth working for."

"And the means by which you have endeavoured
to attain it !"

" Means ! My dear boy, I must again entreat you
to reflect calmly — if it is possible for youth so to do —
upon the lessons that experience teaches. You are a
Royalist. I do not find fault with your opinions, only
I deem them ill-judged under the present aspect of
affairs. Well, this system of espionage, which you —
being young, and full of very generous, but utterly
impracticable ideas — view with so much indignation,
has been the one that has had the highest patronage
from the Sicilian King,* who turned his prison into
one large ear, that he might the better arrive at the
secrets of its inmates — down to the First Consul's
chief favourite, Joseph Fouche, who has carved all
France into a similar shape, for precisely the same
purpose."

Without noticing Victor's gesture of horror, the
Chevalier continued —

" D'Aubigny and I were thrown together at the
commencement of the revolution. We were both firm
Royalists— that is, we stuck by our order; and,
having nothing to gain by a change, and evei-ything

* Dionysius I., who is said to have made i subterraneous
cave in a rock — cut in the form of a human ear — for the purpose
of hearing the discourse of his -victims, who were confined in the
prison above.

132 THE HOODED SNAKE.

to lose, we anathematised the canaille, and sung,
as loudly as any, ' Richard! mon roi, I'univers
i'abandonne!' Unfortunately our prophecy was cor-
rect — the universe abandoned our Richard quickly
enough, or, rather, he was compelled to abandon the
universe. I saw the interior of nearly all the prisons
of Paris, and a series of the dirtiest and most rascally
gaolers that ever wore the red-cap for an or-
nament. My estates were confiscated, and your
mother, with yourself, were saved by escaping over
the frontier."

"And the Baron d'Aubigny?" asked Victor.

" Saved his estates from the clutch of the Re-
publican tiger by the good offices of his own house-
steward, who — being a great rascal in every other
respect — had become a pet of Robespierre."

" The Baron was your friend. I have often heard
him say — "

" How he lectured and advised me 1 — me, who — "
the Chevalier was no longer calm — he had risen from
the chair, and paced the room quickly as he spoke —
41 Listen, Victor! In my youth I had one vice — a
great one, but it was shared by many. I had a passion
for the gaming-table. I grant it was a Maelstrom
that swept down much of the fortune that the rascals
left me ; but when times changed, and once more we
were able to walk abroad with a tolerable certainty
that our heads were our own for a day, at least,
d'Aubigny found himself a rich man again, and I was

THE HOODED SNAKE. 133

a beggar. He was my friend — you have said so, he
has said so — and I appealed to him to assist me in
paying a heavy debt of honour that I owed. I frankly
owned how I had lost the money, and he — reverting
to his former warnings and advice — refused. The
sum was a large one. I tried elsewhere, but to raise
it was impossible. My last money I had sent to you
at Coblentz. Nay, never start, Victor ! Your father
never gave grudgingly—least of all, to you. The
promised time of payment expired, and the man to
whom I owed the money insulted me in the public
promenade."

" My father !"

The Chevalier laughed, but with much bitterness.

" You know that I have some little skill with the
sword. A meeting followed — though he might have
refused it till the debt was paid — and the next day
they buried him at Montmartre."

The Chevalier, who was standing by the table,
filled his glass, and emptied it almost unconsciously.

" I have since paid the debt, with interest, to his
wife and children — to do which I was forced to sell
all that was left me but this beggar's patch of Pon-
tarlac. But I never forgot the high morality — the
prudence of d'Aubigny."

"You quarrelled?"

" Quarrelled ! — no — is the boy a fool 1 We became
firmer friends than ever. You have heard of that
snake who hides its threatening eyes beneath a hood,

134 THE HOODED SNAKE.

"which it raises only Avhen sure of its victim, and it
throws back its head to strike V

With a cry of anguish, Victor sprang to his feet.

"Father! father! — this scheme of revenge — this
■wicked, cruel scheme, you must forego — must — "

"Must! ; — Victor, do you know me? — are you
mad T

" It is you that are mad — blind — not to see — not
to see— rto know — " a sudden faintness came over him —
he staggered and leant for support against the wall.
With a bound the Chevalier was by his side — affection
in his voice and eyes — alarm in the words that trem-
bled from his tongue.

'■ Victor, my son ! what would you have me know?
tell me — this paleness is frightful — horrible! Speak!
or I shall think that I have killed my son !"

Grasping his father's arm convulsively, Victor
gazed into his face — a face that was now as pale and
agitated as his own.

" The Baron's daughter —

" Eugenie?" — and then the Chevalier's face crim-
soned — and his son thanked Heaven ; for he read in
that rising blood the only sign of repentance he had
seen — it was the glow of shame.

" Eugenie d'Aubigny is my wife !"

The Chevalier de Preville was a man of iron nerve.
Beneath that winning and graceful exterior was con-
cealed an energy of purpose, and a cool and calculating
mind to guide it, that none but the keenest of

THE HOODED SNAKE. 135

observers might discover. But for his all-absorbing
love for this, his only son, he would have been a man
after Talleyrand's own heart— if such an article formed
an item in that distinguished statesman's anatomy, —
skilled to varnish over his real meaning by smooth and
deceptive words, — knowing well when to use those,
with him, equally deadly weapons — the sneer and the
smile. Slow to decide upon the means to be adopted
to gain his ends; but, when decided upon, unscrupu-
lous in their use.

It must have been, indeed, a terrible resolve that
had induced such a man — so fitted to make his way
among the strife of factions now raging in all the con-
tinental courts — where "diplomacy" was the gift most
prized — to bury himself, as he had done, in the dreary
solitude of Pontarlac !

The end he had in view, he has himself explained.
The edifice he had taken such pains to build was near
its completion — and — five words from the lips of his
son — and the edifice lay in ruins at his feet !

He answered not a word — but stood speechless —
shaking, in every limb, like one struck by a sudden
palsy. Victor took him by the hand, and led him,
unresisting as a child, to a chair.

"Father!" he said, "it is not yet too late to
wipe from our escutcheon this terrible blot. This evil
work must be undone. The information you have
gleaned — how, let us for ever forget— must never pass
your lips. The Baron we will warn— thank Heaven,

136 THE HOODED SNAKE.

in time — of the precipice that lies before him. You
■will save him — save me ; for his fortunes are mine, as
they are my wife's !"

The Chevalier only regarded him with a vacant
and haggard stare.

" This charge against the Baron can only be sub-
stantiated by you. Fouche never strikes but when the
prey is certain. There is no one — "

The Chevalier spoke at last.

" Fool ! — there is one."

" One !— who T

De Preville shuddered as he answered ; for now he,
too, saw the peril — the deadly peril — that environed
them.

" Fouche's master-spy — the keenest, cleverest of
them all — Anatole Chiffon !"

A knock — then two more, sharply repeated — was
heard outside the door. Both father and son started.
The former rose immediately to his feet.

" It is he ! There is an old proverb, that when we
talk of the fiend he is sure to appear at our elbow —
this scoundrel is here to prove fche a truth of it !"

Victor de Preville gazed upon his father with asto-
nishment. Could this be the same man who, but a few
moments before, he had seen speechless and powerless —
shaking in every limb, as with some vague yet terrible
dread ! The face was as calm and unruffled as the
bright sky without, from which every vestige of cloud
and storm-rack had long since disappeared. The lip

THE HOODED SNAKE. 137

had possibly a tighter compression than usual; but
that was all. He crossed the room, and opened a door
opposite to that from which the sounds had proceeded,
and said —

" He must not see you here. I have my reasons,,
but do not question me now. It is well he did not
know of our meeting last night. Your retreat was
not a moment too soon. This fellow has more than
the cunning of the fox, and the nose of a sleuth-hound !
Do you wait for me in the salon — I will descend when
he is gone."

" But this man — how to baffle him 1 He must be
stayed at once, or — "

" Be that my care. Mine, I see, is a Penelope's
web, and I must myself undo the work I have so care-
fully fashioned. Go !"

Victor was passing out, when his father laid his
hand upon his shoulder, and said, kindly —

" You, too, have erred. A confidence should have
existed between father and son. Had there been no
secret between us, how much evil would have been
spared us both — nay, we will talk of this some other
time. Listen !"

The knocking was repeated.

" There is scant time for explanations when the
panther is scratching at the door. Go — all shall be as-
you wish. I have said it !"

He closed the door softly behind Victor — then,,
returning Jo his chair, resumed his seat.

138 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" It's a strange world !" lie said — " wheels within
wheels. I lay the train and prepare the match — and
lo ! it is my own house I would blow into the air !
Well, well — it is the task of genius to conquer diffi-
culties; and this rascal, who is purring outside the
door there, is my greatest."

Again came the three knocks — but this time
louder.

" So ho ! — impatient."

The Chevalier, without moving from his chair,
pulled a silken cord that hung near it, and the door,
which Victor had opened with his pass-key, swung
open, and Anatole Chiffon appeared upon its thresh-
old.

He entered, and, with an habitual distrust, glanced
sharply round.

" Monsieur le Chevalier is alone ?"

" Monsieur le Chevalier was asleep, till awakened
by your knocking. I wish you would make your visits
at a somewhat more seasonable time than the morning.
I have but just breakfasted, and yours is not the kind
of face to assist a man's digestion."

The Chevalier de Pre\ille was himself again — the
same half-sneer was upon his lips, but the sunny light
played about his face as usual.

Chiffon bowed, with that peculiar affectation of
humility by which knaves so often proclaim to their
otherwise superiors the equality of crime.

" Monsieur le Chevalier is facetious !"

THE HOODED SNAKE. 139

" I am glad to hear it —it's my only remedy, my
good Anatole, against that atmosphere of mystery you
carry about with you."

Chiffon rubbed his hands slowly together, and was
silent.

" Have you found the document ?"

"Which?"

" Which ! — why, that which you say you are sure
is in existence : that which bears Louis's signature at
its foot."

" No !"

" You have come to tell me that V

" Monsieur le Chevalier knows I seldom come but
to announce a success !"

" Well — which of your many hot irons has come
out red-hot? — what especial act of villany has suc-
ceeded ? — for your pleasing countenance carries with
it an announcement of the fact."

" The Baron d'Aubigny has returned with news
that it appears must have met him on the road."

" What news ?" and the Chevalier filled a fresh
glass with the Bordeaux.

" That of the young Count de Marigny's death."

We have said that the Chevalier was a man of
great self-possession— he showed it now. The trial
was a severe one — but he carried the Bordeaux safely
to his lips.

" The Baron's plans are then altered. De Marigny
was the strongest tie that bound him to the exiled

140 THE HOODED SNAKE.

court. It is snapped by an accident, and Mademoi-
selle must look elsewhere for a husband."

" Well, she at least is not likely to break her
heart. Is that all your news V

" Not quite all. I took part in an interview
between the Baron and his daughter.'''

" That is, you listened ?"

" I did my duty to those whose money I
receive."

" The Baron, of course ?"

" Monsieur le Chevalier is still facetious. I can
wait. When he has finished his wine and jokes, I
will proceed."

" Go on, man, — I've done with both. That night-
bird visage of thine has soured the one, and fright-
ened the other."

The Chevalier crossed one leg over the other, and
caressed it with much affection.

" Mademoiselle seemed disturbed in her mind, and
told her father she had to make to him a long-
deferred confession."

Was it a sudden cramp in the Chevalier's well-
turned leg that made him wince so suddenly ? If so,
it was but a transient pain ; for he looked into the
valet's face with a smile, and caressed his leg as
before.

" And this confession she made V

" This confession she did not make. Farmer Bon-
champ was announced, and the Baron, who had pressing

THE HOODED SNAKE. 141

business with him, "was compelled to leave his daughter
abruptly. This evening he returns to the chateau, and,"
concluded the valet, modestly, " this evening I shall
know all !"

" Tut ! — what can the confession — a love one,
doubtless-^-have to interest us ? You are wasting
your valuable time, Anatole !"

" I am not yet certain of that. When walking in a
laybrinth, it is wise to pick up every thread till you
find the clue !"

The Chevalier laughed.

" Well, well — worm out every secret in Cupid's
budget, if you so please. You will have enough to do.
But what paper is that you are turning so cautiously
in your hands ?"

" The despatch for Paris. Shall it be forwarded
to-day ?"

" No — give it to me — I have a postcript to add.
To-morrow will be time enough. I shall forward it
by Jean, who will travel post. Is that all your
news V

" All."

" Good ! May I request you, then, to seek out
the major-domo of this bachelor establishment, and
demand some refreshment at his hands. For myself — •
I will re -peruse this despatch, and add a postcript
before I ride over to Pont-Croix."

With another low bow, Chiffon, after a few more

142 THE HOODED SNAKE.

words, departed as mysterously as he came ; and then
the Chevalier started from his seat.

" A Penelope's web, indeed !" he said, as he
snatched the despatch from the table. Here, then, is
the first thread that I break " — and in a hundred frag-
ments the paper was scattered upon the floor.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 143

CHAPTER X.

PAUL LEBBUN HAS A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE

A COMING STORM.

It was about a week after the occurrences men-
tioned in the last chapter, that the Breton farmer,
Dominique Bonchamp, stood in the very centre of the
large gateway that opened into his well-stocked farm-
yard. His countenance was as beaming as ever, his
hands were deep sunk in his pockets, and his heart was
also evidently there, for he had that day been reckon-
ing up the gains of the last half-year, and found a
balance greatly in his favour, — there was self-congratu-
lation in the merry twinkle of his eye, and a certificate
of contentment in the fleshy fulness of his jovial face.
Dominique Bonchamp was a prosperous man ; and,
from the pinnacle of hard-earned success, gazed with a
favourable eye upon the world. In early life, the
good farmer had been as discontented and as combative
as his fellows ; but, somehow, he had begun to philo-

144 THE HOODED SNAKE.

sophise — an easy theory to do when the purse is full —
upon the " troubles of the times," and came to the con-
clusion that as long as things went on quietly, it were
best to let them alone. " Pooh, pooh !" he would say,
"just let the world wag on, and don't meddle : better
cold feet than burnt fingers ;" and so it was plain to
all that the world wagged well with Pere Dominique.
Yvonne Bonchamp had, as we have said, many suitors,
but none had as yet found much favour with the farmer
— -not that any had received from him the harsh
rebuff or solemn interdiction ; he was too good a
fellow for that, and, moreover, remembered that he had
been young himself, and so made allowance for the
attraction so pretty a face as Yvonne's afforded to all
the rustic beaux of the neighbourhood.

" Let the wolves come," Dominique would say with
a jolly chuckle, as Corydon and Daphnis would come
dropping in of an evening to take their seats by the
farmer's fire, to gaze sheepishly at Yvonne, and to
scowl fiercely at each other ; " Let them come ; my
pretty lamb is safe within the fold, and the old shep-
herd is an experienced, and, therefore, vigilant watcher."
Many was the ardent swain who had hastened in the
extremity of his love to lay purse and heart at farmer
Dominique's feet — but the worthy Breton only shook
his head and said, "No, no, it won't do, Michael" —
or " It won't do, Jean; you're a very good fellow, but
you won't do for my Yvonne ; that's a capital Sunday
coat of yours, but when you walk to church it will be

THE HOODED SNAKE. 145

with some other flower than Yvonne in your button-
hole. I have worked hard to get a few things together,
and he who succeeds me in the farm must have more
than enough to sustain it. There, don't be downcast,
but draw your stool nearer to the fire, and take a drink
of cider. You're not the man to break your heart for
a woman. Care, who's a terrible writing master,
hasn't yet made even a line on your young forehead.
Break your heart ! — pooh ! drink, and pass the
cider." And so phlegmatic Michael or Jean buried
their faces, and their sorrows, in the pitcher, and, with
the resignation of the martyr, passed the cider as
directed. To-day, however, a suitor had re-appeared —
we say re-appeared, as he had twice before tried his
fortune and been rejected — and was (proving that
there is nothing like perseverance) triumphantly suc-
cessful. The suitor was our old friend, PaulLebrun;
he had that morning proposed for the hand of Yvonne
Bonchamp, and been accepted by her father. Our
readers would like to know the reason of this sudden
success ? — let them listen to the farmer, and he will
doubtless explain it.

We left him in the full enjoyment of a prosperous
proprietorship, standing upon his own threshold ;
within a few feet of him, seated upon an inverted
pail, is the happy Paul, who, while listening to the
farmer, glances anxiously, yet nervously, towards
the farm, hoping to see the bright pure face of
Yvonne at either door or window. But his wish

146 THE HOODED SNAKE.

remained ungratified ; for the alarmed girl, on the
first intimation of her father's approval of the young
seaman's suit, had retreated to her chamber, where,
with a face bathed in tears, she was kneeling before
the image of the Virgin that hung beside her bed, and
appealed to her — the blessed symbol of maternity —
for counsel and succour.

" And so you will renounce the sea, Paul 1"

" For ever !" Paul answered with much em-
phasis.

" Good, very good ! it is not everybody that has
had such luck as your uncle, Pierre Lebrun — the poor
man ! How many vessels did you say called him part
owner V

" Three; one fvoni Monte Video, the two others
from the States."

" All safe 9"

" They are all three now anchored in the harbour
at Brest."

" Good, very good !" Then it seemed suddenly to
strike the farmer that his gratification was possibly too
apparent, for he rubbed the back of his huge hand
across his eyes, and throwing as much as possible a
lugubrious accent into his voice, said — •

" What an uncertain thing is life ! To think of my
dear old friend Pierre Lebrun dying so suddenly !"

Pere Dominique's hearty detestation of the ava-
ricious and surly old trader was well known to Paul;
he, however, with the wisdom of the parrot in the

THE HOODED SNAKE. 147

story, contented himself with thinking a great deal,
but said nothing.

" And to think of him leaving all his money to
you — to you — who he would never allow to enter his
warehouse doors — and who he always denominated as
a disgrace — "

Paul moved uneasily upon his seat, and glanced
towards the windows of the farm — Yvonne might be
there, and the farmer's voice was a loud one —

"I never disgraced my uncle," he said, hastily ;
" nor offended him in aught that I know, excepting in
refusing to undergo the slavery of his counting-house.
I preferred the tar-barrel to the inkstand — a seat in
the cross-trees of a gallant ship to one on a ricketty
stool in a room that was worse than the hold of a slaver.
He was my father's brother, but I asked him for no-
thing; the kindness he proffered I refused — that's
all."

" You were a brave fellow, Paul, and folly is ex-
cusable in youth ; but it was a generous act of your
uncle's to forgive you."

" He'd neither chick nor child belonging to him ;
I am the only one of the family now living. The pro-
perty comes to me naturally. My uncle's death was
sudden : had he made a will — "

" The result might have been different, no doubt.
He was always eccentric — poor Pierre Lebrun !"

The farmer sunk his hands deeper in his pockets,
and moved his lips — at the same time an abstruse ex-

148 THE HOODED SNAKE.

pression settled upon his face — lie was evidently calcu-
lating —

"Let me see — the part ownership of the three
brigs — the little brandy-distillery at Nantes — the two
flax fields near Hennebon — the — the — why, you're a
rich man, Paul ! "

The sailor answered carelessly and truthfully —

" I value it but little, were it fifty times as much
— did I not hope that Yvonne would condescend to
share it with me ; or, rather, that she would become
mistress of it all, and accept me as a portion of the
property: it would be my delight to slave for her."

Dominique Bonchamp chuckled — he had himself
been young.

" Parbleu! you're an honest young fellow, Paul;
but that's a kind of slavery that the marriage-ring
generally abolishes ; nevertheless, my Yvonne's a girl
of ten thousand — "

" Of ten million !" interrupted the sailor.

The farmer bowed to the correction, and pro-
ceeded —

" Of ten million ; but her inclinations will never
be forced by me. Win her and wear her — you have
my consent."

" But you approve of my suit T
" Heartily, and will assist it. Yvonne shall know
the wishes of her father, and as I know you to be a
favourite of hers, I've no doubt she'll gratify them —
there's my hand upon it."

THE HOODED SNAKE. 149

Dominique extended his hand, which the young
sailor rose hastily to grasp — so hastily, that his foot
caught in the leathern strap of the pail, and he came
heavily to the ground.

" That's a bad omen," said a dismal voice close be-
side them; "a very bad omen. He that stumbles,
when about to grasp a friendly hand, is certain to have
many an obstacle to disturb friendship."

" What do you mean by your croaking V asked
Lebrun, angrily, as he sprung to his feet, and turned
upon the superstitious Martin, who, leaning upon a
hayfork, surveyed him with a melancholy shake of the
head. " Do you mean that Pere Dominique and my-
self are like to quarrel V

" It needn't be a quarrel — it may be death,"
answered the cheerful Martin. "Nine cases out of
ten, a stumble at such a time forbodes it."

" If you darken my happiness with that raven
visage of thine, I'll — "

But here Pere Dominique interposed —

" Beware the hasty word, but never lift the hasty
hand, Paul; especially against Martin, who is one of
the kindest souls alive — only somewhat prone to take
a gloomy view of things; it's his nature — isn't it,
Martin r

" I can't laugh like the others, Pere Dominique,
when I know by what dangers we're surrounded, and
how the fiend is on the watch night and day, to ensnare
us; and as for warnings, I'm surprised that you should

150 THE HOODEE SNAKE.

despise them. When your cousin Oliver was engaged
to Rose Bernard, didn't I say that he would never
place the silver ring on her finger, and that the mar-
riage-lights would glimmer round his coffin ; and didn't
it all occur on the very road to the church, when — "

Snatching up the bucket, the fiery young sailor
flung it full at Martin ; but that Job's comforter, who
had evidently a " warning" of its coming, stepped
briskly aside, and the heavy missile shot past him.
This movement on the part of Lebrun had the effect
of bringing his anecdote to an abrupt conclusion, though
he gazed after the bucket with an air of phlegmatic in-
difference, and shook his head as solemnly as before;
nor was his equanimity to be disturbed by the loud
laughter of his master.

" Come, come, Paul ! I mustn't have Martin hurt,
though the song he sings is not exactly the one I should
choose for a wedding festival; nor can I afford to have
Marie Jeanne's milk-pails thrown about in that fashion;
it's lucky she did not see it, for her temper's sooner
ruffled than Martin's."

He looked towards a side-door of the great strag-
gling farm, at which Marie Jeanne had just made her
appearance, and was now busy distributing some
victuals to a poor mendicant woman and her family.

"Hilloh!" shouted the jolly farmer, "hilloh!
Marie Jeanne, let them cross the threshold, and eat
and drink with a roof over them — the little ones will
be none the worse for a warm, so put a fresh log on

THE HOODED SNAKE. 151

the fire. The poor are guests sent by God, says the
proverb, and it's written on every Breton's door-post — "
then, without waiting to hear Marie Jeanne's reply,
or the thanks of the poor woman, he turned to Paul
Lebrun —

" And do you come with me, Paul; you've a long
walk before you to Pont Croix, and must empty a
wine-flask before you start, if only to drink a heaven-
ward passage to the soul of your good uncle ; besides,"
he continued, seeing Lebrun hesitate, " Yvonne will
be there to welcome us."

No other inducement was needed, and with a quick
step — ah! the wings love fastens to our feet! — Paul
followed the farmer into the house.

Martin still leaned upon his hay-fork, and groaned,
as he looked after them. When they had disappeared
into the house, his thoughts resolved themselves into
words —

" What Fate has ordained it's not for man to alter :
he sleeps qxiiet who has a pall for his coverlid, and it's
not for you, Paul Lebrun, that the bazvalan* will knock

The bazvalan was the person deputed to ask girls in mar-
riage, and was usually a tailor, who presented himself with one
stocking blue, the other white. — Michelet.

" In Cornouaile," says M. Emile Souvestre, " as soon as a
young man has drawn his lot and escaped the conscription, he
begins to think of marriage. Returned safe from this strange
lottery, opened for the benefit of the cannon, he immediately
seeks to place his life under the shelter of a hut, consecrated by
the presence of a wife and an infant's cradle. He rarely, how-

152 THE HOODED SNAKE.

at the farm-house door. I dreamt last night — and last
night was a Friday — that I saw him lying at the foot
of Cape Paz, with a winding-sheet rolled up on his
breast — and when he threw the bucket at me, there
was a glare in his eye that flickered up and down, like
a corpse-candle. It's a sad thing, and he so young;
but he who fights against destiny, beats the air with
his fists : it passes over him notwithstanding ;" and so
saying, with another "gusty sigh," Martin shouldered
his hay-fork, and strode away in the direction of the
barn."

Two hours after Paul Lebrun was on his way to
Pont Croix.

If any man had reason for rejoicing, that man was
Paul Lebrun ; but the other day a poor sailor waiting
for a ship to offer itself to bear him away once more
to lead a life of toil and adventure, he now found
himself a small landed proprietor, and the possessor of,
for Brittany, no inconsiderable sum of ready cash.

ever, consults affection in the choice of a companion; for it is a
home he seeks rather than an attachment; he therefore applies
to the tailor, in order to know something of the marriageable
young people of the neighbourhood. The tailor is in the habit
of visiting house after house, in the exercise of his occupation ;
and as he is greatly despised by the men, he consoles himself
by rendering himself useful to the women, who appreciate him
accordingly. He is therefore the person officially employed in
case of a projected alliance; it is his duty to " carry the word"
and he is consequently a person of great importance with the
young of both sexes." Monsieur Souvestre makes the colour of
the bazvalan's stockings red and purple.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 153

Yvonne had not absolutely refused him — she had
been cold, but what of that ? she was not one of those
girls who at the first offer throw themselves into-
the arms of their lovers — on the contrary, she had
listened patiently to all that Lebrun, and then her
father, had to urge upon the subject, and had only
asked for time, refusing to give an answer without
due reflection. Decidedly Paul had reason to hope,
and he thought so too, or he would not have sung
so loudly —

"Oh ! then never despair, fond lover,
There's hope while the heart beats high ;
The lark, whose nest is nearest earth,
Finds her music in the sky."

But Paul found his music everywhere — in the sky — on
the earth — in the wind that shook the trees and swept
over the long grass — in the hum of the innumerable
insects that filled the evening air, and in the quaver-
ing song of " Nature's choristers," the birds, who thus
poured out their thanksgiving before retiring to their
rests ; but the principal music that he found was in
the contentment of his own heart.

The news of Paul's good fortune was known every-
where, to judge from the salutations and words of
congratulation that were addressed to him by all he
met, and they were many while he kept to the road ;
but soon he quitted the beaten track, and struck off
into a wide sea of broom, intersected here and there
by narrow ribbon-like paths, which twisted in and

\5i THE HOODED SNAKE.

out, as serpents twist and wind, when, suddenly
alarmed, they seek a hiding-place. But Paul Lebrun
knew each turn of the path he had chosen, though to
a stranger it would have been a task more than
difficult.

He had walked a considerable distance through
this verdant sea, when the hoarse murmur of waves
met his ear, and the dull booming of the surf as it
broke upon a distant beach ; then there whirled above
his head several sea birds, who rose and fell, swept
round and round, or seemed to rest motionless in the
air, poised gracefully on their outstretched wings.

" We shall have another storm," said the sailor, as
he looked up at the fluttering birds j " they say these
white-winged wanderers are the souls of shipwrecked
seamen, and their screams but friendly warnings of
the coming tempest. For my part, sea-dog as I am,
I could never yet hear their shrill cries without a
foreboding of danger at my heart." He still continued
walking as he looked up and watched the birds, and
while thus musing diverged somewhat from the track ■
he had not gone far before he became aware of his
error, and halted abruptly.

" Tiens ! when the helmsman takes to star-gazing,
it's all up with the ship," — he laughed; "my brains
have gone wool-gathering, and no wonder, when my
heart makes such a noise against my ribs. After
looking into Yvonne's eyes I feel dazzled for hours
to come — it's like gazing at the noonday sun in the

THE HOODED SNAKE. 155

Tropics — which blinds a poor fellow from its very-
brightness and beauty." He pushed aside the tall
wall of broom before him and passed out upon a
smooth carpet of short grass, which spread itself out
till it terminated at the edge of a long line of cliff.
The heath finished abruptly within twenty feet of the
precipice, and Paul Lebrun stood upon a broad plat-
form of rock, and gazed out upon the immensity of
waters — upon the great ocean whose broad bosom had
been to him as a mother's, soothing his sorrows and
singing him to sleep, as he lay in his hammock, with
a rough yet kindly lullaby. And now he was about to
forsake his parent, bid a farewell to her for ever —
and, offering sacrifice to the divinity of love, sit be-
neath his vine-tree and cultivate the happiness of
home.

Some such thoughts were in the young sailor's
mind as he stood here upon the summit of Cape Kaz,
and gazed down, nearly three hundred feet, upon the
roaring and restless sea.

The view from this " formidable" cape was one of
surpassing grandeur, and included seven leagues of
coast-line ; and while Paul Lebrun stood, with folded
arms and rapt look, upon the vast rock, we will, upon
the principle that what has been already well done it
is unnecessary to do again, borrow from a great
French historian, who, in speaking of Brittany, thus
describes the scene before us : —

" Let us seat ourselves on this formidable Cape Eaz;

156 THE EOODED SNAKE.

upon this overhanging rock, three hundred feet above
the sea, and whence we descry seven leagues of coast-
line. This is, in some sort, the sanctuary of the Celtic
world. The dot you discern beyond Dead-Man's Bay
is the island of Sein, a desolate, treeless, and all but
unsheltered sand-bank ; the abode of some poor and
compassionate families, who yearly save the ship-
wrecked mariners. This island was the abode of the
sacred virgins who gave the Celts fine weather or
shipwreck. There they celebrate their gloomy and
murderous orgies, and the seamen heard with terror,
far off at sea, the clash of barbaric cymbals. This
island is the traditionary birthplace of Myrddyn, the
Merlin of the middle age. All these rocks around us
are towns which have been swallowed up ; this is
Douarnenez, that is, the Breton Sodom. Those two
ravens you see, ever flying heavily on the shore, are
the souls of King Grallo and his daughter ; and those
shrill whistlings, which one would take for the voice
of the tempest, are the crierien, the ghosts of the
shipwrecked clamouring for burial."

Such is the wild scene that meets the eyes of those
who look down and around them from the dizzy
summit of Cape Raz.

The sun was sinking rapidly below the horizon;
great masses of dark and threatening cloud built
themselves up, growing larger and larger, and each
minute shutting out more of the bright face
of heaven ; the moaning of the sea grew louder

THE HOODED SNAKE. 157

and louder, and the cry of the sea-birds more
shrill—

" The storm is coming, as I thought, and faster
than I expected — short is the note of preparation on
this wild coast — the tempest is upon you in all its
force, ere, alarmed by the napping of its wings, you
can put about and run for a refuge." He turned as he
said this, and began to pursue a path that led along
the rocks : " I shall scarcely get to Pont Croix to-
night ; no matter, I shall keep along by the cliffs, and,
at the worst, can find shelter and a welcome in old
Jalec's cottage." He hurried his pace, only stopping at
intervals to look out into the heaving waste of waters,
or down upon the beach, upon which the huge billows
were now tumbling with the noise of thunder. " God
keep all ships from this cruel coast for this night !"
prayed the young sailor as he hastened along — "the
vultures are already moving in their nests, I fear, and
are whetting their beaks for the prey these waves may
roll on shore." Suddenly Paul stopped, for within a
dozen yards of him was the figure of a man ascending ;
or rather he had completed the ascent, of one of the
many rocky paths that was cut into the face of the
cliffs. The man's features were hidden by the broad
brim of his hat ; he carried a gun upon his shoulder,
and some birds, which he had evidently but lately
shot, slung to its barrel. Grasping a rugged projeotion
of rock, he swung himself up upon the smooth plat-
form on the top of the cliff. A few paces and the two

158 THE HOODED SNAKE.

men met — -with a surly " good night" he in the broad-
brimmed heavy flapped hat was about to pass — when
an exclamation from the young sailor caused him to
remove his eyes from the ground — he looked hastily
up and then echoed the cry of astonishment — Paul
Lebrun was standiDg face to face Avith his rival
Keroulas Carnac.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 159

CHAPTER XL

CAPE KAZ.

The two men gazed on each other for some mo-
ments without speaking ; but their dark and lowering
brows showed the intensity of their hate — the great
storm clouds, that were covering the sea with a sable
canopy, were not more threatening.

Paul Lebrun was the first to speak —

"A good evening to Keroulas Carnac; it must
be brave sport " — and he pointed contemptuously to
the birds that were suspended from the other's gun —
" that keeps you from the farm so late."

" These are but poor birds, and I almost regret
having killed them, for they have done me no harm ;
but there's a braver sport to come, and it's for that I
keep my gun in readiness."

" And what sport may that be 1"

160 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" Shooting the night-hawk when it comes too near
the nest of the dove. I have watched one hovering
about the farm lately."

" And what has made you the dove's protector ?"

" Her weakness and her love."

" Love !" laughed the other — ■" Keroulas Carnac
would hold the dove in a cage ; but the beautiful bird
has wings, and is free to fly where she pleases."

"Accursed be the hand that would seek to fetter
her — but let the treacherous fowler beware " — and the
peasant struck his hand upon the butt of his gun —
" how he spreads snares in her path !"

" And let others beware how they meddle in what
concerns them not !"

" Not concern me !" — and the fire of the volcano
blazed up through its covering of ice — " Yvonne Bon-
champ not concern me ! — do you think this pretty bird,
that I have tended and worshipped from the time that
I was no higher than this gun " — and he struck the
butt-end upon the earth — "will now tear my heart
into fragments, and make her nest and home beneath
your thatch T

" It is my hope that she will. Her father — "

Keroulas interrupted him with a bitter smile —

" Her father — yes, Dominique Bonchamp is a good
man and an affectionate father ; but his mother was
from Normandy, and so he loves a full purse and over-
flowing barns somewhat more than a true Breton
should ; and he who but yesterday would have got the

THE HOODED SNAKE. 161

quick answer and contemptuous shrug is to-day wel-
comed with open arms."

" You would say — ?"

" That I have heard of your good fortune and seen
its results. You are rich, and I am poor, and so Pere
Dominique blows with a cold breath upon me ; for he
knows that I have no uncle whose death I can
pray for as a benefit — no chance of a grave suddenly
opening, over which I might step to fortune. Your
uncle'' —

" isot a word against him, or — "

The swarthy face of the Breton peasant grew
purple with suppressed emotion, but he laughed till the
rocks rung again as he said —

" Listen to him ! — to Paul Lebrun, who has so
often coupled the name of the old miser, Pierre
Lebrun, with wild jests, as he uttered it over
the wine-pot in the cabaret ! Your affection is of as
rapid a growth as your fortune."

The sailor clenched his hands, and the veins on his
forehead stood out like whipcord ; but he said nothing,
and Keroulas resumed —

"But let him who steps between Yvonne Bonchamp
and Keroulas Carnac look to himself. Should he
dare—"

" Dare !"

" I would shoot him, with less compunction than I
have shot these birds."

" And if you met him here, face to face, Keroulas

M

162 THE HOODED SXAKE.

Carnac, and he told you Yvonne Boncliamp should he
Ms?"

" I would fling him over the cliff, as I do this
bundle of feathers" — and, snatching the birds from the
ground, where they had fallen, he cast them far away
into the air.

"Your words are stronger than your hands,"
sneered the other. " That I love Yvonne you know-
that she shall be my wife I tell you now — not by
snares, or other fowler's wiles, but of her own free
will she shall make her home with me and nestle in
my bosom."

He was aboiit to pass the peasant, who stood di-
rectly in the path he must traverse, when the latter
said —

" Her father has promised you this f
"Kay, she her- elf has — "
"Liar!"

The word had scarcely escaped his lips, when Ke-
roulas reeled backwards and fell heavily to the earth,
and Lebrun, with raised arm and flashing eyes, stood
over him.

With a quick writhing movement, the ex-Ohouan
placed himself out of the reach of his adversary,
and tli en sprung erect and faced him. The coun-
tenances of the two men, as thus they stood, pre-
paring for the deadly grapple, upon this smooth plat-
form of rock, were terrible to see : that of the Breton
peasant was already stained with blood, and wore that

THE HOODED SXAKE. 163

savage look of settled hate and iron determination that
marks the Breton character when thoroughly roused ;
his hat was off ; his long dark hair streamed over his
shoulders ; the lips were drawn back from the teeth,
which gleamed white as a tiger's. The wild Celtic
nature was no longer to be controlled : it was the
triumph of the animal over the man.

Nor was the sailor less stirred by the mad tempest
of passion, and with an eye as fierce — a foot as firm as
his rival's, he awaited the onset.

Not a word was said — a bound, and each had fiercely
grappled with the other, straining every muscle and
nerve, with one fearful aim in view — to urge his oppo-
nent nearer and nearer to the edge of the cliff.

Swaying to and fro — now down — now xip, but never
once relaxing their hold, these two strong men struggled.
At one moment they held each other at arm's length,
and sought, by rapid movement and dexterous will, to
give the final fall ; at the next their faces were within
an inch of each other — their teeth grinding, their eyes
glaring, and the hot bi'eath scorching their cheeks.
Twice they fell, but rose together. The grass around
them was trampled into mud, for the heavy rain-drops
had begun to fall, or was flung about in fragments, as
the two men struggled to maintain their foothold.
Nearer and nearer to the dizzy elge they came. The
sea-birds, alarmed, yet seemingly curious of such a
conflict, came soaring up — flew round and round,
screaming, or with quick-beating pinion fled swiftly

164:

THE HOODED SNAKE.

away, returning, however, again and again, to sweep
in graceful circles above the combatants. The mad-
dened men were now but a few feet from the edge of
the precipice. A huge grave was yawning at their
side — the dark cloud hung like a pall above them — yet
neither of them spoke. Once only had they parted in
that terrible struggle — once, but for an instant, yet
sufficient time for Keroulas to have seized his gun and
ended the conflict at once ; but the fierce Breton disdained
such an advantage — such an assassination, for thus he
would rightly have considered it — and only locked his
adversary again in a deadly embrace. Paul, too,
might then have terminated the strife by a well-di-
rected thrust of the long knife he carried stuck in his
sash ; but he read the peasant's thoughts in his eyes as
they rested on his gun, and, scorning to be outdone in
generosity, he plucked the knife from his girdle and
cast it yards away. Nearer and nearer to the cliff—
the end of one or both was at hand. "Were those the
sounds of a horse's hoofs — the cry of a human voice —
that were borne upon the wind? Surely they are
more|and more distinct, and the cry is " Keroulas !"
But the combatants hear it not or heed it not ; setting
their teeth closer, and taking each a firmer foothold,
they make their final effort.

A shout — almost a shriek — and a horseman gallops
madly over the platform, and only draws rein within
three feet of the precipice. Eoth horse and rider re-
mained for a moment motionless, as though they had

THE HOODED SNAKE. 165

stiffened into marble ; the face of the horseman is pale
as ashes, and he looks around him in horror — the
whole face of the platform is bare, he is alone upon
the cliff.

Again the sea-birds come whirling up from below?
but with their scream is mingled a strange cry.

" No bird uttered a cry like that, unless old Grallo
and his daughter have really feathered coverings," said
the horseman, as he flung himself from the saddle ;
" stand firm, Rollo, good horse, it's well for both of us
your training is so perfect, or your forelegs would have
been dangling over this accursed cliff, and I lying in
pieces at its base."

Another cry — and then fresh screams from the
birds, who now hung in a thick cloud over that portion
of the precipice near which the horseman stood.

" It's strange ! there must be a descent here of
nearly two hundred and fifty feet — the men must have
been dashed to atoms ! What is it these birds are
screaming at ?"

Kneeling, he crept cautiously to the edge, ard
peered down ; he had not over-estimated the height of
the cliff, the brow of which jutted over, presenting a
surface of jagged rock for some yards, and then, sud-
denly sloping inwards, made the whole descent in one
unbroken line of cliff, so smooth that every inch of a
lead line would have touched its surface, had it been
dropped from top to bottom : the base of the cliff was
not to be seen for the spray clouds which the great

1GG THE HOODED SNAKE.

■waves threw upwards as they rushed madly on, tossing
about the fallen rocks, and seeking day and night to
undermine these giant warders of their enemy — the
earth. Suddenly, the man who was peering over
uttered an exclamation of alarm and astonishment, then
crawled backwards a few paces, sprung to his feet, and,
hastening to his horse, began with frantic haste to take
the strong leathern bridle from his neck.

What could have occasioned this alarm and agita-
tion?

At the first glance that the stranger gave over the
edge of the cliff he shuddered with horror, and uttered
the startled cry we have heard ; for almost within
reach of his hand was a man — but ONE — clinging, with
all the energy of desperation, to a small, prickly shrub,
that grew out of the face of the cliff ; one of those
shrubs which, springing from seeds that had fallen into
the deep crevices of the rocks, grew thinly for some
little distance downwards, as long as the rugged sur-
face pave any hold for their snaky roots.

For a moment, as the two foes lost their foothold
and fell over the edge of the platform, their vice-like
grasp of each other relaxed, and both threw out their
arms with a wild gesture of fear and despair — the hand
of one encountered the prickly shrub, which he'grasped
instinctively and convulsively, thus arresting his down-
ward course, and keeping, even by so frail a support,
his body still suspended in the air, the other, less for-
tunate, had swung over quite clear of the brow of the

THE IIOODED SNAKE. lb I

cliff, and with a groan that wrung even the heart of
his enemy to hear, he fell downwards, downwards into
the waves that sprang up howling to receive him, and
when they had torn his mangled body from the rocks,
hurried it away wrapped in a shroud of foam.

For a few moments, the survivor remained thus
hanging bv one hand over the certain death that threa-
tened him ; he heard the dash and tumble of the water
beneath him, that seemed to his strained sense to grow
more and more ravenous for its prey ; by an effort he
swung his body upwards and seized with his other
hand the fibrous roots ; then it was that the sound of
a horse s hoofs met his ear, and again and again his
agonized cry broke forth.

" Hold on !" shouted the man from the platform
above ; " but for your life do not look down ; do so
but once and you are lost."

The other made no answer, it would have been use-
less to have done so, for the face that had appeared over
the cliff was as quickly withdrawn ; but even in the
extremity of his peril, a smile wreathed his lips at the
advice thus offered, for his was a foot that would have
trodden the dizziest paths without faltering, 'and looked
down with a steady gaze from crags only tenanted by
the eagle, but the weight upon his hands was each
moment growing heavier, and with anxiety and calm-
ness he awaited his fate.

Rapidly the man upon the platform unfastened
the bridle and stirrup-leathers from his horse, and with

168 THE HOODED SNAKE.

an equal rapidity knotted them firmly together ; then
lie looked hastily about him. No ! not a tree ; not a
bush within distance possible for such a line to reach —
ha ! ha ! fortune favours him — this man "who is clins:-
ing like a limpet to the rock — the stranger's eyes have
rested upon the gun of Keroulas, he springs towards it,
snatches it from the ground, tben looks eagerly around
for some crevicejin the soil — he finds one — " the very
place," he says, as he thrusts the barrel of the gun
deep into the gap and fixes it firmly with a large
flint, then he ties one end of the line to it, and throw-
ing himself flat on the ground, creeps towards the edge
of the cliff, with almost as little time as it takes to
tell.

" Thank heaven ! the man is still there ; for the
love of life, hold on !"

The strong line descends — it touches the face of
the man — will he suddenly let go of the shrub to grasp
it ? not he ! cool in this, the extremest moment
of his danger, he turns his head slightly, and, watching
the moment, catches the line between his strong teeth,
this done, he moves his head close to his right arm till
the leather touches his hand, and then, and not till
then, grasps it ; he carefully tests its strength before he
entirely lets go the tough roots of the prickly shrub —
it will do — the knots have been skilfully fastened, and
the man above is ready to aid — slowly, hand over hand,
he ascends, his head is at last on a level with the edge

THE HOODED SNAKE. 169

of the platform — the stranger grasps him by the collar
— a strong effort ! another ! and he stands once more
upon firm ground — he is saved !

For the second time Keroulas Carnac owes his life
to the Chevalier de Preville.

170 THE IIOOOliD SNAKE.

CHAPTER XII.

FOUCHe'S AGENTS — PATRICIAN AND PLEBIAN.

The clay after the event recorded in the last
chapter, Anatole Chiffon rode over to the Chateau
Pontarlac.

It "was noon when he dismounted in the grass-
grown court-yard of that very antique and desolate-
looking mansion, and, consigning his horse into the
safe keeping of a rough-looking lad, who acted as
ostler, he entered the house, and proceeded at once
to the private apartment of its master. Monsieur le
Chevalier de Preville was seated, as usual, near the
window ; through which, when we last visited the
chateau, the sunbeams were so merrily playing— but
now there was but little sunlight, either in the room
or in the face of its occupant — the day without was
not more sad beneath its weight of dark clouds than
the face of the man within. Thrice he took a book

THE HOODED SNAKE. 1/1

from the table, and, as if to banish the unpleasant
thoughts that oppressed him, endeavoured to read ;
but the third time — after turning over a few pages —
he cast the volume from him, and, rising, walked the
room with every sign of angry impatience.

" This fellow is an ass !" he said, as, with his foot,
he pushed aside the book he had flung upon the floor ;
" he tells us that chance is but the fool's excuse for folly
— that the wise man may direct and govern it — bah !
how could I have foreseen such an accursed chance as
this % — that has uprooted all my schemes and undone the
patient labour of years. The reward that Fouche pre-
ferred was a great one — wealth, station, influence — a
busy part in this great game that is about to be
played in Europe ; a game that will make kings
beggars, aye ! and beggars kings — none but the owl-
eyed could fail to see the signs of the coming times —
I saw them long ago — saw them with a vision
sharpened by poverty, and resolved, whatever I might
trample under my feet, to keep, this time at least, the
sure road. My services were eagerly accepted — my
ambition known and encouraged — for cunning Joseph
saw at once, that a head like mine might be put to a.
better use than helping to fill the headsman's basket —
his were not the tactics of his old friend Maximilian ;
' he killed,' I have heard him say, ' I buy? and he
bought me— at a noble price too— that is— at what
would have been a noble price — for Joseph promises
but never pays beforehand — " He laughed bitterly,

172 THE HOODED SNAKE.

as if in self derision — then continued, though in a
more subdued manner : " This marriage of Victor's up-
sets all — and since the news of Marigny's death,
d'Aubigny regards Victor with an eye of especial
favour — the girl has not yet confessed to her father^
though there is slight reason to doubt that forgive-
ness will be forthcoming — and then, Victor is heir to
these very estates Fouche so longs to confiscate — and
which I ! I, of all men — have been labouring to place
within his clutch. Still it is not too late for me to
save what I would, but a few days ago, have eagerly
destroyed ; yes, I would have gained fortune for Vic-
tor, and now — it is I alone who threaten this wealth
he is otherwise certain to possess ; alone ! would I were
alone in this, but my associate, this wily spy — this
ferret — that Fouche must needs thrust upon me — how
to baffle him, and prevent his gaining that information
which, once proved and transmitted to Paris, would
leave d'Aubigny without land enough to make a grave
— while Victor — my son ! would curse, must curse
even his father, who had aided in this shameful work."

The wretched man bent his face in his hands, and
for a moment was shaken by strong emotion — for a
moment only ; for again came the three distinct knocks
that had disturbed, on the previous day, his interview
with his son.

" Chiffon !"

He started — then by an effort recovered his com-
posure and walked to the door.

THE HOODED SXAKE. 173

" Xo new discovery, I hope — no fresh meshes for
me to break — for break them I will, one by one."

He threw open the door, and gave admittance to
the smiling valet.

The Chevalier shuddered, despite himself; for a
smile upon some faces is the most ominous of signs.

" Why do you stand there, leering and shaking
your head in that goblin fashion — yours is not exactly
the countenance a man would wish to be framed in his
door- way longer than necessary ?"

Chiffon entered the room perfectly unruffled by the
Chevalier's tone of banter — he was not a man to take
offence at a sneer; besides, he was used to it.

" You bring news ? "

Chiffon nodded.

"Good news?"

" Tor the Chevalier de Preville — yes; for the Baron
d'Aubigny — no."

" How ! you have not discovered V

Chiffon nodded.

" Have you lost power of speech, man 1 Speak out
the news you have brought, or take that and yourself
away together."

The valet let his cloak fall from his shoulders, and,
after glancing everywhere about the room, advanced,
with his quick, cat-like tread, to the side of the Che-
valier, and whispered in his ear —

" I have it."

"The — " but with all his self-command, the Cheva-

174 THE HOODED SNAKE.

lier could not bring himself to ask the question ; it
■was unnecessary, for the answer he dreaded quickly
came.

" The order for an immediate organisation of a
revolt ; it bears the seal of the Bourbon, and is signed
by his own hand."

" And yon discovered it — how ?"

Chiffon glanced clown modestty.

" I promised to obtain it. The change of hiding-
place was the first thing to discover; the second thing
was to make myself master of the document. I did
both."

"But how V

" Pardon me, if when the end is satisfactorily-
gained, I prefer to be silent as to the means. We all
have our gifts. I live by mine."

" Give me the paper."

" Monsieur le Chevalier shall have it this night;
but it is necessary I should make out another paper, a
fac simile of this, to put in its place. To disarm sus-
picion is to render success certain."

" You are the cleverest rascal in all France, Ana-
tole !"

'•'Monsieur is too good, and scarcely just; there are
yet some even in that respect who surpass me."

The valet's eyes had again modestly sought the
ground, or the angry light in de Preville's eyes, and
the heightened colour upon his cheek, could scarcely
have escaped him.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 175

" To-night I shall forward tbe courier to Paris.
My dispatch is prepared, but this document must ac-
company it. Your forgery, when will it be com*
pleted ?"

The Chevalier laid emphasis on the word "forgery,"
but the valet replied without apparently heeding the
sneer.

" Before midnight, I will bring it to the Chateau
Pontarlac; the Chevalier de Preville will find me faith-
ful to my trust."

" The Baron d'Aubigny has found you so."

The eyes of the two men met — they smiled — but
each knew how the other secretly hated him. The
bond of crime is after all but a bond of flax, which the
stronger villain may snap in an instant.

" I am the Baron d'Aubigny's paid valet, not his
friend."

"How, sirrah! would you dare pass judgment
upon your betters V

" I have no such presumption. The Chevalier, as
I understood him, accuses me indirectly of ingratitude.
I would vindicate myself."

" Enough, enough," said de Preville, haughtily.
" You will place in my hands this document, a cotirier
will travel night and day — it will be for Fouche to act
upon it ; it was but for this I have delayed sending
the other papers : without the one damning fact of
direct correspondence they were useless; with it they
become all-important, as showing the ramifications of

176 THE HOODED SNAKE.

the plot. To-niglit you will come by the private door
from the garden ; there is the key, you can go."

He took it from his pocket and placed it in Chif-
fon's hand; the valet put it carefully into a side-
pocket, but still lingered.

" Have you more to say; is not your budget of
news yet empty T

" The other news I have concerns but little the
Chevalier de Preville, yet it was his wish to hear all
the gossip of the neighbourhood."

" Well ! what old woman's story is now afloat 1 I
I am all attention;" and, throwing himself back in his
chair, de Preville gazed resignedly at the ceiling.

" A murder has been committed on the coast."

" Only one ? The rascals have been idle of late."

" The body of a young seaman, Paul Lebrun, was
found this morning lying frightfully mangled on a
shelf of the cliff, a few yards above the level of the
beach, near Cape Paz."

" And why should they suspect foul play 1 he who
lives by the water too often dies by it. A boat is but
a plank, and a plank but a thin barrier between a man
and his grave."

" But Lebrun was not in a boat last night ; he left
farmer Bonchamp's for Pont Croix, and was last seen
diverging from the direct road and following one over
the cliffs—"

" And so got benighted, and missed his footing — a
sad occurrence, but too frequent to be wondered at."

THE HOODED SNAKE. 177

" The sailor was accustomed to the path, and could
have walked it blindfold; besides, when last seen, he
was making for Jalec's cottage, and night had not set
in."

The Chevalier yawned, and still stared languidly
at the ceiling.

" Is that all your news ? that a young sailor, pos
sibly in liquor, goes wandering over the rocks in the
twilight, and, making a false step, is found the next
morning at the base of the cliff, though last seen on
the top ? Nevertheless, our honest Bretons, who de-
light in the mysterious and horrible, give out that this
man has been murdered."

" The} r suspect nothing of the kind."

'•TVho, then?"

1: It is I. who know it for certain."

" You !" The Chevalier sat up, and with a look of
wonder gazed into the face of unmoved Chiffon.

" Possibly your acuteness may have also discovered
the murderer?"

t! It has."

The Chevalier's eyes widened more and more.

" May I ask his name ?"

" Kcroulas Carnac."

There was a pause— Chiffon was silent; so was the
■Chevalier, but from a different cause.

"You are mistaken ; Keroulas is incapable of such
a crime."

Chiffon shrugged his shoulders.

N

178 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" When a man is in love he is capable of every
folly. Keroulas loves Yvonne Bonchamp."

"Well?"

" And Paul Lebrun was his rival, and a favoured
one."

" By the girl V

" Better still, by her father."

" And these are the only grounds you have for so
terrible an accusation 1"

There was a wicked gleam in the valet's eyes as he
answered —

" Had they been, I should have kept my thought
to myself; but with your good patience, I will shortly
state my other reasons — strong ones, as they appear to
me."

The Chevalier motioned him to proceed. The valet,
leaning forward, crossed his lean arms over the back
of a chair, rested his pointed chin on his hands, and
went on thus : —

" For some time past, whenever these two men
have met hot words have ensued. I was myself wit-
ness to a quarrel that, but for the interference of Pere
Bonchamp, might have had a serious termination ; then
it was that Keroulas Carnac confided to me the story
of his hopes and fears, his hatred and his love."

" He made a curious selection of a confidant," said
the Chevalier.

" True, he might have done better; but there was
too much fire in the heart for the brain to keep cool.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 179

He swore that he would kill any man who came be-
tween his foster-sister and himself — in such matters
these Bretons keep their word, and he has proved no
exception to the rule."

" But what advantage had this young sailor over
the other ?"

" Every advantage — he'd money ; having made no
impression on the daughter's heart, he attacked the
father's — there his success was certain. Keroulas
knew this — "

" Reason enough for killing any man," was the
comment of the Chevalier. " I have fought three duels
for similar causes before I was this young peasant's
age."

Chiffon, without noticing the interruption, pro-
ceeded —

" And did not hide his intention of taking sum-
mary vengeance. About the same time that Lebrun
was seen walking in the direction of Cape Raz, Ke-
roulas was shooting wild fowl on the beach ; they
must have met — "

"Why must they?"

" They did meet, and that on the summit of the
cliff, at the base of which the sailor's body was found."

" You have no proof."

'• I examined the spot carefully this morning; it
bore every sign of a severe struggle having taken
place : the impression of heavy feet was still fixed in
the soil ; the marks were too deep for even last night's

180

THE HOODED SNAKE.

storm to have wholly effaced them — and among the
grass I found a sheathed knife ; it was Paul Lebrun's
— his name was upon the hilt."

" Fouche chooses hit* agents well; you are worthy
of your reputation, Anatole."

" Such is my endeavour."

" But your motive in all this inquiry, for you have
one ?"

" I have : my motive is to benefit myself."

"Yourself!— how?"

" Yestei'day I had two rivals, to-day I have but
one. I would marry Yvonne Bonchamp."

At first a look of extreme astonishment held pos-
session of the Chevalier de Preville's face; then he
threw himself back in his chair, and gave way to peal
after peal of laughter. The valet never altered his
position, nor did his countenance express the least an-
noyance at the other's merriment.

" Chiffon in love ! incredible !" And De Preville
with difficulty restrained a fresh explosion.

" I did not say that !" observed the valet, calmly.
" What I said was that it was my intention to marry
Yvonne Bonchamp. Her father would increase his
substance, and I am not poor. There were two ob-
stacles in my path— one is already removed, and I shall
myself remove the other."

" By what means f '

" The law. To-morrow, the chain of evidence
complete, I make my deposition before the Mayor of

THE HOODED SXAKE. 181

Pont Croix, with whom I have already lodged the
knife, and a fragment of cloth that once formed part
of the vest of Keroulas ; it was found in the dead
man's hand."

" And should your proofs fail, how then ? Keroulas
Carnac is not a man to trifle with."

" They will not fail."

" But if it could be proved that this was after all
but a duel between two angry men, who mutually
thirsted for the life of each other: could this be
proved V

" It cannot be. But one person could give this
proof, and he, for his own sake, will remain silent."

The Chevalier started, for the keen eyes of the
valet were rivetted on his face.

" You speak in riddles, you must solve them, for I
am slow at such guess-work."

" This will help to a solution" — and Chiffon took
from his pocket a riding-glove, which he placed softly
on the table; " I picked it up among the broom, which
had been broken down by a horse having pushed his
way through it — up to the very edge of the cliff were
the marks of a horse's hoofs — Kollo's shoes are of a
fashion different to those made by the rough Breton
farriers."

" Well ! what's the man driving at ?"

" Nothing. I have brought back the Chevalier de
Preville's glove, thinking it fortunate I found it as I
did, for the crest and initials are worked upon it."

182 THE HOODED SNAKE.

Again these two men looked full into the eyes of
each other — the patrician and plebeian spy — true
types of those evil times, when none were too high to
refuse the pay, and none too low to be refused by the
unscrupulous Fouche. The Chevalier de Preville had
drawn himself erect, the head thrown back, and the
eyes flashing down ivpon the other, who, in his turn,
glanced fearlessly up with the cunning eyes and savage
protruding jaw — the one graceful, yet threatening as
the snake that suddenly rears itself erect before it
strikes ; the other crouching, but dangerous as the wild
cat before it springs. The Chevalier spoke, with a
voice trembling with suppressed passion —

" And you ! you ! the trusted agent of Robes-
pierre — the spy of Pouche ! — the jackal of the guillo-
tine ! — the hunting leopard, that each new government
keeps in leash to run down the game it would destroy
— you propose to me, the Chevalier de Preville to act
as your accomplice in a false accusation against a man
who was born upon this very estate of Pontarlac !
What value do you set upon your life, that you dare
to do this thing ?"

" I only ask for that which I shall gain — your
silence."

The Chevalier made a movement, but Chiffon,
without heeding it, continued, in a low but firm
voice —

" The association you complain of was not sought

THE HOODED SNAKE. 183

by me — though I have shared many- a secret mission
with those whose names take even higher rank among the
nobility of France than that of the Chevalier de Preville ;
those who desired the service, chose the instruments —
the stroke is the same whether the poniard has a
leathern or a velvet handle."

" Do you taunt me ?"

" It would ill become me to do so — I but remind
the Chevalier de Preville, that, in undertaking this
business, he had his own ends in view ; in a humbler
way I have mine : I would therefore entreat his better
consideration upon this point, and not from a mere
caprice of liberality seek to thwart the scheme I have
so carefully projected."

" Caprice ! is it thus you speak of the life of a
man?"

" To none but you can this peasant make appeal ;
to which appeal you will return, and in all humility I
ask it, no answer."

Even with the Chevalier de Preville further dissi-
nndation was impossible, — the hot blood burnt in his
cheeks, the red flush mounted to his forehead. " This
man shall not be sacrificed ; it shall be my business to
proclaim the truth."

Without changing a muscle of his face, Monsieur
Anatole Chiffon bowed, and moved quietly towards
the door.

" I will pray the Chevalier de Preville to recon-

184 THE HOODED SNAKE.

sider the matter; to-night I may find him better
disposed to listen to my reasons ; till then I ■will take
my leave."

The other impatiently waved his hand and turned
towards the window ; then, and not till then, a bright
gleam, the lightning of a concentrated mtdice, shot
from the eyes of the valet.

" Reason waits upon reflection — I ask at the Che-
valier de Preville's hands, Keroulas'_Carnac ; in return
I leave him the Baron d'Aubigny."

De Preville turned, but the door had closed and
the valet was gone ; in a few minutes his voice was
heard in the court-yard, and then the clatter of horse's
hoofs on the road told that he had departed.

The war had began, the two men now knew each
other as foes — it was diamond cut diamond with a
vengeance.

Opening a small door, the Chevalier passed out of
the room and slowly ascended a steep flight of stone
steps that led to a small sleeping room that was placed
immediately beneath the tiled and pointed roof. He
pushed open the door, and entered unperceived by the
room's occupant, who, with his face pressed against the
narrow aperture that served for a window, was watch-
ing a horseman galloping swiftly down the road.
The Chevalier advanced and laid his hand upon the
shoulder of Keroulas, for it w r as the young Breton,
and gazed into his disturbed and haggard face, then

THE HOODED S2CAKE. 155

pointed to the horseman still visible from the turret
■window.

" You have recognised him V

" I have — he is your enemy !'

" And thine !"

Again the Breton turned to the window, and,
without a word, the two men watched the horseman
till a distant bend in the road had concealed him from,
their sisrht.

186 THE HOODED SNAKE.

CHAPTER XIII.

YVONNE — THE FIRST AND LAST KISS !

All "was commotion at Pere Bonchamp's farm !

The sad news of the untimely end of poor Paul
Lebrun had been brought over by some fishermen,
early in the morning, and the good farmer had departed
at once to Jalec's cottage, where the body of the un-
fortunate young sailor was lying.

Yvonne, who had passed the night praying for a
deliverance from the affliction her father's sudden
acceptance of Paul's proposal had brought upon her,
was aghast at this terrible and unlooked-for compliance
with her wishes. The farm labourers stood about in
groups, talking over the accident — for so, by one and
all, it was considered ; while Marie Jeanne and the
two other female servants stood, with red and swollen
eyes, by the dairy door, catching up such crumbs of
information as came in their way. Nor was this feeling

THE HOODED SNAKE. 187

of general sadness at all affected, for Paul Lebrun had
been a favourite with all — especially with the women
— his frank, easy, careless good humour having made
for him friends on all sides ; the only person who, it is
possible, felt a sort of gloomy satisfaction at the event,
was the superstitious Martin, who triumphed not a
little at this sad realisation of his prophecy.

There was a murmur of respectful admiration and a
general lifting of caps, as the Baron d'Aubigny and his
daughter passed through the farm-yard towards the
house, at the door at which Yvonne stood to wel-
come them. The murmur of admiration was called
forth by the beauty of Eugenie, whose tall and graceful
figure, firm and majestic step, would have betokened a
lofty pride, but for the look of exquisite gentleness
and love that was ever beaming in her dove-like eyes :
the lifting of caps was but an accustomed tribute to the
position of the Baron, who was invested with something
little short of the dignity of a king by the surrounding
peasantry.

" My pretty Yvonne, what is this I hear ?" said
the Baron, when they had entered the house and his
daughter had placed herself on a seat beside the young
Bretonne, whose hand she took affectionately between
her own; "misfortune follows upon misfortune, and
death has been once more busy upon this fatal
coast."

" It is a sad blow for us all, for there were none
who bore ill-will to Paul Lebrun : he had always a

188 THE HOODED SNAKE.

kind heart to feel for, and, when able, a ready hand
to relieve the distresses of others."

" Your father, who I met on my road hither, has
told me all ; he has lost a son, and you a husband."

Quickly Yvonne raised her head, and answered, in
a quiet, but firm voice —

" My father is in error. Paul was to me a dear,
kind friend — more than that, had Heaven spared his
life, he could not have been."

Unperceived by the occupants of the ro cm, a
man had paused at the open lattice : at the first sound
of Yvonne's voice, he had thrust aside the dark tangled
hair from his face and listened eagerly ; when she
ceased speaking, he bit his lip so fiercely, to repress a
groan of anguish, that the blood trickled slowly from
it ; then he shrunk back into the shadow formed by
some huge climbing plants, and, still within earshot,
stood immoveable as a statiie of bronze.

" Your father did not think so."

" He did not. My father is, at times, hasty, being
unused to contradiction, and I feared to speak to him
at once, though the storm is never of long duration,
and he is so kind and indulgent when it has passed.
To-day, when this terrible calamity was undreamt of,
I had intended seeking the advice of Mademoiselle Eu-
genie, and, through her, have solicited your interces-
sion with my father, for with him, as with us all, your
influence is great."

The good Baron smiled kindly on the pure and

THE HOODED SNAKE. 189

pleasant lace that looked up so imploringly into his
own, and said : —

" There was no need, my child, of Eugenie's aid in
such solicitation — though well I know how readily it
would be given ; but tell me frankly — for Eugenie, I
find, can keep a secret, despite her sex — you have a
lover, and one you love — or so brave and handsome a
young fellow as poor Lebrun might have hoped for
better fortune."

Yvonne looked down and made no answer, reply-
ing only to the gentle pressure of Eugenie's soft hands ;
the Baron smiled, and smoothed the glossy braids of
hair that stole from beneath the pretty Breton cap.

" It is from no idle curiosity I ask, darling, nor
would I vex you with such questions at so sad a time,
but your father speaks his disappointment freely, and
laments to all the husband you have lost; tell me, then,
the name of this living lover, whose fortune has been
indeed great to have won a place in so pure a heart ?
I have promised Eugenie to gain your father's approval
by making this lucky fellow's marriage portion equal to
your father's wish."

Yvonne was still silent.

" 1 trust, Yvonne, this man who has won your love
has given you no cause to believe it unworthily be-
^owed r

The head of the listener at the window was bent
down upon his breast, and with a beating heart, he
waited for Yvonne's answer.

190 THE HOODED SNAKE.

She raise her head, and there was a flush of ho-
nestpride on her cheek as she said —

" There is not a better nor honester man in Brit-
tany than'Keroulas Oai-nac."

The hidden listener started, his whole frame was
shaken by a sudden spasm, then he muttered between
his teeth, " That villain, Chiffon ! slanderer ! liar ! he
has damned my immortal soul ! ! !"

" Keroulas ! truly, a brave man, as those rascally
blues proved to their cost ; you 'have said well, mon
enfant, I know of none so worthy of the flower ol
Pere Bonchamp's farm. Before I speak to your father
I would see Keroulas — tell him that."

But Yvonne's cheek crimsoned, and she shook her
head.

" I understand — love is too delicate a thing for my
rough hand to touch — well, Eugenie, who has often
spoken to me of this young man, shall be my messen-
ger. I would see two, nay, three," and he looked smil-
ingly on his daughter, " hearts happy."

Eugenie caught her father's hand and pressed it to
her lips —

" Four hearts, dear Yvonne ; for my father is never
so happy as when he is doing good "

Keeping within the shadow of the wall, Keroulas
Carnac moved stealthily, like some guilty thing, from
the window, and gliding behind a range of small sheds,
leaped the wall that enclosed the yard, and hastened,
still unperceived, across the fields ; he was soon among

THE HOODED SNAKE. 191

the tall broom, where, thoroughly concealed, he threw
himself prostrate on the ground, and gave free vent to
his grief, sobbing as though, in the extremity of his
despair, the iron nature had given way, and the strong
heart was about to break. At last he looked up, the
blessed relief of tears had cooled in time the fever
that poured through his brain the fires of madness,
and he found a further relief in the bitter words that
escaped his lips —

" Fool ! dupe that I have been ! — dupe to this
cunning knave — this specious villain, who, professing
friendship — pity, poured his calumnies into my cre-
dulous ears; calumnies against her — Yvonne — that
blessed saint so good, so true, so pure, who might have
been mine, but now can never, never be ! No !" and
he struck his clenched hands against his forehead ;
" Never ! these hands are too deeply stained to clasp
her's before the altar ! Did she know all she would
cui-se me ; the Baron would drive me from his pre-
sence ; and even our good Cure would turn away his
eyes with horror as I knelt before him in the confes-
sional ; and this, all this ! the work of this man — this
fiend who has ensnared my soul !" He covered his
face, and gave way to his emotion; then went on
more calmly. " He told me that he had overheard
her confession of love for Paul Lebrun ; nay, that
Lebrun had boasted of it openly, in the tavern at Pont
Croix — that it was talked of as a settled thing ; and
that I, I, miserable fool, was the laughing stock of even

192 THE HOODED SNAKE.

the labourers on the farm, for my silly blindness and
the presumption of the hopes I had formed. This
sudden access of wealth ; Pere Dominique's changed
manner ; Yvonne's behaviour during the quarrel at
the farm — all confirmed the wicked lie. I did nol
seek the meeting, it was accident that brought us
together on the cliff ; his bravado seemed to confirm
the other's story ; the blow, and Mon Dieu ! Jlor,
Dieu ! — and yet I live ! Live for what ?" — he extended
his arms and shook his clenched hands as though in
the face of an opponent — "for what? — Revenge.
When was a Breton content to die with that unsa-
tisfied 1 Revenge for my wrongs, and revenge for his
— the man who lay murdered beneath the cliff; mur
dered by me ! — no — by him, the slanderer and liar !"

Again and again fierce paroxysms of passion swepi
over him ; then, when the fury of the storm had passed
he lay back exhausted, but with the stern unrelenting
look upon his face.

" Twice I have owed my worthless life to the Che-
valier de Preville ; when he shall please to demand ii
is his to take ; but this that he now asks of me is my
own affair as much as his. It is a benefit I am about
to do mankind, — to kill this double liar, this spy, this
domestic Judas, this traitor on his master's hearth. Ii
I miss his heart this night, I will never pull triggei
again, unless the barrel is turned towards myself. I)
who have brought down an eagle on the wing, cannot
but kill the cowardly fox that goes slinking to his
hole."

THE HOODED SNAKE. 193

He was about to rise, when the sound of voices
came upon his ear ; he drew back, and crouched still
lower down among the broom.

"It is Pere Dominique returning from Jalee's
cottage."

He was right ; and the good farmer was speaking
in tones almost of anger, to the person who rode by
his side —

" Murder ! It is plain, Monsieur, that you are a
stranger to our Brittany. I will not deny but despe-
rate deeds are done upon our coasts ; but, then, they
are upon those whom the wild sea dashes on the shore.
The saints forbid I should defend such acts ; yet
has the bris (wreck) been claimed as a right since first
a house was built within sound of the rolling surge ;
but to murder a man in cold blood — a Breton, too —
you had better not speak your suspicions aloud unless
you can show some grounds for them ; all Bretons
may not be so patient as I am."

The voice that replied was somewhat indistinct at
first, but when its accents fell clearly upon the ear of
Keroulas Carnac, he uttered a stifled cry, and again
half rose to his feet —

" Would that I had but a weapon," he said, " and
I would slay him even now ; yet I have promised to
bide the appointed time ; the Chevalier has my word,
and though this measureless liar stood before the bar-
rel of my gun, and my finger rested on its trigger, he

o --

194 THE HOODED SNAKE.

should hold his life safe till then ; my word is passed,
and I may not break it."

" You ask for proofs, Pere Dominique. Well,
what if I promise that proofs shall be forthcoming.
How say you then?"

" That Brittany has been disgraced, and a foul
deed committed, for which there is not a man who
knew Paul Lebrun but will exact a retribution ; yet,
till such proofs are shown, I hold such a charge to be
a base calumny, and shall refuse, as I do now, to give
ear to it."

" Be it so ; to-morrow may prove many things, this
among the number."

" You speak as lightly of to-morrow as did poor
Lebrun ; yet he never saw the sun rise upon it. Such
may be my fate or yours. "Who knows 1"

" Who knows T It was Keroulas Oarnac who
echoed the farmer's words, as he looked after the
figures of the horsemen ; their voices no longer to be
distinguished, though, at times, the sneering laugh of
Chiffon was still borne towards him by the wind.

Three hours afterwards, Yvonne, who was sitting
alone in her little room, was disturbed by a tap on the
window — startled, but without fear, she rose and
opened it at once ; and there, leaning on the sill, his
pale face gazing into her own, was her lover, Keroulas
Carnac.

" Keroulas ! You here !"

" Hush, Yvonne ! in mercy do not drive me away ;

THE HOODED SNAKE. 195

for a minute — but one — let me look into your- eyes,
and listen to the blessed accents of your voice."

" You alarm me ; your face is pale, and your eyes
so wild and fierce."

" Nay, dearest Yvonne, you have no cause to fear ;
but I have watched hours for this opportunity, to see
you thus alone, to kiss your hands and bless you, my
dearest, dearest love, before I go !"

"Go!"

He smiled sadly, and pointed towards the heath,
over which the shadows of evening were fast creeping,

" My way lies over there. I have a duty to per-
form — an act of justice which must be done; into my
hands has the sacred trust been given. You w T ould not
stay me, Yvonne ?"

"I would not, Keroulas; that which your heart
dictates, that you will do ; but my father, will you not
see him ?"

"No; not to-night." He drew her towards him
as he spoke, " You love me, Yvonne ! you have con-
fessed it to others this day. Let, then, thy tongue now
sound as sweet a music in my ears."

Half laughing, half vexed, she strove to release
herself from his grasp.

" The time is ill -chosen. To-morrow I — "

He interrupted her, and said, in a voice so strange
and hollow that the colour forsook her cheek, and in
her heart she felt a sudden fear —

" Let none make certain to see the rising of the

196 THE HOODED SNAKE.

sun ;" as he spoke, the great clock in the farm kitchen
or general room, began to strike the hour.

" Hush !" He counted the strokes. " I must be
gone." He drew her towards him again, " You love
me, Yvonne?"

" I love you, Keroulas !"

Their lips, for the first and last time, met in one
long, burning, passionate kiss, and he was gone.

Again that strange foreboding took possession oi
her young heart, that certain warning of the coming
ill; she closed the lattice, and sought the only refuge
for the distressed — bowing her head and knees in
earnest prayer.

Again Keroulas Oarnac creeps, with stealthy steps,
along the wall; he pauses behind the great barn, and
moves away some loose stones — something glitters even
in that dull light — it is the polished barrel and mount-
ngs of a gun; another minute, he has leaped the wall,
and makes at once for the heath, crossing it in the
direction of the Chateau Pontarlac.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 197

CHAPTER XIV.

KETEIBCTION.

Keeoulas Carnac is standing in the private apart-
ment of the Chevalier de Preville — rigid and silent as
a sentry at his post, he leans upon his gun, and watches
the Chevalier, who, by the light of a small shaded
lamp, is writing rapidly at the table. The Breton
peasant standing thus, just without the circle of the
light, his ardent eyes gleaming from beneath the wide
brim of his hat, and the long black hair, wildly dishe-
velled, streaming about his face and shoulders, might
be taken for one of those gloomy visitors from the
realms of darkness, of which the Breton legends love
to tell — who, for a time, have cast aside the fetters of
the grave, and re-visited the world, to tempt the souls
of men. Some such thought must have passed through
the mind of the Chevalier, for, looking up, he said —
" Since thou wilt neither eat nor diink, I pry thee

19S THE HOODED SNAKE.

sit ; for that tall, dark figure of thine seems to belong
rather to the dead than the living, as thou standest
there, making no movement, nor giving other sign of
breathing life."

The Breton laughed, but not the laugh of mirth ;
and, without altering his position, he said —

" ' Rather to the dead than the living.' You have
said well, Monsieur le Chevalier. After this night, I
leave Britanny ; in a few weeks — the world."

" You hinted at this before. You would seek your
solace where solace is alone to be found — at the foot of
the cross. You would bury yourself and your sor-
rows in that living tomb — a monastery."

" I would dedicate myself to the service of the poor
and wretched."

" A noble vocation ; but the ties which bind men
to this world of joy and sorrow, cannot be separated as
easily as those long locks of thine will be clipped from
thy head by the scissors of the priest ; nor will thy
fierce, passionate heart beat more tranquilly because
thy breast is covered by the robe of serge."

" Monsieur le Chevalier is no friend to the vowed
children of poverty — to the noble men who suffer a
daily martyrdom, and, in their holy self-denial, preach
a lesson, and set an example to mankind."

" You mistake, Keroulas," said the Chevalier,
gravely; though a finer ear than the Breton's might
have detected a certain irony in the tone ; " I may ad-
mire those virtues, though I cannot imitate the men

THE HOODED SNAKE. 199

who devote every hour of their lives to a self-appointed
ministry — who, in bitter self-humiliation, take up the
cross, and place the thorny crown upon their foreheads ;
who close their eyes to the beauty of women, lest the
light of her face should shut out the brighter light of
Heaven; "who renounce the feast for the funeral, and,
absent from the board, are ever to be found by the
couch of the dying; but such a life, if life it can be
called, which is but one long preparation for the grave,
is not for you."

"And why not?"

" Because you love — will ever love — Yvonne Bon-
champ."

The Breton trembled at the utterance of the name ;
the Chevalier observed his emotion, and continued —

" You pronounce the heavens to be no longer bright,
because a cloud has passed between you and the sun ;
the earth to contain nought but misery, because the
presence of a sorrow has for a day darkened your door ;
but the cloud is passing away, and to-morrow the sor-
row will be no longer there. What poison-drop re-
mains then in this brimming cup that fortune presents
to your lips i"

" A drop deadly as the venom of the snake — a
drop that blights all healthy life, and fills the soul with
despair, the heart with bitterness."
" And that is ]"
" Be morse !"

200

THE HOODED SNAKE.

The Chevalier de Preville rose, and said, kindly, as
he took the Breton's hand —

" You shall not increase that bitterness for me. I
release you from the promise you have made ; as the
gain, so shall the work be mine— you shall not do
this deed. It is an act of justice which I will exe-
cute ; for — "

" Not do it ! Who shall stay me 1 This man's
life is mine. Did he escape me this night, what
matters ! — in the broad glare of day, in the busy
market-place, or in the crowded street, I would keep
my oath, and slay him."

" It is but justice. I have told you all ; it is your
life he strives at."

" Were that all, I could thank him j he woidd but
rid me of a burden ; but through this villain's slanders,
a brave man has lost his life. We Bretons have strange
fancies — one is, that the soul of a murdered man has
no peace, till justice has loosened from the body the
evil soul of the man by whose agency the murder was
wrought. Such was my forefathers' belief, and their
belief is mine."

" Chiffon cannot harm you ; be assured of that-
My evidence will be sufficient to prevent it."

" I thank you, Monsieur le Chevalier ; but it is not
for myself I speak. I am here to take vengeance
upon the assassin of Paul Lebrun."

" Upon the traitorous servant — the political spy —
the spy of Joseph Fouche. Anatole Chiffon holds in

THE HOODED SNAKE. 201

Lis hands the Baron's life and mine. Nay, should he
live to speak the word, many is the great family in
Brittany that must bow down its head in the dust."

" He shall die ! I will shoot him as I would a dog
that had sprung at his master's throat !"

" I have given it forth that I have reason to sus-
pect my^house to have been opened by secret keys, and
that my papers have been tampered with by a robber.
I consulted the Mayor of Pont Croix about it this
day, and it is by his advice I place an armed watch in
my grounds. The Baron has made a like complaint ;
to-morrow the neighbourhood will be on the alert to
discover the spy, and they will find him — "

" Dead !"

" The Baron d'Aubigny will be saved — "

"And Paul Lebrun avenged."

" I have appointed him to meet me here, and the
time is near at hand ; he will bring papers that will
enable me to fully prove his guilt to the Baron. When
he leaves, it will be by that door — " the Chevalier
pointed to the door of which he had given Chiffon the
key — " he will depart almost directly — he has a long
journey before him."

There was a dreadful significance in the Breton's
laugh —

" He has !"

" Some ten miles from here the courier awaits the
papers. Chiffon has promised to lodge them in his
hands before dawn. It will be for you to decide on that."

202 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" I have decided."

" Y"ou will be concealed in the small thicket to the
left of the lawn, which he must cross, to get to his
horse ; then, as he steps into the open space — "

" He steps into his grave ! I never miss my
mark."

" The night is dark ¥'

" Not a star."

" Fortune favours us. To your post, Keroulas ; be
patient and bold. Go ; for even now I think I can
distinguish the tramp of a horse upon the road."

The Breton lifted his gun to his shoulder, and
moved towards the door.

" Let him enter safely ; but, as he quits the house,
let judgment fall."

The grim- determined look had never once left the
face of the ex-Chouan ; it deepened into an expression
of almost savage ferocity, and his fingers tightened
about the.iock of his gun —

" His blood be upon my head, and Heaven have
mercy on his soul !"

" Amen ! "

The Breton passed out of the room and descended
the stairs, then the outer door was heard to close
behind him ; the Chevalier drew a long breath of
relief.

Half-an-hour after, the outer door was again opened
by a pass-key, and Chiffon entered the apartment.
Loner and earnest was the conversation that ensued

THE HOODED SNAKE. 203

between the Chevalier and the valet. It was plain
that there was a mutual distrust on both sides — and,
since the Chevalier's refusal to assist Chiffon in his ini-
quitous scheme against Keroulas, a mutual hate — but
each was too skilful a diplomatist to allow this latter
feeling to become apparent. Thrusts delivered with
the most deadly intent were received as given — with
a smile ; and searching questions, so cleverly put that
they seemed to defy evasion, were as adroitly answered.
It was no longer the elegant, smiling Chevalier, scatter-
ing ban, mots, and careless of the world around him, nor
the half-sneering, half-sycophantic valet, who glided
hither and thither, bearing all rebuffs with a humility
that disarmed his insulters, but watching everything
with his cunning, restless eyes ; it was two daring and
unscrupulous men — two of the very cleverest of that
vast army of spies v/hich Fouche had sent forth to
conquer the world — an army which he recruited from
the highest, as well as the lowest ranks of society. To
the Chevalier de Preville had been allotted the diffi-
cult and dangerous task of keeping careful watch upon
the doings of the royalists in Brittany, and of report-
ing each movement of the nobles and great proprietors
direct to the Minister at Paris ; which he was able to
do with tolerable correctness, from his believed care-
lessness of character, which threw all off their guard
and from his close intimacy with the Baron d' Aubigny.
Yet Fouche's system of espionage would never have
been so complete, as it undoubtedly was, if implicit

204 THE HOODED SNAKT.

confidence had been placed in any one man. The
world only saw the face of the clock, and admired the
hands that moved with so much regularity ; but the
internal mechanism was closely concealed, and the
"wheels within wheels" were kept carefully out of
sight. So, when the Chevalier de Preville took up Ms
abode at the Chateau Pontarlac, Monsieur Anatole
Chiffon, one of the most skilful employees of the secret
police, was dispatched to watch the Chevalier, and
furnish his report to their mutual employer.

De Preville was too sagacious a man not to have at
once perceived the object for which Chiffon was thrust
upon him ; but as it had been, hitherto, his intention
to fulfil to the letter the Minister's instructions, he
was indifferent how many of the tribe of Judas it
might please the "diplomatic fox "to place as spies
upon his conduct ; but now the entire aspect of affairs
was changed, and this discovery of the secret mar-
riage of his son had made the Baron's interests his
own ; and it became his necessity, not only to refuse to
aid, but to utterly thwart every design that threatened
the estates, or in any way militated against the in-
terests of the Baron, as four and twenty hours back
there was no proof strong enough to directly implicate
him with the new plot, in which, as De Preville had
suspected, the Abbe Chateauvieux was the prime
mover ; but this discoveiy of the document, bear-
ing the royal seal and signature, would, if the
paper were forwarded to Paris, sweep away the entire

THE HOODED SNAKE. 205

estates of the Baron, and place even Lis life in
jeopardy.

There were many ways of saving him had De
Preville been alone ; but — and this showed the evil
wisdom of Fouche's policy — his secrets were also known
to Chiffon — and more than known, for the terrible
document was still in the valet's custody, and was by
him to be delivered to Fouche's messenger, who had
halted at a village some ten miles from Pontarlac. To
gain possession of this document, and supply its place
with another, and, comparatively, harmless paper,
which he had already prepared, would be his first en-
deavour — that failing, he had but one trust — the
bullet of Keroulas.

" Your absence from the Maison d'Aubigny may be
discovered ; the Baron's suspicions ax*e already aroused.
I can trust to Pierre ; I told him to keep Bollo ready
saddled to take on the despatch."
Chiffon shook his head —

" The Baron remains to-night at Pont Croix, to con-
sult with the mayor and others upon the possibility of
repressing this wild work upon the coast. It is but a
few hours ride ; I shall be safely housed again before
morning ; besides, this is a dispatch of far too great
a value to trust to other than tried hands."

He produced a small case, the same that the Abbe
Chatieuvieux had presented to the Baron d'Aubigny,
which the Chevalier took and examined, then opened it
and drew forth the paper, which he read attentively: —

206 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" A warrant to raise men in the king's name and
command them ; to call upon the nobles, landed pro-
prietors, and all loyal subjects to revolt. Such is the
substance of this document — a dangerous one even
without the hand and seal of Louis attached."

Chiffon rubbed his hands briskly together with
delight —

"The first Bourbon gave these broad lands to a
d'Aubigny — the last has signed them away."

" Poor d'Aubigny !"

The Chevalier uttered this almost xmconsciously,
as he finished a second perusal of the paper. Chiffon
stared and raised his eyebrows. A commiseration of
misfortune was never one of his virtues, nor could lie
believe its existence in another.

" Poor !" he chuckled ; " there'll not be a poorer
man in Brittany ; they know how to squeeze dry at
Paris ; but this Abbe Chateauvieux and his friend,
how about them 1 while the net is spreading, it would
be better to make it large enough to catch them all."

"Our further instructions we shall receive from
Paris."

" Humph ! Time lost is seldom to be regained,
especially with such a man as Chateauvieux ; besides,
it's ill following a scent in La Vendee, the peasants are
dumb as fishes and cunning as rats. There's treason
in the very blood of a Vendean."

" If report speaks true, you ought to know what

THE HOODED SNAKE. 207

their blood is like ; you were -with Carrier at Nantes
and afterwards."

Chiffon turned pale, or rather livid, as he said,
hastily, " Keport's a liar ! I had nothing to do with
those atrocities ; my heart sickens when I think of
them now."

"Now!" and the Chevalier's face wore, for a mo-
ment, one of its old sarcastic smiles. "I can well
believe it; nevertheless, there might be safer travel-
ling for Monsieur Anatole Chiffon than through
mined La Vendee, or along the banks of the Loire."

Chiffon had quickly regained his composure, and
gave back sneer for sneer —

"There are few that care to look back into the
past ; some because they fear again to face an almost
forgotten crime ; others because a present debasement
is rendered still more intolerable by the recollection;
of a once honourable position."

The Chevalier bit his lip, and began to turn over
the papers upon the table.

"Enough of this idle talk," he said, "let us to
business f and he proceeded to select such documents
from those before him as were intended to form a
part of the despatch. For the third time he perused
the important document that Chiffon had brought,
then carefully folded it and prepared to replace it in
the leathern case, pausing only to ask Chiffon to give
him some sealed papers that were lying on a small

208 THE HOODED SNAKE.

sideboard behind him. The valet turned, collected
the papers, and passed them to De Preville, who was
refastening the case. The Chevalier motioned him to
place them on his desk, being himself engaged in
twisting some silk about the little packet in his hand,
to which he appended his seal. The papers were
severally examined, and each fastened in a similar
manner, then one large and well-secured envelope
placed round them all, and the despatch was complete.

The Chevalier handed it to Chiffon.

"It is a heavy charge, Monsieur Anatole; shall
Pierre ride with you 1"

" ~No, my horse is a good one," he laughed ; " the
best in the Baron's stables ; and for the dangers of the
road, if any, I am prepared." He pushed aside his
riding-coat, and pointed to a couple of pistols. The
Chevalier nodded.

" Good ! those are friends that seldom fail a man in
the hour of need. But the despatch 1 — "

" I place here — " and he suited the action to the
word — "in the inner pocket — it is safe."

For once, however, the valet was deceived, and
the cunning fox outwitted ; the document upon which
hung the fortunes, perhaps the life of d'Aubigny, lay
hidden beneath a pile of papers on the Chevalier's
desk, and a harmless writing occupied its place in the
case ; but for one minute had Chiffon's eyes left the
table, but during that minute the exchange had been
successfully made.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 209

" Thus much for the public service ;" and the valet
buttoned his coat carefully over the packet. " I will
now again venture to ask the Chevalier de Preville
not to interfere between me and this hot-headed
Breton ; the quarrel between us. though he knows it
not, is one to the death — his blood be upon my
head."

Despite his habitual self-command, De Preville
started to hear this man, who he looked upon as
doomed, so strangely echo the words of the other;
after a moment's pause, he said —

"I will not interfere between you; I leave Ke-
roulas Carnac to you, and — " he added significantly,
" you to Keroulas."

" It is as I wish ; as the prize will be mine if I
succeed, so I am content to abide the penalty of
failure."

" You have a strange hatred for this man."

" Not I, but he is an obstacle in my path ; he
stands between me and the prize I would — will —
gain."

" Suppo this rival removed, are you sure of
that T

"As sure as shall witness the rising of to-
morrow's sun, which, if I guess aright, will be some
five hours hence. I have sounded her father — the
difficulties there are not insurmountable; he has set
his heart upon two neighbouring farms, of which I
shall shortly become the landlord.

2,10 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" But Yvonne — has she no voice in such a
matter V

Chiffon looked into the Chevalier's face with the
leer of a satyr —

" All women are to be bent to man's will : through
vanity, one ; fear, another ; piety, a third ; and so on —
the fish are there ready to bite — all that the angler has
to study is the description of bait he puts on the hook."
" With such a knowledge of the sex the success of
your suit is certain ; but beware of Keroulas !"

The spy laughed contemptuously. "Let him be-
ware of me, to-morrow we shall be quits !" He
opened the door, and was about to leave the room,
when the Chevalier laid his hand upon his arm —
" Have you no conscience, Chiffon ?"
Chiffon paused, and looked incredulously into the
other's face, as though he doubted having properly
understood the question.

"Decidedly Monsieur le Chevalier is more than
usually eccentric to-night."

With his hand still upon his sleeve, De Preville
repeated the question.
Chiffon answered —

" I am forty -five, eat well, drink moderately, and
enjoy sound sleep ; during those years I have served
many masters, but chiefly Maximilian Robespierre
and Joseph Fouche. I have turned over, in my capa-
city of servant-of-all-work, pretty nearly the entire of
their diplomatic wardrobes; but, though I found

THE HOODED SNAKE. 211

many strange things in my search, yet did I fail to
discover even a rag of the thing you mean — "

The Chevalier no longer touched the valet's sleeve ;
his face now wore its sunniest smiles, the hood had
once more descended over the head of the snake.

" Had I chanced upon it," continued Chiffon, " I
might have tried it on, and, if it had fitted me, worn
it for a time with the other cast-off clothes. As it
was, my life has heen untroubled by anything of the
kind, and my death — "

"Goon."

"There's time enough to prepare for that when
this world's comforts are more certain ; but I have a
long journey before me, so, Monsieur le Chevalier, I
have the honour to wish you a good night."

The other waved his hand. The door closed be-
hind Chiffon, and the Chevalier de Preville was alone.

Alone ! he, a strong man, with nerves of steel,
had never felt a loneliness so terrible. He counted
the steps of Chiffon as he descended the stairs, and
awaited, with a shudder, for the closing of the door.
The sound came at last, and the listener, as it smote
upon his ear, leaned for support against the table,
while the big drops stood, like beads, upon his fore-
head — the agony of expectation was at its height. He
listened, but his strained ear caught no sound ; n«
sound but the rustling of the leaves as the chill night
wind swept by them.

" Surely the Breton haa not let him escape ! the

212 THE HOODED SNAKE.

window in the room above looks out upon the lawn ;
from it I can see the thicket."

Opening the little door, he flew, rather than
walked, up the steep spiral stairs, and entered the
small room we last saw tenanted by Keroulas. The
Chevalier hastened to the window, and endeavoured,
but in vain, to pierce through the darkness of the
night ; not a vestige of light, not a star was visible.
He turned away, and again descended the stairs. But
no sooner had the Chevalier quitted his study to
ascend to the turret, than the door by which Chiffon
had disappeared re-opened, and the head of the valet
was thrust in.

"You have forgotten, Monsieur le Chevalier, the
report from Quimper ; it is — why the bird's flown,
and quickly too." The valet stepped into the room
and closed the door behind him. He crossed the floor
towards the table, when the sound of the descending
feet met his ear, and, with a caution habitual to him,
he drew back into the shadow. With an unsteady
step and haggard look De Preville re-entered the
room,

" Can that scoundrel have escaped 1 " he said this
in a low, agitated voice, but aloud. Anatole Chiffon
drew still further back into the shadow.

" If so, then Victor, my son, is ruined — ruined ! —
and the Baron and his daughter lost ! Not a sound
yet ! I must seek Keroulas — he must be asleep or
dead to have allowed this man to escape." He snatched

THE HOODED SNAKE. 213

his hat from a chair and hastened down the stairs that
led to the garden, then Chiffon moved from his con-
cealment and sprang towards the table.

" Treachery ! " he gasped, rather than spoke ; and,
tearing open his vest, he took out the despatch, and
thrusting aside the envelope, opened the case. At a
glance, the truth biirst upon the spy, and with the
mingled expression of some baffled fiend, he hissed from
between his teeth, " Tricked ; but the fox is not
earthed yet — this door leads to the body of the chateau
— good ; I know the road. I can pass through the

kitchen, through the court-yard, and once in the

*
saddle — " he shook his clenched fist at the door through

which the Chevalier had disappeared. " We shall

meet again, you double traitor." His hand was upon

the lock, when it was turned from the other side, the

door opened, and he stood face to face with Victor de

Preville ! At the same moment, the sharp report of a

gun was heard from the thicket that skirted that side

of the house ; there was a cry — a loud and startling

cry — and then the night relapsed into its awful silence.

" What do you here ? What means that noise ?
Where is my father?"

Quick as lightning, the spy saw the only game to
play — and with success he played it.

" Help ! Monsieur Victor ; there are robbers — to
to the garden — to the garden ! Your poor father has
rashly — "

Thrusting him aside, the young man stayed to hear

214 THE HOODED SNAKE.

mo more ; he dashed open the opposite door, and, with.
a bound, passed down the stairs. With a movement
as rapid, though in an opposite direction, disappeared
from the room Monsieur Anatole Chiffon.

A few minutes, and heavy footsteps re-ascended
the stairs, and as they entered the room the light fell
upon the horror-struck faces of Victor and Keroulas.
Between them, and supported by both, was the Che-
valier de Preville.

" Who has done this accursed deed? Speak, Kerou-
las !" burst from the lips of the son, as they placed
the Chevalier in a chair.

" The accursed act is mine, Victor de Preville ;
the doom of blood is upon me. I am your father's
murderer !"

The dying man — for the chill of death was at his
heart, and the cold dews upon his brow — made an
attempt to rise, and turned towards his son —

" Believe him not, Victor ; the act is mine. Kerou-
las is innocent; it was for me, for you, for all — he
raised the retributive hand, but it was not to be. As
mine was the first fault, it is but just I first should
pay the penalty."

Then the dying man said faintly —

" Had my life been spared, I had done much to
remedy the evil I have committed. Nay, much has
already been done." His voice grew fainter, till it
passed away into a murmur —

" Victor, my son, do you forgive me!"

THE HOODED SNAKE. 215

The son pressed his lips upon the forehead of his
father, and the hot tears fell upon his face. At that
moment the sounds of alarmed voices were heard in
the other part of the chateau, and then the clatter of
a horse's hoof was heard without the house.

Suddenly the Chevalier raised himself erect, and,
with a grasp of iron, seized the hand of Keroulas —

" Chiffon !" — and he pointed to the window. " You
owe me a life, Keroulas Carnac ! Repay it ! Not a
moment is to be lost. Rollo stands ready saddled in
the stable. Should that man reach Quimper — "

The Breton raised de Preville's hand to his lips,
and said, in a voice hoarse with emotion —

" He shall never reach it ! He rides fast, but he
must ride faster yet to escape fate." And without
another word, the tall, dark form of the Breton pea-
sant passed, noiseless as a shadow, from the room.

Then the father, sinking back into his chair,
motioned to the son, and pointed to the table.

" The paper ! — beneath the second pile — there ! —
there ! Is it safe 1"

" Is it this, my father ; this with a seal ?
" Thank Heaven, it is safe ! Give it me — and now
the lamp — so, my heart is lighter. Let but the Breton
fulfil his vow, and the danger is passed."

Ho rose with difficulty, and, stretching out his
hand, held the paper over the flame of the lamp, and
watched it eagerly as it was licked up by a greedy
tongue of fire.

216 THE HOODED SNAKE.

" Ashes !" lie said, as the last fragment fell con-
sumed from his fingers ; then his head sunk heavily
upon the shoulder of his son. Victor gave one long
despairing look into the placid face, that -wore about
the lips a smile ; then waved back the alarmed domes-
tics who had crept into the room, for their assistance
was no longer needed — the Chevalier de Preville was
dead.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 217

CHAPTER XV

ANATOLE CHIFFON'S NIGHT RIDE AND ITS TERMINATION.

In the best stall of the dreary old stable attached
to the Chateau Pontarlac stood, ready saddled, Rollo,
the Chevalier's own horse. Pierre, the groom, was
lying sound asleep upon a truss of straw, beneath the
dim light of a battered old lantern, that swung from a
cross-beam above him, when the door was pushed
suddenly open, and the Breton peasant entered.
Placing his hand upon the sleeper's shoulder, he shook
him roughly. "With a start the groom sprang to his
feet, and gazed with alarmed but still sleepy eyes
upon the disturber of his rest.

" Lead out the horse ! In the name of the blessed
saints, lead out the horse ! — or stand aside, and let me
perform your office."

" Why, it's Keroulas Carnac ! Well, to think,
now, that you of all men should frighten me thus !
But what are you going to do with the horse V

" Ride him."

218 THE HOODED SNAKE.

"My master's horse ! Ey whose authority ?"

"Your master's! Now you have recovered your
wits, take down the lantern, and stand beside the
door."

Without more words, Keroulas led the horse into
the court-yard, snatched the lantern from the sleepy
Pierre, and cast a hasty but searching glance at each
strap and buckle; then, giving back the lantern,
leaped into the saddle.

" Open the gate, Pierre !" The groom obeyed,
saying, as he did so —

" You are in haste, Keroulas ; why, if it were a
question of life or death — "

" It is a question of life or death !" He patted the
arched neck of the horse as he spoke. " I carry death
with me ; and — did you not hear that cry, Pierre ? —
leave it behind me. Good night !" and before the
bewildered groom could make reply, Keroulas, giving
the horse the rein, shot through the gateway like an
arrow, and was galloping swiftly down the road.

Paising his lantern, the groom peered into the
darkness; then, with a doubtful shake of the head,
closed the gate —

" Well, my master may do as he likes with his own ;
but, for my part, I'd think twice before I trusted
such a horse to a madman. He'll break his neck
■before he's gone a mile ; and, what is far worse, he'll
break Polio's."

Again a confused noise of voices came from the

THE HOODED SNAKE. 219

house, and lights passed backward and forward behind
the windows. The groom shrugged his shoulders —

"There's a something amiss indoors, I suppose,
but it's no affair of mine, and curiosity is'nt my
failing ; my business lies with the stables." So saying,
he re-entered the ruinous old barn which it had
pleased the owners of Pontarlac to dignify with that
title ; and after slinging the lantern to the beam,
threw himself down upon the straw, " and addressed
him again to sleep."

After his unexpected and undesired meeting with
Victor de Preville, Chiffon had hastened along the
corridor, and, descending the stairs, made an in-
effectual attempt to open the front door. Failing in
this, in consequence of its having been locked and the
key removed, he re-crossed the stone-paved and
broken floor, and turned down a passage to the right
that led to the kitchen. Here he paused for a mo-
ment, to listen to the voice and footsteps of the
inhabitants of the chateau, now thoroughly aroused ;
but his hesitation was for a moment only. He dragged
a table to the window, and, springing upon it, opened
the lattice, placed high up in the wall, and leaped
boldly out, alighting safely upon the soft turf outside ;
safely, inasmuch as he sustained no other damage
than a few scratches from a thorn-bush against which
he had rolled. To rise to his feet and plunge into the
shrubbery was the work of an instant ; and, threading
its well-known paths, he soon arrivedj at the place

220 THE HOODED SNAKE.

where he had left his horse. Unfastening the bridle
from the branch around which he had twined it, he
led the animal out into the open space beyond the
thicket, and then with a cry, or rather scream of joy,
vaulted on its back.

" I am safe — safe from that double traitor ! And
now for my revenge !" He put spurs to his horse,
leaped a low fence, and gained the high road. " It's
difficult travelling in a dark night over broken ground
like this; but I mustn't draw rein till I pass through
the gates of Quimper. The colonel in command there
is a creature of Fouche's, and will only be too happy
to do a something which may raise him in the estima-
tion of his master. It will be a grand coup to have
these cursed aiistocrats all laid by the heels to-
morrow. Ha ha ! Monsieur le Chevalier shall pay
dearly for this. Joseph Fouche never forgives a
traitor — that is i ti aitor to himself — diable .'" And he
struck his spurs again and again into his horse's side,
till the animal seemed to fly rather than gallop over
the ground, " to think of my being thus outwitted :
this comes of trusting these aristocrats — we must needs
go by law — the First Consul has always that word in
his mouth, and Fouche, like the cat, delights to play
with the mouse ere he kills it. Robespierre's course
was the wiser — he cut the gordian knot with -the axe
— and let those who liked argue the law of the case
afterwards. Yes, Maximilian was right, and the
guillotine is the only true regenerator of mankind.

THE HOODED SNAKE. 221

Bonaparte thinks differently ; well ! axe or bayonet
it's all the same thing — they thin the population to give
honest men like myself elbow room and opportunity to
live. '

The Spy laughed, checked his horse's speed for a
moment, and turned half round in his saddle to glance
at a dark mass of building, which rose up black and soli-
tary, a short distance to the left. " Bonchamp's farm
— not a light to be seen ; my future father-in-law is a
man of rule, and has sought his bed hours ago — an
excellent man, sober, and plodding as one of his own

oxen, and as obstinate as hilloh ! they are not all

asleep ; the house has opened an eye ; there's a light,
and at Yvonne's lattice, too," — he said this between
bis closed teeth, — "waiting for Keroulas, perhaps,
to talk love nonsense from the window : well, well,
she will have to wait long enough after to-night — ' My
poor Yvonne does nothing but weep and pray,' said
her father ; and to-morrow I promise that she shall
have cause to do both. Come," he said to the horse,
as he again urged it into a galop, " push on ! you must
make up for lost time ; every minute has its value ;
and like a fool I've wasted three in watching that
window. Parbleu ! if there's gratitude in a minister,
I may look higher for a mate than the daughter of a
Breton farmer. Once my birds safely netted, and then
away to Paris, to see what fortune awaits me !"

The Spy had left the farm nearly a mile behind
him, and had entered upon one of those long, desolate

222 THE HOODED SNAKE.

tracks of heath so frequent in Brittany, giving to its
scenery that wild and savage aspect, the constant con-
templation of which must, in a great measure, influence
the sad and sombre character of its peasantry. In the
day-time, for miles, the vast sea of heath and broom
might be seen stretching on either hand, its dreary-
monotony diversified only by masses of rock, on the
sides and summits of which grew, sparingly, long
grasses and flowers. Man is but rarely seen, except
in the neighbourhood of some isolated farm, that rises,
cold and unsheltered, save by a few miserable trees,
like a solitary island in a vast and melancholy sea • it
is a land that grows nothing well but men ; a hard,
phlegmatic, stubborn race, that for centuries made
itself a name in history, as one never at peace ; for
" when they were not fighting at home," says the
chronicler, " they were fighting abroad ;" and " -when
they could not find a rich war abroad, they remained
at home and fought with each other." Even the
women often showed themselves to be true children of
this wild and rugged land, from Froissart's favourite
heroine, J ane de Montfort, " who had a man's courage
and a lion's heart," to the no less indomitable heroines
who often fought side by side with their husbands
against the Republicans in Brittany and La Vendee-
A savage, but noble race, now rapidly passing away
before those mighty conquerors and missionaries of
civilisation, the printing press and the steam engine ;
light is beginning to stream across the barren wastes,

THE HOODED SNAKE. 223

and iron roads to traverse the gloomy heaths, and
soon, that Brittany, now so famous in chronicle and
song, will, as a land of poetry and romance, be known
no more.

Not that Monsieur Anatole Chiffon was muc
troubled by reflections as to either the past or the
future of Brittany ; he was, essentially, a man of the
present, and, . moreover, the night was still so dark
that objects, unless within a short distance, were
totally invisible ; twice he had to dismount, to assure
himself that he was in the right road, by a closer
examination of — now a peculiar block of stone, and
then a tree, which served as landmarks for the travel-
lers in this sterile wilderness.

" It's lighter than it was," said the Spy, after
having dismounted for the second time, "but the moon
still keeps herself behind her black veil. I'd give
something for just one smile from her bright face ;
for, once out of this labyrinth of heath and broom, I've
an easy, if a long ride before me : luckily, the Baron's
horse is a good one, and keeps her pace well, even
though she carries her master's death-warrant on her
back ; certainly, the Baron's fate is a hard one — friend,
valet, and horse, all in a conspiracy against him !" and
the rascal laughed so hearlily at the idea, that he
nearly rolled from the saddle. " But what could have
induced the Chevalier to play us false after all 1 was it
repentance at the eleventh hour 1 No ! de Preville is
not so weak as that ; nor could it have been his friend-

224 THE HOODED SNAKE.

ship for d'Aubigny • it would be rather too late in the
day to think of that — ah ! I think I have it ; Victor
and Mademoiselle d'Aubigny — they've been loving of
late ; yes, it must be so ; only find out in what
direction a man's interest lies, and you've at once got
the key to his actions ; this death of Marigny was the
one obstacle removed; and the Baron's consent gained,
Victor de Preville would come in for the entire of the
estates, instead of the Chevalier being indebted to
Fouche for a small slice of them. Why, what an ass
I've been ! should a murmur of this get to Paris, my
reputation would be gone for ever, — not to have seen
these doves billing and cooing directly under my nose !
Bother the women ! they're always disarranging our
plans ! when they once get mixed up in an affair, there's
no reckoning upon a man's line of conduct for an
hour ; for my part, I should be content if there were
no such thing as love in the world ; however, it never
lasts long, and that's a consolation."

After this philosophical and highly Christian re-
mark, Monsieur Anatole Chiffon rode on for some
time in silence ; only indulging in an occasional ebul-
lition of temper as the horse made a false step upon the
uneven ground, or diverged from the beaten track :
suddenly, however, he reigned in the horse, and wheel-
ing round in the saddle, bent forward and listened at-
tentively —

" I could have sworn I heard the tramp of a
Ihorse's hoofs carried along by the wind ; is it possible

THE HOODED SNAKE. 225

I can be pursued 1 Very possible — Stay !" Tor the
third time lie dismounted, and placed his ear to the
ground. Yes, there was no longer room for doubt ;
the sound was that of a horse rapidly approaching. In
a minute Chiffon was in the saddle, and, urging his
horse to the top of its speed, literally flew over the
uneven road; without, for a moment, slakening his
pace, he turned in the saddle, and again and again en-
deavoured to penetrate the thick wall of darkness that
rose up between him and the distant horseman. " Can
it be the Chevalier— or Victor de Preville 1 Surely,
if bent upon such a chace, there would be more than
one. Most likely it is some solitary traveller, who,
like myself, endeavours to shorten by speed his jour-
ney over this gloomy waste. However, be he enemy
or friend, he will find Anatole Chiffon prepared," and
the spy drew forth first one, and then the other of his
pistols, and carefully examined their priming, " Eight !"
he said ; " there's but little to fear : it is but one man
that approaches, and I have here what is equal to the
lives of two ; besides, in so dark a night as this, I have
but to draw rein, and diverge slightly from this beaten
tr.-.ck, and the horseman, whoever he is, will pass with-
out knowing there has been any one within a mile of
him, for the wind blows towards me."

The quick tramp of the horse's feet came nearer
and nearer ; one thing was certain, that the approach-
ing horseman was better mounted than the treacherous
valet. " I must let him pass me," muttered the latter ;

Q

226 THE HOODED SNAKE,

and, by a jerk of the rein, he turned his horse's head in
a contrary direction to that they had been pursuing.
" About a quarter of a mile to the right there is ano-
ther road — a worse road than this, if possible — but
needs must, I suppose. Yet, if I can find good cover,
I will make a halt till he has passed." The desired
shelter was soon found, and horse and man were effec-
tually concealed behind a mass of rock that stood, vast
and solitary, among the heath, some fifty yards from
the road. A few minutes, and bursting, as it were,
through the dai-kness, came the horseman, the sound
of whose approach had created so much uneasiness to
Chiffon. He was riding at a headlong speed, and the
horse's loud panting was painful to hear ; yet not for
a moment did the rider slacken his pace, but with head
bent forward over the animal's neck, appeared, while
urging him forward, to seek some object in the gloom
before him. He was passing onwards, like a whirl-
wind, when loud, clear, and sonorous, the neigh of a
horse rang through the air j and, as though it had re-
cognised a Mend, the animal bestrode by the strange
rider halted abruptly, and, raising its head proudly,
gave back the cry ; at the same time, a horseman
darted out — for concealment was now impossible —
from behind the rock, and galloped swiftly across the
heath.

A shout from the stranger met the valet's ears,
but it only served as an inducement to quicken his
flight, for, by the tones of the voice, he now knew his

THE HOODED SNAKE. 227

pursuer to be Keroulas Carnac. Yes, it was all plain
enough, now — the Baron's horse had recognised a
friend in Rollo ; too often had they journeyed side
by side to pass each other without a note of joyful re-
cognition, and it was with many an imprecation upon
the poor brute that Chiffon urged her onwards, by
cruelly goaring with his spurs her foam and blood-
streaked sides.

" Halt, Anatole Chiffon ! Liar ! murderer ! spy !
it is I, Keroulas Carnac f '

The valet made no answer, but struck his heel
yet more fiercely into the sides of his horse, and the
poor tortured brute, redoubling its efforts, began to
increase the distance between Chiffon and his pur-
suer.

" Dog ! my rifle can carry further than your heart !
Draw rein, I say — or I will fire upon you as you
ride."

The valet glanced over his shoulder, each minute
was giving him an advantage over his pursuer ; a few
more yards, and to take aim — even with a Breton's
'• nightbird" eye — would be impossible, for the dark-
ness would form a barrier between them as impervious
as the shield of Achilles.

With a laugh of defiance, the valet replied to the
threat, and, by a stroke of the spur, sent the horse
forward ; a few more bounds and the curtain of the
night had closed around them, and nothing but the
•quick beat of the horse's hoofs guided the Breton in his

2'28 THE HOODED SNAKE.

pursuit. Suddenly, from the very depth of the dark-
ness, came a cry — the agonised cry of a horse. Mad-
dened by the promised security, again and again had
the valet used the spur, when the horse made one long
lean forward, then a loose fragment of rock rolled
away from under its. fore feet, and, in a moment,
horse and rider came to the ground. For a minute or
two both remained stunned, and motionless, but when
Eollo came thundering on, Keroulas Carnac was boldly
confronted by Anatole Chiffon, who stood, a pistol in
each hand, by the still prostrate horse.

The enraged Breton would have rode him down at
puce, but the noble animal he bestrode refused to take
part in the terrible animosities of man, and swerved
aside ; it was lucky that he did so, for, at the same
moment, a well-directed bullet whizzed past the Bre-
ton's cheek, so near that it carried away a portion of
the flesh, and Keroulas felt the warm blood trickling
down his face. Without a moment's pause, the peasant
rose in his saddle and fired — his boast had not been
without reason — he had no occasion for a second shot,
for the wretched spy, uttering a ciy of agony,
stumbled heavily forward and fell upon his face.

The Ereton sprung from the saddle and advanced
towards the fallen man —

"It is a righteous act, and one that will bring

peace to V.te soul of poor Lebrun — for this poor wretch

too, shall masses be said and Christian sepulture

|iven — yes, I will cany back the body with me,

THE HOODED SNAKE. 229

and before them all avow the retributive deed — it is
an act I am prepared to justify, or content to abide the
penalty." Throwing aside his rifle, he stooped over
the valet, then, with a cry, started back, for his eye
looked down the deadly tube of Chiffon's second pistoL
The spy had half risen from the ground — a look of
fiend-like malice was upon his face — a menacing laugh
broke from his lips — and, with a finger steadied by
hate, he pulled the fatal trigger, a sharp report fol-
lowed, and, without even a groan, Keroulas Carnao
fell backwards a corpse !

*********
Day broke over the vast and solitary heath ; the
oold grey dawn crept up the sky, and rendered the
desolation below yet more saddening and apparent ; a
chill wind blew from the distant sea, and stirred with
its salt breath the tall broom and long slender grasses,
but not a sound disturb jd this dreary solitude, not a
bird sprung upwards to welcome the coming light :
time passed, however, and the light grew brighter and
brighter, till the huge masses of rock that were scat-
tered about stood out boldly against the sky in many
an uncouth and fantastic shape, and the few solitary
trees " each held a withered hand " to heaven to catch
the first warm rays of the life-giving sun.

Day ! it was broad day now, birds were singing in
the air, and the pleasant inurmur of innumerable in-
sects was everywhere around ; the light of the sun
flowed in wavelets of gold over all things ; flowers

230 THE HOODEE SNAKE.

before unseen raised their graceful heads, and, beautiful
as women, who, in their exquisite weakness, cling to
the rougher manhood by their side, shed many an un-
looked-for charm about the broken masses of rock
from whose crevices they sprung. The sound, too, of
human voices now broke upon the silence, but the
tones were discordant and harsh, and the aspect of the
men who uttered them, savage and lowering. These
were the dwellers upon the heath — miners, as might
be guessed by the iron lamp that each carried sus-
pended to his belt, for there were lead mines in the
neighbourhood. The miners are grouped around two
horses that they have come upon, grazing quietly among
the stone and rock.

"This one has had a severe fall, its knees are
broken, and there is a wound in the shoulder," said a
miner, as he rose from a careful examination of one of
the horses.

" This one is without a scratch," said another ; " but
when a man meets with horses, saddled and bridled,
roaming over the heaths, it is but natural to ask where
are the riders 1"

" Here ! "

The man who littered this last exclamation was
standing near one of the large fragments of rock that
lay everywhere about the heath. His comrades, in a
second, were gathered around him. There they stood,
grave and silent, forming a ring about two bodies —
one that of a small, attenuated man, who lay upon hi*

THE HOODED SNAKE. 231

face, and who had evidently bled to death from a
wound in the neck, a large stain of blood darkening
the grass around him ; the other presented the fine
athletic figure of a man -who had been cut off in the
full vigour of life : the means were but too apparent —
a slender crimson stream having trickled from a small
round hole in the forehead — the fatal entrance by
which the bullet had found its passage to the brain.
Upon the one face, the finger of death had fixed, as in
marble, a look of wicked triumph ; while the other
seemed to retain, even in death, a look of horrified as-
tonishment.

Thus terminated the ride of Anatole Chiffon, and
the life of Keroulas Carnac.

A year has elapsed, and a heavy sorrow has crossed
the threshold, and darkened the hearth of Dominique
Bonchamp — the head of the old farmer is bowed with
grief, and his hearty laugh is no longer heard : the as-
pect of his farm is also changed ; the busy life is
there, as heretofore, but it is no longer the joyous life
that we have witnessed, when labour performed its
task to the music of its own song — and the heart sang
to lighten the work of the hands. What is the reason
of this desolation that reigns around 1 Can ought
have happened to Yvonne ? Is it that she is dead 1
Alas ! yes, dead to the world and its joys ; dead to
the despairing father and sorrowing friends ; the con-

232 THE HOODED SXA1CE.

vent doors have closed upon her young life, and over
her bent head has fallen the consecrated veil.

" Farewell, dear, dear father, and friends !" said
the poor girl, as she took leave of the sad group who
conducted her to the steps of the altar. " I will never
so utterly forget the world as to cease to pray for your
happiness." She then pressed to her bosom the weep-
ing Eugenie, who, with her husband and father, stood
near her, and, kissing her on both cheeks, said, " You
are a wife, Madame de Preville — a good, true, and
loving wife ; yours is a love that has stood the test of
sorrow, and such a love would mine have been for Ke-
roulas Carnac ; but it was not to be : may your life,
dear sister, for you must let me call you so, be happier
than mine." She ceased, and Victor and the Baron,
obeying a gesture from the abbess, drew Eugenie away,
while the nuns gathered around the gentle and pure-
souled sister.

But a little month has flown, when a nun, a good,
kind creature, whom sympathy had drawn towards the
young novice, knocks softly at the door of her celL
There was no answer ; she knocked again ; and then,
turning the handle of the door, glanced within. Yes,
the room was occupied; — near the grated window,
Yvonne was kneeling, her eyes fixed upon the crucifix
that hung against the wall, while the bright rays of
the sun poured down upon her face and illumined it as
with a glory ; the good sister entered the room, and,
stepping softly across the floor, stooped over the kneel-

THE HOODED SNAKE. 233

ing girl and pressed a kiss upon her forehead. Scarcely
had she done so, than she started back in alarm ; the
forehead was cold as marble, and no breath came
through the parted lips : the beautiful casket was
there, but the priceless jewel was gone, — the last
breath of life had passed away in prayer. Yvonne's
petition had been granted, and her pure soul was in
Heaven.

END OF HOODED SNAKE.

POOR POPPIBTON.

CHAPTER I.

In a pleasant little sitting-room of a Margate
lodging-house two persons are variously engaged
and both intent upon their engagements ; as these
persons — male and female — have much to do with the
story we are about to relate, we think it necessary to
introduce them at once, by name, to that profound
and august personage — the reader.

Mr. and Mrs. — (we beg the lady's pardon) — Mrs.
and Mr. Thomas Dowse are as worthy a couple as ever
turned their backs, for a time, upon the smoke of
London, to inhale the salt breeze, and devour the
savoury shrimp upon the sandy shore of that cockney
paradise, the Isle of Thanet.

Mi\ Thomas Dowse is a citizen of London, who,
after many years of toil, has succeeded in two things :
the first, in making a small fortune from his business,

poos toitletox. 235

that of retail hosier in Bucklersbury, — the second, in
Toeing nominated to represent his ward, in that most
glorious of our city's institutions — the court of Common
Council. It has been his custom each year to, as he
would express it, l( rub the rust off " at the sea- side ;
and as, during the present year, the incrustation was
unusually thick, the rubbing process had been com-
menced proportionately early

The ceremony of introduction now having been duly
gone through, and the reader and Mr. Dowse made ac-
quainted, we shall no longer indulge in the puff prelimi-
nary, but taking the trumpet from our lips, pass it over
to the worthy retail hosier himself, and allow that gen-
tleman to blow it, at least to his own satisfaction.

The scene, as we have said, is a sitting-room, and
as we have not said, it is upon the ground-floor, with
windows opening down to the carpet, thus admitting
as much of the sea air as possible ; which, even when
the windows are shut, is very much indeed — the car-
pet, when a breeze is blowing, generally displaying, in
its wavelike undulations, a tolerably correct imitation,
though upon a smaller scale, of the toss and tumble of
water that is going on without. Through the windows
the beach is visible, presenting — not the usual " fine
view of the sea," that is held out as an alluring bait
by advertising lodging-house keepers, and which
generally consists of a distant view of it between two
chimney pots, or about six square inches of sand, the-
end of a bowsprit, and its pendant, a blue shirt, hung

236 POOR POPPLETON.

out to dry, — but a fine sweep of beach, upon which a
row of bathing-machines are bleaching in the sun, or
crawling slowly out into the sea, to disgorge their
living and lively freight. The furniture of this parti-
cular sitting-room we will not describe ; it was of the
usual lodging-house sort, putting forth a false and
shabby pretension to the ornamental, as though con-
scious that the useful was quite out of the question,
Mrs. Dowse, who is fat and fair, and fast approach-
ing forty, has approached the window, and after glanc-
ing out upon the wide " expanse of ocean," with pas-
sionate admiration turns to address her more prosiac
husband, whose undivided attention is bestowed upon
the breakfast-table. ♦•
" Oh ! Dowse !"

" What's the matter T says that gentleman, looking,
up with alarm, for Mrs. Dowse's exclamation was both
sharp and sudden.

" Why, nothing's the matter, but; — "
" Well, my dear, don't do it again. I want my
nerves settled, and not shocked in that manner. Be-
sides, it disarranges the digestive organs, and thereby
spoils the appetite."

Mrs. Dowse raised first her eyebrows, then her
shoulders, again glanced from the window, and again
addressed her husband.

" Come, my dear, and look at the sea — it's beauti-
ful this morning."

•" No doubt of it — but to my mind, ' distance lend*

POOH POPPLETON. 237

enchantment to the view.' " Mrs. Dowse made a
movement to speak, but the common councilman went
on. " It's a curious fact, Mrs. D., that the farther I
am from what tie poets call the wilderness of waters,
the more I enjoy it." And certainly the havoc he was
making among the eatables before him proved the
object of Mrs. Dowse's affection to be of a very different
character. His lady — whose early education had been
grounded upon the Minerva's press, and whose fountain
of knowledge was still the circulating library — replied,
with much disgust —

" You've no romance, Mr. Dowse !"
"I have not, my dear; that fact was perfectly
understood when I married you."
"Mr. D. !"

" Mrs. Ditto ! I am eating, and it's rude to talk
with my mouth full."

Shade of Rosa Matilda, this was too much ! The
eyes — and they had not yet . lost all their youthful
brightness — of Mrs. Dowse sparkled, and her indig-
nant thought found utterance — the thought sprung
from a dweller in the realms of romance, but the
words were coined in Bucklersbury. We blush as we
write them down —
"You're a hog!"

The party addressed, however, only shrugged his
shoulders, and said quietly — " Very good ! then I'll
go to the entire animal — only you won't pickle me in
brine, Mrs. Dowse. I tell you I hate the sea."

238 POOR POPPLETON.

" Then why did you come to it ?"

" Because it's the fashion ; you're not respectable
unless you do. Besides, there's the smoke of London
to wash off ; a man is like a watch, my love, lie
must be cleaned at intervals, to work well. The
sea's a bath, intended for the world to wash in once a
.year — it's a very good contrivance, but it might be
better."

"Better?"

" It's too salt, and not near steady enough — as
a married man, I require quietude and regular habits."

Mrs. Dowse shuddered.

" Prosiac man, and I have married you ! "

" Yes, my dear, you have ; so my first require-
ment will never be realised."

" Mr. Dowse ! sir ! when I was a girl — "

" Pooh ! you never were a girl."

" What '?"

" There are no girls now-a-days. When one of your
«ex has reached the age of ten years, she has nothing
to gain but dimensions !"

But Mrs. Dowse was not to be silenced. She begun
again— to be again interrupted by her husband.

" The sea -side is — "

" I don't want a sea-side. As a father of a family,
I find the expense greater than the benefit. Here is
only a fortnight gone, and I have spent no less than
three pounds ten in raffles alone ; and — " Here the
worthy hosier, for the first time during the conversa-

POOK POPPLETON. 239

tion, laid down his knife and fork, and gazed fixedly
at his wife — " what have I got for my money 1"

" Fiddlestick !"

" No, I am sorry to say, nothing so useful, Mrs. D.
I've got one pair of nut-crackers that cracked them-
selves directly they were opened, and forty-six sticks
of cosmetic."

"Well?"

" Well ! what's the good of all that to me 1 Busi-
ness men don't wear moustaches, and I am bald ;
there's no disguising the fact, I'm bald."

" Pshaw ; you've no poetry."

" Not a bit, prose is good enough for me.

" Go on with your breakfast."

" Thank you, my dear, but I haven't stopped."
And Mr. Thomas Dowse continued the pleasant
operation — to him the pleasantest operation — of eating,
while his more romantic spouse watched the evolu-
tions of the bathing machines from the window, Mr.
Dowse only looking up at intervals, as the sound of
the dragging wheels was heard, or the heavy plunges
that denoted the propinquity of the bathers.

" There's Tom Edwards ! he dives like a duck !"

The exclamation came from Mrs. Dowse. The little
hosier was horrified ; again he laid down those active
weapons, his knife and fork, and surveyed the partner
of his bosom sternly.

" Dive like a duck ! then I shall request Mr. Ed-
wards to dive a little further from my parlour
window."

240 POOR POPPLETON.

" Don't be foolish, Mr. D. ' When you're at Rome,'
you know."

". Yes, I know, but the Romans didn't do anything
so nasty."

Here several plunges were heard, and Mr. Dowse
rose with dignity, snatched a telescope from the hands
of his wife, and drawing himself up to his full height
(five-feet three), said,

" Mrs. Dowse, as the mother of a family, I am
surprised at you ; do you never read the Times ?"

" "What, the letters about the bathing V

" Yes, madame, letters that, to the style of Junius
unite the morals of — of — Dr. Watts ; you will re-
member they were signed Paterfamilias."

"Well?"

Mr. Dowse's face assumed a yet more majestic
expression, he waved his hand, and leaning upon the
telescopse said —

" Mrs. Dowse, I am Paterfamilias."

" What ! you ? you Paterfamilias 1 you write to
the papers ! oh! you funny little man!" And the
good lady gave way to peal after peal of laughter.
This peculiar and unexpected reception of his an-
nouncement of the great secret — for such it had been
— of the last three weeks of Mr. Dowse's life — some-
what unsettled that indignant moralist ; and he said,
with rising and justifiable anger —

" Yvhat do you mean, ma'am ? I don't like that
laugh, Mrs. D. When the name of Paterfamilias is

POOR POPPLETON. 241

mentioned, you will allow me to say that any hilarity
is unbecoming."

But his buxom wife, with a fresh explosion of
mirth, made answer —

"Why, you silly little man, what does it matter
for a month 1 When we city. folks get abroad — "

" There's no reason why we should leave modesty at
home." He pointed to the table — " Take your break-
fast, Mrs. Dowse, and leave them (the grammar, even
of a common councilman, may be faulty) bathers
alone."

The good little lady obeyed, only observing, as she
did so —

" I scorn your insinuation, Mr. Dowse ; I was only
looking ifl couldseeanything of Mr. Poppleton — ah !
poor Mr. Poppleton ! where is he now, I wonder V

But Mr. Dowse was out of humour, and answered,
pettishly

" I don't know — and begin to think that I don't
care. I am not an unkind man, Mrs. D., but I am a
healthy one, and I dislike sick people."

His wife put down her teacup, and said, reproach-
fully, " You've no heart !"

The good-natured little hosier looked at his wife
for a moment ; then, walking round the table, deli-
berately imprinted a kiss upon her plump cheek.

" No heart ! That's because I gave it all to you the
day we were married. L stands for love, my dear !"

" And D for duck," said the lady — and thus the

E

242 POOR POPPLETON.

little conjugal difference happily concluded, and the
breakfast continued.

" Mr. Poppleton's in love, isn't he ?" again ques-
tioned the lady.

" Poor Poppleton ! he's dying of it. It's a heart
disease that admits of but one cure.''

"What's that?"

" Marriage ! He'd have died in those dreary cham-
bers of his in town — that's why I have invited him
down here, to see if change of air would do him good,
and—"

" And what ?" asked the hosier's wife, as her hus-
band paused and shook his head with much solemnity
— " And what 1"

"And smooth his path to the grave."

Mrs. Dowse gave a slight scream, and a convulsive
jump in her chair; but the stoical hosier continued
eating, merely inquiring, as a reason for his wife's
alarm, if anything had fallen into the milk-jug ? The
lady glanced at him reproachfully, and, with tears in
her eyes, asked if Mr. Poppleton was really so very
bad? Again Mr. D. shook his head — a profound
and ominous shake, that was as full of meaning as
Lord Burleigh's.

"He's double-knocked at Death's door, and — '
here he reached his hand across the table — "I'll
trouble you for the cold meat, my dear ?"

The lady helped her husband, and resumed —

" Is there no hope ?"

POOR POPPLETON. 243

" None. ' We're here to-day and gone to-rnorrow.'
Very good motto that, Mrs. D , for all earthly lodging-
houses. The mustard, if you please? Thank you."

" And you can eat when that poor young man is
suffering?"

" "Why not 1 Is there any reason why this poor
man should suffer as well 1 Besides, I'm not in love !"

" Mr. D !"

" That is, I've no necessity to be in love. I'm
married — now, Poppleton is not."

" Poor young man !"

" Well, that's a matter of opinion ; but these are
the facts of the case." Here Mr. Dowse pushed away
his plate, and wiped his mouth v.ith the table napkin.
" My friend, Augustus Poppleton, is in love — in
love with Miss Jemima Wilkins, to distraction !"

He emphasised the last word ; and Mrs. Dowse
sighed — a deep sigh of sympathy ; then said —

"And she returns his love T

"Well, hitherto she has done so ; for all his letters
have been sent back unopened. Her father, you see,
is in the oil and colour line. Poppleton is, as you
know, an artist ; and being thoroughly in the old
gentleman's books in the way of trade, is thoroughly
out of them in any other."

" I don't understand.' '

" Well, then, the result of their business transac-
tions has not been of that pleasant nature to lead the
paternal Wilkins to approve of an artistic alliance."

244 POOR POPPLETON.

" But there's money on one side," said simple Mrs.
Dowse.

" And none on the other," replied her husband.
"That's just it!"

" I thought Mr. Poppleton was a genius 1"

" That's it again ! He is a genius ; and so old
"WHkins, like a prudent man, has closed his books and
doors to him."

" The old curmudgeon !" exclaimed the indignant
lady — for, bless her heart ! though born in the city,
she had but little of its worldly wisdom — " the old
curmudgeon ! and you to defend him."

Mr. Dowse coughed : a hard, man-of-the-world,
business-like, city cough.

" You see, my dear, I have a friendship for
Augustus ; but then, I am a friendly man — ahem ! —
Paterfamilias, you know ; and, thank heaven ! I have
as yet been able to meet my butcher without a blush,
aud, win a. j,t h o me, I am always so to the tax-
gatherer."

"And you are not a genius, I suppose T

" Your supposition is correct — I am not. When
I reflect upon the extent of my family, and the hard-
ness of the times, I am grateful that I am not."

" And Miss Jemima, is her heart as closely shut as
the doors of her father ?"

" That's a riddle that none but the young lady
herself can solve. Her father, fearing the effect of
the charms of Poppleton — and it must be confessed

POOR POPPLETOX. 245

.that those geniuses are often very charming fellows
has sent her over to France for a time, where, from
the last news received by her broken-hearted lover,
she is about to be married to a French gentleman;
and Poppleton, seeing all his hopes ruined by this un-
looked-for French alliance, took to his bed and was
given up by the doctors."

" Given up by the doctors ! poor young man !"
"Nonsense, my dear; if anything could have
saved him, that would. They recommended Madeira,
but they might as well have recommended the moon.
I suggested Margate ; and, with your consent, in-
vited him down here."
The lady sighed again.

" Poor dear that he is — so quiet, such a lamb of a
man !"

"And so changed!" Here the good-natured
hosier echoed the sigh of his wife, and, rising, walked
to the window ; " When I see what he is, and reflect
upon what he was, I hate all womankind."

" I am surprised at you, Mr. Dowse !" said his
better-half, who had also risen and followed him to the
window.

" Pardon me, I mean that I hate the sex, viewing
it as a wholesale commodity — but — "and the hosier
passed his arm round the ample waist of his wife — " I
adore it in detail."

" Get away with your nonsense.' Matilda
Dowse turned very red, and struggled to release her-
self. " Don't you see — he's here."

2iu POOR POPPLETON.

" So be is !" and the kindly couple drew back, one
on each, side of the window, as a Bath chair appeared
before it ; its occupant was a young man, with all the
external marks of an invalid in the last stage of bodily
weakness. His pale face just showed above the large
red comforter that was wrapped round his throat ;
his head, upon which was a cloth travelling-cap
with lappets, the strings of which were tied carefully
under his chin, rested upon a pillow. The chair
stopped ; the invalid uttered a prolonged and dismal
groan ; and, without noticing either Mrs. or Mr.
Dowse, — who had opened the windows, or rather glass
doors, to receive him — allowed his head to rest heavily
upon his breast.

" Poor Mr. Augustus !" said the lady, as she advanced
to the side of the chair. Then, in a whisper to her
husband, " he seems worse to-day !"

Mr. Thomas Dowse sunk his hands deep into hia
pockets, and uttered a subdued and melancholy
whistle ; but the only words that escaped his lips were
— " Poor Poppleton !"

" Come, come, Poppleton $" and th9 little hosier
laid his hand upon his sick friend's shoulder.

" Oh ! do bear up, Mr. Augustus," said the hosier's
wife, "and — "

" Jemima, ob} Jemima !" was all that their entrea-
ties elicited from the gentleman in the Bath chair.
Had Mrs. and Mr, Dowse been at that moment in
Bucklersbury, he could not have appeared more sub-
limely unconscious of their presence.

POOR POPPLETON. 247

" Oh ! never mind Jemima, Mr. P. ; you'd be
little the better for seeing her now, I'm sure."

Thus spoke the good lady, while her husband
gazed into his sick friend's face, and muttered, in an
aside —

" And she'd be little the better for seeing him now,
I'm certain ;" the aloud, " Come, rouse up, Gus."

" I can't ; my health is gone — nry spirit's broken —
life's a blank."

" Nonsense ! fill it up with somebody else's name.
When I was first disappointed in — "

" You ! Mr. D. 2"

Never was astonishment expressed more legibly
On feminine face, than it was on thine, Mrs. Dowse ;
but her husband corrected himself, and called back the
Sunshine with a word.

" I meant to say, if I had been disappointed in
love."

"Wellf

*' Why, Td soon have balanced the account, and
opened a fresh leaf in the ledger."

So saying, he proceeded, with the assistance of the
chairman, to lift poor Poppleton out of the chair.
Thhi operation performed, the invalid entered the room,
leaning heavily upon an arm of each ; then, with a
groan that made the lady start as at a pistol shot, he
Sunk into an easy chair.

" Come, have a chop, old fellow ; it will do you.
good."

2£8 POOR POPPLETON.

Poppleton shook his head,

"Eat food ? I've done with food !"

"Then take some coffee."

" Drink 1 I've done with drink — all drinks but
One !"

Here he turned his head slowly in the direction
of Mrs. Dowse —

" Madam, is there any poison in the house ? "

" Goodness, gracious ! No."

" Then send for sixpenny worth of the most deadly.
Say it's for the rats ; the chemists won't suspect — they,
never do."

Mr. Dowse drew himself up with dignity, the
spirit of Paterfamilias was aroused.

" Mr. Augustus Poppleton — "

" ' That's he that was Othello ! '" a quotation fol-
lowed by a groan, as it deserves to be, from the gen-
tleman.

" I am surprised."

■" Are you ? Happy man, I'm past astonishment."

Here the chairman advanced, and touched his
hat.

" Ax pardin ; but want the cheer agin to-day,
sir 1 "

Poppleton, without looking up, replied faintly—

"No."

" Any hother wehicle ?"

"Yes, a hearse."

A look of hoiTor passed between the hosier and

POOR POPPLETON. 249

liis wife ; but the chairman received the order after
the manner of his tribe, with phlegmatic indifference.

" Weri-y good, sir. Master jobs 'em ; but if you're
a-goin' so uncommon soon " — here he drew from his
pocket a fragment of dirty paper — " there's this little
haccount fust to — "

With one hand Mr. Poppleton rejected the docu-
ment, with the other he languidly indicated the
hosier —

" Pay it, Dowse."

His head sunk upon his breast, and the name of
" Jemima " was alone audible upon his lips.

The chairman received the money with a smile.
The victim to friendship paid it with a grimace, saying,
however —

" "Wait outside, my man ; we may require you
after breakfast."

The individual addressed touched his hat, then,
glancing at Poppleton, said, in a hoarse whisper —

" Gen'le'man's werry bad, sir ?''

"Hush! yes."

" Werry good, sir."

He then, with another leer at the unconscious in-
valid, touched a dirty forehead with a still dirtier fore-
finger —

" Little cranky, eh, sir ? Something gone wrong in
the upper vurks ?"

Mr. Dowse shook his head, and placed a hand upon
his heart. The " noble chairman " looked puzzled, but

250 POOK POPPLETON.

touched his hat again, then muttered, as he went
out —

"Indian chap, I 'spose. Well, I thought it wos
delirium trimins."

So, with a reflective air, he wandered down the
beach, to join, and to discuss the matter with, a party
of his comrades ; who, each one seated in his chair,
were lazily basking in the sun. The Bath chair -was
considerately left for somebody to tumble over, blocking
up the glass doors of the sitting-room.

" Come, come, have some breakfast," for the seventh
time urged the anxious hostess.

" You are very good, but — but my heart's broken."

" Save the pieces, my boy," burst in the hosier..
" Tell you what it is, there's no cement like time \
they'll ail come together again, depend on it."

" She returned my letters."

" Compulsion. Old Wilkins is a perfect tempest \
not all the oil in his shop would calm him when he's
roused."

" I had her promise.* 1

"Pooh 1 pooh 1 lover's promises are like Irishmen's
beads — made to be broken. Have some ^631^3^"

"You're very kind, very; but please let me dief
I'd rather do it ; it may be my last request on earth. 5 *

" Oh 1 don't talk in that way, Mr. Augustus," ex*
claimed the lady, " it's shocking. For my part I never
oould abide funerals, black's so unbecoming."

Mr. Dowse was fast losing patience — he was aa

POOB POPPLETW. 251

obstinate man himself — but that any man should so
pertinaciously refuse to eat his breakfast, was an extent
of obstinacy — for such he regarded it — by him not to
be conceived. So, pushing Poppleton's chair nearer
the open windows or doors, he said, somewhat sharply —

" There you are, then — plenty of air, the cbame-
lion's dish on a large scale — hope you'll enjoy it — fine
view of the sea and the bathers ; don't you see 'em
come bobbing up like Truth from her well — that is,
they're quite as wet, and almost as nak — "

" Mr. D. !"

The husband looked at his wife and coughed.

" Ahem ! as destitute of clothing — " He would
have said more, but the side door was banged open,
and an under-sized, doubtful-aged, ragged-headed, red-
armed maid-of-all-work thrust her begrimed visage into
the room.

" What do you want, Betsy ?" said Mr. Dowse,
angrily, as he surveyed the dirty apparition.

'• Nuflin. Here's the paper." She placed the
Times upon the chair nearest to her hand, withdrew
her head from the room with the same celerity with
which she had introduced it, and the door again shut
her from their view.

The hosier crossed the room and took up the
.newspaper,

u If brevity's the soul of wit, then Betsy's a very
facetious girl. Pray be seated, Mrs. Dowse. I'll take
eome coffee."

252 POOR POPPLETON. '

" Don't let me interrupt you," groaned the unhappy
Poppleton, languidly taking up the telescope, which
Dowse had placed near him ; " I'm very sorry if I do,
but it won't be tor long," — and slowly opening the
telescope, he directed it towards the beach and looked
out.

" All right," said the hosier, passing his cup across
the table ; "don't disturb yourself any more about him,
my dear, it's really — but, bless me ! what is he looking
at so attentively? Poppleton! Poppleton! very pecu-
liar ! he seems quite interested ! What can he see r"
The worthy little citizen, still stirring his coffee-cup,
which he held in his hand, rose from his seat and ap-
proached the window unobserved by Poppleton, who
was intent upon a something he saw through the tele-
scope. " There's Betsy talking to the soldiers : but he
can't be interested in her, — how fond that girl is of the
military, to be sure !"

Mrs. D. suspended the operation of pouring out
coffee to remark, " It's shameful ! Betsy's habits
wouldn't do in Bucklersbury. I never will allow any
girl in my house to have followers !"

"Then you'll have to wait upon yourself, Mrs.
Dowse, for human nature will be. human nature. I<
say, Poppleton ! — what the deuce is he looking at ? "

The hosier was straining his eyes in the direction to
which the telescope pointed, when, with a sudden
bound, Augustus Poppleton sprang from the easy
chair.

POOR POPPLETON. 253'

" 'Tis she ! ! ! "

He dashed out his arms as he spoke, and struck
the coffee-cup out of Dowse's hand with the tele-
scope.

" I can't mistake ! — the figure ! — the walk ! it is
she ! — she's here ! I'm here ! Dowse, my heart's not
broken !"

" I wish I could say as much for my coffee-cup !
What on earth is the matter, Mr. Augustus Pop-
pleton?"

"I'm mad!" and before Dowse could retreat, his
friend had clasped him in his arms, — at the same time
bringing down the end of the telescope upon the break-
fast equipage, to the great alarm of the lady, who rose,
with a scream, from the table.

" Yes, I'm mad with joy ! Dowse, old fellow,
don't I tell you I'm mad ! "

"You needn't repeat the assertion !" and the little
hosier, now purple in the face, struggled violently to
free himself. "It's quite apparent ! Let me go, will
you ? Mrs .D., why don't you call somebody V

" Mr. Augustus !" screamed the lady, at the same
time seizing him firmly by the coat-tails, " Mr.
Augustus ! "

Alive to the appeal, Mr. Augustus released the
captive Dowse — so suddenly that, with his toilette all
awry, that gentleman staggered back into the easy
chair, — released the husband, to — oh ! horror ! — em-
brace the wife in a like frantic manner !

254 POOR POPPLETON.

" Best of women ! your heart can understand
me!"

" Oh ! he's raving ! " gasped Dowse from the
chair.

" Beautiful woman !" continued the revived Pop-
pleton.

" Ah ! that's sufficient ! — his wits are clean gone !"
commented the hosier.

" Well, I don't quite see that, Mr. D.," said his wife,
adjusting her cap.

"You can feel for me, my dear madam, — as a
sister !"

" I can, Mr. Augustus."

"Asa mother !"

" Go along with you !" and, with a face as red as a
peony, she turned to her husband, saying, in a whisper,
" Oh ! he's mad ! — mad as a March hare 1"

In truth Mr. Augustus Poppleton's movements be-
came each moment more and more suspicious. Snatch-
ing up the telescope with one hand, with the other he
grasped the astonished Dowse by the collar, and dragged
him to his feet.

" You're my friend ! don't deny it, you are ! take
pity on my weakness — bear with me !"

" "Weakness !" and the word came from the half-
choked citizen with a jerk — "Let me go, sir."

" Come here," and Poppleton pulled him to the
window — "stand there! now, take hold of that — "
and he thrust the telescope into his hands; "look

POOR POFPLETON. 255

there !" he pointed towards the beach — " tell me, Tom
Dowse, what do you see?"

" A fat woman bathing a dog, and — "
" A dog ! look again !" and again Augustus pointed
—"there! !!"

Mr. Dowse gazed attentively in the direction in-
dicated, then was about to shut up the telescope indig-
nantly — " For shame, Mr. Poppleton, — I'm surprised
at you — as the father of a family I really can't, — it strikes
me forcibly — " It did, for the end of the telescope was
first thrust in his ribs preparatory to its being returned
to his hands, by the indignant Poppleton,

" I didn't !" said that gentleman, who seemed
rapidly becoming — if mentally weak — physically
stronger; "not there?" and he altered the focus of the
glass : " Now, do you see an angel ?"

" "Well, no, I think not — but I shouldn't know one
if I did."

" That girl, sir,"said Augustus Poppleton, solemnly,
" is a paragon of loveliness."

" Is she ? well I shouldn't have guessed it," and here
Dowse shut the telescope; "they say beauty's the
mother of love ; but, in this case, love is the mother of
beauty."

"You saw her?"

" Of course I did."

" You recognised her V

"Yes, Betsy."

'•No, Jemima!"

256 POOR POPPLETON.

And with much indignation, Augustus Poppleton
pushed Mr. Thomas Dowse roughly on one side, made
a rush at the open window, cleared the Bath chair
with a bound, and disappeared in the direction of the
beach, leaving the hosier and his wife gazing after him
with faces of blank astonishment.

POOS POPPLETON. 257

CHAPTER II.

We left Mrs. and Mr." Dowse, at the conclusion of
our first chapter, standing in attitudes expressive of
astonishment, at the eccentric behaviour and abrupt
departure of their sick friend, Mr. Augustus Poppleton.

The gentleman was the first to speak —

" Mad !" he said, " stark, staring mad !"

" Certainly," assented the lady.

" Poor fellow!" the hosier went on, with a sorrowful
shake of his head ; " poor fellow, they are often taken
like this before they go off!"

"Go off!" muttered Mrs. Dowse, " I begin to wish
he had never come down."

" Nonsense, haven't you got any charity ?"

The lady, who was now picking up the fragments of
the coffee-cup, which Mr. Poppleton had broken, an-
swered, pettishly, " Charity begins at home."

" So it does, my dear, but it thrives none the worse
for now and then taking an airing — ah !" continued
Dowse, with a profound sigh " I shouldn't wonder
if in half an hour he's brought home a corpse."

s

258 POOR POPPLETON.

Again the fragments of the coffee-cups were scattered
upon the floor — it -was evident that good little Mrs.
Dowse was not born like old Sarah of Marlborough,
before nerves were in fashion —

"Lor! Mr. D., why just now he seemed quite well."

" That's it," said her husband, " when we seem well
we're always the most ill — don't all the doctors tell us
so ? — a sudden revery is like a sudden repentance, too
good to be lasting. But I'll tell you what I'll do — I'll
go and look after him, while you instruct Betsy to
see his bed prepared. There, go, my dear," for Mrs.
Dowse still hesitated; "forget and forgive, you know;
let her knoek him up something light and refreshing
— a little senna tea or some barley -water — poor fellow,
he's as weak as a baby, and wants sustaining."

Mrs. Dowse was not one of those who could " nurse
her wrath to keep it warm," so, having for the second
time picked up the broken crockery, she left the room
with the old sunshiny look upon her face (indeed no
other was at home there), saying, nevertheless, "I'll
do the best for the poor young man, I'm sure ; but
he's no judge of a woman's age, and that I'll stick to."

The door having closed upon his wife, Mr. Dowse
again resumed his place at the open window — indul-
ging, at the same time, in a prolonged whistle. "Whew!
— well, that was a queer start — poor Poppleton ! — why
here's nearly a week and we couldn't get him to walk
a dozen yards without support — had to lift him in and
out of this very chair, which he has just cleared like

POOR POPPLETON. 259

an acrobat. What can be the matter V And again
the hosier whistled reflectively, " Could anything have
bitten 1 One does get bitten in every way in these
lodging-houses — all day by the hai'pies who keep thein,
and all night by the — well, never mind — but there's no
place like home, after all •" here he took up the tele-
scope, and began to adjust the focus. — Couldn't have
been hydrophobia, because he runs to the water —
water, indeed ! — I declare there are those young hussies
bathing away still, in spite of Paterfamilias — it's very
shocking! — shameful ! it's — " Mr Dowse, while giving
vent to his indignant feelings, had applied his eye to
the telescope ; " it's — why I declare they're dancing —
positively dancing — having a quadrille in the water —
ha, ha, ha ! — very pretty, upon my word!" and the feet
of the little hosier began to go through a few steps, we
must presume without the knowledge of their owner :
though be it known he was no more averse to a dance
than you or I, gentle reader ; his eye, however, was
still closely applied to the end of the telescope.

" That's a nice girl — tlie^tall one with the yellow
hair — shoukl'nt mind such a partner myself, young
hussey ! Ton my Avord ! — really the police should
interfere." He had drawn the telescope out to the
full extent, and was so intent upon the entertainment it
afforded him as to be unaware that another person
had entered the room ; it was Poppleton, the incu-
rable Poppleton ! the doomed Poppleton ! poor Pop-
pleton ! whose case had been pronounced " hopeless,"

260 POOR POPPLETON.

not only by his friend Dowse, but by the doctors

those

" Sad presaging ravens that toll
The sick man's passport in their lengthy bills,
And in the shadow of the silent night
Doth shake contagion from their sable wings."

It was Poppleton ; but how changed ! There was
jauntiness in his air, a confidence in his aspect ; .

light had

" On Marmion's visage spread,
And fired his glazing eye."

Oh ! mysterious power of love ! what magic can equa
thine ! Magic ; pooh ! Prospero's wand was but
common walking-stick, and Harlequin's bat no mor
than a cricketer's, compared to the .wonder-workin
power, the irresistible witchery, of a pair of sof
brown eyes. But a few minutes back and the face c
Augustus Poppleton was melancholy as a winter's se
— it was now radiant and smiling as a summer meadow
He gazed at the occupied and unconscious Dowse fo
a moment, then, taking off his own cap, suspended i
gracefully on 'the end of the telescope, and, to th
amazement of the little hosier, a

" Thick darkness fell upon all things."

" I've lost the focus ; yes — no — its very vexing ;
can't see a bit."

He was endeavouring to alter the focus, his eye
still peering into the depths of the telescope, when i
voice sounded into his ear —

POOR POPPLETON. 261

" Dowse ! — your wife's coming !"

The telescope was dropped instantly, and Pater-
familias looked up, all confusion —

"No, my dear, I can't see him anywhere. I've
been — " here his eyes rested upon the grinning Pop-
pleton — " Oh ! it's you, is it ?" — then, in an aside to
himself — " he's as mad as ever."

The behaviour of Mr. Augustus was certainly
peculiar. He held his sides and stamped his feet,
giving way to bursts of laughter — minute guns of
mirth let off at intervals, and after each burst gave his
fore-fingers an admonitory shake at the bewildered
citizen. At last he spoke —

" You're a nice man to write letters to the
papers ! Why, Peeping Tom of Coventry was a saint
to you !"

" Mr. Augustus !" — but Mr. Augustus went on —

" At your time of life, too — it's horrible ! I ought
to tell Mrs. Dowse — I ought, indeed, for the interests
of morality."

The hosier could hear no more. He was naturally
a mild man, but " anger is one of the sinews of the
soul, and he that wants it hath a mained mind •" so
the cup of endurance overflowed, and —

" Mr. Poppleton ! ! ! — sir — a word : if I did not
know that you were suffering — that you were weak,
sir — do you hear me 1 — weak — I'd — what the devil do
you mean, sir?"

At the word weak, Poppleton, who had taken up

262 POOR POPPLETON.

the telescope, had given the hosier a playful poke in
the stomach, which had sent him staggering back into
an easy chair, whose arms were fortunately open to
receive him.

" What do you mean, sir V

"Mean ! — why, IVe found her !"

He seized his friend's hand, and gave it such a
squeeze that tears of pain rose in Mr. Dowse's eyes.

"Why don't you wish me joy 1"

" Found who 1 — what 1 — your wits, I hope."

Mr. Poppleton dived into his waistcoat pocket, and
took therefrom a small piece of limp pasteboard, which
he presented to Mr. Dowse, saying :

" There's her card." The hosier glanced at the
name and address —

MISS JEMIMA WILKINS,

7, Marine Parade.

" Yes !" exclaimed the delighted lover, who was

reading it for the hundred and fifth time over his

friend's shoulder, " Marine Parade, — that's the nest of

my turtle-dove."

" A turtle-dove sat cooing
All alone by herself on a tree.''

" She cooed because she was alone — it's when
they're paired that the pecking begins." Thus spoke
the now somewhat sulky Dowse, at the same time
returning the precious pasteboard.

" So, after all, Miss Wilkins is not in France V

POOR POPPLETON. 26S

" No more than you're in Bucklersbury. It was
all a lie upon the part of my father-in-law, the oil and
colourman."

' ; Your father-in-law T

" That is to be — Jemmy adores me ! regularly
mad about me."

" Is she ? Then the best thing you can both do is
to take lodgings in some comfortable asylum. Now I
came down here in search of quietude, Mr. Poppleton,
and I haven't found it."

To this Augustus Poppleton made no direct reply,
but exclaiming, " Yes, I am better, much better,"
began to walk briskly about the room. " I can breathe
better ;" here he unbuttoned his great coat — took
first one arm and then the other from its sleeves, made
it up into a ball, and flung it to Dowse, who indignantly
cast it on the sofa. Then Mr. Poppleton took from
about his neck the many wrappers, and flung them
carelessly about the room ; this accomplished, he
condescended once more to address bis friend.

" Ton my life, old boy, I'm peckish, absolutely
peckish !"

'• Are you ? — well, I suppose Betsy has made your
barley-water — I'll call her."

Dowse was moving towards the door, when his
' sick friend' whirled him back by the coat tails.

"Barley-water! — don't, be a fool, Dowsy; come
here."' So saying he dragged him to the table, and
thrust a knife and fork into his hands. " There, just

264 POOR POPPLETON.

carve up that fowl, while I polish off an egg." He
drew a chair to the table, and with an appetite
freshened by an abstinence for days, began to eat.
"There," and with a nourish of the spoon he
decapitated an egg ; — " neatly dene, wasn't it 1 — shell
came off as easily as though there had been a chicken
inside — ah ! the sea-side don't agree with fowls, it
makes them lay such small eggs ; this must have been
a sparrow's ; I'll try another." As he reached across
the table he became aware that Mr. Dowse, who was
still standing with the knife and fork in his hands,
was surveying him with open-mouthed astonishment.
" Why, what's the matter ? Dowse can't cut up a
fowl, eh? — how your education must have been
neglected ; here, give me the dagger !" — and, taking
the knife and fork, he proceeded to separate the fowl
into halves — " never waste time in being scientific —
that's the way — down the middle, and up again ; you
see it's good to do things by halves sometimes." He
placed the half-fowl upon his plate, and after a few
minutes' silent eating, inquired —

"Where's Mrs. D. V

" Gone to prepare your barley-water."

" Has she, kind soul ? — how considerate is woman.
There, I shall do now, till luncheon — nothing like the
sea sir for giving a man an appetite — hope I shan't
suffer for it, though."

" You won't — but I shall, if the appetite continues,"
grumbled Dowse to himself, as Poppleton rose from

POOR POPPLETON. 265

the table. " Come," said that eccentric gentleman,
"what do you say, old boy — old Tom Dowse — what do
you say to a row ?"

"A what?"

" A row — you know —

' The sea, the sea, the open sea,

The blue, the fresh, the ever free — ' "

" Oh, I know — but it happens to be always more
free than welcome with me."

" Pooh ! nothing bike it ;" and Poppleton, who was
evidently of a musical nature, sung again,
' I'm where I would ever be.' '

" Never be, you mean," said the hosier, " it always
makes me ill."'

"You ill? nonsense! look at me!" and Mr. Poppleton
struck his chest ; " come, if only to oblige your sick
friend." But Mr. Dowse still demurred. " I don't see
why there should be a pair of sick friends ; besides, I
have promised to take a walk with Mrs. D., on the
sands."

"With a telescope, eh? — ah! — sly boots ; I wonder
what Mrs. D. would say to this?" and the wicked
Poppleton, snatching up a telescope, glanced through it
for a moment, at the same time giving a grotesque
imitation of his friend's dancing."

"Nonsense, Gus — " said the latter gentleman, look-
ing, nevertheless, very confused. " Nonsense, Mrs. D.
is too sensible a woman to — "

" Believe in Paterfamilias — very well, it's all one to

266 POOB POPPLETON.

me — we'll wait for the better half, and take a stroll
together."

But the hosier had begun to reflect that his friend
was in that state of mind there was no knowing what
he might not do ; so that, for prudential reasons, it
would be as well, perhaps, to leave Mrs. Dowse out of
the company — so, making a virtue of necessity, he said
— " After all, a breath of air may do me good — so, as
you're ill, and want company, I'll go with you, for—
let's say — a quarter of an hour."

" Come along," acquiesced the other, " and be
quick — here's your hat, but where is mine V He took
up, as he spoke, the invalid's eap, with lappets, and
surveyed it dubiously. " I say, Dowse, I don't much
like this."

It wasn't the most sightly headgear for even
Margate, where every variety of head " eccentricity"
abounds ; but the good-natured Dowse said, apologe-
tically, " It's very comfortable, I'm sure, and —

'•' You like it ? then suppose we exchange." It
Was no sooner said than done ; thrusting the cap into
the hands of the disconcerted hosier, Poppleton took
the hat from his head and put it on his own, remarking
"that it was every one to their taste, and that for his
part he did not like the cap."

" It looks very black," said the hosier, nervously,
as they approached the door. " I'm sure we shall
have a storm — and — and — you must remember you
are not well, Augustus."

POOR POPPLETOtf. 267

" Oh ! it's all right," answered the transformed
lover ; " besides, I like it to blow stifSsh — the air's
like an egg, it can't have too much salt in it, besides,
it makes the spirits rise."

But the hosier still held back, observing, " it was
all very well if the rising was confined to the spirits."

" Why, you're not afraid V

" Afraid ! why, no, not exactly — only, you see — *
yes — that is — I am afraid — very much afraid — for
you, your health, you know, is so delicate — so — "

" Never fear for me, the sight of Jemima has made

a new man of me — ' Richard's himself again.' " He

struck an attitude, but in doing so chanced to look

out of the window. He started — " Why, I declare !

there's Jemima herself walking towards the pier —

let's run."

" Run ! — my dear Augustus, it's impossible. You

know I never run ; especially just after my meals."

Poppleton looked vexed for a moment, then a
thought came like an inspiration. — " We'll manage it
— must catch Jemima — here, get in."

' ; In where V

" Here — into the chair ;" and without giving the
hosier time to retreat, he pushed him suddenly into
the Bath chair, left standing outside the glass doors,
and then placed himself behind it.

" Oh ! he's mad !" exclaimed the now terrified
Domm'. " He must be mad ! here ! help, some one !
Mrs. D. !" But, with a laugh and a warning

:C8

POOH POPPLETON.

shout of "hold on!" Poppleton pushed the chair
swiftly off, with the unhappy little hosier, now silent
from terror, clinging with both hands convulsively to
the sides. The chair had scarcely disappeared, when
Mrs. Dowse entered the room, and glanced anxiously
round, at the same time observing that she thought
somebody called.

" It must have been my D. I suppose he wants
the things cleared." She went towards the table, and
started — >" Cleared, indeed — well, I'm sure, Mr. D.,
you've left little enough to clear. What a change the
sea air makes, to be sure ! Why, he has eaten enough
for six ! Poor Poppleton's share and his own too—
Ah ! poor Mr. Augustus, when will you have such an
appetite !" — but how to remove the ' debberee,' as Mr.
Garlique (Mr. Garlique was Mrs. Dowse's French
master in her youth) would say. She went to the
door, and called Betsy several times, that individual
taking her time about coming ; but when she did
come, it was like Harlequin through a trap, viz.,
with a startling abruptness. — "What do you mean by
bursting into the room in that fashion ?"

" Thought you called."

" Well, so T did" — for Betsy was making for the
door again, — " clear away."
t " All right, mum."

She disappeared for a moment, to return with a
tray, and then began to " clear away," by the very
complete but original method of holding the tray to

POOR POPPLETON. 269

the table, and then crooking her arm like a scythe to
sweep the things into it.

"You were talking to the soldiers, Betsy."

" Yes, mum : werry fond o' the h'army — got a
brother in it — he's in the transported corpse."

" I don't like such goings on, Betsy."

"Werry sorry, mum, but can't 'elp it — if you wos
a sittin h' alone all day an' night in a damp kitchen,
with nothing but critics and beadles, you'd be glad to
keep kump'ny when you'd the chance."

" Oh, it's h'easy to say go along, 1 ' said Betsy, whose
tongue seemed to have become suddenly unlocked,
" but human beings is human beings, and not mer-
maids. Servants has their feelinx, and can't be a
rubbin' an' a scrubbin' an' a wearin' themselves to
skillingtons for nothink."

" Clear away, you impudent girl."

" There's no imperence intended — but if you wos
catched up as I h'am, you'd be 'rasperated to. I works
like a nigger — a black nigger, I does."

" Well, that's a good girl, say no more about it —
have you made Mr. Poppleton's barley water ?" This
query overtook Betsy as she was staggering towards
the door with the tray ; she made no halt in her pro-
gress, but flung the answer over her shoulder, " In
course I has, a hour ago."

" Bless me ! how you've over-loaded the tray, you'll
break all the things ; do go gently, you stupid girl."

" Lor ! mum ! never broke nothink in all my life,"

270 POOR POPPLETON.

and banging the door open with, the tray, Betsy dis-
appeared ; the door shut behind her, and there -wa
silence for a moment, then an avalanche of crockery
was heard descending the stairs. Mrs. Dowse threw
up her arms with horror.

" There go the tea-things !"

A heavier and more solid body now bumped slowly
from stair to stair.

" And there goes Betsy !"

It was hut too true, Mrs. Dowse's prophecy had
been fulfilled ; and when she rushed to the door and
looked down the stairs, there she saw the placid Betsy
sitting on the very bottom of the flight, gazing upon
the ruins of China, with a countenance as dirty and
apathetic as that of Mr. Commissioner Yeh.

POOB POPPLETON. 271

CKAPTEB III.

To those of our readers who have be#n to Margate,
we have bo occasion to describe the bathing establish-
ments of that highly salubrious place. To those of
our readers who have not been to Margate, we advise
them to go there, for a week, at least, and taste of
pleasures that defy descriptipn. A row of dwarfish -
looking sheds, with painted fronts, brass-knockered
doors; small windows, whose white blinds are, when the
rooms are unoccupied, kept carefully raised, that the
passers-by may be tempted to enter by the. enticements
presented to their gaze, which consist of a very white
bath, like a tomb, or a " conglomeration" of marble
slabs and yellow deal work, each a kind of miniature
Morgue, with everything provided but the corpse.
A damp vapour hangs about the doors, and a smell as
of a myriad washing days pervades the entire place.
On the pavement stand hungry men, ever on tbe
watch for victims, ready to clutch the innocent pas-
sengers, male and female, and, carrying them into the

272 POOR POPPLETON.

recesses of their haunts, give them such a taste of Hy-
dropathy as to make them shudder at the name of the
"cure" for some time to come. It is no use endea-
vouring to escape from these persecutors ; you may
succeed in tearing your coat-tails from the grasp oi
one, but you are sure to fall a victim to the many.
Your best way is to go in quietly, and, after being left
alone in a bath, rush out suddenly, and escape over
some back wall ; but to traverse the pavement without
falling into their snare is — and we have tried it many
times — impossible. The establishment with which our
story is more immediately connected is situated not a
hundred miles from the M — ri — e L — br — y. It is on
rather a larger scale than its neighbours, and it is
rather more redolent of paint and steam, and what
Mr. Weller terms the flavour of " warm flat irons."
Upon its white boarded front hang many notices and
inscriptions, such as " Hot Baths always ready ;"
" Shower Baths at a moment's notice," &c, &c. The
establishment itself has two swing doors, before which,
when our chapter opens, several indefatigable attend-
ants are touting — that is, accosting the passenger with
an importunity that would shame an Irish beggar, or
the "bearer of the plate" in a fashionable church.
Here comes an old gentleman, evidently on his way to
the reading-rooms or pier. Let us stand aside and
watch these harpies' proceedings.

First Touter advances —

"Want a bath, sir?"

POOR POPPLETOX. 273

Old gentleman, mildly —

" No."

Second Touter intercepts him, and speaks in an in-
sinuating manner —

"Want a Ao« Lath, sir?"

Old gentleman, quickening his pace —

"No!"

Third Touter, seizing his arm, and gazing reproach-
fully in his face —

" Want a hip bath, sir 1"

First Touter, resting his chin on old gentleman's
shoulder, looks at him lovingly —

"It's a shower bath you wants 1"

Old gentleman turns upon his tormentors, and
ejaculates, angrily—

" No, no, no !"

He then makes a wild endeavour to escape, but
they all surround him, and slowly but surely he is
pushed towards the doors.

" This way, sir," says Touter No. 1, evidently a
man of decision, and he flings open one of the swing-
doors, and calls to some one within — " Cold bath !"

" But I don't want a cold bath," cries the old
gentleman, struggling frantically.

" Very good, sir ; did'nt I say so ?" an Touter
No. 2, calls with the lungs of Stentor, for " Hot bath !"

With arms wildly waving, and eyes flashing with
indignation, the old gentleman, scorning to yield, still
struggles —

274 POOR POPPLETON.

" I don't want—"

" A cold bath ? No ! sir ;" and with one well-directed
shove, No. 2 pushes him into the purlieus of the
establishment, where he is received by an attendant,
who hands him a couple of towels, which he — now
quite bewildered — grasps mechanically.

"Towels, sir! quite ready, sir;" and they — the
attendant and the old gentleman — disappeared. As the
doors close behind them, a short derisive laugh breaks
from the touters.

" Clean old gent, that, Tommy," says No. 1.

" Werry ; this '11 make the third bath he's taken
this mornin'," replies No. 2.

" He'll go mad of the hydrophoby," laughs No. 1;
and putting their hands into their pockets, they in-
dulge in a short, but expressive dance of triumph.

Third Touter, who has followed old gentleman, re-
appears at door, and is welcomed by his fellows.

"All right, Jem!"

" In course — he went in like a lamb."

" Hush ! here comes another."
The " another " was an old lady in green spectacles,
carrying a very curly poodle dog. Let us throw the
remainder of the scene into a dramatic form.

Fikst Touter. (advancing) Want a bath, mum ?

Old Lady, (with dignity) NO !

First Touter. (with insidious sarcasm) Little dog
want a bath, mum?"

Old Ladt. Get away ; no ! (she advances toward*

POOR POPPLETON. 275

Second Touter) Which is the Marine Library, my
good man?

Second Touter. {quickly) This is, mum !

He opens door. The same attendant appears and
takes piossession of Old Lady ; the door closes as
before. The Second Touter places fingers to nose
and extends them playfully.

First Touter. (glancing down the street) Here
they come ! Keep the pot a 'biling.

The two bubbles that chanced at that moment to
swim upon the surface were our friends Augustus
Poppleton and Thomas Dowse, just returned from the
salt-water excursion upon which we left them intent in
our last chapter. Poppleton — the changed and change-
able Poppleton — came jauntily along the pavement,
whistling and singing alternately. In the rear of his
" sick friend" followed Thomas Dowse — but changed
— sadly changed. Upon his head was the invalid cap,
the lappets pulled down, and strings tied tightly under
his ears. He was no longer the merry little hosier,
with healthy appetite and digestion to match, but very
wet, very pale, and utterly miserable ; indeed, the two
friends seemed almost to have changed characters.

"We said that Mr. Poppleton was singing — and the
song of his selection was peculiar, though by no means
elegant — but there was, as he observed apologetically
to his friend, a taste of the "briny " about it that was
very appropriate for a Margate audience.

"It's none of your over-refined, namby-pamby,

276 POOR POPPLETON.

sky-blue productions ; but it's imaginative and highly-
poetic, and in the days of Yankee melodies, Billings-
gate lyrics, and Christy i I instrels, I don't despair of
seeing this — my favourite song — upon every young
lady's piano. Wasn't the first verse magnificent?"

" I wasn't listening."

" No ! That was your loss, Dowse."

" I'm not fond of music."

" Then affect a taste ; it's often enough done now-
a-days — never too late to mend. Stop, I'll give it you
over again."

And, despite the earnest entreaties of his friend,

he re-commenced the ditty in a voice which might have

rivalled that of Mr. Thomas Pipes, which, according

to his historian, Smollett, bore a close resemblance to

the droning of bagpipes, and the sound of an east wind

sighing through a cranny —

" One Friday morning we did set sail,

But we had not got far from the land,
When we spied a pretty mar-maid,
With a comb and a glass in her hand — y — y
dandy — dand. " *

" Poppleton ! Augustus ! I really must insist — "

"Pooh! come along, and don't look so indifferent

to harmony."

" Three times round went our gallant ship,
And three times round went she — e — e — e;
Three times round went our gallant ship,

And sunk unto the bottom of the sea — e — e — e.'

* The author of Poor Poppleton having inserted the above graceful effusion
from memory, will not answer that his quotation ii correct.

POOK POPPLETON. 277

"Why don't you speak, Dowsy ? Why, any one
would think you'd got something upon your mind."

Mr. Dowse, who was shaking the wet off his
clothes, answered sulkily —

" Then I havn't on my stomach. I told you how
it would be."

Poppleton looked down into his friend's pale face,
and laughed —

" Why, we hadn't rowed a dozen yards — what a
poor creature you are ! "

" I told you I couldn't abear the sea — pleasure
party you call it— ugh !"

" Well; didn't I throw it up directly V

The hosier gave a grimace—

" And so did I, sooner than you expected. And
then to tumble into that infernal surf — "

" Want a bath, sir f suddenly ejaculates Touter
No. 1 , close to Dowse's ear.

The hosier gave himself a shake like a Newfound,
land dog, and scattered the water drops around—

" Do I look as if I did 1 Be off with you."

"Do you want a bath, sir 1" to Poppleton.

" My friend, if you lay that dirty paw of yours
upon my arm again, I shall treat you to what you evi-
dently require — a bath, gratis."

Poppleton pointed, significantly, over the wooden
railings, to a rich compost of mud and mussel-shells
that lay beneath. The Touters took the hint, and saun-
tered quietly away — at the same moment; a large-

278 POOR POPPLETON.

headed boy, with a pair of very small legs, which he
was using to the best of his ability, dashed up against
Mr. Thomas Dowse, and, with all the force of a bat-
tering ram, drove him against the wall.

"Now, then, sto — o — pid!" shouted the irate
juvenile, as he rubbed his head, which had come into
contact with the buttons of Mr. Dowse's waistcoat —
" where are you drivin' to V

" Well, if ever I " — and it was with difficulty the
hosier kept his equilibrium — " from such a shrimp
too ! "

The lack of size upon the part of the boy seemed
to increase the citizen's anger. He seized the offender
by the collar, and shook him so violently that the
youth's large head seemed about to part from his
shoulders. The boy struggled and writhed in Dowse's
grasp, and in so doing dropped a letter, which Popple-
ton picked up, and was about to return, when his eye
rested upon ths address. He looked at it steadily for
a moment, then, turning the letter over, proceeded to
break the seal.

" Give me my letter," said the boy, breaking loose
from Dowse, and turning upon Poppleton — " Give me
my letter ; you're not No. 5, Prospect Place."

" Yes, I am," quickly answered Poppleton, who
had perused *he note, "and look here, this is a
shilling."

He held up the coin before the messenger's eyes,
who looked at it surlily, and nodded.

POOR POPPLETON. 279

"Now, tell me — didn't a very handsome young
lady give you this note ?"

The boy — who was not to be mollified, even by
money — assumed the air of a connoisseur, and gave
immediate and contemptuous answer —

" She warn't nothink of the kind. She was a fat
gal, with a large 'at."

Augustus Poppleton replaced the shilling in his
pocket, made a step forward, and boxed the youth's
ears soundly — " There's something for your imperti-
nence. Be off!"

" But I want a h'answer."

" You've got one. I will carry the other myself."

The boy hurried away, but halted at the .distance
of some yards, and performed then and there a rapid
pantomime of defiance. This being done, he turned
his back upon the two friends, aud walked quietly
away.

" Read that !" said Poppleton to Dowse, who was
still engaged shaking the wet from his clothes ; " Bead
that ! you can dry yourself afterwards."

Mr. Dowse took the note — or rather allowed the
note to be thrust into his hand, and glanced at it
carelessly.

" I can't read it — never saw such a hand."

Poppleton, who was looking over his shoulder,
angrily reversed the letter.

" There ? why, you were holding it upside down."

" I don't see much difference ; it's just as difficult

280 POOR POPPLETON.

this -way — more, I think. The boy wants six lessons
in practical penmanship."

" Boy ! ! ! -why it's from Jemima !"

" Is it ?" said the unmoved Dowse ; " then I can't
compliment Jemima upon her writing."

He then began to read, though with an apparent
difficulty—" Dear Pop." " Well, that's funny. ' Dear
Pop,' and its signed ' Weasel !' "

" Wilkins !" said the indignant lover.

" Well, but Pop.?"

" Don't you see I'm Pop.; it's the abbreviation
that feminine affection delights in. Here, give it to
me," and he snatched the letter from his friend's hand,
" where did you go to school ?"

"Not in the British Museum, so I cant read
hieroglyphics."

But Poppleton had begun to read the letter, heed-
less of the comments of Dowse.

" Dear Pop. — It's sufficient that I have seen you.
I desire no more."

" Well, that's civil," said the hosier.

"What?"

"Why, that she don't want to see you again."

" Oh ! nonsense ; be quiet, will you !" and Pop-
pleton resumed his reading.

" I am happy. I return to town to-morrow, and,
of course, you willfolloio me."

"Yes, yes," broke in the hosier, "of course
you will ; by all means, do. But first finish the note — "

POOR POPPLETON. 281

" If, then, my father still continues obdurate, we, who
have lived but for each other, at least tan die together "

" Certainly ; it's the least you . can do. A very
sensible girl, that."

" i" shall be at the Railway Station at nine o'clock
to-morrow morning.

" Till death ! your own

" Jemima."

" Dowse, my friend, wish me joy ; I really begin
to think the doctors have made a mistake, after ail."

" So do I," was the brief response.

" Let us go and quaff a bumper to the health of
Jemima — tell me, Dowsy, what will you take ?"

" Cold, if I stand here much longer ; I shall go
home."

" Home ! and you call yourself a friend — go to
Bath !"

Upon that word, the Touters, who had come creep-
ing back, spake, as with one voice —

" Bath ! sir ! yes, sir ! hot bath i cold bath 1 hip or
shower V

Dowse, who was beginning to shiver in his wet
garments, hesitated, and with a Margate Touter, to
hesitate was to be lost.

" "Well, I think a hot bath might do me good, while
you dry my clothes."

" Of course it will, sir ; all right, sir, this way, sir !"

282 POOR POPPLETON.

" And the other gent ?" said the second Touter,
approaching Poppleton.

'•' No," said that gentleman ; " I'll wait."

" This door for the waiting-room."

Poppleton, still in heroics, moved towards the door
as directed. Dowse placed his hand upon his arm.

"Poppleton!"

" Jemima !"

This was too much for Dowse's patience, even from
a " sick friend ;" he, no he did not. bless Jemima — he
said something, to blot out which would require from
the recording angel a tear — and then the friends
disappeared in the Margate Bathing Establishment by
different doors.

POOH POPPLETON. 283

CHAPTER IV.

The interior, or rather the principal room in
the interior of the Bathing Establishment, was after
the model of that most ancient order of architecture,
the barn — the walls, like many other wooden and worth-
less materials, passed for a something'much better than
they really were : at the back of the room were large
doors and windows, through which might be discerned,
so it was styled in the advertisements, " A splendid
view of the sea ;" the upper portion of some bathing-
machines were seen like so many stranded turtles close
to the window — other bathing machines were crawling
out into the water, while beyond them appeared a
portion of the pier. The walls were spotted, or appeared
to have broken out into an eruption of many-coloured
advertising placards — bills of theatres, concerts, <kc. —
while a cabinet piano stood on one side, tastefully
decorated with a small vase of flowers. Besides the
piano, there was a table covered with magazines and
newspapers, and in one corner of the room hung two
pair of dusty boxing-gloves and some foils — the whole
room presented a picture whose duplicate all who wish

284 poor poppletost.

may contemplate by visiting any " popular " watering-
place within an easy railway distance of the metropolis
— one of those vast collections of baths and washhouses
which have been aptly termed " great national hospitals
for out-door patients." The room had many occupants ,
at the piano, on a tall stool, sat a small, bony child,
torturing, with fingers as hard and angular as dominoes,
the keys of the piano ; her mother, a harpy of a doubt-
ful age, sat beside her, and with the blind bigotry of a
Gardner or Bonner, increased, by her approval, the
cruel torture inflicted upon her daughter's victims. The
victims consisted of an old gentleman reading, or en-
deavouring to read, a newspaper, and some four or five
young ladies, who, in grotesquely large hats, appeared
like a row of gigantic fungi springing from a wooden
bench in the background.

" Louder, Cecilia ; louder, dear," said the lady by
the piano.

"Surely, ma'am," implored the old gentleman,
looking up from his paper, " It's quite loud enough."

"The lady lifted her stately head, and regarded the
speaker with much contempt.

" P'raps you're not fond of music, sir ?" she pro-
nounced the " sir " with much emphasis.

" Music 1 humph ! — no ma'am."

" Then," continued the lady, "you had better leave
any remarks to them as is — you may go on, Celia, dear."

"It's finished, ma," squeaked the bony prodigy from
the music stool.

POOR POPPLETOtf, 285

" Then play it over again." At this fearful com-
mand, there was in the company assembled—- to use the
language of the penny-a-liner— a great sensation ; but
the fond mother — not only blind but deaf to her
daughter's faults — repeated the order—

" Play it again, Cecilia, and be careful in the fin-
gering."

" Fingering ! fisting, you mean, ma'am." Here, at-
tendant ! waiter ! you, sir, what's your name 1 — is my
bath ready?"

" Yes, sir."

" Thank Heaven!" and the old gentleman, throwing
down his newspaper, hurried out after the attendant,
who opened a door on the left-hand side of the room.
The mamma followed him with her eyes, and when he
had disappeared, indulged herself in a prolonged and
disdainful sniff.

"Riff-raff! but I despise such persons — go on, dear!"
Cecilia did go on, but the only angels who were dis-
turbed by her playing were the young ladies who
hitherto had remained in the back-ground — they rose
from their seats — laughed, talked, and made what
other noise was possible — but the means were not
snfiicient to attain the desired end. Cecilia continued
to play, and her mother to beat what she called time
to the music. Let us listen to the conversation of
these young ladies, who have just been joined by
several others, likewise intent on bathing — it may be
taken as a fair sample of watering place tittle-tattle.

286 POOR POPPLETON.

One young lady, a brunette, with glossy black hair,
and large languishing eyes, addresses a young blonde,
at the same time pointing to a book she carries in her
hand.

" What have you got there, dear ?"

" This 1 Oh ! it's Mr. James's < False Heir.' "

" Yes, I know it ; it's so nice, but you should read
'Mabel the Mildewed, or the Mouldy Monk of Dry-
burgh Abbey.'"

" Oh ! don't, dear ; I couldn't, it would frighten me
to death. I like fashionable novels ; look at this, it's
such a darling, ' Ferdinand Fitzwynkin, or the Belle
of Belgravia,' it's by Mrs. Tyresome Bore."

Here a third young lady breaks in with — "La, lend
it me," and, taking the book, adds, " I shall read it m
half-an-hour."

" But that's the third volume."

" Oh ! it don't matter ; I always read the third
volume first, it's generally the most interesting ;" then
turning over a few pages, she read, with that peculiar
nasal drawl, so much affected by very young ladies
and popular Puseyite preachers —

" ' Still clinging to the coat tails of her infuriated
parent, she was dragged twice round the spacious apart-
ment, then across the staircase, down a flight of marble
steps into the hall, where she fell with her fair forehead
upon the pavement.'' Lor' ! how nice !"

" Isn't it ?" said the young lady, who was the pro-
prietor of the book ; " well, it's all like that."

POOR POPPLETON. 287

" Did you see Charley Pappington yesterday ?" asked
a little pocket Venus, of about fifteen ; "he was on the
sands yesterday with his mamma."

" Has he got his commission."

" Yes, dear ; and such a love of a moustache."'

" Lor' ! only think of that ; and Ensign Pupps, who
Fanny's so sweet upon, hasn't six h airs upon his chin,
though he's been gazetted this six weeks."

Here the conversation was broken off by the
entrance of the bathing woman, who announced, in
a voice as musical as the grunt of an hippopo-
tamus, that "the machines are ready, and please
look alive."

Obedient to the voice of the charmer, the
young ladies, with much smiling and giggling,
were about to follow their directress through
the doors at the back, that lead out upon the
beach, when Augustus Poppleton entered. They
all started as though they had never seen a man
before — drew themselves up and the front 01
their hats down, so as to hide their faces entirely,
a la mode de Ramsgate, &c.

" Ah !" said Poppleton, as in self-communion ;
'' ugly girls, or they wouldn't do that."

In a moment the front of the hats flew up, and a
dozen eyes of every pleasant variety of colour flashed
indignation upon him ; with heads erect, they swept
past, and left Poppleton — convulsed with laughter —

"Good girls; set their faces against falsehood, I

288 POOR POPPLETON.

see ; but bother those hat3, they should be interdicted
to all but the ugly -women, and then nobody would
wear them. Hilloh ! — what's that V

It was Cecilia singing ; that dear child's accom-
plishments were marvellous ; as the mother said, in the
pride of her heart, "she sings vocal as well as in-
strumental."

"Charming voice !" ejaculated Poppleton, ap-
proaching the piano ; " beautiful ! beautiful ! pupil of
Cruvelli or Garcia, I suppose : what is she singing now,
madam, is it Welch ?"

" /'talian, sir."

•' Ah ! so it is — yes, I think I know it !"

Poppleton paused reflectingly ; the lady hastened
to his relief —

"The Caustic Diver; the air's by Madame
Greasey."

"Ah ! I thought I knew it ; but I like English
melodies, simple ballads, something I can under-
stand — "

" They must be very simple," sneered the lady.

" Exactly so — a something that belongs to our
literature, and is a credit to it — something soft and
sentimental — possibly the young lady can oblige me."

The mamma nodded her head graciously.

'' If you will mention — "

" Of course I will— now there's Vilikin's and his
Dinah, or the Ratcatcher's Daughter;" and, to the
horror of Cecilia and her mother, he proceeded to

POOR POPPLETOX. 289

whistle a portion of the last tune — " pathetic, isn't
it?"

The indignant parent rose from her chair, and
addressed her daughter —

" Cecilia, dear, come away?" at the same moment
the Bathing-woman appeared at the door.

" The machine are ready, mum."

"Very well;" and gathering Cecilia under her
protecting wing, the offended lady passed the wicked
Poppleton, saying, in a hissing whisper that a Siddon's
would not have disowned for its withering intensity —
" Phaugh ! common person."

Poppleton gazed after the retreating form, and
when the door had closed upon it, paused in the tune
which had given so much offence, and which he had
continued to whistle.

" Ha ! ha ! routed the enemy at last. What a
time Dowse is; and if there is one thing that I dislike
more than another, it's waiting for anybody."

He said this impatiently, and began to walk round
the room, examining the advertisements and placards.

" Here's a variety of amusements for those that
care about these things," and he went on reading
" ' The Pyrenean Stunners will perform this evening
wet or dry ; also the ' Great Salamander, who swallows
coals of fire ;' — he must be dry enough, that fellow —
' the famous Sword Swallower from Paris ;' and ' the
Cannibals from the South Seas, who will eat raw meat
before the audience ;'— and glad to get it, I should
think, in such times as these — it's clear these savages

290 POOR POPPLETON.

weren't visited by Captain Cook ;'' — and Poppleton
continued to read — "'the Ostrich of the Desert,

whose appetite is truly fabulous,' there's no doubt

of that—' he will devour a plate of tenpenny nails, and
any object of ironwork that may be presented to him
by the audience.' — Ton )ny word ! fancy making your
larder of a blacksmith's shop. Well, ' may good
digestion wait on appetite, and health on both.' Let's
find another placard, — um — um ! ' Lodgings for an
invalid, facing St. Sepulchre's Church,' — with an
enlivening view of the churchyard, I suppose ; —
' The Human Pyramid, or the Acrobats of Egypt ;'
um — um ! ' Theatre Royal ;' — ' Concert ;' — of course,
nothing but concerts now a-days. What a musical
people we must be, to be sure. Ah ! I once loved,
when — "

Poppleton started; for at that moment a voice
commenced singing from — at least so it appeared — one
of the bathing machines, whose tops were close to the
open windows of the room —

We'll love though thou art poor, dear,

For what is wealth to ine '!
The world would all seem poor, dear,

This world deprived of thee.

True love should not despair, dear,

There's hope while the heart beats high,

The lark, whose nest is nearest earth,
Finds her music in the sky.

Poppleton listened with all his ears — he had only
two — but, as this is an observation much favoured by
modern writers, I see no reason why I shouldnot use it.

POOR POPPLETOff. 291

" It is ! it must be ! That voice — that song, which
I myself composed in happier years ; it is, it is,
Jemima !"

He approached the door, and listened attentively.
" She comes ! I hear her gentle tread ; her sylph-
like form appears — and thus I rush to embrace her !"

The door at back swung open, and Poppleton,
plunging forward, threw his arms round the graceful
form of — the bathing woman.
" H'imperance !"

And with the strength of an insulted and indignant
virtue, she sent poor Poppleton staggering back
several yards.
" Jemima !"

" Get out ! My name's Sairey."
"Tell me," implored the bewildered Poppleton,
" did that voice belong to you 1"
" Wotwoice?"
" That voice !"
"This woice?"
" No ! no ! that."

"I tell you what it is, young man," said the
angry matron, who was a stalwart giantess of some
fifty summers, with a rugged countenance, and from
her frequent immersions in the salt sea wave, a " very
ancient and fish-like smell." " You had better go an'
yet your 'ead shaved, and next time you see your
tailor, order a veskit made straight."

'■ Silence, amphibious female ! ^silence, and listen !"
And again Poppleton went through a series of

292 POOK POPPLETON.

attitudes which would have made the fortune of a
sculptor, could he have transferred them to marble, as
the song continued

We'll love as they loved of old, dear,

When worth was much and wealth was small;

For the world has grown so cold, dear,
That its chill lies over all.

True love should not despair, dear,

Let us love as in days gone by ;
The lark, whose nest is nearest earth,

Finds her music in the sky.

"It is her voice !"

He was rushing off again, when an attendant entered
through a side-door, and addressed him —

" Beg pardin', but the gent's a-waitin' for you, sir."

""What gent?"

" Your friend, Sir."

" Friends ! I have no friends !" and pushing past the
bathing-woman, he darted down the steps at the back.

'• That young man has got a tile off," begun the
bathing-woman, when bounding up the steps. Augustus
Poppleton re-entered the room —

"Woman! — I mean respected and respectable fe-
male; have you seen a young lady out there?" and he
pointed towards the beach.

" Dozens on 'em."

" A beautiful young lady ?"
The bathing-woman reflected.

" Tastes differ ; but there's one as ain't ugly — she is
in that there machine."

POOK POPPLETON. 293

Poppleton clasped his hands.

" Take me to her !"

Diana herself could not have received the request
with more disdain.

" Get along with your h'imperance."

" Uncharitable Undine ; — but I'll go myself."

He was about to carry this resolve into execution,
when the bathing-woman roughly interposed —

" No, you don't. What ! do you want to take away
the ka'racter of the establishment. There, don't take
on so. She'll be here herself in less nor ten minutes."
" Consoling thought. I'll wait."
At this moment a bell in the adjoining room rung
violently, and the same attendant that had previously
entered, now re-appeared —

" It's your friend, Sir ; he's tired of waiting. Say's
he'll go."

" Go ? nonsense ! Who'd object to wait, when he's
obliging a friend. There goes the bell again ; what an
impatient man he is ! How shall I amuse him for ten
minutes ? Ah ! what do I see ?" and his eyes fell upon
the boxing-gloves hanging upon the wall — "they'll do ;
there's nothing like exercise after a bath." He took
down the gloves, and turned to the attendant — " Where
is he 1 In the next room ? Very well ; lead on, I'll
follow thee. And best of women," — to the bathing-
woman — " tell me when she comes."

" In cfourse." Then, as the door closed behind him,
she added — " I shan't do nothink of the kind."

294 POOK POPPLETON.

CHAPTER V.

The old bathing- woman had scarcely disappeared
down the ricketty steps that led upon a platform, from
which various planks communicated with bathing
machines, that were either receiving or disgorging their
occupants, than two ladies ascended them, and entered
the waiting-room. One — the elder — was our pleasant-
faced and sound-hearted friend, Mrs. Dowse ; the
other — how shall we describe her 1 " Grace in all her
movements ; in every gesture dignity and love 1 " or,
"that she seemed an angel newly dressed, save
wings for Heaven ?" Certainly not. She was a bloom-
ing "bouncing" English girl of eighteen, plump as a
partridge, and with a smile that rested on her face ; a
bright " bow of promise," through which was ever
gleaming the sunshine of her heart. The elder lady
carried a book, and the other a small white rose, that
she twirled about in her fingers in an absent manner
as she entered the room, and threw herself into a
chair.

"Charming weather, Miss!" said Mrs. Dowse,

POOR POPPLETON. 295

glanciDg at the younger lady's face with a smile ; for
to her kind heart, such a face was a sufficient letter
of introduction. The young lady looked up, sighed,
and said —

"Charming!"

"The sea is beautiful to-day," and Mrs. Dowse
smiled again.

"There is but little beauty in the world now," was
the answer.

" Then how wrong of you, Miss," said the hosier's
lady, " to monopolise so much of it !"

The young lady smiled — even grief cannot shut the
door upon flattery — but the smile passed away, and
again she sighed heavily.

" Aren't you well, Miss 1 "

" Oh ! yes, very well."

She sighed, for the third time, then rose, crossed
the room, and begun to turn over the music on the
piano. Mrs. Dowse looked after her, and nodded with
a deep significance —

" That young lady's in love. I know the symptoms.
This makes the fifth young lady, I have remarked them
in this morning j it seems quite an epidemic — some-
thing in the air I suppose •" and the pleasant little
lady, whose philosophy was quite of another sort to
that which finds its enjoyment in the misfortunes of
others, smiled kindly on the young lady, who had al-
most unconsciously taken her seat before the open piano;
therefore, as the smile was not returned, being directed

296 POOR TOPFLETON.

at the young lady's back, Mrs. Dowse took out her
knitting-needles from a small bag that dangled from
her waist, and proceeded to perform some marvel in
crotchet.

" I wonder where Mr. Dowse has got to V she
said half aloud ; " I dare say he's walking that poor
Mr. Poppleton off his legs. D. has no consideration
for sick people, he always enjoys such good health
himself."

"Ah!" sighed the young lady at the piano, who
was no other than the object of Poppleton's adoration
— Miss Wilkins herself—" Ah ! I wonder what Au-
gustus is doing now 1 Poor dear, how miserable he
must be, sitting somewhere disconsolate on a rock !"

A similar thought was evidently in the mind of
Mrs. Dowse, for almost at the same moment she said
— though inaudible to Miss Wilkins —

" Poor Mr. Augustus, so weak, so interesting ; I
do hope Mr. Dowse is taking care of his sick friend."

Here a confused sound of voices was heard from
the room to the right, followed by a great noise, as of
persons scuffling and stamping. Mrs. Dowse put down
her crotchet, but Miss "Wilkins continued at the piano,
only looking up with a sigh.

" Good gracious ! my dear, did you hear that
noise 1 What can it mean V

" Nothing, Ma'am ; only some of the gentlemen
amusing themselves. They have such light hearts."

" But heavy bodies," said the elder lady, as there

TOOR POPPLETON. 297

came a violent bang against the partition ; so violent,
that the small vase that was upon the piano fell over
and was broken. Miss Wilkins rose hastily from hex-
seat, and in much alarm approached Mrs. Dowse. Mrs.
Dowse, also in much alarm, rose from her seat and
approached Miss Wilkins. Then came another bang
against the partition, which was naturally followed by
a scream from the ladies.

" Oh! that Augustus was here !" exclaimed Miss

Wilkins.

" Oh ! where can Dowse be 1" ejaculated the

hosier's lady.

The words had scarcely escaped their lips, when
another concussion took place. This time some hard
substance was hurled against the door, which burst
open, and Dowse — Dowse, whose presence his wife had
invoked — rolled into the room, and fell flat at her feet,
while the figure of his " sick friend," Augustus Popple-
ton, suddenly framed itself in the doorway, the face
flushed with excitement, and the eyes distended with
astonishment, as they fell upon the feminine portion of
the group. Both the gentlemen wore boxing-gloves,
and had evidently been engaged in pugilistic amuse-
ment, and so the stamping and scuffling was explained.

"Jemima !"

"Augustus! !"

'• Mr. D. ! ! !"

" Murder ! ! ! !"

These exclamations were all fired at once, like a
x

298 POOR POPPLETON.

volley of musketry. The last — as we have written
them down — and most appaling from its intensity,
came from the lips of the unhappy Dowse, who still
retained his ignominious position on the floor, appa-
rently as unable to change it, as are those " lively
turtle " that repose uncomfortably on their backs, be-
fore they [are resolved into soup, and find a grave
beneath the belt of an alderman.

Mrs. Dowse was the first to speak — ■■

" What is all this ? Dowse, what are you doing
on the floor V

Suddenly, and with the briskness of a watch-
spring, Dowse sat up, and pointing to Poppleton, made
answer —

"Ask that ruffian, he put me here."

"For shame, Sir," said his lady, "get up and
protect me."

Before Dowse could reply, Poppleton advanced
from the doorway, and bowing politely to the ladies,
observed apologetically, after glancing at the prostrate
Dowse —

" Protect you ! why, my dear Madam, he cannot
protect himself. I never saw such a guard."

" I never saw such a blackguard," said Dowse from
the floor. He had risen to his knees, and looked to-
wards his wife, but the good lady turned away her
head somewhat angrily.

"What terrible language, Mr. Dowse, and to poor
Mr. Poppleton."

POOR POPPLETON. 299

" D n Mr. Poppleton, I've had enough of him.

Tell me — does that look like a sick man 1" He pointed
to Poppleton, who, we are constrained to say, was
making desperate love to Jemima — " Does that look
like a sick man? Have you looked long enough 1
Then having contemplated that picture, may I request
that you gaze on this ?"

This time he pointed to himself ; to an eye dis-
figured by a rim of bkckness — a diamond in black
enamel. Mrs. Dowse glanced at the partially extin-
guished optic, and screamed —

" Oh ! you dreadful man. What have you been
doing to yourself?"

"I? to myself! That's a good 'un ! It's all a
swindle, Mrs. D. Here, I go and ask a man on a visit
because he's dying — yes, on the express understanding
that he is dying — and no sooner does he take up his
abode beneath my roof, than he gets well directly."

" Of course he does ;" — it was Poppleton who spoke
now — " here's the cure," he indicated the blushing Miss
Wilkins, " and I embrace it."

He did so ; not once, but half a dozen times. Mrs.
Dowse smiled— her husband groaned.

" Poor Mr. Augustus," said the kind lady, " and he
so ilL"

This was too much.

" 111 ! he ill ! Nonsense Mrs. D., it's me, me— I'm
ill ; can't you see 1" And Dowse stood, at last, upon
his legs— or rather upon one of them, while he rubbed

300 POOR POPPLETOH".

the other tenderly with his hand. " To oblige a friend
I consent to turn my house into a hospital, and he — "

" Adapts the master to his change of residence.
Come, Dowsy, don't bear malice, I forgive you."

" Don't be 'ard upon the young man, said the old
bathing-woman, who had just ascended the steps at
back, "he's got a tile off;" here she pointed to her
head, "and isn't responsible for his fractions."

Dowse hesitated ; he looked at Poppleton's offered
hand — half turned away — then repented, and was
about to grasp it, when again a hubbub of voices was
heard from the side-room, apparently in high dispute.

"Pay!" shouted one voice, "what for? Being
half-boiled in your confounded bath 1 I'll see you — "

The where was inaudible, but another voice re-
plied —

" You took the bath, Sir."

" It's a lie ! you took me. Open the door, some-
body !"

Poppleton, who was, as he himself expressed it
" the sould of kindness," advanced towards the closed
door, exclaiming, after the approved transpontine
fashion, " May the ear that is deaf to the voice of
distress — "

But Jemima "Wilkins threw herself before him.

" Bash man ! what would you do ? Augustus, 'tis
my father !"

Mr. Poppleton paused in his heroics, and whistled —

"Old Wilkins? the devil!"

TOOR POPPLETOS. 301

He would have made a precipitate retreat, but the
door flew open, and the father of Jemima literally
tumbled into his arms, closely followed by an attendant,
in whose hand he had left a portion of a coat-tail It
was a moment for immediate decision and rapidity of
action, and Poppleton proved himself equal to the
occasion. With the strength of a Hercules he hugged
the old gentleman to his breast, and without allowing
him a glimpse of his face, gazed fixedly over " his
shoulder.

" If he sees me, I am lost !" thought Poppleton.

" Protect me !" gasped the half stifled-Wilkins.

" With my life, much-esteemed man." Then to
himself as he tightened his embrace — " Protect you,
indeed, remorseless old curmudgeon !"

" What are you about ? I shall be stifled ! Let
me go !"

He struggled to release himself, but Poppleton only
hugged him the closer. " If I can but reach the door,"
he thought, "I'll bonnet him and escape." Then
aloud, " Venerable man, I entreat you to be calm and
quiet."

" Let me go, scoundrel ! let me go !" and by a sud-
den effort he released himself, just as Poppleton had
sueeeoded in forcing his hat down over his eyes.
" What do you mean 1 Who the deuce are you, Sir."
He pushed up his hat and glared at 'his tormentor. —
"Augustus Poppleton !"

" Discovered !" said that gentleman, and retreating

302 POOR POPPLETON.

before Wilkins, he fell back upon Dowse. " Dowse,
protect me ! bold me, I'm so ill."

" No, you ain't," exclaimed the hosier, hastily,
" you're nothing of the kind. I can't stand any more
of that, you know."

In the meanwhile Old "Wilkins had gazed round the
room, and recognised another of its occupants in the
person of his daughter, who, upon his first appearance,
had dropped back into the arms of the bathing-woman,
as suddenly — we borrow the latter individual's phrase-
ology — " as if she'd been skeared by a bull, or taken
coloforum."

" Jemima," said her father. — " Well, come, this is
fortunate !" He then made a sudden advance upon the
amazed Poppleton, and seized his hand — "My dear
Poppleton ! my dear friend, Poppleton ! I am delighted
to see you looking so well, de — lighted," and he gave
his hand an energetic shake after each word.

" Oh ! he's mad," groaned the artist, "brain regularly
gone — gracious ! how his eyes glare through his spec-
tacles. Leave go, Sir ! leave go ! He'll bite — I know
he will !"

"My dear Mr. Augustus, I've been seeking you
everywhere — and so has Jemmy there, I'll be bound."

Poppleton still retreated — this conduct on the part
of the old gentleman was unaccountable.

" Shouldn't wonder if he foams at the mouth pre-
sently. I hope it don't run in the family."

He liberated himself and made for the door, but the
bathing- woman prevented his exit.

PUOli POPrLETOX. uU.J

"Not this way. T'other's the way out."

" Augustus ! where are you going ?" cried Miss
Wilkins, "and—'

" Oh ! Mr. Poppleton, think of your health ; you're
going out without your hat," exclaimed Mrs. Dowse.

"They're all mad," said the utterly bewildered
Poppleton, " it's catching. There was a change in the
moon last night. I see it all."

" Damn it,. Gus !" said Old Wilkins, losing patience
at Popple ton's strange reception of his proffered ci-
vility.

" Gus ] oh ! I can't stand this, he's chaffing," and
changing his entire manner, Poppleton approached Mr.
"Wilkins — " Eespected and respectable oil merchant,
explain yourself. Father of Jemima, I demand an
explanation."

"You should have had one before, but for your
most extraordinary behaviour — read that, my boy,"
aud he handed him a letter ; " do you know the
handwriting '?"

Poppleton looked at the letter and started —

" Kuow it 1 of course I do. ' Oh ! my prophetic
soul, my uncle.' "

"Yes," and Wilkins nodded confidentially, "I
wrote to him three days ago, and this is his answer."

" His uncle l Why, Dowse, you never told me ho
had one," said the hosier's wife.

" Pooh ! everybody has an uncle, only it's the
lashion not to confess to him. Poppleton was

304 POOR POPPLETON.

pretty constant in his visits to one of his, I
believe."

Mrs. Dowse glanced with commiseration towards
Poppleton, who had opened the letter, and only said,
" Poor Mr. Augustus !"

" Urn — um," and Poppleton, after puzzling at the
first few words of the letter, began to read the re-
mainder aloud —

"I am delighted to hear that Augustus is
likely to become steady ; it's quite time, so I shall
look over past follies, and give the young people my
blessing."

" Liberal old man !"

" Go on, go on ! my boy," urged the now jovial
Wilkins, and Poppleton continued to read —

"And a few hundreds for them to face the world
with, on the understanding that you will do the same
by your daughter."

The letter fell from poor Poppleton's hands.

" I'm giddy — here, hold me, some one." He was
moving over towards Dowse, who, standing on one
leg, like a fowl, was still manipulating the other,
" Dowse, support me."

"I shan't," said that gentleman, testily, "I've
supported you long enough. If you want to faint, do
it decently — take a chair."

" Would the young man like a little brandy ?" put
in the bathing-woman ; " or would the young lady —
just a little, deluded with water T

POOR POPPLETON. 305

This friendly offer -was refused, and Wilkins took
Poppleton's hand —

' : There," and he placed that of Jemima in it,
" bless you, my children. The words have possibly
been said somewhere before, but I rejoice in their
repetition — " bless you !"

" Yes, bless 'em F Mrs. Dowse put her handker-
chief to her eyes, and turned to her husband — " Dowse,
where are your tears V

" They won't come to order, like yours, Mrs. D. ;
still, it is affecting."

Poppleton seized the hosier's hand — "Worthy
couple ! I can never forget your kindness."

"Nor I yours," said the little citizen, with a
grimace.

" You wish me joy ?"

'• I do. But I tell you what it is — the next time
you pay me a visit, let it be in a different character
than the one you have so badly sustained."

" What's that ?"

'• Poor Poppleton, my — "

"Sick Friend!"

END OF PuOU POPPLETON.

London: Adams & Gee, 1'rintcra, Middle Mu-d, West SmlUificld

MM MAGAZINE.— MEHY MONTH.— ONE SHILLING.

TEMPLE BAR,

FOR TOWN AND COUNTRY READERS,

CONDUCTED BY

GEOBGE ^-CTa-TTSTTTS SALA,
AUTHOR OF "WILLIAM HOCARTH,'' ETC.

No. 1, ready December 1, 1860.

PROSPECTUS.

We cannot plead, as an excuse for calling our New
Monthly Miscellany ''Temple Bar," that it will be either
written or printed in the edifice which divides London from
Westminster. The books of an eminent banking firm are, we
believe, kept in Temple Bar ; while, according to some City
legends, it is there that the unhorsed man-in-brass has his
hermitage, and, eschewing the vanities of Lord Mayor's shows,
perpetually polishes his brazen panoply. Yet we have, as we
think, as clear a right to christen our Periodical after Sir
Christopher "Wren's architectural whim as Sylvanus Urban had
to place a woodcut of St. John's Gate on the title-page of the
" Gentleman's Magazine." For while Temple Bar is essen-
tially metropolitan, and is a link connecting the glories of the
Strand and Fleet Street, our Editor will abide in the first, and
our Publishing Office will be in the last-named thoroughfare.
Temple Bar belongs not only to London, but to England. In-
dsed, those bom within the sound of Bow bells have grown ?o
habituated to the sight of the gray old structure as scarcely to
regard it; whereas never a country cousin comes to town
•without gazing at Temple Bar with mingled curiosity and
affection ; and when that long-promised New Zealander visits
the metropolis, it may not be on a ruined arch of London
Bridge that he will fix his camp-stool, but rather in the room
above Temple Bar — by permission of Messrs. Child — that he

" TEMPLE BAB" -A LONDON MAGAZINE.

may set up his easel, and whence he will be enabled to sketch
Somerset House towards the West, and the Temple Uat.es
towards the East.

This Magazine, then, shall be called

"TEMPLE BA R,"

because the great tide of cosmopolitan humanity is for ever
flowing through its arches ; because the country and the town,
the island and the continent, on foot, on horseback, and in
carriages, give each other rendezvous by Temple Bar ; because
we consider a woodcut of the Bar, by way of frontispiece, to
be far more significant of our purpose, in establishing a Maga-
zine for Town and Country Readers, than an engraving of the
Royal Arms, or of the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle, or of the
Marble Arch, would be. We might have fixed on the " Great
Hell of St. Paul's," or on " Gog and Magog," or on " London
Stone," as a title; but we are content to adopt" Temple Bar."
We could give five hundred reasons for our choice. The Bar
is not only associated with much that is famous in English
history, but with nearly all that is memorable in English lite-
rature ; and from our pictured window in Temple Bar we shall
see brave old Doctor Johnson strolling up Fleet Street with
James Boswell; and haughty Bishop Warburton coming to
visit Oliver Goldsmith ; and Mr. Spectator gliding towards the
Temple Garuens with Sir Roger ce Coverley ; and young M.
de Voltaire, on his first visit to England, taking shrewd notes
of the eccentric people who cut off the tails of horses and the
heads of kings. We shall remember that, in Temple Bar, we
are close to the renowned haunts of Raleigh, and Jonson, and
Massinger, and Shakspere — of Wycherley, of Congreve, and
ot Pope ; that the immortal wits who used to haunt the
"Mermaid," the "Devil" and the "Apollo" Taverns, all
passed beneath Temple Bar ; that it was at the " Cock " that
Alfred Tennyson beheld the plump head- waiter, tasted that
old Port, and felt that eternal lack of pence which vexeth
public men; that the " ltainbow" and the " Mitre" yet flourish;
that the old thoroughfare to Ludgate is yet the centre and
head-quavers ut English thought and English art, and teems
with printing houses, booksellers' stores, newspaper offices,
engravers' studios, and bookbinders' workshops ; and that to
our immediate right, looking eastward, stands yet the grand
old monastery of Law and Learning and Chivalry, where the
Knights of the Temple yet ride on one horse; where Mr.

"TEMPLE BAR" -A LONDON MAGAZINE.

Arthur Pendennis is yet chatting with Mr. George "Warrington
at chambers in Lamb and Flag Court, and whence, we trust
many a " young gentleman of the Inns of Court " will bring
that surplus erudition and brilliance, not too highly appre-
ciated in the Special Pleader's chambers, and see what we can
make of them at Temple Bar.

The price of our Magazine will be One Shilling. We believe
that the days of half-crown serials are fled. Ours we wish to
place within the means of every section of the reading com-
munity ; and our patrons will soon be in a position to admit
that we shall give them once a month, for One Shilling, what
could not — quantity and quality considered — be sold to them
once a week for one penny. For a shilling, we trust that many
thousand friends yet unknown to us will long enjoy a miscel-
lany of satisfactory bulk, well and clearly printed on good
paper, occasionally illustrated by the very best artists on whom
our Editor can lay hands, and full of solid yet entertaining
matter, that shall be interesting to Englishmen and English-
women of every degree, and that Filia-familias may read with
as much gratification as Pater or Mater-familias. "We may
dispense with the stereotyped assurance that ours will be a
"family magazine, 1 ' and that in its pages no word will be
found that shall "raise a blush on the cheek of youth and
innocence." Who that wishes to find favour in these days in
the eyes of the reading public would be mad or vicious enough
to use language, or to discuss topics unsuited to the perusal of
the young and innocent ? "When we are guilty of such a
tasteless blunder, we hope that our readers will all become
Commissioners of Works, and forthwith proceed to pull down
"Temple Bar."

A word as to the contemplated contents of our Magazine.
Our Editor will contribute a series of sketches of travels, which
he has undertaken, in sundry remote regions not entirely un-
known in English country maps, which will be continued from
month to month, and, from time to time, illustrated by his own
pencil. This task will not preclude him from telling little
stories, drawing little pictures, sketching little characters, and
writing little essays in the manner which has secured him, for
a considerable period, the kindly encouragement of the public.
We shall have a domestic romance of English life and manners
— and of love ; for what is life without love ? by " an eminent
hand" — in other words, by the very best novelist that can be
procured by perseverance, and pounds, shillings, and pence.
An experienced reviewer will take the most popular book of
the season, and give us a fair and honest description of its
contents and its merits. A poet will sound his lyre — but with
this proviso, — that when we cannot find a really good poetic

"TEMPLE BAR '-A LONDON MAGAZINE.

effusion in our store, we shall confine ourselves, for that month,
at least, to prose. Scientific writers will discourse to us of the
wonders of the air, the earth, or the sea ; descriptive writers,
essayists, travellers, will have their say ; a ripe scholar may
take us back to the classic past, and tell us that " light litera-
ture " need not be without learning and without thought ;
and by way of an omelette sou/lee after, we trust, a succulent
banquet, we may have some pages of gossip about the newest
play, the best opera, and the prettiest picture of the day. As
for politics, there will not be any, either to the East or the
West of the Bar : unless, indeed, there should be aught political
in the dominant tone of our journal, which, from headline to
imprint, will strive to inculcate thoroughly English sentiments,
respect for authority, attachment to the Church, and loyalty to
the Queen. Neither our Editor nor our Proprietor happen to
be Lord Mayor, nor intend to shut the gates of Temple Bar
in the face of Royalty.

Such, then, is our programme. It is not in the nature of
things that we should be able to please everybody ; but we
hope to be able to please so many that the discontented shall
be in an inconsiderable minority. The Editor and Conductor
of "Temple Bar" will be

Mb. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA,

who has been before the public as a writer for some years, and
who for many more has been working in the dark, or worse,
in that chiaro oscuro, which is, •' not light, but only darkness
visible." The Editor is fully aware of the responsibility which
attaches to him in thus coming forward in broad daylight, and
fixing his head on the summit of" Temple Bar." In the olden
time the skulls of traitors were wont to appear on that fatal
eminence; but in the present instance it is in perfect good
faith that the Editor is exposed to public view. It will be his
endeavour to gather round him a group of friendly heads
equally devoid of traitorous intent. He will give each and
every one of his fellow-labourers a fair chance and an honour-
able place, and he will rejoice when any one of them passes
the judges' chair — at Temple Bar — even if it leaves him to
make a " bad third," or to come in with the "ruck."

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