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THE DEVIL'S POOL

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THE DEVIL'S POOL

GEORGE SAND

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY
JANE MINOT SEDGWICK

AND

ELLERY SEDGWICK

WITH AN ETCHING BY E. ABOT

BOSTON

LITTLE, BROWN, & CO.

1901

THE DEVIL'S POOL

THE AUTHOR TO THE READER

A la sueur de ton visaige,

Tu gagnerois ta pauvxe vie.
Apr^ long travail et usaige,

Voicy la mort qui te convie.1

THIS quaint old French verse, written under one
of Holbein^s pictures, is profoundly melancholy.
The engraving represents a laborer driving his plow
through the middle of a field. Beyond him stretches
a vast horizon, dotted with wretched huts; the sun
is sinking behind the hill. It is the end of a hard
day's work. The peasant is old, bent, and clothed
in rags. He is urging onward a team of four thin

1 In toil and sorrow thou shalt eat
The bitter bread of poverty.
Alter the burden and the heat,
liOl it is Death who calls for tbee.

THE DEVIL'S POOL

and exhausted horses; the plowshare sinks into a
stony and ungrateful soil. One being only is active
and alert in this scene of toil and sorrow. It is a
fantastic creature. A skeleton armed with a whip,
who acts as plowboy to the old laborer, and run-
ning along through the furrow beside the terrified
horses, goads them on. This is the specter Death,
whom Holbein has introduced allegorically into that
series of religious and philosophic subjects, at once
melancholy and grotesque, entitled " The Dance of
Death."

In this collection, or rather this mighty composition,
where Death, who plays his part on every page, is
the connecting link and predominating thought,
Holbein has called up kings, popes, lovers, gamesters,
drunkards, nuns, courtesans, thieves, warriors,monks,
Jews, and travelers, — all the people of his time and
our own ; and everywhere the specter Death is among
them, taunting, threatening, and triumphing. He is
absent from one picture only, where Lazarus, lying
on a dunghill at the rich man's door, declares that
the specter has no terrors for him; probably because
he has nothing to lose, and his existence is already a
life in death.

Is there comfort in this stoical thought of the half-

THE DEVIL'S POOL

pagan Christianity of the Renaissance, and does it
satisfy religious souls ? The upstart, the rogue, the
tyrant, the rake, and all those haughty sinners who
make an ill use of life, and whose steps are dogged
by Death, will be surely punished; but can the
reflection that death is no evil make amends for the
long hardships of the blind man, the beggar, the
madman, and the poor peasant? No! An inexor-
able sadness, an appalling fatality brood over the
artist's work. It is like a bitter curse, hurled against
the fate of humanity.

Holbein's faithful delineation of the society in
which he lived is, indeed, painful satire. His atten-
tion was engrossed by crime and calamity; but what
shall we, who are artists of a later date, portray ?
Shall we look to find the reward of the human beings
of to-day in the contemplation of death, and shall we
invoke it as the penalty of unrighteousness and the
compensation of suffering ?

No, henceforth, our business is not with death, but
with life. We believe no longer in the nothingness
of the grave, nor in safety bought with the price of
a forced renunciation; life must be enjoyed in order
to be fruitful. Lazarus must leave his dunghill, so
that the poor need no longer exult in the death of

THE DEVIL'S POOL

the rich. All must be made happy, that the good
fortune of a few may not be a crime and a curse.
As the laborer sows his wheat, he must know that
he is helping forward the work of life, instead of
rejoicing that Death walks at his side. We may no
longer consider death as the chastisement of pros-
perity or the consolation of distress, for God has
decreed it neither as the punishment nor the com-
pensation of life. Life has been blessed by Him, and
it is no longer permissible for us to leave the grave
as the only refuge for those whom we are unwilling
to make happy.

There are some artists of our own day, who, after
a serious survey of their surroundings, take pleasure
in painting misery, the sordidness of poverty, and the
dunghill of Lazarus. This may belong to the domain
of art and philosophy; but by depicting poverty as
so hideous, so degraded, and sometimes so vicious
and criminal, do they gain their end, and is that end
as salutary as they would wish? We dare not pro-
nounce judgment. They may answer that they
terrify the unjust rich man by pointing out to him
the yawning pit that lies beneath the frail covering
of wealth; just as in the time of the Dance of Death,
they showed him his gaping grave, and Death stand-

THE DEVIL'S POOL

ing ready to fold him in an impure embrace. Now,
they show him the thief breaking open his doors,
and the murderer stealthily watching his sleep. We
confess we cannot understand how we can reconcile
him to the human nature he despises, or make him
sensible of the sufferings of the poor wretch whom
he dreads, by showing him this wretch in the guise
of the escaped convict or the nocturnal burglar. The
hideous phantom Death, under the repulsive aspect
in which he has been represented by Holbein and
his predecessors, gnashing his teeth and playing the
fiddle, has been powerless to convert the wicked and
console their victims. And does not our literature
employ the same means as the artists of the Middle
Ages and the Renaissance?

The revelers of Holbein fill their glasses in a frenzy
to dispel the idea of Death, who is their cup-bearer,
though they do not see him. The unjust rich of our
own day demand cannon and barricades to drive out
the idea of an insurrection of the people which Art
shows them as slowly working in the dark, getting
ready to burst upon the State. The Church of the
Middle Ages met the terrors of the great of the earth
with the sale of indulgences. The government of
to-day soothes the uneasiness of the rich by exacting

THE DEVIL'S POOL

from them large sums for the support of policemen,
jailors, bayonets, and prisons.

Albert DQrer, Michael Angelo, Holbein, Callot, and
Goya have made powerful satires on the evils of
their times and countries, and their immortal works
are historical documents of unquestionable value.
We shall not refuse to artists the right to probe the
wounds of society and lay them bare to our eyes;
but is the only function of art still to threaten and
appall ? In the literature of the mysteries of iniquity,
which talent and imagination have brought into
fashion, we prefer the sweet and gentle characters,
which can attempt and effect conversions, to the
melodramatic villains, who inspire terror; for terror
never cures selfishness, but increases it.

We believe that the mission of art is a mission of f
sentiment and love, that the novel of to-day should \
take the place of the parable and the fable of early '
times, and that the artist has a larger and more poetic
task than that of suggesting certain prudential and
conciliatory measures for the purpose of diminishing
the fright caused by his pictures. His aim should be
to render attractive the objects he has at heart, and,
if necessary, I have no objection to his embellishing
them a little. Art b not the study of positive reality, )

THE DEVIUS POOL

but the search for ideal truth, and the ** Vicar of
Wakefield" was a more useful and healthy book
than the ** Paysan Perverti," or the ** Liaisons
Dangereuses."

Forgive these reflections of mine, kind reader, and
let them stand as a preface, for there will be no other
to the little story I am going to relate to you. My
tale is to be so short and so simple, that I felt obliged
to make you my apologies for it beforehand, by
telling you what I think of the literature of terror.

I have allowed myself to be drawn into this
digression for the sake of a laborer ; and it is the
story of a laborer which I have been meaning to tell
you, and which I shall now tell you at once.

The Tillage of the Soil

I HAD just been looking long and sadly at Hol-
bein's plowman, and was walking tnrough the
fields, musing on rustic life and the destiny of the
husbandman. It 4S certainly tragic for him to spend
his days and his strength delving in the jealous earth,
that so reluctantly yields up her rich treasures when q
morsel of coarse black bread, at the end of the day's
work, is the sole reward and profit to be reaped from
such arduous toil. The wealth of the soil, the har-~
vests, the finits, the splendid cattle that grow sleek
and fat in the luxuriant grass, are the property of the
few, and but instruments of the drudgery and slavery
of the many. The man of leisure seldom loves, for
their own sake, the fields and meadows, the land-
scape, or the noble animals which are to be converted
into gold for his use. He comes to the country for

THE DEVIL'S POOL

his health or for change of air, but goes back to town
to spend the fruit of his vassaUs labor.

On the other hand, the peasant is too abject, too
wretched, and too fearful of the future to enjoy the
beauty of the country and the charms of pastoral life.
To him, also, the yellow harvest-fields, the rich
meadows, the fine cattle represent bags of gold ; but
he knows that only an infinitesimal part of their con-
tents, insufficient for his daily needs, will ever fall to
his share. Yet year by year he must fill those ac-
cursed bags, to please his master and buy the right
of living on his land in sordid wretchedness.
^ Yet nature is eternally young, beautiful, and gen-
erous. She pours forth poetry and beauty on all
aeatures and all plants that are allowed free develop-
ment. She owns the seaet of happiness, of which
no one has ever robbed her. The happiest of men
would be he who, knowing the full meaning of his
labor, should, while working with his hands, find his
happiness and his freedom in the exercise of his in-
telligence, and, having his heart in unison with his^
brain, should at once understand his own work and
love that of God,^ The artist has such delights as
these in contemplating and reproducing the beauties
of nature; but if his heart be true and tender, his

THE DEVIL'S POOL

pleasure is disturbed when he sees the miseries of the
men who people this paradise of earth. True happi-
ness will be theirs when mind, heart, and hand shall i /
work in concert in the sight of Heaven, and there
shall be a sacred harmony between God's goodness
and the joys of his creatures. Then, instead of the
pitiable and fiightful figure of Death stalking, whip
in hand, across the fields, the painter of allegories
may place beside the peasant a radiant angel, sow*
ing the blessed grain broadcast in the smoking furrow.
The dream of a serene, free, poetic, laborious, and
simple life for the tiller of the soil is not so impossible
that we should banish it as a chimera. The sweet,
sad words of Virgil : '' Oh, happy the peasants of the
field, if they knew their own blessings ! " is a regret,
but, like all regrets, it is also a prophecy. The day
will come when the laborer too may be an artist, and
may at least feel what is beautiful, if he cannot ex-
press it, — a matter of far less importance. Do not
we know that this mysterious poetic intuition is
already his, in the form of instinct and vague reverie?
Among those peasants who possess some of the com-
forts of life, and whose moral and intellectual develop-
ment is not entirely stifled by extreme wretchedness,
pure happiness that can be felt and appreciated exists
a 17

THE DEVIL'S POOL

in the elementary stage; and, moreover, since poets
have already raised their voices out of the lap of pain
and of weariness, why should we say that the labor
of the hands excludes the working of the soul ?
Without doubt this exclusion is the common result
of excessive toil and of deep misery; but let it not
be said that when men shall work moderately and
usefully there will be nothing but bad workers and
bad poets. The man who draws in noble joy from
the poetic feeling is a true poet, though he has never
written a verse all his life.

My thoughts had flown in this direction, without
my perceiving that my confidence in the capacity of
man for education was strengthened by external in-
fluences. I was walking along the edge of a field,
which some peasants were preparing to sow. The
space was vast as that in Holbein's picture; the
landscape, too, was ' vast and framed in a great
sweep of green, slightly reddened by the approsc^'Of
autumn. Here and there in the great russet Hefd,
slender rivulets of water left in the furrows by the
late rains sparkled in the sunlight like silver threads.
The day was clear and mild, and the soil, freshly
cleft by the plowshare, sent up a light steam. At
the other extremity of the field, an old man, whose

THE DEVIL»S POOL

broad shoulders and stem face recalled Holbein's
plowman, but whose clothes carried no suggestion of
poverty, was gravely driving his plow of antique
shape, drawn by two placid oxen, true patriarchs of
the meadow, tall and rather thin, with pale yellow
coats and long, drooping horns. They were those
old workers who, through long habit, have grown to
be brothers, as they are called in our country, and
who, when one loses the other, refuse to work with
a new comrade, and pine away with grief. People
who are unfamiliar with the country call the love of
the ox for his yoke-fellow a fable. Let them come
and see in the comer of the stable one of these poor
beasts, thin and wasted, restlessly lashing his lean
flanks with his tail, violently breathing with mingled
terror and disdain on the food oifered him, his eyes
always tumed toward the door, scratching with his
hoof the empty place at his side, sniffing the yokes
and chains which his fellow used to wear, and inces-
santly calling him with melancholy lowings. The
ox-herd will say: "There is a pair of oxen gone;'
this one will work no more, for his brother is dead.
We ought to fatten him for the market, but he will
not eat, and will soon starve himself to death."
The old laborer worked slowly, silently, and with-

THE DEVIL'S POOL

out waste G^ effort. His docile team were in no gmter
faastethaniie; but, tiianks to tiie undistracted steadi-
ness of fais toil and tiie judidois oqjenditure of his
strengtii, fas iunrow was as soon plowed as that of
hs son, iK^o wu driving, at some distance ^rom faim,
four less vigorous oxen tiirough a more stLddram and
stony piece of ground.

My attention wts next caught by a fine ^yertarle,
a truly nobk sidijectibra painter. At the oliier end
of the field a fine-loc^dng j^uth was driving a mag-
nificent team of fi>ur pairs of young oibbix, tiirougfa
whose somber coats glanoed a ruddy, |^ow-like fiame.
They iuid fbt riiort, curly heads that belong to the
wild bun, tiie same large, fierce ^fes and jerky move-
ments; they worked in an abrupt, nervous way tiiat
^owed how they stitl rebelled against the 3rake and
goad, and trembled with anger as they obeyed tiie
authority so recently imposed. They were what is
called '' newly 3roked '' oxen. The num who drove
them had to dear a comer of tiie field that had finr-
merly been given up to pasture, and was filled witii
old tree-stumps; and his youth and energy, and his
eight half-broken animals, hardly siifficexl for ftit
Herculean ta^.

A diild of six or seven years old, lovely as an angel,

THE DEVIL'S POOL

wearing round his shoulders, over his Mouse, a dieep-
skin that made him look like a little Saint John the
Baptist out of a Renaissance picture, was running
along in the iiirrow beside the plow, pricking the
flanks of the oxen with a long, light goad but
slightly sharpened. The ^nrited animals quivered
under the child's light touch, making their yokes
and head-bands creak, and shaking the pole vio-
lently. Whenever a root stopped the advance of
the plowshare, the laborer would call every ani-
mal by name in his powerful voice, trying to calm
rather than to excite them; for the oxen, irritated by
the sudden reastance, bounded, pawed the ground
with their great cloven hoofe, and would have
jumped aside and dragged the plow across the fields,
if the young man had not kept the first four in order
with his voice and goad, while the duld controlled
the four others. The little fdlow shouted too, but
the vdce which he tried to make of terrible effect,
was as sweet as his ang^c iace. The whole scene
was beautiful in its grace and strength; the land-
scape, the man, the child, tiie oxen under the yoke;
and in ^ite of the mighty struggle by wMdi the
earth was subdued, a deep feelmg of peace and
sweetness reigned over all. Eadi time that an ob-
«* ai

THE DEVIL'S POOL

stacle was surmounted and the plow resumed its
even, solemn progress, the laborer, whose pretended
violence was but a trial of his strength, and an out-
let for his energy, instantly regained that serenity
which is the right of simple souls, and looked with
fatherly pleasure toward his child, who turned to
smile back at him. Then the young father would
raise his manly voice in the solemn and melancholy
chant that ancient tradition transmits, not indeed to
all plowmen indiscriminately, but to those who are
most perfect in the art of exciting and sustainmg the
spirit of cattle while at work. This song, which
was probably sacred in its origin, and to which
mysterious influences must once have been at-
tributed, is still thought to possess the virtue of
putting animals on their mettle', allaying their irrita-
tion, and of beguiling the weariness of their long,
hard toil. It is not enough to guide them skilfully,
to trace a perfectly straight furrow, and to lighten
their labor by raising the plowshare or driving it
into the earth; no man can be a consummate hus-
bandman who does not know how to sing to his
oxen, and that is an art that requires taste and
especial gifts.
To tell the truth, this chant is only a recitative,

THE DEVIL'S POOL

broken off and taken up at pleasure. Its irregular form
and its intonations that violate all the rules of musical
art make it impossible to describe.

But it is none the less a noble song, and so ap-
propriate is it to the nature of the work it accom-
panies, to the gait of the oxen, to the peace of the
fields, and to the simplicity of the men who sing it,
that no genius unfamiliar with the tillage of the earth,
and no man except an accomplished laborer of our
part of the country, could repeat it. At the season
of the year when there is no work or stir afoot ex-
cept that of the plowman, this strong, sweet refrain
rises like the voice of the breeze, to which the key it
is sung in gives it some resemblance. Each phrase
ends with a long trill, the final note of which is held
with incredible strength of breath, and rises a quarter
of a tone, sharping systematically. It is barbaric,
but possesses an unspeakable charm, and anybody,
once accustomed to hear it, cannot conceive of
another song taking its place at the same hour and
in the same place, without striking a discord.

So it was that I had before my eyes a picture the
reverse of that of Holbein, although the scene was
similar. Instead of a wretched old man, a young
and active one; instead of a team of weary and

THE DEVIL'S POOL

emaciated horses, four yoke of robust and fiery
oxen; instead of death, a beautiful child; instead of
despair and destruction, energy and the possibility of
happiness.

Then the old French verse, ** A la sueur de ton vis-
aige," etc., and Virgil's " O fortunatos . . . agricolas,"
returned to my mind, and seeing this lovely child and
his father, under such poetic conditions, and with so
much grace and strength, accomplish a task full of
such grand and solemn suggestions, I was conscious
of deep pity and involuntary respect. Happy the
peasant of the fields! Yes, and so too should I be
in his place, if my arm and voice could be endowed
with sudden strength, and I could help to make
Nature fruitful, and sing of her gifts, without ceasing
to see with my eyes or understand with my brain
harmonious colors and sounds, delicate shades and
graceful outlines; in short, the mysterious beauty of
all things. And above all, if my heart continued to
beat in concert with the divine sentiment that pre-
sided over the immortal sublimity of creation.

But, alas! this man has never understood the
mystery of beauty; this child will never understand
it. God forbid that I should not think them superior
to the animals which are subject to them, or that

THE DEVIL'S POOL

they have not moments of rapturous insight that
soothe their toil and lull their cares to sleep. I see
the seal of the Lord upon their noble brows, for they
were bom to inherit the earth far more truly than
those who have bought and paid for it. The proof
that they feel this is that they cannot be exiled with
impunity, that they love the soil they have watered
with their tears, and that the true peasant dies of
homesickness under the arms of a soldier far from
his native field. But he lacks some of my enjoy-
ments, those pure delights which should be his by
right, as a workman in that immense temple which
the sky only is vast enough to embrace. He lacks
the consciousness of his sentiment. Those who con-
demned him to slavery from his mother's womb,
being unable to rob him of his vague dreams, took
away from him the power of reflection.

Yet, imperfect being that he is, sentenced to eter-
nal childhood, he is nobler than the man in whom
knowledge has stifled feeling. Do not set yourselves
above him, you who believe yourselves invested
with a lawful and inalienable right to rule over him,
for your terrible mistake shows that your brain has
destroyed your heart, and that you are the blindest
and most incomplete of men! I love the simplicity

THE DEVIL'S POOL

of his soul more than the false lights of yours ; and
if I had to narrate the story of his life, the pleasure
I should take in bringing out the tender and touch-
ing side of it would be greater than your merit in
painting the degradation and contempt into which
he is cast by your social code.

I knew the young man and the beautiful child;
I knew their history, for they had a history. Every-
body has his own, and could make the romance of
his life interesting, if he could but understand it.
Although but a peasant and a laborer, Germain had
always been aware of his duties and affections. He
had related them to me clearly and ingenuously,
and I had listened with interest. After some time
spent in watching him plow, it occurred to me that
I might write his story, though that story were as
simple, as straightforward, and unadorned as the
furrow he was tracing.

Next year that furrow will be filled and covered
by a fresh one. Thus disappear most of the foot-
prints made by man in the field of human life. A
little earth obliterates them, and the furrows we
have dug succeed one another like graves in a cem-
etery. Is not the fiirrow of the laborer of as much
value as that of the idler, even if that idler, by some

THE DEVIL'S POOL

absurd chance, have made a little noise in the world,
and left behind him an abiding name ?

I mean, if possible, to save from oblivion the
furrow of Germain, the skilled husbandman. He
will never know nor care, but I shall take pleasure
in my talk.

Father Maurice

GERMAIN," said his father-in-law one day,
''you must decide 'about manying again.
It is almost two years now since you lost my
daughter, and your eldest boy is seven years old!
You are almost thirty, my boy, and you know that
in our country a man is considered too old to go to
housekeeping again after that age; you have three
nice children, and thus far they have not proved
a burden to us at all. My wife and my daughter-
in-law have looked after them as well as they could,
and loved) them as they ought. Here is Petit-Pierre
almost grown up. He goads ^he oxen very well; he
knows how to look after the cattle; and he is strong
enough to drive the horses to the trough. So it is
not he that worries us. But the other two, love
them though we do, God knows the poor little
innocents give us trouble enough this year; my

THE DEVIL'S POOL

daughter-in-law is about to lie in, and she has yet
another baby to attend to. When the child we
are expecting comes, she will not be able to look
after your little Solange, and above all your Syl-
vain, who is not four years old, and who is never
quiet day or night. He has a restless disposition
like yours; that will make a good workman of -him,
but it makes a dreadful child, and my old wife can-
not run fast enough to save him when he almost
tumbles into the ditch, or when he throws himself
in front of the tramping cattle. And then with this
other that my daughter-in-law is going to bring into
the world, for a month at least her next older
child will fall on my wife's hands. Besides, your
children worry us, and give us too much to do; we
hate to see children badly looked after, and when
we think of the accidents that may befall them, for
want of care, we cannot rest. So you need another
wife, and I another daughter-in-law. Think this
over, my son. I have called it to your mind before.
Time flies, and the years will not wait a moment for
you. It is your duty to your children and to the
rest of us, who wish all well at home, to marry as
soon as you can."
"Very well, father," answered the son-in-law, **if

THE DEVIL'S POOL

you really wish it, I must do as you say. But I do
not wish to hide it from you that it will make me
very sad, and that I hardly wish tor anything but to
drown myself. We know who it is we lose, we
never know whom we find. I had a good wife, a
pretty wife, sweet, brave, good to her father and
mother, good to her husband, good to her children,
good to toil in the fields and in the house, well
fitted to work, — in short, good for everything ; and
when you had given her to me, and I took her, we
did not place it among our promises that I should
go and forget about her if I had the misfortune
to lose her."

"What you say shows your good heart, Ger-
main," answered Father Maurice. **! know that
you loved my daughter and that you made her
happy, and that had you been able to satisfy Death
by going in her place, Catherine would be alive to-
day, and you would be in the graveyard. She de-
served all your love, and if you are not consoled,
neither are we. But I do not speak to you of for-
getting heri God wished her to leave us, and we
do not let a day go by without telling him in our
prayers and thoughts, and words and actions, that
we keep her memory and still sorrow for her loss.

THE DEVIL'S POOL

But if she could speak to you from the other world,
and let you know what she wishes, she would tell
you to find a mother for her little orphans. So the
question is to find a woman who will be worthy to
take her place. It will not be easy, but it is not im-
possible. And when we shall find her for you, you
will love her as you used to love my daughter, be-
cause you are a good man, and because you will be
thankful to her for helping us and for loving your
children."

**Very well. Father Maurice, I shall do as you
wish, as I have always done."

** It is only justice, my son, to say that you have
always listened to the friendly advice and good judg-
ment of the head of the house. So let us consult
about your choice of a new wife. First, I don't
advise you to take a young girl. That is not what
you need. Youth is careless, and, as it is hard work
to bring up three children, especially when they are of
another bed, you must have a good soul, wise and
gentle, and well used to work. If your wife is not
about the same age as you, she will have no reason
to accept such a duty. She will find you too old
and your children too young. She will be com-
plaining, and your children will suffer."

» -•

THE DEVIL'S POOL

*' This is just what makes me uneasy. Suppose
the poor little things should be badly treated, hated,
beaten ? "

** God grant not," answered the old man. ** But
bad women are more rare with us than good, and
we shall be stupid if we cannot pick out somebody
who will suit us."

** That is true, father. There are good girls in our
village. There is Louise, Sylvaine, Claudie, Mar-
guerite — yes, anybody you want."

** Gently, gently, my boy. All these girls are too
young, or too poof, or too pretty ; for surely we
must think of that top, my son. A pretty woman
is not always as well behaved as another ! "

" Then you wish me to take an ugly wife? " said
Germain, a little uneasy.

** No, not ugly at all, for this woman will bear
you other children, and there is nothing more miser-
able than to have children who are ugly and weak
and sickly. But a woman still fresh and in good
health, who is neither pretty nor ugly, would suit
you exactly."

'' I am quite sure," said Germain, smiling rather
sadly, '* that to get such a woman as you wish, you
must have her made to order. All the more because

THE DEVIL'S POOL

you don't wish her to be poor, and the rich are not
easy to get, particularly for a widower."

"And suppose she were a widow herself, Ger-
main? A widow without children and with a good
portion?"

" For the moment, I cannot think of anybody like
this in our parish."

Nor I either. But there are others elsewhere."
You have somebody in mind, father. Then tell
me, at once, who it is."

Ill

Germain, the Skilled Husbandman

YES, I have somebody in mind," replied Father
Maurice. ** It is a Leonard, the widow of
a Guerin. She lives at Fourche."

" I know neither the woman nor the place," an-
swered Germain, resigned, but growing more and
more melancholy.

Her name is Catherine, like your dead wife^s."
Catherine? Yes, I shall be glad to have to pro-
nounce that name, Catherine; and yet if I cannot love
one as much as the other, it will pain me all the more.
It will bring her to my mind more often."

*' I tell you, you will love her. She is a good soul,
a woman with a warm heart. I have not seen her
for a long time. She was not an ugly girl then. But
she is no longer young. She is thirty-two. She
comes of a good family, honest people all of them,
and for property she has eight or ten thousand

THE DEVIL'S POOL

francs in land which she would sell gladly in order to
invest in the place where she settles. For she, too,
is thinking of marrying again, and I know that if your
character pleases her, she will not be dissatisfied with
your situation."

So you have made all the arrangements ? "
Yes, except that I have not had an opinion
from either of you, and that is what you must ask
each other when you meet. The woman's father
is a distant connection of mine, and he has been
a good friend to me. You know Father Leonard
well ? »

** Yes, I have seen you two talking at the market,
and at the last you lunched together. Then it was
about her that he spoke to you so long?"

** Certainly. He watched you selling your cattle
and saw that you drove a shrewd bargain, and that
you were a good-looking fellow and appeared active
and intelligent; and when I told him what a good
fellow you were and how well you have behaved
toward us, without one word of vexation or anger
during the eight years we have been living and
working together, he took it into his head to
marry you to his daughter. This suits me, too, I
admit, when I think of her good reputation and the

THE DEVIL'S POOL

honesty of her family and the prosperous condition I
know her affairs are in."

" I see, Father Maurice, that you have an eye to
money."

" Of course I do; you have, too, have you not?"

** I do look toward it, if you wish, for your sake;
but you know that, for my own part, I don't worry
whether I gain or not in what we make. I don't
understand about profit-sharing ; I have no head
for that sort of thing. I understand the ground; I
understand cattle, horses, carts, sowing, threshing,
and provender. As for sheep, and vineyards, and
vegetables, petty profits, and fine gardening, you
know that is your son's business. I don't have
much to do with it. As to money, my memory is
short, and I should rather give up everything than
fight about what is yours and what is mine. I
should be afraid of making some mistake and claim-
ing what does not belong to me, and if business
were not so clear and simple I should never find my
way in it."

"So much the worse, my son; and this is the
reason I wish you to have a wife with a clear head
to fill my place when I am gone. You never wished
to understand our accounts, and this might lead you

THE DEVIL'S POOL

into a quarrel with my son, when you don't have
me any longer to keep you in harmony and decide
what is each one's share."

" May you live long, Father Maurice. But do not
worry about what will happen when you die. I
shall never quarrel with your son. I trust Jacques
as I do you; and as I have no property of my own,
and all that might accrue to me comes from your
daughter and belongs to our children, I can rest
easy, and you, too. Jacques would never rob his
sister's children for the sake of his own, for he
loves them all equally."

" You are right, Germain. Jacques is a good son,
a good brother, and a man who loves the truth.
But Jacques may die before you, before your chil-
dren grow up ; and in a family we must always
remember never to leave children without a head to
look after them and govern their disagreements;*
otherwise, the lawyer-people mix themselves up in
it, stir them up to fight, and make them eat up
everything in law-suits. So we ought not to think
of bringing home another person, man or woman,
without remembering that some day or other that
person may have to control the behavior and busi-
ness of twenty or thirty children and grandchildren,
3* 37

THE DEVIL'S POOL

sons-in-law and daughters-in-law. We never know
how big a family can grow, and when a hive is so
full that the bees must form new swarms, each one
wishes to carry off her share of the honey. When
1 took you for my son, although my daughter was
rich and you were poor, I never reproached her for
choosing you. I saw that you were a hard worker,
and I knew very well that the best fortune for
people in such a country as ours is a pair of arms
and a heart like yours. When a man brings these
into a family, he brings enough. But with a woman
it is different. Her work indoors saves, but it does
not gain. Besides, now that you are a father, look-
ing for a second wife, you must remember that your
new children will have no daim on the property of
your children by another wife ; and if you should
happen to die they might suffer very much — at
least, if your wife had no money in her own right.
And then the children which you will add to our
colony will cost something to bring up. If that fell
on us alone, we should surely take care of them
without a word of complaint; but the comfort of
everybody would suffer, and your eldest diildren
would bear their share of hardship. When families
grow too large, if money does not keep pace, misery

THE DEVIL'S POOL

comes, no matter how bravely you bear up. This
is what I wished to say, Germain ; think it over,
and try to make the widow Guerin like you; for
her discretion and her dollars will help us now and
make us feel easy about the future/'

"That is true, Father. I shall try to please her
and to like her."

"To do that you must go to find her, and see
her."

"At her own place? At Fourche? That is a
great way from here, is it not ? And we scarcely
have time to run off at this season of the year."

" When it is a question of a love-match you must
make up your mind to lose time, but when it is a
sensible marriage of two people, who take no sudden
fancies and know what they want, it is very soon de-
cided. To-morrow is Saturday; you will make your
day's work a little shorter than usual. You must
start after dinner about two o'clock. You will be
at Fourche by nightfall. The moon rises early.
The roads are good, and it is not more than three
leagues distant. It is near Magnier. Besides, you
will take the mare."

" I had just as lief go afoot in this cool weather."

" Yes, but the mare is pretty, and a suitor looks

THE DEVIUS POOL

better when he comes well mounted. You must put
on your new clothes and carry a nice present of game
to Father Leonard. You will come from me and talk
with him, pass all of Sunday with his daughter, and
come back Monday morning with a yes or no."

** Very well," answered Germain calmly, and yet
he did not feel very calm.

Germain had always lived soberly, as industrious .
peasants do. Married at twenty, he had loved but
one woman in his life, and after her death, impulsive
and gay as his nature was, he had never played nor
trifled with another. He had borne a real sorrow
faithfully in his heart, and it was not without misgiv- ;
ing nor without sadness that he yielded to his father- /
in-law; but that father had always governed the
family wisely, and Germain, entirely devoted as he i
was to the common welfare and so, by consequence,
to the head of the house, who represented it, could
not understand that he might have wronged his own
good sense and hurt the interests of all.
\ / Nevertheless, he was sad. Few days went by
when he did not cry in secret, for his wife, and
although loneliness began to weigh on him, he was
more afraid of entering into a new marriage than
desirous of finding a support in his sorrow. He had

THE DEVIL'S POOL

a vague idea that love might have consoled him by
coming to him of a sudden, for this is the only way
love can console. We never find it when we seek
it ; it comes over us unawares.

This cold-blooded scheme of marriage that Father
Maurice had opened to him, this unknown woman
he was to take for his bride, perhaps even all that had
been said to him of her virtue and good sense, made
him pause to think. And he went away missing as
men do whose thoughts are too few to divide into
hostile factions, not scraping up fine arguments for
rebellion and selfishness but suffering from a dull
grief, submissive to ills from which there is no escape.

Meanwhile, Father Maurice had returned to the
farm, while Germain, between sunset and dark,
spent the closing hour of the day in repairing gaps
the sheep had made in the hedge of a yard near the
farm-buildings. He lifted up the branches of the
thorn-bushes and held them in place with clods of
earth, whilst the thrushes chattered in the neighbor-
ing thicket and seemed to call to him to hurry, for
they were eager to come and see his work as soon as
he had gone.

Mother Guillettb

FATHER MAURICE found at his house an old
neighbor who had come to talk with his wife,
seeking at the same time to secure a few embers to
light her fire. Mother Guillette lived in a wretched
hut two gunshots away from the farm. Still she
was a willing and an orderly woman. Her poor
dwelling was clean and neat, and the care with
which her clothes were mended showed that she
respected herself in the midst of her penury.

"You have come to fetch your evening fire,
Mother Guillette," said the old man to her. *'ls
there anything else you want?"

"No, Father Maurice," answered she; "nothing
for the present. I am no beggar, as you know,
and I take care not to abuse the kindness of my
friends."

THE DEVIL'S POOL

"That is very true. Besides, your friends are
always ready to do you a service."

" I was just talking to your wife, and I was ask-
ing her if Germain had finally decided to marry
again."

You are no gossip," replied Father Maurice;

we can talk in your presence without having any
foolish tale-bearing to fear. So I will tell my wife
and you that Germain has made up his mind abso-
lutely. To-morrow morning he starts for the farm at
Fourche."

"Good enough!" cried Mother Maurice; "poor
child ! God grant he may find a woman as good
and true as he."

"So he is going to Fourche?" remarked Mother
Guillette; " how lucky that is! It is exactly what I
want. And since you were just asking me if there
were anything I wished for, I am going to tell you,
Father Maurice, how you can do me a service."

" Tell me what it is; we like to help you."

" I wish Germain would be so kind as to take my
daughter along with him."

"Where? To Fourche?"

" No, not to Fourche, but to Ormeaux. She is to
stay there the rest of the year."

THE DEVIL'S POOL

"What!" exclaimed Mother Maurice, "are you
going to separate from your daughter?"

" She must go out to work and earn her living. I
am sorry enough, and she is too, poor soul. We could
not make up our minds to part Saint John's Day, but
now that Saint Martin's is upon us, she finds a good
place as shepherdess at the farms at Ormeaux. On
his way home from the fair the other day, the farmer
passed by here. He caught sight of my little Marie
tending her three sheep on the common.

** * You have hardly enough to do, my little girl,'
said he; 'three sheep are not enough for a shep-
herdess: would you like to take care of a hundred? I
will take you along. Our shepherdess has fallen sick.
She is going back to her family, and if you will be
at our farm before a week is over, you shall have tifly
francs for the rest of the year up to Saint John's Day.'

" The child refused, but she could not help think-
ing it over and telling me about it, when she came
home in the evening, and found me downhearted
and worried about the winter, which was sure to be
hard and long; for this year the cranes and wild
ducks were seen crossing the sky a whole month
before they generally do. We both of us cried, but
after a time we took heart. We knew that we could

THE DEVIL'S POOL

not stay together, since it is hard enough for one per-
son to get a living from our little patch of ground.
Then since Marie is old enough, — for she is going on
to sixteen, — she must do like the rest, earn her own
living and help her poor mother."

"Mother Guillette," said the old laborer, "if it
were only fifty francs you needed to help you out
of your trouble, and save you from sending away
your daughter, I should certainly find them for you,
although fifty francs is no trifle for people like us.
But in everything we must consult common sense as
well as friendship. To be saved from want this year
will not keep you from want in the friture, and the
longer your daughter takes to make up her mind,
the harder you both will find it to part. Little Marie
is growing tall and strong. She has not enough at
home to keep her busy. She might get into lazy
habits ..."

" Oh, I am not afraid of that! " exclaimed Mother
Guillette. "Marie is as active as a rich giri at the
head of a large family can be. She never sits still
with her arms folded for an instant, and when we
have no work to do, she keeps dusting and polishing
our old frimiture until it shines like a mirror. The
child is worth her weight in gold, and I should much

THE DEVIUS POOL

rather have her enter your service as a shepherdess
than go so far away to people I don't know. You
would have taken her at Saint John's Day; but now
you have hired all your hands, and we cannot think
of that till Saint John's Day next year."/"

" Yes, I consent with all my heart, Guillette. I
shall be very glad to take her. But in the mean time
she will do well to learn her work, and accustom her*
self to obey others."

" Yes, that is true, no doubt. The die is cast.
The farmer at Ormeaux sent to ask about her this
morning; we consented, and she must go. But the
poor child does not know the way, and I should not
like to send her so far alone. Since your son-in-law
goes to Fourche to-morrow, perhaps he can take
her. It seems that Fourche is close to her journey's
end. At least, so they tell me, for I have never made
the trip myself."

"It is very near indeed, and my son will show
her the way. Naturally, he might even take her up
behind him on the mare. That will save her shoes.
Here he comes for supper. Tell me, Germain, Mother
Guillette's little Marie is going to become a shep-
herdess at Ormeaux. Will you take h^r there on
your horse?"

THE DEVIL'S POOL

" Certainly," answered Germain, who, troubled as
he was, never felt indisposed to do a kindness to his
neighbor.

In our community a mother would not think of
such a thing as to trust a girl of sixteen to a man of
twenty-eight. For Germain was really but twenty-
eight, and although according to the notions of the
country people he was considered rather old to marry,
he was still the best-looking man in the neighbor-
hood. Toil had not wri nkled and wornjiim as it
does most peasants who have passed ten years in till-
ingths^oil. He was strongenough to labor for ten
more years without showing signs of age, and the
prejudices of her time must have weighed heavily
on the mind of a young girl to prevent her from see-
ing that Germain had a fresh complexion, eyes spark-
ling and blue as skies in May, ruddy lips, fine teeth,
and a body well shaped and lithe as a young horse
that has never yet left his pasture.

But purity of manners is a sacred custom in some
districts far distant from the corrupted life of great
cities, and amongst all the households of Belair, the
family of Maurice was known to be honest and truth-
loving. Germain was on his way to find a wife.
Marie was a child, too young and too poor to be

THE DEVIL'S POOL

thought of in this light, and unless he were a heart-
less and a bad man he could not entertain one evil
thought concerning her. Father Maurice felt no un-
easiness at seeing him take the pretty girl on the
crupper. Mother Guillette would have thought her-
self doing him a wrong had she asked him to re-
spect her daughter as his sister. Marie embraced
her mother and her young friends twenty times, and
then mounted the mare in tears. Germain, sad on
his own account, felt all the more sympathy for her
sorrow, and rode away with a melancholy air, while
all the people of the neighborhood waved good-by
to Marie without a thought of harm.

V
V

Petit-Pierre

THE gray was young, good-looking, and strong.
She earned her double burden with ease, lay-
ing back her ears and champing her bit like the high-
spirited mare she was. Passing in front of the pas- -^.
ture, she caught sight of her mother, whose name
was the Old Gray as hers was the Young Gray, and N^V
she whinnied in token of good-by. The Old Gray
came nearer the hedge, and striking her shoes to- r-

gether she tried to gallop along the edge of the field
in order to follow her daughter; then seeing her fall
into a sharp trot, the mare whinnied in her turn and
stood in an uneasy attitude, her nose in the air and
her mouth filled with grass that she had no thought
of eating.

"That poor beast always knows her offspring,"
said Germain, trying to keep Marie's thoughts from
her troubles. That reminds me, I never kissed Petit-
4 49

THE DEVIL'S POOL

Pierre before I started. The naughty boy was not
there. Last night he wished to make me promise to
take him along, and he wept for an hour in bed.
This morning again, he tried everything to persuade
me. Oh, how sly and coaxing he is ! But when he
saw that he could not gain his point, the young gen-
tleman got into a temper. He went off to the fields,
and I have not seen him all day."

*^ I have seen him,'' said little Marie, striving to
keep back her tears; '' he was running toward the
clearing with Soulas' children, and I felt sure that he
had been away from home a long time, for he was
hungry and was eating wild plums and blackberrie^.
I gave him the bread I had for lunch, and he said,
'Thank you, dear Marie; when you come to our
house, I will give you some cake.' He is a dear lit-
tle child, Germain."

** Yes, he is," answered the .laborer; "and there
is nothing I would not do for him. If his grand-
mother had not more sense than I, I could not have
helped taking him with me, when I saw him crying
as though his poor little heart would burst."

"Then why did you not take him, Germain ? Hq
would have been very little trouble. He is so good
when you please him."

THE DEVIUS POOL

He would probably have been in the way in the
place where I am going. At least Father Maurice
thought so. On the other hand, I should have
thought it well to see how they received him. For
no one could help being kind to such a nice child.
But at home they said that I must not begin by
showing off all the cares of the household. I don't
know why I speak of this to you, little Marie; you
can't understand."

"Oh, yes, I do; I know that you are going away
to marry; my mother spoke to me about it, and told
me not to mention it to a soul, either at home or at
my destination, and you need not be afraid ; I shall
not breathe a word about it."

" You are very right. For the deed is n't done
yet. Perhaps I shall not suit this woman."

** I hope you will, Germain ; why should you not
suit her ? "

' * Who knows ? I have three children, and that is a
heavy burden for a woman who is not their mother."

** Very true. But are not your children like other
children ? "

" Do you think so ? "

''They are lovely as little angels, and so well
brought up that you can't find better children."

5»

THE DEVIUS POOL

" There *s Sylvain. He is none too obedient."

** He is so very little. He can't help being
naughty. But he is very bright."

"He is bright, it is true, and very brave. He is
not afraid of cows nor bulls, and if he were given his
own way, he would be climbing on horseback
already with his elder brother."

** Had I been in your place, I would have taken the
eldest boy along. Surely people would have liked
you at once for having such a pretty child."

** Yes, if a woman is fond of children. But if she
is not."

'* Are there women who don't love children ? "

" Not many, I think, but still there are some, and
that is what troubles me."

** You don't know this woman at all, then ? "

"No more than you, and I fear that I shall v
not know her better after I have seen her. I am
not suspicious. When people say nice things to
me, I believe them, but more than once I have
had good reason to repent, for words are not
deeds."

" They say that she is a very good woman."

** Who says so ? Father Maurice ? "

** Yes, your father-in-law."

THE DEVIUS POOL

'' That Is all very well. But he knows her no
more than I."

** Well, you will soon see. Pay dose attention,
and let us hope that you will not be deceived."

** I have it. Little Marie, I should be very much
obliged if you would come into the house for a
minute before you go straight on to Ormeaux. You
are quick-witted; you have always shown that you
are not stupid, and nothing escapes your notice.
Should you see anything to rouse your suspicions,
you must warn me of \t very quietly."

"Oh! no, Germain, I will not do that; I should
be too much afraid of making a mistake; and, be-
sides, if a word lightly spoken were to turn you
against this marriage, your family would bear me a
grudge, and I have plenty of troubles now without
bringing any more on my poor dear mother!"

As they were talking thus, the gray pricked up
her ears and shied; then returning on her steps, she
approached the bushes, where she began to recog-
nize something which had frightened her at first.
Germain cast his eye over the thicket, and in a ditch,
beneath the branches of a scrub-oak, still thick and
green, he saw something which he took for a lamb.

'* The little aeature is strayed or dead, for it does

-•• 53

THE DEVIL'S POOL

not move. Perhaps some one is looking for it; we
must see."

" It is not an animal," cried little Marie; " it is a
sleeping child. It is your Petit-Pierre."

"Heavens!" exclaimed Germain; "see the little
scamp asleep so far away from home, and in a ditch
where a snake might bite him! "

He lifted up the child, who smiled as he opened
his eyes and threw his arms about his father's neck,
saying: " Dear little father, you are going to take
me with you."

" Oh, yes; always the same tune. What were
you doing there, you naughty Pierre ? "

" I was waiting for my little father to go by. I
was watching the road, and I watched so hard that
I fell asleep."

" And if I had passed by without seeing you, you
would have been out of doors all night, and a wolf
would have eaten you up."

*' Oh, I knew very well that you would see me,"
answered Petit-Pierre, confidently.

"Well, kiss me now, bid me good-by, and run
back quickly to the house, unless you wish them to
have supper without you."

Are you not going to take me, then ? " cried the

«(

THE DEVIUS POOL

little boy, beginning to rub his eyes to show that he
was thinking of tears.

" You know very well that grandpapa and grand-
mama do not wish it," said Germain, fortifying
himself behind the authority of his elders, like a man
who distrusts his own.

The child would not listen. He began to cry
with all his might, saying that as long as his father
was taking little Marie, he might just as well take
him too. They replied that they must pass through
great woods filled with wicked beasts who eat up
little children. The gray would not carry three
people ; she had said so when they were starting,
and in the country where they were going there
was no bed and no supper for little boys. All these
good reasons could not persuade Petit-Pierre; he
threw himself on the ground, and rolled about,
shrieking that his little father did not love him any
more, and that if he did not take him he would
never go back to the house at all, day or night.

Germain had a father's heart, as soft and weak as
a woman's. Fjis-wifo's-death, and the care which
he had been obliged to bestow all alone on his
little ones, as well as the thought that these poor
motherless children needed a great deal of love,

THE DEVIUS POOL

combined to make him thus. So^ such a sharp
struggle went on within him, all the more because
he was ashamed of his weakness and tried to hide
his confusion from little Marie, that the sweat
started out on his forehead, and his eyes grew red
and jUnost ready to weep. At last he tried to get
angry, but as he turned toward little Marie in or^er
to let her witness his strength of mind, he saw that
the good girl's face was wet with tears; all his cour-
age forsook him and he could not keep back his
own, scold and threaten as he would.

** Truly your heart is too hard," said little Marie
at last, "and for myself I know that I never could
refuse a child who felt so badly. Come, Germain,
let *s take him. Your mare is well used to carry-
ing two people and a child, for you know that your
brother-in-law and his wife, who is much heavier .
than I, go to market every Saturday with their boy
on this good beast's back. Take him on the horse
in front of you. Besides, I should rather walk on
foot all alone than give this little boy so much
pain."

*' Never mind," answered Germain, who was
dying to allow himself to give way. " The gray is
ttrong, and could carry two more if there were

THE DEVIL'S POOL

room on her back. But what can we do with this
child on the way? He will be cold and hungry,
and who will take care of him to-night and to-
morrow, put him to bed, wash him, and dress him ?
I don't dare give this trouble to a woman I don't
know, who will think, doubtless, that I am exceed-
ingly free and easy with her to begin with."

" Trust me, Germain, you will know her at once
by the kindness or the impatience that shd shows.
If she does not care to receive your Pierre, I will
take charge of him myself. I will go to her house
and dress him, and I will take him to the fields with
me to-morrow. I will amuse him all day long, and
take good care that he does not want for anything."

** He will tire you, my poor girl, and give you
trouble. A whole day is a long time."

** Not at all; it will give me pleasure; he will keep
me company, and that will make me less sad the
first day that I must pass in a new place. I shall
fancy that I am still at home."

Seeing that little Marie was pleading for her, the
child seized upon her skirt and held it so tight that
they must have hurt him in order to tear it away.
When he perceived that his father was weakening, he
took Marie's hand in both his tiny sunburned fists

THE DEVIL'S POOL

and kissed her, leaping for joy, and pulling her
toward the mare with the burning impatience chil-
dren feel in their desires.

** Come along,'' said the young girl, lifting him in
her arms; ** let us try to quiet his poor little heart.
It is fluttering like a little bird; and if you feel the
cold when night comes on, tell me, my Pierre, and
I will wrap you in my cape. Kiss your little father,
and beg his pardon for being naughty. Tell him
that you will never, never be so again. Do you
hear ? "

" Yes, yes, provided that I always do just as he
wishes. Is n't it so ? " said Germain, drying the little
boy's eyes with his handkerchief. ** Marie, you are
spoiling the little rascal. But really and truly, you
are too good, little Marie. I don't know why you
did not come to us as shepherdess last Saint John's
Day. You would have taken care of my children,
and I should much rather pay a good price for their
sake than try to find a woman who will think, per-
haps, she is doing me a great kindness if she does
not detest them."

" You must not look on the dark side of things,"
answered little Marie, holding the horse's bridle
while Germain placed his son in front of the big

THE DEVIL'S POOL

pack-saddle covered with goatskin. " If your wife
does not care for children, take me into your service
next year, and you may be sure I shall amuse them
so well that they will not notice anything."

On the Heath

EAR ME," said Germain, after they had gone
a few steps farther, ** what will they think
at home when they miss the little man ? The family
will be worried, and will be looking everywhere for
him."

" You can tell the man who is mending the road
up there that you are taking him along, and ask
him to speak to your people."

**That is very true, Marie; you don't forget any-
thing. It never occurred to me that Jeannie must
be there."

"He lives close to the farm, and he will not fail to
do your errand."

When they had taken this precaution, Germain
put the mare to a trot, and Petit-Pierre was so over-
joyed that for a time he forgot that he had gone
without his dinper; but the motion of the horse

THE DEVIL'S POOL

gave him a hollow feeling in his stomach, and at the
end of a league, he began to gape and grow pale,
and confessed that he was dying of hunger.

This is the way it begins," exclaimed Germain.

I was quite sure that we should not go far without
this young gentleman crying with hunger or thirst."

** I am thirsty, too! " said Petit-Pierre.

"Very well, then, let 's go to Mother Rebecks
tavern at Corlay, the sign of * The Dawn * — a pretty
sign, but a poor lodging. You will take something
to drink, too, will you not, Marie ? "

** No, no; I don^t want anything. I will hold the
mare while you go in with the child."

** But I remember, my good girl, that this morn-
ing you gave the bread from your own breakfast to
my Pierre. You have had nothing to eat. You
would not take dinner with us at home; you would
do nothing but cry."

**Oh, I was not hungry; I felt too sad, and I
give you my word that even now I have no desire
to eat."

" You must oblige yourself to eat, little girl, else
you will fall sick. We have a long way to go, and
it will not do to arrive half-starved and beg for
bread before we say how d' ye do. I shall set you

THE DEVIL'S POOL

a good example myself, although I am not very
hungry: and I am sure that I can, for, after all, I did
not eat any dinner. I saw you crying, you and your
mother, and it made me feel sad. Come along. I
am going to tie the gray at the door. Get down; I
wish you to."

All three entered the inn, and in less than fifteen
minutes the fat, lame hostess was able to place be-
fore them a nice-looking omelette, some brown
bread, and a bottle of light wine.

Peasants do not eat quickly, and little Pierre had
such a good appetite that a whole hour passed be-
fore Germain could think of starting out again. At
first little Marie ate in order to be obliging; then
little by little she grew hungry. For, at sixteen, a
girl cannot fast for long, and country air is dictatorial.

The kind words with which Germain knew how
to comfort her and strengthen her courage, produced
their effect. She tried hard to persuade herself that
seven months would soon be over, and to think of
the pleasure in store for her when she saw once
more her family and her hamlet; for Father Maurice
and Germain had both promised to take her into
their service. But just as she began to cheer up
and play with little Pierre, Germain was so unfortu-

THE DEVIL'S POOL

nate as to point out to her from the inn window the
lovely view of the valley which can all be seen from
this height, and which looks so happy and green and
fertile.

Marie looked and asked if the houses of Belair
were in sight.

" No doubt," said Germain, ** and the farm, too,
and even your house — see ! that tiny gray spot not
far from Godard's big poplar, below the belfry."

''Ah, I see it," said the little girl; and then she
began to cry.

** I ought not to have made you think of it," said
Germain. *' I can do nothing but stupid things to-
day. Come along, Marie; let 's start, and in an
hour, when the moon rises, it will not be hot."

They resumed their journey across the great heath,
and for fear of tiring the young girl and the child by
too rapid a trot, Germain did not make the gray go
very fast. The sun had set when they left the road
to enter the wood.

Germain knew the way as far as Magnier, but he
thought it would be shorter to avoid the Chanta-
loube road and descend by Presles and La Sepulture,
a route he was not in the habit of taking on his way
to the fair. He lost his way, and wasted more time

THE DEVIL'S FOOL

before he reached the wood. Even then he did not
enter it on the right side, although he did not per-
ceive his mistake, so that he turned his back on
Fourche, and took a direction higher up on the way
to Ardente.

He was prevented still further from finding his way
by a thick mist which rose as the night fell; one of
those mists which come on autumn ev^ings when
the whiteness of the moonlight renders them more
undefined and more treacherous. The great pools of
water scattered through the glades gave forth a
vapor so dense that when the gray aossed them,
their presence was known only by a splashing noise,
and the difficulty with which she drew her feet fi-om ^
the mud.

At last they found a good straight road, and when
they came to the end of it, and Germain tried to dis-
cover where he w^s, he saw that he was lost. For
Father Maurice had told him, when he explained
the way, that on leaving the wood he must descend
a very steep hillside, cross a wide meadow, and ford
the river twice. He had even warned him to cross
this river carefully ; for, early in the season, there
had been great rains, and the water might still be
higher than usual. Seeing neither hillside nor mea-

THE DEVIL'S POOL

dows, nor river, but a heath, level and white as a
mantle of snow, Germain stopped, looked about for
a house, and waited for a passer-by, but could find
nothing to set him right. Then he retraced his steps
and reentered the wood. But the mist thickened
yet more, the moon was completely hidden, the
roads were execrable, and the quagmires deep. Twice
the gray almost fell. Her heavy load made her lose
courage, and although she kept enough sagacity to
avoid the tree-trunks, she could not prevent her riders
from striking the great branches which overhung the
road at the height of their heads and caused them
great danger. In one of these collisions Germain lost
his hat, and only recovered it after much difficulty.
Petit-Pierre had fallen asleep, and, lying like a log in
his father's arms, hampered him so that he could no
longer hold up nor direct the horse.

*' I believe we are bewitched," exclaimed Germain,
stopping ; *^ for the wood is not large enough to get
lost in, if a man is not drunk, and here we have been
turning round and round for two hours at least, with-
out fmding a way out. The gray has but one idea
in her head, and that is to get home. It is she
who is deceiving me. If we wish to go home, we
have only to give her the bit. But when we are
5 65

THE DEVIL'S POOL

perhaps but two steps from our journey's end, it
would be foolish to give up and return such a long
Toad; and yet I am at a loss what to do. I can^
see sky or earth, and I am afraid that the child will
catch Hie fever if we lemain in tiiis cursed fog, ortiiat
he win be crudied beneafli our weight if the hor^
falls forward."

We must not persist longer,'' said little Marie.

Let 's dismount, Germain. Give me the child ; 1
can carry him perfectly well, and I know better Hian
you how to keep Hit doak from falling open and
leaving him exposed. You lead the mare by her
bridle. Perhaps we shall see more clearly when we
are nearer "flie ground."

This precaution was of service only in saving them
from a fall, for the fog hung low and seemed to stick
to the damp earth.

Their aiirance was painfully slow, and they were
soon so weary that they halted when they reached
a dry spot beneath the great oaks.

Little Marie was in a violent sweat, but she uttered
not a word of complaint, nor did she worry about
anything. Thinking only of the child, she sat
down on tiie sand and laid it upon her knees,
while Germain explored the neighborhood, after

THE DEVIUS POOL

hBvmg fastened the gray's rdns to the brands of
a tree.

But the gray was very fissatisfied witii the jour-
ney. She reared suddenly, brc^ tiie reins loose,
burst her girths, and giving, by way of receipt, half
a dozen kicks higher tium her head, she started
across tiie dearing, showing very plainly that she
needed no one to ^ow her the way home.

" Wdl, here we are afoot," said Germain, after a
vain at t e mpt to catdi the horse, " and it would do
us no good now if we were on tiie good road, for we
^oiild have to ford tiie river on foot, and since these
paths are filled witii water, we may be sure tiiat the
meadow is wholly submerged. We dont know
the other routes. We must wait tmtil this fog dears.
It cant last more than an hour or two; as soon as
we can see dearly, we shall look about for a house,
the first we come to near Hie edge of the wood. But
for the present we canH stir from here. There is a
ditdi and a pond over there. Heaven knows what
is in front of us, and what is bdiind us is more than
I can say now, fr>r I have forgotten whidi way we
came."

<57

VII
Underneath the Big Oaks

it ^ ^ "'ELL, we must be patient, Germain," said

little Marie. '* We are not badly oflf on
this little hillock. The rain does i|ot pierce the
leaves of these big oaks, and we can light a fire,
for I can feel old stumps which stir readily and are
dry enough to bum. You have a light, Germain,
have you not? You were smoking your pipe a few
minutes ago."

" I did have; my tinderbox was in my bag on the
saddle with the game that I was bringing to my bride
that is to be, but that devilish mare has run away
with everything, even with my cloak, which she will
lose and tear to bits on every branch she comes to."

''No, no, Germain; saddle and cloak and bag
are all there on the ground at your feet. The gray
burst her girths, and threw oflf everything as she

ran away."

THE DEVIL'S POOL

"That 's true, thank God," exclaimed the laborer;
** if we can grope about and find a little dead
wood, we shall be able to dry ourselves and get
warm."

"That 's not diflficutt," said little Marie; "dead
wood always cracks when you step on it. But will
you give me the saddle?"

" What do you want of it ? "

" To make a bed for the child. No, not that way.
Upside down. He will not roll oflf into the hollow,
and it is still very warm from the horse's back.
Prop it up all around with the stones that you see
there."

"I can't see a stone; you must have cat's
eyes."

"There, it is all done, Germain. Hand me your
cloak so that you can wrap up his little feet, and
throw my cape over his body. Just see if he is not
as comfortable as though he were in his own bed,
and feel how warm he is." -

" You certainly know how to take care of children,
Marie."

" I need not be a witch to do that; now get your
tinderbox from your bag, and I will arrange the
wood."

5* 69

THE DEVIL'S POOL

"This wood win never catch fire; it b too
damp."

" You are always doubting, Germain. Dont
you remember when you were a shepherd, and
made big fires in the fidds right in the midst of the
rain?"

" Yes, that is a knack that belongs to chilaren
who take care of sheep; but I was made to drive the
oxen as soon as I could walk."

'* That is what has made your arms strong and
your hands quick! Here, the fire b built; you shall
see whether it does not bum. Give me the light
and a handful of dry ferns. That b all right Now
blow; you are not consumptive, are you? "

"Not that I know o(^" said Germain, blowing
like a smith's bellows. In an instant the flame
leaped up, and throwing out a red glare, it rose
finally in pale blue jets under the oak branches,
battling with the fog, and gradually drying the
atmosphere for ten feet around.

" Now I am going to sit by the child, so that the
sparks may not fall on him," said the young girl.
" Pile on the wood and stir up the fire, Germain;
we shall not catch cold nor fever here, I will answer
for it."

THE DEVIL'S POOL

"Upon my word, you are a clever girl," said
Germain; " and you know how to make a fire like
a little fairy of the night. I feel quite revived, and
my courage has come back again ; for with my legs
drenched up to the knees, and with the thought of
staying this way till daylight, I was in a very bad
temper just now."

'* And when people are in a bad temper they don't
think of anything," answered little Marie.

" And are you never bad-tempered? "

" No, never; what is the good of it? "

''Oh, of course, there is no good; but how can
you help it when you have troubles? Yet Heaven
knows that you have not lacked them, my little
girl; for you have not always been happy."

" It is true that my mother and 1 have suffered.
We have had sorrows, but we have never lost
heart."

'' I should never lose heart, no matter how hard
my work was," said Germain, "but poverty would
make me very sad ; for I have never wanted for
anything. My wife made me rich, and I am rich
still; I shall be so as long as I work on the farm; and
that will be always, I hope. But everybody must
suffer his share ! I have suffered in another way."

7»

THE DEVIL'S POOL

Yes ; you have lost your wife. That is very
sad."

*Msn'tit?"

" Oh ! Germain, 1 have wept for her many a time.
She was so very kind ! But don't let us talk about
her longer, for I shall burst out crying. All my
troubles are ready to come back to me to-day."

'Mt is true, she loved you dearly, little Marie. She
used to make a great deal of you and your mother.
Are you crying? Come, my girl, I don't want to
cry. ..."

" But you are crying, Germain ! You are crying
as hard as I. Why should a man be ashamed to
weep for his wife? Don't let me trouble you.
That sorrow is mine as well as yours."

" You have a kind heart, Marie, and it does me
good to weep with you. Put your feet nearer the
fire; your skirts are all soaked, too, poor little girl.
I am going to take your place by the boy. You
move nearer the fire."

** I am hot enough," said Marie; ** and if you wish
to sit down, take a comer of the cloak. I am per-
fectly comfortable."

*' The truth is that it is not so bad here," said Ger-
main, as he sat down beside her. "Only I feel very

THE DEVIL'S POOL

hungry again. It is almost nine o'clock, and I have
had such hard work in walking over these vile roads
that I feel quite tired out. Are you not hungry, too,
little Marie?"

** I ? — not at all. I am not accustomed like you to
four meals a day, and I have been to bed so often
without my supper that once more does not trouble
me."

'* A woman like you is very convenient; she costs
nothing," said Germain, smiling.

** I am not a woman," exclaimed Marie, naYvely,
without perceiving the direction the husbandman's
ideas had taken. ** Are you dreaming ? "

** Yes, I believe I must be dreaming," answered
Germain. '* Perhaps hunger is making my mind
wander."

** How greedy you are," answered she, brighten-
ing in her turn. "Well, if you can't live five or six
hours without eating, have you not game in your
bag and fire to cook it ? "

** By Jove, that 's a good idea! But how about the
present to my future father-in-law ? "

** You have six partridges and a hare ! I sup-
pose you do not need all of them to satisfy your
appetite.**

THE DEVIL'S POOL

((

But how can we cook them without a spit or
andirons. They will be burned to a dnder ! '*

'* Not at all," said little Marie; " I warrant that I
can cook them for you under the cinders without a
taste of smoke. Have you never caught larks in the
fields, and cooked them between two stones? Oh !
that is true — I keep forgetting that you have never
been a shepherd. Come, pluck the partridge. Not
so hard ! You will tear the skin."

*' You might be plucking the other to show me
how I "

"Then you wish to eat two? What an ogre
you are! They are all plucked. I am going to cook
them."

" You would make a perfect little sutler's girl,
Marie, but unhappily you have no canteen, and I
shall have to drink water from this pool ! "

" You would like some wine, would you not?
Possibly you might prefer coffee. You imagine
yourself under the trees at the fair. Call out the
host. Some wine for the good husbandman of
Belair ! "

" You little witch, you are making fim of me!
Would not you drink some wine if you had it?"

*M? At Mother Rebec's, with you to-night, I

THE DEVIL'S POOL

drank some for the second time in my life. But if
you are very good, I shall give you a bottle almost
full, and excellent too."

" What? Marie, I verily believe you are a witch ! "

"Were you not foolish enough to ask for two
bottles of wine at the inn? You and your boy
drank one, and the other you set before me. I
hardly drank three drops, yet you paid for both
without looking."

"What then?"

** Why, I put the full one in my basket, because I
thought that you or your child would be thirsty on
the journey. And here it is."

"You are the most thoughtful girl I have ever
met. Although the poor child was crying when we
left the inn, that did not prevent her from thinking
of others more than of herself. Little Marie, the
man who marries you will be no fool."

"I hope not, for I am not fond of fools. Come,
eat up your partridges; they are done to a turn; and
for want of bread, you must be satisfied with chest-
nuts."

"Where the deuce did you find chestnuts,
too?"

" It is extraordinary! All along the road I picked

THE DEVIL'S POOL

them off the branches as we went along, and filled
my pockets."

'* And are they cooked, too ? "

" Where would my wits have been had I not had
sense enough to put the chestnuts in the fire as soon
as it was lighted ? That is the way we always do
in the fields."

'' So we are going to take supper together, little
Marie. 1 want to drink your health and wish you a
good husband, just the sort of a man that will suit
you. Tell me what kind you want."

'* I should find that very difficult, Germain, for I
have not thought about it yet."

"What, not at all? Never?" said Germain, as
he began to eat with a laborer's appetite, yet stop-
ping to cut off the more tender morsels for his com-
panion, who persisted in refusing them and contented
herself with a few chestnuts.

"Tell me, little Marie," he went on, seeing that
she had no intention of answering him, " have you
never thought of marrying? Yet you are old
enough?"

" Perhaps," she said, "but I am too poor. 1 need
at least a hundred crowns to marry, and I must
work five or six years to scrape them together."

THE DEVIUS POOL

"Poor girl, I wish Father Maurice were willing
to give me a hundred crowns to make you a pres-
ent of."

"Thank you kindly, Germain. What do you
suppose people would say of me ? "

" What do you wish them to say of you ? They
know very well that I am too old to marry you.
They would never believe that I — that you — "

" Look, Germain, your child is waking up," said
little Marie.

N ^ VIII

The Evening Prayer

PETIT-PIERRE had raised his head and was
looking about him with a thoughtful air.
** Oh, that is the way he always does, whenever
he hears the sound of eating," said Germain. '* The
explosion of a cannon would not rouse him, but if
you work your jaws near him, he opens his eyes at

once."

" You must have been just like him at his age,"
said little Marie, with a sly smile. **See! my Petit-
Pierre, you are looking for your canopy. • To-night it
is made all of green, my child; but your father eats his
supper none the less. Do you wish to sup with him?
I have not eaten your share ; I thought that you
might claim it."

** Marie, I wish you to eat," cried the husband-
man; *M shall not touch another morsel. I am a

THE DEVIL'S POOL

greedy glutton. You are depriving yourself for our
sake. It is not fair. I am ashamed. It takes away
all my appetite. I will not have my son eat his sup-
per unless you take some too."

"Leave us alone," said little Marie; "you have
not the key to our appetites. Mine is tight shut
to-day, but your Pierre's is as wide open as a little
wolfs. Just see how he seizes his food. He will be
a strong workman too, some day ! "

In truth, Petit-Pierre showed very soon whose son
he was, and though scarcely awake and wholly at a
loss to know where he was and how he had come
there, he began to eat ravenously. As soon as his
hunger was appeased, feeling excited as children do
who break loose from their wonted habits, he had
more wit, more curiosity, and more good sense than
usual. He made them explain to him where he was,
and when he found that he was in the midst of a
forest, he grew a little frightened.

'* Are there wicked beasts in this forest? " he de-
manded of his father.

'* No, none at all. Don't be afraid."

"Then you told a story when you said that if
1 went with you into the great forest, the wolves
would carry me off."

THE DEVIL'S POOL

"Just see this logician," said Germain, embar-
rassed.

" He is right," replied little Marie. " That is what
you told him. He has a good memory, and has not
forgotten. But, little Pierre, you must learn that
your father never tells a story. We passed through
the big forest whilst you were sleeping, and now we
are in the small forest where there are no wicked
beasts."

"Is the little forest very far away from the big
one ? "

** Far enough; besides, the wolves never go out
of the big forest. And then, if some of them
should come here, your father would kill them."

" And you too, little Marie ? "

" Yes, we, too, for you would help also, my Pierre.
You are not frightened, are you ? You would beat
^\^ them soundly?"

y / " Yes, indeed, I would," said the child, proudly, as

he struck a heroic attitude; "we would kill them."

" There is nobody like you for talking to children
and for making them listen to reason," said Ger-
main to little Marie. " To be sure, it is not long ago
since you were a small child yourself, and you have
not forgotten what your mother used to say to you.

THE DEVIL'S POOL

I believe that the younger one is, the better one gets
on with children. I am very much afraid that a
woman of thirty who does not yet know what it is
to be a mother, would find it hard to prattle to chil-
dren and reason with them."

"Why, Germain? I don't know why you have
such a bad idea of this woman; you will change
your mind."

" The devil take the woman ! " exclaimed Germain.
" I wish I were going away fi-om her forever. What
do I want of a wife whom I don't know ? "

"Little father," said the child, "why is it that
you speak so much of your wife to-day, since she is
dead ? "

"Then you have not forgotten your poor, dear
mother?"

"No; for I saw her placed in a beautiful box of
white wood, and my grandmother led me up to her
to kiss her and say good-by. She was very white
and very stiff, and every evening my aunt made me
pray God that she might go to him in Heaven and
be warm. Do you think that she is there now ? '*

" I hope so, my child; but you must always pray.
It shows your mother that you love her."

" I am going to say my prayers," answered the
6 8i

THE DEVIL'S POOL

boy. "I forgot them to-night. But I can't say
them all alone, for I always forget something. Little
Marie must help me."

" Yes, my Pierre, I will help you," said the young
girl. "Come and kneel down in my lap."

The child knelt down on the girl's skirt. He
clasped his little hands and began to say his prayers,
at first with great care and earnestness, for he knew
the beginning very well, then slowly and with more
hesitation, and finally repeating word by word after
Marie, when he came to that place in his prayer
where sleep overtook him so invariably that he had
never been able to learn the end. This time again
the effort of close attention and the monotony of his
own accent produced their wonted effect. He pro-
nounced the last syllables with great difficulty, and
only after they were thrice repeated.

His head grew heavy and fell on Marie's breast;
his hands unclasped, divided, and fell open on his
knees. By the light of the camp-fire, Germain
watched his little darling hushed at the heart of
the young girl, who, as she held him in her arms
and warmed his fair hair with her sweet breath,
had herself fallen into a holy reverie, and prayed in
quiet for the soul of Catherine.

THE DEVIL'S POOL

Germain was touched. He tried to express to
little Marie the grateful esteem which he felt for
her, but he could find no fitting words.

He approached her to kiss his son, whom she held
close to her breast, and he could scarcely raise his
lips from little Pierre's brow.

** You kiss too hard," said Marie, gently pushing
away the husbandman's head. ''You will wake
him. Let me put him back to bed, for the boy has
left us already for dreams of paradise."

The child allowed Marie to lay him down, but feel-
ing the goatskin on the saddle, he asked if he were
on the gray. Then opening his big blue eyes, and
keeping them fixed on the branches for a minute, he
seemed to be dreaming, wide-awake as he was, or
to be struck with an idea which had slipped his mind
during the daytime, and only assumed a distinct form
at the approach of sleep.

*' Little father," said he, " if you wish to give me
a new mother, I hope it will be little Marie."

And without waiting for an answer, he closed his
eyes and slept.

Despite the Cold

LITTLE MARIE seemed to give no more heed to
^ the child's odd words than to regard them as
a proof of friendship. She wrapped him up with
care, stirred the fire, and as the fog resting on the
neighboring pool gave no sign of lifting, she advised
Germain to lie near the fire and take a nap.

" I see that you are sleepy already," said she, " for
you don't say a word and you gaze into the fire, just
as your little boy was doing."

'Mt is you who must sleep," answered the hus-
bandman, " and I will take care of both of you, for
I have never felt less sleepy than I do now. I have
fifty things to think of."

" Fifty is a great many," said the little girl, with a
mocking accent. "There are lots of people who
would be delighted to have one."

"Well, if I am too stupid to have fifty, I have

THE DEVIL»S POOL

one, at least, which has not left me for the past
hour."

'' And I shall tell it to you as well as I told you
those you thought of before."

" Yes, do tell me if you know, Marie. Tell me
yourself. I shall be glad to hear."

"An hour ago," she answered, "your idea was
to eat — and now it is to sleep."

"Marie, I am only an ox-driver, but, upon my
word, you take me for an ox. You are very per-
verse, and it is easy to see that you do not care to
talk to me, so go to sleep. That will be better than
to pick flaws in a man who is out of sorts."

" If you wish to talk, let *s talk," said the girl,
half reclining near the child and resting her head
against the saddle. "You torment yourself, Ger-
main, and you do not show much courage for a man.
What would n*t I say if I did n*t do my best to fight
my own troubles?"

" Yes, that *s very true, and that *s just what I am
thinking of, my poor child. You are going to live,
away from your friends, in a horrid country frill of
moors and fens, where you will catch the autumn
fevers. Sheep do not pay well there, and this is al-
ways discouraging for a shepherdess if she means
6* 85

THE DEVIL»S POOL

well. Then you will be surrounded by strangers
v^ho may not be kind to you and will not know how
much you are worth. It makes me more sorry than
I can tell you, and I have a great desire to take you
home to your mother instead of going on to
Fourche."

" You talk very kindly, but there is no reason for
your misgivings, my poor Germain. You ought not
to lose heart on your friend's account, and instead of
showing me the dark side of my lot, you should
show me the bright side, as you did after lunch at
Rebec's."

"What can I do? That *s the way it appeared
to me then, and now my ideas are changed. It is
best for you to take a husband."

" That cannot be, Germain, and as it is out of the
question, I think no more about it."

** Yet such a thing might happen. Perhaps if you
told me what kind of a man you want, I might
imagine somebody."

" Imagining is not finding. For myself, I never
imagine, for it does no good."

" You are not looking for a rich man ? "

** Certainly not, for I am as poor as Job."

** But if he were comfortably off, you would n't

THE DEVIL»S POOL

be sorry to have a good house, and good food, and
good clothes, and to live with an honest family who
would allow you to help your mother."

** Oh, yes indeed! It is my own wish to help my
mother."

" And if this man were to turn up, you would not
be too hard to please, even if he were not so very
young."

"Ah! There you must excuse me, Germain.
That is just the point I insist on. I could never love
an old man."

** An old man, of course not ; but a man of my
age, for example! "

" Your age is too old for me, Germain. I should
like Bastien's age, though Bastien is not so good-
looking as you."

"Should you rather have Bastien, the swine-
herd?" said Germain, indignantly. " A fellow with
eyes shaped like those of the pigs he drives! "

" I could excuse his eyes, because he is eighteen."

Germain felt terribly jealous.

"Well," said he, " it 's clear that you want Bas-
tien, but, none the less, it ^s a queer idea."

" Yes, that would be a queer idea," answered little
Marie, bursting into sfiouts of laughter, " and he

THE DEVIUS POOL

would make a queer husband. You could gull him
to your hearths content. For instance, the other day,
I had picked up a tomato in the curate's garden. I
told him that it was a fine, red apple, and he bit into
it like a glutton. If you had only seen what a face
he made. Heavens! how ugly he was! "

'' Then you don't love him, since you are making
fun of him."

" That would nt be a reason. But 1 don't like
him. He is unkind to his little sister, and he is
dirty."
'* Don't you care for anybody else ? "
" How does that concern you, Germain ? "
'* Not at all, except that it gives me something to
talk about. I see very well, little girl, that you have
a sweetheart irfyour mind already."

" No, Germain, you 're wrong. I have no sweet-
heart yet. Perhaps one may come later, but since I
cannot marry until I have something laid by, 1
am destined to marry late in life and with an old
man."

Then take an old man without delay."
No. When I am no longer young, I shall not
care; for the present, it is different."
"I see that I displease you, Marie; that's clear

THE DEVIL»S POOL

enough," said Germain, impatiently, and without
stopping to weigh his words.

Little Marie did not answer. Germain bent over
her. She was sleeping. She had fallen back, over-
come, stricken down, as it were, by slumber, as chil-
dren are who sleep before they cease to babble.

Germain was glad that she had not caught his last
words. He felt that they were unwise, and he
turned his back to distract his attention and change
his thoughts.

It was all in vain. He could neither sleep nor
think of anything except the words he had just
spoken. He walked about the fire twenty times;
he moved away; he came back. At last, feeling
himself tremble as though he had swallowed gun-
powder, he leaned against the tree which sheltered
the two children, and watched them as they slept.

**I know not how it is," thought he; "I have
never noticed that little Marie is the prettiest girl in
the countryside. She has not much color, but her
little face is fresh as a wild rose. What a charming
mouth she has, and how pretty her little nose is! She
is not large for her age, but she is formed like a little
quail and is as light as a bird. I cannot understand
why they made so much fuss at home over a big, fat

THE DEVIUS POOL

woman with a bright red face. My wife was rather
slender and pale, and she pleased me more than any
one else. This girl is very frail, but she is healthy,
and she is pretty to watch as a white kid. And then
she has such a gentle, frank expression. You can
read her good heart in her eyes even though they are
closed in sleep. As to wit, I must confess she has
more than ever my dear Catherine had, and she
would never become wearisome. She is gay, wise,
industrious, loving, and she is amusing. I don't
know what more I could wish for. . . .

**But what is the use of thinking of all this?"
Germain went on, trying to look in another direc-
tion. " My father-in-law would not hear of it, and
all the family would think me mad! Besides, she
would not have me herself, poor child f She thinks
me too old; she told me so. She is unselfish, and
does not mind poverty and worry, wearing old
clothes, and suffering from hunger for two or three
months every year, so long as she can satisfy her
heart some day and give herself to the man she
loves. She is right. I should do the same in her
place, and even now, if I had my own way, instead
of marrying a wife whom I donH care for, I would
choose a girl after my own heart."

The more Germain tried to compose himself by

l^/A/ViAd^'^ ^h^^

THE DEVIUS POOL

reasoning, the further he was from succeeding. He
walked away a dozen steps, to lose himself in the
fog ; then, all of a sudden, he found himself on
his knees beside the two sleeping children. Once
he wished to kiss Petit-Pierre, who had one arm
about Marie's neck, and made such a mistake that
Marie felt a breath, hot as fire, cross her lips, and
awaking, looked about her with a bewildered ex-
pression, totally ignorant of all that was passing
within his mind.

" I did n't see you, my poor children," said Ger-
main, retreating rapidly. '' I almost stumbled over
you and hurt you."

Little Marie was so innocent that she believed
him, and fell asleep again. Germain walked to the
opposite side of the fire, and swore to God that he
would not stir until she had waked. He kept his
word, but not without a struggle. He thought that
he would go mad.

At length, toward midnight, the fog lifted, and
Germain could see the stars shining through the
trees. The moon freed herself from the mist which
had hidden her, and began to sow her diamonds
over the damp moss. The trunks of the oak-trees
remained in impressive darkness, but beyond, the
white branches of the birch-trees seemed a long

9«

THE DEVIL'S POOL

line of phantoms in their shrouds. The fire cast
its reflection in the pool; and the firogs, growing
accustomed to the light, hazarded a few shrill and
uneasy notes; the rugged branches of the old trees,
bristling with dim-colored lichens, crossed and in-
tertwined themselves, like great gaunt arms, above
the travelers* heads. It was a lovely spot, but so
lonely and so sad that Germain, unable to endure it
more, began to sing and throw stones into the
water to forget the dread weariness of solitude.
He was anxious also to wake little Marie, and when
he saw her rise and look about at the weather, he
proposed that they start on their journey.

" In two hours," said he, " the approach of mov-
ing will chill the air so that we can't stay here in
spite of our fire. Now we can see our way, and we
shall soon find a house which will open its doors to
us, or at least a bam where we can pass the rest of
the night under shelter."

Marie had no will of her own, and although she
was longing to sleep, she made ready to follow Ger-
main. The husbandman took his boy in his arms
without awaking him, and beckoned Marie to come
nearer, in order to cover her with his cloak. For
she would not take her own mantle, which was
wrapped about the child.

THE DEVIUS POOL

When he felt the young girl so close to him, Ger-
main, who for a time had succeeded in distracting
his mind and raising his spirits, began to lose his
head once more. Two or three times he strode
ahead abruptly, leaving her to walk alone. Then
seeing how hard it was for her to follow, he waited,
drew her quickly to his side, and pressed her so tight
that she was surprised, and even angry, though she
dared not say so.

As they knew not the direction whence they had
come, they had no idea of that in which they
were going. So they crossed the wood once more,
and found themselves afresh before the lonely moor.
Then they retraced their steps, and after much turn-
ing and twisting they spied a light across the
branches.

"Good enough! Here *s a house," exclaimed Ger-
main. ** And the people are already astir, for the
fire is lighted. It must be very late."

It was no house, but the camp-fire, which they
had covered before they left, and which had sprung
up in the breeze.

They had tramped for two hours, only to find
themselves at the very place from which they had
started.

Beneath the Stars

HIS time I give up/' said Germain, stamping
his foot. " We are bewitched, that is cer-
tain, and we shall not get away from here before
broad day. The devil is in this place! "

** Well, it 's of no use to get angry," said Marie.
** We must take what is given us. Let us make a
big fire. The child is so well wrapped up that he is in
no danger, and we shall not die fi'om a single night
out of doors. Where have you hidden the saddle,
Germain ? Right in the midst of the holly-bushes, —
what a goose you are! It 's very convenient to get
it from there!"

'' Stop, child ; hold the boy while I pull his bed
from the thorns. I did n*t want you to saatch your
hands."

"It 's all done. Here *s the bed, and a few
scratches are not saber-cuts," replied the brave girl.

THE DEVIUS POOL

She proceeded to put the child to bed again, and
Petit-Pierre was so sound asleep this time that he
knew nothing of his last journey. Germain piled
so much wood on the fire that the forest all about
glowed with the light.

Little Marie had come to the end of her powers,
and although she did not complain, her legs would
support her no longer. She was white, and her
teeth chattered with cold and weakness. Germain
took her in his arms to warm her. The uneasiness,
the compassion, the tenderness of movement he
could not repress, took possession of his heart and
stilled his senses. As by a miracle his tongue was
loosened, and every feeling of shame vanished.

** Marie," said he, "I like you, and I am very
sorry that you don't like me. If you would take
me for your husband, there are no fathers, nor
family, nor neighbors, nor arguments which could
prevent me from giving myself to you. I know
how happy you would make my children, and
that you would teach them to love the memory
of their mother, and with a quiet conscience I
could satisfy the wishes of my heart. I have al-
ways been fond of you, and now I love you so well
that were you to ask me to spend all my life in do-

THE DEVIUS POOL

ing your pleasure, I would swear to do it on the
instant. Please think how much I love you, and
try to forget my age. Think that it is a wrong no-
tion to believe that a man of thirty is old. Besides,
I am but twenty-eight/ A young girl is afraid that
people will talk about her if she takes a man ten or
twelve years older than she, simply because that is
not the custom in our country, but I have heard say
that in other countries people don't look at it in this
light, and that they had rather allow a sensible man
of approved courage to support a young girl, than
trust her to a mere boy, who may go astray, and,
from the honest fellow they thought him, turn into
a good-for-nothing. And then years don't always
make age. That depends on the health and strength
a person has. When i. man is used up by overwork
and poverty, or by a bad life, he is old before twenty-
five. While I — but Marie, you are not listening. ..."
** Yes I am, Germain; I hear you perfectly," an-
swered little Marie, '^ but I am thinking over what
my mother used to tell me so often : that a woman
of sixty is to be pitied greatly when her husband is
seventy or seventy-five and can no longer work to
support her. He grows feeble, and it becomes her
duty to nurse him at the very age when she begins

THE DEVIUS POOL

to feel great need of care and rest herself, and so it
is that the end comes in a garret."

'* Parents do well to say so, I admit," answered
Germain, "but then they would sacrifice all their
youth, the best years of their life, to calculating
what will become of them at the age when a person
is no longer good for anything, and when it is a
matter of indifference which way death comes. But
I am in no danger of starving in my old age. I am
even going to lay by something, since I live with my
wife's parents and spend nothing. And then, you
see, I shall love you so well that I can never grow
old. They say that when a man is happy he keeps
sound, and I know well that in love for you, I am
younger than Bastien; for he does not love you; he
is too stupid, too much of a child to understand how
pretty and how good you are, and how you were
made for people to court. Do not hate me, Marie.
I am not a bad man. I made my Catherine happy,
and on her death-bed she swore before God that she
had had only happiness of me, and she asked me to
marry again. Her spirit must have spoken to her
child to-night. Did you not hear the words he
said ? How his little lips quivered as his eyes stared
upward, watching something that we could not see!
7 97

THE DEVIL'S POOL

He was surely looking at his mother, and it was she
who made him say that he wished you to take her
place."

''Germain," answered Marie, amazed and yet
thoughtful, "you speak fi-ankly, and everything that
you say is true. I am sure that I should do well to
love you if it did not displease your parents too
much. But what can I do? My heart does not
speak for you. I am very fond of you, but though
your age does not make you ugly, it makes me
afraid. It seems as if you were some such relation
to me, as an uncle or a godfather, that I must be re-
spectful toward you, and that there might be mo-
ments when you would treat me like a little girl
rather than like your wife and your equal. And
perhaps my friends would make fun of me, and al-
though it would be silly to give heed to that, I
think that I should be a little sad on my wedding-
day."

*' Those are but childish reasons, Marie; you speak
like a child."

** Yes, that is true ; I am a child," said she, " and
it is on that account I am afraid of too sensible a
man. You must see that I am too young for you,
since you just found fault with me for speaking

THE DEVIL»S POOL

foolishly. I can't have more sense than my age
allows."

" O Heavens! How unlucky I am to be so clumsy
and to express so ill what I think! " cried Germain.
"Marie, you don't love me. That is the long and
short of it. You find me too simple and too dull.
If you loved me at all, you would not see my faults
so clearly. But you do not love me. That is the
whole story."

** That is not my fault," answered she, a little hurt
that he was speaking with less tenderness. *M am
doing my best to hear you, but the more I try the
less I can get it into my head that we ought to be
husband and wife."

Germain did not answer. His head dropped into
his hands, and little Marie could not tell whether he
wept or sulked or was fast asleep. She felt uneasy
when she saw him so cast down, and could not
guess what was passing in his mind. But she dared
not speak to him more, and as she was too as-
tonished at what had passed to have any desire to
sleep, she waited impatiently for dawn, tending the
fire with care and watching over the child, whose
existence Germain appeared to forget. Yet Germain
was not asleep. He did not mope over his lot. He

99 ^ ^

7 v> J

THE DEVIL'S POOL

made no plans to encourage himself, nor sd»mes
to entrap the girL He suffered ; he istt m great
we^^ of grief at his heart. He wishei ^tiiat he
were dead. The world seemed to turn against
him, and if he could have wept at all, his tears
would have come in floods. But mingled with
his sorrow then was a feeling of anger i^ainst him-
self^ and he felt dtiaksd, without the power or the
wish to complain.

When morning came, and the sounds of the
country brought it to Germain's senses, he lifted his
head from his hands and rose. He saw that little
Marie had slept no more tiian he, but he knew no
words in which to tell her of his anxiety. He was
very discouraged. Hiding tiie gray's saddle once
more in the thidoet, he siung lus sack over his
shoulder and took his son by the hand.

** Now, Marie," said he, "we are going to try to
end our journey* Do yon wish me to take you to
Ormeaux?"

Let us leave file woods together," answered ^e,

and when we know ¥^here we are, we shall sep-
arate, and go our d^erent wa3rs."

Germain did not answer. He felt hurt that the
girl ctid not ask him to take her as tk as Ormeaux,

100

THE DEVIL'S POOL \ V v

\v ^,

and he did not notice that he had asked her in a tone
well fitted to provoke a refusal.

After a few hundred steps, they met a wood-cutter,
who pointed out the highroad, and told them that
when they had crossed the plain, one must turn to
the right, the other to the left, to gain their different
destinations, which were so near together that the
houses of Fourche were in plain sight from the farm
of Ormeaux, and vice versa.

When they had thanked him and passed on, the
wood-cutter called them back to ask whether they
had not lost a horse.

" Yes," he said, " I found a pretty gray mare in
my yard, where perhaps a wolf had driven her to
seek refuge; my dogs barked the whole n^ht long,
and at daybreak I saw the mare under my shed.
She is there now. Come along with me, and if you
recognize her, you may take her."

When Germain had given a description of the
gray, and felt convinced that it was really she, he
started back to find his saddle. Little Marie offered
to take his child to Ormeaux, whither he might
go to get him after he had introduced himself at
Fourche.

He is rather dirty after the n^ht that we have

7* lOI

THE DEVIL»S POOL

passed," said she. '* I will brush his clothes, wash
his pretty face, and comb his hair^ and when he
looks neat and clean, you can present him to your
new family."

*' Who told you that I wish to go to Fourche?"
answered Germain, petulantly. " Perhaps I shall
not go."

" But truly, Germain, it is your duty to go there.
You will go there," replied the girl.

** You seem very anxious to have me married off,
so that you may be quite sure that I shall not
trouble you again?"

" Germain, you must not think of that any more.
It is an idea which came to you in the night, be-
cause this unfortunate mishap took away your spirits.
But now you must come to your senses. I promise
you to forget everything that you said to me, and
not to breathe it to a soul."

**0h, say what you wish. It is not my custom
to deny what I have spoken. What I told you was
true and honest, and I shall not blush for it before
anybody."

** Yes, but if your wife were to know that just
before you came you were thinking of another
woman, it would prejudice her against you. So

103

THE DEVIUS POOL

take care how you speak now. Don't look at me
before everybody with such a rapt expression.
Think of Father Maurice, who relies on your obedi-
ence, and who would be enraged at me if I were to
turn you from his will. Good-by, Germain. I take
Petit-Pierre in order to force you to go to Fourche.
He is a pledge which I keep on your behalf."

" So you want to go with her ? " said the husband-
man to his son, seeing that the boy had clasped
Marie's hands and was following her resolutely.

" Yes, father," answered the child, who had heard
the conversation and understood after his own fash-
ion the words spoken so unguardedly before him.
'M am going away with my dearest little Marie.
You shall come to find me when you have done
marrying, but 1 wish Marie to be my little mother."

** You see how much he wishes it," said Germain
to the girl. " Listen to me. Petit- Pierre," he added.
" I wish her to be your mother and to stay with you
always. It is she who does not wish to. Try to
make her grant you what she has denied me."

" Don't be afraid, father, I shall make her say yes.
Little Marie does everything that I wish."

He walked away with the young girl. Germain
stood alone, sadder and more irresolute than ever.

103

The Belle op the Village

AND after all, when he had brushed the dust
^ of travel from his clothes and from his
horse's harness, when he had mounted the gray,
and when he had learned the road, he felt that
there was no retreat and that he must forget that
anxious night as though it had been a dangerous
dream.

He found Father Leonard seated on a trim bench
of spinach-green. The six stone steps leading up to
the door showed that the house had a cellar. The
walls of the garden and of the hemp-field were
plastered with lime and sand. It was a handsome
house, and might almost have been mistaken for the
dwelling of a bourgeois.

Germain's future father-in-law came forward to
meet him, and having plied him, for five minutes,
with questions concerning his entire family, he added

104

THE DEVIL'S POOL

that conventional phrase with which one passer-by
addresses another concerning the object of his jour-
ney: "So you are taking a little trip in this part of
the country?"

** I have come to see you," replied the husband-
man, " to give you this little present of game with
my father's compliments, and to tell you from him
that you ought to know with what intentions I
come to your house."

"Oh, ho!" said Father Leonard, laughing and
tapping his capacious stomach, " I see, I understand,
I am with you, and," he added with a wink, ** you
will not be the only one to pay your court, young
man. There are three already in the house dancing
attendance like you. I never turn anybody away,
and I should find it hard to say yes or no to any of
them, for they are all good matches. Yet, on ac-
count of Father Maurice and for the sake of the
rich fields you till, I hope that it may be you.
But my daughter is of age and mistress of her
own affairs. She will do as she likes. Go in and
introduce yourself. I hope that you will draw the
prize."

** 1 beg your pardon," answered Germain, amazed
to find himself an extra when he had counted on be-

105

THE DEVIUS POOL

ing alone in the field. " I was not aware that your
daughter was supplied already with suitors, and I
did not come to quarrel over her."

" If you supposed that because you were slow in
coming, my daughter would be left unprovided for,
you were greatly mistaken, my son," replied Father
Leonard with unshaken good humor. '' Catherine has
the wherewithal to attract suitors, and her only
difficulty lies in choosing. But come in; don't lose
heart. The woman Is worth, a struggle."

And pushing in Germain by the shoulders with
boisterous gaiety, he called to his daughter as they
entered the house:

"So, Catherine, here is another! "

This cordial but unmannerly method of introduc-
tion to the widow, in the presence of her other devo-
tees, completed Germain's distress and embarrass-
ment. He felt the awkwardness of his position, and
stood for a few moments without daring to look
upon the beauty and her court.

The Widow Guerin had a good figure and did not
lack freshness, but her expression and her dress dis-
pleased Germain the instant he saw her. She had
a bold, self-satisfied look, and her cap, edged with
three lace flounces, her silk apron, and her fichu of

io6

THE DEVIL'S POOL

fine black lace were little in accord with the staid
and sober widow he had pictured to himself.

Her elaborate dress and forward manners inclined
Germain to judge the widow old and ugly, although
she was certainly not either. He thought that such
finery and playful manners might well suit little
Marie's years and wit, but that the widow's fun
was labored and over bold, and that she wore her
fine clothes in bad taste.

The three suitors were seated at a table loaded
with wines and meats which were spread out for
their use throughout the Sunday morning; for Father
Leonard liked to show off his wealth, and the
widow was not sorry to display her pretty china
and keep a table like a rich lady. Germain, simple
and unsuspecting as he was, watched everything
with a penetrating glance, and for the first time in
his life he kept on the defensive when he drank.
Father Leonard obliged him to sit down with his
rivals, and taking a chair opposite he treated him
with great politeness, and talked to him rather than
to the others.

The present of game, despite the breach Germain
had made on his own account, was still plenteous
enough to produce its effect. The widow did not

107

THE DEVIL'S POOL

look unaware of its presence, and the suitors cast
disdainful glances in its direction.

Germain felt ill at ease in this company, and did
not eat heartily. Father Leonard poked fun at him.

" You look very melancholy," said he, *' and you
are ill-using your glass. You must not allow love to
spoil your appetite, for a fasting lover can make no
such pretty speeches as he whose ideas are bright-
ened with a drop of wine."

Germain was mortified at being thought already
in love, and the artificial manner of the widow, who
kept lowering her eyes with a smile as a woman
does who is sure of her calculations, made him long
to protest against his pretended surrender; but fear-
ing to appear uncivil, he smiled and held his peace.

He thought the widow's beaus, three bumpkins.
They must have been rich for her to admit of their
pretensions. One was over forty, and fat as Father
Leonard; another had lost an eye, and drank like a
sot. The third was a young fellow, and nice-looking
too; but he kept insisting on displaying his wit, and
would say things so silly that they were painful to
hear. Yet the widow laughed as though she ad-
mired all his foolishness, and made small proof of
her good taste thereby. At first Germain thought

io8

THE DEVIL'S POOL

her infatuated with him, but soon he perceived that
he himself was especially encouraged, and that they
wished him to make fresh advances. For this reason
he felt an increasing stiffness and severity which he
took no pains to conceaL

The time came for mass, and they rose from table
to go thither in company. It was necessary to
walk as far as Mers, a good half-league away, and
Germain was so tired that he longed to take a nap
before they went; but he was not in the habit of
missing mass, and he started with the others.

The roads were filled with people, and the widow
marched proudly along, escorted by her three suitors,
taking an arm, first of one and then of another, and
carrying her head high with an air of importance.
She was eager to display the fourth to the eyes of
the passers-by ; but Germain felt so ridiculous to be
dragged along in the train of a petticoat where all
the world might see, that he kept at a respectable
distance, chatting with Father Leonard, and suc-
ceeded in occupying his attention so well that they
did not look at all as if they belonged to the party.

109

XII
Thb Master

WHEN they reached the village, the widow
halted to allow them to catch up. She
was bent upon making her entry with all her train;
but Germain, denying her this pleasure, deserted
Father Leonard, and after conversing with several
acquaintances, he entered the church by another
door. The widow was vexed.

When mass was over, she made her appearance in
triumph on the lawn, where dancing was going on,
and she began her dance with her three lovers in
turn. Germain watched her and saw that she
danced well, but with affectation.

*' So, you don't ask my daughter? ** said Leonard,
tapping him on the shoulder. '' You are too easily
frightened."

"1 have not danced since I lost my wife," an-
swered the husbandman.

THE DEVIUS POOL

** But now that you are looking for another,
mourning *s over in heart as well as in clothes."

" That *s no reason, Father Leonard. Besides, I
am too old and I don't care for dancing."

*' Listen," said Father Leonard, drawing him toward
a retired comer, ** when you entered my house you
were vexed to see the place already besieged, and I
see that you are very proud. But that is not reason-
able, my boy. My daughter is used to a great deal
of attention, particularly since she left off her mourn-
ing two years ago, and it is not her place to lead
you on."

** Has your daughter been thinking of marrying
for two years already without making her choice ? "
asked Germain.

** She does n*t wish to hurry, and she is right. Al-
though she has lively manners, and although you
may not think that she reflects a great deal, she is a
woman of excellent common sense, and knows very
well what she is about."

" It does not appear to me so," said Germain in-
genuously, " for she has three suitors in her train, and
if she knew her own mind, there are two of them,
at least, whom she would find superfluous and re-
quest to stay at home."

Ill

THE DEVIUS POOL

Why, Germain,' you don't understand at all.
She does n't wish the old man, nor the blind man,
nor the young man, I am quite certain; yet if she
were to turn them off, people would think that she
wished to remain a widow, and nobody else would

come."

Oh, I see. These three are used for a guide-
post."

" As you like. What is the harm if they arc
satisfied ? "

'* Every man to his taste," said Germain.

'M see that yours is different. Now supposing
that you are chosen, then they would leave the
coast clear."

" Yes, supposing! and meanwhile how much time
should I have to whistle ? "

'' That depends on your persuasive tongue, I sup-
pose. Until now, my daughter has always thought
that she would pass the best part of her life while
she was being courted, and she is in no hurry to be-
come the servant of one man when she can order so
many others about. So she will please herself as
long as the game amuses her ; but if you please her
more than the game, the game will cease. Only
you must not lose courage. Come back every Sun-

112

THE DEVIL^S POOL

day, dance with her, let her know that you are
amongst her followers, and if she finds you more
agreeable and better bred than the others, some fine
day she will tell you so, no doubt."

** Excuse me, Father Leonard. Your daughter has
the right to do as she pleases, and it is not my busi-
ness to blame her. If I were in her place, I should
do differently. I should be more frank, and should
not waste the time of men who have, doubtless,
something better to do than dancing attendance on a
woman who makes fun of them. Still, if that is
what amuses her and makes her happy, it is no affair
of mine. Only there is one thing I must tell you
which is a little embarrassing, since you have mis-
taken my intentions from the start, for you are so
sure of what is not so, that you have given me no
chance to explain. You must know, then, that I did
not come here to ask for your daughter in marriage,
but merely to buy a pair of oxen which you are going
to take to market next week, and which my father-
in-law thinks will suit him."

** I understand, Germain," answered Leonard very

calmly; ** you changed your plans when you saw my

daughter with her admirers. It is as you please. It

seems that what attracts some people repels others,

8 113

THE DEVIL'S POOL

and you are perfectly welcome to withdraw, for you
have not declared your intentions. If you wish seri-
ously to buy my cattle, come and see them in the
pasture, and whether we make a bargain or not, you
will come back to dinner with us before you return."

** I don't wish to trouble you," answered Ger-
main. ** Perhaps you have something to do here.
I myself am tired of watching the dancing and
standing idle. I will go to see your cattle, and I
will soon join you at your house."

Then Germain made his escape, and walked away
toward the meadows where Leonard had pointed
out to him some of his cattle. It was true that
Father Maurice intended to buy, and Germain thought
that if he were to bring home a fine pair of oxen at
a reasonable price, he might more easily receive a
pardon for wilfully relinquishing the purpose of his
journey. He walked rapidly, and soon found him-
self at some distance from Ormeaux. Then of a
sudden, he felt a desire to kiss his son and to see
little Marie once again, although he had lost all hope
and even had chased away the thought that he
might some day owe his happiness to her. Every-
thing that he had heard and seen: this woman,
flirtatious and vain ; this father, at once shrewd and

114

THE DEVIUS POOL

short-sighted, encouraging his daughter in habits of
pride and untruth ; this city luxury, which seemed to
him a transgression against the dignity of country
manners; this time wasted in foolish, empty words;
this home so different from his own ; and above all,
that deep uneasiness which comes to a laborer of the
fields when he leaves his accustomed toil: all the
trouble and annoyance of the past few hours made
Germain long to be with his child and with his little
neighbor. Even had he not been in love, he would
have sought her to divert his mind and raise his
spirits to their wonted level.

But he looked in vain over the neighboring mea-
dows. He saw neither little Marie nor little Pierre,
and yet it was the hour when shepherds are in the
fields. There was a large flock in a pasture. He
asked of a young boy who tended them whether
the sheep belonged to the farm of Ormeaux. .
Yes," said the child.

Are you the shepherd? Do boys tend the flocks
of the farm, amongst you?"

"No, I am taking care of them to-day, because
the shepherdess went away. She was ill."

" But have you not a new shepherdess, who came
this morning ? "

THE DEVIL'S POOL

Yes, surely; but she, too, has gone already."

" What! gone? Did she not have a child with
her?"

" Yes, a little boy who cried. They both went
away after they had been here two hours."

"Went away! Where?"

" Where they came from, I suppose. I did n*t
ask them."

" But why did they go away?" asked Germain,
growing more and more uneasy.

" How the deuce do I know? "

" Did they not agree about wages? Yet that must
have been settled before."

'* I can tell you nothing about it I saw them
come and go, nothing more."

Germain walked toward the farm and questioned
the farmer. Nobody could give him an explana-
tion; but after speaking with the farmer, he felt sure
that the girl had gone without sa3ring a word, and
had taken the weeping child with her.

'' Can they have been ill-treating my son?" cried
Germain.

'' It was your son, then? How did he happen to
be with the little girl? Where do you come from,
and what is your name?"

THE DEVIL'S POOL

Germain, seeing that after the fashion of the
country they were answering him with ques-
tions, stamped his foot impatiently, and asked to
speak with the master.

The master was away. Usually, he did not spend
the whole day when he came to the farm. He was
on horseback, and he had ridden off to one of his
other farms.

"But, honestly," said Germain, growing very
anxious, "can't you tell me why this girl left?"

The farmer and his wife exchanged an odd smile.
Then the former answered that he knew nothing, and
that it was no business of his. All that Germain
could learn was that both girl and child had started
off toward Fourche. He rushed back to Fourche.
The widow and her lovers were still away; so was
Father Leonard. The maid told him that a girl and
a child had come to ask for him, but that as she did
not know them, she did not wish to let them in, and
had advised them to go to Mers.

" And why did you refuse to let them in?" said
Germain, angrily. ** People are very suspicious in
this country, where nobody opens the door to a
neighbor."

" But you see," answered the maid^ ** in a house
8* 117

THE DEVIL'S POOL

as rich as this, I must keep my eyes open. When
the master is away, I am responsible for everything,
and I cannot open the door to the first person that
comes along/'

'Mt ifr a bad custom/' said Germain, '' and I had
rather be poor than to live in constant fear like
that. Good-by to you, young woman, and good-
by to your vile country."

He made inquiries at the neighboring house. The
shepherdess and child had been seen. As the boy
had left Belair suddenly, carelessly dressed, with his
blouse torn, and his little lambskin over his shoul-
ders, and as little Marie was necessarily poorly
clad at all times, they had been taken for beggars.
People had offered them bread. The girt had ac-
cepted a crust for the child, who was hungry, then
she had walked away with him very quickly, and
had entered the forest.

Germain thought a minute, then he asked whether
the farmer of Ormeaux had not been at Fourche.

** Yes," they answered, " he passed on horseback
a few seconds after the giri."

" Was he chasing her? "

**0h, so you understand?" answered the village
publican, with a laugh. '* Certain it is that he is the

ii8

THE DEVIL»S POOL

devil of a fellow for running after girls. But I don't
believe that he caught her; though, after all, if he
had seen her — "

**That is enough, thank you!" And he flew
rather than ran to Leonard's stable. Throwing the
saddle on the gray's back, he leaped upon it, and set
off at full gallop toward the wood of Chanteloube.

His heart beat hard with fear and anger; the
sweat poured down his forehead; he spurred the
mare till the blood came, though the gray needed
no pressing when she felt herself on the road to
her stable.

XIII
The Old Woman

GERMAIN came soon to the spot where he had
passed the night on the border of the pool.
The fire was smoking still. An old woman was
gathering the remnants of the wood little Marie
had piled there. Germain stopped to question her.
She was deaf and mistook his inquiries.

** Yes, my son," said she, " thk is the Devil's
Pool. It is an evil spot, and you must not approach
it without throwing in three stones with your left
hand, while you ctoss yourself with the right. That
drives away the spirits. Otherwise trouble comes to
those who go around it."

'' I am not asking about that," said Germain,
moving nearer her, and screaming at the top of his
lungs. ** Have you seen a girl and a child walking
through the wood? "

" Yes," said the old woman, "a little child was
drowned there."

120

♦ (

THE DEVIL'S POOL

Germain shook from head to foot ; but happily
the hag added:

** That happened a long time ago. In memory of
the accident they raised a handsome aoss there.
But one stormy night, the bad spirits threw it into
the water. You can still see one end of it. If any-
body were unlucky enough to pass the night here,
he could never find his way out before daylight. He
must walk and walk, and though he went two hun-
dred leagues into the forest, he must always return
to the same place."

The peasant's imagination was aroused in spite of
himself, and the thought of the evils that must come
in order that the old woman's assertions might be
vindicated, took so firm a hold of his mind that he
felt chilled through and through. Hopeless of ob-
taining more news, he remounted, and traversed
the woods afresh, calling Pierre with all his might,
whistling, aacking his whip, and snapping the
branches that the whole forest might reecho with
the noise of his coming; then he listened for an an-
swering voice, but he heard no sound save the cow-
bells scattered through the glades, and the wild cries
of the swine as they fought over the acorns.

At length Germain heard behind him the noise of

121

THE DEVIUS POOL

a horse following in his traces, and a man of middle
age, dark, sturdy, and dressed after the city fashion,
called to him to stop. Germain had never seen the
farmer of Ormeaux, but his instinctive rage told him
at once that this was the man. He turned, and
eyeing him from head to foot, waited for him to
speak.

** Have not you seen a young girl of fifteen or
sixteen go by with a small boy? " asked the farmer,
with an assumed air of indifference, although he was
evidently ill at ease.

" What do you want of her ? " answered Germain,
taking no pains to conceal his anger.

" I might tell you that that is none, of your
business, my friend. But as ! have no reasons for
secrecy, I shall tell you that she is a shepherdess
whom I engaged for a year, before I knew her.
When I saw her, she looked too young and firail to
work on the farm. I thanked her, but I wished to'^
pay the expenses of her short journey, and while
my back was turned, she went off in a huff. She
was in such a hurry that she forgot even some
of her belongings and her purse, which has cer-
tainly not much in it, probably but a few pennies;
but since I was going in this direction, I hoped

122

THE DEVIL'S POOL

to meet her, and give her back the things which
she left behind, as well as what I owe her."

Germain had too honest a heart not to pause at
hearing a story which, however unlikely, was not
impossible. He fastened his penetrating gaze on the
farmer, who submitted to the examination with a
plentiful supply of impudence or of good faith.

** I wish to get at the bottom of this matter," said
Germain ; ** and," continued he, suppressing his in-
dignation, " the girl lives in my village. I know her.
She can*t be far away. Let *s ride on together; we
shall find her, no doubt."

" You are right," said the farmer; ** let 's move on;
but if we do not find her before we reach the end
of this road, I shall give up, for I must turn off
toward Ardentes."

"Oh, oh!." thought the peasant, ** I shall not part
with you, even if I have to follow you around the
^Devil's Pool for twenty-four hours."

** Stop," said Germain suddenly, fixing his eyes on
a clump of broom which waved in a peculiar
manner. " Halloa! halloa! Petit Pierre, is that you,
my child?"

The boy recognized his father's voice, and came
out from the broom leaping like a young deer; but

123

THE DEVIL'S POOL

when he saw Germain in company with the farmer,
he stopped dismayed, and stood in'esolute.
* '* Come, my Pien-e, come. It is I," cried the hus-
bandman, as he leaped from his horse and ran toward
his boy to take him in his arms; '' and where is little
Marie ? "

" She is hiding there, because she is afiraid of that
dreadful black man, and so am I."

'* You need n*t be afraid. I am here. Marie,
Marie. It is I."

Marie crept toward them, but the moment she saw
Germain with the farmer dose behind, she sprang
forward, and throwing herself into his arms, clung
to him as a daughter to her father.

" Oh, my brave Germain! " she cried, ** you will
defend me. 1 am not afiraid when you are near."

Germain shuddered. He looked at Marie. She
was pale; her clothes were torn by the thorns which
had scratched her a3 she passed, rushing toward the
brake like a stag chased by the hunters. But neither
shame nor despair were in her face.

" Your master wishes to speak to you," said he,
his eyes fixed on her features.

" My master! " she exclaimed fiercely; " that man
is no master of mine, and he never shall be. You,

124

THE DEVIUS POOL

Germain, you are my master. I want you to take
me home with you. I will be your servant for
nothing."

The farmer advanced, feigning impatience. " Little
girl," said he, ** you left something behind at the
farm, which I am bringing back to you."

** No, you are not, sir," answered little Marie. " I
did n't forget an3rthing, and I have nothing to ask of
you."

'* Listen a moment," returned the farmer. " It *s I
who have something to tell you. Come with me.
Don't be afraid. It 's only a word or two."

** You may say them aloud. I have no secrets
with you."

At any rate, do take your money."
My money? You owe me nothing, thank God! S
I suspected as much," said Germain under his
breath, **but I don't care, Marie. Listen to what
he has to say to you, for — I am curious to know.
You can tell me afterward. Go up to his horse. 1
shall not lose sight of you."

Marie took three steps toward the farmer. He
bent over the pommel of his saddle, and lowering
his voice he said:

Little girl, here is a bright golden louis for

125

THE DEVIL'S POOL

you. Don't say anything about it; do you hear? I
shall say that I found you too frail to work on my
farm. There will be no more talk about that. I
shall be passing by your house one of these days ;
and if you have not said an3rthing, I will give you
something more; and then if you are more sensi-
ble, you have only to speak. I will take you home
with me, or I will come at dusk and talk with you in
the meadows. What present would you like me to
bring you?"

" Here, sir, is the present 1 have for you," an-
swered little Marie, aloud, as she threw the golden
louis in his face with all her might. '' I thank you
heartily, and I beg that if you come anywhere near
our house, you will be good enough to let me know.
All the boys in the neighborhood will go out to wel-
come you, because, where I live, we are very fond of
gentlemen who try to make love to poor girls. You
shall see. They will be on the lookout for you."

"You lie with your dirty tongue," cried the
farmer, raising his stick with a dangerous air. " You
wish to make people believe what is not so, but you
shall never get a penny out of me. We know what
kind of a girl you are."

Marie drew back, frightened, and Germain sprang

126

THE DEVIL»S POOL

to the bridle of the farmer's horse and shook it
violently.

** I understand now," said he; "it is easy to see
what is going on. Get down, my man, get down; I
want to talk to you."

The farmer was not eager to taki up the quarrel.
Anxious to escape, he set spurs to his horse and tried
to loosen the peasant's grasp by striking down his
hands with a cane; but Germain dodged the blow,
and seizing hold of his antagonist's leg, he unseated
him and flung him to the earth. The farmer re-
gained his feet, but although he defended himself
vigorously, he was knocked down once more. Ger-
main held him to the ground. Then he said:

** Poor coward, I could thrash you if I wished.
But I don't want to do you an injury, and, besides,
no amount of punishment would help your con-
science — but you shall not stir firom this spot until
you beg the girl's pardon, on your knees."

The farmer understood this sort of thing, and
wished to take it all as a joke. He made believe
that his offense was not serious, since it lay in words
alone, and protested that he was perfectly willing to
ask her pardon, provided he might kiss the girl after-
ward. Finally, he proposed that they go and drink

127

THE DEVIL'S POOL

a pint of vrine at the nearest tavern, and so part good
friends.

" You are disgusting ! " answered Germain, rub-
bing his victim's head in the dirt, " and I never wish
to see your nasty (ace again. So blush, if you are
able, and when you come to our village, you had
better slink along Sneak's Alley. "^

He picked up the farmer's holly-stick, broke it
over his knee to show the strength of his wrists, and
threw away the pieces with disgust Then giving
one hand to his son and the other to little Marie, he
walked away, still trembling with anger.

1 This is die road, vbkli, di t cigui g from the principal street
at the cnnaaoe of Tillages, makes a dicnit about them. Penons
who are m dread of reoetring some wril-dfsu f cd msnlt, are so^
posed to take tmsioole to escape altmtiop.

f38

XIV

The Return to the Farm

AT the end of fifteen minutes they had left the
/\ heath behind them. They trotted along the
highroad, and the gray whinnied at each familiar
object. Petit-Pierre told his father as much as he
could understand of what had passed.

" When we reached the farm," said he, ** that man
came to speak to my Marie in the fold where we
had gone to see the pretty sheep. I had climbed
into the manger to play, and that man did not see
me. Then he said good morning to Marie, and he
kissed her."

" You allowed him to kiss you, Marie? " said Ger-
main, trembling with anger.

'' I thought it was a civility, a custom of the place
to new-comers, just as at your farm the grand-
mother kisses the young girls who enter her service
9 129

•:!»

THE DEVIUS POOL

to show that she adopts them and will be a mother
to them."

** And next," went on little Pienre, who was proud
to have an adventure to tell of, ** that man told you
something wicked, which you have told me never to
repeat and not even remember; so 1 forgot it right
away. Still, if father wishes, I will tell him what it
was — "

"No, Pierre, 1 don't wish to hear, and I don't
wish you ever to think of it again." «

** Then I will forget it all over again," replied the i'.
child. ** Next, that man seemed to be growing ^
angry because Marie told him that she was going
away. He told her he would give her whatever she
wanted, — a hundred francs! And my Marie grew
angry too. Then he came toward her as if he
wished to hurt her. I was airaid, and I ran to Marie
and cried. Then that man said: 'What 's that?
Where did that child come from ? Put it out,' and
he raised his cane to beat me. But my Marie pre-
vented him, and she spoke to him this way: *We
will talk later, sir; now I must take this child back
to Fourche, and then I shall return.' And as soon as
he had left the fold, my Marie spoke to me this
way: * We must run, my Pierre; we must get away

130

THE DEVIL'S POOL

as quickly as we can, for this is a wicked man and he
is trying to do us harm/ Then when we had gone
back of the farm-houses, we crossed a little meadow,
and we went to Fourche to find you. But you
were not there, and they would n't let us wait. And
then that man, riding his black horse, came behind
us, and we ran on as fast as we could and hid in the
woods. And then he followed us, and when we
heard him coming, we hid again. And then, when
he had passed, we began to run toward home, and
then you came and found us, and that is how it all
happened. I have n't forgotten anything, have I,
my Marie ? "

" No, my Pierre, that is the whole truth. Now,
Germain, you must be my witness, and tell every-
body in the village that if I did not stay there it was
not from want of courage and industry."

" And, Marie, 1 want to ask of you whether a
man of twenty-eight is too old when there is a
woman to be defended and an insult to be revenged.
I should like to know whether Bastien or any other
pretty boy, ten years better off than I, would not
have been knocked to pieces by that man, as Petit-
Pierre says. What do you think ? "

I think, Germain, that you have done me a

»3>

THE DEVIL'S POOL

g^st fcmoe^ and tibot I dul be gpUU al mf
fife,''

''klhjtal?''

"IMOe hUm,'' said llie ddU, 'M 6x90! to ask
iltk lijfk wfijt I ]mMDifed. I have oot bad time
)ret« but I wtt spejk to her aft home, and I win spejk
to my grandiDotfier too."

The chS^s promise seft GennaiD to fhinfcing He
must explain hisoondact to his fimnly and give his
objections to tiie widow Guerin^ and all the wfaie
cofaceal the true leasons which had made him so
piditdmn and so decided. When a man is prood
and happy, it seems an easy task to thnist his happi-
ness upon othen, but to be repulsed on one side and
blamed on the oiha h not a very pleasant position.

Fortunatdy, Petit-Picfre %vas Cist asleep when tiiey
readied the farm, and Germain put him to bed un-
disturbed. Then he began upon all sorts of ex-
planations. Father Maurice, seated on a three-
legged stool before the door, listened with gravity;
and, although he was ill-content with the result of
the journey, when Germain told him about the
widow's systematic coquetry, and demanded of hb
father-tn-law whether he had the time to go and pay
his court ftfty-two Sundays in the year at the risk of

"32

THE DEVIL'S POOL

being dismissed in the end, the old man nodded his
head in assent and answered: " You were not wrong,
Germain; that could never be." And then, when
Germain described how he had been obliged to bring
back little Marie, with the utmost haste, in order to
protect her from the insults or perhaps from the
violence of a wicked master, Father Maurice nodded
approvingly again and said: " You were not wrong,
Germain; that was right."

When Germain had told his story, and had set
forth all his reasons, the old farmer and his wife
heaved deep, simultaneous sighs of resignation, and
looked at each other. Then the head of the house
rose and said •: " God's will be done. Love can't be
made to order."

*' Come to supper, Germain/' said his mother-in-
law. "It is unfortunate that this did not come to a
better end, but, after all, it seems that God did not
wish it. We must look elsewhere."

** Yes," added the old man, ** as my wife says, we
must look elsewhere."

There was no more noise at the house, and on

the morrow, when Petit-Pierre rose with the larks at

dawn, he was no longer excited by the extraordinary

events of the preceding days. Like other little

9* 133

THE DEVIUS POOL

peasants of his age, he became indifferent, forgot
everything that had been running in his head, and
thought only of playing with his brothers, and of
pretending to drive the horses and oxen like a man.
Germain plunged into his work, and tried to for-
get, too; but he became so absent-minded and so sad
that everybody noticed it. He never spoke to little
Marie, he never even looked at her, and yet had any-
body asked him in what meadow she was, or by
what road she had passed, there was not a moment
in the day when he could not have answered if he
would. He dared not ask his family to take her in
at the farm during the winter, and yet he knew well
how she must suffer from want. But she did not
suffer; and Mother Guillette could not understand
how her little store of wood never grew less, and
how her shed was fiill in the morning, although she
had left it almost empty at night It was the same
with the wheat and potatoes. Somebody entered
by the garret window, and emptied a sack on the
floor without awaking a soul or leaving a trace of
his coming. The widow was at once uneasy and
delighted. She made her daughter promise to tell
nobody, and said that were people to know of the
miracle performed at her house they would take her

>34

THE DEVIL'S POOL

for a witch. She felt confident that the devil had a
share in it, but she was in no hurry to pick a quarrel
with him by calling down the priest's exorcisms on
the house. It would be time enough, she said,
when Satan should come to demand her soul in
return for his gifts.

Little Marie understood the truth better, but she
dared not speak to Germain, for fear of seeing him
return to his dreams of marriage, and, before him,
she pretended to perceive nothing.

>35

Morm Mauucs

ONE day. Mother Maurice was alone in the
orchard with Germain, and spoke to him
kindly:

" My poor son, I bdeve you are not welL You
don't eat as well as usual; you never laug^; you talk
less and less. Perhaps one of us, or all of us, have
hurt your fedings, without knowii^ and without
wishing it"

'' No, my mother," answered Germain, *' you have
always been as kind to me as the mother who
brought me into the world, and I should be very
ungrateful if 1 were to complain of you or your
husband, or of anybody in the household."

*' Then, my child, it b the sorrow for your wife's
death which comes back to you. Instead of grow-
ing lighter with time, your grief becomes worse, and

136

THE DEVIL'S POOL

as your father has said very wisely, it is absolutely
necessary for you to marry again."

" Yes, my mother, that is my opinion, but the
women whom you advised me to ask don't suit
me. Whenever I see them, instead of forgetting
my Catherine, I think of her all the more."

" Apparently that 's because we have n't been
able to understand your taste. You must help us
. by telling us the truth. There must be a woman
somewhere who is made for you, for God does n't
make anybody without placing his happiness in
somebody else. So if you know where to find
this woman whom you need, take her, and be she
pretty or ugly, young or old, rich or poor, we
have made up our minds, my husband and I, to
give our consent, for we are tired of seeing you
so sad, and we can never be happy while you are
sorrowful."

** My mother, you are as kind as the kind Lord,
and so is my father," answered Germain; ** but your
compassion brings small help to my troubles, for the
girl I love does n't care for me."

" She is too young, then? It 's foolish for you to
love a young girl."

Yes, mother dear, 1 have been foolish enough to

»37

((

THE DEVIL'S POOL

love a young girl, and it *s my fault. I do my best
to stop thinking of it, but, working or sleeping, at
mass or in bed, with my children or with you, I can
think of nothing else."

" Then it *s like a fate cast over you, Germain.
There 's but one remedy, and it is that this girl must
change her mind and listen to you. It 's my duty
to look into this, and see whether it ^s practicable.
Tell me where she lives, and what *s her name."

" Oh, my dear mother, I dare not," said Germain,

because you will make fun of me."
1 shall not make fun of you, Germain, because
you are in trouble, and I don't wish to make it
harder for you. Is it Fanchette?"

*'No, mother, of course not."

"Or Rosette?"

"No."

" Tell me, then, for I shall never finish if I must
name every girl in the country-side."

Germain bowed his head, and could not bring
himself to answer.

"Very good," said Mother Maurice, "I shall let
you alone for to-day; to-morrow, perhaps, you will
be more confidential with me, or possibly your
sister-in-law will question you more cleverly."

138

THE DEVIL'S POOL

And she picked up her basket to go and spread her
linen on the bushes.

Germain acted like children who make up their
minds when they see that they are no longer attract-
ing attention. He followed his mother, and at length,
trembling, he named Marie of Guillette.

Great was the surprise of Mother Maurice. Marie
was the last person she would have dreamed of. But
she had the delicacy not to cry out, and made her
comments to herself. Then seeing that her silence
hurt Germain, she stretched out her basket toward
him and said:

'Ms there any reason for not helping me at my
work. Carry this load, and come and talk with me.
Have you reflected well, Germain? Are you fully
decided?"

"Alas, dear mother, you must n't speak in that
way. I should be decided if I had a chance of suc-
cess, but as I could never be heard, I have only
made up my mind to cure myself, if I can."

** And if you can't."

*' There is an end to everything. Mother Maurice:
when the horse is laden too heavily, he falls, and
when the cow has nothing to eat, she dies."

"Do you mean to say that you will die, if you do

139

THE DEVIL'S POOL

not succeed. God grant not, Gennam. I don't like
to hear a man like you talk of those things; for what
he says, he thinks. You are very brave, and weak-
ness is dangerous for strong men. Take heart; I
can't conceive that a poverty-stricken girl, whom
you have honored so much as to ask her to marry
you, will refuse you."
" Yet it 's the truth: she does refuse me."
**And what reasons does she give you?"
'* That you have always been kind to her, and
that her family owes a great deal to yours, and that
she does n't wish to displease you by turning me
away from a rich marriage."

" If she says that, she proves her good sense, and
shows what an honest girl she is. But, Germain,
she does n't cure you ; for of course she tells you
that she loves you and would marry you if we were
willing? "

** That 's the worst part of all. She says that her
heart can never be mine."

" If she says what she does n't think in order to
keep you at a safer distance, the child deserves our
love, and we should pass over her youth on ac-
count of her great good sense."

Yes," said Germain, struck by a hope he had

140

((

THE DEVIUS POOL

never held before; "that would be very wise and
right of her! But if she is so sensible, I am sure it is
because I displease her."

"Germain," said Mother Maurice, "you must
promise me not to worry for a whole week. Keep
from tormenting yourself, eat, sleep, and be as gay
as you used to be. For my part, 1 *I1 speak to my
husband, and if I gain his consent, you shall know
the girVs real feelings toward you."

Germain promised, and the week passed without
a single word in private from Father Maurice, who
seemed to suspect nothing. The husbandman did
his best to look calm, but he grew ever paler and
more troubled.

141

XVI

Little Marie

AT length, on Sunday morning, when mass was
Jt\ over, his mother-in-law asked Germain what
encouragement he had had from his sweetheart since
the conversation in the orchard.

"Why, none at all," answered he; "I have n't
spoken to her."

" How can you expect to win her if you don*t
speak to her ? "

** I have spoken to her but once," replied Germain.
" That was when we were together at Fourche, and
since then I have n't said a single word. Her refusal
gave me so much pain that I had rather not hear her
begin again to tell me that she does n't love me."

'* But, my son, you must speak to her now; your
father gives his approval. So make up your mind.
I tell you to do it, and, if need be, I shall order you
to do it, for you can't rest in this uncertainty."

142

THE DEVIUS POOL

Germain obeyed. He reached Mother Guillette^s
house, hanging his head with a hopeless air. Little
Marie sat alone before the hearth so thoughtful that
she did not hear Germain's step. When she saw him
before her, she started from her chair in surprise and
grew very red.

*' Little Marie," said he, sitting down near her, " I
come to trouble you and to give you pain. I know
it very well, but the man and his wife at home [it
was thus after the peasant fashion that he designated
the heads of the house] wish me to speak to you,
and beg you to marry me. You don't care for me.
I am prepared for it."

** Germain," answered little Marie, " are you sure
that you love me ? "

" It pains you, I know, but it is n't my fault. If
you could change your mind, I should be so very
happy, and certain it is that I don't deserve it. Look
at me, Marie; am I very terrible ? "

" No, Germain," she answered, with a smile, " you
are better looking than I."

" Don't make fun of me; look at me charita-
bly; as yet, I have never lost a single hair nor a
single tooth. My eyes tell you plainly how much
I love you. Look straight into my eyes. It is

«43

THE DEVIL'S POOL

written there, and every girl knows how to read that
writing.''

Marie looked into Germain's e3fes witii pl^ftil
boldness; then of a sudden she turned away her
head and trembled.

" Good God," exdaimed Germain, " I make you
afhdd; you look at me as thoi^ 1 were the farmer
of Ormeaux. Dont be afraid of me, please dont;
that hurts me too much. I shall not say any bad
words to you, I shall not kiss you if you will not
have me, and when you wish me to go away, you
have only to show me the door. Must 1 go in order
to stop your trembling ? "

Marie held out her hand toward the husbandman,
but without turning her head, which was bent on
the fireplace, and witiiout saying a word.

'* I understand," said Germain. " You pity me,
for you are kind; you are sorry to make me un-
happy; but you can't love me."

** Why do you say these things to me, Germain ? "
answered little Marie, after a pause. ** Do you wish
to make me cry?"

" Poor little giri, you have a kind heart, I know;
but you don't love me, and you are hiding your face
for fear of letting me see your dislike and your re-

»44

THE DEVIUS POOL

pugnance. And I? I dare not even clasp your hand!
In the forest, when my boy was asleep and you were
sleeping too, I almost kissed you very gently. But I
would have died of shame rather than ask it of you,
and that night I suffered as a man burning over a
slow fire. Since that time I have dreamed of you
every night. Ah! how I have kissed you, Marie!
Yet during all that time you have slept without a
dream. And now, do you know what I think ? I
think that were you to turn and look at me with the
eyes I have for you, and were you to move your
face close to mine, I believe I should fall dead for
joy. And you, you think that if such a thing
were to happen, you would die of anger and
shame ! "

Germain spoke as in a dream, not hearing the
words he said. Little Marie was trembling all the
time, but he was shaking yet more and did not
notice it. Of a sudden, she turned. Her eyes were
filled with tears, and she looked at him reproach-
fully. The poor husbandman thought that this was
the last blow, and without waiting for his sentence,
he rose to go, but the girl stopped him, and throw-
ing both her arms about him, she hid her face in his
breast.

w 145

THE DEVIL'S POOL

Oh, Germain," she sobbed, " did n*t you feel
that I loved you?"

Then Germain had gone mad, if his son, who
came galloping into the cottage on a stick, with his
little sister on the crupper, scourging the imaginary
steed with a willow branch, had not brought him to
his senses. He lifted the boy and placed him in
the girPs arms.

*'See," said he, "by loving me, you have made
more than one person happy,"

146

APPENDIX

A Country Weddwo

HERE ends the history of Germain's marriage as
he told it to me himself, good husbandman
that he is. I ask your forgiveness, kind reader, that
I know not how to translate it better; for it is a real
translation that is needed by this old-fashioned and
artless language of the peasants of the country
"that I sing," as they used to say. These people
speak French that is too true for us, and since
Rabelais and Montaigne, the advance of the lan-
guage has lost for us many of its old riches. Thus
it is with every advance, and we must make the best
of it. Yet it is a pleasure still to hear those pictur-
esque idioms used in the old districts in the center of

;rHE DEVIUS POOL

France; all the more because it is the genuine ex-
pression of the laughing, quiet, and delightfully talk-
ative character of the people who make use of
it. Touraine has preserved a certain precious num-
ber of patriarchal phrases. But Touraine was civilized
greatly during the Renaissance, and since its decline
she is filled with fine houses and highroads, with
foreigners and traflic. Berry remained as she was,
and I think that after Brittany and a few provinces
in the far south of France, it is the best preserved
district to be found at the present day. Some of the
costumes are so strange and so curious that I hope
to amuse you a few minutes more, kind reader, if
you will allow me to describe to you in detail a
country wedding — Germain*s, for example — at which
I had the pleasure of assisting several years ago.

For, alas! everything passes. During my life alone,
more change has taken place in the ideas and in
the customs of my village than had been seen in the
centuries before the Revolution. Already half the
ceremonies, Celtic, Pagan, or of the Middle Ages,
that in my childhood I have seen in their full vigor,
have disappeared. In a year or two more, perhaps,
the railroads will lay their level tracks across our
deep valleys, and will carry away, with the swiftness

148

THE DEVIUS POOL

of lightning, all our old traditions and our wonder-
fill legends.

It was in winter about the carnival season, the
time of year when, in our country, it is fitting and
proper to have weddings. In summer the time can
hardly be spared, and the work of the farm cannot
suffer three days' delay, not to speak of the addi-
tional days impaired to a greater or to a less degree
by the moral and physical drunkenness which follows
a gala-day. I was seated beneath the great mantel-
piece of the old-fashioned kitchen fireplace when
shots of pistols, barking of dogs, and the piercing
notes of the bagpipe told me that the bridal pair
were approaching. Very soon Father and Mother
Maurice, Germain, and little Marie, followed by
Jacques and his wife, the closer relatives, and the
godfathers and godmothers of the bride and groom,
all made their entry into the yard.

Little Marie had not yet received her wedding-
gifts, — favors, as they call them, — and was dressed in
the best of her simple clothes, a dress of dark, heavy
cloth, a white fichu with great spots of brilliant
color, an apron of carnation, — an Indian red much in
vogue at the time, but despised nowadays, — a cap
of very white muslin after that pattern, happily still
xo* 149

THE DEVIL'S POOL

preserved, which calls to mind the head-dress of
Anne Boleyn and of Agnes Sorrel. She was fresh
and laughing, but not at all vain, though she had
good reason to be so. Beside her was Germain,
serious and tender, like young Jacob greeting Re-
becca at the wells of Laban. Another girl would
have assumed an important air and struck an atti-
tude of triumph, for in every rank it is something to
be married for a fair face alone. Yet the girl's eyes
were moist and shone with tenderness. It was plain
that she was deep in love and had no time to think
of the opinions of others. Her little air of deter-
mination was not absent, but everything about her
denoted frankness and good-will. There was nothing
impertinent in her success, nothing selfish in her
sense of power. Never have I seen so lQ|rely a bride,
when she answered with frankness her young friends
who asked if she were happy:

*' Surely I have nothing to complain of the good
Lord."

Father Maurice was spokesman. He came for-
ward to pay his compliments, and give the cus-
tomary invitations. First he fastened to the mantel-
piece a branch of laurel decked out with ribbons;
this is known as the writ — that is to say, the letter of

150

THE DEVIL'S POOL

announcement. Next he gave to every guest a tiny
cross made of a bit of blue ribbon sewn to a trans-
verse bit of pink ribbon — pink for the bride, blue for
the groom. The guests of both sexes were expected
to keep this badge to adorn their caps or their but-
ton-holes on the wedding-day. This is the letter of
invitation, the admission ticket.

Then Father Maurice paid his congratulations.
He invited the head of the house and all his com"
panjf, — that is to say, all his children, all his friends,
and all his servants, — to the benediction, to the
feast, to the sports, to the dance, and to everything
that follows. He did not fail to say, " I have come
to do you the honor of inviting you " ; a very
right manner of speech, even though it appears to
us to con^jey the wrong meaning, for it expresses
the idea of doing honor to those who seem worthy
of it.

Despite the generosity of the invitation carried
.from house to house throughout the parish, polite-
ness, which is very cautious amongst peasants, de-
mands that only two persons from each family take
advantage of it — one of the heads of the house, and
one from the number of their children.

After the invitations were made, the betrothed

THE DEVIUS POOL

couple and their families took dinner together at
the farm.

Little Marie kept her three sheep on the common,
and Germain tilled the soil as though nothing had
happened.

About two in the afternoon before the day set
for the wedding, the music came. The music means
the players of the bagpipe and hurdy-gurdy, their
instruments decorated with long streaming ribbons,
playing an appropriate march to a measure which
would have been rather slow for feet foreign to the
soil, but admirably adapted to the heavy ground
and hilly roads of the country.

Pistol-shots, fired by the young people and the
children, announced the beginning of the wedding
ceremonies. Little by little the guests assembled,
and danced on the grass-plot before the house in
order to enter into the spirit of the occasion. When
evening was come they began strange preparations;
they divided into two bands, and when night had
settled down they proceeded to the ceremony of the
favors.

All this passed at the dwelling of the bride,
Mother Guillette's cottage. Mother Guillette took
with her her daughter, a dozen pretty shepherd*

152

THE DEVIL'S POOL

esses, friends and relatives of her daughter, two or
three respectable housewives, talkative neighbors,
quick of wit and strict guardians of ancient customs.
Next she chose a dozen stout fellows, her relatives
and friends; and last of all the parish hemp-dresser,
a garrulous old man, and as good a* talker as ever
there was.

The part which, in Brittany, is played by the baz-
valon, the village tailor, is taken in our part of the
country by the hemp-dresser and the wool-carder,
two professions which are unusually combined in one.
He is present at all ceremonies, sad or gay, for he
is very learned and a fluent talker, and on these
occasions he must always figure as spokesman, in
order to fulfil with exactitude certain formalities
used from time immemorial. Traveling occupations,
which bring a man into the midst of other families,
without allowing him to shut himself up within his
own, are well fitted to make him talker, wit, story-
teller, and singer.

The hemp-dresser is peculiarly skeptical. He and
another village functionary, of whom we have
spoken before, the grave-digger, are always the
daring spirits of the neighborhood. They have
talked so much about ghosts, and they know so

153

THE DEVIL'S POOL

well all the tricks of which these malicious spirits
are capable, that they fear them scarcely at all. It
is especially at night that all of them — grave-dig-
gers, hemp-dressers, and ghosts — do their work. It is
also at night when the hemp-dresser tells his melan-
choly stories. Permit me to make a digression.

When the hemp has reached the right stage, that
is to say, when it has been steeped sufficiently in
running water, and half dried on the bank, it is
brought into the yard and arranged in little upright
sheaves, which, with their stalks divided at the base,
and their heads bound in balls, bear in the dusk some
small resemblance to a long procession of little white
phantoms, standing on their slender legs, and mov-
ing noiselessly along the wall.

It is at the end of September, when the nights are
still warm, that they begin to beat it by the pale
light of the moon. By day the hemp has been
heated in the oven; at night they take it out to
beat it while it is still hot. For this they use a kind
of horse surmounted by a wooden lever which falls
into grooves and breaks the plant without cutting it.
It is then that you hear in the night that sudden,
sharp noise of three blows in quick succession. Then
there is silence; it is the movement of the arm draw-

154

THE DEVIL'S POOL

•

ing out the handful of hemp to break it in a fresh
spot. The three blows begin again; the other arm
works the lever, and thus it goes on until the moon
is hidden by the early streaks of dawn. As the
work continues but a few days in the year, the dogs
are not accustomed to it, and yelp their plaintive
howls toward every point of the horizon.

It is the time of unwonted and mysterious sounds
in the country. The migrating cranes fly so high
that by day they are scarcely visible. By night they
are only heard, and their hoarse wailing voices, lost
in the clouds, sound like the parting cry of souls in
torment, striving to find the road to heaven, yet
forced by an unconquerable fate to wander near the
earth about the haunts of men ; for these errant birds
have strange uncertainties, and many a mysterious
anxiety in the course of their airy flight. Sometimes
they lose the wind when the capricious gusts battle,
or come and go in the upper regions. When this
confusion comes by day, you can see the leader of
the file fluttering aimlessly in the air, then turn
about and take his place at the tail of the triangular
phalanx, while a skilful manoeuver of his com-
panions forms them soon in good order behind him.
Often, after vain efforts, the exhausted leader re-

155

THE DEVIUS POOL

linquishes the guidance of the caravan; another
comes forward, tries in his turn, and yields his place
to a third, who finds the breeze, and continues
the march in triumph. But what cries, what re-
proaches, what protests, what wild curses or anxious
questionings are exchanged in an unknown tongue
amongst these winged pilgrims !

Sometimes, in the resonant night, you can hear
these sinister noises whirling for a long time above
the housetops, and as you can see nothing, you feel,
despite your efforts, a kind of dread and kindred
discomfort, until the sobbing multitude is lost in
boundless space.

Thete are other noises too ivhich belong to this
time of year, and which sound usually in the or-
chards. Gathering the fruit is not yet over, and the
thousand unaccustomed cracklings make the tree
seem alive. A branch groans as it bends beneath
a burden which has reached, of a sudden, the last
stage of growth; or perhaps an apple breaks from
the twig, and falls on the damp earth at your feet
with a dull sound. Then you hear rush by, brush-
ing the branches and the grass, a creature you can-
not see ; it is the peasant's dog, that prowling and
uneasy rover, at once impudent and cowardly, al-

156

THE DEVIL'S POOL

ways wandering, never sleeping, ever seeking you
know not what, spying upon you, hiding in the
brush, and taking flight at the sound of a falling
apple, which he thinks a stone that you are throw-
ing at him.

It is during those nights, nights misty and gray,
that the hemp-dresser tells his weird stories of will-
o'-the-wisps and milk-white hares, of souls in tor-
ment and wizards changed to wolves, of witches'
vigils at the cross-roads, and screech-owls, prophet-
esses of the graveyard. I remember passing the
early hours of such a night while the hemp-dressing
was going on, and the pitiless strokes, interrupting
the dresser's story at its most awfiil place, sent icy
shivers through our veins. And often too the good
man continued his story as he worked, and four or
five words were lost, terrible words, no doubt, which
we dared not make him repeat, and whose omission
added a mystery yet more fearful to the dark mys-
teries of the story which had gone before. It was in
vain the servants warned us that it was too late to
stay without doors, and that bedtime had sounded
for us long since; they too were dying to hear more;
and then with what terror we crossed the hamlet on
our way home ! How deep did the church porch

'57

•JHE DEVIL'S POOL

appear to us, and how thick and black the shadows
of the old trees ! The graveyard we dared not see ;
we shut our eyes tight as we passed it.

But no more than the sacristan b the hemp-dresser
gifted solely with the desire of frightening; he loves
to make people laugh; he is sarcastic and sentimental
at need, when love and marriage are to be sung. It is
he who collects and keeps stored in hb memoi^ the
oldest songs, and who transmits them to posterity.
And so it is he who acts at weddings the part we
shall see him play at the presentation of little Marie's
favors.

158

The Wedding Favors

WHEN all the guests were met together in
the house, the doors and windows were
closed with the utmost care; even the garret win-
dow was barricaded; boards and benches, logs and
tables were placed behind every entrance, just as if
the inhabitants were making ready to sustain a siege;
and within these fortifications solemn stillness pre-
vailed until at a distance were heard songs and
laughter and the sounds of rustic music. It was the
band of the bridegroom, Germain at the head, fol-
lowed by his most trusty companions and by the
grave-digger, relatives, friends, and servants, who
formed a compact and merry train. Meanwhile, as
they came nearer the house they slackened their pace,
held a council of war, and became silent. The girls,
shut up in the house, had arranged little loop-holes
at the windows by which they could see the enemy

159

■•

THE DEVIL'S POOL

approach and ckploy in battle array. A fine, cold
rain was falling, whidi added zest to tiie situation,
while a great fire blazed on tiie hearth within.
Marie wished to cut short the inevitable slowness of
this wen>ordered ^egc; she had no desire to see her
lover catch cold, but not being in authority she had
to take an ostensible share in the mischievous cnidty
of her companions.

When the two armies met, a dtsdiaige of fiiea ini s
on the part of the besiegers set all the dogs in the
neighborhood to barking. Those within the house
dashed at the door with loud ydps, thinking tiiat the
attack was in earnest, and the children, tittle re-
assured by the efforts of their mothers, began to
weep and to tremble. The whole scene was played
so wefl that a stranger would have been deceived,
and would have made his preparations to fight a
band of brigands. Then the grave-digger, bard and
orator of the groom, took his stand bdbre the door,
and with a rueful voice, exchanged the foDowii^
dialogue with the hemp-dresser, who was stationed
above the same door:

Th£ Gravi^iggn: **Ah, my good people, my
fellow-townsmen, for the love of Heaven, open the
door."

i6o

THE DEVIL'S POOL

The Hemp^resser : "Who are you, and what
right have you to call us your dear fellow-towns-
men ? We don't know you."

The Grave-digger: "We sre worthy folk in
great distress. Don't be afraid of us, my friends.
Extend us your hospitality. Sleet is falling; our poor
feet are frozen, and our journey home has been so
long that our sabots are split."

The Hemp-dresser : "If your sabots are split, you
can look on the ground; you will find very soon a
spng of willow to make some arceUts [small curved
blades of iron which are fastened on split sabots to
hold them together]."

The Grave-digger : " Willow arcelets are scarcely
strong enough. You are making fun of us, good
people, and you would do better to open your doors.
We can see a splendid fire blazing in your dwelling.
The spit must be turning, and we can make merry
with you, heart and belly. So open your doors to
poor pilgrims who will die on the threshold if you
are not merciful."

The Hemp-dresser: "Ah ha! so you are pil-
grims? You never told us that. And what pil-
grimage do you come from, may I ask?"

ne Grave-digger : " We shall tell you that when
" 161

THE DEVIL'S POOL

you open the door, for we come from so far that you
would never believe it."

The Hemp-dresser : ** Open the door to you? I
rather think not. We can't trust you. Tell us, b it
from Saint Sylvain of Pouligny that you come ? "

The Grave-digger: "We have been at Saint
Sylvain of Pouligny, but we have been farther
stfll."

The Hemp-dresser : ** Then you have been as far
as Saint Solange ? "

The Grave-digger : "At Saint Solange we have
been, sure enough, but we have been farther yet."

The Hemp-dresser: "You are lying. You have
never been as far as Saint Solange."

The Grave-digger : "We have been farther, for
now we are come from Saint Jacques of Gimpostelle."

The Hemp-dresser: "What absurdity are you
telling us ? We don't know that parish. We can
easily see that you are bad people, brigands, no-
bodies, and liars. Go away with your nonsense.
We are on our guard. You can't come in."

The Grave-digger : " Ah, my poor fellow, take
pity on us. We are not pilgrims, as you have
guessed, but we are unlucky poachers pursued by the
keepers. Even the police are after us, and if you

162

THE DEVIL'S POOL

don't hide us in your hay-loft, we shall be taken and
led oflf to prison."

The Hemp'dresser : "And who will prove you
are what you say you are, this time ? For you have
told us one lie already that you can't maintain."

The Grave-digger: ** If you will let us in, we shall
show you a pretty piece of game we have killed."

The Hemp-dresser: "Show it right away, for we
have our suspicions."

The Grave-digger: ** All right, open the door or
a window to let us pass the creature in."

The Hemp-dresser: " Oh, no, not quite so foolish.
I am looking at you through a little chink, and I
can see neither hunters nor game amongst you."

Here an ox-driver, a thick-set fellow of herculean
strength, detached himself from a group where he
had stood unperceived, and raised toward the win-
dow a plucked goose, spitted on a strong iron bar
decorated with tufts of straw and ribbons.

*'Ho, ho!" cried the hemp-dresser, after cau-
tiously extending an arm to feel the roast. " That
is n't a quail nor a partridge; it is n't a hare nor a
rabbit; it 's something like a goose or a turkey.
Upon my word, you 're clever hunters, and that
game did n't make you run very far. Move on,

163

THE DEVIL'S POOL

you rogues; we know all your lies, and you had
best go home and cook your supper. You are not
going to eat ours."

The Grave-digger: "O Heavens, where can we
go to cook our game? It is very little for so many
as we, and, besides, we have neither place nor fire.
At this time every door is closed, and every soul
asleep. You are the only people who are celebrat-
ing a wedding at home, and you must he hard-
hearted indeed to let us freeze outside. Once again,
good people, open the door; we shall not cost you
anything. You can see that we bring our own
meat; only a little room at your hearth, a little
blaze to cook with, and we shall go on our way
rejoicing."

The Hemp'dresser: ** Do you suppose that we
have too much room here, and that wood is bought
tor nothing? "

The Grave-digger: " We have here a small bundle
of hay to make the fire. We shall be satisfied with
that; only grant us leave to place the spit across
your fireplace."

The Hemp-dresser: " That will never do. We
are disgusted, and don't pity you at all. It is my
opinion that you are drunk, that you need nothing,

164

THE DEVIL'S POOL

and that you only wish to come in and steal away
our fire and our daughters. ''

The Grave-digger: "Since you won't listen to
reason, we shall make our way in by force."

The Hemp-dresser : "Try, if you want; we are
shut in well enough to have no fear of you, and
since you are impudent fellows, we shall not an-
swer you again."

Thereupon the hemp-dresser shut the garret win-
dow with a bang, and came down into the room
below by a step-ladder. Then he took the bride by
the hand, the young people of both sexes followed,
and they all began to sing and chatter merrily, while
the matrons sang in piercing voices, and shrieked
with laughter in derision and bravado at those with-
out who were attempting an attack.

The besiegers, on their side, made a great hubbub.
They discharged their pistols at the doors, made the
dogs growl, whacked the walls, shook the blinds,
and uttered frightful shrieks. In short, there was
such a pandemonium that nobody could hear, and
such a cloud of dust that nobody could see.

And yet this attack was all a sham. The time
had not come for breaking through the etiquette.
If, in prowling about, anybody were to find an un-
XI* 165

THE DEVIUS POOL

guarded aperture, or any opening whatsoever, he
might try to slip in unobserved, and then, if the
carrier of the spit succeeded in placing his roast
before the fire, and thus prove the capture of the
hearth, the comedy was over and the bridegroom
had conquered.

The entrances of the house, however, were not
numerous enough for any to be neglected in the
customary precautions, and nobody might use vio-
lence before the moment fixed for the struggle.

When they were weary of dancing and screams,
the hemp-dresser began to think of capitulation.
He went up to his window, opened it with precau-
tion, and greeted the baffled assailants with a burst
of laughter.

*' Well, my boys," said he, ** you look very sheep-
faced. You thought there was nothing easier than
to come in, and you see that our defense is good.
But we are beginning to have pity on you, if you
will submit and accept our conditions."

The Grave-digger : " Speak, good people. Tell
us what we must do to approach your hearth."

The Hemp-dresser: " You must sing, my fiiends ;
but sing a song we don't know, — one that we can't
answer by a better."

166

THE DEVIL'S POOL

That *s not hard to do," answered the grave-
digger, and he thundered in a powerful voice:

" ' Six months ago, 't was in die spring . . .' "

" ' I wandered througfa the sprouting gxass,' "

answered the hemp-dresser in a slightly hoarse but
terrible voice. " You must be jesting, my poor friends,
singing us such time-worn songs. You see very well
that we can stop you at the first word."
'"She was a prince's daughter . . .'"

" 'Right gladly would she wed,'"

answered the hemp-dresser. **Come, move on to
the next; we know that a little too well."

The Grave-digger: " How do you like this one? —

'"As I was journeying home from Nantes.'"

The Hemp-dresser:

" ' Weary, oh, weary, was I, was I.' "

"That dates from my grandmother's time. Let 's
have another."
The Grave-digger:

" ' One day I went apwalking . . .' "

The Hemp-dresser:

" 'Along a lovely wood 1 ' "
167

J*-

THE DEVIL'S POOL

' ' That one is too stupid ! Our little children would n't
take the trouble to answer you. What ! Are these
all you know ? "

The Grave-digger: "Oh, we shall sing you so
many that you will never be able to hear them all."

In this way a full hour passed. As the two antag-
onists were champions of the country round in the
matter of songs, and as their store seemed inex-
haustible, the contest might last all night with ease,
all the more because the hemp-dresser, with a touch
of malice, allowed several ballads of ten, twenty, or
thirty couplets to be sung through, feigning by his
silence to admit his defeat. Then the bridegroom's
camp rejoiced and sang aloud in chorus, and thought
that this time the foe was worsted; but at the first
line of the last couplet, they heard the hoarse croak-
ing of the old hemp-dresser bellow forth the second
rhyme. Then he cried:

** You need not tire yourselves by singing such a
long one, my children — we know that one to our
finger-tips."

Once or twice, however, the hemp-dresser made a
wry face, contracted his brow, and turned toward
the expectant housewives with a baffled air. The
grave-digger was singing something so old that his

168

THE DEVIL'S POOL

adversary had forgotten it, or perhaps had never
even heard it; but instantly the good gossips
chanted the victorious refrain through their noses
with voices shrill as a sea-mew's, and the grave-
digger, forced to surrender, went on to fresh at-
tempts.

It would have taken too long to wait for a deci-
sion of the victory. The bride's party declared itself
disposed to be merciful, provided that the bride were
given a present worthy of her.

Then began the song of the favors to a tune
solemn as a church chant.

The men without sang together in bass voices:

" ' Open the door, true love,
Open the door;

I have presents for you, love.
Oh, say not adieu, love.'

>*>

To this the women answered from within in fal-
setto, with mournful voices:

" ' My father is sorry, my mother is sad.
And I am a maiden too kind by far
At such an hour my gate to unbar.' "

The men took up the first verse as far as the fourth
line and modified it thus:

" ' And a handkerchief new, love.'
169

THE DEVIUS POOL

But, on behalf of the bride, the women answered
in the same way as at first.

For twenty couplets, at least, the men enumerated
all the wedding-presents, always mentioning some-
thing new in the last line: a handsome apron, pretty
ribbons, a cloth dress, laces, a golden cross, and even
a hundred pins to complete the modest list of wed-
ding-presents. The refusal of the women could not
be shaken, but at length the men decided to speak of

'* A good husband, too, love."

And the women answered, turning toward the
bride and singing in unison with the men:

" ' Open the door, true love.
Open the door;
Here 's a sweetheart for jrou, lov^
Pray let us enter, too, love.' "

170

Ill

The Wedding

IMMEDIATELY the hemp-dresser drew back the
wooden bolt which barred the door within. At
this time it was still the only fastening known in
most of the dwellings of our hamlet. The groom's
band burst into the bride's house, but not without a
struggle; for the young men quartered within, and
even the old hemp-dresser and the gossips, made it
their duty to defend the hearth. The spit-bearer, up-
held by his supporters, had to plant the roast before
the fireplace. It was a regular battle, although
people abstained from striking, and there was no
anger shown in this struggle. But everybody was
pushing and shoving so hard, and there was so much
playful pride in this display of muscular strength,
that the results might well have been serious, al-
though they did not appear so across the laughs and
songs. The poor old hemp-dresser, fighting like a

171

THE DEVIUS POOL

lion, was pinned to the wall and squeezed by the
crowd until his breath almost left him. More than
one champion was upset and trodden under foot in-
voluntarily; more than one hand, jammed against
the spit, was covered with blood. These games are
dangerous, and latterly the accidents have been so
severe that our peasants have determined to allow
the ceremony of the favors to fall into disuse; I be-
lieve we saw the last at the marriage of Francois
Meillant, although there was no real struggle on that
occasion.

The battle was earnest enough, however, at Ger-
main's wedding. It was a point of honor on one
side to invade, on the other to defend. Mother
Guillette's hearth. The great spit was twisted like a
screw ben^th the strong fists which fought for it
A pistol-shot set fire to a small quantity of hemp
arranged in sheaves and laid on a wicker shelf near
the ceiling. This incident created a diversion, and
while some of the company crowded about to ex-
tinguish the sparks, the grave-digger, who had
climbed unbeknown into the garret, came down the
chimney and seized the spit, at the very moment
when the ox-driver, who was defending it near the
hearth, raised it above his head to prevent it firom

173

THE DEVIUS POOL

being torn away. Some time before the attack, the
women had taken the precaution to put out the fire
lest in the struggle somebody should fall in and get
burned. The jocular grave-digger, in league with
the ox-driver, grasped the trophy and tossed it easily
across the andirons. It was done! Nobody might
interfere. The grave-digger sprang to the middle of
the room and lighted a few wisps of straw, which he
placed about the spit under pretense of cooking the
roast, for the goose was in pieces and the floor was
strewn with its scattered fragments.

Then there was a great deal of laughter and much
boastful dispute. Everybody showed the marks of
the blows he had received, and as it was often a
friend's hand that had struck them, there was no
word of complaint nor of quarreling. The hemp-
dresser, half flattened out, kept rubbing the small of
his back and saying that, although it made small
diflference to him, he protested against the ruse of
his friend, the grave-digger, and that if he had not
been half dead, the hearth had never been captured
so easily. The women swept the floor and order
was restored. The table was covered with jugs of
new wine. When the contestants had drunk to-
gether and taken breath, the bridegroom was led to

«73

THE DEVIUS POOL

the middle of the chamber, and, annedwith awand,
he was obliged to submit to a fresh triaL

During the struggle, the bride and three of her
companions had been hidden by her mother, god-
mother, and aunts, who had made the four girls sit
down in a remote comer of tiie room while they
covered them with a large white dotfa. Three
friends of Marie's height, with caps of a uniform
size, were chosen, so that when they were envel-
oped from head to toe by the doth it was impossi-
ble to ten them apart

The brid^p-oom might not touch them, except
vntii the tip of his staffs and then merdy to drrignate
which he thought to be his wife. They aSowed him
time enough to make an examination widi no otiier
hdp than his eyes afforded, and the women, placed
on either ade, kept zealous watch lest cheating
should occur. Should he guess wrong, he might
not dance, with his bride, but only widi her he had
chosen by mistake.

When Germain stood in front of these ghosts
wrapped in the same shroud, be feared he should
make a wrong choice ; and, in truth, that had hafv-
pened to many another, so carefolly and conscien-
tiously were the precautions made. His heart beat

<74

THE DEVIL'S POOL

loud. Little Marie did her best to breathe hard and
shake the cloth a little, but her malicious com-
panions followed her example, and kept poking
the cloth with their fingers, so that there were as
many mysterious signals as there were girls beneath
the canopy. The square head-dresses upheld the
cloth so evenly that it was impossible to discern the
contour of a brow outlined by its folds.

After ten minutes' hesitation, Germain shut his
eyes, commended his soul to God, and stretched
out the wand at random. It touched the forehead
of little Marie, who cast the cloth from her, and
shouted with triumph. Then it was his right to kiss
her, and lifting her in his strong arms, he bore her
to the middle of the room, where together they
opened the dance, which lasted until two in the
morning. The company separated to meet again
at eight. As many people had come from the
country round, and as there were not beds enough
for everybody, each of the village maidens took to
her bed two or three other girls, while the men
spread themselves pell-mell on the hay in the barn-
loft. You can imagine well that they had little
sleep, for they did nothing but wrestle and joke,
and tell foolish stories. Property, there were three

>75

THE DEVIUS POOL

sleepless nights at weddings, and these we cannot
regret.

At the time appointed for departure, when they
had partaken of milk-soup, seasoned with a strong
dose of pepper to stimulate the appetite, — for the
wedding-feast gave promise of great bounty, — the
guests assembled in the farm-yard. Since our
parish had been abolished, we had to go half a
league from home to receive the marriage bless-
ing. It was cool and pleasant weather, but the
roads were in such wretched condition that every-
body was on horseback, and each man took a
companion on his crupper, whether she were young
or old. Germain started on the gray, and the mare,
well-groomed, freshly shod, and decked out with
ribbons, pranced about and snorted fire from her
nostrils. The husbandman went to the cottage
for his bride [in company with his brother-in-law,
Jacques, who rode the old gray, and carried Mother
Guillette on the crupper, while Germain returned to
the farm-yard in triumph, holding his dear little wife
before him.

Then the merry cavalcade set out, escorted by the
children, who ran ahead and fired off their pistols
to make the horses jump. Mother Maurice was

176

THE DEVIUS POOL

seated in a small cart, with Germain's three chil-
dren and the fiddlers. They led the march to the
sound of their instruments. Petit-Pierre was so
handsome that his old grandmother was pride it-
self. But the eager child did not stay long at her
side. During a moment's halt made on the jour-
ney, before passing through a difficult piece of road,
he slipped away and ran to beg his father to carry
him in front on the gray.

"No, no," replied Germain, "that will call forth
some disagreeable joke; we must n't do it."

" It 's little that I care what the people of Saint
Chartier say," said little Marie. "Take him up,
Germain, please do; I shall be prouder of him than
I am of my wedding-gown."

Germain yielded, and the pretty trio darted into the
crowd borne by the triumphant gallop of the gray.

And so it was ; the people of Saint Chartier, al-
though they were very sarcastic, and somewhat
disdainful of the neighboring parishes which had
been annexed to theirs, never thought of laughing
when they saw such a handsome husband, such a
lovely wife, and a child that a king's wife might
court. Petit-Pierre was all dressed in light blue
cloth, with a smart red waistcoat so short that it
" 1 77

THE DEVIL'S POOL

descended scarcely bdow his chin. The village tailor
had fitted his armholes so tight that he could not
bring his two little hands together. But, oh, hovr
proud he was! He wore a round hat, with a black-
and-gold cord, and a peacock's plume whidi stuck
out proudly from a tuft of guinea feathers. A bunch
of flowers, bigger than his head, covered his shoul-
der, and ribbons fluttered to his feet The hemp-
dresser, who was also the barber and hair-dresser
of the district, had cut his hair evenly, by covering
his head with a bowl, and clipping off the protruding
locks, an infallible method for guiding the shears.
Thus arrayed, the poor child was less poetic, cer-
tainly, than with his curls streaming in the wind,
and his Saint John Baptist's sheepskin about him;
but he knew nothing of this, and everybody ad-
mired him and said that he had quite the air of
a little man. His beauty triumphed over eveiy-
thing, for what is there over which the exceeding
beauty of childhood could not triumph?

His little sister, Solange, had, for the first time in
her life, a peasant's cap in place of the calico hood
which little girls wear until they are two or three
years old. And what a cap it was! Longer and
larger than the poor little thing's whole body. How

178

THE DEVIL'S POOL

beautiful she thought it! She dared not even turn
her head; so she kept quite still and thought the
people would take her for the bride.

As for little Sylvain, he was still in long clothes,
and, fast asleep on his grandmother's knees, he did
not even know what a wedding was.

Germain looked at his children tenderly, and
when they reached the town hall, he said to his
bride:

"Marie, I have come here with a happier heart
than 1 had the day when I brought you home from
the forest of Chanteloube, thinking that you could
never love me. I took you in my arms to put you on
the ground as I do here; but I thought that never
again should we be mounted on the good gray with
the child on our knees. I love you so dearly, I love
these little creatures so dearly, I am so happy that
you love me and that you love them, and that my
family love you, and I love your mother so well and
all my friends so well, and everybody else so well to-
day, that I wish I had three or four hearts to fill all
of them ; for surely one is too small to hold so
much love and so much happiness. It almost makes
my stomach ache."

There was a crowd at the door of the town hall

179

1**

THE DEVIL'S POOL

and another at the church to see the pretty bride.
Why should we not tell about her dress ? it became
her so well. Her muslin cap, without spot and
covered with embroidery, had lappets trimmed with
lace. At that time peasant women never allowed a
single lock to be seen, and, although they conceal
beneath their caps splendid coils of hair tied up with
tape to hold the coif in place, even to-day it would
be thought a scandal and a shame for them to show
themselves bareheaded to men. Nowadays, how-
ever, they allow a slender braid to appear over their
foreheads, and this improves their appearance very
much. Yet I regret the classic head-dress of my
time; its spotless laces next the bare skin gave an
effect of pristine purity which seemed to me very
solemn; and when a face looked beautiful thus^^it
was with a beauty of which nothing can express the
charm and unaffected majesty.

Little Marie wore her cap thus, and her forehead
was so white and so pure that it defied the whiteness
of linen to cast it in the shade. Although she had
not closed an eye the night before, the morning air
and, yet more, the joy within of a soul pure as the
heaven, and, more than all, a small secret flame
guarded with the modesty of girihood, caused a

180

THE DEVIL^S POOL

bloom to mount to her cheeks delicate as the peach-
blossom in the first beams of an April sun.

Her white scarf, modestly crossed over her breast, left
visible only the soft curves of a neck rounded like a
turtle-dove's; her home-made cloth gown of myrtle-
green outlined her pretty figure, which looked al-
ready perfect, yet which must still grow and develop,
for she was but seventeen. She wore an apron of
violet silk with the bib our peasant women were so
foolish as to suppress, which added so much elegance
and decency to the breast. Nowadays they dis-
play their scarfs more proudly, but there is no longer
in their dress that delicate flower of the purity of
long ago, which made them look like Holbein's
virgins. They are more forward and more profuse
in their courtesies. The good old custom used to be
a kind of staid reserve which made their rare smile
deeper and more ideal.

During the offertory, after the fashion of the day,
Germain placed the "thirteen" — that is to say, thir-
teen pieces of silver — in his bride's hand. He slipped
over her finger a silver ring of a form unchanged for
centuries, but which is replaced for henceforth by
the golden wedding-ring. As they walked out of
church, Marie said in a low voice:

12* «,^''

THE DEVIL'S POOL

Is this really the ring I wanted? Is it the one I
asked you for, Germain? "

*' Yes," answered he, ** my Catherine wore it on
her finger when she died. There is but one ring for
both my weddings."

" Thank you, Germain," said the young woman,
in a serious and impressive tone. '* I shall die with it
on, and if I go before you, you must keep it for the
marriage of your little Solange."

i8b2

IV
The Cabbage

THEY mounted and returned very quickly to
Belair. The feast was bountiful, and, min-
gled with songs and dances, it lasted until mid-
night. For fourteen hours the old people did not
leave the table. The grave-digger did the cook-
ing, and did it very well. He was celebrated for
this, and he would leave his fire to come in and
dance and sing before and after every course. And
yet this poor Father Bontemps was epileptic. Who
would have thought it? He was fresh and strong,
and merry as a young man. One day we found him
in a ditch, struck down by his malady at nightfall.
We carried him home with us, in a wheelbarrow,
and we spent all night in caring for him. Three
days afterward, he was at a wedding, singing like a
thrush, jumping like a kid, and bustling about after
his old fashion. When he left a marriage, he would

i8j

THE DEVIL'S POOL

go to dig a grave, and nail up a cofiin. Then he
would become very grave, and though nothing of
this appeared in his gay humor, it left a melancholy
impression which hastened the return of his attacks.
His wife was paralyzed, and had not stirred from her
chair for twenty years. His mother is living yet, at
a hundred and forty, but he, poor man, so happy
and good and amusing, was killed last year by fall-
ing from his loft to the sidewalk. Doubtless he
died a victim to a fatal attack of his disease, and,
as was his habit, had hidden in the hay, so as not
to frighten and distress his family. In this tragic
manner he ended a life strange as his disposition —
a medley of things sad and mad, awful and gay;
and, in the midst of all, his heart was ever good and
his nature kind.

Now we come to the third day of the wedding,
the most curious of all, which is kept to-day in all
its vigor. We shall not speak of the roast which
they carry to the bridal bed; it is a very silly custom,
and hurts the self-respect of the bride, while it tends
to ruin the modesty of the attendant girls. Besides,
I believe that it is practised in all the provinces, and
docs not belong peculiarly to our own.

Just as the ceremony of the wedding favors is a

184

THE DEVIL'S POOL

symbol that the heart and home of the bride are
won, that of the cabbage is a symbol of the fruit-
fulness of marriage. When breakfast is over on the
day after the wedding, this fantastic representation
begins. Originally of Gallic derivation, it has passed
through primitive Christianity, and little by little it
has become a kind of mystery, or droll morality-play
of the Middle Ages.

Two boys, the merriest and most intelligent of
the company, disappear from breakfast, and after
costuming themselves, return escorted by dogs,
children, and pistol-shots. They represent a pair
of beggars — husband and wife — dressed in rags.
The husband is the filthier of the two ; it is vice
which has brought him so low ; the wife is un-
happy and degraded only through the misdeeds of
her husband.

They are called the gardener and the gardener's
wife, and they pretend it is their duty to guard and
care for the sacred cabbage. The husband has
several names, each with a meaning. Sometimes
they call him the " scarecrow," because his head is
covered with straw or hemp, and because his legs
and a portion of his body are surrounded with straw
to hide his nakedness, ill concealed by his rags. He

185

THE DEVIL'S POOL

has also a great belly, or hump, constructed of straw
or hay underneath his blouse. Then he is known as
the * * ragamuffin/' on account of his covering of rags.
Lastly he is termed the " infidel,'' and this is most
significant of all, because by his cynicism and his
debauchery he is supposed to typify the opposite of
every Giristian virtue.

He comes with his face all smeared with soot and
the lees of wine, and sometimes made yet more
hideous by a grotesque mask. An earthenware
cup, notched and broken, or an old sabot attached
to his girdle by a cord, shows that he has come to
beg for alms of wine. Nobody refuses him, and he
pretends to drink; then he pours the wine on the
ground by way of libation. At every step he falls,
rolls in the mud, and feigns to be a prey to the most
shameful drunkenness. His poor wife runs after
him, picks him up, calls for help, arranges his hempen
locks, which straggle forth in unkempt wisps from
beneath his filthy hat, sheds tears over her husband's
degradation, and pours forth pathetic reproaches.

** Wretched man," she cries, " see the misery to
which your wickedness has brought us. I have to
spend all my time sewing and working for you,
mending your clothes. You tear and bedragg^

i86

THE DEVIUS POOL

yourself incessantly. You have eaten up all my
little property; our six children lie on straw, and we
are living in a stable with the beasts. Here we are
forced to beg for alms, and, besides, you are so ugly
and vile and despicable that very soon they will be
tossing us bread as if we were dogs. Ah, my poor
people, take pity on us! Take pity on me! I have n't
deserved my lot, and never had woman a more dirty
and detestable husband. Help me to pick him up,
else the wagons will run over him as they run over
broken bottles, and I shall be a widow, and that
will end by killing me with grief, though all the
world says it would be an excellent riddance for me."
Such is the part of the gardener's wife, and her
continued lamentations last during the entire play.
For it is a genuine spontaneous comedy acted on the
spur of the moment in the open air, along the roads
and across the fields, aided by every chance occur-
rence that presents itself. Everybody shares in the
acting, people within the wedding-party and people
without, wayfarers and dwellers in houses, for
three or four hours of the day, as we shall see. The
theme is always the same, but the variations are
infinite; and it is here that we can see the instinct
of mimicry, the abundance of droll ideas, the

187

THE DEVIL'S POOL

fluency, the wit at repartee, and even the natural
eloquence of our peasants.

The rdle of gardener's wife is intrusted commonly
to a slender man, beardless and fresh of face, who
can give a great appearance of truth to his personi-
fication and plays the burlesque despair naturally
enough to make people sad and glad at once, as
they are in real life. These thin, beardless men are
not rare among us, and, strangely enough, they are
sometimes most remarkable for their muscular
strength.

When the wife's misfortunes have been explained,
the young men of the company try to persuade her
to leave her drunken husband and to amuse herself
with them. They offer her their arms and drag her
away. Little by little she gives way; her spirits rise,
and she begins to run about, first with one and then
with another, and grows more scandalous in her be-
havior : a fresh * * morality" ; the ill-conduct of the hus-
band excites and aggravates the evil in the wife.

Then the " infidel " wakes firom his drunkenness.
He looks about for his companion, arms himself
with a rope and a stick and rushes after her. They
make him run, they hide, they pass the wife from
one to another, they try to divert her attention and

iS3

THE DEVIL'S POOL

to deceive her jealous spouse. His friends try to
get him drunk. At length he catches his unfaithful
wife, and wishes to beat her. What is truest and
most carefully portrayed in this play is that the jeal-
ous husband never attacks the men who carry off
his wife. He is very polite and prudent with them,
and wishes only to take vengeance on the sinning
woman, because she is supposed to be too feeble to
offer resistance.

At the moment, however, when he raises his stick
and prepares his cord to strike the delinquent, all the
men in the party interpose and throw themselves
between husband and wife.

** Don't strike her! Never strike your wife," is
the formula repeated to satiety during these scenes.
They disarm the husband, and force him to pardon
and to kiss his wife, and soon he pretends to love
her better than ever. He walks along, his arm
linked in hers, singing and dancing until, in a new
access of drunkenness, he rolls upon the ground, and
then begin all over again the lamentations of the
wife, her discouragements, her pretended unfaithful-
ness, her husband's jealousy, the: interference of the
neighbors, and the reconciliation. In all this there
is a simple and even coarse lesson, which, though it

189

THE DEVIUS POOL

savors strongly of its Middle-Age origin, does not
fail to fix its impression if not on the married folk,
who are too loving or too sensible to have need of
it, at least upon the children and the young people.
The " infidel," racing after young girls and pretend-
ing to wish to kiss them, frightens and disgusts them
to such a degree that they fly in unaffected terror.
His dirty face and his great stick, harmless as it is,
make the children shriek aloud. It is the comedy of
customs in their most elementary but their most
striking state.

When this farce is well under way, people make
ready to hunt for the cabbage. They bring a
stretcher and place upon it the '* infidel," armed
with a spade, a cord, and a large basket. Four
powerful men raise him on their shoulders. His wife
follows on foot, and after her come the " elders " in a
body with serious and thoughtful looks; then the
wedding-march begins by couples to a step tuned to
music. Pistol-shots begin anew, and dogs bark
louder than ever at the sight of the filthy " infidel "
borne aloft in triumph. The children swing incense
in derision with sabots fastened at the end of a cord.

But why this ovation to an object so repulsive?
They are marching to the capture of the sacred

190

THE DEVIUS POOL

cabbage, emblem of the fruitfiilness of marriage, and
it is this drunkard alone who can bear the symbolic
plant in his hand. Doubtless, there is in it a pre*
Christian mystery which recalls the Satumalian feasts
or some rout of the Bacchanals. Perhaps this
'* infidel," who is, at the same time, preeminently a
gardener, is none other than Priapus himself, god of
gardens and of drunkenness, a divinity who must
have been pure and serious in his origin as is the
mystery of birth, but who has been degraded bit
by bit through license of manners and distraction
of thought.

However this may be, the triumphal procession
arrives at the bride*s house, and enters the garden.
Then they select the choicest cabbage, and this is not
done very quickly, for the old people keep consult-
ing and disputing interminably, each one pleading
for the cabbage he thinks most suitable. They put
it to vote, and when the choice is made the gardener
fastens his cord to the stalk, and moves away as far
as the size of the garden permits. The gardener^s
wife takes care that the sacred vegetable shall not
be hurt in its fall. The wits of the wedding, the
hemp-dresser, the grave-digger, the carpenter, and
the sabot-maker, form a ring about the cabbage, for

191

THE DEVIL'S POOL

men who do not till the soil, but pass their lives in
other people's houses, are thought to be, and are
really, wittier and more talkative than simple farm-
hands. One digs, with a spade, a ditch deep enough
to uproot an oak. Another places on his nose a
pair of wooden or cardboard spectacles. He fulfils
the duties of " engineer," walks up and down, con-
structs a plan, stares at the workmen through his
glasses, plays the pedant, cries out that everything
will be spoiled, has the work stopped and begun
afresh as his fancy directs, and makes the whole
performance as long and ridiculous as he can. This
is an addition to the formula of an ancient ceremony
held in mockery of theorists in general, for peasants
despise them royally, or from hatred of the surveyors
who decide boundaries and regulate taxes, or of the
workmen employed on bridges and causeways, who
transform commons into highways, and suppress
old abuses which the peasants love. Be this as it
may, this character in the comedy is called the
"geometrician," and does his best to make himself
unbearable to those who are toiling with pickaxe
and shovel.

After a quarter of an hour spent in mummery, and
difficulties raised in order to avoid cutting the roots,

192

THE DEVIL»S POOL

and to transplant the cabbage without injury, while
shovelfuls of dirt are tossed into the faces of the on-
lookers, — so much the worse for him who does not
retreat in time, for were he bishop or prince he must
receive the baptism of earth, — the '* infidel" pulls
the rope, the **infiders wife" holds her apron, and
the cabbage falls majestically amidst the applause of
the spectators. Then a basket is brought, and the
* * infidel " pair plant the cabbage therein with every care
and precaution. They surround it with fresh earth,
and support it with sticks and strings, such as city
florists use for their splendid potted camellias; they
fix red apples to the points of the sticks, and twist
sprigs of thyme, sage, and laurel all about them;
they bedeck the whole with ribbons and streamers;
they place the trophy upon the stretcher with the
*' infidel," whose duty it is to maintain its equilibrium
and preserve it from harm ; and, at length, they move
away from the garden in good order and in march-
ing step.

But when they are about to pass the gate, and
again when they enter the yard of the bridegroom^s
house, an imaginary obstacle blocks the way. The
bearers of the burden stagger, utter loud cries, re-
treat, advance once more, and, as though crushed
la 193

THE DEVIL'S POOL

by a resistless force, they pretend to sink beneath
its weight. While this is going on, the bystanders
shout loudly, exciting and steadying this human
team.

" Slowly, slowly, my child. There, there, cour-
age! Look out! Be patient! Lower your head;
the door is too low! Gose up; it *s too narrow!
A little more to the left; now to the right; on with
you; don't be afraid; you 're almost there."

Thus it is that in years of plentiful harvest, the
ox-cart, loaded to overflowing with hay or com, is
too broad or too high to enter the bam door. Thus
it is that the driver shouts at the strong beasts, to re-
strain them or to urge them on; thus it is that with
skill and mighty efforts they force this mountain of
riches beneath the rustic arch of triumph. It is,
above all, the last load, called '' the cart of sheaves,"
which requires these precautions, for this is a rural
festival, and the last sheaf lifted firom the last furrow
is placed on the top of the cart-load omamented
with ribbons and flowers, while the foreheads of the
oxen and the whip of the driver are decorated also.
The triumphant and toilsome entry of the cabbage
into the house is a symbol of the prosperity and
fruitfulness it represents.

194

THE DEVIL'S POOL

Safe within the bridegfroom's yard, the cabbage is
taken from its stretcher and borne to the topmost
peak of the house or bam. Whether it be a chim-
ney, a gable, or a dove-cote that crowns the roof,
the burden must, at any risk, be carried to the very
highest point of the building. The <<infidel"
accompanies it as far as this, sets it down securely,
and waters it with a great pitcher of wine, while a
salvo of pistol-shots and demonstrations of joy from
the ** infidel's wife " proclaim its inauguration.

Without delay, the same ceremony is repeated all
over agaui. Another cabbage is dug from the gar-
den of the husband and is carried with the same
formalities and laid upon the roof which his wife has
deserted to follow him. These trophies remain in
their places until the wind and the rain destroy the
baskets and carry away the cabbage. Yet their lives
are long enough to give some chance of fulfilment
to the prophecies which the old men and women
make with bows and courtesies.

** Beautiful cabbage," they say, ** live and flourish

that our young bride may have a fine baby before a

year is over ; for if you die too quickly it is a sign

of barrenness, and you will stick up there like an

ill omen."

195

THE DEVIUS POOL

The day is already far gone when all these things
are accomplished. All that remains undone is to
take home the godfathers and godmothers of the
newly married couple. When the so-called parents
dwell at a distance, they are accompanied by the
music and the whole wedding procession as far as
the limits of the parish; there they dance anew
on the highroad, and everybody kisses them good-
by. The ** infidel" and his wife are then washed
and dressed decently, if the fatigue of their parts
has not already driven them away to take a nap.

Everybody was still dancing and singing and eat-
ing in the Town Hall of Belair at midnight on this
third day of the wedding when Germain was mar-
ried. The old men at table could not stir, and for
good reason. They recovered neither their legs nor
their wits until dawn on the morrow. While they
were regaining their dwellings, silently and with
uncertain steps, Germain, proud and active, went
out to hitch his oxen, leaving his young wife to
slumber until daylight. The lark, caroling as it
mounted to the skies, seemed to him the voice of
his heart returning thanks to Providence. The
hoar-frost, sparkling on the leafless bushes, seemed
to him the whiteness of April flowers that comes

196

THE DEVIL'S POOL

before the budding leaves. Everything in nature
was laughing and happy for him. Little Pierre
had laughed and jumped so much the evening
before that he did not come to help lead his oxen;
but Germain was glad to be alone. He feH on his
knees in the furrow he was about to plow afresh,
and said his morning prayer with such a burst of
feeling that two tears rolled down his cheeks, still
moist with sweat.

Afar off he heard the songs of the boys from
neighboring villages, who were starting on their
return home, singing again in their hoarse voices
the happy tunes of the night before.

THE HMD.

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