THE 
 
 GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 BY EDITH RICKERT
 
 :it* O.M.V 
 
 (flnast 
 
 Nn. 
 
 Pacific Coast Headquarters 
 
 20 Geary St. 
 San Francisco, - California
 
 TH* ^OLDEN HAWK 
 
 \
 
 <t^*5?<S?S*5 ! ^-&<fr<'<is<^$ 
 
 V 
 
 The Golden Hawk 
 
 BY 
 
 EDITH RICKERT 
 
 Author of "Folly" and " The Reaper" 
 
 " La pichouneto escaramoucho.'" MISTRAL. 
 (" Much Ado about Nothing.") 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE BAKER AND TAYLOR COMPANY 
 
 1907
 
 Copyright, 1907, by 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHED, APRIL, 1907 
 
 The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. USA.
 
 Co 
 MISTRAL 
 
 IN MEMORY OF THE TIME WHEN HE READ 
 
 TO ME OF MIREIO, THIS TALE, WHICH 
 
 IS OVERBOLD IN COMING FORTH 
 
 FROM THE ROOM IN WHICH HE 
 
 AND DAUDET SANG AND 
 
 TALKED TOGETHER
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE UPWARD FLIGHT 9 
 
 II. THE WAY OF IT 19 
 
 III. THE PERILOUS LADDER OF LOVE .... 30 
 
 IV. THE SILVER RING 40 
 
 V. THE HEART OF MADELOUN 50 
 
 VI. THE BEGINNING OF THE SIEGE 63 
 
 VII. THE LETTER 69 
 
 VIII. THREE TO ONE 81 
 
 IX. THE PROMISE 89 
 
 X. THE BIRD IN THE NET 98 
 
 XI. THE RETURN OF THE HAWK 108 
 
 XII. THE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 116 
 
 XIII. THE VIGIL 125 
 
 XIV. THE FALCON AND THE NIGHTINGALES ... 131 
 XV. TRILLON GROWS RICH 140 
 
 XVI. THE SECOND RETURN OF TRILLON .... 150 
 
 XVII. WHAT MAY BE DONE AT A DEJEUNER . . . 157 
 
 XVIII. THE THIRD RETURN OF TRILLON .... 165 
 
 XIX. THE PIT OF ARTABAN 173 
 
 XX. ALL FOR A CUP OF MILK 181 
 
 XXI. SETTLING IN 188 
 
 XXII. THE CLEARING OF THE LAND 195 
 
 XXIII. How THE WORK WENT ON 201 
 
 XXIV. VISITORS AT THE MAS 209 
 
 XXV. DISCOVERY 221 
 
 XXVI. THE END OF THE LONG WHITE ROAD ... 228 
 
 XXVII. THE DISPOSITION OF MADELOUN .... 238 
 
 vii
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVIII. BREAKFAST AT THE PRESBYTERY 245 
 
 XXIX. MADELOUN DOUBTS 252 
 
 XXX. A CURIOUS END TO AN ODD CHAPTER . . 260 
 
 XXXI. THE NEWS THAT RAMOUN BROUGHT . . . 267 
 
 XXXII. MADNESS AT THE WINDMILL 275 
 
 XXXIII. LITTLE GAMES or LOVE 286 
 
 XXXIV. THE CLIFF OF BRIAZON 292 
 
 XXXV. THE CHAPEL OF THE MARIES 302 
 
 XXXVI. QUARRY OR WELL? 311 
 
 XXXVII. THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST 318 
 
 XXXVIII. THE CONQUEST OF THE CHURCH .... 328 
 
 XXXIX. A LITTLE DRAMA IN THE PLACE .... 337 
 
 XL. BALIN-BALANT 345 
 
 Vlll
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE UPWARD FLIGHT 
 
 IT is legend that the Golden Hawk if there be such 
 a bird is distinguished among his kind by the love 
 that drives him to fly straight into the heart of the sun. 
 And of this parable the meaning is that so royal is his na- 
 ture, it pierces at once to the quick of his desire, and suffers 
 no mist, no tempest, to obscure the light from his eyes. 
 Among men, young Trillon, who some few years since set 
 one small corner of Provence pretty well a-talking, adopted 
 this emblem as his own. With what right ? You shall judge. 
 
 He began his upward flight one spring morning, with 
 a bravura that rivalled the sun, splendid in golden brown 
 corduroy trousers set with rows of silver-gilt buttons, 
 with a coat of the same flung across his left shoulder, 
 with a gaudy-striped flannel shirt, a white felt hat of 
 many angles, a ribbon, a sash, a scarf of saffron hue, and 
 white sandals worked with ruddy chestnut. Moreover, 
 he himself is of a beautiful brown, golden-haired, and 
 with eyes that readily catch fire and blaze. 
 
 It was only April when he left the plains where mauve 
 
 9
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 wistaria drooped heavily against the yellow house walls, 
 and irises lined the shady garden-paths, where the Judas- 
 trees already had their purple flecked with summer dust, 
 while the delicate tamarisks waved their feathers of 
 bluish rose in the cold north wind from the Alps. But 
 when he had left beneath his feet the flower-fields, the 
 plane-trees, the olives, and the cypresses, and begun to 
 climb among the limestone boulders, he came into the 
 full domain of the sun, and it seemed midsummer. But 
 so far was he from shrinking that he bared his head to 
 the tropic heat, lifted his hawk-nose high in the aroma 
 of rosemary and thyme, and faced the lord of all living 
 things, eye to eye. And so he climbed away from the 
 habitations of men, scrambling among rocks red or silvery, 
 wading through fragrant herbs, faint-blue roumanin, 
 lavender, ferigoulo, cytisus, wild rose, and box and gorse, 
 until all the plains melted into a purple as of the sea, not 
 so much for great height as for the mirage that touches 
 with splendour this south-land. 
 
 All the way, the heart of Trillon was singing, for his 
 world was not far in its twenties, and with a violin slung 
 across his shoulders he aped the troubadour. 
 
 But although no far gleam of that sweet country es- 
 caped his roving eyes, he showed ever an out-thrust lip 
 and jaw that betokened some end towards which he 
 climbed and climbed this son of old Trillon of the 
 sausage-shop, built against the Porte Barbentane, hi the 
 shadow of the Popes' Castle at Avignon. Pecaire! he 
 never lacked purpose of one sort or another, or tongue to 
 tell it, or means to bring it to conclusion. 
 
 10
 
 THE UPWARD FLIGHT 
 
 And so he climbed, threading his way in and out among 
 the quarries; and the mood of the place grew so within 
 him that he drew forth his violin and picked its strings as 
 he walked, to the tune of old lays and catches, sometimes 
 ribald, sometimes sweet. Now and again the quarrymen 
 looked out from their high black caverns, cut square 
 like Egyptian temples, to pass the time of day, with rough 
 chaffing on the style of his music. 
 
 He had already left them far below when, with a sudden 
 twist hi the hill, he came out from behind a wind-hewn 
 pyramid a hundred feet high or more, and looked across 
 at the city of his quest. His notes ended hi a sudden 
 rasp. He dropped upon a huddle of stones, his violin 
 across his knee, and stared, as silent and as unmoving as 
 the rocks themselves. 
 
 It lay high oh, it lay high, the city of Castelar, high 
 above the narrow green valley that slit the two mountain- 
 ridges this was the thought that ran through his head. 
 But high as they had built it, a thousand years ago and 
 more, those ancient lords of all the plain between the Alps 
 and the sea and the two rivers, he built yet higher the 
 castle of his dreams, that was after to be founded on rock, 
 and carved out of limestone, when the will to achieve 
 grew strong within him. This day, he sat and looked his 
 fill at the grey ramparts and wind-beaten hollow dwellings, 
 at the faded yellow tile-roofs, and the shadowy crooked 
 streets that climb up to the church spire; and following 
 the line of this against the green sward of the castle plateau, 
 his eyes were led up and up to the broken walls of the 
 donjon and the pinnacles of ancient watch-towers that 
 
 ii
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 seemed to pierce the wind-streaked blue. And beyond 
 the rock of Castelar, and through the chinks of its high 
 chasms, he looked into impenetrable distance where sky 
 and earth and sea are one, and the colour of them blended 
 is like no other hue in the world. 
 
 From this place he may have seen the slip of green that 
 marks the garden of Auzias Borel; but he had no dimmest 
 notion, as he leaped down from the rocks, and followed 
 the highroad, curving and doubling on its steep way 
 round the valley, that he was walking as straight as might 
 be to the destruction of his dream. 
 
 Now you must know that by this time it was afternoon, 
 and on the edge of the ramparts of Castelar, under an 
 almond-tree, three girls, snugly sheltered from sun and 
 wind, bent over their sewing. 
 
 A sweeter garden or one more strange you would not 
 readily find. Old Auzias Borel, landlord of the Cabro 
 d'Or the Golden Goat of legendary fame having 
 the serviceable eye of a Greek, some years since had 
 acquired the house next to his own, which you will 
 scarcely believe me was left much as it stood when 
 Richelieu had battered it down, and hence was not suitable 
 to live in. But Borel wanted it for a garden. At the 
 foot of the broken steps, whereon grow wall-flowers, is 
 the old courtyard under the ramparts, with its ancient 
 well and stone troughs; and this is set out with plants that 
 love damp and shade and cannot endure the too fierce 
 alchemy of the sun, iris and lilac and black-berried ivy, 
 lilies and pansies, and some kitchen herbs. In one corner, 
 at the end of a pergola over-run with trumpet-flower, is 
 
 12
 
 THE UPWARD FLIGHT 
 
 a stone bench and a broken statue of the Virgin, found 
 when the garden was first dug. And here, before this 
 strange pagan Madonna a goddess of f ruitfulness with 
 bursting cornucopia instead of Child, and yet a Virgin too, 
 unmistakably here it was that Madaleno sometimes 
 came to pray. 
 
 Up above, on the cellar roofs of the old mansion, 
 Borel coaxed a few vegetables and fruits, tomatoes and 
 cucumbers and a few gourds, a handful of peas and a 
 fig-tree on the southern wall. Here and there among the 
 young growing things are set up, just where they were 
 found, fragments of old statues and other chisel-work, 
 made many centuries ago at the bidding of a prince; and 
 the outer wall where the three girls sat sewing is pierced 
 by a stout almond-tree that thrives upon air and stone, 
 and scatters its ripe black shells along the grass-paths. 
 
 Madaleno and Nerto and Jano-Mario were pricking 
 seams and talking of their future, as girls will do. Jano- 
 Mario always parted her brown hair straight and plain 
 under the white muslin and dark blue fillet of Aries. 
 Nerto had set aside the ancient fashion and caught up 
 her dark curls into puffs, with many combs. Madaleno, 
 who had the blackest hair of all, kept to the pretty, quaint 
 cap, but tricked it out with silver pins; and set off the dusky 
 cloud beneath it with silver stars in her ears, and the clear- 
 ness of her throat by an enamel butterfly brought all the 
 way from far Marseilles. 
 
 As they sat behind the parapet in the shade of the 
 almond-tree, the tongue of Nerto kept time with the needle 
 of Jano-Mario; but Madaleno had let her sewing fall, and 
 
 13
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 leaned with crossed arms looking beyond the valley. 
 There was nothing to interest her in the few olives and 
 mulberries that struggled for a footing between the lime- 
 stone and the firs in the strip of green vale; nor did she 
 watch the dusty flock nibbling its way, with many soft 
 tinkles, on the upland pastures beyond. She did not 
 turn to the jagged peaks of the range that cut off the 
 valley, or to the purple plains and silvery marshes that 
 might carry one's thought to the other side of the world. 
 She was absorbed in the long white curves of the dusty 
 highroad, which ended in the gate under her rampart, 
 for that way that way alone must her fortune come. 
 And although she was but seventeen, she thought already 
 that it tarried long. 
 
 So she watched, dreaming and not seeing the reality 
 that drew near; and so he came, awestruck for the first 
 time in his life by the silence of the little rock-city, as grey, 
 as numb as a sleeper that shall never awake. It was 
 perhaps to comfort himself, and to frighten away his own 
 fears, that he picked again at the strings of his violin, and 
 hummed a little to himself as he passed along. In this 
 strain he came under the rampart, where long ago pilgrims 
 and merchants waited until the great Porte should be 
 unbarred; and he looked up, even as she, stirred from her 
 dreams by the wandering music, leaned over down- 
 wards. 
 
 It was by no effort of the will that his desultory air took 
 to itself the words of an old song: 
 
 "O Magali, ma tant amado." 
 
 The dark eyes smiled down at him not unkindly; and I 
 
 14
 
 THE UPWARD FLIGHT 
 
 do assure you they had need, for he sang well, and well 
 enough. 
 
 "The stars pale before thee," he assured her; and she, 
 never lacking in quickness of mockery, played her part 
 and flung at him the old words: 
 
 " I care no more for thy song than for the wind among 
 the branches; and to escape thee I shall jump into the sea 
 and turn eel among the rocks." 
 
 From this, they had it back and forth, now in the way 
 of the song, now of their own wit, in a kind of musical 
 sparring as old as love itself. 
 
 "I shall turn fisherman and net thee." 
 
 O the dimple that came and went in each cheek, as she 
 cooed over the wall: 
 
 "But as soon as thou dost throw thy nets, I shall turn 
 bird and fly away across the plains." 
 
 "Leloun, Madeloun," whispered Nerto, plucking at 
 her sleeve; but Jano-Mario sewed on, after a bare glance 
 at the sparkling but dusty troubadour in the road below. 
 
 But when he vowed that he would turn chasseur and 
 would catch the precious bird; and added, of his own, 
 with a sudden leap into the air and click of the heels to- 
 gether, "For I am the hawk of Avignon, and the falcon 
 is swift and sure," she answered with gay laughter: 
 
 "Partridges thou mayst catch and hedge-warblers; but 
 I shall be safe a flower among the grasses of the prairie." 
 
 "The brook," says he "I shall be the brook that 
 bathes thy feet." 
 
 At this she blushed and caught up her sewing, and 
 wrought three bad stitches; but compulsion was upon 
 
 15
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 her. She kid it down again and sang under her breath, 
 that she would fly away in a cloud to the ends of the earth, 
 nay, should he pursue her, she would bury herself in the 
 sun. 
 
 But he only smiled and vowed himself her loving lizard 
 that should lie and bask and bask . . . and if she fled to 
 the moon, should not he be the cloud to enfold her? 
 
 Again she laid her work on the parapet, and looked 
 down upon him seriously: "Who are you, madman?" 
 
 He laughed: "The hawk of Avignon!" Then he 
 tapped his foot impatiently against the base of the wall: 
 "Sing sing! Sing to the end!" 
 
 "Madeloun! Leleto!" whispered Nerto; and Jano- 
 Mario suspended her thread. 
 
 "I shall be a rose in the thicket," she chanted, looking 
 away from the answer that must come. 
 
 "And I the butterfly to kiss thee" he picked lightly 
 at his violin. 
 
 "I'll sing no more nonsense," she vowed, and rose, 
 turning towards the house. "I have no liking for 
 strangers. Go away." 
 
 " Cacaraca /" he crowed, with thrust-out chin. "I'm 
 coming up." 
 
 " There there ! Yonder! " cried the three in a breath, 
 pointing to the curve in the rocky path. 
 
 But he laughed as he cased his violin and flung it across 
 his shoulders; and gave no heed to their warnings. 
 
 With the swing of the mountaineer, he set one foot upon 
 a projecting stone, and began a cat-like climb by means 
 of chinks and ledges and ivy-stems; and so quickly was 
 
 16
 
 THE UPWARD FLIGHT 
 
 the broken rampart mastered that he sat, shaking with 
 laughter, astride the parapet, before a little frozen group 
 of fear: Jano-Mario with her needle in mid-air, Nerto 
 with her face buried on Madeloun's shoulder, and she, 
 the bravest of them, with her hands at her mouth, as if 
 to choke back a cry. 
 
 "Sing why don't you sing?" he demanded, beating 
 one gaily-sandalled foot against the earth, while the other 
 hung in mid-air. 
 
 " Santo Mario Saloume, he is quite mad," said Jano-Mario 
 slowly, while Madeloun turned her face away in silence. 
 
 Deliberately he unpacked again his shining fiddle, and 
 this time, its bow; and he went alone through the song to 
 the end. Were she the forest oak, himself would be the 
 ivy and here Nerto, familiar as was the song, recovered 
 herself in laughing at the image. Were she even a white 
 nun in the convent of St. Biaise, he would turn father 
 confessor. Yes, he said, if he found her in her winding- 
 sheet, dead among all the White Sisters, he would be the 
 very earth, and in the end she should be his own. 
 
 In the silence that followed, he made a great business 
 of packing away his instrument. Nerto withdrew to the 
 doorway of the house, and Jano-Mario folded up her 
 work, as if thinking of flight; but Madeloun came a little 
 forward, one hand in her pink-and-white frilled apron, 
 the other in the net of her hair that was blowing or she 
 pretended too much on one side for her comfort. 
 
 "Since you have come, stranger," said she, "what do 
 you want up here?" ("Up-here" is a synonym for 
 Castelar, in the phrase of the country.) 
 
 17
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 He looked at her steadily, with his yellow hawk-eyes. 
 "I came " said he, and concluded: "Never mind that 
 now. But, let me tell you, what I want I get." 
 
 O the gay laughter that broke from her lips! 
 
 "It's a boastful hawk. One might think he had come 
 from Marseilles. But if you won't tell good-day." 
 
 "Not so fast," says he. "This is an inn by the look of 
 it. Oh, I can read a long way when I choose, and your 
 letters here shine down the valley. . . . Where is your 
 father?" 
 
 "At the olive-mill, mending the broken floor." 
 
 "And your mother?" 
 
 She looked a little frightened as she said: "Still at the 
 washing-pool." 
 
 "Good, then," said he. "Bring me bread and white 
 wine, and goat's cheese." 
 
 "What you want you get," she quoted him gaily, "as 
 long as it's only goat's cheese. You shall have it under 
 the vine by the door. Come. If that is the end of your 
 wishing " 
 
 He laughed :" The end ? It's the beginning. We shall 
 see. Now I am hungry. But I always get what I want." 
 
 18
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE WAY OF IT 
 
 As he followed her along the garden-path, Nerto danced 
 away like a sprite before them; and when they came out 
 into the little paved terrace, still overlooking the valley, 
 where a vine trailed over trellis-work resting upon three 
 stone pillars, and where pansies and fuchsias and gera- 
 niums tinged with colour the yellowish grey walls, Jano- 
 Mario, who had clumped after them with her bundle of 
 sewing, passed on and out into the village street. 
 
 And when Madaleno called after the girls entreatingly, 
 one of their gay voices rang back: "Your mother is com- 
 ing up look over." 
 
 However, the innkeeper's daughter was bringing out 
 the loaf and the plate of cheese, and a bottle of the white 
 wine of Paradou ; and it was not until she had set these on 
 the stone table before her strange visitor, that she crossed 
 over to the parapet, and picked at the stones, playing with 
 her dimples as she worked out the problem how long 
 remained to her before her mother arrived. Allowing 
 for the weight of the basket of clothes, steepness of road, 
 and shortness of breath, the young huzzy decided that 
 
 19
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 she would have time to make pretence of stitchery, and 
 settled demurely by the wall. 
 
 But the self-styled hawk was hungry, and none of her 
 pretty dark side-glances reached their aim. He was 
 too busy tearing great crusts of bread, and working over 
 lumps of cheese; he had no more mind then for flirta- 
 tion than for the original cause that had brought him 
 thither. 
 
 There grew a straight black line between the girl's 
 heavy brows, and her underlip pouted itself out, red as a 
 pomegranate. She let her work fall and stared through 
 tears at the toiling figure of her mother, coming inevitably, 
 slowly, and fatefully upwards. It was not each day of 
 the year that such a personable stranger was to be had at 
 Castelar. 
 
 She stirred with a cry at a soft flip against her cheek; 
 and then plucked a spray of pale rosemary had the 
 wretch treasured it to this end? from the folds of her 
 apron. 
 
 She turned and perceived a gleam of eyes and teeth 
 between two enfolding hands she had no vision for 
 more. But, in simple fact, I must tell you that the loaf 
 had vanished and there was a cavern like a quarry in the 
 cheese the hawk could eat like the mighty man of 
 Gath and that the wine-bottle under a reckless elbow- 
 thrust was toppling over the edge of the table and at that 
 very moment smashed on the flags. 
 
 "Hour says he. "So it is. And after?" 
 
 "And after," says she, all at once as pert as a little 
 queen- wren on the hedges, " after, one pays." 
 
 20
 
 THE WAY OF IT 
 
 He laughed in his fashion one short, sharp "Hah!" 
 Then he said: "Good. But I have got what I wanted. 
 And I have no money. What then?" 
 
 She stared at him, incredulous. His plumage was so 
 fine! 
 
 "You have had a song and such a song. . . . And 
 you ask for pay? What more do you want?" 
 
 She lost her shyness in the offended dignity of the 
 hostess. "You have eaten and you cannot pay?" she 
 demanded, with a shrill note. 
 
 "Sant Trefume, you mistake me! I ask, what is it 
 you want ? I can pay, though not in francs. One some- 
 times pays with a kiss ?" The laughter of his face 
 and voice abated as he leaned towards her. 
 
 For all her sudden redness she did not retreat; she bent 
 forward to meet him and gave him a painful blow on the 
 nearer cheek. "Or two?" he continued calmly, without 
 moving, though on the one side his face flamed up under 
 the bronze. 
 
 She had a moment's turning towards the foot of the 
 hill: "O mother mother! Come fast come fast!" 
 
 He drew from his pocket a gay knife, with a handle of 
 pearl- matrix set in brass- work, very fine and costly, no 
 doubt. 
 
 Her brown face paled with the shooting fear that he 
 was mad she shrank towards a corner and put up a 
 useless defence of hands: "What would you do?" 
 
 "Payment you must have, if not of one sort, then of 
 another." He handed her a button from his sleeve. 
 "And since you prefer silver to song and kisses, there you 
 
 21
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 have it, and gilt into the bargain three times the value 
 of your excellent wine. Keep it keep it. It's for you." 
 
 She laid it on the table, faltering: "But if you are so 
 rich and have no money ?" 
 
 "Dau! That's -the tale. Want to hear it? Come, 
 sit on my knee What, no ? Well, on the table then, 
 or on the flags, or where the devil you please. . . . Tron- 
 de-goi, it's a shy piece!" He stared at her, with a kind 
 of surprised resentment. 
 
 She fluttered away from him further in the lee of the 
 table; but alas the Saints-of-the-Sea protect us! her 
 mother had stopped with two gossips in the shade of the 
 Cross at the parting of the ways below. 
 
 "Pecaire!" quoth Trillon. "I believe you're afraid of 
 me. And yet no young lamb ever did less damage than 
 myself ... to be sure I am still at the beginning. . . . 
 But you ask about my money ? It is all on my back 
 la, la! One week now one week has passed .since they 
 buried my father. Good old man Sant Micoulau rest 
 his soul! There was no love lost between us, for he was 
 always trying to crush the serpent under his foot, my 
 child the serpent that you see before you. ... It is 
 long enough now since he was able of a fine morning, when 
 the mistral was quiet, to toddle under the ramparts with 
 his journal, or to take his absinthe at his little cafe between 
 the Porte de Villeneuve and the river. Do you see him, 
 my pretty one? It amuses me that you should see him. 
 Like me? No more than yourself. A little lean brown 
 man in a buttoned-up coat quite respectable, as be- 
 came the owner of the finest small sausage-shop in the 
 
 22
 
 THE WAY OF IT 
 
 city of Avignon. Go there and you will still read his 
 name in gilt letters on the front, TRILLON that's it 
 -just plain TRILLON, and no more. That was 
 enough. Everybody knows what it stands for. There 
 are no other sausages to be had as good. . . . And I am 
 his son." 
 
 He inflated his chest, but whether his pride lay in his 
 parent or in the sausages, she could not for the moment 
 tell. She was to learn that it lay in neither. 
 
 "He had two friends," continued Trillon, musingly. 
 " You must know them, as they had to do with me. Old 
 Mercadou, the violin-maker they call him the ' Scourge 
 of the Prussians,' for the part he played at Sedan he 
 always spoke in my defence; and Pons, the barber, who 
 trains poodles for the stage, and has always two or three 
 following him about he was the traitor, no doubt. 
 And yet it was he who told me my mother was a Trin- 
 quetaille." 
 
 "A Trinquetaille ? " repeated Madeloun, wondering. 
 
 "None other. A branch of the great line that built 
 your castle up here. A noble breed but I have no 
 pride of race. . . . She died young, and all I remember 
 of her is, she was tall and had beautiful light hair like 
 my own, I must suppose and when I was in the way, 
 she knocked me aside with her foot. . . . Likewise she 
 treated my father, when he made that same mistake. . . . 
 That was the old blood what would you ? And now 
 I have come to see where they built their nest, for it is I 
 that shall build higher yet." 
 
 "Isso!" she sniffed at him. 
 
 23
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "It is true that I have no money," he continued pen- 
 sively, "yet my father died a man of means with a long 
 purse, and garden-land outside the gates, and a bank- 
 book. You might not have thought it if you had seen 
 him with Mercadou in his shabby velveteens and Pons in 
 his smock, but my poor father was a man of low tastes; 
 and as for myself, a Trinquetaille can mix with the scum, 
 and come forth the more sparkling." He glanced down 
 lovingly at his own achievements in the way of brightness. 
 
 "I cannot think, monsieur," said she, who had never 
 heard of Beatrice of Messina, "why you will talk so long, 
 unless it be for pleasure in your own voice." 
 
 "It is for your pleasure, mademoiselle," said he, with a 
 disarming smile, "and for your remembrance after." 
 
 She shrugged to disclaim all interest, but he was en- 
 couraged to proceed: "My father's money was safe 
 as safe as a thief in Tarascon Castle. He left it all away 
 from me, my pretty one and I was his only child." 
 
 "To whom then?" Her interest crept out. 
 
 "Listen" he grew more confidential, perhaps with 
 wine so early in the afternoon "I have an aunt who is 
 the best woman in the world. She undertook the care of 
 my soul when my mother joined the other saints; and she 
 also took charge of the sausage-shop. They tell me 
 the old men that she was once good-looking, even for 
 an Arle*sienne; I may suppose her to have been something 
 like yourself, mademoiselle. I have heard old Pons rave 
 until his poodles yawned, over the face of her one Easter 
 morning, when she went to church in a lavender silk with 
 pendants in her ears and other fal-lals. I take it Pons 
 
 24
 
 THE WAY OF IT 
 
 would have married her, but for her pride in the sausage- 
 shop, if only he had had a suspicion of family to his name. 
 But the simple truth is, his mother died in the Hdtel Dieu 
 at Cavaioun, and there was no knowing who else had 
 been responsible for him until the barber Pons picked 
 him out of the gutter and gave him a name. When we 
 talked of the Trinquetailles, he used to bring up the 
 Baron Pons of Les Baux; but the relationship was not 
 clear, mademoiselle not clear enough for my aunt. 
 Moreover, Pons is a gross fat man, and blood tells in the 
 figure hein?" 
 
 He interrupted himself, waiting for her approval; and 
 she went off into pretty peals of laughter. 
 
 "Well" he laughed with her for an instant "it was 
 my aunt who came in for my father's money, and his gar- 
 dens and his sausage-shop. There, you have my little tale." 
 
 "But you had vexed him how?" was her rebuke. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I had vexed him and perplexed him all 
 my life ; and neither of us could tell why. But all that I 
 said and all that I did, and all that I failed to say or do, 
 was related by Pons to my aunt, and by her to my father; 
 and in the end, the old man was displeased. ... It was 
 the will of Heaven, no doubt. . . . She scrubbed and 
 scoured, I grant it, and she put aside many sous 
 women's business all that. And so, she wanted me to 
 store up the letters of the alphabet and the dates of battles 
 and ways of adding up numbers. But I never thought 
 that a man's affair, so I learned as little as I could. Some- 
 times I ran away from school, and sunned myself with 
 the lizards; and I had rare fine games of bowls with 
 
 25
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 gypsies under the ramparts on the far side, believe you, 
 from where my father walked up and down with his 
 journal. I could beat them all, and whenever they had 
 any money, it was I that got it in the end honestly, you 
 know honestly; but in the spending of it, they had back 
 all I won. Money? It is an encumbrance. But they 
 respected me, for I could swim both the Durance and the 
 Rhone, not once, but as often as they liked, even in the 
 spring freshets . . . and the Rhone is swift, mademoiselle. 
 And I can climb good God, how I can climb ! Your 
 castle here? I do not suppose there is a place in the 
 world that I cannot climb. I have the foot of a cat. I 
 crawled one day into one of the upper barracks in the 
 castle of the Popes never mind how. They carried 
 me on their shoulders the garrison there. To be sure, 
 I might have gone in by the gate, but that's not to the 
 point. I like always the way of the wall and the rope and 
 the ladder. It is my nature." 
 
 "And can you not fly then?" she spoke up with some 
 scorn. 
 
 "Say the word," he retorted eagerly. "Say the word 
 and you shall see what I can do. I do not suppose there 
 is anything" he stopped abruptly. "I weary you?" 
 he asked, in a singularly gentle tone. 
 
 She shook her head softly as she leaned over the wall. 
 Her mother was coming up now; and there was already a 
 stab of regret in the girl's heart. Oh, the alchemy of the 
 Southern sun! It was but half an hour that they had 
 been together; and in ten minutes or twenty they would 
 forever part ai ai ail 
 
 26
 
 THE WAY OF IT 
 
 "More of flying hereafter," says he. "But I did 
 not tell you, mademoiselle, that my father left me exactly 
 five hundred francs. When the notary read the will 
 he made a will, mind you, like all respectable folk 
 when he read, 'He that cannot keep money must go and 
 earn for himself,' I looked at my aunt in her crapes, with 
 her handkerchief over her eyes, and I swore an oath 
 with which I will not offend your ears, mademoiselle " 
 
 "O, la, la," she breathed, with uplifted eyebrows. 
 
 "If I have conquered the Rhone in his fury, little one, 
 what worse remains? What cannot I do?" 
 
 "I could say I could tell a thing or so, braggart!" 
 says she, with a sidelong laugh. 
 
 "What then? What then?" He forgets his tale, 
 fiercely snatching at the challenge; but her mother is now 
 panting up the last curve, and she wants the end of the 
 story. 
 
 "Your five hundred francs?" she whispers. 
 
 "I went out into the Place Pie you know the Place 
 Pie at Avignon ? and there out of the blindness of the 
 sun and my anger, I found myself standing by the Tour 
 St. Jean just under the old coat-of-arms if you know 
 what such a thing is. It was Mercadou told me once, 
 when he was boasting of the great deeds that had been 
 done at Avignon. You might have thought he had been 
 there, the blow-gun." 
 
 She put her hands to her mouth to check another ripple 
 of laughter, lest her mother hear and end the fun sooner 
 than need be. 
 
 "But never mind what it is or why it is there. It's 
 
 27
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 a carving of two crossed keys the keys of the Popes, 
 that unlock the world and these are in the claws of 
 two hawks, the falcons of Avignon. So I said to myself: 
 'Here's the one, and when I find my mate ' " Accord- 
 ing to convention, her eyes fell. 
 
 He continued cheerfully: "And afterwards, when the 
 time comes, we can see about unlocking the world. . . . 
 But the five hundred francs I spent what I could on 
 my back, as you see; and I bought my violin, for up to 
 now I had only an old thing that Mercadou taught me to 
 make years ago. This is one of his best. And I can sing 
 hein ? You do not often hear such singing. It was 
 Mercadou who taught me all I know. You shall hear 
 more some day, harvest airs and noels, and the music of 
 all the birds wait!" 
 
 She looked at him, wistful, fascinated, perhaps the more 
 so in that she had heard her mother enter the room behind 
 them, and her ears had been awake to the creak of the 
 heavy basket as it was lifted from the head and set on 
 the table. 
 
 "When I had done my best with the money, I scattered 
 what was left among the gypsies and ragamuffins; they 
 had a feast that day outside Avignon. I could not keep 
 it, for I felt that there was a curse upon it, given grudg- 
 ingly; and I could always get more when I wanted it. 
 Meantime, there are the buttons, which are useful as 
 to-day. I took the first diligence that passed through the 
 town gate; and I sang myself here to see the castle of my 
 fathers. And that's the way of it . . ." 
 
 "The way of what, my fine gentleman?" said a harsh 
 
 28
 
 THE WAY OF IT 
 
 voice from the door; and the gay Trillon looked over his 
 shoulder at the unfriendly face of the innkeeper's wife. 
 
 Doubtless he would have found an adequate reply; but 
 Madeloun's light wits flew up like a cloud of butterflies 
 to obscure the real issue. 
 
 "The way to the castle, my mother. The gentleman 
 
 has had food and wine and paid for it" she slipped the 
 
 button into the pocket of her coquettishly frilled apron 
 
 - "and now he wants to see the castle. Am I to take 
 
 him there?" 
 
 There was calculation in Mere Borel's heavy eyes as she 
 looked her guest over. Rich was his appearance and 
 eccentric; the girl was pretty enough and was widely 
 known to have a gift of attracting francs; the castle stood 
 high, open to the winds of heaven and the eyes of the 
 village. Small was the risk, and great was the chance 
 of gain. ..." Eh, well, Madeloun," was her grumbling 
 assent. 
 
 A moment in the dark room, screened and curtained 
 on all sides against the sun, Trillon fumbled and lost 
 himself; then he found two guiding hands, and kept them 
 fast, for all their pretty fluttering: 
 
 "The way of it, eh, Madeloun? So that was the way 
 of it all along? What did I tell you in the beginning? 
 Now we shall see." 
 
 29
 
 CHAPTER in 
 
 THE PERILOUS LADDER OF LOVE 
 
 THEY walked soberly enough out into the white glare 
 of sunlight and up the overshadowed rocky pathway 
 between tall houses, that is called the Rue des Trois Rois, 
 at Castelar. It was necessary to use discretion, for while 
 nine tenths of the dwellings were ruined in siege nearly 
 three hundred years ago, and have stood empty ever 
 since, their pillared windows gaping to the winds, their 
 wells and courts and carved chimneys harbouring only 
 nettles, from behind the other few, where glass still shines, 
 black eyes were peering and tongues would be babbling 
 presently of feather-headed Madeloun and the eccentric 
 stranger. 
 
 The way grew rougher, with stones that twisted the 
 ankle, and briars that pricked the arm, so that it seemed 
 one required help in the climbing. Again, there were 
 landmarks that needed urgent attention, in the world of 
 ultramarine and violet that fell away beneath the feet. 
 And whenever the nice and delicate balance in which the 
 girl moved was threatened by some obstacle in the path, 
 you may be sure that Trillon played his part. With all 
 
 30
 
 THE PERILOUS LADDER OF LOVE 
 
 this, there were sighs that melted into laughter, and 
 plaintive scraps of song illuminated by dark teasing 
 glances it was not for nothing that there was Greek 
 blood in her veins this little Madelouneto ! 
 
 But there was scanty speech between the two until they 
 came to the grassy bank that stands on the site of the 
 ancient outworks of the keep. There the girl raised her 
 finger and pointed to the steps, with their dizzy handrail 
 shaking in the wind the steps cut out of rock that seem 
 to lead up into the sky and then break off on the top of 
 a crumbling wall. 
 
 "The lords of the world climbed high," laughed Trillon. 
 "Think you they rode their horses up this pretty stair- 
 way?" He laid his hand on the rail, which bent and 
 rattled hi his clutch. 
 
 All at once Madeloun was close at his elbow: "I am 
 afraid I cannot go up further. I am always dizzy 
 here. Listen to the wind there is never a day when it 
 is still, about these steps. I have a fear that some time 
 the mistral will seize me and carry me across the plain and 
 fling me into the sea. Let us go down. I am afraid!" 
 
 But his arm barred her way: "Nonsense! You shall 
 climb to the roof of the world with me. Where I go thou 
 shalt go, even if I have to carry thee." 
 
 "Don't thou me," she says, trying to shrink away. 
 
 He disregarded her complaint. "Shall I carry thee 
 up?" 
 
 She perceived that he was ready to fulfil his threat and 
 would have retreated; but he was on the one side and 
 sheer precipice on the other. 
 
 3 1
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Then go on first," said he, "and if thou art dizzy, I 
 can catch thee so." 
 
 With that she flung aside what fear she had or seemed 
 to have, and scrambled up the great blocks of stone, 
 clinging ever to the rail and averting her eyes from 
 the valley below. 
 
 But at the top she drew back that he might pass, and 
 pointed the way to a great arch that towered above their 
 heads. "Look it is all beneath you there all the 
 world as far as the sea. And you have only to set one foot 
 forward and look then! I cannot." 
 
 He glanced at her shrewdly as if to measure the depth 
 of her fear, cocked his hat against the wind, pursed his 
 lips into a whistle, and with more than wonted spring in 
 his step crossed the patch of turf between them and the 
 arch. But when he was near enough to look through, a 
 change passed over his face that was not merely the shadow 
 of the great wall; and he fell back a pace and stood mo- 
 tionless. And she, who had followed timidly, yet not far 
 behind, heard his murmured words: "My God! The 
 lords of the world built high!" 
 
 Then, aware of her approach, he assumed an elab- 
 orately careless posture, leaning against the wind-swept, 
 rain-eaten wall, where a single step would have deprived 
 him, in the fraction of a second, of all human semblance. 
 
 Perhaps he was thinking of this, for he said: "It would 
 be a feast for my brothers of the mountain." And to the 
 girl: "Did you ever see a Capoun-Fh?" 
 
 But he did not turn as he spoke, and his words went away 
 with the wind. He muttered again, but rather to him- 
 
 32
 
 THE PERILOUS LADDER OF LOVE 
 
 self than to her: "Eh, well, it is a chimney that I stand in, 
 the shell of a fireplace where my fathers once gathered 
 about the hearth and planned how they should win their 
 battles." 
 
 This also failed to reach the girl's attention. "Ai! 
 ail" she said. "Now he is poised, he is balanced against 
 the wind, but if his hat should be lifted, and he should 
 give a sudden jerk . . . and often the stones fall without 
 reason . . . only wings could save him . . ." She 
 stretched out a tremulous hand to his nearer sleeve. 
 
 But he was not aware of the slight touch, for his eyes 
 and his mind had settled into equipoise and were absorbed 
 in what lay below. Downward went his gaze, past the 
 chaos of limestone boulders and cliff fantastically carved 
 into gargoyles and corbels of ludicrous and monstrous 
 humanity down and down, until he drew in his breath. 
 It was not perhaps so far in hundreds of metres, but it was 
 desperately sheer and under-eaten, and at the bottom was 
 a great debris of broken rocks. Still down and afield 
 went his glance, past the olive- groves descending the 
 slopes of red earth, past the brief uplift of the foot-hills, 
 bronzed with fir-woods that seemed like low scrub from 
 that height; onward he gazed, past a pale strip of meadow, 
 the red and grey blur of a village, past marshes with shal- 
 low lagoons silvery in the blaze of the sun. There, after 
 the bronze and green and red and gold there began the 
 blue: folded veils of azure and violet and ultramarine, 
 passing away, line upon line, here and there empurpled 
 with heat or with shadow, with who could say what ? 
 until the sky fell and the sea rose up to the meeting, 
 
 33
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 and the land embraced both or was absorbed, and 
 nothing remained but blue the measureless blue of 
 unending space the blue where all things meet and are 
 one. 
 
 So deep, so breathless was the muse of Trillon that 
 Madeloun's fear grew into panic. She dared not leave 
 him dared not rouse him dared not speak or move 
 to stir him from that dizzy poise. But it may be that he 
 felt the terror in her gaze, for he turned slowly and looked 
 up at her; and immediately she held out two brown hands 
 to guide him on the one step back to safety. 
 
 When they stood together, he would not release what 
 she had so freely offered; but made pretence of holding 
 her still unconsciously, while he turned again to the plain, 
 and said as one who mused: "I can see the towers of 
 Avignon a golden blotch against the white ribbon of 
 the Rhone" 
 
 She laughed and ceased her struggle for freedom: 
 "But, monsieur " 
 
 He turned his yellow eyes upon her and then terrible 
 man! he read her little thought as plainly as if it had 
 been spoken. He continued with a twinkle that she could 
 not face: "And against the wall, in the shadow of the gate, 
 I see the charcuterie, with my old aunt by the window 
 stringing up sausages all day long, pecairel while I am 
 here on the top of the world, ready to pick and choose 
 among its good things. I can see " 
 
 She suddenly wrenched herself loose, and stepped 
 further back into safety. 
 
 "You can see Avignon and the Rhone," said she saucily, 
 
 34
 
 THE PERILOUS LADDER OF LOVE 
 
 "if you come quite to the other side of the hill and look 
 to the north." 
 
 But she was a stupid Madeloun, thinking to bring down 
 the hawk with such a poisoned arrow; he fluttered as high 
 as ever: "I can see what I please when I will, and that 
 without eyes, as I saw Avignon, a moment since; but now 
 all I see is what is nearest at hand." 
 
 "Oh! oh! and no!" She fled to the shelter of a great 
 escarpment that would hide them both from the eyes of 
 the village. It is said that Saracens built it once as a 
 vantage-point for hurling Greek fire into the chateau; but 
 it served admirably for love-making. 
 
 She flashed defiance upon him from her shadow; and 
 at first he stood apart and laughed at her pretty challenge. 
 But he held his hat in his hand; and while the great wind 
 beat upon him, and tossed his hair in his eyes, and made 
 the blood sing in his veins, the sun was at another work, the 
 Mage of Provence, Alchemist of Alchemists ... I am 
 afraid that all in a moment Trillon's head was turned 
 altogether. 
 
 He laughed, but she would not laugh with him in- 
 stead, leaned against the wall, picking at her apron, very 
 angry. 
 
 "Sarnipabieune!" he swore as he ate, mightily. 
 "I am a fool! If the hawk mates with the wren, what 
 becomes of the little hedge-picker hein?" 
 
 "Go away go away!" She struck out at him in a 
 helpless rage. "I will have nothing to do with you." 
 
 He came close and pinned her shoulders to the rock: 
 "Dost thou speak like that to a Trinquetaille, thou hedge- 
 
 35
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 bird, thou sparrowlet? Oh, I will thou thee as much as 
 I please for a reason that I have! But look and consider: 
 here I come with my head stuffed full of tales of my 
 fathers, for I have read books, though I loved not learning, 
 and I have heard many things from Mercadou and others 
 old Pons himself. ... So here I come to see the place 
 from which the falcons flew down upon their prey. I 
 passed the little stream and the ford where they fought 
 the Battle of the Thirteens with the lord of Orange, and 
 won Barbegal, and I saw the Pass of Orgue where they fell 
 upon the Marseilles merchants and lightened their beasts 
 of much Indian wealth chut ! I came up here to take 
 my first steps in the winning of the world . . . and if all 
 I catch is a pretty hedge-sparrow ..." 
 
 "And you have not got that!" she defied him, although 
 his hands still pinned her to the rock. But she made no 
 move to resist. Indeed, hampered as she was, she found 
 means to lift her apron to her mouth and to bite at its 
 hem. How far she was frightened and how far foolish 
 in her bravado I cannot say. 
 
 Trillon, although he looked at her, seemed rather to 
 stare through her and into the rock; and for the moment 
 he forgot to laugh: "Every man has his thoughts, I 
 suppose ; and the thing in my mind is now, whether to let 
 you go, and climb on my way to the adventures that my 
 lucky-star shall point out to me, or whether " 
 
 At this, she dropped her apron and met his glance. 
 
 Still he hesitated: "I have a lucky-star, as you will 
 know some day. It may bring me land wealth 
 honours" but here bright eyes and wavering dimples 
 
 36
 
 THE PERILOUS LADDER OF LOVE 
 
 won the day. "It shall bring me first the innkeeper's 
 daughter!" 
 
 As swiftly as ever pounced peregrine, he caught her in 
 his arms; and in three strides he went boldly across the 
 open, where they might be seen by any chance eyes turned 
 upwards from the village; and he paused at the head of 
 the rough-hewn steps. 
 
 "What say you fiein ?" 
 
 But she lay still in a terror that was half ecstasy. 
 
 The wind leapt upon them with a shout, lifted Trillon's 
 hat and sent it whirling and bounding down the cliff. 
 
 But he laughed as he stood in the full glare of the sun- 
 light ; and his yellow hair blew across her cheek as he bent 
 and kissed her, and stifled her faint cry suddenly against 
 his shoulder. 
 
 Then, with the wind swaying him, weighted as he was, 
 he stepped down, not too carefully, to the next great block, 
 and kissed her again. " It was a long journey up," said he. 
 
 On the third, she was ready for him and turned her 
 face away but not quickly enough. Yet, though she 
 shrank, she clung fast, with the sickening fear that he 
 was mad and would suddenly throw her to the winds 
 that she might fall and roll and crash downwards. . . . 
 
 She held her breath with the horrible sinking that comes 
 of such imagination; yet on the fifth step she wondered 
 whether, instead, he would leap and still hold her fast; 
 and she cared less. 
 
 On the sixth, her mood changed; and she laughed up 
 at him to see how his tufts of yellow hair were ruffled 
 into the semblance of feathers. 
 
 37
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 And on the seventh, he it was who laughed because she 
 had lost all fear. 
 
 On the eighth, "How long will you remember?" he 
 asked. 
 
 On the ninth, he paused until she whispered, "Not 
 long." Then he: "I make sure." 
 
 The tenth step was a landing a resting-place in the 
 difficult up and down. Here he balanced himself as well 
 as he could, though never without giving a little to the 
 force of the wind ; and standing near the edge, threatened 
 to hurl her away. But she would not trouble now to 
 look at the peril below gazed only at him and said: 
 "Throw me throw me if you can!" 
 
 It seemed that they must have heard his laughter in 
 the village below. "Is the sparrowlet a hawk after all? 
 And shall we fly to the sun together?" 
 
 But she: "We're going" it was the eleventh step 
 "down." 
 
 And he chanted, as he marked the twelfth stage: "The 
 perilous ladder of love!" 
 
 The sun was in his eyes as he counted thirteen and 
 fourteen; and the wind beat a desperate tattoo fifteen, 
 sixteen and seventeen so that he was all but over- 
 balanced. ... O the ecstasy of eighteen and nineteen! 
 But at twenty she stirred and heightened the peril. 
 
 As suddenly he gave himself to the wind, and the steps 
 flew upwards past them, marked but not counted. It 
 was a long, long flight, but he reached the grass, set her 
 on her feet, and steadied her from falling. 
 
 "After?" says he. 
 
 38
 
 THE PERILOUS LADDER OF LOVE 
 
 And after was a shower of tears, which he was too wise 
 to interrupt until they had spent their force. But when 
 the frilled apron was wet and still, he pulled it away. 
 "Come," says he. "We are betrothed. Make the best 
 of it. It's time I met your father." 
 
 She let him draw her timid hand through his arm; and 
 so with the keen wind blowing her black hair from under 
 her cap against his that she had laughed to find like 
 hawk's feathers, with the sun blinding their eyes and 
 streaming like white-hot metal against their unprotected 
 faces, they came together down the broken slopes and 
 the jagged pathway. 
 
 It is the sun, believe me if you will, that rules the chil- 
 dren of the South; and they knew themselves in his power. 
 
 Once Trillon looked back: "It was a long climb and I 
 meant to go far. But the coming down was better. 
 With a ladder like that even with Death below hoi, 
 it's good to live in the day!" 
 
 39
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE SILVER RING 
 
 AuziAS BOREL had finished mending the floor of the 
 olive-mill and come in for his four o'clock lunch. As he 
 sat down with his wife in the cool, dark living-room, she 
 told him what had happened while he was away. 
 
 "But it's a long time now," says he rather anxiously, 
 biting the ends of his white moustache. "I'll go up and 
 see" 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the sort," snapped the woman. 
 "You'll give your mind to your bread and cheese. It 
 may be a matter of three or four francs to us." 
 
 He sighed and crossed the room to look through the 
 screen-door, up the hill. There was an ease and grace 
 of movement in his short slim figure that showed his 
 Greek ancestry, as did the well-chiselled nose and quick- 
 glancing eyes. In striking contrast was all this to the 
 woman whose sombre, passionate face, rough-featured 
 and coarse of texture, was her heritage from some tribe 
 of Ligurian savages. She was altogether uncomely, 
 except in the unfathomable splendour of her dark eyes 
 eyes in which one seemed to look backward into the 
 
 40
 
 THE SILVER RING 
 
 mysteries of the beginning of life eyes full of the trouble 
 and passion and sorrow of strange races, Celt and Iberian 
 and older nameless folk whose history stretched back 
 into the kingdom of the beasts. And these eyes were 
 her sole outward and visible gift to her daughter. God 
 help the girl if, in addition to the light and fantastic 
 ways of her Phocian father, she was burdened as well 
 with the passionate soul of the elder Madeloun, her mother! 
 
 Auzias still lingered at the door, shifting his feet boy- 
 ishly in a sort of dance. "If" said he, " if I thought " 
 
 "If you thought," she said, and rattled the dishes she 
 was setting on the bare table. "If you thought, you 
 would be rich, Borel." 
 
 "If I were rich," he grumbled, though he laughed a 
 little too, "I would sell you and buy a wife without a 
 tongue. But I'm thinking of Leleto " 
 
 " Verai ?" she sneered. "It's nothing else all day long. 
 One would suppose you had never a daughter before. 
 Why don't you talk of Nanoun with her lubberly market- 
 gardener at Beaucaire, and Rouseto up the hill here with 
 her five children and a husband who basks like a lizard, 
 and eats the olives that you provide. And you with a 
 son to follow you! But it was always daughters 
 daughters to your mind, and with this last one worst 
 of all . . ." 
 
 She stopped breathless, her hand at her side. 
 
 "Be quiet," said Auzias quite needlessly, and brand- 
 ished his knife they were at the table now in a way 
 that looked alarming, but was only a flourish preparatory 
 to cutting the cheese. "Be quiet, will you? Women
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 are always talking there's no peace for a man in the 
 world. If my mind runs on Madelounet, it is only that 
 I am thinking how she may be provided for when we are 
 called away." 
 
 She shrugged: "We have talked of this before." 
 
 "We cannot talk of it too much," said he, taking a 
 handful of ripe black olives. "And besides, we must 
 know the mind of the girl." 
 
 "Her mind?" said the mother, with her mouth full of 
 bread. "What should a girl of seventeen think on such 
 matters?" 
 
 "That," said Borel calmly, "is what I propose to find 
 out." Then his thoughts turned and he asked: "What 
 has Jduse been doing to-day? I have not seen him." 
 
 But she was slower to change the subject: "Girls 
 girls! At her age they're all as much alike as a flock of 
 lambs." 
 
 " But the shepherd knows each one, if he has a hundred," 
 said he. "Now, I myself, when I was young . . ." 
 
 She gave him no chance: "Set a wolf among them, and 
 you'd find little difference in their jumping." 
 
 "Well, to my mind," said the father, playing with the 
 heap of his olive-stones, "girls spoil with long keeping. 
 I'd like to see her with a husband of her own, and of 
 grandchildren there cannot be too many- 
 
 "Not when you put the bread into their mouths?" she 
 asked pertinently, but he waved the point aside. 
 
 "Look, now, Borel, be reasonable," she deigned to 
 argue with him. "We've talked this over before. We 
 make a living out of the inn, with the olives and the silk- 
 
 42
 
 THE SILVER RING 
 
 worms; but when we die there's J6use and his wife, with 
 their four; and the little that's over and above 
 will be needed for Nanoun's rent and to keep Rouseto 
 and her brood out of the almshouse. Your daughters 
 have the gift of marrying badly, Borel; and nobody could 
 say that J6use chose much better. Now, what's for 
 Madeloun?" 
 
 "They could spare her a little, and share what there 
 is," he persisted stubbornly. 
 
 She grew shrill with expostulation: "And where is she 
 to find a husband that will take her penniless? In the 
 ditch? What do you want? Besides, Father Gou- 
 goulin " 
 
 Borel spread out his palms to show his perfect compre- 
 hension. In the end as in the beginning, he had told 
 himself, it was the priest who wanted to make the girl into 
 a nun. He uttered his protest as best he could, as he had 
 frequently uttered it before: "The holy life is all very well 
 in its way; but, to my thinking, it comes unnatural in our 
 family. You can't turn a live hare into a tombstone." 
 
 His wife had been brushing the crumbs from the table 
 into her apron. She now flung a great lump of bread to 
 each of the waiting dogs, and went to scatter her gather- 
 ings among the chickens. 
 
 At the door she met Madeloun and the stranger, still 
 blinking from the sunlight. 
 
 Borel was stuffing his pipe in the far corner of the room ; 
 and Madeloun went at once to sit on the bench beside 
 him, with the instinct, no doubt, to seek shelter and 
 protection. 
 
 43
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Trillon waited until the older woman came back, wiping 
 her mouth with her toil-hardened hand. She looked for 
 him to lay silver francs upon the table; but instead he 
 faced her, his feet well apart, his hands at his sides, his 
 chin high I will not say that the attitude was not per- 
 haps intentionally exaggerated. 
 
 "Madame," said he, "and monsieur, I do myself the 
 honour to ask for your daughter's hand." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Madeloun, as if she had not expected this, 
 and buried her face against her father's arm. 
 
 Mere Borel looked at the stranger, slow to comprehend, 
 until her husband's chuckle stirred her to anger. Auzias 
 had laid down his pipe, and shook and twinkled with 
 amusement. He was the first to speak. "Eh, well? 
 What of it?" he asked. 
 
 Trillon laughed back at him: "You take it wisely 
 and from a man without a hat too." 
 
 "One must take things as they come," said Auzias 
 philosophically, as he lighted his pipe. Then feeling the 
 girl's tears through his shirt-sleeves, he turned to her: 
 "Eh, well, what would you have? They all weep, I 
 suppose. You have been quick in finding a man, Leleto." 
 
 She murmured something that he could not hear; 
 and he bent his head to listen. 
 
 But now Mere Borel had understood, and she came 
 forward to Trillon with her question: "Will monsieur 
 kindly explain himself?" 
 
 He was aware of some disappointment. It seemed then 
 as if, contrary to all possibilities, the thing would be so 
 easy. It even occurred to him that for one who believed 
 
 44
 
 THE SILVER RING 
 
 himself destined to fly, free of earth, in the sunny upper 
 air, it might be no small encumbrance to be thus ensnared 
 
 he kept the figure of the bird at the outset. But again 
 
 and yet again it was the main point; for the present 
 moment it was the girl he had wanted. . . . Had ? Oh, 
 the swift passing of tenses! He put all thought aside and 
 set himself resolutely to the winning. 
 
 "Madame, I refer you to a certain sausage-shop, of 
 which I will give you the address, kept by a respectable 
 woman of Avignon, my aunt. So much for the Trillons 
 
 the fact that my mother was a Trinquetaille is perhaps 
 less important to you. But it supports me in times of 
 calamity or would support me, for as yet I have had 
 no misfortune ..." 
 
 She cut him short: "And what rente does monsieur 
 derive from the sausage-shop?" 
 
 He turned a surprised face upon her: "Rente? None 
 in the world. I told you it was my aunt's. But since you 
 demand a character, I can but refer you to my only rela- 
 tion. And heaven knows," he concluded to himself, 
 "what facts she will manage to scrape together." 
 
 "You have no rente?" she repeated, goaded out of her 
 formal dignity. 
 
 "Nothing in the world," said he; and again Auzias 
 laughed, and patted his daughter's head. But when his wife 
 looked that way, he obscured himself in a cloud of smoke. 
 
 "Eh, well?" said the woman furiously. "And then 
 and then how do you live?" 
 
 "As best I can," was the calm reply. "There is food 
 in the world and I can get it." 
 
 45
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "It is clear," observed Auzias, coming out of his cloud, 
 " that monsieur is a young man of small experience." 
 
 Trillon took this gravely: "The saying goes, monsieur, 
 that marriage is the shortest road to more." 
 
 But he moved about now, with a certain restless im- 
 patience. It was one thing to kiss a pretty girl in the 
 sun; and quite another, to argue with her parents, dry- 
 mouthed too, over means of living. He began to wonder 
 whether the easiest way for all of them, out of the situa- 
 tion, were not to leap over the wall, alight on his feet as 
 he was bound to do, and so return as he had come. There 
 were many pretty girls in a day's journey . . . 
 
 But at this critical moment, Madaleno lifted her face, 
 not too tear-stained for charm, and tear-stained enough 
 to be piteous; and the memory rushed over him that this 
 was the one girl whom, for some reason inexplicable to 
 himself, he was bent upon having. He realized then 
 that he had come near swerving from his purpose; and 
 he mentally shook his head over the weakness. If only 
 as a test, he must see the thing through. 
 
 "Well, madame," said he, coolly, "if you and monsieur 
 consent to take me as son-in-law, you will one day be very 
 proud; if not, we must manage without you." 
 
 "Is it in France that we hear such talk?" cried she, sud- 
 denly purple. "Or are we all mad? You Madeloun 
 and your beggar . . . Borel, throw him over the wall." 
 
 But Auzias turned to the girl: "Eh, Leloun, what say 
 you?" 
 
 She looked at the invader, then she looked away, and 
 she was obviously ashamed to speak. 
 
 46
 
 THE SILVER RING 
 
 Borel glanced from the one to the other, and chuckled 
 again, saying to his wife: "It's a clear case, woman. We 
 shall have to let them alone. We have all been young in 
 our day and thought we could live on sunshine and almond- 
 shells. Two fools more or less. Let them go their 
 way. It's better than four bare walls and the eternal 
 ding-dong of a chapel bell." 
 
 Trillon did not hear this, for he was balancing himself 
 on the table on the other side of Madeloun. He swung 
 the strap of his violin-case about, to ease his shoulder a 
 little; and all the while he looked at her with a glance that 
 she would not return, and said nothing. 
 
 Mere Borel advanced upon him. "Clear the house 
 scum rubbish!" said she, with emphasis. 
 
 He looked at her calmly : " Tron-de-sort, I shall do nothing 
 of the kind until I have finished my affair here." 
 
 And while she stared at him, dumb at his effrontery 
 and helpless with rage, he pulled at his watch-chain until 
 he had snapped away something that hung there. 
 
 "Look up, Madeloun," said he, with no attempt at a 
 whisper. "Here's a ring for thee. It's only of silver; I 
 won it last year, playing ombre with a gypsy girl under 
 the walls of Avignon. But she had worn it long, and she 
 told me that it had been blest at the shrine of St. Sarah, 
 in the church of the Holy-Maries-by-the-Sea. Look, it 
 has an image of the Virgin cut into it. That should keep 
 thee safe," - his tone took on a tinge of mockery 
 "while I am out in the world making a fortune for the 
 two of us. Hold out thy hand." 
 
 But she shrank away behind her father's shoulder: 
 
 47
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Go away! I don't want you! I never want to see you 
 again!" 
 
 "This is a wooing in truth," said Auzias, though his 
 eyes twinkled -^n spite of himself. 
 
 Trillon had a word to that: "Not at all. The wooing 
 was up on the rocks; this is the repenting. But it's too 
 late for repentance." He seized her hand and pulled it 
 part way across the table. 
 
 She gave a faint scream, struggling to free it. 
 
 " Come come," said Auzias, and half rose to interfere. 
 
 But Trillon had been the quicker. Before the old man 
 could reach forward, before the woman could cry out for 
 help and summon the village, the silver Virgin was thrust 
 upon the girl's finger, so hard that the skin was scratched 
 red, and she cried out with pain as she pulled at it in a 
 succession of vain efforts to get it off. 
 
 Mere Borel rushed to the door, but her husband was 
 there with her: "Hush, woman, we must keep this quiet. 
 We shall never hear the end of it wait wait ..." 
 He seized her arm, for she was determined, and he had 
 much ado to keep her where she was. 
 
 When he could look again, Trillon was gone, and Made- 
 loun, the little ring still on her finger, had her face on the 
 table, sobbing. 
 
 Auzias went over to her: "What did he say to you ?" 
 
 She was nearly hysterical: "He said he said that 
 the ring would keep me fast, and he would come back. 
 . . . O sweet Saints, help me! I think he was the devil 
 himself; and I cannot get it off . . ." 
 
 She checked her sobs all at once and held her breath. 
 
 48
 
 THE SILVER RING 
 
 From the rocks below there floated up first a clear strong 
 whistle, and then a rude sort of chant, unaccompanied, 
 perhaps improvised on the moment: 
 
 "The sun stood high, 
 The wind blew dry, 
 In the azure sky. 
 
 O falcon fly 
 
 Diul Dan! Bourn/" 
 
 The three listened without moving until the sound had 
 died away. 
 
 49
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE HEART OF MADELOUN 
 
 Ax Castelar, the burnished chariot of the sun cleaves 
 its way through the blue air to the whistle and crack of 
 the whips of the wind. Rarely through the long summer 
 blaze comes the rumble that tells how the smiths of heaven 
 are trying to mend the weather. Now and again there is 
 a great stillness; and when the wind is gone, folk have 
 terror of the rain of white rays that kill. 
 
 Few sounds, save the mistral, come so high. The 
 cigalas sing in the plains, the nightingales in the wooded 
 valleys, the wild bees are busy in the lower rocks. The 
 sheep-bells climb and climb, but drift away among the 
 shaggy slopes where no men dwell; and the mule-carts 
 tinkle down the white road, bearing the stone from the 
 quarries, but they pass seldom, and under the walls. In 
 Castelar itself, you hear but the chatter of women about 
 the washing-pool, or the rare clear song of a girl floating 
 out from the ramparts in La Peirounello, or what you will. 
 
 And no less quiet than the voice of the town is the inner 
 life of its people, to whom come the echoes of great deeds 
 in the world below, as far away and as rarely as thunder. 
 
 5
 
 THE HEART OF MADELOUN 
 
 When two meet in the Place, it is the silk-worms that are 
 spoken of, or the olives, or the dearth of water. When a 
 child is born and christened, there is a little ripple of talk 
 and excitement, and family histories are remembered. 
 When someone dies of old age, the small ancient bell of 
 King Rent's day and the great bell that Mazarin himself 
 bequeathed are tolled in alternation and all men leave their 
 work, shepherds and quarrymen together, and make proces- 
 sion to fetch the dead on his last journey; and the greater 
 part bear their candles at the Mass, but a few of the impious 
 men and boys linger outside under the plane-trees. Then 
 the still life goes on, with now and then a burst of laughter, 
 bonfires for St. John's Eve, bloody noses at election-time 
 and a knife-thrust or two, the dancing of the jarandoulo 
 when the harvest comes in, the Adoration of the Shep- 
 herds in the church at Christmas time and the Noel bush, 
 the beautiful Masses of Easter . . . There is never 
 much doing at Castelar, and little thinking; but much 
 talking in quiet corners, and song in the sunshine. 
 
 Where one day is so much like another, the months 
 glide into years unperceived; and so it was that Madaleno 
 lived by the bread of the moment all through the hot 
 season and for a while knew no change. 
 
 And yet I speak but by the letter: her spirit was no 
 more idle than were the silk-worms that she tended while 
 they made ready to spin them cocoons; and like them, 
 she herself came to spin a chrysalis of the silk of dreams, in 
 which she might hide and brood. 
 
 At first, there was the matter of the silver ring. She 
 was superstitious, finding a touch of miracle in the fact
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 that it had somehow slipped on, and yet for no manner 
 of coaxing or eager plucking would afterwards leave her 
 finger. With her efforts she had cut into the raw flesh; 
 and then had had to wait, with sullen impatience, for the 
 wound to heal. She grew accustomed to hiding the hand 
 in her apron pocket, when any of the villagers came her 
 way. 
 
 It was not many days thereafter that, under the goad of 
 shame and the prick of her mother's tongue, she flung her 
 shawl over her head and set off valley-wards that the 
 smith might file away this token of the adventurer. 
 
 Over against the ancient guard-house by the gate, 
 where now the grapes are pressed into wine, she met a 
 neighbour. And so strong was the wind up the narrow 
 pass, that in holding her shawl together the girl forgot 
 her ring; and the woman, purblind as she was, saw 
 the flash of the silver. She passed for half-witted, the 
 old body, but give me leave to doubt that. 
 
 "Bon-ditu" says she. " What's this ? " And she seized 
 the hand, peering close with red-rimmed eyes. 
 
 Hot-cheeked and ready for tears, Madeloun strove to 
 withdraw; but the knotted fingers were strong as those 
 of a witch. 
 
 "This is news," says the dotard, whose name was Zoue. 
 "And is it the gift of the young shepherd across the valley 
 
 mm-mm his name is gone now; or is it from Peire, 
 the quarryman, who sits through the Mass nowadays 
 
 he who never went near a church all his life, and mis- 
 takes you for the image of the Blessed Mary all the while 
 . . . hi! hi! hi!" She cackled away in laughter until the 
 
 52
 
 THE HEART OF MADELOUN 
 
 girl longed to strike her withered face. She stopped 
 herself with a sudden: "Ramoun that is the shepherd's 
 name ; and a pretty boy indeed for a pretty girl. Which 
 of them gave it thee, Leloun, Leleto ? Tell an old woman, 
 who is long past the joy of her life . . ." 
 
 "Let me go," cried Madaleno. "It's a work of sorcery, 
 and if J6rgi cannot get it off, I shall chop away the finger 
 myself. She forgot her secret in utter misery: "I shall 
 die if I keep it on much longer!" 
 
 (You believed it, Madeloun, I know; but where is the 
 truth in a young woman's heart ? It is buried so deep and 
 groweth so slowly that she is turned old before it blossoms 
 into words and bears fruit in actions.) 
 
 Old Zoue shook her head in solemn understanding of 
 the case: "Cut not off the finger cut not off the ring. 
 The Virgin will be angered if her image is so dishonoured. 
 Moreover, it has been blessed by a priest with holy water, 
 as anyone would know. And would you take a sacred 
 thing like that from your life ? No no you must 
 abide the chance of it now. Go into the church and pray; 
 and if the treasure be not holy, it will vanish of itself. I 
 could tell you a tale ..." 
 
 Madeloun looked at her strangely, taking her words as 
 if they were guidance direct from Heaven; and without a 
 word she turned aside from her course, under the arch- 
 way that leads to the Street of the Laurel, and so up the 
 hill to the church. She was aware of a curious blending 
 of emotions, hope of something that she would not admit 
 into her mind, fear of something that she would not name, 
 a desire that clung to her in despite of her will. 
 
 53
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 But Zoue's thirst was not quenched: "Leloun, Leleto 
 you have not told me who it was?" 
 
 At this, the girl gave a sudden laugh, shook off the 
 restraining hand, and fled lightly up the rock-cut path. 
 
 But she was pensive again when she came into the cool 
 green dampness of the church, crossed herself and said 
 her first little prayer or two by long habit, without think- 
 ing. Then she continued kneeling, with her arms across 
 the chair in front, and her cheek against the silver ring; 
 and when she remembered what she had come for, and 
 that she was waiting for a sign from above, her heart beat 
 fast for a time. 
 
 Close close against her face she held the bewitched 
 thing that she might know the sooner, she told herself, 
 when it took wings to fly away. I think there was a while 
 that she really expected it to slip between her fingers, 
 flash like a marsh-light against one of the black chapels, 
 then disappear forever. 
 
 "O Holy Mother!" she began; then could find no more 
 words to her prayer, for the desires of her heart were 
 warring. 
 
 "O blessed Santo Mario, Saloume, if it be 
 wrong" but this prayer fared no better than the 
 other. 
 
 At first the ring had been cold against her cheek, but 
 now it was become so warm that she had to move it gently, 
 to be sure that it was still there. She took it away then, 
 and looked at it, and with her heart pounding and flutter- 
 ing unevenly, resolved to put the test again, here before 
 the altar of God.
 
 THE HEART OF MADELOUN 
 
 "If you be evil," said she, "or given by one that is evil 
 -fall off, ring!" 
 
 She shook her hand, gently at first, then hard; she 
 pulled she clutched it and tugged. It seemed to nestle 
 more firmly than before in the pink flesh. 
 
 "It is my fate," said she, paling a little at the memory 
 of the neighbour's words, and she tried to fix her thoughts 
 with her eyes upon the little red lamp burning before the 
 altar. But steadfast as the flame itself was the dwelling 
 of her mind upon that one day marked and set apart from 
 all the other days of her life. Like a whirlwind, he had 
 come up out of the plains below and had borne her with 
 him to the topmost peak of the mountain; but the coming 
 down the memory of the coming down was so vivid 
 that for a time she lost all sense of the church, and lived 
 over again the experience that had ended with the silver 
 ring. 
 
 She tried to think out her own feeling in the matter; 
 but her brain was not used to such work. 
 
 When the shepherd Ramoun and Peire, the quarryman, 
 had cast black looks at each other across her shoulders, 
 and each had muttered oaths and threats whenever she 
 smiled upon the other, she had been very sure that hi her 
 heart was only delight triumphant. 
 
 But in this case there was no joy, only a strong though 
 vague sense of trouble. She felt ensnared as Magali had 
 been, and she could not tell whether she was more sorry 
 because she had been trapped or because the trapper had 
 gone away. And in this thought she came nearer the 
 truth than she had been before. 
 
 55
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 But if Magali had died among the White Nuns, through 
 sheer weariness of pursuit, it seemed to Madeloun that 
 she must die rather because he had pursued and half won 
 and gone away . . . She had reached then the stage of 
 the pronoun that needs no explanation, although she did 
 not realize what it stood for. 
 
 If she should die first . . . before he came back ? She 
 had a moment's pleasure picturing him at her grave; but 
 not even in her imagination would he show grief enough 
 for her liking. From a sentimental point of view she had 
 to give him up; he was not like the heroes of the few 
 story-books that had come her way. . . . 
 
 But after all death was far off. She put out her hand 
 and touched a tombstone, a green slab that stood against 
 a pillar by her side. It showed an ancient man in a 
 queer dress, kneeling with clasped hands she could 
 have drawn it as well herself, was her contemptuous 
 judgment. The words round about the figure were in a 
 strange tongue Latin, she supposed, which only priests 
 can read. She remembered hearing Father Gougoulin 
 say that the gentleman's name was Jourdain; but who 
 he was or when he lived nobody knew. 
 
 This was how Madeloun thought of death. Sant Sa- 
 vournin, it was solemn enough, and queer and stiff, and a 
 thing to be afraid of when it came, only it was so very far 
 away it had never crossed the threshold of her home. 
 Somehow she felt sure it was not death should stand 
 between her and Trillon if ever he came back as 
 he never would ail ait But what did she care? For 
 that was the easiest way out of the matter if only she 
 
 56
 
 THE HEART OF MADELOUN 
 
 could be rid of the silver ring, without vexing the Blessed 
 Virgin . . . 
 
 It was not death that should part them no; but 
 the image of that man Jourdain set her a-thinking what 
 it might be. 
 
 She was tracing idly with her plump, dimpled, brown 
 finger the outline of his lean, fasting, praying, morti- 
 fied hands, when the clue she had been seeking to 
 her trouble of heart flashed before her in a little trail of 
 memory. 
 
 She had been sitting long ago, at the doorway, sewing 
 a canvas screen to keep out the sun. All at once her 
 mother, who was working with her, had sighed heavily: 
 " It would be a happy day for me if I could once see you 
 safe in the arms of the good God!" 
 
 And she had uttered a frightened, "What do you mean, 
 mother?" 
 
 But for answer she had had strange words: "The sun 
 is hot up here, and it turns our heads and makes us mad, 
 so that we must repent to the end of our lives; but within 
 the convent there is always shelter and peace." 
 
 She remembered every phrase she had found to say: 
 " But I am not mad, my mother. And I love the hot sun. 
 And in a convent it would be all dark and cold I should 
 die of it!" 
 
 Her mother had turned upon her unfathomable eyes: 
 "We shall see in a few years" she was then just past 
 her first communion. "You are your mother's daughter 
 Saints help us all! but you would be safe there." 
 
 "Safe from what?" she had wondered. 
 
 57
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Her mother had only shrugged. 
 
 "Safe from what?" she had insisted. 
 
 Then she had had a blow on the cheek that set it flam- 
 ing and stinging, another that almost flung her from her 
 chair, a third that left her on the floor; and between them 
 an ugly word that she had never before heard, repeated 
 often and with violence a word that hurt like the blows, 
 though she knew not its meaning, save by instinct. Half 
 a dozen years had passed since then, and although she 
 had been too proud or ashamed to ask, she had learned 
 in some silent inexplicable way what evil thing her own 
 mother had called her, and in her innocence, the 
 undeserved and insulting reproof had formed a 
 definite barrier between the two, not perceived perhaps 
 by the older woman, but never forgotten by the younger. 
 Remembering the scene now, she knew that she should 
 have to contend if Trillon came back with her 
 mother's determination that she should go into a convent ; 
 but the reason for this bitter resolve that condemned her 
 to a wearisome life of prayer and dull duties remained 
 to her obscure. 
 
 As she knew very well, from that day of brutality which 
 she shuddered to remember, the idea had never been 
 dropped. It came up again when her older sisters were 
 busy embroidering smocks and sheets against the day 
 when they should find suitors, while she was never given 
 linen enough to make a pillow-case. She might help 
 with the bleaching and sewing of the others, but when 
 she alluded timidly to her own, upon one occasion, she 
 was drenched in a flood of language that sent her head- 
 
 58
 
 THE HEART OF MADELOUN 
 
 long down the hill into the grassy meadows, weeping with 
 a passion that cared not who saw. 
 
 It chanced that her father was the first person she met. 
 He was pruning his olive-trees near the field-path along 
 which her hot heart drove her. 
 
 He had called her once or twice, but she would not hear 
 or heed; then with his incredible lightness of foot he had 
 dashed upon her and held her by the arm. 
 
 Questioned, she had only flung her apron over her 
 head, and sobbed out, wordless, the bitterness of her heart. 
 
 He had waited a moment, then grown restless, had tried a 
 joke without any effect. At last, he shook her sharply 
 back into her senses. " Sit down and tell me all about it," 
 he had commanded, and stretched himself lazily on a 
 grassy bank. She could see him now, with his hat over 
 his eyes and a triple spray of the white star-flower called 
 Savoyard moving between his lips when he found occasion 
 to answer. Even then his long sharply-pointed moustache 
 was nearly white, although he had the spring and the 
 look of a young man. 
 
 She could not speak, although he showed unusual 
 patience. At last he began: "Madelounet, only fools 
 run hatless in the sunshine on a day like this." 
 
 She could hear still the torrent of her answer: "If I die 
 it is no matter; I will not go into a convent!" 
 
 He had paused before he spoke, and she had hung 
 breathless for his words. But he laughed, and she 
 could not see his eyes, and she knew that he was evad- 
 ing her. "Wait till they come and fetch you," said he 
 lightly. 
 
 59
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Would you let them, pai?" she had asked, and re- 
 membered still the cold fear in her heart. 
 
 Then he had raised himself on one elbow to look at her: 
 "Well, what's wrong with nuns? We must have nuns, 
 you know." 
 
 "It is true, then," she had said desperately. "My 
 mother wills it. And she will not give me a dowry." 
 
 He had pretended to roar with laughter, but, child as she 
 was, she had felt the hollowness of his mirth. "Dowry? 
 What is the minx thinking of? Where's your doll? 
 Caspitello ! You have how many years ?" 
 
 She had flung herself on the grass beside him, weeping 
 out the tears that she could not control. 
 
 He had sat up altogether then and put his back against 
 the nearest olive-trunk a man might as well be comfort- 
 able, was his creed. "Well, now," he had said, "let us 
 reason a little. Look, if we may say that troubles are 
 like rain, I am as light as the wind to blow them away; but 
 you and your mother ay, you're like the earth; you drink 
 them in and gather them until they swell all together and 
 make a fountain of tears." He had stopped to laugh at 
 his own image, then concluded : " But in the end it all comes 
 to this : if it's the will of God that you should be a nun, you 
 might as well try to fight the weather. If not, well, in 
 any case, Madelounet, your old father will stand by you 
 as long as he can. So dry your tears." 
 
 She had tried to obey him, had got to her feet when he 
 reached again for his pruning- hook; but her words had 
 been steadfast: "I tell you, my father, I will not." 
 
 He had wrinkled up his eyes, in sympathetic compre- 
 
 60
 
 THE HEART OF MADELOUN 
 
 hension; but his words were: "If it be the will of God " 
 He had concluded by lifting his shoulders and his eyebrows 
 and thrusting out his underlip and the palms of his hands. 
 His meaning was as clear as the sunlight. 
 
 Another moment he had paused to watch the cluttering 
 swallows, before he turned him to his pruning: "There 
 be things in nature and things against nature ..." 
 
 But when she wanted the why of the pestilential trouble, 
 he shook his head again; the reason was beyond him. 
 "Why are you what you are? But I will speak to your 
 mother." 
 
 With that he bent to his work and she had to content 
 herself. She remembered how she had walked home 
 under a hawthorn hedge at the foot of the hill, how the 
 sweet white petals had showered upon her, how a nightin- 
 gale had followed her until she began to climb the stony 
 path, fluttering from bush to bush and singing out his free- 
 dom and his joy yes, she remembered the very look of the 
 sunset bunches of lilac in a golden plain. . . . And 
 the quarrymen were going home to their supper, and their 
 wives stood in the doorways with an eye to the fire and 
 one to the littlest child that tried to run with the others 
 to meet their father . . . the sweetness of it all! Girl 
 as she was, she had felt it keenly; and over against it 
 stalked the fear that she might have to go behind high 
 grey walls and pray pray pray . . . 
 
 Ait ail Long kneeling on cold stones brings stiffness 
 even to supple young joints. Madeloun rose painfully, 
 shook herself a little, and brushed her hand across her 
 eyes to be rid of the hateful dream. 
 
 61
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 To be sure, her father must have said something, for 
 that was six years ago; and though never a word had been 
 said of her dowry from that day to this, and both her 
 sisters had married and were living their lives, no more 
 had the convent walls closed upon her. There had been 
 talk oh, yes talk enough and threats and lamenta- 
 tions, when her mother was in the mood; but there the 
 matter had rested thanks to Auzias or some other 
 intervening power. . . . But now there was the silver 
 ring, and what difference that would make in her future 
 she could not possibly foresee. One thing was sure: it 
 had not stirred from her ringer, and so could not be evil. 
 From now on she must wear it and trust in the Virgin, of 
 whom it was the emblem. 
 
 She walked home, with a sudden change of mood 
 almost merry; and tossing up her hand said airily: "Eh, 
 my mother, it cannot be. As well cut the finger off!" 
 
 Mere Borel made a step forward; and her daughter 
 hastily retreated and swung aside the door-curtain, ready 
 for flight. The ring shone like a diamond in the sun. 
 
 "What would you? What would you?" Madeloun 
 laughed still, though nervously. "You would not dare 
 lay hands on the image of the Holy Mother ..." 
 
 "Huzzy!" came the trumpet-sound of the deep, hoarse 
 voice; and in fear of worse Madeloun fled to the hills. 
 
 But her heart sang within her, for she knew that she 
 had made a stand against the terror that threatened her 
 life; and although she was trusting her future to the un- 
 known, warm upon her head as the sunshine itself she felt 
 the blessing of the Holy Mother. 
 
 62
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE SIEGE 
 
 AH, but the summer days are long and hot and still in 
 the little Alps! There is a loneliness in the very wind 
 when it flaps its great wings, and with its shrillness out- 
 cries all the petty human sounds of earth. And when one 
 waits and waits for that which never comes, the spirit 
 grows dull and barren as the rocks themselves. 
 
 Then perhaps it was well that young Madeloun was not 
 left to the agony of watching uninterrupted, waiting for 
 the return of him who had come and gone in a day and 
 had left no trace of his presence except a little silver ring 
 -that, and whatever trouble she bore, wordless, in her 
 own heart. 
 
 But she was not left to her dreams altogether. The 
 same day that she fled to the church to exorcise, if might 
 be, the fetter from her hand and spirit that same day 
 she spent hours wandering knee-deep in lavender and 
 cytisus where the wild bees were busy. There she was 
 soothed into the dream that she would yet find her hap- 
 piness again, and forget this time when her gay laughter 
 was often a mere breaking away from the trouble that 
 
 63
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 pressed, and ended in sudden tears. When she returned 
 home in the evening, the first shadow that crossed her 
 path, some little distance from the village, came from the 
 black frock of Father Gougoulin. 
 
 "My child," said he, "your mother came to see me to- 
 day. She is troubled about you." 
 
 "She has no need to be," says the girl, reddening and 
 pulling at her apron. 
 
 "What are these tales I hear about you?" 
 
 She looked up into the dark full countenance, its 
 heavy eyebrows drawn together and bent upon her. It was 
 the face of an old man who has outlived the best of his 
 youth and kept its weakness; and if Madeloun could have 
 put her sensation into words, she would have told of a thrill 
 of fear or of repulsion whenever they two encountered. 
 
 His question did not admit of a ready answer. She 
 shifted her footing and perhaps looked sulky. He put 
 out one stubby finger, shaking a little, and turned up her 
 chin, noting the angry flush that marred her delicate 
 beauty into a momentary likeness to her mother's face. 
 
 The change startled him so that he released her without 
 a word; and paused so long before speaking that she 
 began to wonder if she might get away. When he spoke, 
 it was with calculation and eminent sweet reasonableness. 
 He read her a little homily on the duties of children to 
 parents . . . 
 
 The moment he paused she was upon him with: "But 
 my father does not want me to be a nun." 
 
 " Gently gently," said he. " Who is talking of such 
 a thing?" 
 
 64
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE SIEGE 
 
 "My mother has been talking of it all my life," said 
 she, and added with courage, "as you know." 
 
 At this, he said something to himself, in Latin she sup- 
 posed, as she could not understand it. But when he 
 spoke to her, his words seemed kind, almost compliant. 
 "Put the matter altogether out of your thoughts for the 
 time; and tell me about this young man, who came up 
 here the other day, with the express purpose of working 
 mischief, it seems." 
 
 She was amazed at her own anger in hearing Trillon 
 thus decried. She said curtly: "I can tell you nothing." 
 
 "But his img hein?" 
 
 "I cannot get it off," she declared, with a flash of 
 laughter. 
 
 " I could get it off for you" he said, still reasonable, waited 
 in vain for an answer, then appealed: "Could I not?" 
 
 She was doubtful of being able to escape from this, and 
 cried in a sudden panic: "Let me go home." 
 
 "In a moment," said he; but the path was narrow and 
 he was broad, and he made no move. 
 
 "The pretty Madeloun the pretty Madeloun," says 
 he then, with a sigh that came oddly from his figure. She 
 looked at him, wondering, inclined to laugh. 
 
 "Let me ask you a question, Madaleno: do you 
 believe in the bottom of your heart do you believe 
 the rascal will come back?" 
 
 She glanced from him to her ring, then back again; and 
 found no answer. 
 
 He still looked at her hard. "Because they never do. 
 I have been young and I know," said he. 
 
 65
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 For the moment he had forgotten her, as he gazed 
 across the darkening valley. It was perhaps one of the 
 grotesque limestone shapes standing out against the dim- 
 ness, that became to his vision the figure of a girl, not 
 unlike Madeloun, her dark face tinted sweetly by the 
 blossoms of the Judas-tree under which she was standing. 
 He was saying good-by to her, going out into the world 
 to make his fortune . . . And the world had been too 
 much for him and he had sought a living from the Church 
 . . . and he had never gone back. . . . And whether 
 she had died young, or had married another, or was still 
 waiting in a loveless old age, he never knew. . . . His 
 hand fumbled for his rosary and his lips mumbled a prayer 
 or two. 
 
 Madeloun perceived the softening of the grim face, and 
 though she could not interpret its meaning, she seized the 
 chance for her little appeal: 
 
 "I never wanted to be a nun never; but my mother 
 was always talking of it I don't know why . . ." 
 "Wait a moment," said he, while the light of reminis- 
 cence was not altogether gone from his face. "Perhaps 
 I can tell you something of that. Look now where 
 there are three girls in one family, there is always a ques- 
 tion of the dowry eh?" 
 
 Madeloun turned away. When would they make an 
 end of the old argument that yet told nothing? "Is my 
 father so poor?" she asked. "I did not know." 
 
 Father Gougoulin hesitated; he could not conscien- 
 tiously call Borel poor. "But you see," he insisted, "it 
 is better not to marry at all, than to marry unfittingly. 
 
 66
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE SIEGE 
 
 And there are other states well, we will not go into that. 
 It is necessary to believe that your parents have your 
 welfare at heart." 
 
 She looked at him, thinking, but dumb to find words 
 for the thought that oppressed her. "May I go now?" 
 she asked suddenly. 
 
 "And the ring?" he insinuated again. 
 
 She fought: "Whatever happened and there is no 
 need to tell you how it came about I am betrothed now, 
 and I will not put aside my ring for anybody! What you 
 think of him what anybody thinks is no matter he 
 will come back and save me from the convent ..." 
 
 He shook his head over her: "Child, child it is not 
 needful to speak as though we were trying to force you 
 into that blessed state. You do not realize the high 
 privilege that is offered you only that. Nothing is 
 further from our thoughts than to force you but when 
 you shall come to see well, well. But your sin now is 
 rebellion. Put away all thoughts of such matters and let 
 the will of God work as it must ..." 
 
 Very fine words these, was her thought ; but what 
 did they mean? Aloud she asked: "What am I to think 
 of, then?" 
 
 "Think of obedience," said he sternly, "that is a daugh- 
 ter's first duty." 
 
 Seeing that she was more bewildered than ever, he 
 added pleasantly: "And remember two things. Your gay 
 stranger will not come back. And you can never be 
 made a nun without your own consent. The special grace 
 of God must be sought humbly, and needs not to be 
 
 67
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 thrust upon the reluctant and rebellious heart. Keep 
 that in mind and come to Confession next Sunday. 
 You have been neglectful ..." 
 
 He left her more than puzzled aghast at what seemed 
 to her the quick changes and inconsistencies of his atti- 
 tude; but enough she understood to be aware that some 
 siege of her spirit had been begun. All that evening she 
 pondered how best to resist, and questioned how long she 
 might hold out, if he was slow to come, for of yielding 
 she had no thought. She had a dim forecast of endless 
 words, dark, insidious, insupportable; and of herself 
 clinging desperately to her love of life until help came. . . . 
 Poor child! In her mind help had all too quickly come 
 to be a synonym for Trillon. 
 
 "Up-there" in Castelar, are no great deeds, no 
 adventures; but there, as everywhere between earth 
 and sky, the little troubles seem infinitely great, and human 
 hearts cry out for the help that tarries long. 
 
 68
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 THROUGH the summer she fell much into the way of lean- 
 ing over the high parapet of her garden, as she had done the 
 day when he came climbing up the long white road, out of 
 the lower world. In her dreams she fancied again the zoun- 
 zoun of his violin, and the song of Magali was ever on her 
 lips, but halted at the first bars. She grew a little thin 
 and pale with unwonted pondering; and he did not come. 
 
 One day the vines were ripening then she had 
 leaned back among the branches of the almond-tree, 
 weary of her watching, when she heard below a whistling 
 of that same sweet tune. 
 
 Her face was pink as almond-blossoms when she bent 
 over and saw the postman. 
 
 He was looking up and laughing: "If I had a letter 
 for you?" 
 
 "That will be the day when you write me one," says 
 she, pale again but trying to jest. 
 
 He held up a large square envelope: "Read, made- 
 moiselle." He pretended to spell out her name; but she 
 was used to his teasing ways. 
 
 69
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Throw it," said she, her sadness returning. Her 
 father sometimes had letters from people engaging rooms 
 to stop a night or two they rarely stayed longer at 
 Castelar. 
 
 "I wonder," said the postman, "that you are so in- 
 different to a lover; but it may be that you have too many." 
 
 He tossed the envelope with a dexterous flip so that it 
 struck her hard and was crushed against her breast. 
 
 "But if you threw them all at my head like that!" said 
 she, returning to her bench to smooth out the bent missive. 
 
 O Holy-Maries-by-the-Sea miracle ! It was her name 
 written on the outside. She caught it swiftly to her heart, 
 with a little unintelligible love-note, as she rocked back- 
 wards and forwards. Then she grew ashamed, and laid 
 it on her lap and looked at it from afar. 
 
 It was a big black scribble she had judged he might 
 write like that, when he gave his mind to writing. And 
 the stamps were so strange, and so many! She thought he 
 must be rich already to send such a letter. And the 
 postmark she could not read at all; it looked a mere jumble 
 of consonants that did not belong together. 
 
 "Madeloun!" came her mother's voice from the door- 
 way. 
 
 As she answered, the letter went swiftly between the 
 folds of lisse that formed her little jaudau or front, and 
 her fichu of yellow-and-white print. Perhaps the post- 
 man would forget what he had given her, though that was 
 unlikely; perhaps he would have the instinct not to tell, 
 being a good friend of hers. Certainly, it was as well to 
 be cautious while one could. 
 
 70
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 "Madelotm," said Mere Borel, "Father Gougoulin 
 wishes to see you now." 
 
 For the first time in many days the girl heard this 
 familiar message with indifference; and making no pro- 
 test, folded her work and turned to go. 
 
 Her mother, fully prepared for defiance and argument, 
 stood watching her from the doorway, but she did not 
 look long enough or far enough, for as soon as the girl had 
 passed under the black archway leading up to the church 
 and the presbytery, she turned aside by a path that was a 
 mere slit between ruined houses and rock. She did not 
 mind that she was stung fiercely by nettles all the way 
 freedom was purchased cheaply at that price; nor did she 
 think of the retribution that would fall upon her in the 
 evening. For the moment she was safe, and her treasure 
 was at her heart. 
 
 She ran without stopping, through the hollow courts 
 of the old castle, and paused at length on a sort of terrace 
 near the edge of the cliff. Then she remembered a safer 
 place, and began to descend by a path invisible, save that 
 here and there was the mark of a footstep the secret 
 path which, once discovered, might have led to the storm- 
 ing of the castle by besiegers climbing in single file. And 
 perhaps it so happened more than once. Madeloun flut- 
 tered down lightly, knowing the place by heart, until she 
 came past the ancient postern, now open to the winds, 
 and onward until presently she reached a chamber almost 
 like a cave cut out of the solid rock, overlooking the foot- 
 hills and the plain. Few people knew the place, or cared 
 at least to visit it ; but there had once been stopping at the
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Cabro d'Or a learned man, to whom she had shown the 
 spot; and he had explained to her how it had once been 
 a dwelling of her ancestors when they were savages a 
 thing hard to believe. But he had pointed out the granary 
 in the floor, the cupboard in the wall, the little crib in 
 which had been tethered a goat perhaps, or some other 
 beast, and the mark of the ring on the wall to which it had 
 been tied many signs of habitation by a wild life that had 
 passed away and still was beating in her veins. Some 
 such things he had said, and she had listened, though she 
 had not understood them very well. 
 
 But the place was the retreat she wanted; and she 
 cuddled happily on the floor, with her arm on the ledge 
 of the rudely cut window, while she studied her envelope, 
 eager yet fearful to open it. It was not long before she 
 reached for a silver pin from her coiffure and carefully 
 slit the cover from end to end. The dear fat letter! 
 She put in a cautious finger and drew out a great roll of 
 paper. He could talk assuredly he could talk on 
 paper as well as with the tongue ; and he must have much 
 to say to her to spend such a deal of money on stamps. 
 
 It was large writing and beautifully plain to read; and 
 the first words that flashed upon her sight, as she unfolded 
 the big sheets, were in the dear native tongue not in 
 French: "Little flower of my heart "Pichouno flour eto 
 de moun cor." 
 
 She drank in the meaning and laid her face to the sheet, 
 and wept; and yet when he went away she had prayed 
 against him as against the devil. Oh, the magic of the sun 
 can do more than that! 
 
 72
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 Presently, she began at the beginning, with a careful 
 tracing finger; but at the very name of the place from 
 which it was written, she stuck fast. Caspi; when she 
 had spelled it through, she was no wiser than before! It 
 seemed strange to her that he should be living in a land 
 that was as foreign to her as the moon. With a sudden 
 thought, she fluttered over the pages to the end, to make 
 sure that the letter really was from him. Yes, at the 
 bottom of the last sheet she found his name: "Trillon 
 of the race of the Trinquetailles." That was his way 
 nobody else would have said that; but the writing was 
 small and spidery like that of a fine lady once seen by her, 
 and utterly different from the big bold penning that she 
 had thought his. These mysteries only the letter could 
 solve. She overcame the reluctance that fought with and 
 almost overpowered her eager desire; and she read the 
 message sentence by sentence: 
 "Little flower of my heart: 
 
 "First, you must know that, never having troubled my 
 head about writing at the school, and this climate being 
 hot hotter than any day you have ever seen, my pretty 
 -I have hired a fellow from Aix, who happens to be 
 here, like myself fortune-hunting, to put down for you 
 these few words, hoping that they find you as well and 
 happy as they leave me . . ." 
 
 (It must be confessed that she frowned a little at the 
 picture of Trillon happy; but when was he otherwise?) 
 
 "If you would know where we are, it is at a cafe" by the 
 water-side at (oh, the dreadful name!) under a mountain 
 so big that you could set your little Alps on end and they 
 
 73
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 would not reach to his top. Well, as I began, it's a fellow 
 from Aix who is writing on the crazy table, while I drink 
 my " (well, she could not make out the word, but it must 
 be some strange liquor of the country). "I shall pay him 
 what comes to twenty-five francs in this land, for his piece 
 of women's work; and if in the end, when he has read it 
 over to me, I find he has left out anything I meant to say 
 to my little flower, he shall have twenty-five bangs on the 
 head" 
 
 ("Oh, the braggart!" she cooed, in delicious joy.) 
 
 " instead of the last money I have in the world, 
 except enough for the stamps to send this letter; and to 
 pay for the drinks." 
 
 (This was sober news. Madeloun felt as if a sudden 
 dash of rain had swept in through her rock- window. But 
 the sun was shining as brightly as before.) 
 
 "Well, then, you will want to hear what has happened 
 to me. When I left you 'up- there,' my little flower of the 
 rock, do you remember how we climbed to the castle, 
 and how we came down together?" 
 
 (Remember? The sun poured a silver shower upon 
 her and her pages, and for a while she heeded it no more 
 than did the little brown lizard over her head. Then 
 she struck the sheet in sudden anger, and read on.) 
 
 "Afterwards, I took the straight road to the sea, for I 
 have always thought that more lies across the water than 
 on the hither side more and easier to be got. I went 
 down with some of the mule-carts carrying stone to the 
 valley; and it was merry work singing to the jingle of the 
 bells. The fellows had some good stories too . . ." 
 
 74
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 ("So soon!" she cried. "So soon after! Oh, how 
 could you?") 
 
 "And in the plains there were market-carts enough. 
 I had always a lift for what I could tell, or a twitch or two 
 of the violin. I don't suppose you had dried your tears - 
 
 ("The villain! Oh! the conceited wretch!" she cried, 
 and would not read on for a time; but in the end curiosity 
 impelled.) 
 
 " before I was tucked away among the wine-casks 
 on a vessel bound from Marseilles to this place I spare 
 the writing of it when I can. It cost me no more than 
 two buttons to get a boatswain properly tipsy, and to buy 
 food until I was ready to come on deck. Fortune save 
 for you, little flower, I should call Fortune my sweetheart; 
 but you would be jealous the second day out, while I 
 was meditating upon times and means, Fortune sent a 
 gale that blew a fellow overboard. I myself was seasick 
 very bad but that is no matter. So I waited until 
 the wind had settled, and the captain's mind, and my 
 stomach, and I went up under the stars, and said : ' Here's 
 a pair of hands for those you have lost.' He did not seem 
 as grateful as you would think ; but I spare you his cursing. 
 In the end he graciously permitted me to assist the cook 
 and to clean out his cabin, polish brasses and the like. 
 It would have been degrading; but I gloried in the thought 
 that it was all done for your sweet sake, mignoto. What 
 hardship was messing in oily dish-water when I would 
 have drunk up the seas to come to you ?" 
 
 ("And he was going away, all that while," she observed 
 somewhat dryly.) 
 
 75
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "And what was taking out the guts of a fowl, when I 
 was ready to dig into the bowels of the earth for your 
 adornment ?" 
 
 ("Tut!" says Madeloun, or the equivalent in her 
 Provencal.) 
 
 "When we came to land, I was as sound as a rock and 
 as gay as a mating swallow " 
 
 ("Indeed! And, indeed!" said young madam; and 
 the continued existence of the letter was threatened.) 
 
 " with my clothes rather the worse for deck-swabbing 
 and so on, almost buttonless, because of little needs by 
 the way; but in my pocket money that I had earned, and 
 some that I had won. I knew I should not be long getting 
 more it's my religion, you know, belief in my luck. 
 For any other faith, I was brought up too near under 
 the very wing of the Popes ..." 
 
 ("I must have enough for both," says she, with a pretty 
 maternal air. "Santo Mario, but he is a wicked 
 man!") 
 
 "You might have measured my fortunes those first 
 days by the coming and going of my buttons. One is 
 always safe, I know, about your sweet neck . . ." 
 
 ("Ah, Santo Mario Madaleno!" her hand went up 
 to her throat, for the words were true.) 
 
 "It came to be a useless bother sewing them on and 
 cutting them off. After a time I took to casting them 
 abroad as a man plays with counters; and usually they 
 came back and brought luck with them. At present, 
 however for the moment I am nearly buttonless. 
 But that's no matter. We shall see what happens to- 
 
 76
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 morrow. So you may imagine me, wandering far, seeing 
 everything, doing what comes to my hand, and thinking 
 always of you ..." 
 
 ("Ah, basto!" she cries. "I don't believe a word of it. 
 The man is a gabbler!") 
 
 " Every night I have said to myself, ' To-morrow I will 
 go up into the mountains and make a fortune for my 
 Madelouneto, but every morning it is so hot, and it rains 
 all the time. One can but lift the hand to throw dice. 
 The digging of diamonds must come later when the 
 fine dry season is with us. You have no idea what a 
 curious place this is . . .'" 
 
 (Nor did she wish to know, she told herself with a sob. 
 What was this far-away land to her? She must have 
 skipped some sentences, as she read on:) 
 
 " Come, now, if you could only fly across the ocean to 
 me, should we not be happy as a king and queen together? 
 I should come and fetch you, only the heat, or the fever 
 or something I have had the fever " 
 
 (She stopped with a shock of terror, then hurried on.) 
 
 " gets into a man's bones and makes him lazy. Each 
 day I sleep in the coolest corner I can find safe from 
 snakes and mosquitoes, and each day I say this shall be 
 the last of such a life. (Pecaire! the fellow from Aix goes 
 a good pace. Did he put that down I wonder? We 
 shall see.)" 
 
 "What was I telling you? Eh, well, little, little girl 
 (chatouneto), it's a ragged lover you have now, the laughing- 
 stock of himself and the sailors on the quay from all parts 
 of the world. I don't mind. It's money I won from them 
 
 77
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 shall pay the fellow from Aix: and to-morrow I get more. 
 I think I am at the end of my words. Look now, what 
 shall I bring you back ? Rubies sapphires dia- 
 monds? The mountains are full of them all, they say. 
 One has only to go with a pick and scrape. And gold is 
 to be gathered like pebbles by the sea, and silver is the 
 dust under one's feet. But it is the getting there, you 
 understand. Once over the ridge . . . but the ridge is 
 far away. However, we shall see soon. Already I can 
 hear you tinkling in the wind with gold chains and jewels, 
 as pleased as a lamb with its first bell. Caspitello ! Keep 
 up your heart. A man cannot win a fortune in a day." 
 
 (What question of hers had he divined that he should 
 seem to answer so ?) 
 
 " Give me a little month a week a year I care 
 not what, and you shall be as fine, as splendid as any 
 girl in " 
 
 (" The Kingdom of Pamparigousto the Land of 
 Dreams," said she, with tears in her eyes; and yet she 
 did not lose her faith altogether. As she read on, a fear 
 again crossed her, for he seemed to divine her very 
 thought.) 
 
 " Words you say ? Boasting mere breath ? There 
 is no answer to that but time. True, I have a hopeful 
 heart; but hope does not conquer the world. You shall 
 judge. What do you want? Vows? Shall I swear 
 never to come home to you empty-handed ?" 
 
 ("Ah, come if it be as a beggar!" she sighed, for- 
 getting her anger in sudden loneliness.) 
 
 "Truly, I would work my finger-nails off to reach you; 
 
 78
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 but a bird of my nature likes to fly back with a tit-bit in 
 his bill." 
 
 (He had such a way of putting things!) 
 
 "And if I may turn prophet, I say now that I shall 
 come back in a time when you have great need of me " 
 
 ("Ah, but quickly! You must come quickly then," 
 she whispered to the sheets, kissing them down as they 
 threatened to blow away in a sudden gust. 
 
 " But however that may be whether I come or not 
 we have always the memory of the past our one 
 great day, when we flew straight into the sun . . ." 
 
 She did not know what she was doing. She became a 
 young image of her mother; and the letter lay scattered 
 about the cave in tiny shreds of paper; and those that 
 were nearest she trampled and stamped under foot, until 
 she grew dizzy, and fell back against the wall, blind and 
 gasping. 
 
 But her rage was not yet exhausted. A deeper, more 
 deliberate malice led her to stoop and gather up the pieces, 
 as many as she could find for some fluttered away 
 before her eyes and to throw them into the bottom of 
 the prehistoric granary. Then she sought stones from 
 the pathway, from the cliff-side, leaning perilously to drag 
 them up, lifting, in her blind passion, boulders that she 
 could not have stirred, another day. Inch by inch, and 
 foot by foot, the letter was hidden in its grave; and now 
 and again it was splashed with blood from the girl's cut 
 fingers. 
 
 The granary was half-full of stones and rubble for 
 she clawed at the sand and clay in her first madness 
 
 79
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 when she flung herself on the rock floor, in the nausea 
 of faintness. 
 
 The evening shadows had come when she moved again, 
 and lifted herself on her elbow ; and through the throbbing 
 of her brain, remembered that she had left the end of her 
 letter unread. 
 
 80
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THREE TO ONE 
 
 AT sunset she went home to whatever fate she might 
 have brought down upon her head ; but she lingered a while 
 on the terrace outside her father's inn, reluctant, half 
 afraid to enter. 
 
 She looked across the valley to the limestone monsters 
 of the opposite slope, overgrown with furze and high 
 broom; and she watched the tinkling descent of a dusty 
 flock and wondered idly whether the shepherd were 
 Ramoun, whose black eyes burnt her neck every Sunday 
 at church, or only Charloun of Masblanc. ... It was 
 Charloun. 
 
 The sky above the long jagged line of the mountains 
 was like a great shell, ringed with opalescence about a 
 centre of pale gold where the sun had vanished. A 
 moment she dreamed of far-away lands, then clenched 
 her fists to keep back the angry tears, and gazed down 
 the blueness of the valley to the first light that 
 burned like a single star from the mas where Jano-Marlo 
 lived. Darkness was coming on fast ; beyond the crumple 
 of low hills reared like a breakwater at the valley's end, 
 
 81
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 lay the ocean of the blue plain with its hovering mists 
 the Crau. And far to the southward a second Milky 
 Way upon the earth lay a faint radiance Marseilles. 
 
 Thence he had sailed to the unknown west her lover 
 of a day. In the falling darkness, with great spaces all 
 about her, Madeloun's spirit leaped in its chains. 
 Bon-dieu! When was there hope of his coming? 
 
 And now she had a fierce pang for her letter that she 
 had buried, and certain knowledge that she would have 
 to go back and pick out with pain and tears the fragments, 
 and lay them on the rock-floor of the cavern, and draw 
 from them such pitiable meaning as she could 
 
 But he would never come. Alone in the darkness, she 
 was sure of that. And high behind the steep ramparts 
 she was imprisoned fast within the walls that climb one 
 above the other until they can go no higher as fast in 
 her ignorance and her youth as if she had been barred in 
 one of the castle dungeons. . . . The ancient gates were 
 wide and rotting on their hinges, and the cobbled way that 
 they call the Roman road led down among the folk of the 
 big world outside; but she how could she follow it, 
 seeking among strangers him that she loved? 
 
 Yes, he had come and gone forever she began to be 
 sure of that like a vision seen once in a lifetime of the 
 great Capoun-Fbr, the falcon of the wild mountains where 
 no man lives. A moment he had hovered, swooped, and 
 caught her in his claws, only to drop her back into her dull 
 place, while he spread his great wings for the sea. . . . 
 Once . . . once only, she had seen such a flight, such a 
 swoop, such a vanishing; but the Capoun-Fbr had not 
 
 82
 
 THREE TO ONE 
 
 dropped his prey. She was a little child then, but the 
 memory had lingered all her days; and sometimes even 
 now, in her dreams, she was haunted by the rush and 
 terror of the moment, and awoke with a cry . . . 
 
 The night chill was upon her and penetrated her heart; 
 she turned within doors to judgment. 
 
 As she lifted the canvas curtain, she saw at first only 
 the firelight reflected in the blue-and-white tiles of the 
 hearth, and the black outline of her mother stooping over 
 a saucepan there. But at the first sound of her timid 
 footsteps, Mere Borel stirred the frying potatoes with such 
 vigour that oil fled into the embers and made a great 
 blaze, by the light of which Madeloun saw on one side of 
 the table her father beating his fingers against his knees 
 a sign with him of embarrassment and annoyance 
 and across the board, the face she most dreaded to see, 
 the fat dark cheeks and grizzled close-drawn brows of 
 Father Gougoulin. ... It was clear to the child's per- 
 ception that they were waiting for her; and it even crossed 
 her mind that they had sat in darkness to trap her, as 
 fearing that she might through the window see them 
 gathered together, and in her fear run away again. 
 
 However that may have been, she felt the tension of 
 the room so keenly that she turned with a swift impulse to 
 flight; but her knees gave way and she dropped on a chair 
 by the door, telling herself that the smell of the hot oil 
 sickened her. 
 
 It was Father Gougoulin who spoke: "Light a candle, 
 Auzias no, never mind the lamp now." 
 
 The room was still, but for the sputtering on the fire, 
 
 83
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 while the blue match-flame leaped up, wavered, died 
 away, and at last flared into yellow. 
 
 Then the priest spoke again: "Give her something to 
 drink." Even with his words, he reached out to the rack 
 at his elbow and took down a glass, poured into it from 
 one of the two bottles on the table, added sugar and 
 water, and held up the mixture with a hand that shook 
 in the candle-light. 
 
 "Come and take it," said he gently enough. " Orange- 
 flower-water is good for a hot heart." 
 
 She dared not disobey, but she came tossing her head in 
 denial, and dropped to her knees with her apron ready to be 
 carried to her face, awaiting condemnation. But even in 
 her distress she saw that the other bottle before him con- 
 tained the best wine of the house the spicy ferigoulet 
 and she wondered to herself whether his heart had not 
 needed the coolness of orange-flower-water. The hospital- 
 ity accorded and accepted showed or to her mind seemed 
 to show that he was in league with her parents against her. 
 
 She steadily refused the soothing drink, and he set it 
 away, touching her soft hair a moment, where it sprang 
 from under her cap ; and over her head he laughed to her 
 father: "The high stomach of youth!" 
 
 The words made her vaguely angry and stirred her to 
 her feet; and there she stood, twisting her apron and 
 ready for what they might all have to say against her. 
 
 "You did not come to me this afternoon," began Father 
 Gougoulin, mildly enough. 
 
 She bent her head, and only upon a sharp admonition 
 from Mere Borel, added faintly the polite, "No, father." 
 
 84
 
 THREE TO ONE 
 
 "You forgot?" 
 
 "No, father," said Madeloun, more boldly; and turned 
 a moment as some of her mother's cookery again flew 
 into the fire. The low growling from the older woman 
 sounded scarcely human. 
 
 "What, then?" 
 
 Madeloun seemed to gather all her courage into her 
 apron, and held it up by its two ends as if she were offering 
 something. 
 
 "I had a letter," she answered, "and I went away to 
 read it." 
 
 "Ah, ah," said he, very quietly, and then with a sharp 
 intonation: "Ah!" 
 
 She faced him desperately. 
 
 "Well," said he. "Goon." 
 
 She flashed a moment: "It is for you to go on; I have 
 nothing to say." 
 
 "Chut chut," came a whistling sound from Auzias; 
 and the frying-pan crashed upon the tiles. 
 
 But the priest was unmoved only stared at her, with 
 his brows making one line and his lower lip protruding. 
 
 "Eh, well," said he. "Let me see that letter." 
 
 She had a moment's joy in her work of destruction. 
 "I have not got it." She laughed at him, with an 
 under-current of strong passion. "It is read and 
 buried so deep that you will never find it any of you!" 
 And her heart cried: "God forgive me the lie; it is 
 not all read." 
 
 There was a brief silence, during which the priest drew 
 out his watch and studied it. Then he spoke: 
 
 85
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "It is high time. I have nothing more to say. I will 
 let you know" this plainly to Auzias "in a few days." 
 
 He rose to go, a ponderous figure, to Madeloun terrible. 
 
 "What will you do with me?" her fear cried out. 
 
 "Nothing, my child," he answered composedly. "You 
 will come to your senses in time." 
 
 She saw the futility of further appeal there. She looked 
 at her mother's grim face and away again. She flung 
 herself upon Auzias, clinging to him as if she expected 
 some force to drag her thence. "Father, you will not let 
 them?" 
 
 He did not deny her caresses indeed, he shook her a 
 little, half jokingly, as if to reassure her: "Caspi, Leleto, 
 you are a mad girl, and the talk of the village. You had 
 no business with that letter . . ." 
 
 "It was my letter," she insisted. 
 
 And he: "Well, my pigeon, stop your pecking. We 
 shall see." 
 
 We shall see Trillon's phrase! And what did it 
 mean? 
 
 She sat up then and tried to force him to meet her eyes: 
 "Will you save me or must I save myself?" 
 
 "The huzzy!" Mere Borel shook a fist that might 
 have killed rebellion with a blow. "You shall be served 
 out. Wait just wait!" 
 
 It was Trillon again Madeloun laughed to herself 
 hysterically. All the world seemed to be falling into 
 Trillon's ways; and he who alone could save her was 
 across the sea, and would never come back again . . . 
 
 "It's a lot of trouble and talking over a small matter," 
 
 86
 
 THREE TO ONE 
 
 mumbled Auzias, probably unaware that he had spoken 
 aloud, for he jumped a little when the priest turned upon 
 him sharply: "Small? Do you call a girl's soul a small 
 matter?" 
 
 "Eh, well," Auzias apologized. "I had no intention 
 to offend. But if it takes all this to-do to save one soul 
 . . . and how about us common mortals who stand out- 
 side . . .?" 
 
 "Do not talk," said Father Gougoulin sternly, "of 
 things you cannot understand." 
 
 For the moment, Madeloun thought her father was 
 with her; but he moved restlessly under her weight. 
 Finally he laughed and said nervously: "I am not a re- 
 ligious man, as you know, father; and you might make a 
 large book out of the things I don't understand, so what- 
 ever seems best to you and the wife . . ." 
 
 At this, Madeloun went away from him and stood in 
 the centre of the room, and defied them all: "I will not 
 weep for you I know that is your wish . . . and I 
 will not be afraid . . . and I will be saved . . ." 
 
 "Oh, come then, Clapper- tongue!" Auzias tried to 
 reason with her. 
 
 But he was interrupted by the priest, trumpet-toned 
 and denunciatory at last: "Have you forgotten the fifth 
 commandment? The wrath of God will be upon you!" 
 
 She looked at him straight, and all the fierce savagery 
 that lay deep in her nature rose to the surface. She hissed 
 at him like a little cat. 
 
 He made a stride forward, but the mother was before 
 him Auzias lifting bewildered hands to his temples; 
 
 87
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 but the girl was quickest of all, and fled away like a swal- 
 low up the stairs and bolted her door. 
 
 There was more of ceremony than of piety in the formal 
 blessing with which Father Gougoulin departed from the 
 parents. 
 
 Auzias went to the door with him and came back fretful : 
 "Bon-dieu these priests these priests why cannot 
 they let a decent man's family alone? What is it all 
 about?" 
 
 His wife turned on him like a fury, but being roused 
 from his easy-going indolence, he checked her with a curt : 
 "Basto be still, woman; and set out the supper." 
 
 Her hands were shaking as she placed upon the white 
 oil-cloth the potatoes and the salad, the bread and wine 
 and black olives; and then began to dish up for Auzias 
 his great basin of soup. 
 
 They ate, wordless, he sighing between his gulps, and 
 she black with suppressed storm that boded evil for the 
 morrow. And Madeloun, alone upstairs, was supperless, 
 as, of course, she deserved to be.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE PROMISE 
 
 IT was no longer than the day after that there came into 
 the little inn at the top of the hill one of those sudden 
 irruptions of drama that divide all lives, even the most 
 commonplace, into epochs. 
 
 Among the village people there was no accounting for the 
 tragedy. True, the summer had been hot. Sant Marceu 
 aid us, but the drought had been long and furious ! The 
 upper wells had been drained; and the women were worn 
 out with toiling up the steep cobbled way, laden with full 
 jugs. Sant Trefume, had the springs that cleft the lower 
 rocks and made the valley green, run dry, the people 
 would all have perished! 
 
 Ah, it had been a summer of infinite desolation! The 
 silk- worms had come to nothing; the vines had been de- 
 voured by the pest; the olives were worm-eaten, and the 
 wheat had been scorched to husks before it was ripe. 
 There had been much sickness for a place that lies so high 
 in the breath of the healing winds. An old man and a 
 babe had been buried within three weeks of each other, 
 in the parched cemetery under the castle wall. Men lost 
 
 89
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 heart in the fields and took to spending what little money 
 they had at the cafe's. Some there were who passed many 
 hours leaning over the ramparts to see when the rain was 
 coming. But on this August day a cool wind blew 
 from Ventour; and there seemed nothing in the air to 
 account for the disaster that befel. Auzias had gone 
 down to turn over a little earth, and by so doing raise his 
 hopes, if it might be, for the new year. His wife had 
 been gleaning among the vineyards for early-dropped fruit 
 that was still sound enough for comfits and preserves. 
 Neither by advice, no doubt had paid the slightest 
 attention to an erring daughter. It is possible that they 
 might have shut her in her room, but that there was neither 
 lock nor key to the door. However, it would have been 
 only for the principle of the thing and the punishment ; they 
 knew that she could not get far or come to much danger 
 on that hillside. 
 
 She watched them leave the house, and she pushed 
 away the chest of drawers that the night before she had 
 dragged inch by inch to block their entrance, and came 
 down into the kitchen. She heated herself some coffee, 
 and found bread, being very hungry; and then she fled 
 away to the cavern cut out of the rock, her mind being 
 wholly bent on recovering as much as she could of her 
 letter. 
 
 It was a bitter task lifting all the heavy stones that she 
 had thrown in so lightly. She knelt and dug them out 
 with a pitiable cutting of fingers and breaking of nails. 
 Scrap by scrap, she rescued the paper from its bed of 
 sand and rubble; and lying flat on the rock pieced what 
 
 90
 
 THE PROMISE 
 
 she found together with tears. All the morning she 
 was thus, but added scarcely an iota to the sense of her 
 message. 
 
 At midday, she gathered up the bits into a clean 
 handkerchief that she had brought for the purpose, and 
 treasured it safely under her fichu; so returned to the 
 inn, with the high purpose of perishing, if need be, before 
 she would give them up. 
 
 But in the village there was talk of other matters. They 
 had been seeking her for several hours in every direction. 
 On the outskirts she was seized by one and another, pulled 
 this way and that, and talked to with so many contra- 
 dictions, corrections, and attempts at hushing, that she 
 was fairly bewildered. Out of the hubbub of words 
 emerged only one clear fact, that her mother was ill 
 had been found lying on the floor by Father Gougoulin, 
 who had happened that way, and that nobody knew what 
 was the matter with her. 
 
 When Madeloun reached the Cdbro d'Or, she shook 
 herself free and pushed the women back; but they fol- 
 lowed her notwithstanding, and crowded the little living- 
 room. On the floor lay still her mother's basket where 
 it had fallen, and the grapes were strewn about. Nobody 
 had troubled or remembered to pick them up, and they 
 had been already much trampled upon, and were making 
 purple marks on the stones. 
 
 The first face that Madeloun realized out of the crowd 
 was that of her sister-in-law Emilio, nursing a baby quite 
 unconcernedly by the table. 
 
 "Where's Jduse?" asked the truant.
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 " Gone to Paradou for the doctor." 
 
 "And father?" 
 
 "He is in there. With Rouseto and some old 
 women." 
 
 "Why don't you go?" 
 
 "I thought there was enough. I couldn't do anything." 
 
 "Am I to go?" the girl was perhaps asking herself, 
 but Emilio answered with a shrug: "As you please. If 
 you think you can be of any use ..." 
 
 "Is it very bad?" was Madeloun's last question. She 
 was amazed at her own hardness of heart. 
 
 And Emilio shrugged again: "We expect the doctor 
 any moment." Then she turned away to some one else; 
 there was scant love between the sisters-in-law. 
 
 A moment Madeloun hesitated, with her foot on the 
 steep ladder- like stairway; then she turned away and 
 went out into the garden, by the wall that overhung the 
 valley. 
 
 Even there she did not escape the stir in the house : the 
 buzz of voices, faces passing the upper window, the occa- 
 sional clink of spoons and glasses. Presently, old Zoufc 
 came out to her, busily tying knots in a heavy cord. 
 
 "Why don't you go up to your mother, Leloun?" 
 
 And Madeloun herself wondered: was it indifference, 
 anger lingering from the day before, or the fear of 
 death? She sought a while for her answer: "Does she 
 want me?" 
 
 But Zoue was listening and suddenly bent over the wall : 
 " Look J6use is bringing the doctor. Eh, well, I must 
 go in and try this" she held up her cord. "The doctor 
 
 92
 
 THE PROMISE 
 
 laughs at such things, but they are good when the breath 
 is short . . . ail ai!" 
 
 She toddled shakily back, and Madeloun called after 
 her: "Tell me if she wants me." 
 
 She was not sure that the woman heard; but she sat 
 still by the wall, not interpreting her own mood 
 possibly she was too frightened to feel any other emotion. 
 
 One by one, Emilio's children came out to her, they, too, 
 awed by the things they could not understand. At last 
 came the oldest little girl, carrying the baby, that amid the 
 general tension of nerves wailed dismally. So she had all 
 four of them, and in comforting and soothing them she 
 almost forgot the trouble that had leaped upon the house. 
 They were so restless that at last she told them little tales 
 under her breath, and had them all quiet under the spell 
 of the cockerel that insisted upon seeing the world and 
 made enemies of the wind and fire ; and how he crowed in 
 the church while St. Peter was saying mass, and put the 
 Apostle to shame before all the congregation by reminding 
 them of his sin; and how the naughty cockerel came to 
 a bad end . . . 
 
 It was the doctor that wanted her, said Zoue, coming 
 again; and she left the children to the old woman, and 
 went within. 
 
 It was curious to her how they all stood aside for her, 
 and seemed to open the way, until she came within the 
 darkened chamber upstairs. There were people still, but 
 she did not heed them; she saw only her strange, wild 
 mother, lying grey and motionless, as she had never seen 
 her lie before. A great cry broke from her lips and seemed 
 
 93
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 to free the love that had been choked long years by re- 
 sentment; she sprang forward and fell on her knees by the 
 bed, burying her sobs among its coverings. 
 
 Mere Borel opened her eyes and whispered something 
 which only the doctor understood. "She wants to be 
 alone with the girl," said he. 
 
 Madeloun did not hear them go Jduse and his wife, 
 her sister Rouseto, last of all Auzias, who seemed so 
 stunned that they had to lead him away. She looked up 
 only as the doctor spoke to her, with the doorknob in his 
 hand: "A few minutes a few minutes only. Mind you 
 do not cross her." 
 
 She was afraid bitterly afraid to be so alone ; but 
 her mother gave her no time even for a little prayer. 
 
 "Come near," she said, with a feeble echo of her old 
 sharpness. And when the girl obeyed, she felt as if her 
 face were scorched by the hot black eyes that swept it 
 restlessly. 
 
 "I am going to die," said the woman then, speaking as 
 if with great effort. "They will not tell me so, but I know 
 it is true. And they have let me send for Father Gou " 
 It seemed that she was too feeble to finish the word. 
 "He will absolve me of my sins ... It is strange 
 when I have been well all my life . . . and I am not old 
 yet ..." She seemed to collect her thoughts with an 
 effort: "Promise me now while I can still hear you 
 that you will do his bidding in all things ..." 
 
 "Mother mother!" cried the girl, for she understood 
 very well the meaning of this. 
 
 "Promise" said the relentless voice. And Made- 
 
 94
 
 THE PROMISE 
 
 loun remembered that the doctor had said she must have 
 her way now, yet could not speak. 
 
 "You have been a cross to me all your life give me 
 this last comfort" the voice was strangely entreat- 
 ing. 
 
 "Why have I been a cross to you, my mother?" whis- 
 pered the girl; but the woman seemed not to have heard, 
 and continued her own thought: "It shall be an expiation. 
 Ask him how . . . Enough promise!" The word 
 was like a sword-thrust. 
 
 "Wait mother wait," gasped Madeloun. 
 
 The sick woman dragged herself up on one elbow: 
 "Do you want to kill me now?" 
 
 Madeloun shook her head, blinded by tears: "Is there 
 no other way? Think my mother, think. I cannot 
 understand it all . . ." 
 
 "The priest understands," came the reply, "and he 
 says it will be an atonement . . ." 
 
 "But for what? Oh, for the sweet Virgin's sake, my 
 mother, tell me why!" 
 
 For answer she had only a slow shaking of the head, 
 and then that terrible word, "Promise." 
 
 And while she shrank and could not speak: "I thought 
 to see you safely veiled . . . and now I cannot die in 
 peace I will haunt you . . ." 
 
 "But, my mother, you know I cannot be a nun. You 
 know I am promised to be married . . ." 
 
 "I have forgotten all that," said the sick woman, and 
 closed her eyes. Suddenly she sat up, crying: "Open the 
 shutters. I cannot see." And as they creaked apart, 
 
 95
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 and her daughter came back to her, she said with her eyes 
 still shut and her old grim smile: "Marry? Marry the 
 devil!" 
 
 Then Madeloun saw a faint chance: "But, my mother, 
 do you not remember we all said he was the devil ? 
 Mother you were young once ; and you were not made 
 a nun against your will. Mother, if you could think what 
 it means to be like me. I cannot help what I feel. I am 
 as I was made. And if I promise you now " 
 
 "Promise" the voice had become mechanical, and 
 the eyes were still shut. 
 
 "No!" cried the girl, in her desperation. 
 
 Suddenly, the sick woman opened her eyes and began 
 to turn her head from side to side: "I cannot see. You 
 have not opened the shutters . . . What is this? Call 
 the doctor . . . Wait . . . What was it I would have 
 you say? I cannot remember ..." 
 
 Madeloun would have fled for help; but her wrist was 
 seized in a hard grip. "Tell me," said the raucous voice, 
 "tell me what it is I forget ..." She was slipping 
 down, but Madeloun with her free hand tried to stay her, 
 while she herself flung an arm backwards over one bed- 
 post and held herself stiffly. "The priest," she gasped, 
 "it is time. But wait not yet . . ." She fought hard to 
 recover her thought. 
 
 And Madeloun in her turn strove to ward off the curse 
 that threatened her young life: "My mother, if ever you 
 loved anybody when you were young, have mercy on 
 us now . . ." 
 
 The woman looked at her strangely. "It will mean 
 
 96
 
 THE PROMISE 
 
 many more years of purgatory for me; yet they would 
 pass ... It is for your own soul, and you will not be 
 saved . . ." Anger swelled and fought with her failing 
 strength. She laughed maliciously: "With his blessing 
 goes mine not otherwise. And your man would be a 
 devil to win that if he knew what I know . . . Let him 
 come now the priest." 
 
 But when Madeloun turned with a sense of escape, the 
 dying woman seized her by the wrist: "You have not 
 promised . . ." 
 
 "O mother!" 
 
 "I take it now your solemn promise . . ." 
 
 " Mother mother " 
 
 "That you will put yourself in the hands of your priest 
 and follow his guidance in all things. Say yes yes 
 yes . . ." 
 
 "Yes," echoed Madaleno faintly, and dropped to her 
 knees at the foot of the bed, hiding her face again. It 
 was the sick woman herself who lifted her voice and cried 
 for help. 
 
 She did not die that night, or the next not until 
 five days later; but that was the last word she spoke to 
 Madeloun. 
 
 97
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE BIRD IN THE NET 
 
 THEN with due ceremony six of the women carried 
 Mere Borel to the church and to the churchyard, and the 
 other villagers followed, bearing lighted candles in her 
 honour. When all things had been done in seemly 
 fashion, even to the laying of the big green-and-white tin 
 wreath on her grave, J6use and his household moved in 
 and took possession of the Cdbro d'Or; and Auzias and 
 his young daughter were pushed to the wall. The old 
 man had earned his olives and his olive-mill by the hard 
 labour of a lifetime; but the inn was his wife's, handed 
 down to her from her fathers, and by her passed on to her 
 only son. 
 
 There was much talk in the village how the strange, 
 dark woman had been the staff of BorePs life; and how, 
 when she was suddenly taken away, his back bent, his 
 jaw dropped, he lost his spring and the laughter in his 
 eyes, and became an old man, content to dodder and 
 drowse in the shade. He passed the management of all 
 things over to his son and his bustling daughter-in-law, 
 who immediately came to accept, as a matter of course, 
 
 98
 
 THE BIRD IN THE NET 
 
 what they owed to his giving; and looked with questioning 
 eyes at the dowerless girl. 
 
 For a short while Madeloun did not observe how un- 
 welcome she was, being absorbed in her own troubles 
 and dreams; but presently Emilio's head-shakings began 
 to penetrate the cloud of emotions in which she lived, and 
 she felt the spirit of the words in which her sister-in-law 
 frequently addressed her brother: "Come now, the girl 
 does not lack chances. She might marry or turn nun or 
 go to the devil; in any case, we should be rid of her the 
 lump!" If Jduse spoke at all in her defence, it was but 
 mildly. He probably urged that she be given house- 
 room and food until something turned up. And if Emilio 
 assented, doubtless she grumbled that it was enough to 
 have the old man saddled on them for God knew how 
 long; and upon Jduse saying that Madeloun could look 
 after the children, she would have retorted that the chil- 
 dren were long since used to looking after themselves, and 
 that the girl would not earn the water she drank. 
 
 Altogether it was not many days before Madeloun 
 began to feel that she was superfluous and unwelcome; 
 and to wonder where in the wide world she should find 
 shelter until Trillon came back if ever he came. But 
 he would not come . . . and that way lay desperation. 
 
 She said to Jduse one day, bitterly and unexpectedly: 
 " I think we two, I and father, must take to the road and beg." 
 
 He looked surprised, shrugged, and reasoned with her: 
 "Don't be foolish. You can share our bread as long as 
 we have any; but with four small children growing up, 
 every mouth costs money. The old man must have his 
 
 99
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 comer, naturally; but you if you get a chance to 
 marry " 
 
 "I am betrothed," said she, "as you know." The 
 skin was purled out on both sides of the tight little silver 
 ring, "and waiting waiting ..." 
 
 He laughed brutally: "You will wait long. These 
 things have been known before. Take Ramoun or 
 Peire, and have a hearth of your own." 
 
 She turned away, with her apron to her face, not hearing 
 a stir within the room : "I can find no way out not one." 
 
 "There is always one, my child," said Father Gougoulin 
 from the doorway; and how he had contrived so dramatic 
 an entrance, God and himself alone knew. 
 
 The girl gave a little frantic twist of the body, as of a 
 hare in a net. At a nod from the priest, Jduse went away; 
 and the old man, white-haired, but unreverend by reason 
 of idleness and indulgence, sat down on the bench where 
 Madeloun had dropped. 
 
 He let her cry out her will, and when she looked up, 
 wondering at his silence, he was twirling a letter in his 
 hand. 
 
 "I have made all necessary arrangements," said he 
 quietly. 
 
 She stared and then she broke out fiercely: "But I will 
 not I will not go!" 
 
 He soothed her then and began to speak at length. 
 Oh, he talked and he talked well! It was honey and 
 balm and oil an aidli, a very salad-dressing of affec- 
 tionate interest. He used every means of persuasion 
 known to logic or priestcraft. He left no stone unturned, 
 
 IOO
 
 THE BIRD IN THE NET 
 
 no way of escape unblocked; and he added of his grace 
 many pretty stories of the life of Sant Alan, the patron of 
 the establishment he had in mind. And in conclusion 
 he asked: "Why are you waiting? What is your hope?" 
 And before she could open her lips to speak, he answered 
 himself: "A chimera." The unknown word, with its 
 weighty possibilities of meaning, seemed to damp her 
 courage altogether. She hung her head, wordless, almost 
 conquered. 
 
 "Well, then," said he, after a pause of looking across 
 the valley, "it is settled." 
 
 "And when Trillon comes back?" she faltered. 
 
 "When when " he laughed easily "well, when 
 he comes, if he is all that you say, let him try to get you." 
 
 She looked rather shocked, and he hastened to add: 
 " But the safety of your soul is more important than any 
 happiness you could find in the world, dear child." 
 
 "Why is my soul more important than Nanoun's or 
 Jano-Mario's?" She felt that she was making her last 
 stand. 
 
 "Not more important," said he, "not more important, 
 but more imperilled." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 He moved impatiently. "There is no need to go into 
 that. Leave it for heads wiser than yourself; and be 
 mindful of your mother's wish of your promise. Be- 
 sides what else is there for you to do?" 
 
 For the moment she considered the possibility of Ra- 
 moun or Peire. But how was she to bring them to know 
 her need quickly enough, even if O God, no, it was 
 
 101
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 impossible! And how could she tell this old man, outside 
 confession, the thoughts of her heart? And she must 
 decide quickly. 
 
 She looked down at the curving white road whence help 
 must come if ever it were to come: "O blessed Virgin! 
 What shall I say?" she sighed. 
 
 He rose and stood looking down upon her. "There is 
 no need to say anything now. You promised what was 
 necessary when your mother died. Make ready to come 
 with me to-morrow; and all your troubles will fall away 
 of themselves." 
 
 "To-morrow oh, to-morrow?" she cried, growing 
 a little pale. 
 
 He spied how she was clutching her swollen third finger. 
 
 "This must be severed," said he, touching the silver 
 ring. 
 
 She hid it quickly as if in defence. 
 
 "Once the step is taken," he purred, "there will be no 
 more rebellion." 
 
 "A year!" she entreated. "Let me wait a year . . ." 
 And to herself: "He must come before then; and if not 
 ... as well there as. here . . ." 
 
 "It is not convenient," said he, with a jerk of the head 
 towards the house, "as you see for yourself very well." 
 
 "Till the winter only till the winter!" 
 
 "That would make no difference to me; but for Jduse 
 it means six months more with an extra mouth . . ." 
 
 She flushed at the brutality: "J6use wouldn't mind; 
 and it is my father's house . . ." 
 
 "Is it? "he asked. "Is it?" 
 
 102
 
 THE BIRD IN THE NET 
 
 "And my father oh, where is my father? He would 
 not let them take me away." 
 
 "You speak as though some one were compelling you," 
 he said sternly. "It is all for your own good. We might 
 turn you out into the street to starve." 
 
 "I could work," she pleaded, with a flash of a new idea. 
 "I could go out into the world and work. I am old 
 enough. I could go into service ?" she urged. 
 
 "True," he answered, and meditated, and after a pause 
 repeated, "True. But it will not answer. You must 
 be ready to come with me at the end of the week." 
 
 She fell on her knees and pressed her face against his 
 plump hand as it lay on the bench. "A month only a 
 little month. Just until ..." 
 
 He did not help her out. "Until what?" he asked 
 presently. 
 
 She could only repeat her futile: "A little month!" 
 
 He changed his mode of attack: "Should you like to be 
 a month more with Emilio? You are sadly in the way. 
 There is not room for you and the children." 
 
 "My father gave them all he had," she said then, with 
 stormy bitterness; and got to her feet and dashed away 
 the tears, "all; and they grudge his daughter a crust of 
 bread. Not Jduse no ; but that woman. I think her 
 parents came from the stingy North!" 
 
 "You forget," said he. "It was your mother's doing, 
 and she provided for you as well; but you fight her wish. 
 You forget your promise " he paused for effect and 
 sighed "and she not dead a month." 
 
 She gave one long desperate glance at the empty 
 
 103
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 road, then she yielded: "I will go with you next week, 
 if" 
 
 "Next week? This," said he remorselessly. 
 
 "Four days," she thought piteously. "Four days 
 what could happen in four days? St. Julian, speed all 
 travellers! but what could happen in four days?" 
 
 He was kind, now that she showed signs of tractability. 
 "After all," said he, "this is not final. It is a year of 
 testing of trial, to see whether you are fit for the Holy 
 Life. It is a privilege accorded only to the few you 
 may not be chosen. But for your mother's sake, you 
 must try it. At the end of the time, if you are unhappy, 
 you may perhaps come out again . . . and God knows 
 what will be your fate." 
 
 She found in his words a gleam of hope. If she were 
 very good and patient for a year a long, dragging year 
 of four seasons, twelve months and how many days ? 
 each day a little eternity, she might yet be saved from 
 a living death to the sunshine and the love that she craved. 
 
 "And then," she said aloud, betraying her hope in her 
 voice, "and then Trillon " 
 
 Sudden anger flamed in the old man's heavy face: 
 "May his own evil fall upon him! He is to blame for all 
 this rebellion." 
 
 "And if so?" she asked saucily, by no means seeing 
 her danger. 
 
 "If so" he was still purple-red "you shall not 
 have him when you do come out granting that he ever 
 returns, the scamp! Your mother left you in my charge, 
 and I refuse absolutely . . ." 
 
 104
 
 THE BIRD IN THE NET 
 
 Blindly she tried to ward off the peril: "O father 
 no no " 
 
 "And her curse and mine be upon you if ever you marry 
 that man!" 
 
 For a moment she was stunned by this new misfortune, 
 then she clutched his sleeve: "Unsay it unsay it 
 or I . . ." 
 
 Perhaps he saw in this folly of hers a stronger leverage 
 to move her; certainly he admitted to himself that he 
 needed all the help he could gather, since he could not 
 dream of telling her the reason that he hugged close in 
 his dark heart. And he was very sure that he was right. 
 
 "Unsay it?" he repeated; and the words that came now 
 were so hot and rapid, that she had much ado to follow them. 
 "Unsay it? They whisper here in the village that your 
 man is possessed of a devil. Eh, well, he will need be 
 to get my consent to such a thing, or to do away with my 
 curse if he goes against me! Oh, I have heard stories 
 enough of the braggart! He can do anything, can he? 
 Well, let him try. Let him make the rocks blossom and 
 the hills bear good fruit . . ." He paused for breath, 
 staring across the valley; and perhaps what he saw there 
 turned his thoughts, for he went on with a sudden dash 
 of cunning: "Look you, Madeloun, suppose we lay aside, 
 for the moment, the question of your soul God forgive 
 me that I do so even for a good end ! Put that aside, even 
 then I cannot marry you to the first penniless adventurer 
 who comes this way, can I ? Suppose he returns and 
 that is supposing no small thing what then ? Let him 
 settle in the village, let him turn honest citizen and farm
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 successfully" in spite of himself, he chuckled a little 
 "let him farm some such place as well, the Pit of 
 Artaban; and I will begin to consider whether if you 
 show no vocation for the religious life whether he may 
 be a suitable husband for you." 
 
 She was not unaware of the snake behind the flowers, 
 the poison in the honey, of his speech; but she took it in 
 grave silence at first, because she did not know what it 
 might mean; and when she spoke it was only to ask tim- 
 idly: "But why the Pit of Artaban, father?" 
 
 She was looking down and did not see the mockery in 
 his fat eyes, as he said pleasantly: "Because it has never 
 been farmed from the beginning of the world, and it is a 
 good block for the young man to try his wits upon. Come, 
 now, I have met you half-way and given you several loop- 
 holes. Do you agree to my terms?" 
 
 "Yes," she whispered, because she could not see what 
 else there was to say. 
 
 But she looked at him so long and gravely that he won- 
 dered what she was thinking about. He would not have 
 been pleased to hear that she was pondering upon the 
 curiosities of the Holy Life for which he intended her. 
 She remembered that by reputation he was a gross eater 
 and she had seen him drink ; she knew that his house was 
 luxurious, that he received visitors, went sometimes 
 abroad to Aries, to Avignon, even further . . . And she 
 remembered whispers among the old women that he had 
 once been in a flourishing town parish, and had been 
 suddenly transferred to this place for some grave fault 
 that no one had mentioned; and here he had stayed on 
 
 1 06
 
 THE BIRD IN THE NET 
 
 upwards of twenty years, forgotten it seemed by his 
 superiors . . . 
 
 Madeloun did not know, nor perhaps did the old women, 
 certainly they did not say, that the little mountain- village 
 of Castelar was a penitential living forced upon such 
 priests as had been guilty of sin, yet not grave enough to 
 warrant that they be unfrocked. But the girl was asking 
 herself whether Father Gougoulin led the Holy Life, and 
 why he wanted her to be a nun. And to neither question 
 could she find an answer. 
 
 However, she clung to her little hope for four days, with 
 increasing desperation; and at the end of that time it 
 seemed to her that her heart was broken altogether. 
 
 107
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE HAWK 
 
 AND yet he came; many months after she had ceased 
 to battle for the troth they had plighted, he came up the 
 white winding road, singing as before, although stripped 
 of his violin. 
 
 It was later in the year this time; and if the April sun 
 had been hot then upon his finery, it was the blistering 
 heat of May that, upon his second coming, scorched 
 through his rags. 
 
 It was a forlorn-looking hawk, almost piteous in weather- 
 worn clothes of a common greyness. He had moulted 
 all his fine feathers and yet he was picturesque still. 
 It was impossible for him to be otherwise. His flannel 
 shirt, faded and clumsily patched into an artist's joy, fell 
 open naturally over the brown throat; his dusty trousers 
 were fringed at the side and flared abundantly over the 
 feet. From his peaked straw hat down to his gaily-worked 
 sandals, there was in every garment he wore a touch of 
 the foreign that interested the countryside as he passed 
 by. The men stared at a still gorgeous red, gold-em- 
 bossed dagger-sheath that swung by his side; the women 
 
 108
 
 THE RETURN OF THE HAWK 
 
 looked long at his deeply tanned face, with its untrimmed 
 hair and moustache that seemed to have bleached in the 
 sun as the skin grew darker. Of the dusty coat that hung 
 over one shoulder, it would have been safe to wager that 
 it lacked silver-gilt buttons almost that it was not half 
 set out with buttons of any sort. 
 
 But the state of his attire, if it affected his mind at all, 
 only increased the jauntiness of his step and the flow of 
 his melody. He sang, he whistled to the birds, bee'd to 
 the sheep and goats of the mountains, and had a little 
 friendly talk with every being that he met. 
 
 When they asked him where he was going, he said to 
 see his sweetheart. 
 
 And when they were bold enough to retort with good- 
 humoured chaff, that he was a pretty fellow for love- 
 making, he answered them in all good faith that he 
 hoped she would find him so. 
 
 When they asked him where he had bought his clothes, 
 he answered, nowhere, that they were partly exchanges 
 and partly things thrust upon him by those who were not 
 above the weakness of insisting that a man be dressed, 
 however hot the climate. 
 
 If they asked him where he came from, he said, the 
 country of the sun where a man might eat off gold dishes, 
 bananas cooked on a silver-plated oil-stove; and where 
 lying by a stream and picking out diamonds was a common 
 afternoon's amusement. 
 
 Asked why he did not stay, he said he had had the fever, 
 and a longing had come over him to see his betrothed. 
 
 Called upon to show specimens of the diamonds, he 
 
 109
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 said that he had come away in a hurry and hadn't re- 
 membered to pick up any. 
 
 Asked, was he going back, he grinned. 
 
 Asked further, if he had made a fortune, he said it was 
 too much trouble, when a man could very well do without, 
 provided he knew how. 
 
 If the passer-by had persisted thus far, he usually gave 
 up at this point, and continued his business, feeling a 
 little shy of the madman with the dagger. 
 
 So Trillon went on his way among the quarries, and 
 shouted his jests at the workmen sawing their way through 
 the snowy limestone; and they, good souls! stopped and 
 wiped their brows, and tried to recall when it was before 
 that they had exchanged such banter with a bird of strange 
 plumage, not like this one and yet . . . 
 
 When he came in sight of the little town crouched on 
 its high rock, he was singing: 
 
 "When the rose is in blossom 
 It must be plucked ah! ah!" 
 
 He stopped and his gaiety was a little overclouded, as if the 
 sun had been momentarily obscured, for there he was hav- 
 ing his first doubt of what he should find above the ramparts. 
 Then he laughed to reassure himself laughed so that 
 the caverns echoed; he caught at a tatter of his sleeve to 
 enforce his meaning. His clothes had changed, but not 
 himself he would be the same as long as his spirit 
 endured. And she well, if he had judged her rightly 
 ... if not, there were many girls in the world only 
 somehow, he had an odd fancy for this one . . . 
 He gave a long whistle, and went on, narrowing his 
 
 no
 
 THE RETURN OF THE HAWK 
 
 yellow eyes to slits, in the vain effort to see her hanging 
 over the wall, or sitting under the almond-tree in the inn 
 garden. 
 
 At the foot of the rock where he had climbed before, 
 he paused and whistled a bar or two of Magali : 
 
 Allegretto. 
 
 Then he stepped back in the road, the better to look up 
 and see the answer. Nothing stirred. 
 
 He sang openly: "I will be the hunter to chase thee," 
 and stopped in amazement to find, instead of Madaleno, 
 two little children, whose heads just topped the wall, 
 staring down at him curiously. 
 
 He scarcely knew what thought impelled him; but the 
 next moment he was scrambling breathless from ledge to 
 ledge, in his ears the terrified screams of the little ones 
 as they ran to fetch their mother. 
 
 He came up over the wall into a hubbub of voices and 
 a tangle of strange faces peering through the door. As 
 he stepped forward with his air of assurance, they fell 
 back, and one of the children cried again. 
 
 "Don't be frightened," he called over to them, "who- 
 ever you may be. It's only Trillon come for his sweet- 
 heart." 
 
 But the children pushed further away; and the intruder, 
 staring hard to find some one that he knew, passed by 
 Emilio and J6use, and would not have seen Auzias, had 
 not the old man, with a little spirt of energy, thrust a way 
 
 lit
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 for himself among them all with his stick, saying queru- 
 lously: "Let me see! Let me see! It is I that should 
 know." 
 
 He came and peered closely: "Holy Virgin, so it is; but 
 she might as well be dead and buried for all the good 
 she'll do you now!" 
 
 "Hey?" Trillon caught the old man by the shoulders 
 so briskly that the clutch had to be turned into a support 
 to keep him from going over backwards. 
 
 And here Jduse, who hitherto had not found any words 
 on the tip of his tongue, was able to come forward and 
 say angrily: "Let my father go!" 
 
 Trillon was quick upon him: "So! He's your father? 
 Well, I'm helping him to the bench" he made his 
 words true. "He has grown old in a year. And since 
 you seem to be the brother, where's Madeloun?" 
 
 "Safe," said J6use, and could not control a grin. 
 
 "Not here be sure of that," added Emilto shrilly, 
 hushing the youngest child. 
 
 Trillon paid no attention to her. "Safe from me, you 
 mean?" he asked J6use. 
 
 "Take it as you like," Jduse shrugged. 
 
 "And so I shall and fit it into my plans," Trillon 
 answered. He turned upon Auzias: "What's hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 "My wife is dead," said the old man, his chin on his 
 stick. 
 
 Trillon paused a little, startled somehow he never 
 took death into his calculations. "Well, and Made- 
 loun?" he asked presently. 
 
 112
 
 THE RETURN OF THE HAWK 
 
 The old man shook his head: "She is away." 
 
 "Yes, yes, but where?" 
 
 "Hein?" Auzias considered. At length he said, with 
 a sort of brief awakening of his old self: "The devil take 
 me if I know!" 
 
 Trillon turned again to Jouse: "You may as well tell 
 me now as later. I came to see how she was getting on; 
 but tron-de-bon-goi, if you hide her away like that, I'll 
 marry her out of hand!" 
 
 Emilio broke into violent laughter: " Oh oh oh 
 the vagrant the lost-bread look at him!" 
 
 Trillon was undisturbed. "You don't like my clothes? 
 I could make you but it's no matter now. You shall 
 like them some day. Where is Madeloun?" 
 
 He flung his coat upon the bench and advanced upon 
 Jduse, who backed away. 
 
 "Don't waste my time," says Trillon. 
 
 But Jouse was on the far side of the table: "Prove your 
 right to ask the question." 
 
 "We are betrothed," said Trillon, laying hand on the 
 stone, and facing him. 
 
 Jduse began to shake his head ; but there was a sudden 
 whirl in the air, and before any one knew what would 
 happen, the invader was across the table, and Jduse lay 
 pinned to the earth beneath him. 
 
 The children clung to their mother, but she was too 
 paralyzed to move or scream. The old man was open- 
 mouthed, shaking over his stick. 
 
 " It's a trifle," says Trillon, panting only a little. " Out 
 with it where is she?"
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Near Montmajour, in the convent of " 
 
 Trillon had released his throat, for he was already 
 purple in the face; but continued to kneel on his chest: 
 "The convent of ?" 
 
 "Sant Alari," growled Jduse. 
 
 Then Trillon arose with a disgusted look, and went 
 over to the wall again: "I would not have believed it of 
 her. She may rot there, for all I care!" 
 
 But on second thoughts, looking shrewdly from one to 
 another at Jduse mumbling unholy words, with his 
 hand at his maltreated throat, at the wife with her shifting 
 eyes and cruel lips, at the old man now futile as a reed, 
 he had a glimmer of the truth and laughed : " Well, I have 
 no doubt you helped her there; but if that's all the matter, 
 we'll soon have her out. Now, if she had been dead . . . 
 yes, I think we will have her out. The little fool! No 
 wonder she did not write that is, if she can write I 
 never thought to ask her ..." With careful aim he 
 smashed a fly that was tickling his wrist, then took off his 
 peaked hat, and for a moment twirled it like a top on his 
 finger ..." Curious it's all in the song too ... * If 
 you turn white nun ' but I have no mind to be father 
 confessor. I can do better than that . . . and it's only 
 a few hours' journey . . ." 
 
 "I'll have the law on you," muttered J6use. 
 
 "God's thunder and thunder of the air and all the 
 thunder that ever was made, shall I have to crack your 
 heads together?" roared Trillon. "But why should I 
 waste my time gabbing here? It's a step or two for a 
 pair of sandals." He swung one leg over the wall. "Run 
 
 114
 
 THE RETURN OF THE HAWK 
 
 fetch your policeman if you have one . . . but I shall 
 come back. Save it up till then that's good advice. 
 Wait till I'm your brother-in-law." 
 
 He was hah - way down the rock now; and they all ran 
 and looked over. 
 
 "You're a pretty fellow to go a-wooing!" shrieked 
 Emilio, deeming the distance between them enough for 
 safe vituperation. 
 
 He stopped his descent and looked up at her, laughing: 
 "Well, to be sure I am and you know it and so does 
 Madeloun. God keep you all! You'll be surprised when 
 you see me next." 
 
 But how surprised, neither himself nor any of them 
 dreamed.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 
 
 SISTER MARTO always watered her flowers just before 
 vespers, for then the cloisters were most in shadow; and 
 no seraph on the highest peak of Paradise ever wore a 
 more blessedly serene expression than did this ruddy yet 
 frail-looking nun, as she sprayed her roses, her colum- 
 bines, her daisies, her geraniums, her lilies, her heartsease, 
 her pansies, her nodding fuchsias, her trails of myrtle, her 
 cyclamen, her marguerites all the treasure of colour 
 and perfume that clouded the old Romanesque columns. 
 No mother ever touched her child with more loving ten- 
 derness than Sister Marto uncrumpled the twisted leaves 
 and plucked away the dead, and sought anxiously for signs 
 of mildew, pest, and noxious insects. Early and late she 
 found some excuse for loitering there. In the morning, 
 when the swallows chittered and swooped in a perpetual 
 game of catch-me-if-you-can, from one gable to another of 
 the old yellow-tiled roof, dashing across the open, perch- 
 ing saucily on the very arm nay, on the very head 
 of the stone Virgin and Child that guarded the rockery in 
 the centre of the court, the song of Sister Marto intoning 
 
 116
 
 THE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 
 
 the graces of Mary accompanied her pacing there, scarcely 
 louder but even sweeter than the bird -notes; and again at 
 evening, when the ecstasy of the nightingales outside drifted 
 into the cloisters through the door that opened from the 
 rose-garden, she scattered a rain like soft dew-drops, from 
 the well at the north comer of the cloister, and sang a 
 little chant of the joys of Paradise. 
 
 In the small sisterhood of Sant Alari there was room 
 for jealousy; but among all the twenty nuns was none 
 who did not love Sister Marto. 
 
 Even the novice from Castelar, who after nearly a year 
 at the convent, had not altogether given over sulking on 
 the stone bench by the church door even Madaleno 
 could not find other than soft answers to the nurse of the 
 flowers. Indeed, of all the nuns, this was the one she 
 loved, to whom she had found it possible to confide some- 
 thing of her trouble and her young despair. 
 
 There came an evening, perfect even for Provence in 
 the spring-time, when the air was so soft that it touched 
 the skin like an exquisite balm. Sister Marto was busy 
 with a lily that drooped without apparent reason, suffering 
 it might be from a gnawing at the bulb. She was so in- 
 tent and so anxious that she ceased to sing; and the silence 
 stirred Madaleno from a dream, as she stood with a hand 
 on each of the two columns between which she was staring. 
 
 "Sister Marto," she began, and unheard, spoke more 
 sharply: "Sister Marto . . ." As the nun looked up: 
 " Haven't you finished yet ? I want to talk to you. Your 
 flowers always your flowers I believe you love them 
 as if they were children!" 
 
 117
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Sister Marto came up to the other side of the archway, 
 brushing away a frown of anxiety over the health of the 
 lily, but not resisting the temptation to pluck at dried 
 leaves, and search for invaders, as she passed along the 
 narrow path. 
 
 "Sister Marto," said the girl, "do you know, unless I 
 do something about it, in a few weeks I shall be a 
 nun like yourself?" 
 
 The other stared a second, then broke into laughter, 
 spreading out her hands : " And am I such a monster then ? " 
 
 "You are sweet sweet," said Madaleno, "but you 
 have found your right place. You have the vocation. 
 Me? I might as well try to be a spider!" 
 
 "My dear child " 
 
 "Who is always forgetting her prayers? Forgetting 
 to take part in the services? Dropping asleep when she 
 is called to sit up with the sick? Good Sister Marto, it's 
 all one long penance for me, penance for duties forgotten, 
 penance for penance forgotten, and triple penance for 
 forgetting that I had forgotten to do penance. My 
 thoughts are always elsewhere, and I am always waiting 
 and longing" she dropped her voice "for one who 
 never comes. I have been patient as patient as I could 
 be for nearly a year. As for the Mother" passion 
 vibrated in her tone "I hate her as you hate slugs " 
 
 11 Chut chut " 
 
 "And I am afraid of her." 
 
 "There is no reason, dear child." 
 
 "Oh, I could kill her!" the girl's fingers closed over 
 her cross as if to seek help against the temptation. 
 
 1x8
 
 THE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 
 
 "And now you are wicked and will have to confess," 
 said Sister Marto regretfully. 
 
 "Confess that I could kill her? The sin shall stay and 
 blacken my soul forever before I will do that! But when 
 I think how the time is coming when I must fight her 
 again, I am sometimes afraid she will look at me in 
 her way so hard and steady, you know how until I 
 have said the vows without knowing that I spoke. And 
 then there would be no undoing none " she mur- 
 mured to herself. "Not even for him when he comes." 
 She continued aloud pensively: "It would not be the first 
 time that she has made me do things against my will; and 
 then I wake up and find them accomplished. I don't 
 want to wake up, Sister Marto, and find my hair gone. . . . 
 My hair is pretty ..." 
 
 "Chut chut!" said the older woman. "You must 
 not think of such things here." 
 
 Then passion was unchained in Madaleno's black eyes : 
 "I think of nothing else all the day and sometimes all the 
 night ; and I cry Jesu, how I cry ! Nobody knows 
 for fear that he will not find me. And I thought when I 
 first came that I had no hope!" 
 
 "One does when one is young," said the nun softly, 
 and for a moment it seemed to Madeloun that perhaps 
 she might understand. 
 
 "And so it is a sin to keep me here at all," continued 
 the young logician, "and it is you who love me and would 
 not have me commit mortal sin, who must help me to 
 get away." 
 
 "Saints!" cried Sister Marto, clutching her rosary; 
 
 119
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 then she quietly considered the situation for a moment or 
 two, before she said: "I will not help you to get away. 
 But suppose you go alone what then? where then?" 
 
 Madeloun shrugged: "No matter. It is a big world." 
 
 "And you have no fear?" 
 
 "Yes, I am afraid; but not so afraid as of being shut up 
 here all my days. I hate the place and every one in it 
 except you and your flowers, Sister Marto." 
 
 "No, there is much in it that you do not hate Sister 
 Claro, the portress, for example, and Sister Oursulo, and 
 Sister Aulaio; and the garden, and the birds, and the sun; 
 and the music when we sing, and the little children that 
 are brought to be healed. You do not hate even the soup 
 for dinner, or Zefir the hound. There is much that you 
 love, and more that would bring you joy and peace, if 
 once you could bend your stubborn heart to the will of 
 God." 
 
 " But how do I know that it is the will of God ?" 
 
 "Chut we leave that to those who are wiser than 
 ourselves. Our part is only to kneel and ask the grace 
 of perfect obedience. It was your mother's will, the 
 bidding of your priest what can you do against those 
 two? In time, you will find your content; but for some 
 of us it takes years ..." 
 
 "For you?" asked Madeloun abruptly. 
 
 "Forme." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 Sister Marto winced a little at the question; but after a 
 moment said quietly: "I was betrothed and he died. 
 Then I came here. It is now eighteen years." 
 
 120
 
 THE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 
 
 "And when did you find your content?" The unwit- 
 ting cruelty of youth! 
 
 "Child, child, you ask many questions" there was 
 the shining of tears in the blue eyes. "Thanks to the 
 Holy Mother, I have found it. And so will you." 
 
 "Listen," said Madeloun. "Mine is not dead. He is 
 out in the world somewhere in South America. I 
 do not well know where that is; but it is very far away; 
 and I could never read the name of the place. But look." 
 She drew out from under her habit a tiny linen bag that 
 she had worked all over with forget-me-nots, as Sister Marto 
 saw with eyes that grew dim again in the seeing. "Look." 
 She showed the torn fragments of the letter, yellowed with 
 dust and tears; and knowing now the words on every piece 
 by the size and shape of it, she quickly found the name 
 of the place in two fragments, which she held together. 
 
 "Read," said she; but the nun, when she had spelled 
 it out, was no wiser than herself. 
 
 "Listen again," entreated the girl. "I cannot have a 
 light in my cell, but whenever there is moon, do you know 
 what I do ? I crawl out of bed and I spread these on the 
 floor though it is cold to lie there you cannot think 
 how cold " 
 
 "Ah, yes yes yes, I know," murmured the other. 
 
 "And I try to piece them together so as to make out all 
 the sense ; but I never can, for some of them are lost, and 
 through my fault." 
 
 "How lost?" came the gentle question; but Madeloun 
 hung her head and would not answer that. 
 
 "And you will help me?" she entreated. 
 121
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Togo to this place?" 
 
 "Ah, no, for I could never find it and he may not be 
 there now. But to get out into the world and be free to 
 wait for him. I could work oh, I should work!" 
 
 Sister Marto was scarcely as practical-minded as her 
 name-saint; but still she asked: "And how get work? 
 and where? and what could you do? and how should he 
 find you again?" 
 
 " Oh, that all that later" was the impatient 
 answer. "He would find me anywhere at the end of 
 the world. But how escape?" 
 
 Sister Marto smiled at this midsummer madness, and 
 asked: "You have told the Mother something of this?" 
 
 "When I first came and she cut my ring off, I wept 
 for weeks and weeks, but she was deaf as these columns. 
 So I settled in my own mind that I would wait wait 
 until it was near the time. But I thought he would have 
 come by now, and that is why I am so desperate. There is 
 only you to help me you must help!" 
 
 "What could I do?" asked Sister Marto, with trouble 
 on her smooth fair forehead. "It is Sister Claro who 
 has charge of the gate. And ladders the gardener has 
 ladders, but I don't know where he keeps them; and should 
 I help you to risk your life, and turn you out into the 
 world at night alone penniless? I could never be 
 absolved of that sin." 
 
 "Then must I die here?" stormed Madeloun. 
 
 But before Sister Marto could utter the gentle, "We 
 don't die of such things," that hovered on her lips, the 
 answer came from elsewhere, in the form of a tremendous 
 
 122
 
 THE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 
 
 and furious knocking at the outer gate, where hung a 
 cracked bell that was often jangled long before it reached 
 the ears of Sister Claro in her lodge. 
 
 "Saints defend us! What is that?" cried Sister Peu- 
 petio, who just then reached the turn of the cloister with 
 two vases of fresh flowers for the altar. She set her 
 precious burdens carefully down upon the stone bench, 
 and stood with her hands on her hips; and the three women 
 looked at one another, as the knocking recommenced, 
 with a blustering bravado that struck terror into two of 
 these gentle souls. 
 
 But Madeloun flushed hot, and ran down the corridor 
 into the open air, and along the high wall, with its heavy 
 mantle of red and creamy roses, so came in front of the 
 church, whence one can see the great gateway at the end 
 of a long straight avenue of pines. The nuns followed 
 more slowly, but moved by irresistible curiosity. By the 
 time they were all looking down the road, they saw a 
 strange sight between the far-stretching flower borders, 
 where high above the pink of the roses was flushing, and 
 low on the earth the irises lay in great purple masses 
 along the path, too heavy with their own richness to stand 
 erect. They beheld the aged Sister Claro, wrinkled, 
 dignified, rheumatic, with her skirts drawn high and her 
 veil floating behind her, flying towards them as if in 
 mortal terror of pursuit. 
 
 "Oh, for the love of Mary," she panted, "call the 
 Mother quick!" She dropped upon a bench, trying to 
 recover her breath, while Sister Peupetio took example 
 from her haste and fled away. 
 
 123
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "What is it ? Oh, what is it ?" entreated Sister Marto, 
 wringing her hands in helpless sympathy with the agita- 
 tion of the portress. 
 
 Suddenly, Madaleno laughed ; and the two Sisters looked 
 up, struck dumb to behold her tearing off her white head- 
 dress and collar, and flinging them far among the irises. 
 And as she stood before them, with her black hair rippling 
 about her rosy face, and the dimples in her cheeks dancing 
 with the lights in her eyes, it seemed to both good women 
 that some sprite had entered the body of the girl whom 
 they had known as pale, sulky, rebellious . . . 
 
 But before they could utter a sound, she had gathered 
 up her long robe and fled away, not after Sister Peupetio, 
 but into the wilderness of garden behind the chapel; and 
 the mysterious words that rang in their ears, together 
 with a strange tinkle of laughter, were: "I think it is' 
 Trillon!" 
 
 124
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE VIGIL 
 
 BUT it was long that she waited, peeping from the 
 boskage of the garden. 
 
 The knocking at the door was not repeated. She saw 
 the Mother Superior walk past the two Sisters she had 
 just left, her serene and icy dignity untroubled by their 
 turmoil of spirit. And when the beat of her footsteps 
 had died away, there was no sound except the insistent 
 and almost continuous call of a cuckoo. But in any case 
 Madeloun was too far from the gate to have heard the 
 play of voices there. She was tempted to follow, but had 
 a fear of moving. Sister Marto returned within the 
 cloister; Sister Claro hobbled, with injured emphasis on 
 her usual infirmities, in the wake of the Superior; the 
 moments passed and the sun set, while Madeloun, un- 
 coiffed, dishevelled, with both hands against her breast, 
 and every heart-beat showing in her cheeks awaited 
 her doom. 
 
 It came in the slow returning footsteps of the Mother 
 Superior, no whit less serenely dignified, no whit more 
 self-satisfied, than usual. Before the church she paused 
 
 "5
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 and looked towards Madeloun hidden in the shrubbery, 
 and the girl shrank further into the shadow; then she 
 stopped to examine a cluster of banksia buds, patted 
 Zefir, the house-dog, said a few words to him, and entered 
 the church-door. 
 
 And was this to be the end? Madeloun scarcely knew 
 that she had moved until she found herself running along 
 the narrow tortuous paths, catching her skirt on the 
 thorny branches, impatiently wrenching it loose and 
 running again, regardless whether Sister Claro might be 
 watching from her little lodge. Frantically, she thrust 
 open the wicket and stared down the dusty, dusky road. 
 It was empty. 
 
 Then she shook the high, wooden gate and twisted her 
 hands vainly against its bolt and bar. No, there was no 
 mad chance in her favour; it had not been left unlocked. 
 She fell on her knees and sobbed; and if Sister Claro, in 
 the little lodge, setting out bread and salad for her supper, 
 did not hear this pitiful crying, she must have been too 
 deaf to warrant her office of portress. But she made no 
 sign no sound . . . and the walls were six metres high, 
 or more, and crested with broken glass; and there was but 
 the one gate . . And even if she found a ladder high 
 enough and could carry it to the wall, and climb up to 
 the top, how could she get down the other side without 
 such injury as would make her to be brought back to the 
 hospital and nursed to health again, with secret triumph 
 on the part of those who sought her captivity? If one 
 might die thus it would be different; but when one was 
 young, one did not die . . . And Trillon had come and 
 
 126
 
 THE VIGIL 
 
 gone away. . . What had they told him then? . . . But 
 had he come? . . . Ah, she had small doubt there! It 
 was not only the prompting of her heart that had raised 
 expectation to the fever point these last days; it was her 
 certain assurance that no other man in the world would 
 have knocked thus with that degree of righteous in- 
 dignation and furious resolve except him who had 
 called himself the Falcon of Avignon. ... He had come 
 for his own but he had gone away and what had 
 happened ? 
 
 For a moment she felt emboldened by the mere passing 
 of his spirit to march up the avenue, and enter the re- 
 fectory where the Sisters would be having supper now, 
 and before them all demand of the Mother Superior to 
 tell her the truth. 
 
 But she lingered and lingered perhaps awaiting 
 a return, a sign and suddenly the air was dark and a 
 light shone through Sister Glare's window. Supper would 
 be over. The moment had passed. Oh, what could she 
 do now but creep into the church and pray pray hard 
 
 The night wind chilled her and hastened her reluctant 
 footsteps. Near the church she stopped short, choking 
 back a scream of terror at a sudden whiteness on the dark 
 earth; but the terror was turned to tears when, as the wind 
 blew a lock of hair across her cheek, she remembered 
 that this must be her discarded head-dress. As high as 
 had been her hope oh, the shame of to-morrow ! 
 
 But rash youth must often walk the bitter way of 
 humility; and Madeloun, remembering the face of the 
 Mother Superior as she had paused near this spot to pat 
 
 127
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 the hound, crushed the dewy sweetness of the irises be- 
 neath her feet, and stooped to gather up these emblems 
 of her soul's servitude. 
 
 The refectory windows were black; and she was hungry, 
 poor child ! She remembered that there was to have been 
 the salad she liked best. But they had all supped and 
 gone their ways, and left her alone with her trouble. She 
 had no desire now to pray; she thought only of getting to 
 her cell and weeping out the night, before she should 
 come to judgment on the morrow. If only her heart 
 would break . . . 
 
 She stole like a shadow along the empty corridors and 
 into her room, with a little gasp of relief when the door 
 opened to her turning. Somehow, she had feared it might 
 be barred against her. 
 
 There is a certain ceremony through all the wild sorrow 
 of youth; in its most extravagant moments, it is rarely 
 quite without self-consciousness. Be sure it was no 
 feigned grief that caused the young Madeloun to fling 
 herself on her little pallet and toss her arms into the air 
 with a stifled outcry for help; but yet, she would have 
 been more comfortable, even in her very genuine trouble, 
 had she undressed and gone to bed properly; and she did 
 not wish to be more comfortable. She wished uncon- 
 sciously, no doubt to realize to the full the complete 
 misery of her position; and with a great rioting and waste 
 of youthful vitality, she did so. 
 
 The night passed on, and the moon rose and whitened 
 the terrace outside her window. She heard the three 
 church-bells, centuries old each, strike the time singly 
 
 128
 
 THE VIGIL 
 
 and in unison; and it was a matter for faint comfort, or 
 at least for pride, that she had not missed an hour up to 
 twelve, nor a quarter up to when all at once her ear was 
 attracted by an extraordinary sound outside her window. 
 It was not frog or cricket or bird, but it contained elements 
 of the notes of all three; and it sounded appallingly near. 
 She set one foot on the floor and listened; and just as she 
 had decided that she had imagined the noise, she heard 
 it again, far away down the terrace. She had a momen- 
 tary dread of what might come in upon her from the still 
 moonlight; and she ran to the window and closed the 
 shutters. Even so she could hear the sound ever louder 
 and louder, but with frequent pauses, as if the strange 
 beast that uttered it were feeling its way cautiously, or 
 pausing for some unknown purpose. 
 
 With a sudden terror of ghosts, Madeloun ran to her 
 door to call for help, and turned the knob; but it resisted 
 her utmost efforts. If she had not been barred out, cer- 
 tainly she was locked in. Ah! they expected her to try 
 to escape then? 
 
 A sudden exultation tingled in her blood a return of 
 her intuition that he had been there, that he would come 
 again. She lost all fear, and flung wide the windows. 
 The night breeze streamed in with the moonlight and 
 lifted her tangled hair. 
 
 Nearer came the hoarse cry, but there was no other 
 sound. She could not see anything in her little looking- 
 glass; but with frantic fingers she fumbled for her brush 
 and comb, and shook her untidy attire to rights; then 
 pressed against the window-frame that reached but a 
 
 129
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 little below her breast, she held herself still, but in the full 
 blaze of light, waiting waiting. 
 
 A shadow crossed the moon and the room was dark; 
 it retreated and her dazzled eyes were again filled with 
 light; then it fell for the second time, and the curious low 
 croak was at hand; and again it retreated, and the moon 
 blazed upon her half-smoothed, riotously-curling hair, 
 her brilliant eyes, and hands clasped as in prayer against 
 the habit that she had robbed of all its nun-like 
 attributes; and at last a third time the shadow fell, and she 
 was drawn up and up, out of the darkness of her cell, up 
 and up, it seemed into the very heart of day; and a Warm 
 stillness enfolded her, and she was quiet after all her 
 weeping. Quiet a long time as he was quiet, until, 
 with remembered caution, he just lifted her from her feet 
 and carried her into the shadow of the great plane-tree 
 that faced her window. 
 
 There she stirred and clung to him sweetly, with soft 
 frantic laughter that for a time robbed her of all speaking; 
 and when the words came, they were only : 
 
 "And the noise was the noise was ?" 
 
 "The Falcon of Avignon," said he, and kissed her, as 
 on that far-away day of their first meeting. 
 
 130
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE FALCON AND THE NIGHTINGALES 
 
 WORDS? What words were needed? What could 
 words say ? Trillon began to laugh. " I thought I should 
 find you that way," said he. 
 
 Madaleno freed one hand and pressed it across his lips, 
 with the result that he kissed it and laughed the more. 
 
 "They will hear" she whispered, looking over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Let them hear. I should rather like the Mother 
 Superior to come upon us now. I have you and I shall 
 keep you. What can she say?" 
 
 "Do you mean," asked Madeloun, "that I am to go 
 away with you?" 
 
 "What else should I mean?" 
 
 She considered this a moment, then: "It was you this 
 afternoon?" 
 
 " Sarnipabibune, who else?" 
 
 "But you did not come in," she insisted, a bit piqued 
 to remember that all her woe might have been spared. 
 
 He drew her closer still, and patted her cheek lovingly, 
 yet with a tinge of rebuke: "Ah, Lounloun Leleto
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Leleto, it was not my way. You have yet to learn the 
 ways of Trillon." 
 
 "Tell me about it." She lost future and past in her 
 present content; but for the moment curiosity lifted a 
 peak above the sea of her bliss. What had happened 
 between him and the Mother Superior ? 
 
 "Tell what? It was simple. I knocked. You heard 
 me? I intended you to hear. They would not open 
 more than a wicket the length of a nose. It would have 
 taken time to batter down the gate. I demanded your 
 Mother Superior. She came pecaire ! as fierce as 
 Artaban! I let her talk; and when she had done, I made 
 her a bow which I hope she saw through the little hole. 
 
 "'Heaven save you, madame,' said I. 'I have no 
 doubt you are a holy woman; and I have heard some talk 
 of holiness, too, being native to Avignon, the city of the 
 Popes. But with all your holiness you have not divined, 
 perhaps, that I had an object to gain in making this 
 disturbance, as you call it. Have I your leave to 
 explain?' 
 
 "So, her words being gone for the moment, I began: 
 'When, madame, you did me the honour to receive my 
 promised wife under your roof ' 
 
 "'Hey? What?' cries she; "and I could see her stoop 
 to peer through the wicket. And by that alone I judged 
 that your precious brother and his wife had not turned 
 me off on a false scent, when they declared that you were 
 here; but I wanted to be sure. 
 
 "'You had no idea, it may be, that she would trespass 
 upon your hospitality so long; however, in the end I am 
 
 132
 
 THE FALCON AND THE NIGHTINGALES 
 
 come to take her away, as soon as ever the banns may 
 be read.' 
 
 "This she pretended not to understand, so it was my 
 turn to screw my eyes to the wicket; and a good look I 
 had at her as I said : ' I mean Madaleno Borel, who before 
 your silk- worms if you have any begin their cocoons 
 will be Madaleno Trillon.'" 
 
 "Wicked oh, wicked!" cooed the girl, and for a time 
 stopped his discourse altogether. " But suppose sup- 
 pose the Mother should come to her window now ?" 
 
 "Which is hers?" 
 
 "There" she pointed. 
 
 "Come!" He made a movement as if to draw her 
 thither and continue his love-making in the very face of 
 the Church. 
 
 But she was too earnest to be overruled: "Remember, 
 you do not know her, and I sweet Virgin ! You cannot 
 think what she may be able to do." 
 
 "Nor can she think what I may be able to do. She 
 defied me royally to come and take you if I could ; but she 
 never once denied that you were here which was all I 
 wanted." 
 
 "'Madame,' said I, 'now that we have warned each 
 other, it becomes a game. God be with you ! My thanks.' 
 It is not the way of Trillon to do things under the rose; and 
 if she is sleeping peacefully at this moment, it but shows 
 her lack of sense. Your holy women are not always 
 lacking in shrewdness ..." 
 
 "Ail ail" cried Madeloun, suppressing a little wail. 
 "I had forgotten." 
 
 133
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 " Forgotten what ? But tell me after. Back into your 
 cell now and collect what you want. We must take the 
 road so as to get somewhere by morning." 
 
 " A i I ai ! " she sobbed on his shoulder. ' ' You will have 
 much to do. The world is between us; and they are 
 meaning to make me take the veil." 
 
 "How then?" asked Trillon brusquely. "You will 
 not come to-night?" 
 
 "Not to-night nor any other night until you have done 
 what cannot be done; or my mother will curse us from her 
 grave, and we shall never prosper." 
 
 "Hah!" says Trillon, and released her, to rub his hands 
 together. "What is this?" 
 
 "Have you come back very rich?" she asked wistfully. 
 
 "Not so rich as when I went but what of that? It 
 needed time. And was I to wait forever for another look 
 at the sweetest face on the earth? Heaven save me, you 
 might have married another ! And look you I was 
 right." 
 
 Her lip drooped, but he was quick to continue: 
 
 "If it is only money that you want, my pretty, eh, 
 well" 
 
 "But soon? In three weeks or four?" 
 
 He pulled his falcon tufts and thrust out his chin: 
 " Soon? In three days you shall have a handful." 
 
 "But even so," she sighed, "it would be of no use. I 
 promised my mother when she died that I would do as 
 Father Gougoulin bade me, and he has put me here ..." 
 
 "Then I must see Father Gougoulin," said Trillon 
 calmly, "no more than that." 
 
 134
 
 THE FALCON AND THE NIGHTINGALES 
 
 "But he would never let me out again ..." 
 
 "We shall not ask his permission," interrupted the 
 lawless one. 
 
 "And even if he did, he swore in his anger that I should 
 never marry you oh, he swore it so strongly that there 
 is no breaking ..." 
 
 " Leave it all to me," said Trillon. "This is not women's 
 work." 
 
 "But he said we should be cursed by himself and my 
 mother . . ." 
 
 "He seems to be a meddling old fool; but he can be 
 made to unsay it." 
 
 "I don't see how," she insisted piteously. 
 
 "My pretty one, your head was not made for such 
 matters. But let us inquire into this thing a little. What 
 reason did he give for keeping you here?" 
 
 "My own good," she said, between tears and laughter. 
 "He wants to save my soul." 
 
 "It sounds disinterested. But it is not enough. No 
 other?" 
 
 "Eh, well, there was no money for me. Nanoun and 
 Rouseto had their dowries, and Jduse took what was left. 
 That was my mother's doing it was all hers, you know. 
 My father had only what he earned ..." 
 
 "Money," says Trillon, "I could always do without. 
 Let us pass over that. There must be a deeper reason 
 somewhere ... we shall find it. Meanwhile, I get 
 you away . . ." 
 
 "No, no," says she. "You must make him unsay the 
 curse. And yet you cannot, for it was a strong one," she 
 
 135
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 continued piteously. "The miracles you would have to 
 do you would need to go to a witch . . . and even 
 then . . . Oh, he said terrible things about making the 
 rocks blossom, and I know not what, before he would 
 give way. And he pretended that it was all for my good, 
 and he said that if I could not undertake the religious 
 life, he would let me go free again. Only the Mother will 
 hear no word of that now I cannot tell you how she 
 makes me feel. But he said, too, that if you should come 
 back and live in the town, and turn farmer like anybody 
 else . . ." 
 
 "Why all this?" asked Trillon suddenly. 
 
 "I don't know. But he said that when you could farm 
 the Pit of Artaban . . ." 
 
 "And what is that?" he interrupted again. 
 
 "Waste land sheer rock," she said, in a tone of utter 
 discouragement. "You could never make a living there." 
 
 "My pretty," said Trillon, "do not slander me. So 
 far I have made a living without great difficulty cer- 
 tainly, I am very much alive. But if your priest likes to 
 prescribe where I am to continue the process, eh, well 
 
 "I think," she said mournfully, "it would be, as easy 
 as to walk like a fly up the sheer cliff of Briazon . . ." 
 
 "Where is that?" he asked. 
 
 "Ah, it is the side of the castle where the Marshal of 
 France had his armies for a month with ladders and 
 engines, and at the end of the time, I have heard my father 
 tell, he had to march away again because he could not get 
 a foothold. . . . Could you climb up there?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly," says Trillon. "And can I surmount 
 
 136
 
 THE FALCON AND THE NIGHTINGALES 
 
 these obstacles? My dear child, trust me; I am not a 
 Trinquetaille for nothing." 
 
 She felt that the case was hopeless, and yet she drank 
 in his words as if they had been the utterance of a saint. 
 But when he fell silent in reflection, but by no means in 
 despair she suddenly wrung her hands against her 
 breast, with a full renewal of her trouble. 
 
 "Not even you not even you ' 
 
 "Hopo! Tajort! Presently presently," he said at 
 last, in a voice no less strong than usual. "By your 
 sacred good sense! Look now, I leave you here for two 
 weeks two weeks and a half longer. Be good be 
 patient, be cheerful even if I do not return until the last 
 day and not till midnight. Nothing can happen till then. 
 There are other novices, hein? What, two? Ah, well, 
 defer to your holy Mother in all things; and at the last 
 moment, if not before, your hawk will swoop and away 
 you go, the congregation a-stare, and the Mother Superior 
 wringing her hands . . . Eh, what? Smile!" 
 
 "You will work all these miracles?" 
 
 "I and no other." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "No but." 
 
 "My mother's curse." 
 
 "No curses." 
 
 "My conscience " 
 
 "Shall be as white as the collar and coif they want to 
 strangle you with." 
 
 "And yours?" 
 
 "Huh!" his laugh was shorter than usual. "The 
 
 137
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Trinquetailles sailed up the Rhone, in their skiffs, their 
 barges I know not what a thousand years ago and 
 more old Mercadou once told me. And they burned 
 and robbed and killed, and did as they pleased. But I 
 have no more liking than you for the curses of the dead. 
 They spoil the sunshine by which we live. Chut! the 
 nightingale! Come, sit on the parapet here in the shade 
 and be still; and he will come so close that he will sing 
 almost on your shoulder. And so you may imagine that it is 
 your hawk trilling to you, for when all is said the croak 
 of the falcon is not so sweet a note." 
 
 The moon rose high and higher; and the nuns slept 
 undisturbed all but one, who rose towards midnight when 
 the nightingales were holding full chorus, enthroned on 
 every tree, rose softly and went to her window, watching 
 the loveliness of the sky and the world beneath it. But 
 her own thoughts were busy and she heard not or if 
 she heard, regarded but as the stirring of the breeze 
 the voice of Trillon telling of the far-away lands he had 
 seen, and of the perils he had risked and escaped, before 
 he came home again to his love. Sister Marto turned 
 away from the flower-scented moonlight, and knelt before 
 the shadow in which hung her crucifix, praying pray- 
 ing 
 
 Once only, a pleasant sound outside made her lift a 
 startled face. It sounded like a soft peal of girlish laughter 
 and reminded her vaguely of Madaleno. It was how the 
 girl would laugh, if ever she laughed. The poor child! 
 To-day they had been cruel to her reluctantly cruel, 
 at the bidding of justice, personified in their Mother; they 
 
 138
 
 THE FALCON AND THE NIGHTINGALES 
 
 had let her wander supperless in the dusky garden; and 
 when she came in, they had withdrawn from the possible 
 chance of meeting her and speaking a word of comfort to 
 her sore little heart; and they had locked her in with her 
 trouble . . . 
 
 She half rose from her knees, this good Sister Marto, 
 with the thought of tempering justice with mercy just 
 a peep in upon the poor little novice to see that she had 
 not cried herself into a fever; but she remembered, with a 
 sigh, that the key of Madaleno's cell would be hanging 
 in the bunch attached to the Mother's girdle, remembered 
 and sank back to her praying. But she added one little 
 orison not in the chaplet: 
 
 " O Mary, flower of women, let not her miss the greatest 
 joy of this life, if it be thy will. Amen." 
 
 And who shall say that this humble incantation did not 
 speed Trillon in the working of his miracles? 
 
 139
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 TRILLON GROWS RICH 
 
 I AM afraid to say whether or not the morning star had 
 risen by the time that Trillon had departed the way he 
 came the balcony, the plane-tree, a knotted rope, a 
 breach in the broken glass that topped the wall do not 
 ask how it came there and the arms of an almond-tree, 
 growing high on a mound above the road. With a sudden 
 whoop, which he may have learned among the Indians 
 of the wild parts where he had been, he settled into a 
 steady tramp towards could you guess? Avignon, 
 the world of sausage-shops that he had once thought to 
 have quitted forever. And as he went, one could not have 
 supposed that he bore upon his head and sturdy shoulders, 
 the weight of a miraculous achievement, to be wrought 
 within a few weeks, for he sang in concert and in rivalry 
 with all the hedge-birds that he met. And even when the 
 mistral, in sharp descent from the Alps, powdered his 
 mouth and throat with white dust, he but gaped and 
 swallowed several times and was as fresh as ever. His 
 thirst he quenched at wayside fountains, but when he had 
 hunger he stopped at a village shop for a sou's worth of 
 
 140
 
 TRILLON GROWS RICH 
 
 bread from which it is clearly to be inferred that he 
 was not altogether penniless. 
 
 Arrived at Avignon no less jauntily than he had begun 
 the day's journey, he marched under the long line of plane- 
 trees round the ramparts until he came to the quarter of 
 the sausage-shop, where he found the former belle of 
 Aries, exactly as he had presaged all the way, by her 
 window before the counter that her scrubbing had ren- 
 dered as spotless as a bed of snow, slicing off two sous' 
 worth of a fat roll of pork for an urchin in a belted black 
 smock. 
 
 "Hey, aunt," says he, cocking his hat in a way that 
 must have been familiar to her from years back. 
 
 "Saints!" cries the poor old lady, and goes on cutting 
 and cutting and cutting, until the urchin's eyes grew wide 
 with wonder at the value he was to get for his money. 
 
 "You have a word of welcome for a dutiful nephew?" 
 he asked politely; but still dumb, she went on cutting 
 sausages. 
 
 "Hoi, then, if no welcome, you have at least sausage," 
 he helped himself so bountifully from her cutting that 
 the urchin had no more than his proper share after all. 
 
 " It is good, your sausage, aunt," quoth Trillon, finding 
 and drawing forth an extra chair from behind the counter. 
 " I remember it very well. It was always the sort I liked 
 best. And do you still buy your pig in the Place Pie, and 
 how much do you give for it ? Excuse me, I have waked 
 and walked a night and two days; and I am hungry" he 
 helped himself to more. "Ah, it's no bad thing you make 
 out of this shop, aunt. Lucky for you, my father had a 
 
 141
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 prodigal son hein ? How much do you make a year ? 
 And how much goes to fatten your priest's pocket hein ? 
 Oh, no need to look at me that way. Yes, yes, I am poor. 
 I grant it freely as poor as my priest should be, if I had 
 one. I grant that freely. I am poor, but not ashamed 
 of it. I am poor; but I have had adventures, aunt 
 adventures enough to have whitened the hair of any other 
 man. And there is work before me to be done quickly. 
 I cannot go walking about the country in a pair of dusty 
 sandals. I must return like a prince." 
 
 "Return where?" asked the poor woman, with a gleam 
 of hope, as she despatched the urchin about his business. 
 
 "Return whence I came," said he; and in the reaction 
 from her fear and amazement, she began to wipe the tears 
 from the corner of each eye alternately. 
 
 "But to return like a prince pecaire! that needs 
 money; and indeed, I have promised my sweetheart a 
 handful. Therefore" he concluded simply "I come 
 to you." 
 
 " Go to the bare rocks for water " she wrung her 
 hands. 
 
 "A spring could be found an unfailing source by 
 one who could work the miracle," he hinted; but added 
 openly: "My aunt, I could do with a little wine." 
 
 Awaiting no answer, he passed through the small 
 dining-room behind the shop to the kitchen, rummaged 
 the dresser and the cupboards and returned empty- 
 handed, remembering then that in his father's time the 
 keys would be safe in her apron pocket, but now that she 
 lived alone Iron de Vlrl who would have thought ? 
 
 142
 
 TRILLON GROWS RICH 
 
 There was a shadow on his face when he came back 
 a shadow that she rather dreaded. Perhaps on the whole 
 it was best not to anger him. 
 
 "Wait," said she amiably, " there is not much doing 
 now. You shall have wine and a little dejeuner. After 
 all, we are blood-relations." 
 
 His face cleared: "Hah! the fatted calf is it so?" 
 
 He waited patiently while she clattered pots and sauce- 
 pans in the kitchen; but he made a quiet round of the 
 shop, took good note of all the changes since his father's 
 time, and drew his own conclusions. 
 
 When the dejeuner came it was not unworthy of his 
 acceptance. He had had his sausages, you see, and 
 enough, as she undoubtedly judged; but she brought in 
 ripe olives, which he always preferred to the green, and 
 bread and butter; and afterwards a little omelette and 
 a bottle of Chdteau-neuj-du-Pape, some haricot salad, a 
 treasure of a steak under a mound of chip potatoes, a 
 little Roquefort and a handful of dates. 
 
 "Already I feel like a prince," he assured her, as he 
 dropped the last stone on the dish, and leaned back replete. 
 Of that small luncheon not enough was left to have 
 gorged a fly. What especially troubled the frugal soul 
 of the old body was the patent fact that she must go forth 
 again and purchase for her own eating. Her nephew had 
 always been an Artaban in working his way through food. 
 
 However, like the pious woman she was, she awaited 
 his pleasure meekly, only setting forth her knitting in order 
 to waste no time. 
 
 "My good aunt," said he, with condescension, "you sit
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 very snug in my place; and as for myself I shall not trouble 
 to turn you out ..." 
 
 "Trouble, indeed?" cried she, and dropped her work, 
 grown suddenly all red and shrill. 
 
 "I shall not," he repeated calmly. 
 
 "Blessed Virgin! When my poor departed brother 
 the Saints repose his soul! left me every sou that he 
 had in the world except five hundred francs that he threw 
 away upon a rascally, ungrateful " she pattered away 
 more rapidly than at her ave*s. 
 
 "Quite so" he nodded gravely* "But I want some 
 money now." 
 
 "You have no right " 
 
 "I waive it." 
 
 "You have none!" 
 
 "Quite so. You speak truly. I waive it. But I want 
 some money. And I will have it." He spoke with gentle 
 good-humour. "But I don't wish to resort to extreme 
 measures." 
 
 "Measures?" she shrieked. "What measures?" 
 
 He shrugged. 
 
 "Measures? You cannot turn me out?" 
 
 "Did I say I would, dear aunt? Leave the measures 
 to my discretion. But I want some money." 
 
 She wept again and whined: "And to whom in the world 
 but my nephew, for all his faults, should I leave the little 
 that I have?" 
 
 "To your priest, of course; and to him you will leave it, 
 I have no doubt. But what I want, I want now this 
 morning" his good-humour matched his patience. 
 
 144
 
 TRILLON GROWS RICH 
 
 "Merciful do you suppose me rich? 
 
 " So-so so-so" he wagged his head from side to 
 side. 
 
 "You're a pretty ragamuffin to come " 
 
 "I know it, aunt. It is time all that should be changed. 
 As I said before, I must return like a prince." 
 
 She wrung her hands in her apron: "What with the 
 taxes and the falling off of trade, and competition, and 
 inspection it's scarcely a bone I can save for the soup- 
 pot." 
 
 "I want a thousand francs," was his answer. 
 
 Her mouth opened, but no sound came. 
 
 "Yes" he continued meditatively "I think a 
 thousand will serve my purpose. Or twelve hundred? 
 It might be safer. But no, I'll take the chance for the 
 sake of the chance. A thousand and a pair of hands and 
 three weeks or more hah!" 
 
 A fear crossed her mind that he was mad; and whence 
 should she summon help? Perhaps he divined her 
 thought, for he rose suddenly and blocked the doorway: 
 "Come, come, aunt, we waste time; and I have none to 
 spare. Your good dejeuner, while it made a man of me, 
 yet devoured a portion of my time too; I must be off by 
 the Marseilles express." 
 
 She pricked her ears. Marseilles? Here then was a 
 faint hope that he might be going far? She sighed 
 heavily, and unlocked the drawer that contained her 
 money-bag. It chinked with silver as she laid it on the 
 tray before her; and reaching in she drew forth a handful 
 of coin, which she counted before him until she reached 
 
 145
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 the sum of fifteen francs, after which she put back what 
 remained in her hand. 
 
 "It pinches me pinches me," she moaned, "but for 
 your father's sake " 
 
 He made no move to take up the coins. "It is a good 
 beginning," said he, "and now the gold." 
 
 "Gold? Gold?" she clutched her bag in extremity 
 of terror. "I have no gold here." 
 
 "To be sure not being a woman of sense. But you 
 have it elsewhere, locked safely away. Fetch it, or I shall 
 miss my train. And I tell you in a word, my aunt, that 
 I shall not go away without it." 
 
 There was something threatening about his bulk; and 
 the gendarmerie was far away; and no neighbour was to 
 be seen. He had been abroad and come back with foreign 
 ways and he had been a devil of a boy ... He might 
 kill her and make away with the whole before anyone 
 came that would be worse no gold no life. . . . 
 Better less gold, with life to enjoy it. She reached into 
 her bag and drew out a small purse, which she opened . . . 
 
 Somehow it was in his hands. He counted out the 
 contents : one, two, three louis, two ten-franc pieces 
 and ranged them with the silver. 
 
 "It's for the shop," she moaned. 
 
 "I know. Change for a hundred-franc note," he said 
 briskly. "But time fails. My total now is ninety-five 
 francs; I lack nine hundred and five." 
 
 "But I have not got them!" she wailed, spreading out 
 her palms, with such energy of voice and figure, that he 
 was forced to believe her. 
 
 146
 
 TRILLON GROWS RICH 
 
 "Ah, so? Not in the house. You have banked it all 
 
 the rents, the profits from the gardens added it to 
 the little sum that was there a year ago hein ?" 
 
 She pleaded for grace: "Trillon, I am an old woman; 
 I shall die soon." 
 
 Her hypocrisy angered him and settled her fate. He 
 became very short. "Your cheque-book," says he, and 
 she dared not hesitate or whimper. "Now write 
 my name so-so " He had found the pen and even 
 guided a little the shaking fingers that threatened a blot 
 with every letter. " So-so and now nine-hundred 
 francs; and the number so: fr. 900. Steady steady 
 
 or your name will look like the crawl of a fly half 
 drowned in ink." 
 
 When the operation was finished, he pressed the blot- 
 ting paper across the cheque and carefully detached it 
 from the book. Then he became magnanimous. 
 
 " You see, I let you off the five francs, my aunt. Rebate, 
 for cash hah ! No, I won't take it out of the money- 
 bag, although I might and more by stretching out my 
 hand " 
 
 "Robbery! robbery!" she gasped weakly. 
 
 "Chut /" he cowed her into a mere trembling heap of 
 fear. " If you talk of robbery, you know this is mine by 
 right, and all that remains in the bank, on which you 
 won't starve for a hundred years or so. You know it 
 would have been mine if you had not filled my father's 
 ears with evil tales. True? You know how many of 
 them were true. You slandered me to the poor old man, 
 and that's why your priest's pockets are so fat. You 
 
 147
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 think to save your soul so? That is why you come out 
 with your dejeuner and all? But I don't want the rest 
 of the money; keep it and my blessing." He opened the 
 door. "I don't think it's at all likely it is not at all 
 likely that I shall return still, no promise, mind. 
 Better no promises. One never knows. But I'll leave 
 you in peace, if I can. Adieu, my aunt, and many thanks." 
 
 The poor old creature sobbed audibly, how far with 
 compunction, and how far at the loss of her treasure, it is 
 best not to inquire. But she touched the heart of Trillon, 
 and he returned. 
 
 "Look here, old woman," said he. "What's the good 
 of going on like that over your rubbishy francs ? Come, 
 now, I've let you off a few; I'll do more. Here's your gold 
 again. I'll keep the silver and the cheque and make it do." 
 Cr link link he flung on the table the three louis 
 and the two ten-franc pieces. "Here's eighty francs 
 a clean gift to cheer your heart. God be with you!" 
 
 He got away quickly, feeling that the whole success of 
 his enterprise hung in the balance; a few moments more 
 and he would have returned the cheque with the silver, 
 and had his walk and his dejeuner for his pains. 
 
 As soon as his shadow had ceased to darken the 
 shop, she was minded to shriek for help; but when she 
 spied the gold on the table, in her blurred mind it seemed to 
 her that the loss had been made good. Then she looked 
 at her open cheque-book and got up to run after the thief; 
 but memories came and laid a finger on her lips. She sat 
 down and wept with helpless rage; and so she was found 
 by a neighbour coming in to buy a Lorraine cheese. 
 
 148
 
 TRILLON GROWS RICH 
 
 Trillon went straight to the bank and took eight 
 hundred francs in notes and a hundred in gold, folded and 
 tucked them away, and stepped out briskly to the station. 
 "After all," said he, "a simpleton could be rich, if he had 
 no conscience. So far I have kept my word. A handful 
 of money for my Leleto ? Two handfuls, if it were all 
 in gold; in silver, a lapful. Courage then! Forward! 
 We are on the way." 
 
 149
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE SECOND RETURN OF TRILLON 
 
 THE advent of Trillon "up- there" in the guise of prince, 
 has become a matter of history. To be sure, it entailed 
 delay at Aries, for the purpose of rehabilitation, and he 
 deplored the loss of every moment, in the urgency of the 
 task before him. On the other hand, he felt the necessity 
 of making a good impression, on the occasion of what 
 might perhaps be called his state entry; and when he was 
 equipped, no unprejudiced mind would have been able 
 to say that the result did not justify the pains. 
 
 The choice of a costume was difficult. His own taste 
 inclined him to velveteen or corduroy, although he wa- 
 vered between white and a brown much darker than his 
 earlier golden array. The tailor, however, told him that 
 he was worthy of better things. One who had travelled 
 so widely must look farther than his native land, etc., etc. 
 He advised an English check, in yellowish brown, with a 
 thread of green, the latest thing in Paris; and, indeed, 
 after some contemplation, Trillon was unable to resist 
 the seduction of the colour of his own curling hair-tufts. 
 Inasmuch, the tailor continued, as one rarely met with 
 
 150
 
 THE SECOND RETURN OF TRILLON 
 
 travelled men in Aries, he would let him have the clothes, 
 including a proper green waistcoat, for a mere considera- 
 tion. He advised tan boots and gloves, a green tie, and 
 on the whole yes, on the whole a white straw hat 
 with a green band. "Then," he summed up, "all the 
 world will take you for a prince, travelling incognito as 
 an English lord." 
 
 And Trillon was rather pleased at the fancy. 
 
 The only thing that troubled the tailor was the absence 
 of suitable gold- work; no prince ever dressed so plainly. 
 If monsieur would permit him to recommend an expert 
 in all such matters of taste, a few doors down the street, 
 and an honest man, being his own brother. . . . Ah, if 
 monsieur would but permit him to show the way . . . ? 
 
 In the end Trillon found himself the richer by an 
 amber scarf-pin, a silver watch with a gold chain from 
 which dangled several seals of chaste design, and a curious 
 ring set with a mottled stone which would bring luck, 
 according to the tailor's brother, and which certainly gave 
 a princely impression. He was the poorer by some rolls 
 of bills; but then, as the honest jeweller said jestingly: 
 "If you wear your bank-notes, you always know where 
 they are." As Trillon at once perceived, this is per- 
 fectly true. 
 
 Hah baptized in royalty, he did not shrink from 
 the whole immersion. He proceeded to the Place of the 
 Forum and walked round it three times selecting the 
 smartest cab there. It had red wheels and a canopy 
 with red fringe and tassels; and the coachman wore a red 
 sash, a red band on his hat, and fluttered a red ribbon
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 from his whip. There was something so ineffably royal 
 about the whole equipage that Trillon was bent upon 
 having it, although he had to bargain long to obtain a 
 compromise in the way of terms. He minded this the 
 less as it betokened in a measure the effect of his princeli- 
 ness. 
 
 It would be difficult, impossible, I fancy, to do justice 
 to the success, from a popular point of view, of the ex- 
 pedition, the following day. The monks of Montmajour 
 had perhaps never looked upon anything more magnifi- 
 cent of its kind; the quarrymen of Fontvieille stopped 
 alike their songs and their sawing; the women of Paradou, 
 ranged along the bench of the station to gather up all the 
 news of the world, had matter for a week's gossip. It is 
 enough to say that he arrived. His horses clambered up 
 the steep slope with but one broken knee among their 
 eight legs the Roman cobbles are sharp- edged still. 
 
 He arrived. The driver, fully convinced in his own mind 
 of the lordliness of his charge, made such a flourish with 
 his whip as to bring most of the heads of the village to 
 their several doors and windows, Jouse and Emilio came 
 out of the inn, beaming with visions of an entertainment 
 that would run to many francs in their pockets. 
 
 Trillon smiled broadly when he perceived the impression 
 he was making; and the smile changed to his charac- 
 teristic "Hah!" when he saw the slow dawn of recogni- 
 tion in the glance they exchanged as he descended. He 
 thought it best to take the dilemma by both horns at once. 
 "A bottle of Merrier" said he grandly, "and three glasses. 
 We drink together. And give the driver what he likes." 
 
 152
 
 1HE SECOND RETURN OF TRILLON 
 
 Champagne so early in the morning? Husband and 
 wife exchanged a second glance and a third. But Jouse 
 followed the yellow-checked back through the room to the 
 terrace; and the woman went to fetch the bottle and wipe 
 the glasses. 
 
 In order that there might be from the first a clear under- 
 standing of his changed position, Trillon smacked upon 
 the table a gold coin; and in extracting this, scattered a 
 shower of coppers with one or two silver pieces among 
 them on the tousled heads of the heirs of the house. 
 
 Wide-eyed, Emilio set down the bottle and retreated a 
 little way, wiping her hands on her apron; Jouse bent to 
 the cork and succeeded in eliciting a proper fizz. 
 
 But he was in doubt how to proceed. It was Trillon 
 who snatched the flask and poured, at the same time 
 beckoning the woman: "Health, and bury the past!" 
 
 Perhaps Jouse did not hear the entire sentence, perhaps 
 champagne was too rare and over-tempting. The three 
 glasses touched, and there followed a short silence of 
 appreciation. 
 
 "Well," said Trillon at last, "do you find me a prettier 
 fellow than you did three days ago?" 
 
 Jouse did not know what to say, so wisely kept silence. 
 
 "You do not ask me, have I seen your sister? I have. 
 You do not ask, are we still betrothed? You may guess 
 the answer. Although the silver ring was cut away from 
 her finger, she managed to get the pieces, and wears them 
 now about her neck. Do you ask, am I rich ? Behold. 
 In three weeks or four we shall be married." 
 
 "It is necessary to call the banns first," said J<5use, in 
 
 153
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 his slow way, with a smile that showed all the whiteness 
 of his teeth under his dark moustache. 
 
 "Ah, so," Trillon granted with a smile, "and I have a 
 few things to do before then. I must be about them, 
 kemt" 
 
 "You know, I suppose,- something of the situation?" 
 asked Jduse. 
 
 "Hah!" Trillon threw back his head and stroked his 
 chin. "A little, my brother, a little. But, look you 
 now. I leave you the rest of the drink; I must have my 
 wits about me this morning. I have business to perform. 
 Come then, there's a thing I ask of each of you. Of 
 madame, to do her best in the way of a dejeuner; and of 
 you, whom in all confidence I call my brother, to get your 
 priest, your Father what's-his-name ? here without delay, 
 as my guest hein? I pay I pay." And from the 
 jingle of his pockets there was no doubt that he could. 
 
 Jduse scratched his head in some perplexity, but when 
 he looked at his wife for counsel, she gave him two vigorous 
 nods that put strength into his resolve. With Emillo, 
 family sentiment weighed less than louis d'or; and a 
 brother-in-law who could break into a convent and make 
 a fortune within three days might prove no small acquisi- 
 tion. If, indeed, he had broken into the convent. . . . 
 one need not believe the word of every passer-by. But 
 the gold clinked for itself; and the clothes and the jewels 
 and the carriage cried aloud. At least, one might be 
 friendly until one could find out how this devil-of-a-fellow 
 intended to proceed. 
 
 Said Jduse: "And if he will not come?" 
 
 154
 
 THE SECOND RETURN OF TRILLON 
 
 Trillon pulled out his watch whereupon his rela- 
 tions-to-be, viewed in the light of his hope and his purpose, 
 exchanged another glance; and Emilio's expression be- 
 came still more friendly. 
 
 "That's your affair," said he. "Do as you please 
 about telling him who it is. Say it's a prince incognito, 
 or an English lord, if you like; tell him what's for dinner; 
 tell him the truth. It's all one to me. Get him here, 
 and arrange what you can in the way of a dejeuner at 
 short notice; and you shall not repent. Meanwhile, I 
 must be about my affairs." 
 
 He strolled to the door of the room, easily, grandly, his 
 hands thrust deep in his pockets, his seals clinking lightly 
 against one another, his hat pushed well on the back of his 
 head, leaving Jduse and Emilio still rather stupefied by 
 the presence of so much splendour. At the door, he 
 faced about: 
 
 "By the way," says he, "do you happen to know of any 
 land for sale?" 
 
 "Land?" J<5use rubbed his eyes. 
 
 "A farm, for example, or a quarry? Or to let? But 
 in the end, it might be cheaper to buy. However, we 
 shall see. There is a special place I have in mind; I'll 
 have a look at it." 
 
 Without further explanation he turned to go. 
 
 Said Emilio: "There's plenty of waste land. You 
 might buy up whole mountains; but what you would do 
 when you had them ?" 
 
 He grinned at her, "That is my little secret," and so 
 departed. 
 
 155
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Emilio," said Jduse, solemnly, pouring himself a 
 second glass of champagne. "There is only one explana- 
 tion for it he is as mad as Judas when he hanged 
 himself!" 
 
 "Mad or not mad," says she, with energy, "he shall 
 have his dejeuner, and you shall fetch Father Gougoulin, 
 and then, as he himself says, we shall see. Mad he is 
 undoubtedly, to make such a fuss about a huzzy 
 who is much better off where she is. But Saints preserve 
 us, somehow in three days he has made a miracle 
 of himself! And what more is it that you want ?" 
 
 156
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WHAT MAY BE DONE AT A DE'jEUNER 
 
 THE dining-room of the Cabro d'Or is finely vaulted 
 and has a great Renaissance chimney. Undoubtedly, it 
 was once painted with exuberance and set out with flam- 
 boyant stone figures by some rich merchant, in the days 
 of King Francis. But when Emilio went there to live she 
 blocked in the fireplace with pasteboard, covered the walls 
 with a gay crimson wall-paper; and from the ribs of the 
 ceiling she swung festoons and globes and lanterns of 
 pink and yellow tissue paper. The stone figures had 
 long since been banished to the garden; and the one 
 relic of the ancient dignity of the room is the great Ca- 
 poun-Fbr, the tawny falcon shot afar in the mountains by 
 some ancestor of Mere Borel. 
 
 In this room, Emilio set forth such entertainment as 
 she was able to provide for the two guests. 
 
 How procured, by what subtlety of wit or mellifluity 
 of speech, I cannot say; but the presence of Father Gou- 
 goulin occupied the most comfortable chair when Trillon 
 entered, with a look of serene accomplishment on his face. 
 
 They exchanged courtesies, Father Gougoulin lifting a 
 
 157
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 negligent finger to his cap, and Trillon bowing deeply. 
 In sheer exuberance of what shall I say ? grace ? good- 
 feeling ? politeness ? he bent three times, laid his hat on 
 the table, and sat down opposite the radishes. 
 
 The priest turned a keen scrutiny upon him, but left 
 him the opening speech, the first thrust. 
 
 Perceiving this, he cast a genial eye over the hors- 
 d'oeuvres. "Olives, anchovies, sardines, two kinds of 
 sausage and radishes," said he amiably. "Will it pass, 
 monsieur Pabbe*?" 
 
 Father Gougoulin made a gesture to indicate his su- 
 preme indifference to all matters of food. 
 
 "Well, then, unless I mistake, I am hungry. What 
 say you shall we begin?" 
 
 He pushed the dishes into a little ring of ceremony 
 before the sacerdotal plate; and began a lively attack 
 upon the bread. 
 
 Father Gougoulin stretched out a languid hand towards 
 the anchovies. Olives, radishes, sausages they were 
 daily fare. 
 
 The two began in silence, Trillon showing a good appe- 
 tite bestowed generously upon each dish in turn. He 
 seemed in no hurry to reach the point; and Father Gou- 
 goulin maintained a thoughtful silence. 
 
 Emilio appeared with three plates nicely balanced: 
 snails, their horned brown heads just peeping out of their 
 shells, and salt fish, with a rich confection of garlic and 
 oil and vinegar called aidli. 
 
 "No mountain trout here, monsieur 1'abbeV' said Tril- 
 lon cheerfully. "But what would you? If one wants 
 
 158
 
 WHAT MAY BE DONE AT A DEJEUNER 
 
 fish, one gets it, fresh or salted. And in the end it is fish. 
 But do you prefer the snails?" 
 
 It was Father Gougoulin who first found the silence 
 awkward. 
 
 "To what do I owe the honour of this invitation?" he 
 asked abruptly. 
 
 "The honour, monsieur 1'abbe", is entirely mine; but 
 you owe the invitation, such as it is, to my desire that 
 there shall be no misunderstanding between us. What I 
 do, I do openly. And so I begin by assuring you that I 
 have just come from a visit to the convent of Sant Alari, 
 where I have talked with the lady who is to be my wife 
 in three weeks or a month." 
 
 "Madaleno?" asked the priest calmly, although the 
 snail shells rattled under his ringers. 
 
 Emilio entered with a steaming dish of rabbit and 
 mushrooms, for which she knew his Reverence had a 
 special love. It seemed that Trillon guessed this also, 
 for he ladled generously and then pushed over the wine. 
 
 "You know, of course," said Father Gougoulin, munch- 
 ing with delicacy, "that she has a vocation?" 
 
 "No doubt. But it is not apparent," was the tranquil 
 reply. 
 
 "And how are we to get over that?" 
 
 Trillon's eyes gleamed at the we; but he dropped them 
 upon his wine-glass. No victory is won by over-confidence. 
 
 "I understand, monsieur 1'abbe", that your objection is 
 the chief bar to her marriage with anyone she likes?" 
 
 "An objection," was the modest answer, "based en- 
 tirely on the wishes of the deceased." 
 
 159
 
 Trillon showed in every possible way that he was fully 
 prepared to accept this as the truth. 
 
 "Well, then," he asked naively, "am I to go a mourn- 
 ing bachelor all my days?" 
 
 The question was so unexpected that the priest stopped 
 in the middle of a shrug and laughed; and Trillon laughed 
 with him. "But, choose again," was Father Gougoulin's 
 only remark. 
 
 "So I may, and so I may not," answered Trillon, with 
 sudden vigour, "but at present this affair amuses me." 
 
 "The curse of the dead is not amusing," answered the 
 priest. 
 
 "Not at all, but the avoidance of it may be do you 
 see?" 
 
 Father Gougoulin bent over his mushrooms, for the 
 asparagus was arriving, and he wished more rabbit before 
 the plates were removed. When his attention was only 
 half held by the asparagus, for which he had no special 
 liking, Trillon went at him again. 
 
 "And so, my father, your consent is impossible to be 
 obtained?" 
 
 "Am I to trifle with the salvation or damnation of a 
 soul?" asked the priest, following a tender shoot of 
 asparagus all the way up to his ringers. 
 
 "Myself, I am not religious," said Trillon, and then 
 as if some one had contradicted him, he repeated: "I am 
 not religious. I get what I want in this world and let the 
 other go." 
 
 "Then you are of the army of the devil," said the priest 
 composedly, with half an eye to see whether by any 
 
 1 60
 
 WHAT MAY BE DONE AT A DEJEUNER 
 
 luck the piece de resistance was young lamb with green 
 peas. 
 
 "That may be. I notice the devil generally gets his 
 way in this world ..." 
 
 Father Gougoulin looked a little startled vexed too, 
 because the lamb and green peas proved to be mutton 
 and spinach. 
 
 "I fail to understand monsieur." 
 
 "No? Then I make myself clear. The point is, I 
 shall have Madeloun by fair means or other, because at 
 present it is my fancy to have her. Now the question of 
 your consent is nothing to me. I defer to the foolish 
 prejudice of women who play with sentiments as bulls 
 with red rags until they grow mad . . ." 
 
 The priest gave no answer, making the best of the 
 mutton and hoping for fowl. 
 
 " So, to keep her from lying awake nights, I shall humour 
 her by fulfilling her mother's conditions, you see; and to 
 this end your consent is necessary." 
 
 The priest chuckled, for, after all, it was fowl, and 
 succulent. 
 
 " Come, now," says Trillon, "find me the thing to do that 
 I cannot do; and if I make good, give her up like a man." 
 
 "You're a boastful blackguard 1" said Father Gou- 
 goulin, with an eye on the lookout for salad. 
 
 "Try me try me," says Trillon eagerly. 
 
 But the priest was intent upon oil and vinegar, for the 
 perfect adjustment of the dressing lay in his hands. 
 
 "If it is only a question of money" Trillon flung a 
 handful of notes and gold on the table. 
 
 .161
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Father Gougoulin mixed the salad, with a look of im- 
 mense consideration. Trillon began to suspect that his 
 expensive choice of wines was not wasted after all. A 
 hard head the priest had shown, but his gravity was 
 becoming preternatural. 
 
 "Her family would be glad to have her off their hands," 
 said Trillon, advancing the latest bottle. 
 
 "She is off their hands," said Father Gougoulin a little 
 slily ; but he made sad work of chewing down a lettuce leaf. 
 "She is safe in the arms of the Church." 
 
 Trillon grinned and I am afraid to say winked. 
 "Then let the Church hold her fast," he said. 
 
 But it is doubtful whether Father Gougoulin heard. 
 He suddenly waved one wing and half the breast of the 
 fowl in air, and broke into song: 
 
 "When the little hedge-king on the broom 
 Sings his love-longing " 
 
 Trillon watched with his changeful yellow eyes, and 
 awaited the moment which should prove auspicious. 
 
 "And so, good monsieur Pabbe", I take your consent 
 for granted." 
 
 "Wahl" said the priest rudely. 
 
 "No?" asked Trillon. 
 
 Gougoulin looked at him a moment, with a return of 
 intelligence: "I could tell you something oh, yes, I 
 could tell you something if I liked . . ." 
 
 "Well, then, tell," said Trillon soothingly. 
 
 But he took alarm: "This is not the time I will tell 
 at the proper time." It was far from clear how much 
 
 162
 
 WHAT MAY BE DONE AT A DEJEUNER 
 
 truth lay under the pompous assertion. For a moment, 
 Trillon was in despair how to handle this fat eel. He 
 pondered a little, remembering various things that Made- 
 loun had said, then he had a flash and spoke: "At least, 
 I take you at your word you cannot go back on your 
 own word." 
 
 "What I said I stand by now and forever," said the 
 priest solemnly; but his face was vacant of any compre- 
 hension. 
 
 "Hoi, then!" Trillon leaped to his feet. "It is but 
 the working of a miracle or two; and we shall have Made- 
 loun here. It will be a game." 
 
 "What? What?" The priest took fire and half rose 
 to unsay his words; but his drowsiness was too great. 
 
 "Almonds?" says Trillon. "Raisins? Not even a 
 little Roquefort? It's very green." 
 
 Father Gougoulin sank back on one end of the long 
 bench the bench on which Mistral has sung and 
 Daudet has told stories. 
 
 "Sarnipabieune!" says Trillon, bringing down his fist, 
 without stirring the drone that had begun from the sacer- 
 dotal nose. "It is a thing to be done!" 
 
 He shook his fist at the hoary, unreverend head before 
 him : " Now, Manjo-crestian ! And it will satisfy her. And 
 it will be worthy of the hawk. Caspitello /" 
 
 He could not refrain from clapping the old man on the 
 shoulder: "Hoi, monsieur 1'abbe", I shall want your 
 services yet!" 
 
 The words but half penetrated. "Is it a funeral?" 
 mumbled the priest, without looking up. 
 
 163
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Then Trillon laughed so that Emilio peeped in to see 
 what was wanted. "You will be needed on several other 
 occasions before that time, I trust." 
 
 Seeing Emilio, he prepared to pay for his extravagance. 
 He pushed towards her a gold piece, and took up 
 the roll of bank-notes lying on the table ... it was 
 amazingly light ... He reached into all his pockets 
 and drew forth what he could find. Then he deliberately 
 set one of his princely cigars a-going; and with a sudden 
 idea, stuffed two more well into the priest's sash, so that 
 he should find them when he arrived home. And after 
 that, he set to work counting his money. He went over 
 the process several times, with increasing slowness and 
 method. The result was the same. When he reached 
 the end, for a second his face was rather black. Surely 
 a thousand francs made a little fortune ? Yes, but when 
 one lives like a prince . . . Well, what would you 
 hein ? 
 
 164
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE THIRD RETURN OF TRILLON 
 
 THE Place du Conne*table de Montferrand is the heart 
 of Castelar, being a small stone-paved polygon of uncer- 
 tain shape, between the ruined mansion of the warrior 
 who in his time defied the great Richelieu himself from 
 these city walls, and the church of the Maries, Madeleine 
 and Jacob6 and Salome*, and her who is chief of them all, 
 Our Lady. So closely do these two shoulder each 
 other that the Rue des Sarrasins has to tunnel its way 
 under one wing of the H6tel, to get up into the town, 
 And all the opposite side of this thirty-foot enclosure is 
 the curving rampart, stone-work built on hewn rock, 
 whence one can look down upon the Porte Murette, the 
 chief gate in the city wall; and lower still, to the sandy 
 terrace where travellers had to wait until judgment was 
 passed upon them, in the old days of plague; onward and 
 down along the green valley, over plain and marsh and 
 mere to the line of the sea. 
 
 The Place is never empty. To be sure, one room of 
 the great house of Montferrand has been roofed over to 
 serve as Council Chamber, when the mayor is called up 
 
 165
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 from the fields, and the officials lay aside their patois and 
 put on their coats to wrestle with French; and of course 
 when there are public notices, these are set up outside the 
 wall, hence foregathering is natural. At election-time 
 the tricolour sweeps the Place and fills it. At mail-time, 
 the facteur comes here to the one letter-box in the town; 
 and as there is no post-office, he is always followed by a 
 trail of folk who wish to know what news he brings from 
 the outer world, and what letters are sent away, and why. 
 He has been known to have even a small handful at a 
 time. More than this, there is the drawing power of the 
 long white road that Madeloun had watched from her 
 terrace, and the blue unexplored plains of the distance. 
 Aside from the one highway, there is only the rough sheep- 
 track that leads into the heart of the mountains, and the 
 narrow path that climbs to the parched cemetery on the 
 crest; and so folk are ever on the lookout to see what may 
 come up to them from the world that they do not know. 
 There are sometimes as many as a score leaning and 
 looking and listening over the wall; and even when, as 
 rarely happens, it is deserted of all humanity, it never 
 lacks a dog or two sleeping in the sun. So strong is the 
 spell of the Place that old Antouneto, who long ago lost all 
 count of her years, and remembered only that she was 
 named for a lovely and unfortunate queen of France 
 Tounieto, who has barely kept alive this long while, suck- 
 ing hi the sun at the doorway of her granddaughter's 
 daughter-in-law, one day had a flicker of strength that 
 moved her down the Rue des Sarrasins, and was remarked 
 by many neighbours as she leaned against the ramparts 
 
 166
 
 THE THIRD RETURN OF TRILLON 
 
 and mumbled to the distance. The last call of life to her 
 came from the Place; and the next morning she died. 
 
 However few people intended to wear elbow holes in 
 the stone wall, the morning of Trillon's third return to 
 Castelar, the company was swelled to a sufficient crowd 
 by the time that his cart made a distinguishable blot upon 
 the distant road. For a time, question and conjecture flew 
 about like mosquitoes, then some one made the brilliant 
 suggestion that Jaquelin of Masblanc, one of the two 
 acolytes of a Sunday and on familiar terms with Father 
 Gougoulin, should run and borrow his field-glass. 
 
 When this had been passed about for some time in silence, 
 it was determined that the approaching vehicle was no 
 gypsy van as had been at first supposed, but an ordinary 
 farm charrette, packed high with indistinguishable objects, 
 fronted by a driver in blue and drawn by a white mule. 
 One man even swore to the identity of the beast, saying 
 that it came from a farmer he knew near Montmajour. 
 
 As the mule began the winding cobbled ascent of the 
 Roman road, an extraordinary noise as of pans and pot- 
 tery, iron and tin, together with the clucking of fowls, the 
 bee of a sheep or two, and the sharp, swiftly-suppressed 
 yelp of a dog apparently trotting underneath, was blended 
 and borne on high. 
 
 Before any sensible meaning could be extracted out of 
 this manage, the driver looked up and perceived the row 
 of heads over the wall, whereupon he waved his broad- 
 brimmed straw hat, laughed and shouted. 
 
 Jduse suddenly stepped back as if he wished not to be 
 seen: 
 
 167
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 " Tron-de-goi, that spendthrift, that eat-when-he-gets-it, 
 it's my brother-in-law to be!" 
 
 At this, casual interest was intensified to a breathless 
 silence. The town remembered Trillon very well. Even 
 the women left their water-carrying and their work, and 
 came to peep wherever they could find space between 
 the men's shoulders. 
 
 When the cavalcade arrived just below the Porte Mu- 
 rette, it was perceived that the charrette was covered with 
 a great tarpaulin, under which in front appeared portions 
 of furniture, chairs, a mattress, an oil stove, a table, a 
 camp-bed . . . And the animals grew blatant as the 
 wheels rattled over the stones . . . The women gained 
 for themselves better points of view by their quicker wit 
 and fertility in making out the various objects exposed to 
 the gaze of the community. 
 
 Serene above the uproar sat the man in blue, singing, 
 and his voice was strong: 
 
 "The rosemary all through the mountains, 
 Is drenched with the rain of my tears; 
 My sighs like wind stir the fountains 
 For thee, my love of long years, 
 Brown maid of the mountains. " 
 
 As he was about to pass under the dark gateway, he 
 interrupted himself and shouted: "Good day, my 
 neighbours. I am come to live among you." 
 
 When he emerged on the other side, in the crooked 
 alley that leads between the H6tel and the ramparts to 
 the Place, he found the community faced about, and the 
 mayor in front, prepared with an answer or a challenge. 
 
 168
 
 THE THIRD RETURN OF TRILLON 
 
 He did not descend to earth at once, as was evidently 
 expected he judged by the clear space about the 
 charrette; but continued sitting on his heap of boxes and 
 sacks as on a throne, and cheerfully awaited the voice of 
 Castelar. Said the mayor: 
 
 "Where do you come from?" 
 
 "Marseilles," says Trillon, "where I have been buying 
 my farm. This is my household, my mule and my dog. 
 My wife comes later. What next?" 
 
 "Your farm?" says the mayor slowly. "There have 
 been no farms for sale at Castelar." 
 
 Trillon laughed: "Go to the prefect and teach him his 
 business. He made the sale. But it would perhaps be 
 more correct to say that I have brought my farm with me." 
 
 As if in confirmation of this remarkable statement, from 
 the depths of the cart a cock crowed, as pompously as if 
 already he stood on his own midden-heap. 
 
 There was a rustle of laughter and a swift buzz of talk 
 in the crowd, almost instantly hushed at Trillon's fresh 
 trumpet-note. "My mas," he repeated. "To be sure, 
 my mas!" As if a farm could be loaded up by spadefuls 
 and carried where one liked, was the public comment. 
 
 "Pecaire!" said a man's voice, "I think I'll pack mine 
 into my jardiniero and move it to Marseilles, where is 
 much more fun than scratching among the rocks here." 
 
 "No," said another, "it would be better to fetch Mar- 
 seilles and set it on the top of Costa Pera yonder." 
 
 But Trillon hung up his reins, preparatory to descend- 
 ing, and said calmly: "I invite every man here who can 
 get himself into the Cabro d'Or to drink with me what 
 
 169
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 he likes to the success of my enterprise. It is the 
 christening of my land." 
 
 "Your land?" says the mayor, in a voice of authority. 
 "Yes, but where is your land?" 
 
 "Eh, well," answered Trillon, "you will soon know. 
 It's chiefly in the Pit of Artaban." 
 
 At this a murmur of amazement passed through the 
 crowd. There were some among the people who had 
 always thought him mad. 
 
 But he gave them small chance for thinking. He got 
 down briskly and turned to lead the way on foot to the 
 inn, whither Jduse had long since departed. It was not 
 possible to proceed further with his equipage, so he hung 
 a nose-bag about the mule's head, spoke a word or two 
 to Jaquelin, the acolyte; and stepped out briskly, followed 
 by most of the men in a series of trickling groups, while 
 the women lingered to appraise the cart and its contents. 
 
 He was a pure exaggeration of a Provenyal farmer, this 
 Trillon, in his baggy trousers and coat of blue jean, with 
 his crimson sash, high-heeled boots and sombrero. With 
 a high narrow tambourin he would have done for the 
 variety stage at Marseilles. 
 
 They found J<5use, very neat and leisurely in his white 
 linen, at a game of draughts with a traveller from Aries, 
 who was above feeling interest in small local excitements. 
 He had been botanizing among the mountains and was 
 waiting for the chance of a lift home. 
 
 J6use lifted his smooth handsome dark face, with its 
 shining bald forehead and long drooping moustache, in 
 frank amazement at the crowd blocking his screen-door. 
 
 170
 
 THE THIRD RETURN OF TRILLON 
 
 This was neither Saturday nor Sunday, and he had looked 
 for a quiet morning; but wherever that man Trillon 
 was . . . However, he had no hesitation, no false pride, 
 about serving the drinks, when he heard that his eccentric 
 self -adopted relation was to pay for them. But he went 
 first to Emilio in the kitchen, with a tremendous tale of 
 this brother-in-law-to-be, who had come successively as a 
 travelling musician, a beggar, and a lord incognito; and 
 was now returning for the third time as a mere freak of a 
 farmer. It was clear that he was mad equally clear 
 that he must be indulged. 
 
 The moment the cafe* began to buzz and swarm, the 
 host of the occasion hastily departed from before the 
 indignant eyes of the mayor, who had condescended to 
 sit at the same table with him. He had poured 
 down his throat a large glass of lemonade, which he de- 
 clared excellent to wash the dust from the lungs and tone 
 the stomach; and before the corks of the others were pop- 
 ping and their glasses bubbling, he had thrown down two 
 big silver pieces by way of payment no longer gold, 
 mark you and was gone. 
 
 It is just possible that the whole performance was an 
 expedient on his part to be rid of audience when taking 
 possession of his farm. Certain it is, that his act worked 
 to that effect; and when he had disposed of the urchins by 
 mingled threats and a rain of coppers that set them a- 
 scrambling and a-quarrelling, he went his way unpur- 
 sued, save by the admiring glances of the women in the 
 doorways through the arch of the Rue des Sarrasins, 
 through the town and out from the Porte Horloge to 
 
 171
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 the extraordinary place that is known as the Pit of 
 Artaban. . 
 
 Meanwhile, he was discussed, together with the flavour 
 of the drinks he had provided. Round and round the 
 village minds chased one another, and came always to 
 the same conclusion: "It is a madman a fool!" 
 
 But small Jaquelin of Masblanc, the acolyte, who had 
 some while since crept in through the screen-door and 
 stood listening to the men, now showed a handful of sous, 
 and voiced the general opinion as he said: "Even if he is 
 mad, he must be very rich." 
 
 172
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE PIT OF ARTABAN 
 
 THE road between Castelar and the Pit of Artaban, 
 after it emerges from the Porte Horloge, quickly becomes 
 a mere alley between the olive-groves that climb the hill 
 at the back of the village; and when it has drifted through 
 a little narrow dale and proceeds to ascend the rocky 
 slope opposite, it is simply a cut between crags, with a 
 bed of shale washed down by the rain, a few tufts of 
 thyme, spurs of gorse, and ridges of live rock. 
 
 It was no easy matter driving a farmyard and a crockery 
 shop along this highway. Even the yellow dog in disgust 
 gave up footing it and made a scramble to sit beside the 
 blue driver. To her Trillon confided certain of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 "Floureto," said he, "do you consider this a promising 
 farm, or does it have at all the look of a quarry to you ? 
 I confess that to my mind it is rather like a big hole in the 
 rocks. And this is the place we must make blossom like 
 a rose. Eh, well, a man can never tell what he can do 
 till he is put to it. But wait till you see the farmhouse, 
 Flouro. You will be a surprised dog, little beast." 
 
 173
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 And indeed, Flouro gave a wild yelp when the equipage 
 came to rest on the lower hill, where it juts out into the 
 plain, not unlike a sea- headland; and when she leaped 
 down and had a look into the ruined windmill that con- 
 fronted her there, she yelped more sharply than before. 
 
 "My friends," said Trillon to his household, "we are 
 at home. Make the best of it." 
 
 He pushed back his hat, wiped the sweat from his fore- 
 head, and surveyed his land. 
 
 Flouro gave him a tragic glance; then uttered another 
 yelp, and proceeded to nose out the prospects in the way 
 of small game. 
 
 A more extraordinary spot for setting up a farm would 
 not readily have occurred to the mind of man. The 
 ground was thickly crusted with boulders, rocks of all 
 sizes and shapes, ranged cheek by jowl, or sometimes in 
 great heaps like gigantic petrified ants coming out of their 
 hill. ("What the devil," says Trillon, "cannot boulders 
 be moved?") Legend has it that when Jupiter warred 
 with the Titans, he flung them down by pelting them 
 with the pebbles of the Crau; and the Peak of Artaban 
 skirts the Crau. Here the Titans must have made stout 
 resistance, for between the great boulders small 'bits have 
 been rained like hailstones, so that it is difficult to get a 
 footing among them. ("What the devil," says Trillon, 
 "cannot pebbles be taken away?" And in Marseilles the 
 authorities had expressed themselves of his opinion.) 
 
 The larger rocks made the hilltop look like a nightmare 
 frozen into stone. They were carved into great heads, 
 with profiles half human, half beastly, into monsters
 
 THE PIT OF ARTABAN 
 
 natural and supernatural griffins, hippogriffs, sphinxes, 
 unicorns, dragons, centaurs, chimeras creatures imag- 
 inable and unimaginable, but always with a curious sem- 
 blance of frozen life. It was no wonder that Flouro 
 howled three times and was destined to bay dismally 
 many times more before she was done with the place. 
 Wise men say that the sea, which once spread over all the 
 plain below, has wrought these miracles hi stonework; 
 but to the folk of Castelar they wear the look of magic 
 and are safeliest avoided by night. 
 
 The Pit of Artaban is a sudden hollow between the 
 two levels of the hill, and contains a half- worked quarry 
 abandoned ages ago. One side is a sheer-cut wall, rudely 
 semicircular in shape, perhaps twenty metres high, and 
 its uneven floor is more thickly covered with coarse her- 
 bage than is the surrounding hillside. The quarry itself 
 forms a sort of ledge covered with rock and rubble, and 
 wherever the wind has left a little dust, with clumps of 
 gorse. From the lowest point to the top there is a 
 scarcely definable track over boulders and between scrubs, 
 winding up in small spirals and traversing the semi- 
 circle between the bottom and the crest. The windmill 
 stood stands yet on the lower part of the promon- 
 tory near the tip, where the mistral has a clean sweep; 
 and immediately behind it is the bottom of the Pit, with 
 only a short slope of four or five metres down, but 
 seeming a veritable profundity from its top ledge, the 
 quarry, when this has been reached by the rocky winding 
 path. 
 
 Trillon was not blind to the magnificence of the scenery; 
 
 175
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 but in the nearest corner of his mind he was thinking of 
 the mule. 
 
 "Come, now," says he, "Balin, I don't suppose 
 you're hungry; but you may as well take a rest in 
 your new pasture and see what you can find to suit your 
 digestion." 
 
 He freed the animal and drove him down the slope into 
 the Pit, tying him with a long tether to a pinnacle of rock. 
 
 This accomplished, he proceeded to burrow in the 
 depths of his cart, and presently drew thence a basketful 
 of fowls packed for safety under a table, and three sheep 
 tied securely between the legs of a folded camp-bed. 
 These he tethered in a similar fashion in the Pit ; but while 
 he was surveying his livestock with due satisfaction, he 
 was suddenly so overcome by hunger that every other 
 thing in the world lost its immediate importance. 
 
 He managed to shelter his oil-stove from the mistral 
 among the nettles that nearly filled the windmill, and 
 unpacked a box of dishes and cooking utensils. The first 
 food that he reached was a basket that with commendable 
 foresight he had placed in an accessible position for this 
 very meal, with bread and sausage and wine and eggs. 
 
 But these last were uncooked. He hunted out a sauce- 
 pan, and then then only he first remembered that 
 he had not inquired into the question of water on the land. 
 This small detail had also been overlooked, perhaps 
 cheerfully, by the authorities in Marseilles, who trans- 
 ferred it to him for a consideration of bank-notes. 
 
 "I may have to divert a water-course," said he, looking 
 about for a solution to the immediate difficulty. In a 
 
 176
 
 THE PIT OF ARTABAN 
 
 moment, he had one so simple, so ingenious, that it shows, 
 more than almost any other single fact, the true magnitude 
 and easy working of his mind. He poached the eggs in 
 white wine. Did you ever taste them so? He assures 
 me they are worthy of a gourmet. 
 
 "By all that is holy," says he, "it was a discovery in 
 itself!" 
 
 Picture him then on the open cliff, eating in the shade 
 of his roofless windmill, with his household browsing 
 below in the Pit of Artaban. 
 
 With his second cup of wine, the present began to 
 merge into the golden future. Stone monsters became 
 olive-groves and almonds and mulberries; the ground 
 instead of its crop of pebbles was covered with teazle and 
 haricot beans, with here and there a vineyard. The plateau 
 became rich pasture-land; and at the far end of it rose 
 the farmhouse, with its stone-pillared porch, over-run 
 with vine and fig, with its stone table and benches on 
 which he sat with Madeloun, eating their own black 
 olives and goat's cheese and figs, and drinking the wine 
 from their own grapes . . . 
 
 For a man who, barring the time he was at sea, had 
 scarcely done a day's labour in his life, it was a notable 
 picture. But then, as he assured himself, he did not mean 
 to do the work; he had only to set it in motion by such 
 means as his wit should devise. And as for the house, 
 it was half -built already, being cut out of the cliff by men 
 who had lived at the beginning of the world. Three 
 solid walls were there, hewn out of the rock. Only the 
 front must be added of shaped quarry-stones. There are 
 
 177
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 many such dwellings about Castelar ruined houses 
 older than the record of history, turned to good use by 
 the builders of to-day. 
 
 It was pleasant enough smoking a pipe in the shade and 
 shelter of one's mill, dreaming of the prettiest and sweetest 
 little bird in the world, who was just waiting for her hawk 
 to come and nip the cord that bound her to an unwilling 
 perch . . . But the afternoon haze was creeping up from 
 the sea. Soon the heat of the day would be supplanted 
 by the chill of evening, and one could not sleep among 
 nettles breast-high. Relentless necessity demanded a cer- 
 tain amount of clearance and unpacking; and all the beasts 
 were waterless. I doubt whether even Trillon contem- 
 plated giving them white wine. 
 
 He awoke from his dream with a sigh . . . heaven is 
 always so far away! Then he rose and stretched himself 
 in the sun, with his face turned up as if the rays gave him 
 strength. After that he went to work with a mighty 
 impulse that sent the stones flying out of the windmill, 
 cut nettles like paper and brushed them in thick masses 
 into the open, frightening the yellow dog almost out of 
 sight and earshot. In an amazingly short time he had 
 its circular floor, perhaps fifteen feet in diameter, clear 
 for his bed, stove, and various stores; and the great tar- 
 paulin, acquired at some junk shop near the docks in 
 Marseilles, he was ready to hoist into its position as roof. 
 And if you would know how he did it, I can say only that 
 he had a ladder and several planks lashed under his long- 
 tailed cart; and that he mounted his ladder and dragged 
 up his planks one by one, laying them in a sort of network 
 
 178
 
 THE PIT OF ARTABAN 
 
 across the stones. Luckily for him the original roof had 
 been torn off so as to leave a clean rim. Then with a 
 good deal of painful labour he stretched his tarpaulin 
 over this frame, and weighted it down at intervals with 
 boulders as heavy as he could lift an incidental begin- 
 ning at clearing the land until the windmill was topped 
 by almost a cairn of stones. When he judged it safe, 
 even from the mistral, the day was past sunset. 
 
 He sat down with a huge sigh of relief, so tired that he 
 did not stir for above an hour, even to find himself bread 
 and cheese, or to light a candle within his hut. But with 
 the first bite, he remembered his hungry, thirsty animals. 
 The yellow dog hung about his knee, refusing to eat, and 
 openly panting her need of refreshment. Trillon laid 
 down his food and sighed; then he laughed and fell a- 
 whistling, as he jerked his weary bones into action, and 
 hunted out two pails. 
 
 It was a long walk to the village. The night was 
 moonless, and twice or thrice he lost his road and strayed 
 among the olive alleys; and though the town was plain 
 enough all the while above him, he could not, so encum- 
 bered, climb the sheer ascent where the trees stopped short, 
 the yellow dog pattering at his heels, and not offering to 
 act as guide. But the time that he reached the slope to 
 the Porte Horloge, Castelar was black and silent, even the 
 cafe*. He walked softly in his sandals, for he had a feel- 
 ing that this expedition was a bit ridiculous on the part of 
 one who had his own land, and had set out to be a farmer. 
 
 He came to the town pump on one side of the Place, 
 and began to work the handle. 
 
 179
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Caspi it had a creak that would have stirred the 
 Seven Sleepers! He felt a little pricking of sweat, while 
 he wondered how it would seem to have shutters thrown 
 open and citizens come running, laughing and swearing 
 together when they discovered the cause of the dis- 
 turbance. 
 
 But his luck held. Now it was Flouro who saved the 
 situation. Perhaps her emotions had been gradually 
 swelling until they boiled over. She sat down and flung 
 back her head in such a keening as might have stirred 
 her primeval mates from their dust. It was like the spirit 
 of desolation wailing over the lost, somewhat in these 
 notes, many times repeated: 
 
 
 A dog in the village took it up, and then another across 
 the valley; and any one of the three would have drowned 
 the pump. So Trillon filled his pails without discovery, 
 the town being well-used to dogs, perhaps from the ancient 
 day when it was an Arab settlement. He went home and 
 refreshed his farmyard, setting aside enough for his break- 
 fast and O ye who revile Provence ! even a small 
 portion for a morning wash. 
 
 Then, when he should have been star-gazing and dream- 
 ing of Madeloun, he went to bed and slept soundly. 
 
 1 80
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 ALL FOR A CUP OF MILK 
 
 WHEN the dawn broke through his doorless doorway, 
 he sat up and brushed the yellow tangle out of his eyes, 
 wondering, for the moment, where he was. It was a 
 matter of seconds to remember that he was in his own 
 farmstead, on his own land, and had only to persuade 
 the little Provencal world about him that what they had 
 all their lives regarded as a quarry was in reality a mas. 
 
 He wasted no time wondering how he should go about 
 this trifle. Hunger pressed, and his mind did not soar 
 above or beyond breakfast. 
 
 He went outside on his headland, and stood with a 
 brisk wind ruffling his feathery hair. The sea of plain 
 at his feet was smoke-purple with heat. The day's work 
 if work was demanded of him would be hot and 
 hot enough. 
 
 He sheltered his oil-stove in a box, and set a little of his 
 precious water on to boil. Then half-dressed and wholly 
 disinclined for action of any sort, he strolled idly to the 
 edge of his rock and looked down into the plain, wonder- 
 ing what Fortune would bring him that day. He wished 
 
 181
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 it might be milk, hating black coffee so early in the day. 
 To be sure, he could do without the object of his desire, 
 whether it were milk or Madeloun; but he was not minded 
 to be so deprived. He returned to the fire, got out his 
 dishes, his bread, set his coffee a-steeping, and wandered 
 to the opposite side of his territory where the country 
 track winds along from the village. He thought some- 
 thing might turn up to his advantage. 
 
 Believe me or not, he had not been three minutes in the 
 place, on a boulder some twenty feet high that overhung 
 the mountain road, before he heard a tinkle that pealed 
 in his heart as gaily as wedding-bells; for his keen glance 
 spied, together with the sheep and the shepherd, a brown 
 goat trailing in the rear of the little flock. 
 
 He had no knowledge that the slim youth who came 
 last was that very Ramoun whose eyes had been wont to 
 burn Madaleno's neck when he sat behind her in the 
 church of a Sunday; but the shepherd had heard much 
 talk in the village, the night before, and it was with no 
 friendly eyes that he surveyed the well-balanced, square 
 figure on the rock above him. 
 
 He gave no attention to the "Good day," that 
 came down to him; but bent his head with sulky mouth 
 and eyes, and prepared to pass on, mute. 
 
 Then the man with the tousled yellow hair made an 
 extraordinary sound between a cackle and a crow his 
 attempt at the noise of the Capoun-Fkr which startled 
 the passer-by into a halt and a backward glance. 
 
 "What language do you speak, then, if not that of the 
 country?" complained Trillon. "I said good-day." 
 
 182
 
 ALL FOR A CUP OF MILK 
 
 "I have no good-day for you," growled Ramoun. "You 
 are no friend of mine." 
 
 " Bless you, boy, what would you ? It is not a question 
 of friendship, but of milk." 
 
 Ramoun looked about him, as if to gather from the 
 landscape whether he could have heard aright. 
 
 "Yes," said Trillon serenely, and sat down on the turf 
 that half covered the boulder, for his greater ease. "You 
 are quite right. This is the Mas of Artaban; but the cows 
 are not yet in working order." 
 
 "The Pit of" began Ramoun. 
 
 But Trillon was firm: "The Mas of Artaban, I said. 
 Come up and see the stock." 
 
 Clearly it was a madman, as some of the village had 
 insisted ; or a devil Ramoun crossed himself to be on 
 the safe side; and wished he were a little nearer the chapel 
 of the Maries, that they might lend him of their virtue. 
 
 While he was so engaged, the head above disappeared, 
 and he moved slowly onward, remembering old legends 
 of demons and apparitions; but he had not gone twenty 
 paces before a white enamel cup came flying down hi his 
 path and set the hindmost sheep kicking, while the owner 
 of the vessel surveyed him from the top of the bank, and 
 called: "Fill it. You have a goat." 
 
 " Tron de I'tr!" stormed the shepherd, coming suddenly 
 into his manhood. "Jump down and I'll show you!" 
 
 "Show me what?" asked Trillon, stretching out a 
 leisurely leg, as if with some thought of descending. 
 
 Ramoun muttered, but was inarticulate through rage. 
 
 "What have I done to you?" asked Trillon calmly. 
 
 183
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Or, if you won't give me the milk, sell me the goat. I 
 have need of one." 
 
 Ramoun made a sudden ineffectual dash up the bank; 
 but slipped back again, stumbling and almost losing his 
 balance. 
 
 "What's the matter with you?" asked Trillon again, 
 and hi two bounds or three was down the slope and facing 
 the irate shepherd. 
 
 Out of a tangle of words, "Madaleno" alone was 
 intelligible. 
 
 A light broke upon Trillon: "Come, now, I understand. 
 We are rivals. But as she is safely locked up in a convent, 
 I don't see why that should interfere with my cup of 
 milk." 
 
 "I hate you I hate you "stuttered Ramoun, be- 
 tween his teeth. 
 
 "You are over- hasty, my friend," says Trillon. "It 
 would be much more sensible to exchange a cup of milk 
 for a cup of coffee at this early hour of the morn " 
 
 His utterance was choked by the grip of Ramoun on 
 his throat ; and for a moment or two they had it back and 
 forth very fiercely. Before either prevailed, Flouro came 
 plunging down the slope after her master, and attacked 
 the sheep-dog; and the double duel progressed merrily, 
 while the sheep began to scatter like thistledown, some 
 towards the plain and some towards the wild mountains. 
 
 Perceiving this, Ramoun ceased his aggression, and 
 struggled to free himself, for it was Trillon now who had 
 the advantage. But sense of the danger of his flock so 
 wrought within the young shepherd that his wrench grew 
 
 184
 
 ALL FOR A CUP OF MILK 
 
 desperate, he staggered back loose, barely saved himself 
 from falling, called off his dog and ran. 
 
 Trillon looked after him a moment, picked up his cup 
 and thrust it into his pocket, and retreated to the top of 
 the bank to watch and wait. 
 
 Fortune favoured him so far as to send a brace of ewes 
 pattering his way; and so startled were they, coming upon 
 him unexpectedly at the top of the rock, that aided by the 
 steepness of the slope and the unwieldiness of the beasts, he 
 was able to clutch one under each arm, and with a mighty 
 effort to hold it struggling there. But he prayed or at 
 least he swore that Ramoun might return quickly. 
 
 If the shepherd was astonished before, at his first 
 glimpse of the tousle-headed man, imagine his feelings 
 upon returning with the collected bulk of his flock, ready 
 to descend to the plains, upon perceiving this same mad 
 individual hugging two of his biggest ewes. 
 
 But before he could protest, Trillon suddenly released 
 them, heading them downwards so that they should 
 quickly find the remainder of their family and seek the 
 shelter of numbers. Then he rubbed his hands together 
 and laughed at Ramoun: "I bear you no grudge; and I 
 think I have earned a cup of goat's milk. What say you ? 
 And my offer of the coffee still holds good." He drew 
 out his cup and looked at it pensively. 
 
 "Throw it down," says Ramoun, very red; and when 
 he had satisfied himself that his dog alone could manage 
 the flock, he captured the goat, drew it aside and began 
 milking. 
 
 Trillon descended at his leisure and watched the process. 
 
 185
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 When the cup foamed, Ramoun held it up until it was 
 taken; then got to his feet and said emphatically: "I 
 won't have the debt on my side. You may be a 
 madman, but if you are up to any tricks with that girl, 
 and get her out of the convent, as they say up in the village 
 you mean to do, then you have me to reckon with, if you 
 bring her to this place to live that is all. And as for 
 your coffee I spit at it!" 
 
 It was a long speech for him to make, but it came fo a 
 sad conclusion, for the end of the sentence was drowned 
 in a gush of foaming warm milk that whitened his dark 
 hair, splashed his clothes, and washed his face as it had 
 not been washed for many a day, even trickling in warm 
 currents between his neck and his shirt-band. 
 
 Blinded, he made a forward dash, was whirled to the 
 ground, and punished for his presumption. 
 
 "When you are ready," said Trillon between blows, 
 "to milk me another say." And in time Ramoun 
 made a sign, though not in words, and was allowed to 
 get up. 
 
 The liquid that rolled down his face was not milk, and 
 he was sufficiently subdued to take the cup at Trillon's 
 hands and proceed to its second filling. 
 
 When it was ready, he would have set it on the earth; 
 but Trillon was peremptory, and he handed it up. He 
 was amazed as he still stooped on the ground, perhaps too 
 dizzy to rise, by the dropping of a franc on his hand. 
 
 "I pay for what I get," says Trillon. "Now, go tell 
 the village what you please." 
 
 "It is enough for this time," answered Ramoun, with 
 
 186
 
 ALL FOR A CUP OF MILK 
 
 a black glance, speaking thickly through cut and swollen 
 lips, "but I do not forget. And I do not take your franc." 
 
 "So much the worse for you," quoth Trillon, picking 
 up the coin from the earth. 
 
 He waited until the shepherd had gone a short distance, 
 swabbing his face as best could be done with his coat- 
 sleeve, then spun the bit of silver so that it flew like a 
 pebble and landed in the small of the retreating back. 
 
 Ramoun turned, furious, looked at his persecutor, then 
 at the coin, seemed to comprehend that the process 
 might continue indefinitely, and pocketed the franc. 
 "Very good," said he, "I take it so that I may remember." 
 
 "Do," says Trillon; and carefully balancing his 
 dearly-purchased breakfast, he climbed up to the wind- 
 mill, and ate with an excellent appetite. 
 
 187
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 SETTLING IN 
 
 IT is not often that a farm may be evolved out of a 
 quarry in a single day; still with youth, fertility, and a 
 strong dramatic sense, one may do much. 
 
 Trillon's first act, after the memorable breakfast that 
 had cost him so much time and trouble, was to sit down 
 over a smoke and consult with Flouro as to the best means 
 of beginning this curious metamorphosis. 
 
 "Floureto," says he, "we'll get out our papers and 
 we'll mark off our land, and set up some sort of barrier, 
 so that you will know when strangers overstep the mark, 
 and treat them accordingly. Eh, then? Say yes." 
 
 And of course Flouro barked unqualified assent. 
 
 "Then we will send out a search party, composed of 
 yourself, the mule and me, to find the nearest water, and 
 to devise how it may be turned upon the estate hein?" 
 
 Flouro offering no objection, he proceeded, "Further, 
 we must clear the land of stones in time for the autumn 
 sowing and planting, and we must arrange some sort of 
 dwelling for the pretty maid that we shall steal out of her 
 convent presently, and bring here eh, what ? You like 
 
 188
 
 SETTLING IN 
 
 that, Floureto? And when we have married her by fair 
 means or other, what then, old dog, what then? What 
 will be left to do ? With no curse, no fighting, nothing to 
 stir up a man's liver, shall we have to sit down and smoke 
 all day and grow old together, yellow dog? It sounds 
 dull and dull enough, but perhaps there will be some 
 little excitement by the way; and at the least, we need not 
 look forward to the morrow. To-day has its own living." 
 
 He went within the windmill and brought forth the box 
 containing his rights of land, purchased with considerable 
 expense, notwithstanding a large bonus of derision, at the 
 prefecture in Marseilles. Long he pondered over meas- 
 ures and boundaries, then carefully set away the docu- 
 ments, and taking a hoe proceeded to make the rounds 
 of his estate. It was a primitive kind of surveying 
 even Flouro could not understand it, as she followed with 
 discouraged tail all the ups and downs of her master. 
 
 I will not say that Trillon was over- accurate; when his 
 hoe scratched the inner side of a boulder, this served very 
 well as boundary line; when the rock was small, and there 
 arose a question whether he should omit it or take it in, 
 Trillon went round. If error there was, it was for Mar- 
 seilles to correct it; but, indeed, the land was waste, and 
 there was no soul in the world mad enough to look at it 
 but himself. 
 
 Half he sighed, and half he chuckled, when his sur- 
 veying took him to the edge of the cliff, and he could look 
 down upon the fat lands of the plain with their olives and 
 their vineyards and their almonds. It would take a little 
 grubbing, he decided, to make his mas look like that; and 
 
 189
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 all at once, moved by the spirit of experiment, he reached 
 for a fair-sized boulder, as large as he could lift, and 
 heaved it over the cliff, watching it descend leaping from 
 point to point, until it splintered against the stone wall of 
 the nearest olive-garden. 
 
 "One method of stone-breaking," he said, straightening 
 his shoulders, "but to clear all one's land in that fashion 
 eh, well, I must find an easier way. Some boulders we 
 might build up into boundary walls hein? We shall 
 see." 
 
 He continued his round up the hill-path that encircled 
 the Pit, wherein his mule was nosing with an anxious ex- 
 pression such herbage as he could find, where the sheep 
 looked discouraged, and where the fowls were scratching 
 and comparing notes over the small pebbles and shards 
 of ancient pottery that they could not identify; and 
 down he came on the other side, where the descent was 
 far too steep for comfort; and at last he could say that 
 he had surveyed his scrag of property. How to measure 
 it in acres I cannot tell ; it was a chunk of mountain partly 
 hollowed out into quarry. 
 
 But Trillon was not content until he had made the 
 journey repeatedly with pick and spade, and had dug out 
 a perceptible trench, marking it here and there with such 
 big stones as lay near. By evening he had done the hardest 
 day's work of his life, and while wondering whether he 
 had strained his back for all time, he was pleased to note 
 a perceptible scratch on the earth, and a succession of 
 boulders that, studied with attention, might be taken to 
 mark the outline of an estate. Any ordinary man, view- 
 
 190
 
 SETTLING IN 
 
 ing the land within from the standpoint of farming, might 
 have been discouraged, seeing it warted like a monstrous 
 toad with all manner of rocks and stones, scrofulous with 
 furze-bushes, aromatic with a scattered growth of utterly 
 useless plants, powdered over with fine pebbles and 
 minute fragments of ancient pottery, Arabic, Samian, 
 Greek, prehistoric all highly ornamental, when sifted 
 and labelled in a museum, but a little out of place on a 
 farm. I am afraid the practical man, upon surveying 
 this field, would have cried out that it would be no more 
 difficult to get a harvest from the sea. But Trillon sang 
 as he worked, and whistled when he got out his bread 
 and cheese, and was silent only while he ate and slept. 
 Doubtless, he lacked the sense to be discouraged. I 
 never claimed for him ordinary intelligence. 
 
 The only diversion that he allowed himself all that day 
 was a short journey, immediately after his siesta, to find 
 the nearest spring. He had wondered a little that none 
 of the villagers had come to look on during the initiation 
 of his work; and was indeed somewhat loth to return to 
 Castelar at this stage for information in regard to water. 
 His ignorance on this point, even to his own mind, implied 
 a certain lack of foresight. However, he saw no help for 
 it, and prepared to swallow his pride as gracefully and 
 as cheerfully as might be. He slung two great water-cans 
 upon his mule, and himself mounting, turned the beast 
 along the rough mountain track. 
 
 But before he had proceeded very far beyond the end 
 of his own promontory, Fortune was kind to him and sent 
 him help in the way of a village girl returning from Mont- 
 
 191
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 paon, where she had been on a visit, as he judged by the 
 little pack she carried. 
 
 She looked at him with such wondering eyes that it was 
 clear she knew nothing of his arrival. Her face seemed 
 to him vaguely familiar; but he did not identify her with 
 that very Jano-Mario who had been sewing with Made- 
 loun on the first day of his coming. She, however, re- 
 membered him very well, but she could not, invoke the 
 Saints as she would, account for his presence at Castelar, 
 when poor Madeloun was many kilometres away in a 
 convent . . . 
 
 "My pretty child," said he politely, with a bewildering 
 sweep of the hat, "you would do me a great service if you 
 would direct me to the nearest spring." 
 
 "But, monsieur," she objected, "it is twenty minutes 
 away, up in the mountains yonder." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said he, "if it were a thousand leagues, 
 I must have water." 
 
 She stared at this mad speech; and before she had 
 collected her wits, he resumed: "If you would but set me 
 on the right way, I shall nose it out never fear." 
 
 She pointed then, and gave one or two brief directions, 
 and was overwhelmed by the vigour of his thanks. 
 
 "Monsieur," said she rather timidly, "was it not you 
 who climbed over the wall ?" 
 
 At this he remembered her. "Yes, yes," said he, "and 
 it's you who shall kick your heels at Madeloun's wedding 
 not so many weeks hence. Bear that in mind. But first 
 I must get water. Adessias!" 
 
 He left her to gape, and afterwards to carry up to the 
 
 192
 
 SETTLING IN 
 
 village a report which confirmed the theory of his mad- 
 ness. 
 
 Meanwhile, he was on the trail of the spring, knee-deep 
 among the sweet herbs of the mountain; and when he 
 found the clear water and perceived how it turned straight 
 towards the village itself, he knew that it must be the same 
 that he had pumped in the night under cover of the bark- 
 ing of dogs. And he had a moment of bitter oaths, seeing 
 himself thus diverted from his plans of aqueducts and 
 irrigation. The water was well garnered, that was sure; 
 and unless he could find another source . . . 
 
 On the homeward way, when he had come in sight of 
 the mas-to-be and its treasures, left in the guardianship 
 of Flouro, he had a brilliant idea: "Where there is a wind- 
 mill, there must have been water. We have only to dig." 
 
 With this conclusion he was so well satisfied that, hav- 
 ing disposed of some of his water where it was most needed, 
 he worked with fresh heart all the afternoon, and when 
 twilight came he was not ill-content. Too tired to cook, 
 he got out a loaf and cheese and wine, and flung himself 
 on the ground, resting on his two elbows, while he munched 
 and drank and considered. 
 
 "I suppose the Trinquetailles spent their time wander- 
 ing about and doing mad things while the Trillons were 
 sticking their pigs and stuffing them into sausages. They 
 built their castle up there where there's scarcely room for 
 a crow to settle; I build my mas down here where no 
 blade of grass grows. It's all the same. It's not what 
 you do, but what you persuade other people that you do 
 that's the thing . . . There's the tale Pons tells about 
 
 193
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 the three fellows who talked the countryman into believing 
 that his new shoes were a pair of partridges. Well, Cas- 
 telar is the countryman, and if my head isn't worth any 
 other three in Avignon, then I'm altogether Trillon and 
 not Trinquetaille. It shall be done; and then then 
 there's always the world to conquer, as those old chaps 
 up there conquered all they could lay hands on ... 
 Every man has his chance once in a life . . . but it does 
 not do to begin with a curse not that. Eh, well, 
 there's Madeloun, and then . . .?" 
 
 He paused and looked across into the heavy gloom of 
 the plains: "I wonder if any other man on earth would 
 be so big a fool as me?" 
 
 He did not answer the question perhaps the reply 
 was too obvious. 
 
 But less to be taken for granted was his conclusion: 
 "Nothing is impossible in this world, if a man once sets 
 about it." 
 
 194
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE CLEARING OF THE LAND 
 
 HE was awakened the next morning by a great fusilade 
 of barks from Flouro; and coming forth from his den, 
 shaggy, still flushed with sleep, he perceived a procession 
 of dignitaries approaching along the track from Castelar. 
 
 A moment he stared, whistled, chuckled, and slapped 
 his knee; then he throttled the yellow dog, dragged her 
 back ignominiously and tied her up in a corner of the mill. 
 
 With his usual perspicacity, he had perceived the object 
 of this delegation, and decided to turn it aside with friend- 
 liness. He brought into easy reach the few cups and 
 other drinking vessels that he possessed, saw to it that he 
 could lay hands on several bottles by no means empty, 
 and proceeded to the preparation of his little break- 
 fast, quite undisturbed. 
 
 When the first of the men from Castelar appeared 
 above the bank by which the windmill was reached from 
 the road, Trillon was nothing more than an amiable if 
 surprised host. Quick as lightning, before a word was 
 uttered on either side, he had looked them over and 
 summed them up. They were only six or seven in num- 
 
 195
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 her, but they were headed by the mayor, a grizzled parch- 
 ment farmer with no small sense of his importance. 
 
 And just as this personage opened his mouth to speak, 
 Trillon was stung with an idea, and forestalled. 
 
 "Neighbours," said he, and his yellow eyes twinkled 
 like leaping fires, "it is early in the morning for questions, 
 but which of you would like a fat pullet?" 
 
 The mayor's mouth continued to open, but it was with 
 the dropping of his jaw. You might also have heard the 
 click of other jaws as the men of Castelar huddled together; 
 you must remember, they thought they were dealing with 
 a madman. 
 
 "I ask," he continued serenely, "because I have one 
 here that with good luck shall be cooked by the wife of 
 him who can win it." 
 
 He was not mad. I do assure you he had as clear a 
 purpose as ever dominated him in his life, before or after; 
 but even he himself was a little dismayed by the speed 
 with which it had swooped and mastered him. He had 
 not known a second before he spoke what he was going to 
 say; and now that the idea was uttered, it was as clear 
 as sunlight to him why he had spoken and what he meant 
 to get. But he was more astonished than usual at his 
 own cleverness. 
 
 "Look you," said he, visibly expanding, as he unfolded 
 the scheme. "I tie my pullet by the leg to a boulder 
 so. You stand so far away in a line, you see and 
 the man that brings her down has a good pot to-morrow." 
 
 I do not think the idea was his own. I believe it came 
 from an old Almanac, or something of the sort, that he had 
 
 196
 
 THE CLEARING OF THE LAND 
 
 read, years before, at Mercadou's among the violins; but 
 the notion had lingered in his mind all this time, waiting 
 a useful occasion. Whether anyone else ever tried it, I 
 have no means of knowing. 
 
 But while the men of Castelar gaped and nudged one 
 another, and the mayor stood hi frozen dignity, he had 
 leaped into his farmyard, once the Pit of Artaban, and 
 captured a fluttering, squawking victim. When the 
 mayor made another attempt at the business that had 
 brought the party thither, he did not get beyond a "I have 
 been asked in behalf of . . ." 
 
 Trillon interrupted gaily: "After, my friend, after. It's 
 a question now of a pullet. Does not your mouth water ? 
 Look I will tie her on a pinnacle of the rock, yonder 
 on the point. You shall draw cuts for first chance, and 
 we shall soon see who is best shot." 
 
 A second time the mayor would have spoken; but one 
 of the younger men was already scratching a line through 
 the rubble to the earth. It was clear that all the fingers 
 itched to try. The mayor stepped aside, and the men 
 threw themselves into the business with so much heart 
 that it would have seemed to a passer-by that they had 
 come for nothing else. 
 
 Now, mark you, the line that they were to toe was well 
 within the boundaries of Trillon's estate; and the pullet 
 was attached a long way without. Do you see? And 
 the weapons? These were the small stones that would 
 encumber Trillon's wheat from growing if ever he sowed 
 wheat, or his teazles or his haricot beans. And more 
 rapidly than you can read, the men of Castelar were 
 
 197
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 filling their pockets with pebbles useless for any purpose 
 except perhaps to bring down pullets at a distance of so 
 many metres. 
 
 One scarcely knew how the shooting began. But while 
 public attention was concentrated on the prize, Trillon 
 was mustering glasses and bottles, and preparing coffee 
 for those whose taste was not for stronger drink so early 
 in the morning. 
 
 I cannot tell you whether he had chosen his fowl with 
 discretion, or whether his unfailing luck was to blame; 
 but there never was a more nervous pullet born; and as 
 the distance had been nicely judged, she fluttered about 
 unscathed in a rain of small stones. One or two swore 
 that the devil was in the bird, for she flew high as a man 
 aimed low, and when he thought to bring her down, she 
 was roosting on the boulder as if she had never moved. 
 And there grew a widening bare spot about the feet of 
 the unsuspecting Corporation. 
 
 It was martyrdom for the fowl. She would have had my 
 profoundest sympathy, had I not known that a single peb- 
 ble would have produced fully as much agitation in her 
 sensitive breast, while a hail of them might be conceived 
 as adding a degree of pleasurable excitement to the game. 
 And she had but the one death to die. 
 
 But presently, there came protest from among the 
 players. Clearly the bird was too far away. There was 
 not a man among them who understood the meaning of 
 Trillon's grin, as he turned their attention to the various 
 means of quenching thirst that he had provided, and 
 obediently went to alter the arrangement. When he had 
 
 198
 
 THE CLEARING OF THE LAND 
 
 done, they were satisfied that the distance was more 
 measurable; and did not perceive until they were lined 
 up that the sun would be in their eyes, and that the in- 
 ventor of the game had kindly moved them to a spot 
 where there was a fresh and bountiful supply of small 
 stones. 
 
 They threw again and the pullet continued her gyra- 
 tions more madly than before. Dazed by the strong hot 
 light, they began to swear oaths that the creature was 
 bewitched. 
 
 "No," says Trillon. "She's an honest fowl, and any 
 way I am not responsible for her character; but you shall 
 have another, if you like." 
 
 They were ashamed to insist, the more so as Trillon's 
 hospitality abounded. To be sure, it was still early in 
 the day, but much violent exercise makes men thirsty . . . 
 
 It was the host himself who perceived that it was wise 
 to remove the game to a third station; and this time he so 
 adjusted light and distance that the pullet herself, weary 
 of the fun, and having come to regard a rain of stones as 
 a law of nature, at last settled down in a dumpy heap, 
 and was bagged by the mayor. 
 
 Upon this there was much drinking and merry-making. 
 The Corporation decided that Trillon was not mad after 
 all; and so well enjoyed his company that they might have 
 stayed there the whole day, but for the winged arrival of 
 a small boy who shouted that Madame la Mairesse was on 
 her way thither, with a word or two on her tongue. 
 
 Thereupon the party came to an abrupt end; and not a 
 man among them remembered at first the original errand. 
 
 199
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 The mayor turned homeward, with a small inward prayer 
 of thanks that he had a gift of propitiation tucked under 
 his arm; the Corporation followed almost as light-hearted, 
 in that they were not as yet sought out by wives with a 
 word or two on their tongues. 
 
 They were already climbing the slope into the little 
 town, still under the convoy of the winged small boy, 
 when one that had a bad name among his companions 
 for being more jealous than the others, after some con- 
 sideration, spoke up: "But in the end, neighbours, how 
 do we know that the fellow has any right in the world to 
 the land he has grabbed?" 
 
 "Do you want his stone-heaps, Anseume?" said an- 
 other, punching the objector's ribs. 
 
 "Not I," said he. "But I have left my work all the 
 morning, being assured by the mayor that it was a public 
 duty; and what have I got for my pains . . .?" 
 
 "All that," said the mayor, waving a majestic hand, 
 "all that will adjust itself later." 
 
 Not more than his following did the excellent man see 
 with his eyes or in imagination, the look that Trillon sent 
 after the group, as he stood alone with Flouro, chuckling 
 over the three great bare tracts in his mas. "The labour 
 was cheap at the price," he informed the dog. "If I go 
 on as I have begun, I shall be a rich man through no fault 
 of my own. What it is to have a brain eh, Flouro ? 
 If Madeloun does not appreciate what she is getting . . ." 
 
 He sat down to his breakfast and a long smoke. What 
 was the need of working? He had only to think up 
 something else . . . 
 
 200
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 HOW THE WORK WENT ON 
 
 As a result of his meditations, Trillon arose early the 
 next morning, and went into the village. He had a plan. 
 
 It was a holiday, and he found, as he expected to find, 
 some half-dozen boys playing bowls under the Cross 
 before the church. It was a game of rivalry: the one 
 who hit the mark most frequently in a given number of 
 trials pocketed the sous of the entire company. Trillon 
 watched them for some time, while they cast upon him 
 timid sidelong glances, being too awed by his reputation 
 to address him. 
 
 When he had stood by long enough, as he judged, he 
 said: "I know a better game than that." 
 
 And when they asked him what, he said it could be 
 taught only at the Pit of Artaban. 
 
 At this, some were frightened, but others were curious. 
 "Come, then, if you like. There will be more sous in it 
 than you have seen for many a long day." He strolled 
 away easily, his hands thrust into his red sash, his wide 
 sky-blue trousers puffing in the wind. 
 
 The boys consulted and he let them put their heads 
 
 201
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 together, whistling all the while to a tune of his own 
 invention : 
 
 "The sun stood high, 
 The wind blew dry " 
 
 Two of the bigger lads parted from the others and 
 began to run by his side. 
 
 "Ever hear the story of the man who went to Cavaioun 
 to buy asses' eggs?" he put to them abruptly. And at 
 the word story, several who were hovering timidly about, 
 drew close. 
 
 "Eh, well, you know," he began, "there was a man 
 called Janet, who was not very bright ..." 
 
 He had quite a small gathering by this time, and turned 
 to walk back along the village street. 
 
 And still as he went he told how Janet toiled from shop 
 to shop hi search of this strange commodity, until at last 
 he met a merchant who was his match, who sold him for 
 five francs a big yellow melon, and bade him take it home 
 carefully lest it hatch by the way ... By the time he 
 reached this point of the adventure, he had so many boys 
 that he might have been a second Pied Piper. But the 
 girls he did not encourage. 
 
 The villagers whom he met looked upon him with sus- 
 picion, but nodded hi memory of past hospitality. They 
 did not incline to words, nor did he. Occasionally a 
 mother ran out, snatched her offspring and bore him 
 shrieking away; but still it was a good company that 
 passed along the road to the Pit of Artaban, and heard 
 how Janet was riding home on his donkey, with his basket 
 
 202
 
 HOW THE WORK WENT ON 
 
 balanced carefully before him ; and how the donkey stum- 
 bled and Janet fell into the road; and how sitting there 
 he saw his precious egg fly and roll and smash itself against 
 a tree, and beheld a small, grey, long-eared thing bound 
 away into the woods; and how he did not budge, but 
 howled for the young ass that he had lost. It was not 
 until they had nearly reached the Pit of Artaban that he 
 condescended to explain the mystery: 
 
 "The melon had hit a hare, and the hare ran what 
 would you?" 
 
 The volunteers arrived in high good humour; and he 
 marshalled them on the plateau in front of the windmill. 
 
 "Now, my boys," said he, "did any of you ever hear of 
 one Marius who was a great general of the Romans, and 
 is still talked of hereabouts ?" 
 
 "I know," piped one voice, "I have heard my father 
 say he made the old road that goes up into the town." 
 
 " And there's Marius's Camp on the top of Bregas, " said 
 another. " Did he come here ? " 
 
 And a third: "He fought a big battle with somebody 
 over to the eastward. " 
 
 And a fourth: "That's him cut in the old stone under 
 the two cypresses on the other side of the hill. " 
 
 "Yes," says Trillon, "that's all true and more. And 
 whenever he wanted roads made or bridges or anything 
 of the sort, he got his soldiers to do it, and when they 
 worked all together, it was done as quickly as you would 
 scarcely believe. Now the game that I mean is that you 
 should be the soldiers of Marius and build me a wall; and 
 to the boy who makes his highest and best by dinner- 
 
 203
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 time, I will give a franc; but every boy who builds any- 
 thing at all shall have some sous for his work. What say 
 you hein?" 
 
 They were not slow to see, or to approve, or to act. 
 Almost before the words were out of his mouth, they were 
 running to collect stones. But with the instinct of the 
 true generalissimo, he called a halt until he had measured 
 out such portions of his estate as he especially wished to 
 fence in for appearance's sake, not troubling himself, 
 for example, where the path climbed the hill steeply. 
 
 In a very short time his legion was at work, swarm- 
 ing and quarrelling over stones too large to carry, visibly 
 skinning the earth as they filled their smocks, and under 
 directions collected heaps, each by the place where he 
 was to build. And it was not long before the wall itself 
 mur sec, I believe they call it constructed of unhewn 
 stones, fitted into one another loosely and without mortar, 
 began to be traceable. The width of it Trillon measured 
 off all the way; and then he left the legionaries to their own 
 devices, save that now and again he kept an inferior work- 
 man from sudden death, when threatened by his own toppling 
 structure. It was wonderful how much progress was made 
 by the time the church clock rang out the hour of noon. 
 
 Promptly, the majouraie called a halt and paid off. 
 Jaquelin, the acolyte, was accorded first prize, not with- 
 out some grudging on the part of others. His piece of 
 wall stood nearly half a metre high, and when one remem- 
 bers that it was almost a metre wide, one must conclude 
 that it was not so ill done, especially as it was firm enough 
 to stand upon, without crumbling away. 
 
 204
 
 HOW THE WORK WENT ON 
 
 It was three francs altogether that Trillon paid out; 
 and if anyone denies to him the possession of true busi- 
 ness instinct, here is the plain refutation. For this beg- 
 garly sum he had accomplished as much work as four 
 active men would have done in a whole day at four times 
 the cost, or as he himself, in his leisurely fashion of labour, 
 could have finished in a week. And his legionaries 
 tramped home in varying degrees of high feather, to show 
 their extensive and joyously-earned wealth. 
 
 He invited them to come back if they liked, that same 
 afternoon; and spent the dinner hour walking the round 
 of his mas, with bread and sardines, deciding where and 
 how the work might be improved and completed. 
 
 Well, some of the little band were diverted by their 
 parents, being rapped and set to other tasks. But these, 
 note you, were the inferior workmen who had brought 
 home the least pay. The story had got abroad with 
 additions and comments, and for every defection there 
 were two fresh volunteers. I must confess, however, 
 that except where the profit had been very large, as in 
 Jaquelin's case, the fathers of the legionaries were still 
 ignorant of the proceedings. They were abroad in the 
 fields or in the quarries, and even when they came home 
 were not, for the most part, told at once of the interest- 
 ing proceedings at the Pit of Artaban. And the mothers, 
 as a rule, did not count; some knew and did not care; 
 some were away; only a few both knew and cared. 
 
 In the afternoon, the army was more numerous than 
 before and worked unflaggingly. The wall rose until in 
 places it had to be climbed over. Trillon, surveying the 
 
 205
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 scene, decided that it would have to be his part later to go 
 round and fill up the chinks. At sundown he disbursed 
 four francs; but there is no doubt that full-grown labour 
 would have cost him five times that sum. Jaquelin 
 smarted a little, for his wall was only second best. A 
 new recruit, Guihen, the younger brother of Peire, the 
 quarryman, a lubberly chap of twelve or thereabouts, 
 had carried off the prize, thus early showing an instinct 
 in the handling of stone. 
 
 "To-morrow," says Trillon, when he dismissed them, 
 "you can come or not as you like. The francs are here, 
 and so is the wall." There were many besides Jaquelin 
 who promised themselves to make good what chance 
 they might have missed on that day. 
 
 Trillon ate in the twilight whatever he could lay hands 
 on, his zeal for cooking having abated in the absence of 
 appreciative companionship; then he fetched water from 
 the distant spring, cared for his farmyard; and long after 
 the village was in bed proceeded to carry on his work 
 alone. 
 
 It was not wall-building by torchlight that appealed 
 to his fancy now by no means. It was something far 
 more dramatic. 
 
 If you had an estate smothered in growth of furze and 
 broom, often to a height of four or five feet, how would 
 you be rid of the tangle ? Trillon decided that the easiest 
 way was to burn it. There had been no rain for many 
 months, and he found by experiment that the stuff ignited 
 like straw. A touch of the match would set the whole 
 sky aflame. 
 
 206
 
 HOW THE WORK WENT ON 
 
 Why he waited until then, I cannot tell you. It was 
 surely not that he disliked an audience for his perform- 
 ances; it was most certainly not that he dreaded inter- 
 ference ; it must have been, I conclude, sheer selfish desire 
 to have the spectacle to himself, somewhat after the manner 
 of Nero's little conflagration in Rome. 
 
 But whatever his motive, he went from bush to bush 
 and from clump to clump, setting them alight until all at 
 once he was encircled by a splendour as of many camp- 
 fires. The stars above grew pale over against the myriads 
 of little golden serpents that ran in swift trails along the 
 crackling stems of the furze, and the whole mountain-side, 
 even down in the hollow of Artaban, was ruddy with 
 warm light, and jewelled over with flying sparks. 
 
 When the plateau was humming with the flames,Tril- 
 lon sat down on a boulder, hi the heart of all that radiance, 
 his yellow dog huddled close to his knee and shaking with 
 fear or with the grandeur of the sight, his farmyard mut- 
 tering uneasily, his mule snorting with baseless alarm 
 that the danger might somehow find communication 
 along the stones and run to devour him. Oh, it was safe 
 enough! But Trillon was not thinking of safety or of 
 danger. There in the stir and life of the flames his 
 imagination was moved by memories of Madeloun, his 
 "little nun," as he called her tenderly to himself; and he 
 got out his fiddle and played, with no consciousness, 
 however, that he was aping a great and evil lord of the 
 world. 
 
 It pleased his fancy to sit there picking the strings into 
 tunes half remembered, half improvised, while the streams 
 
 207
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 of starry rockets died away to a heartening glow, and the 
 glow to such a soothing play of red embers as sends a man 
 to sleep with pleasant thoughts. It seemed to him as he 
 lay in his windmill, looking out through the unguarded 
 door, that he was in the thick of a great and friendly host, 
 whether of men or spirits was small matter. The fancy 
 served to cheer him, if cheering he needed, on his enter- 
 prise; and he fell asleep before the red had all vanished, 
 at peace with himself and the world. 
 
 208
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 VISITORS AT THE MAS 
 
 IN the morning, while Trillon was still surveying with 
 triumph the clearance that he had made in the bush, and 
 wondering why his small army did not return, he was 
 astonished and rather pleased by the advent of the village 
 guard along the road by which all things came to him. 
 It seemed to presage battle, and Trillon was always 
 ready for a skirmish of any sort. He gladly put aside all 
 thought of the work that he had not begun. 
 
 The guard of Castelar is a tall personage, important 
 with the duty laid upon him of keeping the peace in his 
 community. He is, so to speak, a deputy-gendarme, 
 rarely called into service except in times of election-rows 
 and disputes over land or water; but upon such occasions 
 he wears the cap of authority and acts as arbitrator and 
 peacemaker, when the spirit of the Midi runs away with 
 his fellows. 
 
 So tremendous was the dignity of this approaching 
 individual that more than once he stumbled and all but 
 fell on the rough mountain track. 
 
 Trillon looked down good-humouredly, Flouro hugging 
 
 209
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 his knee, ready to fly at a moment's notice, and make an 
 end of dignity, deputy and all. 
 
 "Hoi," says Trillon. "Good-day. Drink coffee with 
 me this morning?" 
 
 The guard looked up with as stiff and soldierly an air 
 as possible: "Sir, I come on the mayor's business." 
 
 "Eh, well, that won't prevent your drinking coffee, I 
 take it." Trillon retreated so abruptly that the guard 
 was obliged to follow or lose him out of earshot. 
 
 It is rather awkward hurling speech after a man 
 whose desire is not to hear what you have to say. The 
 guard's mumblings did not do him credit. 
 
 "My papers?" said Trillon, with civil amazement. 
 "You say you want to see my papers? It's too early in 
 the morning to show papers, and as for letting them go 
 out of my hands tell the mayor to come himself if he 
 wants a look." 
 
 But the guard found other words on his tongue. 
 
 "Right?" asks Trillon, setting down the second coffee- 
 cup that he had just produced. " ' Right ?' says the man ? 
 I'll show you my right if you don't clear off my land in 
 two minutes." Yellow sparks shot into his eyes. 
 
 The guard retreated a step, but he unfortunately per- 
 mitted himself to laugh at the quality of the land. 
 
 "Laugh at me, do ye, neighbour?" says Trillon, ad- 
 vancing. "Yes, it's my land it's my farm. Will you 
 do me the honour to admit that it's my farm?" 
 
 The lank guard executed a backward dance before the 
 thrust that he anticipated. 
 
 "It may as well be now," says Trillon, uttering his 
 
 210
 
 VISITORS AT THE MAS 
 
 thought aloud. "I shall have to fight with the com- 
 munity sooner or later. Why not begin with the most 
 dangerous member?" He could not control his irony 
 at the relic of authority sidling away before him. You 
 see, it was the bruit of madness that daunted the deputy- 
 gendarme. With any of the villagers, especially when 
 they had been for a few hours at the cafe, he might cope; 
 but with this yellow-eyed stranger from the great world 
 outside, he found it advisable to use a certain amount of 
 caution. However, his instructions, which he trembled to 
 recall, were, failing a sight of the legal papers, to bring 
 Trillon captive to the H6tel de Ville in the Place du Conne*- 
 table de Montferrand, where he might be interviewed by 
 the Corporation in a body. But even as he remembered, he 
 was retreating still towards the edge of the bank, and the 
 favourable moment for striking the blow did not come. 
 
 "Go back to the town," says Trillon, "and tell the 
 fathers that this farm is mine, and that I will uphold my 
 right to it against any of them singly and in succession; 
 but for the honour of Provence, which is theirs as well as 
 mine, I would fight them all together. For their own 
 credit, however, that will not do. Go." 
 
 But the ignominy of the message stirred the guard from 
 his ague. Lowering his head, something after the fashion 
 of Lou Bramaire, when he is much goaded in the arena 
 at Aries, he rushed blindly at the desired captive. He 
 was a strong man, and if he came on like a bull, Trillon 
 met him like another; and for a few moments they swayed 
 near the edge of the bank, with locked horns. But the 
 issue was certain, for in Trillon's square-built frame 
 
 211
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 there was a solidity of muscle such as the lanky guard 
 had had no occasion to develop in his rare encounters 
 with the peaceable villagers. 
 
 He regretted this when Trillon dangled him by the coat- 
 collar so that he hung like a cat over the bank. To be 
 sure, there was small danger, but the indignity was in- 
 sufferable. He wriggled with violence, but to no end. 
 
 "Eh, well," says Trillon, speaking the more deliber- 
 ately, to cover a little breathlessness, "are you convinced 
 that this is my mas, and that I have a right to it ? I shall 
 hold you there until you are of my mind." 
 
 Being presently persuaded by some little further ex- 
 periment that Trillon's staying powers were, to say the 
 least, equal to his own, the guard concluded that it was 
 more graceful to give in early than late; and indicated by 
 as much of a nod as he could compass, that this was the 
 case. 
 
 Then Trillon dropped him upon the pebble-strewn 
 rocky path below, where he landed with some damage 
 to his hands and knees and nose. 
 
 "Tell the mayor," says Trillon, looking down upon him 
 still without rancour, "tell him that I return you with 
 compliments and thanks, having no use for your services. 
 God be with you, and mend your bruises!" 
 
 Thereupon he went back to his windmill, and to cool 
 his blood sat down in the shade and smoked a dozen 
 cigarettes without stopping. 
 
 It was all very foolish, say you? But I never for a 
 moment pretended that Trillon was a sensible man. 
 
 After a time, it occurred to him that his little army of 
 
 212
 
 VISITORS AT THE MAS 
 
 workers was slow to come. He was beginning to wonder 
 how he should get his wall built, and whether all his 
 brilliant schemes were to be so suddenly dashed, when a 
 single head the pudgy face of Jaquelin topped the 
 edge of the bank. 
 
 "Ha," says Trillon. "What now?" 
 
 He was not greatly surprised to hear that his yesterday's 
 plan had been received with such strong disfavour on the 
 part of the men of the village that his young army had 
 been scattered to the wind on various duties, and, in part, 
 to school; and that Jaquelin, alone, having rebelled 
 because the memory of the franc was still sweet, had been 
 able to come by escaping through the rotten roof of a shed 
 where he had been deposited for safe-keeping. Besides, 
 his parents had the reputation of money-grubbers in the 
 village. 
 
 Trillon reflected a little during the breathless tale. It 
 was clear to him that the townsmen were either afraid of 
 him or hostile to such an extent that coppers, even silver 
 coins, had for the time lost their significance. He de- 
 cided that in the future he would aim to be more politic. 
 Meanwhile, there was Jaquelin, a ready, a willing ser- 
 vant . . . But Jaquet alone could not build a wall; 
 nor could they two together make much progress. 
 
 Trillon pondered, chin in hand; and presently he found 
 the thing to do. 
 
 "Jaquelin," he said, "can you print letters?" 
 
 And straightway Jaquet's feathers were all a-plume. 
 It would seem that he was the prize- boy at the school in 
 all such matters. 
 
 213
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Eh, well," says Trillon, with a bit of a sigh, "don't 
 boast too much, for you shall be put to the test. As for 
 myself I never would learn a thing of that sort, and some- 
 times I think it is half a pity. However, that is not to 
 the point . . ." 
 
 He rose and fetched from his storehouse certain smooth 
 planks and a saw; also a brush and a tin of paint, which, 
 when opened, proved to be of a brilliant vermilion that 
 won Jaquet's soul in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 "Now," says Trillon, "first I shall saw the boards into 
 proper lengths, and then you shall print on them the words 
 that I say, all spelled just as you find them in the books, 
 and when you have done, you shall have another silver 
 franc hein?" 
 
 They set to work, the prospect of so much wealth ren- 
 dering Jaquelin a joyful slave. 
 
 Trillon had soon finished, and while he was looking 
 about for the next thing to do, Fortune, who never seemed 
 willing that her favourite should work too long at a time 
 Fortune sent Peire, the quarryman, strolling that 
 way. 
 
 It must not be supposed that Peire had come on 
 community business. The plain fact is that he had for 
 some days been debarred from work by a bad throat, and 
 this morning, feeling somewhat brisker than usual, he 
 had wearied of idling about his mother's house, and had 
 sauntered forth, pipe in mouth very bad for his throat, 
 no doubt in the direction of the Pit of Artaban. Cu- 
 riosity impelled him to see what was going on there; for, 
 indeed, this tract of desert land was at the moment the 
 
 214
 
 VISITORS AT THE MAS 
 
 most interesting spot within many miles of Castelar. 
 And so he was lured into the toils of misfortune. 
 
 Nearer he advanced and nearer, seeing nothing, hearing 
 nothing of the reputed madman. And when at length 
 he climbed, not without caution, up the bank, he per- 
 ceived a small boy in a smock, kneeling with his back 
 turned, doing something on the ground; and on each 
 side of him Trillon and the dog, both so absorbed in 
 watching that they did not perceive the approach of the 
 invader. And so Peire came and looked too, and what 
 he saw so greatly astonished him that he could not forbear 
 a loud Hoi. 
 
 Trillon turned on his heel, and Flouro began a sharp 
 barking about the quarryman's trousers. 
 
 " MAS ARTABAN," read Peire slowly. 
 
 "Do you not comprehend?" asked Trillon civilly. 
 He bore no grudge against Peire, though if he had known 
 of certain passages of more than friendly interest between 
 the quarryman, not so long before, and a pretty young 
 woman . . . 
 
 Peire looked at him, looked down again, and pipe in 
 hand, continued reading: NO ADMISSION WITHOUT 
 AUTHORIZATION; WARE THE DOG; THE 
 STABLES; THE BAKE-HOUSE; THE FORGE; 
 THE CART-SHED; THE GRANARY; THE PIG- 
 EON-HOUSE; this was as far as Jaquelin had pro- 
 gressed. The wet boards, looking as if they had been 
 marked in blood, lay spread about him in every direction. 
 
 "Thunder-of-the-Air!" exclaimed the quarryman. 
 "What does it all mean?" 
 
 215
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "It means," said Trillon very slowly, "that I wish to 
 leave no doubt in the mind of Castelar that this ground 
 you stand upon is a farm, and that I am a farmer even 
 though my vineyards be not yet planted, and though it is 
 not possible to set out olives or almonds until the winter- 
 time. Have you any doubt in the matter?" 
 
 Seeing that Peire still looked at him as if his meaning 
 were obscure, he asked again: "Have you seen the guard 
 this morning?" 
 
 No, Peire was able to say that he had not. 
 
 "Eh, well, I have convinced him," said Trillon. "If 
 you still feel any doubt in your mind that this is a farm 
 and that I am its owner, go talk to the guard and you may 
 be persuaded without more trouble hein?" 
 
 Peire stared unwinking for a while; then glancing at 
 his pipe, which had gone out, said amiably: "Have you 
 a match?" 
 
 Trillon laughed, and the yellow sparks went out of his 
 eyes. He produced the desired bit of wood, saying: 
 "Come, I like you. We may as well settle the matter 
 now. You're a big fellow and worth fighting." 
 
 "Heavens!" said Peire peaceably. "I don't want to 
 fight you or any man. And as for this patch of rock 
 you may call it a farm or you may call it a ship 
 all's one to me. And if it pleases you to be considered a 
 farmer eh, well, I don't dispute. In Castelar they say 
 you're a madman." 
 
 "Hah!" says Trillon. "Indeed?" And at his voice 
 Jaquelin looked up from his painting, showing a face 
 most horribly streaked with artificial gore. And as he 
 
 216
 
 VISITORS AT THE MAS 
 
 looked, he thought it wiser to lay aside his paint-brush 
 for the moment and to scramble to the top of a big boulder, 
 whence he could enjoy the probable scrap without danger 
 to himself. 
 
 Trillon controlled himself, however, and pointing to 
 his wall said: "What call you that?" 
 
 "The devil" began Peire, but was checked. 
 
 "Is it or is it not a wall?" 
 
 At this point Peire could not control a roar of laughter, 
 to which the monkey face of Jaquelin contributed not a 
 little. 
 
 Trillon waited until this mirth should be concluded. 
 "Eh, well?" he said at last, almost gentle. 
 
 "Eh, well?" Peire stood up to him, with surprising 
 squareness. 
 
 "Is it a farm?" persisted Trillon. 
 
 Then Peire gave way and laughed again cheerfully: 
 "To be sure, how blind I am; and you now I look at 
 your clothes if ever there was a farmer in all Prov- 
 ence . . ." 
 
 "My friend," says Trillon, very solemnly, "you are a 
 wise man; but I am almost sorry we have missed the 
 fight . . ." 
 
 "If that's troubling you," said Peire, and began to 
 stuff his pipe, hot ashes and all, into his pocket. 
 
 But Trillon protested: "Let me finish. I have learned 
 after some thinking that in this world things are very 
 largely what we call them. Jaquelin, you hear plainly 
 that there is at least one man from Castelar, besides the 
 guard, who is convinced. We shall soon have the town 
 
 217
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 including the priest of our opinion. Now go on 
 with your painting, boy, or you see no silver of mine." 
 
 Peire returned to his pipe with some anticipation of the 
 good story he would have to tell at the cafe", on the follow- 
 ing Saturday night. He was minded to carry the joke a 
 little further. 
 
 "Yes," said he, "I cannot see that your farm lacks 
 anything but a mistress." 
 
 "And she," said Trillon, "will soon be on the way." 
 
 The quarryman looked at him, and stopped smoking, 
 as there crept into his slow mind certain vague rumours . . . 
 
 He could not speak, but Trillon was not loth to tell: 
 "Yes, it's Madeloun Borel . . ." 
 
 Peire knocked the ashes out of his pipe: "I think we'll 
 have that fight after all, although for a man with a bad 
 throat . . ." 
 
 "So you have something to say about her?" said 
 Trillon. "Eh, well, she seems to have been more of a 
 flirt than I thought. I will fight you with pleasure, but 
 not with a bad throat ..." 
 
 If Peire appreciated this favour, he gave no sign, merely 
 putting himself on his defence with a sharp "Come on." 
 
 But Trillon shook his head: "Not to-day another 
 time. Look, now, there are other ways. The girl is 
 mine, as I'll show you. Shall we throw dice for her?" 
 
 Peire was amazed out of his attitude: "What? You 
 would risk it all on a chance?" 
 
 ''I always risk," said Trillon. "I merely desire to 
 convince you; and fighting is out of the question to-day. 
 Got any dice? I have. Very good, we'll use yours" as 
 
 218
 
 VISITORS AT THE MAS 
 
 they were wonderingly produced "then you will know 
 that I play fair. Now, shall I show you my luck? You 
 take the risk?" 
 
 Peire considered a moment, then shook his head. 
 "No," said he, "the girl is out of the question now, but 
 if she ever comes back, I want my chance with the 
 others . . ." 
 
 Trillon looked so disappointed that it was clear he was 
 ready to fling his whole future down with the dice. 
 
 Said Peire: "But I have a curiosity, none the less, to 
 try your luck. Come, I'll throw with you for a franc . . ." 
 
 Instantly Trillon picked up one of the boards as yet 
 unpainted, and laid his stake upon it, signifying that 
 Peire should begin; and when the latter read eleven, he 
 promptly capped it with a twelve. 
 
 "Again," said Peire, flushing a little, as he handed 
 over his franc; and when Trillon flung a four, he was 
 ready to triumph until he perceived that his own sum 
 was a two. This time the stakes were doubled. 
 
 So young Jaque painted, while the farmer and the 
 quarryman were at dice; and this state of affairs continued 
 until the clock on the H6tel de Ville had struck twelve, 
 and again, after its fashion, repeated the strokes. The 
 second time, Peire flung down the board so that the heap 
 of coins was scattered among the stones and some were 
 smeared with red paint. 
 
 "Are you the devil?" he asked, getting shakily to his 
 feet. 
 
 "No," says Trillon, summoning Jaquelin to come and 
 collect the coins, "but I am a richer man than when we 
 
 219
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 began this morning. I warned you of my luck. Are you 
 going home?" 
 
 Peire looked at him very bitterly: "I have no more 
 money until I go to work and earn it. I shall pay you 
 out for this." 
 
 "Very good," says Trillon cheerfully. "When you 
 can. Every man has his time. But take back your 
 money if you like. I don't want it." 
 
 Peire turned and might have stooped, but he could not 
 meet the mockery in his opponent's eyes. 
 
 He thrust his hands into his pockets and turned to 
 descend the bank. "No," says he, "that's yours. But 
 I'll get even with you another way." 
 
 "Got it all?" said Trillon as Jaquelin handed him the 
 little heap. "Now you shall have fair proportion. We 
 seem to be making friends rapidly in Castelar. I wonder 
 who will be our next visitor?" 
 
 220
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 DISCOVERY 
 
 IT was perhaps some ten days before any one of 
 note in the village troubled himself or ventured to 
 make personal investigation into the progress of the new 
 mas. It was not that Castelar had ceased to be inter- 
 ested; indeed, it caught with almost scandalous greed at 
 any scrap of news that came its way. But, although ru- 
 mours were few and unsatisfactory, people were afraid to go 
 as far as the Pit after the adventure of Peire and the guard, 
 neither of whom had told the whole truth or the exact 
 truth as to what he had encountered there. The mayor, 
 indeed, felt that he ought to take the matter in hand, but 
 to defer the evil moment gave out that he was much occu- 
 pied with late hay-making. 
 
 In the end, it was Father Gougoulin who made dis- 
 covery, and that by accident. He had been perhaps too 
 contemptuous of the madman. However, when on the 
 morning of a Saint's day, he found his chief acolyte miss- 
 ing, and had to manage with the younger and more stupid 
 ministrant alone, and was thereby humiliated even in an 
 empty church, he found it time to take measures. Upon 
 
 221
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 investigation it proved that Jaquelin had been diverted 
 from his normal course of life by this devil of a Trillon, 
 and was being led into the village knew not what. He 
 spoke more than one sharp word to the parents, who were 
 poor enough (the father incalculably lazy) because they 
 had allowed their child to imperil his soul for the sake 
 of a few bits of silver. And when he wrung from them, 
 unwilling, the fact that Jaque was that very day on duty 
 at the Pit of Artaban, all in a fire of indignation he re- 
 solved to undertake the fatigue of the walk and confront 
 the fellow to his face. But he made no attempt until he 
 had been strengthened by a midday meal and a nap. 
 
 He moved slowly, and with an accumulating fund of 
 remarks; and ascended above the bank with the rubicund 
 dignity of the sun himself. It was a pity that this im- 
 pressive entrance was lost to all the world except the 
 yellow Flouro, who came bounding over the loose wall 
 and received the visitor with a shower of barks and futile 
 clutches at the priestly robe. 
 
 Defending himself as well as he could with his stick, 
 Father Gougoulin shouted in a voice that would have 
 exorcised devils: "Call off your brute!" And at that, 
 Jaquelin came running from the windmill, and upon 
 seeing his reverend father in God, remembered that it 
 was a Saint's day, and visibly crumpled up into a shape- 
 less moral heap. 
 
 "Where is your master?" demanded the priest, step- 
 ping with the air of one who would not yield an inch, over 
 a low place in the wall. 
 
 And Jaque was so abashed that he could not answer. 
 
 222
 
 DISCOVERY 
 
 "Is he here?" asked Father Gougoulin, perceiving the 
 boy's state of mind. 
 
 Jaque found courage to shake his head. 
 
 Then the priest looked about him, at the surface of the 
 plateau, half bare of stones, and scarred where the furze 
 and other rank growth had been cleared away. From 
 the standpoint of beauty, the state of nature was doubt- 
 fully improved; and regarded as a farm, the place could 
 not yet be called as an unqualified success. 
 
 He grew suddenly aware that he was looking at a sign- 
 post rather like a wayside cross, and began to laugh. 
 "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, pointing 
 to the word BAKE-HOUSE. Without giving the boy 
 time to answer, he, forgetting his priestly dignity, and with 
 his plump hands tucked into his sash, broke into bubbles 
 of laughter worthy almost of a good man, as he read aloud 
 the gory labels to non-existent portions of the mas. 
 
 "Call a cat a tiger," said he, "and you can scare a 
 village; but WARE THE DOG that's no bad advice. 
 Let us look further into the matter." 
 
 He appreciated for a time the disadvantages of not 
 keeping more in touch with one's parishioners. However, 
 he had his laugh out. 
 
 In the end, the echo of his own voice among the upper 
 rocks sobered him a little; he turned to Jaque again: 
 "You are sure he is not here?" 
 
 "He has gone away with his mule, father," said the 
 boy timidly, "and he will come back to-morrow morning." 
 
 Then the priest turned to have a look about. For the 
 moment, curiosity was his strongest emotion. He strode 
 
 223
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 up to the open door of the windmill for by this time 
 Trillon had fashioned a primitive board screen which 
 would keep out autumn chill and straying creatures, and 
 he looked within at the ship-shape packing of the house- 
 hold belongings. Trillon had not been at sea in vain. 
 Then the old man went further, Jaque trailing a little way 
 off at his heels, and gazed down into the ancient Pit, the 
 nearer segment of which was transformed by means of 
 poles and worn-out fish-nets, probably bought at some 
 junkshop in Marseilles, into a barnyard. He counted 
 two cocks and nine hens no small crew. 
 
 "How many eggs a day?" he leered at Jaque; but the 
 boy only gaped. 
 
 Then first the ecclesiastical eye took in the full signifi- 
 cance of the wall that straggled up the hillside as far as 
 the quarry. To be sure, it was uneven and crooked, 
 crumbling here and there, and occasionally had toppled 
 over; but taken in a large way, as a whole, it was such a 
 wall at least, an approach to such a wall as encloses 
 hundreds of little Provencal farms. 
 
 The priest followed its course, then laughed again at 
 the desolate ground that it set apart. "Anything grow- 
 ing, my child?" he asked the boy genially. 
 
 "We shall plant in the autumn, father," answered 
 Jaque, identifying himself with his master. 
 
 Then the priest remembered the morning's defection: 
 "Oho! and what were you doing that you came not to 
 Mass this morning?" 
 
 "I forgot" the culprit hung his head. 
 
 " Indeed, you forgot ? But what were you doing here ? " 
 
 224
 
 DISCOVERY 
 
 "He told me to mend the wall as much as I could, and 
 to feed the fowls, and to take care of the things ..." 
 
 "And he is gone where?" asked the priest sharply. 
 
 "I do not know" 
 
 Father Gougoulin held up a warning forefinger. 
 
 "Indeed, he did not tell me," said Jaque, with obvious 
 sincerity. 
 
 "And to-night? What happens to-night?" 
 
 Jaque looked frightened. 
 
 "What will you do to-night?" Father Gougoulin 
 pressed the question home. 
 
 "He will come back early in the morning." 
 
 "And you will be alone here all the night?" 
 
 Jaque looked more frightened. 
 
 "Answer me tell me the truth!" There was no 
 resisting that command. 
 
 "No," said Jaque, "my father is coming." 
 
 Ah, the secret was out now ! Corrupting the community, 
 was he, to his own ends? The young man needed a 
 lesson, it was clear. But what mad work was he about 
 now? Father Gougoulin would like to get that out of 
 the faithless acolyte. 
 
 "And how much money are you to have for this per- 
 formance?" he asked. 
 
 Jaque looked troubled. He could not see where the 
 heinous sin came in, except, of course, that he had for- 
 gotten Mass that morning. He answered beseechingly: 
 " Five francs, father. And we are poor, you know. And 
 we have only to keep up the fire and and such 
 things." 
 
 225
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Hm," said the priest, "now tell me all that you know 
 of your master's doings and goings." 
 
 Here was an authority to be obeyed. Jaque dared 
 not refuse, but he was rather worried by the situation, 
 none the less. 
 
 "He harnessed the mule to the cart early this morning, 
 and he took some food with him, and he said he would 
 be gone all the day, and would come back some time in 
 the night . . ." 
 
 "Why in the night?" asked Father Gougoulin; but 
 Jaque did not know that. 
 
 "And then what else?" 
 
 But Jaque's memory seemed to be exhausted. 
 
 "Think think," said his ghostly father, "and I will 
 make the penance light for your sin this morning." 
 
 Jaque thought long, then got out: "I believe he said 
 he was going to market." 
 
 "To market?" said the priest. "Aha!" But after all 
 this was not impossible or even unreasonable. 
 
 "Well well?" Impatience grew upon him. 
 
 "But whether it was Cavaioun or Carpentras, I cannot 
 remember," said the boy stubbornly. 
 
 A less astute man than Gougoulin might have perceived 
 prevarication there. 
 
 "But it is not market-day at either of those towns, as I 
 happen to know," said the priest coolly. "Was it by any 
 chance Fontvieille?" 
 
 When Jaquelin flushed red and clearly did not know 
 how to answer, he judged that his guess was right ; and it 
 gave him the clue that he required. He sat down upon a 
 
 226
 
 DISCOVERY 
 
 boulder, a fat hand on each knee, and meditated a while, 
 Jaque watching him apprehensively from a distance. 
 
 "So," said he to himself, when he rose to depart, "so 
 and so and so ! It is probable that the young man has 
 been planning a coup d'etat. But since there is a tele- 
 graph at Mausanne, we may thwart him yet. To send a 
 message by the postman a word to the Mother Superior 
 that will be easy enough and can do no harm. If his 
 errand is innocent, he will not know; but if he is attempt- 
 ing mischief well, well, I should like to be here when 
 he returns. So! And now I think we have provided 
 against possible contingencies." 
 
 In the very act of getting over the wall, he turned: "Tell 
 your master from me when he comes home that I 
 wish to see him at the presbytery as soon as possible. 
 And as for your penance, we shall see about that when 
 you come to confession." 
 
 Then in high good-humour, he trotted back briskly to 
 send his telegram before the postman got away on the 
 return journey. It was as well to allow the Mother 
 Superior plenty of time. 
 
 "The young devil!" he chuckled over Trillon; and he 
 confessed to a fellow-feeling for him in his prank. But 
 none the less he held fast to his purpose. 
 
 227
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE END OF THE LONG WHITE ROAD 
 
 SHE was so sure of her hope, the little Madeloun so 
 very sure of her man that she gave no thought for the 
 end of her novitiate, beyond now and again when her 
 cheeks burned hot at her seeming acquiescence, or paled 
 with a passing fear that she might have to go through 
 with it after all. 
 
 Even when the day was appointed for her to take the veil, 
 and had come within imaginable distance, within the meas- 
 ure of some weeks, she lived still in her dreams and dwelt 
 ever upon the details how the thing would be accomplished. 
 She made no plans in case he failed her. It never entered her 
 head that he would not come; and yet if she had known him 
 better she might have felt the grave peril of the situation. 
 
 On a day, late in the afternoon, she knelt hi the church, 
 not praying I must confess that she was not praying 
 nor even contemplating the beauty of the Holy Life. She 
 was in the chapel because it gave her an excuse to be alone 
 with her thoughts. 
 
 To her came Sister Marto with a certain flutter in her 
 kind face. 
 
 228
 
 THE END OF THE LONG WHITE ROAD 
 
 "The Mother sent me to you," she said. "You are to 
 go to your room and stay there awhile. This is a solemn 
 time for you, Madaleno." 
 
 The girl looked at her shrewdly, questioningly: 
 "Sister Marto, what have I done now? Have I not 
 obeyed ?" 
 
 "Obey now, then, without question," said the nun, yet 
 could not keep the pity out of her gentle voice. 
 
 "But something has happened, Sister," pleaded Made- 
 loun. "I can see it in your eyes, hear it when you 
 speak." 
 
 "I know nothing," murmured Sister Marto, turning 
 away in confusion. 
 
 But the girl seized her two hands and studied her averted 
 face. 
 
 "If ever you were kind to me, Sister, be kind now!" 
 
 The nun returned the look of appeal with sympathy: 
 "Child, child, I can only tell you to go pray. Now, that 
 you are so far on the road ..." 
 
 Madeloun shut her lips and moved away: "I must help 
 myself, I see." 
 
 "What would you do, O Madeloun?" cried the nun, 
 hastening after her. "Look, now, I know nothing, but 
 the Mother has just had a telegram. I do not know what 
 was in it. Perhaps it had nothing to do with you ..." 
 
 Madeloun stopped short in her walk and considered. 
 She knew what a telegram was. She had even seen such 
 a thing. It was an expensive way people had of sending 
 a message quickly. She had so much food for thought 
 that she went quite peaceably, almost as if unconsciously, 
 
 229
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 to her little room where the last rays of the sun pierced 
 the plane-tree dimly and sent a faint shimmer upon the 
 stone floor. 
 
 "I am sorry, Madaleno," said the nun faltering, "but 
 the Mother said I must lock you in and bring her the 
 kev " 
 
 I\A_-> * 
 
 She stopped, amazed at the sudden blaze of light from 
 the girl's eyes. But Madeloun caught herself in what 
 she was about to say; and turned her back. It would not 
 do for even Sister Marto to know how she had poured oil 
 on the fire of hope. 
 
 "Very well," she said quietly. "To be sure, I have no 
 understanding why ..." 
 
 "Have you not, Madeloun? Have you not, indeed?" 
 asked the nun. 
 
 "It is you who have seen the telegram " Madeloun 
 shrugged. "What I have done to deserve it is best known 
 to the Mother." 
 
 "You could trust me, child," said the nun piteously. 
 
 "Could I?" asked Madeloun. "But your conscience 
 would make you go tell. However, there is nothing to 
 say, only" she could not control a sudden leap of joy 
 into her face "only I think somehow I shall be saved 
 to-night. I know no more than you." 
 
 "Are you honest, Madeloun?" 
 
 "Eh, well," says Madeloun, "he told me so, and 
 now I am honest." 
 
 "Told you ? You have seen him ?" asked Sister Marto, 
 with a sort of fear. 
 
 The girl hesitated, then admitted it: "Once. He found 
 
 230
 
 THE END OF THE LONG WHITE ROAD 
 
 a way. He will find it again. I have no fear. Go and 
 tell the Mother if you like." 
 
 "I shall not do that," said Sister Marto, after a pause. 
 "And wherever you are O my child, be not rash! I 
 shall always pray for you always " 
 
 Her voice wavered and broke; she leaned a moment 
 towards Madeloun, kissed her on the forehead, and went 
 quickly out. The prisoner heard the key turn in the lock. 
 
 Madeloun sat down on her bed and clasped her knees, 
 shivering in a very ecstasy of waiting. How long? It 
 would not be before dark, she was sure. And if the 
 Mother was warned . . . Well, she might find her match. 
 . . . She might lock the door, but there was always the 
 window . . . Once before by the window . . . 
 
 She looked up with a shock about the heart, as she 
 realized a sudden presence there. The big brown face 
 of Zefir, the hound, looked in upon her inquiringly. 
 Then he moved across the window and there was the rattle 
 of a chain. Clearly it was intended that he should give 
 warning if any stranger came that way. A moment 
 Madeloun was daunted, then her spirit rose with indig- 
 nation. "In the face of all of them," she said, and began 
 to put together a little bundle of such clothes as she could 
 lay hands upon. Her habit she could not change, for she 
 had no other dress; but she laid aside the collar and coif 
 and put her hair up under a handkerchief. 
 
 O the long, long hours! She had had no supper, by 
 order undoubtedly; and she began, for all her ardours, to 
 be very hungry. Zefir slept at times; but now and again 
 turned restlessly, unused to a chain, sighed and yawned. 
 
 231
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Two or three times he lifted his head and listened, and 
 then Madeloun climbed upon her chair and stood tip-toe 
 to stroke him, but could not reach. 
 
 She got down again, and in her impatience dropped 
 before the crucifix and prayed violently all the prayers 
 she knew. 
 
 And when she had come quite to the end, she made a 
 great and sudden resolve, that she would try as best she 
 could to get out of the window herself, and out of the 
 garden and into the road, and if he did not come, to save 
 herself as she might. Whether she would walk to Castelar 
 or not, was wholly undetermined in her mind. 
 
 She began to look about for means of escape. She 
 could find nothing but the washing-stand; but when she 
 had moved this, cautious of noise, and had climbed upon 
 it by means of a chair, she could most easily crawl through 
 the high window. She laughed to think how the Mother 
 Superior had missed her calculation. To be sure, if they 
 had been of the same fatness . . . 
 
 Zefir yapped at her a little, but soon licked her hand, 
 when she tugged to free him from his chain; and the 
 moment he was released, padded along the terrace to the 
 steps that led down to the lower hall, and so to the kitchen. 
 If the kitchen door were open, as might be, he would 
 doubtless be found in the morning on the hearth-rug in 
 his usual place. If not but Madeloun was minded to 
 have no doubt. She slipped off her shoes and followed 
 the hound like a shadow to the foot of the stairs, where 
 she sped a little prayer that she had done so, for the kitchen 
 door was closed and the hound lay outside. She opened 
 
 232
 
 THE END OF THE LONG WHITE ROAD 
 
 it and shut in the guard, who was only too glad to get out 
 of the unaccustomed business of watching. 
 
 Then Madeloun returned to the terrace and sat down 
 on the balustrade under the plane-tree. She waited so 
 long that she shivered in the night air; and when the church 
 clock began to strike, she was amazed to find that it was 
 only ten. It is a pitiful thing to wait over-long the coming 
 of love! 
 
 Madeloun fell presently into a sort of daze, telling 
 herself dreamily that she must be thinking of flight, yet 
 unable to move a limb. She was stirred at length by the 
 shaking of the plane-tree that shadowed her. Some large 
 bird, an owl, perhaps . . . 
 
 She pressed down her beating heart and listened. 
 
 The fluttering and rustling, nay, even creaking, went 
 on. It must be a great bird a very great bird. . . Ah, 
 but what bird ever hummed low, "O Magali, ma tant 
 amado"? 
 
 Close among the branches was the song, but it came 
 nearer and nearer; and she leaned over the parapet ready 
 for the arms that should be outstretched and the low 
 laugh of triumph. 
 
 "Can you come this way?" said he, flinging a hand 
 out from the thick of the tree. 
 
 "Any way," said she bravely; and obeying his directions, 
 she knotted well about her waist the sash that he flung 
 to her. Not trusting her strength, he scrambled nearer 
 to see that she was bound fast, then retreated along the 
 branch so that this might not have to bear double weight, 
 and bade her follow. She showed a neat agility, swinging 
 
 233
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 herself from bough to bough, whenever she slipped being 
 restrained by the sash which he had twisted round the 
 big limb against which he was braced. When she reached 
 the lowest branch in safety, he sent her a note of warning 
 to wait, climbed down to her level, and there fixed himself 
 in the heart of all the trunks together and lowered her 
 carefully to the ground. 
 
 He scarcely paused for an embrace ; but seized her hand 
 and began to run swiftly through the garden, laughing 
 under his breath, between the roses and over the grass- 
 plots, groping along the wall until he found the rope 
 ladder that he had hung there. 
 
 Their further progress was just perilous enough to be 
 exciting, for the rope ladder was inclined to swing, and 
 the top of the wall save where I am sorry to say 
 Trillon had made a breach, was covered with broken 
 glass. But here on the stones Madeloun perched like a 
 shaky young bird, while Trillon drew up the ladder and 
 hung it on the other side. Thence it was easy work, 
 for he went first and caught her without misadventure, 
 and in sheer exuberance of emotion carried her to the 
 spot where he had fastened his charrelte to a tree-stump; 
 but there he left her to recover herself as best she might, 
 while he returned to swing off the rope-ladder. He was 
 rather desirous of leaving it there as an interesting lesson 
 to the Mother Superior on ways of escape, but for once 
 in his life reason prevailed. 
 
 When he reached the equipage, he seemed to gather 
 that Madeloun had some doubt, for he deliberately lighted 
 a match, and summing up her attitude with a shrewd 
 
 234
 
 THE END OF THE LONG WHITE ROAD 
 
 glance, said: "It's nothing great for a bride this. 
 However, we shall better all that. I have stuffed some 
 sacks with grass, and there's a coat to creep under . . ." 
 
 She said nothing, and he changed his tone: "But, 
 if you repent . . .?" 
 
 "Don't be silly," she said, climbing up into the char- 
 rette; but he chose to disregard her admonition: "It's soon 
 mended. We have only to ring the gate-bell." He made 
 a movement as if to do so ; but she laid a ringer on his arm. 
 
 "Listen," he said, as he covered the pleading hand 
 with his own, "I have been rich, and I am almost poor 
 again. Two weeks ago I could have filled your apron 
 with silver. It's all a chance you shall not suffer, I 
 swear. Will you take me or not?" 
 
 She made no answer in words, but nestled among the 
 bags full of grass and drew the coat up to her chin. 
 
 "You must answer," said he. 
 
 And she: "Why don't you drive on?" 
 
 With a suppressed whoop, he had the reins loose and 
 was on the front of the cart; and the mule had begun to 
 trot along the level road under the blackness of the over- 
 arching plane-trees. 
 
 For some kilometres the two were silent, save that 
 Trillon whistled softly between his teeth. At length, he 
 bent backwards and flung an arm across the girl's shoulder. 
 
 "Asleep?" 
 
 "No dreaming," she confessed. 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 But that she would not tell. 
 
 "No castles," said he. "Build no castles. We are 
 
 235
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 poor now. But I shall soon change all that. I have 
 an idea " 
 
 The good man! When had he not an idea? or when 
 had he one that the world would call practicable? 
 
 They came out now and then from under the trees, 
 where the road gleamed pale in the starlight; and jolted 
 past the white farmhouses, where the dogs sometimes 
 gave them violent greeting and escort for a long distance, 
 and where the farmers must have turned in their beds and 
 wondered who was abroad. They talked but little: a few 
 love-words, a scrap of a plan, a hope, a sigh, a shiver, a 
 touch of fear, a protecting hand now and then that 
 was all. 
 
 And so they began to ascend into the mountains, where 
 the road became a mere double rut, with boulders here 
 and there, and ridges of live rock and shoals of pebbles. 
 
 Madeloun, jolted into wakefulness, sat up, aware that 
 the keen breath of the morning was upon them. 
 
 "Trillon," she exclaimed suddenly, "I have left my 
 bundle of clothes at the convent." 
 
 "Never mind," said he, laughing. "We are both beg- 
 gars then; but we shall not stay so long." He drew rein 
 in the pallid light, and she could barely make out the 
 parting of two ways. "Leleto," he said, "the one is for 
 Aries, and the wide world of wandering Avignon per- 
 haps but freedom a merry life. The other is for 
 Castelar where we must work to lift the curse. Which ? 
 Hein?" 
 
 "As you will," said she meekly. 
 
 He was gently obstinate: "No, it is for you to say. 
 
 236
 
 THE END OF THE LONG WHITE ROAD 
 
 Shall we take the chance or the hard way ? Or there 
 is always the third course to turn back." 
 
 "Not turn back," she said faintly. 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "Home" her voice dropped to a whisper. 
 
 Without a word, he turned the mule along the road 
 that led still upward. Far away, looking high as a city 
 among the clouds, and rosy in the dawn-light, they could 
 see the little town Castelar. 
 
 "What will you do with me?" she asked presently. 
 
 "Have you faith?" he would know. "Wait and see." 
 
 She did not dream that as he continued his serene 
 whistle, he was turning hot and cold with the first sense 
 of responsibility that had ever crossed his brain. It was 
 all very well to knock about the world and live as one 
 could, but with a girl on one's hands and the necessity 
 for a daily finding of bread and cheese it made a man 
 think a bit. Only his luck could help him out, he decided. 
 But presently he put the worry away from him, as he 
 slackened his reins and the mule began the ascent of the 
 cobbled way to the rosy city on the heights. 
 
 237
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE DISPOSITION OF MADELOUN 
 
 SOON after daybreak there came a long and furious 
 knocking at the Cabro $Or. It was not, you must under- 
 stand, for the purpose of effecting an entrance, for in 
 Castelar nobody ever locks a door at night; but only to 
 call the inhabitants to a conference. 
 
 When J6use stumbled downstairs, half dressed and in 
 no amiable mood, he found a candle-end lighted in his 
 dining-room, and by its feeble illumination perceived a 
 runaway sister and her cavalier. It was small wonder 
 that he sat down abruptly and said nothing. 
 
 "Yes," said Trillon, "you are surprised, no doubt. 
 But I warned you it was not to my mind that Madeloun 
 should turn nun; nor to hers, for that matter." 
 
 Madeloun seemed to shrink further into the handker- 
 chief she had knotted about her hair, as Jdusfc stared at 
 her; but she found no word to say. 
 
 "After all," continued Trillon, "it was no great business 
 getting her off. I had not thought it would be so easy." 
 
 "But to keep her?" stammered Jduse. "Father Gou- 
 goulin ?" 
 
 238
 
 THE DISPOSITION OF MADELOUN 
 
 Trillon shrugged: "I shall see him this morning about 
 the banns. Meanwhile, the girl must stay here. I 
 cannot take her to " 
 
 "The windmill?" put in Jduse, with a smile. 
 
 "We shall see about that later," said Trillon curtly, 
 "but until she is married, there is no place so fit for her 
 as her father's house." 
 
 "As to that," said J6use, "it happens to be my house 
 not her father's. And you anticipate no difficulties in 
 the way of obtaining our consent?" 
 
 "We waste time talking," said Trillon, "and Madeloun 
 is very tired. Call your wife and let us get this arrange- 
 ment concluded." 
 
 "You have not answered my question," persisted 
 Jduse, stifling a yawn. 
 
 Trillon turned to his sweetheart: "Look, Madeloun, 
 you'd better leave us. Go out into the garden. This is 
 business that we must talk and no woman's affair." She 
 turned wistful eyes upon him, but dared not disobey. 
 As she passed her brother, he deigned to put out a hand 
 and draw her towards him with a negligent kiss on each 
 cheek. 
 
 "Since you are foolish enough to be here, little sister," 
 said he, not unkindly, "we must do the best we can 
 for you." 
 
 Trillon went after her to make sure that the door was 
 closed, then he came back with a proposition. "And 
 now I will answer your question. As to consent, my 
 good brother-in-law-to-be, that can always be purchased. 
 I am prepared to pay " 
 
 239
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Yes, but how much money have you?" asked J6use 
 rudely. 
 
 "That is my affair," answered Trillon, "as long as I 
 can meet all reasonable demands upon it." 
 
 Jduse shrugged: "You can talk. One cannot deny 
 that you talk always. But I have yet to see why I should 
 consent that my sister be taken out of the convent 
 where she was placed in accordance with our mother's 
 wish, and where she would have been safe and well pro- 
 vided for, in order to marry a man of whom to put it 
 as politely as I can nobody knows anything, and a 
 man without fixed rente or apparent means of support." 
 
 This was a tremendous speech for Jduse; he panted 
 from the effects of it. 
 
 "The sole reason is," said Trillon, "that the girl prefers 
 the man in question to the convent." 
 
 "The girl," said J6use sharply, "is too young to know 
 her mind. It is her elders who must act for her." 
 
 "But if I have Father Gougoulin's consent," insinuated 
 Trillon, "what then?" 
 
 "Eh, well," said Jduse, "then it is not my affair. I 
 have spoken my mind." 
 
 But Emilto, unable longer to control her curiosity, had 
 clattered down the stairs, her dress half buttoned, her 
 hair and eyes bearing marks of the pillow. 
 
 "What is this?" she asked. "And what is your mind?" 
 
 She addressed her husband, but it was Trillon who 
 answered: "My mind is that you should receive Madeloun 
 here, for a consideration, until she is able to make such 
 preparations as are needful for her wedding." 
 
 240
 
 THE DISPOSITION OF MADELOUN 
 
 Then it was Emilio who stood open-mouthed, and had 
 to have full explanations. 
 
 " What will be said in the vilkge ? " was her comment. 
 
 Trillon governed his impatience: "Look you, it need 
 not be known how she got away from the convent. That's 
 chiefly why I brought her here. Enough that she did not 
 take kindly to the religious life. Let the village talk. 
 If I arrange with the priest and you say nothing, what can 
 be known?" 
 
 "And you propose," asked Emilio shrewdly, "to take 
 her to that land you have bought or, as they say, have 
 not bought? And how do you mean to live?" 
 
 Trillon's answer came in the form of two twenty-franc 
 pieces laid on the table. "That is a beginning if you keep 
 silence, and treat the girl kindly, and let her have her way 
 until I can settle her affairs. It is something, you cannot 
 deny, that I have got her safely out of the hands of the nuns." 
 
 But Jduse and Emilio did not regard this high-handed 
 proceeding with obvious favour. The latter crossed herself, 
 and the former perhaps to hide some embarrassment, put 
 out the guttering candle, and went to open the street door 
 to the morning. 
 
 Without another word, Trillon strolled through the 
 other door leading into the garden, where he found his 
 sweetheart shivering greatly even under his heavy coat, 
 as she leaned over the wall and tried to see through the 
 mists that clouded the valley below. 
 
 "It is arranged," said Trillon, with a comforting arm 
 about her. "You will be quite all right here, and well 
 treated until we can look about us till I can render the 
 
 241
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 mas a little more fit for its mistress. Meanwhile" he 
 slipped a bank-note into her hand "you can be making 
 preparations. Get a market-day ticket to Aries " 
 
 He could see her burning face even in the dim light. 
 "It is a shame," said she, "and worse than a shame, that 
 you should pay for my wedding clothes!" 
 
 He took this lightly: "But I shall have to buy you 
 clothes afterwards, all your life, dear child," said he, "so 
 what matter when we begin ? It is quite the same when 
 we are hi our graves." 
 
 "It is not the same to me now," said she. "And when 
 I think of it, I am almost sorry I left the convent." 
 
 "Shall I take you back then?" he asked, with a twin- 
 kling eye. 
 
 At that, she laid her face against his shoulder and said 
 that she must be content. 
 
 "It is the better part," he answered. "And now, three 
 kisses and I must be away. I have many things to do; 
 but I shall come back and tell you how they go." 
 
 She gave him the kisses with a sudden abandonment of 
 passion that amazed him rather than stirred to any return. 
 In that moment of action he was hardly capable of even 
 sympathetic response; he was too busy clearing away in his 
 own mind the figurative boulders that lay heaped high 
 on his path. 
 
 When he had departed, going first to the Pit of Artaban 
 to see that his property was safe in the charge of the acolyte 
 and his slothful parent, Madaleno continued in the same 
 place, dreaming new dreams and remembering the old 
 that were coming true. 
 
 242
 
 THE DISPOSITION OF MADELOUN 
 
 Emilio came out to her there, and barely kissed the 
 cheek that with all simplicity was offered. 
 
 "Eh, well," said Emilio, "will you come in and have 
 some coffee ? I cannot help thinking you were better off 
 in the convent." 
 
 Madeloun looked at her with sudden anger, but checked 
 the words on her tongue. 
 
 Then Emilio spied the bank-note: "But did he give you 
 that? Before I would go to a man without a dowry " 
 
 "You taunt me?" gasped Madeloun. "When you 
 have it all everything here ? I will not stay one mo- 
 ment I will " 
 
 Then Emilio was frightened, remembering that the 
 rain of louis d'or would cease as suddenly as it began, if 
 the girl were driven away. 
 
 "I meant no harm indeed," said she quite civilly; and 
 with no small amount of cleverness diverted the girl's 
 thoughts. "But you know what kind of place it is where 
 you will be going to live?" 
 
 Madeloun looked at her, for a moment in doubt. 
 Then she said proudly: "I do not see that it matters in 
 the least." 
 
 "Oh, very well." Emilio's shrug as she turned away 
 raised more anxiety in Madeloun's soul than the girl would 
 confess to herself. "Come in to your coffee," called 
 Emilio from the doorway. 
 
 But Madeloun waited yet a little by the wall, with busy 
 mind. It seemed, then, that her hero of a day, who had 
 so proudly likened himself to the golden hawk that flies 
 straight into the sun of his desire that her man was not 
 
 243
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 so very different from the folk among whom she had 
 lived at Castelar; that he, too, was bound to know struggle 
 and to taste failure. But yet her heart leaped up in riot 
 against her judgment the dreary past was a dream, 
 she was free, and this troubled present was bound by the 
 very strength of her love to end in a golden future. 
 
 244
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 BREAKFAST AT THE PRESBYTERY 
 
 FATHER GOUGOULIN was not one to do without milk 
 for his breakfast. In the seasons when this commodity 
 was not to be had in the village, he had it brought daily 
 from a distant mas or even from a village far away. A 
 great jugful steamed tantalizingly in Trillon's nose as he 
 stood in the dining-room of the presbytery, waiting for 
 his Reverence to appear. To be sure, he had impro- 
 vised a piteous sort of little ddjeuner in his windmill, black 
 coffee hastily warmed, and not hot enough, without milk 
 or sugar, and with only a little stale bread. And he had 
 been up all night, and had worked in the dawn, unhar- 
 nessing his mule and carrying water and attending to the 
 needs of his farmyard. And at the end of all that, he had 
 had the long walk back to the village. Moreover, the 
 table was laid temptingly with fresh butter and with the 
 delicious twisted rolls that are called fougasso. It was 
 no wonder that Trillon's mouth watered and that he 
 forgot all sentimental needs in a raging desire that the 
 priest should invite him to breakfast. 
 
 Father Gougoulin kept him waiting long; and at last ap- 
 
 245
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 peared in leisurely fashion, unfolding his two days' old 
 Figaro. 
 
 Trillon did not hesitate to open fire. "I'm hoping," 
 said he, "that since your Reverence has sent for me, you 
 will invite me to breakfast, for, indeed, I am a famished 
 man!" 
 
 A moment Father Gougoulin gaped at the sheer im- 
 pudence so he considered it of the remark. Then 
 he laughed, and remembering that he was in debt for a 
 luncheon of considerable expense, rang the bell for a 
 second cup. Another factor in his complaisance was his 
 own knowledge how he had outwitted the rascal by his 
 telegram to the Mother Superior, the day before. He 
 was prepared to be light and facetious ; but he was not alto- 
 gether free from a little uncertainty as to how it was best 
 to treat the fellow. On the whole, he considered it wise 
 to be as easy-going as possible. 
 
 "But I never turn the starving away hungry. I am 
 surprised," he began genially, as he motioned Trillon to 
 the place opposite him, "to see you so early this morning." 
 
 His voice grew abstracted as he talked, for he had 
 caught sight of something interesting in his paper, as it 
 appeared, and gave half an eye to it and the other to his 
 jougasso. Between the two, his early guest had for the 
 moment small attention. But Trillon was quite happy, 
 pouring hot milk into his coffee and helping himself to 
 butter. Moreover, when he had been advised of the 
 sacerdotal visit the day before, he had put together Jaque- 
 lin's narrative and Madeloun's account of how she had 
 been watched, and formed a shrewd notion of what Father 
 
 246
 
 BREAKFAST AT THE PRESBYTERY 
 
 Gougoulin had been doing, and why he looked so pleased 
 with himself. He anticipated the revelation of the truth; 
 but for a while he was content to eat in silence, though his 
 yellow eyes twinkled at the prospect of the fray before him. 
 
 So it happened that he was well on in the course of a 
 comfortable meal before the priest remembered him, laid 
 aside his Figaro, and dipping his fougasso up to the hilt 
 in coffee to him butter was no luxury, and he sometimes 
 disliked it signified his readiness to listen. 
 
 "Your Reverence," suggested Trillon, "this is amusing, 
 seeing that you have sent for me; but I think we should 
 both be more inclined, if we waited until the coffee had had 
 time to take effect a little. And if you will permit, I have 
 more of those excellent cigars which I trust your Reverence 
 found safe upon your return home after our last meeting ?" 
 
 Gougoulin nodded, by no means as ashamed as one 
 might think, of his part in that little escapade. 
 
 "Still," said he, "we may as well begin now." 
 
 What Trillon would have said will never be known, for 
 at that moment the priest's housekeeper laid before him a 
 telegram that the postman had brought with the letters. 
 
 As he read it, his face lost all geniality. "You know 
 something of this?" he asked, holding the paper up by 
 one end. 
 
 Trillon did not try to read it. 
 
 "Yes," he said simply, "it was my doing; and I had 
 decided to come to you even before I had your message, 
 to ask you to give out the banns as soon as possible." 
 
 Father Gougoulin pushed away his second cup of 
 coffee so violently that it made great brown splotches on 
 
 247
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 the cloth; then he fell to pacing the room, dark red with 
 anger that he tried in vain to control. 
 
 "Are you a devil?" he spluttered at last, "that you dare 
 to ask my hospitality after after " 
 
 "And what are you," asked Trillon, as cool as the other 
 was furious, "that you grant it after yesterday? But in 
 the end, what harm is done by our eating together . . . ?" 
 
 "Where is Madaleno?" interrupted the priest. 
 
 "She is in good hands," said Trillon easily. 
 
 "Where?" repeated the priest, like an angry bull. 
 
 Trillon rose: "Father Gougoulin, it's of no importance 
 to me whether we have your consent to our wedding or 
 not. What insuperable objection you have to her marry- 
 ing me, I cannot understand. So far I have deferred to 
 you from a fancy that she would be happier to feel that 
 she had kept a promise that was demanded unfairly, if 
 ever in the world. But it is unwise of you to go on in this 
 fashion. Unless you are willing to come to terms, I shall 
 take her where I please, and as I please and be damned 
 to you!" Something like this he said in its Provenfal 
 equivalent, cheerfully, his feet apart, and his hands thrust 
 deep into the pockets of his baggy trousers. 
 
 ' ' You threaten me ? " The priest was almost inarticulate. 
 
 "That appears to be the case." 
 
 Father Gougoulin looked him over: "You rascal 
 you masquerader you vagrant you buffoon! You 
 take a helpless girl out of a convent, in which she has been 
 placed by her family and her priest, and you ask me to 
 countenance such a proceeding ? And without doubt you 
 have scarcely a sou to your name!" 
 
 248
 
 BREAKFAST AT THE PRESBYTERY 
 
 "On the contrary," said Trillon coolly, "I have still 
 upwards of a hundred francs; and to-morrow I shall have 
 more if I like." 
 
 "And you propose to live how?" demanded the 
 priest sharply. 
 
 "How?" said Trillon amiably, thinking that this 
 savoured a little of compromise, if not of out-and-out 
 yielding. "Oh, well, as you know, I have bought a 
 farm" 
 
 "A farm!" repeated the other, and could get out no 
 more for scorn: "A farm!" 
 
 "You have seen it," observed Trillon calmly, "I under- 
 stand. But in time it can be made to pay." 
 
 "And meanwhile ?" 
 
 "Meanwhile, we shall manage." He could not control 
 a broad smile. 
 
 "It would be as well," said the priest impressively, "to 
 throw the girl down from the high rock of Briazon, as they 
 treated prisoners of war in the old days. But in truth, 
 she shall go back to the convent " 
 
 "As soon as you can lay hands on her?" supplemented 
 Trillon. 
 
 He was not unprepared for a stream of denunciation, 
 long and priestly; but he shook it off as a duck shakes off 
 water. 
 
 "And you have the impudence to come to me ?" 
 stammered the priest at last. 
 
 "Bon-dieu!" says Trillon. "I've got what I want. I 
 come for your sanction for the sanction of the Church 
 only to please Madeloun. You told her foolishly, 
 
 249
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 no doubt, if you wished to keep her a nun that when I 
 could farm the Pit of Artaban " 
 
 The priest snorted. 
 
 "Wait till the spring," said Trillon calmly. "A farm 
 is not made in a minute. My luck will not desert me. 
 You will see. I shall be rich yet from Artaban." 
 
 "When you are," said the priest, "when you are " 
 
 "It's a truce, then, is it?" asked Trillon. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " Eh, well, am I to marry the girl out of hand in 
 Aries, perhaps? or am I to hold off a little longer on the 
 chance ?" 
 
 "She is here?" the priest caught him up. 
 
 Trillon shrugged. "I have all respect for the Church, 
 but I await my answer." 
 
 Father Gougoulin considered, chin in hand: "Made- 
 loun has been my charge from the day of her birth 
 
 "You talk," says Trillon, "as if I contemplated making 
 her a heretic or a Jew." 
 
 "When you can keep her," continued the priest, his 
 temper now in hand. 
 
 "Eh, well then?" 
 
 " Come to me and we will talk." 
 
 An answer shot to Trillon's lips, "Then let us talk now;" 
 but he remembered somewhat uncomfortably that it 
 would be difficult for him to point to visible means of 
 support. "I must get on with the farm," said he, with a 
 twinkle. "And meanwhile 
 
 "Meanwhile?" the ecclesiastic would not help him 
 out. 
 
 250
 
 BREAKFAST AT THE PRESBYTERY 
 
 "I suppose she must stay on at her brother's." 
 
 Father Gougoulin smiled faintly, but said nothing. 
 
 "Hah!" said Trillon. "You would be all against me, 
 I know, village and priest together, with two or three rival 
 suitors. Well, that is the fun of life. We shall see how 
 far I am a match for you all tron-de-goi ! We call a 
 truce? Or no, you do your worst. But I shall come 
 back to you in a few weeks, when I have my house ready 
 for the bride. You encourage me, father. I thank you 
 for your good breakfast adessias!" 
 
 He bowed himself out with theatrical politeness, and 
 did not see the smile the priest shed upon his Figaro, as 
 he murmured to himself: "I was a fool to send for him; 
 but there are ways and ways of fighting " 
 
 But if Trillon had heard, undoubtedly he would have 
 answered with zeal: "No doubt!" 
 
 251
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 MADELOUN DOUBTS 
 
 FROM the presbytery Trillon strolled through the village, 
 by no means as down-hearted as he should have been, 
 until he came to the Cabro d'Or, where he found Made- 
 loun making a pathetic pretence at playing with her 
 sister-in-law's children. Old Borel sat too on the 
 terrace, vegetating in the sun, and now and again 
 addressing a remark to the girl, but forgetting to listen 
 to the answer. 
 
 To him came Trillon straight and put the question 
 bluntly: "I am going to marry Madeloun before long. 
 You give your consent ? Yes ? ' ' 
 
 Auzias looked at him, mumbling the clove in his mouth. 
 "Who are you?" he asked. 
 
 "I am your son-in-law," said Trillon, "and when we 
 set up housekeeping, I and Madeloun, you shall come 
 and live with us eh?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Auzias, "yes." Then he added with 
 amazing lucidity: "What does the cure* say?" 
 
 "He says," answered Trillon, more for the daughter 
 than for the father, "that when I am able to show a suffi- 
 
 252
 
 MADELOUN DOUBTS 
 
 cient rente, then we can talk. Meanwhile, I have your 
 permission hein ? It is as well." 
 
 He gave the old man no chance to deny, turning at once 
 to the daughter: "It is good to see you in the old dress, 
 Leleto. Come, now, we must have a talk, I and you; 
 and you shall see what I have been doing on my land." 
 
 She rose at once to go with him, and they passed down 
 the village street in silence, each as keenly aware of whis- 
 pered comment from behind closed shutters and sun- 
 screens, as they had been on that first day of his coming. 
 
 They found little to say, even when they had passed 
 through the Porte Horloge, and were descending the 
 mountain-track; but for their very lack of words, each 
 thought the more deeply. 
 
 Madeloun stopped short at perceiving an inscription in 
 red upon a big boulder overhanging their path, "THIS 
 WAY TO MAS ARTABAN," and an arrow. 
 
 Then she sat down on the bank and laughed until she 
 wept. 
 
 "You think you have only to call a thing by a name to 
 make people believe!" she got out at last. 
 
 "It is one way," says Trillon, looking down at her, his 
 hands in his pockets. "The countryman was made to 
 regard his new boots as a brace of partridges. Do I 
 or do I not look like a farmer? Give me your hand and 
 we will go up." 
 
 But in some freakishness of spirit, she sprang away 
 from him, and scrambled up without assistance. 
 
 Familiar as she was with the place, she gave a little cry 
 of wonder to see how it was changed. The straggling 
 
 253
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 uneven wall, which already had collapsed here and there 
 into a mere rubble of stones, impressed her as an achieve- 
 ment in itself. She was astonished to see the colour of the 
 good red earth among the boulders, and great dark 
 patches where the furze had been burned away. 
 
 She turned to him with a surprised admiration in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Got on a little, have I?" he asked, not slow to 
 drink in her approval. "Here we shall plant beans in 
 the spring and a few potatoes. Yonder I shall set out a 
 dozen olive-trees. For the almonds and the teazle and 
 the vines, we must wait. Here, we shall keep the beasts 
 and here the carts, here the sheep, and here we shall build 
 an oven. The windmill eh, well, that will make an 
 excellent dove-cote one day when the house is finished." 
 
 He could hardly speak for the interruption of her 
 bubbles of laughter, as she perceived the gory sign- posts 
 that labelled different parts of the estate. 
 
 "Well, what would you?" said he at last, rather nettled 
 by her mirth. 
 
 "There never was anybody so mad as you, Trillon," 
 she told him. "But where is the new house?" 
 
 He pointed to the primitive dwelling hewn in the rock. 
 "With a front," said he, "and doors and windows, and 
 partitions inside, we shall do better than most farmers." 
 
 "And who is to build it?" she would know. 
 
 "Who but myself?" 
 
 ' ' And meanwhile ? " 
 
 "Meanwhile, I live here." He pushed aside the rude 
 door he had managed to fashion and hang on his mill. 
 
 254
 
 MADELOUN DOUBTS 
 
 She peeped within. The one room was dark and 
 crowded with stores; but tidy enough, with the trimness 
 of a ship's cabin. 
 
 When she came out, shading her eyes from the sudden 
 dazzle of the sun, she asked prosaically: 
 
 "And while you do all this, where do you get your 
 money?" 
 
 He was rather annoyed that she should so meddle in a 
 matter that was not a woman's affair; and he told her so, 
 somewhat bluntly. 
 
 She bit her lip, pouting at the rebuff, but still she showed 
 a curious persistence: "I think I ought to know." 
 
 He changed his manner: "Can you not trust your 
 hawk?" 
 
 " Even hawks must eat," said she. 
 
 "Eh, well " he humoured her. "There is no lack 
 of prey in the world." 
 
 She scarcely heard this, being all at once intent upon a 
 new problem: "Where is your water?" 
 
 "I shall dig a well," said he, as one who had thought 
 the matter out. 
 
 She looked at him doubtfully. He found everything so 
 easy beforehand. Was he, after all, made up of words? 
 Were his promises only breath ? And what was his love ? 
 True, he had made some beginning. She could see 
 that . . . 
 
 What she could not see poor child ! being not 
 expert in matters of land, was, how far he was from the 
 stage of producing crops from this little tract of wilderness 
 that he had bought so gaily. But she was very clear in 
 
 255
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 her own mind that they must have some definite under- 
 standing before she could proceed a step further in the 
 situation. She looked about for support, and at last sat 
 down on a boulder that served Trillon in lieu of the stone 
 bench that stands usually in front of farmhouse doors 
 From this vantage-point she looked at him and laid bare 
 her mind. 
 
 "It is this way, Trillon," said she. "You have saved 
 me from a living death, and I am more grateful to you 
 than I can ever put into words. More than that, I am 
 ready to marry you any day only you know what stands 
 between us. You say you can get over that, and when 
 you do ... But even then, to my mind, that is not all. 
 Suppose we were free to marry to-morrow what then ? 
 You gave me money and perhaps I ought not to ask 
 to my shame I bring you nothing, not so much as one 
 piece of linen, but that I cannot help . . . say what you 
 will. You once told my mother you had no rente and 
 say what you will I am uneasy. We cannot live as 
 the birds do." 
 
 ' ' Why not ? " asked Trillon lightly ; but his mind was run- 
 ning on the curious fact that for the moment the girl was 
 arguing very much after the fashion of Father Gougoulin. 
 
 He walked away from her towards the edge of the cliff, 
 with a sudden impulse to flight that should carry him out 
 of all this bother. Inaccessible, behind convent walls, 
 Madeloun had seemed so very desirable. Now that she 
 was free and willing to be kissed when he pleased, she had 
 lost a little of her charm. He feared his own tempera- 
 ment. South America Africa stretched out luring 
 
 256
 
 MADELOUN DOUBTS 
 
 arms. And he could so easily be out of these toils into 
 which he was stepping. On the one hand, he could not 
 quite conceive himself tied to a domestic hearth, earning 
 his daily bread after the fashion of the men in 
 Castelar; on the other, there were women all over the 
 world . . . 
 
 His gloomy reflections were cut short by Madeloun's 
 pleading voice: "It is not that I dread being poor, Trillon. 
 And I am willing to work oh, until the ends of my 
 fingers drop off! But it is that one must have something 
 to build upon, you know not a handful of gold one 
 week and starvation the next." 
 
 She reasoned too damnably well, Trillon had to confess 
 to himself, and she a woman who ought not to be meddling 
 with such things at all! And she held him to the point 
 so that he had a strong feeling of a noose held ready for 
 his neck. And this he hated, as you may guess. 
 
 He had a conviction that the time for deserting the 
 girl with any degree of credit was past; and, although the 
 life of freedom vagabondage as it receded became 
 infinitely desirable, even as Madeloun herself had been 
 while she was safe in the convent, he put all thought of 
 this away with a sigh, and prepared to consider how a 
 decent, respectable home might be attained. 
 
 "Leave it to me," he said to her. "I will find a way." 
 
 When she looked round about her with a sudden gleam 
 of half- apologetic laughter, he was angry again. Was he 
 not doing all that any man could more than any other 
 man could? And the ungrateful huzzy had her fun out 
 of the situation. 
 
 257
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Mind your sewing," he told her, with a touch of 
 sharpness, "and when you are ready for the banns, I will 
 not keep you waiting." 
 
 She looked at him, suddenly wistful again: "If you 
 would only tell me how things stand? Perhaps I might 
 help a little . . .?" 
 
 At this, he found occasion to laugh: "You? Help by 
 keeping yourself out of the cure's hands. I ask no more." 
 
 He fell into consideration so deep that he did not hear 
 her say: "I am going back now." 
 
 She waited, then she suddenly clasped her hands to- 
 gether and turned away, unhappy. Would all fulfilment 
 of dreams be as little sweet as this ? she asked herself. 
 
 She had nearly reached the edge of the slope, before he 
 stirred himself and ran after her: 
 
 "Hoi Madeloun!" 
 
 She would not turn for a reason that she had; but on 
 the contrary quickened her pace and let herself run lightly 
 down to the road. 
 
 There he speedily overtook her and caught her roughly 
 in his arms. ' ' What do you mean ? " he asked in a passion. 
 
 She smiled at him from his shoulder, and when she saw 
 the answering leap of light in his yellow eyes, as he kissed 
 her again and again: "I wanted to see whether you loved 
 me still. I think that unless I find a way, you will not 
 love me long." 
 
 "How? how that?" he spluttered. "Unless you find 
 a way?" 
 
 "Yes," said she, still sadly. "Oh, you are quick and 
 you are strong; but you are not of the world that I know 
 
 258
 
 MADELOUN DOUBTS 
 
 at Castelar; and it may be that you will not be true to me. 
 But if ever you grow indifferent, I tell you now, it is I that 
 will cast you off." 
 
 Africa and South America lost their charms over against 
 the sweetness of Madeloun's lips. 
 
 "Eh, well," said the hawk, "you shall find a way if you 
 can; but I think instead that we shall find some way 
 together." 
 
 She was not wholly convinced, but whispered still: "I 
 wonder. But I shall pray every night to Our Lady, and 
 perhaps ..." 
 
 259
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 A CURIOUS END TO AN ODD CHAPTER 
 
 BUT several days came and went, and nothing of import 
 happened. 
 
 Madeloun journeyed to Aries and returned with a 
 modest household provision, far less than would have 
 been hers long years before, had her parents intended that 
 she should marry. For herself she bought little, her 
 shame being real that Trillon should have to pay for 
 these things, even before she took his name. 
 
 The night of her return, he came to her as she sat very 
 tired in her garden. For a few moments they were silent, 
 watching a group of quarrymen on the homeward road. 
 A snatch of song floated up : 
 
 "S&nso amor la vido es crudblo." 
 
 And Madeloun, who knew the man, had a momentary 
 picture of his home: a courtyard littered over with fowls 
 and children; wine and bean- salad on the stone table 
 under the vine-arbour; the wife milking the goat for the 
 baby's supper. She had a sudden despair that she should 
 never know this life of happy toil in the sunshine. To 
 marry a quarryman yes, that was one thing; but to 
 
 260
 
 A CURIOUS END TO AN ODD CHAPTER 
 
 marry one who was stung as if with a poison, so that it 
 was in his blood to rove. 
 
 "If you were to try that?" she suggested timidly. 
 "Go to the quarry of Sant Pau and ask for work. They 
 always need men there. And we should have more than 
 twenty francs a week. It is nothing to be poor if one 
 knows where the next meal is to come from." 
 
 He looked at her sharply, then laughed, but said nothing. 
 
 Sudden passion stirred in her eyes. "I shall turn goat 
 soon" which hi Provencal threatened him with speedy 
 loss of patience. "But will nothing move you to common 
 sense?" 
 
 "Listen, Leleto" he was perfectly good-natured. 
 "My mind also has been running quarryward. I have 
 been thinking that I might go and strike a bargain for 
 some stones and build up the old house for us two imme- 
 diately. I cannot take you to live in a windmill." 
 
 "To build up the house yes," she said shrewdly. 
 " But how fill the pot?" 
 
 "Why worry about the pot," he insinuated, "when you 
 are going to have me?" 
 
 " I could not make broth of you " she half yielded to 
 his coaxing. 
 
 " Eh, well, but we have a few sheep and fowls; and did 
 you ever know a time when I could not get more when I 
 wanted it ? " 
 
 "I do not know you very well," she admonished him. 
 "But you said you had no rente, and how one should live 
 on land that bears nothing ?" 
 
 " You are practical, Madeloun, " said he, with a change 
 
 261
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 of mood. "But if you will not take the chances with me, 
 you have only to throw me over." 
 
 "What, then?" says she. 
 
 "Then" he meditated a while "I should have 
 my choice between Jano-Mario and the long white 
 road." 
 
 This she considered too much for a girl of any pride. 
 "Take Jano-Mario, then," said she, and tried to pass him 
 to go into the house. 
 
 He barred her way: "To be honest, I prefer the road. 
 But look you now, Leleto, if I give up my roaming on 
 your account, can you not be content to share with me a 
 free life in the sun and the wind?" 
 
 She looked at him, uncomprehending. It is difficult to 
 instil the spirit of adventure into the hedge-bird. 
 
 "Ah, no," he answered himself suddenly, "you like a 
 house with curtains." 
 
 And still she was silent, grieved and obstinate, and not 
 knowing how to urge her point. 
 
 "Well, and you shall have your curtains, if they would 
 make you happy. But how can you expect to keep me 
 long within?" 
 
 She did not answer that, her mind still bent on the one 
 thing. "You will not turn quarryman," she said at last, 
 "because you fear the work." 
 
 He laughed, not without vexation: "And yet I have 
 worked these last weeks. How much land have I cleared ? 
 how much wall have I built ? Even while you were away 
 at Aries, I spent hours in the old rock-house planning how 
 it might best be turned into a dwelling. And all this, to 
 
 262
 
 A CURIOUS END TO AN ODD CHAPTER 
 
 say nothing of the care of the animals, the carrying of 
 water . . . What would you?" 
 
 "There, again," she complained, "I am only a silly 
 girl, but I know you cannot have a farm without water." 
 
 "We must dig until we find water," said Trillon pa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "Then dig!" she cried, with passion. "And when you 
 have found it, come to me again!" 
 
 "You talk like the priest," said he. "Really, it is 
 enough to make a man " 
 
 "What, then?" she asked; but he would not conclude 
 his sentence. 
 
 The silence had become awkward when she spoke again. 
 " It is one of three things. Either you tell me what money 
 you have that we must live upon, or you follow my plan 
 of taking work at the quarry, or 
 
 She hesitated to pronounce the conclusion. 
 
 "Or you throw me over?" said he. 
 
 "Or you must find some other way," she said. 
 
 "I don't like to be threatened," said Trillon, "but it is 
 quite likely that I shall find some other way." 
 
 He turned as if to go, but she flung herself upon him 
 and clung very sweetly: "Don't be angry with me. It is 
 only that I cannot understand " 
 
 "Yes," he said gently, trying to put her aside, "it is 
 that. You cannot understand. But without doubt I 
 shall find a way." 
 
 The quarrymen were close under the wall now, and the 
 one that was singing had a merry note of a "sweet little, 
 pretty little olive-plucker," and as his footsteps died 
 
 263
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 away he had yet another song to warn his wife of his 
 coming : 
 
 "Nanoun, vaqui lou soufeu" 
 
 But poor Madeloun was wretched because her man 
 was out of temper with her. 
 
 He held her at arm's length as he said: "If you will know 
 how much money I have in the world, it is less than a 
 hundred francs together; and as I will not go saw stones 
 at another man's bidding " He changed his sentence ab- 
 ruptly : " Do you see me, my girl, brought down to that, tied 
 by the leg week in, week out, in order to earn a few pitiful 
 francs ? It would be more profitable to take to stealing 
 
 "You would not!" she interrupted, breathless. 
 
 "Why not?" he spoke with the utmost coolness. 
 "Better men have gone that way before me." 
 
 She turned away, wondering if she had ever understood 
 him the least bit in the world. 
 
 "If wives cannot endure beggary, they must take what 
 they get," said he. "However, you can always be rid of 
 me. That would be no difficult matter. Only" he 
 seemed to be thinking aloud "that I have sworn to 
 put the thing through " 
 
 It seemed to her that all her blood flew into her head, 
 in the swift passion of the South: "But not if I refuse!" 
 she cried, with her little fists clenched and beating each 
 other. "Will you turn quarry man?" 
 
 "No," says he calmly. "Curse or no curse, will you 
 let me have the banns cried in Aries to-morrow?" 
 
 " No ! " she fairly stuttered with anger. "No no 
 no no no! Never!" 
 
 264
 
 A CURIOUS END TO AN ODD CHAPTER 
 
 The garden was so dusky by this time that neither could 
 see the other's face. 
 
 "Then good-night," was his last word. 
 
 She let him go would not so much as answer. At the 
 door into the terrace, he turned and looked back with 
 what expression, she could not tell. She heard him 
 exchange a few words with her father and Jduse, then 
 by the silence she knew that he was gone. 
 
 "He is a devil!" she whispered to herself, her fists still 
 clenched in anger. "It is as I thought in the beginning. 
 And I am without help. He will not work like other 
 men and what are we to do . . . ? For when he comes 
 back to-morrow, if he asks again that he should let the 
 banns be cried I do not know I might have to give 
 in ... There is no standing long against him . . . He 
 flies to his end through everything . . . over all things. 
 . . . And I am without help." 
 
 Meanwhile, Trillon had strolled out into the village 
 street, his hands in his pockets, his head sunk on his chest, 
 with all the air of a man who did not notice particularly 
 where he was going. I cannot myself understand how 
 such a thing could happen; but certain it is that instead 
 of turning to the left for the Porte Horloge and the home- 
 ward way, he bent to the right towards the Porte Murette 
 and the road that goes out into the world. Therefore, 
 instead of the rough track among the olive-groves, he had 
 first the cobbles of the Roman road, which ought to have 
 broken into his numbness of mind, but did not, and after- 
 wards the dusty highway. 
 
 When he reached the foot of the hill and began to feel 
 265
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 the plain beneath his feet, even then he might have turned 
 at right angles to his course, and stumbled his way over 
 meadows and between trees until he reached the base of 
 his headland. But an hour after he had left the garden, 
 he was walking along the dusty road; and two hours later, 
 he was still facing the same way and a long distance from 
 Castelar. It seemed as if he lacked the will-power to 
 turn, as if, like a wax automaton, he would go on and 
 on, forever and forever, until he reached some insuper- 
 able barrier that should stir him out of his dream. 
 
 266
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE NEWS THAT RAMOUN BROUGHT 
 
 THE next morning, when Madeloun came downstairs, 
 a little late after a wakeful night, she found the shepherd 
 Ramoun drinking coffee on the terrace. 
 
 She was not unaware of a slight gleam of interest in 
 Trillon's rival; and as for Ramoun, he showed all his 
 white teeth as soon as he perceived her. 
 
 " H oi" said he. " I suppose I am the first. I had the 
 curiosity to come and ask you. Where's your man?" 
 
 She went rather pale: "What do you mean?" 
 
 "He is not at the place he calls his farm," said Ramoun. 
 "I passed by early this morning, and heard one of his 
 sheep making such a disturbance that I had a mind to go 
 and see what it was. I called at first and shouted; but 
 had no word of reply. So I climbed up and found the 
 windmill shut, and one of the sheep mightily caught between 
 two boulders and half skinned. So I got the creature loose, 
 but whether it will die of its struggles and its injuries and 
 its fright, I cannot say. They were hungry, all of them, 
 sheep and fowls and mule, so when I had shaken off that 
 devil of a yellow dog, I looked about for something to 
 
 267
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 feed them; but when I saw the bed had not been slept in, 
 I thought you ought to know. So I came away and left 
 them hungry, little as I liked it. Where is your man 
 hein ?" 
 
 Madeloun had grown as white as the piece of linen in 
 her hand: "Something has happened to him. He has 
 gone over the cliff ..." 
 
 "Not he," said Ramoun. "I had a look. Oh, he's 
 safe enough. What could happen?" 
 
 "Yes, what could happen?" Madeloun defied him. 
 
 "Eh, well, he has deserted you, my girl," said Ramoun 
 brutally, "and that's what could happen. I never be- 
 lieved much in your foreign birds of fine feather. He has 
 gone back where he came from. And what now hein ? ' ' 
 
 She dropped upon the stone bench by the shepherd's 
 side, and her work fell unheeded to the ground. But, 
 after a time, her spirit rose in such defence as she could 
 find. 
 
 "Whatever it is, I shall know soon. He will send me 
 word. It must be something important that took him 
 away, unless, indeed" her eyes grew dark with sudden 
 fear "you have murdered him, some of you, and hidden 
 his body ..." 
 
 Ramoun interrupted with a great laugh a laugh too 
 sonorous for his small frame: "That does not happen 
 here, Leloun, my girl. Only at election-time we take to 
 knives or chairs, but that is all in the open hein?" 
 
 But she did not hear this, wringing her hands still with 
 fear, and gasping under her breath: "What shall I do? 
 Oh, what shall I do?" 
 
 268
 
 THE NEWS THAT RAMOUN BROUGHT 
 
 "If I may be so bold," said Ramoun, leaning towards 
 her. "Give me leave to feed those beasts and " 
 
 "No, I will do that. That is mine to do," she caught 
 him up quickly. 
 
 He shrugged: "Well, at least, do not give your man too 
 much grace. Take up with a better fellow, and one who 
 has wanted you all his life. Till that foreigner came, 
 Madeloun " 
 
 "Don't bother me," she cut short his pleading. "Can- 
 not you see that I am hi trouble?" 
 
 "If you look at it that way," he muttered, now sulky, 
 "you can only wait wait until his lordship is pleased to 
 come back and claim you again. And whether that will 
 be one year or twenty, who can tell?" 
 
 "Hsh!" said she. "I must think. " 
 
 And when he had been silent a little while: "Go away 
 I cannot think while you are here." 
 
 But Ramoun did not move. 
 
 "Look you now, Madeloun," he urged. "It would be 
 a sufficient jest on your mighty man who leaves you so 
 easily, if you were to get married while he is away. And 
 I have good living wages and could make you as com- 
 fortable as any woman hi the village. And all the trouble 
 would be settled and done with." 
 
 He had touched three chords there that appealed 
 to her strongly. For a second, her black eyes snapped 
 at the possibility of paying out the man who had 
 won her the first day without difficulty, and now felt 
 free to treat her as he pleased, and to leave her when 
 he liked. Then she remembered what he was, and 
 
 269
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 said faintly: "You would have to reckon with him 
 afterwards." 
 
 "And if I had?" demanded Ramoun, having apparently 
 forgotten the episode of the cup of milk. He added 
 confidently: "He will never come back." 
 
 "And you do not even know," said Madeloun, now 
 scornful, "that he has gone away!" Her first fear, born 
 of their difference of opinion, the night before, had given 
 way to a full return of confidence. 
 
 "Know?" repeated Ramoun. Then he laughed: 
 "Meanwhile, the animals are hungry." 
 
 "I will feed them," she began, then bit her lip, remem- 
 bering that she had spent all the money Trillon had given 
 her and had nothing else. 
 
 It was as if Ramoun guessed the difficulty. "You 
 see," he said, "undoubtedly the man would have food 
 stored away in his mill, but it is not for me to search there. 
 I might have stolen everything he has and serve him right; 
 but we in Castelar are honest folk." 
 
 Yet his words suggested to the girl a solution, although 
 she decided that he was not the man to carry it into effect. 
 
 "Ramoun," she said, "if you are my friend now, and 
 if you go away and act with discretion, I shall be grateful 
 and remember it after." 
 
 He read more meaning into her words than perhaps 
 she intended; and yet I am not sure that she did not, in 
 the exigency of the moment, consent to his wilful mis- 
 interpretation. 
 
 "But how long," said he, "will you give the adven- 
 turer?" 
 
 270
 
 THE NEWS THAT RAMOUN BROUGHT 
 
 "Not too long," she answered, and he read a threat 
 against Trillon in her tone. 
 
 "And if I go away now ?" 
 
 "We can talk later," said she, with a smile, "although 
 there is still Father Gougoulin, and there will be diffi- 
 culties " 
 
 He was content with what he had gained, and was 
 afraid of spoiling the good effect of his visit, so departed, 
 saying only: "I shall come back in a week." And to 
 this she assented. 
 
 For a few moments, her desolation returned, and she 
 lashed her brain with vain speculations as to what had 
 happened. The significant thing was that he had dis- 
 appeared without a word. 
 
 But presently she laid her work aside and went to her 
 father. It was clear to her that her immediate duty was 
 to care for the suffering animals. 
 
 She found Auzias alone, for Jduse had gone to Paradou 
 for stores, Emilio was in the fields gathering mulberry- 
 leaves for the silk-worms, and the children were scattered, 
 playing up and down the village street. 
 
 Auzias was standing just outside the sun-screen, with 
 an air of wondering what to do with himself. 
 
 "Will you walk with me this way a little, my father?" 
 asked Madeloun; and he was rather pleased and flattered 
 that she took so much notice of him. He hobbled with 
 her as briskly as he might, without asking questions; and 
 she for her part was silent until they had passed the Porte 
 Horloge. She was trying to realize what would be her 
 position if Trillon had indeed gone away never to return. 
 
 271
 
 The three points that loomed most sharply before her 
 were that she could not continue on at the Cabro d'Or, 
 that her position in the village would be humiliating if 
 not unendurable, and that wherever she was, unless she 
 could make up her mind to return to the convent, whither 
 her priest drove her, she must either marry Ramoun 
 and there was also a dim figure of Peire in her mental 
 background or find work that would bring her the 
 needs of life. To marry anyone that meant further 
 conflict with the cure". And if Trillon came back ah, 
 come back he would ! she would like to punish him a 
 little, but not beyond hope. 
 
 She put aside consideration for the moment, and told 
 Auzias their errand. He shrank back, alarmed at the 
 idea of breaking into anybody's house. And as she 
 could not, for pride or some other reason, explain to him 
 the exact state of affairs, she made it important that he 
 had been suddenly called away on some matter, and that 
 the responsibility fell upon her, as his promised wife, to 
 care for his property. It would never do to leave it un- 
 protected to tempt the village. Auzias still mumbled 
 and shook his head as with trembling hands he opened 
 the door that Ramoun had shut as he had found it. 
 Madeloun, watching him from the boulder that served as 
 bench, wondered that she had not undertaken the business 
 alone, and then realized that the presence of both lent it a 
 certain countenance and publicity. She left her father 
 to hunt out the food that must supplement the scanty 
 out-door diet of Artaban; and herself took the water-cans 
 to the source where it ran into the aqueduct. 
 
 272
 
 THE NEWS THAT RAMOUN BROUGHT 
 
 While she was returning, sadly bent under the weight of 
 her load, she elaborated the plan of what she must do. 
 She dropped breathless on the turf and left the old man 
 to pour water into the troughs. When he came back to 
 her, she was ready: "My father, how if you and I should 
 come here to live while the master is away? We could 
 keep things safe." 
 
 He ruminated a while over this, then: "And what 
 would they say in the village?" 
 
 "Let them talk!" she cried savagely. 
 
 He seemed to try to think, to piece out several things, 
 but presently gave up the process: "But why should we 
 come?" 
 
 "Eh, well, for the animals, if for nothing else. It is 
 too long a walk for each day." 
 
 "And then?" said Auzias. It seemed as if the mo- 
 mentary responsibility drew out a little of his old self. 
 
 "And then," said Madeloun, "well, then! Emilio 
 would not be sorry to be rid of us; two less mouths to 
 feed." 
 
 "And how should we live?" asked Auzias again. 
 
 "Not that we should touch anything here!" said Made- 
 loun hotly. " He shall find it all as he left it, except what 
 we give to the animals. I could work oh, I could sew. 
 I could find many things to do." 
 
 She looked at the windmill with its tremendous cliff 
 background; at the far plain smoky with heat, as if some 
 strange slow combustion were taking place among the 
 marshes. For a moment, the tang of the wild life entered 
 into her; and she was then more nearly in sympathy with 
 
 273
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Trillons's love of the open than ever before. "We could 
 manage very well," she said, "until he returns. And 
 that will not be long. Before the flocks come down from 
 the mountains you will see." 
 
 He tried to judge for her the poor old man ! but 
 his brain was flabby. 
 
 "Wait a week," was all he could find to say. "You 
 could come every day for a week?" 
 
 She pondered this advice. At the end of a week, 
 Trillon might return; Ramoun would certainly come. 
 There was time then perhaps to make up her mind. 
 
 "But," says she, "the door?" 
 
 He propped it up as well as he could; and when he had 
 succeeded to his own satisfaction, she admitted that his 
 opinion was not without force. "We are honest folk 
 here," said he. 
 
 "I will wait a week," she said, "but at the end of that 
 time Sweet Virgin, what will become of me?" 
 
 274
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 MADNESS AT THE WINDMILL 
 
 BUT at the end of a week what does become of us? 
 However much we think in the stern tragedy of youth 
 that a time is impassable, we are presently over its borders 
 and viewing another week of fresh difficulty. 
 
 The days went on and Madeloun was still at the Cabro 
 d'Or, wondering why she lived, yet eating her beans and 
 drinking her black coffee, only with less gusto than if 
 Trillon had been there. She was very uncomfortable 
 and worried, but she was not without hope. Almost the 
 worst of her situation was the noise of wagging tongues 
 that was reflected to her through the ears of her relations. 
 And whenever she set out, as she did twice a day, in her 
 self-imposed task of caring for Trillon's animals, she was 
 liable to village encounters. Once, near the end of the 
 time she had mentioned, it was Zoue. "So your man has 
 left you again hein? Well, be thankful; girls have 
 suffered worse and got over it. It is a common lot. 
 Take up with one of the village lads again Ramoun 
 hein ? There are plenty with good looks and money 
 enough to keep you. Laugh and let him go." 
 
 275
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Madeloun pulled her arm away from the palsied touch. 
 "You want to talk," said she bitterly. "Well, go then 
 and tell everybody that I shall live in the windmill at 
 Artaban I and my father there!" 
 
 Certainly, she provided all the country round with the 
 spice of gossip; but her own public statement served only 
 to strengthen her in her purpose. Ramoun came Sunday 
 evening in new clothes, and was sent sharply away. 
 
 Then, Madeloun, having put aside this temptation to 
 punish her fugitive lover, and feeling virtuous in self- 
 sacrifice, urged Jduse to help her make the windmill 
 habitable for the old man and herself. It was only the 
 question, she said, of a little partition to make two rooms 
 out of one, and something to sleep on. 
 
 "And you will eat what?" asked Jduse. 
 
 "I can sew. I had to sew in the convent," she said, 
 with stinging cheeks, "and I will ask people to let me have 
 work. It will save them the long walk all the way to 
 Paradou." 
 
 Perhaps if Jduse had realized how bitter to her was the 
 bread of this humiliation, he would have spared her; but 
 with the memory of his wife's taunts and complaints fresh 
 in his mind, he decided that the girl was taking a most sen- 
 sible course, and agreed to help her all he could. 
 
 On the following day, the removal took place, and 
 furnished the little town with more delicious matter for 
 mouthing. There were some that blamed Jduse; but 
 more that regarded the undertaking as another freak of a 
 girl who was too mad even to stay in a convent when 
 she was put there. 
 
 276
 
 MADNESS AT THE WINDMILL 
 
 But before they had half concluded with this topic she 
 came to them, going from house to house, and asked for 
 work. The schoolmistress headed the way by giving her 
 a cotton blouse to make, then a farmer's daughter who 
 longed for finery and offered less money than she would 
 have to give at Paradou. Altogether, Madeloun went 
 home in a curious mixture of rage at the sympathy she 
 had evoked, and pride at the work and promises of work 
 that she had succeeded in collecting. 
 
 By Tuesday afternoon she and the old man were settled 
 in their strange, new home, she had begun her first sewing, 
 and Auzias was delightedly pottering about, collecting 
 dead olive-wood where he had permission, fetching water 
 and caring for the beasts. 
 
 When J6use was ready to return to Castelar, after un- 
 harnessing the mule, which had been used to transfer the 
 few household goods, and helping in other ways as far as 
 was consistent with his dignity, he said rather awkwardly : 
 "I have left you wine and olives and potatoes, and you 
 can always come in and get bread." I am not aware 
 whether you know that Jduse, in addition to the inn and 
 the olive-mill, had also inherited his father's function of 
 baker to the community? 
 
 "Yes," said Madeloun staidly, "and I shall make 
 dresses for the children in return." She was determined 
 to be beholden to her family as little as possible. 
 
 "And when the cold weather comes ?" he hinted. 
 
 "By that time," said Madeloun bravely, " long be- 
 fore, Trillon will have returned, and we shall be married, 
 without doubt. If not" she hesitated "if any- 
 
 277
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 thing should happen, we shall find a place, I and my 
 father." 
 
 "The animals here would have to be sold," mused 
 J6use, "and whose the money would be, I don't know. 
 It is likely that the Commune would give it to you. You 
 could always come back to us, you know," he concluded 
 half-heartedly. 
 
 She shut her lips fast: "There is also the convent." 
 
 Jduse shrugged and strolled home, without further 
 argument; and the girl and the old man were left to begin 
 their solitary life by the Pit of Artaban. 
 
 Madeloun was amazed to find how quickly, for all her 
 trouble, she began to like it. The delicious air of early 
 summer, the sweet open view, the friendly animals, her 
 skill in her own dainty hand-work, even the roughness of 
 the gypsy accommodation, the unprotected fire, the scarcity 
 of utensils and house comforts all brought her a sense of 
 freedom and joy, and contributed to her sure hope that 
 Trillon would come back and explain his absence. But 
 for the necessities of her work, which required her to go 
 to the village and accept the well-meant commiseration 
 of her neighbours, she would have been not so ill- content. 
 And certainly she had to thank the convent for this, that 
 as the result of her disciplinary labours there, she was now 
 able to hear the occasional clink of her own silver in her 
 hand. 
 
 The old man too revived when free from the oppression 
 of his daughter-in-law. He was able to do a fair share 
 of work, and even hung a basket on his arm and relieved 
 Madeloun, for the most part, of the village shopping. 
 
 278
 
 MADNESS AT THE WINDMILL 
 
 So the days slipped into weeks, and Madeloun ceased 
 to speak openly of the time when Trillon should return; 
 but she must have had still some hope that this strange 
 present would vanish in a blaze of excitement, such as he 
 had always brought before, to keep her endurance alive. 
 
 The first visitor that she had, before even Emilio trailed 
 out to the Pit, with her children hanging to her skirts, 
 was Father Gougoulin. 
 
 By due questioning of his housekeeper, he had kept 
 himself informed of the situation; and he had not been 
 slow to chuckle to himself over its oddities. 
 
 He bided his time, however; but presently came, on a 
 windy day, when the mistral, battling with the fierce heat, 
 made walking just possible. 
 
 Madeloun was sitting alone with her work, just within 
 the windmill door, when his bloated dark face, dropping 
 sweat, came into her patch of shade. 
 
 "Eh, well," he said. "How now?" And he dropped, 
 puffing hard, upon a boulder. 
 
 "Well, my father," said she, and continued demurely 
 with her stitching. 
 
 "Not broken-hearted hein?" He studied her 
 shrewdly. 
 
 "Am I so badly off?" she asked, with a touch of 
 defiance. 
 
 He looked about him: "In the beginning, it was a jest, 
 but in time a jest ceases to be amusing. How long will 
 you go on this way?" 
 
 "Until the winter," she answered promptly. "Before 
 the winter I shall be married, or else " 
 
 279
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Or else?" he watched her. 
 
 " Or else, my father must go back to the inn, and I 
 I must choose between earning my own living out in the 
 world, and the convent. I do not know" she said 
 impulsively "if I am left alone I think I would 
 go back, if the Sisters would take me." 
 
 "Ah ah," said Father Gougoulin. He scrubbed his 
 chin, looked across the plain and sighed. "Everything 
 points to that," he said presently. 
 
 "Are you so sure, my father?" Madeloun dimpled a 
 little. "I am not so sure myself." 
 
 " Have you not had enough of trouble out in the world ?" 
 
 "Almost," she said. "Almost. But I must wait a 
 little longer." 
 
 "Ah," said he, "you will be of my mind yet." 
 
 She looked at him, with sudden contradiction in her 
 spirit. He was so sure of his case that he stirred up 
 rebellious thoughts; but she kept them to herself. 
 
 When they had talked a little longer and he rose to go, 
 he briefly urged her to come to Confession and Mass, and 
 left her without much argument. He fancied that he 
 could see the progress of events along the line that he 
 desired; but he wondered heavily, as he plodded home- 
 ward, how far the attainment of his purpose would bring 
 him peace. But whether or not, he was bound fast, by 
 the superstition of a vow, to do his utmost. 
 
 Madeloun left alone fell into greater depression than 
 she had before known since she went to the windmill. It 
 seemed to her then that all roads led to the convent door. 
 She pictured herself back within the walls at Sant Alari, 
 
 280
 
 MADNESS AT THE WINDMILL 
 
 and Trillon returning, perhaps rich this time and inde- 
 pendent. Even if she had taken the vows, she could not 
 feel sure that he would not have her out again. It would 
 be no punishment to him to find her there; and she longed 
 to punish him for his presumption. On the other hand, 
 if he came back and found her married, that would be a 
 worthy vengeance indeed. And if he never came back? 
 Well, even in that case, she would have a husband and a 
 home, and would make the best of them as most women 
 do ... 
 
 Towards sunset that evening, when she was still in this 
 mood, and while her father was away fetching water, 
 Peire, the quarryman, stepped over the wall and came up 
 to her, as she stooped to hang the pot over the smoky fire. 
 
 He found an immediate excuse for helping; and when 
 the matter had been adjusted, without asking permission, 
 he lounged upon a boulder not far from the one to which 
 she had returned with her sewing. 
 
 "Do you know what they say of you up-there, Made- 
 loun?" he began, without preamble. 
 
 "That I am as mad as Trillon?" said she. "Did you 
 walk all this way to tell me that?" 
 
 "But no," he answered simply. "I came to say that I 
 am not of their opinion, and to suggest something . . ." 
 
 She raised her eyes from her work and looked at him 
 attentively. Certainly, he was very different from Ra- 
 moun, the shepherd; taller, more bony, not so dark and 
 monkey-like, with big sunburned features that passed 
 for good-looking in the village, and with steady blue eyes 
 an inheritance from some remote ancestor of the North. 
 
 281
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 He seemed, she thought, a man of kind heart, and rumour 
 had it that he was considerate with his widowed mother. 
 
 "What then?" she asked, returning to her work. 
 
 " We must think of the winter," he began, with obvious 
 embarrassment. "The winter will be upon us, and this 
 is no fit place for you. You should have a house of your 
 own." 
 
 She flushed with anger, and a sharp retort rose to her 
 lips; but he looked so simple and well-meaning that she 
 lacked heart to bring it out. "What would you?" she 
 asked, after a pause. 
 
 "Eh, well, Madeloun, you know in your heart what I 
 have been thinking these many years, though I don't urge 
 that upon you now. Still, the old woman would give you 
 a kind welcome ..." 
 
 "And my father?" asked the girl, her heart beating 
 thickly. It seemed to her then that she had always liked 
 Peire better than Ramoun. How could she ever for a 
 moment have contemplated the little fellow? 
 
 "Eh, well," said Peire, "if a man must take the one 
 with the other " 
 
 Madeloun shrugged with sudden impatience: "But you 
 said you did not come for that?" 
 
 "That was only in case you would not give me a hear- 
 ing," he confessed. 
 
 She had to laugh a little then. To be sure, she meant 
 to be faithful to Trillon, little as he deserved it, to the last 
 day of endurance. Still, in the meantime she checked 
 her thought, not wishing to admit to herself what it was 
 that she found pleasant in the situation. 
 
 282
 
 MADNESS AT THE WINDMILL 
 
 "You know, Peire," said she gently, "that I am be- 
 trothed and that I cannot listen to such talk." 
 
 "Eh, well," said Peire, "but you can listen to this then. 
 What I think of your man is neither here nor there; 
 whether he is likely to come back is neither here nor there. 
 In the winter you must have a warm and comfortable 
 place to live in. If I should build up for you the old 
 house in the rock hein?" 
 
 An impulsive refusal rose to Madeloun's lips; then she 
 put down her work, laid her finger against her lip and 
 considered. "Why should you ?" she asked, after a time. 
 
 He shrugged but made no answer. 
 
 "And the stones?" 
 
 "I can cut stones enough up above in the quarry 
 not so good yet good enough." 
 
 "But even so, how could I pay you for the work?" 
 Yet her imagination tingled at the thought of receiving 
 Trillon in a two- roomed perhaps a four- roomed house 
 on his own land. It would be a punishment by coals of 
 fire sweeter than any other vengeance that she could 
 devise, she thought. 
 
 "Well," said he, "you shall pay me later, as you can. 
 Meantime, you would be comfortable. Come, now 
 let us look at the place." 
 
 So far she consented; and when they stood before it, 
 he told her how many stones would be required, and how 
 much lime for mortar. He said that he was mason enough 
 to build a wall with a plumb line, and that window-frames 
 could be bought, and a door, in Mausanne, and hauled 
 with this very mule and cart. And as for the upper 
 
 283
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 floors, they could be added later; for the time the ground 
 rock 1 would serve very well. To be sure, he might need 
 help at putting in the windows and the doors, but he 
 thought that might easily be arranged with the village 
 carpenter. And further, as he would have to do his 
 building altogether between supper and dusk, and on 
 Sundays when his own quarry was closed, it was none too 
 soon to begin if the place was to be habitable by winter. 
 
 Madeloun listened and pondered, but could not see her 
 way. "Yet," said she, at last, "when he comes back he 
 would be glad to have it done; and he will probably bring 
 money with him, only " 
 
 Peire turned his back upon her and pretended to examine 
 the trunk of a fig-tree that grew close to the wall: "Only," 
 says he, in a hoarse voice, "you can leave us to settle that 
 affair if ever he comes back." 
 
 She had no knowledge of any grudge between them; 
 and therefore she did not understand the smile with which 
 he turned to her at length. He was wondering what she 
 would say if she knew that her man had been willing to 
 stake her on a throw of the dice; but he judged it better, 
 for the furtherance of his plan, to keep this secret for a 
 while. 
 
 Well, Madeloun knew, of course, that she was incurring 
 a heavy obligation; but somehow, even her brief associa- 
 tion with Trillon inclined her to the risk. The idea was 
 too sweet to be abandoned over-hastily. If Trillon came 
 back and found a home ready prepared by the bride 
 whom he had judged so useless as a helpmeet, who 
 knew ? 
 
 284
 
 MADNESS AT THE WINDMILL 
 
 "Peire," she said, "do you understand that I fully 
 expect him to return before the winter? And if then we 
 should be married and live in the house that you have 
 built?" 
 
 "I thought," said Peire, "that you did not know where 
 he went or why, nor when, if ever, he would come back ? 
 So the talk goes in the village." 
 
 She bit her lip, but honesty compelled her: "And so it is. 
 And yet I understand him as far as may be and 
 they do not. It is his way to go and come suddenly. 
 Without doubt, he will return just when you have finished 
 your work and when you are thinking 
 
 "Well," said Peire, "thinking what?" 
 
 She blushed, unable to put into words the reward at 
 which, she could see plainly, he was aiming. But, after 
 all, she told herself, if he understood that she was using 
 him only as a means, then he was free to decline; and the 
 disappointment, if he persisted, would be of his own fault. 
 
 "Let us go down," she said. "I can see my father 
 returning, and he will be wanting his supper." 
 
 Peire lingered yet a moment, and she waited with him 
 to hear what he might say. 
 
 "I take my chance" he spoke after a time. "And 
 if he comes back eh, well, we can see about payment 
 then." 
 
 There was a certain threat in his words that troubled 
 her for a moment; but she soon forgot it in the excitement 
 of the plan. 
 
 285
 
 CHAPTER XXXIH 
 
 LITTLE GAMES OF LOVE 
 
 IN Castelar, it was soon pronounced a scandal. The 
 old women declared on the best authority that there was a 
 double wooing, under their very eyes, of a girl already 
 affianced to a third man. For a time, the tide of indigna- 
 tion against the light-headedness of Madeloun was tinged 
 with sympathy for the absent lover, who after all might 
 return. Perhaps he had only gone away to earn some 
 money for the huzzy? In consequence of the rumours 
 that flew about, some of the women even talked of with- 
 drawing their newly granted custom; but Madeloun had 
 learned her convent lessons well, and they found it a great 
 relief not to be obliged to walk to Paradou for every stitch 
 that they lacked time or skill to make for themselves. 
 
 It was undoubtedly the case, however, they whispered 
 together, that Peire now, instead of going home from his 
 work, went straight to the Pit of Artaban, and took to 
 sawing stones there, high up in the quarry. And some- 
 body had seen Madeloun carrying him his supper, so that 
 he might work almost while he ate; and after a few days 
 of this, the report went about that he had devised panniers 
 
 286
 
 LITTLE GAMES OF LOVE 
 
 for the mule, filled them with stones, balanced them on 
 each side, and so led the animal down before the ancient 
 rock-house. He was known to have hauled lime and 
 sand from Paradou; and presently, as the story went, he 
 cut and carried only a few stones each night, and began 
 slowly to build up a front wall from the heap that he had. 
 He began at a time when he could continue late, because 
 of the full moon, but afterwards, somebody who had spied 
 I am not sure that it was not Jaquelin, the acolyte, or 
 his father said that he worked by the aid of a lantern 
 and several candles thrust into bottles. "Heaven save 
 us!" said the village. "If an honest, sober lad like Peire 
 can get into such a state, what are we coming to?" But 
 there was laughter as well, for the situation was droll. 
 
 Perhaps the best of the joke was when the amateur 
 mason tore off a finger-nail and the wound became a little 
 poisoned and he had to walk miles to the doctor to have 
 the hand treated. It was said that Madeloun had offered 
 her man's mule and charrette, and when Peire would not 
 take them, had wept and used bitter words. All Castelar 
 looked then to see his folly stop; but after a short inter- 
 ruption, it went on as before. St. John's Day came and 
 passed, and the harvest was brought in with song and 
 dance; but Peire piled up stones throughout the fe"te, 
 and Madeloun, who was famous for her grace in the 
 rondo and the jarandoulo, took no part. 
 
 But yet it must have been the sense of the village dis- 
 approval that kept her aloof. She did not have at all the 
 look of the maiden forlorn when she brought her work to 
 her patrons, and took away in return silver francs. She 
 
 287
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 was positively haughty in her demeanour; and it was 
 much held against her that she never crossed the threshold 
 of her brother's house. Her neglect was not condoned 
 even when she now and again spent a few sous on sugar- 
 work for her nephews and nieces; and the fact that she 
 kept her father comfortably in tobacco was balanced 
 by her occasional purchase of a ribbon or an apron for 
 herself . . . Castelar would not forgive her until it knew 
 why Peire was building up the old house. If she was 
 going to marry him, that was bad and bad enough; if not, 
 it was worse. 
 
 Then there was the shepherd Ramoun. Who told of 
 the cups of milk that he left surreptitiously on the boulder 
 at Madeloun's door? Who told of the neat little piles of 
 cheeses that his sister had made with her own hands, by 
 no means to be distributed in this unprofitable fashion? 
 Who told even of a toothsome joint of mutton that mys- 
 teriously disappeared out of the anatomy of one of his 
 sheep, and was afterwards smelled in the pot by somebody 
 passing along the mountain-track under the hill, on the 
 way home from the vineyards in the plain ? 
 
 I cannot defend Madeloun from the charge of receiving 
 these gifts. I am forced to conclude that she believed her 
 soul to be altogether in such a perilous way, after she had 
 added to her sins of convent-breaking and persistent re- 
 bellion against her priest, the further incubus of Peire's 
 mistaken labour, that she might as well go the whole 
 length of iniquity and pay afterwards. In no other way 
 can I explain the curiosity of her actions. 
 
 As the weeks lengthened into months, and Trillon did 
 
 288
 
 LITTLE GAMES OF LOVE 
 
 not reappear, she was indeed miserable; but she knew 
 that she ought to have been more miserable than she was. 
 Sometimes, she had to sit down and think hard before she 
 could wring out any tears; but again, hurt pride and 
 humiliation stung until weeping was an easy matter. In 
 the long run, day after day, what with house-building and 
 a stream of surprises in the way of presents, and two of 
 the handsomest lads of the village at her beck and de- 
 lightfully fierce with each other, she could not find life too 
 dull. She had put aside her wedding sheets, when she 
 began to sew for other people; but she remembered them 
 now and again, and wondered if she should have use for 
 them after all. But sometimes it flashed across her that 
 they had been bought with poor Trillon's money, and 
 what she should do with them, she could not tell. She 
 wept then over her own unhappinesss. 
 
 After such a process, she was usually refreshed to play 
 off the two youths against each other more vigorously than 
 before. Her great comfort was that they were two. And 
 if you say she was a huzzy, I may not deny what I deplore; 
 but she was as God made her, or, if you like, her Graeco- 
 Romano-Ligurian ancestors and the sun of the Midi. 
 
 One Sunday hi August, when the lower windows had 
 been set into the house and the stones had crawled up 
 almost enough to enclose them, Peire did not come until 
 evening; and then he brought a beautiful brooch of gold 
 filigree, which he confessed he had gone to Aries to buy. 
 
 When Madeloun took fright and would not have it, he 
 made a show of indignation: "Why not? It is bought. 
 Would you waste the money ? It is not a ring. It doesn't 
 
 289
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 bind you to anything. And if you can swallow a house" 
 he was brutal, but he carried his point. And was he 
 simple, this Peire, or in his own way subtle ? 
 
 That was the beginning of more foolishness, for on the 
 next Sunday Ramoun came and perceived the toy. He 
 grew black with jealous rage as could only have been 
 expected; but afterwards he came abreast of his rival by 
 means of two exquisite lace fronts to be worn between 
 the folds of the fichu. 
 
 Madeloun expostulated as well as she could; but two 
 things told against her argument : the fact that she needed 
 these tabliers, and longed for them sorely when they were 
 spread before her eyes; and the absolute necessity of 
 keeping her two suitors evenly balanced if she was to 
 juggle with them much longer. 
 
 When her finery lay before her in her little room 
 in the windmill, she could not but think it a pity that so 
 few should admire it only herself and a purblind father 
 and two foolish young men, who were ready at the slightest 
 provocation to bite each other's heads off. 
 
 She made a great resolve, not without some fluttering 
 in the breast; or, perhaps, she yielded to a great tempta- 
 tion. At all events, she decided that in view of Father 
 Gougoulin's summons, now many weeks old, it was time 
 for her to be seen in the church, if only to show that she 
 could still hold her head up and not care for slanderous 
 tongues. And so she dressed herself into a gay peacock, 
 with all the new finery that she could command, and 
 walked boldly up to the Shrine of the Four Maries. 
 Courage failed her a little as she stepped into its cool 
 
 290
 
 LITTLE GAMES OF LOVE 
 
 dampness; or perhaps she had already lost heart from 
 the questioning and critical glances that she encountered 
 by the way. She was glad to slip into a chair behind 
 Miano, who owns the broadest back in the village. 
 
 If she wondered at the unkind glances and the coolness of 
 greeting, it was all through her ignorance of human nature. 
 Perhaps she had flattered herself that the women would 
 not know whence had come her new splendour. If so, the 
 little stupid must have forgotten that Peire had a jealous 
 mother, and Ramoun a sister who drank up gossip as the 
 earth drinks rain, only to give it out again in streams of slan- 
 der. Madeloun should have known from long experience 
 that there was not a house, from the ancient quarters of the 
 watchman, huddled against the gate, to the highest dwelling 
 overshadowed by the great castle, in which was not dis- 
 cussed the laying-out of every sou of her hard-earned silver. 
 
 So she gave an inattentive ear to the sermon, and after- 
 wards lingered on the steps outside, grieved and pouting 
 because none of the neighbours would speak to her. 
 But while she was still thinking of their raised shoulders 
 and averted glances, she was startled by the voice of 
 Father Gougoulin at her ear. She had tried to escape 
 his notice in the church, and thought she had succeeded; 
 but in any case she had not supposed he could be so quick 
 in getting out of his vestments. 
 
 "Eh, well, Madeloun," said he, "you have come to 
 Mass, but not to Confession. It is high time to begin 
 that. Come to-morrow morning after the service." 
 
 She returned to the windmill, all her gay plumes droop- 
 ing, for his direct command she dared not disobey. 
 
 291
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE CLIFF OF BRIAZON 
 
 MADELOUN felt her loneliness even more that after- 
 noon, when her father had gone back to the Place 
 du Conne'table de Montferrand, to hang over the 
 wall with his cronies. She left the windmill, still in 
 the fine clothes that she was too listless to lay aside, 
 and strolled very sadly along the cliff, wondering what 
 would be the outcome of her perplexities. And all the 
 while crisis was coming upon her with the speed of the 
 whirlwind. 
 
 The herald of the storm was Ramoun, inoffensive 
 enough in his Sunday dress, black- and white-checked 
 trousers, pink shirt, red necktie, and blue serge coat, un- 
 pastoral but, he fondly believed, fashionable. 
 
 "Come for a walk," was his sheepish invitation. 
 
 "I am walking," said Madeloun sedately. " You may 
 come if you like." 
 
 They were silent, he staring in some embarrassment at 
 the ground, she dimpling and looking at him sidewise, 
 feeling almost her old self, thus attended and thus ad- 
 mired in the sweet mountain sunshine. 
 
 292
 
 THE CLIFF OF BRIAZON 
 
 "How long are you going to live in this hole?" he 
 asked abruptly, after a time. 
 
 "Until my house is built," she teased him. 
 
 "The house that Peire is building" he turned savage 
 quickly. "The fool! And you to let him! I came to 
 tell you so." 
 
 "Eh, well," she answered demurely, "I am only a poor 
 girl, but I must have some place to live. If that is all you 
 have to say, you'd better go home again." 
 
 "As if our farm were not open to you!" said Ramoun, 
 with scorn. "You promised me you would not wait long 
 for that fellow." 
 
 "It is not long yet," said she, looking about for a way 
 of escape. She found it in the leisurely advent of Peire 
 up the plateau; and waved him a gay welcome with her 
 handkerchief. 
 
 He was not more pleased to see Ramoun than was the 
 latter to see him; but they made the best of each other. 
 
 "We are going for a walk" Ramoun showed his 
 teeth. 
 
 But Madeloun was quick with, "Yes come along." 
 
 Well, then, she was in her element, with two to juggle 
 and keep from smashing each other's heads. She talked 
 furiously with red spots in her cheeks, and did her best 
 to bring them into active conversation. But it was always 
 Ramoun that answered, with a manner half sulky, half 
 defiant, blended too with the air of one who claims a 
 certain right. Peire walked half a pace behind the two, 
 cigarette in mouth, eyes on the horizon, and if he heard 
 what they said he gave no sign. 
 
 293
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Suddenly, he moved close, caught the girl's arms and 
 pinioned them behind her, muttering, still with the cigar- 
 ette between his teeth: "What say you, Ramoun? They 
 used to punish traitors here by dropping them from the 
 cliff of Briazon. She is a huzzy playing with us as she 
 played with the fellow from Avignon. What say you? 
 Shall we throw her down?" 
 
 Madeloun stopped with sudden heart-beat, and looked 
 over her shoulder into his face. Ramoun laughed and 
 seized her from the other side, playfully shaking her and 
 dragging her nearer the edge. And even as they stood, 
 they were not too far away. 
 
 She was not frightened, she told herself, for she knew 
 that it was all their way of joking; but to please them she 
 pretended to shriek with fear, and to struggle, calling 
 upon each in turn to save her from the other. All the 
 while, Ramoun laughed like a dog, and Peire pulled 
 her steadily, savagely, in silence, except that his feet, 
 scuffling among the pebbles, sent now and again a clump 
 of stones rattling down the cliff-side. 
 
 When the three had arrived so near the edge that they 
 could look over, Peire braced himself for the retreat, but 
 Ramoun continued a sort of monkey-dance step of his 
 own. 
 
 Each had a hand of Madeloun now, and each felt it 
 suddenly stiffen in his grasp. She leaned forward so that 
 with a common sense of danger they tried to pull her back. 
 Her whisper was too amazing to be true: "There's some 
 one coming up!" 
 
 Peire steadied himself and looked. Ramoun dropped 
 
 294
 
 THE CLIFF OF BRIAZON 
 
 Madeloun's hand and fell on his knees to peer over the 
 edge. 
 
 "It is Trillon," she whispered again. "Nobody else 
 would try." The unuttered question in her heart was 
 whether he had seen the three of them from the plain 
 below, and with his long sight had recognized them, and 
 had chosen this mode of ascent to be upon them the more 
 quickly. 
 
 Peire still held her hand and she clung to him in fear of 
 sudden dizziness. 
 
 Silent and breathless, the three of them watched the 
 climbing figure. All that they could be sure of was that 
 he did not wear the blue clothes that they had come to 
 associate with Trillon; they judged from his frequent 
 pauses, and an occasional flash as of metal in his hand, 
 that he was cutting for himself steps in the soft limestone 
 as he climbed. Otherwise, they knew the ascent was 
 impossible. 
 
 Ramoun gave a sharp cry, and suddenly flung a handful 
 of pebbles into the air. The climber lifted his head, 
 wavered, and for a second it seemed to all three that he 
 must lose his balance and go down; but he recovered 
 himself, clinging like a fly, and presently resumed his 
 slow upward progress. 
 
 " How dared you ? How dared you ?" cried Madeloun, 
 in a passionate whisper to the offender, and her cheeks 
 were as white as paper. Then she loosed her savage 
 clutch upon his arm, hid her face and rocked backwards 
 and forwards in an agony of prayer. So reckless was she 
 that Peire held her more firmly. So they waited, all 
 
 295
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 motionless until a panting sound stirred Madeloun 
 from her fear. She looked up, and saw Trillon's face, very 
 red among its yellow fluff, just appearing above the ledge. 
 
 A moment he hung there, glancing from one to another 
 of the odd group, with an expression that they could not 
 fathom; then he flung up one leg and lay at his ease, resting, 
 though a slight push would have hurled him to the bottom. 
 
 "Come all the way oh, come all the way!" implored 
 Madeloun, loosening Peire's hold and running to him. 
 
 He stopped her with two syllables. Turning his yellow 
 eyes full upon her, he said, without passion, "Cocotte" 
 
 The old word of her mother's struck her like a blow. 
 She looked at him helplessly, as he continued: "I saw you 
 here with your two men. You were better in the convent 
 hein?" 
 
 She was stung by the injustice, yet helpless to answer 
 for herself; but Peire came to her rescue, speaking delib- 
 erately: "When a man deserts his sweetheart, what can 
 he expect?" 
 
 "What do I find?" asked Trillon, still holding them all 
 three with his extraordinary light eyes. 
 
 Madeloun tried to speak, but her lips quivered too much 
 for clear utterance: "You made me very unhappy 
 
 "But now you are consoled?" he asked calmly. 
 
 She dared him for a second: "I had to be! What else 
 was to do?" 
 
 There was a passage of eyes between them, and perhaps 
 his laugh showed defeat. With some scrambling and 
 dropping of loose stones he came wholly over the edge: 
 "Well, now I have come back, what next?" 
 
 296
 
 THE CLIFF OF BRIAZON 
 
 Madeloun was encouraged in her pertness. "Like the 
 Marshal of France, go down again," she said, laying her 
 hand on Peire's arm, even though Ramoun snarled. 
 
 "Sarnipabieune!" She never knew who uttered the 
 word. She was suddenly shaken off and flung backwards 
 into safety; and the two men were locked, heads low and 
 necks strained, perilously near the brink. The chief fact 
 in the poor girl's dazed consciousness was Ramoun's 
 laugh, as he hastily stumbled out of the path of the 
 wrestlers. 
 
 Twice three times she strove to force her way 
 between them, with piercing entreaty; but each time 
 Ramoun was upon her and dragged her back. She could 
 only watch them, Peire grim-set as an old Roman, Trillon 
 showing his teeth. 
 
 So quickly was the whole thing over that it seemed as if 
 they had scarcely begun, before, as they staggered and 
 struggled near Ramoun, he thrust out his foot and tripped 
 Trillon up; and Peire opening his arms in sudden self- 
 defence, the two were parted. Madeloun, staring, thought 
 she must be mad, at the sight of Peire among the stones 
 and turf, and Trillon vanished. Look as she would, 
 there were only two men on the cliff: Peire half stunned, 
 Ramoun white and shaking. And Trillon had given no 
 cry as he went over. 
 
 Madeloun was the first to waken to consciousness of 
 what had happened. She did not stop to look, or even to 
 scream ; but fled along the edge of the cliff until she came 
 to the all but invisible path by which the ancient garrison 
 could have been reached, in time of war, through a secret 
 
 297
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 postern now ruined. By a labyrinth of zigzags it descends 
 to the plain below. 
 
 Along the thread of this trail the girl ran as if she had 
 wings, and scarcely touched the ground, except for gui- 
 dance. It was by miracle that she reached the plain alive; 
 for, indeed, as soon as she came to the low mound, where 
 the steep shelving is finished, she fell headlong and rolled, 
 cutting her lip and bruising her fingers, so dizzy that for 
 a time she did not know where she was. 
 
 By her sudden flight she had missed the worst of the 
 experience; for the two men, when they found courage to 
 look over, perceived that Trillon had not fallen all the 
 way, but was hanging like a cat to a tuft of broom, well 
 beyond reach, except one should go down on a rope. 
 They stared at each other, and Ramoun would perhaps 
 have turned to run, but Peire clutched his arm, wordless. 
 They could see the cracking of the earth and the swaying 
 of the broom as Trillon climbed higher, struggling for a 
 cleft or a foothold of any sort . . . Long seemed the 
 time to them long before the catastrophe came to its 
 climax; but it was immeasurably short. They watched 
 a great boulder fall with clods and clouds of dust, and 
 tangle so thick that they could scarcely descry that there 
 was a human being within it; they watched until this mass 
 neared the bottom. But when they saw the man make 
 one last frantic clutch at a projection that held him for a 
 moment, then seemed to shake him off before he could 
 have had much consciousness of safety then with one 
 accord they turned away. 
 
 Peire it was who first recovered himself enough to follow 
 
 298
 
 THE CLIFF OF BRIAZON 
 
 in Madeloun's footsteps; and Ramoun after, to see what 
 lay at the foot of the rocks where traitors had perished of 
 old. When they neared the bottom, more slowly, more 
 steadily than she had gone, they found her just struggling 
 to her feet among the stones and prickly plants. 
 
 Peire was generous. "Look out for her, Ramoun," 
 he said. "I will go on" and gave them no chance for 
 dispute. A moment they faced each other, he with a 
 terrible guilt in his eyes that could not meet her white- 
 faced accusation. 
 
 Then they were shaken by a tremendous peal of laughter 
 and Peire's shouting. They followed as quickly as they 
 could, and found the quarryman doubling up at intervals 
 with paroxysms of amusement, and Trillon I warn you 
 that the scene lacks dignity Trillon safe in a furze bush. 
 He was badly pricked, of course; and so caught and 
 pinned by the myriads of needles among which he had 
 been rudely thrust, that he was unable to help himself; 
 but Peire judged from the position in which he lay, as 
 well as from a hasty investigation, that no bones were 
 broken. He had a scalp wound from a rough encounter 
 with a boulder, and he had not fully recovered the breath 
 beaten out of his body; but for all ordinary purposes he 
 was sound enough. He even directed the two how best 
 to extricate him; and, although swearing under their 
 breath, they felt bound to obey because of their common 
 guilt. And the first of their punishment was to see Made- 
 loun tearing her frilled apron into strips and binding 
 therewith the head of the wounded man. I am afraid 
 they did not linger to hear the lovers' cooings; and they 
 
 299
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 could imagine easily enough the kisses that followed upon 
 their departure. 
 
 But Trillon said first, with his laugh undaunted: "What 
 do you expect when you throw a hawk down a cliff? 
 You should have wrung my neck if you wanted to put me 
 out of the way. But I'll see you both hanged sooner." 
 
 They found it difficult to answer, but Peire was stung 
 into the retort: "And now I suppose you will go and live 
 in the house I have built; but the game isn't finished yet." 
 
 "No," said Trillon, with a sharp look at the girl, "that 
 it never is when I am about." 
 
 "If you had stayed a little longer," said Peire, "you 
 might talk differently. Look at that brooch." 
 
 But he had no time, for Madeloun suddenly tore it 
 loose and flung it at the quarryman's feet, and with it the 
 beautiful new faudau, so that her neck was bare. 
 
 "Take them," she cried passionately. "I have been a 
 wicked girl! I hate you both!" 
 
 But Trillon seemed not to have heard. He was on his 
 feet now, half leaning against a boulder, plainly in need 
 of strong drink, being much shaken. 
 
 "As for that," said he, "I always knew she, was a flirt. 
 And it is just possible that I had my reasons for staying 
 away. But if she preferred either of you to me or 
 would change her mind now I can go back whence I 
 came. A dessias ! ' ' 
 
 He began to walk unsteadily along the path, leaving 
 the two men dumb, and between them the tokens that 
 had been hurled at their feet. But Madeloun ran after 
 him, still claiming rather than giving support. 
 
 300
 
 THE CLIFF OF BRIAZON 
 
 "Do you want to chain your wild hawk after all?" he 
 asked. 
 
 But her question was poignant: "How could you leave 
 me so again?" 
 
 "That," said he, "I will tell you. Come." 
 
 301
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE CHAPEL OF THE MARIES 
 
 Low on the hillside, just above the olive-gardens, is a 
 little shrine built to two of those same Holy Maries com- 
 memorated in the village church, the mothers of St. James 
 the Greater and of St. James the Less. Tradition has it 
 that they were driven out of Palestine and fled in an open 
 boat, without guidance and without food; and that they 
 were conveyed safely by angels until they were moored in 
 the shelter of the rock of Briazon at Castelar, although 
 this is now forty miles and more from the sea. How- 
 ever, on the hillside there is a rock cut with two figures in 
 long draperies Roman generals, say wise men, but the 
 folk of Castelar know better, and have built against this 
 rock the little shrine of the Holy Women. Here shepherds 
 with their flocks sometimes halt for a hasty prayer, kneel- 
 ing on the steps outside, whence through the open door 
 they can see the images of the saints in their boat and the 
 floor strewn with broom blossom. 
 
 Here it was that Trillon dropped, more shaken now 
 than he was willing to confess, and a little dizzy from the 
 wound in his head. 
 
 302
 
 THE CHAPEL OF THE MARIES 
 
 "First tell me," said he, "what the quarryman meant 
 by the house he had built?" 
 
 At this, she poured out her confession, exonerating 
 herself not a whit for all the light folly that had ruled her 
 in his absence. 
 
 He did not speak for a time; but at last he said: "It 
 gives them some show of right those who would have 
 shut you up in the convent." 
 
 "You, too?" she gasped. "Oh, I will go back there! 
 I will never stay out in this cruel world. What can a 
 poor girl do?" 
 
 But now he was laughing. She could see the twinkle 
 of his eyes, half obscured by the bandage. "After all," 
 said he, "you have learned one thing; and that is to make 
 other people work for you. There's no reason why we 
 should not reward our friend the quarryman, some day, 
 when we have come into our fortune. However, you 
 must see that he was counting on my probable defection; 
 and that he meant to reap his profit when it was clear that 
 I would not return. So he is not ill met. He would have 
 had my farm and my girl and a new house all together." 
 
 Madeloun was silent a while, being in some doubt 
 whether Peire would enjoy the patronage of her man, and 
 not satisfied that he would have been greatly enriched 
 had he taken the farm as well as herself. When she 
 understood that Trillon was waiting for her to speak, 
 she continued: "I learned more, living out here like 
 a gypsy. I did not know I could be so easily content. 
 But for what I promised my mother, I would go with 
 you anywhere to-morrow." 
 
 303
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Still harping on that?" he said, with a frown. "Eh, 
 well, we must progress further with the matter." 
 
 "I am going to Confession to-morrow morning," she 
 said. 
 
 At first he swore, then he laughed: "I forbid you." 
 
 She shook her head: "Impossible. In that case I 
 should grow reckless and lose my soul altogether, and go 
 with you without waiting " 
 
 "Well, what harm?" he asked. 
 
 She thought to turn the tables on him: "With you who 
 went away and left me for weeks without a word ? Who 
 knows? It may happen again. Why did you go?" 
 
 "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I did not 
 know at the time. I took the wrong turning, then my 
 feet moved of themselves. Before the morning I found 
 myself in Avignon." 
 
 "If that is the way of it," said she piteously, "it will 
 surely happen again." 
 
 He shrugged: "That's the worst of my breed sudden 
 flights. But if you were to get used to it?" 
 
 "I should always be left forlorn," she sighed. 
 
 "If you were to come along? Straight into the sun, if 
 I say the word? And take your chance?" 
 
 "As things are?" she asked, under her breath. 
 
 "As things are." 
 
 She was like a child feeling its way step by step into a 
 pool that may be deep: "Africa then to-morrow? And 
 leave all these troubles behind?" Then curiosity over- 
 came her: "But tell me of Avignon." 
 
 "Eh, well, the truth is, when I found myself there. 
 
 304
 
 THE CHAPEL OF THE MARIES 
 
 everything was so easy that I drifted into the old habits 
 of life and forgot all about you." 
 
 When she would have murmured, he laid his hand on 
 her mouth: "Yes, but you would not stay forgotten, so in 
 the end I had to come back here just in time, it 
 seems." 
 
 Well, this at least was sweet to hear. 
 
 "I went at once to my worthy aunt by instinct, I 
 suppose; and I found the old lady a good deal changed. 
 It may have been conscience working in her I judged 
 it to be that. She received me not unkindly gave me 
 board and lodging and cigarettes bought me these 
 clothes. I do not commend her taste; it is a taste for 
 mud and rainy days, such as it is said they have in the 
 North all the time. But money oh, no ! She kept the 
 purse-strings tight; and it was too much trouble to undo 
 them. Besides, I had everything I wanted for the moment. 
 And with the little I had to begin upon, I soon made more, 
 when I had found my old companions . . . However, 
 I spent all that. I don't know how. When I looked for 
 it, it was always gone." 
 
 "I think the old lady's mind had failed a little. She 
 seemed to have forgotten the cheque she gave me ah, 
 you don't know about that. Well, the tale will keep. 
 You shall chuckle over it when we are married ... I 
 suggested to her that she should deliver the sausage-shop 
 into our hands, that she ought not to go on stuffing pigs' 
 skins all her life, that it was time to retire, that we " 
 
 "We!" ejaculated Madeloun. 
 
 "Ah, but I did not intend that we should continue the 
 
 305
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 business. I thought that we might sell out at a profit. 
 What would you?" 
 
 "And she?" asked the girl. 
 
 "She? Eh, well, she has rente enough, aside from all 
 that, to keep herself and a husband, if she wants one, and 
 her priest as well which is no small thing to say. I tell 
 you she's comfortable; and she knows it only she has a 
 fear of being skinned as she has skinned one or two others, 
 whom I will not mention ... To speak the truth, I 
 don't know whether she would have taken me in, even 
 for a time, only she had to think of the neighbours, and 
 there are many in Avignon who remember me. Besides, 
 I told her of you, and while she was prepared to give you 
 a proper welcome " 
 
 "Oh, you talk you talk!" said Madeloun in despair. 
 
 " she did not expect me to stop long there. Not so 
 long as I expected to stay myself. Eh, well, I was content 
 for a time sunning myself at cafes, like my father be- 
 fore me, and forgetting you hein ? It was a pleasure to 
 hunt up old Mercadou. He had kept the fiddle I made 
 years ago. We played tunes together, until we came to 
 the end of all we knew. Then he began upon Sedan. 
 I stood as much of it as I could; but when he took to 
 marking out old maps with rows of pins, it was too much 
 for me. I was sorry, but I had to give him up. I was 
 driven to Pons and the poodles; but they were not as funny 
 as they used to be by no means ! Perhaps I was for- 
 getting you too hard hein ? You don't seem to enjoy 
 this story, Leleto, my little hedge- queen?" 
 
 "One day I turned mad. I don't think the sun was 
 
 3 06
 
 THE CHAPEL OF THE MARIES 
 
 too hot; but I was sitting over a cup of coffee with a 
 cigarette at Le Vieux Moulin at Villeneuve I forget, 
 you would not know. I was on the edge of the river, and 
 I had a paper, but I could not read. I stared at the 
 passing of the Rhone until I came to myself with a splash 
 and found myself in it " 
 
 With a little cry, she caught his arm. 
 
 " Oh, I'm safe enough and solid enough no ghost. 
 I don't know how I came to jump in; but once there, I 
 turned towards Avignon against the current, mind you, 
 against it. When I reached the last broken pier of the 
 old bridge, I was fresh enough, but I had a fancy to climb 
 it. Up I went and along the top, until I came to the chapel 
 of St. Be'ne'zet you know ? Of course not. There I 
 stopped, and well, I am not sure that it was a prayer 
 or a vow or anything like that ; but I said I would go back 
 to you. It was a fine sunset. It made me think. But 
 the best of the occasion was that the concierge of the 
 bridge saw me from the shore and came running out in her 
 petticoat to ask how I had got there without a fee. I was 
 cold and dripping by that time, and she was hot with 
 rage, so what did I do ? Eh, well, what would you have ? 
 I caught her round the waist, as far as I could reach, and 
 I made her dance a good round. She scolded she al- 
 most kicked but we spun and we hopped and we scraped 
 in the sunset. And when I began to sing, she laughed. 
 You know the old song ? 
 
 ' Sur le pont d' Avignon 
 Tout le monde y danse en ronde.' 
 
 We were only two, but we made as much of it as we could, 
 
 307
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 for presently she entered into the spirit of the thing, as 
 the twilight grew thick. How she reckoned afterwards 
 with those who may have seen her from the bank, I do 
 not know; but we became good friends, and she let me 
 slip through the house, taking no fee, while her husband's 
 back was bent over his soup. 
 
 "And so I went home and found that my aunt who, 
 had complained that same morning before I went out, 
 had taken to her bed, and was in the hands of neighbours. 
 There was nothing for me to do, but I hung about and 
 waited to see when I might be of any use, and to keep 
 watch over the priest ,who seemed to have a mighty interest 
 in the affair . . . No, she did not die, but she kept me 
 from coming back as soon as I had planned you see ? 
 She had a long illness, and as soon as she was recovered 
 enough to lift her head, she sent for me. 'Well, nephew/ 
 says she, 'I am not going away just yet. But let me tell 
 you this: when the time comes for my departure, it will 
 be to your advantage to be as far from me as possible.' 
 
 "'My dear aunt,' says I, 'my advantage was ever the 
 last thing I sought; but, indeed, it is time I should be 
 getting back to my farm and my sweetheart, for I don't 
 know why I left them, I am sure.' 
 
 "At this she actually smiled: 'Look, you, nephew,' says 
 she, 'there's no love lost between us; but I am sorry for 
 your disappointment that I have been so slow to depart.' 
 
 "Here I would have protested politely, as is my way, 
 but she would not be put off. She fumbled in something, 
 a bag, I must suppose, that lay by her side like a baby, 
 and she brought out a louis. 'Here's for your trouble 
 
 308
 
 THE CHAPEL OF THE MARIES 
 
 in waiting,' says she, 'and now adieu. I'll send for 
 you when I want you.' 
 
 "You may well believe how I laughed at that. I was 
 going to refuse the money; but then I remembered some- 
 thing and said to her, 'It will just do to make my peace 
 with Madeloun. Good-by, my aunt. Long may you 
 live and prosper. And thanks be to you now for what 
 you bequeath me in your will; and if that is nothing, 
 thanks for the blessings you have conferred in the past.' 
 And so we parted, the first day she was allowed to sit up. 
 There's the tale . . . and now I make my peace 
 unless the thing be jolted out of my pocket in the 
 fall." 
 
 However, he found what he sought : a little box, stuffed 
 with cotton wool, and in this a small gold ring. 
 
 "You see," he explained, "we must be married pres- 
 ently, or it will be the waste of a good coin," 
 
 She suddenly pushed him away into the twilight. " Go 
 on. I will follow. I want to pray." 
 
 There she knelt humbly on the steps before the shrine, 
 and prayed to the Holy Women, who in their rudderless, 
 oarless boat had journeyed, safe under the guidance of 
 God, that they would help her in the devious way upon 
 which she had entered. For that night the thought of 
 the curse rested heavily upon her soul. 
 
 However, she joined Trillon in a more serene and prac- 
 tical frame of mind, dwelling upon the need of returning 
 at once to her father, and getting him off to the Cabro 
 d'Or, where J6use must take them in again. 
 
 "But why?" said Trillon. "It is fine weather. Give 
 
 309
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 me a blanket, and I can gather broom enough for a bed. 
 I will sleep in the new house." 
 
 She protested, but he overbore objection, except that 
 when he said they must further thresh out their plans for 
 the immediate future, this same night, she put him off: 
 "Wait till morning. We shall know better then. One 
 cannot think in the darkness." 
 
 310
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 QUARRY OR WELL 
 
 HE insisted upon going with her to the church, the 
 following morning; and he lingered in one of the little 
 chapels hewn out of solid rock in the days of Charlemagne, 
 and now green and mouldy with age and dampness and 
 close with the oppression that comes of no sunlight, while 
 Madeloun went to tell of her sins and to ask how they 
 might be mended. I am afraid his own did not weigh 
 upon him unduly. 
 
 But he grew rather dull in the heavy atmosphere, and 
 went presently to hang about the steps, until Madeloun 
 and Father Gougoulin came out together. The girl's 
 delicious beauty was stained with tears, but she smiled 
 at him faintly. 
 
 The priest was prepared to encounter him, and said 
 no more than: "We thought we had seen the last of you." 
 
 "Hoped, you mean," interjected Trillon. "Hoped." 
 
 "Eh, well," said the priest, "for the sake of this poor 
 child hoped." 
 
 Madeloun looked up with quick protest; but the words 
 did not pass her lips, for Trillon was speaking more 
 
 3"
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 fiercely than she had ever before heard him speak: "I 
 give you one week, Father Gougoulin. If you do not call 
 the banns in church next Sunday, we go to Aries on the 
 Monday, and find another priest to do that service for us; 
 and if you make any difficulties God help us! we shall 
 do without the Church altogether." 
 
 "And Madeloun," said the cure", showing no anger, 
 but speaking with a certain soft insistence, "now that 
 Madeloun is newly shriven of her sins, you would imme- 
 diately burden her soul with more?" 
 
 "I take them upon myself," answered Trillon. 
 
 "You cannot you are no scapegoat," said the priest. 
 " But I will not be threatened. And I warn you. Made- 
 loun" he turned to the girl "you are going back to 
 your brother's house to-day." 
 
 She hung her head without speaking. 
 
 "If at the end of three days you still persist in your 
 folly, and have not returned well, I make no threats." 
 Father Gougoulin shut his lips closely and turned away, 
 very grim. 
 
 Madeloun was pale with a deadly fear, as the two faced 
 the village street together; but Trillon was more himself 
 than usual. He met the gossiping women as if he enjoyed 
 crossing words with them, and he told so many lies during 
 this short progress that Madeloun wondered if he had 
 lost his senses altogether. 
 
 "Why did you make everything out so splendid?" she 
 whispered, as they went through the Porte Horloge to- 
 gether. "They will think you own the world." 
 
 "And so I mean them to think," said he, thrusting back, 
 
 312
 
 QUARRY OR WELL 
 
 as if it pained him, the bandage made of her apron, that 
 he still wore. "And in a sense, it is true it shall be 
 true. I have the luck. Every word that I have said this 
 morning helps to make it true each is a fetter linking 
 the facts more closely to our lives." 
 
 "But the great fact is," said she unhappily, "that we 
 have nothing and shall have nothing to the end of our 
 days." 
 
 "Tut, tut," was his answer. "I shall begin the well 
 to-day. Where there was a windmill there must have 
 been a well." 
 
 "But if not?" she persisted. 
 
 He made a gesture indicating impatience of all women 
 who would meddle with business. 
 
 Then she tried, as girls will, to be reasonable. "You 
 see we cannot go on living in the windmill, or you sleeping 
 on the floor of the new house. Consider how the village 
 would talk. My father may go back to the Cabro d'Or 
 -I will not. And after Confession this morning, I felt 
 how happy a thing it is not to be wicked any more. I 
 shall go back to the convent. Three days you have 
 three, he said. And you are face to face with the situa- 
 tion. You cannot wriggle away" (yes, she used the 
 word) "this time. It means breaking with me forever. 
 And that is all." 
 
 He was silent for a time, kicking the little stones out of 
 his path, not viciously, but thoughtfully, and all the while 
 whistling in an undertone. At last he spoke up: "There 
 is reason in what you say. I'm a roving vagabond, not fit 
 to have the care of a girl like you. But this I will promise. 
 
 313
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Look you, give me the three days to find my well. If at 
 the end of that time I have failed if even you say I have 
 failed, though I do not admit it I will give up all my 
 ideas and get work in the quarry." 
 
 "Would you?" she cried all in a glow. "Oh, would 
 you?" 
 
 But he was not transported by the scheme. " We could 
 still live at the farm," said he, and could not resist adding, 
 "until something better offers. And then, when even 
 the curd admits that I am earning my own livelihood, 
 perhaps " 
 
 But here she had doubts: "You do not know him." 
 
 "At least, this is a beginning," he continued patiently; 
 and so much she had to admit. Poor child! She felt 
 dimly that it's an ill world for a woman who may not 
 trust utterly the wisdom of her man. 
 
 But his zeal was amazing, she confessed to herself. 
 No sooner had they reached the windmill than he imparted 
 to Auzias the information that he was about to dig a well, 
 and invited his assistance in carrying off the rubble. 
 Notwithstanding his bandaged head, his bruises and his 
 stiffness, he flung aside his coat, found pick- and spade, 
 and looked about him for a suitable centre of operations. 
 
 While he still hesitated, she asked: "But how will you 
 know where the well was?" 
 
 Her words gave him his idea, and he advanced upon 
 her, and put a franc into her hand. "Close your eyes," 
 he commanded, and whirled her three times. "Now 
 throw." 
 
 She protested that it was folly, but he drowned her 
 
 3*4
 
 QUARRY OR WELL 
 
 words in kisses; and in the end, to stay his importunity, 
 she sent the coin in a feeble flight. 
 
 "I have heard somewhere or dreamed," said Trillon, 
 before he released her, "that silver will find water. We 
 can but try. And I know no other way." All the while 
 his eyes were searching for the sparkle of the coin in the 
 sun; but there were many crystalline pebbles and the task 
 was long. It was old Auzias who at last reached out a 
 tremulous stick, and pointed to a little hollow not far from 
 where he sat. And this proved to be the treasure trove. 
 
 With a mighty exclamation, Trillon spat on his hands 
 and rubbed them together, leaped into the shallow pit 
 and tossed up a thin spadeful of earth. 
 
 As it happened, his luck had pointed to one of the few 
 places on his estate where it was possible to dig for any 
 considerable depth. As the morning advanced, he stood 
 in a hole of his own making, though he often had to fall 
 to with the pick, and then stoop and lift out with his 
 hands rocks that taxed all his strength. The old man, 
 under directions, loaded the mule with panniers and car- 
 ried away the earth and stones, dumping them in a spot 
 where Trillon said they would yet smell bean blossoms, 
 after the rock had had a good coating of earth. In the 
 intervals, which were long enough, since only one man, 
 was digging, the helper rested near the pit and amused 
 himself with looking over such small stones and pebbles 
 as came up. 
 
 The two were often joined by Madeloun, who brought 
 her sewing, while she was preparing the dinner. When 
 at last the sun stood in the meridian, and she came to call
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 them to the meal, Trillon climbed out of his hole with 
 alacrity, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and drawing 
 long breaths of relief. He pointed with no small pride to 
 his handiwork a neat circular pit, though still some- 
 what shallow. 
 
 "But if there is no water?" Madeloun could not for- 
 bear asking. 
 
 "There will be water," he asserted with confidence. 
 "Look" he bent over a little heap of stuff that the old 
 man had collected " here are fragments of jugs that 
 have been dropped in and broken, ages and ages 
 ago." 
 
 I am not disposed to say how an archaeologist would 
 have judged this ingenious explanation of the Roman or 
 Greek potsherds in the hands of Auzias; but it made 
 Madeloun laugh, and she was content to be danced away 
 to the al fresco dinner, protesting all the while that she 
 was no cook, and she knew it could not be good. 
 
 However, Trillon was polite about the results; and the 
 three of them were merry indeed, talking about the days 
 to come when they could look into their cool dark pit and 
 draw up thence refreshment that would make the arid 
 land bloom like a rose. Madeloun for once proved a 
 successful castle-builder, and even the old man was led 
 away into the land of dreams. 
 
 After dinner, Trillon gave himself up to a cigarette, for 
 just the length of time that Madeloun spent in washing 
 her few dishes ; and in this brief interval, as he lay on the 
 grass in the shade of the windmill, he confided to her that 
 now he had had a foretaste of the cooking of married life, 
 
 316
 
 QUARRY OR WELL 
 
 he could safely say that it overbalanced freedom on the 
 road and pick-up- what-you-can-get. 
 
 This made her so happy that when he resumed his 
 labours, she took her sewing as near as she might for the 
 flying earth, and beguiled the hours with snatches of 
 mountain song to make the work go faster. 
 
 And fast it went, for Trillon bent and heaved with a 
 will; and Auzias played always with his shards, until he 
 had two panniers full, and then he conveyed them off and 
 dumped with all the briskness in the world. 
 
 Towards sunset, Madeloun said: "It looks to me as if 
 all the people from all the country round had come to 
 this one spot to break their pitchers." 
 
 "Cacaraca!" crowed Trillon. "I have struck a piece 
 of wall." 
 
 Then she folded her sewing and came to look; and 
 Auzias tottered up, and the three of them bent close, but 
 could make out nothing but an indeterminate fragment of 
 masonry. Work as he would, Trillon could discover 
 little more that night. When at supper-time he flung 
 himself on the turf, he was conscious of strong virtue, 
 feeling that if ever man in the world had earned his salad 
 and cheese, he was that man. 
 
 3*7
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST 
 
 IT was the most curious well ever devised by the mind 
 of man. By dinner-time the second day, Trillon was so 
 full of the curiosities of its construction that he did not 
 observe the sweetness of the soup or the smokiness of the 
 meat, or even give full attention to Madeloun's apologies. 
 Like many young cooks, she was having the experience in 
 which the summer of fulfilment does not follow close upon 
 the spring of promise. 
 
 But Trillon mumbled his answers and comments; and 
 developed a permanent straight line between his brows. 
 His well appeared to him to be a labyrinth. 
 
 At sunset, in a sort of despair, he ceased digging, and 
 announced that he was going up to the village to try his 
 luck at a cafe". He lighted his pipe and endeavoured to 
 return to his usual serenity; but Madeloun could see that 
 he was not only troubled with a sense of failure, but 
 humiliated by the thought of working in the quarry 
 among the men to whom he had before, in a friendly way, 
 considered himself superior. Accordingly, when he tried 
 to jest about finding his luck, she understood the phrase
 
 THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST 
 
 to mean either that he would drink himself into a state of 
 forgetfulness, or would gamble with the little money that 
 he had. How else indeed might the words be interpreted ? 
 
 It was pride that made her ask: "You will not go to the 
 Cabro d'Or?" 
 
 No, he admitted, with some degree of shamefacedness, 
 that his choice was the humbler precinct, the Emperor 0} 
 the East. 
 
 So Madeloun and the old man sat looking over the 
 plain until the twilight joined the rising mists and made 
 dense blackness, and then went to bed very sadly. 
 
 And Trillon, although shorn of his last hope, perhaps 
 because in his own mind he admitted this painful fact, 
 entered the Emperor 0} the East with an air rather more 
 jaunty than usual. 
 
 He was surprised to see a large company assembled 
 about the one long table, until he perceived the cause of 
 this gathering in calico curtains across a corner of the 
 room. Evidently, there was going to be a puppet-show 
 for the delectation of the patrons of the cafe. The Cabro 
 d'Or would be doing poor business this night. 
 
 Trillon was unexpected, but he was not slow to see that 
 his arrival created more than surprise. There was a 
 distinct exchange of looks among the group, which he 
 interpreted to mean: "Here's the very man we have been 
 talking about now for our chance!" 
 
 Seeing that the one table was nearly full, and that 
 nobody moved to make room for him, Trillon, with a 
 brief general salutation, crossed over and took his place 
 alone at a small table. He felt that he was in for some-
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 thing he could not tell what or why and he rather 
 enjoyed the prospect. He looked for Ramoun or Peire 
 as the probable root of the trouble, but neither was present. 
 
 He ordered an absinthe, though he was not given to 
 the liquor, and indicated, as well as might be done by 
 expression alone, that the company was to come on when 
 it liked. 
 
 During a brief silence, he heard the drum of the puppet- 
 show man outside, up and down the village street, trying 
 to beat in a larger audience. But the company was not 
 over-slow to open fire. 
 
 It was Alari of Montpaon, a brigand-type of man, with 
 a felt hat cocked over one eye, and a fiercely-pointed 
 moustache, who got in the first shot: "And how goes the 
 mas?" 
 
 "How goes yours?" answered Trillon politely. "Do 
 you look for crops now? It is out of season. Ask me 
 later." 
 
 "Come, come," said a wide-mouthed village youth, a 
 wastrel and a good-for-nothing, nudging Alari in the ribs. 
 "Anyone can see you are from the country. The olive- 
 trees in the Pit of Artaban are breaking their branches, 
 and the owner of them is contemplating purchase of the 
 chateau." 
 
 At this, there was a roar, for the nominal prince of 
 Castelar is a notorious bankrupt; but Trillon kept coun- 
 tenance and sipped absinthe as if his thoughts were of 
 the pleasantest. 
 
 "I hear," said a grizzled little old shepherd, "that you 
 are digging a well?" 
 
 320
 
 THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST 
 
 In spite of himself, Trillon laughed, remembering the 
 extraordinary underground structure that for two days 
 he had been trying to dignify with this name. "Yes," 
 said he, "and any fellow that comes and helps shall have 
 free use of the water." 
 
 "How deep have you gone?" asked ruddy Jan of the 
 village shop. 
 
 "It's as dry as the soul of Judas!" interrupted a 
 pert young shepherd, Charloun of Masblanc. "I passed 
 this morning early before the menage was stirring." 
 
 The words were innocent, but the insult conveyed by 
 the tone was not lost upon the community. They rocked 
 with laughter at the thrust, and one enthusiastically patted 
 Charloun on the back. 
 
 "Deep enough," said Trillon composedly, though his 
 face shot red, "quite deep enough to make a comfortable 
 grave for any man that I drop into it; and with plenty of 
 boulders to jam him down until Doomsday." 
 
 At this, amusement was turned into a sudden little hiss 
 of amazement and anger; and one or two threats were 
 uttered. 
 
 "Not deep enough for Peire," said Savie", Ramoun's 
 father. 
 
 "Perhaps not, but deep enough for you and your son 
 together," said Trillon, sipping. 
 
 Savie got to his feet, knocking his chair over, stuttering 
 with rage and pointing a finger. 
 
 "Eh, well," said Trillon, "it's a pity your son is not 
 here himself or Peire, since you have mentioned him. I 
 came to have a quiet evening, not to quarrel with old men." 
 
 321
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 It seemed then that there were many willing substitutes 
 for the missing youths, and a general fight was imminent, 
 in which the landlord's chairs and bottles might have 
 fared ill. But at the critical moment, Trillon's luck 
 or was it chance ? brought a diversion by the entrance 
 of a man who was strange to Castelar; and he immediately 
 became the focus of all eyes. For a moment there was a 
 tacit proclamation of truce, seats and drinks were re- 
 sumed; but the trouble went on boiling below, as was 
 clear from looks and mutters. 
 
 The last visitor peered about the room with a short- 
 sighted glance; then crossed over and sat down at the 
 table where Trillon was a most signal instance, the 
 latter said afterwards, of his phenomenal luck. By 
 the time the newcomer had ordered coffee, the puppet- 
 man had returned, laid aside his drum, and gone behind 
 the curtain to make ready his creatures. 
 
 "Ah ah," said the stranger, rubbing his hands to- 
 gether and beaming: "It is the great drama of Pyrame 
 et Thisbe, is it not?" 
 
 Trillon smiled and shrugged his ignorance. 
 
 "I saw the notice outside. I am a great lover of folk- 
 lore, monsieur " 
 
 "Folk-lore?" asked Trillon. "What is that?" And 
 when he had the explanation, he added: "I see. You 
 are one of those people who wander about the country 
 taking an interest in old things." 
 
 At first the stranger looked offended, for though he was 
 shabbily dressed, his well-worn clothes had about them 
 an air of position if not of prosperity; then he laughed 
 
 322
 
 THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST 
 
 and said: "You are right. I am a lover of folk-lore and 
 antiquities." 
 
 "And that is why you have come to the puppet-show?" 
 asked Trillon idly. 
 
 "That is why. It is a relic a relic of the old time." 
 
 Now what made Trillon do it? He deliberately 
 fumbled in his coat-pockets and brought out a handful 
 of potsherds and odds and ends that he had put there for 
 a second look. He laid them in a little heap before the 
 old man. "Relics?" said he. "And are these relics too, 
 or what ?" Why did he do it, can you answer me? 
 
 "Ah ah," said the antiquary, and pushed away his 
 cup. His fingers began to tremble with eagerness. 
 " Arabic Arabic period of hah ! Can it be Phoeni- 
 cian ? No yes no, they are unheard of in these 
 parts. Roman Roman yes, Roman Etruscan 
 Samian prehistoric yes, yes. Greek Greek 
 archaic that might have been brought by the Phocions 
 when they landed at Marseilles. Well well where 
 did you find them all?" 
 
 "In my well," says Trillon, "a well that I am digging." 
 
 "Good," answered the old man. "I buy them. And 
 have you any more?" 
 
 "Buy them?" Trillon laughed. "I will give you them 
 by the cart-load if you will take them away " 
 
 "My son" the stranger held up a warning finger 
 "let me speak you a word of advice. Never give away 
 antiquities, however worthless they seem. I say it to my 
 own loss; but I will pay you a fair price for the lot." 
 
 "What do you call a fair price?" asked Trillon. "It's 
 
 323
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 an intolerable nuisance digging them up; they come 
 hard." 
 
 But now the stranger lifted a forefinger in sign that the 
 miniature curtain had been raised; and there was silence 
 throughout the room while the little play went on. 
 
 Trillon knew it by heart, and all the while that the lovers 
 squeaked and fainted and ran, and the father roared, and 
 the mischief-makers put their heads together, he was 
 deep in a muse, forgetting even to smoke. 
 
 But the stranger sat intent and applauded as heartily 
 as the wildest youth in the place. And they, those brown 
 children of the sun, who a few moments before had been 
 ready to embark upon a mortal fray for almost no cause had 
 now forgotten their wrath in the pathos of the touching 
 death of Pyrame over his sweetheart's hat, and of the young 
 woman's speedy demise upon her swain; and yet scarcely 
 were the tears winked away from their eyes before they 
 were roaring at the broad humour of the interlude. 
 
 "Look ye" the stranger again wagged a finger at 
 Trillon when the curtain had dropped "I will examine 
 what you have found, and I will pay you enough for your 
 trouble." 
 
 "I wish," said Trillon, "you would come and tell me 
 what kind of well it is that I have struck." 
 
 "Eh, what?" said the antiquary. "What's that?" - 
 and demanded an explanation. 
 
 When he had it, he said: "That's no well. I must look 
 into the question. Eh, eh, this is not my first visit to 
 Castelar. You would not know, but it is I have written 
 a pamphlet on the Roman monument that is falsely sup- 
 
 324
 
 THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST 
 
 posed to represent the two Maries, and another on the 
 Celtic camp on the top of Costa Pera. Ah, I know the 
 country for miles around; but this you tell me is more 
 remarkable . . . Plutarch, it is, I believe, who has a line 
 or two ... I shall not sleep a wink to-night not until 
 I know what the thing is . . ." 
 
 "In that case," said Trillon, "you'd better come home 
 with me and have a look at it by lantern-light. I will 
 bring you back again to the Cabro d'Or." 
 
 "Done," said the stranger, and rose so abruptly that he 
 all but knocked his chair over. 
 
 "But, then," asked Trillon, disclaiming all eagerness, 
 "what of Pyrame et Thisbe?" 
 
 "Pyrame et Thisbe! What are they to the thing of 
 which you tell me, if it should prove . . . But I must go 
 softly. I see that you have nothing of the zeal of the 
 antiquary, monsieur." 
 
 "No," said Trillon, "but it's time I were getting back 
 to the farm." 
 
 "The farm?" was the eager query. "And who owns 
 it?" 
 
 "Myself," says Trillon. "I can show you the papers; 
 but once I have found water, I am in no haste to sell 
 it." 
 
 The stranger dropped a little pile of coppers on the 
 table for the showman, and leaving his coffee half finished 
 walked hastily to the door. 
 
 Trillon followed, his hands in his pockets, perfectly at 
 his ease again, and confident in his unreasonable good 
 fortune. He took a long time over the payment for his 
 
 3 2 5
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 absinthe; and when the feat was accomplished, as if 
 forgetful of the impatient presence at the door, he faced 
 the company at the long table: "If any man here has a 
 word to say to me before I go, or wishes to resume the 
 discussion of a few moments since " 
 
 But he was not allowed to finish, for the curtain went 
 up again, and simultaneously his new acquaintance ad- 
 vanced and took him by the arm. Whereupon, with a 
 prodigious wink that included the entire company, show- 
 man, and puppets, and all, he vanished. 
 
 But so busy had been the eyes and ears of the audience 
 with what had been gleaned of the conversation over the 
 "relics," that an excited buzz followed upon the departure 
 of the two men, and seriously hampered for a while the 
 progress of the play. 
 
 However, in the end, the boards resumed their sway 
 over the emotions, and the men of Castelar returned to 
 the diminutive sorrows and joys that they blended with 
 their wine and bitters, and never dreamed of the little 
 drama that they might have witnessed had they gone 
 forth and followed the trail to the Pit of Artaban. 
 
 Madeloun, too, and her father missed the scene with 
 the flickering lantern, the excited whispers and comments 
 that went on under the broken skin of the earth. For 
 hours, the will-o'-the-wisp light wandered about the Pit 
 before it entered upon the track to Castelar; and after 
 a long interval returned hence with a wilful flare, an 
 uncertainty of progress that suggested a high degree of 
 inebriation on the part of its bearer. 
 
 But Trillon was not drunk; he was merely joyful; and 
 
 326
 
 THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST 
 
 he signified the fact by an improvised lantern war-dance 
 on the plateau above the Pit. And when he was exhausted, 
 he flung himself upon the turf with a laugh smothered, 
 but long and incessant: "My luck!" he gasped. "Oh 
 my luck! Bon-dtiu, it beats the devil!" 
 
 327
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF THE CHURCH 
 
 "!T is the third day," said Trillon, with glee, when he 
 came down from the unfinished house to get his black 
 coffee from Madeloun. "And what will Father Gou- 
 goulin do?" 
 
 "Have you no fear?" she asked, wondering at his 
 change of mood. What had happened at the cafe* the 
 night before? Ah, doubtless he had been gambling and 
 had won again. She did not like the thought. 
 
 When he had finished his breakfast, he sat so long over 
 his pipe that she felt bound to remind him of the 
 state in which he had left his prospective well. 
 
 "To-day," said he, "I do not work. I make holiday. 
 A man cannot toil every hour of the year." 
 
 She looked at him with some scorn: "You think you 
 work so hard?" 
 
 He shrugged: "Eh, well, I appeal to you. The last 
 two days and for a man who was badly shaken too ..." 
 
 "But if you bring it to no ending?" she pleaded. 
 
 "I have brought it far enough" his yellow eyes 
 gleamed upon her with the joy of teasing. 
 
 328
 
 THE CONQUEST OF THE CHURCH 
 
 " But if you do not find the water how will you make 
 the farm pay?" she asked. 
 
 "I can make it pay," he asserted with confidence; but, 
 although she waited, he would not deign to explain further. 
 
 She turned away, thoroughly out of patience: "Then, 
 to-morrow you go to the quarry of Sant Pau remem- 
 ber; and we must make the best of the situation." 
 
 "To-morrow to-morrow," he jeered at her, "we may 
 be at the end of this world, or out of it altogether. Mean- 
 while, there is to-day a whole long day in which to be 
 idle lazy " 
 
 "And the cure"?" she asked, looking over her shoulder 
 at him. 
 
 He sat up then and faced her seriously: "That reminds 
 me. I am in a position now to treat with your good old 
 man. Are you going up to the village?" 
 
 "No," she answered, "but father will be at the wedding 
 later" he remembered then that he had heard what 
 country lass and lad were going to slip into the noose, 
 this day. 
 
 "Eh, well," said he, "it's no matter. I can see him 
 this afternoon, for I'm going up myself, having many 
 affairs on my hands." 
 
 "So you're not going to work here at all?" 
 
 "That is it," said he. 
 
 She flung down her sewing with a passionate gesture: 
 "Then why should I?" 
 
 He seemed to consider the question freshly: "After all, 
 why should you ? Leave it and go dance at the wedding. 
 You'll be dancing at your own shortly." 
 
 329
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 She shook her head: "I'm not so sure of that. You 
 with your talking and your mysteries! How do I know 
 what you are about? Will you tell me?" There was a 
 threat in her tone. 
 
 He drew his eyelids together as he said: "No, not until 
 to-night. Women cannot keep a secret. What of it?" 
 
 "What of it?" she got to her feet, in a piteous sort of 
 helpless anger. "Eh, well, I shall leave my work and go 
 dance at Eisabeu's wedding and that's what of it!" 
 
 "Do," said he serenely, "and joy go with you." 
 
 "And Peire will be there and Ramoun too," she 
 tried to taunt him into jealousy. 
 
 "The better for you," was all he said. "Go and have 
 your little game it may be your last. When it troubles 
 me, I will interfere not before." 
 
 Their glances crossed and his were victorious. 
 
 But she stubbornly folded up her sewing and put it 
 away, and going into the windmill began to look out her 
 finery. 
 
 Whatever the business was that called Trillon to Cas- 
 telar, it did not seem urgent, for that worthy man spent 
 the morning drifting about his land and smoking one 
 cigarette after another. 
 
 When, well after dinner, he saw Madeloun and her 
 father emerge in their best splendour, he deigned to come 
 near and look at them with a critical eye. 
 
 When Auzias asked whether he had not the intention 
 of going with them, he waved his regret in the air, and 
 said that he must stay and look after the animals. And 
 he had already spent half the day and more at his hopeless 
 
 330
 
 THE CONQUEST OF THE CHURCH 
 
 well, as if he thought that mere staring would conjure up 
 the means to enrich the land ! 
 
 So it came about that the betrothed parted with coolness 
 (though Trillon's laugh when he was alone did not betray 
 much vexation on the point) ; and they did not meet again 
 until the stars were sown thickly. 
 
 It seems that after all Trillon had a busy afternoon, 
 with some going back and forth between the village and 
 the mas\ and I can assure you that he was not alone, 
 though the name of his visitor is too eminent to be touched 
 lightly, and therefore I omit it altogether. If you desire 
 further information, look up in the index of the Revue des 
 Savants, a series of articles on "The Site of Glanum and 
 its Treasures." You will be edified. 
 
 Near dusk Trillon was again alone, and remembered 
 that he w r as hungry, and that nobody had cooked him a 
 supper. He foraged among his stores; and was stopped 
 half-way through a sardine by the memory that he had 
 yet to deal with Father Gougoulin. 
 
 He ate the faster in order to hasten his going to the 
 village, but while he was in the act of leaping over 
 his wall, he encountered the very individual that he 
 sought, climbing from the road below. 
 
 "Eh, well," began the cure", without prelude, "the three 
 days are up, you know, and this mad situation must come 
 to an end." 
 
 "It has come to an end, father," observed Trillon, 
 suppressing his glee. 
 
 "What end?" 
 
 "The natural end. I have fulfilled your all but im- 
 
 33 1
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 possible condition. I have made the MAS ARTABAN 
 pay." 
 
 "How so?" The priest was clearly startled. 
 
 Trillon drew something out of his pocket; "Wait a 
 moment. I will show you." He fumbled with a small 
 case or book, and dropped it carelessly on the ground 
 when he had drawn forth a bit of paper. Then he struck 
 a match on his boot, and unfolding the paper with his 
 fingers, turned the tiny flame upon it. "Read," said he 
 quietly. 
 
 In the sudden blaze of light, the priest caught the words 
 jour thousand; then Trillon blew upon the match. 
 
 "Four thousand what?" gasped the old man. "From 
 whom ? For what ? Monsieur, you shall account to me ! " 
 
 "Soon done," laughed Trillon. "I have sold the mas. 
 Created it first, mind you you must grant me that; for 
 the name stands so in the deed of sale. It is mine no 
 longer. Instead, I have this little paper." 
 
 "What fool?" thundered the priest. 
 
 "You may well ask. This time it is not myself. But 
 there is no need of haste. You will know soon, and soon 
 enough. It will be all over the village presently. Does 
 your Reverence still withhold your gracious permission 
 for the banns?" 
 
 "Wait wait " muttered the curd. 
 
 "Wait? Without doubt, I will wait all the night; but 
 how does that affect my case?" 
 
 The twilight gathered close, but the young moon was 
 riding high over the plain and showed the two men faintly 
 to each other. 
 
 332
 
 THE CONQUEST OF THE CHURCH 
 
 "Look you," said the priest. "You make much of 
 your four thousand francs, got I know not by what scan- 
 dalous means " 
 
 "Nor need know!" Trillon could not refrain from an 
 impish laugh. 
 
 "Eh, well," the inflection showed anger. "You 
 have a little money now, I grant it; but in a week you will 
 be poor again. Who are you that I should trust to you 
 the soul of a girl who plainly cannot take care of herself?" 
 
 "The more reason that I should step in. But who are 
 you, to take upon yourself so entirely the welfare of a girl 
 who is a stranger to you?" 
 
 Then an odd thing happened, and yet it was no more 
 odd than that the priest kept silence, not at once finding 
 an answer that pleased him; and into that pause, Trillon, 
 with a curious sort of instinct that crept over him and 
 served him well now and then at critical moments 
 though as often again it failed read intricate meanings. 
 
 Said Father Gougoulin: "I have never thought there 
 was need to go into the matter. I have persisted through 
 a desire to give peace to the soul of Madaleno Borel, the 
 elder. A dying woman's wish is not lightly set aside." 
 
 "And so, for her whim, you would sacrifice the happiness 
 of two?" asked Trillon, more seriously than he was wont 
 to speak. 
 
 "A whim?" cried the priest. "It had been her one 
 hope for years." 
 
 "Why?" asked Trillon curtly. 
 
 He could see that the cure" shrugged: "Is it so unnatural 
 that parents should take that stand ?" 
 
 333
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 He would have said more, but Trillon interrupted: "I 
 think it is. It was never the wish of Borel himself." 
 
 "The girl had no dowry," said the priest curtly. 
 
 "Sarnipabieunet I lose patience. I have been over 
 that ground like a horse in a treadmill. If there is no 
 getting the truth out of you " 
 
 "The truth," said Father Gougoulin, "is that Made- 
 loun is dancing the jarandoulo up there at the wedding; 
 and is ripe and ready to take any swain that offers, once 
 you are out of the way; and the more for that reason do 
 I think it not expedient for her to marry at all." 
 
 "Be still!" thundered Trillon. "I have small cause 
 to respect your robe; but when you speak with a dirty 
 tongue " 
 
 The priest put out deprecatory hands. He was won- 
 dering hard hi his sodden brain how he was ever to be rid 
 of the fellow. "Look you," said he, "I will stretch a 
 point. I will tell you something of the true reason. 
 Madeloun was early destined by her mother for the con- 
 vent by way of expiation " 
 
 So far he had got when he felt Trillon's eyes upon him, 
 fairly burning through the darkness. His words might 
 seem strangely irrelevant: "And why is it, if one may ask, 
 that you were left in this place to rot some thirty years 
 ago? Such a thing does not happen without cause. 
 And are we to suppose that immediate reform followed 
 your transfer?" 
 
 The priest's hands were still stretched before him, and 
 he moved his fingers incessantly and without purpose 
 there was light enough to show that. 
 
 334
 
 THE CONQUEST OF THE CHURCH 
 
 Trillon waited long but had no answer. At last he 
 said: "I wonder whether the joy of killing you would 
 make up for Madeloun's distress?" 
 
 As the cure" started back, Trillon caught at his sash and 
 so held him. He himself found it strange how old mem- 
 ories leaped into significance, and half suspicions came 
 to be full evidence, until the truth shone upon him as 
 clear and incontrovertible in his own mind as the moon 
 in the sky. 
 
 "No, I shall not kill you. I shall merely make you do 
 what I want. You thought to trap me to-night, and you 
 have walked into the noose finely. I interpret your words, 
 and still more your silence, to mean that Madeloun is not 
 the daughter of Auzias. Whose it is better not to ask. 
 Eh, well who cares? But the fact leaves her free to 
 roam the world with me if she will. And she shall be 
 put to the test before long . . . No, I will not denounce 
 you . . ." 
 
 "Who would believe such a monstrous assertion on the 
 lips of a vagabond?" said Gougoulin hoarsely. 
 
 "The village, I have no doubt " Trillon was quite 
 unperturbed. "And I likewise have no doubt it would 
 be enough to get you unfrocked." 
 
 "Madness madness " was the sacerdotal murmur. 
 
 "I ask nothing of you," urged Trillon gently, " or 
 very little. Withdraw your objection and put it hi writ- 
 ing. For Madeloun's sake hein?" 
 
 The old man uttered inarticulate protests, vain words; 
 but it was evident that his nerve was broken. His past life 
 had not been conducive to any great moral effort in a crisis. 
 
 335
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "Come," said Trillon, "we will let the dead rest; but 
 if there is any expiating to be done, you shall do it not 
 Madeloun. It's easy enough for you to add a few more 
 prayers a few penances . . . Give me a thing to show the 
 girl and set her conscience at peace, and I leave you alone 
 after to-night. You shall eat and drink here twenty 
 years more for all my interference. But if not " 
 
 It seemed that Gougoulin had no desire to hear the 
 converse. The very droop of his sash in Trillon's hand 
 was compliant. 
 
 Trillon held it a moment, then he dropped it with 
 disgust: "You are a gross old man. I will be finished 
 with you quickly; for I have still much business to do 
 to-night." 
 
 And what happened thereafter need not be told at this 
 time. 
 
 336
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 A LITTLE DRAMA IN THE PLACE 
 
 THEY said in Castelar that same night that Madeloun's 
 heart was as light as her heels. None among them had 
 any idea of the anger that burned in her cheeks and 
 lent her grace for the jarandoulo. 
 
 The wedding-party was too large to dance within doors; 
 and as a fitting conclusion to the solemnity and the feast- 
 ing and the various other accompaniments of a new step 
 in life, they adjourned to pass the evening and perhaps 
 the night in the Place du Connetable de Montferrand. 
 Oh, they were all there, Jano-Mario in a skirt and fichu 
 of lavender silk that her grandmother had worn at such 
 festivities, Nerto hi a yellow cotton print from Marseilles, 
 and all the other village girls tricked out like butterflies. 
 And the young men, quarrymen, shepherds, farmers, 
 hatless and collarless, with sashes of red and blue and 
 yellow, and sandals light on the feet they left little to 
 be desired for the spreading of sport and mirth. The 
 mayor had swung the big tricolour from the town-hall, 
 and had lent even the council- chamber of this august 
 building for the laying out of food. And the music was 
 
 337
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 pipe and tambourin, of course how else should one 
 dance in Provence? And when weariness settled for a 
 time on the company, then the blind fiddler, who had 
 been led that morning all the way from Fontvieille, came 
 into his own, and played sweet old airs of the follies and 
 joys of love until the maidens drooped their eyes with 
 melancholy, and the young men clamoured again for the 
 dance, or choked down the lumps in their throats with 
 gay cries of, "Snail snail come out of your shell, 
 little monk"; or teased the girls because they were not so 
 pretty as the lasses of Sant Roumie", or so hard-working as 
 the damsels of Cavaioun ... It was cool enough for the 
 dancers on the terrace above the high rock; and warm 
 and light within the H6tel de Ville for those who talked 
 of autumn chill and poured good wine into their marrows. 
 And among these was Auzias, drowsy and content, having 
 complained away his grievances and talked out the 
 thoughts of his heart . . . And because lamps were few, 
 there were rows of candles on the window sills within; and 
 without, in the still air, hung the broad flames of torches, 
 and swept into darkness the pale light of the high moon. 
 
 Madeloun had to put up with some teasing; and it 
 fanned the heat of her strong wrath against Trillon. 
 
 It was perhaps a jealous girl without a sweetheart who 
 reminded her that her man ought to be there on that 
 occasion. 
 
 "To be sure," said Madeloun, "and no doubt he will 
 come and fetch me if I stay long enough. But if a girl 
 cannot be free, because she is fianceV she concluded 
 with a shrug. 
 
 338
 
 A LITTLE DRAMA IN THE PLACE 
 
 To others she gave elaborate excuses and explanations, 
 wondering at the fertility of her own invention, and by no 
 means recognizing it as the handiwork of the sun. But 
 she was never sorry to turn to other matters; and evinced 
 much interest in the village gossip, which at that time 
 consisted largely of speculation about the movements of a 
 mysterious old man, who had put up at the Cabro, d'Or 
 the preceding night, and had departed for Aries, or fur- 
 ther, that same afternoon. Be sure, they did not forget 
 to tell her the women what their men had revealed 
 to them upon coming home from the Emperor of the East, 
 in regard to the mysterious conference of Trillon with the 
 stranger. She could but pretend to know all about the 
 affair, and refuse to give enlightenment for the present; 
 but she worked her wits hard and could draw no more 
 conclusion than they. 
 
 And while the dancing was on, she denied herself to 
 no swain. Later, when the fun grew faster and more 
 boisterous, it was generally Ramoun or Peire, or both, 
 who had hand of hers. They led her between them 
 through the intricacies of the farandoulo, to the immense 
 amusement of all onlookers. 
 
 She was in full rebellion that night, and she gave herself 
 up freely to the joy of the moment. When the elder 
 women sought occasion now and then to draw her aside 
 for a whispered warning, she turned an impatient ear, 
 and acted more madly than before. Emilio from her 
 corner, where she sat encompassed with sleeping children, 
 sent her many a black and reproachful glance, but none 
 reached her notice. Even the slow-going Jduse remarked 
 
 339
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 at one point: "There would be no harm in your going 
 home to bed, Madaleno." 
 
 She was leaning near the door then, letting Ramoun 
 fan her with an old newspaper that he had found. 
 
 "Eh, eh," said Borel, turning querulously in his chair, 
 "it's myself that would like to go home to bed to a 
 proper bed at the Cabro d'Or." He was not aware that 
 he had spoken loud enough to be overheard; but neigh- 
 bours have long ears. Jduse pretended to laugh as he 
 looked round him: "I always said you and Madeloun 
 would soon be tired of your gypsying at the Pit of Artaban. 
 The sooner you come back and turn Christian the 
 better." 
 
 "I am not tired of it!" flashed Madeloun, careless who 
 heard. " And I am not coming back to turn Christian 
 
 Luckily for her the tambourin struck up, and Peire 
 came to fetch her for the last dance; and so her mad 
 utterance was lost in a confusion of interest. Ramoun 
 would not be shaken off; and it happened again that the 
 two of them had her between them. It was a positive 
 scandal, went the buzz of village talk, the way all three of 
 them looked as if they were enjoying themselves, when 
 
 When the ghostly horseman, who through the din had 
 managed to ride up the village street without a sound, 
 was suddenly reining his steed among the crowd; and 
 there was kicking and striking out of sparks on the cob- 
 bles. People scattered, children were awakened rudely 
 and screamed, the tambourin and the dancing stopped 
 together, though the pipe went on for a bar or two, hang- 
 ing forlornly in mid-air, unaccompanied. So sudden was 
 
 340
 
 A LITTLE DRAMA IN THE PLACE 
 
 the apparition that it was not until some while after that 
 it dawned upon the slower- witted that this was no ghostly 
 affair, but Trillon on his white mule. 
 
 It must have been Madeloun's conscience that made 
 her shrink with a little scream behind her taller companion. 
 
 Trillon said nothing, but he held the entire crowd in 
 expectation of what he would do. 
 
 It was Ramoun who broke silence, saying with a mon- 
 key-grimace: "Well, monsieur, do you mean to chew us 
 all up for our little pleasures?" 
 
 Trillon made no answer, but pushed his beast forward 
 so that Ramoun was threatened with overthrow. He 
 suddenly reached out and caught the bridle, trying to 
 drag the animal down to the stones. There was a shrill 
 cry from somewhere, but Trillon did not speak or change 
 his expression. What he did to the animal none saw; 
 but the mule rose suddenly on his hind legs, the shepherd 
 was dragged, entangled, and thrown, and fell cursing 
 with a gleam of steel in his hand, as Madeloun rushed 
 forward to fling herself in the way. But it was Peire 
 who was quicker and turned the furious hand; and even 
 so, he was more angry than Ramoun. 
 
 "It's a pretty return she makes you," he said "trying 
 to save you from the death you have earned. Have you 
 told her how you offered to throw her away with a cast 
 of the dice?" 
 
 There was a confused murmur of, "What? What?" 
 and ejaculations. People pressed forward, forgetting 
 their previous fear of the mule. Little dramas such as 
 this are the breath of life in the nostrils of Castelar.
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 Trillon made no answer beyond turning his steady look 
 from Madeloun to Peire. 
 
 "It is so true," said Peire passionately, "that I call 
 upon you here, before all the town, to deny it if you dare. 
 And if you say no, I will kill you and send you to hell 
 for a liar!" 
 
 Here several men deemed it wise to lay hands upon the 
 orator. Two or three others had already seized Ramoun, 
 got him to his feet, steadied him, and were keeping him 
 within bounds. 
 
 One woman shrieked hysterically, "Call the guard!" 
 while, indeed, this official was an interested spectator all 
 the time, if not so active a worker as might have been 
 anticipated. 
 
 Suddenly, Madeloun had uncovered her face, and was 
 looking up at her man; and he in turn was looking down 
 at her. 
 
 "Is that true?" she asked. 
 
 She fancied, but was not sure, that he nodded slightly. 
 
 "True that you were willing to gamble for me to 
 risk all everything on one throw of the dice?" 
 
 There could be no doubt about it this time; he nodded, 
 and more than once. 
 
 A hiss and mumble of some strong emotion went through 
 the crowd. One or two active citizens seized Trillon's 
 bridle. It seemed as if there might be a riot. The 
 mayor pricked out with sweat, wondering how he ought 
 to interfere; and the guard retreated behind a pillar of the 
 church, whence he could watch comfortably until such time 
 as the arrested persons should be turned over to his hands. 
 
 342
 
 A LITTLE DRAMA IN THE PLACE 
 
 Madeloun covered her face again, in a silence that for 
 her meant more than tears. 
 
 The murmur grew, and there was a shuffling of people 
 back and forth. The mule became restive and played 
 the high-spirited charger, causing some alarm among 
 those that held his bridle. Then there fell a hush upon 
 the square because everybody perceived that Trillon was 
 about to speak. 
 
 "I won," he said. "Remember that I won." And 
 that was all. 
 
 Madeloun looked up again, magnificent in her wrath, 
 as thought more than one youth that beheld her. 
 
 "No," she said, and lifted her arm in denunciation, 
 "you did not win! You shall not win! Never, so help 
 me God and the Holy Virgin " 
 
 What happened then ah, that was what Castelar 
 never was able to piece together, or to make out to its own 
 complete satisfaction. There had been a whirl and a 
 great kicking about of hoofs and a scream ; and the square 
 was suddenly empty of mule and rider, and full of people 
 running about and asking foolish questions. Even the 
 guard came out from the shadow of the church and joined 
 in the hurly-burly. Incidentally after some moments 
 of agitation it was discovered that Madaleno Borel 
 was also away. 
 
 In the end, the weaker ones, who in the press had been 
 crowded against the outer wall, had the best of the situa- 
 tion. To be sure, they could see nothing for the flare of 
 the torches about them; and the young moon shed no 
 light into the deeps of the valley. But they had only to 
 
 343
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 turn about to follow with their ears the thunder of hoofs 
 on the Roman road. Lively enough was Balm after 
 some days of high feeding; and his downward progress 
 balin-balant was marked by rattles and showers of 
 small stones. 
 
 Long and anxiously they listened in momentary antici- 
 pation of a crash, until in the hush the sound grew faint 
 as an echo; and when this gave way to the utter silence of 
 the night, then Castelar, as one man, heaved a great sigh. 
 
 344
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 BALIN-BALANT 
 
 Bdin-Balant from side to side went the steed, 
 swaying and plunging through the night. Balin-Balant 
 that w r as his name; and well he earned it on this great 
 occasion of his life. 
 
 With silence between them a silence as close as the 
 embrace that held them as one and left the mule to his 
 own madness or discretion they rode down into the 
 plains. And when, looking over his shoulder, Trillon 
 perceived the flare of Castelar as little more than a con- 
 stellation in the sky, he gave a whoop of joy, and urged 
 the flying beast, which even then raised a cloud of dust 
 like a mist about them. And so they were whirled through 
 the darkness of the plains between the dense black cypresses 
 that now and again shot up at the one side or the other, like 
 gigantic demoniac figures or sentries to turn them back. 
 
 "Never, so help me God," swore the man "God and 
 the Holy Virgin, will I part from Trillon again until I lay 
 a wreath on his grave and look about me for another hus- 
 band equally good! Was that what you would say, 
 Madeloun? By all that is holy, you spoke truth!" 
 
 345
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 She lay still in his arms and would not respond to his 
 kisses. "And if I satisfy you to-morrow?" he urged. 
 "If I satisfy you on every point?" 
 
 She stirred a little then. "It is always to-morrow with 
 you, Trillon," she said. He scarcely made out her words 
 for the pounding of the hoofs on the road. 
 
 But when he understood, he laughed long and loud: 
 "No you are wrong! This is the one time. To-day 
 is to-day. And since that is so, you shall be satisfied to- 
 night. Ask." 
 
 She roused herself a little: "Where are we going?" 
 
 "Straight to Marseilles. We shall be there with the 
 dawn, or not many hours after, if Balin-Balant holds out 
 to Aries." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "South America, any place in the world, my 
 child!" 
 
 She shivered and drew away a little : " But how how ? " 
 
 "I am rich!" The words floated far into the night. 
 "Rich! rich!" 
 
 She was more frightened than before: "But how? 
 Have you been ?" she could not bring out the name of 
 the thing that she dreaded. 
 
 "No," said he, "whatever you mean. But I have sold 
 the mas for four thousand francs." 
 
 She caught her breath: "For ?" 
 
 "For four thousand francs! Four thousand francs! 
 Say it once then perhaps you will believe it. I have 
 the paper in my pocket; and I am to get the money in 
 Marseilles. And there is some silver besides." 
 
 346
 
 BALIN-BALANT 
 
 He freed one hand, to make sure of the jingle of coin in 
 his pocket. 
 
 "Four thousand francs!" she repeated in a low voice, 
 but did not yet believe. 
 
 "Shall I tell you why?" he cried exultantly. "It was 
 because I would dig that well. Did you ever know my 
 luck to fail? Eh, then, the well turns out to be the ruins 
 of a temple to some heathen god negre-de-DUu, I forget 
 the name, but I believe it was a woman! And so it was 
 all bought up by a great wise man, an antiquary, if 
 you know what that is he told me. And his name 
 you shall see that on the cheque to-morrow; but he is a 
 chevalier d'honneur, so you need have no doubts of his 
 money. But if you had, and they were just, and this 
 paper were nothing, I could get more, now that I have you 
 and would set my mind to it, my pretty little hedge-queen." 
 
 "I shall be a hedge-queen sure enough when all this is 
 spent," said she, but with surprisingly little distress. 
 And she even reached up and clasped him about the neck. 
 
 "But how shall I ever forgive myself," she continued 
 plaintively, "for running away like this ?" 
 
 "Forgive yourself?" said he. "With Father Gou- 
 goulin's letter of recommendation here in my pocket? 
 Forgive yourself? When here is his permission as safe 
 and as fast as you yourself? Rest with that, and to- 
 morrow you shall know more." 
 
 Thereupon she classed the whole affair among miracles 
 of a high order, and broke down and wept with joy. 
 
 "Look now," said he, when he thought it time for her 
 to stop. "Have you nothing more to ask ?" 
 
 347
 
 THE GOLDEN HAWK 
 
 "My father what of him?" 
 
 "He is to go back to a civilized bed in a proper room, 
 with the sheep and the fowls and the cart and the supplies 
 at the windmill for a dowry; and enough it will be to pro- 
 vide him with comfortable maintenance at the Cabro d'Or 
 for the rest of his days. I saw to that. Oh, I laid my 
 plans properly. I understood that this was the only 
 way " 
 
 "Since when?" she interrupted. 
 
 "Since this afternoon, when the sale was completed 
 before the notary," said he, unabashed. "And I carried 
 it out on the moment . . . Ah, I knew your goings-on 
 at the wedding, believe me. And now I have you netted 
 fast." He whirled his thought about: "Are you sorry? 
 Shall I take you back?" 
 
 Then she was sweet: "No. If we must be beggars 
 always still I am glad." 
 
 " Eh, well," said he, "it will not last too long even at the 
 worst, for in time we shall come into the sausage-shop of 
 Avignon, there is no doubt, and after that . . . To-day 
 is to-day . . ." 
 
 And so they rode forth in the darkness, away from that 
 grim rum on the height, built by men who achieved their 
 purpose a thousand years ago, out into the world that is 
 a-making to-day. And everywhere they will have sun- 
 shine and love and hope; and what more do men need? 
 
 Long and foolish had been his first flight, the yellow 
 hawk; but it was in quest of the mate, golden in his eyes, 
 as golden as any might be. I doubt not that he will swoop 
 again, with what success no man can tell; but he has faith 
 
 348
 
 BALIN-BALANT 
 
 boundless in his unswerving luck. It may win him place 
 and fortune among men; it may do no more than help 
 him to prune to the best advantage sadly-clipped feathers. 
 This will appear as the three Sisters weave the pattern of 
 their web. But whether he end as ruler of a new state in 
 South America, or as sausage-seller by the banks of the 
 Rhone, his will be always the flight of adventure, for he 
 will never shrink from rising straight into the sun of his 
 desire. 
 
 " Balin-balant they will go swinging through the world, 
 up to the peaks of joy, down into the vales of tribulation, 
 abroad in the winds of adventure, and when they have 
 overpassed the sunlit fields of youth, and are come into 
 the sober land of age, may peace be with them and 
 again peace! 
 
 THE END 
 
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