■Mututmnu I 
 
 't^^^^-^r^wkia^iw 
 
I 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 University of California. 
 
 if- 
 
 Class 
 
 I 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/bagpipersOOsandrich 
 
GEORGE SAND'S NOVELS 
 
 l^anlij) Liijrarp ^^tition 
 
 THE BAGPIPERS 
 
:-^ Vip\ , rcJfiJ''- 
 
 LOlJI 
 
" Thereupon he blew into his flute,'' 
 
Copyright, i8go, 
 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 
 University Press: 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 
mait^iAT 
 
 TO M. EUGENE LAMBERT. 
 
 My dear Child, — As you like to hear me relate the 
 tales told by the peasants at our veillees, — I mean the 
 watch-nights of nn' youth, when I had time to listen to 
 them, — I shall try to recall the story of Etienne Depardieu, 
 and piece together the scattered fragments of it still re- 
 maining in my memory. It was told to me by the man 
 himself during several of the hreyage evenings, — a name 
 given, as 3'ou know, to the late hours of the night spent in 
 grinding hemp, when those present relate their village 
 chronicles. It is long since Pere Depardieu slept the 
 sleep of the just, and he was quite old when he told me 
 this stor}' of the naive adventures of his 3'outh. For this 
 reason 1 shall tr}' to let him speak for himself, imitating 
 his manner as closely as I can. You will not blame me 
 for insisting on so doing, because you know from experi- 
 ence that the thoughts and emotions of a peasant cannot 
 be rendered in our own st3de of language without making 
 them unnatural and giving them a tone of even shocking 
 affectation. 
 
 You also know by experience, that the peasantr}' guess 
 or comprehend much more than we believe them capable 
 of understanding ; and 3'ou have often been struck with 
 their sudden insight, which, even in matters of art, has an 
 appearance of revelation. If I were to tell j^ou in my 
 language and yours certain things which 3'ou have heard 
 
 22G394 
 
ir To M. Eugene Lambert. 
 
 and understood in theirs, you would find those very things 
 so unhke what is natural to these people that you would 
 accuse me of unconsciously putting something of my own 
 into the relation, and of attributing to the peasantry re- 
 flections and feelings which they could not have. It 
 suffices to introduce into the expression of their ideas 
 a single word that is not in their vocabulary to raise a 
 doubt as to whether the idea itself emanated from them. 
 But when we listen to their speech, we at once observe 
 that although they may not have, like us, a choice of 
 words suited to every shade of thought, yet they assuredly 
 have words enough to formulate what they think and to 
 describe what strikes their senses. 
 
 Therefore it is not, as some have reproachfully declared, 
 for the petty pleasure of producing a style hitherto unused 
 in literature, and still less to revive ancient forms of speech 
 and old expressions which all the world knows and is 
 famihar with, that I have bound myself to the huml^le 
 task of preserving to Etienne Depardieu's tale the local 
 color that belongs to it. It is, rather, because I find it 
 impossible to make him speak as we do without distorting 
 the methods b}^ which his mind worked when he expressed 
 himself on points with which he was not familiar, and as 
 to which he evidentlj' had a strong desire both to under- 
 stand and to make himself understood. 
 
 If, in spite of the care and conscientiousness which I 
 shall put into this task, you find that my narrator some- 
 times sees too clearly or too deeply into the subjects ho 
 takes up, 3'ou must blame tlie weakness of my present:i- 
 tion. Forced as I am to choose among our familiar terms 
 of speech such only as all (^lasses can understand, I vol- 
 untarily deprive myself of those that are most original and 
 most expressive ; but, at any rate, I shall endeavor to 
 
To M. Eugene Lambert.^ v 
 
 emplo}' none which would be unknown to the peasant who 
 tells the tale, and who (far superior in this to the peasant 
 of to-day) did not pride himself on using words that were 
 unintelligible to both his hearers and himself. 
 
 I dedicate this novel to 3 on, my dear Eugene, not to 
 give 3'ou a proof of motherl}' affection, which 3'ou do not 
 need to make you feel at home in m}" family, but to leave 
 with 3-ou, after I am gone, a point of contact for 3'our rec- 
 ollections of Berr3', which has now become, in a way, the 
 land of 3'our adoption. You wdll hereafter recall that 
 3'ou said, at the time I was writing it: "By the b3'e, it 
 will soon be ten years since I came here, intending to 
 spend a month. I must be thinking of leaving." And as 
 I did not see the why and the wherefore, 3'ou explained to 
 me that, being a painter, 3'ou had worked ten 3'ears among 
 us to observe and feel nature, and that it was now neces- 
 sary 3'OU should go to Paris and seek discipline of thought 
 and the experience of others. I let 3'ou go ; but on con- 
 dition that 3'OU would return to us ever3' summer. Do 
 not forget your promise. I send this book, a distant 
 echo of our bagpipes, to remind 3'ou that the trees are 
 budding, the nightingales have come, and the great spring- 
 tide festival of nature is beginning in the fields. 
 
 George Sand. 
 NoHANT, April, 1853. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PiKST Evening 1 
 
 Second Evening 19 
 
 Third Evening 33 
 
 Fourth Evening 40 
 
 EiFTH Evening 54 
 
 Sixth Evening e . 65 
 
 Seventh Evening o . 78 
 
 Eighth Evening 93 
 
 Ninth Evening » . . . . 97 
 
 Tenth Evening 104 
 
 Eleventh Evening => . . 116 
 
 Twelfth Evening 129 
 
 Thirteenth Evening 141 
 
 Eourteenth Evening 154 
 
 Eipteenth Evening 168 
 
 Sixteenth Evening 181 
 
 Seventeenth Evening 195 
 
 Eighteenth Evening 209 
 
 Nineteenth Evening 222 
 
 Twentieth Evening 233 
 
 Twenty-Eirst Evening .244 
 
 Twenty-Second Evening 256 
 
viii Contents, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Twenty-Thied Evening 269 
 
 Twenty-Fourth Evening 282 
 
 TwENTY-ElFTH EvENING 296 
 
 Twenty -Sixth Evening 303 
 
 Twenty-Seventh Evening 319 
 
 Twenty-Eighth Evening 327 
 
 Twenty-Ninth Evening 341 
 
 Thirtieth Evening 355 
 
 Thirty-First Evening 369 
 
 Thirty-Second Evening . 383 
 
THE BAGPIPERS. 
 
 FIRST EVENING. 
 
 T WAS not born j^esterday, sjiid Pere Etienne in 1828. 
 I came into the world, as near as I can make out, in 
 the 3^ear 54 or 55 of the last centur}'. But not remember- 
 ing much of m}^ earlier j'ears, I shall only tell you about 
 myself from the time of my first communion, which took 
 place in '70 in the parish church of Saint-Chartier, then in 
 charge of the Abbe Moutperon, who is now ver}' deaf and 
 broken down. 
 
 This was not because our own parish of Nohant was 
 suppressed in those da3's ; but our curate having died, the 
 two churches were united for a time under the ministry of 
 the priest of Saint-Chartier, and we went every day to be 
 catechised, — that is, I and m\' little cousin and a lad 
 named Joseph, who lived in the same house with my uncle, 
 with a dozen other children of the neighborhood. 
 
 I say " my uncle " for short, but he was realh' my great- 
 uncle, the brother of my grandmother, and was named 
 Brulet ; hence his little granddaughter and only heir was 
 called Brulette, without an}^ mention whatever of her 
 Christian name, which was Catherine. 
 
 Now, to tell you at once about things as they were, I 
 soon felt that I loved Brulette better than I was obliged to 
 do as a cousin ; and I was jealous because Joseph lived in 
 
 1 
 
2. The Bagpipers, 
 
 the same house, which stood about a stone's throw distant 
 from the last houses in the village and rather more than 
 three quarters of a mile from mine, — so that he could see 
 her at all times, while I saw her only now and then, till 
 the time when we met to be catechised. 
 
 I will tell you how it happened that Brulette's grand- 
 father and Joseph's mother lived under the same roof. The 
 house belonged to the old man, and he let a small part of 
 it to the woman, who was a widow with only one child. 
 Her name was Marie Picot, and she was still marriage- 
 able, being little over thirt}', and bearing traces in her face 
 and figure of having been in her daj^ a very prett}' woman. 
 She was still called by some people " handsome Mariton," 
 — which pleased herver}' much, for she would have liked 
 to marr}^ again. But possessing nothing except her bright 
 e3'es and her honest tongue, she thought herself lucky to 
 pa}^ a low price for her lodging and get a worthy and help- 
 ful old man for a landlord and neighbor, - — one too who 
 would n't worry her, but might sometimes help her. 
 
 Pere Brulet and the widow Picot, called Mariton, had 
 thus lived in each other's good graces for about a dozen 
 years ; that is, ever since the day when Brulette's mother 
 died in giving birth to her, and Mariton had taken charge 
 of the infant with as much love and care as if it had been 
 her own. 
 
 Joseph, who was three years older than Brulette, re- 
 membered being rocked in the same cradle ; and the baby 
 was the first burden ever trusted to his little arms. Later, 
 Pere Brulet, noticing that his neighbor had her hands 
 full with the care of the two as they grew stronger, took 
 Joseph into bis part of the house ; and so it came to pass 
 that the little girl slept with the widow, and the little boy 
 with the old man. 
 
Tlie Bagpipers, 3 
 
 All four, however, ate together. Mariton cooked the 
 meals, kept the house, made over and darned the clothes, 
 while the old man, who was still sturd}' enough to work, 
 went out by the day and paid the greater part of the 
 household expenses. He did not do this because he was 
 well-off and his living was bound to be good accordingly, 
 but because the widow was kind and amiable, and excel- 
 lent compan}' ; and Brulette considered her so much like a 
 mother that my uncle grew to treat her as a daughter, or 
 at any rate as a daughter-in-law. 
 
 Nothing in the world was ever prettier or sweeter than 
 the little girl under Mariton's bringing up. The woman 
 loved cleanliness, and kept herself as spick and span as 
 her means allowed ; and she had earl}' taught Brulette to do 
 the same. At the age, therefore, when children usually roll 
 in the dirt like little animals, the darling was so clean and 
 dainty in all her waj'S that everybody wanted to kiss her ; 
 but she was already very char}' of her favors, and would 
 never be familiar unless quite sure of her compau}'. 
 
 When she was twelve 3'ears old she was really, at times, 
 like a little woman ; and if, carried away by the liveliness 
 of her 3'ears, she did forget herself so far as to play while 
 being catechised, she soon caught herself up, even more, 
 it seemed to me, out of self-respect than for the sake of 
 religion. 
 
 I don't know if an}' of us could have told why, but all 
 of us lads, unlike enough when it came to catechising, felt 
 the difference that there was between Brulette and the 
 other little girls. 
 
 I must own that some in the class were rather big boys. 
 Joseph was fifteen and I was sixteen, which our parents 
 and the curate declared was a disgrace to us. Such back- 
 wardness certainly did prove that Joseph was too lazy to 
 
4 The Bagpipers, 
 
 stud}', and I too lively to give my mind to it. In fact, for 
 three j'ears he and I had been rejected from the class ; 
 and if it had not been for the Abbe Montperon, who was 
 less particular than our old curate, I suppose we might 
 have continued so to this da-y. 
 
 However, it is onl}" fair to confess that boys are alwa3's 
 3'ounger in mind than girls ; and you will find in every 
 Confirmation class just this difference between the two 
 species, — the males being already strong, grown lads, and 
 the females still small, hardl}' old enough to wear the coif. 
 
 As for knowledge, we were all about alike ; none of us 
 knew how to read, still less to write, and we only learned 
 what we did just as the little birds learn to sing, without 
 knowing either notes or Latin, b}^ dint only of using their 
 ears. But all the same, Monsieur le cure knew ver}' well 
 which of the flock had the quickest minds, and which of 
 them remembered what he said. The cleverest head 
 among the girls was little Brulette's, and the stupidest 
 of all the stupid bo3's was Joseph. 
 
 Not that he was really duller than the rest, but he was 
 quite unable to listen and so get a smattering of things he 
 did not understand ; and he showed so little liking for 
 instruction that I was surprised at him, — I who could take 
 hold of my lessons fast enough when I managed to keep 
 still, and quiet down my lively spirits. 
 
 Though Brulette scolded him for it sometimes, she never 
 got an^'thing out of him but tears of vexation. 
 
 " I am not worse than others," he would sav ; "I don't 
 want to offend God ; but words don't come right in my 
 memory, and I can't help it." 
 
 " Yes, you can," replied the little one, who already took 
 atone of ordering him about; " 3'ou can if 3'ou choose. 
 You can do whatever 3'ou like ; but you let 3'our mind run 
 
The Bagpipers, 5 
 
 after all sorts of things, — it is no wonder Monsieur I'abbe 
 calls you ' Joseph the absent-minded.' " 
 
 " He can call me so if he likes," answered Joseph. " I 
 don't understand what it means." 
 
 But the rest of us understood ver}^ well, and turned it 
 into our own childish language by calling him J'ose Veber- 
 vige [literally, the bewildered, the staring-eyed] ; a name 
 which stuck to him, to his great disgust. 
 
 Joseph was a melancholy child, with a puny body and 
 a mind turned inward. He never left Brulette, and was 
 ver}' submissive to her ; nevertheless, she said he was as 
 obstinate as a mule, and found fault with him all the 
 time. Though she did not sa}' much to me about m}^ law- 
 less, do-nothing ways, I often wished she would take as 
 much notice of me as she did of him. However, in spite 
 of the jealousy he caused me, I cared more for Jose than 
 for my other comrades, because he was one of the weakest, 
 and I one of the strongest. Besides, if I had not stood 
 up for him, Brulette would have blamed me. When I told 
 her that she loved him more than she did me, who was her 
 cousin, she would sa}^ — 
 
 ''It is not on his account ; it is because of his mother, 
 whom I love better than I do either of you. If anything 
 happened to him, I should not dare go home ; for as he 
 never thinks of what he is about, she charged me to think 
 for both, and I try not to forget it." 
 
 I often hear our betters sa}' : " I went to school with 
 such a one ; he was my college companion." We peas- 
 ants, who never went to school in my young days, we say, 
 "I was catechised with such a one; that's mj^ commun- 
 ion comrade." Then is the time we make our youthful 
 friendships, and sometimes, too, the hatreds that last a 
 lifetime. In the fields, at work, or at the festivals, wo 
 
6 The Bagpipers, 
 
 talk and laugh together, and meet and part ; but at the 
 catechism classes, which last a year, and often two, we 
 must put up with each other's compan}^, and even help 
 each other five or six hours a da}'. We alwaj's started off 
 together in a body every morning across the fields and 
 meadows, beside the coverts and fences, and along the 
 foot-paths ; and we came back in the evening anyhow, as 
 it pleased the good God, for we took advantage of our 
 liberty to run where we chose, like frolicking birds. 
 Those who liked each other's compan}" stayed together ; 
 the disagreeable ones went alone, or banded in twos and 
 threes to tease and frighten the rest. 
 
 Joseph had his ways ; the}" were neither horrid nor 
 sulky, and yet they were not amiable. I never remember 
 seeing him reall}^ enjoying himself, nor reall}' frightened, 
 nor really contented, nor really anno3'ed with anything 
 that ever happened to us. In our fights he never got out 
 of the way, and he usually received blows which he did 
 not know how to return ; but he made no complaint. You 
 might have supposed he did not feel them. 
 
 When we loitered to pla^^ some game, he would sit or 
 lie down at a little distance and say nothing, answering 
 wide of the mark if we spoke to him. He seemed to be 
 listening or looking at something which the others could 
 not perceive ; that 's w hy he was thought to be one of 
 those who " see the wind." Sometimes, when Brulette, 
 who knew his crotchets, but would not explain them, called 
 him, he did not answer. Then she would begin to sing, — 
 that was sure to wake him up, as a whistle is sure to stop 
 people from snoring. 
 
 To tell 3'ou wh}' I attached myself to a fellow who was 
 such poor compan}' is more than I am able to do ; for I 
 was just the opposite myself. I could not do without 
 
The Bagpipers. 7 
 
 companions, and I was alwaj's listening and observing 
 others ; I liked to talk and question, felt dull when I was 
 alone, and went about looking for fun and friendship. 
 Perhaps that was the reason why, pitying the serious, 
 reserved bo}', I imitated Brulette, who would shake him 
 up sometimes, — which did him more good than it did her, 
 for in fact she indulged his whims much more than she 
 controlled them. As far as words went she ordered him 
 about finel}', but as he never obej'ed her it was she (and 
 I through her) who followed in his wake and had patience 
 with him. 
 
 The da}' of our first communion came at last ; and, 
 returning from church, I made such strong resolutions 
 not to give way to m}^ lawlessness any more that I fol- 
 lowed Brulette home to her grandfather's house, as the 
 best example I could lay hold of to guide me. 
 
 While she went, at Mariton's bidding, to milk the goat, 
 Joseph and I stayed talking with his mother in my uncle's 
 room. 
 
 We were looking at the devotional images which the 
 curate had given us in remembrance of the sacrament, — or 
 rather I was, for Joseph was thinking of something else, 
 and fingered them without seeing what thev were. So the 
 others paid no attention to us ; and presently Mariton said 
 to her old neighbor, alluding to our first communion, — 
 
 " Well, it is a good thing done, and now I can hire my 
 lad out to work. I have decided to do what I told 3'ou I 
 should." 
 
 My uncle shook his head sadh', and she continued : 
 
 " Just listen to one thing, neighbor. My Jose has 
 got no mind. I know that, worse luck ! He takes after 
 his poor deceased father, who hadn't two ideas a week, 
 but who was a well-to-do and well-behaved man, for all 
 
8 The Bagpipers. 
 
 that. Still, it is an infirmity to have so little faculty in 
 your head, because if ill-luck has it that a man man-ies a 
 silly wife, everj'thing goes to the bad in a hurry. That's 
 why I said to myself, when I saw my boy growing so 
 long in the legs, that his brain would never feed him ; and 
 that if I could onl}^ leave him a little sum of mone}' I 
 should die happ3\ You know the good a few savings can 
 do. In our poor homes it is ever3'thing. Now, I have 
 never been able to la}' by a penn}*, and I do suppose I 'ra 
 not young enough to please a man, for I have not re- 
 married. Well, if that 's so, God's w411 be done ! I am 
 still young enough to work ; and so I may as well tell 
 you, neighbor, that the innkeeper at Chartier wants a 
 servant. He pa3's good wages, — thirty crowns a j'ear! 
 besides perquisites, which come to half as much again. 
 With all that, strong and lively as I know I am, I shall 
 have made my fortune in ten 3'ears. I can take m}' ease 
 in my old days, and leave a little something to my poor 
 boy. What do you sa}' to that ? " 
 
 Pere Brulet thought a little, and then replied, — 
 '' You are wrong, neighbor ; indeed 3'ou are wrong ! " 
 Mariton thought too ; and then, understanding what 
 the old man meant, she said, — 
 
 *' No doubt, no doubt. A woman is exposed to blame 
 in a countrj' inn ; even if she behaves properh', people 
 won't believe it. That's what you meant, is n't it? Well, 
 but what am I to do? Of course it deprives me of all 
 chance of re-marrying ; but we don't regret what we 
 suffer for our children, — indeed, sometimes we rejoice 
 in it." 
 
 " There is something worse than suffering," said m}' 
 uncle, — " there is shame ; and that recoils upon the 
 children." 
 
The Bagpipers, 9 
 
 Mariton sighed. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "a woman is exposed to daily in- 
 sults in a house of that kind. She must always be on 
 the look-out to defend herself. If she gets angry, that 
 injures the custom, and her masters don't like it." 
 
 " Some of them," said the old man, " try to find 
 handsome and good-humored women like 3'ou to help sell 
 their liquors ; a saucy maid is often all an inn-keeper needs 
 to do a better business than his neighbors." 
 
 "I know that," said Mariton; "but a woman can be 
 gay and lively, and quick to serve the guests, without 
 allowing herself to be insulted." 
 
 " Bad language is always insulting," said Pere Brulet ; 
 " and it ought to cost an honest woman dear to get ac- 
 customed to such ways. Think how mortified 3'our son 
 will be when he hears the carters and the bagmen joking 
 with his mother." 
 
 " Luckily he 's simple," said Mariton, looking at Joseph. 
 
 I looked at him too, and I was surprised that he did 
 not hear a word of what his mother was saying in a voice 
 loud enough for me to catch every word. I gathered 
 from that that he was "hearing thick," as we said in 
 those days, meaning one who was hard of hearing. 
 
 Joseph got up presently and went after Brulette, who 
 was in her little goat-pen, which was nothing more than a 
 shed made of planks stuffed with straw, where she kept 
 about a dozen animals. 
 
 He flung himself on a pile of brushwood ; and having 
 followed him (for fear of being thought inquisitive if I 
 stayed behind), I saw that he was crying inside of him, 
 thou;jjh there were no tears in his ej'es. 
 
 "' Are 3-ou asleep, Jose? " said Brulette ; " if not, wli}^ 
 are you lying there like a sick sheep? Come, give me 
 
10 The Bagpipers, 
 
 those sticks 3'ou are lying on ; I want the leaves for my 
 goats." 
 
 So saying, she began to sing, — but ver}^ softly, because 
 it was n't the thing to make a racket on the day of her 
 first communion. 
 
 I fancied her song had the usual effect of drawing 
 Joseph from his dreams, for he rose, and went away. 
 Then Brulette said to me, — 
 
 *' What is the matter? He seems worse than usual." 
 
 " I think he must have heard that he is to be hired out 
 and leave his mother," I replied. 
 
 " He expected it," said Brulette ; "is n't it the custom 
 for all of us to go out to service as soon as we have re- 
 ceived the sacrament? If I were not luck}' enough to be 
 m}' grandfather's onlj' child, I should have to leave home 
 and earn mv living as others do." 
 
 Brulette did not seem much distressed at the thought of 
 parting from Joseph ; but when I told her that Mariton 
 was also going to hire herself out and live far away, she 
 began to sob, and rushing into the house, she flung herself 
 on Mariton's neck, crjing out, — 
 
 *•• Is it true, darling, that 3'ou are going to leave me?" 
 
 *'Who told you that?" asked Mariton. "It is not 
 decided." 
 
 "Yes, it is," cried Brulette; "you said so, and you 
 want to hide it from me." 
 
 " As some inquisitive boj's don't know how to hold their 
 tongue," said Mariton, with a severe glance at me, " I 
 must tell 3'ou all. Yes, my child, you must bear it like a 
 brave and sensible girl who has given her soul to the 
 good God this very da}'." 
 
 " Papa," said Brulette, turning to her grandfather, " how 
 can you consent to let her go ? Who is to take care of you ? " 
 
The Bagpipers, 11 
 
 "You, my child," replied Mariton ; " j^ou are now old 
 enough to do 3'our duty. Listen to me, — and 3'ou too, 
 neighbor ; for here is something I have not 3'et told 
 
 you." 
 
 Taking the little girl on her knee, while I stood between 
 my uncle's legs (for his grieved look drew me to him), 
 Mariton continued to reason, first with one, and then with 
 the other. 
 
 "If it had not been for the friendship I owe you," she 
 said, " I ought long ago to have left Joseph here and paid 
 his board while I went out to service and laid by a little 
 mone}'. But I felt I was bound to bring you up, my Bru- 
 lette, till you made your first communion, because 3^ou are 
 the 3'oungest, and because a girl wants a mother longer 
 than a boy. I had n't the heart to leave 3'ou as long as 
 3^ou could n't do without me. But now, 3'ou see, the time 
 has come ; and if an3'thing can reconcile 3'ou to losing me, 
 it is that 3'ou will soon feel useful to your grandfather. I 
 have taught 3'ou how to manage a household and all that a 
 good girl ought to know for the service of her parents and 
 famil3'. You '11 practise it for my sake and to do credit to 
 m3' teaching. It will be m3" pride and consolation to hear 
 people tell how m3' Brulette takes good care of her grand- 
 father, and manages his money like a little woman. Come, 
 be brave, and don't deprive me of the little courage that I 
 have got ; for if you feel badly at m3^ departure, I feel 
 worse than 3'ou. Remember that I am leaving Pere 
 Brulet, who has been the best of friends to me, and m3' 
 poor Jose, who will hear hard things said of his mother 
 and his home. But my dut3^ bids me do it, and you 
 wouldn't wish me to go against that?" 
 
 Brulette cried till evening, and could not help Mariton in 
 an}thing ; but when she saw her hiding her '^.ears as she 
 
12 The Baginpers. 
 
 cooked the supper, the girl flung her arms round her foster- 
 mother's neck and vowed to do as she had taught her ; and 
 thereupon set to work with a will. 
 
 They sent me to find Joseph, wiio had forgotten (not for 
 the first time, nor for the last either) that he ought to 
 come home and get his supper like other people. 
 
 I found him in a corner all alone, dreaming and gazing 
 at the ground as if his eyes would take root in it. Contrary 
 to his usual custom, he did let me drag a few words out of 
 him, in which, as I thought, there was more annoyance than 
 grief. He was not surprised at having to go out to service, 
 knowing that he was now old enough, and could not do 
 otherwise ; hut without showing that he had overheard 
 his motlier's plans, he complained that nobod}' loved him 
 or thought him capable of doing good work. 
 
 I could not get him to explain himself any farther ; and 
 all that evening — for I stayed to say my prayers with him 
 and with Brulette — he seemed to sulk, while Brulette, 
 on the contrary, was full of kindness and caresses for 
 everj^body. 
 
 Soon after this, Joseph was hired out as a laborer to 
 P^re I^Iichel on the estate of Aulnieres. 
 
 Mariton went to work at an inn called the Brouf 
 Couronne, kept by Bcnoit at Saint-Chartier. 
 
 Brulette remained with her grandfather, and I with my 
 parents, who had a small propertj^ and kept me at home to 
 help them cultivate it. 
 
 The day of my first communion affected my spirits. I 
 had made great efforts to bring myself into thoughts that 
 were suitable to my age ; and the catechising with Brulette 
 had also changed me. Thoughts of her were always 
 mixed up, I don't know how, with those I tried to give to 
 the good God ; and all the while that I was growing in 
 
The Bagpipers. 13 
 
 grace as to m}' behavior, m}'' head was running on follies 
 of love which were beyond her 3'ears, and even for mine 
 they were a little ahead of the proper season. 
 
 About this time m}' father took me to the fair at Orval, 
 near Saint- Armand, to sell a brood-mare ; and for the first 
 time in m}' life I was away from home. My mother ob- 
 served that I did not sleep or eat enough to support my 
 growth, which was faster than customary in our part of the 
 country, and my father thought a little amusement would 
 do me good. But I did not find as much in seeing the 
 world and new places as I should have done six months 
 earlier. I had a foolish, languishing desire to look at the 
 girls, without daring to say a word to them ; then I thought 
 of Brulette, whom I fancied 1 could marr}', for the sole 
 reason that she was the onl}' one I was not afraid of, and 
 I reckoned her age and mine over and over again, — which 
 didn't make the time go any faster than the good God had 
 marked it on his clock. 
 
 As I rode back on the crupper behind m}' father on an- 
 other mare which we had bought at the fair, we met, in a 
 dip of the road, a middle-aged man who was driving a little 
 cart laden with furniture, the which, being drawn by noth- 
 ing better than a donkey, had stuck fast in the mud, and 
 could n't go on. The man was beginning to lighten the 
 load b}^ taking oflT part of it ; and m}' father, seeing this, 
 said to me, — 
 
 " Let us get down, and help a neighbor out of his 
 trouble." 
 
 The man thanked us ; and then, as if speaking to his 
 cart, he said, — 
 
 " Come, little one, wake up ; I shouldn't like to upset 
 
 you." 
 
 When he said that, I saw, rising from a mattress, a 
 
14 The Bagpipers, 
 
 pretty little girl, apparently about fifteen or sixteen yeais 
 old, who rubbed her eyes, and asked what had happened. 
 
 "The road is bad, daughter," said the man, taking her 
 up in his arms. "Come, I can't let you get your feet 
 wet, — for you must know," he added, turning to m^^ 
 father, " she is ill with fever from having grown so fast. 
 Just see what a rampant vine she is for a girl of eleven 
 and a half! " 
 
 " True as God," said m}^ father; " she is a fine sprig 
 of a girl, and pretty as the sunshine, though the fever has 
 rather paled her. But that will go off; feed her up, and 
 she won't sell the worse for it." 
 
 When my father said this his head was still full of the 
 talk of the horse-dealers at the fair. But seeing that the 
 girl had left her sabots in the cart, and that it would be 
 no easy matter to find them, he said to me, — 
 
 " Here ! you are strong enough to hold the little girl 
 for a while." 
 
 Then, putting her into my arms, he harnessed our mare 
 into the place of the useless donkey, and pulled the cart 
 out of the mud-hole. But there was another quagmire 
 farther on, as m}^ father knew, having gone that road sev- 
 eral times ; so calling to me to come on, he walked in front 
 with the peasant, who was twisting his ass's ears. 
 
 I carried the great girl and looked at her with amaze- 
 ment ; for though she was a head taller than Brulette, I 
 could see by her figure that she was no older. 
 
 She was white and slender as a wax taper, and her black 
 hair, breaking loose from a little cap made in the fashion 
 of other parts, which had been rumpled as she slept, fell 
 over my breast and almost down to m}' knees. I had 
 never seen anything so perfect as her pale face, her clear 
 blue eyes fringed with thick lashes, her gentle, tired air, 
 
The Bagpipers, 15 
 
 and even a perfect!}' black mark at one corner of her 
 mouth, which made her beauty something strange and 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 She seemed so young that m}' heart said nothing to me, 
 though it was close to hers ; 3'et it was not so much her 
 "want of 3'ears, perhaps, as the languor of her illness that 
 made her appear so childish. I did not speak to her, 
 and walked along without thinking her heav}' ; but I took 
 pleasure in looking at her, the same pleasure that one 
 feels at the sight of any fine thing, whether it be a girl or 
 a woman, a flower or a fruit. 
 
 As we neared the second mud-hole, where her father and 
 mine began, the one to urge his horse, the other to shove 
 the w^heel, the little girl spoke to me in a language which 
 made me laugh, for I did not understand a word of it. 
 She was surprised at my surprise, and then she spoke in 
 the language we all speak. 
 
 "Don't strain yourself carrying me," she said; " I can 
 walk very well without sabots ; I am as much used to it 
 as others." 
 
 " Yes, but 3'ou are ill," said I ; "and I could carry four 
 like you. What country do you belong to? That was a 
 queer language you spoke just now." 
 
 " What country?" she said. " I don't belong to an}' 
 country; I come from the woods, that's all. And 3''ou, 
 where do you come from ? " 
 
 " Ah ! my little fair}^ if 3'ou belong to the woods, I be- 
 long to the fields," I answered, laughing. 
 
 I was going to question her further, when her father 
 came and took her from me. 
 
 " Well," he said, shaking hands with m}' father, " I 
 thank 3^ou, my good people. And you, little one, kiss 
 the kind lad who has carried you like a load of game." 
 
16 Tlie Baginpers, 
 
 The child did as she was bid ; she was not old enough 
 to be coy, and thinking no harm, she made no difficult}'. 
 She kissed me on both cheeks, saying: " Thanks to you, 
 my fine carrier ; " then, passing into her father's arms, she 
 was laid on her mattress, and seemed about to go to sleep 
 again, without minding the jolts or thinking about the risks 
 of the journey. 
 
 ' ' Good-b3'e again ! " said her father, taking me b}' the 
 knee, to mount me on the mare's crupper. " A fine lad ! " 
 he remarked to my father, looking me over, " and as for- 
 ward for the age you say he is as my little girl is for 
 hers." 
 
 " He is a little the worse for it in the way of health," 
 answered m}' father; "but, God willing, work will soon 
 cure him. Excuse us if we go on before yow ; we have 
 far to go, and I want to get home before night." 
 
 Thereupon my father struck his heels into the mare, 
 which trotted off, while I, looking back, saw the man turn 
 his cart to the right, and go off in another direction. 
 
 I was soon thinking of something else, but a recollec- 
 tion of Brulette coming into my head, I remembered the 
 free kisses the little girl had given me, and wondered why 
 Brulette alwaj'S slapped me when I tried to get a kiss from 
 her ; then, as the ride was long, and I had got up before 
 daylight, I fell asleep behind my father, mixing up in my 
 tired head, I 'm sure I don't know how, the faces of the 
 two little girls. 
 
 My father pinched me to wake up, for he felt my weight 
 on his shoulders, and was afraid I should tumble off. I 
 asked him wlio those people we had met were. 
 
 "Which of them do 3'ou mean?" he said, laughing at 
 my sleepy wa}^ " We have met more than five hundred 
 
The Bagpipers. 17 
 
 " Those with the cart and donkey," I repHed. 
 
 "Oh!" said he, "well, faith, I don't know; I never 
 thought to ask. ProbabI\' thej' come from either La 
 Marche or Champagne, for thej^ speak with a foreign 
 accent ; but I was so bus}^ watching to see if the mare 
 •was good at the collar that I did n't take notice of much 
 else. She does pull \Qvy well, and did n't hang back at 
 all ; I think she will prove serviceable, and that I have 
 not paid too dear for her." 
 
 From that time on (the trip having certainly done me 
 good) I got better and better, and took a liking for work. 
 M}' father gave me first the care of the mare, then that 
 of the garden, and finall}' that of the field ; and, little b}' 
 little, 1 came to take pleasure in digging, planting, and 
 harvesting. 
 
 By that time my father was a widower, and seemed 
 anxious to let me benefit by the propert}" m}' mother had 
 left me. So he gave me a share in all our little profits, 
 and wished for nothing so much as to see me turn out a 
 good farmer. It was not long before he found I had a 
 relish for the life ; for if youth needs courage to deprive 
 itself of pleasure in the service of others, it needs none at 
 all to work for its own interests, above all when thej' are 
 in common with those of a worth}' family, honest in the 
 division of profits, and agreeing well as to the work. 
 
 I still continued rather fond of gossiping and amusing 
 myself on Sundays. But no one blamed me for that at 
 home, because I was a good worker during the week. 
 Such a life brought me health of bod}' and good-humor, 
 and a little more sense in my head than I gave promise 
 of at first. I forgot all the vaporings of love, for noth- 
 ing keeps you so quiet as to sweat with a spade from sun- 
 rise to sunset ; and when night comes, those who have had 
 
 2 
 
18 The Bagpipers* 
 
 to do with the heav}' , rich soil of our parts (the hardest 
 mistress theie is), amuse themselves best b}' going to 
 sleep, to be read}^ for the morrow. 
 
 That is how I peacefull}- reached the age when it is 
 allowable to think, not of little girls, but of grown-up 
 ones ; and at the ver}" first stirring of such ideas, I 
 found my cousin Brulette still fixed, above all others, in 
 my inclinations. 
 
 Living alone with her grandfather, Brulette had done 
 her best to be older than her years in sense and courage. 
 But some children are born with the gift or the fate of be- 
 ing always petted and cared for. Mariton's former lodging 
 was let to Mere Lamouche, of Vieilleville, who was poor, 
 and was therefore ready to serve the Brulets as though 
 the}" paid her wages, hoping thereby to get a hearing 
 when she declared herself unable to pa}' the reuL It so 
 turned out ; and Brulette, finding that the new neighbor 
 helped her, forestalled her, and made things comfortable 
 for her, had time and ease to grow in mind and beauty 
 without much effort of soul or body. 
 
The Bagpipers* 19 
 
 SECOND EVENING. 
 
 Little Brulette was now called " handsome Brulette," 
 and was much talked of in our country-side ; for within 
 the memory of man no prettier girl or finer ej'es or 
 slimmer waist or rosier cheek or hair of brighter gold had 
 ever been seen ; her hand was like satin, and her foot as 
 daint}' as a 3'oung lady's. 
 
 All that tells 3'ou plain enough that my cousin did not 
 work ver}^ hard ; she never went out in bad weather, took 
 care to shade herself from the sun, did not wash the 
 clothes, and made no use of her limbs to tire them. 
 
 Perhaps you will think she was idle? Not at all. She 
 did everything that she could not help doing fast and well. 
 She had too much good sense not to keep order and neat- 
 ness in the household and take the best care of her grand- 
 father, as in duty bound. Moreover, she liked finery too 
 well not to do a good bit of sewing ; but as to hard work, 
 she never so much as heard of it. There was no occasion 
 that she should, and therefore it can't be said she was to 
 bh^me. 
 
 There are some families where toil and nothing else 
 comes earl}' to warn 3'oung people that life is not so much 
 a question of amusement in this low world as of earning 
 a living; among; their fellows. But in Pere Brulet's home 
 there was little to do to make both ends meet. The old 
 man was only in the seventies, and being a good work- 
 man, very clever at cutting stone (which, you know, is 
 quite a science in these parts), stead}', and much in 
 
20 The Bagpipers. 
 
 demand b}^ ever}' one, he earned a good living ; and, thanks 
 to the fact of being a widower witli no one to support 
 but liis granddaughter, he had laid bj quite a little sum 
 against illness or accident. Fortunately he kept his 
 health, so that, without riches, he was never in want. 
 
 M}' father, however, declared that Brulette loved ease 
 and comfort too well ; meaning by that, that she might 
 have to come down to other things when it was time for 
 her to marrj'. He agreed with me that she was as sweet 
 and amiable in her ways as in her person ; but he would 
 not encourage me to court her m marriage. She was too 
 poor, he said, to be a lad}'^, and he often declared that a 
 wife should be either rich or ver}- full of energy. " At 
 first sight, I like one as well as the other," he would say ; 
 "though perhaps, on second thoughts, I would rather 
 have the energy- than the money. But Brulette has not 
 enough of either to tempt a wise man." 
 
 I knew m}' father was right ; but my cousin's sweet eyes 
 and gentle speech had more influence over me than he 
 could have, and over other young fellows too, — for 3'ou 
 must know that I was not the only one. From the time 
 she was fifteen she was surrounded with striplings like nie, 
 whom she knew how to restrain and order about as she 
 had done in her childish da3'S. You might sa}' she was 
 born proud, and knew her value long before compliments 
 had given her an idea of it. She loved praise and sub- 
 mission, and while she never alloweii any one to make free 
 with her, she was ver}- willing they sliould love her timidly. 
 I, like a good man}' others, was filled with the strongest 
 desire to please her, and at the same time I was often 
 anno3'ed to find m3'self onty one of a crowd. 
 
 Two of us, however, were privileged to talk to her 
 rather more iiitimatelv, and to walk home with her when 
 
The Bagpipers. 21 
 
 we met at a dance, or after church. I mean Joseph Picot 
 and I. But we gahied little or nothing by that ; and 
 perhaps, without saying so, we laid the blame to each 
 other. 
 
 Joseph was still on the farm at Aulnieres, about a mile 
 and a half from Brulette's house, and half that distance 
 from mine. He was a mere laborer. Though he was not 
 reall}' handsome, some, who did not object to a melancholy 
 face, might think him so. His face was lean and 3'ellow, 
 and his brown hair, falling straight from his head and 
 down his cheeks, made him even more pun\' in appearance. 
 Nevertheless, he was not ill-made, nor ungraceful in bod}^ 
 and there was something in his closed jaw which always 
 seemed to me the reverse of weakness. He was thought 
 ill because he moved slowh' and had none of the ga3'et3' of 
 youth ; but seeing him often, as 1 did, I knew it was his 
 nature to be so, and that he reall}' was not suffering 
 at all. 
 
 He was, however, a very poor laborer of the soil, not 
 over careful with cattle, and far from agreeable in temper. 
 His wages were the lowest that were ever paid to a plough- 
 boy, and people were surprised that his master still kept 
 him ; for nothing prospered with him, either in the stable 
 or the fields, and he was so sullen when reproved that 
 no one could do anything with him. But Pere Michel 
 declared that he never gave an}' angry answer, and he 
 preferred those who submitted without a word, even if 
 they did have sulk}' looks, to those who deceived you 
 wilh flatter}'. 
 
 His faithfulness and the contempt he showed at all 
 times for injustice made his master respect him, though 
 he often remarked what a pity it was that an honest, 
 upright lad had such soft muscles and a mind so indiffer- 
 
22 The Bagpipers. 
 
 ent to his work. But he kept him for what he was worth, 
 from habit, and also out of consideration for Pere Brulet, 
 who was one of Pere Michel's earliest friends. 
 
 In what I have said of Joseph you will readily see that 
 he could not please the girls. Indeed, they never looked 
 at him, except to wonder why the}^ never caught his e3'e, 
 which was large and clear as an owl's and never seemed 
 to see anything. 
 
 Yet I was always jealous of him, because Brulette paid 
 him more attention than she gave to any one else, and 
 obliged me to do the same. She no longer lectured him, 
 and openly accepted his temper as God made it, without 
 getting angr}^ or seeming at all annoyed. She forgave 
 him his want of gallantr}', and even politeness, — two things 
 which she exacted from the rest of us. He might do all 
 sorts of stupid things, — such as sit down on a chair if she 
 left it for a moment, and oblige her to find another ; or 
 neglect to pick up her balls of wool when they rolled away ; 
 or break a bodkin or some other sewing utensil, — he 
 might do all such things, and she would never sa}^ an im- 
 patient word to him ; whereas she scolded and ridiculed 
 me if I did a tenth part of them. 
 
 Then, she took care of him as if he were a brother. 
 She kept a bit of meat put by for him when he came to 
 see her, and made him eat it whether he was hungry 
 or not, tolling him he ought to strengthen his stomach 
 and make blood. She had an eye to his clothes just like 
 Mariton, and even took upon herself to make him new 
 ones, saying that his mother had not time to cut and sew 
 them. Sometimes she would lead her cattle to pasture 
 over where he was at work, and talked to him ; though he 
 talked very little, and very badly when he tried to do so. 
 
 Besides all this, she would not allow an}' one to treat 
 
The Bagpipers. 23 
 
 bill! vvith contempt, or to make fun of his melancholy face 
 ajid his staring ej^es. To all such remarks she replied that 
 his health was not good ; also that he was not more stupid 
 than other people ; if he talked little, it was not that he 
 did not think ; and; in short, that it was better to be 
 silent than to talk a great deal with nothing to sa}'. 
 
 Sometimes I was tem-pted to contradict her ; but she 
 quickly cut me short b}' saying, — 
 
 '^ You must have a very bad heart, Tiennet, to abandon 
 that poor lad to the jeers of others, instead of defending 
 him when they torment him. I thought better of you 
 than that." 
 
 Then of course I did her will, and defended Joseph ; 
 though for m}" part I could not see what illness or afflic- 
 tion he had, unless laziness and distrust were infirmities 
 of nature, — which might be possible ; though it certainl}' 
 seemed to me in the power of man to subdue them. 
 
 On his side, Joseph, without showing an aversion for 
 me, treated me just as coldly as he did the rest, and never 
 appeared to remember the assistance he got from me in 
 his various encounters. Whether he cared for Brulette, 
 like all the others, or whether he cared only for himself, 
 he smiled in a strange manner and with an air of con- 
 tempt whenever she gave me the most trifling mark of 
 friendship. 
 
 One da}', when he had pushed the thing so far as to 
 shrug his shoulders, I resolved to have an explanation 
 with him, — as quietly as possible, so as not to displease 
 my cousin, but frankl}' enough to make him feel that if I 
 put up with him in her presence with great patience, I 
 expected him to treat me in the same way. But as on 
 that occasion a number of Brulette's other lovers were 
 present, I put off doing this until the first time I should 
 
24 The Bagpipers, 
 
 find him alone. Accordingly, I went the next da}' to join 
 him in a field where he was at work. 
 
 I was a good deal surprised to find Brulette with him, 
 sitting on the roots of a big tree b}' the side of a ditch, 
 where he was supposed to be cutting brush to make pegs. 
 But in fact he was cutting nothing at all ; though b}' way 
 of work he was whittling something which he quickly put 
 in his pocket as soon as he saw me, closing his knife and 
 beginning to talk as if I had been his master and had 
 caught him in a fault, or as if he had been saying secret 
 things to my cousin which I had interrupted. 
 
 I was so troubled and vexed that I was going away 
 without a word, when Brulette called to me, and beginning 
 to knit (for she too had laid aside her work while talking 
 to him), she told me to sit down beside her. 
 
 It struck me it was onl}" a sop to soothe my vexation, so 
 I refused, sa3'ingthat the weather was not pleasant enough 
 to sit about in ditches. And trul}', though not cold, it was 
 A^ery damp ; the thaw had made the brook full and the 
 grass muddy. There was still a little snow in the furrows, 
 and the wind was disagreeable. According to my notions, 
 Brulette must have thought Joseph ver}^ interesting to 
 make her lead her flock out there in such weather — she 
 who so often and so readilj' turned them over to the care 
 of her neighbor. 
 
 "Jose," said Brulette, "our friend Tiennet is sulky 
 because he sees we have a secret between us. Won't 
 3'ou let me tell it to him? His advice will do no harm, 
 and he will tell 3'ou just what he thinks of 3'our 
 idea.'' 
 
 " He!" said Joseph, beginning to shrug his shoulders 
 just as had done the night before. 
 
 "Does your back itch whenever 3'ou see me?" I said 
 
The Bagpipers, 25 
 
 to him, spiteful!}'. " I can scratch you in a wa}' that will 
 cure 3'ou once for all." 
 
 He looked at me from under his lids as if read}' to bite 
 me ; but Brulette touched him gently on the shoulder with 
 the end of her distaff, and calling him to her, she whispered 
 in his ear. 
 
 " No, no ! " he answered, without taking the trouble to 
 hide his answer. " Tiennet is no good at all to advise 
 me, — he knows no more than your goat ; and if you tell 
 him the least thing, I won't tell you anything more." | 
 
 Thereupon he picked up his shears and his chopper, and 
 went to work at some distance. 
 
 "There!" said Brulette, rising to call in her flock, 
 " now he is cross. But never mind, Tiennet, it is nothing 
 serious, — I knov»^ his fancies ; there is nothing to be done, 
 and indeed the best way is to let him alone. He 's a lad 
 who has had a bee in his bonnet ever since he came into 
 the world. He does n't know how to express what he 
 feels, and he really can't. It is better, therefore, to leave 
 him to himself; for if one worries him with questions, he 
 only cries, and then we have hurt his feelings for nothing." 
 
 " It is my opinion, though," I said to Brulette, " that 
 you know how to make him confess himself." 
 
 " I was mistaken," she answered ; ''I thought he had 
 some much worse trouble. It would make you laugh if I 
 could tell you what the trouble really is ; but as he chooses 
 to tell no one but me, let us think no more about it." 
 
 "If it is such a little thing," I persisted, "you would 
 not take so much interest in it." 
 
 " Do 3'Ou think I take too much?" she said. " Don't 
 I owe it to the woman who brought him into the world 
 and who brought me up with more care and kindness than 
 she gave to her own child ? " 
 
26 The Bagpipers. 
 
 (.L 
 
 That 's a good reason, Brulette. If it is Mariton you 
 love ill her son, very good ; in that case, I wish Mariton 
 was my mother, — it would be better for me than being 
 ^•our cousin." 
 
 " Leave that sort of nonsense to m}' other sweethearts," 
 answered Brulette, blushing a little. But no compliments 
 ever came amiss to her, though she pretended to laugh 
 at them. 
 
 As we left the fields just opposite to my house she 
 came in with me to say good-evening to m}^ sister. 
 
 But my sister was out, and Brulette could not wait, 
 because her sheep were in the road. In order to keep 
 her a moment, I bethought me of taking off her sabots, to 
 remove the lumps of snow, and drying them. And so, 
 holding her as it were by the paws, — for she was obliged 
 to sit down while she waited for me to finish, — I tried to 
 tell her, better than I had ever yet dared to do, the trouble 
 my love for her was piling up in my heart. 
 
 But there ! see the devilish thing, — I could n't get out the 
 crowning word of it. I managed the second and the third, 
 but the first wouldn't come. My forehead was sweating. 
 The girl could have helped me out, if she onty would, for 
 she knew the tune of my^ song well enough ; others bad 
 sung it to her already. But with Brulette, one had to 
 have patience and discretion ; and though I was not al- 
 together new at gallant speeches, those I had exchanged 
 with others who were less diflTicult than Brulette (just b}" 
 way of getting my hand in) had taught me nothing that 
 was proper to say to a high-priced young girl like my 
 cousin. 
 
 All that I could manage was to hark back to the sub- 
 ject of her favorite, Joseph. At first she laughed ; then, 
 little by little, seeing that I was seriously finding fault 
 
The Bagpipers, 27 
 
 with him, she became herself serious. " Let the poor 
 lad alone," she said ; "he is much to be pitied." 
 
 " But why and wherefore? Is he consumptive, or crazy, 
 that 3'ou are so afraid of his being meddled with ? " 
 
 "He is worse than that," answered Brulette ; "he is 
 an egotist." 
 
 " Egotist " was one of the curate's words which Brulette 
 had picked up, though it was not used among us in m}^ 
 day. Brulette had a wonderful memory ; and tbat was 
 how she sometimes came out with words which I might 
 have recollected too, onh^ I did not, and consequently 
 I could not understand them. 
 
 I was too sh}' to ask her for an explanation and admit 
 m}' ignorance. Besides, I imagined it was a mortal illness ; 
 and I felt that such a great affliction convicted me of 
 Injustice. I begged Brulette's pardon for having annoyed 
 her, adding, — 
 
 " If 1 had known what yow tell me sooner, I should n't 
 have felt any bitterness or rancor for the poor fellow." 
 
 " How came 3'Ou never to notice it? " she said. " Don't 
 you see how he makes every one give wa}' to him and 
 obUge him, without ever dreaming of thanking them ; how 
 the least neglect affronts him, and the slightest joke angers 
 him ; how he sulks and suffers about things nobod}' else 
 would ever notice ; and how one must put one's best self 
 into a friendship with him without his ever comprehending 
 that it is not his due, but an offering made to God of love 
 to our neighbor ? " 
 
 " Is that the effect of illness?" I asked, a little puzzled 
 by Brulette's explanation. 
 
 * ' Is n't it the very worst thing he can have in his 
 heart?" she replied. 
 
 " Does his mother know he has something the matter 
 with his heart?" 
 
28 The Bagpipers. 
 
 "She guesses at it; but, 3'ou see, I can't talk to her 
 about it for fear of grieving her." 
 
 "Has no one tried to cure him?" 
 
 " I have clone, and I mean to do, my best," she an- 
 swered, continuing a topic on which we didn't understand 
 each other ; " but I think my way of managing him only 
 makes him worse." 
 
 "It is true," I said, after reflecting awhile, " that the 
 fellow always did have something queer about him. My 
 grandmother, who is dead, — and you know how she 
 piqued herself on foretelling the future, — said he had 
 misfortune written on his face ; that he was doomed to 
 live in misery or to die in the flower of his age, because of 
 a line he has on his forehead. Ever since then, I declare to 
 you that when Joseph is gloomy I see that line of ill-luck, 
 though I never knew where my grandmother saw it. At 
 such times I 'm afraid of him, or rather of his fate, and I 
 feel led to spare him blame and annoyance as if he was 
 not long for this world." 
 
 "Bah!" said Brulette, laughing, "nothing but my 
 great-aunt's fancies ! I remember them \QYy well. Did n't 
 she also tell you that light eyes, like Joseph's, can see 
 spirits and hidden things? As for me, I don't belicA'e U 
 word of it, neither do I think he is in danger of dying. 
 People live a long time with a mind like his ; the}' take 
 their comfort in worrying others, though perhaps, while 
 threatening to die, they will live to bur}' all about them." 
 
 I could not understand what she said, and I was going 
 to question her further, when she asked for her sabots and 
 slipped her feet easily into thorn, though they were so 
 small I couldn't get my hand in. Then, calling to her 
 dog and shortening her petticoat, she left me, quite 
 anxious and puzzled by all she said, and as little ad- 
 vanced as over in my courtship. 
 
The Bagpipers. 29 
 
 The following Sunda}^ as she was starting for mass at 
 Saint-Chartier, where she liked better to go than to our 
 own parish church, because there was dancing in the 
 market-place between mass and vespers, I asked if I 
 could go with her. 
 
 "No," she said. "I am going with my grandfather; 
 and he does not like a crowd of sweethearts after me 
 along the roads." 
 
 " I am not a crowd of sweethearts," I said. " I am 
 3'our cousin, and my uncle never wanted me out of his 
 way." 
 
 '' Well, keep out of mine now," she said, — " only for 
 to-day. My father and I want to talk with Jose, who is 
 in the house and is going to mass with us." 
 
 *' Then he has come to propose marriage ; and you are 
 glad enough to listen to him." 
 
 " Are 3'ou crazy, Tiennet? After all I told j'ou about 
 Jose ! " 
 
 " You told me he had an illness that would make him 
 live longer than other people ; and I don't see what there 
 is in that to quiet me." 
 
 '' Quiet 3'ou for what?" exclaimed Brulette, astonished. 
 '' What illness? Where are your wits? Upon m}' word, 
 I think all the men are craz}' ! " 
 
 Then, taking her grandfather's arm, who just then came 
 out of the house with Jose, she started, as light as a 
 feather and ga}^ as a fawn, while my good uncle, who 
 thought there was nothing like her, smiled at the passers- 
 b}' as much as to say, " You have no such girl as that 
 to show ! " 
 
 I followed them at a distance, to see if Joseph drew 
 any closer to her on the way, and whether she took his 
 arm, and whether the old man left them together. Noth- 
 
o 
 
 The Bagpipers. 
 
 ing of the kind. Joseph walked all the time at my uncle's 
 left, and Brulette on his right, and they seemed to be 
 talking gravel}'. 
 
 After the service I asked Brulette to dance with me. 
 
 "Oh, 3'ou are too late ! " she said ; "I have promised 
 at least fifteen dances. You must come back about vesper 
 time." 
 
 This annoyance did not include Joseph, for he never 
 danced ; and to avoid seeing Brulette surrounded by her 
 other swains, I followed him into the inn of the " Boeuf 
 Couronne," where he went to see his mother, and I to kill 
 time with a few friends. 
 
 I was rather a frequenter of wine-shops, as I have 
 alread}' told 3'ou, — not because of the bottle, which never 
 got the better of m}' senses, but from a liking for company 
 and talk and sono;s. I found several lads and lasses 
 whom I knew and with whom I sat down to table, while 
 Joseph sat in a corner, not drinking a drop or saying a 
 word, — sitting there to please his mother, who liked to 
 look at him and throw him a word now and then as she 
 passed and repassed. I don't know if it ever occurred to 
 Joseph to help her in the hard work of serving so many 
 people, but Benoit would n't have allowed such an absent- 
 minded fellow to stumble about among his dishes and 
 bottles. 
 
 You have heard tell of the late Benoit? He was a fat 
 man with a topping air, rather rough in speech, but a good 
 liver and a fine talker when occasion served. He was 
 upright enough to treat Mariton with the respect she de- 
 served ; for she was, to tell the truth, the queen of ser- 
 vants, and Benoit's house had never had so much custom 
 as while she reigned over it. 
 
 The thing Pere Brulet warned her of never happened. 
 
The Bagpipers. 31 
 
 The danger of the business cured her of coquetr}', and she 
 kept her own person as safe as she did the propert}- of her 
 master. The truth is, it was chiefl}' for her son^s sake 
 that she had brought herself down to harder work and 
 greater discretion than was natural to her. In that slie 
 was seen to be so good a mother that instead of losing the 
 respect of others, she had gained more since she served at 
 the inn ; and that 's a thing which seldom happens in our 
 country villages, — nor elsewhere, as I 've heard tell. 
 
 Seeing that Joseph was paler and gloomier than usual, 
 the thought of what my grandmother had said of him, 
 together with the illness (ver}' queer, it seemed to me) 
 which Brulette imputed to him, somehow struck my mind 
 and touched my heart. No doubt he was still angry with 
 me for the harsh words I had used to him. I wanted to 
 make him forget them, and to force him to sit at our table, 
 thinking I could unawares make him a trifle drunk ; for, 
 like others of m}' age, I tlioiight the fumes of a little good 
 white wine a sovereign cure for low spirits. 
 
 Joseph, who paid little attention to what was going on 
 around him, let us fill his glass and nudge his elbow so 
 often that any one but he would soon have felt the effects. 
 Those who were inciting him to drink, and thoughtlessly 
 setting him the example, soon had too much ; but I, who 
 wanted m}- legs for the dance, stopped short as soon as 
 I felt that I had had enough. Joseph fell into a deep 
 cogitation, leaned his two elbows on the table, and seemed 
 to me neither brighter nor duller than he was before. 
 
 No one paid anj^ attention to him ; ever^'bod}' laughed 
 and chattered on their own account. Some began to sing, 
 just as folks sing when they have been drinking, each in 
 his own key and his own time, one fellow trolling his 
 chorus beside another who trolls his, the whole together 
 
34 The Bagpipers. 
 
 My relative explained the road, as I had never been 
 in the forest more than once or twice in my life. You 
 know that in these parts we seldom go far from home, 
 especially those of us who till the ground, and keep near 
 our dwellings like chicks round a coop. 
 
 So, in spite of a warning, I kept too far to the left ; 
 and instead of striking a great avenue of oaks, I got 
 among the birches, at least a mile and a half from where 
 I ought to have been. 
 
 The night was dark, and I could not see a thing ; for in 
 those da3's the forest of Saint -Chartier was still a line 
 one, — not as to size, for it was never ver}^ large, but from 
 the age of the trees, which allowed no light from the sky 
 to get through them. What it thus gained in grandeur 
 and greenery it made yon pay for in other ways. Below 
 it was all roots and brambles, sunken paths and gullies 
 full of spongy black mud, out of which j'ou could hardly 
 draw your feet, and where you sank knee-deep if j^ou got 
 even a little way off the track. Presently, getting lost 
 in the forest and scratched and muddied in the opens, I 
 began to curse the luckless time and the luckless place. 
 
 After struggling and wading till I was overheated, 
 though the night was chilly, I got among some dr}" brake 
 which were up to my chin ; and looking straight before me, 
 I saw in the gray of the night something like a huge black 
 mass in the middle of an open tract. I felt sure it was 
 the big oak, and that I had reached the end of the forest. 
 I had never seen the tree, but I had heard tell of it, for it 
 was famous as one of the oldest in the country ; and from 
 the talk of others I knew pretty well how it was shaped. 
 You must surel}^ have seen it. It is a gnarled tree, 
 topped in its youth b}^ some accident so that it grew in 
 breadth and thickness ; its foliage, shrivelled hy the 
 
The Bagpipers. 35 
 
 winter, still clung to it, and it stood up there like a rock 
 looking: to heaven. 
 
 I was about to go towards it, thinking I should find the 
 path, which made a straight line through the woods, when 
 I heard a sound of music that was something like bag- 
 pipes, but so loud 3'ou might think it thunder. 
 
 Don't ask me why a thing which ought to have com- 
 forted me, by showing the presence of a human being, did 
 actually frighten me like a child. I must honestly tell 
 you that in spite of my nineteen 3'ears and a good pair of 
 fists, I had not felt easy after I found I had lost my way. 
 It was not because wolves do come down sometimes into 
 that forest from the great woods of Saint-Aoust that I 
 lost heart, nor yet that I feared any evil-intentioned Chris- 
 tian ; but I was chilled through with the kind of fear 
 that you can't explain to your own self, because you don't 
 really know the cause of it. The dark night ; the wintry 
 fog ; a jumble of noises heard in the woods, with others 
 coming from the plain ; a crowd of foolish stories which 
 3'ou have heard, and which now start up in 3'our head ; and 
 finally the idea of being all alone far from 3'our own 
 belongings, — - there's enough in all that to upset your 
 mind when you are young, and, indeed, when you are 
 old. 
 
 You can laugh at me if 3'ou like ; but that music, in 
 that lonel3^ place, seemed to me devilish. It was too loud 
 and strong to be natural, and the tune was so sad and 
 strange that it was not like an\^ other known music on 
 this Christian earth. I quickened m3' steps ; then I 
 stopped, amazed at another sound. While the music 
 clashed on one side, a bell chimed on the other; and the 
 two sounds came at me, as if to prevent me from going 
 forward or back. 
 
36 The Bagpipers. 
 
 I jumped to one side and hid in the brake ; and as I did 
 so, there was a flash of Ught about four feet from me, and 
 I saw a large black animal, that I could n't make out 
 distinctly, spring up and disappear at a run. 
 
 Instantly from all parts of the undergrowth a crowd of 
 the same animals sprang out, stamping, and running to- 
 wards the bell and towards the music, which now seemed 
 to be getting nearer to each other. There might have been 
 two hundred of these animals, but I saw at least thirt}'' 
 thousand ; for terror got hold of me, and I began to see 
 sparks and white specks in my ej-es, such as fear produces 
 in those who can't defend themselves. 
 
 I don't know whose legs carried me to the oak ; I 
 seemed to have none of mj^ own. But I got there, quite 
 astonished to have crossed that bit of ground like a whirl- 
 wind ; and when I recovered breath I heard nothing, 
 neither far nor near, and could see nothing under the 
 tree nor 3'et in the brake, and was not quite sure that 
 I had n't dreamed a pandemonium of crazy music and evil 
 beasts. 
 
 I began to look about me and find out where I was. 
 The oak-branches overhung a large piece of grassy 
 ground ; it was so dark under them that I could not see 
 m}^ feet, and I stumbled over a big root and fell, hands 
 forward, upon the body of a man who was lying there as 
 if asleep or dead. I don't know what fear made me sa}" 
 or shout, but at any rate m}' voice was recognized, and 
 that of Joseph replied, saying, — 
 
 " Is that you, Tiennet? What are you doing here at 
 this time of night ? " 
 
 "And 3^ou 3'ourself, what are 3'ou doing, old fellow?" 
 I replied, much pleased and comforted to have found him. 
 *' I have looked evcrj' where for you. Your mother was 
 
The Bagpipers. 37 
 
 worrying, and I hoped 3'ou had got back to her long 
 ago." 
 
 " I had business over here," he repHed, " and before 
 starting back I wanted to rest, that 's all." 
 
 *' Were not you afraid of being here alone at night in 
 this hideous, gloomy place?" 
 
 "Afraid of what? Why should I be afraid, Tiennet? 
 I don't understand you." 
 
 I was ashamed to confess what a fool I had been. 
 Still, I did venture to ask if he had n't seen people and 
 animals in the open. 
 
 "Yes, 3'es," he said, " I have seen plenty of animals, 
 and people too ; but they are not mischievous, and we 
 can go away together without their harming us." 
 
 I fancied from his voice that he was sneering at my 
 fears. I left the oak as he did ; but when we got out of 
 its shadow, I fancied that Jose's face and figure were not 
 the same as usual. He seemed to me taller, and carried 
 his head higher, walking quickly, and speaking with more 
 energy than naturally belonged to him. This did not 
 ease m}' mind, for all sorts of queer recollections crossed 
 it. It was not from my grandmother only that I had 
 heard tell that folks with white faces and green eyes, 
 gloomy tempers and speech that 3'Ou could n't understand, 
 were apt to consort with evil spirits ; and in all countries, 
 as you know, old trees are said to be haunted by sorcerers 
 and other such. 
 
 I hardly dared to breathe as long as we were in the 
 undergrowth. I kept expecting to see the same things I 
 had either dreamed in m\" brain or seen with my senses. 
 But all was still ; there was no sound except the breaking 
 of the dried branches as we went alono;, or the crunchins: 
 of the remains of ice under our feet. 
 
38 The Bagpipers* 
 
 Joseph, who walked in front, did not follow the main 
 path, but cut across the covert. You would have thought 
 he was a hare, well acquainted with the ins and outs, and 
 he led me so quickl}^ to the ford of the Tgneraie, with- 
 out crossing the potter's village, that it seemed as if I 
 got there by magic. Then he left me, without having 
 opened his lips, except to say that he wished to show 
 himself to his mother, as she was worried about him ; and 
 he followed the road to Saint-Chartier, while I took a 
 short cut through the two parishes to m}^ own house. 
 
 I no sooner found myself in the places I was familiar 
 with than my terror left me, and I was very much ashamed 
 not to have conquered it. Joseph would no doubt have 
 told me the things I wanted to know if I had onl}' asked 
 him ; for, for once in his life, he had lost his sleepy air, 
 and I had even detected for an instant a sort of laugh in 
 his voice, and something in his behavior like a wish to 
 give assistance. 
 
 However, when I had slept upon the adventure, and 
 my senses were calmer, I was convinced that I had not 
 dreamed what I had seen in the undergi'owth, and I began 
 to think there was something queer about Joseph's tran- 
 quillity under the oak. The animals that I had seen in 
 such number were certainl}' not an ordinary sight. In our 
 part of the country we have no flocks, except sheep, and 
 those I had seen were animals of another color and 
 another shape. The}^ were neither horses nor cattle nor 
 sheep nor goats ; besides, no animals were allowed to 
 pasture in the forest. 
 
 Now, as I tell you all this, I think I was a great fool. 
 And yet there 's a deal that 's unknown in the affairs of 
 this world into which a man sticks his nose, and more still 
 in God's afl'airs, which He chooses to keep secret. Any- 
 
The Bagpipers, 39 
 
 how, I did not venture to question Joseph ; for though 3'ou 
 may be inquisitive about good things, you ought not to be 
 so about evil ones ; and, indeed, a wise man feels re 
 luctant to poke into matters where he may find a good 
 deal more than he looks for. 
 
40 The Bagpipers. 
 
 FOURTH EVENING. 
 
 One thing gave me still more to think about in the fol- 
 lowing days. It was discovered in Aulnieres that Joseph 
 every now and then stayed out at night. 
 
 People joked about it, thinking he had a love-affair ; 
 but it was no use following and watching him, no one 
 ever saw him turn to inhabited parts, or speak to a living 
 person. He went away across the fields into the open 
 country so quickly and slyly that it was impossible to find 
 out his secret. He returned about dawn, and went to 
 work like the rest ; but instead of being weary, he seemed 
 livelier and more contented than usual. 
 
 This was noticed three times in the course of the win- 
 ter, which was ver}- long and very severe that 3'ear. But 
 neither the snow nor the north wind was able to keep 
 Joseph from going off at night when the fanc}' took him. 
 People imagined he was one of those who walk or work 
 in their sleep ; but it was nothing of the kind, as you 
 will see. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, as Veret, the sabot-maker, was an 
 his way to keep the midnight feast with his parents at 
 Ourouer, he saw under the big elm Rateau, not the giant 
 who is said to walk under it with a rake on his shoulder, 
 but a tall dark man who did not have a good face, and 
 who was whispering quite low to another man not so tall, 
 and who had a more Christian kind of look. Veret was 
 not actually afraid, and he passed near enough to listen to 
 what they were saying. But as soon as the other two saw 
 
Tfie Bagpipers. 41 
 
 him, they separated. The dark man made off, nobody 
 knows where, and his comrade, coming up to Veret, said to 
 him in a strangled sort of voice, — 
 
 " Where are 3'ou going, Denis Veret?" 
 
 The shoemaker began to be uneas}^ ; and knowing that 
 you must not speak to the things of darkness, especially 
 near an evil tree, he continued his way without looking 
 round ; but he was followed by the being he took to be a 
 spirit, who walked behind, keeping step with him. 
 
 When they reached the end of the open ground the 
 pursuer turned to the left, saying, " Good-night, Denis 
 Veret ! " 
 
 And then for the first time Veret recognized Joseph, 
 and laughed at his own fears ; but still without being 
 able to imagine for what purpose and in whose company 
 Joseph had come to the big elm between one and two 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 When this last affair came to my knowledge I felt very 
 sorry, and reproached myself for not trying to turn Joseph 
 from the evil ways he seemed to be taking. But I had let 
 so much time elapse I did not hke to take the matter up 
 then. I spoke to Brulette, who only made fun of it ; from 
 which I began to believe they had a secret love for each 
 other of which I had been the dupe, like other folks who 
 tried to see magic in it and onl}' saw fire. 
 
 I was more grieved than angry. Joseph, so slack at 
 his work and so crank}', seemed to me a weak stay and a 
 poor companion for Brulette. I could have told her that 
 (putting myself entirely out of the question) she could 
 have plaj'ed a better game with her cards ; but I was afraid 
 to say it, thinking I might make her angry, and so lose her 
 friendship, which seemed to me very sweet, even without 
 her other favors. 
 
42 The Bagpipers. 
 
 One night, coming home, I found Joseph sitting on the 
 edge of the fountain which is called the Font de Fond. 
 My house, then known by the name of "God's cross- 
 ing," because it was built where two roads, since altered, 
 crossed each other, looked out upon that fine greensward 
 which you saw not long ago sold and cut up as waste 
 land, — a great misfortune for the poor, who used it as a 
 common to feed their beasts, but had n't enough money 
 to buy it. It was a wide bit of pasture-land, ver}^ green, 
 and watered here and there b}^ the brook, which was not 
 kept within bounds but ran as it pleased through the grass, 
 cropped short b}^ the flocks, and alwa3^s pleasing to the eye 
 as it stretched away in the distance. 
 
 I contented myself with bidding Joseph good-evening ; 
 but he rose and walked beside me, as if seeking a conver- 
 sation, and seemed so agitated that I was quite uneasy 
 about him. 
 
 "What's the matter with you?" I said at last, 
 seeing that he was talking at random, and twisting his 
 body and groaning as though he had stepped on an 
 ant-hill. 
 
 " How can yon ask me?" he said, impatientl3\ "Is it 
 nothing to you ? Are you deaf? " 
 
 "Who? wh}^? what is it?" I cried, thinking he must 
 see some vision, and not very anxious to share it. 
 
 Then I listened, and heard in the distance the sound of 
 a bagpipe, which seemed to me natural enough. 
 
 " Well," I said, " that's only some musician return- 
 ing from a wedding over at Berthenoux. Why should 
 that annoy you?" 
 
 Joseph answered with an air of decision, — 
 
 "That is Carnat's bagpipe, but he is not playing it; it 
 is some one more clumsy even than he." 
 
The Bagpipers, 43 
 
 "Clumsy? Do you call Carnat clumsy with the bag- 
 pipe ? " 
 
 " Not clumsy with his hands, but clums}' in his ideas, 
 Tiennet. Poor man, he is not worthy of the blessing of 
 a bagpipe ! and that fellow who is trying it now deserves 
 that the good God should stop his breath." 
 
 " That 's very strange talk, and I don't know where you 
 have picked it up. How do you know that is Carnat's 
 bagpipe? It seems to me that bagpipes are all alike, and 
 grunt in the same wa}'. I do hear that the one down there 
 is not properly played, and the tune is rather choked otf; 
 but that does n't trouble me, for I could n't do as well. 
 Do you think you could do any better?" 
 
 '' I don't know ; but there are certainly some who can 
 play better than that fellow and better than Carnat, his 
 master. There are some who have got at the truth of the 
 thing." 
 
 " Do 3'ou know them? Where are the people that 3'ou 
 are talking about?" 
 
 " I don't know. But somewhere truth must be, and 
 when one has neither time nor means to search for it, 
 one's only chance is to meet it." 
 
 "So 3'our head is running on music, is it, Jose? I 
 never should have thought it. I have always known you 
 as mute as a fish, never catching nor humming a tune. 
 "When you used to practise on the cornstalks like the herd- 
 boys, you made such a jumble of the tunes that nobody 
 recognized them. In the matter of music we all thought 
 3'Ou more simple than children, who fanc}' the}" can pLay 
 the bagpipes with reeds ; if you are not satisfied with 
 Carnat, who keeps such good time for dancing, and man- 
 ages his fingers so skilfull}', I am more than ever sure your 
 ear can't be good." 
 
44 The Bagpipers, 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Joseph, " 3^011 are right to reprove me, 
 for I say fooUsh things and talk of what I know nothing 
 about. Well, good-night, Tiennet ; forget what I said, for 
 it is not what I wanted to say ; but I will think it over 
 and try to tell 3'ou better another time." 
 
 And off he went, quicklj-, as if sorr}- for having spoken ; 
 but Brulette, who came out of our house just then with 
 my sister, called to him and brought him back to me, 
 saying, — 
 
 "It is time to put an end to these tales. Here is my 
 cousin, who has heard so much gossip about Joseph that 
 she begins to think he is a werewolf; the thing must be 
 cleared up, once for all." 
 
 " Let it be as you sa}^," said Joseph, " for I am tired 
 of being taken for a sorcerer ; I would rather be thought 
 an idiot." 
 
 "You are neither an idiot nor crazy," returned Brulette ; 
 " but 3'ou are ver}'^ obstinate, my poor Jose. You must 
 know, Tiennet, that the lad has nothing wrong in his 
 head. 3xcept a fanc}'^ for music, which is not so unreason- 
 able :v3 it is dangerous." 
 
 " Then," answered I, "I understand what he was say- 
 ing to me just now. But where the devil did he pick up 
 these ideas ? " 
 
 " Wait a minute ! " said Brulette ; " we must not irritate 
 him unjustl}^ Don't be in a hurry to sa^' he can't make 
 music ; though perhaps 3^ou think, like his mother and m3' 
 grandfather, that his mind is as dense to that as it used 
 to be to the catechism. But I can tell 3'OU that Mariton, and 
 grandfather, and 3ou are the ones who know nothing about 
 it. Joseph can't sing, — not tliat he is short of breath, 
 but because he can't make his throat do as he wants it; 
 and as he is n't able to satisf3' himself he prefers not to 
 
Tlie Baginpers. 45 
 
 use a voice be does n't know how to manage. Therefore, 
 naturally enough, he wants to play upon some instrument 
 which has a voice in place of his own, and which can sing 
 for him whatever comes in his head. It is because he has 
 failed to get this borrowed voice that our poor lad is so 
 sad and dreamy and wrapped up in himself." 
 
 " It is exactl}^ as she tells you," remarked Joseph, who 
 seemed comforted to hear the young girl lift his thoughts 
 out of his heart and make me comprehend them. " But 
 she does not tell you that she has a voice for me, so sweet, 
 so clear, which repeats so correctly the music she hears 
 that ever since I was a child my greatest pleasure is to 
 listen to her." 
 
 ••' Yes," said Brulette, " but we always had a crow to pick 
 with each other. I liked to do as all the other little girls 
 who kept their flocks did ; that is, sing at the top of my 
 voice so that I could be heard a long distance. Scream- 
 ing like that, I outdid my strength and spoilt all, and hurt 
 Jose's ears. Then, after I settled down to singing reason- 
 ably, he thought I had a good memory for all the tunes 
 that were singable, those which pleased the lad and those 
 that put him in a rage ; and more than once I 've known 
 him turn his back on me suddenly and rush off without a 
 word, though he had asked me to sing. For that matter, 
 he is not always civil or kind ; but as it is he, I laugh in- 
 stead of getting angry. I know very well he '11 come back, 
 for his memory is not sure, and w^hen he has heard an air 
 that pleases him he comes to me for it, and he is pretty 
 sure to find it in my head." 
 
 I remarked to Brulette that as Joseph had such a 
 poor memory he did n't seem to me born to play the 
 bagpipes. 
 
 *'0h nonsense!" she said, "it is just there that you 
 
46 The Bagpipers. 
 
 have got to turn your opinion wrong side out. You see, 
 my poor Tienuet, that neither 3'ou nor I know the truth of 
 the thing., as Jose sa3's. But by dint of living with liira 
 and his visions I have come to understand what he either 
 does not know or dares not say. The * truth of tlie 
 thing ' is that Jose thinks he can invent his own music ; 
 and he does invent it, for sure. He has succeeded in 
 making a flute out of a reed, and he plays upon it ; I don 't 
 know how, for he won't let me, nor any one else, hear 
 him. When he wants to play he goes ofl", on Sundays and 
 sometimes at night, into lonely places where he can flute as 
 he likes ; but when I ask him to play for me he answers 
 that he does not yet know what he wants to know, and 
 that he can't do as I ask until it is worth while. That's 
 why, ever since he invented his instrument, he goes off 
 on Sunday's and sometimes, during the week, at night, 
 when his music grips him hard. So you see, Tiennet, that 
 it is all ver^^ harmless. But it is time we should have an 
 explanation between us three ; for Jose has now set his 
 mind on spending his next wages — up to this time he 
 has always given them to his mother — in buying a bag- 
 pipe ; and, as he knows he is a poor hand at farm-labor 
 and yet his heart is set on relieving his mother of hard 
 work, he wants to take up the business of placing the bag- 
 pipe because, true enough, it pays well." 
 
 "It would be a good idea," said my sister, who was 
 listening to us, " if Joseph really has a talent for it. But, 
 before buying the bagpipe, it is my opinion he ought to 
 know something about using it." 
 
 "That's a matter of time and patience," said Brulette, 
 " and there 's no hindrance there. Don 't 3'ou know that for 
 some time past Carnat's son has been learning to play, so 
 as to take his father's place." 
 
The Bagpipers, 47 
 
 '* Yes," I answered, " and I see what will come of it. 
 Carnat is old and some one might have a chance for his 
 custom ; but his son wants it, and will get it because he is 
 rich and has influence in the neighborhood ; while you, 
 Jose, have neither money to buy 3'our bagpipe nor a 
 master to teach you, nor friends who like your music to 
 push you en." 
 
 " That is true," replied Joseph, sadly ; " I have nothing 
 but my idea, my reed, and — Aer." 
 
 So saying he motioned towards Brulette, who took his 
 hand affectionately as she answered : — 
 
 *' Jose, I believe in what 3'ou have in 3'our head, but I 
 can't feel certain that you will ever get it out. To will 
 and to do are not the same thing ; to dream music and 
 play the flute difler widel}-. I know what }'0u have in 
 your ears, in your brain, in 3'Our heart, — the music of 
 the good God ; for I saw it in 3'our eyes when I was a 
 little thing and 3'ou took me on your knee and said, in a 
 weird kind of wa3% ' Listen, and don't make a noise, and 
 tr3^ to remember what you hear/ Then I did listen faith- 
 fully, and all I heard was the wind talking in the trees, or 
 the brook murmuring along the pebbles ; but you, you 
 heard something else, and 3'ou were so certain of it that I 
 was, too, for sympathy. Well, m3' lad, keep the music 
 that is so sweet and dear in 3'our secret heart, but don't 
 try to make 3'ourself a piper b3' profession ; for if you do, 
 one of two things will happen. Either 3'ou will never 
 make 3'Our bagpipes sa3" what the wind and the brook 
 whisper in 3'our ear, or 3'ou will become such a fine and 
 delicate musician that all the petty pipers in the countr3^- 
 side will pick a quarrel with 3'ou and prevent 3'ou from 
 getting custom. The3^ will wish 3'ou ill and do 3"ou harm, 
 for that 's their wa3' to prevent others from sharing their 
 
48 The Bagpipers. 
 
 profits and their fame. There are a dozen here and in the 
 neighborhood who can't agree together, but who will join 
 and support each other in keeping out a new hand. Your 
 mother, who hears them talk on Sundaj's, — for they are 
 thirsty folk and accustomed to drink late at night after the 
 dances, — is very unhappy to think you want to join such a 
 set of people. They are rough and ill-behaved, and 
 always foremost in quarrels and fights. The habit of be- 
 ing at all festivals and idle resorts makes them drunkards 
 and spendthrifts. In short, they are a tribe unlike any of 
 the people belonging to 3'ou, among whom, she thinks, 
 you will go to the bad. As for me, I think the}' are jealous 
 and revengeful, and would try to crush your spirit, and 
 perhaps your bod^^, too. And so, Jose, I do ask 3'ou to at 
 least put off 3'our plan and lay aside 3'our wishes, and even 
 to give them up altogether, if it is not asking too much of 
 your friendship for me, and for your mother and Tiennet." 
 
 As I supported Brulette 's arguments, which seemed to 
 me sound, Joseph was in despair ; but presently' he took 
 courage and said : — 
 
 " I thank you for your advice, my friends, which I know 
 is given for my good ; but I beg you to leave me my freedom 
 of mind for a short time longer. When I have reached a 
 point I think I shall reach, I will ask you to hear me play 
 the flute, or the bagpipe if it please God to enable me to 
 buy one. Then, if 3'ou decide that my music is good for 
 anything it will be worth while for me to make use of my 
 talent and I will face the struggle for love of it. If not, I 
 will go on digging the earth and amusing myself with my 
 reed-pipe on Sundays, without making a living and so 
 offending anybody. Promise me this, and I will have 
 patience.'* 
 
 We made the promise, to quiet him, for he seemed more 
 
The Bagpipers. 49 
 
 annoyed by our fears than touched by our sympathy. I 
 looked in his face b}' the hght of the stars, and saw it eveiL 
 more distinctly' because the bright water of the fountain 
 was before us like a mirror, which reflected on our faces the 
 whiteness of the sky. I noticed that his eyes had the 
 very color of the water and seemed as usual to be looking 
 at things which the rest of us did not see. 
 
 A month later Joseph came to see me at my own house. 
 
 '' The time has come," he said, with a clear look and a 
 confident voice, " for the two persons whose judgment I 
 trust to hear me play. I want Brulette to come here to- 
 morrow night, because here we can be (juiet by ourselves. 
 I know your relations start on a pilgrimage to-morrow 
 on account of that fever your brother had ; so that you 
 will be alone in the house, which is far enough in the 
 country for no one to overhear us. I have spoken to 
 Brulette, and she is willing to leave the village after night- 
 fall ; I shall wait for her on the lower road, and we can 
 get here without any one seeing us. Brulette relies on 
 you not to tell of it ; and her grandfather, who approves of 
 whatever she wishes, consents too, if you will make that 
 promise, which I have given for 3^ou." 
 
 At the appointed hour I waited in front of m}' house, 
 having closed all the doors and windows, so that the 
 passers-b}^ (if an}^ there were) should think me in bed or 
 absent. It was now spring ; and as it had thundered 
 during the da}', the sky was still thick with clouds. Gusts 
 of warm wind brought all the sweet smells of the month 
 of Ma}'. I listened to the nightingales answering each 
 other from distance to distance as far as I could hear, 
 and I thought to m3'self that Joseph would be hard put to 
 it to flute like tliem. I saw the lights of the houses in 
 the village going out one b}' one ; and about ten minutes 
 
 4 
 
50 The Bagpipers. 
 
 after the last disappeared I found the couple I was waiting 
 for close beside me. They had stepped so softly on the 
 young grass and so close to the big bushes at the side 
 of the road that I had neither seen nor heard them. I 
 took them into the house, where the lamp was lit ; and 
 when I looked at them — she with her hair so coquettishl}* 
 dressed, and he, as usual, cold and thoughtful — I could 
 scarcely suppose them to be ardently tender lovers. 
 
 While I talked a little with Brulette, to do the honors of 
 the house (which was quite a nice one, and I wanted her to 
 take a fancy to it), Joseph, without a word to me, had set 
 about tuning his flute. He found the damp weather had 
 affected it, and he threw a handful of flax chips on the 
 hearth to warm it. AYhen the chips blazed up they cast a 
 strong light upon his face, which was bent towards the 
 fireplace ; and I thought his look so strange that I called 
 Brulette's attention to it in a low voice. 
 
 '' You may think," I said to her, " that he hides by day 
 and wanders off at night solel}^ to surfeit himself with that 
 flute ; but I know that he has in him or about him some 
 secret that he does not tell us." 
 
 "Bah!" she exclaimed, laughing; "just because 
 Veret, the sabot-maker, fancies he saw him with a tall, 
 dark man near the Rateau elm ! " 
 
 " Perhaps Veret dreamed that," I answered ; " but 
 as for me, I know what I saw and heard in the 
 forest." 
 
 "What did 5'ou see?" said Jose, suddenly, who had 
 heard every word, though we spoke quite low. " What 
 did 3'ou hear? You saw him who is my friend, but whom 
 I cannot make known to 3'ou ; and as for what 3'Ou heard, 
 3'ou are going now to hear it again if it pleases 3'ou to 
 do so." 
 
The Bagpipers, 51 
 
 Thereupon he blew into his flute, his eye on fire and his 
 face blazing as if with fever. 
 
 Don't ask me what he pla3'ed. I don't know if the 
 devil would have understood it ; as for me, I did n't, 
 except that it seemed the same air I had heard among the 
 brake, on the bagpipes. At that time I was so fright- 
 ened that I did n't listen to it all ; but now, whether it 
 was that the music was longer, or that Joseph put some of 
 his own into it, he never stopped fluting for a quarter of 
 an hour, setting his fingers very delicately', never losing 
 his breath, and getting such sounds out of his miserable 
 reed that 3'ou would have thought, at times, there were 
 three bagpipes going at once. At other times he played 
 so softly that you could hear the cricket indoors and the 
 nightingales without ; and when Jose played low I con- 
 fess I liked it, — though the whole together was so little 
 like what we were accustomed to that it seemed to me 
 a crazy racket. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " I exclaimed, when he had finished ; " that's 
 a mad sort of music ! Where the devil did you learn that ? 
 "What is the use of it ? Is there an}" meaning in it ? " 
 
 He did not answer, and seemed as if he had not heard 
 me. He was looking at Bralette, who was leaning against 
 a chair with her face turned to the wall. 
 
 As she did not say a word, Jose was seized with a rush 
 of anger either against her or against himself, and I saw 
 him make a motion as if to break his flute ; but just at 
 that moment the girl looked round, and I was much sur- 
 prised to see great tears running down her cheeks. 
 
 Joseph ran to her and caught her hands. 
 
 " Tell me what 3'ou feel, m}" darling ! " he cried ; "let 
 me know if it is pit}' for me that makes you cry, or 
 whether it is pleasure." 
 
52 The Bagpipers. 
 
 * ' I don't know how pleasure in a thing like that could 
 make me cry," she said. " Don't ask me if I feel pain or 
 pleasure ; all that I know is that I can't help crying." 
 
 " But what were j^ou thinking of while I played?" said 
 Joseph, looking fixedly at her. 
 
 " So many things that I can't give account of them," 
 rephed Brulette. 
 
 " Well, tell me one," he said, in a tone that was im- 
 patient and dictatorial. 
 
 "I did not think of anything," said Brulette, "but a 
 thousand recollections of old times came into my mind. 
 I seemed not to see 3'ou pla3'ing, though I heard 3'ou 
 clearly enough ; \-ou appeared to be no older than when 
 we lived together, and I felt as if 3'ou and I were driven 
 by a strong wind, sometimes through the ripe wheat, 
 sometimes into the long grass, at other times upon the 
 running streams ; and I saw the fields, the woods, the 
 springs, the flower3^ meadows, and the birds in the sky 
 among tlie clouds. I saw, too, in m3' dream, your mother 
 and m3' grandfather sitting before the fire, and talking of 
 things I could not understand ; and all the while you were 
 in the corner on 3'our knees sa3'ing 3'our pra3ers, and I 
 thought I was asleep in m3' little bed. Then again I saw 
 the ground covered with snow, and the willows full of 
 larlcs, and the nights full of falling stars ; and we looked 
 at each other, sitting on a hillock, while the sheep made 
 their little noise of nibbling the grass. In short, I 
 dreamed so man3^ things that the3^ are all jumbled up in 
 mv head ; and if the3' made me cr3', it was not for grief, 
 but because m3' mind was shaken in a wa}' I can't at all 
 explain to 3'ou." 
 
 *' It is all right," said Jos^. " What I saw and what I 
 dreamed as I played 30U saw too ! Thank 3'on, Brulette* 
 
The Bagpipers. 63 
 
 Through yon I know now that I am not craz}', and that 
 there is a truth in what we hear within us, as there is in 
 what we see. Yes, yes," he said, taking long strides up 
 and down the room and holding his flute above his head, 
 " it speaks ! — that miserable bit of reed ! it says what we 
 think ; it shows what we see ; it tells a tale as if with 
 words ; it loves like the heart, it lives, it has a being ! 
 And now, Jose the madman, Jose the idiot, Jose the 
 starer, go back to 3'our imbecility ; you can afford to do 
 so, for you are as powerful, and as wise, and as happy as 
 others ! " 
 
 So saying, he sat down and paid no further attention to 
 anything about him. 
 
54 The Bagpipers, 
 
 FIFTH EVENING. 
 
 We stared at him, Brulette and I, for he was no longer 
 the Jose we knew. As for me, there was something in 
 all this whicli reminded me of the tales they tell among us 
 of the wandering bagpipers, who are supposed to tame 
 wild animals and to lead packs of wolves by night along 
 the roads, just as other people lead their flocks in the 
 meadows. Jose did not haA^e a natural look as he sat 
 there before me. Instead of being pale and puny, he 
 seemed taller and better in health, as I had seen him in 
 the forest. In short, he looked like a person. His ej'es 
 beamed in his head with the glitter of two stars, and anj^ 
 one who had called him the handsomest fellow in the 
 world would n't have been mistaken at that particular 
 moment. 
 
 It seemed to me that Brulette also was under some spell 
 or witchery, because she had seen so man}' things in that 
 fluting when I could only see the excitement of it. I 
 sorely wanted to make her admit that Jose would never 
 get any one but the devil to dance to such music ; but she 
 would n't listen to me, and asked him to begin again. 
 
 He was read}'' enough to do that, and began with a tune 
 which was like the first, and yet was not quite the same ; 
 but I saw that his ideas had not changed, and that he was 
 determined not to give in to our country fashions. See- 
 ing that Brulette listened as if she had a taste for the 
 thing, I made an effort in my mind to see if I could n't 
 like it too ; and I seemed to get accustomed to this new 
 
The Bagpipers, 55 
 
 kind of music so quickly- that something was stirred inside 
 of me. I too had a vision : I thousfht I saw Brulette 
 dancing alone by the light of the moon under a hawthorn 
 all in bloom, and shaking her pink apron as if about to fly 
 away. But just then, all of a sudden, a sort of ringing of 
 bells was heard not far off, like that I had heard in the 
 forest, and Joseph stopped fluting, cut short in the very 
 middle of a tune. 
 
 I came out of my vision, quite convinced that the bell 
 was not a dream ; Joseph himself was interrupted, and 
 stood stock-still, evidentl}^ vexed ; while Brulette gazed at 
 him, not less astonished than I was. 
 
 All my terrors came back to me. 
 
 "Jose," I said, reproachfull}', "there is more in this 
 than 3'ou choose to confess. You did not learn what 3'ou 
 know all by yourself ; there 's a companion outside who is 
 answering j^ou, whether 30U will or no. Come, tell him to 
 go awa}' ; for I don't want to have him in my house. I 
 invited you, and not him, nor any of his tribe. If he 
 doesn't go, I'll sing him an anthem he won't like." 
 
 So saying, I took my father's old gun from over the 
 chimney-piece, knowing it was loaded with three conse- 
 crated balls ; for the Evil Beast was in the habit of roam- 
 ing about the Font de Fond, and though I had never seen 
 him, I was alwa3's prepared to do so, knowing that m3' 
 parents feared him ver3' much and that he had frequentl3' 
 molested them. 
 
 Joseph began to laugh instead of answering me ; then, 
 calling to his dog, he went to open the door. My own 
 dog had followed m3' famil3' on their pilgrimage, so that I 
 had no way of ascertaining whether the3" were real people 
 or evil ones who were ringing the bells ; for 3'ou must 
 know that animals, particular I3' dogs, are ver3^ wise in 
 
5Q The Bagpipers. 
 
 such matters, and bark in a way that lets human beings 
 know the truth. 
 
 It is a fact that Parpluche, Joseph's dog, instead of 
 getting angry, ran at once to the door and sprang out 
 gayly enough ; as soon as it was opened but the creature 
 might have been bewitched, and so far as I could see, 
 there was nothing good in the matter. 
 
 Joseph went out ; the wind, which had grown very high, 
 slammed the door after him. Brulette, who had risen, 
 made as if she would open it to see what was going on ; 
 but I stopped her quickly, sajdng there was certainly 
 some wicked secret under it all, so that she, too, began to 
 be afraid and wished she had never come. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, Brulette," said I ; "I believe in 
 evil spirits, but I am not afraid of them. They do no 
 harm except to those who seek them, and all they can 
 ever do to real Christians is to frighten them. But that's 
 a fear we can and ought to conquer. Come, say a prayer, 
 and I ']! hold the door, and you may be sure no harmful 
 thing can get in." 
 
 " But that poor lad," said Brulette ; " if he is in dan- 
 ger, ought we not to get him back ? " 
 
 I made her a sign to be silent, and putting mj'self close 
 to the door with m}^ loaded gun I listened with all my 
 ears. The wind blew high and the bell could only be 
 heard now and then and seemed to be moving farther off. 
 Brulette was at the farther end of the room, half-laughing, 
 half-trembling, for she was a brave, intrepid sort of girl, 
 who joked about the devil, though she would not have 
 liked to make acquaintance with him. 
 
 Present^ I heard Jose coming back and saying, not far 
 from the door, — 
 
 " Yes, yes, directl}" after midsummer. Thank you and 
 
Tlie Bagpipers. 57 
 
 the good God ! I -will do just as you say ; you have my 
 word for that." 
 
 As he mentioned the good God I felt more confidence, 
 so opening the door a trifle I looked out, and there I 
 saw, by the light that streamed from the house, Jose, 
 walking beside a villanous-looking man, all black from 
 head to foot, even his face and hands, and behind him 
 two big black dogs who were romping with Joseph's dog. 
 The man answered, with such a loud voice that Brulette 
 heard him and trembled: " Good-b^'e, little man; we 
 shall meet again. Here, Clairin ! " 
 
 He had no sooner said that than the bells began to 
 jingle, and I saw a lean little horse come up to him, half- 
 crouching, with eyes like live coals, and a bell which 
 shone bright as gold upon his neck. " Call up your com- 
 rades ! " said the tall dark man. The little horse galloped 
 away' followed by the two dogs, and his master after shak- 
 ing hands with Jose went awa}- too. Joseph came in 
 and shut the door, saying with a scornful air, — 
 
 "What were 3'ou doing here, Tiennet?" 
 
 " And you, Jose, what have you got there?" I retorted, 
 seeing that he had a parcel wrapped in black oil-cloth 
 under his arm. 
 
 "That?" he said, "that is something the good God 
 has sent me at the very hour it was promised. Come, 
 Tiennet ; come, Brulette ; see the fine present God has 
 made me ! " 
 
 "The good God doesn't send black angels or make 
 presents to wrong-doers." 
 
 " Hush," said Brulette, "let Jose explain himself." 
 
 But she had hardly said the words when a loud commo- 
 tion, like the galloping of two hundred animals, was 
 heard from the broad grass-ground around the fountain, 
 
58 The Bagpipers. 
 
 some sixty feet from the house, from which it was sep- 
 arated by the garden and hemp-field. The bell tinkled, 
 the dogs barked, and the man's rough voice was heard 
 shouting, " Quick, quick ! here, here ! to me, Clairin ! 
 come, come ! I miss three ! You, Louveteau, you, Satan ! 
 off with 30U, quick ! " 
 
 For a moment Brulette was so frightened that she ran 
 from Joseph to me, which gave me fine courage, and 
 seizing my gun again I said to Joseph : — 
 
 '' I don't choose that your people should come racketing 
 round here at night. Brulette has had enough of it and 
 she wants to be taken home. Come now, stop this sorcery 
 or I '11 chase 3'our witches." 
 
 Joseph stopped me as I was going out. 
 
 *' Stay here," he said, " and don't meddle with what does 
 not concern you ; or maybe you '11 regret it later. Keep 
 still, and see what I brought in ; jo\x shall know all about 
 it presently." 
 
 As the uproar was now d3ing away in the distance, I 
 did look, all the more because Brulette was crazy to know 
 what was in the parcel ; and Joseph, undoing it, showed 
 us a bagpipe, so large, and full, and handsome that it was 
 really a splendid thing, and such as I had never seen 
 before. 
 
 It had double bellows, one of which measured five feet 
 from end to end ; and the wood of the instrument, which 
 was black cherrv, dazzled the eyes with the pewter orna- 
 ments, made to shine like silver, which were inlaid at 
 all the joints. The wind-bag was of handsome leather 
 tied with a knot of calico, striped blue and white ; indeed, 
 the whole workmanship was done in so clever a wa}'' that 
 it only took a very little breath to fill the bag and send 
 out a sound like thunder. 
 
The Bagpipers. 59 
 
 '' The die is cast ! " said Brulette, to whom Joseph 
 was not listening, so intent was he in taking apart and 
 replacing the various parts of his bag[)ipe. " You will be 
 a piper, Jose, in spite of the hindrances you will meet 
 with, and the trouble it will be to 3'our mother." 
 
 " I shall be a piper," he said, " when I know how to 
 [)la3' the bagpipe. Before then the wheat will ripen and 
 ihe leaves will fall. Don't let us trouble ourselves 
 about what will happen, children ; but see things as they 
 are, and don't accuse me of dealings with the devil. He 
 V. ho brought me that bagpipe is neither a sorcerer nor 
 a demon. He is a man rather rough at times, for his 
 business requires it, and as he is going to spend the 
 night not far from here I advise 3'ou and I beg 3'ou, friend 
 Tiennet, not to go where he is. Excuse me for not telling 
 3'Ou his name or his business ; and also promise me not to 
 say that 3'ou have seen him or that he came round this 
 wa3'. It might cause him anno3'ance as well as the rest of 
 us. Be content to know that he is a man of good sense 
 and good judgment. It is he whom 3'ou saw in the under- 
 brush of the forest of Saint-Chartier, pla3'ing a bagpipe 
 like this one ; for though he is not a piper b3^ trade, he 
 understands it thoroughl3', and has pla3'ed me airs that 
 are much more beautiful tlian ours. He saw that not 
 having enough mone3' I could not bu3' such an instrument, 
 and so he was satisfied with a small amount and lent me 
 the rest, promising to bu3' the instrument and bring it me 
 just about this time, letting me pa3' for it as I am able. 
 For this thing, 3'ou see, costs eight pistoles, nearl3- one 
 3'ear's wages ! Now, as I had n't a third of it, he said, 
 ' Trust me, give me what you have, and I will trust you 
 in the same wa3'.' That 's how tlie thing happened. I 
 did n't know him a mite and we had no witnesses : he 
 
60 The Bagpi2:)ers. 
 
 could have cheated me if he wished, and if I had asked 
 your advice 3'ou would have dissuaded me from trust- 
 ing him. But 3^ou see now that he is a faithful man, for 
 he said, ' I will come round youv way at Christmas and 
 give you an answer.' At Christmas I met him under the 
 Rateau elm, and sure enough he came, and said : ' The 
 thing is not 3'et finished ; but it is being made ; between 
 the first and tenth of Maj' I will be here again, and bring 
 it.' This is the eighth. He has come, and just as he 
 turned a little out of his way to look for me in the village 
 he heard the air I was plajing, which he was certain no 
 one in these parts knew but me ; and as for me, I heard 
 and recognized his belh That 's how it happened, and 
 the devil had nothing to do with it. We said good-evening 
 to each other and promised to meet at midsummer." 
 
 " If that is so," I remarked, " wh}' did n't you bring him 
 in here, where he could have rested and been refreshed 
 with a glass of good wine? I would have given him a 
 heart}^ welcome for keeping his word to 3'OU faithfull3'." 
 
 "Oh! as for that," replied Joseph, "he is a man who 
 doesn't always behave like other people. He has his 
 wa3's, and his own ideas and reasons. Don't ask me more 
 than I ought to tell you." 
 
 " Wh3^ not? is it because he is hiding from honest 
 people?" asked Brulette. "I think that is worse than 
 being a sorcerer. He must be some one who has done 
 wrong, or he would not be roaming round at night, and 
 3^ou wouldn't be forbidden to speak of him." 
 
 " I will tell 3'ou all about it to-morrow," said Joseph, 
 smiling at our fears. "To-night, 3'Ou can think what 
 3'ou please, for I shall tell 3'ou nothing more. Come, 
 Brulette, there 's the cuckoo striking midnight. I '11 take 
 you home and leave my bagpipe hidden away in your 
 
The Bagpipers. 61 
 
 charge. For I certainl}^ shall not practise on it in this 
 neighborhood ; the time to make myself known has not 
 yet come." 
 
 Brulette said good-night to me ver^- prettil}', putting her 
 liand into mine. But when I saw that she put her arm 
 into Joseph's to go away, jealousy galloped otf with me 
 again, and as they went along the high-road I cut across 
 the hemp-field and posted myself beneath the hedge to see 
 them pass. The weather had cleared a little, but there 
 had been a shower, and Brulette let go of Joseph's arm to 
 pick up her dress, saying, "It is not easy to walk two 
 together ; go in front." 
 
 If I had been in Jose's place I should have offered to 
 carry her over the muddy places, or, if I had not dared to 
 take her in my arms, I should have lingered behind her 
 to look at her pretty ankles. But Jose did nothing of the 
 kind, he concerned himself about nothing but his bagpipe ; 
 and as I saw him handling it with care and looking lov- 
 ingl}' at it, I said to myself that he had n't any other love 
 just then. 
 
 I returned home, eas}' in mind in more wa3's than one, 
 and went to bed, somewhat fatigued both in body and 
 mind. 
 
 But it was not half an hour before Monsieur Parpluche, 
 who had been amusing himself with the stranger's dogs, 
 came scratching at the door in search of his master. I 
 rose to let him in, and just then I fancied I heard a noise 
 in my oats, which were coming up green and thick at the 
 back of the house. It seemed to me that the}' were being 
 cropped and trampled b}' some four-footed beast who had 
 no business there. 
 
 I caught up the first stick that came to hand and ran 
 out, whistling to Parpluche, who did not obey me but 
 
62 The Bagpipers, 
 
 made off, looking for his master, after snuffing about the 
 house. 
 
 Entering the field, I saw something rolling on its back 
 with its paws in the air, crushing the oats right and left, 
 getting up, jumping about and browsing quite at its ease. 
 For a moment I was afraid to run after it, not knowing 
 w^hat kind of beast it was. I could see nothing clearly- 
 but its ears, which were too long for a horse ; but the 
 body was too black and stout for a donkej'. I approached 
 it gentl}' ; it seemed neither wild nor mischievous, and 
 then I knew it was a mule, though I had seldom seen one, 
 for we don't raise them in our part of the countrj', and 
 the muleteers never pass this way. I was just going to 
 catch him and already had m}' hand on his mane when he 
 threw up his hindquarters and lashing out a dozen kicks 
 which I had scarcely time to avoid, he leaped like a hare 
 over the ditch and ran awaj' so quickly that in a moment 
 he was out of sight. 
 
 Not wishing to have my oats ruined by the return of 
 the beast, I put off going to bed till I could have an easy 
 mind. I returned to the house to get m^' shoes and waist- 
 coat, and after fastening the doors I went through the 
 fields in the direction the mule had taken. I had little 
 doubt that he belonged to the troop of the dark man, 
 Joseph's friend. Joseph had certainly advised me to see 
 nothing of him, but now that I had touched a living ani- 
 mal I was afraid of nothing. Nobody likes ghosts ; but 
 when 3'ou know you are dealing with solid things it is 
 another affair ; and the moment I realized that the dark 
 man was a man, no matter how strong lie was or how 
 much he had daubed himself over, I did n't care for him 
 any more than I did for a weasel. 
 
 You must have heard say that I was one of the 
 
Tlie Bagpipers. 63 
 
 strongest fellows of these parts in m}- 3'onng days ; in 
 fact, such as I am now, I am not 3'et afraid of any 
 man. 
 
 Moreover, I was as nimble as a roach, and I knew that 
 in dangers where the strength of a man was not enough 
 to save him, it would have needed the wings of a bird to 
 overtake me in running. Accordingl}^ having provided 
 myself with a rope and m}' own gun (which did n't have 
 consecrated balls, but could cany truer than my father's), 
 I set out on a voyage of discovery. 
 
 I had scarcely taken a couple of hundred steps when 
 I saw three more animals of the same kind in m}' brother- 
 in-law's pasture, where they were behaving themselves 
 just as badly as possible. Like the first brute, they 
 allowed me to approach them, and then immediately 
 galloped off to a farm on the estate of Aulnieres, where 
 they met another troop of mules capering about as lively 
 as mice, rearing and kicking in the rising moonliglit, — a 
 regular donkey-chase^ which 3^ou know is what the}' call 
 the dance of the devil's she-asses, when the fairies and 
 the will-o-the-wisps gallop up there among the clouds. 
 
 However, there was really no magic here ; but onty a 
 great robber}' of pasture, and abominable mischief done to 
 the grain. The crop was not mine, and I might have 
 said that it was none of my business, but I felt provoked 
 to have run after the troublesome animals for nothing, 
 and you can't see the fine wheat of the good God trampled 
 and destroyed without anger. 
 
 I went on into the big wheat-field without meeting a 
 single Christian soul, though the mules seemed to increase 
 in numbers every minute. I meant to catch at least one, 
 which would serve as proof when I complained to the 
 authorities of the damasie done to the farm. 
 
64 The Bagpipers, 
 
 I singled out one which seemed to be more docile than 
 the rest, but when I got near him I saw that he was n't 
 the same game, but the lean little horse with a bell round 
 his neck ; which bell, as I learned later, is called in the 
 Bourbonnais districts a dairin^ and the horse that wears 
 it goes by the same name. Not knowing the habits of 
 these animals, it was by mere good luck that I chanced 
 upon the right wa}'' to manage them, which was to get 
 hold of the bell-horse, or clairin^ and lead him awa^', 
 being certain to catch a mule or two afterwards if I 
 succeeded. 
 
 The little animal, which seemed good-natured and well- 
 trained, let me pet him and lead him awa}^ without seeming 
 to care ; but as soon as he began to walk, the bell on his 
 neck began to jingle, and great was m}^ surprise to see the 
 crowd of mules, scattered here and there among the 
 wheat, come trooping upon us, and tearing after me like 
 bees after their queen. I saw then that the}" were trained 
 to follow the clairin, and that they knew its ring just as 
 well as good monks know the bell for matins. 
 
The Bagpipers. 65 
 
 SIXTH EVENING. 
 
 I DID not lonsr debate what I should do with the mis- 
 chievous horde. I went straight for the manor of Aul- 
 nieres, thinking that I could easil}^ open the gates of the 
 yard and drive the beasts in ; after which I would wake 
 the farmers and the}', when informed of the damage done, 
 would do as the}' saw fit. 
 
 I was just nearing the yard when, as it happened, I 
 fancied I saw a man running on the road behind me. 
 I cocked my gun, thinking that if he was the muleteer I 
 shoukl have a bone to pick with him. But it was Joseph, 
 on his way back to Aulnieres after escorting Brulette to 
 the village. 
 
 '•What are you doing here, Tiennet?"he said to me, 
 coming up as fast as he could run. " Didn't I tell you 
 not to leave home to-night? You are in danger of death ; 
 L't go that hcfi-se and don't meddle with those mules. 
 What can't be helped must be endured for fear of worse 
 evils." 
 
 "Thank you, comrade," I answered. "Your fine friends 
 pasture their cavalry in my field and you expect me to say 
 nothing ! Very good, very good ! go your ways if you are 
 afraid yourself, but as for me, I shall see the thing out, 
 and get justice done by law or might." 
 
 As I spoke, having stopped a moment to answer him, 
 we heard a dog bark in the distance, and Jose, seizing the 
 rope by which I was leading the horse, cried out : — 
 
 "Quick, Tiennet! here come the muleteer's dogs! If 
 
 5 
 
66 The Bagpipers. 
 
 you don't want to be torn in pieces, let go the horse ; see, 
 he hears them and you can't do anything with him now." 
 
 Sure enough, the clairin pricked his ears to listen ; then 
 la3'ing them back, which is a great sign of ill-temper, he 
 began to neigh and rear and kick, which brought all the 
 mules capering round us, so that we had scarcely' time to 
 get out of the way before the whole of them rushed by at 
 full speed in the direction of the dogs. 
 
 I was not satisfied to yield, however, and as the dogs, 
 having called in their wild troop, showed signs of making 
 straight for us, I took aim with my gun as if to shoot the 
 first of the two that came at me. But Joseph went up to 
 the dog and made him recognize him. 
 
 '* Ah ! Satan," he said to him, " the fault is 3"ours. Why 
 did 3'ou chase the hares into the wheat instead of watch- 
 ing your beasts ? When your master wakes up you will be 
 whipped if 3'ou are not at 3'our post with Louveteau and 
 the clairin.'^ 
 
 Satan, understanding that he was being reproved for 
 his behavior, obeyed Joseph, who called him towards a 
 large tract of waste land where the mules could feed with- 
 out doing an3^ damage, and where Joseph, as he told me, 
 intended to watch them until their master returned, 
 
 " Nevertheless, Jose," I said to him, •' matters won't 
 blow over as quietl3' as 3^ou think for ; and if 3'ou will not 
 tell me where the owner of these mules hides himself, I 
 shall stay here and wait for him, and sa3^ what I think to 
 his face, and demand reparation for the harm done." 
 
 " You don't know muleteers if 3'ou think it eas3^ to get 
 the better of them," replied Joseph. " I believe it is the 
 first time any of them have ever passed this wa3'. It is 
 not their usual road ; the3' commonl3' come down from the 
 Bourbonnais forests through those of Meillant and L'Espi- 
 
The Bagpipe7'S, 67 
 
 nasse into the Chenrre woods. I happened accidentally 
 to meet them in the forest of Saint-Chartier, where they 
 were halting on their way to Saint- Aoiit ; among them 
 was tlie man who is here now, whose name is Huriel, and 
 who is on his way to the iron works of Ardentes for coal 
 and ore. lie has been kind enough to come two hours 
 out of his way to oblige me. And it may be that, having 
 left his companions and the heath country through which 
 the roads frequented b}^ men of his business run, where 
 his mules can pasture without injuring any one, he fancied 
 he was just as free here in our wheat-lands ; and though 
 he is altogether wrong, it would be best not to tell him 
 so." 
 
 "He will have to know what I think," I answered, " for 
 I see now how the land laj's. Ho ! ho ! muleteers ! we know 
 what they are. You remind me of things I have heard my 
 godfather, Gervais the forester, tell of. Muleteers are law- 
 less men, wicked and ignorant, who would kill a man with 
 as little conscience as they would a rabbit. The}' think 
 the}' have a right to feed their beasts at the expense of 
 the peasantry, and if any one complains who is not strong 
 enough to resist them, they will come back later or send 
 their comrades to kill the poor man's cattle or burn his 
 house, or worse ; they live on plunder, like thieves at 
 a fair." 
 
 " As you have heard those things," said Joseph, "you 
 must see that we should be very foolish to draw down 
 some great harm to the farmers and my master and your 
 family in revenge for a little one. I don't defend what 
 has been done, and when Maitre Huriel told me he was 
 going to pasture his mules and camp at Nohant, as lie 
 does elsewhere at all seasons, I told him about tliis bit of 
 common and advised him not to let his mules stray into 
 
68 The Bagpipers. 
 
 the "wheat-fields. He promised he would not ; for he is 
 not at all ill-disposed. But his temper is quick, and he 
 would n't back down if a whole crow^I of people fell upon 
 him. Please go back to your own propert}', keep clear of 
 these beasts, and don't pick a quarrel with anj'bod}'. If 
 you are questioned to-morrow, say you saw nothing ; for 
 to swear in a conrt of law against a muleteer is quite as 
 dangerous as to swear against a lord." 
 
 Joseph was right ; so I gave in, and took the road 
 towards home ; but I was not satisfied, for backing down 
 before a threat is wisdom to old men and bitter wrath to 
 3'oung ones. 
 
 As I neared the house, quite resolved not to go to bed, 
 I fancied I saw a light in it. I quickened m}' steps and 
 finding the door, which I had latched, wide open, I rushed 
 in and saw a man in the chimnev-corner lighting his pipe 
 b}-- a blaze he had made. He turned round and looked 
 at me as quietl}'' as if the house were his, and I recog- 
 nized the charcoal-blackened man whom Joseph called 
 Huriel. 
 
 M}' wrath returned ; and closing the door behind me 
 I exclaimed as I went up to him : — 
 
 "Well done! I am glad 3'ou have walked into the 
 lion's den. I 've a couple of words to say to 3'ou." 
 
 "Three, if you like," he said, squatting on his heels 
 and drawing fire through his pipe, for the tobacco was 
 damp and did not light readil}'. Then he added, as if 
 scornfull}^, "There's not even a pair of tongs to pick 
 up the embers." 
 
 *' No," I retorted, " but there 's a good cudgel to flatten 
 3'ou out with." 
 
 "And pray why?" he demanded without losing an 
 atom of assurance. " You are angry because I hn'.e 
 
The Bagpipers. 69 
 
 entered 3'our house without permission. Why were not 
 you at home? I knocked on the door and asked to light 
 my pipe, a thing no one ever refuses. Silence gives con- 
 sent, so I pulled the latch. Why did not 3'ou lock the 
 door if 3'ou are afraid of thieves ? I looked at the beds 
 and saw the house was empty ; I lighted m}- pipe, and 
 here I am. What have you to sa^^ to that ? " 
 
 So sayhig, as I tell you, he took up his gun as if to 
 examine the lock, but it was reall}* as much as to sa}*, 
 ''If you are armed, so am I; two can pla3' at that 
 game." 
 
 I had an idea of aiming at him to make him respect 
 me ; but the longer I looked at his blackened face the 
 more I was struck with his frank air and his liveh', jovial 
 e3'e, so that I ceased to be angr3' and felt onl3^ piqued. 
 He was a young man of twenty-five, tall and strong, and 
 if washed and shaved, would have been quite a handsome 
 fellow. I put m3' gun down beside the wall and went up 
 to him without fear. 
 
 " Let us talk," I said, sitting down b3^ him. 
 
 " As 3'ou will," he answered, la3ing aside his gun. 
 
 " Is it you they call Huriel?" 
 
 " And 3'Ou Etienne Depardieu? " 
 
 " How do you know my name? " 
 
 "Just as 3^ou know mine, — from our little friend 
 Joseph Picot." 
 
 " Then they are 3'our mules that I have caught? " 
 
 "Caught!" he exclaimed, half-rising in astonishment. 
 Then, laughing, he added: "You are joking! 3'ou can't 
 catch my mules." 
 
 " Yes, I can," I said, " if I catch and lead the horse." 
 
 "Ha! 3'OU have learned the trick?" he cried, with a 
 defiant air. " But how about the dogs? " 
 
70 The Bagpipers. 
 
 " I don't fear dogs when I 've a gun in m}" hand.'* 
 
 "Have YOU killed m3'dogs?" he shouted, jumping up. 
 His face flamed with anger, wliith let me know that 
 though he might be jovial by nature he could be terrible 
 at times. 
 
 ' ' I might have killed 3'our dogs," I replied, " and I might 
 have led your mules into a farmyard where j^ou would 
 have found a dozen strong fellows to deal with. I did 
 not do it because Joseph told me you were alone, and that 
 it was not fair for a mere piece of mischief to put you in 
 danger of losing your life. I agreed to that reason. But 
 now we are one to one. Your beasts have injured my 
 field and my sister's field, and what's more, 3'ou have 
 entered my house in my absence, which is improper and 
 insolent. You will beg pardon for your behavior and pay 
 damages for m}^ oats, or — " 
 
 " Or what? " he said, with a sneer. 
 
 " Or we will settle the matter according to the laws and 
 customs of Berry, which are, I think, the same as those 
 of the Bourbonnais where fists are law3'ers." 
 
 "That is to saj^, the law of the strongest," he replied, 
 turning up his sleeves. " That suits me better than 
 going before the justices, and if 3'ou are reall3^ alone and 
 don't play traitor — " 
 
 " Come outside," I said, " and 3'ou shall see that I am 
 alone. You are wrong to insult me in that wa3^ for I 
 might have shot 3'ou as I came in. But guns are made 
 to kill wolves and mad dogs. I did n't want to treat you 
 like a beast, and though 3'ou have a chance to shoot me 
 at this moment I think it cowardl3' for men to pepper 
 each other with balls when fists were given to human 
 beings to fight with. As to that, I don't think 3'ou are 
 a greater fool than I, and if you have got pluck — " 
 
The Bagpipers, 71 
 
 " M}' lad," he said, pulling me towards the fire to look 
 at me, " perhaps 3'ou are making a mistake. You are 
 3'ounger than I am, and though you look pretty wir\' and 
 solid I would n't answer for that skin of yours. I would 
 much rather 3'ou spoke me fairly about 3'our damages 
 and trusted to my honest3\" 
 
 "Enough," I said, knocking his hat into the ashes to 
 anger him ; " the best bruised of us two will get jus- 
 tice presently'." 
 
 He quietly picked np his hat and laid it on the table 
 saying, — 
 
 " What are the rules in this part of the country? " 
 
 " Among young fellows," I replied, " there is no ill- 
 will or treacher3\ We seize each other round the bod3', 
 or strike where we can except on the face. He who 
 takes a stick or a stone is thought a scoundrel." 
 
 ^' That is not exactly our wa3'," he said. " But come 
 on, I shan't spare you ; if I hit harder than I mean to, 
 surrender ; for there 's a time, you know, when one can't 
 answer for one's self." 
 
 Once outside on the thick sward we off coats (not to 
 spoil them uselessl3'), and began to wrestle, clasping thighs 
 and liftino* one another bodilv. I had the advantasje of 
 him there, for he was taller than I 1^3^ a head, and in 
 bending over he gave me a better grip. Besides, he was 
 not angr3', and thinking he would soon get the better of 
 me, he did n't put forth his strength. So being, I was 
 able to floor him at the third round, falling on top of him, 
 but there he recovered himself, and before I had time 
 to strike he wound himself round me like a snake and 
 squeezed me so closely that I lost m3' breath. Never- 
 tlieless, I managed to get up first and attack him again. 
 When he saw that he had to do with a free hitter, and 
 
72 The Bagpipers. 
 
 caught it well in the stomach and on the shoulders, ho 
 gave me as good as I sent, and I must own that his fist 
 was like a sledge-hammer. But I would have died sooner 
 than show I felt it ; and each time that he cried out, " Sur- 
 render ! " I plucked up courage and strength to pa}' him in 
 his own coin. So for a good quarter of an hour the fight 
 seemed even. Presentl}', however, I felt I was getting ex- 
 hausted while he was onl}' warming to the work ; for if he 
 had less activity than I, his age and temperament were in 
 his favor. The end of it was that I was down beneath him 
 and fairly beaten and unable to release m3'self. But for 
 all that I would n't cry mercy ; and when he saw that I 
 would rather be killed he behaved like a generous fellow. 
 
 *'Come, enough!" he cried, loosing his grip on my 
 throat ; " your will is stronger than your bones, I see that, 
 and I might break them to bits before you would give in. 
 That 's right ! and as you are a true man let us be friends. 
 I beg your pardon for entering j-our house ; and now let 
 ns talk over the damage my mules have done to you. I 
 am as ready to pay you as to fight you ; and afterwards, 
 you shall give me a glass of wine so that we may part 
 good friends." 
 
 The bargain concluded, I pocketed three crowns which 
 he paid me for m3'self and my brother-in-law ; then I dre^V 
 the wine and we sat down to table. Three flagons of two 
 pints each disappeared, for we were both thirsty enough 
 after the game we had been playing, and Maitre Huriel 
 had a carcass which could hold as much as he liked to put 
 into it. I found him a good fellow, a fine talker, and eas}* 
 to get on with ; and I, not wishing to seem ])ehindhand in 
 words or actions, filled his glass ever}' two minutes and 
 swore friendship till the roof i*ang. 
 
 Apparently, he felt no eflfects of the fight. 1 felt them 
 
The Bagpipers, 73 
 
 badly enough ; but not wishing to show it, I proposed a 
 song, and squeezed one, with some difficult}^, from my 
 throat, which was still hot from the grip of his hands. 
 He only laughed. 
 
 " Comrade," said he, " neither you nor 3'ours know 
 anything about singing. Your tunes are as flat and your 
 wind as stifled as 3'our ideas and 3'our pleasures. You 
 are a race of snails, alwa3's snuffing the same wind and 
 sucking the same bark ; for 3'ou think the world ends at 
 those blue liills which limit your sky and which are the 
 forests of m}' native land. I tell you, Tiennet, that's 
 where the world begins, and you would have to walk 
 prett}" fast for many a night and day before 3'ou got out 
 of those grand woods, to which yours are but a patch of 
 pea-brush. And when 3'ou do get out of them you will 
 find mountains and more forests, such as 3'ou have never 
 seen, of the tall handsome fir-trees of Auvergne, unknown 
 to 3'Our rich plains. But what 's the good of telling you 
 about these places that 3'ou will never see? You Beny 
 folks are like stones which roll from one rut to another, 
 coming back to the right hand when the cart-wheels have 
 shoved them for a time to the left. You breathe a heavy 
 atmosphere, you love your ease, you have no curiosit3' ; 
 3^ou cherish your mone3^ and don't spend it, but also you 
 don't know how to increase it ; 3-ou have neither nerve 
 nor invention. I don't mean you personally, Tiennet ; you 
 know how to fight (in defence of your own propert3'), ^^^^ 
 3'OU don't know how to acquire propert3' b3^ industr3' as we 
 muleteers do, travelling from place to place, and taking, by 
 fair means or foul, what is n't given with a good will." 
 
 *'0h! I agree to all that," I answered; "but don't 
 3'OU call 3'ours a brigand's trade? Come, friend Huriel, 
 wouldn't it be better to be less rich and more honest? 
 
74 The Bagpipers. 
 
 for when it comes to old age will you enjoy your ill- 
 gotten propert}' with a clear conscience ? " 
 
 "Ill-gotten! Look here, friend Tiennet," he said, 
 laughing, " you who have, I suppose, like all the small 
 proprietors about here, a couple of dozen sheep, two or 
 three goats, and perhaps an old mare that feeds on the 
 common, do you go and offer reparation if, by accident, 
 your beasts bark your neighbor's trees and trample his 
 young wheat? Don't 3'ou call in your animals as fast as 
 3'ou can, without saying a word about it ; and if your 
 neighbors take the law of 30U, don't 3'ou curse them and 
 the law too? And if 3'OU could, without danger, get them 
 off into a corner, would n't 3'ou make amends to yourself 
 b}' belaboring their shoulders? I tell you, it is either cow- 
 ardice or force that makes you respect the law, and it is 
 because we avoid both that 3'Ou blame us, out of jealous}' 
 of the freedom that we have known how to snatch." 
 
 "I don't like your queer morality, Huriel ; but what 
 has all this got to do v/ith music? Wh}' do you laugh at 
 m}' song? Do you know a better? " 
 
 "I don't pretend to, Tiennet ; but I tell jovl that music, 
 liberty, beautiful wild scenery, livel}' minds, and, if you 
 choose, the art of making money without getting stupe- 
 lied, — all belong together like fingers to the hand. I tell 
 you that shouting is not singing ; 3'Ou can bellow like deaf 
 folks in your liekls and taverns, but that 's not mnsic. 
 Music is on our side of those hills, and not on yours. Your 
 friend Joseph felt this, for his senses are more delicate 
 than yours ; in fact, my little Tiennet, I should only lose 
 ni}' time in trying to show yon the difference. You are a 
 Berrichon, as a swallow is a swallow ; and what 3'Ou are 
 to-day 3'OU will be fift3^ 3'ears hence. Your head will 
 whiten, but your brain will never be a da3' older." 
 
The Bagpipers. 75 
 
 "Why, do you think me a fool?" I asked, rather 
 mortified. 
 
 " Fool? Not at all," he said. " Frank as to heart and 
 shrewd as to interest, — that 's what you are and ever will 
 be ; but living in body and hvel}^ in soul 3'ou never can 
 be. And this is wh}^, Tiennet," he added, pointing to the 
 furniture of the room. " See these big-beUied beds where 
 you sleep in feathers up to your e3'es. You are spade 
 and pickaxe folk, — toilers in the sun, — but 3'ou must 
 have your down}^ beds to rest in. We forest fellows would 
 soon be ill if we had to bur}' ourselves alive in sheets and 
 blankets. A log hut, a fern bed, — that 's our home and 
 our furniture ; even those of us who travel constantl}' 
 and don't mind paying the inn charges, can't stand a roof 
 over our heads ; we sleep in the open air in tlie depth of 
 winter, on the pack-saddles of our mules, with the snow 
 for a coverlet. Here you have dresses and tables and 
 chairs and fine china, ground glass, good wine, a roast- 
 ing-jack and soup-pots, and heaven knows what? You 
 think you must have all that to make you happy ; you 
 work 3'our jaws like cows that chew the cud ; and so, 
 when obliged to get upon your feet and go back to work, 
 3'OU have a pain in 3'our chest two or three times a da3'. 
 You are heavy, and no gaver at heart than 3'Our beasts of 
 burden. On Sunda3's 3'ou sit, with 3'our elbows on the 
 table, eating more than your hunger tells 3'ou to, and 
 drinking more than your thirst requires ; 3'ou think 3'ou 
 are amusing yourself bv' storing up indigestion and sigh- 
 ing after girls who are only bored with 3'ou though the3" 
 don't know wh3', — 3'our partners in those dragging dances 
 in rooms and barns where 3'ou suffocate ; turning your 
 holida3's and festivals into a burden the more upon 3'our 
 spirits and stomachs. Yes, Tiennet, that's the life 3'ou 
 
76 The Bagpipers. 
 
 live. To indulge 3'our ease 3'on increase your wants, and 
 in order to live well 3'ou don't live at all." 
 
 " And how do you live, 3'ou muleteers?" I said, rather 
 shaken b3' his remarks. " I don't speak now of 3'our part 
 of the countr3^, of w^hich I know nothing, but of 3'OU, a 
 muleteer, whom I see there before me, drinking hard, 
 with 3'our elbows on the table, not sony to find a fire to 
 light 3'our pipe and a Christian to talk with. Are 3'ou 
 made different from other men ? When 3'ou have led this 
 hard life 3'ou boast of for a score of years, won't 3'OU 
 spend 3'our mone3^, which you have amassed by depriving 
 3'ourself of everything, in procuring a wife, a house, a 
 table, a good bed, good wine, and rest at last?" 
 
 " What a lot of questions, Tiennet ! " replied m3' guest. 
 *' You argue fairly well for a Berrichon. I '11 tr3' to answer 
 you. You see me drink and talk because I am a man and 
 like wine. Compan3' and the pleasures of the table please 
 me even more than the3^ do 3'Ou, for the ver3' good reason 
 that I don't need them and am not accustomed to them. 
 Always afoot, snatching a mouthful as I can, drinking at 
 the brooks, sleeping under the first oak I come to, of 
 course it is a feast for me to come across a good table and 
 plent3^ of good wine ; but it is a feast, and not a necessit3-. 
 To me, living alone for weeks at a time, the societ3" of a 
 friend is a holida3' ; I sa3^ more to him in one hour's talk 
 than 3'ou would sa3' in a da3^ at a tavern. I enjoy all, and 
 more, than 3'ou fellows do, because I abuse nothing. If a 
 prett3^ girl or a forward woman comes after me in the 
 woods to tell me that she loves me, she knows I have no 
 time to dangle after her like a ninny and wait her pleas- 
 ure ; and I admit that in the matter of love I prefer that 
 which is soon found to that 3'ou have to search and 
 wait for. As to the future, Tiennet, I don't know if I 
 
The Bagpipers. 17 
 
 shall ever have a home and a family ; but if I do, I shall 
 be more grateful to the good God than you are, and I 
 shall enjoy its sweetness more, too. But I swear that my 
 helpmate shall not be one of your buxom, red-faced 
 women, let her be ever so rich. A man who loves liberty 
 and true happiness never marries for mone}'. I shall 
 never love any woman who is n't slender and fair as a 
 young birch, — one of those dainty, liveh" darlings, who 
 grow in the shady woods and sing better than your 
 nightingales." 
 
 " A girl like Brulette," I thought to myself. *' Luckily 
 she is n't here, for though she despises all of us, she 
 might take a fancy to this blackamoor, if only by way of 
 oddity." 
 
 The muleteer went on talking. 
 
 *' And so, Tiennet, I don't blame you for following the 
 road that lies before you ; but mine goes farther and I 
 like it best. I am glad to know you, and if you ever want 
 me send for me. I can't ask the same of you, for I know 
 that a dweller on the plains makes his will and confesses 
 to the priest before he travels a dozen leagues to see a 
 friend. But with us it is n't so ; we fly like the swallows, 
 and can be met almost everywhere. Good-bye. Shake 
 hands. If you get tired of a peasant's life call the black 
 crow from the Bourbonnais to get you out of it ; he '11 
 remember that he pla3'ed the bagpipe on your back with- 
 out anger, and surrendered to your bravery." 
 
78 Tlie Bagpipers, 
 
 SEVENTH EVENING. 
 
 Thereupon Huriel departed to find Joseph, and I went 
 to bed; for if up to that time I had concealed out of 
 pride and forgotten out of curiosity the ache in my bones, 
 I was none the less bruised from head to foot. Maitre 
 Huriel walked off g^y\y enough, apparently without feeling 
 anything, but as for me I was obliged to stay in bed for 
 nearl}' a week, spitting blood, with ni}- stomach all upset. 
 Joseph came to see me and did not know what to make of 
 it all ; for I was shy of telling him the truth, because it 
 appeared that Huriel, in speaking to him of me, hadn't 
 mentioned how we came to an explanation. 
 
 Great was the amazement of the neighborhood over the 
 injury done to the wheat-fields of Aulnieres, and the 
 mule-tracks along the roads were something to wonder at. 
 When I gave my brother-in-law the money I had earned 
 with m}' sore bones I told him the whole story secretl}', and 
 as he was a good, prudent fellow, no one got wind of it. 
 
 Joseph had left his bagpipe at Brulette's and could not 
 make use of it, partl}^ because the having left him no time, 
 and also because Brulette, fearing Carnat's spite, did her 
 best to put him out of the notion of playing. 
 
 Joseph pretended to give in ; but we soon saw that he 
 was concocting some other plan and thinking to hire him- 
 self out in another parish, where he could slip his collar 
 and do as he pleased. 
 
 About midsummer he gave warning to his master to get 
 another man in his place ; but it was imposuible to get him 
 
The Bagpipers. 79 
 
 to say where he was going ; and as he alwa3's replied, " I 
 don't know," to an}- question lie did n't choose to answer, 
 we began to think he would reall}^ let himself be hired in the 
 market-place, like the rest, without caring where he went. 
 
 As the Christians' Fair, so-called, is one of the great 
 festivals of the town, Brulette went there to dance, and so 
 did I. We thought we should meet Joseph and find out 
 before the end of the day what master and what region he 
 had chosen. But he did not appear either morning or 
 evening on the market-place. No one saw him in the 
 town. He had left his bagpipe, but he had carried off, 
 the night before, all the articles he usually left in Pere 
 Brulet's house. 
 
 That evening as we came home, — Brulette and I and all 
 her train of lovers with the other 3'oung folks of our parish, 
 — she took my arm, and walking on the grassj' side of the 
 road away from the others, she said : — 
 
 '* Do 3'ou know, Tiennet, that I am very anxious about 
 Jose? His mother, whom I saw just now in town, is full 
 of trouble and can't imagine where he has gone. A long 
 time ago he told her he thought of going awa\^ ; but now 
 she can't find out where, and the poor woman is miserable." 
 
 " And 3'ou, Brulette," I said, " it seems to me that 3'ou 
 are not ver3' ga3', and 3'Ou have n't danced with the same 
 spirit as usual." 
 
 '" That's true," she answered ; " I have a great regard 
 for the poor lunatic fellow, — parti}' because I ought to have 
 it, on account of his mother, and then for old acquaintance' 
 sake, and also because I care for his fluting." 
 
 *' Fluting ! does it reall}' have such an eflect upon 3'ou ? " 
 
 *' There 's nothing wrong in its effect, cousin. Whj' do 
 you find fault with it?" 
 
 "I don't; but — " 
 
80 The Bagpipers. 
 
 " Come, say what j^ou mean," she exclaimed, laughing ; 
 " for 3'ou are always chanting some sort of dirge about it, 
 and I want to sa}' amen to you once for all, so that I may 
 hear the last of it." 
 
 ** Well then, Brulette," I replied, " we won't say another 
 word about Joseph, but let us talk of ourselves. Wh}- 
 won't you see that I have a great love for 3'ou ? and can't 
 you tell me that 3^ou will return it one of these daj's ? " 
 
 '^ Oh ! oh ! are 3'ou talking seriousl}', this time? " 
 
 " This time and all times. It has always been serious 
 on my part, even when shyness made me pretend to joke 
 about it." 
 
 " Then," said Bruletfce, quickening her step with me that 
 the others might not oveihear us, ''tell me how and why 
 3'ou love me ; I'll answer 3'ou afterwards." 
 
 I saw she wanted compliments and flatter^'-, but m^^ 
 tongue was not very ready at that kind of thing. I did 
 my best, however, and told her that ever since I came into 
 the world I had never thought of an\' one but her ; for she 
 was the prettiest and sweetest of girls, and had captivated 
 me even before she was twelve 3'ears old. 
 
 I told nothing that she did not know alread3^ ; indeed 
 she said so, and owned she had seen it at the time we 
 were catechised. But she added laughing: — 
 
 "Now explain wh3' 3^ou have not died of grief, for I 
 have alwa3's put 3^ou down ; and tell me also wh3' 3'ou are 
 such a fine-grown, healthy fellow, if love, as you declare, 
 has withered 3^ou." 
 
 "That's not talking seriously, as 3'ou promised me," I 
 said. 
 
 " Yes, it is," she replied ; " I am serious, for I shall never 
 choose any one who can't swear that he has never in his 
 life fancied, or loved, or desired an3' girl but me." 
 
The Bagpipers. 81 
 
 " Then it is all right, Brulette," I cried. '* If that's so, 
 I fear noboch', not even that Jose of 3'ours, who, I will 
 allow, never looked at a girl in his Ufe, for his e3'es can't 
 even see j'ou, or he would n't go away and leave 3'ou." 
 
 "Don't talk of Joseph ; we agreed to let him alone," 
 replied Brulette, rather sharph', " and as 3'ou boast of such 
 very keeu, ej'es, please confess that in spite of 3'our love for 
 me 3^ou have ogled more than one prett3' girl. Now, 
 don't tell fibs, for I hate 13'ing. What were 3'ou saying 
 so ga3'l3' to Sylvia onW last 3'ear? And it isn't more than 
 a couple of months since you danced two Sundays run- 
 ning, under m3" ver3' nose, with that big Bonnina. Do 3'ou 
 think I am biirnd, and that nobody comes and tells me 
 things?" 
 
 I was rather mortified at first ; but then, encouraged by 
 the thought that there was a spice of jealous3^ in Brulette, 
 I answered, frankl3', — 
 
 " What I was saying to such girls, cousin, is not proper 
 to repeat to a person I respect. A fellow ma3" pla3^ the 
 fool sometimes to amuse himself, and the regret he feels 
 for it afterwards onl3^ proves that his heart and soul had 
 nothing to do with it." 
 
 Brulette colored ; but she answered immediatel3', — 
 
 "Then, can 3'ou swear to me, Tiennet, that ray char- 
 acter and my face have never been lowered in your esteem 
 133' the prettiness or the amiabilit3' of an3' other girl, — 
 never, since you were born ? " 
 
 " I will swear to it," I said. 
 
 " Swear, then," she said ; " but give all 3^our mind, and 
 all 3'our religion to what 3'OU are going to sa3^ Swear bv 
 your father and your mother, b3' 3'our conscience and the 
 good God, that no girl ever seemed to you as beautiful 
 as I." 
 
 6 
 
82 The Bagpipers. 
 
 I was about to swear, when, I am sure I don't know 
 wh}", a recollection made m}' tongue tremble. Perhaps I 
 was very silly to heed it ; a shrewder fellow would n't have 
 done so, but I could n't lie at the moment when a certain 
 image came clearly before m^^ mind. And yet, I had 
 totally forgotten it up to that very moment, and should 
 probabl}' never have remembered it at all if it had not 
 been for Brulette's questions and adjurations. 
 
 " You are in no hurry to swear," she said, " but I 
 like that best ; I shall respect you for the truth and 
 despise you for a lie." 
 
 "Well then, Brulette," I answered, " as you want me 
 to tell the exact truth I will do so. In all my life I have 
 seen two girls, two children I might say, between whom I 
 might have wavered as to preference if any one had said 
 to me (for I was a child myself at the time) , * Here are 
 two little darlings who ma}^ listen to you in after days ; 
 choose which you will have for a wife.' I should doubt- 
 less have answered, ' I choose my cousin,' because I knew 
 how amiable you were, and I knew nothing of the other, 
 having only seen her for ten minutes. And yet, when I 
 came to think of it, it is possible I might have felt some 
 regret, not because her beauty was greater than yours, for 
 I don't think that possible, but because she gave me a 
 good kiss on both cheeks, which you never gave me in 
 your life. So I conclude that she is a girl who will some 
 day give her heart generoush', whereas your discretion 
 holds me and always has held me in fear and trembling." 
 
 "Where is she now?" asked Brulette, who seemed 
 struck by what I said. "What is her name?" 
 
 She was much surprised to hear that I knew neither 
 her name nor the place she lived in, and that I called her 
 in my memory "the girl of the woods." I told her the 
 
The Bagpipers. 83 
 
 little story of the cart that stuck in the mud, and she 
 asked me a variet}^ of questions which I conld not answer, 
 my recollections being mnch confused and the whole affair 
 being of less interest to me than Brulette supposed. She 
 turned over in her head every word she got out of me, 
 and it almost seemed as if she were questioning herself, 
 with some vexation, to know if she were pretty enough 
 to be so exacting, and whether frankness or coyness was 
 the best way of pleasing the lads. 
 
 Perhaps she was tempted for a moment to try coquetry 
 and make me forget the little vision that had come into 
 my head, and which, for more reasons than one, had dis- 
 pleased her ; but after a few joking words she answered 
 seriously : — 
 
 " No, Tiennet, I won't blame you for having ej^es to see 
 a pretty girl when the matter is as innocent and natural 
 as 3'ou tell me ; but nevertheless it makes me think seri- 
 ousl}', I hardly know wh}', about myself. Cousin, I am 
 a coquette. I feel the fever of it to the very roots of 
 m}' hair. I don't know that I shall ever be cured of it ; 
 but, such as I am, I look upon love and marriage as the 
 end of all Yny comfort and pleasure. I am eighteen, — old 
 enough to reflect. Well, reflection comes to me like a 
 blow on the stomach ; whereas you have been considering 
 how to get yourself a happy home ever since 3'ou were 
 fifteen or sixteen, and your simple heart has given 3'ou an 
 honest answer. What you need is a wife as simple and 
 honest as yourself, without caprices, or pride, or foil}' : I 
 should deceive you shamefully' if I told you tliat I am the 
 right kind of girl for 3'ou. Whether from caprice or dis- 
 trust I don't know, but I have no inclination for an}' of 
 those I can choose from, and I can't say that I ever shall 
 have. The longer I live the more my freedom and my 
 
84 The Bagpijjers. 
 
 light-lieartedness satisf}^ me. Therefore be 1113- friend, 
 1113^ comrade, 1113' cousin ; I will love 3'ou just as I love 
 Joseph, and better, if 3'ou are faithful to our friendship ; 
 but don't think any more about marr3'ing me. I know 
 that 3'our relations would be opposed to it, and so am I, 
 in spite of myself, and with great regret for disappointing 
 you. See, the others are coming after us to break up this 
 long talk. Promise me not to sulk ; choose a course ; be 
 my brother. If 3'ou sa3^ yes, we '11 build the midsummer 
 bonfire when we get back to the village, and open the 
 dance together gaylv." 
 
 *' Well, Brulette," I answered, sighing, " it shall be as 
 you sa3'. 1 '11 do my best not to love 3'Ou, except as 3'ou 
 wish, and in an3' case I shall still be 3^our cousin and 
 good friend, as in dut3- bound." 
 
 She took m3^ hand and ran with me to the village 
 market-place, delighted to make her lovers scamper after 
 her ; there we found that the old people had alread3' piled 
 np the fagots and straw of the bonfire. Brulette, being 
 the first to arrive, was called to sot fire to it, and soon 
 the flames darted higher than the church porch. 
 
 We had no music to dance b3' until Carnat's son, 
 named Francois, came along with his bagpipe ; and he 
 was ver3' willing to play, for he, too, like the rest, was 
 putting his best foot foremost to please Brulette. 
 
 So we opened the ball joyously, but after a minute or 
 two ever3bod3^ cried out that the music tired their legs. 
 Franc^ois Carnat was new at the business, and though he 
 did his best, we found we could n't get along. He let us 
 make fun of him, however, and kept on playing, — being, 
 as I suppose, rather glad of the practice, as it was the 
 first time he had pla3'ed for people to dance. 
 
 Nobod3^ liked it, however, and when the 3'oung men 
 
The Bagpipers, 85 
 
 found that dancing, instead of resting their tired legs, 
 only tired them more, they talked of bidding good-night 
 or spending the eA-ening in the tavern. Brulette and the 
 other girls exclaimed against that, and told us we were 
 unmannerly lads and clodhoppers. This led to an argu- 
 ment, in the midst of which, all of a sudden, a tall, hand- 
 some fellow appeared, before it could be seen where he 
 came from. 
 
 " Hallo there, children ! " he cried, in such a loud tone 
 that it drowned our racket and forced us to listen. "If 
 5'ou want to go on dancing, you shall. Here 's a bagpiper 
 who will pipe for you as long as 3'ou like, and won't ask 
 anything for his trouble. Give me that," he said to Fran- 
 9ois Carnat, taking hold of his bagpipe, " and listen ; it 
 may do 3'ou good, for though music is not my business, 
 I know more about it than j^ou.'^ 
 
 Then, without waiting for Frangois's consent, he blew 
 out tlie bag and began to play, amid cries of joy from the 
 girls and with man}' thanks from the lads. 
 
 At his very first words I had recognized the Bourbon- 
 nais accent of the muleteer, but I could hardly believe my 
 e^'es, so changed was he for the better in looks. Instead 
 of his coal-dust}" smock-frock, his old leathern gaiters, his 
 battered hat, and his grim}' face, he had a new suit of 
 clothes of fine white woollen stuff streaked with blue, 
 handsome linen, a straw hat with colored ribbons, his 
 beard trimmed, his face washed and as rosy as a peach. 
 In short, he was the handsomest man I ever saw ; grand 
 as an oak, well-made in every part of him, clean-limbed 
 and vigorous ; with teeth that were bits of ivor}', ej'es 
 like the blades of a knife, and the affable air and manners 
 of a gentleman. He ogled all the girls, smiled at the 
 beauties, laughed with the plain ones, and was merrj-. 
 
86 The Bagpipers. 
 
 good company with every one, encouraging and inspiriting 
 the dancers with q\q and foot and voice (for he did not 
 blow much into his bagpipe, so clever was he in managing 
 his wind), and shouting between the puff's a dozen droll- 
 eries and funny sayings, which put everybody in good 
 humor for the evening. 
 
 Moreover, instead of doling out exact measure like an 
 ordinary piper, and stopping short when he had earned 
 his two sous for every couple, he went on bagpiping a full 
 quarter of an hour, changing his tunes 3'ou could n't tell 
 how, for they ran into one another without showing the 
 join ; in short, it was the best reel music ever heard, and 
 quite unknown in our parts, but so enlivening and dance- 
 able that we all seemed to be flying in the air instead of 
 jigging about on the grass. 
 
 I think he would have played and w^e should have 
 danced all night without getting tired, if it had not been 
 that Pere Carnat, hearing the music from the wine-shop 
 of La Biaude and wondering much that his son could plaj'' 
 so well, came proudly over to listen. But when he saw 
 his own bagpipe in the hands of a stranger, and Francois 
 dancing away without seeing the harm of yielding his 
 place, he was furious ; and pushing the muleteer from 
 behind, he made him jump from the stone on which he 
 was perched into the very middle of the dancers. 
 
 Maitre Huriel was a good deal surprised, and turning 
 round he saw Carnat, red with anger, ordering him to 
 give up the instrument. 
 
 You never knew Carnat the piper? He was getting in 
 years even then, but he was still as sturd}' and vicious 
 as an old devil. 
 
 The mulet'eer began by showing fight, but noticing 
 Carnat's white hair, he returned the bagpipe gently, 
 
The Bagpipers. 87 
 
 remarking, "You might have spoken with more civilit}', 
 old fellow ; but if you don't like me to take yoxiv place I 
 give it up to 3'ou, — all the more willingly that I should like 
 to dance myself, if the young people will allow a stranger 
 in their compan3\" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! come and dance ! 3'Ou have earned it," cried 
 the whole parish, who had turned out to hear the fine 
 music and were charmed with him, — old and young both. 
 
 "Then," he said, taking Brulette's hand, for he had 
 looked at her more than at all the rest, " I ask, by waj^ 
 of paj'ment, to be allowed to dance with this pretty girl, 
 even though she be engaged to some one else." 
 
 "She is engaged to me, Huriel," said I, " but as we 
 are friends, I jield m^^ rights to 3'ou for this dance." 
 
 "Thank you," answered he, shaking hands; then he 
 whispered in m3' ear, " I pretended not to know 3'ou ; but 
 if you see no harm to 3^ourself so much the better." 
 
 "Don't sa3' 3'ou are a muleteer and it is all right," 
 I replied. 
 
 While the folks were questioning about the stranger, 
 another fuss arose at the musician's stone. Pere Carnat 
 refused to pla3^ or to allow his son to pla3\ He even 
 scolded Fran9ois openl3^ for letting an unknown man 
 supplant him ; and the more people tried to settle liie 
 matter b3' telling him the stranger had not taken an3^ 
 mone3', the angrier he got. In fact when Pere Maurice 
 Viaud told him he was jealous, and that the stranger could 
 outdo him and all the other neighboring players, he was 
 beside himself with rage. 
 
 He rushed into the midst of us and demanded of Huriel 
 whether he had a license to pla3' the bagpipes, — which 
 made everybod3' laugh, and the muleteer most of all. At 
 last, being summoned by the old savage to repl}', Huriel 
 
88 The Bagpipers, 
 
 said, *' I don't know the customs in 3'onr part of the 
 countiy, old man, but I have travelled enough to know 
 the laws, and I know that nowhere in France do iirtists 
 bu}' licenses." 
 
 " Artists ! " exclaimed Carnat, puzzled b}* a word which, 
 like the rest of us, he had never heard, " What does that 
 mean? Are you talking gibberish?" 
 
 "Not at all," replied Huriel. "I will call them mu- 
 sicians if 3'ou like ; and I assert that I am free to play 
 music wherever I please without paying toll to the king 
 of France." 
 
 "Well, well, I know that," answered Carnat, "but 
 what 3'ou don't know 3'ourself is that in our part of the 
 countr}^ musicians paj^ a tax to an association of public 
 players, and receive a license after they have been tried 
 and initiated." 
 
 " I know that too," said Huriel, " and I also know how 
 much money is paid into your pockets during those trials. 
 I advise you not to tr}' that upon me. However, happily 
 for 3-0U, I don't practise the profession, and want nothing 
 in 3'our parts. I pla3' gratis where I please, and no one 
 can prevent that, for the reason that I have got m3' degree 
 as master-piper, which ver3' likel3' 3'ou have not, bi-; as 
 3'Ou talk." 
 
 Carnat quieted down a little at these words, and they 
 said something privatel3- to each other that nobod3' heard, 
 by which the3' discovered that the3' belonged to the same 
 corporation, if not to the same compan3'. The two Car- 
 nats, having no further right to object, as ever)' one 
 present testified that Huriel had not plaved for mone)', 
 departed grumbling and saying spiteful things, which no 
 one answered so as to be sooner rid of them. 
 
 As soon as they were gone we called on Marie Guillard, 
 
The Bagpipers. 89 
 
 a lass with a carrying voice, and made her sing, so that the 
 stranger might have the pleasure of dancing with us. 
 
 He did not dance in our fashion, though he accommo- 
 dated himself very well to the time and figures. But his 
 stj'le was much the best, and gave such free play to his 
 body that he really looked handsomer and taller than 
 ever. Brulette watched him attentively and when he 
 kissed her, which is the fashion in our parts when each 
 dance begins, she grew quite red and confused, contrary 
 to her usual indifferent and eas}' wa}' of taking a kiss. 
 
 I argued from this that she had rather overdone her 
 contempt for love when talking with me about mine ; but 
 I took no notice, and I own that in spite of it all I felt a 
 good deal set up on my own account by the fine manners 
 and talents of the muleteer. 
 
 When the dance was over he came up to me with 
 Brulette on his arm, saj-ing, — 
 
 " It is 3'our turn now, comrade ; and I can't thank 3'ou 
 better than by returning the prett}' dancer 3'ou lent me. 
 She is a beauty like those of ni}' own land, and for her 
 sake I do homage to the Berrichon girls. But whj^ end 
 the evening so earl}'? Is there no other bagpipe in the 
 village besides that of the old cross patch? " 
 
 ''Yes, there is," said Brulette quickl}-, letting out the 
 secret she wanted to keep in her eagerness for dancing ; 
 then, catching herself up, she added, blushing, ''That 
 is to sa}^ there are shepherd's pipes, and herd-boj'S who 
 can play them after a fashion." 
 
 ''Pipes indeed!'* cried the muleteer; "if 3'ou happen 
 to laugh the}^ go down 3'our throat and make 3'oa cough ! 
 M}^ mouth is too big for that kind of instrument ; and yet 
 I want to make you dance, m3^ prett}- Brulette ; for that 
 is your name, I have heard it," he said, drawing us 
 
90 The Bagpipers, 
 
 both aside ; ' ' and I know, too, that there 's a fine bagpipe 
 in 3'our house, which came from the Bourbonnais, and 
 belongs to a certain Joseph Picot, 3'our friend from child- 
 hood, and 3'our companion at the first communion." 
 
 "Oh! how did 3'ou know that?" cried Brulette, much 
 astonished. " Do 30U know our Joseph? Perhaps ^'ou 
 can tell us where he has gone ?" 
 
 "Are 3'ou anxious about him?" said Huriel, looking 
 narrowly at her. 
 
 " So anxious that I will thank 3'ou with all my heart 
 if you can give rae news of him." 
 
 "Well, I'll give you some, m}- prett}- one; but not 
 until 3'Ou bring me his bagpipe, which he wants me to 
 carr}^ to him at the place where he now is." 
 
 " What ! " cried Brulette, " is he very far awa^^? " 
 
 " So far that he has no idea of coming back." 
 
 "Is that true? Won't he come back? has he gone for 
 good and all? That ends my wanting to laugh and dance 
 an}' more to-night." 
 
 "Ho, ho, pretty one!" cried Huriel; "so 3-ou are 
 Joseph's sweetheart, are 3'OU? He did not tell me that." 
 
 " I am nobod3''s sweetheart," answered Brulette, draw- 
 ing herself up. 
 
 "Nevertheless," said the muleteer, "here is a token 
 which he told me to show 3'Ou in case 3'Ou hesitated to 
 trust me with the bagpipe." 
 
 ' ' Where is it ? what is it ? " I exclaimed. 
 
 "Look at my ear," said the muleteer, lifting a great 
 lock of his curl}" black hair and showing us a tin3' silver 
 heart hanging to a large earring of fine gold, which pierced 
 his ears after a fashion among the middle classes of those 
 da3's. 
 
 I think that earring began to open Brulette's e3'es, for 
 
The Bagpipers, 91 
 
 she said to Hiiriel, "You can't be what you seem to 
 be, but I see plainly that j'ou are not a man to deceive 
 poor folks. Besides, that token is really mine, or rather 
 it is Joseph's, for it is a present his mother made to me 
 on the day of our first communion, and I gave it to him 
 the next dsij as a remembrance, when he left home to go 
 to service. So, Tiennet," she said, turning to me, " go to 
 my house and fetch the bagpipe, and bring it over there, 
 under the church porch, where it is dark, so that people 
 can't see where it comes from ; for Pere Carnat is a 
 wicked old man and might do m}^ grandfather some harm 
 if he thought we were mixed up in the matter." 
 
92 TJie Bagpipers. 
 
 EIGHTH EVENING. 
 
 I DID as I was told, not pleased, however, at leaving 
 Brulette alone with the muleteer in a place already dark- 
 ened by the coming night. When I returned, bringing 
 the bagpipe, taken apart and folded up under my blouse, 
 I found them still in the same corner arguing over some- 
 thing with a good deal of vehemence. Seeing me, Brulette 
 said : " Tiennet, I take 3^ou to witness that I do not con- 
 sent to give this man that token which is hung on his 
 earring. He declares he cannot give it back because it 
 belongs to Joseph, but he also sa3's that Joseph does no*; 
 want it ; it is a little thing, to be sure, not worth ten sous, 
 but I don't choose to give it to a stranger. I was scarcely 
 twelve years old when I gave it to Jose, and people must 
 be suspicious to see any meaning in that ; but, as they 
 will have it so, it is only the more reason why I should 
 refuse to give it to another." 
 
 It seemed to me that Brulette was taking unneces- 
 sary pains to show the muleteer she was not in love with 
 Joseph, and also that Huriel, on his side, was ver}' glad 
 to find her heart was free. However that may be, he did 
 not trouble himself to stop courting her before me. 
 
 "My pretty one," he said, "you are too suspicious. I 
 would not show your gifts to an}^ one, even if I had them 
 to boast of; but I admit here, before Tiennet, that 3'ou do 
 not encourage me to love you. I can't say that that will 
 stop me ; at any rate, 3'ou cannot hinder me from remem- 
 bering you, and I shall value this ten-sous token in my 
 
Tlie Bagpipers, 93 
 
 ear above anj'thing I ever eoveted. Joseph is my friend, 
 and I know he loves you ; but the lad's affection is so 
 quiet he will never think of asking for his token again. 
 So, if it is one 3-ear or ten before we meet again, you will 
 see it just where it is ; that is, unless the ear is gone." 
 
 So saying, he took Brulette's hand and kissed it, and 
 then he set to work to put the bagpipe together and fill it. 
 
 "What are you doing?" cried Brulette. "I told you 
 that I had no heart to amuse myself, now that Joseph has 
 left his mother and friends for such a time, and as for 
 3'ou, you '11 be in danger of a fight if the other pipers 
 should come this way and find you playing." 
 
 "Bah!" said Huriel, "we'll see about that; don't be 
 troubled for me, — you must dance, Brulette, or I shall 
 think you are really in love with an ungrateful fellow who 
 has left 3'ou." 
 
 Whether it was that Brulette was too proud to let him 
 think that, or that the dancing mania was too strong for 
 her, it is certain that the bagpipe was no sooner fitted and 
 filled and beginning to sound than she held out no longer 
 and let me carry her off for the first reel. 
 
 You would hardly believe, friends, what cries of satis- 
 faction and delight filled the marketplace at the resound- 
 ing noise of that bagpij^e and the return of the muleteer, 
 for ever}^ one thought him gone. The dancing had flagged 
 and the company were about to disperse when he made 
 his appearance once more on the piper's stone. Instantly 
 such a hubbub arose ! no longer four to eight couples were 
 dancing, but sixteen to thirt^'-two, joining hands, skipping, 
 shouting, laughing, so that the good God himself could n't 
 have got a word in edgewise. And presently every one 
 in the market-place, old and young, children who could n't 
 yet use their legs, grandfathers tottering on theirs, old 
 
94 The Bagpipers. 
 
 women jigging in the st3de of their youth, awkward folk 
 who could n't get the time or the tune, — the}' all set to 
 spinning ; and, indeed, it is a wonder tlie clock of the 
 parish church did n't spin too. Fanc}' ! the finest music 
 ever heard in our parts and costing nothing ! It seemed 
 as if the devil had a finger in it, for the piper never asked 
 to rest, and tired out ever^'bod}' except himself. "I'm 
 determined to be the last," he cried when they advised 
 him to rest. " The whole parish shall give in before me ; 
 I intend to keep it up till sunrise, and 3'ou shall all cr}' me 
 mercy ! " So on we went, he piping and we twirling like 
 mad. 
 
 Mere Biaude, who kept the tavern, seeing there was 
 profit in it, brought out tables and benches and something 
 to eat and drink ; as to the latter article, she could n't fur- 
 nish enough for so man}' stomachs hungry b}' dancing, so 
 folks living near brought out for their friends and ac- 
 quaintance the victuals they had laid in for the week. 
 One brought cheese, another a bag of nuts, another the 
 quarter of a kid, or a sucking pig, all of which were roasted 
 and broiled at a fire hastily built in the market-place. It 
 was like a wedding to which ever}' one flocked. The chil- 
 dren were not sent to bed, for no one had time to think of 
 them, and they fell asleep, like a heap of lambs, on the 
 piles of lumber which always lay about the market-place, 
 to the wild racket of tlie dance and tlie bagpipe, which 
 never stopped except it was to let the piper drink a 
 jorum of the best wine. 
 
 The more he drank the gayer he was and the better he 
 played. At last hunger seized the sturdiest, and Huriel 
 was forced to stop for lack of dancers. So, having won 
 his wager to bury us all, he consented to go to supper. 
 Everybody invited him and quarrelled for the honor and 
 
The Bagpipers. 95 
 
 pleasure of feasting him ; but seeing that Brulette was 
 coming to m}^ table, he accepted my invitation and sat 
 down beside her, boiling over with wit and good humor. 
 He ate fast and well, but instead of getting torpid from 
 digestion he was the first to clink his glass for a song ; 
 and although he had blown his pipe like a whirlwind for 
 six hours at a stretch, his voice was as fresh and as true 
 as if he had done nothing. The others tried to hold their 
 own, but even our renowned singers soon gave it up for 
 the pleasure of listening to him ; his songs were far be- 
 yond theirs, as much for the tunes as the words ; indeed, 
 we had great difficulty in catching the chorus, for there 
 was nothing in his throat that wasn't new to our ears, 
 and of a quality, I must own, above our knowledge. 
 
 People left their tables to listen to him, and just as da}^ 
 was beginning to dawn through the leaves a crowd of 
 people were standing round him, more bewitched and 
 attentive than at the finest sermon. 
 
 At that moment he rose, jumped on his bench, and 
 waved his empt}' glass to the first ray of sunlight that 
 shone above his head, saving, in a manner that made 
 us all tremble without knowing why or wherefore : — 
 
 "•Friends, see the torch of the good God ! Put out your 
 little candles and bow to the clearest and brightest light 
 that shines on the world. And now," he said, sitting 
 down again and setting his glass bottom up on the table, 
 " we have talked enough and sung enough for one night. 
 What are .you about, verger? Go and ring the Angelus, 
 that we may see who signs the cross like a Christian ; and 
 that will show which of us have enjoyed ourselves de- 
 centh', and which have degraded our pleasure like fools. 
 After we have rendered thanks to God I must depart, my 
 friends, thanking you for this fine fete and all your signs 
 
96 The Bagpipers. 
 
 of confidence. I owed yon a little reparation for some 
 damage I did a few of you lately without intending it. 
 Guess it if you can, — I did not come here to confess it ; 
 but I think I have done my best to amnse you ; and as 
 pleasure, to my thinking, is worth more than profit, T feel 
 that I am quits with you. Hush ! " he added, as they 
 began to question him, "hear the Angelus!" 
 
 He knelt down, which led everj' one to do likewise, and 
 do it, too, with soberness of manner, for the man seemed 
 to have some extraordinary power over his fellows. 
 
 When the prayer ended we looked about for him, but 
 he was gone, — and so completely that there were people 
 who rubbed their e3'es, fanc3'ing that they had dreamed 
 this night of gayety and merriment. 
 
Tlie Bagpiijers. 97 
 
 NINTH EVENING. 
 
 Brulette was trembling all over, and when I asked 
 her what the matter was and what she was thinking of, 
 she answered, rubbing her cheek with the back of her 
 hand, *' That man is pleasant, Tiennet, but he is ver}' 
 bold." 
 
 As I was rather more heated than usual, I found cour- 
 age to say, — 
 
 " If the lips of a stranger offend j'our skin, perhaps 
 those of a friend can remove the stain." 
 
 But she pushed me awa}', saj'ing, — 
 
 " He has gone, and it is wisest to forget those who go." 
 
 *' Even poor Jose ? " 
 
 " He ! oh, tliat's different," she answered. 
 
 " Wli}' different? You don't answer me. Oh, Brulette, 
 you care for — " 
 
 " For whom?" she said, quickly. " What is his name? 
 Out with it, as 3'ou know it ! " 
 
 " It is," I said, laughing, " the black man for whose 
 sake Jose has given himself over to the devil, — that 
 man who frightened 3'ou one night last spring when you 
 were at my house." 
 
 "No, no; nonsense! you are joking. Tell me his 
 name, his business, and where he comes from." 
 
 " No, I shall not, Brulette. You say we ought to 
 forget the absent, and I would rather you did n't change 
 3'our mind." 
 
 The whole parish v/as surprised when it was known that 
 
 7 
 
98 The Bagpipers. 
 
 the piper had departed before the}' had thought of dis- 
 covering who he was. To be sure, a few had questioned 
 him, but he gave them contradictory answers. To one he 
 said he was a Marchois and was named thus and so ; to 
 another he gave a different name, and no one could make 
 out the truth. I gave them still another name to throw 
 them off the scent, — not that Iluriel the wheat-spoiler 
 need fear any one after Huriel the piper had turned everj'- 
 body's head, but simpl}' to amuse myself and to tease 
 Brulette. Then, when I was asked where I had known 
 him, I answered, laughing, that I didn't know him at 
 all, — that he had taken it into his head on arriving to 
 accost me as a friend, and that I had answered him in 
 kind by way of a joke. 
 
 Brulette, however, sifted me to the bottom, and I was 
 forced to tell her what I knew ; and though it was not 
 much, she was sorry she had heard it, for like most 
 country folks, she had a great prejudice against strangers, 
 and muleteers in particular. 
 
 I thought this repugnance would soon make her forget 
 Iluriel ; and if she ever thought of him she never showed 
 it, but continued to lead the gay life she liked so well, de- 
 claring that she meant to be as faithful a wife as she was 
 thoughtless a girl, and therefore she should take her time 
 and study her suitors ; and to me she kept repeating that 
 she wanted my faithful, quiet friendship, without any 
 thought of marriage. 
 
 As my nature never turned to gloominess, I made no 
 complaint ; in fact, like Brulette, I had a leaning to 
 liberty, and I used mine like other young fellows, taking 
 pleasure where I found it, without the yoke. But the ex- 
 citement once over, I always came back to mj^ beautiful 
 cousin for gentle, virtuous, and lively companionship, 
 
The Bagpipers, 99 
 
 which I could n't afford to lose by sulking. She had 
 more sense and wit than all the women and girls of the 
 neighborhood put together. And her home was so pleas- 
 ant, — always neat and well-managed, never pinched for 
 means, and filled, during the winter evenings and on all 
 the holidays of the 3'ear, with the nicest .young folks of the 
 parish. The girls liked to follow in my cousin's train, 
 where there was always a rush of young fellows to choose 
 from, and where they could pick up, now and then, a 
 husband of their own. In fact, Brulette took advantage 
 of the respect they all felt for her to make the lads think 
 of the lasses who wanted their attentions ; for she was 
 generous with her lovers, — like people rich in other ways 
 who know it is their duty to give awa}'. 
 
 Grandfather Brulet loved his 3'oung companion, and 
 amused her with his old-fashioned songs and the many 
 fine tales he told her. Sometimes Mariton would drop in 
 for a moment just to talk of her boy. She was a great 
 woman for gossip, still fresh in appearance, and alwa3'S 
 read}^ to show the 3'onng girls how to make their clothes, 
 — being well dressed herself to please her master Benoit, 
 who thought her handsome face and finery a good adver- 
 tisement of his house. 
 
 It was well-nigh a 3'ear that these amusements had been 
 going on without other news of Joseph than b3' two 
 letters, in which he told his mother he was well in health 
 and was earning his living in the Bourbonnais. He did 
 not give the name of the place, and the two letters were 
 postmarked from different towns. Indeed, the second 
 letter was none so easy to make out, though our curate 
 was ver3" clever at reading writing ; but it appeared that 
 Joseph was getting himself educated, and had tried, for 
 the first time, to write himself. At last a third letter 
 
100 The Bafjjn^yers. 
 
 came, addressed to Brulette, which Monsieur le cur^ read 
 off quite flnenth', declaring tliat the sentences were very 
 well turned. This letter stated that Joseph had been 
 ill, and a friend was writing for him ; it was nothing 
 more than a spring fever, and his family were not to 
 be uneasy about him. The letter went on to sa}" that he 
 was living with friends who were in the habit of travelling 
 about ; that he was then starting with them for the district 
 of Chamberat, from which they would write again if he 
 grew worse in spite of the great care they were taking of 
 him. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " cried Brulette, when the curate had 
 read her all that was in the letter, " I'm afraid he is going 
 to make himself a muleteer. I dare not tell his mother 
 about either his illness or the trade he is taking up. Poor 
 soul ! she has troubles enough without that.'* 
 
 Then, glancing at the letter, she asked what the sig- 
 nature meant. Monsieur le cure, who had paid no 
 attention to it, put on his glasses and soon began to 
 laugh, declaring that he had never seen anything like it, 
 and all he could make out, in place of a name, was the 
 sketch of an ear and an earring with a sort of a heart stuck 
 through it. 
 
 '^ Probably," said he, "it is the emblem of some fra- 
 ternity. All guilds have their badges, and other people 
 can't understand them." 
 
 But Brulette understood well enough ; she seemed a 
 little worried and carried off the letter, to examine it, I 
 don't doubt, with a less indifferent eye than she pretended ; 
 for she took it into her head to learn to read, and very 
 secretly she did so, b}' the help of a former lady's- 
 maid in a noble famih', who often came to gossip in a 
 sociable house like mj^ cousin's. It did n't take long for 
 
-, ^ » J 
 
 TJie Bagpipers. lOU- 
 
 such a clever head as Brulette's to learn all she wanted, 
 and one fine day I was amazed to find she could write 
 songs and hymns as prettily turned as an^'body's. I 
 could not help asking her if she had learned these fine 
 things above her station so as to correspond with Joseph, 
 or the handsome muleteer. 
 
 ** As if I cared for a common fellow with earrings ! " 
 she cried, laughing. " Do you think I am such an ill- 
 behaved girl as to write to a perfect stranger? But if 
 Joseph comes back educated he will have done a very 
 good thing to get rid of his stupidity ; and as for me, I 
 shall not be sorry to be a little less of a goose than I 
 was.'* 
 
 " Brulette, Brulette ! " I retorted, " 3-ou are setting 
 your thoughts outside j^our own country and j'our friends. 
 Take care, harm will come of it ! I 'ra not a bit less 
 uneasy about you here than I am about Joseph down 
 there." 
 
 " You can be easy about me, Tiennet ; my head is cool, 
 no matter what people say of me. As for our poor boy, 
 I am troubled enough ; it will soon be six months since 
 we heard from him, and that fine muleteer who promised 
 to send us news has never once thought of it. Mariton is 
 miserable at Joseph's neglect of her ; for she has never 
 known of his illness, and perhaps he is dead without our 
 suspecting it." 
 
 I assured her that in that case we should certainly have 
 been informed of the fact, and that no news was alwaj's 
 good news in such cases. 
 
 " You ma}^ say what }ou like," she replied ; " I dreamed, 
 two nights ago, that the muleteer arrived here, bringing 
 his bagpipe and the news that Jose was dead. Ever 
 since I dreamed that I have been sad at heart, and I am 
 
102 The Baginioers. 
 
 sorry I have let so much time go by without thinking 
 of the poor lad or trying to write to him. But how 
 could I have sent my letter ? — for I don't even know 
 where he is." 
 
 So sa3'ing, Brulette, who was sitting near a window 
 and chanced to look out, gave a loud cr}^ and turned white 
 with fear. I looked out too, and saw Huriel, black with 
 charcoal dust on his face and clothes, just as I saw him 
 the first time. He came towards us, while the children 
 ran out of his way, screaming, "The devil! the devil!" 
 and the dogs ^^elped at him. 
 
 Struck with what Brulette had just said, and wishing to 
 spare her the pain of hearing ill-news suddenly, I ran to 
 meet the muleteer, and my first words were, — 
 
 " Is he dead?" 
 
 "Who? Joseph?" he replied. "No, thank God. 
 But how did you know he was still ill ? " 
 
 " Is he in danger? " 
 
 " Yes and no. But what I have to say is for Brulette. 
 Is that her house ? Take me to her." 
 
 "Yes, yes, come!" I cried; and rushing ahead I 
 told m}^ cousin to be comforted, for tbe news was not 
 nearly so bad as she expected. 
 
 She called her grandfather, who was at work in the 
 next room, intending to receive the muleteer in a proper 
 manner ; but when she saw him so different from the idea 
 she had kept of him, so unrecognizable in face and 
 clothes, she lost her self-possession and turned away 
 sadly and in much confusion. 
 
 Huriel perceived it, for he smiled, and lifting his black 
 hair as if by accident, showed Brulette her token which 
 was still in his ear. 
 
 "It is really I," he said, " and no one else. I have 
 
The Bagpipers. 103 
 
 come from my own parts expressly to tell you about a 
 friend who, thanks to God, is neither dead nor dying, but 
 of whom I must speak to you at some length. Have you 
 leisure to hear me now? " 
 
 *'That we have," said Pere Brulet. "Sit down, m}^ 
 man, and take something to eat." 
 
 " I want nothing," said Huriel, seating himself. *'' I will 
 wait till your own meal-time. But, first of all, I ought to 
 make myself known to those I am now speaking to." 
 
104 The Bagpipers, 
 
 TENTH EVENING. 
 
 " Say on," said my uncle, '• we are listening." 
 
 Then said the muleteer: "My name is Jean Huriel, 
 muleteer b}' trade, son of Sebastien Huriel, otherwise 
 called Bastien, the Head-AVoodsman, a renowned bag- 
 piper, and considered the best worker in the forests of 
 the Bourbonnais. Those are my names and claims, to 
 which I can bring honorable proof. I know that to win 
 3'our confidence I ought to present myself in the guise in 
 which I have the right to appear ; but men of my caUing 
 have a custom — " 
 
 " I know 3^our custom, m}^ lad," said Pere Brulet, who 
 watched him attentivel}''. " It is good or bad, accord hig as 
 3'ou yourselves are good or bad. I have not lived till 
 now without knowing what the muleteers are ; I have 
 travelled outside our own borders, and I know your cus- 
 toms and behavior. They say your fraternity are given 
 to evil deeds, — they are known to abduct girls, attack 
 Christian people, and even kill them in pretended quarrels 
 so as to get their mone3\" 
 
 " Well," said Huriel, laughing, " I think that is an 
 exaggerated account of us. The things you speak of are 
 long passed away ; you would not hear of such deeds now- 
 a-days. But the fear 3'our people had of us was so great 
 that for years the muleteers did not dare to leave the 
 woods unless in troops and with great precautions. The 
 proof that the3' have mended their ways and are no longer 
 to be feared is that the\' no longer fear for themselves ; 
 so here I am, alone in the midst of you." 
 
The Bagpipers. 105 
 
 (( 
 
 Yes," said Pere Brulet, who was not easy to con- 
 vince ; "but your face is blackened all the same. You 
 have sworn to follow the rule of 3'our fraternit}', which is 
 to travel thus disguised through the districts where you 
 are still distrusted, so that if folks see 3'ou do an evil 
 deed thej^ can't say afterwards, when they meet 3'our com- 
 panions, ' That is he,' or, ' That is not he.' You consider 
 yourselves all responsible for one another. This has its 
 good side, for it makes 3'ou faithful friends, and each 
 man has the help and good-will of all ; but, nevertheless, 
 it leaves the rest of us in doubt as to the character of 
 3^our moralit3^ and I shall not deny that if a muleteer — 
 no matter how good a fellow he may be nor how much 
 mone3' he may have — comes here to ask for m3" alliance, 
 I '11 cheerfull3' offer him bite and sup, but I '11 not invite 
 him to marr3' ni}^ daughter." 
 
 "And I," said the muleteer, his e3'es flashing as he 
 boldl3" looked at Brulette, who pretended to be thinking 
 of something else, " had no such idea in coming here. 
 You are not called upon to refuse me, Pere Brulet, for 
 you don't know whether I am married or single. I have 
 said nothing about it." 
 
 Brulette dropped her eyes, and I could not tell whether 
 she was pleased or displeased. Then she recovered spirit, 
 and said to the muleteer: " This has nothins; to do with 
 the matter — which is Jose. You have brou2:ht news of 
 him ; I am distressed at heart about his health. This is 
 m}' grandfather, who brought him up and takes an interest 
 in him. Please talk of Joseph instead of other things." 
 
 Huriel looked steadil3" at Brulette, seeming to struggle 
 with a momentary vexation and to gather himself together 
 before he spoke ; then he said : — 
 
 " Joseph is ill, — so ill that I resolved to come and say 
 
106 The Bagpipers. 
 
 to the woman who is the cause of it, ' Do you wish to 
 cure him, and are you able to do so?'" 
 
 " What are you talking about?" said my uncle, prick- 
 ing up his ears, which were beginning to be a little hard 
 of hearing. ' ' How can my daughter cure the lad ? " 
 
 " If I spoke of myself before I spoke of him," continued 
 Huriel, " it was because I have delicate things to sa}' of 
 him which 3'ou would scarcely allow a total stranger to 
 mention. Now, if you think me a decent man, allow me 
 to speak my mind freely and tell 3^ou all I know." 
 
 ^' Explain everything," said Brulette, eagerly. " Don't 
 be afraid ; I shall not care for an v idea people take of 
 me." 
 
 " I have none but good ideas of you, Brulette," replied 
 the muleteer. " It is not your fault if Joseph loves you ; 
 and if you return his love in your secret heart no one can 
 blame 3'ou. We may envy Joseph in that case, but not 
 betray him or do anything to trouble you. Let me tell 
 3'ou how things have gone between him and me since the 
 day we first made friends, when I persuaded him to come 
 over to our parts and learn the music he was so crazy 
 about." 
 
 " I don't think you did him much good by that advice," 
 observed my uncle. "It is my opinion he could have 
 learned it just as well here, without grieving and distress- 
 ing his famil}'." 
 
 " He told me," replied Huriel, " and I have since found 
 it true, that the other bagpipers woukl not allow it. Be- 
 sides, I owed him the truth, because he trusted me at first 
 sight. Music is a wild flower which does not bloom in 
 your parts. It loves our heather ; but I can't tell you 
 why. In our woods and dells it lives and thrives and 
 lives again, like the flowers of spring ; there it sows and 
 
The Bagpipers, 107 
 
 harvests ideas for lands that are barren of them. The 
 best thmgs your pipers give you come from there ; but as 
 your players are lazy and niggardly, and you are satisfied 
 to hear the same things over and over again, they only 
 come to us once in their lives, and live on what the}^ 
 learn then for the rest of their days. At this very time 
 they are teaching pupils to strum a corruption of our old 
 music, and they never think of consulting at the fountain- 
 head to find how such airs should be played. So when a 
 well-intentioned 3'oung fellow like your Jose (as I said to 
 him) comes to drink at the spring, he is sure to return so 
 fresh and full that the other players could not stand up 
 against him. That is why Jose agreed to go over into 
 the Bourbonnais the following midsummer, where he could 
 have enough work in the woods to support him, and les- 
 sons from our best master. I must tell yo\i that the finest 
 bagpipers are in Upper Bourbonnais, among the pine 
 forests, over where the Sioule comes down from the Dome 
 mountains ; and that my father, born in the village of 
 Huriel, from which he takes his name, has spent his life 
 among these players, and keeps his wind in good order 
 and his art well-trained. He is a man who does not like 
 to work two 3'ears running in the same place, and the 
 older he gets the livelier and more fond of change he is. 
 Last year he was in the forest of Trongay ; since then he 
 has been in that of Espinasse. Just now he is in the 
 woods of Alien, where Joseph has followed him faithfully, 
 chopping and felling and bagpiping by his side, — for he 
 loves him like a son and boasts that the love is returned. 
 The lad has been as happy as a lover can be when parted 
 from his mistress. But hfe is not as easy and comfort- 
 able with us as with you ; and though my father, taught 
 by experience, tried to prevent Joseph (who was in a 
 
108 TJie Bagpipers, 
 
 hurry to succeed) from straining his kings on our pipes, — 
 which are, as 3'ou may have noticed, differently made 
 from 3^ours, and very fatiguing to the chest until you know 
 how to use them, — the poor fellow took a fever and 
 began to spit blood. My father, who understood the 
 disease and knew how to manage it. took away his bag- 
 pipe and ordered him to rest ; but then, though his bodily 
 health improved, he took sick in another way. He ceased 
 to cough and spit blood, but he fell into a state of de- 
 pression and weakness which made them fear for his life. 
 So that when I got home from a trip eight days ago I 
 found him so pallid that I scarcely knew him, and so weak 
 on his legs that he could not stand. When 1 questioned 
 him he burst into tears and said, very sadly: ' Huriel, I 
 know I shall die in the depths of these woods, far from 
 m}^ own country, from my mother and my friends, unloved 
 by her to whom I long to show the art I have learned. 
 This dreadful dulness eats into my mind, impatience 
 withers my heart. I wish your father would give me 
 back my bagpipe and let me die of it. I could draw my 
 last breath in sending from afar to her I love the sweetness 
 m}' lips can never utter to her, dreaming for a moment that 
 I was at her side. No doubt Pere Bastien meant kindlj^ ; 
 I know I was killing myself with eagerness. But what 
 do I gain b}' dying more slowly? I must renounce life any 
 way. On the one hand, I can't chop wood and earn my 
 bread, and must live at 3'our expense ; on the other, my 
 chest is too weak to pipe. No, it is all over with me. I 
 shall never be anything ; I must die without the J03' of 
 remembering a single day of love and happiness.' " 
 
 '' Don't cry, Brulette," continued the muleteer, taking 
 the hand with which she wiped her tears ; "all is not hope- 
 less. Listen to me. Seeing the poor lad's misery, I 
 
The Bagpipers, 109 
 
 went after a good doctor, who examined him, and then told 
 us that it was more depression than ilhiess, and he wouki 
 answer for his cure if Joseph would give up music and 
 wood-cutting for another month. As to that last matter, 
 it was quite convenient, for my father, and I too, thank 
 God, are not badl}' off, and it is no great merit to us to 
 take care of a friend who can't work. Bat the doctor was 
 wrong ; the same causes remain, and Jose is no better. 
 He did not want me to let you know his state, but I made 
 him agree to it and I even tried to bring him here with me. 
 I put him carefully on one of my mules, but at the end of 
 a few miles he became so weak I was obliged to take him 
 back to my father, who thereupon said to me : ' Do you 
 go to the lad's people and bring back either his mother or 
 his sweetheart. He is homesick, that 's all, and if he sees 
 one or the other of them he will recover health and courage 
 enough to finish his apprenticeship here ; or else he must 
 go home with them.' That being said before Joseph, he 
 was much excited. ' My mother ! ' he cried, like a child ; 
 *" m3' poor mother, make her come quickly ! ' Then check- 
 ing himself, he added, ' No, no ; 1 don't want her to see me 
 die ; her grief would kill me all the faster.' ' How about 
 Brulette? ' I whispered to him. ' Oh ! Brulette would not 
 come,' he answered. ' Brulette is good ; but she must have 
 chosen a lover b}' this time who would not let her come 
 and comfort me.' Then I made Jose swear he would have 
 patience till I returned, and I came off. Pere Brulet, de- 
 cide what ought to be done ; and you, Brulette, consult 
 your heart." 
 
 *' Maitre Huriel," said Brulette, rising, " I will go, though 
 I am not Joseph's sweetheart, as you called me, and 
 nothmg obliges me to go to him except that his mother 
 fed me with her milk and carried me in her arms. Whv 
 
110 The Bagpijjers. 
 
 do you think the yming man is in love with me? Just as 
 true as that my grandfather is sitting there, he never said 
 the first word of it to me." 
 
 "Then he did tell me truth!" cried Huriel, as if de- 
 lighted with what he heard ; but catching himself hastily 
 up, he added, "It is none the less true that he may 
 die of it, and all the more because he has no hope ; I must 
 therefore plead his cause and explain his feelings." 
 
 "Are you deputed to do so?" asked Brulette, haugh- 
 tily and as if anno3'ed with the muleteer. 
 
 " Deputed or not, I must do it," said Huriel ; "I must 
 clear my conscience of it, — for his sake who told me his 
 troubles and asked my help. This is what he said to me : 
 ^ I always longed to give m3'self up to music, as much 
 because I loved it as for love of my dear Brulette. She 
 considers me as a brother; she has always shown me the 
 greatest kindness and true pit}' ; but for all that she re- 
 ceived everj^iody's attentions except mine, and I can't 
 blame her. The girl loves finery and all that sets her oflT, 
 She has a right to be coquettish and exacting. M3' heart 
 aches for it, but if she gives her aflTections to those who 
 are worth more than I the fault is mine for being worth so 
 little. Such as I am — unable to dig hard, or speak soft, 
 or dance, or jest, or even sing, feeling ashamed of myself 
 and m}^ condition, I deserve that she should think me the 
 lowest of those who aspire to her hand. Well, don't 3'ou 
 see that this grief will kill me if it lasts? and I want to find 
 a cure for it. I feel within me something which declares 
 that I can make better music than any one else in our 
 parts ; if I could only succeed I should be no longer a 
 mere nothing. I should become even more than others ; 
 and as that girl has much taste and a gift for singing, she 
 would understand, out of her own self, what I was worth; 
 
The Bagpipers. Ill 
 
 moreover, her pride would be flattered at the praises I 
 should receive.' " 
 
 *' You speak," said Brulette, smiling, " as if I had an 
 understanding with him ; whereas he has never said a word 
 of all this to me. His pride has always been up in arms, 
 and I see that it is through pride that he expects to influ- 
 ence me. However, as his illness puts him really in dan- 
 ger of dying, I will, in order to give him courage, do 
 everything that belongs to the sort of friendship I feel for 
 him. I will go to see him with Mariton, provided my 
 grandfather advises and is willing I should do so." 
 
 *' I don't think it possible that Mariton can go with 3'ou," 
 saidPere Brulet, " for reasons which I know and you will 
 soon know, m}' daughter. I can only tell you just now 
 that she cannot leave her master, because of some trouble 
 in his aS'airs. Besides, if Joseph's illness can reall}^ be 
 cured it is better not to worrj- and upset the poor woman. 
 I will go with 3'ou, because I have great confidence that 
 you, who have always managed Joseph for the best, will 
 have influence enough over his mind to bring him back 
 to reason and give him courage. I know what you think 
 of him, and it is what I think too ; well, if we find him 
 in a desperate condition we can write to his mother at 
 once to come and close his eyes.'* 
 
 "If you will allow me in your company," said Huriel. 
 " I will guide 3'Ou as the swallow flies to where Joseph is. 
 I can even take you in a single day if 3'ou are not afraid 
 of bad roads." 
 
 " We will talk about that at table," replied my uncle. 
 " As for your company, I wish for it and claim it ; for you 
 have spoken well, and I know something of the family of 
 honest folks to whom 3'ou belong." 
 
 "Do 3'ou know my father?" cried Huriel. " When he 
 
112 The Bagpipers. 
 
 heard ns speaking of Brulette he told us, Joseph and me, 
 that his father had had an earlj' friend named Brulet." 
 
 " It was I, myself," said m}' uncle. " I cut wood for a 
 long time, thirty jears ago, in the Saint- Amand region 
 with your grandfather, and I knew 3'our father when a 
 boy ; he worked with us and pla3^ed the bagpipes wonder- 
 fully well, even then. He was a fine lad, and years can't 
 trouble him much j'et. When you named yourself just 
 now I did not wish to interrupt you, and if I twitted you 
 a little about 3^our customs, it was only to draw 3'ou out. 
 Now, sit down, and don't spare the food at 3'our 
 service. 
 
 During supper Huriel showed as much good sense in 
 his talk and pleasantness in his gravity as he had wit and 
 liveliness on the night of his first appearance at midsummer. 
 Brulette listened attentivelj' and seemed to get accustomed 
 to his blackened face ; but when the journey was talked of 
 and the method of making it was mentioned, she grew un- 
 easy about her grandfather, fearing the fatigue and the 
 upsetting of his habits ; so, as Huriel could not deny that 
 the journey would be painful to a man of his 3'ears, I 
 ofl'ered to accompany Brulette in place of my uncle. 
 
 "That's the ver}^ thing," said Huriel. "If we are 
 only three we can take the cross-cut, and by starting to- 
 morrow morning we can get there to-morrow night. I 
 have a sister, a verj" steady, good girl, who will take 
 Brulette into her own hut ; for I must not conceal from 
 you that where we are now living 3'ou will find neither 
 houses nor places to sleep in such as 3'ou are accus- 
 tomed to here." 
 
 " It is true," replied my uncle, " that I am too old to 
 sleep on the heather ; and thougli I am not very indulgent 
 to my body, if I happened to fall ill over there, I should 
 
The Bagpipers. US 
 
 be a great trouble to jou, my dear children. So, if Tiennet 
 will go, I know him well enough to trust his cousin to him. 
 I shall rely on his not leaving her a foot's length in any 
 circumstances where there may be danger for a youns: 
 girl ; and I rely on j'ou, too, Huriel, not to expose her to any 
 risks on the way." 
 
 I was mightil}' pleased with this plan, which gave me 
 the pleasure of escorting Brulette and the honor of de- 
 fending her in case of need. We parted earlj' and met 
 again before daylight at the door of the house, — Brulette 
 all ready and holding a little bundle in her hand, Huriel 
 leading his dairin and three mules, one of which was 
 saddled with a ver}' soft, clean pad, on which he seated 
 Brulette. Then he himself mounted the horse and I an- 
 other mule, which seemed much surprised to find me on his 
 back. The other, laden with new hampers, followed of her 
 own accord, while Satan brought up the rear. Nobody 
 was 3'et afoot in the village ; for wdiich I was sorry, for I 
 would have liked to make Brulette's other lovers jealous in 
 return for the rage they had often put me in. But 
 Huriel seemed anxious to get away without being noticed 
 and criticised under Brulette's nose for his blackened 
 face. 
 
 We had not gone far before he made me feel that I 
 should not be allowed to manage everything as I liked. 
 We reached the woods of Maritet at noon, which was 
 nearl}' half-wa3\ There was a little inclosure near by 
 called " La Ronde," where I should have liked to go and 
 get a good breakfast. But Huriel laughed at what he called 
 my love for a knife and fork, and as Brulette, who was de- 
 termined to think ever^'thing amusing, agreed with him, he 
 made us dismount in a narrow ravine, through which ran 
 a tiny river called " La Portefeuille," — so-called because 
 
114 The Bagpipers. 
 
 (at that season at least) the water was covered with the 
 green tra3's of the water-lily and shaded with the leafage 
 of the woods which came to the ver}- banks of the river 
 on either side. Huriel let tlie animals loose among the 
 reeds, selected a prett}' spot covered with wild flowers, 
 opened the hampers, uncorked the flask, and served as 
 good a lunch as we could have had at home, — all so neatly 
 done and with such consideration for Brulette that she 
 could not help showing pleasure. When she saw that 
 before touching the bread to cut it, and before removing 
 the white napkin which wrapped the provisions, he care- 
 fully washed his hands, plunging his arms above the 
 elbows in the river, she smiled and said to him, with her 
 gracious little air of command : '' While 3'ou are about it, 
 could not you also wash 3'our face, so that we might see if 
 3'ou were really the handsome bagpiper of the midsummer 
 dance?" 
 
 *' No, m}' prett}^ one," he replied, " you must get used 
 to the reverse of the coin. I make no claims upon your 
 heart but those of friendship and esteem, though I am 
 onl}^ a heathen of a muleteer. Consequently I need not 
 try to please 3'ou b3'^ my face, and it will not be for 3'our 
 sake that I wash it." 
 
 She was mortified, but she would not give up the point. 
 
 "You ought not to frighten 3'our friends," she said; 
 " and the fear of 3'Ou, looking as 3^ou now do, takes awa}' 
 my appetite." 
 
 " In that case I '11 go and eat apart, so as not to upset 
 you." 
 
 He did as he said, and sat down upon a little rock 
 which jutted into the water behind the place where we 
 were sitting, and ate his food alone, while I enjoj'ed the 
 pleasure of serving Brulette. 
 
The Bagpipers. 115 
 
 At first she laughed, thinking she had provoked him, and 
 taking pleasure in it, like all coquettes ; but when she got 
 tired of the game and wanted to recall him, and did her 
 best to excite him b}^ words, he held firm, and every time 
 she turned her head toward him he turned his back on 
 her, while answering all her nonsense ver\^ cleverly and 
 witliout the least vexation, which, to her, was perhaps 
 the very worst of the thing. 80 presently she began to 
 feel sorry, and, after a rather sharp speech which he 
 launched about haught}'' minxes, and which she fancied 
 was meant for her, two tears rolled from her eyes though 
 she tried hard to keep them back in m}' presence. Huriel 
 did not see them, and I took very good care not to show 
 her that I did. 
 
 When we had eaten all we wanted, Huriel packed up 
 the remainder of the provisions, saying, — 
 
 " If you are tired, children, you can take a nap, for tho 
 animals want a rest in the heat of the day ; that 's the 
 time when the flies torment them, and in this copse they 
 can rub and shake themselves as much as they please. 
 Tiennet, I rel}' on 3^ou to keep good guard over our prin- 
 cess. As for me, I am going a little way into the forest, 
 to see how the works of God are going on." 
 
 Then with a light step, and no more heed to the heat 
 than if we were in the month of April, instead of the 
 middle of Julj^, he sprang up the slope, and was lost *;o 
 sight among the tall trees. 
 
116 The Bagpipers. 
 
 ELEVENTH EVENING. 
 
 Brulette did her best not to let me see the anno3'ance 
 she felt at his departure ; but having no heart for talk, 
 she pretended to go to sleep on the fine sand of the river- 
 bank, her head upon the panniers which were taken from 
 the mule to rest him, and her face protected from the flies 
 by a white handkerchief. I don't know whether she slept ; 
 I spoke to her two or three times without getting any 
 answer, and as she had let me lay m}^ cheek on a corner 
 of her apron, I kept quiet too, but without sleeping at first, 
 for I felt a little agitated b}' her close neighborhood. 
 
 However, weariness soon overtook me, and I lost con- 
 sciousness for a short time ; when I woke I heard voices, 
 and found that the muleteer had returned and was talk- 
 ing witli Brulette. I did not dare move the apron that 
 I might hear more distinctl}^ but I held it tightly in my 
 fingers so that the girl could not have got away even had 
 she wished to. 
 
 "I certainl}' have the right," Huriel was saying, *' to 
 ask 3'ou what course you mean to pursue with that poor 
 lad. I am his friend more than I can claim to be 3'ours, 
 and 1 should blame m3^self for bringing 3'ou, if3'ou mean 
 to deceive him." 
 
 " Who talks of deceiving him?" cried Brulette. "Why 
 do 3'ou criticise m3' intentions without knowing them ? " 
 
 "I don't criticise, Brulette; I question you because 
 I like Joseph \Qxy much, and I esteem 3'ou enough to 
 believe 3'ou will deal frankly with him." 
 
The Bagpipers. 117 
 
 "That is m}' affair, Maitre Huriel ; 3'ou arc not the 
 Judge of my feelings, and I am not obliged to explain 
 them. I don't ask you, for instance, if you are faithful 
 to 3'our wife." 
 
 " My wife ! " exclaimed Huriel, as if astonished. 
 
 " Why, yes," returned Brule tte, " are not 3'ou married?" 
 
 "Did I say I was?" 
 
 " I thought you said so at our house last night, when 
 m}' grandfather, thinking 3'OU came to talk of marriage, 
 made haste to refuse you." 
 
 "I said nothing at all, Brulette, except that I was not 
 seeking marriage. Before obtaining the person, one must 
 win the heart, and I have no claim to j'ours." 
 
 "At any rate," said Brulette, "I see you are more 
 reasonable and less bold than you were last year." 
 
 " Oh ! " returned Huriel, " If I said a few rather warm 
 words to you at the village dance, it was because they 
 popped into mv head at the sight of you ; but time has 
 passed, and you ought to forget the affront." 
 
 "Who said I recollected it?" demanded Brulette. 
 "Have I reproached 30U?" 
 
 " You blame me in your heart ; or at any rate you bear 
 the thing in mind, for you are not willing to speak frankl}* 
 to me about Joseph." 
 
 " I thought," said Brulette, whose voice showed signs 
 of impatience, "that I had fulh' explained m^'self on t\ii\f- 
 point night before last. But how do the two things affect 
 each other? The more I forget you, the less I should 
 wish to explain to 3'ou my feelings for any man, no 
 matter who." 
 
 " But the fact is, pretty one," said the muleteer, who 
 seemed not to give in to any of Brulette's little ways, 
 ** You spoke about the past last night, and said nothing 
 
118 The Bagpipers. 
 
 about the future ; and I don't 3'et know what you mean 
 to sa}' to Joseph to reconcile him with life. Why do 3'ou 
 object to tell me frankly ? " 
 
 '' What is it to you, I should like to know? If you are 
 married, or mereh' pledged, you ought not to be looking 
 into a girl's heart." 
 
 " Brulette, you are trjing to make me say that I am 
 free to court 3'ou, and yet you won't tell me anything 
 about 3'our own position ; I am not to know whether you 
 mean some day to favor Joseph, or whether you are 
 pledged to some one else, — perhaps that tall fellow who 
 is lying asleep on your apron." 
 
 " You are too inquisitive ! " exclaimed Brulette, rising 
 and hastily' twitching awa}^ the apron, which I was forced 
 to let go, pretending to wake at that moment. 
 
 *'Come, let us start," said Huriel, who seemed not to 
 care for Brulette's ill-humor, but continued to smile with 
 his white teeth and his large eyes, — the onl}- parts of his 
 face which were not in mourning. 
 
 We continued our route to the Bourbonnais. The sun 
 was hidden behind a heavy cloud and thunder was rum- 
 bling in the distance. 
 
 " That storm over there is nothing," said the muleteer, 
 " it is going off to the left. If we don't meet another as 
 we get near the confluence of the Jo3'euse, we shall reach 
 our destination without difficulty. But the atmosphere is 
 so heavy we must be prepared for an3'thing." 
 
 So sa3ing, he unfolded a mantle, with a woman's hood, 
 new and handsome, which was fastened on his back, and 
 which Brulette admired greatly. 
 
 *' You won't tell me now," she exclaimed, blushing, 
 ' ' that 3'ou are not married, — unless that is a wedding 
 present you have bought on your waj'." 
 
The Bagpipers. 119 
 
 *' Perhaps it is," said Huriel in the same tone, " but if 
 it comes on to rain you can take possession of it ; you 
 won't find it too heavy, and j^our cape is thin." 
 
 Just as he predicted, the sk}' cleared on one side and 
 clouded on the other ; and while we were crossing an 
 open heath between Saint-Saturnin and Sidiailles, the 
 weather suddenly grew tempestuous, and we were blown 
 about by a gale of wind. The country itself was wild, 
 and I began to feel anxious in spite of m\self. Bru- 
 le tte, too, thought the place ver}'' dreary, and remarked 
 that there was not a tree for shelter. Huriel laughed 
 at us. 
 
 *' Oh ! 3'ou folks from the wheat-lands ! " he cried, " as 
 soon as your feet touch the heather you think j'ou are lost 
 in the wilderness." 
 
 He was guiding us in a bee-line, knowing well all the 
 paths and cross-cuts by which a mule could pass to 
 shorten the distance, — leaving Sidiailles on the left, and 
 making straight for the banks of the little river Joyeuse, 
 a poor rivulet that looked harmless enough, but which 
 nevertheless he seemed in a hurr}' to get over. Just as 
 we had done so, the rain began, and we were forced either 
 to get wet or to stop for shelter at a mill, called the mill 
 of Paulmes. Brulette wanted to go on, and so did the 
 muleteer, who thought we had better not wait till the 
 roads grew worse ; but I said that the girl was trusted to 
 m}' care, and that I could not have her exposed to harm ; 
 so Huriel, for once, gave in to my wishes. 
 
 \Ye sta3-ed there two hours, and when the weather 
 cleared and we were able to start again the sun was 
 already going down. The Joyeuse was now so swollen 
 that the crossing would have been difficult ; happily it was 
 behind us ; but the roads had become abominable, and 
 
120 The Baginpei'S. 
 
 we had still one stream to cross before we entered the 
 Bourbonnais. 
 
 We were able to go on as long as daylight lasted ; but 
 the night soon grew so dark that Brulette was frightened, 
 without, however, daring to say so ; but Iluriel, perceiv- 
 ing it from her silence, got off his horse, which he drove 
 before him, for the animal knew the road as well as he 
 did, and taking the bridle of my cousin's mule, led him 
 carefully for several miles, watcliing that he did not 
 stumble, plunging, himself, into water or sand up to his 
 knees, and laughing whenever Brulette pitied him and 
 entreated him not to expose himself for her. She began 
 to discover now that he was a friend in need, more help- 
 ful than her usual lovers, and that he knew how to serve 
 her without making a show of it. 
 
 The country grew more and more drear}' ; it was 
 nothing but little grassy slopes cut into by rivulets bor- 
 dered with reeds and flowers which smelt good but did 
 not better the ha}'. The trees were fine, and the muleteer 
 declared the country richer and prettier than ours on ac- 
 count of its pasture and fruit lands. But, for m}^ part, I 
 did not see any prospect of great harvests, and I wished 
 I were at home again, — all the more because I was not 
 assisting Brulette, having enough to do in keeping m3'self 
 out of the ruts and bogs on the way. 
 
 At last the moon shone out, and we reached the woods 
 of La Roche, at the confluence of the Anion and another 
 river, the name of which I have forgotten. 
 
 " Stay there, on that bit of high ground," Huriel said 
 to us; "you can even dismount and stretch 3'our legs. 
 The place is sand}', and the rain has hardly got through 
 the oak-leaves. I am going to see if we can ford the 
 stream." 
 
The Bagpipers. 121 
 
 Hg went clown to tlie river and came back at once, sa}'- 
 Ing: " The stepping-stones are covered, and we shall have 
 to go up as far as Saint-Pallais to get across. If we had 
 not lost time at the mill we could have crossed before 
 the river rose, and been at our destination by this time. 
 But w^bat is done is done ; let us see what to do now. 
 The water is going down. By staying here we can get 
 across in five or six hours, and reach home by daybreak 
 without fatigue or danger, for the plain between the two 
 arms of the Arnon is sure to be dry. Whereas, if we go 
 up to Saint-Pallais, we may stumble about half the night 
 and not get there any sooner." 
 
 "Well, then," said Brulette, "let us sta}^ here. The 
 place is dry and the weather is clear ; and though the 
 wood is rather wild, I shall not be afraid with you two 
 by me." 
 
 "That's a brave girl!" said Huriel. "Come, now 
 let 's have supper, as there is nothing better to do. 
 Tiennet, tie the dairin^ for there are several woods all 
 round us and I can't be sure about wolves. Unsaddle the 
 mules ; they won't stray from far the horse ; and you, my 
 pretty one, help me make a fire, for the air is damp and I 
 want you to sup comfortably and not take cold." 
 
 I felt greatly discouraged and sad at heart, I could 
 hardly tell why. Whether I was mortified at being of no 
 service to Brule tte in such a difficult journey, or whether 
 the muleteer seemed to make light of me, certain it is I 
 was already homesick. 
 
 "What are 3'ou grumbling about?" said Huriel, who 
 seemed all the gayer as we got deeper and deeper into 
 trouble. "Are not you as well off as a monk in his re- 
 fectory? These rocks make a fine chimne}^ and here are 
 seats and sideboards. Is n't this the third meal you have 
 
122 The Bagpipers. 
 
 had to-da}'? Don't you think the moon gives a better 
 Hght than 3'our old pewter lamp? The provisions are not 
 hurt bj^ the rain, for my hampers were tightly covered. 
 This blazing hearth is drying the air all round us ; the 
 branches overhead and the moist plants underfoot smell 
 better, it seems to mc, than your cheeses and rancid but- 
 ter. Don't you breathe another breath under these great 
 vaulting branches ? Look at them lighted by the flames ! 
 They are like hundreds of arms interlaced to shelter us. 
 If now and then a bit of a breeze shakes the damp foli- 
 age, see how the diamonds rain down to crown us ! What 
 do you find so melancholy in the idea that we are all alone 
 in a place unknown to 3'ou? There is everything here 
 that is most comforting ; God, in the first place, who is 
 everywhere ; next, a charming girl and two good friends 
 ready to stand by each other. Besides, do you think a 
 man ought to live in a hive all his days? I think, on the 
 contrary, that it is his dut}' to roam ; that he will be a 
 hundred times stronger, gayer, healthier in body and mind 
 if he does n't look after his own comfort too much, for 
 that makes him languid, timid, and subject to diseases. 
 The more you avoid heat and cold the more yoxx will suffer 
 w4ien they catch 3'ou. You will see m}' father, who, like 
 me, has never slept in a bed ten times in his life ; he has 
 no rheumatism or lumbago, though he works in his shirt- 
 sleeves in the dead of winter. And then, too, is it not 
 glorious to feel 3'ou are firmer and more solid than the 
 wind and the thunder? When the storm rages isn't the 
 music splendid? And the mountain torrents which rush 
 down the ravines and go dancing from root to root, cany- 
 ing along the pebbles and leaving their white foam cling- 
 ing to the bracken, don't they sing a song as gay as any 
 you can dream of as you fall asleep on some islet they 
 
The Bagpipers. 123 
 
 have scooped out around you? Animals are gloomy in 
 bad weather, I admit that ; the birds are silent, the foxes 
 run to earth ; even my dog finds shelter under the horse's 
 belly ; what distinguishes man from beast is that he keeps 
 his heart gay and peaceful through the battles of the air 
 and the whims of the clouds. He alone, who knows how 
 by reasoning to save liimself from fear and danger, has 
 the instinct to feel what is so beautiful in the uproar of 
 nature." 
 
 Brulette listened eagerly to the muleteer. She followed 
 his e3'es and all his gestures and entered into everything 
 he said, without explaining to herself how such novel ideas 
 and words excited her mind and stirred her heart. I felt 
 rather touched by them, too (though I resisted somewhat), 
 for Huriel had such an open, resolute face under all the 
 blacking that he won folks in spite of themselves, just as 
 when we are beaten at rackets b}'' a fine player we admire 
 him though we lose the stakes. 
 
 We were in no great hurry to finish our supper, for cer- 
 tainly the place was dry, and when the fire burned down 
 to a bed of hot ashes, the weather had grown so warm and 
 clear that we felt ver}' comfortable and quite ready to listen 
 to the lively talk and fine ideas of the muleteer. He was 
 silent from time to time, listening to the river, which still 
 roared a good deal ; and as the mountain brooks were 
 pouring into it with a thousand murmuring voices, there 
 was no likelihood that we could set forth a2;ain that nioht. 
 Huriel, after going down to examine it, advised us to go 
 to sleep. He made a bed for Brulette with the mule-pads, 
 wrapping her well up in all the extra garments he had 
 with him, and talking gayh', but with no gallant speeches, 
 showing her the same interest and tenderness, and no 
 more, that he would have shown to a little child. 
 
124 The Bagjnpers. 
 
 Then he stretched himself, without cushion or covering, 
 on the bare ground which was well dried by the fire, in- 
 vited me to do the same, and was soon as fast asleep as 
 a dormouse — or nearly so. 
 
 I was lying quiet, though not asleep, for I did not like 
 that kind of dormitory, when I heard a bell in the dis- 
 tance, as if the clairin had got loose and was straying in 
 the forest. I lifted m3'self a little and saw him still where 
 I had tied him. I knew therefore it was some other 
 clairin^ which gave notice of the approach or vicinity of 
 other muleteers. 
 
 Huriel had instantly risen on his elbow, listening ; then 
 he got on his feet and came to me. " I am a sound 
 sleeper," he said, '* when I have onl}^ my mules to w^atch ; 
 but now that I have a precious princess in charge it is 
 another matter, and I have only been asleep with one eye. 
 Neither have you, Tiennet, and that's all right. Speak 
 low and don't move ; I don't want to meet my comrades ; 
 and as I chose this place for its solitude I think they 
 won't find us out." 
 
 He had hardly said the words when a dark form ghded 
 through the trees and passed so close to Brulette that a 
 little more and it would have knocked her. It was that of 
 a muleteer, who at once gave a loud cry like a whistle, to 
 which other cries responded from various directions, and 
 in less than a minute half a dozen of these devils, each 
 more hideous to behold than the others, were about us. 
 We had been betrayed by Huriel's dog, who, nosing his 
 friends and companions among the dogs of the muleteers, 
 had gone to find them, and acted as guide to their masters 
 in discovering our retreat. 
 
 Huriel tried to conceal his uneasiness ; for though I 
 softly told Brulette not to stir, and placed m^'self before 
 
The Bagpipers, 125 
 
 her, it seemed impossible, surrounded as we were, to keep 
 her long from their prying eyes. 
 
 I had a confused sense of danger, guessing at more 
 than I reall}^ saw, for Huriel had not had time to explain 
 the character of the men who were now with us. He 
 spoke to the first-comer in the half-Auvergnat patois of 
 the Upper Bourbonnais, which he seemed to speak quite 
 as well as the other man, though he was born in the low- 
 countrj'. I could understand onl}- a word here and there, 
 but I made out that the talk was friendl}^, and that the 
 other was asking him who I was and what he was doing 
 here. I saw that Huriel was anxious to draw him awa}', 
 and he even said to me, as if to be overheard by the rest, 
 for they could all understand the French language, 
 '' Come, Tiennet, let us say good-night to these friends 
 and start on our waj." 
 
 But instead of leaving us alone to make our prepara- 
 tions for departure, the others, finding the place warm and 
 dry, began to unpack their mules and turned them loose 
 to feed until daybreak. 
 
 " I will give a wolf-cry to get them out of sight for a 
 few minutes," whispered Huriel. " Don't move from here, 
 and don't let her move till I return. Meantime saddle the 
 mules so that we can start quickly ; for to stay here is 
 the worst thing we can do." 
 
 He did as he said, and the muleteers all ran to where 
 the cry sounded. Unhappily I lost patience, and thought 
 I could profit bj- the confusion to save Brulette. I thought 
 I could make her rise without any one seeing her, for the 
 wrappings made her look like a bale of clothes. She 
 reminded me that Huriel had told us to wait for him ; but 
 I was so possessed with anger and fear and jealousy, even 
 suspecting Huriel himself, that I fairlj' lost my head, and 
 
126 The Bagpipers, 
 
 seeing a close copse very near us, I took mj' cousin firmly 
 by the hand and began to run towards it. 
 
 But the moon was bright, and the muleteers so near 
 that we were seen, and a cr}^ arose, — " He}' ! he}' ! a 
 woman ! " and all the scoundrels ran after us. I saw at 
 once there was nothing to be done but let myself be killed. 
 So lowering n\y head like a boar and raising m}' stick in 
 in the air, I was just about to deliver a blow on the jaws of 
 the first-comer which might have sent his soul to Paradise, 
 when Huriel caught my arm as he came swiftly to m}' 
 side. 
 
 Then he spoke to the others with great vehemence and 
 yet firmness. A sort of dispute arose, of which Brulette 
 and I could not understand a word ; and it seemed far 
 from satisfactory, for Huriel was listened to onl}" now and 
 then, and twice one of the miscreants got near enough to 
 Brulette to la}' his devilish paw upon her arm as if to lead 
 her away. Indeed, if it had not been for my driving my 
 nails into his buck's skin to make him let go he w'ould 
 have dragged her from my arms by the help of the rest ; 
 for there were eight of them, all armed with stout boar- 
 spears, and they seemed used to quarrels and violence. 
 
 Huriel, who kept cool and stood firmly between us and 
 the enemy, prevented my deUvering the first blow, which, 
 as I saw later, would have ruined us. He merely con- 
 tinued to speak, sometimes in a tone of remonstrance, 
 sometimes with a menacing air, and finally he turned 
 round to me and said in the French language: " Isn't 
 it true, l^tienne, that this is your sister, an honest girl, 
 betrothed to me, and now on her way to the Bourbonnais 
 to make acquaintance with my family ? These men here, 
 my good friends and comrades in matters of right and 
 justice, are trying to pick a quarrel with me because they 
 
The Bagpipers, 127 
 
 don't believe this. They fancy that you and I were talk- 
 ing here with some woman we had just met, and they 
 want to join company. Bat I tell them, and I swear to 
 God, that before the}' insult this 3'oang woman b}' so 
 much as a word the}' will have to kill both 3'ou and me, 
 and bear our blood on their souls in sight of God and 
 man." 
 
 "Well, what then?" answered one of the wretches, 
 speaking French, — it was the one who first came in my 
 way, and I was thirsting to deliver him a blow in the pit 
 of the stomach with my fist that should fell him to earth. 
 *' If 3'ou get yourself killed, so much the worse for you ! 
 there are plenty of ditches hereabouts to bury fools in. 
 Suppose 3'our friends come to find you ; we shall be 
 gone, and the trees and the stones have no tongues to 
 tell what the}' have seen." 
 
 Happily, he was the only real scoundrel in the party. 
 The others rebuked him, and a tall blond fellow, who 
 seemed to have authority, took him by the arm and 
 shoved him away from us, swearing and abusing him in 
 a gibberish that made the whole forest resound. 
 
 After that all real danger was over, — the idea of shed- 
 ding blood having touched the consciences of these rough 
 men. They turned the matter oflT with a laugh, and joked 
 with Huriel, who answered them in the same tone. Never- 
 theless, they seemed unwilling to let us go. They wanted 
 to see Brulette's face, which she kept hidden under her 
 hood, wishing, for once in her life, that she was old and 
 
 But all of a sudden she changed her mind, having 
 guessed at the meaning of the words said to Huriel and 
 me in the Auvergne dialect. Stung with anger and pride, 
 she let go my arm, and throwing back her hood she said, 
 
128 The Bagpipers. 
 
 with an offended air and plenty of courage : ' ' Dishonor- 
 able men ! I have the good fortune not to understand 
 what you say, but I see in your faces that 3'ou insult me 
 in your hearts. Well, look at me ! and if you have ever 
 seen the face of a woman who deserves respect, you may 
 know that 3'ou see one now. Shame on your vile behavior ! 
 let me go my way without hearing more of you." 
 
 Brulette's action, bold as it was, worked marvels. The 
 tall fellow shrugged his shoulders and whistled a moment, 
 while the others consulted together, seeming rather con- 
 fused ; then suddenly he turned his back on us, saying in 
 a loud voice, "There's been talk enough; let us go! 
 You elected me captain of the company-, and I will punish 
 any one who annoys Jean Huriel any longer ; for he is a 
 good comrade and respected b}- the whole fraternity." 
 
 The party filed off, and Huriel, without saying a word, 
 saddled the mules and made us mount ; then, going before 
 but looking round at every step, he led us at a sharp pace 
 to the river. It was still swollen and roaring, but he 
 plunged right in, and when he got to the middle he cried 
 out, " Come, don't be afraid! " and then, as I hesitated 
 to allow Brulette to get wet, he came angrily back to us 
 and struck her mule to make it go on, swearing that it 
 was better to die than be insulted. 
 
 '^I think so too," answered Brulette in the same tone, 
 and striking the mule herself, she plunged boldlj" into the 
 current, which foamed higher than the breast of the 
 animal. 
 
The Bagpipers, 129 
 
 TWELFTH EVENING. 
 
 There was an instant when the animal seemed to lose 
 footing, but Brulette just then was between us two, and 
 showed a great deal of courage. When we reached the 
 other bank Huriel again lashed the beasts and put them 
 to a gallop, and it was not until we reached open ground 
 in full view of the sk}^, and were nearing habitations, that 
 he allowed us to draw breath. 
 
 "Now," said he, walking his horse between Brulette 
 and me, " I must blame both of you. I am not a child to 
 have led you into danger and left 3'ou there. Wli}^ did 
 3'ou run from the spot where I told you to wait for me ? " 
 
 "It is you who blame us, is it?" said Brulette, rather 
 sharpl}^ " I should have thought it was all the other 
 way." 
 
 " Say what you have to sa}'," returned Huriel, gravel3\ 
 " I will speak later. What do you blame me for?" 
 
 " I blame j'ou," she answered, ••' for not having foreseen 
 the dangerous encounter we were likely to make ; I blame 
 you, above all, for giving assurances of safety to my grand- 
 father and me, in order to induce me to leave my home 
 and country, where I am loved and respected, and for hav- 
 ing brought me through desolate woods where you were 
 scarcely able to save me from the insults of your friends. 
 I don't know what coarse language they used about me, 
 but I understood enough to see that you were forced to 
 answer for my being a decent girl. So, being in your 
 company was enough to make m}' character doubted ! 
 
 9 
 
130 The Bagpipers, 
 
 Ah, what a miserable iourne}' ! This is the first time in 
 my life I was ever insulted, and I did not think such a 
 thing could happen to me ! " 
 
 Thereupon, her heart swelling with mortification and 
 anger, she began to cry. Huriel at first said nothing ; he 
 seemed very sad. Then he plucked up courage and 
 replied : — 
 
 "It is true, Brulette, that 3'ou were misjudged. You 
 shall be revenged, I promise you that. But as I could 
 not punish those men at the time without endangering 
 you, I suffer within me such pangs of bafl[led rage as I 
 cannot describe to 3'ou and 3'ou could never comprehend." 
 
 Tears cut short his words. 
 
 "I don't want to be avenged," said Brulette, " and I 
 beg you won't think of it again ; I will tr}^ to forget it all 
 m^'self." 
 
 " But you will alwa3^s curse the da3' when you trusted 
 3'ourself to me," he said, clenching his fist as though he 
 would fain knock himself down. 
 
 " Come, come," I said to them, " 3"ou must not quarrel 
 now that the harm and the danger are well over. I admit 
 it was my fault. Huriel enticed the muleteers awa3' in 
 one direction and could have got us awa3' in another. It 
 was I who threw Brulette into the lion's jaws, thinking I 
 could save her quicker." 
 
 " There wor.ld have been no danger but for that," said 
 Huriel. "• Of course, among muleteers, as among all men 
 who lead a half- wild life, there are scoundrels. There was 
 one of the kind in that band ; but jo\x saw that the3^ all 
 blamed him. It is also true that man3^ of us are unedu- 
 cated and make unseeml3" jokes. But I don't know what 
 3'ou really accuse our fraternity of doing. We may be 
 partners in mone3'' and pleasure, as we are in losses and 
 
The Bagpipers, 131 
 
 dangers, but we all of us respect women quite as much as 
 other Christian folk do. You saw yourself that virtue was 
 respected for its own sake, because one word from you 
 brought those men at once to their dut}'." 
 
 "Nevertheless," said Brulette, still angr}', "you were 
 in a great hurry to get us awa}'' ; j^ou made us go fast 
 enough to risk being drowned in the river. You know 
 you were not master of those bad men, and you were 
 afraid thev mioht return to their evil wishes." 
 
 " It all came from their seeing you run away with 
 Tiennet," said Huriel. "They thought you were doing 
 wrong. If it had not been for your fear and your distrust 
 of me 3'ou would never have been seen by m}" comrades. 
 You may as well confess, both of 3'ou, that you had a very 
 bad idea of me." 
 
 " I never had a bad idea of 3'ou," said Brulette. 
 
 " I had," said I, "just then, for a moment; I confess 
 it, for I don't wish to lie." 
 
 "It is always better not," returned Huriel, "and I 
 hope 3'Ou will soon think differentl3' of me." 
 
 "I do now," I said. " I saw how firm 3'ou were, and 
 how 3'ou mastered 3'our anger, and I agree that it was 
 wiser to speak soft in the beginning than to end soft ; 
 blows come fast enough. If it were not for 3'ou, I should 
 be dead now, and so would you for helping me, which 
 would have been a dreadful thing for Brulette. And now, 
 here we are well out of it, thanks to 3^ou ; and I think we 
 ought, all three of us, to be the better friends." 
 
 " That 's good ! " cried Huriel, pressing m3' hand. 
 "That's the Berrichon's best nature; he shows his good 
 sense and his sober judgment. You ought to be a Bour- 
 bonnaise, Brulette, you are so hast3' and impulsive." 
 
 She allowed him to take her hand in his, but she con- 
 
132 The Bagpipers. 
 
 tinned tbonghtfiil ; and as I feared she might take cold 
 after getting so wet in the river, we entered the first house 
 we came to to change our clothes and refresh ourselves 
 with a little mulled wine. It was now da3'break, and the 
 country-folk seemed ver}' kind and ready to help us. 
 
 When we resumed our journey the sun was alread}'' 
 warm, and the country, which lay rather high between two 
 rivers, was delightful to the e3'e and reminded me a little 
 of our own plains. Brulette's vexation was all over ; for, 
 in talking with her beside the fire of the good Bourbon- 
 nais, I had proved to her that an honest girl was not de- 
 graded by the talk of a drunken man, and that no woman 
 was safe if such things were to be considered. The mule- 
 teer had left us for a moment, and when he returned to 
 put Brulette into her saddle she could not restrain a cry of 
 amazement. He had washed and shaved and dressed 
 himself properly, — not so handsomel}" as the first time 
 she had seen him, but looking well enough in fiice and 
 well enoug-h clothed to do her honor. 
 
 However, she uttered neither compliment nor jest ; she 
 only looked at him intently when his eyes were not upon 
 her, as if to renew her acquaintance with him. She 
 seemed sorry to have been crabbed with him, and as if 
 she did not know how to make it up ; but he talked of other 
 things, explained the Bourbonnais district which we had 
 entered after crossing the river, told me about the man- 
 ners and customs, and discoursed like a man who was not 
 wanting for sense in any way. 
 
 At the end of two hours, without fatigue or further ad- 
 venture, but still riding up hill, we reached Mes^Dles, the 
 parish adjoining the forest where we were to find Joseph. 
 We passed straight through the village, where Huriel was 
 accosted b}" many persons who seemed to hold him in 
 
The Bagpipers. 133 
 
 much esteem, — not to mention some young girls who ej'ed 
 with surprise the company' he liad with liim. 
 
 TVe had not, however, reached our destination. We 
 were bound for the depths, or rather I should sa}" the high- 
 est part, of the wood ; for the forest of the AUeu, which 
 joins that of ChambL'rat, covers the plateau from which 
 five or six little rivers or brooks come down, forming a 
 wild tract of country surrounded by barren plains, where 
 the view is extensive on all sides, towards other forests 
 and other heaths stretching endlesslj' awa}'. 
 
 We were as 3'et only in what is called the Lower Bour- 
 bonnais, which adjoins the upper part of Berry. Huriel 
 told me that the ground continued to ascend as far as 
 Auvergne. The woods were fine, — chiefly full-grown trees 
 of white oak, which are the finest species. The brooks, 
 which cut into and ravine these woods in every direction, 
 form in many places moist coverts, where alders, willows, 
 and aspen grow ; all fine trees, which those of our region 
 can't compare with. I saw also, for the first time, a tree 
 with white stems and beautiful foliage, called the beech, 
 which does not grow with us. It is the king of trees after 
 the oak ; for if it is less handsome than the latter, it is 
 certainly quite as lovely. There were but few of them in 
 these forests, and Huriel told me they abounded only in 
 the centre of the Bourbonnais country. 
 
 I gazed at all these things with much interest, expect- 
 ing, however, to see more rare things than there were, 
 and half-believing the trees would have their roots in the 
 air and their heads in the ground, after the manner of 
 those who imagine about distant parts that they have 
 never seen. As for Brulette, whether it was that she had 
 a natural taste for wild scenery, or whether she wanted to 
 console Huriel for the reproaches she had showered on 
 
134 The Bagpipers. 
 
 liim, it is certain that she admired things out of all reason, 
 and did honor and reverence to the least little wild flower 
 she saw in the path. 
 
 We advanced for some time withont meeting a living 
 soul, when suddenly Huriel said, pointing to an open and 
 some felled trees : " Here we are, at the clearing ; now in 
 a miniite more 3'ou w^ll see our city and my father's 
 castle." 
 
 He laughed as he said it, and we were still looking 
 about us for something like a village, when he added, 
 pointing to some mud huts which were more like the lairs 
 of animals than the abodes of men : " These are our sum- 
 mer palaces, our countr3'-houses. Stay here, and I will 
 call Joseph." 
 
 He went off at a gallop, looked into the doorways of all 
 the huts, and came back, evidentl}' uneasy, but hiding 
 it as best he could, to sa}" : " There is no one here, and 
 that is a good sign. Joseph must be better, and has gone 
 to worlv with my father. Wait for me here ; sit down and 
 rest in our cabin ; it is the first, right before you ; I 'II go 
 and see where the patient is." 
 
 *' No, no," said Brulette ; " we will go with .you." 
 
 " Are 3'ou afraid to be alone here? You are quite mis- 
 taken. You are now in the domain of the woodsmen, and 
 they are not, like the muleteers, imps of Satan. They are 
 honest country-folk, like those jow have at home, and 
 where my father rules 3'ou have nothing to fear." 
 
 ''I am not afraid of your people," replied Brulette, 
 "but it frightens me not to find Jose. Who knows? per- 
 haps he is dead and buried. The idea has just come into 
 m}'' head and it makes m}' blood creep." 
 
 Huriel turned pale, as if the same thought struck him ; 
 but he would not give heed to it. ' ' The good God would 
 
The Bagijipers. 135 
 
 never have allowed it/' he said. " But get down, leave 
 the mules just here, and come with me." 
 
 He took a little path which led to another clearing ; but 
 even there we did not find Joseph nor any one else. 
 
 ''You fancy these woods are deserted," said Iluriel; 
 " and yet I see by fresh marks of the axe that the woods- 
 men have been at work here all the morning. This is the 
 hour when they take a little nap, and they are probably all 
 l3'ing among the bracken, where we should not see them 
 unless we stepped upon them. But listen ! there 's a sound 
 that delights my heart. My father is playing the bagpipe, 
 — I recognize his method ; and that's a sign that Jose is 
 better, for it is not a sad tune, and my father would be 
 ver}^ sad if any misfortune had happened to the lad." 
 
 "SVe followed Huriel, and the music was certainly so 
 delightful that Brulette, hurrying as she was to get to 
 Joseph, could not help stopping now and then, as if 
 charmed, to listen. And I myself, without being able 
 to comprehend the thing as she did, felt all five of ray 
 natural senses stirred up within me. At every step I 
 fancied I saw difFerentl}', heard differently, breathed and 
 walked in a different manner from what I ever did before. 
 The trees seemed finer, so did the earth and sky, and my 
 heart was full of a satisfaction I could n't give a reason 
 for. 
 
 Presently, standing on some rocks, round which a 
 pretty rivulet all full of flowers was murmuring along, 
 we saw Joseph, looking ver}' sad, beside a man who was 
 sitting down and playing a bagpipe to please the poor sick 
 fellow. The dog, Parpluche, was beside them and seemed 
 to be listening too, like an intelligent human being. 
 
 As the pair paid no heed to us Brulette held us back, 
 wishing to examine Joseph and judge of his health by his 
 
136 The Bagpipers. 
 
 appearance before she spoke to him. He was as white as 
 a sheet and as shrunken as a bit of dead wood, b}^ which 
 we knew that the muleteer had not deceived us ; but what 
 was very consoling was the fact that he was nearl}^ a head 
 taller than when he left us ; which of course the people 
 about him might not notice, but which, to us, explained his 
 illness as the result of his growth. In spite of his sunken 
 cheeks and white lips, he had grown to be a handsome 
 man ; his e3'es, notwithstanding his languid manner, were 
 clear, and even bright as running water, his hair fine and 
 parted above his pallid face like that of the blessed Jesus ; 
 in short, he was the image of an angel from heaven, which 
 made him as different from other peasants as the almond- 
 flower diff'ers from an almoa in its husk. His hands 
 were as white as a woman's, for the reason that he had 
 not worked of late, and the Bourbonnais costunie wliich 
 he had taken to wearing showed off* his well-built figure 
 better than the hempen blouses and big sabots of our 
 parts. 
 
 Having given our first attention to Joseph we were next 
 compelled to look at Huriel's father, a man I have seldom 
 seen the like of, — one who, without education, had great 
 knowledge and a mind that would not have disgraced the 
 wealthy and famous. He was tall and strong, of fine 
 carriage, like Huriel, but stouter and broader about the 
 shoulders ; his head was ponderous and set on like that 
 of a bull. His face was not at all handsome, for his nose 
 was flat, his lips thick, and his e^'es round ; but for all 
 that, it was one 3'ou liked to look at, for it satisfied 3'ou 
 with its air of command and of strength and of goodness. 
 His large black ev^es glittered like lightning-flashes from 
 his head, and his broad mouth laughed with a glee which 
 would have brought you back from the jaws of death. 
 
Tlie Bagpipers. 137 
 
 At the present moment his liead was covered with a 
 blue handkerchief knotted behind, and he wore no other 
 garments than his shirt and breeches, with a big leather 
 apron, which his hands, hardened by toil, matched in color 
 and texture. In fact, his fingers, scarred and crushed by 
 man}^ an accident, for he never spared himself danger, 
 looked like roots of box twisted into knots, and the won- 
 der was that he wns able to do any work bej'ond breaking 
 stones with a pick-axe. Nevertheless he used them as 
 delicately on the chanter of his bagpipe as if they were 
 slender reeds, or tin}' bird's claws. 
 
 Beside him were the trunks of several large oaks, lately 
 cut down and sawn apart ; among them lay his tools, — his 
 axe, shining like a razor, his saw as pliable a reed, and 
 his earthen bottle, the wine of which kept up his strength. 
 
 Presently Joseph, who was listening breathless!}' to the 
 music, saw his dog Parpluche run towards us ; he raised 
 his eyes and beheld us within ten feet of him. From pal- 
 lid he grcAv red as fire, but did not stir, thinking probably 
 it was a vision called up by the music which had made 
 him dream. 
 
 Brulette ran to him, her arms extended ; then he uttered 
 a cr}' and fell, as if choking, on his knees, which fright- 
 ened me, for I had no conception of that sort of love, and 
 I thought he had a fit which might kill him. But he re- 
 covered himself quickly and began to thank Brulette and 
 me and also Huriel, with such friendly words so readily 
 uttered, that you would never think it was the same Jose 
 who in the olden time always answered, ' ' I don't know " 
 to everything that was said to him. 
 
 Pere Bastien, or rather the Head-Woodsman (for such 
 he was alwa3's called in these parts), laid aside his bag- 
 pipe, and while Brulette and Joseph were talking together, 
 
138 The Bagiripers, 
 
 he shook me b}' the hand and welcomed me as if he had 
 known me from my birth up. 
 
 "So this is your friend Tiennet?" he said to his son. 
 " Well, his face suits me, and his body, too, for I warrant 
 I can hardly meet my arms round it, and I have always 
 noticed that the biggest and strongest men are the gen- 
 tlest. I see it in you, my Huriel, and in myself, too, for 
 I'm alwa3's inclined to love my neighbor rather than crush 
 him. So, Tiennet, I give 3'ou welcome to our wild woods ; 
 you won't find 3'our fine wheaten bread nor the variety of 
 salads 3'ou get from your garden, but we will trj- to regale 
 you with good talk and heart}' good-will. I see 3'ou have 
 brought that handsome Nohant girl who is half-sister, half- 
 mother to our poor Jose. That's a good deed done, for 
 he had no heart to get well ; now I shall feel easier about 
 him, for I think the medicine is good." 
 
 As he said this he looked at Jose, who was sitting on 
 his heels at Brulette's feet, holding her hand and gazing at 
 her with all his e^'es, while he asked questions about his 
 mother, and Pere Brulet, and the neighbors, and all the 
 parish. Brulette, observing that the Head-Woodsman 
 was speaking of her, came to him and begged pardon for 
 not having saluted him at first. But he, without more 
 ado, took her round the waist and set her on a high rock, 
 as if to see her all at once, like the figure of a saint or 
 some other precious thing. Then, placing her on the 
 ground again, he kissed her on the forehead, saying to 
 Jose, who blushed as much as Brulette : — 
 
 "You told me true; she is pretty from top to toe. 
 Here, I think, is a bit of nature without a flaw. Bod}' 
 and soul are of the best quality ; I can see that in her e3'e. 
 Tell me, Huriel, for I am so blind about m}^ own children 
 that I can't judge, is she prettier than ^'our sister? I 
 
The Bagpipers. 139 
 
 think she is not less so, and if they were both mine I don't 
 know which I should be proudest of. Come, come, Bru- 
 lette, don't be ashamed of being handsome, and don't be 
 vain of it, either. The workman who made the creatures 
 of this world beautiful did not consult you, and 3'ou count 
 for nothing in his work. What he has done for us we can 
 spoil by folly or stupidity ; but I see by your appearance 
 that, far from doing that, you respect his gifts in yourself. 
 Yes, yes, you are a beautiful girl, healthy in heart and up- 
 right in mind. I know you alread\^, for you have come 
 here to comfort that poor lad, who longed for you as the 
 earth longs for rain. Man}' another would not have done 
 as you have done, and I respect you for it. Therefore, I 
 ask your friendship for me, who will be to you a father, 
 and for my two children, who will be as brother and sister 
 to 3'ou." 
 
 Brulette, whose heart was still swelling with the insults 
 of the muleteers in the woods of La Roche, was so grati- 
 fied b}' the respect and the compliments of the Head- 
 Woodsman that the tears began to fall, and flinging her- 
 self upon his neck she could answer onl}' by kissing him, 
 as though he were her own father. 
 
 " The best of all answers," he said, " and I am content 
 with it. Now, m}^ children; my rest hour is over and I 
 must go to work. If you are hungry, here is my wallet 
 with some provisions in it. Huriel will go and find his 
 sister, so that she ma}" keep 3'ou companj^ ; and, mean- 
 time, m}" Eerrichons, 3'Ou must talk with Joseph, for T 
 imagine 3'ou have a deal to sa3' to each other. But don't 
 go far away from the sound of m3' axe, for you don't know 
 the forest and 3'Ou might get lost." 
 
 Thereupon he set to work among the trees, after hang- 
 ing his bagpipe to the branches of one that was still 
 
140 The Bagpipers, 
 
 standing. Huriel ate some food with us and answered 
 Brulette, who questioned him about liis sister. 
 
 " M}' sister Therence," he said, "is a prett}- gh'l and a 
 good girl, of about ^our own age. I shall not say, as my 
 father did, that she compares with you ; but such as she 
 is she lets people look at her, and her spirit is none of the 
 tamest either. She follows my father to all his stations, 
 so that he ma}^ not miss his home ; for the life of a woods- 
 man, like that of a muleteer, is verj- hard and dreary if he 
 has no companionship for his heart." 
 
 "Where is she now?" asked Brulette. " Can't we go 
 and find her? " 
 
 " I don't know where she is," replied Huriel; " and I 
 rather wonder she did not hear us, for she is seldom far 
 from the lodges. Have you seen her to-da}^, Joseph? " 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "but not since morning. She 
 was feeling ill and complained of head-ache." 
 
 " She is not used to complain of anything," said Huriel. 
 " If 3'ou will excuse me, Brulette, I will go and fetch her 
 to you as fast as I can." 
 
The Bagpipers, 141 
 
 THIRTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 After Huriel left us we walked about and talked to 
 Joseph ; but thinking that it was enough for him to have 
 seen me and that he might like to be alone with Brulette, 
 I left them together, without appearing to do so, and went 
 after Pere Bastien to watch him at work. 
 
 It was a more cheering sight than you can possibly 
 imagine. Never in my life have I seen man's handiwork 
 despatched in so free and jovial a manner. I believe he 
 could, without tiring himself, have done the work of four 
 of the strongest men in his employ ; and that, too, while 
 talking and laughing in compan}', or singing and whistling 
 when alone. He told me that wood-cutters as a general 
 thing lived near the woods where the}' worked, and that 
 when their houses were within easy distance they went 
 daily to and from their work. Others, living farther off, 
 came by the week, starting from home Monday before 
 daybreak, and returning the following Saturday night. 
 As for those who came down with him from the uplands, 
 they were hired for three months, and their huts were 
 larger and better built and victualled than those of the 
 men who came by the week. 
 
 The same plan was followed with the charcoal men, 
 meaning by them not those who buy charcoal to sell, but 
 those who make it on the spot for the benefit of the 
 owners of the woods and forests. There were other men 
 who bought the right to put it in the market, just as there 
 were muleteers who bought and sold charcoal on their 
 
142 The Bagpipers. 
 
 own account ; but as a general thing, the business of the 
 muleteer was solel}' that of transporting it. 
 
 At the present time this business of the muleteers is 
 going down, and it will probably- soon be extinct. The 
 forests are better cleared ; there are fewer of those impas- 
 sable places for horses and wagons where mules alone can 
 make their way. The number of manufactories and iron- 
 works which still use wood-coal is much restricted ; in 
 fact, there are but few muleteers now in our part of the 
 country. Onl}^ a few remain in the great forests of 
 Cheurre in Berr}^ together with the woodsmen in the 
 Upper Bourbonnais. But at the time of which I am tell- 
 ing you, when the forests covered one-half of our prov- 
 inces, all these trades were flourishing and much sought 
 after. So much so that in a forest which was being 
 cleared you might find a whole population of these diflTer- 
 ent trades, each having its customs and its fraternities, 
 and living, as much as possible, on good terms with each 
 other. 
 
 Pere Bastien told me, and later I saw it for myself, 
 that all men who went to work in the woods grew so 
 accustomed to the roving and hazardous life that they 
 suffered a kind of homesickness if they were obliged to 
 live on the plains. As for him, he loved the woods like 
 a fox or a wolf, though he was the kindest of men and 
 the liveliest companion that 3"ou could find anywhere. 
 
 For all that, he never laughed, as Huriel did, at my 
 preference for ni}' own region. " All parts of the country 
 are fine," he said, " if they are our own ; it is right that 
 every one should feel a particular liking for the region 
 that brought him up. That 's a provision of God, with- 
 out which the barren and dreary places would be neg- 
 lected and abandoned. I have heard tell of folks who 
 
The Bagpipers, 143 
 
 travelled far into lands covered with snow and ice the 
 greater part of the 3'ear ; and into othei's where fire came 
 from the mountains and ravaged the land. Nevertheless, 
 people build fine houses on these bedevilled mountains, 
 and hollow caves to live in under the snow. The}^ love, 
 and many, and dance, and sing, and sleep, and bring up 
 children, just as we do. Never despise any man's home 
 or lodging or family. The mole loves his dark tomb as 
 much as the bird loves its nest in the foHage ; and the ant 
 would laugh in j'our face if you tried to make him believe 
 there were kings who built better palaces than he." 
 
 The da}' was getting on, and still Huriel did not return 
 with his sister Therence. Pere Bastien seemed surprised 
 but not uneas}'. I went towards Brulette and Jose sev- 
 eral times, for they were not far off; but as the}' were 
 always talking and took no notice of my approach, I 
 finally went off by m^'self, not knowing very well how to 
 while awa}' the time. I was, above all things, the true 
 friend of that dear girl. Ten times a da}' I felt I was in 
 love with her, and ten times a day I knew I was cured of 
 it ; and now I made no pretence of love, and so felt no 
 chagrin. I had never been very jealous of Joseph before 
 the muleteer told us of the great love that was consuming 
 him ; and after that time, strange to say, I was not jealous 
 at all. The more compassion Brulette showed for liim, 
 the more I seemed to see that she gave it from a sense of 
 friendly duty. And that grieved me instead of pleasing 
 me. Having no hope for myself, I still wanted to kee}1" 
 the presence and companionship of a person who made 
 everything comfortable about her ; and I also felt that if 
 any one deserved her, it was the young fellow who had 
 always loved her, and who, no doubt, could never make 
 any one else love him. 
 
144 The Bagpipers. 
 
 I was even surprised that Brulette did not feel it so in 
 her heart, especiall}' when it appeared how Jose, in spite 
 of his ilhiess, had grown handsome, well-informed, and 
 agreeable in speech. No doubt he owed this change for 
 the better to the companionship of the Head-Woodsman 
 and his son, but he had also set his own will to it, and she 
 ought to have approved of him for that. However, Bru- 
 lette seemed to take no notice of the change, and I fancied 
 that during the journe}' she had thought more of the 
 muleteer Huriel than I had known her to do of an}' other 
 man. That idea began to distress me more and more ; 
 for if her fanc}^ turned upon this stranger, two terrible 
 disasters faced me ; one was that our poor Jose would 
 die of grief, the other, that our dear Brulette would leave 
 our part of the country and I should no longer see her, or 
 have her to talk to. 
 
 I had got about so far in my reasoning when I saw 
 Huriel returning, bringing with him so beautiful a girl 
 that Brulette could not compare with her. She was tall, 
 slender, broad in the shoulders, and free, like her brother, 
 in all her movements. Her complexion was naturally 
 brown, but living alwa3'S in the shade of woods she was 
 pale, though not pallid, — a sort of whiteness which was 
 charming to the eye, though it surprised you, — and all the 
 other features of her face were faultless. I was rather 
 shocked b}^ her little straw hat, turned up behind like the 
 stern of a boat ; but from it issued a mass of such marvel- 
 lous black hair that I soon grew reconciled to its oddity. 
 I noticed from the first moment I saw her that, unlike 
 Brulette, she was neither smiling nor gracious. She did 
 not try to make herself prettier than she was, and her 
 whole aspect was of a more decided character, hotter in 
 will and colder in manner. 
 
The Bagpipers. 145 
 
 As I was sitting against a pile of cut wood, neither of 
 them saw me, and when they stopped close by where two 
 paths forked they were speaking to each other as though 
 they w^ere alone. 
 
 " I shall not go," said the beautiful Therence, in a firm 
 voice. ' ' I am going to the lodges to prepare their beds 
 and their supper. That is all that I choose to do at the 
 present time." 
 
 * ' Won't you speak to them ? Are you going to show 
 ill-temper?" said Huriel, as if surprised. 
 
 "I am not out of temper," answered the 3'oung girl. 
 "Besides, if I were, I am not forced to show it." 
 
 " You do show it though, if you won't go and welcome 
 that 3'ouug girl, who must be getting very tired of the 
 com pan}' of men, and who will be glad enough to see 
 another girl like herself." 
 
 " She can't be very tired of them," replied Therence, 
 " unless she has a bad heart. However, I am not bound 
 to amuse her. I will serve her and help her ; that is all 
 that I consider mj' dut}'." 
 
 " But she expects you ; what am I to tell her? " 
 
 "Tell her what you like; I am not obhged to render 
 account of myself to her." 
 
 So saying, the daughter of the Head-Woodsman turned 
 into a wood-path and Huriel stood still a moment, thinking, 
 like a man who is trving to guess a riddle. 
 
 Then he went on his wa}' ; but I remained just where I 
 was, rigid as a stone image. A sort of vision came over 
 me when I first beheld Therence; I said to m3'self: 
 "That face is known to me; who is it she is like?" 
 
 Then, slowl}', as I looked at her and heard her speak, 
 I knew she reminded me of the little girl in the cart 
 that was stuck in the mire, — the little girl who had set 
 
 10 
 
146 The Bagpipers. 
 
 me dreaming all one evening, and who ma}- have been the 
 reason why Brulette, thinking me too simple in my tastes, 
 had turned her love awa}' from me. At last, when she 
 passed close by me in going awa^^ I noticed the black 
 mole at the corner of her mouth, and I knew by that that 
 she was indeed the girl of the woods whom I had carried 
 in m}^ arms, and who had kissed me then as readily as she 
 now seemed unwilling even to receive me. 
 
 I stayed a long time thinking of man}- things in connec- 
 tion with this encounter ; but finally Pere Bastien's bag- 
 pipe, sounding a sort of fiinfare, warned me that the sun 
 was going down. I had no trouble in finding the path to 
 the lodges, as they call the huts of the woodsmen. That 
 belonging to Huriel was larger and better built than the rest ; 
 it consisted of two rooms, one of th^m being for Therence. 
 In front of it was a kind of shed roofed with green boughs, 
 which served as a shelter from wind and rain ; two boards 
 placed on trestles made a table, laid for the occasion. 
 
 Usually the Huriel famih' lived on bread and cheese, 
 with a little salt meat once a da}'. This was neither mi- 
 serliness nor poverty, but simplicity of life and customs ; 
 these children of the woods think our need of hot meals 
 and the way we have of keeping our women cooking from 
 morning till night both useless and exacting. 
 
 However, expecting the arrival of Joseph's mother or 
 that of Pere Brulet, Therence, wishing to give them what 
 they were accustomed to, had gone the night before to 
 Mesples for provisions. She now lighted a fire in the 
 glade and called her neighbors to assist her. These were 
 the wives of woodsmen, one old and one uglyc There 
 were no other women in the forest, as it is not the custom, 
 nor have these people the means, to take their families 
 into the woods. 
 
The Bagpipers. 147 
 
 The neighboring lodges, six in number, held about a 
 dozen men, who were beginning to assemble on a pile of 
 fagots to Slip in each other's compan}' on their frugal bit 
 of lard and rye bread ; but the Head- Woodsman, going up 
 to them before he went to his own lodge to put away his 
 tools and his leathern apron, said, in his kind and manly 
 way : " Brothers, I have a party of strangers with me to- 
 da}', whom I shall not condemn to follow our customs. 
 But it shall never be said that roast meat is eaten and the 
 wine of Sancerre served in the lodge of the Head-Woods- 
 man when his friends are not there to partake with him. 
 Come, therefore, that I may make you friendly with my 
 guests ; those of you who refuse will give me pain." 
 
 No one refused, and we were a company of over twen- 
 ty, — not all round the table, for these folk don't care for 
 comfort, but seated, some on stones, some on the grass, 
 one lying on his back among the shavings, another 
 perched on the twisted limb of a tree ; and all — saving 
 the matter of hoi}' baptism — more like a troop of wild 
 boars than a company of Christian people. 
 
 All this time the beautiful Therence seemed, as she 
 came and went about her duties, not a whit more inclined 
 to take notice of us until her father, who had called to her 
 in vain, caught her as she passed, and leading her up to 
 us against her will, presented her. 
 
 "Please excuse her, my friends," he said; "she is 
 a little savage, born and reared in the woods. She is 
 shy and bashful ; but she will get over it, and I ask 
 you, Brulette, "to help her do so, for she improves on 
 acquaintance." 
 
 Thereupon Brulette, who was neither sh}' nor ill-hum- 
 ored herself, opened both arms and flung them round 
 Therence's neck ; and the latter, not daring to forbid her, 
 
148 The Bagpipers, 
 
 yet unable to escape, stood stock-still and threw up her 
 head, lookhig out of her eyes, which had hitherto been 
 glued to the ground. In this attitude, so near each other, 
 eye to eye and almost cheek to cheek, the}- made me think 
 of a pair of 3'oung bulls, one of which butts his head in 
 play, while the other, distrustful and already conscious 
 of horns, awaits the moment when he can strike him 
 treacherous!}'. 
 
 But all of a sudden Therence seemed conquered by 
 Brulette's soft e3'es, and lowering her head she dropped it 
 on the other's shoulder to hide her tears. 
 
 *' Well, well ! " said Pere Bastien, teasing and caressing 
 his daughter, "this is what you call skittish! I never 
 should have thought a girl's shvness would bring her to 
 tears. Tr}- to understand these 3'oung things if 3'ou can ! 
 Come, Brulette, 3'ou seem the more reasonable of the two ; 
 take her awa}*, and don't let go of her till she has talked to 
 you. It is only the first word that costs." 
 
 "Very good," answered Brulette. "I will help her, 
 and the first order she gives me I will obey so well that 
 she will forgive me for having frightened her." 
 
 As the}' went off together, Pere Bastien said to mo : 
 "Just see what women are! The least coquettish of 
 them (and m}^ Therence is of that kind) cannot come face 
 to face with a rival in beauty without getting scarlet witli 
 anger or frozen with fear. The stars live contentedly side 
 b}' side in the sky, but when two daughters of Mother Eve 
 come together there is always one who is miserable at the 
 comparison that can be made between them." 
 
 " I think, father, that you are not doing justice to The- 
 rence in sa3ing that," observed Huriel. " She is neither 
 sh}' nor envious." Then lowering Iris voice, "I think I 
 know what grieves her, but it is best to paj- no attention." 
 
■The Bagpipers. 149 
 
 They brought in the broiled meat, with some fine 3-cllow 
 mushrooms, which I could not make up my mind to taste, 
 though I saw eyer3'bod3' else eat them fearlessly ; then 
 came eggs fricasseed with all sorts of strong herbs, buck- 
 wheat cakes, and the Chamberat cheeses w^hich are famous 
 everywhere. All the laborers junketed to their heart's 
 content, but in a ver}- different wa}' from ours. Instead 
 of taking their time and chewing each morsel, they swal- 
 lowed the food whole like famished creatures, a thing that 
 is not considered at all proper with us ; in fact, the}' could 
 not wait to be through eating before they began to sing 
 and dance in the very middle of the feast. 
 
 These men, whose blood is not as cool as ours, seemed to 
 me unable to keep still a moment. The}' would not wait 
 till the dishes were passed round, but carried up their 
 slices of bread to hold the stew, refusing plates, and then 
 returned to their perch in the trees or their bed in the 
 sawdust. Some ate standing, others talking and gesticu- 
 lating, each telling his own tale and singing his own song. 
 They were like bees buzzing about the hive ; it made me 
 giddy, and I felt I was not enjoying the feast at all. 
 
 Although the wine was good and tlie Head- Woodsman 
 did not spare it, no one took more than was good for hiui ; 
 for each man had his work to do and would not let him- 
 self be unfitted for the labor of the morrow. So the feast 
 was short, and, although at one time it seemed to me to 
 be getting rather boisterous, still it ended early and peace- 
 fulh'. The Head-Woodsman received many compliments 
 for his hospitalit}', and it was quite plain that he had a 
 natural control over the whole band, not so much hy any 
 method as b}' the influence of his kind heart and his wise 
 head. 
 
 We received many assurances of friendship and offers 
 
150 The Bagpipers, 
 
 of service ; and I must admit that the people were heartier 
 and readier to oblige than we are in our part of the coun- 
 tvy. I noticed that liuriel took them up, one after the 
 other, to Brulette, and presented each \)y name, telling 
 them to regard her as neither more nor less than his sister ; 
 whereupon she received so many salutations and civilities 
 that she had never, even in her own village, been so courted. 
 AVhen night came the Head- Woodsman offered to share 
 his cabin with me. Joseph's lodge was next to ours, but 
 it was smaller, and I sliould have been mucli cramped. 
 So I followed my host, — all the more willingly because 1 
 was charged to watch over Brulette's safet}' ; but I soon 
 saw that she ran no risk, for she shared the bed of the 
 beautiful Therence, and the muleteer, faithful to his usual 
 habits, had already stretched himself on the ground out- 
 side the door, so that neither wolf nor thief could get an 
 entrance. 
 
 Casting a glance into the little room where the two girls 
 were to sleep, I saw it contained a bed and a few ver}' de- 
 cent articles of furniture. Huriel, tlianks to his mules, 
 was able to transport his sister's household belongings 
 very easily and without expense. Those of his father 
 gave little trouble, for they consisted solel}' of a heap of 
 dry fern and a coverlet. Indeed, the Head-Woodsman 
 thought even that too much, and would have preferred 
 to sleep under the stars, like his son. 
 
 I was tired enough to do witliout a bed, and I slept 
 soundly till daylight. I thought Brulette did the same, 
 for I heard no sound behind the plank partition which 
 separated us. When I rose the Woodsman and his son 
 were alread}^ up and consulting together. 
 
 " We were speaking of you," said the father ; " and as 
 we must go to our work, I should like the matter I was 
 
The Bagpipers. 151 
 
 talking of to be settled now. I have explained to Bru- 
 lette that Joseph needs her company for some time yet, 
 and she has promised to stay a week at least ; but she 
 could not speak for you, and has asked us to beg 3'ou to 
 stay. We hope you will do so, assuring you that it will 
 give us pleasure ; 3'Ou will not be a burden on us ; and 
 we beg 3"ou to act with us as freel^^ as we would with you 
 if occasion demanded." 
 
 This was said with such an air of sincerit}^ and friend- 
 ship that I could not refuse ; and indeed, as it was impos- 
 sible to abandon Brulette to the company of strangers, I 
 was obliged to give in to her wishes and Joseph's interests, 
 though eight days seemed to me rather long. 
 
 "Thank you, my kind Tiennet," said Brulette, coming 
 out of Therence's room ; " and I thank these good people 
 who have given me such a kind reception ; but if I stay, 
 it must be on condition that no expense is incurred for 
 us, and that we shall be allowed to provide for ourselves 
 as we intended to do." 
 
 " It shall be just as 3'ou like," said Huriel ; "for if the 
 fear of being a burden on us drives 3'OU awa3', we would 
 rather renounce the pleasure of serving you. But re- 
 member one thing ; m3' father and I both earn mone3'', 
 and nothing gives either of us so much pleasure as to 
 oblige our friends and show them hospitalitv." 
 
 It seemed to me that Huriel was rather fond of jingling 
 his mone3\ as if to sa3', " I am a good match." However, 
 he immediatel3' acted like a man who sets himself aside, 
 for he told us that he was about to start on a journe3'. 
 
 When she heard that Brulette gave a little quiver, 
 whicli nobody noticed but me, for slie recovered instantly 
 and asked, apparently with indilTerence, where he was 
 going and for how long. 
 
152 The Bagpipers, 
 
 "I am going to work in the woods of La Roche," he 
 replied; "I shall be near enough to come back if 3'ou 
 send for me ; Tienuet knows the way. I am going now, 
 in the first instance, to the moor round La Croze to get 
 my mules and their trappings. 1 will stop as I come 
 back and bid you good-bj'e." 
 
 Thereupon he departed, and the Head- Woodsman, en- 
 joining on his daughter to take good care of us, went off 
 to his work in another direction. 
 
 So there we were, Brulette and I, in company of the 
 beautiful Therence, who, though she waited on us as 
 actively as if we were pa3ing her wages, did not seem 
 inclined to be friendly, and answered shortl}-, yes or no, 
 to all we said to her. This coolness soon anno3'ed Bru- 
 lette, who said to me, when we were alone for a moment, 
 ''I think, Tiennet, that this girl is displeased with us. 
 She took me into her bed last night as if she were forced 
 to receive a porcupine. She flung herself on the farther 
 edge with her nose to the wall, and except when she 
 asked if T wanted more bedclothes, she would not say a 
 word to me. I was so tired I would gladlv' have gone to 
 sleep at once ; indeed, seeing that she pretended to sleep, 
 to avoid speaking to me, I pretended too ; but I could 
 not close ni}' eyes for a long, long time, for I heard her 
 choking down her sobs. If you will consent, we will not 
 trouble her any longer ; we can find plenty of empt\^ huts 
 in the forest, and if not, I could arrange with an old 
 woman I saw here 3'esterday to send her husband to a 
 neighbor and take us in. If it is onh' a grass bed I shall 
 be content ; it costs too much to sleep on a mattress if 
 tears are to pay for it. As for our meals, I suppose that 
 you can go to Mesples and buy all we want, and I '11 take 
 charj^e of the cookini:;." 
 
The Bagpipers. 153 
 
 " That's all right, Brulette," I answered, " and I '11 do 
 as 3'ou sa^'. Look for a lodging for yourself, and don't 
 trouble about me. I am not sugar nor salt an}' more than 
 the muleteer who slept at 3'our door last night. 1 '11 do 
 for 3'ou as he did, without fearing that the dew will melt 
 me. However, listen to this : if we quit the Woodsman's 
 lodge and table in this way he will think we are angry, 
 and as he has treated us too well to have given any cause 
 for it himself, he will see at once that his daughter has 
 rebuffed us. Perhaps he will scold her ; and that might 
 not be just. You say the girl did all she could, and was 
 even submissive to 3'ou. Now, suppose she has some 
 hidden trouble, have we the right to complain of her 
 silence and her sobs ? Would it not be better to take no 
 notice, and to leave her free all day to go and meet her 
 lover, if she has one, and spend our own time with Jose, 
 for whose sake alone we came here ? Are not 3'Ou rather 
 afraid that if we look for a place to live apart in, people 
 ma3'^ fanc3' we have some evil motive ? '* 
 
 '' You are right, Tiennet," said Brulette. '' Well, I '11 
 have patience with that tall sulk3' girl, and let her come 
 and go as she likes." 
 
154 The Bagpipers, 
 
 FOURTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 The beautiful Therence had prepared everything for our 
 breakfast, and seeing that the sun was getting up she 
 asked Brulette if she had thought of waking Joseph. " It 
 is time," she said, " and he does not Uke it if I let him 
 sleep too late, because the next night it keeps him 
 wakeful." 
 
 " If you are accustomed to wake Mm, dear," answered 
 Brulette, '' please do so now. I don't know what his 
 habits are." 
 
 "No," said Therence, curtl}', "it is 3'our business to 
 take care of him now ; that is what you have come for. 
 I shall give up and take a rest, and leave you in charge." 
 
 " Poor Jose ! " Brulette could not help exclaiming. " I 
 see he has been a great care to you, and that he had bet- 
 ter go back with us to his own countr}^" 
 
 Therence turned her back without replying, and I said 
 to Brulette, "Let us both go and call him. I'll bet he 
 will be glad to hear your voice first." 
 
 Jose's lodge joined that of the Head- Woodsman. As 
 soon as he heard Brulette'r. voice he came running to tlie 
 door, crying out: "Ah! I feared I was dreaming, Bru- 
 lette; then it is reall}^ tr i>e that 3'ou are here?" 
 
 When he was seated beside us on the logs he told us 
 that for the first time in man}' montlis he had slept all 
 night in one gulp ; in fact, we could see it on his face, 
 which was ten sous better than it was the night before. 
 Therence brought him some chicken-broth in a porringer, 
 
The Bagpipers. 155 
 
 and he v/anted to give it to Brnlette, who refused to take 
 it, — all the more because the black eyes of the girl of the 
 woods bLiZv>d with anger at Jose's offer. 
 
 Brulette, \Yho was too shrewd to give any ground for 
 the girl's vexation, declined, sa3ing that she did not like 
 broth and it would be a great pity to waste it upon her, 
 adding, " I see, m}' lad, that you are cared for like a 
 bourgeois, and that these kind people spare nothing for 
 your comfort and recover}'." 
 
 "Yes," said Jose, taking Therence's hand and joining 
 it in his with that of Brulette, "I have been a great ex- 
 pense to my master (he always called the Woodsman b}' 
 that title, because he had taught him music). Brulette, I 
 must tell 3'ou that I have found another angel upon earth 
 beside j-ou. Just as 3'ou helped my mind and consoled 
 ni}' heart when I was half an idiot and well-nigh good for 
 nothing, so she has cared for my poor suffering body when 
 I fell ill wdth fever here. I can never thank her as I 
 ought for all she.) has done for me ; but I can sa}' one 
 thing, — there 's not a third like 3'ou two ; and in the da}' of 
 recompense the good God will .grant his choicest crowns 
 to Catherine Brulet, the rose of Berr}', and to Therence 
 Huriel, the sweet-briar of the woods." 
 
 It seemed as if Joseph's gentle words poured a balm into 
 the girl's blood, for Therence no longer refused to sit down 
 and eat with us ; and Joseph sa^ between the two beauties, 
 while I, profiting by the easy wa3's I had noticed the night 
 before, walked about as I ate, ar 1 sat sometimes near one 
 and sometimes near the other. 
 
 I did my best to please the woodland lass with m3' at- 
 tentions, and I made it a point of honor 'to show her that 
 we Berrichons were not bears. She answered m3'' civilities 
 ver}' gentl3', but I could not make her raise her eyes to 
 
156 Tlie Bagpqjcrs. 
 
 mine all the time we were talking. She seemed to me to 
 have an odd temper, quick to take offence and full of dis- 
 trust. And 3'et, when she was tranquil, there was some- 
 thing so good in her expression and in her voice that it 
 was impossible to take a bad idea of her. But neither in 
 her good moments nor at an}^ other time did I dare ask 
 her if she remembered that I had carried her in mj arms 
 and that she had rewarded me with a kiss. I was ver^' sure 
 it was she, for her father, to whom I had alread}^ spoken, 
 had not forgotten the circumstance, and declared he had 
 recalled my face without knowing where he had seen it. 
 
 During breakfast Brulette, as she told me afterwards, 
 began to have an inkling of a certain matter, and she at 
 once took it into her head to watch and keep quiet so as 
 to get at the bottom of it. 
 
 "Now," said she, "do 3'ou suppose I am going to sit 
 all day with my arms folded? Without being a hard 
 worker, I don't sa}^ m}^ beads from one meal to another, 
 and I beg of you, Therence, to give me some work by 
 which I can help 3'ou." 
 
 " I don't want any help, " replied Therence ; " and as 
 for you, you don't need any work to occupy you." 
 
 " Wh}^ not, my dear? " 
 
 "Because you have your friend, and as I should be in 
 the way when you talk with him I shall go away if you 
 wish to stay here, or I shall stay here if you wish to go 
 awa}'." 
 
 " That won't please either Jose or me," said Brulette, 
 rather maUciously. " I have no secrets to tell him ; all 
 that we had to say to each other we said yesterda3\ And 
 now the pleasure we take in each other's company will 
 only be increased if you are with us, and we beg you to 
 stay — unless you have some one you prefer to us." 
 
Tlie Bagpipers. 157 
 
 Therence seemed undecided, and the way she looked at 
 Joseph showed Brulette that her pride suffered from the 
 fear of being in the \f^y. Whereupon Brulette said to 
 Joseph, ''Help me to keep her! You want her, don't 
 3'ou? Didn't 3'ou say just now that we were your two 
 guardian angels? Don't you want us to work together 
 for your recovery- ?" 
 
 "You are right, Brulette," said Joseph. "Between 
 two such kind hearts I shall get well quickly ; and if you 
 both love me I think each will love me better, — just as 
 we do a task better with a good comrade who gives us his 
 streno-th and doubles ours." 
 
 "And 3'ou think it is I," said Therence, "whom ^-our 
 compatriot needs as a companion? Well, so be it! I'll 
 fetch my work and do it here." 
 
 She brought some linen cut out for a shirt, and began 
 to sew. Brulette wanted to help her, and when Therence 
 refused she said to Joseph, " Then bring me your clothes 
 to mend ; they must be in need of it by this time." 
 
 Therence let her look through Joseph's v/hole wardrobe 
 without saj'ing a word ; but there was neither a hole to 
 mend nor a button to sew on, so well had they been cared 
 for ; and Brulette talked of buying linen the next day at 
 Me§ples to make him some new shirts. Then it appeared 
 that those Therence was making were for Joseph, and tliat 
 she wanted to finish them, as she had begun them, all b}' 
 herself. Sus[ ici n\ grew stronger and stronger in Bru- 
 lette's mind, and she pretended to insist on sharing the 
 work ; even Joseph was obliged to put in a word, for he 
 thought that Brulette would feel dull if she had nothing to 
 do. On that, Therence flung down her work angrilj', saj^- 
 ing to Brulette : "Finish them 3'ourself! I won't touch 
 them again ! " and off she went to sulk in the house. 
 
158 Tlie Bagp'pers. 
 
 *' Jose," said Brulette, "that girl is neither capricious 
 nor craz}', as I first thouglit she was. She is in love with 
 
 you." 
 
 Joseph was so overcome that Brulette saw she had said 
 too much. She did not understand that a sick man, ill in 
 bod}' from the action of his mind, fears reflection. 
 
 " Why do 3'ou tell me so ! " he cried ; " what new mis- 
 fortune is to come upon me ? " 
 
 " Why is it a misfortune? " 
 
 " Do 3'OU ask me that, Brulette? Do you think I could 
 ever return her feelings?" 
 
 "Well," said Brulette, trying to pacify him, " she will 
 get over it." 
 
 " 1 don't know that people ever get over love," he re- 
 plied ; " but if, through ignorance and want of precaution 
 I have done any harm to the daughter of iw\ master, and 
 Iluriefs sister, the virgin of the woods, who has prayed to 
 God for me and watched over my life, I am so guilty that 
 I can never forgive m3'self." 
 
 "Did not 3'ou ever think that her friendship might 
 change to love?" 
 
 "No, Brulette, never." 
 
 " That 's curious, Jose." 
 
 "Why so? Have not I been accustomed from my 
 3'outh up to be pitied for m3' stupidity and helped in ni}- 
 weakness? Did the friendship 3'ou have shown me, Bru- 
 lette, ever make me vain enough to believe that you — " 
 Here Joseph became as red as fire, and did not say 
 another word. 
 
 "You are right," said Brulette, who was prudent and 
 judicious just as Therence was quick and sensitive. " We 
 can easil3'' make mistakes about the feelings which we give 
 and receive. I had a silly idea about the girl, but if you 
 
TJic Bagpipers. 159 
 
 don't share it there can be nothing in it. Therence is, no 
 doubt, just as I am, ignorant of what they call true love, 
 and waits the time when the good God will put it into her 
 head to live for the man he has chosen for her." 
 
 *'A11 the same," said Joseph, "I wish to leave this 
 part of the country and I ought to." 
 
 " We came to take 3'ou back," I said, " as soon as you 
 feel strong enough to go." 
 
 Contrar}' to my expectation, he rejected the idea vehe- 
 mentl}'. "No, no," he said, "I have but one power, 
 and that is my force of will to be a great musician ; I 
 want to have my mother with me, and live honored and 
 courted in m}- own country. If I quit these parts now I 
 shall go to the Upper Bourbonnais till I am admitted into 
 the fraternity of bagpipers." 
 
 We dared not tell him that we feared he would never 
 have sound lungs. 
 
 Brulette talked to him of other things, while I, much 
 occupied with the revelation she had made about Therence, 
 and indeed anxious about the girl, who had just left her 
 lodge and plunged into the woods, started in the same 
 direction, with no apparent object, but feeling curious and 
 very desirous of meeting her. It was not \Qvy long before 
 I heard the sound of choking sighs, which let me know 
 where she was hiding. No longer feeling shy of her when 
 I knew she was in trouble, I went forward and spoke to 
 her resolutel3\ 
 
 "Therence," I said, observing that she did not weep, 
 and only quivered and choked with repressed anger, 
 " I think m}^ cousin and I are the cause of your annoy- 
 ance. Our coming displeases you ; or rather, Brulette 
 does, for I myself can claim no attention. We were 
 speaking of 3'ou this morning, she and I, and I prevented 
 
160 Tlie Bagpipers. 
 
 lier from leaving your lodge, where she thought she was a 
 burden to 3'ou. Now please sa}^ frankh' if we are, and 
 we will go elsewhere ; for though 3'ou may have a low 
 opinion of us, we are none the less right-minded towards 
 you and fearful of causing you anno^'ance." 
 
 The proud girl seemed offended b}" my frankness ; 
 she got up from her seat, for I had placed m3'self near 
 her. 
 
 " Your cousin wants to go, does she?" she said, with a 
 threatening air; "she wants to shame me? No, she 
 shall not do it ! or else — " 
 
 "Or else what?" I asked, determined to make her 
 confess her feelings. 
 
 " Or else I will leave the woods, and nxy father and 
 famil}', and go and die in the desert." 
 
 She spoke feverishly, with so gloom}^ an ej'e and so 
 pale a face, that I was frightened. 
 
 "Therence," I said taking her very kindly by the hand 
 and making her sit down again, " either you were born 
 without a sense of justice or 3'Ou have some reason for 
 hating Brulette. If so, tell me what it is ; for it is pos- 
 sible I could clear her of the blame 3'ou put upon her." 
 
 " No, 3'Ou can't clear her, for I know her," cried 
 Therence, no longer controlling herself. " Don't think 
 that I know noticing about her ! I have thought enough 
 and questioned Joseph and my brother enough to be able 
 to judge her conduct and to know what an ungrateful 
 heart and deceitful nature hers is. She is a flirt, that's 
 what she is, 3^our compatriot ! and all honest girls ought 
 to hate her." 
 
 " That's a hard thing to say," I replied, without seem- 
 ing troubled. " What do you base it on ? " 
 
 "Doesn't she know," cried Therence, "that here are 
 
TJie Bag2n2:)ers. IGl 
 
 three young men in love with her? and she is tricking all 
 of them, — Joseph, who is dying of it ; my brother, who 
 is now avoiding her ; and 3'ou, who are trying to cure 
 yourself. Do j'ou mean to tell me that she does not 
 know all this ; or that she has the slightest preference for 
 any one of you ? No ; she has no preference for any 
 one; she pities Joseph, she esteems m^^ brother, and she 
 does not love you. Your pangs amuse her, and as she 
 has fifty other lovers in her own village, she pretends she 
 lives for all and not for one. Well, I don't care for you, 
 Tiennet, for I don't know j'ou ; but as for my brother, 
 who is so often obliged to be awaj- from us, and goes away 
 now to escape her when he might really stay at home ; 
 and as for poor Joseph, who is ill and partly crazy for 
 her — Ah! your Brulette is a guilty creature towards 
 both, and ought to blush for not being able to say a 
 tender word to either of them." 
 
 Just then Brulette, who overheard her, came forward. 
 Though quite unaccustomed to be spoken of in that w^ay, 
 she was doubtless well-pleased to know the motive of 
 Iluriel's absence, and she seated herself by Therence and 
 took her hand wath a serious air which was half pity and 
 half reproach. Therence was a little pacified, and said, 
 in a gentler tone : — 
 
 *' Excuse me, Brulette, if I have pained 3'Ou ; but, in- 
 deed, I shall not blame myself, if it brings 3'ou to better 
 feelings. Come, admit that 3'our conduct is treacherous 
 and your heart hard. I don't know if it is the custom in 
 3'our country to let men wish for j'Ou when 3'ou intend 
 onlv to refuse them ; but I, a poor girl of the woods, 
 think such lies criminal, and I cannot comprehend such 
 behavior. Open 3-onr e3'es, and see the harm 3'ou are 
 doing ! I don't sa}- that my brother will break down 
 
 II 
 
162 The Bagpipers. 
 
 under it, because he is too strong and too courageous a 
 man, and there are too many girls, worth more than you, 
 who love him, among whom he will make his choice 
 one of these da^ys ; but have pity upon poor Jose, Bru- 
 lette ! You don't know him, though you have been 
 brought up with him. You thought him half an imbecile ; 
 on the contrary he has a great genius, but his bod}^ is 
 feeble and cannot bear up under the grief you persist in 
 causing him. Give him your heart, for he deserves it ; 
 it is I who entreat you, and who will curse you. if you 
 kill him." 
 
 *' Do 3'ou really mean what you are sajing to me, my 
 poor Therence ? " answered Brulette, looking her straight 
 in the eye. "If 3'ou want to know what I think, it is 
 that you love Joseph, and that I cause 3'ou, in spite of 
 myself, a bitter jealousy, which leads you to impute this 
 wrong-doing to me. Well, look at the matter as it is ; I 
 don't want to make Jose love me ; I never thought of doing 
 so, and I am sorry he does. I even long to help you to 
 cure him of it ; and if I had known what you have now let 
 me see, I would never have come here, though 3'our 
 brother did tell me it was necessary that I should do so." 
 
 "Brulette," said Therence, "3'ou must think I have no 
 pride if 3'ou suppose that I lu\ e Joseph in the wa}^ you 
 mean, and that I condescend to be jealous of 3'our charms. 
 I have no nee 1 to be ashamed before an3^ one of the sort 
 of love I feel for him. If it were as 3'ou suppose, I should 
 at least have sufficient pride not to let 3'ou think I would 
 dispute him with 3'ou. But m3^ friendship for him is so 
 frank that I dare to protect him openly against 3'our 
 wiles. Love him truly, and, far from being jealous, I 
 will love and respect you ; I recognize 3'our rights, which 
 are older than mine, and I will help 3'ou to take him back 
 
The Bag2npers. 163 
 
 into 3'onr own conntiy, on condition that you will choose 
 him for yoxir sole lover and husband. Otherwise, you 
 ma}'' expect in me an enemy, who will hold you up to 
 condemnation openh'. It shall never be said that I loved 
 the poor lad and nursed him in illness only to see a village 
 flirt kill him before my very eyes." 
 
 " Very good," said Brulette, who had recovered all her 
 native pride, '' I see more plainl}' than ever that 3'ou are 
 in love with him and jealous ; and I feel all the more satis- 
 fied to go away and leave him to your care. That youv 
 attachment to him is honest and faithful I have no doubt ; 
 and I have no reasons, such as 3'ou have, to be angry 
 or unjust. Still I do wonder why you should want me 
 to remain and to be 3-our friend. Your sincerity gives 
 wa}" there, and I admit that I should like to know the 
 reason why." 
 
 '' The reason," replied Therence, " is one 3'ou give 3'our- 
 self, when you use shameful words to humiliate me. You 
 have just said that I am lovesick and jealous : that 's how 
 3'Ou explain the strength and the kindness of my feeling 
 for Joseph ! you will, no doubt, put it into his head, and 
 the young man, who owes me respect and gratitude, will 
 think he has the right to despise me, and ridicule me in 
 his heart." 
 
 " There 3'ou are right, Therence," said Brulette, whose 
 heart and mind were both too just not to respect the 
 pride of the woodland girl. "I ought to help you to 
 keep your secret, and I will. I don't say that I will 
 help you to the extent of my power over Joseph ; 3'our 
 pride would take offence if I did, and I fully under- 
 stand that you do not want to receive his regard as a 
 faA'or from me. But I beg you to be just, to reflect, 
 and even to give me some good advice, which I, who am 
 
ICi- The Bagpipers. 
 
 weaker and more humble than 3'ou, ask of 3'ou to guide 
 my conscience." 
 
 "Ask it; I will listen to .you," said Therence, pacified 
 b}' Brulette's good sense and submission. 
 
 "You must first know," said the latter, "that I have 
 never had an}' love for Joseph ; and if it will help 3'Ou, I 
 will tell you wh}'." 
 
 " Tell me ; I want to know ! " cried Therence. 
 
 "Well, the reason is," continued Brulette, "that he 
 does not love me as I should wish to be loved. I have 
 known Joseph from a babj^ ; he was never amiable to oth- 
 ers until he came to live here ; he was so wrapped up in 
 himself that I considered him selfish. I am now willing to 
 believe that if he was so it was not in a bad sense ; but 
 after the conversation which he and I had together 3'es- 
 terday I am still convinced that T have a rival in his heart 
 that would soon crush me if I were his. This mistress 
 whom he would surely prefer to his wife — don't deceive 
 yourself, Therence — is music." 
 
 " I have sometimes thought that A^ery thing," replied 
 Therence, after reflecting a moment, and showing b}' her 
 soothed manner that she would rather struggle with mu- 
 sic for Joseph's heart, than with the prett}' Brulette. "Jo- 
 seph," she added, " is often in a state in which I have 
 sometimes seen my father, — when the pleasure of making 
 music is so great that they are not conscious of anj'thing 
 about them ; but ni}- father is alwa3's so loving and lovable 
 that I am never jealous of his pleasure." 
 
 "Well, then, Therence," said Brulette, " let us hope he 
 will make Joseph like himself and worth}' of 3'ou." 
 
 "Of me? whj' of me more than of you? God is my 
 witness that I am not thinking of m^'self when I work 
 and pray for Joseph. M3' future troubles me ver}' little, 
 
Tlie Bagpipers. 165 
 
 Brulette ; I don't understand wh}' people should be think- 
 ing of themselves in the friendship the}' give to others." 
 
 '' Then," said Brulette, " 3'ou are a sort of saint, dear 
 Therence, and I feel I am not worthy of you ; for I do 
 think about myself, and a great deal, too, when 1 dream 
 of love and happiness. Perhaps 3'ou do not love Joseph 
 as I fancied you did ; but, however that ma}' be, I ask 
 3'ou to tell me how I had better behave to him. I am not 
 at all sure that if I take all hope away from him the blow 
 would kill him ; otherwise 3'ou would not see me so easy. 
 But he is ill, that 's ver}' true ; and I owe him great con- 
 sideration. Here is where m}' friendship for him has been 
 lo3'al and sincere ; and I have not been as coquettish as 
 3'ou think for. For if it is true that I have, as you sa}', 
 fift}" lovers in my own village, what advantage or amuse- 
 ment would it be to me to follow the humblest of them all 
 into these woods? I think, on the contrary, that I deserve 
 3'our good-will for having, as it seemed right to do so, sac- 
 rificed without regret my livel}^ friends to bring comfort to 
 a poor fellow who asked for m}'' remembrance." 
 
 Therence, understanding at last that she was wrong, 
 threw herself into Brulette's arms, without making an}" 
 excuses, but showing plainly by tears and kisses that she 
 w^as heartily sorry. 
 
 They were sitting thus together when Huriel, followed 
 by his mules, preceded by his dogs, and mounted on his 
 little horse, appeared at the end of the path where we 
 were. He came to bid us good-bye ; but nothing in his air 
 or manner showed the grief of a man who seeks by flight 
 to cure a hopeless love. He seemed, on the contrary, 
 cheerful and content ; and Brulette thought that Therence 
 had put him on the list of her admirers only to give one 
 reason more, good or bad, for her vexation. She even 
 
166 The Bagpipers. 
 
 tried to make him tell the real reason for his departure ; 
 and when he pretended that it was pressing business, 
 which Therence denied, urging him to stay, Brulette, rather 
 piqued at his coolness, reproached him with getting tired 
 of his Berrichon guests. He let himself be teased with- 
 out making any change in his plans ; and this finally 
 affronted Brulette, and led her to say, — 
 
 ''As I may never see you again, Maitre Huriel, don't 
 3'ou think yon had better return me the little token which 
 3'ou wear in your ear though it does not belong to you ? " 
 
 "Yes, but it does," he answered. "It belongs to me 
 as much as my ear belongs to my head, for my sister gave 
 it to me." 
 
 " Your sister could not have given you what is either 
 Joseph's or mine." 
 
 " M3' sister made her first communion just as 3'ou did, 
 Brulette ; and when I returned 3'our jewel to Jose she 
 gave me hers. Ask her if that is n't true." 
 
 Therence colored high, and Huriel laughed in his beard. 
 Brulette thought to herself that the most deceived of the 
 three was Joseph, who was probabl3^ wearing Therence's 
 silver heart round his neck as a souvenir, while the mule- 
 teer was wearing the one she had given him. She was re- 
 solved not to allow the fraud, so she said to Therence : 
 "Dearest, I think the token Jose wears will bring him 
 happiness, and therefore he ought to keep it ; but inas- 
 much as this one belongs to 3'ou, I ask you to get it back 
 from 3'our brother, so as to make me a present which will 
 be extremel3' precious to me as coming from 3'OU." 
 
 " I will give you an3'thing else you ask of me," replied 
 Therence, " and with all m3- heart too ; but this thing does 
 not belong to me. What is given is given, and I don't 
 think that Huriel would be willing to give it back." 
 
The Bagpipers 167 
 
 "I will do so," said Huriel, quickly, ''if Brulette re- 
 quires it. Do you demand it? " he added, turning to her. 
 
 " Yes," said Brulette, who could not back down, though 
 she regretted her whim when she saw the hurt look of the 
 muleteer. He at once opened his earring and took off the 
 token, which he gave to Brulette, sa3ing : "Be it as 3'ou 
 please. I should be consoled for the loss of my sister's 
 gift if I could think you would neither give it away nor 
 exchange it." 
 
 "The proof that I will do neither," said Brulette, fas- 
 tening it on Therence's necklace, " is that I give it to her 
 to keep. And as for 3'ou, whose ear is now released of 
 its weight, j-ou do not need any token to enable me to 
 recognize yow when you come again into our parts." 
 
 "That is very handsome of 3'ou to saj'," replied the 
 muletoei- ; " but as I only did my dut}' to Joseph, and as 
 you now know all that you need to know to make him 
 happy, I shall not meddle an}' further in his affairs. I 
 suppose you will take him home with you, and I shall have 
 no further occasion to visit 3^our countr}'. Adieu, there- 
 fore, m3' beautiful Brulette ; I foretell all the blessings you 
 deserve, and I leave 3"ou now with m3' family, who will 
 serve you while here and conduct 3'ou home whenever 3'ou 
 may wish to go." 
 
 So saying, off he went, singing : — 
 
 " One mule, two mules, three mules, 
 On the mountain, don't you see them ? 
 Hey, the devil 1 'tis the band." 
 
 But his A'-oice did not sound as steady as he tried to 
 make it ; and Brulette, not feeling happ3' and wishing to 
 escape the searching e3'es of Therence, returned with us 
 both to find Joseph. 
 
168 The Bagpipers. 
 
 FIFTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 I SHALL not give joxx the history of all the daj's that we 
 passed in the forest. The}' differed little from one 
 another. Joseph grew better and better, and Therence 
 decided that it was wiser not to destroy' his hopes, sharing 
 in Brulette's resolution to prevent him from explaining 
 his feelings. This was not diflficolt to manage, for Joseph 
 had vowed to himself that be would not declare his senti- 
 ments till the moment came when he felt worth}' of her 
 notice. Brulette must have made herself very seductive 
 indeed to have dragged a word of love out of him. 
 To make doubly sure, she managed to avoid ever being 
 alone with him ; and she kept Therence so cleverly at 
 her side that the woodland nymph began to understand 
 that she was really not deceiving her and sincerely wished 
 that she should manage the health and the mind of the 
 patient in all things. 
 
 These three young people did not weary of each other's 
 company. Therence sewed for Joseph, and Brulette, 
 having made me buy her a white handkerchief, set about 
 scalloping and embroidering it for Therence, for she was 
 very clever at such work, and it was really marvellous 
 that a country-girl could do such exquisitely fine stitches. 
 She even declared before Joseph and me that she was 
 tired of sewing and taking care of linen, so as to show 
 that she did not work for him, and to force him to thank 
 Therence, who was doing it so assiduously. But just see 
 how ungrateful men can be when their minds are all upset 
 
The Bagpipers. 169 
 
 by a woman ! Joseph liardly lookeil at Therence's fingers, 
 employed as they were in his service ; his e^'es were fixed 
 on Brnlette's pretty hands, and 3'ou would really have 
 thoug;ht that everv time she drew her needle he counted 
 each stitch as a moment of happiness. 
 
 I wondered how love could fill his mind and occupy?- his 
 whole time, without his ever dreaming of making any use 
 of his hands. As for me, I tried peeling osier and making 
 baskets, or plaiting r3'e-straw for hats and bonnets, but 
 for all that, at the end of forty-eight hours I was so eaten 
 up with ennui that I was fairly ill. Sunday is a fine tlnng, 
 for it brings a rest after six da3's' toil, but seven Sunda3's 
 in a week is too much for a man who is accustomed to 
 make use of his limbs. I might not have realized this if 
 either of the girls had bestowed any notice on me ; indeed, 
 the beautiful Therence, with her great e3'es somewhat 
 sunken in her head and the black mole at the corner of 
 her mouth, could easil3' have turned m3' head if she had 
 wanted to ; but she was in no humor to think of anything 
 but her one idea. She talked little and laughed less, and 
 if I tried the slightest joking she looked at me with 
 such an astonished air that I lost all courage to make 
 an explanation. 
 
 So, after spending three or four days in fluttering with 
 this tranquil trio round the lodges and sitting with them 
 in various places in the woods, and having convinced 
 m3'self that Brulette was quite as safe in this countr3" as 
 in our own, I looked about me for something to do, and 
 finallv asked the Head- Woodsman to allow me to help 
 him. He received my request very kindl3', and I began 
 to get much amusement out of his compan3', when, un- 
 fortunatel3^, I told him I did not want to be paid, and was 
 chopping wood only to get rid of the time ; on which his 
 
170 The Bagpipers, 
 
 kind heart no longer compelled him to excuse my blun- 
 ders, and he began to let me see that there never was a 
 more exacting man than he in the matter of work. As 
 his trade was not mine and I did not even know how to 
 use his tools, I provoked him by m3' awkwardness, and 
 I soon saw that he could scarcely restrain himself from 
 calling me a blockhead and imbecile ; for his eyes actually 
 started from his head and the sweat rolled down his face. 
 
 Not wishing to quarrel with a man wdio was so kind 
 and agreeable in other ways, I found employment with 
 the saw^'ers, and they were satisfied with me. But dear 
 me ! I soon learned what a dull thing work is when it 
 is nothing but an exercise for the bod}', and is not joined 
 to the idea of profit for one's self or others. 
 
 Brulette said to me on the fourth da}', " Tiennet, I see 
 you are very dull, and I don't den}- that I am, too ; but 
 to-morrow is Sunda}', and we must invent some kind of 
 amusement. I know that the foresters meet in a prett}' 
 place, where the Head- Woodsman plays for them to dance. 
 Well, let us bu}' some wine and provisions and give them 
 a better Sunda}' than usual, and so do honor to our own 
 country among tliese strangers." 
 
 I did as Brulette told me, and the next day we assem- 
 bled on a pretty bit of grass with all the forest workmen 
 and several girls and women of the neighborhood, whom 
 Therence invited for a dance. The Head-Woodsman 
 piped for us. His daughter, superb in her Bourbonnais 
 costume, was much complimented, which made no change 
 in her dignified manner. Jose, quite intoxicated by the 
 charms of Brulette, who had not forgotten to bring a little 
 finery from home, and who bewitched all ej'cs with her 
 pretty face and her dainty wa3^s, sat looking on at the 
 dancing. I busied myself in regaling the company with 
 
The Bagpipers. 171 
 
 refreshments, and as I wished to do things in good st3'le, I 
 had not spared the money. The feast cost me three good 
 silver crowns out of my own pocket, but I never regretted 
 it, for the company were pleased with m}' hospitality. 
 Everything went vrell, and tliey all said that within the 
 memory of man the woodland folk had never been so well 
 entertained. There was even a mendicant friar, who hap- 
 pened to come along, and who, under pretext of begging 
 for his convent, stuffed his stomach as full and drank as 
 much as any woodchopper of them all. This amused me 
 mightily, though it was at m}^ expense, for it was the first 
 time I had seen a Carmelite drink, and I had always heard 
 tell that in the matter of crooking their elbows they were 
 the best men in Christendom. 
 
 I was just re-fiUing his glass, astonished that I did n't 
 intoxicate him, when the dancers fell into confusion and 
 a great uproar arose. I went out of the little arbor which 
 I had made, and where I received the thirsty crowd, to 
 know what had happened ; and there I saw a troop of 
 three or perhaps four hundred mules following a clairiti 
 which had taken it into its head to go through the as- 
 sembly', and was being pushed, and kicked, and fright- 
 ened, till it darted right and left among the people ; while 
 the mules, who are obstinate beasts, very strong-boned 
 and accustomed to follow the clairin, pressed on through 
 the dancers, caring little for blows and kicks, jostling 
 those in their wa}', and behaving as if they were in a field 
 of thistles. The animals did not go so fast, laden as they 
 were, but what the people had time to get out of their 
 wa}'. No one was hurt, but some of the lads, excited by 
 dancing and provoked at being interrupted, stamped and 
 shouted so vociferously that the scene was most amusing 
 to behold, and the Head-Woodsman stopped piping to 
 hold his sides with laughter. 
 
172 The Bagpipers. 
 
 Presentl}', knowing the musical call which collects the 
 mules, and which I knew too, having heard it in the forest 
 of Saint-Chartier, Pere Bastien sounded it in the usual 
 manner ; and when the clairin and his followers trotted 
 up and surrounded the cask on which he was seated, he 
 laughed more than ever to see a tronp of black beasts 
 dancing round him instead of the late gala company. 
 
 Brulette, however, who escaped from the confusion and 
 took refuge with Joseph and me, seemed terrified, and 
 did not take it as a joke. 
 
 " What is the matter? " I said to her. " Perhaps it is 
 friend Huriel who has come back for a dance with 3'ou." 
 
 " No, no ! " she answered. ''Therence, who knows her 
 brother's mules, sa^'s there is not one of his in the troop ; 
 besides, that 's not his horse nor his dog. I am afraid of 
 all muleteers except Huriel, and I wish we could get away 
 from here." 
 
 As she spoke, we saw some twent}' muleteers coming out 
 of the surrounding forest. The}^ pi-esentl}' called off their 
 beasts and stood round to see the dancing. I reassured 
 Brulette ; for in full day and in sight of so man}' people I 
 knew there was nothing to fear. Onl}' I told her not to go 
 away far from me, and then I returned to the arbor, where 
 I saw the muleteers were about to help themselves without 
 cere m on}'. 
 
 As they shouted out, "To drink ! something to drink ! '* 
 like folks in a tavern, I told them civilly that I did not 
 sell my wine, but that if they asked for it politely 1 should 
 be happy to give them the loving cup. 
 
 " Then it is a wedding? " said the tallest of them, whom 
 I recognized by liis fair skin as the leader of those we had 
 met so unluckily in the woods of La Poche. 
 
 "Wedding or not," I replied, "it is I who give the 
 feast, and with all my heart to those I please \ but — " 
 
Tlie Bagpipers, 173 
 
 He did not leave me time to finish before he answered, 
 ''We have no rights here, — you are the master; thank 
 3'ou for 3'our good intentions, but 3'ou don't know us, and 
 3'ou had better keep 3'Our wine for 3'our friends." 
 
 He said a few words to the others in their own dialect 
 and led them to a place apart, where they sat down and 
 ate their own suppers ver3^ quietl3'. The Head- Woodsman 
 went to speak with them, and showed much regard for 
 their leader, named Archignat, who was considered an 
 upright man, — as far as a muleteer can be one. 
 
 Among those present were several who could pla3^ the 
 bagpipe, — not like Pere Bastien, who had n't his equal 
 in the world, and could make the stones dance and the old 
 oaks curtse3^ if he liked, — but much better than Carnat 
 and his son. So the bagpipe changed hands until it reached 
 those of the muleteer chief Archignat ; while the Head- 
 Woodsman, whose heart and bod3' were still 3'oung, went 
 to dance with his daughter, of whom he was just as proud 
 — and with as good riglit, too — as Pere Brulet was of 
 his. 
 
 But just as he was calling Brulette to come and be his 
 vis-a-vis, a rascall3' fellow, coming from I don't know 
 where, endeavored to take her hand. Though it was get- 
 ting dusk, Brulette recognized him as the man who had 
 threatened us in the woods of La Roche, and had even 
 talked of killing her protectors and bur3'ing them under 
 a tree that could tell no tales. Fear and horror made 
 her refuse him quick]3' and press back against me, who, 
 having exhausted all m3' provisions, was just going to 
 dance with her. 
 
 " The girl promised me this dance," I said to the 
 muleteer, seeing he was determined to get her; "find 
 some one else." 
 
174 The Bagpipers. 
 
 " Very good," he said; "but after this set with you, 
 my turn will come." 
 
 "No," said Brulette, hastily, "I would rather never 
 dance again." 
 
 "That's what we shall see!" he exclaimed, following 
 us to the dance, where he remained standing behind us, 
 and criticising us, I think, in his own language. Every 
 time Brulette passed him he gave vent to language which, 
 from the expression of his bad eyes, I judged to be 
 insolent. 
 
 " Wait till I have finished dancing," I said, punching 
 him as I passed ; " I '11 settle your bill for you in language 
 your back shall understand." 
 
 But when the dance was over I could not find him any- 
 where, he had hidden himself so carefully. Brulette, see- 
 ing what a coward he was, got over her fright and danced 
 with the others, who paid her ver}' pretty respect ; but just 
 as I ceased for a moment to watch her, the scoundrel came 
 back and took her from the midst of a number of young 
 girls, forcing her into the middle of the dance, and taking 
 advantage of the darkness which hid her resistance, tried 
 to embrace her. At that moment I ran up, not seeing 
 clearly, but thinking I heard Brulette call me. I had no 
 time to do justice on the man myself, for before his black- 
 ened face had touched hers the fellow received such a 
 blow on the nape of his neck that his e3'es must have 
 bulged like those of a rat pinned in a trap. 
 
 Brulette, thinking the help came from me, threw herself 
 into her defender's arms, and was much amazed to find 
 herself in those of Huriel. 
 
 I tried to take advantage of the fact that our friend had 
 his arms full, to seize the scoundrel m3'self ; and I would 
 have paid him all I owed him if the company had not 
 
The Bagpipers. 175 
 
 interfered between us. As the man now assailed us with 
 words, calling us cowards because we had attaclied him 
 two to one, the music stopped ; the crowd gathered about 
 the scene of the quarrel, and the Head-Woodsman came 
 up with Archiguat, — one forbidding the muleteers, and 
 the other the woodcutters and sawyers, from taking part 
 in the affair until the meaning of it were known. 
 
 Malzac — that was our enemj's name (and he had a 
 tongue as venomous as an adder's) — made his statement 
 first, declaring that he had civillj' invited the Berrichon 
 girl to dance ; that in kissing her he had only used his 
 right and followed the custom of the dance, and that two of 
 the girl's lovers, to wit, Huriel and I, had unfairly attacked 
 him together and foully struck him. 
 
 '' That is false," I replied. "• It is a lasting regret to me 
 tliat I did not belabor the man who has just addressed 
 you ; but the truth is I arrived too late to touch him in any 
 way, fair or foul ; for the people round withheld my arm 
 as 1 was going to strike. I tell you the thing as it hap- 
 pened ; but give me a chance, and I will make true, what 
 he has said ! " 
 
 " As for me," said Huriel, " I took him b}^ the neck as 
 you would a hare, but without striking him, and it is not 
 m}' fault if his clothes did n't protect his skin. But I owe 
 him a better lesson, and I came here to-night to find an 
 opportunity to give it. Therefore, I demand of Maitre 
 Archignat, my chief, and of Maitre Bastien, m^' father, to 
 be heard at once, or directly after this fete is over, and to 
 receive justice if my claim is recognized as good." 
 
 On this the mendicant friar came forward and began to 
 preach peace ; but he had too much of the good Bourbon 
 wine in his head to manage his tongue, and he couldn't 
 make himself heard in the uproar. 
 
176 The Bagpipers, 
 
 " Silence ! " cried the Head-Woodsman, in a voice that 
 would have drowned the thunder of heaven. " Stand 
 back all of 3'ou, and let us manage our own affairs ; 3'ou 
 can listen if yo\x like, but you have no voice in this chap- 
 ter. Stand here, muleteers, for Malzac and Huriel. And 
 here stand I, and the men of the forest, as sponsors and 
 judges for this youth of Berr3\ Speak, Tiennet, and bring 
 3'our charge. What have 3'Ou against this muleteer? If 
 it be true that he kissed 3'Our compatriot in the dance I 
 know that such is the custom in 3'our part of the countr3' 
 as well as in our own. That is not reason enough even to 
 think of strikinoj a man. Tell us the cause of vour anger 
 
 O I/O 
 
 against him ; that is where we must begin." 
 
 I did not need urging, and although such an assemblage 
 of muleteers and foresters caused me some embarrassment, 
 I managed to oil my tongue sufficientl3" to tell, in a proper 
 manner, the stor3' of what happened in the woods of La 
 Roche ; and I claimed the testimon3' of chief Archignat 
 himself, to whom I did justice, even more perhaps than he 
 deserved ; but I saw ver3' well that I must not throw an3^ 
 blame on him if I wished to have him favorable to me ; 
 and in this wa3^ I proved to him that Berrichons are not 
 greater fools than other people, nor an3' easier to put in 
 the wrong. 
 
 The compan3% who had alreadv formed a good opinion 
 of Brulette and me, blamed Malzac's conduct ; but the 
 Head- Woodsman again commanded silence, and address- 
 ing Maitre Archignat, demanded to know if there were 
 an3'thing false in m3' statement. 
 
 The tall red-haired chief was a shrewd and prudent man. 
 His face was as white as a sheet, and no matter what an- 
 no3'ance he felt, he never seemed to have a drop more or a 
 drop less of blood in his bod3\ His parti-colored eyes 
 
The Bagjnpers, 177 
 
 were soft and not deceitful in expression ; but his mouth, 
 partl}^ hidden b}' his red beard, smiled every now and then 
 with a silly air which concealed a fund of intelligent malev- 
 olence. He did not hke Huriel, though he behaved as if 
 he did, and he was generally considered an honest man. 
 In reality, he was the greatest pillager of them all, and his 
 conscience set the interests of his fraternit}' above ever}' 
 other consideration. The}' had chosen him chief on ac- 
 count of his cool-bloodedness, which enabled him to act 
 b}' stratagem and thus save the band from quarrels and 
 legal proceedings, in which indeed he was considered as 
 clever as a law3'er's clerk. 
 
 He made no answer to the Head-Woodsman's question, — 
 whether from caution or stupidity it was impossible to say ; 
 for the more his attention was roused, the more he looked 
 like a man who was half-asleep and did not hear what 
 was said to him. He merel}' made a sign to Huriel as if 
 to ask if the testimony he was going to give would agree 
 with his own. But Huriel who, without being si}', was as 
 cautious as he, answered: " Master, you are appealed to 
 as witness by this young man. If it please you to corrobo- 
 rate him, I am not needed to corroborate you ; and if you 
 think fit to blame him, the customs of our fraternity forbid 
 me to contradict you. No one here has anything to do 
 with our affairs. If Malzac has been to blame I know 
 beforehand that you will blame him. My affair is a to- 
 tally different matter. In the dispute we had together 
 before you in the woods of La Roche, the cause of which 
 I am not obliged to reveal, Malzac told me three times 
 that I lied, and he threatened me personally. I don't 
 know if you heard him, but I declare it on my oath ; and 
 as I was then insulted and dishonored I now claim the 
 right of battle according to the rules of our order." 
 
 12 
 
178 The Bagpipers. 
 
 Arcliignat consulterl the other muleteers in a low voice, 
 and it appeared that they all sustained Huriel, for they 
 formed a ring, and the chief uttered one word onl}', 
 *' Go ! " on which Malzac and Huriel advanced and faced 
 each other. 
 
 I tried to put myself forward, declaring it was for me to 
 revenge m}' cousin, and that my complaint was of more 
 importance than that of Huriel ; but Archignat shoved me 
 aside, saying: "If Huriel is beaten, 3'ou can come for- 
 ward ; but if Malzac goes down you must be satisfied with 
 what 3'OU have seen done." 
 
 " The women will retire ! " cried the Head-Woodsman, 
 " they are oat of place here." 
 
 He was pale as he said it, but he did not flinch from the 
 danger his son was about to meet. 
 
 " The}' can retire if the}' choose," said Therence, w4io 
 was pale, too, but quite as firm as he. '^ I must remain 
 for ni}' brother ; he may need me to stanch his blood." 
 
 Brulette, more dead than alive, implored Huriel and me 
 not to go on with the quarrel ; but it was too late to listen 
 to her. I gave her to Joseph's care, and he took her to 
 a distance, while I laid aside my jacket to be ready to 
 revenge Huriel if he fell. 
 
 I had no idea what sort of fight it would be, and I 
 watched it carefull}', so as not to be taken unawares when 
 my turn should come. The}' had lighted two pine torches 
 and had measured, by pacing, the space to which the com- 
 batants should be confined. Each was furnished with a 
 holly stick, short and knotted, and the Plead- Woodsman 
 assisted Archignat in making these preparations with a 
 calmness which was not in his heart and which it grieved 
 me to see. 
 
 Malzac, who was short and thin, was not as strong as 
 
The Bagpipers, 179 
 
 Huriel, but he was quicker in his movements and knew bet- 
 ter how to fight ; for Huriel, tliough skilful with the stick, 
 was so kindh' in temper that he had seldom had occasion to 
 use it. All this passed through my mind during the few 
 moments in which they were feeling each other's strength ; 
 and I confess my heart thumped within me, as much from 
 fear for Huriel as from anger against his enem}^ 
 
 For two or three minutes, which seemed to me hours b}^ 
 the clock, not a blow reached its aim, each being well 
 parried on either side ; presently, however, we began to 
 hear that the sticks no longer struck wood, and the muf- 
 fled sound the}' made falling on flesh gave me a cold sweat. 
 In our part of the countr}' we never fight under rules ex- 
 cept with fists, and I own that m}' feelings were not har- 
 dened enough to stand the idea of split heads and broken 
 jaws. I felt disgust, anger, and pity for the whole thing, 
 and yet I watched with open mouth and eyes to lose noth- 
 ing of it ; for the wind blew the flame of the torches, and 
 sometimes nothing more than a hazy light surrounded the 
 combatants. Suddenl}', however, one of the two gave a 
 moan like that of a tree cut in two by a blast of wind, and 
 rolled in the dust. 
 
 Which was it? I could not see, for the dazzles were in 
 my eyes, but I heard Therence exclaim, — 
 
 '' Thank God, my brother has won ! " 
 
 I began to see again. Huriel was standing erect, wait- 
 ing, like a fair fighter, to see if his adversary rose, but not 
 approaching him, for fear of some treachery, of which he 
 knew the man capable. 
 
 But Malzac did not rise, and Archignat, forbidding the 
 others to move, called him three times. No answer being 
 given he advanced towards him, saying, — 
 
 " Malzac, it is I, don't touch me." 
 
180 The Bagpi^jers. 
 
 Malzac appeared to have no desire to do so, — he la^- as 
 still as a stone ; and the chief stooping over him, touched 
 him, looked at him, and then called two of the muleteers 
 by name and said to them : — 
 
 '^ The game is up with him ; do what there is to do." 
 
 Thej' immediately^ took him by the feet and head and 
 disappeared at full speed in the forest, followed by the 
 other muleteers, who prevented all who did not belong to 
 their fraternit}' from making an}' inquirv as to the result 
 of the affair. Maitre Archignat was the last to go, after 
 saying a word to the Head- Woodsman, who replied, — 
 
 " That's enough ; adieu." 
 
 Therence had fastened on her brother, and was wiping 
 the perspiration from his face with a handkerchief, asking 
 him if he was wounded, and trj'ing to detain him and ex- 
 amine him. But he, too, whispered in her ear, and she at 
 once replied, — 
 
 " Yes, 3'es — adieu ! '* 
 
 Huriel then took Archignat's arm, and the pair disap- 
 peared in the darkness ; for, as they went, they knocked 
 over the torches, and I felt for a moment as if I were in 
 the act of waking out of an ugly dream, full of lights and 
 noises, into the silence and thick darkness of the night. 
 
Tlie Bagfifers, 181 
 
 SIXTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 However, I began to see clearl}', little b}' little, and my 
 feet, whose soles had seemed pegged to the ground, fol- 
 lowed the Head-Woodsman in the direction of the lodges. 
 I was much surprised to find that there was no one there 
 but his daughter, Brulette, Joseph, and three or four old 
 men who had been at the fight. All the others, it ap- 
 peared, had run away when they saw the sticks produced, 
 to avoid giving witness in a court of justice if the matter 
 ended fatall3\ These woodland people never betray each 
 other, and to escape being summoned and harassed by 
 the law, the}^ manage so as to see nothing and have noth- 
 ing to say. The Head-Woodsman spoke to the old men 
 in their own language, and I saw them go back to the 
 place where the fight occurred, without understanding what 
 the}' intended to do there. Meantime I followed Joseph 
 and the women, and we reached the lodges without saying 
 a word to each other. 
 
 As for me, I had been so shaken in mind that I did not 
 want to talk. When we entered the lodge and sat down 
 we were all as white as if we were afraid. The Head- 
 Woodsman, who soon joined us, sat down too, evidently in 
 deep thought, with his eyes fixed to the earth. Brulette, 
 who had compelled herself not to ask questions, was cr}'- 
 ing in a corner; Joseph, as if worn out with fatigue, had 
 thrown himself at full length on a pile of dried ferns ; 
 Therence alone came and went, and prepared the beds 
 for the night ; but her teeth were set, and when she tried 
 to speak she stammered. 
 
182 The Bagpipers. 
 
 After a while the Head -Woodsman rose and looking, 
 round upon us said: "Well, m}' children, after all, what 
 is it? A lesson has been given, and justty given, to a 
 bad man, known everywhere for his evil conduct, — a 
 man who abandoned his wife and let her die of grief and 
 poverty. Malzac has long disgraced the fraternity of 
 muleteers, and if he were to die no one would regret him. 
 Must we make ourselves unhappy because Huriel gave 
 him a few hard blows in honest battle? Wh}' do yon cr}', 
 Brulette? Have you such a soft heart that 3'ou are 
 shedding tears for the beaten man? Do you not think that 
 my son was right to defend your honor and his own? 
 He had told me all that happened in the woods of La 
 Roche, and I knew that out of prudent regard for 3'our 
 safety he refrained from punishing that man at the time. 
 He even hoped that Tien net would have said nothing 
 about it to-night, so that the cause might never be known. 
 But I, who never approve of concealing the truth, allowed 
 Tiennet to say what he liked. I am well -pleased that he 
 was prevented from entering a fight which is most dan- 
 gerous for those who do not understand the passes. I 
 am also well-pleased that victory was with my son ; for 
 as between an honest man and a bad man, my heart 
 would have gone with the honest man even if he were 
 not blood of m}^ blood and flesh of my flesh. And so 
 let us thank God, who judged the right, and ask him to 
 be ever with us, in this and in all things." 
 
 The Head-Woodsman knelt down and off'ered the even- 
 ing prayer ; which comforted and tranquillized every one 
 of us. Then we separated in hearty friendship to seek 
 some rest. 
 
 It was not long before I heard the Head- Woodsman, 
 whose httle chamber I shared, snoring loudly, in spite of the 
 
The Bagpipers. 183 
 
 anxiet}' he had undergone. But in his daughter's room 
 Brulette was still crying, unable to recover herself, and 
 evidently ill. I heard her talking to Therence, and so, 
 not from curiosit}^ but out of pit}' for her trouble, I put 
 my ear to the partition to hear what I could. 
 
 " Come, come," Therence was saying, in decided tones, 
 *' stop cr3'ing and 3'ou will go to sleep. Tears won't do 
 an}' good, and, as I told you, I must go ; if 3'Ou wake 
 my father, who does not >know he is wounded, he will 
 want to go too, and that may compromise him in this 
 bad business ; whereas for me, I risk nothing." 
 
 "You terrify me, Therence; how can you go alone 
 among those muleteers? They frighten me badl}' enough, 
 but you must let me go with you ; I ought to, for I was 
 the cause of the fight. Let us call Tiennet — " 
 
 "No, no! neither you nor him! The muleteers won't 
 regret Malzac if he should die, — quite the reverse ; but 
 if he had been injured by an}' one not belonging to their 
 own body, especially a stranger, your friend Tiennet 
 would be in the greatest danger. Let him sleep ; it is 
 enough that he tried to meddle in the affair to make it 
 important that he should keep quiet now. As for you, 
 Brulette, you would be very ill-received ; you have not, 
 as I have, a family interest to take you there. No one 
 among them would attempt to injure me ; they all know 
 me, and they are not afraid to let me into their secrets." 
 
 " But do you think you will still find them in the forest? 
 Did not your father say they were going to the uplands, 
 and would not spend the night in this neighborhood ? " 
 
 "They must wait long enough to dress the wounds. 
 1)11 1 if I do not find them I shall be all the more easy ; 
 for it will prove that my brother is not seriously hurt, and 
 that he could start with them at once." 
 
184 The Bagpiijers. 
 
 "Did you see his wound? tell me, dear Therence, 
 don't hide an3'thing from me." 
 
 " I did not see it, — no one saw it ; he said he was not 
 hurt, and did not even think of himself. But see, Brulette, 
 — only don't cr}' out, — here is the handkerchief witli 
 which, as I thought, I wiped the perspiration from his face. 
 When I got back here I found it was saturated with 
 blood ; and I had to gather all m}' courage to hide my 
 feelings from my father, who is ver}^ anxious, and from 
 Joseph, who is reall}^ ill." 
 
 Then came silence, as if Brulette, taking or gazing at 
 the handkerchief, was choking. Presentl}^ Therence said : 
 "Give it back to me; I must wash it in the first brook 
 I come to." 
 
 "Ah, no!" said Brulette, "let me keep it; I'll hide 
 it safely." 
 
 " No, my dear," replied Therence ; "if the authorities 
 get wind of the battle the}' will come and rummage ever}" 
 place here, — they will even search our persons. They 
 have grown very annoying of late ; they want us to give 
 up our old customs, which are dying out of themselves, 
 without their meddling in the matter." 
 
 " Alas ! " said Brulette, " is n't it to be wished that the 
 custom of these dangerous fights should be given up? " 
 
 " Yes, but that depends on many things which the 
 officers of the law cannot or will not do. For instance, 
 they ought to do justice, and that they never do except 
 to those who have the means to pay for it. Is it diflE'erent 
 in your parts? You don't know? well, I will bet it is the 
 same thing there. Only, the Bcrrichon blood is sluggish, 
 and your people are patient under the wrongs done them, 
 and so they don't expose themselves to worse. Here it 
 is not so. A man who lives in the forest could not live at 
 
The Bagpij^ej's. 185 
 
 all if he did not defend himself against bad men as he 
 "would against wolves and other dangerous beasts. Surely 
 3'ou don't blame my brother for having demanded justice 
 of his own people for an insult and a threat he was made 
 to endure before 3'ou ? Perhaps you are slightly to blame 
 in the matter ; think of that, Brulette, before you blame 
 him. If 3'ou had not shown such anger and fear at the 
 insults of that muleteer he might have overlooked those 
 to himself, for there never was a gentler man than Huriel 
 or one more ready to forgive ; but you held 3'ourself 
 insulted, Huriel promised you reparation, and he kept his 
 word. I am not reproaching 3'ou, nor him either ; I 
 might have been just as sensitive as you, and as for him, 
 he only did his duty." 
 
 "No, no!" said Brulette, beginning to cr}^ again; 
 " He ought not to have exposed himself for me, and I 
 was ver}^ wrong to show such pride. I shall never for- 
 give m3'self if any harm, no matter what, comes to him ; 
 and 3'ou and 3'our father, who have been so good to me, 
 can never forgive me either." 
 
 " Don't fret about that," replied Tiierence. " Whatever 
 happens is God's will, and you will never be blamed b3' 
 us. I know 3'ou now, Brulette ; I know that 3'ou deserve 
 respect. Come, dr3' 3'our e3'es and go to sleep. I hope 
 I shall bring 3'ou back good news, and I am certain m3' 
 brother will be consoled and half-cured if 3'OU will let me 
 tell him how sorr3^ 3'ou are for his wound." 
 
 *' I think," said Brulette, "that he will think more of 
 5'our regard, for there is no woman in the world he could 
 ever love like his own good and brave sister. And, 
 Therence, that is why I am sorr3" I made 3'Ou ask him 
 for that token, and if he had a fanc3' to have it back, I 
 dare sa3' you would give it to him." 
 
186 The Bagpipers. 
 
 " That 's right, Brulette," cried Therence ; " I kiss you 
 for those words. Sleep in peace, I am off." 
 
 " I shall not sleep," replied Brulette ; " I shall pray to 
 God to help you till I see you safe back again." 
 
 I heard Therence softly leave the lodge, and a minute 
 later 1 also went out. I could not bring my conscience 
 to allow a beautiful girl to expose herself all alone to the 
 dangers of the night ; nor could I, out of fear for mj'self, 
 withhold what power I had to give her assistance. The 
 people she was going to seek did not seem to me such 
 gentle and good Christians as she made them out to be, 
 and besides, perhaps they were not the onh' ones in the 
 w^ood that night. Our dance had attracted beggars, and 
 we know that folks who ask charit3' don't always show 
 it to others when occasion offers. Moreover, — and I 
 am sure I don't know why, — the red and shining face 
 of the Carmelite friar, who had paid such attention to my 
 wine, kept coming into my head. He struck me as not 
 lowering his eyes ver}^ much when he passed near the 
 girls, and I had n't noticed what became of him in the 
 general huUaballoo. 
 
 But Therence had declared to Brulette that she did not 
 want m}" compan}^ in lier search for the muleteers ; so, not 
 wishing to displease her, I determined not to let her see 
 me, and to follow her onl}?" within hearing, in case she had 
 occasion to cr}' for help. Accordingl}', I let her get about 
 a minute in advance, not more, though I would have liked 
 to stay and tranquillize Brulette b}^ telling her my plan. 
 I was, however, afraid to delay and so lose the trail of 
 the woodland beaut}-. 
 
 I saw her cross the open and enter a copse which sloped 
 toward the bed of a brook, not far from the lodges. I 
 entered after her, by the same path, and as there were 
 
The Bagpipers, 187 
 
 numerous turns, I soon lost sight of her ; but I heard the 
 sound of her light step, which ever}^ now and then broke a 
 dead branch, or rolled a pebble. She seemed to be walk- 
 ing rapidly, and I did the same, to prevent her getting 
 too far in advance of me. Two or three times I thought 
 I was so near her that I slackened m}- pace in order that 
 she might not see me. We came thus to one of the roads 
 which lead through the woods ; but the shadow of the tall 
 trees was so dense that I, looking from right to left, was 
 unable to see anything that indicated which wa}' she had 
 gone. 
 
 I listened, ear to earth, and I heard in the path, which 
 continued across the road, the same breaking of branches 
 which had already guided me. I hastened forward till I 
 reached another road whicdi led down to the brook ; there 
 I began to fear I had lost trace of her, for the brook 
 was wide and the bank mudd}', and I saw no sign of foot- 
 steps. There is nothing so deceiving as the paths of a 
 wood. In some places the trees stand so that one fancies 
 there must be a path ; or perhaps wild animals going to 
 water have beaten out a track ; and then all of a sudden 
 we find ourselves tangled in underbrush, or sinking in such 
 a bog that it is useless trying to go further. 
 
 However, I persisted, because I still heard the noise 
 before me, and it was so distinct that finally I began to 
 run, tearing mj' clothes in the brambles, and plunging 
 deeper and deeper into the thicket, when suddenly a sav- 
 age growl let me know that the creature I was pursuing 
 was a boar, which was beginning to be anno3'ed by my 
 compan}', and wished to show that he had had enough 
 of it. Having no weapon but a stick, and not knowing 
 how to deal with that kind of beast, I turned round and 
 retraced my steps, rather uneas}' lest the boar should take 
 
188 The Bag'piiders. 
 
 it into his bead to accompany me. Fortunately, he did 
 not think of it, and I returned as far as the first road, 
 where by mere chance I took tlie direction whicli led to 
 the entrance of the woods of Chamberat, where we had 
 held the fete. 
 
 Though baffled, I did not choose to renounce my search ; 
 for Therence might meet some wild beast, as I had, and 
 I did n't believe she knew any language that that kind 
 of enemy would listen to. I already knew enough of the 
 forest not to get lost for any length of time, and I soon 
 reached the place where we had danced. It took me a 
 few moments to be certain that it was the same open, for 
 I expected to find mj' arbor, with the utensils which I had 
 not had time to carry awaj' ; but the place where I left it 
 was as smooth as if it had ncA^er been there. Neverthe- 
 less, searching care full}', I found the holes where I had 
 driven in the stakes, and the place where the feet of the 
 dancers had worn off the turf. 
 
 I wanted to find the spot where the muleteers had dis- 
 appeared leading Huriel and carrying Malzac, but try as 
 I would, I had been so confused in mind just then that 
 I could not recall it. So I was forced to advance hap- 
 hazard, and I marched in that wa}' all night, — weary 
 enough, as 3'ou may suppose, stopping often to listen, and 
 hearing nothing but the owls hooting in the branches, or 
 some poor hare who was more afraid of me than I of 
 him. 
 
 Though the Chamberat wood was really at that time 
 joined to those of AUeu, I did not know it, having only 
 entered it once since coming to that part of the country. 
 I soon got lost ; which did not trouble me, however, be- 
 cause I knew that neither wood was extensive enough to 
 reach to Rome. Besides, the Head-Woodsman had already 
 
The Bagjnpers. 189 
 
 taught me to take my bearings, not by the stars, which 
 are not alwa^'s to be seen in a forest, but by the bend of 
 the leading branches, which, in our midland provinces, 
 are lashed by north-westerly winds and lean permanently 
 toward the east. 
 
 The night was verj^ clear, and so warm that if I had 
 not been goaded by worry of mind and fatigued in body, 
 I should have enjo3'ed the walk. It was not moonlight, 
 but the stars shone in a cloudless sky, and I saw my way 
 quite plainly even under the foliage. I was much improved 
 in courage since the time when I was so frightened in the 
 little forest of Saint-Chartier ; for, although I knew I was 
 going wrong, I felt as easy as if on our own roads, and 
 when I saw that the animals ran away from me, I had no 
 anxiet}' at all. I began to see how it was that these cov- 
 ered glades, these brooks murmuring in the ravines, the 
 soft herbage, the sand}' paths, and the trees of splendid 
 growth and lofty pride made this region dear to those who 
 belonged to it. There were certain large wild-flowers the 
 name of which I did not know, something like a foxglove, 
 white with 3'ellow spots, the perfume of which was so keen 
 and delicious that I could almost have fancied mj'self in 
 a garden. 
 
 Keeping steadil}* toward the west, I struck the heath 
 and skirted the edge of it, listening and looking about 
 me. But I saw no signs of human beings, and about 
 daybreak I began to return toward the lodges without 
 finding Therence or anybodj* else. I had had enough of 
 it, and seeing that I could not make myself useful, I tried 
 a short cut through the woods, where, in a very wild 
 place, beneath a large oak, I saw something which seemed 
 to me a person. Day was beginning to light up the 
 bushes, and I walked noiselessly forward till I recognized 
 
190 The Bagpipers. 
 
 the brown garment of the Carmelite friar. The poor 
 man, whom in my heart I had suspected, was virtuousl}" 
 and devoutly on his knees, saying his prayers without 
 thought of evil. 
 
 I coughed as I approached, to let him know I was 
 there and not to frighten him ; but there was no need of 
 that, for the monk was a. worthy soul who feared none but 
 God, — neither devil nor man. He raised his head and 
 looked at me without surprise ; then burjing his face in 
 his cowl he went on muttering his orisons, and I could 
 see nothing but the end of his beard, which jerked up and 
 down as he spoke, like that of a goat munching salt. 
 
 When he seemed to have finished, I bade him good- 
 morning, hoping to get some news out of him, but he 
 made me a sign to hold my tongue ; then he rose, picked 
 up his wallet, looked carefully at the place where he had 
 been kneeling, and with his bare feet poked up the grass 
 and levelled the sand he had disturbed ; after which he 
 led me to a little distance, and said in a muffled voice : — 
 
 '' Inasmuch as 3'ou know all about it, I am not sorry 
 to talk to 3'ou before I go on my waj-." 
 
 Finding he was inclined to talk, I took care not to 
 question him, which might have made him mistrustful; 
 but just as he was opening his mouth to speak, Huriel 
 appeared, and seemed so surprised and even annoyed to 
 see me that I was greatly' embarrassed, as if I bad in 
 some way done wrong. 
 
 I must also remark that Huriel would probably have 
 frightened me if I had met him alone in the gloom of the 
 morning. He was more daubed with black than I had ever 
 seen him, and a cloth bound round his head hid his hair 
 and his forehead, so that all one saw of his face was his 
 big eyes, which seemed sunken and as if they had lost their 
 
The Bagpipers. 191 
 
 nsual fire. In fact, he looked like his own spirit rather 
 than his own bod}', and he glided gently upon the heather 
 as if he feared to awaken even the crickets and the gnats 
 which were asleep in it. 
 
 The monk was the first to speak ; not as a man who 
 accosts another, but as one who continues a conversation 
 after a break in it. 
 
 " As he is here," he said, pointing to me, 'Mt is best to 
 give liim some useful instructions, and I was on the point 
 of telling him — " 
 
 "As 3'ou have told him everything — " began Huriel, 
 cutting him short with a reproachful look. 
 
 Here I, in turn, interrupted Huriel to tell him I knew 
 nothing as yet, and that he was free to conceal what he 
 was just going to say. 
 
 " That's all right in you," replied Huriel, " not to seek 
 to know more than 3'ou need ; but if this is the way, 
 Brother Nicolas, that 3'ou keep a secret of such impor- 
 tance, I am sorr}' I ever trusted you." 
 
 "Fear nothing," said the Carmelite. " I thought the 
 young man was compromised with 3'Ou." 
 
 "He is not compromised at all, thank God!" said 
 Huriel ; " one is enough ! " 
 
 " So much the better for him if he only sinned by inten 
 tion," replied the monk. " He is your friend, and 3'ou 
 have nothing to fear. Bat as for me, I should be glad if 
 he would tell no one that I passed the night in these 
 woods." 
 
 " What harm could that do 3'ou? " asked Huriel. " A 
 muleteer met with an accident ; 3'ou succored him, and 
 thanks to you, he will soon be well. Who can blame 3'OU 
 for that charity ? " 
 
 "True, true," said the monk. "Keep the phial and 
 
192 The Bagpipers, 
 
 use the stuff twice a da}-. Wash the wound carefull}' in 
 running water as often as you can do so ; don't let the 
 hair stick in the wound, and keep it covered from dust ; 
 that is all that is necessar}'. If you have any fever get 
 yourself well bled by the first friar you meet." 
 
 "Thank you," said Huriel, "but I have lost enough 
 blood as it is, and I think we can never have too much. 
 May 3'ou be rewarded, my brother, for your kind help, 
 which I did not greatl}^ need, but for which I am none the 
 less grateful. And now permit us to say good-b3'e, for it 
 is daylight and your prajers have detained you here too 
 long." 
 
 " No doubt," answered the monk, " but will 3'ou let me 
 depart without a word of confession? I have cured 3'our 
 flesh, — that was the first thing to be done ; but is your 
 conscience in an}^ better state ? Do you think 3'ou have 
 no need of absolution, which is to the soul what that 
 balsam is to the bod3' ? " 
 
 " I have great need of it, m3^ father," said Huriel, " but 
 3'ou would do wrong to give it to me ; I am not worthy to 
 receive it until I have done penance. As to m3' confession, 
 3^ou do not need to hear it, for you saw me commit a mor- 
 tal sin. Pra3^ God for me ; that is what I ask of 3'ou, and 
 see that man3" masses are said for the soul of — those who 
 let anger get the better of them." 
 
 I thought at first he was joking ; but I knew better 
 when I saw the mone3^ he gave to the friar, and heard the 
 sad tone of his last words. 
 
 "Be sure you shall receive according to your gener- 
 osit3'," said the friar putting the mone3' in his wallet. 
 Then he added, in a tone in which there was nothing hypo- 
 critical : ' ' Maitre Huriel, we are all sinners and there is 
 but one just judge. He alone, who has never sinned, has 
 
Tlie Bagpipers. 1 
 
 OQ 
 
 the rigrht to condemn or to absolve the faults of men. 
 Commit yourself to him, and be sure that whatever there 
 is to your credit he will in his mercy place to \o\xv ac- 
 count. As for the judges of earth, xavy foolish and 
 very cowardly would he be who would send you before 
 them, for the}' are weak or hardened creatures. Repent, 
 for you have cause to, but do not betray 3'ourself ; and 
 when you feel that grace is calling j-ou to a confession of 
 repentance go to some good priest, though he may onl}' 
 be a poor barefooted Carmelite like Brother ^Nicolas. 
 And you, my son," added the good man, who felt in a 
 preaching mood and wanted to sprinkle me too with his 
 hoi}' water, " learn to moderate your appetites and con- 
 quer 3'our passions. Avoid occasions for sin ; flee from 
 quarrels and bloody encounters — " 
 
 " That will do, that will do. Brother Nicolas," inter- 
 rupted Iluriel. " You are preaching to a believer, 3'ou 
 need not call a man with pure hands to repentance. Fare- 
 well. Go, I tell you ; it is high time." 
 
 The monk departed, after shaking hands with us kindly 
 and with a great air of frankness. When he had got to a 
 distance Huriel, taking me by the arm, led me back to the 
 tree where I had found the monk in prayer. 
 
 " Tiennet," he said, " I have no distrust of yon, and if 
 I compelled the good friar to hold his tongue it was only 
 to malie him cautious. However, there is no danger from 
 him. He is own uncle to our chief Archignat, and he is, 
 moreover, a safe man, alwa3's on good terms with the 
 muleteers, who often help him to carr3' the provisions he 
 collects from one place to another. But though I am not 
 afraid of you or of him, it does not follow that I should 
 tell 3-ou what 3'ou have no need to know, unless you make 
 it a test of m3' friendship." 
 
 13 
 
194 The Bagpipers. 
 
 ' ' You shall do as 3'ou like," I answered. * ' If it is use^ 
 ful for 3'ou that I should know the results of your fight 
 with Malzac, tell me, even though I may deeply regret to 
 hear them ; if not, I would just as soon not know what 
 has become of him." 
 
 ''What has become of him!" echoed Huriel, whose 
 voice was choked by some great distress. He stopped me 
 when we reached the first branches which the oak stretched 
 toward us, as if he feared to tread upon a spot where I 
 saw no trace of what I was beginning to guess. Then he 
 added, casting a look black with gloom before him, and 
 speaking as if something were forcing him to betra}^ him- 
 self: '' Tiennet, do 3'ou remember the threatening words 
 that man said to us in the woods of La Roche? — ' There 
 is no lack of ditches in the forest to bury fools in, and 
 the stones and the trees have no tongues to tell what they 
 see.' " 
 
 " Yes," I answered, feeling a cold sweat creeping over 
 my whole body. " It seems that evil words tempt fate, 
 and bring disaster to those who say them." 
 
The Bagpipers, 195 
 
 SEVENTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 HuRiEL crossed himself and sighed. I did as he did, 
 and then turning from the accursed tree we went our 
 way. 
 
 I wished, as the friar did, to say a few comforting 
 words to him, for I saw that his mind was troubled ; but, 
 besides being a poor hand at moralizing, I felt guilty 
 mj^self after a fashion. I knew, for instance, that if I 
 had not related aloud the affair that happened in the 
 woods of La Roche, Huriel might not have remembered 
 his promise to Brulette to avenge her ; and that if I had 
 not been in such a hurr}^ to be the first to defend her in 
 presence of the muleteers and the foresters, Huriel would 
 not have been so eager to get that honor before me in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Worried by these thoughts, I could not help telling 
 them to Huriel and blaming myself to him, just as Bru- 
 lette had blamed herself to Therence. 
 
 " M}^ dear friend Tiennet," replied the muleteer, '•^yoxx 
 are a good fellow with a good heart. Don't trouole 3'our 
 conscience for a thing which God, in the day of judgment, 
 will not lay at your door, perhaps not at mine. Brother 
 Nicolas is right, God is the only judge who renders just 
 judgment, for he alone knows things as they are. He 
 needs no witnesses and makes no inquir}- into the truth. 
 He reads all hearts ; he knows that mine has never sworn 
 nor sought the death of a man, even at the moment when 
 I took that stick to punish the evil-doer. Those weapons 
 
196 The Bagpipers. 
 
 are bad, but they are the onl}' ones wliicli our customs 
 allow us to use in such cases, and I am not responsible 
 for their use. C'ertainh' a fight with fists alone would be 
 far better, — such as you and I had that night in 3'our 
 field, all about my mules and your oats. But let me tell 
 you that a muleteer is bound to be as brave and jealous 
 for his honor as an}^ of the great lords who bear the 
 sword. If I had swallowed Malzac's insults without de- 
 manding reparation I should deserve to be expelled from 
 our fraternity. It is true that I did not demand it C00II3', 
 as I ought to have done. 1 had met Malzac alone that 
 morning, in that same wood of La Roche, where I was 
 quieth' at work without thinking of him. He again an- 
 no3'ed me with foolish language, declaring that Brulette 
 was nothing better than a dried-wood picker, which means, 
 with us, a ghost that walks bj" night, — a superstition 
 which often helps girls of bad lives to escape recognition, 
 for good people are afraid of these ghosts. So, among 
 muleteers, who are not as credulous, the term is very 
 insulting. Nevertheless, I bore with him as long as 
 possible, until at last, driven to extremities, I threatened 
 him in order to drive him awa}'. He replied that I was 
 a coward, capable of attacking him in a lonely place, but 
 that I dared not challenge him to open fight with sticks 
 before witnesses ; that everybodj' knew I had never had 
 occasion to show m}^ courage, for when I was in company 
 of others I alwa3'^s agreed with what thej^ said so as not 
 to be obliged to measure swords with them. Then he left 
 me, saying there was a dance in the woods of Chamberat, 
 and that Brulette gave a supper to the compan}' ; for which 
 she had ample means, as she was the mistress of a rich 
 tradesman in her own countr}^ ; and, for his part, he should 
 go and amuse himself by courting the girl, in defiance of 
 
The Bagpipers, 197 
 
 me if I had courage to go and see him do it. You know, 
 Tiennet, that I intended never to see Brulette again, and 
 that for reasons which I will tell you later." 
 
 " I know them," said I ; " and I see that your sister 
 met you to-night ; for here, hanging to 3'our ear below 
 the bandage, is a token which proves something I had 
 strongly' suspected." 
 
 " If it is that I love Brulette and value her token," re- 
 plied Hnriel, " 3-0U know all that I know myself; but 
 3'ou cannot know more, for I am not even sure of her 
 friendship, and as for anything else — but that 's neither 
 here nor there. I want to tell 3'ou the ill-luck that 
 brought me back here. I did not wish Brulette to see 
 me, neither did I mean to speak to her, because I saw the 
 miser}^ Joseph endured on my account. But I knew 
 Joseph had not the strength to protect her, and that 
 Malzac was shrewd and trick}^ enough to escape you. So 
 I came at the beginning of the dance, and kept out of 
 sight under the trees, meaning to depart without being 
 seen, if Malzac did not make his appearance. You know 
 the rest until the moment when we took the sticks. At 
 that moment I was angry, I confess it, but it could n't 
 have been otherwise unless I were a saint in Paradise. 
 And yet my only thought was to give a lesson to my 
 enemy, and to stop him from saying, especiallj^ while 
 Brulette was here, that because I was gentle and patient 
 I was timid as a hare. You saw that my father, sick of 
 such talk, did not object to my proving myself a man ; 
 but there ! ill-luck surel}' pursues me, when in my first fight 
 and almost at my first blow — ah ! Tiennet, there is 
 no use sa3ing I was driven into it, or that I feel within me 
 kind and humane ; that is no consolation for having a 
 fatal hand. A man is a man, no matter how foul-mouthed 
 
198 The Bagpipers. 
 
 and ill-behaved he be. There was little or no good in 
 that one, but he might have mended, and I have sent him 
 to his account before he had come to repentance. Tiennet, 
 I am sick of a muleteer's life ; I agree with Brulette that 
 it is not eas}" for a God-fearing man to be one of them 
 and maintain his own conscience and the respect of 
 others. I am obliged to stay in the craft for some time 
 longer, owing to engagements which I have made ; but 
 3'ou may rely upon it, I shall give up the business as soon 
 as possible, and find another that is quiet and decent." 
 
 " That is what you want me to tell Brulette, is n't it? " 
 I said. 
 
 '' No," replied Huriel, with much decision, " not unless 
 Joseph gets over his love and his illness so entirely as to 
 give her up. I love Joseph as much as 3'ou all love him ; 
 besides, he told me his secret, and asked my advice and 
 support ; I will not deceive him, nor undermine him." 
 
 " But Brulette does not want him as a lover or a hus- 
 band, and perhaps he had better know it as soon as possi- 
 ble. I '11 take upon myself to reason with him, if the 
 others dare not, for there is somebod}' in your house who 
 could make Joseph happy, and he never could be happy 
 with Brulette. The longer he waits and the more he flat- 
 ters himself she will love him, the harder the blow will 
 seem ; instead of which, if he opens his eyes to the true 
 attachment he might find elsewhere — " 
 
 "Never mind that," said Huriel, frowning slightly, 
 which made him look like a man who was suffering from a 
 great hole in his head, which in fact there was under the 
 bloody handkerchief. " All things are in God's hand, 
 and in our fa mil}" nobody is in a hurr}' to make his own 
 happiness at the expense of others. As for me, I must 
 go, for I could make no lying answer to those who might 
 
The Bagpipers. 199 
 
 ask me where Malzac is and wh}' no one sees him any 
 more. Listen, however, to another thing about Joseph 
 and Brulette. It is better not to tell them the evil I have 
 done. Except the muleteers, and m}' father and sister, 
 the monk and j'ou, no one knows that when that man fell 
 he never rose again. I had only time to sa}^ to Therence, 
 * He is dead, I must leave these parts.' Maitre Archignat 
 said the same thing to my father ; but the other foresters 
 know nothing, and wish not to know an3'thing. The 
 monk himself would have seen only part of it if he had 
 not followed us with remedies for the wound. The mule- 
 teers were inclined to send him back at once, but the 
 chief answered for him, and I, though I might be risking 
 my neck, could not endure that the man should be buried 
 like a dog, "without Christian pra^'er. The future is in 
 God's hands. You understand, of course, that a man in- 
 volved as I am in a bad business cannot, at least for a 
 long time, think of courting a girl as much sought after 
 and respected as Brulette. But I do ask you, for my 
 sake, not to tell her the extent of the trouble I am in. I 
 am wilUng she should forget me, but not that she should 
 hate or fear me." 
 
 " She has no right to do either," I replied, " since it was 
 for love of her — " 
 
 " Ah I " exclaimed Huriel, sighing and passing his hand 
 before his e3'es, " it is a love that costs me dear ! " 
 
 " Come, come," I said, " courage ! she shall know noth- 
 ing ; you may rely upon my word ; and all that I can do, 
 if occasion offers to make her see your merits, shall be 
 done faithfull}'." 
 
 "Gently, gently, Tiennet," returned Huriel, "I don't 
 ask you to take my side as I take Joseph's. You don't 
 know me as well, neither do you owe me the same friend- 
 
200 The Bagpipers. 
 
 ship ; I know what it is to push another into the place we 
 would like to occupy. You care for Brulette yourself; 
 and among three lovers, as we are, two must be just and 
 reasonable when the third is preferred. But, whatever 
 happens, I hope we shall all three remain brothers and 
 friends." 
 
 '^ Take me out of the list of suitors," I said, smiling 
 without the least vexation. " I have always been the 
 least ardent of Brulette's lovers, and now I am as calm as 
 if I had never dreamed of loving her. I know what is in 
 the secret heart of the girl ; she has made a good choice, 
 and I am satisfied. Adieu, my Huriel ; may the good 
 God help you, and give you hope, and so enable 3'ou to 
 forget the troubles of this bad night." 
 
 We clasped eacli other for good-bye, and I inquired 
 where he was going. 
 
 " To the mountains of the Forez," he rephed. '' Write 
 to me at the village of Huriel, wliich is my birth-place and 
 where we have relations. They will send me your 
 letters." 
 
 " But can you travel so far with that wound in 3'our 
 head ? Is n't it dangerous ? " 
 
 "Oh no ! " he said, " it is nothing. I wish the other's 
 head had been as hard as mine ! " 
 
 When I was alone I began to think over with amaze- 
 ment all that must have happened that night in the forest 
 without m}^ hearing or detecting the slightest thing. I 
 was still more surprised when, passing once more, in broad 
 daylight, the spot where the dance had taken place, 1 saw 
 that since midnigiit persons had returned to mow the 
 grass and dig over the ground to remove all trace of what 
 had hai)pened. In short, from one direction persons had 
 come twice to make things safe at this particular point ; 
 
The Bagpijoers. ' 201 
 
 from the other, Therence had contrived to communicate 
 with her brother ; and, besides all this, a burial had been 
 performed, without the faintest appearance or the lightest 
 sound having warned me of what was taking place, althougii 
 the night was clear and I had gone from end to end of the 
 silent woods looking and listening with the utmost atten- 
 tion. It turned m}' mind to the difference between the 
 habits, and indeed the characters, of these woodland peo- 
 ple and the laborers of the open country. On the plains, 
 good and evil are too clearly seen not to make the inhabi- 
 tants from their ^outh up submit to the laws and behave 
 with prudence. But in the forests, where the ej'es of their 
 fellows can be escaped, men invoke no justice but that 
 of God or the devil, according as ih^y are well or ill 
 mtentioned. 
 
 When I reached the lodges the sun was up ; the Head- 
 Woodsman had gone to his work ; Joseph was still asleep ; 
 Therence and Brulette were talking together under the 
 shed. They asked me why I hud got up so earl}', and I 
 noticed that Therence was uneasy lest I had seen or 
 heard something. I behaved as if I knew nothing, and 
 had not gone farther than the adjoining wood. 
 
 Joseph soon joined us, and I remarked that he looked 
 much better than when we arrived. 
 
 *' Yet I have hardly slept all night," he replied ; " I was 
 restless till nearly day-l^retik ; but I think the reason was 
 that the fever which has weakened me so much left me 
 last evening, for I feel stronger and more vigorous than 
 I have been for a Ions: time." 
 
 Therence, who understood fevers, felt his pulse, and 
 then her face, which looked very tired and depressed, 
 brightened suddenly. 
 
 "• See ! " she cried ; " the good God sends us at least 
 
202 The Bagpipers, 
 
 one happiness ; here is our patient on the road to re- 
 covery- ! Tlie fever has gone, and his blood is ah-eady 
 recovering strength." 
 
 " If 3'oa want to know what I have felt this night," 
 said Joseph, " 3'ou must promise not to call it a dream ; 
 but here it is — In the first place, however, tell me if 
 Huriel got off without a wound, and if the other did not 
 get more than he wanted. Have 3'ou had any news from 
 the forest of Chamberat ? " 
 
 " Yes, 3'es/' replied Therence, hastil3\ " They have 
 both gone to the upper country-. Sa}' what yoM were 
 going to sa3\" 
 
 ''I don't know if 3'ou will comprehend it, you two," 
 resumed Joseph, addressing the girls, " but Tiennet will. 
 When I saw Huriel fight so resolutel3- m3- knees gave wa3' 
 under me, and, feeling weaker than an3' woman, I came 
 near losing consciousness ; but at the ver3- moment when 
 m3' bod}' was giving wa}- m3' heart grew hot within me, 
 and m3^ e3-es never ceased to look at tlie fight. When 
 Huriel struck the fellow down and remained standing him- 
 self, I could have shouted ' Victory ! ' like a drunken man, 
 if I had not restrained m3'self ; I would have rushed if I 
 could to embrace him. But the impulse was soon gone, 
 and when I got back here I felt as though I had received 
 and given ever3' blow, and as if all the bones in m3' bod3' 
 were broken." 
 
 " Don't think an3^ more about it," said Therence ; "it 
 was a horrid thing to see and recollect. I dare sa3' it 
 gave 3'ou bad dreams last night." 
 
 " I did not dream at all," said Joseph ; ^'I la3^ thinking, 
 and little b3' little I felt m3' mind awakened and m3' body 
 healed, as if the time had come to take up m3' bed and 
 walk, like the paralytic of the Gospels. I saw Huriel 
 
The Bagpipers. 203 
 
 before me, shining with light ; he blamed my illness, and 
 declared it was a cowardice of the mind. He seemed 
 to say: *I am a man, you are a child; 3'OLi shake with 
 fever while my blood is fire. You are good for nothing, 
 but I am good in all wa^'s, for others and for myself. 
 Come, listen to this music' And I heard an air mutter- 
 ing like a storm, which raised me in my bed as the wind 
 lifts the fallen leaves. Ah, Brulette, I think I have done 
 with being ill and cowardly ; I can go now to m}^ own 
 countr}' and kiss m}' mother, and make mj' plans to start, 
 — for start I must, upon a journe}' ; I must see and learn, 
 and make m\'self what I should be." 
 
 *'You wish to travel?" said Therence, her face, so 
 lately lighted like a star with pleasure, growing white and 
 cloudy as an autumn moon. " You think to find a better 
 teacher than my father, and better friends than people 
 here ? Go and see your mother ; that is right, if 3'ou are 
 strong enough to go, — unless, indeed, 3'ou are deceiving 
 us and longing to die in distant parts — " 
 
 Grief and displeasure choked her voice. Joseph, who 
 watched her, suddenty changed both his language and his 
 manner. 
 
 " Never mind what I have been dreaming this morn- 
 ing, Therence," he said; *' I shall never find a better 
 master or better friends. You asked me to tell my 
 dreams, and I did tell them, that is all. When I am 
 cured I shall ask advice of all three of you, and of 3'our 
 father also. Till then pa3" no attention to what comes 
 into m3' head ; let us be happ3^ for the time that we are 
 together." 
 
 Therence was pacified ; but Brulette and I, who knew 
 how dogged and obstinate Joseph could be under his 
 gentle manner, and remembered how he had left us with- 
 
204 The Bagpipers. 
 
 out allowing us a chance to remonstrate or persuade him, 
 felt sure that his mind was alread3' fully made up, and that 
 no one could change it. 
 
 During the next two days I once more felt dreadfully 
 dull; and so did Brulette, though she amused herself by 
 finishing the embroidery she wanted to give Therence, 
 and spent some hours in the woods with Pere Bastien, 
 parth' to leave Joseph to the care of Therence, and partly 
 to talk of Huriel and comfort the worthy ruan for the 
 danger and distress the fight had caused him. The Head- 
 Woodsman, touched b3' the friendship which she showed 
 him, told her the truth about Malzac, and, far from her 
 blaming Huriel, as the latter had feared, it only drew her 
 closer to him through the gratitude which she now felt she 
 owed him. 
 
 On the sixth da}- we began to talk of separating. 
 Joseph was getting better hourl}^ ; he worked a little, and 
 did his best in every wa}' to recover his strength. He 
 had decided to go with us and spend a few days at home, 
 sa3ing that he should return almost immediately to the 
 woods of AUeu, — which Brulette and I doubted, and so did 
 Therence, who was almost as uneasy about his health as 
 she had been about his illness. I don't know if it was she 
 who persuaded her father to accompany us half-wa}', or 
 whether the notion came into Pere Bastien's own mind ; 
 at au}^ rate, he made us the offer, which Brulette instantly 
 accepted. Joseph was only half pleased at this, though 
 he tried not to show it. 
 
 The little trip naturally diverted the Head- Woodsman's 
 thoughts from his anxieties, and while making his prepa- 
 rations the evening before our deiiarture he recovered 
 much of his natural fine spirits. The muleteers had left 
 the neighborhood without hindrance, and nothing had 
 
The Bagpipers. 205 
 
 been said about Malzac, who had neither relations nor 
 friends to inquire for him. A 3'ear or two might go by 
 before the authorities troubled themselves to know what 
 had become of him, and indeed, they might never do so ; 
 for in those days there was no great policing in France, 
 and a man might disappear without any notice being 
 taken of it. Moreover, the Head-Woodsman and his familj^ 
 would leave those parts at the end of the chopping season, 
 and as father and son never staj^ed six months in the 
 same place, the law would be very clever indeed to know 
 where to catch them. 
 
 For these reasons the Head- Woodsman, who had feared 
 onlj' the first results of the affair, finding that no one got 
 wind of the secret, grew eas}* in mind and so restored 
 our courage. 
 
 On the morning of the eighth day he put us all into 
 a little cart he had borrowed, together with a horse, from 
 a friend of his in the forest, and taking the reins he 
 drove us by the longest but safest road to Saint-Severe, 
 where we were to part from him and his daughter. 
 
 Brulette inwardl}' regretted returning hy a new wa}', 
 where she could not revisit an}' of the scenes she had 
 passed through with Huriel. As for me, I was glad to 
 travel and to see Saint-Pallais in Bourbonnais and Preve- 
 ranges, two little villages on the heights, also Saint-Prejet 
 and Perassa}', other villages lower down along the banks 
 of the Indre ; moreover, as we followed that river from 
 its source and I remembered that it ran through our 
 village I no longer felt ni3'self a stranger in a strange 
 land. When we reached Saint-Severe, I felt at home, 
 for it is onl}' six leagues from onr place, and I had already 
 been there two or three times. While the rest were bidding 
 each other farewell, I went to hire a convej'antie to take 
 
206 The Bagpipers. 
 
 us to Nohant, but I could only find one for the next 
 day as earl3' as I wanted it. 
 
 When I returned and reported the fact, Joseph seemed 
 annoj'ed. "What do we want with a conveyance ?" he 
 said. " Can't we start in the fresh of the morning on foot 
 and get home in the cool of the evening? Brulette has 
 walked that distance often enough to dance at some as- 
 semblj', and I feel able to do as much as she." 
 
 Therence remarked that so long a walk might bring 
 back his fever, and that only made him more obstinate ; 
 but Brulette, seeing Therence's vexation, cut the matter 
 short b}' sa3'ing she was too tired, and she would prefer to 
 23ass the night at the inn and start in a carriage the next 
 morning. 
 
 " Well, then," said the Head- Woodsman, " Therence and 
 I will do the same. Our horse shall rest here for the 
 night, and we will part from 3'ou at daybreak to-morrow 
 morning. But instead of eating our meal in this inn 
 which is full of flies, I propose that we take the dinner 
 into some shadj' place or to the bank of the river, and 
 sit there and talk till it is time to go to bed." 
 
 So said, so done. I engaged two bedrooms, one for 
 the girls, the other for us men, and wishing to entertain 
 Pere Bastien (who I had noticed was a good eater) ac- 
 cording to ni}' own ideas, I filled a big basket with the best 
 the inn could afford in pates, white bread, wine, and wine- 
 brand}', and carried it outside the village. It was lucky 
 that the present fashion of drinking coff'ee and beer did 
 not exist in those days, for I should n't have spared the 
 cost, and m}' pockets would have been emptied. 
 
 Saint-Severe is a fine neighborhood, cut into b}' ravines 
 that are well watered and refreshing to the eye. We 
 chose a spot of rising ground, where the air was so 
 
The Bagpipers. 207 
 
 exhilarating that not a crust nor a drop remained after 
 the feast. Presently Pere Bastien, feeling lively, picked 
 up his bagpipe, which never left him, and said to 
 Joseph : — 
 
 "My lad, we never know who is to live or who to 
 die ; we are parting, 3^ou sa}^, for tliree or four da3's ; in 
 my opinion, you are thinking of a much longer absence ; 
 and it may be in God's mind that we shall never meet 
 again. This is what all persons who part at the cross- 
 ways ought to say and feel to each other. I hope that 
 you leave us satisfied with me and with my children ; I 
 am satisfied with 3'ou and with 3"0ur friends here ; but I do 
 not forget that the prime object of all was to teach 3'ou 
 music, and I regret that your two months' illness put a 
 stop to it. I don't sa3" that I could have made you a 
 learned musician ; I know there are such in the cities, 
 both ladies and gentlemen, who pla3' instruments that we 
 know nothing about, and read off written airs just as others 
 read words in a book. Except chanting, which I learned 
 in m3" 3"outh, I know ver3^ little of such music, and I have 
 taught 3'OU all I know, nameh', the keys, notes, and time 
 measures. If 3'ou desire to know more you must go to 
 the great cities, where the violinists will teach you both 
 minuet and quadrille music ; but I don't know what good 
 that would be to you unless 3'ou want to leave your own 
 parts and renounce the position of peasant." 
 
 '' God forbid ! " replied Joseph, looking at Brule tte. 
 
 *' Therefore," continued the Head- Woodsman, " 3'ou 
 will have to look elsewhere for instruction on the bagpipe 
 or the hurdy-gurdy. If 3'ou choose to come back to me, I 
 will help 3'OU ; but if 3'ou think 3'ou can do better in the 
 Upper countr3% 3'ou must go there. What I should wish 
 to do would be to guide you SI0WI3' till 3'our lungs grew 
 
208 The Bagpipers, 
 
 so strong that 3^011 could use them without effort, and your 
 fingers no longer failed 30U. As for the idea within us, that 
 can't be taught ; you have 3'our own, and I know it to be of 
 good quality'. I gave you, however, what was in my own 
 head, and whatever 3'ou can remember of it 3'ou ma}' use 
 as 3'ou like. But as 3'our wish seems to be to compose, 
 you can't do better than travel about, and so compare 
 3'our ideas and stock of knowledge with that of others. 
 You had better go as far up as Auvergne and the Forez, 
 and see how grand and beautiful the world is beyond our 
 valle3'S, and how the heart swells when we stand on the 
 heights of a real mountain, and behold the waters, whose 
 voice is louder than the voice of man, rolling downward to 
 nourish the trees the verdure of which never dies. Don't 
 go into the lowlands of those other regions. You will 
 find there what 3'Ou have left in 3'our own countr3', and 
 that is n't what you want. Now is the time to give you 
 a bit of information which 3'ou should never forget ; listen 
 carefully to what I say to 3'OU." 
 
The Bagpipers. 209 
 
 EIGHTEENTH EVENING. 
 
 Pere Bastien, observing that Joseph listened with great 
 attention, continued as follows : — 
 
 "Music has two modes which the learned, as I have 
 heard tell, call major and^ minor, but which I call the clear 
 mode and the troubled mode ; or, if you like it better, the 
 bkie-sky mode and the gray-sk}' mode, or, still otherwise, 
 the mode of strength and joy, and the mode of dreaminess 
 and gloom. You may search till morning and you wnll 
 find no end to the contrasts between the two modes ; but 
 you will nevei' find a third, for all things on this earth are 
 light or darkness, rest or action. Now listen to me, 
 Joseph ! The plains sing in the major, and the mountains 
 in the minor mode. If 3'ou had stayed in 3'our own coun- 
 tr}' your ideas would belong to the clear and tranquil 
 mode ; in returning there now, you ought to see the use 
 that a soul like yours could make of that mode ; for the 
 one mode is neither less nor more than the other. But 
 while 3'ou lived at home, feeling 3'ourself a thorough musi- 
 cian, you fretted at not hearing the minor sound in 3'our 
 ears. The fiddlers and the singing-girls of 3'our parts onl3' 
 acquire it ; for song is like the wind which blows ever3'- 
 where and carries the seeds of plants from one horizon to 
 another. But inasmuch as nature has not made 3'our peo- 
 ple dream3' and passionate, the3' make a poor use of the 
 minor mode, and corrupt it hy that use. That is wh3' 3'ou 
 thought your bagpipes were always false. Now, if 3'ou 
 want to understand the minor, go seek it in wild and deso- 
 
 li 
 
210 The Bagpipers, 
 
 late places, and learn that man}- a tear must be shed 
 before 3'ou can dul}' use a mode which was given to man 
 to utter his griefs, or, at any rate, to sigh his love." 
 
 Joseph understood Pere Bastien so well that he asked 
 him to play the last air he had composed, so as to give us 
 a specimen of the sad gray mode which he called the 
 minor. 
 
 " There, there ! " cried the old man ; " so 3'ou overheard 
 the air I have been trj'ing for the last week to put to cer- 
 tain words. I thought I was singing to myself; but, as 
 you were listening, here it is, such as I expect to leave 
 it." 
 
 Lifting his bagpipe he removed the chanter, on which 
 he softly played an air which, though it was not melan- 
 choly, brought memories of the past and a sense of long- 
 ing after many things to the consciousness of those who 
 listened. 
 
 Joseph was evidently not at ease, and Brulette, who 
 listened without stirring, seemed to waken from a dream 
 when it ended. 
 
 " And the words," said Therence, " are they sad too, 
 father?" 
 
 "The words," said he, " are, like the air, rather con- 
 fused and demand reflection. They tell the story of how 
 three lovers courted a girl." 
 
 Whereupon he sang a song, now ver}^ popular in our 
 parts, though the words have been a good deal altered ; 
 but this is how the Pere Bastien sang them : — 
 
 Three woodsmen there were, 
 In springtime, on the grass 
 (Listen to the nightingale) ; 
 Three woodsnien were there, 
 Speaking each with the lass. 
 
The Bagpipers. 211 
 
 The youngest he said, 
 He who held the flower 
 (Listen to the nightingale), 
 The youngest then said he 
 I love thee, but I cower. 
 
 The oldest cried out, 
 He who held the tool 
 (Listen to the nightingale), 
 The oldest cried aloud. 
 When I love I rule. 
 
 The third sang to her, 
 Bearing the almond spray 
 
 (Listen to the nightingale), 
 The third sang in her ear, 
 I love thee and I pray. 
 
 Friend shall never be 
 You who bear the flower 
 (Listen to the nightingale), 
 Friend shall never be 
 A coward, or I cower. 
 
 Master will I none, 
 You who hold the tool 
 (Listen to the nightingale), 
 No master thou of mine, 
 Love obeys no rule. 
 
 Lover thou shalt be 
 Who bear the almond spray 
 (Listen to the nightingale), 
 My lover shalt thou be. 
 Gifts are for those who pray. 
 
 I liked the air when joined to the words better than the 
 first time I beard it ; and I was so pleased that I asked to 
 
212 The Bag'pipers. 
 
 hear it again ; bat Pere Bastien, who had no vanity about 
 his compositions, declared it was not worth while, and 
 went on pla3ing other airs, sometimes in tlie major, some- 
 times in the minor, and even employing both modes in the 
 same song, teaching Joseph, as he did so, how to pass 
 from one to the other and then back again. 
 
 The stars were casting their light long before we wanted 
 to retire ; even the townspeople assembled in numbers at 
 the foot of the ravine to listen, with much satisfaction to 
 their ears. Some said : " That 's one of the Bourbonnais 
 bagpipers, and what is more, he is a master ; he knows 
 the art, and not one of us can hold a candle to him." 
 
 On our wa}^ back to the inn Pere Bastien continued to 
 instruct Joseph, and the latter, never weary of such talk, 
 lagged a little behind us to listen and question him. So 
 I walked in front wath Therence, who, useful and 
 energetic as ever, helped me to carr}' the baskets. Bru- 
 lette walked alone between the pairs, dreaming of I don't 
 know what, — as she had taken to doing of late ; and The- 
 rence sometimes turned round as if to look at her, but 
 real]}" to see if Joseph were following. 
 
 " Look at him well, Therence," I said to her, at a mo- 
 ment when she seemed in great anxictj^, " for your fLither 
 said trul}', ' When we part for a da}^ it m^y be for life.' " 
 
 "Yes," she replied, " but on the other hand, when we 
 think we are parting for life it ma}' be for only a day." 
 
 "You remind me," said I, " that when I first saw you 
 3'ou floated away like a dream and I never expected to see 
 you again." 
 
 " I know what you mean," she exclaimed. My father 
 reminded me of it yesterday, in speaking of you. Father 
 reall}- loves you, Tiennet, and has great respect for 3'ou." 
 
 " I am glad and honored, Therence ; but I don't know 
 
TJie Bar/pipers. 213 
 
 what I have done to deserve it, for there is nothing in me 
 that is different from the common run of men." 
 
 " My father is never mistaken in his judgment, and 
 what he says, I beheve ; why should that make 3'ou sigh, 
 Tiennet?" 
 
 " Did I sigh, Th^rence? I didn't mean to." 
 
 "No, of course you did not," she replied; "but that 
 is no reason why j'ou should hide your feelings from me. 
 You love Brulette and are afraid — " 
 
 "I love Brulette ver}' much, that is true, but without 
 any love-sighing, and without an}' regrets or worries 
 about what she thinks of me. I have no love in my heart, 
 because it would do me no good to have an}-." 
 
 " Ah, 3-0U are verj- lucky, Tiennet ! " she cried, " to be 
 able to govern your feelings by 3-our mind in that way." 
 
 "I should be better worth something, Therence, if, 
 like 3-0U, I governed them by my heart. Yes, yes, I 
 know you ; I have watched you, and I know the true 
 secret of 3'our conduct. T have seen how, for the last 
 eight days, 3'ou have set aside 3'our own feelings to cure 
 Joseph, and how 3'ou secretl3" do everything for his good 
 without letting him see so much as 3'our little finger in it. 
 You want him to be happ3', and 3'ou said true when vou 
 told Brulette and me that if we can do good to those 
 we love there is no need to be thinking of our own 
 happiness. That 's what 3'ou do and what 3-ou are ; and 
 though jealous3' ma3' sometimes get the better of you, 3-ou 
 recover directl3\ It is marvellous to see how strong and 
 generous 3-ou are ; it is saintl3-. You must allow that if 
 either of ns two is to respect the other, it is I 3-ou, not 
 3-0U me. I am a rather sensible fellow, and that is all ; 
 you are a girl with a great heart, and a stern hand upon 
 3-ourself." 
 
214 The Bagpipers. 
 
 " Thanks for the good you think of me," repHed The- 
 rence, "but perhaps I don't deserve it, my lad. You 
 want me to be in love with Joseph, and I am not. As God 
 is ray judge, I have never thought of being his wife, and 
 the attachment I feel to him is rather that of a sister or 
 a mother." 
 
 " Oh ! as for that, I am not sure that j'ou don't deceive 
 3'ourself, Therence. Your disposition is impulsive." 
 
 "That is just why I do not deceive myself. I love my 
 father and brother deepl}^ and almost madly. If I had 
 children I should defend them like a wolf and brood over 
 them like a hen ; but the thing they call love, such, for 
 instance, as my brother feels for Brulette, — the desire to 
 please, and a nameless sort of feeling which makes him 
 suffer when alone, and not be able to think of her without 
 pain, — all that I do not feel at all, and I cannot imagine it. 
 Joseph ma}^ leave us forever if it will do him good, and 
 I shall thank God, and onl}^ grieve if it turns out that he 
 is the worse for it." 
 
 Therence's way of looking at the matter gave me a good 
 deal to think of. I could not understand it very well, for 
 she now seemed to me above all others and above me. 
 I walked a little wa}'- beside her without saying a word, 
 not knowing whither my mind was going ; for I was seized 
 with such a feeling of ardent friendship that I longed with 
 all my heart to embrace her, with all respect and thinking 
 no harm, till suddenly a glance at her, so young and 
 beautiful, filled me with shame and fear. When we 
 reached the inn I asked her, apropos of what I forget, to 
 tell me exactly what her father had said of me. 
 
 " He said," she replied, " that you were a man of the 
 strongest good sense he had ever known." 
 
 " You might as well call me a good-natured fool at 
 
The Bagpipers. 215 
 
 once, don't j'ou think so?" I said, laughing, but rather 
 mortified. 
 
 '' Not at all ! " cried Therence ; " here are my father's 
 very words : ' He who sees clearest into the things of 
 this world is he who acts with the highest justice.' Now 
 it is true that great good sense leads to great kind- 
 ness of heart, and I do not think that my father is 
 mistaken." 
 
 " In that case, Therence," I cried, rather agitated at the 
 bottom of m}' heart, "have a little regard for me." 
 
 " I have a great deal," she said, shaking the hand 
 which I held out to her ; but it was said with an air of 
 good-fellowship which killed all vaporing, and I slept 
 upon her speech with no more imagination than justly 
 belonged to it. 
 
 The next day came the parting. Brulette cried when 
 she kissed Pere Bastien, and made him promise that he 
 would come and visit us and bring Therence ; then the 
 two dear girls embraced each other with such pledges of 
 affection that they really seemed unable to part. Joseph 
 offered his thanks to his late master for all the benefits he 
 had received from him, and when he came to part with 
 Therence he tried to say the same to her ; but she looked 
 at him with a perfect frankness which disconcerted him, 
 and pressing each other's hands, they said only, '' Good- 
 bye, and take care of j'ourself" 
 
 Not feeling at the moment too sh}', I asked Therence 
 to allow me to kiss her, thinking to set a good example 
 to Joseph ; but he took no notice, and got hastil}" into the 
 carriage to cut short these parting civilities. He seemed 
 dissatisfied with himself and others. Brulette took the 
 last seat in the conveyance, and, so long as she could see 
 our Bourbonnais friends, she kept her e3'es upon them, 
 
216 The Bagpipers. 
 
 while Therence, standing at the inn-door, seemed to be 
 thinking rather than grieving. 
 
 We did the rest of the journey somewhat sadly. Joseph 
 said not a word. Perhaps he hoped that Brulette might 
 take some notice of him ; but according as Joseph grew 
 stronger, Brulette had recovered her freedom of thinking 
 about other people, and being full of her friendship for 
 Huriel's father and sister, she talked to me about them, 
 regretting to part with them and singing their praises, as 
 if she had really left her heart behind and regretted even 
 the country we were quitting. 
 
 " It is strange," she said to me, " how, as we get nearer 
 home, the trees seem to me so small, the grass so 3'ellow, 
 and the river sluggish. Before I ever left the plains I 
 fancied I could not endure three days in the woods, and 
 now I believe I could pass my life there like Therence, if 
 I had m^' old father with me." 
 
 " I can't say as much, cousin," said I. "Though, if 
 I were forced to do so, I don't suppose I should die of it. 
 But the trees ma}^ be as tall, the grass as green, and the 
 streams as sparkling as they please ; I prefer a nettle in 
 m}' own land to an oak in foreign parts. Mj- heart jumps 
 with joy at each familiar rock and bush, as if I had been 
 absent two or three 3'ears, and when I catch sight of the 
 church clock I mean, for sure, to take oflf m}' hat to it." 
 
 " And 3'^ou, Jose?" said Brulette, noticing the annoj'ed 
 look of our companion for the first time. "You, who 
 have been absent more than a 3'ear, are not 3'ou glad to 
 get home again?" 
 
 " Excuse me, Brulette, I don't know what you are talk- 
 ing about. My head is full of that song the Head- Woods- 
 man santr last nio;ht, and in the middle of it there is a 
 little refrain which I can't remember." 
 
The Bagpipers. 217 
 
 **Bah!" cried Brulette, '*it is where the song says, 
 * Listen to the nightingale.' " 
 
 So sa3'ing, she sang the tune quite correctly, which 
 roused Joseph so much that he jumped with joy in the 
 cart, clapping his hands. 
 
 " Ah, Brulette ! " he cried, " how lucky you are to 
 remember like that! Again! sing it again! 'Listen to 
 the nightingale.' " 
 
 '• I would rather sing the whole song," she answered; 
 and thereupon she sang it straight through without missing 
 a word, which delighted Joseph so much that he pressed 
 her hands, saying, with a courage I did n't think him capa- 
 ble of, that on!}' a musician could be worth}' of her. 
 
 "Well, certainl}'," said Brulette, thinking of Huriel, 
 " if I had a lover I should wish him to be both a good 
 singer and a good bagpiper." 
 
 "It is rare to be both," returned Joseph. " A bag- 
 pipe ruins the voice, and except the Head- Woodsman — " 
 
 " And his son," said Brulette, heedlessly. 
 
 I nudged her elbow, and she began to talk of something 
 else, but Joseph, who was eaten up with jealous}^ persisted 
 in harking back to the song. 
 
 "I believe," he said, "that when Pere Bastien com- 
 posed those words he was thinking of three fellows of our 
 acquaintance ; for I remember a talk we had with him 
 after supper the day of your arrival in the forest." 
 
 " I don't remember it," said Brulette, blushing. 
 
 " But I do," returned Joseph. " We were speaking of 
 a girl's love, and Huriel said it could n't be won b}' toss- 
 ing up for it. Tiennet declared, laughing, that softness 
 and submission were of no use, and to be loved we must 
 needs be feared, instead of being too kind and good. 
 Huriel argued against Tiennet, and I listened without say- 
 
218 The Bagpipers. 
 
 ing a woi'd. Am not I the one who * bears the flower, — 
 the 3'oungest of the three, who loves and cowers' ? Repeat 
 the last verse, Brulette, as you know it so well — about 
 ' gifts for those who ask.' " 
 
 " Since 3'ou know it as well as I do," said Brulette, rather 
 nettled, "keep it to sing to the first girl 3'ou make love 
 to. If Pere Bastien likes to turn the talk he hears into 
 sono-s, it is not for me to draw conclusions. Besides, I 
 know nothing about it. But my feet are tingling with 
 cold, and while the horse walks up this hill, I shall take a 
 run to warm them." 
 
 Not waiting till I could stop the horse, she jumped on 
 to the road and walked off in front of us as light as a little 
 milkmaid. 
 
 I wanted to get down too, but Joseph caught me by the 
 arm and, always pursuing his own ideas, "Don't you 
 think, " said he, " that we despise those who show their 
 desires as much as those who do not show them at all? " 
 
 " If you mean me — " 
 
 " I mean no one. I was only thinking of the talk we 
 had over there, which Pere Bastien turned into a song 
 against your speech and my silence. It seems that Huriel 
 will win his suit with the girl." 
 
 " What girl? " I said, out of patience, for Joseph had 
 never taken me into his confidence before, and I was none 
 too pleased to have him give it out of vexation. 
 
 " What girl? " he cried in a tone of angry sarcasm, ^' the 
 girl of the song." 
 
 "Then what suit is Huriel to win? does the girl Uve at 
 a distance ? is that where Huriel has gone ? " 
 
 Joseph thought a moment and then continued: "It is 
 true enough, what he said, that between mastership and 
 silence, there is prayer. That comes round to your 
 
/ The Bagpipers, 219 
 
 first remark, that in order to attract we must not love too 
 well. He who loves too well is the timid, silent one ; not 
 a word can he tear from his throat, and he is thought a 
 fool because he is dumb with desire and false shame." 
 
 " No doubt of that," I said. " I have gone through it m}'- 
 self many a time. But it also happened to me sometimes 
 to speak out so badl}^ that I had better have held my 
 tongue ; I might have fancied m3'self beloved a little 
 longer." 
 
 Poor Joseph bit his lips and said no more. I was sorry 
 I had vexed him, and 3'et I could not prevent mj'self from 
 resenting his jealousy of Huriel, knowing as I did how the 
 latter had done his best for him against his own interests. 
 I took, at this very time, such a disgust for jealousy that 
 since then I have never felt a twinge of it, and I don't 
 think I could now without good reason. 
 
 I was, however, just going to speak kindl}' to him, when 
 we noticed that Brulette, who was still ahead of us, had 
 stopped on the wa3'side to speak to a monk, who looked 
 short and fat, like the one I had seen in the woods of 
 Chamberat. I whipped up the horse, and soon convinced 
 m3'self that it was really Brother Nicolas. He had asked 
 Brulette if he were far from our village, and, as he was 
 still three miles distant and said he was ver3' tired, she 
 had offered to give him a lift in our conve3-ance. 
 
 We made room for him and for a large covered basket 
 which he was carr3'ing, and which he deposited with much 
 precaution on his knees. None of us dreamed of asking 
 what it contained, except perhaps m3'self, who am naturall3' 
 rather curious ; but I feared to be indiscreet, for I knew 
 the mendicant friars gathered up all sorts of things from 
 j)ious shopkeepers, which the3' sold again for the benefit of 
 their monaster}'. Everything came hand}' for this traffic, 
 
220 The Bagi)ipers. 
 
 even women's triimpeiy, which, however; some of them did 
 not venture to dispose of openly. 
 
 I drove at a trot, and presently we caught sight of the 
 church clock and the old elms on the market-place, then 
 of all the houses of the village, both big and little, — which 
 did not afford me as much pleasure as I had expected, for 
 the meeting with Brother Nicolas had brought to mind 
 certain painful things about which I was still uneas3\ I 
 saw, however, that he was on his guard as well as I, for 
 he said not a word before Brulette and Joseph showing 
 that we had met elsewhere than at the dance, or that he 
 and I knew more of what had happened than the rest. 
 
 He was a very pleasant man, with a jovial nature that 
 might have amused me under other circumstances, but 
 I was in a hurrj^ to reach home and get him alone by 
 liimself, so as to ask if he had any news of the affair. As 
 we entered the village Joseph jumped off, and notwith- 
 standing that Brulette begged him to come and rest at her 
 grandfather's, he took the road to Saint-Chartier, saying 
 that he would pa}' his respects to Pere Brulet after he had 
 seen and embraced his mother. 
 
 I fancied that the friar rather urged it on him as a dut}', 
 as if to get rid of him ; and then, instead of accepting my 
 proposal that he should dine and sup at m}' house, Brother 
 Nicolas declared that he could stop only an hour at Pere 
 Brulet's, with whom he had business. 
 
 "You will be ver}' welcome," said Brulette; " but do 
 you know my grandfather ? I have never seen you at the 
 house." 
 
 " I do not know either him or your village," answered 
 the monk, " but I am charged with an errand to him, 
 which I can deliver only at his house." 
 
 "I returned to ni}' first notion, namely, th?,t he had 
 
The Bagpipers* 221 
 
 ribbons and laces in his basket, and that, having heard from 
 the neighbors that Brulette was the smartest girl in these 
 parts, he wanted to show her his merchandise without 
 exposing himself to gossip, which, in those days, spared 
 neither good monks nor wicked ones. 
 
 I thought this idea was in Brulette's head too, for when 
 she got down first at the door, she held out both arms 
 for the basket, saying, "Don't be afraid; I guess what 
 is in it." But the friar refused to give it up, saying it 
 was valuable and he feared it might get broken. 
 
 " I see. Brother," I said to him in a low voice, detaining 
 him a moment, *' that you are ver}' hxxsy. I don't w^ant 
 to hinder you, but I should like you to tell me quickl}- if 
 there is an}^ news from over there." 
 
 " None that I know of," he said in the same tone ; 
 ''but no news is good news." Then shaking me b}' the 
 hand in a friendly way, he entered the house after Brulette, 
 who was already hanging to her grandfather's neck. 
 
 I thought old Brulet, who was generall}' polite, owed 
 me a hearty welcome and some thanks for the care I had 
 taken of his granddaughter ; but instead of keeping me 
 even a moment, he seemed more interested in the arrival 
 of the friar ; for, taking him at once by the hand, he led 
 him into an inner room, begging me to excuse him and 
 saying he had matters of importance to discuss and wished 
 to be alone with his granddaughter. 
 
222 The Bagpipers, 
 
 NINETEENTH EVENING. 
 
 I AM not easily affronted, but I was so now at being 
 thus received ; and I went off home to put up the cart 
 and to inquire after my family. After that, the daj^ being 
 too far gone to go to work, I sauntered about the village 
 to see if everything was in its old place, and found no 
 change, except that one of the trees felled on the common 
 before the cobblei"'s door had been chopped up into sabots, 
 and that Pere Godard had trimmed up his poplar and put 
 new flags on his path. I certainly supposed that my 
 journey into the Bourbonnais had made a stir, and I 
 expected to be assailed with questions which I might find 
 it hard to answer ; but the folks in our region are very 
 indifferent, and I seemed, for the first time, to realize how 
 dull the}' were, — being obliged to tell a good many that 
 I had just returned from a trip. They did not even know 
 I had been away. 
 
 Towards evening, as I was loitering home, I met the 
 friar on his wa}' to La Chatre, and he told me that Pere 
 Brulet wanted me to sup with him. 
 
 What was m}' astonishment on entering the house to 
 see Pere Brulet on one side of the table, and his grand- 
 daughter on the other, gazing at the monk's basket which 
 la}^ open before them, and in it a big baby about a year 
 old, sitting on a pillow and tr^'ing to eat some black- 
 heart cherries, the juice of which had daubed and stained 
 his face ! 
 
 Brulette seemed to me thoughtful and rather sad ; but 
 
The Bagpipers. 223 
 
 when she saw my amazement she could n't help laughing ; 
 after which she wiped her eyes, for she seemed to me to 
 have been shedding tears of grief or vexation rather than 
 of gayetj. 
 
 "Come," she said at last, "shut the door tight and 
 listen to us. Here is grandfather who wants to tell you 
 all about the fine present the monk has brought us." 
 
 "You must know, nephew," said Pere Brulet, who 
 never smiled at pleasant things anj' more than he frowned 
 at disagreeable ones, "that this is an orphan child; and 
 we have agreed with the monk to take care of him for the 
 price of his board. We know nothing about the child, 
 neither his father, his mother, his countr}-, nor an3'thing 
 else. He is called Chariot, and that is all we do know. 
 The pay is good, and the friar gave us the preference 
 because he met Brulette in the Bourbonnais, and hearing 
 where she lived and how well-behaved she was, and, 
 moreover, that she was not rich and had time at her 
 disposal, he thought he could give her a pleasure and do 
 her a service by putting the little fellow under her charge 
 and lettins^ her earn the monev." 
 
 Though the matter was tolerably surprising, I was not 
 much astonished at first hearing of it, and only asked if 
 the monk was formerl}^ known to Pere Brulet, and whether 
 he could trust him as to the future pa3'ment. 
 
 "I had never seen him," replied the old man, "but I 
 knew that he had been in this neighborhood several times, 
 and he is known to persons in whom I have confidence, 
 and who informed me, two or three da3's ago, of the 
 matter he was to come about. Besides, a 3'ear's board is 
 paid in advance, and when the money does n't come it will 
 be soon enough to worry." 
 
 ' ' Very good, uncle ; you know your own aflfairs ; but 
 
224 The Bagpipers, 
 
 I should not have expected to see m}^ cousin, who loves 
 her freedom, tied down to the care of a little monkey 
 who is notliing to her, and who, be it said without offence, 
 is not at all nice in his appearance." 
 
 "That is just what annoys me," said Brulette, " and I 
 was saying so to m}' grandfather as you came in. And," 
 she added, rubbing the muzzle of the little animal with 
 her handkerchief, "no wiping will make his mouth any 
 better ; I wish I could have begun my apprenticeship with 
 a child that was prettier to kiss. This one looks surl}', 
 and won't even smile ; he cares only for things to eat." 
 
 "Bah!" said Pere Brulet, "he is not uglier than all 
 children of his age, and it is your business to make him 
 nice. He is tired with his journey, and does n't know 
 where he is, nor what we mean to do with him." 
 
 Pere Brulet went out to look for his knife, which he had 
 left at a neighbor's, and I began to get more and more 
 surprised when alone with Brulette. She seemed anno3'ed 
 at times, and even distressed. 
 
 " What worries me is that I don't know how to take 
 care of a child," she said. " I could not bear to let a poor 
 creature that can't help itself suffer ; but I am so un- 
 handy ; I am sorr}' now that I never was inclined to look 
 after the little ones." 
 
 "It is a fact," I said, " that you don't seem born for 
 the business, and I can't understand wh}' j^our grandfather 
 who I never thought was eager after mone}-, should put 
 such a care upon you for the sake of a few crowns." 
 
 "You talk like a rich man." she said. "Remember 
 that I have no dower, and that a fear of poverty has 
 always deterred me from marrying." 
 
 "That's a very bad reasou, I'rulotte. You haA^e been 
 and still will be sought afLer by men who are richer than 
 
The Bagpipers, 225 
 
 3'ou, Jind who love your sweet eyes and 3'our prett}- 
 chatter." 
 
 " My sweet e3'es will fade, and m}- pretty chatter won't 
 be worth much when the beauty has gone. I don't wish 
 to be reproached at the end of a few years with having 
 lost my dower of charms and brought nothing more solid 
 into the household." 
 
 "Is it that you are really thinking of marrying — since 
 we left the Bourbonnais ? " I asked. " This is the first time 
 I ever heard 3'ou talk of mone3\" 
 
 " I am not thinking of it any more than I have always 
 thought," returned Brulette, but in a less confident tone 
 than usual, " I never said I meant to live unmarried." 
 
 " I see how it is ! " I cried, laughing, " you are thinking 
 of it, and you need n't tr3' to hide it from me, for I have 
 given up all hopes of m3'' own. I see plainl3' enough that 
 in taking care of this little wretch, who has mone3' and no 
 mother, 3'ou are laying up a store, like the squirrels. If 
 not, 3'our grandfather, whom 3'ou have alwa3's rnled as if 
 he were 3'our grandson, would not have forced you to take 
 such a bo3^ to nurse." 
 
 Brulette lifted the child from the table, and as she 
 carried him to her grandfather's bed she gave him a 
 rather sad look. 
 
 " Poor Chariot ! " she said, " I '11 do my best for you ; 
 3'OU are much to be pitied for having come into the world, 
 and it is my belief that nobod3' wanted 3'ou." 
 
 But her gayet3^ soon returned ; she even had some 
 hGart3" laughs at supper in feeding Chariot, who had the 
 appetite of a little wolf, and answered all her attentions 
 b3^ trying to scratch her face. 
 
 Toward eight o'clock Joseph came in and was ver3'' 
 well received by Pcre Brulet ; but I obsei-ved that Bru- 
 
 15 
 
226 The Bagpipers. 
 
 lette, who had just been putting Chariot to bed, closed 
 the curtains quickly as if to hide him, and seemed dis- 
 turbed all the time that Joseph remained. I observed also 
 that not a word was said to him of this singular event, either 
 by the old man or by Brulette, and I therefore thought it 
 my duty to hold my tongue. Joseph was cross, and said 
 as httle as possible in answer to ni}- uncle's questions. 
 Brulette asked him if he had found his mother in good 
 health, and if she had been surprised and pleased to see 
 him. Then, as he said "yes" to everything, she asked 
 if he had not tired himself too much by walking to Saint- 
 Chartier and back in one evening. 
 
 " I did not wish to let the da}' go by without paying my 
 respects to your grandfather," he said; "and now, as I 
 really am tired, I shall go and spend the night with 
 Tiennet, if I don't inconvenience him." 
 
 I answered that it would give me pleasure, and took 
 him to my house where, after we were in bed, he said : 
 " Tiennet, I am really on the point of departure. I came 
 here onl}' to get away from the woods of Alleu, for I was 
 sick of them." 
 
 " That's the worst of 3'ou, Joseph ; you were there with 
 friends who took the place of those 3'ou left here in the 
 same way- — " 
 
 "Well, it is what I choose to do," he said, rather 
 shortly ; then in a milder tone he added : " Tiennet, Tien- 
 net, there are some things one can tell, and others which 
 force us to keep silence. You hurt me to-day in telling 
 me I could never please Brulette." 
 
 "Joseph, I never said anything of the kind, for the 
 reason that I don't know if 3'ou reall}^ care for her." 
 
 "You do know it," he replied; "and you blame me 
 for not having opened my heart to you. But how could 
 
Tlie Bagpipers, 227 
 
 I ? I am not one of those who tell their secrets willingly. 
 It is m}^ misfortune ; I believe I have really no other 
 illness than one sole idea, always stretching toward the 
 same end, and always beaten back when it rises to my lips. 
 Listen to me now, while I do feel able to talk ; for God 
 knows how soon I may fall mute again. I love ; and I 
 see plainly I am not loved. So many years have passed 
 in this way (for I loved Brulette when we were little 
 children) that I have grown accustomed to the pain. I 
 have never flattered myself that I could please her ; I 
 have lived in the belief that she would never care for me. 
 Lately, however, I saw by her coming to the Bourbonnais 
 that I was something to her, and it gave me strength and 
 the will not to die. But I soon perceived that she met 
 some one over there who suited her better than I." 
 
 " I know nothing about it," I replied ; " but if it were 
 so, that some one jon speak of gave you no ground for 
 complaint or reproach." 
 
 "That is true," said Joseph; "and my anger is un- 
 just, — all the more because Fluriel, knowing Brulette to be 
 an honest girl, and not being able to marry her so long 
 as he remains in the fraternity of muleteers, has himself 
 done what he could to separate from her. I can still hope 
 to return to Brulette hereafter, more worth}- of her than 
 I have been ; but I cannot bear to staj- here now, for I 
 am still nothing better than I was in the past. There is 
 something in the manner and language of every one who 
 speaks to me that seems to mean : ' You are sick, you 
 are thin, you are ugly, you are feeble, you know nothing 
 new and nothing good that can interest us in you.' Yes, 
 Tiennet, what I tell 3-0U is exactly so ; my mother seemed 
 frightened b}^ my face when she saw me, and she cried so 
 when she kissed me that the pain of seeing her was greater 
 
228 The Bagpipers. 
 
 than the jo}-. This evening, too, Brulctte looked annoj'ed 
 ^hen I came in, and her grandfather, good and kind as 
 he always is to me, seemed uneasy lest I should staj- too 
 long. Now don't tell me that I imagined all that. Like 
 ell those who speak little, I see much. M3' time has not 
 yet come ; I must go, and the sooner the better." 
 
 "I think 3'ou ought to take at least a few daj^s' rest," 
 I said ; " for I fancy 3'ou mean to go to a great distance, 
 and I do not think it friendly in you to give us unneces- 
 sary anxiet3\" 
 
 "You need not be anxious, Tiennet. I have all the 
 strength I want, and I shall not be ill again. I have 
 learned one thing ; and that is that frail bodies, to which 
 God has given slender physical powers, are provided with 
 a force of will which carries them farther than the vigor- 
 ous health of others. I was not exaggerating when 1 told 
 you over there that I became, as it were, a new man on 
 seeing Huriel fight so boldl}' ; and that I was wide awake 
 in the night when T heard his voice saying to me, ^Come, 
 cheer up ! I am a man, and as long as 3'ou are not one 
 you will count for nothing.' I want therefore to shake 
 myself free of my poor nature, and return here some day 
 as good to look at and better to hear than all Brulette's 
 other lovers." 
 
 " But," I said, "suppose she makes her choice before 
 3'Ou return? She is going on nineteen, and for a girl as 
 much courted as she is it is time to decide." 
 
 " She will decide only between Huriel and me," an- 
 swered Joseph, in a confident tone. " There is no one 
 but him and myself who are capable of teaching her to 
 love. Excuse me, Tiennet ; I know, or at least I believe, 
 that 3'Ou dreamed of it." 
 
 *' Yes," I replied, " but I don't dream of it anj^ longer." 
 
The Bagpipers. 229 
 
 " Well for you ! " said Joseph ; "for 3'oa could never 
 have been happy with her. She has tastes and ideas 
 which don't belong to the ground she has grown in ; she 
 needs another wind to rock her ; the one that blows here 
 is not pure enough and it might wither her. She feels all 
 this, though she may not know how to sa}' it ; and I tell 
 3'ou that unless Huriel is treacherous, I shall find her still 
 free, a year or two hence." 
 
 So saying, Joseph, as if wearied out b}^ letting himself 
 talk so much, dropped his head on his pillow and went to 
 sleep. For the last hour I had been struggling to keep 
 awake, for I was tired out myself. I slept soundl}', and 
 when at daybreak I called him he did not answer. I 
 looked about, and he was gone without awaking an}' one. 
 
 Brulette went the next day to see Mariton, to break the 
 news to her, and find out what had passed between her 
 and her son. She would not let me accompanj- her, and 
 told me on her return that she could not get Mariton to 
 say much, because her master Benoit was ill and even in 
 some danger from congestion of the brain. I concluded, 
 therefore, that the woman, being obliged to nurse her mas- 
 ter, had not had time to talk with her son as much as he 
 would have liked, and consequently he had become jealous, 
 as his nature led him to be at such times. 
 
 "That is very likel}'," said Brulette, "for the wiser 
 Joseph gets through ambition the more exacting he be- 
 comes. I think I liked him better when he was simple and 
 submissive as he used to be." 
 
 When I related to Brulette all that he had said to me 
 the night before, she replied: " If he realh^ has so high 
 an ambition, we should onlj' hamper him b}^ showing an 
 anxiety he does not wish for. Leave him in God's care! 
 If I wei'e the flirt 3'ou declared I was in former times, I 
 
230 The Bagpipers, 
 
 should be prond to be the cause of his endeavoring to im- 
 prove his mind and his career ; but I am not ; and my 
 feeling is chiefly regret that he does nothing for his mother 
 or himself." 
 
 " But is n't he right when he sa3's that you can only 
 choose between Huriel and him? " 
 
 " There is time enough to think about that," she said, 
 laughing with her lips, though her face was not cheerful, 
 "especially as the onlj' two lovers Joseph allows me are 
 running away as fast as their legs can go." 
 
 During the next week the arrival of the child which the 
 monk had brought was the subject of village gossip and 
 the torment of the inquisitive. So man}' tales were 
 founded upon it that Chariot came near being the son of a 
 prince, and every one wanted to borrow money of Pere 
 Brulet, or sell goods to him, convinced that the stipend 
 which induced his granddaughter to take up a duty so 
 contrar}^ to her tastes must at least be a princely revenue. 
 The jealousy of some and the discontent of others made the 
 old man enemies, which he had never had in his life, and 
 he was much astonished by it ; for, simple, pious soul that 
 he was, it had never occurred to him that the matter might 
 give occasion for gossip. Brulette, however, only laughed 
 and persuaded him to pay no attention to it. 
 
 Daj'S and weeks went b}^ and we heard nothing of 
 Joseph, or of Huriel, or of the Woodsman and his daugh- 
 ter. Brulette wrote to Therence and I to Huriel, but we 
 got no answers. Brulette was troubled and even annoj'ed ; 
 so much so that she told me she did not mean to think 
 anj'thing more of those foreigners, who did not even re- 
 member her, and made no return for the friendship she had 
 offered them. So she began once more to dress herself 
 smartly and appear at the dances ; for the gallants com- 
 
The Bagpipers. 231 
 
 plained of her gloomy looks and the headaches she talked 
 of ever since her trip to the Bourbonnais. The journej' had 
 been rather criticised ; people even said she had some secret 
 love over there, either for Joseph or for some one else; and 
 the}' expected her to be more amiable than ever, before they 
 would forgive her for going off without a word to any one. 
 
 Brulette was too proud to give in to cajoling them, but 
 she dearly loved pleasure, and being drawn in that direc- 
 tion, she gave Cliarlot in charge of her neighbor, Mere 
 Lamouche, and took her amusement as before. 
 
 One evening, as I was coming back with her from the 
 pilgrimnge of Vaudevant, which is a great festival, we 
 heard Chariot howling, far as we were from the house. 
 *' That dreadful child," said Brulette, " is never out of mis- 
 chief. I am sure I don't know who can ever manage him." 
 
 " Are you sure," I said, " the Mere Lamouche takes as 
 good care of him as she promised 3'ou ? " 
 
 " Of course she does. She has nothing else to do, and 
 I pay her enough to satisfy her." 
 
 Chariot continued to yell, and the house looked as 
 though it were locked up and there was no one in it. 
 Brulette ran and knocked loudl}^ on the door, but no one 
 answered except Chariot, who screamed louder than ever, 
 cither from fright, or loneliness, or anger. 
 
 I was obliged to climb to the thatch of the roof and 
 clamber down through the trap-door of the loft. I opened 
 the door for Brulette and then we saw Chariot all alone, 
 rolling in the ashes, where by great good luck there was 
 no fire, and purple as a beet from screaming, 
 
 " Heavens!" cried Brulette, " is that the way to care 
 for the poor little wretch? Well, whoso takes a child gets 
 a master. I ought to have known it, and either not taken 
 this one, or given up my own enjoyments." 
 
232 Tfie Bagpijjers. 
 
 So saying, she carried Chariot to her own home, half in 
 pity and half impatiently, and having washed, fed, and 
 consoled him as best she could, she put him to sleep, and 
 sat down to reflect, with her head in her hands. I tried 
 to show her that it would be eas}' enough, by sacrificing 
 the mone}' she was gaining, to employ* some kindly, careful 
 woman to take charge of the boj-. 
 
 "' No," she exclaimed, '' I must look after him, because 
 I am responsible for him, and 3'ou see what looking after 
 him means. If I think I can let up for one day it is just 
 that very day that I ought not to have done so. Yes, 
 that's it, I ought not," she said, crying. " It would be 
 wrong ; and I should be sony for it all m}' life." 
 
 " On the other hand, you would do wrong if the child 
 were to be the gainer by it. He is not happy with 3'ou, 
 and he might be elsewhere." 
 
 " Wh}', is n't he happj^ with me? I hope he is, except 
 on the da3's when I am absent ; and so I say I will not 
 absent m3^self again." 
 
 " I tell you he is no better off when you are here." 
 
 *'What do you mean?" cried Brulette, striking her 
 hands with vexation ; " where have 3'OU heard that? Did 
 \'OU ever see me ill-treat the child, or even threaten him ? 
 Can I help it if he is an unpleasant child with a sulk3^ dis- 
 position? If he were m3^ own I could not do better for 
 him." 
 
 " Oh ! I know you are not unkind to him and never let 
 him want for an3'thing, because 3'ou are a dear, sweet Chris- 
 tian ; but you can't love him, for that does n't depend upon 
 3^ourself He feels this without knowing it, and that keeps 
 him from loving and caressing others. Animals know 
 when people like them or dislike them ; why should n't 
 little human beings do the same?" 
 
The Bagpipers, 233 
 
 TWENTIETH EVENING. 
 
 Brulette colored, pouted, began to cry, and said 
 nothing ; but the next day I met her leading her beasts to 
 pasture with Chariot in her arras. She sat down in the 
 middle of the field with the child on the skirt of her gown, 
 and said to me : — 
 
 "You were right, Tiennet. Your reproaches made me 
 reflect, and I have made up my mind what to do. I can't 
 promise to love this Chariot much, but I '11 behave as if 
 I did, and perhaps God will reward me some da}' b}- giv- 
 ing me children of m}^ own more lovable than this one." 
 
 " Ah, ni}^ darling ! " I cried. " I don't know what makes 
 you sa}^ that. I never blamed 3'ou ; I have nothing to re- 
 proach 3'ou with except the obstinacy with which you now 
 resolve to bring up tlie little wretch yourself. Come, let 
 me write to that friar, or let me go and find him and 
 make him put the child in another famil}'. I know where 
 the convent is, and I would rather make another long 
 journey than see 3'ou condemned to this sort of thing." 
 
 "No, Tiennet," replied Brulette. "We must not even 
 think of changing what was agreed upon. My grand^ 
 father promised for me, and I was bound to consent. If 
 I could tell you — but I can't ! One thing I want 3'Ou to 
 know ; it is that mone^^ counts for nothing in the bargain, 
 and that my grandfather and I will never accept a penny 
 for a duty we are bound to perform." 
 
 " Now you do surprise me. Whose child is it? It must 
 belong to some of your relatives, — consequently, mine." 
 
234 The Bagpipers, 
 
 " Possibl}'," she replied. ''Some of our famil}^ live 
 away from liere. But consider that I have told you 
 nothing, for I cannot and ought not to do so. Let 
 people believe that the little monkey' is a stranger to us, 
 and tliat we are paid for the care of him. Otherwise, evil 
 tongues might accuse those who don't deserve it." 
 
 "The devil!" said I. "If you haven't set me on 
 thorns ! I can't think — " 
 
 "That's just it," she said, "you are not to think; I 
 forbid it, — though I am quite sure 3'ou never could 
 find out." 
 
 "Very good! but do 3'ou really mean to wean 3-ourself 
 from all amusements, just as that child is weaned of the 
 breast? The devil take your grandfather's promise ! " 
 
 " M3' grandfather did right, and if I had gone against 
 him I should have been a heartless girl. I repeat, I don't 
 choose to do things by halves, even if I die of it." 
 
 Brulette was resolute. From that day such a change 
 came over her that she was scarceh' recognizable. She 
 never left the house fexcept to pasture her sheep and her 
 goats with Chariot beside her ; and when she had put 
 him to bed for the night she would take her work and sit 
 near him. She went to none of the dances, and bought no 
 more finer}', having no longer an\^ occasion for it. This 
 dull life made her serious and even sad, for she soon 
 found herself neglected. There is no girl so pretty but 
 what she is forced to be amiable with evcrybod}' if she 
 wants to have followers ; and Brulette, who now showed 
 no desire to please, was called sullen, all the more because 
 she had once been so much the reverse. In m}- opinion 
 she had only changed for the better, for, having never 
 pla^^ed the coquette, onl}' m}^ lady the princess with me, 
 she seemed to my mind more gentle in manner, more 
 
Tiie BagiJipers, 235 
 
 sensible and interesting in lier behavior ; but others didn't 
 think so. In the past she had allowed her lovers just so 
 much hope as now made each of them feel affronted b}" 
 her neglect, as if he considered he had a right to her ; 
 and although her coquetry had alwaj's been very harmless 
 she was punished for it as if it were a wrong done to 
 others ; which proves, as I think, that men have as much, 
 if not more, vanity than women, and consider that no one 
 ever does enough to please or pacifj' the conceit they 
 have of themselves. 
 
 There is one thing certain at least, and that is that 
 many persons are very unjust, — even young men who seem 
 such good fellows and such willhig slaves as long as the^^ 
 are in love. Many of Brulette's old admirers now turned 
 as^ainst her, and more than once I had words with them 
 in defending my cousin from the blame they put upon her. 
 Unfortunately-, they were encouraged by the gossips and 
 the selfish folk who were jealous of Pere Brulet's supposed 
 bit of luck ; until finall}- Brulette was obliged to refuse 
 to see these maliciously inquisitive people, and even the 
 false friends who came and repeated to her what they had 
 heard others say. 
 
 This is how it was that in less than one year the 
 queen of the village, the Rose of Nohant, was condemned 
 by evil minds and abandoned by fools. The}' told dark 
 stories about her, and I shuddered lest she should hear 
 them ; indeed, I myself was often harassed and puzzled 
 how to answer them. The worst lie of all was one Pere 
 Brulet ought to have expected, namel}', that Chariot was 
 neither some poor foundling nor the son of a prince, 
 brought up secretly, but really Brulette's own child. In 
 vain I pointed out that the girl had alwa3's lived openly 
 under the eyes of everybod}^ ; and having never encour- 
 
236 The Bagpipers. 
 
 aged any particular lover she could not have committed 
 a fault so difficult to hide. They answered that such and 
 such a one had boldly concealed her condition till the very 
 last day, and had reappeared, sometimes the day after, 
 as composed and livel}- as if nothing had happened, and 
 had even hidden the consequences until she was married 
 to the author, or the dupe, of her sin. Unfortunatel}', this 
 had happened more than once in our village. In these 
 little country places, where the houses are surrounded by 
 gardens, and separated from each other by hemp and 
 lucern fields, some of them of great extent, it is not easy 
 to see and hear from one to another at all hours of the 
 night, and, indeed, things are done at Siwy time which the 
 good God alone takes account of 
 
 One of the worst tongues against Brulette was that of 
 Mere Lamouche, ever since Brulette had found her out 
 and taken the boy away from her. She had so long been 
 the willing servant and slave of the girl that she knew 
 she could look for no further gain from her, and in re- 
 venge she invented and told anything that people wanted 
 her to say. She related, to whoever listened, how Brulette 
 had sacrificed her honor to that " pnn}' fellow, Jose," 
 and that she was so ashamed of it that she had forced 
 him to leave the place. Jose had submitted, on condition 
 that she would marry no one else ; and he was now in 
 foreign parts trying to earn enough money to marrj^ her. 
 The child, said the woman, had been taken into the Bour- 
 bonnais cbuntrj^ by men with blackened faces who called 
 themselves muleteers, and whose acquaintance Joseph had 
 made under pretence of buying his bagpipe ; but there 
 had never been any other bagpipe in the case than that 
 squalling Chariot. About a year after his birth Brulette 
 had gone to see her lover and the baby, in company witli 
 
The Bagpipers. 237 
 
 me and a muleteer who was as ugl}' as the devil. There 
 we made acquaintance with a mendicant friar, who 
 offered to bring the bab}' back for us, and with whom we 
 concocted the story of its being a rich foundling ; which 
 was altogether false, for this child had brought not one 
 penn}' of profit to Pere Brulet. 
 
 When Mere Lamouche invented this tale, in which, 
 you see, lies were mixed up with facts, her word was 
 believed b}' everj'body, and Joseph's short and almost 
 secret visit assisted the belief. So, with much laughter 
 and derision, Brulette was nicknamed *'Josette." 
 
 In spite of my wrath at these outrageous stories, Bru- 
 lette took so little pains to make herself agreeable, and 
 showed by her care for the child such contempt for the 
 gossips, that I began to get bewildered m3'sclf. Was it 
 absolutely impossible that I had been a dupe? Once 
 upon a time I had certainly been jealous of Joseph. 
 However virtuous and discreet a girl might be, however 
 shy the lad, it had often happened that love and igno- 
 rance got the better of them, and some j'oung couples had 
 never known the meaning of evil until they had committed 
 it. If she had once done wrong, Brulette, a clever girl, was 
 none the less capable of hiding her misfortune, being too 
 proud to confess it, 3'et too right-minded to deceive 
 others. Was it not b}' her orders that Joseph wished to 
 make himself a worthy husband and father? It was cer- 
 tainly a wise and patient scheme. Was I deceived in 
 thinking she had a fancy for Huriel? I might have been ; 
 but even if she had felt it, in spite of herself, she had not 
 yielded to her feelings, and so had done no wrong to 
 Joseph. In short, was it conscientious dutj', or strength 
 of friendship, which made her go to the relief of the poor 
 sick man ? In either case she was right to do so. If she 
 
238 The Bagpipers. 
 
 were a mother, she was a good mother, though her natu- 
 ral incUnations were not that wa}'. All women can have 
 children, but all women are not fond of children for all 
 that, and Brulette ought therefore to have the more credit 
 for taking back her own in spite of her love for company, 
 and the questions she thus raised as to the truth. 
 
 All things considered, I did not see, even in what 1 
 might suppose the worst of my cousin's conduct, anything 
 that lowered m}" friendship for her. Only I felt she had 
 been so contradictory in her statements that I no longer 
 knew how to rely on them. If she loved Joseph then she 
 had certainly been artful ; but if she did not love him, she 
 had been too lively in spirits and forgetful of what had 
 happened, for a person who was resolved to do her dut}*. 
 
 If she had not been so ill-treated b}' the communit}-, 
 I might have lessened my visits, for these doubts certainly 
 lowered my confidence in her ; but on the contrary', I con- 
 trolled m3'self and went to the house ever^' day, taking 
 pains not to show her the least distrust. For all this, I 
 was continually surprised at the difficult}' with which she 
 broke herself in, as it were, to the duties of a mother. In 
 spite of the weight of care I believed she had on her 
 mind, there were times when all her beautj' and 30uth 
 came back to her. She wore neither silk nor laces, that 
 is true, but her hair was silky, her stockings well-fitting, 
 and her pretty little feet were itching for a dance 
 wherever she saw a bit of greensward or heard the sound 
 of the bagpipes. Sometimes at home, when the thought 
 of a Bourbon nais reel came over her, she would put 
 Chariot on her grandfather's knee and make me dance it 
 with her, singing and laughing and carrying herself jaun- 
 tily, as if all the parish were there to see her ; but a minute 
 later, if Chariot cried or wanted to go to bed, or to be 
 
The Bagpipers. 239 
 
 carried, or to be fed when he was n't hungry-, or given 
 drink that he didn't want, she would take him in her 
 arms with tears in her ej'es, hke a dog who is being 
 chained up, and then, with a sigh, she would croon him 
 a tune or pamper him with a bit of cake. 
 
 Seeing how she regretted her gay life, I offered her my 
 sister's services in taking care of the little one, while she 
 went to the fetes at Saint-Chartier. I must tell \o\x that 
 in those da3-s there lived in the old castle (of which 
 nothing is now left but the shell) an old maiden lady, 
 who was very good-natured and gave balls to all the 
 country round. Tradesmen and noblemen, peasants and 
 artisans, as many as liked, went there. You saw gentle- 
 men and ladies going along the abominable roads in mid- 
 winter, mounted on horses and donkey's, and wearing silk 
 stockings, silver shoe-buckles, and powdered wigs as white 
 as the snow on the trees along the road. Nothing deterred 
 the company, rich or poor, for the}' amused them hugely 
 and were well entertained from midda}' till six at night. 
 
 The lady of Saint-Chartier, who had noticed Brulette 
 dancing in the market-place the year before, and was 
 always anxious to have pretty girls at her daylight balls, 
 invited her, and b}' m}' advice, she went once. I thought 
 it was good advice, for she seemed to be getting de- 
 pressed and to make no effort to raise her spirits. She 
 was always so sweet to look at, and so ready with the 
 right thing to say, that I never thought it possible people 
 would n't receive her kindl}', especially when she dressed 
 so well and looked so handsome. 
 
 When she entered on m}^ arm, whisperings went round, 
 but no one dared to do more. She danced first with me, 
 and as she had that sort of charm that everybody jields 
 to, others came and asked her, possibly intending to show 
 
240 The Bagpipers. 
 
 her some freeclorn, but not daring to risk it. All went well 
 till a part}' of rie*li folks came into the room where we 
 were ; for the peasantr}', I should tell 3'ou, had their ball- 
 room apart and did not mix with the rich till nearly the 
 end, when the ladies, deserted b}' their partners, would 
 come and mingle with the country girls, who attracted 
 people of all kinds b}^ their lively chatter and their healthy 
 looks. 
 
 Brulette was at first stared at as the handsomest article 
 of the show, and the silk stockings paid such attention to 
 the woollen stockings that no one could get near her. 
 Then, in the spirit of contradiction, all those who had 
 been tearing her to pieces for the last six months became 
 frantically jealous all at once, and more in love than they 
 had ever been. 80 then it was a struggle who should in- 
 vite her first ; in fact, they were almost ready to fight for 
 the kiss that opened the dance. 
 
 The ladies and the young ladies were provoked ; and 
 our class of women complained to the lads for not keeping 
 up their ill-will ; but they might as well have talked to the 
 winds ; one glance of a pretty girl has more sweetness 
 than the tongue of an ugty one has venom. 
 
 " Well, Brulette," I said, on our way home, "Wasn't 
 I right to tell j^ou to shake off your low spirits ? You see 
 the game is never lost if 3'ou know how to pla}' it boldly." 
 " Thank you, cousin," she repUed ; "you are my best 
 friend ; indeed, I think, you are the onl}' true and faithful 
 friend I have ever had. I am glad to have got the better 
 of m}' enemies, and now, I think I shall never be dull at 
 home again." 
 
 ' ' The devil ! how fast 3'Ou change ! Yesterday it was 
 all sulks, and to-day it is all merriment ! You '11 take 3'our 
 place as queen of the village." 
 
The Bagpipers. 241 
 
 "No," she said, "3-011 don't understand mo. This is 
 the last ball I mean to go to so long as I keep Chariot ; 
 for, if you want me to tell 3'ou the truth, I have n't en- 
 joyed m^'self one bit. I put a good face on it to please 
 3'ou, and I am glad, now it is over, to have done it ; but all 
 the while I was thinking of that poor bab3'. I fancied him 
 crying and howling, no matter how kind your sister might 
 be to him ; he is so awkward in making known his wants, 
 and so anno3'ing to others." 
 
 Brulette's words set m3- teeth on edge. I had forgotten 
 the little wretch when I saw her laughing and dancing. 
 The love she no longer concealed for him brought to my 
 mind what seemed to be her past lies, and I began to 
 think she must be an utter deceiver, who had now grown 
 tired of restraining herself. 
 
 ' ' Then you love him as 3'our own flesh and blood ? " I 
 cried, not thinking much of the words I used. 
 
 " M3- own flesh and blood?" she repeated, as if sur- 
 prised. " Well, 3'es, perhaps we love all children that way 
 when we think of M'hat we owe them. I never pretended, 
 as some girls do when the3' are craving to get married, 
 that m3' instincts were those of a brooding hen. Perhaps 
 m3' head was too gidd3' to deserve a famil3' in m3' 3'oung 
 days. I know girls who can't sleep for thinking about it 
 before the3' are sixteen. But I have got to be twent3^, 
 without feeling that I am rather late. If it is wrong, it is 
 not m3- fault. I am as God made me, and I have gone 
 along as he pushed me. To tell the truth, a hixhy is a 
 hard task-master, unreasonable as a craz3' husband and 
 obstinate as a hungT3' animal. I like justice and good 
 sense, and I should much prefer quieter and more sensi- 
 ble compan3\ Also I like cleanliness ; 3'ou have often 
 laughed at me for worr3'ing about a speck of dust on the 
 
242 The Bagpipers, 
 
 dresser and letting a flj' in the milk turn my stomach. 
 Now a bab}^ is alwa3^s getting into the dirt, no matter how 
 you may try to prevent it. And then I am fond of think- 
 ing, and dreaming, and recollecting things ; but a bab}'" 
 won't let you think of anything but his wants, and gets 
 angry if you pay no attention to him. But all that is 
 neither here nor there, Tiennet, when God takes the matter 
 in hand. He invented a sort of miracle which takes place 
 inside of us when need be ; and now I know a thing which 
 I never believed until it happened to me, and that is that 
 a child, no matter how ugly and ill-tempered it is ma}' be 
 bitten b}'^ a wolf or trampled by a goat, but never b}' a 
 woman, and that he will end by managing her — unless 
 she is made of another wood than the rest of us." 
 
 As she said this we were entering my house, where 
 Chariot was playing with m}' sister's children. "Well, 
 I 'm glad you have come," said m}' sister to Brulette ; 
 "you certainly have the most ill-tempered child that ever 
 lived. He has beaten mine, and bitten them, and pro- 
 voked them, and one needs forty cartloads of patience and 
 pit}' to get along with him." 
 
 Brulette laughed, and going up to Chariot, who never 
 gave her any welcome, she said, as she watched him play- 
 ing after his fashion, and as if he could understand what 
 she said : " I knew ver}^ well you could not make these 
 kind people love you. There is no one but me, 3'ou poor 
 little screech-owl, who can put up with your claws and 
 3'our beak." 
 
 Though Chariot was onl}^ eighteen months old it seemed 
 as, if he really understood what Brulette was sa3'ing ; for 
 he got up, after looking at her for a moment with a 
 thoughtful air, and jumped upon her and seized her hand 
 and devoured it with kisses. 
 
The Baginpers. 243 
 
 *' He}' ! " cried m}' sister, " then he reall}- has his good 
 moments, after all ? " 
 
 "My dear," said Brulette, "I am just as much 
 astounded as 3'ou are. This is the first time I have ever 
 known him behave so." Then, kissing Chariot on his 
 heavy e3'elids she began to cry with joy and tenderness. 
 
 I can't tell why I was overcome by the action, as if 
 there were something marvellous in it. But, in good truth, 
 if the child was not hers, Brulette at that moment was 
 transformed before my eyes. This girl, so proud-spirited 
 that she would n't have shrunk before the king six months 
 ago, and who that very morning had had all the lads of 
 the neighborhood, rich and poor, at her knee, had gath- 
 ered such pity and Christianity into her heart that she 
 thought herself rewarded for all her trouble b}- the fii'st 
 kisses of an odious little slobberer, who had no pleasant 
 wa3's and indeed seemed half-idiotic. 
 
 The tears were in m}' ej-es, thinking of what those 
 kisses cost her, and taking Chariot on my shoulder, I 
 carried him back with her to her own door. 
 
 Twent}' times I had it on my tongue to ask her the 
 truth ; for if she had done wrong as to Chariot, I was 
 read}' to forgive her the sin, but if, on the contrary, she 
 was bearing the burden of other people's guilt, I desired 
 to kiss her feet as the sweetest and most patient winner 
 of Paradise. 
 
 But T dared not ask her any questions, and when I told 
 my doubts to my sister, who was no fool, she replied : 
 " If you dare not question her it is because in the depths 
 of 3'our heart 3'ou know her to be innocent. Besides," 
 she added, " such a fine girl would have manufactured 
 a better-looking bo}'. He is no more like her than a 
 potato is like a rose." 
 
244 The Bagpi2)ers. 
 
 TWENTY-FIRST EVENING. 
 
 The winter passed and the spring came, but Brulette 
 never went back to her amusements. She did not even 
 regret them, having seen that she could still be mistress 
 of all hearts if she chose ; but she said that so man}' men 
 and women had betrayed her friendship that now she 
 should care for quality only, not quantitj'. The poor 
 child did not then know all the wrong that had been done 
 to her. Everybody had vilified her, but no one had vet 
 dared to insult her. When the}' looked at her the}' saw 
 virtue written on her face ; but when her back was turned 
 they revenged th(^nselves in words, for the respect which 
 they could not help feeling, and they yelped at her heels 
 like a cowardly dog that dares not spring at your face, 
 
 Pere Brulet was getting old ; he grew deafer, and lived 
 so much in himself, hke all aged people, that he paid no 
 attention to the talk of the town. Father and daughter 
 were therefore less troubled than people hoped to make 
 them, and my own father, who was of a wise and Christian 
 spirit (as were the rest of my family) , advised me, and 
 also set me the example, not to worry them about it, say- 
 ing that the truth would come to light some day and the 
 wicked tongues be punished. 
 
 Time, which is a grand sweeper, began, before long, to 
 get rid of the vile dust. Brulette, who disdained revenge, 
 would take none but that of receiving very coldly the 
 advances that were made to her. It happened, as it 
 usually does, that she found friends among those who had 
 
The Bagpipers. 245 
 
 never been her lovers, and these friends, having no 
 interest of their own, protected lier in a way that she was 
 not aware of. I am not speaking of Mariton, who was 
 hke a mother to her, and who, in her inn bar-room, came 
 ver}' near flinging the jugs at the heads of the drinkers 
 when the}' ventured to sing out " Josette ;" but I mean 
 persons whom no one could accuse of bhndly supporting 
 her, and who shamed her detractors. 
 
 Thus it was that Brulette had brought herself down, at 
 first with difficult}', then, little by little, contentedlj', to a 
 quieter life than in the past. She was visited b}' sensible 
 persons, and came often to our house, bringing Chai'lot, 
 whose swollen face had improved during the preceding 
 winter, while his temper had grown much more amiable. 
 The child was really not so ugly as he was coarse, and 
 after Brulette had tamed him b}' the winsome force of her 
 gentleness and affection we saw that his big black eyes 
 were not without intelligence, and that when his broad 
 mouth was willins; to smile it was realh' more funny than 
 hideous. He had passed through a drooling illness, dur- 
 ing which Brulette, forraerl}^ so easily disgusted, had 
 nursed him and wiped him and tended him carefully, till 
 he was now the healthiest little fellow, and the nicest 
 and the cleanest in the village. His jaws were still too 
 heav}- and his nose too short for beaut}', but inasmuch 
 as health is the chief thing with the little beggars, every 
 one took notice of his size, his strength, and his deter- 
 mined air. 
 
 But the thing that made Brulette proudest of her handi- 
 work was that Chariot became every day prettier in 
 speech and more generous in heart. When she first had 
 him he swore in a way to daunt a regiment ; but she had 
 made him forget all that, and had taught him a number 
 
246 The Bagpipers. 
 
 of nice little praj-ers, and all sorts of amusing and quaint 
 sayings, which he emplo3'ed in his own wa}' to the enter- 
 tainment of everybod3\ He was not born affectionate and 
 would never kiss an}" one willing!}', but for his darling, as 
 he called Brulette, he showed such a violent attachment 
 that if he had done anything naughty, — such as cutting 
 up his pinafore to make cravats, or sticking his sabots 
 into the soup-pot, he would forestall all reproaches and 
 cling to her neck with such strength that she had n't the 
 heart to scold him. 
 
 In May of that 3'ear we were invited to the wedding of 
 a cousin at Chassin, who sent over a cart the night before 
 to fetch us, with a message to Brulette that if she did not 
 come and bring Chariot, it would throw a gloom over the 
 marriage da}'. 
 
 Chassin is a pretty place on the river Gourdon, about 
 six miles distant from our village. The country reminded 
 me slightly of the Bourbon nais. Brulette, who was a 
 small eater, soon left the noise of the feast, and went to 
 walk outside and amuse Chariot. " Indeed," she said to 
 me, "I should like to take him into some quiet, shady 
 place ; for this is his sleeping-time, and the noise of the 
 party keeps him awake, and I am afraid he will be very 
 cross this evening." 
 
 As it was very hot, I offered to take her into a little 
 wood, formerly kept as a warren, which adjoins the old 
 castle, and being chokeful of briers and ditches, is a very 
 sheltered and retired spot. "Very good," she said, "the 
 little one can sleep on my petticoat, and 3'ou can go back 
 and enjoy yourself" 
 
 When we got there I begged her to let me sta3\ 
 
 " I am not so devoted to weddings as I once was," I 
 said to her. " I shall amuse myself as well, if not better, 
 
The Bagpipers. 247 
 
 talking with 3-011. A part}' is very tiresome if 3'ou are not 
 among your own people and don't know what to do." 
 
 "Very well," she replied, " but I see plainlj-, my poor 
 cousin, that I am a weight upon 3'our hands ; and yet 3'ou 
 take it with such patience and good-will that I don't know 
 how I shall ever do without it. However, that time must 
 come, for 3'ou are now of an age to settle, and the wife 
 3'Ou choose ma3' cast an evil eye. upon me, as so man}' do, 
 and might never be brought to believe that I deserve your 
 friendship and hers." 
 
 " It is too soon to wony yourself about that," I replied, 
 settling the fat Chariot on m}- blouse, which I laid on the 
 grass while she sat down beside him to keep off the flies. 
 '' I am not thinking of marriage, and if I were, I swear my 
 wife should keep on good terms with 3-0U or I would be on 
 bad terms with her. She would have a crooked heart in- 
 deed if she could not see that m3' regard for 30U is the 
 most honorable of all friendships, and if she could n't com- 
 prehend that having followed 3'ou through all 3'our jo3'S 
 and all 3-our troubles, I am so accustomed to 3'our com- 
 panionship that 3-0U and I are one. But how about 3'ou, 
 cousin? are 3'OU thinking of marriage, or have 3'OU sworn 
 off on that subject?" 
 
 " Oh ! as for me, 3'es, I think so, Tiennet, if it suits the 
 will of God. I am all but of age, and I think I have 
 waited so long for the wish to marr3^ that now I have let 
 the time go b3'." 
 
 "Perhaps it is only just beginning, dear. The love of 
 amusement has gone, and the love of children has come, 
 and I see how 3-ou are settling down to a quiet home life ; 
 but nevertheless 3-ou are still in 3'our spring-time, like the 
 earth whose flowers are just blooming. You know I don't 
 flatter 3'ou, and so you may believe me when I tell 3-ou 
 
248 The Bagpipers. 
 
 that YOU have never been so pretty, though you have grown 
 rather pale — like Therence, the girl of the woods. You 
 have even caught a sad little look like hers, which goes very 
 well with 3'our plain caps and that gray gown. The fact 
 is, I believe 3'our inside being has changed and 3"ou are 
 going to be a sister of charity — if you are not in love." 
 
 " Don't talk about that, my dear friend," cried Brulette. 
 *' I might have turned either to love or piety a year ago. 
 I felt, as you say, changed within. But now, here I am, 
 tied to the cares of life without finding either the sweet- 
 ness of love or the strength of faith. It seems to me that 
 I am tied to a 3'oke and can onl}^ push forward by my 
 head, without knowing what sort of cart I am dragging 
 behind me. You see that I am not very sad under it and 
 that I don't mean to die of it ; and yet, I own that I regret 
 something in mj^ life — not what has been, but what might 
 have been," 
 
 " Come, Brulette," I said, sitting down by her and tak- 
 ing her hand, " perhaps the time has come for confidence. 
 You can tell me everything without fear of ni}' feeling grief 
 or jealousy. I am cured of wishing for anything that 
 you can't give me. But give me one thing, for it is my 
 due, — give me your confidence about your troubles." 
 
 Brulette became scarlet and made an efl^ort to speak, 
 but could not say a word. It almost seemed as if I were 
 forcing her to confess to her own soul, and she had fore- 
 borne so long tliat now she did not know how to do it. 
 
 She raised her beautiful e3'es and looked at the country 
 before us, for we were sitting at the edge of the wood, on a 
 grassy terrace overlooking a pretty vallev broken up into 
 rolling ground green with cultivation. At our feet flowed 
 the little river, and beyond, the ground rose rapidly under 
 a fine wood of full-o:rown oaks, less extensive but boasting 
 
The Bagpipers, 249 
 
 as large trees as any we had seen in the forest of Allen. 
 I saw in Brulette's eyes the thoughts she was thinking, 
 and taking her hand, which she had withdrawn from mine 
 to i^ress her heart as if it pained her, I said, in a tone that 
 was neither jest nor mischief, — 
 
 " Tell me, is it Huriel or Joseph? " 
 
 " It is not Joseph ! " she replied, hastity. 
 
 "Then it is Huriel; but are you free to follow your 
 inclinations? " 
 
 "How can I have any inclinations," she answered, 
 blushing more and more, " for a person who has doubtless 
 never thought of me ? " 
 
 " That is no reason." 
 
 " Yes it is, I tell 3'ou." 
 
 " No, I swear it is n't. I had plenty of inclination for 
 you." 
 
 " But you got over it." 
 
 ' ' And }-ou are trying hard to get over yours ; that 
 shows 3'ou are still ill of it. But Joseph ? " 
 
 "Well, what of Joseph?" 
 
 " You were never bound to him ? " 
 
 ' ' You know that well enough ! " 
 
 "But — Chariot?" 
 
 "Chariot?" 
 
 As my e^'es turned to the child, hers turned too ; then 
 the}' fell back on me, so puzzled, so clear with innocence, 
 that I was ashamed of m}' suspicions as though I had 
 offered her an insult. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," I replied, hastily. " I said ' Chariot * 
 because I thought he was waking up." 
 
 At that moment a sound of bagpipes reached us from 
 the other side of the river among the oaks, and Brulctt© 
 trembled like a leaf in the wind. 
 
250 The Bagpipers, 
 
 " There ! " said I, " the bride's dance is beginning, and 
 
 I do beUeve the}' are sending the music to fetch you." 
 
 " No, no," said Brulette, who had grown very pale, 
 " neither the air nor the instrument belong to this region. 
 Tiennet, Tiennet, either I am crazy — or he who is play- 
 ing down there — " 
 
 "Do 3'ou see him?" I cried, running to the edge of 
 the terrace and looking with all my eyes ; ' ' can it be 
 Pere Bastien ? " 
 
 "I see no one," she said, having followed me, "but 
 it was not Pere Bastien — neither was it Joseph — it 
 was — " 
 
 " Huriel, perhaps! that seems tome less certain than 
 the river that parts us. But let us go at any rate ; we may 
 find a ford, and if he is there we shall certainly catch him, 
 the ga}^ muleteer, and find out what he is thinking 
 about." 
 
 " No, Tiennet, I can't leav^e Chariot." 
 
 ' ' The devil take that child ! Then wait for me here ; 
 I am going alone." 
 
 "No, no, no! Tiennet," cried Brulette, holding me 
 with both hands ; " it is dangerous to go down that steep 
 place." 
 
 " Whether I break my neck or not, I am going to put 
 you out of 3'our miser}'." 
 
 "What misery?" she exclaimed, still holding me, but 
 recovering from her first agitation by an effbrt of pride. 
 "What does it matter to me whether Huriel or some 
 one else is in the wood? Do you suppose I want you to 
 run after a man who, knowing I was close by, wanted 
 to pass on ? " 
 
 "If that is what you think," said a soft voice behind 
 us, " I think we had better go away." 
 
The Bagpipers. 251 
 
 We turned round at the first word, and there was 
 Therence, the beautiful Therence, before our eyes. 
 
 At the sight Brulctte, who had fretted so much at being 
 forgotten b}' her, lost all her nerve and fell into Therence's 
 arms with a great burst of tears. 
 
 '*Well, well!" said Therence, kissing her with the 
 energ}^ of a daughter of the woods. "Did 3-ou think I 
 had forgotten our friendship? Win' do 3'ou judge hardly 
 of people who have never passed a da}' without thinking 
 of you?" 
 
 "Tell her quick I3' if your brother is here, Therence," 
 I cried, " for — " Brulette, turning quickl}', put her hand 
 on my lips, and I caught mj'self up, adding, with a laugh, 
 " for I am dying to see him." 
 
 " My brother is over there," said Therence, "but he 
 does not know 3'ou are so near. Listen, he is going far- 
 ther off; 3'ou can hardl}" hear his music now." 
 
 She looked at Brulette, who had grown pale again, and 
 added, laughing: "He is too far off to call him; but 
 he will soon turn and come round b\' the ruined castle. 
 Then, if you don't disdain him, Brulette, and will not 
 prevent me, I shall give him a surprise he does not ex- 
 pect ; for he did not think of seeing 3'ou till to-night. 
 We were on our wa3' to your village to pa3^ 3'Ou a visit, 
 aud it is a great happiness to me to have met 3'ou here 
 and saved a dela3' in our meeting. Let us go under the 
 trees, for if he sees 3'Ou from where he is, he is capable 
 of drowning himself in that river in tr3'ing to get to 3'OU, 
 not knowing the fords." 
 
 We turned back and sat down near Chariot, Therence 
 asking, wdth that grand, simple manner of hers, whether 
 he was mine. " Not unless I have been married a long 
 time," I answered, " which is not so." 
 
252 Tlie Bagpipers. 
 
 "True," she said, looking closely at the child, "he 
 is already a little man ; but you might have been married 
 before you came to us." 
 
 Then she added, laughing, that she knew little about 
 the growth of babies, never seeing any in the woods 
 where she always lived, and where few parents ever reared 
 their children. "You will find me as much of a savage 
 as ever/' she continued, "but a good deal less irritable, 
 and I hope vay dear Brulette will have no cause to com- 
 plain of my ill-temper." 
 
 "I do think," said Brulette, "that yow seem ga^^er, 
 and better in health, — and so much handsomer that it 
 dazzles my e3'es to look at 3'ou." 
 
 The same thought had struck ray mind on seeing 
 Therence. She had laid in a stock of health and fresh 
 clear color in her cheeks which made her another woman. 
 If her eyes were still too deep sunken, the black brows 
 no longer lowered over them and hid their fire ; and 
 though her smile was still proud, there was a charming 
 gayety in it at times, which made her teeth gleam like 
 dewdrops on a flower. The pallor of fever had left her 
 face, which the May sun had rather burned during her 
 journey, though it had made the roses bloom ; and there 
 was something, I scarcely know what, so 3'outhful, so 
 strong, so valiant in her face, that my heart jumped with 
 an idea that came to me, heaven knows how, as I looked 
 to see if the velvety black mark at the corner of her 
 mouth was still in the same place. 
 
 "Friends," she said, wiping her beautiful hair, which 
 curled naturally and which the heat had glued to her 
 forehead, "as we have a little time to talk before my 
 brother joins us, I want to tell you my story, without 
 any false shame or pretences ; for several other stories 
 
The Bagpipers. 253 
 
 hang upon it. Oiih^ before I begin, tell me, Brulette, if 
 Tiennet, whom yon used to tliink so mucli of, is, as 
 I think he is, still the same, so that I can take up the 
 conversation where we left it — o. year ago come next 
 harvest." 
 
 "Yes, dear Therence, that ^-ou ma^'," answered my 
 cousin, pleased at her friend's tone. 
 
 "Well, then, Tiennet," continued Therence, with a 
 valiant sincerit}^ all her own, which made the difference 
 between her and the reserved and timid Brulette, "I 
 reveal nothing you did not know in telling you that before 
 your visit to us last year I attached myself to a poor 
 fellow, sick and sad in mind and body, very much as a 
 mother is attached to her child. I did not then know 
 he loved another girl, and he, seeing my regard for liira, 
 which I did not hide, had not the courage to tell me it was 
 not returned. Wh}' Joseph — for I can name him, and 
 3'ou see, dear friends, that I don't change color in doing 
 so — whj' Joseph, whom I had so often entreated to tell 
 me tlie causes of his grief, should have sworn to me it 
 was nothing more than a longing for his mother and his 
 own country, I do not know. He must have thought me 
 base, and he did m.e great injustice ; for, had he told me 
 the truth, I mvself would have gone to fetch Brulette 
 without a murmur, and without making the great mistake 
 of forming a low opinion of her which I did, and which I 
 now confess, and ask her to pardon." 
 
 " You did that long ago, Therence, and there is nothing 
 to pardon where friendship is." 
 
 "Yes, dear," replied Therence, "but the wrong which 
 3^ou forget, I remember, and I would have given the world 
 to repair it by taking good care of Joseph, and showing 
 him friendship and good-nature after you left us. Re- 
 
251- The Bagpipers, 
 
 member, friends, that I bad never said or done a false 
 thing ; so that in m}^ childhood, my father, who is a good 
 judge, used to call me Therence the Sincere. When I 
 last saw you, on the banks of your own Indre, half-way 
 to your village, I spoke privately with Joseph for a 
 moment, begging him to return to us and promising there 
 should be no change in m}' interest and care for his health 
 and well-being. Why, then, did he disbelieve me in his 
 heart ; and why, promising with his lips to return (a lie of 
 which I was not the dupe), — why did he contempt uoush' 
 leave me forever, as though I were a shameless girl who 
 would torment him with love-sick follj'?" 
 
 " Do 30U mean to say," I interrupted, " that Joseph, 
 who sta3'ed onl}' twenty-four hours with us, did not return 
 to your woods, — if onl}' to tell you his plans and say 
 good-bye? Since he left us that day we have heard 
 nothing of him." 
 
 " If you have had no news of him," replied Therence, 
 '' I have some to give you. He did return — b^^ night, like 
 a thief who fears the sunshine. He went to his own lodge 
 and took his clothes and his bagpipe, and went away 
 without crossing the threshold of my father's hut, or so 
 much as glancing our way. I was awake and saw it all. 
 I watched ever}- action, and when he disappeared in the 
 woods, I felt I was as rigid as death. My father warmed 
 me in the raj's of the good God and his own great heart. 
 He took me awa}' to the open moor, and talked to me all 
 one day, and all the next night, till I was able to pray 
 and sleep. You know my father a little, dear friends, 
 but you cannot know how he loves his children, how he 
 comforts them, how he finds just the right thing to sa}' to 
 make them like himself, who is an angel from heaven 
 hidden under the bark of an old oak ! My father cured 
 
The Bagpipers. 255 
 
 me. If it were not for him, I should despise Joseph ; as 
 it is, I have only ceased to love him." 
 
 Ending thus, Therence again wiped her fine forehead, 
 wet with perspiration, drew a long breath, kissed Brulette, 
 and held out to me, laughing, her large and well-shaped 
 white hand, and shook mine with the frankness of a 
 young man. 
 
256 The Bagpipers. 
 
 TWENTY-SECOND EVENING. 
 
 I SAW that Brnlette was inclined to blame Joseph very 
 severel}', and I thought I ought to defend him a little. " I 
 don't approve of his conduct so far as it shows ingratitude 
 to you, Therence," I said, " but inasmuch as you are now 
 able to judge him quite fairly, won't you admit that at the 
 bottom of his heart there was a sense of respect for you and 
 a fear of deceiving you ? All the world is not like you, m}' 
 beautiful girl of the woods, and I think that very few per- 
 sons have a pure enough heart and courage enough to go 
 straight to the point and tell things just as they are. 
 You have an amount of strength and virtue in 3'ou of 
 which Joseph, and many others in his place, would be 
 wholl}^ incapable." 
 
 " I don't understand 3'ou," said Therence. 
 
 "I do," said Brnlette; "Joseph feared, perhaps, to 
 put himself in the way of being charmed by 3'our beauty, 
 and of loving 3'ou for that, without giving you his whole 
 heart as you deserved." 
 
 "•Oh!" cried Therence, scarlet with wounded pride, 
 " that is just what I complain of. 833- it boldl3'. Joseph 
 feared to entice me into wronsi-doino;. He took no ac- 
 count of m3^ good sense or m3' honor. Well, his respect 
 would have consoled me ; his fear is humiliating. Never 
 mind, Brnlette, I forgive him, because I no longer suffer, 
 and I feel m3'self above him ; but nothing can ever take 
 out of m3' heart the sense that Joseph was ungrateful to 
 me, and took a low view of his dutj'. I would ask you to 
 
The Bagpipers. 25T 
 
 let US say no more about it, if I were not obliged to tell 
 3'ou the rest ; but I must speak, otherwise you will not 
 know what to think of m}' brother's conduct." 
 
 " Ah, Therence ! " said Brulette, '^ I long to know wliat 
 were the consequences of that misfortune which troubled 
 us all so much over there." 
 
 " M3' brother did not do as we expected," replied 
 Therence. " Instead of hiding his unfortunate secret in 
 distant places, he retraced his steps at the end of a week, 
 and went to find the Carmelite friar in his convent, which 
 is over b}' Montlu9on. 'Brother Nicolas,' he said to him, 
 ' I can't live with such a weight on my heart. You told 
 me to confess mj'self to God, but there is such a thing as 
 justice on tliis earth ; it ma}' not be practised, but it is 
 none the less a law from heaven. I must confess before 
 men, and bear the blame and the penalty I deserve.' ' One 
 moment, my son,' answered the friar ; ' men invented 
 the peualt}' of death, which God disapproves, and they 
 might kill you deliberate!}' for having killed another unin- 
 tentionally.' 'That is not possible,' said my brother; ' I 
 never intended to kill him, and I can prove it.' ' To prove 
 it you must call witnesses,' said the monk, ' and that will 
 compromise your comrades and your chief, who is my 
 nephew, and no more a murderer than you in his heart ; 
 you will expose them all to be harassed by the law, and you 
 will see them forced to betray the oaths of your fraternity. 
 Come, stay here in my convent, and wait for me. I will 
 undertake to settle the matter, provided you won't ask me 
 too closel}' how I have done it.' 
 
 " Thereupon the friar went to consult his abbe, who sent 
 him to the bishop, whom we call in our parts the chief 
 priest, as they did in the olden time, and who is the bishop 
 of Montlu^on. The chief priest, who has a right to be 
 
 17 
 
258 The Bagpipers. 
 
 heard by the chief judges, said and did things we know 
 nothing about. Then he sent for my brother and said to 
 him, ' My son, confess ^^ourself to me as j-ou would to 
 God/ When Huriel had told him the whole truth, from 
 end to end, the bishop said : ' Repent and do penance, my 
 son. The matter is settled before men ; you have nothing 
 to dread in future; but you must appease the wrath of 
 God, and in order to do that, I desire 3'ou to leave the 
 company and brotherhood of the muleteers, who are men 
 without religion and whose secret practices are contrary 
 to the laws of heaven and earth.' My brother having 
 humbly remarked to him that there were honest folk 
 among them, the chief priest replied : ' So much the 
 worse ; if those honest folk refused to take the oaths they 
 require, the society would cease to do evil, and would be- 
 come a corporation of working-men as respectable as any 
 other.' M}^ brother thought over these words of the chief 
 priest, and would have wished to reform the practices of 
 his fraternitj" rather than do away with them altogetlier. 
 He went to meet an assembly" of muleteers and talked to 
 them very sensibly, — so they told me ; but after listening 
 to him quietly, they answered that the}' neither could nor 
 would change an}" of their customs. Whereupon he paid 
 his forfeit and sold his mules, keeping only the clairhi 
 for our use. So Brulette, you are not going to see a 
 muleteer, but a good, steady wood-cutter who works for 
 his father." 
 
 " And who may find it very hard to get accustomed to 
 such work," said Brulette, hiding the pleasure this news 
 gave her. 
 
 " If he did find it hard to change his ways of life," an- 
 swered Therence, "he is well consoled when he remem- 
 bers how afraid you were of the muleteers, and that in 
 
The Bagpipers. 259 
 
 your country they are looked upon as an abomination. 
 But now that I have satisfied 3'our impatience to know- 
 how my brother got out of his troubles, I must tell 3'ou 
 something more about Joseph, which may make you 
 angr\', Brulette, though it will also astonish you." 
 
 As Therence said that with a spice of malice and a 
 laugh, Brulette showed no uneasiness, and told her to 
 explain. 
 
 '^ You must know," continued Therence, " that we have 
 spent the last three months in the forest of Montaigu, 
 where we met Joseph, in good health, but serious as 
 usual, and still wrapped up in himself. If you want to 
 know where he now is, I will tell you that we have 
 left him there with my father, who is helping him to get 
 admitted to the association of bagpipers ; for 3'ou know, 
 or 3'OU don't know, that they too, are a fraternity, and 
 have secret practices which others know nothing about. 
 At first Joseph was rather embarrassed at seeing us. He 
 seemed ashamed to speak to me and might have avoided us 
 altogether if my father, after reproaching him for his want 
 of confidence and friendship, had not pressed him to re- 
 main, — for he knew he could still be useful to him. When 
 Joseph perceived that I was quite at my ease and had no 
 unkind recollections, he made bold to ask for the return of 
 our friendship, and he even tried to excuse his conduct ; 
 but my father, who would not let him lay a finger on my 
 wound, turned the matter into a joke, and made him go 
 to work, both in the woods and at his music, so as to 
 bring the matter to an end as soon as possible. I was a 
 good deal astonished that he never mentioned any of 3*011, 
 and I questioned him without getting a word out of him. 
 Neither m3'' brother nor I had heard anything of you 
 (until last week, when we came through the village of 
 
260 TJte Bagpipers. 
 
 Hiiriel). We were much worried about 3'ou, and my 
 father told Joseph rather sharply that if he had letters 
 from his own people he ought at least to tell us whether 
 you were dead or alive. Joseph answered shortl}', in a 
 voice that sounded ver}^ hollow : ' Every bod}' is well, and 
 so am I.' M}' father, who never beats about the bush, 
 told him to speak out, but he answered stiffl}-, ' I tell 
 you, master, that our friends over there are well and 
 quite contented, and if 3'ou will give me your daughter in 
 marriage I shall be contented too.' At first we thought 
 he was craz}^, and tried to make a joke of it, though his 
 manner made us rather uneasy. But he returned to the 
 subject two da3's later, and asked me if I had any re- 
 gard for him. I took no other revenge for his tardy 
 offer than to say, ' Yes, Joseph, I have as much regard 
 for 3^ou as Brulette has.' He drew in his lips, lowered his 
 head, and did not say another word. But my brother, 
 having questioned him later, received this reply : ' Huriel, 
 I no longer think of Brulette, and I beg 3'ou never to men- 
 tion her to me again.' We could get nothing more out of 
 him except that he was resolved, as soon as he should be 
 received into the fraternity' of bagpipers, to begin his ser- 
 vice for a time in his own countr}', and prove to his mother 
 that he was able to support her ; after which he intended 
 to take her to live with him in La Marche or the Bourbon- 
 nais, provided I would become his wife. This brought 
 about a grand explanation between m}' father, my brother, 
 and myself. Both tried to make me own that I might be 
 induced to consent. But Joseph had come back too late 
 for me, and I had made too many reflections about him. 
 I quietly refused, feeling no longer any regard for him, 
 and conscious also that he had none for me. I am too 
 proud a girl to be taken as a remedy for disappointment. 
 
The Bagpipers. 261 
 
 I supposed 3'ou had written him to put an end to his 
 hopes." 
 
 " No," said Brulette, " I did not, and it is onl}' b}^ the 
 mercy of God tliat he has forgotten me. Perhaps it was 
 that he began to know you better, my Therence." 
 
 "No, no," cried the girl of the woods, resohitel}', " If 
 it was not disappointment at 3'our refusal, it was pique 
 at my cure. He onlj^ cared for me because I had ceased 
 to care for him. If that is his love, it is not mine, Bru- 
 lette. All or nothing ; yes for life, in all frankness ; or 
 no for life, with all freedom. There 's that child waking 
 up," she continued, interrupting herself, " and I want to 
 take you to my new abode for a moment ; it is in the old 
 castle of Chassin." 
 
 " But won't 3'ou tell us," said Brulette, who was very 
 much puzzled by all she heard, " how and why you are 
 in this part of the country ? " 
 
 "You are in too much of a hurry to know," replied 
 Therence ; "I want you to see first." 
 
 Taking Brulette round the neck with her beautiful bare 
 arm, well browned b}' the sun, she led her away without 
 giving her time to take Chariot, whom she herself caught 
 up like a bundle under her other arm, although he was 
 now as heavy as a little calf. 
 
 The fief of Chassin was once a castle, as I have heard 
 sa}', with seignorial rights and laws ; but at the time of 
 which I am telling, nothing remained of the building but 
 the porch, which was a structure of some importance, 
 heavil^^ built, and so arranged that there were lodging- 
 rooms on both sides of it. It seemed that the part of the 
 building which I have called a joorch, the use of which is 
 difficult to explain at tlie present time (on account of its 
 peculiar construction), was really a vaulted chamber lead- 
 
262 The Bagpipers. 
 
 ing to other buildings ; for as to those that still remain 
 around the courtyard, which are only miserable stables 
 and dilapidated barns, I don't know what uses they could 
 have been put to, or what comfort could have been found 
 in them. There were still, at the time of which I am 
 speaking, three or four unfurnished rooms which seemed 
 quite ancient, but if an}^ great lord ever took his pleasure 
 in them he must have wanted very little of that article. 
 
 And yet it was among these ruins that happiness was 
 awaiting some of those whose history I am telUng you ; 
 and, as if there were something within each human being 
 which tells him in advance of coming blessings, neither 
 Brulette nor I saw anything sad or uglj' in this old place. 
 The grassy courtyard, surrounded on two sides by the 
 ruins and on the other two hy the moat and the little 
 wood through which we passed ; the great hedge, where 
 I saw with surprise shrubs which are seen only in 
 the gardens of the wealthy (showing that the place had 
 once known care and beauty) ; the clumsy gatewa}^, 
 choked up with rubbish, where stone benches could still 
 be seen, as if in former days some warder had had 
 charge of this barrack then considered precious ; the long 
 brambles which ran from end to end of this squalid en- 
 closure, — all tliese things, which made the whole place 
 resemble a prison, closed, deserted, and forgotten, seemed 
 as cheerful to our eyes as the springtide sun which was 
 forcing its way in through the crevices and drying up the 
 dampness. Perhaps, too, the sight of our old acquaint- 
 ance, the clairm, who was feeding on the turf, gave us 
 warning of the coming of a true friend. I think he recog- 
 nized us, for he came up to be stroked, and Brulette could 
 not refrain from kissing the white star on his forehead. 
 
 '' This is my chateau," said Therence, taking us into a 
 
The Bagpipers, 263 
 
 room where her bed and other bits of furniture were al- 
 ready installed; "and there yoM see HurieFs room and 
 mv father's on the other side." 
 
 "Your father! then he is coming ! " I cried, jumping 
 for joy. "I am so glad, for there is no man under the 
 snn I like better." 
 
 " And right you are,'* said Therence, tapping my ear 
 in sign of friendship. "And he likes you. Well, you 
 will see him if 3-ou come back next week, and even — but 
 it is too soon to speak of that. Here is the master." 
 
 Brulette blushed, thinking it was Iluriel that Therence 
 meant ; but it was onlj" the foreign dealer who had bought 
 the timber of the forest of Chassin. 
 
 I say " forest " because, no doubt, there were forests there 
 once, which joined the small but beautiful growth of 
 lofty trees that we saw beyond the river. As the name 
 remains, it is to be supposed it was not bestowed for noth- 
 ing. The conversation which ensued between Therence 
 and the wood-merchant explained to us very quickly- the 
 whole thing. He came from the Bourbonnais, and had 
 long known the Head- Woodsman and his family as hard- 
 working people who kept their word. Being in quest, 
 through his business, of some tall masts for the king's 
 navy, he had discovered these remains of a virgin forest 
 (very rare indeed in our country), and had given the 
 work of feUing and trimming the trees to Pere Bastien ; 
 and the latter had taken it all the more willingly because 
 his son and daughter, knowing the place to be in our 
 neighborhood, were delighted with the idea of spend- 
 ing the whole summer and perhaps part of the winter 
 near us. 
 
 The Head- Woodsman was allowed the selection and man- 
 agement of his workmen under a contract with forfeiture 
 
264 The Bagpipers. 
 
 between himself and the purchaser of the timber ; and the 
 latter had induced the owner of the estate to cede him the 
 use, gratis, of the old castle, where he, a well-to-do trades- 
 man, would have thought himself ver^' ill-lodged, but 
 where a famity of wood-cutters might be far better off as 
 the season grew late than in their usual lodges of logs 
 and heather. 
 
 Huriel and his sister had arrived that morning ; the 
 one had immediatel}^ begun to install herself, the other 
 had been making acquaintance with the wood, the land, 
 and the people of the neighborhood. 
 
 We overheard the purchaser reminding Therence, who 
 talked business as well as an}' man, of a condition in his 
 agreement with Pere Bastien, — namely, that he would 
 employ none but Bourbonnais workmen to prepare the 
 trunks, inasmuch as they alone understood the work and 
 would not spoil the finest pieces, like the laborers of our 
 part of the countr3\ " Very good," replied the woodland 
 girl ; " but for the branches and light- wood we shall 
 employ whom we please. We do not think it wise to 
 take all the work away from the people of the neighbor- 
 hood, who might be annoyed and molest us in conse- 
 quence. They are already ill-inclined to all who are not 
 of their parish." 
 
 '' Now listen, my dear Brulette," she said, when the 
 dealer had departed, "it is my opinion that, if nothing 
 detains 3'ou in your village, you might persuade your 
 grandfather to employ his time very pleasantl}' here this 
 summer. You have told me that he is still a good work- 
 man, and he would have to do with a good master, — I 
 mean my father, who would let him work at his ease. 
 You could lodge here at no expense and vfe would share 
 the housekeeping together." 
 
The Bagpipers. 265 
 
 Then, while Brulette was burning with the desire to say 
 yes, but not daring to betray herself, Therence added, 
 *'If 3'ou hesitate, I shall think ^-our heart is given in 
 your own village and that m}'" brother has come too 
 late." 
 
 "Too late!" cried a ringing voice which came from 
 the ivy-covered window. " God grant that those words 
 be false ! " 
 
 And Huriel, handsome and fresh-looking as he always 
 was when the charcoal no longer concealed him, sprang 
 into the room and caught Brulette in his arms to kiss her 
 on the cheeks ; for he would n't stand on ceremony, and 
 he had no notion of the ratlier ic}' behavior of the people 
 in our parts. Pie seemed so glad, and talked so loud, 
 and laughed so heartily that she could not be angry witli 
 him. He kneaded me like a bit of dongh and jumped 
 about the room as if joy and friendship had the effect of 
 new wine. 
 
 All of a sudden he spied Chariot and stopped short, 
 tried to look awaj', forced himself to say a few words 
 which had no connection with the child, then sat down 
 on his sister's bed and turned so pale that I thought he 
 was going to faint away. 
 
 "What's the matter with him?" cried Therence, 
 amazed. Then, touching his head, she said, " Good 
 heavens, it is a cold sweat ! Do 3'ou feel ill?" 
 
 " No, no," said Huriel, rising and shaking himself. 
 "It is jo}^ — the sudden excitement — it is nothing." 
 
 Just then the mother of the bride came to ask why we 
 had left the wedding, and whether Brulette or the child 
 were ill. Seeing that we were detained by the company 
 of strangers, she very politely invited Huriel and Therence 
 to come with us to the feast and to the dance. This 
 
266 The Lajpipcrs. 
 
 woman, who was my aunt, being the sister of my father 
 and Brulette's deceased father, seemed to m6 to know 
 the secret of Chariot's birth ; for she had asked no ques- 
 tions and had taken great care of him when brought to 
 her house. I had even heard of her sa3ing that he was 
 a relative, and the people of Chassin had no suspicion 
 about the child. 
 
 As Huriel, who was still troubled in mind, merely 
 thanked my aunt without giving any decided answer, 
 Therence roused him with the remark that Brulette was 
 obliged to go back to the wedding, and that if he did not 
 go he might lose his opportunity of bringing about what 
 the}' both desired. Huriel, however, was still uneasj' and 
 hesitating, when Brulette said to him, " Do you really not 
 wish to dance with me to-da}' ? " 
 
 "Do you speak true, Brulette?" he said, looking her 
 in the eye. " Do you wish me for a partner?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, '' for I remember how well 3'ou 
 dance." 
 
 " Is that the onty reason why 3'ou wish for me?" " 
 
 Brulette was embarrassed, thinking that the fellow was 
 too much in a hurry, yet not daring to pla^' off her former 
 coquettish little airs, so fearful was she of seeing him 
 hurt or disappointed again. But Therence tried to help 
 her out bj' reproaching Huriel for asking too much the 
 first daj". 
 
 "•You are right, sister," he answered. "And 3et I 
 cannot behave differentl}'. Hear me, Brulette, and forgive 
 me. You must promise to have no other partner but me 
 at this wedding, or I cannot go at all." 
 
 "What a funny fellow!" cried m}^ aunt, who was a 
 livel}^ little woman and took all things for the best. " A 
 lover of yours, my Brulette ? I see that plainly ; and no 
 
The Bagpipers, 267 
 
 half-hearted one either ! But, m.y Jacl," she added, turnmg 
 to Huriel, " I would have you know that it is not the 
 custom in these parts to show all you feel ; and no one 
 dances several times running with a girl unless there has 
 been promise of heart and hand." 
 
 "It is here as it is with us, my good dame," replied 
 Huriel ; " nevertheless, with or without promise of her 
 heart, Brulette must now promise me her hand for the 
 whole dance." 
 
 " If she wishes it, I shall not prevent her," said my 
 aunt, " she is a sensible girl, who knows ver}^ well how 
 to behave. I have done my dut}^ in warning her that she 
 will be talked about." 
 
 ^' Brother," said Therence, " I think you are crazy. Is 
 that the wa}' to do with Brulette, whom you know to be 
 so reserved, and who has never 3'et given you the rights 
 you claim ? " 
 
 " Yes, I may be mad, and she may be shy," said Huriel, 
 " but all the same m}' madness must gain the day and her 
 shyness lose it, and at once. I ask nothing more of her 
 than to allow me to dance with her to the end of this wed- 
 ding. If after that she does not wish to hear of me again, 
 she is mistress of her actions." 
 
 " That is all very well," said m}' aunt, " but the harm 
 will then have been done, and if 3'ou withdraw from her 
 then who will repair it?" 
 
 " She knows that I shall not withdraw," said Huriel. 
 
 "If 3-0U know that," said mj' aunt to Brulette, "why 
 don't you explain yourself? I reall}' can't understand this 
 matter at all. Did 3'ou engage yourself to this lad in the 
 Bourbon nais? " 
 
 " No," said Huriel, without giving Brulette time to an- 
 swer. "I have never asked her, never! What I now 
 
268 The Bagpipers. 
 
 ask of her she, and she alone, without consulting any one, 
 must decide to grant or not, as she chooses." 
 
 Brulette, trembling like a leaf, had turned to the wall 
 and was hiding her face in her hands. If she was glad to 
 find Huriel so resolute about her, she was also anno3'ed 
 that he had no compassion for her natural hesitation and 
 timidity. She was not made, like Tlierence, to speak out 
 a noble '^yes" before all the world; so being, and not 
 knowing how else to get out of the matter, she took refuge 
 in her eyes and began to cry. 
 
The Bagpipers. 269 
 
 TWENTY-THIRD EVENING. 
 
 " You are a downright bashaw, my friend," said mj'' 
 aunt to Huriel, giving him a push away from Brulette, 
 whom he had approached in much excitement. Then, 
 taking her niece's hands, she soothed her and asked her 
 ver}' gently to tell her the real meaning of it all. 
 
 " If your grandfather were here," she said," he would 
 explain what there is between you and this stranger lad, 
 and we could then leave the matter to his judgment ; but 
 since I am here now as father and mother both, 3'ou must 
 confide in me. Do you wish me to put an end to this pur- 
 suit? Shall I, instead of inviting this brute, or this rogue, 
 — for I don't know which to call him, — tell him that he 
 must let 3'Ou alone?" 
 
 " Exactly," said Huriel, '' that 's what I want. I want 
 her to say what she wishes, and I will obe}^ her without 
 anger, and she shall still retain my friendship and respect. 
 If she thinks me a brute or a rogue let her pack me off. 
 Speak, Brulette ; I shall always be your friend and ser- 
 vant, — 3'ou know that very well." 
 
 " Be what you will," said Brulette at last, rising and 
 giving him her hand ; " 3'ou protected me in danger, and 
 3'Ou have suffered such troubles on m3'' account that I 
 neither can nor will refuse so little a thing as to dance 
 with 3'OU as much as 3'ou like." 
 
 "Bat think what your aunt has said," replied Huriel, 
 holding her hand. " You will be talked of, and if noth- 
 ing good comes of it between us, which on 3-our side ma3' 
 
270 The Bagpipers, 
 
 still be, any plan yon maj'have for another marriage would 
 be clestro3'ed or delayed." 
 
 " Well, that is a less danger than the one you threw 
 yourself into on my account," said Brulette. " Aunt, 
 please excuse me," she added, " if I cannot explain mat- 
 ters just now ; but believe that 3-our niece loves and 
 respects you, and will never give you reason to blush for 
 her." 
 
 " I am certain of that," said my aunt ; " but what an- 
 swer am I to give to the questions they will be sure to 
 ask?" 
 
 " None at all, aunt," said Brulette, resolutel3\ " I can 
 afford to put up with all their talk ; 3'ou know I am in 
 the habit of doing so." 
 
 " Thank 3'ou, darling of my heart ! " cried Huriel, kiss- 
 ing her hand six or seven times. " You shall never re- 
 pent what 3'ou have granted to me." 
 
 "Are 3'OU coming, 3'ou obstinate fellow?" said m3'' 
 aunt ; "I can't stay awa3' any longer, and if I don't carr3^ 
 Brulette down there at once, the bride is capable of leaving 
 the wedding and coming after her." 
 
 " Go down, Brulette !" cried Therence, "and leave the 
 bab3' with me ; I promise I will take care of him." 
 
 "Won't you come, too, my handsome Bourbonnaise ? " 
 said m3' aunt, who could not keep her e3'es off Therence, 
 "1 count upon 3'OU." 
 
 " I will go later, my good woman," replied Therence. 
 " But just now I want to give m3" brother suitable clothes 
 in which to do honor to your invitation ; for, as 3'Ou see, 
 we are still in our travelling things." 
 
 M3^ aunt carried off Brulette, who wanted to take Char- 
 lot ; but Therence insisted on keeping him, wishing to 
 leave her brother free with his darling without the trouble 
 
The Bagpipers, 271 
 
 and anno3'ance of a small child. This was not at all satis- 
 factor}' to Chariot, who set up a yell when he saw tliat 
 Brulette was leaving him, and fought with all his strength 
 in Therence's arms ; but she, looking at him with a grave 
 and determined manner, said quietly : — 
 
 " You must be quiet, my boy ; you must, 3'ou know." 
 
 Chariot, who had never been ordered in his life, was so 
 astonished at her tone that he gave in immediately ; but 
 as I saw that Brulette was distressed at leaving him with 
 a girl who had never in her life touched a baby, I prom- 
 ised to bring him to her myself if there should be the least 
 trouble, and persuaded her to go with our good little aunt 
 who was getting impatient. 
 
 Huriel, urged by his sister, went off to his room to shave 
 and dress, and I, left alone with Therence, helped her to 
 unpack her boxes and shake out the clothes, while Chariot, 
 quite subdued, stood, with open mouth, looking on. When 
 I had carried Huriel the clothes which Therence piled on 
 my arms, I returned to ask if she didn't mean to dress 
 herself too, and to offer to take the child to walk while 
 she did so. 
 
 " As for me," she said, laying out her finery on her 
 bed, " I will go if Brulette worries after me; but I will 
 admit that if she would only forget me for a time, I would 
 prefer to sta}^ quietly here. In any case, I can be ready 
 in a minute, and I need no one to escort me. I am accus- 
 tomed to hunt up and get read}^ our lodgings in travelling, 
 like a regular quartermaster on a campaign, and nothing 
 disturbs me wherever I am." 
 
 " Then 3-ou don't like dancing? " I said ; " or is it shy- 
 ness at making new acquaintances that makes you wish 
 to stay at home ? " 
 
 "No, I don't like dancing," she replied; ''nor the 
 
2T2 The Bagpipers, 
 
 racket, nor the suppers, and particularly not the waste of 
 time which brings weariness." 
 
 " But one does n't love dancing for dancing's sake only. 
 Do you fear, or dislike, the attentions the young men pay 
 to the girls ? " 
 
 "No, I have neither fear nor repugnance," she said, 
 simph'. *'It does not amuse me, that is all. I am not 
 witty, like Brulette. I don't know how to answer path', 
 nor how to make other people talk, and I can't be amus- 
 ing. I am stupid and dreamj', and I am as much out of 
 place in a lively company- as a wolf or a fox at a dance." 
 
 " You don't look like a wolf nor any other villanous 
 beast, and you dance as gracefull}^ as the willow branches 
 when the breeze caresses them — " 
 
 I don't know what more 1 was going to say, when Huriel 
 came out of his room, handsome as the sun and more in a 
 hurrj' to get off than I was, for I should have been just as 
 satisfied to sta}' with his sister. She kept him a moment 
 to straighten his cravat and to tie his garters at the knee, ap- 
 parently not thinking him jaunty enough to dance through 
 the wedding with Brulette, and as she did so she said : 
 " Tell me, why were 3'ou so jealous of her dancing with 
 an}' one but 3'ou ? Were not you afraid of frightening her 
 with such masterful orders ? " 
 
 "Tiennet!" exclaimed Huriel, stopping short in what 
 he was doing, and taking Chariot, whom he placed on the 
 table and gazed at with all his ej'es, " Whose child is 
 this?" 
 
 Therence, astonished, first asked him what he meant b}' 
 the question, and then asked me wh}' I did not answer it. 
 
 We looked each other in the eyes, like three dolts, and 
 I would have given all I had to know how to answer, for 
 I saw that a sword was hanging over our heads. At last, 
 
The Bagpipers. 273 
 
 recollecting the virtue and truth I had seen that very after- 
 noon in m}^ cousin's e3'es when I had pretty nigh asked her 
 the same question, I plucked up courage and going straight 
 to the point 1 said to Huriel, " Comrade, if 3'ou ask that 
 question in our village man}' persons will tell you he is 
 Brulette's child — " 
 
 He did not let me say more ; but picking up the boy, he 
 felt him and turned him over as a hunter examines a head 
 of game. Fearing his anger, I tried to take the child 
 from him ; but he held him firml}', sa3'ing : — 
 
 ' ' No fear for the poor innocent thing ; my heart is not 
 bad, and if I saw any resemblance to her I might not be 
 able to refrain from kissing him, though I should hate the 
 fate that brought me to it. But there is no such resem- 
 blance ; my blood runs neither the hotter nor the colder 
 with this child in m}' arms." 
 
 " Tiennet, Tiennet, answer him," cried Therence, as if 
 waking from a dream. " Answer me, too, for I don't 
 know what all this means, and it makes me wild to think 
 of it. There is no stain on our family and if my father 
 believed — " 
 
 Huriel cut her short. "Wait, sister," he said; "a 
 word too much is soon said. It is for Tiennet to speak. 
 Come, Tiennet, 3'ou who are an honest man, tell me — one 
 — two — whose child is that? " 
 
 " I swear to God I don't know," I answered. 
 
 " If it were hers, \'ou would know? " 
 
 " I think she could not have hidden it from me." 
 
 " Did she ever hide anjthing else? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 ' ' Does she know the parents of the child ? " 
 
 " Yes, but she will not even let me question her about 
 them." 
 
 18 
 
274 The Bagpipers, 
 
 " Does she denj^ the child is hers? " 
 
 " No one has ever dared to ask her." 
 
 ''Not even you?" ' 
 
 Thereupon I related in a few words what I knew, and 
 what I believed, and finished b}^ saying : "I can find no 
 proof for or against Brulette ; but, for the life of me, I 
 cannot doubt her." 
 
 "Nor I either!" said Huriel, and kissing Chariot, he 
 set him on the floor. 
 
 "Nor I either ! " exclaimed Therence, " but why should 
 this idea have come into people's heads? Wh}^ into yours, 
 brother, as soon as you looked at the child? I did not 
 even think of asking whether it were Brulette's nephew or 
 cousin ; I thought it must belong to the famil}^, and seeing 
 it in lier arms made me wish to take it in mine." 
 
 " I see I must explain," said Huriel, " though the 
 words will scorch my mouth — But no," he added, ''I 
 would rather tell it ! it will be tlie first and the last time, 
 for my mind is made up, whatever the truth may be, and 
 whatever happens. You must know, Therence, that three 
 da3's ago, when we were parting with Joseph at Montaigu 
 — and you know with what a light heart I left him ! he 
 was cured, he gave her up, he asked 3'ou in marriage, and 
 Brulette was still free ! He knew she was, and said so, and 
 when I spoke of her he answered, * Do what 3'OU like, I no 
 longer love her ; 3'ou can love her without hurting me.' 
 Well, sister, at the very moment we were parting, Joseph 
 caught me by the arm as j^ou were getting into the cart, 
 and said, ' Is it true, Huriel, that 3'ou are going into our 
 parts ; and that you mean to court the girl I loved so 
 well?'" 
 
 "Yes," I answered, " since j'ou ask me, that is my in- 
 tention ; and you have no right to change your mind, or I 
 
The Bagpipers. 275 
 
 shall think j-on were tricking us when you asked for my 
 sister in marriage." 
 
 " ' I was not/ " rephed Joseph, " ' but T should feel I was 
 deceiving 3'ou now if I allowed you to leave without telling 
 3'ou a miserable thing. God is my witness that these 
 words should never have left my lips against a person 
 whose father brought me up, if 3'ou were not on the point 
 of taking a false step. But 3'our father has also brought 
 me up, educating my mind just as the other fed and 
 clothed my bod}', and I am forced to tell 3'ou the truth. 
 Huriel, at the time when I left Brulette with my heart full 
 of love, she had already, without my knowledge, loved an- 
 other man, and to-day there is a living proof of it which 
 she does not even take the trouble to hide. Now, then, 
 do as you please ; I shall think no more about her.' So 
 sa3'ing, Joseph turned his back on me and went into the 
 woods. He looked so wild that I, with my heart full of 
 faith and love, accused him in my thoughts of madness 
 and wicked anger. You remember, sister, that you 
 thought me ill as we drove that day to the village of 
 Huriel. When we got there 3'Ou found two letters from 
 Brulette, and I found three from Tiennet, which our 
 friends there had neglected to send on in spite of their 
 promises. Those letters were so simple, so affectionate, 
 and showed such truth in ever}' word, that I said to m}^- 
 self, ' I will go ! ' and Joseph's words went out of my mind 
 like a bad dream. I was ashamed for him, and would not 
 remember them. And then, just now, when I saw Bru- 
 lette, with that look of hers, so gentle, so modest, that 
 charmed me so in the old da3-s, I swear to God I had 
 forgotten all as though it had never happened. The sight 
 of the child killed me ! And that was wh}^ I was resolved 
 to know if Brulette were free to love me. She is ; because 
 
276 The Bagpipers, 
 
 she has promised to expose herself for my sake to the 
 criticisms and neglect of others. Well, as she is now tied 
 to no one — even if there be a fault in her — whether I 
 believe it a little or not at all — wdiether she confesses or 
 explains it — it is all one ; I love her ! " 
 
 "Would you love a degraded girl?" cried Therence. 
 " No, no, think of your father, of your sister! Don't go 
 to this wedding ; wait till we know the truth. I don't dis- 
 trust Brulette, I don't believe in Joseph. I am sure that 
 Brulette is spotless, but she must sa}^ so ; she must do 
 more, she must prove it^ Go and fetch her, Tiennet. 
 Let her explain this thing at once, before m}^ brother 
 takes one of those steps from which an honest man can- 
 not back down." 
 
 "You shall not go, Tiennet," said Huriel, "I for- 
 bid 3'ou. If, as I believe, Brulette is as innocent as my 
 sister Therence, she shall not be subjected to the insult 
 of that question before I have openly pledged m}' word 
 to her." 
 
 " Think it over, brother," said Therence, again urging 
 him. 
 
 " Sister," said Huriel, "you forget one thing; if Bru- 
 lette has done a wrong thing, I have committed a crime ; 
 if love betraj'ed her into bringing a child into the world, 
 anger betra3^ed me into sending a man out of it." Then 
 as Therence still remonstrated, he added, kissing her and 
 pushing her aside, " Enough, enough ; I need pardon be- 
 fore I judge of others; did I not kill a man?" 
 
 So saying he rushed off without waiting for me, and I 
 saw him running towards the bride's house, where the 
 smoke of the chimney and the uproar within bespoke the 
 wedding feast. 
 
 "Ah!" said Therence, following him with her eyes, 
 
Tlie Bagpipers, 277 
 
 " My poor brother cannot forget his misfortune, and 
 perhaps he will never be comforted." 
 
 " He will be comforted, Thcrence," I replied, " when 
 he sees how the girl he loves loves him ; I '11 answer for 
 her loving him, and in times past, too." 
 
 "I think so too, Tiennet ; but suppose she were 
 unworth}" of him ? " 
 
 " My beautiful Therence, are j'ou so stern that 3'ou 
 would think it a mortal sin if a misfortune happened to a 
 mere child, — and, who knows? perhaps ignorantly or by 
 force?" 
 
 " It is not the misfortune or the fault I should blame so 
 much as the lies told and acted, and the behavior that 
 followed. If at the first 3'our cousin had said openh' to 
 m}' brother, ' Do not court me, for I have been be- 
 tra^'cd,' I could understand that he might have forgiven 
 all to such an honest confession. But to let him court 
 her and admire her so much without saying a word ! 
 Come, Tiennet, tell me, do yoxx really know nothing about 
 it? Can't 3-ou at least guess or imagine something to set 
 m}' mind at ease ? I do so love Brulette that I have n't 
 the courage to condemn her. And yet, what will my 
 father sa}' if he thinks I might have saved Iluriel from 
 cuch a danger?" 
 
 " Therence, I know nothing and can tell you nothing, 
 except that now, less than ever, do I doubt Brulette ; for, 
 if 3-0U wish me to tell you the only person whom I could 
 possibly suspect of abusing her, and on whom public sus- 
 picion fell with some slight appearance of reason, I must 
 honestly say it was Joseph, who now seems to me, after 
 what 3-our brother told us, to be as white as the driven 
 snow. Now there is but one other person who, to my 
 knowledge, was, I will not say capable, but in a position 
 
278 The Bagpipers. 
 
 to use his friendship for Brnlette to lead her wrong. And 
 that is I. Do you believe I did, Therence ? Look me in 
 the ej^es before 3'ou answer. No one has accused me of 
 it, that I know of, but I might be the sinner all the same, 
 and you don't know me well enough yet to be sure of m}'- 
 honesty and good faith. That is wh^' I say to you, look 
 in ni}^ face and see if falsehood and cowardice are at 
 home there." 
 
 Therence did as 1 told her, and looked at me, without 
 showing the least embarrassment \ then she said : — 
 
 " No, Tiennet, it is not in 3"ou to lie like that. If you 
 are satisfied about Brulette, I will be too. Come, my lad, 
 now go off to the dance ; I don't want you here any 
 longer." 
 
 " Yes, 3'ou do," I said; "that child is going to plague 
 3'OU. He is not amiable with persons he does not know, 
 and I would like either to carry him off or help you to 
 take care of him." 
 
 " Not amiable, is n't he?" said Therence, taking him on 
 her knee. "Bah! what difficult}^ is therein managing a 
 little monkey like that? I never tried, but I don't believe 
 there is much art in it. Come, my 3'oung man, what do 
 3'Ou want? Don't 3'ou want something to eat?" 
 
 " No," said Chariot, who was sulky without daring to 
 show it. 
 
 " Well, just as you like. When you want 3'our broth 
 3'ou can ask for it. I '11 give you all 3'ou want, and even 
 play with you, if you get tired. Sa3', do you want me to 
 play with you ? " 
 
 " No," said Chariot, frowning fiei'cel3'." 
 
 " Very good ; then pla3^ alone," said Therence, quietl3', 
 setting him on the floor. " I am going into the court- 
 \"ard to see the prett3' little black horse." 
 
The Bagpipers. 279 
 
 She moved to go; Chariot wept; Th^rence pretended 
 not to hear him till he came to her. " Dear me ! what 's 
 the matter?" she said, as if surprised ; "make haste and 
 tell me, for I am going, — I can't wait." 
 
 " I want to see the pretty little black horse," sobbed 
 Chariot. 
 
 ''Then come along; but stop crj'ing, for he ruts away 
 when he hears children cry." 
 
 Chariot choked down his sobs, and went off to stroke 
 and admire the clairin. 
 
 " Should you like to get on him?" asked Therence. 
 
 *'No, I'm afraid." 
 
 " I '11 hold you." 
 
 " No, I 'm afraid." 
 
 " Very good, then don't get on." 
 
 In a minute more he wanted to. 
 
 " No," said Therence, '^ you '11 be afraid." 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Yes, you will." 
 
 "No, no!" said Chariot. 
 
 She put him on the horse and led it along, holding the 
 child very carefully. After watching them a little while, 
 I saw that Chariot's whims could not hold out against 
 so quiet a will as Therence's. She had discovered the 
 wa}" to manage a troublesome child at her first attempt, 
 though it had taken Brulette a j'ear of patience and weari- 
 ness ; but it really seemed as if the good God had made 
 Therence a mother without an apprenticeship. She had 
 guessed the astuteness and decision needed, and practised 
 them without worrying herself, or feeling surprised or 
 impatient at anything. 
 
 Chariot, who had thought himself master of everybody, 
 was much astonished to find that with her he was only 
 
280 The Bagpipers. 
 
 master of the power to sulk, and as she did not trouble 
 herself about that, he soon saw it was trouble wasted. 
 At the end of half an hour he became quite pleasant, ask- 
 ing for what he wanted, and making haste to accept whatever 
 was offered to him. Therence gave him something to eat ; 
 and I admired how, out of her own judgment, she knew 
 just what quantity to give him, not too much nor yet too 
 little, and how to keep him occupied beside her while 
 she was occupied in her own affairs, talking with him 
 as if he were a reasonable being, and treating the imp 
 with such confidence that, without seeming to question 
 him, he soon ran over all his little tales, which he usually 
 required much begging to do when others tried to make 
 him. He even took such pleasure in her and was so 
 proud of knowing how to converse that he got impatient 
 at not knowing the words he wanted, and so invented 
 some to express his meaning, — and they were not at 
 all sill}^ or meaningless either. 
 
 "What are 3'ou doing here, Tiennet?" she said to me 
 suddenl}^ as if to let me know she thought I had been 
 there long enough. 
 
 As I had alread}^ invented about fifty little reasons for 
 staying on, her question took me short, and I could think 
 of nothing to say except that I was occupied in looking 
 at her. " Does that amuse .you? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " I don't know," I answered ; "• 3'ou might as well ask 
 the wheat if it likes to grow in the sunshine." 
 
 " Oh, oh! so 3^ou are getting mischievous and turning 
 compliments, are 3'ou? but please remember it is lost 
 time with me, for I know nothing about them and can't 
 make an}^ reply." 
 
 "I don't know an3^thing about them either, Therence. 
 All that I meant to say was that to my mind there is 
 
The Bagpipers. 281 
 
 nothing so beautiful and saintly as a young girl taking 
 pleasure in a child's prattle." 
 
 " Is not that natural?" said Therence. " It seems to 
 me that I get to the truth of the things of the good God 
 when I look at that little fellow and talk with him. I feel 
 that I do not live, usuall}^, as a woman ought to like to 
 live ; but I did not choose my own lot, and the wandering 
 life I lead is my dut}', because I am the support and hap- 
 piness of my dear father. Therefore I never complain, 
 and never wish for a life which would not be his ; only I 
 can understand the happiness of others ; for instance, 
 that of Brulette with her Chariot, whether he be her own 
 or just the good God's, would be ver}' sweet to me. I 
 liave not often had a chance to enjo}' such amusement, so 
 I take it when I find it. Yes, I like the compan}' of this 
 little man, and I had no idea he was so clever and knew 
 so much." 
 
 " And yet, dear. Chariot is only tolerable because 
 Brulette has taken such pains with him ; he will have to 
 Improve very much before he is as amiable as the children 
 God sends good into the world." 
 
 "You surprise me," said Therence. "If there are 
 nicer children than he it must be very pleasant to live 
 with them. But now, that's enough, Tiennet. Go away ; 
 or they will send after you, and then they will ask me to 
 go too ; and that would, I confess, annoy me, for I am 
 tired, and would much rather stay quietly here with the 
 little one." 
 
 I had to obey ; and I departed with my heart full, and 
 tops3'-turvy with ideas that suddenl}" came into my head 
 about that girl. 
 
282 The Bagpipers. 
 
 TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING. 
 
 It was not onlj' Therence's extreme beauty which filled 
 ni}' thoughts, but a something, I don't know what, which 
 made her seem to be above all others. I was surprised 
 that I had loved Brulette, who was so unlike her, and I 
 kept asking myself if the one were too frank, or the other 
 too coy. I thought Brulette the most amiable ; for she 
 had always something kind to say to her friends, and she 
 knew how to keep them about her with all sorts of little 
 orders ; which flatter young fellows, for they like to fancy 
 themselves of use. On the other hand, Therence showed 
 you frankly that she did not want you, and even seemed 
 surprised and annoyed if you paid her any attention. Both 
 knew their own value, however ; but whereas Brulette took 
 the trouble to make you feel it, the other seemed onl}^ to 
 wish for the same sort of regard as that she gave 3'ou. I 
 don't know how it was that the spice of pride hidden under 
 all this seemed to me an allurement which brought tempta- 
 tion as well as fear. 
 
 I found the dance at its height, and Brulette was skim- 
 ming like a butterfl}' in HurieFs arms. Such ardor was 
 in their faces, she was so intoxicated within and he with- 
 out, that it reallj' seemed as if neither could hear or see 
 anything about them. The music carried them awa}', and 
 I do believe that their feet did not touch the earth and 
 that their souls were dancing in paradise. Now, among 
 those who lead a reel, there are seldom any who have 
 neither love nor some other wild fancy in their heads, and 
 
The Bagp'qyers. 283 
 
 therefore no attention was paid to this pair ; and there was 
 so much wine, noise, dust, music, and Hveh' talk in the 
 heated air of the wedding feast that night came on before 
 any one took much notice of the actions of others. 
 
 Brulette mere!}' asked me about Chariot, and why The- 
 rence did not come and dance ; m}' answers satisfied her, 
 and Huriel did not give her time to say much about the 
 boy. 
 
 I did not feel inclined to dance, for I could not see any 
 prettj^ girls ; I believe there were plent}', but not one that 
 compared with Thcrence ; and I could not get Tlierence 
 out of my head. I stood in a corner to watch her brother, 
 so as to have something to tell her if she questioned me. 
 [Turiel had so completely' forgotten his troubles that he 
 was all youth and happiness. He was well-mated with 
 Brulette, for he loved pleasure and racket as much as she 
 ilid when he was in it, and he carried the da}' against the 
 other lads, for he never got tired of dancing. All the 
 world knows, for it is so in all lands, that women can 
 floor the men at a reel, and can keep themselves going 
 while we poor fellows are djing of heat and thirst. Huriel 
 never cared for eating or drinking, and 3'ou would reall}^ 
 have thought he had sworn to surfeit Brulette with her 
 choice amusement ; but I could see beneath the surface 
 that he was doing it for his own pleasure, and that he would 
 gladly have gone round the world on one foot could he have 
 kept his airy partner in his arms. 
 
 At last, however, some of the 3'ouths, beginning to get 
 annoyed that Brulette refused them, took notice that a 
 stranger had cut them out, and talk began about it round 
 the tables. I must tell 3'ou that Brulette, not expecting 
 much amusement, and rather inclined to despise the young 
 men of that neighborhood on account of their ill-natured 
 
284 The Bagpipers, 
 
 speeches, was not dressed with her usual daintiness. She 
 looked more like a little nun than the queen of our parts ; 
 and as others had come to the wedding in gala costumes, 
 she did not produce the great effect of former days. Still, 
 she was so animated in dancing that the compau}^ were 
 forced to admit that no one compared with her ; and as 
 those who did not know her questioned those who did, a 
 great deal of evil as well as good was talked around me. 
 
 I listened, wishing to make sure of what was being said, 
 and not revealing that she was m}' relation. I heard the 
 whole storj^ of the monk and the child, and of Joseph and 
 the Bourbonnais ; it was also told that Joseph was proba- 
 bh' not the father of the child, but more likely that tall 
 fellow, who s'^ railed so sure of his rights that no one else 
 was allowed tc^ approach her. 
 
 " Well," said one, " if it was he and he comes to make 
 reparation, better late than never." 
 
 "Faith!" cried another, "she didn't choose badl3\ 
 He is a splendid fellow, and seems good company." 
 
 " After all," said a third, " they make a fine couple, 
 and when the priest has said his say, their home will be as 
 good as an}'." 
 
 All of which let me know that a woman is never lost 
 if she has good protection ; but it must be the honest and 
 lasting protection of one man, not the support of hundreds, 
 for the more who meddle in the matter, the more there are 
 to pull her down. 
 
 Just then my aunt took Huriel apart, and bringing him 
 close into ray neighborhood said to him, " I want 3'ou to 
 drink a glass of wine to my health, for it does my heart 
 good to see your fine dancing, which stirred up the com- 
 pany and made the wedding go oflT so well." 
 
 Huriel seemed not to like to leave Brulette even for a 
 
The Bagpipers, 285 
 
 moment, but the mistress of the house was very peremp- 
 tory, and he could not help showing her civility. They 
 sat down at an empty table, with a candle between them, 
 face to face. M}' aunt Marghitonne was, as I told 3'ou, 
 a very small woman who had never been a tool. She had 
 the drollest little face jou ever saw, very fair and very 
 rosy, though she was in the fifties and had brought four- 
 teen children into the world. I have never seen such a 
 long nose as hers, with A'ery small eyes sunken each side 
 of it, sharp as gimlets, and so bright and mischievous 
 that one could n't look mto them without wishino; to lauu"h 
 and chatter. 
 
 I saw, however, that Huriel was on his guard and was 
 cautious about the wine she poured oa' for him. He 
 seemed to feel there was something quizzit il and inquisi- 
 tive about her, and without knowing wh}', he put himself 
 on the defence. My aunt, who since early morning had 
 not stopped talking and moving about, had a very prettv 
 taste for good wine, and had scarcely drunk a glass or 
 two when the end of her long nose grew as red as a haw, 
 and her broad mouth, with its rows of narrow w^hite teeth 
 (enough to furnish three ordinary mouths), began to smile 
 from ear to ear. However, ^he was not at all upset as to 
 judgment, for no woman could be gay without freedom 
 and mischievous without spite better than she. 
 
 " Well, now, my lad," she said, after some general talk 
 which served only to lead up' to her object, "here you 
 are, for good and all, pledged to our Brulette. You can't 
 go back now, for what 3'ou wished has happened ; every- 
 body is talking, and if 3-ou could hear, as I do, what is 
 being said on all sides you would find that they have 
 saddled you with the past as well as the future of my 
 pretty' niece." 
 
286 Tlie Bagpipers. 
 
 I saw that the words drove a knife into Hnriel's heart, 
 and knocked him from the stars into the brambles ; 
 but he put a good face upon the matter and answered, 
 kiugliing: " I might wish, my good lady, to have had her 
 past, for everything about her is beautiful and good ; but 
 as I can have her future only I expect to share it with the 
 good God." 
 
 "And right 3'ou are," returned my aunt, laughing still 
 and looking closely at him with her little green e3'es, which 
 were very near-sighted, so that she seemed about to prick 
 his forehead with the sharp end of her nose. "When 
 people love the}^ sliould love right through, and not be 
 repelled by an3'thing." 
 
 "That is m^' intention," said Iluriel, in a curt tone, 
 which did not disconcert my aunt. 
 
 ''And that's all the more to your credit," she contin- 
 ued, " because poor Brulette has more virtue than prop- 
 ert}'. You know, I suppose, that 3^ou could put her 
 dowr3'" into that glass, and there are no louis d'or to her 
 account." 
 
 " Well, so much the better," said Huriel, " the reckon- 
 ing is the sooner made ; I don't like to spend m3' time 
 doing sums." 
 
 "And besides," said m3' aunt, "a child already- weaned 
 Is less trouble in a household, especiall3' if the father does 
 his dut3', as I '11 warrant he will in this case." 
 
 Poor Huriel went hot and cold ; but thinking it was 
 meant as a test, he stood it well, and answered : — 
 
 "I'll warrant, too, that the father will do his duty; 
 for there will be no other father than I for all the children 
 born or to be born." 
 
 "Oh! as for that!" she returned, " 3^ou won't be the 
 master, I give 3'ou my word." 
 
The Baginpers. 287 
 
 "I hope I shall," he said, clenching his glass as though 
 he would crush it in his hand. " He who abandons his 
 propert}- has no right to filch it back ; and I am too faith- 
 ful a guardian to allow marauders about." 
 
 My aunt stretclied out her slvinny little hand and passed 
 it over Huriel's forehead. She felt the sweat, though he 
 was very pale, and then, suddenly changing her look of 
 elfish mischief to one that expressed the goodness and 
 kindness of her heart, she said: "My lad, put your 
 elbows on the table and bring your face quite close to 
 my mouth ; I want to give you a good kiss upon your 
 cheek." 
 
 Huriel, surprised at her softened manner, obeyed her 
 fancy. She raised his thick hair and saw Brulette's token, 
 which he still wore and which she probably recognized. 
 Then, bringino; her bis: mouth close to his ear as if she 
 meant to bite him, she whispered three or four words into 
 its orifice, but so low that I could n't catch a sound. 
 Then she added out loud, pinching his ear : — 
 
 " Here's a faithful ear ! but you must admit, it is well- 
 rewarded." 
 
 Huriel made but one bound right over the ta])le, knock- 
 ing over the glasses and candle before I had time to catch 
 them ; in a second he was sitting b}' m}^ little aunt and 
 kissing her as if she had been the mother that bore him ; 
 in short, he behaved like a crazy man, shouting, and 
 singing, and waving his glass, while my aunt, laughing 
 like a jack-daw, cried as she clinked her glass to his : — 
 
 "To the health of the father of your child! All of 
 which proves," she said, turning to me, " that the clever- 
 est folk are often those who are thought the greatest 
 fools ; just as the greatest fools are those who have 
 thought themselves so clever. You can say that too, my 
 
288 The Bagpipers, 
 
 Tiennet, — 3'ou with your honest heart and your faithful 
 cousinship ; I know that you behaved to Brulette as if 
 3'ou had been her brother. You deserve to be rewarded, 
 and I reh' on the good God to see tliat you get your dues ; 
 some day or other he will give you, too, your perfect 
 contentment." 
 
 Thereupon she went off, and Huriel, clasping me in his 
 arms, cried out: "Your aunt is right; she is the best of 
 women. You are not in the secret, but that 's no matter. 
 You are only the better friend for it. Give me 3'our 
 word, Tiennet, that you will come and work here all 
 summer with us ; for I have got an idea about 3'ou, and 
 please God to help me, you shall thank me for it fine and 
 good." 
 
 " If I understand what 3'ou mean," I replied, " 3'ou 
 have just been drinking your wine pure, and my aunt has 
 taken the fly out of your cup ; but any idea of 3'ours about 
 me seems more difficult to cany out." 
 
 " Friend Tiennet, happiness can be earned; and if you 
 have no ideas contrar3' to mine — " 
 
 "I am afraid they are onl3' too like; but ideas won't 
 suffice." 
 
 "Of course not; but nothing venture nothing have. 
 Are 3'ou such a Berrichon that 3^ou dare not tempt fate ? " 
 
 " You set me too good an example to let me be a 
 coward," I answered, "but do you think — " 
 
 Brulette here came up and interrupted us, and we saw 
 by her manner that she had no suspicion of what had 
 occurred. 
 
 " Sit here," said Huriel, drawing her to his knee, as we 
 do in our parts without an3' thought of harm, " and tell 
 me, m3' dear love, if you have no wish to dance with some 
 one besides me ? You gave me 3'our word and you have 
 
The Bagpipers, 289 
 
 k?pt it. That was all I needed to take a bitterness out 
 of my heart ; but if 3'ou think people will talk in a wa}' to 
 liurt 3'our feelings, 1 will submit to your pleasure and not 
 dance with you again till 3'ou command me." 
 
 "Is it because 3'ou are tired of ni}' company, Maitre 
 Huriel," replied Brulette, "and that you want to make 
 acquaintance with tlie other girls at the wedding?" 
 
 "Oh! if you take it that way," cried Huriel, beside 
 himself with jo}', " so much the better ! I don't even know 
 if there are other girls here besides you, and I don't want 
 to know." 
 
 Then he offered her his glass, begging her to touch it 
 with her lips and then drinking its contents with a full 
 heart ; after which he dashed it to pieces, so that no one 
 should use it again, and carried off his betrotlied, leaving 
 me to think over the matter he had suggested, about which 
 I felt I 'm sure I don't know how. 
 
 I had not yet felt myself all over about it ; and it had 
 never seemed to me that my nature was ardent enough 
 to fall in love lighth', especiall}^ with so grave a girl as 
 Therence. I had escaped all annoyance at not being 
 able to please Brulette, thanks to m}' lively nature, which 
 was always willing to be diverted ; but somehow, I could 
 not think of Therence without a sort of trembling in the 
 marrow of my bones, as if I had been asked to make a 
 sea-voyage, — I, who had never set foot on a river boat ! 
 
 " Can it be," thought I, " that I have fallen in love to- 
 da}' without knowing it? Perhaps I ought to believe it, 
 for here is Huriel urging me on, and his e3'e must have 
 seen it in my face. Still I am not certain, because I feel 
 half-suffocated, and love certainly ought to be a livelier 
 thing than that." 
 
 Thinking over all this, I reached, I couldn't tell you 
 
 19 
 
290 The Bagpipers. 
 
 how, the ruined castle. That old heap of stones was 
 sleeping in the moonlight as mute as those who built it ; 
 but a tiny light, coming from the room which Therence 
 occupied on the courtj^ard, showed that the dead were not 
 the onl}' guardians of the building. I went softly to the 
 window, which had neither glass nor woodwork, and look- 
 ing through the leaves that shaded it, I saw the girl of 
 the woods on her knees saving her prayers beside the 
 bed, where Chariot was sleeping soundl}' with his eyes 
 tightly closed. 
 
 I might live a thousand 3'ears and I should never forget 
 her face as it was at that moment. It was that of a saint ; 
 as peaceful as those they carve in stone for the churches. 
 I had just seen Brulette, radiant as the summer sun, in the 
 jo}^ of lier love and the whirl of the dance ; and here was 
 Therence, alone, content, and white as the moonlight of 
 the springtide sky. Afar I heard the wedding music ; but 
 that said nothing to the ear of the woodland girl ; I think 
 she was listening to the nightingale as it sang its tender 
 canticle in the neighboring covert. 
 
 I don't know what took place within me ; but, all of a 
 sudden, I thought of God, — a thought that did not often 
 come to me in those da3's of youth and carelessness ; but 
 now it bent my knees, as b}^ some secret order, and filled 
 my eyes with tears which fell like rain, as though a great 
 cloud had burst within my head. 
 
 Do not ask me what pra^'er I made to the good angels 
 of the sky. I know it not mj'self. Certainh' I did noi; 
 dare to ask of God to give me Therence, but I think I 
 prayed him to make me worthier of so great an honor. 
 
 When I rose from the ground I saw that Therence had 
 finished her pra3^er and was preparing for the night. She 
 had taken off her cap, and I noticed that her black hair 
 
The Bagpipers. 291 
 
 fell in coils to her feet ; but before she had taken the first 
 pin from her garments, believe me if you will, I had fled 
 as though I feared to be guilty of sacrilege. And yet I 
 was no fool either, and not at all in the habit of making 
 faces at the devil. But Therence filled my soul Avith re- 
 spect as though she were cousin of the Holy Virgin. 
 
 As I left the old castle, a man, whom I had not seen in 
 the shadow of the great portal, surprised me by saying : 
 
 " Hey, friend ! tell me if this is, as I think it is, the old 
 castle of Chassin ? " 
 
 •' The Head- Woodsman ! " T cried, recognizing the 
 voice. And I kissed him with such ardor that he was 
 quite astonished, for, naturally, he did not remember me 
 as I did him. But when he did recollect me he was very 
 friendlv and said : — 
 
 " Tell me quick, m}' boy, if 3'ou have seen my children, 
 or if you know whether the}' are here." 
 
 *' They came this morning," I said, " and so did I and 
 my cousin Brulette. Your daughter Therence is in there, 
 ver}' quiet and tranquil, and my cousin is close b}', at a 
 wedding with your dear good son Huriel." 
 
 ''Thank God, I am not too late ! " said Pere Bastien. 
 Joseph has gone on to Nohant expecting to find them 
 there together." 
 
 "Joseph! Did he come with 3'ou? They did not 
 expect 3'Ou for five or six days, and Huriel told us — " 
 
 "Just see how matters turn out in this world," said 
 Pere Bastien, drawing me out on the road so as not to 
 be overheard. " Of all the things that are blown about 
 by the wind, the brains of lovers are the lightest ! Did 
 Huriel tell 3'ou all that relates to Joseph ? " 
 "Yes, everything." 
 "When Joseph saw Therence and Huriel starting for 
 
292 The Bagpipers. 
 
 these parts, he whispered something in Huriel's ear. 
 Do you know what he told him?" 
 
 '' Yes, I know, Pere Bastien, but — " 
 
 " Hush ! for I know, too. Seeing that m}' son changed 
 color, and that Joseph rushed into the woods in a singular 
 wa}', I followed him and ordered him to tell me what 
 secret he had just told Huriel. ' Master,' he replied, *I 
 don't know if I have done well or ill ; but I felt myself 
 obliged to do it ; this is what it is, for I am also bound 
 to tell you.' Thereupon he told me how he had received 
 a letter from friends telling him that Brulette was bringing 
 up a child that could only be her own. After telling me 
 all this, with much suffering and anger, he begged me to 
 follow Huriel and prevent him from committing a great 
 foil}' and swallowing a bitter shame. When I questioned 
 him as to the age of the child and he had read me the 
 letter he carried with him, as though it were a remedj^ for 
 his wounded love, I did not feel at all sure that it was 
 not written to plague him, — more especially as the Carnat 
 lad, who wrote the letter (in answer to a proposal of 
 Joseph's to be properl}' admitted as a bagpiper in your 
 parts), seemed to have an ill-natured desire to prevent 
 his return. Besides, remembering the modesty and proper 
 behavior of that little Brulette, I felt more and more 
 persuaded that injustice was being done her ; and I could 
 not help blaming and ridiculing Joseph for so readily be- 
 lieving such a wicked story. Doubtless I should have done 
 better, my good Tiennet^ to have left him in the belief that 
 Brulette was un worth}' of his love ; but I can't help\that ; 
 a sense of justice guided my tongue, and prevented me 
 from seeing the consequences. I w^as so displeased to 
 liear an innocent young girl defamed that I spoke as I 
 felt. It had a greater effect upon Joseph than I expected. 
 
The Bagpipers. 293 
 
 He went instantl}' from one extreme to the other. Burst- 
 ing into tears like a child, he let himself drop on the 
 ground, tearing his clothes and pulHng out his hair, with 
 such anger and self-reproach that 1 had great trouble in 
 pacifying him. Luckily his health has grown nearly as 
 strong as yours ; for a year sooner such despair, seizing 
 him in this manner, would have killed him. I spent the 
 rest of the daj' and all that night in trying to compose his 
 mind. It was not an easy thing for me to do. On the 
 one hand, I knew that my son had fallen in love with 
 Brulette in a very earnest way from the da}' he first saw 
 her, and that he was only reconciled to life after Joseph 
 had given up a suit which thwarted his hopes. On the 
 other hand, I have always felt a great regard for Joseph, 
 and I know that Brulette has been in his thoughts since 
 childhood. I had to sacrifice one or the other, and I 
 asked myself if I should not do a selfish deed in deciding 
 for the happiness of m}' own son against that of my 
 pupil. Tiennet, 3*ou don't know Joseph, and perhaps 
 you have never known him. My daughter Therence may 
 have spoken of him rather severel3\ She does not judge 
 him in the same way that I do. She thinks him selfish, 
 hard, and ungrateful. There is some truth in that ; but 
 what excuses him in m}' eyes cannot excuse him in those 
 of a 3^oung girl like Therence. Women, my lad, only 
 want us to love them. They take into their hearts alone 
 the food they live on. God made them so ; and we men 
 are fortunate if we are worthy to understand this." 
 
 " I think," T remarked to the Head- Woodsman, "that 
 I do now understand it, and that women are very right 
 to want nothing else of us but our hearts, for that is the 
 best thing in us." 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt, my son, " returned the fine old 
 
294 The Bagpipers. 
 
 man; "I have always thought so. I loved the mother 
 of m}'' children more than money, more than talent, more 
 than pleasure or livel}^ talk, more, indeed, than anything 
 in the world. 1 see that Huriel is tarred with the same 
 brush, for he has changed, without regret, all his habits 
 and tastes so as to fit himself to be worth}' of Brulette. 
 I believe that 3'ou feel in the same way, for 3'ou show it 
 plainly enough. But, nevertheless, talent is a thing which 
 God likewise values, for he does not bestow it on every- 
 body, and we are bound to respect and help those whom 
 he has thus marked as the sheep of his fold." 
 
 " But don't you think that your son Huriel has as much 
 mind and more talent for music than Jose?" 
 
 '' My son Huriel has both mind and talent. He was re- 
 ceived into the fraternity of the bagpipers when he was only 
 eighteen years old, and though he has never practised the 
 profession, he has great knowledge and aptitude for it. 
 But there is a wide difference, friend Tiennet, between 
 those who acquire and those who originate ; there are 
 some with ready fingers and accurate memory who can 
 play agreeably anything they learn, but there are others 
 who are not content with being taught, — who go beyond 
 all teaching, seeking ideas, and bestowing on all future 
 musicians the gift of their discoveries. Now, I tell you 
 that Joseph is one of them ; in him are two very remark- 
 able natures : the nature of the plain, as I may say, where 
 he was born, which gives him his tranquil, calm, and solid 
 ideas, and the nature of our hills and woods, which have 
 enlarged his understanding and brought him tender and 
 vivid and intelligent thoughts. He will one day be, for 
 those who have ears to hear, something more than a mere 
 country minstrel. He will become a true master of the 
 bagpipe as in the olden time, — one of those to whom the 
 
The Bagpipers. 295 
 
 great musicians listened witli attention, and who changed 
 at times the customs of their art." 
 
 " Do 3'ou really think, Pere Bastien, that Jose will 
 become a second Head- Woodsman of your craft?" 
 
 " Ah ! m}^ poor Tiennet," replied the old minstrel, sigh- 
 ing, " you don't know what you are talking about, and I 
 should have hard work to make you understand it." 
 
 '' Tr}' to do so, at an}' rate," I replied ; " 3'ou are good 
 to listen to, and it is n't good that I should continue the 
 simpleton that I am." 
 
296 The Bagpipers, 
 
 TWENTY-FIFTH EVENINa. 
 
 "You must know," began Pere Bastien, veiy readil}^ 
 (for he was fond of talking when he was listened to will- 
 ingly), " that I might have been something if I had given 
 mjself wholly up to music. I could have done so had I 
 made myself a fiddler, as I thought of doing in my youth. 
 I don't mean that one improves a talent by fiddUng three 
 days and nights at a wedding, like that fellow I can hear 
 from here, murdering the tune of our mountain jig. When 
 a man has no object before his mind but money, he gets 
 tired and rusty ; but there's a way for an artist to live by 
 his body without killing the soul within him. As every 
 festival brings him in at least twent}' or thirt}^ francs, 
 that 's enough for him to take his ease, to live frugally, and 
 travel about for pleasure and instruction. That's what 
 Joseph wants to do, and I have alwajs advised him to do 
 it. But here 's what happened to me. I fell in love, and the 
 mother of m}^ dear children would not hear of marrying a 
 fiddler without hearth or home, alwaj's a-going, spending 
 his nights in a racket and his days in sleeping, and end- 
 ing his life with a debauch ; for, unhappily, it is seldom 
 that a man can keep himself straight at that business. 
 She kept me tied to the woodsman's craft, and that 's the 
 whole stor}'. I never regretted my talent as long as she 
 lived. To me, as I told you, love is the divinest music. 
 When I was left a widower with two young children, I 
 gave myself wholl}^ to them ; but my music got ver3^ rusty 
 and my fingers very stiff by dint of handling axe and 
 
TJie Bagpipers. 297 
 
 shears ; and, I confess to you, Tiennet, that if ni}' two 
 children were happily married, I should quit this burden- 
 some business of shnging iron and chopping wood, and I 
 would be off, happy and young again, to live as I liked, 
 seeking converse with angels, until old age brought me 
 back, feeble but satisfied, to my children's hearth. And 
 then, too, I am sick of felling trees. Do you know, Tien- 
 net, I love them, those noble old companions of my life, 
 who have told me so many things by the murmur of their 
 leaves and the crackling of their branches. And I, more 
 malignant than the fire from heaven, I have thanked them 
 by driving an axe into their hearts and laying them low 
 at my feet like so many dismembered corpses ! Don't 
 laugh at me, but I have never seen an old oak fall, nor 
 even a young willow, without trembling with pity or with 
 fear, as an assassin of the works of God. I long to walk 
 beneath their shad}' branches, repulsed no longer as an 
 ingrate, and listening at last to the secrets I was once 
 unworthy to hear." 
 
 The Head-Woodsman, whose voice had grown impas- 
 sioned, stopped short and thought a moment ; and so did 
 I, amazed not to think him the madman I should have 
 thought another in his place, — perhaps because he had 
 managed to put his ideas into me, or possibh' because I 
 myself had had some such ideas in m}' own head. 
 
 " No doubt 30U are thinking," he resumed, " that we 
 have got a long way from Joseph. But you are mistaken, 
 we are all the nearer ; and now 3'ou shall understand how 
 it was that I decided, after some hesitation, to treat the 
 poor fellow's troubles sternl}'. I have often said to m}'- 
 self, and I have seen, in the way his grief affected him, 
 that he could nevermake a woman happy, and also that 
 he would never be happ3' himself with an^' woman, unless 
 
298 The Bagpipers, 
 
 she conld make him the pride of her hfe. For it must be 
 admitted that Joseph has more need of praise and encour- 
 agement tlian of love and friendship. What made him in 
 love with Brulette in the first instance was that she listened 
 to his music and urged him on ; what kept him from loving 
 m}' daughter (for his return to her was onl^' pique) was 
 that Tlierence requires affection more than knowledge, and 
 treated him like a son rather than a man of great talent. 
 I venture to say that I have read the lad's heart, and that 
 his one idea has been to dazzle Brulette some day with 
 his success. So long as Brulette was held to be the queen 
 of beaut}' and dignity' in her own country he would, thanks 
 to her, enjoy a double royalty ; but Brulette smirched by 
 a fault, or merel}" degraded by the suspicion of one, was 
 no longer his cherished dream. I, who knew the heart of 
 my son Huriel, I knew he would never condemn Brulette 
 without a hearing, and that if she had not done anything 
 wrong he would love her and protect her all the more 
 because she was misjudged. So that decided me, finally', 
 to oppose Joseph's love, and to advise him to think no 
 longer of marriagCo Indeed, I tried to make him under- 
 stand that Brulette prefers my son, which is what I believe 
 m^'self He seemed to give in to m}' arguments, but it was 
 onl}', I think, to get rid of them ; for ^'esterda^' morning, 
 before it was hght, I saw him making his preparations for 
 departure. Though he thought himself cleverer than I, 
 and expected to get off without being seen, I kept with 
 him until, losing patience, he let out the whole truth. I 
 saw then that his anger was great, and that he meant to 
 follow Huriel and quarrel with him about Brulette, if he 
 found that Brulette was worth it. As he was still uncer- 
 tain on the latter point, I thought best to blame him and 
 even to ridicule a love like his which was only jealousy 
 
The Bagpipers. 299 
 
 without fespect, — glutton}-, as one might saj', without ap- 
 petite. He confessed I was right ; but he went off all the 
 same, and b}' that 3'ou can judge of his obstinacy. Just 
 as he was about to be received into the guild of his art 
 (for an appointment was made for the competition near 
 Auzances) he abandoned everything, though certain to 
 lose the opportunity, saying he could get himself admitted 
 willingly or unwillingl}' in his own countr}'. Finding him 
 so determined that he even came near getting angrv with 
 me, I decided to come with him, fearing some bad action on 
 his part and some fresh misfortune for Huriel. We parted 
 only a couple of miles from here at the village of Sarza}', 
 where he took the road to Nohant, while I came on here, 
 hoping to find Huriel and reason with him, thinking that if 
 necessar}' m}' legs could still take me to Nohant to-night." 
 
 '' Luckil}', 3'ou can rest them to-night," I said; ''to- 
 morrow will be time enough to discuss matters. But are 
 3^ou really anxious for what ma}- happen if the two gallants 
 meet? Joseph w^as never quarrelsome, to m}' knowledge ; 
 in fact, I have alwaj's seen him hold his tongue when 
 people showed him their teeth." 
 
 "Yes, 3'es," answered Pere Bastien ; "but that was 
 in the days when he was a sickl}' child and doubted his 
 strength. There is no more dangerous water than still 
 water; it is not always healthy to stir the depths." 
 
 " Don't 3'ou want to come in to 3-our new abode and 
 see your daughter?" 
 
 "No, 3'ou said she was resting; I am not anxious 
 about her, I am much more desirous to know the truth 
 about Brulette ; for, though m3' heart defends her, still my 
 reason tells me that there ma^' have been some little thing 
 in her conduct which la3's her open to blame ; and I feel I 
 ought to know more before going too far." 
 
300 ■ The Bagpipers. 
 
 I was about to tell him what had happened an hour be- 
 fore, under ni}' ver}' eyes, between Huriel and m}' aunt, 
 when Huriel himself appeared, sent by Brulette, who was 
 afraid Therence might be unable to get Chariot to sleep. 
 Father and son had an explanation, in which Huriel, beg- 
 ging his father not to ask for a secret he was bound not to 
 tell, and which Brulette herself was not aware that he 
 knew, swore on liis baptism that Brulette was worthy of 
 his father's blessing. 
 
 '' Come and see her, dear father," he added ; " 3'ou can 
 do it very easily because we are now dancing out of doors, 
 and 3'ou need no invitation to be present. By the very 
 wa}" she kisses you, 3'ou will know that no girl so sweet 
 and amiable was ever more pure in heart." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, my son ; and I will go to please 
 3^ou, and also for tlie pleasure of seeing her. But wait a 
 moment, for I want to speak to 3'ou of Joseph." 
 
 I thought I had better leave them alone, so I went off to 
 tell m3" aunt of Pere Bastien's arrival, knowing she would 
 welcome him heartil3^ and not let him sta3' outside. But 
 I found no one in the house but Brulette. The whole 
 wedding part3', with the music at tlieir head, had gone to 
 carr3' the roast to the newly married couple, who liad re- 
 tired to a neighboring house, for it was past eleven o'clock 
 at night. It is an ancient custom, which I have never 
 thought very nice, to shame a 3'oung bride b3^ a visit and 
 joking songs. Though the other girls had all gone, with 
 or without malicious intention, Brulette had had the de- 
 cency to sta3^ in the chimney-corner, where I found her 
 sitting, as if keeping watch in the kitchen, but reall3' 
 taking the sleep she so much needed. I did not care to 
 disturb her nor to deprive her of the fine surprise she 
 would feel on waking, at sight of the Head- Woodsman. 
 
The Bagpipers. 301 
 
 Very tired m3'self, I sat down at a table, laid m}^ arms 
 on it and my head on my arms, as you do when you mean 
 to take a five minutes' nap ; but I thought of Therence 
 and did not sleep. For a moment only my thoughts were 
 hazy, and just then a trilling noise made me open my eyes 
 without lifting my head, and I saw a man enter and walk 
 up to the chimney. Though the candles had all been 
 carried off for the visit to the bride, the fire of fagots 
 which flamed on the hearth gave light enough to enable 
 me to recognize at once who it was. It was Joseph, who 
 no doubt had met some of the wedding guests on his way 
 to Nohant, and finding where we were, had retraced his 
 steps. He was dusty with his journey and carried a bun- 
 dle on the end of his stick, which he threw into a corner 
 and then stood stock still like a mile-stone, looking at 
 Brulette asleep, and taking no notice of me. 
 
 The year during which I had not seen him had made as 
 great a change in him as it had in Therence. His health 
 beino; better than it ever was, it was safe to call him a 
 handsome man, whose square shoulders and wiry figure 
 were more muscular than thin. His face was sallow, 
 partly from a bilious constitution and paitly from the heat 
 of the sun ; and this swarthy tint went singularly well with 
 his large light eyes, and his long straight hair. It was 
 still the same sad and dreamy face ; but something bold 
 and decided, showing the harsh will so long concealed, 
 was mingled in it. 
 
 I did not move, wishing to observe the manner in which 
 he approached Brulette and so judge of ihis coming meet- 
 ing with Huriel. No doubt he did study the girl's face 
 seeking for truth ; and perhaps beneath the eyelids, closed 
 in quiet slumber, he perceived her peace of heart ; for the 
 girl was sweetly pretty seen at that moment in the blaze 
 
802 The Bagpipers, 
 
 from the hearth. Her complexion was still bright with 
 pleasure, her mouth smiled with contentment, and the 
 silken lashes of her closed eyes cast a soft shadow on her 
 cheeks, which seemed to quiver beneath tliem like the sly 
 glances that girls cast on their lovers. But Brulette was 
 sound asleep, dreaming no doubt of Huriel, and thinking 
 as little of alluring Joseph as of repelling him. 
 
 I saw that he felt her beauty so much that his wrath 
 hung by a thread, for he leaned over her and, with a cour- 
 age I did not give him credit for, he put his lips quite 
 close to hers and would have touched them if I, in a sud- 
 den rage, had not coughed violently and stopped the kiss 
 on its way. 
 
 Brulette woke up with a start ; I pretended to do the 
 same, and Joseph felt a good deal of a fool between the 
 pair of us, who both asked what he was doing, without any 
 appearance of confusion on Brulette's part or of malice 
 on mine. 
 
The Bagpipers. 303 
 
 TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING. 
 
 Joseph recovered himself quickl}^, and showing plainly 
 that he did not mean to be put in the wrong, he said to 
 Brulette, " I am glad to find you here. After a 3'ear's 
 absence don't you mean to kiss an old friend ? " 
 
 He approached her again, but she drew back, surprised 
 at his singular manner, and said, " No, Jose, it is not my 
 way to kiss any lad, no matter how old a friend he is or 
 how glad I am to see him." 
 
 " You have grown very coy ! " he said, in an angry and 
 scoffing tone. 
 
 " I don't think I have ever been coy with you. Joseph ; 
 3'ou never gave me any reason to be ; and as 3'ou never 
 asked me to be familiar, I never had occasion to forbid 
 your kissing me. Nothing is changed between us and I 
 do not know why you should now la}^ claim to what has 
 never entered into our friendship." 
 
 " What an amount of talk and wr}^ faces, all about a 
 kiss," said Joseph, his anger rising. " If I never asked 
 for what you were ready enough to give others it was 
 because I was a young fool. I thought you would receive 
 me better now that I am neither a ninny nor a coward." 
 
 "What is the matter with him?" asked Brulette, 
 surprised and even frightened, and coming close up to 
 me. "Is it reall}' he, or some one who looks like him? 
 I thought I saw our Jose, but this is not his speech nor 
 his face nor his friendship." 
 
 " How have I changed, Brulette?" began Jose, a little 
 
304 TJie Bagpipers, 
 
 disconcerted and already repentant. "Is it that I now 
 have the courage I once lacked to tell you that you are 
 to me the loveliest in the world, and that I have always 
 longed for your good graces ? There 's no offence in that, 
 I hope ; and perhaps I am not more unworth}^ of them 
 than others whom you allow to hang round 3'ou." 
 
 So saying, with a return of his vexation, he looked me 
 in the face, and I saw he was trying to pick a qfuarrel 
 with whoever would take him up. I asked nothing better 
 than to draw his first fire. '* Joseph," I said, " Brule tte 
 is rio^ht in thinkino- you chansred. There is nothinsj sur- 
 prising in that. We know how we part, but not how we 
 meet again. You need not be surprised, either, if you 
 find a little change in me. I have alwa3's been quiet and 
 patient, standing by you in all yoxxv difficulties and con- 
 soling 3'our vexations ; but if you have grown more unjust 
 than you used to be, I have grown more touchy, and I 
 take it ill that 3'ou should sa3" to m3' cousin before me 
 that she is prodigal of her kisses and allows too many 
 3'oung men about her." 
 
 Joseph e3'ed me contemptuousl3^, and put on a really 
 devilish look of malice as he laughed in my face. Then 
 he said, crossing his arms, and looking at me as though 
 he were taking my measure, "Well, is it possible, Tien- 
 net? Can this be 3^ou? However, I always did doubt 
 you, and the friendship 3'ou professed — to deceive me." 
 
 "What do 3'ou mean b3' that, Jos '? " said Brulette, 
 much affronted and fancying he had lost his mind. 
 " Where did you get the right to blame me, and why 
 are 3^ou tr3ing to see something wrong or ridiculous 
 between my cousin and me ? Are 3"ou ill or drunken, that 
 you forget the respect 3'Ou owe me and the affection that 
 3'ou know I deserve ? " 
 
The Bagpipers. 305 
 
 Joseph drew in his horns, and taking Brulette's hand 
 in his, he said to her, witli his eyes full of tears, " I am 
 to blame, Brulette ; yes, I 'm irritable from fatigue and 
 the desire to get here ; but I feel nothing but devotion 
 for you, and 3'ou ought not to take it in bad part. I know 
 \Qxy well that 3'our manners are dignified and that you 
 exact the respect of everybody. It is due to 3'our beauty, 
 which, I see, is greater, not less, than ever. But you 
 surely will allow that 3'ou love pleasure, and that people 
 often kiss each other when dancing. It is the custom, 
 and I shall think it a verj^ good one when I profit by it ; 
 which will be now, for I have learned how to dance like 
 others, and for the first time in my life I am going to 
 dance with you. I hear the bagpipes returning. Come, 
 you shall see that all ni}^ ill-humor will clear off under the 
 happiness of being 30ur sweetheart." 
 
 " Jose," replied Brulette, not more than half pleased 
 at this speech, " 3'ou are ver3' much mistaken if 3'ou think 
 I still have sweethearts ; I ma3" have been coquettish, — 
 that 's m3^ wa3', and I am not bound to give account of 
 m3' actions ; but I have also the right and the will to 
 change m3' wa3's. I no longer dance with ever3^body, and 
 to-night I shall not dance again." 
 
 " I should have thought," said Joseph, piqued, " that 
 1 was not ' everybod3',' as 3'ou sa3', to an old friend with 
 whom I made m3^ first communion, and under whose roof 
 I lived." 
 
 The music and the weddino; o-uests returnins: with a 
 great racket, cut short their words, and Huriel, also en- 
 tering, full of eagerness and taking no notice of Joseph, 
 caught Brulette on his arm and carried her like a feather 
 to his father, who was waiting outside, and who kissed her 
 joyousl3', to the great anno3-ance of Joseph, who clenched 
 
 20 
 
80G The Bagjnjjers. 
 
 his fists as he watched her payhig the old man the fiUal 
 attentions of a daughter. 
 
 Creeping up to tlie Head- Woodsman I whispered that 
 Joseph was there, in a bad temper, and I proposed that 
 he should draw Huriel aside while I persuaded Brulette 
 to go to bed. Joseph, who was not invited to the wedding, 
 would thus be obliged to go off* and sleep at Nohant or at 
 some other house in Chassin. The Head- Woodsman 
 thought the suggestion good, and pretending not to see 
 Joseph, who kept in the background, he talked apart with 
 Huriel, wliile Brulette went away to see in what part of 
 the house she could stow herself for the night. But my 
 aunt, who had counted on lodging us, did not expect that 
 Brulette would take it into her head to go to bed before 
 three or four in the morniug. The 3'oung men never go 
 to bed at all on the first night of a wedding, and do their 
 best to keep up the dauce for tln'ee da3's and three nights 
 running. If one of them gets tired, he goes into the 
 hayloft and takes a nap. As to the girls and women, 
 they all retire into one room ; but generalh^ it is only the 
 old women and the ugly ones who abandon the dance. 
 
 So, when Brulette went up to the room where she ex- 
 pected to find a place next to some of her relatives, she 
 came upon a crowd of snorers, among whom not a corner 
 as big as the palm of her hand was vacant ; and the few 
 who woke up told her to come again towards morning, 
 when they would be ready to go down and serve the 
 tables. She came back to us and told her difficulty. 
 
 "Well, then," said Pere Bastien, "you must go and 
 sleep with Therence. M}' son and I will spend the night 
 here so that no talk can be made about it." 
 
 I declared that in order to a\'oid giving a pretext for 
 Joseph's jealousy Brulette could casil}' slip out with me 
 
The Bagpipers. 307 
 
 witliont saying a word ; and Pere Bastien going up to him 
 and pl3'ing him with questions, I took raj' cousin to the 
 old castle by a back way through ni}' aunt's garden. 
 
 "When I returned I found the Head- Woodsman, Joseph, 
 and Huriel at table together. They called me, and I sat 
 down to supper with them, eating, drinking, talking, and 
 singing to avoid an explosion of anger which might follow 
 on any talk about Brulette. Joseph, seeing us determined 
 to keep the peace, controlled himself at first, and even 
 seemed ga}' ; but he could not help biting as he caressed, 
 and every joke he made had a sting at the end of it. The 
 Head- Woodsman tried to keep down his bile with a meas- 
 ure of wine, and I think Joseph might willingly have 
 yielded in order to forget himself, if it were not that wine 
 never affected him. He drank four times as much as the 
 rest of us, who had no reason to wish to drown our intelli- 
 gence, and yet his ideas were all the clearer and his 
 speech, too. 
 
 At last, after some particularly spiteful remarks on the 
 slyness of women and the treachery of friends, Huriel, 
 striking his fist on the table and grasping his father's 
 elbow, which for some time past had been nudging him to 
 keep quiet, said in a decided tone : — 
 
 " No, father, excuse me, but I cannot stand any more 
 of this, and it is much better to say so openl3\ I know 
 very well that Joseph's teeth will be as sharp a year hence 
 as they are now, and though I have closed my ears to his 
 sayings up to this time, it is right that they should open 
 now to his unjust remarks and reproaches. Come, Joseph, 
 for the last hour I have seen what 3'ou mean ; you have 
 wasted a great deal of wit. Talk plain, I'm listening; 
 say what 3'ou have on your mind, with the whys and the 
 wherefores. I vrill an^^^wor you frankl3\" 
 
308 The BagpijJers. 
 
 "Well, so be it; come to an explanation," said the 
 Head-Woodsman, reversing his glass and deciding the sit- 
 uation, as he well knew how to do when it became neces- 
 sar}^ ; " we will have no more drinking if it is not to be in 
 friendship, for it is ill mixing the devil's venom with the 
 good God's wine." 
 
 " You surprise me, both of you," said Joseph, who had 
 grown 3'ellow to the whites of his eyes, though he still 
 continued to laugh vindictively. " What the devil are 
 you angrv about, and why do you scratch yourselves when 
 nothing is biting you ? I have nothing against anybodj^ ; 
 only I happen to be in the humor to jeer at everj'thing, 
 and I don't think you are likel}- to rid me of it." 
 
 "Perhaps I could," said Huriel, provoked. 
 
 " Try," said Joseph, sneering. 
 
 " That's enough! " said the Head- Woodsman, striking 
 the table with his heavy hand, " Hold your tongues, both 
 of you, and as there is no frankness in you, Joseph, I 
 shall have enough for the two. You misjudged in your 
 heart the woman 3'ou wished to love ; that is a wrong that 
 God can pardon, for it is not always easy for a man to be 
 trustful or distrustful in his friendsliips ; but it is, nnfor- 
 tunateh', a wrong that cannot be repaired. You fell into 
 that blunder ; 3'ou must accept the consequences and 
 submit to them." 
 
 " Wliy so, master?" said Joseph, setting up his back 
 like an angry cat, " who will tell the wrong to Brulette? 
 she has not known or suffered from it. " 
 
 " No one," said Huriel, " I am not a blackguard." 
 
 " Then who will tell it? " demanded Josepli. 
 
 " Yourself," said Pere Bastien. 
 
 " What can make me? " 
 
 " The consciousness of vour love for her. Doubt never 
 
The Bagpipers. 309 
 
 comes singl}'. Yoii may get over the first twinge, but 
 there comes a second, which will issue from your lips at 
 the first words you sa}^ to her." 
 
 " In fact, I think it has happened already, Joseph," 
 said I, " for this very evening you offended the person we 
 are speaking of." 
 
 " Perhaps I did," he said haughtily, " but that is between 
 her and me. If I choose that she shall return to me what 
 makes 3'ou think she will not return? I remember my 
 master's song, — the music is beautiful and the words are 
 true, — 'Gifts are for those who pra}-.' Well, Huriel, 
 go ahead. Ask in words and I will ask in music, and we 
 will see whether or no I can't win her back again. Come, 
 play fair, you who blame what 3'ou call my crooked ways. 
 The game is between us, and we '11 have no shuffling. A 
 fine house has more than one door, and we '11 each knock 
 at the one that suits us." 
 
 " I am willing," said Huriel, "but you will please to 
 remember one thing. I will stand no more fault-finding, 
 whether in jest or earnest. If I overlook the past, m}' good- 
 nature does not go so far as to allow an}^ more of it." 
 
 "What do 3'ou mean b\' that?" demanded Joseph, 
 whose bile interfered with his memor}'. 
 
 " I forbid you to ask," said the Head- Woodsman, " and 
 I command you to bethink 3'ourself. If 3'ou fight my son 
 3'ou will be none the more innocent for that, and it will 
 not add to 3'our credit if I withdraw the forgiveness 
 which, without a w^ord of explanation, my heart has al- 
 read}' granted 3'Ou." 
 
 " Master! " cried Joseph, hot with excitement, "if 3'ou 
 think 3''ou have anything to forgive I thank 30U for 3'our 
 forgiveness ; but, in m3' opinion, I have done 3'ou no wrong. 
 I never dreamed of deceiving 3'Ou ; and if 3'our daughter 
 
310 The Bagpipers. 
 
 had said j'es, I should not have backed down from my 
 offer. She is a girl without an equal for sense and up- 
 rightness ; I should have loved her, ill or well, but at 
 any rate sincerely and without betra3'ing her. She might 
 perhaps have saved me from much evil and much suffer- 
 ing ; but she did not think me worthy of her. Therefore 
 I am at liberty to court whom I will ; and I consider that 
 the man I trusted and who promised me his help has 
 made haste to take advantage of my momentary pique to 
 supplant me." 
 
 ''Your momentar}^ pique lasted a month, Joseph," 
 said Huriel ; "be fair about it, — one month, during 
 which you asked my sister in marriage three times. I am 
 forced to believe that you held her in derision ; if 3'ou 
 wish to clear 3'ourself of that insult you must admit that 
 I was not to blame in the matter. I believed 3'our word ; 
 that is the only wrong I have done ; don't give me reason 
 to think it is one I must repent of" 
 
 Joseph kept silence; then, rising, he said, "Yes, 3'ou 
 are good at argument ; 3'OU are both cleverer than I at 
 that ; I have spoken and acted like a man who does not 
 know what he wants ; but 3'Ou are greater fools than I if 
 3'OU don't know that, without being mad, we ma3' wish for 
 two opposite things. Leave me to be what I am, and I 
 will leave 3'ou to be what 3"ou wish to be. If 3'our heart 
 is honest, Huriel, I shall soon know it, and if 3'Ou win 
 the game fairl3', I will do 3'Ou justice and withdraw with- 
 out resentment." 
 
 " How can 3'ou tell if my heart is honest when 3'ou 
 have been unable to judge it rightl3' hitherto ? " 
 
 " I can tell b3' what you now sa3" of me to Brulette," 
 replied Joseph. "You are in a position to prejudice her 
 against me and I cannot do the same by 3'ou." 
 
The Bagpipers. 311 
 
 " Stop ! " I said to Joseph, " don't blame any one un- 
 justh\ Therence has already told Brulette that you asked 
 her in marriage not a fortnight ago." 
 
 "But nothing further has been or will be told," added 
 Huriel ; " Joseph, we are better than you think us. We 
 do not want to deprive 3'ou of Brulette's friendship." 
 
 The words touched Joseph, and he put out his hand 
 as if to take Huriel's ; but the good intention stopped 
 half-wa}^ and he went off without another word to any 
 one. 
 
 " A hard heart ! " cried Huriel, who was too kind him- 
 self not to suffer from this ingratitude. 
 
 '' No, an unhapp3' one," said his father. 
 
 Struck by the words, I followed Joseph to either scold 
 him or console him, for he looked as if death were in his 
 e^'es. I was quite as much displeased with him as Huriel 
 was. but the old habit of pitjing and protecting him was 
 so strong that it carried me after him whether I would 
 or no. 
 
 He walked so rapidl}^ along the road to Nohant that 
 I soon lost sight of him ; but he stopped at the edge of 
 the Lajon, a little pond on a barren heath. The place is 
 very drear}', and without shade, except that of a few 
 stunted trees ill-fed in the poor soil ; but the swampy land 
 around the pond abounded with wild-flowers, and as the 
 white water-lil}^ and other marsh plants were now in 
 bloom, the place smelt as sweet as a garden. 
 
 Joseph had flung himself down among the reeds, and 
 not knowing that he was followed but believing himself all 
 alone, he was groaning and growling at the same time, 
 like a wounded wolf. T called him, merel}' to let him 
 know I was there, for I knew he would not answer me, 
 and I went straight up to him. 
 
312 The Bagpipers, 
 
 " This is not the right thing at all/' I said to him ; 
 "you ought to take counsel with 3'ourself ; tears are not 
 reasons." 
 
 " I am not weeping, Tiennet," he answered, in a stead}^ 
 voice. " I am neither so weak nor so happy that I can 
 find comfort that wa}'. It is seldom, in my worst mo- 
 ments, that a tear gets out of my eyes, and it is fire, not 
 water, that is forcing its way now, for it burns like live 
 coal. But don't ask me why ; I can't tell wh}', and I 
 don't want to seek for the cause of it. The day of trust- 
 ing in others is over with me. I know my strength, and 
 I no longer need their help. It was only given out of 
 pity, and I want no more of it ; I can rely in future on 
 m3'self. Thank you for 3'our good intentions. Thank 
 3'ou, and please leave me.'^ 
 
 " But where are 3'ou going to spend the night? " 
 
 " I am going to my mother's." 
 
 "It is very late, and it is so far from here to Saint- 
 Chartier." 
 
 " No matter," he said, rising, " I can't stay here. We 
 shall meet to-morrow, Tiennet." 
 
 " Yes, at home ; we go back tomorrow." 
 
 " I don't care where," he said. " Wherever she is — 
 3'our Brulette — I shall find her, and perhaps it will be seen 
 that she has not made her final choice ! " 
 
 He went off" with a determined air, and seeing that his 
 pride supported him I off'ered no further consolation. 
 Fatigue, and the pleasure of seeing his mother, and a day 
 or two for reflection might, I hoped, bring him to reason. 
 I planned, therefore, to advise Brulette to stay at Chassin 
 over the next da}^, and making my way back to the village 
 with this idea in my head I came upon the Head- Woods- 
 man and his son, in a corner of the field through which I 
 
TJie Bagpipers. 313 
 
 was making a short cut. They were preparing what they 
 called their bed-clothes ; in other words, making ready to 
 sleep on the ground, not wishing to disturb the two girls 
 in the castle, and reall}' preferring to lie under the stars at 
 this sweet season of the 3'ear. I liked the idea, too, for 
 the fresh grass seemed much nicer than the hay of a barn 
 heated by the bodies of a score of other fellows. So I 
 stretched m3self beside Huriel, looked at the little white 
 clouds in the clear sky, smelt the hawthorn odors, and fell 
 asleep, thinking of Therence in the sweetest slumber I 
 ever had in my life. 
 
 I have alwaj's been a good sleeper, and in my youth I 
 seldom wakened of myself. My two companions, who 
 had walked a lonsj distance the dav before, let the sun 
 rise without their knowing it, and woke up laugliing to 
 find him ahead of them, which did n't happen very often. 
 The}^ laughed still more to see how cautious I was not to 
 tumble out of bed when I opened my e3'es and looked 
 about to see where I was. 
 
 "Come, up, m}^ boj- ! " said Huriel; "we are late 
 enough alread3\ Do you know something? It is the 
 last day of Ma}', and it is the fashion in our parts to tie 
 a nosegay to our sweetheart's door when there was no 
 chance to do it on the first of the month. There is no fear 
 that any one has got ahead of us, because, for one thing, 
 no one knows where m}' sister and 3'our cousin are lodg- 
 ing, and for another, it is n't the custom in this part of the 
 countr3' to leave, as we sa3', the call-again bunch. But 
 we are so late I fear the girls are up, and if the3^ leave 
 their rooms before the Ma3'-bunch is hung to the door 
 the3^ will cry out upon us for laziness." 
 
 " As cousin," I answer, laughing, " I permit 3'ou to 
 hang your bunch, and, as brother, I ask 3'our permission 
 
314 The Bagpipers. 
 
 to hang mine ; but perhaps the father won't hear of it 
 with your ears." 
 
 '' Yes, he will," said Pere Bastien. " Huriel said some- 
 thing to me about it. There 's no difficulty in trj^ing ; 
 succeeding is another thing. If you know how to man- 
 age it, so much the better, my lad. It is your affair." 
 
 Encouraged b}' his friendliness, I rushed into the adjoin- 
 ing copse with a light heart, and cut off the whole branch 
 of a wild cherry-tree in full bloom, while Huriel, who had 
 already provided himself with one of those beautiful silk 
 and gold ribbons which the women of his country wear 
 beneath their lace coifs, gathered a bunch of white haw- 
 thorn and a bunch of pink and tied them in a nosegay 
 that was worth}' of a queen. 
 
 We made but three strides from the field to the castle, 
 where the silence assured us that the beauties still slept, — 
 no doubt from having talked half the night. But imagine 
 our amazement when, on entering the court3'ard, our e3'es 
 lighted on a superb nosega}', decked with silver and white 
 ribbons, hanging to the door we intended to garland. 
 
 " The devil ! " cried Huriel, preparing to tear awa}" the 
 offending bunch, and looking askance at his dog whom 
 he had stationed in the courtj'ard. " Is this the wa}' 3'ou 
 guard the house, master Satan? Have 3'ou made acquain- 
 tances already? win' did n't 3'ou bite the legs of this Maj^- 
 day prowler ? " 
 
 " Stop," said the Head- Woodsman, preventing his son 
 from taking down the nosega3\ "There is but one per- 
 son in these parts whom Satan knows and who also knows 
 our custom of the call-again bunch, for he has seen it 
 practised among us. Now, 30U pledged 3'our word to 
 that person not to interfere with him. You must be sat- 
 isfied to make \'Ourself acceptable and not undermine 
 
The Bagpipers. 315 
 
 him ; respect his offering, just as he, no doubt, would have 
 respected 3'ours." 
 
 " Yes, father," replied Huriel, "if I were sure it was 
 he ; but it maj' be some one else, and the bunch may be 
 intended for Therence." 
 
 I remarked that no one knew Therence or had even seen 
 her, and looking closer at the flowers I saw that a mass of 
 white pond-hli'os had been freshlj' gathered and tied in 
 bunches, and I remembered that these plants were not 
 common in the neighborhood and grew only in the Lajon, 
 on the banks of which I had found Joseph lying. No 
 doubt, instead of going to Saint-Chartier he had returned 
 upon his steps ; and he must even have waded into the 
 water on the shifting sand of the pond, which is danger- 
 ous, before he could gather such an armful. 
 
 "Well, the battle has begun," said Huriel, sighing, 
 as he fastened his Ma3'-bunch to the door with an 
 anxious look that seemed to me very modest, for he 
 might well have felt sure of success and feared no one. 
 I wished I could feel as certain of his sister, and I hung 
 up my cherry-bough with a beating heart, as if she were 
 just behind the door all read}^ to fling it in my face. 
 
 And pale I was when the door opened ; but it was 
 Brulette who came first, and gave a kiss for good-morning 
 to Pere Bastien, a hand-shake to me, and a ros}' blush 
 of pleasure to Huriel, though she did not venture to speak 
 to him. 
 
 " Oh, father ! " cried Therence, following her and clasp- 
 ing the Head-Woodsman in her arms; "have 3'ou been 
 playing the 3'oung man all night ? Come, come in, and let 
 me give you some breakfast. But first, let me look at 
 those nosegays. Three, Brulette ! oh, what a girl you 
 are ! is the procession to last all day ? " 
 
316 The Bagpipers, 
 
 " Onl}^ two for Brulette," said Huriel ; " the third is for 
 you, sister ; " and he gave her my cheny-bough, so full of 
 bloom that it had rained a white shower all round the 
 door. 
 
 " For me? " said Th^rence, surprised. " Then 3'ou did 
 it, brother, to prevent my being jealous of Brulette ? " 
 
 ''Brothers are not so gallant," said Pere Bastien. 
 "Have you no suspicion of a timid and discreet lover 
 who keeps his mouth shut instead of declaring himself? " 
 
 Therence looked all round her as if she were trying to 
 see some one beside me, and when at last her black ej'es 
 rested on m}'' discomfited and idiotic face I thought she 
 was going to laugh, which would have stabbed me to the 
 heart. But she did nothing of the kind, and even 
 blushed a little. Then, holding out her hand she said : 
 *' Thank 3^ou, Tiennet ; 3^ou have shown that 3'ou remem- 
 ber me, and I accept the gift without giving it other 
 meaning than belongs to a nosegay." 
 
 "Well," said Pere Bastien, "if 3'ou accept it, my 
 daughter, j^ou must follow the usual custom, and fasten 
 a spray of it to your coif." 
 
 " No," said Therence, "that might displease some of 
 the girls hereabouts, and I don't want m}- good Tiennet to 
 repent of having done me a kindness." 
 
 " Oh, that won't displease anybod}^" I cried ; " if it 
 does not annoy you, it would hugely please me." 
 
 " So be it ! " she said, breaking off a little twig of my 
 flowers, which she fastened with a pin to her head. " We 
 are here in the Chassin, Tiennet ; if we were in j^our part 
 of the countr}' I should be more careful, for fear of getting 
 3'ou into trouble with some compatriot." 
 
 " You can get me into trouble with all of them, The- 
 rence," I said ; " I ask nothing better." 
 
The Bagpipers, 317 
 
 " As for that," she repUed, " 3'ou go too fast. I don't 
 know 3'ou well enough, Tiennet, to say if it would be well 
 for either of us." Then changing the subject with that for- 
 getfulness of herself which came so naturally to her, she 
 said to Brulette : " It is 3'our turn, darling ; what return 
 are you going to make for your two May bunches ? which 
 of them is to deck j-our cap ? " 
 
 " Neither, till I know where they came from," replied 
 my prudent cousin. " Tell me, Huriel, and keep me from 
 makinsr a mistake." 
 
 " I can't tell you," said Huriel, ' except that this is 
 mine." 
 
 " Then I shall carry it whole," she said, taking it down, 
 " and as to that bunch of water-flowers, they must feel 
 very much out of place on a door. I think they will be 
 happier in the moat." 
 
 So saying, she adorned her cap and the front of her 
 dress with Huriel's flowers, and took the rest into her 
 room ; then, returning, she was about to throw the lilies 
 into the old moat which separated the courtyard from the 
 park, when Huriel, unwilling that such an insult should be 
 offered to his rival, stopped her hand. At this moment 
 the sound of a bagpipe came from the shrubbery which 
 closed the little court in front of us, and some one, who 
 had been near enough to hear every word that had passed, 
 played Pere Bastien's air of the " Three Woodsmen." 
 
 He plaj-ed it first as we knew it, next a little differently, 
 in a softer and sadder way, then changing it through- 
 out, varying the ke3's, adding music of his own, which 
 was not less beautiful, and even seemed to sigh and to 
 entreat in so tender a manner that we who heard it could 
 hardl}' help being touched with compassion. At last the 
 player took a stronger and louder tone, — as though it 
 
318 The Bagpipers. 
 
 were a song of reproach and authority, and Brulette, who 
 had gone to the edge of the moat intending to fling away 
 the hlies, drew back as if terrified by the anger which 
 was expressed in the sounds. Then Josepli, shoving aside 
 the bushes with his feet and shoulders, appeared on the 
 other side of the moat, still piping, his eyes blazing, and 
 seeming, both by his looks and by his music, to threaten 
 Brulette with some great disaster if she did not desist 
 from the insult she was about to offer him. 
 
The Bagpipers, 319 
 
 TWENTY-SEVENTH EVENING. 
 
 4 
 
 ^' Noble music and a fine pla3'er," cried Pere Bastien, 
 clapping his hands when the sounds ceased. "That is 
 both good and beautiful, Joseph ; it is easj' to console 
 yourself for everything when you have the ball at 3^our 
 feet in that way. Come over here, and let us compliment 
 
 you." 
 
 " Nothing consoles for an insult, master," replied Joseph ; 
 " and for the rest of my days there will be a ditch full of 
 thorns between Brulette and me if she throws my offering 
 into that moat." 
 
 "Heaven forbid," cried Brulette, "that I should make 
 such an ill return for the beautiful nosega3^ Come over 
 here, Jose ; there need be no thorns between us but those 
 you plant yourself." 
 
 Joseph sprang into the courtyard, bursting like a wild 
 boar through the hue of thick-set brambles which divided 
 him from the moat, and darting across the green slime 
 which filled the bottom of it ; then snatching the flowers 
 from Brulette's hand, he pulled out several, which he tried 
 to fasten on her head beside Huriel's pink and white haw- 
 thorn-blossoms. He did it with an air of authority, as 
 though he had a right to exercise his will. But Brulette 
 stopped him, sa3'ing : — 
 
 " One moment, Joseph ; I have an idea of m^- own, and 
 you must submit to it. You will soon be received into the 
 bagpipers' guild ; now God has given me a sense of music, 
 enough to let me understand something of it without ever 
 
320 The Bagpipers, 
 
 having learned. I 've a fanc}^ to have a competition here, 
 and to reward the one who pla3's best. Give 3'our bag- 
 pipe to Huriel, and let him make his trial just as 3^ou 
 have now made yours." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I agree to that entirely," cried Joseph, 
 whose face shone with defiance. " It is your turn, Huriel ; 
 make the buck-skin warble like the throat of a nightingale, 
 if 3^ou can ! " 
 
 " That was not in our agreement, Joseph," answered 
 Huriel. " You agreed that I should speak, and I have 
 spoken. I agreed to leave music, in which you excel me, 
 to you. Take back 3'our bagpipe, and speak again in your 
 own language ; no one here will wearv of hearing 3'ou." 
 
 " As you own yourself vanquished," returned Joseph, 
 " I shall pla3' no more, unless Brulette requests it." 
 
 " Pla3^," she said ; and while he pla3'ed in a marvellous 
 way, she wove a garland of white lihes and tied it with the 
 silver ribbon that bound the bunch. When the music 
 ended she went up to Joseph and twisted the wreath about 
 the pipe of his instrument, sa3'ing, — 
 
 "Jose, noblest piper, I receive thee into the guild, and 
 give thee the prize. Ma3' this wreath bring thee happi- 
 ness and glory, and prove to thee the high esteem in which 
 I hold thy great talents." 
 
 " Yes, that 's all ver3^ well," said Joseph. " Thank 3'ou, 
 my Brulette ; now complete m3^ happiness and make me 
 prouder still by wearing one of the flowers 3'ou give me. 
 Select the finest and put it next 3'Our heart, if 3'Ou will not 
 wear it on your head." 
 
 Brulette smiled and blushed, beautiful as an angel ; then 
 she looked at Huriel, who turned pale, thinking it was all 
 over with him. 
 
 " Joseph," she answered, " I ha.ve granted 3'OU the first 
 
The Bagpipers. 321 
 
 of all triumphs, that of music. You must be satisfied, and 
 cease to ask for that of love, which is not won by strength 
 or knowledge, but by the will of the good God." 
 
 Huriel's face lighted, Joseph's darkened. 
 
 " Brulette," he cried, " God's will must be as my will ! " 
 
 " Gently," she said, "He alone is master; and here is 
 one of his little angels, who must not hear words against 
 our holy religion." 
 
 As she spoke she took Chariot, who caifle bounding 
 after her like a lamb to its mother, into her arms. 
 Therence, who returned to her room while Joseph was 
 playing, had just taken him up, and the child, without 
 letting himself be dressed, had run out half-naked to kiss 
 his darhng, as he called Brulette, with a jealous and 
 masterful air which contrasted amusingly with that of the 
 lovers. 
 
 Joseph, who had forgotten his suspicions, concluding he 
 was duped by young Carnat's letter, drew back on seeing 
 Chariot as though the child were a snake ; and as he 
 watched him kissing Brulette eagerly and calling her 
 " mamma" and " Chariot's darling," a mist came over his 
 eyes and he well-nigh swooned away ; but almost immedi- 
 ately he sprang in a burst of anger toward the child, and 
 clutching him brutally, cried out in a choking voice : 
 " Here's the truth at last ! This is the trick that has been 
 played upon me, and the master}' of love that has defeated 
 me ! " 
 
 Brulette, frightened by Joseph's violence and Chariot's 
 cries, tried to rescue the child ; but Joseph, quite beside 
 himself, pulled him away, laughing savagely and sa3'ing he 
 wanted to look at him with all his ej^es and see the resem- 
 blance ; so doing he nearly choked the child, without mean- 
 ing it, to Bruiette's horror, and she, not daring to add to 
 
 21 
 
322 The Bagpipers, 
 
 the boy's danger by attempting to rescue him, turned 
 back to Huriel, cr3'ing, — 
 
 ' ' My child, my child ! he is killing m}- poor child ! " 
 
 Huriel made but one stride ; catching Joseph by the 
 nape of the neck, he held him so tightl}- and firmly that 
 his arms relaxed and I caught Chariot from him and gave 
 the half unconscious child back to Brulette. 
 
 Joseph nearly fainted too, as much from the violence of 
 his anger as from the wa}' in which Huriel had handled 
 him. A fight would certainly have followed (and the 
 Head-Woodsman had alread}' flung himself between them) 
 if Joseph had understood what was happening ; but he 
 was unable to consider anything except that Brulette was 
 a mother, and that both she and we had deceived him. 
 
 " You no longer hide it? " he said to her, in a choking 
 voice. 
 
 '^ What are you saying to me? '* asked Brulette, who was 
 sitting on the grass, all in tears, and trying to ease the 
 bruises on Chariot's arms; " 3'ou are a wicked madman, 
 I know that. Don't come near me, and never harm this 
 child again or God will curse you." 
 
 *' One word, Brulette," said Joseph; " if 3'ou are his 
 mother, confess it. I will pity and forgive 3'ou ; in fact, 
 I will even defend 3'ou, if necessary. But if 3'ou can only 
 den3'' it b3'' a lie — I shall despise 3'Ou, and forget 3'Ou." 
 
 "His mother? I, his mother?" cried Brulette, spring- 
 ing up as if to cast off Chariot. " You think I am his 
 mother?" she said again, taking back the poor child, the 
 cause of all the trouble, and pressing him to her heart. 
 Then she looked about her with a bewildered air, and her 
 e3^es sought Huriel. " Can it be possible," she cried, 
 ''that any one could think such a thing of me?" 
 
 '' The proof that no one thinks it," cried Huriel, going 
 
The Bagpipers. 323 
 
 up to her and kissing Chariot, " is that we love the child 
 whom you love." 
 
 ** Say something better than that, brother," cried The- 
 rence, eagerly. "Say what you said to me yesterday: 
 ' Whether the child is hers or not, he shall be mine, if she 
 will be mine.' " 
 
 Brnlette flung both arms round Huriel's neck and hung 
 there like a vine to an oak. 
 
 " Be m}' master, then," she said ; " I never had, and I 
 never will have another than you." 
 
 Joseph watched this sudden understanding, of which he 
 was the cause, with an anguish and regret that were ter- 
 rible to see. The cry of truth in Brulette's words had 
 convinced him, and he fancied he had dreamed the wrong 
 he had just done her. He felt that all was over between 
 them, and without a word he picked up his bagpipe and 
 fled awa}'. 
 
 Pere Bastien ran after him and brought him back, 
 saying : — 
 
 " No, no, that is not the way to part after a lifelong 
 friendship. Bring down 3'our pride, Joseph, and ask 
 pardon of this honest girl. She is my daughter, their 
 word is now pledged, and I am glad of it ; but she must 
 remain your sister. A woman forgives a brother for what 
 she could never pardon in a lover." 
 
 " She may pardon me if she can and if she will," said 
 Joseph ; "but if I am guilty, I can receive no absolution 
 but my own. Hate me, Brulette ; that may be best for 
 me. I see I have done the one thing that was needed to 
 lose 3^our regard. I can never get it back ; but if 
 you pit}" me, don't tell me so. I ask nothing further of 
 you." 
 
 " All this would not have happened," said Brulette, " if 
 
324 The Bagpipers. 
 
 you had done your diitj', which was to go and see 3' our 
 mother. Go now, Josepli ; but, above all, don't tell 
 her what you have accused me of. She would die of 
 grief." 
 
 " My dear daughter," said the Head- Woodsman, still 
 detaining Joseph, "I think we do better not to scold 
 children until their minds are quiet. Otherwise, the^^ take 
 things crookedty and do not profit by rebuke. To my 
 thinking Joseph has times of aberration ; and if he does 
 not make honorable amends as readily as others do, it is 
 perhaps because he feels his wrong-doing and suffers more 
 from his own self-blame than from the blame of others. 
 Set him an example of good sense and kindness. It is 
 not difficult to forgive when we are happ3', and 3'ou ought 
 to be content to be loved as you are here. More love you 
 could not have ; for I now know things of 3'ou which make 
 me hold 3^ou in such esteem that here are a pair of hands 
 that will wring the neck of whoever insults you deliber- 
 ateh^ But that was not the nature of Joseph's insult, 
 which came from excitement, not reflection, and shame 
 followed so swiftly that his heart is now making 3'ou full 
 reparation. Come, Joseph, add 3^our word to mine ; I ask 
 no more than that of you ; and Brulette too, will be 
 satisfied, will 3'ou not, m3' daughter? " 
 
 " You don't know him, father, if 3'Ou think he will say 
 that word," replied Brulette; "but I won't exact it, be- 
 cause I want, above all things, to satisf3' 3'Ou. And so, 
 Joseph, I forgive 3'ou, though 3'Ou don't care much about 
 that. Sta3' and breakfast with us, and talk about some- 
 thing else ; what has happened is forgotten." 
 
 Joseph said not a word, but he took off his hat and laid 
 down his stick as if meaning to stay. The two girls re- 
 entered the house to prepare the meal, and Huriel, who 
 
The Bagpipers. 325 
 
 took great care of his horse, began to groom and curry- 
 comb him. I looked after Chariot, whom Brulette handed 
 over to m}" keeping ; and the Head- Woodsman, wishing 
 to divert Joseph's mind, talked music, and praised the 
 variations he had given to his song. 
 
 " Never speak to me of that song again," said Joseph ; 
 "it can onl}" remind me of painful things, and I wish to 
 forget it." 
 
 "Well then," said Pere Bastien, " plaj' me something 
 of 3'our own composition, here and now, just as the thought 
 comes to you." 
 
 Joseph led the wa}'' into the park, and we heard him in 
 the distance playing such sad and plaintive airs that 
 his soul seemed reall}^ prostrate with contrition and 
 repentance. 
 
 "Do 3'ou hear him?" I said to Brulette; "that is 
 certainl}- his waj" of confessing, and if sorrow is a repara- 
 tion, he gives you of his best." 
 
 " I don't think there is a very tender heart beneath 
 that rough pride of his," replied Brulette. " I feel, just 
 now, like Therence ; a little tenderness is more attractive 
 to me than much talent. But I forgive him ; and if my 
 pit}' is not as great as Joseph wants to make it by his mu- 
 sic, it is because I know he has a consolation of which my 
 indifference cannot deprive him, — I mean the admiration 
 which he and others feel for his talents. If Joseph did 
 not care for that more than for love or friendship, his 
 tongue would not now be dumb and his e^-e dry to the 
 reproof of friendship. He is quite capable of asking for 
 what he wants." 
 
 " Well," said the Head- Woodsman, returning alone 
 from the park, "did you hear him, my children? He 
 said all he could and would say, and, satisfied to have 
 
326 The Bagpipers. 
 
 drawn tears from my old eyes, he has gone away tran- 
 quillized." 
 
 " But you could not keep him to breakfast/' said The- 
 rence, smiling. 
 
 '' No," answered her father; " he pla3'ed too well not 
 to be three parts comforted ; and he prefers to go away 
 in that mood, rather than after some folly he might be 
 led into saying or doing at table." 
 
The Bagpipers, 327 
 
 TWENTY-EIGHTH EVENING. 
 
 We ate our meal in peace, feeling relieved of the appre- 
 hensions of the night before as to the quarrel between 
 Joseph and Huriel : and, as Therence plainly showed, 
 both in Joseph's presence and in his absence, that she had 
 no feeling, good or ill, about the past, I indulged, as did 
 Huriel and Pore Bastien, in tranquil and j03'ous thoughts. 
 Chariot, finding that everybody petted him, began to for- 
 get the man who had frightened and bruised him. Every 
 now and then he would start and look behind him at some 
 trifling noise, but Therence laughingly assured him the 
 man was safely gone and would not return. We seemed 
 like a famil}^ part}', and I thought to m3'self, while courting 
 Therence with the utmost deference, that I would make 
 m}' love less imperious and more patient than Joseph's. 
 
 Brulette seemed anxious and overcome, as though cut 
 to the heart by a foul blow. Huriel was uneas}' about her, 
 but the Head- Woodsman, who knew the human soul in all 
 its windings, and who was so good that his face and his 
 words poured balm into every wound, took her little hands 
 in his and drew her prett}' head to his breast, saying, at 
 the end of the meal : — 
 
 " Brulette, we have one thing to ask of you, and though 
 3'ou look so sad and disti'essed, my son and I will venture 
 to make our request now. Won't you give us a smile of 
 encouragement ? " 
 
 " Tell me what it is, father, and I will obey you," an- 
 swered Brulette. 
 
328 The Bagpijjers. 
 
 " Well, my daughter, it is that 3'ou will present us to- 
 morrow to 3'our grandfather, so that he may be asked to 
 accept Huriel as a grandson." 
 
 " Oh, it is too soon, father," cried Brulette, shedding a 
 few more tears, " or rather, it is too late ; if you had told 
 me to do so an hour ago, before Joseph uttered those 
 words, I would gladl}' have consented. But now, I con- 
 fess, I should be ashamed to accept so readily the love of 
 an honest man, when I find I am no longer supposed to 
 be an honest girl. I knew I had been blamed for co- 
 quetr3^ Your son himself twitted me about it a 3'ear ago. 
 Therence blamed me, — though, for all that, she gave me 
 her friendship. So, seeing that Huriel had the courage to 
 leave me without asldng for an^'thing, I*' made a great 
 man}' reflections in m}^ own mind. The good God helped 
 me by sending me this child, whom I did not like at first 
 and might possibly have rejected, if my sense of duty had 
 not been mixed with a sort of idea that I should be better 
 worthy of being loved through a little suffering and self- 
 denial than for nn' chatter and m}^ pretty' clothes. I 
 thought I could atone for my thoughtless 3ears and tram- 
 ple my love for m}' own little person underfoot. I knew 
 that I was criticised and neglected, but I consoled myself 
 with the thought : ' If he comes back to me he will know 
 that I do not deserve to be blamed for getting serious and 
 sensible.' But now I have heard something ver3^ different, 
 parti}' through Joseph's conduct, partl3' b3' Therence's re- 
 mark. It was not Joseph onl3^ who thought I had gone 
 astray, but Huriel also, or his great heart and his strong 
 love would have had no need to sa3' to his sister 3'ester- 
 da3' : ' Guilt3' or not guilt3', I love her, and will take her as 
 she is.' Ah, Huriel ! I thank you ; but I will not let 3'ou 
 marr3' we till you know me. I should suffer too much to 
 
The Bagpipers. 329 
 
 see 3'0ii blamed, as you doubtless would be, on my ac- 
 count. I respect you too much to let it be said that you 
 take upon yourself the paternity of a foundling. I must 
 indeed have been light in my behavior, or such an accusa- 
 tion could never have been made against me ! Well, I 
 wish you to judge me now b}' my every-day conduct ; I 
 want 3'ou to be sure that I am not onl)' a gay dancer 
 at a wedding but the good guardian of my duty in my 
 home.^ We will come and live here, as you desire it ; 
 and in a year from now, if I am not able to prove to 
 you that m}' care of Chariot need not cause me to blush, 
 I shall at least have given you by m}' actions a proof that 
 I am reasonable in mind and sound in conscience." 
 
 Huriel snatched Brulette from his father's arms, and 
 reverently kissed the tears that were flowing from her 
 beautiful eyes ; then he gave her back to Pere Bastien, 
 saying : — 
 
 '^ Bless her, my father ; for you can now judge if I told 
 you false when I said she was worth}' of your blessing. 
 The dear golden tongue has spoken well, and there is no 
 answer to make to it, unless it be that we want neither 
 year nor day of trial, but desire to go this very evening 
 and ask her of her grandfather; for to pass another 
 night still doubtful of his consent is more than I can bear, 
 and to get it is all I need to make me sovereign of the 
 world." 
 
 " See what has happened to 3'ou by asking for a res- 
 pite," said Pere Bastien to Brulette. " Instead of asking 
 your grandfather to-morrow, it seems it must be to-night. 
 Come, my' child, yon must submit ; it is the punishment of 
 your naught}" conduct in times gone by. 
 
 Contentment overspread her sweet face, and the hurt she 
 had received from Joseph was forgotten. However, just 
 
330 The Bagpipers, 
 
 as we left the table, another hesitation seized her. Chariot, 
 hearing Huriel address the Head- Woodsman as father, 
 called him so himself, and was kissed and fondled for it, 
 but Brulette was a trifle vexed. ^ 
 
 " Wouldn't it be best," she said, "to take the trouble 
 to invent parents for the poor child ; ever}^ time he calls 
 me mother it seems like a stab to those I love." 
 
 We were beginning to reassure her on this point when 
 Therence said: "Speak low; some one is listening to 
 us ; " and following her glance toward the porch, we saw 
 the end of a stick resting on the ground, and the bulging 
 side of a full sack, showing that a beggar was there, wait- 
 ing till some one took notice of him, and hearing things 
 that he ought not to hear. 
 
 I went up to the intruder and recognized Brother Nico- 
 las, who came forward at once and admitted without hesi- 
 tation that he had been listening for the last quarter of 
 an hour, and had been very well pleased with what he had 
 heard. 
 
 " I thought I knew Huriel's voice," he said, " but I so 
 little expected to find him on m}' rounds that I should 
 not have been certain, ray dear friends, that it was he, but 
 for some things which you have been saying, in which, as 
 Brulette knows, I have a right to intrude." 
 
 " We know it too," said Huriel. 
 
 " Do 3'ou? " exclaimed the monk. " Well, that 's as it 
 should be." 
 
 "And the reason is," said Huriel to Brulette, "that 
 your aunt told me everything last night. So you see, 
 dearest, I don't deserve all the credit you give me." 
 
 " Yes," said Brulette, much comforted, "but yesterday 
 morning! Well, since everything is known," she added, 
 turning to the monk, "what do 3'ou advise me to do, 
 
The Bagpipers, 331 
 
 Brother Nicolas ? You have been employed on Chariot's 
 account ; can't you find some story to spread about to 
 cover the secret of his parentage and repair the harm 
 done to my reputation ? " 
 
 "Story?" said the friar. "I, advise and abet a lie? 
 I am not one of those who damn their souls for the love of 
 the young girls, my little one. I should gain nothing by 
 it. You must be helped some other way ; and I have 
 alread}' been working at, it more than 3'ou think. Have 
 patience ; all will come out right, as it did in another mat- 
 ter, where, as Maitre Huriel knows, I have not been a bad 
 friend to him." 
 
 "I know that I owe you the peace and safety of my 
 life," said Huriel. "People may say what they like of 
 monks, I know one, at least, for whom I would be drawn 
 and quartered. Sit down. Brother, and spend the day 
 with us. What is ours is yours, and the house we are in 
 is 3'ours too." 
 
 Therence and the Head- Woodsman were showing their 
 hospitalit}' to the good friar, when my aunt Marghitonne 
 came hurrying up, and would not let us stay anywhere but 
 with her. She said the wedding party were going to per- 
 form the " cabbage ceremony ; " which ia an old-fashioned 
 foolery practised the da}^ after the marriage ; the proces- 
 sion, she said, was already forming and was coming round 
 our wa}'. The company drank, and sang, and danced at 
 each stopping-place. It was impossible for Therence now 
 to keep aloof, and she accepted my arm to go and meet 
 the_crowd, while Huriel escorted Brulette. My aunt took 
 charge of the little one, and the Head- Woodsman marched 
 off with the monk, who was easily persuaded into joining 
 a jovial company. 
 
 The fellow who plaj^ed the part of gardener, or as we 
 
332 The Bagpipers. 
 
 still say among us, the pagan, seated on a hand-barrow, 
 was decorated in a style that astonished every bod}^ He 
 had picked up near the park a beautiful garland of water- 
 lilies tied with a silver ribbon, which he had bound about 
 his flaxen poll. It did n't take us much time to recognize 
 Joseph's bunch, which he had dropped or thrown away 
 on leaving us. The ribbons were the envy of all the girls 
 of the party, who deliberated how to get possession of 
 them unspoiled ; at last, flinging themselves on the pagan, 
 they snatched them away from \\\m and divided the booty, 
 though in defending himself he managed to kiss more than 
 one with a mouth that was covered with foam. So scraps 
 of Joseph's ribbon glittered all day in the caps of the pret- 
 tiest girls in the neighborhood, and came to a much better 
 end than their owner thought for when he left his bunch 
 in the dust of the road. 
 
 This farce, pla^'ed from door to door through the village, 
 was as crazy as usual, ending with a fine repast and dancing 
 till twilight. After which, we all took leave, Brulette and 
 I, the Head- Woodsman, Therence, and Huriel, and started 
 for Nohant, with the monk at our head, leading the dairin^ 
 on which Chariot was perched, tips}" with excitement at 
 what he had seen, laughing like a monkey, and trying 
 to sing as he had heard others do all that da}'. 
 
 Though the young people of the present age have de- 
 generated wofiilly, you must often have seen girls in their 
 teens tramping fifteen miles in the morning and as much 
 more in the evening in the hottest weather, for a day's 
 dancing, and so you can easily believe that w^e arrived at 
 home without fatigue. Indeed, we danced part of the way 
 along the road, we four ; the Head- Woodsman playing his 
 bagpipe, and the friar declaring we were crazy, but clapping 
 his hands to excite us on. 
 
The Bagpipers. 833 
 
 "V7e reached Brulette's door about ten at night, and 
 found Pere Brulet sound asleep in his bed. As he was 
 quite deaf and slept hard, Brulette put the baby to bed, 
 served us a little collation, and consulted with us whether 
 to wake him before he had finished his first nap. How- 
 ever, turning over on his side, he saw the light, recognized 
 his granddaughter and me, seemed surprised at the others, 
 and sitting up in bed as sober as a judge, listened to a 
 statement the Head- Woodsman made to him in a few 
 words, spoken rather loud but ver}' civill}'. The monk, 
 in whom Pere Brulet had the utmost confidence, followed 
 in praise of the Huriel famil}^, and Huriel himself declared 
 his wishes and all his good intentions both present and 
 to come. 
 
 Pere Brulet listened without saying a word, and I be- 
 gan to fear he had not understood ; but no such thing ; 
 though he seemed to be dreaming, his mind was really 
 quite clear, and he presentlj' answered discreetly that he 
 recognized in the Head-Woodsman the son of a former 
 friend ; that he held the family in much esteem, and con- 
 sidered Brother Nicolas as worth}^ of all confidence ; 
 and, above all, he trusted in the sense and good judgment 
 of his granddaughter. Then he went on to say that she 
 had not delayed her choice and refused the best ofifers of 
 the neighborhood to commit a folly in the end, and that 
 if she wished to marry Huriel, Huriel would certainly be 
 a good husband. 
 
 He spoke in a collected manner : 3'et his memor}^ failed 
 him on one point, which he recalled soon after, as we were 
 about to take leave, namel_y, that Huriel was a muleteer. 
 
 " That is the only thing that troubles me," he said. 
 " My girl will be so lonely at home by herself for three- 
 quarters of the year." 
 
334 The Bagpipers. 
 
 We satisfied him at once with the news that Huriel had 
 left the craft and become a woodsman ; and thereupon he 
 readily agreed to the plan of working in the woods of 
 Chassin during the summer months. 
 
 We parted, all well pleased with one another. The- 
 rence stayed with Brulette, and I took the others to my 
 own house. 
 
 We learned the next evening, through the monk, who 
 had been begging about all day, that Joseph had not 
 gone near the village of Nohant, but had spent an hour 
 with his mother at Saint-Chartier, after which he started 
 to go round the neighborhood and collect all the bagpipers 
 for a meeting, at which he would demand a competition 
 for admission to the craft and the right to practise the 
 calling. Mariton was much troubled by this determina- 
 tion, believing that the Carnats, father and son, and all 
 the bagpipers of the country round, who were already 
 more in number than were needed, would oppose it and 
 cause him both trouble and injur3\ But Joseph would 
 not listen to her, still saying that he was resolved to get 
 her out of service and take her to some distant place to 
 live with him, though she seemed not as much inclined to 
 that idea as he had hoped. 
 
 On the third da}', all our preparations having been 
 made, and Huriel and Brulette's first banns published in 
 the parish church, we started to return to Chassin. It 
 was like departing on a pilgrimage to the ends of the 
 earth. We were obliged to cany furniture, for Brulette 
 was determined that her grandfather should lack for noth- 
 ing ; so a cart was hired and the whole village opened 
 its ej^es very wide to see the entire contents of the house 
 going off, even to the baskets. The goats and the hens 
 went too, for Therence was delighted at the idea of taking 
 
TJie Bagpipers, 335 
 
 care of them ; never having known how to manage ani- 
 mals, she wanted to learn, as she said, when the opportu- 
 nity offered. This gave me the chance to propose m3'self 
 in jest for her management, as the most docile and faithful 
 animal of the flock. She was not annojed, but gave me 
 no encouragement to pass from jest to earnest. Only, it 
 did seem to me that she was not displeased to find me 
 cheerfully leaving home and family to follow her ; and 
 that if she did little to attract me she certainly did still 
 less to repulse me. 
 
 Just as old Brulet and the women, with Chariot, were 
 getting into the cart (Brulette very proud of going off 
 with such a handsome lover, in the teeth of all the 
 lovers who had misjudged her), the friar came up to say 
 good-bye, adding for the benefit of inquisitive ears : " As 
 I am going over to your parts, I '11 ride a bit of the way 
 with 3'ou." 
 
 He got up beside Pere Brulet, and at the end of the 
 third mile, in a shady road, he asked to be set down. 
 Huriel was leading the dairin, which was a good draught 
 horse as well as a pack horse, and the Head- Woodsman 
 and I walked in front. Seeing that the cart lagged behind, 
 we turned back, thinking there might have been an acci- 
 dent, and found Brulette in tears, kissing Chariot, who 
 clung to her screaming because the friar was endeavoring 
 to carry him off. Huriel interceded against it, for he 
 was so troubled at Brulette's tears that he came near 
 crying himself. 
 
 " What is the matter?" said Pere Bastien. " Wh}^ do 
 you wish to send away the child, m}' daughter? Is it be- 
 cause of the notion you expressed the other day ? " 
 
 "No, father," replied Brulette, "his real parents have 
 sent for him, and it is for his good to go. The poor little 
 
336 The Bagpipers, 
 
 fellow can't understand that ; and even I, though I do 
 understand it, my heart fails me. But as there are good 
 reasons why the thing should be done without delay, give 
 me courage instead of taking it away from me." 
 
 Though talking of courage she had none at all against 
 Chariot's tears and kisses, for she had reall}" come to love 
 him with much tenderness ; so Therence was called in to 
 help her. Every look and tone of the woodland girl con- 
 ve3'ed such a sense of her loving-kindness that the stones 
 themselves would have been persuaded, and the child feit 
 it, though he did not know wh}'. She succeeded in paci- 
 fying him, making him understand that Brulette was leav- 
 ing him for a short time only, so that Brother Nicolas 
 was able to carry him off without using force ; and the 
 pair disappeared to the tune of a sort of rondo which the 
 monk sang to divert his charge, though it was more like 
 a church chant than a song. But Chariot was pleased, 
 and when their voices were lost in the distance that of the 
 monk had drowned his expiring moans. 
 
 " Come, Brulette, start on," said Pere Bastien. "We 
 love you so well we can soon console you." 
 
 Huriel jumped on the shaft to be near her, and talked 
 to her so gently all the wa}^ that she said to him just be- 
 fore we arrived : " Don't think me inconsolable, my true 
 friend. My heart failed me for a second ; but I know 
 where to turn the love I felt for that child, and where I 
 shall find the happiness he gave me." 
 
 It did not take us long to settle down in the old castle 
 and even to feel at home in it. There were several habit- 
 able chambers, though they hardly looked so, and at first 
 we thought them likely to fall about our heads. But 
 the ruins had so long been shaken by the wind without 
 collapsing that we felt the}' might outlast our time. 
 
The Bagpipers. 337 
 
 Aunt Margbitonne, delighted to have us near her, fur- 
 nished the household with the various little comforts to 
 which we were accustomed, and which the Huriel family 
 were coaxed with some difficulty into sharing with us, for 
 they were not used to such things and cared very little 
 for them. The Bourbonnais wood-cutters, whom the Head- 
 Woodsman had engaged, arrived dul}', and he hired others 
 in the neighborhood. So that we made quite a colony, 
 quartered partly' in the village and partly in the ruins, 
 working cheerfully under the rule of a just man, who knew 
 what it was to spare over-work and to reward the willing 
 workman, and assembling everj^ iright in the courtyard for 
 the evening meal ; relating stories and listening to them ; 
 singing and frolicking in the open air, and dancing on 
 Sundays with all the lads and lasses of the neighborhood, 
 who were glad enough to get our Bourbonnais music, and 
 who brought us little gifts from all parts, showing us a deal 
 of attention. 
 
 The work was hard on account of the steep slopes on 
 which the forest grew, which rose straight from the river, 
 and made the felling a very dangerous matter. I had had 
 experience of the quick temper of the Head- Woodsman in 
 the woods of Alien. As he was emplo3'ing none but choice 
 workmen for the felling, and the choppers understood the 
 cutting up, nothing happened to irritate him ; but I was 
 ambitious to become a first-class chopper in order to please 
 him, and I dreaded lest my want of practice should once 
 more make him call me unhand}^ and imprudent, which 
 would have mortified me cruelly in presence of Therence. 
 So I begged Huriel to take me apart and show me how to 
 work and to let me watch him at the business. He was 
 quite willing to oblige me, and I went at it with such a 
 will that before long I surprised the master himself by my 
 
 22 
 
338 The Bagpipers. 
 
 ability. He praised me, and even asked me before his 
 daughter why I took hold so valiantl}' of a business I had 
 no occasion for in my own countr3\ '' Because," I replied, 
 " I am not sorry to know how to earn my living wherever 
 I am. Who knows what may happen? If I loved a womjui 
 who wanted me to live in the depths of the woods, I could 
 follow her, and support her there as elsewhere." 
 
 To prove to Therence I was not so self-indulgent as 
 perhaps she thought, I practised sleeping on the bare 
 ground, and living frugalh' ; trying to become as hardy a 
 forester as the rest of them. I did not find myself any 
 the worse for it ; in fact I felt that m}' mind grew more 
 active and m}^ thoughts clearer. Man}' things that I did 
 not at first understand without long explanations, unrav- 
 elled themselves little hy little, of their own accord, so 
 that Therence had no longer any occasion to smile at my 
 stupid questions. She talked to me without getting weary 
 and appeared to feel confidence in my judgment. 
 
 Still, a full fortnight went by before I felt the slightest 
 hope of success ; though when I bemoaned mjself to 
 Huriel that I dared not sa}' a word to a girl who seemed 
 so far above me that she could never so much as look 
 at me, he replied, — 
 
 " Don't worr}-, Tiennet ; m}' sister has the truest heart 
 in existence ; and if, like all 3'oung girls, she has her 
 fanciful moments, there is no fanc}^ in her head which 
 will not yield to the love of a noble truth and an honest 
 devotion." 
 
 His father said the same, and together they lent me 
 courage ; and Tlierence found me so good an attendant, 
 I watched so closely that no pain, fatigue, or annoj^ance 
 should touch her from any cause within my power to 
 control, and I was so careful never to look at another 
 
The Bagpipers, 339 
 
 girl, — indeed I had little desire to, — in short, I behaved 
 myself with such honest respect, showing her plainly on 
 what a pinnacle I set her, that her eyes began to open ; 
 and several times I saw her watch how I went beforehand 
 of her wishes with a softened, reflective look, and then 
 reward me with thanks of which, I can tell you, I was 
 proud enough. She was not accustomed, like Brulette, 
 to have her wishes anticipated, and would never have 
 known, like her, how to encourage it prettily. She seemed 
 surprised that anj' one thought of her ; and when it did 
 happen, she showed such a sense of obligation that I 
 never felt at my ease wlien she said to me with her serious 
 air and guileless frankness, " Really, Tiennet, you are 
 too kind," or perhaps, " Tiennet, you take too much 
 trouble for me ; I wish I could take as much for you 
 some day." 
 
 One morning she was speaking to me in this way before 
 a number of woodcutters, and one of them, a handsome 
 Bourbonnais lad, remarked in a low tone that she showed 
 a deal of interest in me. 
 
 " Certainly I do, Leonard," she replied, looking at him 
 with a confident air. Ijr I feel the interest that is due to 
 him for all his kindness and friendship to me and mine." 
 
 " Don't you know that ever\' one would do as he does," 
 remarked Leonard, '' if they thought they would be paid 
 in the same coin?" 
 
 '' I would try to be just to everj'body," she replied, 
 " if I felt a liking or a need for everybody's attentions. 
 But I don't ; and to one of my disposition the friendship 
 of one person suffices." 
 
 I was sitting on the turf beside her as she said this, 
 
 and I took her hand in mine, without daring to retain it 
 
 , more than a second. She drew it away, but as she did 
 
340 The Bagpipers. 
 
 so she let it rest a moment on m}^ shoulder in sign of 
 confidence and relationship of soul. 
 
 Plowever, things still went on in this wa}', and I began 
 to suffer greatly from the reserve between us, — all the 
 more because the lovers Huriel and Brulette were so tender 
 and happy, and the contrast grieved m}' heart and troubled 
 my spirit. Their day of joy was coming, but mine was 
 not within sight. 
 
Tlie Bagpijjers. 341 
 
 TWENTY-NINTH EVENING. 
 
 One Sunda}" — it was that of the last publication of 
 Brulette's banns — the Head- Woodsman and his son, who 
 had seemed all day to be consulting privately, went off 
 together, saj'ing that a matter connected with the marriage 
 called them to Nohant. Brulette, who knew all about the 
 arrangements for her wedding, was a good deal surprised 
 at their sudden activitj*, and still more that the}' told her 
 nothing about it. She was even inclined to pout at Huriel, 
 who said he should be absent for twenty-four hours ; but 
 he would not 3'ield, and managed to pacify her b}' letting 
 her think he was onl}' going on her business and planning 
 to give her some pleasant surprise. 
 
 But Therence, whom I watched narrowl}', seemed to 
 me to make an effort to hide her uneasiness, and as soon 
 as her father and Huriel had started, she carried me off 
 into the little park and said : — 
 
 " Tiennet, I am worried to death, and I don't know 
 what can be done to remed}^ matters. Listen to what 
 has happened, and tell me if we can do anything to pre- 
 vent harm. Last night as I lay awake I heard my father 
 and brother agreeing to go and protect Joseph, and from 
 what they said I made out that Joseph, though very ill- 
 received by the bagpipers of 3'our parts, to whom he ap- 
 plied for admission to the guild, is determined to insist 
 on admittance, — a thing that they dare not refuse him 
 openly without having put his talents to the test. It 
 appears that the 3'ounger Carnat has also applied lor 
 
342 The Bagpipers, 
 
 admittance in place of his father, who retires ; and his 
 trial was to take place before the corporation this verj- 
 day ; so that Joseph has put himself forward to interfere 
 with a claim that was not to be contested, and which was 
 promised and half-granted in advance. Now, some of 
 our wood-cutters who frequent the wine-shops have over- 
 heard certain wicked plans which the bagpipers of your 
 neighborhood are making ; for the}^ are resolved to eject 
 Joseph, if the}' can, by sneering at his music. If there 
 was no greater risk than his having to bear injustice and 
 defeat, I should not be so uneas}" as 3'ou see me ; but my 
 father and brother, wlio belong to the guild and have a 
 voice in all proceedings, feci it their duty to be present 
 at this competition solely to protect Joseph. And, more 
 than that, there was something I could not make out, 
 because the guild have certain secret terms among them- 
 selves which my father and brother used, and which I did 
 not understand. But however one looks at it, I am sure 
 they are going into danger, for they carried under their 
 blouses those little single-sticks, the harm of which you 
 have already seen, and the}" even sharpened their pruning- 
 hooks and hid them under their clothes, saying to each 
 other early this morning, ' Tlie devil is in that lad ; he 
 can neither be happy himself nor let others be. We must 
 protect him, however ; though he is obstinately rusliing 
 among the wolves, without tliinking of his own skin or 
 that of others.' My brotlicr complained, sa3'ing he did 
 not want to break anybody's head or have his own broken 
 just as he was going to be married. To which my father 
 replied that there was no use in anticipating evil ; what one 
 had to do was to go where humanity required us to help 
 our neighbor. As they named Leonard among those who 
 had overheard the malicious talk, I questioned him hastily 
 
The Bagpipers, 343 
 
 just now, and he told me that Joseph, and consequently 
 those who support him, have been threatened for a week 
 or more, and that your bagpipers talk of not onl}' refusing 
 him admittance at this competition, but also of depriving 
 him of the wish and the power to tr^' again. I know, from 
 having heard it spoken of as a child when m}' brother was 
 admitted, that the candidates must behave boldh' and en- 
 dure all sorts of trials of their strength and courage. With 
 us, the bagpipers lead a wandering life and do not make 
 their music so much of a business as yours do ; therefore 
 they don't stand in each other's way and never persecute 
 the candidates. It seems, from what Leonard told me 
 and from m}' father's preparations, that here it is different, 
 and that such matters end in fights which last till one or 
 the other side gives up. Help me, Tiennet, for I am half- 
 dead with fear and anxiety. I dare not rouse our wood- 
 cutters ; if m V father thought I had overheard and betrayed 
 the secrets of the guild he would deny me all trust and 
 confidence in future. He expects me to be as brave as 
 an}' woman can be in danger ; but ever since that dreadful 
 Malzac affair, I own to you I have no courage at all, and 
 that I am tempted to fling myself into the middle of the 
 fight, so much do I dread the results for those I love." 
 
 " And A-ou call that want of courage, m}' brave girl? " I 
 replied. " Xow don't be troubled and leave me to act. 
 The devil will be very cunning if I can't discover for mj''- 
 self, without suspicion falling on you, what those bagpipers 
 are about ; and if 3'our father blames me, if he even drives 
 me away and refuses the happiness I have been hoping to 
 win, — I shall not care, Therence ! So long as I bring 
 him or send him safe back to 3'ou, and Huriel also, I shall 
 have m}' reward even if I never see you again. Good- 
 bye ; don't give way to anxiety ; sa^^ nothing to Brulette, 
 
314: The Bagpipers. 
 
 for she would lose her head. I know what should be 
 done. Look as if you knew nothing. I take it all on my 
 shoulders." 
 
 Therence flung herself on my breast and kissed me on 
 both cheeks with the innocence of a pure girl ; so, filled to 
 the brim with courage and confidence, I went to work. 
 
 I began b}' finding LJonard, whom I knew to be a good 
 fellow, verj' bold and strong, and much attached to Pere 
 Bastien. Though he was rather jealous of me on the 
 score of Therence, he entered into my scheme, and I 
 questioned him as to the number of bagpipers who were to 
 meet for the competition, and the place where we could 
 watch the assembl3\ He could not tell me anything un- 
 der the first head ; as to the second he knew that the trial 
 was not to be in secret, and the place appointed was 
 Saint-Chartier, in Benoit's tavern, an hour after vespers. 
 The deliberation on the merits of the candidates was all 
 that was to be held in secret, and even that was to be in 
 the same house, and the decision was to be rendered in 
 public. 
 
 I thought of half a dozen resolute lads fulty able to 
 keep the peace if, as Therence feared, the matter should 
 end in a quarrel ; and I felt that justice being on our side, 
 plenty of other fellows would come forward to support us. 
 So I chose four who consented to follow me, — making, 
 with Leonard and myself, six in all. Thej' hesitated only 
 on one point, — the fear of displeasing their master, the 
 Head- Woodsman, b}^ giving him help he had never asked 
 for ; but I swore to them that he should never know that 
 they gave it deliberately, for we could easily pretend we 
 were there by accident, and then, if any one were blamed, 
 the}^ could throw it all on me, who had asked them there 
 to drink without then" knowing what was going on. 
 
The Bagpipers. 345 
 
 So it was all agreed, and I went to tell Therence that we 
 were fully prepared against every danger. After which 
 we started, each carrying a stout cudgel, and reached 
 Saint-Chartier at the hour named. 
 
 Benoit's wine-shop was so full there was no turning 
 round in it, and we were obliged to take a table outside. 
 Indeed I was not sorry to leave m}' contingent there 
 (exhorting them not to get drunk), and to slip myself into 
 the shop, where I counted sixteen professional bagpipers, 
 without reckoning Huriel and his father, who were sitting 
 at table in a dark corner with their hats over their e3'es, 
 and all the less likely to be recognized because few of 
 those present had met them in our parts. I pretended not 
 to see them, and speaking so that the}^ could hear me, I 
 asked Benoit what this meeting of bagpipers was for, as 
 if I had not heard a word about it, and did not under- 
 stand its object. 
 
 " Why, don't 3'ou know," said the host, who was getting 
 over his illness but was pallid and much reduced, " that 
 your old friend Joseph, the son of ni}^ housekeeper, is 
 going to compete with Carnat's son ? I must say it is great 
 folly on his part," added Benoit, lowering his voice. " His 
 mother is much distressed, and fears the ill-will that grows 
 out of these competitions. Indeed, she is so troubled 
 that she has lost her head, and the customers are com- 
 plaining, for the first time, that she does not serve them 
 properl}'." 
 
 "Can I help you?" I said, glad to get a reason for 
 sta3ing inside and going about among the tables. 
 
 " Faith, my boy," he replied, '' if 3'ou reall}' mean it, 
 you can do me good service ; for I don't deny that I am 
 still pretty weak, and I can't stoop to draw the wine with- 
 out getting gidd3\ Here is the key of the cellar. Take 
 
346 The Bagpipers. 
 
 charge of filling and bringing in the jugs. I hope that 
 Mariton and her scullions can do the rest." 
 
 I did n't need telling twice ; I ran out for an instant to 
 tell my companions of the emplo3'ment I had taken for the 
 good of the cause, and then I went to work as tapster, 
 which enabled me to see and hear everything. 
 
 Joseph and the 3^ounger Carnat were at either end of a 
 long table feasting the guild, each taking the guests half- 
 way down. There was more noise than pleasure going on. 
 The company were shouting and singing to avoid talking, 
 for they were all on the defensive, and it was eas}* to feel 
 the jealousies and self-interests heaving below. I soon 
 observed that all the bagpipers were not, as I had feared, 
 in favor of the Carnats against Joseph ; for, no matter 
 how well a guild is managed, there are always old grudges 
 which set members by the ears. But I also saw, little 
 by little, that there was no comfort for Joseph in this, 
 because those who did not want his rival, wanted him 
 still less, and hoped to get the number of professional 
 bagpipers lessened b\" the retirement of old Carnat. 
 I even fancied that the greater number thought in this 
 way, and I concluded that both candidates would be 
 rejected. 
 
 After feasting for about two hours, the competition 
 began. Silence was not demanded ; for bagpipes in a 
 room are instruments that don't trouble themselves about 
 other noises, and the shouters and talkers soon gave up 
 the contest. A crowd of people pressed in from outside. 
 M}' five comrades climbed on the open window sill, and I 
 went and stood near them. Iluriel and his father did not 
 stir from their corner. Carnat,*^ who drew the lot to begin, 
 mounted the bread-box and, encouraged b}' his father, 
 who could not restrain himself from beating time with his 
 
The Bagpipers, 847 
 
 sabots, pla3'ed for half an hour on the old-fashioned bag- 
 pipe of the country with its narrow wind-bag. 
 
 He played very badl}', being much agitated, and I saw 
 that this pleased the greater part of the bagpipers. They 
 kept silence, as they alwaj's did, so as to seem solemn and 
 important, but others present kept silence too. This hurt 
 the poor fellow, who had hoped for a little encouragement, 
 and his father began to growl, and to show his revengeful 
 and malicious nature. 
 
 When Joseph's turn came, he tore himself away from 
 his mother, who was still entreating him in a low voice 
 not to compete. He, too, mounted the box, holding his 
 great Bourbonnaise bagpipe with great ease, the which 
 quite dazzled the eyes of all present with its silver orna- 
 ments, its bits of looking-glassj and the great length of 
 its pipes. Joseph carried himself proudly, looking round 
 contemptuously on those who were to hear him. Everj^- 
 one noticed his good looks, and the young fellows about 
 asked if he could really be " Jose the dullard," whom they 
 had once thought so stupid, and seen so puny. But his 
 haughty air disgusted everybod}', and as soon as the sound 
 of his instrument filled the room there was more fear than 
 pleasure in the curiosity he excited. 
 
 Nevertheless, there were present persons who knew 
 good music, particularly the choir of the parish church 
 and the hemp-spinners, who are great judges, and even 
 elderly women, guardians of the good things of the past ; 
 and among such as these Joseph's music was quickly 
 accepted, as much for the eas}' manner in which he used 
 his instrument as for the good taste he displa^'ed and the 
 correct rendering which he gave to the new and ver}' beau- 
 tiful airs he played. A remark being made b}' the Carnats 
 that his bagpipe, having a fuller sound, gave him an ad- 
 
348 The Bagpipers. 
 
 vantage, he unscrewed it and used only the chanter, which 
 he placed so well that the music was even more delightful 
 than before. Finally', he took Carnat's old fashioned bag- 
 pipe, and played it so cleverly that any one would have 
 said it was another instrument than the one first used. 
 
 The judges said nothing ; but all others present trembled 
 with pleasure and applauded vehemently, declaring that 
 nothing so fine had ever been heard in our parts ; and old 
 mother Bline de la Breuille, who was eighty-seven j'ears 
 old and neither deaf nor dumb, walked up to the table 
 and rapping it with her distaff said to the bagpipers, with 
 the freedom her age warranted : — 
 
 "You ma}' make faces as much as you like and shake 
 your heads, but there 's not one of 3'ou can play against 
 that lad ; he '11 be talked of two hundred years hence ; but 
 all 3'our names will be forgotten before 3'our carcasses are 
 rotten in tlie earth." 
 
 Then she left the room, saying (as did all present) that 
 if the bagpipers rejected Joseph it would be the worst 
 injustice that was ever done, and the wickedest jealous}' 
 that could be confessed. 
 
 The conclave of bagpipers now ascended to an upper 
 room, and I hurried to open the door, hoping to gather 
 something by overhearing what they said to each other 
 in going up the stairs. The last to enter were the Head- 
 Woodsman and his son ; as they did so, Pere Carnat, 
 who recognized Huriel from having seen him with us at 
 the midsummer bonfire, asked what they wanted and b}' 
 what right they came to the council. 
 
 " The right of membership in j^our guild," answered 
 Pere Bastien ; ' ' and if you doubt it, ask us the usual 
 questions, or try us with an}- music you like." 
 
 On this they were allowed to enter and the door was 
 
The Bagjnpers. 349 
 
 shut. I tried to listen, but every one spoke in a low 
 voice, and I could not be sure of anything, except that 
 they recognized the right of the two strangers to be 
 present, and that they were deliberating about the com- 
 petition without either noise or dispute. Through a crack 
 in the door I could see that they divided into parties 
 of five or six, exchanging opinions in a low voice before 
 they began to vote. But when the time for voting came, 
 one of the bagpipers looked out to see if any one were 
 listening, and I was forced to disappear in a hurry lest 
 I should be caught in a position which would put me to 
 shame without an excuse ; for I certainly could not say 
 that my friends were in danger in such a peaceful 
 conclave. 
 
 I found m}^ young fellows below, sitting at table with 
 others of our acquaintance, who were toasting and compli- 
 menting Joseph. Carnat the younger was alone and 
 gloomy in a corner, — forgotten and mortified. The monk 
 was there, too, in the chimney-corner, inquiring of Mariton 
 and Benoit what was going on. When told all about it 
 he came up to the long table, where they were drinking 
 with Joseph, and asking him where and from whom he had 
 got his teaching. 
 
 " Friend Joseph," said he, " we know each other, you 
 and I, and I wish to add mj' voice to the applause you 
 are now, of good right, receiving. But permit me to 
 point out that it is generous as well as wise to console the 
 vanquished, and that in 3'our place, I should make 
 friendly advances to young Carnat, whom I see over there 
 all alone and very sad." 
 
 The monk spoke so as to be heard only by Joseph and 
 a few others who were near him, and I thought he did so 
 as mucn out of kind-heartedness as by instigation of 
 
350 The Bagpipers, 
 
 Joseph's mother, who wanted the Carnats to get over 
 their aversion to her son. 
 
 This appeal to Joseph's generosity flattered his vanity. 
 "You are right, Brother Nicolas," he said; then, in a 
 loud voice, he called to young Carnat : — 
 
 " Come, Fran9ois, don't sulk at your friends. You 
 did not play as well as 3'ou know how to, I am quite sure. 
 But you shall have your revenge another time ; besides, 
 judgment is not given yet. So, instead of turning 3"0ur 
 back on us, come and drink, and let us be as quiet to- 
 gether as a pair of oxen yoked to a cart." 
 
 Everybody approved of this speech, and Carnat, fearing 
 to seem jealous, accepted the offer and sat down near him. 
 So far so good, but Joseph could not keep from showing 
 his opinion that his art was far above that of others, and 
 in offering civilities to his rival he put on such a patroniz- 
 ing manner that Carnat was more hurt than ever. 
 
 " You talk as if you were alreadj' elected," he said, 
 *' and it is no such thing. It is not always for the skill 
 of the fingers and the cleverest compositions that those 
 who know what they are about select a man. Sometimes 
 they choose him for being the best-known and most 
 respected player in the country, for that makes him a 
 good comrade to the rest of the guild." 
 
 '•Oh! I expect that," returned Joseph. "I have been 
 long absent, and though I pique myself on deserving as 
 much respect as any man, yet I know the}' will try to fall 
 back on the foolish reason that I am little known. Well, 
 I don't care for that, Frangois ! I did not expect to find 
 a company of good musicians among you, capable of 
 judging me or my merits, and lovers enough of true 
 knowledge to prefer my talent to their own interests and 
 that of their acquaintances. All that I wanted was to be 
 
The Bagpipers. 351 
 
 heard and judged by m}' mother and friends, — by intelli- 
 gent ears and reasonable beings. For the rest, I laugh at 
 3'our screaming and bellowing bagpipes, aMd I must sa}', 
 God forgive me ! that I shall be prouder of being rejected 
 than accepted." 
 
 The monk remarked gently that he was not speaking 
 judiciousl}'. " You should not challenge the judges you 
 demanded of 3'our own free-will," he said ; " pride spoils 
 the highest merit." 
 
 " Leave him his pride," said Carnat ; " I am not jealous 
 of what he can show. He ought to have some talent, to 
 cover his other misfortunes. Remember the old saying : 
 ' Good player, good dupe.' " 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" said Joseph, setting 
 down his glass and looking the other in the e^'e. 
 
 "I am not obliged to tell 3'ou," said Carnat; "all 
 the others understand it." 
 
 " But I don't understand it, and as you are speaking 
 to me I '11 call yo\x a coward if 3'ou dare not explain 
 }^ourself." 
 
 " Oh, I can tell 3'ou to 3^our face," returned Carnat ; "it 
 is something that need not offend 3'ou at all, for perhaps 
 it is no more 3'our fault to be unluck3' in love than it is 
 mine to be unlucky to-night in music." 
 
 " Come, come ! " said one of the young men who were 
 present; " let Josette alone. She has found some one to 
 many her, and that 's enough ; it is nobody's business." 
 
 "It is m3' opinion," said another, " that it was not 
 Joseph who was tricked in that affair, but the other who 
 is going to shoulder his work." 
 
 "Whom are 3^ou speaking of?" cried Joseph, as if his 
 head were reeling. ' ' Who is it you call Josette ? What 
 wicked nonsense are 3'ou trying on me?" 
 
852 The Bagpipers. 
 
 " Hold your tongues ! " cried Mariton, turning scarlet 
 with anger and grief, as she always did when Brulette was 
 attacked. " I wish your wicked tongues were torn out 
 and nailed to the church door." 
 
 '' Speak lower," said one of the young men ; " yon know 
 that Mariton won't allow a word against her Jose's fair 
 friend. All beauties uphold each other, and Mariton is 
 not yet so old but what she has a voice in the chapter." 
 
 Joseph was puzzling his brains to know whether they 
 were blaming or ridiculing him. 
 
 '' Explain it to me," he said, pulling me by the arm. 
 " Don't leave me without a word to sa3\" 
 
 I was just going to meddle, though I had vowed I 
 would n't get into an}' dispute in which Pere Bastien and 
 his son were not concerned, when Francois Carnat cut 
 me short. "Nonsense!" he said to Joseph, with a 
 sneer ; " Tiennet can't tell 3'ou more than what I wrote 
 you." 
 
 '' That is what you are talking of, is it?" said Joseph. 
 "Well, I swear you lie! and that you have written and 
 signed false witness. Never — " 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Carnat. "You knew how to make 
 your profit out of my letter ! and if, as people think, \o\\ 
 are the author of that child, you have not been such a 
 fool, after all, in getting rid of your property to a friend, — 
 a faithful friend, too, for there he is upstairs, looking 
 after your interests in the council. But if, as I now think, 
 3'ou came into these parts to assert your right to the child, 
 which was refused, that accounts for a queer scene which 
 I saw from a distance at the castle of Chassin — " 
 
 ' ' What scene ? " said the monk. ' ' Let me tell you, 
 young man, that I too may have witnessed it, and I want 
 to know how trul}' 3'ou relate the things that 3'Ou see." 
 
Tlie Bagpipers. 853 
 
 "As 3'on please," returncfl Carnat. '^I will tell 3'ou 
 what I saw with 1113' own ej'es, without hearing a word 
 that was said ; and 3'ou ma3' explain it as you can. You 
 are to know, the rest of 3'ou, that on the last da3' of last 
 month Joseph got up earl3^ in the morning to hang his 
 jMa3' bunch on Brulette's door ; and seeing a bab3' about 
 two 3'ears old, which of course was his, he wanted no 
 doubt to get possession of it, for he seized it, as if to go 
 off with it ; and then began a sharp dispute, in which his 
 friend the Bourbonnais wood-cutter (the same that is up- 
 stairs now with his father, and who is to marr3' Brulette 
 next Sunda3') struck him Yiolentl3" and then embraced 
 the mother and child ; after which Joseph was gentty 
 shoved out of the door and did not show his face there 
 again. I call that one of the queerest histories I ever 
 knew. Twist it as 3'ou will, it still remains the tale of a 
 child claimed hy two fathers, and of a girl who, instead of 
 giving herself to the first seducer, kicks him awa3' as un- 
 worth3' or incapable of bringing up the child of their loves." 
 
 Instead of answering, as he had proposed to do. Brother 
 Nicolas returned to the chimne3', and talked in a low 
 voice, bat ver3' eagerl3-, with Benoit. Joseph was so taken 
 aback at the interpretation put upon a matter of which, 
 after all, he did not know the real meaning, that he 
 looked all round him for assistance, and as Mariton had 
 rushed from the room like a craz3' woman, there was no 
 one but me to put down Carnat. The latter's speech 
 had created some astonishment, but no one thought of 
 defending Brulette, against whom the3^ still felt piqued. 
 I began to take her part ; but Carnat interrupted me at 
 the first word : — 
 
 "Oh! as for 3'ou," he said, "no one accuses 3^ou. I 
 dare sa3^ 3'ou pla3'ed 3'our part in good faith, though it is 
 
 23 
 
354 The Bagpipers, 
 
 known that you were used to deceive people by bringing 
 the child from the Bourbonilais. But joxx are so simple, 
 Tiennet, 3'ou may never have suspected anything. — The 
 devil take me ! " he continued, addressing the company, 
 " if that fellow is n't as stupid as a basket. He is capable 
 of being godfather to a child believing all the while they 
 were christening a clock. He probably went into the 
 Bourbonnais to fetch this godson of his, who, they told 
 him, was found in a cabbage, and he brought it back in a 
 pilgrim's sack. In fact he is such a slave and good cousin 
 to the girl, that if she had tried to make him believe the 
 boy was like him he would have thought so too." 
 
The Bagpipers, 355 
 
 THIRTIETH EVENING. 
 
 There was no use in protesting and getting angry ; the 
 company were more inclined to laugli than to hsten, for 
 it is alwa3's a great delight to misbehaving fellows to 
 speak ill of a poor girl. They make haste to plunge her 
 in the mire, reserving the right to deny it if they find she 
 is innocent. 
 
 In the midst of their slanderous speeches, however, a 
 loud voice, slightl}' weakened by illness but still capable 
 of drowning every other in the room, made itself heard. 
 It was that of the master of the tavern, long accustomed 
 to quell the dissensions of wine and the hubbub of 
 junketing. 
 
 *' Hold your tongues," he said, " and listen to me, or 
 I '11 turn 3'ou out this moment, if I never open the house 
 again. Be silent about an honest girl whom you decry 
 because 3'ou have all found her too virtuous. As to the 
 real parents of the child who has given rise to these tales, 
 tell them to their face what fault you find with them, for 
 here they are before 3'ou. Yes," he continued, drawing 
 Mariton, who was holding Chariot in her arms and weep- 
 ing, up to him, " here is the mother of m}" heir, and 
 this is m}^ son whom I recognize by my marriage to this 
 good woman. If 3'ou ask me for exact dates, I shall tell 
 you to mind your own business ; nevertheless, to any who 
 have the right to question me, I will show deeds which 
 prove that I have alwa3's recognized the child as mine, 
 
356 The Bagpipers. 
 
 and that his mother was 1113' legitimate wife before his 
 birth, though the matter was kept secret." 
 
 The silence of astonishment fell on everybodj^ ; and 
 Joseph, who had risen at the first words, stood stock still 
 like a stone image. The monk who noticed the doubt, 
 shame, and anger in his e3'es, thought best to add further 
 explanations. He told us that Benoit had been unable to 
 make his marriage pubhc because of the opposition of a 
 rich relative, who had lent him money for his business, 
 and who might have ruined him b}" demanding it back. 
 As Mariton feared for her reputation, specially on account 
 of her son Joseph, the}^ had concealed Chariot's birth and 
 had put him to nurse at Saint-Severe ; but, at the end of 
 a year Mariton had found him so ill-used that she begged 
 Brulette to take charge of him, thinking that no one else 
 would give him as much care. She had not foreseen the 
 harm this would do to the young girl, and when she did 
 find it out, she wished to remove the child, but Benoit's 
 illness had prevented her doing so, and moreover Brulette 
 had become so attached to Chariot that she would not part 
 with him. 
 
 "Yes!" cried Mariton, "poor dear soul that she is, 
 she proved her courage for me. ' You will have trouble 
 enough,' she said to me, ' if you lose 3'our husband ; and, 
 perhaps 3^our marriage will be questioned b3' the familv. 
 He is too ill to trouble him now about declaring it. Have 
 patience ; -don't kill him b3' talking of your afl^airs. Ever3'- 
 thing will come right if God grant that he recovers.' " 
 
 " And if I have recovered," added Benoit, "it is by 
 the care of this good woman, m3^ wife, and the kind- 
 heartedness of the 3^oung girl in question, who patiently 
 endured both blame and insult rather than cause me injurv 
 at that time hy exposing our secrets. And here is another 
 
The Bagpipers. 357 
 
 faithful friend," he added, pointing to the monk, — "a 
 man of sense, of action, and of honest speech, an old school 
 friend of mine in the daj's when I was educating at Mont- 
 lu9on. He it was who went after xny old devil of an 
 uncle, and who at last, no later than this morning, per- 
 suaded him to consent to my marriage with my good 
 housekeeper ; and when my uncle had given his word to 
 make me heir to his whole property'. Brother Nicolas 
 told him the priest had already joined Mariton and me, 
 and showed him that fat Chariot, whom he thought a fine 
 bo}' and very like the author of his existence." 
 
 Benoit's satisfaction revived the lost gaj^ et}' of the party ; 
 every one was struck with the resemblance, which, how- 
 ever, no one had yet noticed, — I as little as an}'. 
 
 " So, Joseph," continued the innkeeper, " you can and 
 ought to love and respect your mother, just as I love and 
 respect her, I take m}' oath here and now that she is the 
 bravest and most helpful Christian woman that ever a sick 
 man had about him ; and I have never had a moment's 
 hesitation in my resolve to declare sooner or later what I 
 have declared to-day. We are now very well off in our 
 worldly affairs, thank God, and as I swore to her and to 
 God that I would replace the father you lost, I will agree, 
 If you will live here with us, to take 3'ou into partnership 
 and to give you a good share of the profits.' So you 
 need n't fling yourself into bagpiping, in which your mother 
 sees all sorts of ills for 3'ou and anxieties for her. Your 
 notion was to get her a home. That 's m}^ affair now, and 
 I even offer to make hers yours. Come, 3'ou '11 listen to 
 us, won't you, and give up that damned music? Why 
 can't you live in 3'our own country and stay at home? 
 You need n't blush at having an honest innkeeper for a 
 step-father." 
 
358 The Bagpipers. 
 
 *' You are my step-father, that's ver}^ certain," replied 
 Joseph, not showing either pleasure or displeasure, but 
 remaining coldlj^ on the defensive; " 3'ou are an honest 
 man, I know, and rich, I see, and if my mother is happ}^ 
 with you — " 
 
 "" Yes, 3'es, Joseph, as happ}' as possible ; above all to- 
 daj'," cried Mariton, kissing him, " for I hope 3'ou will 
 never leave me again." 
 
 '' You are mistaken, mother," answered Joseph; "you 
 no longer have any need of me, and you are contented. All 
 is well. You were the onl}' thing that brought me back into 
 this part of the countr}^ ; you were all I had to love, for 
 Brulette — and it is well that all present should hear this 
 from my own mouth — for Brulette never had any feeling 
 but that of a sister for me. Now 1 am free to follow my 
 destiny ; which is not a verj' kindl}^ one, but it is so plainly 
 mine that I prefer it to all the money of innkeeping and 
 the comfort of family life. Farewell, mother, God bless 
 those who make 3'ou happ}- ; as for me, I want nothing in 
 these parts, not even admission to the guild which evil- 
 intentioned fools are trying to den}^ me. My inward 
 thoughts and my bagpipe go with me wherever I am ; and 
 I know I can always earn my living, for wherever my music 
 is heard I shall be welcome." 
 
 As he spoke the door to the staircase opened and the 
 whole company of bagpipers entered in silence. Pere 
 Carnat requested the attention of those present, and in a 
 firm and cheerful manner, which surprised everj'body, he 
 said : — 
 
 " Francois Carnat, ni}' son, after careful examination of 
 your merits and full discussion of 3'our rights, yoxi are 
 declared too much of a novice for present admission. 
 You are advised to study a while longer, w^ithout discour-. 
 
The Bagpipers, 859 
 
 agement, so as to present yourself for competition later 
 when circumstances may be more favorable. And 3'ou, 
 Joseph Picot, of the village of Nohant, the decision of the 
 masters of this part of the country is that 3^00 be, b}" rea- 
 son of 3'our unparalleled talents, received into the first 
 class of the guild ; and this decision is unanimous." 
 
 " Well," replied Joseph, who seemed wholl}' indifferent 
 to his victory and to the applause with which it was re- 
 ceived, " as the matter has turned out this wa}', I accept 
 the decision, although, not expecting it, I hardly care for 
 it." 
 
 Joseph's haught}' manner displeased everybody, and 
 Pere Carnat hastened to sav, with an air which I thousrht 
 showed disguised malignity: "Does that mean, Joseph, 
 that you wish for the honor and the title, and do not in- 
 tend to take your place among the professional bagpipers 
 in these parts ? " 
 
 " I don't know yet," said Joseph, evidently b}' wa}' of 
 bravado, and not wishing to satisfy his judges. "I'll 
 think about it." 
 
 " I believe," said young Carnat to his father, " that he 
 has thought about it alread}' , and his decision is made, for 
 he has n't the courage to go on with the matter." 
 
 "Courage?" cried Joseph, "courage for what, if you 
 please ? " 
 
 Then the dean of the bagpipers, old Paillou of Verneuil, 
 said to Joseph : — 
 
 "You are surel}' not ignorant, young man, that some- 
 thing more than playing an instrument is required, to be 
 received into our guild ; there is such a thing as a musical 
 catechism, which 3'ou must know and on which 3'OU will 
 be questioned, if 3'ou feel 3'OU have the knowledge and 
 also the boldness to answer. Moreover, there are certain 
 
360 The Bagpipers, 
 
 oaths to be taken. If you feel no repugnance to these 
 thuigs, 3'ou must decide at once to submit to them, so 
 that the matter ma}^ be settled to-morrow morning." 
 
 "I understand 3'ou," said Joseph. "The guild has 
 secret oaths, and tests and trials. They are all great 
 foll}^ as far as I know, and music has no part in them, 
 for I defy 3^ou to reply to an}' musical question which I 
 might put to you. Consequentlj-, the questions 3'ou ad- 
 dress to me on a subject 30U know less about than the 
 frogs in the pond, are no better than old women's gabble." 
 
 "If you take it that way." said Renet, the Mers bag- 
 piper, "we are willing 3'ou should think 3'ourself a great 
 genius and the rest of us jackasses. So be it. Keep 
 your secrets, and we will keep ours. We are not anxious 
 to tell them to those who despise us. But remember one 
 thing : here is 3'our certificate as a master bagpiper, which 
 we now hand to you, signed and sealed by all, including 
 your friends the Bourbonnais bagpipers, who agree that 
 all is done in good order. You are free to exercise 3'our 
 talents where 3'Ou please and where 3'ou can ; except in 
 the parishes where we play and which number one hun- 
 dred and fift3', according to the distribution we make 
 among ourselves, the list of which will be handed to 3'Ou ; 
 in those parishes 3'ou are forbidden to pla3\ We give 
 notice that if 3'OU break this rule it will be at 3'our own 
 risk and peril, for we shall put a stop to it, if need be, by 
 main force." 
 
 Here Mariton spoke up. 
 
 "You needn't threaten him," she said, "it is safe to 
 leave him to his own fanc3*, which is to play his music and 
 look for no profit. He has no need to do that, thank 
 God, and besides, his lungs are not strong enough for 
 3'our business. Come, Joseph, thank them for the honor 
 
The Bagpipers. 361 
 
 the}' have done you, and don't keep them anxious about 
 their interests. Let the matter be settled now, and 
 here 's m^^ man who will pay the pipers with a good quar- 
 tern of Sancerre or Issoudun wine, at the choice of the 
 company." 
 
 "That's all right," said old Carnat. "We are quite 
 willing ihe matter should end thus. It is best, no doubt, 
 for your son ; for one need n't be either a fool or a coward 
 to shrink from the tests, and I do think the poor fellow is 
 not cut out to endure them." 
 
 "We will see about that!" cried Joseph, falling into 
 the trap that was set for him, in spite of the warnings 
 Pere Bastien was giving him in a low voice. " I demand 
 the tests ; and as you have no right to refuse them after 
 delivering to me the certificate, I intend to practise your 
 calling if I choose, or, at an}' rate, to prove that I am not 
 prevented from doing so by an}' of you." 
 
 "Agreed ! " said the dean, showing plainly, as did Car- 
 nat and several others, the malignant pleasure Joseph's 
 words afforded them. " We will now prepare for your 
 initiation, friend Joseph. Remember there is no going 
 back, and that you will be considered a milk-sop or a 
 braggart if you change your mind." 
 
 " Go on, go on ! " cried Joseph. " I '11 await you on a 
 firm foot." 
 
 " It is for us to await you," said old Carnat in his ear, 
 " at the stroke of midnight." 
 
 " Where?" said Joseph, coolly. 
 
 "At the gate of the cemetery," replied the dean, in a 
 low voice. Then, without accepting the wine which Benoit 
 oflfered them, or giving heed to the remonstrances of his 
 wife, they went off in a body, threatening evil to all who 
 followed them or spied upon their mysteries. 
 
362 The Bagpipers. 
 
 The Head-Woodsman and Huriel went with them with- 
 out a word to Joseph, b}^ which I plainly saw that, although 
 the pair were opposed to the spirit of the other bagpipers, 
 they thought it none the less their duty not to warn Jo- 
 seph, nor to betray in the slightest degree the secrets of 
 the guild. 
 
 In spite of the threats which were made, I was not de- 
 terred from following them at a distance, without other 
 precaution than carelessly sauntering down the same road, 
 with my hands in my pockets, and whistling as if I were 
 paying no attention to tliem or their affairs. I knew tlie}^ 
 would not let me get near enough to overhear their plots, 
 but I wanted to make sure in what direction the}' meant 
 to lie in wait, so as to get there later, if possible, unob- 
 served. With that notion in my head, I signed to Leon- 
 ard to keep the others at the tavern until I returned to 
 call them. But my pursuit was soon ended. The inn 
 stood on a street which ran down-hill to the river, and is 
 now the mail route to Issoudun. In those da3's it was a 
 breakneck little place, narrow and ill-paved, lined with old 
 houses with pointed gables and stone mullions. The last 
 of these houses was pulled down a year ago. From the 
 river, which ran along tlie wall below the inn of the Boeuf 
 Couronnc, a steep ascent led to the market-place, which 
 was then, as it is now, that long unevenl}^ paved space, 
 planted with trees, bordered on the left by old houses, on 
 the right b}^ the broad moat, fall of water, and the great 
 wall (then unbroken) of the castle. The church closes 
 the market-place at the further end, and two alleys lead 
 down from it, one to the parsonage, the other past the 
 cemetery. The bagpipers turned down the latter path. 
 They were about a gunshot in advance of me, that is to 
 say, just time enough to pass along the path by the ceme- 
 
The Bagpipers. 36S 
 
 tery and out into the open country b}' the postern of the 
 English tower, unless thej- chose to stop at this particular 
 spot ; which was not ver}^ convenient, for the path — which 
 ran between the moat of the castle on one side and the 
 bank of the cemetery on the other — was only wide enough 
 for one person at a time. 
 
 When I judged that the bagpipers must have reached the 
 postern, I turned' the corner of the castle under an arcade 
 which in those days was used as a footpath by the gentry 
 on their waj' to the parish church. I found I was all 
 alone when I entered the path by the churchyard, a place 
 few Christian men would set foot in alone after nightfall, — 
 not only because it led past the cemetery, but because the 
 north flank of the castle had a bad name. There was talk 
 of I don't know how man}- persons drowned in the moat 
 in the da3's of the English war ; and some folks swore 
 they had heard the cocadrillos whistle on that particular 
 path when epidemics were about. 
 
 You know of course that the cocadrillo is a sort of liz- 
 ard, which sometimes seems no bigger than your little 
 finger, and sometimes swells to the size of an ox and 
 grows five or six 3-ards long. This beast, which I have 
 never seen, and whose existence I could n't warrant, is 
 supposed to vomit a venom which poisons the air and 
 brings the plague. Now, though I did not believe much 
 of this, I was not over- fond of going along this path, where 
 the high wall of the castle and the tall trees of the ceme- 
 ter}^ shut out every speck of light. On this occasion 
 I walked fast, without looking to the right or left, and 
 passed through the postern of the English gate, of which, 
 by the b3*e, not one stone upon another remains to the 
 present da}^. 
 
 Once there, and notwithstanding that the night was fine 
 
864 The Bagpipers, 
 
 and the moon clear, I could not see, either far or near, the 
 slightest trace of the eighteen persons I was after. I 
 looked in every direction ; I even went as far as Pere 
 Begneux's cottage, the onl}' house the}' could have entered. 
 The occupants were all asleep, and nowhere about was 
 there any noise, or trace, or sign, of a living person. I 
 therefore concluded that the missing bagpipers had en- 
 tered the cemeter}^ to perform some wicked conjuring, and 
 — though far from hking to do so, but determined to risk 
 all for Therence's relations — I returned through the pos- 
 tern and along the accursed path, stepping softl}', skirting 
 the bank so close that I touched the tombstones, and 
 keeping my ears open to the shghtest sound. I heard the 
 screech-owl hooting in the casemates, and the adders his- 
 sins: in the black water of the moat, but that was all. 
 The dead slept in the ground as tranquilly as the living in 
 their beds. I plucked up courage to climb over the ceme- 
 tery bank and to give a glance round the field of death. 
 All was quiet, — no signs whatever of the bagpipers. 
 
 Then I walked all round the castle. It was locked up, 
 and as it was after ten o'clock masters and servants slept 
 like stones. 
 
 Then I returned to the inn, not being able to imagine 
 what had become of the guild, but determined to station 
 my comrades in the path leading to the English gate, from 
 which we could see what happened to Joseph when he 
 reached the rendezvous at midnight at the gate of the 
 cemeter}^ I found them on the bridge debating whether 
 or not the}^ should start for home, and declaring they could 
 see no danger to the Huriels, because it was evident the}" 
 had agreed amicably with the other bagpipers in the mat- 
 ter of the competition. As for what concerned Joseph, 
 they cared little or noticing, and tried to prevent me from 
 
The Bagpipers, 365 
 
 interfering. I told them that to my thinking the dan- 
 ger for all three would be when the tests were applied, 
 for the evil intentions of the bagpipers had been plainly 
 shown, and the Huriels, I knew, were there to protect 
 Joseph. 
 
 " Are you already sick of the enterprise?'* I said. "Is 
 it because we are onh' eight to sixteen, and you have n't 
 a heart for two inside of you ? " 
 
 " How do you count eight? " asked Leonard. " Do 3'ou 
 think the Head- Woodsman and his son would go with us 
 against their fellow-members ? " 
 
 " I did count wrong ; " I answered ; "for we are really 
 nine. Joseph won't let himself be fleeced if the}' make it 
 too hot for him, and as both the Huriels carry arms, I feel 
 quite sure they mean to defend him if they can't be heard 
 otherwise." 
 
 "That's not the point," returned Leonard. "We are 
 only six, and the}' are twenty ; but there 's another thing 
 which pleases us even less than a fight. People have been 
 talking in the inn, and each had a storv to relate of these 
 tests. The monk denounced them as impious and abomi- 
 nable ; and though Joseph laughed at what was said, we 
 don't feel certain there is nothing in it. The}^ told of 
 candidates nailed on a bier, and furnaces into which they 
 were tripped, and red-hot iron crosses which they were 
 made to clasp. Such things seem hard to believe ; and if 
 1 were certain that that was all I 'd like to punish the fel- 
 lows who are bad enough to ill-treat a neighbor in that 
 way. Unfortunately — " 
 
 "There, there!" said I, "I see you have let 3'ourself 
 be scared. What is behind it all? Tell the whole, and 
 let 's either laugh at it or take warning." 
 
 " This is it," said one of the lads, seeing that Leonard was 
 
366 The Bagpipers, 
 
 ashamed to own his fears. '' None of us have ever seen 
 the devil, and we don't want to make his acquaintance." 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " I cried, seeing that they were all relieved, 
 now the words were out. "So it is Lucifer himself that 
 frightens 3'ou ! Well, I 'm too good a Christian to be 
 afraid of him ; I give my soul to God, and I '11 be bound 
 I '11 take him by the horns, yes I myself, alone against the 
 enemy of mankind, as fearlessly as I would take a goat by 
 the beard. He has been allowed to do evil to those who 
 fear him long enough, and it is my opinion that an honest 
 fellow who dared to wrench off his horns could deprive 
 him of half his power, and that would be something gained 
 at any rate." 
 
 '' Faith ! " said Leonard, ashamed of his fears, " if you 
 look at it that wa^^ I won't back down, and if you'll smash 
 his horns I'll try to pull out his tail. They say it is fine, 
 and we '11 find out if it is gold or hemp." 
 
 There is no such remed}^ against fear as fun, but I don't 
 deny that though I took the matter on that tone, 1 was 
 not at all anxious to pit myself against " Georgeon," as 
 we call the devil in our parts. I was n't a bit more easy 
 in mind than the rest, but for Therence's sake I felt read}' 
 to march into the jaws of hell. I had promised her, and 
 the good God himself could n't have turned me back now. 
 
 But that 's an ill way to talk. The good God, on the 
 contrary, gave me strength and confidence, and the more 
 anxiety I felt all that night, the more I thought on him 
 and asked his aid. 
 
 When our other comrades saw that our minds, Leonard's 
 and mine, were made up, the}' followed us. To make the 
 aff'air safer, I went back to the inn to see if I could find 
 other friends who, without knowing what we were after, 
 would follow us for fun, and, if occasion came, would fight 
 
The Bagpipers, 867 
 
 with us. But it was late, and there was no one at the 
 Boeuf Couronne but Benoit, who was supping with the 
 monk, Mariton, who was saying her prayers, and Joseph, 
 who had thrown himself on a bed and was sound asleep 
 with, I must own, a tranquillity that put us to shame. 
 
 " I have only one hope," said Mariton, as she got off her 
 knees ; " and that is that he will sleep over the time and 
 not wake up till morning." 
 
 "That's just like all women! " cried Benoit, laughing, 
 " they want life at the price of shame. But I gave my 
 word to her lad to wake him before midnight, and I shall 
 not fail to do so." 
 
 " Ah, you don't love him ! " cried the mother. ^^ We '11 
 see if you push our Chariot into danger when his turn 
 comes." 
 
 " You don't know what you are talking about, wife," re- 
 plied the innkeeper ; " go to bed and to sleep with my boy ; 
 I promise you I '11 not fail to wake yours. You would not 
 wish him to blame me for his dishonor ? " 
 
 "Besides," said the monk, "what danger do you sup- 
 pose there is in the nonsense they are going to perform ? 
 I tell you you are dreaming, my good woman. The devil 
 does n't get hold of anybod}^ ; God does n't allow it, and 
 you have not brought 3'our boy up so ill that j'ou need 
 fear that he will get himself damned for his music. I tell 
 3'ou that the villanous tests of the bagpipers are really 
 nothing worse than impious jokes, from which sensible 
 people can easily protect themselves ; and Joseph need 
 only laugh at the demons they will set upon him, to put 
 them all to flight." 
 
 The monk's words heartened up my comrades won- 
 derfull}'. 
 
 " If it is only a farce," they said to me, " we will tumble 
 
368 The Bagpipers. 
 
 into the middle of it and thrash the devil well ; but had n*t 
 we better take Benoit into our confidence? He might 
 help us." 
 
 •' To tell 3'ou the truth," I said, '' I am not sure that he 
 would. He is thought a worth}' man ; but 3'ou never 
 know the secrets of a family, especiall}^ when there are 
 children by a first marriage. Step-fathers don't alwaj's 
 like them, and Joseph has been none too amiable this 
 evening with his. Let 's get off without a word to any- 
 one ; that 's best, and it is nearl}^ time we were there." 
 
 Taking the road past the church, walking softly and in 
 single file, we posted ourselves in the little path near the 
 English gate. The moon was so low we could creep in 
 the shadow of the cemetery bank and not be seen, even if 
 any one passed quite close to us. M}^ comrades, being 
 strangers, had no such repugnance to the place as the vil- 
 lagers, and I let them go in front while I hid within the 
 cemeter}', near enough to the gate to see who entered, and 
 also near enough to call to them when wanted. 
 
The Bagpipers, 369 
 
 THIRTY-FIRST EVENING. 
 
 I WAITED a good long time, — all the longer because 
 the hours go so slow in company with dead folks. At last 
 midnight struck in the church steeple and I saw the head 
 of a man rising beyond the low wall of the cemetery' quite 
 near the gate. Another quarter of an hour dragged along 
 without my seeing or hearing anything but that man, who, 
 getting tired of waiting, began to whistle a Bourbonnais 
 tune, whereby I knew it was Joseph, who no doubt be- 
 trayed the hopes of his enemies b}" seeming so cool in 
 presence of the dead. 
 
 At last, another man, who was stuck close to the wall 
 inside the gate, and whom I had n't seen on account of the 
 big box-trees which hid him, popped his head quickly over 
 the wall as if to take Joseph b}" surprise ; but the latter 
 did not stir, and said, laughing: " Well, Pere Carnat, you 
 are rather late ; I came near going to sleep while waiting 
 Will you open the gate, or must I enter that ' nettle-field/ 
 b}^ the breach ? " 
 
 "No," said Carnat, "the curate would not like it; we 
 mustn't openly offend the church people. I will go to 
 you." 
 
 He climbed over the wall and told Joseph he must let 
 his head and arms be covered with a very thick canvas 
 sack, and then walk wherever he was led. 
 
 " Ver}^ good," said Joseph in a contemptuous tone. 
 '' Go on." 
 
 I watched them from over the wall, and saw them enter 
 
 24 
 
870 The Bagpipers. 
 
 the little path to the English gate ; then I made a short 
 cut to the place where I had left mj comrades and found 
 only four of them ; the youngest had slipped off without a 
 word, and I was rather afraid the others would do the 
 same, for they found the time long and told me they had 
 heard very queer noises, which seemed to come from under 
 the earth. 
 
 Presently Joseph came along, with his head covered and 
 led by Carnat. The pair got close upon us, but turned 
 from the path about twenty feet off. Carnat made Joseph 
 clamber down to the edge of the moat, and we thought he 
 meant to drown him. At once we were on our legs to 
 stop such treachery, but in a minute more we saw they 
 were both walking in the water, which was shallow at that 
 place, until the}^ reached a low archway in the wall of the 
 castle which was partly' in the water of the moat. They 
 passed through it, and this explained to me what had be- 
 come of the others whom I had hunted for. 
 
 It was necessary to do as they did ; which did n't seem 
 to me very difficult, but my comrades were hard to per- 
 suade. They had heard that the vaults of the castle ran 
 nine miles out into the country, as far as Deols, and that 
 persons who did not know their windings had been lost in 
 them. I was forced to declare that I know them very 
 well, though I had never set foot there in my life, and had 
 no idea whether they were common wine-cellars or a sub- 
 terraneous town, as my friends declared. 
 
 I walked first, without seeing where I set my feet, feel- 
 ing the walls, which inclosed a narrow passage where one's 
 head ver^' nearl}^ touched the roof. We advanced in this 
 way for a short time, when a hullaballoo sounded beneath 
 us like forty thunder-claps rolling round the devil's cave. 
 It was so strange and alarming that I stopped short to 
 
The Bagpipers. 371 
 
 try and find out what it meant ; then I went quickly for- 
 ward, not to let myself get chilled with the idea of some 
 devil's caper, telling my companions to follow me. But 
 the noise was so loud they did not hear me and I, think- 
 ing they were at my heels, went on and on, till, hearing 
 nothing more, I turned to speak to them and got no an- 
 swer. Not wishing to call aloud, I went back four or five 
 steps ; it was all dark. I stretched out my hands, and 
 called cautiously ; good-b^^e to my valiant contingent, — 
 they had deserted me ! 
 
 I thought I must be pretty near the entrance and could 
 surely catch up with them within or without. I returned 
 through the arch hy which we had entered, and searched 
 carefully along tlie little path beside the cemetery ; but no ! 
 my comrades had disappeared just like the bagpipers ; it 
 seemed as if the earth had opened and swallowed them 
 up. 
 
 I had a moment of horrid worr}^ thinking I must either 
 give up the whole thing or return to those devilish caverns 
 and take myself all alone into the traps and terrors they 
 were preparing for Joseph. But I asked myself whether, 
 even if the matter concerned only him, I could quietly 
 leave him in danger. M3' soul answered no, and then I 
 asked my heart if love for Therence was n't quite as real a 
 thing as one's duty to one's neighbor, and the answer I 
 received sent me back through the dark and slim}' arch- 
 way and along the subterranean passages — I won't say as 
 gayl}', but at any rate as quickl}' as if I were going to my 
 own wedding. 
 
 While I was feeling my way forward I found, on m}' 
 right, an opening to another passage, which I had not 
 found before because I then felt to my left ; and I thought 
 to myself that my comrades in going out had probably 
 
372 The Bagpipers. 
 
 found it and turned that wa3^ I followed the passage, 
 for there was no sign that the other way would bring me 
 any nearer to the bagpipers. I did not find my comrades, 
 but as for the bagpipers, I had not taken twenty steps 
 before I heard their din much nearer than it sounded the 
 first time ; and presenth' a quivering kind of light let me 
 see that I was entering a large round cave which had three 
 or four exits, black as the jaws of hell. 
 
 I was surprised to see so clearly in a vault where there 
 was n't any light, but I presently noticed that gleams were 
 coming from below through the ground I trod upon. I 
 noticed that this ground seemed to swell up in the middle, 
 and fearing it was not solid, I kept close to the wall, and 
 getting near to a crevice, I lay down with my eye close to 
 it and saw ver}^ plainly what was going on in another 
 cavern just below the one I was in. It was, as I after- 
 wards learned, a former dungeon, adjoining an oubliette or 
 black hole, the mouth of which could still be seen thirty 
 3'ears ago in the upper hall of the castle. I thought as 
 much when I saw the remains of human bones at the lower 
 end of the cave, which the bagpipers had set up in rows 
 to terrify the candidate, with pine torches inside their 
 skulls. Joseph was tliere all alone, his eyes unbound, his 
 arms crossed, just as cool as I was not, listened con- 
 temptuously to the uproar of eighteen bagpipes, which 
 all brayed together, prolonging a single note into a roar. 
 This crazy music came from an adjoining cave where the 
 bagpipers were hidden, and where, as they doubtless knew, 
 a curious echo multiplied the sound. I, who knew noth- 
 ing about it then, fancied at first that all the bagpipes of 
 Berr}', Auvergne, and the Bourbonnais were collected 
 together in that cave. 
 
 When they had had enough of growling with their in- 
 
The Bagpipers, 373 
 
 struments, they began to squeal and squall themselves, and 
 the walls echoed them, till you would have fancied they 
 were a great troop of furious animals of all kinds. But 
 Joseph, who was really an unusual kind of man among our 
 peasantr}', — indeed, I hardly ever knew his like, — merely 
 shrugged his shoulders and yawned, as if tired with such 
 fool's play. His courage passed into me, and I began to 
 think of laughing at the farce, when a little noise at my 
 back made me turn my head. There I saw, at the entrance 
 of the passage by which I had come, a figure which froze 
 my senses. 
 
 It was that of a lord of the olden time, carrying a lance 
 and wearing an iron breastplate and leathern garments of a 
 style no longer seen. But the most awful part of him was 
 his face, which was actually like a death's head. 
 
 I parti}' recovered myself, thinking it was only a dis- 
 guise some of the enemy had put on to frighten Joseph ; 
 but on reflection I saw the danger was really mine, because, 
 finding me on the watch, he would surel}' do me some 
 damage. However, though he saw me as plain as I could 
 see him, he did not stir, but remained stock-still like a 
 ghost, half in shadow, and half in the light that came up 
 from below ; and as this light flickered according as it was 
 moved about, there were moments when, not seeing him, I 
 thought he was a notion of mj' own brain, — until suddenly 
 he would reappear, all but his legs, which remained In 
 darkness behind a sort of step or barrier, which made me 
 fancy he was as it were floating on a cloud. 
 
 I don't know how long I was tortured with this vision, 
 which made me forget to watch Joseph, and scared me 
 lest I was going mad in trying to do more than it was in 
 me to perform. I recollected that I had seen in the hall 
 of the castle an old picture which they said was the por- 
 
37-1 The Bagpipers. 
 
 trait of a wicked warrior whom a lord of the castle in the 
 olden time, who was the warrior's brother, had flung into 
 the dungeon. The garments of leather and iron which I 
 saw before me on that skeleton figure, were certainly like 
 those in the picture, and the notion came into my head 
 that here was a ghost in pain, watching the desecration of 
 his sepulchre, and waiting to show his displeasure in some 
 way or other. 
 
 What made this idea the more probable was that the 
 ghost said nothing to me, and evidently took no notice of 
 my presence, — apparently aware that I had no evil inten- 
 tions against his poor carcass. 
 
 At last a noise different from all others attracted my 
 eyes away from him. 1 looked back into the cave below 
 me, where stood Joseph, and something near him very 
 ugly and very strange. 
 
 Joseph stood boldly in front of an abominable creature, 
 dressed in the skin of a dog, with horns sticking out of his 
 tangled hair, and a red face, and claws and tail ; the 
 which beast was jumping about and making faces like one 
 possessed of the devil. It was vile to see, and yet I 
 was n't the dupe of it very long, for though the creature 
 tried to disguise his voice I thought I recognized that of 
 Dore-Fratin, the bagpiper of Pouligny, one of the strong- 
 est and most quarrelsome men in our neighborhood. 
 
 " You may sneer as you please," he was sa3'ing to Jo- 
 seph, '* at me and at hell, but I am the king of all musi- 
 cians, and 3'ou shall not play your instrument without my 
 permission unless you sell me your soul." 
 
 Joseph answered, ''What can such a fool of a devil 
 as you do with the soul of a musician? You have no use 
 for it." 
 
 "Mind what 3'ou say," returned the other. "Don't 
 
The Bagpipers. 375 
 
 3'ou know that down here 3'ou must either give 3'ourself to 
 the devil or prove that 3'ou are stronger than he ? " 
 
 " Yes, 3'es, I know the proverb," said Joseph : '' ' Kill 
 the devil or the devil will kill you.' " 
 
 As he spoke, I saw Huriel and his father come from a 
 dark opening into the vault and go up to the devil as if to 
 speak to him ; but the3' were pulled back b3^ the other 
 bagpipers who now showed themselves, and Carnat the 
 elder addressed Joseph. 
 
 "You have proved," he said, "that 3'ou don't fear 
 witchcraft, and we will let 3'ou go free if you will now 
 conform to the usual custom, which is to fight the devil, 
 in proof that you, a Christian man, refuse to submit to 
 him." 
 
 " If the devil wants to be well thrashed," replied Jo- 
 seph, " let me go at him at once, and we'll see if his skin 
 is any tougher than mine. What weapons ? " 
 
 " None but 3'our fists," replied Carnat. 
 
 " It is fair pla3", I hope," said the Head-Woodsman. 
 
 Joseph took no time to inquire ; his temper was up. 
 Enraged b3' the tricks that were pla3'ed on him, he sprang 
 on the devil, tore off his horns and head-dress, and caught 
 him so resolutel3^ round the bod3^ that he brought him to 
 earth and fell on top of him. 
 
 But he instantly got up, and I fancied he gave a cr3^ of 
 surprise and pain ; but the bagpipers all began to pla3^, 
 except Huriel and his father, who stood watching the en- 
 counter with an expression of doubt and uneasiness. 
 
 Joseph, meantime, was tumbling the devil about and 
 seeming to get the better of him ; but his rage seemed 
 to me unnatural, and I feared he might put himself in the 
 wrong through too much violence. The bagpipers seemed 
 to help him, for instead of rescuing their comrade, who 
 
376 The Bagpipers. 
 
 was knocked down three times, the}'^ marched round and 
 round the fight, piping loudl}^, and beating with their feet 
 to excite him. 
 
 Suddenly the Head- Woodsman separated the combat- 
 ants by leveUing a blow with his stick on the devil's paws, 
 and threatening to strike harder the second time if he was 
 not listened to. Huriel ran to his father's side, raising his 
 stick also, while all the others stopped walking round and 
 round and piping ; and a moment's silence and stillness fell 
 on all. 
 
 Then I saw that Joseph, overcome with pain, was wip- 
 ing his torn hands and his face, which was covered with 
 blood, and that he would have fainted if Pluriel had not 
 caught him in his arms, while Dore-Fratin merely threw 
 aside his trappings, panting with heat, and wiping the 
 sweat from his forehead with a grin. 
 
 "What does this mean?" cried Carnat, coming up to 
 the Head- Woodsman with a threatening air, "Are 3'ou a 
 traitor to the guild ? B3" what right do you interfere with 
 the tests?" 
 
 " I interfere at my own risk and to 3'our shame," replied 
 the Head- Woodsman. " I am not a traitor, and you are 
 evil-doers, both treacherous and cruel. I suspected that 
 3'ou were tricking us to lead this young man here and 
 wound him, perhaps dangerousl}'. You hate him because 
 3^ou know that ever3^ one will prefer him to 3'ou, and that 
 wherever he is heard no one will listen to your music. 
 You have not dared to refuse him admission to the guild, 
 because the whole country would blame you for such a 
 crying injustice ; but 3'OU are trying to frigliten him from 
 playing in the parishes 3'ou have taken possession of, and 
 3-ou have put him tln-ough hard and dangerous tests which 
 none of 30U could have borne as long as he." 
 
TJie Baginpers. 377 
 
 '' I don't know what you mean," said the old dean, 
 Pailloux de Verneuil ; *'and the blame you cast upon us 
 here, in presence of a candidate, is unheard-of insolence. 
 We don't know how you practise initiation in your part of 
 the country, but here we are following our customs and 
 shall not allow you to interfere." 
 
 " I shall interfere," said Huriel, who was sopping Jo- 
 seph's blood with his handkerchief, and had brought him 
 back to consciousness, as he held him on his knee. " I 
 neither can nor will tell of 3'our conduct away from here, 
 because I belong to the brotherhood, but at least I will 
 tell you to 30ur faces that you are brutes. In our coun- 
 try we fight with the devil in jest, taking care to do no 
 one any harm. Here 3'ou choose the strongest among 
 you and furnish him with hidden weapons, with which he 
 endeavors to put out the eyes and stab the veins of 3'our 
 victims. See ! this 3'oung man is exhausted, and in the 
 rage which 3'our wickedness excited in him, he would have 
 let you kill him if we had not stopped the fight. And 
 then what would you have done ? You would have flung 
 his body into that vault, where so man3" other unfortunates 
 have perished, whose bones ought to rise and condemn 
 3'ou for being as cruel as your former lords." 
 
 These words reminded me of the apparition I had for- 
 gotten, and I turned round to see if it was still there. I 
 could not see it, and then I bethought me of finding my 
 way to the lower cave, where, as I began to think, I might 
 be useful to m3' friends. I found the stairwa3' at once and 
 went down to the entrance of the vault, not tr3ing to con- 
 ceal m3'self, for such disputing and confusion were going 
 on that no one paid an3' attention to me. 
 
 The Head-Woodsman had picked up the devil's skin- 
 coat and showed that it was covered with spikes like a 
 
378 The Bagpipers. 
 
 comb for curr3'ing oxen ; and also the mittens which the 
 sham devil wore on his hands, in which strong nails were 
 fastened with the points outside. The bagpipers were 
 furious. "Here's a pretty fuss about a few scratches," 
 cried Carnat. "Isn't it in the order of things that a 
 devil should have claws ? And this j^oung fool, who at- 
 tacked him so imprudently, wh}^ did n't he know how far 
 he could play at that game without getting his snout 
 scraped? Come, come, don't pit}' him so much; it's a 
 mere nothing ; and since he has had enough of it, let him 
 confess he can't play at our games, and is not fit to 
 belong to our guild in any wa}'." 
 
 " I shall belong to it ! " cried Joseph, wrenching himself 
 from Huriel's arms and showing as he did so his torn shirt 
 and bleeding breast. " I shall belong to it in spite of 
 you ! I insist that the fight shall go on, and one of us 
 be left in this cavern." 
 
 " I forbid it ! " said the Head- Woodsman, "and I insist 
 that this 3'oung man shall be proclaimed victor, or I swear 
 to bring into this place a compau}' of bagpipers who shall 
 teach you how to behave, and who will see justice done." 
 
 "You?" said Dore-Fratin, drawing a sort of boar- 
 knife from his belt. "You can do so if 3'ou choose, but 
 3'ou shall carry with 3'ou some marks on your body, so 
 that people ma}' believe your reports." 
 
 The Head-Woodsman and Huriel put themselves in an 
 attitude of defence. Joseph flung himself upon Fratin to 
 get awa}' his knife, and I made one bound in amongst 
 them. But before any of us could strike a blow the figure 
 that startled me so in the upper cavern appeared at the 
 opening of the lower one, stretched forth his lance, and 
 slowly advanced in a way to strike terror to the minds of 
 the evil-doers. Then, as they all paused, dumbfounded 
 
The Bagpipers. 379 
 
 with fear and amazement, a piteous voice was heard from 
 the depths of the dungeon, reciting the pra3'ers for the 
 dead. 
 
 This routed the whole brotherhood. One of the pipers 
 cried out: "The dead! the dead are rising!" and they 
 all fled, pell-mell, j-elling and pushing through the various 
 openings except that to the dungeon, where stood another 
 figure wrapped in a winding-sheet, chanting the most dis- 
 mal sing-song that anybody ever heard. A minute later 
 all our enemies had disappeared, and the warrior flinging 
 off his helmet and mask, we beheld the jovial face of 
 Benoit, while the monk, getting out of his winding sheet, 
 was holding his sides in convulsions of laughter. 
 
 " May God forgive me for masquerading," he said. " I 
 did it with the best intentions ; those rascals deserve a 
 good lesson, if it is only to teach them not to laugh at the 
 devil, of whom the}' are really more afraid than those 
 whom they threaten with him." 
 
 " For my part, I felt quite certain," said Benoit, " that 
 our comed}' would put an end to theirs." Then, noticing 
 Joseph's wounds, he grew very uneasy, and showed such 
 feeling for him that all this, together with the succor he 
 had brought in so timely a manner, proved to my mind 
 his regard for his step-son, and his good heart, which I had 
 hitherto doubted. 
 
 While we examined Joseph and convinced ourselves he 
 was not very seriously hurt, the monk told us how the 
 butler at the castle had once said to him that he allowed 
 the bagpipers and other societies to hold their secret meet- 
 ings in the cellars of the castle. Those in which we found 
 ourselves were too far from the inhabited parts of the 
 castle to disturb the lady mistress of Saint-Chartier, 
 and, indeed, if it had, she would only have laughed, 
 
380 The Bagpipers. 
 
 not imagining that any mischief could come of it. But 
 Benoit, who suspected some evil intent, had got the same 
 butler to give him a key to the cellars, and a disguise ; 
 and that was how it was that he got these in time to avert 
 all danger. 
 
 "Well," said the Head-Woodsman, addressing him, 
 " thank 3'ou for 3'our assistance; but I rather regret j'ou 
 came, for those fellows are capable of declaring that I 
 asked you to do so and consequently that I betrajTd the 
 secrets of the guild. If you will take my advice we had 
 better get away noiselessly, at once, and leave them to 
 think 3'ou were really ghosts." 
 
 " All the more," added Benoit, " that their wrath may 
 deprive me of their custom, which is no slight matter. I 
 hope they did not recognize Tiennet — but how the devil 
 was it that Tiennet got here in the nick of time ? " 
 
 " Didn't you bring him? " asked Huriel. 
 
 "That he didn't," said I. "I came on my own ac- 
 count, because of the stories they tell of your deviltries. 
 I was curious to see them ; but I swear to 3'ou those fel- 
 lows were too scared and the sight of their eyes was too 
 wide of the mark ever to have recognized me." 
 
 We were about to leave when the sound of angry voices 
 and an uproar like that of a fight was heard. 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " cried the monk, " what 's that now? I 
 think they are coming back and we have not 3^et done with 
 them. Quick, let 's get back into our disguises ! " 
 
 "No," said Benoit, listening, "I know what it is. I 
 met, as I came along through the castle cellars, four or 
 .five young fellows, one of whom is known to me ; and that 
 ■is Leonard, your Bourbonnais wood-chopper, Pere Bastien. 
 These lads were there from curiosity no doubt ; but the3'" 
 had got bewildered in the caverns, and I lent them m3' 
 
The Bagpipers. 381 
 
 lantern, telling them to wait for me. The bagpipers must 
 have met them and they are giving chase." 
 
 " It is more likeh'that they are being chased themselves 
 if there are not more than five of them," said HurieL 
 " Let ns go and see." 
 
 We were just starting when the noise and the footsteps 
 approached, and Carnat, Dore-Fratin, and eight others re- 
 turned to the cave, having, in fact, exchanged a few blows 
 with our comrades, and finding that they had to do with 
 real flesh and blood instead of spectres, were ashamed of 
 their cowardice and so came back again. The}' reproached 
 the Huriels for having betrayed them and driven them 
 into an ambush. The Head-Woodsman defended him- 
 self, and the monk tried to secure peace by taking it all 
 upon himself, telling the bagpipers to repent of their sins. 
 But the}^ felt themselves in good force, for others kept 
 coming back to their support ; and when they found their 
 numbers nearly complete they raised their voices to a roar, 
 and went from reproaches to threats and from threats to 
 blows. Seeing there was no wa}' to avoid an encounter, 
 all the more because they had drunk a good deal of brandy 
 while the tests were going on and were more or less in- 
 toxicated, we put ourselves in an attitude of defence, 
 pressing one against the other, and showing front to the 
 enemy on all sides, like oxen when a troop of wolves at- 
 tack them at pasture. The monk, having alread}' lost his 
 morality and his Latin, now lost his patience also, and 
 seizing the pipe of an instrument which had got broken in 
 the scrimmage, he laid about him as hard as a man well 
 could, in defence of his own skin. 
 
 Unluckil}^ Joseph was weakened by the loss of blood, 
 and Huriel, who bore upon his heart the recollection of 
 Malzac's death, was more fearful of giving blows than of 
 
382 The Bagpipers. 
 
 receiving them. Anxious to protect his father, who sprang 
 into the fra}^ hke an old lion, he put himself in great 
 danger. Benoit fought very well for a man who was just 
 out of an illness ; but the truth is we were only six against 
 fifteen or sixteen, and as the blood rose anger cp.me, and 
 I saw our enemies opening their knives. I had onl}" time 
 to fling myself before the Head-Woodsman, who, still un- 
 willing to draw his blade, was the object of their bitterest 
 anger. I received a wound in the arm, which I hardly 
 felt at the moment, but which hindered my fighting on, 
 and I thought the day was lost, when, by great good luck, 
 my four comrades decided to come and see what the noise 
 was about. The reinforcement was sufficient, and together 
 we put to flight, for the second time and the last, our ex- 
 hausted enemies, taken in the rear and ignorant how many 
 were upon them. 
 
 I saw that victor}' was ours and that none of m}' friends 
 were much hurt ; then, suddenly perceiving that I had got 
 more than I wanted, I fell like a log and neither knew nor 
 felt another thing. 
 
The Bagpipers. 383 
 
 ' THIRTY-SECOND EVENING. 
 
 When I came to my senses I found mj^self in the same 
 bed with Joseph, and it took me some time to recover full 
 consciousness. "When I did, I saw I was in Benoit's own 
 room, that the bed was good, the sheets very white, and 
 my arm bound up after a bleeding. The sun was shining 
 through the yellow bed-curtains, and, except for a sense 
 of weakness, I felt no ill. I turned to Joseph, who was a 
 good deal cut about the head, but in no way to disfigure 
 him, and who said, as he kissed me : " Well, m}' Tiennet, 
 here we are, as in the old daj's, when we fought the boys 
 of Verneuil on our way back from catechism, and were 
 left lying together at the bottom of a ditch. You have 
 protected me to your hurt, just as you did then, and I can 
 never thank you as I ought ; but you know, and I think 
 you always knew, that my heart is not as churlish as my 
 tongue." 
 
 " I have alwaj's known it," I replied, returning his kiss, 
 " and if I have again protected 3'ou I am ver}' glad of it. 
 But you must n't take too much for yourself. I had an- 
 other motive — " 
 
 Here I stopped, fearing I might give way and let out 
 Therence's name ; but just then a white hand drew back 
 the curtain, and there I saw a vision of Therence herself, 
 leaning towards me, while Mariton went round between 
 the bed and the wall to kiss and question her son. 
 
 Therence bent over me, as I said ; and I, quite over- 
 come and thinking I was dreaming, tried to rise and thank 
 
384 The Bagpiijers. 
 
 her for her visit and assure her I was out of danger, when 
 there ! hke a sick fool and blushing like a girl, I received 
 from her lips the finest kiss that ever recalled the dead. 
 
 "What are 3-ou doing, Therence?" I cried, grasping 
 her hands, which I could almost have eaten up. " Do you 
 want to make me crazy ? " 
 
 "I want to thank j^ou and love 3'ou all my life," she 
 answered, " for you have kept 3^our word to me ; 3'ou have 
 brought m}" father and m^^ brother back to me safe and 
 sound, and I know that all that 3'ou have done, all that has 
 happened to you, is because yon loved them and loved me. 
 Therefore I am here to nurse 3'ou and not to leave 3'ou as 
 long as 3'ou are ill." 
 
 "Ah, that's good, Therence ! " I said, sighing; " it is 
 more than I deserve. Please God not to let me get well, 
 for I don't know what would become of me afterwards." 
 
 "Afterwards?" said Pere Bastien, coming into the 
 room with Huriel and Brulette. " Come, daughter, what 
 shall we do with him afterwards ? " 
 
 " Afterwards?" said Therence, blushing scarlet for the 
 first time. 
 
 "Yes, Therence the Sincere," returned her father, 
 "speak as becomes a girl who never lies." 
 
 " Well, father, then afterioards^ I will never leave him, 
 either," she said. 
 
 " Go awaj', all of 3'ou ! " I cried ; " close the curtains ; 
 I want to get up and dress and dance and sing. I 'm not 
 ill ; I have paradise inside of me — " and so sa3'ing I fell 
 back in a faint, and saw and knew nothing more, except 
 that I felt, in a kind of a dream, that Therence was hold- 
 ing me in her arms and giving me remedies. 
 
 In the evening I felt better ; Joseph w^as alread3" about, 
 and I might have been, too, onl3^ the3' would n't let me ; 
 
The Bagpipers. 385 
 
 and I was made to spend the evening in bed, while the 
 rest sat and talked in the room, and my Thereuce, sitting 
 b}' my pillow, listened tenderl}' to what I said, letting me 
 ponr out in words all the balm that was in ni}' heart. 
 
 The monk talked with Benoit, the pair washing down 
 their conversation with several jorums of white wine, which 
 they swallowed under the guise of a restorative medicine. 
 Huriel and Brulette were together in a corner ; Joseph 
 with his mother and the Head-Woodsman in another. 
 
 Huriel was saying to Brulette: "I told you, the very 
 first day I saw 3'ou, when I showed you 3^our token in my 
 earring, that it should stay there forever unless the ear 
 itself came off. Well, the ear, though slit in the fight, is 
 still there, and the token, though rather bent, is in the ear 
 — see! The wound will heal, the token can be mended, 
 and everything will come all right, by the grace of God." 
 
 Mariton was saying to Pere Bastien : " What is going 
 to be the result of this fight? Those men are capable of 
 murdering my poor boy if he attempts to play his bagpipe 
 in this region." 
 
 " No," replied Pere Bastien, " all has happened for the 
 best; the}' have had a good lesson, and there were wit- 
 nesses enough outside of the brotherhood to keep them 
 from venturing to attack Joseph or an}' of us again. They 
 are capable of doing harm when, b}' force or persuasion, 
 they have brought the candidate to take an oath. But 
 Joseph took none ; he will, however, be silent because he 
 is generous. Tiennet will do the same, and so will our 
 young woodsmen by my advice and order. But your bag- 
 pipers know very well that if the}' touch a hair of our 
 heads all tongues will be loosened and the affair brought 
 to justice." 
 
 And the monk was saying to Benoit : " I can't laugh as 
 
 25 
 
386 The Bagpipers. 
 
 you do about the adventure, for I got into a passion which 
 compels me to confess and do penance. I can forgive 
 them the blows they tried to give me, but not those they 
 forced me to give them. Ah ! the prior of m}^ convent is 
 right enough to taunt me with my temper, and tell me I 
 ought to combat not onlj^ the old Adam in me but the old 
 peasant too, — that is, the man within me who loves wine 
 and fighting. Wine," continued the monk, sighing, and 
 filling his glass to the brim, "is conquered, thank God! 
 but I discovered this night that my blood is as quarrelsome 
 as ever, and that a mere tap could make me furious." 
 
 " But were n't 3'ou in a position of legitimate defence? " 
 said Benoit. " Come, come; you spoke to those fellows 
 in a proper manner, and you did n't strike till 3'ou were 
 obliged to." 
 
 " That's all very true," replied the friar, " but my evil 
 genius the prior will ask me questions, — he '11 pump the 
 truth out of me ; and I shall be forced to confess that in- 
 stead of doing it regretfulh', I was carried awa}' with the 
 pleasure of striking like a sledge-hammer, forgetting I had 
 a cassock on my back and thinking of the days when, 
 keeping my flocks in the Bourbonnais pastures, I went about 
 quarrelling with the other shepherds for the mere earthl}^ 
 vanity of proving I was the strongest and most obstinate 
 of them all." 
 
 Joseph was silent ; no doubt he felt badlj' at seeing two 
 such happ3' couples without the right to sulk at them, 
 after receiving such good support from Huriel and me. 
 The Head- Woodsman, who had a tender spot in his heart 
 for the fellow on account of his music, kept talking to him 
 of glory. Joseph made great efforts to witness the happi- 
 ness of others without showing jealousy ; and we had to 
 admit that, proud and cold as he was, there was in him an 
 
The Bagpipers. 887 
 
 uncommon force of will for self-conqnest. He remained 
 hidden, as I did, for some time in his mother's house, till 
 the marks of the fra}' were effaced ; for the secret of the 
 whole affair was very well kept by my comrades, though 
 Leonard, who behaved very boldly and yet judiciously, 
 threatened the bagpipers to reveal all to the authorities of 
 the canton, if they did not conduct themselves peacefully. 
 When we all got about again it was found that no one 
 was seriousl}' damaged, except Fere Carnat, whose wrist, 
 as it proved, I had dislocated, and a parlej' and settlement 
 ensued. It was agreed that Joseph should have certain 
 parishes ; and he had them assigned to him, though with 
 no intention of using his privilege. 
 
 I was rather more ill than I thought for ; not so much 
 on account of m\' wound, which was not severe, nor 3'et of 
 the blows that had been rained on my bod}', but because of 
 the bleeding the monk had done to me with the best inten- 
 tions.' a Huriel and Brulette had the charming amiability 
 to put off their marriage till ours could take place ; and a 
 mouth later, the two weddings were celebrated, — in fact, 
 there were three, for Benoit wished to acknowledge his 
 publich', and to celebrate the occasion with us. The 
 worth}' man, delighted to have had his heir so well taken 
 care of by Brulette, tried to get her to accept a gift of 
 some consequence, but she steadily refused, and throwing 
 herself into Mariton's arms she said: "Remember that 
 this dear woman was a mother to me for more than a dozen 
 years ; do you think I can take mone}' when I am not yet 
 out of her debt? " 
 
 "That maybe," said Mariton, " but 3'our bringing up 
 was nothing but honor and profit to me, whereas that of 
 my Chariot brought 3'ou trouble and insult." 
 
 " M}' dear friend," replied Brulette, "that very fact is 
 
388 The Bagpipers. 
 
 all that evens our account. I would glacll}' have made 
 3^our Jose happy in return for all 3'our goodness to me ; 
 but that did not depend on m}^ poor heart, and so to com- 
 pensate you for the grief I caused him, I was bound to 
 suffer all I did for your other child." 
 
 " There 's a girl for you ! " cried Benoit, wiping his big 
 round eyes, which were not used to shed tears. " Yes, 3-es, 
 indeed, there 's a girl ! — " and he could n't say any more. 
 
 To get even with Brulette, he was determined to pay 
 all the costs of her wedding, and mine into the bargain. 
 As he spared nothing and invited at least two hundred 
 guests, it cost him a prettj- sum, which he paid without 
 a murmur. 
 
 The monk promised faithfull}^ to be present, all the 
 more because the prior had kept him on bread and water 
 for a month and the embargo on his gullet was raised the 
 YQvy day of the wedding. He did not abuse his libertj', 
 however, and behaved in such a pleasant wa}^ that we all 
 became as fast friends with him as Huriel and Benoit had 
 previously been. 
 
 Joseph kept up his courage till the day of the wedding. 
 In the morning he was pale, and apparently deep in 
 thought ; but as we left the church he took the bagpipe 
 from my father-in-law's hand, and played a wedding 
 march which he had composed that verj' night in our 
 honor. It was such a beautiful piece of music, and was 
 so applauded, that his gloom disappeared, and he played 
 triumphantly his best dance airs all the evening, and quite 
 forgot himself and his troubles the whole time the festivities 
 lasted. 
 
 He followed us back to Chassin, and there the Head- 
 Woodsman, having settled his affairs, addressed us one 
 and all, as follows : — 
 
Tlie Bagpipers. 389 
 
 " M}' children, you are now happy, and rich for countr}' 
 folks ; I leave 3"ou the business of this forest, which is a 
 good one, and all I possess elsewhere is 3'ours. You can 
 spend the rest of the season here, and during that time 
 3-0U can decide on 3'our plans for the future. You belong 
 to different parts of the country- ; 3'our tastes and habits 
 are not alike. Tr3', m3' sons, both of you, to find what 
 kind of life will make your wives happ3' and keep them 
 from regretting their marriages now so well begun. I 
 shall return within a 3'ear. Let me have two fine grand- 
 children to welcome me. You can then tell me what 3^ou 
 have decided to do. Take 3'our time ; a thing that seems 
 good to-da3^ ma3^ seem worse, or better, to-morrow." 
 
 ''^ Where are going, father?" said Therence, clasping 
 him in her arms in fear. 
 
 '' I am going to travel about with Joseph, and pla3" our 
 music as we go," answered Pere Bastien. " He needs 
 it ; and as for me, I have hungered for it these thirt3* 
 3'ears." 
 
 Neither tears nor entreaties could keep him, and that even- 
 ing we escorted them half wa3' to Saint Severe. There, 
 as we embraced Pere Bastien with man3' tears, Joseph said 
 to us : " Don't be unhapp3\ I know ver3' well he is sac- 
 rificing the sight of your happiness to m3^ good, for he has 
 a father's heart for me and knows I am the most to be 
 pitied of his children ; but perhaps I shall not need him 
 long ; and I have an idea 3'ou will see him sooner than he 
 thinks for.'* Then he added, kneeling before m3^ wife and 
 Huriel's, " Dear sisters, I have offended both of 3'ou, and 
 I have been punished enough b3' m3' own thoughts. "Will 
 you not forgive me, so that I may forgive myself and go 
 awa3' more peacefully?" 
 
 They both kissed him with the utmost affection, and 
 
390 The Bagpipers. 
 
 then he came to each of us, and said, with surprising 
 warmtli of heart, the l^indest and most affectionate words 
 he had ever said in his life, begging us to forgive his 
 faults and to hold him in remembrance. 
 
 We stood on a hill to watch them as long as possible. 
 Pere Bastien played vigorously on his bagpipe, turning 
 round from time to time to wave his cap and blow kisses 
 with his hand. 
 
 Joseph did not turn round ; he walked in silence, with 
 his head down as if in thought or in grief. I could not 
 help saying to Huriel that I saw on his face as he left us 
 that strange look I had seen in his childhood, which, in 
 our parts, is thought the sign of a man doomed to evil. 
 
 Our tears were dried, little b}' little, in the sunshine of 
 happiness and hope. My beautiful dear wife made a greater 
 effort than the rest of us, for never before being parted 
 from her father, she seemed to have lost a portion of her 
 soul in losing him ; and I saw that in spite of her courage, 
 her love for me, and the happiness she felt in the prospect 
 of becoming a mother, there was alwa3's something lack- 
 ing for which she sighed in secret. So m}^ mind was 
 constantly turning on how to arrange our lives to live in 
 future with Pere Bastien, were it even necessary to sell my 
 property, give up my family, and follow my wife wherever 
 she wished to live. 
 
 It was just the same with Brulette, who was determined 
 to consult only her husband's tastes, specially when her 
 old grandfather, after a brief illness, died quieth', as he 
 had lived, protected by the care and love of his dear 
 daughter. 
 
 "Tiennet," she often said to me, "I see plainly' that 
 Berry must give waj' to the Bourbonnais in you and me. 
 Huriel is too fond of this free, strong life and change of 
 
The Bagpipers. 391 
 
 air to endure our sleep}' plains. He makes me so happ}' I 
 will never let him feel a secret pain. I have no family 
 now in our parts ; all m}' friends there, except 3'ou, have 
 hurt me ; I live only for Huriel. Where he is happy there 
 I am happiest." 
 
 The winter found us still in the forest of Chassin. We 
 had stripped that beautiful region of its beauty, for the 
 old oak wood was its finest feature. The snow covered 
 the prostrate bodies of the noble trees, flung head-foremost 
 into the river, which held them, cold and dead, in its ice. 
 One morning Huriel and I were lunching beside a fire of 
 brushwood which our wives had lighted to warm our soup, 
 and we were looking at them with delight, for both were 
 in a fair way to keep the promise they had made to P^re 
 Bastien to give him descendants, when suddenly they 
 both cried out, and Therence, forgetting she was not so 
 light as she once was, sprang almost across the fire to kiss 
 a man whom the smoke of damp leaves had hidden from 
 our sight. It was her good father, who soon had neither 
 arms nor lips enough to reply to our welcome. After the 
 first jo}' was over, we asked him about Joseph, and then 
 his face darkened and his e3'es filled with tears. 
 
 " He told 3'ou that you would see me sooner than I 
 expected," said Pere Bastion, sadly ; " he may have had a 
 presentiment of his fate, and God, who softened the hard 
 shell of his heart at that moment, no doubt counselled 
 him to reflect upon himself." 
 
 We dared not inquire further. Pere Bastien sat down, 
 opened his sack and drew forth the pieces of a broken 
 bagpipe. 
 
 " This is all that remains of that poor lad," he said. 
 " He could not escape his star. I thought I had softened 
 his pride, but, alas ! in everything connected with music 
 
392 The Bac/j){pers. 
 
 he grew dail}' more hanght}- and morose. Perhaps it was 
 m}' fault. I tried to console him for his love troubles by 
 proving to him the happiness of his art. From me, at 
 least, he got the sweets of praise, but the more he sucked 
 them the greater his thirst. We went far, — as far even 
 as the mountains of the Morvan, where there are many 
 bagpipers as jealous as those in these parts, not so much 
 for their selfish interests as for their conceit in their 
 talents. Joseph was imprudent ; he used language that 
 offended them at a supper to which they hospitabl}' invited 
 him with the kindest intentions. Unhappih', I was not 
 there ; not feeling verj' well, and having no reason to fear 
 a misunderstanding, I stayed away. He was absent all 
 night, but that often happened, and as I had noticed he was 
 rather jealous of the applause people were pleased to give 
 to my old ditties, I was apt not to go with him. In the 
 morning I went out, still not feeling well, and I heard in 
 the village that a broken bagpipe had been picked up at 
 the edge of a pond. I ran to see it, and knew it at a 
 glance. Then I went to the place where it was found, 
 and breaking the ice of the pond, I found his poor bod3% 
 quite frozen. There were no marks of violence on it, and 
 the bagpipers swore that they had parted from him, so- 
 berly and without a quarrel, about a league from the spot. I 
 searched in vain for the cause of his death. The place was 
 in a very wild region, where the law fears the peasant and 
 the peasant fears nought but the devil. I was forced to 
 content myself with their foolish remarks and reasons. 
 In those parts they firmly believe a great deal that we 
 should laugh at here ; for instance, they think 3'ou can't 
 be a musician without selling 3'our soul to hell ; and that 
 Satan tears the bagpipe from the player's hands and breaks 
 it upon his back, which drives him wild and maddens him, 
 
The Bagpipers. 393 
 
 and then he kills himself. That is how they explain the 
 revenge which bagpipers often take upon each other ; and 
 the latter never contradict, for it suits them to be feared 
 and to escape all consequences. Indeed, all musicians are 
 held in such fear and disrepute that I could get no atten- 
 tion to my complaints, and if I had remained in the neigh- 
 borhood I might even have been accused of summoning 
 the devil to rid me of m}' companion." 
 
 " Alas!" said Brulette, weeping, " my poor Jose, my 
 poor dear companion ! Good God, what are we to say to 
 his mother?" 
 
 " We must tell her," said Pere Bastien, sadlj^ " not to 
 let Chariot take a fancy to music. It is too harsh a mis- 
 tress for folks like us ; we have not head enough to stand 
 on the heights to which it leads without turning giddy." 
 
 "Oh, father!" cried Therence, "if you would only 
 give it up ! God knows what misfortunes it ma\" 3-et bring 
 upon you." 
 
 "Be comforted, my darling," said Pere Bastien, "I 
 have given it up ! I return to live with my famih', to be 
 happy with m}' grandchildren, whom I dream of already 
 as they dance at my knee. Where shall we settle our- 
 selves, my dear children?" 
 
 '' Where you wish," said Therence. 
 Where our husbands wish," said Brulette. 
 
 •' Where my wife wishes-/' I cried. 
 
 ■' Where you all wish,'' said Huriel. 
 
 ■'Well," said Pere Bastien, " as I know 3'our likings 
 and 3'our means, and as, moreover, I bring you back a bit 
 of mone}^, I 've been thinking as I trudged along that we 
 could all be satisfied. When j'ou wish the peach to ripen 
 you mustn't pull out the stone. The peach-stone is the 
 propert}^ which Tiennet owns at Nohant. We will buy 
 
394 The Bagpipers. 
 
 other land that adjoins it, and build a good house for all 
 of us. I shall be content to watch the wheat-fields, — glad 
 not to fell God's noble trees, but to make mv little sonsfs 
 in the olden fashion, at evening, bj- m}- door, among mine 
 own, instead of drinking the wine of others and making 
 jealousies. Huriel likes to roam, and his wife, just now, 
 is of the same turn of mind. They can undertake such 
 enterprises as we have now finished in this forest (where 
 I see you have worked well), and they can spend the fine 
 season in the woods. If their 3'oung family is in the way, 
 Therence has strength and heart enough to manage a 
 double nest, and 3'ou will all meet together in the autumn 
 with increased pleasure, until m}^ son, long after he has 
 closed my ej-es, will feel the need of resting all the year 
 round, as I feel it now." 
 
 All that my father-in-law said came to pass, just as he 
 advised and prophesied. The good God blessed our obe- 
 dience ; and as life is a pasty mixed of sadness and con- 
 tent, poor Mariton often came to us to weep, and the 
 worthy monk, as often, came to laugh. 
 
 THE ENT). 
 
0f ^taittraiiljf 
 
 ROMANCES OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS 
 
 A NEW EDITION in 48 volumes of the entire Standard 
 •^-^ Edition of Dumas, formerly published in 60 volumes. 
 With 48 frontispieces in etching and photogravure and 96 full- 
 page pictures in half-tone. 48 vols. Decorated cloth. Gilt 
 top. S48.00. Half crushed morocco, gilt top, $132.00. 
 
 Romances of tlie Reign of 
 Henry II. 
 
 The Two Dianas, 2 vols. 
 The Duke's Page, 2 vols. 
 The Horoscope, and The Brigand, 
 
 1 voL 
 6 vols. 12IZ10. In box, $5.00 
 
 The Valois Romances 
 
 Marguerite de Valois, 1 vol. 
 The Forty-Five, 1 vol. 
 La Dame de Monsorean, 1 voL 
 S vols, laiuo. In box, $3.00 
 
 The D'Artagnan Romances 
 
 The Three Musketeers, 2 vols. 
 
 Twenty Years After, 2 vols. 
 
 Vicomte de Bragelonne, 4 vols. 
 (Including " Bragelonne," 
 " Louise de Valliere," and 
 "The Iron Mask.") 
 
 8 vols. 12mo, In box, $8.00 
 
 Romances of the Regency and 
 Louis XV. 
 
 The Chevalier d'Harmental, 
 
 1vol. 
 The Regent's Daughter, 1 vol. 
 Olympe de Cleves, 2 vols. 
 4 vols. 12mo. In box, $4.0O 
 
 The Marie Antoinette Ro- 
 mances 
 
 Memoirs of a Physician, 3 vols. 
 
 The Queen's Necklace, 2 vols. 
 
 Ange Pitou, 2 vols. 
 
 Comtesse de Chamy, 3 vols. 
 
 Chevalier de Maison-Rouge, 
 
 IvoL 
 Chauvelin's Will, The Velvet 
 
 Necklace, and Blanche de 
 
 Beaulieu, 1 vol. 
 13 vols. 13mo. In box, $13.00 
 
 The Napoleon Romances 
 
 The Companions of Jehu, 2 vols. 
 The Whites and the Blues, 2 vols. 
 The She-Wolves of Machecoul, 
 2 vols. 
 
 6 vols. 13mo. In box, $600 
 
 Historical Romances 
 
 Agenor de Mauleon, 2 vols. 
 
 Ascanio, 1 voL 
 
 The War of Women, 1 vol. 
 
 Sylvandire, 1 vol. 
 
 The Black Tulip, and Tales of 
 
 the Caucasus, 1 vol. 
 Black, the Story of a Dog, 1 vol. 
 
 7 vols. 13mo. In box, $7.00 
 
 The Count of Monte Cristo 
 3 vols. 13mo. In box, 83.00 
 
HANDY LIBRARY SETS 
 
 THE NOVELS OF JANE AUSTEN 
 
 TLLUSTRATED with 12 photogravure plates from 
 
 drawings by Edmund H. Garrett. 6 vols. 12mo. 
 
 Decorated cloth, gilt top, in box, $6.00. Half crushed 
 
 morocco, gilt top, $16.50. 
 
 Sense and Sensibility, 1 voL Mansfield Park, 1 vol. 
 
 Pride and Prejudice, 1 voL Emma, 1 voL 
 
 Nortlianger Abbey, and Persua- Lady Susan, The Watson Let- 
 
 sion, 1 voL ters, etc., 1 voL 
 
 GEORGE SAND'S NOVELS 
 
 "ITH frontispieces in photogravure and etching. 10 
 
 vols., 12mo. Decorated cloth, gilt top, in box, 
 
 $10.00. Half crushed morocco, gilt top, $27.50. 
 
 Mauprat, 1 voL Nanon, 1 voL 
 
 Antonia, 1 vol. Fadette, 1 vol. 
 
 Monsieur Sylvestre, 1 voL Francois the Waif, 1 vol. 
 
 The Snow Man, 1 voL Master Mosaic Workers and the 
 
 Miller of Angibault, 1 vol. Devil's Pool, 1 voL 
 
 The Bagpipers, 1 vol 
 
 BALZAC'S NOVELS AND STORIES 
 
 A com:6die humaine of honor:^ de 
 
 BALZAC. Comprising Scenes from Private Life, 
 Scenes in Provincial Life, Scenes from Parisian Life, Scenes 
 from Military Life, Scenes from Political Life, Scenes from 
 Country Life, and Philosophical Studies. With photo- 
 gravure frontispieces, by Goupil and Company, from pictures 
 by noted French artists. 39 vols. 12mo. Decorated cloth, 
 gilt top, S39.00. Half crushed morocco, extra, gilt top, 
 S107.25. Sold only in sets. 
 
 TEN THOUSAND A- YEAR 
 
 Y SAMUEL WARREN. Unabridged edition. 
 With frontispieces. 3 vols. 12mo. Decorated cloth, 
 gilt top, $3.00. Half crushed morocco, gilt top, S8.25. 
 
OF STANDARD NOVELISTS 
 
 THE NOVELS, ROMANCES, AND 
 MEMOIRS OF ALPHONSE DAUDET 
 
 WITH 16 photogravure plates and 32 full-pa-ge pic- 
 tures. 16 vols. 12mo. Decorated cloth, gilt top, 
 in box, S16.00. Half cmshed morocco, gilt top, S44.00. 
 
 The Nabob, 2 vols. 
 
 Fromont and Risler, and Robert 
 
 Helmont, 1 voL 
 Numa Roumestan, and Rose and 
 
 Ninette, 1 vol. 
 Little-What's-His-Name, and 
 
 Scenes and Fancies, 1 voL 
 The Little Parish Church, and 
 
 The Evangelist, 1 vol. 
 Tartaiin of Tarascon, Tartarin 
 
 on the Alps, and Artists* 
 
 Wives, 1 vol. 
 Port Tarascon, and La Fedor, 
 
 1vol. 
 
 Sappho, Between the Flies and 
 
 the Footlights, and Arlatan's 
 
 Treasure, 1 voL 
 Kings in Exile, 1 vol. 
 Monday Tales, Letters from My 
 
 Mill, Letters to an Absent 
 
 One, 1 vol. 
 Memories of a Man of Letters, 
 
 Notes on Life, Thirty Years 
 
 in Paris, and Ultima, 1 vol. 
 The Immortal, and The Struggle 
 
 for Life, 1 vol. 
 The Support of the Family, 1 voL 
 Jack, 2 vols. 
 
 THE ROMANCES OF VICTOR HUGO 
 
 T^^TITH 28 portraits and plates. 14 vols. 12mo. Dec- 
 orated cloth, in box, SI 4.00. Half crushed mo 
 rocco, gilt top, 838.50. 
 
 Les Miserables, 5 vols. 
 Toilers of the Sea, 2 vols. 
 Ninety-Three, 1 voL 
 Notre Dame, 2 vols. 
 
 The Man who Laughs, 2 vols. 
 Hans of Iceland, 1 voL 
 Bug-Jargal, Claude Gueux, Last 
 Day of a Condemned, etc 1 voL 
 
 SAMUEL LOVER'S NOVELS 
 
 ITH photogravure frontispieces. 4 vols. 12mo. 
 
 Decorated cloth, gilt top, in box, S4.00. Half 
 
 crushed morocco, gilt top, SI 1.00. 
 
 Rory O'More, 1 vol. Handy Andy, 1 vol. 
 
 Treasure Trove, 1 voL Legends of Ireland, 1 vol. 
 
HANDY LIBRARY SETS 
 
 THE NOVELS AND ROMANCES OF 
 EDWARD BULWER LYTTON 
 
 (liOBD LYTTON) 
 
 ^^^TH 40 plates, etched bj W. H. W. Bicknell, from 
 drawings by Edmund H. Garrett. 31 vols. 12mo. 
 Decorated cloth, gilt top, $31.00. Half crushed morocco, 
 gilt top, $85.25. 
 
 The Gaxton Novels Bomances 
 
 The Caxtons, 2 vols. Eugene Aram, 1 voL 
 
 My Novel, 3 vols. Pilgrims of the Rhine, Leila, 
 
 What will He do with It? 2 vols. and Calderon, etc., 1 vol. 
 
 Novels of life and Manners Zanoni, and Zicci, 1 voL 
 
 Pelham, and Falkland, 2 vols. ^ Strange Story, and The 
 
 The Disowned, 1 voL Haunted and the Haunters, 
 
 Paul Clifford, 1 vol. ^ "^^^ 
 
 Godolphin, 1 voL Historical Bomances 
 
 Ernest Maltravers, 1 voL Devereux, 1 vol. 
 
 Alice, 1 voL Last Days of Pompeii, 1 vol. 
 
 Night and Morning, 1 voL Rienzi, 1 voL 
 
 Lucretia, 1 voL Last of the Barons, 2 vols. 
 
 Kenelm Chillingly, eta, 2 vols. Harold, 1 voL 
 
 The Parisians, 2 vols. p^^ ^^ j^^^^ ^ ^^^ 
 
 THE NOVELS AND POEMS OF 
 GEORGE ELIOT 
 
 \\f ITH 10 photogravure plates and 10 full-page pictures 
 
 in half-tone. 10 vols. 12mo. Decorated cloth, gilt 
 
 top, in box, $10.00. Half crushed moroc*co, gilt top, $27.50. 
 
 Romola, 1 vol. Scenes of Clerical Life, Silas 
 Adam Bede, 1 voL Mamer, etc., 1 vol. 
 
 The Mill on the Floss, 1 voL Middlemarch, 2 vols. 
 
 Felix Holt, and Theophrastus Daniel Deronda, 2 vols. 
 
 Such, 1 vol. Poems and Essays, 1 vol. 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, Publishers 
 254 WASHINGTON STREET • BOSTON, MASS. 
 
- ^TTT. OTsr THE LAST DATE 
 
 THIS BOOK^XS^^^B OK TH ^ 
 
 "T^oF 25 CENTS 
 AN INITIAL FINE ^[ ^o return 
 
 Wiuu BE ASSESSED ^^^^^l^ rHB PENALTY 
 
 This book on the date du fourth 
 
 ;r." -CREASe^TO SO^CENTS^ ^^^^^^^ ,,, 
 DAY AND TO $10" ^^^^___ 
 
 OVERDUE- 
 
 (i*-. 
 
 JUl 16 193S 
 
 3Dsc'53VH 
 4A,pr '60BM 
 
 MAR 21 "^^ 
 
 M^R tt 
 
 JS&CIB. 
 
 Jt'f 2 
 
 ^'7& 
 
 ''^^ U 1344 
 
 £\\-^' 
 
 ^\'t 
 
 U. 
 
 s> 
 
 A'^ 
 
 /I* 
 
 ^ 
 
 i9]un'521PR 
 
 LD •2l-50)ii-8,32 
 
TD JHDOU 
 
 
 V.*.' A 
 
iiiil 
 
 iilii 
 
 ,illilliiUiil 
 
 iiiil 
 
 
 ii