THE DEVIL'S 
 PLOUGHJU45 
 
 ANNff FARQUHAR
 
 Works of 
 Anna Farquhar 
 
 The Devil's Plough 
 
 With coloured frontispiece from 
 
 drawing by Frank T. Merrill. 
 1 vol., library 12mo, cloth, gilt top, 
 
 Her Boston Experiences 
 
 Illustrated by Frank O. Small. 
 
 1 vol., crown IGmo, cloth, gilt top, 
 
 $1.25. 
 
 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
 200 Summer St., Boston, Mass.
 
 " ' / have the honour to accept Monsieur de 
 Bouteville's challenge'" 
 
 (See page 232) 
 From ;i painting by Frank T. Merrill
 
 ,, 
 Che Devil's plough 
 
 15he FLomaLfitic History 
 of a Soul Conflict J? vfc 
 
 By 
 ANNA FARQUHAR 
 
 Author of "Her Boston Experiences," etc. 
 
 With a Frontispiece in Colour by 
 FRANK T. MERIULL 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 L. C. PAGE <a COMPANY 
 
 MDCCCCI
 
 Copyright, 1901 
 BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 (INCORPORATED) 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Colonial l^wsa 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co 
 Boston, Mass,, U. S. A,
 
 DEDICATED 
 TO MY HUSBAND
 
 Author's Preface 
 
 MY excuse for working out the life herein 
 recorded may be traced back to a sympathetic 
 acquaintance with that northwestern territory of 
 North American Indian romance and adventure, 
 civilised and partially tutored into the Christian 
 faith by the unselfish martyrdom of Jesuit mis- 
 sionaries, whose courage and fortitude under bar- 
 barous persecution has never been excelled and 
 seldom equalled in the history of the world. 
 Following close upon this acquaintance I, for 
 the first time, met with Mr. Parkman's glowing 
 history of the adventurous experiences encoun- 
 tered by these same Catholics in New France, 
 and the combined result was a haunting impres- 
 sion of the romantic possibilities imbedded in that 
 period of the French missionary's existence lead- 
 ing up to his life of exploration and martyrdom 
 among the Indians. 
 
 And so Father Gaston was born into the world 
 of fiction, and his progenitor indulges the hope 
 that this missionary's personal experiences may
 
 viii Author's Preface 
 
 approach somewhere near in interest those of his 
 human prototypes. 
 
 The French court of Anne of Austria and 
 Mazarin, whose atmosphere made work for the 
 Devil's Plough, was to some extent responsible 
 for the Jesuit decadence beginning to prevail at 
 that period. Jn this Parisian world of folly, 
 mantled in false piety, Gaston L'Artanges, the 
 celebrated preacher of Paris, developed both the 
 weeds and flowers of his complicated nature ; and 
 from out his great weakness there grew his abiding 
 strength.
 
 I 
 
 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Chapter I 
 
 NIGHT hung over Normandy. The 
 river Seine, dotted with reflected stars 
 and moon-glints, flowed sleepily between 
 silent shores ; the moon looked in and out 
 of isolated cloud-banks drifting along the 
 firmament high above this Norman country, 
 whose memories were bathed in centuries of 
 moonlight. A highway followed the right 
 bank of the Seine, but the only sound audi- 
 ble upon it, above that of lapping waters 
 and whispering leaves, came from the hoofs 
 of a small bay mare led by a solitary, noise- 
 less horseman, clad in black garments, whose 
 colour merged the wearer into the trees' shad- 
 ows he stepped upon as they stretched out 
 across the moonlit road.
 
 12 The Devil's Plough 
 
 The night being warmed and sweetened 
 by the moist breath of early spring vegeta- 
 tion, the man walked along bareheaded for 
 some time, once stopping incidentally to 
 bathe his face and water the horse in the 
 river. But presently, after a lengthy halt, 
 during which the mare cropped grass at the 
 edge of the road while her master gazed 
 abstractedly across the water at the towers 
 of a parish church, the man, with an irreso- 
 lute sigh, donned his hat and urged his 
 horse to a swifter gait. The peculiar shape 
 of the hat he now wore marked the traveller 
 a Jesuit priest of the seventeenth century. 
 
 " Marie ! " spoke the Jesuit to his pretty 
 mare, who turned her head affectionately at 
 sound of her name uttered in his character- 
 istically smooth, open voice, " Marie, hast 
 thou heard that the soul rides easily whose 
 steed is the grace of God ? " The mare 
 looked at him in search of intelligible com- 
 mands, in lieu of which she turned away. 
 The priest continually muttered disconnected 
 phrases and quotations until he reached a 
 point where, after pursuing a direct course 
 for some distance, the road and river together
 
 The Devil's Plough 13 
 
 made an abrupt bend, turning them both 
 slightly toward the northeast. 
 
 At sight of this bend, where the river 
 bank became steep, and so elevated the road 
 somewhat above the level of the water, the 
 priest hurriedly crossed himself, then said 
 aloud, reminiscently, " This is where, as a 
 lad, I met and wrestled with Satan, Marie, 
 barely a league from Great Andelys, 
 bed and supper, Marie Ah ! Jesu 
 Christus ! " 
 
 He gave a cry of mental agony and 
 pointed to the shadow of a wide-spreading 
 tree. " Satan, again I see thee hiding there ! 
 Come out ! Face thy foe to the front or get 
 back, to hell ! Thou'st come to bear me 
 company ? Truly, I'm no craven heart ! I'll 
 have it out with thee." The man's face was 
 distorted with fear; the beast trembled. 
 
 " Come on ! " cried the priest. " On 
 guard ! " He took a guard position, hold- 
 ing an imaginary sword, his eyes stretched 
 in terror. But suddenly the vision passed, 
 the priest's arms dropped to his sides ; he 
 wrapped his cassock protectingly closer and 
 moved on beside the mare.
 
 14 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Putting his eyes in custody, he looked no 
 longer at surrounding objects; the expres- 
 sion of his face suggested some mental ar- 
 gument proceeding vigorously behind his 
 broad brow. 
 
 " No ! no ! " he exclaimed aloud. " The 
 points are ill taken ! Satan, thou art not 
 the hand at argumentation thou art reputed 
 to be." He glanced back over his shoulder. 
 " * Happy is the man,' says the master of 
 ascetics, ( who can reject every distracting 
 thought and can centre himself completely 
 in a holy compunction.' ' Happiness is the 
 heaven of the body as of the soul. Thy 
 road leads through heaven to hell. A man 
 can but choose, then wear the shoes of his 
 own making. Satan, I love thee not, but 
 thy company entertains ; one hour of it is 
 worth a year in purgatory. A man must be 
 lord and ruler of his actions, not their ser- 
 vants and slaves, so said A Kempis, who 
 knew Whoa, Marie ! Is Satan in thy 
 saddle, that thou standst on thy hind legs ? 
 Holy Mother ! what comes ? " 
 
 Drawing the mare to one side of the road, 
 into the heavy shadow, the priest stood at
 
 The Devil's Plough 15 
 
 her bridle, watching a party of fleeing horse- 
 men gallop noisily past. They broke dis- 
 agreeably upon the silent beauty of the 
 night with their oaths and brutal shouts. 
 
 " Knaves riding to the gallows unawares," 
 muttered the priest. Then, when their dis- 
 turbance faded off into the night, he mounted 
 his mare and rode rapidly along the road 
 toward an object gradually looming in the 
 distance, evidently the high walls of a castle 
 or country-house. Marie trotted along 
 steadily in pursuit of supper ; but suddenly 
 her sensitive nostrils dilated, she began to 
 sniff the air inquiringly. The road before 
 her being obscured momentarily by a cloud 
 shading the moon, her delicate fore feet 
 struck some large object lying across it, at 
 which she stumbled. 
 
 The Jesuit slipped from his saddle, caught 
 her head, and felt with his hands beneath 
 her feet for what seemed to be the body of 
 a man. Yes ; there were more bodies, 
 two, probably half a dozen, and two 
 horses. What was that he heard ? Another 
 horse neighing to Marie from the grove 
 beyond. It must have strayed from this
 
 1 6 The Devil's Plough 
 
 company, for all the bodies were dressed in 
 riding-clothes. Were the men dead, drunk, 
 or sleeping in the highway ? The moon 
 shone out. He felt one man's heart. Dead ! 
 Another man's, dead, also, Jesu ! Alas ! 
 Dastard's work ! Ah ! The troop of horse- 
 men he had met ! That was it ! They were 
 forest robbers fleeing with stolen booty, and 
 these were soldiers returning from the late 
 campaign in Bavaria. Were they Norman 
 cadets ? Yes, yes. Alas ! And of his broth- 
 er's company ? He turned over a large man 
 lying prone on his face. Could it be ? David, 
 his brother's body trooper ! Holy Mother ! 
 Who else might be there ? Eagerly, with 
 trembling hands, the Jesuit searched among 
 the dead for the body of his only living 
 relative. Yes, yes. Tender Mother, have 
 pity ! It was he ! But there was yet breath. 
 
 " Brother ! " The dying man at this call 
 opened his eyes. 
 
 " Gaston," he whispered in return, his 
 eyes dilating. " Ah ! The end ! We came 
 
 from the wars booty Bloody Jean 
 
 from the deep wood set upon us 
 outnumbered. I see Heloise ! Ah, He-
 
 The Devil's Plough 17 
 
 loise ! " He fell back into silence. Marie 
 whinnied and was answered by the dead 
 men's horses straying along the road. 
 
 The Jesuit clung to the body. " No ! 
 No ! " he cried. " Stay ! Stay for abso- 
 lution ! Go and sin no more." He began 
 the death prayers, but they were said and 
 absolution given to a body whose spirit had 
 entered into eternity. The moon went 
 under a thick cloud. The Jesuit knelt 
 there alone with the dead and his own heart, 
 a fiery furnace built of emotions not to be 
 quenched even by the holy dews of heaven. 
 
 For a long time he knelt there. Marie 
 neighed for her supper impatiently, but un- 
 heeded, until at last, brushing away some 
 human tears from eyes long disciplined to 
 show no recognition of personal ties, the 
 tall, strong man in the cassock arose, and, 
 lifting the body of his brother in his arms, 
 laid it across Marie's back. He gently en- 
 couraged the mare to bear the gruesome 
 burden, which he supported with one hand, 
 the other guiding the horse by the bridle. 
 This melancholy procession moved slowly 
 along the road toward the Great House of
 
 1 8 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Andelys, the birthplace of these two broth- 
 ers. The Jesuit walked wearily ; his head 
 fell forward, weighed down with sorrow and 
 other contending emotions not revealed. 
 Once he muttered, audibly, " Sin ! Mortal 
 sin ! Sin, bringing death to the soul." 
 
 Upon reaching the woodlands skirting 
 the home of his boyhood, the Jesuit paused, 
 shielded his eyes with one hand, and looked 
 off at the house inquiringly. "Yes, the 
 light burns in the oriel window. It can be 
 done. Jean and the others are asleep. Ad 
 major em Dei gloriam. It may be even so. 
 Who knows? The light has burned day 
 and night for three centuries but no other 
 candle is at hand without waking the house. 
 Secretly, brother, I'll lay thee among our 
 ancestors. But I am a prie,st, thou shalt 
 have all holy prayers to consecrate thy re- 
 pose, and thou shalt be laid in holy ground." 
 He lifted the burden from off the mare, who 
 quickly began to nibble grass contentedly ; 
 then, raising the body upon his own strong 
 shoulders, the priest slowly, carefully made 
 his way toward the house, to a point directly 
 beneath the shining spot of light, plainly
 
 The Devil's Plough 19 
 
 visible in a great window. There he laid 
 his burden down, making a short prayer 
 over it. 
 
 He approached the west wall of his child- 
 hood home, built in the Burgundian style, 
 simple and elegant. The moonlight clearly 
 defined the square-headed windows divided 
 by mullions ranging on either side of the 
 noble oriel. The high-pitched roof, resting 
 upon a figured cornice boldly sculptured 
 with foliage, could be seen by looking up, 
 something the priest did frequently, as if 
 fearing observation from the sleeping-rooms 
 at the top of the great manor-house. Con- 
 science conceals eyes and ears with which to 
 see and hear at its own convenience. He 
 walked directly to a small door screened by 
 thick ivy. This he tried with success, for it 
 slid to one side easily at his peculiar twist of 
 a metal lion's head attached to the centre. 
 
 Again he took up his burden, and 
 mounted a narrow winding stairway, which 
 brought him out directly beneath a shrine 
 built within the oriel window, and where a 
 single candle of unusual size burned. The 
 Jesuit was evidently succumbing to the
 
 2O The Devil's Plough 
 
 enormous tax laid upon his physical and 
 mental strength. Again he laid his burden 
 down, removed the altar-cloth spread near 
 by the candle, and laid it over the dead face, 
 then sank down on a step leading up to the 
 shrine. There he sat, with his head in his 
 hands, resting and meditating. That his 
 mind was deeply conflicted and harassed, 
 the wrinkles of fatigue collecting beneath his 
 luminous eyes, set in unusually large sockets, 
 evinced. 
 
 Presently these eyes, ever the guard or 
 betrayer of his emotions, took on a look of 
 resolution. " Brother," he whispered, lean- 
 ing forward close to the body, " decide for 
 me. Men have been saved by miracles, as 
 was the holy Ignatius. Give me some sign. 
 If what I am about to do is sinful, raise thy 
 right hand." He waited. There was no 
 movement; only a rat gnawed in the wall 
 hard by. Long he waited. Still there was 
 no sign. " Enough, I am answered. The 
 Lord's will be done." With which he took 
 down the burning candle, crossing himself 
 in the act. Half dragging the limp body, 
 he lighted his way through many vaulted
 
 The Devil's Plough 21 
 
 corridors of highly polished stone and 
 massy timbers, halting to rest at frequent 
 intervals. 
 
 The man's face grew whiter and longer 
 under the weight of his self-appointed task. 
 Finally he paused at a door leading into 
 what seemed to be a dungeon or crypt. 
 This door swung slowly open at touch of 
 his elbow, revealing within the blackness of 
 a vault or cave. The candlelight gradually 
 illuminated this crypt, belonging to a pri- 
 vate chapel, under which it was built by 
 primitive Christians of Neustria for the pur- 
 pose of secret worship, judging by the style 
 of its architecture, and by the stone coffins 
 so placed on the floor that the heads turned 
 toward the east, a position denoting that the 
 dead received Christian burial. Around this 
 room of remote antiquity ran a plain stone 
 bench divided into two unequal parts by a 
 circular arch, and behind the bench were 
 ranged a row of stone coffins, a number of 
 which were sealed. 
 
 Laying the body in the largest empty 
 coffin, the Jesuit tenderly made the sign of 
 the cross on its forehead, then, after remov-
 
 22 The Devil's Plough 
 
 ing his own crucifix and placing it in the 
 stiff hands, he covered the face again with 
 the altar-cloth, and repeated the full Latin 
 service for the dead, kneeling himself beside 
 the coffin. The candle burned in his hands 
 clasped together in prayer, illuminating thus 
 weirdly the bowed head of the priest. 
 
 Outside the rising wind moaned, hurrying 
 the clouds across the moon, and Marie 
 neighed impatiently for her master. The 
 nightingale sang amorously from its bough 
 swayed by the breeze ; deep melancholy 
 breathed through the night; the voice of 
 God was silent.
 
 Chapter II 
 
 AGAIN the early springtime came to 
 France. The trees whispered to- 
 gether of their buds soon to be put forth. 
 The Paris of Cardinal Mazarin was wakeful; 
 it slept on pin points. 
 
 The queen's intimate adviser had deliv- 
 ered himself of the opinion that three par- 
 ticular women in France were capable of 
 governing or of upsetting three kingdoms ; 
 and it would seem that, whereas Anne of 
 Austria proved herself in most respects a 
 singularly inefficient woman, the ladies of 
 her court sought and found an indepen- 
 dence of character and speech either condu- 
 cive or fatal to the welfare of any community. 
 
 That the duchesses referred to by Maza- 
 rin through their indirect means precipitated 
 the wars of the Fronde, seems probable ; at 
 any rate, it is known that the fashion for 
 politics and literature, since prevailing among 
 2 3
 
 24 The Devil's Plough 
 
 French women, was given its first strong 
 impetus at the time Louis the Fourteenth 
 was a lad dictatorially resenting the constant 
 and influential interference of his queen- 
 mother's ministerial friend, Mazarin, the 
 despised of the people. 
 
 In this spring of 1646 there were four 
 special topics of social converse, politics, 
 duelling, literature, and love. Cardinal 
 Richelieu had, some years before, spurred 
 flagging literary effort by the establishment 
 of the Academy. Of Cardinal Mazarin a 
 friendly epitaph might read, " Here lies the 
 man who introduced and encouraged good 
 music in France never mind the rest." 
 At the opening of the year 1646 current 
 literary creations were not conspicuous for 
 high merit ; only the growth of worthy seed 
 was apparent in the rapid spread of the 
 literary idea. It was the fashion to read 
 books, although Mazarin was in no wise 
 responsible for this, and such a demand could 
 not fail of an adequate supply in good time. 
 
 This literary idea centred about the per- 
 sonality of a lady whose life was representa- 
 tive of the best France then contained, even
 
 The Devil's Plough 25 
 
 though her ideals not infrequently misled 
 her and others into a pitfall of ludicrous 
 affectations. Madame Rambouillet accom- 
 plished more toward cleansing the society of 
 France than did any one woman before or 
 after her. The familiars she gathered into 
 her salon at first followed superficially wher- 
 ever she led ; but ultimately there came a 
 perceptible native decency into the conver- 
 sation and morals of French women trace- 
 able directly to this one woman of ideals. 
 
 It was upon a Sunday evening midway in 
 April that the frequenters of Hotel Ram- 
 bouillet gave evidence of an unusually ex- 
 cited interest when arriving before that fine 
 mansion in coaches and sedan-chairs. Even 
 the porters, fashionably dubbed " baptised 
 mules," and employed to convey beribboned 
 chevaliers and perfumed ladies to the cele- 
 brated house of Rambouillet, exchanged 
 vigorous comments upon the special diver- 
 sions arranged for that evening by the orig- 
 inal and greatly admired Madame, whose 
 gracious manner corrected her faults of 
 pedantry more successfully than did many 
 of her satellites display theirs.
 
 26 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Two porters of a particularly ornate chair 
 became so engrossed in their own remarks, 
 at the imminent risk of upsetting the pas- 
 senger within, that the gentleman occupant 
 called out, lustily, " Knaves, art thou trying 
 for a beating? Is the Due d'Enghien to 
 sleep in a mudhole to-night? I'm shaken 
 like a pea in a pod. Have a care." 
 
 This injunction smoothed the way for 
 the noble gentleman, who, a few minutes 
 later, arriving safely at the well-lighted 
 portal of the Hotel Rambouillet, accosted 
 another gentleman just arrived with a para- 
 phrase of Henry the Fourth's injunction 
 to Crillon, " Go hang thyself, Du Brillon, 
 for they have fought a good fight without 
 thee." 
 
 "Ah, monsieur le due," answered the 
 Chevalier du Brillon, recognising the most 
 conspicuous gentleman in France, " you 
 have the goodness to even address me con- 
 cerning my deplorable absence ! Until the 
 very moment of the duel it was my fixed 
 intention to be present, but a second with an 
 unruly stomach is less acceptable than a 
 doublet without hose, both are inconve-
 
 The Devil's Plough 27 
 
 nient, to say the least of it. You have a 
 stomach, duke ? " 
 
 " I believe that I have. Yes, I may say 
 I know that I have," replied the young 
 Louis de Bourbon, showing his teeth and 
 curling his long moustaches. 
 
 " Then, monsieur le due, you know that 
 the pit of it, under adverse circumstances, 
 would make a coward of a king. De Boute- 
 ville killed his man, 'tis said. His thrust is 
 unequalled throughout France, but Ah! 
 De Chatillon, I have the honour to say good 
 evening. May I inquire how the duel went ? 
 I was not on the field, for the reason that 
 my stomach went a-duelling on its own ac- 
 count, and pinioned me to my bed with one 
 thrust. How went the fray ? " 
 
 The gentleman addressed had come sud- 
 denly into the lamplight from out the evil- 
 looking darkness of the street. His long 
 cape was of black, his hat of the same 
 colour, relieved only by one long, sweeping 
 white plume. His smooth-shaven face, en- 
 tirely out of line with the prevailing fashion 
 of hirsute ornamentation, and his peruke, 
 somewhat in advance of the mode in that
 
 28 The Devil's Plough 
 
 regard, well became a countenance irregular 
 as to feature, strong and dominating. This 
 Chevalier de Chatillon, although habitually 
 employed at his profession of war in localities 
 where the airs and graces of the court did not 
 prevail to any extent, never appeared to lose 
 a certain distinguished manner of his own, 
 even if he had been known of late to slip up 
 on one or two fine points of ephemeral eti- 
 quette, thus diverting the easy flow of aris- 
 tocratic gossip into his channel. At this 
 moment he saluted the two gentlemen agree- 
 ably, but with an earnestness foreign even to 
 the court of Anne turned ascetic in middle 
 age ; then replied to Du Brillon : 
 
 " Du Brisy fought well, monsieur ; but 
 De Bouteville had superior skill. It has 
 been my privilege to know Du Brisy many 
 years. I had hoped for an apology." 
 
 " On the word of a Jesuit ! That would 
 have been unlikely. The sport, monsieur, 
 the sport ! A man could not forego the 
 sport for the mere hope of life. De Boute- 
 ville's thrust is unequalled in Paris. I was 
 just saying this to monsieur le due." 
 
 " 'Tis undeniable, for he hath killed his
 
 The Devil's Plough 29 
 
 twenty men in half the years. Ah, the night 
 is hot for middle April. It can't be much 
 worse in purgatory this time of year," re- 
 plied D'Enghien, throwing back his cloak 
 and fanning with his hat as the three entered 
 the house. 
 
 "In my opinion," De Chatillon remarked, 
 casually, " De Bouteville hath but one rival 
 as a duellist. His thrust doth not equal 
 that of Saint-Evremond in nicety and pre- 
 cision." 
 
 "He would not welcome the words from 
 you, monsieur," replied Du Brillon. 
 
 " 'Tis like not," said De Chatillon, care- 
 lessly. " No man delights to see himself in 
 his neighbour's mirror." 
 
 " Ah, the soldier turns an epigram worthy 
 of Ninon ! " D'Enghien laughed. " Dun- 
 kirk would have appeared to have sharpened 
 your wit, Monsieur de Chatillon, as did the 
 very sound of it my sword. Or did the 
 weight of a beard drag it down before ? A 
 smooth face becomes you well. 'Tis a pity 
 the fashion were not set that way." 
 
 By now lackeys had relieved the gentle- 
 men of cloaks and hats. The duke indicated
 
 30 The Devil's Plough 
 
 his pleasure in the further society of the two 
 chevaliers ; accordingly, the three entered 
 together the glittering company assembled 
 about Madame Rambouillet. The elabo- 
 rately gay-coloured costumes of the duke and 
 Du Brillon cast De Chatillon's sober array 
 considerably back into the shadow. He 
 stepped behind the two as they approached 
 Madame Rambouillet ; but even so his un- 
 usual face, excellently well set against the 
 white curls of his peruke, a headdress some- 
 what in advance of the prevailing style, and 
 a deep violet doublet slashed with white, 
 attracted attention, 
 
 De Chatillon had not the repose of a court- 
 ier. His hands, almost concealed by white 
 lace ruffles, nervously felt of his baldric. Only 
 his face was immovably contained ; even so, 
 his eyes wandered restlessly about the room. 
 
 Madame Rambouillet, standing there sur- 
 rounded by a dozen or so guests engrossed 
 in a discussion of Descartes's philosophy, 
 smiled at their approach in the dignified, 
 womanly way whose fine graciousness ex- 
 tended hospitality invitingly. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur le due and chevaliers,
 
 The Devil's Plough 31 
 
 you do me the honour to come even at a 
 late hour. I have the extreme pleasure to 
 assure you that your absence would have 
 destroyed the fine edge of the evening." 
 She bowed deeply, holding the small fan 
 she had named " zephyr " spread out across 
 her bosom. 
 
 " Madame, I do myself not only great 
 honour but also great felicitation in coming 
 into your beautiful presence." 
 
 " Madame, I am enchanted," " Madame, 
 I am delighted," came from each gentleman 
 respectively, as he bent low before her. 
 
 " Have you heard, gentlemen, that we are 
 to have an unusual diversion this evening? 
 La Fontaine had promised to recite one of 
 his most inspiring fables, so illustrative by 
 analogy of all human weakness, inevitable 
 even where the mind aspires. Have you 
 read his fable of the fox and the grapes, 
 monsieur le due? It is marvellous." 
 
 " Madame must graciously pardon my 
 ignorance of this most admirable author," 
 replied D'Enghien, twisting his long mous- 
 taches. "A soldier of the state hath only 
 time to wipe his sword and make history.
 
 32 The Devil's Plough 
 
 He cannot read much that would perhaps 
 be improving. But I shall do myself the 
 honour to be pleased with whatever books 
 madame has the goodness to recommend, 
 and to listen attentively to the author this 
 evening." 
 
 " Monsieur le due is more than kind." 
 Madame bowed deeply. " But alas, gentle- 
 men, Fate hath not been equally gracious 
 this evening. La Fontaine resides at some 
 distance from Paris, and at the last moment 
 was detained. In his place I have the hon- 
 our to present to you some Italian violinists 
 brought from Naples by the cardinal ; and 
 later Corneille, whose tragedies uplift one's 
 spirit to the very summit of the soul, will 
 read for our criticism his lately finished 
 play. We hold our breath with antici- 
 pation." 
 
 Those who had been discussing Descartes 
 with madame now moved closer in eager 
 interest at sound of the lady talking of 
 Corneille with the duke, whose recent con- 
 quest at Dunkirk now made him the most 
 conspicuous gentleman in Paris, to which he 
 had but just returned. These guests greeted
 
 The Devil's Plough 33 
 
 the gentleman with ceremonious effusion, 
 but meanwhile De Chatillon had slipped 
 quietly away. Here and there he saluted 
 an acquaintance among the assembly, but 
 passed along without pausing, evidently in 
 search of some one. At sight of De Cha- 
 tillon a particularly lively group of young 
 ladies and gentlemen, centred about an 
 elderly man talking or reciting incessantly, 
 turned their tongues upon the chevalier. 
 
 " Monsieur Voiture, make us a sonnet 
 touching upon De Chatillon's bare face," 
 they insisted. " A most romantic subject ! 
 'Tis said he cut off his beard after the battle 
 of Nordlingen last year, swearing never to 
 grow another until Heloise de Luneville is 
 his. A sonnet ! A sonnet, Voiture ! We 
 cannot live without a sonnet." 
 
 " Hein ! Hein ! My muse is not stuffed 
 with hair, young ladies," insisted Voiture, 
 rolling up his eyes for inspiration. 
 
 " But it can be cut to fit any fashion. 
 I'll be thy barber," replied Mademoiselle 
 de Bourbon. 
 
 " Good, mademoiselle, good ! Permit me 
 to preserve your wit in my tablets for ref-
 
 34 The Devil's Plough 
 
 erence. There are moments when my own 
 cutteth capers, and I then greatly need 
 assistance." Voiture scribbled on ivory 
 tablets mockingly, pursing up the corners 
 of his mouth, and arching his eyebrows in 
 amiable irony at his own delivery of this 
 impromptu : 
 
 " Oh, noble sir, whose barber was employed 
 
 To prove thy love a thing both staunch and bold ! 
 Thou'st won the adoration unalloyed 
 
 Of every maid to whom this tale thou'st told." 
 
 " Abominable ! " broke in Mademoiselle 
 de Bourbon, amidst the following laughter. 
 " I know not Monsieur de Chatillon. He 
 hath told me no tale. Thy Pegasus hath 
 a limp, Voiture." Tapping Voiture with 
 her zephyr, she pouted smilingly. 
 
 " Here comes Saint-Evremond. Try his 
 wings," suggested Voiture, feeling for his 
 snuff-box. 
 
 But interest in De Chatillon quickly 
 waned. 
 
 Saint-Evremond approached, carrying a 
 book in his sword hand. " Observe," whis- 
 pered a gentleman to a lady, " Saint-Evre-
 
 The Devil's Plough 35 
 
 mond carries his wits in his hands to-night." 
 The lady put a sweet lemon to her lips, 
 then asked, " Monsieur Saint-Evremond, 
 may I have the honour to know whose 
 wits you carry about with you ? " 
 
 " Some I have borrowed for the purpose 
 of appearing well in your eyes, mademoi- 
 selle." Saint-Evremond bowed low. 
 
 " Does Ninon lend hers ? " asked Voiture, 
 pointedly. 
 
 " Only to those capable of understanding 
 their force. Ninon would tell you that bor- 
 rowed plumage is better than nakedness." 
 
 " Good, good ! my tablets. Mademoiselle, 
 that will take the place of honour beside 
 your last bon mot." Voiture stuck in his 
 quill a borrowed feather, as was the literary 
 custom of the day. 
 
 " Where is Ninon ? " asked Mademoiselle 
 de Bourbon. " I see Monsieur Pascal over 
 there beside Madame de Sevigne. His re- 
 flections make me long for a life such as 
 only an angel could live gracefully. La 
 Bruyere is here somewhere," she turned 
 and looked about the room, "yes, over 
 there. He doth alarm me! And Balsac?
 
 36 The Devil's Plough 
 
 I see him not. Stand in front of me if 
 Corneille appears. His melancholy chills 
 the wine." 
 
 " 'Twould be happier for him were his 
 purse as deep as his gloom," replied Saint- 
 Evremond. 
 
 " But concerning Mademoiselle de L'En- 
 clos," interrupted a young gentleman, ea- 
 gerly ; " I have not observed her among us 
 for a melancholy length of time, Monsieur 
 Saint-Evremond." 
 
 " Shall I tell you the reason ? " Saint- 
 Evremond pulled out one of his long curls 
 lazily. 
 
 "Yes." "Certainly." "You must," 
 they exclaimed. 
 
 He leaned slightly forward. " Ninon 
 says that if she were to reach paradise and 
 there encounter a company of precieuses 
 from the Hotel Rambouillet, she would 
 turn about, in hopes of finding entertain- 
 ment in purgatory." 
 
 " Ah, Mademoiselle de L'Enclos no 
 longer loves us ? " asked a lady of exceeding 
 grace, who joined the group during the 
 quotation.
 
 The Devil's Plough 37 
 
 " Ninon confesses herself a lady of bad 
 taste, madame la comtesse," Saint - Evre- 
 mond replied, bowing low. 
 
 The lady smiled. " Doubtless Ninon 
 finds the society of Monsieur Descartes 
 and Monsieur Saint-Evremond more divert- 
 ing. The brains of clever gentlemen are 
 near neighbours to their hearts." 
 
 With this sally Comtesse de Luneville 
 passed along, laughing back at them over 
 one shoulder. Her white silken costume, 
 embroidered with gold stars and leaves done 
 in Persian stitch, was confined at the waist 
 by a pale blue sash tied in a large knot im- 
 mediately below the bosom. Flowers and 
 pearls mingled in her hair, and her long 
 gloves were supported by pearl bracelets. 
 Few women are given the charm displayed 
 by Heloise de Luneville moving there 
 among the guests of the Hotel Rambouillet. 
 Even the extreme height of her heels failed 
 to interfere with the grace of her movements. 
 Grace in thought, manner, and action was the 
 distinguishing characteristic of the Comtesse 
 de Luneville. She rustled her trailing skirts 
 along the polished floor in sinuous curves,
 
 38 The Devil's Plough 
 
 bending her steps toward Madame Ram- 
 bouillet. Pausing beside an inlaid table 
 of great value, recently sent to madame 
 in remembrance from Italian friends, the 
 countess stooped over a vase filled with 
 flowers, forgetful of those about her. She 
 was recalled by words spoken at her side. 
 " Madame la comtesse is asking the flowers 
 for advice ? " 
 
 At once she stood erect, then bowing 
 deeply, replied, " I have the honour to say 
 good evening, Monsieur de Chatillon. What 
 human heart needs not holy counsel ? " 
 
 " Only that of a lady already spotless. 
 May I have the honour to show you even 
 finer flowers arranged at the feet of Venus, 
 near the Florentine mirror ? At no great 
 distance, countess." 
 
 Again she bowed in courteous assent, 
 whispering quickly, as her head bent toward 
 his shoulder, " Monsieur, is this wise ? " 
 
 "Wisdom belongs only to the serpent, 
 countess. Come. Our hostess would be 
 displeased were you to miss the sight of 
 her very beautiful flowers, knowing your 
 tastes."
 
 The Devil's Plough 39 
 
 De Chatillon, making this talk for public 
 ears, revealed in his eyes an overpowering 
 determination, passionate with that reckless- 
 ness of a man who, seeing Death approach, 
 hastens to meet him. The two walked for- 
 mally side by side the length of several 
 rooms opening into each other, meanwhile 
 exchanging the artificial compliments of the 
 day and discussing Corneille's imminent 
 debut before the Rambouillet circle. 
 
 As they approached a unique bank of 
 flowers and growing orange-trees, arranged 
 from a special design introduced by the 
 queen's Italian gardener, De Chatillon par- 
 tially dropped his conventional armour. 
 " Countess," he began, earnestly, " we have 
 but a moment. The music is soon to begin. 
 We are nearing the end of the book. Are 
 we then to close it for ever, and throw it 
 among the rubbish of our lives, or are we to 
 place it beside our precious volumes, to be 
 studied and caressed every day ? " 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, why not linger over the 
 end indefinitely ? Why should we hasten 
 to proceed beyond the interesting point we 
 have reached ? " The countess appeared to
 
 40 The Devil's Plough 
 
 be greatly admiring the flowers, but her 
 hands trembled in touching the golden fruit 
 of the trees. 
 
 " Because a man seldom leaves a book 
 unfinished. He reads fewer than do women, 
 perhaps, but he reads thoroughly and com- 
 pletely whatever he undertakes." De Cha- 
 tillon still moved his hands nervously up 
 and down his baldric, or played with the 
 lace on his doublet. Once he raised an 
 uncontrollable hand to his deep lace collar, 
 flattening it out carefully, as if its orderly 
 condition were the one thing of greatest 
 importance to him at the moment. 
 
 " But the woman, monsieur ? You admit 
 that she is different. Have you no consid- 
 eration for that difference ? " Heloise raised 
 her eyes directly to his. 
 
 The man hesitated before speaking. " If I 
 were certain that the woman had no real de- 
 sire to know the end, I would take the story 
 we have been reading together, bury its con- 
 tents deep among my most sacred thoughts, 
 and wait for death to tell me more. But I 
 remain unconvinced. Heloise! Heloise! 
 Love trembles before thee! Thou art "
 
 The Devil's Plough 41 
 
 " Monsieur, have a care," the lady warned. 
 " I hear voices. There are sounds of in- 
 struments, too, madame's diversion is 
 beginning. Poetry is to words what flowers 
 are to all vegetation, their soul. Come, 
 monsieur, we must return." 
 
 " But the book, madame la comtesse, the 
 book ! The best parts remain unfinished." 
 De Chatillon compelled her eyes one mo- 
 ment, then she looked beyond him as if 
 seeking advice from some remote eminence. 
 He waited silently. The sound of distant 
 music grew distinct. Heloise dropped her 
 eyes to the flowers and sighed deeply. 
 
 " Do we live only for what will come 
 after death, monsieur ? If so, I now bid you 
 farewell eternally ; but if earthly joy counts 
 something to the human soul, I bid you " 
 She paused. 
 
 " Heloise ! " murmured De Chatillon ; 
 "joy with thee here weighs more than pur- 
 gatory." 
 
 " I bid thee,'* she continued, moving 
 across the room, " give me a few days in 
 which to read the interesting parts alone be- 
 fore we finish the book together."
 
 42 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " As madame la comtesse wishes." De 
 Chatillon bowed slightly. " Relish is not 
 destroyed by waiting. We are not the only 
 ones detained away from the diversions of 
 the evening by madame's charming flowers 
 and pictures. Ah, Monsieur de Bouteville, 
 I have the honour to bid you good evening, 
 and congratulate you upon your skill. The 
 duel went, as ever, your way this morning." 
 
 Moving toward the great salon devoted 
 to special diversions, they encountered 
 others assembling from all parts of the 
 house. Among these guests was Monsieur 
 de Bouteville, the celebrated duellist, who, 
 at sight of the Comtesse de Luneville, 
 turned his steps with apparent interest in 
 her direction. 
 
 " Gountess, I hasten to do myself the 
 honour to salute you, having just arrived," 
 De Bouteville replied to their salutations. 
 "Your felicitations I have the extreme 
 pleasure to accept, Chevalier de Chatillon. 
 My thrust is more like to bring good for- 
 tune than is a woman's love." 
 
 Comtesse de Luneville glanced at him, 
 and smiled a bit disdainfully. " 'Tis possi-
 
 The Devil's Plough 43 
 
 ble monsieur hath more understanding of a 
 thrust or parry than of a woman's heart. 
 But permit me, Monsieur de Bouteville, 
 may I ask of you the extreme favour to 
 conduct me to the diversions now begin- 
 ning? Monsieur de Chatillon had the 
 kindness to show me madame's latest design 
 in floral decoration, but he unfortunately is 
 feeling greatly indisposed. 'Tis necessary 
 for him to return home and send for De 
 Lorine. Is it not so, monsieur? " 
 
 " Alas, yes ! My head danceth the sara- 
 band, as the countess hath perceived by 
 my stupidity in invention. And with her 
 gracious permission I will depart at once. 
 I have the honour to bid you farewell, 
 madame la comtesse. Pray enjoy the book 
 I loaned you, and make no haste to return 
 it. Again I have the honour, countess. I 
 bid you good night, Monsieur de Boute- 
 ville."
 
 Chapter III 
 
 TWO Jesuit priests were hurrying toward 
 their college, situated in the shadow 
 of Notre Dame de Paris. Trepidation was 
 plainly to be seen in their excited gestures 
 and heard in their quite audible conversa- 
 tion. One brother stumbled over an old 
 shoe lying near a doorstep amid other an- 
 noying rubbish which cluttered the streets 
 at that unsanitary period of French history. 
 
 " Soit de peste I " he exclaimed, recover- 
 ing his balance. " The streets of Paris are 
 beyond even the powers of Hercules. The 
 Augean stables were most likely clean in 
 comparison. Hurry, brother, hurry ! Father 
 L'Artanges must require assistance in ill- 
 ness, nothing else would cause him to 
 keep waiting so notable an audience." 
 
 " Bah ! " replied rotund Brother Francis, 
 covering with his right hand a stitch in his 
 
 44
 
 The Devil's Plough 45 
 
 left side made by this unseemly haste of a 
 Sunday morning. " Father Gaston cares 
 little or nothing for worldly eminence. He 
 is the solitary preacher in Paris whose tongue 
 is not greased with gold." 
 
 " Greased with gold ! That might be 
 taken in two ways. His eloquence is with- 
 out doubt golden. Hurry, Brother Francis. 
 Picture that congregation of people waiting 
 before an empty pulpit ! Father Coligny 
 must be three-quarters through mass by this 
 time." 
 
 " 'Tis good discipline, for the courtiers 
 come to Notre Dame to-day in greater 
 numbers than is customary. For what 
 reason, dost thou suppose ? Once, think- 
 ing some foreign substance had flown in my 
 eye, I opened it (just one, brother) during 
 the creed, and saw the unholy Ninon and 
 her good fellows also the Due d'Enghien 
 also Madame de Sevigne also " 
 
 " Ssh, brother ! Some one in passing 
 may overhear your indiscretion. Ad ma- 
 jorem Dei gloriam. But art thou certain 
 that foreign substance in thy eye was not 
 some foreign potentate accompanying the
 
 46 The Devil's Plough 
 
 noble duke ? Eh, brother ? " They both 
 repressed timely but unseemly laughter. 
 
 " Keep thy eyes in custody, Brother 
 Thomas. I see Madelon, the pretty 
 daughter of Pierre, hurrying late to mass." 
 
 " Another foreign substance in thine eye, 
 eh, brother ? But what can Father Gaston 
 be about? If he should be dead, or 
 visited by Satan ! Holy Mother ! " They 
 both crossed themselves, hurrying at the 
 moment through the portal of their college, 
 St. Ignatius, and then rapidly on toward the 
 private room of their rector. 
 
 By the way they inquired for Father 
 Gaston, as the preacher L'Artanges was 
 familiarly called, but no one seemed to be 
 informed concerning his whereabouts. The 
 college porter volunteered to speed them 
 toward the rector's apartment, but without 
 encouragement as to the result of their 
 search. Brother Francis's stitch in his side 
 brought him to a sudden halt. Leaning 
 against the refectory wall, he gasped and 
 sputtered, mumbling to himself as he lis- 
 tened attentively with one ear turned for- 
 ward toward some strange sound. " Fiddling
 
 The Devil's Plough 47 
 
 of a Sunday morning ! Holy Mother ! 
 Some soul must do penance for this devil's 
 dance. Rejoice and be glad, fat Francis, 
 that thou art not the sinner." Directly he 
 trotted along after the others, and soon was 
 standing inside the rector's private apart- 
 ment, his eyes popping out of their fat eye- 
 lids at the ungodly sight revealed therein. 
 
 The honourable rector of the Jesuit Col- 
 lege of Paris, L'Artanges, that most re- 
 nowned Jesuit preacher of Notre Dame, 
 celebrated throughout France for his elo- 
 quence and piety, was to be seen there, in 
 the centre of his antechamber, on a Sunday 
 morning, while a vast throng awaited his 
 sermon in Notre Dame, fiddling a dance 
 tune, and making his legs move in a most 
 unbecoming manner to the measure of his 
 music, in other words, dancing right 
 merrily. 
 
 " Jesu ! Preserve the faith ! St. Igna- 
 tius, we need thy holy presence ! " faltered 
 Brother Francis. 
 
 At sight of his subordinates and their 
 amazement, the tall man of magnetic pres- 
 ence and deep, burning eyes laid down his
 
 48 The Devil's Plough 
 
 fiddle, and with some impatience demanded, 
 " Why this intrusion, brothers ? Are my 
 services required ? " 
 
 " But, father," replied the incredulous 
 Thomas, " the people assembled in Notre 
 Dame ? They await you. Mass has now 
 progressed to the point of the sermon. Are 
 you not coming? We are despatched to 
 bring you " 
 
 " 'Tis so, 'tis so. I am remiss, maybe, 
 but no harm is done. Waiting for heavenly 
 food makes room in the spiritual stomach 
 for it. Pardon me, brothers, but the fact 
 is, I was so depressed in spirits by my text 
 this morning that I have been striving to 
 rouse my heart by this little foolery. Come, 
 make speed. There is no time to lose. 
 'Tis my belief I've caught the spirit of the 
 thought." And away L'Artanges hurried, 
 forgetful of the others, all intent upon this 
 scandal of the day. 
 
 " If Father Gaston were not so holy a 
 man, he would surely follow the devil's 
 plough," commented Brother Thomas in a 
 whisper. But Brother Francis put a fat 
 forefinger to his lips, replying, " A d majorem
 
 The Devil's Plough 49 
 
 Dei gloriam" and they too made haste back 
 to Notre Dame. 
 
 Upon this sunlit Sabbath morn the noble 
 cathedral was crowded with a varied congre- 
 gation. Pulpit oratory was in its infancy, 
 but during this time of Louis the Four- 
 teenth's boyhood the people were deeply 
 touched on their religious side by the 
 preaching of several priests gifted with 
 powers of religious utterance, cultivated to 
 a high dramatic pitch in the admirable edu- 
 cational atmosphere of the Jesuit colleges. 
 And the flippant aristocracy confessed them- 
 selves highly diverted by this new form of 
 entertainment, rendering their own devotions 
 more palatable. The nerves of this vast 
 congregation, largely composed of the lower 
 classes, stretched in nervous expectation, 
 greatly increased by the delay. This 
 preacher's hold upon the people lay in 
 the dramatic, emotional sway to which his 
 preaching justly laid claim. Where other 
 preachers of the day skilfully cut their ser- 
 mons after a set pattern of divisions and 
 subdivisions, the rector of St. Ignatius was 
 one of the first to break away from such
 
 50 The Devil's Plough 
 
 conventions. Also it had been rumoured 
 about Paris that L'Artanges, with his ac- 
 customed freedom of speech, was that morn- 
 ing to attack from the pulpit the morals of 
 the court. This alone was sufficient to draw 
 hither many of those ordinarily attendant 
 upon service at the Queen's Chapel. Curi- 
 osity sat in high places that morning at 
 Notre Dame. 
 
 Accordingly, the hundreds assembled ex- 
 pectantly in the cathedral sat in profound 
 silence, a breathing mass of humanity, when 
 the great preacher issued forth, and ascended 
 the steps of the pulpit. He gave one look 
 up at the window over the organ, where the 
 sun threw out in bold relief the highly col- 
 oured figures of the Virgin and Child sur- 
 rounded by prophets, painted on the glass, 
 then dropped his eyes to the crucifix in his 
 hands. The organist had continued the 
 musical service during the unaccountable 
 time of waiting, and now the voices of the 
 choristers fell into a lingering diminuendo 
 at the close of a chant. Softly the dimin- 
 ishing tones floated over the congregation ; 
 myriads of cathedral lights mellowed the
 
 The Devil's Plough 51 
 
 distance while L'Artanges knelt in prayer. 
 The rose window in the north transept lay 
 in shadow, but the southern rose glowed in 
 the sun, sending down upon the people a 
 wonderful vision of apostles and bishops, 
 to whom angels were bringing golden crowns. 
 Incense mounted from the altar; altogether, 
 the spectacle was of sufficiently impressive 
 devotional grandeur to lift any man's emo- 
 tions, no matter how callous, to imaginary 
 realms of light. 
 
 L'Artanges arose from his knees, but 
 heard nothing, saw nothing, standing there 
 for a single moment with closed eyes, while 
 the music faded away into a silence of exal- 
 tation. The man's face showed tense and 
 nervous against the white vestments of his 
 office. When his eyes opened slowly, they 
 glowed like smouldering live coals, but he 
 began with no eagerness ; his words rang 
 like the slow tolling of a death-bell. 
 
 " I am stricken as hay, and my heart is 
 
 dried up ; behold our languor and old 
 
 
 age. 
 
 L'Artanges's manner, throughout the de- 
 livery of this text, indicated the imperative
 
 52 The Devil's Plough 
 
 presence of God in their midst urging him 
 to the accomplishment of a solemn duty 
 long left undone. Afterward he paused 
 dramatically, as if listening for the divine 
 voice, then broke into an eloquent shower 
 of words, falling, as he proceeded, like hot 
 hail upon the upturned faces before him. 
 
 He outlined the social conditions prevail- 
 ing then in Paris, briefly but picturesquely, 
 dwelling upon the unfortunate state of the 
 poor, and the indifference of the aristocracy 
 and bourgeoisie to the people's increasing 
 restlessness under their burdens of taxation 
 and poverty. 
 
 "Those who sit in high places, attend. 
 A fire is smouldering here in your midst, 
 and ye do not even pray for rain to quench 
 it. Take heed. At no distant future ye 
 will hear the great flames crackling about 
 your heads. Then it will be too late. These 
 restless poor, possessed of human hearts 
 and divine souls, cannot pray to the Holy 
 Mother through long centuries, for help 
 and mercy in their distress, without avail. 
 The merciful will of God must break your 
 hearts if they do not soften righteously of
 
 The Devil's Plough 53 
 
 their own accord. Halt on the way to pur- 
 gatory. Turn back where the gates of 
 heaven are open to all repentant sinners. 
 The poor, the poor of Paris starve and 
 groan, while those born in softer beds riot 
 in profligacy. Christ died for the poor. He 
 holds ye accountable for them. He slum- 
 bers not while his children sorrow. Every 
 man and woman must pay back in heart's 
 blood the wasted years of life. Virtue is 
 stricken like the hay when rains descend 
 unceasingly. Now is the bad weather of 
 the soul of Paris. Pure in spirit ! Pure 
 in spirit ! Who is pure in spirit in this day 
 when the very throne totters with the weight 
 of spiritual impurity ; when the people can 
 look nowhere for virtue but to heaven ? " 
 
 The audience caught its breath when he 
 paused. Ladies and gentlemen sought each 
 other's eyes in dread of this audacity. L'Ar- 
 tanges would without doubt lose his prefer- 
 ment ; certainly he no longer stood any 
 chance of becoming the queen's confessor. 
 Mazarin was already at odds with L'Artan- 
 ges. This attack would undoubtedly prove 
 fatal to the priest's interests both in Paris
 
 54 The Devil's Plough 
 
 and in Rome. Meantime, it was exciting; 
 they must give close heed to whatever else 
 this impudent Jesuit had to say. What talk 
 it would make at the Hotel Rambouillet 
 that night ! But, attention ! Some words 
 had been missed. 
 
 The preacher's hands reached out toward 
 heaven as if for help. He was saying, " Ah, 
 my brethren, shall I shrink from hurting 
 you with the holy truth ? Shall I at this 
 moment, when the cross is being erected, at 
 the cost of blood and courage, at the very 
 ends of the earth, among the heathen, 
 shall I proclaim myself inferior in divine 
 purpose to those holy missionary martyrs, 
 by shrinking from preaching the truth, no 
 matter how high the place it strikes ? Vir- 
 tue, virtue, is the command of Christ, 
 crowning all good men, be they great or 
 small. All men are sinners, and shall I 
 dare, I, to make one exception ? I cannot 
 set one man or woman apart. I would not 
 wish that a worldly diadem should deprive 
 any soul of the crown of glory, should 
 prevent any soul this day from receiving 
 upon the royal brow, like the humblest of
 
 The Devil's Plough 55 
 
 subjects, some drops of the blood that puri- 
 fies and saves." 
 
 The aristocrats grew restless : they were 
 apprehensive ; some few seemed visibly 
 touched by the earnest words. The people 
 listened eagerly to their priestly idol. 
 
 "Woe!" he continued. "Woe to him 
 who should keep out of the multitude for 
 which Jesus died ! Woe to those in high 
 places who should imagine that there are 
 two roads to heaven, one for themselves and 
 one for the people. Or rather, yes, yes, 
 there are two. But the narrowest, the most 
 rugged, the one in which aid and pity is most 
 needed, is that in which walk those men who 
 are surrounded with so many dangers, so 
 many temptations. It is yours, O kings, 
 O ye gods of the earth ! " 
 
 At this moment a sob was heard breaking 
 in upon the fiery words ; another, and then 
 a woman, unaccompanied, dressed plainly 
 and masked, arose from amid the humbler 
 members of the assembly. She hurried out 
 of the cathedral alone, and the many eyes 
 directed curiously at her retreating form 
 little guessed with what spiritual trembling
 
 56 . The Devil's Plough 
 
 Anne of Austria had suffered under the 
 weight of these words. During the rustle 
 of curious heads turning to examine the 
 woman so affected, Monsieur Bussy de Ra- 
 butin, kneeling beside Mademoiselle Ninon 
 de L'Enclos, leaned over and whispered, 
 " Don't look. It's only the devil hurrying 
 back home." The most conspicuous lady 
 in Paris made a slight grimace, then smiled 
 behind her zephyr, touching her patches in 
 quick succession to make sure of their 
 safety. 
 
 " Heed ye all," the voice from the pulpit 
 warned. " We contemplate in our earthly 
 fray two camps in battle array, two gen- 
 erals commanding our service : one is Jesus 
 Christ, his city Jerusalem ; the other, Satan, 
 his city Babylon the Great. Shall we fight 
 with Satan or with Christ ? " 
 
 Ninon whispered back to De Rabutin : 
 " L'Artanges evidently failed to observe the 
 enemy leave the field. There go two more 
 of similar character. Observe De Bouteville ! 
 Look ! He and De Pont-Gibaut are rising ! 
 Surely, Bussy, De Bouteville forceth him 
 away from his devotions to fight. He
 
 The Devil's Plough 57 
 
 beckons ! Jesu ! The edict is as flimsy 
 as my virtue. Farewell, Bussy, may luck 
 pat you on the back. Charlevalle will 
 attend me to my coach." Monsieur de 
 Rabutin arose, joined the others, and the 
 three gentlemen started forth in pursuit 
 of Satan, making considerable disturbance 
 during their exit. But great numbers of 
 the plain people were visibly moved by the 
 words from the pulpit, some stirring im- 
 petuously as if eager to answer the war-cry 
 of the soul. 
 
 L'Artanges stood waiting a moment after 
 the interruption, barely perceptible to him, 
 then his voice assumed its serenest modula- 
 tions. He lingered upon the tenderness of 
 holy love, appealing thus to the abiding 
 human craving for help and protection. 
 He expounded the similarity existing be- 
 tween the spirit of the times and that pre- 
 vailing when Christ was born ; dwelling 
 upon the new seed of truth planted in the 
 sodden fields of the human heart when the 
 Holy Mother gave birth in the manger. 
 With all the subtlety of the Jesuit mind he 
 pled his way into this same human heart,
 
 58 The Devil's Plough 
 
 leaving his listeners like wax in the hands of 
 his words. 
 
 When, after mass, Ninon stepped into her 
 coach, surrounded by a dozen gallants in 
 waiting, she was heard to say, " L'Artanges, 
 with a few more strokes, would have pierced 
 the armour of my philosophy. Until we 
 meet again, gentlemen. Shall it be the 
 Hotel Rambouillet to-night, or Hotel 
 Ninon ? I appoint the noble duke arbiter 
 elegantiarum. I wish you a very good 
 morning." 
 
 The people of lower degree swarmed out 
 from mass, enthusiastically discussing the 
 sermon while walking home in family 
 groups. L'Artanges had evidently strength- 
 ened his hold upon them that day. 
 
 Meantime, the preacher descended from 
 his pulpit, a weary, pale, nervously ex- 
 hausted man. After removing his vestments, 
 with the assistance of Brother Francis, he 
 started out at the portal under the north 
 tower, called Porte de la Sainte Vierge, 
 which led almost into the Rue du Cloitre 
 Notre Dame. Several priests, instructors 
 in the college, accompanied him. As they
 
 The Devil's Plough 59 
 
 descended the steps, a lady, whose chair was 
 in waiting close by in charge of her porters, 
 approached the group of priests. 
 
 " Father L'Artanges," she said, address- 
 ing him persuasively, " may I beseech you 
 to give me a word here and now ? " 
 
 He stepped toward her, motioning the 
 other priests to proceed. " Countess," he 
 replied, in a tone audible to the retreating 
 brothers, " this is not usual. Why did you 
 not send for me, if my presence was de- 
 sired ? " 
 
 " Your sermon brought me to this point, 
 father. I feel myself to be in great danger 
 of sin. My soul cries for comfort, father. 
 I must confess." 
 
 " But, countess, I am not your confessor. 
 Call upon him who answers to your daily 
 needs. It is his office to console." 
 
 " No, no," she cried, intensely, working 
 her fingers in and out among each other in 
 nervous entreaty ; the sunlight danced on her 
 bronzed hair. "Your words have moved 
 me strangely this morning. Your holy 
 counsel I crave. In the name of the Virgin, 
 give a tempted woman assistance, father."
 
 60 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Peace, my daughter," he warned. 
 " The people from mass are still passing. 
 Come into the vestibule." 
 
 They withdrew together into the shadow 
 of t;he great door, and stood directly beneath 
 the bas-relief of the Temptation and the 
 Ejection from Paradise. Before turning his 
 face again in the direction of the lady, the 
 priest looked up at this design upon the 
 door as if by way of voluntary inspiration 
 or self-warning. L'Artanges was visibly 
 moved to nervous agitation. His deep eyes 
 contained an inexplicable expression of fear. 
 
 " Countess, as your well-wisher I advise 
 you to continue in your present confessional 
 relations." 
 
 " Father Gaston," she spoke in a tone 
 of adoring reverence, " I need thee. Is 
 it in thy conscience to turn aside a soul 
 imperilled ? Before this very night I must 
 hear the voice of Heaven, or who knows ? 
 a soul may be lost." 
 
 In the shadow of the cathedral her deli- 
 cately outlined face lost its human colour, 
 and the great eyes, under ordinary circum- 
 stances mischievously radiant, now assumed
 
 The Devil's Plough 61 
 
 a painful introspection. The woman was 
 plainly in extreme fear for her soul. L'Ar- 
 tanges looked down into the piteous eyes. 
 Quickly he moved one hand about his chest 
 as if labouring for breath and self-control. 
 He stood thus for several moments without 
 speaking. Finally, as if pushed from behind, 
 he stepped near her, crying, " Heloise ! " 
 
 " Father Gaston ! " exclaimed the count- 
 ess, " I do not understand you." 
 
 " I do not understand myself, countess." 
 There was a pause between them, during 
 which the priest appeared to be mentally 
 praying, and the woman looked at him 
 closely, as if perceiving for the first time 
 something unusual in his appearance. 
 
 " How strange ! " she muttered, faintly ; 
 then, resuming her imploring look, she 
 asked, " Father, may I confess to you be- 
 fore night?" 
 
 " I cannot allow it, my daughter." He 
 supported himself with one hand laid against 
 a pillar. 
 
 " Is the courtesy of the brotherhood more 
 to you than a human soul, Father Gaston ? " 
 
 He made no reply.
 
 62 The Devil's Plough 
 
 "Father Gaston," she moved closer to 
 him, " you will be answerable at the last 
 judgment for a soul in purgatory." Then, 
 falling on her knees, she caught the skirt of 
 his habit entreatingly. " Father Gaston, I 
 need consolation, my heart is breaking. 
 Help me ! help me ! " 
 
 "Arise, daughter," replied the Jesuit, 
 slowly. " I will."
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 THE followers of Ignatius Loyola, im- 
 mediately before the period of their 
 self-destruction in France, had attained an 
 admirable eminence in all knowledge bear- 
 ing upon worldly culture and book-learning. 
 Had not their weak human nature over- 
 balanced the benefits of their policy wher- 
 ever temptations to self-indulgence arose in 
 greater numbers and force than the necessity 
 for self-discipline, the Jesuits would prob- 
 ably have retained indefinitely their su- 
 premacy over the human mind. When 
 Louis the Thirteenth's widow was Regent 
 of France they were giving out more than 
 they took in spiritually ; in consequence, 
 the base of supplies tottered. 
 
 The general at Rome still remained domi- 
 nant in personal control over every member 
 of the Order, whether he lived in Paris, a 
 
 63
 
 64 The Devil's Plough 
 
 fashionable confessor dwelling in covert lux- 
 ury, or in New France, enduring the hard- 
 ships and glory of martyrdom among the 
 North American Indians. But day by day 
 this sovereign of the Order lost his hold 
 upon the army of Jesus. Military general- 
 ship once lost, left him bare of spiritual 
 control, long a dead letter in his policy. 
 A general leading soldiers into battle against 
 Satan imperils his cause by the loss of a 
 single private's devoted obedience. 
 
 In Paris, during the wars of the Fronde, 
 the majority of Jesuits lost sufficiently their 
 respect for the cardinal principles of their 
 Order, embracing obedience, chastity, and 
 poverty, to admit of an easy and un- 
 apprehensive life of pleasure carried on im- 
 mediately below the surface of their more 
 or less conventual living. 
 
 The general's absolute power and all- 
 seeing eye were still feared ; but, at the 
 same time, they were occasionally evaded, 
 something hitherto held to be impossible. 
 
 The Jesuit college, nestling under the 
 wing of Notre Dame, and overlooking 
 the river to the south, was supervised, in
 
 The Devil's Plough 65 
 
 the superior capacity of rector, by L'Ar- 
 tanges, whose sermons had brought him 
 fame throughout France. This L'Artanges, 
 familiarly called Father Gaston, was born a 
 leader of men. The lads collected directly 
 under his influence in the Jesuit college 
 answered to the touch of his mind with 
 a worship reverential and devotional. Ru- 
 mour surmised considerable subterranean 
 laxity among the faculty of St. Ignatius, 
 but Father L'Artanges had, during his 
 five years of control, remained, as far as 
 was known, positively faithful to his vows. 
 This fact alone strengthened his influence 
 over his subordinates, were they brothers 
 of the Order, novices, or young men of 
 distinguished ancestry sent there for col- 
 legiate instruction. Probably the secret of 
 the devil's power could be traced to his 
 consistent pursuit of the principles he advo- 
 cates. No man can for long successfully 
 teach one thing and believe another. 
 
 Some weeks after L'Artanges's covert 
 attack upon the life of the court had made 
 him more than ever the general sensation 
 of the day, equalling, if not surpassing, in
 
 66 The Devil's Plough 
 
 that respect, news concerning the latest duel, 
 or the probability of Beaufort's escape from 
 prison, L'Artanges sat, late in the afternoon 
 of a hazy, yellow spring day, in his quiet 
 room reading. All necessary evidences of 
 asceticism surrounded him, and still there 
 were not wholly lacking intimations of 
 aesthetic intentions and longings. On a 
 projecting ornament of his private book- 
 cabinet hung a crucifix, but beside it, on 
 top of the cabinet, stood a flower-pot, whose 
 single blooming plant scented the air agree- 
 ably. 
 
 L'Artanges sat reading in a comfortable 
 chair placed in such line with the window 
 that, upon looking up, his glance met a long 
 stretch of the river, then wooded in the 
 distance with trees showing delicate infant 
 leaves of a tender green. His ponderous 
 volume failed to hold the rector's observa- 
 tion long away from the charm of that land- 
 scape visible over the low college wall. 
 Several times his eyes strained toward the 
 outer world with evident desire, and finally 
 his book dropped on to his knees, his head 
 fell back upon a comfortable head-rest, and
 
 The Devil's Plough 67 
 
 he dreamed thoughtfully, in contemplation 
 of the view before him. 
 
 This repose was interrupted by the col- 
 lege porter, a lay brother, whose personal 
 devotion to Father Gaston had grown into 
 a proverb among the students. " Faith- 
 ful as Pierre to Father Gaston," were words 
 frequently heard among the lads at their 
 books. Pierre, after scratching on the door, 
 entered, carrying a bulky letter. 
 
 " Holy father," he said, " I bring you a 
 letter newly arrived from New France. It 
 was despatched by messenger from a mis- 
 sionary brother lately arrived in a ship 
 direct from that barbarous country of sav- 
 ages where they eat of each other three 
 times daily. The missionary brother ap- 
 pears to be still in Paris, on his way to 
 Rome, and, if my ears are not asses', they 
 understood that his intention is to visit 
 you in the interest of the savage mission 
 before continuing his journey." 
 
 Father Gaston took the letter with some 
 show of eagerness. Pierre remained stand- 
 ing near by curiously, while the thick packet 
 was opened. Father Gaston glanced hur-
 
 68 The Devil's Plough 
 
 riedly through the lengthy contents, obliv- 
 ious of the man standing there, until the 
 latter spoke, tentatively: 
 
 " Father Gaston, if it does not " 
 
 "What, Pierre'! Thou art still here?" 
 said the priest, reprovingly. "In the name 
 of obedience, is there no work to be done, 
 that thou canst idle about ? " 
 
 " But, holy father, I have a request. You 
 are good 'tis but a little thing " He 
 hesitated. 
 
 " What is it, Pierre? " Father Gaston gave 
 him the keen look of mingled command 
 and consideration whose winning power sel- 
 dom fails of its purpose where subordinates 
 are concerned. 
 
 "Holy father, 'tis only to hear the letter 
 read. Father Francis says I was born with 
 asses' ears because I say the savages eat each 
 other, having heard that report. The letter 
 cannot fail to speak the truth about that 
 land of ice and black men. But if you are 
 unwilling, father " 
 
 "You want to know about the Indians? 
 Well, so do I. We'll read it together, 
 Pierre." L'Artanges's voice changed swiftly;
 
 The Devil's Plough 69 
 
 his words became sharp and higher pitched. 
 " Pierre, wouldst thou go and live in that 
 country, for the greater glory of God ? " 
 
 " I live there ! " gasped the porter, wide- 
 mouthed and eyed. " I to be eaten bit by 
 bit by wild beasts of men ! Holy Father 
 defend ! " 
 
 " But wouldst thou go with me to that 
 land ? " the father added musingly, looking 
 off toward the extreme western bend of the 
 river. " A new life, Pierre, with something 
 real to fight, something outside oneself 
 to be taken hold of " 
 
 " But, holy father, when are you going ? 
 What will Paris do without you ? The poor 
 remember them the poor of Paris have 
 only you for a friend. Down at the market, 
 this very morning, I heard the women whis- 
 pering among themselves, * Our hope is in 
 Beaufort and Father Gaston. We will drive 
 the pig-headed priest away from the queen 
 and little Louis. We'll use our hands " 
 
 " Did they speak those words aloud, 
 Pierre ? " The priest was attentive. 
 
 "Just between their teeth, holy father. 
 The women tied a pig in his pen, then they
 
 yo The Devil's Plough 
 
 threw carrots at him. They called, f Take 
 that, Mazarin,' every time they hit him ; 
 and some used frondes, and pelted the poor 
 pig with stones, like the boys in the streets 
 outside the wall." 
 
 " This is bad. Trouble rumbles like 
 distant thunder." Father Gaston frowned 
 abstractedly. 
 
 " But, Father Gaston, about New 
 France. You are not going, father, say 
 you are not. But, if you do, I must say 
 good-bye to sweet France, to the river and 
 to the fish, to the fine market, and my little 
 daughter, Madelon. Ah, it is sad ! " 
 
 " No, no, Pierre. We will not go now. 
 Our work is here. Madelon and the fish 
 need you, the people need me ; but what- 
 ever calls us, it is for the greater glory of 
 God, Pierre." 
 
 The layman crossed himself mechanically 
 and looked with affection at Father Gaston. 
 
 " I will read the letter from New France. 
 Shade the window, Pierre ; the glare of light 
 makes the written characters indistinct." 
 The man screened him with his body, and 
 L'Artanges read aloud :
 
 The Devil's Plough 71 
 
 " MY REVEREND FATHER : Pax Christi. This is a 
 mission of blood and fire, of toils and tears, of captives 
 and barbarians. It is a country where the ground is 
 still stained with the blood of Frenchmen ; where scaf- 
 folds are still standing, strewn with their ashes; where 
 survivors of the cruel torture bear its direful marks on 
 feet and hands, with nails torn out, and fingers and toes 
 cut off; where, in fine, I have spent a year, that I might 
 hear the lamentations of this afflicted church, and, like a 
 good shepherd, share all the afflictions of his beloved 
 flock. 
 
 " Of all the devices employed by the devil for thwart- 
 ing the Father's good purposes, there is scarcely one of 
 greater efficacy than dreams, which form almost the sole 
 divinity of the country; while the people glory in com- 
 mitting a thousand extravagances for the sake of obeying 
 this god of darkness and falsehood. My greatest care dur- 
 ing my late sojourn among the barbarous Iroquois, now 
 leaning somewhat toward the faith, was to let no infant 
 miss baptism, all captive Frenchmen dexterously com- 
 ing to my aid in this noble occupation. The smallpox, 
 opportunely supervening, gathered in a rich harvest of 
 those innocent souls ; for, of more than two hundred 
 who received holy baptism during the winter, there 
 were over six score who died soon after, to make their 
 flight to heaven. 
 
 " My next care was to prepare the adult sick to pass to 
 a happier life. It is true, my success in their case did not 
 always meet my wishes, for it is very difficult to die like 
 a saint after having always lived like a barbarian. Often
 
 72 The Devil's Plough 
 
 was I driven out of the cabins, and my charity repaid 
 with the old reproach, that the faith is only fitted to kill 
 people ; often, too, was I listened to in peace, and grace, 
 which knows how to choose its predestined ones, found 
 lodgment in the hearts of some, while it was expelled 
 from those of others. But these ministrations are ac- 
 cepted only in times of peace. Scarcely any blessing 
 is conferred in the church except by the sign of the 
 cross. 
 
 "If this sign is the symbol of blessing and of salvation, 
 we are rich in New France, for we have crosses on every 
 hand. The hardest and heaviest come to us from these 
 Iroquois, who are constantly killing and slaughtering us, 
 incessantly destroying our allies, and everywhere closing 
 the door to the gospel. 
 
 " We have learned with joy that it is the queen's will to 
 remove these obstacles, and give our missionaries liberty 
 to carry Jesus Christ into all these vast regions. May 
 God bless her and all the royal house for ever. The 
 surest means to strengthen her own kingdom effectually 
 for the benefit of her son is to establish that of Jesus 
 Christ. May it please our Lord, as he has crowned the 
 great princes of the world with so much glory, to cause 
 them to bear the name of conqueror in America as well 
 as in Europe, honouring them with the conquest of souls, 
 together with that of cities and provinces. Their earthly 
 victories bring them credit on earth ; their victories in 
 heaven's cause will redound to their honour in heaven. 
 Thither must their thoughts in Christian piety turn, and 
 thither are directed our prayers. To these prayers we
 
 The Devil's Plough 73 
 
 implore you, my reverend father, to add the succour of 
 your own and of those of all our fathers and brethren. 
 
 "Your reverence's very humble and obedient servant 
 in our Lord, 
 
 " SIMON LE MOYNE." 
 
 L'Artanges laid down this letter with a 
 sigh. " The men giving their lives in New 
 France are in holy virtue the peers of the 
 apostles. Theirs is the faith that removes 
 mountains." 
 
 He had forgotten Pierre, who answered 
 to this comment, " My ears were not so 
 long as Father Francis said. Thank you, 
 holy father, for reading the letter. I can 
 now tell Father Francis, upon Father Le 
 Moyne's word, that the savages are unholy, 
 unbaptised beasts." 
 
 The rector smiled leniently and was about 
 to speak, when he caught a sound at the 
 door. 
 
 " Some one desires entrance, Pierre." 
 
 At the door Pierre found Brother Francis, 
 his eyes more popped than usual, and his 
 nose sniffling impatiently. 
 
 " Is the holy father within ? " he inquired, 
 hurriedly.
 
 74 The Devil's Plough 
 
 "Yes, Brother Francis, and my ears are 
 not asses', after all " 
 
 " What is it ? " demanded the rector's firm 
 voice. " Admit Father Francis." 
 
 " Holy father, a messenger from the 
 queen." Father Francis handed the rector 
 a sealed envelope. 
 
 " You may go," the latter said, after 
 skimming the contents. " I appoint Father 
 Andrew to hear the novitiate confessional, 
 and to pronounce penance in my necessary 
 absence. I am called away." 
 
 The two subordinates left the room, back- 
 ing out of the presence of their superior. 
 
 Once alone, L'Artanges walked to the 
 window, still holding in his hand the order 
 from the queen. His face was non-com- 
 mittal, but his eyes burned with steady de- 
 termination, looking down upon the novices 
 hoeing potatoes in the garden in compulsory 
 silence. 
 
 " I am at least faithful where my con- 
 science is not blinded. I will not retract. 
 Why have they waited these weeks ? The 
 cardinal could not make up his mind. He 
 fears my control of the people." He
 
 The Devil's Plough 75 
 
 thought this out leaning against the win- 
 dow-frame, watching the shadows lengthen 
 in the garden ; then taking down his long 
 hat, he started for the Palais Royal.
 
 Chapter V 
 
 DURING the reading of the Jesuit mis- 
 sionary's letter in the college of St. 
 Ignatius, the antechamber to Anne of 
 Austria's private apartment buzzed with 
 gossip. The ladies in waiting to the queen 
 were assembled there while her Majesty 
 attended self-appointed devotions in her 
 oratory, where, at this period of her life, 
 the once lively queen spent many hours 
 daily prostrate before an image of the Mag- 
 dalene. The yeast in her conscience gave 
 evidence of rising. In a close-fitting serge 
 costume, buttoned up to the throat like that 
 of a lay nun, she fasted and chastised her- 
 self with monotonous frequency. This fact 
 alone would have created nothing more than 
 conversation among her ladies, but when she 
 insisted upon their doing likewise, a lively 
 breeze of well-warmed temper swept through 
 
 their retiring-room. 
 
 76
 
 The Devil's Plough 77 
 
 They sat about this apartment of great 
 size, devoted to their pleasure, in chattering 
 groups, although three or four lazily isolated 
 themselves, lying on couches, book in hand, 
 and others played cards enthusiastically. 
 Their long ringlets, fashionably called mous- 
 taches, fell gracefully over their ears or well 
 across their faces, when, as was the case in 
 several instances, they indolently or dili- 
 gently embroidered, according to their re- 
 spective tendencies. 
 
 Close by a window overlooking the Place 
 Royale sat a particularly lively group of 
 ladies. Stretched indolently at length on a 
 couch lay Mademoiselle de Pous, tearing in 
 pieces a bunch of flowers and throwing 
 handfuls of rose petals at her companions. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, for what reason do you 
 wear your capeline indoors ? " she called 
 out to a radiant young person but recently 
 arrived. 
 
 " Ah, my capeline ! I truly forgot you 
 weren't all game. Some hunters in breeches 
 and new pourpoints still think you are," 
 replied Mademoiselle de la Mothe, remov- 
 ing a becoming hat of the latest fashion for
 
 78 The Devil's Plough 
 
 the hunt. " How do you like these black 
 feathers with the pink lining, Lucie ? Her 
 Majesty told me but yesterday that I look 
 like a peacock in my capeline. That's 
 better than looking like an owl." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Pous put up her fan 
 before her mouth, so that only her eyes 
 showed laughter. The others looked sig- 
 nificant. 
 
 " Marie," said De Pous, " much of inter- 
 est has occurred in your absence. De 
 Hautefort was turned out of the room this 
 morning, during the queen's toilet, for 
 bursting into tears because her stays were 
 too tight, while putting on the shoes. De 
 Noailles came in about an hour ago, had an 
 audience of a few minutes, then hurried out 
 red as my pattens, and ordered her coach 
 before we " 
 
 " What was the matter ? " interrupted De 
 la Mothe, excitedly. " Monsieur " 
 
 They all laughed. " No, no. For a 
 young one, your guess was quick. No, 
 even better; guess again." 
 
 " Oh, you child of gadflies ! What is 
 it? Countess, the news? " She turned to
 
 The Devil's Plough 79 
 
 Comtesse de Joinville, sitting somewhat 
 apart beside the open window. The count- 
 ess smiled, and her even teeth glistened as 
 she bit into a sweet lemon to redden her 
 lips. She made one sweeping gesture, em- 
 bracing her bust, and they all raised their 
 zephyrs to conceal a general laugh. 
 
 " Yes," broke in De Pous, stretching out 
 her satin-shod foot and looking at it care- 
 fully, " modesty hath come in. Take care. 
 De Noailles was told that she wore her 
 bodice too low. She swears she didn't. 
 Think of that ! Give me a bon-bon to 
 stop my mouth." 
 
 " Oh, I've had my weekly lesson," re- 
 plied De la Mothe. " But yesterday I was 
 told I must confess to a Jesuit. Horrible ! 
 I, a Jansenist, confess to a Jesuit ! I always 
 confess twice a year, anyway. What is it to 
 her Majesty if I do not confess at all ? " 
 
 " Ssh ! " cautioned De Pous, glancing 
 over her shoulder at a tapestry hanging. 
 " Come here, little one, console yourself 
 with a sweetcake off our new gold trays. 
 The court grows liberal. I must loosen my 
 stays while I recline. If the day ever come
 
 8o The Devil's Plough 
 
 when I set the fashion, women shall not be 
 expected to be beautifully fat and beautifully 
 small about the waist at the same time. 
 There, that's better. Jeanne, tell De la 
 Mothe about your Jansenist priest to con- 
 sole her for the Jesuit." 
 
 From across the room a lady busy with 
 her embroidery answered, " My confessor 
 deprived me of the Easter communion be- 
 cause I trimmed my handkerchief with lace." 
 
 " Heavens ! There isn't much choice, 
 then, except that Jesuit discipline is more 
 lively. Isn't that so ? " Again they all 
 laughed behind their zephyrs. " But let 
 me tell you," continued De la Mothe, evad- 
 ing a rose shower from the hand of De 
 Pous, " about the new hairdresser." 
 
 " Oh, do ! do ! do ! " came from every 
 side. 
 
 " You must all try Champagne. He's 
 as heavenly as he is impudent. This morn- 
 ing, before we set out for the chase, I had 
 him arrange my hair to the best advantage 
 of my new capeline. What do you think ? 
 He actually arranged one side, then refused 
 to do the other unless I kissed him ! "
 
 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Kiss a hairdresser ! Heavens ! Horri- 
 ble ! Did you do it?" 
 
 " Do it ? Of course I did. How could I 
 have gone otherwise ? How did you like 
 him, countess ? " she asked De Joinville, 
 who replied, still gazing out of the window, 
 " Excellently well, my dear. You girls must 
 be careful of him, though, I am older. 
 He makes no charges, takes exactly what 
 one offers him ; but the first time, I did not 
 give him enough to suit his fancy, and the 
 second he refused to come to me. Listen ! " 
 Her eyes strained. She listened acutely. 
 " Something is happening outside. Observe 
 the people ! Hear them ! This is dread- 
 ful ! " 
 
 The ladies ran to the windows, where they 
 looked over each other's shoulders excit- 
 edly. " The people are rising ! " cried one. 
 " Hear that ! " " Countess, put your arm 
 around me; I'm frightened!" "What if 
 they should attack the palace ! " " The car- 
 dinal will be the ruin of France ! " the ladies 
 cried out to each other. 
 
 Outside, skirting the royal gardens, past 
 the Louvre and Church of Saint Germain,
 
 8z The Devil's Plough 
 
 there came running and shouting a riotous 
 mob of people from the quays and market- 
 place, leading a squealing pig, at which they 
 threw carrots and stones from sling-shots, 
 screaming, violently : " Down with Maz- 
 arin ! " " Down with the Bon Ami ! We 
 want Beaufort, Roi des Halles ! Gondi ! 
 Gondi ! Down with the pig ! He eats the 
 people's earnings ! " One Amazon, carry- 
 ing a stick, shook it at the ladies looking out 
 from the window, and howled at them, 
 " Dames des Madame Anne ! Down with 
 bad women ! " 
 
 The ladies huddled together in alarm. 
 At that moment, to the rear of the mob, 
 there appeared a Jesuit priest, walking alone. 
 " Father Gaston ! " exclaimed Comtesse de 
 Joinville, leaning far out of the window. 
 " There is no more occasion for alarm. He 
 will quiet them." 
 
 She was right. L'Artanges without hesi- 
 tation moved among the mob of people, 
 laying a quieting hand on this one's shoulder, 
 speaking a short word of warning to another, 
 taking the stick away from the howling Am- 
 azon, and making with it a sign of the cross
 
 The Devil's Plough 83 
 
 on her bare breast. After ten minutes' exer- 
 tion of this influence, the crowd began to 
 disperse, still muttering and shaking their 
 fists at the palace. Before an hour had 
 elapsed, the place was quiet, except for an 
 occasional horseman, pedestrian, or coach 
 passing. One of the first ripples of the 
 French Revolution had been turned back by 
 the Jesuit rod of kindness. 
 
 The noise in the streets had brought the 
 queen in alarm from her devotions to a con- 
 cealed position near a window in her private 
 apartment. There she stood, watching an 
 uproar primarily of her own making. Each 
 of her arms encircled one of her young sons 
 protectingly. Louis, a wilful lad, struggled 
 to release himself, in order that he might 
 look closer at the proceedings from the win- 
 dow. Anne held him back, but he cried 
 out, " Why don't you tell them to be still, 
 Madame ? Tou are the queen." She was 
 silent. Again he tried to reach the window, 
 crying out, with a strut of his childish body 
 and toss of his head, "/ will command them, 
 Madame, 7, who am to be their king." 
 
 " Be quiet, my son, your time has not yet
 
 84 The Devil's Plough 
 
 come. See the priest talking to them. He 
 will make them behave." 
 
 " But, Madame, will you permit a priest 
 to do your duty ? I ought to be king now. 
 Then no priest would tell me or the people 
 what to do." 
 
 Anne sighed, and the three stood watch- 
 ing the people disperse. Presently she 
 spoke to the Duchesse de Chevreuse, stand- 
 ing at some distance back in the room 
 wringing her hands in suppressed alarm : 
 " Duchess, you will order that the Jesuit 
 priest, Father L'Artanges, be admitted to 
 private audience at once, on his arrival at the 
 palace." And the queen led her sons back 
 to their instructor, stationed in an adjoining 
 room. 
 
 When, a short time after, L'Artanges was 
 conducted through the antechamber into the 
 presence of the queen, the ladies received 
 him with exclamations of gratitude. He 
 bowed courteously from right to left, with- 
 out pausing or speaking, until the Comtesse 
 de Joinville approached him with " Father, 
 you are to-day France's great benefactor." 
 He delayed one moment, looked at her fair
 
 The Devil's Plough 85 
 
 face, still white with alarm, and replied, 
 courteously, " 'Tis no small matter, if I have 
 relieved Comtesse de Joinville of one mo- 
 ment's uneasiness," then passed behind the 
 queen's tapestry. 
 
 " What did he say to you ? " they all cried 
 out. 
 
 " Oh, he made me a compliment," replied 
 the countess, twisting one long ringlet over 
 her forefinger. " You know L'Artanges is 
 ever ready with whatever serves his purpose. 
 As Ninon de L'Enclos says, * A Jesuit is 
 a piece of sealing-wax : it softens before it 
 takes firm hold.'" 
 
 " Still, he never minds his words where 
 he knows his power," said De Pous. " Do 
 you remember that time at mass in the 
 chapel, when, in the midst of his sermon, he 
 thundered out, f Awaken ! Awaken that abbe 
 who is asleep, and who is only here to pay 
 his court to royalty?' The Abbe Fouquer, 
 sitting near me, jumped as if he had been 
 stabbed from behind, and his peruke fell off 
 at the very moment, showing a bald head 
 such as nobody had suspected. Oh, L'Ar- 
 tanges knows nothing of fear, and he is
 
 86 The Devil's Plough 
 
 without doubt the best-looking priest in 
 Paris." 
 
 " So young for a priest, too, I do desire 
 that he confess me. I made the request ; he 
 refused, but he confesses Heloise de Lune- 
 ville," another lady continued. " He can't 
 be, at most, more than forty years old, and 
 to my mind he is better looking than his 
 brother, since Monsieur de Chatillon cut off 
 his imperial and moustaches." 
 
 " De Chatillon swears he'll never grow 
 them again until Heloise is his." 
 
 " An uncongenial husband in the Bastille 
 is not a serious obstacle. Perchance they 
 will grow over night sometime." 
 
 They all laughed, and Mademoiselle de 
 Hauteville, coming in during the last re- 
 mark, observed, with the assumption of 
 naughtiness in tone and eye then much 
 the fashion at court, " My mother used to 
 say, * I have observed one thing in France, 
 honour grows again as well as hair.' The 
 countess may grow several crops before De 
 Luneville and Beaufort forget the Bastille 
 and Vincennes. Ladies, six duels were 
 fought in Paris this morning. D'Apres
 
 The Devil's Plough 87 
 
 killed De Goncourt with one thrust." 
 And so the slippery minds of the ladies 
 were led into another stream of scandal. 
 
 In the queen's apartment L'Artanges was 
 received in silence. After acknowledging 
 his obeisance, Anne of Austria sat looking 
 down at a crucifix she held in one hand, 
 without signifying by her facial expression 
 approval or the reverse. L'Artanges stood 
 quietly looking at his queen. 
 
 At last she spoke slowly, " Monsieur le 
 recteur, you have this day saved yourself 
 from future annoyance." 
 
 " Yes, Madame the Queen," he replied, 
 watching her carefully. 
 
 " You suppressed the rabble in the streets, 
 for which we are grateful." Anne's face 
 looked less heavy and uninteresting for 
 the moment. " As I said, we are grateful, 
 and feel inclined to be lenient with your 
 indiscretions." 
 
 " Yes, Madame the Queen." 
 
 " We sent for you to warn you against 
 further pulpit disloyalty. The cardinal can- 
 not forgive. His influence at Rome may 
 already have ruined you ; but after to-day,
 
 The Devil's Plough 
 
 if it is not too late, no intelligence of 
 your indiscretions shall reach the general, 
 provided your future influence be now 
 pledged in behalf of the throne, and " 
 she hesitated, glanced swiftly at him, 
 then away again "and the throne's ad- 
 visers." 
 
 " May I have the honour to know to what 
 indiscretions Madame the Queen refers ? " 
 asked L'Artanges, carefully choosing his 
 words. 
 
 " They need not be indicated. The 
 throne has a vigilant eye, so has the gen- 
 eral of the Jesuits. You have a brother, 
 Monsieur de Chatillon ? " 
 
 " I had a brother, Madame the Queen. 
 A Jesuit dies to his relatives on taking his 
 vows." 
 
 She raised her eyes again. " Perchance 
 your influence over him is not so entirely 
 dead as it would seem to be. Advise your 
 brother discreetly, monsieur le recteur, for 
 we are deeply grateful after to-day. Are 
 we to believe that Father Gaston is our 
 loyal subject?" 
 
 "That he is, Father Gaston has fully
 
 The Devil's Plough 89 
 
 revealed to-day, Madame the Queen," he 
 replied, looking full into her eyes. 
 
 " And that he will continue so ? " 
 
 " Without doubt, Madame the Queen. 
 Now and always." 
 
 "In event of that, the general at Rome 
 can be made to understand that he has 
 been misinformed if misleading statements 
 reach him. You are dismissed." Suddenly 
 changing her tone, Anne leaned toward him 
 with human fear in her eyes. " Help us 
 with the people, Father Gaston, and give 
 a weak, lonely woman absolution." 
 
 L'Artanges was undoubtedly surprised, 
 but having been reared in an excellent 
 school of self-control, he complied with 
 her request without apparent hesitation. 
 Gravely he listened to the confession of 
 this lonely woman, bound completely in 
 the grasp of an unscrupulous man whom 
 she both loved and feared. 
 
 At his concluding words of absolution, 
 " Go and sin no more. Pray for me," the 
 queen arose from her knees, evidently en- 
 couraged and more hopeful. " The world 
 can never know the bitterness of my life,"
 
 90 The Devil's Plough 
 
 she muttered, half aloud. " A queen is 
 only a woman, after all is said. Your ser- 
 mon touched my soul. My own confessor 
 was not enough. I needed your faith in 
 support." Father Gaston made no sign 
 of comprehension, but respectfully kissed 
 her proffered hand sympathetically and 
 went out. 
 
 Once outside, his face relaxed ; he walked 
 slowly and thoughtfully along the streets, 
 with his hands behind him, his eyes held 
 in custody. But once he smiled as does 
 a successful man to himself. 
 
 His meditations were interrupted by the 
 approach of porters bearing a chair. A 
 woman's voice called out, " Father Gaston ! 
 Set me down, Jacques, I desire a word with 
 the father." He knew the voice. The 
 Comtesse de Luneville was speaking. Ar- 
 rayed in a silver-blue silk costume em- 
 broidered with pearls, and with pearls 
 twined in her russet hair, she looked 
 forth, a glimpse of delight to any man of 
 good taste in beauty. But her deep eyes 
 were troubled, like lakes reflecting blue 
 skies and passing clouds.
 
 The Devil's Plough 91 
 
 " Father Gaston, I must speak with you. 
 Have you seen Paul ? It is rumoured that 
 he is to fight Comte de Bouteville. I have 
 just stopped at Madame de Sevigne's on 
 my way to Voiture's supper, and there I 
 heard that Paul had said De Bouteville's 
 thrust was not so good as Saint-Evre- 
 mond's, and that De Bouteville is seeking 
 him with a challenge. I have not seen 
 Paul for two weeks, as was my promise 
 to you. Has the decree against duelling 
 no force ? Must a woman see her friends 
 slaughtered before her face for some silly 
 word ? " 
 
 " Ah, countess, a woman is only con- 
 cerned when the duellist is her own friend. 
 How is it when some other woman's friend 
 is challenged ? Why do you not influence 
 all the women to discountenance the evil 
 practice ? Then the cardinal's edict would 
 have some force." The priest seemed to 
 be talking to gain time. He had removed 
 his hat and now shielded his eyes from 
 the last rays of the evening sun. " A great 
 lady should not lend a hand to the devil's 
 plough."
 
 92 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " But, father," she replied, " I have no 
 time to argue now. If Paul should fight 
 before I see him once more ! " She covered 
 her face to shut out the thought. "At 
 your advice I have kept him from me " 
 
 " But now, countess ? " The priest 
 brought his hat around in front of him 
 and stared down at it. 
 
 " But now I shall seek Paris over until 
 I find him and know the truth." 
 
 " Countess, remember your promise. A 
 Jesuit's brother is no more to him than 
 any other human soul ; but in behalf of 
 every man trying to do right, I beseech 
 you to keep away from Paul de Chatillon 
 unless he seeks you out." 
 
 The countess leaned out, beckoned her 
 porters, who had retired out of hearing, 
 and replied, " Good evening, Father Gaston. 
 A woman's heart is her straight road to 
 paradise."
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 THAT night a thunder-storm rolled 
 over Paris. The following morning 
 broke clear and cooler, with a sun sufficiently 
 warm, however, to raise moisture from the 
 wet ground and vegetation in nauseous 
 vapours, owing to the prevailing filth of the 
 streets. 
 
 At noon the people of the markets were 
 well through a day's work. The streets in 
 the vicinity of Notre Dame sounded lively 
 with the clatter of market-women and huck- 
 sters returning home with their meagre gains 
 of the morning. Pierre, of the Jesuit col- 
 lege, came along, conducting his pretty 
 daughter to her home on the other side 
 of the river. He was careful of Madelon, 
 his one choice possession, sole living re- 
 minder of her mother, now in heaven, if 
 prayers purchased in behalf of the dead 
 wife's salvation had any virtue. In one 
 93
 
 94 The Devil's Plough 
 
 hand Pierre carried a basket of fish, in the 
 other a stout stick, without which he was 
 never seen when accompanied by the little 
 daughter. 
 
 " The air smells, Madelon," said Pierre, 
 twisting up his nose. 
 
 " Yes, father, so do the fish," replied the 
 sweet-faced girl with tender eyes, turning 
 her head away from him playfully. 
 
 " Ah, the beautiful fish ! Their smell is as 
 sweet as a rose when thou hast once learned 
 to like it." Pierre looked affectionately down 
 at his fish. The girl made another grimace 
 of distaste. " See how the scales shine, little 
 daughter. Thine eyes in the morning light 
 are not finer." He looked up at her ad- 
 miringly. She was intent upon the crowds 
 crossing the Pont Notre Dame ahead of 
 them, and scarcely heeded the compliment, 
 something very customary from her father 
 to his little daughter. 
 
 " Madelon," continued Pierre, scanning 
 her costume carefully, " thou wearest the 
 girdle of silver to-day. How is that ? The 
 countess gave it thee for fete days, not for 
 the daily labour."
 
 The Devil's Plough 95 
 
 " Oh, father," she replied, carelessly, " I 
 go to carry flowers to the house of great 
 ladies this afternoon, then to the Bastille." 
 
 " Why to the Bastille ? " he asked, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " Not to stay, father," she laughed, re- 
 assuringly, " but to sell to the governor, 
 whose taste is for flowers. The Bastille is 
 but an inn with stout walls, where fine gen- 
 tlemen are kept out of mischief. The poor 
 are not good enough for such society, unless 
 evil be intended." There was a bitterness 
 in her tone, unexpected as the worm at the 
 heart of a bright red apple. 
 
 " Madelon," said her father, gravely, 
 " thou say'st thy prayers morning and 
 evening ? " 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "Thou confesseth weekly, little daugh- 
 ter?" 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " Thou goest muth into danger alone in the 
 city, but so good a maiden the Holy Mother 
 will protect. Ah, if thy mother but lived ! " 
 
 They approached the bridge. Some ex- 
 citement stirred among the crowds crossing.
 
 96 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Fine gentlemen out on their pleasures, 
 father." Again the gentle voice sounded 
 hard. " Robbing the people for pleasure, 
 or plaguing us like boys with a dog's tail. 
 The time will come when all people shall 
 be alike. Look there, father ! Robbery ! 
 Did I not say it ? " 
 
 " Madelon, stand behind me. We are 
 safe. I see the archers coming." 
 
 Close by the end of the bridge they 
 approached, there stood at that time the 
 statue of a bronze horse. Upon this horse, 
 astride, one behind the other, sat two counts 
 of ancient lineage in drunken glee, pretend- 
 ing to gallop away, while beneath them, 
 just where the bridge began, a dozen or so 
 of their irresponsible followers for the 
 purpose of putting a fine point of pleasure 
 upon a night of carousal extending far into 
 the day were, by force, despoiling the 
 bridge passengers of their cloaks and hats. 
 Resistance to this diversion was rapidly cre- 
 ating a brawl, when a company of mounted 
 archers was seen approaching at galloping 
 speed. 
 
 The elegant robbers, on perceiving their
 
 The Devil's Plough 97 
 
 danger through hazy eyes, made off in the 
 other direction, but. the Comtes d'Harcourt 
 and Rochefort, sitting aloft, had reached a 
 mental state of rotary motion, since mount- 
 ing their high horse, greatly interfering with 
 successful flight in a straight line. The 
 archers arrived in time to arrest their un- 
 certain steps and carry them ignominiously 
 back into the presence of the unbalanced mu- 
 nicipal justice existing at the period, to the 
 vociferous joy of the crowds on the Pont 
 Notre Dame, expressed by howls of derision. 
 This episode deterred Pierre from his 
 purpose of conducting the little daughter 
 to her tiny home surrounded by a propor- 
 tionately minute garden, where the girl cul- 
 tivated flowers for sale at the markets. 
 " Madelon," said Pierre, " my little daugh- 
 ter must take no risks. Those gentlemanly 
 villains may return across the bridge after 
 the archers have gone. We will turn back. 
 Father Gaston will permit thee a seat in the 
 kitchen until thou must sell thy flowers to 
 the great ladies. Come." He hurried her 
 back in the direction of the college appre- 
 hensively.
 
 98 The Devil's Plough 
 
 "Just give me a bite to eat, father," 
 Madelon insisted, when they arrived. " A 
 woman must not be seen here. Then I 
 will take what flowers I have to the Com- 
 tesse de Luneville. She will forgive their 
 wilted look when I tell her my reason for 
 carrying them to her in such fashion. She 
 likes not drunkards, even though they be 
 gentlemen." 
 
 " Thou still sell'st the flowers to the 
 countess, little daughter ? " Pierre asked, 
 meanwhile spreading for her a piece of 
 bread with soft cheese procured from the 
 great pantry, where the cook was heard 
 kneading bread and whistling blithely. 
 
 Madelon listened and smiled. " Jean 
 whistles not a pious tune, my father. But 
 a lay brother is not a priest." Then perch- 
 ing herself upon a high settle just inside the 
 door, she answered her father's question. 
 "Yes, my father; the countess loves the 
 flowers, and she makes me sit beside her 
 bed, if no great ladies be there, and tell 
 her how the people live, and how I grow 
 my flowers better than any others in Paris." 
 
 " The count he is in the Bastille because of
 
 The Devil's Plough 99 
 
 the great Beaufort, is it not so ? " Pierre 
 asked idly, out of no special curiosity. 
 
 "Yes, father," replied the girl, looking 
 quickly at him, then down at her bread and 
 cheese. " I must hurry and be going, or 
 she will be displeased. She will not leave 
 her bed until two o'clock, unless, having no 
 one to amuse her, or no new book to read, 
 she suddenly goes out in the coach or to 
 ride her horse through the woods. No one 
 ever knows what the countess may do the 
 next minute." 
 
 The girl was an attractive picture, sitting 
 there in her simple blue bodice and petti- 
 coats, wearing on her abundant hair a coif 
 whose white bravolette hung gracefully 
 down behind upon her shoulders. A huge 
 cut of bread rapidly diminished between her 
 teeth, small and delicate as those of a mouse ; 
 her feet, in stout black pattens, swung just 
 clear of the floor, owing to the height of her 
 seat. Madelon's face contained a rainbow 
 of emotions ; the reflection of a little child, 
 a motherly woman, and a charming girl 
 hurried swiftly over her countenance while 
 she talked.
 
 ioo The Devil's Plough 
 
 Pierre sat on a stool just outside the 
 kitchen door, cleaning his fish in a pan 
 placed between his feet on the ground. He 
 shook his head at mention of Comtesse de 
 Luneville's hour of rising. " God did not 
 intend his people to sleep by day and go 
 abroad by night. The horse and the cow 
 yes, even the pig and the donkey know 
 better." 
 
 " I must be going, father. The bread 
 was good. I get hungry by this time of 
 day. Thou wilt come to-morrow? 'Tis 
 my desire that thou shalt see the first red 
 rose of the spring. It looks to have been 
 grown from a drop of blood. 'Tis the first 
 rose in Paris this year. The Holy Virgin 
 smiles upon my flowers, and they bloom." 
 
 Pierre dropped his fish and knife, his 
 eyes set upon the distant river; slowly, 
 indistinctly, his words came : " A drop of 
 blood, a rose. That was my dream last 
 night. I saw the lilies of France changing 
 into drops of blood, falling to earth, where 
 men lay dead or sleeping, and there they 
 grew again, blood-red roses." 
 
 Madelon shuddered slightly. " Art thou
 
 The Devil's Plough 101 
 
 dreaming again, little father ? " She arose 
 and patted his head affectionately. " Pray 
 to the Virgin for pretty dreams, little father. 
 The Holy Mother will send them, because 
 thou art good. Now I must go. Are the 
 flowers much faded? I'll take them out of 
 the water and arrange them prettily in the 
 basket once more." 
 
 This she did, picking out a few of her 
 choice spring growth and bunching them 
 tastefully. " Father," she said, coming 
 close to Pierre, " these thou wilt put on 
 Father Gaston's table? He is so kind, 
 so kind to the poor." Then she kissed her 
 little father and departed. 
 
 Pierre took the flowers, but said nothing. 
 He shook his head as he watched her dis- 
 appear down the street leading to the fashion- 
 able quarter of Paris. " My little daughter 
 is too pretty to go alone in the city where 
 the devil ploughs up evil every day. If I 
 but had some golden louis, it should not be. 
 But that is all." Out of his pocket he took 
 a sou, looking down at it sadly, and still 
 shaking his head. Questioningly he looked 
 away toward the river. " Who knows ?
 
 IO2 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Perchance in New France things might be 
 better if she would go too. 'Tis better 
 to be eaten alive than have a girl's soul 
 damned." 
 
 Pierre was restless in his sleep again that 
 night. The sight of Madelon eaten alive by 
 savages with long tails haunted his dreams. 
 
 While Pierre had been risking the Jesuit 
 reputation by refreshing his little daughter 
 at the kitchen door of the college, Comtesse 
 de Luneville lay on her lit d'ange of gold, 
 trimmed in Chinese gauze and flame-coloured 
 silk several shades lighter than her own 
 beautiful hair. The canopy overhead, pro- 
 tecting her precious body from draughts, was 
 decorated after the same luxurious manner, 
 in perfect aceord with the other decorations 
 of an apartment typical of a profligate period, 
 when even the example of royal pecuniary 
 discretion proved no check upon the waste- 
 ful extravagance of nobility. Indeed, it 
 permitted a certain freedom in fashion and 
 manners impossible before, or afterward, 
 during the rococo maturity and pious old 
 age of Louis the Fourteenth. Throughout 
 the wars of the Fronde, the seeds of political
 
 The Devil's Plough 103 
 
 liberty sown by Parliament and the rebellious 
 nobles extended their sprouts in many direc- 
 tions, flourishing bravely about all questions 
 of dress and deportment. 
 
 Great open fireplaces were built at either 
 end of the Comtesse de Luneville's sleeping- 
 apartment, wherein crackled, and occasion- 
 ally smoked, logs of wood supported by 
 bronze fire-dogs. On the mantel above one 
 of the fireplaces ticked an ornate clock, ac- 
 companied by flowers blooming in decorated 
 pots on either side of the timepiece. A 
 candelabra of gold, supported by marble 
 cupids, stood at the head of the bed, in close 
 harmony with the gracefully frescoed walls 
 and ceiling. An inlaid cabinet stood against 
 the wall opposite, and above it hung por- 
 traits of the lady's parents, whom she had 
 left in Gascony at an early age, when she 
 became, not altogether willingly, a Parisian 
 countess. 
 
 The book cabinet at the farther end of 
 the room was filled with the best reading 
 obtainable, for, in a slight measure, the 
 countess affected the precieuse turn of mind. 
 Although in no sense of the word a blue-
 
 IO4 The Devil's Plough 
 
 stocking, the atmosphere of the Hotel Ram- 
 bouillet, which she frequented, had coloured 
 and directed her recent education. At one 
 side of the bookcase there hung, attached 
 to the wall, a unique candelabra made of 
 wrought brass, encircling a mirror, at whose 
 base was fastened a hand modelled in brass, 
 holding a candle which, when lighted, was 
 reflected with mysterious effect in the mirror. 
 It also reflected glimpses of the room, and 
 of a Gobelin tapestry hung near by as a 
 means of exit into the antechamber. Sofas, 
 chairs, and tabourets stood grouped with 
 the social ease of courtiers ; indeed, there 
 was ever about Heloise de Luneville and 
 her possessions an atmosphere of irre- 
 sistible insinuating charm, unobtrusive but 
 indelible. 
 
 As the lady lay there in a deshabill'e of 
 silk and lace, the sunlight caught her wavy 
 hair falling in long burnished strands across 
 the bolster, where they braided with shafts 
 of light. Heloise's natural pallor but em- 
 phasised the strong colour of her hair and 
 eyes. That day this pallor was exaggerated. 
 Heloise de Luneville had restless eyes, and
 
 The Devil's Plough 105 
 
 beneath them a few rare wrinkles showed. 
 She was at the moment alone, several friends 
 having but lately departed after a cup of 
 coffee and an exchange of news with the 
 countess, who, as was the custom, received 
 in bed every morning between the hours of 
 ten and two. With a slight yawn she threw 
 aside the book she was reading, and spoke 
 audibly to her own soul. There was no 
 one to hear unless it were the serving maid 
 removing coffee-cups, or an elderly com- 
 panion sitting at her embroidery in the 
 antechamber. 
 
 " Ninon was not altogether wrong when 
 she said, ' We feel our wings just before 
 they moult.' Voiture always says a par- 
 ticularly good thing immediately before he 
 makes me yawn," was what the lady ad- 
 dressed to her soul, the tangible, omni- 
 present companion of a precieuse, but in this 
 case unresponsive until after the lady had 
 gazed idly at the frescoed cupids on the ceil- 
 ing during a wasteful length of time, when 
 her soul seemed to have something to say. 
 " * I am stricken as hay, and my heart is 
 dried up ; behold our languor and old age.'
 
 io6 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Father Gaston could not have chosen a 
 more appropriate text for me and my 
 friends. But how much better off are we 
 after hearing his words ? Is there any dew 
 from heaven that could refresh our hearts ? 
 Is it possible that mine looks as dry as it 
 feels since 1 promised Father Gaston to 
 send Paul from me ? Ah me ! Ah me ! 
 'Tis difficult to live ! " 
 
 Heloise bade the serving maid leave the 
 room, then turned over on her face in bed 
 and lay in silent desolation. The clock 
 ticked, a log cracked and burst into flame in 
 the fireplace, but there were no other sounds 
 until the unfortunate lady sobbed once, then 
 sat up laughing piteously. "If I go to 
 purgatory, he will be there, too. 'Twill be 
 a merry place. I have decided." 
 
 A scratching came on the tapestry. " En- 
 ter," said the countess, beginning to sing, 
 with an excellent assumption of tuneful 
 pleasure : 
 
 " ' Mais aimer et vous voir aimee 
 
 Est une douce liaison, 
 Qui dans votre cceur s'est formee 
 De concert avec la raison.' "
 
 The Devil's Plough 107 
 
 " Madame la comtesse, the flower-girl is 
 here," announced the serving maid, entering. 
 
 " Madelon ? I am glad. Bring her to 
 me. Her innocence is diverting ; and still 
 she knows much of life that I do not." 
 
 Madelon on entering made a deep rever- 
 ence before the lady, who bade the maid 
 retire, taking the girl's flowers into her own 
 hands with evident pleasure. 
 
 " The early blossoms resemble thee, little 
 one," she said. " Thou art tender and 
 sweet in the same way. Sit beside me on 
 that tabouret, child. I have many things to 
 speak with thee about." 
 
 " You do me much honour, madame la 
 comtesse." Madelon sat down timidly. It 
 was her custom to stand in the presence 
 of the great. 
 
 " Little one, is thy heart ever as dry as 
 hay when the rain doth not fall in season ? " 
 Heloise held the flowers before her face. 
 
 " I do not remember it so, madame la 
 comtesse." 
 
 " Little one, wert thou ever tempted ? 
 Hast thou ever heard Satan's voice ? " 
 
 A flush spread upward from Madelon's
 
 io8 The Devil's Plough 
 
 neck ; she hesitated. " I have heard his 
 voice, but but the Holy Mother was 
 there also. I had fear but for one moment." 
 
 A look of disagreeable intelligence crossed 
 the lady's face. She paused to debate some 
 question in her own mind. " Thou wilt 
 tell me about that, little one ? " she finally 
 asked. 
 
 "If madame la comtesse will excuse 
 me " The girl looked distressed. 
 
 " But I know already, child. To my 
 shame, I know. Satan was the Comte de 
 Luneville ? You passed along the corridor 
 he addressed you " 
 
 " Oh, madame ! " cried Madelon, blushing 
 deeply, and covering her face with both 
 hands. 
 
 "Yes, that was my husband. He told it 
 afterward, and how sweet thou wert even 
 when resisting, and I happened to overhear. 
 The gentlemen of France are not always 
 discreet, sometimes they find their way to 
 the Bastille." Heloise's shame of her hus- 
 band was turning to wrath. 
 
 " Madame, I hoped you might never know 
 you are so lovely ah, madame ! " Tears
 
 The Devil's Plough 109 
 
 stood in the girl's eyes as she looked at the 
 lady's face. 
 
 " Little Madelon, thank the Virgin that 
 thou art but a humble flower-girl, and not a 
 great lady who must wed at her parents' dis- 
 cretion. God ! 'Tis an unholy traffic ! " 
 The Comtesse de Luneville closed her eyes 
 bitterly ; she had long ceased to weep. Tears 
 in a woman's eyes tell of new suffering, not 
 of a sorrow woven into the fibres of her 
 heart. 
 
 " Little one, thou art loyal to me. I 
 could not speak so to my other friends. 
 But one's heart must find relief from shame, 
 else the poison may enter into one's blood. 
 Madelon, I was as thou art when I first 
 came to Paris, may the Holy Mother 
 keep thee from ever becoming as I am 
 now ! " She patted the girl's hand lying on 
 her knee. Heloise yearned for a sympa- 
 thetic touch. " What was in my heart then 
 is now dried up like hay. Hast thou a lover, 
 girl?" 
 
 Madelon paled. " I know love, ma- 
 dame." 
 
 " Ah, child, love holy and sweet ? I pray
 
 no The Devil's Plough 
 
 thou hast what I would have had but am 
 denied. Because thou know'st my husband 
 shamefully, I speak. Silence is no longer 
 necessary. What is thy love like? Tell 
 me, child." 
 
 " 1 cannot, madame la comtesse." 
 
 " But surely he is good and kind ? " 
 Heloise looked disturbed by the contrary 
 suspicion. " I would gladly give thee a dot 
 if thy man is to make thee happy." 
 
 " He is good beyond all other men, and 
 kind as the apostles, but I shall never wed, 
 madame." The girl swallowed with diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 " Thou art not promised to the Church, 
 child ? " 
 
 " No, madame la comtesse, I cannot 
 talk, I must go." 
 
 " But, Madelon, 1 did not mean to hurt 
 thee. Stay and tell me, if thou wert wed 
 to the Comte de Luneville, knowing him as 
 thou dost, to his shame, wouldst thou hold 
 it a mortal sin to love another ? " 
 
 " Ah, madame, I, a poor ignorant girl, am 
 not fit to tell you your duty. Your con- 
 fessor knows the will of God in all things."
 
 The Devil's Plough in 
 
 " My confessor ? Father Gaston ? Yes, 
 he may know the will of God, but he knows 
 not the human heart." 
 
 " Father Gaston ! He is your confessor, 
 madame ? Then, I pray you, by the Mother 
 of Christ, to do his bidding. Whatever he 
 says is right. I would obey his commands 
 even unto " The girl stopped suddenly. 
 Some one scratched on the tapestry. 
 
 A gay voice was heard outside, saying, 
 " Madame la comtesse receives no one 
 after two o'clock ? Well, I am no one of 
 consequence." Ninon de L'Enclos stood 
 at the entrance of the room, her head half- 
 way through the tapestry hangings, peeping 
 into the bedchamber. " Chatillon ? No. 
 Sevigne? No. Rabutin ? D'Enghien ? No. 
 Then it must be the devil, he keeps so 
 quiet." 
 
 " Enter. I welcome you, Mademoiselle 
 de L'Enclos," replied the countess, assum- 
 ing a difficult smile. "You adore variety, 
 perhaps for the sake of it you may be 
 glad to meet in Paris some one from heaven 
 rather than from hell. This is Madelon, 
 my flower-girl, whom I found outside Notre
 
 ii2 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Dame. You will have the kindness to be 
 seated, mademoiselle." 
 
 Ninon looked keenly at Madelon, then 
 laughed carelessly. " Buying virtue from 
 headquarters, are you ! Be sure there is 
 no black feather in her wings. But have 
 you heard who fought to-day, countess ? " 
 Ninon walked up to the mirror and rear- 
 ranged her ringlets carefully. 
 
 " The news ! The news ! Do not keep 
 me waiting ! " Heloise was evidently con- 
 trolling her nerves in speaking. Turning 
 to Madelon, she bade, " Thou must go, 
 little one. Come soon again." Then with 
 great impatience repeated, " The news ! 
 Why do you delay, Ninon ? " 
 
 " Cardinal Richelieu must be stamping 
 with rage in purgatory to-day," replied the 
 latter. " His edict has been broken four 
 times, and incidentally Madame de Sevigne 
 has become a widow." 
 
 "Sevigne fought?" It was a terrible 
 moment to Heloise. Suspense dilated her 
 eyes ; one hand clinched beneath the bed- 
 covers. 
 
 " He fought. Du Bosc said my eyes
 
 The Devil's Plough 113 
 
 were too light a blue for beauty, and so 
 the virtuous madame has an opportunity to 
 answer letters of condolence." 
 
 " Ninon, have you no pity ? " Heloise 
 lay back against the bolster, gray with 
 apprehension. 
 
 " Pity for the wives ? No. Virtue with- 
 out charm is a hook without bait let them 
 look to their bait. How does my new jus- 
 teaucorps please you ? Madame Belot de- 
 serves a shrine for discovering it." She 
 turned about with a teasing laugh. " Oh, 
 yes, and De Bouteville. Have you heard ? 
 He also has killed his man to-day." 
 
 " Chevalier de Chatillon ? " The count- 
 ess held her breath. 
 
 " No, not Paul to-day, another. 
 Paul is for to-morrow. De Bouteville de- 
 clares that unless Paul appears in Paris 
 within the next twenty-four hours he will 
 be stabbed at sight for a coward. Where 
 is De Chatillon ? " 
 
 "Oh, Ninon, I do not know." The 
 countess barely whispered. 
 
 "It would be well for him to appear 
 to-night at Madame de Longueville's. A
 
 H4 The Devil's Plough 
 
 gentleman had better die from the front 
 than from behind." The countess could 
 not answer. 
 
 " Countess, I have come to say farewell. 
 I am leaving Paris indefinitely. Paris is as 
 tiresome as the paradise of a Jansenist. 
 Voiture went to sleep at the play last night 
 with his mouth wide open. I dropped my 
 zephyr down by way of diversion, there 
 was just room for it. His sensations on 
 awakening amused me for five minutes, 
 but misery ! it was not lasting. Fun is like 
 passion ; it comes as a lion and goes as a 
 lamb. 'Tis my intention to entertain Paris, 
 if it will not entertain me. I shall disappear. 
 Farewell. You must not look thus sallow 
 on my return. It is rumoured that De 
 Luneville is pardoned. The cardinal needs 
 friends. You will soon wear another face ; 
 a husband in the Bastille is like an empty 
 purse, too good to throw away, and still 
 not of enough present value to keep. Fare- 
 well, countess. I shall see you on my re- 
 turn ? " Ninon, the liveliest woman in Paris, 
 smiled her characteristic smile of slightly 
 cruel amusement, composed of pessimism
 
 The Devil's Plough 1 1 5 
 
 and dimples, making movements toward 
 departure at the same time. 
 
 Left alone, Heloise stared at the wall, 
 then, after five minutes, she called, " Jeanne, 
 my clothes. Order the coach. I am going 
 out immediately."
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 TWO hours passed. Again the shadows 
 of the Jesuit college lengthened. In 
 the recreation-room the novices were min- 
 gling during this one hour allotted them 
 daily for conversation. The talk among these 
 prospective priests was not lively in a worldly 
 sense, taking the form, as it did, of critical 
 observations relating to their spiritual read- 
 ing and a certain " Prelude to Meditations " 
 then much under discussion. The pupils, 
 on the other hand, showed more elastic 
 spirits ; their thoughts and games touched 
 the world outside conventual walls, into 
 which they proposed to return at their earli- 
 est opportunity, notwithstanding their real 
 affection entertained toward most of the 
 Jesuit instructors. But these pupils' recre- 
 ation hour was spent in a building appor- 
 tioned to their exclusive use ; hence their 
 lively spirits had no opportunity to interfere 
 
 116
 
 The Devil's Plough 117 
 
 with the grave purpose of the novices. Sev- 
 eral of the latter walked up and down to- 
 gether in earnest discussion of some special 
 point of doctrine. One of these youths was 
 talking earnestly. 
 
 " I insist that the Jesuits are more philo- 
 sophical than other ascetics. They do not 
 strive to change nature, but only to direct 
 it from one object of appetence to another; 
 thus, Ignatius from a warrior aspired to be 
 a saint. A man's ruling passion is never 
 virtually changed by the Jesuits." 
 
 " I grant you we are more philosophical 
 in our contemplation of all moral relations," 
 replied one of the group. " We proceed 
 directly toward the highest end, counting all 
 obstacles as impertinences in our pathway ; 
 but I cannot admit that nature is always 
 consulted in the life of a Jesuit priest. 
 Secretly, I confide to you " he lowered 
 his voice "I would have been an actor, 
 had my wishes been consulted ; but a noble 
 name cannot be dragged through the mud 
 of playhouses, therefore I became a priest, 
 being a younger son of an impoverished 
 family."
 
 n8 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Still, I can see that your argument is 
 not sound," broke in a third. " Your na- 
 ture need not be thwarted as a Jesuit priest. 
 If the ability is yours, why not become a 
 great preacher ? " 
 
 The others appeared impressed with the 
 thought, but the first speaker shook his 
 head in doubt. "Be careful lest you may 
 be overheard," he warned. " You might be 
 called upon to do penance for the thought. 
 Is it your belief that Father Gaston would 
 have excelled as an actor ? " 
 
 "It is, indeed. Father Gaston is a man 
 of deep emotional, dramatic nature, care- 
 fully disciplined in holy ways; but had 
 he remained in the world he might have 
 achieved any great deed calling forth un- 
 usual powers of leadership or magnetic 
 control over great numbers of people. Ob- 
 serve how the people of the city worship 
 him now. Note how at one word of rep- 
 rimand from him we stand accused to the 
 very heart of our conscience. He could 
 have been an actor, a soldier, anything 
 great and eloquent of strong impulses 
 shaped by a dominating will." The lad's
 
 The Devil's Plough 119 
 
 eyes sparkled with glowing enthusiasm. 
 Evidently Father Gaston was his hero, his 
 model, and therein lay the heavy respon- 
 sibility of L'Artanges, or any other great 
 personality brought immediately within reach 
 of youth's imitative tendency. 
 
 " But even the holy father must have his 
 moments of weakness, his temptations," 
 the enthusiast continued. " I feel within 
 myself some of the same emotions, and 
 they call me from divine grace. Every 
 day I stumble over my own humanity in 
 trying to seek heaven." The lad spoke 
 from a contrite heart. 
 
 "Ah, but in time you we all will 
 gain tact, discretion, and humility, Raoul. 
 The rule of obedience, faithfully observed, 
 leads a human soul into complete mastery 
 of the body." 
 
 "But I am not entirely convinced of that. 
 I have seen Father Gaston's face in repose, 
 when my own human weaknesses seemed to 
 steal about his mouth and linger there some- 
 what concealed. How can a man conscien- 
 tiously take a vow to remain poor, and still 
 possess all that he could rationally desire
 
 I2O The Devil's Plough 
 
 of the world's comforts ? The brothers 
 live much more luxuriously than we did 
 at home on my father's estate." He was 
 quickly warned to silence. 
 
 A Jesuit brother approached with an order 
 for outdoor occupation. " Deo gratias," he 
 said to each one in passing. " Deo gratias," 
 each one replied. They filed out of the 
 room two abreast, according to the Jesuit 
 policy, whether it concerned young novices 
 in a brotherhood, or missionaries sent to 
 far distant lands of India or Canada. 
 
 Ignatius studied closely the reasonable- 
 ness of nature in preparing the doctrines 
 of his Order. A pair will succeed where 
 one must fail, because each, in supplement- 
 ing the other, supplies the qualities neces- 
 sary to the creation of a perfect human 
 instrument. 
 
 The garden of the college lay at the 
 rear of the three buildings comprising the 
 institution. Father Gaston's private sleep- 
 ing-apartment and study overlooked this 
 extensive vegetable garden running a con- 
 siderable distance down toward the river. 
 The flower beds lay directly beneath his
 
 The Devil's Plough 121 
 
 windows. When the novices came out into 
 the mild air, involuntarily filling their lungs 
 freely, Father Gaston appeared to them 
 standing alone under the tree that sheltered 
 the rose garden, from whence came a wel- 
 come fragrance. Spring was telling her 
 story to the priest in a sonnet of nature's 
 making ; he stood there apparently listening 
 to a flower, and on his face there rested a 
 tender smile. He turned at sight of the 
 advancing youths, and, as they approached 
 the path leading past the flowers along into 
 the vegetable gardens, he returned their 
 Deo gratias with another, of grave but 
 kindly cadence, expressing human interest 
 in their welfare. 
 
 Silently the novices took up their hoes ; 
 silently they hoed the garden under the 
 direction of Brother Francis. No word 
 was spoken among them, as was the rule 
 of the Order. Father Gaston meditatively 
 watched their work proceed, then turned 
 and slowly strolled about the garden. A 
 close worldly observer would at that mo- 
 ment have described him to be a restless 
 man, consumed with impatience or ungrati-
 
 122 The Devil's Plough 
 
 fied desire ; the novices looked upon him 
 in the light of their superior, absorbed 
 in spiritual meditations. Both conclusions 
 would have bordered upon fact. Gaston 
 L'Artanges was a human being possessed 
 of uncommon spiritual tendencies accen- 
 tuated by early discipline, but his body 
 remained quick, his blood was not yet 
 holy water; indeed, he was still as nature 
 made him with the rest of mankind, not- 
 withstanding his strenuous endeavours to 
 become what the Church considered it best 
 for him to be, and that day his body evinced 
 the agitation tearing his mind. 
 
 Back and forth he walked, his habit sway- 
 ing somewhat in the breeze, his long hat 
 held under one arm. Once he paused be- 
 side the novice Raoul, between whom and 
 the rector there had ever existed some deep 
 understanding. 
 
 " Lad, thou art happy in the sunshine ? " 
 Father Gaston asked, a restless sadness 
 sounding in his voice. 
 
 " Yes, holy father." 
 
 " The sun is the smile of God of Jesus. 
 * He that taketh not his cross and folio weth
 
 The Devil's Plough 123 
 
 after me is not worthy of me.' Be faithful 
 unto death, lad. Deo gratias." 
 
 " Deo gratias," the young man replied, 
 with pity for them both in his tone. 
 
 L'Artanges, the great preacher, passed 
 on, but the novice forgot his work in gaz- 
 ing after him, magnetised. Directly the 
 lad's face took on a look of apprehension. 
 " Boutet ! " he said, quickly, to his fellow 
 worker, " look at Father Gaston. What is 
 happening ? " For this grave disobedience 
 he did penance that night after vespers ; 
 but no penance could have stood in the 
 way of the relief speech gave him at that 
 moment. 
 
 Father Gaston stood once more near by 
 the tree in the rose garden. His body was 
 rigid, his eyes dilated, his hat fallen to the 
 ground. One long arm pointed its fore- 
 finger in horror at the trunk of the tree. 
 The priest's lips moved, but he uttered no 
 words until, as the arm fell to his side, 
 Raoul, even at that distance, heard him say, 
 " Thou hast come and gone again, Satan. 
 May God have pity on my soul." He 
 sank down upon a bench farther along.
 
 124 The Devil's Plough 
 
 There he sat, facing the west, in the full 
 glow of the crimson sunset, but he knew it 
 not ; his spirit groped in the darkness. 
 
 When the novices returned to the house 
 for their evening meal, the priest arose, 
 answered their Deo gratias in his customary 
 tone of composure, then followed them into 
 the refectory, separated from his own apart- 
 ment by a small square hall, or antecham- 
 ber. There he glanced at the great clock in 
 the corner, paused to stroke Thomas, the 
 cat, snoozing before the fireplace, then look- 
 ing about for Pierre and discovering him 
 among the serving lay brothers, he com- 
 manded, " Send the barber to me at once, 
 Pierre, I must be shaved before vespers." 
 
 " Certainly, holy father. Are you not 
 feeling well this evening, Father Gaston ? " 
 Pierre asked, with some concern. 
 
 " Why dost thou ask that, man ? Doth 
 my body take on the colour of my soul ? " 
 Changing his manner quickly, he continued, 
 " And how is the little daughter, Pierre ? 
 How is the flower garden across the river ? 
 How are the fish? " 
 
 " Dear to me as ever, holy father ; but
 
 The Devil's Plough 125 
 
 flowers, fishes, and maidens have their 
 seasons, like the year. The sun goes under 
 the clouds sometimes." Pierre did not look 
 cheerful. 
 
 " Something has happened ? Tell me to- 
 morrow ; I will do what I can," L'Artanges 
 replied, sympathetically. 
 
 " And, Father Gaston, I left on your 
 table some spring flowers, little blossoms 
 left by Madelon for you, if you think her 
 not too forward." 
 
 " That was kind, Pierre. The flowers 
 will be delicate and sweet from Madelon ; 
 that I know. She is a good girl. I thank 
 thee. Pierre, is the clock with the sun to- 
 day ? The light seems to have gone early. 
 Everything appears dim to my eyes." He 
 stumbled over a chair in the small dark hall, 
 but Pierre caught his arm. 
 
 " I was not wrong, then, when I said the 
 holy father was unwell ? " Pierre insisted, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " 'Tis but the night approaching, good 
 fellow. Send me the barber. My chin is 
 rough. I soon might well have a beard fit 
 for the gallant world."
 
 126 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Father Gaston," said Pierre, " one word. 
 If Monsieur de Chatillon comes again 
 through the garden gate, is he to be ad- 
 mitted ? His coming begins to oil the 
 tongues of the faculty. They are curious. 
 But he hath not been here in many days. 
 Perhaps he hath gone away ? " 
 
 " Admit Monsieur de Chatillon whenever 
 he comes, either by the garden gate or by 
 the front portal," replied the priest, sternly. 
 
 " But if news of it should reach Rome ? 
 Father, you know I love you next to 
 Madelon." 
 
 " Then if thou lov'st me, hold thy tongue 
 in custody and keep watch. Deo gratias." 
 
 " Deo gratias," replied Pierre, moving off 
 with the gliding step of the Order. 
 
 There seemed to come to L'Artanges 
 some strong resolution ; his step grew 
 firmer ; he moved along hurriedly, saying 
 once, half aloud, " Every minute hath the 
 length of an hour, but Satan lends his 
 speed." Once in his bedchamber the man's 
 new-found strength deserted him. Falling 
 on his knees beside the narrow bed, his face 
 dropped forward ; he remained there motion-
 
 The Devil's Plough 127 
 
 less in the faded light, heeding not the 
 nightingale singing amid the branches of the 
 tree in the rose garden, nor the new moon 
 hanging a silver scythe far above the fields 
 of men.
 
 Chapter VIII 
 
 THE Rue Vieux Colombier presented a 
 jovial appearance by the time the sun 
 had fairly set, twilight arriving in springtime 
 as the signal for an uprising of the gay world 
 of Paris. The tavern of La Carotte Rouge, 
 situated at a corner of Rue Vieux Colombier, 
 not far from Pont Notre Dame, attracted 
 particularly poets and savants, owing to some 
 unaccountable literary traditions clustering 
 about the jolly little eating-house, where 
 Jean Bloutet and his lively daughter Rosa 
 served incomparable suppers at a price be- 
 fitting narrow purses and wide stomachs. 
 There a man could sing the gayest tune he 
 pleased uncensured ; he might even impro- 
 vise a verse standing on his head, if so 
 moved by inspiration, and Rosa would, 
 under those circumstances, merely pretend 
 a becoming anger, calling out for help to 
 her father, serving at the other end of the 
 128
 
 The Devil's Plough 129 
 
 room a special wine, pressed from the grapes 
 of his own grandfather's vineyard, and de- 
 scended to Jean directly, a precious inher- 
 itance. " Little father," Rosa would cry, 
 " the beasts are out. Set the dogs on 
 them ! " 
 
 Jean gave small heed to merely jovial 
 indiscretions, but there was a limit beyond 
 which his faith permitted no one to pass. 
 A man could become as childishly drunk as 
 he pleased at La Carotte Rouge, but no 
 man could be brutally drunk and remain 
 so in the presence of Rosa. " The street, 
 monsieur, is a pigpen. It is yours," Jean 
 would say, pointing warningly toward the 
 door. Then even the gallants, who had 
 lately scented grandfather's vintage at La 
 Carotte Rouge, and sniffed the air with in- 
 quiring interest until Jean became alarmed 
 lest the valuable inheritance be exhausted 
 during his lifetime, paid some respect to 
 decency, owing to personal alarm lest their 
 palates go begging for Jean's incomparable 
 wine. 
 
 Under the sign of La Carotte Rouge an 
 oil-lamp sputtered. Its light carried but a
 
 130 The Devil's Plough 
 
 short distance along the street ; indeed, the 
 rays scarcely reached those of David Blanc's 
 lamp, under the sign of his bakeshop oppo- 
 site, nor of those flickering farther along, 
 at inconvenient distances apart, arranged on 
 pulleys carried from one side of the narrow 
 street to the other. But the lights Jean set 
 in his tavern window, by way of advertise- 
 ment, made his neighbourhood a particularly 
 bright spot, and from the seats at tables 
 placed close beside the window passers-by 
 could be plainly distinguished. 
 
 That same evening, at one of those tables 
 in the full light, sat a company of gallants, 
 including Chevalier de Bouteville, Chevalier 
 de Trouville, Monsieur du Brion, and 
 Monsieur Bussy de Rabutin, arrayed in 
 outdoor garments. De Bouteville was talk- 
 ing vehemently in the unsteady tones of a 
 man whose wits, having first been stimulated 
 to unusual energy, are now feeling a doubt 
 of themselves not to be pleasantly enter- 
 tained by the possessor. In one hand he 
 held his plumed hat, in the other a brim- 
 ming glass of wine. " Gentlemen," he half 
 chanted, " drink to my hat, my noble hat :
 
 The Devil's Plough 131 
 
 lately the ornament of a worthy head, but 
 now needs must go to a coward. I have 
 the honour to proclaim that, if De Chatillon 
 appeareth not within the hour, I take the 
 liberty to use my stroke from behind. To 
 my hat ! " 
 
 They drank to the hat. Then De Ra- 
 butin asked, in the tone of courtesy used 
 prudently by all gentlemen toward the most 
 skilful duellist in France, even these, his 
 boon companions, were cautious of their 
 phrase - making in his presence, " But, 
 may I take the liberty to inquire, monsieur 
 le chevalier, what may the hat have to do 
 with cowards ? It has ornamented the head 
 of a De Bouteville. That is enough. Its 
 reputation is established." 
 
 De Bouteville bowed in acknowledgment 
 of the compliment. " The connection is 
 not so obscure as it may seem, monsieur." 
 He twirled his hat on his thumb and fore- 
 finger. " When in England last, I observed 
 a custom More wine, Rosa, thou Flower 
 of the Vineyard ! a custom, I was saying, 
 greatly to the point. The point, gentlemen ! 
 Ha, ha ! That was not bad. Eh, Rosa ?
 
 132 The Devil's Plough 
 
 The custom turns on the point of my sword, 
 which in its turn turns on a coward. Saint- 
 Evremond or Charlevalle would turn a better 
 phrase, hein, Rosa ? " 
 
 Rosa stood modestly beside him, pouring 
 their wine from a flagon. Without raising 
 her eyes she replied, " Yours is a noble wit, 
 monsieur." 
 
 " Thine is a clever tongue, girl, and a 
 rosy cheek. Thy father shouldst name his 
 tavern La Rosa Rouge. The name would 
 attract like flies to the sweets." 
 
 "You do me great honour, monsieur," 
 replied the girl, moving quickly away. 
 
 " But to the point, De Bouteville. Thou 
 wanderest amid sweet clover," recalled Du 
 Brion, tipping his chair back against the 
 wall, crossing one leg high over the other, 
 and sipping his wine with a smack of his 
 lips. " Observe my resemblance to a poet 
 at this moment," he went on. " 'Tis a fa- 
 vourite attitude of the amiable Voiture, 
 here beneath Jean's print of the Red 
 Cardinal." 
 
 " Thou wear'st the look of a damsel as 
 nearly as that of a poet, Du Brion," replied
 
 The Devil's Plough 133 
 
 De Trouville, balancing the hilt of his 
 sword in one palm. " The Red Cardinal 
 looks down upon thee. Dost thou not feel 
 his eyes ? " 
 
 " Not I. Their power hath gone with 
 the soul of the man. But thy point, De 
 Bouteville. It will wear blunt with waiting. 
 What was the custom thou adopted from 
 thine enemy England ? " 
 
 " 'Tis but an odd form of challenge. If 
 the offender be not at home when called 
 upon, it is to leave the challenger's hat or- 
 namented with an important paper fastened 
 to the plume, an important paper, Du 
 Brion, a paper as important as the point 
 of my sword. Rosa, here ! Sweetness ! 
 The wine of thy grandfather must not go 
 to waste." 
 
 De Bouteville dropped several coins into 
 his glove, then caught one of the girl's 
 hands, over which he fitted his glove loosely, 
 saying, with a pat on the glove, " A souve- 
 nir, Rosa, of noble wit." 
 
 " You do me great honour, monsieur le 
 chevalier." Rosa made a curtsey, glanced 
 over her shoulder at her father, whose back
 
 134 The Devil's Plough 
 
 was turned, then bent lightly, swiftly, toward 
 De Bouteville's kiss before hurrying away, 
 flagon in hand. 
 
 "The new vintage is sometimes better 
 than the old, hein, De Bouteville ? " re- 
 marked De Rabutin, who sat incidentally 
 arranging his locks before a pocket-mirror. 
 " But we await the story of the hat. The 
 end must be near." 
 
 " On my honour, monsieur, as a gentle- 
 man of France, 'tis not far distant. De 
 Chatillon is a rat in a hole, who runs out by 
 night for a morsel of cheese, and back again 
 before the cat can smell him. Comtesse de 
 Luneville is the cheese, a pretty morsel. 
 But a day will come when the cat will find 
 the hole, then " 
 
 Du Brion laid a hand on his shoulder. 
 " My God ! De Bouteville, thou hast De 
 Chatillon on thy very stomach, his boots 
 dangling out thy mouth. Digest him, man, 
 digest him, else he may cause thee and thy 
 friends sleepless nights. Look out of the 
 window ! How is that for a charming dam- 
 sel, with her visor down ? " De Bouteville 
 sitting back to the window, got up, yawned,
 
 The Devil's Plough 135 
 
 then turned about and sat straddling his 
 chair for a better look. 
 
 " "Tis not the leg of a boy I see," said 
 De Rabutin, leaning forward, as did they all 
 when the page referred to arrived under the 
 baker's light opposite. " The mask but 
 whets one's appetite for beauty. That is a 
 page I'd willingly attach to my service, 
 hein, De Bouteville ? Observe her in the 
 broad light." 
 
 " Charming ! " exclaimed De Bouteville. 
 " And alone ! Canst thou see her people 
 following, De Trouville ? No ? Ah, if I 
 were not so comfortable ! " 
 
 " Three Jesuits follow close behind her. 
 De Rabutin, 'tis strange that in France a 
 woman and a Jesuit follow each other as 
 closely as the stars the moon." 
 
 " Thy figure mounts to heaven, De Trou- 
 ville ; so do the women on a ladder of 
 priests." De Rabutin smiled, and looked 
 at his watch. 
 
 " There goes a villain leading an ape," 
 announced De Bouteville, unsteadily tilting 
 his chair toward the window. 
 
 " But recently arrived from southern
 
 136 The Devil's Plough 
 
 waters," said Du Brion, leaning over De 
 Bouteville's shoulder for a better look. 
 "The ape bears a family resemblance to 
 certain Parisians ; think'st thou not so, 
 Henri ? " 
 
 De Bouteville looked up and laughed 
 foolishly, replying, as he turned his gaze 
 again toward the street, " To me the two 
 resemble greatly monsieur le diable leading 
 De Chatillon by the string." He drowsily 
 chuckled over his joke ; the room was grow- 
 ing warm, and Rosa had not been left in 
 idleness that evening. 
 
 De Rabutin arose and moved over to a 
 position nearer the window, where the other 
 guests, coming and going, almost brushed 
 his hanging sword in passing/ so small was 
 the room. " Have a care ! " he said, laying 
 a hand on De Bouteville's chair, and good- 
 humouredly picking up that gentleman's 
 cloak, fallen to the floor. " Have a care. 
 Thou wouldst appear to lean toward hell, if 
 that's the devil passing, monsieur. Pretty 
 Rosa will pick thee up in pieces, also the 
 window glass, if thou tippest an inch farther. 
 The devil might tie thee to his string be-
 
 The Devil's Plough 137 
 
 hind De Chatillon. Doth the thought 
 please thee ? " 
 
 " God would look twice before he damned 
 a De Bouteville," replied the duellist, warmly. 
 
 " There are without doubt ways of ar- 
 ranging these matters with Heaven." De 
 Rabutin never failed in good humour. 
 He continued, " There goes the surgeon 
 De Lorine, on his mule, dressed in his 
 plague clothes. That morocco leather coat 
 will shortly be the fashion, if he catcheth 
 not the disease." 
 
 " His spectacles are more useful than 
 becoming," observed Du Brion. " He car- 
 ries the smell of garlic, rue, and incense with 
 him, an unrighteous ragout. The people 
 appear restless to-night. Here come some 
 market folks. Strange, monsieur le diable 
 passed them by." 
 
 " They must be cooking some special dish 
 for the cardinal." De Bouteville roused 
 himself to speak. " The Jesuit L' Arranges 
 kicked over their table the other day. If I 
 ever loved a Jesuit, 'tis he. The man hath 
 a soldier in him." 
 
 A noisy crowd of excited market people
 
 138 The Devil's Plough 
 
 passed, then a coach rattled along, followed 
 by several chairs charmingly occupied. 
 
 " Who comes there, De Bouteville ? " 
 suddenly exclaimed Du Brion, laying a hand 
 on his sword. 
 
 " The Due de Longueville's coach. 
 Monsieur le due will, as is customary, be 
 late in arriving for madame his wife's fete. 
 We also, gentlemen. How goes the time, 
 De Rabutin?" 
 
 The latter looked at his watch, exclaim- 
 ing, " Late indeed ! My hairdresser's price 
 will be doubled for his time wasted. We 
 must depart." 
 
 " One moment," whispered Du Brion, 
 loudly. " I see some one in the shadow, 
 there, beyond the baker's light. Who is 
 that? Alone on foot pausing to brush 
 mud from off his collar. The duke's coach 
 splashed him. He wraps his cloak and 
 proceeds. De Bouteville, wake up ! Dost 
 thou not smell a rat ? " 
 
 " De Chatillon ! " exclaimed the others. 
 
 " The cat is awake ! " said De Bouteville, 
 jumping to his feet and catching up both 
 cloak and hat. Du Brion, De Bouteville's
 
 The Devil's Plough 139 
 
 friend of long standing, looked concerned. 
 " Thou wilt give him a chance of a fair 
 fight, Henri?" 
 
 " Certainly, monsieur, if he chooseth to 
 take it ; otherwise " De Bouteville looked 
 significant and hurried out of the tavern. 
 De Rabutin called after him, " May luck 
 fall with thy sword ! I've an appointment 
 with the hairdresser, otherwise I'd attend 
 thee." The others closely and eagerly 
 followed De Bouteville, who, steadied by 
 the sudden excitement, now appeared on 
 the steps of the wine-shop, in the full 
 light. 
 
 De Chatillon, resuming his way, came 
 at the very moment under the illuminated 
 sign of the bakeshop. He looked across 
 directly into the eyes of his challenger. 
 " Coward ! " called out De Bouteville. 
 " Must a gentleman run you like a rat 
 to its hole for satisfaction ? Come out ! " 
 De Chatillon paused, hesitated as if about 
 to reply, then, without a word, turned back 
 into the shadow from whence he came. 
 
 " Coward ! " called the three gentlemen 
 after him. "A gentleman of France run
 
 140 The Devil's Plough 
 
 from a challenge ! After him ! After him ! 
 With a short sword!" With De Boute- 
 ville in the lead, the three gallants chased 
 the rapidly disappearing figure in the direc- 
 tion of the Pont Notre Dame. De Cha- 
 tillon kept so successfully in the shadow 
 of the streets that nothing could be seen 
 of him except during those moments when 
 he perforce came out into the light of a 
 shop. The young moon was fast setting ; 
 it gave no light. Across the bridge of 
 Notre Dame they followed him, overtaking 
 the man with the ape, and the priests, but 
 not the woman disguised as a page. 
 
 " Ten louis for a horse ! " shouted De 
 Bouteville ; but no animal larger than the 
 ape and three barking dogs was forthcom- 
 ing. " He must have jumped into a coach. 
 We are losing him." 
 
 " No, there he is, turning from the 
 bridge into Rue de la Lanterne." 
 
 " His residence is not on the island. 
 Where is he leading us ? " 
 
 " It may be a trap ! " 
 
 " Are we cowards, too, gentlemen ? 'Tis 
 bad enough for a gentleman to run after a
 
 The Devil's Plough 141 
 
 coward ; 'tis worse to run away from one." 
 De Bouteville was growing surly. 
 
 Past St. Denis de la Chartre and La 
 Madeleine, they hurried into Rue Notre 
 Dame, every few moments catching a tan- 
 talising glimpse of their game ahead, but 
 at the Hotel Dieu they lost sight of him 
 entirely. Pausing to take counsel with his 
 friends, De Bouteville insisted upon turn- 
 ing to the left, past the cathedral. 
 
 " He's a brother to the Jesuit, L'Ar- 
 tanges. 'Tis in the cloisters or at the 
 college he seeks refuge. Proceed." 
 
 " My faith ! that hath some reason in 
 its sound, but a Jesuit is dead to his rela- 
 tives," returned De Trouville. 
 
 " Your mind dwells in past ages, monsieur. 
 A Jesuit in our day enjoys exactly whatever 
 redounds to the greater glory of God, pro- 
 vided it pleaseth the Jesuit first. To the left ! 
 I see him! There, under the cathedral 
 light ! May his soul find no rest for this run 
 he gives us. My wind is dying out." Du 
 Brion stooped down and felt of one foot. 
 "If it's blistered," he exclaimed, " I'll have 
 a thrust at you myself, De Chatillon."
 
 142 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Come on, gentlemen," cried De Boute- 
 ville. " I hear his steps. We're on the 
 very heels of his boots. Coward ! Fight 
 fair, or I'll run you through." 
 
 De Chatillon's deep breathing could be 
 distinctly heard. De Bouteville caught an 
 end of a floating cloak, supporting himself 
 by the aid of a stone wall running along 
 at one side of the street. At that moment 
 the click of the gate was heard. De Boute- 
 ville felt the cloak give entirely into his 
 hands, but the wearer had disappeared 
 within the gate. 
 
 " The rat hath run between the walls ! 
 May Satan pursue him ! Follow me, gentle- 
 men," De Bouteville called, in impotent rage. 
 
 " Henri, it is consecrated ground. The 
 wall seems to me to belong to the cloisters." 
 Du Brion attempted to hold him back. 
 
 "On! On, I say! We'd follow him to 
 the footstool of St. Peter. The rat! " De 
 Bouteville forced open the narrow, seques- 
 tered gate, and bounded through, followed 
 reluctantly by De Trouville and Du Brion, 
 who crossed themselves piously.
 
 Chapter IX 
 
 UPPER in a Jesuit college was a silent 
 meal, conversation among the novices 
 being entirely prohibited, but each day one 
 from their number was appointed by the 
 rector to read aloud during the progress of 
 mastication, according to the maxim of St. 
 Ignatius, " Whilst the body is refitted, the 
 soul, too, may have her food." 
 
 An hour after Father Gaston knelt pray- 
 erfully beside his bed, he issued forth, ap- 
 parently composed, but his eyes were still 
 restless. The reader had given out the 
 notice of the saint for the day, and was read- 
 ing, monotonously : " A certain holy man 
 was ordered by his superior to water a dry 
 stick set upright in the ground. He obeyed 
 without a question, or a thought of a ques- 
 tion, and behold, the stick put forth 
 branches and grew a beautiful tree." Father 
 Gaston entered the refectory at the begin- 
 143
 
 144 Tne Devil's Plough 
 
 ning of the parable. He stood motionless 
 just inside the door, listening. His face 
 was flushed, and at the last words he stepped 
 quickly forward to the head of the table, 
 where he broke into passionate speech. 
 
 " Young men, if, in the natural course of 
 life and death, you and I never again enter 
 into spiritual communion, remember these 
 words, a man receives his own soul direct 
 from God, a divine gift, as are the flowers 
 that move us to purest thoughts, and noble 
 music filling all earth with the glow of para- 
 dise for the soul that listens to love as the 
 highest of virtues. Live, young men, so 
 that when this life is done thou mayst say 
 to thine own heart, ( I can face God with a 
 direct eye ; ' the censure of men bears no 
 weight in eternity. Seek God within thy- 
 self and he is ever near thee." Father Gas- 
 ton faltered, swallowed hard several times, 
 and seemed about to continue, but instead 
 turned abruptly away, muttering, " Deo 
 gratias," and went hurriedly out of the 
 room. 
 
 The young men exchanged glances of 
 wonder and admiration, they were not
 
 The Devil's Plough 145 
 
 allowed to speak. Brother Thomas, super- 
 visor of the meal, looked visibly shocked, 
 but, recovering himself, commanded, " Pro- 
 ceed with thy reading, Rene." 
 
 The great clock in the corner ticked away 
 the seconds ; knives clattered, and the read- 
 ing continued until the order was given for 
 retirement into chapel, where vespers were 
 held. Deliberately the novices arose from 
 their long, meagrely appointed and provis- 
 ioned table. They moved in twos slowly 
 across the great room toward steps at the 
 back, mounting to their small chapel, from 
 whence came the odour of incense and the 
 sound of the organist playing a cathedral 
 prelude of the Italian school. 
 
 After service there followed the daily 
 penance, when each novice confessed his 
 faults committed during the day. One of 
 the brothers reluctantly substituted for the 
 rector in his unusual absence. Penance was 
 delivered at the chapel door leading down 
 into the refectory. The last novice to con- 
 fess was Raoul, who, for the disobedience of 
 having spoken in his dismay at sight of 
 Father Gaston in the garden, was penanced
 
 146 The Devil's Plough 
 
 to prostrate himself at the threshold of the 
 door, where, lying prone, he cried to each 
 of his comrades, ordered to step over him 
 in passing back into the refectory from the 
 chapel, " Pray for me, brother." 
 
 When the last two novices, followed by a 
 priest bearing a burning taper held in front 
 of an upraised cross, had passed on through 
 the refectory out into corridors leading 
 toward dormitories at the other side of the 
 college, the clock, the cat, and silence held 
 undisturbed communion for some little time. 
 
 At the moment the clock struck nine 
 Brother Francis and Brother Thomas en- 
 tered the refectory together. Said the for- 
 mer, " Hear'st thou the hour striking, and 
 Father Gaston not yet returned ? " 
 
 " 'Tis strange, brother," replied the other. 
 " Life hath more mysteries than a priest can 
 read. The holy father was wont to be regu- 
 lar with the clock until of late. 'Tis possi- 
 ble Pierre hath news of his whereabouts. 
 Pierre! Pierre!" 
 
 Brother Francis also called, " Pierre," 
 gently, in the Jesuit voice, following his 
 companion through the door at the left,
 
 The Devil's Plough 147 
 
 leading into Father Gaston's antechamber, 
 where it was the rector's habit to attend all 
 business pertaining to supervision of the col- 
 lege. The cat, aroused by voices, joined 
 the procession, which, at the objective point, 
 the door, was confronted by Pierre, rubbing 
 his eyes sleepily. 
 
 " Know'st thou aught of the rector to- 
 night, Pierre? He was absent from ves- 
 pers." 
 
 " Nothing, Father Thomas," replied 
 Pierre, yawning behind the flame of the 
 candle in his hand. 
 
 " By my girth, Pierre, thou gapest like a 
 hunter's dog," said good-natured Brother 
 Francis. " The father hath not returned 
 since going out more than an hour since ? " 
 
 Pierre led the way back into the square 
 antechamber lined with books, replying the 
 while to the question. " 'Tis unlikely I 
 should be tending his fire when my bones 
 ache for sleep, brother, had he returned. 
 The holy father hath not been in full health 
 of late. Even warm days have cool nights. 
 The fire must be cheerful on his return." 
 Pierre lounged down upon a settle, drowsily
 
 148 The Devil's Plough 
 
 stroking the cat, who jumped up on to his 
 knees. 
 
 " Hath his brother, Monsieur de Chatil- 
 lon, been here, Pierre ? " Brother Thomas 
 asked, listening at the chamber door. 
 
 " Not to-day, Brother Thomas." Pierre 
 and the cat both stretched indifferently. 
 
 " Father L'Artanges left no word in going 
 out, Pierre ? " 
 
 " None that I heard, brother. Our rec- 
 tor meant not to be absent from vespers, 
 that I can swear to, for he holds his duty 
 above his life." Pierre arose at once in his 
 defence. 
 
 " Deo gratias." Brother Thomas came 
 close to the fire. " Pierre, it is part of thy 
 obedience as a lay brother to keep thy 
 superior informed of misdemeanour about 
 the college. I am thy superior." 
 
 " Deo gratias, Brother Thomas. Wouldst 
 thou have me invent news of a scandalous na- 
 ture for thy entertainment ? I have nothing 
 to report, I'm sleepy. Wait till sunrise. 
 Once awake, I may have more tales to tell. 
 Good night, brothers. The cock will break 
 upon the nightingale before thou hast slept.
 
 The Devil's Plough 149 
 
 The bird sings nightly in the rose garden. 
 Good night." Pierre's jaw dropped ; he 
 breathed with a slight snore. 
 
 " 'Tis true that every virtuous man should 
 be abed," affirmed Brother Francis, yawning 
 contagiously. " What matters it about the 
 rector, Brother Thomas ? Thy nose for 
 duty sometimes doth grow too long. 'Tis 
 well to show our own virtue by doing what 
 seems best for others. Let us to sleep." 
 
 Father Thomas shook his head apprehen- 
 sively while they recrossed the antechamber. 
 " He hath not been himself this month past. 
 Hast thou not noticed ? " 
 
 " It may be that Monsieur de Chatillon's 
 frequent coming, contrary to rule, may cause 
 the father grave annoyance," Brother Francis 
 replied, opening the door. 
 
 They glided on together through the re- 
 fectory and along many corridors, examining 
 the house for the night, continuing their 
 conversation as they went. 
 
 " Father Gaston hath given it out quietly 
 that he is intent upon the saving of his 
 brother's soul, and that he hath hopes to 
 win him to the Order. I know not, except
 
 150 The Devil's Plough 
 
 this coming and going is against the written 
 constitution." 
 
 " The end might justify the means, 
 but 'tis doubtful." Brother Thomas's head 
 again wagged. "It would be a notable 
 accession, Monsieur de Chatillon's for- 
 tune is no small drop in the right bucket. 
 All goes to the greater glory of God with 
 us ; and yet this absence is flagrant and 
 dangerous to the welfare of our novices." 
 
 "What if the general should know of 
 it ? " Brother Francis asked, apprehensively. 
 
 " The matter as it stands hath this very 
 morning gone to Rome. Obedience is the 
 first law of a Jesuit." 
 
 Brother Francis evinced his regret at the 
 situation by rapidly patting the point of his 
 tongue just behind his upper teeth against 
 the roof of his mouth ; with this sound their 
 footsteps fell away into the distance. 
 
 Meantime, Pierre had awakened from his 
 slumbers with amazing ease and rapidity. 
 Depositing the cat on the hearth, he tiptoed 
 toward the door in pursuit of the brothers. 
 Just this side he pressed one ear against the 
 crack and listened.
 
 The Devil's Plough 151 
 
 " Gone ! " he muttered. " Holy Mother ! 
 'tis well ! I caught a fish left-handed this 
 morning. 'Tis a bad sign." He moved 
 toward a point in the wall close by the 
 window overlooking the garden. Again he 
 listened. " Nothing ! " the cat heard him 
 say, and looked up with a wink. Then 
 Pierre smiled at one corner of his mouth, 
 seeing the wink. 
 
 " Brother Puss," he said, kneeling down 
 on one knee beside the cat, and holding the 
 animal erect on its tail and hind legs, " who 
 taught thee the ways of the boulevards 
 thou, a lay member of a holy brotherhood ? 
 The ways of hell are born in the kit and 
 the babe ; 'tis no wonder the man and the 
 cat, in spite of penances, follow the devil's 
 plough. Brother Puss, canst thou believe 
 our holy father may the Virgin give him 
 grace ! hath put himself under ban of the 
 society this night ? 'Tis so, and there is 
 more to come. Thy brother Thomas is no 
 friend to greatness. Didst thou ever feel a 
 flea in thine ear ? 'Tis like the general at 
 Rome will feel one soon." Pierre dropped 
 the cat, sighed, listened again, then relaxed
 
 152 The Devil's Plough 
 
 himself well down into the corner of the 
 settle on the way to sleep. 
 
 "It may be that in New France Father 
 Gaston might find life easier. Madelon, 
 little girl, thou wouldst be safe from the 
 streets of Paris ; and Pierre, why, Pierre, 
 'tis said a river as wide as all Paris flows in 
 New France, and wherever a river flows, 
 fish swim to the hook." Pierre soon ceased 
 thinking and snored naturally. The crack- 
 ling fire failed to arouse him, but presently 
 a scratch came on the small door near the 
 window at Father Gaston's private entrance 
 from the garden, and the man jumped in- 
 stantly to his feet. He spoke cautiously 
 upon reaching the door. " Father ! Cheva- 
 lier ! Caution ! Father Thomas hath a long 
 nose to-night." There was no reply, but 
 when Pierre opened the door sufficiently to 
 permit a slight figure's entrance, there sprang 
 into the room a masked page, to Pierre's 
 incredulous amazement. 
 
 "Paul! Paul! Save me!" cried the 
 lad, removing his mask, blinking his eyes 
 in the firelight, and shivering. Pierre still 
 stood with his mouth wide open. The two
 
 The Devil's Plough 153 
 
 gazed at each other without more words 
 until Pierre demanded, " What do you here, 
 young gentleman, on holy ground, in a 
 brotherhood of Jesuits ? " 
 
 " I know not, man," replied the lad, from 
 between chattering teeth. " I seek Monsieur 
 Paul de Chatillon. Oh, that butcher! I 
 shall see his image eternally ! There was 
 blood on his face. He forced me to cry, 
 * Down with Mazarin,' or he would kiss 
 me. The brutes ! They are abroad again 
 to-night, singing vile songs to the queen. 
 Where is Monsieur de Chatillon? 'Tis 
 impossible that I return alone." Again he 
 shivered, holding delicate, jewelled hands 
 out to the fire for warmth. 
 
 " Young gentleman, chevaliers reside not 
 in Jesuit colleges," Pierre said, reprov- 
 ingly. 
 
 " But Monsieur de Chatillon gave me a key 
 to the garden gate at the first turning beyond 
 the Hotel Dieu, and bade me scratch on the 
 door at the right of the first window bearing 
 upon the river, if he could not be found 
 elsewhere in Paris, and my need of him 
 became imperative. It is ! It is, man !
 
 154 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Summon the chevalier without delay. Ugh ! 
 That butcher!" 
 
 " Monsieur, Chevalier de Chatillon is not 
 here." Pierre looked suspiciously at the 
 lad, who tapped the floor impatiently with 
 one high-heeled shoe. 
 
 " Man, thou art deceiving me. 'Tis un- 
 likely the chevalier would give me entrance 
 to a private residence were he not to be 
 found there. Is it money thou requir'st ? 
 Take this." He drew a purse from his 
 bosom, but Pierre shook his head nega- 
 tively at sight of the golden louis proffered. 
 
 "Young gentleman, no money will buy 
 what is not here. Some one is at fault in 
 bringing you to this place. If the priests 
 should know of this, 'twould make great 
 scandal for Father Gaston. The eyes of 
 Pierre are not yet dim. He knows a 
 woman when he sees her." 
 
 " Father Gaston ! " exclaimed the page, 
 glancing over his own figure questioningly. 
 " Is it here Father Gaston resides ? Then 
 Paul hath led me to his brother's apartment. 
 He must be here. For the love of the 
 Virgin, Pierre, if that be thy name,
 
 The Devil's Plough 155 
 
 bring me the chevalier or Father Gaston. 
 I am weary to faintness. My enterprise was 
 more venturesome than I knew. Thou 
 knowst not my great weariness." He laid 
 his delicate head childishly against the 
 mantel-shelf, and in so doing brushed off 
 his cap with one arm. Long burnished hair 
 fell to his waist. " Thou seest the situation, 
 good Pierre," Heloise de Luneville con- 
 tinued, wearily. " I trust thee to help a 
 lady in distress as thou wouldst thy daughter 
 Madelon. She tells me of thy goodness, 
 and of thy fish." Her touch upon Pierre's 
 two salient points of tenderness proved more 
 effective than had the golden louis. He 
 bowed before her gravely. 
 
 " Comtesse de Luneville, the best I can 
 do is to lead madame la comtesse out at the 
 garden gate, as would become a father with 
 his daughter. 'Tis true the Chevalier de 
 Chatillon doth visit his brother in the college 
 by the private gate, but 'tis against all rules 
 of Jesuits. Even so, madame la comtesse 
 must, I beg, believe the word of an honest 
 tongue, the chevalier hath not been here 
 this day nor night."
 
 156 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Then I will await his coming, honest 
 Pierre. Give me a seat by the fire. The 
 Comtesse de Luneville is unaccustomed to 
 walking ; her feet do not well become a page, 
 neither doth her hair. Puss, how lik'st 
 thou a boy with long hair ? " Heloise rested 
 in the corner of the settle, playing with long 
 strands of her loosened hair as she gazed 
 curiously around the room. 
 
 " This is where the great Father L'Ar- 
 tanges passeth his life, thou sayest, Pierre ? " 
 she asked, with interest. 
 
 "It ,is, madame la comtesse ; and have 
 you no regard for his reputation, if none for 
 your own ? " Pierre was anxiously listening 
 again over by the window. 
 
 "If the chevalier doth not soon appear I 
 will speak with Father Gaston, then go " 
 
 " Ssh, countess, ssh ! Listen ! Foot- 
 steps along the garden ; 'tis likely Father 
 Gaston returning " 
 
 " Or the chevalier," added the countess, 
 in a whisper, rising and listening too. 
 " Will he come in at that door ? " 
 
 " Not until I admit him. Some one 
 comes." A distinct scratching was heard.
 
 The Devil's Plough 157 
 
 " Hide me, Pierre, hide me ! 'Tis not 
 Father Gaston I desire to see. Hide me, 
 until he retires into his chamber, and I will 
 dower thy Madelon fit for a shopkeeper's 
 wife." Pierre hesitated; the scratching grew 
 impatient ; a key was heard to turn in the 
 lock. Swiftly he ran to a great closet behind 
 the settle and opened it wide, saying, with 
 apprehensive warning, " Enter, countess, 
 and say no words even were rats to gnaw 
 thee." The closet door closed upon Heloise. 
 Pierre ran to the window, muttering, 
 " Woman, thou art the devil's plough driven 
 over the souls of men." 
 
 " Who's there ? " he called, in a low tone, 
 leaning out of the window. 
 
 " 'Tis I, De Chatillon," came the 
 whispered reply. " Is all safe ? " 
 
 Pierre admitted Father Gaston's brother, 
 wearing a hat but no cloak. 
 
 " Pierre, for the love of Father Gaston do 
 as I bid thee," said De Chatillon, breath- 
 lessly, as he entered carrying a large key in 
 one shaking hand. " There are gentlemen 
 following, so close they may have seen 
 me enter. For the sake of Father Gaston
 
 158 The Devil's Plough 
 
 they must not say his brother visits here. I 
 am not here, thou understand'st ? Open 
 the door at once, admit them. Show them 
 I am not here ; but Father L'Artanges is in 
 his apartment, deep in meditation, not to be 
 disturbed. For the love of Father Gaston, 
 keep thy wits about thee." 
 
 Pierre stood listening in wide-eyed disap- 
 proval until De Chatillon had disappeared 
 into the adjoining room, then he opened the 
 closet door slightly. 
 
 " Countess, is the air sufficient ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Canst endure it yet awhile ? " 
 
 " Yes. Who was it ? " 
 
 " For the sake of your reputation make 
 no sign until I bid you, countess." 
 
 He hurried back to the window. Dis- 
 putatious voices were heard outside, also 
 a great fumbling at the door, whose bolt 
 Pierre had sprung after De Chatillon. 
 
 " 'Twas as I said. He is not here, 
 Henri." 
 
 " I saw him enter, by God's life, I 
 saw him enter at this door. 'Tis bolted. 
 It must have been the window he entered.
 
 The Devil's Plough 159 
 
 Did I not see him enter, De Trouville ? 
 I'd stake my thrust on it." 
 
 " That he entered here is certain," said 
 another voice. 
 
 "I told thee, Christian. I'll give him 
 my thrust to feel of yet. By heaven, I'd 
 fight him and Saint-Evremond together, if 
 need be, spit the two of them on the 
 same blade like chickens." 
 
 Pierre leaned out of the window. " Art 
 thou the devil's brood outside, disturbing 
 the sacred peace of the cloisters ? " he 
 called. 
 
 " Hey, grandfather ! What say'st thou ? 
 We would enter, in search of Monsieur de 
 Chatillon, coward and rat." 
 
 " This is no tavern, but a house of Christ. 
 Chevaliers find not themselves at home 
 here," Pierre called back, temporising. 
 
 " Curse upon thee, man. We saw him, 
 three of us, gentlemen of France. Else 
 'twas a miracle." 
 
 Pierre, lighting these three gentlemen of 
 France with a candle, admitted them. 
 
 De Bouteville sprang through the door 
 first, still uncertain of anything other than his
 
 160 The Devil's Plough 
 
 own thrust and De Chatillon's disappearance 
 before his very eyes. 
 
 " So, good man, Brother Grandfather, 
 thou know'st a gentleman of France is not 
 to be turned from his purpose by bolts 
 or bars ? " he called, tapping Pierre's ear 
 with his sword-hilt. " Know'st thou me, 
 man ? " 
 
 " Surely, monsieur, by reputation." Pierre 
 stood over against the fireplace. The gentle- 
 men, after taking curious glances about the 
 room, followed him there. 
 
 "Yes, I am Monsieur Henri Sequarde- 
 Joinville de Bouteville. Thou hast perhaps 
 heard of the thrust of Saint-Evremond ? I 
 say I have a better, man. De Chatillon 
 denies it. He giveth me the lie, Brother 
 Grandfather, the lie ! And he runs like a 
 rat into a hole of priests " 
 
 " Henri ! " remonstrated Du Brion. " 'Tis 
 consecrated ground. Thy tongue doth thee 
 wrong. Let us retire quietly, 'tis no place 
 for such as we. Leave De Chatillon to dream 
 of his sins. He'll keep till to-morrow." 
 
 " Keep ! Keep till to-morrow ! 'Tis 
 likely he'll last till the devil lays a hand on
 
 The Devil's Plough 161 
 
 him, but I'm damned if I'll evaporate." 
 De Bouteville moved about the dim room, 
 thrusting with his sword at the shadows 
 while he talked. De Trouville whispered 
 something aside to Du Brion, at sound of 
 which De Bouteville turned upon, them 
 drunkenly. " Hein ! 'Tis plain, 'tis fear 
 thou hast for these petticoated saints of 
 Ignatius's tree. Drink no more, Christian, 
 I love thee better sober ; drink shakes thy 
 nerves." Then he called loudly, " Come 
 out, Monsieur de Chatillon ! I have a hat 
 with which to adorn a coward's head." 
 
 " Monsieur calls for nothing and nothing 
 will come," insisted Pierre. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed De Bouteville, 
 crushing the hat down over Pierre's head 
 and ears. 
 
 Du Brion laid a determined hand on his 
 friend's arm. " De Bouteville, hast thou 
 lost all reason ? Come away." 
 
 The bully removed the hat and suddenly 
 fell into the voice of a whimpering child. 
 " Now you're angry with me, Christian. 
 There, I'll be so quiet and reasonable." 
 He whispered to Pierre, going close up to
 
 1 62 The Devil's Plough 
 
 his ear for that purpose, " Reverend grand- 
 father, where is the Chevalier de Chatillon ? " 
 
 " No such gentleman is here, monsieur." 
 Pierre still stood immovable by the fireplace, 
 outside Father Gaston's private apartment, 
 
 " To be sure," laughed De Bouteville. 
 " But where is he ? My friend Du Brion 
 saw him, I saw him, even Monsieur 
 de Trouville saw him. Reliable witnesses, 
 think you ? Two of whom are drunk ; but 
 I'm not drunk, grandfather, I'm a wakeful 
 cat, by my thrust, I am. My thrust, 
 not the equal of Saint-Evremond's, but 'twill 
 do, 'twill do to break down that door 
 thou guard'st if the rat come not soon out 
 of his hole. 
 
 " There were three men who climbed a wall, 
 And two were short 
 
 That's a lie, but excusable in a poet. 
 
 " And one was tall 
 Loose thy hand, Christian ! 
 
 "And two were drunk, and that is all. 
 
 Thou seest, Brother Grandfather, we follow 
 the muse quite in the Rambouillet fashion,
 
 The Devil's Plough 163 
 
 and it leads us away from our subject. 
 Thou must not imagine me to be in wine, 
 man. I'm De Bouteville " A slight 
 cough was heard near by. " Ah, gentlemen, 
 the rat squealed ! From which door came 
 the sound ? Put thy ears to the keyholes. 
 I saw De Chatillon go in, and now I'll see 
 him come out or lose my family reputation. 
 Stand from before the door, man, or I'll run 
 thee through." 
 
 " Henri, thou goest too far." Du Brion 
 was plainly anxious. " Canst thou not be 
 persuaded by the face of a golden louis, 
 good man, to take us to Monsieur de 
 Chatillon ? " He showed Pierre a handful 
 of money. 
 
 " No golden louis can buy that which is 
 not, monsieur," Pierre still insisted. 
 . " Who hast thou hidden behind that 
 door, then ? I heard a sound. Whose 
 cough was that ? " 
 
 Pierre stood guard upon a lady's repu- 
 tation and a gentleman's life ; his heavy 
 features, expressionless except when illu- 
 minated by deep love of Madelon or Father 
 Gaston, now sharpened under the keen edge
 
 164 The Devil's Plough 
 
 of his responsibilities ; his mind worked 
 laboriously about the problem confronting 
 him. Monsieur de Chatillon was in the 
 father's room ; but how to protect him, 
 that was no easy matter. 
 
 " 'Tis the private apartment of the holy 
 father, L'Artanges," he answered, carefully. 
 " He hath been unwell for the month past. 
 The holy father may have coughed. Would 
 the noble gentlemen of France disturb a 
 holy father at his devotions ? " 
 
 " Was I not right, gentlemen ? " ex- 
 claimed De Bouteville, triumphantly. " De 
 Chatillon seeks protection from his Jesuit 
 brother. Well, 'tis not to the greater glory 
 of God that he should escape me. Come, 
 make way, old man. L'Artanges must an- 
 swer for the rats he makes holes for." He 
 leaned across Pierre, and gave the door a 
 sharp rap with the hilt of his sword, but the 
 other two gentlemen moved back together 
 in despair of the result. In reply, the door 
 quietly opened, and from the threshold 
 there advanced into the room Father Gaston 
 in his usual garb, wearing his accustomed 
 manner of serene composure. "Pierre," he
 
 The Devil's Plough 165 
 
 asked, " What meaneth this unwonted dis- 
 turbance ? " But Pierre dropped his candle 
 to the floor ; he gaped at the father ; his lips 
 moved in the words, "A miracle!" and he 
 crossed himself in awe of the spectacle.
 
 Chapter X 
 
 "/GENTLEMEN," began Father Gas- 
 V_T ton, with much dignity, looking the 
 intruders up and down, " to what have I 
 the honour " But Du Brion interrupted 
 him penitently. 
 
 "Your pardon, father, if this grave of- 
 fence of intrusion be pardonable. This 
 madcap friend of ours hath a quarrel with 
 Chevalier de Chatillon, and, seeing him by 
 chance, hath followed him across the city, 
 finally to this place, we with him to preserve 
 the peace as best we might. The night 
 may have deceived our eyes, but we do be- 
 lieve we saw your brother enter that door 
 before which Monsieur de Trouville now 
 stands." 
 
 " I could have pricked him with my 
 sword, had he been an inch nearer to me 
 when the door closed on him," De Boute- 
 ville asserted. 
 
 166
 
 The Devil's Plough 167 
 
 " Gentlemen," replied Father Gaston, 
 gravely, " there can be no question of your 
 word in this matter, even though there 
 be grave question of your deportment. 
 Neither can there be taken question of my 
 word. So there hangs the matter on a slip- 
 pery point inclining two ways. 'Tis my 
 word that the Chevalier de Chatillon is not 
 here." Pierre, now standing far back in 
 the shadow, crossed himself. " 'Tis your 
 word that you saw him enter. In France a 
 difference of opinion is settled with the 
 sword, but in heaven 'tis otherwise, and 'tis 
 my chance to dwell within the outskirts of 
 the more virtuous place. I bid you depart 
 in peace, and so arrange your disputations 
 with my brother and me according to the 
 injunction of Heaven." 
 
 " 'Tis under the Jesuit skirts you would 
 protect a coward ! " exclaimed De Boute- 
 ville, clinching his sword. 
 
 " You have known my brother long, mon- 
 sieur. Hath it been his habit to seek protec- 
 tion from thy sword, or that of any man? " 
 
 "It hath not till of late, but now his val- 
 our resembleth the courage of a woman with
 
 1 68 The Devil's Plough 
 
 a mouse." Again a slight cough was heard. 
 " Listen ! There is the sound again, De 
 Trouville. By Joseph's coat, I'll have him 
 yet ! " 
 
 Father Gaston looked toward Pierre, who 
 had turned his back. " Pierre, what was 
 the sound so disturbing to the gentlemen's 
 ears ? " the father asked. 
 
 " 'Twas Father Thomas coughing on his 
 nightly round," answered Pierre, slightly 
 opening the closet door. " The dust of a 
 convent tickleth the throat." 
 
 " You perceive, Monsieur de Bouteville," 
 continued the rector, warming his hands 
 before the fire, " it is possible for you to 
 misapprehend. But receive my assurances 
 that, were it possible for me to prevent 
 your duel with my brother, I should take 
 all honourable means to do so. What is 
 your quarrel with my brother ? " 
 
 De Bouteville looked morose. " You have 
 me not at confessional, Father L'Artanges. 
 The cause of my quarrel is of no conse- 
 quence to any man but myself. 'Tis enough 
 to say he hath insulted me, and, by my 
 faith, he must support the consequences/'
 
 The Devil's Plough 169 
 
 " This evil custom ever outweighs con- 
 sideration of its own injustice," replied L'Ar- 
 tanges, rubbing his hands before the fire. 
 
 " You are of the Red Cardinal's cloth," 
 muttered De Bouteville, walking about im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " Monsieur," L'Artanges proceeded, in 
 a tone pointed as needles, " the evening is 
 cool for springtime, and the night hurrieth 
 toward the morn. If my judgment be not 
 at fault, your condition would be relieved 
 by bed and slumber. But first bathe your 
 humour by inspection of the adjoining 
 apartment ; then, having cooled your blood 
 in the knowledge that Monsieur de Cha- 
 tillon is not here, draw up to the fire and 
 take comfort before departing. But now 
 the clock struck ten, I am not custom- 
 arily late to bed." 
 
 " 'Tis true, my courtesy is at fault in re- 
 maining an unwelcome guest. A gentleman 
 can do no more, nor less, than accept his 
 host's statement. If Father L'Artanges says 
 Monsieur de Chatillon is not in the next 
 apartment, Monsieur de Bouteville can only 
 accept the same, reserving the right to his
 
 170 The Devil's Plough 
 
 own belief in the matter. I will leave with 
 Father L'Artanges a form of challenge not 
 familiar in France. Permit Monsieur du 
 Brion to have pen and paper, he is the 
 better scribe, then we will depart, leaving 
 our message in your hands." L'Artanges 
 bowed, then, turning to Pierre, bade him 
 go into the next room, leave the door wide 
 open, and return with the required articles. 
 
 " Your message shall be delivered, Mon- 
 sieur de Bouteville. But it is the truth 
 that I only agree to this because by so 
 doing I give both you and my brother 
 time for calmer thought. Such power as 
 is mine I shall use to prevent him from 
 considering the challenge. Pierre, furnish 
 Monsieur du Brion every accommodation." 
 
 Du Brion sat down to a cabinet and 
 wrote. L'Artanges continued, " Monsieur 
 de Bouteville, if I am not mistaken in the 
 recollection, you and my brother have 
 fought side by side in the wars, there 
 was one time when you saved my brother's 
 life in Flanders ? " 
 
 "He told you that?" murmured De 
 Bouteville,
 
 The Devil's Plough 171 
 
 " There is but little I do not know con- 
 cerning my brother's life. There was a 
 time, monsieur, when he held you high 
 in his esteem and admiration." 
 
 " 'Tis possible but the thrust of Saint- 
 Evremond " L'Artanges's power over 
 men was working ; De Bouteville sobered 
 rapidly. 
 
 "It is a truth that, though circumstances 
 may bring a friendship to an end, yet 
 often the affection it engendered blooms 
 for ever. My brother hath no quarrel with 
 you. He hath told me so. 'Tis not the 
 rule for a priest to confess his brother, 
 but my brother Paul hath sought my con- 
 fidence, and, at the risk of the Order's dis- 
 pleasure, I have endeavoured to draw him 
 away from worldly pleasures and tempta- 
 tions." 
 
 " And in so doing hath turned a soldier 
 to a priest and spoiled a gentleman," 
 De Bouteville replied, hastily. L'Artanges 
 smiled peculiarly, but made no direct reply 
 to the interruption. 
 
 "You admit, monsieur, your friendship 
 for my brother in the past ; also, that Mon-
 
 1 72 The Devil's Plough 
 
 sieur de Chatillon is so far in your debt that 
 to cross swords with you would be from 
 him an act of great ingratitude " 
 
 " I at this moment absolve him from 
 every indebtedness to me." De Bouteville 
 bowed formally. 
 
 " That, though no longer friends, each of 
 you hath left a kindly thought in the other's 
 life. For his chance statement of opinion 
 shall a cloud arise, spreading until it darkens 
 the remainder of life for one of you, and 
 covers with its black shadow the soul of 
 the other, hurried unsummoned into an- 
 other life? It is my request that you 
 only consult your highest courage, mon- 
 sieur, of the courage of the duellist you 
 have both given proof indisputable. If 
 Monsieur de Bouteville declined to press 
 this quarrel, who dares dispute his courage ? 
 It lies with me to send you from this house 
 of Christ bearing the curse of the Church 
 upon you ; with the finger of God's dis- 
 pleasure for ever on your shoulder; or, 
 this meeting I could prevent by an appeal 
 to the authorities of Paris " 
 
 De Bouteville broke in : " Prevent it,
 
 The Devil's Plough 173 
 
 and 'twill save your brother's skin rather 
 than his reputation." 
 
 " I shall do neither of these things, mon- 
 sieur. God sees. The Divine Saviour hath 
 your conscience in his tender care. I, his 
 servant, am but his mouthpiece. I but ask 
 you to do your part toward the ending of 
 an evil custom, unjust in itself, and the 
 enemy of what professed religion hath de- 
 clared to be the highest human act, the 
 forgiveness of injury." 
 
 Du Brion ceased writing and gave his 
 attention. De Trouville stood fingering his 
 sword in a listening attitude. De Bouteville 
 was again a courteous gentleman of France, 
 tying the written challenge to his plume and 
 laying the hat down upon the cabinet. 
 " Father L'Artanges," he began, " but this 
 evening it was that I said, ' A great soldier 
 of France was spoiled in L'Artanges, the 
 preacher.' Your power can quell the 
 peasant's blood, can wring a serious epi- 
 gram from the lightest tongue in France ; 
 but it cannot turn a gentleman, who admires 
 you, from the pursuit of his honour. I 
 have the honour to leave my challenge in
 
 174 The Devil's Plough 
 
 your apartment, with the hope that Mon- 
 sieur de Chatillon will no longer permit Paris 
 to doubt his courage. Come, gentlemen, we 
 have already trespassed too long upon Father 
 L'Artanges's courtesy. I have the honour 
 to bid you good evening." He bowed and 
 moved toward the door, followed in turn by 
 De Trouville and Du Brion. 
 
 L'Artanges stood as if giving audience 
 before his own fireside. He returned each 
 gentleman's bow courteously, speaking to 
 Pierre meanwhile. " Pierre, conduct the 
 gentlemen to the garden gate. I have the 
 honour to wish you a safe return to Paris, 
 gentlemen, and more light from heaven." 
 
 The private door closed upon Pierre and 
 the three gentlemen, then L'Artanges turned 
 toward the fireplace and looked far down 
 into the blaze of the logs. He passed one 
 firm white hand, whose joints were strong, 
 yet flexible, wearily over his forehead and 
 eyes. " The day hath been long and weari- 
 some. Life scarce seems worth the difficulty 
 of living." He spoke hopelessly to himself. 
 "What profiteth a man if he gaineth the 
 whole world and loseth his own soul ? "
 
 The Devil's Plough 175 
 
 He stood there thoughtfully during a silent 
 moment, then looked up and took one step 
 toward the settle. But his eyes encountered 
 some amazing sight; his feet refused to 
 carry him farther. Again he rubbed one 
 hand over his eyes, crying out, " The 
 visions of my mind do alarm me ! Be- 
 loved, beloved ! thy face doth haunt the 
 regions where my soul finds paradise ! " 
 His arms unconsciously extended toward 
 the face before him. A voice replied, 
 softly : 
 
 " Father Gaston, 'tis the people's name 
 for you. May I call you Father Gaston, 
 thus to touch your gentle nature, the 
 heart that will forgive my presence here ? " 
 
 The Comtesse de Luneville came slowly 
 toward him from out the shadow. The 
 priest's body stiffened, his eyes set upon 
 her ; no words came to him. Again she 
 addressed him without eliciting a reply. 
 The countess in alarm drew near and 
 touched his sleeve. " Father Gaston, 'tis 
 I, Comtesse de Luneville, in page's dress. 
 I came to find Paul de Chatillon. Are you 
 ill?"
 
 ij6 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Paul de Chatillon ! " he repeated. His 
 face relaxed. " Paul de Chatillon ? Countess, 
 there lives no such man this side of purgatory. 
 Paul de Chatillon ! My brother Paul ?" He 
 broke into a short, derisive laugh. 
 
 " 'Tis needless to deny his presence here, 
 Father Gaston, for 'twas his voice I heard 
 from within the closet, when the good Pierre 
 first hid me there," she insisted. 
 
 " His voice ? Paul's voice ? Ah, madame 
 la comtesse, the light of love is a will-o'-the- 
 wisp misleading thee." Changing his man- 
 ner and countenance, as if suddenly inspired 
 with some new, clear thought, he asked, " If 
 I have the honour to entertain Comtesse de 
 Luneville, may I inquire how that lady 
 gained entrance into the private apartment 
 of a Jesuit rector ? " 
 
 " Paul directed me to the garden gate at 
 the first turning beyond the Hotel Dieu, in 
 case of necessity. I came " 
 
 L'Artanges interrupted. " Pardon, ma- 
 dame la comtesse, but what necessity could 
 lead you to Paul's side, having once given 
 your sacred promise in confessional to avoid 
 his presence ? "
 
 The Devil's Plough 177 
 
 " Oh, father," the lady cried, brushing a 
 handful of her shining locks across her face 
 and relapsing into the familiar form of 
 speech, " father, thou know'st not love 
 when thou asketh a woman why she seek'st 
 the one who lights the world for her, as the 
 sun doth the gray morning. A priest can 
 see into the human heart only so far as his 
 own experience leadeth him. Thou know'st 
 not love, Father Gaston ! " She sank down 
 on to the settle, covering both hands over 
 her face ; her long hair fell across her shoul- 
 ders, veiling exquisitely the slender body of 
 the lady. 
 
 Father Gaston's flexible mouth assumed 
 a complicated expression composed of war- 
 ring emotions. One hand moved toward 
 the settle, but he grasped it with the other. 
 " Thou lov'st my brother Paul beyond all 
 reason, madame la comtesse." 
 
 " Beyond all reason," she replied from 
 behind her hands. He saw tears trickling 
 through her ringers, and turned away. There 
 was silence while he walked across the room 
 and back again. 
 
 " Countess," he spoke firmly, standing
 
 1 78 The Devil's Plough 
 
 now close beside her, " Pierre will soon 
 return ; I must speak with thee most ear- 
 nestly. Thou seek'st my brother to give 
 him thy life ? " 
 
 "Yes, father, or, as it may be, to bid 
 him farewell for eternity, unless 'tis planned 
 by Heaven that we meet again in some 
 strange life beyond our knowledge. Thou 
 know'st somewhat of this purgatory, where 
 souls must go in preparation for eternal life. 
 Tell me of it, father, what thou think'st 
 thyself, not what thou hast read or heard." 
 
 " Countess," the priest said, gently, " pur- 
 gatory to Paul de Chatillon will be whatever 
 life his soul knoweth without thee." 
 
 She looked up. " Father Gaston, surely 
 thou knowest somewhat of love." 
 
 " A priest creeps close within the human 
 heart, countess," he replied. " It is to say 
 farewell thou seek'st Paul, because thy 
 heart speaketh what God above hath told 
 thee of right, or " He hesitated. 
 
 " Because he is in danger of Chevalier de 
 Bouteville's skill, unless he be a coward, 
 and the woman who loveth him beyond all 
 else in life cannot doubt his courage," she
 
 The Devil's Plough 179 
 
 replied, rising nervously and pacing the 
 floor. " Father Gaston, throw thy priestly 
 duty to one side and open thy heart to my 
 needs. A woman such as I cannot live with- 
 out the glory of a worship high and fine, 
 a love which turns my human clay to gold, 
 and not into the creature Comte de Lune- 
 ville maketh me." 
 
 " One moment, countess," L'Artanges 
 interrupted, visibly disturbed by her words. 
 " Pierre returns, I hear his step." 
 
 Pierre entered, shaking his head. "The 
 wind fiseth, father. My light blew out. 
 'Tis well if no hint of to-night's work blows 
 round the corner of thy apartment into the 
 nostrils of Father Thomas." Then he saw 
 Heloise. " Madame la comtesse, 'twas but 
 a woman's promise you gave, then. Father 
 Gaston having seen madame la comtesse, 
 'tis no longer Pierre's duty to protect her 
 good name." 
 
 " Pierre," said Father Gaston, " thou hast 
 been this lady's friend. Continue to be. 
 For one moment she would speak with me 
 alone. Mount thou guard outside that 
 door, and, if 'tis necessary, scratch slightly
 
 i8o The Devil's Plough 
 
 in alarm." He indicated the refectory door. 
 Heloise said, tremulously, " Good Pierre, I 
 greatly need the counsel of the holy father," 
 and Pierre silently but doubtfully left the 
 room by the refectory door. 
 
 " Father," immediately began Heloise, 
 " the hour has come when I must seek a 
 new life or sink even farther back into the 
 slough of the old. 'Tis rumoured De Lune- 
 ville is pardoned." 
 
 The priest shivered as if a cold blast had 
 swept through the room ; then he made an 
 effort to command himself in preparation 
 for some difficult endeavour on his own 
 part. " Comtesse de Luneville," he spoke 
 in the deepest tones of his wonderful voice, 
 " thou art a woman possessed of nobler 
 purposes than those with whom thy life is 
 cast. Seek thy heart well for Heaven's 
 counsel before thou willingly makest a step 
 aside from the path of thy highest duty. A 
 man who always loves thee will but love 
 thee more for every fine and noble deed or 
 thought he sees in thee. If 'tis thy wish, 
 my brother Paul shall know of thy desire 
 to bid him farewell, also the other circum-
 
 The Devil's Plough 181 
 
 stances attending, but I beg of thee, as a 
 noble lady of France, not to hunt him out 
 until he seeks thee." 
 
 " But, father, he directed me to this 
 place." 
 
 " Doubtless, in a moment of weakness. 
 All men slip momentarily from the pedestal 
 they mount of their own free will, madame." 
 The priest pressed one hand down against 
 his lungs, as was his habit under nervous 
 agitation. 
 
 " Father Gaston," the lady cried, " thou 
 canst not keep me from him ! " She moved 
 toward the private apartment. " The frozen 
 waters lie still and waveless until the spring 
 sun shineth down upon and warms them ; 
 then high they rise above the level of their 
 banks, and break the frozen bonds of winter. 
 So with my heart, I heard the man I love 
 cross the room when first I stood within the 
 closet ; I heard his voice, find him I shall, 
 if my life thereby be forfeited ! Paul ! Paul!" 
 she cried. 
 
 " Madame la comtesse," L' Artanges 
 followed her to the door, " thou must 
 believe my brother is not here."
 
 1 82 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " I heard the man I love. I heard his 
 voice," she repeated. " Thou deceivest me ! 
 Thou, a man of God ! " 
 
 " Permit me, madame." He opened the 
 door before her. " Enter and examine. 
 Paul de Chatillon is not here." 
 
 " Who, then, was the man I heard ? " 
 she asked, weakly, gazing into the vacant 
 room beyond the door. Her strength was 
 giving way before the overpowering exer- 
 tions and emotions of the past few days. 
 
 " Paul de Chatillon is not here, madame," 
 L'Artanges continued to repeat laboriously. 
 " I swear to thee, by the cross of Christ, that 
 Paul de Chatillon is not here." 
 
 She gave one last strained look around, 
 then, with a faint cry, " Beloved, where art 
 thou ? " she tottered and fell against L'Ar- 
 tanges's shoulder. 
 
 " Pierre ! " called the priest, supporting 
 the lady with one rigid arm. The refectory 
 door opened. " Pierre, bear this lady, who 
 is indisposed, out through the garden, care- 
 fully, in your arms ; then see that she is 
 safely conducted to her home. For the 
 greater glory of God, Pierre, for the
 
 The Devil's Plough 183 
 
 greater glory of God. What profiteth a 
 man if he gain the whole world and loseth his 
 own soul ? Thou art my only friend, Pierre. 
 I am now Father Gaston, the beloved of 
 the people, once more in my own right 
 mind, I can look God in the face ; I have 
 done my duty ; I have gained my own soul. 
 A d major em Dei gloriam. Laus Deo semper."
 
 Chapter XI 
 
 THE narrow arm of the Seine, embrac- 
 ing the Isle du Palais about its south- 
 ern border, flowed lazily along until it joined 
 the main channel once more with a rush of 
 welcome. Long ago, in the days of Pierre, 
 the Jesuit lay brother, and his sweet daugh- 
 ter Madelon, the land south of this arm, 
 lying at some distance beyond a short bridge 
 connecting with the mainland the Isle du 
 Palais, upon which stood Notre Dame and 
 its cloisters, was thickly wooded down to 
 the very banks of the stream. 
 
 It was to this favourite spot Pierre came 
 with Madelon, his bait, and fishing tackle 
 upon the first fete day following the events 
 of that strange night in the rector's ante- 
 chamber. Since then Father Gaston had 
 been away on his annual trip to Normandy, 
 where, by special dispensation, he was per- 
 mitted to travel on foot for the best pur- 
 184
 
 The Devil's Plough 185 
 
 poses of his health, also that he might 
 preach to the poor in those quiet villages 
 of the north country, which he held affec- 
 tionately in lasting remembrance. 
 
 At the point of the river selected by 
 Pierre for recreation that fair June day, so 
 close on the heels of July that the breeze 
 smelled slightly of midsummer, the bank of 
 the stream rose in a slight, perpendicular 
 acclivity, crowned with one wide-armed tree, 
 all moss-grown about its roots, where Made- 
 Ion sat weaving into a wreath grass blades, 
 green leaves, and delicate wood blossoms. 
 The dimples in her hands made cups for 
 kisses as she moved them in and out among 
 the greens ; one long braid of hair fell over 
 her shoulder, and her strong, round ankles 
 crossed restfully, one over the other, upon 
 velvet moss growing in the northern shade 
 of the tree. The morning shadows were 
 fast leaning straight with the sun, but the 
 beauty of the delicious June air was in no 
 wise decreased by the approach of mid-day 
 heat. 
 
 Pierre sat fishing below the knoll, but 
 still within easy speaking distance. Made-
 
 1 86 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Ion had fitted his lay-brother's hat close 
 about a stone, so that it might not blow 
 away. They both sat bareheaded, sipping 
 the air without vocal exchange of the joyous 
 content they felt. Madelon and her father 
 were silent people together. They were so 
 entirely accustomed to each other's minds 
 that words seemed misplaced between them. 
 
 Pierre soon waded to the knee in water, 
 wearing on his face a look of cheerful deter- 
 mination dangerous to the fish. Every time 
 he drew his line, his mouth opened wide, as 
 if that aperture were held in reserve for the 
 catch once landed. " Madelon," he would 
 call over his shoulder at intervals, " thou 
 must be quiet as an owl in daylight, lest 
 monsieur fish like not thy words and run 
 away." 
 
 The girl smiled contentedly at each warn- 
 ing, but made no reply. The birds were lazy 
 with their tunes and calls at drowsy mid-day, 
 but the wood animals could be faintly sensed 
 browsing about amid the trees at no great 
 distance. The melodious communion of 
 trees and all other forest things was broken 
 at one moment by the approaching sound of
 
 The Devil's Plough 187 
 
 huntsmen, whose falcons, unhooded not far 
 away, flew noisily toward the stream the 
 length of many rods, then suddenly whirled 
 about and flew back again, leaving the mid- 
 day prayers of Nature inviolate. Two del- 
 icate fawns peeped through the trees at 
 Madelon ; looked at each other, then ran 
 away. But the girl saw them not, so intent 
 was she upon her own day-dreams, twined 
 in the interstices of the slow-growing wreath. 
 Madelon's was no commonplace peasant 
 face. From her mother came the taint of 
 illegitimate aristocracy, thus accounting for 
 the delicate modelling of her hands, nose, 
 and ears. Her voice, too, was beautiful ; 
 Father Gaston had but recently spoken to 
 the chorister of Notre Dame about instruct- 
 ing her in singing, and this fact added to the 
 joy with which the girl now hummed bits 
 of tunes. 
 
 The wreath being completed, she ran down 
 to the river's brink, where trees cast their 
 shadows, and in the mirrors thus made she 
 looked long at her own wreathed reflection. 
 Standing thus, she half chanted, to impro- 
 vised cadences :
 
 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " ' When his love he saw at last, 
 Arms about her did he cast, 
 Kissed her often, kissed her sweet, 
 Kissed her lips and brows and eyes. 
 Thus all night do they devise, 
 Even till the morning white. 
 Then Aucassin wedded her, 
 Made her Lady of Biaucaire. 
 Many years abode they there, 
 Many years in shade or sun, 
 In great gladness and delight. 
 Ne'er hath Aucassin regret 
 Nor his lady Nicolete. 
 Now my story all is done, 
 Said and sung ! ' " J 
 
 This ancient ballad of true love was sung 
 so tenderly, so softly, that the fish took no 
 alarm, and Pierre made no remonstrance ; 
 but when it was quite finished, a voice 
 spoke in admiration from among the low 
 trees behind her. 
 
 " Madelon, little daughter of Pierre, thou 
 giv'st the birds joy with thy forest tale of 
 love. How earnest thou by the old tale ? " 
 
 She turned about with the look of the 
 fawns at sight of her. The flush of the 
 
 1 From the translation of Andrew Lang.
 
 The Devil's Plough 
 
 early morning sky crossed her face upon 
 being discovered by Father Gaston, stand- 
 ing there unheard, unobserved, until he 
 spoke. Madelon made a deep reverence 
 before him. " 'Twas the beautiful Com- 
 tesse de Luneville taught me the tale, holy 
 father ; and I read it in her book, after 
 the lessons in the art of reading, you so 
 graciously had given me, prepared the way 
 to my understanding." 
 
 He came out from among the trees, lead- 
 ing a small mare by the bridle. " Thou 
 appeared a crowned queen of nature for 
 the moment, little one, beside the river 
 brink." 
 
 She looked down bashfully. "Yes, Fa- 
 ther Gaston. It doth give me great joy 
 to sing." 
 
 " Thou art a delicate flower, little one. 
 If 'twere not for that, the stage might claim 
 thee. Feel'st thou no inclination to act 
 and sing before many faces staring at thee, 
 and ears sometimes very long ones 
 inclined thy way ? " 
 
 "It hath been in my thoughts, holy 
 father, to do so, but my courage is not
 
 190 The Devil's Plough 
 
 enough. 'Tis joy to sing into the river's 
 shadows or" she hesitated "to you, 
 but would the people understand ? Only 
 the trees and flowers and you under- 
 stand ; not even my little father " She 
 paused and took off the wreath. 
 
 " Keep the wreath so, little one. It 
 giveth me great pleasure to see thee beauti- 
 ful as are the trees and sky and flowers. 
 Pierre must be not far distant. No doubt 
 he maketh merry with the fish." 
 
 " Yes, Father Gaston. Little father is at 
 the sport just around the bend. His head 
 can be plainly seen whenever he catcheth 
 a fish. There ! See him now ! " 
 
 " 'Tis likely good Pierre hath brought 
 food to strengthen him for the sport. He 
 is a generous soul; we will lead little Marie 
 to drink, then go beg something of him 
 wherewith to break my fast." 
 
 " Permit me to do you the service, Father 
 Gaston. 'Twill give me joy to do even 
 so little a thing for you, who are so good 
 and kind to every one." Madelon took 
 the mare's bridle in one hand. 
 
 " Well, well, little one," said Father Gas-
 
 The Devil's Plough 191 
 
 ton, looking kindly at her, " if 'twill give 
 thee pleasure, take Marie to drink." 
 
 He sat down on the spreading surface 
 roots of a tree near by, with a sigh of 
 physical content, watching the graceful girl 
 and the mare while the animal thirstily 
 drank from the stream. Resting easily on 
 one arm, Father Gaston repeated, thought- 
 fully : 
 
 " Many years abode they there, 
 Many years in shade or sun, 
 In great gladness and delight.' 
 
 'Twas the Comtesse de Luneville taught 
 thee those words, thou saidst, Madelon ? " 
 
 "Yes, holy father. 'Twas the great lady 
 who is so good to me. I go often to sell 
 her flowers, and she talks kindly to me," 
 answered the girl, looking back at him. 
 
 " She is both a good and kind lady to 
 thee and others. Hast thou seen her lately ? 
 
 " ' Many years in shade or sun, 
 In great gladness and delight.' 
 
 Those words take hold of the memory, 
 little one. Hast thou seen her lately, to 
 learn with her more beautiful verses ? "
 
 192 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " The countess, holy father ? Whoa, 
 Marie ! thou art too eager, thou drink'st 
 more in the manner of a pig than a mare. 
 Hold up thy pretty head, and Madelon 
 will crown thee with her wreath in reward 
 for thy obedience." Her entire attention 
 for the moment was given to the mare. 
 
 Father Gaston leaned his weight far back 
 upon both elbows and looked up at the sky 
 cut into intricate blue figures, by the sway- 
 ing leaves and boughs above him, repeat- 
 ing again, in his mellowest tones : 
 
 " ' Many years in shade or sun, 
 In great gladness and delight.' 
 
 'Tis a bright picture the countess showeth 
 thee, little one. 
 
 " ' In great gladness and delight, 
 In great gladness and delight.' 
 
 The countess must be happy, Madelon, to 
 read thee verse of that quality. I had not 
 heard the old tale since my mother read 
 it in my presence, long ago. Thou say'st 
 the countess is a happy lady, Madelon, 
 being of good health and great fortune ? "
 
 The Devil's Plough 193 
 
 " No, holy father. The lady seemeth 
 not to me of gay spirits. She hath told 
 me no woman can be happy when Love 
 sitteth far off and frowns. Those were 
 her words. Their full meaning I know 
 not, but 'tis true the countess is often sad." 
 
 "If Love frowned upon thee, little one, 
 what wouldst thou do ? " he asked, absently. 
 
 She shook her head in doubt, leading the 
 mare carefully back up the bank. " It is 
 not for me to say, Father Gaston. Your 
 spiritual counsel would speak the best 
 course to the lady's mind. I have seen 
 that, when Love smiles, the world doth 
 laugh and glitter as if many suns were 
 shining instead of one. But I know not 
 myself." 
 
 " Hast thou not loved, little one? " 
 
 Again the morning flush tinted her cheeks. 
 "My little father, yes ; my flowers, yes ; the 
 trees and the sky, yes ; I love thee, Father 
 Gaston, yes, all good folks do; but Jean, 
 the baker, who would wed me, no, father, 
 no ! " her face clouded like a child's, 
 " and marriage with him would make me 
 sad like the countess ; I know it."
 
 194 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Then thou shalt not wed him, little one. 
 No one shall make thee unhappy. 'Tis 
 possible that God meant every man and 
 woman whom he sends into this world to 
 have a mate like the birds. Think'st thou 
 so, little one? " 
 
 She nodded her head. " 'Tis what 
 maketh the nightingale sing, holy father, 
 the love for his mate. The falconer hath 
 told me so. Father Gaston, it hath been 
 sometimes in my thoughts that my betrothal 
 will be to the Holy Church of Christ. The 
 Virgin hath appeared to me and beckoned." 
 The girl's lower lip quivered and the colour 
 of her eyes strengthened. 
 
 A look of grief crossed the priest's face. 
 " No, no, Madelon," he commanded. 
 " No, I say. Thou art not for the sacri- 
 fice. Thy soul turns to beauty, child. 
 'Twould suffer in conventual life. There 
 are enough without thee." 
 
 She evinced her surprise in her look. 
 " But, holy father, 'twas in my thoughts 
 that you would bid me wed the Church." 
 
 " The life is well for those having no eyes 
 for all God hath put outside conventual
 
 The Devil's Plough 195 
 
 walls. Child, I tell thee, 'twould be thy 
 certain death. When, at thy age, they took 
 me from the woods, the sky, the trees, the 
 very heart of God, and placed me at the 
 studies of the priest, it broke my heart. 
 Something snapped within my soul. There 
 was no help for it, and now it is my hope to 
 do my duty by my vows ; but the sky calls, 
 child, the music calls, life calls. God made 
 it all, not Satan, as some would have it. 
 Take counsel of thine own nature, little one, 
 before it is too late." 
 
 Had the river turned in its course and 
 dashed upon her, the maiden could not 
 have been more seized with wonder and 
 amazement. Her pretty lips hung apart; 
 her eyes stretched aghast. 
 
 " This once in all my life I speak, child. 
 'Tis to save another from the experience 
 of mine own soul." 
 
 " 'Tis something like the countess hath 
 said to me. 'Tis in her thoughts that God 
 hath made the love of the nightingale and 
 the man." Madelon's body shook ner- 
 vously ; this was to her a strange revela- 
 tion.
 
 196 The Devil's Plough 
 
 "In all this world, little one, thy father is 
 the only one in whom I can safely put my 
 human faith. I say these things to thee as 
 if thou wert mine own daughter, first for 
 thine own sake, but more for the good 
 Pierre." His face was deeply troubled. 
 " I trust thee now, Madelon. These words 
 are buried deep between us. Say no more, 
 but take close counsel of thine own nature, 
 and if then thou still hearest the call, obey. 
 Thou say'st thou hast learned the pretty 
 verses from the countess but lately ? " 
 
 Madelon shook her head sadly. " No, 
 holy father. 'Twas long before the lady 
 was seized with her late discomfort of body. 
 For many days I had not seen her until 
 yesterday, when she sent for me and my 
 flowers, being somewhat recovered once 
 more." 
 
 " Comtesse de Luneville hath been ill, 
 Madelon? Make haste to answer." He 
 leaned toward her on the grass command- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Yes, holy father. The lady hath been 
 sorely ill these three weeks past. The 
 barber hath bled her of much illness, but
 
 The Devil's Plough 197 
 
 some still remains. Her friends scarce 
 knew her when she once again appeared at a 
 grand fete. 'Twere better would she stay in 
 bed, but the countess hath no heed to other 
 than her own will. 'Tis like she will appear 
 to-morrow eve at the fete set by Made- 
 moiselle Ninon at her own house, where 
 she gives promise to appear, having been 
 secretly away since before the moon was 
 new." 
 
 The mare, cropping grass near by, neighed 
 and looked around. Pierre was heard call- 
 ing, " Madelon ! Madelon ! Come ! My 
 string is full to the knot ! Come ! " 
 
 The girl answered by halloing through 
 her hands, then she turned back to Father 
 Gaston, who sat there on the grass, burying 
 his face on his folded arms laid across his 
 knees : " Holy father, if you will condescend 
 to break your fast with those so lowly, we do 
 beseech you to take bread with us under the 
 high tree yonder.'' 
 
 He looked up absently, nodding a me- 
 chanical assent. His eyes looked suddenly 
 parched, as if the sun were scorching the 
 whites of them. " Madelon, little one, "
 
 198 The Devil's Plough 
 
 he spoke slowly, " thou said'st she wills 
 to attend Ninon's fete to-morrow eve ? " 
 
 "Yes, holy father." The girl took 
 Marie's bridle over one arm. 
 
 "Thou said'st the countess was suffering 
 in mind and body ? " 
 
 "Yes, holy father." She stood looking 
 at him, and the sound of Marie cropping 
 grass was distinct to their ears. His head 
 fell forward on his breast meditatively. She 
 waited patiently beside him. 
 
 When he finally looked up, Father Gas- 
 ton passed one hand over his eyes, making 
 the gesture, indicative of mental fatigue, 
 grown familiar to him of late. " Little one, 
 wilt thou pray for me to-night ? " 
 
 The sadness in his voice brought quick 
 tears to her eyes. Her fresh lips quivered. 
 " Thou art always in my morning and even- 
 ing prayers, Father Gaston," she replied. 
 
 " Put thy white soul between mine and 
 Satan, little one ; then 'tis possible my head 
 will not whirl and sing and play me false." 
 
 The man looked so helpless that the girl's 
 mother heart awoke, and led her to touch 
 his cassock pityingly. " Father Gaston, thou
 
 The Devil's Plough 199 
 
 art not well ? Come, and Madelon will give 
 thee food and drink and tender care. Thou 
 giv'st thy life for the poor of the city, and 
 thou hast no single soul to give thee aught 
 of tenderness." 
 
 " Not a single human heart, Madelon, 
 but thine and thy father's." He stood up 
 feebly. " Madelon, forget not thou art to 
 say an additional prayer for me to-night." 
 
 " I remember, holy father." She clasped 
 her hands, then suddenly knelt before him 
 on the grass. " Holy Mother, I do be- 
 seech thee to hold close to thy tender heart 
 thy worthy son, who needs thy mother's 
 care." 
 
 Hot tears wet his eyes at sight of the 
 devout form kneeling there in prayer for 
 him. " I thank thee, little one. May the 
 blessed Virgin keep thee also in divine em- 
 brace." 
 
 She arose, and together, leading Marie 
 between them, they went to meet Pierre, 
 who stood beneath the great tree, calling 
 his little daughter.
 
 Chapter XII 
 
 IT was the night of Ninon de L'Enclos's 
 fete champetre. This vivacious lady had 
 selected for her rural abode an old manor- 
 house and grounds situated beyond the edge 
 of Paris, midway between the city and that 
 part of the country ultimately selected by the 
 Grand Monarch for the site of his favour- 
 ite residence. This country-place, already 
 possessed of remarkable native attractions, 
 Ninon had purchased, then perfected by 
 every artificial means at the command of 
 money and excellent taste, for the lady's 
 refinement of taste greatly exceeded her re- 
 finement of morals. 
 
 Invitations had been delivered by lackeys 
 to all fashionable Paris, bidding it welcome 
 to this grand fete, at which the hostess 
 was to make her reappearance after a mys- 
 terious absence of a month, during which
 
 The Devil's Plough 201 
 
 time no clew to her whereabouts was dis- 
 covered. 
 
 Since De Sevigne's death, she had taken 
 no lover patent to the eye, but the tongues 
 of Paris had not run dry of gossip concern- 
 ing the probabilities surrounding her retire- 
 ment. The most popular surmise placed 
 her with the Chevalier de Chatillon in his 
 Norman ancestral home, because coincident 
 with Ninon's disappearance came that gen- 
 tleman's, after he was for one moment 
 plainly seen before the tavern of La Carotte 
 Rouge by four gentlemen of France and 
 followed by them unsuccessfully. To Paris- 
 ians it seemed not altogether unlikely that, 
 where one was found, the other would be 
 discovered ; not owing to any particular af- 
 finity existing between the two absentees, 
 as far as was known, but on general prin- 
 ciple ; a convenient abstraction upon which 
 to hang scandal in any age or location. 
 
 These interesting probabilities, taken to- 
 gether with the invariable fascination sur- 
 rounding any entertainment offered by 
 Ninon, easily enticed, with but few excep- 
 tions, the court world of the Spanish queen
 
 202 The Devil's Plough 
 
 regent and the literary circle of Rambouillet. 
 The exceptions intimated were the mem- 
 bers of the Rambouillet family and their 
 closest adherents, for Madame Rambouillet 
 was at this time venturing to lift her respect- 
 able skirts as far away as was convenient 
 from Ninon and her special coterie of free- 
 thinkers. 
 
 The moon was tardy that night, but even 
 so the assembling guests found widespread- 
 ing grounds attractively illuminated by lamps 
 from China, as was the house, in whose 
 ballroom the musicians made ready for the 
 dance. High refreshment buffets, standing 
 in a large room at one side of the great 
 gallery, were laden with agreeable restora- 
 tives for the impatient mind. At one buf- 
 fet, behind the balustrade railing them off 
 from the guests, attendants served through- 
 out the evening all of the most desirable 
 vintages of wine ; at the other, various 
 liqueurs and cordials. In an adjoining 
 room, tiers of shelves hung against the fres- 
 coed walls, and upon these were ranged bowls 
 heaped with pomegranates, lemons, oranges, 
 and different sweets. Card-tables stood in
 
 The Devil's Plough 203 
 
 every available position about the gorgeously 
 appointed house, and appeared to offer more 
 immediate attractions to the arriving guests 
 than did even the Venus boats on the garden 
 lake, or promenades through the circuitous 
 alleys bordered with blooming roses and 
 other delicious vegetation. 
 
 The hour grew well on toward ten 
 o'clock ; the guests appeared to be hilari- 
 ously entertained without the direct assist- 
 ance of their hostess, whose very absence 
 lent evident piquancy to their pleasure. 
 Dukes peered under sofas and around sud- 
 den corners in playful search for gay Ninon. 
 Countesses peeped up the chimneys and into 
 valuable vases in the same jovial pursuit, 
 but without reward ; the lady came not. 
 Just beyond the ballroom, opening into the 
 great gallery, a room, set aside especially 
 for cards, made no complaint of dulness. 
 There smoking was permitted by the pro- 
 gressive Ninon ; long pipes and silver to- 
 bacco-boxes were laid out abundantly on a 
 table designed for that purpose. 
 
 " 'Tis possible Ninon hath gone up in 
 smoke, having tried one of these Italian
 
 204 The Devil's Plough 
 
 pipes," remarked the Due d'Enghien to his 
 partners at la prime. 
 
 " I have the honour to deal next, mon- 
 sieur le due," answered Bussy de Rabutin. 
 " The lady's fascinating embonpoint would 
 surely restore her to us of its own weight, 
 if that be so." 
 
 A pile of gold pieces was heaped upon 
 the table. De Rabutin brushed a louis d'or 
 aside with the lace of his sleeve. " I have 
 the honour to beg indulgence, gentlemen. 
 Have I your pardon ? " he asked at once. 
 The others bowed assentingly. " Monsieur 
 de Bouteville," continued De Rabutin, "if 
 thy face is any reflection, thou hold'st the 
 flush." 
 
 " My colour hath the heat of my feelings 
 toward the coward De Chatillon. 'Twill 
 not go down until he tries my thrust." 
 
 " Have I not assured thee that thy thrust 
 excels mine, Henri ? " spoke Saint-Evre- 
 mond, good-naturedly. " Why not call my 
 assurance even with De Chatillon's denial 
 and so cool off thy feelings ? Deal, Du 
 Brion." 
 
 " Not till my blood runs white, Saint-
 
 The Devil's Plough 205 
 
 Evremond. The greatest coward in France 
 must yet meet his just reward Fifteen 
 I hold the ace ! " De Bouteville's eyes 
 narrowed with greed of the game. 
 
 " If Ninon, as is reported, hath spent 
 three weeks in Normandy with De Chatil- 
 lon, 'tis possible she hath by now put her 
 own courage somewhat into him, and he'll 
 appear to-night, wearing the hat," observed 
 De Trouville. " Ah, 'tis my flush ! Pay, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 Each player made on a small card a note 
 of his losses to De Trouville, and Saint- 
 Evremond took the deal, changing the sub- 
 ject at a glance from Du Brion. 
 
 " The music is new we hear to-night. 
 What is the dance now going on ? " 
 
 " 'Tis the courante danced by Prince 
 Louis before the ballet at the last court ball. 
 The prince promiseth well with his legs, no 
 matter what his wits may come to. 'Twas 
 a spectacle to see the royal lad as a god, sur- 
 rounded by the court," answered De Rabu- 
 tin. " On the word of a Jesuit, I've lost 
 again ! Peste upon that quinola ! 'Twas all 
 the hand held for me."
 
 206 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " If thou but held the cardinal's cunning 
 at cards, the quinola would have brought 
 thee a flush," laughed De Bouteville. They 
 all exchanged speaking glances. " Our car- 
 dinal hath an invariable hand, knave of 
 hearts, ace, seven, and six of clubs. Thou 
 must learn the trick of it. That dance-tune 
 speaketh to my feet, I would learn its 
 fashion. Why not observe the operation of 
 it? The game will hold." 
 
 "I'll join thee," said D'Enghien, "at the 
 next flush." 
 
 "And I," echoed De Rabutin. "As 
 well be hanged to a tree as hang behind the 
 fashion." 
 
 After the next round these three moved 
 off together, and stood in the ballroom door, 
 in full view of the dancers. 
 
 " Comtesse de Luneville hath not even 
 her usual colour, De Bouteville," said De 
 Rabutin. " Dieu s'en attriste! Her patches 
 become not such pallor." 
 
 " A lady with a husband in the Bastille, 
 and a lover on the run from my sword, hath 
 good reason to look pale." De Bouteville's 
 tone in answering was not pleasant.
 
 The Devil's Plough 207 
 
 " She plainly hath not studied well the 
 art of wearing colour; but if she hath a 
 wrinkle, she also hath the wit to wear it on 
 the sole of her foot as Ninon recommendeth 
 a woman should do. The countess keeps 
 her youth most becomingly." 
 
 " She is about to dance the courante with 
 Comte de Joinville. Observe closely, we 
 may so learn the steps." 
 
 De Rabutin leaned forward, watching with 
 great interest the three couples now ranging 
 opposite each other in the centre of the 
 room, surrounded by eager observers. 
 
 " Comte de Joinville leads her to the 
 other end of the room." 
 
 " She hath a graceful body." 
 
 " The others do the same." 
 
 " The partners flirt. Mademoiselle du 
 Bosc's new fan from Spain doth well become 
 her eyes." 
 
 " The gentlemen grow desperate. The 
 demoiselles refuse them. The countess 
 turneth her back." 
 
 " A man would go to the Bastille for a 
 kiss above her shoulder-blades ! Hein, De 
 Bouteville ? "
 
 208 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Now the gentlemen go together to beg 
 favour." 
 
 " 'Tis no soldier's dance." 
 
 " Now they yield, bow, curtsey, and 
 note the step. 'Tis not unlike the gavotte." 
 
 The three passed their observations rap- 
 idly. Behind them the gaming became 
 audibly excited ; the lights in the ballroom 
 flared upon the brilliantly costumed dancers, 
 and the gay chatter of voices made a hum 
 throughout the entire house. 
 
 A door opposite to the position taken by 
 De Bouteville and his friends led into a cor- 
 ridor. At this moment there appeared a 
 gentleman, carrying a plumed hat under one 
 arm, coming along the corridor alone. He 
 entered at the doorway, where he stood just 
 inside the room, watching the dancers, but 
 apparently seeing nothing else. 
 
 D'Enghien pulled De Bouteville by the 
 sleeve. ""The dead hath come to life, 
 there is De Chatillon ! He carries a face 
 less lively than was his former habit." 
 
 " The coward rat ! " muttered De Boute- 
 ville, through his teeth. "I'll have at him 
 yet!"
 
 The Devil's Plough 209 
 
 " 'Tis plain he hath come for that very 
 purpose, else why doth he carry thy hat ? 
 'Tis all a mystery. De Chatillon never 
 before held the reputation of a coward," 
 remarked D'Enghien. 
 
 De Bouteville took a step forward toward 
 his enemy, but the duke laid a detaining 
 hand on his. 
 
 " I do beg of thee, chevalier, let us lie 
 in wait, and watch the movements of thy 
 mouse, a play is not more entertaining." 
 
 " He may again escape me." 
 
 " 'Tis not like. De Chatillon comes with 
 some set purpose toward thee, if my judg- 
 ment of men be not at fault." 
 
 They drew somewhat back into the card- 
 room, continuing to observe closely De 
 Chatillon, who, the moment the dance was 
 finished, walked slowly across the floor with 
 some intention. 
 
 It was evident that De Bouteville's esti- 
 mate of his courage had by now gained 
 popular acceptance, for, although his bows, 
 bestowed upon the lively groups he passed, 
 met lukewarm courtesy, few advanced to 
 welcome him back, and those who did were
 
 2io The Devil's Plough 
 
 stimulated by curiosity relating to Ninon's 
 disappearance. 
 
 The distinct sensation he was making 
 seemed in no wise to affect him. He passed 
 along in the direction of the dancers. Com- 
 tesse de Luneville had left the floor, and 
 now stood aside, explaining the new dance 
 to the inquiring group surrounding her. 
 The ladies lifted their fans to downcast eye- 
 lashes as De Chatillon passed them by ; the 
 gentlemen frequently averted their glances, 
 but they whispered among each other after 
 he was out of hearing : 
 
 " De Chatillon ! " 
 
 " 'Tis certain he was with Ninon." 
 
 " They return at the same moment." 
 
 " Can you hear her coming ? " 
 
 " Four weeks is a long passion for Ni- 
 non ! " 
 
 " Observe Comtesse de Luneville if he 
 ventures to speak with her." 
 
 " 'Tis said De Bouteville hath called him 
 out more on account of her favour than his 
 thrust, if the truth were known." 
 
 " No matter for the cause. A gentleman 
 who refuseth a challenge nominates himself
 
 The Devil's Plough 211 
 
 a coward no longer fit for association with 
 other gentlemen of France." 
 
 " But here she comes ! 'Tis Ninon, as I 
 told thee, on his very heels ! 'Tis brazen ! 
 Music accompanieth her ! " 
 
 Through the same door De Chatillon had 
 entered came Ninon de L'Enclos, in the 
 full recognition exceedingly entertaining 
 to her of the sensation she had success- 
 fully created in Paris. Her blond curls 
 fell coquettishly toward her eyes when she 
 inclined her fair head slightly to one side in 
 sympathy with the saraband she was danc- 
 ing. Her purple velvet costume, orna- 
 mented with a profusion of point lace, swept 
 its long trail as would a peacock its tail were 
 the feathers of it hung similarly. In her 
 hands she carried a guitar, upon which she 
 accompanied the saraband steps she took, 
 with a slow, sensuous saraband melody of 
 Spanish origin in pulsing three-four time. 
 She bestowed no recognition upon her audi- 
 ence, but continued to fascinate them by 
 the artistry of her poses. 
 
 Suddenly she changed the time and tune 
 of her music, ceased dancing, and, standing
 
 212 The Devil's Plough 
 
 there, sang to gay ballet music, her body 
 swaying with the accent, 
 
 " Taisez-vous, flots impetueux, 
 Vents, devenez respectueux. 
 La mere des amours sort de ma vaste empire," 
 
 ending with a long peal of laughter famous 
 for its musical quality. 
 
 "My friends, I fail not to keep my 
 promise. Ninon is here ! Where hath 
 Ninon spent her time of rest from your 
 society ? Ha, ha ! that is Ninon's secret. 
 I have brought from my travels a new 
 diversion for you. It comes later. But 
 the absence hath endeared you to me. I 
 embrace you all separately. Come, bid me 
 welcome." After this impromptu she held 
 out both arms, and her guests flocked to 
 them. 
 
 From this moment the gaiety increased. 
 The allemande was danced by couples lined 
 up the entire length of the room, Ninon 
 leading off with the Due d'Enghien. 
 
 When Ninon made her sensational en- 
 trance, Chevalier de Chatillon was making 
 his way toward Comtesse de Luneville,
 
 The Devil's Plough 213 
 
 standing in the heart of a gay circle, too 
 absorbed in description of the dance for her 
 attention to wander in any direction unless 
 it were particularly attracted. De Chatillon 
 paused at the sound of Ninon's music and 
 half turned about. 
 
 The countess and those near her ceased 
 all conversation at sight of their hostess. 
 Heloise looked first at Ninon, then her 
 eyes, in wandering back over the heads in 
 front of her, fell upon De Chatillon's eyes, 
 full upon her. A quiver ran through her 
 body. She raised her fan to her mouth and 
 coughed slightly. No one observed her, 
 the general attention being centred upon 
 Ninon ; she stood rigidly still, her eyes held 
 by De Chatillon's. Neither gave outward 
 sign of recognition, but as he advanced to- 
 ward her both knew some crisis loomed 
 before them, and both begged of time a 
 moment's respite. 
 
 Under cover of the general excitement he 
 came close up to her, unobserved by the 
 others, who, in their eager curiosity at sight 
 of Ninon, pressed forward, leaving the count- 
 ess standing back alone. Without the
 
 214 The Devil's Plough 
 
 then customary exchange of courtesies, these 
 two human beings spoke from their impulses. 
 
 " Heloise, I have returned to thee," he 
 said, simply. 
 
 " Paul ! Paul ! I have been lonely." The 
 sorrow in her voice choked his own words. 
 
 " I have come back to give thee reasons 
 and to take the consequences of my un- 
 worthy conduct. My love for thee and the 
 poor of Paris is all the good of which I 
 can boast in a lifetime. Love is a crown 
 gemmed with immortal stars, which, once 
 worn upon a man's head, giveth such radi- 
 ance to his life that even Heaven's wrath 
 cannot cast him out into black night again." 
 
 She replied from between her teeth, flirt- 
 ing her fan before her face : " We are ob- 
 served. Mademoiselle du Bosc hath her 
 cat eye upon us. 'Tis so, then, chevalier ; 
 you were called away from Paris on impor- 
 tant matters, and have now returned to take 
 the public into your confidence ? " 
 
 " If madame la comtesse can be counted 
 part of so uncertain a thing as public opin- 
 ion." He bowed low before her, adding, in- 
 distinctly, " Go out into the garden. By the
 
 The Devil's Plough 215 
 
 statue of the fawn thou must determine my 
 future." Then, louder, " There are some 
 reasons a man hath for his conduct that 
 even Paris, with all her wit, cannot read 
 aright. Mademoiselle Ninon is more 
 charming than ever, is she not, countess ? 
 We must welcome her back. Shall we 
 not go forward with the others ? " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur ; or perhaps I had best 
 go alone, while you, with exceeding courtesy, 
 may call an attendant and request a light 
 scarf or cloak for my shoulders. You have 
 some tale of the Italian Fawn to relate ? 
 That will be charming. Farewell during 
 a passing moment." They looked full into 
 each other's eyes again. He did her deep 
 reverence, then turned and, by a small door 
 adjacent, went out into the grand gallery. 
 The countess had, during those few con- 
 ventional moments, regained somewhat of 
 her native poise. Now, dressed in trailing 
 white satin embroidered in stars and crescent 
 moons of gold, she greatly resembled some 
 early goddess of Charm moving dreamily 
 amidst modern mortals, without active con- 
 sciousness of their existence.
 
 2i 6 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Some one spoke at her side. " Madame 
 la comtesse will give me the supreme hon- 
 our of dancing with her this evening ? " 
 
 She looked up and saw De Bouteville 
 bowing. "You do me great honour, chev- 
 alier, but it doth seem impossible that, with 
 this cough hanging by me, I can remain a 
 great while to dance." She coughed slightly. 
 " Perhaps the noble chevalier will kindly 
 conduct me to greet Mademoiselle Ninon ?" 
 
 "With utmost felicity, madame la com- 
 tesse." 
 
 Advancing together, De Bouteville re- 
 marked, with a glance around the room, 
 " Madame la comtesse may have observed 
 that Chevalier de Chatillon returns at the 
 same moment as Ninon ? 'Tis strange ! " 
 
 Heloise blazed her eyes at him. " Mon- 
 sieur de Bouteville hath perhaps read La 
 Fontaine's fables ? " she asked. 
 
 " My sword is more my familiar than the 
 game of letters, countess," he confessed. 
 
 "If monsieur can take the time, 'tis pos- 
 sible he might find amusement in his own 
 picture La Fontaine hath drawn so clearly 
 in letters. I must beg Monsieur de Boute-
 
 The Devil's Plough 217 
 
 ville to excuse me. My late indisposition 
 hath left me unequal to the pleasures of this 
 evening. Farewell, Monsieur de Boute- 
 ville." She bowed to him, moving off to- 
 ward the gallery. 
 
 " But I beg, madame la comtesse ! " he 
 entreated, hastening after her, " I beg to 
 recall any words displeasing to you. The 
 dance 'tis to be the allemande I see 
 them forming. I beg of you take not 
 offence." 
 
 " I have the honour to bid you farewell, 
 Monsieur de Bouteville. The reputation 
 of my friends is a cloak worn round my 
 heart until it falls into tatters." She left 
 him standing there, handling his sword and 
 fingering one end of his long moustaches 
 in no sweet humour.
 
 Chapter XIII 
 
 OUT into the great gallery, hung with 
 souvenirs of Ninon's various affairs 
 with Cupid, the countess hastened. Toward 
 the staircase an attendant came, carrying a 
 long silken scarf, which the lady took and 
 arranged about her shoulders before descend- 
 ing the marble steps leading into the garden. 
 She stepped out into a night deeply shad- 
 owed by the burning lamps and the dissi- 
 pated, elderly moon rising far off across the 
 trees. 
 
 " Unsympathetic moon ! " she ejaculated, 
 " thou hast no pity for hearts. 'Tis the 
 same face thou show'st to all, but many 
 smile and many weep at sight of thee." 
 
 Along the shadowed paths walked Helo- 
 ise, veiling her hair from the dews. Beside 
 the lake, where a bower of shrubbery had 
 been grown near a statue of a fawn, she 
 paused and listened. " Paul ! " she called, 
 softly. 
 
 218
 
 The Devil's Plough 219 
 
 A figure stepped out before her. " Be- 
 loved, thou hast come to me ? " De Cha- 
 tillon answered, drawing her back into the 
 shrubbery. " Heloise," he exclaimed, " a 
 woman's lips I have never kissed since, 
 when a lad, I took the vows and my mother 
 died to me. May I kiss thee once, Helo- 
 ise ? " 
 
 She laid both hands upon his shoulders. 
 " 'Twill do no wrong to feel an honest 
 man's lips, that which I have never done. 
 What vows didst thou take at thy mother's 
 death ? " 
 
 " Heloise ! Heloise ! I love thee ! " was 
 his only reply. 
 
 " 'Tis all I can give, Paul, until thou 
 hast offered some reasonable excuse for what 
 appeareth cowardice. Where hast thou been 
 concealed, and why ? Of De Bouteville's 
 sword surely thou hast no fear. Thine is 
 as good." She drew herself away from him 
 and stood back where the rising moon shone 
 full upon her. " I have searched thee in all 
 Paris, even to the secret gate which led me 
 to the priest, thy brother, and almost to my 
 death."
 
 22O The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Heloise, I love thee, that is all of my 
 excuse. Life is empty but of one thought. 
 Wilt thou come with me to purgatory, and 
 there take chance of whate'er befalls us side 
 by side?" 
 
 " Paul ! " She moved closer to him, 
 scanning his expression anxiously. " Thou 
 seem'st to me so strange to-night ! Thy 
 voice, thy eyes, thy very mouth do give 
 Paul de Chatillon the lie." 
 
 The man drew himself together, ready to 
 deliver a blow. " I am not Paul de Chatil- 
 lon. He died a year ago." 
 
 " Not Paul de Chatillon ! " She stepped 
 away from him instinctively. " Not Paul ! 
 Who, then, monsieur, are you ? " 
 
 " The man you love, Heloise de Lune- 
 ville. Say truly to me, didst thou love 
 Paul de Chatillon a year ago? " 
 
 " Paul ! Paul ! 'Tis thy wits that go 
 astray. That hath been somewhat my fear 
 when I have sought thee." 
 
 He caught one of her hands roughly. 
 " Say truly, didst thou love Paul de Chatil- 
 lon one year ago ? " 
 
 " No, no ! I loved thee not then. 'Twas
 
 The Devil's Plough 221 
 
 after the battle in Bavaria, when, with great 
 fame as a soldier, thou cam'st to me and 
 won me from the desolation of an unloved 
 wife by thy noble nature and words more of 
 a poet than a soldier. Before, thou con- 
 cealed from me these finer parts in all our 
 conversation." 
 
 " 'Twas then my nature and my words 
 thou learnt to love, and not the soldier in 
 me, sweet? Heloise, I love thee ! " He 
 leaned toward her ; a ghostly smile showed 
 on his lips where the moonlight fell across 
 his face. 
 
 " Touch me not, Paul." Her eyes were 
 alarmed, but her fingers lingered in his mag- 
 netic hands. " Thy voice hath now a power 
 it revealed not in the days before Nordlin- 
 gen. All Paris knoweth thee to be a greater 
 man since then." 
 
 "My voice! My voice!" The man 
 made a sorry laugh. " My voice, beloved 
 by the people of Paris ! It leadeth them ; 
 it maketh men and women to shiver for 
 their sins. Could it not, then, also lead one 
 fair woman in the direction of my desires?" 
 He paused but a moment, then repeated:
 
 222 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " * I sleep, but my heart waketh : it is the 
 voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, 
 Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, 
 my undefiled : for my head is filled with 
 dew, and my locks with the drops of the 
 night.' ' His eyes grew visionary, quoting 
 Solomon ; they looked above her head, far 
 beyond, at the face of the moon. 
 
 " Paul, dear heart, thou hast been ill. 
 That is the cause of thy demeanour." A 
 deep tenderness filled her voice, and her 
 arms crept up about his neck. " Come 
 with me, and I will nurse thee back to 
 health." 
 
 " Go with thee ? With thee ! Yes, to the 
 open door of hell ! Come ! Come, Heloise, 
 let us go together ! But no ; this is surely 
 madness creeping upon me at the touch of 
 thine arms. Sit thee there upon Ninon's 
 seat, made for lovers, beneath the tree, 
 there, and I will tell thee of a life whose 
 purpose hath been ever right, but whose 
 conduct hath been wrong. Thou shalt 
 judge the man, and according to thy ruling 
 must he then proceed." 
 
 " Come with me, Paul," she urged, softly ;
 
 The Devil's Plough 223 
 
 but he took her hands off of him, motioned 
 her to the seat, then stood looking at her. 
 
 " * Behold, thou art fair, my love ; behold, 
 thou art fair ; thou hast doves' eyes,' " he 
 quoted melodiously. " { My beloved spake, 
 and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my 
 fair one, and come away. For lo, the win- 
 ter is past, the rain is over and gone.' 'Tis 
 not so, beloved, unless thou canst make it 
 thus. My winter is but at its autumn, un- 
 less thou art the sun to melt its snows and 
 eternal night. 
 
 "There was a boy, Heloise; he loved 
 the earth, the sky, the beauty of all things 
 from God, as he would have loved thee, 
 sweet. But in the country, far to the north, 
 where man's belief hath hardened men's 
 hearts away from all that God gave of 
 earthly beauty, in hopes of finding greater 
 in some world beyond, he was reared by 
 parents turned, from the frivolities of cards 
 and paint and patches, into ascetics fearful 
 of eternal fires. My father lost the greater 
 portion of our inheritance at cards before I 
 yet knew life ; then, turning his back on ill 
 luck, he entered into a pious marriage with
 
 224 The Devil's Plough 
 
 the lady who became my mother in choice 
 second to conventual living. My elder 
 brother came into what estate there was, and 
 I, who pled to be a soldier, having no for- 
 tune, must needs study piety for a livelihood. 
 After some years spent at a Jesuit college, I 
 entered the novitiate, and so became a priest, 
 because there was no other life open to me. 
 I tell thee, Heloise, 'tis a sin greater than 
 my love for thee, this imprisonment of a 
 proud, young soul, made for the world's 
 best smile, in a priest's garb." 
 
 " Thou art not Paul ? " the countess in- 
 terposed, looking at him in great dread of 
 the truth. He made no direct reply. 
 
 " When a lad, I once, after breaking the 
 skin on my finger by scraping it on a sharp 
 stone supporting our main portal, cried, and 
 asked my mother to kiss me. I was re- 
 buked, 'twas Lent, it was sin to kiss 
 her child during that season. It appeared 
 to me then my little heart was broken, 
 never again to mend. 'Twas love I craved, 
 Heloise, 'twas ever human love, some 
 one to live and die beside for very love, 
 but 'twas ever denied me. Then came the
 
 The Devil's Plough 225 
 
 joy of music to my soul, and flowers, and 
 all else that giveth innocent pleasure until 
 the mind hath reached intemperance in it, 
 then the highest pleasures cloy the spirit as 
 doth intemperance in sweets the body. Be- 
 loved, I have lashed my back an entire night 
 to rid my soul of the spring desires for trees 
 and singing birds and moonlight nights ; I 
 have done penance for hours before the 
 altar, lying stretched in the form of a cross, 
 praying for Heaven's help from my desires 
 for earthly love. At last, in the life bestowed 
 upon me, I found an outlet for my poor 
 humanity. The poor of Paris I could love 
 without fear of purgatory." 
 
 The countess half rose from her seat. 
 " Thou art Paul's brother, Father Gaston, 
 the beloved of the people ? " 
 
 " I am Father Gaston, brother of Paul 
 de Chatillon, beloved of the people. But, 
 Heloise, my beloved, I am not brother to the 
 man thou hast loved, I am that man." 
 
 " 'Tis not true ! " she cried, covering her 
 eyes with her hands. " 'Tis not a priest I 
 love ! " 
 
 " 'Tis a Jesuit priest, but also a man.
 
 226 The Devil's Plough 
 
 My brother, Paul de Chatillon, died after 
 the battle at Nordlingen, one year ago. 
 Listen, countess, and believe me, for I am 
 the man thou lovest." 
 
 The lady now paced up and down before 
 him, holding the silken scarf close about her 
 face. The man stood in silence, looking 
 far ahead into the moonlight, then, " 'Twas 
 this way," he began. " When, as a child, I 
 was first tempted by Satan, he appeared to 
 me beneath a tree. Afterward years passed 
 in self-control before all temptations, until 
 last spring, when journeying into Normandy 
 on foot, making what the Church held to be 
 a penitential journey, but what to me was 
 my one yearly season of delight among 
 country pleasures, Satan again appeared to 
 me. With this vision came remembrance 
 of all my life had been denied, all that a 
 soldier's portion might have opened up to 
 me. Then, when I found my brother lying 
 dead by the roadside, foully murdered by 
 forest outlaws for gain of the booty he and 
 his followers carried home from the wars 
 Satan whispered to me of this double life. 
 Paul was dead ; within me lived two men :
 
 The Devil's Plough 227 
 
 without becoming apostate and abandoning 
 the good I have done the people, I might 
 enjoy some years of pleasure unknown, 
 unsuspected. I buried my brother in an 
 ancient crypt beneath the chapel of our 
 Norman home, and after fierce struggles be- 
 tween the creatures within me, lacerating my 
 very soul, the devil's card was played. 
 
 " I returned to Paris : Paul de Chatillon 
 visited his brother Gaston by means of the 
 garden gate and the confidence of Pierre, the 
 layman, Gaston L'Artanges's sworn friend. 
 Then, in the life of Paris, I met and loved 
 thee, Heloise, and gained thy love some- 
 what, sweet ? Say that I had so much good 
 fortune, my one recompense after all is 
 done ; for the world of fashion gave me no 
 pleasure." He waited for an answer, but 
 she stood silently before him, shading her 
 face with the scarf. 
 
 " If it had not been for thee, a few weeks 
 of the double enterprise would have sufficed 
 me ; but thou wert there, beloved, and my 
 heart opened of its own accord as the flowers 
 unfold to the warmth of spring. Ah, dear 
 heart, thou perchance know'st the joys of
 
 228 The Devil's Plough 
 
 loving ? To be loved hath its infinite sweet- 
 ness, but to feel thine own heart raised from 
 a tomb of ice into a flood of warmth, where 
 it grows and grows toward the sun, is a joy 
 straight from paradise, else the desire 
 were not rooted in every human heart." 
 
 " Paul ! Paul ! Thy words do but make 
 the outcome harder ! " The lady flung her 
 hands toward him in despair. " What is to 
 be the end ? 'Tis plain now why thou hast 
 run from the sword of De Bouteville. 
 Alas ! " 
 
 " But I will fight, beloved, if so be thy 
 desire. The moment hath come when one 
 man or the other in me ceaseth to live. 'Tis 
 my purpose in coming here to-night to see 
 thee and do thy will. My own mind hath 
 fought the question until no path is clear to 
 me. If thy happiness demandeth me, 
 this man before thee, this soul that lives but 
 in thee, I am thine, through life and death 
 and what comes after. Father Gaston can 
 at this moment end his existence, and Paul 
 de Chatillon enter the world to remain. Or 
 there is the other way, Heloise ! Heloise ! 
 How can I live without thy radiance about
 
 The Devil's Plough 229 
 
 me? the other way, Heloise! If it is to 
 thy happiness or best conduct of life, Paul 
 de Chatillon will creep away from Ninon's 
 fete, leaving the reputation of a coward to 
 follow his memory, and Father Gaston will 
 resume his burden of life. Thou hast the 
 framing of one life's eternity in thy lovely 
 hands. Speak, Heloise ! " 
 
 " My dearest friend on earth or in all life 
 to come," the words came slowly from 
 her lips, " thy intention is to fight De 
 Bouteville with the skill of a priest if I call 
 thee to be Paul de Chatillon ? 'Twould 
 mean certain death." 
 
 " That is my intention, sweet. My thrust 
 doth not unequal his so entirely as would 
 seem under these strange circumstances, for 
 in my leisure moments I have privately 
 practised all the manly arts. Love would 
 lend me skill, Heloise. 'Many waters can- 
 not quench love, neither can the floods 
 drown it.' ' He held the floating ends of 
 her scarf pressed between his two hands. 
 "If thy life is possible without me, duty 
 still finds some echo in my heart. Speak, 
 beloved ! Time runneth away. No man
 
 230 The Devil's Plough 
 
 can detain one second in his hand except 
 through memory." 
 
 Heloise had remained passive until now, 
 when, the first stun of his revelation hav- 
 ing passed, she suddenly grasped his sleeve, 
 crying, " Thou wilt not leave me ! He 
 may return ! My agony of spirit without 
 the consolation of thy presence is like needles 
 of fire burning into my flesh. Paul ! Paul ! " 
 
 " Gaston, dear heart, that is the name 
 my mother called me," he interrupted, 
 gently. 
 
 " Gaston, beloved," she continued, look- 
 ing back over her shoulder as if fearing 
 spectres hiding there among the trees, 
 " thou art mine ! No church, no creature, 
 hath the right to thee ! " 
 
 "Thou lov'st me, Heloise?" 
 
 She collected her courage to voice the 
 will of fate. " Live thy life for me, as mine 
 is thine through eternal days. If God hath 
 forgotten to give us happiness, we can but 
 create our own." She kissed him on the 
 brow. Then the man, without more thought 
 of duty or the battles of his conscience, 
 took love close to his starved heart.
 
 The Devil's Plough 231 
 
 The dancers in the ballroom had finished 
 the allemande, and were breaking up into 
 groups headed toward refreshments and the 
 garden. The Due d'Enghien, the Cheva- 
 lier de Bouteville, and several other gentle- 
 men with their ladies, were bent upon a 
 moonlight airing, and this intention had 
 carried them so far as the garden portico, 
 when, simultaneously, they saw a man ap- 
 proaching alone from out of the winding 
 alleys. His step was rapid and determined ; 
 the^e was buoyancy in every movement of 
 his body, and on his head he wore a plumed 
 hat. 
 
 " By St. Peter ! Tis De Chatillon wear- 
 ing the hat ! " said D'Enghien. " 'Twas as 
 I said, the man carried some deep pur- 
 pose in his gloomy eyes to-night." 
 
 " I'll meet him now, if that is his desire ! 
 The coward rat ! Have you nursed your 
 courage to the point of a thrust, Monsieur 
 Chevalier Paul de Chatillon ? " called out 
 De Bouteville. 
 
 There came no immediate reply, but the 
 man advanced unfaltering, until, reaching 
 the step immediately below where his ad-
 
 232 The Devil's Plough 
 
 versary stood, he removed the hat, and with 
 the words, " I have the honour to accept 
 Monsieur de Bouteville's challenge," he 
 threw it directly into the face of that irate 
 gentleman. 
 
 " I'll have at thee now, thou coward from 
 hell ! " called back the irascible De Boute- 
 ville. " Now ! In the garden of Ninon 
 we will try thy courage, so long hidden ! 
 Now ! Now ! " 
 
 But D'Enghien interrupted. " Chevalier, 
 forget not the courtesy of a gentleman. No 
 duel can be fought in the presence of these 
 ladies. A meeting can be arranged. Mon- 
 sieur de Chatillon, at what time and place 
 is it your desire to fight Monsieur de Boute- 
 ville ? " 
 
 "At any time and hour, between now 
 and the judgment-day, it may please the 
 honourable gentleman to try his vaunted 
 thrust upon me," replied De Chatillon, 
 wearing an unusual air of bravado. 
 
 " The sooner thy soul is sent to meet 
 that judgment-day, the better 'twill be for 
 all good Parisians." De Bouteville was still 
 suffering under the lash of the countess's
 
 The Devil's Plough 233 
 
 tongue. " I'll meet thee to-morrow morn- 
 ing, just beyond the shrine of Magdalene, 
 in the woods by the river. I have no great 
 hope of thy courage holding until dawn, but 
 if it holds I'll see thee silenced ere break- 
 fast to-morrow. We meet at five in the 
 morning." 
 
 The challenged bowed gravely. " 'Tis 
 then arranged, gentlemen. With my friends, 
 I'll attend you by the shrine of Magdalene 
 at five o'clock of the morning. 'Tis said 
 Mademoiselle Ninon hath for us some 
 special entertainment rivalling those of the 
 Hotel Rambouillet. I go within to be 
 amused." After making them a deep bow, 
 he entered the house.
 
 Chapter XIV 
 
 A PRONOUNCED quiet had fallen 
 upon the ballroom festivities when 
 De Chatillon came along the grand gallery. 
 He could see through the door that the 
 guests were seated about the room, evi- 
 dently listening with interested curiosity. 
 To one side, beneath a portrait of Mon- 
 taigne, stood Ninon, beside a Jesuit priest 
 painfully mutilated and scarred about the 
 head and hands. The two exchanged some 
 words, then Ninon turned to the audience. 
 
 " My friends," she began, " the diversion 
 I have to offer appeals not to the ordinary 
 social emotions, but to those which confront 
 us when we read of the Christian martyrs. 
 In Rome the followers of the greatest phil- 
 osopher, Jesus Christ, were thrown to the 
 lions and burned at the stake ; but few 
 realise that in our day the same followers 
 234
 
 The Devil's Plough 235 
 
 are suffering similar martyrdom in that 
 far-off country of barbarians called New 
 France." 
 
 At that moment Chevalier Jean de Beri- 
 nac touched De Chatillon on the sleeve. 
 These two were old and familiar friends, 
 but had met infrequently during the past 
 year, owing to De Berinac's recent impris- 
 onment at Vincennes along with Beaufort. 
 It was but half-minded that De Chatillon 
 answered his friend's salutation ; the idea of 
 Ninon's diversion moved him to acute in- 
 terest. 
 
 " Jean, 'tis good to see thee once more," 
 he managed to say, absently. " It is as if 
 we were still lads at play in the wood of 
 Great Andelys. We will defer proper greet- 
 ings until Mademoiselle Ninon's diversion 
 be fully revealed, it giveth promise of 
 interest. But before we take our place in 
 the audience, I have a request to make of 
 thee. To-morrow at five, not far off 
 now," he looked up at the hands of a 
 great clock, pointing to eleven, "I meet 
 De Bouteville. Wilt thou be my friend, and 
 secure another for me ? 'Tis to be a chance
 
 236 The Devil's Plough 
 
 meeting of six, if the eye of the edict fall 
 upon us." 
 
 "It will give me pleasure to assist in re- 
 deeming thy honour, which hath not grown 
 fat in Paris this month past, I am told. Count 
 upon me. Shall we enter together ? " 
 
 As they took places far back in the room, 
 Ninon was concluding : " At Rennes it was 
 I first met Father Jogue, whom you see 
 here beside me. After undergoing perils 
 and agonies beyond our understanding, he 
 reached home again on his way to Rome, 
 where 'tis his hope to secure assistance in 
 his missionary work among the barbarians 
 of New France. The sad story told by his 
 mutilated hands must speak to your gener- 
 osity. The man's story hath touched even 
 my hard heart, you all know my sympa- 
 thies are not with the Church of Rome. 
 Father Jogue will now relate to you the 
 history of his martyrdom. To-morrow he 
 hath audience with the queen." Ninon sat 
 down on a sofa adjacent to the unfortunate, 
 maimed creature in Jesuit garb, who arose, 
 and began somewhat haltingly to address 
 this fashionable audience.
 
 The Devil's Plough 237 
 
 " My hands but speak the greater glory 
 of God, mesdames and messieurs, the 
 greater glory of God. What I have done 
 was not for advancement in the Church, but 
 in faith of saving to the Church the souls of 
 the savage red men, otherwise condemned 
 to the tortures of hell. What were my tor- 
 tures compared to the sufferings of thousands 
 of savages, if their bodies were to remain 
 unbaptised ? In these arms, now feeble 
 from Iroquois torture, have been saved 
 some thousand souls to Christ. St. Joseph 
 hath protected my life, and every day in 
 New France showeth a holy miracle di- 
 rect from God, the enthroned Father ; 
 from his divine Son, and from the Im- 
 maculate Mother." Father Jogue paused 
 and crossed himself, looking toward heaven 
 for direction in the wording of this appeal 
 for charity. 
 
 " The waters of the mighty river named 
 for the holy St. Lawrence rolleth through a 
 virgin wilderness. There, along its banks, 
 are scattered the three villages comprising 
 New France, called Quebec, Montreal, and 
 Three Rivers, containing a population of
 
 238 The Devil's Plough 
 
 some three hundred souls in all, surrounded 
 night and day by the terror of attack from 
 the fiends in human form called Iroquois 
 Indians, some armed with firearms from the 
 Dutch traders at Fort Orange, others fight- 
 ing with the arquebus. My work among 
 these savage tribes was to make friends with 
 them for the greater glory of God. 
 
 " I had passed some time safely among 
 the Ojibways, having preached the faith to 
 two thousand of them assembled at Sault 
 Sainte Marie, and was on my way back to 
 our settlement of Three Rivers, in hopes 
 of procuring clothing for priests, vessels for 
 the altars, bread and wine for the eucharist, 
 and writing-material, without which the 
 blessed work could not long continue. I 
 had with me, in my canoes, a noted Indian 
 convert, chief of a great tribe, and several 
 others under instruction for baptism, but 
 the greater part of my train were heathen, 
 whose canoes were laden with the proceeds 
 of their bargains with French fur-traders. 
 Two lay brothers accompanied me in the 
 foremost canoe. The twelve canoes had 
 reached the western end of the Lake of St.
 
 The Devil's Plough 239 
 
 Peter, where the forest was dense on the 
 right, and the shallow waters near that bank 
 were covered thickly with bulrushes. Sud- 
 denly, as morning breaks, there broke upon 
 us fearful cries, known as the Indian war- 
 whoop, with which the savages invariably 
 begin their attack. From out the bulrushes, 
 where they had lain concealed, came canoes 
 filled with Iroquois warriors, accompanied 
 by loud reports of guns and whistling bul- 
 lets. Panic seized the Indians in our train; 
 they leaped ashore and fled to the woods, 
 leaving us to our fate, for we were far out- 
 numbered. With fearful yells we were 
 seized upon, but not before I had baptised 
 the few Indians, in our own canoes, faithful 
 to us. Couture, one of the laymen, de- 
 fended himself by shooting an Indian. At 
 this the rest sprang upon him, stripped off 
 all of his clothing, tore away his finger-nails 
 with their teeth, gnawed his fingers with the 
 fury of famished dogs, and thrust a sword 
 through one of his hands." Father Jogue 
 paused again and closed his eyes in horror 
 of the remembrance his own words called 
 up. The ladies present hid their faces be-
 
 240 The Devil's Plough 
 
 hind their fans in disgust of the barbarous 
 picture. 
 
 " I hurried to the defence of Couture, 
 single-handed, but was immediately seized 
 and beaten with fists and war-clubs until I 
 lay senseless. As I slowly came back to 
 life, I felt the savages lacerating my fingers 
 with their teeth." He held up to view his 
 maimed hands. " 'Tis no pleasant sight, 
 my friends ; but it may induce the French 
 people to realise our great need of assist- 
 ance in New France. For the greater glory 
 of God, help us with the money necessary 
 to carry on the will of Christ." The priest's 
 eyes, behind singed lashes and eyebrows, 
 shone with the great purpose of his life. 
 The ladies even forgot his repulsive appear- 
 ance in meeting his beseeching glances. 
 
 Comtesse de Joinville unloosened a dia- 
 mond bracelet from about her arm, crying, 
 " Take this, or anything I have, to save men 
 from such brutal persecution ! " 
 
 " Madame hath a pious heart," replied 
 Father Jogue. " Heaven will reward you. 
 The miseries of my journey, when captive 
 to the Iroquois, are too painful for human
 
 The Devil's Plough 241 
 
 ears. The pain and fever of my wounds 
 were increased by clouds of mosquitoes. 
 After eight days, our victors were joined 
 by two hundred warriors of their own tribe. 
 Then we, the captives, were forced to walk 
 up the side of a hill, between two rows of 
 these warriors armed with clubs and thorny 
 sticks, with which they beat us. At last I 
 fell powerless, and they again mangled my 
 hands, and applied fire to my body. 
 
 " The next day the canoes were launched, 
 and this barbarous flotilla sped us on our 
 way among the devious channels of danger- 
 ous narrows, beset with woody islets, whose 
 hot air smelled sweetly of pine and spruce 
 and cedar, the only balm my wounds 
 knew, except the holy consolations of 
 Heaven. At last the warriors landed and 
 marched for the nearest Iroquois village. I 
 was forced to carry my share of their plun- 
 der, even though I had tasted no food but 
 wild berries, and staggered under the load. 
 Thirteen days after leaving the St. Lawrence, 
 we neared their goal on the river Mohawk. 
 Whoops called all the Indians of the village 
 swarming out to meet the victors and their
 
 242 The Devil's Plough 
 
 prisoners. We were led in single file through 
 this screaming mob, who repeated the tor- 
 turous abuse of our bodies I have already 
 described. They mounted us high up on a 
 scaffold, then ordered a Christian Algonquin 
 woman among their prisoners to cut off my 
 thumb, which she did." 
 
 Here a lady interrupted the narrative by 
 crying out, and a general murmur of sym- 
 pathetic suffering came from Father Jogue's 
 listeners. 
 
 " 'Tis needless to describe what remained 
 of torture," he went on. " Everything pos- 
 sible was done to frightfully hurt us without 
 causing death. At night we were bound 
 and laid on the ground, where they might 
 pelt us with live coals and red-hot ashes. 
 For two days and nights we continued to 
 endure. While on the scaffold I took the 
 occasion offered to convert four other pris- 
 oners. An ear of corn was thrown to me 
 for food ; a few raindrops clung to the 
 husks ; with these I baptised two of my 
 converts. 
 
 " All during the summer I remained among 
 them, every moment anticipating death from
 
 The Devil's Plough 243 
 
 their cruelties ; but I managed to baptise 
 their babes unknown to them, and so was 
 repaid for my sufferings. Several times they 
 attempted my death, but were miraculously 
 prevented from murder by heavenly pow- 
 ers. I was saved that I might return to 
 France for help in converting these savages. 
 
 " Late in the autumn, a party of the 
 Indians setting out on their yearly deer 
 hunt, I was ordered to attend them. Shiver- 
 ing and starving, I followed. The game 
 they took was devoted to their god, Ares- 
 koni ; accordingly, I nearly starved, because 
 no Christian could eat of it. In a lonely 
 spot, remote from their camp, I cut the 
 bark of a great tree into the shape of a 
 cross, and there offered up my devotions, 
 half clad in furs as I was, my only pro- 
 tection against the snow and ice now cov- 
 ering the earth. 
 
 " When spring came, and we returned to 
 the villages, I was given great freedom, be- 
 cause I made no attempt to escape. Then 
 I went from village to village, giving abso- 
 lution to Christian captives and baptising 
 the heathen. As July reached its close,
 
 244 The Devil's Plough 
 
 one year ago, I went with a party of Indians 
 to a fishing-place on the Hudson River, 
 twenty miles from the trading-station of 
 Fort Orange. While there, I learned that 
 another war party had, during our absence 
 from the settlement, returned with prison- 
 ers, whom the savages burned to death. 
 My conscience smote me. Had I been 
 present, they would not have entered the 
 future life unbaptised. I begged to return. 
 The Indians soon after sent a canoe up 
 the river, and allowed me to depart in it. 
 Reaching Fort Orange, we landed to trade 
 furs with the Dutch. There I saw several 
 houses, the first in more than a year. 
 
 "At Fort Orange I was informed se- 
 cretly that the Indians of the village where 
 I had resided were suddenly enraged against 
 me, and determined to burn me, because of 
 a warning I had sent the French concern- 
 ing an Indian war strategy of grave portent. 
 The Dutch warned me, and offered safe 
 conduct to Bordeaux in a small Dutch vessel 
 then on the point of sailing. I spent the 
 following night in great agitation, tossed by 
 doubt lest my self-love beguile me from my
 
 The Devil's Plough 245 
 
 duty. Finally, upon my knees, I heard the 
 voice of the Holy Mother bidding me re- 
 turn to France for help among the heathen, 
 and, accordingly, I set sail, after escaping the 
 hot pursuit of the Indians. 
 
 " Imagine, my friends, my unutterable 
 joy when, after months of deprivation, I 
 once more attended holy communion in a 
 church of Christ. From the coast of Brit- 
 tany I travelled on foot to Paris, asking 
 alms for the missions in New France. At 
 Rennes, this noble lady, who permitteth me 
 to appear before you, heard my story, and, 
 after seeing my mutilated hands, bestowed 
 alms upon me generously. 'Tis the wisdom 
 of Heaven that I should carry back with 
 me these startling evidences of the danger 
 constantly before the missionaries of New 
 France. I beeseech you to give heed to 
 their story ! Ad major em Dei gloriam. Laus 
 Deo semper." 
 
 He held his pitiful hands out in benedic- 
 tion upon them. At once the guests re- 
 sponded by crowding around Father Jogue 
 with generous offers of assistance. His 
 maimed hands were soon filled with jewels
 
 246 The Devil's Plough 
 
 and money, giving him a sense of recom- 
 pense that only the spirit of martyrdom 
 could promote. 
 
 Among those who spoke to him was the 
 Chevalier de Chatillon, whose face betok- 
 ened wide-awake sympathy and admiration 
 for the martyred Jesuit. " Father Jogue," 
 he asked, " in the days of thy extreme peril 
 was thy soul tranquil ? Hast thou found 
 peace ? " 
 
 " 'Tis the peace that passeth all under- 
 standing, my son," replied the priest, 
 fervently. " The soul cannot suffer in 
 obedience to Heaven." 
 
 " Then thy reward is greater than thy 
 sufferings." De Chatillon handed him 
 money and passed on. 
 
 Shortly afterward a written message was 
 delivered to Father Jogue, reading: 
 
 " Father Gaston L'Artanges urgeth Father Jogue to 
 appear at the college of St. Ignatius shortly after mid- 
 night, an hour hence. The rector of the college 
 hopeth by this immediate interview to directly further 
 the greater glory of God. I have the honour to remain, 
 " Thy brother in Christ, 
 
 "GASTON L'ARTANGES."
 
 The Devil's Plough 247 
 
 " 'Tis a strange hour," commented Father 
 Jogue, " but the need must be urgent. 
 Father L'Artanges is a pious worker for 
 Christ." 
 
 When the missionary felt that he could 
 conscientiously break away from the aroused 
 interest, lucrative to his cause, he deposited 
 the offerings made him in the care of 
 Ninon's secretary, and proceeded across 
 the river on foot, through the devious 
 black ways of a Parisian night, pro- 
 tected^ only by his Jesuit habit. Fre- 
 quently it was necessary for him to inquire 
 his way along, having been many years re- 
 moved from these streets, once familiar to 
 him. 
 
 Outside the front portal of St. Ignatius 
 stood a man holding a lighted lantern. " If 
 I mistake not," said Father Jogue, address- 
 ing him very civilly, "this is the college of 
 St. Ignatius, and thou wearest the Jesuit 
 habit ? The darkness preventeth easy move- 
 ments or clear vision." 
 
 " The moon doth not peep sufficiently 
 high over the cloister walls to light us. 
 This is St. Ignatius," replied Pierre. " If
 
 248 The Devil's Plough 
 
 I also mistake not, this is the missionary 
 brother from New France." 
 
 " I am Father Jogue, recently returned 
 from New France, and here on some 
 private business with the rector by his par- 
 ticular request." Father Jogue held L'Ar- 
 tanges's message open in his hand. 
 
 " The rector will receive thee at once, 
 but by another, his private entrance. I, 
 being the lay brother in the immediate ser- 
 vice of Father Gaston, have awaited thee 
 here this half-hour, and will conduct thee 
 by the nearest way to his presence. Come, 
 holy father, this way." Pierre held his 
 lantern higher ; its light disclosed the muti- 
 lated face, at sight of which Pierre gave 
 audible expression of horror, for which he 
 apologised quickly. " 'Tis a miracle that 
 thou hast been saved from the savages, holy 
 father. Thy rewards in heaven will be 
 great. Turn to the left, there is a 
 gate." 
 
 Father Jogue followed in silence, repress- 
 ing his misgivings at these clandestine pro- 
 ceedings. In the rector's antechamber he 
 found the celebrated preacher awaiting him,
 
 The Devil's Plough 249 
 
 standing in front of logs smouldering in the 
 fireplace, vainly trying to warm his hands. 
 
 " I feel it a great honour to receive a 
 brother in Christ so worthy of Heaven's 
 gratitude. Thy great deeds in New France 
 have heralded thy coming, Father Jogue," 
 said L'Artanges, saluting the missionary. 
 " This matter with which thou and I must 
 deal, though of my own private concern, 
 beareth directly upon the credit of our Order. 
 But thou art apparently weary after the 
 experiences of the day. Sit beside the fire. 
 Pierre, bring the holy father some refresh- 
 ment, then stand at the refectory door until 
 I summon thee." 
 
 " I am grateful for thy consideration, 
 Father L'Artanges," replied the missionary. 
 " After life in Canada, a wood fire op- 
 presseth me with its warmth this summer 
 night: with thy permission, I will sit farther 
 away, over against the window. Doth 
 the matter in hand bear upon the mis- 
 sions ? " 
 
 Pierre returned with wine and bread. 
 During his presence in the room, L'Ar- 
 tanges made no reply to the missionary,
 
 250 The Devil's Plough 
 
 but stood rubbing his hands together and 
 absently watching his own movements. 
 When the layman went out, he at once 
 took up the thread of speech. 
 
 " No, the missions are not directly con- 
 cerned, Father Jogue. I heard thy story 
 as thou related it at Mademoiselle de 
 L'Enclos's this evening. I was never be- 
 fore so deeply impressed by the Jesuit 
 power for heroic deeds. Thy martyrdom 
 followeth close upon the divine achieve- 
 ments of the Saviour ; I stand in deep 
 humility before the soul of a great man." 
 L'Artanges humbly bowed his head before 
 the repulsive body somewhat screened by 
 the shadows, into which the priest had with- 
 drawn. 
 
 " Each man hath his own work to do. 
 I am but a humble soldier of the Cross. 
 Hadst thou been called in my place, 'tis 
 possible thou wouldst have done better 
 work for Christ," replied the missionary. 
 
 " Father Jogue," broke in L'Artanges, 
 abruptly, " thou hast seen me before. Only 
 to-night I spoke to thee at Ninon's fete. 
 Wilt thou confess a soul on its way to judg-
 
 The Devil's Plough 251 
 
 ment? On the morrow I go to probable 
 death, and my soul seeketh peace with 
 which to enter the grave or rise into a new 
 life on earth. Under the seal of confes- 
 sional I must speak to thee." He walked 
 up and down before the missionary, who sat 
 with amazed eyes, looking at L' Arranges for 
 signs of approaching death. 
 
 " Hast thou some secret disease, brother ? 
 If so thy appearance giveth it the lie." 
 
 "Is there any man living who hath not 
 some secret disease of the soul ? The 
 worms of sin thrive in the soil of the soul 
 until Satan's plough turneth them up before 
 the gaze of man. Life is a great unrest, 
 brother. 'Tis better to wear thy scars upon 
 thy face than in thy heart, where they rot 
 away thy very life. On the morrow I die. 
 This Gaston L' Arranges under any circum- 
 stances hath no longer being after the sun 
 riseth. Pray for me." 
 
 The great preacher of Paris fell on his 
 knees before the scarred missionary, out- 
 stretching his arms at full length in the 
 form of a cross. When he began, " Holy 
 father, I acknowledge my faults," Father
 
 252 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Jogue, bewildered and uncomfortable, arose 
 before him to receive the confessional. 
 L'Artanges's words fell from his lips hot 
 and restless, but his body shook in a chill 
 under the steady eyes of the martyr, who, 
 until an hour before dawn, wrestled there 
 with Satan, whom he clearly saw possessing 
 this soldier of Christ kneeling before him.
 
 Chapter XV 
 / 
 
 THE dawn fell grayly upon the cloisters 
 of Notre Dame, but far down by the 
 river, where the shrine of St. Magdalene 
 stood sequestered among the trees, a faint 
 pink flushed the purple-gray mist floating 
 from the eastern horizon, which lay quietly 
 expectant of the sun. The river splashed a 
 cold echo against its banks ; the rippling 
 surface of the water mounted into greenish 
 curves tipped by the pink and gold of the 
 sun's rays, that fell horizontally into misty 
 splashes of light skimming the water. The 
 birds awoke joyously, and pierced the damp- 
 ness rising from the Seine with their sev- 
 erally characteristic calls or beginnings of 
 tunes. The leaves of the trees stirred 
 faintly in the breeze springing before the 
 rising sun. Light penetrated but a short 
 distance into the wood ; beyond Magda- 
 lene's shrine all looked darkly obscure and 
 253
 
 254 The Devil's Plough 
 
 gloomy, so thickly was the ancient wood of 
 France populated by its arboreal nobility. 
 
 Voices, evidently approaching the open 
 space near the bank, rang out from this 
 obscurity, intimating the approach of two 
 wood-choppers, each carrying an axe and 
 hobbling along in clumsy wooden shoes. 
 In single file they came, the elder, a man 
 beyond middle life, taking the lead in walk 
 and conversation ; the younger, a gawky lad, 
 whose lower jaw hung as if perpetually pried 
 open, and whose eyes popped constitution- 
 ally, followed close behind, occasionally step- 
 ping on the heels of his companion, and 
 thereby eliciting remarks both unseemly and 
 irritable. 
 
 " Mind thy steps, now, Jean ! 'Tis 
 haunted ground thou tread'st. 'Tis the 
 devil's courtyard here, beyond the saint's 
 shrine. Thou hast never been so far be- 
 fore. 'Tis called so because many fine gen- 
 tlemen spend their last moments in it, on 
 their way to purgatory. Mind thy steps, 
 I tell thee, or the ghosts of the dead will 
 hoot thee!" 
 
 " I like not ghosts. Why came we this
 
 The Devil's Plough 255 
 
 way ? Dost think fine gentlemen have fine 
 ghosts, or ghosts like me? I like them not 
 in silk or fustian ! " The hobbledehoy 
 cast nervous glances over both shoulders, 
 spying close between the trees for the 
 supernatural. 
 
 " Nor I. High folks should stay com- 
 fortable in their beds o' nights, e'en if the 
 sexton be their bed-maker. Mind thy feet, 
 I tell thee, Jean, thou walk'st with the 
 skill of a duck on land ! This wood be a 
 famous place for duelling, an unchristian 
 way of death. E'en in consecrated ground 
 their bodies rest uneasy, like eels, and that's 
 what brings 'em slipping back to this wood, 
 among the trees. I'd not come here be- 
 fore dawn if 'twas to see the foxy cardinal 
 run through. No, no ; not I ! " Fran9ois 
 crossed himself; the lout quickly imitated 
 him, as was his habit in all things, stumbling 
 against a huge tree-stump meanwhile. 
 
 " That was a big tree once," he observed, 
 regaining his balance without closing his jaw. 
 
 Fran9ois looked back and grinned. " No 
 bigger than thy feet, and not so much in 
 the way. My father cut it, sixty years ago
 
 256 The Devil's Plough 
 
 come Michaelmas. God rest him ! 'Twas 
 a fine tree." 
 
 " It hath the bigness of a small table. 
 'Tis good to eat off. He was a master- 
 hand with the axe, thy father." 
 
 Jean paused to admire the cut of the 
 tree. " 'Twas clean cut. Stay not, lad, 
 else thou'lt run into ghosts, they play 
 at dice on it." Fran9ois grinned again 
 at sight of Jean's haste to be away at this 
 warning. 
 
 "Thou hast not seen them truly, Fran- 
 9ois?" 
 
 "Not I, else I'd not be here. Jean 
 Goup hath seen them many times. He'll 
 tell thee how they look, and take pleasure 
 in the telling." 
 
 "Thou hast seen real duels, hast thou 
 not, Fran9ois ? " 
 
 " Many a one. On this same spot, lad. 
 I tell thee, 'tis no marvel the dead return 
 to it ! May the saints keep those who sleep 
 not in holy ground." 
 
 " 'Twas their own fault they couldn't 
 sleep, Fran9ois ; and they've no fair right 
 to trouble honest folks that aren't yet dead.
 
 The Devil's Plough 257 
 
 Why is it fine gentlemen'd rather fight than 
 eat their breakfast ? " 
 
 " 'Tis sport with them, and the fashion 
 of such folks. It giveth a gentleman an 
 appetite to punch holes in another's belly 
 before breakfast. I've seen 'em fight here 
 a dozen at a time of a fine morning. 'Tis 
 a sight common as the trees. Thou wilt see 
 it all in good time." 
 
 " I never have," said Jean, ashamed of 
 his ignorance. 
 
 " No, thou art still young. 'Tis like 
 this. Now, steady on thy feet ! Hold up 
 thy axe, so, I'll show thee how 'tis done. 
 Hold thy handle out like the point of a sword, 
 thy knees bent that thou may'st thrust lightly 
 and hop back after. Now thou art a gentle- 
 man, Jean. On guard, Monsieur Jean ! 
 Mind thy feet trip thee not up ! " 
 
 " Thou know'st more of it than I, Fran- 
 9015. Thou wilt hurt ! " The lout pre- 
 pared to run. 
 
 " 'Tis a lesson, blow upon thy courage 
 to make it hot. Now, try to touch me. 
 Thou canst not ! " Fran9ois was evidently 
 enjoying to the utmost his comrade's timidity.
 
 258 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " It must be fine to be a gentleman ! 
 Ouch ! Thou scrapest my belly ! " Jean 
 laid a great hand protectingly below his 
 waist. 
 
 " Ay, 'tis fine indeed to wear a sword, and 
 use the point of it against the king's edicts. 
 Now, guard thee well ! I'll have at thee ! 
 What's that ? " cried Franois at a peculiar 
 sound coming from far back in the woods, 
 now considerably lighted by the strengthen- 
 ing dawn. 
 
 " Ghosts ! " cried the lout, cowering and 
 dropping his axe. " Ghosts ! May the 
 Virgin protect me ! I can't look ! " 
 
 " Get thee along ! Out of the wood, 
 run for thy life! " whispered Fran9ois. " 'Tis 
 the devil playing the fiddle ! 'Tis said he 
 often doth it when tempting man. Run to 
 the water ! I'll drop my relic in, and make 
 the water holy, to throw at him if he ap- 
 proacheth nearer." 
 
 They both stumbled along at a great rate 
 until reaching the river, where Fra^ois 
 waded into the water, sacred relic in hand, 
 with Jean close at his heels. 
 
 Out from the depth of the wood came
 
 The Devil's Plough 259 
 
 slowly the Chevalier de Chatillon, dressed 
 immaculately, and fiddling, as he walked, 
 the dance-tunes the preacher L'Artanges had 
 fiddled for inspiration before preaching his 
 great sermon one preceding Sabbath morn- 
 ing. The man appeared wrapped in his 
 own tunes ; even the birds ceased carolling 
 to listen. His face, hugging close his 
 violin, expressed only the sentiments of 
 his music. Upon nearing the broad stump 
 indicated as a dice-table by the recently fled 
 Fra^ois, he changed his theme to one of 
 surpassing sentimental beauty. Pausing one 
 moment at a rest in the bar, he laid De 
 Bouteville's hat that he now wore, together 
 with his own sword, carefully down upon the 
 stump ; then, standing there, made sweeping 
 gestures addressed to the surrounding trees. 
 " Mesdames et messieurs," he said, smiling 
 bitterly, " behold in me an apostate fiddler, 
 doomed to eternal damnation." Then he 
 continued the sensuously beautiful strain 
 with apparent relish. Entirely absorbed in 
 his musical emotions, he failed to notice a 
 sadly disfigured priest hurrying toward him, 
 along his own tracks through the wood.
 
 260 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Not until Father Jogue spoke, in stern, 
 biting reproof, did De Chatillon observe 
 him ; then the chevalier, with an air of 
 irritable annoyance, exclaimed, without ceas- 
 ing to play, " Holy martyr, get thee back 
 to thy red Indians ! Why dost thou pur- 
 sue me whom thou hast damned ? 'Tis not 
 the path of martyrs I tread." 
 
 " Man, hast thou lost thy faculties ? " 
 remonstrated Father Jogue, laying a hand 
 on De Chatillon's bow arm. 
 
 " Touch not my right arm, its freedom 
 is most important in the music ! " was all he 
 replied. 
 
 " When I left thee, an hour before dawn, 
 to seek the much-needed repose thou offered 
 me, thy spirit was humbled ; thy soul once 
 more saw thy God without the shadow of 
 Satan between." 
 
 " 'Tis so, good man ; but thou know'st not 
 the man of moods." He still spoke through 
 the music. " By the passing of half an 
 hour the shadow had enveloped me once 
 more. This time it hath brought peace, 
 peace, I say, thou martyr ! " He ceased 
 playing, and his face assumed a great cheer-
 
 The Devil's Plough 261 
 
 fulness. " Seest thou the look of mine 
 eyes ? Speak they not assured determina- 
 tion ? My struggles are over. Into the 
 ashes of mine own holy fire I threw the 
 weary bones of Gaston L'Artanges ; now 
 Paul de Chatillon is bound for hell to a 
 merry tune. But he goeth not alone, 
 he will bear with him sweet company." 
 Again he played several bars of the dance- 
 tune. 
 
 " Gaston L'Artanges," the priest pointed 
 a finger of warning at him, " hast thy soul 
 lost all remembrance of Christ's teachings ? 
 I left thee a penitent man ; but the Holy 
 Mother appeared, and warned me not to 
 sleep where Pierre had offered me rest. I 
 crept down into thy antechamber, and, lying 
 amid the shadows there, I saw thee, attired 
 thus, depart through the garden. I followed 
 thee. Put Satan in woman's form behind 
 thee! Oh, my brother, come from out the 
 shadows of thy past ! " 
 
 " Oh, the shadows ! Behold them. The 
 sun hath burst ! Hast thou so fair a dawn in 
 New France, Father Jogue ? " L'Artanges 
 ceased fiddling altogether, and laid his instru-
 
 262 The Devil's Plough 
 
 ment down beside the sword and hat, seem- 
 ing suddenly lost in that form of mystical 
 meditation so often besetting him. "In 
 dreams I have seen New France. I have 
 seen the great rivers, the wild forests, and 
 myself among the red men ! Hast thou ever 
 strange dreams, Father Jogue ? " 
 
 " What profiteth it any man to gain the 
 whole world and lose his own soul ? I 
 beseech thee, for love of the Virgin, to save 
 thy soul before it is too late ! " went on the 
 kneeling brother, in an agonised voice. Then, 
 closing his eyes, he prayed aloud : " Holy 
 Mother, thy unworthy son doth seek thy 
 help in saving this soul on the verge of 
 everlasting punishment. Protect him, Holy 
 Mother, with thy tender love." 
 
 " I have seen her in my dreams ! " mur- 
 mured De Chatillon, mystically, his eyes set 
 upon some spot far back in the wood. "In 
 my dreams I have seen her tender care. 
 What profiteth it any man to gain the whole 
 world and lose his own soul ? " He gravely 
 shook his head. " Holy Mother, 1 have 
 seen thy tender care in my dreams. I see 
 thee now, coming from out the shadows."
 
 The Devil's Plough 263 
 
 His face changed expressively, and the 
 kneeling priest turned his head about, for 
 some interpretation of what he believed must 
 be a miracle. 
 
 " I see thee ! Thou art lovely ! " De 
 Chatillon pointed to the advancing figure of 
 a woman. "I see thee! Heloise ! " the 
 joy in his tone and face transfigured him. 
 " Thou comest to me in a vision. 'Tis thy 
 soul biddeth me farewell. Is it then that I 
 must die by the sword of De Bouteville ? 
 Speak, reveal thy purpose ! " 
 
 " Gaston, my dearly beloved ! " The lady 
 spoke, advancing sufficiently close to touch 
 him, while Father Jogue returned in despair 
 to his heavenly supplications. " 'Tis soul 
 and body both I bring to thee at this ter- 
 rible hour. The message thou despatched 
 me at midnight, telling of the meeting here, 
 hath brought me. Could I permit thee to 
 die without my last farewell, if death it is to 
 be ? Look not at me so strangely ! 'Tis 
 I, Heloise!" 
 
 " 'Tis true thou dost love me, sweet ; else 
 a lady would not have wandered so far into 
 danger for the sake of an apostate priest
 
 264 The Devil's Plough 
 
 refused absolution. May I feel of thee to 
 make sure 'tis not one of the strange sights 
 that do beset mine eyes ? " 
 
 Heloise laid her head close to his face. 
 " 'Tis but one moment borrowed from para- 
 dise," she whispered, after glancing at the 
 praying missionary. " The others will come. 
 If thy fate openeth a place for De Boute- 
 ville's sword, die like a gentleman, with thy 
 lady's kiss upon thy brow." She reached 
 up and kissed his forehead. "If thou es- 
 cap'st the point of his sword, 'twill be a sign 
 that life together is our portion. Farewell, 
 farewell ! " 
 
 The horse upon which the lady had rid- 
 den alone to the spot wandered toward 
 them. At this moment he neighed, and the 
 material sound broke through L'Artanges's 
 mystical mood. " Heloise, dearest of my 
 heart ! Let me take thee close to my 
 breast and pray Heaven to send eternal 
 sleep upon us as we stand ! " He folded 
 his arms close about her. " My life hath 
 been all empty of love until thou earnest to 
 me ! My heart is all filled when thou art 
 here "
 
 The Devil's Plough 265 
 
 " Heaven send its curse upon thee, thou 
 renegade soldier of Christ ! " Father Jogue 
 proclaimed beside them, having risen from 
 his kneeling position in expressive horror at 
 sight of a priest in a woman's embrace. 
 " Let loose this woman from thy carnal 
 embrace, else Heaven will strike thee dead." 
 
 " 'Twould be no great punishment, if 
 both were taken," L'Artanges replied, gently 
 releasing the countess, out of instinctive re- 
 spect for Father Jogue's emotions. " But, 
 dear heart, thou must not linger here. If 
 my ears deceive me not, horses can be heard 
 coming along the highway. 'Tis doubtless 
 some of the party. The time hath come 
 when I can only thank thee for this great 
 evidence of love, and say farewell. God 
 cannot damn so pure a love as mine for 
 thee. If there is justice in Heaven, or right 
 in the mating of the birds, we shall meet 
 again ; if not under this sun, this moon, or 
 these glorious stars, 'twill be where there is 
 some greater light revealing us to each 
 other " 
 
 " There is no light but that of Heaven ! 
 What profiteth it a man if he gaineth the
 
 266 The Devil's Plough 
 
 whole world and loseth his own soul ? " 
 broke in Father Jogue, holding the cross up 
 before his own face. " Carnal love is not 
 that of the spirit; all flesh must die, 
 spirit alone liveth for ever." 
 
 L'Artanges shivered slightly at sound of 
 the text he had so long pondered, but the 
 woman's hand lingering in his gave him 
 strength to meet all consequences. 
 
 " Father Jogue," he said, turning to the 
 priest with friendly dignity, " thou hast done 
 thy part bravely. Heaven would ask no 
 more of thee. I take upon myself the fu- 
 ture conduct of my own soul. Farewell. 
 I wish thee a safe return to New France, 
 and much fruitful labour among the red 
 men. 'Tis a good cause. Down the bridle- 
 path I see some one approaching. This 
 lady, if only because of the great love she 
 beareth me, must not be observed here. 
 Thou hast not studied well into the beauty 
 of human affection, holy father. It drop- 
 peth from heaven, God's benediction to 
 all his creatures deserving joy. Conduct 
 this lady safely to her home in Paris, as a 
 last Christian act toward me, the renegade "
 
 The Devil's Plough 267 
 
 " Paul ! Gaston ! I cannot leave thee. It 
 may be death ! Come away with me," 
 Heloise interrupted, clinging to him. 
 
 " My beloved," he replied, tenderly 
 loosening her hands, "I bear the token of 
 a brave lady on my brow. Thou must still 
 be brave. Whatever comes is best. Thou 
 wilt at least hold me in a dear remembrance. 
 My Heloise, depart quickly, else thou wilt 
 be observed. Farewell, farewell! My 
 sun sets ! " 
 
 She with difficulty controlled herself, 
 but seeing gentlemen advancing down 
 the path, she kissed her lover's hand 
 impetuously, seized her horse's bridle, 
 and, leading the animal, disappeared down 
 an opposite path running toward the 
 river. 
 
 " Gaston L'Artanges," began Father 
 Jogue, " there is yet time. In the name 
 of Christ, I beseech thee " 
 
 " Thy part is done, I have told thee, 
 father. My path is chosen, I go wher- 
 ever it leadeth me. I pray thee conduct 
 the lady safely. This is no place for thee. 
 Farewell. Si hoc fiat, sujficit."
 
 268 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Father Jogue, displaying infinite despair 
 in his attitude, again held his cross up be- 
 fore L'Artanges, repeating the prayers for 
 the dead.
 
 Chapter XVI 
 
 L'ARTANGES stood with bowed head, 
 until a voice behind him called out, 
 jovially, " Thou earnest with the lark, De 
 Chatillon ! 'Twas not always thy good 
 habit to be before the clock." 
 
 It was the voice of Monsieur Jean de 
 Berinac, accompanied by a certain Comte 
 du Fortigny, but yesterday returned from 
 the recent conquest at Dunkirk. 
 
 " I have the honour to salute thee, De 
 Berinac, and thy friend, who, it seems, is 
 to honour me with his friendly sword this 
 morning." 
 
 Father Jogue, at sound of De Berinac's 
 salutation, had hurried away in the direction 
 taken by the countess, and L'Artanges, 
 referring to his disappearing figure by a 
 gesture, continued, " My father confessor 
 hath but now departed. 'Tis well to set 
 
 things right with Heaven when standing at 
 269
 
 270 The Devil's Plough 
 
 the point of a sword. Hein, De Berinac ? 
 That is a position with which thou art well 
 familiar. Thy friend, now, I have not 
 even the honour of acquaintance with his 
 name. 'Tis a good one, that may be 
 counted upon." L'Artanges was summon- 
 ing up all the actor's art within him. 
 
 " I have the honour to present to your 
 acquaintance, Chevalier de Chatillon, the 
 most honourable gentleman, Comte du For- 
 tigny, ripe for further conquest, having lately 
 done himself great credit on the field of 
 battle." The gentlemen bowed, then stood 
 exchanging comments upon the prospect of 
 the duel. 
 
 " I'll wager you any sword of ours would 
 outskill that of the highly vaunted Mon- 
 sieur de Bouteville ! " boasted Du Fortigny, 
 a gentleman of singular appearance, whose 
 nose and left eyelid carried a deep scar made 
 by one cut of the short sword. " I'll play 
 you for the outcome, De Berinac. Here 
 are dice in my pocket, where they find them- 
 selves much at home ; and here is a stump 
 exactly fitted for the throw. Wilt join us, 
 Monsieur de Chatillon ? "
 
 The Devil's Plough 271 
 
 "If you will honour me with your ex- 
 cuses, monsieur, I will instead take my 
 horse to drink. The animal hath a great 
 thirst this morning. He is tethered beyond 
 in the wood, 'twill take but an instant." 
 L'Artanges walked off among the trees, 
 where, rinding his horse, he led it rapidly 
 toward the water, until a point was reached 
 commanding a view of the woman he loved, 
 riding now at some distance away along the 
 river road. There he stood, not far from 
 the river bank, straining his eyes after He- 
 loise ; but presently he felt great splashes 
 of water striking him, and, looking in the 
 direction from whence they came, saw two 
 louts standing to the middle in the river, 
 throwing water at him, and crying out : 
 
 " Holy Mother, protect thy children ! 
 'Tis the fiddling devil ! May the holy 
 water cleanse him !" 
 
 L'Artanges heard their words with a 
 faint smile. " The fiddling devil," he re- 
 peated. " 'Tis so ; the devil and the fiddle 
 have both possessed me." Then, in quick 
 forgetfulness of trivialities, he held up one 
 hand in benediction upon Heloise, now van-
 
 272 The Devil's Plough 
 
 ishing into the distance, and turned to lead 
 his horse back to its tether. As he walked, 
 discordant sounds reached his ears, jarring 
 exceedingly upon his acutely nervous sen- 
 sibilities. He paused to listen. A harsh 
 voice accompanied the picking of violin 
 strings, and he recognised intoned with 
 the music of dish-scraping rather than sung 
 the words : 
 
 ' Vos yeux adorables 
 Ne sont point blamables ; 
 S'ils peuvent blesser, ils peuvent guerir." 
 
 The gentleman, Du Fortigny, having dis- 
 covered the violin on the stump, was greatly 
 amusing himself. 
 
 " De Berinac," bellowed Du Fortigny, 
 robustiously, " I am thy troubadour re- 
 turned from the wars ! Permit me, fair 
 lady, to embrace thee with the speed of an 
 eye-wink, before the bold intruders discover 
 us. Then I will sing to thee another ballad 
 of love." 
 
 Loud laughter followed, and, at the same 
 time, footsteps were heard in the bridle-path. 
 
 " Sweet Rosebud, I must leave thee ! "
 
 The Devil's Plough 273 
 
 continued Du Fortigny, " but once more 
 thy troubadour tunes his harp to thine 
 ears." A fearful din ensued, made by the 
 gentleman's jocular abuse of pitch, com- 
 bined with the voice of an ass, his parents 
 gave him. 
 
 L'Artanges left his horse to crop, and 
 appeared coming from the direction of the 
 shrine, at the moment De Bouteville, Du 
 Brion, and De Trouville reached the stump. 
 
 Du Fortigny now addressed his noise, in 
 the form of welcome, to the newcomers, 
 improvising a farcical salutation directed 
 at each one consecutively in great good 
 humour. Even De Bouteville's chronic ill 
 temper was broken through by this diver- 
 sion, and there was much boisterous laugh- 
 ter afloat when L'Artanges approached his 
 challenger with the more usual form of greet- 
 ing. 
 
 Immediately at his appearance the mood 
 of the company changed ; they were all in- 
 stantaneously alert upon the business of the 
 morning. The customary formalities were 
 at once exchanged, and afterward De Berinac 
 spoke aside to L'Artanges.
 
 274 Th e Devil's Plough 
 
 " By your leave, I'll engage Monsieur de 
 Trouville. It's an even choice in skill, and 
 the man's manner now, as always, doth 
 annoy me. I itch to tell him so." 
 
 " Kill him not, De Berinac," warned Du 
 Fortigny, who stood within ear-shot of this 
 request ; " he owes me certain golden louis." 
 Then, advancing toward the three opponents 
 talking together, he said, gaily enough for 
 the ballroom, " We were somewhat before 
 you, gentlemen. The morning warmeth 
 rapidly, is it not well to begin before 
 the sun outstrippeth us in heat ? " 
 
 " No moment could be too early to suit 
 my inclinations," replied De Bouteville, ad- 
 vancing ; " but the cursed laws make it 
 necessary for a gentleman to incommode 
 himself to avoid them." 
 
 L' Arranges touched his sword, saying, 
 " Let us then break them as quickly as 
 possible." 
 
 "This is a chance meeting, gentlemen, 
 nothing prearranged. We walk in the wood 
 and chance to encounter each other." Du 
 Brion showed his handsome teeth mock- 
 ingly as he spoke. " We quarrel by acci-
 
 The Devil's Plough 275 
 
 dent, and Dieu sen attristel the edict 
 remains unbroken. Come, let us quarrel, 
 gentlemen ! " 
 
 But De Bouteville suggested, condescend- 
 ingly, " Monsieur de Chatillon should be 
 grateful for the gift of a few extra minutes; 
 before death, every moment is valuable." 
 
 " We have already wasted sufficient, mon- 
 sieur," L'Artanges replied, unmoved. 
 
 De Berinac spoke up for his friend. 
 ''Take time easily, Paul. Let us go com- 
 fortably. Monsieur de Trouville, I take 
 this occasion to tell you that your manner 
 annoys me past endurance. Your smile 
 fatigues me." 
 
 De Trouville bowed, replying, " I shall 
 take this same occasion to fatigue you even 
 more, monsieur. Your sword ! " 
 
 Du Fortigny approached Du Brion with, 
 " And you, Monsieur du Brion, I have 
 the honour to tell you that you keep bad 
 company. Your sword, monsieur ! " 
 
 Du Brion replied, " I keep it, then, on 
 invitation. They are of equal length, I 
 believe," measuring swords with his eye. 
 "If not, we have others."
 
 276 The Devil's Plough 
 
 De Berinac now held out his sword toward 
 De Trouville, while he asked, "Is my sword 
 the length of thy tongue, monsieur ? Ah, 
 they match like twins. 'Tis a pity they 
 meet in anger." 
 
 De Trouville answered, sarcastically, "A 
 family quarrel is not altogether unknown 
 in France." 
 
 Then De Berinac, rapidly falling into 
 position, called out, "It remains to be seen 
 which is the elder brother. On guard ! " 
 
 But De Bouteville again interrupted. 
 " Hold, gentlemen ! If Monsieur de Cha- 
 tillon wishes to apologise, promising fur- 
 ther that he will " 
 
 L'Artanges hastily interfered with this 
 suggestion by breaking in. " On guard, 
 Monsieur de Bouteville ! without more 
 words." 
 
 De Bouteville bowed low. " So be it ! 
 You will be my twentieth man, at the least 
 count, monsieur." 
 
 " 'Tis Heaven's part to make me your 
 last, then, if I do not myself end your 
 capabilities for more. On guard ! " They 
 crossed swords ; at which signal the others
 
 The Devil's Plough 277 
 
 set to, most energetically displaying their 
 skill. 
 
 " Have at you ! " called Du Brion. 
 " Here's an end to my bad company ! " 
 
 But Du Fortigny answered, " Not alto- 
 gether. Thy intention was better than thy 
 execution." 
 
 Their clashing swords rang through the 
 wood: six men seeking each other's lives 
 a la mode. Du Fortigny fought with gallant 
 gaiety and bravado, talking incessantly, and 
 finally breaking into improvised verse, with 
 which he rounded out his skill : 
 
 " The garden where last night we kissed 
 Is hidden by the morning mist 
 That riseth from the Seine ; 
 
 Ah, 'twas a clean cut, but not sufficient, 
 monsieur ! 
 
 " I scent the roses in the breeze 
 And try mine eyes again in vain, 
 
 Hein, hein! No more of that! 
 
 "Seeking that garden of Hesperides." 
 
 "What have we, the poet Voiture? " 
 asked Du Brion.
 
 278 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Du Fortigny lunged while answering, 
 " Yes, monsieur. Ah, ah ! Voiture in his 
 cradle. I touched you, monsieur ! Now ! " 
 
 Meantime, De Bouteville grew hot with 
 his pet passion.. "You give ground, mon- 
 sieur ! " he cried. " Damn you, you touched 
 me ! You are presumptuous. Your own 
 thrust, perhaps, equals that of Saint-Evre- 
 mond, hein ? " 
 
 " Have a care, Paul ! " warned De Berinac. 
 " Lose no ground, he rounds thee into 
 the sunlight ! Ah, the devil's blood ! I'm 
 touched ! " 
 
 " Let not thy attention wander, monsieur," 
 suggested De Trouville, " from my smile." 
 
 Du Brion and Du Fortigny had rounded 
 off to some distance, but they both saw De 
 Berinac's face bleeding. Du Brion spoke 
 politely to his opponent : 
 
 " You delight me, monsieur. I trust we 
 shall see more of each other. Observe 
 monsieur, your friend. He appeareth to 
 be on the losing side." 
 
 " 'Tis nothing," replied Du Fortigny. 
 " 'Tis but the fortune of war. Ah, you 
 are wounded ! "
 
 The Devil's Plough 279 
 
 " Yes," said Du Brion ; " but I do equally 
 well with my left. On guard, Du Fortigny ! 
 We shall be friends after. My faith, you 
 are of my own mettle ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, L'Artanges, although deeply 
 breathed, held up his end of the duel with 
 surprising skill, considering the limitations 
 of his experience in such practices. He- 
 loise seemed to him constantly moving at 
 his side, spurring him on with never failing 
 encouragement; " Heloise ! " breathed on 
 his lips, as he fought. To his glowing 
 imagination the duel was but a game of 
 dice-throwing: Heaven had now its oppor- 
 tunity to speak or for ever after hold its 
 peace ; he was determined to abide by the 
 throw, and so end his mortal combat. Un- 
 der this stimulant he fought with a success 
 sufficient to arouse De Bouteville's best skill 
 and worst humour. 
 
 This gentleman exclaimed, when he saw 
 L'Artanges move his lips in satisfaction, 
 " You seek to anger me, monsieur, but I 
 am calm, damn you! My temper, like 
 my sword, hath no losing quality. Ah ! " 
 He cut close to L'Artanges's left shoulder.
 
 280 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Ah, I have you ! Learn now the thrust 
 of De Bouteville, e'en if you ne'er speak of 
 it hereafter, except in purgatory." 
 
 " Guard thy temper well, monsieur, lest 
 it may show an opening for my sword," 
 L'Artanges returned, looking off for an in- 
 stant toward the bridle-path, where it seemed 
 to him intrusion was imminent ; for a gallop- 
 ing horse could be plainly heard above the 
 sound of swords. 
 
 The rider of this horse leaped to the 
 ground and ran toward them. " Stay thy 
 butchery, for the love of heaven ! " he called 
 to unheeding ears. "Hold, gentlemen!" 
 again he cried, waving a letter toward them. 
 " I come from Rome ! " 
 
 " Presently, presently, we will give heed," 
 called back De Bouteville, whose appetite for 
 blood was now beyond easy appeasement. 
 " What is Rome to us ? Stand out of harm's 
 way, lest we do you hurt, good brother ! " 
 
 " You may kill me, if you will, but this 
 affair must not continue ! " the Jesuit an- 
 swered, stepping between De Bouteville and 
 his partner. " Which of you answers to the 
 name of Paul de Chatillon ? "
 
 The Devil's Plough 281 
 
 Father Thomas had, by way of Rome, 
 cleared the way for his own advancement. 
 His conscientious nose had carried him suc- 
 cessfully close on to the scent of his supe- 
 rior's malodorous adventures. Coincidence 
 in time furthered his purpose, and now here, 
 in the very heart of damning evidence, ap- 
 peared the messenger of fate. 
 
 The duelling ceased, but the gentlemen 
 retained their positions, when L'Artanges, 
 whose sword fell to the ground heavy with 
 premonition, replied, " I am he who answers 
 to that name. You come to us on some 
 mission from the general of the Jesuits, 
 good father ? " 
 
 " That is the object of my haste, mon- 
 sieur." The priest looked the suppositi- 
 tious De Chatillon steadily in the eyes, con- 
 tinuing, " I would speak with you privately." 
 
 " When this affair with these gentlemen 
 is settled," L'Artanges answered, picking up 
 his sword as if to proceed. 
 
 " Now, monsieur ! At once ! " With 
 this the priest stepped closer to him, add- 
 ing, in lowered tones, " At once in the 
 name of obedience. This paper read it-
 
 The Devil's Plough 
 
 The general at Rome sends this message to 
 thee. Thou art not "but he paused, 
 looking around at the others ; then contin- 
 ued, " Read, monsieur. You will not fail 
 to comprehend." 
 
 " Heaven hath spoken ! " muttered L'Ar- 
 tanges, taking the letter into his hands. 
 
 " Ad major em Dei gloriam" spoke the 
 priest, solemnly. 
 
 " The morning is still cold, monsieur," 
 interposed De Bouteville, in annoyance. 
 " We lose time." 
 
 But L'Artanges was reading the letter. A 
 sobbing sigh arose in his throat ; he looked 
 all about, as if for something lost. " New 
 France and martyrdom ! " he exclaimed, to 
 the wonder of the gentlemen. 
 
 " For the greater glory of God," repeated 
 the priest. 
 
 L'Artanges nodded his head slowly. 
 " Heaven hath spoken," he reiterated. 
 
 " Come ! Come ! " called out De Boute- 
 ville. " I tell you the morning is still cold ! 
 On guard ! Proceed with the business of 
 the hour. Gentlemen, resume. My twenty- 
 first man is not yet despatched."
 
 The Devil's Plough 283 
 
 L'Artanges still read the letter ; the words 
 burned into his eyes. 
 
 " Paul," exclaimed De Berinac, crossing 
 over beside his friend, " what means this ? 
 What are we, thy friends, and gentlemen, 
 to understand ? " 
 
 At the name " Paul " L'Artanges looked 
 up quickly. He glanced about as if seeking 
 some one. " Paul ! Paul !" he said, affection- 
 ately, " I have played with thine honour. 
 'Tis due thee I should kill this man." 
 
 " Ad major em Dei gloriam" repeated the 
 messenger from Rome, holding out his 
 crucifix. 
 
 " For the greater glory of God," echoed 
 L'Artanges, his face lighting and setting 
 into firm lines of decision. " 'Tis for God's 
 glory for me to be a man, and save another's 
 honour ! Continue, gentlemen. We will 
 fight to the finish. Paul de Chatillon hath 
 still a word to say." Excitement flushed 
 his cheek ; his eyes dilated full upon De 
 Bouteville. " Proceed, Monsieur de Boute- 
 ville. I would add a finish worthy of the 
 promise my sword held out at the moment 
 of interruption."
 
 284 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " I had some fear the messenger might be 
 in your service," sneered De Bouteville, ad- 
 vancing to cross swords. 
 
 " By the blood of a De Chatillon, you 
 will not live the minutes longer 'twould take 
 to thus again insult me ! " L'Artanges's 
 voice rang through the woods, and the 
 wood-choppers paused in the distance to 
 listen apprehensively. 
 
 " Stay ! Stay thine iniquitous hand ! " 
 The brother from Rome caught his arm. 
 
 " Stand back upon thine own territory, 
 man," replied L'Artanges, shaking him off. 
 " These, perchance, are my last moments. 
 'Tis good to be a man ! The air of earth 
 doth swell my lungs ! Heaven is for mar- 
 tyrs, 'twill come later. Fight, gentlemen ! 
 Why waste so good an opportunity ? " 
 
 The others, with unconscious accord, 
 glanced at one another questioningly. De 
 Trouville whispered, aside, " De Chatillon 
 hath drunk too early in the day." 
 
 De Berinac replied, " So far there is no 
 evidence in the quality of his thrust. A 
 man's brains are like enough to tremble at 
 the moment of sending De Bouteville to
 
 The Devil's Plough 285 
 
 hell. 'Tis an important occasion." They 
 crossed swords. 
 
 " My company hath not improved," 
 called Du Brion. 
 
 " I scent the roses in the breeze 
 And try mine eyes again in vain, 
 Seeking that garden of Hesperides," 
 
 sang Du Fortigny. 
 
 Again the sound of metal clashed through 
 the forest. 
 
 " Heloise ! Paul ! " The names still hung 
 upon L'Artanges's lips. He fought with a 
 strength and skill only possible to an inex- 
 perienced hand when inspired by ancestral 
 instincts latent in the blood and spurred on 
 by a gigantic purpose. Gaston L'Artanges 
 had met his fate, and he welcomed it eagerly 
 in preference to his indecisive free will. 
 
 The priest from Rome stood back among 
 the trees, praying for help from heaven. The 
 now risen sun glanced across his shoulder 
 and flashed upon the fighting group of men. 
 
 " Gaze well upon the risen sun. 'Tis the 
 last thou'lt see," breathed L'Artanges, lung- 
 ing desperately.
 
 286 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " 'Tis like a sun doth shine in hell to heat 
 the Ah ! " cried De Bouteville, stagger- 
 ing to one side. " The end hath come ! I 
 have seen it so in dreams ! Du Brion ! 
 Du Fortigny ! Tell Paris 'twas the devil 
 thrust me through." His friends ran to 
 him. " Look upon him / " the injured man 
 cried. 
 
 " 'Tis not the face of Paul de Chatillon," 
 Du Brion assented, holding De Bouteville 
 in his arms. 
 
 L'Artanges had grasped his sword stiffly 
 in one hand and now pointed it indicatingly 
 at a tree near by. " Hast thou not done 
 well ? " he cried. " I've killed my man ! 
 Take him, and set him down to my credit 
 on thy accounts ! " 
 
 " De Chatillon," said De Berinac, touching 
 him, to call his attention. "Paul ! Here 
 is the sword of Monsieur de Bouteville. 
 Forget not the courtesy of the occasion." 
 
 L'Artanges passed one hand wearily over 
 his eyes, and took the sword automatically. 
 " For Paul," he said, in half-audible words ; 
 then turning full upon the group surround- 
 ing the prostrate De Bouteville, added for-
 
 The Devil's Plough 287 
 
 cibly, " 'Tis not for me. I am not Paul de 
 Chatillon." 
 
 " Holy Mother defend us ! " prayed the 
 priest, now kneeling beside De Bouteville. 
 " Defend the honourable Order from the 
 scandal of his confession." 
 
 " Who, then, art thou ? " asked Du For- 
 tigny, approaching him curiously. " There's 
 mystery behind all this." 
 
 But L'Artanges stood leaning wearily for- 
 ward upon the two swords he held, and 
 made no reply. 
 
 " 'Twas the devil," murmured De Boute- 
 ville, faintly. "I would die in my bed, 
 Du Brion. Bear me to Paris. Tell Ninon 
 'twas the devil. 'Twill touch her merry 
 humour. Paris will have another orange 
 to squeeze." 
 
 " The man hath gone dumb. He will not 
 speak, 'tis waste of merry time to linger. 
 Let's back to Paris and tell the tale," said 
 Du Fortigny aside to De Berinac. 
 
 " I cannot leave him so distraught. Paul 
 hath been my friend from infancy, though 
 now so changed I fear for his reason." 
 De Berinac moved protectingly closer to
 
 288 The Devil's Plough 
 
 his friend, as he replied to Du Fortigny's 
 suggestion. 
 
 " I then will offer my assistance in bear- 
 ing De Bouteville off the field. 'Tis doubt- 
 ful if he lives, the thrust is near the 
 heart ; clean, but awkward. To-night we 
 meet at La Garotte Rouge ? Is it not so ? 
 Dice at midnight. A brief farewell, De 
 Berinac." 
 
 " Ninon will laugh Paris will laugh 
 De Bouteville died a merry death, slain by 
 the devil," came from the bleeding, half- 
 conscious man. 
 
 L'Artanges slowly followed behind De 
 Bouteville, whom the others had lifted and 
 were gently bearing along the path through 
 the wood. De Berinac joined him, and 
 the entire company proceeded in silence a 
 few steps, until L'Artanges paused, and, 
 turning about, said to his friend, " Go with 
 the others, De Berinac. I thank thee and 
 thy friend for thy good offices. To thee 
 I needs must say farewell, for 'tis possible I 
 am about to depart upon a long journey. If 
 so, 'tis unlikely we shall meet again. When 
 thou callest to mind thy boyhood friend,
 
 The Devil's Plough 289 
 
 deal gently with his memory, he was the 
 slave of his birthright." 
 
 " Permit me to remain beside thee. I 
 fear De Bouteville touched thee, and thou 
 art unwell. We will return to Paris to- 
 gether," urged De Berinac. 
 
 " No, Jean, I must deny myself. Thou 
 wouldst not ride comfortably with the dead, 
 and to-day Paul de Chatillen dies. Heaven 
 hath spoken." 
 
 " Paul, thou dost talk strangely." 
 
 " Go now, Jean. I bid thee farewell. A 
 sword hath fallen upon me swifter and truer 
 even than Saint-Evremond's. Heaven hath 
 spoken." 
 
 The two looked well into each other's 
 eyes, and then De Berinac reluctantly fol- 
 lowed the combatants down the path. 
 
 " Father Gaston," said the priest, in low 
 tones of warning, " you have broken your 
 vows to the utmost limit of the law. The 
 general commands your presence in Rome 
 immediately upon the receipt of the orders 
 I bore hence." 
 
 " Ah, yes ; the general ! Rome ! New 
 France ! Yes, 'tis so," looking down at the
 
 290 The Devil's Plough 
 
 missive grasped firmly in one hand. " I no 
 longer need trust to mine own indecision. 
 Heaven hath spoken. I beg of you the 
 favour to retire into the wood until I have 
 somewhat recovered from my recent emo- 
 tions. I will join you presently, and then 
 proceed to Paris in your company." 
 
 The Jesuit complied and slowly led his 
 horse down the bridle-path. 
 
 L'Artanges began to pace restlessly up 
 and down the mossy earth, but very soon 
 he sank down upon the old stump, in an 
 attitude of resigned finality. Looking off 
 in the direction of Paris, he murmured, 
 " Heloise, dost thou know ? Heaven hath 
 spoken. I thought I knew my own soul, 
 but a stronger will than mine hath appointed 
 the way." His eyes fell upon his violin, 
 lying beside him on the stump ; they cleared 
 at the sight, and he eagerly stretched forth 
 his hand, speaking softly, " Heaven will not 
 take thee from me ! Even in the wilderness 
 thou wilt sing of human love, and I will 
 answer." 
 
 He raised the instrument to his shoulder, 
 and began to play the passionate theme he
 
 The Devil's Plough 291 
 
 left off not yet an hour ago. His music 
 resounded through the wood, and the wood- 
 choppers, peering at him from the direction 
 of the river, whispered, with their heads to- 
 gether, " All the ghosts have gone, but 
 Satan fiddling^ 'Tis a bad sign for harvest."
 
 Chapter XVII 
 
 WRITTEN to the Comtesse de Lune- 
 ville. 
 
 " BELOVED : In order to quell thy uneasiness, owing 
 to the reports thou art most like to hear in Paris to- 
 day, I write thee circumstantial details of the affair as it 
 occurred this morning, at the earliest moment possible 
 for me to compose myself sufficiently. Thou and I 
 have not lived together in that daily communion which 
 teacheth an understanding of the very essence of another's 
 character. Having no clear understanding of myself, it 
 is not in me to demand from others that which even I 
 have not, nor can ever hope to possess. In very truth, 
 I ask no excusing of my conduct, which hath no excuse 
 to offer either to thee or Heaven. I have loved thee 
 well, and now my life on earth is finished : what days 
 remain to me are to be devoted to helping others toward 
 a spiritual comfort I have never yet found myself. 
 
 " My father bestowed upon me, as my only inherit- 
 ance, almost a twin resemblance to my brother, and a 
 nature not altogether weak, but changeable in moods, 
 forcing me often to feel myself composed of more than 
 one identity. This changefulness hath ever wrought me 
 no good in the performance of any set purpose. When 
 292
 
 The Devil's Plough 293 
 
 I was put to the accomplishment of a given task, I, work- 
 ing under another's will, never yet have failed to achieve 
 success, but the lash of my own particular will was ever 
 insufficient. In my relations with thee thou must not 
 have failed to observe this weakness. 
 
 "After we had conversed together at Ninon's, I be- 
 came a man capable of forfeiting heaven for thy sake, 
 until the moment when Father Jogue, the missionary, 
 convinced me in confessional, some hours later, that the 
 delights of this world profiteth no man anything if, in 
 their enjoyment, he loseth his own soul. The saving of 
 my own soul is not all to me, but my peculiar power to 
 save the souls of others would seem a special dispensation 
 from Heaven not to be disregarded. I then determined 
 to give thee up, and so left Father Jogue with that per- 
 suasion ; but by the passing of another thirty minutes, 
 spent alone with my recollection of thee, thy lover en- 
 veloped my being. To him thou art the glorious sun 
 of eternity, and therefore he crept away costumed as 
 Chevalier de Chatillon to meet Monsieur de Bouteville. 
 
 " The duel was well on (and I may say, to give thee 
 a moment's pride of thy De Chatillon, his sword showed 
 not rust nor his right arm unworthy skill, for thy heart 
 beat beside him and lent him power), when a messenger 
 from the Jesuit general arrived, ordering Father L'Ar- 
 tanges to the missionary fields of New France. This all 
 followed close upon thy departure from the scene, 
 after I had watched thee ride away, while my hope of 
 seeing thee again grew with every heart-beat. The great 
 eye had penetrated De Chatillon's mask from the distance
 
 294 The Devil's Plough 
 
 of Rome (assisted, 'tis my belief, by certain brothers of 
 the Order personally ambitious for the rectorship of St. 
 Ignatius), and this was the sentence of punishment. I 
 am too valuable a member of the Order to merit public 
 disgrace, which at all times is avoided by the Jesuit policy, 
 but, my vows of obedience having once been broken, 
 must be disciplined into submission by severe measures. 
 
 "Thou canst not fail to conjecture that the general 
 hath conceived false notions pertaining to my vows of 
 chastity. Thou and Heaven know my conscience in 
 that respect. Were I to take measures toward securing 
 proofs of my innocence, it would be a possible matter to 
 convince Rome ; but it doth appear to me unseemly to 
 expose thy name to examination. Moreover, as thou 
 hast without doubt by this time heard, the skill of my 
 brother entered into me, and, spurred by the demands of 
 his honour, my sword despatched Monsieur de Bouteville 
 and his incomparable thrust to a yet nearer acquaintance 
 with Satan than he had before suffered. My conscience 
 hath now another man's soul to answer for, but it at present 
 experiences a numbness no shudder could penetrate. 
 
 "If my conventual life is to continue 'tis best to end 
 it in the open air of New France, where a priest may 
 possibly bathe his body in the flowing streams without 
 causing censure thereby for neglect of his spirit. I go, 
 Heloise, first to Rome, then to life among the savages. 
 Thou wilt say, ' The balance hung upon the outcome of 
 the encounter with De Bouteville. Hast thou no mind 
 for thine own words ? ' I answer, ' Can a man's words 
 count against the voice of Heaven ? ' Thou and I are
 
 The Devil's Plough 295 
 
 now within the long, unpitying arm of the Order of 
 Jesuits. Paul de Chatillon breathed his last in any guise 
 the day the general turned his eyes upon L'Artanges. 
 
 " 'Tis possible, countess, thou wilt say to thyself, 
 ' 'Tis not my dearest friend writing thus calmly of our 
 final separation ; ' but receive my assurances that, in the 
 open face of danger or heart-despair, a man, who sitteth 
 not the coward's steed, holds himself together with a 
 steady hand, in preparation for the outcome of whatever 
 chanceth to menace him. Thy lover is a man dead to 
 thee ; but thy religion permits thee to say prayers for 
 the dead. In thy heart, where the choicest flowers of 
 memory bloom, tend well mine image, which must, I 
 fear and hope, cast a shadow there. But could shadows 
 fall if the sun failed to shine ? No. And in the light 
 of that sun we have beheld together, look thee far on 
 into eternity, of whose realms no man hath yet received 
 a clear picture. There thou and I may find some garden 
 spot together, where 'twill be given us by Heaven to 
 share delights denied us here. Thou art all of human 
 life to me. If humanity be not entirely lost in the prog- 
 ress of the spirit, thou and I, being one in perfect love, 
 will find each other somewhere. 
 
 " I am given considerable time in which to prepare 
 for my departure, owing to delay of the ship upon which 
 I undertake the voyage to New France. Meantime, I 
 make a hurried journey to Rome and back again before 
 sailing. My trusty Pierre elects to accompany me, and 
 in this wise I am comforted somewhat for the change 
 from the familiar into the unknown. The dangers to be
 
 296 The Devil's Plough 
 
 encountered among the savages of New France appal me 
 not, for the soldier spirit within me snugly fits to that 
 need. The rigours of the climate appal me more, but 
 this body of ours doth accustom itself to change with 
 amazing success. 
 
 " My flow of words doth gain force in continuance 
 by the desire to detain the coming of that disheartening 
 word, farewell. My love of thee is twined about every 
 letter in that word, and sealed with my prayer that 
 Heaven will keep thee safe and pure through the lonely 
 journey before thee. Perform always the duties set thee 
 with a view to some future good derived thereby ; for 
 God himself is good, no matter to what evil purposes 
 man hath bent his commandments. I speak to thee as 
 if from out the grave, and so can see full well a certain 
 justice in all pain which my living being hath denied at 
 times. And now, and now, the hour hath come ! 
 My soul quivereth like leaves before the approaching 
 storm, at thought of our separation. I have loved thee 
 well, sweet, but the dead speak not of love ! Keep 
 this body close to thine own in remembrance, and it will 
 then live safely guarded from temptations. Ah, my very 
 words give me the lie, a dead body needeth no protec- 
 tion. Now the minute hath arrived ; I hear the great 
 clock ticking all life away into eternity. So the Son 
 of God may have waited for the supreme moment of 
 Calvary ; but my lack of divinity turneth me craven. 
 Heloise ! Heloise ! 
 
 " Thine, 
 
 GASTON."
 
 The Devil's Plough 297 
 
 This letter Pierre delivered to Comtesse 
 de Luneville on the day of its writing, at 
 the moment when Ninon de L'Enclos sat 
 on one of the countess's easiest chairs, de- 
 tailing the outcome of De Chatillon's meet- 
 ing with De Bouteville, a nut whose meaty 
 quality Paris found most digestible. 
 
 " Thou hast amused thyself considerably 
 with De Chatillon," Ninon was saying, as 
 she patted the nose of a diminutive dog 
 whose head obtruded from the great muff 
 she carried, " and therefore it needs must 
 give you certain inward delights to see that 
 gentleman not so fine a coward as he had 
 before set himself down in the eyes of Paris. 
 As early as when my father taught me to 
 perform upon the flute, he made me a maxim : 
 * Beware of a cowardly action ; it sticketh to 
 thy reputation as doth the mud of Paris 
 to a garment, with a great stench.' It 
 is not so brilliant as many maxims I have 
 myself made since, but it hath an odour of 
 truth which many of my own sayings lack. 
 D'Enghien holdeth, owing to De Trou- 
 ville's account of the meeting, that De 
 Chatillon hath lost his wits. 'Tis like his
 
 298 The Devil's Plough 
 
 sword sharpeneth better on one wit than on 
 many. And sweet Bussy (no, doggy, 'twas 
 thy namesake of whom I spoke, not thee, 
 attend to thy decorum !) hath this morning 
 told me De Fortigny (only yesterday re- 
 turned from the wars) told him that De 
 Chatillon was like a man possessed. But 
 have you heard how Corneille only to-day, 
 while composing phrases to this Parisian 
 isle of enchantment, was bagged by La 
 Reynie for keeping a slovenly doorstep ? 
 The writer of tragedies liveth with his eyes on 
 heaven and his feet in a pig-sty, as do most 
 Parisians. 'Tis my opinion I'll have to pave 
 the street in front of my house in order that 
 Paris may be set a decent fashion. But 
 to return to De Chatillon, 'tis rumoured 
 he hath left Paris, his mystery yet unsolved. 
 A tale of cowardice cut in two by a tardy 
 hero's sword ! (Go to sleep, Bussy !) I've 
 a strong intention to follow him, and thus 
 amuse myself with further blame in the 
 proceedings. 'Tis already said we spent 
 together my time of unexplained absence. 
 What is your opinion of De Chatillon as 
 a coward and a gallant, countess ? " With
 
 The Devil's Plough 299 
 
 this question, Ninon paused and glanced 
 narrowly at the countess. Behind this lady's 
 flippant flow of language there was usually 
 to be traced some rational, coherent pur- 
 pose. 
 
 But Heloise sat with her eyes cast down 
 at the embroidery upon which she indus- 
 triously worked. She made no immediate 
 reply, but reached over and offered the tiny 
 dog, Bussy, some sweets from a chaste silver 
 box resting on a table near by. " Bussy hath 
 an appetite equal to his namesake," she ob- 
 served, patting the dog. 
 
 It was a custom peculiar to Heloise, her 
 constant wearing of white garments indoors, 
 and after this period of her life, for many 
 years, she was never seen in clothes of 
 another colour. Now, as she sat there close 
 beside the window, for the purpose of best 
 lighting her embroidery, the lady's face 
 showed no more life than did the colour of 
 her frock ; her eyes were faded of their in- 
 tense blue as are pansies when sprinkled 
 with summer dust, but her glowing hair 
 preserved tone to her appearance otherwise 
 sadly changed of late.
 
 300 The Devil's Plough 
 
 After feeding the dog, she gave her atten- 
 tion somewhat perfunctorily to the scandal of 
 the day. " 'Tis true, Monsieur de Chatillon 
 hath done himself no great credit with Mon- 
 sieur de Bouteville, up to this morning, but 
 it is the part of his friends to disclose the 
 whole mystery before forming an opinion." 
 
 " Thou wert ever as coldly balanced as 
 an icicle, countess," returned Ninon. "A 
 woman should never take a husband with- 
 out the consent of her head, or lovers 
 without the consent of her heart. 'Tis my 
 belief thy heart hath no tongue to speak 
 with, else the count would not come out 
 of Vincennes and find thee balancing De 
 Chatillon like a spark of fire on the peak 
 of an icicle. But 'tis impossible more grace- 
 fully to eat one's corn in the blade than 
 I am doing, let us find some other crow 
 to pick. The plague hath broken out 
 again, and 'tis feared " 
 
 But an attendant interrupted, conveying 
 the letter brought hither by Pierre to the 
 countess. Heloise, after all due apology, 
 broke the seal and glanced through several 
 lines of it. Ninon watched her covertly,
 
 The Devil's Plough 301 
 
 although apparently playing with the dog; 
 but the victim of her gaze laid the letter 
 carelessly down upon the table, partly be- 
 neath a piece of tapestry lying there. " I 
 will not rob myself of the pleasure of your 
 society, dear Ninon, while reading at length 
 what Monsieur Du Brion hath to say to 
 me. Most like 'tis no different from what 
 he hath already confided to all Paris con- 
 cerning the duel." 
 
 " Word from De Chatillon would be more 
 amusing," replied Ninon, rising to go. " I 
 am determined to leave town with this 
 mysterious gentleman, whatever comes, then 
 reveal to Paris the scant weight of its 
 wits." 
 
 " That would be the act of a friend, 
 Ninon," Heloise replied, now standing grace- 
 fully beside a vase of flowers, from which 
 she offered the choicest to her guest, " Pre- 
 sent one of these to Monsieur de Chatillon, 
 and assure him he still hath friends in Paris. 
 Who could find a better friend than Ninon 
 de L'Enclos, whenever her heart leaneth?" 
 
 "It will do me great honour to convey 
 this perfumed message. Yes, 'tis my en-
 
 302 The Devil's Plough 
 
 deavour never to spend so much a year that 
 there is not something left for a friend in 
 distress," replied Ninon, carelessly. Then, 
 with the usual formalities, the ladies sepa- 
 rated, and Paris was none the wiser concern- 
 ing the actual feelings of Comtesse Heloise 
 de Luneville. 
 
 Once alone, that lady read her letter with 
 a display of emotion whose depths Paris 
 little suspected. She knelt before the shrine 
 erected in her bedchamber, sacred to her 
 patron saint, and there the passions that 
 only Gaston L'Artanges had witnessed 
 swept over the woman with devastating 
 force. Like winter storms come the sor- 
 rows of a worldly woman trained to self- 
 repression ; they break loose and rage as do 
 the torrents of a swollen river when its ice 
 melts under the touch of the spring sun. 
 Heloise prayed for her lover's life, for his 
 presence near her, for some remission of 
 his horrible fate, to her New France 
 meant certain martyrdom to cannibals. She 
 offered Heaven, in return, the reward of a 
 pilgrimage she would willingly make to 
 far distant shrines if this decree against her
 
 The Devil's Plough 303 
 
 lover might be set aside. But Heaven was 
 silent. 
 
 "In the name of the Virgin I do beseech 
 thee," she moaned on her knees before the 
 image of Christ, " save him from this awful 
 fate ! He hath been innocent of all sin against 
 God's laws. His chastity hath not been 
 smirched. Speak ! Speak ! Thy crown of 
 thorns is on his brow. Give it me instead ! 
 Is there no longer a day of miracles? If my 
 own body can redeem his from such punish- 
 ment, strike me dead ! " She bared her 
 bosom for a blow ; but silence was her only 
 answer. Outside she heard a chambermaid's 
 voice coming from a high window in a house 
 opposite, calling " Gare I'eau I Gare Feau ! " 
 and several horsemen clattered through the 
 street while she waited ; but still Heaven 
 made no sign. 
 
 Then Heloise arose with determined com- 
 posure. Deliberately she cast down upon 
 the floor the image of Christ. " I am no 
 longer of the faith ! " she cried. " My 
 prayer hath received no answer. 'Tis Satan 
 only hath power to help me ! " 
 
 She walked over to her writing cabinet,
 
 304 The Devil's Plough 
 
 hastily wrote a letter, then, her call immedi- 
 ately bringing an attendant, she ordered, 
 " Search through Paris for the flower-girl, 
 Madelon, until she be found ; then bring 
 her to me."
 
 Chapter XVIII 
 
 PIERRE was fishing in the Seine several 
 miles above Paris, at the first point 
 clear of the city's garbage, and still within the 
 boundaries of Notre Dame's preserves. One 
 week remained before he must venture, at 
 middle life, into a strange land of savages, 
 whom he pictured as bearing close resem- 
 blance to the images of devils he had studied 
 with interested horror in an ancient monas- 
 tic transcription of the life of St. Ignatius, 
 which lay on the writing cabinet in Father 
 L'Artanges's antechamber. 
 
 Pierre had recently gone through a storm 
 of troubles, discomposing the usual calm of 
 his facial expression. The moment came 
 when he must choose between an occasional 
 visit to Madelon, who now elected to live 
 out her future under the veil of conventual 
 life in Paris, and a dangerous existence be- 
 3S
 
 306 The Devil's Plough 
 
 side his hero, Father Gaston, in New France. 
 It required only one day for Pierre to reach 
 a final decision ; but during those twelve 
 hours, several years of experience were added 
 to his expression of countenance. Madelon, 
 as the bride of Heaven, he argued, would be 
 safe from noble gallantries, while Father 
 Gaston, as a missionary, would be perpetu- 
 ally exposed to indescribable dangers ; there- 
 fore, Heaven called him to go where he 
 could be of the best protective use. After 
 arriving at this conclusion, Pierre nodded 
 his head once with a guttural grunt of con- 
 firmation ; which gesture and sound, taken 
 together, settled any question now and for 
 ever where he was concerned. 
 
 So Pierre sat blinking his eyes in the 
 early morning sunlight gradually becoming 
 overcast, giving his characteristic nod and 
 grunt whenever a fish was successfully 
 landed. Presently, upon looking up, he 
 saw Father Gaston quite near, approach- 
 ing along the river path alone. Pierre's 
 eyes, at sight of him, caught light as does 
 a meadow when clouds, floating above it, 
 part and reveal a momentary glimpse of
 
 The Devil's Plough 307 
 
 the sun. Those were the days when the 
 average man criticised neither God nor his 
 own heroes. 
 
 Father Gaston, bareheaded, according to 
 his habit when in the country, walked with 
 his eyes in custody. The indefinable sad- 
 ness of an experienced face in repose gave 
 the lines of his mouth curves touching the 
 pity of an observer ; otherwise, his entire 
 person emanated a repose previously un- 
 usual to him. The restlessness of his glid- 
 ing step had sunk into that of a resigned 
 lag, suggesting duty rather than desire. This 
 mood belongs to the spirited horse whose 
 will has been successfully subdued by one 
 stronger than its own, after considerable 
 clash between the mind of the animal and 
 its rider. Once conquered, such a horse 
 makes an invaluable steed, and similarly, 
 the man of spirit, having finally bled his 
 own mouth with the bit of circumstances, 
 ambles resignedly to his death. 
 
 " Deo gratias, holy father," spoke Pierre. 
 
 " Deo gratias," returned the priest. " 'Tis 
 earlier than my habit of waking, Pierre, 
 thou well know'st; but 'twas in my mind
 
 308 The Devil's Plough 
 
 that them might be found on a Friday 
 catching the food for the day. Out beyond 
 the walls thou and I come closer to an 
 understanding. Thou art my father con- 
 fessor, Pierre, when I have no heart to 
 speak in stricter quarters. The sun was 
 bright when I left the bridge behind me. 
 It doth now seem somewhat overcast." 
 
 " The fish are jumping for rain," replied 
 Pierre, " but 'tis still far distant. The 
 clouds will be rolling a great noise first." 
 
 "And after the thunder will come the 
 lightning, that strikes some men dead, 
 then peace, Pierre, peace ! 'Tis a good 
 word." Father Gaston shaded his eyes with 
 one hand, and looked off reflectively at the 
 thickening sky ; then he sat down and 
 watched Pierre in silence, which, after some 
 time, he broke with the words, " Pierre, it 
 is then settled that Madelon is to take the 
 veil ? Art thou content ? " 
 
 " Yes, holy father. The maid is safer in 
 the bosom of the Church. It seemeth not 
 her intention to wed, although the surgeon- 
 barber and the baker are both in haste to 
 get her for wife. Of late she hath settled
 
 The Devil's Plough 309 
 
 it for herself that she is to be the bride of 
 Heaven." 
 
 " Canst thou not persuade her differently ? 
 Madelon hath not the nature for a nun." 
 
 Pierre shook his head. " 'Tis a direct 
 call from Heaven, or the maid hath some 
 mystery behind which my eyes do not 
 reach." 
 
 " Madelon hath no trouble of a serious 
 nature with the gallants ? " Father Gaston 
 asked, tentatively. 
 
 " No, holy father, Madelon hath kept her 
 virtue among the streets of Paris as doth a 
 bird balance on a cracking twig, but her 
 heart hath lost its gaiety. She hath come 
 to sober years, perhaps, my little one." 
 The tenderness in Pierre's voice made a 
 beautiful sound. " She will be safe in the 
 Church." 
 
 Father Gaston looked not altogether con- 
 fident of this as a fact, but he only said, 
 " Thou hast no vows taken to the Order. 
 Doth not thy conscience pomt toward a 
 tranquil old age in Madelon's home, if 
 thou remain'st in France and can dissuade 
 her from her present intention ? It seem-
 
 310 The Devil's Plough 
 
 eth not justice for thee to sacrifice all to 
 follow me, good Pierre." 
 
 Pierre's mouth worked a bit tearfully, so 
 that he was forced to give his lips one ad- 
 monitory bite. " The maid hath made her 
 purpose plain, father, and thou art my son 
 of the heart, thou art the well-beloved of 
 the people. All about the markets, yester- 
 day, there was great noise at thy going. 'Tis 
 said the cardinal hath a hand in it, and the 
 people vow to avenge thee." 
 
 " Good people ! " mused Father Gaston. 
 " They are my friends." Then he turned 
 quickly to Pierre. 
 
 " Pierre, thou hast seen many things thy 
 tongue can never put into words. I am 
 only just returned from Rome, as thou 
 know'st. The general was not unreasonable 
 in depriving me of my rectorship. The 
 rules of the Order must be obeyed. Pierre, 
 my brother, Paul de Chatillon, is dead. 
 Thou know'st this ? " 
 
 Pierre looked quickly back at him, then 
 as quickly away, but he nodded his head 
 and grunted, " Words are devils best kept 
 out of hearing."
 
 The Devil's Plough 311 
 
 "'Tis thy lot in life to know the man 
 in me. How canst thou hold respect for 
 Father Gaston ? " asked the priest. 
 
 " Words are devils best kept out of hear- 
 ing," was all the fisherman would reply. 
 
 " Then 'tis understood that Paul de Cha- 
 tillon is dead between us ? " 
 
 " Words are devils. Yes, holy father, 
 thy brother hath long been dead. I go with 
 you to New France, where there live no 
 ghosts. Mischief begins at the tip of the 
 tongue. It must be cut off in New France." 
 
 Father Gaston said no more. 
 
 " The ship we journey in, is it of the 
 size of a Seine boat ? " asked Pierre, pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " No, much larger. It hath great sails, 
 and many seamen to sail it. Thou hast no 
 fear, Pierre ? Remember, the journey by sea 
 alone is the length of many weeks, filled with 
 perils. 'Tis possible we may never reach 
 New France. We are in Heaven's hands." 
 
 " Where Father Gaston goes, Pierre can 
 go," was the man's only reply. 
 
 Father Gaston's eyes began to smart at 
 these words. A man with but few friends
 
 312 The Devil's Plough 
 
 has every opportunity to weigh and value 
 affection. " Pierre, thou art good," was all 
 he could say. 
 
 " Hein ! Behold the little daughter cross- 
 ing the bridge down below ! She prom- 
 ised to fetch my breakfast before she picked 
 the flowers for the market. The land you 
 allot us yields sweet posies, holy father." 
 Pierre pointed to a figure crossing the 
 bridge. They said no more until Madelon 
 arrived where she knew her father was to 
 be found. 
 
 Father and daughter ate together the 
 comparatively sparse breakfast of Friday, 
 but Father Gaston broke not his fast. After 
 this was speedily accomplished, Pierre re- 
 turned to his fishing, and Madelon gave 
 nervous evidence of a desire to speak pri- 
 vately with Father Gaston. A tree, recently 
 struck by lightning, made an excuse for 
 drawing the father away that he might exam- 
 ine its unfortunate trunk. 
 
 " Father Gaston," the girl exclaimed, 
 once out of her father's hearing, " for many 
 days I have sought you on the streets and 
 elsewhere, that I might convey to you a
 
 The Devil's Plough 313 
 
 letter of great importance from the Comtesse 
 de Luneville. The lady hath instructed me 
 it is a matter of life, and no creature but 
 yourself must see the letter in my hand." 
 She drew from beneath her bodice a per- 
 fumed note and handed it to him. " The 
 lady's lackeys hunted Paris over for me, and 
 at last brought me to her. She appeared in 
 sore distress; her eyes were red with weep- 
 ing, and she hath said to me no one can 
 give her comfort but the holy Father Gas- 
 ton. I have done the lady's bidding, for 
 my willingness gave her great ease of mind." 
 " Madelon, little one, I am like the tree 
 stricken by the fire of heaven ! " he cried, 
 holding the sealed letter in one trembling 
 hand. " Tell thy lady I no longer confess 
 the sinner, that I am bound on a voyage 
 of death." But immediately he collected 
 himself, for Father Gaston had recently re- 
 ceived that strength derived from the sight 
 of a direct road to a night's lodging pointed 
 out to a foot-worn traveller. This now 
 came to his assistance, and he quietly placed 
 the letter, unread, within the crown of his 
 long hat, which he set down on a stump
 
 314 The Devil's Plough 
 
 before speaking to Madelon, with an air 
 of deep personal interest in her concerns. 
 
 " Madelon, thy father tells me thou art 
 full determined to become the bride of 
 Heaven." 
 
 "Yes, holy father. The Virgin pointed 
 out the way in my dreams, and I can only 
 follow." The girl's translucent eyes gazed 
 over his shoulder into the sky. 
 
 " Madelon, 'tis my wish that thou mayst 
 never know regret nor heartache behind the 
 veil." He glanced at her bright young 
 face pityingly. 
 
 " Father Gaston," replied the girl sol- 
 emnly, " 'tis yours to do a great work for 
 Heaven in New France." 
 
 " 'Tis mine to go wherever Heaven lead- 
 eth me, and, once arrived, to do my duty," 
 Father Gaston asserted. 
 
 "In my dreams I have seen you, Father 
 Gaston, and my father, Pierre, and myself, 
 a nun, saving the souls of savages. I have 
 seen you suffer like the holy martyrs, with 
 a tranquil spirit, for the divine grace was 
 upon you." Her face took on the look of 
 second sight inherited from her father,
 
 The Devil's Plough 315 
 
 something not unusual in that age of Cath- 
 olic mysticism. 
 
 " Thou hast seen me crucified ? Speak, 
 little one ! " He caught her arm in eager 
 inquiry, bending close to her eyes. She 
 stood perfectly still under his touch. 
 
 " Yes," she said, slowly, looking at the 
 trees. "In your face there is the peace of 
 heaven. You have no fear. Your work is 
 done. Thousands have been saved to 
 Christ, and old age is upon you ; but not 
 until you have sailed down long rivers 
 and discovered new countries unknown to 
 France. 'Tis your part to give great ser- 
 vice to the king ; 'tis mine to order well the 
 sisters who will nurse the sick and tend the 
 dying." 
 
 " Thou seest thyself in New France also, 
 little one ? " he asked, watching her dreamy 
 eyes. 
 
 " Yes ; I am to follow thee, Father Gas- 
 ton. Wherever thou leadest, I may go, 
 in the direction of heaven." She paused 
 suddenly, took a deep breath, and looked 
 directly at him, saying, " Father Gaston, it 
 is not for me to linger here, my flowers
 
 316 The' Devil's Plough 
 
 call me," and she moved a step away. But 
 he followed her. 
 
 " Madelon, thou art not to be separated 
 from thy father ? That is why thou art set 
 upon taking the veil ? " But she dropped 
 her eyes at this question. 
 
 " 'Tis the only way I can go to New 
 France in safety ; and Heaven hath directed 
 my thoughts I swear to thee, Father Gas- 
 ton, Heaven hath directed my thoughts ! " 
 
 "Yes, thou art a good girl, Madelon, 
 pious and virtuous," he replied, gently, in 
 the affectionate tone he often used among 
 the people. 
 
 " You will send for me, Father Gaston ? 
 'Tis my intention to study all diseases be- 
 fore I go ; then I can nurse the sick in New 
 France. 'Twill be in your power to send 
 for nursing sisters." Her tone implored 
 him, and he consented readily. 
 
 Madelon then took from off her silver 
 girdle a small metal box attached to several 
 keys suspended there, and from out it she 
 extracted a piece of paper compressed tightly 
 within the limited interior. She spread out 
 the paper, whereon was inscribed, in Latin
 
 The Devil's Plough 317 
 
 text, a prayer, for the saying of which, be- 
 fore a crucifix, after having received the 
 sacrament, a full remission of sin is granted, 
 together with the liberation of one soul from 
 the pains of purgatory. 
 
 " Take my sacred relic, Father Gaston," 
 she beseeched him, holding out the paper. 
 " 'Tis a relic my mother gave me, to pro- 
 tect me from all evil. Wilt thou take it in 
 farewell, from one so humble ? It will 
 protect thee from the savages." 
 
 " But I cannot take thy precious relic 
 from thee, child," he answered, kindly. 
 " 'Twould be robbing thee of thy own pro- 
 tection." 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears. " 'Tis my 
 wish," she said. 
 
 "If 'twill make thee happy, child, then I 
 will bear thy relic to New France with me, 
 and thank thee graciously for the token." 
 
 " You have always been kind to us to 
 all the people," she faltered. " May the 
 Holy Virgin keep thee in her sacred arms." 
 She raised one corner of her apron to her 
 eyes, changing off abruptly, as she did so, to 
 the question, " How is Madelon to deliver
 
 3i8 The Devil's Plough 
 
 an answer to the lady's letter if you read it 
 not, holy father ? " 
 
 He caught a quick breath. " There is 
 no answer," he replied, sternly. 
 
 " But, holy father, you have not yet read 
 it," she ventured to remonstrate. 
 
 " Madelon," he commanded, in a brief, 
 decided tone, " thou wilt say to the Com- 
 tesse de Luneville that the matter is settled 
 by the voice of Heaven, that my brother, 
 Paul de Chatillon, is dead. Madelon, near- 
 est thou the word ? Repeat it to me, 
 Dead ! " 
 
 " Dead," she echoed wonderingly. 
 
 " Say to the lady that nothing can now 
 set aside the decree of Heaven. f A Jesuit 
 is as a staff in an old man's hand, which he 
 useth according to his own convenience.' 
 Tell the lady " he paused, and changed 
 from bitterness of tone into the mellifluous 
 cadence his gentler moods dictated to his 
 voice. " No, little one, tell the lady nothing, 
 except that Father Gaston sails for New 
 France. The storm approacheth. Get 
 thee back to the city, child, else it will wet 
 thee."
 
 Chapter XIX 
 
 ** 
 
 ON the soth of July, 1646, Gaston 
 L'Artanges was prepared to leave 
 Paris the following morning, on his way to 
 the seaport, where a vessel awaited him, 
 fitted out by the Jesuits for missionary pur- 
 poses in New France. There was no friend 
 nor relative for L'Artanges to bid farewell : 
 Madelon had already entered the novitiate ; 
 his mare, Marie, and Pierre he took with 
 him to the new world. The Sunday pre- 
 vious, when he preached for the last time 
 in Notre Dame, crowds of the market peo- 
 ple thronged the cathedral, and afterward 
 lingered at the entrances until their preacher 
 should pass out before them. During his 
 sermon that morning the poor of Paris 
 wept ; for, although his words were carefully 
 chosen, to express calm resignation and will- 
 ingness for the proposed work in a new 
 field, his expressive voice failed to conceal 
 319
 
 320 The Devil's Plough 
 
 the sorrow of parting with all those whose 
 good he had nurtured affectionately and 
 wisely. 
 
 Now the final day in Paris had come, and 
 L'Artanges seemed to himself to be dream- 
 ing strangely. Action alone can bring full 
 cognisance of radical changes in condition. 
 His conventual routine had been as yet in 
 no wise changed by the order from Rome, 
 but to-morrow he would know the difference. 
 He had still before him a farewell vesper ser- 
 vice, to be held for the novices and scholars 
 of the college, and now, when he stood look- 
 ing out from his favourite window upon the 
 river whose companionship he expected to 
 miss, it lacked but a few minutes before these 
 youths would assemble in the refectory, where 
 before supper they were, at their own special 
 request, to bid him farewell individually. 
 
 L'Artanges had little heart for these final 
 demonstrations ; he had reached a state of 
 mind urging him into perpetual self-com- 
 munion and prayer. During the weeks fol- 
 lowing the climax of his passionate career, 
 his body expressed the inertia of an invalid 
 entering the first stages of convalescence ;
 
 The Devil's Plough 321 
 
 his spirit ceased all violence of agitation ; he 
 appeared to have gained his own soul 
 through loss of the world. To one not 
 confirmed in Father Gaston's faith, this 
 state of mind could reasonably be traced to 
 the relief and security the undecisive, emo- 
 tional character derives from a final decision 
 reached and definitely settled upon by some 
 extraneous will more powerful than its own. 
 However that may be, there ensued a great 
 calm, which fell over his life, owing to his 
 belief that Heaven had spoken, and now 
 offered him daily strength and comfort in 
 his undertaking. 
 
 L'Artanges felt like one resurrected, who 
 treads upon the corpses of his own dead 
 passions. Not even the thought of De 
 Bouteville in hell had power to arouse him 
 emotionally. In this frame of mind he 
 stood there at the window overlooking the 
 rose garden, and gazed long at the western 
 horizon, with emotions swept clear of 
 warmth, as is the air of a summer night 
 by the passing tempest. His eyes had lost 
 their red lights ; never again was a warm 
 flame to be detected in their depths.
 
 322 The Devil's Plough 
 
 Father Thomas soon entered, announcing 
 by the customary Deo gratias the pupils' 
 assemblage in the refectory. 
 
 L'Artanges immediately followed him 
 back through the antechamber, and took 
 a position at the head of the long table, 
 where the young men could conveniently 
 pass before him in double file. The dignity 
 of many added years seemed to have fallen 
 upon the priest as he stood there. Each 
 couple paused to receive his blessing, and 
 to offer him some sacred relic or alms for 
 the missions of New France, to bear with 
 him across the seas. Two of the younger 
 lads wept bitterly, without any attempt at 
 concealment, but L'Artanges placed a hand 
 on each of the flaxen heads and offered 
 them affectionate consolations when they 
 knelt before him. 
 
 "Thou must not weep for my -going, 
 my lads," he said. " I go to do great 
 deeds for Heaven. When thou art men, 
 remember thy former rector by sending 
 out assistance to the missions of New 
 France." 
 
 " We will ! We will, holy father ! " they
 
 The Devil's Plough 323 
 
 both replied, fervently, kissing the skirt of 
 his habit. 
 
 They passed on, but the emotional ordeal 
 continued for the priest until the last novice 
 was seated at table. Then L'Artanges re- 
 tired into his antechamber, where he sought 
 spiritual repose wherewith to hold the even- 
 ing service in the chapel later on. 
 
 The night was too warm to admit of 
 burning logs in the great fireplace, which 
 looked empty and desolate as he stood 
 before it. He shivered slightly at sight of 
 the vacant hearth, and again at sound of a 
 scratching he heard presently outside the 
 private garden door. 
 
 L'Artanges's eyes deepened with fore- 
 boding. " 'Tis but a bough swept by the 
 wind against the door," he endeavoured to 
 think. 
 
 Again came the sound. It was barely 
 twilight now, who but Pierre would ven- 
 ture to use the old signal, even when night 
 was falling ? He hesitated, then quickly 
 unbolted the door. There before him stood 
 a masked woman, who stepped into the 
 room without invitation.
 
 324 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Bolt the door," she commanded, " and 
 the other one, too." He passively obeyed, 
 but said nothing. " Thou leavest for New 
 France to-morrow?" asked Heloise de 
 Luneville, removing her mask. Her dress 
 was no whiter than her face, and an Italian 
 sky starlit no bluer than her eyes. 
 
 " Countess," he replied, slowly, standing 
 far off and firmly grasping his crucifix, 
 " this is no place for thee, thy reputation 
 is at stake." 
 
 " My reputation ! " she returned, scorn- 
 fully. " And of what value is that, when a 
 woman hath lost all else ? 'Tis but as one 
 wave in a great ocean. Thou leavest for 
 New France to-morrow, without sending me 
 an answer to my letters ? " 
 
 " Countess, the Chevalier de Chatillon 
 bade thee farewell a month ago in the 
 woods by the river. He is now dead." 
 L'Artanges seemed to be praying with his 
 hands as they fingered the crucifix. 
 
 " I care naught for the Chevalier de 
 Chatillon ! 'Tis thee, 'tis thee, I crave ! " 
 Heloise opened her arms to him. 
 
 " Countess, I am a priest." His eyes
 
 The Devil's Plough 325 
 
 dropped to the crucifix. " Heaven hath 
 spoken." 
 
 " I care naught for Heaven ! " the woman 
 burst forth. "It hath no word for me ! I 
 knelt before my shrine, and prayed to the 
 Son to crucify my body in place of thine, 
 I offered my life for thine, but Heaven was 
 silent." 
 
 "Heloise!" was all he could say; the 
 veins in his forehead began to swell. 
 
 " Thou shalt not go to New France with- 
 out me ! " she continued, gathering her 
 forces. "I am thy life, thy very soul! 
 If thou art compelled to leave France, leave 
 as an apostate, with me by thy side, to love 
 and cherish thee. Beloved ! Beloved, take 
 me ! Take me ! " 
 
 Under these words his left hand clenched 
 until the palm bled from the pressure of the 
 finger-nails, but he held the crucifix firmly 
 with the other. 
 
 " Countess, listen to my last words to 
 thee. Thy mother taught thee from the 
 cradle that 'tis noblest in this life to sacrifice 
 thine own inclinations to whatever is right. 
 Thou hast told me how she held thee close
 
 326 The Devil's Plough 
 
 and taught thee such things. All my life 
 it would not have been difficult for me to 
 do right, had my mind been capable of 
 positive discrimination ; but until now I 
 have been led a certain distance by Heaven, 
 then back again in my own steps by Satan. 
 At last, when Heaven spoke, on the morn- 
 ing of the duel, I saw the flaming sword 
 of duty, and knew my appointed task to be 
 right. Then I buried my love for thee far 
 back in that world of memory of which I 
 wrote thee. Dost thou come to make my 
 duty more difficult in the doing ? " He 
 turned away from her and walked over 
 beside the window. 
 
 " I have come to claim mine own from 
 barbarous savages. Thou hast no consider- 
 ation for my own soul in thy haste to save 
 red Indians who will eat thee. Dost thou 
 believe thy leaving me so will save my soul 
 from hell ? Then I tell thee thou art mis- 
 taken, Gaston L'Artanges ! From this day 
 forth I am an infidel, if thou leavest me 
 alone, or worse, in Paris." The woman 
 had turned Jesuit ; the end justified the 
 means in her own sight. " Ninon hath often
 
 The Devil's Plough 327 
 
 told me of modern philosophy, more con- 
 soling than the old faith." 
 
 " Heloise ! Heloise ! " he cried, his eyes 
 distending with horror at the thought, " thou 
 wouldst not turn heretic ? " 
 
 " 'Tis so. My mind turneth from a 
 faith in which there is no justice." She 
 followed him to the window, continuing, 
 " Human love hath given me a fineness of 
 spirit faith alone had never touched upon. 
 In my life with De Luneville, whose very 
 presence made every fibre in me thrill hate- 
 fully, I religiously sought heavenly consola- 
 tions, but every day I felt myself sinking 
 lower and lower in the scale of human be- 
 ings. Thy love unfolded my soul as doth 
 the sun the flowers and trees in springtime. 
 When near thee I feel the impulse to give 
 alms to the poor and the lepers, to do all 
 good works, and think noble thoughts ; but 
 in these few weeks since thou hast deserted 
 me" she paused one instant "since 
 thou hast deserted me, I have grown cold 
 to every generous act, and my mind seemeth 
 to gather scum as doth a stagnant pool. 
 Hast thou no pity on my soul, beloved ? "
 
 328 The Devil's Plough 
 
 His head sank forward on his breast in 
 the lifelong manner of indecision, and his 
 lips moved in prayer. 
 
 " Gaston ! Gaston ! " She repeated his 
 name with infinite sweetness close to his 
 face. " Thou art mine, Gaston ! My soul 
 is in thy keeping. Look at me, and see it 
 calling to thee through mine eyes ! " 
 
 But he kept his own eyes in custody, 
 until her touch upon his arm sent quick 
 shivers through his blood ; then he looked 
 directly at her. Slowly the expression of 
 his face filled with the supernatural horror 
 shown before, when Satan appeared to him. 
 He stepped back, and raised his crucifix in 
 self-defence of something behind Heloise. 
 
 " 'Tis Satan tempting ! " he coweringly 
 whispered. " I see him there behind thee ! 
 Begone, foul fiend ! I, the soldier of Christ, 
 defy thee ! " Heloise, in alarm, turned to 
 look at whatever his expression intimated, 
 but saw nothing save the gathering shadows. 
 
 Her action, for the time being, dispelled 
 his illusion ; his face resumed its previous 
 expression of mental distress, and he replied 
 to her, " Thy soul is in Heaven's keeping,
 
 The Devil's Plough 329 
 
 as is mine own. 'Tis not from me as a 
 human being thou must receive uplifting, 
 but from me as a priest, who would give 
 thee absolution and beg thee to go and sin 
 no more." 
 
 At this she fell on her knees before him. 
 " Gaston ! Gaston ! thou hast not the heart 
 to leave me ! Take me with thee. I will 
 be thy wife in love sacred as one mortal can 
 feel for another. In some new world we 
 shall find happiness together. I have no 
 fear of poverty nor hardships 'tis only 
 loneliness fills me with cowardice." She wept 
 before him, kneeling there on the hard 
 floor, and at that sound his hand loosened 
 its grip upon the crucifix, and the old look 
 of human tenderness filled his eyes. 
 
 " Heloise ! Heloise ! thou must not 
 weep ! " He bent over her and she caught 
 one of his hands in hers. 
 
 " Gaston, thou wilt not depart to-mor- 
 row ? " 
 
 " There is no other way," he replied, 
 gently. 
 
 " Thou wilt leave my soul to perish ? " 
 One of her arms crept up toward his neck.
 
 33P The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Thou wilt repent of that feeling, He- 
 loise, and turn thy mind upon holy works, 
 where thou wilt find peace," he replied, 
 making no resistance to her touch. 
 
 " Thou lovest me, Gaston ? " She bent 
 his head closer to her own face with one 
 encircling arm. 
 
 " Thy lover is dead," he murmured, 
 faintly, as if falling into lethargy. 
 
 " Thou art mine, mine ! " she cried, 
 triumphantly. " Thou wilt not go to New 
 France without me. I love thee, Gaston ! " 
 
 The man gazed into her bewildering eyes. 
 His will was slipping, slipping, into her 
 control. " If thou dost go " he began, 
 weakly, when through the antechamber 
 burst the tones of the chapel organ. Ves- 
 pers were beginning, and some one was 
 summoning him from without the door. 
 
 The voices of choristers arose in the dis- 
 passionate quality of ancient church music, 
 reaching L'Artanges's susceptible musical 
 comprehension, converted by his imagination 
 into a warning of angels' voices. 
 
 " Come with me, Gaston ! We will go 
 out together by the garden gate. Twilight
 
 The Devil's Plough 331 
 
 hath fallen, thy disappearance will be laid 
 to some miracle. Come, beloved of my 
 soul ! " 
 
 But Gaston L' Arranges no longer heard 
 her voice ; he stood in her uplifted arms 
 listening to the distant music. 
 
 " 'Tis the voice of angels I hear." He 
 spoke as one far removed from earth. 
 "They call me to New France! Holy 
 Mother, I see thy face ! I am thy obedient 
 son ! " 
 
 He attempted to stand erect, but the lady 
 held him despairingly. " Gaston ! Gaston ! 
 thou art not going ! " 
 
 The organ rolled its sacred tones full and 
 dominant upon his ears, and he made one 
 supreme effort, sustained by its inspiration. 
 
 " Take thy arms from about me, woman ! 
 Thou art a temptress. I go to New France. 
 I obey the call of Heaven." 
 
 At sound of his voice, transformed be- 
 yond recognition, she fell back upon the 
 floor, defeat huddling about her, and some 
 sense of the miraculous showed in her blank 
 stare at him. 
 
 Out toward the refectory door he walked,
 
 332 The Devil's Plough 
 
 holding high before his face the crucifix. 
 " What profiteth it any man to gain the whole 
 world and lose his own soul ? " he quoted, 
 in firm, ringing tones. " I choose the way 
 of thorns, and thou of roses ! A d majorem 
 Dei gloriam" Without giving another look 
 back upon her, but holding his eyes wrapped 
 about some heavenly vision, L'Artanges 
 passed out of the room and on into the 
 chapel, bearing his cross erect. 
 
 The woman lay there alone where he left 
 her, beating the hard floor with her hands, 
 in the midst of music rising and falling in 
 rhythmic swells, bearing no consolation to 
 her desolate soul.
 
 W 
 
 Chapter XX 
 
 R ITT EN after fifteen years, to Com- 
 tesse Heloise de Luneville. 
 
 ' NEW FRANCE, 
 " Mission de St. Marie du Saut. 
 
 " MADAME LA COMTESSE : I know not with what 
 grace at this time of life you will read a letter written 
 from the grave of your youth, but my work for Christ 
 includes the usage of my influence toward pious living 
 wheresoever my words may reach. 
 
 " It hath recently come to me, through voyagers from 
 France, that your life about the court of the Grand Mon- 
 arch groweth not in grace with the years. This report 
 fails to secure credence in my mind, but my growing 
 knowledge of the human heart reveals to me the spiritual 
 dangers surrounding any lady situated as you are. 
 
 " The egotism of all men may be speaking from within 
 me when my conscience suggests my own former mis- 
 demeanours toward you as having been the instrument 
 Satan may have employed in beguiling you from the 
 straight and narrow path. But, owing to this sting of 
 conscience, I now venture to implore of you a moment 
 of serious consideration pertaining to the higher life of the 
 333
 
 334 The Devil's Plough 
 
 soul, with which your thoughts were greatly concerned 
 in your youth. I have felt that perhaps some news, 
 bearing upon my own life and the spiritual results of my 
 work in New France, may influence a lady of such fine 
 native goodness to bend her path in safer directions. 
 
 " The mission where I am now stationed is situated at 
 the very outlet of Lake Superior, a lake of whose enormity 
 you may judge when I say it alone, of the many great 
 lakes hereabouts, nearly equals in size the whole of 
 France. This situation is noted as a fishing-place, which 
 greatly pleaseth my good Pierre, who hath gone with me 
 faithfully through cruel hardships, and is now a vigorous 
 old man, whose health hath improved yearly under the 
 influence of constant life in the open air (as did my 
 own), and whose heart is now made happy by the 
 recent arrival of his daughter, Madelon (whom you 
 remember), but lately sent as mother superior to the 
 Ursuline convent in Quebec. The rapids here are filled 
 with white fish, attracting hither large numbers of Indians, 
 whose principal pursuits are hunting and fishing. 
 
 " Surrounding this mission live many permanent 
 Indian residents of the Ojibway tribe, called generally 
 Sauteurs, because their bark lodges are clustered at the 
 foot of our rapids, and because they have under my per- 
 suasions embraced the faith of Christ. 
 
 "In order to write you this letter, it is necessary to 
 place the inkhorn close beside the logs crackling in the 
 hearth, owing to the intense cold of winter ; otherwise, 
 the ink would certainly freeze. The snow mantles for- 
 ests, earth, and streams, drifting to the height of a man's
 
 The Devil's Plough 335 
 
 middle just outside our doors. Through many years of 
 such winters I have continued my labours, under the 
 personal guidance of the Holy Virgin, who hath appeared 
 to me frequently, ever showering courage upon my spirit, 
 appalled at certain times, when beset by the savages, and 
 while suffering their tortures bestowed upon our bodies. 
 
 " Of physical suffering I have had my full share, but 
 I can truthfully say that every wound or torture of my 
 body, during these past years of wanderings among 
 tribes and missions, hath only strengthened my soul in 
 its pilgrimage toward heaven. Eternal peace hath fallen 
 upon me, and my gratitude to Heaven, for appointing me 
 this great work, increaseth with every soul saved to 
 Christ. 
 
 " By patient endeavour I have gained considerable 
 influence among the savage tribes, but occasionally the 
 fear beareth hard upon me lest lack of encouragement 
 from the king and others high in France will result in 
 ultimate destruction of the Jesuit missions in the new 
 world. Our Order is forced to enter into mercantile 
 negotiations with the Indians and fur-traders for furs and 
 commodities, in hope of profit, so poor have we become 
 of late. Black sheep bleat in every fold ; accordingly, 
 some of our brothers commit pecuniary indiscretions re- 
 dounding little to the credit of the Order. 
 
 " Owing to your recent advancement at court, your 
 influence in our behalf might easily be exerted, for the 
 greater glory of God and your own spiritual benefit. 
 You were formerly eager to help the poor ; the Jesuits in 
 New France are often more needy than the poor of Paris.
 
 336 The Devil's Plough 
 
 " Of late years my mind hath been much taken up 
 with prospects of discovery. The Chevalier de La 
 Salle, who boasts the honour of your acquaintance at 
 court, hath with admirable energy done considerable 
 toward the discovery of the rivers and country west and 
 south of us. In the course of my expeditions, bent 
 toward the founding of missions among distant tribes, 
 during which I was miraculously saved from death, I 
 met many voyagers, and among them one who, having 
 encountered a remote tribe which had wandered as far 
 east as La Pointe Mission, was told of the great river 
 they had crossed during their journey eastward. 
 
 "The search for copper mines doth engross the ener- 
 gies of many brothers, but after once hearing of this 
 marvellous stream, which it is conjectured hath some 
 outlet into the Gulf of Mexico, my mind had no peace 
 until I finally, at great pains, secured the necessary funds 
 for a voyage of discovery, whose object was the great 
 river, called by the Illinois Indians, Mississippi. 
 
 "It was on the day of the Immaculate Conception of 
 the Holy Virgin I embarked in two birch canoes, accom- 
 panied by five men, among them Pierre. We pro- 
 vided ourselves with a full supply of smoked meat and 
 Indian corn for food, and above all else I placed our 
 voyage under the protection of the Holy Virgin Immacu- 
 late, promising that, if she granted us the favour of dis- 
 covering this great river, I would give it the name of the 
 Conception. 
 
 " We coasted the northern shore of Lake Michigan, 
 propelling our light canoes with paddles such as you have
 
 The Devil's Plough 337 
 
 never seen. When, at night, we landed, and drew our 
 canoes up on shore, then built camp-fires at the edge of 
 the forest, the friendly Indians along that strand would 
 listen to the tale of our intended explorations with aston- 
 ishment, and make every attempt to dissuade us from 
 our enterprise. They related that the banks of the Mis- 
 sissippi were inhabited by ferocious tribes, who put every 
 stranger to death ; but I instructed them more fully in 
 the mysteries of the faith, and we proceeded. 
 
 " These Indians, as in the case with many of the sav- 
 age tribes, are possessed with an abiding superstition 
 concerning a certain demon living in all strange waters, 
 and whose roar can be heard at a great distance. This 
 arises from a great and marvellously beautiful fall of 
 water at the extreme southern limit of the lakes, whose 
 noise is considerable and could readily be mistaken by 
 superstitious minds for that of a monster. 
 
 " Our voyage proceeded without great delay at any 
 point. We soon reached the mission at the head of 
 Green Bay, and entered the Fox River. With great 
 difficulty we then dragged our canoes up the tumultuous 
 rapids, and crossed a lake called Winnebago, from which 
 point the river wound quietly through an endless growth 
 of wild rice, upon which fed innumerable birds of great 
 beauty. Flat country spread away on either hand, 
 dotted here and there with groves where browsed deer 
 and elk. 
 
 " Early in June we reached an Indian village, whose 
 situation had been chosen with excellent taste. There 
 lived Miamis and Kickapoos, who, to my great delight,
 
 338 The Devil's Plough^ 
 
 had planted a cross in their midst, decorated with many 
 dressed deer-skins, red girdles, bows and arrows, hung 
 there as offerings to what they call the Great Manitou 
 of the French, Manitou meaning, in their language, 
 God or Spirit. They received us with much tribal cere- 
 mony, and upon our departure sent with us two of their 
 own number as guides. 
 
 " From that point the river twisted among lakes and 
 marshes choked with wild rice, and, without the aid of 
 these Indian guides, it is doubtful that we could have 
 proceeded farther. At last this river brought us to a 
 portage, where we understood that, by carrying our 
 canoes some distance across the level country, partially 
 marshlands, we could launch ourselves upon waters bear- 
 ing us we knew not whither. This we did without 
 abatement of courage, but with great wonder in our 
 hearts at the goodness of Heaven. When the promised 
 waters arose before us, we fell upon our knees in adora- 
 tion of the Holy Mother, who had guided our footsteps. 
 
 "Fairly launched upon this tranquil stream, we 
 glided peacefully along, seeing no human being on either 
 bank, but prodigal vegetation and many strange animals 
 abounded. Beneath the glowing stars we slept after our 
 meal of venison and bison-flesh, and then smoked our 
 pipes, a habit acquired from the Indians, and which 
 giveth a man profound, healthy slumbers. For many 
 days we journeyed in this manner, unmolested. It was 
 to me an experience of perfect repose and happiness. 
 
 " Finally, one day when the heat of summer fell fierce 
 upon us, we saw hills looming in the distance, and
 
 The Devil's Plough 339 
 
 directly before our eyes a great current, swift and power- 
 ful, coursing athwart our own. Our voyage was suc- 
 cessful ! This, we were assured by the voice of Mary, 
 the Mother, was the great river. Imagine my sensa- 
 tions ! They were well worth years of suffering to 
 attain. 
 
 "Turning into this stream, in a southern course, we 
 paddled along through a strange solitude, unrelieved by a 
 single trace of man. Strange fish were drawn into our 
 nets, and on the banks of the river grazed, in herds, 
 most fierce and ugly animals of a brown colour, showing 
 disagreeable humps on their backs, and staring at us out 
 of dull, stupid eyes from beneath a tangled mane, coarse 
 and unbeautiful. Naturally we advanced with extreme 
 caution, but for a fortnight journeyed along without 
 encountering a human being. 
 
 " Ultimately we beheld an Indian village, from out 
 which swarmed the Indians in great commotion at sight 
 of us. They made peaceful signs, and so attracted us 
 to the shore. As we approached four of their chief 
 men advanced cautiously to meet us, holding up toward 
 the sun two calumets (pipes offered in peace to strangers), 
 decorated with feathers. They stopped and gazed at us 
 as do little children at sight of something strange. We 
 landed and I addressed them, whereupon they offered 
 me the pipes, which once having smoked with an Indian 
 counts you his friend. Then they conducted us to the 
 village, where the chief did honour to us in a singular 
 fashion. Before a large wigwam (their kind of house, 
 triangular and easily transported) he stood naked, hold-
 
 34 The Devil's Plough 
 
 ing up both hands in protection to his eyes. ' French- 
 men,' he called out, in salutation, ' how bright the sun 
 shines when you come to visit us ! All our village 
 awaits you, and you shall enter our wigwams in peace.' 
 These friendly Indians entertained us royally, after sav- 
 age fashion, and sent us on our way ladened with their 
 gifts. All of the tribes we encountered were not equally 
 well-disposed toward the French, but we escaped with- 
 out great vicissitudes, compared with those of previous 
 voyages we had undertaken. 
 
 " Past the outlets of many small streams we drifted, 
 but upon reaching the mouth of the large river, Illinois, 
 we were met with unmistakable signs of Satan's dominion 
 hi the wilderness. High up on the flat face of a huge 
 rock we saw, painted in bright red, black, and green 
 colours, a pah- of monsters, each as large as a calf, with 
 horns like a deer, red eyes, a beard like a tiger, and a 
 frightful expression of countenance. The face of each 
 was something like that of a man, the body covered with 
 scales, and the tail so long that it passed entirely around 
 the body, over the head, and between the legs, ending 
 like that of a fish. These horrible creations were Indian 
 gods, made by the savages for the purpose of worship. 
 
 "At the mouth of another great stream we narrowly 
 escaped death by the turbulence with which the tributary 
 river flowed into the Mississippi. Our light boats were 
 whirled about in the swollen current like leaves in a wind- 
 storm ; but again the Holy Mother protected us. After 
 many experiences, of a varied nature and of extreme in- 
 terest, but of too great length to admit of narration here,
 
 The Devil's Plough 341 
 
 sickness broke out in our party, warning us to turn our 
 faces homeward. It was late in the autumn before we 
 again reached the mission, where rejoicing over our re- 
 turn greeted us, for we were reasonably supposed to be 
 dead. 
 
 " My own health is not of the best this winter, but it 
 is my purpose, with the Virgin's succour, to make a re- 
 turn voyage to the Mississippi and found there a mission, 
 to be called the Immaculate Conception. 
 
 " It hath pleased me greatly to have been made a suc- 
 cessful instrument of Heaven in bringing to the attention 
 of the French nation some knowledge of the great coun- 
 try which is their possession. If the king saw best to 
 favour our enterprise, we would secure to France the 
 most wonderful country in the world ; but as we now 
 stand, a small band of pioneers with small money and but 
 limited means of military protection, it doth sometimes 
 occur to me that some other monarch, with greater de 
 sires for colonisation, may seize upon this continent, at 
 great cost^ to France. At present it is our plain duty to 
 pursue the regeneration of the savages, a work which, 
 with all its discouragements, doth progress satisfactorily ; 
 meantime, it may become necessary for me to journey to 
 France for the purpose of setting these matters plainly 
 before the Grand Monarch. 
 
 " In the name of the Virgin, and the fraternal love I 
 do bear thee, I beseech thee, countess, to exert thy in- 
 fluence at court in our behalf, and by so doing turn thy 
 thoughts even more to the higher life of self-sacrifice for 
 the greater glory of God. As age descendeth upon me I
 
 342 The Devil's Plough 
 
 grow more and more certain of a future filled with heav- 
 enly joys, for every man and woman who in this life 
 giveth up the ways of the flesh and the devil, and work- 
 eth for Christ. 'Tis my sacred wish to meet thy soul in 
 paradise. Consider, countess, art thou pursuing the course 
 that leadeth there ? Live so that thine eyes can be up- 
 lifted to thy Maker's without shame at any moment thou 
 may'st be called into his presence ; then thy soul will 
 know peace. 
 
 " With lasting esteem and a blessing upon thee, I 
 remain with deep respect, countess, 
 
 "FATHER GASTON." 
 
 THE END.
 
 L. C Page and Company's 
 Announcement of 
 List of New Fiction. 
 
 Philip Win WOOd. (eoth thousand.) A SKETCH ? 
 THE DOMESTIC HISTORY OF AN AMERICAN CAPTAIN IN 
 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE, EMBRACING EVENTS THAT 
 OCCURRED BETWEEN AND DURING THE YEARS 1763 AND 
 1785 IN NEW YORK AND LONDON. WRITTEN BY HIS 
 ENEMY IN WAR, HERBERT RUSSELL, LIEUTENANT IN THE 
 LOYALIST FORCES. Presented anew by ROBERT NEILSON 
 STEPHENS, author of "A Gentleman Player," "An Enemy to 
 the King," etc. 
 
 With six full-page illustrations by E. W. D. Hamilton. 
 Library 1 2 mo, cloth decorative, 400 pages . . . $ 1.50 
 
 " One of the most stirring and remarkable romances that has been published in a 
 long while, and its episodes, incidents, and actions are as interesting and agreeable as 
 they are vivid and dramatic. . . . The print, illustrations, binding, etc., are worthy 
 of the tale, and the author and his publishers are to be congratulated on a literary 
 work of fiction which is as wholesome as it is winsome, as fresh and artistic as it is 
 interesting and entertaining from first to last paragraph." Boston Times. 
 
 Breaking the Shackles. By FRANK BARRETT. 
 Author of " A Set of Rogues." 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 350 pages . $1.50 
 
 "The story opens well, and maintains its excellence throughout. . . . The 
 author's triumph is the greater in the unquestionable interest and novelty which he 
 achieves. The pictures of prison life are most vivid, and the story of the escape 
 most thrilling." The Freeman's Journal, London. 
 
 The Progress of Pauline Kessler. By 
 
 FREDERIC CARREL. 
 
 Author of " Adventures of John Johns." 
 Library lamo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 350 pagas . $1.50 
 
 A novel that will be widely read and much discussed. A power- 
 ful sketch of an adventuress who has much of the Becky Sharpe in 
 her. The story is crisply written and told with directness and in- 
 sight into the ways of social and political life. The characters are 
 strong types of the class to which they belong.
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY S 
 
 Ada Vernham, Actress. By RICHARD MARSH. 
 
 Author of " Frivolities," " Tom Ossington's Ghost," etc. 
 Library 12 mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 300 pages . $1.50 
 
 This is a new book by the author of " Frivolities," which was 
 extremely well received last season. It deals with the inside life of 
 the London stage, and is of absorbing interest. 
 
 The Wallet Of Kai Lung. By ERNEST BRAMAH. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 350 pages . $ I- 5 
 
 This is the first book of a new writer, and is exceedingly well 
 done. It deals with the fortunes of a Chinese professional story- 
 teller, who meets with many surprising adventures. The style 
 suggests somewhat the rich Oriental coloring of the Arabian 
 Nights. 
 
 Edward Barry I SOUTH SEA PEARLER. By Louis 
 
 BECKE. 
 
 Author of " By Reef and Palm," " Ridan, the Devil," etc. 
 With four full-page illustrations by H. C. Edwards. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 300 pages . $i.$o 
 
 An exceedingly interesting story of sea life and adventure, the 
 scene of which is laid in the Lagoon Islands of the Pacific. 
 
 This is the first complete novel from the pen of Mr. Becke, and 
 readers of his collections of short stories will quickly recognize that 
 the author can write a novel that will grip the reader. Strong, and 
 even tragic, as is his novel in the main, " Edward Barry " has a 
 happy ending, and woman's love and devotion are strongly por- 
 trayed. 
 
 Unto the Heights of Simplicity. By jo 
 
 HANNES REIMERS. 
 Library 12 mo, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . $1-25 
 
 We take pleasure in introducing to the reading public a writer of 
 unique charm and individuality. His style is notable for its quaint 
 poetic idiom and subtle imaginative flavor. In the present story, he 
 treats with strength and reticence of the relation of the sexes and 
 the problem of marriage. Certain social abuses and false standards 
 of morality are attacked with great vigor, yet the plot is so interest- 
 ing for its own sake that the book gives no suspicion of being a 
 problem novel. The descriptions of natural scenery are idyllic in 
 their charm, and form a fitting background for the Icve story.
 
 LIST OF NEW FICTION 
 
 The Black Terror. A ROMANCE OF RUSSIA. By JOHN 
 
 K. LEYS. 
 
 With frontispiece by Victor A. Searles. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 350 pages . . . $1.50 
 
 A stirring tale of the present day, presenting in a new light the 
 aims and objects of the Nihilists. The story is so vivid and true to 
 life that it might easily be considered a history of political intrigue 
 in Russia, disguised as a novel, while its startling incidents and 
 strange denouement would only confirm the old adage that " truth 
 is stranger than fiction," and that great historical events may be 
 traced to apparently insignificant causes. The hero of the story 
 is a young Englishman, whose startling resemblance to the Czar is 
 taken advantage of by the Nihilists for the furtherance of their 
 plans. 
 
 The Baron's Sons. By MAURUS JOKAI. 
 
 Author of " Black Diamonds," " The Green Book," " Pretty 
 Michal," etc. Translated by Percy F. Bicknell. 
 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, with photogravure 
 portrait of the author, 350 pages .... 1.50 
 
 An exceedingly interesting romance of the revolution of 1848, 
 ths scene of which is laid at the courts of St. Petersburg, Moscow, 
 and Vienna, and in the armies of the Austrians and Hungarians. 
 It follows the fortunes of three young Hungarian noblemen, whose 
 careers are involved in the historical incidents of the time. The 
 story is told with all of Jokai's dash and vigor, and is exceedingly 
 interesting. This romance has been translated for us directly from 
 the Hungarian, and never has been issued hitherto in English. 
 
 Slaves Of Chance. By FERRIER LANGWORTHY. 
 
 With five portraits of the heroines, from original drawings by 
 
 Hiel. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 350 pages . 11.50 
 
 As a study of some of the realities of London life, this novel is 
 one of notable merit. Th slaves of chance, and, it might be added, 
 of temptation, are five pretty girls, the daughters of a pretty widow, 
 whose means are scarcely sufficient, even living as they do, in a 
 quiet way and in a quiet 7x>ndon street, to make both ends meet. 
 Dealing, as he does, with many sides of London life, the writer 
 sketches varied types of character, and his creations are cleverly 
 defined. He tells an interesting tale with delicacy and in a fresh, 
 attractive style.
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY S 
 
 Her Boston Experiences. By MARGARET ALLSTON 
 
 (nom de plume). 
 With eighteen full-page illustrations from drawings by Frank 
 
 O. Small, and from photographs taken especially for the 
 
 book. 
 Small i2mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 225 pages . $1.25 
 
 A most interesting and vivacious tale, dealing with society life 
 at the Hub, with perhaps a tinge of the flavor of Vagabondia. The 
 story has appeared serially in The Ladies' Home Journal, where it 
 was received with marked success. We are not as yet at liberty to 
 give the true name of the author, who hides her identity under the 
 pen name, Margaret Allston, but she is well known in literature. 
 
 Memory Street. By MARTHA BAKER DUNN. 
 Author of " The Sleeping Beauty," etc. 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . $1.25 
 
 An exceedingly beautiful story, delineating New England life and 
 character. The style and interest will compare favorably with the 
 work of such writers as Mary E. Wilkins, Kate Douglas Wiggin, 
 and Sarah Orne Jewett. The author has been a constant con- 
 tributor to the leading magazines, and the interest of her previous 
 work will assure welcome for her first novel. 
 
 \Vfnifred. A STORY OF THE CHALK CLIFFS. By S. 
 
 BARING GOULD. 
 Author of " Mehala," etc. 
 Library 1 21110, cloth decorative, illustrated, 350 pages . #1.50 
 
 A striking novel of English life in the eighteenth century by this 
 well known writer. The scene is laid partly in rural Devonshire, 
 and partly in aristocratic London circles. 
 
 At the Court Of the King : BEING ROMANCES OF 
 FRANCE. By G. HEMBERT WESTLEY, editor of " For Love's 
 Sweet Sake." 
 
 With a photogravure frontispiece from an original drawing. 
 
 Library I amo, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . 1.25 
 
 Despite the prophecies of some literary experts, the historical 
 romance is still on the high tide of popular favor, as exemplified by 
 many recent successes. We feel justified, consequently, in issuing 
 these stirring romances of intrigue and adventure, love and war, at 
 the Courts of the French Kings.
 
 LIST OF NEW FICTION 
 
 Rebel. By HULBERT FULLER 
 Author of " Vivian of Virginia." 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 375 pages . . . $1.25 
 
 A powerful story of sociological questions. The scene is laid in 
 Chicago, the hero being a professor in " Rockland University," 
 whose protest against the unequal distribution of wealth and the 
 wretched condition of workmen gains for him the enmity of the 
 " Savior Oil Company," through whose influence he loses his posi- 
 tion. His after career as a leader of laborers who are fighting 
 to obtain their rights is described with great earnestness. The 
 character drawing is vigorous and varied, and the romantic plot 
 holds the interest throughout. The Albany Journal is right in 
 pronouncing this novel " an unusually strong story." It can hardly 
 fail to command an immense reading public. 
 
 A Georgian ActreSS. By PAULINE BRADFORD MACKIE. 
 Author of " Mademoiselle de Berny," " Ye Lyttle Salem 
 
 Maide," etc. 
 With four full-page illustrations from drawings by E. W. D. 
 
 Hamilton. 
 Library izmo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 300 pages . $1.50 
 
 An interesting romance of the days of George III., dealing with 
 the life and adventures of a fair and talented young play-actress, 
 the scene of which is laid in England and America. The success of 
 Miss Mackie's previous books will justify our prediction that a new 
 volume will receive an instant welcome. 
 
 God The King fly Brother. A ROMANCE. 
 
 By MARY F. NIXON. 
 Author of " With a Pessimist in Spain," " A Harp of Many 
 
 Chords," etc. 
 
 With a frontispiece by H. C. Edward*. 
 Library i2mo, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . $1.25 
 
 An historical tale, dealing with the romantic period of Edward 
 the Black Prince. The scene is laid for the most part in the 
 sunny land of Spain, during the reign of Pedro the Cruel 
 the ally in war of the Black Prince. The well-told story records 
 the adventures of two young English knight-errants, twin brothers, 
 whose family motto gives the title to the book. The Spanish maid, 
 the heroine of the romance, is a delightful characterization, and the 
 love story, with its surprising yet logical denouement, is enthralling.
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY S 
 
 Punchinello. By FLORENCE STUART. 
 
 Library izmo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 325 pages . $1.50 
 
 A love story of intense power and pathos. The hero is a hunch- 
 back (Punchinello), who wins the love of a beautiful young girl. 
 Her sudden death, due indirectly to his jealousy, and the discovery 
 that she had never faltered in her love for him, combine to unbalance 
 his mind. The poetic style relieves the sadness of the story, and 
 the reader is impressed with the power and brilliancy of its concep- 
 tion, as well as with the beauty and grace of the execution. 
 
 The Golden Fleece. Translated from the French of 
 Amedee Achard, author of "The Huguenot's Love," etc. 
 Illustrated by Victor A. Searles. 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 450 pages . $^-S 
 
 Amedee Achard was a contemporary writer of Dumas, and his 
 romances are very similar to those of that great writer. "The 
 Golden Fleece " compares favorably with " The Three Musketeers " 
 and the other D'Artagnan romances. The story relates the adven- 
 tures of a young Gascon gentleman, an officer in the army sent by 
 Louis XIV. to assist the Austrians in repelling the Turkish Invasion 
 under the celebrated Achmet Kiuperli. 
 
 The Good Ship York. By W. CLARK RUSSELL. 
 Author of " The Wreck of the Grosvenor? " A Sailor's Sweet- 
 
 heart," etc. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 350 pages $i-5O 
 
 A romantic and exciting sea tale, equal to the best work of this 
 famous writer, relating the momentous voyage of the clipper ship 
 York, and the adventures that befell Julia Armstrong, a passenger, 
 and George Hardy, the chief mate. 
 
 " Mr. Russell has no rival in the line of marine fiction." Mail and Express. 
 
 Tom Ossington'S GhOSt. By RICHARD MARSH. 
 Author of " Frivolities," " Ada Vernham, Actress," etc. Illus- 
 trated by Harold Pifford. 
 Library i2mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 325 pages . $1.50 
 
 " I read ' Tom Ossington's Ghost ' the other night, and was afraid to go up-stairs 
 in the dark after it." Pruth. 
 
 "An entrancing book, but people with weak nerves had tner not read it at 
 night." To-day. 
 
 " Mr. Marsh has been inspired by an entirely original idea, and has worked it put 
 with great ingenuity. We like the weird but not repulsive story better than anything 
 he has ever done." World.
 
 LIST OF NEW FICTION 
 
 The Glory and Sorrow of Norwich. By 
 
 M. M. BLAKE. 
 Author of "The Blues and the Brigands," etc, etc., with 
 
 twelve full-page illustrations. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 315 pages . $1.50 
 
 The hero of this romance, Sir John de Reppes, is an actual 
 personage, and throughout the characters and incidents are instinct 
 with the spirit of the age, as related in the chronicles of Froissart. 
 Its main claim for attention, however, is in the graphic representa- 
 tion of the age of chivalry which it gives, forming a series of brilliant 
 and fascinating pictures of mediaeval England, its habits of thought 
 and manner of life, which live in the mind for many a day after 
 perusal, and assist to a clearer conception of what is one of the most 
 charming and picturesque epochs of history. 
 
 The nistress of flaidenwood. By HULBMT 
 
 FULLER. 
 
 Author of " Vivian of Virginia," " God's Rebel," etc. 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative, 350 pages . . . $1.50 
 A stirring historical romance of the American Revolution, the 
 scene of which for the most part being laid in and about the debatable 
 ground in the vicinity of New York City. 
 
 A TALE OF A LOST CAUSE. By CAPTAIN EWAN 
 
 MARTIN. 
 
 Author of " The Knight of King's Guard." 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 400 pages, illustrated . $1.50 
 
 A stirring romance of the days of Charles I. and Cromwell in 
 England and Ireland. In its general character the book invites 
 comparison with Scott's " Waverley." It well sustains the reputa- 
 tion gained by Captain Martin from " The Knight of King's Guard." 
 
 The Flattie Of Life. (IL FUOCO.) Translated fro 
 
 the Italian of Gabriel D'Annunzio, author of " Triumph of 
 
 Death," etc., by KASSANDRA VIVARIA, author of "Via 
 
 Lucis." 
 
 Library 12010, cloth decorative, 350 pages . . . 1.50 
 
 This is the first volume in the Third Trilogy, " The Romances 
 of the Pomegranate," of the three announced by the great Italian 
 writer. We were fortunate in securing the book, and also in securing 
 the services as translator of the talented author of " Via Lucia," 
 herself an Italian by birth.

 
 Selections from 
 
 L. C. Page and Company's 
 
 List of Fiction. 
 
 An Enemy to the King. (Thirty-fifth 
 
 FROM THE RECENTLY DISCOVERED MEMOIRS OF THE 
 SlEUR DE LA TOURNOIRE. By ROBERT NEILSON STE- 
 PHENS. 
 
 Illustrated by H. De M. Young. 
 
 Library izmo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 460 pages . $1.50 
 
 " Brilliant as a play ; it is equally brilliant as a romantic novel." Philadelphia 
 Press. 
 
 " Those who love chivalry, fighting, and intrigue will find it, and of good quality, 
 in this book." New York Critic. 
 
 The Continental Dragoon. (Twenty-fifth Thousand.) 
 
 A ROMANCE OF PHILIPSE MANOR HOUSE, IN 1778. By 
 
 ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS. 
 Author of " An Enemy to the King." 
 Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 
 Library i2mo, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . 1.50 
 
 " It has the sterling qualities of strong dramatic writing, and ranks among the 
 most spirited and ably written historical romances of the season. An impulsive ap- 
 preciation of a soldier who is a soldier, a man who is a man, a hero who is a hero, 
 is one of the most captivating of Mr. Stephens's charms of manner and style." 
 Boston Herald. 
 
 The Road tO PariS. (Twenty-first Thousand.) By ROBERT 
 NEILSON STEPHENS. 
 
 Author of " An Enemy to the King," " The Continental Dra- 
 goon," etc. 
 
 Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 
 
 Library i2mo, cloth decorative, 500 pages . . . $1.50 
 
 "Vivid and .picturesque in style, well conceived and full of action, the novel is 
 absorbing from cover to cover." Philadelphia. Public Ledger. 
 
 " In the line of historical romance, few books of the season will equal Robert 
 Neilson Stephens's 'The Road to Paris.'" Cincinnati Times-Star.
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 
 
 A Gentleman Player. (Thirty-fifth Thousand) m s 
 
 ADVENTURES ON A SECRET MISSION FOR QUEEN ELIZA- 
 
 BETH. By ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS. 
 Author of " An Enemy to the King," " The Continental Dra- 
 
 goon," " The Road to Paris," etc. 
 Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 450 pages . . . $1.50 
 
 " A thrilling historical romance. ... It is a well-told tale of mingled romance 
 and history, and the reader throughout unconsciously joins in the flight and thrills 
 with the excitement of the dangers and adventures that befall the fugitives." 
 Chicago Tribune. 
 
 " ' A Gentleman Player ' is well conceived and well told." Boston Journal. 
 
 (Tenth Thousand.} AN ACADIEN 
 ROMANCE. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, 
 Author of " Beautiful Joe," etc. 
 Illustrated by H. De M. Young. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 500 pages . . . $1-50 
 
 "A very fine novel we unhesitatingly pronounce it ... one of the books that 
 stamp themselves at once upon the imagination and remain imbedded in the memory 
 long after the covers are closed." Literary World, Boston. 
 
 Deficient SaintS. A TALE OF MAINE. By MARSHALL 
 
 SAUNDERS. 
 
 Author of " Rose & Charlitte," " Beautiful Joe," etc. 
 Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 400 pages . . . $1.50 
 
 " The tale is altogether delightful ; it is vitally charming and expresses a quiet 
 power that sparkles with all sorts of versatile beauty." Boston Ideas: 
 
 Her Sailor. A NOVEL. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS. 
 Author of " Rose a Charlitte," " Beautiful Joe," etc. 
 Library 12010, cloth decorative, illustrated, 325 pages $1-25 
 
 A story of modern life of great charm and pathos, dealing with 
 the love affairs of an American girl and a naval officer. 
 
 " A love story, refreshing and weet." Utica Herald. 
 
 " The wayward petulance of the maiden, who half-resents the matter-of-course 
 ooing and wedding, her gracefi " 
 making a fine character sketch an 
 
 wooing and wedding, her graceful coquetry, and final capitulation are prettily told, 
 and an entertaining story." Bookseller , Chicago
 
 LIST OF FICTION 
 
 Pretty Michal. A ROMANCE OF HUNGARY. By MAURUS 
 JOKAI. 
 
 Author of " Black Diamonds," " The Green Book," " Midst the 
 Wild Carpathians," etc. 
 
 Authorized translation by R. Nisbet Bain 
 
 Illustrated with a photogravure frontispiece of the great Mag- 
 yar writer. 
 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 325 pages . . . 1.50 
 
 " It is at once a spirited tale of ' border chivalry,' a charming love story full of 
 genuine poetry, and a graphic picture of life in a country and at a period both equally 
 new to English readers." Literary World, London. 
 
 Midst the Wild Carpathians. By MAURUS 
 
 JOKAI. 
 
 Author of " Black Diamonds," " The Lion of Janina," etc. 
 Authorized translation by R. Nisbet Bain. 
 Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy. 
 Library izmo, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . 11.25 
 
 "The story is absorbingly interesting and displays all the virility of Jokai's 
 powers, his genius of description, his keenness of characterization, his subtlety of 
 humor, and his consummate art in the progression of the novel from one apparent 
 dimax to another." Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 In Kings' Houses. A ROMANCE OF THE REIGN OF 
 
 QUEEN ANNE. By JULIA C. R. DORR. 
 Author of " A Cathedral Pilgrimage," etc. 
 Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 
 Library 12010, cloth decorative, 400 pages . . . $1.50 
 
 " We close the book with a wish that the author may write more romances of the 
 history of England which she knows so well." Bookman, New York. 
 
 " A fine strong story which is a relief to come upon. Related with charming, 
 simple art." Philadelphia. Public Ledger. 
 
 Omar the Tentmaker. A ROMANCE OF OLD 
 
 PERSIA. By NATHAN HASKELL DOLE. 
 Illustrated by F. T. Merrill. 
 Library I2tno, cloth decorative, 350 pages . . . $1.50 
 
 " The story itself is beautiful and it is beautifully written. It possesses the true 
 spirit of romance, and is almost poetical in form. The author has undoubtedly been 
 inspired by his admiration for the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam to write this story of 
 which Omar is the hero." Troy Times. 
 
 " Mr. Dole has built a delightful romance." Chicago ChronicU. 
 
 " It is a strong and vividly written story, full of the life and spirit of : 
 Ntvi Orleans Picayune.
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY S 
 
 A TALE OF PARIS. By ELWYN BARRON. 
 Library 12 mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 350 pages $1.50 
 
 " Bright descriptions of student life in Paris, sympathetic views of human frailty, 
 and a dash of dramatic force, combine to form an attractive story. The book contains 
 some very strong scenes, plenty of life and color, and a pleasant tinge of humor. 
 ... It has grip, picturesqueness, and vivacity." The Speaker, London. 
 
 "A study of deep human interest, in which pathos and humor both play their 
 parts. The descriptions of life in the Quartier Latin are distinguished for their 
 freshness and liveliness." St. James Gazette, London. 
 
 " A romance sweet as violets." Town Topics, New York. 
 
 In Old New York. A ROMANCE. By WILSON BAR- 
 RETT, author of " The Sign of the Cross," etc., and ELWYN 
 BARRON, author of " Manders." 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 350 pages #1.50 
 
 " A novel of great interest and vigor." Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 " ' In Old New York ' is worthy of its distinguished authors." Chicago Times- 
 Herald. 
 
 " Intensely interesting. It has an historical flavor that gives it a substantial value." 
 Boston Globe. 
 
 The Golden Dog. A ROMANCE OF QUEBEC. By 
 
 WILLIAM KIRBY. 
 New authorized edition. 
 Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy. 
 Library i2mo, cloth decorative, 620 pages . . . $1.25 
 
 " A powerful romance of love, intrigue, and adventure in the time_ of Louis XV. 
 and Mme. de Pompadour, when the French colonies were making their great 
 struggle to retain for an ungrateful court the fairest jewels in the colonial diadem of 
 France." New York Herald. 
 
 The Knight of King's Guard. A ROMANCE OF 
 
 THE DAYS OF THE BLACK PRINCE. By EWAN MARTIN. 
 
 Illustrated by Gilbert James. 
 
 Library 12 mo, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . 1.50 
 
 An exceedingly well written romance, dealing with the romantic 
 period chronicled so admirably by Froissart. The scene is laid at a 
 border castle between England and Scotland, the city of London, 
 and on the French battle-fields of Cressy and Poitiers. Edward the 
 Third, Queen Philippa, the Black Prince, Bertrand du Guesclin, are 
 all historical characters, accurate reproductions of which give life 
 and vitality to the romance. The character of the hero it especially 
 well drawn.
 
 LIST OF FICTION 
 
 The Making of a Saint. By w. SOMRST 
 
 MAUGHAM. 
 
 Illustrated by Gilbert James. 
 Library 12010, cloth decorative, 350 pages . . . 1.50 
 
 " An exceedingly strong story of original motive and design. . . . The scenes are 
 imbued with a spirit of frankness . . . and in addition there is a strong dramatic 
 flavor." Philadelphia. Press. 
 
 " A sprightly tale abounding in adventures, and redolent of the spirit of mediaeval 
 Italy." Brooklyn Times. 
 
 Friendship and Folly. A NOVEL. By MARIA 
 
 LOUISE POOL. 
 Author of " Dally," " A Redbridge Neighborhood," " In a Dike 
 
 Shanty," etc. 
 
 Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy. 
 Library 121110, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . $1.25 
 
 "The author handles her elements with skilful fingers fingers that feel their 
 way most truthfully among the actual emotions and occurrences of nineteenth 
 century romance. Hers is a frank, sensitive touch, and the result is both complete 
 and full of interest." Boston Ideas. 
 
 " The story will rank with the best previous work of this author." Indianapolis 
 News. 
 
 The Rejuvenation of Miss Semaphore. 
 
 A FARCICAL NOVEL. By HAL GODFREY. 
 Illustrated by Etheldred B. Barry. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . 1.25 
 
 " A fanciful, laughable tale of two maiden sisters of uncertain age who are induced, 
 by their natural longing for a return to youth and its blessings, to pay a large sum 
 for a mystical water which possesses the value of setting backwards the hands of 
 time. No more delightfully fresh and original book has appeared since ' Vice 
 Versa ' charmed an amused world. It is well written, drawn to the life, and full of 
 the most enjoyable humor." Boston Beacon. 
 
 The Paths Of the Prudent. By J. S. FLETCHER. 
 Author of " When Charles I. Was King," " Mistress Spitfire," tc. 
 Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy. 
 Library lamo, cloth decorative, 300 pages . . . $ 1.50 
 
 " The story has a curious fascination for the reader, and the them* and characters 
 are handled with rare ability." Scotsman. 
 
 " Dorinthia is charming. The story is told with great humor." Pall Matt 
 Gatutte. 
 
 " Aa excellently well told story, and the reader's interest is perfectly sustained to 
 th very tad." Pu*ck.
 
 L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY S 
 
 CrOSS Trails. By VICTOR WAITE. 
 Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 450 pages . . . $1-50 
 
 " A Spanish-American novel of unusual interest, a brilliant, dashing, and stirring 
 story, teeming with humanity and life. Mr. Waite is to be congratulated upon the 
 strength with which he has drawn his characters." SO.H Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 " Every page is enthralling." Academy. 
 
 " Full of strength and reality." Atheneeum. 
 
 "The book is exceedingly powerful." Glasgow Herald. 
 
 BijH the Dancer. By JAMES BLYTHE PATTON. 
 Illustrated by Horace Van Rinth. 
 Library I2mo, cloth decorative, 350 pages . . . $1.50 
 
 " A novel of Modern India. . . . The fortunes of the heroine, an Indian nautch- 
 girl, are told with a vigor, pathos, and a wealth of poetic sympathy that makes the 
 book admirable from first to last." Detroit Free Press. 
 
 "A remarkable book." Bookman. 
 
 " Powerful and fascinating." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 "A vivid picture of Indian life." Academy, London. 
 
 Drives and Puts. A BOOK OF GOLF STORIES. By 
 
 WALTER CAMP and LILIAN BROOKS. 
 Small I2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 250 pages . $1.25 
 
 " It will be heartily relished by all readers, whether golfers or not." Boston 
 Ideas. 
 
 " Decidedly the best golf stories I have read." Milwaukee Journal. 
 
 " Thoroughly entertaining and interesting in every page, and is gotten out with 
 care and judgment that indicate rare taste in bookmaking." Chicago Saturday 
 Evening Herald. 
 
 Via Llicis. By KASSANDRA VIVARIA. 
 With portrait of the author. 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative, 480 pages . . . $1-50 
 
 "'Via Lucis'is we say it unhesitatingly a striking and interesting produc- 
 tion." London Athenctum. 
 
 "Without doubt the most notable novel of the summer is this strong story of 
 Italian life, so full of local color one can almost see the cool, shaded patios and the 
 flame of the pomegranate blossom, and smell the perfume of the grapes growing on 
 the hillsides. It is a story of deep and passionate heart interests, of fierce lovas and 
 fiercer hates, of undisciplined natures that work out their own bitter destiny of woe. 
 There has hardly been a finer piece of portraiture than that of the child Arduina, 
 the child of a sickly and unloved mother and a cruel and vindictive father, a mor- 
 bid, p^ueer. lonely little creature, who is left to grow up without love or training of 
 any kind. New Orleans Picayune.
 
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