Chapter I (2)

The old Counsellor had gone out frequently during these details to give orders to the domestics, who had in the mean while laid the table and prepared the evening repast. "My unknown friends," said the old gentleman affably, "with whose company chance and the bad weather have so unexpectedly honoured me, and who are to me,--with the exception of the reverend priest,--total strangers, let us all sociably and without ceremony take our places at this table, eat and drink, and afterwards enjoy a refreshing sleep under my roof." Edmond looked up, and could scarcely believe at first that his father was in earnest; the priest cast an expressive glance at the huntsman and one of still deeper meaning at the young man, and smiled as if to hint, that he at all events should withdraw from this distinguished circle, among which he himself only had any claim to remain; but the little Eveline hung on the young man's arm and drew him by her side to the table where he immediately sat down with her the first without waiting for farther bidding. "Quite right," said the Counsellor, "No ceremony if you wish to please me! here are no invited guests, we meet together as if we were on board a ship or in a wood. I must render you all this hospitality without distinction." Edmond blushing, placed himself at the head of the table by his father, the priest seated himself opposite to him, by the side of the latter sat the huntsman, who left a large space between himself and his neighbour, and then came Eveline and her playfellow as he almost appeared. "Quite patriarchal," said the priest, "those men there, my worthy sir, will not forget to publish throughout the country, your philanthropy and contempt of prejudices."

At this moment the veil of clouds in the horizon burst asunder, the sun in its descent suddenly threw a purple glow over the lowering sky, a red fire spread itself over the mountain-vineyards, tree and bush, and vinetendril sparkled in the fiery ray, beyond the woods shone brilliantly, and as the eye glanced upwards, the summits of the distant Cevennes were seen glowing in the rosy light; on the left, the waterfall rushed like blood from the steep rock, and the whole hall, the table, and the guests, all was as if bathed in blood, so that the lights just then burned darkly and the fire in the chimney emitted a blue flame. The rain had ceased, a holy silence reigned throughout all nature, not a leaf rustled, the red brook only flowed splashingly along, and the glowing waterfall murmured its melody. The old Counsellor's eyes were cast upwards as if in fervent prayer, and a tear glistened in his full eye; the fair young man laid down his knife and fork and folded his hands; the huntsman glanced timidly from under his heavy eyebrows; the priest tried to assume a sanctified look; the child playfully clapped her hands, and Edmond was lost in silent reflection.

Just as quickly as it was withdrawn, the curtain fell again over the horizon and extinguished its light, upon which the Counsellor said, "was not this like an emblem of our country and of our misfortunes? as necessity unites us all and brings us together, and as the misery that oppresses us, if I may so express myself, becomes as it were sanctified and endeared to us? all our countrymen pass through this baptism of blood, may heaven have pity on us." Edmond cast an expressive look on his father and then glanced furtively at the huntsman and the young stranger, as if to intimate, that such thoughts should not have been expressed in their presence; the old man smiled kindly on his son, but did not even try to conceal his feelings.--

"Papa," cried Eveline, "it was as if the sky wished to play at hide and seek with us, just as little Dorothea with her plump, rosy cheeks smiles upon me and then, whisk! creeps under the cloth again."

"It was like a bleeding world crying for succour," exclaimed the fair-haired young man. Edmond cast a sidelong glance at him, and said, "It is perhaps the extinction of the nefarious revolt!"

"May be so," replied the youth, and raised his blue, child-like eyes to Edmond, "but I think that everything rests in the hands of the Supreme Being."

"Most assuredly," said Edmond sharply, "and the evil would have ceased long since if so much disaffection, secret abettance, and malicious joy at the misfortunes of the king had not reigned among the common people."

"Every reasonable person must own however," said the young man with a melancholy smile, "that the evil did not originate with the people; they were quiet, and although others may suffer, their miseries are beyond expression."

The priest left off eating with astonishment, that the little unseemly man should have the last word with the master of the house opposite to him; he rolled his eyes up and down as if seeking for some astounding words of reproof; the little girl pressed the hands of her new friend for engaging in dispute with Edmond, and the latter as his father already began to testify his uneasiness at his son's violence, turned away with an expression of profound contempt, saying, "I know not with whom I speak, but I think I have some knowledge of you; are you not the son of the late Huguenot sexton of Besere close by?"

"No, gracious sir," answered the young man perfectly unembarrassed, "I have not the honour of being known to you; I am now come to this neighbourhood for the first time, to make some purchases, my name is Montan, or simply William, as I am called by the neighbours and by my father, who is owner of the mill in the deep valley beyond Saumiere."

"Therefore a praiseworthy miller's lad!" said the priest. "It was not sung to you in your cradle that you should ever sit at table in such company as this." "No, indeed," said the miller with emotion; "when I stood before the house, I thought not to find a reception as from the venerable patriarchs we read of in the Holy Scriptures, I did not expect to be introduced to a nobleman, who, to my mind and imagination, presents the most sublime picture of Abraham and Jacob." He wiped his eyes, and as they were about to rise from table, he lifted his glass, and said, "pray allow me first, honoured sirs, to empty this glass in token of my most heartfelt gratitude, and to the unalloyed happiness of our respected host, and the endless prosperity of his noble house." He drank, and the old Lord bowed not without emotion, while Edmond and the priest looked at each other long and enquiringly. The huntsman scraped and smiled, and the priest in his astonishment forgot to drink.

They rose from table, and Eveline seated herself again by the side of her favorite in a corner of the room, and said to him, "That is the right way, he is too haughty if one allows him to go on."

Her father approached them, "my child, it is now quite time for you to retire to bed." "Indeed papa," answered she kissing his hand, "I should like to remain longer here, but there must be order, as you always say; I am obedient and will be your comfort, shall I not? it would indeed be very wicked, and I should vex you, if I turned a prophet like so many other children in this country." "God bless you, my love," said the old man resting his hand upon her head; "go to bed, and you, my friend, sit down here and rest yourself some time longer," said he, pressing the young miller's hand; when Eveline perceived her father's kindness towards him, she quickly returned, and throwing herself on the neck of the young man, kissed him repeatedly, then drawing back a little, she curtsied gracefully, and in a lady-like manner, and waving her hand, said: "Au revoir," and followed the domestic who consigned her to her maid.

"As you are from Saumiere," said the priest, turning to the miller, "You are surely acquainted with the hermit, who is now the leader of a troop against the Camisards?" "Oh, I know him very well," replied the youth, "his cell is in a rocky valley, which is separated from our mill only by a stony fence; we often visited him on holidays, when the valley was passable on our side; he is a tall, athletic man, with a grizly beard and large, grey eyes; he seemed peaceable and quiet until the war made him a soldier again. Unheard of cruelties are asserted to have been committed by him; he is said not to know what compassion is, and must take pleasure in murder; but now his trade is over." "Is he dead?" enquired the Counsellor. "No, not exactly that," continued the young man, "but I heard a report on the Vidourla, that he was totally defeated yesterday by Cavalier, and that, if he consults his own advantage, he will creep into a cell, for the common people will not surely trust to him again, when they perceive that he does not understand his business."

"He has been a captain, however," said the huntsman.

"The combat against the rebels," said the priest, "is a difficult affair, for _that_ courage and the ordinary discipline of a soldier do not suffice; our Marshal Montrevel would perhaps prefer fighting against Eugene and Marlborough than with these rag-o-muffins."

More wood was now piled on the fire. The father sat down, while Edmond paced up and down the hall in visible inquietude, the priest drew his chair towards the Counsellor, and said: "You are suffering from the gout in your left foot, my lord."

"Why do you conclude so?" asked the old gentleman, "the leg does not appear to me swoln, although you have guessed rightly."

"The swelling," continued the priest, "is certainly almost imperceptible; but you often step lighter and more gently with this foot, probably without being conscious of it, perhaps this joint is a little contracted in proportion to the right, and therefore has not the strength of the latter."

"That is very critically observed," said the Counsellor.

"My honoured sir," continued the priest, "it is incredible how consistent and reasonable nature is in all her productions. To analyse her in her minutest parts is instructive, however ridiculous it may appear to the unpractised. More than a century ago, the Neapolitan, De la Porte, wrote an excellent book on physiognomy comparing the human and the brutal together; in the earlier ages people tried to read on the countenance the virtues, vices, and qualities of the disposition: Believe me, if I could devote my leisure hours to this subject, I am confident I should carry it so far as to be able to discover from a shoe, or a boot, that had been worn for a time, many faults or peculiarities of its possessor."

"Really?" said the old Lord smiling, "They betray themselves by the garments, when closely examined; the hasty, or irresolute gait, the shuffling of the feet, the gliding step of ladies, are certainly very expressive; a certain nonchalant manner of walking, a haughty tread of the heel, an affected, frivolous sliding on tip toe, the indecisive tottering footstep, by which the shoe loses its shape, excepting the qualities which however demonstrate themselves by the high, or low instep, or by the flatness of the foot. But now for the legs; if these were exhibited in their natural state, it would be scarcely possible to mistake the rank, profession, and way of life; then there are tailor's and baker's legs, which it is impossible not to recognise, foot and cavalry soldier's legs, weaver's and joiner's legs, and so on."

"These are very interesting observations," said the Counsellor, "would you, for instance, venture to declare the former manner of life of my Frantz by his legs?"

"By my legs?" exclaimed the old servant, who was still busied in clearing away. "Here they are, reverend sir."

"Stoop a little--now go yonder--come back again--stand perfectly upright--my Lord Counsellor, I could swear that your Frantz has been in his youth, nay at a later period of life, a mariner."'

The servant looked at the priest astounded, and the Lord of Beauvais said: "You have hit it, my reverend friend; but from what do you draw your conclusion?"

"No mariner," said the priest "ever loses entirely the straggling and somewhat stooping gait which he has acquired on shipboard, he sinks his loins in walking, and a slight limp remains for the rest of his life."

When the other servant approached, the priest immediately cried out, "Give yourself no further trouble, one can see at the distance of a gun-shot, that the good man has been a tailor in his youth, and that he certainly pursues the same occupation now, for the bent shins clearly demonstrate it." "You follow the chase," turning to the huntsman who was standing; "it must be so, although I should rather have taken you for a soldier, and from the eye, for a smuggler; by the bye, what is the matter with your right knee? it certainly is not from attending mass, from whence then does this slight protuberance proceed? perhaps you have acquired the strange habit of falling on your right knee when you shoot?"

"Reverend sir," exclaimed the huntsman, "you must be a bit of a wizard yourself, for you have hit the mark. From my youth upwards I have never been able to shoot but in a kneeling position; should a hare run by under my nose, I cannot hit it standing, I must first throw myself down; but I have always been much ridiculed by my companions for it."

"For the rest," resumed the priest, "you have mountain-legs, and you must have been born in the Cevennes, or the Pyrenees, your eye too is characteristic of the mountaineer who is far-sighted."

"Just so," said the huntsman, "I come from Lozere, the wildest part of the mountains."

"Well, my young friend," said the connoisseur in legs, turning to the young lad,--"You pretend to be a miller and want miller's legs, how does that happen? observe, that from carrying sacks, the miller's back is early bent and becomes broad and round, but the principal weight presses upon the calves of the legs, the sinews of the hams become disproportionately strong; but with you these are precisely the weakest parts, the ancles too are not large enough: here, _summa summarum_ fails the miller's character, for my science cannot deceive."

"In this I cannot assist you, sir," said the young man petulantly, "for I am what I am, and will remain so."

"For my part," quickly rejoined the critic, "I desire not to press too closely on your miller's honour, you may probably be a spoilt, effeminate mother's darling, who would not suffer you to be too heavily laden, your hair and whole countenance have a mealy character, your voice too sounds like the wheat-bell and the mill-hopper, but when I look at your knees, they seem to me to be those of a baker, which are turned in from shoving the bread into the oven and taking it out again; during this process he is obliged to keep in a stooping position and rests upon his knees; but I discover the strangest contradiction in your thighs, for they are those of a horseman and of one who rides much, your eye too betrays a martial spirit, it darts here and there and is never quiet as a miller's ought to be, who is attentive to his business; in short, you are to me in your legs and in your whole person a very puzzling youth."

The young man reddened with resentment and the Counsellor endeavoured to turn the entire affair into merriment and laughter,--when the whole party was suddenly alarmed by a violent knocking at the front door of the house, that aroused even Edmond from his reverie. "For God's sake let me in," roared a voice loudly from without, "open to me in the name of heaven!"

At a sign from the Counsellor, who quickly recovered from his surprise, the servants rushed forward, the company looked at one another in silence, the bolts were withdrawn, and the tread of heavy footsteps was heard approaching the hall; the doors were thrown open, and lighted by the servants, a tall, powerfully-built figure with grey hair and moustaches of the same hue entered, he held in his hand a massive staff, that without exaggeration might be termed a club; a long, broad sword trailed clanging after him, and four pistols were stuck, in a black leather girdle. On his entrance he approached the host, and said in a deep, sonorous voice, "Pardon me, my lord, the alarm I must have caused you, I was benighted, pursued and in danger, therefore I ventured, certainly rather unceremoniously, to claim the shelter of your house."

"Oh heavens, it is the terrible hermit!" exclaimed the miller in a hoarse voice, "I am he, indeed," replied the gigantic figure, "but why terrible, my young simpleton? I may surely be permitted to show my face every where, presumptuous fellow; and I have shown it before other physiognomies than yours.--Your pardon! Sir Baron, if I give way to my displeasure at the presumption of this hireling. Yes, reverend sir, I am he, who under the name of the hermit is not unknown in this part of the country; in this character I wished to do homage to my God, but an envious fate thwarts me. To-day my troop has been entirely dispersed, and I have only saved my own life through the greatest exertions, for I was pursued even in the darkness of the night; my enemies cannot be far off, my life is forfeited, if you refuse me your protection."

"All I possess," said the Counsellor, "is at your service, my house, my servants and myself will protect you as far as we are able, independently of the claims of humanity; my duty to my king and country demand this."

"You are an honourable man," replied the giant, "such as I had every reason to expect."--At his invitation, he sat down by the side of the master of the house to partake of the wine and refreshments, which the servants placed before him. "I hope," said he, "that the storm and sudden fall of night have prevented them from tracing my route, but every moment of this day has been a perilous one to me. Yonder, on the right at Nages, the body of Camisards has been totally defeated; as I passed the Vidourla to give the rout to my enemies, I met a flying detachment of them, who, instead of showing any fear, assembled together, and fell upon me like so many devils; their number was not great, but it seemed as if they were aided by magic, a panic seized my people; they crowded together, they reached the Vidourla, the furious foes behind them. At that moment the storm burst forth, the waters rushed down from the mountains and swelled the rapid mountain-stream to a fearful height, it overflowed its banks, and I saw the dead, the wounded, and the living ingulphed in the waters; I swang myself upon a tree, and from that to a barren rock; more than a hundred muskets were levelled at me, my double-barrelled gun aided me as much as possible, but my sword was useless, the storm threatened to hurl me down, I tried to ascend in spite of the wind and the rushing waters, the rock, from incessant washing, had become slippery as ice, but at length I succeeded in gaining a footing in the midst of the rolling floods, I crept up higher, my steps illumined by the dazzling lightning, and the flashing from the enemy's guns, while the balls wizzed round me: Thus I arrived at a vineyard: I was compelled to scale the wall, on the other side I found two daring fellows, who had climbed over there before me, they fell beneath my sword, I entered a wood, and soon found myself standing upon a level rock, but without track or foot-path, neither road nor bridge was to be seen, precipices yawned below me; must I go back, or down! I slid down, the darkness prevented me from distinguishing anything; after repeated falls, I felt some shrubs under me, a huge shepherd's dog of the most ferocious species attempted to drag me down, there was no herdsman to be seen, or within call, I was compelled to wrestle with the fierce animal; night had now entirely closed in, I thought I heard the sound of bells, I groped my way towards the place from whence the sounds proceeded; soon afterwards I heard men's voices; are they friends or foes? while I was advancing with cocked pistols and drawn sword,--'Who's there?' suddenly grated upon my ears; I discovered they were the Camisards; as I gave no answer, they fired, and by the flashing I perceived distinctly ten of my foes standing at the opening of a ravine; no choice was left me, I advanced, the first fell, shot by my pistol, a second was cut down by my sword, the obscurity of the ravine favoured me, nothing remained but to fly, as quick as age and exhaustion would permit, they shouted and fired after me; at length I perceived I had attained a high road, the flashing from the fire-aims discovered to me a porch, something appeared in the distance like barns and buildings, I ran in that direction, and at last I reached the door of your house."

"Sir captain," said the Counsellor, "repose is necessary to your old age after this exertion and fatigue, lie down, and the safety, which my house is capable of affording, I again assure you, shall be faithfully granted to you."

"May heaven reward you," said the captain; "I look upon this untoward adventure as a hint of fate, warning me to lay down my arms, I shall do so, and return to a cell, or a cloister. Had Cavalier been with the troop, I should not have escaped him, for he possesses the utmost presence of mind, he is the boldest and indeed the most soldierly among the rebels."

"It is said that he is taken prisoner," observed the huntsman.

"The war is over then," exclaimed the hermit, "for, without him, they can undertake nothing; this powerful man is alone the soul of their venturous enterprise. The others understand well enough how to kill and to die, but not how to conduct the war. I wish he had died; for should he be taken prisoner, his fate will be one worthy of commiseration."

During this discourse, the priest, who had until then considered himself of so much importance, now felt lost and dwindled to nothing by the side of the so far greater adventurer. He would willingly have testified his veneration for him by an embrace, or, at least, by a grasping of the hand, but he dared not venture to approach one, whose wrath was so easily excited by any degree of familiarity. The tall man paced up and down the hall, examining all present with a scrutinising look: "Two servants, perhaps, moreover a valet and a huntsman," he muttered to himself, but loud enough to be heard, "will not indeed be capable of offering much resistance, the house is by no means fortified in case of an attack, then the young lord here, a sort of sportsman, the black one also in case of necessity to engage the enemy, but that chicken-hearted one, (looking penetratingly at the young miller) that downy-faced fellow is quite useless. May God forbid, we should be put to so severe a test." He now, as well as the others, paid their parting compliments to the Counsellor, as they were retiring for the night; they were lighted to their apartments by the domestics, and Edmond alone remained in the hall with his father. The rain had ceased, but the night was dark and the sky was covered with lowering clouds. The father and son walked up and down for some time in silence; at length the Counsellor said: "will you not retire to rest my son?" "I am still too much agitated and did you not hear, that our last guest feared we should perhaps have to receive another unexpected visit?"--Silence ensued, but Edmond after a pause recommenced: "Forgive me, my father, if I confess, that I have not understood you to-day, that I have not recognised in you the same person as formerly. That you received these people and sheltered them from the storm, was natural enough, but how it could be conformable to your disposition, (or what shall I call it) to suffer them to eat at your table without distinction, I cannot explain to myself. Often already have our people entertained menials; and what countenance shall I assume when this squinting huntsman shall wait upon me again at the table of the Lord of Basville, I know not; and what will the Intendant and the Marshal, who certainly must hear of it, think, or say? How shall I explain it to myself, that you received that miller's boy not only with kindness and condescension, but yet with hearty familiarity? who is even too low to be your menial, that you allow my sister, who is always too forward to play and romp with him?"

"My son," said the old man with some emotion, "it seems indeed, that, the older I become, the less capable do I feel of justifying myself to you: I might say, accustom yourself to my ways, as I must through affection bear with yours, though I misunderstand them so often. You must certainly excuse me, as you did not explain yourself before, our conversation to-day had made so deep an impression on me, indeed, such as I have not experienced for a long time. In my emotion I forgot to attend to the usual etiquette of life, and as I could not avoid entertaining the priest at our own table, I added the two other poor fellows, but as to that miller, who has more particularly drawn upon himself your hatred and contempt, his child-like countenance and frank, open manners, in my opinion, did more honour to my table, than your Marshal Montrevel could ever do. Accident, the weather brought us together; the times are also so changed that we do not yet know, but we ourselves may be compelled to sue for refuge among the most miserable. But as you so despise that youth, I still less comprehend that you should honour him so highly as to argue with him, nay, to seek yourself for a dispute; for the future interfere not with my ways."

They sat down and as Edmond was silent, the Counsellor said, after a pause: "What do you think then of this priest and his manners? such as these, you see, are appointed to direct and instruct the people, the unfortunate people! these became combatants and murderers like this colossus. That my house is compelled to shelter such, that is it indeed which humbles me. All champions for a good cause may not be individually good," said Edmond.

"Retire to rest now, my son," said the Counsellor kindly, "I shall sit up some time longer, I am too disturbed to be able to sleep, I shall read yet a little while, rest will then ensue with cooler blood." Edmond embraced his father, and then retired to his chamber. The old man gazed sorrowfully after him, and thought upon his son's future destiny; he sunk into a deep and melancholy reverie, no where did hope, or comfort seem to await him. He took up his book in order to calm the perturbation of his spirit, he tried to collect himself; he reflected upon the wonderful disposition of the mind, to divert itself by that which is most profound, in order to escape from its own appropriate feelings, and to be itself again in the inward sanctuary of the spirit. Thus without reading Plato, which he had laid open before him, he became more and more absorbed in a contemplative investigation on the double nature of the soul and of the mind, that reflects on itself and comprehends its nature and property, which, in thought, at the same time, views, and proving it, ponders upon this thought, being at once actor and spectator, and being only at this moment truly conscious of itself. He did not know how long he might have indulged in these reflections; when raising his eyes, he was surprised to see his son by his side. "You are still here, Edmond?" said he wondering. "No, my father," whispered the son, "I have reposed quite two hours, but just now when I awoke, I heard under the window a whispering and a movement as of many men, I approached, but could distinguish nothing, however, it seemed to me, as if people were gathering round our house, I have loaded in haste all our fire-arms, and quietly awakened the domestics. The strangers are still asleep, but they must now assist in our defence."

"If it be so, and that you have not been mistaken," said the father, "promise me only not to be too eager; let us be quiet and collected, for thereby one may be often enabled to prevent the worst, but I well know, by experience, that from the love of danger and fiery courage, which as easily defeat their object as cowardice, misfortune and destruction may be drawn down upon us. We must not venture alone, you must not forget your little sister. Now do I wish, that I had been a soldier, that I might meet this invasion with serenity, should it come to this, but we shall do what honour demands of us; but more than the danger itself do I fear your hastiness." In the mean while a murmur and the approach of footsteps were heard nearer; several voices were distinguished, a noise proceeded from the road and garden, so that it appeared, that they were taking possession of all the outlets. Immediately afterwards a knocking was heard at the door. The servants drew near, but at a mute signal from their master they remained tranquil; immediately the tumult became louder and several voices raised an unintelligible cry, Edmond grew warm, his father looked at him significantly; but soon, however, the name of the hermit resounded clearly and distinctly from out of the confused murmur. "They demand him," cried Edmond; "They are the Camisards!" The cry was repeated, they knocked louder, they became even noisy, the screams of women and the cries of children were now also heard; the Counsellor caused all the weapons to be brought forward, he was hastily distributing them to the servants, when trembling and ghastly pale the tall figure of the hermit, half dressed, tottered in, followed by the priest, bewildered and terrified; both seized the hand of their host, and while they were firing without, the knocking at the door and demands for the hermit became more violent. "Oh, heaven! compassion!" exclaimed the latter, "thou hast heard my oath, that I would in future refrain from blood, but it is too late, I am a victim to their vengeance!" With these words the tremendous figure fell senseless to the ground in utter despair! the child rushed into the hall with her maid; terrified and crying aloud she threw herself into her father's arms; the latter tried to comfort her, but one could see in his pale countenance, that he himself entertained but little hope. "I will protect you as long as I can," cried he, "but the multitude appears too great to allow of my defending the house." Fire! fire! cried a hundred voices from without at the same time, and lighted fire brands were seen through the windows! at that moment the door was shaken, by large trees, which were thrown against it like battering rams. "Oh heavens!" cried the priest, while his teeth chattered, "had I but the tenth part of my former courage,--but I am not at all prepared for this, I have slept a little already, which has completely relaxed my spirit." He took off his hat, "how impolite I am!" sighed he, but it was almost laughable, even in that moment, that under this he still wore his night-cap, without being aware of it, and in wandering about in every corner of the hall, he carried his hat in his hand. The huntsman now stole in, took his loaded gun from the shelf, and placed himself quietly by the chimney; "whither are you going" exclaimed Edmond, "out with the rifle, you must all defend yourselves!" "Impossible," stammered the man, "give up the old villain, otherwise the whole house is lost, I know the Camisards." "Scoundrel!" thundered the young man--"where is the miller? Still in bed? all of you, you miserable varlets, shall defend this place with me, nay, even that weak, effeminate boy shall make common cause with us."

"The hermit was praying on the ground, all were shouting confusedly in the hall, but no word was heard distinctly; all was confounded with the storm, which every moment became more violent without. The window-frames were demolished, the door cracked and appeared to give way, when, with an apparent air of indifference, the young miller entered, carelessly tying his neckerchief and said: 'Let me out by the back-door, I will speak to the enraged multitude,--quick, give me the key!' These last words were uttered in a tone of command. The old Lord looked at him, took the key from the wall, and opened the door to him himself, the youth went round to the other side of the house. Edmond posted himself with a loaded gun opposite the door, in order to fire among the assailants, in case they succeeded in forcing an entrance. Suddenly a tremendous shout was raised, which seemed like acclamations of joy and was reiterated by the crowds surrounding the house. Then all was still; and after a while a deep voice exclaimed: 'He must come out the assassin, on this spot he shall be torn to pieces!' 'Merciful God,' cried the hermit from the ground, where he still lay, 'that is the terrible Catinat, who knows no compassion!'--after a few words exchanged among them, the high and almost hoarse voice of the youth was heard. 'Silence all,' cried he vehemently: nothing more could be distinguished, for a confused murmur arose. The child glancing from under her dishevelled fair long tresses, said: 'Observe, my little David will yet save that great Goliath there.' The crowds without drew themselves up and marched away, the youth returned again by the garden-door, much heated and nearly breathless; he approached, the hermit still lying prostrate, fixed his eyes upon him, then caught him by the breast and said, 'rise up, God has again spared you to-day, you are safe, return to the town or to your own house:' He then turned to the huntsman, whispered something in his ear, whereupon the latter suddenly fell terrified upon his knees and exclaimed, 'Mercy!' 'Be silent!' said the young miller hastily. The priest looked as if he could have embraced the knees of the wonderful youth, who now turned to the master of the house, and said, in gentle tones: 'my honoured host, I consider myself fortunate in having been able to protect you; there were certainly a few Camisards, but the crowd was principally composed of a number of drunken millers-men from my part of the country, who had met with some other rough, intoxicated fellows. It was lucky, that I was known to some of them, in consequence of which, the small number of Camisards also suffered themselves to be pacified. It seems that they assembled more for pleasure than for any wicked purpose. Receive my thanks for your noble hospitality, worthy and honoured man.' He bowed, the old Lord seemed as if he wished to embrace him, but the opportunity was lost in irresolution and the stranger was already at the door.

"Farewell David!" exclaimed the child. He looked back once more with a serious and enquiring expression, raised his hand and eyes as if invoking a blessing, and then quitted the hall.

Those who remained behind, looked at one another as if they had witnessed the performance of a miracle. The first light of morning already dawned, and the dense multitude was seen retreating over the mountains, Edmond was standing in deep thought, and the old Lord, after having unlocked his gun, gave it to the servant, to carry away. The hermit drew near abashed, as if he felt considerably diminished in size since the day before. "I leave your house, my Lord," said he, in a voice scarcely audible, and with a heart greatly depressed; "I had almost drawn upon your honoured head the malediction attending my own errors, but the Lord has averted it." He took the road to Nismes; the huntsman had already slipped away.

"My Lord Counsellor of Parliament," cried the priest, "you have not seen us to-day in the most favourable light, now that all has passed off happily; I am a man again; courage revives once more within me, I could now show you that I am no coward, if a few of these villains would but return. Receive my thanks, honoured sir, and you too my young--but what do I see?" Now, for the first time, he perceived that he was politely taking leave with his hat in his hand, and his night-cap still on his head;--abashed he pulled it off, and thrust it into his pocket?--"This is the worst of all," said he, his whole face reddening; "One may thus see to what a sensible man may be reduced in these troublous times." He again made a hasty bow and retreated.

"Who was this youth?" asked the old Lord. "Probably one of those infamous rebels," replied Edmond in great wrath; "I had rendered perhaps a service to God and the king, if I had sent this ball after him!" "Father," said the child, "believe me, he was the angel Gabriel, and brother Edmond will yet be converted, and love him as I do." "Go to bed again, my little one," said her father, "you require rest, poor child!"

"That was no good night," said Eveline, "so now good morning, father! it grows so beautifully bright!" she retired with the female attendants, and Edmond and his father alone remained behind in the saloon. They were both silent for a long time, at length Edmond took his gun, and said, "what do you think of all this, and especially of this mysterious fellow, who can demean himself so innocently, and with so much _naivete_?"

"I must not express my thoughts," answered his father, "perhaps they would sound too romantic. You will leave us again, my son? and probably will not come back to dinner?"

"You know," replied Edmond, "my passion for hunting and the delight I take in mountains and forests; nature elevates us above our suffering; she strengthens our feelings; she inspires and gives us that noble vigour, which becomes but too often enervated in society, and in every day life. This will be a glorious day after the storm; I will forget all that I have experienced here."

"Let us but bring to nature a pious and purified spirit," said his father, "and she becomes to us the holiest of temples, psalms and songs of praise will then re-echo our holy inspirations; but her gloomy rocks and waterfalls, her desolate solitude with black masses of clouds brooding above, her wild echo can also excite still more the uneasy, agitated mind, and arouse more powerfully the turbulent spirit, for she answers only as she is questioned."

"I will therefore speak to her in my way," replied Edmond, half petulantly, "woods and mountains will perhaps understand me better than men." He bowed and went through the garden, and descended the vineyards already glittering, with the first rays of morning.

"He is going there again to Alais," said his father sighing, "and his wild enthusiasm for nature gives place to a well-lighted saloon, card-playing, witticisms, and frivolous conversations. Woe to me that I must thus recognise in him the characteristics of my youth, disfigured and exaggerated!"