Legend of Moulin Huet | Page 3

her own society
when she heard her Father call her. She immediately obeyed his
summons with that strange feeling at her heart--that strange
foreshadowing of evil--to which we have all been subject at some time
in our lives. "Again at that silly work, girl; better for thee to get
something to do about the house than waste thy time over that useless
finery; I'll warrant me when thou art Jacques Gaultier's wife he will
find thee other work--mending his nets, mayhap!"
"My dear Father, I will never be Jacques Gaultier'a wife. I have told
him so oft: I doubt if he will ever speak to me on the subject again; he
will not risk hearing rude words from me, I fancy."
"I tell thee thou shalt be Jacques Gaultier's wife, and that before long;
he is coming here to-night, and I will tell him he can have thee with my
full consent. Spite of thy love for red coats, thou wilt settle down here
as a fisher's wife."
"Father, I have promised to marry Charlie and no other, and I will do so;
you used to like him ere 'my Lord Protector Cromwell' turned the heads,
if not gained the hearts, of nearly all but the loyal soldiery! And now I
will never marry any one but Charlie. You have made me speak thus to
you Father; I don't think you ought to try to make me marry one whom
in my heart I despise; and who you know well is not a good man."
"Ah! that is thy spirit, is it? Well, we'll see; I doubt if thou wilt find that

fine soldier of thine alive much longer; it would be a good and
commendable deed to sweep all such from the face of the earth."
"Yes, surely, commendable, but only in the eyes of those who
murdered our poor King, Father; but we will speak no more of these
things. You are tired with your day's work, and are not like yourself
to-night. I hear Hirzel's voice, so I will go and meet him; we are to have
a walk this evening, and you can talk quietly with Jacques, but not a
word about me; you know what my thoughts are now, Father."
Having thus spoken, Marguerite left the house, and after going through
the garden gate, she entered a pretty lane which was abundantly blessed
by Nature with a quantity of ferns and wild flowers. It was just
beginning to grow dusk, and she saw not far off Jacques Gaultier and
her brother. The latter was singing in his native patois a gay song,
much to the horror of Jacques, who thought it was dreadful to do such a
thing. Dropping his usual air of hypocritical stiffness (adopted by so
many to fall in with the custom of the times), he hastened forward to
meet Marguerite, and with a show of politeness, wonderful for the
rough Jacques, raised his hat and said, "Good evening, Marguerite; it is
my fault that thy brother is late; I kept him while I was getting ready
some bobbins which I have made in the hope that thou wilt take them
from me."
"I thank thee, Jacques Gaultier, but I do not want thy bobbins; keep
them for some other girl: I am teaching many this same work, and no
doubt you will find some one glad to get them. I am going to-night
where I shall get a set made by some one whom I like better than
Jacques Gaultier. My father is waiting, so go to him; come Hirzel, don't
delay me longer."
Jacques moved off muttering to himself, and with a most murderous
look on his dark face. Poor Charlie would have fared badly had he been
in this man's power just now!
CHAPTER III.
We will follow Gaultier into the mill, leaving Marguerite and her

brother to pursue their intention of having a walk, and hear what old
Pierre has to say. On Jacques entering the room he found the old man
in a state of great disquietude--in fact, in a very great rage. He had by
no means recovered his daughter's assertion that she would never marry
anyone but Charles Heyward.
"Good evening, Jacques, I sent for thee on a matter of great importance
to thyself. I know thou did'st love my girl Marguerite, and that thou
had'st a desire to marry her. Art thou still of that mind?" Jacques was
somewhat surprised both at the old man's manner and at this opening
address, but replied, "Truly I am, but I fear she will never consent to
take me for her husband; she hates me, and loves that soldier with red
cheeks and bold forward air. I wish he were far from here; but perhaps
she would still think