The Chaplet of Pearls | Page 6

'Come and help me catch Follet, Landry!' and still running across
an orchard, he pulled down a couple of apples from the trees, and
bounded into a paddock where a small rough Breton pony was feeding
among the little tawny Norman cows. The animal knew his little master,
and trotted towards him at his call of 'Follet, Follet. Now be a wise
Follet, and play me no tricks. Thou and I, Follet, shall do good service,
if thou wilt be steady.'
Follet made his advances, but with a coquettish eye and look, as if
ready to start away at any moment.
'Soh, Follet. I have no bread for thee, only two apples; but, Follet,
listen. There's my beau-pere the Count, and the Chevalier, all spite, and
their whole troop of savage gens d'armes, come out to fall upon the
poor Huguenots, who are doing no harm at all, only listening to a long
dull sermon. And I am much afraid my father is there, for he went out
his hawk on his wrist, and he never does take Ysonde for any real sport,
as thou and I would do, Follet. He says it is all vanity of vanities. But
thou know'st, if they caught him at the preche they would call it heresy
and treason, and all sorts of horrors, and any way they would fall like
demons on the poor Huguenots, Jacques and all-- thine own Jacques,
Follet. Come, be a loyal pony, Follet. Be at least as good as Eustacie.'

Follet was evidently attentive to this peroration, turning round his ear
in a sensible attitude, and advancing his nose to the apples. As
Beranger held them out to him, the other boy clutched his shaggy
forelock so effectually that the start back did not shake him off, and the
next moment Beranger was on his back.
'And I, Monsieur, what shall I do?'
'Thou, Landry? I know. Speed like a hare, lock the avenue gate, and
hide the key. That will delay them a long time. Off now, Follet.'
Beranger and Follet understood one another far too well to care about
such trifles as saddle and bridle, and off they went through green
grassy balks dividing the fields, or across the stubble, till, about three
miles from the castle, they came to a narrow valley, dipping so
suddenly between the hills that it could hardly have been suspected by
one unaware of its locality, and the sides were dotted with copsewood,
which entirely hid the bottom. Beranger guided his pony to a winding
path that led down the steep side of the valley, already hearing the
cadence of a loud, chanting voice, throwing out its sounds over the
assembly, whence arose assenting hums over an undercurrent of sobs,
as though the excitable French assembly were strongly affected.
The thicket was so close that Beranger was almost among the
congregation before he could see more than a passing glimpse of a sea
of heads. Stout, ruddy, Norman peasants, and high white-capped
women, mingled with a few soberly-clad townsfolk, almost all with the
grave, steadfast cast of countenance imparted by unresisted
persecution, stood gathered round the green mound that served as a
natural pulpit for a Calvinist minister, who more the dress of a burgher,
but entirely black. To Beranger's despair, he was in the act of inviting
his hearers to join with him in singing one of Marot's psalms; and the
boy, eager to lose not a moment, grasped the skirt of the outermost of
the crowd. The man, an absorbed- looking stranger, merely said,
'Importune me not, child.'
'Listen!' said Beranger; 'it imports---'

'Peace,' was the stern answer; but a Norman farmer looked round at
that moment, and Beranger exclaimed, 'Stop the singing! The gens
d'armes!' The psalm broke off; the whisper circulated; the words 'from
Leurre' were next conveyed from lip to lip, and, as it were in a moment,
the dense human mass had broken up and vanished, stealing through
the numerous paths in the brushwood, or along the brook, as it
descended through tall sedges and bulrushes. The valley was soon as
lonely as it had been populous; the pulpit remained a mere mossy bank,
more suggestive or fairy dances than of Calvinist sermons, and no one
remained on the scene save Beranger with his pony, Jacques the groom,
a stout farmer, the preacher, and a tall thin figure in the plainest dark
cloth dress that could be worn by a gentleman, a hawk on his wrist.
'Thou here, my boy!' he exclaimed, as Beranger came to his side; and
as the little fellow replied in a few brief words, he took him by the hand,
and said to the minister, 'Good Master Isaac, let me present my young
son to you, who under Heaven hath been