The Fortune of the Rougons | Page 8

hat, placed lightly on the back of his head, cast a streak of
shadow over his brow.
As the neighbouring clock struck the half hour, he suddenly started
from his reverie. Perceiving that the white moonlight was shining full
upon him, he gazed anxiously ahead. Then he abruptly dived back into
the shade, but was unable to recover the thread of his thoughts. He now
realised that his hands and feet were becoming very cold, and
impatience seized hold of him. So he jumped upon the stone again, and
once more glanced over the Jas-Meiffren, which was still empty and
silent. Finally, at a loss how to employ his time, he jumped down,
fetched his gun from the pile of planks where he had concealed it, and
amused himself by working the trigger. The weapon was a long, heavy
carbine, which had doubtless belonged to some smuggler. The
thickness of the butt and the breech of the barrel showed it to be an old
flintlock which had been altered into a percussion gun by some local
gunsmith. Such firearms are to be found in farmhouses, hanging against
the wall over the chimney-piece. The young man caressed his weapon
with affection; twenty times or more he pulled the trigger, thrust his
little finger into the barrel, and examined the butt attentively. By
degrees he grew full of youth enthusiasm, combined with childish
frolicsomeness, and ended by levelling his weapon and aiming at space,
like a recruit going through his drill.
It was now very nearly eight o'clock, and he had been holding his gun
levelled for over a minute, when all at once a low, panting call, light as
a breath, came from the direction of the Jas-Meiffren.
"Are you there, Silvere?" the voice asked.
Silvere dropped his gun and bounded on to the tombstone.
"Yes, yes," he replied, also in a hushed voice. "Wait, I'll help you."
Before he could stretch out his arms, however, a girl's head appeared
above the wall. With singular agility the damsel had availed herself of

the trunk of a mulberry-tree, and climbed aloft like a kitten. The ease
and certainty with which she moved showed that she was familiar with
this strange spot. In another moment she was seated on the coping of
the wall. Then Silvere, taking her in his arms, carried her, though not
without a struggle, to the seat.
"Let go," she laughingly cried; "let go, I can get down alone very well."
And when she was seated on the stone slab she added:
"Have you been waiting for me long? I've been running, and am quite
out of breath."
Silvere made no reply. He seemed in no laughing humour, but gazed
sorrowfully into the girl's face. "I wanted to see you, Miette," he said,
as he seated himself beside her. "I should have waited all night for you.
I am going away at daybreak to-morrow morning."
Miette had just caught sight of the gun lying on the grass, and with a
thoughtful air, she murmured: "Ah! so it's decided then? There's your
gun!"
"Yes," replied Silvere, after a brief pause, his voice still faltering, "it's
my gun. I thought it best to remove it from the house to-night;
to-morrow morning aunt Dide might have seen me take it, and have felt
uneasy about it. I am going to hide it, and shall fetch it just before
starting."
Then, as Miette could not remove her eyes from the weapon which he
had so foolishly left on the grass, he jumped up and again hid it among
the woodstacks.
"We learnt this morning," he said, as he resumed his seat, "that the
insurgents of La Palud and Saint Martin-de-Vaulx were on the march,
and spent last night at Alboise. We have decided to join them. Some of
the workmen of Plassans have already left the town this afternoon;
those who still remain will join their brothers to-morrow."
He spoke the word brothers with youthful emphasis.

"A contest is becoming inevitable," he added; "but, at any rate, we have
right on our side, and we shall triumph."
Miette listened to Silvere, her eyes meantime gazing in front of her,
without observing anything.
"'Tis well," she said, when he had finished speaking. And after a fresh
pause she continued: "You warned me, yet I still hoped. . . . However,
it is decided."
Neither of them knew what else to say. The green path in the deserted
corner of the wood-yard relapsed into melancholy stillness; only the
moon chased the shadows of the piles of timber over the grass. The two
young people on the tombstone remained silent and motionless in the
pale light. Silvere had passed his arm round Miette's waist, and she was
leaning against his shoulder. They exchanged no kisses, naught but an