The Trampling of the Lilies | Page 8

sorrowfully upon his volume of "The Discourses,"
and for the first time a doubt crossed his mind touching the wisdom of
old Jean Jacques. Was there would there ever be any remedy for such a
condition of things as now prevailed?
Already the trees had hidden the Marquis and his daughter from La
Boulaye's sight. The young revolutionist felt weary and lonely - dear
God, how lonely! neither kith nor kin had he, and of late all the interest
of his life - saving always that absorbed by Jean Jacques - had lain in
watching Suzanne de Bellecour, and in loving her silently and distantly.
Now that little crumb of comfort was to be his no more, he was to go
away from Bellecour, away from the sight of her for all time. And he
loved her, loved her, loved her!
He tossed his arms to Heaven with a great sigh that was a sob almost,
then he passed his hands over his face, and as they came in contact with
the swollen ridge that scored it, love faded from his mind, and
vindictiveness came to fill its room.
"But for this," he cried aloud. "I shall take payment - aye, as there is a
God!"
Then turning, and with "The Discourses " held tightly to his side, he
moved slowly away, following the course of the gleaming waters.

CHAPTER II
LORDS OF LIFE AND DEATH
One friend did La Boulaye count in the village of Bellecour. This was
old Duhamel, the schoolmaster, an eccentric pedant and a
fellow-worshipper of the immortal Jean Jacques. It was to him that La
Boulaye now repaired intent upon seeking counsel touching a future
that wore that morning a singularly gloomy outlook.
He found Duhamel's door open, and he stepped across the threshold
into the chief room of the house. But there he paused, and hesitated.
The chamber was crowded with people in holiday attire, and the centre
of attraction was a well-set-up peasant with a happy, sun-tanned face,
whose golden locks were covered by a huge round hat decked with a
score of gaily-coloured ribbons.
At sight of him La Boulaye remembered that it was Charlot's
wedding-day. Popular amongst the women by virtue of his comeliness,
and respected by the men by virtue of his strength, Charlot Tardivet
was a general favourite of the countryside, and here, in the room of old
Duhamel, the schoolmaster, was half the village gathered to do him
honour upon his wedding morn. It was like Duhamel, who, in
fatherliness towards the villagers, went near out-rivalling M. le Cure, to
throw open his house for the assembling of Charlot's friends, and La
Boulaye was touched by this fresh sign of kindliness from a man whose
good heart he had not lacked occasion to observe and appreciate. But it
came to the secretary that there was no place for him in this happy
assemblage. His advent would, probably, but serve to cast a gloom
upon them, considering the conditions under which he came, with the
signs of violence upon his face to remind them of the lords of life and
death who dwelt at the Chateau up yonder. And such a reminder must
fall upon them as does the reminder of some overhanging evil clutch
suddenly at our hearts in happy moments of forgetfulness. To let them
be happy that day, to leave their feasts free of a death's head, La
Boulaye would have withdrawn had he not already been too late.
Duhamel had espied him, and the little, wizened old man came

hurrying forward, his horn-rimmed spectacles perched on the very end
of his nose, his keen little eyes beaming with delight and welcome.
"Ah, Caron, you are very choicely come," he cried, holding out both
hands to La Boulaye. "You shall embrace our happy Hercules yonder,
and wish him joy of the wedded life he has the audacity to exploit."
Then, as he espied the crimson ridge across the secretary's countenance,
"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, "what have you done to yourself, Caron?"
"Pish! It is nothing," answered La Boulaye hurriedly, and would have
had the subject dismissed, but that one of the onlooking peasants swore
by the memory of some long-dead saint that it was the cut of a whip.
Duhamel's eyes kindled and his parchment-like skin was puckered into
a hundred evil wrinkles.
"Who did it, Caron?" he demanded.
"Since you insist, old master," answered the secretary, still
endeavouring to make light of it, "learn that is the lord Marquis's
signature to his order of my dismissal from his service."
"The dog!" ejaculated the school-master.
"Sh! let it be. Perhaps I braved him overmuch. I will tell you of it when
these good folks have gone. Do not let us cast a gloom over their
happiness, old master.