Mathieu Ropars: et cetera. William Young

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СКАЧАТЬ Francine, turning up to Josèphe her face that listlessness had robbed of a portion of its roses, but with her large eyes full of curiosity.

      —"I don't know," said the elder "mother will tell us. But let's think about something else; you know that we cannot go to the powder-magazine."

      —"No, nor to the end of the island, nor any where," added Francine, letting herself sink down again upon Josèphe's knees.

      The latter, bent at all events on amusing the child, then called her attention to the goat, that had just got up. Starting suddenly from her doze, Brunette was describing round her stake a series of such droll evolutions, that the child's sadness could not hold out against them, and she soon broke out into a laugh. Josèphe, who at first had chimed in with her merriment, was afraid that the mutinous creature's gambols would end by her breaking the cord; she put her hand out to prevent it.

      —"Let her be, let her be!" cried Francine in high glee; "look how she rears up! see how she dances! Well done, Brunette; higher, little one, higher!"

      The child, kneeling down upon the sand, clapped her hands, with shouts of delight; and the goat, that seemed excited by her voice and by the noise, redoubled its capricious boundings. All at once, the stake, loosened by such continued tuggings, was drawn out of the ground: the animal jumped to one side; and finding itself no longer held back, started off for the further extremity of the island.

      The two sisters gave utterance to a cry, and then, from an irresistable impulse, sprang away together in pursuit. The corded limits were passed, and they were soon led off along the declivities, calling to Brunette, who according to her old tricks would wait, bleating, for them, and then caper away at their approach. In the eagerness of their chase they thus reached the summit of the island, followed the slopes that went down to the sea, and finally arrived at the foot of the ravine that was farthest removed from their dwelling. It was there only that Josèphe bethought her of their disobedience. She stopped, out of breath, and held back her sister with her arms.

      —"Not a step further, Zine!" cried she; "we ought not to have come so far; mother forbid it."

      The little one looked round about her, and remarked in turn the spot in which they were. It was a large fissure hollowed out in the stony soil of the island, and, at the bottom of which broad ferns and flowering brooms had sprung up in tufts. Right and left, through the partition-walls of rock, peeped up the stone-break, and the sea turf with its purple cats-tails, and the fox glove that thrust its long stalk from the crevices, loaded with rose-coloured bell flowers.

      At such a sight, Francine could not restrain a cry of admiration. Here was the first verdure, here were the first flowers she had seen, since strict orders had confined her to the barren platform occupied by the keeper's house. Neither could she resist the temptation; slipping away from the hands of her sister, and unwilling to hear a word, she disappeared in the thickest of the flowering tufts.

      Having vainly called to her, Josèphe followed to bring her back; but the child went on from shrub to shrub, without any inclination to stop. At every fresh handful of gathered flowers, uselessly did Josèphe cry, "enough!" "More, more!" was Francine's answer, as she piled up within her apron, upheld by the two corners, all on which she could lay her hands. Want of place alone could make her consent to suspend her harvesting. Loaded with herbs and wild flowers, falling in garlands down to her very feet, she at length was disposed to take hold again of Josèphe's hand, who set to work to find their way back, and cautiously removed the prickly-broom from their path.

      The children were on the point of reaching a ridge made up of heath and broom, when the warning bell was heard above their heads. They stopped, and raised their eyes. Four of the infirmary-men were coming down towards the ravine, bearing their funereal burden. They were following the only foot-path practicable on the slope, and the little girls could not proceed on their way, without meeting them. Terrified, they drew back amongst the bushes that still concealed them, and paused, leaning one against the other. The bell tinkled by fits and starts, drawing nearer at every sound. At length they could distinguish the heavy footstep of the bearers ringing upon the rock, and could see their darkening outlines marked out in the twilight. They were advancing precisely to the little oasis wherein the children had taken refuge. Arrived at the entrance, they seemed to consult together for an instant; then resumed their way through the thorny tufts, rounded the mass of rock behind which the sisters had crouched, and stopped, with the words, "Here it is."

      Francine, in dire alarm, had hidden her head upon Josèphe's knees; she, less timid, gently put aside the branches, and could then see a grave already dug in a gravelly portion of the soil. The infirmary-men had laid down the corpse upon the ground, wrapped-up in a coarse linen cloth. Then they took a sack, hidden under a projecting bit of rock, and emptied its contents into the grave. The white dust, that rose up from it as a cloud, was wafted to the children in a sour odour of lime. This was carefully spread over the bottom of the hole, so as to form a bed for the dead body, and was then sprinkled with water drawn from the sea. These preparatory measures had all been taken in gloomy silence. Nought was heard but the scraping of the spade upon the rocky soil, and the monotonous bubbling of the tiny waves that rippled with the evening breeze upon the shore. Josèphe, her neck out-stretched, her large eyes dilated, and with a painful sense of tightening at her heart-strings, continued on the watch.

      At this moment, two of the bearers took up the body, and brought it close to the hole dug for its reception. They were separated from the children only by a tuft of bushes. As they lightly grazed it with their burden, a gust of wind unrolled one of the corners of the covering cloth; a livid head was visible by the last glimmering of light; and Josèphe uttered a stifled cry. The fall of the body into the pit prevented her being heard; but the moment's glance had sufficed—the child thought she recognized the face of Monsieur Gabriel. She threw herself back, in inexpressible horror. It was the first time that death had come before her eyes, and it appeared to her in a guise that filled her with grief and terror. Clinging to Francine, she began to tremble in every limb. The noise of the earth and flint-stones, that were shovelled into the grave, held her as one petrified. It was only when the four grave-diggers had left the ravine and disappeared in the pathway, that her agony found vent. Francine raised her head and asked what had happened; but receiving no reply, threw herself into Josèphe's arms, and began in turn to sob.

      The distress of her little sister seemed to counteract that of Josèphe, who forced herself to stifle her own anguish, and began embracing and consoling Francine.

      —"Don't cry" stammered she, choking in spite of herself; "you mustn't be afraid, … you mustn't cry. … "

      —"What is the matter with you, Josey; what is it?" inquired the little one again, holding her sister's head between her own two hands, and kissing her moistened cheeks.

      —"It's … nothing, … "returned Josèphe, her accent belying her words, … "I was taken by surprise. … "

      —"Have the men gone?" asked Francine, looking with frightened glance towards the grave.

      —"You see they have," answered Josèphe shuddering.

      —"What did they come here to do? They were carrying something. It was a dead body, wasn't it?"

      Her sister put her hand upon her lips.

      —"Don't talk of that, Zine!" murmured she, her sobs again overpowering her.

      —"You saw it?" asked the child, frightened, yet curious.

      —"Yes, O God!" faltered forth her sister in reply;

       " … and … I knew it again … it was Monsieur

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