Ninety-Three. Victor Hugo

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      "Let us put an end to this. Do what you have to do. Deliver me to the authorities," said the Marquis.

      The man went on—

      "You were going to the farm Herbe-en-Pail, were you not?"

      "Yes."

      "Don't go there."

      "Why not?"

      "Because the Blues are there."

      "How long have they been there?"

      "These three days past."

      "Did the inhabitants of the farm and village resist?"

      "No; they opened all the doors."

      "Ah!" said the Marquis.

      The man indicated with his finger the roof of the farm, which was visible in the distance above the trees.

      "Do you see that roof, Marquis?"

      "Yes."

      "Do you see what there is above it?"

      "Something waving?"

      "Yes."

      "It is a flag."

      "The tricolor," said the man.

      It was the object that had attracted the attention of the Marquis when he stood on the top of the dune.

      "Isn't the tocsin ringing?" inquired the Marquis.

      "Yes."

      "On what account?"

      "Evidently on yours."

      "But one cannot hear it?"

      "The wind prevents it from being heard."

      The man continued—

      "Did you see that notice about yourself?"

      "Yes."

      "They are searching for you."

      Then glancing towards the farm, he added—

      "They have a demi-battalion over there."

      "Of republicans?"

      "Of Parisians."

      "Well," said the Marquis, "let us go on."

      And he made a step in the direction of the farm. The man seized him by the arm.

      "Don't go there!"

      "Where would you have me go?"

      "With me."

      The Marquis looked at the beggar.

      "Listen to me, Marquis: My home is not a fine one, but it is safe—a hut lower than a cellar, seaweed for a floor, and for a ceiling a roof of branches and of grass. Come. They would shoot you at the farm, and at my house you will have a chance to sleep; you must be weary. To-morrow the Blues start out again, and you can go where you choose."

      The Marquis studied the man.

      "On which side are you, then?" asked the Marquis. "Are you a royalist, or a republican?"

      "I am a beggar."

      "Neither royalist nor republican?"

      "I believe not."

      "Are you for or against the king?"

      "I have no time for that sort of thing."

      "What do you think of what is transpiring?"

      "I think that I have not enough to live on."

      "Yet you come to my aid."

      "I knew that you were outlawed. What is this law, then, that one can be outside of it? I do not understand. Am I inside the law, or outside of it? I have no idea. Does dying of hunger mean being inside the law?"

      "How long have you been dying of hunger?"

      "All my life."

      "And you propose to save me?"

      "Yes."

      "Why?"

      "Because I said to myself, 'There is a man who is poorer than I, for he has not even the right to breathe.'"

      "True. And so you mean to save me?"

      "Certainly. Now we are brothers, my lord—beggars both; I for bread, and you for life."

      "But do you know there is a price set on my head?"

      "Yes."

      "How did you know it?"

      "I have read the notice."

      "Then you can read?"

      "Yes, and write also. Did you think I was like the beasts of the field?"

      "But since you can read, and have seen the notice, you must know that he who delivers me up will receive sixty thousand francs."

      "I know it."

      "Not in assignats."

      "Yes, I know—in gold."

      "You realize that sixty thousand francs is a fortune?"

      "Yes."

      "And that the man who arrests me will make his fortune?"

      "Yes; and what then?"

      "His fortune!"

      "That is exactly what I thought. When I saw you, I said to myself, 'To think that whoever arrests this man will earn sixty thousand francs, and make his fortune! Let us make haste to hide him.'"

      The Marquis followed the beggar.

      They entered a thicket. There was the beggar's den, a sort of chamber in which a large and ancient oak had allowed the man to take up his abode; it was hollowed out under its roots, and covered with its branches—dark, low, hidden, actually invisible—and in it there was room for two.

      "I foresaw that I might have a guest," said the beggar.

      This kind of subterranean lodging, less rare in Brittany than one might imagine, is called a carnichot. The same name is also given to hiding-places built in thick walls. The place was furnished with a few jugs, a bed of straw or sea-weed, washed and dried, a coarse kersey blanket, and a few tallow СКАЧАТЬ