St. Landry democrat., 1893-04-08

the weight, there should be fortune.
This rascally bagl'
And still grumbling, "The rascally
bag," and whistling at intervals, he went
down toward Pillcmoine. Below him
stretched the valley, lost in the shadow,
dotted here and there with lights, for
the night was almost black. But he
knew every village and every house. and
in the blackncss he recognized far away
the house of the ironmastcr, with every
window lighted up. The joyous scene
eyes, yes,' murmured Marcaillc.
"There are some lucky people in the
world. They have money, all they want,
and with money one can do anything.
Just get little and it's like snowfall,
it rolls up bigger and bigger Some
have all and others have none There
they are by the fire, and |, out here in
the snow. And what they spend for
THAR amusement tonight couldn't earn
in year. And yet they say God is
justln
Why did these ideas come to him? He
had never envicd any one. Why then did
he stop and gaze fcrcely at the lights
shining below him?
He shook himself together.
Forward, Marcallle,' he cried, ''for-
ward, march"
But the wind whistled and moancd in
the pine trees like crying baby, and
Marcaille passing in thought from the
ironmaster's house to his own, saw his
four little ones gathered around their
mother, by a scanty fire of fagots; he
saw them searching in the cupboard for
a forgotten bread crust; he saw them
going to sleep. all four on the same little
wretched straw mattress. Obi poverty,
poverty, it is hard And to think that
| right here, in his bag
"Registered letter." he thought eff
it should be bank bills! Imbccile! It
is for the Mayor 1t comes from the
prefecture. 1t is probably only papers
and they register it and put on these big
seals for a grand effect. Yes, but If it
should be bank bills"
His face flushed red at the thought that
had crossed his mind. 'Ihaven't drunk
anything either" he murmured, with a
shudder.
He entered Pillemoine. At the door
of peasants house he knocked. A win
dow opened.
ooh! 1t is Marcaille. Come inr'
He went in.
"NVhat ails your asked the man.
"You're pale. Have glass of
vine"
'No, no, thanks" said Marcaille, in a
dull voice. In rebuckling his bag he had
felt the registered letter brush the tips of
his fingers.
The man had taken glass, he held the
bottle all ready to pour.
''No," repeated Marcaille. And with
out another word he hurried out. The
ends of his fingers seemed to burn at the
remembrance of the red seals Bank
bills, as many as there were there, how
many things one could buy with them!
He began to whistle. his breath failed
him and he felt his legs trcmble beneath
him. Without intending to, without
wishing to, he had unbucklcd the BAG,
he had taken out the letter and i'll the
half-light reflected from the snow he
saw, like drops of blood, the five great
red seals.
Quickly he took the letter and felt it
carefully to find out its secret But the
envelope was thick and hard the paper
cracked under his fingers with little
dry noise that sounded formidably loud,
while the night wind whistlea in his
ears:
"Thicf. thief! theft"
''Who said Marcailie was thicf2' he
cried, with fierce gesture. Then, see
ing that he was alone, he came to him
self and fell at the side Of the road,
crouching, his head in his hands, and
This is frightful! But have drunk
nothing"
Slowly he rc-opened the leather bag
and slipped in the letter; slowly he rose
slowly still he crossed the road. 1t
seemed as If an implacabIc, invisible
hand held him fast to this spot from
which he would have hurried away.
The road to Slanc was straight before
him; a half hour more and he should
have finished his round, the letter would
be given to the Mayor and he would be
safe.
Then he put the letter back in the bag
with an angry gesture, and marched on
With measured step, striking with lis
heel and counting as he used to do in
the regiment W! Ell the march was long,
Zone, two; one, two.'
The regiment! All, how far away it
was at that time. How poor they seemed
to him now, the brave joys of the soldier,
which had made his heart beat for four
teen years. What a fool he was to enlist
Fighting in the field, hard fare in the
camp, suffering in the ambulance. His !
medal Great things indeed. A bit Of
ribbon on his blouse. How much better
he would have done to start out, like his |
brother to seek his fortune
ut was by this road he went,' thought |
Marcaille, as he started across the great |
road to Geneva, whose white length to
his right stretched along by the forest of
Shane, "by this road"
That long white road, he had only to
travel along it-and he stopped.
"The frontier" he thought, sis quite
near. Ten leagues, what is that ? TAX
ing time to 60 for the wife and babies,
one could be there tomorrow morning.
And once there, one is safe. The Mayor
is not expecting this letter. If people
missed us tomorrow, they would think
something had happened to me in the
night, that | had fallen into hole or
something, and that my wife was looking
for me. Suspect me? Oh! no. Mar
caillc is an honest man, an honest man,
The sweat stood on his brow. Pant
ing, with his eyes fixed on that white
inc which lost itself in the night, he re-
peated in low voice, can hsncst man."
His hand slipped under his cloak, I'M
,uckled the leather bag, and trcmbled
IS it touched the five red seals.
eyes. Int if T wpro wrOnr - ho rr1t