The herald. [microfilm reel] (Los Angeles [Calif.]) 1893-1900, 1894-06-17


of the mountains were hidden bales Of
tobacco, cloths, skins, Spanish laces and
liquors. In some way or another all this
merchandise was gradually struggled
into France, but how, no one, not even
Valgenod, knew.
1t was the third day Of the epidemic,
just about twilight, that Valgenod,
scenting the winds and looking around,
saw cart, drawn by broken winded
mule, entering the valley and going
straight toward the gates of the town.
Behind came Meritas and few i'll clad
fellows of his tribe, who were singing
psalms in harsh patois. The cart was
arailed one, and in spite Of the approach
ing darkness the sergeant made out the
long shape of a coffin.
"Ah," he moaned. rThere is suffer
ing up there too. Honest people are not
the only ones to die, / see.
He drew himself up to let the process
sion pass and gave the military salute
"a corpse deserved such salute even
though it was one Of those reprobates
Before the walls Of the custom house,
Meritas, whose eyes cleaned like two
fires in his pale face, raised his long,
lean arms to heaven and sobbed:
"My wifel My wifel My wifep"
"Poor old man, !" said Valgenod, and
he drew match to light his pipe, for
he felt an unusual tenderness creeping
over him.
Two days later another procession
was seen winding around the mountain,
and Meritas was walking behind. This
time there were three collins in the cart.
"Well, now," thought Valgenod,
"these cannot all be his. Perhaps it is a
subscription. %
But the old smuggler was tearing his
beard and shrieking in broken tones at
the top Of his voice:
"My sonsl My sonsl Who can give
me back my sons?"
The sergeant saluted three times, and
the entire post, drawn out in line along
the open gratings, uncovered piously
before the bitter grief Of the distracted
father.
Every evening at the setting of the
sun funeral procession passed through
the town, and Meritas invaribly formed
part of the cortege. He walked with a
friend ON each side supporting him, call
ing aloud ON God, blessing the dead and
,amenting his fate. He buried in order
his wife, his sons, his daughters, his
nephews, his cousins. One day he be-
sought Valgenod to kill him and end his
suffering.
HE is getting silly, and there is
some reason for it, said the sergeant,
Struggling his shoulders.
Finally, SO strong is pity, he felt his
former respect grow into love for his old
enemy.
These funerals continued for three
weeks. Then the people in the town be-
gan to wonder. Querterac awoke from
its stupor, and the epidemic seemed to
have disappeared. The deaths became
fewer and fewer; the windows were
opened; every one would have regain
ed confidence if it had not been for those
mournful professions that came down
every evening from above, lamentable
proof that the epidemic was still rag
ing, if not in the city, at any rate in
the outposts.
One evening-it was the last-three
carts, as usual, were crossing the city
bridge. One of them, the foremost,
struck against milestone. The mule
backed, and the cart upset, throwing its
contents, two collins, at the feet of Val
genod In the fall the lid of one of the
collins fell off. Immediately Meritas
and all the mourners, spreading out
their arms like the wings Of birds, fed
to the mountains Valgenod was aston
ished to see instead of the corpse, before
which he was already preparing to fee,
rolling between his legs four bales of
merchandise carefully marked.
''To arms" he cried
The post ran up, but it was too late.
The smugglers had escaped. The other
carts were seized and the collins opened.
They were all filled with merchandise.
Valgenod tore his hair.
This then was the key to the mystery,
the explanation of those numerous
deaths, of those pious burials. Not one
of those "rascals up above had died
from cholera Meritas had not lost a
wife or sons, daghters or cousins. All
the collins that had entered Querterac
and had been saluted by the custom
house officers had been loaded with
lace, liquors and tobacco. They had
been taken through the deserted streets,
and the contents stored in house at the
gates of the cemetery. When the house
was searched, it was empty. The mer-
chandise had been sent away every day
to the large towns.
The villagers smiled. valgenod swore
that in future he would refuse to pass
q skeleton unless he turned his pockets
inside out. Meritas disappeared. -
Translated From the French of Maurice
Montigut For Short Stories.