The Winslow mail., 1897-07-10
In The Name Of The Law
By STANLEY ]. WEYMAN.
downright. 1896, by the Author. ]

On the mOorland above the old gray
village of Carbaix, in Finistere-Finis-
tere. the most westerly province of
Brittany-stands a cottage, built, as all
the cottages in that country are, of
rough heyyn stones. 1t is a poor, rude
place today, but it wore an aspect far
more rude and primitive 100 years ago
say Oh an August day in the year
1898, when man issued from the door
way, and, shading his eyes from the
monday sun, gazed long and fixedly in
the direction of narrow rift which a
few score PAGES away breaks the monot-
ony of the upland level. This man was
tall and thin and unkempt, his features
expressing a mixture of cunning and
simplicity. He gazed awhile in silence,
but at length uttered a grunt of salts
faction as the figure of woman rose
gradually into sight. She came on slow
ly, in a STOPPING posture, dragging be-
hind her q great load of straw, which
completely hid the little sledge Oh which
it rested, and which was attached to her
waist by a rope of twisted hay.
The figure of woman-rather of a
girl. AS she drew nearer it could be seen
that her cheeks, though brown and sun
burned, were as smooth as child's.
She looked scarcely 18. Her head was
bare, and her short petticoats, of some
coarse stuff, left visible bare feet thrust
into wooden shoes. She advanced with
her head bent and her shoulders strained
forward, her face dull and patient.
Once, and once only, when the mans
eyes left her for a moment, she shot at
him look of scared apprehension, and
later, when she came abreast of him,
her breath coming and going with her
exertions, he might have seen, had he
looked closely, that her strong brown
limbs were trembling under her.
But the man noticed nothing in his
impatience and only child her for her
slowness. ''Where have you been daw
ding, lazy bones?" he cried.
She murmured, without halting, that
the sun was hot.
Sun hotp' he retorted. Jeanne is
lazy, / Think Mon Dieu, that 1 should
have married a wife who is tired by
noon! / had better have left you to that
never do well, Pierre Bounat. But
have news for you, my girl. -
He lounged after her as he spoke, his
low, cunning face-the face of the worst
kind of French peasant-fiickering with
cruel pleasure as he saw how she start
ed at his words. She made no answer,
however Instead she drew her load
with increased vehemence toward one
of the two doors which led into the
building. "Well, well, will tell you
presently, he called after her. "Be
quick and come to dinner. p"
He entered himself by the other door.
The house was divided into two cham
bers by breast high partition Of wood.
The ono room served for kitchen The
other, now half full of straw, was barn
and granary, fowlhouse and doyecot,
in one "Be quickr' he called to her.
Standing in the hOuseroom he could see
her head as she stopped to unload the
straw.
In moment she came in, her shoes
gathering on the floor. The perspiration
stood in great beads on her forehead and
showed how little she had deserved his
reproach. She sat down silently, avoid
ing his eyes, but he thought nothing of
this. 1t was no new thing. 1t pleased
him, if anything.
''Well, my Jeanne" " he said in his
gibing tone. are you longing for my
news?"
The hand she stretched out toward
the pitcher Of cider, which, with black
bread and onions, formed their meal,
shook, but she answered simply, eff
you please, Michel.
well, the Girondins have been beat
en-, my girl, and are flying all over the
country. That is the news. Master
Pierre is among them, do not doubt, if
he has not been killed already. 1 wish
he would come this way"
"Why?" she asked suddenly, looking
up at last, Il flash of light i'll her gray
eyes.
Why" he repeated, grinning across
the table ct her. Because he would be
worth 5 crowns to me. There is 5
crowns, / am told, on the head of every
Girondin who has been in arms, my
girl
The French revolution, it will be un-
derstood. was at its height. The more
moderate and constitutional Republic