The St. Johns herald., 1897-05-29
In the Name of the Law
[Copyright, lsa5. by the Author.l ]
By STANLEY J. WHITMAN.

Ou lu6 mOOIlduu dDONe tu6 Olu gray village of Carbaix, in Finistere-Finis- tere, the most westerly province of Brittany-stands cottage, built, as all the cottages in that country are, of rough hewn stones It is poor, rude place today, but it wore an aspect far more rude and primitive 100 years ago say on an August day in the year I793, when a man issued from the door way, and, shading his eyes from the monday sun, gazed long and fixedly in the direction of a narrow rift which a few score paces 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 satis- faction as the figure of a woman rose gradually into sight. She came on slow ly, ill stepping posture, dragging be- hind her a great load of straw, which completely hid the little sledge on which it rested, and which was attached to her waist by a rope of twisted hay.
 The figure of woman-rather of @ girl. As she drew nearer it could be seen that her cheeks, though brown and sum- burned, were as smooth as a child's. She looked scarcely IS. 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 enid her for her slowness. "Where have you been daw- ding, lazy bones?" he cried.
 She murmured, without halting, that the sun was hot.
 'tSun hotp' he retorted. Jeanne is lazy, I think Mon Dieu, that should have married a wife who is tired by noon! I had better have left you to that never do well, Pierre Bounat. But I 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-flickering 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.
 He entered himself by the other door. The house was divided into two cham bers by breast high partition of wood. The one room served for kitchen. The other, now half full of straw, was barn and granary, fowlhouse and dovecot, in one. Be quickp' he called to her. Standing in the houseroom he could see her head as she stopped to unload the straw.
 In a moment she came in, her shoes clattering on the floor. The precipitation 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. It was no new thing. It 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, ''If 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. I wish he would come this way"
 "Why?" she asked suddenly, looking up at last, flash of light ill her gray eyes.
 "Why?" he repeated, grinning across the table at her. Because he would be worth 5 crowns to me. There is 5 crowns, I am told, on the head of every Girondin who has been in arms, my girl l"
 The French revolution, it will be un- derstood. was at its height. The more moderate and constitutional Republic