roads of destiny-第5节

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ight　have　business。　The　corner　of　her　eye　was　engaged　in　a　search　for　David；　albeit　her　set　mouth　seemed　unrelenting。　He　saw　the　look；　braved　the　mouth；　drew　from　it　a　recantation　and；　later；　a　kiss　as　they　walked　homeward　together。

Three　months　afterwards　they　were　married。　David's　father　was　shrewd　and　prosperous。　He　gave　them　a　wedding　that　was　heard　of　three　leagues　away。　Both　the　young　people　were　favourites　in　the　village。　There　was　a　procession　in　the　streets；　a　dance　on　the　green；　they　had　the　marionettes　and　a　tumbler　out　from　Dreux　to　delight　the　guests。

Then　a　year；　and　David's　father　died。　The　sheep　and　the　cottage　descended　to　him。　He　already　had　the　seemliest　wife　in　the　village。　Yvonne's　milk　pails　and　her　brass　kettles　were　bright/ouf/！　they　blinded　you　in　the　sun　when　you　passed　that　way。　But　you　must　keep　your　eyes　upon　her　yard；　for　her　flower　beds　were　so　neat　and　gay　they　restored　to　you　your　sight。　And　you　might　hear　her　sing；　aye；　as　far　as　the　double　chestnut　tree　above　Pere　Gruneau's　blacksmith　forge。

But　a　day　came　when　David　drew　out　paper　from　a　long…shut　drawer；　and　began　to　bite　the　end　of　a　pencil。　Spring　had　come　again　and　touched　his　heart。　Poet　he　must　have　been；　for　now　Yvonne　was　well…nigh　forgotten。　This　fine　new　loveliness　of　earth　held　him　with　its　witchery　and　grace。　The　perfume　from　her　woods　and　meadows　stirred　him　strangely。　Daily　had　he　gone　forth　with　his　flock；　and　brought　it　safe　at　night。　But　now　he　stretched　himself　under　the　hedge　and　pieced　words　together　on　his　bits　of　paper。　The　sheep　strayed；　and　the　wolves；　perceiving　that　difficult　poems　make　easy　mutton；　ventured　from　the　woods　and　stole　his　lambs。

David's　stock　of　poems　grew　longer　and　his　flock　smaller。　Yvonne's　nose　and　temper　waxed　sharp　and　her　talk　blunt。　Her　pans　and　kettles　grew　dull；　but　her　eyes　had　caught　their　flash。　She　pointed　out　to　the　poet　that　his　neglect　was　reducing　the　flock　and　bringing　woe　upon　the　household。　David　hired　a　boy　to　guard　the　sheep；　locked　himself　in　the　little　room　at　the　top　of　the　cottage；　and　wrote　more　poems。　The　boy；　being　a　poet　by　nature；　but　not　furnished　with　an　outlet　in　the　way　of　writing；　spent　his　time　in　slumber。　The　wolves　lost　no　time　in　discovering　that　poetry　and　sleep　are　practically　the　same；　so　the　flock　steadily　grew　smaller。　Yvonne's　ill　temper　increased　at　an　equal　rate。　Sometimes　she　would　stand　in　the　yard　and　rail　at　David　through　his　high　window。　Then　you　could　hear　her　as　far　as　the　double　chestnut　tree　above　Pere　Gruneau's　blacksmith　forge。

M。　Papineau；　the　kind；　wise；　meddling　old　notary；　saw　this；　as　he　saw　everything　at　which　his　nose　pointed。　He　went　to　David；　fortified　himself　with　a　great　pinch　of　snuff；　and　said：

〃Friend　Mignot；　I　affixed　the　seal　upon　the　marriage　certificate　of　your　father。　It　would　distress　me　to　be　obliged　to　attest　a　paper　signifying　the　bankruptcy　of　his　son。　But　that　is　what　you　are　coming　to。　I　speak　as　an　old　friend。　Now；　listen　to　what　I　have　to　say。　You　have　your　heart　set；　I　perceive；　upon　poetry。　At　Dreux；　I　have　a　friend；　one　Monsieur　BrilGeorges　Bril。　He　lives　in　a　little　cleared　space　in　a　houseful　of　books。　He　is　a　learned　man；　he　visits　Paris　each　year；　he　himself　has　written　books。　He　will　tell　you　when　the　catacombs　were　made；　how　they　found　out　the　names　of　the　stars；　and　why　the　plover　has　a　long　bill。　The　meaning　and　the　form　of　poetry　is　to　him　as　intelligent　as　the　baa　of　a　sheep　is　to　you。　I　will　give　you　a　letter　to　him；　and　you　shall　take　him　your　poems　and　let　him　read　them。　Then　you　will　know　if　you　shall　write　more；　or　give　your　attention　to　your　wife　and　business。〃

〃Write　the　letter；〃　said　David；　〃I　am　sorry　you　did　not　speak　of　this　sooner。〃

At　sunrise　the　next　morning　he　was　on　the　road　to　Dreux　with　the　precious　roll　of　poems　under　his　arm。　At　noon　he　wiped　the　dust　from　his　feet　at　the　door　of　Monsieur　Bril。　That　learned　man　broke　the　seal　of　M。　Papineau's　letter；　and　sucked　up　its　contents　through　his　gleaming　spectacles　as　the　sun　draws　water。　He　took　David　inside　to　his　study　and　sat　him　down　upon　a　little　island　beat　upon　by　a　sea　of　books。

Monsieur　Bril　had　a　conscience。　He　flinched　not　even　at　a　mass　of　manuscript　the　thickness　of　a　finger…length　and　rolled　to　an　incorrigible　curve。　He　broke　the　back　of　the　roll　against　his　knee　and　began　to　read。　He　slighted　nothing；　he　bored　into　the　lump　as　a　worm　into　a　nut；　seeking　for　a　kernel。

Meanwhile；　David　sat；　marooned；　trembling　in　the　spray　of　so　much　literature。　It　roared　in　his　ears。　He　held　no　chart　or　compass　for　voyaging　in　that　sea。　Half　the　world；　he　thought；　must　be　writing　books。

Monsieur　Bril　bored　to　the　last　page　of　the　poems。　Then　he　took　off　his　spectacles；　and　wiped　them　with　his　handkerchief。

〃My　old　friend；　Papineau；　is　well？〃　he　asked。

〃In　the　best　of　health；〃　said　David。

〃How　many　sheep　have　you；　Monsieur　Mignot？〃

〃Three　hundred　and　nine；　when　I　counted　them　yesterday。　The　flock　has　had　ill　fortune。　To　that　number　it　has　decreased　from　eight　hundred　and　fifty。〃

〃You　have　a　wife　and　home；　and　lived　in　comfort。　The　sheep　brought　you　plenty。　You　went　into　the　fields　with　them　and　lived　in　the　keen　air　and　ate　the　sweet　bread　of　contentment。　You　had　but　to　be　vigilant　and　recline　there　upon　nature's　breast；　listening　to　the　whistle　of　the　blackbirds　in　the　grove。　Am　I　right　thus　far？〃

〃It　was　so；〃　said　David。

〃I　have　read　all　your　verses；〃　continued　Monsieur　Bril；　his　eyes　wandering　about　his　sea　of　books　as　if　he　conned　the　horizon　for　a　sail。　〃Look　yonder；　through　that　window；　Monsieur　Mignot；　tell　me　what　you　see　in　that　tree。〃

〃I　see　a　crow；〃　said　David；　looking。

〃There　is　a　bird；〃　said　Monsieur　Bril；　〃that　shall　assist　me　where　I　am　disposed　to　shirk　a　duty。　You　know　that　bird；　Monsieur　Mignot；　he　is　the　philosopher　of　the　air。　He　is　happy　through　submission　to　his　lot。　None　so　merry　or　full…crawed　as　he　with　his　whimsical　eye　and　rollicking　step。　The　fields　yield　him　what　he　desires。　He　never　grieves　that　his　plumage　is　not　gay；　like　the　oriole's。　And　you　have　heard；　Monsieur　Mignot；　the　notes　that　nature　has　given　him？　Is　the　nightingale　any　happier；　do　you　think？〃

David　rose　to　his　feet。　The　crow　cawed　harshly　from　his　tree。

〃I　thank　you；　Monsieur　Bril；〃　he　said；　slowly。　〃There　was　not；　then；　one　nightingale　among　all　those　croaks？〃

〃I　could　not　have　missed　it；〃　said　Monsieur　Bril；　with　a　sigh。　〃I　read　every　word。　Live　your　poetry；　man；　do　not　try　to　write　it　any　more。〃

〃I　thank　you；〃　said　David；　again。　〃And　now　I　will　be　going　back　to　my　sheep。〃

〃If　you　would　dine　with　me；〃　said　the　man　of　books；　〃and　overlook　the　smart　of　it；　I　will　give　you　reasons　at　length。〃

〃No；〃　said　the　poet；　〃I　must　be　back　in　the　fields　cawing　at　my　sheep。〃

Back　along　the　road　to　Vernoy　he　trudged　with　his　poems　under　his　arm。　When　he　reached　his　village　he　turned　into　the　shop　of　one　Zeigler；　a　Jew　out　of　Armenia；　who　sold　anything　that　came　to　his　hand。

〃Friend；〃　said　David；　〃wolves　from　the　forest　harass　my　sheep　on　the　hills。　I　must　purchase　firearms　to　protect　them。　What　have　you？〃

〃A　bad　day；　this；　for　me；　friend　Mignot；〃　said　Zeigler；　spreading　his　hands；　〃for　I　perceive　that　I　must　sell　you　a　weapon　that　will　not　fetch　a　tenth　of　its　value。　Only　last　I　week　I　bought　from　a　peddlar　a　wagon　full　of　goods　that　he　procured　at　a　sale　by　a　/commissionaire/　of　the　crown。　The　sale　was　of　the　/chateau/　and　belongings　of　a　great　lordI　know　not　his　titlewho　has　been　banished　for　conspiracy　against　the　king。　There　are　some　choice　firearms　in　the　lot。　This　pistoloh；　a　weapon　fit　for　a　prince！it　shall　be　only　forty　francs　to　you；　friend　Mignotif　I　lose　ten　by　the　sale。　But　perhaps　an　arquebuse〃

〃This　will　do；〃　said　David；　throwing　the　money　on　the　counter。　〃Is　it　charged？〃

〃I　will　charge　it；〃　said　Zeigler。　〃And；　for　ten　francs　more；　add　a　store　of　powder　and　ball。〃

David　laid　his　pistol　under　his　coat　and　walked　to　his　cottage。　Yvonne　was　not　there。　Of　late　she　had　taken　to　gadding　much　among　the　neighbours。　But　a　fire　was　glowing　in　the　kitchen　stove。　David　opened　the　door　of　it　and　thrust　his　poems　in　upon　the　coals。　As　they　blazed　up　they　made　a　singing；　harsh　sound　in　the　flue。

〃The　song　of　the　crow！〃　said　the　poet。

He　went　up　to　his　attic　room　and　closed　the　door。　So　quiet　was　the　village　that　a　score　of　people　heard　the　roar　of　the　great　pistol。　They　flocked　thither；　and　up　the　stairs　where　the　smoke；　issuing；　drew　their　notice。

The　men　laid　the　body　of　the　poet　upon　his　bed；　awkwardly　arranging　it　to　conceal　the　torn　plumage　of　the　poor　black　crow。　The　women　chattered　in　a　luxury　of　zealous　pity。　Some　of　them　ran　to　tell　Yvonne。

M。　Papineau；　whose　nose　had　brought　him　there　among　the　first；　picked　up　the　weapon　and　ran　his　eye　over　its　silver　mountings　with　a　mingled　air　of　connoisseurship　and　grief。

〃The　arms；〃　he　explained；　aside；　to　the　/cure/；　〃and　crest　of　Monseigneur；　the　Marquis　de　Beaupertuys。〃



II

THE　GUARDIAN　OF　THE　ACCOLADE

Not　the　least　important　of　the　force　of　the　Weymouth　Bank　was　Uncle　Bushrod。　Sixty　years　had　Uncle　Bushrod　given　of　faithful　service　to　the　house　of　Weymouth　as　chattel；　servitor；　and　friend。　Of　the　col