O PY R IG HT M D X VII BY C , CCC C , ’ CHARLES sc n l nn nn s so u s

1 0W CH APTER H EAD INGS

’ THE Y OU NG ARTIST IN THE TEM P LARS CHURCH ANGELA IN THE FIELD O F THE po p p s THE DAW N o r BEAUTY ANOTHER V ISION o r ANGELA GAVARNIE AN D H U NA U D THE HERMIT W EDDING MUSIC SILENCED THE DEVO'I‘ ION o r ANGELA ’ THE BEGINNING o r A RNA U D s PENANCE THE CAGOT MAIDEN ’ S A RA NDfi s HOME A TAL K W ITH THE CAGO'I‘ CAR PENTER ’ ARNAUD S FIRST P ICTURE o r S A RANDé ’ BENA Z RA S STORY o r THE CAGOTS ’ THE CAGO'r s c oo n FRIDAY ’ ARNAUD S TEM PTA 'I‘ ION THE STORM AND THE CAVE ’ ARNAUD S co n rsssxo n THE vol ess o r THE CLOISTER A LETTER FROM COUNT RAIMOND ’ H U NA U D S LAST W ORDS ANGELA AND COUNT RAIMOND ’ Ch apter AGAIN IN THE TEM P LARS C H U RC H ’ THE END o r ARNAU D S QU EST ARNAUD pnom sss A N ALTAR PIECE THE ANNUNCIATION , Tm: PICTU RE s MES S AGE TO S A RA NDfi

THE YOUNG ARTIST IN THE TE M PLARS ’ CH U RCH

N the church of the Tem plats at Luz sat a young man earnestly ainting f some rescos on e walls . H e was working in the fervid spirit that filled the

- of painter monks his day. M onks though they were, they loved of their art . They thought it a part their religion . It was not frescos alone that had been painted by this young acolyte . H e had helped to adorn many a missal . of His love beauty was intense, and his surroundings had made him keenly alive f m to what is beauti ul in nature, in usic, and in art. The church where he had painted and sun in his youth was built by the Templars when they came back from the Holy Land, and now in the time soon after the second cru sade of the sainted

King Louis it stood there, strong and l f grim , not a church alone but a so a orti cd of lace, a strong guardian the pass c th i that d over e mountains toward Spa n . It still stands on a hill crest in the midst

’ Cburcb . of of a valley, about which rise some the

grandest mountains of the Pyrenean chain . Almost all through the summer there was the brilliant white of the snow on the of peaks, seen against the tender blue the so A 3 en uthern sky . lwa there was the gre of lfl ot o grass and trees . even winter to k away the color charm from the meadows

and the evergreens . H e had seen the rush of th e rivers in ° the spri me and the quiet repose of their beauty w en under th e summer sun th ey reflected of lovingly the blue the sky. Sometimes great masses ofclou d covered fillin the mountains, and geven the valleys made the road that winds through th e gor e toward Gavarnie a mysterious and wgl pathway leading to realms of dark n w of ess, trembling ith the roar rushing water and th e moaning of the wind among A the Pyrenean pines . mid such scenes h i le h a s crad d been rocked . When he was older the good grandmother wou ld take h im on sunsh iny days out into th e 2 re l Tbc Youn g en meadows in the va ley by the river, g and while she sat and knitted he ran hither Artist and flower in tire yon, sometimes Plucking a , ’ sometimes looking With awe upon the Templarr Cburclx glittering mountains all about him , some . times fascinated by the swiftly flowingriver fresh from its fi erce ru sh through the vast

gorge, and not yet calm with the peace that awaits it later after its stru ggle is

fi nish ed. Th e youth was born an artist with a high - strung nature that could be thrilled of in its depths by the chord beaut alone, al le but he was so intensely susceptib , even r e rell iou s influ at a ve y early , to every g en 0 all of ce most , to the music the

church . f m é f — f His a ily were B arnais armer olk, f but these armers are not like others. — r They are a noble lookin ace, and they are resemb l very proud, ing great y the Spaniards just across the mountains both in r character and appea ance . It was natu ral that even a peasant who came of such a lineage should love the f f beauti ul and the poetic, and eel in his Pride that he could do whatever he wished f m the expression o all th e beauty he knew. 3 l e T01mgNo objection was made when at twelve Artist years of age the boy said he wished to be in tbe a painter ; and he went to study with th e old monk who was pai ntin in the churches ‘ g ’ f St l em lars o . Sauveur and in the p church

at Luz . From such teaching the love of art and religion fill?” together in his passionate tu . na re ould they kee even pace, and each holding a hand lead him ever onward in perfect serenity toward th e highest in beauty and the highest in faith or would one outstep the other and choose his path for f him, while the orgotten one lagged behind No such question suggested itselfto the mind of Arnaud de Bearn as he sat paint as ing by his m ter in the church, nor did he once think that such a question might be asked when he heard the solemn chants and joined his voice with the others in of f hymns praise be ore the altar. Th e t of of beau y his colors, the beauty f a of his orms, the be uty the church, the of heavenly beauty the music, the scarcely earthly beauty of the mountains and the

- fleec sky, wind swept with flying, y clouds, filled overflo in all his very soul to w g. 4 of t TbeT01m Surely the Lord is a God beau y, sang g Artis his glad spirit . Surely all lovely things in t tu h eaven in tbc na re and in art, in earth and in , ’ Tm larr hold out their hands to each other, and p f mr l o CI c z . rejoice in the Creator all beauty, who made them one in their spirit of grateful worship to him . of on And so the days his youth passed , ever fi lled with a joyous dream and some times with a religious ecstasy . When he returned to his home after he had painted all day in the church, or wandered among fi nd f for the mountains, seeking to li e his r alette in their wond ous tints, even that i l l rifi Th e lu mb e cottage was go ed. great fi re in the room where they cooked and racefu l ate was gorgeous in color, g in vary f of Th e ing orms flame and smoke. ancient rafters were soft with th e tone th at a M comes only with the ye rs . any an artist has loved to paint such a scene . A f t be rnaud elt its beau y ; indeed, he was ginning to know that there was beauty r eve ywhere, and that thought made his f t u —s be li e eager, impe uous, p ringing, cause of the sensuous joy 1: at was about him even when he sang the chants of the church . Tlu Toang It must have been that very sensu ou s ° oy which blinded his eyes and deafened in flu is ears so that he neither saw nor heard ’ Tmplars the Cagots when they went to worsh i in the chapel whence the high altar might seen i t) through an opening the wall, but which was without other connection with the f f main body o the church . His li e was destined to have a closer relation to this m e ysterious P ople , who were separated even in their worship from others who k f a and f nelt be ore the alt r, whose li e in their mountain fastnesses was neither known nor sought to be known by those who worshipped within the Templar of church . This dissonance exclusion had not yet disturbed the harmony of ° that reli ous chord which had thrilled the trem ling nerves of a nature sensitive h in its ighest, and also in its lowest point, r f m to eve y color, sound, or , thought, that had in it a suggestion of the beautiful Nor did he wonder wh y th e women and th arat e men were se ed in their worship . H e did know t at the Templar chu rch was marred as to its beauty of architecture b m y buildi a second story, as it ight cd — a well be cal , in the nave, story sus 6 pended midway in the height of the T!w T01mg Artist columns, and having no relation in con structive thought to the rest of the in ti n

church . T f r a e Cburcb h e reason o this peculi r constru .

tion had not occurred to him , nor had

- his teacher, the painter monk, ever ex plained why men and women should be ’ kept apart when they came to God s house wh f to worship him , nor y it was orbidden to any wh o loved Christ to come openly f l ] be ore his a tar, and knee there in rev ll t erence beside a o hers who loved him . An artist is rarely a theorist . Some se of t a cret beau y has been reve led to him, and to him has been given the power to i T t s ! . express , though, ala only in part his n expression becomes an absorbing passio , n i a d he does not wish to analyze t. It is e f it nough that he eels , and there is a noble unrest in him because he cannot fi tl f T y tell what he eels . here is also an almost indignant resentment against any f one who cannot see as he sees, and eel as f — he eels, that throbbing, heart stirring love ’ lin ess infusing all the Creator s works . It is this that seems to him alone worth f r striving o . It would be the one supreme 7 TIMT01m of f if of gattainment li e, any expression it Artist could be attained . in tbc There were days when art was still A reli ion, and in such days lived rnaud ’ Cbarcb i éarn T . de in the emplars town of Luz P beneath the yrenean mountains, whose glitteri ng snow- crests dazzled even the eagle eye of the artist wide open to the very sun itself if the secret of beauty

might there be discovered . ANGELA IN THE FIELD OF THE POPPIES ’ E artist s fi rst quest for a beauty higher than he et had y known , was in its purity like that of Parsifal when he sought the Holy r u G ail . It was an p reaching for the imma terial , and there was no grossness in i T e f th e r. h aim o pure knight was of toward what is not wholly this world, nor quite to be seen except by the eye of Th ai m of the spirit . e the artist in the Pyrenean valley was toward the highest and best of beauty in what he saw about

him, and he wished and prayed that his

eyes might become keener in their sight, l his hand subt er in its touch , so that he m fi tl ight more clearly see, more y express

those ever new, ever more winning charms that seemed to be in everything he 9 An ela in u et t g looked pon, y would not yield heir secrets fully either to his eye or to his

brush . i s u m m as for P opp e . S rely there ust be so e re on f u t this ail re hat came always . Surely one who loves with deepest passion all that is ’ beau tifix l must fi nd where beauty s heart

a . If is, and le rn its every throb only once h is fi nger were on that passio nate f ulse all his a ter work would be alive, beatingin rhythm with the cu rrents of th e f very life o beauty itself. This u nsatisfi ed passion of the young man made him u neas H e cou ld not stay all day in the c urch painting h is fi' escos u m a , ill minating his iss ls, or talk

in th e - m f gwith simple painter onk . O ten he wou ld throw down his brush and pal ru 0 en ai r e ette, and sh out into the wher th e m u u im o ntains were abo t , and the sky lifted his thought even above th e

- now peaks . H e grew more and more fond of these n long walks . Sometimes he went dow into the valley and followed the stream ; s m o etimes he went up throu h the gorge, and passing the cataracts w ose spray in was h e the springtime blinding, would I O

was His heart hot within him , and his spirit was full of lo n in H e could not rest until mere bodify ?atigu e compelled H e him to stop . was then near the an of cient town Salida, and there he saw a maiden whose face seemed to him such a vision of beauty as the rising sun gives when it touches the world With the ever of new lory the dawn . W at was this woman ? In the Tem ’ plars church at Luz he never h ad seen a woman except those who came there to v worship on Sundays, and e en they were so far away from him that he hardly knew that they were there . Arnaud had seen his mother and his grandmother, but they did not suggest to him any thought of the of H e beauty woman . loved them devot edl all y , but they entered not at into his f Th e art li e . truth was that neither of was f them beauti ul , though both might be at least picturesque to the thought of a Of n matured artist. the village maide s f o S t. A Sauveur and Luz , rnaud had seen f f but little, because his li e rom boyhood l had been spent most y in the church , or fi el H e among the ds and mountains . was nearly one half monk already and the 1 2 f of An el i other hal painter, but there was a part g a n i was t tlze F l his nature that st ll emp y, and aching ie d

because of its emptiness . of tke t P o ies It was into that unoccupied coun ry in pp . h is mind, that Angela stepped , as she sud denly rose and looked at him from a fi eld at Salida where she had been plucking Th red poppies to adorn her room . e brilliant color of the flowers was all about h r th e be e . As meadow sloped upward of hind her, the red and green the poppies and the grass made a background for her was of face and form . Her hair auburn

touched with gold , and her eyes were blue fi r . u e like darkest violets Her g , though f rounded and beauti ul in every curve, was fi slender, and not in the least like the g ures o f the village maidens whom Arnaud was accustomed to see but who had never f attracted him by any charm o beauty . ’ Th e artist s fi rst thought was that one of th e madonnas he had painted, but could f not make live, was here be ore him really ’ f alive . It was true that the maiden s ace was as spiritual in expression as that of

any madonna, but it was not the spiritual ’ part of it that overcame the painter s

thought as he stood there in wonder. It 1 3 t was its womanly beau y . That was what f f t he had never seen be ore . Be ore hat he f if stood touched and thrilled, eeling, he f really elt at all, that his quest had not

. wan been in vain His restlessness, his s derin , were to cease because some god dess i ad come to tell what he longed for , to complete, as he had never dreamed of it could be completed, that ideal beauty which he had so long sought to grasp , but which had ever eluded him . ’ fi eld In the on Salida s hillside, where Angela stood in the sunshine holding her poppies in her hand, was the turning f Bé ’ f pomt o Arnaud de arn s li e . Sud denly the placid stream of his existence r P h had been whirled into a ids . er a 3 there were cataracts beyon Perhaps t e wild violence of it would not cease until at last it found peace in the sea. TH E DAW N OF BEAUTY is the custom of the Béarnais folk to greet one t ano her when they meet . S o th e young man and the

young maiden, thus sud denl for y meeting, sought fi tti n gwords, but neither k new what to say . Angela was as roman ti c in temperament as Arnaud was eagerand T f . h e o impetuous sight the strong, dark, f fix ed almost Spanish ace, with black eyes in an ardent though dreamy gaze upon f ff hersel had a ected her strangely . It was not embarrassment that made for them hesitate to speak, both were as simple and natural as children . Arnaud was thinking only of the beauty that had so suddenly dawned upon his startled f if eyes, and he eared it might vanish he ’ disturbed it by a word . Angela s sur I S T/e z prise and interest kept her silent too, and Dawn o for f then she was a maiden , and it was not fi r her to speak st. How beautiful your poppies are ! Di said Arnaud at last . d you come here to gather them ? I never saw such f beau tifi flpoppies be ore . ” l A I f Yes, sa d ngela, o ten come here for them, because it seems to me they fi eld are brighter in this than any other . l b Then you must ive near y, said Arnaud and yet I have never seen you I live in the castle yonder with my f o R M o ncade ather, C unt aimond de ; but we have only lived here a little while be cause my father has been away so long f with the King in his wars , and be ore he far f Th e went away we lived rom here . King gave him the castle when they came And ? home . do you too live near here My home is in the little village be T ’ low the emplars church at Luz . T ’ ! The emplars church Ah , yes, f my ather has told me of that . It is a f ? I ortress too, is it not think he said it was a stronghold that guards the pass ’ mou n leading over the ta ms. 1 6 f Tire Yes, it is indeed a strong ortress, but it is the church within the ramparts that Dawn of for Beaut I love the best, I do my work there, y . and I know that any painter would delight ” in such a place . You are an artist then ? That must ” tfu f be a deligh l li e . I love pictures . “ s ! am Ala I not an artist, but I long

to be one . Sometimes I think I never for can succeed, however much I try, the ’ o f me secret art s beau always eludes . “ I wish I cou d see your pictures . c May I not come to the hurch some day, and ou will show them to me ? Ido not think they would let you come to the church except on Sunday, when the women come to worship there . There is a place made for them where they sit apart, I know not why . But I do not wish you to see my pictures now. T hey are not good enough . I cannot f bear to look at them mysel . I would ’ far rather show you one of nature s pic tures . Have you seen Gavarnie “ it No, but I have heard about . It f ” must be wonder ul .

It is indeed grand, but it is stern, almost awful in its sublimity . Young 2 I 7 maidens like you would care more for a

Dawn f . tenderer, so ter beauty I know not why f I thought o Gavarnie . It is a long way ’ f n rom here, and you are a cou t s daughter . You would n ot wish to climb among the m ” ountains . “ I have loved the mountains and dwelt m a ong them ever since I can remember. ” T for h e steepest ath s have no terrors me . “ Ah ! perhaps th en some day you will o o g, but I ought not to ask you to g with

me . Surely you must be the maiden who B rn is to wed the King of éa . Your name An is gela, is it not Yes m , that is name ; but why do you not tell me yours y am a Oh , I only a oor p inter, and I did not think you wou d care to know my

name, but since you honor me by asking, A Béarn it is rnaud de . I wonder that I l P e have spoken to you so bold y . l ase f ” orgive me .

Nay, you have said nothing amiss . Surel a count’ s daughter may love nature we ] o f as as a peasant irl, and what else should an artist speafiunless of beauty in nature and in art ? “ for f If I thank you orgiving me . I

“ T/ze ! . Ah do come I will be here, and may the sun be as bright as it is to - day! She turned down the path th at led r through the meadow towa d the river, and

thence went upward toward the castle . A rnaud, like one entranced, watched her beautiful form until he could no longer

see her ; then he turned away, thinking to

take the homeward road, but he wan c dered scar e knowing where he went, for of he saw but one thing, the picture th e fi l H e h ad the maiden in poppy e d. r asked her to come again on the mo row,

that he might see her there, but he did not dare to hope that he could see that i r was gctu e again . It too beautifu l to e repeated . It never could be as per fect a ain as it was th at summer da in i Somet gwould come to mar t. Wou d it be the thou h t of the marriage with the King ? W at had marriage to do with it ? This painter- monk had never f F r even thought o marriage . o beauty

beauty beauty his soul longed, and of here was the beauty the woman . It mattered not if she married the Kin if H e only he could see her . longe to look upon her because the look brough t 20 to his thought that secret that only she l e could reveal. D awn of o u Beaut As he walked , the poppies were y . T redder than they had ever been . here f were white daisies . Never be ore had he seen their purity . Birds were sing if ing . It seemed as he had not heard their music until now. Surely in the clouds there were lovely lines like those of f her orm . Now he began to under stand their beauty , because the living beauty of the woman gave life to their At inanimate charm . last night came o n , and still he wandered, lost in dreams . H e l c had seen the twi ight, the gor ous colors of the sunset melting into most of f invisible tones night, like bells, hal ’ fa hushed, but pealing intly the moon s T of approach . hen came the queen of night, and the peaks snow glistened, gleamed they would have been warm if they were not so white . It was an w unkno n land just opening to his sense . Why should this touch of womanhood make skies and mountains new to the sight even as if the artist’ s eye had never yet seen them ? H e knew not why this marvel had come to him. H e walked as 2 1 far in a dream, on into the night, watch ing the moon until the mountains hid her chaste beauty ; then he rested awhile in ’ easant s f some lonely cottage, but be ore a E a for d wn e was ag in awake, waiting the ’ sun to give something of Angela s color to the awakening earth . ANOTHER VI S I ON OF ANGE LA

knew it wou ld be long ere she would come again th e fi eld of to the poppies, even if she came there at all that day ; but he could not resist the longing to

see her once again . It was not love that prompted him to o g toward the castle where she dwelt, if i of Ar or it were the beg nning love, u f na d knew it not. What he elt was ’ for the artist s assion beau ty . Never before had is eyes rested upon such a picture as he had seen for th ose few brief moments, and well he knew the maiden of its f was the secret loveliness, there ore Art he must see her again . would hence forth be nothing unless inspired by that f f f . H e ace and orm , and art was his li e felt he had a right to see her because h is

9-3 If Anotlzer art needed her . he had not been Vision carried away by this passion he would o An ela f g . have remembered that Angela was to for wed the King, and it was not him to if h ad look upon her again, her beauty such power over h im that he could not banish the thought of it even for a mo H e of ment . did think a little the mar e riaf , but he knew there was still time be ore that was to happen . The thought o f it only made the present more pre iou f h c s. A terward he mig t not see her more ; but now she was free to wander fi elds again among the , perhaps even to o H e g to Gavarnie . did not think there could be an h arm in his seein her while bf cfaimed he might, e ore the King her for an d his own, then he would paint her

picture, and her beauty would be always

near him . Neither Angela nor the King of if should know that, and they did know, they would be glad that his art f had ound its inspiration . Not even seeking to resist this desire to look upon

her again , he went on toward the castle, hoping that he mi ht at least catch a i gi of f n it glimpse her he ered near . Soon he was beneat the walls of the ancient building . Two stron towers Anotlzer cm Vision guarded the gate, and between t was for o An l the drawbridge that had been raised f ge a. the night and had not yet been lowered . O n the other side of the castle were the fu living rooms, and one beauti l round tower with conical roof rose from among them . About this tower some doves were flu tterin f of g orth to meet the light day, for the fi rst flush of the dawn was even n Perh a ow in the sky . s the doves made Arnaud think that t is was Angela’ s e it tow r, and he gazed eagerly toward . There was a window there that might be n it hers . Lo g he looked toward , and at last the casement was opened . Angela had risen early and come to the window that she might see the ice - clad mountains in warm life again beneath the ’ sun s ardent caress . She stood there in t n all her beau y, and Ar aud looked upon f her once and put his hand be ore his eyes, fo r he felt that he had desecrated a sanc tu ary by looking upon her beauty half u n Th e of veiled . maiden thought not any one near her at the sunrise time, and allowed the loose folds of her night- robe fa f to ll away rom her lovely neck, as she 2 5 Th e Anotlzer stood at th e window . robe was

. V i n of th i .r o e white, but the dazzling whiteness f i o An ela. t f g neck and bosom hal revealed beneath ,

put to shame all other whiteness . Th e grace, the purity, the innocence, the passion that might be but was not ’ et a live, thrilled the artist s very soul . h o the maiden in the casement tho she was alone even the com

ing he sun abashed her, and as the snow mountains were flushed with pink ’ fi rst of at the touch the sun s rays, so did a rosy blush come over the whiteness of her face and breast as the light fell full

upon her. Hastily she closed the case ment and began to think about the Kin to h who was soon meet her in the churc , where she should promise to be his for Th f ever. e artist dreamed o a beauty come down from heaven to give new lil; f to all beauty that had been be ore, and he n wished that his dream might never e d . ot far a N away, in his ch teau by the of river, the Kin was dreaming the ma fie for iden whom loved, and longing that happy day when he could claim her f r o his own . King Gaston o f Béarn was a noble man

GAVARNI E AND H UNAU D THE HERM I T NGE LA knew that the King loved her, but she did not know the depth o f for that love, nothing in her own heart could ex

plain it to her. She knew

that he was a reat man,

. fat er and she admired him Her , whose 0 lightest wish she never had posed, W sh e ished her to marry him, and had n for consented, not u willingly, surely she must learn to love a man so valiant and so renowned . Even as she sat there in f her chamber, a ter she had closed the s ca ement, and thought about the King and her approaching marriage, she wished none the less to go again to the poppy fi eld and see the young artist, though she could hardly tell why . She longed to see that wonderful Gavarnie of which he had 2 8 spoken ; but she could not yet promise Gavarnie o for f and to g there, her ather had not been at f Huud ad home when she returned the day be ore, and she had not been able to tell him tire

of . Hermit her wish Nevertheless, perhaps she . fi eld a would go to the ag in . Surely it could do no harm to gather a few more k Poppies and by and by she went, now A ing full well that rnaud would be there . H e of was there, but the power her beauty had become so strong upon him that he trembled at the very thought of seein a her ag in, nor could he believe T m she wou d really come . his eeting was fi rst for not like the one, there was some thing in the heart of each that neither of wished to tell . She spoke again Ga ’ of f varnie, and told him her ather s absence from home ; and she did not conceal her wish to go there when her father gave her

permission . They talked awhile together as they a g thered the red blossoms , and Arnaud T went back with her to the castle . here f of he le t her, but with the hope seeing for h her soon again, now t at he was sure she wished to go with him to Gavarnie he f i felt that her ather would not oppose t. C R n A n When ount aimond retur ed, of gela told him her meeting with Arnaud,

and what had passed between them , and how she longed to see that wonderfix l T Gavarnie of which he had spoken . o

this the Count made no objection . She mi h t have the young artist for her guide if si c it wished , since he knew the moun

tains so well, and the Count would send with her two of his trusted retainers to of fo r f take care her . As himsel he would o for gladly g, but he cared little wild f gorges, and he had had enough atigue in H the wars . e would rather rest quietly T in the castle . hus it was arranged, and f r not long a te ward Angela and Arnaud, C ’ with the ount s retainers, took their way

toward Gavarnie . In the early dawn they went together through the gorge — the fearful gorge that must be passed ere Gavarnie can be Th e ff reached . cli s towered above them , the water thundered below . Its never ceasing struggle with the rocky barrier made it more and more impatient . Clouds f f o mist rose rom the tortured waters . Th e artist and the maiden were nearly blinded by the wind— swept clouds that 30 T l filled the gorge . here had been litt e Gavarnie Th talk between these two . e grandeur and and beauty about them stilled speech . Huud ad Nor could they think of anything except tilt

of . Th e H the encircling wonders nature ermit. gorge became narrower and more narrow . Sometimes it seemed as if the fortress cliffs would not permit another step to T ward Gavarnie . hey were guarding the f of s . T secrets their a tnesses rue , the stream had broken their guard and was rushing toward the valley to tell of the

dwellin - giants and their g lace, but man should not enter there if tKey could help it T f . hey rowned angrily upon these

two who dared seek Gavarnie . Nothing d daunted, the artist and the mai en pur

sued their perilous way . The blinding narrowest art of mist in the deepest, the lg Eo rge was passed at last . igher and igher rose the path, climbing along the ff cli sides . Arnaud and Angela went on and o n , knowing now that they were

nearing Gavarnie . As they passed beneath a rock that overhung the road both saw what seemed to be an entrance to a cave . Arnaud had f was never seen it be ore, and he eager to 3 1 a a i it C G v rn e explore . linging to climbing plants and and little trees he made his way at last H n to the dark doorway . e wished to e so ter it but he dared not do , because his eyes were so fu ll of the sunlight that in the darkness he would surely stumble and f of all . Startled by the blackness the f cave thus suddenly opened be ore him,

he stepped back, thinking that when he had regained his strength he would go again to the entrance and wait there

beneath its portal , until his eyes became accustomed to the darkness that was so intensely contrasted with the sunlight . Arnaud did not need to wait long .

While he stood there, trying to penetrate h im the gloom , some one came toward H e did not see this man who approached until he reached the very entrance of the u cave, beca se all beyond the low opening

was shrouded with darkness . H e who came from the cave was so emaciated that he hardly seemed to be ’ alive, but he wore a monk s habit and

the cowl was over his head . Arnaud de Bearn was a brave man, but he shrank f fi u re f back be ore this g , coming rom the depths of the mountain and looking more 32 like one wh o had died and come back to Gavarnie fo r and earth a little while, than like a living H d ad man . Angela was on the path below the uu f for H e t cave . Arnaud eared her . turned i n a H it about and meant to climb down ag in to erm . save her from alarm because of this seem ing spectre . It was too late . Arnaud d if did escend the hill, but the monk, monk he were, went with him . U ntil now there had been no word spoken , nor could either tell the reason for such a strange, unbroken silence . Both came down at last to the path where h Angela stood watching t eir descent . Ar fi rst naud came to her, and then came the weird unearthly creature, who lived in the ’ mountain s depths . As he looked upon f cru cifix the maiden he li ted a , which he held in his right hand, and spoke . His voice was strange . It did not seem like o f P h the v ice o a man . er aps its tones had been re- echoed too often from the of h walls the deep , dark cave t at was his

- dwelling place . Who is this maiden said the monk to th e artist ; but before Arnaud could be speak he said, Nay, do not answer, ' ' th e Ga varme cause I know . She is to wed King f B rn éa . and o . Her name is Angela Huud ad Th e monk looked upon her in sadness t for bc and spoke no word a long time . Ar Hermit A n . naud did not speak , and ela was over f sfie come with ear, because could not understand why this strange man came out of the mountain to stand before her ? and to talk with her . Was he human She

did not know . Again the monk spoke This maiden is about to be the bride f B é rn T v o the King of a . hat can ne er f f be ; it is orbidden rom on high . I say Th e P no more . ope will say what yet ” remains to be said . Th e monk clasped his hands and looked toward heaven in prayer ; th en he folded his robe about him and put the cowl close U down over his eyes . p the steep hill

he went, and Arnaud and Angela saw him

no more .

Angela thought she had seen a vision . Th e cowled anchorite comin from his cave far down in th e depths o th e moun

tain did not seem real, but rather some H e unearthly creature . had spoken but a few words and disappeared as suddenly

as he came . 34

Gavarnie o f bride, but she would g no arther toward and . fra Gavarnie She was trembling and a id . Th e mountains were no longer grand and f T T r beauti ul . hey were angry . hey we e f and t re rowning blackly upon her, hey we ' sheltering below their clifi s the bemgo f ill omen who had uttered such terrible

words . In silence and awe they retraced a a nt their steps toward S lid , and Angela we a no t back to her home, whence she c me f a orth again until her wedding d y . W E DD I NG M US IC SI LENCED N the bright morning of the wedding not a cloud dimmed the sun

Th e - shine . snow peaks glistened with a pure whiteness that told of ’ Th e th e bride s beauty . river laughed and lifted little wavelets to n h gleam like diamonds in the growi g lig t .

King Gaston , with many lords and ladies of m f a his court, ca e rom his ch teau by the

- river side, up through the valley that leads

S t . to Luz and . Sauveur It was a gay d for and brilliant cavalca e, all were decked f l r in esta array, and the bright colo s o f many a plume and scarf and mantle leamed and glowed in the fu ll light like giving flowers moving on through the ’ A n green meadows by the river s bank . d the hearts of those who rode with the King Th n were glad . ey k ew his valor and his 37 T worth . hey had seen the humble peas M uric ants by the wayside press toward him with d loving gratitu e, because he had been a k1 n h fo r good gto t em , and had cared even little things that might make their Th e hard lives easier . knights had seen him in battle and gloried in the prowess of his lance , and the older men , more h f of thoug t ul , were no less proud his wis f f r dom in statecra t . With un eigned e j o icin all went with him to the church S a% h e at ida, where would meet at the f altar the bride who was to bless his li e . As the gay procession neared the sacred building the notes of the organ were heard Th e m within . organist was drea ing over h ow his keys, thinking he might best tell with his music something of the joy which was to come th at day to the great King f and his beauti ul bride . Hymns of mar ria e o f of g, hymns love, anthems deep ’ gratefulness for God s good gifts were in

the organ tones . Th e King and his courtiers paused a 1 moment to l sten , then entered the church, and with slow and stately step went to C R ward the chancel . ount aimond and h is h n daughter, with t eir retai ers, all in 38 a u W eddin bridal arr y , entered the ch rch by the g M usic transept, and when the King reached the

C . altar, the ount led Angela to him Arnaud de Bearn had gone very early to T ’ H the emplars church at Luz . e had ’ begun to paint when th e sun s fi rst rays th a touched e ancient w lls . What was he

painting ? H e did not know . It was H e what he could not express . had not of seen enough . It was something a t f beau y never known be ore, but it was not H i . e t understood even now had seen , fo r m but only a oment, nor had he ever dreamed before that such beauty could H e f exist . orgot his painting, and was conscious only of an intense wish to see T h e o Angela again . o Salida must g to look upon her standing before the altar

with the King . Angela in the church was not the maiden whom he had seen in the fi eld of f the poppies . Her robe was beauti ul . ’ of ift She wore a circlet gems , the King s ,

f - filer hal hidden by her gold red hair . bearing was proud and her beauty daz z lin Th e sidc — a g. King stood by her , man who had conquered many and had that pride of conquest in his mien ; a man who 39 le and for loved his peo , them there was M uric a blessi ng in liis look ; a man who loved his bride and knew what such a passion and meant . Kind and proud, loving ratefil l g , was King Gaston, as he stood beneath the rainbow light of the windows l with his bride by his S dc. Th e priests came in th eir splendid Th e vestments . choristers san with pure of i voice the music man and w a. What did the artist think as he sat far back in the ch urch and gazed upon all this splendor ? H e though t little and f T elt less . his was not beauty to him . T 3 of here was lendor color, there was 0 inspiration music, but his brush would

not respond . Angela and the King, as f they stood there be ore the altar, beneath of d the light the glorious windows, ma e a beau tlfu l picture , but he could not paint i t. It was not possible yet, he knew not H H e why . e did not love Angela . did not love any human being in the

same way that he loved beauty . Th at secret of beauty had been partially revealed to him in the sight of A n ela in H e f h the early dawn . elt then t at e was f t pro aning a sanc uary , and he closed his 40 T e s e eyes . h re was no rea on to close th m W adding f M . usic now Arnaud had seen marriages be ore, T ’ . as S many times hey had not been zlenced. d splen id in color and music as this one, m T but he had cared little about the . hey

did not touch his deepest emotions, that part of his nature that must be ’ touched if art s oddess was to come T w f to his easel . ere as another eel ing in Arnaud’ s heart that day when H e f Angela was to marry the King . elt and he knew that there was a tragedy in T it. here was no reason to think that so beautiful a scene could have anything but o it love and j y about . Nevertheless the lonely art1st saw what no one else in th at thronging crowd of knights and ladies H e f of could see . elt that the beauty for and Angela was not King Gaston , that those bridal bells so joyously ringing

would soon change their peal , and chime f an anthem o deepest sadness . Arnaud could not have told why h e felt as he did ’ n feel o n Angela s weddi g day . Some thing was revealed to him that he him self could not fully understand ; but it must have been a dim remembrance of ’ the hermit s words of ill omen . It was made plain before him more M uric Th e fi r t quickly than he had thought . s prayers had been said and the opening strains of the joyous marriage music had

been played, when suddenly there came

a voice, weird, unearthly , saying

I am H u nau d the Hermit . Give me entrance here ! I must speak to the King and to her wh o would not listen to my

words . I s oke to her in the gorge by the

cataracts o Gavarnie, and told her she

might not wed this Kin who loved her, P i because the ope wou d not allow t.

She did not heed me then , but she must f h f f heed me now lest urt er mischie be all . sa Let me ass , I y I would speak to f c them bot ace to la e . There was a silence as of death over all f the people . Slowly the ell back , and way was made for the tal but bent fi ure of i the anchorite, who held on hig a cru ifi x e e c . All clothed in de p st black for th e save white cross on his breast, he moved like a spectre among the gayly- clad e f lords and ladies . Not ev n the light o the joyous windows could make his form other than a black shadow as he slowl f h moved toward the high altar, be ore whic 42

right dost thou assume to stay the nup tials of ? M mic a king and his bride Speak, or f f A thy life shall be the or eit . rt thou indeed a priest come from the Pope ? T u ho hast said that thou art a hermit, and erh aps thy mind is deranged because o f

Pong fasting and solitude . Su rely thou f R D comest not rom ome . eclare thyself! Who art thou f R m bu t I come not rom o e, I come ’ with Rome s messa e. Mine ears heard it in the cave where I dwell down in the mountains’ depths where the wild water rushes by me and thunders in the

darkness below . I hear and see many thin in that darkness that men who live

in t e sunlight do not hear nor see . I am a monk f of , an unworthy ollower Saint P If eter. I were worthy I could bear this message myself; but 1t is given to me only to say that the messenger of the Pope

. of h 1s is at hand I tell you coming, and i T I bid you await t. his much I may o d . May God grant that evil to come ” may be stayed by my words . “ I will not wait, said King Gaston ; ” o fli ce f proceed with thine , holy ather . was T But the bishop trembling. here 44 was something ominous in the look ofWedding f M . usic the monk, something aw ul in his words a f Sil enced. Angela had sunk , h l unconscious, into ’ f t C her a her s arms . Even the bold ount

R - aimond paused, and his sword point f sank to the floor. In this rightened

hush none knew what to say or to do, f cru cifix except the hermit, who li ted his h i on h and said,

e have not lon to wait . The Pope’ s legate is at han Even now he ” is approaching the church door . A n It was true . embassy had come from P X f r . o ope Gregory , bearing his decree bidding this marriage, because the con a tracting parties were too ne rly akin . All There was no help, no hope . then If knew that resistance was useless .

King Gaston disobeyed, his kingdom could be put under an interdict and there could be no more baptism , mass, marriage, or burial in his dominions . Better that ffe he and Angela should su r, than his people be thus punished for no fault of theirs . The King bowed his head before the e If l gate and said, what thou sayest be u f if tr e, ather, we must submit, even our 45 t hear s are broken . I thought not this M uric relationship was so close as to make our ” u nlaw l marriage fix . so C Nor did I think , said ount R aimond . Has it been so decided by the Pope himself? f f of Yes, my son, and a ter care ul study for e the canons , the matter, as y say, was f f th e fi nal not ree rom doubt. Here is decree in which the reasons for it are f e clearly set orth . My children, y must part here and now it would be sin should ” e y remain longer together . The prelate turned toward the assem ” Go bled lords and ladies . hence, he sa f id, and be thank ul that your King has not been permitted to break th e laws f C ” o Holy hurch . Slowly and silently went forth those

who had come in so gayly . There was

no music now . The church was quiet. of f With a mute, passionate gesture are w f ell the King turned rom Angela, and t f f f th e wi h altering ootsteps le t church . Count Raimond drew his half fainting

daughter close to him, and very slowly

they too reached the door, and turned

toward their home . Weddin Arnau d had waited in the dark corner, g f for M usic not ollowing the others, he wished to Silenced see th e end of this tragedy whose shadow . had been u pon him even amid all the

t . splendor, the beau y, and the joy Th e prelate and the monk still stayed a f in the church, pr ying be ore the altar that help might come to hearts so su d denl afflicted h y , and t anking God that they had been permitted to prevent what l in their creed was a dead y sin .

Arnaud in the darkness did not pray, H e nor did he even think clearly . had

- a f fa seen a broken hearted king, a h l inting bride ; but as yet h e knew not what this for strange scene might mean him , thou h he knew well it meant much, else wou d not his very deepest soul be so stirred within him . THE DEVOTION OF ANGELA U N T RA I M O N D me bore An ela to his ho . gen o re The mai s on vived . The shock had been se th e h a vere, but blow d notstruck u pon the d est feelings ot the hi lt: because King Gaston had not stirred as sionate . Neverth e ess love within her , she had been shamed before all th e th people . It must seem to them at she h ad been willing to wed the Ki ng nlawfix ll f sh u y, to sell hersel to him that e might be called a queen . She blush e d hotly as the thought came to her. Nev er again could she look one of them in th e face To them her ilt was plain as h l noonday . T ey wou d not rememb e r there had been doubt abou t th e lawfu lness of A l h er Tire the marriage . nge a laid head ’ upon her father s breast and bu rst into a Dw otion

f o An ela . flood o tears . f g “ of u I will see no more this cr el world, “ never never again she sobbed . I will go far away where no one shall ever for am see me, I shamed . I will hide me

al . o behind convent w ls N , I will not do that ; I will seek another refu ge from ’ this hard Po e who has broken the King s is race heart and g d your daughter. I will make a place for myself and per haps for others who have suffered as I te have, where we can wait until death ” u s f m fu leases ro his bane l power. “ A ! Re Angela ! ngela speak not so . m Be me ber h e is our father in God .

not rebellious but submissive . My own

heart is hot within me, but we must sub C ’ V mit to hrist s icar on earth . But what

said you, my daughter, that you would d ” do ? I do not understan . ’ fath er I Oh, , cannot be King Gaston s f am wi e . I shamed, and no other will

wed me . I must live alone . Surely there afilicte am are others who are d even as I . I will go far hence and build a home for for T them and me . here we can await 49 Th e for f f death, li e as others live it is orbid i u s Devot on den to . When I have built it I shall o An ela o f g . dwell there nor ever g outside its gates , cor se carn ed until my is thence, nor shall any others wfi0 come within those walls go f m D ’ ” out ro thence until eath s Angel calls . dau h Wilt thou indeed do this, my g

Th f r I . o will, I must ere is no hope f ” me in this li e . Very soon Angela began the building sh e she had said would build, nor did her r H e f father op ose h e . elt that it was well for er to be where the eyes of an unkind world could not see her who had been rejected as a king’ s bride at the very f altar . It was not a long time be ore the a fi nish ed retre t was , and Angela went to

dwell there . Arnaud de Béarn heard what had hap fi rst h t f Pened . His thou a ter he heard 1 t was to go to Ange a and ask her to

come to him , but he knew she would not T h t come . hey thou they did not love F r each other then . i beauty had charmed f him . His artistic instincts had ascinated l h x n ess of . her, but that was not the love everth eless N , he wished to see her again, 50

Th e see there in the moonlight the exquisite Devotion form that once before h ad been revealed m o An ela. h i of f g to . Here was the assion his ’ A n fine H e artist s love . See ela must . i e could not paint unless saw her again . F f h im h e d1d ortune avored , and see

her again . Some houses near the place of fi re T her retreat chanced to take . here Th e m was a high wind . fla es were ’ th reatening Angela s building. No one within th ose loo my walls h ad spoken a f h a word . No oor or window d been Th e f opened . people o the town knew that there were many noble women behind

those dark walls, and it seemed to them as if m death ust surely come to those within , and come quick] Th e Archbishop of Th e fi h t Lyons was in t e town . g ened people had begged h im to come to H e h e their aid . came, and when saw ’ how sure was death s approach to those within the silent walls now touched by

th e - man wind swept flame, the good went as close as he could to the threatened H e building . called aloud, “ h e Angela, cried, I absolve thee and all those who are within from the e C vows y may have taken . ome thence, 5 2 for e T and come quickly, surely y will per h e ish in the flames D ev otion T e l door o An ela. h n Angela came to the litt e , f g which she o ened widely enough to speak ish o to the Arch p. M f ost holy ather, we are here to await if th death . It matters not it come by e If flames . it seems to you better that we should not perish now, pray that the ” fl me u a s may be exting ished . Th e Archbishop looked in wonder upon H e the door that Angela was shutting . T knelt, and Arnaud knelt beside him . heir prayer was the same : it was a passion ate pleadin that those women might not Exr f die in the y o the flames . It was an appeal to a higher power that th e fi re might be stayed before those devoted ones should perish . While the priest and the artist knelt and prayed, there was a chan e f Th e T o wind . danger was Past . e furious fi re soon lost its power because the newcome wind drove it back toward the ruins of the buildings it had already Th e destroyed . priest and the painter f m rose ro their knees , and looked toward f M the home o Angela . ight they see her again ? Th e artist longed fo r the vision 53 Th e of f s w h er her orm, the prie t ished to bless Devotion for H e and to thank her her devotion . o An ela h er co of f g . wished also to tell that the ple the town had been 1 nspired by her words

and deeds, and had been thereby brought

A n . nearer heaven . But ela didynot come She h ad gone to her celFand fallen upon

her knees in prayer. Thence she came not forth until long after th e Archbishop

and the artist had departed . fi re When the was over, and there was fi1 rth er er no dan to the building, no one Th e could enter. he retreat was sacred . of beauty Angela was there entombed . Never again could th e artist see it or of it know aught . Was there another f A n woman so beauti ul as was gela, when 1 c t he saw her n the early dawn that day, never to be forgotten when he had come to her home and looked at her as she stood by the window ? TH E BEGINNI NG OF AR NAU D ’ S PENANCE ’ RNAU D S fi rst thought was th at he would enter the retreat by force and

bring this woman out, that his eyes might be

delighted by her beauty, and his art inspired by the charm of her lovely form and glow H ing color . e was stayed by the Arch ’ bishop, who laid his hand upon Arnaud s

shoulder and said, Wherefore desirest thou to enter there

I wish to see Angela, replied Arnaud . Why dost thou wish to see h er ? said the Archbishop . a ti l Because she is be u fiJ . M W y son , what hast thou to do ith her beauty ? Th e King Gaston thought fo r P her charms were him , but the ope 5 5 Th e Be decreed otherwise . No other man can innin o of An for g gf possess the beauty ela, she ” Arnaud : awaits death in yonder bui ding . ! ! P enance. It is not that Oh , it is not that f Oh , ather, I never even loved her, nor

did she love me, but she was an inspira m tion to e in my art . Never until I saw

her did I know what beaut was . Never before could I even see where in nature itself was the secret of beauty which I for fi nd longed , but could not . I wanted e to see her, I wanted to learn those lov ly of h er f i lines orm , those charm ng living colors, so that I might paint madonnas for llVC the altar, that might in a beauty — I like hers . I cannot see her cannot

. O f e see her Was it wron ath r, that I wished to see her ? Ifow could I help . wishing for the sight of that beauty ? I longed to make it imperishable with my th e brush and put it over altar, that those who love the Madonna might see how she must have been when she was a e of maiden, chosen to be the moth r our ? Saviour. Was it a wrong thought It ! did not seem wrong to me . Alas where again can I fi nd another so beau tifix l as Angela ? ” 56 M f y son, I ear your thoughts have Th e Be ’ beau t not been wholly about Angela s y . ginningof I greatly fear that you have been tern ted Arnaud”: ll P enance to love her, and to love her unlaw y, . ” when she was betrothed to another. f if r It is not true, ather ; or it is t ue I it did not know , nor do I know it now.

I longed to see her, but I did not long

for anything more . What madness has come over me ? Surely she is not the

only beautiful woman . What can I do ? ? If am What must I do I in sin, let me f If con ess and give me absolution . I am

not, give me advice . Help me to do for I am confiJsed rightly, and in doubt ” t about my du y . th e Arch bish o My son , said I f ear that thou art in sin , and i thou knowest it not, it behooves thee to seek solitude that thou mayest have time for thought and thus come to a true knowl edge of thyself. Get thee hence to the far f mountains, which are not rom thine th home . Stay there and commune with h God, and look upon his works whic will there surround thee . Wait until thou hast regained calmness by prayer and self h fi nd restraint, and then t ou shalt that se 57 Th e Be of cret beauty which thou desirest, that ginningof thou mayest use it for the adornment of ” Arnaud : for of the sanctuary , and the help those ”

P nanc . e e. who wish to worship in purity and peace “ ” “ o wh 1th er ? I will g, said Arnaud, but Knowest thou not some place far among the highest mountain - peaks to which thou canst go ? “ Yea, I know one such place that I

- s have heard was near the mountain to , bu t I know not where it is nor whet er le F s some there are peo there . erha may ”

g . u t dwell there, there cannot e many “ Go . T there, my son ake my bless ing and my prayer that God may deliver thee from sin and make thee fi t to do the ” work he wishes thee to do . Without another word Arnaud left the f holy ather, to seek the mountains, as he h had been idden to do . But where was ? it this lace Arnaud knew little about , far but e had heard that somewhere, up th e mountains, there dwelt a mysterious

people. It was their home he meant to

seek .

H e - went toward the mountain tops, f h where he had never been be ore, althoug he had been in the habit of walking about 5 8

Th e Be . Per them . There are not many now nnin o gi gf haps there are none who really know . ’ Arnaud : They are a mysterious people . But Ar m of P em ee. naud de Bearn had known something them ; he had heard of them while he

painted in the church . Why could they not come in there where he sat with the Templars at the mass ? Was he better than they ? Such thoughts filled his mind

as he toiled up the steep roads, and at last

- k came far up among the mountain ea s. There among the snows and the gfaciers

dwelt this people . THE CAGOT MAI D EN S Arnaud approached th e dwelling- place of the Ca ots g , he met a young woman who was going along th e road to her

home .

“ ‘ Will you please tell Ca ? me where the ots live said Arnaud . ! Y Stand back she answered . ou ” of f are in danger your li e . ? t But, why surely you could not hur me , and you look too kindly and lovely ” to lead me to any harm .

Kindly and lovely said the girl . What do you mean by such words ? Full well I know that you and those like ” h nd you could no loveliness in a leper. f You are no leper. Speak not o such ai things . Who s d you were a leper “ Th e m I do not know . So e say we are lepers ; some say we are Jews ; some say V we are isigoths , and there are others

who think we are Moors . “ ” I do not know, said Arnaud, but I fi n want to d out . Will you show me ” ? on f where you live Lead , I will ollow . Follow me Did I not tell you that could not be ? But why Because you do not want to be a

leper. You do not want to be tainted by ” r 1 n our co ru pt o . There can be no corruption about ou f . I ear it not . Lead me to your y for am ome . I would rest, I very

weary . It was not strange that Arnaud should f f be willin to ollow so beauti ul a creature, even if ere were danger in being near

her . Her hair was black, her color deep f and rich , and her orm was supple and full of race in every curve and move Ti ment . er dress was y with tints warm and bri h t like those tfizmaidens wear in of the val eys Andalusia . How strange to fi nd such brightness amid the ever lasting snows ! 62 ’ Suddenly there flashed before Arnaud s Th e t a Ca t eyes two pic ures . One was the m iden ga 1 3 l n i M of e d d aiden. the trop cs, with her color, th e her flashingeyes, and a most barbaric richness of the garments that were about f l her orm, out ined against the cold, white pu rity of the snow - mountains with the of Th pale blue the sky behind them . e

h h of - w ot er picture was t at the lily hite,

- gold crowned maiden, ethereal as a dream, outlined against the almost tropical splen dor o f the red poppies and th e Vivid green of the grass, so bright that sometimes it ’ nearly yielded to the sunlight 3 yellow . It was strange that the voluptuous beauty should be amidst ice and snow, l a whi e the other loveliness, ide lly pure, was surrounded by almost dazzling splen T was th e dor. here a deep meaning in contrast o f these two pictures that had ’ more to do with the fiJtu re of Arnaud s o f H e life than he dreamt at the time . saw the two pictures as by a flash of light o ning, but he was too tired to reason ab ut them, or even seek to know their meaning f or himself.

The maiden went onward timidly, still half afraid to let a stranger come near h er 63 f becau se she knew it was orbidden . Never before had she even had speech with any of who were not her own race . Her mind had been narrowed by constant re f pression, and her ride, even her sel Eu mbled u b respect, had been , cr shed y the never—chan ing contempt and loathing h f for h er eo l t at all elt except her own p e . The handsome stranger was lzind to H e H her. spoke pleasant words . e f did not ear her nay, he asked her hel 3 and wished to o to her own home ’ n a d rest there . T e girl s heart beat risin quickly, but she mastered her emo

l . atfi t on She went along the p , and f Arnaud ollowed her. As they went upward the scene became wilder and wilder until at last they came l near to the snow line . Here was a va ley almost surrounded by the white peaks, and in its midst on the bank of a stream that rushed out from the snow were some rude cabins clustered close together, as if seeking warmth from each other like h n shee w en the storm comes o . ” hat is our home, said the girl . th an kfi fl Oh, how I shall be to rest ” ai f there, s d Arnaud, grate ully. 64 Followin t Th e gthe s ream , the soon reached of h Ca ot the door the humble ome . How g f o f M aiden wonder ul were the surroundings this . ! Th e l1ke simple cabin snow was silver, ’ gleaming beneath the sun s touch, but 1t was tf u res ul in its purity, tho gh daz z lin w gin its hiteness . The great rocks held it in their arms . Brown giants they f were, ondling and guarding the innocence and purity given to their care . There was r1ch k color in these roc s, and its con trast with the white suggested the bril liant picture o f the Cagot maiden with

- the snow h elds behind her. Among the snows and peaks lived this f r . st ange people Banished rom the world, f almost banished rom the church, they f f had ound enough here to sustain li e, f was generation a ter generation . It pos sible in the summer time to give sheep r and cows pastu age . It was possible even at that great height to raise beneath a summer sun enough in their gardens for t heir simple needs. o me Let me g to your home, let ” “ o a A am g quickly, s id rnaud . I very ” tired . I know not whether my father and 5 65 T e h e mother will welcom you . We are out

n all. can f casts, shun ed by How we eel kindly toward others ? But fath er and mother are not like others ; they are gen l t er, because they are old and have learned f to be patient. Be ore we enter I must f ’ m m tell you my ather s na e and y own , for if you did not know our names you ou r f could not come under roo . There are few to whom the Cagots tell h for as t eir names, they are as proud M f ’ those who shun them . y ather s name is found for generations back in our history . It is Benate, and mine is Sarande. You may enter now, said the f and maiden, li ting the wooden latch open th e f ing low narrow door o the cabin . f ear however, but only surprise, while his wife looked with most curious i nterest h upon the young artist, w ose like she had never seen before beneath her humble roofi ” f Sarande, said the ather, knowest u of tho the name this young man, and why he comes among th e banish ed peo ple who are hated and shunned by all “ I found him alone among the moun H e r tains . was wea y, and asked to come H e here to rest. will tell thee himself far why he has wandered so . I know f r o th e . not, we talked but little by way u f I co ld not but pity him, ather, even u thou h none pity s. ” “ u sai f o ngman, d Benate, orgive this qu est1oningabout one who seems to a m u u seek re se amon s. It is an n f 1 m heard o th ng . Te l e why you are here . You asked the maiden if she knew m a . my n e It is Arnaud de Bearn . I am ainter a , or rather I wished to be one . have been painting in the Tem ’ lars and I f p church at Luz , wandered rom h nd t fu h there to some hing beauti l , t at I ” rn h i igt paint t. 68 ’ aintin S arandé s What do you mean by p g, ? Home young man I do not understand your . words . “ f “ Oh, ather, said Sarande, I think k I understand . You now the bright colors we h ave seen near the altar in the Templars’ church where we looked from our chapel through the opening in the wall toward the chancel ? Those must be paintings , and this young man has covered those walls with them . You w fu know you said they ere beauti l . “ Ah , yes , I remember now, but I did not know th ey were called paintings ; and did you really make those bright colors and beautifu l pictures on the walls about th e altar ? h of I did make t em, with the hel the — m e painter monk y teacher, but t y are T f l . not beautiful . hey are o litt e use I m for th e have not learned y art, living secret o f beauty has not fully come to me for h o for yet . I long it and I e it and for i of I seek t. Because t at seeking I am h weary . Will you give me somet ing for am f ? to eat, I aint h nd Willingly, my son , but you will poor fare here ; only some milk and soup 69 a can we ive you . Sar nde make ready h f r w at we ave o our guest . Th e m n aiden, nothing loath, haste ed to bring some soup that was made from ve gk tables, and brown bread, and some mi ; th e r nay more, her interest in wea y painter made her look a little further in the scan t f wh icy larder, and she ound some eggs, for fi re she cooked him over the big . Arnaud was cheered by th e simple but

real courtesy shown him by them all . Th e ch ildren wh om he h ad seen when the

door was opened, had hidden in dark th e corners when they saw stranger, nor had they made a sound since he had come in h saw . But now , w en they him eat and drink as they did, they were sure he was

not a monster, and they came nearer to f f him . Arnaud elt he was in a home ull of al love, like good homes he knew, thou gh men shunned it and it had been f f orced to the mountain astness, and almost f buried in the snows just above its roo . Th e scene was indeed most picturesque . Even the tired eyes of the worn painter of it T could not but see the beauty . here

in h - was great dignity the w ite haired man, fi reli h t as he sat in the g , doing his work 70 ’ even while he talked with the strangen Saraudé : Home There was dignity and love, too, in the . woman working with the wool that others

might be warm when winter came . There f was the central beauty o Sarande. All glowin and s lendid she stood there with fi rj i h t a h t the g pl ying about her, now lig ing her eyes, whose flash was more ril n liant than the leapi g flame, now touching her cheeks and brightening the soft rich of ness their color, and then bringing out

with brilliant light here, and deep shadow f of f there , the per ect lines her orm , supple of of and stron like those a child nature, whose lifgwas amid the cliffs and the woods and by the bank of the wild tor rent . And there were the children , now clustered together near the others, no longer afraid but h ushed by a certain f awe, a strange eeling they had not known f T f be ore . hey were all beauti ul , with that f wild, hal barbaric color and expression which made Sarande so charming, so over powering in the effect o f a beaut utterly unlike aon that is see n among t e usual abodes men, but is to be sought with rarest wild- flowers in dangerous and dis tant places in solitude and in freedom Arnaud was too weary to paint, or he would have begu n at once upon a picture fi 1 11 of so splendid color. “ Benaté f Young man , said old , a ter “ f they had talked a little longer, I ear you will fi nd your bed little better than

- your supper, but you are over tired, and ” will sleep , I know . Arnaud thanked them most warmly for h and r their ospitality, the bed, ude as it was f , seemed to him that night as so t as n cider dow . A TALK WITH THE CA GOT CARPENTER KNAU B awoke with a f o f e eeling strangen ss, not remembering for a few moments where he

was, and arising, flung open the wooden shutter that he might see in the morning light the grand mountains above h im fu . The great peaks were in the ll o f a splendor e rly dawn , when sky and snow and glacier are all irradiated by ’ fi rst Not the sun s rays . yet was the u valley in the sunlight, but the r shing stream reflected here and there the t t brilliant ints above, un il it was lost in the depth s of a great forest which had climbed up the mountains as far toward o m the snow as it dared to g . It see ed a rfu A wonde l, mysterious wood, and rnaud longed to be in its shady depths and listen 73 to the voices o f the wind in the tree- tops m with th e and the strea among the rocks . Cagot Truly the place ofbanishme nt the Arch Car enter bish o h ad p . p chosen began to seem most

attractive . It was by no means a place Th o f penance . e glowing mountains and th e splendid beauty o f th e Cagot girl had ’ fi lled - Arnaud s artist soul , and he knew

that he could paint here . Soon he sou h t the room with the great fi re f h ad ad lace, and t ere the amily alre y fo r gat cred the morning meal . Arnaud was cordially welcomed and asked to share h t eir black bread and milk . The meal was a simple one , but the early morning of th e air mountains whetted the appetite,

and Arnaud ate heartily . Young man, said Benate, are you f ff f rested, and do you eel no ill e ects rom the great strain you went through yesterday f Th e Indeed, I eel well . weariness T has passed away . his bracing air gives

me new strength and vigor . I was going to ask if you would be my guide to that great forest which begins at the end of f n the valley . I saw it rom my wi dow f this morning, and it must be wonder ully f ” beauti ul . 74

1 1 Talk and that we are banished shunned by all , wit th e r be h but we are allowed to ply our t ade, cause others have need of the Cagot

Car enter. and Wh o p carpenters builders, are the best hereabouts and do their work more cheap]

than others . It is thus we earn such n little money as we eed . Nevertheless, even when we are working our atrons

do not approach u s. They hol com mu nication with u s from as far away as they can 0 and still have their voices u s heard . T they tell what they want . Th e a barg in is made, and when the work is done the money is left for u s at some

place agreed upon . Benaté But, , how do they know you are Cagots when you come among th em and work on their houses like others Have you noticed this upon the front of ? my blouse said the old man, point ’ ing to a rude representation of a goose s f oot made with yellow wool . ” “ it I did indeed see , said Arnaud,

and I wondered what it meant, and why ” you chose so curious an ornament. u You could not g ess what it means,

Benaté . said , but I will tell you I can am speak quietly about it because I old, 76 and have learned patience . It means that d Talk f with th e they think we are unclean, oul, and need m f th Ca ot ore bathing than others, there ore ey g u s Car ent make wear this badge, in a bright color p er . f which you can see rom a distance, and ” avoid approaching u s. “ What dastardly treatment ! said l m A t . rnaud, ho y It is ere wanton for a u t cruelty, surely they c nnot be so terly ignorant as not to know what you ” really are . “ ! l Alas my son, we hard y know our T selves what we really are . hat is one f o our greatest burdens . Our origin is lost in mystery, or at least preserved only T by tradition . hey say our name comes f d ‘ ’ rom the wor s Chiens and Goths . ’ D o th e r We may be gGoths, unwo thy of ef V descendants the d eated isigoths, e n who liv d in Spai . But some say that are of is not true, and claim we children C the Saracens , whom the great king harles M e f e e art l de eat d, and ther are some who e and say we are J ws, that our name comes ’ from the word Capo . I think that ’ means to steal, but the Cagots are not T thieves . hose that most des ise u s s think we are really lepers, and t e cur e 77 ’ 1 1 Talk of u s Gehazi , Elisha s servant, is upon . with th e w We know not, my son , but we do kno Ca ot a g that we are banished and c lled unclean . Car enter p . It is hard to live thus, and it is not strange of u s that many are sullen and desperate, for giving back hate hate, ready to turn against our oppressors if only we were T ar strong enough . hese e the young men ; those who have grown old in these a mount in solitudes, have learned to love th em and to be content with the simple f li e that is lived among them . I have a o m t lked too long, I must g now to y ” work . Benaté for me I thank you, , tellin Le this strange tale . t me do what can m f to ake your li e pleasanter . I owe you for much your kindness, and would help ” ou y in any way that I could . “ I thank you, said the old man ; it is pleasure enough to have one under ou r r f u s bu t t e ts oo who does not despise , r a ” u s like human beings . Th e se s old man ro , and went lowly ’ down th e road to h is day s work in th e a v lley. A RNAU D ’ S FI RST PICT U RE OF SA RAND E was not long before S a randé for came, ready the a w lk in the woods . She had wrapped a red scarf around her luxuriant black hair ; there were bri h t colors l n her close fi ttin h rt f gjacket and s o skirt. Her ace for was flushed with excitement, never ’ before 1 n her life had this maiden 3 com pany been sought by any one not of her own race, and now she was to take this n fu f handsome stra gger to the beauti l orest . A looked As rnaud u on her, he wondered how it was possible tgthe strange thi“n the old man had just told him could EZ true . Surely a creature so exquisitely beautifu l could not have sprung from what is unclean and leprous . Surely it could not be believed that any one would shun f r h im r a m what had o an ove powering ch r . 79 ’ Arnaud : They went into the brilliant sunsh ine e air and breathed eagerly the k en, crisp , that was enough in 1 tself to set the pulses t leaping, even without the glorious beau y T f of the scene about him . hey ollowed the road that led by the side o f the stream

toward the trees, which had come up as far as they dared toward the snow- circled

valley. The irl was busy with her own th ou h ts wh ic§ g , were so pleasant that they f of f made her a raid hersel , and she became d shy and reserve , which was not at all her ’ - fi lll wont . Arnaud s artist soul was to o erflowin H e v with beauty . could not f i n t eel at all, only see and wonder at the ever- changing pictu res of the mountains m and the maiden , the strea and the trees . n f Soon they e tered the orest, and the of P m ines the yrenees rose about the . gmetimes d o the trees stoo thickly together, so close that the sun could not pierce their f h deep green oliage, that arc ed over cool shady places loved by the soft moss th at d covere the rocks, loved too by the doves

who dwelt there, and whose tender cooing w made the air tremulous ith love . Some times they stood like sentinels about some m little glen, green as an e erald , with its 8 0 ’ turf touched by the sun and watered by Arnaud s the rivulet that rippled through it on its F irst T way to join the river. hese were the P icture e for nd of th e o lov liest places, the te er blue f

- and far Sarandé sky over arched them , away tow . ered u p a great peak all glitteri ng with Th e sunlit me and snow. birds loved r these places too, and they sang thei

- happy love songs among the tree branches, Th e f where their nests were . beauty o music now added its charm to that of f T w color and orm . here ere not only

- n the gay and the tender bird so gs, but there were also the voices of the breeze as it played among the branches, low, mur caressm f si h in s muring, g, and so t, like g g of happy lovers ; and there was 1 n the distance the sound of ru shing water that came from where the river was leap i gamong the rocks . It was a dream 0n f beauty and passion, called orth by ’ nature s enchanted wand . H f ere Sarande became quite hersel again, for f she was at home . She orgot her shy ness and gave herself with utter abandon to the loveliness about her . She played Th e among the trees as a child would . f a of birds were not a r id her . Even the 6 8 1 Arnaud : doves flu ttered about her and seemed to of know that she was like one them , a of true child nature. Arnaud thought, God is not unkind even to these ban ish e d people . With lavish hand he spreads among them the most glorious f beauties o his creation . u s o f S a Let g a little arther, said

. tl rande, gayly I know a lit e pool near th e river bank that is far more beauti ful even than this bright glen . Come , ” f 1 f ollow me, and catch me you can . a f L ughing merrily, the girl sprang rom rock to rock with the grace and agllity of

a chamois . Arnaud tried in vain to kee up with H f lb her. e was almost a raid to se sight of for her, she seemed like a bright fl bird, that might at any moment y into f the orest depths and be no more seen . At last she au sed and looked back at who was o the artist, lab ring with such r success to follow in h er flying ootste s p . H e reached her at last, and the girl was good enough not to laugh over- much at is clumsiness . Now they were at the edge of that pool of which S arandé had spoken . 8 2

Arnaud”: f d sprang rom rock to rock, she seeme F irst reflected like a tropical bird , and the pool her gay colors and mingled them with f T d the other beauti ul tones . hey blen ed f Th e of per ectly . Cagot girl was a part ’ nature s picture . Arnaud was seized with a desire to paint her there as she stood on a rock h H e t at overhung the pool . had brought of a box colors with him , and he begged

the wayward girl , who was in the mood for f a rolic, to stay still where she was just for a few minutes that he might paint f her. She consented a ter a while, and came as near as she could to standing for still, a much longer time than she r a liked . She became ve y impatient at l st,

and would not stay another minute, but Th e the time had been long enough . ’ f artist s skil ul hand, inspired by this rare of it S a beauty, had caught the spirit .

rande was amazed . How did you do that ? Why ! that f is my own sel , and there are the trees m f and the oss and the sky and the erns, and you h ad only that little box and a ” of piece paper. of Nay, Sarande, I had the thought ’ beauty and the sight of it Only what is d rnaud s t f 1 tu res beau i ul makes p c . u s o for f P icture Let g home, I want ather ” o and mother to see this . f f r a o o S ar nde. Yes, we will g, indeed we have lingered long here in this ench anted f orest, but not nearly long enough . I m of have only had a gli pse its beauties . w Surely we must come again , and I ill paint another picture and we will stay all day long and watch the changing lights, the ’ f sun s golden gi ts, each lovelier than the f ” last, rom the rosy dawn to paling twilight . Arnaud could not have found again R ’ enate s home, but the girl seemed to know every tree and rock, and sure as led an Indian on a trail, she him again to the road by the river bank that led to th e C agot village . m As they entered , the old other looked f h ad up rom her knitting . She sat there fi reside by the all the morning, and a stock ’ ing nearly ready fo r the winter s cold bore witness to her steady toil . ” Oh, mother, said Sarande, has father yet come home ? I have some thing to show him . I want you both to see it together . Arnaud”: h e for h is No, my child, comes later,

- a as work is long to day, lmost as lon

P icture . u n mine But you, you must be very o r for f gy, you had not your soup at mid Sa mndé. . day, and that is wrong You took nothing f for ou with you , and you must be aint, y h n mornln have eaten not i g since early g. Sarande, there is still soup in the pot ; heat it and eat, and the children will bring i T m lk . hey were glad to watch the

- for cows to day, they knew you were happy Sarande blushed and turned her head e away . W ll she knew why she had been h f appy, but she dared not con ess the

cause even to her own beating heart . She turned toward the fi re and swung the

- pot over the red hot coals . Soon the simple but wholesome meal was ready, and the two who had been wandering 1 n m of it for drea land were glad to partake , u they were tired, tho gh they knew it

not. Then they rested awhile and talked sometimes in low tones of the beauties of th e f and of orest the mountain , the

sparkling river, the green glen and the ’ qu1et pool and the music of the birds 8 6 ’ — At rn d : love songs . length the shadows be A au Benaté F irst gan to lengthen, and they saw and roa P ieture comin slowly wearily u the d . Th e 0 (1 man was glad to be re resh ed with qf of Sarandé some the hot soup, and soon he be an . to ask what they h ad done and how t ey e had liked the wood, and wh ther they n it were weary with long wa dering in , and by many questions showed his kindly in tere e st in all their doings . Wh n he was e o n] quite r sted, Sarande, in triumph ’ a f h h l concealed, brought Arnaud s sketc and showed it to the wondering old man f d and to his wi e, who won ered more than for he did, she did not know the bright ’ colors on the walls of the Templars e h e church as w ll as . S o Benaté this is a picture, said . R f for eally it is wonder ul , there is S arandé , and there are the trees and an o f the rocks d the water the pool . I know the place well, but I never thought there was any one who could thus br1 ng f ” such beauties again be ore my eyes. “ ” Benaté d is Oh, , said Arnau , it n only a little thing, quickly do e, not if it worth giving you ; but you like , please take it and pu t it here on the wall 37 ” Arnaud : fi re lace near the p , so that it may make on think of the oor painter whom you h b h elped in his trou le, as you sit ere and ” mend your tools . Soon S arandé pu t the sketch on the f wall , and the old man and his wi e looked

at it and were pleased . No artist had ever before hung a picture in a Cagot

cabin . There was more pleasant and kindly

talk , but the old man was weary, and at last he yielded to the warmth of the fi re n without and the soup withi , and began ’ f n to nod in his chair. His wi e s knitti g needles be an to lag a little and at last f her sh e ell upon lap, and too slept in

peace . Th e for evening came on slowly, the twilight lingered long after the sun had

gone behind the mountains . Arnaud wandered out alone to the river bank and dreamily watched the fading tints of the reflected sunset by mountain and stream . H e had heard th e sound of bells com in gnearer and nearer, and there was the of Th e n n laughter children . you ger o es were bringin home the sheep and th e i a cows . One d been more daring than 8 8 ’ f - f or a o . Arnaud s the others, this was day adventure H e had set a net in a little pool when F irst P ict he went out in the morning, and as he ure f H ow drew it up he ound some trout . of n f Sarandé proud was he to bri g them to the ather . and mother and the stranger ! That n eveni g they would have a good supper. T hey did indeed, and when it was over they did not linger long before going to seek the rest that all needed . BE NAZRA ’ S STORY OF THE CAGOTS E next day Benate

went early to his work , and Arnaud could have no further talk with him about the history of his l peo e . he artist’ s curiosity had been greatly excited by what Benaté

had said, and he wished to know more about this extraordinary race who seemed to have lived for generations as they roscribed were living now, utterly and b of hated, and all apparently ecause the blackening power of a lie which no one f could or would re ute . ” A f Sarande, said rnaud, a ter the old man had gone, is there no one in the village who can tell me more about your people than your father told me yester ” u m day I want to know more abo t the . 90

’ Benaz ra : They left Benate s home and walked Stor th e y among cabins , which were clustered uite closely together along the bank o f t t e stream , until they came to a lit le bridge rudely made of tree- trunks and f planks roughly hewn , which reached rom the bank to a rock in the middle of the

river, and thence to the other side . The frail structure swayed a little in the m f wind that ca e rom the rushing water, and they were wet with the spray from a foammg cataract not far from the everth eless f bridge . N , they came sa ely S arandé as across, and laughed she shook f 1 f the drops rom her ha r, and leapt rom

rock to rock up the steep bank, until they found the path that led to the cabins T on the other shore . here were not so o f far many these, and some were quite Th e f up on the mountain side . arthest of of away all was that the wizard . This seemed so lonesome that it was no won o der the children would not g there, even f if they had not eared the wizard himself. They came at last to the low door of of the cabin . In spite the boasting that afrald she was not , now that she was no f longer little, Sarande hesitated be ore she 9 2 ’ Benaz ra knocked, and she might have run away if she had not been ashamed because Story h ch eek o th Arnaud was there . With ushed s f e t defi ant of f Ca ts and eyes brigh ly her ears she go . A knocked on the door. low voice

answered, Enter, and they stood within ’ B na r e z a s home . f fi re it was Be ore the and very near to , of seated a man great age . His snow f H i white hair ell upon his shoulders . s ierc shaggy eyebrows overarched black, p in eyes, that seemed to retain still much h fi re of t e youth . His aquiline nose and prominent cheek- bones and his very dark skin clearly betokened one of the of children the Moor. His hands were s t i still cla ped upon a knot y st ck , on which he had been leaning forward from his ai fi re ch r and looking into the , until he had raised his head at the sound of the k nockin and turned it toward the door

to see wfi0 was coming . “ Who comes to see Benaz ra ? he

I S arandé of It is , , the daughter Benaté A Béarn , and I bring rnaud de , al who wishes to t k with thee, said the ma iden, timidly . ’ “ Benaz ra : Ye are welcome . Benate I know, and I also remember thee, Sarande ; but why dost thou bring the youn man H e will tell thee himsel Speak to ” him , Arnaud . Benaz ra , I have come because I wish of w to know more your people . I as a t wanderer exiled among your moun ains, and Sarande and Benate have been kind to me when I was weary and faint with er fi nd hun . I had not thought to such kincfness fi rst among the Cagots, and at S arandé herself did not wish me to follow

her, because she said she and her people l were called eiers . I see that this cannot be true . W ll you tell me why such cruel things are said of you “ Benaté Has not told thee, young man ? H e has told me much, but I want to

know more . “ Ah , yes, I see . They think old Benaz ra knows more than they, and that for I was is true, when young I tried to fi nd the truth among the many traditions of f it our people . I think I ound , and even in my old age I have not forgotten it You . wish to know why we are called 94

’ Benaz ra : f of rosy, and there was reat ear them because of this as we] as on account of was their valor. Now, when Spain sub of th e dued, the ambition Saracen knew no bounds and he thought to overcome l f Abdirama a l Europe . There ore led his T hosts against France . hey took pos session of all the asses of the Pyrenees and spread themselves over the land ; but f Charles Martel de eated them , and they ' were driven before him like ch afi before m the wind . Not all ca e back to Spain . a Many rem ined here, scattered among T these mountains . hey were hated by le of the peo , and there was talk killing them al but at last it was decided th at they might live if they would become f Christians . This they did, and a ter pro

bation as catechumens they were baptized . These Saracens who had become Chris tians were known in Navarre and Bearn 1 000 f as long ago as the year a ter Christ, h and they ave lived here ever since .

The old man paused a moment, and his eyes flashed fi re as he thought of the in

j u stice that had been done to his race . Benaz ra Arnaud said, But, , I cannot understand why the people could not see 96 ’ that you were not lepers when you came Benaz ra : and dwelt among them and were baptized Story

into their church . t Ca ots Young man , you lit le know the power g . of h prejudice . Not ing could make them believe there was not a taint of leprosy ra about Sa cens . In many places they l Gez itai ns even ca led them , which name m f co es rom Gehazi . Nor was it true that u s for the people ever knew much about , the catechumens who are preparing for baptism are separated from baptized C T hristians . his separation endured with a s f of even a ter baptism , partly because of ac the hate the Saracens , and artly on count of the invincible fear 0 the taint of T f leprosy . here ore they would not come u s near , and they even made laws which f u s orbade to mix with them . Once it was ordained that we should not walk bare f if ooted on the street, and we did not obey, ” our feet were to be pierced with a hot iron . “ ” t Benaz ra . I unders and, , said Arnaud Yet I remember that Benate said he was H e not sure your people were Saracens . C ’ said that some called you hiens Goths, and that your name of Cagots came from this . 7 ’ “ be a B Beuaz ra : enaz ra. That could not , s id T The Goths were a noble race . here of was never any taint leprosy about them . ‘ ’ Th e Saracens may have been called dogs “ C o f Goth s 1 n or hasers derision, because they had boasted they would drive the f Goths be ore them , and instead had been f de eated themselves . Besides, it is well known that the term ‘ Cagot ’ is one ex

pressing insult and contempt, and might well be used by an insolent con u ero r ” foe h toward the whom he had crus ed . Benate also said that some thought ” you were Jews , said Arnaud . Alas ! it is true that many have thou h t of so and think so still , and because t at suspicion horrible crimes have been at u s tributed to , which we never dreamed of committin 1s m it but there no truth . In the laws o§ Ch arIes the Bald some Jews ‘ Ca l were called p , which is a word that

f of - comes rom the name the sparrow hawk, and was applied to them because they

were usurers and thieves, and seized every

thing within their reach . From the simi larity between Capi and Cagots came Th i n the idea that we were Jews . e g o rant people in their hatred wou ld believe 9 8

’ Benaz ra : Arnau d looked upon them both . Their f ancestry was written in their aces . In fi re of the old man was the Saladin . In the maiden was the sensuous charm of f ’ one o Mohammed s hou ris . It was u ba true, Saracens they were, tho h p tiz ed of m h ristian , both the , in the

church . But now the old man ’ s strength was of quite gone . Even the excitement his assionate wrath could sustain him no Pn er H h o . e g sank back a ain in his c air, fel and his knotted stick upon the floor . f Sarande eared he would die, and she was fi f r greatly terri ed . Not o worlds would sh e have been near th e wizard when he for f f wh is died, there were ear ul stories

ered about, that the devil would come For u his so l , which had been sold to Satan for the supernatural wisdom he had given enaz ra f B . Even now the king o evil W might be near . ith trembling steps she u re sought the door, nor could Arna d m f stra her . Her ears were not to be h quieted, and she could ardly breathe

until she was in the open air . Arnaud f ollowed her and tried to reassure her, and at last he succeeded in so far that 1 00 ’ sh e m c bu t Benaz ra s beca e alm again, nothing would

re- Stor induce her to enter the cabin . y for a th e Wait me here then , said he . f H e Ca ots I cannot leave the old man thus . g . o n] is not dead, I think, exhausted and faintin him I must revive . O 0 Arnaud, do not back there . V§ o l It is an unholy place . u d that we had not entered his home ! Evil may come to you unless you flee from the H ” devil . e may be there even now . m f Th e I a not a raid . oor old man has gone beyond his strength in doing me r h im a se vice . I must help as best I ” can .

- Arnaud re entered the cabin . The old man still lay there motionless, with closed f eyes , and his ace was weirder even than before as the flickeringlights and shadows from the fi re played over its stern and h m rugged outlines . T ere was so e wine in a jug on the table . Arnaud moistened the closed li s with this and bathed the At forehead wit cool water . last Ben azra opened his eyes, and it was not long before he was quite conscious again ; but he did not seem to remember what had happened, and sat there looking into the 1 0 1 ’ Benaz ra : fi re j u st as he had been doing when they

Story came. A rnaud rejoined Sarande, who welcomed Ca ots h im cr of o for f g with a J y, she had eared m1 y the devil t take him too, when he ’ for Ben z ra 3 T f came a soul . hey ound the neighbor who took care of th e old man and sent her to the cabin to see if

he needed anything, and they went slowly ’ B n é back to e at 3 home .

Th e h t it m f thou about , which co es rom their belie that we are Jews for they say that a baptism in the blood of Christian chil dren killed on Good Friday will remove a f u s f this t int rom , and that there ore we

seek such blood on Good Friday, as the

. ! Jews have been known to do Ah , God ! Ah, Saviour that such hideous things should be said of u s l For this reason we are h ated and shunned on Good Friday N more than on any other day . everth e ’ o Tem less, we must g to the lars church , 0? ou r r because it is a tradition ace, a n W e sacred o e. dare not disobey the of teaching our unwritten but binding law . man o u s But, young , you need not g with . T here is no need . I warn you there is

danger in so doing . Is Sarande going with you said Arnaud .

o . Yes , my son , she must g f And is your wi e going also, old and feeble as she is o She must g, Arnaud, as long as she is able to walk . And you thi nk that I should be afraid to go where a maiden and a weak old woman are going ! I fear you think but 1 04 little of my cou I sh ould be far less Th e ’ t if c o Ca t han a man I ared to g with them . go s I i o Good w ll g where Sarande goes, and I will if , is F rida . protect her in danger danger there , _y f r so a as I may . When do you leave here “ V r r th e for e y ea ly in morning, the wa o b lk is a long one, and we must g y t t a li tle pa hs mong the woods and rocks, for on that day the high - road is utterly ” u forbidden to s. a I sh ll be ready, said the young man . Sarande had been sitting in a dark f h corner, shuddering while her at er told A of th e rnaud this Good Friday horror, darkest o f all th e evil things that were told and believed about her race . Never th eless f if , there was no ear in her, and t here had been , it would have vanished when she heard Arnaud’ s words and knew t w a for if hat he ished to c re her, she were

in danger or trouble . Ou C the morrow, very early, the agots ’ at f R began g hering be ore enate s house, r of e fo he was the patriarch th village . Th e old and young, even the lame and f a the eeble ones who could w lk at all, were

t . T a here hey were clad in sombre g rb, 1 05 for it was their da o f sadness and h u mili If ation . there had been Jewish blood in them they would not have thus kept

Good Friday . Slowly and silently they f f went orth in a long procession, ollowing a little winding path that led among the woods and the rocks down through the val ley and then up the steep hill , on whose crest stood the church of the Templars at

. was Luz It a weary walk and a sad one . Th e old and the feeble were well - nigh ex h au sted when they reached the ramparts n that surrounded the church . O hands and knees they crawled through a low opening in the wall, which was their only ’ entrance to God s house, and passing the little court- yard where lay the bones of T many a dead emplar, they entered by a small door the little chapel that was set apart for the use o f these de s ise p d ones . Here they knelt in silence on the stone floor and prayed . One after another in turn they rose and looked throuhh the little opening in the wall of the c oir, through which could be seen a the high ltar, now draped in deepest o f Ch rlst f h black, and the bier be ore it wit al] d its black p , all lighted by the can les 1 06

Th e want our blood ! They will come and kill u s ! Th e children ran shrieking T toward their homes . heir parents thought t at once the Cagots had attacked hem , perhaps killed some of them that they In might have their blood baptism . fin i

ated , they caught up stones and rushed to the edge o f the precipice above the path alon which the Cagots were moving f . o slow y With the strength madmen, h t ey hurled the stones, and they rolled T rocks down the steep hillside . h e fright

ened Cagots fled as well as they could, seeking shelter among trees and behind

rocks , but many were grievously hurt f h nd fu T be ore they could a re ge . heir supposed uncleanness was really their best n for protectio , the angry people dared for f r of not come near them ea contagion . Arnaud was protecting Sarande as well h t f as he mi , putting himsel between her flin and the y gstones . Some struck him, but he cared not so long as she was u n and l hurt. Suddenly she reeled near y f ell . A stone had struck her in the cheek . In a moment she was faint and bleedin and she would have fallen from the pa51

and down the steep and rocky hillside, 1 0 8 A a Th h ad not rnaud c ught her in his arms . e ’ Scarce conscious of the weight he was Cagots bea th e Good ring, he rushed along path until he of T came to th e shelter the wood . here t T the stones could not reach hem . here w r e e no pursuers, and he could rest a m S arandé f H e oment . had ainted . must

th e . f r carry her to river It was not a . T here he could bathe her bleedin wound, and th e cold water would bring er back f to li e agai n . Th e strong man had need of all his strength before he reached th e river bank and l ai u ncon gent y l d the maiden , still s i s c ous, on the gra s, while he went to get T w S arandé . h e ater . was not badly hurt cold water soon revived her. She began t a s and to brea he natur lly, and at la t sat up h loo ked about her wit bewildered eyes. “ am I ? Where Ah, I know, those i was devils nearly k lled me . It you who brought me here . You have saved my f if t li e . I wonder I have s rength to get ” home . It is a weary way . “ w ” A I ill help you, said rnaud ; take

Th e strength of this maiden of th e mo a unt ins began to come back to her. llo9 Th e f A to She rose to her eet, but rnaud had f support her or she would have allen . H e feared she would not be able to reach her home without more help than he could of give alone . None the other Cagots was in sight. Each had protected him f as as sel well he could, and those who were unhurt were now far on their way

toward their own village . Arnaud nerved himself for a reat ef f for su ort, he knew that without is

port the girl , brave as she was , cou d H e never reach her home . put his arm around her and she leaned her head on h T a f his s oulder. hus he h l carried her f a over the steep parts o the path . Sever l f times she almost ell, but her strong will f ou overcame the aintness, and she went . She even began to step with a fi rmer f tread, but still she did not li t her head Th and still his arm was around her . us ath f they went through the s o the wood . At last the strength 0 the man and the f Th bravery o the girl were rewarded . e h t T home was in . hey would soon n Ti e stru reach it ow. y gled along with e renewed courag8 , and wit nearly all the f power he had le t, Arnaud opened the 1 1 0

T of T h e rock near the edge the wood . hanks to his quick action they reached the shel u n ter in t e to escape the flying stones, but S arandé h was was not wit them, nor the of artist. Benate waited until the storm e w ston s ceased, and then he ent back to of seek his daughter . Some the Cagots T h ad been killed . heir bodies lay in the Th e path . wounded had crept away to f ward the orest . Trembling and sick at heart the old man ’ looked among the dead, but his daughter s

. H e s body was not there earched long, h nd o f s but could no trace her, and at la t in despair he returned to his wife and

little ones . With slow steps they went

along the path, and at last, utterly wearied

and sick at heart, they entered their cabin . Th e joy of seeing their daughter there f i sa e, though wounded, and the art st too,

unhurt though pale and weary, was so reat that Benaté for a moment almost ? r of f Th e o got the terrors this earfu l day . ’ fi rst care of the mother was for S arandé s fu wound . She dressed it skil lly and fi nd was quickly , and was glad to it not

severe . ARNAUD ’ S TEM P TATION

E gratitude of the old eople to Arnaud was u n gou nded f , and rom that time they felt for him a ff tender a ection , almost as they would feel for a son f f o their own . A ter a ’ few of S arandé days quiet, s wound was healed and the maiden was herself again but it was not with her as it had been in i the t me before Arnaud came . She had f was b n to love him be ore, though she ff f f 1 o ; hal conscious o t. Now she knew that even in her faintness her heart beat more quickly as she felt his arm about her l and let her head rest on his shou der. She could no longer conceal her passion f f so . rom hersel , nor did she care to do it She gloried in , but she would not let i him know t. Arnaud might have seen 8 ’ Arnaud r n that she loved him, unless he had bee so utterly absorbed in his passion for H e f S beauty . knew the loveliness o a ’ 3 f of f rande orm , the rich beauty her ace, and he was fascinated by her charm ; but

he did not love her, he loved only her beauty . Nevertheless , he was in great for danger, to an artist the spell that is u t upon the senses by such beauty as p f ers is almost as potent as love itsel , and may lead to the veriest madness of as A ( an sion . rnaud should have seen his I T ger, but he did not or would not . here was a fascination 1 n painting this wild girl o f the mountains such as he had never f known be ore . P f H icture a ter picture he painted . e could not resist the temptation to seek ever new lines of race in the supple f grillianc of e rounded orm , new color in

the flashing eyes and rosy cheeks, new meaning in the mobile face yielding to each emotion as the wheat sways in th e darkens 1 n 6 — breeze, the ing cloud shadow, m or gleams brightl t e yellow sunlight . All nature was cyanged and made more beautiful to him by the beauty of this of child nature . 1 1 4

’ i Arnaud r charms he had so often a nted . There fi erce his Th e was a struggle in mind . was f ff dazzling beauty be ore him, o ered th e ma to him , but between him and iden rose two pictures : the old randmoth er sitting by the fi re with her §ible on her A l w knees, and nge a ith her pure blue eyes and golden crown of hair standing like a madonna in the fi eld of the

poppies . S arandé f ! Oh, , orgive me I have been t selfi sh wicked, hear less, . I have hurt ou y , but I did not mean to do you harm . will not hurt you more . I must leave f r f u you . It is not well o either o s that I ” t should stay ano her minute . ! a ou Leave me you c nnot, y dare ! not You will kill me . Why did you save my life ? Why did you love my t ? f beau y You shall not go . I will ollow

you . be t It cannot . Would hat I had gone before I am hardly strong enough

o o . o . to g now, but I will g I must g F f ! orgive me, orgive me My own heart for becau se I is breaking, I have sinned, have hurt an innocent living soul that ” trusted me . 1 1 6 o I You shall not , will keep you She knelt before him and be ged that he Tempta Ii tion would not take away the h t of her . h e life and leave her to die . assion ' of this wild girl ru shed forth 1 n p eading n words , in streami g tears . Like a whirl wind of the trolics her love swept over her, and it near y swept awaXthe artist 1 IIe f too, but he did not y eld . le t her f there aint and exhausted, and rushed to th e fi reside where Benaté and his wife r we e sitting . “ f ! ! Oh, ather Oh , mother I have for Sarandé done you wrong, loves me . I knew it not ti l now . She is stainless, selfi sh but I must goaway . I have been , was wicked . I did not see . I blinded

of . her beauty Oh, take care her am She will not hate me when I gone . She will be glad that her beauty was dear

or 1ve . o to me . F g me Let me g now . I thank you for all you have done for as ou me . Forget me soon as y can , and T only remember that I loved you all . ake ” of S aran é care d . TH E STO RM AND TH E CAVE NAUD rushed away from the Cagot cabin as ickl p y as he could . qhere was a long path f H be ore him . e was among the highest peaks of P the yrenees, but that H o e . mattered not . would g His life Th or death was not the question . e u estion was how to save the beau tifix l f D agot maiden rom harm . own through

the valley he ran . It was a stormy even th e ing . Great clouds had come over H e h n mountains . could hardly d his

way, nor indeed could he see anything . Th e beauty with which he had been 1 n such close contact made his head reel ; fi rm H e but he was . had overcome the Th C temptation . e agot girl was u n harmed . What should he do now in that 1 1 8 for there was only blackness and l u rid f u A lightning and dea ening th nder . t times in the lightning flash he saw the T peaks above him . hey seemed purple if and red and yellow, mysterious, as in another world . Surely he had never f T i seen them be ore . hey m ght have been a part of the walls of the heavenly city when the lightning flash revealed Th e roll1 n f them . thunder g rom peak to ’ peak might have been Gabriel s trumpet, ' f u ment calling to the day o j dg . Was this the judgment upon him for what came so near to being a sin with the

Cagot girl Surely it could not be that . H e had resisted, he had fled ; but his head reeled in the storm of passionate temptation and the tremendous storm H e above him . sank down exhausted, h and thought t at his last hour had come . And now the danger came from be

Th e - neath as well as above . storm lashed torrent was coming closer and closer to At the road . last it touched Arnaud, of H e where he lay in a sort stupor . would have died had it not been for the of touch this icy water . The shock was so overpowering that he started to his 1 20 f . H e h is h is Th e eet again put hand to head, f St rm w . o still hal stunned, still utterly be ildered and th e Ah, this must be the ! lace where the ’ l Cav . ; e hermit s cave was Ange was here with .

. A n ? A h I me Where is ela , know . t fire n Surely tha is the by the conve t .

No, it is the lightning . Will that thun der crash throw down the solid cliffs ? I If h e ff care not . t cli s do not crush me the rushing torrents will sweep me away . Where am I ? It must be that I went ’ up this bank to the hermit s cave, and A ngela stood here, just here, in the road .

Th 1s . it must be the road I cannot see . l f it for I can hard y eel , the water covers Ah ! it even now . that purple flash . I

. A ! see, I see ; yes, it was here ngela Angela ! art thou there below ? Come Th e hither, come hither. waters still rise . It is dark, and the rocks them selves are trembling beneath the thunder’ s Th crash . ou wilt be swept away by the ! fi re torrent . Ah no , it was the that

T . threatened thee . here it is again Ah,

God, let it not touch the place where she is ! Will it never stop ? There will be Th e of no more light. earth is a sea Ah ! is roaring waters . there a light that 1 2 1 Th e . seems steady My brain reels, but I

think it is the light . Where is it P er

haps in the sky . No, it is not a star. Ah ’ , it may be the hermit s light in his

cave . God grant me strength and sight to it climb to . D f azed, almost delirious rom emotion

and exhaustion, drenched by the rain and w w the torrent, chilled by the ind, hich e howled throu h the gor , and blinded i h tnin wi ich in by the lurid g g, blazed l cessant y, nevertheless there was enough strength left in Arnaud to enable h 1 m a slowly to climb the mount in side . The light seemed to come nearer. Only it dimly could he see , but it seemed the

f f . beacon o sa ety It gave him courage . Light in the blackness only made more black after the lightning’ s flash that was f f H t o . e a hope, a possibili y li e crawled toward it with all th at was left of strength H e within him . reached it at last, and the hermit saw him and wondered h ow a human being could have lived th rough f such a storm in the gorge o Gavarnie . The anchorite came toward him with was u n the light . Arnaud again nearly consc1ou s , but he had strength enough 1 2 2

T f h e width . Below were vast abysses o dark ness from whose depths came the sound f o rushing waters . A misstep would be f l ata . A dizziness came over the painter, and he would surely have fallen had not the hermit grasped him fi rmly by the

arm . Even then he was not able to go f H e was v arther. o ercome by weakness

and vertigo .

Lie down, I will take you to the

cave . Arnau d lay helplessly on th e narrow

ath . The old man held the torch in p f H e is le t hand . passed his right arm around Arnaud’ s shoulder and dragged him along the narrow slippery way until

the dangerous points were passed . They were now in a place of some pre r w histo ic race . Here ere great columns, and from the vaulted ceiling other col u mns oin seemed coming to j those below . There were passages in aIl directions lead n i gto still deeper depths . Only their openings could be discerned by the light f th o e torch . It seemed such a place as Milton described when he told of the of f f council Luci er and his angels, a ter f f their all rom heaven . 1 24 Th e Arnaud still lay helpless, but he was in f St a sa e place . The hermit went toward orm the centre of the great cave and kindled a and th e fi r T f e . o Cav here were rude seats stone e. about it made by the natural inequalities of the rock, and there were torches placed in sockets here and there . All these the a anchorite lighted . Now the centr l part of this vast columned hall was illuminated, but th at only made the blackness of the outreach ing passages and the spaces be hind the columns darker, more weird and f mysterious than be ore . The water kept th rushing along at an unknown de , and the sound o f it was like that 0 distant thunder . Arnaud came to himself after a long time — many hours — during whose slow passage the hermit anxiously watched him . At last his eyes opened upon this tremen u dous, most mysterious cave . It co ld not be the world in which he had lived f a efu l be ore . It was more e c than the tempest which had near y killed him, but f it was even more aw u l . The littering of alf columns, the blackness the dis closed passages leading to other halls per as fi t for haps great as this room, the 1 2 5 Th e h flickerin gods, in w ich he lay, the g shadows on the vaulted roof Where h e ? P a was erhaps in a cathedr l . It T ’ seemed like the emplars church, but a r a r thousand times e te in size . What was this continu sound of the surging of the deep waters ? Perhaps it was the f organ tone . But there was the voice o m the her it who said, My son, God hath f ” saved thy li e . It hardly seemed like a

human voice . Arnaud did not know what H e was as of it was . not yet m ter him f sel . Slowly, slowly he recovered con i u n sc o s ess. The old man gave him a hot drink made from the herbs of the moun H fi re f . e tains sat b the re reshed, f l com orted, but sti l bewildered by the

f . wonder ul, mysterious cave At times his brain would reel, and he would think himself in some lace not at of all earth . Then he would ook at the hermit and wonder whether he really was

a man . Then he would hear the ru shing of if the water below, and wonder that t was the river S yx, and that his time had for h im come Charon to take in his boat . H e a f was still h l delirious, but he was ’ slowly becoming more calm . The hermit s 1 2 6

Th e f mit eared he might never awake, but he ni h t sat by him day and , and he gave to h im u ncon , as well as he cou d to a man o f scious, some the simple remedies which he made from the herbs he found in th e On th e w wood . second day there ere o f n signs retur ing vitality . The heart Th e wa beat more strongly . respiration s u th e more nat ral . When old man saw

that this change had come, he was greatly and f u re rejoiced, elt s re that complete f But covery wou ld soon ollow . Arnaud was still so weak that he could not raise head or hand . Nevertheless, the spirit f f l1ttle o li e had come back to him . In a w m f while he ould be hi sel again . ARNAUD ’ S CON FESS ION T it was longer than the h ermit thought be fore Arnaud fu lly re

covered . Many days passed before his mind a was quite sound gain . H u nau d was sorely puz z led for a by this, the physical shock lone, severe as that had been, was not enough to account for such prolonged mental weakness The strain of the temptation and the struggle had been as severe as

of . th e that the storm Moreover, cave wherein Arnaud lay was so strange a place h t at it seemed unreal , and even a man in full possession of his faculties might there easily think he was dreamin At last he remembered t e storm and r f his wande ings through the gorge, a ter f his flight rom the Cagot cabin , and he 9 1 29 ’ Aruaud : recalled with shame the reason why he Confes had so suddenly gone from the beautifu l of f maiden the mountain and the orest. “ “ F h e w ather, said , dost thou kno how I came hither ?

Na my son , I know nothing save that I ou nd thee on the mountain side struggling toward the entrance of my

h t. e cave, where I stood with m li Ev n here some sound of the ear u l tempest o f had come, and I thought to g orth to see if h aply some poor wanderer h ad been overcome by the storm and might f need help rom me . Such warnings I f have had be ore, and I needs must for heed them, they never come to me nl f u ess there is need . I ound thee and I

brought thee hither . I knew th ee not at fi rst f w , but a ter ard I remembered thee th e e u well, and more r adily beca se once before I was warned to leave this cave in s of earch thee, but more to seek a maiden for u who was with thee, tho art he who

came hither with Angela, the lovely h M maiden w o was to wed the King . y if son , tell me thy strange coming hither has aught to do with her whose sad fate

wrung my heart, even though it was laid 1 30

’ Arna d : u mistake me . I know nothing more than ” Con es f what I have said . f But, ather ru Nay, do not inter pt me . I will not speak of Angela since I know thou of camest not hither because her . I feared thou didst cherish for her an u n

rul passion which might work her ill . e I ought I saw it burning in thy e s. But thou hast not seen her save as t on

sayest . It is well . But thou hast seen

some one else then, who has touched thee with some strong emotion that has stirred f thee to the very depths . I know it rom

thy long delirium . Thou art too young and strong to be thus overwhelmed by

the tempest alone . It is a storm within

h as . 11 1 that shaken thee thus Tell me, wh ic son, what is it that thou hast done ” has so nearly unseated thy reason . “ Thou hast no right to ask me . I for would thou wert a priest, then I might f 1 con ess to thee, but thou art not a pr est P but only a hermit . erhaps thou art a of magician . Hast thou made this place ill omen to hide thee from the world ? not wh en I Even now I know , dare to am al look about me, whether I ive or in 1 32 ” some fearful lace of darkness far from A rnaud : f h f o t e . th ee I Con e1 the light earth I ear . f

n h . T Jien ca not trust t ee hou wouldst destroy . h all appiness, and bury all earthly Joys in

r Ah . this myste ious cavern . would thou wert a priest ! Then would I tell thee f all . I would con ess to thee and receive f rom thee absolution, and I would ask ” thy guidance . Wouldst thou indeed confess ? I for thank God that word . It is thy f troubled brain which makes thee ear me, f a h m a H u nau or e r t is place . I a c lled d am the Hermit, but I a priest, yes , more P than that . I was so near to the ope himself that he gave me all honor and place within his power . But I sinned . My sin was worse than th ou or any other mortal can have to tell me, and because of it f f , sel banished, I buried mysel here e for a that I might r pent, I might not t ke f did my li e, nor I dare die until I knew my sin was washed out in the blood of r F f Ch ist . ear not to con ess to me, my for h as son , God wrought repentance in f me, nor has he taken rom me the power f if to give thee absolution and com ort, F or all thou too hast sinned . this and I BB ! Arnaud : else of power to help that he has left

me, blessed be his holy name . Speak f u of without ear, and ease thy so l its

burden . “ f for I will obey thee, my ather, my

heart tells me thy words are true . I must f have com ort, peace, and above all guid all ance . I will tell thee . The Arch ’ bishop told me to leave Angela s retreat by the river and 0 far away among the mo u n H tains where could not see her . e was thought, as you do, that my heart not

right toward her . I went as he said, and in the mountains I met a maiden and she

fu . was beauti l . I wanted to paint her Dost thou know that I am a painter and ti P long to be an ar st .

Nay, I did not know that, but what has that to do with the sin thou wouldst f P con ess . f Ah, I eared thou couldst not under w stand . None but artists can kno the of for power a passion beauty . Thou canst not think that a painter would be willing to sell his soul if only he cou ld see and keep forever those visions of loveliness f which float be ore him in dreams, but

w o . elude him al ays . God made him s 1 34

’ — i Arnaud : because it lives t lives . It throbs and f e pulsates . It has orms and hu s that

change every instant, yet all are lovely . if it Why, then , God made , should evil f of it ? come rom the love I cannot see,

I cannot see, but I know there is evil f there, and rom the evil in the Cagot girl ” I fled into the storm . Th e Cagot girl ! Thou hast said of naught that accursed race, said the f “ hermit, crossin himsel . Surely thou art in deadly sin i?aught has passed between thee and one of those condemned alike D by God and man . ogs, heretics, lepers , may God have mercy on thy soul if thou hast touched that which is unclean “ Sa of f of y no evil her, ather, nor those T about her. hou knowest her not, and

thou knowest not them . I was among

them and they loved me, nor have any ever treated me more kindl T o! his is a delusion the enemy, s aid the hermit, once more crossing him of self. Surely the very spirit evil has possessed thee if thou hast loved to dwell ” among the accursed .

It may be as thou sayest . I know f it there was evil there and I fled rom , but 1 36 ’ I think it was more in my heart than in Arnaud :

e . If was norance Con e.1 h rs she sinned it in i , f I — I b fi sh sion but was blinded y my se love . o f o f be beauty , and I thought not aught if s side . Ah thou hadst een her as I have e h s en her, thou wouldst have thoug t, as I o f did, that her beauty was God and not f ee if o the accursed one . It s med as the glow of a sunset in th e south was in her Th e flash o f e e checks . her y was like the e et f e summ r lightning, dazzling y so t ned f o f by a cloudy ringe drooping eyelash . In her movement was the grace o f an h wn Th e izzard of er o mountains . curves of her form were lovelier than those of the soft rosy clouds that blend together

in a quiet sky . How could I help loving b t P such eau y . I was mad to seize it and f keep it ever, be ore it could escape me . And in my madness I painted her again ” and again . M y son , do not tell me this is all thy T sin . hou hast not told me yet what has tu fo r tor red thine heart, I see that still thou lovest the very remembrance o f this u f e bea ty, and would not con ess ev n here it that it was wrong to love . Yet thou knowest thou hast sinned at least in I 37 h t Go thou . on and tell me what is the sin t at troubles thee . “ ! f Alas it is o her I am thinking . I was cruel to her, and there is something f . o t else I thought wrongly her beau y , perh a 3 because I had no thought of it s a for ave t at it was be uty, and cared not the human life within it that made the ! f beauty live . Oh tell me, ather, where i P s n . f was my I hardly know mysel , but ° I do know that I must have done cv for ?: ous wron to the maiden, she ved of tu r me with l the passion her wild na e . wi h She would have kept me t her, and when I would not stay she fell fainti n F001 t and seemed as one dead . hat f was o . , I thought only her beauty I would not for worlds have hurt her . In m deed, y heart is right in that matter, else surely I would not have fled when I saw ” her assion .

rul thou hast done harm , more t perhaps t an thou knowest, nor is it wi hin h ] T thy power to e the maiden now . hou as selfi sh ness h t sinned in t y , and also in yielding to a blind passion for a beauty 1s th e which not highest, not the most n of k n be inspiri g, yet is a ind that ca not 1 38

’ Arnaud : of long since . You mean the beauty ” woman . n and Arnaud paused a mome t, then h there came a great lig t into his eyes, if and it seemed as he saw a vision . f ” Yes, ather, he said at length , in a f “ voice that trembled with eeling . I have seen such beauty in woman as to be an inspiration as well as delight, but 1t I can see no more . It is with Angela behind the dark walls of her prison

home . Does not the thought o f her beauty teach thee the sin that was in thy thought P selfi h ne of the other . Surely s ss and heart breaking do not come from a love of the t highest, either in beau y or aught else . If ff It is written , thine eye o end thee, f ’ Of pluck it out and cast it rom thee . a truth thine eye is a cause of offence to thee if thou dost make a god of the de

light it gives thee, and art content to

worship it and think o f naught beyond . Thou seest how near thou hast been to ‘ d su fi erin dea ly sin , and what thou hast caused to another by giving %ree rein to f D this passion o the eye . ost thou truly repent of thy sin 1 40 ’ f ask abso Arnaud : I repent, holy ather, and I n ' lu tio . I see the sin as I knew it not Confes f ! m i a . si n be ore ; but alas I an art st Beauty o . f r fu is my li e . I cannot t uth lly say that it m it is within y power not to love . I did not say that thou couldst change thy nature, but I do say that thou canst use thy gifts for high purposes and not ” f fi h ne or mere wanton sel s ss. ’ ma not beau t P But y I love Angela s y . Th e Arch b1sh op and thou thyself have thought I was wrong in my thought of her, and have wished that I should not see her again but truly it is not with her did as with the other. I not know it t then , but now I know that her beau y c od inspires as well as delights, and only f i can come rom t. Never could I ope to express its pure loveliness ; but if I a cannot, I do not wish to int anything r For else, and all my st uggles the highest ln ln my art are vam .

As to this , m son, God will guide 0 f fo r thee, but beware thysel , thy nature Be is unruly and hard to govern . watch fu l f H e , and trust not thysel overmuch . who gave thee thy gifts will help thee in of if the use them , thou wilt submit to 1 4 1 ’ F r Arnaud : his guidance . o the sin which thou be hast sinned I give thee absolution, ” n R cause of thy repe tance . est in peace . Arnaud had need for rest for mind and Th f body . e long talk and the everish ° n Th e a tatio had greatly wearied him . on h t of t Angela, and the talk about ad filled her, excited him and him again of with a sense irrevocable loss , and it seemed to him neither just nor right th at what he longed for most and what alone f 11 f could li t and inspire his li e and his art, f should be u ried out of his sight orever . a But now he could t lk no more, and sank

back exhausted on his rude couch . Th e hermit brought some sticks and Th e e laid them upon the embers . flam s leapt up and lighted brilliantly the columns standing about them that seemingly sup

ported the vast roof. Weird shadows played over the arches and the fantastic of off shapes the rocks . Far into the black distance stretched mysterious aisles

leading to other halls, perhaps vaster and Th e darker than this one . deep thunder of the rushing water in the depths below reverberated among the columns and the arches until they trembled with the sound 1 42

THE VOICES OF TH E CLOISTER E retreat which An gela had built by the r1ver was not a convent . It was a place where those women who inno cently or wilfu lly had broken the laws of the church buried themselves alive and thus awaited death . It was to avoid public shame and disgrace that they took upon themselves the vow never to leave those

rim walls until death called them thence . ?11 no sense did such a vow mean consecra of tion to the service God . It meant

f- fleein f rather sel chosen g rom reproach, protection from the evil eyes and ton les

of f n . T invoited an un rie dly world rue, it ’ u assive submission to the Ch rch s decree, pu t that was far from a belief in the jus it Th e tice of . hearts beneath those gray 1 44 robes were oftener full of despair and even Th e rebellion than of peace and willingness to Voiee: devote themselves wholly to the service of th e f Cl ister o the Church whose decree had blasted o . of their lives . Nevertheless, the laws the severest orders of nuns were not more severe than those imposed upon them selves by these devotees . Continually they were engaged in the of C services the hurch, in prayer or pen ance, not because they loved them , but because they dared not leave their mi n ds o unoccupied lest they should g mad. But though the outer walls of this tomb were observ grim and dark, and the outward ances of the entombed ones as severe as t they could make them , here was never th eless beauty behind the walls and the of love it in these stricken hearts . Th e beauty was in the cloisters and the chapel, which the enclosing walls sur rounded and quite concealed from the of view those without . Angela was a of P al child the yrenees . Beauty had ways been about her, and it seemed to her not well that even a tomb should be unadorned . Perhaps instinct rather than design 1 45 caused her to make the cloister beautiful perhaps beauty would grow up about a creature so lovely in form and spirit as

Cloister . A w ngela, hether she willed it or not. ’ The keynote of the cloisters beauty was the u p- spri ngi n of the flower from it To p of s stem . Ange a this was a type her life and other lives within those h h walls, as t ey might ave been , not as h e for ! h ad t y were, alas no flower sprung f T h ad rom them . hey been blasted by an m was unti ely storm . No longer the All as beauteous blossom possible . w cold f th and rozen . Yet e very stones were u T of slen eloq ent. here were two rows u h der col mns, one within the other, t at went in graceful procession about the ’ l f of centra court, which was ull heaven s u nli h t T interlacin bright s g . heir arches joined h ands so that those in £11 light e seemed ever l ading on those in shadow, as if hoping that th ose in partial darkness m ight also come at last to the light, as

together they went about the sunny court . n o Sle der indeed were the columns, alm st too slender to bear up their rich burden of h t was for was beauty, sli as it , it made of fl r owe s an leaves . 1 46

Th e r where they sang, and ayed, and wept,

f- infii te and did penance sel c d. Here too

th e u - of were p springing arches the cloister, w h but these ere hig er, and among them were windows th rough whose painted ra1 nbows panes came the sunlight, making 1 F n the aisles . rom the cell through the cloister to the chapel at the time of ma

tins, thence again through the cloister to fo r h the cell private prayer, t en to the f for f re ectory the morning meal, rugal , th e and eaten in silence, once more to for cell reading and perhaps penance, then u iet walking 1 n the cloister until the noon ga — so a y services p ssed each morning, varied only by the storm or sunshine A n h above the cloistered court. d t e f a ternoons were like the mornings, and the nights were like the days in the cease of less round cell and cloister and chapel , r prayer and p aise and penance . There was no sound of bell or organ in Th the chapel . ere was to be nothing that could give to the world without any si 11 f s that there was li e behind those grim wal . To each was appointed in due turn th e duty o f receiving at the low - arched door for f what was needed ood and raiment, 1 48 and this made the only variety of their Th e o f Voiees lives , save the changes light and shadow th e o th e among the columns and the arches , f an u Cloister cells d the chapel . When this t rn . came to Angela she sometimes lingered

in the cloister as she went toward the door, f it If and again as she came rom . the day were fi ne and the cloister radiant with sun

light, she would lean against a column and of look upward toward the blue heaven . Perhaps the passion for beauty would e come ov r her, and she would throw back

her cowl and loosen her auburn tresses, in of which was the shining imprisoned gold, and she would look upward at the cllmb ing flowers and leaves of stone and beyond them toward the heaven to which the T arches pointed . hen would the blue of her eyes seem like that of the sky it f of self. Her slender orm with its curves loveliness would blend with the flower

stem columns and the gracefu l arches . Then was the outward picture perfect in t for its beau y, save the imprisoning walls that closed about it and would not let it f blossom and bear ruit, as might even the f e li el ss stones that were all about her. At such times the rebellion in Angela’ s 1 49 n h and h er mi d overcame her . Her yout beauty rose up in protest against th e u n n f Th broke monotony o her prison . e n and es colum s the arches, the dainty leav flowers h be and , stone though t ey were, v e of t came li ing voic s beau yy, and e erly urged on her half- unwilling thought o free n r h er dom . Whe she knew she would bu st bonds if she dared she was sure the clois ’ flowers f n and ter s were her rie ds, wished to whisper to her always some new secret of t f f n of hat ull li e beyond the priso wall, f sin n which she eared it was a eve to think . And th en she would 1mpose upon her f ne a t f sel w pen nces more severe han be ore . Hour after hour she would kneel alone o n the cold stones of the cha el 1 n the night of was time, when the glory t e windows shrouded with a pall of darkness and there was naugh t to su ggest life and be nothin , nothing about her save the k n f n and b ac ess o the tomb . But eve there she would listen for the voices of flowers and the columns and the , th ey would speak to her heart 1 n the very mi dst of u of her prayers, and their to ch love and life wou ld make her pu lse throb in spite of aching limbs and body half fai n t 1 5 0

f F Th e li e in a tomb was rudely broken . or those wh ose hearts were really sad there was now a wild hope that the fi re would consume them and their time of weary i n wa ti would be over . Angela was not R n one 0 these . eally she was lo ging for f li e , yet she remained true to her vow, althou gh th e Archbishop absolved them f v . all, and bade them come orth and li e f She was not one to yield to ear and, like flee f f of a coward, rom the ace death , which she and those with her had vowed they wou ld await . But when Angela opened A rch b1sh o the low door and spoke to the p, who was k ucelin there while the flames i eh ind n roared and leapt him , and beggi g f them to come orth lest they perish, she saw another figu re beside that of the

praying priest . She saw Arnaud de Bearn , and she knew why he was there . f His eyes met hers in that aw ul moment, nor could she help answering in sym o f n pathy their look hopeless , passio ate 1 nt n it i n e s y . Her pride and her w ll co T u . h e u im q ered door was sh t, and the n priso ed ones calmly awaited their doom . Th e and flames were averted, death did n t o come to them then . Something quite 1 5 2 ff D T di erent had come to Angela . eath h e f Voice: would not come, but li e was there with A l o th e rnaud just beyond the wa ls . f Af Cloister terward Angela trembled whenever . her turn came to go to the door and open it to receive what was needed fo r those within . When the door opened she would see the shining river windi ng among the T i . t low hills rees bent over , and the leaves of the willow kissed its shining flo ate wavelets . White lilies d in still f pools, and blue violets peeped out rom mossy banks . But not upon these did ’ A ngela s trembling glance linger . She thought that Arnaud might be there, hid for den in some copse , watching the open ing of the door and hoping that she would of come at the call love, though she would f f not at the threat o ear . And her heart o if told her she would g he asked her. One word from him would shatter forever the hideous monotony of this death in f li e, and she would be alive again in love and youth , in beauty and in joy . But he did not come . She knew not that the Archbishop had seen the passion in his face when his eyes rested upon her that one moment when the door opened and I 53 h she stood t ere looking at him , and that the stern priest had banished her lover s when he saw his love in his eye . She not of Ca of rm knew the ots, nor the sto ; bu t she wondered w y the man who loved an d escue her whom she loved, did not r and f if e her, bear her away by orce, ne d be f o f us , rom this daily torture monotono was peace , that was slowly killing all that good in her . D a f da Still he did not come . y a ter y, f f week a ter week, month a ter month, and he came not . Nevertheless the monot h h e ony was broken . The thoug t that might come gave a tremor of hope every th e time she went to the low door, and flowers among the arches were really alive and no er t ir now, she lon tried to resist he l h i . g w s ered words ay , she sought them , and y the hour she talked with them in her heart.

A L etter Kneeling, he placed it in her hand . rom for f Angela, not speaking a word, this the Count of f rule the retreat orbade , took it and Raimo d n . read these words

MV D GH TER — I am s k nto eat AU , ic u d h . T r is n on ar for m o e to . a so at he e c e me I de l e, a on in th e ast o rs o f m n f l e l h u y life . I lo g or a ov n wor a a n to of s at and l i g d, he li g uch ymp hy r m o o rt. a a s are n r but c mf I fe y d y umbe ed , r a s o r ov wo r n a k to pe h p y u l e uld b i g me b c life . st annot in a n ss If I mu die, I c die pe ce u le I hear fro m your own lips that you have forgiven me for betrothing you to th e King and b ri ngi ng th e t o f a n ss on o r o n i bligh s d e up y u y u g l fe . I was to am and can no on r ar t at bl e, I l ge be h to m a t r n t o t. Co a d t l h ugh me me, y d ugh e , el T n an me that you love me still . he c I die in T h e Ar s o t s t at o r v peace . chbi h p ell me h y u ow n o L st n to th e o no lo nger bi ds y u . i e v ice o f ” o r fat r and o ere it too at . y u he , c me be l e

Angela pressed the letter to her heart . flowed She bowed her head, and the tears down her cheeks as she thought o f her n f h for for dyi g at er waiting her, longing

ber love . “ Wait here, she said at last . w will come again soon ith my answer .

S h e closed the door . Silently she went 1 5 6 n /I Letter back through the cloister. She did ot bu t rom wish to hear the flower voices then, f Count they would speak, and they told her to o h e] Raimond g . She could not hearin but she . S would not yield to t em . e assed

beyond and went into the chapel . t was

a day of glorious sunshine . The rain bows of promise that arched the aisles from one painted window to another lived in their palpitating beauty of light trans Th e i formed to dazzling color . altar t self was bright and gleaming with red and

purple and green and yellow, like some

- A great sun touched gem . ngela knelt A n of there and prayed . answer hope and love and duty came fr om the lory about her that God sent to lift her h eart from the tomb and touch it anew with the thought of a life that her Creator m eant she should live, and that her own heart had long been telling her she must live . f Angela rose and le t the chapel . She went to the cells where the devotees were m sitting in silence, and asked them to co e

- r of to the court ya d the cloister . There

in the sunshine they gathered about her. “ u Sisters in sorrow, she said, I m st l 57 . f s me leave you My dying ather call . Not to save my own life would I go f r h 1 m hence , but to save his or to com o t u I m st go . God has told me it is my o n d duty , and the Archbishop loosed the b of e . Y e f e e the vow, as y know too are r . If there be any voice that calls you hen ce e u f o and y are s re it comes rom God, g forth in peace ; but if ye will stay he re with your sorrow and await a better life ’ e o n b yond, may God s blessing rest up n Yo . They pressed about her and kissed h er wee in f f ed hand, p as her beauti ul orm pass f r slowly rom t em , under the arches towa d flowers the door. But the and the leaves T did not weep . hey whispered more and A n loudly than ever and were glad, gela heard them . Her heart gave lovi ng n answer to their gentle voices . She ope ed Th e the door . old soldier still stood there waiting . T A I his is my answer, said ngela, T o . f g with you ake me to my ather. e They went together to the village, wher retainers with horses awaited them . Then they followed the winding river amo ng it t the trees that loved , and they wen 1 5 8

’ m Childh ood s ho e . Across the draw o to bridge she sped, and without a w rd any she threw herself from her horse and ’ f u n rushed to her ather s room . The Co t n all l still lived . As A gela in her oveli f cr o f ness stood be ore him, he gave a y a m joy . In a moment she was in his r s. It seemed to him as if an angel of lo ve f s a of and li e had come, bearing a me s ge

hope and peace . H UNAU D ’ S LAST WORDS was mornin in th e A cave . rnaud new this because as he awoke he saw the hermit with his light coming toward him along the narrow path way that led to th e en

trance . The old man had risen long f n be ore Arnaud awoke, and he had bee out to gather herbs and get some y ege tables from his little garden on the moun for tain side, and to bring some sticks the fi re le . As he worked at these sim tasks he h i f prayed . Such was his habit. s li e was T passed in prayer, uttered or silent . his morning his prayer was more than usually f for m ervent, his ind was greatly troubled. Arnaud’ s confession had deeply moved if him, and he hardly knew he had done

right to grant him absolution . The very 1 1 I 6 ] ’ Hunaud s thought of the Cagots was an abominatio n Last and 1 w to him , yet th s young man had d elt with them in the familiar i ntercourse of

home nay, more, the Cagot girl had loved s him , and Arnaud had barely e caped Th e deadly sin . hermit could not have

pardoned this, nor could he have under stood it except for something in his own f for l1vin li e , that secret cause g in the of u cave which he had spoken to Arna d. Th e beau ty of woman was not unk no w n H e to the venerable priest . knew m o re ’ of the artist s fi ery fu rnace of temptation than Arnaud dreamed of as he made his f n . deed was con ession I , the old anchorite troubled becau se he feared his sympathy had led him astray and made him to o Neverth e lenient with the young man . ra e less, he could not be sorry he had nt d the peace of absol u tion to one wg0 had l wh o passed through so sore a tria , and was so stricken in soul and mind and a h body . But he meant that the pe ce e had given should be followed by a warn

ing . Arnaud must know that he could

not thus sin again, unless he wished the f gates o heaven to be closed against him .

As the hermit drew near, Arnaud rose 1 62

’ P Hunaud : An . do I cannot see ela What can I . L ast f m . e My path is not p ain be ore me Tell , for am ea I know thou art wise, and I r dy ” to do as thou sayest . bu t for My son, there is one thing T 0 thee to do . hou must back to thine home and dwell there wit thy father and u s thy mother, and in all humility tho mu t o of rs g again to the church the Templa , and do such work as there is a po1 uted

for . D o and thee to do there thy est, give to others the beauty the Lord is no r pleased to reveal to thee, caring not, h thinking whether it be some reat t ing, but car1 ngonly that it shall he the best If i n thou hast to give . thou dost work i this spirit the Lord will bless thee . It s written that whatsoever thi ne hand fi ndeth

to do thou shalt do it with thy might, men as unto the Lord and not unto . W f wh o ork , there ore, and trust that he ave th ee th y talent will teach thee h ow 1 gest to use t. “ n w I hear thy words, and I obe I k o i flin that thou speakest the truth . w ll f lfi h rom me wild and se s ambition . T will no longer make the delight of th e a eye my god, but I will love be uty still , 1 64 ” and may God help me to reveal it in Human : truth and loveliness to others ; for that and L ast Words if . only that can I do, indeed I can do ” anything now . F or few a moments they sat there quietly,

the aged hermit and the youthful artist . T f f here was the light o hope in each ace . Th e old man was lookin toward the re

for Ite- ward beyond, his i struggle was ’ Th e nearly passed . young man s eyes k1 ndled for were with a new light, he looked toward a future here of love

inspired work, touched by the spirit of beauty and led u pward by the spirit of God . am n Father, he said at last, I stro g o Th e f of enough to g . ever body has left me ; the tumult of my mind has for been calmed by thee , thou hast led me to him who rules all tempests and brings ” his own calm after the storm . arewell F , my son thou canst not too and quickly set thine hand to the plough,

see to it that thou lookest not back . Arnaud rose and went toward the her R mit . everently he knelt and kissed his T hand . hen he took the light and went steadily along the narrow l edge above the 1 65 ’ a d Hun u : torrent . As he came to the broader plat Lart form of rock that was before the cave entrance h e turned and looked agai n to ’ Th e fl m ward th e hermit s hall . a es of it Th e the fi re still lighted . weird shad ows still rose and fell among the vast mysterious columns and the arches far Th e t above . old man was kneeling wi h

eyes uplifted toward heaven . Arnaud for H e knew h e was raying him . knew too that the permit s last work on earth H e f was done . elt that soon he would lie down in the cave where he had stru g n gled and co quered alone, and his soul would rise from among the deep shadows and fi nd its reward in the everlasting

light . One more ste and Arnaud was again in the free air i eneath the blue of the Th e heaven . mystery and the darkness of th e the cave were as a dream , but not truth in his heart that had come to him Th e of there . spirit the hermit was at his side as he turned resolutely down the familiar path toward the home where his father and his mother waited in patience ’ for n the wa derer s return . It was life T e e again . h r was no longer darkness. 1 66 seen it last when the lightnin blazed fi re aw 1 above it in lurid on that night . f su nsh me Now it was peace ul in the . Th e old ramparts stood stron and rim of with 118 as yore, and the tower the H e m rose above them . heard the chi e of Th e Tem r matin song . la s were P kneeling within . erhaps t e Cagots were even now crawling beneath the wall and seeking their hidden chapel where h n they might wors ip, unsee . Ah, yes , the hermit had said he was to work there . H H e e would go . would seek the simple

- painter monk, and together they would do what they could to bring God ’ s own beauty P into the church . erhaps that beauty ’ f e would so ten m n s hearts, so that even th e poor Cagots might come and worship

h . n H e wit them But still he went o . Th e was not to linger by the church . hermit had said he must fi rst ladden the Th . e broadeneg home valley now, and m the river was calm among the eadows . Soon h e saw the houses clustered by n the bridge, and amo g them rose the

thatched roof that h e loved . Slowly e e th e and rev rently he w nt toward door . T e f r mbling, he li ted the latch and looked 1 68 Ah o ! H unaud ? within . , j y It was still there, the t of Th e f L ast pic ure his boyhood . ather and W r e e e th e e fi re . o ds the moth r w r sitting by gr at . Sh e knitted while the old man mended f e a his arming tools , and th y t lked to ether e T talkin o? in low ton s . hey were g him, and wonderi ng when their lost boy would a come home ag in . e am Father moth r, I here, he said . F or e l a mom nt they were start ed, but T not for long . hey had been waiting for h im fa , and in their simple ith they e kn w he would come . Now he was there, coming toward th em with bowed head . T T m hey rose to meet him . heir ar s were h im e r of o about . With t a s j y and broken m words they gave him his welcome ho e . ANGELA AND COUNT RAI MOND was true that Cou n t Raimond was very near to death when his dau gh

ter came . It seemed as if his joy at the sight o f ° her had ven him new u t strength, it was only th e th of stren great excitement. Soo n he sank ack again on his pillows, and became so weak that he almost lost con ne sciou s ss. Angela knew then that she must care for h 1 m and watch him night h o and day . His only e was in her con n stant, loving ursing, w ich would minis a ter to the body and also to the he rt . V N ery quietly she set about her task . ot for of fa I a moment did she think ilure . t seemed that God had called her awa from gr fe her livin tomb to work and wait li , not deat She knew that God wou ld 1 70

far infi nitel b It was brighter, y more eau ti l A e t fu . ng la had always hought th o se bri h t romises written in light spo k e o f 1fe h f r a a erea ter, but this ainbow b o v e ’ C a a romisin life h e re the ount s lt r kept g , and yet strangely enou gpit was far brigh te r th e For than others . a while she c o u ld e not understand, but at last she kn w . Th e full brightness even of a heaven ly hope could not shine upon those wh o selfi sh ly shut themselves away from all ffe of f v t the su ring li e, and ga e no hand o T of help . hat light heaven shines here on earth fo r those who live in loving help fiJlness , and it will grow ever brighte r until there shall come the full splendo r f of the per ect day . Though Angela sat here day after day and night after night there was no weari Th e n ness in her task . meanin les s mo ot o n of cfia el a r y cell and cloister and p , r y e

enance f . ere and and asting, was gone h ife f 1 n was in her work and li e her heart. At th e f b ow last ever passed y, and sl ly , ’ f an very slowly, her ather s strength beg so to come back, though he was lon weak that he could hardly speak agove a whisper. 1 7 2 Then came the time when they could Angela t Ra an talk toge her. Count imond was sad d of Count as she s oke the days in the retreat, nor sh e dreari Raimond did dare to tell him all the . ness of them lest he should reproach himself too bitterly because of his part in l that betrotha so rudely broken , that had ’ brought all his daughter s suffering u pon her. She asked him about the King . M n y daughter, the Ki g grieved bit rl a f te y when thou wert t ken rom him . Often he called me to him that he might H e tell me o f his sadness . had given h e t e all his love, and well he knew that no other could ever take th y place in his n of heart. It was long ere he would thi k km marriage . But s are not as other T men . hey must ury their own sor f r Th e rows and live o their people . good work he had begun for Bearn might not go on in peace unless he could train u p a son who would know how to carry it S o further . at last he yielded to his coun ’ cillors advice, and his own unwilling judg f f ment, and wedded a wi e, a princess , rom n the land across the mou tains , hoping that thus th e feud between his kingdom and hers might be quieted ; and indeed I 73 An ela e s f s c g the mountain passes have b en a er in e, and the two eoples are brought closer Perpl together. aps they will j oln in o ne b kin dom by and y . he old man looked steadily at h is

dau ghter as he said these words . Surely of there would be tears wounded pride,

if . was not not outraged love But no, it

A n was erfectl a . er so . ela y c lm Th e fa a ace was a lig t in her ce, but it was pe fu l f o n ot and beauti ul light, and she sp ke a o w rd . An f t t est ela, I eared to tell hee his l oo est it shou d wound thee, but thou l k

not sad but rather glad . F am th at ather, I glad, glad indeed the King has done his du ty and is at f for of me peace, and that his rie the loss did not make him gorget the good of th e ” people God has put in his charge . ru bu t Thou speakest the t th indeed, no maiden whose heart was touched cou ld u t t ov speak thus . I tho gh thou dids l e h 1m of h im was th , and that the loss y bitterest grief but surely that cannot be t in . Tell me, did he never touch h e heart ? f h im an No, ather, but I revered , d

of e f the news his marria , which I eared N er h f . ev t e ess no t to tell thee , thou hast told me all the reason for this u nselfi sh f m interest in his wel are . It seems to e thou carest marvellous little that another ” has taken thy place . C o e The ount sh ok his head, and look d e more narrowly at his daughter, who avert d her face from him and was silent ; but there a was a tellt le blush on her cheek . “ . i Ah , my daughter, I see There s n of a other whom thou thinkest. Nay , s f for e eek not to conceal it rom me, I r ad f thy thought in thy ace . But how couldst thou h nd a lover within those buil P A d . h grim walls that thou didst , Angela ! Angela ! I fear thou wert bu t a

nu n . u sorry But, nay, I remember tho romise didst never to be a nun at all . It was only t at thou wouldst await death ” f of there, and thy young li e tired that . f ” Nay, ather, do not jest, said the T maiden, at last . hou knowest I meant m o to keep y vow , and th ught I could keep it there ; but alas ! there was som e one who entered there with me, and when the door was shut he was still there and would not go away . 1 76 P What dost thou say . Some one Angela ? and entered there with thee Surely , surely e Co that could never have be n . What unt f Raimond Father, ather, thou dost not under . ” a st nd, said Angela, blushing hotly now f “ T but looking at him earlessly . hou

knowest no man ever entered there . It was only in my heart that he entered with of me, and it was the thought him that e e o stay d th re and would not g away, and oh ! the flowers and the leaves in the e e Per cloist rs kept t lling me about him .

haps they were wicked, but I could not e ! f h lp listening . And oh ather, once of fi re he tried to get in at the time the ,

and I hoped he would, but the Arch

bishop would not let him . D o not blame f me . I know how weak and sin ul I was, u it If but I co ld not help . only the flowers would have stopped whispering ! about him but they would not, and it grew worse until I hoped every time I went to the door he would come in ; but

he did not, and I was sorry and sad, even when I went and rayed before the altar Er i en and asked to be gv . I could not it e for help , ind ed I could not, I loved ” him . Now thou knowest all . An ela ? h ou g Blame thee, my daughter t m f 4 little knowest my heart . It is y su tering for thee and my loneliness that

have made me ill . I could not bear to of f mb r think thy young li e ento ed the e . Now thou givest me hope ofj o for thee

and for me also . But who is t is you th who had conquered that sweet heart of h im P thine , and where didst thou meet f for u h t I was a raid to tell thee , I tho g thou wouldst forbid one of humble birth ’ to wed her who was to have been a king s for h t bride . Indeed, it was that thou as much as for my disgrace that I id f f Bu t am frai mysel rom the world . I a d h a no longer, since thou sayest it is my p iness for w w1 ll p hich thou longest. I d tell thee his name . It is Arnaud e

Béarn . f h t Oh , ather, knowest thou aug of ? T him ell me, tell me, where is he A a Ah w rnaud de Be rn , yes, I kno m f m th the na e well . His a ily dwell in e little villa e below the hill on which T ’ stands the emplars church . Long have u ar they dwelt there . It is tr e they e f far a o humble olk, so as outward st ti n goes ; but they have as much reason to b e of I for n o proud their birth as , there is 1 7 8

An ela a u ff n au g lready, and I was s eri gonly bec se

of r . ! too thy so row Ah well, it is not r a for late . Su ely he will come b ck, it is e is certain that he lov s thee, and he not the man to give thee up while there is n if o d of h is f rs ay hope , the true bl o athe ” 1s m him . Th n d y words bri g me hope, replie A for ngela, now I know why he never agam came to the te when I opened it see and thought I mig t him each time .

A a e . way among the mountains, thou s y st Did he say where ? dau h ter f h e No, my ; but ear not, F fi nd f will come . His ove will thee . I eel i be it in my heart that you w ll happy, and in your happiness will be h appmess and for me . Now I have talked lon f n u for I am fam ai wo ld rest, weary but in for peace, I can see joy and hope in thine ” eyes . A f ’ l ngela smoothed her ather s pi lows . k1ssed h im She him and soothed , and in a

little while he sank into a deep sleep . During the long days and nights of the Count’ s illness Angela had not once f R le t the castle . arely did she leave his h im room . Soon now she could leave 1 8 0 for a while and go forth once more into the beautiful valley and look up to and Count the mountains that she loved . She would feel their breezes on her cheek and the Raimond. roses would come again where there liii F o r were too many es now . a while she would wander on the hillsides under

the trees, and in the meadows among the flo ers w . Her heart leapt madly at the h it T very thoug t of . hat would be glad ! ness enough . But no there would be

another joy . Had not her father said he m P would co e . Surely his heart would lead

him to her . AGAIN IN THE TEM PLARS’ CH U RCH

was not very far from the Count’ s castle on the ’ rock to th e easant s cot tage by the bridge across the river that flowed quietly now throu h the nor valley, were t e two lives far 11 art that went on in th e halls of the cast e and beneath the thatched roo f ’ of A fi rst h the cottage . rnaud s t ought f r f was o his ather and his mother . In the selfi sh ness of his passion for beau ty r he had fo otten them . Long had he f f le t them one, nor had he ound what T he so madly sought. rue , he had come i H e t near to t. had seen the beau y which h f its ent ralls the senses, and elt power . T for 1t hat power he knew too well, had led him into deadly peril and well - nigh f H e ruined his li e . dared not even think 1 8 2

Again naud had told h ow he had left h im pray in th e fi re ing by the in the cavern, and that something in his h eart said to him the m ’ old an s days on earth were nearly ended . T hen they were sorry, but they took com fort in the thought that if he died they could go to the church and offer masses of for the repose his soul . In the days that followed Arnaud did f not aint . In truth he almost eared his ecau se h im art, it had led so near to evil . Quietly and lovingly he did the simple duties that came to him in the cottage H and on the farm . e went to the mead th e ows with the cattle and sheep , and fi re i he came in the evening to the s de . H e was glad in the thou h t of his hel H e fu lness . rejoiced in t e beauty of t e

- mountain girdled meadows, but he knew for well there was more him to do . His f f art was his gi t, and it could not be olded At in a napkin . last he went again to the ’ H e Templars church . passed the ram T parts and entered the court . here was Th e no one there . Templars were in H e f their cells at prayer . went arther f th e l and stood be ore high a tar . All was fi rst h h e a e silent, and at he t ought was lon 1 8 4. in the place where he h ad so long strug Again W1th u r ose in t gled his art, and all to no p p , h e ’ as it seemed now . But he was not Templars

. Th e Ch urch alone old monk was still painting . h its ac there, t ough his easel was not in customed place . It was nearer the altar, f h 1 en it and hal dd by . Arnaud went to ward him, but so absorbed was the painter in his work that he did not look up until s T his pupil was close be ide him . hen, startled, he dropped his palette and brushes, and looked at the youn man, orever who had gone, as he thought, . In another moment he embraced and h im of f kissed with the love a ather, and blessed him for coming again to help an old man in the work he could not do alone . T hey talked long together, and Arnaud of h 1 s told the story wanderings, and how of f he was sad because ailure, and only hoped that now he might h elp a little and add someth in to the sacred beauty of the church ; but e did not know, he could

tr . in not tell, he could only y Gladly deed was h is offer received . ” n I k ew, said the monk, that my v prayer would be answered . I ha e prayed 1 8 5 that I should not die u ntil I saw a great l h picture above the a tar, but even w ile I it prayed I felt that I could not paint . Again and again in these long years have ’ I tried, but I cannot see the madonna s fa of th e ce, nor that holy child ; but surely T thou canst see and paint them . hou sayest thou hast failed to fi nd the beauty be n d a . thou idst seek, but it c nnot I k ow ” that my prayer is answered .

f et. Nay, ather, it is not answered y I must work long before that beauty of if which thou speakest is revealed to me, indeed mine eyes are ever to be blessed f it u s with the sight o . Let wait and be u s fi rst patient . Let do some humble thin There is beauty in every flower all m c of f and caf. In har oni s orm and t T color is there beau y . his much have I u s h learned . Let adorn the c ancel as best P of we can . erhaps the picture which thou dreamest and for which thou hast pr yed may come while we work and a ” wa1t .

To this they agreed at last, and as they worked on together the chancel was trans f of ormed, and where the cold gray the flowers stone had been were vines and , 1 86

TH E END OF AR NAUD ’ S QUEST last the time came wh en Count Raimond was so much better that Angela could leave h im f r A fi o a while . t rst she dared not go far f th e s rom ca tle, but she would wander throu h the streets of the h o far little village, and per aps g as as the river, the sparkling joyous river whose lad rippling voice spoke always of new Ff f i e and hope , though it sped on so swi tly far toward the deep sea . All communion with nature was rap ture to one so long entombed within prison h walls . Her heart danced and leapt wit t if the bright wavele s , and it seemed as they spoke to her as had the flowers and o nl v the leaves in the cloister, their oices u h were tr er and more touc ing, and it 1 8 8 seemed sometimes as if they bade her Th e m for End o seek so e one who waited her, some f ’ one to whom she could bring joy and Arnaud : h r e . u : t brightness as they were bringing it to Q e . A nd fi nd h im they told her she would , h er though they never told where . One day the Count was so well that Angela thought she could walk as far as was she pleased . It a cloudless day in the late spring . In the valley and on the

- slo es a mm lower hill it was lready su er, and the wild— libwers were springing every Th where . ere were violets peeping out in of the shade great trees, and there were white daisies in the sunlight dancing with m the ountain breeze . Angela threw back the blue mantle which she had thrown over her head and shoulders . She loos ened the bands that bound her hair, and it fell about her in a shower touched with s an gold . She gathered violet and daisies d playfully crowned herself with these like a

- of child queen the May, and then she went a on and on throu h the meadows, tre ding a path her heart i ad told her without her for fi eld of asking, she came to the the o 1e p s. ar f here she stood like a st tled awn . 1 8 9 Th e Not th e crimson o f the blossoms stopped as t o f her, dazzling it was , nor the beau y ’ naud : - flowers Ar the corn yellow in the sun no, nor yet the tender thoughts that dwelt abou t f h fi eld. that She stopped, a raid thoug saw glad, with beating heart, because she a figu re coming toward her up the hill h e. side, and she knew that it was Arnaud was weary with his work that Th e th day . sunshine would come into e

dark church and it wooed him thence . Why did it always speak of Angela far ll P h a away behind her prison wa s . It d no ! ! other word, but only Angela Angela ! H e Angela could bear it no longer . At least he cou ld go to th e fi eld of th e fi rst an d poppies where he had seen her , there he would see h er again in his m h d . D rea s own the lonh ill he went, and he crossed the river, w ose bright waves th e h of were like sunlig t, eloquent her . 11 and Now ward through the meadows, at last e saw th e crimson gleam of the flow r h e s that e loved . T h hen he bowed his ead in reverence, for it seemed to h im he was about to tread on holy ground ; and he went on with slower step until he stood among the 1 90

i H e Th e his h ands upon h s breast . gaz ed

upon her entranced, nor could he breathe ’ Arnaad s for a time because of the wonder of the m vision . Surely in another oment it would go back to the heaven whence it

a . h s f c me But no, as he knelt t ere, o t color gently 8 read o ver her cheeks as the flu sh of ay mantles the cheek of

dawn . She bowed h er head and hid from him the blue of her heavenly eyes ; but she did o m h er not g, she only tre bled like daisies

in the breeze, and then he knew that she was of a woman , and a great wave love rushed o ver his heart as he rose and went h n toward her with clasped a ds . “ Angela ! Angela ! Surely thou art Angela 1 ndeed ! I thought I had seen an

. f d angel, a saint I know not, but I eare

it was a vision, and would vanish , to leave T u me alone again . r ly thou art a vision , u ! but tho art also Angela, my love, oh ! do my love Nay, not move, do not 8 cak h h . Let me tell t ee how I ave seen 0 J 1 m wh en I t ee n y dreams, and how was awake thou h ast always been present f with me and always en olded in my heart . Could I look toward heaven and not 1 92 see thine eyes ? Ah thou art indeed my Th e h n ! v End o eave , Angela thou knowest that I lo e f ’ T d rnaud : thee . hou hast known it long . Surely

th uest. thou knewest it in e beginning . Surely Q thy heart told thee wh y I sought thee T when thou wert in thy rison . hou T on . canst not say me nay . shalt not h ! es I I will not let t ee speak . Ah , will ,

those lips are not u nkind . T ere is no A ! m sternness in those eyes . ngela y h ” own tell me that t ou lovest me . “ ! fe Oh , Arnaud I ar thou knowest wh at I have hardly dared to let mine own h Th me eart know . ou hast come upon T unawares . hou hast surprised my secret . Only the flowers in th e cloister and the fi eld f knew it be ore . How didst thou ? T f know it so soon hou art a thie . Thou h ast stolen it in the cloister or by the river when I knew not thou wert nigh , even as I thought not to see thee here, fi rst among the poppies, where I saw thee . P Arnau d . Why camest thou hither,

Nay, love, I know not. Why camest thou “ u I know no more than tho dost, but

I think it was to gather poppies . T m hou dost not need the , sweet ; thy I 3 1 93 Th e far t lips are redder , nor dost hou need

the violets that pale beside thine eyes . ’ Arnaud : f 11 1 But thou hast ound love . It is all T . wi it thine ell me thou t take , tell me

with a kiss . H e f rose rom his knees, and put his For arm about her. a moment their ’ lips met in love s fi rst kiss ; then her fu f beauti l head ell upon his shoulder, and there was a silence broken only by th e of throbbing their hearts . “ ” Ah, Arnaud, she said at last, is it th P right that I should love ee . Was it ri P right that I loved thee even in my p son .

I know not why . I thought it was sin,

but my heart would not be still . Tell

for th it. me the reason, y heart knows If it was wron I must go back and do F ” penance until sin no more .

its m . Love is own reason, y darling It is like the wind that bloweth where 1 t

listeth . Only God knows whence it came

or whither it goes . It is enough that T thou lovest me, and I love thee . here

is no wrong in such a love . Let there be f for f no ear in thine heart, per ect love ” u f casteth o t ear. A Oh, rnaud, yes, I know that what

Th e Th y beauty alone can ins ire the work l n h God has gve me to do ere . ’ Arnaud : H e did not need to plead so lon fo r h er nor heart was on his side, coul she n lo ger resist its voice .

Come with me to the castle, she ’ s u s f s said at la t . Let seek my ather ” blessing . Hand in hand they went from amo ng

the poppies , through the green meadows , n u der the great trees, down ain to the joyous river in that new wor d which is ” T the old . hey went through the little of village, and came to the drawbridge for en the castle . It was lowered their T n trance . hey passed be eath the great and ate under the tower, stood together

g r - was or a moment in the cou t yard, that f f o . ull sunshine Bright, joyous spirits of f li e and love seemed these two, come to gladden the grim walls that rose about br1 n and them , and g light peace to the l and castle ha ls, that were gloomy still in

long loneliness . Angela and Arnaud went up the winding ’ stair in the turret that led to her father s C u R m chamber. o nt ai ond was praying f H e be ore the altar in the niche . heard 1 96 f R f the opening o the door. ising rom Th e h is h is End knees , he turned and saw daughter qf ’ i n Arnaud s stand g there, with Arnaud beside her. f est H e had been blessing her or coming to Qu . f f r h ad save his li e, and e vently he prayed for her happiness . In the deep tender ’ ’ o f ness Angela s eyes, in Arnaud s glance of passionate love, he saw the answer to his prayer . h Fat er, we have come to seek thy ” blessing . h Come hit er, my children . Gladly th e e fo r I will I give blessing y ask, see h b h h that love as roug t you to each ot er. It is well that joy and peace should come f ff M to you a ter long su ering . ine own h o heart rejoices wit y u . They went and knelt before him by H e the altar. laid his hands u on their i h t heads and blessed them . The g that came through the ainted window fell full upon the happy father as he bent above the kneeling lovers, so radiant in their beauty and their youth . Never had the altar’ s rainbow seemed so G1 1! of promise as in that brigh t moment . Th e simple story of their love and I 97 their meeting in the fi eld of the poppies s soon was told, and a gladnes long ’ ’ A rnaud : u nknown came to Count Raimo nd s heart it as he heard , a gladness that he knew l would dwell there a ways till he died . When their sweet talk was done and f the Count wished to rest, Arnaud le t Angela there and sought h is father and mother that he might tell them of the f reat new joy that had come into his li e . here is no need to tell of the gladness that filled their simple hearts as they heard his stor Th e peace of love that had come

to t e castle came also to the cottage .

o f st a vision, and the spell its beauty is ill ” upon thee . “ f h f I have seen a vision , at er, a airer vision than thou canst believe, and I have found a love tenderer than I thought f could be on earth . I ound agai n Count ’ Raimo nd s A n daughter ela, whom I loved f long ago, but thought had lost orever. f She has promised to be my wi e . “ Indeed I rejoice with thee, my son . am f n I glad that thou hast ound happi ess, for a ff I know thou h st su ered long . And now I suppose you will leave the in old painter, you will work no longer ’ ‘ th e T for is emplars church , your heart ’ f o f C Raimond s ou ull ount daughter, and y f f l will orget all else . I shall be le t a one i fi nish nor aga n , and I cannot the work , ” i t r can I hope to see the Jc u e over the altar . Arnaud only smiled again and looked ] loving at his aged master . “ h it m ou W at is , y son ; why do y smile ? D o you think it is sweet fo r me n th e to work on here alone, and to k ow beautiful dream I have dreamed will never P come to pass .

Nay, I smile because I love thee, and brin o I know now I can gj y to thine heart, 200 Th e tu Arnaud and to my own . pic re thou dreamest of h for P romise: s all be painted, I have of an Altar found the secret beauty that I sought . ieee It is true that I am glad because I lovep . and am loved ; but I am glad too because m a for y art is lso blessed, at last the high l est beauty has been revea ed to me . Listen, and I will tell thee all . When fi rst I saw Angela lon ago I was dazzled by the beauty of her gce and f amt orm , and I longed to p her ; but she was taken from me ere I had half learned h er to know what beauty really was . I had only seen her eyes bluer than heaven’ s of depths, the golden glory her hair, the of snowy whiteness her neck , the lovely f fi re ! outlines o her gu . Ah indeed it was no wonder that I saw no more in the little h w ile we were together. It was enough for to see that, never had I dreamed that beau tifi fl anything on earth could be so . I knew not then that any higher beauty was possible . h f But she vanis ed rom my sight . She was buried in a living tomb . I sought f her there, but she would not come orth . Then the Archbishop sent me away far up among the mountains, and I dwelt 2 0 1 am n C o the agots . Nay, do not tremble f T no t and s rink rom me . hey are what n thou thinkest . Amo them was a maiden who was more i eau tifu l than I ain can tell thee, and I painted her and a satisfi fi rs gain ; but I was not ed. t t I knew not wh y ; but at last I saw that I n n was painti g o ly what delighted my eye . T u r ose here was no high ‘ p kindled in me . There was no u lifting power in my work f ot for me or or ers . I was painting only or of rav1sh e n f the leasure the d se ses . Soon I new it was not good for me or for a f the m iden to do this, and I fled rom f fa A n th ere lest mischie should be ll . d I of ff for was sad because it and I su ered, I f knew I had sinned, and I eared the high est secret of beauty would be forever h ld den from me because of my sin and my f blindness . But God was merci ul to me, tien and I learned to wait in a ce. Now A to ngela is with me, and have come know wh beauty like hers inspires and f In all o f f u pli ts . it are the charms orm and bu t e color, there is besides a sacr dness of u T r p rity . he e shines through it the

beauty of the s irit within . It is this beauty that I wi seek to paint in the pic 202

TH E ANNUNCI ATION TER m their arriage, Arnaud and Angela dwelt with Count Ra1mond in

the castle . It was a time of joy of f of and peace, li e and hope in those ancient h ad halls that long been cold and desolate . Life with Angela meant to Arnaud not f o f only the ull sweetness mutual love, but also inspiration for the art that was

f - Da his li e work . y by da the wonder ° of n her beauty grew, and t e lon gto f and ecame express it in color, orm, spirit 1 n en e more t s . At last this longing began to take deh f m nite or in his thought, and trembling f between ear and hope he began a picture . Th e face and form before h im were lovely of bu t with every charm woman, his art 204 f if Th e would ail utterly he only painted these, and did not express that spir1 t of love and Annunci purity that gave to the outward loveliness ation. a beauty that was more of heaven than r ea th . Patiently he worked with the high light of inspiration in his eyes, until at last the fi nish ed far painti gwas , so as was pos i T sible nor his art to carry t. hen he saw that wh ile he painted Angela he had of r thought Ma y, the woman who was almost divine . H e had seen her in the clou ds of heaven with glory all about her . Her form was draped in purest white and a mantle of blue drooped in many a grace l f h er f fu old to eet . Over her breast her hands were clasped as in prayer . The flowi ngsleeves of white fell back and left f bare her snowy arms . Her ace was Th e raised toward heaven . violet eyes were opened wide in passionate wonder d au ti fl and a oration . The be fi lips were tremblin of slightly parted, as in a sigh h ecstasy . Over her low w ite grow the auburn hair was parted and thence u n confi ned f ell about her head and neck, for m lingered a mo ent on her shoulders, 20 5 Th e and floated th ence until it was wh o lly blended with the radiance of the ope ned

heavens . Beneath her feet and encircling h er form were clouds that seemed wafted u p f A n ward by some breath o heaven . d among these clouds were cherub faces that m u . o e looked pon her with tender joy S ,

- fu as in thou h child like, were thought l

wontIer s 1 n ss. , other were radiant gladne The beauty of th e child was blended with of f re n the beauty the per ect woman, and he i f f Th e was the th ought o li e and love . heavenly light irradiated all the beauty and f li ted it to realms divine . Though bathed in light and smiled u u f was el pon by cher b aces, it not an an e bu t m 0 that was paint d here, a wo an w om could love and be loved, one to wh would come the sacred joys of mother hood and in whose heart her husband 3 w wor would rejoice alwa . M ary as ship cd not onl hecau se she was th e mo er of u t o for rf ct God, als her pe e man a o r d womanhood, which lways has ad e lorifi ca and always will . It was the g tion of this womanhood that Arnau d h ad u to h is su b painted, nor could he be tr e 206

Th e al T laced it above the tar . hen he hid himself behind a column in the nave and th e m of awaited co ing the old painter. At last the door opened, and he came in f H with slow and altering step . e took up his palette and h is brushes and turned

toward the chancel . and Suddenly he stopped, put his hand T before his eyes like one dazzled . hen f f e he ell on his knees, and li ted his e s a Th e agai n toward the ltar . vision t at was had startled him still there, and he

began to pray . It was not long ere he th e t knew it was not a vision, but pic ure

of his dreams . T f hen he rose to his eet again, and n Ar aud stood beside him . f ? Art thou content, ather said the

youn painter. h th e , my son said old monk in h a broken voice, methoug t I saw the M of other the Lord . Now may I depart for in peace, more than the beauty that I dreamed of is above the altar that I ” love . TH E PICTURE’ S MESSAGE TO SARAND E

early in the morning the Cagots left their moun tain home and came downward through the orge on their way to worship in the g ’ em lars p church . Benate was quite f 3 eeble now, and needed Sarande help over Th e the rough places in the road . old o e mother could no longer g with th m . fi r si Th e Ca She stayed alone by the e de. ot girl was not at peace . Her pride had g h er een broken , love spurned, and she was defi ant and angry ; yet was there a tenderness within her not known before A m f rnaud ca e, and it had so tened her wild nature . As she passed the woods where she h ad been with him that day ‘4 2 09 Th e when he painted her by the pool , a dreamy ’ P ieture : f so tness came to her dark eyes, and her heart beat so quickly that she pressed Th e her hand upon it passionately . great white mountains that he loved were e about her, and the wer still flushed with h o f l T the li t the ( awn . hey had been more i eau tifu l to her ever since that time o f fo r T r because his love them . hen the e r s was the leaping, sparkling iver that eemed to carry her heart with it to him who was far ! far away . Ah there was something different from anger deep down in the ’ it maiden s thoughts , and Sarande knew , h f t at beauti ul Sunday morning, as she u walked thro gh the valley to the church . At last they came to the ram art, and entering under the low arch t e were soon again within the little chape There seemed an u nusual st1 r in the T church . here was more light than was o m as c mmon, nor was the music the sa e

on other Sundays . Yet it was not a great f east day, and there seemed no reason for f r f a estal se vice . O ten the singing of T the emplars was marred by sternness, and sometimes it seemed an exultant

- - da f h battle cry ; but to y it was so ter, t ough 2 1 0

Th e T h u hen t ere was a str ggle in her heart . ’ P icture s h Her passion rose again wit in her, and she could not bear to think that he loved

another . f Ah, yes, she is beauti ul , was her f thought, but he said I was beauti ul . Hour after hour he looked on what he called my beauty ; and while he looked a was upon me, even while he p inted, he

as one in a dream . How dared he leave f me, how could he leave me a ter that She put her hands before her eyes to shut

out the picture . She would not look f upon it more . She would banish rom her mind the woman who had come be

tween her and her love .

But she stayed kneeling there, and though she would not look she still saw

those deep blue eyes, that calm white brow . h t m And then at last another thou ca e, of m u miliation a thought sha e and deep , for she remembered that she had humbled herself before him and offered him her of love unsought . In an agony repent ance she forced herself again to look upon

this picture, and she knew the woman there could be true and high and pure even in f f her passion . She elt that the love o 2 1 2 f Th e such a one must upli t and not degrade . ’ There was more than love in that heavenly P ieture : f was S arandé M essa e ace, there inspiration and g herself felt that it was lifting her up even to

At fi rst n Sarandé. against her will . she had see f a f only the ace, but now she beg n to eel th e of was it glory light that about , and — a she knew why such a light was there, h f light t at seemed to come rom heaven . As she looked longer she became more w calm , and the ild jealous assion that T had swept over her was sti led . here was here a spirit that had never before w touched the ild Cagot girl, and she was At a beginning to admit its power . l st h she t ought, “ I never could have yielded h im to ! is any other but to her, to her Ah , she i not a poor weak woman like me . She s like no other that mine eyes have ever I seen . know she will give him the ° h F h ighest ft love as to give . erha s wil et God quiet my heart at last, and ” me think o f his happiness in peace .