The Rover

fetch all those furies along with him up here and that they would carry the house by boarding and do for the lot of us, when the priest cut in just in the nick of time. He could have tripped Scevola as easy as anything, but he lets him pass and stands in front of his parishioners with his arms extended. That did it. He saved the patron all right. What he could say to quieten them I don’t know, but these were early days and they were very fond of their new priest. He could have turned them round his little finger. I had my head and shoulders out of the window⁠—it was interesting enough. They would have massacred all the accursed lot, as they used to call us down there⁠—and when I drew in, behold there was the patronne standing behind me looking on too. You have been here often enough to know how she roams about the grounds and about the house, without a sound. A leaf doesn’t pose itself lighter on the ground than her feet do. Well, I suppose she didn’t know that I was upstairs, and came into the room just in her way of always looking for something that isn’t there, and noticing me with my head stuck out, naturally came up to see what I was looking at. Her face wasn’t any paler than usual but she was clawing the dress over her chest with her ten fingers⁠—like this. I was confounded. Before I could find my tongue she just turned round and went out with no more sound than a shadow.”

When Peyrol ceased, the ringing of the church bell went on faintly and then stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

“Talking about her shadow,” said the young officer indolently, “I know her shadow.”

Old Peyrol made a really pronounced movement. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Where?”

“I have got only one window in the room where they put me to sleep last night and I stood at it looking out. That’s what I am here for⁠—to look out, am I not? I woke up suddenly, and being awake I went to the window and looked out.”

“One doesn’t see shadows in the air,” growled old Peyrol.

“No, but you see them on the ground, pretty black too when the moon is full. It fell across this open space here from the corner of the house.”

“The patronne,” exclaimed Peyrol in a low voice, “impossible!”

“Does the old woman that lives in the kitchen roam, do the village women roam as far as this?” asked the officer composedly. “You ought to know the habits of the people. It was a woman’s shadow. The moon being to the west, it glided slanting from that corner of the house and glided back again. I know her shadow when I see it.”

“Did you hear anything?” asked Peyrol after a moment of visible hesitation.

“The window being open, I heard somebody snoring. It couldn’t have been you, you are too high. Moreover, from the snoring,” he added grimly, “it must have been somebody with a good conscience. Not like you, old skimmer of the seas, because, you know, that’s what you are, for all your gunner’s warrant.” He glanced out of the corner of his eyes at old Peyrol. “What makes you look so worried?”

“She roams, that cannot be denied,” murmured Peyrol, with an uneasiness which he did not attempt to conceal.

“Evidently. I know a shadow when I see it, and when I saw it, it did not frighten me, not a quarter as much as the mere tale of it seems to have frightened you. However, that sansculotte friend of yours must be a hard sleeper. Those purveyors of the guillotine all have a first-class fireproof Republican conscience. I have seen them at work up north when I was a boy running barefoot in the gutters.⁠ ⁠…”

“The fellow always sleeps in that room,” said Peyrol earnestly.

“But that’s neither here nor there,” went on the officer, “except that it may be convenient for roaming shadows to hear his conscience taking its ease.”

Peyrol, excited, lowered his voice forcibly. “Lieutenant,” he said, “if I had not seen from the first what was in your heart I would have contrived to get rid of you a long time ago in some way or other.”

The lieutenant glanced sideways again and Peyrol let his raised fist fall heavily on his thigh. “I am old Peyrol and this place, as lonely as a ship at sea, is like a ship to me and all in it are like shipmates. Never mind the patron. What I want to know is whether you heard anything? Any sound at all? Murmur, footstep?” A bitterly mocking smile touched the lips of the young man.

“Not a fairy footstep. Could you hear the fall of a leaf⁠—and with that terrorist cur trumpeting right above my head?⁠ ⁠…” Without unfolding his arms he turned towards Peyrol, who was looking at him anxiously.⁠ ⁠… “You want to know, do you? Well, I will tell you what I heard and you can make the best of it. I heard the sound of a stumble. It wasn’t a fairy either that stubbed its toe. It was something in a heavy shoe. Then a stone went rolling down the ravine in front of us interminably, then a silence as of death. I didn’t see anything moving. The way the moon was then the ravine was in black shadow. And I didn’t try to see.”

Peyrol, with his elbow on his knee, leaned his head in the palm of his hand. The officer repeated through his clenched teeth: “Make the best of it.”

Peyrol shook his head slightly. After having spoken, the young officer leaned back against the wall, but next moment the report of a piece of ordnance reached them as it were from below, travelling around the rising ground to the left in the form of a dull thud followed by a sighing sound that seemed to seek an