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The watchman had seen him; but he crossed himself three times and ran up the nearest alley,–for he had beheld the devil himself riding through the air on a broomstick.

Thus Florian was free, Running up the street, he crept into a covered sewer, tore up the earth with his hands, found the money, and ran off through the woods.

During his imprisonment, Crescence’s mother had died, and the Red Tailor, forced to yield to one of those general bursts of neighborly feeling which are the relieving features of village life, had allowed his daughter to return to his house.

In the night of Florian’s escape she awoke from her sleep in terror. She had dreamed that Florian had called her out to dance, and, do what she would, she could not get her stocking on her foot. Weeping, she sat up in her bed and spoke the prayer for the poor souls in purgatory. Hearing the clock strike four, she arose and did all the housework. Before daybreak she went into the wood to get kindling. Indeed, ever since her misfortune her activity was morbid: she seemed anxious to compensate for the idle life of Florian. Though no thanks rewarded her industry, she had scarcely left a nook or corner of the house not garnered with dry sticks and fir-cones.

At the edge of the wood she found a white button, which she recognised as belonging to Florian’s jacket and secreted in her bosom. Looking over the landscape, she said to herself, “My cross is great; and if I were to climb to the top of the highest hill I couldn’t look beyond it.”

She returned without having gathered any thing. On hearing of Florian’s flight, she wept and rejoiced: she wept because she could no longer doubt he was a criminal, and rejoiced to know that he was free.

13.

THE GAUNTLET.

At night Florian built himself a hut of some sheaves in a harvest-field and slept in it.

In a tavern he had stolen a knife, having at the same time concealed twelve creutzers in the salt-cellar: with this implement he now scraped off his mustache.

Nevertheless, he had no sooner crossed the frontier than he was arrested. This time he did not stop to enlist the pity of the gens d’armes, but defended himself with all his might and made desperate efforts to get free: he was thrown down, however, and manacled.

He was now forwarded from circuit to circuit by the hands of the gens d’armes. In silence he walked along, his right hand chained to his right foot: he looked upon himself as upon an animal driven to the slaughter.

But when, coming from Sulz, he issued from the Empfingen copse and found that he was to be dragged in chains through his native village, he fell on his knees before the gens d’armes and begged him with tears to be so merciful as to take him around outside of the village.

But the voice of authority answered “No,” and Florian struck his left hand into his eyes to blind himself to his own degradation: his right hand rattled helplessly in the chain. Florian–the cynosure of neighboring eyes, he who had known no keener joy than to be the object of universal attention–was now to be exposed in these shameful trappings and in such disgraceful company. For the first time in his life he could have prayed that people might not have eyes to cast upon him. As he passed the Red Tailor’s house, Crescence was chopping wood at the pile. The hatchet dropped from her hand, and for a moment she stood paralyzed: the next instant she rushed upon Florian with open arms and fell upon his neck. The gens d’armes disengaged her gently. “I’ll go with you through the village,” said Crescence, without weeping. “You sha’n’t bear your shame alone. Does the iron hurt you? Don’t fret too much, for my sake.”