malvina of brittany-第13章

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Professor　had　been　witness　to　itMalvina　had　remained　quite
passive；　only　that　curious　little　smile　about　her　lips。　　But　now　an
odd　thing　happened。　　A　quivering　seemed　to　pass　through　all　her
body；　so　that　it　swayed　and　trembled。　　The　Professor　feared　she　was
going　to　fall；　and；　maybe　to　save　herself；　she　put　up　her　arms　about
Commander　Raffleton's　neck；　and　with　a　strange　low　cryit　sounded
to　the　Professor　like　the　cry　one　sometimes　hears　at　night　from　some
little　dying　creature　of　the　woodsshe　clung　to　him　sobbing。


It　must　have　been　a　while　later　when　the　chiming　of　the　clock
recalled　to　the　Professor　the　appointment　with　Mrs。　Marigold。

〃You　will　only　just　have　time；〃　he　said；　gently　seeking　to　release
her。　　〃I'll　promise　to　keep　him　till　you　come　back。〃　　And　as　Malvina
did　not　seem　to　understand；　he　reminded　her。

But　still　she　made　no　movement；　save　for　a　little　gesture　of　the
hands　as　if　she　were　seeking　to　lay　hold　of　something　unseen。　　And
then　she　dropped　her　arms　and　looked　from　one　of　them　to　the　other。
The　Professor　did　not　think　of　it　at　the　time；　but　remembered
afterwards；　that　strange　aloofness　of　hers；　as　if　she　were　looking
at　you　from　another　world。　　One　no　longer　felt　it。

〃I　am　so　sorry；〃　she　said。　　〃It　is　too　late。　　I　am　only　a　woman。〃

And　Mrs。　Marigold　is　still　thinking。



THE　PROLOGUE。



And　here　follows　the　Prologue。　　It　ought；　of　course；　to　have　been
written　first；　but　nobody　knew　of　it　until　quite　the　end　entirely。
It　was　told　to　Commander　Raffleton　by　a　French　comrade；　who　in　days
of　peace　had　been　a　painter；　mingling　with　others　of　his　kind；
especially　such　as　found　their　inspiration　in　the　wide　horizons　and
legend…haunted　dells　of　old…world　Brittany。　　Afterwards　the
Commander　told　it　to　the　Professor；　and　the　Professor's　only
stipulation　was　that　it　should　not　be　told　to　the　Doctor；　at　least
for　a　time。　　For　the　Doctor　would　see　in　it　only　confirmation　for
his　own　narrow　sense…bound　theories；　while　to　the　Professor　it
confirmed　beyond　a　doubt　the　absolute　truth　of　this　story。


It　commenced　in　the　year　Eighteen　hundred　and　ninety…eight　（anno
Domini）；　on　a　particularly　unpleasant　evening　in　late　February〃a
stormy　winter's　night；〃　one　would　describe　it；　were　one　writing　mere
romance。　　It　came　to　the　lonely　cottage　of　Madame　Lavigne　on　the
edge　of　the　moor　that　surrounds　the　sunken　village　of　Aven…a…Christ。
Madame　Lavigne；　who　was　knitting　stockingsfor　she　lived　by
knitting　stockingsheard；　as　she　thought；　a　passing　of　feet；　and
what　seemed　like　a　tap　at　the　door。　　She　dismissed　the　idea；　for　who
would　be　passing　at　such　an　hour；　and　where　there　was　no　road？　　But
a　few　minutes　later　the　tapping　came　again；　and　Madame　Lavigne；
taking　her　candle　in　her　hand；　went　to　see　who　was　there。　　The
instant　she　released　the　latch　a　gust　of　wind　blew　out　the　candle；
and　Madame　Lavigne　could　see　no　one。　　She　called；　but　there　was　no
answer。　　She　was　about　to　close　the　door　again　when　she　heard　a
faint　sound。　　It　was　not　exactly　a　cry。　　It　was　as　if　someone　she
could　not　see；　in　the　tiniest　of　voices；　had　said　something　she
could　not　understand。

Madame　Lavigne　crossed　herself　and　muttered　a　prayer；　and　then　she
heard　it　again。　　It　seemed　to　come　from　close　at　her　feet；　and
feeling　with　her　handsfor　she　thought　it　might　be　a　stray　catshe
found　quite　a　large　parcel；　It　was　warm　and　soft；　though；　of　course；
a　bit　wet；　and　Madame　Lavigne　brought　it　in；　and　having　closed　the
door　and　re…lit　her　candle；　laid　it　on　the　table。　　And　then　she　saw
it　was　the　tiniest　of　babies。

It　must　always　be　a　difficult　situation。　　Madame　Lavigne　did　what
most　people　would　have　done　in　the　case。　　She　unrolled　the
wrappings；　and　taking　the　little　thing　on　her　lap；　sat　down　in　front
of　the　dull　peat　fire　and　considered。　　It　seemed　wonderfully
contented；　and　Madame　Lavigne　thought　the　best　thing　to　do　would　be
to　undress　it　and　put　it　to　bed；　and　then　go　on　with　her　knitting。
She　would　consult　Father　Jean　in　the　morning　and　take　his　advice。
She　had　never　seen　such　fine　clothes。　　She　took　them　off　one　by　one；
lovingly　feeling　their　texture；　and　when　she　finally　removed　the
last　little　shift　and　the　little　white　thing　lay　exposed；　Madame
Lavigne　sprang　up　with　a　cry　and　all　but　dropped　it　into　the　fire。
For　she　saw　by　the　mark　that　every　Breton　peasant　knows　that　it　was
not　a　child　but　a　fairy。

Her　proper　course；　as　she　well　knew；　was　to　have　opened　the　door　and
flung　it　out　into　the　darkness。　　Most　women　of　the　village　would
have　done　so；　and　spent　the　rest　of　the　night　on　their　knees。　　But
someone　must　have　chosen　with　foresight。　　There　came　to　Madame
Lavigne　the　memory　of　her　good　man　and　her　three　tall　sons；　taken
from　her　one　by　one　by　the　jealous　sea；　and；　come　what　might　of　it；
she　could　not　do　it。　　The　little　thing　understood；　that　was　clear；
for　it　smiled　quite　knowingly　and　stretched　out　its　little　hands；
touching　Madame　Lavigne's　brown　withered　skin；　and　stirring
forgotten　beatings　of　her　heart。

Father　Jeanone　takes　him　to　have　been　a　tolerant；　gently　wise　old
gentlemancould　see　no　harm。　　That　is；　if　Madame　Lavigne　could
afford　the　luxury。　　Maybe　it　was　a　good　fairy。　　Would　bring　her
luck。　　And　certain　it　is　that　the　cackling　of　Madame's　hens　was
heard　more　often　than　before；　and　the　weeds　seemed　fewer　in　the
little　patch　of　garden　that　Madame　Lavigne　had　rescued　from　the
moor。

Of　course；　the　news　spread。　　One　gathers　that　Madame　Lavigne　rather
gave　herself　airs。　　But　the　neighbours　shook　their　heads；　　and　the
child　grew　up　lonely　and　avoided。　　Fortunately；　the　cottage　was　far
from　other　houses；　and　there　was　always　the　great　moor　with　its　deep
hiding…places。　　Father　Jean　was　her　sole　playmate。　　He　would　take
her　with　him　on　his　long　tramps　through　his　scattered　district；
leaving　her　screened　among　the　furze　and　bracken　near　to　the
solitary　farmsteads　where　he　made　his　visitations。

He　had　learnt　it　was　useless：　　all　attempt　of　Mother　Church　to　scold
out　of　this　sea　and　moor…girt　flock　their　pagan　superstitions。　　He
would　leave　it　to　time。　　Later；　perhaps　opportunity　might　occur　to
place　the　child　in　some　convent；　where　she　would　learn　to　forget；
and　grow　into　a　good　Catholic。　　Meanwhile；　one　had　to　take　pity　on
the　little　lonely　creature。　　Not　entirely　for　her　own　sake　maybe；　a
dear　affectionate　little　soul　strangely　wise；　so　she　seemed　to
Father　Jean。　　Under　the　shade　of　trees　or　sharing　warm　shelter　with
the　soft…eyed　cows；　he　would　teach　her　from　his　small　stock　of
knowledge。　　Every　now　and　then　she　would　startle　him　with　an
intuition；　a　comment　strangely　unchildlike。　　It　was　as　if　she　had
known　all　about　it；　long　ago。　　Father　Jean　would　steal　a　swift
glance　at　her　from　under　his　shaggy　eyebrows　and　fall　into　a
silence。　　It　was　curious　also　how　the　wild　things　of　the　field　and
wood　seemed　unafraid　of　her。　　At　times；　returning　to　where　　he　had
left　her　hidden；　he　would　pause；　wondering　to　whom　she　was　talking；
and　then　as　he　drew　nearer　would　hear　the　stealing　away　of　little
feet；　the　startled　flutter　of　wings。　　She　had　elfish　ways；　of　which
it　seemed　impossible　to　cure　her。　　Often　the　good　man；　returning
from　some　late　visit　of　mercy　with　his　lantern　and　his　stout　oak
cudgel；　would　　pause　and　listen　to　a　wandering　voice。　　It　was　never
near　enough　for　him　to　hear　the　　words；　and　the　voice　was　strange　to
him；　though　he　knew　it　could　be　no　one　else。　　Madame　Lavigne　would
shrug　her　shoulders。　　How　could　she　help　it？　　It　was　not　for　her　to
cross　the　〃child；〃　even　supposing　bolts　and　bars　likely　to　be　of　any
use。　　Father　Jean　gave　it　up　in　despair。　　Neither　was　it　for　him
either　to　be　too　often　forbidding　and　lecturing。　　Maybe　the　cunning
tender　ways　had　wove　their　web　about　the　childless　old　gentleman's
heart；　making　him　also　somewhat　afraid。　　Perhaps　other　distractions！
For　Madame　Lavigne　would　never　allow　her　to　do　anything　but　the
lightest　of　work。　　He　would　teach　her　to　read。　　So　quickly　she
learnt　that　it　seemed　to　Father　Jean　she　must　be　making　believe　not
to　have　known　it　already。　　But　he　had　his　reward　in　watching　the　joy
with　which　she　would　devour；　for　preference；　the　quaint　print