Love Me, Love my Dog
As I emerged from the woods I noted that the glare was greater than
before. But before I reached the outskirts of the village it had begun
to die down. My wild running up the main street attracted no
attention—every one able to be about was at the fire.
I have no doubt that I was not long in covering those two miles from the
western end of the village to the De Lamourie farm—but to me they seemed
leagues of torment. At last I reached the gate, and dashed panting up
the lane.
I saw that the house was already in ruins, though still burning with a
fierce glow. I saw also, and wondered at it, that there had been no
attempt made to quench the flames. There were no water buckets in view;
there was no confusion of household goods as when willing hands throng
to help; and the outbuildings, which might easily have been saved, were
only now getting fairly into blaze. Across my confusion and pain there
flashed a sense of the Black Abbé’s power. This fire was his doing—and
none dared interfere to mitigate the stroke lest the like should fall
upon them also. My eyes searched the mass of staring, redly lit faces,
expecting to find some one of the De Lamourie household; but in vain.
Presently I noticed that every one made way for me with an alacrity too
prompt for mere respect; and I grew dully conscious that I was an object
of shrinking aversion to my old fellow-villagers. My rage at the villain
priest began to turn upon these misjudging fools. But I knew not what to
say; I knew not what to do. I pushed roughly hither and thither,
demanding information, but getting only vague and muttered replies.
“Where are they?” I asked again and again, and broke out cursing
furiously; but every one I spoke to evaded a direct answer.
“Have that arch fiend and his red devils carried them off?” I asked at
last; and to this I got hushed, astonished, terrified replies of—
“No, monsieur!” and, “No indeed, monsieur! They have escaped!” and, “Oh,
but no, monsieur!”
Flinging myself fiercely away from the crowd, I rushed to look into a
detached two-story outbuilding which had but now got fairly burning. I
wondered if there were no stuff in it which I might rescue. The smoke
and flame were pouring so hotly from the door that I could not see what
was inside. But as I peered in, my face shaded with my hand from the
scorching glare, I heard a faint, pitiful mewing just above me, and
looked up.
There, on the sill of a window of the second story, a window from which
came volumes of smoke, but of flame only a slender, darting tongue,
crouched a white kitten. With a curious gripping at my heart I
recognized it as one which I had seen playing at Yvonne’s feet the
evening before. I remembered how it was forever pouncing with wild glee
upon the tip of her little slipper, forever being gently rolled over and
tickled into fresh ecstasies. The scene cut itself upon my brain as I
ran for a yet undamaged ladder, which I noticed leaning against a shed
near by.
The action doubtless filled the crowd with amazement, but no one raised
a hand to help me. The ladder was long and very awkward to manage, but
in little more than the time it takes to tell of it I got it up beside
the window and sprang to the rescue. By this time, however, the flames
were spouting forth. The moment I came within reach of it the little
animal leapt upon me and clung with frantic claws. A vivid sheet of
flame burst out in my very face, hurling me from the ladder; yet I
succeeded in alighting on my feet, jarred, but whole. There was a smell
of burnt hair in my nostrils, and I saw that the kitten’s coat, no
longer white, was finely crisped. But what I smelt was not all kitten’s
hair. Lifting my hand to my bitterly smarting face, I found my own
locks, over my forehead, seriously diminished, while my once fairly
abundant eyebrows and eyelashes were clean gone. My moustache, however,
had escaped—and even at that moment, when my mind was surely well
occupied with matters of importance, I could feel a thrill of
satisfaction. A man’s vanity is liable to assert itself at almost any
crisis; and it did not occur to me that a man lacking eyebrows and
eyelashes could not hope to be redeemed from the ridiculous by the most
luxuriant moustache that ever grew.
Half dazed, I stared about me, wondering what was next to be done.
Suddenly I thought—“Why, of course; they have gone to Father Fafard’s!”
The kitten clung to me, mewing piteously, and I was embarrassed by it.
First I dropped it into a large currant bush, where, as I thought, it
would not be trodden upon. Then, remembering that it was Yvonne’s, I
snatched it up, and with a grim laugh at the folly of my solicitude over
so small a matter strode off with it toward the parsonage. I passed in
front of the swaying crowd; and some one, out of sight, tittered. I had
begun to forget the fool rabble of villagers,—to regard them as a
painted mob in a picture, or as wooden puppets,—but their reality was
borne back upon me at that giggle. I walked on, scowling upon the faces
which shrank into gravity under my eye, till at last I noticed a
kind-looking girl. Into her arms, without ceremony, I thrust the little
animal; and as she took it I said:
“It belongs to Mademoiselle de Lamourie. Take care of it for her.”
Not waiting to hear her answer, I was off across the fields for the
parsonage.