International Short Stories: French. Коллектив авторов
holding out his hand. "It is a long time since I have seen you."
"Good-day, brother."
"I stopped while passing, to say good-day to you and to cousin Pepa here. We have had a long journey to-day, but have no reason to complain, for we have captured a famous prize. We have just seized Gianetto Saupiero."
"God be praised!" cried Giuseppa. "He stole a milch goat from us last week."
These words reassured Gamba.
"Poor devil!" said Mateo, "he was hungry."
"The villain fought like a lion," continued the Adjutant, a little mortified. "He killed one of my soldiers, and not content with that, broke Caporal Chardon's arm; but that matters little, he is only a Frenchman.
Then, too, he was so well hidden that the devil couldn't have found him.
Without my little cousin, Fortunato, I should never have discovered him."
"Fortunato!" cried Mateo.
"Fortunato!" repeated Giuseppa.
"Yes, Gianetto was hidden under the hay-pile yonder, but my little cousin showed me the trick. I shall tell his uncle, the Caporal, that he may send him a fine present for his trouble. Both his name and yours will be in the report that I shall send to the Attorney-general."
"Malediction!" said Mateo in a low voice.
They had rejoined the detachment. Gianetto was already lying on the litter ready to set out. When he saw Mateo and Gamba in company he smiled a strange smile, then, turning his head towards the door of the house, he spat on the sill, saying:
"House of a traitor."
Only a man determined to die would dare pronounce the word traitor to Falcone. A good blow with the stiletto, which there would be no need of repeating, would have immediately paid the insult. However, Mateo made no other movement than to place his hand on his forehead like a man who is dazed.
Fortunato had gone into the house when his father arrived, but now he reappeared with a bowl of milk which he handed with downcast eyes to Gianetto.
"Get away from me!" cried the outlaw, in a loud voice. Then, turning to one of the soldiers, he said:
"Comrade, give me a drink."
The soldier placed his gourd in his hands, and the prisoner drank the water handed to him by a man with whom he had just exchanged bullets. He then asked them to tie his hands across his breast instead of behind his back.
"I like," said he, "to lie at my ease."
They hastened to satisfy him; then the Adjutant gave the signal to start, said adieu to Mateo, who did not respond, and descended with rapid steps towards the plain.
Nearly ten minutes elapsed before Mateo spoke. The child looked with restless eyes, now at his mother, now at his father, who was leaning on his gun and gazing at him with an expression of concentrated rage.
"You begin well," said Mateo at last with a calm voice, but frightful to one who knew the man.
"Oh, father!" cried the boy, bursting into tears, and making a forward movement as if to throw himself on his knees. But Mateo cried, "Away from me!"
The little fellow stopped and sobbed, immovable, a few feet from his father.
Giuseppa drew near. She had just discovered the watch-chain, the end of which was hanging out of Fortunato's jacket.
"Who gave you that watch?" demanded she in a severe tone.
"My cousin, the Adjutant."
Falcone seized the watch and smashed it in a thousand pieces against a rock.
"Wife," said he, "is this my child?"
Giuseppa's cheeks turned a brick-red.
"What are you saying, Mateo? Do you know to whom you speak?"
"Very well, this child is the first of his race to commit treason."
Fortunato's sobs and gasps redoubled as Falcone kept his lynx-eyes upon him. Then he struck the earth with his gun-stock, shouldered the weapon, and turned in the direction of the mâquis, calling to Fortunato to follow. The boy obeyed. Giuseppa hastened after Mateo and seized his arm.
"He is your son," said she with a trembling voice, fastening her black eyes on those of her husband to read what was going on in his heart.
"Leave me alone," said Mateo, "I am his father."
Giuseppa embraced her son, and bursting into tears entered the house. She threw herself on her knees before an image of the Virgin and prayed ardently. In the meanwhile Falcone walked some two hundred paces along the path and only stopped when he reached a little ravine which he descended. He tried the earth with the butt-end of his carbine, and found it soft and easy to dig. The place seemed to be convenient for his design.
"Fortunato, go close to that big rock there."
The child did as he was commanded, then he kneeled.
"Say your prayers."
"Oh, father, father, do not kill me!"
"Say your prayers!" repeated Mateo in a terrible voice.
The boy, stammering and sobbing, recited the Pater and the Credo. At the end of each prayer the father loudly answered, "Amen!"
"Are those all the prayers you know?"
"Oh! father, I know the Ave Maria and the litany that my aunt taught me."
"It is very long, but no matter."
The child finished the litany in a scarcely audible tone.
"Are you finished?"
"Oh! my father, have mercy! Pardon me! I will never do so again. I will beg my cousin, the Caporal, to pardon Gianetto."
He was still speaking. Mateo raised his gun, and, taking aim, said:
"May God pardon you!"
The boy made a desperate effort to rise and grasp his father's knees, but there was not time. Mateo fired and Fortunato fell dead.
Without casting a glance on the body, Mateo returned to the house for a spade with which to bury his son. He had gone but a few steps when he met Giuseppa, who, alarmed by the shot, was hastening hither.
"What have you done?" cried she.
"Justice."
"Where is he?"
"In the ravine. I am going to bury him. He died a Christian. I shall have a mass said for him. Have my son-in-law, Tiodoro Bianchi, sent for to come and live with us."
THE MIRROR
BY CATULLE MENDES
There was once a kingdom where mirrors were unknown. They had all been broken and reduced to fragments by order of the queen, and if the tiniest bit of looking-glass had been found in any house, she would not have hesitated to put all the inmates to death with the most frightful tortures.
Now for the secret of this extraordinary caprice. The queen was dreadfully ugly, and she did not wish to be exposed to the risk of meeting her own image; and, knowing herself to be hideous, it was a consolation to know that other women at least could not see that they were pretty.
You may imagine that the young girls of the country were not at all satisfied. What was the use of being beautiful if you could not admire yourself?
They might have used the brooks and lakes for mirrors; but the queen had foreseen that, and had hidden all of them under closely joined flagstones. Water was drawn from wells so deep that it was impossible to see the liquid surface, and shallow basins must be used instead of buckets, because in the latter there might be reflections.
Such a dismal state of affairs, especially for the pretty coquettes, who were no more rare in this country than in others.
The queen had no compassion, being well content that her subjects should suffer as much annoyance from the lack of a mirror as she felt at the sight of one.
However, in a suburb of the city there