stories by english authors in france(旅法英国作家的故事)-第20章
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take thy pleasure in this life； for thou wilt have nothing but misery in the
next。〃
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〃I will not leave theenever！〃 he answered； briefly。 〃I have no fear of
the next world。〃
He was a man of few words evidently。 Perhaps the silence maintained
around him had partly frozen his power of speech。 Even to his mother he
spoke but little； though her complaining went on without ceasing； until he
extinguished both fire and lamp； and climbed the rude ladder into the loft
overhead； where her voice never failed to rouse him from his sleep； if she
only called 〃Michel！〃 He could not clearly explain his position even to
himself。 He had gone to Paris many years before； where he came across
some Protestants； who had taught him to read the Testament； and
instructed him in their religion。 The new faith had taken hold of him； and
thrust deep roots into his simple and constant nature； though he had no
words at command to express the change to others； and scarcely to himself。
So long as he had been in Paris there had been no need of this。
But now his father's death had compelled him to return to his native
place； and to the little knot of people who knew him as old Pierre Lorio's
son； a fisherman like themselves； with no more right to read or think than
they had。 The fierceness of the persecution he encountered filled him with
dismay； though it had not shaken his fidelity to his new faith。 But often a
dumb； inarticulate longing possessed him to make known to his old
neighbours the reason of the change in him； but speech failed him。 He
could only stammer out his confession； 〃I am no longer a Catholic； I am a
Protestant； I cannot pray to the saints； not even to the archangel St。 Michel
or the Blessed Virgin。 I pray only to God。〃 For anything else； for
explanation； and for all argument； he had no more language than the mute；
wistful language one sees in the eyes of dumb creatures； when they gaze
fully at us。
Perhaps there is nothing more pitiful than the painful want of words to
express that which lies deepest within us； a want common to us all； but
greatest in those who have had no training in thus shaping and expressing
their inmost thoughts。
There was not much to fear from a man like this。 Michel Lorio was a
living lesson against apostasy。 As he went up and down the street； and in
and out of the gate； his loneliness and dejection spoke more eloquently for
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the old faith than any banishment could have done。 Michel was suffered to
remain under a ban； not formal and ceremonial； but a tacit ban； which
quite as effectively set him apart； and made his life more solitary than if he
had been dwelling alone on a desert rock out at sea。
Michel accepted his lot without complaint and without bitterness。 He
never passed Monsieur le Cure without a salutation。 When he went daily
for water to the great cistern of the monastery； he was always ready to
carry the brimful pails too heavy for the arms of the old women and
children。 If he had leisure he mounted the long flights of grass…grown
steps three or four times for his neighbours； depositing his burden at their
doors； without a word of thanks for his help being vouchsafed to him。
Now and then he overheard a sneer at his usefulness； and his mother
taunted him often for his patience and forbearance。 But he went on his
way silently with deeper yearning for human love and sympathy than he
could make known。
If it had not been that； when he was kneeling at the rude dormer…
window of his loft and gazing dreamily across the wide sweep of sand；
with the moon shining across it and the solemn stars lighting up the sky；
he was at times vaguely conscious of an influence； almost a presence； as
of a hand that touched him and a voice that spoke to him； he must have
sunk under this intense longing for love and fellowship。 Had he been a
Catholic still； he would have believed that the archangel St。 Michel was
near and about to manifest himself as in former times in his splendid
shrine upon the Mont。 The new faith had not cast out all the old
superstitious nature； yet it was this vague spiritual presence which
supported him under the crushing and unnatural conditions of his social
life。 He endured； as seeing one who is invisible。
Yet at other times he could not keep his feet away from the little street
where all the life there was might be found。 At night he would creep
cautiously along the ramparts and descend by a quiet staircase into an
angle of the walls； where he could look on unseen upon the gathering of
townsfolk in the inn where he had often gone with his father in earlier
days。 The landlord； Nicolas； was a most bitter enemy now。 There was the
familiar room filled with bright light from an oil… lamp and the brighter
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flicker of a wood fire where the landlord's wife was cooking。 A deep； low
recess in the corner； with a crimson valance stretched across it； held a bed
with snow…white pillows； upon one of which rested a child's curly head
with eyes fast sealed against the glare of the lamp。 At a table close by sat
the landlord and three or four of the wealthier men of the Mont busily and
seriously eating the omelets and fried fish served to them from the pan
over the fire。
The copper and brass cooking utensils glittered in the light from the
walls where they hung。 It was a cheery scene； and Michel would stand in
his cold； dark corner； watching it until all was over and the guests ready to
depart。
〃Thou art Michel /le diable/！〃 said a childish voice to him one evening；
and he felt a small； warm hand laid for an instant upon his own。 It was
Delphine； Nicolas's eldest girl； a daring child； full of spirit and courage；
yet even she shrank back a step or two after touching him； and stood as if
ready to take flight。
〃I am Michel Lorio；〃 he answered； in a quiet； pleasant voice； which
won her back to his side。 〃Why dost thou call me Michel /le diable/？〃
〃All the world calls thee that；〃 answered Delphine； 〃thou art a heretic。
See； I am a good Christian。 I say my ave and paternoster every night； if
thou wilt do the same thing； no one will call thee Michel /le diable/。〃
〃Thou art not afraid of me？〃 he asked； for the child put her hand again
on his。
〃No； no！ thou art not the real devil！〃 she said； 〃and /maman/ has put
my name on the register of the monument； so the great archangel St。
Michel will deliver me from all evil。 What canst thou do？ Canst thou turn
children into cats？ or canst thou walk across the sea without being
drowned？ or canst thou stand on the highest pinnacle of the church； where
the golden image of St。 Michel used to be； and cast thyself down without
killing thyself？ I will go back with thee to thy house and see what thou
canst do。〃
〃I can do none of these things；〃 answered Michel； 〃not one； but thou
shalt come home with me if thou wilt。〃
〃Carry me；〃 she said； 〃that I may feel how strong thou art。〃
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He lifted her easily into his arms； for he was strong and accustomed to
bear heavier burdens。 His heart beat fast as the child's hand stole round his
neck and her soft cheek touched his own。 Delphine had never been upon
the ramparts before when the stars were out and the distant circle of the
cliffs hidden by the night； and several times he was compelled to stop and
answer her eager questions； but she would not go into the house when they
reached the door。
〃Carry me back again； Michel；〃 she demanded。 〃I do not like thy
mother。 Thou shalt bring me again along the ramparts to…morrow night。 I
will always come to thee； always when I see thee standing in the dark
corner by our house。 I love thee much； Michel /le diable/。〃
It was a strange friendship carried on stealthily。 Michel could not put
away from himself this one little tie of human love and fellowship。 As for
Delphine； she was as silent about her new friend as children often are of
such things which affect them deeply。 There was a mingling of
superstitious feeling in her affection for Michela half…dread that gave
their secret meetings a greater charm to the daring spirit of the child。 The
evening was a busy time at the inn； and if Delphine had been missed； but
little wonder and no anxiety would have been aroused at her absence。 The
ramparts were deserted after dark； and no one guessed that the two dark
figures sauntering to and fro were Michel and Delphine。 When the nights
were too cold they took refuge in a little overhanging turret projecting
from one of the angles of the massive wallsa darksome niche with
nothing but the sky to be seen through a narrow embrasure in the shape of
a cross。 In these haunts Michel talked in his simple untaught way of his
thoughts and of his new faith； pouring into the child's ear what he could
never tell to any other。 By day Delphine never seemed to see him； never
cast a look toward him as he passed by amid the undisguised ill will of the
town。 She ceased to speak of him even； with the unconscious and natural
dissimulation by which children screen themselves from criticism and
censure。
The people of the Mont St。 Michel are very poor； and the women and
children are compelled to seek some means of earning money as well as
the men。 As long as the summer lasts the crowds of pilgrims and tourists；
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flocking to the wonderf
