CHAPTER V
"FOUR WOMEN CRUCIFIED"
Veronique was left alone on Coffin Island. Until the sun sank among theclouds that seemed, on the horizon, to rest upon the sea, she did notmove, but sat huddled against the window, with her head buried in hertwo arms resting on the sill.
The dread reality passed through the darkness of her mind like pictureswhich she strove not to see, but which at times became so clearlydefined that she imagined herself to be living through those atrociousscenes again.
Still she sought no explanation of all this and formed no theories as toall the motives which might have thrown a light upon the tragedy. Sheadmitted the madness of Francois and of Stephane Maroux, being unable tosuppose any other reasons for such actions as theirs. And, believing thetwo murderers to be mad, she did not even try to attribute to them anyprojects or definite wishes.
Moreover, Honorine's madness, of which she had, so to speak, observedthe outbreak, impelled her to look upon all that had happened asprovoked by a sort of mental upset to which all the people of Sarek hadfallen victims. She herself at moments felt that her brain was reeling,that her ideas were fading away in a mist, that invisible ghosts werehovering around her.
She dozed off into a sleep which was haunted by these images and inwhich she felt so wretched that she began to sob. Also it seemed to herthat she could hear a slight noise which, in her benumbed wits, assumeda hostile significance. Enemies were approaching. She opened her eyes.
A couple of yards in front of her, sitting upon its haunches, was aqueer animal, covered with long mud-coloured hair and holding itsfore-paws folded like a pair of arms.
It was a dog; and she at once remembered Francois' dog, of whichHonorine had spoken as a dear, devoted, comical creature. She evenremembered his name, All's-Well.
As she uttered this name in an undertone, she felt an angry impulse andwas almost driving away the animal endowed with such an ironicalnickname. All's-Well! And she thought of all the victims of the horriblenightmare, of all the dead people of Sarek, of her murdered father, ofHonorine killing herself, of Francois going mad. All's-Well, forsooth!
Meanwhile the dog did not stir. He was sitting up as Honorine haddescribed, with his head a little on one side, one eye closed, thecorners of his mouth drawn back to his ears and his arms crossed infront of him; and there was really something very like a smile flittingover his face.
Veronique now remembered: this was the manner in which All's-Welldisplayed his sympathy for those in trouble. All's-Well could not bearthe sight of tears. When people wept, he sat up until they in their turnsmiled and petted him.
Veronique did not smile, but she pressed him against her and said:
"No, my poor dog, all's not well; on the contrary, all's as bad as itcan be. No matter: we must live, mustn't we, and we mustn't go madourselves like the others?"
The necessities of life obliged her to act. She went down to thekitchen, found some food and gave the dog a good share of it. Then shewent upstairs again.
Night had fallen. She opened, on the first floor, the door of a bedroomwhich at ordinary times must have been unoccupied. She was weighed downwith an immense fatigue, caused by all the efforts and violent emotionswhich she had undergone. She fell asleep almost at once. All's Well layawake at the foot of her bed.
Next morning she woke late, with a curious feeling of peace andsecurity. It seemed to her that her present life was somehow connectedwith her calm and placid life at Besancon. The few days of horror whichshe had passed fell away from her like distant events whose return shehad no need to fear. The men and women who had gone under in the greathorror became to her mind almost like strangers whom one has met anddoes not expect to see again. Her heart ceased bleeding. Her sorrow forthem did not reach the depths of her soul.
It was due to the unforeseen and undisturbed rest, the consolingsolitude. And all this seemed to her so pleasant that, when a steamercame and anchored on the spot of the disaster, she made no signal. Nodoubt yesterday, from the mainland, they had seen the flash of theexplosions and heard the report of the shots. Veronique remainedmotionless.
She saw a boat put off from the steamer and supposed that they weregoing to land and explore the village. But not only did she dread anenquiry in which her son might be involved: she herself did not wish tobe found, to be questioned, to have her name, her identity, her storydiscovered and to be brought back into the infernal circle from whichshe had escaped. She preferred to wait a week or two, to wait untilchance brought within hailing-distance of the island some fishing-boatwhich could pick her up.
But no one came to the Priory. The steamer put off; and nothingdisturbed her isolation.
And so she remained for three days. Fate seemed to have reconsidered itsintention of making fresh assaults upon her. She was alone and her ownmistress. All's Well, whose company had done her a world of good,disappeared.
The Priory domain occupied the whole end of the island, on the site of aBenedictine abbey, which had been abandoned in the fifteenth century andgradually fallen into ruin and decay.
The house, built in the eighteenth century by a wealthy Bretonship-owner out of the materials of the old abbey and the stones of thechapel, was in no way interesting either outside or in. Veronique, forthat matter, did not dare to enter any of the rooms. The memory of herfather and son checked her before the closed doors.
But, on the second day, in the bright spring sunshine, she explored thepark. It extended to the point of the island and, like the sward infront of the house, was studded with ruins and covered with ivy. Shenoticed that all the paths ran towards a steep promontory crowned with aclump of enormous oaks. When she reached the spot, she found that theseoaks stood round a crescent-shaped clearing which was open to the sea.
In the centre of the clearing was a cromlech with a rather short, ovaltable upheld by two supports of rock, which were almost square. The spotpossessed an impressive magnificence and commanded a boundless view.
"The Fairies' Dolmen, of which Honorine spoke," thought Veronique. "Icannot be far from the Calvary and Maguennoc's flowers."
She walked round the megalith. The inner surface of the two uprightsbore a few illegible engraved signs. But the two outer surfaces facingthe sea formed as it were two smooth slabs prepared to receive aninscription; and here she saw something that caused her to shudder withanguish. On the right, deeply encrusted, was an unskilful, primitivedrawing of four crosses with four female figures writhing upon them. Onthe left was a column of lines of writing, whose characters,inadequately carved in the stone, had been almost obliterated by theweather, or perhaps even deliberately effaced by human hands. A fewwords remained, however, the very words which Veronique had read on thedrawing which she found beside Maguennoc's corpse:
"Four women crucified . . . . Thirty coffins . . . . The God-Stone whichgives life or death."
Veronique moved away, staggering. The mystery was once more before her,as everywhere in the island, and she was determined to escape from ituntil the moment when she could leave Sarek altogether.
She took a path which started from the clearing and led past the lastoak on the right. This oak appeared to have been struck by lightning,for all that remained of it was the trunk and a few dead branches.
Farther on, she went down some stone steps, crossed a little meadow inwhich stood four rows of menhirs and stopped suddenly with a stifledcry, a cry of admiration and amazement, before the sight that presenteditself to her eyes.
"Maguennoc's flowers," she whispered.
The last two menhirs of the central alley which she was following stoodlike the posts of a door that opened upon the most glorious spectacle, arectangular space, fifty yards long at most, which was reached by ashort descending flight of steps and bordered by two rows of menhirs allof the same height and placed at accurately measured intervals, like thecolumns of a temple. The nave and side-aisles of this temple were pavedwith wide, irregular, broken granite flag-stones, which the grass,growing in the cracks, mark
ed with patterns similar to those of the leadwhich frames the pieces of a stained-glass window.
In the middle was a small bed of flowers thronging around an ancientstone crucifix. But such flowers! Flowers which the wildest imaginationor fancy never conceived, dream-flowers, miraculous flowers, flowers outof all proportion to ordinary flowers!
Veronique recognized all of them; and yet she stood dumbfounded at theirsize and splendour. There were flowers of many varieties, but few ofeach variety. It was like a nosegay made to contain every colour, everyperfume and every beauty that flowers can possess.
And the strangest thing was that these flowers, which do not usuallybloom at the same time and which open in successive months, were allgrowing and blossoming together! On one and the same day, these flowers,all perennial flowers whose time does not last much more than two orthree weeks, were blooming and multiplying, full and heavy, vivid,sumptuous, proudly borne on their sturdy stems.
There were spiderworts, there were ranunculi, tiger-lilies, columbines,blood-red potentillas, irises of a brighter violet than a bishop'scassock. There were larkspurs, phlox, fuchsias, monk's-hoods,montbretias. And, above all this, to Veronique's intense emotion, abovethe dazzling flower-bed, standing a little higher in a narrow borderaround the pedestal of the crucifix, with all their blue, white andviolet clusters seeming to lift themselves so as to touch the Saviour'svery form, were veronicas!
She was faint with emotion. As she came nearer, she had read on a littlelabel fastened to the pedestal these two words.
"Mother's flowers."
* * * * *
Veronique did not believe in miracles. She was obliged to admit that theflowers were wonderful, beyond all comparison with the flowers of ourclimes. But she refused to think that this anomaly was not to beexplained except by supernatural causes or by magic recipes of whichMaguennoc held the secret. No, there was some reason, perhaps a verysimple one, of which events would afford a full explanation.
Meanwhile, amid the beautiful pagan setting, in the very centre of themiracle which it seemed to have wrought by its presence, the figure ofChrist Crucified rose from the mass of flowers which offered Him theircolours and their perfumes. Veronique knelt and prayed.
Next day and the day after, she returned to the Calvary of the Flowers.Here the mystery that surrounded her on every side had manifested itselfin the most charming fashion; and her son played a part in it thatenabled Veronique to think of him, before her own flowers, withouthatred or despair.
But, on the fifth day, she perceived that her provisions were becomingexhausted; and in the middle of the afternoon she went down to thevillage.
There she noticed that most of the houses had been left open, so certainhad their owners been, on leaving, of coming back again and taking whatthey needed in a second trip.
Sick at heart, she dared not cross the thresholds. There were geraniumson the window-ledges. Tall clocks with brass pendulums were ticking offthe time in the empty rooms. She moved away.
In a shed near the quay, however, she saw the sacks and boxes whichHonorine had brought with her in the motor-boat.
"Well," she thought, "I shan't starve. There's enough to last me forweeks; and by that time . . ."
She filled a basket with chocolate, biscuits, a few tins of preservedmeat, rice and matches; and she was on the point of returning to thePriory, when it occurred to her that she would continue her walk to theother end of the island. She would fetch her basket on the way back.
A shady road climbed upwards on the right. The landscape seemed to bethe same: the same flat stretches of moorland, without ploughed fieldsor pastures; the same clumps of ancient oaks. The island also becamenarrower, with no obstacle to block the view of the sea on either sideor of the Penmarch headland in the distance.
There was also a hedge which ran from one cliff to the other and whichserved to enclose a property, a shabby property, with a straggling,dilapidated, tumbledown house upon it, some out-houses with patchedroofs and a dirty, badly-kept yard, full of scrap-iron and stacks offirewood.
Veronique was already retracing her steps, when she stopped in alarm andsurprise. It seemed to her that she heard some one moan. She listened,striving to plumb the vast silence, and once again the same sound, butthis time more distinctly, reached her ears; and there were others:cries of pain, cries for help, women's cries. Then had not all theinhabitants taken to flight? She had a feeling of joy mingled with somesorrow, to know that she was not alone in Sarek, and of fear also, atthe thought that events would perhaps drag her back again into the fatalcycle of death and horror.
So far as Veronique was able to judge, the noise came not from thehouse, but from the buildings on the right of the yard. This yard wasclosed with a simple gate which she had only to push and which openedwith the creaking sound of wood upon wood.
The cries in the out-house at once increased in number. The peopleinside had no doubt heard Veronique approach. She hastened her steps.
Though the roof of the out-buildings was gone in places, the walls werethick and solid, with old arched doors strengthened with iron bars.There was a knocking against one of these doors from the inside, whilethe cries became more urgent:
"Help! Help!"
But there was a dispute; and another, less strident voice grated:
"Be quiet, Clemence, can't you? It may be them!"
"No, no, Gertrude, it's not! I don't hear them! . . . Open the door,will you? The key ought to be there."
Veronique, who was seeking for some means of entering, now saw a big keyin the lock. She turned it; and the door opened.
She at once recognized the sisters Archignat, half-dressed, gaunt,evil-looking, witch-like. They were in a wash-house filled withimplements; and Veronique saw at the back, lying on some straw, a thirdwoman, who was bewailing her fate in an almost inaudible voice and whowas obviously the third sister.
At that moment, one of the first two collapsed from exhaustion; and theother, whose eyes were bright with fever, seized Veronique by the armand began to gasp:
"Did you see them, tell me? . . . Are they there? . . . How is it theydidn't kill you? . . . They are the masters of Sarek since the otherswent off . . . . And it's our turn next . . . . We've been locked inhere now for six days . . . . Listen, it was on the day when everybodyleft. We three came here, to the wash-house, to fetch our linen, whichwas drying. And then _they_ came . . . . We didn't hear them . . . . Onenever does hear them . . . . And then, suddenly, the door was locked onus . . . . A slam, a turn of the key . . . and the thing was done. . . . We had bread, apples and best of all, brandy . . . . We didn'tdo so badly . . . . Only, were they going to come back and kill us? Wasit our turn next? . . . Oh, my dear good lady, how we strained our ears!And how we trembled with fear! . . . My eldest sister's gone crazy. . . . Hark, you can hear her raving . . . . The other, Clemence, hasborne all she can . . . . And I . . . I . . . Gertrude . . ."
Gertrude had plenty of strength left, for she was twisting Veronique'sarm:
"And Correjou? He came back, didn't he, and went away again? Why didn'tanyone come to look for us? It would have been easy enough: everybodyknew where we were; and we called out at the least sound. So what doesit all mean?"
Veronique hesitated what to reply. Still, why should she conceal thetruth?
She replied:
"The two boats went down."
"What?"
"The two boats sank in view of Sarek. All on board were drowned. It wasopposite the Priory . . . after leaving the Devil's Passage."
Veronique said no more, so as to avoid mentioning the names of Francoisand his tutor or speaking of the part which these two had played. ButClemence now sat up, with distorted features. She had been leaningagainst the door and raised herself to her knees.
Gertrude murmured:
"And Honorine?"
"Honorine is dead."
"Dead!"
The two sisters both cried out at once. Then they were silent and lookedat ea
ch other. The same thought struck them both. They seemed to bereflecting. Gertrude was moving her fingers as though counting. And theterror on their two faces increased.
Speaking in a very low voice, as though choking with fear, Gertrude,with her eyes fixed on Veronique, said:
"That's it . . . that's it . . . I've got the total . . . . Do you knowhow many there were in the boats, without my sisters and me? Do youknow? Twenty . . . . Well, reckon it up: twenty . . . and Maguennoc, whowas the first to die . . . and M. Antoine, who died afterwards . . . andlittle Francois and M. Stephane, who vanished, but who are dead too. . . and Honorine and Marie Le Goff, both dead . . . . So reckon it up:that makes twenty-six, twenty-six . . . The total's correct, isn't it?. . . Now take twenty-six from thirty . . . . You understand, don't you?The thirty coffins: they have to be filled . . . . So twenty-six fromthirty . . . leaves four, doesn't it?"
She could no longer speak; her tongue faltered. Nevertheless theterrible syllables came from her mouth; and Veronique heard herstammering:
"Eh? Do you understand? . . . That leaves four . . . us four . . . thethree sisters Archignat, who were kept behind and locked up . . . andyourself . . . . So--do you follow me?--the three crosses--you know, the'four women crucified'--the number's there . . . it's our four selves. . . there's no one besides us on the island . . . four women . . . ."
Veronique had listened in silence. She broke out into a slightperspiration.
She shrugged her shoulders, however:
"Well? And then? If there's no one except ourselves on the island, whatare you afraid of?"
"_Them_, of course! _Them!_"
Veronique lost her patience:
"But if everybody has gone!" she exclaimed.
Gertrude took fright:
"Speak low. Suppose they heard you!"
"But who?"
"_They_: the people of old."
"The people of old?"
"Yes, those who used to make sacrifices . . . the people who killed menand women . . . to please their gods."
"But that's a thing of the past! The Druids: is that what you mean?Come, come; there are no Druids nowadays."
"Speak quietly! Speak quietly! There are still . . . there are evilspirits . . ."
"Then they're ghosts?" asked Veronique, horror-stricken by thesesuperstitions.
"Ghosts, yes, but ghosts of flesh and blood . . . with hands that lockdoors and keep you imprisoned . . . creatures that sink boats, the same,I tell you, that killed M. Antoine, Marie Le Goff and the others . . .that killed twenty-six of us . . . ."
Veronique did not reply. There was no reply to make. She knew, she knewonly too well who had killed M. d'Hergemont, Marie Le Goff and theothers and sunk the two boats.
"What time was it when the three of you were locked in?" she asked.
"Half-past ten . . . . We had arranged to meet Correjou in the villageat eleven."
Veronique reflected. It was hardly possible that Francois and Stephaneshould have had time to be at half-past ten in this place and an hourlater to be behind the rock from which they had darted out upon the twoboats. Was it to be presumed that one or more of their accomplices wereleft on the island?
"In any case," she said, "you must come to a decision. You can't remainin this state. You must rest yourselves, eat something . . . ."
The second sister had risen to her feet. She said, in the same hollowand violent tones as her sister:
"First of all, we must hide . . . and be able to defend ourselvesagainst _them_."
"What do you mean?" asked Veronique.
She too, in spite of herself, felt this need of a refuge against apossible enemy.
"What do I mean? I'll tell you. The thing has been talked about a lot inthe island, especially this year; and Maguennoc decided that, at thefirst attack, everybody should take shelter in the Priory."
"Why in the Priory?"
"Because we could defend ourselves there. The cliffs are perpendicular.You're protected on every side."
"What about the bridge?"
"Maguennoc and Honorine thought of everything. There's a little hutfifteen yards to the left of the bridge. That's the place they hit on tokeep their stock of petrol in. Empty three or four cans over the bridge,strike a match . . . and the thing's done. You're just as in your ownhome. You can't be got at and you can't be attacked."
"Then why didn't they come to the Priory instead of taking to flight inthe boats?"
"It was safer to escape in the boats. But we no longer have the choice."
"And when shall we start?"
"At once. It's daylight still; and that's better than the dark."
"But your sister, the one on her back?"
"We have a barrow. We've got to wheel her. There's a direct road to thePriory, without passing through the village."
Veronique could not help looking with repugnance upon the prospect ofliving in close intimacy with the sisters Archignat. She yielded,however, swayed by a fear which she was unable to overcome:
"Very well," she said. "Let's go. I'll take you to the Priory and comeback to the village to fetch some provisions."
"Oh, you mustn't be away long!" protested one of the sisters. "As soonas the bridge is cut, we'll light a bonfire on Fairies' Dolmen Hill andthey'll send a steamer from the mainland. To-day the fog is coming up;but to-morrow . . ."
Veronique raised no objection. She now accepted the idea of leavingSarek, even at the cost of an enquiry which would reveal her name.
They started, after the two sisters had swallowed a glass of brandy. Themadwoman sat huddled in the wheel-barrow, laughing softly and utteringlittle sentences which she addressed to Veronique as though she wantedher to laugh too:
"We shan't meet them yet . . . . They're getting ready . . . ."
"Shut up, you old fool!" said Gertrude. "You'll bring us bad luck."
"Yes, yes, we shall see some sport . . . . It'll be great fun . . . . Ihave a cross of gold hung round my neck . . . and another cut into theskin of my head . . . . Look! . . . Crosses everywhere . . . . One oughtto be comfortable on the cross . . . . One ought to sleep well there. . . ."
"Shut up, will you, you old fool?" repeated Gertrude, giving her a boxon the ear.
"All right, all right! . . . But it's they who'll hit you; I see themhiding! . . ."
The path, which was pretty rough at first, reached the table-land formedby the west cliffs, which were loftier, but less rugged and worn awaythan the others. The woods were scarcer; and the oaks were all bent bythe wind from the sea.
"We are coming to the heath which they call the Black Heath," saidClemence Archignat.
"_They_ live underneath."
Veronique once more shrugged her shoulders:
"How do you know?"
"We know more than other people," said Gertrude. "They call us witches;and there's something in it. Maguennoc himself, who knew a great deal,used to ask our advice about anything that had to do with healing, luckystones, the herbs you gather on St. John's Eve . . ."
"Mugwort and vervain," chuckled the madwoman. "They are picked atsunset."
"Or tradition too," continued Gertrude. "We know what's been said in theisland for hundreds of years; and it's always been said that there was awhole town underneath, with streets and all, in which _they_ used tolive of old. And there are some left still, I've seen them myself."
Veronique did not reply.
"Yes, my sister and I saw one. Twice, when the June moon was six daysold. He was dressed in white . . . and he was climbing the Great Oak togather the sacred mistletoe . . . with a golden sickle. The goldglittered in the moonlight. I saw it, I tell you, and others saw it too. . . . And he's not the only one. There are several of them left overfrom the old days to guard the treasure . . . . Yes, as I say, thetreasure . . . . They say it's a stone which works miracles, which canmake you die if you touch it and which makes you live if you lie down onit. That's all true, Maguennoc told us so, all perfectly true. _They_ ofold guard the stone, the God-Stone, and _t
hey_ are to sacrifice all ofus this year . . . . yes, all of us, thirty dead people for the thirtycoffins . . . ."
"Four women crucified," crooned the madwoman.
"And it will be soon. The sixth day of the moon is near at hand. We mustbe gone before _they_ climb the Great Oak to gather the mistletoe. Look,you can see the Great Oak from here. It's in the wood on this side ofthe bridge. It stands out above the others."
"_They_ are hiding behind it," said the madwoman, turning round in herwheel-barrow. "_They_ are waiting for us."
"That'll do; and don't you stir . . . . As I was saying, you see theGreat Oak . . . over there . . . beyond the end of the heath. It is. . . it is . . ."
She dropped the wheel-barrow, without finishing her sentence.
"Well?" asked Clemence. "What's the matter?"
"I've seen something," stammered Gertrude. "Something white, movingabout."
"Something? What do you mean? _They_ don't show themselves in broaddaylight! You've gone cross-eyed."
They both looked for a moment and then went on again. Soon the Great Oakwas out of sight.
The heath which they were now crossing was wild and rough, covered withstones lying flat like tombstones and all pointing in the samedirection.
"It's _their_ burying-ground," whispered Gertrude.
They said nothing more. Gertrude repeatedly had to stop and rest.Clemence had not the strength to push the wheel-barrow. They were bothof them tottering on their legs; and they gazed into the distance withanxious eyes.
They went down a dip in the ground and up again. The path joined thatwhich Veronique had taken with Honorine on the first day; and theyentered the wood which preceded the bridge.
Presently the growing excitement of the sisters Archignat madeVeronique understand that they were approaching the Great Oak; and shesaw it standing on a mound of earth and roots, bigger than the othersand separated from them by wider intervals. She could not help thinkingthat it was possible for several men to hide behind that massive trunkand that perhaps several were hiding there now.
Notwithstanding their fears, the sisters had quickened their pace; andthey kept their eyes turned from the fatal tree.
They left it behind. Veronique breathed more freely. All danger waspassed; and she was just about to laugh at the sisters Archignat, whenone of them, Clemence, spun on her heels and dropped with a moan.
At the same time something fell to the ground, something that had struckClemence in the back. It was an axe, a stone axe.
"Oh, the thunder-stone, the thunder-stone!" cried Gertrude.
She looked up for a second, as if, in accordance with the inveteratepopular belief, she believed that the axe came from the sky and was anemanation of the thunder.
But, at that moment, the madwoman, who had got out of her barrow, leaptfrom the ground and fell head forward. Something else had whizzedthrough the air. The madwoman was writhing with pain. Gertrude andVeronique saw an arrow which had been driven through her shoulder andwas still vibrating.
Then Gertrude fled screaming.
Veronique hesitated. Clemence and the madwoman were rolling about onthe ground. The madwoman giggled:
"Behind the oak! They're hiding . . . I see them."
Clemence stammered:
"Help! . . . Lift me up . . . carry me . . . I'm terrified!"
But another arrow whizzed past them and fell some distance farther.
Veronique now also took to her heels, urged not so much by panic, thoughthis would have been excusable, as by the eager longing to find a weaponand defend herself. She remembered that in her father's study there wasa glass case filled with guns and revolvers, all bearing the word"loaded," no doubt as a warning to Francois; and it was one of thesethat she wished to seize in order to face the enemy. She did not eventurn round. She was not interested to know whether she was beingpursued. She ran for the goal, the only profitable goal.
Being lighter and swifter of foot, she overtook Gertrude, who panted:
"The bridge . . . . We must burn it . . . . The petrol's there . . . ."
Veronique did not reply. Breaking down the bridge was a secondary matterand would even have been an obstacle to her plan of taking a gun andattacking the enemy.
But, when she reached the bridge, Gertrude whirled about in such a waythat she almost fell down the precipice. An arrow had struck her in theback.
"Help! Help!" she screamed. "Don't leave me!"
"I'm coming back," replied Veronique, who had not seen the arrow andthought that Gertrude had merely caught her foot in running. "I'm comingback, with two guns. You join me."
She imagined in her mind that, once they were both armed, they would goback to the wood and rescue the other sisters. Redoubling her efforts,therefore, she reached the wall of the estate, ran across the grass andwent up to her father's study. Here she stopped to recover her breath;and, after she had taken the two guns, her heart beat so fast that shehad to go back at a slower pace.
She was astonished at not meeting Gertrude, at not seeing her. Shecalled her. No reply. And it was not till then that the thought occurredto her that Gertrude had been wounded like her sisters.
She once more broke into a run. But, when she came within sight of thebridge, she heard shrill cries pierce through the buzzing in her earsand, on coming into the open opposite the sharp ascent that led to thewood of the Great Oak, she saw . . .
What she saw rivetted her to the entrance to the bridge. On the otherside, Gertrude was sprawling upon the ground, struggling, clutching atthe roots, digging her nails into the grass and slowly, slowly, with animperceptible and uninterrupted movement, moving along the slope.
And Veronique became aware that the unfortunate woman was fastened underthe arms and round the waist by a cord which was hoisting her up, like abound and helpless prey, and which was pulled by invisible hands above.
Veronique raised one of the guns to her shoulder. But at what enemy wasshe to take aim? What enemy was she to fight? Who was hiding behind thetrees and stones that crowned the hill like a rampart?
Gertrude slipped between those stones, between those trees. She hadceased screaming, no doubt she was exhausted and swooning. Shedisappeared from sight.
Veronique had not moved. She realized the futility of any venture orenterprise. By rushing into a contest in which she was beaten beforehandshe would not be able to rescue the sisters Archignat and would merelyoffer herself to the conqueror as a new and final victim.
Besides, she was overcome with fear. Everything was happening inaccordance with the ruthless logic of facts of which she did not graspthe meaning but which all seemed connected like the links of a chain.She was afraid, afraid of those beings, afraid of those ghosts,instinctively and unconsciously afraid, afraid like the sistersArchignat, like Honorine, like all the victims of the terrible scourge.
She stooped, so as not to be seen from the Great Oak, and, bendingforward and taking the shelter offered by some bramble-bushes, shereached the little hut of which the sisters Archignat had spoken, a sortof summer-house with a pointed roof and coloured tiles. Half thesummer-house was filled with cans of petrol.
From here she overlooked the bridge, on which no one could step withoutbeing seen by her. But no one came down from the wood.
Night fell, a night of thick fog silvered by the moon which justallowed Veronique to see the opposite side.
After an hour, feeling a little reassured, she made a first trip withtwo cans which she emptied on the outer beams of the bridge.
Ten times, with her ears pricked up, carrying her gun slung over hershoulder and prepared at any moment to defend herself, she repeated thejourney. She poured the petrol a little at random, groping her way andyet as far as possible selecting the places where her sense of touchseemed to tell her that the wood was most rotten.
She had a box of matches, the only one that she had found in the house.She took out a match and hesitated a moment, frightened at the thoughtof the great light it would make:
"Even so,"
she reflected, "if it could be seen from the mainland . . .But, with this fog . . ."
Suddenly she struck the match and at once lit a paper torch which shehad prepared by soaking it in petrol.
A great flame blazed and burnt her fingers. Then she threw the paper ina pool of petrol which had formed in a hollow and fled back to thesummer-house.
The fire flared up immediately and, at one flash, spread over the wholepart which she had sprinkled. The cliffs on the two islands, the stripof granite that united them, the big trees around, the hill, the wood ofthe Great Oak and the sea at the bottom of the ravine: these were alllit up.
"_They_ know where I am . . . . _They_ are looking at the summer-housewhere I am hiding," thought Veronique, keeping her eyes fixed on theGreat Oak.
But not a shadow passed through the wood. Not a sound of voices reachedher ears. Those concealed above did not leave their impenetrableretreat.
In a few minutes, half the bridge collapsed, with a great crash and agush of sparks. But the other half went on burning; and at every momenta piece of timber tumbled into the precipice, lighting up the depths ofthe night.
Each time that this happened, Veronique had a sense of relief and heroverstrung nerves grew relaxed. A feeling of security crept over her andbecame more and more justified as the gulf between her and her enemieswidened. Nevertheless she remained inside the summer-house and resolvedto wait for the dawn in order to make sure that no communication washenceforth possible.
The fog increased. Everything was shrouded in darkness. About the middleof the night, she heard a sound on the other side, at the top of thehill, so far as she could judge. It was the sound of wood-cuttersfelling trees, the regular sound of an axe biting into branches whichwere finally removed by breaking.
Veronique had an idea, absurd though she knew it to be, that they wereperhaps building a foot-bridge; and she clutched her gun resolutely.
About an hour later, she seemed to hear moans and even a stifled cry,followed, for some time, by the rustle of leaves and the sound of stepscoming and going. This ceased. Once more there was a great silence whichseemed to absorb in space every stirring, every restless, everyquivering, every living thing.
The numbness produced by the fatigue and hunger from which she wasbeginning to suffer left Veronique little power of thought. Sheremembered above all that, having failed to bring any provisions fromthe village, she had nothing to eat. She did not distress herself, forshe was determined, as soon as the fog lifted--and this was bound tohappen before long--to light bonfires with the cans of petrol. Shereflected that the best place would be at the end of the island, at thespot where the dolmen stood.
But suddenly a dreadful thought struck her: had she not left her box ofmatches on the bridge? She felt in her pockets but could not find it.All search was in vain.
This also did not perturb her unduly. For the time being, the feelingthat she had escaped the attacks of the enemy filled her with suchdelight that it seemed to her that all the difficulties would disappearof their own accord.
The hours passed in this way, endlessly long hours, which thepenetrating fog and the cold made more painful as the morningapproached.
Then a faint gleam overspread the sky. Things emerged from the gloom andassumed their actual forms. And Veronique now saw that the bridge hadcollapsed throughout its length. An interval of fifty yards separatedthe two islands, which were only joined below by the sharp, pointed,inaccessible ridge of the cliff.
She was saved.
But, on raising her eyes to the hill opposite, she saw, right at thetop of the slope, a sight that made her utter a cry of horror. Three ofthe nearest trees of those which crowned the hill and belonged to thewood of the Great Oak had been stripped of their lower branches. And, onthe three bare trunks, with their arms strained backward, with theirlegs bound, under the tatters of their skirts, and with ropes drawntight beneath their livid faces, half-hidden by the black bows of theircaps, hung the three sisters Archignat.
They were crucified.