l against Zotique's humanity that he had all this time
such a mastering sense of the necessity of getting on to Misericorde
that, after barely aiding to place the body on Chamilly's vehicle, he
took possession of the lighter one of Josephte, and sped on for his
destination. The young girl and Haviland, however, conveyed their charge
carefully and safely to the farm-house, had him laid upon her own
prettily-belaced bed, and Haviland insisted--was it not a sacrifice in
him on that critical evening of his election!--in watching with her the
whole night by the bedside of Francois. As the silent hours were broken
by the occasional sobs of Josephte, the young seigneur often gazed
anxiously into the face of his faithful friend, wiping the bruised
forehead and hoping that he might not die.

Chrysler hurried down into the village in the dusk for medicine. By the
occasional lights of houses he discerned the people, up and out
discussing the exciting topic. Shadowy young men were standing on the
path, straining their eyes to make out who passed by; shadowy fathers of
families sat together at their doorways; half discernible women
conversed from window to window.

A hand-bell rings somewhere in the dark. It slowly swings and rings a
thin, melancholy warning tone, comes nearer, a lantern appears, the
young men, the fathers, the women, the miscellaneous groups, seem, for
half-a-second, to disappear like lights put out, they drop on their
knees so instantly wherever they happen to be. A white-robed figure--an
acolyte--passes; feebly shone upon by a lantern; the "young cure"
follows, bearing the holy wafer,--a ghostly procession; and Chrysler
takes off his hat, for he recognizes it as the passing of the Host.

When they are fairly past, and have disappeared into the gloom, the
shadowy shapes all rise from their knees, and follow the direction with
eyes and ears, and a distinct, ominous murmur passes through the whole
village, for clearly Francois Le Brun is in _articulo mortis_.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE ELECTION.

Election day at Dormilliere was as election days in country places
always--that is, a great peal of driving to and fro, and a great deal of
crowding about the doors of the poll, and a dense atmosphere of smoke
and had jokes among the few to whom the polling-room was reserved, and
now and then a flying visit from Haviland, Libergent, or Grandmoulin,
for either of whom the people immediately made way by stumbling back