re lived, at Ormes in Gatinais, one of these creatures who was
nicknamed the Beau Marcou, and consulted by all the country of Beauce.
He was a cooper, named Foulon, who kept a horse and vehicle. To put a
stop to his miracles, it was found necessary to call in the assistance
of the gendarmes. His fleur-de-lys was on the left breast; other marcous
have it in different parts.

There are marcous at Jersey, Auvigny, and at Guernsey. This fact is
doubtless in some way connected with the rights possessed by France over
Normandy: or why the fleur-de-lys?

There are also, in the Channel Islands, people afflicted with scrofula;
which of course necessitates a due supply of these marcous.

Some people, who happened to be present one day when Gilliatt was
bathing in the sea, had fancied that they could perceive upon him a
fleur-de-lys. Interrogated on that subject he made no reply, but merely
burst into laughter. For he laughed sometimes like other men. From that
time, however, no one ever saw him bathe: he bathed thenceforth only in
perilous and solitary places; probably by moonlight: a thing in itself
somewhat suspicious.

Those who obstinately regarded him as a cambion, or son of the devil,
were evidently in error. They ought to have known that cambions
scarcely exist out of Germany. But The Vale and St. Sampson were, fifty
years ago, places remarkable for the ignorance of their inhabitants.

To fancy that a resident of the island of Guernsey could be the son of a
devil was evidently absurd.

Gilliatt, for the very reason that he caused disquietude among the
people, was sought for and consulted. The peasants came in fear, to talk
to him of their diseases. That fear itself had in it something of faith
in his powers; for in the country, the more the doctor is suspected of
magic, the more certain is the cure. Gilliatt had certain remedies of
his own, which he had inherited from the deceased woman. He communicated
them to all who had need of them, and would never receive money for
them. He cured whitlows with applications of herbs. A liquor in one of
his phials allayed fever. The chemist of St. Sampson, or _pharmacien_,
as they would call him in France, thought that this was probably a
decoction of Jesuits' bark. The more generous among his censors admitted
that Gilliatt was not so bad a demon in his dealings with the sick, so
far as regarded his ordinary remedies. But in his character of a marcou,
he would do nothing. If perso