.

It is now more than ever Ramuntcho's life, to run almost every night,
especially on the cloudless and moonless nights when one sees nothing,
when the Pyrenees are an immense chaos of shade. Amassing as much money
as he can for his flight, he is in all the smuggling expeditions, as
well in those that bring a suitable remuneration as in those where one
risks death for a hundred cents. And ordinarily, Arrochkoa accompanies
him, without necessity, in sport and for a whim.

They have become inseparable, Arrochkoa, Ramuntcho,--and they talk
freely of their projects about Gracieuse, Arrochkoa seduced especially
by the attraction of some fine prowess, by the joy of taking a nun away
from the church, of undoing the plans of his old, hardened mother,--and
Ramuntcho, in spite of his Christian scruples which affect him still,
making of this dangerous project his only hope, his only reason for
being and for acting. For a month, almost, the attempt has been decided
upon in theory and, in their long talks in the December nights, on the
roads where they walk, or in the corners of the village cider mills
where they sit apart, the means of execution are discussed by them, as
if the question was a simple frontier undertaking. They must act very
quickly, concludes Arrochkoa always, they must act in the surprise of
a first interview which shall be for Gracieuse a very disturbing thing;
they must act without giving her time to think or to recant, they must
try something like kidnapping--

"If you knew," he says, "what is that little convent of Amezqueta where
they have placed her: four old, good sisters with her, in an isolated
house!--I have my horse, you know, who gallops so quickly; once the nun
is in a carriage with you, who can catch her?--"

And to-night they have resolved to take into their confidence Itchoua
himself, a man accustomed to suspicious adventures, valuable in assaults
at night, and who, for money, is capable of everything.

The place from which they start this time for the habitual smuggling
expedition is named Landachkoa, and it is situated in France at ten
minutes' distance from Spain. The inn, solitary and old, assumes as soon
as the night falls, the air of a den of thieves; at this moment while
the smugglers come out of one door, it is full of Spanish carbineers who
have familiarly crossed the frontier to divert themselves here and who
drink while singing. And the hostess, accustomed to these nocturnal
affairs