aturally, it is without light, obscure and sinister, that farm.
Noiselessly and groping they enter in a file; then, on the last who
enter, enormous locks of the door are drawn. At last! Barricaded and
rescued, all! And the treasury of the Queen Regent has been frustrated,
again tonight, of a thousand francs--!

Then, fagots are lighted in the chimney, a candle on the table; they
see one another, they recognize one another, smiling at the success. The
security, the truce of rain over their heads, the flame that dances and
warms, the cider and the whiskey that fill the glasses, bring back to
these men noisy joy after compelled silence. They talk gaily, and the
tall, white-haired, old chief who receives them all at this undue hour,
announces that he will give to his village a beautiful square for the
pelota game, the plans of which have been drawn and the cost of which
will be ten thousand francs.

"Now, tell me your affair," insists Itchoua, in Ramuntcho's ear. "Oh, I
suspect what it is! Gracieuse, eh?--That is it, is it not?--It is
hard you know.--I do not like to do things against my religion, you
know.--Then, I have my place as a chorister, which I might lose in such
a game.--Let us see, how much money will you give me if I succeed?--"

He had foreseen, Ramuntcho, that this sombre aid would cost him a great
deal, Itchoua being, in truth, a churchman, whose conscience would have
to be bought; and, much disturbed, with a flush on his cheeks, Ramuntcho
grants, after a discussion, a thousand francs. Anyway, if he is piling
up money, it is only to get Gracieuse, and if enough remains for him to
go to America with her, what matters it?--

And now that his secret is known to Itchoua, now that his cherished
project is being elaborated in that obstinate and sharp brain, it seems
to Ramuntcho that he has made a decisive step toward the execution of
his plan, that all has suddenly become real and approaching. Then, in
the midst of the lugubrious decay of the place, among these men who are
less than ever similar to him, he isolates himself in an immense hope of
love.

They drink for a last time together, all around, clinking their
glasses loudly; then they start again, in the thick night and under the
incessant rain, but this time on the highway, in a band and singing.
Nothing in the hands, nothing in the pockets: they are now ordinary
people, returning from a natural promenade.

In the rear guard, at a distance from the sin