Vivian's Lesson

by Elizabeth W. Grierson

So by-and-by, after he had been walking and running for more than two hours, and knew that he must at least have put eight kilos between himself and Madame Genviève, he crawled into a little plantation which bordered the road, and burying himself in the thick undergrowth which formed a delicious shade after the hot, dusty highway and the burning mid-day sun, he lay down, intending only to remain for a short time, and make his plans, as it were, and then, when he was rested, set out again on his walk to Carhaix.

But, as was to be expected, he soon gave up his efforts to think, and, closing his eyes, in five minutes he was fast asleep.

When he awoke the afternoon was nearly gone, and the trees were casting long shadows across the road. He started to his feet in alarm, feeling that he had lost much precious time by his laziness. For by this time the old woman would be expecting Nanette and him to return, and when they did not appear she would set out to look for them, and if Nanette happened to have strayed in the direction of the cottage, instead of away from it, she might discover his absence sooner than he had counted on.

Drawing the belt of his blouse a shade tighter, and pulling his cap well over his eyes, in case he happened to meet any of the few neighbours whom he knew, he climbed over the fence, and set off once more along the high road at a dogged trot.

But the trot did not last long this time, for he felt strangely tired, and, what was stranger still, he was shivering all over, just as if some one were pouring cold water down his back. He could not understand at all how this should be, for he did not consider, as an older person might have done, that to lie down and go to sleep in a damp, shady wood when one’s blood is at fever-heat with running in the sun is a very certain way of getting a chill, if not something worse.

In spite of his tired limbs and aching head, however, he went on doggedly hour after hour, until at last he left the bare hilly country and reached the wooded plain in which he had always imagined Carhaix lay. He was almost dead-beat now, poor little fellow! for he had long since finished the sandwich of black bread, which was all the food he had had that day, and a lump rose in his throat as turn after turn of the road went by, and yet there was no sign of any village.

At last he was fain to sit down by the roadside and take a drink of water from a little brook which ran by the side of it just at that point.

If only some one would come along, he thought to himself, he would ask them how far he had yet to walk before he reached Carhaix; for surely, now that he had come so far, he was safe from the danger of being recognised. The road which he had travelled had been strangely deserted; he had only met one man and a couple of peasant girls, and they had been going in the opposite direction; but as he was sitting there he heard the rumbling of wheels, and one of the roughly constructed carts of the district came in sight. It contained a huge wooden barrel which completely filled it all but the corners, and its driver, a pleasant-looking young peasant, was sitting in front, his legs dangling over the edge, singing to himself at the top of his voice.

He paused, and drew up his horse with a jerk as Pierre rose from his seat and ran forward with his eager question.

‘How far is it to Carhaix?’ he repeated.