"Why, what a hurry you are in!—I say stop, and let me say good night to her!"—and Père Séguin approached the tall gray stone, the moon shining full upon it, and struck it with the handle of his spade, calling each time in a solemn voice, "Madeleine! Madeleine! Madeleine!"
Had I been at that frightful moment cut in four quarters, not one drop of blood would have been found in my veins; my teeth chattered with terror, and I would have given every acre of my inheritance for strength enough to run away. "Madeleine! Madeleine!" le Père Séguin continued in a low and churchyard tone, "Madeleine!" he cried, leaning on the gray tomb, "'tis me, Séguin—le Père Séguin; good night, good night, Madeleine!"
I could not speak, I could not move; and certainly had the lady whispered only one single little word in reply, I should have fainted.
"Well, it is all over; she is dead for certain now!" said the poacher, shaking his head. "Alas! poor Madeleine! Gone in the flower of her age! Dead at two-and-twenty, for having offered me a violet! Dead! Let us begone."
I beg you to understand I did not put him to the necessity of repeating his words, but found my legs in excellent running order in a moment.
"Hold! not so fast!" said my companion, just as I was springing at the wall, and thought myself out of danger, "Hold! Down there, my young gentleman, in that dark corner amongst the brambles. You see that little heap of earth, which one might fancy a dead man alive had pushed up with his knees; well, there also is one of my comrades. Ho! halloo, Jerome!"
"Père Séguin," said I, "this is unworthy of you; you have no right thus to mock at and disturb the dead; you only want to torment me; and I have already told you, and I repeat it, I feel exceedingly ill."
"Come, come along then—let us go. I shall return here presently to sleep. Good night, Madeleine!—good night, Jerome!—good night, all of you who are sleeping so quietly under the green turf!"—and it seemed to me, as these adieus were uttered, that icy breezes passed from every tomb across my face, whispering in my ears, "Good night!" and that the firs, the yews, the cypress bending across our path seemed to salute us as we left the horrible precincts.
We soon regained the town, and on the road there I would not have turned my head for a crown of rubies; Père Séguin, meanwhile, coolly carrying his box of worms, which I would not have touched for the best place in Paradise.