“And you say that man killed another man?”
“One!” exclaimed Colorat; “he killed several! But he is a good man all the same.”
“Is that possible?” exclaimed Veronique, letting the bridle fall on the neck of her horse.
“Well, you see, madame,” said the forester, who asked no better than to tell the tale, “Farrabesche may have had good reason for what he did. He was the last of the Farrabesches,—an old family of the Correze, don’t you know! His elder brother, Captain Farrabesche, died ten years earlier in Italy, at Montenotte, a captain when he was only twenty-two years old. Wasn’t that ill-luck? and such a lad, too! knew how to read and write, and bid fair to be a general. The family grieved terribly, and good reason, too. As for me, I heard all about his death, for I was serving at that time under L’AUTRE. Oh! he made a fine death, did Captain Farrabesche; he saved the army and the Little Corporal. I was then in the division of General Steingel, a German,—that is, an Alsacian,—a famous good general but rather short-sighted, and that was the reason why he was killed soon after Captain Farrabesche. The younger brother—that’s this one—was only six years old when he heard of his brother’s death. The second brother served too; but only as a private soldier; he died a sergeant in the first regiment of the Guard, at the battle of Austerlitz, where, d’ye see, madame, they manoeuvred just as quietly as they might in the Carrousel. I was there! oh! I had the luck of it! went through it all without a scratch! Now this Farrabesche of ours, though he’s a brave fellow, took it into his head he wouldn’t go to the wars; in fact, the army wasn’t a healthy place for one of his family. So when the conscription caught him in 1811 he ran away,—a refractory, that’s what they called them. And then it was he went and joined a party of chauffeurs, or maybe he was forced to; at any rate he chauffed! Nobody but the rector knows what he really did with those brigands—all due respect to them! Many a fight he had with the gendarmes and the soldiers too; I’m told he was in seven regular battles—”
“They say he killed two soldiers and three gendarmes,” put in Champion.
“Who knows how many?—he never told,” went on Colorat. “At last, madame, they caught nearly all his comrades, but they never could catch him; hang him! he was so young and active, and knew the country so well, he always escaped. The chauffeurs he consorted with kept themselves mostly in the neighborhood of Brives and Tulle; sometimes they came down this way, because Farrabesche knew such good hiding-places about here. In 1814 the conscription took no further notice of him, because it was abolished; but for all that, he was obliged to live in the woods in 1815; because, don’t you see? as he hadn’t enough to live on, he helped to stop a mail-coach over there, down that gorge; and then it was they condemned him. But, as I told you just now, the rector persuaded him to give himself up. It wasn’t easy to convict him, for nobody dared testify against him; and his lawyer and Monsieur Bonnet worked so hard they got him sentenced for ten years only; which was pretty good luck after being a chauffeur—for he did chauffe.”
“Will you tell me what chauffeur means?”
“If you wish it, madame, I will tell you what they did, as far as I know about it from others, for I never was chauffed myself. It wasn’t a good thing to do, but necessity knows no law. Well, this is how it was: seven or eight would go to some farmer or land-owner who was thought to have money; the farmer would build a good fire and give them a supper, lasting half through the night, and then, when the feast was over, if the master of the house wouldn’t give them the sum demanded, they just fastened his feet to the spit, and didn’t unfasten them till they got it. That’s how it was. They always went masked. Among all their expeditions they sometimes made unlucky ones. Hang it, there’ll always be obstinate, miserly old fellows in the world! One of them, a farmer, old Cochegrue, so mean he’d shave an egg, held out; he let them roast his feet. Well, he died of it. The wife of Monsieur David, near Brives, died of terror at merely seeing those fellows tie her husband’s feet. She died saying to David: ‘Give them all you have.’ He wouldn’t, and so she just pointed out the hiding-place. The chauffeurs (that’s why they call them chauffeurs,—warmers) were the terror of the whole country for over five years. But you must get it well into your head,—oh, excuse me, madame, but you must know that more than one young man of good family belonged to them, though somehow they were never the ones to be caught.”
Madame Graslin listened without interrupting or replying. There was silence for a few moments, and then little Champion, jealous of the right to amuse his mistress, wanted to tell her what he knew of the late galley-slave.
“Madame ought to know more about Farrabesche; he hasn’t his equal at running, or at riding a horse. He can kill an ox with a blow of his fist; nobody can shoot like him; he can carry seven hundred feet as straight as a die,—there! One day they surprised him with three of his comrades; two were wounded, one was killed,—good! Farrabesche was all but taken. Bah! he just sprang on the horse of one of the gendarmes behind the man, pricked the horse with his knife, made it run with all its might, and so disappeared, holding the gendarme tight round the body. But he held him so tight that after a time he threw the body on the ground and rode away alone on the horse and master of the horse; and he had the cheek to go and sell it not thirty miles from Limoges! After that affair he hid himself for three months and was never seen. The authorities offered a hundred golden louis to whoever would deliver him up.”