Our bargain was the affair of a quarter of an hour-three glasses of rum, and two five-franc pieces.

The next morning, at day-break, we were to set out for the fishing-ground with the pilot, and his son, master of the sloop La Margaïte. We were to accompany him during the voyage, the fishing, and the return; and the good man was to relate to us the history of the maniac between two castings of the net.

At dawn, we were at the rendezvous. Father Hervé awaited us, smoking his pipe in the stern of the sloop. Seven hundred barks, manned by three thousand men, called to exchange the plough for the net, were preparing to quit the shore at the same time with ourselves. Their ranks were so close that one could not see the water; and the fishermen summoned from a distance, gained the bay by springing from deck to deck. It was a spectacle full of life and motion, like the departure of an army of swallows. Each bark was tarred black, and bore on its prow its name, that of the port, and its number; and had, for a crew, a master to command the manœuvres and direct the helm, two oarsmen to row while the others were casting the nets, two garçons d'ecoutilles, to take the sardines from the nets, and a cabin-boy, to do nothing, and receive blows. These regulations, well understood, have, like all other rules, their exceptions.

Our sloop contained eight nets, fifteen fathoms long and five high, with their upper parts furnished with corks; and several barrels of Norwegian stockfish and the roe of mackerel. Such are the two baits which are thrown to the sardine. The second, less esteemed, is prepared in the neighbourhood, from the spawn of the mackerel.

The first, composed of the cod, salted, and of a strong odour, is brought from Berg by the ships of Nordland. Each egg is as large as the head of a small pin. The membranous bags which enclose them contain several millions. They are preserved from year to year; but the sardine, which is fond of them, recognises the freshest by the smell, and precipitates itself into the net of which this is the bait. During our maritime wars, the stockfish has cost as high as five hundred francs a barrel. It is ordinarily worth from forty to fifty francs. Douarnenez consumes 500,000 francs' worth every year.

In less than half an hour, the seven hundred boats, having taken their departure in little groups, all sails set, were scattered over the vast bay. The eight hundred boats from Crozon arrived there almost at the same time; and this flotilla of nearly two thousand barks was lost in space, like birds in the air. The practised eye of the masters penetrated the transparent waters. Their ear, fine as that of the savages, interrogated the rippling of the waves. Each boat took a position according to its observations, furled its brown sails on the two masts, and stretched out its oars twenty-seven feet long.

At this moment, the sun, rising behind the heights of Locronan, showed its huge purple face, and with one beam swept away the vapours, illuminating the coast as far as the eye could reach, and bathing the sea with a torrent of white and roseate flame. It was one of the most magnificent scenes which it was ever my lot to behold.

Then the old pilot and his son, who shared the command, ordered the nets to be cast.

We launched five in succession, of differentsized meshes, all fastened to each other and plunged vertically lengthwise, thanks to the little stones attached to the lower corners, and the corks which kept the upper parts at the surface of the water. Then we scattered the stockfish and the roe along the nets, and saw the sardines, attracted by their odour, rise in silvery battalions from the bottom of the bay, throw themselves with the eagerness of gluttony through the meshes, caught there by the gills, and struggling briskly. This struggle, which embarrasses them more and more, detaches their scales, which rise like a pearly foam, sparkle an instant on the waves, and slowly fall into the abyss. Sometimes the voracious army throws itself into the nets with so much force that it drags them down, and they sink beneath its weight.

At the expiration of two or three hours, the garçons d'ecoutilles raised the nets, laden with booty, and shook the sardines by thousands into

the middle of the boat.

When it was half-full, I addressed myself to Hervé Ledirec.

"Come, master," said I, "the fishing will be good; this is the moment to relate to us the story of the Maniac of Douarnenez."

Moved still, after fifty years, by the remembrances which we had recalled, the old man revived his strength from a can of brandy, renewed his quid, lighted his pipe, put his fingers into his snuff-box, and gave us the following narrative. I leave him to tell it, and confine myself to correcting the phraseology.

STORY OF THE MANIAC.

In the manors

It is just fifty-five years since the year 1795. This year was a bad one for Douarnenez, although the sardines mounted well. The roe was not to be purchased, and nothing was predicted but misfortune. There were more beggars in the roads than tenants in the cottages. which were still standing, there remained only widows in tears; and the horses of a garrison were stabled in the churches over which the fire had not passed. We went by night every Sunday to hear mass in the grottoes of Morgat, where the priest was in a boat as well as his people, and placed the holy sacrament on a rock beaten by the sea. This rock, which you can see, is still called, in the neighbourhood, "The Altar."

One evening of this evil year, I had just fallen asleep, after having taken ten thousand sardines. A knock was heard at my door. I hastened to open it, and I saw a young girl and an old man, who asked shelter.

The young girl, beautiful as an angel, wore the little cap and the elegant corsage of the women of Pont l'Abbe. The old man was a fisherman like myself, to judge by his round hat, and his full breeches. But when I had looked at him attentively, instead of extending my hand, I threw myself at his feet.

You shall soon learn why.

My wife and all our family followed my example, and the travellers were installed in the two best rooms in our house.

"I accept your attentions," said the old man with gratitude; "but on condition that I shall

share your labours, and that my daughter and myself shall be here for everybody, she, the simple peasant Margaïte; I, the poor fisherman, Julien Kerloi."

I would have protested, but tears interrupted my speech, and I was compelled to yield before these terrible words: "Our existence, as well as your own, is at stake!"

Mine! I cared little; but that of my guest! it was another thing. Julien and Margaïte (since I must call them thus) became therefore the companions of our fishing and our labours. The father embarked with me, and scattered the roe or guided the helm. My heart bled to see his feeble hands bruised by our rough ropes, and his white locks moistened with burning sweat or chilly rain. All the promise I could obtain of him was, that he would never row, and that he would remain on shore in stormy weather. Nevertheless, in spite of his efforts to act and speak as a fisherman, he possessed a dignity which made him king of the vessel. Every one would have called him Sir or My Lord, had not these words seemed to occasion him fear or sorrow.

Margaïte was also as much respected, and still more beloved, at Douarnenez. Every one surnamed her Our Lady of Le Roseur. At the arrival of the boats, at the labours of the presses, at assemblies, and at fairs, she was always the prettiest. The beauties of Ploaré and Pont l' Abbe grew dim beside her, like stars before the day. All our young fishermen would have died for one of her smiles, and yet none would have dared to make an avowal of his love. The nobility of her manners, the elegance of her conversation, her simplicity and gentleness, and even the delicacy of her features and the whiteness of her hands, imposed even on those whom she treated most familiarly.

"See, Our Lady," they would say to her, "those little hands were not made to count the sardines, nor that slender form to bend beneath the weight of our baskets."

And indeed, she was never suffered to bear a burden. The pleasure of doing her part of the labour was the only favour demanded of her.

emigrants, Margaïte remained in a swoon for two hours.

This time, instead of detaining her father, she resolved to depart with him.

Already my bark was prepared to set sail for Quiberon. The night was dark and the wind favourable. Julien was just arming himself with his pistols, and Margaïte, with a little diamond cross suspended from a gold chain. Suddenly my dog barked: footsteps resounded in the yard; a young man hastily entered, threw himself into the arms of the father, and received the young girl in his own.

"Frederic!" it was all either could say.

The traveller was a handsome cavalier, of twenty-five years, a gentleman from head to foot. He wore the uniform of a republican officer, which would have alarmed us, had we not immediately recognised him under this disguise. In the midst of his joy, he did not forget me. He pressed my hand with tears of gratitude, and, weeping myself, I left him with Julien and Margaïte.

"Lo," exclaimed I, as I withdrew, "we are to relinquish our voyage to Quiberon ?"

The young girl blushed, and the old man shook his head with a smile. But the young man whispered to me at the door:

"Keep your bark at my disposal; perhaps I shall need your services."

And his gesture enjoined absolute secrecy. His countenance, at first so radiant, had be come so gloomy that I trembled without knowing why. This passed away, however, like a cloud. He resumed his smile on approaching Margaïte.

The next morning, at daybreak, I was sent in search of my brother John at Quimper, and the Abbé de Plomeur at Locronan. The latter accompanied me home, laden with a small package, and shut himself up with my three guests in their apartment.

"My friend," said Julien to me, "return in an hour with your brother. Put on your Sunday clothes."

"Yes, my lord," replied I, for the first time forgetting the injunctions of the old man. He reproved me by a friendly gesture. "Ma foi," exclaimed I, "on such an occasion as this, every one should resume his rank."

Our guests passed the following day in mortal anxiety. Then, on learning the massacre of the

During two years, France and the rest of Europe were contending; France to defend the republic, Europe to restore the monarchy. The first stake in the game had been the head of Louis XV., that inoffensive lamb offered up on the altar of liberty:-the last was at Quiberon, all the emigrant noblesse of France, who returned to meet death courageously and with dignity, on The Field of the Martyrs.

The treasures of our cupboard were displayed on the shelves of the armoires. The table, covered down to the floor with my mother's weddingdress, represented an altar, on which were sparkling silvery torches.

Behind it stood the Abbé de Plomeur, in surplice and stole, with book in hand; before it, were Frederic and Margaïte, side by side. But could this be the young girl bearing that simple name? Her peasant vestments had been exchanged for a robe of India muslin, trimmed with English lace. A long veil, fastened by a bouquet of white flowers, fell from her tresses braided in a coronet, down to her feet encased in white satin. How beautiful she was! I could have knelt before

her!

Julien, seated near his daughter, was no longer recognisable. He wore a full court dress, breeches with gold buckles, a sword at his side, and the cross of St. Louis on his breast. He looked like a king who has re-ascended his throne. My brother and myself were tempted to kiss his hand, to indemnify ourselves for our past reserve towards him. But it was necessary to control ourselves, for we were to play the part of great personages.

The Abbé de Plomeur began by giving some good advice to the young people. Then he took two rings of gold in our richest plate, he blessed them, and gave them to Frederic, who placed one on Margaïte's finger.

for each other. In short, they had already been married by contract, when, on the evening of their marriage in the church, the Viscount received orders to set out for Quiberon, with the regiment under his command. He left his happiness for his duty, and appointed the Talhouarns to meet him in France. They arrived there before him, for the expedition was delayed, They came to my house, to lead, under the names and habits of fishers, the humble life I have described, and the Viscount, who knew the place of their retreat, joined them there after the disaster which his courage could not prevent.

The marriage terminated as I have related to you, and in my poor cottage, Madame de Lisconet was the happiest woman in the world, when her husband (you see that I tremble still when I think of it) took me aside, as I have said, and spoke thus:

Hervé, you have twice saved the lives of the Talhouarns. They will soon need you more than ever. Promise me that your devotion shall never abandon Marguerite."

"She may rely upon me, in life or in death. But must you then forsake her yourself?"

"Perhaps so. I am not my own. To-day-tomorrow at any moment, I may be taken away

Nevertheless, I noticed a great difference between the bride and groom. Mlle. de Talhouarn, notwithstanding her blushes, seemed cheerful and resolute; M. de Lisconet was pale as death, and his voice trembled as he added the words: until my last moment!

you (you will not forget it) to keep your boat at my disposal."

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My lord!" exclaimed I, "you have concealed your secret from us, but I read it in your eyes! You have not escaped; you are not saved, as you said. No! you were taken like a brave man, arms in hand! I have heard of two thousand

After the dinner, which reassured me, for the Viscount was very gay, each resumed his disguise, and we went to visit the store-houses and the shore. M. de Lisconet insisted on touching the baskets that Margaïte had carried, the nets she had spread, the tools she had handled. And, at every pause, there were tears and embraces; and then thanks for me. It was enough to melt a heart of stone. I, who then had a soul of tenderness, was obliged to withdraw, that I might weep at my ease. The Viscount profited by the moment, and drew me into an obscure grotto.

(At these words, Father Hervé stopped short, and seemed to be overwhelmed. A cold sweat covered his bald forehead. We, who were palpitating with expectation, trembled lest we should lose the end of his narrative. I hastened to relight his pipe, and Robert handed him the can. He raised it with a feeble hand, and swallowed a few draughts.)

"Oh! it is frightful!" stammered he; "I shall never be able to finish. Five years before, I had served at Brest with the Marquis de Talhouarn. My mother had been his daughter's nurse. In 1793, I had rescued him and his family from the guillotine, and had conducted them all to England. All?-no! One of the sons of M. de Talhouarn had abandoned him and joined the revolutionists. This unhappy youth had insulted his father and sister as he saw them emigrate. The Marquis had nearly perished with grief. He had never more been heard to name this rebellious son. The Viscount Frederic du Lisconet met the Talhouarns in England. He loved Mile. Marguerite:

some, liberated on parole, till the moment of execution. You are one of them, my lord?" The Viscount cast down his head, and remained silent.

"Yes," said he at last. "Since you have divined this, you can understand me. I wished, before dying, to do what Marguerite would have done in my place, consecrate before God the union which had been consecrated before men, leave her my name, and taste with her one day of happiness, that happiness of which we have dreamed for a year. I have wished to espouse her at the gates of heaven, and commence eternity in this world of sorrow. The nuptial benediction has been for me extreme unction, and will be for her, I am sure, the only consolation which will enable her to survive me! A republican officer understood my situation, lent me his uniform, and allowed me a few hours of liberty. His head will answer for mine to the executioners. He will warn me of the fatal moment. I await his summons in the arms of Marguerite."

I was thunderstruck. I could not utter a word, except to repeat: It is frightful! it is frightful!" And, like those who are watching with a corpse, I dared not look at M. de Lisconet.

He pressed my trembling hands, made me swear secresy again, and again commended his wife to my care. Then he prepared to return, saying:

"Let us rejoin her. Her moments of joy are numbered. Let us not deprive her of one."

This confidence had relieved the Viscount. During the walk he was cheerful and animated. So much courage and gaiety confounded me.

They played with flowers and shells. They sang a bridal song. They made us join in the chorus. They bounded over the beach like sportive kids. M. de Talhouarn seemed to have renewed his youth. The young woman went and came between her father and husband with joyous steps and gay laughter. The evening was terminated by a dance on the lawn before my house.

And I, to whom they seemed like phantoms sporting on the brink of a tomb, I was overwhelmed, crushed, agonized.

At ten o'clock we united in prayer, as was our custom. The newly-wedded couple knelt before the Marquis, received his blessing, and retired to their room. I spent the greater part of the night in praying to the good God for Marguerite. I tried to sleep, but could not. At every instant I thought I heard the Viscount descend the stairs, or escape through the window. If I slept a few moments, I awoke at the sound of firing, in the midst of bleeding corpses. I rose, at last, and went out. The western sky was full of stars. The moon was inundating the east with her light. The bay lay spread out like a sheet of silver, scarcely stirred by the breeze. Only the rippling of the waves on the shore was heard. I raised my eyes towards the chamber of Madame du Lisconet. It was as calm and silent as the rest of the dwelling. The murmurs of night seemed to lull it to repose, like the songs of a nurse to her sleeping infant.

At daybreak, the Viscount descended first, and asked if my bark was ready. I recoiled with terror. He smilingly resumed:

"Reassure yourself! it is not yet for me alone. I desire, with the Marquis and Marguerite, to visit the bay which they have so often crossed. You will yourself conduct us."

I breathed more freely, and we set out. M. de Talhouarn seated himself near me, at the helm. At the other end, behind the sail, were Frederic and Marguerite. We heard them laugh and chatter like the birds which flew around them. "Do you know," said the young woman, "the best way to wait here for the expiration of these evil days?—it is to remain fishers with the good Hervé. My father has already learned the trade. You shall be his apprentice, Frederic; and with you, I will become the first midshipman of the bay. Hold, let me teach you the names of the ropes and manœuvres."

And she indicated them with her finger and her voice. And she ordered me to put about, to steer towards the south and towards the west. And in spite of the laws of the profession, I obeyed. And everybody applauded.

"But what will this occupation avail us ?" "First to save our lives, afterwards to gain a subsistence. Our persecutors will never come to search for you at Douarnenez, under the costume of a sardine-fisher. And it is a very profitable business, I assure you. There have been hauls of the net valued at more than a hundred livres. Ask our captain."

"Then we shall make our fortune," said Frederic, smiling; "and how shall we employ all our riches?"

"We will distribute it to the poor, if our titles and property are restored to us. If we remain fishers, we will build a beautiful dwelling on the coast, and have a pretty boat in the bay."

"Say several boats, a whole flotilla, if pos sible."

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Yes; to extend our commerce, and take our friends a-sailing."

"That will be charming! We will give fêtes to all the newly-married couples in the neighbourhood!"

During this conversation, which rent my heart, and which plunged the Marquis into ecstasy, I had remarked a boat which had left the port with all sails set. It went from one bark to another, as if to pass them in review. Suddenly it directed its course towards ours. I alone perceived it, and was seized with a secret terror. I steered towards the east; the boat took the same direction. I turned towards the north; it also turned towards the north. It was evidently following us, and was gaining upon us every moment. Lighter than my vessel, and better furnished with sails, it could not fail to overtake us. My terror redoubled when I saw a military uniform. My perplexity was horrible. I could not warn the Viscount without betraying his secret, and to have betrayed it at this moment would have been to kill Marguerite. I waited the fatal stroke. It came. Frederic and Marguerite, leaning towards each other and seeing only the heavens and themselves, were silently dreaming of happiness, when the boat crossed our path, and I distinctly heard a voice saying to the Viscount: "This evening, at Vannes!"

The Marquis had distinguished nothing. Frederic bounded as at the stroke of a poniard. Marguerite, suddenly aroused, exclaimed: “ What is the matter?" As for me, I was more dead than alive: I let go the helm; the vessel turned; the wind struck it, and it was nearly upset.

This accident was fortunate; for, by pre-occupying us all, it gave the Viscount an opportunity of diverting the attention of his wife, who had not heard the terrible words, and who would not have comprehended them. Frederic had the courage to laugh at her questions, and to ridicule the first midshipman of the bay on her uneasiness at a flaw of wind.

In brief, the Viscount and myself were the only ones who understood the matter, and our voyage ended with no other incident.

I forgot one circumstance, which was afterwards explained to me. After these words: "this evening, at Vannes;" the man in the boat, looking at Marguerite, had uttered an exclamation of surprise, and had regained the shore more rapidly than he came.

It was nine o'clock in the morning I was tempted to prolong the voyage, and even to gain Jersey or England; but the Viscount earnestly requested me to land, and I saw that he would take the helm from me if I dared to disobey him. All I could do was to lose an hour in delays, and to arrive at Le Roseur only at mid-day.

I was the first to reach the house. I found my brother Jean in consternation.

"An hour ago," said he, "a republican officer presented himself here, and asked me if this was not the house of the Viscount Frederic du Lisconet. I denied it with all my might. He insisted on being conducted to his apartment. As I opposed him, he drew his sword, and declaring that he alone could save our guests, entered the house. On reaching the chamber of Marguerite, he stopped, pale and trembling. He examined