I looked around, also,
and appeared serious, and he asked me if I had heard the thing
before.
"Once or twice," said I.
"Then you are a dead man," said he; "'tis a warning, that!"
"Maybe it is not I, but one of you," I answered. Then, with a
sort of hush, "Is't like the cry of La Jongleuse?" I added. (La
Jongleuse is their fabled witch, or spirit, of disaster.)
He nodded his head, crossed himself, mumbled a prayer, and turned
to go, but came back. "I'll fetch a crucifix," he said. "You are
a heathen, and you bring her here. She is the devil's dam."
He left with a scared face, and I laughed to myself quietly, for
I saw success ahead of me. True to his word, he brought a crucifix
and put it up--not where he wished, but, at my request, opposite
the door, upon the wall. He crossed himself before it, and was
most devout.
It looked singular to see this big, rough soldier, who was in
most things a swaggerer, so childlike in all that touched his
religion. With this you could fetch him to his knees; with it
I would cow him that I might myself escape.
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