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Updated: June 11, 2025
For a moment Sylvestre Ker stood on the threshold of the open door to watch them depart. On the gleaming white snow their two shadows fell the one bent and already tottering, the other erect, flexible, and each step seemed a bound. The young lover sighed. Behind him, in a low voice, Pol Bihan said,
"You heard me, Max Fortin." I rose and picked up my gun. Môme came and pushed his head into my hand. "That's a fine dog," observed Durand, also rising. "Why don't you wish to find his skull?" I asked Le Bihan. "It would be curious to see whether the arrow brand really burned into the bone." "There is something in that scroll that I didn't read to you," said the mayor grimly.
They had come from Plouharnel, and also from Lannelar, from Carnac, from Kercado, even from the old town of Crach, beyond La Trinité. Who had brought together all these people, young and old, men and women? The legend does not say; but very probably Matheline had strewn around the cruel pearls of her laughter, and Pol Bihan had not been slow to relate what he had seen after the midnight Mass.
Woe to that Englishman whom my branded skull shall touch!" "What rot!" I said. "Do you believe it was really written in his own blood?" "I am going to test it," said Fortin, "at the request of Monsieur le Maire. I am not anxious for the job, however." "See," said Le Bihan, holding out the scroll to me, "it is signed, 'L'Abbé Sorgue." I glanced curiously over the paper.
The mayor paused and glanced at me reflectively. "Go on, Le Bihan," I said. "With them," continued the mayor, turning the scroll and reading on the other side, "was buried the body of that vile traitor who betrayed the fort to the English.
"I have promised," said Sylvestre. "That is nothing: if your mother loves you truly, she will forgive you." "If she loves me!" cried Sylvestre Ker. "Oh, yes, she loves me with her whole heart." Some chestnuts still remained, and Bihan shelled one while he said, "Certainly, certainly, mothers always love their children; but Matheline is not your mother.
It is I, Anne Le Bihan, who tell you this, my pretty gentleman. I have lived through eighty years and I have seen life begin and end in the Woods of Aulnes alas! in the Woods and the House of Aulnes " "The red wine, Anne," said her mistress, gently.
This poor man-wolf is not a damned soul, but one expiating a great crime. Leave justice to God, if you do not wish some great misfortune to happen to you." And Josserande, who was kneeling down, said imploringly, "Listen, listen to the saint!" But from behind, Pol Bihan cried out, "Since when have beggars been allowed to preach sermons?
A black mass dashed through the crowd, and Pol Bihan uttered a horrible cry, "Help! help! Matheline!" You have often heard the noise made by a dog when crunching a bone. This was the noise they heard, but louder, as though there were many dogs crunching many bones. And a strange voice, like the growling of a wolf, said, "The strength of a man is a dainty morsel for a wolf to eat.
"I am opposed to further search," repeated Le Bihan, nervously picking at the mass of silver buttons which covered the front of his velvet and broadcloth jacket like a breastplate of scale armor. Durand pursed up his lips, twisted his tremendous mustache, and hooked his thumbs in his saber belt. "As for me," he said, "I am in favor of further search."
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