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The radical government, ashamed and perplexed, committed blunder after blunder, and at length threatened violence. Upon this, Hirzel, the youthful priest of Pfaeffikon, rang the alarm from his parish church, and, on the 6th of September, 1839, led his parishioners into the city of Zurich. This example was imitated by another crowd of peasantry, headed by a physician named Rahn.
Hirzel said "Good night" to Charlie, and moved off discreetly, leaving his sister to follow. "Don't forget Wednesday night, Marguerite; I shall look for your signal about eight, and if all's well, I'll be round by nine. I will get leave to stay out later than usual that night." "Well, Charlie, I won't prevent your coming this once, but my heart sadly misgives me.
So I went down on my hands and knees and was just going to crawl, when old Hirzel Mollet came down the other side with a great sheaf of wheat on his back. He was taking it to the Seigneur for his tithes. And then in a moment he gave a shout and I saw he was gone." "That was terrible. What did you do?"
He tried in every way to bring his son to his way of thinking, but though Hirzel did not much like the idea of his sister marrying a Royalist soldier, and besides which another friend and fellow-countryman of his Jacques Gaultier, was also much attached to the fair Marguerite, and had long persecuted her with his unwelcome attentions, still Hirzel would have done anything rather than have injured his friend Charlie, whom he liked well, though he did not like his principles.
The boy saw that she wished to keep Gaultier off, and with his usual teasing way, he made signs behind that worthy's back to the effect that his sister ought to ask him to sit by her. However, when Hirzel saw that his sister looked really troubled, he came immediately like a good brother and did what his sister wished.
To-day I have made my visits to the professors. For three among them I had letters from Professors Schinz and Hirzel. I was received by all in the kindest way. Professor Tiedemann, the Chancellor, is a man about the age of papa and young for his years. He is so well-known that I need not undertake his panegyric here.
Charlie did not for a moment suspect that there was anything but pure accident in what had happened, and as he met Hirzel just at that moment he judged it wisest not to return near the house in case he should get Marguerite into trouble; but after telling Hirzel to assure his sister that he was safe, he set off to the fortress, little thinking he was supposed to be lying dead at the foot of the Moulin Huêt cliffs, carried there by the mill stream.
So much for the Fairy lore in the Moulin Huêt Chronicles; but we must turn our attention elsewhere to find out whose blood it was that thus dyed the watercourse of the Moulin Huêt Mill. Pierre Moullin, like many of his fellow-islanders, was a strong adherent of Cromwell; his son Hirzel was also, though perhaps he did not go quite as far as his father in his hatred of the Royalist party.
About 9 o'clock, as Charlie and Hirzel were coming out of the barracks, they saw flames rising in the direction of the mill. It was but the work of a moment for Charlie to run back and get leave for some of his comrades to come with him, and off they set for the mill. On arriving there they found their surmises correct: both house and mill were enveloped in flames.
Hirzel then told Marguerite how he had met Charlie just outside at the foot of the lane, considerably bruised and knocked about, though without any internal injuries. How he escaped was nothing short of a miracle, one of those things which occasionally happen, perhaps, to show what can be done when there is the will to do it.
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