ing
his mental anguish. He had done a pretty stroke of work, nom de Dieu,
idiot!

He paced up and down, trying to think of some stratagem, some
explanations, some cunning trick, and from time to time he rinsed his
mouth with a swallow of "fil en dix" to give him courage.

But no ideas came to him, not one.

Towards midnight his watch dog, a kind of cross wolf called "Devorant,"
began to howl frantically. Father Anthony shuddered to the marrow of his
bones, and each time the beast began his long and lugubrious wail the old
man's skin turned to goose flesh.

He had sunk into a chair, his legs weak, stupefied, done up, waiting
anxiously for "Devorant" to set up another howl, and starting
convulsively from nervousness caused by terror.

The clock downstairs struck five. The dog was still howling. The peasant
was almost insane. He rose to go and let the dog loose, so that he should
not hear him. He went downstairs, opened the hall door, and stepped out
into the darkness. The snow was still falling. The earth was all white,
the farm buildings standing out like black patches. He approached the
kennel. The dog was dragging at his chain. He unfastened it. "Devorant"
gave a bound, then stopped short, his hair bristling, his legs rigid, his
muzzle in the air, his nose pointed towards the manure heap.

Saint Anthony, trembling from head to foot, faltered:

"What's the matter with you, you dirty hound?" and he walked a few steps
forward, gazing at the indistinct outlines, the sombre shadow of the
courtyard.

Then he saw a form, the form of a man sitting on the manure heap!

He gazed at it, paralyzed by fear, and breathing hard. But all at once he
saw, close by, the handle of the manure fork which was sticking in the
ground. He snatched it up and in one of those transports of fear that
will make the greatest coward brave he rushed forward to see what it was.

It was he, his Prussian, come to life, covered with filth from his bed of
manure which had kept him warm. He had sat down mechanically, and
remained there in the snow which sprinkled down, all covered with dirt
and blood as he was, and still stupid from drinking, dazed by the blow
and exhausted from his wound.

He perceived Anthony, and too sodden to understand anything, he made an
attempt to rise. But the moment the old man recognized him, he foamed
with rage like a wild animal.

"Ah, pig! pig!" he sputtered. "You are not dead! You are going to
denounce me now--w