A Village of Vagabonds

faithfully as possible; please see list of printing issues at the end. A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS By F. BERKELEY SMITH Author of "The Lady of Big Shanty." A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY PUBLISHED MAY, 1910 COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1910, BY SMITH PUBLISHING HOUSE CONTENTS PAGE I. The House by the Marsh 3 II. Monsieur le Curé 35 III. The Exquisite Madame de Bréville 63 IV. The Smugglers 91 V. Marianne 120 VI. The Baron's Perfectos 151 VII. The Horrors of War 186 VIII. The Million of Monsieur de Savignac 213 IX. The Man with the Gun 245 X. The Bells of Pont du Sable 274 XI. The Miser--Garron 308 XII. Midwinter Flights 339 A VILLAGE OF VAGABONDS A Village of Vagabonds THE HOUSE BY THE MARSH It was in fat Madame Fontaine's little café at Bar la Rose, that Norman village by the sea, that I announced my decision. It being market-day the café was noisy with peasants, and the crooked street without jammed with carts. Monsieur Torin, the butcher, opposite me, leaned back heavily from his glass of applejack and roared. Monsieur Pompanet, the blacksmith, at my elbow, put down his cup of black coffee delicately in its clean saucer and opened his honest gray eyes wide in amazement. Simultaneously Monsieur Jaclin, the mayor, in his freshly ironed blouse, who for want of room was squeezed next to Torin, choked out a wheezy " Bon Dieu! " and blew his nose in derision. "Pont du Sable— Bon Dieu! " exclaimed all three. "Pont du Sable— Bon Dieu! " " Cristi! " thundered Torin. "You say you are going to live in Pont du Sable? Hélas! It is not possible, my friend, you are in earnest!" "That lost hole of a village of sacré vagabonds," echoed Pompanet. "Why, the mud when the tide is out smells like the devil. It is unhealthy." "Père Bordier and I went there for ducks twenty years ago," added the mayor. "We were glad enough to get away before dark. B-r-r! It was lonely enough, that marsh, and that dirty little fishing-village no longer than your arm. Bah! It's a hole, just as Pompanet says." Torin leaned across the table and laid a heavy hand humanely on my shoulder. "Take my advice," said he,…